#ao3 version will be up tomorrow

[quietly-sleeping]

part 2

Liu Qingge might be bad with faces, he can admit that, at least to himself. Never to anyone else, though. Being called an uneducated brute, and the most feral of the feral child colony was enough for him. 

However, as bad as Liu Qingge was with faces, he’s almost certain he’s seen this one before. It could just be the fact that the man was covered in blood and monster entrails, but Liu Qingge swears he’d seen this person before. 

“Do I know you?” Liu Qingge asked, still standing atop the Iron Flecked Mole Rat. The man that Liu Qingge swears he’d met gaped at him for a moment, his dark green eyes wide as Liu Qingge flicked off the last of the monster's blood from his sword. “No?” The man dragged out the word oddly, Liu Qingge squinted at him. 

“Are you sure?” Liu Qingge jumped down from the back of the monster, barely making a noise as his feet hit the leaf-covered ground. “Yes?” The man scrambled to stand, grimacing slightly as blood dripped from his hair down his face. “You do not sound sure.” Liu Qingge got closer to him, frowning as he tried to examine the man’s face closer. 

“Where would we even meet? You look like you belong to a big sect, I’m just a wandering cultivator.” Liu Qingge frowned down at the man, just barely shorter than him, the man smiled, almost, nervous? Liu Qingge needed to add the ability to read people’s emotions to his list of weaknesses, directly below recognizing faces. 

“Could have met during a hunt. Like we have now. What is your name.” The man’s eyes slide from him glancing back at the dead Iron Flecked Mole Rat, “I’m pretty sure neither of us would be on the same job.” He said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “We are now, what is your name.”

The man hummed, glancing around the empty trees around them, most of the other animals long scared off by the rampaging mole rat. “Sha….Yan. My name is Sha Yan.” Liu Qingge turned that around in his mind for a moment, he was pretty sure he’d never met a Sha Yan before.

However, the man could be lying to him, he was shifting quite a lot, or maybe that was the monster blood he was drenched in. “Alright.” The man, Sha Yan, perked up, “You believe me?” Not as much anymore. “Enough. I will bring you to an inn, it’s my fault you are dirty.” 

Sha Yan blinked at him, “You don’t have to? I know the way back to the village,” Liu Qingge shook his head, “I caused you to be covered in blood, I will fix it.” Sha Yan went to open his mouth but Liu Qingge picked up the Iron Flecked Mole Rat and nodded to Sha Yan to start moving.

Shen Qingqiu sipped at his tea, the silence between the three people was tense but Shen Qingqiu had experience ignoring it. Qi Qingqi set her cup down, much gentler than she would have had her wife not been in the room, “So, who is it?” Shen Qingqiu hummed for a moment, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about Qi-shimei.” 

Qi Qingqi’s face warped slightly before she restrained herself, “Shen-shixiong,” The honorific left her mouth reluctantly, “Most of Cang Qiong knows shixiong is ah, looking for someone. This shimei would be delighted to help, but she cannot without a name.” 

Shen Qingqiu simply stared at her for a moment before Lai Xiulan broke the silence, “Thank you for accepting our request for tea, Lord Shen. This one has heard some interesting theories from the disciples.” Shen Qingqiu nodded at the other woman, he typically preferred speaking with her rather than her wife. 

Usually. “I understand you must be worried Lady Lai, but I intend to keep information from anyone who may tip off my…wayward quarry.” Qi Qingqi frowned at him, leaning back slightly, “And you believe us to be able to tip your target off?” Lai Xiulan frowned slightly at her wife before turning back to the other Peak Lord with a small smile, “This one believes that Lord Shen does not have harmful intentions with this search, and we intend to offer our help with the search, if we may?” 

The true issue with speaking to Lai Xiulan was she was such a stickler to formalities and so genuine that even Shen Qingqiu and his cold dead heart, felt a flicker of something when he attempted to cut her with his words. Guilt was a disgusting emotion, even the brief flickers. 

“This shixiong does not intend to turn away his shimei’s earnest help. However, this shixiong must be certain that shimei will not tell any of our martial siblings until the Peak Lord Meeting next week.” If Shen Qingqiu didn’t know his shimei’s personality he would have said she almost pouted at being denied the ability to gossip. “Fine,” She grumbled, Lai Xiulan patted her hands consolingly before directing a bright smile at Shen Qingqiu. 

Despicable woman, Shen Qingqiu huffed, “The subject of this hunt is Shen Yuan of Ling You.” Qi Qingqiu perked up, leaning forward with a glint in her eye, “Little Yuan-shidi? Who knew you had it in you Shen Qingqiu.” Lai Xiulan glanced between her wife and Shen Qingqiu with curiosity plain on her face. 

“Maybe my little disciples were right, did Yuan-shidi scorn you? You should apologize if you made a mistake, shixiong.” Her smile was sharp, a sharp-eyed predator who’d spotted a juicy morsel. Shen Qingqiu restrained his impulse to simply demand she leave, her wife was still here, and despite how manipulative Lai Xiulan was, she was simply too nice to turn a cold shoulder to. 

“You consume too many cheap novels shimei.” Was all he deigned to say to the gossip mongrel. Her sharp laughter rang in the small bamboo house. 

Liu Qingge had left the body of the Iron Flecked Mole Rat in one of the larger qiankun bags he had left in the only inn in the village. He knew none other than another cultivator could walk off with the body but he needed multiple parts of the mole rat in good condition for the other peaks. 

Liu QIngge went into the inn and quickly bought both a room and a tub, Sha Yan was waiting outside, the blood still dripping from his robes. Liu Qingge went out to stand with Sha Yan, unwilling to let him out of sight for very long. It didn’t take long for a worker to poke their head out and tell him the bath was waiting up in his room. 

Sha Yan was quiet as they walked into the inn and down the narrow hallway, he had spoken most of the walk back, informing Liu QIngge of the habits, behaviors, and habitats of Iron Flecked Mole Rats, he’d spoken about the different ways Iron Flecked Mole Rats developed depending on region for most of the walk. 

It was interesting to be sure; Liu Qingge had never had the patience to sit and memorize the different irrelevant details of different monsters or beasts. He’d only learned how to kill them and which could be edible. Sha Yan’s memory of the different beasts around was deeply impressive to him, he almost wanted to drag Sha Yan back to Cang Qiong and place him on Ling You. 

The Peak was without a Peak Lord anyway, being run solely by Hall Masters and spontaneous visits from Peak Lords who had less to do than they claimed. It could do with an actual Peak Lord to watch over it, and Sha Yan seemed around his age. 

They stepped into the inn room, two beds tucked up against each wall with a divider separating the room from the wooden tub. Sha Yan shuffled over to the bathtub, peering in at the water before glancing back at Liu Qingge. “Are you sure you want me to bathe first?” 

Liu Qingge stared at him for a moment, flicking his eyes down at where the blood was dripping onto the floor, “Yes.” Sha Yan followed his eyes and grimaced before fully shuffling behind the divider. 

All in all the inn was very well kept for such a small village, the village was named, though Liu Qingge had already forgotten the name, but it hadn’t seen much in terms of coin. The roads were all dirt, many houses had holes in their roofs that were awkwardly patched and it was easy to spot where buildings had been repaired after the recent rainy season. 

Liu Qingge unsheathed Cheng Luan and quietly began to maintain the sword, cycling his qi through it as he carefully cleaned the hilt and blade. Weapon maintenance was an important part of a cultivator's life, something Wei Qingwei and his peak made a point to force into the rest of the sect’s heads.  

Liu Qingge huffed, remembering all of the times he’d had to resort to biting Wei Qingwei when they were disciples to continue training with his sword. Wei Qingwei was larger than him, in height and breadth, and knew how to weaponize his size. 

It didn’t matter that he’d just broken his wrist or that Mu-shidi said you need to be resting, not working with your sword! Wei Qingwei never brought up those incidents after they happened, but Liu Qingge knew that Wei Qingwei just needed an introduction to how fights work on Bai Zhan, at least among younger disciples. 

Sha Yan was done with his bath once Liu Qingge had finished cleaning his sword. The bath had to be dumped and refilled, with Sha Yan awkwardly hidden behind the moved divider so the worker could get to the tub. But Liu Qingge was more inclined to find a stream somewhere since the worker already dumped and refilled the bath once. 

The only thing that kept him from leaving and finding a stream was Sha Yan, who had begun to look increasingly more nervous the longer he spent with Liu Qingge in the inn. His chatter had started up once more, moving from Iron Flecked Mole Rats to the Starry Night Dogs, talking about how they’d adapted to the various weather conditions that may impede their ability to channel the stars. 

His words only grew quicker, and he pulled out a notebook from inside a qiankun pouch Liu Qingge previously hadn’t spotted, flopping down onto the other bed in the room. Sha Yan flipped through the notebook, gesturing at various pages as he spoke. Eventually, Liu Qingge had enough of it, “Why are you nervous?” his voice was flat, but his eyebrows were drawn together, Sha Yan stared at the Peak Lord, opening and closing his mouth. 

“I…Well, I suppose I wasn’t expecting you to stay here with me?” Sha Yan squeezed out, the tops of his ears beginning to color as he fidgeted. Liu Qingge tilted his head slightly, “Why? It is honorable to fix my wrongs.” Sha Yan laughed a little, tucking his legs up onto his bed as well, “You don’t have to? I mean, you didn’t commit any wrongs against me.” 

Liu Qingge shook his head at the younger man, at least he thought he was younger, “You were drenched in the blood of the Iron Flecked Mole Rat because of my carelessness.” Sha Yan smiled a little at that, “I’m clean now? I kind of expected to you leave once we got to the inn.” 

Liu Qingge simply shrugged and removed his hair crown before tossing it onto the bed. The thing was extremely uncomfortable during sleep and he wanted at least some sleep, even the frustrating light sleep he was bound to get. 

Shang Qinghua wished he let Mu-shidi sedate him. Inquires were flooding in, both from his fellow Peak Lords and from disciples, poking their noses into his peak, distracting his disciples. He had deadlines to meet, please!

Mu-shidi had visited earlier in the morning, concern politely plastered on his face, as though Shang Qinghua couldn’t see the glint in his eyes. The same glint he had when he used his needles to subdue someone. Shang Qinghue didn’t need to be sedated, he needed to get everything handled. 

Maybe he hadn’t slept in a few days, working through a report from Liu-shidi, sorting through budget reports, tracking down where the HELL his lumbar supplier disappeared to. He had things to do, and while being sedated sounded nicer the longer he stared down at a report from Liu-shidi, detailing a cultivator that was currently being hunted by their shixiong, he had to get through it. 

Finish the report, send it to Zhangmen-shixiong, who will deal with it, deal with Shen-shixiong, and then get sedated. A good plan, but unfortunately derailed by Qi Qingqi barging into his office as he continued to stare down at the piece of paper he was certain held the answer to his life’s problems. 

“Shang Qinghua?” Qi Qingqi called out, never Shang-shixiong, always Shang Qinghua, “I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.” Was all he replied with. Qi Qingqi nodded slowly, “Is this a conversation for Mu-shixiong?” Shang Qinghua didn’t respond but grabbed the devilish piece of paper from his desk and held it aloft to her. 

“If you are going to have me sedated, give this to Zhangmen-shixiong. I’m not dealing with this.” Qi Qingqi frowned but took the paper, scanning over it, her sharp eyebrows raising as she read, “Sounds fair, Shang-shixiong. I’ll call for Mu-shixiong.”

ao3

part 1

[max-nico]

Sonic noticed Tails glaring at him a few minutes ago. He hasn't called it out or said anything, after about a year of being with the kid he's learned it's better to let Tails come to him first. Though he will say his patience has been wearing thin, it's been a week of nonstop staring and cutting eyes.

Sonic glances at Tails with an eyebrow raise making the fox flush in embarrassment. For another few minutes Tails sits with his namesakes on his lap and his head buried in their fluff. Sonic gives him privacy and looks the other way, hoping not to embarrass him any further, he'd really prefer not to prompt the kid more than he has to.

"I uhm- I have a question. If that's okay." Sonic shrugs, reaching down to dig in his bag, but he's not reallt looking for anything. "Oh, if you're looking for the cans of chili we put them in my bag, remember?"

Sonic plays it off as if that's what he was looking for, it's basically dinner time anyway so it's not a waste to start cooking.

"Right uhm- anyway, what makes you different?" Tails asks.

Sonic raises an eyebrow again, asking him to elaborate.

"I just... We're friends right-" Sonic nods without hesitation- "okay good. It's just that the people back at Westside didn't like me much, so... So why do you?"

Sonic gives another shrug. Is he supposed to have a reason for liking him? It just came naturally. He had a good heart, big ambitions, and an even bigger brain. Is there a reason he shouldn't like the fox?

"Is there a reason I shouldn't like you?" Sonic signs.

Tails' snout wrinkles a little, "Obviously."

The hedgehog gestures for Tails to keep talking.

"I'm weird, and I can't brush my fur by myself yet, I talk too much, I take half a portion of your food, I slow you down I-"

"It's our food, and you don't slow me down," Sonic huffs. "Those things don't matter. Why would they make me not like you?"

Tails frowns, gripping his Tails between his fingers, seeming unsure of the answer himself. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to gather his thoughts into a neat sentence, and Sonic continues food prep. An anticipatory silence sits between them.

It's not until Sonic's almost done with the first chilidog that Tails speaks again. His voice is a quiet murmur under cracking fire and a few distant flickies, but Sonic still catches his voice and it's little sniffles in the wind.

"I can't understand how someone so cool can like something that wasn't even tolerated by its parents..."

And isn't that heartbreaking? Sonic could join Tails crying after hearing that. What's he even supposed to say? Is there anything he can say?

Sonic places a hand on Tails' shoulder to get his attention, making the fox wipe his tears away.

"Your parents were dumb."

"But they were the smartest people in the village! My dad was the head research-"

Sonic places a hand over Tails' muzzle to quiet him.

"Being the smartest dumb person in a room full of dumb people isn't the win you think it is."

Tails looks away from Sonic with a sniffle and huff, wiping his eyes again.

If Sonic could take it all away he would. Unfortunately, he doesn't have memory altering magic, at least as far as he knows.

"How about I become your new family. I can be your brother or something." He says on a whim, looking for something to make the kid feel better. Maybe offering a replacement family would be better than claiming the old one.

And for just a moment Tails looks starstruck. His already teary eyes grow large and seem to well up even more before he tilts his face down, his eyes glistening in the ever brighter glow of the campfire.

Sonic swears he didn't do anything wrong, but those tears make him feel like the scum of the earth.

"You're just trying to make me feel better... You wouldn't actually want that. No one in their right mind would."

Sonic crouches down in front of Tails, waiting for him to turn and look him in the eyes. It feels like an eternity before the fox actually looks at him, and Sonic grasps desperately at the patience he's never had, but is determined to find.

Tails' face fur is wet and sticks up awkwardly, and the eye contact he gives is minimal at best but Sonic will take that over nothing.

Gently, Sonic bumps his fist to Tails chest, right above where his heart is. "We're brothers!" He says, in a voice that's just as foreign to the fox as it is to him. The re in the word we're doesn't quite come across, neither does the br in brothers making the word sound like buzzers, but Tails seems to understand him anyway.

Sonic can't tell if the fox is surprised by him standing his ground or by him talking, but it's probably a healthy mix of both. He repeats himself, pushing just a little harder on Tails chest to get the point across.

Tightly, Tails squeezes his eyes shut. Heaving out a sob, dropping his head down to stare at the log he's sitting on.

"Okay." The fox mumbles, "Let's be brothers."

Yooooo guess who finally wrote something !!! (Hint, it's me !!!) After receiving some of the most devastating news of my life, I decided to write some hurt comfort !!! Welcome back unbreakable bond fans, I'm glad I could keep us all fed this winter's night !!! I have so many unfinished drafts but take this, and thanks for reading !!!

This is NOT ship content. I am under the same name on AO3, and will post this there soon ! Come hit up my DMs or my askbox for now !! Toodles !!

[governmentmandatedryujinstan420]

I regret to inform everyone we're back in the white space. Expect the fire alarm to go off periodically in typical fashion of whenever it detects a steaming pile of garbage on the way. Like me! [i'll give a cookie to whoever recognizes where the sfx is from!!]

[batsplat]

your negative takes on recent tennis rivalries pleaseeee🙏🙏🙏

ps. you’re a treasure

okay so I'll do the copy paste thing from what I did just cut from the initial post, which was my polite 'I'm attempting to write a reasonably neutral post' approach

so, this may come as a shock, but obviously I'm a bit of a fan of rivalries. we do have some bangers in tennis history, rich narrative texts, but... well. the landscape out there hasn't been great for the past decade or so. sometimes you can get invested in match-ups between specific players that are fun to watch and interesting tennis-wise, but it's all very much about the sport rather than the personal relationships between the different players. I enjoy matches between all three or ryba, sabs and iga!! but also. they are coworkers. you do kindaaaa get the sense sabs and iga aren't particularly fond of each of other, but it's all perfectly cordial. again, the tennis is great, I support them in all their endeavours, but it's very much the tennis itself you need to look for for the drama (also they don't play each other as much as I'd like, but that's a conversation for a different day)

you do still sometimes get some fun beef but it's very much isolated dumb stuff like the fritz/rinderknech "have a nice flight home" thing. this isn't going anywhere story-wise but it's fun in the moment

speaking of men. obviously the most important rivalries for the last however many years have been between various big three/four members, and federer/nadal specifically is extremely popular. tennis-wise, I still think federer/djokovic was the most fun match-up, and at least there was a little tension there because federer used to hate djokovic. they've played a lot of matches that are worth watching!! also they've finally mostly retired so it's not super relevant any more, but well tennis fans as a collective are very big three-pilled so you'll hear a lot about these blokes

and now there's alcaraz/sinner. they've only really had one match that was good start to finish (uso 2022), but definitely some fun ones (miami 2023 and wimbledon 2022 are probably the other ones that stand out, their most recent match was very much in the 'long does not equal good' category). plus, they're quite good at producing highlight reel content, like this one point everyone remembers (shown here from every angle... tennistv produces longer videos for single points than the wta releases for most finals). it's an interpersonally warm rivalry between two young guys who are both very successful and will presumably win everything for the next decade. again, I'd suggest trying to become a fan of one of those two

this was the polite way of phrasing it!! everything below here is quite rude and negative, peace and love to all

okay, let's ditch the thin veneer of neutrality, here's what I actually think: it is completely baffling to me how popular quite a few of these rivalries are, I don't get it, I have never understood it, I will never understand it. tennis went 'what if we had rivalries without narrative tension' and everyone just kinda rolled with that? mind you federer/nadal early confrontations were happening at the same time as clijsters/henin, who were like?? dude it got so bad henin said she had never been friends with clijsters so nothing clijsters and her father said could hurt her ("nothing was broken between us because there was nothing to break" ???? ffs). which is obviously not true!! but it's so... she denied the friendship ever existed and called it all pr like that's so SAD! look, this is beside the point, I'm not talking about henin/clijsters here, I do understand why people aren't that into a rivalry that was at its peak like two decades ago and federer/nadal were still playing slam finals in 2k17 (a dark dark time for some fans, federer had already HAD his decline and then he was suddenly winning slams again like tf). and to some extent I go 'well clearly people will just be into anything if you have two successful blokes' but there's clearly quite a lot of genuine passion there? like I'm not denying the passion EXISTS, people do clearly care about these guys, it's not all a psyop by Big Fedal who have suckered people into caring for these two dudes. and I'm not denying the tennis is great! I still personally prefer the match-ups that involve djokovic, and also the match-ups that involve none of those three, but fundamentally I have been watching these matches for like!! so many years! it's part of my childhood, I have enjoyed plenty of these matches, the tennis is obviously otherworldly. I have hot takes on a bunch of their matches, I can have the goat debate with you, I can give you the rundown on surface-specific match-ups and how long since nadal won a set on hard court against djokovic and federer's peak year domination rate and what they all did at madrid and blue clay and yec and golden masters and all that shit, of course it's part of my dna as a tennis viewer too!! I did usually have a slight order of preference in my head when I was watching big three match ups to have someone to root for (it's different now but back when I was a kid it was djokovic > nadal > federer, these days federer's redeemed himself a little bit in my eyes by having the decency to retire and I was radicalised against nadal). but like!! what's the narrative hook! I need somebody to explain to me what the story here is. these guys are all very good at tennis and they are racking up their titles and it's so!! whatever!! no tension no arc no real interpersonal development once federer stopped being so bitchy about djokovic. twenty plus slams who CARES, what are they doing this for! it's all so?? ugh

anyway now that I've taken a potshot at the most popular rivalry in men's tennis, I should quickly back it up by saying I feel almost the exact same way about the second most popular one (at least on tumblr) and also feel nothing for alcaraz/sinner. that one was still like... vaguely palpable? when alcaraz was clearly a way better player but struggled in that match up and also was way more invested in the rivalry than sinner was. but well, sinner is world number one now so THAT'S been ruined. again, sit me down and explain to me what the narrative stakes here are. like, if sinner wins that roland garros match, he'll be fine? alcaraz will be fine? everyone will be fine? their relationship is basically 'friendly coworkers', zero chance of anything more substantial developing there. now, don't get me wrong, I'm not gonna pretend like I'm massively into the current state of the women's game when it comes to rivalries either, but at least I have a base level of fondness there for the top players and am ideologically inclined to hype up any rivalries there whenever they come along. also, quite frankly, it DOES matter viscerally more to them!! iga spends a lot of her time kinda like,,, on the edge, the way she was in tears when getting physio after the naomi match, united cup last year, a bunch of her 2021 matches, like she's so intense and so tightly strung on the court that you do really get the sense that a loss could just cause her to have an existential crisis. there's so many unanswered questions about her ultimate potential off clay, I'm still proper curious about her story develops. and then with aryna, she's obviously ALSO so intense but in a different way, and she feels every single emotion so completely and entirely and iga has beaten her in one of those infamous semifinal chokes and it's kinda... you know, aryna also feels like she has something to prove, and you can tell they both really really want to beat each other. there's something there!! it's something real! I'm always seated whenever we actually get to see them play

that being said, yes, obviously I do think we're not exactly peak rivalry potential in either gender. the men's is more egregious because the way the game has shaken out since like,,,, 2004, is incredible top level domination by just a few guys. and now, yes, I'm aware I'm a fan of another sport where this was also incredibly true. but. the key difference is that the aliens had the decency to not be so fucking boring about it. sure on paper they were as a PACK winning everything, but good lord were they screaming crying throwing up whenever things went mildly wrong for them. like!! they despised each other and they needed to beat each other, which makes ME care!! I'm not saying I NEED rivals to hate each other, though it sure does help for my investment levels, but I need a narrative hook! borg/mcenroe had a narrative hook, evert/navratilova had a narrative hook (unfortunately that narrative hook these days is 'being united in transphobia'), agassi/sampras had one HELL of a narrative hook. noughties wta tennis about fifty million narrative hooks!! when I watch alcaraz/sinner, I just try and enjoy the tennis (though their roland garros match was mid as shit so what's that all about) but like... I don't care? or I care because one of them has pissed me off recently. I do fundamentally watch most of men's tennis as a hater, and admittedly this is accumulated bitterness over way too many years, but I do also think it's frustrating! tennis gets in its own way with this whole gentleman's sport business, the amount of wanking people do over federer/nadal in particular is truly insufferable... this is a sport filled with millionaire tax evaders and they'll have you believe that smashing a racquet is not only not fun (obviously it is) but also some kind of arbiter of morality. congrats to nadal for not smashing a racquet in his career!! could we please get his thoughts on gender equality in prize money? oh... okay. hm. this isn't supposed to be some gotcha, these guys all suck. but ultimately I would prefer not to engage with this sanitising and pearl clutching, given they do all suck, over shit that fundamentally does not matter while giving them a pass over all the stuff that DOES and instead maybe just have some fun. maybe you need to be single-minded and kind of dull to be good at men's tennis these days, maybe it's inevitable, doesn't mean I don't find them boring and pointless. there's some people who just enjoy like,,, watching greatness, endlessly racking up numbers and reaching the pinnacle of the sport or whatever, that's not me, I need there to be a story

thing is, right, obviously I'll still watch these matches (though I have massively turned it down this year, especially on the men's side - I did have a kind of breaking point this january where I was like 'wow I don't think I can ever care about anything any more?' and broadly speaking this has proved to be correct). I've tried hard to like a lot of these men because, god knows, it'd be a way more pleasant experience if I could trick my brain into it, but I can't! I think they're dull! fundamentally I'm too embedded in this world to ever be able to leave it. but I think it's funny when fans go 'oh people who are into drama don't appreciate the actual sport' like buddy I can basically guarantee I know more about the sport than you do. I Just Think that actually interpersonal relationships do also enhance the actual sports, like this shit is a conversation right,,, it has its history, it's a development over time in terms of your tactics and your knowledge of your opponent's tactics and so on, your expectations going into every match. when you have an interesting interpersonal dynamic, the sport also becomes more interesting... it's actually pretty straightforward lol. a lot of tennis is in the head, rivalries are also in the head, you're playing the other guy (gender neutral) as much as you are the actual ball. I get super annoyed by fans who are too busy being nostalgic to actually enjoy the players we have now, and I really don't like it when people call iga boring for instance, but I do also have a little bit of that. love the game, hate a lot of the players, simple as. bring back agassi calling his pet parrot more interesting than sampras in his autobiography, we used to be a proper sport

[sweetandglovelyart]

Reblogging the first page again because tomorrow October 4th is the one year anniversary of me posting this first page! Can’t believe I’ve been working on this comic for a year now! 🎉

Knightfall in Dream Land - Page 1

While helping Meta Knight with some spring cleaning aboard the Halberd, Kirby, Bandana Dee, and Sailor Dee come across a box of old armor and weapons. A game of dress up leads to Meta Knight sharing the story of how he arrived on Popstar, how he met his crew, and how he became acquainted with a certain king.

This is my attempt at making a comic of my interpretation of Meta Knight’s backstory. It’s going to cover my ideas for where he originated from, how he ended up on Popstar, how he met Captain Vul/the Meta Knights/Sword Knight and Blade Knight, and how he met Dedede. I’ll probably be pretty slow with updating this but I still thought that it would be fun to attempt.

[pedgito]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Joel's itch to hunt has became a yearly tradition between you and him.

author's note | i had a very vague outline for this weeks ago that didn't feel solid enough but then i saw some gifs and had to collect myself, a huge hug to @gracieheartspedro for beta'ing this!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, sex pollen (consenting), hunter/prey OR predator/prey (whichever you prefer), knives, joel intentionally hurts reader (consenting), mentions of scars, waterboarding adjacent (again, consenting), brat!reader, gratuitous smut (unprotected piv, oral, ect), creampies <3, cum feeding, some fluff at the end.

word count — 5k

“S’bout that time, baby.”

Joel isn’t even attempting to be subtle about it.

The itch came around the time the flowers were beginning to bloom and the overgrown foliage continued to make a home on earth, woven and wrapping around the cracks that have settled. It was always calmer too, oddly. Tommy had suggested Joel could take a few shifts hunting in the nearby woods for food—you know, scratch it. But, he didn’t understand the deeper implications and desires that Joel kept hidden away. Though, not from you.

He always had a habit of sneaking up on you in your home, quiet as a mouse you were, but even the slightest creak would give you away and Joel would come swooping in, stealing your heart right out of your chest as it stilled, relaxing as his warm, sweet musk consumed your entire being. 

He always sought you out, treated you like prey.

Joel was a natural born hunter, a defender—of his territory, his things.

When you switched jobs halfway through your first year in Jackson, botany to patrol, the idea arises. And that was all it was, at first. Presenting Joel with a set of options as your connection with him grew, seeing the ease of conversation behind his hardened exterior. 

He liked that you care, that you listened to him talking about his oddball interest without the return of a retching disgust, tongue peeking out of your mouth as your face scrunches up in aversion. Ellie had done it plenty of times, so instead, you ask questions.

Jackson had domesticated Joel back to his previous state, before the outbreak, with what little he’s told you about, he sounds like he wants to leave that man in the past. You understood him, born within a world of pure rage and hostility, fighting tooth and nail from the day you were born.

You were only a small child when the world fell and you barely remember anything from before outside of what you’ve learned from the elders around Jackson and Joel, who wasn’t nearly as old, but had still managed to live a full life and then some, his time split between both versions of this lifetime.

You had patrol together tomorrow, a full undisturbed weekend away.

He clinks your beer mischievously as his eyes glint with intrigue and a small smile tugs at his lips as he hides it behind the rim of his drink—it wasn’t a reminder, rather an auspicious warning.

–

In any other situation, you would hate this patrol spot. 

It was big, too big—why Tommy insisted on keeping it within the route was beyond your understanding, but for Joel, it was perfect.

He’s already digging in your bag for the mauve-hued powder, smelling faintly of berries even with the plastic bag wrapped tightly around it. It was something you had stumbled upon with Ellie during one of your earlier patrols, always following close behind to her wandering, stumbling upon a thick brush outside a forgotten, decaying cabin. 

A small plant, completely undisturbed. 

Ellie almost consumed the plant out of curiosity, eyes growing wide as you slapped her hand away.

“You’re right—yeah, that’s…not a good idea.” She quickly corrected herself, entranced by the intoxicating smell as you carefully unroot the plant and tuck it away in your pack, hopefully that it would stay intact on the ride back or that Shimmer wouldn’t sniff through your bag before you had the chance to make it back.

“Joel would kill me if I let this kill you.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad.” Ellie excused lazily, “Give him a chance.”

That you did.

You snatch the bag from his hand and tuck it away in your pocket.

“Sign us in at least,” You reprimand him, flicking him in the chest before you direct him with a pointed finger over his shoulder. An old, weathered notebook sitting on the counter of the empty clinic, “sweep first—hunt later.”

You both check your respective sides, dead silent throughout, as most of spring usually was around Jackson. Occasionally a straggler would find a way inside, a bloater or clicker that had wandered too far from the herd, but it was completely quiet.

You had traveled all night, the auburn sky fading to blue as the sun rose in the east, the rays projecting through the large window of the second floor of the hospital, an office that was set up with two beds and a pile of supplies for whoever had patrol that month.

Joel’s stripped his jacket off already, yours following suit as you throw it over.

“You know the drill,” Joel announces, his palm curving around the back of your neck as his other hand reaches for the gun tucked into the holster at your thigh, placing it on the counter, “one knife, that’s it.”

“Same rules apply to you, big guy,” You retorted, reaching around his backside for the gun tucked into his waistband, placing it beside your own gun.

He offers over the hunting knife by the handle, his fingers pressing tight against the sharpened blade, eyebrows raised in anticipation as you look at it for a moment, a split-decision before you shake your head, pushing his hand away.

“C’mon baby, now you’re just makin’ it easy.”

You scoff lightly, leaning down to remove your shoes and socks as Joel chuckles lowly, catching onto your antics as you strip yourself down to the bare minimum clothing you needed without being entirely naked—a skin-tight tank that clung to your curves and a pair of shorts that rolled up your thighs, reducing the risk of your clothes snagging in harder to access crevices.

You reach for the treasured bag of special powder that Joel was so eager to consume.

It was an enhancement—a pollen from a special flower that you still hadn’t identified, crushed down into an herb that you traded under the table in Jackson for a high price. The first time you had introduced it to Joel, he was hesitant. But, giving it an hour or so to set in convinced him otherwise.

He could hear better, feel, sense—it was intimidating, the look in his blood-shot eyes every time he found you, teeth bared as they dug into your skin, rutting against you like he was in heat. Sex was the only thing that quelled the ache that it caused as a side effect, and Joel was insatiable.

It started slowly, the slow thump of your heart quickening as the effects settled within you. Then, the paranoia set in, the heightened state of existence, and slowly the urge of desire would settle in, growing and growing until it was nearly unbearable—eventually willing enough to claw off your own skin in an attempt to ease the ache. 

It never got that bad, Joel wouldn’t allow it.

But, something about this batch felt potent.

You felt even more mischievous this time around, your third year of this little tradition and you were determined to make him work for it, drag it out until the final second, as the drug waned as neither of you could take it any longer, wanting to beat him at his own game.

“Like a mouse,” You tease, showcasing the near silent step of your feet against the floor as you lick your pointer and middle finger before dipping them into the bag, the powder sticking to your fingers as you press them to Joel’s tongue, his lips closing around the digits with an intense determination in his eyes, “let’s test out those instincts, old man.”

He mirrors your process, but wraps his free hand around your throat, forcing your chin up and mouth open as his fingers dip into your mouth and press down on your tongue, noticing the way his eyes are already dilated under the effect of the pollen, “I’ll leave a pretty one this time.”

A scar, he means. 

Two already existing jagged lines on each side of your pelvic bone as he pressed the blade to your skin in dignification of his victory, soothing the wound with his tongue and lapping up the blood.

You hum, closing your eyes at the sweet taste as it warms your body.

“If you catch me,” You tease, a slight amusement to your tone as you toss your head back, fingers pressing harshly against the sides of your throat.

“Bold,” He compliments, “s’cute—you can’t hide from me, sweetheart. I’ll find you.”

–

He always gives you a head start, it was only fair.

The only downside to the pollen was the overstimulation of sound, paranoid with every creak of the building as the heat expanded the metal, faint footsteps without any idea where they were.

You weren’t a hunter, by any means. But, you knew how to hide.

For Joel, he enjoys the chase.

However, he likes to seek, too.

And he’s quiet, unsuspecting.

The first four hours are spent working your way through the second floor as you hide away in hidden crevices and evaded his approaching figure as he traverses from room to room, knowing he’s wandering around with only the knife you had denied yourself, twirling it in his grip as you whistled, paused for an eerily long time, then whistled again. He's had surveying from side to side, scanning.

Everything was making you jump, even the low hum of the wind outside.

There’s a brief moment as you escape to the first floor that Joel catches sight of your quickly fleeing figure, calling out your name in a voice that doesn’t sound entirely of his own. It was deep and guttural, like a growl. Animalistic and dark, stripped down to his primal instincts.

“C’mon, little mouse,” You can hear the knife pierce into the weakening drywall as you hide between a crevice underneath the stairs, moving to your stomach to crawl underneath and use the advantage of the shadows casted by the sun as he paces around the hall for a moment, “let’s see if you’ll squeal for me.”

His foot kicks through a closed door, his soft whistling continuing as he searched around and came up empty-handed, biding your time under the stairwell for an extended period of time, skin dampy and clammy as the heat crept in, clothes dirtied with dust and stained with sweat.

By the time you feel safe enough to leave, knowing how easy Joel could wait you out, it was already creeping into the evening and you had cursed yourself for being so stubborn and leaving your pack behind—hungry and thirsty, the throbbing ache at your core growing stronger as you squeezed your thighs together and escaped the hiding spot.

You stop, listening intently, the faint sound of footsteps below in the basement.

You knew better than to trap yourself down there with him, knowing how easy of a win that would be for him, hearing the faint tap of the knife as he calls for you.

“I know you’re here. I can smell ya,” You hear faintly, “Betcha she’s drippin’ wet, huh?”

You can picture the sight of him, hand grazing over the denim of his jeans as he pressed his palm against his growing erection for relief, a similar detriment to your own but with two entirely different tasks.

You’ve never tried leaving the building before, but the peak of the pollen was beginning to take hold, your mouth dry and begging, aware of the creek just a few minutes into the forest down the road—you were desperate.

So, you book it.

And as your feet hit the entrance, you hear him.

But, he’s closer now, ascending the stairs to the first floor as his eyes lock on your shadowed figure before you slam the door closed behind you, his voice booming in the distance as the twigs break underneath your feet, wincing at the sting of pain it brings.

“Bad girl,” He taunts, “Breakin’ our rules, baby!”

Outside of the strict use of one weapon, mutually agreed upon, you both promised to never leave the premises, both for safety, and fairness. But, Joel was good—too good. If anything, it would give him a challenge.

You knew there would be consequences, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

–

You had spent twelve hours evading him, bones and muscles aching with discomfort as you tripped, falling to the bed of rocks covered in slimy moss as you stumbled on your knees toward the running stream, cupping your hands to guide the water into your mouth, instantly quenching the thirst that had festered, patting your wet hands against your clammy skin, knees bloodied and dripping against the surface of the rock as you rested for a moment, catching your breath.

You welcomed the silence, wondering if Joel had stuck on the path of the road, unsuspecting that you would veer off barefoot into the forest on your own, constantly sticking by his side, vigilant of the threats that lingered there.

You whine as your cunt throbs with need, hastily shoving your hand under the fabric of your shorts to slide your fingers against the sticky, wet fabric of your underwear, the gentle press against your clit like a shock to the system, your free hand clutching onto nothing but air as you gasped, subconsciously rocking your hips against your hand.

Your eyes had fallen shut, lost in your own pleasure that you forget how vulnerable you are, nearly naked in an open forest where anyone could sneak up on you—though, no one traveled out this far and it had been several minutes since Joel had caught sight of you, the lack of defined tracks to follow proving difficult for him, but then you hear a sigh, a tsk.

He’s on you before you have a chance to react, knife at your throat as his teeth graze against the shell of your ear and he’s wrenching your hands away from your shorts, “Found you,” He hisses through clenched teeth, feeling his cock pressed against your thigh through the denim.

He was hot, burning up—both with a want for you, but physically, like a fever had taken over.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you’re forcing your eyes open, staring up at the opaline moonlight, making Joel all the more threatening as you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him, rendered immobile as he worked himself over your hips, the weight of him keeping you still. 

“S’right little mouse, ain’t got nowhere to go, do ya?” He taunts, fingers curling around your head as they dig into the root of your hair and tug, the blunt side of the knife running along your throat.

“How’d—how did—find me?” You choke out through broken, garbled gasps as the drool accumulated in your mouth at his scent, the freshness of soap from a shower the night before but a mix of his own arousal collecting in his jeans, “What gave it ‘way?”

“Can hear those perfect little whimpers from a mile away, baby,” He softens slightly, panting heavily against your skin as he belt jingles with subtle movement, slipping through the loops before he’s disposing of it to the side, “S’that why you ran? Scared I was gonna catch you playin’ with yourself in there—well, look at ya,” He taunts, “Got a special place for this one,” 

You feel the cool edge of the knife drag along the side of your neck and down your spine, ripping through the fabric like butter, aided by the gentle tug of his hands as he ripped your top into pieces, repeating the process with your shorts, his fingers curling around the lacy edge of your underwear as he tugged up, dragging the tip of the blade along your cheek.

“Considering markin’ this pretty little ass up, that what you want?”

“S’that what you want?” You retort playfully.

There’s a small prick, another, pulling your underwear between your ass until he can get the blade underneath the fabric and with a quick flick of his wrist, it was nothing but trash, stuffed between his teeth as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, forcing your thighs apart as he cut lightly into your skin at first, an initial to mark his territory.

The letter J forever engraved at the inside of your thigh, the thumb of his unoccupied hand splitting through your folds and pressing against your swollen clit, distracting you from the sharp pain with his movements.

“S’beautiful,” He tells you, admiring the mark but also the way your cunt greedily sucks his thumb inside of you, “fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your hands balled into tight fists above your head as you writhe beneath him, “M’close, Joel—s’right there,” You moan, feeling his hand squeeze at your wounded thigh, his fingers stained with blood as he moves off of you, easily manhandling you onto your back as he stares down with dark, brooding eyes, disposed panties still stuffed in his mouth.

You rise onto your elbows as his hand molds over the back of your skull, nodding toward his buttoned jeans, his opposite hand reaching for your wrist as he guides it to the button before casually yanking the cloth from his mouth and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans.

His unoccupied hand explores the peaks of your chest, soft and supple and begging to be squeezed, bitten, pert nipple the perfect size to fit between his lips and against the flat of his tongue, finding himself drifting at the thought before your roving touch brings him back.

“You feelin’ gracious?” He asks, “Gonna suck my cock?”

You nod obediently, his hand gripping tighter in your dirtied, damp hair.

He’s waiting, quietly, ominously, only barely satisfied as you begin to pry the button apart and pull at his zipper, the heat of his cock pressing against the fabric as you rub your palm over it teasingly, earning a sharp tug in return.

“You wanna keep up the game?” Joel asks like a warning, “I’ll hunt you through these damn woods, girl. And I won’t play nice.”

There’s a rawness to his voice during times like this, during the hunt. It’s similar to how he sounds as he rouses from bed, groggy with sleep—relaxed, but resting at a deep, booming register.

You pout slightly, squeezing your hand over the damp fabric of his underwear, precum seeping through the front as you lean forward, running your tongue along the cotton before pulling with your teeth at the waistband, tucking his underwear beneath his balls as you like from base to tip in one fluid movement, intoxicated by his scent.

It was mostly clean, but earthy—a day worth of exhilarating hunt and the heat of both the day and the pollen seeping from his pores, he’s salty and sweet, your tongue sliding slowly over the slit before he’s pushing his cock beyond your lips with a solid pump of his hips, moaning at the intrusion.

He favors the soft whimpers as your eyes flutter with the press of his cock against the back of your throat, fucking himself into your mouth with a tight hand in your hair, eyes welling with tears as you gasp after a particularly deep thrust, eyes blown wide as he pulled you off of his cock suddenly, moving to match his stance as you rise unsteadily to your knees.

“Nuh uh,” He admonished, “down, turn around.”

You open your mouth to speak and Joel slaps your face once, sharp, not entirely unsuspected as there was a clear definite line of who was in charge, always testing your limits when he asserted his dominance—you knew it was coming, you wanted it.

“S’your one and only warning,” He tells you sternly, “now turn.”

In times of desperate need and insatiable desire, it was easier to be a vessel to him. Fulfilling his release of pent up aggression and carefully tucked away primal nature, he shifts quietly behind you to stand and strip himself naked, fisting his cock into his hand as he rubs it through your slick folds, puffy and swollen from how badly you needed to be filled by him, consumed.

“So fragile, little mouse,” He takes glance of the weeping wound between your thighs and the flutter of your hole as he fits the head of his cock inside of you, only an inch of his thick and swollen cock, a collective sigh of relief from you both at the connection, “Need to remind you what it means to be mine, don’t I?”

“Joel fucking get on with it alread—”

Joel quickly twists his hand into your hair and pulls your head up, gasping as the hands under your chest curls into fists, pulling you flush with his pelvis as he slips inside of you in one quick motion, feeling the sting as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Smart mouth,” He comments, “so fuckin’ dumb for this cock your forget how to behave yourself, ain’t that right?”

You groan pathetically as he yanks at your hair, “You need me to do it for you, old man?”

You wiggle your ass slightly back against his cock, a harsh huff of breath through his nose before he’s dipping your head under the water as you both teeter near the edge of the rock, with the current you could feel the faint splashes against your skin, but he takes advantage of the gap and dunks your head in the chilled water for a moment, pulling you back up as you gasp.

“You done?” He asks, earning a pitched giggle in return, airy and light as you find the effort amusing, leading him closer toward the edge of the cliff, guiding him into a space that would help him use, without guilt or remorse for his actions.

“Depends,” You challenge, your cunt clenching around his cock as he shifts his hips, one movement from exploding as your clit throbbed intensely.

As a result, he dunks your head once more, this time for a moment longer than last and you find yourself coughing, sputtering air as your wet hair drips over your face, blinking the bleariness from your eyes.

"Always forget how much you like it when I hurt you,” Joel notes with a tone of admiration.

You hum in approval, wretched back by his unyielding hand as he pulls you flush with his chest, your hand flying into his hair as the other drifts over your clit, his hips pummeling into you at furious pace, teeth digging deep into your shoulder.

“C’mon, baby,” He coos, cradling your head in his hand as it lulls back, fingers curling your clit in desperation as his groans melt into your skin, “fuck—she’s squeezin’ me tight, you feelin’ that?”

His hips slow for a moment, deep thrusts as the head of his cock rubs against that nauseatingly sweet spot inside of you, eyes rolling back at the sensation as your orgasm takes hold, pulling Joel over the edge unexpectedly with your whimpering breaths of relief, held up entirely by his own brute strength as he fucks into you lazily, pumping you full of his cum with every thrust.

There’s an immediate exhaustion as instant satisfaction fills your body and his own.

Though, you know it won’t last.

It was temporary, an ease to the ache that had a mind of its own on when it would weaken.

Joel’s fingers drifting between your legs playfully as he scoops up his own cum as it spilled out of you, dripping down the inside of your thighs before he feeds it into your mouth, resting lazily against his frame as he rest on one arm and hip, smearing the slick against your tongue before he brings your mouth to his, a greedy exchange as he licks into your mouth, chuckling as you eagerly leaned in for more, moving forward as he pulled away.

“Easy, baby,” He chastises, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here.”

–

You can’t avoid how vulnerable it feels to trek back naked, hair mussed and your steps mimicking a drunken state as you stumble, guided upstairs and into the shower attached to the office, small and compact but at least there was running water and amenities packed away in Joel’s pack for you to use, every inch of your skin overly sensitive as you wash away the grime, feeling Joel approach from behind, careful removing the soap from your hand.

“We’re all locked up,” He informs you, doing another quick sweep as you stepped inside of the shower—he’s increasingly more relaxed now, but the heightened senses linger, his gentle touch igniting the fire in your gut as you turn on him, watching as he lathered his chest in the soap before asking, “still botherin’ ya, huh?”

You reach for him silently, pressing your lips to his tentatively, his gentleness returning with the hand that rests against your hip, slowly extending to your back as he pulls you in.

You loved him like this even more—the soft hums he released as you tilted your head to kiss him, his lips parting as you snuck your tongue into his mouth, filtering your finger through his hair and meeting him with a similar, relaxed passion.

Silently, he guides your hand to the small shelf embedded into the corner of the shower and crowds you against the tile, descending on old, aching knees despite himself. He’d pay for it later, he knows he will, but the way your leg instinctively lifts and rests over his shoulder is enough to soothe the pain for a brief time, the intensity of desire coming in waves.

He licks a long strip up the center of your folds, sucking on your clit as he eventually turns the water off entirely, your moans reverberating off the ceramic, practiced flicks of his tongue bringing you near your end quickly, sneaking two of his fingers inside of you as you come, always amazed at how greedy you pussy was to consume whatever it was he gave you.

Fingers, tongue, cock—it didn’t matter.

He peers up at you through a half-lidded gaze, your fingers running through damp hair as he slowly rises to his feet, peppering kissing up and along your body as he stands again.

“Let’s get dried off,” He tells you, “I know you’re starvin’—worked up a big appetite after today.”

Joel carefully wraps the towel around your body as he does the same, tying it around his waist as he chuckles at your smile, “Guess you could say that.”

And just as you think the pollen has finally worn off, it comes like a fever in the night.

At first, you insist it must be a dream, the way Joel is so helplessly rutting against your backside, tucked tight against his chest as you shared the singular blanket and pillow despite the other bed. He wanted you closer, he wanted you near. 

You smell like honey and home—home like Jackson, that faint hint of charred wood from the fireplace that was constantly running in your home.

He’s willing and malleable to your movements as you guide him to his back, carefully slipping your underwear to the side as you guide him inside of you, a lazy pace as your chests meet, breathing into each other’s mouths as squeezes at any available skin he can access.

“So goddamn lucky,” He murmurs, “always takin’ care of me.”

His pointed thrust drove his words home, his nails digging into your hip as he came for the second time that night, nothing in his voice left to give as his throat felt raw, grunting pathetically as his seed spilled inside of you, a warmth radiating throughout and a sudden feeling of complete relief.

“I think we’re in the clear now,” You admit tiredly, rubbing your hands gently over his flushed chest as you glance up at him, both of you sighing at the loss as you move off of him and return to your previous position, barely registering the swipe of fabric between your legs as Joel cleaned you up without acknowledgment before he’s pulling you tight into his chest.

“Need to convince Tommy into letting me take up this patrol in the winter.”

You snicker quietly at his mischievous nature.

“Is that all I’m good for?” You tease playfully, “Scratchin’ that itch?”

“A couple of ‘em,” He admits honestly, pressing a soft kiss against the spot behind your ear, “s’good idea—as long as you don’t go breakin’ the rules and runnin’ off into the forest again—”

“Alright, alright, big guy,” You admonish, patting his head blindly over your shoulder as he shakes your hand away, “it’s not like you were really complaining about it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I knew just where to look.”

Of course he did.

You scoff lightly, “Oh, I’m sure—you got me down pat, like a damn book, don’t you?”

“Correct, baby,” He answers, “Ain’t no hiding from me.”

It’s a comfort, knowing he was always near.

Joel would always find you, no matter the situation.

[bbyquokka]

nerd in love

– after a misunderstanding, jisung finally tells yn how he feels at his birthday party .ᐟ.ᐟ

pairing | han jisung x fem reader

genre | mutual pining , fluff , uni au – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | she/her pronouns used ; mostly in jisung pov ; food and alcohol mentioned ; a lil suggestive at the end

words | 10.1k ~ ( 10,133 )

notes | well, here it is! i started this before my break (which is why its so late) but finished it during my break n i just wanted to post it bc im proud of this n i adore this version of jisung n the friendship dynamics !! :( don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — wips list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

your pen taps against the white, lined sheet of paper that has a few scribbles and doodles on. your cheek resting on your hand as you sigh a little in boredom. 

the professor has been groaning on and on about the same thing. you want to listen and take in the information as you know it's important, but your mind wanders and you start to daydream; making imaginary scenarios.

you'd imagine an alien suddenly abducting you because it heard your silent cries of boredom. you and the alien would become the best of friends, the alien showing you around it's space shuttle and inviting you to have some tea and cake before making friendship bracelets – because that's what humans do, right?

other times, you'd imagine a strong, buff greek god suddenly turning up in class. he'd walk to you and take your hand, claiming that you're his long lost bride, before carrying you bridal style and off into the sunset where you two would get married and have babies.

so caught up in your fake scenarios, you don't see that another student is now looking at you.

the student is sitting in front of you–his usual designated spot. black hair that's long and permed and covers his eyes. glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. dressed in a button up shirt and black jeans, paired with a few accessories and black doc marten boots.

“excuse me.” he whispers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “you're making too much noise.” he frowns.

you snap out of your daydream and sit up straight, wiping the imaginary drool from your chin with the back of your hand.

“o-oh.. sorry jisung.” you laugh awkwardly. he tuts and rolls his eyes before facing the front. you scoff a little and sit back in your seat.

you don't have very many friends in university, a small handful but it's enough and you don't have very many enemies either, but since jisung started the same class as you, he's been cold towards you.

he's not like this with other people, just you–it's like he can't stand you.

but for some reason, his cold, mean demeanour just makes you want him and find him even more attractive.

it's not a kink of yours, to be spoken down to and degraded. in fact, you love having the attention on you and being treated kindly and gently so it's unknown to you why you find him so attractive.

“alright class! that's all for today. you're all dismissed.” the teacher says. you silently cheer, packing up your things in your backpack.

jisung rises to his feet and swings his bag onto his shoulder, letting it rest there before pulling out his phone. you both catch eye contact with each other.

“see you tomorrow?” you say politely and smile. jisung quickly looks away and mumbles something before walking out in a rush.

maybe you're still daydreaming, but you swore you could see the tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink. 

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“fuck, i’m so late!” you alternate between running and speed walking your way to your class. your alarm didn't go off this morning so when you finally awoke, it was up and out in a flash. “i'm so screwed!”

today is an important day. the teacher was going to go over a few things on a test that's due in a few weeks so you really needed to attend it to get an idea–but alas, here you are. hair disheveled, dried up drool on your chin and your socks mismatched with your backpack hanging off your shoulder.

you breathe a sigh of relief before stopping in front of the lecture hall doors. you take a deep breath and fix yourself up before reaching out to open the doors.

the doors suddenly swing open. the students exiting the hall. you stand in the middle of the students as they walk around you, engaging in conversations with their friends.

you frown in confusion, looking at the time on your phone. your eyes widen even more, bulging from the sockets.

“oh wow.. i really fucked up.” you were a lot later than you thought.

you look up to see jisung looking at his phone. today he's in a plain, black t-shirt and skinny jeans. a few chains hanging around his neck and converse.

“hey, ji!” you call out. he looks up at whoever is calling him before his face twists into disgust when he realises it's you. you ignore this, mainly because he rushes past you.

you frown and chase after him, trying to keep up with his speed–but he's too fast.

“hey! wait! i know you heard me, ji!!”

“don’t call me that. my name is jisung.” he mumbles.

“ok ok, sorry! just, i need help!” 

“find it elsewhere.” his tone of voice is cold towards you; like always. again, you ignore it.

“please, i’m desperate! my alarm didn't go off and i clearly missed class! i know it was super important too and–can you slow down and listen to me?!” you huff.

jisung lets out an irritated sigh and looks at you; phone in one hand, earphones in the other. he stops in the middle of the corridor and looks at you.

you bend down, hands on your knees to catch your breath. 

“you being late has nothing to do with me. it's your own fault for being late.” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“yeah, i know.”

“you fucked up and now you want my help? how could i possibly help you?”

“i need your notes.”

“my notes? fuck no.” 

“oh please, ji… sorry–jisung. i really, really need this.” you pout. jisung groans and rubs the back of his neck.

“ok, fine.” he sighs in defeat. you're taken aback by how easy it was for him to surrender his notes over to you; but you don't complain. he takes his notebook out of his bag and hands it to you. you cheer and open it up, looking at the notes.

his handwriting is beautiful. his notes are easy to follow, however, you've come to the realisation that looking at notes isn't going to be enough for you to get the information to stick in your mind.

“make sure to give it to me by the end of the day. i’m usually at the library.” he says as you flick through his notes. “if you can't find me, find minho. he's my roommate.” 

you don't respond due to the fact that so much information is causing your brain to go into information overload. jisung sighs again and, as he is about to walk away, you grab his arm.

“wait!” you make a quick mental note of how soft his skin is and how muscular he feels. jisung looks at your hand that's on him, feeling heat quickly rise to his cheeks and his heart to thumb erratically in his chest.

“your hand.” he whispers. you lean in close to get a better understanding of what he just said.

“pardon?”

“hand. your hand. please remove it.”

“oh!” you quickly remove your hand from him. jisung clears his throat and looks down, hoping that his long hair covers his face to hide the blush that's happily sitting on his cheeks.

you see it though and make a note of how adorable he looks. you feel your own heartbeat skipping beats and beating erratically but you put it down to you having to sprint to class.

“i don't think this will be enough.” you start. he looks up at you. “the notes.. i don't think it's going to be enough.”

“well, there's a library and also the internet. there’s this thing called google, so use that.”

“teach me.” his eyes widen in shock.

“t-teach you?! fuck no, yn!”

“please, jisung! just until the test is over! i really, really need this. i’m desperate and, although your notes are so perfect, it's going to take a lot more than notes for me to understand it!”

“then ask the tutor for a one-on-one! or ask your friend!!” he stutters in shock. his cheeks are now bright red.

“you know the tutor doesn't do one-on-ones and my friends don't even take this class! oh please, jisung. pleeeaseee. pretty pretty pleeease.” you pout, giving him puppy eyes.

“yn…”

“i’ll buy you your coffee everyday for a full month.”

“... just my coffee?”

“what sweet treat do you like?”

“...cheesecake.” he answers reluctantly.

“then coffee and cheesecake on me for a full month!” jisung runs his fingers through his hair slowly, a soft, defeated sigh leaving his lips as he contemplates.

“you really need this, huh.” you nod your head fast to the point of dizziness. “you drive a hard bargain, yn. but fine.”

you cheer and grin widely.

“on some conditions though.”

“what?”

“we study in the library, you don't be late and we only do this until the test is over! after that, i won't teach you anymore.”

“yes sir.” you salute. “oh, do you want my contact information? might make it easier to set up study dates.”

“study dates?” 

“yeah! i assume we have different schedules due to different classes, so it's better to text or call each other so we know when to meet up!”

“true.. ok, fine. give me.” you tell jisung your contact information. he phones you and you smile as you save his contact information.

“thank you so much, jisung! you're the best!” you say before sprinting off to find your friend leaving a flustered jisung bewildered in the middle of the corridor.

“study dates, huh.. i kinda like that.” 

────���⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“dude, chill. you're just going to the library to study” jisung’s roommate laughs as he watches jisung scurrying around the place as he packs his bag. 

minho is relaxing on jisung’s bed, shirtless and in sweats with round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose whilst eating an ice pop. him and jisung have been the best of friends since university started and he became jisung’s roommate.

since then, they've both been inseparable. many people speculate that something is going on between the two of them, indicating a relationship–minsung, they call them.

“i am chill.” jisung mumbles as he shoves in a few too many pens into his pencil case.

“yeah, suuuure.” minho laughs as he licks and sucks on his popsicle. “i’ve watched you run around the place like a headless chicken.”

“dude, please hush.” jisung looks at minho just as some sticky sweet ice drops onto minho's chest. he scoops it up with his fingers and eats it. jisungs sighs “do you have to eat that on my bed?”

“yeah. problem?” minho smirks

“yes. quite a few actually. you're going to get the sheets sticky!” jisung whines.

“not the first time i've heard that.” minho laughs at his own joke. jisung rolls his eyes but the corner of his lips turn upright into a smile as he holds back his laugh.

“you're disgusting.”

“yeah? and you're a mess right now, bro.” minho places the wooden popsicle stick on jisung's side table before swinging his legs around to plant his feet on the floor.

he stands and walks to jisung, ruffling his hair a few times.

“you're just going to study, that's all. it's not that big of a deal, bro. unless….” minho smirks and wiggles his brows at jisung.

“unless what? what are you implying, minho?” jisung says as he crosses his arms across his chest and raises his brow.

“unless you, oh i don't know, like her.” jisung's eyes widen a little and he clears his throat, turning his head to avoid eye contact with minho. “aha!! i knew it! you do like ‘em!”

“no, i don't. fuck off, minho.” jisung mumbles and rushes to his desk, messing and organizing a few things to ‘look busy.’

minho skips over to jisung with a smirk. “c’mon ji. we all know you've been smitten with yn since the very beginning. it's soooo obvious!”

“dude, please. i don't like her like that. and it's jisung–not ji!”

“ahuh. whatever you say, dude.” minho laughs. 

“plus, she probably doesn't like me in that way..” jisung mumbles before sighing softly.

“have you asked her that?”

“well… no but–”

“then how do you know?” 

“i just do, ok?! enough with the questions, minho. don't you have that media assignment to do or something?”

“nope.” minho says, popping the p in an obnoxious way. “all done, which means i am a free man.”

“no one is a ‘free man’ in university, minho.” jisung laughs. 

“ugh, you're right. even though one assignment is done, i still have a gazillion more.” minho runs his fingers through his long, shaggy hair. “speaking of which, i best start with at least one of them.”

“good luck, man. you'll do great.” jisung says sarcastically, paring it with a sarcastic grin.

“fuck you. good luck with yn, jisung.” minho turns around and walks out of jisung's bedroom. “hope you get laid!” he shouts.

“fuck you.” jisung laughs. minho sticks his middle finger up at jisung before laughing and closing his bedroom door.

with the last of his things packed, he zips up his back. he checks one last time in the mirror, fixing his hair and spraying his best perfume onto his neck. he puts his hand up to his mouth, huffing on it before sniffing. pulling a face, he grabs a mint and pops it into his mouth, sucking on it as he puts on his shoes and a leather jacket.

“it’s just a study thing. it's not that serious. calm down, jisung.” he mumbles as he laces up his shoes.

but he can't stop his heartbeat from thumping loudly against his ribcage and excitement to rush through his body. his excitement is so big, it makes him shake. 

“it’s not a big deal. she probably doesn't like you that way.” he continues to mumble in an attempt to calm himself down as he takes one last look in the mirror. a smile slowly creeps up onto his face and a small squeal escapes from the back of his throat.

“fuck! i’m so screwed.” 

minho hears this and laughs at his friend's excitement before putting on his headphones. if there's one thing minho loves, is seeing his best friend happy and over the moon. he just hopes he won't get hurt.

“cute.” minho says to himself before typing away at his keyboard. jisung leaves the bedroom and shouts a goodbye to minho before heading out to the library.

nervous doesn't describe how jisung is feeling. as he walks to the library, his legs start to feel like jelly and the urge to turn back strong the closer he gets to his destination. he hopes that you're not there first just so he has time to calm himself down.

he even tries to listen to music in hopes that it would calm him down somewhat. but the soothing sounds of violins and cellos do nothing (he even tried listen to a few seconds of whale noises but even that was useless)

“we’re just studying. nothing more.” he repeats under his breath as he walks inside the library.

the place is nicely decorated, modern with a hint of an historic touch. students at tables and little cubicles, headphones on and studying. some in groups, whispering as they do projects of various kinds. some making the most of how quiet it is to take a quick nap. the occasional rustling of snack packets paired with the occasional crunch breaks the silence every so often.

it's silent but it's lively.

jisung says a few hellos to some students he recognises (either from classes they take together or them being minho's friends) as he searches the area for you.

his heart thumping as he searches. he silently cheers when he can't see you because he has a chance to calm down, but, as he walks to an empty table at the very back of the room, his victory is cut short as he sees you sitting there; ready and waiting.

you have your back to him (and to everyone else) and you're hunched over your notebook. jacket resting on the back seat with your bag on the floor, by your side. jisung takes a quick, small peek over your shoulder to see what you're doing only to see small, quick doodles on the page from boredom.

his heart swells a little as it's another thing he's learnt about you. just when he thinks you couldn't get any more perfect.

“hey, yn.” he whispers only to realise that you won't hear him no matter how many times he calls for you due to the music that's blasting from your earphones. he makes a quick mental note of who you're listening to before trying to get your attention again.

“hey, yn.” he places his hand on your shoulder to which you jump at, causing jisung to jump at your reaction. you look behind you as you take out your earbuds, sighing in relief.

“jesus, jisung. you frightened me.” 

“sorry, yn. i didn't mean to.”

“no, it's ok. my music may have been a little too loud.” you laugh as you put them away and jisung sits next to you on one of the chairs.

“you know you'll get tinnitus if you keep doing that.” 

“yeah… i know. it's a bad habit but music sounds better loud, y‘know!” jisung nods in agreement before pulling out his notebook and pencil case.

you watch him lean down. you take the time to admire him. his hair soft and fluffy. you have to resist the urge to run your fingers through it. a faint smell of strawberries and flowers emits from his hair; a sickly sweet yet pleasant smell.

his skin is dewy and perfect; not a blemish in sight. a beauty mark sits close to his lips. it's a small mark so it's no wonder you never recognised it before.

you notice the way his biceps bulge and flex with every motion of his arms. the chains from his neck dangle a little and his aftershave wafts towards you and tickles your nose hairs.

“you smell so good.“ you mumble. jisung looks at you.

“excuse me?”

“you smell so fucking good.” you repeat and lean in close to him. your hair tickles his jawline and chin as you smell the skin of his neck. “what do you use?”

“...i–urm, i don't know. i just picked it up when i was shopping.” you hum and nod. jisungs soft cheeks slowly start to feel very hot. “personal space, yn. ever heard of it?”

“oh!! sorry. my bad. i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” you laugh awkwardly as a awkward silence falls upon you both.

jisung turns his head away from you so you can't see him but his cheeks are very red and hot as his heart beats fast. 

you were so close to him. so very, very close. he thought he was going to have a heart attack. he could smell you and to him, you smell so delicious and sweet; like vanilla cheesecake. 

“this is not good for my heart.” he mumbles to himself. 

“by the way” you begin. jisung looks at you. you slide a cold coffee and cheesecake in the middle of you both. “told you i’d stick to my end of the bargain.”

“i didn't expect you to do it so soon, yn. it's only the first session.”

you shrug. “a deals a deal.” jisung takes the cheesecake and coffee, sipping on it and humming softly as the bitter, cold taste coats his tastebuds and the caffeine enters his system.

“i didn't know what flavoured cheesecake you like so i hope it's ok.”

“what flavour is it?”

“strawberry”

“mhm, not bad.”

“you don't like strawberry?” you say with a small pout. he shrugs.

“it's fine. not the worst. but it's too sweet for me. i’m a vanilla kinda guy.”

“aah, ok. i’ll make a mental note of that.” you say as you tap your temple, laughing softly. jisung lets out a small puff of air from his nose. you see the corner of his lips curl into a small and that makes you feel like he's accepted you.

“now, enough chitchat. i actually want to be done in a decent time so, let's begin?”

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“sooooo” jisung looks up at minho, his chopsticks half hanging from his mouth, resting on his bottom lip.

the smell of spicy, instant ramen fills the air. minho cooked some food for the two of them as they have both been studying hard for upcoming tests and assignments. 

instant ramen with a slice of cheese on top. rice cakes, fish cakes and other yummy goodnesss swim in the broth. the kitchen looks a mess, pots and pans scattered everywhere–it contributes to the rest of the dorm with the various clothing and shoes scattered around.

“soooo…” jisung repeats, eyebrows raised. his bangs are tied back in a pink hair tie (your pink hair tie), a white vest top and sweats on his body. minho is also in sweats but with an anime print t-shirt and a sanrio clip to hold back his bangs and a pore strip on his nose; getting tighter and tighter by the second.

“have you asked her yet?”

“asked her what?” jisung takes some noodles and a fish cake, putting them on a small, separate plate before grabbing some kimchi.

“dude.” minho rolls his eyes and lets out a long, irritable groan. “for being smart, you sure are dumb.”

“you're just dumb through and through.” jisung smiles playfully as minho sticks his middle finger up at his best friend.

“fuck you.” minho takes a rice cake that's soaked in the ramen broth. he chews it, the sound of sticky, chewy rice cake emits from his mouth. “anyways! have you asked yn about the party?”

jisung lets out a slow grunt. “not this again, minho.” 

“what?!” minho says with a shrug as he continues to chew and talk.

“i already told you, and eeeeveryone else. i don't want a party or anything of the sort, minho. i just want it to be a nice, quiet day.” jisung’s eyes drift to the half chewed rice cake that's being tossed around in minho's mouth. he pulls a face in disgust. “and can you please not talk with your mouth full?”

“you're such a prude.” minho rolls his eyes but swallows his food regardless. “anyways, you know me, changbin and chan won't let you have a quiet birthday!”

“yeah, no shit.” jisung rolls his eyes as he slurps on his noodles. he wipes his mouth with a napkin before munching on some kimchi. “still don't understand why you all decided to plan a birthday party without my knowledge knowing full well i said no in the beginning.”

“dude, you're so boring.” minho jests. “it's your birthday!” he emphasise. “you're supposed to have a party, eat lots of cake and junk. drink beer, hang out with friends and maybe, get laid.”

he wiggles his eyebrows at jisung and laughs softly. with a heavy sigh, jisung puts his chopsticks down.

“no matter what, you're going to go through with this, aren't you?” 

“yup!” minho obnoxiously pops the P. “plus, things have already been ordered and organised for it. we already have a few people who confirmed they're attending.”

“who?”

“mhm–” minho puts down his chopsticks and thinks, looking at the ceiling as he does. “felix from fashion design. hyunjin from art. seungmin from business studies and jeongin who is also from fashion design.”

“how do you know all these people?”

“well, unlike some–” minho's eyes widen as he looks at jisung, indicating he's talking about him in particular “–some of us actually get out. plus, chan is like a social butterfly and changbin is charismatic. put them two together and well, people can't say no.”

“yeah, true. i remember when they begged me to work on a track or something for their music assignment.” 

“they both practically dragged you to do it.” minho laughs.

“only because you told them i said yes without me knowing about the situation!”

“because i knew you'd say no! you have a talent for this stuff, jisung. don't let it go to waste.”

“thanks.” he mumbles, hanging his head low in embarrassment and awkwardness.

“is that… is that a blush i see?!” minho smirks.

“me? blush? for you?! hell no!” jisung frowns. “the ramen is spicy, that's all.”

“dude… it's mild.”

“...fuck you.”

“so, are you going to ask yn or nah?”

“if it gets you and everyone else off my back, then sure”

“good. make sure you do!” jisung opens and closes his hand, mimicking minho's yapping.

“yeah yeah yeah. can we stop talking about this party and eat?”

“just looking out for ya, man. i know how much you like ‘em!” 

“i know. i appreciate it, minho.” minho nods and continues eating the ramen. jisung, on the other hand, is now lost in thought.

how the hell is he going to get the courage to ask you something like that?

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

the study sessions are slowly coming to end. you kept up with your end of the deal, providing jisung with an endless amount of coffees and cheesecakes whilst he has provided you with an endless amount of insights.

one thing you have learnt about him is that he is smart. he knows how to do things with just a quick glance. he's good at explaining things so it's not confusing. 

you've been stuck on a problem for some time and no amount of teachers advice and youtube videos helped you. all it took was five minutes of jisung explaining the solution and it clicked.

today, however, you are alone in the library. jisung messaged you to let you know that he wasn't going to make it. you felt sad and a little heartbroken–you’ve become so accustomed to jisung's presence that you feel a little cold and lonely right now.

you can't concentrate. the music you're blasting down your ears isn't helping either. the text in your book is slowly starting to merge into one big splooge of text. the information just isn't getting through to you and it's frustrating.

you sit back in your seat and sigh as you take your headphones off and throw them on the table. 

“this is pointless.” you mumble. “i can't concentrate. maybe i should just skip it.”

you take your phone and browse through social media before subconsciously opening up the food app. your mouth salivates as you look at the various burgers, fries, pizza and sweet treats–and then your stomach growls.

“maybe i’m just hungry. that's why i can't concentrate.” you pack your things and head to the university cafeteria. the menu looks dull so you settle on a simple sandwich and drink.

the cafeteria is packed. the atmosphere is buzzing with the endless chatter of students. you take your seat and pick up your sandwich.

it's a standard ham salad sandwich with some dressing on. the slices of ham and lettuce (too much lettuce for that matter), tomatoes and other salad stuff squished together by two slices of thick, white bread, smothered in dressing.

you take a few bites. it's ok. it's not bad but you've had better. the bread is a little dry for your liking but the dressing takes that away. you open the cap of your bottled drink and take a few swigs to help wash it down.

“what do we have here?” you turn your head in the direction of the voice–that thick aussie accent you know all too well.

“ew. go away chan. you're disturbing my peace.” 

“charming. don't think that's something you should say to someone you haven't seen in a while.” he says with a pout as he walks to your table and sits down. he's joined by another man, a friend of his, perhaps. he sits opposite you.

“and whose fault is that, huh? maybe if you answered my calls or texts every once in a while.”

“sorry, yn. i’m just a busy man, y’know.” chan grins as he leans back in his seat, brimming with confidence.

“yeah. too busy being the campus whore.”

“blah blah blah. least i’m getting some.” he elbows you in the side a few times. “what are you getting, huh?” he jests.

“a degree? y'know that thing i came here for in the first place.”

“oh ha ha. very funny, yn.” chan mocks, rolling his eyes at you before stealing your sandwich and taking a bite.

the male opposite you clears his throat as a way of telling you both “hi, i’m still here.”

“oh! yn, this is minho. minho, yn.” minho's eyes widen a little and his lips twitch into a small smile.

“so, you're yn. nice to put a face to the name.“ he grins.

“you know me?” you blink a few times in confusion.

“i’m jisung’s roommate.” you mentally slap yourself. of course!

“oh my god. i’m so sorry. i didn't realise! i’m so bad with names.” you whine. minho laughs and brushes it off.

“and how do you know jisung, yn?” chan says with a mouthful of food; your food to be exact. you glare at him, daggers darting out of your eyes and straight into chan as you snatch your sandwich back off him.

“jisung’s my private tutor as of right now.”

“oh.” chan nods before his eyes suddenly light up. he looks at minho for confirmation. “wait, hold up.”

minho nods and smirks. “nah. really?!” you watch the two men talk in code as they communicate by facial expressions and a stings of “ohs” and “yeahs”

“uh, hello. i’m still here!” minho laughs softly.

“sorry, yn.” you shrug it off and eat your sandwich. “how do you two know each other by the way. chan has never mentioned you before.”

“good. keep it that way.” you say coldly, mainly aiming it at chan. chan pouts and nuzzles into you, head on shoulder. he looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout.

“aww. don't be like that, bestie. you secretly love me.” you flick his forehead.

“me and chan are childhood friends. haven't been able to get rid of him since.” chan smiles at your sweet implication. “he's like a parasite. or a fruit fly in the summer.” his smile drops and now, it's your turn to give chan a big, sarcastic grin–teeth and all.

“rude.” he mumbles. you shrug and finish off your sandwich. 

“so, jisung is your tutor.” minho speaks. you nod.  “are you attending his party?” 

“party? what party?” you look at chan and minho. minho sighs a little and runs his fingers through his hair.

“i warned him.” he mumbles under his breath in irritation before looking at you and smiling softly. “me, chan and a few others are organising a birthday party for jisung.”

“his birthday is coming up?!” your eyes widen. “when? i should get him a gift”

“14th.”

“14th?! that's pretty soon.” you mumble.

“jisung told me he would invite you.” you shake your head no. minho rubs the back of his neck. “well, this is awkward.” 

“it’s ok. maybe he has his reasons as to why he didn't mention it to me. no biggie.” you say with a smile. minho nods before a few minutes of silence dawn upon the three of you.

“out of curiosity.” you break the silence. “how is jisung in general?” minho tilts his head to the side. “it's just he seems so….” you think for a second, thinking of the right (and nice) word to use “... cold towards me.”

“cold?” 

“mhm. he seems so bitter towards me and i don't know why. we barely even talked in class but when we did, he would always tell me i’m making too much noise and to hush.” you slowly start to feel slightly irritated. 

“jisung is fine with me.” he says with a. shrug. “he's pretty chill around me.” you huff.

“i know he can be friendly because whenever i see him in the corridors talking to someone, he smiles and is so friendly!”

“what’s he likes now, yn?”

“well, now that we've been spending more time with each other, he's… i don't know… avoiding me to some degree? he won't make eye contact with me. he doesn't like it when i touch him.”

chan raises his brow and looks at minho, both men thinking the same thing. chan puts you in a gentle headlock and ruffles your hair.

“hey!! get off me!!” you push chan a few times, using all your strength to make him release you.

“you're pretty naive, yn.” chan laughs, continuing to ruffle your hair. he ignores your screams and yells, minho laughing at the two of you.

finally, chan let's you go. you push him with all the strength you have left before fixing your hair and glaring at him. chan pouts and nuzzles into you once again.

“i’m sorry, yn. forgive me?” he puckers his lips and makes kissing noises, edging closer and closer to you. you hold him at arm's length.

“ok ok!! just quit doing that!!” chan laughs and pats your head gently.

as fast as he was in the cafeteria, jisung is soon out of it after seeing you and chan, with nothing but festering jealousy in his stomach.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

you bounce through the library to your designated spot at the very back, coffee and cheesecake in each hand with your bag swinging on your shoulder.

jisung is there, punctual, as always. but something seems a little off. the air around him seems thick and suffocating–dark even. 

“hey!” your cheerful voice ringing in his ears, making his heart beat fast. you sit next to him and slide over the coffee and cheesecake.

today he's dressed in a yellow and orange flannel shirt and white tank-top. black jeans and boots to accommodate. a few of his nails are painted in black, chipping from wear and tear.

he gives you a cold nod of the head. you frown a little but choose to ignore it as you take your books and pens out of your bag.

“so, what's the plan for today?” jisung shrugs. “...ok, well how about we go over that question i was struggling with?”

“k” he reluctantly moves closer to you. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla wafts towards you and tickles your nostrils, making you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

“you smell good, jisung.”

“mhm, thanks.” you let out a silent sigh. something is wrong with him and you don't know why. is it something you've done? something you haven't done? 

jisung is being very dry and sour with you. his usual method of teaching you is that he would go into detail and repeat until you'd understand it, today, however, he's very short and sharp.

“i don't understand.” you say. jisung sighs, a long irritated sigh. you bite your lip, thinking that you've done something to hurt him in any possible way.

“what don't you get?”

“all of it…” he sighs again and rubs his face. his eyebrows furrow together in irritation. the jealousy he is feeling in his stomach is festering, becoming more and more intense.

every time he looks at you, he is reminded of the way you and chan were together. he hates that. how could you fall for someone like chan? he thought you were better than that. his head swimming with negative and harsh thoughts.

before he can stop himself, the words just spill without any control. “why don't you get chan to do it for you.”

you blink. “chan? what does he have to do with this?”

“i mean, you two are close are you not?”

“i mean.. well, yeah, i guess.” you shrug. “he does get on my nerves sometimes though. he is such a pain! but he's a good gu–”

“i thought you were better than that, yn.’ he spits.

“the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you feel the bubbling of rage in your stomach as you stare at jisung, who stares at you back. the jealousy has consumed his body and it's too late to back out now.

“as in, i thought you had standards. chan? of all people? he's a whore, yn. everyone knows that he sleeps around on campus and you chose him?!”

“i don't appreciate the way you're talking about him, jisung.”

“it’s the truth, yn! and you know it so why are you with him?! you can do sooo much better than him!!”

“oh yeah?” you challenge. “then who is good for me, mhm? please, enlighten me?” 

jisung freezes. he looks away and chews his bottom lip. you scoff and pack your things in a hurry.

“i don't have to listen to this bullshit. you've been in a shit mood with me this whole time, which is fine. everyone has bad days. what's not ok, however, is you taking it out on me and bad mouthing the people i care about.” you stand up, swinging your bag onto your shoulder. jisung stares at one spot of the desk, burning holes into it. “text me when you're in a better mood.”

you walk out, leaving jisung to think about what he has just done.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“jisunggggg. sungieeee. knock, knock. let me innn!” the sound of minho's high-pitched, cheery voice irritates jisung to the bone. he lets out a slow and irritated groan, hot puffs of air slowly exhaling from his nostrils.

he pushes his glasses up his nose and runs his fingers through his unwashed hair. sitting at his desk in the same baggy band t-shirt and sweats from a few days ago, he checks his phone for the nth time, only to be disappointed.

he hasn't spoken to you nor seen you since that day. in class, it's worse. he's tried to catch your eye a few times, smiling when he does, only for you to turn away. he spent days loathing in his own self pity, locking himself up in his room and only coming out for food, bathroom breaks and class.

minho has had enough. not only is jisung's mood ruining the atmosphere, but minho has no idea as to what happened that day. he was home when jisung came back to the dorm, looking like he was on the verge of tears. 

when he asked, jisung always gave the same answer of “mind your own business.”–and he has; for several days now.

“let me in, jisung.” the repetitive sounds of minho's knuckles against the wood door cause jisung's stomach to bubble more intensely with anger–until he finally snaps.

he rushes to the door and swings it open, brows furrowed together. minho's smug grin makes him foam at the mouth.

“what part of leave me alone don't you understand, minho?” jisung's words dripping with poison. minho shrugs it off.

“all of it.” he pushes past jisung, making himself at home in his bedroom. jisung has no time to protest, all he can do is watch his best friend jump on his bed and rest on his back, arms behind his head.

with a heavy sigh, jisung walks back to his desk. he turns his back on him, hoping that if he ignores his friend, he will get bored and eventually leave. minho watches his friend pick up and put down his phone several times to the point where minho feels irritated by it.

“so?” minho starts

“so?” jisung repeats

“going to tell me what's happened? haven't seen you this down in a while.”

“nope. i'm good.”

“you can't keep moping around the place, jisung.”

“i can and i will.” minho groans and stands up, walking out of the bedroom. jisung mentally cheers only for it to be cut short when minho throws his jacket at jisung.

“put it on.” it's more of a demand than a sentence, but nonetheless, jisung obliges because if he doesn't, minho will force it on him.

“where are we going?”

“to the cafe.” minho puts on his shoes, jisung following suit.

“aah, dude.. i don't really fe–”

“shut up, we're going to the cafe whether you want to or not. a change of scenery might cheer your moody ass up because, to be quite honest, i’m tired of seeing your gloomy ass face.” he looks at jisung who is frowning at him. “in the nicest way possible, of course.”

jisung rolls his eyes before following minho to the local (and one of his favourite) cafes. 

it's a small, local café with an old fashioned sense of style to it. the tables and chairs are worn. cushions on the chairs losing their stuffing and the tables scratched and chipped. the décor is outdated, indicating that the café has been there for quite a few years; but it feels like home to some.

the bell above the door chimes as minho and jisung walk in. they walk to the counter and say their orders before taking their lunch and drinks and sitting at a table.

jisung takes a sip of the coffee. he feels the ice cold beverage trickling down his esophagus and into his empty stomach. minho munches on his chicken salad sandwich, watching his friend look in his drink and ponder.

“i fucked up.” jisung mumbles, lost in thought. the more he thinks about you, the more he can feel the tears threaten to spill down his cheeks. minho tilts his head to the side and as he is about to open his mouth and encourage his friend to continue, a familiar sound in the form of a laugh causes jisung's head to shoot up and look in that direction.

his eyes widen. he feels relief and happy to see a smile finally on your face; but then that same, the green monster in the form of jealousy parks itself on his shoulder and starts whispering in his ear.

minho watches jisung's jaw muscles clench. his facial expression goes from relief to jealousy. minho follows jisung's gaze and raises his brow at the sight of you and chan.

chan is being his usual, goofy self. he's telling you typical dad jokes and being a little grotest by telling you his latest hook-up details. you push him by the arm and roll your eyes, sipping your coffee in the process. chan continues to joke around with you, play fighting a little by wrapping his arm around the back of your neck loosely and rubbing the top of your head with his knuckles.

“i can't fucking stand this.” jisung mutters bitterly under his breath. minho turns and looks at his friend who is green with jealousy.

“stand what?”

“seeing someone as precious and innocent as yn be with someone like chan!” minho blinks a few times.

“what do you… jisung, what do you think yn and chans relationship is?”

“isnt it obvious? they're going out!” minho gives jisung a few blank stares and blinks before bursting out into laughter, choking on his own saliva in the process. “what?!” 

jisungs cheeks flush red with embarrassment but also with anger. his own friend laughing at his statement, finding amusement in his sorrows.

“are you serious? please tell me you're joking?” minho stutters through his giggles.

“dead serious.” jisung says, deadpan. “don't you see the way they are with each other? i saw you all the other day, in the cafeteria! chan's arm around yn and them being all…. lovey!!” 

“oh my god.” minho calms himself down. “you really are serious!”

“i told you! i even asked yn about it and well… it didn't go so well.”

“is that why you've been so moody and upset lately?” jisung nods his head slowly, feeling some type of guilt. minho sighs heavily, wondering how he can soften the blow of the news he's about to give his best friend.

“jisung…” minho starts. “yn and chan are not dating.” jisung's face drops.

“excuse me?”

“they're not dating. they're just childhood best friends. apparently they've known each other since they were kids. “

“so you're telling me.. that i got it all wrong when i saw you three in the cafeteria?“ minho slowly nods whilst giving a sympathetic smile. jisung sits back in his seat in disbelief. “why did chan never mention yn?! fuck, i fucked up… i really, really fucked up…” 

“oh, c’mon. it can't be that bad.” minho tries to lighten the situation.

“dude. i told her i thought she had standards! i called her best friend a whore!”

“i mean, chan is a whore. he knows he is and he doesn't hid–”

“dude, please.” jisung interrupts. “not right now.” minho shrugs and sips his coffee whilst jisung rubs his face whilst groaning. “what do i do?”

“well.” minho puts down his coffee. “you make it right. admit you were in the wrong. explain how you were a jealous lil guy because you like her and that you fucked up.”

“and how do i do that? she’s been avoiding me for weeks and it’s not like i can go up to her right now and be like oh hey yn, sorry i called your best friend a whore oh, by the way, i like you.” jisung mocks himself in a high pitched voice, his face turning red in frustration.

“you're so dramatic.” minho rolls his eyes with a soft, yet heavy sigh. “for a smart guy, you're pretty dumb too.”

“pft, am not!” jisung scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. “... only when it comes to stuff like this.” he mumbles. “i just… don't know what to do or how to fix it. i really, really like her, minho.”

“ok? and? what do you want me to do about it? there's no point telling me about your feelings for yn. i'm not the one that fucked up and then decided to hold myself up in my room to drown in my own self-pity.” minho says with a shrug.

to the outside world, minho's words sound harsh but to jisung, it's a reality check. 

he sighs softly for the nth time as he glances over at you. he watches you laugh and smile with chan, soaking in your beauty and the way you glow with happiness. 

“to make it easier for you.” minho breaks the few seconds of silence between the two, feeling a little responsible for his friend in need. “i may have mentioned your birthday party to yn.”

“what?! why?”

“bro, you weren't going to mention it! so i just.. did you a favour.” minho shrugs, a smug look on his face.

“... is she coming?”

minho shrugs. “dunno. she seemed interested at least but this was before you called her best friend a whore so–”

“that was an accident. i didn't mean to.. i just got too–”

“worked up? jealous perhaps?” minho says, or rather states, with a raised brow. jisung hums and nods his head slowly, teeth chewing on his bottom lip. 

minho chews on his straw as he watches his friend think. he can see the cogs turning in jisung's skull. jisung is inexperienced when it comes to relationships so seeing him like this, brings minho slight amusement.

“look, jisung. if she turns up, you approach her and apologise whilst also telling her how you feel.” minho holds his hand up to jisung who is just about to protest but is quick to close his mouth and listen. “if she doesn't turn up, you find her the next day, apologise and tell her how you feel. heck, text her if you have to!”

“dude… you know i can't do that!”

“ok. then you have the other option, which is to keep wallowing in your self pity and watch yn from the sidelines.” minho shrugs. “i don't know dude. be the main character for once. you clearly like her so take the chance.”

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

jisung's birthday rolled around. you haven't heard nor spoken to him since the argument so you didn't originally plan on turning up to his birthday party; but chan being chan is forcing you to go as his plus one.

“is this ok?” you smooth down your party outfit as you present yourself to chan. chan is sitting at your dressing table, dressed in blue, skinny jeans, a compression shirt that hugs and molds his muscles and combat boots. a silver chain around his neck, earrings in one ear and a few rings on his fingers.

he looks up from his phone and smirks playfully. he wolf whistles at you to which you scoff and roll your eyes at.

“looking good there, yn.”

“really? i threw this together at the last minute.’

“you look great, don't worry. you're gonna knock ‘em dead.” chan laughs.

“i really don't want to go, chan.” you groan.

“weeeell, too late. you're coming with me to this party, even if i have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.”

chan has heard about your little argument with jisung from minho. the two of them had a drink together during the week and chan listened to minho vent about jisung.

once minho mentioned the fight did it all come together. you've been feeling down and withdrawn, not knowing what to do or how to deal with your feelings. you've put on a fake smile and basically faked your way through the weeks–but chan has known you for years so he can see through you, he just didn't want to press you.

you'll come to him when the time is right; you always do.

“do i have to?” you ask for the nth time whilst putting on your shoes. chan laughs at your contradicting actions and shakes his head before standing up.

“yes, you do. it'll be fun and hopefully, it'll lift your spirits.” you pout.

“i have been a little moody lately, haven't i?” chan raises his brows and scoffs.

“a little!? pur-lease! i thought knives were going to spawn out of your eyes at one point.”

“mhm.. i’m sorry chan. it's just been a long couple of weeks with a lot of thinking.” you sigh softly. chan elbows your side gently.

“hey. let's not think about that right now. let's go to this party, have a couple of drinks and a dance, yeah?” you nod slowly.

“not like i have a say in this.”

“that's my girl. now.” chan grabs your hand gently and pulls you to the front door. “let's go have some fuuuun!!!”

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

it's loud. the bass of the music rings in your ears and shakes the ground beneath you.

it smells. the stench of stale cigarettes, sweat and alcohol tickles your nostrils and causes you to feel lightheaded and nauseous.

you've tried several times to turn away and head back but chan was always right there.

chan abandoned you to go chat up some girls so you're sat on the sofa, surrounded by people making out, drinking or passing out (if they haven't already)

you hold your red, plastic solo cup which is filled halfway with some punch. the smell is pungent and the taste is awful. it's too strong for your liking so you take small, delicate sips.

as the night rolls on, you have yet to see jisung. not that you want to but, it would help you feel some comfort and less suffocated to see a familiar face.

you glance at your phone screen. 11:20 pm. it's soon time for you to leave. you don't want to be here any longer than you have to and considering that chan has left you alone, you don't feel the need to be here any more.

you stand up from the couch to walk to the kitchen. you shimmy your way in and out of crowds of people who are dancing, talking or making out with someone that they won't remember tomorrow.

you pour your drink down the sink and throw away your empty cup. as you're about to turn and leave, a familiar voice is heard from behind.

“yn. hi.”

you turn on your heels and a sense of relief washes over you as you come face to face with a face you've been longing to see (even if you don't want to admit it)

you forget why you're so angry at him for a split second. his beauty never fails to make you feel star struck and silently go “wow.” but then you remember.

“hi.” you reply coldly.

“can i talk to you?” he shouts, hoping his voice isn't drowned out by the music.

“not right now. i was just about to leave.” you walk past him to leave. jisung grabs your arm gently to stop you. you look at him and he is quick to remove his hand.

“please? just… let me explain…” he chews his bottom lip, his brows scrunched together in the middle. you think for a second and sigh softly, nodding slowly.

“ok. fine. but make it quick.” you swear you see the corner of jisung's lips curl into a subtle smile, his eyes lighting up a little. he beckons you to follow him so you do.

you follow him outside. compared to inside, where it's hot and humid, the harsh, cold night air is refreshing and soothes your damp skin.

“look.” he starts as he stops walking to turn to you. “i know i was a complete asshole.” you scoff but don't say anything. “it's just… aah fuck, how do i say this.”

you watch jisung slowly become flustered. the tips of his ears turn red, his hands clammy as he shakes a little. he shuffles on his feet to shift his weight and avoids eye contact with you.

“fuck.. this is so hard… minho said it'd be easy once i get talking but fuck minho.” jisung rambles to himself. the anger you felt slowly disappears and is replaced with… joy? 

your stomach feels a little bubbly and tingly with excitement as you watch this nerd, whom you've grown so accustomed to, become easily flustered and shy because of you.

“just say what's on your mind, jisung.” you say with a shrug. his eyes flicker at you for a second before looking to the ground.

“ok.. well…” he takes a deep breath. ”i like you and i always have and the reason why i got so pissed and called chan a whore, who i later found out was your childhood best friend, was because i was jealous of how close he was to you and i saw red and i didn't mean it. in fact, i've been cooped up in my bedroom in my own self-pity because i'm a coward and i don't deserve someone as wonderful as you and i’m really sorry. can you forgive me for being a lil silly?”

you blink at him several times. jisung dared take a breath during his little speech so all the information that has suddenly been laid on you, isn't going through your head right now.

“ah fuck.. i fucked up again, haven't i?” jisung shakes, his voice wavering as it breaks the tension in the air. his nerves shaking his body as a shaky hand picks at the skin around his fingernails. “god i knew i shouldn't have said anything. why did i take minho's dumb advice.”

“i… i don't know what to say, jisung. it's all so much.” you say in pure shock.

“oh, that's ok! i’m not looking for an answer right now. please, take your time. i just wanted you to know my true feelings and why i acted out. the last thing i want is for you to feel forced.”

“so let me get this straight. the reason you acted out is because you got jealous of chan, thinking that we were dating?” you watch jisung slowly nod his head, his cheeks turning pink; whether that's from embarrassment or from the harsh cold air. “and that you.. like me?”

jisung nods again. “silly, right?” he laughs, trying to soothe himself of the raging anxiety that's heavy in his heart and stomach.

“no.. no! not at all. i think it's kinda… cute.” 

“cute?”

“yeah. i mean, well, being away from you has got me thinking about me, you and well.. us and how i feel.” jisung walks closer to you, closing the gap between you both.

“and how do you feel, yn?” you swallow a little. the atmosphere has suddenly shifted between you both. jisung is close to you, his body daring to press against you.

you can see every detail of his honey skin under the faint moonlight. the cold breeze sweeps between his hair strands. a faint hint of cinnamon and apple from his aftershave tickles and hugs your nose making you inhale deeply for more.

“at first, i was angry at you. i didn't understand why you were so angry. but i spoke to chan about it and during the conversation, he made me realise something.”

“what?” jisung encourages. he gingerly places his hands on your waist, unsure and testing the waters. his touch is as light as a feather and when you don't push him away, his grip becomes firm. 

“that maybe, i like you too and i have for the longest time. i just never realised it because i thought you hated me but, when we spent all that time together, i started to notice the smallest of things about you and i found them to be so cute. but they're cute because it's you.” 

you slowly run your hands up his chest to his shoulder. his breath hitches and body trembles from your touch. with more confidence, jisung pulls your body flush against his own, closing the gap completely.

“so, you like me too?” his voice dips to a whisper. you hum and nod slowly. “do you have any idea how happy that makes me?”

“why don't you show me.” you whisper against his lips, teasing him by brushing yours against his slowly and gently. they feel soft and plump, kissable even. 

“you're playing a dangerous game, yn. you have no idea how long i've wanted you.”

“show me.” you whisper again, furthering your teasing by ever so lightly licking his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue.

“fuck.” jisung groans. his lips crash against yours in a heated kiss that's filled with longing. your eyes widen a little but are quick to flutter close. you melt into the kiss, the both of you becoming synchronised instantly.

you tilt your head to the side a little to allow jisung to deepen the kiss. he licks your bottom lip and you part your lips slowly.

his tongue slides in to meet yours and you're in a battle of dominance that you lose. jisung's hot kisses make you melt and crave for more. you forget about your surroundings, forget where you are. everything is a buzz in your ears and you can only focus on you, jisung and how your body is tingling and twitching.

jisung is the first to pull away. he pants heavily, his own body trembling with excitement. 

“wow.” you hum in agreement. as soon as his lips are off yours, you want them back on you again; whether that's on your own lips or on your body, you don't care as long as you get to feel the softness again.

“is this real?” he asks.

“it's real.” you respond, giggling softly. “and i’m not drunk either so.”

“so, what does this make us?” jisung cautiously asks. he wants to have an idea of what you two are slowly becoming. he wants to make sure you're both on the same page.

“whatever you want us to be, jisung.”

“well, i want you to be mine. i want to show you off to the world, proudly. i want everyone to know that you belong to me. i want to spend every single second of the day with you and during the night, i want to spend every single second caressing your body from head to toe. i want to soak myself in every single bit of detail from your body. i want to drown you in pleasure and my love.” 

you swallow and let out a small, shaky breath at the implications behind his words. your body trembles with excitement and anticipation from where tonight is going to end and for the future with jisung.

“then.. shall we go ditch the party and go back to mine? because i want that too.” with a fast nod of the head, jisung holds your hand and is quick to make way to yours.

“let's go and let's be quick. i want to make you mine, in more ways than one.”

[leashybebes]

living at the edge of the world (1/2)

okay here we go folks. will post to ao3 once i have the second part done (fingers crossed for tomorrow!) and have polished it up a bit, but here's an expanded version of this for everyone who was screaming at me 😘

The helicopter is twisted wreckage, and Buck's first thought is about Tommy. But not - not about Tommy being in there, just in the way he thinks about Tommy every time he sees or hears a helicopter, every time he hears the bounce of a basketball, every time he smells sandalwood, every time he sees a standoffish cat of the type Tommy would immediately fall in love with, apparently adoring the little monsters all the more the less interest they showed in his attention.

But he's not thinking about Tommy being in there. He's not really thinking about anyone being in there - surely it's too much of a crumpled mess to hold a living person. It's Chim and Hen that tip him off, the way Hen glances at Chim in one of their moments of wordless communication and the way Chim immediately gets up from where he's on his knees next to the chopper, peering through the shattered window. Chim scrambles upright and jogs in Buck's direction, getting a hand on his chest and bringing him to a halt.

"Buck. Hang back, man."

It takes Buck a second to register the look on Chim's face, another second to look over his shoulder at where he can see, from this angle, an arm inside a blue flight suit, bent at a horrible angle.

"Oh - oh god - "

"Buck. You gotta breathe, or you gotta remove yourself from the situation," Chim tells him.

"I'm good," Buck says, distantly aware of Hen saying careful, easy, barely audible over the sound of metal screeching as two firefighters from the 217 go to town on the chopper with the jaws.

Chim looks at him for a long moment, then lets him pass. It's even worse up close, now he can see the extent of the damage to the chopper, now it's been peeled open to give Hen room to work. Now he can see the blood. Now he can see Tommy. 

He's alive. He's even awake, blinking up at the sky, one side of his familiar face a mask of blood. His hair is matted with it, and there's more soaking his flight suit, at the arm and maybe more worryingly, around what Buck can see of his abdomen.

Hen glances away from Tommy for a second, sends Buck a split-second look.

"You got this?" she asks, already back to working on Tommy.

"Y-yeah," Tommy says, sounding shaky.

"I got it," Buck says, and Hen has to reach out with both hands to pin Tommy in place because he tries to move immediately, turning towards the sound of Buck's voice.

"Hey, hey, Tommy, I need you to stay still for me, okay?" Hen says urgently.

"E-Evan?"

The talking to civilians part of him takes over and Buck is distantly aware that another part of him is howling, begging and pleading for a little more time, a miracle, for anything not this.

"Yeah," he says, ducking close enough that Tommy can see him and doing his best to stay out of Hen's way. "Yeah, hey, I'm here."

Tommy's eyes, which are already wide and panicky, pupils dilated with pain and - Buck hopes - medication, brim with tears.

"Oh - oh my god. H-hey, Evan."

"Hey, Tommy."

Hen waves her hand in a keep him talking gesture and Buck nods, squeezing Tommy's hand. 

"You're okay," he lies. "Just keep still and let Hen - "

Tommy interrupts him with a sob. "I'm so sorry. Evan, I'm - god, in a - in a lifetime of shitty decisions, it was the worst mistake I ever made. Evan - Evan, I'm so sorry. You made me so happy. You woulda made me so happy if I just - fuck - if I just let you."

"Hey, hey, c'mon. It's okay. I got you, Tommy, it's okay."

Tommy tries to shake his head, and Buck braces him to stop him, holding him still while Chim gets a C collar on him.

"Listen," Tommy gasps out. "Listen to me. You didn't do anything wrong. You're brave and you're beautiful and you're - you're so good, Evan. It wasn't your fault. You didn't - you didn't do anything wrong. You don't need to feel guilty or - "

"H-hey, stop it," Buck says. "We're not doing that. I know you're a movie guy, but we're not doing dramatic goodbyes, okay? We'll talk. We'll talk in the hospital, okay?"

Tommy's teeth are chattering. He looks grey. But he's determined to get more heartbreaking words out, apparently, so Buck squeezes his hand and soothes him through it.

"I'm s-s-so s-s-s-self-ish," Tommy says.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'm so - Evan, I'm so glad you're here."

Buck blinks hard. He won't cry. He won't let Tommy see anything other than hope on his face. "Hey, hey, me too. Wouldn't be anywhere else. Just hold on, babe, it's gonna be - "

"So - so glad I got to s-s-see y-y-you." Tommy laughs wetly, and it makes an awful noise rattle through his chest. "'m such - such an asshole."

"No you're not, Tommy, of course you're not."

Tommy's eyelids flutter, and then they close.

"No, n-no, come on, Tommy, eyes on me, baby please," Buck begs.

"On three," Hen says, and Chim shoves Buck aside to help her.

Tommy's hand falls from his, and Buck tries not to think about last times. 

They get him out of the wreckage and he makes a hurt noise, but he doesn't speak. Buck realizes he's still on his knees, that every bit of thought he has is focused on just - just breathing when a hand lands on his shoulder. He looks up, blinks, tries to focus. Lets himself be pulled to his feet.

"Go," Bobby tells him.

"I - I can stay," Buck says, because the scene is still a shit show and he has a job to do, and - 

"No, you can't," Bobby says kindly, and that's when Buck realizes he's shaking. All over, full-body shakes.

"B-bobby - "

Bobby hugs him, hard and brief, then claps him on the shoulder and pushes him towards the ambulance.

Tommy codes three times on the way to the hospital. 

Buck squeezes his hands together so tight his knuckles go white. Tries to stay out of the way. Wishes more than anything that he was the praying kind.

tagging some potentially interested parties. let me know if you want on or off the list for part 2!

@geddyqueer @adiprose @peapodbond @poppyspoppy @stolemyhheart @screamlet @buck-unbewildered @beanarie @chococara25 @fenrirscarsback @hyperfocusthusly @trombonechurchill @thegingerparty @setmeatopthepyre @rcmclachlan @espressotonicc

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Rotting Sunflowers (Genshin Impact)

Pairing: Capitano x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of rotting, suggestive

A/N: He's here!! This is the SFW version <3 If you'd like the NSFW one (f!reader, m!reader, and nb!reader versions available), head on over to my AO3

Request Status: Open

Capitano had been by your side since you became emperor. He was a gift from your parents' for your coronation before they retired to the countryside manor. One of the strongest knights in the nation, he used to be stationed up north before moving to the capital. He was now the Head Knight and your personal bodyguard.

You didn't know what you would do without him. He was strong, resilient, kind, and a welcome ally amongst traitors that had weaseled their way into your court. There wasn't a day that went by where you didn't seek out his wisdom. He had become your rock. But as a rock, he never cracked around you. He never showed his face and never talked about his past. He was focused solely on the present and the future.

"Master, you have been lounging an awful lot these days." Capitano said, leaning over you. "Are you alright?"

You hummed and opened your eyes. "Am I not allowed to rest?"

"I suppose not. But you must not neglect your duties, Master." 

"Do I have to go to the meeting?"

"You skipped the last three."

You were currently laying down on the couch in the reading room. You had been spending time here often, wanting to get away from the sudden onslaught of meetings and revisions of petty laws. Capitano was at your side, like usual. He peered down at you. You couldn't see through his dark mask, making you frown.

"Capitano…"

"Yes?"

"I want to see your face."

He let out a sigh. "My Empress, I cannot. I told you, it is not suitable for royalty to see."

You pouted and crossed your arms. "You follow every command except that one… Typical."

"Please, just accept my reasoning."

"Fine."

You huffed and sat up. You had been dallying for too long. You knew that you needed to get up and actually do some work. The council said there would be a ball tomorrow. They had been working on it for over three months. You had decided to take a step back. You were never one for balls and all the socializing that came with it. Everyone was always trying to get in your good graces to stab your back later. You would never allow that to happen.

Capitano stayed close to your side. He was tall, intimidating, and was one of the reasons people rarely tried anything physical against you. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand. He may have been your knight, but you yearned for more. Not only would he make an amazing emperor, but a great husband as well. You wanted him and only him.

"The Empress has arrived." Capitano announced as he opened the door to the meeting room.

You walked in with your head held high. "Good afternoon, everyone."

Less than enthusiastic greetings graced your ears as you sat at the head of the table. You sat down and leaned back in your seat. Your eyes scanned over each member of your court. It wasn't really your court. Your parents may have crowned you as the ruler of this country, but they still pulled the strings through the court. It wasn't ideal, but there wasn't much you could do about it either. It would take ages to replace all of them.

"Good afternoon, your majesty." The man to your left, Ivan, cleared his throat. "We have updates to give you."

"Good." You hummed. Capitano stood closely behind you. You sighed softly at his comforting presence. "Update me on the working trade agreements first."

Ivan shuffled the papers in his hands. "Most of the regions have agreed to the new terms."

"Most?" You reached your hand out for the papers. 

He handed them to you. You started to shuffle through. The worst thing about being the new ruler of this nation is that no one expected you to rule. Despite all the classes, the training, studying anything and everything you could, no one believed in you. The first thing you did after your coronation was go over every single policy and agreement with other regions. You never thought your parents fully took advantage of the region's resources. And you wanted to fix that.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw which region hadn't agreed yet. "Natlan? I thought we had good rapport with them."

"We do." Ivan said. His tone was almost… nervous. "They will agree after tomorrow."

You looked over at him. "Do they want to talk about the agreement at the ball?"

He didn't answer. You frowned. Something was wrong. You looked over to the rest of the court. They were all avoiding eye contact. Capitano must have sensed something as well. He moved from behind your chair to next to you. You crossed your arms.

"What are you hiding?"

"Tomorrow isn't a ball. It's a wedding."

"What?"

"Your wedding."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Your wedding? You had absolutely no interest in getting married unless it was to one person and one person only. Your heart thudded in your chest. No one else spoke up. This ball they were planning for three months was actually a wedding. You tensed up and slammed the papers down on the table. Everyone flinched.

"You planned my wedding behind my back?!"

Ivan quickly raised his hands in a placating manner. "We had to, Empress! You would have never agreed otherwise!"

"Of course I wouldn't have!" You hissed. "Who even is it?!"

"Prince Ororon of Natlan. He won't ascend the throne, so we thought it best if he married you."

You could feel your face turn red in anger. "You thought best and didn't even ask me!?"

Another court member spoke up. "Your majesty, it's stated within the laws that the ruler of our great nation must be wed. It's been two years since your coronation. We cannot wait any longer."

You silently cursed to yourself. That damned law was one of the many traditions you couldn't change. You thought you could distract them, but your time had run out. If you were to deny this, you'd either be cast out or beheaded. Neither of which seemed like a good alternative.

You felt Capitano's hand on your shoulder. That just made everything even worse. How could you marry someone when the man you loved was right there? You gritted your teeth and squeezed your fists together. You wanted nothing more than to tell everyone to shove this marriage up their asses.

"Your Majesty…" Ivan cleared his throat. "You must marry."

A glare appeared on your face. "I know I must! It doesn't mean I'll be happy with it."

"Please stay calm." Capitano murmured softly. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Someone just tell me the details of tomorrow."

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over wedding details. You felt like your head would explode. And yet, through it all, Capitano stayed by your side. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pure heartbreak. You wanted to run away with him. But you couldn't abandon your people. Not after all the hard work you had done. 

You paced in your room anxiously. Capitano watched you as he stood by the wall. The wedding was planned down to the very minute detail. You wouldn't even meet Prince Ororon until you were walking down the aisle. A frustrated groan left your lips as you continued pacing.

"Master, please do not be angry."

You shot a glare at Capitano. "I have every right to be."

"You cannot let them do this to you. You are not being married off. Someone is marrying you. You will still have just as much power."

"That power means nothing if I am forced to marry someone I do not love."

Capitano shook his head softly. "We must all do things we do not want to do."

You rolled your eyes and stopped in front of him. "Not helping."

"I will still be here, Master."

That's right. Capitano has to watch you marry a complete stranger when he was the one you should be marrying. You realized all your time had run out. You turned to him fully and walked up to him. He straightened his broad shoulders. He gazed down at you through his mask. That stupid mask…

"Take it off." You said. Your voice was soft yet firm.

"I told you, Master. You do not want to see my face."

“Please…” You murmured, you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. “I want to do this. Before it’s too late.”

Capitano sighed but it broke him down. How could he not when you were to be wed tomorrow? You were already devastated by the marriage. This would change nothing. So he leaned back against the wall and slowly took off his helmet. His face was scarred with what looked a black rot. Blue lightning shaped streaks shot diagonally down his face. 

You reached out and gently cupped his cheek. “So handsome.”

“Master, you flatter me. But I know how I truly look.”

“Handsome.” You repeated sternly. 

"This is a face marred by a curse that I must bear."

"What happened?"

His eyebrows furrowed as if painful memories flooded his mind. "There was a war. Long… long ago. I live with the consequences of that war. And now I'm the decayed and disfigured man you see before me. I am but a husk of who I was before."

Your heart broke at his words. You couldn't accept that he thought of himself like that. You didn't say anything and only gazed up at him. He shook his head and raised his hand to cover yours. You couldn’t help yourself. You have waited long enough. You didn’t want to stop at seeing his face, no matter what he said. With a soft sigh of longing, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

Capitano didn’t know what to do. He lifted his hands up and away from your body. You kept kissing him, savoring the feel of his lips. His hands were frozen in midair as if he didn’t want to touch you. After a long moment, you pulled back and stared into his deep blue eyes. He stared back. 

“I love you, Capitano.”

His eyes widened. “You can’t say that, Master!”

"I can." You whispered. You leaned in and kissed his scarred neck. "I need to. Please… Please say it back."

Capitano didn't answer for a moment. A wave of anxiety washed over you. What if he didn't feel the same? What if this whole time you pined over him, he never developed feelings for you? Just the thought of that squeezed at your heart. But it didn't last long. Capitano cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He leaned down and kissed you passionately.

Nothing else mattered at that moment. You pushed the wedding out of your mind. You focused only on Capitano. Your head tilted to the side as you deepened this kiss. His lips were rough yet loving at the same time. Your arms wrapped around him as he pushed back against you. Heat slowly filled your body. You wanted him. You need him.

Capitano pulled back, making you whine at the sensation. He stared down at you. "I love you."

Those were the only words you ever needed to hear. Your eyes welled with tears as you pulled him down again. Tonight, you would only focus on him. He would take over your world. You would live out your dreams of being his and only his. Just one more moment of happiness before your life was ripped away from you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You looked at yourself in the mirror. The white dress sparkled in the morning light. It fit like a glove. It was absolutely perfect. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to smile. Your hand shakily smoothed out the fabric of your dress. Memories of last night wouldn't leave your mind. It was all you could think of.

"Master. It's time."

You turned around. Capitano was in his ceremonial wear. His face was once again hidden by his mask. And yet, you could still see his face. You nodded slowly. You wanted to pretend that you were marrying him. Not a stranger. But real life wasn't as kind. Your shoulder straightened and you walked to the double doors. Behind those doors was the start of the rest of your life.

"Are you ready?" Capitano asked softly.

"I have to be."

"Master…"

You couldn't bear hearing anything else from him. "Please, open the doors."

He hesitated but did as you said. The doors opened, revealing the decorated room filled with people to witness a new age. Your eyes focused down the aisle. There stood Prince Ororon. He was tall, pale, with dark blue hair. His eyes met yours. You steeled yourself. This was it. With one final breath, you walked away from Capitano and towards your new husband.

[honey-tongued-devil]

Rain Design (huits)

As I was saying in the Phantom post, since I've resumed writing the missing chapters of "Hide us in the shadow" (you can find it on ao3 or clicking the link) , I've decided to finally post some designs of the various ghouls. The two forms of Rain are because, in my headcanon, water ghouls are the ones who, to stay on dry land, need to find a more fake solution, as if they were constantly at 25% glamour, because the body wouldn't function properly. So that's the 75% ghoul version of Rain. (not gonna say why is it only 75 and not 100%)

If you want, feel free to drop suggestions, ideas, random headcanons. Chapter 14, for those who are caught up, will be out in a couple of days (since I'm graduating tomorrow). Just a moment of patience

[velvet-n-lace]

Can You Suck Yourself Off? 💖

Series: Obey Me!

Genre: Smut/Headcanon

Word Count: 1.4k words

Pairing(s): The Brothers x Gender Neutral MC

Tags and Warnings: autofellatio, masturbation, humiliation, blowjob, fucking you so hard you lose your memory [NOT CLICKBAIT]

A/N: This has been a long time coming; I was initially gonna wait until 666 followers on my OM blog to start posting my writing, but with the recent developments of the games and people being afraid that OM fanfics will be deleted because of it, I decided to just post them now. I'm posting my AO3 stuff here, so if you can't wait for what I'm gonna post, you can just go read them on there; thanks ^^

rea the AO3 version here -> 🎀

Lucifer 💙

When you suggested it to him, it looked like he wanted to push you off the bed. To have you watch him suck his own cock is the last thing he wanted you to do. He covered your mouth and continued fucking you for the rest of the night, hoping you would forget that you even asked such a question.

After that steamy night, your lewd request was all he could think of.

“Ridiculous, I would never do such a thing...”

He stared down at his half-flaccid cock and made sure his door was locked. After stroking it hard again, he bent his head down and sucked down on it slowly.

“Ridiculous… ridiculous… ridiculous…”

Surprisingly, it made him realize the difficulty you have to deal with when you give him a blowjob; Luci is hard to impress, and even his self-sucking felt like it wasn’t enough; he wanted more and more of it.

After trying for a few minutes, he gave up and jacked himself off to take his mind off his half-assed attempt.

Asking him to do it in front of you would be like asking for a death wish, so he expects you never to bring it up again.

But he would certainly try again behind closed doors until he is ready to let you watch him do it~

Mammon 💛

“Are ya crazy!? I ain’t doin’ something that humiliating!”

Exactly what you’d expect, you pouted and asked him again.

“If you do, I’ll get Goldie back to you by tomorrow night.”

Mammon’s face went completely blank, and he immediately followed that up by stroking his cock to get it hard again. Lucifer took away his credit card again, and he was willing to do anything to win his precious Goldie back. He lowered his face to his cock and began sucking it viciously.

He really wanted Goldie back. Damn.

You watched in awe as he sucked his cock. He bobbed his head quickly, almost trying to get it over with, but he began enjoying this new method of self-pleasure. He glanced at you but only shut his eyes tightly before he sucked harder, making his whole body convulse. It turned him on even more as you touched yourself in front of him. He let his cum drip down his dick before it spurted on his face and into his mouth.

“Augh!! Y-You better… get my precious credit card back…” he panted as he lifted his head from his crotch.

He totally didn’t enjoy that… 

Leviathan 🧡

“Eh? S-Self-suck?”

“Do it, do it, do it!” You tell him.

Levi didn’t know what he was getting into, but whatever it was, he wanted to please you however he could. He leaned himself upside down against the bathtub bed, bent his legs down, and started sucking down on one of his cocks slowly.

His other cock began twitching as you stared at him hungrily; you took his other cock in your mouth and sucked alongside him.

His body convulsed, his moaning was loud, and his face was red as a beet. “This is so lewd omg omg. I can’t believe I'm doing this,” He thinks.

You can feel his heartbeat surging through his cocks; he almost begged you to do more to his body.

He writhed in ecstasy as you teased him some more. He shut his eyes as he got close to climaxing.

“Mmmmh… mmmmhh… mmmh… mmgh!!”

By the end, you could only hear his gasping and moaning as he came huge loads on his face. He looks up at you as he’s drowned in gratitude and arousal.

Satan 💚

He stared down at you with a confused look, maybe a bit disappointed that you asked him something he would immediately refuse to do.

“You’re very bold to assume I would do that…”

As soon as you left the room, he began thinking about it. He looked down at the bulge in his pants and sighed. “Tch…”

After unzipping them, his erection sprung free. It twitched in his hand, but he hesitated to bend down to lick the tip.

He felt a rush of heat flow through him; he had never felt such a strange sensation as his own member entered his mouth, and you also felt a surge of arousal the moment you walked in on him trying it.

“AH! Ugh… fine, watch.”

Satan worked his tongue down his own shaft, and you could feel his moaning getting louder the more flustered he got.

He looked up at you with a mixture of anger and desire; he was cumming soon, and he knew that the moment he finished, he would have his way with you.

He was trying so hard to hold back his release, knowing he had let his guard down for a moment. He took a deep breath, and his seed spurted across his face before he panted heavily. Later that night, he made sure to fuck that memory out of you.

Asmodeus 🩷

“Like I don’t do that anyway!” Asmo winks at you as he bends his legs over his head with ease, his demon cock dangling over his pretty mouth, “Enjoy the show. ♡”

He licks his lips before wrapping them around his sensitive cock-head. He keeps glancing at your face, in awe of his flexibility and self-pleasure, like you're craving his existence.

His eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel his intense heat emanating through his core; he pulled you in so you could help him out.

“Aaah... that’s right, lick the rest of it, suck on my balls while I suck myself off.”

He moaned in delight when you joined; his body was writhing in ecstasy as his thighs trembled and his moaning got louder.

He was on the verge of climaxing but acted as if it was only the beginning. His balls tightened in your mouth the more he laced his tongue down his shaft.

He let out a guttural groan as a wave of cum spilled all over his face.

His sweet seed filled his mouth, and as he caught his breath, he was ready for you to have a taste of him next~

Beelzebub ❤️

“Hmm…” He stared down at his cock, wondering if his mouth could reach a sliver of it, “I think so… I’ll try…”

He took a deep breath and bent toward his massive member; his tongue flicked out eagerly as he wondered what he tasted like.

He was fixated on his cock; he knew it was huge, but he never considered this method before you brought it up. Beel wanted it to feel as good as your own lips.

His eyes glaze over at you; bending down to take it was easy enough, but it was challenging to bring it all down to his throat.

“MC, can you lick the rest of it, please?”

You lick up what he couldn’t reach; his body tensed up, and his sucking got harder, desperate to taste his own cum.

“Mmmmh… mmmmhh… mmmh…”

Beel began to grunt and moan, your hands gripping his cock as he went down on his throbbing member.

You felt the heat of his saliva on your fingers; the remaining grunts filled your ears as he swallowed his load.

Belphegor 💜

“Mh? I’d rather you do it for me…”

“C’mon, please, just once,” you begged, “I’ll do it after you try,” the more you begged, the more he couldn’t resist your sweet, pleading face.

“Mmh… fine, “ Belphie grumbled, “but you need to help me…” He pulled down his pants and cupped his member already glistening with precum. He closed his eyes and leaned down to lick the tip before coughing up his salty taste.

It felt nice; his breathing became erratic the more he pressed his cock into his mouth.

“Suck on me too, please!” He begged.

You eagerly obliged and ran your tongue down his balls and shaft, making him tremble. His satisfied groan only made his cock swell in his mouth, but he was still unsatisfied with his half-assed attempt.

Your tongue helped him out immensely; he kept moaning harder as he begged you for more. He was really enjoying your pretty mouth teasing his shaft.

He pulled back so suddenly, and as he laid down panting, it didn’t stop you from finishing the job. You took his cock in your mouth and sucked down on it violently.

Your tongue swirled around the head, tasting his bittersweet essence. His moans grew louder and more intense, and as he let out a final cry, he came and realized it was all worth it in the end.

[3fingersofscotch]

Blood and Ink

‧₊˚✩彡Summary: Scroll… Scroll… Double-tap… Scroll. Stuck in an endless doom scroll. Scroll… Stop. Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause. Striking colors… Impressive linework… unique designs. His art is immaculate. You need it on your skin.

-A Rafayel Tattoo Artist AU-

‧₊˚✩彡Pairing: Rafayel x Female/AFAB reader

‧₊˚✩彡Warning: 18+ MDNI, Vaginal Sex, Tattoos, Tattooing, Dominate/Submissive themes, Reader is a Switch, Rafayel is a Switch, Power Fucking, Pussy Pounding, Nipple Piercings, Rough Sex, Protected Sex, Porn with Plot, Mating Press, Alternative Universe, literally the cutest ending.

Ao3

Scroll… Scroll… Double-tap… Scroll. Stuck in an endless doom scroll, you check the time and do the math.

If you fall asleep now and sleep in an extra 15 minutes tomorrow morning, you will get… 6 hours of sleep.

You tell yourself that you really will turn your phone off and go to sleep… after the next reel. Wait, no. 10 more reels, just in case the next one is an ad or trash.

Scroll… scroll… the algorithm is failing you tonight. Click on one inositol ad for ovarian health and for some strange reason, Instagram puts a hundred ads in front of you; supplements for a tasty pussy. You roll your eyes at another pussy gummy ad and scroll.

Scroll…

Stop.

Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause. A tattoo needle pierces skin as Stray Kids blasts.

🎶Cookin’ like a chef I’m a 5 star Michelin

“미”의 정점을 찍고 눈에 보��� illusion🎶

The edit draws you in even as the line still makes you laugh internally. Restaurants can only get a max of 3 stars. Are they saying that they have 2 restaurants? One with 3 and another with 2?

The song still slaps.

You lose count of how many times you let the reel play. The “Birds of Prey” version of Harlequin is lined in vivacious neons. The piece was made for the female gaze and you simply have to look at the artist’s page.

It's… inspired? Chaotic?

It’s different.

You scroll and scroll and you fall in love. A nebula captured in a cat outlined in white, a black and white portrait of a toddler but with eyes full color that look so real it’s uncanny, a sky-scraper skyline you recognize because it’s your city and its in watercolors… you love every piece more than the last and scroll back up to find the artist’s link tree.

His studio is in the same city. His studio. You curse internally for many reasons.

Your first tattoo was done by a complete pig and the memory of him instantly makes you shudder. He kept making comments on the fullness and shape of your breasts as he tattooed your ribcage. And as a timid 18-year-old, you sat there and took it in extreme discomfort.

You sought out femme artists since then to make yourself feel more at ease. You didn’t usually find such inspired artists on your Instagram page that were in your city and you normally would just pin their art to your pinterest. Riffard is in France, Pablo Frias in New York, Pikkaman in LA. You didn’t have to struggle with the internal debate because all these artists were so far away. But TattedRafayel’s studio is literally within walking distance of your inner-city apartment and his work is stunning.

You practically salivate as you think about the larger pieces that you haven’t gotten done because you want them to be done by the best. In your city, you had yet to find an artist whose style seemed to match the type of art that you really wanted on your body.

at least, not until today…

‘Nope. Not going to do it,’ you tell yourself firmly and you feel your heart break a little. It’s hard to make peace with a man being so intimately close to your skin for that long. The mere thought of being held hostage under a tattoo needle with no possibility of escape was nerve-wracking.

Not worth it.

Finally locking your phone and rolling over to sleep, your mind replays images in your head. Striking colors… Impressive linework… unique designs.

His art is immaculate. You need it on your skin.

‘Sleep,’ you tell yourself. It is unwise to make a decision when you are this fatigued. But seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into an hour and you are still thinking about all the tattoos that you want.

He could pull them off.

You curse silently and grab your phone to open Instagram and request a consultation. That first tattoo with the shitty artist that was obsessed with your tits had faded pathetically and you needed it touched up. Perhaps a quick refresh with him would give you insight to his character and you’d feel more comfortable sitting down for a longer session with him later?

You feel the excitement begin to bubble. If this goes well, you can finally start your dream sleeve.

The nervous energy was practically rolling off your body in waves. You aren’t exactly a stranger to the process but still. A thorough shower, copious amounts of deodorant, perfume, and of course… skin prep. You’ve had such good results after applying hyaluronic acid and lidocaine to the area you would be getting tatted and today would be no different as you carefully rub product into your skin.

Did you smell pleasant enough to be around?

Your last tattoo artist was nice, but you could tell she skipped the shower the night before and she needed it. It was an unpleasant hour.

You wouldn’t dare to be late to an appointment out of respect for the artist’s time, so you gargle your mouthwash on the way out to your car.

The studio is so close, it only takes about 3 minutes for you to arrive and the nervous energy still radiates off you.

Blood and Ink- The name of the studio is etched into the glass door and you take a deep breath before entering to find an empty reception desk. 3 people pop up from their cubbies to study you and you realize you have no idea what Rafayel looks like.

“I… I am looking for Rafayel.”

A man with large gauges in his ears and filed teeth smiles slyly at you.

“Raf isn’t here today, but I’d be more than happy to help you, sweetheart.”

One of the other heads to pop up belongs to a very sweet looking girl who rolls her eyes and walks out of her cubby to approach you.

“Hi, I’m Pepper. Ignore Tony. He is a douche.” Tony whines in protest, but you get the feeling Pepper isn’t wrong about him. “Rafayel is in the back, sanitizing his station. Follow me.”

Rounding the corner, you spot horned headphones nestled in purple hair and pause.

Is that Rafayel?

You weren’t expecting him to be so striking. How can eyes be rosy and blue at the same time? You wonder silently, studying him carefully as he continues to diligently prep his work station

You never really knew what to expect when meeting the artists working on your body, but Rafayel was... elegant in his self-expression. A glint of gold catches your eye and you see the thin lip ring threaded through his lariat piercing. His ears are gauged with small plugs made of real and beautiful amethyst. The grace in his movement is enough to make time stop and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

The movement of his hands catch your attention and the tattoos on his fingers strike you. The fine line work was sophisticated and the subtle switch from solid lines to clustered dots in areas like knuckles where skin can crease shows you that he knows the way that tattoos heal and fade. And finally, he realizes you exist. He pauses before he glances up at you, pulling his headphones off his ears and standing up straight.

“Thank you, Pepper.” Pepper happily chirps that it was her pleasure before bouncing away adorably and Rafayel finally looks at you. “You must be my 1 PM appointment? Tattoo refresh? I’m Rafayel. Have a seat.”

Vibrant colors peek out from under his asymmetrical collar, but not nearly enough for you to be able to make out what hides underneath his dark blouse. His shaggy purple hair nearly covers the fish tatted behind his ears, one red, one blue, both simple and gorgeous.

“Where should I put my things,” You ask as you take a seat carefully.

“Hm?” Rafayel pulls his seat closer to get a good look at you and the aroma of his shampoo invades your nostrils. He smells like vanilla and sea minerals and you almost forget what question you were asked when he answers. “Oh, yes. Sorry. You can place your belonging on the side table behind you. And thank you for asking. I can’t tell you how many times someone comes here and throws their phone and keys on the sanitized work station with my needles and ink.”

“That would suck. Its not my first rodeo. I know the drill.” You reach back and set your bag down, grabbing your phone and earbuds, just in case you need something to help you occupy your mind.

“Alright. So the tattoo on your ribcage…” You wore a crop top to make it easier to be worked on and Rafayel leans in to look at the faded tattoo in question.

“Okay, to review your online consultation, you want the color refreshed, and to add a little extra flair. And from the mock ups, you wanted option B. Add more florals?”

“Yeah, the quick sketch you did was simple but lovely.” You were surprised by how quickly Rafayel took the picture of your tattoo and added more sophisticated detail.

“Alright. For the flowers that you have right now, what were their original colors?”

“Pink petals and a yellow pistil.” Your response makes Rafayel grimace.

“I can’t even tell, by looking at it. These colors have almost completely faded. Are those the colors you wanted to stick with?”

Your mind goes blank. Since you were just coming in for a refresh, you hadn’t considered making a color change.

“Oh, I… I’m not sure. Looking at you, it seems like you are good at putting together a cohesive look.” Rafayel perks in response. “I’m open to suggestions.”

He grabs his phone and pulls up a few images.

“Its called a burning ember lily,” he turn the phone and your jaw nearly drops. Dark purple petals are lined in vibrant oranges and yellows and the center practically glows with red and orange hues. “Your skin tone is kinda perfect for it.”

“Yes! I’m excited!”

Rafayel nods, a hint of a smile plays on his lips.

“Alright. Have you applied anything to your skin recently?” He examines your tattoo a little bit closer.

“Hyaluronic acid and 4% Lidocaine.” Rafayel’s nose scrunches in concern.

“Some skin type become too soft and difficult to get precise linework when lidocaine is applied. Is it okay if I touch your skin around the tattoo area for a moment? I need to see if your texture was affected.”

You nod and Rafayel carefully feels and stretches the skin on your ribs, looking closer to see how you are affected. “Hm. I don’t see anything of notable concern. However, if I do notice that it is an issue moving forward, we may have to stop and try again later.”

“I totally get it. But the lidocaine didn’t impact the quality of my last two tattoos, so I think we will be okay.”

You point at 2 other small tattoos. 1 on your collar and one on your shoulder and he breathes a small sigh of relief.

“That makes me feel better.” He rises to apply the stencil and when you give him your approval he washes his hands and pulls on gloves.

“Alright. Just wanted to let you know, I will be recoloring the tattoo in full, which means that it will be like getting the full thing all over again, just like the first time. Otherwise, the faded ink will be obvious.”

You nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Alright, you ready?” Rafayel checks in one more time and you give him permission. The needle comes into contact with your skin, and although its uncomfortable, its not unbearable like the first time.

“You good?” he asks, politely checking in and you nod, popping your ear buds in and selecting a playlist to help you vibe for the next 2 hours.

Rafayel works mostly in silence, occasionally checking in to make sure you are okay. And honestly you are. Ribs are supposed to be extremely painful to tattoo and your first experience hurt quite a bit. A nagging feeling in the back of your head screams that the tattoo may come out poorly because he is too light handed. But you remind yourself that you applied lidocaine and your first artist fell very short of professional and was likely very heavy handed.

You hear him speak, just barely through the music and you take one earbud out. “I’m sorry. What was that?” you ask, having not been able to hear him over your music.

“Oh, nothing. Just a comment. Your skin absorbs ink well. Makes a nice canvas. Doesn’t make sense how faded this tattoo is.”

Oh.

“Yeah. I get that from every artist.” Rafayel simply nods and continues his work.

Your earbuds go back into your ears for almost the whole appointment. Despite the slight discomfort of the needle, you find yourself drifting off.

The buzz of the needle stops and you see a hand wave in front of your face.

“Yeah?” You pull your earbud out again and blink the sleep out of your eyes.

“We are about an hour in. You good? Don’t have the shakes or anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. Honestly just sleepy.” You rub your eyes and yawn, causing Rafayel to yawn in response.

“Oh, God. Don’t do that.” He can’t help but yawn again, his eyes watering and with gloves still on, he can’t wipe the tear forming in his eye.

Without thinking you grab a tissue and blot the moisture away and he chuckles softly.

“That was very helpful. Thank you. You sure you don’t need juice or a bathroom break?”

You shake your head and lean back.

Rafayel nods his head and looks back at your ribs. “This looks like may 40 more minutes of work left. You let me know if you need to take a break, okay?”

The needle buzzes back to life and you find that the vibration against your skin makes it easier for you to drift back to near slumber even if it stings a bit. The songs you enjoy playing one right after the other until a gentle pat on the shoulder make you jolt awake.

You really did fall asleep.

“Its not often people fall asleep in the chair. You are all done. Want to take a look in the mirror?”

Rafayel flashes you a polite smile and carefully walks you to the mirror. It wasn’t uncommon for people to pass out after a tattoo and you could tell that he was weary, stance ready to catch you if you fell.

The world comes to a halt, however as you stand in the mirror, a half dozen flowers surrounding the Kanji for “Love” on your ribs and it looks like they are made of fire on the cusp of dying out and being swallowed by the darkness.

“So… Kanji for love? Let me guess. You were crazy about Gaara?”

You laugh a bit, still admiring the tattoo in the mirror. “That obvious, huh?”

He nods, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Can’t say I blame you though.” He lifts his blouse a bit, revealing the same kanji on his hip albeit, a lot smaller than yours. “Gaara is pretty cool after all.”

He leans in to apply saniderm to your skin. “Do you like it? The new look, I mean.”

“Love it!” You say with enthusiasm and you mean it. The experience was comfortable and the tattoo was stunning.

“Too bad it was a small tattoo. Your skin is like the perfect canvas for ink.”

“Oh, I’d like to get some larger ones. I’m thinking about a ½ or ¾ sleeve.” You pull your pinterest board up with the inspiration photos of all the artists you admire.

Rafayel scrolls through, becoming completely engrossed in your phone.

“No black lining?” He observes with peaked interest.

“I want my lining in vivid colors.”

For the first time he really looks at you, making direct eye contact. His nostrils flare and pupils dilate.

“Please,” he pleads quietly, voice a touch huskier. “Please let me.”

You got him. Hook, line a sinker.

Your last tattoo appointment was 4 weeks ago. Rafayel gave you his cell phone number and requested that you send him your pinterest board so that he could study the art you were interested in. At first, the texts were only about the potential work for your sleeve.

Rafayel asked clarifying questions. What about each artist signature style did you like so much? What did you want incorporated into your tattoo? What did you dislike about the tattoos you pinned?

You took a moment to gush about what you liked about Rafayel’s work and what you would really like to combine from everything you pinned and that’s when the conversation really started to change.

“That’s sweet… but really, these artists are inspired. This Pikkaman account? The patterns in their color blocks? This is the kinda linework that will take hours and hours. Multiple sessions. I’ve never even thought to do something like this. I’m excited to incorporate this into your tattoo somewhere.” You read his text over and over. It was the first thing he sent you with extra enthusiasm.

Texts went from every couple of days to discuss the piece to every day. He'd send updates on possible design ideas and when you’d gush, short conversations drew out to longer ones and before you knew it, joking around with each other just became a regular part of your conversations.

“There is so much detail going into this piece, we are probably look at a minimum of 14 hours. Maybe even as much as 16,” he warns, but somehow that makes you feel good.

Then about a week before your appointment, he finalized your design. You thought maybe that was the end of the daily back and forth and the following day, you got nothing. It was genuinely a bit disappointing and you hadn’t realized that you’d become accustomed to his humor.

One day of silence became two, and your fingers itched to send him something. Anything to get the conversation going again.

‘He is just your tattoo artist… not your friend,’ you remind yourself, gritting your teeth as you try to force yourself to focus on something else.

Day 3 of silence. You remind yourself this relationship is strictly transactional when your phone dings.

“How is your tattoo? Healing well? Colors still vivid?”

You read and reread the text preview, carefully avoiding sending the read receipt. You don’t want to seem too eager.

‘He is only asking out of professional interest. He isn’t just trying to talk to you,’ you tell yourself even as that itch in your brain reminds you that you’ve been under the needle 5 other times and none of those artists ever texted or called for a follow up to check on your healing process.

“Tattoo is healing very nicely!” you text back 15 minutes later, hoping you waited long enough to not seem obsessed.

Rafayel is beautiful. You don’t want to fangirl like the rest of the people in his life probably do.

The day of your appointment come and Rafayel looks different. Eager and with a smile on his face. He greets you at the door, walking you over to his cubby.

His work station is already ready, and you open your bag and put it on the the little side table meant for you.

“I see you are getting prepped too?” There is obvious amusement in his voice as you line up battery packs for your devices, snacks, and pull out a giant water bottle to keep yourself hydrate. “We kinda have a rule. Person getting the longest tattoo has the right to pick the soundtrack. You can connect your Bluetooth to the speakers. Everyone can jam with you.”

“In that case, I apologize ahead of time for all the kpop and complete unconnected themes and genres.” You smile sheepishly as you connect to Bluetooth and TROT music immediately starts playing.

“Seriously? Trot?” Rafayel pauses and chuckles a bit. “I’ll try not to judge.”

“Sorry, this is what I was playing for my mom last night.”

“Ah, that makes more sense.” Rafayel happily hums as he applied the stencil to your skin.

“You seem different today,” you blurt out without thinking. “I mean, last time I saw you, you were reserved and more focused.”

You study him more. Today his arms are exposed in a tank top, and you can see more of his tattoos. Only one arm has a half sleeve of flaming sharks in brilliant pinks and purples and you can tell he hits the gym, despite his slender frame.

“You’re right. It’s the medication.” Your eyes shift from the stencil back to him. “I have mad ADHD. On days where I am doing smaller, simpler tattoos, I need help locking in for the day so I take my Adderall. On days like today, these big projects are enough dopamine to fuel me.”

He whistles cheerfully after being given the green light, the tattoo gun buzzing against your arm. And when you finally switch to a better playlist, he smiles.

“God, that’s better. Gangsta’s Paradise. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Strong start, I admit. But expect disappointment from here.” You honestly are quite self-conscious about your playlist, but Harry Styles starts to play a few minutes later and someone on the other side of the studio starts crooning along with “A Sign of the Times” and you start to feel more at ease.

The needle continues to stamp your skin in vivid colors and you want so badly to watch the beautiful man next to you do his job, but you also don’t want to stare, so your eyes close. He changed shampoos, and he smells clean with a hint of citrus.

“So I have something to confess.” Rafayel dips the tattoo needle back into the ink. “I snooped the rest of your pinterest so I could learn a bit about you. Hope that doesn’t across as creepy.”

Huh?

“Oh… well I guess I did give you the link for it. What did you learn?” You stomp down the small part of you that is pleased he had a desire to learn more about you.

“I won’t reveal all my cards at once. Just figured you are going to be in the chair for a long time today. Maybe a few discussion points might help the time go by for both of us.”

You open one eye just a bit and peek over at him. “You still haven’t told me any of what you learned.”

He smiles at you mischievously. “I learned you are a giant nerd.”

“Gee… Thanks?” You deadpan, raising a brow.

Rafayel barely looks up from his work, but you don’t miss the way the corners of his mouth twitch. “Oh god, don’t pout at me like that.”

Your breath stalls. Pouting?

Heat prickles at the back of your neck as you scramble to smooth your expression, but it’s too late. His smirk is already there, teasing.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. I like it. I’m not going to feed that you that cheesy, ‘you are not like other girls’ line. But I will say, I was happy to learn we’d have something to talk about.”

Is he trying to hit on you?

“Alright then. Topic number one?”

“Hold still for me.” Rafayel carefully focuses on his linework. “Doctor Who?”

“Oh god. You did a deep dive?”

Rafayel smirks. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I guess not. But I kinda tapped out mid-Peter Capaldi. His arc was a bit too intense for me.”

You look over, but Raf’s eyes are hidden by purple hair as he concentrates on his line work.

“I gotta admit, I watched a little bit. But that’s because a couple people came in asking for Galifreyan tattoos and when I looked them up, they looked really cool.”

What did you think?” The tattoo needle is now going over a sensitive and it doesn’t feel great, so you try to lose yourself in the conversation.

“Intense… but David Tennant is really hot.”

It makes you laugh hard enough that Rafayel has to stop and pull the needle back.

“Yes… he is indeed.”

Unmedicated Rafayel was shockingly easy to talk to. You were already 2 hours into your 10-hour session when Rafayel forces you to take your first break. A snack, some juice and a potty break later, and you were back in the chair for round.

“Alright. Time for conversation starter number 2.” He was already calming your nerves, eyes once again focused on your tattoo and you watch his beautiful rosy and blue eyes dart around your skin to check his work. “You are into local travel…”

“Oh yeah! I love taking road trips. I’m practically out of town every time I get 2 or more days off in a row.”

“Yeah, I noticed you pinned a whole bunch of places that were 4-hour drive or less. Which destination was your favorite?”

You take a second to ponder. “Honestly, that really depends on the mood I’m in. But I just went to Dripping Pool. You go spelunking through a cave until you find an opening that drips beautiful blue water into a freshwater pool.”

Rafayel’s eye flash briefly with interest before he looks back down at his work. “I’ve always wanted to go, but I can’t seem to stop working… But I think I will go to hill country and try out one of those wineries you pinned first. Which one was your favorite?”

“Oh… those are really more… romantic weekends. I guess I was saving that for when romance actually happens for me.”

You see Rafayel freeze and look up at you. “Oh. I thought you were engaged or married.”

Huh?

“You’ve got a wedding board. Cute shit, I’m not gonna lie,” he explains, and attempts to casually switch back to his work.

Ah. The wedding that never happened. The engagement ring that ended up in the trash.

“Yeah. Long story. Short version? We weren’t right for each other.”

You can see him nod from your peripherals. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t be,” you answer quickly. “If it went through, I’d be miserable.”

“Eyyy! Positive spin. I like that. How long ago was that? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You groan internally. “It’s been 5 years.”

“5 years?” You can feel his breath on your skin and you don’t like what it makes you feel even as the conversation gets awkward. “Any movement in the past 5 years?”

“Nothing worth talking about.”

“Tch. A cutie like you with interesting hobbies? That’s a shame. I’m sorry men universally suck.” He earns a rich chuckle from you, but internally you panic.

“I mean, I guess I could take that as a compliment.”

His eyes flick up to yours, glinting with mischief. “You should.”

You gulp quietly, breath hitching and you pray he doesn’t notice. God, you are in trouble and you know it.

Rafayel continues focusing on his work. Despite him making it very clear that he found you interesting, the rest of the conversation lulls you into a sense of familiarity and comfort.

The hours stretch on, filled with a mix of banter, musical debate, and comfortable silence. At some point, you lose track of time, lulled by the rhythmic buzz of the tattoo gun and the occasional brush of his fingers against your skin as he works. The shop assistant, Pepper, adorable butterfly that she is, keeps popping in to take pictures and videos and gush over the progress made.

Perhaps the lack of warmth through clinical gloves brought you back down to earth, but you’ve convinced yourself that this isn’t going anywhere.

“Almost done,” Rafayel murmurs, his voice lower, rougher from hours of focus. He swipes one final stroke, then leans back, appraising his work.

You let out a slow breath, relief and exhaustion settling into your bones. “That was—”

“Brutal?” he guesses, smirking as he grabs a clean cloth.

“Something like that,” you admit, stretching your limbs to shake off the stiffness.

He wipes your arm down, a satisfied smile on his face and he looks at with a hint of excitement. “I know we’ve got another 6-hour session to go before its complete, but it looks pretty fantastic already.”

He pulls away, stripping off the gloves with a snap. “Alright, moment of truth,” he says, nodding toward the mirror.

Really, it is the moment you’ve been dying for. And when you stand in front of the mirror, you audibly gasp.

Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause.

An Elephant lined in neons with long, hot pink eyelashes, its legs covered in geometrical patterns stares at you. The blank spaces will be filled later, but you already know you will love it.

“I…”

“Love it?” Rafayel sits behind you with a tired, yet satisfied smile. “Hate it? Don’t know how to feel about it?”

You look at yourself in the mirror again. The smile on your face makes you feel stupid but you can’t help it. You can’t school your features and make it go away.

“I respect you. You are incredibly talented.”

Rosy and blue eyes go blank for a second before Rafayel covers his face.

“Fuuuuuck. I wasn’t- Why does it feel like I’m blushing?”

You wish you were the girl that could smile tauntingly as you reduce a man to whatever state Rafayel was in now. But instead, you blush with him, covering your mouth as Rafayel hangs his head. You were alone now. The studio had emptied a while ago and this was becoming dangerously intimate.

“Alright, cutie. Let me get the saniderm and get you out of here.”

Cutie. God, the way it rolls off his tongue so naturally and makes your heart flutter is not good for your health.

He takes his time applying the saniderm with care and when he is done, he admires his handiwork.

“I seriously can’t wait until your tat is done. I’m going to post it on all my platforms the moment we get you cleaned up next session.”

And there he goes making you blush again as he traces the lining of the tattoo over the saniderm gently with his thumb.

He mutters something about walking you to your car because it’s dark as you pack your things, but when you stand, your body betrays you.

A wave of lightheadedness washes over you, and your vision tilts at the edges. You barely manage to step back before the floor shifts under your feet.

“Whoa—hey.” Rafayel’s hands are on you before you can even blink, steadying you by the waist. His grip is firm but careful.

He guides you back to a seated position and looks you in the eyes. “Your eyes are glazed over. You need some sugar.”

He jogs off to the refrigerator and comes back with an orange juice that you sip through your embarrassment before you start to feel better.

“I think it goes without saying that I can’t let you drive home without worrying.” Those pretty rosy and blue eyes hold genuine concern and the strong, independent woman you are forced to be melts under his gaze. “I’ll drive you home.”

Your stomach flips. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he counters easily, reaching for his keys. “I want to.”

Something about the way he says it—no hesitation, no teasing—leaves you momentarily speechless. So… you let him.

For once, letting someone take care of you doesn’t feel like a mistake.

It’s all the little things that add up to more. His arm remains around you for support as he walks you to the car and helps you sit down carefully in the passenger seat before handing you the car key and telling you to keep the door locked as he locks the studio. It’s the fact that he kept the lights on as he walked you to safety and ran back to turn them off before locking up. It’s the fact that he shone a light into your car windows and made sure nothing valuable was visible before he hopped in the car to drive you home.

It’s the smile on his face as he looks in to check on you before turning the ignition and asking if you are feeling better. He is doing a lot of things right and you resolve to go for it when you have the chance.

He hands you his phone to plug in your address.

“Wow. A whole 3-minute drive. How inconvenient.”

You huff in amusement. “Just say you want to spend more time with me and take the scenic way home.”

He playfully checks the gps. “The scenic way is 5 minutes long.”

The play feels so easy and you push his arm.

“No, but really, I was hoping I could make an excuse to get something in your stomach. Lunch was 7 hours ago.”

Oh?

“Planning to feed me? Do you do that for all your clients?”

Rafayel looks at you seriously. “No. But I think you and I are both leaning towards this becoming bigger than artist and client.”

Your fingers tighten around your phone. That fluttery, dangerous warmth in your chest spreads, and it won’t go away.

You are in trouble.

But something about Rafayel is different than all the other men in your life. The guarded back and forth and coy banter doesn’t feel necessary when he communicates directly and makes you feel safe.

So, you reach out, fingers threading into his. He stills, eyes flicking to where your hand rests before meeting your gaze again.

“Take me to get food,” you say, voice softer now, steady. “Then take me home.”

Rafayel watches you for a beat longer, as if committing this moment to memory, before he shifts into drive.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth twitching into something almost boyish. “I can do that.”

At 10 PM there aren’t a lot of options, but there is a Columbian food truck that definitely caters to the drunks and munchies. Rafayel has never been. So, when your hot dogs come out covered in 3 different types of sauce, coleslaw, bacon and potato chips, he makes you laugh as he playfully shouts, “Oh, shit! There are potato chips on my hot dog?!”

One bite and his eyes widen, the sheer reverence in his expression, has you dissolving into laughter before he even swallows.

“Ohhh, okay,” he says, pointing at the hot dog like it just changed his life. “I get it now. This is genius.”

For someone who looks so elegantly put together, he rips into his late-night snack with enthusiasm. “Potato Chips! On my hot dog?!”

It makes him seem less perfect and more real. And for a moment, you are floating on a cloud, unable to shake the feeling that maybe this could be the beginning of something special.

Even better, the extra still in the details continues as he loops an arm around you and guides you back to his car, just in case you stumble.

Rafayel jokes once more that the commute is unbearably long, but the food truck is only 4 minutes from your front door and he grins as he helps you out of the car and walks you to your door.

“I guess this is goodnight, cutie. Is it okay if I call you tomorrow morning?” He takes a couple steps back as you punch your door code in.

A gentleman.

He doesn’t have to be one tonight.

Before he can retreat too far, you reach out and grab his wrist, pulling him back to you, erasing the distance he created to make you feel safe. His eyes darken, intensity flickering in those rose and blue hues as realization dawns.

“Rafayel… it’d be weird calling me from the same bed.”

He throws his head back in disbelief, cursing under his breath before biting his lip.

“You are bolder than I thought.” He exhales slowly, voice deeper with a hint of something almost dangerous. Strong hands grip your waist tightly and he pulls you flush against him.

“Maybe I should be bold, too?”

Yes!

His lips descend, crashing into yours, the cold press of his lip ring making you want wild things and you bite around it. He exhales sharply, groaning, tilting your chin so that he can kiss you deeper before his hands roam your body.

Hands everywhere. Lips wherever they find skin. He presses you into your door and the door swings open behind you.

You pull him through your threshold, lips still attached to his when he stops you.

You won’t let him stop you.

“Cutie…” He gasps, breath ragged as you kiss a trail down his neck. You hum in acknowledgement as your fingers grip his hairs and just slightly pull his head back to expose more of him under your lips.

He groans as he grips the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“God I don’t want to stop you, but…” You nibble firmly at the base of his throat.

“Fuck…” he curses and his hands abandon the door frame to clutch you against him once more.

“I’m listening,” you murmur as your lips travel to the other side of his neck, your hand firmly cupping him through, pants causing him to buck.

“Protection,” he rasps through his excitement. “My condoms are in the car.

You groan heatedly against his skin. “Hurry.”

You don’t have to say it twice. He bolts, grabbing an unopened 12 pack from his glove compartment and in seconds he slams and locks the door shut behind him, and kicks off his shoes before carrying you to the couch.

His lips are all over you, urgently kissing every expanse of bare skin he can find, his lip ring adding contrast and making you quiver.

“Glad it’s a 12 pack,” you groan as he covers your body with his. “We will be going through most of them tonight.”

“God, cutie. The things you say.” He tears the box, grabbing a condom and unzipping his pants. “I hope you make good on your promises, because I can, and I will.”

“Need… need to take my pants off,” you huff.

Rafayel leans back, settling onto the couch, watching as you stand and strip—quick, unceremonious, kicking your clothes aside.

“God, you are hot…” He whispers reverently, a blush burning across his skin as his gaze darkens intensely, kicking his own pants off. You stare as he rolls the condom on, eye contact intense and exuding confidence.

He knows he is packing.

He leans back with a smirk before finally pulling his tank top off and now you understand why it’s the last thing he kept on.

Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause.

His chest is covered in a sea scape of corals and clown fish. Vibrant cobalts, radiant beams of light. Your eyes dart around, drinking the details of his skin. His muscled physique you must touch.

Nipple piercings that you have to taste.

He tries to pull you back under him, but you push him back down into his seated position, tongue tracing each piercing as he moans, encouraging you to be bolder. Licking turns into sucking, sucking turns into biting. And the more it escalates, the more wanton Rafayel’s moans become as his hips buck into air, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

He looks so pretty and fuckable underneath you as he gasps, somehow even pinker than he was a minute ago.

“Cutie, please,” he begs underneath you. You never knew you’d love hearing a man beg, but Rafayel looks so pretty when he is desperate. You straddle him, guiding him to your entrance with one hand and grasping the long hair at the base of his neck with the other.

“Say please again,” you order, and he bucks, cock slipping in just barely as you pull your hips up to deny him.

His hands grip your hips tightly and he whimpers.

“Please.”

Good Boy.He gasps, throwing his head back into the couch cushions as your hips sink down and you stretch wide open to accommodate him.

He is so expressive.

So pretty.

You can’t. God, you wanted to power-fuck yourself on his cock, but FUCK! He’s big. A whimper escapes you as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing through the intensity.

“Fuck. Oh fuck, cutie. You feel so good.” His hands caress the small of your back as you adjust to his size and whimper pathetically.

“Raf… oh… ohh!” Even the slightest hint of movement is enough to make you tremble. He fills you so perfectly its almost too much, and you take several deep breaths to calm as he kisses your temple.

You weren’t going to last.

But you sure as hell were going to try.

Your hips begin to move and instantly his hands tighten clamping your waist and you hear him whimper.

Good. He won’t last either.

“I have no fucking clue how you were single when you walked through my door,” He whispers reverently. “But I will thank every God created by man that you are on my cock right now.”

And reverence is how he earns the power ride of his life. You plant your feet beneath his thighs, gripping the couch frame behind his head for leverage.

Your hips fly.

“Holy shit!” His voice cracks as your pussy slams down onto him, the impact pulling an obscene moan from his throat. For a moment, he forgets what to do with his hands, palms abandoning your waist to cup your breasts, then sliding up to tangle in your hair as he crushes your lips against his.

Then one hand wraps around your throat. You gasp, and it only makes him groan, the other hand back on your waist as he matches your pace, thrusting up into you, reckless, desperate.

You aren’t faring much better, his size making the stroke against your clit feel red hot. And when he starts to match your pace, thrusting upwards, a continous, high pitched, pathetic whimper escaping you.

Your ceaseless whimpering nearly drowns him out, but you hear it, sexy and desperate in a lower register.

This man will break you.

This man will ruin you.

“So close,” he cries when his thumb finds and circles your clit, pressing down firmly to draw sure, relentless circles.

You can’t control the visceral shriek that erupts from you as he forces your climax to a head, pussy throbbing and legs weak. You feel the rapid fire pulsing between your legs, blood pounding in your veins, pleasure making you twitch.

“FUCK! RAFAYEL! OH, FUCK!”

He sits up, face buried in your chest as he holds you as tight as possible and a handful of powerful thrusts upwards leads to his demise. He shudders, moaning your name as he comes.

A moment ago, your home was so loud, but now, he holds you quietly, kissing across your chest in an act of thankfulness as you pant. Sweat soaking your forehead makes your hair cling to your face and your mind whirls in disbelief.

“Is this real life?”

Rafayel chuckles against your skin between kisses and nibbles on your collar bone that make you shiver.

“I hope so.”

He arms circle to hold you tightly, the same way he did when he came and he begins to thrust upwards slowly, cock stirring back to life.

"You have got to be kidding," you gasp as he flips you onto your back.

“When I said I can and I will, I meant it, cutie.” His eyes go dark as he stares down at you. “I can go all night.”

His smile is devilish, giving you chills as he hooks your legs over his arms folding you into a mating press.

“One day, I’m going to breed you.”

Oh, fuck.

“But for now, I’m going to practice.”

He wants to wreck you the same way you destroyed him. It makes you whimper in anticipation before his hips begin to piston into you like a well-oiled machine. He rips scream after scream from your throat and you are certain you’ve never been louder.

“Yeah, cutie,” he grunts with a look of satisfaction. “Make those noises for me.”

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK 

His hips are relentless, punching the air right out of your lungs, the smirk on his face ever-present as he gives you twice what you gave him.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK 

The further back he pushes you into the couch, the deeper he drives into you and he won’t yield.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK 

He grunts through direct eye contact.

"Take it. Take my cock."

You don’t want him to yield.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK 

He fucks you like a fevered dream, dominating your pussy with no end in sight.

“Raf-!” There’s no air left in your lungs to announce your orgasm. Your vision whites out, your pussy clenches, and somehow… somehow you are screaming even louder.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK 

“I’m going to make you come again.”

God you need him to stop. Your nails bite desperately into his shoulders, but in a mating press there is no escape.

"Raf- fuck! Raf, I can't- FUUUCK!"

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK 

God you don’t want him to stop. The relentless pounding has stretched your orgasm into something dangerous and another more powerful wave curls your toes.

“AH! RAF!” And still, the air in your lungs does not exist, but you see that smirk disappear as your pussy squeezes tightly. You watch his mouth fall open, a string of curses flying from his lips before your vision goes white hot, coming in rounds of bursting fire.

Hot breath close to your ear huffs as you hear him grunt his release, chanting your name before struggling to safely remove himself from the tangle of limbs he created. You can finally breathe.

He collapses next to you, sounds of disbelief escape him as you desperately draw air. Pulling you closer he whispers, “I… cannot believe you let me fuck you like that.”

“Do it again,” you joke when you can finally speak and he barks out a laugh.

“Oh, I intend to.” He kisses you reverently once more. “Our chemistry is insane.”

“Off the charts,” You agree, offering a fist bump and he laughs as he reciprocates and pulls you close.

“We made a huge mess.”

He is right of course. The couch cushion is soaked from the deluge of your arousal and he gets up on shaky legs to dig around your kitchen for a clean towel. He turns the hot water on, tossing the condom and cleaning himself up.

“God I should have changed condoms. What a mess.” You are too tired to even be worried about it but he reappears, bowl and warm, wet towel in hand to clean up the mess he helped make between your legs. The kisses he gently presses against your thighs make you wonder what you did to get this lucky.

And when he was done, he reached for the box of condoms to pull out another.

“Tell me you are kidding, Raf…” You gasp, wanting to say yes and no at the same time.

He smiles mischievously at you. “I wasn’t lying, cutie. I can go all night.”

The sun is offensive as it invades you room through your curtains. Your body is sore all over and your bed is still warm but empty.

Once the confusion settles, you smile as you hear shuffling in your kitchen and smell the aroma of fresh coffee.

“Hey, cutie.” Your hero arrives moments later with caffeine you so desperately need. “I like your espresso machine.”

Your eyes aren’t ready to do their job yet, but you imagine him with tousled bed head and the love bites you left on his body. You sip your coffee and he sits on the bed, fingers combing through your hair.

“So I was thinking…” his voice is raspy from the noises you drew from him last night.

“Those wineries you pinned over in hill country?”

You crack one eye open and take a peek at him.

Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause.

“Mm? What about them, sweetheart?” The pet name makes him smile like a goofball.

“Which one do you want to go to first? I'm free next weekend.”

[andcars]

# 𝗙𝗖𝟰𝟯 ─── MAKE IT UP OFF-TRACK MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

YOU'VE RACED WITH HIM AND you've been under him. still, it hurts you when he outqualifies you. it almost hurts as much when you both still think you're just fuck buddies. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You’ve been staring for a while” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # praise kink, rivalry, friends with benefits, jealousy ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie vibes, sex in the hospitality, author has a language kink, but also deepl translations WORD COUNT. . . # 1.6k

────── AO3 VERSION

P11. Fucking P11.

Everyone else is in the garage as you come in, all angry and disappointed. You were tenth of a second behind P10 and you weren't able to push it on the last lap because you went off track limits.

What’s done is done. You can’t work with a car that clearly doesn't wanna work with you. The better part of you wants to let this go and simply rest for tomorrow. Call it a day. Think of how to dominate tomorrow. Sleep it off.

But Franco walks to the garage at P7 and proceeding into Q3. The plan gets thrown away immediately.

You don’t hate the guy, of course not. You’ve met him times before when he was still in F2. If, of course, meeting him included hotel rooms and secluded bathrooms. You met him a lot, if so.

It’s not his fault that he’s better than you, as of now. You should be happy, really. But fuck, it should hurt how some rookie is better than you in a car you’ve driven for a year.

Despite all of this anger bubbling in you, you can’t stay mad at him. You could never stay mad at him, you think. Yet it hurts all the same.

You look away as your eyes meet. Not giving him a chance to even confront you or attempt to comfort you, you leave.

It’s pivotal now to talk with your strategist. He’s expecting you, unfortunately. Knowing damn well that your next duty was to come to him to see how to improve your performance, he already had your data pulled up.

Your, and their, wrongs are being talked into your ear and out the other. The farthest screen turns black, and you see Franco in the reflection. His blurred figure is towards you, his panting from the race still evident on him.

It’s difficult to pretend to care about racing right now. It’s not like they say anything different anyway. The rear wings are fucked, the tyres are fucked, the wheel can’t turn, and your head is just in the wrong direction. All the same things said before.

To the driver’s room you go. Q3 starts and you don’t do anything. The TV screen shows the delayed race as the crowd cheers from the opposite sides of the wall. Franco is in danger, with Mercedes finally coming out from the pit—you don’t expect anything more.

After the stretched minutes alone in your room, a knock comes on your door.

You say, “I’ll be out soon, tell James to get some patience,” with your head in your phone. No fucking way you’re going to be dealing with them while you’re still pissed.

The door opened and you grunt. Looking up, Franco was grinning at you.

“I’m also hiding from Jego,” he says, the grin on his face annoying, “can I come in?”

“And we both get caught?” It doesn’t matter what you think, he puts his feet in anyway.

The couch is uncomfortable. If they aren’t spending money on the car, they might as well spend it on the seats. With you laying across the couch, he kneels between your legs. You raise an eyebrow at him as he undresses his fireproof suit.

You ask, “You seriously wanna fuck?” and he laughs.

“¿Me dirás que no? (Will you tell me no?)” he murmurs, getting on top of you with his hips pressing against your ass. “Did you know I placed 6th today?”

“Mhm.”

“No?” He places a kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t watch me? What were you doing in here?”

His lips ghost over your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a small shiver down your fine. You know he felt it when he chuckles in your skin.

“Getting fucked my brains out,” your voice is flat. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah, amor (love), you won’t get me like that,” he whines and kisses you once in one side. Then twice the other. He says, “You are so mean though, telling me things like this. Do you wish you were with someone else? Hm? ¿No me querés más? (You don’t want me any more?)”

Franco comes up to part your lips open with his tongue. You gasp a little, your arm limp over his back. His mouth wide open, chest pressed against yours, tongue just brushing against your lips, he says—

“Quiero coger. Te quiero comer a besos. Quiero que me hagas tuyo, mi amor. Don’t go making me jealous because you are.” (I want to fuck you. I want to lavish you with kisses. I want you to make me yours, my love)

His hand is gentle on yours, playing on the hem of your pants as his kisses turn wet. Desperate. Loving. It hurts you how careful he is with you when you spent the past hour hating him in your head.

And he’s always so gentle. He always used to ask you if you liked it, his words almost always in Spanish. As if he’s lost in you, he doesn’t know what words to use.

He no longer needs your permission now. A finger rubs between your clothed cunt as his hand pushes your shirt up to hold your tits. He moans more than you, in love with your body.

“So good,” he murmurs, “don’t ever look for anyone else. For me, please?” You moan against his cheek as he focuses on rubbing your clit through your pants. “I can make you feel so good. Amor, I can be yours.”

In moments like this, he’s too drunk on sex to know the words he’s spewing. He reaches for the lube and condom hidden in your desk. His movements are sloppy. You swear he struggles a little in opening the cap up.

He asks you something in Spanish. It’s out of your vocabulary, so you tilt your head.

“I don’t need to prepare you, right? You’re still loose?” You can see his hips grinding against the palm of his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and you see drool coming down his chin. It’s pitiful.

You nod. “Yeah, just give me a bit to adjust if you wanna—fucking hell.” It’s out of your control when you laugh. Franco eagerly shoves his pants down alongside yours.

“What has gotten you so eager?” you ask.

“I got P6,” he smirks. That little fucker.

His cock is rubbered and wet when it enters you. He moans loud as your hand comes to his cheek. It’s catlike, the way he goes soft against your hold.

Shifting slowly, he grinds inside of you. The soft rubbing inside your walls almost has you mewling. But you keep your eyes on him, ignoring the pooling pleasure between your legs.

Telling him, “You’ve been looking at me,” has his lips pouting. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were in love with me.”

“I am in love with you,” your cheeks flush, and you’re not sure if it’s the sudden thrust of his cock or his words. “I’m in love with the way you race, how you over-perform a dying car, how you move.”

His eyes drop to where you two meet, jittering his hips a little. With the quick thrusts, you’re caught off guard and moaning out his name. He looks very satisfied with it.

“Oh, amor—” his words turn gibberish to you as he starts to move. His pace is uneven, driven by the thought to take you carefully and the urge to bring the both of you to climax. Not a single word is getting into your head.

But his voice is so loving. He’s panting between every other word, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. His voice is getting louder, and you put your hand against his mouth.

“Shut - oh, God… Shut up,” you whine, feeling the cockhead rub against your g-spot. “You’re so fucking… good. Just like that, fuck me.”

He shuts up when he goes down to kiss you. Both his arms wrap around you, embracing you as he finds the right angle to make sure you’re still getting stimulated. His hair is rubbing against your clit, the little tickle in them getting you to moan a little louder.

You feel dizzy. It’s not the lack of air during the kiss, you know it. He’s just holding you close to him while he takes you like you’re his lover. Your heart curls in itself, punishing itself for its own stupidity.

But fuck, you want to focus on the now. The way his hands are going up and down your back, soothing you as you get lost in the pace of his thrusts. The way his body towers over you, completely enveloping you in his hold. 

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, his pace barely slowing as you assume he cums inside of you. You whine when he bottoms inside.

Franco knows you. He knows you too well. He grinds inside of you before pulling out. Still, he doesn’t let you think another thought before he’s flicking your clit.

“Shit, fuck, Franco!” he smiles under your silent praise as his other fingers tease at your hole. “I’m gonna cum too. Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

He only leans down to spit on your pussy, easing the rub as you’re moving your hips along him. You cum with your back arched and your hips off the couch. His hand stills on your clit as his eyes are fixated on the way cum leaves your pussy.

You drop back down when he places your hips on his lap. “Don’t get it dirty,” he reminds you, tying the condom and throwing it in the bin. “It’s embarrassing to explain to the cleaners.”

His humour comes in at the worst moments. You grunt and he only laughs. “It’s not even funny. You’re just telling the truth.”

“It’s funnier in Spanish,” he promises.

You think about how it probably sounds just about the same.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . first time writing for bro ! i'm so open to writing more of him so i added him in my taglist options, so if you wanna be tagged for future fics of him 👀 you know what to do . if you already sent me a form before , you can resend another with him included ! anyways , fixing up the next few fics soon . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[akimoroll]

give it a bone.

nagumo x fem reader—college au—wc 2k—part of a series on ao3

a/n: i was in a writing mood and I TERRIBLY MISS THE BLORBO 🥲 lmao

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Nagumo leaned closer to your side, whispering, “Where’d you go last time?”

Unbothered, you responded quietly, “Please, focus on the subject at hand and refrain from asking irrelevant questions.”

“You made a run for it as soon as I opened the door,” he quipped in amusement.

Ignoring him was the best course of action, you continued the conversation about the subject matter at hand and focused on tutoring him instead.

He observed you intently, studying the way your lashes fluttered as your eyes danced across the page. His gaze then lingered upon your lips, reminiscing how soft it was when he kissed you two days ago.

With a soft touch, he gently tucked strands of hair behind your ear, “What happened to your other self?” he inquired, his voice a gentle whisper.

You jerked away from his touch, your expression hardening into a glare.

“Don't touch me,” you replied, shifting your gaze away, “If you're insinuating I have a twin, I came out of the womb alone.”

He struggled to suppress a chuckle, disguising it with a cough. He let out a sigh before continuing, “Multiple personalities perhaps? Where’s the one who kissed me back?”

You brightened up and clasped your hands together, turning to face him directly, “Listen closely, Nagumo. That kiss holds no significance. There are times when human emotions, including lust, can overpower us. It was a moment of weakness on my part. I don’t resonate with that version of myself anymore. Let’s refrain from discussing it further.”

He stumbled backwards, feigning surprise. In a dramatic manner, he clutched at his chest, exclaiming, “Whoa? Whoa! Hold on… I wasn’t familiar with your game. I didn’t take you for a player.”

“What are you…” You stood up, your expression hardening into a scowl, “Ah, no. Never mind, time’s up. See you tomorrow.”

“Oh, by the way,” he interjected with a smirk, his eyes following your every move as you packed your bag, “I need my jacket back.”

“I'll bring it tomorrow,” you agreed, pausing for a moment before extending your palm, “And while we're at it, you can add paying for ruining my blouse to the list.”

He grumbled and leaned back on his seat, retorting, “Just sew the button back on. I need my jacket today.”

You crossed your arms, your eyebrows furrowing from irritation, “You’re so unbelievably cheap… I left it at my room, and I have a class to attend in ten minutes.”

“See you after your class, then?”

“What for? I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“Nuh-uh. I told you I need it today.”

You glanced at the clock, realizing you will be late if you continue arguing, and the way he’s grinning with satisfaction is only making you angrier. With a look of disdain, you turn and walk away, retorting, “Have fun waiting.”

The day had gone by smoothly, but something felt missing—you hadn't spotted Nagumo between your classes. He hadn’t sent his usual chat stickers either. You shrugged it off, only to discover him waiting for you outside your dorm building when you returned. Ignoring him, you walked past him, and he followed closely behind.

“You're not allowed inside,” you protested, a hint of irritation in your voice.

“No problem,” he responded, waving off your concern.

“You're going to get me in trouble,” you warned, your voice growing more exasperated.

“I said I got it,” he insisted, grinning at you.

“You know, you're not only cheap, you're also corrupt,” you grumbled.

He burst into a hearty laughter.

“What's so funny?”

He patted your head, finding your frustration adorable.

There was no use in continuing to argue, and you had already wasted valuable time and energy, so you decided to just go along with it. As you walked down the hall toward your room, it seemed as if he knew every girl on your floor, prompting you to roll your eyes in annoyance.

“Wait here,” you ordered, your voice firm.

“No can do,” he responded, a hint of mischief in his tone, “I might get caught loitering.”

“I thought you had it under control?” Feeling skeptical, you raised an eyebrow.

“Just let me in, please?” he pleaded with a pout, his eyes widening in a puppy-dog expression.

Under normal circumstances, your roommate would typically be lounging around at this time, so there would be no issue with the two of you being alone. However, tonight was an exception.

Reluctantly, you held the door open for him, gesturing with your hand, “Stay by the door.”

He ignored your request and strolled right in as if he owned the place, taking a seat on your bed.

“Is this how you treat your guest?” he asked, feigning offense.

“You're not my guest,” you asserted, your tone stern, “Pest would be a better term. And get off my bed with your outside clothes.”

You tossed his jacket onto his lap with a huff. He chuckled, slipping it on, before teasing you, “Where are the snacks?” he jested, “Ah, I mean, your blouse. I'll fix it for you.”

“I was joking,” you clarified, “You can leave now.”

“Yeah, your jokes aren't funny. I just got here,” he retorted, settling back comfortably onto your bed with his arms folded behind his head, clearly showing he had no intention of leaving.

“Hey, get off,” you exclaimed, trying to pull him away. However, in a swift move, he pulled you back, causing you to stumble and fall right onto him.

“Got youuu!” he exclaimed, trapping you in a tight embrace and laughing heartily. He eventually released you, allowing you to squirm out of his arms.

“You're so annoying!” you huffed, standing in front of him, your chest heaving with exertion.

“Why?” he taunted, his laughter ringing through the air, “Are you that afraid of lusting over me?”

“Excuse me?” you retorted, your voice dripping with disbelief, “Me? Lust over... you?”

He sat up, wiping away his tears as he recovered from his fit of laughter.

“Those were your words, not mine,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I wasn't talking about me!” you protested, your voice rising in frustration, “I was talking about you!”

He sported a sly grin as he stood up and sauntered closer to you, “Oh, I see,” he murmured, a hint of smugness in his voice, “You thought I was lusting over you.”

“Hey, stay back,” you retorted, pointing up a hand in warning, “I'll report you.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, “You're blocking the door…” he observed, a smirk playing at his lips, “Unless you want me to stay?” he added, feigning nonchalance.

“No no no,” you protested, attempting to open the door. But he slammed it shut, trapping you inside with him.

Ah, what is it with doors and this guy? I’ve seen this happen before—you thought.

“We're not done talking,” he stated firmly.

You folded your arms and demanded, “I am. Get out of the way, you beanpole!”

He leaned down and brought his face closer to yours, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper, “Better?”

He was so close, crowding into your personal space, making it difficult for you to focus.

He’s like a dog. I throw him a bone and he leaves me alone—those were your thoughts while gazing at him.

“You're staring again,” he pointed out, letting your name roll off his tongue like a coo.

You tilted your head to the side, studying his face intently, “No. It's your face…” you replied, your tone holding a hint of wonder.

His face lit up as he asked, “You think I'm handsome?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a flutter in your chest. Must be the coffee, you reasoned, trying to shake off the sensation.

“Yeah, you have a handsome face,” you admitted, your voice softer than usual.

“Aww, so it's working?" he teased, a smirk playing on his lips, “Is your other personality coming out? Here, kitty, kitty.”

At his words, your frown faltered for a moment, and he caught it instantly, “There she is,” he murmured, his voice holding satisfaction.

You looked up at him, your heart hammering in your chest at your own suggestion, “Alright, just one,” you stated firmly, holding up a finger, “One kiss, and then you leave.”

He was stumped, unable to come up with a witty response like usual. His initial intention had been to just tease, but your unexpected proposition was spoken with much seriousness made it endearing. How could he say no?

He nodded, a soft smile forming on his lips, “Deal,” he agreed, bringing his face closer to you.

You reached up and grabbed his face, pulling him closer to you for a kiss. The familiar taste of him flooded your senses once again.

He licked your lips, prodding you to open your mouth, and you obliged. His tongue swept across your lips, wiping away any remnants of your lip gloss, making you only sweeter on his tongue.

He kept his hands on either side of your head, pressing you against the door as he kept it shut.

Despite wanting to touch you, he held back, learning from last time not to push his luck too far. He wanted to stay within your good side.

You pushed his face away from you, gasping for air, and said, “There. Now get out.”

He was momentarily taken aback by your assertiveness, it only fueled his desire for more. He was about to go in for another kiss when your roommate pushed open the door, exclaiming, “Yo, why is the door so heavy...?”

The intruder's eyes landed on the two of you tangled up together, her voice trailed off as she addressed Nagumo, “Oh, Nacchan?”

There was an awkward silence as the three of you exchanged glances, each knowing what had just transpired.

Your roommate inquired, “Was I interrupting something?”

He shook his head, a smile on his face as he looked at you, “Nah, I was just leaving,” he said.

He gave a casual nod before exiting the door, “See you tomorrow.”

Your roommate trailed after you to your desk, a puzzled expression on her face, “What was that? The vibe was so…” she questioned, trying to figure out the atmosphere.

You swiveled around to face her, curiosity in your eyes, “Why did you call him 'Nacchan'?”

Your roommate explained, “That's his nickname.”

Meanwhile, Nagumo continued his way through the campus, smiling to himself as he touched his lips, still savoring the taste of your kiss.

///

INT. FRAT HOUSE — EVENING

Osaragi handed a small paper bag to Nagumo, a smirk on her face, “I got you the goods,” she declared.

Shishiba glanced into the bag and asked, “Facemasks?”

Osaragi nodded, a knowing grin spreading across her face, “Yeah, he's getting into skincare now,” she explained, amused by the turn of events.

Shishiba raised an eyebrow and questioned, “All of a sudden?”

Nagumo responded, opening up one of the facemasks with his teeth and applying it to his face. He let out a contented sigh, “Ah... this is soothing,” he remarked, enjoying the effect on his skin.

Osaragi shook her head and chastised, “You're being wasteful! You're supposed to wash your face first!”

Shishiba looked perplexed and asked, “Can y’all fill me in? Did I miss something?”

“According to him, his tutor likes his face,” Osaragi explained, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Shishiba's eyebrows shot up, surprised by the revelation, “Oh, her? She said that to you, Nagumo?”

Nagumo beamed, a smug smile on his face, “Mhmm! I need to take care of this handsome face. She said she likes it,” he repeated, clearly very proud of himself.

Osaragi and Shishiba shared a knowing look, amused by the realization that their friend had been thoroughly whipped.

Shishiba raised an eyebrow and asked, “Does she even know you're from a different department and don't need the tutoring?”

Nagumo clicked his tongue, dismissing the question, “It doesn't matter. She never asks me anything anyway,” he explained.

Osaragi leaned in and whispered to Shishiba, “Stalker behavior.”

Nagumo overheard her comment and replied in a sing-song tone, “I heard that!”

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Prologue: Before It All —jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 + explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, these two really do hate each other ❥chapter warnings: Fighting (verbal), swearing, mutual hate ❥word-count: 2.4k ❥Series Masterlist ❥ || Next Chapter ❥ Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

Your final together was tomorrow, after a month of painfully hard work it would finally be over. Except you hadn’t heard from Jungkook  this week at all. From what you can tell he seemed to finish all of his portion of the work. You on the other hand, due to some finals, were a little behind but you had no doubts that you would be able to catch up. 

Not hearing from Jungkook did have you somewhat concerned. 

You both were normal last week but this week radio silence. You had texted him just keeping him updated on the progress of your work. You choked it up to him probably being swamped with his own work, and his own projects for other classes. So you tried not too worry. 

You sent one more text, anxiety rising with each passing minute.

:hey sorry to text you again. I’m just checking in! I should be able to finish in the next hour or two, so don’t worry.

:we are going to kill this presentation in the morning.

May have been a touch late to texting someone, it was 1:30 in the morning. You didn’t care though, he had texted you at like two in the morning before. So, you figured he’d forgive you.

But the second you sent the text.

The lights and your laptop had switched off. You sat in completely darkness. Suddenly the emergency lights shown by your door. You turned on your flashlight. Your laptop was old so your power being out means that you don’t have a laptop to work on. You made your way to the hall where some others had gathered. Asking what had happened.

Your RA eventually came up to your floor and told everyone not to worry, they were going to have the power on soon and to stay in our rooms for now. That we would get some text updates. You decided to not panic yet, soon after you did get a text saying that their was a an on campus outage and the problem would be resolved soon.

“Seriously?” you muttered, going back into your room. You texted Jungkook again.

:hey sorry I swear this is the last one, power in my dorm is out.

:and you know how my laptop is, so I have to wait until the power comes back.

:still going to kill it tomorrow!

Forty-five agonizing minutes later, the power finally returned. You rushed back to your laptop, praying everything was still there. But when you opened your document, it was blank. Completely empty.

“No,” you whispered, frantically searching for any backup.

Your entire month of work was gone. You tried finding a previous version, but there was nothing. Not on your hard drive, not in your email, not even a single backup copy. Every word, every citation, every carefully crafted paragraph—vanished. Except... Jungkook might have a copy.

You grabbed your phone and called him, your fingers trembling. Voicemail. You called again, and it rang once before going straight to voicemail again.

“Jungkook, pick up. Something happened. I need you to call me back.”

Panic set in as you scoured every corner of your computer. Desperate, you even checked old drafts and random notes on your phone, but there was nothing. Your heart sank. You called Jungkook two more times, but there was still no answer.

You were going to have to start over.

You knew the material—you’d been working on it every day for a month—but rewriting it from memory was going to be a nightmare. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and started typing. Every minute felt like an hour, but you pushed through. Tiredness clawed at you, and your eyes stung from the screen’s glare, but there was no other option.

Five hours later, you finally finished. The paper was nowhere near perfect, but it was something. A B, maybe a C at best, but it was better than nothing. Exhaustion overtook you the second you hit save, and you collapsed into bed.

It felt like only a second had passed when your eyes snapped open. You scrambled for your phone, the panic setting in again.

10:05 AM.

Ten missed texts and three missed calls from Jungkook.

“No!” You leapt out of bed, pulling on the first clothes you found, emailing the paper to yourself while sprinting out the door. You raced across campus, nearly tripping as you weaved through students, your breath burning in your lungs. By the time you reached the classroom, the hallway was filled with students leaving.

You pushed through the door, your hair a mess, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“Shit, no, no, please.” You spotted your professor leaving and tried to push your way forward, only to be blocked by Jungkook.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” he sneered as you stumbled in, breathless and disheveled.

“Jungkook--” you began, but he cut you off.

“Where the hell have you been? Why weren’t you here?” His voice was icy, and he took a menacing step toward you, making you step back.

“I—I fell asleep!” You stammered, tears welling up. Your exhaustion was really hitting you, and you couldn’t hold them in, “Did you see my texts? My calls? My voicemails?”

“Texts and calls don’t mean shit if you’re not here!” he snapped. “You’re acting like you care, but you clearly don’t. You’ve been flaky this entire time.”

“Jungkook, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he cut in, voice rising. “Maybe you did this on purpose! Maybe you’ve been plotting to screw me over!”

The accusation hit hard. “Are you seriously accusing me of sabotaging you? I’ve worked my ass off for this project!”

Jungkook’s eyes were cold. “And where were you when it mattered? You think your excuses are enough? Friends don’t disappear.”

The recent reconciliation between the both of you now dissolving on the ground between the both of you. You both had taken huge strides to become friends despite your resistance.

“Friends don’t accuse each other of being petty schemers!” you shot back, the anger surging. “I’ve been working all night to fix this, and you’re just throwing all my effort back in my face!”

“Maybe I’m tired of your games,” Jungkook retorted, his voice dripping with contempt. “Maybe David was right about you. Maybe he was right that this is something you do.”

David, your ex-boyfriend. Who had manipulated so many people into believing that you were crazy, when he had cheated on you multiple times. What hurt worse? Jungkook knew all of this, knew that David was an asshole. Knew that David was an awful person who lied every time he spoke.

Now he was throwing it in your face, what the hell was wrong with him?

The sting of his words was unbearable. “How dare you! I trusted you to be reasonable. You said you believed me when it came to what David said about me. How dare you throw that in my face! I came here ready to explain, ready to make things right. But you’re too busy being a jackass to listen.”

“I may be a jackass but at least I can be relied upon.” he said quietly, almost dismissively.

The words cut deeper than any knife. “You know what? I don’t need to defend myself to someone who’s already made up their mind. You’re not worth the effort, since you are so quick to blame others. You’re just like David after all.”

You turned away, feeling tears spill down your face. You walked away, not looking back. You had to save your grades, even if it meant cutting ties with Jungkook for good. Didn’t really matter, you two didn’t know each other that well anyways.

You found your professor, explained everything through your tears, and showed him the evidence. He listened, though his sympathy couldn’t override the rules. He allowed you to submit your rewritten paper but couldn’t let you do the presentation. He promised to grade fairly but couldn’t guarantee a good mark.

You received a D. It was lower than you hoped but enough to pass. Jungkook, however, failed, delaying his graduation.

You felt a grim satisfaction, but the bitterness lingered. The loss of the friendship gnawed at you, even if you hated him. You’d never see him again, and you were more than okay with that.

That was five years ago now.

The memory lingered as fresh and raw as ever. You had moved on, grown, and carved out a space where Jungkook’s existence didn’t matter. That was until you became friends with Melanie, who in every sense of the word was your best friend. Though, because fate is a funny thing, she fell in love with Namjoon. Namjoon’s closest friend was none other than Jungkook.

That relationship kept you and Jungkook in each other's lives for longer than either of you had cared for.

Forcing the two of you back into each other’s orbit. That also meant facing Jungkook repeatedly, each time resulting in fights so venomous you wondered how Melanie and Namjoon put up with it. So many clashes over so many years, so many attempts by mutual friends proved futile in bringing the both of you together. Eventually, everyone gave up and just made sure to never have the two of you in a room together.

Now with Namjoon and Melanie’s engagement, a wedding loomed around the corner.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, mind still reeling from the past. The fallout from that final class had changed everything. Every time you saw Jungkook since then, it was an instant—words turned to daggers, and every conversation became a battlefield. Neither of you ever backed down; pride kept you both locked in a bitter stalemate.

“Just a heads-up,” Melanie said, breaking you out of your thoughts. She hesitated, eyes flicking away as if bracing for impact. “I know how you two feel about each other, but he’s Namjoon’s best friend.”

You knew what was coming, but you still grimaced. “Don’t tell me.”

Melanie sighed. “Jungkook is his best man.”

You clenched your jaw, the anger bubbling up instantly. You had known this was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Of course, he is.”

Melanie’s living room felt unusually tense, the soft glow of the evening sun doing little to warm the atmosphere. Melanie had always been the bridge between you and Jungkook—constantly trying to keep the peace, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this time was different. You couldn’t just show up, exchange a few biting remarks with Jungkook, and call it a day. This was her wedding. This was the culmination of everything she’d dreamed of, and she deserved your best effort.

Melanie took a deep breath, her stern expression softening just slightly. “I know it’s a big ask, and I wouldn’t push it if I didn’t have to. But Namjoon and Jungkook—they’ve been through so much together. He’s not just a friend to Namjoon; he’s like a brother. And I need you both to make this work.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. Melanie was trying to keep the peace, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. She had seen you and Jungkook tear each other down time and again. Seeing the tears you shed over the times he would hit the nail on the head, and say something that went too far. Held you back from starting a physical altercation with him.

Each encounter was more bitter than the last, and every argument chipped away at the thin veneer of civility you both clung to.

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady despite the resentment simmering underneath. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Melanie’s lips twitched into a small smile, but her eyes remained cautious. “Thank you. And I mean it, no half-hearted attempts. I need rainbows and kindness coming out of both of your asses.”

You laughed despite yourself, appreciating the way Melanie could still inject humor into even the most awkward of situations. “Got it. Rainbows and kindness. I’ll bring a whole damn unicorn if that’s what it takes.”

“Good, I don’t know what I would do if we had another new years situation.” Although it was years ago, that was probably the worst fight you and Jungkook had. The things that were said and the drink you dumped on him are very present in your mind. Made you laugh to yourself even but it definitely caused a bot of an issues in your group.

You shook your head, feeling a familiar pang of bitterness. “Yeah that was a really low moment for me. I think because of that things between us will never change. He’s still that same arrogant jerk who can’t own up to his mistakes. And I’m done pretending I care enough to fix anything.”

“People change,” she said softly, it was something she tried to convince you of many times. “But I get it. You don’t have to be friends—you just have to coexist.”

“That, I can do,” you said firmly. “I’m not going to let him ruin this for you.”

“Thank you,” Melanie said, squeezing your hand. “I’m so happy you accepted the role. I couldn’t imagine my wedding without you there.”

“For you? Anything,” you replied, your resolve hardening. You would hold onto your promise to Melanie, no matter how much Jungkook got under your skin. This wedding was about Namjoon and Melanie, not you and whatever animosity you harbored toward Jungkook.

The room lapsed into a comfortable silence, but your mind was racing, already plotting ways to avoid Jungkook’s inevitable provocations. You pictured the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony, the reception—any scenario where the two of you would be forced to interact. You would keep your distance, smile politely, and not engage. If Jungkook’s presence was like a storm cloud threatening to ruin the day, you would be calm. You owed Melanie that much.

“When the wedding rolls around, I’ll keep up appearances and be civil and kind,” you said, trying to reassure not just Melanie, but yourself. “Jungkook might be the spawn of Satan, but as long as I don’t speak to him directly, everything will go perfectly.”

No amount of promises could erase the deep-seated anger you felt every time you saw his face. This time, though, you would have to bury it, if only for a weekend. You would smile through gritted teeth, hold your tongue when he inevitably said something infuriating, and pretend you were above it all.

You had months to prep yourself though. Plenty of time to make sure that nothing Jungkook could do could piss you off.

Nothing that weekend will surprise you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

❥ || Next Chapter

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

[sssammich]

fic: angels work the night shift (complete version)

what's up yall happy supercorp sunday

this is the full fic of this snippet i posted a couple days ago

read the fic on ao3, 9k words

ok thx love u bye

--

"Fucking shit."

Lena rifles through the small stack of papers sitting beside her purse in the front passenger seat and realizes with great annoyance that the paperwork that Sam, her Chief Financial Officer, sent over isn't in there. She would have let it go and finally driven home were it not for the meeting about said paperwork early the next day.

Shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, she attempts to cool the frustrations that's fraying the last of her sanity, and reaches out for her purse before heading back out of the underground parking lot and towards her private elevator.

Standing in front of the shiny reflective doors, her mouth curves down when she inspects her appearance, the bags under her eyes more prominent despite the makeup she has to cover it, her once tightly pulled high ponytail looser now, hanging limp behind her. Her cream satin blouse hangs on her thin frame, the bottom of it having come loose from where she'd tucked it in her navy blue pencil skirt. A pitying sight, if she's being truthful, but the accompanying pity party will need to be postponed until after tomorrow's meeting—no doubt a means for members of the board to undermine her at every turn while the ship sinks.

There doesn't seem to be any clear path to any real reprieve for her after inheriting the family business, not after her own brother, the touted Man of Tomorrow, had been arrested for murdering their father and placing their mother in a coma.

Eventually, her elevator reaches the top floor of her office suite and she straightens, internally waving away the thoughts of what her life has become, what her family has become. She has no control over those things, but she does have control of finding that stupid file she left on her desk that she will undoubtedly spend the next couple of hours detangling until she succumbs to exhaustion.

The elevator doors opens to her floor and she beelines for her office, alarm tingling when she looks at her door sitting ajar.

Her pace slows despite the persistent ache in the ball of her left foot and the sting on the heel of her right. She narrows her eyes, clutching her purse tightly in hand, and running through a mental list of what she can use inside of her purse for defense. When she reaches the door, she tilts her head and peeks through the sliver of space between, finds her desk lamp has been turned on. There are sounds of movement, footsteps, and something she can't quite make.

Then she hears…humming.

Narrowing her eyes, she grasps the edge of her door and pushes it slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

Her hand grasps the door's edge, carefully opening it only to discover a person with their back turned to her. Her eyes trail from the black sneakers to the powder blue overalls with the top half hanging around the person's waist. A black tank top serves as a backdrop to the blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, swishing back and forth as they move from side to side.

The woman turns a little, a mop in hand, as she uses the top of the mop handle as a microphone, singing some familiar tune that Lena can't quite place.

"All by myself, don't wanna be…"

The corner of Lena's mouth twitches into an amused smile when she realizes what she's looking at, or perhaps, who she's looking at, and how completely swayed and distracted they are with the music that they're listening to.

Lena's eyes are focused on this woman as she remains rooted in her place, watching this impromptu concert while the woman belts out the chorus of the song.

It's not until the woman opens her eyes and resumes the back and forth mopping that Lena realizes where she is and what she's doing there in the first place. Yet despite needing to collect the files at her desk, she's not sure if she should keep walking to her desk, make some kind of overt gesture or simply call out to the woman to signal her presence. She might have ended up taking too long because before she can make a decision, the clattering of a dropped mop handle reverberates in the room and a surprised shriek is coming from the woman who stands between Lena and her desk.

"Excuse me," she says.

The woman raises her hands up just as she pulls her headphones down. "I didn't—uh, who are you?"

"This is my office." As she goes to make a move towards her desk, the woman steps forward and blocks her, hands no longer up in the air and now towards her, as if to stop her.

The woman scrunches up her face. "I'm gonna need some i-identification. Ma'am."

Lena quirks a brow, but the woman remains with her hands up despite her demand. "You don't trust me?"

"Only until after you show me proof."

"And who's to say you're who you are?"

The woman frowns before straightening her shoulders, enough for Lena to discover that she stands broadly, arms exposed, before she taps on the ID badge clipped to her waist. "Kara Danvers. Overnight Custodial Specialist. Now you."

A beat passes, then another, before she tilts her head, attempting to bypass this Kara Danvers, but to no avail because Kara stops steps to block her again. "Do you know whose office you're cleaning?"

"Yes. Lena Luthor's."

"But you don't know what she looks like."

"Um."

"So how would you know the difference?"

Kara frowns, but she stands her ground. "I can call the security guards to confirm. Actually, that's what I'll do."

Lena then proceeds to watch as Kara stands between her and her forsaken paperwork as she quickly radios for security. She would have been annoyed about this whole thing if she wasn't also touched that this veritable stranger is doing everything in her power to protect her company. So despite being tired, Lena waits for security to respond and clear her.

"Hi Scooter, listen, I have someone here in Lena Luthor's office claiming she's Lena Luthor but isn't showing identification. I just want to confirm. Um, over."

"Copy that, Danvers. Please have the woman approach the radio."

She bites back a smile, already anticipating Scott's request (or in this case, Scooter's request, already making a mental note to ask about this nickname) for her. Instead, she stands up straight and watches as Kara approaches with the radio between them.

"Go ahead, Scooter," she starts, pressing on the radio's talk button, just shy of Kara's fingers as she holds the radio up. "Please ask what you need from me."

There's what she thinks is a throat clear, but can't be sure with the static of the radio. "Right. Please provide today's ten digit confirmation code."

She doesn't tear her attention away from staring at Kara and the blue of her eyes. "1-0-2-4-1-9-9-4-3-8."

"Confirmed. Danvers, she's clear."

"Thanks, Scooter. Sorry for the bother."

"Good work, Danvers. Over and out."

"Uh, over and out." Kara clips the radio by her name badge and offers an apologetic smile that crinkles the corner of her eyes. Lena attempts not to focus on that. "You're cleared. Sorry."

"Don't be," she says, finally able to walk towards her desk unimpeded once Kara steps back. She picks up the folder and quickly flips through it to confirm it's exactly what she needs before turning around and meeting Kara's gaze. "I appreciate and commend the thorough precaution. Certainly more thoughtful than what I've experienced as of late."

"Oh."

"Forget I said that," she says, with a shake of her head. "It's clearly been a long night."

She motions to walk away when Kara's words stops her.

"It's not fair, how they're hounding you in the news. "

She arches a brow. "You know my name and you know about the news surrounding me but you don't know what I look like?"

"Uh. I'm no good with faces," she says with a shrug, Lena noting the definition of her shoulder muscles before turning her attention back towards Kara's blue eyes. "Face blindness."

She nods, though she remains somewhat dubious. "I understand. Well, Kara Danvers, as lovely as this has been, I must be going."

Kara's body jerks up and nods. "Oh, shoot. You're right! Sorry, it's so late and I've just kept you here even longer. Sorry, Miss Luthor, ma'am. I don't—"

She puts a hand up. "Just Lena is fine."

"Right."

"Well, goodnight Miss Lu-Lena. Lena."

"Goodnight…" she intones, waiting until realization dawns on the blonde woman in front of her.

"Kara. Just Kara is also fine."

"Goodnight then, Kara."

She walks back to the door only chancing a glance over her shoulder and finding Kara giving her a small wave, the mop back in her capable hands. She smiles back, but her pace doesn't slow until she reaches the elevators.

---

Lena's ensuing weeks become a chaotic storm of meetings and court proceedings and hospital visits and escaping the nightmare of paparazzi and press hounding her for a glimpse of the LuthorCorp CEO.

Lena almost forgets about Kara Danvers until she finds herself back in her office after midnight.

She hadn't meant to stay this late in the office today, but she hadn't been able to break away after two back-to-back international conference calls with their satellite offices that needed to have her there.

Instead of using the coffee machine in her office, she decides to take a short trip a few floors down to one of the break rooms just to stretch her legs. She's only a few steps away from the break room when she hears singing. She recognizes the voice, surprised at how well she remembers it, an amused smile transforming her face.

"…but it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy baby…"

She carefully walks towards the threshold and, sure enough, finds Kara holding her phone with one hand and what Lena assumes is a mug of coffee in the other, her headphones on her head. Just like the last time Lena saw Kara, her overalls uniform has the top half wrapped around her waist, though this time, her tank top is white.

Lena doesn't move from her spot, afraid to make any sudden movements in case she startles the other woman. She waits and watches as Kara gets comfortable at a table, busy singing along to whatever she's listening to on her phone. The mug hovers by her lips when Kara looks up from her seat and finds Lena standing by the entrance.

Her shriek of surprise is worse than last time especially when she spills almost half of her coffee all over herself as she attempts to keep herself upright in her seat. Lena grimaces before she offers an apologetic and guilty smile and a wave.

"What the heck, lady!" Kara says, wrenching her tank top away from her body and squeezing it. Lena scolds herself for inappropriately checking her employee out, especially when she discovers tan skin under the now stained fabric.

"I'm sorry, Kara. I didn't mean to startle you again," she offers.

"Again?" Her face contorts in confusion and has Lena frowning because of it. Then a flash of recognition appears on Kara's face and her cheeks redden, her head bowed slightly. "Oh! Miss Luth—Miss Lena. Hi. Sorry, I didn't realize you'd be down here."

"I was hoping to make a cup for myself," she nods towards the half-empty cup sitting in front of Kara. "I didn't know how to make my presence known without startling you, but it seems I'd done it anyway."

"The fault is mine," Kara insists. "I should definitely stop listening to headphones while at work. But it's literally only me on these floors, so anybody showing up would for sure scare me."

With the misunderstanding resolved, Lena goes to the coffee maker. "Can I make you another cup?"

"Oh, that's okay. Probably for the best I don't have too much caffeine, then I won't be able to sleep later when I'm done with work."

Lena waits for the coffee maker's classic groan before placing the mug on the cup dock, her arms crossed over her chest while she leans against the counter and waits for her cup to fill.

"How long have you been working the overnight shift?" she asks.

"Almost a year next month. Started doing it because it's the best paying job I could get while going to school."

"Oh? May I ask what you're studying?"

"Um. Marketing. I take the evening classes and then head straight here."

She nods, processes the information that Kara shares with her. "Not passionate about marketing, I take it?"

Kara laughs, the sound melodic and bright, a start contrast to dark sky that blankets over them just outside the windows. "Not at all. But it's the program I was in before I deferred college a few years back, and I wasn't really sure what to go back into without starting over. So, marketing it is."

Puzzle pieces of Kara forms in Lena's mind, each one marked with all that she's shared so far in their short time together.

"If you could just do anything without worrying about starting over, what would you do?"

"Not sure. I like helping people whenever I can. But that could be anything."

"Is there anybody you admire and want to emulate, maybe?"

There's a half-smile on Kara's face and she turns her head slightly, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her. "Let me think on it and get back to you."

"You've got yourself a deal," she says before she gathers her coffee cup and walks over to the condiments, placing just one packet of sugar in her coffee. When she glances up, she catches the disgusted face on Kara's face. "Is there a problem?"

"That's not nearly enough sugar to offset the bitter taste of coffee."

It's her turn to laugh holding the cup just by her lips, the aroma of the coffee permeating her senses. "The coffee doesn't need anything else, Kara. It's good on its own."

"With all due respect, boss, but I'll have to disagree. Four packets of sugar and half a mug of creamer or bust."

Her jaw drops, aghast, and she twists her body as if to shield her coffee cup away from Kara who's flashing her a bright and pearly white smile. "That's atrocious."

Kara pouts, her elbows leaning on the table. "It's the only way to mask the nasty taste!"

"Then why drink coffee?"

"Because when you add all the good stuff, it's not so bad."

She shakes her head, wonders how she's possibly having this conversation. Though she'll admit it's the most pleasant interaction she's had all day. With a quick look at the clock on the opposite wall, she realizes that she's lingered far too long for someone who needed to have left the office hours ago.

"I'd hate to cut our conversation short," she starts to say, realizing how much she believes her words this time. "But I should be getting back to my office so I can finally head home." Kara jumps to her feet, the coffee stain on her tank top on full display that makes Lena's mouth twitch in a small frown. "Let me buy you a new one."

Kara looks down at herself before offering Lena a shrug and a grin. "No, no. My clumsiness is the true culprit here."

She wants to say more, poised to do just that, but her phone in her pocket chimes with emails pouring in from the other side of the globe.

"Duty calls," she says. "Goodnight Kara."

"Miss Lena."

There's an amused shake of her head when she meets Kara's eyes. "Just Lena really is fine."

"But you're, like, the super boss."

"Does being the super boss mean you can't call me by my name?" she wonders aloud.

"No. But you're the boss and I'm just a janitor." The smile on Kara's face is smaller this time, dimmer too, and her fingers have started fiddling with her stained shirt.

"Don't disparage the very vital work that you do around here, Kara. Without you maintaining order in my office, it'd look like a tornado made residence in there. Then what would the members of the board say when they strong arm their way in there and attempt to undermine my decisions?"

"Aye, aye." Kara flashes her a lopsided grin and throws her a mock salute. "For what it's worth, none of those old geezers stand a chance against you."

"I'll take it." She sighs and offers Kara a small smile. "Goodnight, Kara. Have a good rest of your shift tonight."

"Thanks. Sleep well—for, you know, for when you do."

She raises her mug to Kara before trekking back to the elevator and making her way back to her office.

---

Lena gets her assistant to order and discreetly wrap a stack of tank tops, in both black and white, delivered up to her office. She's not sure what to do now, how she should proceed. She has a business dinner tonight that she can't miss, so staying late in the office is not something she can do. She could always wait until the next day, but the idea of letting this half-baked idea fester any longer would only serve to intensify the anxiety she now feels for overstepping and being presumptuous.

She settles instead for scribbling a small note on the memo pad at her desk and signs it before folding it and placing it inside the bag. Buzzing her secretary in, she draws up an impassive face, her hand fiddling with her fountain pen.

"Jess," she begins when her assistant arrives just by her desk. "Have this bag delivered to Kara Danvers."

"Kara Danvers?"

"Custodial Staff."

"Right." Jess stares at her for a second before resuming her note-taking. "Anything I need to relay to her?"

"No. Simply that it's to be given to her at the start of her shift later tonight."

"Understood." Jess retrieves the bag from the couch and exits her office while Lena remains with the ball of nervous anxiety she's been nursing for the last couple of hours. It's almost a relief when she gets called down to the engineering lab to troubleshoot an engineering snafu, eager to set aside thoughts of Kara so she can actually get stuff done.

---

The next morning, Lena arrives in her office and finds a tented note resting at the center of her desk. She takes a second to put her workbag and coffee cup down before plucking the note up and turning it in her grasp.

She laughs when she reads Super Boss written in a neat combination of print and cursive. She flips the card open and reads,

Dear Lena,

Thank you for the replacement shirts that I received tonight. Even though I do recall mentioning that my clumsiness was the culprit and therefore the gift was not necessary. Appreciated, though you didn't have to.

But thank you, anyway. It was very sweet, and gave me the perfect excuse to throw away some of the older ones I was holding onto. Not the one that I spilled on, though. I'm keeping it for sentimental reasons. I've got it framed in my studio apartment as I write this, hanging right above my television and everything. I'm sure you understand.

Bonus points that my supervisor couldn't stop being nosy and wondering what was in the bag or why someone from your offices would hand deliver it for me. Maybe I'll tell him I was awarded new microfiber cloths. What do you think?

I hope you have a wonderful day, boss.

Kara

For the rest of the day, Lena fails spectacularly in keeping the smile on her face in check garnering slightly odd looks from her assistant and other employees.

---

It won't be for another three months that she finds herself staying late at the office, her life having become a whirlwind of chaos with her work and personal life blowing up for all the world to see: her mother, Lillian, had finally woken up from her coma, and Lena had been called to the stand to testify against her own brother.

Her choice of hiding in her office hadn't been planned, but the quiet of her office and the darkness bathing the room around her is enough for now.

She's sitting on her couch with her head in one hand and balled up tissues in the other, her decanter and an empty tumbler on the coffee table in front of her. It barely registers in her mind that there's rustling coming from her office door. She rushes to her desk, hand hovering underneath the silent alarm, her other hand clutching at her baton from her purse.

Yet when the door opens and she finds the same powder blue overalls with hanging by the waist and a tank top-wearing blonde woman, she sighs in relief at the familiar face.

Kara doesn't jump or startle this time, but she does end up standing by the door, a shocked expression on her face when she realizes that Lena's there. Quickly, she tugs at her headphones and offers Lena a smile.

"Who let you in here?" Lena's not quite sure how to respond to that, but it seems she doesn't have to when Kara walks in, pushing her cleaning cart forward, and realization dawns on her. "Oh, hi Lena."

She releases a wet laugh, her body loosening from the rigid posture she'd been holding. She releases the baton from her purse and moves her hand away from the silent alarm trigger, but doesn't otherwise leave her current station.

"How'd you realize it was me?"

"I didn't at first because your hair is down so I wasn't sure if that was you. But then I smelled your perfume."

Kara has pushed her cleaning cart all the way to her desk and they both look at one another. She wants to ask how Kara recognizes her perfume, but her fuzzy brain can't hold onto the thread long enough. Then, Kara asks, "Have you been crying?"

Lena sags against her desk this time, her head hanging low as her chin dips against her chest. "It's just been a very long day."

Kara slowly approaches her and extends a hand. "Wanna sit for a minute?"

She glances down at the outstretched hand, open and inviting, before looking back up at patient blue eyes. She nods, accepting what's offered to her as they make their way to the couch.

"My hand's clean, I promise."

She chuckles, throws a look at the woman beside her before she takes her seat on the couch. Kara takes a few short steps towards her cart and grabs a water bottle before walking around and sitting beside her.

"Here, drink some."

Accepting the water, she takes a few swigs, careful not to spill on herself. The cool water feels good as it makes its way down her parched mouth and sinks into her belly. It certainly has a better effect than the alcohol she's been nursing for the last hour. Kara is fiddling with something in her pocket for a few moments until she reveals three granola bars and two fruit leather strips.

"You take one, I take one."

"I couldn't take your snack, Kara. I shouldn't even be here right now."

"Sure you can. You gift me clothes, I gift you store-brand granola and Fruit-by-the-Foot knockoffs. It's a fair trade."

She eyes the snacks held in Kara's hand, the very same one that held her firmly just moments ago. She'd contest this, but she is tired beyond exhaustion, so she acquiesces, grabbing one of each and slowly peeling the wrapper of the granola bar. Kara mirrors her, peeling her own granola bar and taking a bite just as Lena takes a bite.

It's an odd thing to find herself in, Lena thinks, with one of her custodial staff sitting with her as she contends with the shambles that has become of her life. Still, there is comfort in Kara's presence, a lack of expectation from a woman who takes a moment to recognize her and doesn't immediately recoil when it dawns on her that she's a Luthor.

"Good, right?" Kara asks after she chews and swallows half the granola bar. "Got it on sale this weekend and bought two packs. So if you want another one, just let me know."

She's about to protest, but her stomach gurgles, her body betraying her in front of her visitor.

"Sometimes it's the little things, you know?"

She nods, though she can't imagine if there's any little thing left to enjoy in her life. Kara smiles at her, her cheek puffing slightly as she finishes the granola in her hand. Okay, perhaps there's one little thing to enjoy in her life.

Lena eventually moves onto the fruit leather, the inside slightly sticky as she unfurls the roll. She takes a tentative bite, the sweetness just on the edge of cloying, but all the same comforting.

"I don't know if I've ever had this," she confesses, inspecting the package in her hand.

"What? You're kidding!"

"I highly doubt I had processed foods until I was in boarding school, and even then, they had a highly specific diet the girls were supposed to follow."

Kara looks on at her in slight disbelief, but no apparent judgment directed at her. "This was one of the treats my parents used to have for me growing up. Usually as incentive to get my homework done."

"That sounds nice. What do your parents do?"

"My dad was a Chemistry professor and my mother was an adjudicator."

"Was?"

Kara offers her a small smile. "They passed some years back, car accident."

Her first instinct is to offer her condolences and apology for having asked, but the way Kara's looking at her makes her bite her tongue. Instead, she takes another bite of her granola, the two of them sitting in companionable silence. Then, "Were they good people?"

"Yeah, I think so. They tried to do right by me, at least. They weren't perfect, but they tried to do good where and when they could."

She wants to sob, a pressure of envy sits against her ribcage of a life she would never know: a family who tried to do good when they could, to do right by her to their best of their ability. Instead, she's left to pick up the pieces of her father's death, her mother's incapacitation, and her brother's imprisonment.

"You do that, you know." Lena's head snaps up to look at her, blinking away the shine of tears from her eyes to get a better view of Kara's face. "Try to do good, I mean."

Lena swallows the lump in her throat, her eyes focused on Kara as her brain attempts to process her words.

"Sorry, was that—was that out of line?"

She shakes her head. "No, not at all. It just took me by surprise. You might be the only person in the world who thinks that."

"There are more people who believe in you than you think."

An errant tear does manage to escape, and she rushes to wipe it with her free hand. "God, sorry."

Kara rummages through the pocket of her overalls and takes out an honest-to-god handkerchief. It's white with three simple blue parallel lines on one edge of the square. Lena wordlessly accepts it and uses it to dab at her face, hopeful that whatever makeup she must have smeared all over her face doesn't transfer on the fabric.

"Thanks."

"'Course."

"I didn't think people still carried handkerchiefs," she comments, clutching at the cloth in her hand—it's soft to the touch, softer than she'd imagined. Kara simply chuckles when she responds.

"People usually don't anymore. But my parents used to carry them, so..."

"That's sweet, carrying on their legacy."

"Something like that. They weren't perfect people and getting older without them let me see that. But I loved them. You know?"

Eventually, Lena recognizes how late it's gotten and that she ought to get some sleep. She requests for a car from security downstairs, gathering her belongings while Kara busies herself to clean her office. She's just about to put the bottle of liquor back in the bar cart when Kara calls out to her.

"Leave it. I'll take care of it, don't worry."

The phone dings in her other hand letting her know that her driver is waiting for her, so she makes her way towards Kara who now held the vacuum in front of her.

"Thank you, Kara. For tonight. It means…" she doesn't know how to end her sentence without simply blurting out an insufficient 'everything', how to thank this person for sharing parts of herself and keeping her company despite the isolation that Lena has felt so acutely tonight. She sighs, hopes that the sag of relief in her bones is enough to convey her appreciation. "Goodnight, Kara."

The brightness of Kara's smile directed at her is one she'll remember for the rest of her life, she thinks. "Sleep well, Lena."

Later, when she's sitting in the backseat, she'll realize with a slight panic that she's still clutching onto the handkerchief that Kara offered her. Knowing that she can't do anything about returning it tonight, she ends up pushing it up against her cheek, the softness of the fabric a comfort pressed up against her skin.

She closes her eyes and smiles.

---

The following week, Lena finds one box of granola bars and one box of fruit leather sitting on her desk with the same tented note at the top. Her face splits into a smile when she reads Super Boss in the now familiar handwriting.

Dear Lena,

For your personal stash.

Kara

She takes a fruit leather out and unrolls it, taking a bite of it first thing that morning before placing the two boxes in her side drawer. Lena barely hides the smirk when Jess walks in with her tablet in hand and gapes at her for a second when she catches sight of the snack in Lena's hand.

---

An international acquisition deal keeps Lena busy in the following couple of months. Her itinerary has her traveling to several countries in a short span. When she has a minute or two to spare, her mind wanders to thoughts of a particular employee, one who carries handkerchiefs and keeps her pockets stocked with granola and fruit leather. Lena had half a mind to return the handkerchief the very next day, but she couldn't get herself to relinquish her hold even after she'd washed it and folded it and placed it at her desk with her own note for Kara to see. Something about it gave her comfort and she wasn't sure she could give that up so easily right now.

While spending some time in Japan, Lena thought about the time difference, how her midday was right in the middle of Kara's shift. She wondered about what Kara was singing to at that moment, if she'd been trying a different flavor of granola bars, what color handkerchief did she carry while Lean held onto her white and blue striped one.

By the time she returns to National City, her sleeping schedule is completely out of sync despite her best efforts to control her caffeine intake. Which is why tonight she's in her office working late, various files and her barely touched Chinese food all over the coffee table.

When she hears rustling by her door, she checks her watch and pauses her work, her body twisted enough to see her visitor.

Kara appears in her usual uniform with her cleaning cart in tow. Kara stills at the door before her face slowly splits into a smile as she enters the office and walks right up to the couch.

"Working through the midnight oil?"

"More like jet lag has dictated how I spend my days and nights as of late."

"Well, at least you have Sister Liu's keeping you company tonight," Kara nods to her table.

She laughs, tries to clear up some of the papers that have littered her space. "I've not been a very good host to them, if that's the case. I think all I've had is a bite of my lo mein and two potstickers."

Kara gasps, her hands resting on her waist, well-defined arms on full display. "How can you possibly only eat three bites of the best Chinese food in the entire city?"

Lena sits up. "Why don't you have some."

"I couldn't possibly. Plus, I'm on the clock right now."

"Then take a break."

"Have you?" she challenges, but Lena can only shrug since she can't say that she has. "Besides, I can't eat your food, Lena! You haven't eaten any of it!"

"I have plenty to share, but it probably does need reheating."

Kara looks at her, narrowing her eyes, when she says, "Well then let's both take it to the breakroom downstairs and eat there."

She's about to protest when she reconsiders knowing that her work can wait. So she smiles up at Kara from her spot on the couch and nods.

Kara takes the lead in heating up her food before opening the cupboards and finding plates and utensils. She offers to help but Kara shoos her away, so she makes herself useful and pours them both glasses of water. When the microwave dings, Kara's quick to take out the plastic container before Lena can even get to it, a playful glare thrown her way.

"Go sit."

She quirks a brow. "Last I checked, I was your boss."

Lena then smiles when Kara throws her a cheeky eyeroll and says, "Okay. Go sit, boss."

Doing as she's told, she takes her place at the table and watches as Kara plates her once-forgotten dinner, portioning it perfectly for the two of them. It's a silly thing for her to imagine a life where this could happen, but they're not at work or her breakroom, but instead at home together. Kara's studio apartment or her penthouse perhaps. A dangerous thing to entertain in her mind, tempting as it is. Chalks this lapse of judgment to her frayed and fraught emotions.

Still, when Kara's face breaks into a smile as she sits across from Lena, she reminds herself that there's no harm for a little fantasy that will go nowhere. Least of all when it's after midnight.

From her seat, she watches as Kara takes an appreciative bite of her potsticker. "Man, they really have the best potsticker in the world. Even China, probably."

She laughs, shaking her head as she forks a bite of her own lo mein into her mouth. Lena surprises herself when she gets through her plate quickly, the hunger she'd staved off for the last few hours coming back in full force.

"See, Sister Liu's is the best," Kara announces when she tips her head towards Lena's now clear plate.

"It did come highly recommended from my assistant."

"Yeah, she and I have talked about it in passing. I was actually the one to put her on it, so I'm glad that my rec made it all the way to the top."

"I hadn't realized you were familiar with my assistant," she comments, attempting to temper the surprise in her voice.

"Oh, sure. I've seen her a few times when I come into work early on nights I don't have class. I'm usually hauling a takeout bag in while she's on her way out."

"Perhaps you can relay some food suggestions to her. I normally have her order from the same place most of the time."

Kara smiles at that. "You're talking to the right person, then."

"Oh?"

"Definitely. You'll eat good, I promise."

She doesn't doubt Kara at all, not when she's flashing Lena a bright smile. When they finish eating, Lena insists she washes the plates they used since Kara 'cooked'. The hearty laugh that fills the quiet break room replenishes a drought she can't identify inside of her. She laughs along as she passes the plates for Kara to dry.

It's so easy, here.

It's so easy, here, for Lena to forget where she is, who she is.

It's so easy, here, to imagine a life that isn't hers, with a woman who has delivered more joy and light in her life than she could have ever expected.

They eventually walk back to Lena's office, Lena's soul and stomach satiated, and she considers leaving the files as they are and heading home.

"Time to go?"

"I think so," she says, even as she covers her mouth from a yawn. "Leave the room as it is, I'll sort through these things in the morning."

"Might still do some light dusting," Kara says with a shrug. Then she puts her hand out to reveal a fortune cookie. "For the trip home."

"Keep it."

"No, this is your fortune. You have to keep it." Kara reaches out and takes Lena's hand before placing the fortune cookie in the center of her palm before curling her fingers carefully into a loose fist. "You have to eat the cookie first entirely before you read the fortune or it won't work."

She huffs, but nods. "I didn't realize there were so many rules. But okay. I will do as told."

Kara gives her a triumphant smile. "Good. Sleep well, when you do."

"Goodnight, Kara."

With a parting wave to Kara when the elevator doors close, she stare at the fortune cookie still in hand. She rips the plastic open and splits the cookie, careful to take heed of Kara's advice. By the time she reaches her car, she's already eaten the cookie, yet it's not until she's sitting in the passenger seat that she looks at the small slip of paper.

She laughs when she reads her fortune.

Your heart will skip a beat.

---

Lena arrives in the office a bit tired but in good spirits, greeting Jess with a smile. Walking into her office, she shakes her head when she sees the clutter she'd made the night before cleared up, the files stacked neatly. She finds a colorful spread of papers at her desk and smiles when she sees the familiar scrawl on a tented memo.

Dear Lena,

Here are my top recommendations. I've circled my favorite dishes in all of them that I think you'd like. Happy eating, boss!

Kara

Lena plucks the menu for Big Belly Burger at the very top of the pile and grins at the sticky note she finds on the inside.

If you don't think this cheeseburger is delicious then I will eat my shoe. Also, get the cheese fries. Trust me.

She turns to another menu, one for a cafe called Noonan's, and finds a sticky note on it.

This cinnamon bun is the best thing you'll ever eat here. I am a professional, so trust me on this, I am so serious.

She leaves the notes on the menus though she devours reading each and every single one, each one a glimpse of Kara's life, each one a piece in a growing puzzle she forms of who Kara is. Touched by the consideration and thankful for the food recommendations despite how indulgent and less than healthy they appear, Lena sets aside the menus in the same drawer that houses the granola bars and fruit leather. She reminds herself to get some more and perhaps purchase extra to pass off to her favorite custodian.

She presses a button on her phone and waits until the call gets picked up.

"To what do I owe this call first thing in the morning?" Sam asks.

"What do you think about grabbing Big Belly Burger for lunch?" There's a beat of silence that passes between them and she wonders if Sam's not familiar. "Have you never had it?"

Then, Sam laughs. "No, I've had it, alright. I just didn't think you did."

"Well, I saw a glowing recommendation to try out the cheeseburger," she responds, looking down at Kara's note.

---

Three weeks later, Kara comes in super early and catches Lena just as she's getting ready to leave for the evening. It's a surprise all her own when Kara knocks on her already open door. Her blonde hair is down, reaching just a below her shoulders. She's in a navy blue button down paired with black skinny jeans and sneakers. She looks just at ease in this outfit as she does in her normal work uniform and such a thought brings a smile on her face.

"Kara Danvers, you're at work awfully early." She puts the last of her files in her work bag and waits at her desk.

"It's my night off, actually."

"Far be it for me to judge someone at work when they shouldn't be, but what are you doing here?"

"Uh, well. I actually I'm here to put in my two weeks' notice."

Lena's heart sinks. "Ah."

"Yeah, I uh, finished school last week and my cousin in Metropolis invited me to move in with him and his wife now that I'm done with school."

"So soon?" she asks, unable to help herself.

"Yeah, he'd waited to ask me 'til I was done with school since that was really the only thing keeping me here."

"I see."

"Yeah. It's not true, of course, there are other things that I really like about this place," Kara reasons, looking at her intently. Lena doesn't want to make anything out of nothing, so she only nods, encourages Kara to continue. "It was kind of fast, but I think he just didn't want me to be alone. I haven't been in a long time, but it's hard to fault a guy for being concerned when he lives on the opposite side of the country."

A slew of things rush through Lena's head, but now is not the time to think about any of them. Instead, what she says is, "Well, first, congratulations are in order. I didn't realize you'd finished school."

"I did, yeah. Thanks. Taking evening classes paid off and being gainfully employed here definitely helped."

"If you don't mind my company, then let me take you out for dinner to celebrate…unless you have plans?"

Kara smiles. "No. This was just it, I was mostly going to go home and start packing."

She grabs her work bag and leads the two of them to the private elevator. "Do you mind riding with me or do you feel more comfortable taking a separate car or walking to dinner?"

"Nuh uh," Kara says with a shake of her head, her eyes staring at the sleek sports car that Lena unlocks with her fob. "You can take me anywhere you want if I get to ride shotgun in this thing."

Laughter springs from her lips and she shakes her head before hoisting her bag into the back seat. "Hop in, then."

They make quick work of the drive, Kara's eyes scanning the entire interior of the car while she calibrates the directions to one of the restaurants that Kara suggested. If it were up to Lena, she would have taken this woman to the fanciest place she knew and wined and dined her.

She parks on the street in front of an unassuming Indian restaurant. She recalls the logo from the menu and how it matched with the logo right out front. They get seated right away, Kara being greeted with great familiarity by the server, something that Lena has never really seen save for the movies.

"Kara, always good to see you, my friend." The elderly man says with a pat on Kara's shoulder.

"Hi, Anish. This is Lena."

"Nice to meet you," she offers as she takes the man's hand.

"Date?"

Kara's eyes widen and she shakes her head, an embarrassed smile on her face. "Be cool for once, Anish. She's my boss. Gosh. Besides, she's definitely out of my league." The last of her words trail as she muffles them with the menu in front of her face, but Lena pretends not to hear, pretends not to react at the possibility that Kara may have already thought of them dating.

"We're celebrating Kara's graduation," she offers instead, delighted by the man's eyes lighting up at the news.

"Then let me get dinner started right away for you two!"

He leaves and gets them waters and time to look over the menu.

"You're a popular girl, Kara Danvers."

A bashful smile appears on her face and Kara smooshes half her face into her palm as she leans on the table. "I am a loyal customer, I'll say that."

"They'll be sad when you go."

"Yeah, I was thinking of making the rounds next week to let them know. Feels weird to just up and leave."

She nods, her eyes landing back on Kara in front of her. "Certainly thoughtful of you. One of the many things I have come to admire about you, actually."

It's then that Kara covers her face with both hands and Lena can't help but giggle. "Jeeze."

Daring to act, Lena pushes forward and tugs at one of Kara's hands so she can see Lena.

"Hey, I mean it. You've been a very thoughtful person, Kara. And I've appreciated everything you've done for my company and for me, specifically."

"I'd do them again, no problem. Everyone needs somebody in their corner."

There's no response that comes out of her mouth, and she's thankful for the interruption from Anish as he begins to prepare their table in front of them, talking all the while and sharing stories of Kara, all of which she accepts readily.

With food served and Anish attending to other guests, she and Kara fall into easy conversation, much like all the times they've shared together, however few and far between they were. Lena does her best to table that particular thought later in the comfort of her own home, the reality of Kara's impending departure hitting her more than she ever imagined.

So she remains present at this dinner where she learns that Kara's cousin and his wife are reporters at The Daily Planet and they have one son named Jonathan. How Kara can really only cook the basics and turns to takeout for the majority of her nourishment. How Kara likes to paint and draw in her spare time but didn't ever want to make that into her job.

How Kara considers Lena someone she wants to emulate, someone she looks up to. A flash of one of their late night conversations springs to mind, about school and marketing programs.

"No, you can't possibly."

"Sure I can, and I do! I mean, how you've been able to manage everything that's happened to you over the last couple of years has been nothing less than saintly, if you ask me."

It's her turn to become bashful, dipping her head. "Well, thank you."

Dinner ends with a feast of desserts that Anish fills their table with when he overhears that Kara's moving to Metropolis. She laughs, heart full, when Kara gazes at her just as Anish explains that he has his own cousin in Metropolis and even though his restaurant is not as good as his, he would still recommend it so she can have a taste of home. When it's time to pay and Anish refuses them, Lena simply tucks a few hundred dollar bills into his shirt pocket and pats him on the shoulder. It's only then that the older man finally loses his cool.

Each of them walk out with a to-go bag each, the two of them giggling openly when they breathe in the night air. Kara accepts the ride to her apartment and so they spend the fifteen-minute drive chatting about nothing in particular, content with simply enjoying each other's company.

The traitorous part of Lena can't help but shake the idea of how good this all feels, how light and alive she feels in Kara's presence. So she indulges herself and appreciates it for the time that it is, another moment in finding joy, however fleeting, with Kara around.

When they reach the front of Kara's building, she gets out of her own seat and walks around to meet Kara.

"Thanks for dinner tonight," Kara says, scratching the back of her head. "Not what I thought would happen when I put my resignation notice in, but I can't complain."

"I think you'll have Anish to thank for the food. But I appreciated you letting me take you out to celebrate. I really am proud of you for finishing what you set out to do. I wish you nothing but luck in Metropolis."

"Can I—sorry, this is probably really inappropriate, but can I give you a hug?"

Lena wants nothing more, so she opens her arms until they wind their way around Kara's neck. For a long moment, one that Lena will feel for days to come, they simply hold each other in place, steady breaths passing between them until the embrace meets its end.

"Thanks for taking care of my office," she says intently when they finally separate, hoping to convey that what she really means is Thanks for taking care of me.

By the smile that Kara sends her way and the softness in her eyes, she can tell that Kara has heard her loud and clear when she responds, simply, "It was my pleasure."

---

On what Lena knows is Kara's last night, she orders for the handkerchief she'd been carrying with her to be delivered back to Kara. It sits in a simple box with a note of thanks for letting her keep it for so long.

Yet when she reaches her desk the next morning, the box is already sitting at her desk. When she flips it open, the handkerchief is still there.

---

Months go by and Lena's life continues, day in and day out. The changes that she makes in the company keeps her busy.

Lillian's recovery keeps her busy.

Her life is better than it has been in a long time. Every so often, though, her thoughts drift to Kara. How she's doing in Metropolis. She considered keeping tabs on Kara, but decided against it knowing that it would only hurt her in the long run. Nevertheless, when she catches her self working late in the office, or needing a pick-me-up snack, memories of Kara populate her mind. How a handful of interactions with this one woman helped keep her from floating adrift in the hardest year of her life.

How someone she otherwise would never have met helped keep her sane, kept her fed, and offered a light in a life that had been tumultuous and miserable for her.

A year passes and Lena is all the better for it. Her life has settled, stabilized. It's more than she could have hoped for, certainly more than she could have imagined a year prior when she'd only gotten her bearings in order.

After Kara left, she'd resolved to leave work earlier, never to catch herself in the office so late in the night. Something about the sacredness of those nights needed to be preserved with the woman who left for the opposite side of the country. It's a silly notion, but Jess seems all the happier for it when she leaves work at a more consistent hour in the evening.

"Miss Luthor, your 11 AM had to cancel last minute."

Faced with a free hour, she grabs her purse and heads for the elevator. "I'm gonna take a long lunch. Hold my calls until I get back."

She makes her way to Noonan's and orders herself a kale salad, a cinnamon bun, and a cup of coffee before occupying a seat outside. Engrossed in eating her lunch just as she flips a page of her book, she falls into the shadows of someone standing by the free chair of her table. She squints to get a better look, the person in a blazer with short hair that end right below the ears. Still, the shadows obscure the person's face.

"I think you dropped this," the voice says. "I have one just like it."

Sure enough, this stranger pulls out a handkerchief of her own from her pocket and it's a simple square with three parallel lines on one edge, this time all red. Shock appears on her face when she finally recognizes exactly who's standing in front of her.

"Kara?" she asks, her voice sounding unsure as she jumps to get a better look.

"Hi, Lena."

In front of her is Kara, the woman who has drifted in and out of Lena's thoughts over time. Unable to help herself, she reaches forward and clutches at Kara's arm, strong and solid in her grasp, proof of the woman's presence in front of her.

Later, Lena will text Jess to postpone the rest of her afternoon meetings because she'll be out for the rest of the day. She won't think too deeply when she hears the amusement in Jess' voice when she says it's not a problem and for her to enjoy her lunch.

Then, Lena will discover that Kara has moved back to National City just two weeks ago as a junior reporter for CatCo Magazine, that she's back to living in the same building that Lena once drove her to, and that even though Kara thinks it's a long shot, she'd really like to take Lena out to this new restaurant she found. As friends, perhaps, but maybe more, if Lena's open and willing.

And after that, Lena accepts on the condition that it is as more than friends and even suggests that she drive them there in her sports car that Kara enjoys so much.

For now, though, her heart skips at her good fortune joining her for lunch.

"I didn't think you'd remember me," she admits, somehow the first thing that comes to mind once they seat themselves.

"It's true, I'm no good with faces," Kara says, before her own face splits into a mischievous smile, leaning in closer that Lena has no choice but to do the same. "But there's no way I could ever forget you."