#but like as the story progressed I just found myself…

[seokwoosmole]

Never has my opinion about a non-antagonist character changed so drastically than it has about Shigure ok there might have been some before but right now I can’t think of any.

I went from “Oh he’s just a silly lil guy” to “*sobs* silly *sobs again* DAD” to “ohhhh….silly….pervy😳lil guy” to “ohhhh….silly mysterious guy???” to “oh- oh….😬”

[deviousdiesel]

.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[byoldervine]

Types Of Writer’s Block (And How To Fix Them)

1. High inspiration, low motivation. You have so many ideas to write, but you just don’t have the motivation to actually get them down, and even if you can make yourself start writing it you’ll often find yourself getting distracted or disengaged in favour of imagining everything playing out

Try just bullet pointing the ideas you have instead of writing them properly, especially if you won’t remember it afterwards if you don’t. At least you’ll have the ideas ready to use when you have the motivation later on

2. Low inspiration, high motivation. You’re all prepared, you’re so pumped to write, you open your document aaaaand… three hours later, that cursor is still blinking at the top of a blank page

RIP pantsers but this is where plotting wins out; refer back to your plans and figure out where to go from here. You can also use your bullet points from the last point if this is applicable

3. No inspiration, no motivation. You don’t have any ideas, you don’t feel like writing, all in all everything is just sucky when you think about it

Make a deal with yourself; usually when I’m feeling this way I can tell myself “Okay, just write anyway for ten minutes and after that, if you really want to stop, you can stop” and then once my ten minutes is up I’ve often found my flow. Just remember that, if you still don’t want to keep writing after your ten minutes is up, don’t keep writing anyway and break your deal - it’ll be harder to make deals with yourself in future if your brain knows you don’t honour them

4. Can’t bridge the gap. When you’re stuck on this one sentence/paragraph that you just don’t know how to progress through. Until you figure it out, productivity has slowed to a halt

Mark it up, bullet point what you want to happen here, then move on. A lot of people don’t know how to keep writing after skipping a part because they don’t know exactly what happened to lead up to this moment - but you have a general idea just like you do for everything else you’re writing, and that’s enough. Just keep it generic and know you can go back to edit later, at the same time as when you’re filling in the blank. It’ll give editing you a clear purpose, if nothing else

5. Perfectionism and self-doubt. You don’t think your writing is perfect first time, so you struggle to accept that it’s anything better than a total failure. Whether or not you’re aware of the fact that this is an unrealistic standard makes no difference

Perfection is stagnant. If you write the perfect story, which would require you to turn a good story into something objective rather than subjective, then after that you’d never write again, because nothing will ever meet that standard again. That or you would only ever write the same kind of stories over and over, never growing or developing as a writer. If you’re looking back on your writing and saying “This is so bad, I hate it”, that’s generally a good thing; it means you’ve grown and improved. Maybe your current writing isn’t bad, if just matched your skill level at the time, and since then you’re able to maintain a higher standard since you’ve learned more about your craft as time went on

[classicjdog]

13 sentinels is absolutely positively batshit fucking insane

just finished the game last night and WOW is it fucking good

[clovers-little-starlings]

Activities for Regressors Without Caregivers! (or just fun regression activties!)

(Although you're always welcome here if you'd like any form of comfort anyway! ^w^)

This one's kind of a long one, after the few tips I list, I've mentioned an app I use called Finch, which will be talked about below the cut.

Since that's the case, I'll put my little ending message here instead:

Knowing how to take care of yourself can take a lot of work and practice, but I believe it's worth the effort, because then you'll be a happier and healthier you! Especially if you can find ways to make it fun!

I'm more than happy to be here for you and offer my support in any way I can, anyhow! I'm proud of you for doing what you can, I know it can be very hard.

I myself don't have a caregiver for when I regress, so most of the time I end up taking care of myself! Here are some fun activities and things I do when I regress to keep myself calm and happy! ^w^

Paci mentions/pics not long after the first section for those of you who'd rather not see 'em.

♥ Arts and crafts! I absolutely LOVE coloring and making bracelets with beads, something not too complicated for little hands, but also something fun!

With coloring, you can buy coloring books, or draw something of your own to color in- even printing out a page you find online, coloring digitally, or tracing over something to color in could work! I prefer coloring more than drawing personally because I don't draw all the time, but I bet I could learn a little thing or two from the artists around here!

For bracelets (and other jewelry), strings can be hard to knot with little hands (at least they aren't those small, slippery clasps!!), but the beads shouldn't be too hard to handle if you're careful! Even just planning out patterns is fun!

Here are some My Little Pony bracelets I made, and the decorations I did for my pacis!

♥ Making playlists! Dancing is fun, and a good way to get the zoomies out, but you can just make playlists for any occasion! I have playlists that help me pet-regress, songs with sounds I like, adventure playlists... (Well- a lot of these are still in progress, but- you get the point!)

I also love those playlist videos on YouTube! Animal Crossing, Super Mario Galaxy, Minecraft and music box music are typically my go-to to help me settle or just make for comfy background music! Here's one of my favorites, shadowatnoon has lovely Nintendo music mixes!

♥ Playing with your plushies! You can take them on adventures, or make your own!

Like Toby, climbing The Great Pillow Mountain!

(This is Toby by the way, he's one of my best friends and a VERY good hugger!)

You can play games with them, too! Toby's REALLY good at hide and seek... Maybe you can find him for me? :0

♥ Finding shows to watch! I really like Paw Patrol and Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at the moment. Plus, you can look at agere content and fics from shows you like! People make really cool stimboards and moodboards, for example, and I like reading through all the fun stories people write!

Here's a silly picture of Rocky I found! :3

Finch

Finch is a self-care app where you take care of your very own little bird friend by taking care of yourself!

You can set daily goals, or for each day (or more specific ones as well I think.). By completing these goals, you give your bird energy to go on adventures! They usually come back with a funny little story or silly questions, because they're learning, too!

Through completing these goals (or daily, at least), you can get Rainbow Stones, which you can use to buy clothes for your bird, make them different colors, or give them furniture for their house!

They're also LGBTQ+ and disability-friendly!! :3

This is my little bird, Honeydew! You're welcome to friend me as well if you'd like, my code is: Z3E2T7VRK6

It's helped me learn a lot about taking care of myself and keeping track of my goals, and I get little rewards for it! I've used the app for several months now, and it's helped me out a lot!

"Fluttershy protects this blog! SFW interaction only, please and thank you! ^w^"

"Wouldn't show a kid? Doesn't belong here!"

[landograndprix]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 ♧ 𝐥𝐧⁴ - iii

❥ your peaceful life gets disturbed by your little brothers teammates in the worst and possibly best ways possible

❥ while your friendship with lando blossoms, your relationship with oscar goes down hill

❥ a good ol' he fell first, she fell harder fic with piastri!reader. Comments and reblogs are welcome ♡

part ii - part iv

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evaharris posted to their story

oscarpiastri replied to your story

oscarpiastri

is that y/n and lando?

is lando still in Australia?

is that y/n?

evaharris

Ossie relax 😂

The first picture is ness and her bf, second picture is indeed lando so he's still in Australia yes

oscarpiastri

And y/n?

evaharris

Was here as well 😉

oscarpiastri

Why?

evaharris

What do you mean why? She's out friend oscar 😂

oscarpiastri

I don't like that she's there with my teammate

evaharris

First of all, nothing happened or is happening between them. Out of all people, you should know that your big sister is going to end up as a single crazy cat lady. She's not looking for a relationship and second of all, even if she ends up with your teammate, there's not a lot you can say or do

I love you ossie but you don't get to decide who your sister is hanging out with and who she wants to date 😉

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y/npiastri

liked by landonorris, nessieness and 1,034 others

y/npiastri cats, hikes, cars, rain, monaco. 🇲🇨

tagged: oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri the weather is usually much better than this, you brought the bad weather with you

↳ landonorris mate, what do you mean? she's absolute sunshine

oscarpiastri get out

nessieness no, he's right. y/n's literal sunshine 😍

y/npiastri not really sure how to feel about this tbh, kinda cringe

nessieness oh look at me I'm y/n piastri and I can't take a compliment 😔

y/npiastri always better than that big fat ego of yours 😉

landonorris yeah you tell em love

nessieness @.oscarpiastri help me, they're ganging up on me

oscarpiastri I need 5 to 7 work days to progress all of this myself

oscarmemes just siblings on a hike 🥰

eveharris what a surprise, look who's found the cats

↳ y/npiastri stop cat shaming me

eveharris who stopped you from stealing them and putting them in your suitcase?

y/npiastri mum 😔

mariasmith have fun in Monaco! Are you with friends or family?

↳ y/npiastri with the family ☺

mariasmith well tell Oscar he needs to come back to Australia and that we miss him!

landonorris you didn't tell me you were going to be in Monaco

↳ oscarpiastri why would she?

y/npiastri I did but it's not my fault you can't read

landonorris you're hurting my feelings

oscarpastry Oscar's going to have a meltdown lmao

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head over feet taglist: @loloekie @charlesgirl16 @lilipiggytails @teenwolf01 @zucchinimalfoy @pumpkiinpasties @2bormaybenot @carpediem241108 @emyladia @lauralarsen @evie-119 @creamsteam3 @itsjustfranzi @ririyulife @tinyhrry @the-untamed-soul @jasminesacademia @ijustgomessitupx @kissesandmartinis @formulaal @writingworlds @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @ssararufoni @norwayxo @sitwins @kqliie @fyegyall @awritingtree @chezmardibum @hiireadstuff @sesamepancakes @likedbygaslyy @saaschiep81 @lemon-lav @jule239 @a1leexxa @destinyg237 @phantomxoxo @thatsusbitch @sarahkaliii @blacksoul-27 

[frances-baby-houseman]

I would have bled out in the parking lot

Amber Nicole Thurman's death is on Trump's hands

Bess Kalb

Sep 17

In 2019, about six weeks after my first child was born, I found myself on the bathroom floor in a small, but nonetheless unsettling puddle of blood.

“Oh no,” I remember thinking. “I just did the laundry.”

I called out my husband’s name, but the sound caught in my throat. The pain I felt inhaling to get enough air out of my lungs to yell the two syllables in “Char-lie” jabbed my guts like a bicycle spoke to the abdomen.

So I was quiet, trying to keep breathing in a way that didn’t move anything inside me, and the pain pulsed a bit, then steadied, then dulled, then evaporated into whatever hell ether it came from.

Because there is no G-d (unless there is, in which case I abbreviated His name so as not to desecrate it, and also thank you, King of the Universe, for subscribing to this newsletter) this was the one time in my life I hadn’t brought my phone with me to the bathroom.

I decided to sort of slither-lumber to the door like a lame harbor seal, because I didn’t want to stand and loosen the spoke that had just stabbed me. I reached for the knob and let the door creak open.

The cat was there, looking at me right at eye level, keenly aware what was happening, and completely unmoved by it.

“You are dying,” he blinked, “Pity. Have a nice time.” He sashayed away.

Fortunately, our house in Los Angeles was small enough that from the bathroom door one could see everything. My husband was sitting on the couch with our infant, and I knocked on the open door to summon him. Within one one thousandth of a second, he set the baby on the (since-recalled) donut pillow and was holding my head.

I sat up. I breathed. No pain. I took a picture of the bloody mess on my husband’s phone, texted it to myself, he found my phone, then I texted the picture to my OBGYN.

Apologies for being graphic, but within the puddle there was something roughly the size and shape and color of a fig.

“Is this ok?” I said to my doctor, the bicycle spoke scraping lightly at my insides again from all the lumbering.

“Come in,” she replied.

Within two hours, I was in the waiting room of her office, accompanied by my terrified but SMILING mother, who was still, as is the Jewish custom, in town for “a few days or so” after the birth.

An ultrasound which felt like the finger of Satan himself revealed there was retained placenta in my uterus. If I hadn’t come in, there would have been more hemorrhaging, then sepsis, then whatever the cat foretold.

The next day, I was in surgery getting a Dilation and Curettage.

I went home, pumped the anesthesia milk, then fell asleep perfectly fine, my sweet newborn cooing merrily in the bassinet next to his alive mother.

Amber Nicole Thurman’s story was the same as mine, but it happened to her in Georgia in 2024, not California in 2019. She was a Black woman in a healthcare system that disproportionately kills Black women, especially postpartum. In 2021, the Black maternal mortality rate was nearly three times the rate it is for white women. Post-Roe, the toll is and will continue to be staggering.

Because post-Roe, the procedure that saved my life, the D&C, is something doctors cannot perform in states where matters of life and death have been left up to non-medical Christian-supremacist superstitions.

I know the pain Amber Thurman felt when that placenta dislodged and carved its tiny, treacherous hole in her uterine wall. I know the terror she felt when she saw the blood, and the rush of dread when she thought of what her child would do without her.

And when I vote in November for Kamala Harris and every progressive down-ballot candidate, I will do it because she can’t. And I will do it so that women in Georgia and Idaho and Texas and North Dakota and South Dakota and Utah, Arizona, Nebraska Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Florida, South Carolina, and West Virginia won’t have to meet the same completely preventable doom.

This election isn’t just about Amber Thurman. Every day of my lucky, breathing life is about Amber Thurman. Because the only thing that separates us, is one of us bled out under the right Supreme Court.

Let’s raise absolute federal hell about it.

-- From Bess Kalb's newsletter The Grudge Report. I pay for this substack -- though it's free-- and think this is a message worth sharing far beyond her newsletter.

[hajimeseyo]

“Tell me something about yourself that not many people know.”

“What's this?” he asks, voice laced with amusement.

“Just answer me, ‘tsuya.” you grumble, head lolling over the side of the bed you're currently spread out on, peering at his upside down figure. “I'm bored.”

Mitsuya hums thoughtfully, pen tapping against the table absentmindedly. Both your homeworks lay abandoned on his table, you having already given up a long time ago and pestering him to do the same, despite his best efforts to stay focused and finish them.

“I have a dragon tattoo on the side of my head.” he says casually.

“WHAT?????” you leap up from your spread-eagle position to gape at him properly. His lips curl into an impish grin at your reaction, the sight sending butterflies flying through your stomach. You swat them away in favour of focusing on the more pressing matter at hand. 

“Yeah.” His hand comes up to tap at the right side of his head. “Right here.”

You scramble off the bed, nearly tripping over yourself as you rush to his side. “Whaaat the fuck. You're the last person I'd expect to ever have a tattoo.” you say as you pull up your chair next to him, plopping down on it.

He huffs in amusement. “I am in a gang, y'know.” 

“I know, but you're like, more well behaved compared to them.” You pause, peering at his face suspiciously. “...right?”

A mischievous smile is all you get in response.

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to the side of his head, peering closely at the short lilac hair, trying to catch a glimpse of the tattoo. You can't see anything, though, due to all the hair fully covering it.

“Can I…?” you raise your hand hesitantly. He nods, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to where the tattoo supposedly lies, the warm touch sending sparks flying through your skin.

Carefully, your fingers gently part his hair to reveal the scalp below. The slight shiver as your fingers make contact with his head doesn't go unnoticed by you, although none of you say a word.

And there, under the lilac strands, you catch glimpses of furling strands of black ink, coiling and curling into something resembling—

“A dragon?” you murmur.

Mitsuya hums. “Mhm. I designed it myself. Cool, huh?” You can hear the pride in his voice.

You snort, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “I suppose.” Following the strands of ink, you trace down the side of his scalp, mesmerized by the intricate design. Despite your seemingly unimpressed response, you found the tattoo really beautiful, the art style unique and artistic, the way it curves along the side of Mitsuya's head so naturally you wouldn't be surprised if he said he was born with it. Lost in your concentration, you don't notice Mitsuya's slowly reddening cheeks, closing his eyes as his head subconsciously leans into your gentle touch.

The two of you stay like that for a while, in comfortable silence, him enjoying your ministrations, you too absorbed in admiring every detail of the tattoo to notice. 

Until you trace the final curl of the dragon's tail, the trail ending making you snap out of whatever trance you were in, face immediately flushing a deep red as you realized you probably spent way more time touching him than you should've. Your hand instantly jolts back from his head as if it touched hot iron. At the loss of your touch, Mitsuya's eyes slowly fluttered open, gazing lazily at you, the sight once again sending some weird, hot feeling shooting through you. Damn this man and his stupidly pretty face.

You clear your throat, trying to act natural. “Why have a tattoo when you can't even see it under all that hair, though?” 

That question catches him off guard, and he barks out a laugh. “There's a funny story behind it, actually.”

He goes on to tell you the story of how he got the tattoo, from meeting this boy called Draken, to playing games at the brothel, to deciding to become a delinquent and accidentally matching tattoos with Draken. Your jaw dropped more and more as the story progressed, mostly from how unexpected and wild the entire thing was.

“Damn.” you laugh when he finishes. “And here I thought you were this good, well-behaved child who got roped into the gang business by their friends. I mean, abandoning your sisters to graffiti a wall?” you shake your head in mock disapproval. “What a bad child you are.” 

His lips stretch into a sly grin, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Oh? Really, [name], you should've known by now.”

He leans forward until his lips are right by your ear, voice coming out in a teasing whisper.

“I can get quite naughty sometimes.” 

...

You're quite certain your face is in flames. 

You sit there, short-circuiting, as Mitsuya leans back into his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Fumbling, you glance around desperately from something that will save you, and your eyes land on the abandoned exercise books on the table, the whole reason you were at Mitsuya's house in the first place. 

“Oh! Would you look at that! Our homework! That we still have to finish!” You pull your chair back to the other side of the table hurriedly and bury your face in the books, your homework suddenly being the most interesting thing in the world. You hear him chuckle, but he doesn't say anything, picking up his pen and continuing with his work. Your heart finally stops racing, and you think that you're safe until—

“[name]?”

“Hm?”

“I enjoyed that very much. Feel free to do it again if you want~”

“...”

This boy is going to be the death of you.

(part 2 here!)

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil,

First off, Good Omens is so wonderful— thank you (and Terry Pratchett and David Tennant and Michael Sheen!) for bringing Crowley and Aziraphale into existence. They bring so much joy to me and to so many people!

Secondly, I have a writing question! I am not a writer, primarily; I’m a scientist. But, I’m a scientist writing a journal article, specifically a journal article that has been hanging over my head for many years now. I’ve reached a point where I feel completely burnt out, almost pathologically unable to make progress on the manuscript. The data and results are strong and important, and I recognize that it’s a “story” that needs to be told, and that I’m the only one who can tell it (not to mention that I have several collaborators counting on me to get this done!).

So, my question is, have you ever had a story that you felt, for one reason or another, that you really should tell or needed to tell, but that was a horrific struggle to actualize on the page? Do you have any advice for how to make myself write when I’m completely demoralized and weary with what I’m writing, but unfortunately am nearly contractually unable to simply throw it in the trash and start on something else?

Thank you so much for any advice you can give (or even just a word of encouragement!!), and for your continued engagement with the writing and fandom communities! 

Sometimes you can do it by getting out of your own way. Sometimes you can do it by remembering or finding out once again what do you like about the project on the story to begin with.

I have frequently found when faced with a story that had died or that I had lost interest in or that I thought was awful, that if I read it aloud to another person they get interested and I start getting interested and often finish wanting to carry on to find out what happens next and to move forward. Dead projects have come back to life like this.

But it's also worth remembering that there are bad days and there are good days and there are projects that even if the days are awful and the whole thing feels terrible, the only way you will get to the good days is by pushing forward. The good days are there and waiting for you -- you just have to keep going to reach them.

[foldingfittedsheets]

In the bloom of my youth I found myself on an evening with my best friend in the park. We were young and it was a beautiful warm summer night to be out. At sixteen in a small rural town our options for entertainment were limited but it had been a good day.

Park is a somewhat generous term for the locale, what it amounted to was a cleared space with some planters and bushes, a tiny podium, and a square of trees round the perimeter. We had been hanging about with our friend who needed to leave, and waiting to be picked up ourselves, carless plebeians that we were.

So there we were, two teen girls in the park alone as the last of the light faded. Neither of us had cellphones, and my nana was collecting us right from the park as we’d agreed earlier. We were in no hurry, knowing she’d arrive when she arrived.

Until my friend said, “What was that?”

I looked up to where she was pointing but I didn’t see anything. “What?” I asked.

“I think it was… someone streaking?”

It was absurd to think. Our little town, tiny and rural as it was, with a streaker. But I loved my friend, so instead of laughing I said, “Let’s go see.”

I’m not sure what I thought it was, but I was confident she’d be less nervous if we investigated and found a plastic bag or a jogger in white. And I’ll admit I was curious at this anomaly. We made our way across the park to where she’d pointed.

That’s when I saw it too. A flash of pale skin under the streetlights, moving too quickly through the shadows and shrubs to see clearly. My friend clung to my arm, shrinking in on herself and I felt the first twitch of fear. Investigating no longer seemed like the thing to do.

I was determined to protect her from whatever was lurking, so I changed course and started cutting away from the movement, heading for the small shopping center not too far outside the park.

Our progress was suddenly arrested as the mysterious figure launched into our path. A man crouched on the pavement before us, fully nude except for a loincloth. His hair was in white people dreads. It was in every way like Tarzan had stepped out of the animated movie into real life.

My friends fingers were digging painfully into my arm and we stood stock still, staring at this bizarre apparition. He was still a good fifteen feet away from us. He stared back, making soft simian “ooh ooh” sounds.

I was struggling to process that a man in a loin cloth was right there when he started to move toward us. It was in his monkey half crouch, a few shambling steps, slow, with his eyes fixed on us.

“Leave us alone!” I declared.

He stopped, tilting his head this way and that. Then shifted like he would take another step.

I was fully afraid now, but I was also furious that he was menacing us and scaring my friend. I dropped her arm, marching forward with wrath in my eyes and said, “Get out of here before we call the cops!”

At my approach he turned and bolted back into the bushes. I whipped around and zipped back toward my friend, grabbing her arm and power walking us out of there. We arrived at the nearest business and darted inside, conveying what had just happened in garbled snippets.

The workers were outraged to hear our story. They let me call my nana to tell her where we were, then asked if we’d like to call the police. I shook my head. I emphatically did not want to deal with the police.

In the safety of the store my fear had started to feel ridiculous. It was probably just some bored prankster.

As we waited for my nana my friend quietly admitted she would rather liked to have called the cops. I apologized for not asking. We lapsed into silence. She said, “I can’t believe you went toward him.”

I couldn’t either. I didn’t remember planning on it, only I wanted to be between him and my friend. “Do you think he was crazy or was it just a prank?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know either. All these years later I still don’t really know what happened that night. If he was on a dare, or cosplaying Tarzan for fun, or if he was unwell. A lot of the details have hazed over with time but the utter dissonance of seeing a man in a loin cloth pop out of the bushes is seared into me.

I also remember back then, in a whisper both scandalized and fascinated, my friend admitting, “I saw his penis.”

[zayneternal]

☾ Midnight Ties ☽

summary ↠  When Deepspace Hunter, Mina Osaki, finds herself unable to sleep in the cold and quiet of the N109 Zone Safehouse, she instead runs headfirst into the one person who puts her most on edge--and this time, he's injured. [Main Story Spoilers | References to "Midnight Stealth" Memory]

genre ↠  angst (mild moments of fluff) with him↠  Sylus warnings ↠  Long Awaited Reverly Spoilers word count ↠ 13.4k

~

I’m unsure what jolts me from sleep. Then again, it’s far from the first time I’ve woken in the midnight hours over the last few weeks. I can’t really say I’ve ever been sure of why sleep eludes me here.

Sitting up in the too-big bed made up of too-soft sheets, I rub my knuckles against my eyes, willing them to adjust to the darkness of the cold and quiet bedroom. I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been since I arrived back to this place, but this part of the routine is one of the few reliable parts of my day, for better or worse. 

I huff out a breath, debating on if I should fall backwards onto the mussed sheets of the massive mattress and try to close my eyes once again, but the idea of staring at the back of my eyelids in this deafening silence sounds like the worst form of torture. Instead, I kick my legs over the edge, flinching at the feeling of the ice cold marble floor against my bare feet. 

Would it kill someone to turn the heat up in this place? Even as the thought enters my mind, I scoff to myself, knowing the head of this household probably would kill someone for even attempting it.

Hesitating by the bed for a moment, I glance down at my sparse attire of cotton shorts and a mismatched tank top, wondering if I should find an extra layer to don. Then I recall how unnervingly empty this place becomes at night and decide against it. It’s not like there’s ever anyone to pass by in the lengthy hallways this late…or is it early? I never know. 

Wrapping my arms around myself, I set towards the large mahogany door of the bedroom, snapping the lock open before pulling the heavy wood backwards. I’m not sure why I bother to lock the door–it’s not as if it would truly keep him out if his mind was set on entering. Maybe it’s because some stubborn part of me doesn’t want to make it too easy on him…or maybe I’m a little too reliant on the extra measures of boundary between the two of us.

Shaking my head of the thought, I pull the door closed behind me and step into the long hallway lined with many other doors identical to my own. I’ve not been inside most of them, but I imagine they’re more spare rooms, though as to who they’re for, I don’t know. The occupants of this residence have a tendency to make themselves quite scarce. And who could blame them?

The light in the hall is dim, giving me just enough illumination to help avoid bumping into the various vases and vanities that line the corridor. I hate how quiet it gets here, especially on the nights I’m unable to fall back to sleep and end up wandering to find something to occupy my mind. It’s like I can almost hear the air whispering next to my ears. It’s drives me crazy. 

Luckily, I make it to the end of the hall just before the raging silence threatens to overwhelm me, and turn right into the open floor plan of the main living space. There are windows here that line one of the walls, overlooking the vast expanse that is the N109 Zone.

My first night here, I remember the view being somewhat deterring, what with the abandoned buildings littering the skyline and the ever-present darkness shrouding the seedy city life bustling far below. But as the nights progressed and sleep came few and far between, I found myself coming to these windows more and more often, surprisingly intrigued by how the view had morphed.

I silently shuffle towards the large length of cushioned sofa that curls around the living space, it’s end jutting up to the window, and curl myself against it. Allowing my head to fall sideways against the back of the couch, knees drawn to my chest to preserve what little warmth there is in the air, I gaze across the N109 Zone, languidly taking in the sights. It’s fascinating how differently I see the world below me now.

Where I once saw what were shady business dealings in the back alleys beneath, I now see citizens of the zone coming home to family at the end of a long day. Where I once saw destitute and rundown infrastructure, I now see life budding out of something once broken–I see people. A community. If I train my ears just right, I can even hear the jubilation of music and laughter spilling out of what I assume is a local pub on the street below. 

The N109 Zone is still a treacherous place for the wrong people–it certainly was for me before he offered me respite in his own twisted way–but the longer I stay, the more I see what was once black and white as more gray and muddled. There is also good to be found here. 

I begin to slip into a comfortable lethargy as I continue to watch the city breathe when I suddenly hear a loud shuffling at the door behind me. 

Swiftly whipping my gaze from the window to the door across the room, I hug my knees tighter as it swings open, revealing a very familiar silhouette in the darkened doorway.

“Shit–” he hisses in a way that sounds like he’s struggling to keep quiet. His towering frame falters as he steps forward, tilting to the side before he catches himself messily on the open door. 

I hold my breath, squinting in the low light to see his right hand stretched against the left side of his abdomen, pressing something against it. He regains his composure once more, lifting off the door long enough to turn and slowly close it behind him. 

I don’t speak as he starts to move again. I can’t tell if he knows I’m there, and for some reason, I don’t bring myself to reveal my presence just yet. Instead, I watch as he attempts to make for the kitchen that sits against the opposite wall of the open room. He manages to get to the edge of the island counter before his weight gives way again and he slumps against the smooth surface.

“Damn it,” he curses through gritted teeth, trying to keep quiet again. My eyes widen as I suddenly realize he must be injured. The hand clutching his ribs, the slight limp to his walk, the way he can’t seem to hold himself upright. What happened to him?

I’m aware that the midnight hours in the N109 Zone are when the the work day is just beginning for groups like Onychinus. Dealings within the illegal crime organizations here are much livlier at night. And that’s doubly true for the household of Onychinus’ leader. As frustrating as it’s been knowing what goes on here at night as someone sworn to protect innocents from threats just like Onychinus, the circumstances of recent months have seemed to trump that mission for now.

A low grunt of pain sweeps me back into the present as the hunched figure in the kitchen pulls himself around to a cabinet pressed against the fridge. He moves to lift his hand to open the dark wood door but winces before he’s even raised it halfway up, yanking his arm back to his side. The faint moonlight filtering in through the windows illuminates the pained look of his sharp profile. 

The sound of him trying to stifle his groans of discomfort spurs me from my hidden spot in the dark. 

“Sylus.”

My soft voice feels swallowed by the darkness and size of the space, but Sylus reacts to the sound instantly, his frame straightening to its full height and his gaze whipping to find me at the edge of the island. He appears confused, then annoyed, nostrils flaring slightly in the moonlight that casts soft shadows along his cheeks. 

It seems like I’ve managed to catch him off guard for the first time since we’ve met. His reaction surprises me in return, and I pause a few feet away from him, my weight shifting a bit nervously. He always has a way of making me a bit nervous. 

Just as quickly as the confusion and annoyance pass over his defined features, they are gone again, replaced now with that air of cool arrogance he’s managed to perfect. His arched brow twitches, the corner of his mouth twisting into the shadow of a smirk I’ve come to know so well. 

“It’s a little late to be wandering the halls, don’t you think, kitten?” The sultry lilt to his deep voice rumbles across the space between us, but I can hear the slight tension lying just beneath the surface of his words, as if he’s struggling to appear put together when, really, he’s in pain.

“You’re hurt,” I state, ignoring his attempt to divert the situation. And ignoring the gooseflesh that threatens to bubble under my skin as his piercing red gaze locks me in place. I have to admit it’s still a bit of a struggle to keep my half of the control in these interactions with him, as much as I’ve tried to grow accustomed to his unique persona. 

Sylus’ mouth twists again as he breathes out a huff of laughter. “You do realize who you’re talking to, don’t you, sweetie?” A flash of his perfectly lined teeth cuts across the darkness. “Or do you not recall the events of the first time we met?”

I do recall. It seems an impossible moment to forget. The sound of the trigger going off against where Sylus had held it against his chest echoes in my mind and I wince. Glancing down to where the corner of his pectoral peeks out between the opened buttons of his black top, I remind myself that there’s no injury to be seen anymore. Only perfectly smooth, pale skin that sits atop the rippling muscle. 

Shaking my head of yet another attempt at distraction, I press myself forward, daring to take a few steps towards him. “I saw you come in,” I admit. “You can barely hold yourself up.”

“I can assure you, I am perfectly fine, Miss Hunter,” he says, low and slow, his eyes remaining fixed intently on my person. 

“Then you won’t mind if I just confirm that for myself, will you?” I feign an innocent look, scrunching my brows in a slightly dramatic show of concern. I hope by keeping the interaction light, he won’t notice how real my concern is. 

The cocked grin on his lips falters ever so slightly, but it doesn’t go without me noticing. He’s certainly confirming something, and it’s not that he’s “perfectly fine”.

I watch as his hand falls away from his side and his arms open in front of him, gesturing down his body. That infuriating smirk is firmly fixed in place. “Help yourself, sweetie.” 

I chew the inside of my cheek, throwing my usual reservations about getting close to him to the wind. My worry for what has him stumbling around in the dead of night trumps my boundaries right now. Steeling my nerves, I close the remaining few feet between the two of us, bare feet padding towards his large figure. 

I can feel his electric gaze burning holes into me as I approach, but I keep my eyes fixed on his torso, irises flitting from his broad shoulders, down the length of his pale forearms, over the expanse of his open palms, and across the plane of his narrow waist. At first look, nothing seems amiss, his composure remaining intact. Squinting slightly in the dark, however, I notice how the rise and fall of his breaths is uneven and labored, and he’s favoring his weight on his right leg.

I reach my hands forward. “What do you think you’re doing?” Sylus questions, his voice betraying him with a hint of worry. 

“Helping myself,” I counter cooly, willing my nerves to remain strong as my fingertips find purchase on the top button of his slightly askew dress shirt. To my surprise, Sylus allows me to continue without even the slightest step backwards, his arms hanging at his sides. 

I move slowly, hoping my fingers aren’t shaking as much as I feel like they are as I deftly undo button after button. I try not to stare too long at the line of muscled skin that begins to reveal itself down his torso. 

Swallowing dryly, I finally push the two halves of his black button down to the sides, eyes widening with a soft gasp as I take in what I see. The shirt had been covering exactly what I’d feared.

The left side of his ribs are in a sorry state, a semi-deep gash curling around the length of his waist, mottled with a mix of dried and fresh blood, as if the pressure he’d been providing couldn’t staunch the flow. The usually perfectly pale skin surrounding the wound is blossoming with fresh bruises of deep plum. Whatever caused this injury had to have been packing quite the punch. 

What worried me most, though, was the fact that these wounds didn’t seem to be healing. If Sylus could survive a gunshot to the chest by my own hand, then what was the holdup with the self-healing this time? 

“Sylus!” I manage to exclaim in a strained whisper. My hands move to hover over the wound as I rack my brain for any useful piece of the medical training I received in the Hunter’s Academy. I know I at least needed to clean the gash first.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I hear Sylus breathe from above me. I can tell he’s trying to quell my worries, but I don’t imagine a wound like this feels any better than it looks. 

Slight annoyance from somewhere unknown suddenly pricks my chest. I shoot my eyes up to find his face already bent to watch me. Looking up at him from this close, I can feel each of his exhales fall against my mouth, but I push that realization aside and scrunch my brows at him.

“What happened? Where were you? Who did this?” I begin to rattle. My eyes flit back and forth between his, searching his face for any answers he might provide. At the other end of my questioning, Sylus’ expression slowly morphs into a rare sight. The usual facade of arrogance and control slips away to reveal something unusual. Sylus almost appears…sincere.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worried about me, kitten,” he says softly, his hand raising to reach towards my face before stopping halfway and slowly dropping, as if he second-guessed whatever he was about to do. 

“I am!” I assert, hands gripping the two halves of his open shirt so tightly I realize my knuckles are going white. Sylus’ expressions stutters, the seriousness in my tone giving him pause. I sigh. “Can we please cut the big bad mafia boss act for a second? You need bandaging before this gets worse.” I shake my head, staring at the injury again. “Why hasn’t it started healing on it’s own already?”

Sylus studies my face a moment longer, his usually intense gaze softening as it passes across my features. 

“Would you believe me if I told you this is already better than it started?” His voice has a hint of humor to it, as if he’s still trying to ease my concern. Instead I find myself flinching against the idea that this isn’t even the worst of it. How badly had he been hurt tonight? How much effort had it taken him to get home? 

I want to swat at his chest, but for fear of causing him any more pain, I restrain myself. 

“Mina…” Sylus starts, and the way he utters my name instead of one of his many rotating pet names sends a shiver down my spine. But I refuse to waste anymore time. 

“Lean against the counter,” I instruct, sounding more like a Hunter than the helpless girl I’ve been these past few minutes. Sylus breathes and slowly moves to the side, leaning against the marble countertop obediently. “I’m taking this off.”

I move my hands to the base of his neck, slipping my fingertips under the collar of his dress shirt and attempting to ignore the warmth of his skin in this freezing kitchen as I begin to push the fabric down his toned arms. To my surprise and great relief, Sylus remains silent for once allowing me to work without much distraction. 

The pads of my fingers brush down the length of his muscled arms, following the trail of his shirt until it’s bunched at his wrists. “Your hands, please,” I request, carefully avoiding eye contact as I hold my own hands up. 

As requested, Sylus gently places hands twice the size of my own in my palms, allowing me to undo the cuffs keeping his top from sliding off completely. After pulling the sleeves away from his body, I move to yank the remainder of the shirt from where it’s tucked messily into the waistline of his trousers. Without me asking this time, Sylus raises his arms to assist in the task, wincing again when his left arm agitates the injury.

Nodding in silent appreciation, I wrap my arms around the shape of his hips, giving him a wide birth, and being careful not to get as close as his cologne is causing me to want. Gripping the last of the black fabric and pulling, I’m relieved when it comes lose easily and falls away to the floor.

“Where will I find a first-aid kit?” I finally ask once his torso is bare. I realize I’m looking around the room to avoid looking at him. 

“There.” His slender finger comes into my peripheral vision, poiting towards the cabinet he had originally been trying to open. I nod and turn to open it, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. As I begin to sift through the rows of various medicine bottles, syringes, and vials full of strange liquid, I’m suddenly strikingly aware that I never changed out of my sleepwear and are still donned in nothing but cotton shorts and a tank top. 

I bite your lip, silently cursing to myself as my search continues through the cabinet. There’s not much I can do about it now, I suppose, but knowing I’m under the scrutinizing gaze of Sylus every second of this venture, I feel a mite over exposed. 

Finally, I discover a box of antiseptic, gauze, and painkillers and pull it from the cabinet. When I turn back around, Sylus remains leant against the counter, looking sinfully good in the low light of the darkened kitchen. My breath hitches, knowing I’ve made the mistake of taking in his full figure so present before me, but it becomes harder to avert my gaze every time I see him.

It’s been one of the biggest frustrations of coming back to the N109 Zone. But once I discovered the intrigue of Sylus and my Evol linkage and the strange connection of our Aether Cores, it was an unavoidable trip. The last few weeks, Sylus and I have been seeing a lot more of each other, researching everything we can about what our linkage could be and how to control it. It seemed a little too late when I finally realized my growing nerves and the tension between us might not be from fear anymore. A realization I’ve been more than happy to continue shoving to the depths of my mind. I’ve had more important fish to fry lately. 

I find it hard to swallow as Sylus and I stare at each other, time frozen for a moment. He leans his hips leisurely against the island, legs crossed at the ankles, his palms holding him upright as they rest against the counter behind him. The position he’s in presses his shoulders apart, making them appear even broader than normal, his forearms pusling with the veins that ripple under his skin. 

His face is ethereal, bathed halfway in moonlight and halfway in shadow, the silver locks of his mussed hair falling in silk ribbons across his forehead. And his eyes. Oh, those eyes. Red and depthless and intense and all trained directly on me. I forget to breath as I take in his half-hooded gaze, irises looking lazy and dazed under the fan of his lashes. He looks god-like.

“Something wrong?” Sylus breaks the silence, his words rumbling across the miniscule distance between us. He tilts his head, lips parting slightly. 

“No!” I answer a bit too fast. I see the ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. “N-No. I found the kit…” 

My steps stutter back towards him, nerves hitching higher the closer we become, but one glance at the wound cutting across his ribs and I’m brought back to reality. He’s hurt and I need to focus. 

Gritting my teeth, I set the open first-aid kit on the counter next to him and remove the antiseptic and clean cloth, blotting the fabric with the medicinal liquid. “This might sting,” I say gently. 

I carefully press the cloth against the edge of the bloody gash, beginning to clean away the majority of the clotted and fresh blood still seeping onto Sylus’ skin. Despite Sylus’ claims that there was no need to worry, he flinches away from the ensuing sting of the cloth with a stifled moan. The noise is enough to make my stomach tighten. 

“Careful, kitten,” he tuts through grit teeth, hands gripping the edge of the counter. 

“I told you it might sting.” I start to smile, finding it a little ironic that the big bad leader of the most well-known crime orginazation in the N109 Zone is brought low by the sting of antiseptic. 

“There’s nothing funny about this situation,” he retorts, sounding almost childlike in his annoyance. 

“There might be a little something funny about it.” I shrug and try to stifle the growth of my grin, but it’s harder than I thought. “It’s just medicine, you big baby.”

Sylus groans again as I make another pass, the muscles in his own stomach tensing and untensing. “Usually the use of medicine is unnecessary.” The last word comes out like a strained hiss when the cloth rubs against the edge of the gash. 

My smile grows further, the corners of my mouth stretching to their limit. I cough to stop the urge to laugh at him. 

“Now that’s a rare sight,” Sylus whispers, the surprised tone of his voice pulling my eyes away from where they were focused on cleaning away more blood.

“What?” I can’t help but ask, tilting my head at his entranced expression. His eyes drop to my lips and linger there a moment longer than they probably should have. 

“That smile,” he admits, the hand opposite his injury lifting as if he’s unconscious of it. The back of his lithe fingers slowly brush against the length of my cheek, and my eyes widen at the feeling. He’s so warm. His own lips part and the tips of his fingers turn to glide along the underside of my mouth, his touch almost phantasmal. 

In his eyes, I see realization dawn and his hand pauses, hesitantly moving back down to his side, as much as I secretly wish it wouldn’t have. He gazes at me and in his expression is a sort of emotion I can’t quite place. He quickly covers whatever it was with a resigned smile, gentler than his usual controlled smirk. 

“I’d like it if you smiled like that more around me,” he confesses. My heart beat turns erratic for a moment. 

“I didn’t realize I hadn’t been,” I offer back, clearing my throat and moving back to my earlier task of cleaning the wound. As the blood clears away with each stroke of the cloth, I begin to get a clearer picture of just how deep this wound must have been for this to be the semi-healed version of it. “Sylus, what happened to you tonight?”

The diversion in topic is a slightly welcome respite from the growing tension. I sneak a quick glance at his face and find his gaze trained on the floor, eyebrows knit with thought. He waits a moment as if deciding whether to stop this line of conversation with one of his carefully crafted deflections or reveal the truth. I’m not sure if its the vulnerable air about tonight or whatever trust I’ve built up with him over these past few weeks, but he eventually sighs and speaks.

“It was a new kind of protocore weapon,” Sylus admits, gesturing to his almost-clean wound.

“A new protocore weapon?” I repeat, shocked and intrugied. “What kind of weapon?”

“I’m not sure.” Sylus shakes his head. “One of the business dealings with a former partner that was planned for tonight didn’t quite meet expectations.” He huffs a laugh to himself, as if recalling the events that lead to his injury. I find them anything but humorous but decide not to press the matter.

“Before I could take control of the situation, one of his men blindsided me,” he continues. I feel anxiety well up in my chest as I listen, but I keep quiet, letting him explain as I continue to clear away the last of the dried blood splattering his ribs. 

“Normally, a wound like this would be nothing but a trivial moment of pain, but once the dust settled, I realized it wasn’t healing over like usual. The blood just kept flowing. I came back here to find a way to mend it before it got much worse.”

“Sylus,” I breathe out once he finishes. I can feel his eyes return to me though I can’t bring myself to look at him again quite yet. “I know there was no way of you knowing what tonight would bring, but…” I swallow, trying to find the right words. “Please be careful.”

“You should see the other guys,” Sylus attempts to joke. “Well, there wasn’t really much of them to see in the end…”

I want to laugh, but find myself unable. The news he’s just shared worries me more than I’d like to admit to him in this moment. A new weapon that seems to temporarily halt Sylus’ self-healing abilities? That was a big, big revelation, and one that has my mind spinning.

“I know that these dealings are part of your job, and that danger comes with the territory, but I…” I trail off, not sure of what I’m wanting to tell him. Or if I’m wanting to tell him. 

“You what?” Sylus presses in a voice almost inaudible. Though I still haven’t looked at his face, I can tell how close he is to me by the sound of his voice. I can feel the tickle of his breath against my ear. When I don’t immediately respond, I jolt at the feeling of Sylus’ fingers snaking their way under my chin and tenderly tugging my gaze away from his wound and back to his awaiting eyes. 

The intensity of his stare almost knocks me to the floor. I might’ve fallen had it not been for the securing grip of his fingers around my chin. His thumb traces long lines against my skin, and I hope he can’t feel the timbre of my heartbeat rocketing against my chest. “You what?” he asks again.

Oh, what dangerous territory I’ve wandered into.

“I-I…” I stammer, the words incoherent in my head. “I need to finish bandaging your wound.”

I raise the ball of gauze between our too-close faces, relief exploding in my stomach at the flimsy boundary it creates. I hear Sylus sigh and chuckle on the other side as his hand slides from my face once more. He leans back a few inches, and I feel like I can breathe again. 

“Very well,” he resigns, returning his arm to his side and allowing me to continue. Sighing in relief, I move to begin wrapping the gauze around his waist when his left hand suddenly moves in tandem with my right. 

“Sylus, cut it out, I need to finish before it starts bleeding again!” I complain, giving him an annoyed look only to be met with his confused expression. 

“I didn’t do that,” he responds, looking down to my hands. “Not voluntarily at least.”

“This isn’t the time for games, just let me–” I move to attempt the gauze wrap a second time when the same thing happens–his hand moves in tandem with mine, blocking the way. Realization dawns on me as I lift our entwined hands into the air. 

“Damn it,” I curse as we both gaze upon the faint misty glow of our Evol linkage at work. Appearing almost as shrouded handcuffs, our mysterious and unexplainable resonance linkage had a nasty habit of forming at the most inopportune times, and this had to have been the worst of those times for it to happen. 

“Your Evol certainly knows how to pick a moment,” Sylus drawls sarcastically, smirking at our joined wrists. I cut him an annoyed glance, groaning to myself. 

“The last time we linked, it lasted. All. Day.” I recall last week when our resonance linkage decided to make an appearance over breakfast when Sylus leaned a little too close to me to grab the butter across the table. We spent the rest of that rainy day uncomfortably packed behind Sylus’ office desk researching ways to disengage the link at will. Obviously, we had no luck. 

“Well we can’t blame that on the Evol, now can we?” Sylus gives me a knowing smirk, and I fight not to roll my eyes as a blush creeps over my cheeks. One thing we both learned early on is that whatever this linkage was, it grew stronger the stronger my emotional, mental…phsyical relationship with the other person grew. 

Sylus has made to tease me about it on numerous occasions, and while I always tried to play it off as an annoyance, the truth was it scared me how long the links had been lasting. I knew it was only a matter of time before the truth was out in the open and he realized how deep the change in my feelings towards him went. Who knows how long this link would last? And in the middle of the night, no less. 

I’d have to learn how to control this resonance business sooner rather than later. Before long, the link might form and never break, and that was a thought that made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. 

“Well…” I start, frustration and embarrassment mixing together in my throat. “You’re just going to have to work with me to get these bandages on. Then we can worry about the link.” 

Sylus chuckles at the sour expression I wear but nods in agreement, holding out his hand. It takes a few attempts, but we both manage to figure out a pattern of pass and pull that works well enough at getting the gauze wrapped around his waist without too much contortion. The silence we both work in allows me to calm down and throw myself into my task. It’s all too much to think through at the moment. 

A few more moments of blissful silence pass, the gauze almost completely in place, when Sylus speaks again. “Mina…”

“Yes?” I stay focused on the wrapping.

“Why were you awake at this hour?” 

The sincerity in his voice almost makes my hands stutter in their rotation. It seems for the moment, whatever form of his true self that lies beneath the cocky exterior was paying a visit. 

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” I shrug, confiding in him.

Another pause. “Is the bed not comfortable?” 

“It’s perfectly comfortable,” I smile softly to myself.

“Is is it too hot? Too cold?” 

“It’s freezing in this house all the time,” I laugh. “But that’s not why.”

“Are Kieran and Luke making too much noise when they come back? Is Mephisto bothering you?”

I continue laughing as the gauze goes around once more.

“Why are you laughing?” Sylus inquires. Even without looking at him, I can see the puzzled expression he wears. “I don’t see what’s funny.”

“You’re what’s funny,” I grin wider. “You’re usually not so full of questions.”

“I’m simply trying to fix whatever is keeping you awake. A Hunter needs to sleep through the night.”

My hands pause on the last rotation of the gauze, eyes zoning out on where it crosses over Sylus’ ribs. “I don’t know why I can’t sleep. I just find it hard here.”

I glance up to see Sylus gazing intently at you. He always seems to be doing that. This time there is a hint of worry laced in his scrunched features. 

“I’m fine, though,” I reassure him quickly, my mouth twitching into a soft smile as I remember his earlier request. “I like coming here to watch the city. It’s relaxing.” My head tilts to gesture to the spot on the couch I’ve claimed for myself each night, the city scape stretching far beyond it. 

Sylus follows my gesture and stares out the far window himself for a moment before coming back to rest on me. His face contorts as if he’s thinking hard about something before he quietly clears his throat.

“You’re not…are you…” It was so unlike Sylus to be lost for words. “Are you not used to sleeping alone?”

There’s a question within his question. One I’m caught off guard to answer. 

“What? I–no,” I’m quick to respond. “I’m used to it. Very used to it.”

There’s a strange wash of relief over Sylus’ face at my response that has my insides knotting up.

“I’m not sure what it is,” I decide to continue, finally finishing the last wrap of the gauze and managing to secure it in place with my un-linked hand. With Sylus fully clean and bandaged, I drop my hands, unsure of what to do now. 

After a beat of silence, Sylus glances back to the spot I gestured to on the couch and then to me. He tilts his head towards the window. “Care to show me the view of my city you’ve been enjoying?”

I look at him a little surprised by his request. My city. The more I get to know Sylus, the more I find myself forgetting how much influence and power he has here. To think that a few months ago I was hearing the name “Onychinus” for the first time, and now here I was, linked to it’s very leader, the most dangerous and powerful figure in the N109 Zone. 

This man standing before me has become familiar in a way I wasn't expecting. He doesn’t scare me like he used to, and I find it hard to believe that he’s the one I spent so long hating before everything changed. 

“Yes,” I finally whisper in response, smiling shyly in an almost childlike excitement to share this thing I’ve come to find comfort in. 

“Then shall we?” Sylus gestures for me to lead the way back to the couch, and I oblige, turning to leave behind the bloodied shirt and messy first-aid kit in the kitchen and return to the view that originally pulled me out of my room. 

When I reach the sofa, however, I realize quickly that sitting sideways to face the window with our hands linked the way they are is going to be an uncomfortable task. “Maybe if we…” I try sitting in a few different ways, but every position has either me or Sylus craning our shoulder in an odd way. 

Sylus watches as I try to puzzle my way into the right positioning, but it’s to no avail. “Maybe we should just stand?” I laugh to myself, trying to hide my slight embarrassment. 

Sylus smirks softly at me. “Come here,” he coos in that sultry way of his, the in-control and confident leader making a reappearance as he descends sideways against the cushions of the couch and pulls me with him. I can’t do anything but fall the short distance straight into his lap, his legs parted to make the perfect place for me to land. 

My heart rachets into mythroat as he presses me gently back against his broad chest, my head tucked just beneath his chin. I pray vehemently that he can’t feel my heartbeat against him and thank the powers that be that he can’t see how heated my face is in this position. 

I realize quickly that his idea was a sound one, though, as he wraps his long arms around my waist, bringing his linked wrist to rest just under where mine hovers awkwardly. He leans back agains the couch, sighing contendently, and I can feel the remnants of his deep voice vibrating against my back. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers against your ear. I struggle not to fling myself away from him from the sheer shock of it. 

Steeling myself, I breathe to calm down. “Ye-Yes. It’s fine.”

Sylus’ responding chuckle sends shivers across my arms and legs. “You can rest your hands, sweetie. No need to keep them hovering in the air like that.”

I blush violently again, and try to find where to rest them but everywhere seems too intimate, too close. 

As if sensing my hesitancy, Sylus reaches his fingers towards mine and slides each digit between my own, dragging your now-encased hands into my lap. He’s always been far too confident for his own good. 

“Comfortable?” he questions once our hands are settled. I want to laugh at him because this is the most on edge I’ve felt in my whole life. My heart is hammering against my ribs, my stomach is tensed in knots and I can almost promise my hands are quickly becoming clammy against the smooth, warm skin of his own .

“Yes,” I manage to lie, but he only laughs again, deep and slow and far too close to my ear. 

“Too cute,” he says so quietly, I’m not sure I was meant to hear. 

“Won’t I hurt you in this position?” I concernedly ask, turing my head slightly to make sure I’m not pressed against his injury. 

“I’m the farthest from in pain I could be,” Sylus responds, the tip of his nose brushing along my turned cheek. Before I can even manage a yelp of surprise, Sylus continues. “Show me this city you’ve been watching,”

Grateful for the change in focus, I turn back to the window, calming slightly as I gaze back across the city, still unchanged in the last hour. Inside, however, I’m now not alone and it doesn’t feel so eerily quiet. Instead, Sylus is pressed so close that I can feel the rise and fall of his steady breathing, each exhale cascading against my shoulder. I can feel the pulsing of his heart all the way in this fingertips as they remain wrapped around mine, his thumb brushing abscently back and forth across the back of my palm. 

I begin to point out the little scenes in the city below that calm me the most–the life of the pub below, the rooftop garden a few highrises away, the flocks of birds that fly overhead. With each scene I reveal to Sylus, the more relaxed I begin to feel. He doesn’t say much in response to my narration, only offering the occasional hums of acknowledgement or squeeze of my hand.

After a few minutes of my rambling, I turn my face slightly to make sure he hasn’t drifted off to sleep, but am instead met with his face mere centimeters from mine, his eyes already locked on my face. I wonder if he’s been watching me the whole time I’ve been talking…

“Yes, I have,” Sylus responds lowly, and I jump, eyes widening as he grins at me. 

“Did I say that outloud?” My free hand goes to cover my mouth in embarrassment. 

There is a brand new kind of mirth in Sylus’ eyes, one I’ve not been witness too this close. It sucks the breath from my lungs. 

“I’ve seen this city from every angle, at every time of day, in every circumstance,” Sylus goes on, never looking away from me. “But you, little bird…”

I struggle to keep my composure in check.

“I’ve waited a long time to discover you.” 

I think I might die. 

“You’ll be fine, I’ve got you.”

Damn it, am I letting every thought slip into the open tonight?

Sylus’ expression goes from bright and humored to inquisitive, as if he’s considering whether or not he should voice his thoughts. He might as well, I’ve let every damn question in my head escape already. It’s only right he joins in. 

“Mina,” he starts, looking almost nervous and very un-Sylus-like. 

“Sylus,” I whisper back, feeling like I’m floating outside of my body. 

His chest hitches slightly, lips parting as he breathes into the silence for a beat. “Earlier…when you told me I should be careful…what were you about to say?”

He sounds breathless, his question hanging in the air between us, our mouths far too close for me to be thinking straight. In the back of my mind, I recall the moment, hesitant even now to utter what I was considering an hour ago. How much would it change things between us? Whatever is left of our boundaries, what little there might be, would surely be gone. I don’t know if that’s for better or for worse. 

“Please tell me.” Sylus leans in closer, his nose brushing against mine, our breaths intermingled. “Please.”

My resolve falters. “I-I…” 

“You what?” Sylus seems almost desperate, his hands tightening around my own. I’ve never seen or heard him like this. It’s a new kind of vulnerable. So I decide to repay it with my own.

“I care about you.” 

And now it’s out in the open between us, hanging there like a bob in the water. The only question is will he bite or reject the offering? 

“I care about you, Sylus,” I whisper again, my free hand raising of it’s own volition to brush down the skin of his face, from the edge of his eyebrow to the corner of his full lips.

Sylus’ breathing becomes heavy, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as something shifts in the air around us. “I hate seeing you hurt, and after tonight, I’m more worried than I wanted to admit about you being out in the city.” I find myself rambling into the growing tension. Anything to ease whatever is building. 

“With this new weapon, I detest the idea of you out there alone…what if you don’t make it home next time?”

“Home…” Is all that Sylus repeats, as if he isn’t fully hearing every word.

I fully cup his face in my hand. As the moments have ticked by, I realize I’ve shifted in his embrace and am somehow almost fully facing him, body halfway turned in his lap as I lean into his strong arms. 

Sylus exhales and leans his face into my touch, brows scrunching up in another emotion I can’t quite read. 

“Is this why…” he begins, eyes dropping to my lips and then back again, “Is this why the links have been lasting so long?”

“...Yes.” My cheeks heat up once more. 

“Fuck,” Sylus hisses to mostly himself, eyes drinking in my expression. 

I curve my brow. “Is that good or bad?”

Sylus manages a breathy chuckle, his arm tightening around my waist now. “Good…very good. You don’t realize how much so.”

Afraid I’ll implode if I read too far into that statement, I continue, “Can I go out into the city with you? To help keep you safe? Please?”

Sylus looks slightly tormented by the question. “I’d be far too worried for your safety to consider my own, kitten.”

“I can take care of myself,” I rebut. “I’m a specially trained Deepspace Hunter, or have you forgotten?”

“I’d never forget something that could put my life in mortal danger,” Sylus responds sarcastically, chuckling softly at my responding annoyance. He strokes my face again and I melt. 

“Let me take care of you,” I try again, leaning further into him, hoping to convey the sincerity of my request. Having said these thoughts out loud after all this time, I feel like a waterfall that can’t help but spill everything I’ve kept dammed up. “I want to take care of you.”

Once again, Sylus appears internally knotted up, his face contorting in an odd mix of confusion and desire. “Do you not know how much you do for me already?” he asks. “How much you’re doing for me in this very moment?” 

“It doesn’t feel like enough, whatever it is,” I admit. “I can do more for you. I can fight.”

“Mina–” he strains out, conflicted. “I know you’re capable, I do, but that’s not–you don’t–”

“I don’t what?”

“Linkon City is not the N109 Zone. You’ve barely scratched the surface of how bad this place can get.”

I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, not in this moment after everything that’s been put out in the open, but his statement pricks my pride and I pull back from him. I can see that I’ve hurt him in his confused expression as I put more distance between us. I’d get up from my spot on his lap if I knew I’d make it more than half a foot without dragging him along with me.

“So you get to go out risking life and limb for your responsibilities, and I just have to sit here on my hands waiting for you to come back every night? IF you come back?”

“No, Mina, that’s not what I’m saying…fuck, I don’t even know…how are we–do we need to talk about this right now?” Sylus runs a hand through his silver locks and I watch as they fall in a messy cascade across his forehead. 

I know this is not the way he probably saw this conversation going. I’m sure he would rather have me close to him and telling him more about how much I care about his wellbeing, and if I was being totally honest with myself, that’s what I wish too, but my pride is stumped against the wall of his double standards. 

Why does he get to call the shots for my well-being but I get no say in his? 

He looks like he’s about to reason with me again, but I shake my head. “I want to go to bed now.” 

Sylus looks at a loss for words, starting at me with his jaw half open. He lifts our still-linked hands and waves them between us, as if to remind me that exiting this conversation isn’t going to be that easy.

I curse quietly to myself, looking away from him and out the window. 

“Mina, please, can we–”

“No, we can’t,” I interrupt. With each passing moment, I feel more and more tense and I don’t know how to calm down. I feel like I’m on the verge of tears, the threat of the waterworks stinging at the back of my eyes, and it’s the most frustrating feeling. 

Sylus, to the credit of his good judgement, is remaining quiet. I can feel him staring at the side of my face, probably wondering where this conversation turned sideways. 

“Let’s go then,” he finally speaks into the growing silence.

I whip my head in this direction. “Go where?”

“To bed. If you’re so keen to sleep right now, then I will oblige.”

I look at him, confused, gesturing to our linked hands. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

Without another word, Sylus scoops his free arm beneath my legs that hang over his lap and pulls. As if I’m the weight of a plushie, I’m hoisted into the air, sitting halfway over Sylus’ bare shoulder and halfway in one arm. I’m immediately annoyed by how strong he is. 

“What are you–where are–”

“To bed,” he interrupts, and I can hear the tension in his own voice. I’m caught between my own frustration and the guilt of causing it, so I keep quiet, huffing in resignation as he turns and begins to trapse easily down the length of the dark hallway. 

I have no idea what his plan is as he walks, wondering if he thinks the Evol link will just dissapear when he gets to my room, but instead he passes right by it. My eyes widen as I watch my heavy mahogany door grow smaller and smaller, Sylus still charging towards the end of the hall. I turn, taking in the ornate, black, double-doors at the head of the hallway…Sylus’ room.

“Where do you think you’re taking me?” I ask, incredulous. 

“To b–”

“If you say “bed” one more damn time, I’ll throttle you here and now.”

Against his stoic resolve, Sylus chuckles, and I have to admit, I struggle to remain annoyed, overjoyed that he can’t see my face hanging over his shoulder.

I’ve only been in Sylus’ room twice, both during a bet to see if I could steal a brooch he’d hidden in return for his help on a mission to find the other half of my Aether Core. That seems so long ago now, though thinking back, that second visit to Sylus’ room was where our relationship started to shift from professional to…whatever is was now. 

I shudder as I think about what it felt like to have him towering over me on that bed for the first time.

And now I was going back in under very different, albeit less enticing, circumstances. 

I take in the familiar surroundings as Sylus pushes through the heavy doors like they’re nothing, making straight for the bed that he deftly plops me down on top of. I look up at him as he stands before me, but I can’t read his expression if my life depended on it. 

“Care to explain how you saw this working?” I try, attempting to break the silence. As the moments pass and he remains like the former version of himself, walled up and unreadable, I feel my frustration beginning to be replaced by nerves and uncertainty. Is all that progress we just made for nothing? Are we back to square one now?

“First, you’ll help me out of these.”

I choke on my breath as Sylus gestures to his belt and slacks, still hugging snuggly to his narrow hips. The moisture in my mouth dries up as my eyes follow the prominent V at the bottom of his torso, the deep rivets leading straight below the button of the very pants he’s requested I help remove.

“I’ll what?”

“If we can bandage a wound while linked like this, I’m certain a simple belt and zipper won’t put up too much of a fight.”

“Sylus, I can’t–”

“If you think I’m sleeping in these in my own bed, you’re sorely mistaken,” he states, matter-of-factly. My jaw drops open. He can’t be serious. “Don’t look too disturbed, sweetie, I’ll do all the heavy lifting.” Sylus smirks as he yanks my linked hand forward. 

At this angle, I have to pull against the momentum to stop my hand from making an…unfortunate collision, and cut my look of shock and annoyance up to to see Sylus looking mighty pleased with himself. 

“Just keep your hand close enough to allow me to work,” he explains. I fight to not roll my eyes. I also fight to keep my cheeks from heating up. I’m beginning to remember how I used to feel in the presence of Sylus before I got through a few more of his layers. This arrogance and smugness always did make me irate. 

I look across the room, finding anything and everything to analyze while I feel my hand being jostled around. I hear the metallic sound of the belt being undone and discarded to the ground. Then the unmistakable sounds of his zipper falling loose and his slacks slipping to the floor. 

“Don’t be too coy, kitten. It’s not like this is isn’t anything you haven’t seen,” Sylus purrs from next to me, and my stomach does a flip against my protestation. 

“Can we just get to the sleeping part?” I try my best to sound as bored as possible. How we went from mere centimeters apart, sharing breaths and encased in each others arms to putting on our best show of “Who Can Care Less?” I'll never know. 

Instead of the smug response I’m expecting back, I hear a low and resigned sigh from next to me and brave a look in Sylus’ direction. His eyes are cast away towards the floor, but mine hungrily graze up his newly bare skin. It’s true it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but that doesn’t make it any less delicious.

His lengthy frame is cut with rippling muscles that sit prettily beneath his luminescent skin. His bandaged and broad torso swims to the narrow line of his black briefs that hug the curve of his meaty thighs like something perfectly tailored. Knowing him, the briefs probably were perfectly tailored. 

I am distracted from my shameless gazing, however, as I return my eyes to his face. He’s still not looking at me…he looks almost sad? I don’t recall ever seeing Sylus downcast, but if that’s not the expression sneaking onto this perfect face, then I don’t know what is. My heart lurches at the sight. 

I watch as he reaches past me to pull the pristinely made sheets away from the headboard, revealing a deepset grey silk. “After you,” he offers, his previous expression masked for the moment. 

My emotions are all over the place, but I keep any thoughts I have to myself as I nod and scoot back on the bed. Sylus is pulled after me by our linked wrists, and if the circumstances were any different right now, I think I might explode from the sight of his lithe frame bending to crawl onto the bed towards me. 

I have to avert my gaze and swiftly burry myself beneath the cool sheets before I heat up anymore. As I settle against the pillow, I feel the bed dip next to me as Sylus does the same. Soon, I feel the silk sheets rise to encase us both, and with a swift flick of Sylus’ fingers, the lights in room go out and we’re plunged into darkness and silence. 

I blink a few times, forcing my eyes to adjust to the lighting. Soon enough, the moonlight bathes everything in the bedroom in a soft glow and I can see the faint outline of the objects around me. I turn my head to the right and gaze out of the large bay window fixed into the far wall. The view of the night sky from here is breathtaking. I can’t help but feel a sense of yearning for the scene only minutes earlier, staring out the window with Sylus so close. 

He’s so close to me now, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. How did things change so quickly? I forget why I was even frustrated with him…Well, I still remember why, but I don’t know why it was so important. The downfall of pride, I suppose. And now I’m lying in Sylus’ bed more awake than ever before, wallowing in my regret and desperate for some sort of salve to the situation. 

I risk a glance to my left and can make out the sharp outline of Sylus’ profile resting on the pillow next to mine. How many times have I dreamed of this? Of lying next to him in the quiet of the evening? Only there wasn’t this glaring tension resting between us in those dreams. I mentally kick myself for letting my annoyance get the better of me. And just after I’d made so much progress with him. 

I can feel the heat of his hand under the blankets so close to mine, the Evol linking our wrists making it harder to move any farther apart. As I subtly test the pull of the link, I can’t help but feel it’s even shorter than when it first connected. My fingers must be mere centemeters from Sylus’. 

There’s no sound in the room aside from our breathing. If I train my ears just right, I can find the rhythm of Sylus’ inhales and exhales–the only comforting thing in the vicinity. I chew the inside of my cheek as the temptation to move closer to him grows. He’s so close, so warm. And with that warmth so nearby, it intensifies the freezing air of the bedroom, chilling me right to my bones.

My free hand grips the silk sheets, pulling them up to rest just below my chin. I curl my body beneath the covers as tightly as I can, trying to retain any heat I still have from when Sylus’ was holding me against him. It’s no use. I continue to fight against the chill of the air, wondering how Sylus exists in this kind of cold all the time. 

“You’re shaking the whole bed.”

The sound of his voice in the dead silence makes me jump.

“Oh…I’m s-sorry,” I chatter, my chin stuttering from the chill. “It just got so cold…You don’t have an extra blanket in here, do you?”

Instead of responding, I hear him sigh deeply before the bed dips closer to me and I’m suddenly sliding sideways directly into the bare and blazing skin of Sylus himself. He situates our linked wrists in such a way that they are comfortably resting between our bodies. I instinctively curl myself against him, drinking in his heat like water. 

“Better?’ he asks, his voice close by in the darkness. 

I sigh out the last of my chill, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder, not stopping to care that the tension between our unresolved conversation is still sitting stagnant above us. 

“Yes,” I say honestly. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I attempt to close my eyes and find rest. If silence is all that awaits me tonight, I’d rather find solace in slumber and pray that when I wake up, the link will be dissolved. 

My eyes are closed all of a minute before I realize falling back asleep won’t be as easy as I hoped. My insides are too restless, my regret and guilt too heavy. I should say something, I know I should, but I’m not sure how to broach the topic again…

“I care about you, too.”

Once again the low rumble of Sylus’ rough timbre echoes into the silence before I get my chance. I jolt at the unexpected comment and feel him shift his position beside me. In the glow of the moonlight, I lift my head to see his face turned towards me, lids hooded as he finds my eyes. 

Suddenly my heart is pounding again. How does he manage to do that?

“What?” is all I can think to say. 

“I care about you. I realize I never returned the sentiment…earlier.”

“Oh!” I breathe out, caught off guard. “I–That’s…thank you?”

“Thank you?” 

I can hear the start of a chuckle behind his words, and I can’t help but giggle in response at the absurdity of my own. 

“No, not ‘thank you’--well, I mean yes, thank you, but that’s–what I meant to say was…”

“It’s ok, Mina,” he lulls my from my spiral with his calm tone. He turns even more in the darkness until we are both lying facing each other. He looks some kind of otherworldly in this light. “I wanted to you know that I’m not hesitant to bring you with me into the city because I don’t think you’re capable or don’t want you to worry for my well-being.”

I purse my lips, studying his face. His expression is still sadder than I’d like it to be, as if he’s been mulling these words over and over, unsure of how I’d respond. 

“I know,” I agree, earnestly. “But then why–”

“I care about you, too,” he repeats just as emphatically as me. Under the blankets, I feel the ghost of his fingers trail against mine, testing the waters of what’s ok. I instantly fold and move my fingers to be eagerly enveloped by his own. He inches closer to me. 

“You care about me,” I echo, testing each word on my lips. 

He slowly grins, that hooded gaze eating me alive. His other hand reaches towards me and tucks a stray hair behind my ear, so gentle I question if this is the same man I met all those months ago. 

“Yes,” he assures in a breath of a whisper. “Very much so.” 

“You care about me,” I say again, sounding like a broken record.

Sylus laughs a low rumble of a laugh that shoots right through me. “I care about you so much that I worry about your safety the same way you say you worry about mine.”

I stare up at him, melting against his palm as it traces soothing lines up and down the curve of my neck. It’s like every new place he’s allowed to touch me is a place he must explore every inch of, memorizing every fold and caressing every curve. 

“I have responsibilities to attend to out in the city,” he continues on, explaining in a sort of gentle voice that has me hanging onto every syllable. “If I don’t attend to those responsibilities, all that follows is chaos, the kind that would eventually rope you up inside, and I can’t have that.” His fingers tighten on my hand, as if reassuring himself I’m really here in front of him. 

“Keeping you here means that I can attend to responsibilities knowing you’re safe and unharmed,” Sylus reveals. “I’m without the distraction of worrying about someone I care for.” 

“You care about me.”

Sylus laughs louder this time. “Is that all you can say, kitten?” 

I feel my grin growing in response to the sound of his laughter. I wonder how many other people have had the privilege to hear his laugh, his real laugh, hearty and deep and comforting. 

“I’m sorry, “ I shake my head. “I’m just processing.”

Sylus inches forward almost imperceptibly, eyebrows knit together. “Surely you knew I returned the feeling?”

I suddenly become sheepish. 

Sylus’ eyebrows raise in astonishment, his grin going lopsided. “Surely, you knew!”

My cheeks heat and I retreat with a squeak beneath the barrier of silk sheets, burying my face against his shoulder. I hear another well of laughter tumble over me as Sylus moves to remove the sheets from overtop of me. 

“I promise I didn’t know!” I finally admit, grinning stupidly against the warmth of his skin. As the natural cadence of my giggling dies down, I continue, slightly embarrassed, “I guessed…I hoped…but you’ve been so shamelessly flirtatious since the moment we met, I could never be sure…”

Sylus feigns shock. “Shamelessly flirtatious? Tsk, tsk, sweetie, you couldn’t be talking about me.”

I laugh again and Sylus lights up at the sound, his eyes glowing. 

He stares at me for a long moment, his hands reclaiming their purchases against my skin, stroking and caressing the exposed parts with such care. “Sorry if it should’ve been more obvious,” I add after a minute, gazing lazily at his face. “Wanderers and fluctuation zones I can detect all day long, but this has never been my strong suit…” I gesture between the two of us.

Sylus huffs a gentle laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe it wasn’t obvious to you, that’s ok. We’re here now.”

I bite my lip in thought and Sylus’ eyes zero in on the action, pupils dialiting before he pulls his gaze away. My stomach twists again. 

“...How long?” I eventually ask, nerves lighting up inside me. I can’t bare to keep eye contact with him as I wait for an answer. 

“How long?”

“How long have you…cared for me?” I feel so silly asking it out loud. As a blush creeps up my neck, I fight the urge to dive beneath the covers again. 

Sylus’ fingers still their soothing ministrations against my skin, and I suddenly worry. Did I ask something I shouldn’t have? Was it too far? Too soon? 

But when I anxiously meet Sylus’ eyes once again, he’s already looking at me like something I’ve never seen. His piercing red irises have a slight glow to them, his brows knit slightly in a look of sincerity that takes my breath away. He pauses a moment longer, making sure I’m keeping my eyes on him as he speaks, low and slow.

“A long time,” he utters, breathless. “A very, very long time.” 

I’m slightly confused while at the same time utterly captivated. I don’t know how long these few months could’ve felt. I suppose it has seemed like forever already, but I have a feeling that’s not what he means. Something about the moment has me reeling back my questions, however. This doesn’t seem like the right time or place to broach that topic.

“And you?” He returns my question, his face earnest as he awaits my response. “When did you start to…care?”

I find his phrasing funny and giggle before I answer. “When I was looking for that brooch, I suppose.”

He looks somewhat surprised at this. Maybe it wasn’t what he was expecting. “The one from the bet we made?”

I nod.

“What about that little hunt had you see me as something less monstrous?” 

I open my mouth to protest that I ever found him monstrous, but truth be told, those first few days in the N109 Zone were not my favorite to recount with him. 

Instead I answer honestly. “I tried so many times so many ways to find that stupid brooch, and you were so…patient with me. Even when I eventually had you handcuffed to this very bed and you could’ve escaped at any moment, you didn’t, and you let me think I had the upper hand for a few moments.”

Sylus listens intently, his eyes trained on my lips.

“I don’t know,” I continue. “In the end when you finally handed over the brooch, at first I was annoyed that you’d let me win without really winning, but as I kept replaying the memory of it, I thought it was so uncharacteristic of you to give in…and then I started thinking, ‘What if that isn’t uncharacteristic of him, and the demeanor he usually has is the farce?’”

I watch Sylus’ eyebrow raise in question. 

“The interactions we had after that…I started looking at you through that lens to test my theory, and sure enough, you aren’t the big bad meanie everyone paints you to be. At least not all the time.” I smile to myself. 

Looking back to Sylus, I see his expression has become one of subdued shock.

“What?” I ask through my smile. 

“I just didn’t think you were paying that close attention to me.” 

“I’m quite perceptive where it counts,” I defend myself. 

He smiles slowly. “Except when it comes to matters of returned affection.” 

I roll my eyes. “Okay, well I’m one for one on the perception front. I’m gonna take that as a win.” 

Sylus’ grin grows and he inches forward yet again. As I notice how truly close he’s gotten, my nerves begin to edge upward. My throat dry, I avert my eyes. “So, what now?” 

“You could touch me.”

“W-What?” I choke out, blindsided by his request. 

“If you want to, that is,” he amends, carefully looking me over. “You seem rather…timid when it comes to physical affection, do you not?”

“I’m not timid!” I say defiantly, immediately proving myself wrong when Sylus dips his hand from my face to my shoulder then under the edge of blanket to my waist. I instantly flinch away from the sudden change in proximity. “Ok, well that was an unfair play!”

Sylus is laughing in earnest now, and it’s enough to distract me from my fumble. 

“You were a little tense on the couch earlier, as well,” he notes, moving his hand back to the safe zone of my face. “Do you not enjoy physical contact?”

“I do!” I am quick to assure him. “I do enjoy it, it’s just…”

“Just…?”

“You make me nervous.”

“Nervous good or nervous bad?”

“Good! Nervous good.”

“So what does nervous good mean? Would you rather I not touch you just yet?” Sylus begins to remove his hands from me and I immediately feel their absence. 

I shake my head, swiftly reaching back for his hands and pulling them back to where they were previously stationed. Sylus tries to hide his satisfaction. 

“I don’t mind the physical contact, really!” I do my best to reassure that I am very much enthusiastic about the physical element going on here. “It just might take me a bit to get used to it without jumping is all. It’s something new.”

Sylus nods, his eyes darting away before returning with a question. “And me? How do you feel about touching me?”

My throat dries again. He truly is shameless. 

“Have I given the impression that I don’t want to?” I ask sincerely, concerned I’ve come across averse to the idea.

“You haven’t exactly returned the physical sentiment the whole time we’ve been lying here.” He says it like it’s obvious. 

“Oh, I haven’t?” I was genuinely unaware, much more focused on his hands on me than where mine were. Now that he’s mentioned it, I realize aside from the hand I’m holding beneath the sheets, my other hand remains curled against my own chest. “Do you…enjoy physical contact?” 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat of pause. “Especially yours.”

My stomach is doing flips. “Where should I–?”

“Anywhere,” he whispers. “Everywhere.” 

I hesitate a moment, overthinking every minute movement. I did touch him earlier when I bandaging his wounds, but I suppose that was with a different purpose in mind. And on the couch, I remember touching his face, didn’t I? Maybe it wasn’t enough for him. I know some people are more drawn to touch than others. I didn’t even really know I liked it until Sylus started doing it. If it feels as comforting to him as this does to me, then I decide to make an effort to return the gestures he’s already offered. 

Slowly, I unfurl my hand from against my own chest and reach out towards the exposed planes of Sylus’. I place my palm flat against his collarbone, fingers running a line across the protruding feature and up along the curve of his own neck. His skin is soft and warm and I eat up every inch of it as I trace a path along the sharp jut of his jawline and then back down, down, down, across his collarbone once again and then onto the solid muscles of his chest.

I run my nails along his pale skin, and Sylus shudders beneath my touch, moving even closer to me. 

“Is this ok?” I ask gently, keeping my eyes focused on what my hand is doing. 

“Yes,” comes the heady whisper of approval above me. It sounds almost gutteral and it has my mind spinning. Did this really affect him that much? “More. Touch me more.” 

My mind careens into an abyss at the sound of his voice. When I look up, he’s looking down with eyes half closed, irises glazed over and needy, and staring right at me. 

I continue to run the pressure of my palm and the scratch of my nails along his chest, venturing across to his other pectoral and then down his sternum towards the chiseled field of his abdominals. I stop just above the gauze wrapping, avoiding placing any pressure on his healing wound. As I travel back up towards his face, I test a graze along his exposed nipple and melt inside as a low moan of approval erupts from his throat. 

“Careful, kitten,” he admonishes in a dulcet tone. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.” 

“Can’t fini–” I start to question before he captures my roaming hand in his own. 

“Maybe that’s enough practice for now,” he decides, thumbing the back of my palm. 

I look up at Sylus from beneath hooded lashes, breathing harder than I realized. I watch as Sylus’ adam’s apple bobs against the skin of his throat, his chest starting to heave like a bellows. 

“Fuck…” he hisses, squeezing my hand as if trying to stop his own from moving any farther.

“What?” I question, searching that dazed expression for what he might be thinking about. Did I do something I shouldn’t have? “What’s wrong?”

Sylus leans closer to me, our mouths a breath apart. “I’m trying so hard to stop myself from kissing you right now.”

His brazen confession has my breath stuck in my throat. There’s a silence that seems like it stretches on forever between us. I force myself to swallow and say, “What if I don’t want you to stop yourself?” 

His right eye glows an intense shade of red as he reigns in the flare of his Evol energy. Those irises lock their sights on my parted lips. He licks his own in a way that has me becoming a puddle against him. I didn’t realize I want to kiss him so badly until he spoke it outloud. Now it’s all I can think of. What his lips taste like, what noises he makes, how well he uses that vipers tongue of his…

“If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he whispers against the skin of cheek, so close that he almost feels like part of me.

“Don’t,” I plead breathlessly. “Don’t stop yourself.” 

I let my eyes drift back to his enticing mouth, licking my own lips in response. 

“I have to–” is all he gets out before his lips are on mine. 

My head and my stomach implode in tandem, nerves and butterflies and explosions swimming all throughout my body at the feeling of him kissing me. I am in heaven, pure heaven. 

I always knew Sylus was a sensual kind of person, but having his lips pressed against mine was almost sinful with how perfect it felt. The kiss is gentle but desperate, the pressure of his mouth on mine conveying how he can’t seem to get close enough, to feel enough of me. 

His free hand moves from my face to my neck and up to my hair, his long digits fisting in my locks, tugging me futher into him. I suck against his bottom lip which draws out the most beautiful moan from his throat. 

His Evol energy suddenly erupts in a swarm of red and black mist that swims around us both, carressing my arms, my legs, my waist, every part of me his hands can’t get to. 

I feel his wrist tugging against the link beneath the sheets, trying without success to free itself and move elsewhere on my person. 

“Fuck, I want to touch you, all of you,” he grinds out through breathless kisses, tugging again against the Evol link. If I wasn’t so far gone against his body, I’d find it in me to laugh that the very thing that brought us this close was now his hindrance. And with the link growing stronger the more our connection grows, I didn’t see it coming loose anytime soon.  

“Sylus,” I moan against his mouth, his Evol energy shuddering around me in response. 

“Say it again, Mina,” he pleads, pressing me to his chest. “Say my name.”

“Sylus, Sylus, Sylus,” I repeat in between each capture of my lips in his. We continue for a moment longer, his tongue beginning to tease the line of my mouth before he suddenly pulls away, leaving me breathless and blown out, hazy in the remnants of his touch.

I open my eyes to see his chest rising and falling in erratic patterns, his hand still fisted in my hair. His own eyes are closed, his Evol energy slowly dissipating around us. He’s trying to regain himself. 

“Sylus?” I venture, my voice not sounding quite my own. “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” he breathes slowly, his voice like gravel. “Yes, I’m fine. I just need…a moment.”

“Ok,” I concede, lying back and watching him as he reigns in his explosion of energy. He’s so powerful, it’s a marvel to watch his Evol in action, and it makes me want to reach back for him even more. I lift my free hand to do just that before he intercepts my fingers in his own and holds it against his chest.

Sylus falls against the sheets and curls me against him, kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry, I think we should stop for now…”

“Oh, ok,” I whisper, my cheeks heating in embarrassment. I make to turn myself over before he sees the blush covering my neck and face when he tightens his grip on me.

“Where are you going?” he sounds concerned.

“I thought…you said you wanted to stop.”

Sylus exhales a relieved breath. “No, kitten, please don’t misunderstand.” I meet his eyes and he massages my hand with his own in a comforting way. “I need to stop for my own sake…if we’d kept going…I don’t think I would’ve been able to control my Evol.” 

My eyes light with realization. “Oh…”

“I’ve never…” His eyes go somewhere far away for a moment as he becomes lost in a thought. “That’s never happened before. My Evol going haywire…did I hurt you?” Suddenly all his worry is trained on me, his eyes looking me up and down to ensure no lingering injury was left behind.

“What? No, of course not,” I reassure him. “It felt…good.”

“Good?” Sylus repeats. 

“Like there was more of you around me.” 

He exhales again. “Good.”

“Was it…okay for you?” If I had a dollar for everytime I’ve blushed uncontrollably tonight, I’d be a damn millionare. 

Sylus looks at me for a moment before leaning in and chuckling, his eyes closing in mirth. Was I that bad?

He opens his eyes and looks so deeply in mine that I balk under his gaze. “You have…no idea how long I’ve waited for that.” The tone of his voice sets my heart aflame. Sylus glances back to my now-swollen lips before he tears away. “I would do it again if I thought I could control myself.”

The way he looks at me so hungrily, like he could devour the whole of me in one bite makes me want to hide myself away. He is too much and not enough all at once.  

“We’ll have to work on that,” I manage to finally say. 

Sylus laughs and he runs the back of his hand down my face, coming to rest against my neck. “I look forward to it. Now, sleep, little bird. You’ve been up far past your bedtime.” 

I blink at him and suddenly feel more tired than I have in weeks. As Sylus curls me against his side and readjusts the sheets overtop of us, I fight to stay awake and take one last look at his perfect face, suddenly terrified this has all been some elaborate fever dream and I’m about to wake up in my bed down the hall with nothing but the lingering memory of tonight to hold on to. 

“Sleep, darling,” Sylus whispers again, his lips pressing to the crown of my head, his hand still linked to mine beneath the silk sheets massaging gentle patterns into my palm that have my drifting even farther off. “I’ll be here when you wake.” 

And that was all I needed to hear before my eyes finally closed and sleep washed over me for the first time since I arrived. This time, I sleep all the way through to morning. ~ A/N: This is the first thing I've written since i went on a tumblr hiatus back in 2020. Love and Deepspace has drawn me out of the trenches and I am once again a fandom girlie. For now at least! I lowkey wanted to make this into a mini-series, which i might still do if I get enough of an idea for it, but for now, I hope you enjoy this moment with Sylus! Requests are open for drabbles and fics for LnDS <3 ~zayneternal <3

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 1

Part 2 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I'll update the tags as the story progresses, there should only be two more parts.

I'm not sure how far I'll go with certain behaviors, so leave a comment and let me know what you think <3

(This first part is to provide context, the other two will set the story in motion)

Becoming a Padawan was a lifelong dream. Of course, I was young, so my view of the world and what I would experience in the coming years was very limited. The idea of being taken under the wing of a more experienced Jedi master, learning many more techniques, the missions, the travels, all the people and aliens I could meet... I was bursting with happiness.

Not that the exercises at the temple weren't stimulating, I was glad to have made friends, to have developed a routine with them, but I was ready for something new.

So, when I was finally introduced to my future master, I was bursting with joy. I recognized her immediately, it was hard not to. Vernestra was an important member of the Order, involved with the Senate, and was known for her numerous successes. It was an honor for me to receive that position by her side.

Over the years, I had been recognized as an excellent future Padawan, with the ability to learn quickly, a strong sense of observation, and a positive and kind character that always accompanied me. I was often praised for the way I presented myself to others. In short, everyone saw a bright future for me, but I had difficulty seeing it myself. I was young and inexperienced and I believed that the important thing was to follow the rules, the rest was just a part of me, something I did naturally.

I imagine that becoming Vernestra’s Padawan was just the confirmation of that golden path everyone saw me on, but I was too caught up in the newness to really think about it.

However, I soon realized that I lost the balance I had created up to that point, I lost some friends, some simply due to distance, others were... cold towards me.

I didn't understand what had changed. I would never have accused anyone of feeling emotions like jealousy or anger towards me, we were children. Missteps were normal, and we were taught that it was right to face them and learn from them.

But if you asked around, many would have described me as someone who never made mistakes, who always responded with a gentle smile, a comforting word, a hand on the shoulder, or even just a pleasant company if you needed to vent. Perhaps that was the problem. I appeared too perfect in the eyes of others.

And yet, the Master didn’t make me feel that way. She taught me everything calmly, I followed her every step, she reprimanded me harshly, but always with care. She soon realized how much I sought validation in everything I did.

It was stronger than me, I believed I was always making a mistake, that I was in the wrong. After all, who was I to say something was right or wrong? I was just a Padawan. A child.

And anyway, it wasn’t the Jedi’s job to give answers, but rather to push people to understand for themselves.

Even though it was a concept I found difficult to grasp myself.

Anyway, that’s how I met Qimir.

He was Vernestra’s former Padawan, now promoted to Jedi Knight and independent in his duties, but he often visited us, either to seek advice from his old Master or just to ask how she was doing. I found him very sweet.

The first time I met him in person, I already knew his name. He had managed to stand out as soon as he started his duties as a Knight. Among the younger ones, there was a sense of reverence towards him even though we had never seen him in person. And besides, it was rumored that he was terribly handsome, not that it particularly interested me at the time.

I remember I was in the library with Vernestra, she had assigned me some basic readings to start my future physical training. Young ones are already taught at an early age to defend themselves and to learn various positions, but it was more about building an understanding of your Force signature, learning to trust your senses. The real training would then be individual for the student once they had a Master, so she had recommended these introductory readings on the various forms of combat and their use.

Those were afternoons I remembered with particular affection. Sitting in silence, she would take a more suitable book or bring her work documents on her datapad, and the hours would pass in an instant. Sometimes, I would glance at her to see what she was doing. She noticed every time, smiled slightly, and gently scolded me, telling me to return to my tasks.

I was happy. I felt cared for, appreciated, but not in the cold manner of a teacher with their student. It was a feeling I didn’t quite know how to place in my heart, and it worried me a bit, but I kept my doubts for another day.

On one of those quiet afternoons, I met Qimir. The room was particularly deserted that day, so the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard clearly along the shelves. Thinking it was the librarian, I didn’t pay much attention and remained with my nose buried in the book. Even when he stopped in front of our table I didn’t pay attention. Then, a deep male voice I didn’t recognize spoke Vernestra’s name.

Curiosity flared up in an instant, and as the two began a light conversation next to me, I slowly raised my gaze, the book almost serving as a shield, my hair partly covering my eyes. In front of us stood a young man in his twenties, dressed in the classic brown Jedi Knight attire, speaking casually to Vernestra. His slightly long, smooth hair, a light smile, and dark eyes framed by a chiseled jaw.

It was the first time I saw him. And the first time my heart beat so fast in my chest.

I didn’t know if it was because he was undeniably a handsome guy. I had never been too interested in that sort of thing, and anyway, it was forbidden for Jedi to have too impure thoughts. It was more... his aura. The amused smile but attentive eyes, the neat but relaxed posture... he seemed to shine with his own light. It was what I felt when I saw a member of the council, when I glimpsed Master Yoda in the corridors, reverence, respect, a bit of fear.

He was captivating, and he seemed to be aware of it.

I didn’t even realize that I had been staring at him longer than I should have. He noticed the insistent gaze on him. I must have looked quite ridiculous, a young girl hiding behind a book while staring at the great Jedi Knight, but the smile he gave me right after almost took my breath away as I blushed, perhaps for the first time in my life.

“And you must be the new Padawan who took my place. Nice to meet you, I’m Qimir” he said, extending a hand, and after casting a nervous glance at Vernestra, who was smiling at me, I hugged the book to my chest with one arm, my palm tingling, unsure whether to return the handshake.

Another inner turmoil came with that first touch. His hands had long, slender fingers, marked by numerous calluses, probably from gripping the lightsaber or the various missions he faced. It was just another reason why I started to admire him. I could see all the dots connecting in this figure that represented everything I wanted to become. A Jedi. A reference point for those in need.

I said my name in a low, timid voice, and he leaned towards me with a slight frown “Such a small voice, are you always like this, or am I making you nervous?” he joked, but I bit my lip, not knowing what to reply, I pulled my hand away, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he began to gently rub my knuckles with his thumb.

“Leave her alone, Qimir. She’s shy, don’t start with your teasing” Vernestra scolded him, at which he let go. I hid my hand under the table, clenching it into a fist, my skin tingling.

“Sorry, sorry. It must be a relief for you to have someone like this after me” she sighed but didn’t deny it either, at which I let out a smile and he, noticing, winked at me.

That was the first time I had dealings with him. But soon I began to see him everywhere. When he wasn’t on a mission, he stayed around the temple, so I encountered him in the corridors, in the halls, in the meditation room, and he always had a kind smile for me.

He made me feel special even though I knew it was a selfish feeling. When I managed to study with other Padawans in the library or practiced in the courtyard, he always stopped by to give me a nod. My friends were jealous, but I wasn’t really offended. Qimir was... kind.

It was like seeing the Force alive and pulsing around him. It was impossible not to look at him, not to wish that he would glance at you even just once.

Everyone wanted to be like him. Charismatic. Confident. Everyone wanted to be his friend.

One of the first missions I did with Master Vernestra was another point of contact. Being young, I wasn’t yet allowed in particularly dangerous scenarios, not to mention that if there was one thing I was lacking in, it was combat. I followed the Master almost everywhere, political life was just as important in a Jedi’s path, and I had to understand the mechanics early on for when I would be older, even though they were often more moments of leisure.

The meetings lasted hours, often discussing places, people, and things I knew nothing about. I tried to stay focused, but it was really difficult, and even Vernestra thought I shouldn’t strain myself too much, so she let me roam around, maybe continue studying, or even just take a little break.

One day, ready to depart, we were loading the luggage onto the ship. We were going to spend a few days on Hoth, and I was incredibly excited since I had never experienced a planet with that kind of climate before. As I was lost in my thoughts, a light knock interrupted me. At the foot of the ramp, Qimir gave me a half-smile "Is there room for me too?" I was still intimidated by his presence since we had never really spoken before. I opened my mouth several times, glancing around awkwardly, not sure if he was teasing me or if I was too stupid to understand what he meant.

"I hope you didn’t bring your usual baggage" Vernestra said behind me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, confused "Excuse me Master, is Qimir coming with us?" I struggled even to pronounce his name, it felt like an insult to do so, as if I didn’t have enough experience to earn such a privilege.

"What, you don't want me around?" he smiled as he walked up the ramp. I squirmed uncomfortably, realizing the embarrassing situation I had caused "N-no, I didn’t mean that—" He smiled even more, but Vernestra intervened again, scolding him "Give her some space Qimir."

The plan was simple: it was a diplomatic mission, and Qimir had joined us to study for a few days with his former master. I didn’t know exactly what he needed, but he wanted her advice. We left a few minutes later, and I avoided the control room like the plague. I only entered once to ask how much longer it would take, burning alive under Qimir’s gaze, then I shut myself in the bedroom and did my homework.

Hoth was as beautiful as it was freezing. But it was worth it; I had never seen such an immense expanse of white, the ground soft underfoot from the snow, the ice mountains, creatures I had never seen before. Vernestra stopped to talk to some locals, and I approached the enormous door overlooking the ice field. I wondered if the entire planet was like this. Did anyone live in those isolated areas? How could anyone survive in such a harsh climate?

A gloved hand rested on my back, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turned, expecting to see my master, but under the hood, it was Qimir’s dark eyes that looked at me with a gentle smile on his face.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" he asked before turning back to look at the white expanse before us. I nodded hesitantly. Nervous about speaking to him, I bit my lip but managed to gather the courage "Do you know... if there’s anyone who lives in these lands?" He looked at me, puzzled, and I quickly corrected myself "I mean... besides the local species. Or aliens accustomed to these temperatures. Do you think others could live in a place like this?" He let out a small amused puff, "Well, we actually know for sure. There are many bandits or pirates hiding in these lands. Mainly to hide something, you know, it’s not worth sending search teams into snowstorms for a single man" he explained.

I made a sound of acknowledgment, but he continued "And if we’re talking about others... I think so. Someone who likes solitude or seeks peace. It seems like a good place not to be found" At that point, I turned toward him "Completely alone? It seems..." sad. But I was afraid to say it out loud, sadness wasn’t one of those emotions a Jedi should typically feel, but it felt natural to feel melancholy at the thought of people wanting to lose themselves in nothingness, to never be found again.

"Sad?" he seemed to read my mind "You see, emotions are very complicated to recognize. What might seem sad to you might mean peace to others. As Jedi, we often take many emotions for granted, but we often forget to give them context" I listened, hanging on his every word.

The conversation seemed... strange in some way. It made sense. Of course it did, he was older than me, had more experience in the field, and knew what he was talking about. I should have just nodded and thanked him for sharing those words.

I ignored the burning sensation I felt and thanked him in a faint voice It felt silly to do so, but it was the least I could do.

He smiled at me and gently took my hand "Let’s go, we need to warm up a bit. Trust me, in two more minutes, you won’t be able to feel the tip of your nose" he joked. I stifled a giggle and let him lead me inside toward the rooms. I didn’t know if it was because we were both wearing gloves or because of the conversation we had just had, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable being held by the hand.

A couple of days later, I was alone in one of the bases scattered across the ice. Vernestra was in a meeting and had forbidden me from attending due to the sensitivity of some of the information that would be exchanged. The problem was that these places weren’t particularly full of people or things to do. Yes, there was a bar area, but after the third cup of hot chocolate, I was afraid of pushing my stomach to the limit, so I stayed at the entrance, my feet in a pile of snow as I doodled or made small, questionable-looking statues.

I was so engrossed in the crooked little house I was shaping out of the ice that I didn’t notice the snowball being thrown in my direction.

I let out a startled yelp when it hit the hood on my head. I spun around just in time to see Qimir burst into laughter "Why did you do that?!" I stood up quickly, brushing the snow off my head.

"You looked so bored, I woke you up, didn’t I?" he chuckled.

I glared at him with a pout while he continued to laugh, so I decided to get revenge.

I bent down to grab a pile of snow, quickly making two balls. I threw the first one, but he easily dodged it.

He turned with an arrogant smile, ready to boast when the second one hit him square in the face.

I burst into laughter. He wiped the snow from his nose, his smile gone before bending down to grab more snow.

I shouted his name, realizing immediately what he was about to do, and started running through the snow with him on my heels. We didn’t even have time to make proper snowballs, we just grabbed the snow in our hands, compacted it as best we could, and threw it at each other in a never-ending war. Sometimes I noticed people giving us amused looks as they arrived or departed from the base, but I didn’t care, I was so happy that, for the first time, I didn’t even care what people thought of me.

An hour later, Vernestra called us back, giving us a confused look. She sighed and sent us to dry off. I felt a bit embarrassed at that moment, and I apologized for the childish behavior, but she smiled at me and assured me there was nothing wrong with what we had done.

In the end I took a full shower someone had left dinner on my bed, considering how long I had been under the hot water. I ate and, putting on one of the heavy local pajamas, decided to step out into the hallway to ask the Master what we would be doing the next day. I knew she wasn’t in bed yet, based on her nightly habits.

I walked down the hallway on the second floor, where the various guest rooms were located, when I noticed that her door was already open.

I approached slowly and immediately recognized Qimir’s voice.

"I’m just saying, if we block the main routes, they’d be forced to come out into the open" With a sense of curiosity, I pressed myself against the wall to peek into the room. The two were looking at an old map spread out on the table.

"I agree, but it would take too many resources, and we don’t know the exact times or routes. It would take a lot of time" she replied wearily. Qimir, standing next to her, bit his lip before flashing one of his smiles, "Or... we could sneak in"

She sighed again "The point is the same. We don’t have the resources—"

"I’ll go in myself. I’ll cut the power right under their noses, and—" She interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

"Do you realize what you’re saying? Sneaking in like a thief, and then what? Even if I let you do it, they could still escape, and..." He circled the desk, positioning himself in front of her, his back to me, so I barely heard what he said "No one said we need them alive—"

A sudden thud made me jump. I pressed my hands to my mouth, paralyzed, afraid they had heard me "No. Stop this nonsense, Qimir."

I don’t know what they said after that, I was too busy slipping back into my room, the conversation I had just overheard spinning in my head.

Sometimes, as a Jedi, you had to make drastic choices, right?

Or at least, it seemed that way.

I tried to forget about it and went to sleep.

[honestlyijustfindhersocharming]

Incoming tangent about why Dead Boy Detectives is so important to me.

I found Dead Boy Detectives late, and I found the DBDA fandom even later. I'm not one to watch shows, especially not new ones. Even more so, I'm not one to watch supernatural horror, or any horror for that matter. Movies and shows seem like such a big time commitment to just sit there and do 'nothing' during, but Dead Boy Detectives intrigued me.

Once I started watching the show, I fell in love. Between the representation of POC actors throughout the cast, the sense of humor, and the mysteries I felt like I'd found a show that I could get invested in for the first time in a while. As the show progressed, I found myself invested in this story of loneliness, self-acceptance, and friendship.

Internalized homophobia is something that is very personal to me. I've struggled with it throughout my life, especially given the fact that I'm queer and non-binary. Watching Edwin go through a moment of "Wow, I can like boys" because of Niko's support (a friend, not a love interest) was so healing to me. Normally it feels like queer acceptance is a result of love in media, not a result of platonic support, so having that journey be a result of Niko was honestly amazing. Throughout the show, Niko's support is invaluable to Edwin's self-discovery, something that I can relate to as my friends were the ones who truly supported me through my queer journey, not potential partners.

Dead Boy Detectives' emphasis on platonic friendships is riddled throughout the show though. Niko and Edwin's Scooby Doo movie night was an example of how friendship can inspire people. Crystal's want for her mom to accept her brought Niko to a place where she felt like she could try to write to her mom again. Edwin and Niko's time together brings them to a place of deeper connection, meanwhile, the romantic pairing of Charles and Crystal spend time kissing instead of thinking about or discussing their problems.

And then the confession scene. This was the scene that got me into Dead Boy Detectives, and it's the scene that's been my lifeblood since. Of course, the confession itself is wonderfully written and the actors are so talented, but what hit me the hardest was how when Edwin says I love you the first time, Charles says it back without any questions. That simple "I love you too" was enough to make me consider this show one of my favorites of all time. Yes, Charles and Edwin are ultimately the core 'love story' of the show, in my opinion (They're positioned like Orpheus and Eurydice constantly and it drives me up the wall with my Hadestown hyper fixation added to it). But the importance of their friendship trumps everything else, and the emphasis on that platonic connection is so important to me.

This has been a giant ramble, and likely incoherent, but the tldr; is that I love Dead Boy Detectives with all my heart. It's such an important show for so many reasons and I will not shut up about it until Netflix decides to renew this damn thing.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [4] - Spark

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ I hope you’ll like it, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤️

Summary: A quiet night on the rooftop holds new promises.

Word Count: 3500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“I’m not saying my best friend in the entire world betrayed me, but I’m kind of tempted to change her name into Brutus in my contacts.”

“Just because she cancelled on this dinner you mentioned?”

“It’s a tradition at this point,” you said, leaning back on the couch. “Us and the Barnes family get together every two months, we’ve started it way before my mom passed away. I get that it’s the bachelorette party of her friend’s sister, but still!”

Dr. Cooper smiled calmly.

“Are you nervous because Bucky is going to be there?”

Your head shot up and you forced a nonchalant laugh.

“Bucky doesn’t make me nervous,” you said, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush and she raised her brows.

“Doesn’t he?”

“He annoys me,” you pointed out. “There’s a difference.”

“I can see that,” she said. “And why does he annoy you?”

Your eyes snapped up at hers and you shifted your weight on the couch.

“We have history.”

She hummed. “What kind of history?”

You nibbled on your lip, your stomach doing a flip at the memory but you pushed it to the back of your mind, rolling your shoulders back.

“Let’s change the subject.”

She thought for a moment, then put aside her notebook to with a sigh.

“Y/N,” she said. “We’ve been having these therapy sessions for three months now, am I correct?”

“Yes,” you said. “Sarah Wilson recommended you, she’s a good friend of mine.”

“And you were seeing Dr. Phillips before?”

“No offense to Dr. Phillips but I don’t think we were a good match.”

She nodded.

“That can happen,” she said. “But I just need to make sure you understand that if these therapy sessions are going to work, you will have to step out of your comfort zone sometimes.”

“Oh, therapy isn’t in my comfort zone,” you said with a wave of your hand. “You’d think it would be, after years and years of experience but…”

“I’m aware this is not what you want to hear but for us to make progress, you will have to be open with me,” she said. “Instead of changing the subject all the time.”

You smiled. “I don’t think me being completely open with you is in your best interest.”

“Why not?”

“Just a hunch,” you stated, your voice completely flat and she hummed.

“How about this?” she said. “Perhaps you could just try sharing something small with me. I’m not saying you have to share every single thing if you’re not comfortable with it, but…maybe something that happened recently and how you reacted to it?”

For some reason, “Someone tried to shoot me a week ago” didn’t feel like it was a great conversation starter so you leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to come up with something.

“I’ve recently found myself in sort of an… unideal situation,” you ended up saying and she nodded her head.

“That’s a wonderful start,” she said. “Can you elaborate?”

“Someone acted very rude towards me the other night when I was having dinner with a friend from college,” you said. “And I was annoyed at how inconsiderate it was to pull that shit when I was in the middle of something. Like what, you couldn’t wait an hour or so to do this on my way back home?”

“How did you react when it happened?”

“I didn’t get to react much because Bucky placed himself in that situation as well.”

“He was there?”

“Passing by,” you spat, “Anyway, he got involved and the situation was resolved pretty fast.”

“In disagreements like these,” she said. “It’s incredibly important that we make our stance and boundaries clear.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t disagree.”

“So this inconsiderate person you speak of, would you say they know how you feel about the issue?”

You repressed a smile, then leaned back, crossing your legs.

“I think so,” you said. “I expressed very clearly how I felt about the issue and now, well…I’m very certain that they won’t do it again.”

                                                *

Normally you didn’t mind these dinners mainly because you and Becca would have a lot of fun once the dinner was over. George and Winnifred had always been nice to you and Winnifred had more than once said you were family, seeing that you and Becca were inseparable even when you were little.

And you were hoping Bucky would be busy the whole night so you wouldn’t have to spend the night delivering snarks back and forth.

Ian sipped his wine while you texted Becca under the table, complaining about how she should have been there for the hundredth time since the morning before you lifted your glances from the phone.

“Becca gives her regards, everyone.”

“Oh thank you sweetheart,” your father said. “Will she not be joining us then?”

“There’s apparently her friend’s bachelorette party?” Winnifred asked, turning to you as if she wanted to be sure and you nodded.

“Her friend’s sister’s bachelorette,” you said helpfully and George smiled slightly.

“And when will we see your bachelorette, sweetheart?”

“George!”

“Not soon I hope,” your father said with a chuckle and you waved a hand in the air.

“Definitely not soon,” you said and Ian played with his fork.

“I don’t know,” he said with a scoff. “You keep dating civilians, one of them will ask you to marry them sooner or later.”

Your head snapped up and a silence fell upon the table. George and Winnifred exchanged glances and your father raised his brows.

“Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ian doesn’t know what he’s talking about as always.”

“Oh is that right?”

“Our Y/N is a very beautiful girl,” Winnifred said as if trying to de-escalate the situation. “Civilian or not, I’m not surprised many people are interested.”

You offered her a thankful smile and turned to your father.

“I’m not dating civilians,” you assured him. “Or anyone right now.”

“But you know the rules,” your father said. “Any civilian you decide to date has to go through the background check.”

“With good reason,” George pointed out before taking his fork to his mouth and you hummed.

“Yeah yeah, I remember the whole speech.”

“Bucky and Becca got that speech as well.”

“They apparently needed it,” Winnifred said. “I mean do you remember Bucky’s ex girlfriend? Dot?”

That familiar bitterness of jealousy churned your stomach and you pursed your lips, then reached out for your wine glass.

“Were you here around that time sweetheart?” George asked you. “Or were you still away for college?”

The music was booming through the club as you walked back to the bar from the bathroom with Becca, and you looked around for your date as Becca motioned at the bartender, then turned her head when Steve touched her shoulder.

“Hi there.”

“Hey!” Becca kissed him on the cheek and you smiled at him.

“Hi Steve,” you said, taking your cocktail from the bartender. “Um, did you see my date anywhere?”

Steve shot you an apologetic smile. “I told him not to do it.”

Becca sucked on the straw of the cocktail, raising her brows and you frowned.

“What?”

“Bucky.”

Your jaw clenched and you gritted your teeth, putting your drink down.

“Where is he?”

“I just want to remind you that Sam has just bought this club, so he’d be pretty angry if you shot my brother tonight.” Becca pointed out, leaning sideways to Steve’s arm and Steve nodded his head.

“Wouldn’t look good for the club.”

“Where is he, Steve?”

Steve pointed upstairs. “VIP.”

You whirled around on your heels and stomped your way up the cantilever stairs, anger rushing through you. You made your way past his and Sam’s bodyguards by the door, then slammed the door open to step inside. Bucky was talking to Sam as you walked in while a gorgeous girl resting her head on his shoulder and Sam hissed in a breath.

“Uh oh,” he said. “Told you not to do it.”

“Hi Sam.”

“Hi Y/N.”

The girl lifted her head from Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky sat up straighter, and had the nerve to smile at you.

“Hi Charm.”

“Where is my date, Bucky?”

“I think he said he had something to do,” Bucky said, stealing a look at Sam. “Something urgent, right Sam? That’s what we heard.”

“Oh you’re not dragging me into this.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” the girl asked and Bucky cleared his throat, then motioned between you and her.

“Y/N, this is Dot; my girlfriend.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, that familiar bitterness climbing up your throat but you managed to keep your expression flat.

“Dot, this is Y/N. She’s uh…she’s Becca’s best friend.”

Sam tilted his head to shoot Bucky a look of disbelief.

“You’ve just intimidated Becca’s best friend’s date into leaving the club?” Dot asked, confusion laced in her tone and Sam cleared his throat.

“They grew up together,” he explained to her. “Bucky tends to get overprotective of Y/N, kind of an old habit there.”

 Dot pressed a hand on her chest.

“Aw that’s sweet!” she said. “So she’s like a sister to you, Bucky?”

Sam raised his brows as if trying to keep a straight face, then he shook his head slightly while you glared at Bucky.

“Well—” Bucky started but you cut him off.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just a warning. Don’t blame me if you keep dating people who are easily intimidated.”

“Who I date is none of your business.”

“You are Becca’s best friend so it makes it my business—also, you call that dancing?” he asked you. “He was feeling you up, he should be glad he walked out of here with his junk still attached to his body.”

You ran a hand over your face, then turned to Dot.

“Listen, I don’t even know you but you seem nice enough,” you said. “You probably deserve better than an asshole who thinks his dick is made of gold. You could do much better.”

With that, you walked out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

“No, they got together after I returned to the city,” you said. “Like a month after my graduation. I was here, she was pretty nice.”

“I didn’t like her,” Winnifred said and you let out a small laugh.

“And when was the last time you liked anyone he or Becca brought home?”

“When was the last time either of them brought someone I could like?” Winnifred asked back and you held up your hands with a grin, gesturing surrender.

“Daddy is the same,” you said. “But don’t worry, just in case things get serious with a partner, me and Becca came up with a great plan years ago.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll get everyone drunk,” you pointed out, coaxing chuckles out of them. “Should make things easier, at least for the first dinner.”

                                              *

 After dinner, you had excused yourself to go up to the swimming pool on the rooftop, so that you could enjoy the night. After their weekend house, this one was the one you liked the most among Barnes residences; it had such a lovely view of the night sky. You sipped your wine and leaned back on the lounge chair, heaving a sigh and keeping your eyes on the stars.

Becca was still partying with her friends so you were just going to enjoy some peace and quiet until it was time to go home. You loved spending time with George and Winnifred, that wasn’t the problem, but this evening you really weren’t in the mood for Ian’s bullshit. You knew very well that he knew about your date with Ethan, and though he hadn’t told your father yet, you were sure it wasn’t from the goodness in his heart.

Not that he or your father had anything to worry about. You had made sure that Ethan got a background check as your father wanted with all the civilians you dated, back at college and right before you decided to meet again two weeks back, you had done the same. It was safe, whether they approved him or not.

The sound of the door opening made you turn your head and as soon as your eyes fell upon Bucky stepping to the roof, you let out a groan.

“I thought you were busy.”

“I was,” he said, approaching you with a glass of whiskey in his hand before he sat down on the lounge chair beside yours and you stole a look at him.

“You missed dinner.”

“Mm hm. Sorry about that.”

“You never miss dinner.”

“Yeah well, wasn’t exactly my choice,” he said, making you turn a little so that you can look at him better.

“Why?”

“Overtime at the office,” he joked and you tilted your head.

“Trouble?”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Does my father know?”

“He does,” he said as your phone vibrated on the small table beside you, making you check the screen.

From: Ethan

My coworkers dragged me to this café and I think you’d like it.

You smiled slightly and typed back your reply.

Well, the only way to be sure is if you invite me there the next time.

It didn’t even take him five seconds to reply back;

Lunch tomorrow?

You typed in a “Yes” and sent it, then turned the phone in your hand while Bucky lit a cigarette.

“Is that the civilian?”

“Ugh, not you too!” you whined with a grimace. “Everyone already gave me the third degree at dinner, you’d think I’m going to elope at any time.”

He shot you a light hearted glare. “They’re just worried about you sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that—and also, you’ve dated one hundred civilians, I don’t see anyone giving you speeches,” you grumbled. “It’s so hypocritical, not to mention medieval.”

Bucky chuckled, then sipped his drink.

“Well…”

“I don’t know why everyone keeps acting like the possibility of me ending up with a civilian would be a disaster.”

“Because it would be.”

“No, you know what the disaster would be?” you asked him. “Me ending up with someone from the business.”

“Oh come on—”

“Pop out a few babies, pretend I don’t know about his mistresses and go to pilates for the rest of my life,” you mused. “Dream life right there.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that and you know that,” Bucky said. “Only an idiot would cheat on you, and in case it has escaped your notice, idiots don’t live long in this line of work.”

You suppressed a smile threatening to warm your face, and instead rolled your eyes at him.

“Not worth the effort,” you said as you downed your wine, then held out your glass in his direction. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards but he still grabbed the wine bottle on the floor to fill your glass.

“Thank you.”

“As the princess wishes,” he said and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back again to look up at the sky.

“What’s going on with the business?” you asked. “Are you and Stark still on bad terms?”

“We’re playing nice,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Common interests for once.”

“I’ll pop the champagne,” you deadpanned. “He looks pretty busy; he and my father have a meeting next week as well.”

“Will Ian be there?”

You heaved a sigh. “I’d assume so.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, then turned to you.

“Your father is not serious, is he?” he asked you. “He’s not actually going to name Ian as his successor?”

That familiar bitter taste burned your mouth but you pursed your lips together, then slipped a little on the lounge chair.

“Why are you asking me?” you asked. “Go ask him that.”

“I’m not going to do business with Ian, Charm.” Bucky told you. “If your father retires and names him the successor, that’s it.”

Your jaw dropped as you gawked at him.

“You cannot be serious,” you said. “Just because you don’t like him—”

“It’s not just that,” Bucky said. “Stark and I hate each other’s guts, but I still know he’s not going to break the truce or stab me in the back. Ian, on the other hand…”

“Ian is insufferable,” you said. “Trust me I’d know, I live with the guy. But breaking the truce is a death sentence, and he’s not an idiot.”

“I don’t trust him,” Bucky said. “Neither does Steve, or Sam.”

You massaged your temples with your fingertips. “Don’t put me in a position where I have to speak well of Ian.”

“You couldn't speak well of him if you tried,” he insisted before he took a sip of his whiskey. “Listen, I get why your father made the decision he made after your mother, but that was then. You can’t tell me you’re okay with this.”

You bit inside your cheek, swirling the wine in your glass.

“He promised it to me, Bucky,” you said through your teeth, your gaze fixed on your wine. “All those years ago. I was playing with dolls in the car and and my father pointed outside and told me that part of the city would belong to me when I grew up. So no, of course I’m not okay with the possibility of Ian being the successor.”

“Then take over.”

A small laugh climbed up your throat and you nodded at his whiskey glass. “How many of those have you had?”

“You know me better than that, I’m completely sober,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you take over?”

“Don’t you remember what went down in Massachusetts years ago?” you asked. “That family fight for the crown? They almost brought the whole city down with them, alliances got fucked, so many people died...”

“That was very different, there was no truce there.”

You clicked your tongue. “Still. It would devastate my father if I started a war in the family.”

“Ian is going to burn your father’s empire down,” Bucky told you, his piercing blue eyes locked in yours, making your heart skip a beat. “You think it won’t devastate him to watch that? If you want to be the next leader—”

“Of course I want it,” you cut him off, your whole body tense. “What I want changes nothing here.”

“Charm…”

“My father made sure I stayed out of the business since my mom,” you said. “Which was good strategy on his part, I admit. Ian on the other hand has many friends in the business and they’re completely loyal to him. He would not just hand that position to me, not when he thinks my father will name him as the successor instead of me.”

“He has his men, so what?” he asked you. “Compared to the support you would have if you wanted the crown? You have more allies than Ian.”

You blinked a couple of times, a small glimmer of hope warming your chest before you cleared your throat.

“There’s the code,” you muttered. “It’s family business. No one outside the family can get involved in the decision of who the next leader should be.”

A small smile pulled at his lips and for the thousandth time you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, but then you frowned down at your wine glass and put it on the small table, rolling your shoulders back.

Yeah. Enough wine for the night.

“But a powerful ally in the family would make everything much easier, wouldn’t it?” he asked and you scoffed a laugh.

“My hypothetical rise to power?” you asked. “Obviously. But either way, it’d be an uphill battle. What with the city and family and everything…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said without pulling his gaze off you and you felt your cheeks burn under his intense stare, but managed to keep your expression completely nonchalant.

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“And how’s that?”

Bucky swallowed thickly and downed his whiskey in one go before straightening his back. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was nervous but of course that was nonsense; Bucky was too arrogant to be nervous.

“Come on,” you taunted him. “Humor me, golden heir.”

“Well,” he said after a pause, turning his empty glass in his hand. “You have a point. You would have to get most of Ian’s supporters within the family, you would have to persuade your father, and considering Ian will not want to hand you the crown, that whole process would not go very peacefully. Me, Steve and Sam already support you, but the rest of the families could take some time and effort to convince. I guess some bloodshed in the city would be inevitable as well, it’d be a huge change, considering your father’s influence and power…”

You hummed. “Or?”

A smile curled his lips upwards and he took a deep breath.

“Or,” he said. “You could marry me.”

Chapter 5

[eucalyptus-lvs]

Good Luck Charm - Carmen Berzatto x Reader

This is the first story I've posted, but I have other ideas if you guys want more. Writing has become a new outlet for me so I appreciate any constructive criticism or any thoughts you may have. Carmy is such a fun character to write for and my own personal brain rot atm. I hope to do more in the future. I also like to listen to music while I write and I feel like Again by Still Woozy goes well with this one.<3

TW: Idk honestly. Mentions of dead brothers, debt, and a heated makeout?

"You think if you scrub any harder you'll put a hole in the floor?" 

He stood quickly. Startled by your presence in the kitchen. "What are you still doing here? Thought you left like an hour ago." 

"Well, I was gonna, but then I feared if I left without you you'd still be here when I come in for my shift tomorrow.” You took a few small steps forward. As if you were worried you'd scare him off. There always seemed to be this air around you two. One that was hard to ignore in the times you had spent alone together. “Then I thought you could use some time to wind down before I attempt to push you out the door so I tried to see if I could make any progress on Mikey's paperwork." 

"Did you?" Tossing the rag into the container and moving his hands to his hips. 

"I think that would depend on your definition of progress"

"Yeah, well I haven't exactly been able to figure that shit out either." 

"We'll figure it out, Carm."

He sighed and looked around the kitchen. "I've just got a couple more-" 

"Nope." You take strides across the kitchen to get to him. "Those couple things will turn into another couple things until you've managed to work yourself into an early grave from exhaustion. I mean you're a head chef and you frequently forget to eat. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." You laugh, trying to reach for the keys to the restaurant. Only for him to snatch them off the counter and out of arms reach. "Carmy-" 

"Nice try" He moved them out of reach again. 

"Will you just-" You attempt to reach for them again as he manages to move them further from you.

“Oooh, you were so close that time.” Leaning against the counter, he barks out a laugh. Probably a product of the years he had spent smoking. 

“Cut it out. C’mon.” You said shyly ducking your head a bit. 

“Sorry, just enjoyin’ this way too much.'' He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his growing grin. There was something about you that he found so comfortable. He wonders if that's the reason he finds himself being so bold in this moment. 

Leaning to the side, you prop yourself against the counter next to him. Settling in and resigning to the fact that he is not going to make getting him out the door easy for you. “You were one of those guys in high school, weren't you?” Narrowing your eyes a bit. 

“An’ what kinda guy would that be?” He challenged.

“Y'know- The guy. Mr. Fuckin’ Popular. Had the girls lining up for you. Always good for a laugh.” Your teasing tone let him know that you weren't all that upset at him poking fun at you. 

“Think the only laugh I'd be good for is if you knew how wrong you were.” 

“Bullshit.” You shot back, shaking your head. 

“No, really. I uh- pretty much stuck to myself. Just hung around Mikey and Richie. The family mostly. Was too fuckin’ awkward to make my own friends. Had this stutter too. Didn't really bother talkin’ to anyone if I didn't have to.” This time he ducked his head. Scratching the back of it like he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Well, you don't seem to have a problem talking to me.” 

He shrugged. “It's different. Different time too.”

Your eyes met for a moment as you both took a pause. “I think we would have been good friends.” 

“Bullshit. You wouldn't have even noticed me.”

“I would have noticed you.” You affirmed with such conviction he almost believed it.

Looking at you now he imagines that if you had met then his life would look very different. He wouldn't have been a couple hundred grand in the hole with a sandwich shop he only had because his brother killed himself. You would have been there for all of it.

Chicago, Paris, Copenhagen, New York. Every destination and every major moment.

You would have been together. 

If he really indulges himself, he thinks maybe even with a kid on the way. Of all the what-ifs that came to mind, there was only one thing he knew for sure.

You were the real deal.

He allows himself to stay in this bubble with you and before he can think about any consequences he responds. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. Nodding your head as you both start to lean closer.

Timedly you take your time to meet in the middle. Each gives the other an opportunity to back out, but neither of you takes it. Once your lips touched it felt like a shock to his system. You'd usually been so soft, almost cautious in your dealings with him. 

But this was not that.

You pressed yourself against him. Kissing him fiercely and with so much need he was worried that if he tried to open his eyes it would have all been a dream. Another cruel joke his mind had played on him only to wake up alone. Reminding him of all the things he never felt he could have.

Your hands card up into his hair, tugging at the stands. He lets out a deep groan as he switches positions to place you between himself and the counter.

He realizes now how much of a habit it is for you to look out for him. While everyone took the first chance they got to go home, you stayed behind to make sure he would get rest. Then, you took that extra time to try and figure out the clusterfuck of paperwork sitting on his desk.

You show no signs of discomfort as his hands begin to trail your body. Pushing you further against the counter to get as close to you as physically possible. He almost thought he could feel your heart pounding as your chest pressed against his, but knew it was more likely that it was his own. So caught up in you that every detail of this moment felt fuzzy and distorted.

So caught up he didn't realize you started grinding against each other.

One hand cupped around the back of your neck to keep you in place. The other moved down to your ass to aid your movement as you hooked a leg over his hip. His chest burned and heaved. Breath heavy from being cut off from oxygen for so long, but not wanting to break the moment. He wanted to give you something to remember. Not screaming during lunch rush or getting into a fistfight with a guy in a fuckin’ carrot costume.

Something good.

There weren't many times in his life he felt particularly lucky, but when he moved his head down to mouth at your neck. He'd never felt so lucky in his life.

Your head tipped back, letting out a chocked sigh. Followed by the ‘uh, uh, uh’ perfectly timed with the movement of your hips against his growing length. Gripping a hand on the back of his shirt to keep him in place. He imagines that this is the closest he will get to redemption, to happiness, after having spent years in the hellscape that was the New York kitchen. 

When he tried to lift you on the counter the large metal mixing bowl sitting to the side of you came crashing to the ground. The loud reverberation causes you to break away from each other. Effectively bursting the blissfully passionate bubble. 

Your hand moved to your neck where his mouth had been. Almost certain there would be marks left behind to remind you of this moment for days to come. As you both tried to regulate your breathing Carmy couldn't help staring. Opening his mouth like he had something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite articulate what that thing was. You slide off the counter and attempt to straighten your clothes while keeping your eyes on the floor. You always had a hard time meeting his gaze when he looked at you like that. Like if he looked hard enough he might find something that wasn't there before. 

“It's probably a good thing we got interrupted. Things were getting kinda heated.” You forced a chuckle. 

Shit.

This was it.

You're about to tell him this was all a mistake. A heat of the moment thing that you got caught up in and you now regret. As quickly as he had you, he was gonna lose you. Another goddamn shoe was gonna drop. “No, y-yeah. I don’ want you to think-”

Your gaze returned to him. “I think if we took this any further we'd be violating about a dozen health codes after you were just on your hands and knees scrubbing the floor.”  

“I could get on my hands and knees again.” He let out, slightly dazed. Running a hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. 

“Jesus- Carmy.” you laugh, not knowing how else to respond. Sliding your hands down your face as it heats up in a heavy blush. 

“I-I didn't mean it like that.” But now he’s definitely thinking it.

He also thinks, rather darkly, that he's never been happier not to have an HR department. 

Truthfully, he didn't know what he meant by the comment. He just knew he wanted you and you didn't seem opposed to the idea. You haven't run away yet and that alone is enough to quiet the spiral he normally defaults to in moments of uncertainty. He had doubted himself a lot in his life, but he was sure with the way you kissed him that you wanted him the way he wanted you. “We've had a long night. Walk ya’ home?” 

“Maybe you could come up? I know for a fact you haven't eaten. I may not be award-winning, but I'm sure I could manage something edible.” The smile on your face grows slightly at the prospect.

“Yeah, that's uh- that sounds good. Let's grab our stuff and we’ll head out.” Hand grazing your lower back as he moved to guide you to the lockers.

He wonders if, for the first time in a long time, his luck has turned around.