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bonniepop · 29 days ago

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another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please.

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water.

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch.

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries.

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used.

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.”

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words.

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug.

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile.

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave.

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

#osamu x you #osamu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader fluff #📝 — my writing #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu fluff #osamu angst #x reader angst #hq angst #haikyuu angst

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livwritesstuff · 11 months ago

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inspired by a nate bargatze sketch

Eddie’s least favorite thing people say when they find out he’s gay and married to a man is when they ask who the “man” of their house is, because…it’s fucking stupid and wouldn’t be funny even if it didn’t rely on patriarchal bullshit that Eddie didn’t buy into even before he and Steve had three daughters.

The thing is though…there definitely is a man of their house, and it’s Steve.

And if Steve isn’t home, it’s their oldest daughter, Moe.

Eddie knows this is true because there’s someone coming to their house to work on…something. All Eddie caught when Steve brought it up was, “We’ve been in this house for almost twenty years. I’d rather deal with it now than wait until it’s causing problems.”

So it’s either the roof, the water heater, or the furnace.

(He thinks).

Every once in a while Eddie gets frustrated enough about this to want to get more involved – he helped Wayne out with this shit all the time when he was a teenager, and he worked as a mechanic well into his twenties (up until he got his first book deal and was able to quit and write full-time). It’s not that Eddie can’t understand all that stuff – no, it’s Steve insisting that he take on all that kind of stuff in their life together so that Eddie didn’t have to that did it, and now it’s been so long since he exercised that part of his brain that it’s basically gone dormant.

The nail in the coffin is when Steve says, “If he shows up before I get back – do not engage. Get Moe. She knows what this is all about.”

She totally does, is the thing, so Eddie just replies, “Got it,” and prays that Steve gets home from the hardware store before the contractor arrives (is he a contractor? Eddie doesn’t think he even knows what a contractor is).

Naturally, not even five minutes after Steve pulls out of the driveway, a dark blue van pulls in.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie mumbles, and then he calls upstairs, “Moe. The guy Pop was talking about is here.”

Moe calls something incomprehensible back (hopefully it’s I’ll be down in a second) because by the looks of it this guy is already halfway to the front door.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Moe is not down in a second and he ends up in a conversation about water heaters with…not a contractor, he’s pretty sure. A plumber, maybe? Doesn’t matter – just a guy who’s gonna fix – or maybe it’s replace? – their water heater…for some reason.

“So where’s the heater?” the not-contractor-maybe-plumber asks.

“Uhh…” Eddie hesitates, and thank Christ, Moe appears at the top of the stairs.

“Basement,” she says, “Anode rod was replaced three years ago but the rest of it’s been there since we moved here in ‘04.”

The guy launches into a whole water heater spiel, and Eddie realizes halfway through he’s not trying to engage with Moe at all. He’s directing it all at Eddie as if Eddie is hearing anything more than Charlie Brown-esque phone call mumbling. He concludes with a question about…something related to tanks maybe? Or maybe it was tankless. Eddie has no idea. Moe answers it because she knows what the hell this guy is talking about, but still this asshole is looking at Eddie for confirmation.

“Dude, I dunno why you're looking at me,” Eddie tells him, and then he points at Moe, “My daughter works on airplanes. I write books. I'm telling you – you're better off listening to her.”

#moe does indeed work on airplanes at this time #after two years she decides it’s not challenging enough and goes to law school instead #eddie is terrified of her #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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beenbaanbuun · 11 months ago

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sick w/ addams!matz

whilst i’m busy writing part two to opposites attract, here is just some silly fluffy stuff!!

——————————————

you’re sick. flu, by the feel of it. with your heavy head, sniffly nose and permanent fatigue, there’s very little else it could be. it’s unfortunate, but nothing you couldn’t deal with by yourself. a few days bed rest and you’ll be fine.

your lovers don’t quite agree. all it took was for the word ‘fever’ to leave your lips and suddenly all hell broke loose. you should’ve known that the second you brought it up to seonghwa it would be blown entirely out of proportion. the man is level headed about a lot of things; you are not one of them.

it had been a military operation with him the second the word ‘fever’ dropped from your lips. for three days now, you’ve been under strict instruction to not leave their bed, trapped there like a prisoner with hongjoong watching over you like a hawk. if you step a toe out of line, you get a sharp slap to the back of your thigh and a quick scolding. its hardly enough to keep you in check, especially when your regular punishments are so much heavier, but hongjoong is also under his husbands strict instructions to be as gentle with you as humanly possible.

it’s boring.

of course, you love talking with hongjoong when he has the time to join you in bed, but he still has to work. laying for hours at a time just staring at the back of your daddy’s head as he writes letters to his clients is nothing short of dull. he expects you to stay silent so he can concentrate on what he’s writing. you thought it to be a silly rule until you disobeyed on the first day and he moved himself and his work to the armchair out in the hallway; he could still listen in for any sign of you trying to escape the confines of their bed, but he could finally get enough peace and quiet to concentrate on his work. those few hours were so boring that you quickly made the decision that you could manage silence for a few hours if it meant that you weren’t alone.

sometimes seonghwa would come and visit you in the room, although with you being sick, you found that he had far less free time than usual. in between working in the greenhouse and cooking up cold remedies in the kitchen, he found that he actually got to spend very little time by your side. he trusted hongjoong to follow his very specific instructions on how to take care of you (make sure you’re drinking fluids, make sure you’re always warm, replace the cloth on your head every 1-2 hours) but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be more active in your care routine himself.

its the morning of the 3rd day than seonghwa finds his wish coming to fruition, and unfortunately his time being stretched even thinner. of course, he doesn’t blame hongjoong for having to leave the house for work—antiquities don’t source themselves, after all—but he can’t help but feel a little stressed with the notion of adding ‘caring for darling’ onto his already long list of tasks. from what he’s heard from hongjoong, you still like to push your luck even when your head feels like a furnace and you’re coughing your lungs up. he hardly has the time to guard you like hongjoong does, so as he tucks your still sleeping body into the almost empty bed, he decides that he’ll just have to hope that maybe today you’ll see sense and behave. it’s a long shot, but he’ll just have to trust you for today.

ten minutes later, he finds that trust being broken when he hears a bump from the bedroom. he sighs, closing his eyes in frustration as the sound of a door creaking open echos through the house. the slapping of bare feet against a slick wooden floor soon follows and before he knows it, you’re coming down the stairs. it’s a good job that seonghwa isn’t an angry person, finding it an ugly emotion that doesn’t reflect well on anyone. you’d be in for a hellish day otherwise.

‘you’re supposed to stay in bed, little lamb,’ he hums as you show your face in the door to his greenhouse. you look wide eyed and bewildered, your brain still clearly muddled by sleep. it’s cute, and he finds himself smiling though his annoyance. you hobble towards him wrapped in the black knitted bedspread he’d lay over you not moments before, and he finds himself unable to control the chuckle that bubbles up within him. he lays the watering can down on the table and spreads his arms for you to topple into. ‘tell me why you’re flaunting my rules so carelessly, darling.’

you bask in his warmth for just a second, feeling safe and happy in his lithe arms. he’s so much gentler with you than hongjoong is; even when you’re sick your daddy likes to manhandle you to be exactly where he wants. it’s not like you’re complaining, though. you like the way it makes you feel when he treats you so helplessly.

‘woke up alone,’ you mutter into seonghwa’s chest. the lace of his blouse was scratchy against your too-hot face, but you can’t seem to pull yourself away from him. you just want him close, even if you have to sacrifice your comfort for the sake of it. ‘hongjoong wasn’t there and you weren’t there and i’m lonely.’

any frustration that resided within seonghwa slowly melts away with your confession. you’re just too sweet for him to stay upset with, especially when you’re so dopey and reliant on them.

‘hongjoong had to work, lamb; your daddy can’t stay at home all the time,’ soft fingers lace themselves into your hair, gently petting you like you’re some sort of kitten. he supposes you do rather look like one when you’re wearing your collar. you’re just so sweet and submissive when you sit by seonghwa’s feet at he puts it on for you. it’s a shame you’re too sick for that right now, your skin too sensitive and the collar too tickly; it would only serve to irritate you. ‘and you know that i have to work as well. i have to take care of the house, the plants and cook an unheavenly amount of chicken noodle soup for you. i wish i could stay in bed with you, but i can’t.’

and you understand, of course you do, but that doesn’t mean you’re happy with it. you want hongjoong to be home, and you want seonghwa to have less to do. you want to be stuffed between them from the moment you wake up to the moment you sleep, doted on and cared for by your two lovers. the notion of that not being possible just doesn’t seem to compute in your fever-addled brain. you whimper into seonghwa’s chest.

‘oh, my precious little lamb,’ he coos, resting his chin on top of your head, ‘hongjoong will be home in a few hours, and i’m sure i can take a short break from my errands at some point. it’s hardly like you’re going to be alone for long.’

‘take a break now,’ you insist, ‘just for a little while…’

it’s a trap, seonghwa knows that. the moment he crawls back into bed with you, you’ll find some way of making him stay there until hongjoong gets home. either you’ll crawl onto him and refuse to let him go, or you’ll use your adorable charm to manipulate him into staying with you. still, he can’t find himself able to say no to you. he hums in agreement and pulls away from you slightly.

‘okay, little lamb,’ your face lights up and he grins. even with your sweaty forehead and slightly grey skin, he can’t help but think you’re the prettiest creature to walk the earth, ‘lead the way.’

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #matz x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #poly ateez #poly ateez x reader #opposites attract universe #hongjoong fluff #seonghwa fluff

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crimisin · 4 months ago

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bad news friends.

I need a new furnace

Furnace guy is here and he has to do a 1k repair before he can even finish diagnosing the issue.

I'm gonna puke actually

#to be fair I might not *need* a new furnace #it's just that as soon as he replaced the 1 part the very next part in the sequence (also like $800) was also borked #the tech thought there was a possibility of widespread water damage and further component failure #so he suggested I get an estimate for a replacement furnace #rather than potentially ship of theseus-ing my current furnace #there is a possibility that's just trying to upsell me #but he had a kind face so I am choosing to trust #also it's par for the course for something in this house to work perfectly until #catastrophic failure that makes trades professionals wonder how it was working at all

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breadbrobin · 7 months ago

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blanket hog

tim drake x reader — dc / batfam

[gn!reader]

summary: you’d never been close with tim, but now you were sharing a bed—too close. far too close—and you didn’t know what to think

warnings: light swearing, sharing a bed (ONE BED TROPE MY BELOVED), idiots in love, kissing, is my writing good? idk anymore

word count: 1.7k

(this was meant to be in two parts but it’s way shorter than i thought it was when i was writing it lmao. anyway happy birthday tim drake!)

—————————————

if tim drake was a magnet you were his polar opposite. that much you knew for sure. rather than draw you in, he repelled you backwards, unfazed by his ceo smile and somehow perfect hair. it was his unnerving ice-blue eyes that seemed to look through you and his fumbling words that pushed you back. there was something in his stare, and it made your cheeks burn and your heart race, and you didn’t like it. if you could’ve stayed away, you would have.

but fate was a fickle thing.

and when blankets were hogged, you’d fight tooth and nail not to freeze to death.

it had been an easy decision to share the queen-sized bed. the hotel room was small—a bed, a dresser and a bathroom alone—and none of his siblings had wanted to share with him. steph and cass took the only other double room in the small-town in, leaving you with no choice. there wasn’t even any floor space.

“we can take shifts?” tim had suggested, his cheeks uncharacteristically pink.

you’d told him not to be ridiculous, and then you’d had to practically tackle him into the bed to get him to sleep at all.

finally, the room was filled with only soft breathing as you drifted off, warm and cosy in the surprisingly soft sheets.

and then you were cold.

what?

your sleepy eyes blinked open and you frowned. did someone open the window? your sleep addled brain hadn’t put the pieces together just yet. your fingers tightened around the blankets you had pulled against your—ah. that was the issue.

you frowned and rolled onto your back, reaching around to find them. where did they go?

there! you connected. how did they get there? no matter.

you pulled the blankets loosely, but they barely budged. you frowned again. what the hell?

you blinked in the darkness, peering at the shape in the bed next to you. it came rushing back. tim drake. typical. you had to be bunking with the blanket hog.

you pulled the blankets harder, to no avail. you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in (metaphorically), pulling with all your might and hoping they wouldn’t rip. sure, bruce could pay for the replacement, but you’d feel bad.

finally, the blankets came wrapping around you. you rolled back onto your side as you pulled them tight to your chin. then an arm was around your waist. then there was a warm breath on the back of your neck.

oh.

tim’s chest was pressed loosely against your back. he was still gripping the blankets too, obviously dragged by your pulling. you shifted for a moment, but his grip on you only tightened. fabulous.

your heart raced—why did your heart race?—and your palms sweated slightly. it wasn’t hot, but you felt all warm and fuzzy, like you’d just had a big cup of tea. it was tim. even if he wasn’t like a furnace, you realised he’d warm you like this. finally, you let yourself relax into his embrace.

you’d deal with that in the morning, and just hope no one came in before you woke up.

the morning was warm and cosy. you didn’t think too hard about why. there was sunlight streaming onto your body through a gap in the curtains and the blankets were warm and—what was that?

it felt like a breath of air against your skin. you opened your eyes and immediately slammed them closed again.

oh. right.

tim.

throughout the night, you’d clearly managed to roll in his grip until you were face to face. his arm was loose around your waist, hand tangled slightly in your sleep shirt. your legs were tangled with his. your stomach lurched with something unknown, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

you opened your eyes slowly, tentatively, and—

oh.

you were thinking that a lot lately.

it was rare to see tim without a tense frown on his face. it aged him, made him look more stressed and intense. but now… his face was soft with sleep, lips parted just so. oh god, your stomach fluttered.

maybe that was why you’d never been able to be comfortable around him. were you…? no. surely not, right?

as if your thoughts were probing into his dreams, tim stirred slightly. the arm around your body tightened for a second, and his eyebrows twitched. your breath caught in your throat and you snapped your eyes closed again. you really didn’t want to look at him when he woke up, but a soft sigh came from his lips, then a gasp, and he retracted his arm like he’d been burned. you felt instantly colder as he jerked backwards.

you looked up him as he sat up abruptly.

he had a shell-shocked look on his face. scandalised, even. his eyes—startlingly blue—met yours. “i’m so sorry.” his voice was soft and rough with sleep.

you had to swallow tightly before you could reply. “it’s okay.”

“i don’t—“ he shook his head and rubbed his face. “i shouldn’t have—“

“you kinda grabbed me when i pulled the blankets back last night.” you admitted quietly, sitting up too.

“oh.” he said dumbly.

“yeah. blanket hog.” you shot him a small smile.

that seemed to break the tension. he smiled back. “shut up.”

“does koala fit better?”

he groaned and flopped back down onto the bed, covering his face. “i said i was sorry.”

“and i said it was okay.” you shot back immediately, watching him with a small smile. you didn’t quite know what it meant, but you did know that there was something different between you now. it was like you’d broken through the previous tension to discover something more. worse? better? you didn’t know yet.

he opened his eyes and peered at you between his fingers. “you’re not upset?”

“why would i be? it was cold. you’re like a furnace.” you shrugged, deciding to play it cool.

he sat up again and pushed his hands through his hair. it fell back in front of his face. your fingers twitched like you wanted to push it back again. “right. yeah.”

you found yourself studying his face. when he wasn’t looking stressed or exhausted, he was actually really pretty, you realised. obviously, you objectively knew that—the tabloids did a great job of describing how pretty he was (not that you read them, no way)—but you’d never taken the time to see it yourself.

he shifted under your gaze. “what?”

“nothing.” you said sharply, turning your head away. you leaned back against the rickety headboard. he followed suit.

there was silence for a long while. you fiddled with your fingers, not looking at him. you could feel his gaze on your profile, probing and studying and examining you like you were a piece of evidence at a crime scene.

finally, you let your eyes dart back to him.

he wasn’t looking at your eyes.

there was a rush that went through you as his piercing eyes flashed between your lips and eyes. your breath caught and you looked away again, before you could do anything stupid.

“why don’t you like me?” he asked softly. “i mean… you act like you hate me. why?”

“i don’t hate you.” you said softly.

he scoffed. “yeah, i know that. why do you act like you hate me?”

you were silent for a moment. you could feel tim’s gaze on your face again. “i don’t know. i think it’s because…” you swallowed your pride. “you always look like you want to say something to me, but you never do. i think i felt like you didn’t like me.”

“i do.” he said in a rush, the words spilling out of him. “i do like you. i don’t know why i can’t seem to talk to you like a normal person, but i just…”

you looked over at him with a small smile. “you’re doing a pretty good job right now, for a boa constrictor.”

he groaned and laughed a little, shaking his head. “you’re terrible.”

“seriously i think you cut off my circulation.”

“very funny.”

“i’ll sue you for my medical bills when i have to amputate from the lack of blood flow.”

“i’ll pay them anyway.” his voice was soft. it sounded like a confession.

your heart fluttered. “so you admit guilt?”

he nodded slightly. his eyes weren’t so piercing in the warm dimness of the hotel room. they were warmer, softer, more gentle. or maybe that was just the way he was looking at you. “and i’d do it again.”

yesterday, you would have laughed at him and kept joking. today… you bit down a smile. “i think i’d allow that.”

he didn’t hide his smile. “yeah?”

you let yours show a little too. “yeah, i guess.”

“and if i were to maybe kiss you? would you allow that?” he asked softly, barely above a whisper. his eyes dropped to your lips again.

your heart climbed into your throat and did a little dance. you nodded. “yeah, i suppose i could allow that.”

for a moment, you wondered if this was a good idea. if this would backfire on you. if this would result in pain and loss and not to mention hours of teasing from steph about getting her ‘sloppy seconds’. if this would end terribly and ruin your entire dynamic with the bats, who you’d only just started working with.

and then tim’s lips were on yours and your mind went blissfully blank.

you sighed into the kiss, your hand coming up to his chest.

the kiss was brief, but as his lips pulled away from yours, your hand tightened on the collar of his shirt and pulled him back to you.

after all that time not understanding what these feelings were, you finally got why your cheeks burned and your heart raced and why he could never talk properly around you.

god, it all made sense, and his fingers in your hair and cupping your jaw were exactly where they were meant to be. the knock on the door only drew you back to reality for a moment before his lips were on yours again, and again, and again, and you realised you could stay there for a lifetime. you’d be happy to.

#tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin x reader #batfam #batman #dc

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furnacerepair7 · 5 months ago

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Comprehensive Breakdown of Furnace Repair Costs

Furnace Replacement Cost: Understanding the Investment When considering the replacement of a furnace, it’s essential to understand the various factors that contribute to the overall cost. The furnace replacement cost encompasses several components, including the price of the new unit, labor charges, and any additional modifications required to accommodate the new system. On average, homeowners…

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thehistoriccemetery · 1 year ago

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Honestly I’d beg for prompt 4. Is Tav the one in bed? What’s the vibe lol

BG3 x GN!Reader : “Stay in Bed, Please?”

I try to make the vibe a little bit different for all of them. There are certain characters who definitely sleep later and certain ones that are consistently up before sunrise.

Featuring Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, Minthara, and Jaheira

I’m really feeling this prompt right now, as it is impossible to get out of bed and go to work so early when the weather is so cold and the bed is so warm.

Shadowheart

You really do try and make as quiet an exit as possible. Shadowheart is a light sleeper.

Regardless, you don’t even make it off the mattress before you hear her precious little whine.

She turns over, sleepy eyes barely opened, looking into yours. Her hair is down and you almost giggle as it covers large parts of her face. “Stay in bed, please?”

It’s a tempting offer, you must admit. But you promised Lae’zel you’d train with her this morning.

You kiss her on the forehead and tuck her back into the blankets. “Go back to sleep, princess. I have to go.”

“My lady gives us a few more hours of her precious moonlight. You would take her gift for granted?” She teases, still not satisfied with your answer.

You roll your eyes and chuckle. “Well, I suppose I don’t want to upset your goddess.”

“Then you best crawl your way back under these blankets, lest you face her wrath.” She lifts the blankets, beckoning you back underneath.

You sigh, curling up back under the sheets. Looks like Lae’zel will be training alone this morning.

Shadowheart curls up into your chest. You feel the smug little smile grow on her face.

Lae’zel

Beg and whine as you wish, Lae’zel is not staying in bed.

She’s got shit to do, people to kill, laps to run.

She’s always up before you are. She sees the time as crucial training hours. By the time everyone else is up she’s already ready to go.

Some mornings she’ll have you get up with her. She has some really interesting of waking you up though.

Most of the time she just stares at you and slowly moves her face closer to yours until you finally stir.

As much as you love her you explain that awaking to someone bent over staring at you isn’t your ideal morning.

Her other methods include holding a knife to your throat, or pouring water onto your face.

One day you’ll learn the importance of these crucial morning hours.

Karlach

It isn’t impossible to sneak out of bed with Karlach, as long as you’re quiet and you replace your place in her arms with a carefully arranged Clive.

You think you’ve succeeded, lacing up your boots sitting on the edge of the bed… until you feel a tail curl around your waist.

You gently stroke the tail, coaxing her into letting you go. It only makes her tighten her grip and pull you closer.

“I know you’re not about to try and sneak out of here before the bloody sunrise,” she mumbles groggily.

As she pulls you closer to her body, you feel the warmth radiating off of her.

How could anyone be expected to subject themselves to freezing winter morning when they have a comfy furnace of a girlfriend begging them to stay in bed?

You sigh, kicking off your half-laced boots and burying yourself back into her embrace.

She yawns and stretches, pulling you back against her chest as she relaxes.

You used to be a morning person, but gods be damned if you’re ever going to crawl out of bed before sunrise again when this is the alternative.

Minthara

Minthara only trances for a couple of hours, so it’s very rare that you get to spend time sleeping, cuddled up to her.

She manages to sneak out of bed impossibly early, and settle down across the room to read a book by candlelight.

She hardly notices when you get up, all groggy and still wrapped in blankets and ask her to come back to bed.

“You can bring your candle and your book and whatever. It’s just so empty over there without you.”

She stares at you a moment before closing the book and grabbing the candle.

You smile and jump back into bed. You were honestly kinda shocked that it worked.

Minthara sat against the headboard, allowing you to rest your head against her stomach and wrap your arms around her thighs. She rested the book on your back and continued reading.

You feel safer and more comfortable than ever as you drift back to sleep. Maybe if you ask really nicely, she’d let you do this more often.

Jaheira

You manage to catch Jaheira before she can get out of bed. You wrap your arms around her, clinging to her and preventing her escape.

“I must go cub, the sun is rising. But you may rest for a little while longer.”

You know she would not put up with your whining, and she’d probably make you get up now if you started. Still, you couldn’t help but at least try to plead your case.

“Just a few more minutes?” You ask, looking up at her with the most endearing eyes you can muster. You keep your mouth and nose buried in her stomach.

She smiles and strokes your hair. How is she supposed to resist that precious little face?

“A little while longer and you get up with me,” she bargained.

“Deal,” you agreed, pulling her back into bed. It was no fun to be in bed without her anyway.

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seat-safety-switch · 6 months ago

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Getting rid of things is harder than you'd think. Sometimes it's more work than it's worth, as it was so many years ago. When my landlord replaced the furnace in my house, he had to run a different kind of intake pipe to the other side of the basement. What did he do with the old one? Just kinda taped it up and shoved it off into the corner, as you do.

There's no reason to remove old parts from a house, really. As long as it's not getting in the way, it's less effort just to leave it alone. It's not like the house is going to the drag strip on Friday evening and has to cut out as much weight as possible. Just be chill about it, and spend the time you'd otherwise spend swearing in order to clear out five feet of unusable ceiling space watching TV.

This idea has some true merit to it. Unfortunately in my case, he forgot to remember that the other side of the intake pipe was also connected to something: the outside fucking world. Out there, it can safely be said, is Nature Herself, including many little denizens and friends. Even with the intake grate present, some of those little denizens had used the pipe to build a new home in my home.

I first noticed that I would hear an intense buzzing from time to time while throwing some old differentials in the basement storage room, where the old intake pipe runs through the ceiling. Strange, I thought. Must be the wind. Soon, it was getting louder. I noticed that the pipe was beginning to sag under some kind of weight, its outer shell deforming.

"Hmm," I thought, and hit it with a stick. Very angry buzzing happened, and the pipe began to vibrate in the ceiling. I considered hitting the pipe with the stick again, more out of an urge to confirm for myself the impending horror than anything else. My senses returning, I decided it would be best for everyone to simply leave the angry insulation-and-plastic tube full of bees alone for now.

I'm happy to announce to you that my friend, Beekeeper Bethany, dropped by to steal my tube full of bees. Did she take the tube with her? Absolutely not. That shit is too much like work. I'll probably get around to removing it one of these days, or put a cap on it or something. Winter's coming, that'll take care of the whole problem.

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whereispearlescentmoon · 1 month ago

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@hermitshell first off, love your drawings, second off, this ended up being uh… a little long for a ficlet. And by long I mean it’s 2 thousand words. I wrote a fic not a ficlet. Because I love the Nosey Neighbors. Oops.

BigB couldn’t find his teammate anywhere. It wasn’t the weirdest thing, Pearl had the same tendency to wander off and do her own thing that he did. Part of what made their partnership work was that neither of them insisted on staying together, and neither of them really questioned what the other was planning on doing unless they were asked to go along. She had an uncanny sense for knowing where he was anyways, which made him feel like she might be following him sometimes. Normally, he would find it a little grating to have a teammate that close by, but it was something he was grateful for after the incident with Jimmy.

In this kind of downpour, BigB just wanted to be sure that Pearl was okay, and not caught out in it. She could take care of herself, but even if he wasn’t always the most reliable teammate in other series he still knew that a good teammate keeps the other safe. He had done his best in alliances before, even if they were temporary or if he hadn’t been entirely contained to one. Cleo’s warning from the beginning of the series for Pearl stung, even if he had shrugged it off. And Pearl was different anyways. Maybe it was the space she gave him, maybe it was some guilt left from what happened at the Box, but she was easy to want to be loyal to. Easy to care about and to want to keep safe. She did the same for him, he knew. Her insistence on getting him the win despite his own ambivalence towards the idea proved it.

Once he was back in the tower, he quickly headed up the ladder. The bottom floor with it’s tall stone walls was drafty and cold, water seeping in from the door and into the gravel to create mud. Somewhere, deep below the ground, was Pearl’s cat. It would live past any of them down there.

Their bedroom was far warmer and far better insulated despite the open windows. He shut them quickly anyways, cursing the fact that they hadn’t seen the rain coming this morning. The furnace was going in the corner, smelting up some iron. Pearl had to be around here somewhere then, and had probably just gotten back from a mining trip. The furnace’s heat was welcome as BigB untied his bandana and took off his shirt, replacing the shirt with his normal blue button up and placing the wet clothes by the furnace to dry. His own iron gear came off, the metal freezing cold from his walk.

“Pearl?” He called out, looking around. It wasn’t like there was anywhere she could be in their tiny space. Both of their beds were empty, and there wasn’t really any other space. Maybe he had missed her downstairs, or she was under the base? “Where are you?”

“Up here!” The response came, unexpectedly, from above him. He could barely hear it through the closed windows and the pounding rain.

“On the roof?” BigB questioned, incredulous, “Are you crazy?”

He flinched back after asking. Maybe not the right words. The barely healed wounds of last series still stung for her, he knew. She had admitted as much late at night after the amnesia incident, that she was afraid that she was losing her mind for real, or that she had already lost it and everyone had been right about her.

“Maybe!” She seemed good humored in her reply, but it was a little hard to tell. She may not be crazy, but she certainly got an unhinged tint to her when she was red. It was a little scary, to be honest. “It’s nice up here!”

“There’s no way! You’re gonna get sick!” His voice was starting to hurt from having to call up to her.

“We’re only alive for a little bit more! How badly sick could I get?” He laughed, the reminder of their impending deaths somehow making him giddy with adrenaline. Maybe someone else would feel dread, but BigB wasn’t everybody.

“I guess you’re right!”

“So come join me!” He shook his head, but laughed. May as well. Like she said, it’s not like they were going to get sick enough for it to matter in the week or so they had left.

He grabbed what little leather they had and made some more water resistant gear. Looking around he could see Pearl’s iron gear laid out on her bed, meaning she was probably out there in her normal hoodie and shorts. Like he said, crazy.

It wasn’t all that hard to clamber onto their roof, but the rain certainly made it more difficult. BigB struggled to get a proper hold on the ledge, the wood slick under his hands.His heart beat quickly. A death right now would be a fourth of his time. Just as he was afraid he was going to slip, a slim pale hand caught his. With a shocking strength given how slight she was, Pearl pulled him up next to her.She grinned at him, her red eyes meeting his own, and her smile was kind despite the mildly unsettling edge that came with last life bloodlust.

Just as he suspected, Pearl was wearing her hoodie. The normally bright color was darkened to a crimson, and he was sure it was incredibly heavy with how soaked through it was. Her shorts looked nearly black and he cringed at the idea of wet denim. He was glad to not be wearing his own jeans right now, and to have his clothes covered by the leather gear. He would have offered her some, but she didn’t always react well when he tried to give her things. More than anyone else in these games, BigB understood the need to take care of yourself in this sort of situation. He had been doing it since before Pearl joined the series.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked him, pulling him out of his thoughts and gesturing out towards the rest of the server. She handed over a spyglass, this was a true opportunity to Watch, Her eyes glinted purple for a second, in a way that was familiar for both of them. Evo had left a little bit of itself in all of them.He was sure his own eyes were doing the same. They weren’t Watchers, but they were allowed to Watch and even sometimes to Listen.

He looked out at the landscape and couldn’t help but agree with her assessment. Despite the darkness, it was nice to get a good look at everything when everyone else was inside. There was no noise other than the rain, no movement other than the mobs that were spawning. Occasionally, a flash of lighting lit up everything. Light curved around the Mean Gils’ hourglass, it outlined the Clockers’ tower, it reflected on the flooded pool below the Bad Boy’s Bread house. Sometimes it struck the very top of TIES’ base, and he was sure the four of them must have their hair standing on end.

Some distant part of him worried about how high up him and Pearl were, lighting being attracted to tall places and all, but Watching tended to dull such feelings. The two of them were extending themselves to places that they shouldn't be able to actually see. He wondered if Grian would want to join them, or Martyn or Jimmy. All five of them had it in them, even if only Grian and Martyn tended to use it. The rest of the server probably didn’t even know there was anything odd about the way BigB and Pearl Watched them, unless a teammate had told them.

The rain had slowed by early evening, though a light rain kept up. The lighting was gone at least, and some of their server mates began emerging from their bases. Like BigB, many of them were wearing leather, though the most paranoid stuck to their iron and diamond. With everyone on red, he understood the urge. He pulled back his Eyes and began to peer at them normally through the spyglass. The gasping breath beside him told him Pearl was doing the same. It was standard procedure for them, as Watching people was too invasive unless you really needed to. Spying normally? That was just a bit of fun.

He could have kept observing forever, except that Pearl’s breath turned into a huff, and her teeth were audibly chattering. At some point she must have drifted closer to him for warmth, and the drenched fabric of her hoodie was soaking wet and trembling with her.

“We should head inside. I don’t know about you but I’m chilly,” He suggested, putting his spyglass away. His gear had kept him warm and dry for the most part, though his hair was soaked due to the no helmets rule. He lied, however, for her sake. A quick look saw that her long hair was soaked even under the hood, the cloth only holding so much water before it started to leak through, and her lips and fingertips were tinted blue.

Pearl, he had learned, had very little sense of temperature, hot or cold. It was a consequence of last series, she had explained. Whatever tolerance she hadn’t built from her powdered snow escapades and the resulting frostbite, she had gotten from the dead tissue left by Scott blowing them both up. Burn scars went up her legs to the knee, and up her arms to the elbow. Once, when she was yellow, she had leaned against a furnace while it was cooking and he had to pull her arm away when smelled something burning. She hadn’t even felt it, but she had a bandage wrapped around the area where it had left a mark on her bicep.

Maybe it was a winning thing, BigB thought. He didn't have any visible scars from previous games, and certainly no lasting tolerance for anything except maybe pain and fear. He almost wished he had gotten to keep more than just the memories from these games, some proof of pain. Then again, the way Pearl cringed when she traced her scars told him that it would probably be more painful than anything,

“Yeah, inside then. Don’t want you freezing,” She clapped a hand on his shoulder before swinging down, easily and casually. He could hear the thump of her landing on the floor inside.

BigB’s own descent was slower and more careful. He had less time than her, he couldn’t waste it by falling. He had none of her grace, but it was still an impressive feat of strength to watch him lower himself slowly back onto their window ledge.

Before she could lay down, he stopped her.

“You should change, it can’t be comfortable to lay down in those clothes,” She tilted her head to the side at the suggestion, almost dog-like. It was like she hadn’t even considered the idea. With a shrug and a toss, her hoodie joined his own wet clothes by the furnace, which he restocked to turn some wood into charcoal, if only to keep it hot now that the iron was done. BigB turned to look outside while she removed her other clothing to do the same. “You done?”

“Yeah,” He turned back around at her response. Unlike him, Pearl actually brought pajamas to the games. She had proper pajama pants, moon and stars pattern and all, and a tank top. BigB didn’t see a point in it, the t-shirt he normally wore under his button up and the shorts he had on for his red life this season worked just fine. It was still a little chilly, and he shivered as a draft came through the tower. Pearl reached under her bed and grabbed her regular navy hoodie. “Here, you look cold,”

He would have pointed out the irony, her lips were tinged blue, but there wasn’t a point. She probably didn’t even feel it. He just took the hoodie, grateful that Pearl wore one that was oversized because it just about fit on him.

“Alright then, dinner time?” He suggested. A hot meal would do them both some good.

#pearlescentmoon #bigbst4tz2 #nosey neighbors #limited life smp #fic #reblog welcome and encouraged :)#regularly scheduled nosey neighbors hours

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johnwickb1tsch · 6 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 5

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four.

Five. 五

Donaka's house is beautiful, and it’s a pleasure to be in, even though you’re constantly working at this or that task to keep it immaculate. You don’t mind the honest work. It’s satisfying in a way working on a computer never was, more immediately gratifying than teaching, and certainly less heartbreaking than writing ever was.

Sometimes you take a moment to just sit and enjoy the ambiance in his rooms, but by far your favorite space in the house is the library. Built in bookshelves line the walls, an antique table sits in the center, and a circle of comfy leather chairs sit by the window. You’ve taken to spending some of your breaks in there, reading this or that for the fifteen minutes allotted.

You are reaching for a book on a high shelf, just out of your reach, when a much longer arm seemingly appears out of nowhere over your head, plucking down the volume easily.

You didn't even hear Mr. Mark enter the room. Usually, he’s at work at this time of day, though you’ve noticed he’s been home more lately. You gasp and turn, finding him standing close enough that you feel the warmth emanating from his body. He’s like a furnace.

He enjoys sneaking up on you. There’s nothing he wants more, than to push you back against the shelves and take you, but he is a patient predator. He settles for just handing you the book with a lifted eyebrow. You take it absently, wondering if you are in trouble. It’s impossible to tell, from his impassable expression.

"Hello, Mr. Mark," you say softly.

He smirks at your timid greeting, delighted with this development. He’s known for days, of course, that you were coming in here. He didn’t really mind–you were always careful with the books, reverent in the way you handled them, even the newer tomes that could be easily replaced.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks sardonically, implying that you should be cleaning something, rather than looking at his books on Chinese art.

"Yes. I'm...on my break," you are quick to explain.

Donaka lets his gaze slowly and openly travel over you. He can’t help but find you beautiful, even in your unassuming black dress and white apron, your hair swept back neatly.

He takes a half-step closer to you, leaning against the bookshelf, caging you in with his broad frame. “You should use this time to take refreshment. Why are you so unkind to your body?” he scolds, annoyed that you do not treat yourself as well as he thinks you should.

You frown a little, clutching the book to your chest like a shield. He inwardly scoffs at this, finding the thought that a book between you could save you from him.

"I...didn't want to risk getting food on your books," you admit, annoyed that he seems to think he can control what you eat and drink too. Chill out, man. Even you are smart enough to let that die unsaid on your tongue.

“Very kind of you,” he deadpans. You do not miss the dry sarcasm in his tone, and you realize you have made a mistake, thinking you could just come in here and be alone with the smell of old paper for a little while. But now you’re stuck with this book in your hands, which you can’t put away without his help. Your quick escape is thwarted.

“How about this,” he proposes, tilting his head. “You can come in here in the evening, any time you want. But right now, you should go have a cup of tea, and a healthy snack.” No potato chips, practically rings out unsaid between you.

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Mark,” you say, not happy with this offer at all. Maybe you could do worse, than your handsome employer taking an interest in your health, and offering to share his books with you. But there’s more to it beneath the surface, something darker, controlling. You sense it more than you could prove it.

You wonder how often he would find his way in here, if you started spending your evenings in one of those oversized leather chairs, curled up with a book… You can’t help but look at the table next. That sturdy fucking table, such a debauchable surface, if he were to grab you up and pin you down there…

Stop stop stop.

You can’t stop. Not your thoughts, at least. Your feet, however, are ready to go.

He is searching your face with that sharp gaze that sees everything. He doesn’t look pleased, almost as though he knows you’re not going to come in here again unless you are cleaning.

Hoping to distract him before he can concoct something else, you hand him back the book to re-shelve, since you clearly can't reach it.

He accepts it, his eyes never leaving your face, but his fingers brushing yours. It feels like an electric shock, when he touches you, and that predictable rush of heat floods your body, from the tips of your fingers to your treacherous, aching, center.

It’s almost as though you have no sense of self-preservation at all.

"Thank you, Mr. Mark." You sidle around him, thinking about how you’re always fleeing the rooms he's in. It's almost becoming a comedic bit between you–but you’re not laughing, as you feel his hungry eyes on your back as you go.

“Y/n?”

You were so close to escaping.

“Sir?” you ask timidly, turning slowly in the doorway.

“Tell Mrs. Wong I’ll have my tea early today. Bring it to me on the terrace.”

There is a single beat during which you consider reminding him you’re on your break still, and that’s not usually your duty around the house. The impulse evaporates as he fixes you with that dark stare, and you dare not defy him further.

“As you like, sir.”

He inclines his head with a little smirk, as though to say, ‘See how it goes for you when you defy me?’ All in all…you feel like you got off pretty easily. That is, until you are bringing him the tray with his beautiful burnished earthenware yi xing teapot, and some little dishes filled with dried fruit and nuts. They do look tasty, you have to admit, but that’s neither here nor there for you now.

The terrace is cloistered by greenery, a pool beside it filled with flowing-finned koi carp. In the distance one can see the blue glitter of the sea. It really is a view fit for a king, and even though you still don’t really know a thing about Donaka Mark other than he is wealthy and ridiculously good looking, you are happy for him.

You set down the tray without making a sound, and he smirks at you as you bow your head, making to flee once more. “Sit down,” he orders, in the guise of a polite invitation. You recognize it immediately for what it is.

“Sir…”

You don’t know why the thought of staying with him twists you up in knots inside. Perhaps simply because you want to, even while knowing it is not your place to do so.

“Sit,” he says again, and with a sigh you do as you’re told, perching on the edge of the chair. It’s incredibly peaceful, in this place. The sound of the fountain tinkling beside you, the salt-tinged breeze coming off the water beyond…for a moment, you close your eyes, perhaps because you can feel his gaze boring into you. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening between the two of you, but that little instinct deep inside that is rarely wrong–and you rarely listen to…is sounding the alarm.

“This teapot is two-hundred years old,” he tells you, pouring a cup. Your eyes go a little wide, as you think about the heritage you’d unwittingly carted across the house in your two little hands. It must be very valuable. “It makes an exceptional cup of dark oolong.”

As he sets the cup in front of you, as well as the little dish of dried fruit and nuts, you know you resemble one of those open-mouthed carp in the pond in your surprise. “Another auction-house conquest?” you dare ask.

“Something like that. It was not cheap.”

Your lips twist as you attempt to keep your wry comments to yourself. As usual–you fail. “Do me a favor and don’t tell me what you paid for it, if I have to carry it back to the kitchen.”

He chuckles quietly at that. “You think it was a waste of money?”

“No, there are definitely worse things to waste your money on.”

You realize a beat later that your comment sounded far more specific than you meant it to, your personal prejudices making their way out the cracks of your armor.

Lucky you, he seems amused by this, though you can’t help but wonder if it’s a trap when he asks, “Oh? Like what?”

“I didn’t mean you specifically…”

The flash of his smile is like a baring of teeth; you are equally mesmerized as you are mortified. Is this what the little deer feels, a moment before it is snatched up in the jaws of the tiger?

“Yes you did. Come on, tell me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Playing hard to get as usual. Is it my art collection?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“My beautiful house?”

“No,” you reply again in earnest.

“My clothes?”

No, you rather like those too. You simply shake your head, wishing, as usual, that you could run away, or turn back time, and shut your fat fucking mouth.

“Hmm. What’s left? Ah, it’s my cars.”

You are practically writhing in your seat, as he hits this nail on the head.

“Absolutely none of my business, sir.”

“Of course it’s not, but where’s the fun in that?”

You sense the fun in this for him is making you sweat.

“So go on? What’s wrong with them? Lamborghini not to your taste?”

You take a sip of tea, closing your eyes momentarily to appreciate the flavor. It really was wonderful, bitter yet somehow silky on the back of the tongue. Enjoy it now, you think–he’s going to fire you in five seconds.

“Well. If they make you spend that much…” you deadpan, “You’d think they’d at least have the decency not to make them so ugly.”

For a moment you think you are dead–not fired, but soon to be murdered–until a bark of laughter escapes this usually so-severe man, the flash of his white teeth startling in the sunlight. “I’ll be sure to tell them you said so,” he retorts, saluting you with his cup of tea, before taking a sip. “Though you might feel differently, if you’d let me give you a ride.”

You freeze for a moment while reaching for a peanut. He meant in his car you deranged dumpster fire of a woman.

“I’m sure…its performance is bar none,” you answer diplomatically. You see his smirk out the corner of your eye, and you feel your ears burning.

“So tell me, my little housekeeper with all the big opinions. If you had my money, what would you spend it on?”

His money? As usual, you can’t tell if he is baiting you with the subtle choice of his words. You sigh, taking a piece of dried fruit. You think for a few moments, though it doesn’t take long.

“Honestly? The same thing I’m doing now.”

He chuckles at this. “You like cleaning my house that much?”

“It’s not bad.” Despite the probable ulcer developing from living in proximity to this tempting man. “But when my work visa expires in six months, I’m going to travel again.”

Donaka’s expression sharpens immediately at hearing this, his brows pulling in a frown. “You’re leaving us so soon?”

“I…told your assistant, in the interview. It wasn’t a secret.”

Donaka still glowers at you, and you can’t help but feel like you did something wrong. But he wrangles his emotions, whatever they may be, into a neutral expression. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are obviously overqualified for this position.”

“I am educated, but I don’t really feel like that qualifies me for much of anything.”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, and you sense he is still annoyed with you. “What about your writing?”

You shrug, even while it feels like a knife delivered to your chest. “It’s never come to anything.”

“How hard did you try?”

You trace the rim of your little tea cup, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

“Enough to break my heart one more time than I could take,” you admit, suddenly feeling raw under his piercing gaze. Rejection is wearing. So is pouring your soul into something that only amounts to very little when you were foolish enough to hope. You’ve never managed to turn anything you enjoy into a money making endeavor. It always makes you feel like you’re dying inside.

Donaka, however, seems less than sympathetic. “You shouldn’t give up.”

You shrug, ready to change the subject. It’s not like you’ve stopped writing. You’re just not writing anything that can ever see the light of day. “I will take that under advisement.”

He narrows his eyes, like he doesn’t believe you’re taking him seriously. “You know what your problem is?”

“Would you like a list?”

“Very funny. But I think you’ve never truly been afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Exactly. I can tell. I think you’re intelligent, and maybe you’re tough, but you’ve never been to the edge of survival. There’s something about your contempt for the display of wealth that makes me think you come from it. You’re content with mediocrity because you know if you have to, you can always run home to mommy and daddy. You have a safety net that keeps you lazy.”

You blink at that. It’s maybe half true, though you would rather eat roadkill than go home to your father with your hand out. “I’m not…lazy.”

“Of course you are. You’re certainly not realizing your fullest potential.”

This hurts way more than it should. Maybe…because he’s not wrong. This man has an edge of danger to him–it wouldn’t surprise you at all, to learn he’s a self-made millionaire. Maybe he had a rough childhood, and climbed over anyone he had to, to get where he is. Good for him. You wonder vaguely who he’s hurt along his journey to the top. Deep down, you know men don’t get where Donaka Mark is without someone paying a price.

“Maybe not. But not everyone wins the big jackpot in life. I’m content with where I am now.”

“For now? And where will you go from here?”

“India, I think.”

“Why?”

“There are still things I want to see.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Because I want to. Because I can. Why do anything in this pointless existence?” You are careful not to raise your voice to him, though your heart gallops in your chest like you are having an argument. The yawning void of your old friend nihilism opens up before you, a black hole you know well but haven’t had to contend with for a while.

His lips curl for you, though it is not a nice smile. “You lack a sense of purpose.”

He’s not wrong, though you don’t think he understands you as well as he thinks. You find the endless march of humanity perpetuating itself tiresome and destructive. You find the rat race pursuit of wealth for the sake of winning a pissing contest exhausting. The hypocrisy of religion has never appealed to you. On the whole, you find homo sapiens to be a sad and ridiculous species with a few bright spots, but unfortunately you are one, you’re stuck here, and you have to find something to do with your time until you check out.

Usually you’re content in your own little world, trying not to harm anyone…but he flips this switch for you in two seconds flat, and you find yourself clenching your jaw as the weight of it crushes you down. You have to admit this was not how you expected this day to go. Silly you, for thinking you could just sit down with a book for ten minutes unbothered.

He pours himself another cup of tea, pretending that he doesn’t notice you’re stewing in an existential crisis while sitting across from him. “I could change that for you, you know.”

Confused and unsettled, which is probably exactly what he intended to do to you, you shift in your chair. Is he propositioning you? Or is he talking about something else entirely? You feel like a low-level current is running through your bone marrow, slowly cooking you from the inside.

You’re not sure if he’s asking you to be his mistress–or to join a cult. Maybe it would be nearly one and the same.

From the flashing look in his eyes, you don’t think he expected you to laugh at him. It’s the only way you can get up the courage to say this to his face: “Respectfully…no one says that unless they’re trying to evangelize you into something, Mr. Mark.”

His lips dance as he smirks at you. “But you are above manipulation, Miss y/n?”

“Probably not,” you admit, suddenly nervous all over again about where this is heading. Why does every conversation you have with this man have to feel like a fucking chess game? “Though I like to think…I am somewhat aware, at least.”

“Being aware of manipulation is not the same as being immune to it, believe me.” Again he smiles wide enough to flash teeth, and you can tell he is truly enjoying himself now. “Can you really say that wealth doesn’t interest you? I don’t buy it.”

“The ostentatious display of wealth doesn’t interest me,” you grumble, flashing back to the hellish court-ordered summers you once spent at your father’s tasteless mansion with your insufferable half-siblings always crowing about their latest couture conquests.

“Ah. That’s why you hate the Lambo.”

“No, I really do think it’s ugly.” It maybe feels too good to tell him so, after he was so brutally honest to you. However, you can tell immediately that you fail to hit your mark. He lifts his eyebrows, seemingly amused by your agitation, his dark eyes shining.

You look at him sitting across from you in the dappled afternoon light; why does this man have the right to look so beautiful, while he’s being so mean?

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” you grouse. You really would rather be scrubbing a toilet right now.

“I think if you had real money, you would do the exact same thing I do; use it to acquire things that please you. You’re no different from me, or anyone else.”

What is it about this man, that makes you feel like you’re being slowly electrocuted? You dare to meet his gaze, finding his dark eyes veritably dancing with enjoyment for making you squirm. You cannot help but wonder if he counts you as one of those things.

Maybe Donaka Mark thinks you’re an underachiever, but you reckon this man might be surprised by your stubborn streak. No matter your fascination with him…you need to cut him from your heart, because you’re more certain than ever that he would be the death of you. You do not possess a thick enough skin to tangle with a man like this on a regular basis.

“That might be true,” you answer, looking back down at your teacup. “But at least I’m not a bully.”

“Have I hurt your feelings, y/n?”

He fucking knows he has, and you would give anything to be able to quit the table right then. You consider dropping his precious teapot on the way back to the kitchen; but think better of it, and not just because you suspect he might string you up by your thumbs. It would be a tragic loss of art.

“May I go, Mr. Mark?”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“Yes, you hurt my feelings. Now may I go?”

“No. How did I offend you? By speaking the truth?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” you answer with a sigh, looking out at the glittering water beyond.

“Well?”

You make a plaintive sound, wishing the ground would just swallow you up whole, rather than having to admit the truth out loud to this man. But he waits patiently, and you just know there will be no escape for you, until you give this man the answer he wants.

“I thought…you liked me,” you answer quietly. “But never fear, I am disabused of that foolish notion, sir. Now may I go?”

“I do like you. Haven’t you been listening?” He sounds genuinely puzzled.

You laugh at that, and it sounds pathetic even to you.

Now, at last, he seems as frustrated with you as you are with him. “Fine. Go back to work, y/n.” He makes a shooing gesture with his fingers, and you have never been so grateful to be dismissed in your life.

You hope this little interlude will convince him to just leave you alone.

“Thank you, sir,” you say with a cloying deference, and you hear him growl behind you as you scurry away. It sends an agonizing thrill jetting down your spine, and it’s all you can do not to run.

Little do you know, you haven’t scared him off by half. You just threw down a gauntlet.

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #let the games begin...#in which the author just realized she's writing a bully romance #huh who knew 😆

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