#hopefully i can get that done today.... and not be interrupted again... lest i go insane...

[todayisafridaynight]

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 3

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

A week passes, and her interaction with Agent Mulder fades into the recesses of her memory. She files it away under “times a cute guy hit on me,” alongside overly friendly waiters and optimistic students.

She and Ethan’s anniversary is coming up next week and she’s been grappling with the best gift to get him; something practical or indulgent? He is a prolifically thoughtful gift-giver and she feels pressure on each special occasion to select the perfect thing to give him, though the pressure comes only from herself. She’s contemplating this as she finishes up an autopsy, replacing the organs in the chest cavity and suturing up the Y-incision.

“Dana,” the pathologist about to come on shift calls out to her, “someone is asking for you.”

“I’ll just be about ten minutes, Trudy. Who is it?” she returns, gently settling the young woman’s liver back into her body.

Trudy shrugs. “Tall guy in a suit, cute, dark hair.”

She feels a flutter in her belly and then immediately chastises herself.

“Tell him I’ll be right there, please.”

She apologizes internally to the decedent as she rushes through the final steps, not taking quite as much care as she typically does.

After scrubbing her hands and fixing her hair, she steps into the hallway to find Agent Mulder sitting on a bench. His back is against the wall, his long legs crossed casually as he studies the art hung opposite him. He looks so composed and confident it unnerves her.

“Agent Mulder, what can I do for you?” she asks, forcing confidence she does not feel into her own voice.

The smile that lights up his face when he turns to look at her makes her flush, and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. Being unable to hide her emotional response behind her fair complexion has always been something she resents.

“Scully, good to see you. I wanted to follow up on the Dugan case, you said you were interested in understanding the motivation behind your autopsy findings,” he says as he stands and walks towards her, his tall frame looming above her such that she has to look up at his face. He stands close enough that she can smell his aftershave and see the stubble coming in on his cheeks.

“Oh, yes, I was curious about that,” she replies, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Why does this man make her so nervous?

“If you’d like, you can meet with the lead behavioral analyst on the case. They can tell you how they drew parallels between the wound pattern you observed and the perpetrator profile,” he offers, a slight tilt to his head as his green eyes jump around her face as though he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“That would be great, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” she replies self-consciously, feeling as though she asked for something she shouldn’t have, even though she’d never requested this.

“Do you have time today?” he asks, lifting his wrist to glance at his watch. She knows it’s just past 4 pm.

“Um, yes, actually, I’m done with classes for the day and that was my last autopsy. I was just going to do paperwork for a bit, but I can defer it until tomorrow.”

A small smirk flashes on his mouth, but quickly disappears.

“Alright, why don’t you meet them at that cafe you mentioned in, say, thirty minutes?” he asks.

“Okay, that should work,” she replies, “what’s their name, so I can find them?” She should have just about enough time to change and get there by 4:30.

His eyebrows lift as though he just realized he forgot something, and he pauses before continuing.

“Uh, Fox. His name is Fox. I’ll describe you to him, he’ll find you.”

“Fox?” she asks dubiously, “is that a real name?”

He purses his lips. “Sadly, yes.”

“Alright, well, thank you, Agent Mulder. It was, um...it was good to see you again.” She extends her hand with her chin held high, trying to portray an air of professionalism and not one of a girl with a crush, which is how he makes her feel.

He takes her hand and smiles at her warmly, a little something coy behind his eyes.

“Likewise. I hope to see you again very soon,” he says confidently, and she feels her belly tumble yet again.

——————————————————————————

He stands in the hallway until Scully disappears into the staff locker room, then books it over to Cafe Adamo to get a quiet table in the corner. He’s not sure exactly what he’s after here; she has a boyfriend after all. He just hasn’t been able to get her out of his head all week. When the lead analyst on the Dugan case had a family emergency and needed to take leave, he jumped at the opportunity to take over the case, getting a little thrill from reading over her report and incorporating it into his profile. It felt as though they were creating something together.

He watches the clock, a pit in his belly as he wonders how she’ll react to learning that he tricked her into having coffee with him. He barely knows her, but gets the sense that she doesn’t take shit from anyone. That is, in fact, what draws him to her. Well, that and those plush pink lips. He hasn’t been this affected by anyone since he and Valerie split.

When the door swings open and she steps through in fitted jeans and a black T-shirt, he feels a wave of nausea. She’s even more beautiful in street clothes than she was in scrubs, her tiny waist curving up into a modest bustline. She scans the room and when her eyes fall on him, she quirks her head to the side and her eyebrows knit in confusion. His heart starts to pound and he stays glued to his seat, watching her traverse the room until she reaches him and gives him an expectant look.

He holds out his hand. “Fox Mulder,” he says with a guilty smile, and she lifts her chin before tucking it to her chest, taking his hand with a pensive expression.

“I see,” she says, her tone skeptical. It’s clear that she is unsure of his intentions.

“I am the lead behavioral analyst on this case, for the record. I am now, anyway,” he offers, and watches her doubt deepen. What the hell did he think was going to happen, catfishing an unavailable woman into a date? “Will you sit?” he asks hopefully, and she does, though he can tell by her posture that she is one wrong move away from fleeing the scene.

Someone comes by and takes their coffee order, and he sets his profile on the table, getting right to the reason he asked her here lest she think he’s completely full of shit.

“You noted that the victim was stabbed repeatedly in the exact same location, giving the appearance of one wound,” he explains, “we’ve seen something similar with the other victims, and at this time my theory is that the perp lost someone close to them in this manner, perhaps a family member or parent. I believe they’re re-creating the injury that killed their loved one, though because these crimes are so rage-fueled they feel compelled to injure the victim more extensively than just the one wound. The repeated stabbing in the same location provides an outlet for that rage while preserving the one-wound injury that is the cause of death.”

She reads over his profile with interest, nodding along as he speaks. “That’s very interesting,” she says, lifting her head to look at him, and he feels a swell of pride at her praise. “You had to trick me into getting coffee with you to tell me that?” she adds flatly, and now it’s him who is blushing.

She smiles victoriously at having made him uncomfortable, a bright, dazzling, toothy smile, and he’s overwhelmed by how attracted he is to her. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again and just shrugs.

Their coffee is delivered and he watches intently as she licks at the foam on her cappuccino. Her blue irises dart up to meet his and he startles at having been caught, picking up his own cup and taking a big gulp that burns the roof of his mouth.

“Your name sounds very familiar,” she begins, “why do I feel like I’ve heard it before?”

“Uh, I had a bit of a reputation at one time,” he says with a regretful tone. “Are you familiar with the X files?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Spooky Mulder,” she says with realization, “that’s where I’ve heard your name.”

He grimaces. “Not my favorite nickname, but yes, guilty as charged.”

“But you’re in the BSU now? Not on the X files anymore? I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around Quantico,” she remarks, and he can see her relaxing a bit.

“No, the X files division was shut down a couple years ago. I was in the BSU before I reopened the X files, and transferred back after I was reassigned. I’m part of a small BSU team that works out of the Hoover building, so I’m not down here all that often these days.”

“Why was the X files division shut down?” she asks before licking more foam from the rim of her mug, and he shifts in his seat.

“Well, how much time do you have?” he asks with a shy smile, “it’s a long story.”

She returns his smile. “Not that much time. So you’re into aliens and all that paranormal stuff?”

“Well, let me ask you this, Scully,” he says, leaning in, “do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

She gives him an incredulous look, but answers. “Logically, I’d have to say no.” He nods and sits back, but she continues. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities…”

“Conventional wisdom,” he interrupts, “I just happen to disagree with it.”

“On what basis?” she asks, curious but not derisive, which is what he’s used to getting in response to his theories.

“If you’d seen what I’ve seen, Scully, you’d understand why I believe in such extreme possibilities.”

She tilts her head expectantly. “Do tell, Agent Mulder. Or should I call you Fox?” she asks with a haughty tone, though a playful one, and he blushes again.

“Please, it’s just Mulder. I even make my parents call me Mulder. I’m sure you can understand why with a first name like Fox.” She makes a face that says she can’t argue with that, and he continues. “I’ve seen things, Scully, things that defy all logic and can’t be explained by the laws of science. Repeat abductees, men who can stretch their bodies and travel through the slats of a heater vent, prehistoric monsters dwelling in the woods.” She’s giving him a doubtful expression, one eyebrow cocked suspiciously. He laughs a little. “I know I sound crazy, but it’s just crazy enough to be true. When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?”

She screws up her mouth, politely suppressing the “you are certifiably nuts” expression that wants to present on her face. He’s used to it, and takes no offense.

“What I find fantastic, Mulder, is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, you just have to know where to look,” she says in a tone that is both playful and sincere.

He smiles at her, sure he looks like a total dope. This conversation is more intellectually stimulating than any he’s had in months.

“You should come see the X files sometime, Scully. Tell me how you make scientific sense of what you see.”

“You have them?” she asks with wide eyes.

He shrugs guiltily. “I may have acquired a few on my way out.”

Her head dips lower in disbelief. “Is that allowed?”

“No, definitely not,” he answers with a chuckle. If only she knew the extent of his flaunting of bureau policy during his time on the X files.

She smiles at him in a way that he can only interpret as openly flirtatious, an acknowledgement that she finds his insubordinate behavior a little bit enticing. As suddenly as the smile appears, it vanishes and she checks her watch.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she says as she stands.

“Right, you’ve got somebody waiting for you,” he says with a regretful tone.

She looks at him guiltily, then thanks him for the coffee and leaves. He sits there for a long while, staring at the door she exited through.

“Shit,” he says aloud to no one.

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part III}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

Kay stood by the sanctuary doors under the pretense of greeting his parishioners, but really he was searching for one in particular.

He’d barely been able to eat or sleep since their mid-week lesson, [y/n]’s confession of feelings leaving him conflicted and distracted, barely getting this week’s sermon prepared on time.  Unsure what he would even say to her when he saw her— he knew nothing he could say would make things alright, not after he’d rejected her, but that didn’t stop him from just wanting to see her.

But when her fiance and his parents walked in, [y/n] nowhere to be seen, his heart dropped to his stomach, sharp disappointment filling him til he nearly couldn’t breathe.

“No [y/n] today?” he asked as he shook the others’ hands, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“No, she’s not feeling well today,” Matthew answered.  “She’s been feeling off for several days now actually.”

“Poor dear, hopefully it’ll pass soon,” his mother murmured and Kay nodded, watching them as they took their seats, a frown twisting his lips.

What were the odds that [y/n] was actually sick and not just feigning illness to avoid him?  His stomach churned at the thought, but he made his way dutifully to the altar to start Mass.

If he thought it was hard to concentrate when [y/n] was out in the congregation watching him, this was even worse, his thoughts continuously straying to what she was doing, and if she was alright.

He ended up losing his place several times and by the end of the service he felt so anxious he thought he might be ill himself.  He idly thought about calling her from his office to check on her, but it wasn’t as if she’d be likely to answer, and there was no way he could just show up at her apartment — that’d be incredibly inappropriate, besides, what would he even say?

He already knew there was nothing he could say, though he wanted to.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he noticed someone enter the confessional and he sighed, heading that way.

This is your duty, get yourself under control, Kay, he told himself, opening the door to the priest’s compartment and took his seat.  Through the latticed partition he couldn’t tell exactly who was on the other side, and his thoughts returned to the other day.

“I’ve been having… impure thoughts.”

He shivered at the memory, his mind wanting to chase that line of thought to speculate what sort of sinful scenarios she’d been imagining him in.

No, Kay, what is wrong with you? He thought frantically.  Do not be swayed by sweet temptation.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It’s been, uh… well, a while since my last confession.”

Matthew’s voice on the other side of the partition jerked Kay back to the present, his gut twisting with guilt at what he’d nearly allowed himself to think about the other man’s betrothed.

“Go ahead, my child,” Kay prompted, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice how strained his voice was.

“Right, okay, uhh, where to start…?” Matthew mused.  He paused for a long moment as if thinking.  “Well, I’ve had a lot of sex… like, a lot,” he began, and Kay’s gut twisted farther at the thought of him and [y/n] before he forcefully pushed that image from his head.  “—And not just with my fiance.  There’s been others, sometimes even two at once—“

Kay frowned, interrupting the other man.

“Wait, are you saying you’re been unfaithful to [y/n]?” he asked, trying to keep the sharp bite of his anger from his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Matthew replied.  “I mean, as good as she in in bed, I don’t wanna be stuck having the same boring sex with one woman my whole life.  In fact, this whole marriage was my parents’ idea in the first place, and if I don’t go along with it they threatened to cut me off,” he explained, Kay’s anger mounting with each word.

“Does… does [y/n] know about this?” he asked, seething, his hands balling in his dark robes.

“No, I mean, she’d flip out if she did, and then she’d bail.”

Kay couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he couldn’t even warn [y/n]— confession was sacred.  What he heard in the confessional couldn’t be revealed to anyone.  But the worst part about it was the irony.  He’d pushed her away when she’d tried to tell him she wasn’t happy, thinking he might be breaking up a loving marriage, but it was already doomed to begin with.  Of course [y/n] was unhappy.

“So… what, Father, how many Hail Mary’s do I need to do to be good?” Matthew asked, pulling Kay’s attention back to him and he scowled. 

“That’s not how it works,” he countered.  “To be forgiven, you must truly repent and feel sorry for what you’ve done, and vow to the best of your abilities to not give into temptation and repeat your sin,” he explained sharply.  “If you have no intention of ceasing your adulterous ways then you cannot truly be forgiven.”

“Alright, alright,” Matthew relented, “I promise to the best of my abilities to avoid temptation,” he exclaimed, though it was clear by the tone of his voice that he had no intention of stopping.

In a hollow voice, Kay absolved the man of his sins and sent him on his way, unable to bring himself to leave the solitude of the confessional yet.  [y/n]’s words swam in his head, guilt and desire and temptation following them, gripping him.

“I never wanted this!  I still have feelings for you.  They never went away!”

Who was he kidding?  She was still all he’d ever wanted.  And if Matthew couldn’t see just how special she was, he didn’t deserve her.  [y/n] was right, he couldn’t give her what she wanted… but maybe Kay could.

“Ah shit,” he muttered under his breath.  

Without another thought, lest he talk himself out of it, Kay pushed open the door and hurried back to his office, shedding his robe and grabbing his keys.

——

It was the insistent pounding at the door that roused you from your fitful slumber, and you rolled over to check the time on your phone.  It looked like Mass would be over by now, but you couldn’t believe that that was Matthew at the door.

Maybe if you didn’t answer, whoever it was would give up and go away.  Besides, you weren’t exactly fit to be seen at the moment—!not having bothered to shower or change for the last few days, your eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying for hours on end. 

However, when the knocking persisted, growing, if possible more frantic, you reluctantly pushed yourself out of bed and threw your robe around yourself as you shambled to the door.

“I’m comin’, hold your fucking horses!” you called, peering through the peephole while your hand rested on the door knob.

When you saw who was standing outside, looking nervously around, you jerked back, your pulse instantly pounding loudly in your ears.

For a moment, you pressed your forehead to the door, trying to decide what to do.

“[y/n], please, I know you’re in there!  I just want to talk,” Kay called through the door and you took a steadying breath, unlocking the deadbolt, but leaving the chain in place, pulling the door open only a crack.

“What’re you doing here, Kay?” you demanded, though you didn’t give him a chance to speak.  “I think you already know why I didn’t come to church today, and if you’re here to ask me to come back to do my lessons, I’m not going.  I’ll call the Parish office tomorrow and request a new teacher—“

“That’s not why I’m here!” he exclaimed hastily, cutting you off and your eyes widened.  “Please, can I come in?  I don’t want to speak through the door and I want — I need to talk to you!”

The desperation in his voice and the wild light in his emerald eyes made you pause.  Biting your lip, you considered his plea.

“Okay, just… hold on a sec.”

Shutting the door to unlatch the chain, you wondered if you’d come to regret this, but something in his voice, in his eyes had swayed you.  You’d never seen him quite so frantic before.  Opening the door fully, you stepped aside so he could enter and you noticed he wasn’t wearing his white collar.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he passed and you quickly shut the door behind him, turning to face him while folding your arms defensively over your chest.

You were about to demand why he was there again when he spoke first, rendering you momentarily speechless.

“Oh, [y/n], you look awful” he exclaimed softly, worry lacing his voice as he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out.

Quickly looking away, you wiped at your already raw eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were once more gathering.

“Kay… what do you want?” you asked instead, hating how your voice wavered.

He sighed heavily, his eyes going to the floor for a moment before lifting once more, his thick brows drawn down over a piercing gaze.

“Do you love him?” he demanded, his question taking you off guard and you faltered.

“I… I don’t know.  Why are you asking me that?”

At your answer Kay gaped at you in disbelief for a moment.  “Then why are you marrying him, [y/n]?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied automatically, your voice growing stronger as you continued.  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?  I need the stability Matthew can give me.  Besides, it’s not like I have much say in the matter, my parents—“

“That’s not a good enough reason!” Kay snapped and you recoiled as if slapped, knowing in your heart he was right.  “What about love?  Don’t you deserve that?” he exclaimed, a wild look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

The question stung and you bit your lip to keep from trembling.  “Yeah, well, maybe the man I love, I can’t have.  You made that clear enough the other day,” you muttered, drawing your arms around yourself and turning away so he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes.  “So, what does it matter anyway?”

Kay shook his head, opening his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.  Instead, he closed the distance between you in one stride, his hands going to your face as his lips collided with yours, taking you by surprise.

As soon as his lips found yours, his hands reverently cupping your cheeks, you froze, your mind reeling and your breath catching, and before you knew what you were doing, you were kissing him back with a desperation that nearly tore you in two.

You were dreaming.  You must be.

But no, he was real, and solid, and right there, kissing you like you’d imagined so many times.  

Clutching at his shirt, you pulled yourself against him and his hands left your face, his arms wrapping around you, embracing you tightly and you responded in kind, slipping your arms around his neck as your lips moved against his hungrily.

Gasping a hasty breath, you didn’t pull back for long, your tongue darting out to taste him, and he moaned into your mouth as he gave in.

All too soon however, he was pulling back to look at you, his long dark curls falling into his face, and you lifted your chin, your eyes finding his.  “What made you change your mind?” you asked softly, barely daring to breathe, afraid all this would be taken from you again if you questioned it.

“I...I made a mistake,” he replied uncertainly, but as he continued, the fierceness from earlier returned to his voice.  “I was a fool, alright?  I lied, when you asked if I still felt anything for you.  I’ve been lying to myself for most of my life,” he exclaimed.

“All I’ve ever wanted was you.  I never stopped loving you, [y/n],” he confessed, the ache in your heart growing.  “You deserve so much more than… him,” he nearly whispered.  

At his words a myriad of questions sprang to mind, all clamouring for attention — what did this mean?  How was it supposed to work?  You were technically still engaged.  It would look rather suspicious if you and Kay were suddenly to run off together, but—

Before you could focus on any one thought for too long, Kay’s mouth was on yours once more and this kiss, if possible, was more passionate than before, your back making contact with the wall behind you with a soft thud and all those thoughts fled.

All you wanted to think about was what was happening now, in this moment, everything else could come later.

Afterall, how long had you imagined this?

“Kay,” you murmured, whining softly as he drew back, though he still held you tightly.

“[y/n],” he sighed, affection thick in his voice as he pressed his forehead to yours, his curls brushing your face.  “I need to get back,” he continued reluctantly, and you whined louder.

“Stay,” you begged, not loosening your grasp on him.  Part of you was afraid if you let him go, he’d disappear.

“I can’t,” he choked, as if it took all his willpower to refuse you.

“But… what happens now?” you asked, reluctantly, letting him step out of your embrace.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head as he caught his breath.  All he knew was that he wanted to stay and that was his sign to go… for now.  He was still a priest after all, even if his heart had given into this temptation.  “We’ll figure it out,” he promised, holding your face to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Watching him walk back out your door was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but his promise echoed in your ears and you clutched to it. 

We’ll figure it out.

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

Everything Tag List: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @etherealsxnder @iamsexytrash @orions-nebula @slutforrobbiebro @the-freckled-luba @xenteaart @gurlimtired @phoenixhits

[admdmrtn]

7 with your edith & adam! <3

this took way too long for me to finish i’m so sorry!!!!! AHHHHH thank you for sending one in though! ❤️

7. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing alt. title: the food is too salty, you must be in love

“—an absolute idiot!”

Adam winces visibly at the sound of loud slamming against what hopefully is merely the countertop before wondering momentarily if he should intervene lest someone gets hurt.

He sighs afterwards, recalling how simply stupid he’s been to have stood outside the apartment for the past few minutes - a duffel bag full of both her and his clothes combined hanging on one shoulder - just trying to work out a good enough clarification for his visit to inform Edith’s unexpected guest whilst also listening to said guest’s disastrous date tales from tonight. From what he had gathered so far, it seems that Officer Poname has had to cut her dinner plans short due to the impeccable stupidity of her evening’s companion and had since decided to come straight to her friend’s home for a venting session.

Unbeknownst to her however was the fact that he and Edith have plans of their own too.

“It doesn’t take a bloody cop to know the difference between dried wine stains and fresh lipstick marks!” Tina groans. When she speaks again, her voice is muffled, possibly from having her face in her hands. “I’ve never wanted to strangle a man—”

“Tina.”

“—hypothetically strangle a man,” the distressed officer corrects herself quickly. “You get what I mean, though.”

“I do,” Edith assures her friend. “Honestly, it’s good he messed up now,” she continues, “saves you the time.”

Tina huffs in resignation before clicking her tongue. “Yeah, I guess,” she finally concedes, a lot calmer than previously.

“And money.”

“Now that,” Tina snorts. “That’s very true— y’know I almost got a Brazilian today?”

As she yarns a new story, Adam focuses his attention onto Edith’s sporadic hums - her verbal cue to let her friend know that she’s listening. He hears the soft beating of her heart, thumping rhythmically in the background like a ritual drum, and smiles lazily to himself.

Ever since their first meeting, it’s not her brilliance in combat or scientific matters that has continuously impressed him. Instead, it’s been Edith’s natural ability to see the silver lining in most things. As stoic and blunt as she may be, she is still undoubtedly one of the most positive persons he’s met; always so full of hope even if she doesn’t express them as openly as others. And Adam’s been left in awe numerous times whenever he sees her work it on someone, even more so when she works it on him.

Before he realizes it, Adam lifts a hand and knocks on the front door. Almost instantly, a shout in reply comes back.

“No one home!”

“Tina,” Edith chuckles.

“Worth a shot,” her friend says dismissively before shouting to the door again, and Adam does all he can this time not to grimace. “One second!”

Amidst the leftover ringing in his ears from her loud, sonorous voice, the locks on the door click before swinging open just as hastily. Tina peers from the inside, her mouth open as if ready for another booming statement but upon noticing who it is before her, it’s left hanging from slight shock.

“Officer Poname,” he greets first.

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Adam, er, sir agent—”

“Commanding Agent,” Edith calls from the kitchen. Adam’s gaze snaps over to where her back is facing them, and he forgets briefly that there was ever someone else in the same vicinity.

“Right, Commanding Agent Adam du Mortain, sir, yes,” Tina grins, winking and clearly having too much fun. “Come on in! Are you here for business or pleasure?”

Adam’s eyes widen for a split second and he quickly recomposes himself, clearing his throat when he replies, as coolly as he can, “just business.”

Edith hums softly, meant only for him to hear; they both know that’s a lie.

Tina raises an eyebrow as she watches him remove his shoes, a habit that’s slowly come to form from the numerous times he’s been over, but she remains quiet before motioning him to follow her.

While walking into the kitchen, he explains to the two ladies present, hoping to sound casual. “Agent Oshiro had instructed that I return the Detective’s belongings,” he says too simply. “From the last time she had visited the Big City Headquarters, that is.”

“Did she now?” Edith asks, eyes not straying away from the vegetables she’s cutting. The slight uplift at the corners of her mouth tells him that she is not convinced - as she should, considering the blatant lie Adam had just pulled out of thin air.

He watches her, comfortable in the kitchen, composed and confident as always. When no attempts are made to further the conversation, Tina claps her hands together, eyes swinging back and forth from Edith to Adam.

“Well,” she announces, “I’ll be in the wee girl’s room if anyone needs me. Or not.” She finger guns to them both, walking backwards before spinning on her heel and skipping away.

Adam barely hears the bathroom door slamming shut even though it’s done so with more force than necessary; he’s much too keen to get closer to Edith. Moving to set the bag down on the island, he then silently makes his way to stand behind her, his hands finding their favourite place on her waist. He leans down right as she tilts her head sideways towards him, offering him her cheek.

He complies without question nor hesitation, pressing his lips onto her soft skin before dragging damn slowly to the little spot just under her ear. Another favourite.

“I’m sorry about Tina,” Edith says, now gently sliding the chopped peppers off the cutting board and into the pot; Adam wrinkles his nose at the pungent smell of it. “I didn’t know she’d come over tonight.”

“A minor complication,” Adam replies, fingers still firm on her, his thumbs carefully kneading into her side while he remains nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Really, all he ever wants tonight is to keep staying this close to Edith - if not closer. But the thought of getting caught by their sneaking guest nags at the back of his head, and he contemplates letting go.

Still, his plans go to foil when he feels Edith leaning into him. When she turns her head to look at him over his shoulder, Adam does nothing to stop himself from meeting her lips with his own.

He sighs, deepening the kiss almost immediately, lifting a hand so that he can hold the side of her face. All these years, of all the things he’s slowly come to accept, Adam has tried over and over to experience once again the pleasure of getting even the slightest bit tipsy; one wine glass after the other, he never would’ve thought that when he does eventually find himself high on intoxication, it’d be off the taste of Edith’s lips. When she moans into him, Adam’s hold on her tightens, wanting nothing more to keep drinking every bit of her.

But then the toilet flushes, the sound making the both of them break apart.

Edith sighs as she turns back to the pot of stew she’s brewing - Tina’s choice. At the same time, Adam glances quickly to the bathroom door as it opens and takes a step back out of caution before whispering. “I’ll be back.”

She looks at him again, unresolved desire looming in the depths of her dark eyes.

“And I’ll be waiting.”

Adam makes quick work to leave, merely explaining that he’s needed somewhere else to Tina when she asks. After he’s gone and Tina’s locked the front door, she sits on the island again, eyeing the duffel bag suspiciously.

“That was nice of him to drop by,” she starts, clasping her hand together on the counter and smiles knowingly to her friend.

“It’s been long overdue,” Edith waves it off with one hand, the other busy scooping stew into bowls. “He must have been tired of me whining about not having time to get my clothes back.”

Tina hums, dragging it like an exaggerated detective would before they bust a culprit. “Huh,” she nods, “so was he also tired of you whining about not making out with him or..?”

A big smile stretches itself across Edith’s lips, and she sticks her tongue in her cheek, shaking her head. Carrying over two full bowls of spicy kimchi stew, she throws a look to Tina. “Shut up or no food for you,” she threatens mockingly.

“No, please,” Tina pouts, “I need the food, I’m starved.”

Rolling her eyes, Edith settles into a stool across the island.

“But really though,” her friend persists. “Impulsive is a good look on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Edith brushes it off as she brings a spoonful of stew to her mouth, blowing at it lightly and then carefully tastes it. The startling saltiness makes her blech, and she makes a face while trying to swallow the hot food. “Weird,” she mutters. “I usually have the recipe down—”

She’s interrupted by Tina chuckling; when Edith glances over, she sees her friend with her own spoon raised. “Das essen ist versalzen, du bist verliebt,” she winks before eating another mouthful of stew - it being spicy, hot or salty not concerning her one bit. “Explains a lot.”

tags | @katbee @masonsfangs @agentsunshine @echohauville @vienocalledmebuddy @freckles-spangledvampire @lilas (please let me know if you want to be on/off the tag list!)

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; even if i am fooling myself, my feelings are true . (4)

word count: 5.3k

pairing: origami cyclone | ivan karelin / gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

summary: even if he was lying to you by pretending to be your lover, he told himself it was worth it. it made you happy. it helped you. he’s helping you. this ruse is only done in good faith. 

if it were to make you smile, if it were to help you brighten up, then all his lies and deceptions could be forgiven, he rationalised.

a/n:  this chapter do be monologue city,,,

i have arthritis i would like a refund for my bones.

the hero knows he promised to see you again the next day, but it’s been a few days now since he has last seen you. you must be back at home by now. alone. were you okay? he can’t help but feel worried about you due to your limited mobility. guilt stings even more painfully now that he had calmed down. he has virtually subjected you to a prolonged radio silence after leaving abruptly.

and he still needed to tell you the truth...

the hero had put off meeting you again, because it meant seeing you again. it meant he had to tell you the truth. it meant he’d no longer be able to meet you.

he chastised himself. what was expecting? really, what did he expect to happen? he berated himself, guilt clawing at him. what was he doing, impersonating your lover? he felt ill. he should’ve stopped meeting you after that campaign ended. but for reasons that escaped him, he continued. was it selfishness? was it greed? what pushed him to continue? whatever had happened, it wasn’t supposed to. he was just supposed to check in on you, make sure you’re getting on well, and move on in his life. he was supposed to stay neutral, indifferent, objective. you were just any other stranger that he would help throughout his career as a hero. but you had been so lovely and so unassuming that he must’ve…? without realising it, he had gotten himself too involved and was now in too deep, allowing his shameful self to form feelings for your kind and beautiful self. trying to distance himself from you to no avail, he found himself uselessly fighting feelings that have sprouted without his permission. he was fighting a losing battle, and a war that wasn’t tilting into his favour. he had hoped that these stubborn feelings would disappear, hopefully sooner rather than later, but it seemed that they refused to leave him alone.

the blond let out a harsh sigh. he’s noticed he has been doing that a lot, much more that usual. when it went well it went wonderfully, sublime; when it went badly it went awfully, dreadful.

he can’t keep going like this.

it’s not fair for you.

it’s not fair for him.

he can’t lead you on, and he can’t continue to delude himself.

each step he took to your residence were heavier than the last. listlessly, he dragged his feet. it had rained last night, making this walk even more unpleasant and gloomy. concluding what was both the slowest and fastest walk he had ever had the displeasure of taking, he lifted his gaze off of the pavement to take in your house. it was superficially identical to the other houses in the neighbourhood, but then again, houses in this district of the bronze stage often looked the same. it was a modest one-storey house, which felt anything but modest. it looked oppressive, intimidating. it terrified him. what was in store for him within those walls terrifying him further.

knowing that simply anticipating would do him no good, ivan shook his head, trying to shake his nervousness away, to no avail. he tried willing his legs to move, to get closer to your house, with no success. fixed in place, immobilised by dread. he stood idle, head turned down, in front of your home for what felt like an eternity, surprised that you hadn’t noticed the stranger in front of your property first.

he sighed.

the pathetic puddle by his feet reflected an even more pathetic him.

he stared silently at kotetsu’s reflection under him: « you’ve gotta tell them. they deserve to know. ». with a disappointed sigh, he gazed back at the small pool who gazed back with his disappointing face. he, “kotetsu”, had told himself to tell you the truth. but did he have the courage to?

no longer able to bear taylor’s silent judgement, ivan lifted his head and slowly climbed up the front steps to your front door.

the puddle, murky as it always was, remained as unbothered as it had always been.

his finger hovered over the doorbell. did he have the courage to? he bit his lips hard enough to draw blood. could he meet your eyes? momentarily retracting his hand, he resisted submitting to his anxiety and willed himself to push the bell.

ivan could hear the ringing echoing inside your walls.

and then silence.

one beat.

two beat.

then another.

were you not home?

you always had very quiet steps, he told himself. everything is ok.

his knee jerk reaction to the prolonged silence was to take it as a sign that today wasn’t the day. a message from a power above telling him that he can postpone it for another day… whenever that other day was. his usual reaction would be to take this as an opportunity to throw in the towel and go home. but for you (and for himself), he’ll fight his impulse to cower away.

but still… this silence was slightly concerning.

had something happened to you?

the hero’s mind jumped through different conclusions to rationalise your lack of response.

maybe you went out…

maybe you weren’t awake…

what if you had hurt yourself and couldn’t get bac—

he reached out to ring the doorbell yet again, but stopped halfway as the door creaked open.

« how can i help y— taylor? » you had sounded as surprised to see him as he was to you.

oh. you were ok. he breathed out in relief. you were ok.

« please, come in, you offered, moving out of the way. sorry to make you wait, i wasn’t… i wasn’t expecting to see you… sorry about the mess… you mumbled. »

the hero gulped, fighting the fear that rose up within him from hearing the door click closed behind him. he can’t run away. no going back now: he had to tell you the truth. taking his mind off of his nerves, he decided to look around and observe the interior of your house. you said “mess” but the house is more or less in order, unless you were referring to the few stacks of books that littered your house. still... he struggled to call it a mess, as the odd misplaced books here and there didn’t even feel out place within your humble abode: it blended with the other decor into the stylish deep green walls and light brown tiles. the only thing he could qualify as being messy would be the light covering of dust that was slowly gathering on some of the furniture’s surface, along with the few papers and knickknacks strewn about, but they were out of the way enough that nothing ever seemed cluttered.

to his delight, the curios have all been of japanese origins, from the hand fans (« an ōgi! » he noted excitedly.) to the rough stacks of woodblock prints (« where did they get so many ukiyo-e prints? » he asked himself.). in fact, closer inspection would suggest that quite a few of the furnishings decorating your house were japanese in nature: the tapestry hung on your wall (he was sure those were called a tenugui.), the forgotten matcha tea set on the kitchen counter (« there was even a chasen?! »), and the japanese pottery and porcelain safely tucked into a glass cupboard (he wonders if he could get the opportunity to use the hagi ware chawan amongst the set.). he had to stop himself from literally beaming in excitement and dashing to ogle the wares. who would’ve known you’d have such a collection in your house? he needed to calm down, lest he attracted your suspicion, and swallowed his bubbling elation.

he followed your lead to wherever you were walking back to, inquisitively taking in his surroundings, distracting his mind from his previous anxieties.

« i, uh… no one’s been home since i went to the hospital. you walked back towards your open living room. and i’ve kinda been putting off cleaning. you laughed. – don’t worry about it… he assured you, still taking in this unknown territory. »

briefly, he let his attention back to you and to where you walked: to your open living room, which was connected to your kitchen. further to the side, he could see the stairs that led to your suspended bedroom. it seemed that this house had more or less the same make and architecture as tiger’s apartment, though with drastically different decor, he noted. though with more than less difficulty, you managed to get around your house just fine. despite your pronounced limp you continued at a regular, albeit slowed, pace. your gait was sometimes slowed by the fact that you sometimes had to hang on some of the fittings to maintain your balance and ivan had to fight the urge to rush over and help you walk.

you probably wouldn’t like for him to encroach on your newfound autonomy, he figured.

after finally reaching the living room, you had carefully sat yourself down on the floor in front of the coffee table. noticing the crafting papers and shavings surrounding where you sat, he thoughtlessly asked: « were you making something? no wonder you took a bit to respond. i’m sorry for interrupting you... – mhm, i’m just making menko cards. you elaborated as you carefully positioned your impaired leg. and it’s alright, you couldn’t have known. – menko cards? his interest was piqued. – yeah, just thought it would be fun, you shrugged. wanna help? – sure! he answered delightedly, failing to hide the eagerness in his voice. i mean, why not… you just laughed at his childlike enthusiasm. – i’d really appreciate it you could help me cut out the picture, you asked. »

he eased himself down next to you, trying his hardest not to appear bothered by your proximity. everything is ok. he’ll help you in this last activity. because it had interested him. because he wanted to treasure the last moments he got to spend with you. the very last. he doesn’t like the finality of that, but the truth had to be said. guilt stung like an open wound whenever he remembered that he was lying to you. he wouldn’t be mad if you condemned him for “exploiting” you. if he were to tell you the truth there was no way you’d forgive him, much less continue to seek out his affection. your resentment would be well deserved, even if the thought of being disliked by you hurt him.

his despair grew as he thought of the aftermath. it would leave him heartbroken, but what about you? you would’ve been deceived, not once but twice: by both he and your former lover. he really didn’t think this decision through, did he? this was a selfish and cruel scheme to begin with. just a misguided attempt to assist someone who didn’t even asked for his assistance. he doesn’t want to doubt your resilience, but surely, if he came clean you’d be deeply saddened and devastated again… he didn’t want to be the reason you felt lost again and returned to being miserable. he didn’t want to be the cause of your melancholy, the cause of a relapse. but that was exactly what he was going to cause you, wasn’t it? he was the cause of your grief and strife.

if this ended with him broken-hearted, he’d end up shattering whatever had remained of yours and leave you inconsolable.

this was a mistake. he’d caused you more pain than solace. this was a mistake. lies and sweet words aren’t what would have saved you. they weren’t what you needed. this was a mistake.

what would he even say? a “sorry” wouldn’t suffice. not even the sincerest apology would fix this. those words would only hurt you more.

he made his bed, now he had to lay in it. if only he never roped you into this.

spirit down again, he sighed and looked upon the table to tackle his newly appointed objective. a sharp contrast from the rest of your orderly home, the table was cluttered with random bits of paper and cardboard (both circular and rectangular, of various sizes), different crafting materials like scissors and box cutters, and hero related paraphernalia.

« people don’t usually make menko cards… he muttered. why not just buy the hero cards (‘my own are still collecting dust aren’t they…’)? he quizzed, flipping around a finished card of himself. despite his doubting tone, he carefully placed the work back down and got to cutting the few images off of few magazine pages. – that would be too easy. you shrugged. besides, i was planning to gift them to my niece. the bugger has bought everything i could find, and well… afford, in the shops. you admitted. – that makes sense… he replied, focusing on the task at hand. – the rascal loves all of this hero stuff but she absolutely loves sky high, you chuckled. it’s all she talks about. it’s like she lives and breathes the guy, said she wanted to be a hero and help people like he did. » you pretended to be annoyed, but he could hear the fondness in your voice. even though he’s supposed to start distancing himself from you, to start preparing himself for the upcoming heartbreak, he can’t help but continue to be endeared by you.

this was all so… incredibly mundane. everything just felt so incredibly ordinary. your interactions, the things you did together. it’s like it’s always been this way. the things you spoke about, and even the silence that you would share. there was always a certain comfort to be had together. it’s like this was normal, and he was the one you were always with. it’s like this was a routine. who knows, maybe in a different world, one where you two had met through different circumstances, maybe the two of you would’ve gotten together, he mused. but he had already ruined any chance of that he concluded. maybe had your lives gone a different way… maybe in another lifetime.

maybe this life wasn’t the one he was supposed to meet you in.

you sighed, straightening your back, before curling over your work once more: « sky high’s power is wind manipulation right? you pursed your lips. if i had that kind of power, i’d just spend most of my day flying to places. can you imagine? never having to put up with traffic? you rambled thoughtlessly. »

unbeknownst to you, ivan’s mind wandered back to a few years ago when he learnt that without the involvement of his custom made jetpacks sky high’s power could only allow him to float, and fought to stifle the laugh that crept up his throat. oblivious, you asked, sounding half-curious half-bored as you continued to abuse the material under your hands: « hey love, if you could have any next power in the world, what would you pick? »

ivan tilted his head towards you, and let his hand drop back down on the carpeted floor. change his ability for a different one? any kind at all? he took the time to ponder it, seriously considering the question. of course, he admired kotetsu’s and barnaby’s hundred power, but could he really utilise that correctly, what with the constraints? what about edward’s power? he had an actual chance to be a hero with his ability… or even lunatic and his fearsome control over his devastating blue flames. if he could use that for good? to help people? there were too many different abilities, each one more capable than the one he actually possessed.

« hmm… i guess… anything that’s useful; something that can be used to help others. he answered truthfully. i’m sorry, that must’ve been really vague. he laughed nervously. you shook your head with a smile. – that’s very noble of you, you praised as you continued working. truthfully, i envy your integrity. you confessed. – mm? why is that? what next power would you have chosen? he inquired. – oh, like if i had a second next power? you replied absentmindedly, focused on a particularly stubborn piece of cardboard which refused to cut. »

wait. did he hear that right?

« are… are you a next? » he asked, sounding something like perturbed.

« hmm? »

« is there something you’r… »

there wasn’t any need to elaborate: your face had said it all. like a criminal caught red-handed, your expression was the perfect picture of shock. he would even think you were scandalised. you pressed your lips into a thin line, eyebrows knitted in dismay.

« must’ve be a freudian slip… » you tried to laugh, neither of you amused. « it’s really nothing noteworthy or important— » you started on a lie, but grimaced slightly.

catching unto your tic, he pleaded, voice serious: « tell me the truth… please… »

you shifted in you seat uncomfortably, eyes dashing across your room looking at everything except his eyes. you were deeply aware of the eyes laser-focused on you, locked onto you to the point where you swore it could bore through you. you sighed and resigned yourself to telling him the truth. the entire truth, and nothing but the truth. it’s not like you could lie to his face: « before i tell you, do you promise not to leave before i finished explaining everything? you opened your mouth and closed them again. you’re free to hate me all you want, but please don’t… you turned away and bit your lips. »

he didn’t know what to anticipate. was your ability that alarming? he nodded, preparing himself for… whatever you were going to reveal to him.

« it’s honestly nothing incredible… you started. i couldn’t be a hero with it… i swear. it’s... you paused, as you tried to find the right words to divulge your ability. the right words to explain it clearly without making it into a fuss.

lie detection, you said, plainly, without much relish or fanfare. um... my ability only allows me to see through lies, or anything meant to deceive: lies, half-truths, manipulations, omission of detail… you hesitated. illusions.

i guess, neither of you ever noticed… they, um, taylor, didn’t know either… »

it’s shocking how easily this fabricated world crumbled.

you knew? what do you mean?? ivan had sat facing you, frozen in place. by fear, confusion, apprehension. he felt embarrassed, ashamed. were you just playing along to spare his feelings? he really should’ve told you earlier. look at where his inaction led him.

he should’ve been the one who came clean, instead of forcing you to tell the truth on his behalf.

« how long…? half wanting and not wanting to know the truth. he had a guess. if what you had said was true then... how long have you known? »

still not facing him, you cast your gaze downwards, clasping your hands together: « since the first time… when i saw you, i knew you weren’t the real taylor and just assumed it was you, origami. what with your involvement during the campaign and all... i’m guessing i’ve assumed correctly?

the hero sat motionless, but made no attempt to disprove your assumption. if what you had said about your ability was true, then there would be no point to lying.

at first i really… didn’t understand why you kept visiting me, as my former partner no less. i still don’t, for that matter… though i’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you have good intentions. i knew it was you, so i was a bit standoffish and suspicious when we first met… i thought you wanted to take advantage of me while i was helpless to stroke your own ego, or conduct some sort of ploy to boost your own popularity. i’m... really sorry for assuming something like that about you… i’m not sure where i got that idea as you never seemed to be that kind of person... you had been so sincere when i asked why you kept visiting me and kept pretending… well not pretending, you seemed to have genuinely cared about me, that i guess i started to drop my guard and trusted you.

your eyes were tinged with a sadness and confusion that he wished to get rid of, but it was no longer his place. it never was his place. you shook your head.

i’m really sorry. i really truly am for not letting you know sooner instead of letting it go this far… at first i… i played along because i didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or feel humiliated by revealing that i could see through your disguise, and i wanted to wait for you to come clean first. but i guess… somewhere along the lines you’ve become a part of my routine and i’ve become quite fond of spending my time with you. of you. you quickly added. i know that i was going through a vulnerable moment of my life, which may have made me too trusting, but i really mean it: i’m really happy that i met you that day. i know you were just playing your role and that nothing ever meant anything… and i’m aware that you could’ve just… up and left whenever you got tired of dealing with my crap. even though it’s all fake, i’ve really enjoyed the time we got to spent together and i’m really happy i got to be with you. i’m really happy for being able to get to know you as a person, origami. »

you tried to smile to convey your gratefulness, but it came out wrong. it wavered and was visibly bittersweet. as you said that, your voice held such remorsefulness that baffled him. it was his fault in the first place, trapping the both of you in a punishment of his own creation. he should be the one apologising to you, he should be the one begging you for forgiveness as he explained himself. he should be the one who told you the truth. you had every reason to feel disgusted by him and hate him, and yet, here you were putting yourself down for his sake.

you were slightly surprised when you heard him respond, his voice no longer bearing that confident tone and smooth accent that you had recognised to be taylor’s. instead it was the boyish voice you had come to know was origami cyclone’s. but this time, it was devoid of any energy and lacked the boisterous intonation that often accompanied his words: « no, i- i’m the one who should apologise: i should’ve been the one to tell you the truth… if anyone should feel angry or betrayed, it should be you… i was the one who decided to set this all up after all…

after facing you, it was his turn to look away, avoiding your gaze.

i didn’t mean let it go this far … lying to you to this extent and for this long… but of course, i allowed it to get out of hand… i’m sorry, i should’ve told you sooner, if i ever made you uncomfortable at any point during this whole mess i’m really sorry. i... it was stupid. you never reached out for help and i’m sure you would’ve gotten through this just fine by yourself. my intent was never to manipulate you for my own gain or to use you… i had wanted to help you, naively thinking that i could fix you… it was selfish of me to just force my way into your life and help you, even though you never asked for mine. it was foolish to think i could just… pull the wool over your eyes like that, and it was unfair to you.

the blond considered stopping there, allowing a tangible silence, even more oppressive than the tension, to invade the room. should he tell you? should he…? he tried his best to summon a renewed determination. it was high time that he was honest to you, he told himself. honest to you. honest to himself, as well.

i suppose it’s pointless to lie to you, so i’ll tell you the truth: i... i— the circumstances in which we met were less than ideal, and i wished that we could’ve gotten to know each other differently, but… during the course of… whatever it is we had, i had stupidly hoped that the closeness i felt between us wasn’t imagined, and that you felt the same affection for me as i did for you.

despite his fear, he dared himself to turn back to where you had sat, bracing himself for what your eyes held. will it be repulsion? hostility? regret? vilification? he was scared, but even so he faced them.

my appearance may have not been mine, but my actions were. you’re free to doubt the validity of my words, but… even though i was pretending to be someone else i- my feelings are true. »

finding himself surprised for the umpteenth time that day, you fully turned to face him. you didn’t seem to be reacting badly, but you weren’t reacting much at all. you simply sat there, stunned at his display of honesty. were you combing through his words to detect any possible lies? he figured he deserved that level of distrust, after doing nothing but lie to you. he knows he shouldn’t feel so relieved when he wasn’t even in the clear yet, but at least you weren’t reacting badly and he was infinitely grateful for your seemingly infinite graciousness.

finally, you seemed to have recovered your voice: « i believe you. »

three words. three simple words that managed to lift all the weight off of his shoulders. you believed him. he didn’t deserve your forgiveness, and yet you gave it to him freely.

« could i see… no, nevermind. you had retracted your hesitant request. i’ve already made you go through too much for my sake. i’m grateful for being able to see you, regardless of who you look like. »

he shook his head, relenting: « you deserve to know the truth. it’s the least i could do after everything i made you endure… » with a blue flash, “taylor” disappeared. in their place was a young man with a mop of unruly blond hair. he fidgeted nervously with his hands under the baggy purple varsity jacket he wore, which coupled with his hunched posture, made him look smaller than he probably was. his striking and alluring purple eyes seemed to be permanently locked into an expression of worry and refused to meet your eyes. « i’m sorry… i’m probably way off from what you expected... » he muttered, dejectedly.

not expecting any sort of positive reaction for his underwhelming appearance, he turned his amethyst eyes elsewhere. he waited for your reaction, anticipating the worst. always anticipating the worst.

in one swift motion, you reached out to embrace him tightly. his body tensed up, having been caught off guard by the sudden affectionate gesture. his hands dropped from their hovering around your form as his wide eyes ran wildly across the room before they returned to settle on you. confusion laced his voice as he softly called out your name. he didn't know what to do with his arms as you wrapped your arms around him ever so gently. should he return… your gesture? but his arms laid uselessly next to him, still too stunned by your response.

yet again, he felt that same tingly feeling where you held him. the warmth that you brought to him reawakened those butterflies, making him feel light and fuzzy. is this ok? is feeling like this ok? is liking you ok?

« stop saying stuff like that about yourself, origami… you keep underselling yourself. you’re incredible, you’re kind, and yet you’re humble. your voice was soft as you spoke. i wasn’t just waxing poetics when i praised you, not just lip service to appeal to you because i could see behind your trick. i meant it when i said i admired you. even before i met you, i’ve admired you. »

you pulled away, if only to place your hands on either side of his face and to lift his eyes, making him face you, properly face you, for the first time in a long time. he was taken aback by how gentle and soft your gaze was. who were those kind eyes for? surely not him. he didn’t deserve such honest adoration. there was no reason for admiration, contentment, or appreciation to have their eyes on him. and yet, those compassionate eyes continue to gaze back at him. your beautiful eyes continued to look back at his own dull eyes.

was this really ok after everything he put you through? was it really ok to derive so much comfort from your hold?

you hoped your continued eye contact conveyed your sincerity.

« origami, you’re one of the most selfless and brave person i’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and now i’ve come to learn that you’re handsome to boot. you never cease to amaze me in the best way possible, and im so so grateful that you’re still here ori— finally waking from his daze and regaining some semblance of control over his limbs, he moved his arm to return your hold and wrapped them closely around you. he allowed the warmth he felt to fully consume him and buried his face in the crook of your neck, trying to get as physically close to you as possible. – ivan. he whispered in your ear, almost afraid. – ivan…? you echoed. – … my name is ivan. – is that so? then... thank you, ivan. thank you so so much. thank you for being here for me. thank you for everything. »

he knows now with certainty that he adores the way his name sounded with your voice. he couldn’t see your face from the position you were in, but he could imagine your captivating smile. the same one he adored so much. your careful hands had traveled to his head, stroking his hair, playing with an errant lock, and he adores your touch.

the small kindling that you had lit turned into a newfound courage that consumed him like wildfire. this unwanted and foolish adoration he held for you had proven itself to be phoenix, renewing itself as heartfelt and profound.

if you had allowed it, then he’s sure it was ok to be like this. to like being with you.

he adored you. and he hopes you adored him in kind.

« i— »

as he was about to say something, his communicator beeped relentlessly and he has never hated that sound more in his life until now. taken slightly by surprise, you both let go of each other and looked confused at each other—though he was intimately aware of where you rested your hands when you let go of each other: one on his shoulder, the other one on his hip. the latter of which he thoughtlessly gripped with his free hand, keeping it in place, not willing to part from you quite yet. not willing to let go quite yet. he whipped his right hand up, fumbling between taking this call and apologising to you for having interrupted what had been a very pleasant moment, the unexpected call flustering him. up until now, it had never annoyed him quite to this extent. he grumbled something you didn’t quite catch. his gaze flicked back and forth, from you, to his communicator, back to you.

he needed to take this, he needed to be there for agnes’ briefing. it was time sensitive, but so was the thing he wanted to tell you. he was torn: he needed to tell you something. he needed to answer before his employer forcefully answered his call for him and intruded.

« i… »

the indecision was clear in his eyes, so instead you made the choice for him: « it’s alright, go. »

you let your hand trail up his jaw, and placed it there. his attention was immediately brought back to you and the pleasant buzzing that often followed your touch. you smiled as you felt his hand follow your own and moved to rest it atop yours.

« i’ll be cheering for you, love. »

a/n:  might fuck around and make a fluffy sequel who knows

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[xseedgames]

Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection - Localization Blog #2

“Rally-ho, true believers!” I shout, swinging into the grand hall on a chandelier, interrupting the fancy party. Everything stops as eyes are focused solely on me – on my roguish good looks, my brand-name tabard, my elk leather highboots. I somersault to the floor, landing on my feet with a flourish and a bow. “I know you must have thought this high society gathering dreadfully dull without me here to tell you about the intricacies of composing prose for novel electronic amusements, so I’ve come to enlighten and entertain thee. Also, did you know all the food here is free? My pockets are full of cocktail wieners right now.”

Indeed, it’s an honor to see you again, dear readers. I hope you enjoyed my previous blog about the upcoming PC release of Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection. As a small refresher, it served as something of an introduction to Zwei: II as a game – what it’s all about, its two main characters, the setup of the story, and its battle and leveling system. You can think of it as a sampler platter to give you a taste of why this game’s cool.

Do a barrel roll

Today, in my second Zwei: II blog, I’d like to go into more detail on the process of writing and editing for the game, and some of the things I dealt with and thought about as I localized it. I’ve done an entry like this for each of my prior projects, and I always enjoy it because it gives me a chance to briefly pull back the curtain and share with you some of the minutiae of localization, and the truism that every project is its own beast.

One interesting thing of note about this project is that it’s the first project on which I served as the sole editor. When I started working at XSEED, most of my prior localization experience had been as part of a team working on large single projects, while most of XSEED’s workflow at that time had been to keep a single editor on a project as much as possible. Each method has its own benefits, as you’d expect. When I work with a partner or team, I enjoy being able to bounce ideas off them or ask for hot takes any time I want, like, “Okay, which of these five potential quest names sounds the best to you?” or “Here’s what I have so far for this scene, but I want this girl to sound more disinterested. How would you do it?” We solicit general impressions from the office fairly regularly, but having other editors acquainted with the specifics and setting of the project you’re working on gives you access to an informed, expanded scope beyond your own intuition and experience. That’s important, because every editor is naturally going to have some characters or scenes they click with more readily than others.

On the other hand, flying solo can also be nice because it represents a purer distillation of editorial voice. With single-editor projects, you know that all the text in the game was overseen by the same person, making thoughtful choices with full knowledge of where everything fits in the greater scheme of the story. I think that’s what XSEED values about this methodology, but with the arrival of mammoth-sized scripts like those for the Story of Seasons and Trails of Cold Steel games, it became a matter of practicality to learn to work well as small teams on projects – a challenge I think our editors have risen to meet in admirable fashion. Of course, that’s not to say I didn’t have a lifeline or two working on Zwei: II. Junpei and Tom were an ever-present source of support whenever I had a question about something in the Japanese – and there were many, many of those over the duration of the project. Even when you’re working alone, you’re never truly alone when you’ve got the office familia backin’ you up.

Getting to work on a project by myself has also helped me better understand my own work process. One nice thing is that everything I mentally bring to a project – the stories I’ve consumed and experiences I’ve had that color how I interpret characters and scenes – remains consistent throughout. This is especially pertinent when writing for comedic scenes, as no two editors will have the exact same sense of humor, and Zwei has more than its share of wisecracks and comedy. The scary thing about being the sole face of a game, though, is that anything that’s weird or wrong, any jokes that totally fall flat, emotional connections that don’t get made – that’s all on me. In a way, it’s a test of myself as a writer and editor, with you all as the judges. With the original Story of Seasons, Tom and Ryan lent me a hand, and I had the dashing Young Kris as my partner for the first Trails of Cold Steel, but here, you get pure Nick, for better or worse (hopefully for better).

I mentioned briefly in my previous blog that Zwei: II felt like it was deeply informed by ’90s anime and manga, and I’d like to unpack that a little more for you here, in case your curiosity was piqued at the notion. After all, a lot of the games we work on here at XSEED are pretty anime-flavored, right? What’s one more on the list?

Here’s my take. Over time, the general vibe of anime has undergone change, as all thriving arts tend to. One major difference – the one most relevant to our discussion – is the observation that protagonists in many modern series tend to be passive, disaffected, reticent, or otherwise hesitant to engage the world and situations around them. They’re the reactive sort. Sometimes it’s because they’re exceptionally socially aware. Sometimes it may be because they’re awkward youths. Sometimes it’s because you get the impression that the writer really wants you to think this person is cool or above it all. Anime from the ’90s, on the other hand, is much more associated with protagonists who leap into situations without thinking, do things without considering the ramifications of their actions, and adhere to a personal code or philosophy that the character consciously or unconsciously holds. Both approaches, in the hands of a good storyteller, can and have made for some great entertainment, but from a writing perspective, the “’90s anime” types are definitely easier for me to work with. They’re more expressive, more willing to engage, and their very being tends to create conflicts that help drive the story and the growth of both themselves and other characters.

During the time I was working on Zwei: II, I actually ended up rewatching a season of Ranma ½ (those blu-rays are preeeeetty sweet) and seeing the Tenchi Muyo TV series for the first time (on loan from Tom). Seeing those really made this whole point click with me, like, “...That’s it! That’s the kind of comedic stylings Zwei is trying to channel!” Not in the sense of specific plot points or characters from any particular series, but the sort of atmosphere that was about creating opportunities for amusing things to happen. Ranma, for instance, tends to nettle many of the characters in his series not on purpose, but just by being who he is. And not just that – doing it on purpose also comes very easily to him (just watch how he loves to bait Ryoga or Kuno with his taunting). Ragna is less purposefully ornery, but his decisive personality draws the admiration of some and the exasperation of others. Plus, later on in the game, you run across a genuine hot spring, and we all know what a staple of the era that is. ;)

You’ve probably heard the saying, “Tragedy is easy, comedy is hard,” and there’s truth in it. Most of us love a good comedy, but do any two of us love all the same comedies or laugh at all the same things? Humor is deceptively difficult because it’s so mercurial, influenced by the times, by moods, by delivery, and more. A bit that might leave you stone-faced Monday night could have you busting a gut Thursday night. Understanding why something that makes you laugh does so is the study of a lifetime. There’s really no shortcutting it – you have to get the mileage, experiencing things that make you laugh, thinking about why, and chasing the next thing you think might give you another shot of mirth. I can only hope that I’ve imbibed enough of the spirit of humor to properly convey the charm of what is perhaps Falcom’s most levity-laden title.

Yeah...just hangin' in there, y'know...

Beyond my approach to the game itself, we have its characters – the heart and soul of the action. Quite often, early on in the process of localizing a game, I’ll get an impression of a character as, “Oh...I guess he’s a lot like X from [other source],” and as I make a couple of those anchoring connections and begin considering the characters in the game from those perspectives, they begin to show their multiple facets. Lest you think this sounds too close to, “Oh no, he’s just taking an existing character and foisting that persona on this carefully crafted, unique game character!”, take a measure of comfort in my assurance that I, too, would be dissatisfied with an approach that oversimplified. Think of it more as a basic framework – scaffolding that lets me clamber around the object d’art to get at the fine detailing.

With Ragna, for instance, his characterization is very front-loaded in the game. Right away, you know he’s a freewheeling pilot, sort of a hotshot, and likes to do things his own way. The image he creates is very “early 20th-century flyboy,” and I sort of conceptualized him as a guy who wouldn’t feel out of place if you stuck him in among the cast of “The Rocketeer.” Speech-wise, his alternating between laid back and fired up reminded me of Gundam Wing's Duo Maxwell, and like that character, Ragna likes to chime in with some tongue-in-cheek commentary if something patently ludicrous or weird happens in the game. Finding characters who are reasonably like the one you’re writing for helps, as does understanding the milieu in which a character exists – what they were doing just before the story began, and what the world around them that shaped them is like.

There are actually a couple characters who have what I termed “Ragna-variant” speaking styles. Ragna’s main vocal tic is that he sometimes truncates words ending in “-ing” (so “nothing” would become “nothin’,” and “fighting” would be “fightin’,” though I tried to generally keep it to one per text box – it’s a spice, not a marinade), so among the expanded cast, you get some people who speak that way because they have similar lifestyles. Odessa, as a rough-and-tumble Treasure Hunter who specializes in capturing bounties, is very colloquial in her faux old-west style. Gashler, who runs the garage out by the airstrip, is a full-bearded, goggled mechanic that sort of reminded me of Cid from Final Fantasy IV, and his speaking style is pretty thick – one of the most affected in the game, though I tried to make it still pretty easy to comprehend. One also has to consider that people who have special styles of speech have certain occasions where that’s either suppressed somewhat, or is expressed with even greater emphasis than normal. Even old man Gashler might speak (mostly) standard English if you dragged him to a black-tie event, but on the other hand, if someone said his workmanship is rubbish, I have no doubt that he’d be cussin’ up a storm, blastin’ furnace-fire, and lettin’ loose with the sort of strange, idiomatic expressions that only grease-stained mechanics know.

Ragna being an unusually “American-feeling” character made him pretty easy to write for right from the start. Alwen took a little more finesse and more time to find her ground – but not because she was difficult in a conventional sense. The trick with Alwen was that she definitely inhabits a certain archetype, at least partially, but I needed to figure out how much of that I needed to accurately represent her, and when to let her individual characteristics shine.

Alwen, as the daughter of an esteemed Trueblood vampire house, can be very prideful, bordering sometimes on haughty. She learns fairly quickly that the world beyond her castle has more complexities than she gave it credit for, but her distance from the world of humans actually gives her some surprising insights. Now, the most common way you see characters like Alwen played are that they step out into the greater world, eventually realize how much they don’t know, and depend on their friends to teach them what it means to really live along the way. Alwen...has some of that, but it’s the way she interfaces with the world that makes her an interesting and fun character. For example, she doesn’t technically NEED to eat food, but likes eating a ton of it (on Ragna’s dime, of course) just because it’s tasty. She’s not afraid to walk right into town and make small talk with the people. Alwen may be a vampire, but she’s refreshingly (and oddly) free of so many of the preconceived expectations people have about what vampires are like. She even calls Ragna out on this early on in the game when he’s shocked that she walks around just fine in the bright morning sunlight. A great deal of Zwei: II’s story is really her story, especially when it comes to getting the ball rolling, and it helps the story greatly to have a character who both entices with a bit of the familiar but also stands out due to individual quirks.

I also did with Alwen a variant of what I did for Laura in Trails of Cold Steel, where I shifted her from talking with a “proper,” antiquated style of speech to a more natural speaking style that still retains the idea that she’s highborn. Coming at this from a lore perspective, Alwen hasn’t been out of her castle in the last 100 years or so and has learned what she knows of the world from her estate’s extensive library, so it would be very feasible for her speaking style to sound older than that of Ragna or the people of Artte. In practice, though, Ragna having a casual style of speech and Alwen’s speech being fairly rigid made it difficult for the comedy to land, and to really connect with Alwen as a character. Can you imagine what Star Wars would’ve been like if Princess Leia spoke like a medieval fantasy princess while trying to banter with Han Solo? That’s the kind of disparity I’m talking about. It might’ve been funny, but for reasons entirely unintended. So after thinking on it a while, I decided to adjust Alwen’s speaking style, dialing it back. My priority was to keep her sounding articulate and well spoken, but casual up the language so that the banter between her and Ragna has the requisite snap it ought to. In my opinion, the net gain from that was well worth the adjustment, which you’ll be able to see for yourself when you play.  

Sort of tangentially related to that, in the Japanese version, Ragna goes through basically the whole game calling Alwen “Princess” (“hime-san”). The best reasoning I could figure is that maybe, having taken on some power from their blood contract, Ragna feels he should acknowledge her as his liege, but...that explanation totally flies in the face of Ragna’s personality. Ragna is a guy for whom there is ONLY a first-name basis (or a nickname if he finds one for you he likes). The most likely explanation is that it’s just the difference between politeness levels in Japanese personal address versus Western personal address, but the title put a certain amount of “distance” between them that I didn’t want to remain there for the duration of the game. The alteration I made to compensate for this was to have Ragna refer to Alwen as “princess” a bit at the very outset of the game, but quickly fall into using her first name, which feels much more natural for the character. To draw the analogy with Star Wars again, think of it as Han Solo going from calling Leia “princess” or “your worship” in a sort of snarky context when he doesn’t really know her to simply calling her “Leia” once he’s spent time with her and knows her as an individual. Plus, with as big a deal as Ragna makes over wanting to work together with Alwen as “equal partners” at the start of the game, it would be weird for him to then go on to refer to her by her royal title for the rest of the game.

This discussion isn’t meant to be a comprehensive retrospective of Zwei: II’s localization, of course; just a list of some of the noteworthy things I grappled with working on the game. Editorial work does have its pressures and difficulties – when the buck basically stops with you, how do you know you’re making the right call? – but ultimately, these kinds of challenges are what keep the job fresh and interesting. The point of all the character personality profiling, the speech styles, the fine-tuning, is for players to be able to sit down and experience a fun story and memorable characters that “just work,” no speculative  microscope examinations of the translation required. I think my obsessive tweaking and spit-polishing will make for a better game experience...but you don’t have to take MY word for it. Give Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection a try when it comes out and see for yourself!

[taeminstark]

Repetition - jongtae - pg-13 - 1,896 words

hai again. heres something i wrote in early december 2016. it kinda sucks but i didn’t want it to go to waste so ye??

Jonghyun tries to make it up to Taemin for forgetting a special day.

--> fluff

“Baby, how many times can I say I’m sorry?” Jonghyun pouts as he plops himself on the sofa next to Taemin in their shared apartment.

Taemin turns his head to face the balcony doors, admiring the light snowfall just past the glass. He stifles a chuckle when he sees Jonghyun and himself in the door’s reflection.

“Come on, you can’t stay mad at me forever...can you?” Jonghyun says with wide eyes. He shifts closer to Taemin’s cross legged form and curls up beside him, resting his chin on Taemin’s shoulder. He makes a poor attempt at flustering Taemin by huffing his hot breath over Taemin’s neck and ears, knowing those are just a few of his sensitive spots. Taemin shivers slightly, unable to contain the pleasure he feels when Jonghyun does something like that, however, he stays still as ever with his arms now crossed, too.

“Mmm come on, I said I’m sorry like fifty times. What? You want me to go to one hundred?” Jonghyun hums against Taemin’s neck, shyly nipping at the warm skin on Taemin’s neck, giggling when he tastes that familiar taste of pure Taemin that he loves. He bellows out a low groan, hoping it resonates into Taemin’s skin, and hopefully helping him out in terms of apologizing.

“You know what, fine, give me the silent treatment allllll you want, it’s cute” Jonghyun chuckles before sitting up. “You’re cute, baby, you’re adorable when you do stuff like this, it reminds me of why I love you, all of you so much..” He continues as he smooths one hand over Taemin’s thigh, and the other behind his neck. “-reminds me of how I fell for you the first time I laid eyes on you..” Jonghyun says, a bit bashful now.

Taemin softens a bit, instead of turning his head away from Jonghyun completely, he’s settled for facing just a tad away, and Jonghyun knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up at an angry Taemin who shows some mercy, but he can’t help but blush, knowing he’s breaking through Taemin’s icy shell.

“Also..” Jonghyun continues “You’re not just cute, you’re gorgeous, beautiful, amazing, exquisite, dreamy, melodic, and so so much more, and I’m not just talking about your looks, baby.” Jonghyun bites his lower lip as he feels his love bubble up inside of him. He shifts closer to Taemin, sitting on his lap now, with his legs draped on the couch. He leans his toned body closer to Taemin, in hopes that he’ll appreciate his warmth. Taemin remains silent and Jonghyun scoffs. He wiggles his butt in Taemin’s lap, hoping a “new” approach will work on his stubborn boyfriend.

Jonghyun sighs, thinking of the most overly-romantic, too cheesy to take seriously, mushy things he could say, sure he could recite his song lyrics, but Taemin already read them all when Jonghyun told Taemin he was singing about him. From then on whenever Jonghyun wrote something, Taemin was always the first to critique, and swoon over his lyrics.

“Honey” Jonghyun starts as he places his hands on Taemin’s plump cheeks, trying to get him to face him, but to no avail. “My life is dark without you..you’re the light at the end of my tunnel. Without you I’m lost, trapped, stranded, with no hope in sight. But when I’m with you, everything in life seems clear, like my life was blurred at the edges and you were my contacts..”

“Are you kidding me” Taemin speaks quietly and Jonghyun’s mouth opens when he hears his voice.

“Taemin, you-” Jonghyun starts.

“‘Like my life was blurred at the edges and you were my contacts’, are you actually- oh my gosh, Jonghyun...how?-” Taemin says as Jonghyun remains confused before he realizes Taemin is quietly giggling. A smile blooms on Jonghyun’s lips and he shifts closer to Taemin in his lap.

“Oh baby, you spoke, this- this is good. Listen, I’m so sorry I forgot, I really am.” Jonghyun pleads, lost in Taemin’s features. He leans close and presses a gentle kiss to Taemin’s cheek, humming onto his skin as he does so, because he knows just how much Taemin loves it when he kisses him. He flutters his eyelashes slowly against Taemin’s cheek, hoping he notices just how much Jonghyun actually pays attention to detail. He lets his lips leave his cheek slowly and speaks again.

“Mmph, baby, you smell so good” Jonghyun hums against Taemin’s neck as he breathes him in, clutching his body close. It’s almost too much for Taemin, but he knows he can handle it a bit longer.

That is until Jonghyun starts to nip on Taemin’s ear, moaning as he does so, and complimenting him in between bites, kisses and nips.

“Shit baby, you’re so sweet, how do you do it? You’re so soft and gentle and delicious, so sweet and sexy, how did I get so lucky?” Jonghyun coos before licking at the the space behind Taemin’s ear. Jonghyun smiles, unable to see his reaction, but still able to feel Taemin shift under him. Jonghyun giggles quietly, happy that Taemin is finally coming around for him; he goes back to being quiet, though, as he looks straight forward now.

Tired of his sitting position on Taemin’s lap, Jonghyun thinks it to be a good idea to straddle him, at least this way Taemin will be forced to look at him. Jonghyun quickly sits up, sliding his legs on either side of Taemin’s, he holds him down, hands on his shoulders, and stares at him intensely.

“I’ll make you love me” Jonghyun says almost a bit too seriously which makes Taemin snicker as he finally takes a break from looking elsewhere to face Jonghyun. A coy smile draws itself on Jonghyun’s lips as he leans in and kisses wherever he can reach; from Taemin’s dark meadow of silky locks, to any available skin.

“You’re so special to me, don’t ever leave me.” Jonghyun whines against Taemin’s neck, lowering himself to kiss his collarbone. “Don’t ever think you’re not worth it, you’re so important to me, I can’t imagine my life without you, ever.” Jonghyun presses another kiss to Taemin’s hair-covered forehead. “I need you, I want you, I love you.” Jonghyun finishes, tears threatening to spill from his eyes now. Taemin’s lips part when he realizes Jonghyun isn’t joking around anymore, and that’s all Taemin needs to return to his lover. He lifts his limp hands and slides them around Jonghyun’s slender waist; Jonghyun’s lip trembles when he finally feels the contact of his boyfriend on him after a whole evening of being ignored.

“Jonghyun-ah.. I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry, you know I love you too, more than anything.” Taemin says, already feeling his throat constrict as he senses his own waterworks approaching.

“No, you don’t have to apologize for anything, sweetie, it’s all my fault, not yours” Jonghyun insists, kissing the tip of Taemin’s nose.

“Jonghyun..” Taemin starts, but is interrupted by Jonghyun’s voice.

“Taemin..can I kiss you?” Jonghyun asks tentatively, searching Taemin’s eyes for any sort of answer. Taemin instantly knows what he means and leans so close their lips barely brush.

“Please” Taemin wantonly begs against Jonghyun’s lips, gripping his shirt tighter.

Jonghyun presses in slow at first, trying to remember how to kiss Taemin as if he hadn’t done it in years, he spends all the time in the world trying to remember what Taemin’s lips feel like against his own, lest Taemin decide one kiss is enough for the night. They go painfully slow for what seems like forever, and Jonghyun wishes it really could be forever, because right now, kissing Taemin seems like the only thing he ever wants to do.

They go so slow that Taemin is whining for more, and before they pick up their pace, Taemin feels a cold sliver of liquid run down his face, he’s crying too, for what reason he doesn’t know. Instead of speeding up right away, he decides to continue at this pace, this pace that Jonghyun seems to be happy with, because the last thing he wants it to upset Jonghyun again, even though he was the one who forgot today was Valentine's day.

A lithe sound escapes one of their mouths, and they don’t really care who it was because right now they are both tasting salt- the product of their emotions, running down their faces and sliding into their busy mouths; and aside from the either hot and sweaty, or loving and passionate sex they have too-often, this, in a way makes them feel more connected than anything else. But neither of them mind, because they both know and want to be close to each other in more ways than one.

As weird as it is, their hearts are calm, they race fast, but they race now for love, not anger or sadness, and that pleases them both, and once they realise their kissing isn’t something sad, their pace quickens, and they realise they both need more of each other. Their lips are sporadic, searching for each other like they’ve been lost, but when they come into contact, they seem found.

Once they finally set a quicker pace, they notice how much they really have been deprived of each other's lips. Taemin’s hands travel to Jonghyun’s chest and Jonghyun’s fingers lock in Taemin’s inky hair moments later. They both expel everything they’ve been wanting to release the whole night; and they moan, not just for pleasure, but at the fact that their lips are locked together finally. Jonghyun’s tongue is quick to meet Taemin’s and they swish around until the both of them feel too lightheaded to move. They pull back slowly, tasting each other on their tongues.

“Jonghyun, I-” Taemin pants, still gripping Jonghyun’s shirt as he catches his breath.

Jonghyun leans down once more, letting his kiss linger on Taemin’s reddened lips before pulling back again, this time crying and laughing.

“Why are we crying?” Taemin asks in between short breaths.

“We- because we love each other” Jonghyun tries to explain, starring Taemin down with half-lidded eyes.

“Mmm, hyung, I love you” Taemin pants against Jonghyun’s chest, closing his eyes in relief.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll get you lots of sweets and treats, I’ll get it all baby” Jonghyun assures Taemin.

“I love it when you call me baby.” Taemin responds.

“And I love calling you it, you’re my baby, never forget it” Jonghyun says before he seats himself flush against Taemin’s lap. He hugs Taemin like he’s freezing and he’s the Sun, like he’s got a cold and Taemin is his remedy.

“You broke pretty fast though..” Jonghyun starts, squeezing Taemin’s arms.

“Ugh! That’s only because you kept on talking and talking and complimenting me, not to mention your touches. You- you know your kisses are irresistible too. All your praises had me worn out.” Taemin explains in one breath, inhaling deeply once finished speaking.

“Well, repetition is a poetic technique, but don’t blame yourself, you would have crumbled eventually, anyone would have while under the submission of my lips.”

“Ok, ok, you’re a sex god, we get it, now shut up and kiss me again before I change my mind.” Taemin finally says before Jonghyun’s lips are crashing into his again, and again, and again.

:/