#i hope to forget about him. associate his name with something far better than he is.

[sootspite]

i suddenly remembered someone who hurt my friends again. to think they're still just two degrees of separation of me. gross.

[smileysuh]

forget him

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “What if… what if I helped you out a little?” His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs. “Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”

tw/cw. recent breakup, fingering, Hyuck walks in while y/n is masturbating, masturbation, assisted masturbation, toy/dildo use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, reader has multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, big dick Hyuck, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, talking about y/n's ex while they fuck, marking/claim kink, full/breeding kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 7.1k

🍭 aus. friends to lovers, roommates au, recent breakup, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. When I tell you I need to be demolished by this Hyuck-

Hyuck absolutely hates seeing you like this. 

He’d thought it had been hard seeing you in love with his best friend Mark Lee, but seeing you in the throws of depression after your recent breakup takes the cake for Hyuck when it comes to him having a straight up horrible time.

Obviously, you have it worse, and he’s not trying to contest that fact- he just hadn’t realized that when the thing he’d been hoping for actually came to pass- it would feel this bad. 

In the dark reaches of his mind, he wonders if he’d had something to do with the separation, although, in truth, he knows that’s ridiculous. He’d been as supportive as a friend and roommate could be about you and Mark. He’d forced smiles and words of encouragement when you’d gushed through the talking phase. He’d found ways to ditch the apartment when you and Mark started to get physical, doing his best to give you privacy while getting high as a kite at Lee Jeno’s place to distract himself from the fact that you were getting railed by someone other than him. And now, he supposes, he’s doing his due diligence in making you feel better when you’re at your worst.

Hyuck’s doing the best he can to make things easy for you. He’s set up movie days, and he’s made you ramen. He’s allowed you to shuffle closer to him on the couch, even resting your head on his shoulder any time you start to tear up. He’s paused films to listen to you explain things like “When Mark and I watched this, he would always get so excited when Totoro would show up” or “Mark hated No Face.” 

He wonders if doing a Ghibli marathon is the best idea, given how much you associate it with Mark, but when he’d asked you about it and you insisted you would feel better watching the films, he’d left it at that.

You’re your own person, and Hyuck’s always trusted you to make the best decisions for yourself… even when he doesn’t agree with them.

Cuddled next to you on your living room couch, Hyuck does his best just to be there for you. He ignores the boys’ group chat messages, where other friends are taking care of Mark. As far as Hyuck’s concerned, he’s team you, all the way, and he always has been.

He notices the way you start to shift next to him, pulling away from his shoulder to stretch your arms over your head.

“You good?” Hyuck asks, looking away from the movie to give you his complete and undivided attention.

“Yeah,” you sigh, frowning slightly. “Just tired.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” He studies your face, noticing all the signs of exhaustion- although, to be fair, you’ve been a sleepy wreck of a thing since your breakup two weeks ago.

“I probably should,” you concede, taking another deep breath. “Thanks for making me dinner and watching movies with me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hyuck says, flashing you a small smile as he straightens in his seat, reaching for the remote to stop the movie.

“You’ve been so nice since… since the whole Mark thing.” He can see you swallowing back tears, and you reach up to wipe your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie. 

“That’s what friends are for,” Hyuck assures you, although, his attention toward you has always far surpassed that of a friend. It’s a shame you’ve never realized that fact.

“Just… thanks,” you say again, holding open your arms for a hug that Hyuck is more than happy to give you. 

He adjusts on the couch, leaning forward to scoop you into his arms. Your cheek presses to his shoulder and he breathes in the smell of your fruity body wash. He tries his best not to hug you too hard- because if he did, you might actually realize that every time you hug him, he has no true intention of ever letting you go. 

“Sleep well, okay, gorgeous?” he prompts, stroking your hair and using the petname he’d given you far before you’d ever met Mark. “You really need your rest.”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him, giving one last gentle squeeze before you pull away.

Hyuck watches you stand up, your hoodie skimming your mid thigh. He knows you’re wearing sleeping shorts under the oversized fabric, but he can’t help but swallow thickly, imagining what it would be like if you were just in panties.

He really has to get his mind out of the gutter, and Hyuck knows that- he’s been trying to, in all honesty he has- but it’s been four years of knowing you, one of living together, and he still can’t manage to keep his thoughts PG. 

With one last small smile, you turn and begin to shuffle to your room.

He misses your lively movements. The first night you’d moved in together, you’d had a small dance party together, and Hyuck’s always been adamant that no one’s hips move like yours do. 

He misses your joy. The way you sparkle when you’re happy. You used to smile like a kid in a candy shop anytime you watched your favourite movies or ate the ramen he’d made for you, but these days, the most you can muster is a small upquirk of the sides of your lips.

Hyuck wants to make you smile again. He’s just not sure how to do it. 

He knows you need time. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. He just wishes he could fast track your recovery.

Your bedroom door shuts and the spell of watching you is broken. Hyuck takes a deep breath, looking around the messy living room. There are blankets and pillows strewn all over, take out boxes from your day inside, tissues from when you’d cried. 

He’s not generally known to be the cleanest man around town, but Hyuck feels that in times like these, the least he can do is keep things tidy. He’s sure you’ll feel better to come out of your room every morning to a nice apartment, so he begins his work of collecting water cups and take away boxes. 

You’ve definitely lost your spark, and Hyuck thinks maybe he has too. He’s used to playing music loudly, using it as energy at all hours of the day, but tonight, while he cleans, he keeps things quiet. His head is full, and his ears are on edge, paying attention to the sounds coming from your room.

In those first days after the breakup, he’d heard you crying a lot, and he’s sure that barging into your room to give you a hug had cheered you up. He’s hoping it won’t be necessary today. 

As much as he loves hugging you, seeing you cry always makes him feel like someone is trying to tear open his chest and clench his heart. It’s an ache he doesn’t enjoy.

When you’d moved in together, he’d decided that as a girl - with monthly girl issues - you should have the bigger room with the connected bathroom, and he listens to the sound of you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. 

You begin to hum something, and Hyuck realizes it’s the first time he’s heard you sing since your breakup. 

Maybe tonight will be a good night.

Hyuck has moved all the clutter to the kitchen, and he begins to put stuff in the garbage and dishwasher while he listens to you hum. He thinks about the day you met, at uni orientation. He’d never become friends with someone so fast in his life, and when you’d discovered you had three of five classes together- well, he’s never looked back, not for one second.

He wonders how things would be different if he’d ever manned up and told you how he felt- how he feels- how his affection for you has only been growing and growing- 

Hyuck finds himself heading to the fridge and taking out a beer. He hasn’t been drinking much since you and Mark broke up, hasn’t needed the mind-numbing effects of alcohol, so when he takes a large swig, he finds that it immediately takes the edge off. 

He can’t be thinking about wifing you up right now- no matter how much he might wish to.

Although… as he leans against the sink and downs the can, grabbing another, he begins to wonder if offering himself up to you as a distraction really would be the worst thing in the world. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be the way he’d want to start things with you- but maybe he could make you fall in love with him and forget all about Mark Lee. However, in all honesty, he’d probably be risking your friendship. 

He’s played this mind game with himself too many times before, and Hyuck always finds himself at a stalemate. Frustration bubbles up inside and he looks out at the living room, determined to set himself back on the task of cleaning.

Hyuck throws the pillows onto the couch, and he even begins to fold up a blanket, and that’s when he hears a familiar sound.

You’ve never been the type to seek much affection, especially when you’re in your room, so whenever he’s caught you crying, it’s always started with a whimper.

What Hyuck’s just heard was definitely a whimper, and his whole body surges with white-hot, electric energy, his eyes darting to your door. His breath catches, and he tosses the blanket down to the ground, frozen as he waits for another sound of distress. 

A small gasp can be heard under the crack of your door, and Hyuck’s body bolts into action. He’s moving so fast he stumbles a little over his own feet just as he reaches your room, and he wonders if drinking two beers was a good idea. His hand lands on your door, and he knocks aggressively.

“You okay in there, gorgeous?” he calls.

“I’m fine!” you respond, but there’s definitely an edge to your voice. 

He can tell something is wrong- can tell you’re lying to him, and in a split second, Hyuck is making a decision. 

“I’m coming in.”

You let out a small squeak of surprise, tearing your hand away from the toy still lodged inside of you so you can pull the blankets up around your shoulders, jaw dropping as your roommate barges into your room.

“Hyuck!”

He stands in the doorway, studying you, and you can see a look of confusion cross his face. “I thought I heard you crying.”

“I’m not crying!” you insist, core clenching around the dildo. “Get out!” 

Hyuck doesn’t move. “I definitely heard a whimper,” he insists.

Your heart is practically racing in your chest, and you’re very much aware of the pleasurable feeling still thrumming from your core. Cock warming was something you enjoyed doing with Mark, and the fact that you’re cock warming a toy while Hyuck stares at you is having a wholly unexpected effect on your entire body.

“People whimper for all sorts of reasons!” you say dumbly. “Leave!”

Hyuck tilts his head to the side, assessing you again. “You never speak to me like this.”

“You usually don’t just barge in here unannounced!” 

“Yes, I do,” Hyuck points out. “Why’s tonight different?”

“What do you mean-”

“Something is different,” he says, more firmly this time. His gaze dips, taking in the blanket still wrapped tightly around your form. “Wait…” you see the exact moment he realizes what you’re up to, and even from a few feet away, you see the way his pupils dilate. “Are you…”

“Hyuck-” you groan, lifting the blankets to hide your face, hoping he can’t see the shame that’s beginning to consume you.

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“Are what?” you ask, deciding to play dumb.

You can hear him scoff, and you peak from under the blanket just in time to see his signature eye roll. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s getting annoyed, and you can feel yourself dripping down your dildo. 

He meets your gaze again. “I didn’t hear a vibrator, so let me guess…” You watch him swallow thickly. “The toy’s still inside of you, isn’t it?”

Curse him for knowing you so well.

Curse him for having a dirty mind.

And maybe most of all, curse yourself for being so stupidly turned on that you can’t even deny what he’s just said. All you can do is groan loudly, hiding again. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“Yes!”

You hear him click his tongue. “Come on, gorgeous. We both know I can tell when you lie to me. We’ve been friends for years, you don’t have to be… ashamed about this.”

But shame is exactly what you’re feeling, and his words don’t help at all. 

“Please, just leave,” you sigh, so embarrassed you think you might actually die.

“What if… what if I helped you out a little?”

His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs.  

“Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.” 

“You’re being crazy.” You peak out at him. “We’re roommates- Mark is one of your best friends-”

“I’ve known you longer and I’m loyal to you,” Hyuck insists firmly. “And besides, stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah? Like what?” you can’t help but laugh a little, and the contraction of your stomach muscles pushes the toy slightly out of your core, making you groan at the loss.

From the look that crosses Hyuck’s face, he obviously notices your sound, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “For one, the fact that you even dated Mark was a little crazy.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“But nice doesn’t fill you up at night. Nice doesn’t make you cum so hard you feel it through your whole body.” Hyuck holds up a hand. “And before you try to tell me Mark was good in bed, remember that I have a room next to yours. Mark is a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean he can fuck. Not the way you deserve.” 

You shift in your bed, sitting up a little to address your roommate. “Yeah? And how do I deserve to be fucked?” 

“You deserve someone who’s going to worship every inch of you. Someone who’s going to make you cum over and over- make you gush so good you’re begging for it, begging to finally get dicked down so hard you can’t even walk after. Someone who makes you cry for all the right reasons.” 

You stare at Hyuck. 

You’re not even sure what to say. 

He’s never talked like this to you, ever- at least, not in your waking hours.

You’ve had dreams about his sharp tongue, his long fingers, and his big cock- but never gave credence to your lustful fantasies. Hyuck’s always just been a friend- 

“Why now?” you find yourself asking. “After all this time-”

“I’m tired of watching you hurt over something I might be able to help you fix.”

“So cock is the fix to a broken heart?” 

“Gorgeous, I think we both know that what I’m offering you is more than cock.”

“Right, I’m guessing tongue and fingers-”

Hyuck gives you an unimpressed look. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“That I’m super into you? That I’ve been into you since we met? That it killed me to watch you be with Mark when I knew you should have been with me?” 

“Hyuck-” you breathe, feeling even more whiplash from these words than his dirty talk.

“Look, you don’t have to say anything about that stupid feels shit, just… just let me take care of you tonight.”

“What if we regret it?” You press your thighs together, keeping the toy just inside of you while you begin to fidget with your blanket. “What if it ruins our friendship?”

“I’ve asked myself that same question for years,” Hyuck admits. “But… after looking at you now- I really don’t think that’s something we have to worry about.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m about to make you cum so hard you forget about every other man in your life.”

“Promise?”

He nods. “Promise.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Hyuck lets out a small laugh. “So… you going to lift those covers and let me see what I’m dealing with or…?”

“God,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I call you gorgeous for a reason, don’t I?” Hyuck grins. “Come on, I wanna see.”

You grab at the blankets, taking a deep breath. Then you start to move them off your body.

Your roommate watches your every movement, dipping his head to focus as you lift the fabric covering your feet, then your calves-

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you tell him.

“Yeah, me neither,” Hyuck admits. “I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.” 

His words make your stomach erupt in butterflies, and you feel the toy still half wedged in your core. “Should I… should I remove the dildo first?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanna see that too.” His eyes meet yours. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re so fucking hot, I’m already hard.”

He reaches a hand down to cup the front of his sweatpants, and you realize he’s not lying. You can see the impressive print of his cock pressing against the fabric, and it makes your mouth water. It also gives you the confidence to fully reveal yourself to his hungry eyes, and the moment he sees you, Hyuck lets out a deep groan.

“Shit, gorgeous,” Hyuck says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re even more perfect than I’ve imagined.”

His words make you feel shy, and you close your legs, only for Hyuck to press a knee to the bed, both hands reaching out to prompt your thighs back open. 

“Don’t hide from me,” he warns, and there’s an edge to his tone. He’s still being soft with you, his touch gentle, but there’s an obvious hunger rising inside of him. “Tell me about this toy.”

“Well, I uh…” you search for your words. “It’s one of the first ones I ever bought-”

“It’s small,” Hyuck notes, which is kind of funny considering it’s Mark sized. “Can I use it on you?”

“You want to fuck me with the toy?” You blink at your long term friend and roommate.

“Gotta stretch you out to take something bigger.” Hyuck smirks devilishly, and your pussy throbs- he’s definitely bigger than Mark and the toy still half lodged inside of you. You can’t wait to find out how much bigger. 

“You can-” you bite at your lip, “you can fuck me with it.”

“Good girl,” Hyuck praises you, and you can feel yourself practically dripping around the dildo now.

You hold your breath in anticipation while Hyuck gets settled on the foot of the bed. His warm palms smooth over your thighs, forcing you wider, and then his fingers grab the base of the toy. “Do you like it slow?”

“I think… to start off with?” You feel too hazy to be able to answer questions, and he hasn’t even started with you. “But… when you fuck me, can you go fast, please?”

“Of course, gorgeous. I can do anything you want,” he assures you, applying pressure to the toy so it begins to lodge deeper inside of you. You let out a small sigh and Hyuck looks up at you, grinning. “You’re so wet, babe, making this too fucking easy.”

“It’s not my fault-” you defend yourself, voice shaky. 

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” His smile widens. “Talking dirty gets you going, huh, gorgeous?”

You nod, resting your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of him beginning to work the toy in and out of your pussy. 

“Bet Mark’s dirty talk game was weak,” Hyuck says under his breath.

You don’t have it in you to agree with him, although… he’s correct. Something tells you he knows it too, because he lets out a small chuckle. 

Hyuck’s using his right hand to fuck you with the toy, and his left moves from your thigh. A moment later, his thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your clit and your toes curl from the stimulation. A gentle gasp escapes you and you can practically hear Hyuck smile.

“Feels good?” he prompts.

“So good,” you nod. You need something to hold onto, so you grab at the one piece of clothing on your body, a night shirt, which you lift up your to your abdomen, giving Hyuck more room to work. 

He rubs your clit harder and you let out a whine, feeling the familiar build of tension in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hyuck tells you, and you can feel his breath on your pussy which makes you twitch. “God, I could watch you squirm like this all night.”

“Please-”

“Please what?” 

You don’t even know. All you know is listening to the squelching sound of the toy going in and out of you while his thumb rubs your clit is driving you insane.

“I want to kiss you,” you decide, realizing Hyuck’s about to make you cum and you haven’t even really gotten a taste of him. 

Hyuck stops what he’s doing immediately, manuevering up the bed so he’s on top of you, one hand pressed to the pillow while he looks down at you.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he grins.

Your hands explore his shoulders and one snakes into his hair, then you’re tugging his mouth down to your own. Hyuck’s gentle with you at first, but when you go to bite on his lower lip, he groans loudly. His tongue darts out to brush against your own, and the kiss deepens. 

You’re done with your toy. You want to feel him, and you reach between your bodies to remove the dildo, pulling it out and tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.

Hyuck breaks your kiss to look at the wet toy on the ground, and he lets out a small laugh, gaze returning to your own. “Why’d you do that?”

“I want you.”

“Yeah?” His hand slips between your forms, and two digits stroke the length of your pussy, making you moan. “Want me to make you cum all over my fingers?”

You nod, grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging his mouth back to yours while he buries himself into you knuckle deep.

He strokes your walls, and the feeling is absolutely delightful, especially when he angles his hand, palm pressing to your clit while he seeks out your gspot. 

His lips are hot against your own, and they don’t muffle the sound of pleasure escaping you. 

Hyuck’s a bit of a gamer, but you never really realized his fingers could feel this good- 

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groans, breaking the kiss to move his mouth to your throat, where he lets out deep breaths. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m so close-” you confess, gripping his shoulders tighter while he finger fucks you even harder, chasing your release.

“You’ll be a good girl and cum for me, right?” Hyuck prompts, which makes you mewl. “Yeah, you’ve always been such a good girl, gonna be good and cum all over my fingers-”

His words make you throb, and he applies more pressure to your clit with his palm. His lips press kisses to your neck and he finds your sweetspot, making everything feel all the more intense.

You’re on the edge, and you let out a loud gasp, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Come on, I wanna feel you.”

His words make the cord in your stomach snap, and your body is flooded with the pleasure of your release. You feel it everywhere, and it makes you cry out while holding onto him tighter. His hand continues between your thighs, fingers unrelenting, palm heavy on your clit. 

Hyuck works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and pushing at his shoulders, and then he straightens a little, motions stopping while he looks down at you. “Did you enjoy that?”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes a little. “You know I did.”

“Yeah, but you could still stroke my ego a little.”

“Stroke your ego?” You reach for his cock, gripping him through his sweats. “Like this?”

Hyuck lets out a low groan, thrusting forward to meet your hand. “As much as I’d love to watch you jack me off- tonight I’m here to make you feel better, and I’m not anywhere near being done with you yet.”

You’d never realized Hyuck had any self control, and you watch in shock as he gently moves your hand away.

“I’m going to eat you out now,” he tells you, slipping down the bed so he’s on his stomach between your legs. Hyuck spreads you open, gently kissing your inner thigh before looking up at you. “You good with this?”

“Uh huh,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as you prepare yourself for his tongue. “I’m still sensitive though.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” Hyuck promises, pressing a very soft kiss to your clit. “I can be gentle, contrary to popular belief.” 

You can’t help but let out a giggle, but the sound is cut short when Hyuck unexpectedly buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses into your hole and the feeling has your legs quaking as he adjusts them over his shoulders, trying to dive even deeper.

“Shit, Hyuck-” you whimper, grabbing at his hair.

He’s always been a bit of a liar- maybe you shouldn’t have believed him when he said he’d go easy on you. But… at the same time, the way his nose repeatedly bumps your clit has a fire building in your abdomen again, and you really aren’t even that mad about it.

You can feel Hyuck smile against you, and it’s such a turn on to know he’s enjoying himself while providing you with pleasure. Mark had always been somewhat rigid in your sexual interactions, much more serious than the grinning cheshire cat between your legs now. 

Where Mark had been slow and tentative, Hyuck’s eager and passionate. He switches between lapping at your hole, sucking your clit, and pushing his tongue into you as deep as it can go, licking at your walls and working you up way faster than anyone else ever has in your entire life.

Then he begins to groan, and you realize he’s grinding against the bed-

Is eating you out really that sexy for him? 

You feel another gush of wetness from the thought and your pussy throbs, warning you both that you’re close again. Hyuck responds by adjusting ever so slightly, lips wrapping around your clit while he pushes a hand to your entrance, slipping two fingers inside.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” you gasp, back arching off the bed while the cord in your stomach is pulled unbelievably tight. 

Hyuck’s fingers twist in and out of your hole, and he licks at your clit in the most sloppy manner- it’s enough to have you exploding, a cry of pleasure escaping you while your core clamps down on your roommate. 

He groans loudly, sinfully, and the vibration against your clit has your legs shaking around his head, orgasm pulsing deep through your entire being. 

You’re practically crying at this point, and you can feel tears even while you clench your eyes shut, taking everything Hyuck’s giving you while moaning like a whore- you’ve never sounded this way, and there’s something almost addicting about the noises being torn out of you.

You know he feels it too, because Hyuck is completely unrelenting. If anything, he’s even more sloppy with the way he worships your pussy, fingers crooking up expertly-

You’re literally gushing around him, and you can feel it, can feel that your bed is going to be ruined after this. But you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can do is grab at your sheets, crying to the ceiling while your best friend makes you feel pleasure so intense that you can’t even think. 

He’s fulfilled his promise about making you cry for good reasons… and he hasn’t even taken his cock out yet.

You’ve never been this needy in your entire life, and when he pulls away from your core, allowing you to catch your breath, you peak out at him from under wet lashes. 

“You’re literally perfect,” he tells you, voice deep. His pupils are completely blown now and he’s breathing as heavily as you are.

You watch him bring glistening fingers up to his lips, slowly sucking them clean and moaning loudly at the taste of you before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck, and you’re already crying-” Hyuck sits up, leaning over you and reaching out to brush some of your tears away. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” 

“Hyuck-” you whimper, shocked that you’re choking up.

Your body is still being flooded with emotion and sensations. Your nipples are hard under your shirt and the fabric is becoming uncomfortable, making you more sensitive-

“Going to let me take care of you now, right, gorgeous?” he asks, pinching at your chin and leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Please-” You grab at your shirt and Hyuck follows through by helping you take it off.

You’re now fully revealed to him, and your best friend sits back to appreciate you, letting out a deep breath. 

“Mark’s so fucking stupid for letting you go,” Hyuck says.

His words are bitter sweet, and in your overstimulated state, you find your lower lip wobbling as you hold back a choked sob. 

“Shh,” Hyuck whispers, reaching out to cup your cheek. “It’s better to be with someone who knows your worth, like I do. I’d never fucking treat you the way he did- I promise.”

The look on his face is so intense, and you know he’s telling you the truth.

Your body relaxes a little- Hyuck really is such a good guy, and what he’s doing for you helps more than he’ll probably ever know. He’s making you feel sexy again, making you feel needed and wanted and maybe even loved. 

“Besides,” Hyuck clears his throat, taking off his own shirt, “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about that asshole.”

You can’t help but laugh sadly, wiping at your own face to get rid of the last tears while you watch Hyuck move to work on his sweats. 

When he pushes the waistband down, revealing his cock, you think you might actually faint.

You’ve always thought Hyuck was a pretty guy, sexy of course, but pretty too- and his cock? It’s as stupidly pretty as the rest of him.

He must be a little over seven inches, and he’s girthy too-

You can feel yourself practically drooling as you look at him, and Hyuck smirks at your reaction. “Sure you’re ready for this, gorgeous?”

“If you don’t fuck me I think I might die.”

He laughs at your words. “Then I guess I better fuck you.”

“Should we…” you bite at your lip. “Do we need condoms?”

“Babe,” Hyuck scoffs. “Babe- we’re both clean, right? And I know you’re on birth control… do you want me to wear a condom? I always kind of imagined you’d be the kind of girl who wants to be full.”

How many times has he imagined this, you wonder. 

But he’s right. You want him to fill you up like no one else has.

“Come here,” you say, holding open your arms while he kicks his sweats off.

Hyuck’s hands find the pillows by your head and he slots himself between your legs, lips pressing against your own.

You thread your fingers through his soft brown hair, kissing him eagerly. You want to get lost in him, and it’s easy to do that when he begins to rut his cock against your pussy, bumping your clit and making your thighs shake around his hips.

“Just fuck me,” you groan, already feeling so unbelievably needy.

Hyuck smirks against your lips, pulling away to look down at you with mischief in his eyes. “You’re so fucking hot it’s insane.”

“Then why aren’t you inside me yet?”

He moans a little, dipping his head to look between your bodies while he reaches for the base of his cock, lining himself up with your hole. “If it hurts, I’ll stop.”

You’re about to scoff and tell him he’s not that big when he pushes his head into your entrance and a gasp leaves your lips. The stretch is very real, and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your body to relax.

You can practically feel your pussy struggling to make room for him, and even though you’re as wet as a fucking slip and slide, it’s still a little difficult for him to push in inch after inch-

“Fuck,” you whimper, and Hyuck rewards you by burying his face in your throat, peppering your skin in kisses. The soft feeling of his lips is enough to distract you from the intrusion opening up your pussy, and soon his hips are flush against your own, making you both release groans of pleasure.

“You ready for this?” Hyuck asks.

“God, yes-” 

He reaches for your hand, pressing it to the pillow and threading your fingers. Then he kisses you softly-

When he begins to rut into you, it’s anything but soft.

Hyuck’s motions are calculated and rough, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you that has you squeezing his hand. You’d be cussing if it weren’t for his hot lips against your own, lips that have gotten increasingly demanding, his tongue stroking yours while you gasp.

It feels amazing- like, truly. You’ve never been fucked like this, and he’s only just started.

He stops kissing you, breathing heavily while he fucks you even harder. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You’re literally balls deep inside of me,” you nearly laugh. “You can ask me anything.”

“I’m just,” Hyuck groans, squeezing your hand. “Did you ever think about me when you were fucking Mark?”

Your pussy clenches at the question, from shock or hornyness, you’re not sure. 

“I-”

“You did, didn’t you?” Hyuck grins. “Don’t think I didn’t just feel you get super fucking tight around me- God, you are dirty like me, aren’t you, gorgeous? I thought… thought that when you started dating soft boy Mark, maybe you were more vanilla, but that’s not you, is it?”

“No-”

“You like to get fucked, properly, don’t you, babe?” Hyuck continues.

“Fuck, yes-”

“And Mark didn’t know how to do that for you, did he? Mark didn’t know how to make you wet like this, didn’t know how to make you cry or scream or beg-”

You can’t bring yourself to verbally slander Mark while Hyuck’s fucking you like a wild man, so instead you just shake your head. Your confirmation makes Hyuck grin, and he fucks you even harder, the whole bed rocking while the sound of skin on skin fills the room. 

“You know what? Enough about Mark. Forget him. You don’t need him anymore.” Hyuck’s mouth is hot on your neck and his words make you shiver as he moves to suck your earlobe. “You only need me. You only need me, I promise.” 

Hyuck lets go of your hand and you’re about to argue with him about it when he shoves his fingers between your bodies, rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.

“Hyuck!” you whimper, writhing beneath him.

“That’s it gorgeous. I wanna ruin you for anyone else. After this, no one’s going to make you cum like I can.” He’s groaning now, voice all breathy and super sexy- “If I make you cum three times the first time I fuck you, that means you’re mine right?”

You moan loudly at the idea, grabbing his shoulders while he works you closer and closer to yet another orgasm that you have no doubt will be as mind blowing as the first two. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” Hyuck says, voice gruffer now. “Fuck, gorgeous, I want you so badly- just say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp when he applies more pressure to your clit.

“That’s my girl,” Hyuck smiles against your neck. “You’ll let me mark you right? Let me suck some pretty bruises into your skin so every time you look in the mirror you know your roommate fucks you right-”

His tongue darts out, licking a stripe of your throat before his lips press to your sweet spot. He suctions his mouth onto you, teeth grazing your skin and causing you to cry out while you move your hands to tug on his hair.

Hyuck lets out a sinful groan when you pull gently on his soft brown strands, but he doesn’t let up. He’s entirely focused on you and your pleasure, cock continuing to rearrange your insides while his fingers abuse your nearly overstimulated clit-

“I’m so close-” you whimper, eyes closed as your body once again approaches the edge with startling speed. 

“Yeah?” Hyuck moves away from your neck and you get the sense that he’s looking down at you. “Gonna cum on this cock and let me fill you up? Gonna let me breed you like the good girl you are? Make you so stupidly full that you’re fucking dripping?”

“Yes, fuck, Hyuck, please-” You’re on the verge of tears again, whole body thrumming with energy-

“Then cum for me. Let me fucking feel you.” 

You twitch from his words, and then you’re falling over the edge, gasping and clawing at him while you’re overcome with ecstasy. You’re not sure if it’s because this is your third orgasm, or if it’s because his cock is balls deep inside of you, but this orgasm is the most intense of them all.

You’re reduced to a completely primal side of yourself, brain short circuiting while your body takes over. There are no thoughts, only the attempt to process all the pleasure that’s flowing through you like a river that’s broken through a dam. 

The sounds escaping you are unlike anything that has ever come from your vocal cords, and Hyuck is also cumming, groaning loudly as he presses his lips to yours. His tongue is hot as it licks at your bottom lip, and his thrusts are erratic. 

He takes his hand away from your clit in favour of finding yours again, fingers locking while he squeezes you. You can feel the passion radiating off of him, can feel that this won’t be a one time thing and you both know it.

Hyuck takes care of you through your orgasms until you’re both finished, and his motions begin to slow until he’s simply half laying on top of you, his kisses much more gentle as you gasp into each others mouths. 

His hips are flush against your own, keeping his cum inside of you while you make out. His body is warm and it almost feels like a security blanket draped across your own. Hyuck’s fingers are still tangled with yours, and it feels nice just to be holding someone’s hand again.

“Fuck, gorgeous,” Hyuck groans, pulling away from your lips, “if we keep kissing I might have to fuck you again, and I don’t think you could take another orgasm.”

“Not tonight,” you agree, blinking up at your roommate. 

It’s like you’re seeing him in a new light, and you assess the soft details of his features. He really is a beautiful man.

“And we ruined your bed,” Hyuck says with a grin. “You were squirting earlier and your sheets are too wet to sleep in, so I guess that means you’re coming to my room tonight.”

“You want me to sleep with you?” you nearly laugh.

“I’d honestly be offended if you didn’t.” He lets go of your hand, pushing himself off of you. “I didn’t get to touch your tits at all, and I’d like to have something to grab onto when we sleep.”

“God, you’re such a menace,” you giggle, pushing at his chest.

“You love it,” Hyuck insists, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, we should shower.”

“So we’re showering together now too? Weren’t you the guy who said Mark was being clingy by wanting to see me every day when we started dating?”

“It’s clingy when Mark does it,” Hyuck notes. “When I do it, it’s endearing and charming and sexy-”

“Sure it is,” you say sarcastically, shaking your head at him.

“What happened to my good girl?” Hyuck teases. “If you keep talking back, I might be tempted to ruin you in the shower.”

Now that you’re thinking about it, that doesn’t actually sound like the worst thing in the world.

“Fine, let’s go,” you concede, letting out a sigh.

There’s so much you could say about what has just taken place, but one thing you can state with confidence is that you do feel better. Hyuck had made you forget about Mark, if only for a short while before he started shit talking his friend- but, his words of slander hadn’t actually made you mad or sad or upset- they’d actually kind of had the opposite effect.

Life will go on after Mark Lee, and Hyuck’s made you realize that.

In fact, maybe your life after Mark will go on with Hyuck. 

Maybe it was always meant to be this way. 

You’re too tired to think about these big ideas in detail tonight, not after everything that’s just happened. Instead, you allow yourself to live in the moment, allow your roommate to take care of you the way he always has.

For now, this is more than enough. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm back in my Hyuck feels again

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🔮 preview. “So perfect,” Hyuck tells you, reaching his hands up to cup your breasts.  Before he can dive in, however, you press the ice pack to his face again and he winces below you. A scowl forms, and he glares into your eyes. “Maybe I don’t like it when you take care of me.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, thigh riding, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, claim kink, boob worship, big dick Hyuck, sex in on the living room couch, physical altercation between new boy and ex, overstim, holding off an orgasm, cumming together, light spanking, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe .

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 220

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bonus

“Dude,” Jeno sighs, staring at the man sitting on his couch. “You did not-”

“Except that I did,” Hyuck smirks. “You should be happy for me.”

“Is that what you’re going to say to Mark after you tell him you fucked his ex?” Renjun asks, narrowing his eyes at their naughtiest friend. 

“Actually,” Hyuck sighs, leaning back against the couch, “I think we shouldn’t tell Mark, not yet at least.”

“So now you’re making us all culpable in your bullshit,” Renjun groans loudly, rolling his eyes. 

Hyuck gaze shifts from the angry aries to Jaemin, who’s yet to say anything since Hyuck’s big reveal. “You’re cool with this, aren’t you?”

“I mean…” Jaemin cocks his head to the side, “you have wanted to be with her for years-” 

“See, Jaemin gets it!” Hyuck grins, eyes turning to his part time gym buddy next. “And Jeno? You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?”

“Mark is not going to be happy about this,” Jeno frowns.

“And I wasn’t happy when he started dating my roommate crush,” Hyuck states, “or when he broke up with her unexpectedly.”

“Don’t lie,” Renjun scoffs, “we all know you probably celebrated when they ended things.”

“Only a little,” Hyuck confesses, grinning again. “Okay but for real,” his expression turns serious, “guys, I think I love her.”

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[hansensgirl]

summary. | Andy Barber’s wife has taken one step forward, but also two steps back.

prompts. | Andy Barber + Mob/Mafia + “Take you home? This is home. You aren’t going anywhere.” + Stockholm syndrome, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Andy Barber x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, captivity, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, conditioning/grooming, pet names, ex-basement wife, past use of restraints, manipulation, gaslighting, housewife kink, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics.

When Andy’s associates ask him—their boss—how his wife is doing, he always smiles and says you’re doing great. 

At first, this was not true. 

You were quite the brat—kicking, screaming, and crying at the mob boss whenever he’d come close to you. You did not adjust well to the basement until he had to teach you that this was your new life now, whether you liked it or not. And he promised you will like it—you must. 

But now, Andy’s words are honest. He even goes as far as to share your newest creations, like a cherry pie or a hand-knitted scarf. They all marvel and remark that he’s a lucky man. That he is.

The lock turns, and you know your husband is home. Anxiety fills you—you usually watch the time, but today, it seemingly slipped your mind. You enjoy your time to yourself, since you are free from the looming threat of messing things up for the mob boss.

You smooth your skirt and stand up, placing your cross-stitching hoop on the table beside you. You fold your hands and force a smile, hoping that the evening and night will be lovely. 

You have awaited his arrival all day, not knowing what to do with yourself when he isn’t around. It’s odd—you never were like this. But then again, your life was much different then. 

You’ve been preparing your request all day. You know it’s far-fetched—a dream so distant from your reality—but it doesn't hurt to try. Andy always says never to be afraid to ask him for something. 

Andy walks in and enables all the security features, though they’re no longer necessary. You know better than to try and escape. “Honey? I’m home,” he calls out, and you step out of the library he installed just for you. 

It was a gift for your five-month anniversary. That night, he fucked you for the first time without the need for restraints. 

“Hi,” you greet, walking up to him and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. Andy’s beard tickles your face, and for once, you don’t fight back your giggle. The first time it happened, he smiled so hard. But you were disgusted with yourself—you threw up a few moments later. 

“How was your day, sw– sweetie?” you ask, voice breaking. You’re not used to this, but you try just for your sweet husband. 

Andy grabs your arm and leads you to the dining room. Your steps are much shorter than his. Your ankles wobble in your heels, but he slows down just for you. How kind of him. No regular man would ever do that. 

“Oh, it was nice. Better now that you’re home,” you hum. Ever the gentleman, Andy pulls a chair out for you first and gestures for you to sit. You do as he says. You can’t help it. 

“Oh, yeah?” he chuckles, sitting down as well. You nod your head. Your smile doesn’t drop.

“You’re adorable, honey,” Andy coos. He rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up and loosens the top button, exhaling deeply.

“Long day?” you question, squeezing the edges of your seat. Your leg bounces, and you hope Andy doesn’t notice. He doesn’t need to worry about you—he already has so much on his plate. You would hate to be a bother. 

“You know it. But I’m glad to be home with you now, baby,” he says. “How about I get you a drink?” you offer, already standing up. Andy reaches for your wrist. “Later, sweetie. I just want to spend some time with you,” he tells you. 

Obediently, you listen. “Good girl.” The praise makes your inside warm. You love his kind words. You regret ever insulting him during those days. 

“Oh, well, I did want to ask you something…” you begin, exhaling shakily. Andy’s brow furrows in word, and he’s quick to place a hand on yours, rubbing your skin soothingly. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you alright?” he asks, and you quickly nod.

“Then what is it?” Andy urges, waiting patiently for whatever it is you have to say. “Don’t worry. I won’t get mad,” the much-feared mob boss promises.

You bite the bullet.

“I… want you to take me home,” you whisper, looking down at the table so you don’t have to watch his wrath form. 

A few moments of silence pass. Your breathing becomes rapid as you panic inwardly. 

“Take you home?” Andy eventually repeats, as if making sure he heard you right. You nod. “I mean– Us,” you quickly correct, though you know it does nothing to fix your blunder.

You curse yourself. How stupid are you? How selfish? Andy has given you so much—he has loved you like no man ever could. And here you are, throwing it all back in his face. 

You already start forming an apology, ready to take whatever punishment he’ll dole out. Even the basement. 

“This is home. You aren’t going anywhere,” Andy growls, fists and jaw clenching. 

Your vision blurs, and sobs swim in your voice. “I– I know. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” you begin, bursting into silent sobs. Your tears fall onto the oak table, streaking down your cheeks. 

Andy doesn’t say anything. “Pl– Please, Andy. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked,” you continue. He stares at you, his gaze hard. He swallows.

“Please, can we start over?” you beg, finally looking up at him. Andy subtly nods, and you’re about to thank him when he speaks up, interrupting you.

“What for dinner, sweetie?” Andy asks, looking at the kitchen. You go with what he does. “I haven’t made anything yet. I was waiting for you to come home,” you tell him.“How about we skip dinner, hm?” he offers, and you can see his eyes go dark. 

You smile at the innuendo. Whatever your husband wants. 

[everydayyoulovemeless]

HC on a modern fallout. Like same characters just in now times.

Like Obvs Nick would still be a PI but what of the others? Would factions be a thing still or would they all have normal jobs?

What of the synths?

Modern Fo4 Headcanons

➼ Word Count » 3.3k ➼ Warnings » Spoilers for many character arcs ➼ Genre » Modern AU ➼ A/N » This took me WAY too long, but I had so many things I wanted to write down and expand on.

COMPANIONS [ these are how I imagine them before meeting Nate and Nora, a random couple who just happens to enter into everyone's lives ]

MacCready grew up as an orphan in Virginia where the older kids raised him. He never got adopted and, while he was thankful for the teens who raised him, there was always a sense of abandonment and negativity that he'd always attach with the state. So, when he turned 18, he hitchhiked to Boston, hoping to find a happier and more fulfilling life. It didn't happen as soon as he'd wanted, however, and he bounced from place to place looking for a stable job. His rugged exterior and immature attitude forced him out of a lot of areas, but there was a group that didn't mind any of that. MacCready was ecstatic when the Gunners first picked him up. They gave him jobs, sure, but they had also given him a group he could identify with in the same way he did with the kids back at the Orphanage. After a year of working with them, MacCready met Lucy. He'd originally planned on robbing her, but her name reminded her too much of the Lucy he'd grown up with, and offered to walk he home instead. When they had gotten to her door she asked him about why he was wearing army pants. He jokingly told her that he was in the military who was currently on leave, which she ended up believing. It surprised MacCready since his Gunners tattoo was visible on his arm, but he found her gullibility to be endearing. After that, the two spent a lot of time together, but right after Duncan was born, she pieced together his association with the gang, left him, and quickly moved into an apartment located in a safer area. Heartbroken and consumed with guilt, he quit the gang for good and worked to better himself and clean up his act so that he could be a part of his son's life, and maybe try his relationship with Lucy once more. He does a few odd jobs here and there but, so far, none of them have stuck.

Once Nick's testing was over, the students at CIT didn't know what to do with him other than to let him roam the campus, so he stuck with what he knew - police work. He'd wander the college as an officer, looking for any job or event that could require his help. At first, he was treated more as a Protectron than an actual member of the force, but that never really bothered him, as long as he was actively making people safer, then he was content. What did bother him, however, was the amount of jury trials he had to be present at for being the product of unethical testing. It always made him feel guilty that he was an unconsented clone of the real Nick Valentine's mind, and if he could, he would've chosen not to be created at all. Knowing the amount of pain his existence had caused an actual person made him feel awful, but he'd rather put that energy into his community over hating himself for something that was out of his control. He never really got over the confusion and sadness he had when he thought about who he was but, over time, many of the students began to treat him as if he were a real person. They'd greet him in the mornings, buy him ties on special occasions, and every once in a while someone would bring him coffee, forgetting that he couldn't drink it. His life slowly changed from him not understanding what his purpose was, to becoming a well-respected member in his field. Even the real Nick grew to appreciate him after he helped to hunt down Eddie when no one else wanted to. His memories of DiMA were still there (as it had only been a 2 or 3 decades compared to 2 centuries), but his brother didn't stay with the school, instead opting to discover himself elsewhere. As soon as he was allowed, he left for Maine and made a name for himself as the first robotic philosopher and occasionally sending letters to Nick.

Cait ran away from home at 15 in an attempt to escape the abuse she received from her parents. Scared, alone, and incredibly fragile, she was an easy target for many others on the streets and was taken advantage of both emotionally and sexually by almost anyone who saw her. As the years went by, the more hardened and angry she had become. Finally able to adapt to her surroundings, she stole, fought, and threatened anyone she could. This led her to be put in many juvenile detention centers and child reformat camps, both of which never helped change her view on the world. Still living on the streets at 18, she went and bought her first gun. She thought of going to visit her parents for a while, wondering if it would make some of the pain she felt go away. On the day she decided she was finally ready to go kill them, she ran into Tommy, a sleazy businessman who was desperate to strike it big in the corporate world. Seeing the potential and opportunity that a young, angry, mistreated girl could present to him, he offered her a deal. If she focused her rage into wrestling and let him be her manager, he'd help her get off the streets and really make a name for herself. She agreed and very quickly became one of the best and most well-known wrestlers in Boston, although, most of the press that covers her is about her attitude and allegation regarding her addictions. She still holds onto that shotgun she bought. It reminds her of what could've been and helps her feel a sense of security. She knows no one will take advantage of her again because she now has the means to ensure of it. She's still waiting for the day her parents beg her to take them back so she can tell them off, but they never did. It hurts her more to know that, even now that she's found success for herself, her parents still don't want her. So, until it kills her, she'll drink and inject herself with whatever she can get her hands on, desperate to numb as many of her thoughts as she can until she passes.

Danse was also made at CIT, although he's much more advanced than Nick is. Almost immediately after being created, he left to go to DC where he met Cutler. Cutler was on the verge of homelessness and pitched his idea of starting a small business to Danse who agreed quickly (he had no other plans). They sold odd things they either built or found for a few years before they were approached by a general in the US Army. He was only browsing, but Danse felt compelled by his stories from when he was in combat. There was something about serving his country and defending the common man that he found to be incredible, and so he and Cutler quit their gig and signed up for the army. There've been robots who've joined the military before, but none who made the decision on their own volition. All the others are Assaultrons and Mr. Gutsy, so having one who willingly wanted to be a part of the cause was astounding to many. Cutler eventually got mortally wounded and Danse, who was clearly devasted, was then assigned to work with Haylen and Rhys out of fear that he'd go haywire or malfunction due to the impact of his friends death, and that's where he's been ever since. The memories he'd been given were vague and slightly foggy, but the army gave him something to identify with and a cause to work for. He was prideful in the work he did and, although there were others, he served to be one of the first instances of a robot showing a willingness to fight for his country.

Ever since he was young, Preston had looked up to those who did right by people. At first, he joined a police academy to be an officer, but after a bystander got caught up in one of the scenes he'd been sent to, he quit, deciding that this wasn't something he was cut out to do. The guilt of not being able to successfully protect an innocent civilian eats away at him, so, in an attempt to make it up to himself, he went into hospice care. At least here he knows the deaths aren't his fault and that all the people he cares for have lived long, fulfilling lives. Currently, he's caring for the long-time addict, Mama Murphy (who still manages to sneak a few pills into the room every now and again). Preston adores her, but every once in a while she'll tell him about a dream she's had where the world had ended and he played a part in rebuilding it. He can't let her describe it for long, though, otherwise she'll start to panic and he'll have to grab her medication to help calm her down, and he hates having to give her drugs. Luckily he knows that she's just and elderly woman suffering from schizophrenia and none of what she says about a war torn world holds any truth. As much trouble as she causes him, Preston isn't sure what he's going to do when she's gone. He only hopes that it doesn't shatter him as much as the bystander incident did.

Codsworth still operates under Sole's roof in taking care of Shaun and the home. Nothing changes with him, however, when he went to drop Shaun off at college for the first time, he met Nick, and the two got along quite well! Whenever he goes to visit Shaun with the family he always makes sure to stop by to chat with the detective.

Piper runs a very controversial newsstand right in the heart of Boston. There are so many authorities and higher-ups whose reputations have been ruined due to her articles, and even with a mob of protestors against her, she still does whatever she wants. She grew up in a smaller town on the outskirts of Massachusetts before she managed to work up enough cash to get herself and Nat to the city, where she could finally begin to look for work to support them both. However, she quickly found that the 'big city' had many issues on its own and, since then, she was dead set on bringing people's attention to them. She doesn't care about the death threats or riots that sometimes occur outside her home. The police know her well enough by now to keep an eye out in her neighborhood. Especially Nick, who met her once while she set up a debate booth on campus and interviewed students for an article she planned on publishing. She's not rich by any means, but she loves her job. And, to her, there's no better feeling than that. She's just praying Nat isn't as prone to controversy as she is.

Curie was placed in a research facility where she helped to test and study different diseases with a group of other doctors before being places in a hospital. She mainly cares for sick children but is reveled to be one of the best doctors as she doesn't need to sleep or take any breaks. She adores her job and never stops working on cures and medicine for her patients. When she heard about the synths being created at CIT, she asked her supervisors if she could swap bodies so she could better fit in with the rest of her coworkers, as well as be able to hold vials and syringes better. They agreed and got her a custom made body for her to subvert her subconscious into. Eventually, when he's older, Shaun will come into her clinic in hopes of having his cancer fully treated, but that'll be years from now when he's in his 70s.

Even though Strong isn't affected by the FEV in this timeline, he still holds that same barbaric and thuggish aura. He's not affiliated with any gangs, but he's no stranger to violence and lives in the part of town where shootings happen the most often. Despite his intimidating stature and hostile disposition, he still frequents the local libraries. More often than he'd care to admit. He loves old literature and has a bit of a soft spot for anyone who likes it too. He claims she's overexaggerating, but Daisy will usually sit and listen to him ramble for hours about the beauty and symbolism littered throughout Shakespeare's plays or Lovecraft's short stories.

Hancock is a well-known politician who is loved as much as he is hated. Ever since Piper outed him for his drug addiction and put into question his validity and dedication to his cause, he's been somewhat of a controversial figure in the political world. Despite it all, he has no ill feelings toward Piper or Publick Occurrences and is constantly hyping it up as a reliable news source. Although he owns quite a bit of cash, he's constantly pouring it into the slums of Boston. Some think this is just a publicity stunt to make up for his occasional violent outbursts (the drugs do a number on him since he's not a ghoul), he does it because he genuinely believes it's right for him to do. Besides, the people are friendlier there. Now his biggest concern is building up his reputation again so he can beat his brother when they run for mayor against one another. Him and his secretary, Fahrenheit, have a lot planned for the city and they'd like to see those ideas become reality as quickly as they can manage.

No one's really sure who Deacon is, and some are cautious of him for it. One thing that is certain about him is that he's a massive history buff, and is almost always in a museum of some kind. His favorite past time is striking up conversation with strangers who probably just want to be left alone while they browse the artifacts displayed, but he doesn't really care. Eventually, he happens to start a conversation with Nate and Nora in the Museum of Freedom and he quickly integrates himself into the couple lives. Him and Barbara like to show up spontaneously on their doorstep with a pack of beers in their hands and grins on their faces, but surely they don't mind.. even if they still have no idea what he does for a living.

X6-88 is another one who doesn't change much. He works as security for CIT along with Nick, and few other courser's, although none of them are as approachable as the detective seems to be. He's very strict about his job and carries it out very well, however, when Shaun eventually begins to attend the college, they sorta hit it off? Not really because either of them are particularly kind to one another, but more so because they like it when people are straight forward, intelligent, and blunt and they both just so happen to be that.

Dogmeat’s a stray that everyone seems to know. Officially, he’s Mama Murphy’s, but most everyone claims him. He appears whenever someone's in distress or wherever his owner's vision take him. He's a mysterious dog with strange motives.

Old Longfellow lives as a fisherman up in Maine. Nothing particularly changes with him, he's still got the same closed off personality that he'd always had. His wife got sick and died and few years back, but his daughter went and became and engineer in a similar area to DiMA. Longfellow thinks DiMA's a kook but his daughter thinks he's a scientific masterpiece and will often ask him questions about his creation or how his mind was built.

Gage grew up around gang violence and quickly learned to steal, lie, and hurt to get the things he wanted. He never really lived in a stable home and mostly just squatted or camped wherever he could. Despite living in poverty, whenever he and his friends managed to scrap together enough money together, they'd hitch a ride to Nuka World and spend the day there. He grew to have a soft spot for the amusement park as he got older, and took up a maintenance job for them (they don't do background checks.. or any skill checks for that matter, but Gage is a quick learner.)

MAJOR FACTIONS + SYNTHS

The synths operate in society along with the other robots of the fallout universe. But, unlike the Protectrons, they can actually hold conversations. Because of that, they normally take on your regular lower-class to lower-middle-class jobs. They don't tend to be rich at all in their lifetimes due to the stigma around treating them exactly like humans. A lot of those opportunities have been stripped away from them for those exact reason. Some of them still manage to find ways around it, but it's a lot harder than how it'd be if they were a regular human. For instance, synths can't start businesses on their own. Many argue that it's because they're just not meant to do anything on their own and that they were created to help humans, but no one can give an argument on how them doing their own thing would harm them either.

The Railroad is the main group that's actively against the stereotypes and discrimination faced by the synths. Although, they've received a lot of backlash for naming themselves after a former anti-slavery group (many don't think it's fair to compare 1800s racism to whether or not bots can work higher-paying jobs), they've still become a huge relief to many synths who are desperate to be treated the same as any other person would.

The Institute is just a college in the modern age. Despite them receiving some backlash from the public about whether or not the practice of creating human-like bots, arguing that it's too 'Frankenstein-like', the students and professors still continue to build and work to make more and more realistic, artificial creatures and beings. Mr. House helps to fund their research as he finds it useful and because he also went their for school.

The Minutemen don't exist. There's no need when you have the police force, the fire department, and properly operating Protectrons active in the community. Most of hose who were a part of this faction have taken up community-centered jobs like farming or social work.

The Brotherhood of Steel continue to exist as the US Military. They're more focused on defending the country than they are preserving technology and the only places you’ll see one is in military bases or along the coast.

MINOR FACTIONS

The Atom Cats (along with Sturges) are a group of young adults who work at the local Harley Davidson. Tuesdays and Thursdays they host poetry night and generally just open the place up as a garage for anyone interested in mechanics or just hanging out with a bunch of strangers.

Raiders and Gunners are just the Bloods and Crips of the modern world. They stick with their own groups and despise anyone from the opposite side of the tracks. Shoot outs and common between them and it's best to not be associated at all if you can help it.

The Children of Atom are a strange and niche group of zealots that migrated from somewhere in Virginia to spread their gospel. No one’s sure who they are or what they want, but they’re attracted to the pollution cities bring and generally advocate for the betterment of the earth.

Ever since DiMA's arrival, Acadia's national park has turned into a debate ground for different thoughts and philosophies. People from all over the world come to visit to talk and discover other points of views. There's even a Atomite Pastor that frequents the area and promotes the newly found religion with those who are willing to listen. A strange place for stranger people.

[luck-and-larceny]

FFXIV Write: Tempest

You're as charming as ever,” he says to me with a smile on his lips and malice in his eyes. With Marrant every compliment is actually criticism.

“That's true,” I reply and beam a giant grin at him that I hope is so brilliantly charming it fucking blinds him. “Which is why you went out of your way to contact me. You've missed this,” I motion back and forth to the “this” between us; it's nothing but animosity.

We stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime, neither of us blinking. I just come around to the idea that this interaction is intensely stupid when he sighs (and, notably, blinks first).

“Look, Lika, I need your help,” he finally says.

“Oh, is that all?” I ask cheerfully, “Great! No.”

Ah, that felt good! I just sat down at this bar and now I'm getting back up again. I love a good exercise.

I'm out the door in a heartbeat, but he's right behind me. He grabs my arm to keep me from disappearing into the night. I slap his face for having the audacity. The sound echoes through the empty alleyway we now stand in. Wow. Great acoustics in this spot!

A storm crosses his face, darkening every feature and tensing his jaw. I love storms. I especially love them on his face because it means I've pissed him off. If we fight here, anybody in proximity– tourists wandering the city at night,  patrons in the bar, the asshole wine vendor parked right outside the bar selling overpriced bottles to the already drunk patrons exiting said bar– will need to run for cover. 

It's been so long since I've seen that expression on his face that I almost welcome it. Let's have it out here. Let him tell me how I ruined his life all those years ago. Let me tell him he hasn't seen anything yet.

But the storm passes almost as soon as it arrives. I'm surprised. And mildly disappointed. I pretend I'm neither and return to the earlier game of staring bitchily at him and not blinking. It's still stupid. Oh, well.

“I need you to rob a rival of mine,” he finally says after a breath to gather his senses again.

Here's another thing about Marrant: He always hated when I stole things… except  for when I'd steal them for him. Seems nothing has really changed.

“Fascinating,” I reply. “Tell me more. Who is this rival?”

Relief softens his features. “His name is Audr Shade. His home is in Lavender Beds.”

“Audr Shade?” I repeat thoughtfully.

“That's right.”

Great!” I chirp. “I'll just go off and let him know you wanted to hire someone to rob him. Maybe he'll give me something nice for being an upright citizen! But even if he doesn't it'll still be worth it because I did something good and moral.”

He used to say shit about how I wasted all my talent doing pointless, petty tomfoolery instead of something ambitious, moral, and good. I hate the me that dated this blowhard. I also hate the me that remembers anything he said to me during that time.

He smiles at my response. His inner monologue is probably something like: “She used to pretend what I said didn't bother her. When she responds by repeating my words back at me I see that it did. I smile because in that moment I know I've won.”

Forget all the mes that I hate. I hate this asshole most of all.

“Fuck you, Marrant.”

“Mature as ever, Lika. Listen, I know you despise me. And you know the feeling is mutual. So consider for just a moment that if I've come to you that, sure, yes, I'm desperate. But there might also be something you can get out of it that is even better than my desperation.”

Obviously I want to say there's nothing better than his desperation but that lends itself far too easily to a sex joke. And there's really nothing that would repulse me more than associating sex with this guy ever again.

Better, I think, to say, “I don't care. This is boring.  I'm going home now.”

He looks annoyed before replying, “But you do care about something and I have information about it. I will give you that information if you first rob Audr Shade and then rob me immediately after.”

Then rob him immediately aft– what the hell? No. Don't fall for this, Malika. You don't care. 

“I don't care.  Good luck with the self-sabotage or whatever the fuck, you absolute fungus.”

“The Tempest Tapestry,” he says quickly. “I know where it can be found.”

I'm speechless. It's not because I'm impressed by what he's said; it's because I'm pissed. If I open my mouth to say anything at all it will open so wide that I will swallow him whole. I look like a 5’4” miqo’te standing in a dingy alleyway, but I’m actually a swirling vortex of rage. How dare he try this on me? How dare he even say those words?

He takes my silence as a good sign because he's an idiot. “It wasn't easy,” he says with a self-satisfied preen and smile.

“It's impossible,” I correct him as levelly as I can, “Because it isn't real. I already looked into it. You didn't find shit because there isn't shit to find, Marrant.”

There’s a legend that there is a book so old that only luck and spite keeps it held together. I admire that. The cover is said to be sewn together by thousands of threads, all a different color. That book is said to hold the answers of how to find the first item ever spun in the Spinner’s loom: The Tempest Tapestry. The book is named the same. I’d told Marrant years ago that finding and stealing that would be the ultimate job. I'd stop stealing after that.

I didn't mean it, of course. That's stupid. Might as well tell me to stop breathing. But if the book existed– which, again, it doesn't because I've fucking looked– I'd still want it.

“There's no such book,” I say, my voice low, hot and full of barbed wire. I'm saying this to myself more than to him. I can't get obsessed looking for this again. I can't. It almost destroyed me the first time.

“I'm not talking about the book,” he counters. “I mean the actual tapestry, Lika. I can tell you where it is.” No, he can't. That's stupid and offensive.

But I'm in trouble. I could and should say no this. Whoever has told him they know where this tapestry is is lying because there isn't one. It isn't real. It's a story.

But someone believes they have something they are pretending is the Tempest Tapestry. That's 1) blasphemy, I suppose and 2) fucking intriguing. Of course I want to see what someone thinks they could pretend is a legendary artifact.

And even when it's nothing but trash I'm going to want to steal it. Stories are more important than truth. People tend to believe in stories more than they believe the truth, too. Stories have power.

I'm so dizzy with wanting to do this, I think I might throw up.

This is a trap. It's so obvious. I go to steal from this Audr Shade guy and then from Marrant as he's requested and there are guards waiting at his place to apprehend me– that's GOT to be his plan. That has to be why he wants me to rob him.  There's no tapesty. He is making it up. Say no to this, Malika. Walk away. Walk away. Walk away.

“Fine. Tell me more.”

I'm so fucked.

[homemade-clones]

1, 5, 28, 30, and 31 from the wholesome ask game for cake and charm (beloveds)

I hope you're having a lovely day so far, don't forget to drink! :)

Thank you for the reminder, will drink water asap!

1) What is their go-to comfort food?

CHARM While he’s a good cook who loves to experiment, when it comes to comfort, nothing soothes him better than a plate of mac and cheese (with all the extra cheese). And because he believes comfort shared is comfort doubled, he’ll often make enough for the loved ones around him (or keep it warm, if they’re coming home later). CAKE With this man's sweet tooth, it could be expected that a comfort food would be something sweet, but surprisingly, it is not! When the need for comfort converge with hunger, Cake turns to potatoes of the mashed with extra butter variety.

5) What is the song you most associate to them?

CHARM “Indestructible” by Nik Ammar. Mainly because it was the song playing on the Week’s Infinite Loop when I finally sat down to ‘outline’ him. And I kind of associate the cadence of Nik's voice in the song with how Charm himself speaks (he speaks faster than the song tho): voice quiet but not weak, soothing but with an underlying energy, you know? CAKE “Black Sun” by Irma. Cake was ‘born’ out of this song. His inhibitor chip malfunctioned and started to degrade early on. The lyrics are like his slow realization of what is going on, where it is all leading for the clones. The inner battle of creeping fear of being discovered, fighting the need to rebel and free his brothers.

28) What would they do if their favourite pet suddenly fell asleep on their lap?

CHARM And suddenly, it’s nap time for him, too. It’s not like he can move Dinui if his massiff doesn’t want to (damn spoiled pets *half-heartedly shakes fist at the sky*), or has the heart to fight the puppy eyes sent his way if he tried to. CAKE Out of the squad, Cake may be the only one that will (with a most heavy heart, mind you) move Sugar out of his lap. He gets cold very easily, and massiffs have a way of leeching out most of your body heat, fast. But- Sometimes, he’s just too tired to move his stubborn girl, or the current planet is hot enough that any cooling he gets is a blessing, the Cake finally lets her have some lap time.

30) What is their love language?

CHARM Giving: Quality time (he's always looking forward to the next date and outing, and treasures every moment spent together); acts of service (in the form of cooking for his loved ones, and patiently caring for them when they are sick). Receiving: Physical touch (do cling and dote on him, please) and gifting (will keep every single pebble and feather, and trinket given to him). CAKE Giving: Words of affirmation (you can call him your personal hype man!), gift giving (not as often as he would like because he's fcking broke, but spoils his loved ones the best he can!!) Receiving: Words of affirmation (ties heavily into his core conflict. Please assure him. Let him know he is not just another faceless number in this war), physical touch (not as clingy as some of his brothers, but won't ever decline invitations for hand holding and cuddling).

31) What would make them blush?

CHARM He’s not one easy to fluster, but he can get bashful when someone he cares about compliments him (on something other than his looks, this one he appreciates but doesn’t really affect him otherwise). Being openly romanced by his s/o (loving notes, wine and dine, flirty banter, you name it) often turns him into a love puddle, though. CAKE Another who’s normally hard to fluster. Probably the one way (other than embarrassing him in public. Please don’t.) to easily get him hot in the face is being as forward as him when it comes to flirting and PDA. He can dish a lot, but taking? Haha yeah, he is not used to being met with anything other than flustered partners, and can hardly weather the treatment he gives.

[headspaceinanutshell]

Wholesome but holey

Since my last post, there has been a few significant changes in my life. My new relationship is still going well, we've even hit 6 months which I never believed would be possible after so much heartbreak in previous relationships.

Since me and my partner have been together, we have been on a holiday abroad, met each others families and even made the decision to move in together. I think the world of him and love him dearly. These are big leaps of faith for us both but so far it's working. Don't get me wrong, its not all been plain sailing. Whilst getting to know each other better, we've had a few and quite firey arguments. One of which resulted in me walking back to my parent’s house in tears. We both said things we didn't mean but it still hurt. To this day, I often replay what he said to me in my head. We both apologised and moved on from it knowing how much was on the line after how far we both have come. I hate the thought of us loosing each other over something so stupid.

The arguments do seem to be alcohol fuelled but I suppose, speaking for myself, that's when my guard comes down and my feelings come out. In most instances where something is said or I'm overthinking a situation, I won't speak up to save the drama. So, when I drink, I open up my heart and the tears start falling.

When something is bothering me, I've been encouraged to talk about it by my therapist, so I have been trying to work on it for some time now. I am not one to sit on an argument and fall asleep. I always want it to be resolved before we wake up the next day and the only way to do that is to talk it out. My boyfriend, however, is a closed book. With any conflict between us, he shuts down. Closes me out and will easily fall asleep and request to forget it all the next day.

Whilst forgetting it is good and a sign of moving on from it to me I feel that we are not moving past it. Those issues will resurface and relive again and again.

I have been asked to move into his flat with him at the end of January. I'm excited knowing that we can build our own space together and for my doggy to join me. My only worry is that it's such a small apartment that if an argument does arise, there is no other rooms to retreat to if we need space. And for him, I know this is what he wants when he's overwhelmed.

I'm sure it will all work out. I need to tame my over-active mind which is much easier typed than done.

On the plus side, 2 days ago, I had the news of which I've been waiting for since what feels like forever! I am now officially and legally divorced. When that email came through and I took it in. I immediately felt like a huge, heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Even though, I have no contact with my NOW ex-husband, I always felt like he still had control of me somehow just by that stupid piece of paper. Just another manipulation technique added to the huge list. Honestly, it feels like such a relief knowing that part of my life is NEARLY closed.

I say nearly because until my surname has been changed by Deed poll back to my maiden name, it will be a constant reminder of him. Now I'm back on social media, I ensured that my maiden name was public because I just don't want to be associated with that part of my life anymore.

So, hears to the future. We are nearly at the end of another whirlwind year. Let’s hope that 2024 brings me new challenges (Good ones) and lots of happiness. I just want to make as many memories as I can before my time runs out.

[lightcreators]

@mvndrvke continue from here (no access to Legacy Editor)

“I have,” Ahsoka says, gaze sad. “I did.” Before it had all been torn to pieces. Her head tilts at Luke’s description of Padme. It’s an accurate one, which she can’t deny is also heartbreaking. “She was reckless too,” she muses softly. “And impulsive. Far more than people gave her credit for. She was the best of the Senate. The galaxy has yet to see her equal.” She looks at him questioningly then. “I can’t imagine it would be easy. Holding so much but only in glimpses.”

Consciousness concerning delicacy of their current conversation had been taken in consideration since the beginning. How weight of remembrances would hit her, inside countless what ifs, inside all unsaid regrets should probably holding towards circumstances evolution, about how Anakin ended up inside that brutal path, or even how he came inside an victim of associated circumstances … weren’t something, emotionally, mentally, that could be awakening heartlessly. On his side, there was an protective desire to protecting both memories of his parents, preserving an far away past long before tragedy came around --- Hence, there was an absence of exposed surprise concerning about how, indeed, Anakin’s Padawan and his mother did met inside circumstances before. There was a curious gaze, even if gentleness expression exposed how there was all necessary time for confessions. It won’t change how every remnant of an distant present would be keep safe of someone else hands --- somewhere where ruins of the past could remained as history mark, as remembrances not to forget for offer an better future … towards such topic, he always had fragmented perspective of people who had been close to them --- considering Ben never mentioned his mother an single time, and have an altered view considering the loss and the guilt towards his Padawan, where some of truths had been distorted in the process. ❝ I wonder how chaotic must have been meetings between the Jedi Order and the Senate … ❞ He mused gently, as he assumed inside that sentence he expected some tensions. Master Yoda never mentioned it after all. He had been understanding the whole former Republic had been imperfect, where he needed to catch up presented flaws for creating an newest Republic avoiding collapsing risks --- in same manner the Jedi Order must avoid restricted rules that could create further Sith in consequences, as an repercussion of disequilibrium … not easier task nevertheless only manner to create an peaceful world.  

Silent understanding on touching right was flattered with a pleasant smile. Where more fragments of information generated a half-surprise. Anakin Skywalker had been by definition the representation of that reckless and impulsive term, where his sister giving him all honour regardless how she rightfully didn’t wanted be reminder of him!  ❝ I thought it was Anakin specialist on that reckless domain. Quite something Obi-Wan still remember decades after. ❞ Use of former name Ben used for … most likely escaped his lips. There was an attached compassionate comprehension towards exposed choice. There had been an attached understanding about how emotionally difficult circumstances had been. Nevertheless, in middle of a past talking, over a spirited presence who had remained at his side long enough for support him, it seemed more accurate to use his real name --- tone Anakin knew. In front of her words, his curiosity increased, showing it only within his expression. ❝ I didn’t know my mother had that side on her personality. ❞ He was happy to knowing her be good concerning the Senate. Leia, with her upbringing and education, followed easily her lead. Regardless how competent he might be, if he was interested, on ruling, he preferred staying that obscure leader in middle in the shadows, taking care of everyone and everything doing fine inside best of his abilities without be acknowledged as an strange king… ❝ I hope Leia will honour her memory, the galaxy is pretty sure to be protected with her around, don’t you think ? I will just be tiny help in the shadows, offering her tiny support for exploring all her abilities to doing well to the galaxy. ❞ He mused amusingly. ❝ I would love to find remnants of history concerning Padme during her time at the Senate, though, data must have been cleaned since a long time… Did you assisted to her occupations on the Senate? ❞ Her compassionate gesture concerning his sensations generated a smile who didn’t mind. ❝ I can catch up remnants time to time … however these sensations had to be decrypted and understood correctly … memories lost across space … but only get smaller glimpses of an puzzle to be assembled … ❞

[sillyrabbit81]

The Instructor - Part 5

Summary: Augusts confronts your betrayal.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: Dark, violence, abuse, choking, hitting, punching, orgasm denial, orgasm control, sex (p in v), mdom/fsub, switch, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, dubious consent. I tried to mention everything if I missed something I sincerely apologise.

Authors Note: FINAL PART. There are probably going to be massive plot holes, sorry about that, this was never meant to be a series, so I didn’t do anywhere near the set up needed. However, I’m glad I did do a series because I enjoyed playing around with some of the darker aspects of the story. If it sucks, I'm sorry, I just went for it and this is what came out! It probably also isn't strictly cannon, but I made use of some aspects of the MI cannon.

Unbeta'd and unedited, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Part 4

The Instructor Part 5

You thought you had felt true fear before this moment, but you were wrong. Confronted with the unyielding stare of August, your stomach twists and your mouth goes dry. You’re completely and utterly fucked.

You try to answer August, make up a believable lie, beg forgiveness, say anything. But you can’t, it’s like he can see into your soul and you know that any lie you tell him will only make him angrier.

Quicker than lightning, August’s hands grip your throat. He pushes you to the wall, uncaring as your head hits it so hard your vision swims. Both his hands push into your neck, compressing your arteries and you feel the blood pooling, building pressure behind your eyes. This wasn’t the subtle choking he engaged in when you played. No, this was Special Agent August Walker trying to kill you.

You are stretched against the wall, your toes barely touch the ground. You are a trained soldier, but August is a trained assassin, you know you won’t last long in a situation like this, you will pass out in less than a minute. Then all August had to do was keep squeezing and you would be dust.

“Why, pet?” August asks through clenched teeth.

You can’t speak, you have no air. You plead to August with your eyes, silently begging him to stop. His hands press harder and you feel him crushing your trachea with his leathal hands. You scratch at his hands, his face, his eyes. You kick with your feet, frantic, feeling yourself get weaker by the second. You get one lucky shot in and for a moment August’s grip falters as he doubles over retching in pain.

You slam the palm of your hand into his forearms and he lets you go. You run for the door, your nudity the last of your concerns. Your throat hurts as you run, bruised and raw, you gulp breath in, coughing you try and fill your lungs again. You reach the door, pull the handle. It stops, not making a full rotation.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration. You turn the lock and try to open in again. It does and for a brief moment you taste freedom.

A foot kicks the door closed and August is in front of you. You back away from him as he locks it again. In the unlikely event you live through this night, you will never forget the snarl on his face. You look into his eyes, expecting to see the eyes of a killer and August doesn’t disappoint. His azure eyes burn with such murderous intent, for a moment you think you are going to lose control of your bladder.

But there is something else there, something he tries to hide behind his fury. You search his face, trying to see past the mask and find what he is concealing. You wince when you see it. August was hurt. Your betrayal had hurt him.

“This is even more fun than the first time we fucked, Pet,” he says, mockingly. August advances on you with a bullish intent. He is magnificent as he stalks you, his loose pyjama pants hang low on his hips, his chest is taut and his thick ropey arms flex as he readies them for a fight.

You try and think clearly, maybe you should confess everything. He’s going to kill you if you don’t. If only you had long enough to check his records, but you couldn’t put your associates at risk if you weren’t sure.

Lifting your chin, you accept your fate. You ready a fighting stance, and August does too. You understand you can’t beat him, but you won’t die without a fight.

You dodge his first attack, and you’re not surprised that he led with his fists. He only needs one to land and he would break your bones. You retreat to the kitchen, praying its laid out the same as yours. Opening the draw with the knives, you pull one out. It’s not ideal, its weight wasn’t distributed well for fighting, but it was better than nothing. Your gun is in your room and you have no idea where August keeps his.

Turning the tables and going on the offensive, you make August back up and you move to the door. You hold the knife expertly, and as long as you keep August from getting his own weapon, the fight might be a fair one. You have so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you start to shake. The blade accentuates the tremors and August see’s, of course he would find your weakness.

“Put the knife down, Pet,” August orders, his voice was smooth, calm and commanding. You nearly stumble, his words sent shivers down your spine. How can he still have an effect on you? “You know I can’t let you out of here.”

You gage the distance to the door, it was still so far away. Your fear made you want to run to it again, but you knew it would be a mistake. Better to keep advancing slowly, forcing August back.

But August stops retreating and plants himself in front of the door. He stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders, his naked torso hides nothing and you see his muscles ripple under his skin. Your body and mind are in conflict, confused by the stimulus. You’re terrified of August, but fear of him and what he is capable of was part of his appeal, part of his savage, dominant sexuality. Your body can’t tell the difference and you feel it responding, your centre grows warm, throbbing and your arousal moistens the apex of your thighs.

“Please,” you murmur. Confronted with August’s obstruction and his dismissiveness of your threat, you lose hope. You feel weak and exhausted. Again, you contemplate confessing everything, but you aren’t a coward, you were realistic.

The cruel snarl on August’s face becomes a smirk as you plead. “I love hearing you beg, Pet,” he taunts.

He attacks again, this time grabbing a chair from the dining table. You try and duck but he is too fast for you and the solid wood chair cracks you over your head and shoulders. You stumble to the ground; your vision wavers and you nearly pass out. You try and get to your knees, but your arms won’t cooperate and you fall to the floor, no doubt you have a concussion. You look for the knife, see it about a metre away. With your head thumping and your heart racing, you scramble for it, but August reaches you first.

Gripping both your ankles, August uses your legs and body weight against you, flipping you onto your back. He pulls you to him, your skin rubs against the carpet and you howl with pain as you feel the fibres burn your ass and back. August climbs on top of you, his hands are at your throat again, squeezing the life from you.

“You’re killing me, August,” you try and say, but all you hear is your pathetic whimpers. You feebly punch and slap at August, but you are spent. You give up, you tried. You get angry at yourself for even thinking of giving up, but you didn’t know what else to do. You can’t win. Tears well in your eyes and start to roll down your cheeks. You squeeze them shut, ashamed that you cried in your last moments, that you gave up, that you didn’t fight.

The pressure on your throat relaxes, and you gulp in air, coughing and retching as your inflamed throat protests. You try to roll to your side to breath easier, but August doesn’t allow it, his body still traps yours and one hand still grips your throat. You feel his whiskered lips on your cheeks, kissing away your tears. You open your eyes and are consumed by his and the fire that burns within them. You wonder what your eyes are saying to his.

August shifts his hips and you feel him, hard under his thin pants. Your eyes widen, he really had been enjoying the fight. It scares you, feeling how hard and fully erect he his, aroused by trying to kill you. But you knew how hypocritical that was, because even now, terrified, a moment from death, you ache for him.

You roll your hips, sliding your bare, slick slit against August, the fabric of his pants harsh against your clit, but you feel him beneath it, and you can’t stop. You don’t want to but your craving for him was too strong.

If you didn’t know August as well as you did, you may have missed the surprise in his eyes. It came and went so quickly. His lip curled, triumphant, he had you where he wanted you, desperate, without fight left and completely his.

August’s arrogant look, his smug sneer, his complete domination of you made you lose the last shred of dignity you had and you beg for him.

“Please, please,” you whimper.

“You’re such a little whore,” August scolds you. “Do you think you can fuck your way out of this?”

You shake your head, “No.” You cry again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks in a constant stream, but you don’t stop your wanton grinding. You need to feel him inside you.

“Why are you so fucking wet, Pet?” August asks, his jeering tone warmed your face with shame.

“I don’t know!” you cry.

“Yes, you do, Pet.”

You try to turn away and hide from his knowing eyes. August won’t let you, griping your cheeks with his fingers, digging deep, the soft flesh pressing painfully against your teeth. Through your sobs you say, “Because I want you.”

“Beg me,” August’s voice changed, becoming low and hoarse. He starts to move with you, teasing you. “Beg for my cock.”

You don’t try to hold back, the words fall freely, “Please August, please.”

August tuts, “You can do better than that, Pet. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, August,” you sob. You’re ashamed of yourself, of how wet you are, how badly you want him, how easily you submit. But it feels too good, playing on the edge as you were, where fear and arousal become interchangeable, you had never felt such bliss.

Taking his pants off, August fists his cock as he takes you in, his gaze rakes over you, lingering on your desperate cunt. Lining himself up, he teases your entrance. When he slides himself over you, he groans as his eyes close and he throws his head back. You realise, you’re not as powerless as you thought, he wants you too and just as badly.

Bringing his head down next to yours, he growls in your ear, “Keep going, Pet. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck your hot little cunt.”

You start mumbling, “Please August, please. I need you.” You throw your arms around him, grip his ass and pull him closer. Your nails dig into his skin as you urge him into you.

With a violent thrust, August enters you. Both of you cry out, your twin shouts echo in each other’s ears. “You feel so good, pet. So wet and so fucking tight.” You mewl under him. He is stretching you, painfully. He offered your core no preparation and it protested his invasion, clamping down hard. August wasn’t fucking around, if he had taken any pity on you in the past, he wasn’t this time. He pumps into you, his pelvis making long driving strokes, your walls straining against the force of his cock, unready for his intrusion.

August hooks your knees over his arms and forcing your legs wider, he is finally sheathed. Increasing his pace, he uses you, furious, punishing and without pity. He offers you no pleasure, he takes what he wants. His face above you is twisted, angry, and hateful. This is payback, revenge, hurt me and I’ll destroy you. But despite that, or maybe because you feel you deserve it, a familiar pressure starts to build between your legs.

“August,” you beg. “I need to cum, please.”

Leaning down, pushing his weight onto your already strained legs, he brings his face to yours. His eyes are dark and sadistic as he says vindictively, “No.”

You groan. You were so close, you don’t know if you can stop it. “Please!” you howl. Fresh tears fill your eyes and you implore him.

“No.” August says, his voice cruel and merciless. “You cum and I’ll fuck your ass raw.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You try and think of all the parts of your body that hurt. Your head, shoulders, legs, the skin on your back rubbing against the carpet. But it doesn’t work. Your body is so warm, tingling, your skin feels alive and the pain is dull compared to the rapture you feel.

Your body is suddenly wrest from the floor. August withdraws from you and flips you onto your knees and violates you again. You feel August’s hand in your hair and he forces your face into the floor. You heard a thud next to your head, his foot is there, and he continues his assault, kneeling on one leg anchoring himself with the other.

You bite your hand to muffle your shouts, you don’t want to give August the satisfaction of hearing your pain or pleasure. You thought he was deep before, but now you feel every impact in your gut, your core uncomfortably full from his brutal jabs. You can’t stay on your knees, your legs too weak to withstand his punitive thrusts. August doesn’t care. He digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place as he continues his ruthless assault.

Unable to stop it, you feel your release approach again. You try to deny it, but the savagery of August is too much. The feel of your bodies slaming together, the slapping of his balls against your clit, the sound of his grunts of exertion overwhelm you and you can’t stop yourself from whining, “Please, August. Please. I’m fucking begging you.”

You hear August’s malicious chuckle. “No, Pet.”

August seizes you by the nape, pulling you up to your knees and your back presses against his chest. Wrapping his hand around your neck, he holds you against his shoulder. His other hand moves over your breasts, kneading into them, squeezing them. His face is close to yours, you feel his ragged breath tickle your cheeks.

He starts whispering in your ear and he presses his rough hairy lip into you. “You fucking little bitch,” his voice was low, harsh and dripping with venom, but August can’t stop his desire from seeping through. “Who sent you to me? Who told you to whore yourself for me?” He pinches at your nipples, and you shudder against him writhing. His insults pushing you towards your climax as much as his touch.

“Was it the CIA?” he asks, sliding his hand down your belly to between your legs. Fear makes your heart skip, if he touched you there you would not be able to stop your orgasm. You try and pull away, but he is too strong.

“Did those useless government hacks, turn you into a fucking whore, or did you volunteer, Pet?” He slid his fingers over your slit, and one grazed your clit sending your core pulsing around his cock. You want to tell him he has it all wrong, backwards. He thinks he’s been caught, he doesn’t know he’s being recruited.

He slaps your clit with his palm, a quick flick of his wrists that shocks you and if August wasn’t holding you up, you would have doubled over in pain and ecstasy.

“Don’t fucking cum.” August orders, rubbing a calloused finger over your oversensitive clit. Then, he says, sadly and with regret, “You could have come to me, Pet. Told me. I would have protected you. I could have gotten you out.” His voice almost cracks as he adds, “We could have gotten out together. BE together.”

You want to tell him, you want that too. You didn’t mean to fall for him either, none of this was planned. His fingers dance over your hard nub, coaxing from you the orgasm he forbids. Frustration suddenly pours out of you. You fight him again, punching the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and between your legs.

“Why do you fight so hard, Pet?” he asks. Those simple words he said to you all those months ago rock you. It was his invitation to submit willingly rather than be pulled under by the force of his will. But it was different this time, it wasn’t just you at stake.

You beg again, “August…” It’s all you can say through your short gasping cries. You break out in sweat, the need in you was so strong it took everything you had to fight it.

“Answer my question and you can cum,” He says. You nod, vigorously, you don’t even feel shame at giving in so easily, you’re too far gone. He brings his face in front of yours. Your whole body is shaking under his touch as he draws your orgasm and confession out of you.

“Were you sent by the CIA?”

You shake your head, and whimper, “No.”

August looks into your eyes for a hint of a lie. When he can’t find one, he coos, “Good girl,” and you wriggle at his praise. He kisses you roughly, lips hard against yours. “You can cum now, Pet.”

With unrestrained cries, you finally allow the pressure in your core to grow. You feel your release roll over your contorting body. Your guttural shout signals you’re the arrival of your long denied ecstasy and tears streamed from your eyes as you succumb with immense relief.

August watched every second of your orgasm, his face studying yours as if to memorise every expression, until you were done and can’t hold yourself up anymore. He removes himself with a gentleness that was unexpected and he tenderly carries you to his room. Cradling your head against his chest, he kisses your forehead, muttering something you can’t catch and were too far gone to ask.

He lays you on your side, and you are so malleable and weak, you let him curl you into a ball before he leans over you. He lifts your chin and turns your head so you are looking at him. You give him a half smile, which he returns with a soft hum. His eyes go to your collar and a look of sadness crosses his face, a grief so intense you feel it too.

You don’t know what to say and neither does August. He does the only thing he knows how to do when he feels what some people call love. He fucks.

When August enters you this time it’s different. Although his thrusts are brutal and powerful, it’s not punishment. He is trying to make a connection, to see if there is something salvageable between you. He needs to know if he means anything to you. He drops his forehead onto yours, resting there while his eyes met yours. He holds your throat and his thumb plays with your thin golden collar.

“You’re still mine, Pet,” August says, firmly.

“Always yours,” you reply with certainty. And you were. But by the end of this night he would know he was yours too.

As if to seal the promise you made, August kisses you. His lips pry yours open and his gentle explorative tongue massages yours. When you kiss him back, you are surprised by the growl he makes in his throat. Feeling bold, you place a hand on his cheek as you kiss. He doesn’t pull away so you slide your other hand into his hair and you expect him to shake you off, like he did before. He allows it, and he slides his free arm around you, pulling your bodies together. The rhythm you find together is nothing like the primal fucking you two are used to. It seemed as though he was making love to you, as much as someone like August could.

You feel the warmth grow again and radiate from your core. August instinctively knows your close again and stops your kisses watch you again. “Come for me, my sweet girl,” he utters.

You fall apart. Your fist tightens in his hair, you tremble beneath him, while you call his name.

“Fuck,” he grunts while you fall over the edges, and he forces himself deep within you, splitting you, owning you as you feel him thicken and pulse, releasing his seed into your milking core. Then he breaks you by growling your name as he makes his final throes.

You’re both slick with sweat, but August doesn’t care and he brushes your face with kisses. He looks like he wants to say something, opening his mouth and closing it again without saying a word. He helps you get up and he walks you to his bathroom.

August runs you a bath, and he sits on the edge for a while, watches you while you bathe. He showers quickly before returning to his spot.

Finally, he speaks, but he looks away as he says it, and for the first time you see August doubt himself, “If not the Agency, then who?” He asks.

“We have no government affiliation,” you say.

He nods, “Why did they send you, was the plan always to use sex?”

“No, August,” you say honestly. “This was not part of the plan. I was only supposed to be assigned to you while I did my training. This assignment was last minute, I don’t even know how it happened.”

He turns his attention back to you and looks for the lie he believes he will find. When he doesn’t find it he asks, “Your aunt, was that a lie?”

“She’s officially missing,” you say. “Unofficially, she brought me into group.”

“Something doesn’t add up, Pet,” August says. “I’m don’t know anything that a hundred other agents don’t also know. What did they send you to find out?”

“You don’t get it. We don’t want to bring you down, we want to recruit you. I had to make sure you are who we think you are.”

You see a glimpse of understanding in August’s eyes. “Go on,” he prompts.

You watch him carefully as you explain, “My assignment was to find out if you were the one who wrote a certain manifesto making the rounds in certain circles.” He doesn’t blink. You smirk, realising he’s trying too hard to keep his face smooth. He is the one.

“And, am I?” he asks.

“You are,” you say moving down the bath. Unbelievably, knowing he wrote that poetic and chaotic brilliance made you hot again. “This operation is all wrong, too big for simple arms traders. You’re using the CIA to get the connections and resources you need.” You run your finger down August’s bare arm, tracing the ridges of his muscles and the slight protruding veins on his forearms. August watches you intently, trying to appear cold, but you see his breaths grow shallow and his jaw clench. “We have the resources to help a man like you,” You reach his hand, turn it palm up, and lay a kiss into it before holding it to your cheek. “’A man with vision’ Lane calls you.”

“Lane?” August says, he seems confused, and he should be.

“Yes, meet with Solomon Lane and you will get your new world August.” You take his hand off your cheek and fold down his fingers except for the middle one. You take him in your mouth curling your tongue around him, and sucking.

August can’t look away. Already thrown by being discovered, he is completely transfixed by your sudden seduction.

“How?” he breathes.

You open your mouth and show August his finger sliding down your tongue. You get out of the bath and stand in front of August. You move his finger down your body, between your breasts, over your belly and between your thighs. You slide his finger between your warm folds and you hear August groan as you rest him against your entrance.

You ask him, “Have you, ever heard of the Syndicate, Pet?”

End

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Post-canon, Nie Huaisang drops the 'Headshaker' facade and his disciples stop pretending they think he's incompetent, and a bunch of Sect Leaders who are used to being able to step all over Qinghe Nie are suddenly faced with a cunning, brilliant leader who Takes Absolutely No Shit.

Associates - Part 1 - ao3

Untamed verse

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang said, so shocked that he didn’t even raise his fan in front of his face. “You want me to what now?”

“Help,” Lan Wangji said. He was seated across from Nie Huaisang, as stiff-backed and formal as if they were having a discussion conference banquet rather than a meal in Nie Huaisang’s private quarters in the Unclean Realm.

“Yes, I gathered as much,” Nie Huaisang said. “Two questions: Help with what? And – why me?”

Lan Wangji’s brow wrinkled minutely, which for the Lan sect suggested a state of extreme stress. “Brother has entered seclusion.”

“I know that,” Nie Huaisang said, firmly ignoring the niggling feeling of guilt. If Lan Xichen hadn’t wanted to be completely wrecked as collateral damage in Nie Huaisang’s revenge plan, he shouldn’t have tried to take Jin Guangyao’s side even after he knew what he’d done.

His da-ge deserved better than that. Especially from Lan Xichen.

“I have been appointed Chief Cultivator,” Lan Wangji said.

“I know that, too,” Nie Huaisang said. “I sent you a present in congratulations, didn’t I?”

Lan Wangji gave him a dead-eyed look, which meant he’d received it.

“I thought you and Wei Wuxian would enjoy it,” Nie Huaisang protested, hiding his twitching lips behind his fan. His favorite, as always – he might switch them out on a regular basis, but he always came back to this one, the one his brother had given him long, long ago. It served as a reminder that he should trust no one, which was a concept his stupid heart had a tendency to otherwise forget. “I understand that appropriate preparation is a very important part of the proceedings –”

The dead-eyed looked turned into a glare, and Nie Huaisang coughed into his hand and stopped talking about the jade phallus and jar of lubricant that he’d sent to the Cloud Recesses in a discreet package under the guise of a congratulations gift.

He really hoped he was lucky enough that Lan Wangji had opened it in front of other people, but sadly he suspected the other man knew him too well to do that.

“Speaking of which, have you married him yet?” he asked, ignoring his hurt at not having been informed. He hadn’t expected an invitation to the happy event itself, of course; Wei Wuxian had made very clear what he’d thought about what Nie Huaisang had done – don’t associate with evil. There was a reason that Nie Huaisang had carefully returned to referring to Wei Wuxian by name, rather than casually. But not even to receive a letter informing him of it having happened…?

“I have not,” Lan Wangji said. When Nie Huaisang goggled at him, disbelieving, he shifted minutely in his seat and said, “He wanted to travel. I – could not.”

“Well, of course you couldn’t,” Nie Huaisang said blankly. “You’re the Lan sect heir. If your brother goes into seclusion, then responsibility for managing your sect falls to you – and of course you were just named Chief Cultivator – wait, are you doing both jobs by yourself?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Nie Huaisang had a momentary feeling of sincere pity, and then the true horror sunk in.

“And you’re asking me to help you?!” he yowled. “Hanguang-jun! You can’t be serious! Don’t you know what everyone says about me? Me, the hapless ‘I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know’, the one they all call the Headshaker?”

“I know what they call you,” Lan Wangji said, stoic as ever. “I also know what they said about Wei Ying, and about Lianfeng-zun. There is not much gain in listening to what people say.”

“I don’t think those are comparable situations,” Nie Huaisang complained, but even he had to admit it was a bit of a weak response.

“No?” Lan Wangji said. “Then you are not the man who drove Lianfeng-zun into a corner with no route of escape?”

Well, when he put it that way.

“That doesn’t mean I know anything about running a sect,” Nie Huaisang pointed out. “Sure, I’ve managed, but I had –” Er-ge and san-ge do it. “- help.”

“They each had their own sects to run,” Lan Wangji pointed out in return. “You must have done much of it yourself.”

“But –”

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji said, and Nie Huaisang blinked. Lan Wangji hadn’t called him as informally as that in years, and certainly never since he became Sect Leader. “Please. As a favor to me.”

Nie Huaisang pursed his lips and looked down at his plate, reaching out and playing with his teacup.

It was a low blow, that.

Pity for Lan Wangji that low blows didn’t work on him anymore.

“We used to be friends, once,” Nie Huaisang said, not looking up. “A long time ago – do you remember? I was seven, you were eight, it was right after my father died. I slept in your room.”

He’d had screaming nightmares back then, and they were worse when he was alone. It hadn’t been just about his father, either, but his brother, the memory of fear in his eyes and bruises on his face, the desperate way he’d pleaded for Nie Huaisang to agree to go to Gusu just for a little while, the persistent worry about what was happening back home once he’d agreed, the haunting thoughts of losing him in the same way he’d lost his father…

Lan Wangji hadn’t been much of a talker back then, either, but he’d crawled into the cot they’d set up for Nie Huaisang in his room and had held his hand, right up until he’d passed out like clockwork at nine. His steady breathing had reminded Nie Huaisang of his brother, calming his nerves, and eventually he’d started confiding in him. Telling him all his fears – the secrets he’d guessed about the Nie family cultivation he only half-understood – the qi deviations –

“I remember,” Lan Wangji said.

“Later, when I came back to the Cloud Recesses to learn for the first time, I was so excited to see you again, and so disappointed to find out you were preparing to go into seclusion. When I snuck over to see you, you chased me away – and when you came out, you only spoke to me long enough to scold me about how I wasn’t obeying the rules properly. I thought you were embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Lan Wangji said nothing. He probably had been. With the benefit of hindsight and age, Nie Huaisang could even understand: adolescence was such a prickly age, and little things seemed so important.

“I was angry at you back then,” Nie Huaisang said. “Very angry – but all I did was start treating you coldly, calling you Lan-er-gongzi instead of Lan Zhan, waiting for you to remember that you liked me. And then the next year we had all those adventures together, you and me and Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, and of course we were close again during the war. You remember, I’m sure, how we used to stay together every time you came back to the Cloud Recesses or visited the Unclean Realm, how I couldn’t do anything for the war but worry, couldn’t do anything but keep you company, but you said it helped to lift your spirits before you headed out again. I even sent you letters after what happened with Wei-xiong– with Wei Wuxian. The siege of the Burial Mounds. I knew how close you were, and I wanted to comfort you if I could...but you never responded to any of them.”

He shook his head and rolled the teacup from one hand to another.

“And then you didn’t show up when my brother died. In seclusion again! For years and years! The honorable Hanguang-jun, always thinking about his cultivation; what a good seed you are, a pride and joy to your sect. Just like everyone always said.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Lan Wangji said. His voice was very quiet, a little hoarse. “I was not well.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “No one ever explained, either then or thereafter. And no one else ever guessed ‘busy mourning the death of the love of your life’ was the reason, either, so I don’t know why you would expect me to.”

“You never spoke to me again,” Lan Wangji said, his jaw and throat working. He’d tried, a few times, but Nie Huaisang had looked through him as if he wasn’t there, twittering like a foolish little bird with only the most formal of addresses on his lips. “Only in passing, when you came to visit my brother.”

“As I’m sure you’ve realized by now, I’m very good at holding a grudge,” Nie Huaisang said, and put his teacup down. He knew perfectly well that he was being unfair, that he was being cruel and selfish and completely disregarding the many ways he had undoubtedly been unfair to Lan Wangji in turn through lack of consideration or otherwise. But he was cruel and selfish, his mission this past decade and more evidence enough of that, and that old pain of abandonment had lingered far past the point of reason. Still lingered, if he was being honest. “I’m sorry that you’re struggling, and for my part in it, but you’re going to have to do better than please.”

Lan Wangji was quiet, bowing his head. After a time, he said, “I was in recovery during that period. I did not learn about what had happened to your brother until – until much later. It was kept from me so as not to disturb me as I was healing...I can show you the remaining marks, if you wish.”

“That’d be something,” Nie Huaisang said, because he was a petty person like that. Because that had hurt back then, thinking that Lan Wangji was ignoring him even at that most desperate moment, hurt more than anything.

Well. Not more than anything.

Not more than losing his brother. Than finding out the truth about Jin Guangyao.

Than realizing he was the only one who could right this wrong, and that he would have to do it alone.

“If things had been different,” Lan Wangji said, and he did not lift his head. “If things had gone – otherwise. Would you have trusted me?”

Now it was Nie Huaisang’s turn to bow his head. If he had had Lan Wangji, had trusted Lan Wangji…yes, things might have gone very differently.

For Lan Xichen, at least.

“Perhaps,” he said, unwilling to commit himself but knowing that his mere lack of response said everything. “But enough about the past. Far more importantly - what about the future?”

Lan Wangji blinked at him.

Nie Huaisang sighed. “You’re right. I did learn to run a sect, at least somewhat. I may not be very good at it, but I know all the things a sect leader ought to know – all the secrets, all the gossip, how to commit to nothing while making people think you’ve agreed, who should sit next to who and who shouldn’t, what’s a trap and what isn’t, all the things you’ve never needed to care about it. Your brother made sure I knew it all, and told me many stories about things he was doing to run your sect to use as examples. As you suspected, I can probably help you, even if only in figuring out how to appropriately delegate the work.”

“But?”

“I may not be a very good custodian of it, but my sect is the only thing I have left,” Nie Huaisang said. “And you may have once been my friend, Lan Zhan, but now you’re the Chief Cultivator. Do not associate with evil. Am I to expect a freeze in trade relations? A subtle ostracization of my disciples? Will I be invited to the discussion conferences, or will people turn their faces away from me?” He shrugged. “You don’t get to play hot and cold with me anymore. You want my help, you stand by my side. No more judgment.”

Lan Wangji was frowning. “As Chief Cultivator, I must be impartial.”

“Just like the last three were? Wen Ruohan, Jin Guangshan, Jin Guangyao…oh yes, impartiality is truly intrinsic to the position, with such grand examples in your predecessors,” Nie Huaisang said archly, and this time he did open his fan. Trust no one. “I’m not asking for favoritism. Equality with all the others, and your support if someone tries to criticize me or remove me, especially for anything to do with Jin Guangyao; that’ll be enough. Well?”

Lan Wangji considered it for a long time.

It wasn’t anything personal – Lan Wangji was a contemplative sort of person – so Nie Huaisang didn’t take offense, just waited, occasionally moving to eat a little of the food.

“Very well,” Lan Wangji finally said. “I agree.”  

Nie Huaisang was ready with his next question, and also a bite of some grilled vegetables, which he swallowed down before speaking. “And if Wei Wuxian doesn’t?”

Lan Wangji’s hands tightened around his knees. “I have said I will defend you. I have not named exceptions.”

“Just checking,” Nie Huaisang said, then smiled and put some of the vegetables into Lan Wangji’s bowl. “Eat up, Lan Zhan! We’re going to have our work cut out for us.”

Lan Wangji nodded. He seemed resigned.

“If you want, I’ll even deal with Jiang Cheng for you,” Nie Huaisang said. “But it’ll cost you.”

Lan Wangji tilted his head to the side, as if it could hide how much his eyes had brightened in anticipation of that particular burden being taken off his back.

“Remember when we were kids and I asked you to do my copying for me?”

A slow blink. “You want me to do paperwork?”

“I want you to do so much paperwork,” Nie Huaisang said emphatically. He even waved his hands around in emphasis, he meant it so strongly. “I’ll tell you what needs to be done and who needs to do it, I’ll show you how to keep the smaller sects in line and how to manage conferences, but if I never see another memorial in my life it will be too soon..!”

“I think,” Lan Wangji said dryly, “that we will be able to devise an equitable division of labor.”

“Old friend!” Nie Huaisang trilled happily, holding out his arms.

“Do not hug me.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t be like that –”

“Do not hug me.”

“Don’t be so cold! How are we going to get Wei Wuxian back by your side if we don’t put some effort into making him jealous?”

“…explain.”

“Well, the way I see it –”

[osakaso5]

IDOLiSH7 6th Anniversary Special Story: Full of Heart...

Chapter 4: Unreasonable Demands

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Tamaki Yotsuba: I'm glad you can get your photo now, So-chan. But are you sure you can make it to the North Pacific?

Sogo Osaka: I think so... He did say he could make a stop at the nearest yacht harbor.

Sogo Osaka: What about your photo? You mentioned that Re:vale could help...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah. I just messaged them, and they said they were gonna come pick us up.

Sogo Osaka: Pick us up?

[Toot toot!]

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ah! That's Momorin's car!

Momo: Tamaki! Sogo!

Yuki: Good evening.

Sogo Osaka: I'm sorry you had to come all this way! Tamaki-kun didn't tell me you were coming for us until just now...

Momo: It's fine! Hop on!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Where are we going?

Yuki: Back in time.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Heh. If I could time travel, there's a ton of stuff I'd wanna do.

Yuki: Same here.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I bet you would too, So-chan.

Sogo Osaka: Sure.

Momo: I've got a ton of stuff I'd change, too. But sorry, we're not actually going back in time. We're going to Yuki's place!

Tamaki Yotsuba: That's fine. There's a bunch of stuff I wanna do there, too.

Yuki: Like what?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Playing the guitar. Teach me.

Yuki: Okay.

Sogo Osaka: You could've asked me, too... Though I'm sure Yuki-san has better foundations and technique...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I don't wanna learn from you. You'd get on my case about being bad. Yukirin seems way nicer.

Yuki: I'm a lot scarier than you think.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Huh..? Oh, right. No way am I gonna learn from you. I'll just ask Ban-chan.

Yuki: Ban's not any better, you know. He'll click his tongue and call you an amateur.

Tamaki Yotsuba: If he did that, I'd start crying...

Sogo Osaka: I would, too...

Momo: I'd cry so much, my tear ducts would never recover...

[Toot toot!]

Momo: Ah! We can talk later! Hurry up and get in the car!

Sogo Osaka: ...Thank you!

Momo: Off we go! 

- - - -

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yaaay! Long time no see, Yukirin's place.

Sogo Osaka: Tamaki-kun, you could at least thank Yuki-san for his hospitality.

Yuki: It's fine... Hey. Tamaki-kun, wait, at least put some slippers on before you walk in.

Tamaki Yotsuba: It's fine.

Yuki: It's not fine. Put them on.

Sogo Osaka: I'm sorry about him! I'll make him wear them! Tamaki-kun, come back here. You can't just run into people's homes like that.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I was so excited that I had to floor it.

Momo: I guess you'll need to install traffic lights at your entrance hall, Yuki.

Yuki: I'll paint a little crosswalk on the floor while I'm at it.

Sogo Osaka: Thank you, and I'm very sorry for the trouble...

Yuki: I was joking. I guess you can be a bit soft on Tamaki-kun, too.

Sogo Osaka: Oh, that was a joke?

Momo: So, what's up?

Momo: You needed help finding a childhood photo for Welcome to Kids' Room, right?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Y'know the apartments I used to live at? There was this guy there who had a camera.

Momo: A guy with a camera?

Tamaki Yotsuba: I forget his name, but I think he lived in our neighborhood. He took a family photo of us.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I wanna meet him, so I can ask if he could reprint the picture we put in Mom's casket...

Tamaki Yotsuba: And for that, I need you guys to make some shady deals.

Re:vale: Shady deals..?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah.

Re:vale: Shady deals!?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah. I need the help of some underground type guys for this. Can't Re:vale make that happen?

Yuki: You want us...

Momo: To make shady deals...

Sogo Osaka: Re:vale... Please. If it's at all possible, then I'd like you to help him, too.

Momo: Now even Sogo's asking... No, hold on just a minute!

Momo: I'm not sure where you got the idea that we make ANY kind of shady deals to begin with. Yuki, do you know what they're talking about?

Yuki: I have no idea. You?

Momo: Nope... I feel like shady deals are the one thing we can't help with...

Tamaki Yotsuba: No way... I was sure you guys would have some leads.

Yuki: What kind of a deal were you planning?

Momo: I think we'll be more helpful than any of the "underground type guys" you had in mind.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I need someone to hack into every surveillance camera in the world, to find out where that dude is now.

Sogo Osaka: Every surveillance camera in the world..?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Even though most people don't realize it, there's shady organizations that control the world from the shadows!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Or at least that's what it said in this "Scary Truths of the World" book that Isumin had.

Yuki: You mean you read it in some book about the occult? And you went ahead and assumed we were associated with these shady organizations?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah... Re:vale kinda gives me that sort of vibe sometimes...

Momo: I never knew people saw us that way. Heh, not bad.

Yuki: So basically, you want to know where that camera guy is now? Good thing I happen to know a private detective.

Sogo Osaka: You know a private detective? Did you meet him while studying for a role?

Yuki: No... I met him while looking for your manager...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Oh, Ban-chan!

Yuki: Yep.

Momo: But if that private detective couldn't find Ban-san, how useful could he possibly be?

Yuki: Probably not very useful, no.

Momo: But you still kept him on your payroll?

Yuki: Well, Ban taught me not to keep replacing our bandmates, and you taught me to hold people dear...

Momo: Oh, Yuki! You're such a good boy!!! You're a gentleman and a hottie rolled into one!  

Yuki: I sure am. I'll even forgive you for our earlier argument.

Tamaki Yotsuba: You guys had a fight?

Momo: We butted heads over our Welcome to Kids' Room photos, that's all.

Sogo Osaka: But why would you fight over your childhood pictures..?

Momo: Well... 

- - - -

Rinto Okazaki: Then it's settled. This will be your picture for the show, Momo-kun, and this will be yours, Yuki-kun.

Yuki: Wow..! You look adorable, Momo! A little round-cheeked boy with a tan, playing soccer. It's so cute.

Momo: ...Holy crap... A listless pretty boy, playing the guitar...

Yuki: I like this photo. I feel like it'd be a great source of energy whenever I'm tired from work.

Yuki: I know we talked using each other's selfies as lock screen backgrounds,   but I think these childhood photos would work better.

Rinto Okazaki: Great idea! I happen to have these picture lockets, would you like some?

Yuki: A locket? If I put Momo's picture in that, it'd be like he's my son.

Yuki: That could be kind of funny. Should we try it?

Momo: No way...

Yuki: What!?

Momo: I can't take this photo! As both your fan and your partner, I think this picture's bad news!

Yuki: How is it bad news!? Are you saying I'm not cute in it!?

Rinto Okazaki: I think you're positively adorable!

Momo: You're wearing SHORTS! Since when do you wear shorts!? There's no way we can show this on TV!

Yuki: And why not? Even I was once an innocent kid, like Iori-kun and Tamaki-kun.

Rinto Okazaki: I think you're still plenty innocent, Yuki-kun!

Yuki: That's it. I'm making a copy of this picture, and putting it inside your locket.

Momo: Oh, no you don't! I'm not wearing that, you hear me!?

Yuki: But you said we should use each other's pictures as lock screens!

Momo: I didn't say anything about our childhood pictures! I'm gonna lose my mind if I have to walk around with a picture like this dangling from my neck!

Momo: And how did you just so happen to have two lockets lying around!?

Rinto Okazaki: The president got them for you.

Yuki: He wants us to have each other's pictures?

Rinto Okazaki: No, he actually wanted you to have a childhood photo of himself and I.

Momo: Wait, I wanna see that!

Rinto Okazaki: Here it is.

Momo: Wow! You went to a studio for this one!

Momo: Okarin, is the one sitting on the chair you? Does that mean our prez is the one standing up?

Rinto Okazaki: That's correct.

Yuki: You and Rintaro look really alike. The suits look chic, so it's actually kind of cool.

Yuki: Was this taken for a special occasion?

Rinto Okazaki: Our neighborhood cameraman needed something to display on his shop window, so he took a picture of us.

Rinto Okazaki: We received the lockets as thanks.

Rinto Okazaki: He thought that if we brothers kept a picture with us, we'd always be able to find each other, no matter how far apart we end up.

Yuki: Huh. So it's a novelty gift. If you can call it that, anyway.

Rinto Okazaki: This was 20 years ago. Come to think of it, there was a picture of the cameraman's two sons on the window, too.

Rinto Okazaki: Though even our parents said they'd only ever seen the older brother.

Yuki: I see. Maybe something happened to the younger one, then. Poor thing...

Rinto Okazaki: Perhaps...

Rinto Okazaki: The older son's business failed, too, and eventually, the camera shop closed its doors for good.

Rinto Okazaki: My brother remembered the cameraman thanks to this picture. That was probably why he wanted you to have some, too.

Momo: So we could keep each other's pictures close by?

Rinto Okazaki: No. Like I said, it's our picture he wants you to put in the lockets.

Yuki: I think Rintaro's a little too in love with himself.

Rinto Okazaki: I'm sorry about him...

Momo: Ahaha! Still I think it could be funny to walk around with your picture hanging from our necks! Right, Yuki?

Momo: It would really show off our loyalty to Okazaki Productions, don't you think!?

Yuki: ......... Do you really hate the idea of having my picture that much..?

Momo: Uh, no...

Yuki: I see how it is. You refuse to keep my picture in a locket, but the Okazakis are fine?

Momo: I didn't mean it like that...

Rinto Okazaki: Ah, how unusual. Normally, it's Momo-kun doing these sort of interrogations.

Yuki: I can keep your photo in a locket, you know. I could even make you lunch for your practice match, Momose-kun.

Momo: Dang! I'm starting to feel jealous over my picture self..!

Yuki: I hope you'll grow up into an idol and be happy with me.

Momo: I don't think I can talk to your picture that easily... Or that casually...

Momo: Then again, wouldn't it be a little pervy if I started calling this picture of my partner "Master Yuki", or something..!?

Rinto Okazaki: I don't see the problem. Re:vale's already got an eccentric image, after all.

Yuki: I feel bad for my unwanted younger self. Give him back to me. I'll raise him with little Momose here.

Momo: I told you, that's not it! I'd never neglect little Yukito-san..!

Rinto Okazaki: There you go, starting some bizarre family roleplay. Allow me and my brother's picture to join in! 

- - - -

Momo: And that's how we started arguing.

Sogo Osaka: That sounds rough...

Yuki: Here's Momo's picture, by the way.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Wow! Momorin was so cute! Used to be super tan, too! With shiny white teeth!

Sogo Osaka: You really did put it in the locket.

Momo: Wanna see Okarin and his brother?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Okarin was adorbs, too! And I've never seen his brother! He's cute!

Yuki: Not anymore, he's not.

Sogo Osaka: So you did use Okazaki-san's picture for the locket.

Momo: I thought it'd be funny, and a good way to advertise our agency... Yuki's is too real for me to walk around wearing it. Do you get what I'm saying, Yuki?

Yuki: Not at all. I still feel bad for little me.

Momo: Don't you get grumpy on me again!

Yuki: ...In any case, I can introduce you to a useless private detective.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I'd rather you introduce me to a useful one. Does your detective pal know any better detectives?

Momo: Good point. If he's in the business, he's gotta know who his biggest rivals are!

Yuki: I'll try asking him.

[Dial tone]

Yuki: Hello, it's Yuki from Re:vale. Do you know any good detectives, other than you? Like, the king of private detecting or something...

Yuki: What..? There's a detective so great, he's only spoken of in legends..?

Tamaki Yotsuba: ........! A legendary detective..!!!

Sogo Osaka: He sounds like someone who could help! That's great, Tamaki-kun!

Yuki: I have a job for that detective. Get in touch with him for me. I need to find somebody. Yeah. I'm counting on you.

[Beep]

Momo: He's going to introduce us to a legendary detective!?

Yuki: He's willing to try, at least. I'll get in touch as soon as I hear from him again, Tamaki-kun.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Okay! Thanks!

Yuki: But... If it's too hard for you to get a hold of that picture, you can quit if you want, you know.

Momo: You guys must have better things to do, anyway. It's not like Ban-san or Maneko-chan are forcing you to do this, right?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah, but...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I wanna have something like this pic of Momorin playing soccer, or Yukirin playing the guitar.

Re:vale: .........

Momo: Right. I hope you find your picture, Tamaki. We'll help in any way we can.

Yuki: If you run into trouble, call us.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ehehe... Okay! 

- - - -

Sogo Osaka: .........

Sogo Osaka: They even drove us back to the dorm.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yukirin's cooking was so yummy, and Momorin played with me a lot. Re:vale's super nice!

Sogo Osaka: It's because you're such a good kid.

Tamaki Yotsuba: .........

Sogo Osaka: You're so honest and kind, there's not a single person who wouldn't want you to live a happy life.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Haha... That's the opposite of what I used to hear, though.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Like when something I had broke, or something didn't make it to me in time, or something I'd been excited for didn't work out.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Apparently it was all a punishment, 'cause I'm such a bad, nasty kid.

Sogo Osaka: ........

Tamaki Yotsuba: I'd get mad and yell, "That's not true!", but still. Sometimes when I'm having a bad day, I remember that stuff.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I fall down, or something I like breaks, or I get caught in a rainstorm... And I wonder if I'm being punished.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I mean, I'm not THAT good of a kid. I don't work hard, I'm kinda rude. Plus I'm dumb.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...If I was smarter, maybe I would've gotten a copy of that photo before it went into Mom's casket.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I don't have any pictures 'cause I'm an idiot who can't take proper care of anything.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Meanwhile, you're good at keeping things clean, and you do everything right.

Sogo Osaka: ...You're not an idiot, and the photo thing wasn't your fault.

Sogo Osaka: I can't believe anyone would say things like that to a child. Of course you're not being punished.

Tamaki Yotsuba: .........

Sogo Osaka: I can guarantee that you're not, so don't worry.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ahaha! So-chan, you're acting kinda cool all of a sudden.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Thanks. 

To be continued...

[1994sunflower]

Can you just make something really fluffy of just her hanging out with Ashton and Calum while Micheal is busy or something. Like just siblings love because I could use some nice fluff from my favorite writer at this point. Pretty please. If not it's totally chill. ( Heaven to you)

so so cute, I really liked exploring this friendship. hope you like it!

in which you spend some time with calum and ashton

“I’m serious Michael.” You kept pushing him away from you. Tapping the textbook on his lap, “You need to study, you’re going to fail the class if you don’t pass this exam.”

Michael groaned, “It’s a fucking elective, it’s not like I need it to graduate.”

He’d been trying to avoid the studying he denied needing (but knew he did). You were doing your best to not be distracting. You studied yourself, scrolled on your phone, never once speaking to him lest you take his attention away.

But his eyes always seemed to eventually trail over to your small figure laying on his bed after a long time of staring blankly at the book in front of him. Sometimes he would ask you what you were doing, claiming he was taking a break. Other times he would try to kiss you and start something you knew would definitely just destroy his concentration on classwork. He was just a natural procrastinator.

You pushed him away each time, no matter how sweetly he approached you or how innocent his words seemed. You knew his tricks. And frankly, you were worried you might be too weak to resist him if you let him get any closer.

“That’s right. It’s an elective you chose, so you have to study for it. I know you’ll do fine if you’d just actually try.” You’d made your mind up already on what the solution to the problem was. Because apparently it was you, he couldn’t concentrate with you in the room. You got up from his bed, taking your phone and his with you. No distractions. “I’ll come back when you’ve actually finished studying.”

“Wha-” Michael moved to grab your wrist but you moved out of the way quickly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You study or I’ll leave altogether. You’re going to pass this class.” You smiled at him, just to show him just how much you believed and cared about him. You were doing this for his own good. “I’ll be outside when you’re done.”

“What are you even going to do all alone?” Michael called out, turned away completely from his book as he stared at you with disbelieving eyes. You’d always ended up going along with his attempts of distractions before, you’d never actually gone this far to make him study. Not when your absence was likely the biggest punishment his girlfriend could inflict.

You huffed, stepping out of his room, “Worry about what you’re going to do in this room, Michael Clifford.”

You full named him. Michael groaned heavily as he rested his forehead against his desk, that was how he knew you were serious. And he had nothing to do but dreadfully start learning about a subject he didn’t even care about and barely understood during the little lectures he did attend. Because no matter how docile you may appear and how intimidating he may seem to everyone else, his small girlfriend was truly the only one who would ever be able to tell him what to do. He’s wrapped around your finger.

-

The house was lit up for once and you could see Ashton wrestling with the control in his hands, completely immersed in whatever war game was on in the television. Calum was sitting on the opposite side of the couch, glancing up at the screen every so often. But his attention was almost completely on the laptop on his lap. At least one of the people in that house tried to do his school work.

You stepped out hesitantly. You already missed the comfort of your boyfriend’s presence. It might’ve been a punishment for both of you. But it was for his best. So you sighed and moved forward nonetheless. You always felt equally as safe and more than happy in Ashton and Calum’s presence.

“What are you two doing?” You asked as you took a seat next to Ashton. Your movements were confident, like second nature because they never made you feel like you were intruding.

Ashton’s only acknowledgement of you was a nudge but Calum looked up from his screen and smiled at you. It hadn’t been long since you could say you barely knew him, compared to your relationship Ashton. But you were glad that your friendship had evolved and you felt a lot closer to him, a lot more comfortable and friendly.

Calum gestured to his screen which you couldn’t see, “Well, I’m doing my work unlike other people.”

Ashton was just able to let go of the controller with one hand to be able to flip Calum off before going back to handling it with two. The multitasking was honestly impressive.

“At least someone in this house is being a good student.” You muttered, placing Michael’s phone on your lap as you leaned back on the couch. A sigh left your lips as if all your attempts with Michael had left you exhausted.

“I’m sorry.” Ashton glanced at you and only then did you realize he had paused his game, “Are you insinuating that I’m not a good student?”

“I’m ‘insinuating’ that I didn’t know you knew big words.”

“Fuck you, Hood.”

Your giggles were the only thing that stopped Ashton from some saying some very select words to Calum. A smile formed on his lips without him even thinking about it. It was hard to repress, your happiness was contagious. He understood why Michael always talked about your goodness.

“Where’s Michael anyway?” Ashton asked, his tone already teasing. “I was wondering when you’d get sick of being around each other 24/7.”

“Hey!” You slapped his arm in faux-anger. To which he laughed promptly, ruffling your hair dismissively enough for you to swat at him again.

Your attempt to get your hair back to normal was useless until Calum decided to move forward and place the pieces of hair back in place for you. You sat perfectly still as he did. They were always gentle with you. Sometimes you wondered if they thought you would break otherwise, you looked dainty but you’d gotten used to Michael’s manhandling, not being held back by that.

“For your information, he’s studying too. So it seems you’re the only one who isn’t, Ash.”

Ashton eyed you up and down, “I don’t see a book in your hands.”

You glared up at him but to both he and Calum, you looked a little less threatening than a Chihuahua. So they did nothing but smirk back down at you until you huffed out and crossed your arms.

Calum closed his laptop, his attention evidently no longer being held by it. “So you’re just going to wait until he’s done?”

Ashton scoffed, “As if he’s actually studying. Sorry to tell you, Y/N, but you’re giving him way too much credit.”

You looked so offended at his words that both of them wordlessly burst out laughing. Ashton shook his head, his grin so big you could see his dimples as he held out the control in his hands to you.

“Here. While you wait the whole 10 minutes he’ll pretend to be studying, you can play with us.”

Ashton was serious about his games. Only letting a select few friends ever even pick up one of his controllers. It was a privilege for only the people he liked the most. One he was giving you and you beamed with pride. You took the controller from his hand.

Calum took the other one left abandoned on the floor. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, feeling utterly too confident for someone who could barely hold the controller correctly. “You’re going down, frat boy.”

Calum let out a surprised laugh. It was so easy to forget who exactly he was associated with when he was so different from all the frat boys you’d ever known. You were grateful he was, because otherwise you’d never feel comfortable with him. And certainly never develop the close friendship you had with him.

Ashton was kind enough to change the game, knowing you weren’t fond of war, even depictions of it. How ironic for a girl who was dating a guy that seemed to bring the spirit of war anytime he got pissed off. He didn’t ask but you felt happy that he knew you enough to think of your preferences.

It was sweet. The way they took the time to remind you what exactly the keys did (Ashton reminding you for the nth time since the first time you taught you).

“You’ll do fine.” Calum waved dismissively, leaning back on the couch. His laptop long forgotten next to him. “But not better than me.”

When the game finally started, it was a slow start. Mostly because you were trying to get into the rhythm of things and Calum slowed down too, allowing you to adjust. They both watched you carefully, nodding when you were hesitant about pressing a button. Even giving you words of encouragement when you actually did well in the game. Or when your calm demeanor sent a wave of enjoyment through the three of you.

“I think we like you more than Michael.”

“Yeah, you better.”

Your grin and giggles was genuine. You were having fun. Even without Michael there. While any other time you’d be just counting down the time until you could get back to him. Good thing his friends, your friends as well, were so hospitable and nice to be around. That they included you and they liked you. It sure meant a lot to Michael anyway that the people closest to him cared for you and looked after you even when he wasn’t there.

Truthfully, they weren’t the type of guys you would’ve befriended if you hadn’t dated Michael; you were too shy and they were too outgoing and friendly. You would’ve been too hesitant to even try to go into their world or group, you would’ve been too awkward and nervous. But despite that, you felt perfectly comfortable in their presence. And you were glad they were your friends.

Ashton helped you a lot during the game. His gaze would be completely on the screen as he watched you and Calum play but his hands hovered over yours. His fingers sometimes clicking buttons for you that you never would have known to press otherwise. Other times, completely moving your fingers as if he was playing through your hands. You didn’t mind, in fact you preferred it when he helped. It was when you started winning.

His face was focused, serious as it always was when he was playing and it was kind of amusing to glance at, especially because technically, he wasn’t playing.

Calum didn’t call you out for cheating even though having Ashton help you technically was exactly that. It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware. It was pretty obvious, Ashton did nothing to hide it. And even if he did, it was kind of hard to not at least be suspicious when your sloppy gaming suddenly got much better and you started to win. But for your sake, Calum pretended to be oblivious.

Truth was, you sucked. But if anyone ever even tried saying that to you, they’d be asking for a death wish. Especially when you looked so content just to be involved, you trying your best. And that was what mattered to them.

It was subtle when Calum began to ease up on his playing. You didn’t notice. Not even when the game that was so close beforehand started to go overwhelmingly in your favor. Just like that Calum let you win. Even if he was known to be competitive. He could put that aside for his dear friend.

You squealed out in happiness, dropping the controller on the sofa as your arms went up in celebration. “Ash!! Did you see that?”

Ashton locked eyes with your excited one and nodded, his own arms mimicking yours and wooping in celebration. Your high fives were probably too many given that it was a video game you won by cheating half of the time and had been allowed to win. But his smile was large and his laugh was genuine.

He turned to Calum, both hands flipping him off in good humor while you placed your hands on Ashton’s shoulders, just enough to be able to look past him above his head to Calum.

You stuck your tongue out at him in the way that was not very sportsmanlike but very cute, so he couldn’t be mad. “Told you I’d win.”

Then you shrieked when Calum pulled your from your seat. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders enough to have you leaning forward from the weight. He wasn’t as big as Michael but he certainly rose up much taller than you. “Yeah, yeah. Good luck trying to beat me again.”

You were laughing along with him, looking up at the amused boy but you couldn’t respond. Michael’s door was flung open before you could. You hadn’t realized how loud the three of you were being.

“If I’m being forced to study could you two at least shut the fuck up so I can concentrate.” He didn’t leave his room, his head just peeking out of his doorway. He was as daunting as always, his face serious and close to emotionless. His words harsh. But if he wanted to be intimidating, it was a shame his demeanor didn’t effect the room filled with the closest people in his life.

Michael’s eyes softened when he spotted you in Calum’s arms. Obviously he hadn’t been talking to you, he never would be so brash with you. Especially when you looked at him with those eyes that said you could do no wrong. But he also hadn’t expected you to be participating in making the noise with his rowdy friends. His voice was markedly nicer, “Oh…what are you doing?”

“What we get yelled at but she doesn’t?” Ashton scoffed.

You smiled sweetly at Michael, knowing that he could never get mad at you. Your nose crinkled slightly from pride, “I just beat Cal at a game.”

Calum placed a hand on the top of your head, “She got lucky. But she’s actually pretty good.”

“She’s a natural.” Ashton interrupted, even if his words were a bit of an exaggeration, you still raised up on your tiptoes for a second at the praise. Ashton’s eyes held a mischief to them. “One of us just might steal her from you, I think she likes us better anyway.”

If it was anyone else that dared utter those words, you were sure the result would be much different. You could imagine the way Michael’s eyes would shut down in anger, the way his body would tense up and his knuckles would be ready to meet bone. They’d be on the ground bleeding, almost as quickly as the words would leave someone’s mouth. The same went if anyone else put their hands on you like Calum was currently doing.

But it was his best friend. Someone he trusted, cared for and most importantly, he knew cared and respected you as well. He knew his friends’ flirty comments were just talk, just to rile him up. So he did nothing but roll his eyes. “Don’t make me have to beat your ass. Just fucking try it.”

But his words were all bark, no bite. They couldn’t be when he was saying it to Ashton when he knew there was no real problem and when you looked so amused, no discomfort at all. Ashton and Calum were flirty with you before, only when Michael was around and only to get a reaction out of him. You never felt uncomfortable, they always respected boundaries and you had begun to enjoy seeing their friendship with your boyfriend.

Michael struggled with being friendly. But it was almost fascinating and sweet to see him enjoy himself with Ashton and Calum, play around with them like any other guy. Not like the angry, mean guy others saw him as. Even when it came to you, when it would otherwise be when he was most on edge and terrifying. It was a big part of why you felt so safe and secure in Ashton and Calum’s presence as well, because Michael seemed the same way and his trust wasn’t easily won.

Your boyfriend turned around after that and went back in his room. Muttering under his breath, not happy that he had to leave the fun and get back to studying. But you watched him o silently, a small smile on your face as he was actually responsible for once.

In truth, Michael was happy you got along so well. That he could leave you with them and be sure that they’d entertain you, keep you comfortable and safe when he wasn’t around. That you saw in his friends the same thing he did, that you liked them and didn’t mind spending time with them. Even with how different they were from you. They didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.

Even then, you found a way to connect with them to the point where he would find you laughing with them, that you’d hug them as a greeting or goodbye, could hang out with them on your own accord. Not being forced to just to make him happy to see his loved ones together.

It just went to show him, once again, how perfect his little girlfriend was. Everyone felt happy with you around, you embodied that happiness, it was impossible not to feel it. You were just so good. And it wasn’t just in his head, a side effect of the love he felt for you, that was proven when he saw the way Ashton and Calum succumbed to your goodness as well. They were powerless not to.

He couldn’t be prouder.

[mala-sadas]

On the Legendary Wolves’ Plot in Pokéspe SWSH

I really like the way the legendary wolves’ plot is being handled in Pokespe so far. They’ve made a handful of changes and additions to the plot as it’s presented in the games that make it feel integral to the main characters and the overarching story, as well as just being more interesting to follow.

Part of the reason why this plotline is weak in the games is because it’s presented as just a minor subplot. You occasionally get more information about what really happened as you progress through the game, but it doesn’t seem important for you to pay attention to it until you get to the climax and Rose reveals that he’s caused the Darkest Day. Even though you encounter Zacian or Zamazenta in the Slumbering Weald at the beginning of the game, it’s not until Circhester that Hop connects that encounter to the legend you’re unraveling. And in the grand scheme of things, all that encounter does is confirm that the sword and shield Pokémon live in the Slumbering Weald - which Sonia apparently also learns about in a book that mentions Zacian and Zamazenta by name. So, why was it necessary, again?

But right out of the gate, Spe immediately ties the legendary wolves into the main characters’ backstory and motivations. A year prior to the beginning of the chapter, Sou goes to the Slumbering Weald to try to find the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield. He knows about them – and has an interest in them – because he’s from a family of swordsmiths, and he wants to see genuine, historical pieces of armor in person. Meanwhile, Schilly goes to the Weald to look for a Wishing Star that she had seen falling, since she wants to get it made into a Dynamax Band. The pair encounter the illusory Zacian and Zamazenta, and Sou immediately comes to the conclusion that these two are here to protect the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield – a conclusion supported by the fact that when they walk through the illusions to try to take a look at the artifacts, they’re knocked out by a flash of light. When they awaken, the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield are gone - as are all of Schilly’s Pokémon. Sou decides to start traveling with Schilly because he feels partly responsible for her Pokémon going missing, and Schilly decides to compete in the Gym Challenge to spread the word about her missing Pokémon and make it easier for her to find them. Additionally, it’s later revealed that Sou decided to participate in the Gym Challenge so he can get stronger and challenge Zacian and Zamazenta to a battle, believing that they’ll only allow someone with skill as a Trainer and an earnest desire to see the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield to see the artifacts in person.

So, in short, the reason why Sou and Schilly met and their respective reasons for taking on the Gym Challenge are both intrinsically linked to their encounter with the legendary wolves. This makes the wolves’ presence relevant throughout the whole story, ensuring that the reader doesn’t forget about the encounter by the time it becomes relevant again. (I also appreciate that they gave the wolves a concrete reason to appear before the protags in the Weald, something which the games and anime never really bothered to provide.)

Additionally, the decision to introduce the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield right away instead of saving their introduction for the climax like what happens in the games was a really smart choice. First, it ties directly into Sou’s interests, giving him a good reason to be interested in the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield as well as the other legends involving swords and shields. Second, it allows the characters to link together the encounter with Zacian and Zamazenta to the information they’re learning about the legends - Sou observes that the sword and shield held by the statue of the hero in Motostoke as well as the sword and shield depicted on the Hammerlocke tapestries resemble the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield, suggesting that the legends have a connection to the artifacts. And when I say “suggesting”, I don’t just mean in the sense that it’s something you can interpolate from the text. I mean that Sou literally says, “It’s not entirely unlikely that the three are all the same,” and Raihan brings up later that if they’re the same sword and shield, the legendary wolves may be connected to these events in some way as well.

This is another thing that I really appreciate about the way that Pokéspe is handling this plotline: the characters actually speculate, hypothesize, and draw conclusions about the evidence that they’re being presented with. In the games, most of the encounters with Sonia just involve you pointing out incredibly obvious things about the historical artifact/legend, and Sonia agreeing that they’re significant. She asks a lot of questions, but doesn’t postulate answers to them unless they’re directly being shown to you. And even some of the conclusions she draws seem like leaps of logic, like when she assumes that the statue behind the Stow-on-Side mural must be correct because it was made in “truly ancient times” - like, we just discovered this statue, Sonia. We have no idea how old it is.

But in Spe, the characters draw logical conclusions from the information they have, which means they can figure things out a lot faster than they do in the games and makes the conversation interesting to read whenever they learn new information. For example, Sou speculates that the sword and shield wielded by the hero might’ve had special powers, which is true. How did he figure this out? He explains that he thought about it because the hero used them to fight giant, rampaging Pokémon, which is a bit difficult to accomplish with a normal sword and shield.

Another great example of this is in Hammerlocke vault, when Sou guesses that Chairman Rose wants to cause the Darkest Day. One might think that he’s figuring things out way too quickly, but the thing is, this conclusion makes perfect sense given the information he has. While looking at the tapestries, Sou notices that the first one depicts a Wishing Star falling and the second one depicts the Darkest Day occurring. Thus, he guesses that Wishing Stars might have caused the Darkest Day, a hypothesis that Sonia agrees with because they’ve already figured out that the Darkest Day has a connection to Dynamaxing, and Wishing Stars cause Dynamaxing. But Sou had previously learned from Bede that Chairman Rose is collecting a massive amount of Wishing Stars, so it’s only natural that his next thought would be to wonder if Chairman Rose is - advertently or inadvertently - going to cause the Darkest Day again. This immediately ties the Rose plot in with the legendary wolves’ plot, a connection that doesn’t start to be made until your third visit to Hammerlocke in the games.

In general, the Hammerlocke vault scene is way better in Spe than it is in the games, where all you get is Sonia saying that the disaster depicted is probably the Darkest Day and wondering if there was one hero or two. Besides the conclusions that I already mentioned, Sonia also connects the disaster shown in the tapestries to the disaster shown in the Turffield geoglyph, concluding that they’re both depictions of the Darkest Day. However, Sou points out the lack of giant Pokémon in the tapestries, which are always associated with the Darkest Day. I really like how they point out both the similarities and the differing details between the stories, which makes it a little more understandable why no one has ever put together that this myth of the creation of Galar and the legend of the Darkest Day might be referring to the same event.

Finally, the last major improvement that I want to talk about is the one that was introduced in the latest chapter: an explanation for why the legendary wolves’ existence was lost from the legends. The destruction of the Stow-on-Side mural happens offscreen in this story, which is kind of understandable - the main significance of this statue in the games was to introduce the concept of Pokémon being involved in the legend, which Sou, Sonia, and Raihan had already figured out. This statue holds a completely different significance here: when Sonia is telling the protagonists about the newly discovered ruins, she says that she thinks the mural was put up by someone who wanted to deliberately hide the two Pokémon from the legend, giving all the credit to the humans. She points out the tapestry at Bob’s Your Uncle as further proof of this, which - given its condition - looks like someone threw it away so it would disappear from history. 

I don’t believe that the games ever explain how the tapestry ended up in the restaurant, so the fact that it’s given any sort of context here is really neat. But more importantly than that, it’s really interesting that they’re stating outright that the legendary wolves were deliberately removed from the legend. In the games, Sonia wonders why the ruins at Stow-on-Side would be hidden, but doesn’t offer an explanation - she doesn’t even say anything to suggest that it was done intentionally. The question is never brought up again. So I’m really hoping that Spe won’t go that route, and this revelation will have broader implications in the story next chapter or even later - that we’re going to find out who covered it up, or possibly that someone in the present day knows about the cover-up and is willingly propagating it. The immediate assumption is that it’ll be connected to Sordward and Shielbert in some way, since they benefit from the legend being that their ancestors were the heroes who saved Galar. But I think it could also be interesting if we find out that Rose knew about the statue and is deliberately trying to keep the existence of the sword and shield Pokémon covered up - it’d make a lot of sense why he was so unforgiving to Bede for trying to destroy the mural if that were true. Either way, I’m excited to see where they take this concept.

tl;dr The way Pokéspe has been handling the plot points related to the legendary wolves has been really good so far, much better than it was in the games, and I’m very excited to see how it develops going forward!

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

[trini-trin-trin]

Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Draco Malfoy

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Since it came up in the meeting situation: if you request crush headcanons, they’ll include the boys reactions to falling for all the different houses<3)

- You and Draco first meet when you both begin attending Hogwarts.

- When it comes down to it, the platinum blond has a rivalry with just about everyone his age; besides his somewhat mindless goons, so there’s going to be a rivalry involved in your “relationship” regardless of who you are. The question is: how does said rivalry play out? Which is where your house comes into play. 

- If you’re in any other house besides Slytherin then you’re in for a bumpy ride, though don’t get your hopes up Slytherin, it isn’t smooth sailing for you either. 

- Either way, Draco is very much a “pull your pigtails” type of boy. He’s constantly teasing you, being rude, making insults, etc. If you’re a Slytherin then he’s recruiting you as one of his “followers”, acting childishly possessive over you, demanding that you come with him or scolding you when you hang out with people outside of your house. The older you get and the stronger his feelings, the worse it’ll get. 

- Even though he acts cruel to you, he’s always eager to hear what you think about him; what you’d said to your friends about him and so on. Of course, deep down it bothers him when you express your contempt but he pretends it doesn’t, being particularly rude to you the next day to try and make himself feel better. 

- On the same note as Draco’s eagerness to bully people: while I don’t think it’s impossible for Draco to fall in love with a half blood/other type of witch, I do think that he wouldn’t allow himself to be with one purely because of what he’s been taught and the fear of his fathers wrath. 

- So, when does the snake boy stop seriously screwing with you? Around second year; if we’re referencing the other houses relationship with him. The two of you were paired up for a class around that time and slowly but slowly found yourselves on alright terms with each other. 

- Because of this, it became far less shocking for people to see the two of you together and during that time, he was able to realize that he may or may not have liked you, and that he could be around you if he wished to. 

- Finally, it all comes to a head around third year when he first see’s you stepping out of your carriage looking more radiant than ever and positively glowing as you laughed with your friends. 

- Maybe it was the fact that he went the whole summer with the realization that he liked you and with no chance of seeing you. Maybe it was because you’d matured a bit and lost more of your babyface. Either way, he was in trouble. 

- He approaches you with his usual last name greeting and you roll your eyes as per usual but as your relationship last year would suggest, he’s not nearly as rude to you as he once was.

- In fact, he’s uncharacteristically kind to you, well, as uncharacteristically kind as Draco can be while trying to remain unsuspicious. He starts making up any excuse to talk to you, goes to you for details when something happens within the school; even though you’re probably far more clueless than he is, sits/stands next to you in class, and most surprisingly, he actually acts sort of sweet to you when you’re all alone. 

- If you’re a Slytherin then forget it, he’s constantly around you no matter where you are. He even openly flirts with and acts like he’s interested in you; though he tones it down so that he can keep up his reputation. 

- It’s for all these reasons that you actually find yourself agreeing to go to Hogsmeade with him when he approaches and borderline tells you that that's what you’re doing. The two of you narrow your eyes at each other for a moment before you decide that you just can’t decline, as much as you want to because of his tone of voice and way of asking. 

- So he takes you to Hogsmeade and you find yourself genuinely having a fun time, especially after the two of you end up in a snowball fight with each other. The two of you got progressively more elaborate with your snowy attacks until you’d wound up on the ground together with you just about ready to dump a big pile of snow on his head.

- In that moment, he’d linked his arm around the back of your neck and pulled you down to kiss him as you kneeled in front of him. The snow dropped from your hands, mostly missing his head but he didn’t stop. His playful, somewhat rough kiss softened and before you knew it, you were melting into him. 

- You’re his girl now whether you like it or not. He wanted you and he always gets what he wants, doesn’t he? 

- Draco has a reputation to keep up so he isn’t gonna be all cutesy and lovey dovey with you in public, though he does show you quite a bit of pda. He gives you that “I’m tough and she’s mine. Look I can touch her, see.” type of affection. 

- Having his arm around you constantly; especially when he’s glaring down and trying to intimidate someone who’s looking at you too much for his liking. 

- Temple kisses. 

- Hand kisses. It’s a habit he picked up from his father. 

- Sweet, soft kisses. You certainly didn’t anticipate him being so loving with you when you first started dating; due to his usual behavior, but you were, at times, pleasantly surprised. 

- Dominating, somewhat rough kisses; especially when he’s in a bad mood for whatever reason. 

- Him lounging dramatically in or across your lap. 

- He’s quite a big fan of cuddling but he’d die before he let you or anyone else know that. The two of you usually cuddle hugging each other, your legs tangled together and his lips pressed to your forehead.

- If you’re not constantly by your boyfriends side, are you even dating? Why would you need to be anywhere else? You’re his girlfriend, you should be jumping to be seen with and spend time with him; especially since he’s a Malfoy!

- Him forcing people out of his and/or your way, and making Crabbe or Goyle do things for the two of you. The two boys really don’t mind helping you since you’re usually so much nicer about it than your boyfriend is.

- Sneaking around after curfew together. 

- Wandering the grounds together. He’s got a few particular places that he likes bringing you to.

- Him pretending not to enjoy the things you do with him or the places that you take him to, even though you know damn well that’s he’s lying and just won’t admit that he’s having fun. 

- Getting tickled or at least prodded in the side when you’ve said something teasing towards him, or just when you’re distracted. He finds it funny when you jolt and swat his hand away. 

- Being lovingly referred to as your last name. When the two of you are alone together, he’ll let a “darling” slip here and there, usually without even meaning to. It’s another habit he picked up from high society life. 

- Affectionate bullying. He makes fun of you in a much fonder tone now that you’re together. 

- Sending notes to each other in class.

- Always being escorted to class.

- Stopping him from doing something stupid, even if it may or may not cause a fight between the two of you.

- Being forced to cheer him on at Quidditch games, even if you’re in a different house. He takes great offense if you don’t.

- He’s constantly trying to impress you and get your validation. He’s always bragging to you about his accomplishments, usually sprinkling in little white lies to make them sound even better.

- Him exaggerating how hurt or sick he is for more attention, especially when you’re completely focused on him; he wants to keep it that way for as long as he can.

- Either gaining favoritism from certain people; people like Snape, or being relatively disliked by association. Although, once people see that you’re sort of like a buffer between them and his wrath, they usually warm up to you more.

- Getting him to be nicer to people.

- You’re practically the only one he really listens to, even if it’s usually done so begrudgingly. He’ll later say that it’s just because he didn’t actually feel like doing it or tell you that you’re lucky “you’re cute” in a grumble to save face.

- Gossiping and peoplewatching together. He likes seeing you be a little mean, he finds it entertaining and gives you praise whenever you make some snide remark.

- Snowball fights. 

- Going to Hogsmeade together. He treats you to a butterbeer or candy from Honeydukes whenever you go. 

- Being spoiled. His father can afford the best and Draco wants to ensure that you’ll put up with his insecure ass even though he’s sometimes sorta mean to you. He also just likes the feeling he gets when he knows that he’s the one who’s made you happy. 

- He probably gets you a silver necklace/bracelet either in the shape of his name or with it engraved on it, or with green jewels on it; especially if you’re not in Slytherin.

- Getting your stuff stolen. He’s a bit of a kleptomaniac so expect to find your some of your stuff in his room.

- Try not to mention it when he clings onto you at a sudden movement/sound or when something otherwise scares him. He’s sort of a coward; especially before the whole deatheater thing, and he’ll get angrily embarrassed if you do say something, denying it adamantly before avoiding you for the rest of the day out of spite. 

- Occasionally dealing with his mood swings. One moment he’ll be all over you, the next he’ll be a foot away and acting cold. It’s nothing that you did, he just suddenly becomes very aware of how vulnerable or soft he’s being and get’s kind of insecure, not wanting to look too weak. 

- His father will hear about you!

- Watching how his personality changes when he’s around other people, particularly his father. He isn’t a total git when the man isn’t around but he certainly acts like more of a gentleman and less like himself when he’s being observed; mainly because his father will audibly warn him to play nice.

- His parents probably have fancy parties that he may or may not be allowed to bring you to. If you’re from a well respected, pureblood family then his parents will accept you with open arms and happily welcome your appearances at said events.

- Listening to him complain about how boring or stupid things are, whether during or after they happen.

- He’ll try to keep his pride and insist that nothing is wrong; or that he isn’t as upset as he actually is, but you’ll be able to tell that somethings bothering him; usually his father. When he’s upset, you’ll merely be extra sweet to him and stick by his side for the rest of the day. It’s in those moments that he realizes just how much he loves you.

- Though you’ll have to find out about them soon enough, he definitely keeps some big secrets from you. You’ll be able to tell that there’s something wrong, that something is weighing him down, but he refuses to let you know until he’s finally forced to.

- Possessive boy. You’re his girlfriend and no one else should even look at you unless it’s to feel envious of him. 

- He has nasty little habit of getting jealous over just about anyone who’s capable of taking you away from him; regardless of how irrational it may seem, or is otherwise making you happier than he can. He gets incredibly annoyed when he sees you with other guys and tends to either scare them off or glare at the two of you until you join his side.

- After that, he’ll make a few passive aggressive comments until you kiss his cheek and fluster/reassure him enough that he forgets about it.

- He’s incredibly protective of you; especially in the later years of your relationship/school life. In the beginning, he’ll pretend like he doesn’t care as much as he does but will always act in your favor and/or stick up for you on his own cruel way. When you’re older, he’s more willing to blatantly show that he cares and keep you away from danger.

- He’s a bit sensitive so the two of you have quite a few fights. He might insult you or cause problems for one reason or another but you just ignore him and give him the silent treatment when he’s acting like an ass.

- He watches you intently when you’re ignoring him, usually with a glare and especially if you’re around other guys. He keeps waiting for you to approach him but when he realizes you won’t, he’s forced to do it himself.

- At some point, he’ll force you to come with him so that the two of you can talk, trying to just “forget about” the issue before finally admitting that he was wrong. Depending on the issue, he might not give a full apology, telling you not to push your luck when you mention it.

- He doesn’t give you a ton of “I love you’s” but he does force himself out of his comfort zone to say a few. He’ll only ever say it when you’re alone and won’t look at you as he does so, usually trying to breeze past it like it didn’t happen as he blushes. The longer you’re together, the more willing he is to say it.

-He’s going to marry you is what he’s going to do! Why wouldn’t you want to marry him? He’s a pureblood, a Malfoy, and alright, he might just so happen to be really in love with you.