#metropoli illuminate

[speakingparts]

THE LONELY CITY

eye: Help Me Eros - Lee Kang-sheng ear: Pre-Original Chaostrophy, COIL

[zylev-blog]

Danny and Sam were enjoying a date out in Metropolis when it happened. Superman had been mind controlled again, and was taking hostages. Neither Danny or Sam were worried, and were amongst the only people not running for their lives. They just sat outside the cafe, sipping their coffee and eating their food. As the ground began to rumble, they simply picked their coffee cups and held them in their hands to not spill the coffee within.

“So then Tucker says, ‘not my pda!’” Danny finishes, laughing along with Sam.

“I swear, he loves that thing more than life!” Sam laughs.

That’s when they heard it. The sunlight outside got a shade darker, and Sam and Danny turned to see the outline of Superman hovering in front of them. They both glanced at him, then at each other.

With a loud sigh, Danny out down his coffee. “Can you move a little to the left, Superman? You’re blocking the sunlight.”

Without warning, Superman reached out and grabbed Sam, who was closer to him. Sam grunted out in surprise as she was lifted into the air by her neck. Danny looked unconcerned.

“Seriously?” Sam asked, gesturing at Superman. “You’re going to ruin my necklace.”

“I don’t think he’s worried about your necklace, babe.” Danny leaned against the table, watching the encounter.

“Well, he should be!” Sam exclaimed. “I paid good money for it!”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible. We can just buy you another one once he stops choking you.”

“It’s not really like he’s going to get anywhere.” Sam agreed.

Superman seemed to take offense to this. His grip on her neck tightened, and while Sam’s face did flush red, she wasn’t gasping for breath or having her neck snapped.

“You remember the other day when I said Black Canary could strangle me and I’d be happy about it?” Sam asked, her voice a little breathless.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, wondering where she as going with this.

“I like Superman choking me better. He would probably be better at it than a human.” Sam grinned at the Kryptonian.

“Shouldn’t he at least buy you dinner first?” He asked.

“You know, most boyfriends don’t talk so freely about their girlfriends being choked by other guys.” Sam pointed out.

“You’re right.” He agreed.

“But this is getting kinda weird. Superman, do you mind letting me go? This isn’t really working for me anymore.” Sam pointed to the ground.

A large crowd had started to gather around them. Some looked horrified, while others looked curious. Curious at Sam, who hadn’t died yet. Superman made no moves to remove his hand from her neck.

“Hey babe?” Sam asked.

“Yeah?” He took another sip of his coffee, completely calm.

“Can you record me beating up Superman so we can send it to your sister?”

“Why her?” He tilted his head.

“Little sister.” Sam clarified.

“Ohh. Yeah, sure, she’d love that.” He took a second and pulled his phone out—a latest WayneTech model. “Go for it.”

Sam wrapped her hand around Superman’s, and with an audible snap, broke his hand and pulled it off of her neck. Superman gasped in pain, but Sam wasn’t done yet. She proceeded to judo flip him and send him crashing to the Earth while she continued to hover in the air. She clapped her hands together and cracked her knuckles.

“This is going to be fun.” Sam grinned wickedly.

“You know, I could just touch his temple and cure him of the mind control.” He offered, but continued to record Sam.

“Don’t spoil my fun.” Sam flipped him off, then dove towards the ground. She kicked Superman in the nuts, then kneed him in the face hard enough to draw blood. She punched him a few more times until he fell unconscious.

Danny got up and stopped the recording. He walked over to his girlfriend and looked at the unconscious Superman. He bent over the man and pressed a finger to the man’s temple. Blue power briefly illuminated Superman’s skin, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You’re going to cause trouble for us.” He chastised her.

“But you love it.” Sam took his hand. “Let’s go home.”

She flew into the air first, but Danny took another second to dig into his wallet, leaving a $20 bill on the table they were sitting at. He then flew into the air after Sam, chasing her all the way to Amity Park.

—————

Six months later, and Danny and Sam were on another outing in Gotham when they were interrupted by Batman. They pulled a chair up for him, and eventually the man took it. They ordered him a coffee and a bagel.

“So, what brings you here?” Danny asked casually.

“How did you defeat Superman?” Batman asked, straight to the point.

“Huh?” Sam asked. “When did we do that?”

“Six months ago.” Batman responded.

“Ohh, wait— remember the day we went to Metropolis?” He hummed.

“Oh. I already forgot about that. Superman’s not pressing charges, is he?” Sam asked. “I do have a good lawyer, he’s just an asshole to deal with.”

“No, he is not pressing charges.” Batman grunted.

“Then what’s this about?” He asked, tilting his head.

Without answering, Batman opened a box on his lap. At once, the kryptonite took effect of both Sam and Danny, making their skin turn green and to writhe in pain. Just as Danny was about to take the box from Batman by force, the man had closed the lid and tucked it away.

“I had my suspicions.” Batman said, as if that explained everything. “So how did two more Kryptonians land on Earth when the planet was destroyed thirty years ago?”

[ofbatsandballads]

kindness you can’t afford

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: injured character, multiple descriptions of blood + wounds

a/n: so this is the very first jason fic I’ve written since I was twelve, so forgive me while I find my jay’s voice now that I’m not a preteen. anyways I humbly offer thee my wares.

divider credit: cafekitsune

Gotham’s a shithole. You hadn’t known that when you first moved here. To be honest, you’d kind of thrown a dart at a map and gone where it landed. Alright, maybe it wasn’t literally a dart throw, more so finding the cheapest metropolitan city because New York was tempting but it would bankrupt you. Mostly you just wanted a place to not exist. And so Gotham’s relatively low rent rates and towering skylines were the pick with little to no research.

Gotham’s a shithole. You know that beyond a shadow of a doubt now. It’s surprising, honestly, how little of Gotham’s chaos makes it outside the city limits. One would think a psychotic killer clown that’s prone to gassing a whole city district or a half-plant poison lady or a guy going around dressed like a bat would make national news. And yet, no. You’d known superheroes existed, of course. Superman was the shining jewel in the crown of the country that is Metropolis. Everyone knows about the extraordinary Wonder Woman. It’s not like hyper skilled people working for the greater good aren’t a thing. But Gotham plays her cards close to her chest.

You've lived here almost two years now and you’ve managed to make it through relatively unscathed. An impressive feat especially since you live in the Bowery. The Bowery itself isn’t so bad, but its neighboring district Park Row, more often known as Crime Alley, is about the worst Gotham has to offer. You’ve heard your fair share of gunshots and sirens, and you’ll never forget the time that Scarecrow released fear toxin in the district and you had to shove every towel and blanket you owned against the cracks by the doors and windows to keep it out. However, you’ve avoided being mugged or assaulted or anything like that so far. And you’ve never encountered the vigilantes that run the night here.

But there’s always time for new and exciting experiences.

The loud thunk that sounds outside your living room window makes you jump and starts your heart pounding. You know you should just ignore it. Crawl off the couch and to the bedroom, lock the door. The lights in the apartment are already off, only the television light illuminating the room, so it would be easy to creep unseen. But you can’t. Something pulls you to the window. Maybe it’s the cat killing curiosity, or maybe it’s your own little voice of self destruction, or maybe it’s something else entirely. All you know is that you have to go look.

So you do. And there, out cold on the fire escape, is a man. A very large man. A very large man in a red helmet. A very large man in a red helmet with dual pistols holstered to his thighs. Red Hood. Red Hood is passed out face up on your fire escape. Huh.

You’d heard of him. It was hard not to. The Bat had the most notoriety by far, but it was Red Hood that truly scared the criminals of Gotham. Batman might break your bones, cripple you even, but you’d leave with your life. No such guarantee existed if you crossed Red Hood. Hurt a few innocent people and you might end up with a bullet or three in your skull. Then there was that thing about heads in a duffel bag and Red Hood running crime for a solid year in Gotham, but he’s better now, apparently. None of this is deterring you from unlocking the window, pushing it up, and stepping out into the cold winter air. Not when you see the blood seeping through his body armor start to drip off the fire escape grate.

He needs help and he can’t stay unconscious in the middle of the city. If whoever injured him didn’t find him, the cops would. He’s just as wanted as the actual rogues of Gotham. You think it’s bullshit, which is why you’re trying to find a way to get him inside the safety of your apartment. He’s huge up close. This is going to be very, very difficult. Your mind flashes suddenly to one of your favorite childhood movies and how the princess pulled the dashing rogue around with her hair. You glance down at the street before heading to your bedroom.

You come back out with sheets bundled up in your arms. You’re not even sure if this harebrained idea will work, but you weave the sheets through the gaps in the grates and around Red Hood’s waist nonetheless. You secure a knot and go back into your apartment with the length of the sheets. Your legs are stronger than your arms, so you brace them against the wall and pull. You can feel his body slowly dragging towards you and you pause to check your progress. He’s slumped against the window now. Good. You loop your arms under his, place your feet back against the wall, and pull hard. Your hard work is rewarded with his body breaching the threshold of your window and landing directly on top of you. The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. He is heavy.

It’s a struggle but you manage to roll out from under him and immediately see the massive red stain contrasting against the white of your fluffy pajama pants. A small puddle of blood is emerging on your floor under his left thigh, and droplets of blood have splattered next to his torso. He’s not in great shape. It suddenly hits you what you’ve done. You dragged an injured vigilante, known for shooting first and asking questions later, into your apartment with no plan on what to do after the fact.

What the fuck did I do?

That’s all you can think as you look down at him. Then something snaps into place inside your rattled mind and you run to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You’d bought it and learned the basics after Wayne Enterprises ran televised infomercials about the importance of first aid a couple months back. You’re carefully balancing all the supplies in your arms as you head back out to the living room.

The empty living room. No vigilante in sight. Then your world spins. Everything clatters to the floor as you’re yanked backwards by your waist, pinned to something solid and unable to move.

“Who are you?” A growl sounds behind you, modulated to sound semi-mechanical.

Ah. There he is. You think you should be panicking, absolutely losing your shit even. But your brain is moving in slow motion.

“Someone trying to help you,” you breathe out.

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

The grip around your waist tightens. You want to laugh. As if you could’ve made a run for it in the first place. You tell him your name, and explain that you live alone. There’s no one else here but the two of you and you really do want to help.

“You were passed out on my fire escape. I couldn’t just leave you out there,” you explain cautiously.

The two of you stay like that for a minute longer. Then, a mechanical sigh sounds from behind you and the vice grip on your waist goes slack. You turn to him and see that he’s already halfway to your window.

“Hey! Wait! I can help!” you shout, scrambling after him.

“Don’t need it,” he snaps.

“You were bleeding out on my floor!” you exclaim.

You don’t know why you feel so strongly about this. Maybe because he seemed so…mortal. It’s easy to forget that these guys running around at night are people. They’re strong, tough, and capable, but they’re still human. The fact that he stumbles and has to catch himself on the window frame proves your point.

“Please. I promise I won’t take long. Please just let me help,” you beg.

He turns around and even through that unreadable helmet you can tell he’s sizing you up. You’re sure you must be a sight in your fuzzy white cat pajama pants, old Snoopy t-shirt, and fluffy white socks. Honestly, it’s a bit of a ridiculous tableau. Massive armed man in tactical gear opposite a woman in fluffy pajamas, both bloodstained. But either you seem harmless enough or he’s in exceptionally bad shape, because he just slumps against your wall and gives a barely noticeable nod of his head.

You go into autopilot the second you get his consent. A dining room chair is dragged to the center of your living room and Red Hood drops himself into it, the old wood creaking under the force. You go to assess the damage on his torso first. Light slashes litter his waist, none of them are deep enough for stitches. You grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the floor where you kneel before warning him that it might sting.

“I got slashed. Think that might’ve hurt a bit more,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

The torso slashes are light work. It takes all of five minutes to disinfect them and seal them shut with bandages. It’s his thigh that you’re a little more concerned about. There’s enough blood that it’s soaked his tactical pants around where you’re guessing the wound is. You can vaguely make out what appears to be cut fabric, so you’re assuming he was stabbed.

“How deep did the knife go?” you ask.

“Hm. ‘Bout two inches?” he offers.

“Why’d you take it out?” you ask incredulously. Anyone with half a brain knew not to take a knife out of a stab wound.

“No idea. Should’ve just gone runnin’ around the city with a knife wedged in my leg.”

The mask’s modulator does nothing to hide the teasing edge to his voice. Of everything you’d heard about Red Hood, you’d never heard he was such a smartass.

“You know how to do stitches?” he asks.

Great. So he saw the deer-in-headlights look you had while thinking about how to fix his stab wound.

“If you count mending clothing then, uh, sure,” you reply.

The white slits of the helmet stare hard at you before a warped chuckle comes from under it.

“Well, close enough.”

Oh, so he liked to gamble with his health then. Okay. Sure. Great. You could totally do this. Untrained, unlicensed, unsupervised you. You have to stop your hands from shaking as you thread the curved needle. You have to stop yourself from vomiting with anxiety as you push the needle through his skin. He hisses and you immediately feel bad. He’d handled the alcohol without flinching, but the stitches were a different story. You whisper sorry’s with every puncture of his skin you make. Soon enough, his leg is closed up and the whole thing is said and done.

“Okay, should be good to go,” you start, “Well, not good per se, but functional to go.”

A hum and a quick nod of his head are the only response you get before he’s back on his feet. He’s about to climb out your window for the second time tonight when you call out to him again. He turns around and you’d swear he almost seems exasperated.

“Take these with you. You’ll probably need them,” you say as you toss him a water bottle and a small carton of orange juice.

He snatches them easily from the air. But then he just stands there and stares at the drinks in his hands. You think you may have somehow offended him and go to apologize when he speaks.

“Thanks,” he says, mechanical voice catching on the word.

And then he’s gone. Out your window and off into the night. Once you shut and lock the window you feel exhaustion hit you like a freight train. All the adrenaline drains from you and it takes whatever energy you have left to collapse on to your bed and drift off to sleep.

You’ll never know it, but the Red Hood spends the last fifteen minutes of his patrol sipping his orange juice and dutifully watching your apartment window.

You’ll never know it, but Jason Todd lingers across the street to make sure you get home from the grocery store safely, and he scoffs as he sees you feed and pet a stray dog. It’s silly, he thinks.

Don’t you know that now you’ve shown it some kindness, it’ll just keep coming back?

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Airport Chaos.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - seeing how agitated that harry looked when he was just trying to get out of the car actually made me so cross, just be grateful that you got to see him, learn to give people personal space.

word count - 2.5k

in which, harry’s just finished his show in barcelona, and is en-route to madrid, but there’s one more hurdle that needs to be jumped when fans bombard him, you and your one year old son finley. this results in a very agitated harry, a tearful toddler and a wife that’s claustrophobic.

As the car glides through the vibrant streets of Barcelona, a serene ambiance envelops you and your family, casting a veil of tranquillity over the world around you. The bustling energy of the city has retired for the night, leaving behind an exquisite symphony of solitude.

As your car glides along the deserted thoroughfares, the city unveils its timeless secrets. The ancient buildings, guardians of Barcelona's rich history, stand tall and proud, their façades adorned with intricate details and ornate balconies. Illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, their colors dance in harmony with the moonlit sky, creating a spellbinding kaleidoscope of hues.

The streets, devoid of the usual crowds, are yours to explore, each corner leading you deeper into the heart of this vibrant metropolis. The gentle breeze whispers through the leaves of towering trees, lending a symphony of rustling whispers to the nocturnal symphony. Their branches reach out like gentle arms, swaying gracefully overhead, creating a celestial canopy above the cobblestone lanes.

Occasionally, you catch glimpses of life seeping through the silence. A few solitary figures make their way along the sidewalk, their silhouettes casting elongated shadows upon the ground. Some are still adorned in the attire of a long workday, their weary steps echoing the rhythm of a day well-spent. Others, just beginning their nocturnal duties, are cloaked in the promise of a vibrant night ahead. Their presence adds a touch of mystique to the ethereal scenery, reminding you of the shared humanity that underlies the city's nocturnal tapestry.

The intoxicating scent of the sea lingers in the air, carried by the zephyrs that dance through the city streets. It mingles with the aromas of nearby cafés and restaurants, teasing your senses and igniting a hunger for adventure. The distant echoes of laughter and faint strains of music beckon, hinting at hidden pockets of life that come alive when the sun sets.

The drive continues with you cradling your sleeping one year old son, Finley, in your arms. His tiny mouth remained gently attached to your breast, having drifted off while nursing in the backseat after Harry's exhilarating concert. The rise and fall of his contented breaths provided a soothing soundtrack to the journey ahead.

You, Harry, and Finley were en route to Barcelona–El Prat Airport, preparing to catch a flight to Madrid. The excitement of the concert still lingered in the air, yet a hint of apprehension crept into your thoughts. The prospect of manoeuvring through a bustling airport with a sleeping baby nestled in your embrace weighed on your mind. Your nails became the focus of your nervous energy, as you absentmindedly picked at them, a telltale sign of your discomfort in crowded spaces.

Aaron, the driver, broke the silence, his voice cutting through the air with concern. "There's quite a crowd near the parking area," he informed you and Harry. "It might be a bit tricky to navigate through when we arrive."

The words sent a ripple of anxiety through your body, tightening your grip on Finley. You couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability in the face of such a boisterous crowd. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, knowing that your partner, Harry, thrived amidst the adoring masses that followed his every move.

As if sensing your unease, Harry's gaze shifted from the passing scenery to your nervous gestures. His touch was a lifeline, lifting your spirits and grounding you in his unwavering support. He reached out and gently grasped your hand, lifting it to his lips.

With a voice filled with reassurance and tenderness, he murmured, "M’love, don't worry. Everything's going t’be fine."

His words echoed in your ears, resonating deep within your heart. Harry's touch, warm and comforting, conveyed a sense of security, reminding you that you were never alone in facing your fears. Even though he was accustomed to crowds, he understood your anxieties and was always there to offer solace.

A soft smile danced upon your lips as Harry pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his lips grazing your skin with tender affection. In that moment, the outside world faded away, leaving only the connection between the two of you—an unbreakable bond forged in love, trust, and understanding.

And as the car continued its journey towards the airport, you clung to the strength and reassurance Harry provided. The touch of his lips upon your knuckles served as a soothing balm, instilling you with a renewed sense of courage and confidence.

The car slowed down as it approached the bustling parking area, the clamour of the crowd growing louder. But in that moment, with Harry's kiss lingering on your skin, you felt a surge of determination. The chaos outside the car could not overpower the love and support that encompassed your little family.

Gently shifting Finley off your breast, you carefully disengaged him, causing him to let out a soft whinge in protest. Worried that he might fully wake up, you quickly began to sway and soothe him, hoping to lull him back into a peaceful slumber. As your soothing motions took effect, his eyelids fluttered, and he settled once again into a deep sleep.

Glancing up from Finley's serene face, you caught Harry's attention. His eyes met yours, and you could see the concern etched in his features. Taking in the scene outside through the tinted windows of the Mercedes, he turned back to you, his voice filled with determination and care.

"I'll get out first, sign a few things, and then I'll come back t’help you and Fin," Harry explained, his unwavering support shining through his words.

As he prepared to step out of the car, a surge of fans already surrounded the vehicle. They clamoured for a glimpse of their beloved idol, desperate to show their adoration. Harry's body shifted, one leg still anchored inside the car while the other extended towards the crowd, his calm demeanour serving as a shield of tranquillity amidst the chaos.

With a graceful balance of firmness and kindness, Harry skillfully kept the fans at a distance, ensuring their safety while maintaining his own. He exuded a rare sense of composure, navigating the sea of adoring faces with a genuine smile and a genuine touch, making each person feel seen and valued.

As Harry prepared to fulfill his promise of signing an album for a dedicated fan, the crowd's energy buzzed with anticipation. He stepped out of the car with a gracious smile, navigating through the throngs of adoring fans who eagerly stretched out their arms, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol.

Amidst the excited voices and outstretched hands, one fan appeared particularly adamant about getting close to Harry. They pushed forward, disregarding personal boundaries, driven by an overwhelming desire to be near him. Sensing the fan's persistence, Harry raised a hand, creating a barrier between them.

"Chill out, mate," he spoke firmly, his tone laced with a mix of assertiveness and exhaustion.

You observed the situation unfold from the comfort of the car, your heart filled with concern. As the encounter unfolded, you could see glimpses of Harry's fatigue creeping in. The long hours of performing, travelling, and constant interaction with fans were undoubtedly taking a toll on him.

His initial patience and composure began to waver, replaced by a growing agitation. Lines of weariness etched themselves upon his face, and his eyes betrayed a longing for a moment of respite. Despite his efforts to maintain his poise, the relentless demands began to chip away at his stamina.

And as the crowd's clamour continued, you sent a silent message of understanding and support to Harry, hoping he would find solace in your presence. In that moment, you yearned to offer him the calm and tranquillity he deserved, to shield him from the world's demands and allow him to simply be himself, away from the spotlight.

The image of Harry, his hand held up in a gesture of boundary and weariness, remained etched in your mind. It symbolised the delicate balance he maintained between his role as an artist and his own need for rest.

With a resolute expression, Harry addressed the persistent fans surrounding him, his voice carrying a blend of urgency and determination.

"I need to get m’wife and m’son out of the car," he asserted, hoping to convey the importance of their privacy and the need for a moment of respite. “Could y’please step back a little please.”

Some fans responded to his plea, relenting and creating a bit of space, while others continued to plead for photos and autographs. Recognizing the challenge at hand, Harry turned to the security team, issuing a request for them to create a pathway, guiding you and Finley safely through the crowd.

After ensuring that the security team was in position, Harry returned to the car, a mix of concern and weariness etched upon his face. Sensing his presence, you looked at him, seeking his guidance and reassurance.

"Is it okay for us to get out?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

Harry's gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting the immense love and care he had for his family.

“As okay as it can be," he replied, his voice holding a gentle understanding of the challenges that lay ahead.

Reaching out, he took Finley from your arms, his touch filled with tenderness and protectiveness. As Finley nestled his face in the crook of his father's neck, the exhaustion and overwhelm washed over him, causing tears to well up and spill forth. The flashing lights and the cacophony of the crowd became too much for the little one to bear.

Harry's embrace tightened, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other ensuring that Finley was cradled with care. His fatherly instinct kicked in, providing a sense of security amidst the chaos.

As the crowd pressed closer, their excitement reaching a fever pitch, one fan extended a hand towards Finley's tiny arm in hopes of capturing Harry's attention. But the innocent gesture had an unintended effect. Finley recoiled, pulling his arm back with a sudden jerk, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

Witnessing your son's distress, a surge of protectiveness welled up within you. Your heart ached for Finley, his innocence disrupted by the intrusion of a stranger's touch. At that moment, the proximity to the airport entrance offered a brief respite, as the number of fans thinned out. However, the incident had stirred something within Harry, a mix of concern and frustration that flickered in his eyes.

Harry, usually known for his composed demeanour, could no longer suppress his emotions. He addressed the fans, his voice tinged with a touch of agitation.

“Please, don't touch m’son," he implored, his words a plea laced with a protective urgency.

Rubbing his hand up and down Finley's back, Harry sought to soothe his distressed son. His touch carried a mixture of tenderness and firmness, a comforting gesture aimed at calming Finley's frayed nerves.

In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause, the weight of the situation resting heavily upon Harry's shoulders. The love he had for his son radiated through his touch, as he tried to ease Finley's unease and offer a sense of security amidst the unexpected turmoil.

As you finally made your way into the airport, the bustling atmosphere shifted to a slightly calmer pace.

“I’ve just got to go to the loo, quickly.” Your fiancé told you and the rest of the security who nodded their heads as he quickly handed Finley into your waiting arms. Fatigue and weariness were evident on his face, etched by the demands of the day.

In a tender exchange, Harry spoke softly to Finley, their bond evident in every word.

"I'll be back soon, little one." he murmured, his voice filled with affection and a touch of exhaustion. Finley looked up at his father, their connection palpable even at such a young age.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for Harry as you observed the tiredness etched on his face. He had given his all on stage, then faced the excitement and challenges of the crowd. Yet, even in his weariness, he remained attentive and loving, making sure to reassure Finley before attending to his own needs.

Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's cheek, a gesture of support and understanding.

“We’ll be waiting here for you," you whispered, letting him know that you were there, ready to provide the stability and comfort he deserved.

Harry swiftly made his way to the restroom, seeking a momentary escape from the clamour and demands that surrounded him. He entered a closed cubicle, the solitude offering a brief respite from the outside world. The heavy door closed behind him, enclosing him in a quiet space.

Seated on the closed toilet seat, Harry took a deep breath, his thoughts swirling in his mind. The facade of composure he wore for the public began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability that few had the chance to witness. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone, and with a trembling hand, he unlocked it.

The screen illuminated with a picture that held his heart captive—a snapshot of you and Finley when he was just born. The memory flooded his senses, the pure joy and love captured in that moment forever etched into his soul. The time displayed on the phone read 12:06 am, a reminder of the countless sleepless nights he had spent caring for his family.

Overwhelmed by a surge of conflicting emotions, Harry's composure shattered, and he silently sobbed. His tears fell in solitude, unheard by the world beyond the closed cubicle. He held his phone against his chest, clutching it over his heart, seeking solace in the tangible reminder of the love that anchored him.

The weight of his responsibilities and the unrelenting demands of fame bore down upon him. Despite his unwavering love for his fans, a sense of suffocation enveloped him at times. Guilt gnawed at his heart as he grappled with the fear that his son, the embodiment of his deepest love, had been placed in harm's way due to the adoration of his supporters.

Feeling the weight of his emotions and the need for comfort, Harry pulled his phone away from his chest and dialled a familiar number. The phone rang, each passing second heightening his anticipation.

Finally, the call connected, and he heard his mother's voice on the other end.

"Mum... I'm sorry. I know it's late, but I just needed to talk to you," Harry spoke softly, his voice laced with a mix of vulnerability and relief. Despite the unwavering support he found in his partner and in you, he longed for the familiar embrace of his mother's understanding.

His mother was one of his best friends, and he knew it was late over in England but he just needed to hear her voice. He knew you would always listen to his thoughts and feelings but there was something about hearing his mothers voice that made him feel better.

Don’t get Harry wrong, this was undoubtedly one of the best tours he had ever done in his life, but he desperately needed a break.

He was craving the feeling of his own bed, with Finley laying against his chest and you laid asleep in his arms.

[charles-leclerizz]

ꕤ — DESERT OASIS

recording : date_number #1

THE FIRST DATE ON THE RECORD - NOT COUNTING THE THREE IN THE VAULT

word count : 788 words

reading time : 3 minutes 19 seconds

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

their playlist · 🪷 the relationships · 🪷 their relationship · 🪷 their pinterest board

" You think they saw us ? " aisha whispered, grasping her clutch to her waist as lando winded a hand around her waist and guided her up the steps of the ritz-carlton.

He snorted against her and placed a kiss on her exposed neck whilst plucking the keys of her Porsche from her hand to drop them into the obedient valet who stood patiently for them.

" I would be worried if they didn't "

His words seemed to work as a prayer, impromptu flashes and unintelligible shouts surrounded the couple who merely squeezed closer together whilst aisha glanced apologetically at the worker who was navigating the crowd with her car.

" You summoned them, " she hissed into his ear, smiling at the odd, matte black barrells that were aimed at her.

Lando chuckled, raising a hand up to take her chin into his grasp and pressed his lips against her cheek, his mouth raising into a cheeky smirk, " yea well, they're rabid dogs. "

She hummed in answer, laying her forehead against his shoulder tiredly, " can we go in now ? " aisha whined, her vision blurring at the startling beams of light increased tenfold.

Lando nodded, glancing down at her, " lets go. " he tutted his head in acknowledgement at the paparazzi before taking her hand and guiding them through the threshold of the resort.

" Date number 3 and they've just begun to post about us " aisha giggled down at her phone and twisted her wrist to show the man who sat in front of her the app.

" Is that what these are ? " lando grins back, " I just thought I was getting to look at a pretty woman for a large fee. " he shrugs as he leans back and takes in the late evening city scape.

The sprawling metropolis sat alight beyond them from the perch of the dinner table, the glistening lights from the various buildings illuminated the private meal from the rooftop restaurant they shared.

" A large fee ? honey, it's payment for being able to look at a pretty woman "

He laughed at that and reached over the table to take her hand in his whilst running his thumb over the gentle idents of her knuckles, " hmmm " he kissed each finger purposefully, " I guess you're right. "

" You've changed norris. " aisha cocked her head affectionately as she slipped her fingers out of his hold and ran them through his curls.

" I would hope so. last time we were together, we were just 15 years old. "

" You know what I mean." she sighs, " drivers are meant to be man whores, sleeping around and arrogant while they do it. you're nothing like what I heard. "

" And here I thought you were focusing on your career. "

" I am- but it's hard to ignore the journalists. "

Lando leaned back in his chair before jutting his foot out to nudge her heeled one, " well then lucky me, " he leaned his head onto his palm whilst the other came to wrap around his empty wrist, " because I'm perfectly happy with you. "

" You're too much of a flirt for your own good, " she arched a brow at him from over the rim of her wine glass, the sweet and perky alcohol slipped down her throat slowly as his eyes watched the nape of her neck like a python and its prey.

" You fell for it. " he argued, hazel eyes glinting.

" Fell for it ? jury's still out on that one. " she slid out of her chair, pushing away from their empty plates as she sauntered out towards the lip of the roof, pristine glass protected her from the far drop as a cool breeze swept by.

The gold silk of her dress rippled, and the swooping cut of her back tickled the dimples of her hips whilst the thin chain skimmed her spine. Leaning forward, aisha braced her elbows on the glass before she glanced behind her and bit her lip at lando who was approaching her from his place.

His shadow overtook her space as he leaned down to her ear and whispered, " never got the opportunity to appreciate your outfit tonight, " his fingers trailed down to the seam of where the fabric embraced the arch of her back, " it's perfect. " he purred.

" I never fuck up an ensemble norris, you better learn that quick. " she twisted in his hold and tucked her nose into his neck, " it's best for you. "

" yes ma'am " he mumbled against her.

MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar, @itsjustkhaos, @tremendousstarlighttragedy, @xoscar03,@nichmeddar, @sisinever], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !

[NOTE ! i'm not too good at staying on top of tagging, so if you notice that I haven't tagged you, please let me know since i can add you to my list, which is ever growing]

directors note's : oh oh oh, here we are people, welcome to the first of 5 cute-sy dates from the paddocks it couple ! i just thought these would be nice to fill the silence between episodes [ which btw, i have not started writing ep 2. life really fucking sucks ] please let me know if you love this couple as much as i do. or if you havve some theories about their future. it's yap-central in my inbox so come one, come all

[aangelinakii]

ESPRESSO.

— you're working late, cuz you're a singer.

summary : you sing at the iceberg lounge, and roy comes to watch you almost every night you perform. tonight he has something to tell you, but you don't see him as anything more than a lost puppy in lust.

note : this fic contains a female reader, but almost all of my other works are gender neutral, so check out those if that's what you're looking for, or send in a request so i can cater closer to what you'd like !!

not proofread !

a sweet song in the form of a hum filled your dressing room as you brushed your hair in the vanity mirror, the lights adorning its edges brightening your complexion.

you were due to sing tonight, as you did every friday. people came from all over the state to see you perform; you, with your magical voice, and enticing moves on stage. anybody whose eyes were privileged enough to watch you, was graced with the everlasting memory if your song.

those who watched you, loved you; there was nothing you could do to stop it. almost every day you came to work, vases littered your vanity, your coffee table, your daystands – lord, even the ground if there's no space – filled to the brim with an array of flowers, each bouquet entirely different from the rest.

of course, none of these gifts came in vain, but it became difficult to appreciate when all these fans felt connected, and you only walked around a stage with a microphone in your hand.

they became a sort of parasocial relationship; entirely one-way, entirely fabricated by those starry-eyed onlookers.

one man in particular – roy – made an effort to come each night you performed, much like the other iceberg lounge patrons, but, as he had an in with the owner, he'd managed to form at least some sort of real relationship with you; a relationship all those other greasy hogs in the crowd only wished they could have. but it wasn't like roy provided you with anything special. he was just like the rest, only with a little more networking skills.

he was charming, sure, but you knew men that came to see you sing very well by now; only one thing on their minds, those men. it was unfortunate, but true.

a knock came from the other side of your door, and your humming came to a stop. your eyes flickered over to the clock sat atop your vanity, next to a holder of makeup brushes – you weren't due for another forty minutes.

"come in," you announced, rich voice rumbling through your throat.

after a moment, the door peeled open, and you watched through the reflection in the mirror, brush still working through your coils of hair.

whoever came a-knocking revealed themselves in a moment, stepping inside the dressing room and closing the door behind them in one casual movement. they stood with their back against the door. roy.

"evening, darlin'," he thrummed, his voice all too confident when speaking to you, you'd always thought. "how're you feeling about tonight?"

it took a physical restraining to hold back the laugh that threatened to rip past your teeth.

"fine."

singing came naturally to you, it was not something you had to prepare for, or practice, especially when performing at the iceberg lounge was a weekly thing; something you excitedly anticipated, even, as you went through your week otherwise. people hired you to sing at parties, even other clubs on the occasion they were down a singer; there was even a time a star city-based musician had asked you to come down to open for their show in metropolis.

when roy came to speak to you after your shows, it always went the same way. to you, he was just another guy, eager for your undivided attention, which you seldom gave him. but to him, you were everything, but, then again, that's what you were to every woman-loving person in the room when you were atop that stage, adorning the spotlight like a halo.

roy didn't respond for a few beats, simply watching your reflection in awe, as the mirror's lamps illuminated your face. he began to step forward, arms folded behind his back as he did so, taking in your dressing room for what seemed like the first time, despite him doing so every time he came here.

"there was something i wanted to tell you," he piped up after a moment, stopping in front of the wardrobe at the edge of the room, and your eyes slid over to look at him, back facing you, for his reflection had gone out of view in the vanity.

his hands traced the ornate handles of the wooden doors, and he pulled it open, curiously admiring the various hooked-up stage outfits. most were dark in colour, sparkly, eye-catching for when you stood in the spotlight in just the right position.

"and what was that?" you finally placed down your hairbrush, taking one final look at your appearance before shuffling in your seat to fully face him.

the door closed with a soft click, and roy turned around to look at you, his green eyes surveying you in earnest. they flickered away for a moment, his jaw setting in place, as if running the words through in his mind.

when he finally looked back up at you, his eyes had softened, and his expression held an uncertain sense of vulnerability.

"you're amazing, (name)," he began, voice confident, yet owning a soft quality you weren't used to from him. "every time i watch you on that stage, i swear i'm just ready to give all of myself to you. you shine like a star under that spotlight, but even when it's just you and i here, you block out everything else."

how sweet.

you couldn't count the amount of borderline-obsessive letters you'd received upon returning to this room every friday night, when you clock in, and once you finish your set. and each of them said virtually the same thing; they could offer you a lavish life, where you could sing just for them, and they would treat you with diamonds and holidays and expensive restaurants, however all phrased slightly differently.

couldn't men get a little more creative these days?

and you were almost a hundred percent certain this was where roy was going with this.

"i hope you're not trying to tell me you're in love, roy," you dismissed him, turning back to your reflection to regard your appearance before going on stage for the night's set. beside you, his stature shifted, almost saddened, but it had recuperated in barely a moment.

a laugh came from him, the air brushing lightly over your temple; something disheartened, but trying to appear well-adapted. "what?" he practically snorted dismissively. "of course not."

"why?" he continued all too quickly after allowing a half-beat to pass. "are you?"

now this snort was more than genuine, your lips curling into a bemused grin. "bold of you to assume i have time to date, let alone fall in love."

"o-of course," roy muttered, letting out a sigh that he disguised as a breathy chuckle. he paced back into frame of the vanity, where you could watch his body language more closely. "do you really think you couldn't, though? not even for a great guy? someone who goes out of their way for you."

men like roy harper, and other pretending-not-to-be-married men in your crowds, always thought too highly of themselves. they thought you actually had interest. they assumed themselves unattainable, and that their attraction to you was an honour, when in reality they were repulsive.

jutting out your bottom lip, you gave a shrug. "not sure... not ringing any bells."

"really?" roy shot back all too frantically, coming to a stop behind you in the mirror.

allowing the rejection to rub in just that little bit more, you squinted your eyes at him through the glass. his eyebrows upturned; he felt scrutinised, judged. and, well, he was. after a moment, your face morphed into mock surprise, jaw dropping and mouth forming an O shape.

"oh!" you gasped, mouth coming up to your mouth. "were you meaning you?"

"oh, roy," you continued, watching as his confident façade began to drop. there it was; the real, insecure roy. "we would never work. you know that, right? i'm just so, so busy, we could never get to spend enough time together to keep you happy. and with the amount of fans i have, why, you wouldn't be able to handle it. i'm just looking out for your happiness here."

the corner of his mouth slackened, jaw clenching as he watched you in the mirror. by his sides, his fingers fidgeted with the material of his dress pants. you'd hit a nerve, and his precious ego couldn't handle it.

he gave a shrug, eyes breaking any contact with yours as he turned his head toward the ground. "yeah, it's whatever."

when he finally spoke, any remnants of confidence, or cockiness, or whatever it was, had dissipated. he'd been stripped down to his britches by that velvety voice of yours, where he'd expected to be treated different to the others.

despite the let down, after a day or two of wallowing, you knew full well he would be back, sitting at the bar next friday night as you performed, eyes on you the entire set. he may not come to your dressing room for a while, but he would be back, you knew.

for the second time this evening, a knock came from the other side of the door.

"you're on in ten!" the technician called.

with this, you stood to your feet and turned to face roy with your real eyes for the first time since he'd come in. it took a moment, but he lifted his gaze to meet yours, a glimmer of hope lingering in his pupils.

but you didn't say anything more, didn't make any moves to comfort him, as you knew he was hoping, aching for. simply, you stepped over to the door and turned the handle, opening the dressing room up into the hallway.

"i'll see you on stage, roy," you hummed, lips curled up into a sweet smile.

the man lifted his head, craning to look back at you. his hands found his pockets, digging inside so far he could probably find gold.

he thought this would be the last time he'd end up in your dressing room.

[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

hi folks. its been a long week. but its time for HOUR IN BRASS

for those just joining us, a new exalted splat is being released; when this happens, i usually lose my shit and liveread through the charms; this time it's the alchemical exalted, golem-robot-communists inside the belly of the machine god autochthon. if you wish to avoid this, you will blacklist #hour in brass

first third of charms:

Howdy Mother Fuckers. its time for HOUR IN BRASS

starting with: the horniest chapter fiction so far

the alchemical paradigm is that you have only so many charm slots for active charms at a time, but that most charms have submodules that add on without taking more slots. they have to swap charms in and out with the rite of reconfiguration. their dice limit is Ess+Attribute BUT one of their biggest charms is going to make their math oh whatever here it comes

TRANSPUISSANT ATTRIBUTE UPGRADE aka transpussy assribute ultima. which raises your resting attribute by 1, starts to stack at higher essences, and comes with a load of submodules to let you swap what attributes are used for what. god im fucking excited to have these around. unwavering sniper calibration to snipe with perception, for example

actually they have a lot of wacky universal charms about integrating with hearthstones, artifacts, stuff like that. robots be customizing bodies. i do want to point out vat surrogate reweaving system, which lets you speed-swap charms once between reconfigurations. i read it and immediately thought camilla hect Go Loud and started cackling

yes alchemicals can still go colossus and eventually turn into cities. though metropolis play is not mechanically supported

ok appearance. starting with radiant iconography array: anima holograms, but they do stuff like become realistic illusions or huge legendary size stuff

emotive aesthetics of the body electric naturally bangs

patriotism-provoking display has many-is-one node and one-is-many node as submodules, whihc are fun

universal advisor comportment is fun, makes you feel sagacious and advisorly

beguiling aestheic perfection is fun, when you socially affect someone they suffer trying to beat your guile for the rest of the scene. i have suffered this irl many times

pheromone regulation system… i cannot make any jokes about this that arent crass. i once knew someone who was turned on by the smell of xbox exhaust

man the submodule tech is really realyl nice. this is a great fucking way for charms to work. you can flashbang people with blinding strobe projector and then on top of that you can choose to enter stealth, steal more initiative, or make it rainbow

its really interesting to me that appearance is getting so many teacherly charms. with illuminating inspiration beacon "The Alchemical’s faith in her students shines through in every aspect of her neon-limned visage"

damn, and from there is psyche-stabilizing beacon, where you radiate such comfort that it helps people resist brain curses

theotropic veneration mantle rocks. project a principle to the exclsuion of others, and those who share the principle see you as a holy figure

i sort of hate glistering obsession nodes. i dont want to glister. it makes people obsessed with me if they can't figure me out

ooh, disguises in appearance subterfuge. including stuff to appear human, or as a dfferent exalted

optical shroud, a classic, predator invisibility

apocryphal operative halo is really interesting, MIB neuralyzer

semiotic flare projector is a really cute concept. almost as cute as supreme icon of battlefield glory. when you kick ass on the battlefield your troops love it, and you can make your enemies hate it, and at e4 you can project it over the entire battlefield

alright, charisma. starting with effective leadership algorithm, both a great example of alchie flavor and of submodule tech bc its just a menu of submodules that let you decide what kinda rolls you use it on, whether youre using faction-building unity or overriding authority mode

oh synergy promoting upgrade is interesting. helps with bureaucracy if youre leadering, gets better if your group likes you, SPU: communal supremacy makes it better if its for a community, SPU: lifestyle cooperation paradigm makes your group like each other

hdkfghdfjsg universal authorization chevron. the cool s. intuitively recognized as a symbol of authority. UAC: axiomatic emblem means even gremlins/fae/undead recognize you with wary deference. UAC: perfected delegation emblem lets you hand out copies to deputies

heresy declaration beacon, lets fucking go

radiant emblem of integrity is interesting… if you speak the complete truth everyone knows that its the complete truth, and it can also authenticate replays of events projected with radiant iconography array. also if you tell the truth and it sucks, gain wp. fantastically built charm. oh the submodule lets you make it permanent and mandatory

electric fervor inspiration is a set of orichalcum electrodes implanted behind the alchemical's jaw. thats fucked up. oh it lets you reset social rolls thats differently fucked up

battle anthem of the alchemical exalted! made it in! oh this is just a menu of songs thats super neat. including thousand work shifts ballad… and double music

similarly with programming language eloquence "A breaker between the Alchemical’s frontal and temporal lobes filters unnecessary emotion from her communications…" im really having fun with this

damn propaganda interdiction signal: void-quelling chastisement means that gribblies can't call on principles to resist your influence to hangout with mortals

something about vox populi broadcast really compels me. its just a charm to speak loudly but you can submodule it to communicate only with allies or to cut through magical silence.. and its speakers implanted in your throat

ideological override circuitry…

FEAR OVERRIDE DEVICE in warfare

homeguard reinforcement clarion… whip up that militia

dexterityyyy okay we're getting into the combat charms now

omg magnetic subdual coils to steal weapons. including a pulse blaster submodule, field projector, magnetron…

protosynthetic ammunition replicator, as expected, but thankully it is reloaded with "an articulated metal tendril". & btw dispersive flash-chaff cluster to make it a flashbang arrow, fulminating conduction charge to make it a stun arrow, concussive overpressure warhead to make it a knockdown, airburst grenade

being able to group all the "fast attack" charms in one place is fun, the submodules have a cute menu of extra ways to use it

damn, blinding velocity actuator upgrades you to a surprise attack if youre fast enough?

i like that gear-driven reflex automation is, past all the prereqs and flavor lines and stuff, exactly one line of charm. and then some fun submodules. wait damn withering counterattck at e3, with tactical reaction matrix

hacking multistrike accelerator to "enact pre-programmed motions" in pursuit of… erm… well… ok wait forget that this is a really cool charm. doesnt use all your initiative on the decisive, this feels like itd be real fun to fuck with espcially with the submodules

dsjksdks subluminous onslaught: kinetic launch catapult lets you like launch a fucking sword to short range. or your fists

ESSENCE PULSE CANNON. lets fucking go. again the submodules are really cool: concussive, focused, precision, de hey. Sieve Devastator Mode. its sheer heft provides her with heavy cover

skjfdsf autonomous assault processors makes (Dex-2) attacks, but dont forget you could be augmened enough for that to be 4 attacks at e2 anyways, 5 at e3 (if i remember the TAU rules right).

oh shitt transmodal rapid targeting system, bend that bullet. psychokinetic vectors. sdhksdfs this damage calculation is really funny. damn this is fully just children of the sun or whatever that game was. epic

TRANSFINITE ULTRAVIOLENCE DRIVE. time stands still. and then you bank attacks, which seems really fun. shjdskf and TUD: omnitactical processing core lets you add more withering attacks on top

oh huh accelerated response system: unwavering precision lets you not take onslaught if you successfully defend against lower init enemies. thats probably not that strong but it feels strong

casualty-minimizing equations is a damn good name

perfectly parallel defensive geometry…

oh light-etched interceptor barrier is fun. roll parry instead of static. and essence absorption screen lets you eat energy attacks with it

autonomous defensive drones AERIAL! actually theyre more like murderbot drones, they orbit and defend you. … damn, they cant be withered and theyve got almost as many hls as a starting character, theyre a pain to take out. their DO Parry is (Dex+1) so they're like fantastic for ranged fighters who dont parry or dodge

precalculated evasion system lets you bank dodge successes… kind of like light-etched interceptor but not. really interesting. hey what its simple?

omnisituational evasive equation is a fantastic name. ts the perfect dodge. OEE: hyperspatial geometry is really fun

cyclical velocity treads! heelies!!!

and then theres… oil slick dispenser nozzles… in your calves. i love wacky races

momentum-charged overdrive engine is a bangin name… a preprogrammed sequence of combat acrobatics

inclding jet boosters in optimized pursuit accelerator… ts really funny that al these red jade rush charms are also like "ugh fine you can also use these to run away if you have to"

transphase engine… walk through fucking walls

sjdflskdf digital precision effectors splits open your fingertips

covert telemetry mode…

counterharmonic scatter system is just like a really fun charm name. im having a lot of fun with charm names. displaces the sound of you

sdjlfsdf flicker-flare launchers are a flashbang to just immediately enter concealment

ooh matchless assassin protocols… reflexively stealth after a disengage or distract

hyperdextrous tentacle apparatus. can someone get astrakiseki on the phone

total perception negation field. if you see me no you didnt. ending, of course, in unseen deathblow calibration

and thats the first third. im like getting really alchemicalpilled rn. its hot

[writingforstraykids]

Whispers of the Moon - Birthday Special

Pairing: Minchan (short mention of Felix / very short mention of the other boys)

Word Count: 6325

Summary: In the heart of Seoul, beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and ancient palaces, lies a hidden world of magic and mystery. Chan, a gifted healer, and Minho, a shapeshifter hiding as a sleek black cat, find their destinies intertwined in this enchanting underworld...

Warnings/Tags: magical!au, shapeshifter!minho, healer!chan, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers

A/N: The happiest birthday to my dear unnie @zehina. I actually went all nerdy and wrote loads about the world as well since I know you love it (and included the rest of the boys that way hehe). I hope you like it, love🖤

Seoul, South Korea's bustling capital, is known for its towering skyscrapers, historic palaces, and vibrant street markets. It is a city where ancient traditions and cutting-edge technology coexist in harmony. However, beneath its well-lit streets and modern facades lies a hidden realm—a magical underworld known only to a selected few. This subterranean world, rich with history and mystery, operates parallel to the everyday life of Seoul's residents, governed by its own rules and inhabited by beings from myth and legend.

The gateway to Seoul's magical underworld is not a grand archway or a secret door; it is a modest, unassuming teahouse in the bustling district of Insadong. The teahouse, known as "Moonlit Haven," has been in operation for centuries and has been passed down through generations of the same family. Its wooden exterior and traditional hanok architecture blend seamlessly with the area's historic atmosphere.

To the ungifted human, Moonlit Haven appears to be an ordinary teahouse serving fragrant teas and traditional Korean sweets. However, those who know the secret can access the portal to the underworld by ordering a special tea called "Moon's Whisper." Upon drinking this tea, a shimmering door appears at the back of the teahouse, leading to a stone staircase that descends deep into the earth.

The staircase spirals downward, lit by glowing blue lanterns that float in mid-air. The walls are adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes with magical creatures: the nine-tailed fox, the dragon king, and the heavenly warriors. As one descends, the air grows cooler and tinged with a faint scent of jasmine and pine.

At the bottom of the staircase, a grand archway looms, its surface covered in glowing runes. This is the true entrance to Seoul's magical underworld, a threshold between the mundane and the extraordinary. Stepping through the archway, one is immediately enveloped in a world unlike any other.

The magical underworld of Seoul, known as Secret City, is a sprawling subterranean metropolis that mirrors the city above but with its own unique twist. The sky here is an eternal twilight, illuminated by floating orbs that mimic the phases of the moon. Streets are paved with luminescent stones, and buildings are constructed from materials that shimmer with an inner light.

Secret City is divided into several districts, each with its own distinct character. There is the Enchanted Market, where vendors sell potions, enchanted artifacts, and rare ingredients. The Celestial District is home to beings of great power, including dragons and celestial foxes. The Whispering Woods, a dense forest of silver trees, is said to be haunted by spirits and home to elusive forest guardians.

The residents of Secret City are as diverse as the city itself. Humans with magical abilities live alongside mythical creatures. Among them are the Gumiho, nine-tailed foxes who can shapeshift and possess immense magical power. There are also Dokkaebi, goblins, mischievous but generally benign beings who love to play tricks on humans. Dragons, both Eastern and Western varieties, make their homes in the Celestial District, guarding ancient secrets and treasures.

The city's governance is overseen by a council of elders, composed of representatives from each major group. The council ensures harmony between the various inhabitants and that the secrets of Secret City are kept from the surface world, which is why any sort of magic is forbidden in the mundane world. 

The Enchanted Market is the heart of Secret City, a bustling bazaar where the air is filled with the scent of exotic spices and the sound of lively discussions. Stalls line the streets, their wares illuminated by lanterns that float overhead. Vendors shout out their goods, from enchanted scrolls and rare herbs to mystical artifacts and talismans.

One of the most renowned vendors in the market is Master Hyun, a potions master whose shop, "Elixirs of Eternity," is a treasure trove of magical concoctions. Shelves upon shelves are filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes, each containing liquids that shimmer with otherworldly light. Master Hyun is a man of twinkling eyes and ethereal beauty, always ready with a story about the origins of his potions.

One of his most sought-after potions is the "Dream Weaver," which allows the drinker to enter the dreams of others. Another popular item is the "Phoenix Tear," a potion that can heal any wound or ailment. Master Hyun's potions are known for their potency and reliability, making his shop a favorite among both the magical and non-magical residents of Secret City.

Another notable figure in the Enchanted Market is Ji-Sung, an artifact dealer whose collection is the envy of many. His shop, "Treasures of Time," is filled with rare and powerful artifacts from across the ages. Among his prized possessions are a mirror that shows the true nature of any being, a fan that can summon the wind and a sword that can cut through any material.

Ji-Sung is a mysterious figure, always dressed in elaborate silk robes and adorned with jewelry that seems to pulse with magic. He is known for his keen eye and sharp wit, and it is said that he never forgets a face. His shop is a place of wonder and danger, for while many seek his artifacts for their power, they often come with a price that is not measured in gold.

The Celestial District is home to some of the most powerful beings in Secret City. Dragons, with their majestic forms and ancient wisdom, reside here in grand palaces that float above the ground. These palaces, constructed from crystal and gold, radiate a light that can be seen from anywhere in the city.

Each dragon in the Celestial District guards a specific aspect of magic or nature. There is Aran, the dragon of water, whose palace is surrounded by a moat of liquid silver. There is Seraphine, the dragon of fire, whose abode is perpetually surrounded by a ring of flames. These dragons are both protectors and advisors, and their counsel is sought by the council of elders and other residents of Secret City.

Sharing the Celestial District with the dragons are the Gumiho, or nine-tailed foxes. These beings are both feared and respected for their immense magical power and their ability to shape-shift into beautiful women or men. The Gumiho live in harmony with the dragons, their abilities complementing the dragons' strength and wisdom.

The leader of the Gumiho is Jeongin, a fox spirit with silver fur and piercing dark eyes. Jeongin is known for his grace and intelligence, often acting as a mediator in disputes and a strategist in times of conflict. His palace, the Silver Moon Pavilion, is a place of beauty and tranquility, where the moonlight dances on the surface of a crystal-clear lake.

The Whispering Woods is a dense forest of silver trees, their leaves shimmering like moonlight. The woods are said to be haunted, with whispers echoing through the trees that speak of forgotten secrets and ancient magic. The path through the forest is winding and treacherous, known only to a few who dare to venture into its depths.

The Whispering Woods are guarded by forest spirits, ethereal beings who protect the ancient magic within the trees. These spirits, known as the Guardians, are invisible to most and reveal themselves only to those they deem worthy. They are led by Elder Bin, a spirit of great wisdom and power who has watched over the woods for centuries.

The Guardians are both protectors and guides, aiding those who seek knowledge or refuge in the woods. They are also the keepers of the Sacred Grove, a hidden sanctuary where the most potent magical energies converge. The Sacred Grove is a place of healing and renewal, its waters said to grant visions and its flowers capable of curing any illness.

Among the trees dwell the Spirits of the Lost, souls who have wandered into the woods and never found their way out. These spirits are not dangerous but rather sorrowful, seeking closure or redemption. They often appear as faint, glowing figures, their presence marked by a sudden chill in the air.

The Spirits of the Lost are guided by Lix, a gentle and compassionate spirit who helps them find peace. Lix is a beacon of light in the darkness of the woods, his soothing voice and kind heart offering comfort to those who have lost their way. Under his guidance, many spirits have found the closure they seek and moved on to the afterlife.

Scattered throughout Secret City are hidden temples dedicated to various deities and elemental forces. These temples are places of worship and power where the faithful come to seek blessings and guidance. Each temple is unique, reflecting the nature of the deity or force it honors.

One of the most revered temples in Secret City is the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and quiet reflection. The temple is built from white marble, its domed roof adorned with silver filigree that glows softly in the moonlight. Inside, a large pool of water reflects the light of the floating orbs above, creating an ethereal ambiance.

The Temple of the Moon is dedicated to the moon goddess, Haneul, who is believed to watch over Secret City from the skies. The temple is tended by a group of priests known as the Moon Brothers, who perform rituals and offer prayers on behalf of the city's residents. The head priest, Brother Seungmin, is a wise and gentle leader, his presence bringing a sense of peace and tranquility to all who visit the temple.

Another secret society is the Shadow Blades, a group of elite warriors and assassins who protect Secret City. They are skilled in martial arts and magic, and their training is rigorous and demanding. The Shadow Blades operate from the Shadowsong Keep, a hidden fortress deep within the Whispering Woods.

Commander Ji-Won is the leader of the Shadow Blades, a formidable warrior known for being both ruthless and just. Under his command, the Shadow Blades carry out missions to protect Secret City from external threats and internal strife. They are the unseen guardians of the city, their presence felt but rarely seen. Minho is one of them, slowly working his way up the ranks but facing struggles with his colleagues. He’s not as powerful with magic as most of them but has the ability to shapeshift into a cat, making him perfect for secret missions. Which pissed a lot of people off. 

Throughout its history, Secret City has been protected by heroes who have risen to defend the city against threats, both internal and external. These heroes, known as the Chosen Ones, are individuals of great courage and power, often possessing unique abilities that set them apart from others.

No hero is complete without a healer, and in Secret City, that role is filled by Chan, a gifted healer whose touch can mend even the gravest of wounds. Chan is a member of the Temple of the Moon, his gentle nature and healing magic bringing comfort and hope to those in need. He carries a staff, the Moon's Grace, which enhances his healing abilities and allows him to channel the power of the moon goddess.

Seoul's magical underworld, Secret City, is a place of wonder, danger, and beauty. It is a city where the mundane and the extraordinary coexist, where ancient myths come to life, and where the balance between light and dark is constantly maintained. The residents of Secret City, both human and mythical, live in harmony, their lives intertwined by the magic that permeates their world.

As the gateway between the two realms, Moonlit Haven reminds visitors that there is more to Seoul than meets the eye. For those who dare to seek it, a world of magic and mystery awaits, hidden beneath the bustling streets and modern skyscrapers of South Korea's capital. In Secret City, the impossible becomes possible, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary—a true testament to the enduring power of magic.

-

Minho had always been different. As a member of the Shadow Blades, the elite warriors and protectors of Secret City, his abilities made him a target of both admiration and envy. Unlike many of his comrades, he lacked powerful magic but possessed a unique talent: the ability to shapeshift into a sleek, agile cat. This ability made him invaluable for espionage, slipping unnoticed through shadows and tight spaces. However, his success and the recognition it brought only fueled the resentment of his peers.

The tension reached its peak after a particularly challenging mission. Minho had been instrumental in retrieving a stolen artifact from a rogue mage, but his success was met with scorn rather than praise. Whispers of jealousy and accusations of favoritism swirled among his colleagues, resulting in an unjust decision by his superior officers. They accused him of withholding information and acting independently, charges that were untrue but impossible for Minho to refute without pushing himself even further away.

"You think you're special because of your abilities," spat one of his fellow warriors. "But you're just a liability. We don't need someone who can't follow orders."

The decision was swift and brutal. Minho was stripped of his rank and cast out from the Shadowsong Keep. The sense of betrayal cut deeper than any blade. He was alone, exiled from the only family he had known, forced to fend for himself in the vast, mystical underworld of Secret City.

With nowhere else to turn, Minho fled through the Whispering Woods, a dense forest known for its haunting beauty and perilous magic. The silver leaves of the trees shimmered in the eternal twilight, casting an eerie glow on the winding paths. Here, the whispers of ancient secrets and lost souls filled the air, a symphony of sorrow and mystery.

Exhausted and wounded from his escape, Minho made a desperate decision. He transformed into his cat form, hoping the change would allow him to navigate the forest more easily and evade any pursuers. The transformation was both a relief and a curse, offering him agility and stealth but stripping him of his human voice and hands.

As a cat, Minho's senses were heightened. He could hear the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the soft murmurs of the forest spirits. His fur provided some protection against the chill, but the pain of his injuries persisted. Despite his resilience, the journey through the Whispering Woods was grueling, each step a struggle against fatigue and despair.

Lix found him curled up beneath a tree and noticing his injuries he knew there was only one way to save him. He scooped him up from the ground and soothingly caressed his head, able to tell there was more to him than just an innocent, hurt cat.

After days of wandering, they finally reached the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and powerful magic. The temple, constructed from white marble and adorned with silver filigree, stood as a beacon of hope amidst the dark woods. Its domed roof glowed softly, reflecting the light of the floating orbs above. Lix set him down on the ground and gently shoved him forward. “I’m not allowed to enter, but you are, little friend. Go and accept the refuge they have to provide.”

Minho hesitated at the entrance, his feline instincts wary of the unknown. He had heard of the temple's head healer, Chan, a gifted young man whose touch could mend even the gravest of wounds. Desperation outweighed caution, and Minho limped into the courtyard, collapsing near the temple steps.

Moments later, a figure emerged from the temple. Chan, carrying a staff that radiated a gentle light, approached the injured cat. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the wounded animal, but his expression quickly softened into one of compassion.

"Poor thing," Chan murmured, kneeling beside Minho. "Let's get you inside."

Chan carefully lifted Minho and carried him into the temple. The interior was as serene as the exterior, with moonlight streaming through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor. Chan placed Minho on a soft cushion and gently examined his injuries.

"You're in bad shape, but we'll get you fixed up," Chan said soothingly. He placed his hands over Minho's wounds, and a warm, healing light emanated from his palms. The pain began to fade, replaced by a soothing sensation that spread through Minho's body.

As the healing progressed, Minho watched Chan with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. Chan's touch was gentle, his expression focused yet kind. There was something inherently calming about him, a presence that put Minho at ease despite his recent ordeal.

When Chan finished, he sat back and smiled. "There you go, little one. You should feel better soon."

Minho meowed softly in response, his eyes conveying the gratitude he couldn't express in words. Chan chuckled and scratched behind Minho's ears. "You can stay here as long as you need to. I'll take care of you."

Days turned into weeks as Minho recovered under Chan's care. He adapted to his new life at the Temple of the Moon, observing the daily routines and rituals from the shadows. In his cat form, Minho found a strange sense of peace. He was safe from his past and had a chance to start anew.

Chan grew fond of the cat he had rescued, naming him "Moonshadow" for his sleek, dark fur and the way he seemed to blend into the twilight. Minho, in turn, became Chan's silent guardian, following him around the temple and offering companionship.

Whenever Chan was away, Minho would revert to his human form, cleaning the temple and performing small tasks to help ease his guilt for deceiving him. He hoped that his actions would repay some of the kindness Chan had shown him, even if Chan never knew the truth.

Chan, however, began to notice the small changes around the temple. Rooms were tidier, supplies were replenished, and the garden seemed to flourish under an unseen hand. He attributed these miracles to the blessings of the moon goddess, unaware of the true source.

Five months later

In the eternal twilight of Secret City, the Temple of the Moon was a sanctuary of tranquility and magic. Within its serene confines, Chan sat cross-legged on a plush cushion, his gentle eyes scanning the pages of an ancient tome. The moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows cast a colorful, ethereal glow around him, creating an atmosphere of peace and contemplation.

Beside him, Minho, in his cat form, stretched lazily, his sleek black fur shimmering in the soft light. As he yawned and settled into a more comfortable position, his eyes never left Chan. There was a bond between them that went beyond mere companionship—a connection forged through trials and a deep mutual understanding.

Chan noticed Minho’s gaze and smiled warmly. “Hey there, Moonshadow,” he said softly. “Come here.”

Minho’s ears perked up at the sound of Chan’s voice. With a graceful leap, he landed beside Chan and began to nuzzle his head against Chan’s outstretched hand. Chan’s fingers moved instinctively to scratch behind Minho’s ears, a spot that always made the cat purr contentedly.

“There we go,” Chan murmured, his voice soothing and gentle. He could feel the vibrations of Minho’s purrs under his fingertips, a rhythmic reminder of the trust and affection between them.

Minho closed his eyes, leaning into Chan’s touch. The sensation of Chan’s fingers running through his fur was blissful, and his purring grew louder, filling the quiet room with its soothing sound. It was moments like these that made all the hardships and uncertainties of their lives seem distant and unimportant.

Chan chuckled softly. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

In response, Minho rubbed his head against Chan’s cheek, a gesture of affection that made Chan’s heart swell with warmth. The simple act of being close to Chan brought Minho a sense of security and happiness he had never thought possible before meeting him.

“You’re such a sweet kitty,” Chan whispered, continuing to scratch Minho’s head and under his chin. Minho’s purrs grew even louder, and he started to knead Chan’s chest with his paws, his claws retracting just enough to avoid scratching the fabric of Chan’s robe.

Chan shifted slightly, leaning back against the cushions and creating a more comfortable space for both of them. Minho took this as an invitation and climbed onto Chan’s chest, circling a few times before curling up in a tight ball. His tail wrapped around his body, and he rested his head on his paws, looking up at Chan with half-closed eyes.

“You look so peaceful,” Chan said, his voice barely above a whisper. He rested one hand gently on Minho’s back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Minho’s eyes closed fully, and he let out a contented sigh. The warmth of Chan’s body, combined with the rhythmic motion of his hand on his back, lulled him into a state of deep relaxation. His purring continued, a soft, steady sound that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the temple.

For Chan, having Minho close was a source of immense comfort. The bond they shared went beyond that of a healer and his pet; it was a connection of souls, a partnership forged over time. Chan found solace in Minho’s presence, a sense of completeness that he had never experienced before.

As the minutes passed, the tranquility of the moment deepened. Chan’s thoughts drifted, the worries of the day fading into the background. All that mattered was the gentle weight of Minho on his chest, the soothing sound of his purrs, and the warmth of their shared affection.

Minho, on the verge of sleep, shifted slightly and nuzzled his head against Chan’s chest. He felt safe, cherished, and loved—a stark contrast to the loneliness and betrayal he had once known. In this sacred space, with Chan’s heartbeat as his lullaby, Minho found a peace that transcended the physical realm.

Chan continued to stroke Minho’s fur, his touch light and tender. He could feel the trust dripping from the small creature in his arms, a trust that was both humbling and empowering. Chan knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, their bond unbreakable.

“I promise to always take care of you,” Chan whispered, his voice filled with emotion. 

Minho’s purring intensified for a moment, as if acknowledging Chan’s words. Then, gradually, it began to fade as sleep overtook him. His body relaxed completely, his breathing slow and steady. Chan watched him with a soft smile, his own heart filled with a profound sense of gratitude and love.

The Temple of the Moon, with its timeless beauty and serene atmosphere, bore witness to the deep connection between Chan and Minho. In this sacred place, under the watchful gaze of the moon goddess, they found a moment of perfect harmony—a testament to the enduring power of love and trust in a world filled with magic and mystery.

As Chan closed his eyes, his hand resting gently on Minho’s sleeping form, he knew that their journey together was far from over. But in this moment, they had everything they needed: each other. And that was enough.

-

One evening, as Chan prepared for his nightly prayers, he looked at Moonshadow, who was curled up on a cushion nearby. "You know, sometimes I feel like there's more to you than meets the eye," Chan mused aloud. "You're special, aren't you?"

Minho's ears perked up, and he watched Chan with wide, curious eyes. Chan smiled and continued, "I think the goddess sent you to me for a reason. Maybe you're my familiar, a guardian spirit to protect and guide me."

The words struck a chord in Minho's heart. He had always felt a deep connection to Chan, a sense of duty and protectiveness that went beyond mere gratitude. Perhaps there was truth in Chan's words, a destiny that had brought them together.

That night, Chan performed a ritual to bind Moonshadow as his familiar. He drew intricate symbols on the ground, lit candles, and recited ancient incantations. As the ritual reached its climax, a surge of magical energy enveloped Minho, strengthening the bond between them.

Minho felt a profound shift within him, a merging of their spirits that filled him with newfound purpose. He was now bound to Chan, his protector and companion, their fates intertwined by the magic of the moon.

-

As Chan's familiar, Minho took his duties seriously. He remained vigilant, always on the lookout for potential threats. His heightened senses allowed him to detect dangers before they could reach Chan, and his presence provided comfort and reassurance.

One day, trouble arrived in the form of dark mages seeking to disrupt the balance of magic in Secret City. These mages, practitioners of forbidden magic, targeted the Temple of the Moon, believing its powerful magic could be harnessed for their nefarious purposes.

Chan was in the garden when the attack began. Dark figures emerged from the shadows, casting spells that warped the air and sent tremors through the ground. Chan's staff glowed as he raised a protective barrier, but the dark mages' assault was relentless.

Minho, sensing the danger, leapt into action. He transformed into his human form, his body a blur of motion as he intercepted the attackers. With a combination of agility and ferocity, Minho fought off the dark mages, his cat-like reflexes and strength giving him an edge.

Chan, focused on maintaining the barrier, was unaware of the true identity of his savior. He glanced over in shock as he saw a young man fighting with the grace and power of a guardian beast.

Despite his best efforts to hide his true nature, Minho's ears were visible, a telltale sign of his shapeshifter abilities. As the last of the dark mages fled, Chan lowered the barrier and approached Minho cautiously.

"Who are you?" Chan asked, his voice a mix of awe and confusion. Their eyes met and Chan’s eyes widened recognizing those soft brown orbs he’d come to love so much. His eyes wandered up where Minho’s dark cat ears peaked from his messy brown hair. "Are you... Moonshadow?"

Minho hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I am. My name is Minho. I'm a shapeshifter, exiled from the Shadowsong Keep. I've been living here in my cat form, afraid you would kick me out if you knew the truth. I know we aren’t very welcomed around here.”

Chan's expression softened, and he reached out to touch Minho's shoulder. "You protected me, Minho. You've been by my side all this time, helping and watching over me. I don't care about your past or your abilities. You are my familiar, and I am grateful for everything you've done."

Tears welled up in Minho's eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding his heart. "Thank you, Chan. I promise to always protect you, no matter what."

-

Minho’s revelation had lifted a weight off his chest, but it also left him feeling vulnerable. Living as a shapeshifter meant hiding his true self, something he’d grown accustomed to. Yet, in front of Chan, he was completely exposed. For Chan, the revelation was a mix of shock and intrigue. The gentle healer had always felt a special bond with Moonshadow, but knowing that the affectionate cat was also a brave young man named Minho deepened that connection.

Their daily routines continued, but with a newfound understanding. Minho still shifted into his cat form, now more out of comfort than necessity. He still enjoyed curling up on Chan’s chest, feeling his rhythmic breathing and the warmth of his body. Chan, on his part, welcomed Minho’s human presence when he transformed, appreciating the help around the temple and the companionship Minho offered.

The first night after Minho’s revelation, Chan found it hard to sleep. He kept glancing at Minho, now in his human form, tidying up the temple’s main hall. The moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a soft glow on Minho’s face. He moved gracefully, his actions efficient and almost mesmerizing to watch. Chan felt a strange flutter in his chest, a mix of admiration and affection.

“Minho,” Chan called softly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Minho turned, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Yes, Chan?”

Chan hesitated, then smiled. “You don’t have to push yourself so hard. Come sit with me.”

Minho’s expression softened, and he abandoned the broom he was holding, walking over to where Chan sat. He settled down beside him, their shoulders almost touching. There was a quiet intimacy in the moment, a shared silence that spoke volumes.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” Chan admitted quietly. “Someone who understands and accepts me for who I am.”

Minho looked at him, his eyes sincere. “I feel the same way. You’ve given me a place to belong, Chan. For that, I’m grateful.”

They sat in silence for a while, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing moment. Chan’s hand moved almost instinctively, reaching out to hold Minho’s. Minho’s fingers intertwined with his, the simple touch sending a warm feeling through both of them.

-

As days turned into weeks, the relationship between Chan and Minho deepened. They developed a rhythm, a balance of shared tasks and quiet moments of companionship. Minho’s presence brought a sense of stability to Chan’s life, while Chan’s gentle nature provided Minho with a sense of peace he had never known before.

Chan’s duties as a healer often took him to various parts of Secret City. Minho, always in his cat form, accompanied him, providing silent support. He became Chan’s shadow, always alert and ready to protect him if necessary. Their bond as familiar and master was strong, but it was the bond of friendship and growing affection that truly defined their relationship.

One afternoon, while Chan was tending to a patient in the Celestial District, Minho, in his cat form, explored the area. The dragons and celestial foxes were impressive, their majestic forms and ancient wisdom evident in every interaction. Minho’s keen senses picked up the subtle undercurrents of power and respect that flowed through the district.

As Chan finished his work, he called out for Minho. The sleek black cat appeared almost instantly, weaving through the crowd with ease. Chan smiled as he picked Minho up, cradling him gently.

“You always know where to find me,” Chan said, scratching behind Minho’s ears. Minho purred in response, nuzzling against Chan’s cheek.

Their return to the temple was peaceful, the twilight sky casting a serene glow over Secret City. Minho transformed back into his human form once they were inside, stretching his limbs as he did so.

“Another successful day,” Chan remarked, setting down his staff.

Minho nodded. “You’re an amazing healer, Chan. The way you help people… it’s inspiring.”

Chan’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Minho. But I couldn’t do it without your support.”

Minho’s heart swelled at the words. He was finding it harder to keep his feelings for Chan hidden. The healer’s kindness, dedication, and the way he made Minho feel valued and appreciated—it was all becoming too much to ignore.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, but so did Minho’s feelings for Chan. He found himself drawn to the healer in ways he hadn’t expected. Chan’s smile, his laughter, the way he cared for others—it all made Minho’s heart race.

One evening, as they sat together under the soft glow of the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a thoughtful expression. “Minho, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Minho replied, curious.

“Why do you stay in your cat form most of the time?” Chan asked gently. “I mean, I understand it became your natural state by now, but you can be human whenever you want. Why do you choose to be a cat?”

Minho looked down, his ears twitching slightly. “It’s… complicated. When I’m in my cat form, I feel safe. I can protect you without drawing too much attention. And it’s easier to hide my true feelings.”

“Your true feelings?” Chan echoed, his curiosity piqued.

Minho hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Chan, there’s something I need to tell you. Ever since you took me in, I’ve felt this… connection. It’s more than just being your familiar. I care about you deeply, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. But I’ve been afraid to show it, afraid that you might not feel the same way.”

Chan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to take Minho’s hand. “Minho, I care about you too. You’ve become an important part of my life, and I can’t imagine it without you. I think… I think I’ve been feeling the same way.”

Minho’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

Chan nodded. “Yes. I’ve been trying to understand these feelings, and now I realize that I’ve fallen for you, Minho. Not just as my familiar, but as someone I want to be with.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears of relief and happiness. “Chan, I’ve loved you for so long. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Chan pulled Minho into a gentle embrace. “You don’t have to hide your feelings anymore. We’ll face this together.”

Minho clung to Chan, the warmth of his embrace filling him with a sense of belonging. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other under the moonlight, their hearts beating in sync.

-

With their feelings out in the open, Minho and Chan’s relationship took on a new dimension. They were no longer just healer and familiar; they were partners, united by love and a deep sense of understanding. Their bond grew stronger, their affection for each other evident in every touch, every glance, every shared moment.

Chan continued his work as a healer, and Minho remained by his side, providing support and protection. They faced challenges together, their love giving them strength and resilience. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became a backdrop for their blossoming relationship.

One day, as they walked through the Enchanted Market, Minho in his human form, Chan took his hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

Minho looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

Chan led him to a small shop filled with beautiful artifacts and magical items. The shopkeeper, a kind young man, greeted them with a warm smile.

“Welcome, Chan. I see you’ve brought a special friend today,” he said.

Chan smiled and nodded. “Yes, Minho is very special to me. And I want to give him something to show how much he means to me.”

Jisung’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I have just the thing.”

He led them to a display case and pulled out a delicate silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon. “This pendant is filled with protective magic. It will keep the wearer safe and strengthen the bond between two hearts.”

Chan took the pendant and turned to Minho. “I want you to have this. It’s a symbol of our bond and my promise to always be there for you.”

Minho’s lip quivered slightly as he took the pendant. “Thank you, Chan. I’ll cherish it always.”

Chan fastened the pendant around Minho’s neck, and they shared a tender kiss, sealing their love with a magical promise.

-

Their love continued to grow, but so did the challenges they faced. Dark forces still threatened Secret City, and Minho and Chan found themselves in the midst of several battles. Their bond was tested, but their love gave them the strength to overcome every obstacle.

One evening, as they returned to the temple after a particularly difficult mission, Chan collapsed from exhaustion. Minho caught him, his heart pounding with fear. “Channie, are you okay?”

Chan smiled weakly. “I’m just tired, Minho. I’ll be fine.”

Minho carried Chan inside and laid him down on a soft cushion. He tended to Chan’s wounds, his hands trembling with worry. “You’ve pushed yourself too hard, Chan. You need to rest.”

Chan reached up to touch Minho’s face. “I’ll be okay, Minho. I have you by my side.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears as he leaned down to kiss Chan’s forehead. “I love you, Chan. Please take care of yourself like you do with everyone else.”

“I love you too, Minho,” Chan whispered, closing his eyes. “Thank you for being here with me.”

Minho stayed by Chan’s side, holding his hand and watching over him as he slept. The trials they faced only strengthened their bond, their love a beacon of hope and resilience in the face of darkness.

-

As time passed, Minho and Chan’s love continued to flourish. They built a life together, their bond unbreakable and their hearts intertwined. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became their home, a place where their love could grow and thrive.

One evening, as they sat together under the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a smile. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

Minho nodded, his eyes filled with affection. “How could I forget? You saved me, Chan. You gave me a place to belong.”

Chan took Minho’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “And you gave me a reason to believe in love. You’ve made my life complete, Minho.”

Minho leaned in to kiss Chan, their lips meeting in a tender, loving embrace. “I promise to always be by your side, Chan. Forever.”

Chan smiled, his heart filled with joy. “Forever.”

As they held each other under the soft glow of the moonlight, Minho and Chan knew that their love was eternal. In the magical underworld of Secret City, their hearts had found a home in each other, a love that would endure through any challenge, a bond that would never be broken.

Together, they faced the world, their love a guiding light in the darkness. And in each other’s arms, they found a love that was truly magical, a love that would last forever.

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves

[hanaaishi]

PAIRING: Matt Rempe x AFAB! Reader

WORD COUNT: 4.7K

SUMMARY: A surprise bar fight in Gramercy lands Matt Rempe in Bellevue with a head laceration. But a missing bangle allows you to share an experience of a lifetime with him.

WARNINGS: Bigotry, Harassment, Hospitals, Medical Treatment, Swearing, and Violence

I dedicate this story to @2manytabsopen as part of the 2K24 Summer Fic Exchange.

This is my first time writing for a non-binary, asexual person of color. I tried my best to incorporate that into the story while following the instructions you provided in the initial ask. As a result, if I messed up on anything, I am deeply sorry.

That being said, it was lovely to write for you. I had a lot of fun researching Desi culture for the story.

@wyattjohnston @kurlyteuvo @callsign-denmark @avengedearth

The fluorescent lights of the Bellevue emergency room burned overhead as you knelt between endless rows of medical supplies in the storeroom with an open package of disposable syringes at your feet. You scooped a handful and placed them into their labeled plastic container alongside the others lining the chrome-wire shelf. After unloading and breaking down the cardboard, your eyes shifted to the Apple watch around your wrist, which read 6:09 pm. Unpacking today's delivery of medical supplies pared only a single hour away from your twelve-hour night shift, causing an exasperated sigh to fall from your lips. You adjusted your navy blue watch band and rose to your feet to provide your knees with much-needed relief after kneeling upon the hospital's mosaic tile floor for an extended period. A smile appeared as you took a few steps back to review your work and admire your pristine organization before tucking the cardboard under your arm and touching the light switch.

As you entered the hallway, an adagio melody of soft chatters reached your ears. Your nose picked up the remnants of a disinfectant miasma as if the hospital came to life and unleashed a deluge of germicide upon itself like the Overlook Hotel from The Shining. You look deeper into the hallway to your left and into the waiting room on your right, waiting for a code to begin over the intercom and a flock of nurses rushing around the corner with a crash cart. But the announcement never came, causing you to blink at the colleagues meandering past with their files and patients. The hospital's serenity continued to hold against the chaos of the bustling Manhattan streets outside, a rarity in the most populated metropolis in the country.

You closed the door behind you, waiting for the light on the card reader to turn red, signifying that the storeroom had locked. Afterward, you joined the flow of hospital staff wandering through the department on your way to the emergency room’s hospital bay, where the maintenance staff stored the recycling for easy disposal. Several nurses, who must have received a slight lull while waiting for new patients or test results, mulled around the central station. They stood against the white quartz countertop, filling out paperwork or discussing their plans for their next day off with the RNs assigned to monitor the systems for that shift. The handful of invalids who visited the emergency room that evening lay interspersed upon the flimsy white mattresses lining the hospital’s beds with their eyes fixated on their phones or a book in their hands. In one or two stations, a fortunate soul conversed with one of the scheduled doctors, who explained their diagnoses and proceeding prognosis through gestures toward their tablets and illuminated X-rays. Their mouths moved in gentle whispers, preventing you from picking on their reason for visiting. However, based on their relaxed demeanor, you deduced it was for non-critical injuries, like broken bones and simple sutures, and other everyday ailments as you wandered further from the department’s core.

After several moments, the expansive black sliding doors where the EMTs unloaded patients from their ambulances came into view. The sight added an extra bounce in your step, driving you to the recycling room in desperation to trash your cardboard and join your fellow nurses at the station or perhaps grab a cup of mediocre coffee the hospital stocked in the break area from local grocers. However, before you could take your break, one of the boxes slipped from your grasp and clattered to the floor, causing you to stop. As you bent down to retrieve it, a chill began to rise on your spine as the sound echoed through the ambulance bay. The hospital was well-lit, and you could still see bits of your co-workers' pastel scrubs in the distance, but an eerie silence had permeated the air. In the city that never sleeps, you often had a faint cacophony of horns honking and emergency services sirens always accompanying you. But there was nothing like seeing the dark storm clouds before hearing the thunder.

Suddenly, indistinct red and blue shimmers appeared on the off-white walls, causing you to lift your head and turn your attention to the dancing lights. You slouched your shoulders and rolled your eyes at the illuminations as the ambiance of the distant siren struck up once more and confirmed the proximity of an emergency service vehicle. Despite your odds, an incessant mantra began in your head, pleading with the lights to disappear and the siren to fade into as the New York City Police Department or Fire Department passed on their way to an emergency. The Universe sadly appeared to ignore your invocation as the lights and sirens grew ever closer to Bellevue, and you grimaced upon realizing that it was the FDNY, but not for a blazing inferno threatening to burn down several city blocks.

“Fuck!” you said under your breath as you recognized the youthful visage of one of the EMTs who often brought patients to the hospital through the bay doors. You grabbed the cardboard and leaned it against the recycling room door, making a mental note to dispose of it later if maintenance didn’t remove it first. Turning to the door, you grabbed a pair of sterile gloves from a nearby box and rushed out to meet the team.

The EMT smiled as he saw you emerging into the cool spring air from the building. “Evening! I have an interesting one for you: Matt, 22, got into a bar fight at The Foundry a few blocks down in Gramercy. His vitals are stable, and the only noticeable injury is this laceration on his forehead.” He pointed to a patch of gauze on the patient’s face, anchored with two pieces of medical tape. “Apparently, there was a group of rowdy patrons there, and Matt and his friends intervened, causing one of the guys to launch a beer bottle at Matt’s head. He declined to press charges, so no visits from PD, and seems alert. He’s also not too thrilled about getting checked out at the hospital because he’s afraid some guy named Peter would kill him, but I told him it was protocol.”

“Hi, Matt. I’m one of the nurses who works in the emergency room here. It looks like you have a nice cut on your head. We’re going to get you checked out and make sure you don’t have any other hidden injuries. And then, we should get you out by the end of the night. How does that sound?” you explained, approaching the stretcher and placing a comforting hand on the guardrail.

Matt turned his head, acknowledging you with his honey-almond eyes. Your grip around the bed rail tightened, and you tilted your head to study his features better as you neared the bed. Given the fact that the wound wasn’t actively bleeding, it appeared prime facie that the wound was superficial and wouldn’t cause a lasting scar to maim his handsome face. He wore a tense smile on his uneven pink lips and under an adorable button nose while a few strands of his long chestnut hair framed his square jaw. Noticeable dried blood spots on his white button-up peeked out from his dark grey blazer, but it was nothing that some coffee grounds would be able to take out. He also possessed a delicate aroma of juniper, possibly from a cologne that he bought on Fifth Avenue, which tied his outfit together and gave him a gentlemanly appearance. Intrusive began storming your subconscious, compelling you to remark on his handsomeness. However, despite the persistent urge, you remained in place and offered Matt a warm smile, hoping it would ease his fears. He regarded your face for a moment more before reciprocating your tenderness and spreading his lips into a more genuine smile.

The paramedic exchanged puzzled looks with his technicians waiting to roll Matt into the emergency room, wondering why you two were staring at each other. After a few moments, he cleared his throat to break the intimate encounter. “Yeah, so, that’s the story. Can we head into the emergency room to get him some help?”

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry,” you replied as your brain uncrossed its wires, allowing you to re-comprehend human speech. You stepped back and turned your head to the aging brick wall constructing the hospital, pretending to stare at something to avoid eye contact with the technicians as they entered the ambulance bay.

Once they had passed, you fixed your eyes on their backs as they rolled Matt through the doors. The intrusive thoughts finally gave up the fight, but the battle left more questions than answers. You have worked at Bellevue for several years and received outstanding reviews on your bedside manner and standard of care for your patients. But you had never established an infatuation with a patient before. Perhaps it was his handsome appearance or the story of Matt selflessly placing himself between a group of drunk guys that made him sound like a hero in a fable. Whatever the reason, you pursed your lips at the thought of having to get back to work as you stumbled into the emergency room with the paramedic in tow.

The technicians guided Matt over to a nearby station at your instruction and parked the stretcher near the bed, allowing Matt to climb in on his own volition. It took some work, but he maneuvered his long, robust limbs comfortably onto the sterile striped sheets. You gave the EMTs a polite nod and thanked them for their assistance as they packed up their supplies and headed back to the ambulance with the stretcher, allowing you to return your attention to Matt. You raised the bed’s angle, giving Matt more solace and a better angle to examine his injury. Once everything was in place, you placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder and grabbed ahold of one of the pieces of medical tape.

“Alright, let’s look at this injury of yours. You’re going to feel a bit of discomfort, but it will only last a few seconds. Okay?” you explained. Matt responded with a nod, permitting you to remove the tape. Slowly, the adhesive separated from his ivory skin as you peeled it back, causing Matt to form a slight wince. The gauze lifted, revealing a long but otherwise clean cut an inch above Matt’s left eyebrow. “Oh, that’s not that bad. It’s a neat, straight cut, and there doesn’t appear to be any glass fragments there, which means that getting you sutured up will be easy. You relax here while I go see which general surgeon we have on call tonight.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied in his gruff tenor voice, shifting in his bed as he prepared to wait.

You returned to the storeroom once more and retrieved a series of butterfly strips and a non-adhesive bandage to help close the wound while you waited for the surgeon. As you tended to his wound, your eyes caught glimpses of a video playing on Matt’s phone. The pendant lights fastened from old canning jars hanging around the bar created a cozy ambiance for enjoying a nice stout or a lager after a long day at work, but it did not provide enough lighting for filming. Nevertheless, you could make out the contours of Matt’s stern face as he glared at another bar patron, who resembled the stereotypical blond, old-money villain from a romantic comedy. In the shadows, a man’s arm grabbed Matt’s bicep and attempted to drag him away from his scowling opponent, but Matt’s goliath frame stood firm. A few moments passed before the assailant launched himself at Matt, pushing him against one of the lacquered wood high-tops and punching him in the face. Matt's fierce right hook was the last thing you saw before the videographer concluded the recording, and the screen went black. After the video finished, Matt’s long fingers navigated out of full-screen mode and through the never-ending sea of comments and reactions from fans on Twitter.

“You have a nice punch there. Are you a boxer?” you asked as you focused on straightening a butterfly strip.

Matt let out a chuckle as he continued scrolling. “No, more like a hockey player. Some of the guys and I were out enjoying a couple of drinks before all of them returned home for the off-season, and we overheard a bunch of pricks from some Ivy League school out east. They were harassing some girls across the bar. I have two older sisters. If they talked to one of them like that, those guys wouldn’t be in the back of a police car; they would be in the back of a hearse.”

“Where did the beer bottle come from?”

“One of the douchebags bonked me over the head when I wasn’t looking. I’m lucky I got off with nothing but a simple cut.”

“You can say that again. On behalf of all female kind, I just want to say thanks.”

Matt furrowed his brow as you reapplied more medical tape to finish the dressage. “Female-kind? Not womankind?”

“Yeah, I’m non-binary,” you replied, grabbing wrappers and clicking the tape back into its case.

"Right on!” said Matt with a nod and his attention fixed on his Twitter feed.

You smiled and patted his shoulder as you rose from your stool and disposed of the wrappers in a nearby wastebasket. A warmth spread across your chest as you returned to the nurses' station to consult the on-call and see which number you needed to dial. You traced over each line until you saw the general surgeon’s name, a veteran with several years of experience in the hospital, and picked up the phone, tucking it between your shoulder and ear. In the several years you worked for New York City Health and Hospitals, you didn’t receive much hate for being a non-binary nurse. A few older patients would glare at you upon seeing the rose-colored button on your ID, informing them of your she/they pronouns. But they pursed their lips as you took their vitals, knowing that the wrong word would cause their bridge to healthcare to incinerate faster than the Great Fire of London. The others who accepted you often interrogated you on when you learned you were non-binary and what your thoughts were on the current political climate. While they were always well-intended, their line of questioning sometimes felt invasive. You weren’t participating in a pageant or running for city office, making your personal life irrelevant to their care. That is why Matt was such a breath of fresh air. He cared enough not to treat you like an oddity but didn’t overly care to the point that you became a fragile flower. He allowed you to be you without any regret.

A minute or two passed until a female voice belonging to the general surgeon came onto the line. You explained the situation and Matt’s status, prompting her to state she would be right down. The hospital stowed the surgeon's offices in another wing far from the emergency room, and it would take the doctor a few minutes to travel from her ivory tower. With little to keep you occupied, you returned to your stool in Matt’s station. The two of you conversed about anything you could devise — his hockey career, your nursing career, how he ended up in New York, how you found your way from Detroit. Eventually, the surgeon showed up and stitched together a nice line in his head before giving him instructions on proper wound care. The dissolving stitches would disappear over the next few weeks, but the hospital required Matt to return a week to ensure proper healing. Matt nodded at everything the surgeon said, causing a few more strands of hair to fall to his face. The surgeon’s voice faded to the back of your mind as you fiddled with your watch band once more, trying to ignore the melancholy weighing in your heart. Some of you wanted to see Matt and his aesthetic face again and listen to his charming cadence blather on about his summer. But he was a professional hockey player who had better things to do than visit one of the hundreds of nurses working in the Big Apple. He would likely visit the surgeon’s office through another entrance or even the Rangers’ physician. The possibility of seeing him again outside of one of the hospital’s entrances on your break did exist.

But would he remember you?

Unfortunately, despite your wishes, you never saw Matt again after that day. You rationalized that he must have slipped in and out to visit the surgeon on one of your days off. His presence left a bittersweet mark on your life, like a dent in a hockey rink, for you were glad you met him but sad he left so soon. But you had no time to dawdle on what could have been, for other patients required your attention. It was almost time for the City’s annual Desi Heritage Day, uniting the Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi enclaves from around New York.

While reports of South Asians in the United States existed back to the 1700s, it wasn’t until the early 20th century that the Desi immigration began to increase. Today, New York City boasts one of the largest South Asian populations outside of California. It would only be befitting if the community celebrated their progress over the past 100 years. The Desi-American Association of New York obtains permission from the NYPD to block off a portion of Lexington Avenue at the heart of several Indian restaurants. They decorated the light poles and streets with colorful draping, flowers, and plastic folding tables lining the sidewalks, permeating the air with the delectable aroma of dishes from the local restaurants. You didn’t always receive a chance to visit the festival due to your work schedule, but you tried to get outside during your breaks to hear the dhols drumming in the distance.

This year, the hospital’s director of emergency medicine and human resources authorized you to have the day off to enjoy the festival after several previous tries. You immediately ran to your closet in your West Village loft and pulled out a gorgeous maroon kurta from the upper shelves amidst various clothes and sets of scrubs. It needed some cleaning and ironing from being stowed away for so long, but it was perfect for the occasion. The calf-length dress was solid in color, with two thin golden lines reaching from the shoulders down to the hemline. The tunic and the matching pants contrasted perfectly with the busyness of the dupatta, a long piece of chiffon with an aureate border and ornate flowers decorating the entity of the sheer fabric.

You made plans with a few friends to meet near 28th Street and put on your kurta, ready to enjoy some naan and biryani. But one thing was missing: a bangle your family gifted you before you left Michigan from New York. The only times you removed it were during showering and work. It always remained in a designated pocket in your bookbag, locked away in the nurses' lockers. But it disappeared without a trace over the past few days. You retraced your steps and searched high and low for any sign of it — your apartment, the hospital, and even the station where you treated Matt. However, there was no sign of it.

“Come on! Come on! You must be here somewhere!” you said as you lifted the pillows from your couch in the living area.

However, before you completed your quest, your phone rang an alarm, signifying it was time to gather your stuff and go. You hung your head and sighed, exasperated at your failure, before grabbing your phone off its charger in the kitchen and shoving it into a golden clutch. You also maneuvered a pair of crisscrossed chunky heals into place and draped the dupatta. After looking over your outfit again, you locked your unit door and went downstairs to the nearest subway station. It admittedly stung that you couldn’t find the bracelet, a treasured connection to your family and friends back home in the Midwest. But as the green line grew closer to the festivities, you remembered that the bangle could be replaced, but memories of celebrating your heritage with your friends could not. Outside the oblong subway windows, you caught glimpses of 28th Street Station’s tiled sign, causing you to rise from your plastic seat. The car stopped, allowing you and several other passengers to step out onto the musty underground. You followed the crowd through the exit turnstiles and the decrepit stairs toward the Manhattan streets. A familiar sound reverberated through the air as you returned above ground: the dhol with several other Desi instruments accompanying it. You followed the music until you came across a large gathering of Manhattanites and other New York residents of all ethnicities wandering through the blocked-off portions of the street. Women in delicate sarees and men in sleek jodhpuri suits mingled in the streets, catching up on lost time, while children did their best to draw mandalas with sidewalk chalk. The restaurants from the surrounding businesses help hand out sweet and savory Desi food to any souls who wander into the celebration, from butter chicken to jalebi.

“You look really nice today,” a man complimented behind you.

Your eyes grew wide upon recognizing that gruff tenor voice. A kaleidoscope of butterflies danced around your stomach as you mustered the courage to turn around to confirm the man’s identity. There was no chance it was an acquaintance or a co-worker from the hospital. It was Matt, and you knew it was Matt. Eventually, after several moments, you strengthened your resolve to turn your head around slowly. Matt met you with the warm smile he offered you as the FDNY rolled him into the ambulance bay. His laceration, which had long since lost its sutures, began to form a neat little line of scar tissue in his forehead. He had his hair brushed back, giving him adorable angel wings around the ears and wore a simple ensemble of a tan jacket and black jeans. Despite the casual attire, he still had a sense of suaveness as he shifted his tall frame around, waiting for you to break the awkward silence.

“Oh, thank you. It’s for the festival,” you replied, turning around to gesture and the frivolity behind you. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to return this,” said Matt as he dug out something from his pants pocket.

Your mouth fell open as he presented you with your lost bangle. You quickly grabbed it from his hands and spun it with your thumbs, searching for any scratches or scuffs under the light of the spring sun. But it was just as pristine and polished as the day it came out of the box. You shoved your hand through the middle of the bracelet, allowing it to gently slide down on your forearm near the three-quarter sleeves of your dress. “Where did you find it?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

“I saw it on the ground while I was leaving the hospital. It must have fallen out of your bag or something,” he replied.

“But why didn’t you return it to the nurse's station?”

“I held onto it because it seemed important, and I also wanted a reason to see you again. You seem like a cool person.”

“I appreciate that. But that also doesn’t explain how you knew I would be here.”

“Well, a famous office manager once quoted a famous hockey player in saying that you miss 100% of the shots that you don’t take.  I remember you talking about a festival down the road, and this happened to be the only festival down the block from the hospital in the next few months, so I decided this was the best place to catch you, if any.”

You giggled at his reference and said, “It sounds like you went through a lot of trouble to get it back to me, and I appreciate it. This bracelet cost a pretty penny for my family, and it means a lot. So, thank you.”

“Of course, it’s not a problem. I hope to see you around. Have fun at your party,” Matt said, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning around to leave.

“Wait!” you cried out as you chased him, attempting to stop him before he became another face in the strangers walking up and down the sidewalks. He turned around and faced you upon hearing your exclamation, allowing you to catch up with his long gait. As you skidded to a halt before him, you continued, “You came all this way down to return my bracelet, so you might as well stay for the party. I know it seems overwhelming, but it’s actually a lot of fun and open to everyone. Think of it as a tiebreaker.”

“I do have to admit that it does look like a fun time.  I was just under the impression I would be stepping on some toes by intruding,” he replied.

“Nonsense. You’re more than welcome here. Come on,” you protested before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the crowd.

It took some work, but you eventually found your friends mulling around your designated meeting area and introduced them to Matt. Their eyes widened as they watched you drag a rising defenseman from the New York Rangers over to them, but they quickly recovered and welcomed him into the group without complaint. As the sun climbed high into the sky, the lot of you led Matt around the streets, introducing him to other community members and showing him Desi cuisine. At first, you thought Matt might be nervous, being thrust into a world of new sounds and smells. But he took everything in stride as he slowly learned about the community’s history and customs.  Even when he pronounced a word wrong, the two of you would share a laugh as you walked him through the word’s etymology. The same tingling sensation you felt at the hospital had returned as you watched Matt integrating himself into the culture. It had been a long season for the underrepresented demographics in the hockey community, leaving you a bit jaded over meeting stars like Matt. As the league says, business is business, and there seldom were any consequences for players who expressed maladaptive views. However, as you listened to Matt’s chuckle and how intently he listened to your heritage, you slowly began to believe that Matt could be one of the good ones.

The party went well into the afternoon until around dinner time when the Association determined it was time to pack everything up out of respect for the people who lived in Lennox Hill. You and Matt said goodbye to your friends before staying behind to assist the association volunteers in cleaning up from the celebration. Your hands gently guided a broom down the asphalt, pushing colorful flower petals into a pile, while Matt assisted in folding up the tables and loading them into the rental truck. The work went by relatively fast when you have a 6’8”, 240-lb man on the clock. Eventually, the attendees began to dwindle until you and Matt stood in the middle of the road. As you committed Matt's features to memory, a gentle breeze swayed your hair and dupatta.

“Thank you for such a wonderful time,” Matt eventually said, breaking the silence. “I definitely learned a lot.”

“It’s the least I could do after you return my bracelet.”

“I know you said this was a tiebreaker, but now I feel like I owe you again. Maybe I could leave you some tickets at will call when the season starts again. It would be my treat.”

“That sounds lovely. I think I’ll take you up on that offer in the fall,” you laughed. “I should probably get going. This kurta is beautiful, but I would prefer to change into something more comfortable.”

“Of course. If you don’t mind, may I escort you back to the subway,” replied Matt, offering you his elbow’s crook like a true gentleman.

You nodded and slinked your arm through the aperture he created. The two of you walked toward the Manhattan horizon, painted in soft hues of orange and yellow as the sun prepared to set, now friends brought together through the power of medicine.

[reaper2187]

Ningguang x female guard reader

In the glittering haven of Liyue, where golden hues danced upon jade rooftops, you served as a steadfast guard, your gaze unwavering amidst the city's bustling crowd. You were a sentinel, a protector sworn to uphold the tranquility of this opulent metropolis.

As twilight began its embrace, casting long shadows across the plazas, you found yourself patrolling the Jade Chamber, the towering abode of Ningguang, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing. The air crackled with an ethereal luminescence, illuminating the intricately carved walls and opulent furnishings.

Suddenly, a delicate echo caught your ear. You turned swiftly, your eyes scanning the opulent hall. There, upon a silken divan, Ningguang sat alone. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, framing a face of unparalleled beauty. The gentle glow of an oil lamp bathed her features in a soft, ethereal light.

A weight settled in your chest as you met her gaze. Ningguang's eyes held an unfathomable depth, radiating both wisdom and an enigmatic allure. In that instant, time seemed to stand still, and you felt an unfamiliar pull toward this extraordinary woman.

As your eyes locked, Ningguang's lips parted ever so slightly, and a gentle voice filled the air. 'My vigilant sentinel,' she began, her voice as melodic as the wind chimes that adorned her abode, 'would you do me the honor of a moment's company?'

Your heart skipped a beat. Ningguang, the respected Tianquan, desired your presence? Honors such as this were not bestowed upon mere guards. With a newfound resolve, you approached her, your footsteps light as the rustle of autumn leaves.

The chamber was expansive, yet Ningguang's aura created an intimate atmosphere. She gestured toward a seat beside her, and with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, you sat. As you listened to Ningguang speak, her words flowed like silken rivers, weaving tales of ancient lore and the intricate workings of the Jade Chamber.

Time seemed to slip away as you engaged in this unexpected encounter. Ningguang's intelligence fascinated you, and her candor kindled a flicker of affection within your heart. In her presence, you realized that beneath your stern exterior, a hidden flame flickered, a longing to explore the depths of something unknown.

As the night wore on, Ningguang's eyes met yours once more. A hint of a smile played upon her lips, and a blush tinged her cheeks. 'My dear sentinel,' she whispered, her voice barely audible, 'there is a truth I must confess.'

Her words hung in the air like suspended notes. A profound sense of anticipation surged through you. With a trembling breath, Ningguang leaned forward, her eyes reflecting the unspoken desires of her heart.

'I cannot resist the allure of your steadfast nature,' she murmured, her voice as soft as a petal's caress. 'Your presence brings a sense of tranquility to my tumultuous soul.'

In that moment, as her lips met yours in a gentle kiss, the walls of the Jade Chamber seemed to vanish. The world faded into an ethereal dreamscape, where only the two of you existed. Time grew irrelevant as you reveled in the intoxicating sweetness of this forbidden love.

[manessha545]

San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Argentina: San Telmo is the oldest barrio (neighborhood) of Buenos Aires, Argentina. It is a well-preserved area of the Argentine metropolis and is characterized by its colonial buildings. Cafes, tango parlors and antique shops line the cobblestone streets, which are often filled with artists and dancers. A street named the "Illuminated Block" is where many of these important historical buildings can be found. Wikipedia

[nanamikentoseyebags]

i'm nightcrawling to you

how come that every night he finds himself at your doorstep? why do all the ways lead him to you? how is it that in the pounding heart of this bustling metropolis, you are the only person he can come to?

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

content: extremely satoru-centric, hurt/comfort, just satoru turning up at your door every night in an attempt to feel something again

a/n: i love him so much i need to get inside his head and sweep all the bad thoughts out :(

At night Tokyo is mired in the noise of cars, loud voices of people who fill its streets at this late hour and argue about their trivial, insignificant problems, irrelevant to what is now happening in the heart of this metropolis. The city is suffocating in smog and soot, writhing, riddled with road lines, silently crying out for help, flashing muffled blueberry-colored store signs that are scattered across the map like sores on the body of a sick man. People rush home, causing it to itch and make it squirm. The city waits. It waits for all the commotion to die down, for the streets to sink into darkness and emptiness, for only then can it breathe. One more hour and...

A frantic inhale.

The multicolored night lights, the countless illuminations, a myriad of car headlights fade, melt into a kind of haze, like under a misty veil, and again as if from the depths of a deep blue ocean, emerges a mass of thousands of people, who believe that this place is the root of all their misfortunes. They move swiftly toward their dwellings, cursing their jobs that leave them unsatisfied and exhausted, but which allow them to live a relatively normal life. Need to last another hour…

A frustrated exhale.

The eerie shadows cast by the houses and the feet of the passersby slowly turn into a lingering inky darkness of the night that swallows up the entire city. The last person stranded on the road crosses the threshold of their house, closing the door behind them with a rattling thud. The motley signs, once pulsating in the center of the city, darken, revealing the faint glow of stars floating in the sky. The golden iridescence of random car headlights no longer makes it squint. The tired city takes that much-needed greedy breath of air...

A sharp inhale.

The harsh chilly air burns Satoru Gojo's lungs, as he slowly strides through the now empty streets of the weary city. His hands, stuffed into the pockets of his black jacket, involuntarily clench into fists in an attempt to warm his freezing fingertips. He shivers, pressing his head into his shoulders, trying to hide from the piercing wind that so mercilessly ruffles and tangles his snow-white hair and uneasy thoughts. Left all alone, he muses with a slight melancholy about his fate, written by someone's ruthless hand in the book of life…

An exhausted exhale.

"So strange," he thinks to himself, looking with unfathomable sadness at the soft inviting light coming from the windows of the little apartments in these big anthills of the concrete jungle, "in all my life I've never had a place I could call home. Where am I going? Where are my feet leading me? Is someone waiting for me?" A sad smile appears on his face as memories, like the pages of an album, begin to turn over in his head. Moments when he lost his home in the form of his best friend. Moments when he found it again in the form of his students. The moments when you helped him rebuild it from the scratch, replacing the burned out pieces with the solid foundation of your care. Moments when, for fear of destroying everything, he left again, leaving you there, safe, because with him coming, the chances of losing everything in an instant seemed to be infinite...

A sorrowful inhale.

Light slanting rain begins to fall from the dense clouds floating in the sky, beating on the curtained windows and blanketing the shivering city like a thin cloth of invisible threads with pearls dangling on them. Satoru let the occasional drop land first on his disheveled hair, and then drip in small trickles from his glasses, covering his already frozen face with chilling moisture. He does not turn on his infinity, allowing himself that rare weakness of feeling human. Heavy droplets come down from the roofs, drumming on the iron awnings, water grumbling angrily in the rusted gutters. Wet, gloomy houses stare at the lonely and lost man with their weeping windows.

…

A new gust of wind whips another batch of memories into his face, the irrepressible longing reverberating in his heart when he thinks about them for too long. The scraps of conversation brought by the raging weather play a faint melody in his ears. Satoru chuckles bitterly, as if right now he can hear the students calling him a bizarre, annoying, lanky sensei, who used to insert his ridiculous comments here and there. He never takes offense; on the contrary, he does everything he can to be one, the odd teacher who would do anything to make his students' youth look like the spring of their lives. Even though it makes him seem like the biggest fool on the planet. Somewhere within himself, he hopes they'll never have to find out how utterly tattered his soul is. And now, convinced that all of his students were sleeping soundly, he goes outside in an effort to find the way to his own sanctuary.

…

The weeping sky brushes away the leaden clouds from its blanket as if they keep preventing it from observing the unfolding of a story that has long been written. With a sinking heart, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, Satoru Gojo reaches for your door, stopping for a moment, unsure whether you should be bothered at this late hour. At the last moment, allowing himself to be a little selfish, he makes a few quiet knocks on the door and awkwardly hides his hands behind his back. For a few seconds, nothing happens. He heeds, not knowing for sure what he's hoping for: that you've been asleep for a long time and won't catch him in this miserable state, or that you were waiting for him after all, feeling this strange connection between the two of you. Suddenly the door swings open, revealing your small figure. The bright light emanating from your apartment on this dark night does not dazzle him, but rather cradles him with its invisible hands, trying to give him its warmth. The smell of homemade food fills his nose, beckoning him to peak in. Satoru stands motionless, looking at you with a fluttering heart. So familiar, so homely, with a smile stepping away from the door, inviting him to go inside. And he thinks, "It's so strange, in all my life I haven't had a place I could call home, it seems... it's always been here."

A relieved exhale.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

tags: @shamelessperfectionhideout @margumis @vagabond-umlaut @4sat0ruu @a-nuisance-called-sam @strawberrystepmom @rossithepixie @suckonlimes @jazminetoad @nikokopuffs 💛

art and dividers aren't mine <3

[strugglingwriterwattpad]

chocolate flowers sneak peek

Chapter one – a hatful of dreams

As the sun struggled to break through the fog, a chilly morning greeted the passengers of a 1940s trawler boat. The rhythmic sound of ocean waves and the distant tolling of a ship's bell filled the air. Emerging from the thick mist, the boat approached the new city's dock, its passengers eagerly awaiting their arrival. Amidst the scene, a peculiar figure stood out - donning a vibrant green waistcoat and a scarf bursting with colours. With curly brown hair and eyes that matched the waistcoat’s hues, this enigmatic individual climbed the mast, their presence illuminated by the sun's rays piercing through the fog and ship smoke.

“After seven years of life upon the ocean, It is time to bid the seven seas farewell. And the city I’ve pinned seven years of hopes on Lies just over the horizon. I can hear the harbour bell!” Emerging from the icy mist, a magnificent ancient metropolis caught his eye. A grin spread across his face, for he knew that his days as a sailor were numbered and his new life as a proud shopkeeper was about to begin. “Land ahoy!!”

With a firm grip on the rope, Willy descended to the icy deck, while his fellow sailors readied the boat for docking. Navigating through the bustling engine room, he collected his worn-out plum-coloured tailcoat and weathered wooden suitcase. “Got a tattered overcoat and battered suitcase! Got a pair of leaky boots upon my feet. Got to drag myself up by my one good bootlace! Gotta work my rotten socks off if I wanna make ends meet!” With a daring leap, he landed on a supply crate just as it was lifted from the ship's hold. The crate soared high above the dock, swaying gracefully in the air. “I've poured everything I've got into my chocolate. Now it's time to show the world my recipes.” The brunette received a small bag of coins from the captain, the metal creating a clanging sound as it landed in his icy, pale hand. “good luck Willy!” he hollered waving off Willy with a supportive grin. “I’ve got twelve silver sovereigns in my pocket. And a hatful of dreams!”

Willy gracefully leapt off the crate and onto the back of a truck as it passed by, embarking on his exciting journey into the city of his dreams. The landscape he passed was blanketed in a thick layer of ice and slush, a messy combination of cobblestone debris and melting snow. With a burst of energy, the ghostly boy jumped down from the vehicle, his hands gripping a frozen lamp post adorned with tattered flyers and posters. With a graceful twirl, Willy descended the gleaming metal pole and found himself in the awe-inspiring town square. “There’s a famous restaurant on every street here. There's Brandino's and the Bar Parisienne”

The bustling square was adorned with a majestic cathedral, its towering presence casting a shadow over the surrounding area. The harmonious melodies of the choir echoed through the air, filling the square with a symphony of enchanting notes, reminiscent of the sweet songs of songbirds. In the centre of the square, a frozen fountain stood still, its waters suspended in time, a testament to the frigid weather that had gripped the city. On the opposite side, a grand dome building beckoned him with its grandeur, a destination he knew he would eventually reach. However, he couldn't resist the allure of exploration that lingered in the air, enticing him to wander through the square a little longer before embarking on his intended journey.

“Restaurant map, sir?” A cheerful attendant at a cosy booth offered a map of restaurants to the gentleman in a brown top hat, who graciously thanked him with a silver coin. “thank you!”

“Got a little map to tell me where to eat here...” As Willy unravelled his map, he suddenly spotted someone right by his side. To his surprise, it was a shoeshine boy, and the brunette had unknowingly placed his foot on the boy's box. The boy, with a mischievous grin, demanded a sovereign while wiggling his fingers, as if he had just completed a remarkable shine on the chocolate maker’s boot.

“Had a dozen silver sovereigns, now I'm somehow down to ten!”

With excitement in his eyes, Willy made his way towards a vibrant produce stall. As he reached out, his hands embraced an astonishingly enormous pumpkin, bursting with both delectable taste and vibrant hues. “Want the finest produce? This is where they stock it!” Willy narrowly avoided being hit by a streetcar that honked loudly, causing him to drop the pumpkin in shock. “That's three sovereigns, mate” The pumpkin splattered all over his boots, undoing all the work the boy had just completed moments before. “Though the prices are suspiciously extreme!”

“You break my pumpkin; you pay for it.”

“I've got five, six, seven-“

The dreamer strolled past the shops on the street, but his attention was immediately drawn to a charming green cottage-style shop. His eyes widened as he watched a woman inside, working cheerfully in her colourful attire, leaving Willy breathless with admiration. The vibrant hues of her clothing perfectly complemented the lush greenery that adorned her store, resembling ornaments on a festive Christmas tree. She was wearing an off-white blouse with puff sleeves that peeked through her green corduroy pinafore. The seams of the dress were decorated with different flower embroidery similar to his own waistcoat patterns. Her hands, covered in gardening gloves instead of winter ones, bore the marks of soil on each finger, a testament to her love for nurturing plants. The woman appeared to be around his age, her skin plump and her eyes sparkling like shiny coins. She captivated the poor adventurer with her beauty, snapping him out of his trance as she waved goodbye to a customer and the shop door chimed closed.

As he counted his coins, the chocolatier spotted the Shoeshine Boy cleaning his boots once again and reluctantly handed over yet another sovereign. At least the pumpkin was off his boot this time. “...six silver sovereigns in my pocket And a hatful of dreams”

[iwantjaketosullyme]

𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞-𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰┃ᴍ. ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ

➺ pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader (established relationship) ➺ summary: dating miguel may be a double-edged sword, but it certainly has its perks... (w/c: 4.3k) ➺ warnings: quite suggestive, sharp objects? (claws/fangs), allusions to sex, arguing, mention of loss, light cussing a/n: i made the conscientious decision to channel my desire for this man and his claws into a fanfic instead of biting the person closest to me like a rabid dog (i had no choice, it was this or being put down). i hope you like it ! :)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

The air is charged with the thrumming pulse of energy typical to Nueva York, the daytime’s hustle and bustle replaced with thriving nightlife. At the heart of the futuristic metropolis, the sweeping skyscrapers almost seem to have a life of their own, as their LED displays illuminate the night.

A light, cool wind wafts through the gap of the open window, brushing one of your cheeks while your make-up brush applies blush to the other. The vanity table you’re sitting at is right in front of the window, giving you a perfect view of the city you call home. 

You’re applying the finishing touches to your make-up, humming softly to yourself when you see an unmistakable flash of red in your peripheral vision. Your humming stops. A brief peer outside the window reveals that the red dot is coming closer and closer. Him. With a roll of your eyes and a petulant scoff, you rise out of your seat and walk over to the wardrobe on the other side of the bedroom. 

Your absentminded humming resumes, eyes trailing over the closet rail as you peruse your options. Accustomed to the sound by the numerous times they’ve heard it, your ears register the familiar thwip, thwip of webbing nearing your apartment. You return to the task at hand, determined not to return to the window.

Not that one, too short. You’re only going out for girls’ night, and besides, you’re taken. Metal on metal screeches as you push the dress aside by its hanger. Not that one, not short enough. You shake your head, about to give up when you spot a sliver of silk hiding in the back of the closet. Pulling on it, you single out a dress you don’t remember ever wearing before and conduct a quick appraisal of it. It’s a little silk number with a neckline that will show just the right amount of skin without being too racy. Perfect. 

In the very same moment, a sudden gust of wind whooshes into the room, curtains billowing in the breeze. A broad shadow darkens the spot by the window that you had previously occupied – the same shadow as always. You begin to unhook the dress from its hanger, back half-turned away from him as you choose to take brief peeks at his figure instead of facing him fully.

“Baby?”

Miguel’s deep voice fills the room, powerful timbre reverberating against the walls of the room, and the walls of your heart. You recognise the relief in his voice that comes from seeing you for the first time in two months, but resolve to ignore it. Ignore how the sight of him swinging through the window captivates you, the glossy lustre of his suit catching in the light.

You sense him coming closer, not by the sound of his nimble footsteps, but by the hefty presence of his shadow looming over you. You’ve always laughed at the juxtaposition between his muscular build and his spider-like acrobatics, but tonight, you leave no such room for humour. The past two months without him have been the longest two months of your life, and you aren’t going to let him swoop in and charm you enough to forget the pain of separation you had endured. You make that sentiment clear in your reply.

“And what kind of time do you call this?”

Instead of the apologetic response you desire, you hear two rapid beeps as he activates his wrist device. 

“LYLA, pray tell, what time is it?” His voice is affected with the sardonic tone that you know all too well. The look of concern on your face morphs into one of mild irritation, simmering anger threatening to bubble up to the surface.

“It is currently twenty-one hundred hours!” The female A.I. chirps obediently. Since when did she follow orders?

“You heard her,” he states pointedly, “nine o’clock.”

“Well, actually, it’s 21:01 now-” LYLA chimes in again. With an annoyed grunt, Miguel wastes no time slapping his wrist and deactivating the device, effectively silencing her. Atta girl, you think. At least one of us can get a reaction from him. Clearly, your passive-aggressive greeting didn’t do the trick. 

In the earlier stages of your relationship, when your romance was only tentative and his shadow at your windowsill never guaranteed, you would’ve kept your feelings to yourself. You’d greet him with open arms (and open legs), a smile veiling your displeasure. Back then, you were just happy to see him again. His snarky remarks always betrayed the mask of stoicism he tried to uphold, and you’d do anything to hear another – you never knew if it would be the last. 

As strong as he was physically, his aversion to speaking about the matters of the heart showed you that he was emotionally fragile in the same measure. Best not to rock the boat, you figured. Enjoy his company now and mourn his absence later. But months of hiding your true emotions had taken their toll on you.

“I’m being serious, Miguel.” You step into the dress, tugging it on as you talk. “You were gone for two months.” You swivel round to face him, noting that his holographic mask has disappeared to reveal his angular face, all sharp lines and harsh shapes. You look directly into his eyes as you hold two fingers up in front of his face. “Two!”

“Yeah, I can count, thank you,” he sasses back, unperturbed.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your thumb and two forefingers as you breathe through your nostrils in an avid attempt to regulate your rising temper. The lethal combination of his cool composure and his dry quips never fails to irritate you as much as it amuses you.

“Look,” your eyes narrow, “I don’t want to hear your witty jokes.” You sense another annoying rebuttal from him as he opens his mouth so you backtrack quickly. “I mean I do, because I want you here with me, but I don’t want to hear them right now when you’re meant to be apologising!” Your voice breaks involuntarily as your emotions betray you. If there was any chance of your facade still being intact, it was gone now.

Speaking of facades, it had taken time to unmask the real Miguel O’hara. The Miguel who would talk your ear off about his nerdy new gadgets, the Miguel whose snores could rival a grizzly bear’s, the Miguel who could – and would – eat a dozen empanadas in one sitting (even though they were so bad for his fitness regime). 

The Miguel, who was also Spiderman.

It was for this reason, that a certain part of you was wary of scaring him away with your feelings. It was so glaringly obvious that it had been a while since he’d been vulnerable with someone and had a connection as intimate as yours. Since he’d allowed himself to have a connection as intimate as yours. As time progressed and feelings reached new depths, he’d let you see past his meticulously-crafted persona as Nueva York’s guardian. 

Bit by bit and little by little, he’d given you glimpses into just how heavily the burden of being the city’s sole saviour weighs on those heavy-set shoulders of his. Each time, you had shown nothing but love, support and understanding. How he responded to you baring your heart to him now would tell you whether or not that was reciprocated.

His eyebrow quirks up in surprise, large hands coming up to sit on his hips as he tries to decipher what it is you’re saying. Well, might as well tell him everything, you suppose. “Every night that you were gone I would sit at that window,” you both look at the window he had come through not too long ago, “and wait for you.” 

Eyes of red pierce you where you stand with your arms crossed over your front, clutching the untied dress up to your body. 

“I didn’t know if you were even still-” Your breath hitches as a lump grows in your throat. You duck your head, taking a moment to recollect yourself and willing your voice not to break this time as you force the words out. “If you were even still alive.”

Burly arms engulf you, enveloping you in his warm embrace. “Shh…tranquilo baby, tranquilo.” The depth of his baritone voice soothes you as he rocks you from side to side, calming you down. “Hey, look at me…I’m fine.”

A gloved hand comes up to rest on the back of your neck, secure grip guiding your head up from where it had settled between his pecs. He tilts your head back to meet his gaze, half-lidded from looking down at you. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, you’ll get a migraine.” 

He leans in til your noses brush each other’s. “Then I’ll be the one stuck fixing you up.” He shakes your head lightly, bringing a reluctant smile to your face. You love your playful grump of a boyfriend. 

“Forget about the past. Let’s focus on you and me, right here, right now, hm?”

With a bashful nod, you hum your affirmation and return your head back to his chest. No more girls’ night for you. You’d rather spend the night with your favourite pair of girls instead, you think, as you press the side of your head further into Miguel’s sizable pecs and give one of them an appreciative squeeze. Damn, have they gotten even bigger since he left?

Temporarily distracted by Miguel’s honeyed words, you take this moment to recommit his features to your memory. You bask in the easy comfort of being in the presence of your person, and surrender to its lull. A curious hand lifts one of his gloved hands to your face, lolling it about, and you get lost in your thoughts as you observe just how big it is compared to yours. 

Watching you closely, Miguel notices that your gaze has not once strayed from his hands; more specifically, the tips of his fingers. Where his claws would be. Pointed canines gleam in the light as he smirks to himself, amused.

Suddenly, you hear the shing of his claws extending, metallic sound piercing the still air and cutting through your thoughts. The sharp, pointy tip winks at you, and you gasp as you are hypnotised, transfixed by it. You can feel yourself almost going cross-eyed from your laser-focus on it, so with a satisfied – and slightly delirious – sigh, your eyelids flutter shut to stave off the dizziness. You snuggle further into Miguel, leaning into the hand that cups the side of your neck. His warmth seeps into the sinews of your muscles and you relax into his touch.

You’re not expecting it when your eyes are prompted back open by the sharp pinch of his talon pressing into the plush of your bottom lip. It brings you back into the present and claws you back from the recesses of your mind that you had retreated to, chill against your skin contrasting the previous warmth and shocking your system. When your eyes meet his, they find them already trained on your face with a questioning gaze – are you okay now?

The concern splayed on his face reminds you of why you had to be placated in the first place, and just like that, you are snapped from your blissful reverie. You avoid his gaze, separate yourself from him and choose not to answer his question, one of your own on the tip of your tongue.

“So,” you clear your throat, eyebrows drawing together. “Why exactly did this mission take so long, then?”

“Come on baby,” he chuckles, but you can tell by the twitch in his jaw that you’re starting to get on his nerves. “You don’t really want me to bore you with the specifics, do you?” 

You do not respond. Assuming that the conversation is over and he’s been successful in persuading you, he leans down to go in for a kiss. He’s in for a surprise when you turn your head softly in indignation, unwilling to put the matter to rest.

“Well, what if I do?” You finally find your words; arguing with someone like him whose authority usually goes unquestioned is no easy feat. “I need an explanation at least, if I’m not going to get an apology. I mean, what’s so big of an emergency that you have to leave me for two months with no warning?!”

The lines of his face that had softened for a time become rigid and harsh again, hardened expression devoid of any of its previous mirth. 

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

Your body stills at his words. While you are disappointed, you cannot say that you are surprised. Although he has shared his identity as a vigilante with you, a great deal of his hero affairs are still kept private from you. Miguel doesn’t let you in on the intricacies of what he does, but you suppose you shouldn’t expect any less from the leader of an elite strike force with a whole arachno-humanoid-poly-multiverse to protect.

Not that you’re supposed to know about any of that, of course. 

“Okay,” you relent, feigning resignation. “Let me hazard a guess.” 

He cocks an eyebrow and waits for you to continue.

“There’s some kind of threat on the loose that could cause the end of the world as we know it, and you’ve been off on some kind of righteous, multiversal crusade to save us all from impending doom!”

A moment passes. The silence is loud. 

Despite being thrown off by your disturbingly accurate description of his activities, Miguel quickly masks his shock. Stubborn as always, he acts as if he did not hear you and brushes you off with a stern “It’s classified. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You don’t know what you’re talking about? You scoff internally, stare shifting to the wooden floorboards. Super-senses be damned, Miguel is not as slick as he thinks he is – how else would you have found out about the secret Spider Society, if not for his carelessness? Some days before he’d left, in the dead of night when he thought you were asleep, you heard snippets of his conversations with his spider-counterparts. Something about anomalies and canon events. Direct orders whispered aggressively into his comms device. His word was absolute and final, clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation. This is the first time he’s using it on you, though. 

Finding out about secrets he’d kept about his work life had made you wonder about his personal life too. He’d never told you much about it, and his typically curt responses become even shorter when you tried to pry. What you do know, is that it has left a sense of melancholy that enshrouds his being. It deepens the furrow of his brow and lingers in the steely, guarded glint in his eye. But entwined with that melancholy is a certain magnetism, something electric and yet tangible, distinct and yet enigmatic. It glows red like the laser of his webs, like the colour of his eyes when he is lost in the throes of passion. Right when you think you’ve got it in your grasp, it evades you, smooth and fluid like his ducking and weaving in the midst of a fight. He was just as much in your reach as he was elusive.

And judging by what he says next, nothing’s going to change anytime soon.

“Look,” he instructs you, placing a guiding hand on your cheek and redirecting your focus onto him. “I came here to tell you that I’m gonna be gone for a while.”

You shoot him a deadpan look. He sighs and corrects himself. “A longer while. There’s something I have to finish.” 

“Ha!” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Something you have to-” The frown on your face deepens further. “You know what, nevermind.”

Frustrated by his cryptic words, you secure your hold on your dress and march over to the mirror. You can hear him grumbling to himself but don’t bother paying him any mind. Looks like girls’ night is back on. Who does he think he is, telling you nothing and expecting you to give everything up for him? Your time, your energy – your love?

As you rage internally, you fumble with the ties at the back of the dress, twisting and turning as you try to tie them yourself.

“You want some help with that?”

“...” 

For once, you decide, you’ll give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him be on the receiving end of his typical bull-like stubbornness and see if he likes it. The eye that twitches at your lack of response gives you your answer.

“Oh, okay, you’re just gonna keep struggling.”

“...”

“The silent treatment? Really? Sooo mature.” The irritation in his voice is almost tangible, and you secretly revel in it. In the reflection of the mirror, you can see him standing with his hand on his hip that’s jutting out; he’s clearly not enjoying being ignored. You hold back a petty snicker. Serves him right.

After a few more moments of you jerking about with your elbows akimbo and nose scrunched up in concentration, you succeed. In your current vulnerable emotional state, you can’t help but be pleased with yourself for doing it without his help. You don’t need him, really.

Your victory, however, is incredibly short-lived. While admiring your reflected figure in the mirror, you notice that the price tag is still attached to the dress. In the one spot you really couldn’t reach. Damn it.

“...help me get the tag.”

“Huh?” Miguel feigns ignorance, the cheeky bastard. “I didn’t get that, could you speak up a little?” He’s going to make you regret ever trying to one-up him.

“I said, could you help me get the tag?” He doesn’t move an inch. “Please?!”

He huffs in what you assume to be approval. Instead of grabbing the pair of scissors that are on the vanity like you expect him to, he walks over to you with that cocky saunter of his, purpose in his steps. A large hand splays itself on your shoulder, and you feel the snag of his talon on the tag as he tears it off with unsettling precision.

“Thank you,” you mutter under your breath.

You try to pull away from him, but his hand on you coasts along your shoulder until it finds your neck, again. You start to squirm, but his grip on you is firm and unyielding.

Your gazes lock in the mirror and you can feel the tension rising like the blood rushing to your face right now.

“You look…yummy.”

Yummy? What would be more fitting, is a statement like ‘wow, my love, seeing you in this dress has me thanking the gods for the gift they have bestowed upon me, lowly mortal that I am’, or a simple ‘you look hot’. Of all the words to describe the absolute vision of beauty that you are in this dress, he chooses the same one that could be used to describe a burger, or something. Maybe all those gains are getting to his brain. 

Your internal lament is interrupted by the flexing of his fingers. He tightens his grip on your neck to focus your attention on him, the column of your neck fitting snugly into the mould of his palm – you have nowhere to go.

You know that your boyfriend was never one to miss a detail, a characteristic further enhanced by his spider mutation. A true man of science, Miguel never strayed far from his training – in his mind was a catalogue of each and every one of the reactions he had seen displayed on your face and the actions he had performed to elicit them. Observe, record, review. Every caress, every pull, every squeeze. By now, he had perfected his method; a fact that would usually make your skin buzz with anticipation now makes your stomach pool with dread.

Even when you know he’s about to use his charm on you, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Not that you’d want to, really.

His claw trails down your décolletage, leaving a light sting in its wake that’s equal parts pleasant as it is painful – your favourite kind of balance and he knows it. It teeters on the edge of your limit, gentle enough not to draw blood but harsh enough to draw out a dull pain that makes your heart thrum with excitement. You know that with his enhanced hearing there is no doubt he can hear it beating like the wings of a hummingbird, the poor organ struggling to pump enough oxygen around your body to keep you from panting like a dog under his intense scrutiny. Your suspicions are confirmed by the smug huff he lets out, puff of his breath wafting over your face and pricking your skin with goosebumps.

You let out a shaky exhale. Your chest sticks out as your lungs expand with air again, pushing his claw further into your skin so it digs deep enough to leave an imprint. The extended talon continues on its titillating trip down the smooth expanse of your skin, your eager body betraying your mind by keening towards him. It is no stranger to his wily charm, much used to his teasing touch being a promise of what is soon to come.

No, you remind yourself. You are angry. The sole claw lowers further, dipping into the v shaped slit that your dress’ neckline leaves exposed. He pulls at the gathered silk, applying enough pressure that it tugs at the ties holding the dress together on your frame, your sloppily-done knot threatening to come loose and bare even more of your skin for his greedy eyes to devour. He locks eyes with you again and raises a single eyebrow, a silent question. Your breath hitches in anticipation, but you keep your head up, chin raised defiantly. Still angry.

He massages your shoulders, large hands that have been made rough with work kneading the stiffness out of them. Your eyes shut against your will and you are so caught up in his relaxing ministrations that you don’t remember the point in which his titan frame swallowed yours up in a back hug.

You feel the rumble of a snarl bubble up in his chest, vibrations travelling from his being into yours. He leans down, hooks his chin onto your shoulder and playfully bites at the air beside your ear, a non-verbal attempt at coaxing you back into conversation. 

For a man like him who is rarely given to mirth, it is moments like these that you cherish, when he’s all bite and no bark in the best of ways. The clack sound of his venomous fangs coming together makes you recoil reflexively, but you cannot deny the thrill the sound incites in you. You shudder in excitement. Against your better instincts, the thought that he has the power to do with your life what he will but chooses not to is part of his allure. It stimulates the adrenaline that surges through your veins like a live current, dangerous and deadly. 

“Good girl.” He affirms your submission, so you try to take a step backwards so as not to give into his playful persuasions. Alas, your resistance only delivers you further into his clutches. 6 foot – nearly 7, he would correct you – of hunk keeping you in your place, where you belong. Safe, and in his arms.

With an effortless tug, he pulls you towards the bed where you both collapse in a heap. The pair of you are a tangle of limbs, so that you cannot move without moving him, and he cannot move without moving you. Your bodies are in sync, now all that’s left is your hearts.

When you begin to drift off to sleep – shouting matches are actually rather exhausting – the tickle of his soft breathing over your face wakes you.

“I lost something dear to me.” You open one eye, urging him to continue. “Someone,” he corrects, “dear to me.” 

This grabs your full attention, and now you are wide awake. The moment you’d given up hope, was the moment he’d decided to open up the window of his heart to you. Let the cool breeze of your love enter.

“I don’t always like what I have to do, but I know I have to be the one to do it.” His eyes are earnest, but his gaze is soft. Touched by his honesty, you place a tender palm on the plane of his cheek and stroke it up and down. “I’ve given up too much to stop now.” 

Never have you heard a voice so heavy-laden with grief. 

“Baby-” you start.

“You know I’d never want to hurt you, right?” He cuts you off. He whispers it into the shell of your ear and noses at the skin of your neck, feeling the hum that you let out. 

He leaves a trail of kisses from the base of your throat to your neck as if urging the words to spill out from you. 

“Do you forgive me?” You are quick to find his eyes, placing your hands on his impressively-large pecs. Should any one person be allowed to have so much chest?!

“Oh,” you put on an act of sudden realisation. “I forgave you as soon as you swung through that window, big boy.” You reach up to grip his chin and pull his face down to yours, taking in the perplexed look on his face as he attempts to connect the dots. “I just wanted to make you work for it.”

For the second time tonight, you see an unmistakable flash of red, this time in his eye.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

☼ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵:

@heirtothekingdom , @lanasblood

𝘭𝘮𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰/𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 <3

© iwantjaketosullyme tumblr 2023

[supermanshield]

ooh! for the prompt thing, how abt clark hearing bruce waking up in his manor bedroom, all the way from metropolis? his heartbeat, his breathing, joints clicking etc? maybe bruce whispers into his hands bc he knows clark listens for him? pls & thank <3

Oh my god, I'm so sorry I never got to this prompt! I was finally able to come up with something, and had fun writing it. Maybe it's a little different than what you said in your prompt, but I hope you like it nonetheless. I really love this trope for superbat so thank you for sending this!

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

"Clark." Clark wakes to his own name, a strained and heavy sound from across the bay. He's awake instantly and halfway to Gotham before he realizes he's still in his pajamas, but keeps flying. Bruce.

Bruce, who still has his hand on the lightswitch on his bedside table and the other clutching the blanket to his chest by the time Clark reaches his bed. He looks much too vulnerable like this, Clark thinks. Too human.

"Are you... okay?" Clark asks, suddenly feeling like he's intruding on something much too private.

"It was just a nightmare, Clark. Go home." Bruce pulls the blanket over his shoulders again and lies down, but the traces of tears still cling to his eyes.

"Okay," he says, stepping back a bit. "Anything you need? Now that I'm here I mean." He looks around, identifies the dark doorway to Bruce's ensuite, but Bruce is still curled in on himself.

"I'm fine," he mumbles.

Yet, as Clark makes his way back to the French doors leading to the balcony, he hears rustling. Bruce is turned towards him, his face illuminated by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains that Clark was slipping through.

"Clark." It's raspy now, and commanding, and the way Clark likes it better, he finds. "Thank you for coming here. It's good to see you in person after... that."

He lets the curtain fall close again, watching Bruce's face disappear but he can he can still see every feature. The truth in his eyes. "I could stay," he offers, and bites his lips. "Sorry." He takes a deep breath. "That just slipped out," he says to no one.

For a while, Bruce's only response is in his heartbeat slowing down to its normal rate again, as if Clark has just stated that it's cloudy today, and not spilled his deepest desires for being allowed to keep Bruce safe, and close to himself.

Then, Bruce swallows, and lifts the duvet for Clark. "I wouldn't mind."

[weepingfoxfury]

Thursday, Thursday, Thursday ...

Frosty all the way until this morning. Today has a fair wind behind it. Woke at 5am to find the electricity had gone off. How did I know straight away? Dead giveaway when the nightlights you've left on for Biggest Dog are no longer on. Pleased to note she wasn't upset ... which (fingers crossed) may mean I can try turning one of them off. Having two on all the time feels like Blackpool illuminations! ;-D

Thankfully the electrickemery was back on by the time I got up.

Ach well, time to vamoosle. The shiny metropolis calls once more and I'll be blown all the way there and back! So ... hold the fort for me ... don't touch the jigsaw ... and feel free to make yourself a cuppa :-)