#sorry this is VERY late it's just life is so FRUSTRATINGLY BUSY

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

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

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

Rating: M

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes author's notes

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Chapter 15/?: Isthmus

A few days of effortless routine pass, peaceful afternoons melting into evenings spent out of the heat wave in Sakura’s apartment. She fixes a flare-up in his stump one afternoon, green chakra soothing frayed nerve endings. The next, they prepare rei shabu together in her kitchen, enjoyable in its chill as they overlook the street below her window; it’s exceedingly empty due to the rise in temperature, save the occasional passerby or itinerant bird. They do see her neighbor arriving back home once as they eat, the courier at the other end of the second floor. She’s rather quick for a civilian, darting back out into the street and around the far corner after only a few minutes, an additional bag thrown over her shoulder. 

“Her boyfriend lives on the edge of the village,” Sakura comments, hand propping up her chin on the table. “A fisherman; he’s out at the lake or the river nearly every day. Ino knows him.”

Sasuke simply nods. Sakura’s apartment building is nice and in a relatively quiet portion of town. While it‘s in a convenient location in terms of access to everything, he can see the appeal of the edge of the village; it’s more naturalistic. It brings to mind recollections of backyards and clan grounds annexed at another edge of Konoha, wilderness teeming at the fringe and a handful of treasured walks with Itachi, dodging thistles and poison oak. 

With the expansion of the village proceeding at what he’s gathered in his short time back is a rather breakneck pace - there’s still construction going on in several areas from what he’s seen - he ponders once again how long the edge of the village will stay the edge of the village. Though he’s been watering the lily buds diligently, he still hasn’t gone beyond the memorial stone, into what used to be the Uchiha District. It’s a task for another month, he thinks. Maybe when the autumn equinox arrives; it’s been ages since he was in Konoha for that tradition.

His usual shared dinner with Sakura drifts earlier and earlier, thus offering such glimpses at the lives of the people who pass by day to day during the waning afternoon time slot. There’s an exordium as of late, to stay longer into the night than he has in the past, midnight and beyond. Usually it’s accompanied by some sort of snack Sakura presents in the later hours of their eves spent together, walnuts or bagged seaweed tempura or his small stash of snacks in her drawer. He surmises it may be partly an effort on her part to get him to eat more, which he doesn’t mind, as he particularly enjoys the indulgences that come before said snacking. 

“We could watch another movie,” Sakura says near every night like clockwork, cheeks red and eyes sweeping away from him shyly, as if they’ve made any effort at all to watch the one that’s just finished, credits rolling.

He hypothesizes that she could just be better at multitasking than him, able to ascertain at least some of the plot and dialogue despite her lips melding to his for the better portion of each film’s sprawl. In credence of his theory is the fact that her pile of papers has made three further appearances during the earlier evenings, though she always slides them aside to their designated spot on her bookshelf prior to seven. 

Sasuke, however, is convinced he is quite incapable of focusing on anything else when her fingers are sliding through his hair and her tongue is drifting along his, sweltry hot. The scent of raspberries is disarming and overwhelming when he’s this close to her, all audio irrelevant background noise in comparison to the hum of each breath Sakura takes. Sometimes, right when they change angles and in advance of their lips colliding anew, he can catch the hint of a sweet sound she makes low in her throat; he thinks it may be the cusp of something akin to a whimper. 

It hasn’t helped his secluded profligacies within the privacy of his own bedroom in the slightest, as he yearns to hear just what sort of other enticing noises Sakura elicits during certain… activities. His subconscious persistently fills in the gaps, should he have such a dream; he wakes on several occasions, flushed from visuals that involve peeling thin crimson fabric and midnight netting away from her freckled skin, clearing the way so that he may caress each and every square inch of her.

He knows he’s not ready for that by a long shot just yet. He’s not even ready to trail his fingers anywhere other than across her cheek or atop her shoulder or through her pale hair, silk in his palm. It will take time.

Still. It’s altogether impossible for him to catch even a hint of what’s playing out on the screen when they’re kissing like that. It’s possible that the masculine system is simply wired differently, utterly subservient to such distractions. The aftertaste of whatever tea she’s been drinking lingers in his mouth whenever they finally part, a sensation he’s quickly become addicted to: peach, white coconut creme, caramelized pear, none too sweet. 

It’s still very new, but Sasuke is rather enjoying figuring it out. He concludes Sakura must be, too, as she initiates just as often as he does, which has eliminated most of his qualms; he’d been apprehensive initially that perhaps he’d be bad at this sort of thing, with as many times as he’d ruminated without acting on the desire, but he must not be terrible if she returns every kiss with equal fervor. She seems rather good at it, herself. It makes him wonder if she’s ever kissed anyone else. Realistically he presumes that she must have; Sakura was always a pretty girl, even when they were children. The beautiful and capable woman she has grown into has likely attracted a fair amount of attention. 

He would never ask, of course. It is categorically none of his business, given the heartbreak he forced upon her for years and the subsequent wait for him to be ready for any kind of closer relationship. He starkly ignores the part of him that aches with a great deal of jealousy at the mere thought of Sakura kissing anyone else, locking it away behind old doors that usher other parlous and nugatory feelings of his away for containment.

It doesn’t matter now. He sort of wishes he could just lose the key to that sort of cerebration already. Other troubling tendencies linger behind that aged wood and its rusted hinges, insecurities and his penchant for self-punishment and his propensity to overanalyze every situation, sometimes to the extent of onerous and unjustified panic.

Someday he’ll get to them, clear away the sediment; spring cleaning, perhaps. For now, he’s content in relishing this new stage fully. He feels… closer to Sakura than before. He knew that would happen, but there’s a familiar ease, a sedate domesticity, that he experiences within the walls of her home that he hasn’t really had occasion to feel anywhere else, or at least, hasn’t had occasion to feel since he was very young. He loves spending all of his time with her, whether it’s cooking or kissing or sneaking an occasional glimpse of her as she scrawls things into her notes, fine pink brows furrowed and jade eyes scanning the paper analytically. Since he’s begun to sit closer to her on the couch, he’s noticed that they appear to be corrections of some sort, her handwriting with its swooping As flooding the margins with torrents of precisely inscribed notes. He doesn’t pry about what she’s working on; it may be confidential, and thus there’s a sort of implied trust in him there, too, of which he doesn’t wish to contravene.

He used to ache for this feeling, pine for it desperately, the indulgence and eudemonia of hours of quietly shared company and more open affections. As a child, he used to train to the point of exhaustion, pushing his body to the limits in the hopes that he could rip the desire for it out of himself. So now, contrarily and to make up for lost time, he allows himself to revel in it. It’s a nice change of pace from licking his aged wounds to the point of septicity.

Following another heated session of kissing that was abruptly interrupted by rolling credits, Sakura mentions something about making iced tea at home soon, or maybe lemonade, as she rifles through her drawer of snacks. A questioning glance is thrown his way as she pulls out his popcorn.

He nods absentmindedly, barely hearing in his distraction, incalescence still cooling behind his ribs, but understanding at least the visual portion of the offer. 

“Is there any kind of iced tea you like?” She’s still a little flushed as she turns to face him. “Other than sencha, I mean.”

His brain has barely caught up to his body standing in the dark of her kitchen, outwardly still feeling each of her fingertips at his scalp and inwardly feeling like his stomach is recovering from its compendiary transformance into molten ardor.

“...What?” That which is feverish floods his neck and licks at his ears. He’s so stupidly fixated on that freckle on her cheek, as well as the way her lips look after they’ve been kissing: slightly plump, parted invitingly. That’s done nothing for his aggrandized and enticing dreams, either, frissons of temptation that enwrap him as they slide down his spine.

“Iced tea; do you just like sencha?” She asks softly as she hands him the bag. “Or are there others you like? Or… I can make unsweetened lemonade, too.”

He latches on to the end part of the sentence the quickest, as it’s the only part that computes initially as he drops his gaze to the bag he’s now clutching. 

“Lemonade,” he murmurs, trying to force the color from his face and exceptionally thankful that Sakura is a lamp aficionado. There’s limited light to discern said coloring here, unless one has the Sharingan.

“Okay,” she says, smiling brightly. “The next time I’m at the market, I’ll get some extra lemons to make some.”

The next evening, another movie serving as background noise finished, they venture to the kitchen again in search of an eleven o’clock snack. Sasuke opts for the almonds this go-around - he may need to pick up a second bag for whenever the next team movie is - but Sakura trails to her refrigerator, pulling out a small container of anko dumplings.

Sasuke eyes them curiously in the scant seconds that pass prior to returning to the living room.  Their dinner was simple today, and Sakura herself grabbed what they needed for the meal from the fridge, so he hadn’t seen that container before now. They appear well-made, visually appealing enough that he expects she must have picked them up from somewhere; perhaps it was the bakery nearest her apartment, the one that he suspects sells confections.

As she sets up the next movie, Sasuke finds himself recalling one occasion when they were Genin, on their lone mission to the Land of Waves, in which she’d scarfed down anko dumplings with considerable delight at dinner. He’d been preoccupied with a rather juvenile eating contest with their third teammate, but he’d still noticed; if there’s one defining characteristic that he has, it’s his ability to be methodically observant, often to the point of his detriment. Racking his brain, he thinks he can also recall at least one other occasion in which she’d ordered them at a restaurant that Kakashi had taken them all to at the tail end of another Genin mission closer to home. 

Though he himself doesn’t like dango anymore - she kindly questions him if he’d like any as she takes her seat scant inches away from him, even though she knows he doesn’t like sweet things, to which he politely declines - he still mentally files this information away for future reference as he eats a few heaping handfuls of almonds. He hasn’t stepped foot inside a bakery since he was seven, but he does have access to his own kitchen now.

In this small collection of days that bring May to a close, Sasuke doesn’t receive any mission assignments. He assumes their old sensei and his returned assistant Shizune must be gearing up for the upcoming Chunin Exams, and thus he is probably loath to send many Konoha ninja out in the next few weeks; there is always the possibility of getting held up somewhere for longer than expected. It’s likely that they’re taking an ample chunk of Konoha’s upper ranks to assist in Sunagakure, too, which means there needs to be an even rounding of capable ninja left here to maintain the village’s security. If Naruto’s going with Kakashi, Sasuke expects he himself will be home for a good while, as will Sakura; most of June they’ll be here, possibly even into July, save any sort of emergency. He supposes it’s probable that he will be assigned guard duties with some degree of regularity in the next month. 

Going so long without a mission assignment used to bother him, eager as he was when he was younger to attain breaks from the village, but now he can’t find it in himself to care one bit. Summer heat has hit Konoha with the same reprisal it always has, sweltering temperatures coating everything hot and humid. He much prefers simplistic evenings at Sakura’s apartment, watching movies and snacking and kissing her until time blurs to the waning width of a crescent moon. 

Amidst all of this, he somehow manages to acquire a summer sickness.

It begins as a tickle in the back of his mouth, possibly near his tonsils. He notices it as he gently sifts his remaining water over greening lily buds well past midnight, just there behind his tongue, and chalks it up to the fact that he was reading the names, the pain in the back of his throat cresting as it always does here. 

Once he arrives back at his apartment, he discerns that his mouth is sort of dry, but he assumes it’s due to the fact that it's brutally humid. Even now, sweat is trailing down his neck in the calefaction. He downs an entire bottle of water in one go to counteract it.

He doesn't sleep particularly well, but it's not one of his worst nightmares - he doesn’t throw up this go-around - so he's grateful. However, upon waking, the twitching feeling at the back of his throat has intensified to an ache. 

Frowning once his heart rate has decelerated and he's stared out his window for a bit, he procures a cough drop and relocates the lamp to the living room end table so he can read on the couch, sprawled out lazily in pursuit of distraction. The hours evanesce away, and one lozenge becomes five. 

An occasional cough quakes his chest, though he thinks it’s from his mouth being persistently dry rather than from anything severely infectious plaguing his lungs. It's… unpleasant. Torrid and irritating, affliction lurking at the back of his throat each time he attempts to clear it. Muscle memory demands he raise what used to be his dominant arm to cough into his bicep sleeve, but it's empty, so that doesn't work so well. What’s left of his left arm only partially covers his mouth. 

He's rarely been ill over the past few years, and only once did he ever have any sort of cough accompanying it. He spent very limited hours physically around other people, he supposes, choosing to say little and retire early on the rare occasion that he was under someone else’s roof rather than sprawled beneath the stars alone. Perhaps he caught something from someone he crossed paths with at the market.

His mouth sinks downward once the fit passes, brows furrowing ahead of another cough rising to take its place. He raises his right arm this time, coughing into the interior portion of his elbow, then rises to procure a drink.

It’s wholly disorienting; the world rotates and knocks something aching in his skull. When his fingers skim his forehead, he deduces that it’s warm as the ground relevels itself. The beginning of a migraine, he concludes, as well as a fever.

Reaching for one of the jars on his tea shelf, Sasuke sets a cup of caffeinated sencha to brew, swallows two pain relief pills from the medicine cabinet, and chases the medicine with a cough drop prior to dragging his spare comforter rather unceremoniously to his couch for further comfort. 

The tea soothes his throat incrementally, and his headache eases slightly; whether it was the caffeine or the medication that did the trick, he couldn’t say. It's not until he rises to fix breakfast, most of his book on the history of the Land of Tea finished, that he realizes he has some sort of a genuine chill, too. Sasuke scans the thermostat for confirmation as a shiver ripples through him; the temperature reads the same as it always does. 

There’s a frown permanently affixed to his face now. He shrugs out of his usual long-sleeved shirt, deducing that a heavier fabric he usually reserves for cooler seasons and climates would better suit the situation he’s found himself in. It helps a little, but he still encases himself back in the comforter, an occasionally coughing cocoon of a human, brows furrowed as he flips through the art book again in want of something to do to distract him from this infirmity.

The sun has climbed higher in the east, just barely clearing the horizon. He’s trying to decide if he should make the jaunt to Sakura’s to cancel their plans for this afternoon, lest he infect her with whatever he’s caught, when the telltale banging of Naruto's fist resounds against his door.

"Teme!" He calls between heavy knocks that are sure to wake his neighbor if she’s home; they’re boisterous enough that they hurt his head with each sharp pound. "Kakashi-sensei is working with Shizune this morning. Let's spar!!"

Sasuke sighs, lone hand rising to his head in pain at the sudden volume as he rises slightly unsteadily, not at all befitting that of a ninja.

"Hey, teme, are you home?!" Additional banging accompanied by a slight twang of an object resonates atop the vertical stretch of wood. “C’mon, hurry up! It’ll be hot as fuck if we don’t go soon! I already promised Hinata-chan that I’d drink this whole thing of water, and-”

"Stop. I'm coming," Sasuke calls, followed by a swallow that requires some effort. His throat hurts more now, he realizes as he nears the door that’s still being hammered on relentlessly by two fists; the dobe must not have heard him. 

There has to be a better system for spars than this, he judges, brows furrowing in disquietude. Some sort of designated day and time. He simultaneously contemplates how often the idiot’s volume has bothered his neighbor or woken her child.

His fingers find the knob and he opens the door, only slightly as he doesn’t want to permit Naruto any kind of opening to barge his way in. He is unsurprised to see his best friend appearing as if he’s just rolled out of bed, blond hair skewed sideways and both fists frozen in midair. One is wrapped around a huge thermos that must have been contributing to the audial uproar.

"Oh, good, I thought maybe you slept at Sakura-chan's or something-" 

Sasuke’s neck warms as he pins him with an unimpressed look.

"Oh." Intense blue assesses him as he lowers his curled fists from the air finally. "Uh."

Sasuke narrows his eyes when his best friend’s expression morphs into one of amusement.

"You… kinda look like shit," the idiot chuckles. 

Observation of the century, he thinks and nearly says, but it’s about two too many words; he doesn’t wish for his throat to ache further than it already does.

"I'm sick," Sasuke deadpans instead, glaring kunai at his teammate with a pounding head. The warm light cast from the rising sun isn't doing wonders for his headache situation; it’s throbbing worse now than before with the continued exposure.

For some reason that results in the dobe’s laugh intensifying. It starts as a snort but quickly escalates into a snicker, then a cackle. If his neighbor wasn’t already awake, she’s sure to be now. 

"What's the matter, teme?" He lilts in a teasing voice that causes Sasuke's patience to run thin and his frown run thinner still, incensed. There's a smug grin on the dobe’s face, the kind that appears when Naruto is about to say something catastrophically fucking imbecilic. 

“Swap too much spit with Sakura-chan?”

Sasuke’s brow twitches.

“You know, you should go to the hospital-”

Immediately sensing where this line of reasoning is going, Sasuke promptly shuts the door - not a slam, but not muted, either, and no, he is definitely not red in the face, it’s just the fever.

He blocks out most of whatever the idiot ends up saying - some thinly veiled and highly implicative innuendo about making an appointment - through sheer willpower and a lengthy, irritated exhale. By the time he’s switched to inhaling, a new round of laughter is apparent from the other side of the wood.

Sasuke relocks the door in the most methodical, purposeful, and audible manner possible, scowling darkly.

"Don't worry!" The dobe calls from the other side of the door, laughing. "I'm sure Sakura-chan would love to make a house call, just for you! And anyways, she-"

Sasuke stalks to his bedroom and yanks the comforter over his head, drowning out whatever the idiot’s going on about with another forced exhale and determined to go back to sleep for an hour, at least until nine. He’ll figure out what to do regarding their afternoon plans later, he thinks through an additional round of clearing his parched throat, triggered by the sudden change to a horizontal position.

He's tired enough that it actually works. His last thought afore sleep claiming him is that he really is genuinely sick for the first occasion in a while, and is definitely running a fever. 

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He's not sure how long he sleeps for - it feels like twenty minutes or so, strange pieces of a hazy and familiar gray dream just beginning to color his subconscious - but a few sharp, precise raps on the door have him rising haphazardly from slumber, ready to lay into Naruto despite how dry and sore his throat is. There’s sleep clouding the corners of his recognition and the edges of his eyes are watering, irritated, as his hand unlocks the door as if detached from his body just yet. The sleepy retort is already on his tongue when-

He blinks in bewilderment, both at the overwhelming amount of bright light and the colors that are still solidifying before him, below his direct line of sight. Definitively, it is not a blur of orange and yellow that comes into focus.

It's pink and green instead; Sakura is blinking up at him owlishly. It’s nearly midday, judging by the sun well above them both. He's slept for the better portion of three hours rather than the one he intended.

"Hey," she greets softly. "Naruto stopped by and said you might be sick." Pale green is both assessing and caring as she gazes up at him. "I assumed we’d cancel our afternoon plans so you can rest, but I wanted to… to check on you.” She motions towards the bag curved around her shoulder.

He blinks as his pupils adjust to the harsh gleam, trying to process through the splitting migraine that’s now surging with a vengeance. He’s still stuck on how he’s somehow slept for three hours, and how his eyes are, for some reason, itching now. 

Must be the light. He blinks a few more times for good measure, slowly.

"If… if that's okay," she says, an uncertain expression overtaking her features as he continues to stare at her, brows furrowing finally as his brain catches up with what she's said. “Or… If you’d rather I didn’t, I… I can…”

"Okay." His voice comes out a shred rougher than it usually does, but he manages, pulling the door open wider to let her through; it feels as though his throat has been coated with sandpaper on both sides and it’s grinding against the remaining contents of his pharynx. “Sorry. I slept longer than I thought.”

Sakura’s face brightens, shifting to something like recognition - he’s succeeded in communicating that his delay in speech wasn’t because her presence was unwanted - and her lips quirk upwards.

“Oh,” she murmurs airily, beaming as she moves to step inside, fingers grasping at the strap of her bag. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“...It’s fine,” he mumbles, still disoriented as he closes the door behind them. He examines the lock for a protracted moment, considering, because the idea of the dobe barging in on an examination is not the most appealing mental picture, but he ultimately decides against it. Sakura likely won’t be here for very long, and he doesn’t want to get her ill, either. 

Though now that he’s thinking about it, they did sort of… spend a rather significant amount of time kissing on her couch again, the night previous. 

And the night before that.

…And the night before that.

He mentally reviews old lessons on contagions from the Academy ages ago, tiredly trying to discern if he has already given it to her. She would be showing symptoms already if he had, he reasons; she would only be a day behind him at best in exposure. His brain feels muddy, like it’s lagging exorbitantly behind everything occurring in the present, just on the edge of slumber.

When he turns to her, rubbing at his eyes a little as they’re still sort of irritated, she’s already slipped her shoes off and is looking around somewhat uncertainly. 

His focus meets hers in silent question.

“Um.” Sakura blinks. “Where should I…?” 

Ah. This is only her second time here. The couch is probably more comfortable, but it’s also probably covered in more of his germs. 

“...Here’s fine,” he elucidates, motioning to the table prior to absentmindedly flipping the kitchen light on. He squints at the offending brightness once he does, head pounding and blinking as it occurs to him that he might appear a bit… unkempt as of yet. He frowns, briefly recalling that his hair tends to skew away from whichever side of his head he slept on.

If she notices, Sakura pays no mind to it. She simply nods once and then turns to take a seat, beginning to pull a kit of some kind out of her bag. He takes the opportunity to pour himself a glass of water, as he realizes he’s presumably going to have to talk in regards to symptoms and he would rather avoid having to cough in her immediate vicinity. 

A stretched sip is taken, hydration temporarily soothing his pharynx, before he swivels back towards the dining table. Within the kit, he can see, was a stethoscope, an ear instrument, a cuff to measure blood pressure, what he assumes is a penlight, and a sealed clear bag that contains several things: a tissue, swabs, small tubes, and one of the wooden sticks typically used to hold the tongue down when examining the throat. 

There is also a new package of the menthol-lyptus cough drops among the instruments, shiny azure blue like the others. He notices it last, tired brain processing through each item at a delayed pace.

His haggard gaze flits to her with immense appreciation as he sinks into the remaining seat on her side of the table. He’s only gone through about one and a half of the initial three bags she gave him, but he’ll probably use a lofty number of them up during this bout of illness. It was kind of her.

It seems she reads the gratitude in his expression, smiling under his continued appraisal. Her cheeks flush slightly as she rips open the package and offers him one. 

“So,” Sakura says softly as he carefully unwraps it. “What are your symptoms?” Her eyes are kind as they temporarily flick to the glass of water in advance of coming back to rest on him. “I’m assuming a sore throat?”

Sasuke nods, bringing the cough drop up to slip beyond his lips. 

“...Headache.” He pauses, situating the cough drop into the hollow of his cheek and thinking. “Chills.”

She surveys him for a long moment as if working through her next words or perhaps considering something of note.

“Runny nose or congestion at all?” She questions finally as she picks up the blood pressure cuff. He places the wrapper on the dining table before offering his lone arm out to her. 

“No.” 

She situates it easily, securing the apparatus around his bicep in advance of upping the pressure. He focuses on the feeling of the cough drop numbing his throat, dissolving into an essence of relief. Pressure amps and declines around the squeezed muscle of his arm.

“Just a little higher than usual,” she remarks eventually. The pressure releases as she peels it away. 

“Pulse next, please.” 

There’s a delay as he processes the instruction, blinking prior to holding out his arm again; he allows his elbow to rest on the surface of the table between them. Both of her hands ascend to grip his wrist, plying for his radial artery. 

Even with as tired as he is, he can’t ignore the latent tangibility of her fingertips feel against his skin there. He barely breathes for a moment, closing his eyes and overly aware of the ambrosia of raspberry for about the three-hundredth time since he’s returned.

“Hmm,” Sakura appraises thoughtfully when her fingers finally fall away and he exhales, thinking this shouldn’t affect him so, especially not now, given their more recent activities. “Your heart rate isn’t really much higher than normal, but that doesn’t mean you’re not sick.”

Sasuke supposes his heart rate when ill certainly would present synonymous to his heart rate when in the immediate close proximity of his girlfriend, her touch at his bare skin for an extended period of time. He briefly toys with the idea of trying to mentally count the measures of his own pulse when they are next occupied with kissing, but that notion quickly devolves into a frown, because it will probably be a while now before he kisses Sakura again. 

“You’re more tired than usual?”

Pulled from the doldrums, he nods stiffly as she reaches for the ear instrument, neck warming.

“Do you think you have a fever?” She questions as she puts some sort of cap atop the instrument for what he assumes are sanitary reasons. “Your wrist felt kind of warm.”

Sasuke dips his chin again in confirmation, rotating his head slightly so she can take his temperature via his ear. It takes only a minute. 

“One hundred and two,” she informs him softly, taking the instrument from his ear and removing the miniature cap from it to be set atop the tissue, the pile of things to dispose of later. “So a small one.” She sets the instrument aside, turning back to him. “Any cough?”

“Not really,” he answers. “Sore. Dry.” He pauses, then adds, “I cough if I don’t have water.”

Analytical eyes peer up at him before she procures the wooden stick with one hand and the penlight with the other. “Do your lymph nodes hurt at all?”

His brows knit together. 

“...I’m not sure.” They don’t feel swollen, really, but his need for sleep has been attracting all of his focus since the sun rose, to the extent that he hasn’t really glimpsed himself in the mirror at all. He also hasn’t brushed his teeth yet today, he realizes with some regret. 

Sakura nods as if this makes sense. “I’d like to look at your throat, if that’s okay.”

Sasuke swallows again as she grabs the wooden stick and penlight. He then opens his mouth; the cough drop is a meager remnant stored in the hollow of his cheek.

Sakura frowns once she’s got the light aimed for analysis.

“Say ah, please?”

He complies, feeling inelegant in all respects. 

She pulls the stick away after a short few seconds of study, though for some reason she keeps the penlight on. He closes his mouth and situates the cough drop back onto the main spread of his tongue, blinking slowly as the menthol eases the dryness that came with the open air exposure. His eyes feel like they’re about to droop shut any minute.

"Could I look at your eyes quick?"

His brows furrow as he processes the question, flummoxed - I haven’t used them is on the tip of his tongue, in reference to his doujutsu - to which Sakura smiles patiently.

“I think you probably have a bacterial infection. Your tonsils are swollen.” She motions to the penlight still in her palm. "I'd guess group A strep throat, but you don't have any white spots yet. Sometimes the bacteria manifests in the eyes, too. Conjunctivitis."

He blinks once more, regard flickering tiredly but purposefully to the penlight to grant her permission, as if to say go ahead whilst sparing his pharynx the further motion of words.

Sakura’s gaze softens prior to discarding the stick, placed atop the tissue so the part that was in his mouth doesn’t touch the table. 

She then switches the penlight to her left hand and reaches toward him with her right.

His brows knit closer together in sluggish puzzlement before she's sifting his hair away from his left eye carefully, touch gentle and expression soft.

Heat licks at his ears. Ah. 

He’s an idiot. Of course his hair was in her way. Perhaps he's more out of it than he thought.

Her fingertips graze his cheekbone and part of his temple slightly as she raises the penlight. She shines it into his left first, then lets her digits fall away from his cheek as she shifts the light over his other eye. He hopes they're not infected, or, if they are, that they don't appear too… gross. He vaguely remembers just two other occasions in which he acquired conjunctivitis; neither of them left his eyes particularly presentable, visually speaking. 

“They look a little irritated,” she observes matter-of-factly, clicking the light off prior to setting it aside. She then reaches for one of the swabs. “Could I swab your throat for a test? If it is strep, I’ll prescribe an antibiotic.”

Sasuke nods yet again, to which Sakura smiles in response. 

“Alright. Tilt your head back, please.”

He stares at the ceiling above him, moving the last remnant of the cough drop to his cheek again before he opens his mouth.

“Say ah,” Sakura instructs. “This will probably tickle a little.”

He does, and she quickly slides the swab over what he assumes are his tonsils, one swipe on each side. Once it’s out, he clears his throat to satisfy the small itch as she situates the swab neatly into one of the test tubes. He follows it up with a sip of his water.

“I’ll stop by the hospital to run this, and then I’ll be back later if it’s positive,” she says smoothly as she wraps the tube again; he expects it’s to offer it some cushion in the kit. “I’ll bring eye ointment, too, just in case.”

Sasuke nods once more, taking another measured sip. She begins placing the other items back into her kit, though she leaves the stethoscope out. 

“I’d like to listen to your heart before I go,” she comments. “Sometimes group A can spread to the heart and damage the valves; scarlet or rheumatic fever. It’s probably too early for that if you just started having major symptoms this morning, but it’s standard practice to check anyway.” 

“...Okay.” It’s also standard Shinobi protocol to take every precaution available when it comes to the possibility of impaired health, especially involving a vital organ. He’s not particularly a fan of being poked and prodded given his history, but if it’s Sakura, he doesn’t mind. He has come to know that she excels in every aspect of her profession, and bedside manner is no exception. 

At that thought, he forcefully shoves the idiot’s teasing from earlier to the back of his mind as Sakura situates the stethoscope in her ears, lifting the chest piece and pressing it to his sternum. He breathes slowly, in and out as his eyes droop somewhat; it somehow makes him sleepier, inanition ready to overtake him.

“Your heart sounds good,” Sakura comments as she removes the chest piece. “No concern there.” She then plucks the other side of the stethoscope from her ears, moving to return that to the kit, too; he assumes that means she doesn’t need to check his lungs this time. The bag of cough drops stays on the table as she swivels her upper body to grab her tote bag from where she’s left it. 

“Do you need anything?” She queries as she turns back towards him, and he gets the distinct impression that Sakura the clinician has vacated the premises entirely. “I could make some soup if you want. Chicken noodle, maybe? If you’re on an antibiotic, you’ll want to avoid anything acidic or with dairy.”

Sasuke’s brow furrows. He doesn’t want to get her sick with extended time spent here, but he would be deluding himself if he didn’t admit that such a dish sounds like heaven right about now with the way his throat aches. He may be able to make something similar on his own in terms of having the ingredients on hand, but his will to produce such a dish is another matter entirely. He’s too tired to consider making anything that’s not ochazuke today, and he also knows he likes Sakura’s cooking; he doesn’t doubt that he would like this rendition of soup, given she seems to utilize her slow cooker fairly frequently.

He supposes it is her day off, and they were supposed to hang out later anyways, so it’s not like she’d be neglecting other plans on his behalf. It’s very kind of her to offer. 

You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts.

“...Soup would be good,” he admits quietly after some internal review, realizing she’s waiting for a response and he’s taking too long. He pointedly slides his focus to the cough drops atop the wood grain of the table before refocusing on her tiredly. “Thank you.”

A pleased smile blooms on her lips. 

“You’re very welcome,” she says. “I’ll try to get Naruto to leave you alone for a bit, too. I’m guessing he nearly busts your door down each time like he does mine? Between the door and the window, I’m surprised my office is still intact at this point.” 

Sasuke snorts, and her grin widens in amusement. 

“...That’s the reason my door is usually locked,” he admits, something occurring to him as he speaks the words. The knocking earlier, sharp and precise, was not how Sakura normally knocks on a door. Not that he’s heard her knock often as of late, now that he’s thinking about it, but when they were younger, servicing clients in and outside of the village on missions, it was usually a few gentle raps, more of a grazing of her knuckles against the egress. It was a sharp contrast to Naruto’s discordant and careless whacks even back then.

Which means that she likely knocked lightly at first today but he slept right through it.

Suppose it wouldn’t hurt. It’s overnight, always, when his issues with sleep disturbances emerge, surpassing further than a few hours of slumber as a nap does. It should be fine to provide her a way in for later today in case he’s asleep.

Sakura rises with a musical laugh, shifting her tote bag back in place on her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.” Shining soft green levels him, beautiful and rich with mirth as she turns towards the door. 

“...Sakura,” he says as he also rises abruptly, inwardly wincing at what it does to his head. She pauses halfway to the door, angling herself back towards him with a curious expression. 

Crossing the small kitchen to the drawer on the far left, Sasuke pulls it open quietly. He doesn’t own enough kitchen supplies to fill all of the compartments in the space, so this one has remained mostly empty, save for the spare nickel-brass key that came with the place. He’s never had a use for it, so he just left it in the same location the previous tenant had: at the back of an unused drawer.

He turns to Sakura with the cool metal in hand, sluggishly so he doesn’t get disoriented again by sudden movement. In one gradual but sure motion he’s extending it out to her.

She blinks twice, staring at it with widened eyes and a nonplussed countenance that makes his throat tighten uneasily. 

It is in this moment that his pulse pounds in his ears to the point of careening as he second guesses himself entirely.

He didn’t really think it over much before retrieving it; he just didn’t want her to be stuck waiting outside his door if he’s out by the time she comes back with soup or medicine. He dimly soaks in that this is possibly a bigger deal than his somnolent mind is capable of fully processing just now. 

“...If I’m asleep,” he expounds expeditiously, voice marginally hesitant now as he begins to overthink, a sliver of rationality cutting through the haze of fatigue and settling in the form of presage just behind his ribs. Suddenly it feels like there’s something poring through the soil there, disturbing vines and dirt and roots, scrutinizing them afore flinging them away carelessly with the aid of a rusted spade. 

They’ve barely been together for two months. Perhaps he has vastly overstepped, made her uncomfortable-

“Okay,” she says as her expression morphs into a shy smile, palm brushing his to take the key.

Once his pulse finds its place again, no longer rushing and echoing in his ears like a torrent of an alarm, he slowly lets go of the sleek metal. Sakura’s eyes are filled with something that looks an awful lot like awe, fractals of seafoam atop a shifting reflected fluorescent light. 

Her soft fingers are, as ever, incredibly distracting as they slide away, nimble and graceful. She’s out the door in a few seconds, a sweet-natured glance cast back in his direction before she turns. The door creaks open and closed, and the latch clicks softly behind her. 

She locks it for him, eternally polite.

He blinks once, staring at the wood grain for a lingering moment in advance of rotating to land his study on the bag of cough drops. 

A feeling is settling somewhat behind his ribs that is rather nice, twisting vines and disturbed roots and other things he’s entombed pushed neatly back into place, utterly at odds with his physical afflictions.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Several hours pass, more half-formed thoughts a rippling gradient in his subconscious that are not given quite enough time to begin to stew, along with strange scraping noises that filter in and out of his skull. 

He eventually blinks groggily to the aroma of chicken soup invading his olfactory senses. It effectively fades the blur of cinereal to simple off white plaster, and he rolls out of bed rather unceremoniously. His headache is at least a little better, he finds, though the dryness in his mouth is not. He gulps down some of the stagnant water in the glass astride his bedside from earlier. He then proceeds to his doorway with it in hand, pushing the door open. 

Sakura is stirring soup in what appears to be the slow cooker from her kitchen he was recalling a short time ago, brought here. Savory roasted shiitake mushrooms and sliced green cabbage intermix with the scent now that he’s closer, and she turns to the soft click of the door opening and closing.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a hushed tone with kind eyes, smiling. “You’re awake.”

“...Sakura,” he says in response, somewhat disoriented. 

“Your strep test was positive,” she murmurs, turning back to the pot to tap the remaining moisture off the ladle before setting the lid back atop the soup. “I brought you an antibiotic; it’s on the table. Eye ointment, too.” 

His focus sinks to the table, and sure enough there are two medications: a tube of ointment that’s labeled Bacitracin Ophthalmic Ointment and a small bottle of pills that reads No. 860015-5578, Uchiha, Sasuke, Penicillin 500mg, Take twice daily. Quantity: 20 tablets. Dr. Haruno, Sakura - No refills.

There is a lengthy moment in which he stares at the clear orange container. His vision adjusts lethargically, lingering on the material transparency, the way it colors the stark white pills contained within it. There is a scattering of seconds where the air momentarily feels crisper in his lungs, harder to respire.

“Thank you,” he finally responds, cutting through the haze of his own thoughts as cleanly as a swipe of his chokuto can cleave through paper. He exchanges his glass of water for the garishly bright container, using his teeth to rotate the lid off. 

“You’re welcome,” Sakura acknowledges to his left, reaching for cutlery and beginning to fill the sink, apparently to soak the dishes. Now that he's fully awake, he sees that the cutting board is among them. She must have added a few things to the mix just after arriving here for the final additions to the soup. 

“Just make sure to finish the whole thing, even when you start feeling better.” She smiles at him. “In twenty-four hours, you won’t be contagious anymore, either, so you can return to normal life if you’re feeling up to it.”

Lone pill popped into his mouth, he reaches for what’s left of his water. It drags along his throat, scraping irritated tissue; it takes a few more gulps of water to force it all the way down, effectively draining his glass. He shoves away his disdain for the feeling.

“...You don’t need to wash those,” Sasuke says quietly, frowning as he rounds the table, intent on obtaining a new glass of water. “I’ll do it later.”

Fine pink brows arch, then furrow furrow as he places it on the counter nearest the fridge. She’s peering at him as if he’s grown another head.

“Of course I will,” Sakura insists, expression confused. “You're sick, and I dirtied them. After dinner, though.”

His frown sinks deeper, pursuance of the water pitcher in the fridge momentarily forgotten. 

“...You’ll get sick.”

There is an enduring pause where she appraises him carefully, as if he’s said something completely nonsensical.

"I… don’t think you need to worry about that,” she finally replies, cheeks flushing a little as she swipes her hand across her skirt once to dry it. They fidget there, bunching in the violet fabric. “You probably got it from me.”

His brows furrow as his fingers rest atop the fridge handle. Briefly she meets his eyes, and her cheeks darken further. 

Ah.  

He angles his vision momentarily in the direction of the counter, studying the pattern in an attempt at distraction from the acute sensation of flame licking up his neck.

"...Wouldn't you be sick, too?" 

Sakura shakes her head in his peripheral vision. 

“Well-” She begins, then stops. “Well… I mean technically, I have it, but… I’m mostly asymptomatic. I had a small fever when I checked, running your test, so I did one of my own and it was positive; I’m taking an antibiotic, too . Group A strep has never really given me symptoms other than that, though. And…” She pauses long enough to pique his curiosity, so he meets her stare.

Her cheeks are incarnadine, but her countenance is more akin to apologetic than embarrassment. Her fingers are still restless at her sides.

“I had a patient with strep come in on Tuesday. Group A has a two to five day incubation period,  so… Relatively sure that you caught it from me."

Slowly Sasuke nods, and she smiles, but then she turns in a way he can only describe as meek, back to the dishes as if searching for something new to keep her hands occupied.

“So… take this as my apology for getting you sick,” she quips, speaking in a rather regretful tone, one that quickens with every word she speaks, aflush with offers that he immediately clocks as being laden with some sort of misplaced guilt. He’s struck by the tired, absurd notion to laugh, because Sakura is the last person who should ever be apologizing to him. 

“Is there anything I can take care of for you? I could bring some new books, if you’d like. If you’ve finished your other ones, I mean. Or… I don’t have to eat here, if you’re too tired. I can come get the slow cooker later if it’s easier for you to heat it up that way. Maybe when you’re feeling better? And-”

“Sakura,” he murmurs, carefully placing his lone hand on her bicep, and she quiets instantaneously, pupils honed in on his.

“...I don’t mind being sick.” The words are out of his mouth before he can overthink them, but they’re true and enunciated as clearly as he is capable; he doesn’t mind at all. He would take being ill again a hundred times over if it means he gets to spend the amount of hours with her he’s been able to recently, and furthermore, to kiss her, like that. There’s a comfort in it, similar to the comfort of seeing her in his apartment for a third occasion or the amenity that comes with someone you love offering to eat soup with you when you’re ill, despite the weather outside being blazing. 

It’s arduous for him to voice such things, but he hopes she can understand through his expression alone, as she often can.

I want you here.

Her pupils have widened to the size of saucers, a thin slice of jade green circling their edges just so.

“Oh,” she intones faintly. She peers down to where his hand is still resting, curved gently around her arm, and her face flushes darker somehow. The corner of his mouth twitches; she really is utterly oblivious to what her touch does to him and his pulse, yet is endearingly affected by his touch on her in any way, shape, or form, innocent as it may be.

“...Good.” She says it with what sounds a little like relief, and the spell is broken; he lets his fingers fall away as she reaches to turn off the faucet, sink now brimming with suds and hot water. “We should probably eat, then.”

Sasuke dips his chin once in agreement, reaching to obtain the bowls from a nearby cabinet. He ladles out large servings for both Sakura and himself, more content now that he knows she’s not getting exposed to illness unnecessarily on his behalf. Similarly to the last occasion she made soup, the pot is full to brimming; there will be plenty of leftovers for tomorrow, or tonight, should he wake again or have trouble sleeping in the first place. He’s hungry, he realizes; he didn’t eat lunch. In fact, he has to side-eye the clock to see what the time actually is just now: a few minutes prior to five, the continuance of their newly adjusted meal schedule. 

Sakura reaches into the silverware drawer while he oscillates in the small space. Her bowl in hand, he crosses the kitchen to deliver it to the table, placing it in the same spot she sat the previous time she was here for dinner. He embarks on a second trip back for his own, during which Sakura deposits their silverware in their respective spots. 

She’s heading back to the kitchen for some reason as he sets his bowl down, the sound of the fridge opening at his back. When he glances her way in question, his gaze softens, because he realizes she’s taking the water pitcher out to fill his glass, forgotten on the counter. 

“Would you like some tea?” Sakura questions as she pours, vision colliding with his briefly. “I know you don’t like sweet things, but I brought some honey in my bag; a little might help your throat until the antibiotics kick in. If I brew the sencha strong enough and just use a bit, you probably won’t taste it.”

He shoots her a look that he hopes communicates his appreciation, nodding, before he turns to the table, transiently trying to place what’s missing. His point of study flickers to the eye ointment, then to her bag. 

“There’s some in the cupboard,” he mentions absentmindedly, slightly hoarse, wondering if he should apply the ointment now or if it would make him look stupid for dinner. He doesn’t really want irritated eyes - they’re itching a bit, again - but he also doesn’t want them caked with gunk while Sakura’s still here.

“Tea?” She questions with a curious tone. He hears running water from the faucet begin anew, plunking levelly into the saucepan.

“Honey,” he clarifies, distrait before he finally pieces together that the lamp is still in the living room from earlier. He crosses the breadth of the apartment to collect the light source, unplugging it from the outlet nearest the end table. 

It’s not until he’s back at the edge of the kitchen, hooking the lamp’s cord into the outlet and flooding the space with softer light, that he realizes silence is still reigning and Sakura hasn't moved an inch.

Sasuke shoots her an inquisitive look, raising an eyebrow as he slides the light flush with the wall atop the table, next to his stack of library books.

“Honey?” Sakura echoes finally, and his unthinking admission catches him.

Calidity blooms on his neck, blistering all the way up to his ears and rushing through the twisted pathways of his veins.

“...Yes,” he mumbles after extensive pause, implication clear and body resolutely still until Sakura turns toward the cupboard with a perplexed expression. It reminds him of the look on her face when he proceeds with a move she clearly didn’t expect him to whilst hours into a match of chess or go: a black piece waltzing willingly into her reach only to parry away in the next turn, if she doesn’t seize it in favor of the continuance of her own strategic maneuvering.

He supposes this is no exception. Sasuke seizes the opportunity to grab the ointment and noiselessly escapes to his bathroom to apply it. The only sound is the open and shut of his bedroom door behind him, a duet of soft clicks. 

He takes his time, washing his hand thoroughly and tilting his head back to apply the cool ointment into the small pocket behind the lower lash line of each eye. It’s a bit of a challenge to accomplish the task one-handed without touching the tip of the applicator directly to his corneas - it’s not something he’s done since gaining his handicap, really - but he manages by pulling the skin out with two fingers and holding the tube with the other three. Closing his eyes is a welcome distraction, rolling them in their sockets to distribute the ointment throughout, as it says on the back of the tube not to rub at them with one’s fingers.

After washing his hand a second time, he examines himself for a long moment in the mirror. They don’t look too bad, though the typical white sclera is pretty pink, more clearly afflicted after a few hours of sleep in which the bacteria could apparently fester untreated.

His skin tone has mostly returned to normal, save his neck; he dislikes the slight tinge of a flush that’s hovering stubbornly at his cervical spine, refusing to concede to his will.

Following a deep breath and another minute’s passing, Sasuke crosses the divide of his bedroom and returns to the dining table to the tone of two more mild and muted clicks, gaze shifting to Sakura as soon as he’s carefully drawn the door closed. She’s shut the kitchen light off, it appears; her back is to him, white circle emblazoned brightly across the space between her shoulder blades, but the water is steaming in the saucepan atop the stove, and she’s fastidiously scooping out a vestigial amount of what appears to be the lavender Earl Gray mixture into his lone tea infuser. 

There’s a small part of him that’s relieved. It had seemed like something she would like, though he’d picked up a jar each of the loose leaf decaffeinated matcha and the caffeinated peach, too, as well as a modest container of the shop’s honey. He wanted enough variety that she could have tea here no matter what time of the day it is. Sakura’s apartment is vastly superior to his own in terms of variety of things to do, and he hadn’t been sure if she would want to come by again, but it’s good to be prepared, and he’d reasoned that if she didn’t, he could simply deposit the jars and honey discreetly into her contraband drawer sometime.

The scent of sencha overwhelms his nostrils as he sits, intermixing with the aroma of the soup. A mug filled with it is placed next to his bowl; she brewed his first, it seems. He takes to the distraction of food and drink rapidly, bringing a spoonful of the soup to his mouth.

It’s just as excellent as the last time. He savors the way it soothes his throat even as his neck continues in its rogue goal of staying stubbornly blazing. Hearty chunks of chicken, noodles, and a minuscule mushroom slide down his esophagus, drenching everything in a different heat, one that’s relieving. He takes a sip from the mug, after, and it’s definitely stronger than he usually prepares it, but he can't taste the honey much, as she said.

He's alarmed when a muffled sniffle intermixes with the sound of jars being picked up and pushed back into the cupboard. Sasuke watches Sakura uncertainly out of the corner of his vision as she closes the front of the cabinet, and sure enough, she brings one of her hands to her face as if to wipe tears from her eyes.

Now it’s guilt that runs aflame down his spine like a fuse, though this time it burrows sharp into his gut. It wasn’t at all his intention to make her cry. 

He experiences a grand moment of internal conflict as he returns his gaze to the table, torn between rising to his feet to do something akin to wiping her tears away clumsily - her name is on the tip of his tongue - and staying put to cede her privacy, as it’s possible she didn’t want him to see that she was crying; she turned the kitchen light off herself, after all. He also doesn’t know if she’s taking anything for conjunctivitis; he washed his hand well, but he doesn’t want to chance giving it to her if she doesn’t have it already.

The remaining water in the saucepan creates a small echo as it’s poured into a cup, shortly followed by a spoon chiming against ceramic as it stirs the contents; then, there are soft footsteps.

“Sakura-”

He is saved from the decision in short order. At his left, she shifts his hair away from his eye and cheekbone with solicitous gentleness prior to pressing her lips there. They linger longer than they have in the past, achingly tender.

“That was sweet of you,” she breathes as her lips depart his skin, voice a little shaky. Even through his fever, the warmth sears him, drizzling down his lungs on the inhale and into his heart. “Thank you.”

When she takes her seat across from him, he sees that her eyes are glassy, reflectant in the lamplight and tempered with such love that it makes him ache. 

The dinner is drawn out, yet comfortably quiet in the way that many of their shared meals tend to be. Spoons clink against ceramic bowls and the inside of Sakura’s cup as she stirs her brewing tea. Mugs are raised and lowered, occupying paltry and ever-shifting circumferences. Sasuke puts away two helpings to the tune of it, the soft rhythms of shared life. His throat feels a bit less like sandpaper by the conclusion of it.  

“I’d like to check on you tomorrow, too,” Sakura says once they’ve done the dishes and stowed the leftover soup in his refrigerator, carrying over the routine they’ve fallen into at her place just as easily here. She’s standing near his doorway with her bag shrugged over her shoulder, sandals pulled on and twisting the spare key nervously in her fingers at her side.

“Okay,” he murmurs, glimpsing pointedly in the direction of her hand, then back to her to show he understands what she’s asking him. She can keep it as far as he’s concerned - it’s not like he has any use for it, anyway, and he knows Sakura is nothing if not cognizant and respectful of his boundaries, possibly overly so - but perhaps that’s a conversation for tomorrow.

“Okay,” she agrees, flashing him a dazzling smile. Her digits close around the key more surely, fidgeting coming to a standstill as her dimple sinks into existence. 

There is an expectant pause where there is usually some sort of kissing, but even if they’re both on the antibiotic, his mouth still tinges with a little dryness now that he’s not consuming some sort of hot liquid. Coughing all over her is the last thing he wants to do.

Sakura exhales slowly. “Well… I’ll see you tomorrow, Sasuke-kun. Good night.”

“...Good night.”

Sasuke stays rooted by the door once she’s gone, lock long since clicked into place for him a second time and her visage burned into his retinas. Torpidly, carefully, he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the threshold. 

How is it possible for someone’s mere presence to transform a space in such a way? 

He would have been terribly bored - irritated, even - in his apartment alone this evening, and he knows as sure as the sky is blue that any soup he crafted alone wouldn’t have tasted half as good as what Sakura prepared for him. 

Reasonably, Sasuke is aware that such things are possible, though he learned that lesson the first time in reverse. He recalls it vividly as he traipses to the memorial stone to water what he’s planted, the way in which someone’s absence robs a house, a backyard, an entire district of all joy.

He shrugs off his shirt once he’s sojourned back home in favor of doubling up on his comforters; the top was coated in sweat from the humid walk. Both blankets are clean currently, he reasons, and if he has them, he might as well use them. 

The sheets are cool to his skin initially, a nice feeling against his still fevered skin as he suspected they might be. The blankets enwrap him comfortably, endlessly warm.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sometimes Sasuke contemplates what happens after people die. He’s dreamed about it often, ensnared in nightmares of eighty-six bodies or otherwise: if it hurts or if it’s peaceful, like sinking into sleep, and if there is something after all of this. He perceives that there is some truth to reincarnation from their encounter with the Sage of the Six Paths, and that has set him slightly to ease, in the sense that in some liminal way his clan lives on: his brother, his mother and his father, his aunt and uncle, and the rest. 

It has also given him additional questions, though. Does part of their soul stay adrift endlessly, clutching their memories like a keepsake to their chest, a threaded nexus tied to their previous life? Or does the spirit depart completely into their next existence, flitting to the most fitting and available vessel to embark on a new annal? The thought of his mother not remembering him or the lilies in their backyard makes his chest ache terribly, brittle and easily broken, and Itachi forgetting him is another agony entirely. 

He also wonders if part of their memories could be geographical, tethered haphazardly in pieces to places they loved in life. He knows his Aunt Uruchi loved the bakery with its smell of toasting senbei and pastries. He suspects Itachi enjoyed the bakery, too, with his affinity for dango and other sweet things. He vaguely recalls a festival when they were very young in which they polished off twenty multicolored sticks together and ended up with bellyaches. They’d used the wooden remains to construct a form reminiscent of a simplistic house, lantern glow illuminating the scant lines in the dark, ephemeral and easily ended when it came time to collect them and embark on the journey home.

Sasuke likes to think Itachi also enjoyed the pond he took him to occasionally, the wildflowers they picked to take home for their mother, and the resultant scent of budding blooms that lilted through hallways with dark floors on those handfuls of occasions, intermingling with the scent of their salt-grilled catch come dinner. He knows his mother loved their yard, and their kitchen, too, lilting with freshly brewed jasmine tea in the morning or the quiet din of family once everyone sat down for a formal meal. His mother plucked a bone from his mouth once, a small one he’d nearly swallowed. He remembers her softspoken instructions to be more careful, voice comforting as she reached to the back of his throat methodically with tweezers in the soft light of early evening.

But he is not sure of the sorts of places his father liked, or if there even were any, and that compels worse hurt. Thinking of his father is bruising and convoluted in general, as there is much Sasuke would like to know of him, and further he would like to say to him - most of it, should it ever bubble out of his lungs to be lost in the interminable abyss, is anger -  but he was so closed off in life that Sasuke can only wonder aimlessly in his death. His mother was the only person who truly knew his father at his core, he thinks, silent as he was and unyielding in his convictions. He mulls on whether their marriage was truly happy or if that was colored darker by the planned coup, too. He cognizes that his mother likely spent her final days sick with worry about that; Uchiha Mikoto was a caring woman, everything he could have asked for in a mother.

It makes Sasuke doubly furious with him. Didn't he know the risks, what it would mean for the children of their clan if they failed? It is no easy thing, to stumble over the bodies of their ilk again and again and again, the Uchiha children, adolescents and toddlers and one newborn, desperately clutched by a cowering mother in an alley, drained white and nauseatingly pallid, and he still can’t get their faces out of his mind, the way their noses were identical when viewed from the side as he lurched over them in his cowering, tripped-

Stop.

It also makes him furious with Konoha, the most bellicostic he’s been in a long while since the Land of Iron a year ago when he last dreamed this dream, passing through and revisiting his greatest failures, Danzou and the fucking council that forced this further cataclysm of an already cursed lineage on him. Didn't they know annexing an entire clan and letting wounds fester would lead to spilled blood eventually? What the fuck is the point of a village, of shared civilization, if its malfeasant corruption gorges itself on the innocent over and over and over? There is only so much one can take of their life boiling away in their veins with untempered rage until they snap -

Not their blood , a grotesque susurrus inside him whispers, one that envisions the aspostates that signed his clan’s death warrant and one he has desperately tried to drought out of existence to be replaced with better things over the past couple of years: Kakashi’s particular brand of cutting and commiserate wisdom that lingers years after he’s spoken it, Naruto’s relentless optimism and the sense of vying brotherhood that reminds him of Itachi ad finitum - You’re trying to be alone again and I can’t let that happen! - Sakura’s unwavering kindness and altruistic affection - What if I said… I’d go with you? - the feel of her seal against the tips of his outstretched fingers, her soft lips against his as she threads her fingers through his hair, the way the jasmine plant dangling above her window warps a perfect chiaroscuro to frame the freckle on her cheek once the sun has sunk below the horizon just so - 

Not their blood, so why would they care?

Take notice of what light does, to everyth-

Corrosion-

For now, for now, for now-

Yes, Sasuke likes to think his years away changed him in at least some marginally minute way. Yet his subconscious returns him to this place cyclically to reread moribund chapters, the single lone instance in which he thought maybe, just maybe, his father was proud of him. He’s still searching for answers that will never come, from a man he has come to realize he holds a monumental amount of resentment towards.

He almost doesn’t wish to contemplate this, as he recognizes it is ages away and much can happen between now and then - and also he is utterly undeserving and woefully ill-suited to care for a child, both physically and otherwise - but if he is ever blessed enough to someday be granted one, he does not want to be like his father. He doesn’t want to perpetuate this sort of aimlessness, the weight of expectation and a mentality of being a slave to blood. This gloom and despondency and misplaced pride will be his end as it was Fugaku's, he knows, if he doesn't rinse the wound out on occasion, acutely feel its sting, its agony.

In this anamnesis, he is barefoot on a dock as he always is, tiny feet placed firmly atop a thin dusting of snow. Orange flames spout from his mouth, chapping his lips, crowning gold and climbing higher and higher into the brumous sky as his throat dries with the heat and amelioration, a thin veiling of illusory safety that was everything to him when he was small and alone and desperate for some sense of control, grasping at straws.

When he turns, coughing from the smoke and faintest remnant of crushed pills pelted into his eyes by bitter winds, he half expects even now to hear the lone set of words from his father that he has tried to replay in his head thousands of times. 

As expected of my son. The only way the words live on is via an echo of Sasuke’s own voice speaking them into existence again. He can remember the visuals perfectly with near photographic recall, the day that his father told him that: the ripe fever of life and late summer, the rippling of the leaves a stark contrast to the chill that haunts him in this overplayed dream where he clutches an emptied and mangled marigold prescription bottle. He watches now with his brother’s eyes as he throws it skyward and torches his own name out of existence with the last of his chakra, all of seven years old.

He can perfectly recall his mother's lilting halcyon inflection - When we're alone, all he talks about is you - and he can remember both of his brother's last words to him - I'm sorry, Sasuke. This is the last time , and No matter what happens from now on, I will love you forever -

But he cannot for the life of him remember what his father’s voice sounded like; not the inflection, nor the tone or tenor. It was the only time it ever felt like he held an ounce of affection for him, fleeting and gone the next hour. He only remembers the way their family crest looked as he said it, presented to him boldly as his father turned away from him.

And isn’t that just the richest metaphor? He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

He doesn't know what it says about him, but he assumes it's nothing good. The phrase inferiority complex has crossed his mind on many such occasions. As he has aged, he's reviewed it with fresh eyes, and wondered if it was all an act, some passing dalliance to satisfy his mother. Shinobi are capable liars, and he knows his father was one of the best. It would be easy for him to feign the mirage of happiness about saying such things.

What would his father’s face have betrayed? Would there have been any certitude had he caught up with him on the walk home instead of trailing a few steps behind in his shadow? Uchiha Fugaku was not a man who smiled often. Conversely, his mouth was wrinkled from being set in a frown so regularly that there was a permanent line just below his lip. Sasuke deems he himself will expediently encounter an identical issue as he ages, though primarily he also believes both he and Itachi took more after their mother, physically. He sees her nose each time he views himself tiredly in the mirror. Her eye shape, too, and the inky black hair, a shade darker than their father’s.

It will be fitting, he thinks, he knows, to watch his mother’s agreeable features bleed out of him and reveal what he’s always been. 

It would hurt her deeply, if she heard that thought. 

He loathes that about himself. 

He loathes a lot of things about himself.

There is no one behind him to offer platitudes or words of encouragement in this particular brand of dream; there never is. The dock of the pond within the Uchiha District and the shore surrounding it, just around the corner of another dead relative’s house, is empty, packed with a fresh dusting of snow and charred blue particles. The wind is blowing, though, almighty chilling and true, making branches ripple in the zephyr as it carries away the gray and the meager amount of heat he's created with it. He outgrew his coat that first winter, and his shoes, too.

“Where did you go?” He is compelled to ask, intonation a scant whisper against slate air rippling as if this whole thing is an illusion - Am I caught in Tsukuyomi again? - but there is no answer. That used to terrify him when he was much younger; he had been afraid his father was trapped in the childlike depiction of hell he’d conjured up in his brain, and that that was why he couldn’t really recollect the way he spoke, the gruffness or whether his voice was tenor or bass.

He returns to land, taking extra care of his steps, and wonders, if nothing else, if the earth will remember his bare feet, a sign that he’s still here, sinking through the snow and other remnants that divide them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He awakens to the smell of tea and rice and something else. It’s disorienting, tumultuary, the feel of a warm blanket at his toes and soft noises clinking from the kitchen when just prior there had been cold snow and acutely lonely roads. It distracts him a bit from the morose stinging in his eyes, enough that he can rapidly blink it away, forcibly shrugging off the melancholy as if it was nothing more than a weighty winter cloak, ushered over his shoulders like the layer of his second comforter and pushed back down deep.

“...Sakura?” He calls once he’s been awake for a minute, speech cracking a little at the last syllable, still groggy as he sits up in bed and promptly regrets that decision; the change in position triggers a fresh pounding in his head, aching thumping at his temple as his blood rushes. He reaches for the water at his bedside table with first his left arm, a phantom sensation echoing in empty space before he remembers to use his right.

There is the sound of soft footsteps as he gulps down tepid liquidity, and then a tentative knock at his bedroom door. 

“Sasuke-kun?” Her voice resounds faintly from the other side of the wood, as if she’s unsure if she actually heard him call her name.

He blinks, unsure what the hold-up is, then realizes through the fever and rapidly materializing headache that she’s being polite.

“...You can come in.” 

The knob turns, and in she comes, very much awake and wearing what he now recognizes as her summer training gear, the cropped top and short skirt framed by dark transparent mesh. He pointedly takes notice of the clock, then, for multiple reasons that are all overshadowed by the fact that his internal monologue has undertaken a fatuously lascivious turn, greedily seeking distraction and here in his bedroom, no less. He then puts together that it’s still somewhat early, only six thirty; she's dropped by to prepare breakfast before her spar with Ino.

For him.

He tries to get a grip on the warmth that’s nudging at his heart, insistent in its beckoning. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s made him food, but he knows she’s occupied on Mondays till after lunch. She’s gone out of her way to do such a kindness for him, added additional things to her schedule.

“Hey-” she says softly as he turns back to her; she’s taking a step toward him with a mug of what appears to be steaming water and the pill bottle he left on the table. He stares at the marigold plastic, slightly desaturated and less contrasting here in the darkness of his room. “Er. I mean… Good morning. I was up early, and I… I thought I’d make you breakfast.” 

He nods slowly as his eyes prick at her sweetness. Now that the door’s sitting open, he would recognize the aroma of ochazuke anywhere. He’s never directly voiced to anyone that it’s one of his favorite breakfasts, though he supposes it’s rather easy to piece together that he would like it given his other food preferences. He made it several times when they were away on missions as Genin, too. 

Still. In addition to all of the other qualities that encompass who she is, Sakura is as observant as she is kind.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, heart swelling with the relief of being cared for, simple and true, even as his throat aches and his head pounds.

Her lips tilt upwards into a smile, and it is then that he notices, pulled back to normalcy and something providential that’s swelling in his chest, finally tearing his vision away from the pill bottle, that her cheeks are bright red for some reason; the light from the cracked door has her illuminated.

“Of course.” Her focus falls to the glass of stale water he’s put back on his bedside table, then the mug in her hands. “Want me to..?” 

Sasuke nods prior to repeating himself. “Thank you.” His words come out raspy and raw.

She pays it no mind, still smiling with scarlet cheeks as she places both the mug and the pill bottle on the surface, taking the glass in exchange. “Of course,” she murmurs, meeting his gaze briefly prior to his reaching for the pill bottle. 

“I’ll… um. I’ll go… watch the rice,” she stammers as he sets to opening the lid with his teeth. She turns to go, then pauses, casting her focus back at him, though the trajectory of her eyesight seems directed mainly at the area above his head. “Do you still like ochazuke? I thought, maybe…” She trails off and purses her mouth as he finally pries off the lid, setting it aside.

“I do,” Sasuke discloses immediately, pausing in his ministration of procuring a pill from the bottle, as he recognizes the tone of her voice and the expression she’s wearing as being betwixt and between, unsure of her assumptions or his availability for breakfast together when ill, or, perhaps, uncertain if she’s welcome in his room. “I have it often. Thank you.”

Her posture relaxes completely and any uncertainty dissolves.

“Oh,” she breathes, lips curving upwards. “Good.” She lingers a second longer, jade eyes soft on his directly before she turns and trails out of his bedroom, closing the door behind her.

He stares at the threshold for a lengthy spread of seconds, thinking. He then turns slightly to try to ascertain what she was looking at above and behind him - perhaps some sort of spider managed to entrench the corner with a few spools of web in the night - but there’s nothing he can discern aside from the small amount of texture coating the walls. 

Perplexed, he reaches for the mug, pill bottle placed atop the blanket in his lap. A measured sip floods the pill down first, drenching his insides in blessed heat and ease. It feels so incredibly good on his throat that he quickly drains the cup. It does nothing for his head, he realizes once he shifts slightly, extending his arm to place the mug, then the pill bottle, back at his bedside. 

A pause to alleviate the pounding has him locking his gaze onto the inscription on the bottle’s label. 

Uchiha, Sasuke. 

Haruno, Sakura.

He muses less than fleetingly on empty space, the ever-changing weight of melancholia, and the way the earth feels beneath one’s feet.

Turns out that rising doesn’t do much for his head, either, but he does it anyway, padding first to the closet for a change of clothes.

It is then that he promptly recalls that he did not wear a shirt to bed. His face warms at the quandary, realizing he directly invited his girlfriend into his bedroom while half-dressed.

In addition to a little self-consciousness, satisfaction begins to unfold in his belly, because he gathers, unraveling and rewinding the interaction for closer examination, that Sakura was definitely not unaffected.

He journeys to the bathroom to apply the eye ointment and brush his teeth thoroughly before joining Sakura for breakfast, shaking off this new development that he’s sure will beset his dreams the next time he’s asleep and his endocrine system decides to torture him.

Sakura, still red-cheeked, makes ochazuke with nori instead of sesame seeds, he learns.

He finds he likes it better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He drifts back to sleep with a full stomach, slipping away into genuine rest in the hopes of cowing his fever, and with it, his headache, into submission until the early afternoon.

This sleep is dreamless, deep and paradisiacally empty aside from a strange clunking noise or two, no room for ruminating on the nature of omneity and complexes.

It’s a sign that the antibiotic is working that he awakens as he hears the key twist in the door. He’s tired, but not as much as earlier this morning or yesterday. His throat is less dry, too, he realizes.

He then sits up in bed and promptly discovers that he still has a headache.

“Sakura,” he calls lowly, just loud enough to be heard through the door as he blinks, vision adjusting to the light now that he’s pushed aside the blankets that were previously encasing his head in darkness.

“Sasuke-kun,” she answers. There’s the sound of an object being placed on the table before she raps on his bedroom door twice.

You don’t need to knock, he would say if the events of earlier this morning had not come rushing back to him.

“Come in,” he says instead. He has a shirt on this time, at least.

The door pushes open. 

“Hi,” Sakura greets, regard settling on him fully after only a second of delay at the empty space above his head. Her hair is damp and she’s switched into a different set of clothing. There’s an expression on her face that’s hard to describe as anything but dotingly affectionate. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

He shakes his head, eyes finally adjusting to the light. “...I should get up.”

She grins for some reason. “You should,” she agrees, her countenance filled with levity.

He arches a lone brow in question, at which she chuckles, soft.

“Naruto gave me lunch to deliver to you,” she informs him, looking utterly amused. “And you’ll never guess from where.” 

Sasuke exhales heavily, rolling his eyes prior to shifting to rise and promptly pausing at what it does to his head. He apparently doesn’t succeed in minimizing his wincing; before he can continue with the motion, he sees her smile morph unmistakably into concern.

“...Do you have a headache?” She questions softly after a lengthy quiet, stepping away from the door frame and closer to his bed. “I can fix it,” she adds, just prior to halting a foot away. 

He blinks up at her, immediately reaching the conclusion that he’s been incredibly stupid. Of course she can fix headaches. It just… didn’t occur to him to remember that, or to ask. Conceivably it could be the fever, clouding his judgment.

“Just… if you want,” she tacks on hastily, fingers twitching at her sides. He realizes she’s holding herself back from reaching for him without his express consent. 

Sasuke nods, then, just once, but very sure.

“...Please,” he whispers, shifting more so that he’s closer to the edge of the bed. Her fingers stop their anxious repetitions as his feet finally shift to the floor, upper body now easy for her to reach.

He contemplates if this oblivion of chartreuse and charcoal will ever cease in making his affection for her feel like it’s overflowing from a teacup filled to the brim. Sakura’s expression is unendingly soft and a bantam smile plays at her lips as she closes the rest of the distance between them, fingers coming to rest expertly at his temples. Ten points of contact coalesce as she threads her chakra into his being, alleviating the pressure from whatever sort of swelling causes such headaches slowly but surely.

He maintains eye contact with her this time - she’s so short that he’s nearly eye-level with her while sitting - studying the small nacreous circle of jade and tilleul at the outer edges of her iris; the black of her pupils have expanded to fit nearly the entire contents of the space, but there are still microscopic flecks of gold here and there that catch the light. It’s challenging to pull himself back from activating his Sharingan to capture the way she’s looking at him just now. The convolution of tomoe could etch it into his memories perfectly, he knows.

He concludes that she’s studying his eyes, too, or rather, his brother’s. He wonders silently if they appear terribly different from his own eyes, close up. Sakura’s observant; she might be able to discern if there is any noticeable variance from when they were younger, enough to demarcate between the old ones and the new.

Eventually her chakra tapers and her fingers trail away.

“Better?” She questions.

It feels as if his heart is in his throat when he answers.

“Better.” He holds her gaze for a moment longer, exhaling contentedly and struck stupid with the urge to pull her closer to him so he can breathe in more of her scent. “Thank you.”

Her lips curve upwards, and he wants to kiss her badly. 

“You’re welcome,” she says, grinning and biting her lip once.

She then surprises him by leaning in, apparently overcome by the same inclination as him. It’s a chaste kiss, achingly slow and gentle, unmarred from the pressure that’s been plaguing his head. Her lashes slide against the highest point of his cheekbones.

Her cheeks are ablaze when she finally pulls back, darker in color than her hair. 

“You… should probably eat it while it’s still warm,” she reasons quietly, smile guilty.

“...Probably,” he agrees, taking in the green of her irises one more time before tearing his ocularity away. 

He rises to trail after her to the dining table, where he finds a to-go container of ramen. The clear lid of the styrofoam container has been haphazardly carved into sloppy handwriting, he assumes by way of the tip of a kunai.

Sorry. Get better soon, asshole.

-Naruto!

The tail end lettering of the word asshole drifts down the side of the container onto the styrofoam, as the moron clearly ran out of room to finish off his sloppy scrawl. Sasuke resists the urge to shake his head, settling for rolling his eyes instead.

It's a nice gesture, he supposes as examines the soup through the transparent lid: there’s broth swimming with noodles, seared chicken, and chunks of spring onions and mushrooms. His brow furrows and he looks up, then, to Sakura.

"...You already ate?" He questions. Her slow cooker is still on his counter, the pot laden with soup from yesterday in his fridge.

"With Ino," Sakura confirms. "Naruto caught me walking to the library and ran to go get it." 

He blinks, curious that she’s visited the library. He doesn’t suppose she’s been there much on her own since he returned; they usually go together. He’ll need to return his own books in the next week or two, come to think of it, since he’s finished the one on the Land of Tea now. It’s sitting next to the lamp on the kitchen table, stacked on top of Art From Around the World . Sakura’s tote bag is lying there, too.

“I think I convinced him to push our movie night to next week,” Sakura offers; apparently his face belied his curiosity. “Ino said Sai was wondering if you’d finished the art book; he finished the one you recommended.”

Sasuke nods. “...I did.” He decides to keep his books until next week, then, if Sakura’s already exchanged hers. He can reread one of them to keep busy, since he feels more awake today. He’d rather go with Sakura than alone anyways, and then he can take it to Sakura’s for the movie. He’s mildly curious what sort of strange comment Sai will have on the book about kenjutsu.

It would probably be fine to voice that, he decides. “...I’ll bring it to the movie.”

Sakura grins at him in response, before her body language morphs into that which belies bashfulness. 

“So… Do you feel any better today?” She questions quietly, seemingly searching his expression for something. “Or do you need more sleep, do you think?”

He blinks, searching her own in return.

“I’m awake,” he finally answers honestly, chest warming at the tone in which she asked the question. He recognizes the way she speaks, timid and almost unsure, as the way she acts when she’s about to suggest they do something together, though she shouldn’t be. There are few things that he wouldn’t agree to if they involve her.

“...Better now with no headache,” he adds gratefully after a moment in which she appears to wait patiently for an answer to the other part of his question; it’s hard for him to focus on words when it feels as though his chest is unfurling behind his ribs, flooded with warmth and metaphorical sunshine. It’s the truth, besides; the only thing plaguing him at the moment is the minor hint of a dry throat, which will ease after he eats the ramen from the dobe.

“...I’m glad,” Sakura murmurs after a sustained pause in which he gathers that she’s contemplative. Her gaze flicks to her tote bag on the table for some reason, and then she’s reaching into her pocket, and out comes the key. 

“I’ll give this back to you, then,” she says softly, smiling as she presents the flash of nickel-brass to him with an open palm, its polished sheen bathed in light drifting from the living room window. Her focus shifts to her tote bag again briefly. “And I was thinking…”

He reaches out silently, vastly enjoying the way her eyes widen as he presses her fingers back around the key with his own. He holds them like that for a second to emphasize his unmitigated insistence, enjoying the warmth of a hand dwarfed by his own. He momentarily wishes for his other arm, so he could use it to press her fingers in place, too.

“Keep it,” Sasuke counters in a husky voice, amused at the way her mouth has parted in surprise and simultaneously looking forward to a few days from now, when he can get back to pressing his lips to hers on her couch, until they’re plump with evidence of their kissing.

“Um.” She beholds him with an endearingly dazed look etched into her features. Dark pupils examine his hand clasped around hers and then ascend upwards again. Her face flushes with color the longer he looks.

“...Keep it?” She finally whispers, tone questioning as if she’s unsure she’s heard him correctly. Her fine pink brows have risen as high as her facial muscles seem to allow in surprise.

“Keep it,” he affirms, squeezing her fingers around the cool metal once more ahead of allowing his lone hand to fall away. 

Her pupils fall to her palm again, slender fingers wrapped around the key, before traveling back up to hold his smitten stare. 

Her face is as red as an heirloom tomato. He thinks she’s gorgeous like this. 

“...Okay,” she finally mumbles, apparently completely flustered. “I…”

Sasuke gives her a look that he hopes conveys both his seriousness on the matter and his amusement simultaneously. 

Her mouth closes once, then opens, then closes again. Her lips are gorgeous, too, endlessly distracting.

“You’re sure?” She questions softly, finally.

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in amusement, because there have been few things in his life that he’s been more certain of than this. 

“I’m sure.”

Long lashes skim her own cheekbones as she blinks before acceptance washes over her. A wide smile adorns her features as she returns the key to its place in her pocket. 

Her own mouth twitches ahead of directing her focus to her tote bag again.

“Um. So…” Jade eyes flicker to him again hesitantly, blushing in a manner he finds charming. “So I was thinking. Just… if you’re feeling better. Since we’re both contagious until later today, I mean. I… Well, I talked with Ichika through the window and she set the books outside for me. So…”

She pauses, inspecting his countenance hesitantly prior to smiling again and reaching for her bag. 

“If, maybe you wanted some company… If you don’t need to sleep more…” 

She pulls out Hazel Wood and Isthmus, the book about the fisherman Ichika recommended to him. The spines catch the light from the window, too.

“...Book club?” She finishes in a questioning voice that’s euphonious to his ears, a suggestion of shared affinity and her smile turning sheepish.

His eyes soften. 

“Yes,” he murmurs soft and sure, initiating oblivion by holding her gaze. “...Book club.”

Sakura beams, and he wonders for the upteenth occasion if she knows she’s the brightest, most felicific thing in his life, the breath in his lungs, intenerating and lambent sunlight on seafoam and all the rest.

He eats his meal while she chatters, asking questions at appropriate intervals when his mouth isn’t full. He’ll begrudgingly admit that it’s good while ill; he supposes he accepts Naruto’s apology, though he recognizes that it certainly won’t be the last time he’s teased by the idiot. He silently wonders if Sakura endures the same annoyances from their third teammate when he’s not present, the thinly-veiled raillery and endless stupidity.

That thought is somehow both comforting and amusing. He ponders it a moment further while depositing the last chunk of mushroom into his mouth, chewing methodically.

The pleasant thrumming in his chest momentarily hushes in quiescence when Sakura mentions, “I think you might have a new neighbor soon.”

Sasuke blinks, pausing his sipping of the last bit of broth. The sudden stillness reminds him of the Land of Beasts, the way the lush grasslands stop swaying just before an ugly storm rolls in.

“...What?”

Sakura tips her head to the side, the direction of the wall he shares with the woman and her child next door. 

“Your neighbor. I saw her taking boxes downstairs.”

Ah.

The mysterious scrapings and clunkings suddenly achieve perfect retrospective clarity. She in all probability planned this, he realizes glumly; listening carefully to steps and visitors and doorways, searching for the opportunity to make her escape, surreptitiously moving things out and elsewhere to get away from him.

He ruminates briefly if her lease ended this month or if she broke it early, if she paid a penalty in her desperation to get her and her child as far away from him as possible.

There’s a moment in which he becomes keenly aware that he has the volition: 

Let this knowledge consume him, allow the inner voice of the parts of himself he loathes to speak.

Or, to focus on the good things that are right in front of him, split evenly and clearly to his cognition as a prism divides light into its according colors, easily recognized as the rose color of Sakura’s hair, the rich berry of her scent, the pale peach of her complexion, the gold and seafoam green of her eyes, the calm azure of her gentle touch and the lilting, mesmeric lilac and honey complementaries of her voice, soft and rich with candor and compassion.

Sakura shifts slightly, surveying him with a curious expression as if she doesn’t understand his sudden disquiet - she probably doesn’t - and a sunbeam settles on the right half of her face and its corresponding shoulder. Two more freckles have inked into existence on the expanse between her trapezius and her neck, a testament to her morning spent outdoors training with Ino. 

In an instant, he knows his choice.

“Hm,” he says noncommittally, rising to discard the container and place his chopsticks in the sink. “Guess so.” He takes in the newest flecks dotting her skin again as he passes behind her, allowing his gaze to linger, though he is excruciatingly aware that it will later drive him mad, this overwhelming urge to drag his lips across her skin there, up the column of her neck in a trifold of reverence and adoration and utmost, aching apology.

He’ll contact his landlord, he decides, and pay the penalty for her if there was one. He hopes that, wherever the woman and her child end up, it will bring her comfort and a sense of safety. He knows what it’s like to go without. 

He also knows what it’s like to find such senses again, and maybe this is the point: to exist in the blink of an eye in divine space, to be cared for in the iterum, in the coruscating flash that they inhabit the earth. There’s augury to be found in place, surely, the compelling fibers of memory interlocking at the corners of one’s consciousness and a corollary post factum, but it principally tethers back to the person that made the event memorable in the first place, whether it’s a fisherman returning to dry land following a long journey or a girl and her mother inheriting an estate rife with mystifying writings or Sakura taking her side of his couch, closer to him than the last time; the redolence of tart berry overwhelms him, fresh and new.

He admires the way the highest points of her face look when bathed in sunshine, smooth lineaments arching and adorned aurelian, before he realizes for the thousandth time that he’s staring and settles into the mystery book instead. 

They read until evenfall, content for plenary horizons to slip into violescent gradients as they discuss the more remarkable points of both books by lamplight to the scent of soup and tea. Sakura tries the decaffeinated matcha, and he watches quietly as she ladles honey into her mug, shooting him a glance that can only be described as sweet and highly appreciative, cheeks glowing deep red.

They return to the couch after dinner, antibiotic anodynes swallowed and roughly halfway through their respective texts.

He thinks he dozes around eight or nine in the evening, book at his chest as he had thought he was just resting his eyes for a minute. Sasuke blinks groggily in the direction of Sakura’s side of the couch as he awakens from the nap; at seeing it empty, his attention flits accordingly to the clock.

Eleven thirty, he notes, shifting ahead of the realization that one of his comforters has been laid carefully over him. She must have switched off the lamp they were reading by, too. He blinks, staring at the cast of moonglow atop the fabric in the desaturated night as perspicuous warmth pours into his belly. Sasuke marvels at the feeling for longer than is stringently necessary, examining the way the blanket is tucked in slightly around his feet as his vision adjusts. It was probably a challenge to situate, especially without waking him; being tall comes with some disadvantages. 

Eventually he rises, turning the direction of the kitchen - it was hot today, too, he gathered, so the lily plants likely need another drink - and stops short, eyes zeroing in on that which is out of place.

There is a lone key laid purposefully on the corner of the dining table that is not his own, glinting gold in the scant sliver of moonlight cascading in from the living room window.

His chest ignites anew as it coalesces with his fingers. He turns it over in the soft glimmer of night, relishing the way it feels in his hand, every tactile cut of the metal and every small scratch from extended use. Judging by the amount of wear and the fact that she had it with her, he thinks it must be her original copy, the one she herself has carried around since first residing there instead of a spare.

It feels real in his palm, the physicality of it honey sweet and sinking into his very bone marrow.

For now, he thinks. It clinks into place purposefully next to his own on the key ring before he departs.

[muselin]

See You Later - Part 1

Who: Beomgyu

Group: TXT

What: Beomgyu/f!reader, collegeAU, slow burn, eventual smut, college student!Gyu, model!Gyu

Word count: 2,238

A/N: this is for @bluekais ❤ Hope you enjoy! Sorry that it's taken so long! There will be a Part 2 coming but I got myself elbows-deep into Kinktober so might take a while as well 🎃

____________________________________

"Tch."

The dissatisfied noise leaving your lips had become habit by now. Just his presence annoyed you, but the fact that he had the nerve to show up late to class almost every time, carrying that stupid skateboard, made your blood boil a little bit. He never studied, never did the assignments, always showed up late and he was still somehow passing this class. This class that you had worked so hard to get into and had to keep working so hard to stay in. It didn't come naturally to you but it did to him and it made you green with envy.

"Ah, Beomgyu-ssi, how kind of you to join us," your professor quipped sarcastically as Beomgyu beamed a smile that was frustratingly charming and headed for the only empty space in the auditorium which, to your displeasure, happened to be next to you.

You didn't acknowledge each other as you continued scribbling furiously into your notebook while Beomgyu sat with his chin leaned on his hand. You noticed that he hadn't taken out anything to write with.

"Now I will hand out your assignments for the next lecture. Remember we have study week, so you will have one week to complete these. Please remain in your seats as you are now."

Your professor proceeded to hand out stacks of papers and you couldn't help noticing that he was handing only one stack for every two students. He was making his way down your row and dropped off an assignment right between you and Beomgyu.

"I can hold it for us," Beomgyu smiled pleasantly as he looked over to you, seemingly unaffected by your sour expression. As the two of you read the instructions for the music production assignment, Beomgyu would stop and mutter to himself every once in a while: "Hmm, I already have a bass guitar for this," "This would be very easy to add a snare to," "I just need vocals and someone to match the drum line to this".

"Alright, everyone ready?" The auditorium hummed with mumbled "yes"es.

"Good," your professor continued, "you will be doing the assignment in pairs, in the order that I've handed the assignments out to you".

You groaned inwardly, noticing yours and Beomgyu's names at the bottom right corner of the cover page.

"Class dismissed!"

You were unsure what to do. You'd have to spend quite a lot of time with Beomgyu to finish this but you didn't have his number and you didn't even know which dorm he was in. Before you could open your mouth to ask Beomgyu when you should meet up, he was getting up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"See you later, Y/N," his voice laced with his regional dialect reached you as an afterthought.

"Tch. Fuck you too, Choi," you muttered.

___________________

It had been four days since you last saw Beomgyu and you were getting nervous. You had started the assignment early and done as much as you could do. You hated to admit it but you really did need him for this. You had worked out a base melody but it was too bare and uninteresting and you knew from hearing him talk to himself that he knew a lot of elements which could add flare and points to the assignment. You hunched over your laptop, browsing the music library. Begrudgingly, at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday, you decided to email him through the university central email list.

### 22:01 ###  Hi Beomgyu, it's Y/N, your partner for the music production assignment. I've thrown some things together but we need to meet to do the rest. I realised I didn't have your number or your dorm address, let me know when we can meet up. ###

You waited for a while after pressing send, just in case he was on his emails right now. At midnight you gave up and went to sleep.

### 03:44 ### Hi! Sorry about that! Can you bring what you have over to mine at about noon tomorrow? Here's the postcode ###

You woke up to the reply from Beomgyu and nearly panicked that you would be late. He didn't live close by at all, the post code seemed to be for a swanky area of newly built apartments downtown, miles away from your suburban campus.

You showered and dressed as quickly as possible. You weren't dressing up for anyone. Jeans, sneakers and a flannel shirt was all Beomgyu was getting from you. You grabbed your laptop and equipment and headed out the door.

________________

At 11:55, you knocked on Beomgyu's door. He lived on the 13th floor and on the elevator up to his apartment you hoped to whoever would listen that this wouldn't turn out to be as unlucky as the out-of-order sign on the second elevator.

The front door clicked and opened to reveal a somewhat sleepy Beomgyu, dressed in a tshirt and pyjama bottoms.

"Oh, Y/N, you're early," he said, then looked at his watch. You found this ironic, considering he never showed up to class on time.

"Well, not by much. Can I come in?"

"Sure," he said, opening the front door widely for you to walk in past him. "I'll make coffee," he yawned.

As you walked past him you couldn't help but note in your head that he smelled really good. You weren't sure if it was his cologne or laundry but it was the kind that settled pleasantly in your chest and made you want to breathe in deeper. You stopped that train of thought harshly as soon as you felt your mind drift that way. You were perfectly happy with feeling generally mildly annoyed with Beomgyu. It was your comfort zone, even if having to work with him was pushing it.

"So how come you don't live on camp-- Wow..."

Your jaw dropped as you walked into the apartment. It was nothing like the cramped dorm rooms you and your friends shared on campus. It was bright, spacious and well-decorated, with huge windows and a view that rivaled the best hotels in the business district.

"How the fuck are you affording this," the words tumbled out of you with little grace before you could stop them.

"Well, since you ask, I work a lot of side jobs," Beomgyu said nonchalantly as he poured water into the kettle in the open-plan kitchen.

"Really? What do you do?"

"Uhm...," he scratched his neck sheepishly, "at the moment I model."

"You? You model?"

"Yeah, why," he tilted his head at you, looking at you quizzically.

Those big brown eyes, the soft curves of his lips, his chiseled jawline... And his hair looked really soft too. Suddenly from thinking nothing of him you were imagining him as a model. You wondered what he modeled for. Could it be fashion brands? Lifestyle? Prints? Maybe even swimsuits? He always wore those baggy jeans and t-shirts, but maybe...

"Y/N?"

"Oh," you snapped back to him, realising you hadn't answered him. "Yeah I just... didn't know, that's all."

"Uhm, cool. Why don't you drop your stuff off in the room down the hall, the one on the left?"

You nodded and picked up your laptop bag and equipment, your feet sinking into the plush carpet as you padded down the hall. You nudged open the door to the room he'd pointed you to, jaw dropping again for the second time today as you walked in.

The room was a small makeshift studio, with mics, a sound control board and several guitars. Several notepads were strewn about along with a few used coffee mugs and muffin wrappers. It seemed to be the most lived-in space of Beomgyu's house so far and you were suddenly starting to understand why he never seemed to pay much attention to the classes. You dropped your bags off in the corner and sat down at his computer, looking at the various pieces of equipment connected to it.

"How do you like your coffee?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Beomgyu's pleasant voice reverberate in the room. You hadn't heard him come in after you. Covering up your startled reaction, you mumbled your preference and he returned shortly with two steaming mugs, setting them down on his desk.

"Um, so... For this assignment I've tried layering the melodies but it's very bare. I thought we could use it as a starting point and build on it," you said, trying to sound more businesslike.

"That's good, thanks. I actually don't have a lot of time so a head start would be good. I have an hour now but then I need to head out."

Your brow furrowed. An hour? It had taken you three days to put together what you had so far.

"Let's see what you've got," Beomgyu reached for the USB stick in your hands and plugged it into his computer. He downloaded the files and ran them.

An unobtrusive melody filled the small studio. He listened politely, head tilted to one side until it faded out.

"Um... Yeah, I don't play guitar so I wasn't sure what would sound good with that," you started, hands playing with the edges of your shirt nervously. You hated feeling incompetent, especially in front of Beomgyu.

"Yeah, no offence, but it does need a lot more than that," he said. "Let's see what I can do with that."

You sat in your chair and watched him plug one of his guitars into the amp behind you. He tuned it according to the scales in your melody and started to play along.

"Nana naaa," he hummed along quietly. "I don't know about that bar, what do you think," he asked you.

"It's not bad but I think it can go for longer," you replied. Beomgyu nodded, stopping the recording and starting again.

You watched him get lost in his own world as the notes coming from his guitar breathed life into your melody. You watched his fingers strum and pluck, watched his lips open and close in concentration, occasionally the lower one being worried by his teeth. You watched his long hair fall into his face. You simply watched Beomgyu in his zone, not noticing when he stopped playing.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes focused and met his deep brown ones, your lips tensing as you tried to seem attentive.

"Yeah? Yeah, that was good, let's add that in," you spoke quickly.

"Cool," Beomgyu then stood up and reached behind you to switch off the amp. You couldn't stop yourself from breathing in again when his chest and neck nearly brushed across your face. His warm hand dropped to your shoulder, giving you a casual pat.

"Why don't you sit at the computer and keep replaying the recoding while I write down the chords," he suggested.

"Okay, sure," you stood up in the cramped space and there was barely room for you two to switch places. Beomgyu's hands instinctively came up to your waist to steady you as he brushed past you. Your breath hitched but you said nothing as you sat down at his desk and started the recording.

Your combined melody filled the small room and you found yourself nodding along. You hated to admit it but you liked it much more with Beomgyu's additions. You played it several times while he wrote down the chords.

"Right, awesome," he drawled in his dialect after he was finished. "I have to get dressed and head out now, but if you want we can meet up again later today. I won't be done until quite late but I sleep late anyway."

"How late are we talking," you asked suspiciously.

"I would be done about 11, we could meet back here," Beomgyu offered.

You hesitated for a second. It was a lot later than what you considered acceptable but at the same time you didn't trust Beomgyu. You weren't sure you would get any more time out of him than this.

"Okay, deal. Message me when you're done and I'll head over."

"Cool, here's my number," Beomgyu grabbed your phone to type his own number in and called himself. "You okay to let yourself out?"

He left the studio and went into the room across, which you guessed was probably his bedroom. You copied the new files onto your USB before you packed up your things and left the studio as well. On the way you saw that Beomgyu's bedroom door was ajar. You saw him standing with his back to the door as he was pulling his t-shirt over his head. Your lips tensed into a line as you tried to not to make any noise and not even to breathe.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"See you later, Y/N."

You stood frozen in place as your eyes traced the lines of his back muscles to his pretty shoulders, not missing his toned arms flexing as he reached up to push the t-shirt over his head. Your gaze trailed back down his body to his hips where his bottoms were slung low, exposing the two cute dimples at his lower back. He didn't look like he was wearing anything underneath.

Beomgyu dropped his shirt to the floor and you suddenly darted down the corridor, panicked that he would turn around and see you. His bottoms dropped down just as he heard his front door open and shut.

[c-optimistic]

Soulmate au?

i.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Kara asks suddenly one day. They’re in Lena’s office, having a rather late lunch, and had lapsed into a rather awkward silence when Kara blurts out her question.

(Mending friendships is slow, tedious work.

But much like all her other goals, Lena doggedly pursues it, determined to see it through.)

“No, I’m a scientist,” Lena laughs, putting her fork down. “Why do you ask? Do you think you found your soulmate?”

She doesn’t know why she asks. She doesn’t want the answer to that. She doesn’t want to hear about Kara’s dating life. Ask her why, and she’d vehemently deny knowing the reason, but the truth is that the thought of Kara with someone else sends poisonous shards through Lena’s chest, twists her all up inside, and leaves her feeling like her world has crashed around her.

(It’s not dramatic at all.)

“What? No!” Kara says to Lena’s ultimate relief. “No, it’s for an article.”

“You’re writing about soulmates?”

“Well, not exactly. There’s this woman here in National City who claims she can find your soulmate.”

“Oh?” Lena says, raising an eyebrow. Kara nods.

“Apparently, she can see the three ‘Marks’ of soulmates.” When Lena just eyes Kara skeptically, Kara grins and shrugs. “I’m serious! She claims there’s the Mark of Pain, the Mark of Skin, and the Mark of String.”

“...right,” Lena says, stretching out the word and smiling when Kara laughs. “So how does it work?”

“Well, I’ve only talked to her on the phone. But she says soulmates are attached in different ways. And she can sense it. Even if we ordinary people can’t. Like, her string theory—”

“—I don’t think that’s what the string theory is, Kara,” Lena interrupts, but Kara’s on a roll.

“I know, I know. But she says she can see it. Red thread, tied from one person to another. Or tattoos on people’s skin that matches in some way, and only she can see.” Kara shrugs. “She has a pretty good Yelp rating. Everyone says she’s gotten it right.”

“That seems more like confirmation bias than anything. And of course she’s making money off this.”

Kara smiles warmly at her, her eyes soft behind the glasses she didn’t technically need. She looks at Lena in a way that makes Lena heart skip a beat or two, that makes her momentarily forget about the past year of difficulty between them. Suddenly, she’s only looking at her best friend, and she’s a little bit in love.

“So you don’t believe in soulmates?” Kara confirms, her smile turning wistful.

“Why? Do you?” She doesn’t know why she asks. She doesn’t really want to know the answer, sure that any response Kara gives will just be a kick to the chest. Another crack in her heart.

She really wishes she hadn’t asked.

“I don’t know,” Kara responds after a short pause, clearly giving it a lot of thought. “But I hope soulmates do exist.” Kara lets out a laugh. “Maybe this woman can lead me to mine.”

(And there it is, that kick to the chest and crack in her heart she expected.)

Lena looks away, pretends to be startled by the time, but even as Kara gathers her things to leave, she secures Lena’s promise to look into this mystical soulmate finder together.

It’s a promise Lena is sure she’s going to regret.

ii. pain

“So, it’s weird that she refuses to see us in person, right?” Lena asks, looking to Alex for some support, which the elder Danvers is only too happy to give. “It’s odd. Why doesn’t she meet us in person?”

Kara shoots them both an impatient look, clearly not impressed with their negativity. “She doesn’t want to be affected by our energies while she’s working,” she explains, checking her phone before looking up and making sure they are at the right place.

“Our energies?” Alex asks dubiously, making a face at Lena behind Kara’s back. She times it poorly; before she can school her features into a neutral expression, Kara has turned to look at them again, her eyes narrowing.

“Being skeptical and being dismissive are two very different things,” Kara scolds them, sounding just a bit testy. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping an open mind, even about things you don’t or can’t understand.”

Alex opens her mouth, clearly about to start a debate, but Lena butts in, silencing Alex with a hand on her shoulder and giving Kara a small, placating smile. “You’re right, we’re sorry. We’ll behave,” she says, squeezing Alex’s shoulder until she lets out a grunt in the affirmative. When Kara is seemingly satisfied, nodding at them briskly, she continues leading them down the street, eyes on the storefronts. Alex, however, elbowed Lena hard the second Kara’s back was turned.

“What’s wrong with you?” she hisses, elbowing Lena again. “We’ll behave?”

“She’s right, there’s plenty we don’t understand, plenty out there in the universe we can’t make sense of, so maybe keeping an open mind isn’t the worst thing—”

“—oh, shut up, you know very well you’re only taking her side for one reason, and—”

“I can hear you two, you know,” Kara says loudly, interrupting their hushed argument. “Also, we’re here.”

She stops and looks up at the rundown tea shop, nestled between an old record store that had clearly seen better days, and a very busy video game and comic book store. Lena tugs on her coat when a few kids eye her as they enter the store, ducking their heads together and beginning to whisper.

“All right, well explain where here is,” Alex says, stepping closer to her sister. “You haven’t actually explained anything.”

Kara nods, gesturing for them to enter the tea shop, the three of them finding an empty table and huddling around it, perching on tiny, uncomfortable chairs. The tea shop is, for the most part, a place Lena would never have entered on her own volition. It’s frilly and pink, photos of cats everywhere, with sticky tables and stifling heat. Yet, there’s also an odd comfort to the place: it smells heavenly, the aroma of freshly brewed tea mixing with a variety of sweets, all neatly arranged at the display next to the register. The customers also look like they’re at home, nestled in corners reading books, tapping away on computers, and even on what looks to be a very engaging date.

It’s nice. Even if she’s skeptical of the reason they came here, she’s glad she’s come across this place. She thinks she may even come by again, especially if their tea is any good.

“So apparently, there are two people who work here who are soulmates,” Kara explains, motioning for Alex and Lena to lean towards her. Lena finds herself swallowing a little when the aroma of the tea shop is mixed with Kara’s heavenly scent. Her mind goes a little fuzzy, and she knows she has a silly expression on her face because Alex is smirking at her. Kara, of course, focused on work and on her explanation, notices nothing. “They have the Mark of Pain. We’re here to observe, see if they actually can feel each other’s pain.”

“I don’t know if I’d like that one,” Alex says conversationally, leaning back in her rickety chair and eyeing the register and the zoned-out employee behind it. “I mean, can you imagine? In my line of work? Kelly would always be in pain.”

“You think Kelly is your soulmate?” Lena asks, a little surprised by the easy way Alex has said it. Like it’s a fact. Like it’s just true. “What about Maggie? How do you know?”

“Who says you have to have one soulmate?” Alex shoots back, shrugging. “Kara’s my soulmate too. Platonically, of course. You, even.” She grins when Lena’s eyes widen, when she opens and closes her mouth wordlessly, confused and overwhelmed and unsure. “What? Just because I don’t believe in this mystic lady doesn’t mean I don’t believe in the concept of soulmates. But who says it has to be romantic? Or that it’s just one person?”

“So what is it?”

“People in your life who enter it and just...stay. Your found family. Chosen family.” She looks away from the employee at the register and smiles at Kara. “Kara agrees. Right?”

Kara, who has pulled out her notebook and has taken a few notes down about the employee at the register, nods distractedly. “We were drunk when we came up with this,” she explains, meeting Lena’s eyes and blushing slightly for whatever reason. “But it just seems—well, it seems silly to think that in the entire universe there’s one person who’d be your perfect partner. That’s also really sad,” she mumbles. “If that were true, who’s to say my soulmate didn’t die with Krypton?” She shrugs awkwardly. “I think sometimes people are just connected. Meant to be in each other’s life. In whatever form that may be.” Kara looks at Lena carefully, her mouth opening and her cheeks reddening further. “Like—” But Lena doesn’t get to hear what Kara wants to say. At that moment, another employee comes in from the back entrance, looking slightly distracted, eyes on the employee behind the register.

“Look,” Alex says suddenly, sitting up straighter as the employee walks by, bumping into a table roughly. “Whoa,” she says, and Lena silently agrees.

Because just as the employee mumbles a curse and rubs their side, blushing furiously and looking embarrassed, the zoned-out employee at the register winces in pain, rubbing that same spot.

A point, Lena thinks, in the strange mystic woman’s favor.

iii. skin

Lena begins researching the strange mystic woman in earnest.

(In her free time, far away from Kara’s eyes or Alex’s judgment.)

Everything about her is frustratingly perfect—perfect enough that Lena is suspicious. The woman’s website is well-made and professional, littered with testimonials and photos of weddings. There are a range of services with a range of prices, and no matter how much Lena digs, she doesn’t see a single bad thing about the woman.

It’s the internet, she thinks as she scrolls through Google reviews, grimacing at the emojis that filled each comment. Surely someone, somewhere would use the anonymity to their advantage to say something less than complimentary.

No one is perfect, Lena thinks to herself. Which means one of two things: this woman is a fraud (more likely) or she has some sort of ability to force people to write nice things about her on the internet (Lena’s had a few drinks when this becomes a plausible option to her).

She doesn’t remember dialing the number on the website, but the next thing she knows, someone with an airy voice is on the other end, asking her if she’s ready to meet her soulmate.

“You’re a fraud, did you know that?” Lena asks. “It’s cruel what you’re doing, really. Telling people there’s someone perfect out there who loves them for them. That’s unkind.”

“Oh, Lena!” the woman says, the airy tone dropping for a moment. “I mean,” she continues, the affectation back, “I’ve been expecting a call from you, Lena Luthor.”

“Oh, have you? Can you see the future as well as the red string connecting people?”

The woman chuckles, and she sounds vaguely familiar. Lena’s drunk mind chalks it up to being drunk. “I can’t see the future,” she says, sounding amused. “I just knew you would contact me after Kara Danvers began her article on my business.”

“Oh?” Lena mutters sarcastically.

“The answer to your question is yes,” she says, and Lena chokes on nothing.

“I didn’t ask a question. The ‘oh’ was rhetorical.”

“No, Lena Luthor, the question you called me to ask. I’ll give it to you, free of charge: yes.”

“I don’t have a question,” Lena denies, not liking the way the woman on the other end of the phone laughs. “Is this how you tricked the others? Tell them what they want to hear, and they write you obnoxiously positive reviews?”

“So you admit it’s what you wanted to hear,” the woman shoots back with glee, that stupid tone gone, and for the second time, Lena swears she knows this voice. “I mean,” she clears her throat, “I haven’t tricked anyone. I just tell people what I see. Didn’t you see the truth at the tea shop?”

“I think there’s a perfectly logical explanation for that,” Lena argues. “Phantom pains, an old bruise, sympathetic—”

“—okay, you’re skeptical,” the woman interrupts, “I understand. What if I show you a second example?”

Lena thinks about it for a moment. “Fine. But on my terms. I want you to find Jess’s soulmate.” She’s just drunk enough that this seems like a wonderful idea. On the other end of the phone, the woman sounds like she’s hacking up a lung.

“Your secretary?” she asks incredulously, once again sounding familiar.

“How did you—”

“—okay, I will do this,” the woman interrupts, rushing to speak. “In two days, you will be able to see her Mark as well as the Mark of her soulmate, just like I do.”

“That makes no sense, what are you—” But she never finishes her sentence. The woman hangs up, leaving Lena looking at her phone, trying to blink away her shock.

By the time she wakes up the following morning, groaning at her hangover and nearly telling Kara she loves her when the reporter shows up to her apartment with coffee and pastries, Lena’s forgotten all about the call.

///

Jess lingers every time she steps into Lena’s office. She eyes Lena oddly, stares at her hands, and shifts awkwardly on her feet. After the third time, Lena rolls her eyes, sets her pen down, and gives Jess her full attention.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No!” Jess says immediately, then grimaces. “Well, yes. But nothing bad. Not really.” Lena waits her out, knowing Jess will get to the point eventually. “My partner and I, well, we had plans this weekend. We’re supposed to leave straight from work, so I was—”

“—oh, right. Your time off. Yes, of course, feel free to leave early.” She picks up her pen, thinking this is the end of the conversation.

“Um, actually Ms. Luthor, I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet him.”

“Meet who?” Lena asks distractedly.

“My partner.” Something must show on Lena’s face when she drops her pen a second time and looks up at Jess, because she hurries to explain. “He’s a huge fan of your work. And he’s a big part of my life. I’d like you to meet him. If you can.” She tacks on the last three words almost as an afterthought, not quite meeting Lena’s eyes.

“Yes, of course. We can—”

“—wonderful, he’s right outside,” Jess says, smiling wide, rushing out of Lena’s office. A moment later, she returns, a tall, charming looking man following close behind.

She introduces them, and for the next hour, they chat amicably, discussing Lena’s work and Jess’s exceptionalism, and the weekend getaway plans. Except, Lena’s not quite sure she retains any of the information she gleans from the conversation—in fact, if you asked her, she couldn’t even remember if Jess had ever mentioned where she and her partner were even going.

Because when Jess’s partner reaches out to shake Lena’s hand, his sleeve rides up just slightly, revealing a small tattoo with Jess’s name on the inside of his wrist.

Lena doesn’t need to see a similar tattoo, with Jess’s partner’s name, on the inside of Jess’s wrist for her to realize what she’s come across.

“Those tattoos are quite nice,” Lena says when they get up to leave, Jess’s partner leaving her office first. “The artist who did them is quite talented.”

Jess gives Lena an odd look. “I’m sorry, Ms. Luthor,” she says, “what tattoo?”

Lena gestures to Jess’s wrist, but when she looks down, the mark is gone.

And that is a second point in the mystic woman’s favor.

iv. string

Lena absolutely, positively, without a single shred of doubt, does not believe in soulmates. The concept is ludicrous. To think that in a massive and constantly expanding universe, the atoms that make her are somehow destined to be near the atoms that make up someone else is an entirely ridiculous conclusion. She does not believe in the concept of a perfect partner, of someone she is meant to be with, of an individual to whom she is forever connected.

(And to be quite frank, there’s a bit of fear too. She doesn’t want soulmates to exist. For one, she’s worried about the prospect that the universe would pay back her family’s misdeeds by forever ensuring Lena does not have a soulmate. And for another, the far more terrifying option, she does have a soulmate, and that poor soul is bound to her of all people.

What an awful, horrible fate—nothing she’d wish on her worst enemy, least of all the person she’s supposedly destined to be with.)

Lena does not believe in soulmates. She doesn’t.

What she does believe in is Kara.

(Kara, who had her back from the day they met. Kara, who had saved her life more than once. Kara, who made mistakes—just like Lena—but had met Lena halfway and worked hard to fix things between them. Kara, who for all her flaws and missteps, is Lena’s best friend in the world, the one person who has seen Lena for Lena, from the moment they first locked eyes.

Kara, who Lena is hopelessly in love with; Kara, who has never shown interest in women; Kara, who has recently taken up the really rather unfortunate habit of telling Lena she loves her every chance she gets.

And then there’s Lena, who swallows down what she wants to say and instead smiles bitterly as she intones, “I love you too, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”)

Lena is pretty smart. She can say so without sounding obnoxious about it, because it’s a generally accepted fact. She’s pretty smart, and she was dumb enough to fall in love with someone who could never love her back the same way. She rather thinks that if soulmates are indeed real, then that wouldn’t have been possible. Then again, perhaps that’s not entirely true.

(She thinks about Alex’s notion of what soulmates are or could be, of Kara’s thoughts on connection, and she thinks that maybe—even if she wants it to—she isn’t meant to be with Kara romantically. If there’s anyone in her life who is her family, anyone Lena has chosen, anyone she has picked again and again and again, it’s Kara.

It will always, romantically or not, be Kara.

And if that’s not the definition of a soulmate, Lena’s not quite sure what is.)

For the second time in less than a week, Lena finds herself dialing a number from a well-maintained website.

“Lena Luthor,” the airy voice says as soon as she picks up. “I admit I’m surprised you’re calling. I gave you proof and your answer. What more can you need?”

“These soulmates you find,” Lena says, trying not to let her disappointment seep into her tone too much, “have you ever thought maybe you’re matching people who aren’t meant to be together romantically?”

The mystical woman makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a snort of disbelief and a huff of amusement. “You’re—wow,” she says, dropping the silly tone, and if her voice was just a tiny bit higher, Lena would swear it was— “Listen. Yes, platonic soulmates are a thing. They’re great. We love them. Some people only have platonic soulmates. But you are not platonic soulmates with—”

“—yes but how do you know something like that, that seems hard to—”

“—it’s like talking to a brick wall,” the woman interrupts, and Lena can hear some sort of scuffle from the other end, as if someone is trying to pull the phone out of the woman’s grasp. “Look,” the woman says after a second, sounding a bit out of breath, “I’m going to tell you something I have never told anyone else. Of the three Marks, the most clear and obvious sign of two people belonging romantically together is the Mark of String.” The woman pauses, and Lena would almost swear that there’s someone else speaking to her. “Here’s what you should do. And I do this free of charge for you, because I’m highly invested in this,” she chuckles as if this is a great joke and then barrels on, “so listen carefully. Tonight, go see the woman you love. Spend the night. If you wake up with a red string tied from your pinky to hers, then you can rest assured she’s the one.”

“I don’t know if—”

“—Lena,” the woman admonishes, and Lena frowns, finally recognizing the voice. “Trust me on this.”

She goes through with it, trusting the not-so-mystical woman.

Except, when Kara sneaks towards the bed she gallantly gave up for Lena, a piece of red thread hanging from her hand, Lena sits up and clicks on the bedside table light.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Lena tells Kara.

v.

They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other, Kara sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, and Lena trying hard (and failing) to act relaxed.

“So?” she prods, gesturing to the red thread still tied to Kara’s pinky finger. “Want to explain your practical joke?”

“Joke?” Kara says in shock, shaking her head immediately. “No, Lena, it’s not a joke. Not even a little bit.”

Lena’s heart skips a few beats at that, but she maintains an impassive expression. “I don’t understand then. Why would you—”

“—remember a few months back, when I told you I loved you for the first time?” Kara interrupts, jumping to her feet and pacing in front of the couch. She doesn’t wait for Lena to respond. “It took me weeks to gather the courage to tell you. And I’d memorized the whole speech, and at the end you just looked at me like I was speaking to someone else. You told me you loved me as a friend.”

“Right, because you meant it as friends, you…” Lena trails off. “Wait.”

An odd look passes over Kara’s face, something like amusement and exasperation. “Alex told me that I needed to be direct with you. But I—even when I tried, it was like you didn’t hear me.”

(Lena thinks back to all the times Kara had said I love you and she wonders if she’s just heard what she expected to hear and not what Kara was actually trying to say.

Her heart begins to pound in her chest at the very possibility.

Did Kara really....?)

“So what? You decided to recruit Nia to pretend to be a mystical woman? To prove what exactly?”

Kara, surprisingly, looks smug. “You recognized her. I knew it. She was way off script on the phone call, and I tried to get her off the phone but she—”

“—Kara, focus. So the whole soulmate thing was fake?”

Kara winces at that. “Well. Yes, technically.” She stills, coming to a stop several feet in front of Lena. “I asked a few people to help out.”

“Wait, so the two people in the tea shop…” Lena trails off, eyes wide.

“Right, two DEO agents. They should definitely look into acting as a career, I mean they had me convinced, and I knew it was fake—”

“—and Jess?” Lena asks, feeling vaguely overwhelmed.

“Special temporary tattoos made by the DEO, easy to rub off, for both her and her partner.” When Lena is silent a touch too long, Kara rushes to explain. “I mean, it was very hard to convince her to do it. She’s incredibly protective of you, she deserves some kind of raise.”

“She does,” Lena agrees absently, getting to her feet and gesturing towards the red string in Kara’s hand. “And this?”

“We weren’t supposed to get to this. I’d hoped the first two would convince you Nia could honestly see soulmates. I was going to tie it to your pinky. The other end would be connected to me, of course,” she raises her hand with an awkward wave. “But you, um. Caught me.”

Lena bites her lip, marvelling at the sheer amount of work Kara and the others put into this. “Who made the websites? They were perfect.”

“Brainy made them,” Kara explains, a frown appearing on her lips and a crease forming between her brows. “Though I guess he made it too well, since you were suspicious of it.”

“Kara, I—” Lena’s not sure what she wants to say, and she’s glad when Kara interrupts her, taking a step closer, looking at her with an earnest expression.

“Listen,” she says, determination etched onto her features. “I love you. In a romantic way. And if there are soulmates out there, then you’re mine. That’s all this was.”

Lena feels tears well up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she wants to duck her head, to hide, but Kara is there and saying everything she’s ever wanted to hear, and so instead she just closes the last of the distance between them and wraps her arms around Kara, holding her close, face burrowing into Kara’s neck. “All of this just to say I love you seems a bit dramatic,” she whispers, feeling Kara’s arms go around her waist, clutching her tighter.

“I figured you’d need something dramatic to believe it’s true,” Kara jokes, loosening her hold just a bit so that she can pull back and look at Lena.

“You’re my soulmate too, you know. If there are things like that out there. It was always just you.”

Kara grins brilliantly at her, pressing their foreheads together. “Finally,” she whispers.

[personasintro]

my time | myg drabble

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀; the lack of presence of your boyfriend in your relationship makes you think things that you eventually speak up about

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: oral sex [female receiving], unprotected sex, fingering, edging, car sex, strong language

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.2k

a/n: commissioned by @ninjastef09​, thank you again for doing this!!

𝗺.𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | ☕️

Yoongi knows something's wrong. Ever since he picked you up from your best friend's house, you barely muttered a single word. The dry greeting that ended up being just simple 'hi' with no kiss made his brows furrow. It's late, he should've been sleeping since he slept four hours in total. But he still texted you and told you he'll pick you up, once you told him you're not home.

But he's not aware of your thoughts. He doesn't know you feel so lonely that your best friend is your solace, instead of him. Regardless of your thoughts, he knows you're not being yourself. You don't text him anymore during his work, not that he liked it that much because you were just a pure distraction. As harsh as it might sound, it's true. He could barely focus on producing, not when you clouded his mind and he regretted waking up so early when you were still sleeping, and him coming home and you were already in bed.

“What's wrong?” he asks, stealing a glance at you before he fully focuses on the road ahead of you.

The passing buildings seems to be much more interesting than your boyfriend. You're so pissed off. He doesn't even know what's wrong with you, he has the audacity to ask you that, when he should know what's been bothering you. This just proves how little he's invested in your relationship.

You think about giving him a silent treatment, he deserves that. You know it'd drive him insane seeing you not responding to him, ignoring him just like he's been ignoring you. Him coming home and stealing a simple kiss to your forehead when he thinks you're still sleeping doesn't show his interest. Interest in you and your relationship. Does he even know how many times you've cried until he came home and you acted like you were asleep? Of course, he doesn't.

All these thoughts just proves you how wrong giving him a silent treatment would be. No, he deserves to see your anger and desperation.

“Wow, you noticed something's wrong?” you ask dryly, dropping a hint of sarcasm in your tone that seems to be so loud. There's no chance he'd just ignore your tone, especially when you've never spoken him this way. There never was a reason to.

Of course, you've bickered before. But it was useless stuff, until his job got more busier and it made your bickering much more serious. Yoongi has always been hardworking person, he loved music and producing it. Fuck, he used to spend his all money on music equipment and all he ate was ramen, that was just enough to fill his empty stomach that was craving for some home food. It changed when he started dating you, he loosened up with the money and spent them mostly on you. Not that you wanted him to do that, but you've always appreciated it. He showed you how important you are to him. Not with buying you something he knew you'd like, but by being present and loving boyfriend. At first, you just thought he's got a busy month ahead of himself, so you let him work. But this has been going on for two months already. You don't even remember when was your last date.

You cook for him, clean your shared apartment, do his laundry and probably much more stuff. You feel like you're his servant or mother, rather than a girlfriend he asked to move in with him just a year ago. You've imaged your relationship and life differently. No matter how many times you tell yourself that you love him and wouldn't change him, you can't keep pretending that this is okay. Because it's not.

“Babe,” he sighs, stopping on the red light that makes you curse because you know his full attention will be on you.

When he turns his body to you and watches you, you mentally curse while you refuse to look at him.

“Why are you mad?”

Wishing you could strangle him, you let out a sarcastic scoff. Why the hell does he sound so soft and worried? You hate how easily he can break your walls, but you can't let him to do this now. No, he deserves to know.

“Mad?” you ask, scoffing once again while you try not to let the tears appear. Looking at him, you regret doing that the second you lay your eyes on him. His brows are raised in a curiosity and cute manner, his mouth slightly pouted without him even realizing he's doing it. “I'm not mad, Yoongi.” you shake your head.

Okay, you might look mad and ready to strangle him, but you feel mostly a different emotion. It's worse than anger, and fuck, you wish you could be angry instead of being so sad.

“I'm hurt and sad.” you admit, your voice cracking as you quickly look through his tinted windows instead of his face.

“Oh, baby,” he lets out a sad whine, putting his car into drive when there's a green light. “Why are you sad and hurt?” he asks, annoyed that he can't touch you and fully look at you.

“You should know,” you tell him quietly, regretting how quickly you let your guard down and you're ready to cry. You're so weak when it comes to him. “It's your fault.” you murmur, feeling a pang of regret in your chest from saying it straight to his face.

No, he deserves it. You tell yourself.

“What? What have I done?” he asks, sounding defensive all of a sudden and just like that, all your regret is gone and you glare at him. “Let's talk about this at home.” he adds, and has the audacity to sigh and sound tired from your conversation.

It angers you. It kicks your sadness away and you grow defensive as well. “No. Let's talk about this now.” you insist, not letting your eyes drop off him as he frowns at the road.

“I'm driving, babe.” he reminds you.

“You can't drive and talk at the same time all of a sudden?” you push, knowing you're just pushing his buttons and it's just a matter of time when he'll snap.

Yoongi is a very patient man, but not when it comes to you and sarcasm in the same scenario.

“Y/N,” he warns you, his tone dropping lower as he dares you to provoke him any further.

But you just let out a laugh, but it doesn't sound sweet and cheerful like he's used to. It sounds empty and evil instead.

��Don't Y/N me,” you snap, “The fact you don't even realize what you've done pisses me off so fucking much. You're so ignorant these days, who even are you?”

Even though your voice is angry and loud, your heart hammers in your chest so quickly. Something in Yoongi snaps as he takes a sharp turn and drives for a minute before he parks into some dark alley. Thank God for having your seat belt on, you'd be kissing the windscreen if you weren't.

“Okay, I'm done with your bullshit. Tell me what the fuck is going on in that pretty head of yours. You wanted to talk, so talk.” he spits, aggressively taking off his seat belt as he fully turns to you.

Almost stuttering at his current state, you've never expected him to get this worked up over your little outburst. Honestly, you thought it'd take much more provoking to make him finally snap. Maybe it's the tiredness in his eyes and the dark circles underneath them that contrasts with his beautiful pale skin. It breaks your heart to see him this way.

Not wanting to dance around the subject, you take a shaky breath before you look down onto your lap. Your fingers fumble together while Yoongi patiently waits for you to do something, to speak up. He's not making this easier for you by being silent while glaring at you. You can feel his eyes boring into the side of your face. Mustering the strength and courage, you look at him and his eyes soften immediately at the sight of your watery ones.

You've prepared the whole speech about how tiring this relationship has become, plus countless other stuff that you wanted to yell into his face. So much frustration has collected inside of you, and you could imagined yourself telling him everything. But now, it seems impossible as you open your mouth and let out a simple;

“I miss you,” And your voice cracks, embarrassing you even more. However, Yoongi doesn't feel any embarrassment in the air. He feels his own heart to crack at your tone and the tears in your eyes, and he knows you weren't just provoking him and had one of your moods. To be honest, he thought it's that day in the month that makes you moodier than usual. “Do you even want to be with me?”

You look at him, wanting to see his expression when you say that and you're not disappointed. His brows shoot up in shock, before he opens his mouth and shakes his head. “Why would you even think that? Of course, I want to be with you.” he exclaims.

“I don't get to see you often, you're so busy with your work all the time. I know you've got a lot on your plate right now. But I feel like our relationship is not what it used to be. You come home late, wake up so early that I don't even get to say good morning to you. We barely talk about our days and how it went... I miss talking to you, being close to you.”

Spilling your heart at him, you see him sucking in a breath before he lets out a low sigh. He rubs his eyes for a few seconds, showing his tiredness again. “I know I've been busier lately, and I'm sorry you feel this way. But I'm not doing it for free, I'm doing it for us so we get to have a better life.”

“Our relationship is more important than money!” you exclaim frustratingly.

“I've never said it's not!” he exclaims back, chest heaving as he sighs and calms down when he sees your widened eyes. “I'm doing this because you're important. I wanna give you everything.” he tells you more calmly, frown still settled on his porcelain face.

His words put a slight ease to your soul. He just told you, you're important and he wants to give you everything. But it seems like he's missing the point of this conversation.

“But all I want is you,” you mutter. “Do you even want to be with me?”

“For fucks sake, of course I wanna be with you!” he exclaims, growing annoyed that you even think for a second he doesn't.

“Don't yell at me!” you exclaim back, groaning before you shake your head and look away from him. Why is he the one getting flustered?

“Don't say stupid stuff!” He raises his voice again and you gape at him.

“Stupid? Those aren't stupid--”

“Get in the back.” he snaps, clenching his jaw while he looks around, almost as if he's searching for something.

“What?” you breathe out, looking around too.

There's not a single soul around. You're parked in some dirty alley where there's nothing but dirt on the pavement. Too busy mirroring Yoongi's action, you don't notice his sharp eyes and the roll of eyes he gives you when he sees you don't listen to him.

So fucking stubborn, he thinks and pushes a chuckle away.

“Get in the back. Now,” he demands, your eyes shifting to him as you raise a brow at him. “Fuck, woman. Just listen to me for once, because God help me--”

“Okay, okay. There's no need to get pissy.” you mutter, shoving your body between the front seats before you're making your way to the back.

Yoongi doesn't appreciate your constant remarks and the fact you're suddenly making fun of him, instead of being angry. Flustered with your mood swings and just because he can, he slaps your ass that makes you yelp and sit down onto the back seats.

“What was that for?” you ask in disbelief, eyes big and focused on your boyfriend that mimics your action and tries to get to you. It's harder for him, but with a little bit of struggle, he successfully plops next to you.

He ignores your question, not bothering to answer before he motions for you to lay down. Growing confused, you wonder if he's about to do what you're thinking about. It makes sense, him sending you in the back and checking if there's anyone around.

“You want to have sex? Here? Right now?”

“Hush,” he shushes you, glaring at you. “I gotta show you what you mean to me.”

His words sparkle a huge interest and excitement inside of you, and you're quick to listen to his words and making yourself comfortable. It's not as comfortable as your huge bed, but it'll do. He smirks, hovering over you for a few seconds before he kisses the tip of your nose. His fingers hook underneath the hem of your jeans, taking them off with a curse leaving his mouth when they get stuck at your curves.

“Your damn curves.” he jokes, staring at you amusingly as you dramatically open your mouth and let out a sigh.

“You love my curves!” you exclaim, seeing him nodding.

“Of course, I do. I love every inch of you.” he admits softly, your heart jumping at his honest and loving words.

You help him taking off your jeans, laughing when he bumps his head and he gives you a sheepish grin in response before he's tugging your panties. Cold air meets your exposed skin, making you shiver and your caring boyfriend notices it. Rubbing your sides to warm up your skin, he gives a soft smooch to your ankle before he spreads your legs and gives you a cocky smirk.

“Don't worry, baby girl. I'll warm you up.” he promises, your breath hitching in your throat.

You know he's right. He's about to make your skin hot.

“Yoongi,” you whine, spreading your legs as much as the space allows you, you wish he'd just touch you straight away. “Please touch me.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” he muses, grin audible in his voice. If you weren't so desperate for his touch, you'd roll your eyes at his cockiness. He always gets like this. It's his man pride that makes him incredibly cocky and proud that you're needy for him.

He barely fits in the back of his car, with you in there sprawled for him, but he makes it work somehow. With his thumb brushing against your inner thigh, you let out a soft gasp. He's so close to your heat, where you need him the most. Shivering at the coolness of the air and Yoongi's gentle touch, another gasp leaves your mouth when Yoongi cups your heat.

“Mhm, you really missed me.” he comments, eyes sprinkled with amusement and darkness at the same time glancing up at you.

With Yoongi's lack of presence in your shared apartment, it easily meant he barely touched you. Sometimes, you wondered if he doesn't miss sex. The thought of him having someone else crossed your mind, but you quickly slapped that thought out of yourself. There's no way Yoongi would ever cheat on you. Not that you only missed the sex with him, you needed him to be close to you. To kiss you and actually spend his time with you, not locked in his studio.

He strokes your heat, spreading your juices all over you before he starts to give a gentle circles to your clit. Whimpering underneath his touch, he seems almost fascinated how much you're craving for him. Eyes flickering to your squirming body, he enters you with his one finger and curses underneath his breath when he feels the softness of your walls and how they clench around him.

“Oh, fuck.” he mutters, dipping his head between your legs as he starts kissing your clit. He peppers it with soft kisses and licks, while your stomach flutters with incredible pleasure.

Adding another finger, you're left moaning shamelessly at the sudden stretch. Pumping them inside of you, his eyes don't budge at the sight of them disappearing inside your tight hole. Running your fingers through his soft hair, you gasp his name. He can feel you tightening around him, your breaths getting quicker and he knows these are the signs of your approaching orgasm. He realizes you not only missed him, but you missed his touch. He's barely touching you and you're already ready to let go and reach your high. He neglected you and he feels so fucking bad because of it. Having this on his mind, he adds another finger and keeps repeating the same process, until four of his fingers are nestled inside of you and rub your walls.

Back arched just for your boyfriend, your reactions are too easy for him to read and when his name leaves your mouth every few seconds, your heat grinding against his face, he knows you're ready to cum. And he stops.

What. The. Fuck.

Your eyes snap open, met with ceiling of a car while your whole body drops in a disappointment. Brain quickly processing his action, you plop yourself onto your elbows and look at your boyfriend who's already looking at you with unreadable gaze. Not liking what he's just done, you frown with a look of confusion spreading on your flushed face.

“You thought I don't wanna be with you?” he asks, his own brows frowning at the memory of you saying that. However, he doesn't wait for your response because his intention has never been to get one. No, he wants you to know why he stooped. He pulls away and a look of distress crosses your features, causing him to chuckle as his palms rub your thighs.

There are so any questions invading your mind.

Why did he stop?

Why is he bringing that up right now?

Is he insane?

But not one single word resounds from your slightly open mouth, all you can do is watch him silently. Your eyes burn with interest when he completely pulls away, body uncomfortably crouched between the seats and the roof. His hands go towards his casual black sweatpants, the ones he's wearing to the studio all the time because it's much more comfortable. Especially when he spends hours there, sometimes even sleeps on the small black leather couch that's not very comfortable. Tugging them down along with his boxers, he takes them off and throws his sneakers to the front. You're met with alluring eyes before he hovers over you, gazing directly into your eyes from close. It's the work of a second before he leans in, and you feel his soft lips against yours. Bringing his hand to cup your face, he kisses you with much more passion but decides to pull away. Whining, you stare at him and silently ask him what the hell is he doing. All he gives you in return is a lick of his bottom lip while he smirks at you.

“Turn around, baby girl.”

Giving him a skeptical look, you do as you're being told and Yoongi chants in his head at your obedience. You listen to him, for once. Thank God.

Pulling you on all fours, you hear him shuffle behind you before you notice flying shirt from the corner of your eyes. Tossing it to the front with the rest of his clothing, you wish you could see him. His dick brushes against your wetness, earning a loud gasp from you as you arch for him.

“I want to see you.” you whine, not liking that all you see is the leather of his expensive car seats. Your hands are already getting sweaty, slowly sticking to the black leather. You can't believe you're about to have sex in a car. Surprisingly, you've never done that and when your argument started, you never thought it could end up like this.

Yoongi smiles, caressing your back while he dips his fingers between your legs and rubs your clit. Jerking, you press your forehead against the window while the tinted glass is getting steamy.

“I know,” he says, “But that's what you get for thinking such stupid things.” Is all he says, before he easily shuts your mouth with his tip against your entrance.

Pursing your ass into the air, urging him to finally enter you, he doesn't waste time with teasing you. Just like he already said; he misses you too. The gasps that echoes from your mouth and in the car, is enough to make your boyfriend proud. He enters you slowly, taking into consideration that it's been awhile since he was inside you. But once he's fully nestled against your tender walls, he kisses your skin where his position allows him to which ends up being the space between your shoulders blades. Hands on your hips, he angles your ass for a better position and you both groan at the deeper feeling. He pulls out, smashing his hips against your ass right away while you writhe on your spot. The pace he sets isn't as soft as his previous touches were, but you're not complaining. Even when your forehead bumps against the window couple of times, causing Yoongi to apologize but not slowing down for a second. You don't want him to, he feels too good to stop this.

Yoongi grunts when he already feels you tightening around him, all while he's pounding into you. “Are you cumming?” he asks breathlessly, his own hair sticking to his forehead while his body burns with heat and sweat.

“Yes!” you moan, feeling your knees shake. You feel him everywhere, now just inside of you but even the way his fingernails dig into your hips feels insane. “So good!” you moan, forehead bumping against the window again, but you ignore the pain and focus on Yoongi's thrusts.

Just when your eyes roll back and entire body shudders against Yoongi's, ready to let out the tension in your womb, all disappears in seconds. Breaths fanning against the foggy window, your hands shake as you whine. “Yoongi.”

He stopped again.

You feel him scooting closer to you, pressing his chest against your sweaty back as he moves the hair out of your face. He kisses your cheek, nudging his nose against your cheekbone before he licks his lips. “I don't want you ever to think that I don't want you. You're all I want and need.” he says.

The conversation needs to happen when all of this is done, you still have to talk about this more maturely. However, the regret and sadness in Yoongi's voice doesn't go unnoticed by you and even if he tries to sound tough and firm, you know it broke his heart to hear you saying those things. He's not mad at you, he understands the trail of your thoughts and what places they went because of him and his busy schedule. But now, all you can do is give him a couple of nods to assure him that you won't say those stuff again.

When he sees the nod that you give him, he sets the same ruthless and shallow pounding. Grunts heard behind you just makes you clench around him even more, knowing he missed you just the same. You can feel it through his touch and how he doesn't want to let you go, almost as if he fears you'd fade away any second.

“Yoongi,” you whine, the same bubbly feeling of pleasure and tension flowing through your entire body.

“Y/N,” he grunts back.

It's something about his voice that makes you go feral, letting go of that tension as you let the orgasm taking over your body. Your whole body shakes underneath Yoongi's hands, but he holds you even closer while he helps to ride you through your orgasm. He increases his pace, stroking your back while you're mewling from the overstimulation.

“I know, I know. I'm almost there, baby.” he grunts, pounding into you while his breath comes in harsh pants.

Clenching around him, his thrusts become more sloppy before his hips jerk and he's cumming inside you. With his length twitching inside, you moan at the feeling of fullness and his warm cum coating your sensitive walls. Yoongi collapses onto you, sweaty forehead sticking to your shoulder as your skin meets his warm breath.

When the two of you calm down from your highs, he helps you to sit down and find comfortable position. Your legs shake but finally, you manage to sit down and let your back and head rest against the seat.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi gasps, snapping your eyes open as you look at him. He scoots closer to him, touching your forehead gently. “You've got a mark here.” he chuckles, kissing the red mark that the window and Yoongi's thrusts caused.

“It's your fault!” you exclaim, fingers rubbing the red and sensitive skin.

He chuckles at the sight of your cute frown, his hands slowly caressing your exposed thigh before he dips his hand between your legs. You watch him, eyes wide and filled with interest while he touches your sensitive heat and your mixed cum. You whine, causing him to pull his hand away but not before he makes sure his fingers are coated with your and his cum. You stare at his long fingers, glistening as white cum slowly drips down them and his veiny hand. Fuck, you love his hands. Admiring them, you're completely shocked when he does something he has never done before. He puts them in his mouth, lips wrapping around those long digits as he sucks on them. His eyes roll back, a low moan rippling from his throat as he tastes you and himself. Eyes opening slowly, he stares directly at you while he pulls your fingers and fuck, the sight is absolutely stunning.

“I'm sorry.” he says, acting as if he wasn't tasting your mixed cum just a second ago.

“It's just a mark. It'll fade away, I've had worse and they faded away eventually.” you tease, wiggling your brows at him. It's not like your skin was never covered in love bites and marks of Yoongi's mouth and hands.

He chuckles, but softly shakes his head. “I wasn't talking about that, although, I'm sorry about that too.” A soft smile spreads onto his lips as he smiles at you, but it slowly fades away as he takes your hands into his and interweaves your fingers.

They're soft just like you remember them, and you almost tear at that thought. You've missed his touch so much.

“I'm sorry for not spending time with you, for neglecting you because fuck... trust me, you don't deserve that and none of that is your fault. It's my fault. I got so obsessed with my work that I forgot what's waiting for me at home.” he tells you, cupping your face before he kisses you.

Forehead pressed against yours, he breathes your scent in and you almost scold him for that, knowing you probably smell like sweat and sex. Fuck, the whole car smells like it.

“I just thought you don't want me anymore.” you admit quietly.

“Please don't say that. I love you and of course, I want to be with you. I'll do better, I promise. I won't be overworking myself anymore.” he promises, causing you to smile.

“Promise?” you ask.

“Promise,” he says sternly, still giving you a smile. “You're my time from now on. You always were and always should be. I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner.” he apologizes.

It touches your heart because you can hear and feel the sincerity behind every word he says.

“My time,” you smile, “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.” he agrees, pressing another kiss to your lips and the tip of your nose.

“As much as I love and appreciate this moment, but I'm getting cold and your cum runs down my thighs.” you comment, causing him to snort before he pulls himself away and stares at your lap.

“Oh, fuck. We'll never get that off!” he exclaims, eyes laced with disappointment while he sees the white cum on his leather seats.

You raise your brow, frowning at your boyfriend who gives you a sheepish grin. “Let's get dressed and go home. I'm not done with you.”

And maybe you do it too eagerly, because as soon as you're ready to gather your jeans and panties, you bump your head against the roof. Yoongi laughs, watching you trying to dress up before you successfully sit at the passenger seat. When it's Yoongi's turn to sit on his previous spot, you're too busy checking out the mark on your forehead that's still there, his loud voice booms inside the car.

“Fuck!” you turn around, finding him rubbing the top of his head and cursing at the roof.

Well, that's what he gets for laughing at you. You think before small giggle turns into a raspy laugh shaking your whole body.

The car fills with your and Yoongi's laughter, the two of you getting bruised as the result of your actions. Regardless of the bumps on the top of your heads and your red forehead, you wouldn't change anything. Yoongi's hand clutching yours the entire ride is the assurance you needed. His thumb caresses the back of your hand and he even brings it to his mouth, giving it a soft but intense smooch every now and then. It makes your heart flutter and cry from all the love at the same time.

And when he told you that you're his time, you never thought he'd take it so seriously. But he did and he's coming home early, making sure you've got enough time for your little dates and even if it's just watching movies and doing nothing, he's there with you. Laughing, cuddling, kissing and making love to you.

You're his time, after all.

[meltwonu]

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ playdate ✦

this chapter pairing; yandere!wonwoo x reader, side mingyu x reader

genre&warnings; yandere!wonwoo, kinda asshole!mingyu, creampies, sloppy seconds, intoxication, exhibitionism AND voyeurism, masturbation, dirty talk, one sided pining for all!!, kidnapping, stalking.

✖ That being said, I do NOT condone yandere-like/obsessive/possessive behaviour in real life. this is a work of fiction therefore I will indulge in it. If you do NOT like this kind of content, please just ignore it.

notes; if I’m being honest, the draft for this originally was completely different and I reworked it because I wasn’t satisfied with how it was turning out bc it was too similar to sea castles except mingyu and wonwoo were brothers kjdhfdkjh 😭😭 As always, thank you sooo much for the love and interest in Monster Mash! I know last chapter was.... erm, a lot. LMAO 😆 Have a great rest of your day/night and I’ll see yall tomorrow~! 🎃 👻 💕

word count; ~3800

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - x - x - x - x - x - x

you call me on the telephone, you feel so far away;

you tell me to come over, there’s some games you wanna play

i’m walking to your house, nobody’s home;

just me and you and you and me alone.

The relationship you share with Mingyu isn’t necessarily one that you like to talk about, much less acknowledge on most days.

“O-oh, fuck, M---Mingyu!”

It’s purely physical and a little destructive, in your opinion. Especially when you found yourself frustratingly liking him more than you ever imagined.

He bends your leg, ankle resting against his shoulder as he angles his thrusts to graze against your sweet spot. Shapes dance behind your eyelids, lips parting in a silent moan when you feel yourself already close to cumming.

But it’s Mingyu that cums first, hips stuttering as he growls, “That’s right, fuckin’ take all of it, baby.”

He rides out his high, pulling out of you and letting your leg down before you can even process what’s happening. “Hey, wait, but what about me?” You ask, voice small as you watch him get off of the bed. He tugs his pants on, plucking a shirt off of the floor as he throws it over his head.

“Sorry, I gotta go take care of some business back at campus, Mr. Lee needs the papers graded before tomorrow’s 8AM and I’m already late. You can stay here if you want though, bed’s all yours. I’ll be back in a bit, I---sorry, I’ll make it up to you later.”

He’s gone in a flash, door clicking shut behind him as you sit with your legs still parted. Typical.

Groaning, you flop onto your back against his bed sheets.

“Thanks for nothing.”

Wonwoo says it’s the last time.

But every time is the last time.

He wraps a hand around his cock, soft breaths making the window fog up in front of him as he watches you and Mingyu through the window. He times the movement of his hand to match Mingyu’s thrusts as he pretends it’s your warmth wrapped around his cock and not his own fist.

“Fuck, fuck , fuck…” He whispers in succession, feeling his abdomen tightening as he gets closer and closer to an orgasm.

Wonwoo watches as Mingyu bends your leg over his shoulder, mental images of you underneath him instead.

He remembers the first time he’d seen you in Mingyu’s bedroom, curiosity making him watch through his bedroom window as you fell to your knees in front of the other male. Wonwoo knew better than to watch, so he looked away, cheeks burning crimson before he ever so slowly turned back to the window. 

He couldn’t help it.

Wonwoo had seen you around the university campus too, hanging around the art kids in the building opposite the Sciences building where he typically stayed with his small group of friends; Mingyu included. He thought you were cute and kind, especially when you happened to hang around their group for the day. And he liked you, even if he was too shy to ever say it.

Which was precisely why he couldn’t understand your attraction to Mingyu, of all people.

Mingyu was selfish, almost irritatingly so, and Wonwoo knew.

Wonwoo knew you deserved better too, someone much like himself. Someone who would take care of you better than Mingyu ever could.

Movement in the opposite window has Wonwoo pulling himself from his thoughts, brows furrowed when he sees Mingyu leaving and you still alone in the bedroom.

“What…?” He mumbles, slightly confused when he watches you flop onto your back.

God, what he would do to eat you out right now.

He tightens his grip around his cock, this time imagining himself eating you out, tongue against your clit while you moan out his name and tangle your fingers into his hair. 

A stuttered moan falls from his lips as he cums into his palm, eyes clamped shut as the pleasure washes over him.

Wonwoo promises it’s the last time.

“Hey, did you hear about Jeonghan’s Halloween party next Saturday?”

“He’s throwing one?”

“Yeah, I heard everyone’s invited too.”

Wonwoo pretends to go through his textbook as he eavesdrops instead.

If everyone was invited, that surely meant that you’d be there too.

Mingyu glances over at you, tapping his pencil against the corner of his textbook. “Hey…” He starts, “Did you hear about Jeonghan’s party?”

You glance up from your own textbook, bored eyes on Mingyu who looks up at you from his bedroom floor. Neither of you had talked about the previous time; opting to forget about it since it wasn’t the first time either. “What about it?”

“Wanna go with me? I’ll make it up to you for last time.”

No, he wouldn’t.

“I guess.”

You step out of the Film Developing room, arms full of negatives when you accidentally run into a body that walks up from behind.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” The negatives spill to the floor, scattering all around you as you and the other person kneel down to collect them.

“It’s okay.” The deep voice replies.

“Oh, hey, Wonwoo!” You smile, “What are you doing in the Arts Building?”

He blushes a deep red, kneeling and stacking the negatives before placing them back in your arms. “Oh I--I do some film editing on my own and I--um, I was just wandering around. I had some free time, so I was curious.” Wonwoo shoots you a shy smile as he pushes his glasses up on his nose bridge.

Wonwoo was very cute.

“Oh! I didn’t know that! I feel like I’ve never seen you around here…” You trail off.

“Ah, yeah, I actually have a personal studio on the east end of town. It’s small but… I don’t have to share my things, which I’d prefer.” He smiles, eyes twinkling. “It’s no fun when people mess around with your things and ruin them, y’know?”

“Oh my gosh, I knooooow. Minghao always messes up my developing station and moves my shit around.” You keep talking but Wonwoo barely acknowledges it. Instead, he takes in your appearance, admiring you as you talk animatedly about god knows what.

God, why’d it have to be Mingyu.

“Hey, so are you coming on Saturday?” He blinks confusedly at you, “Huh? Sorry, I--I didn’t quite catch that last bit.”

“Oh, Jeonghan’s party! Everyone’s invited so I was wondering if you were coming!” His blush burns darker; were you asking him out?

“I’ll be there with Mingyu but if you show up, you should save me a drink!” His excitement falters slightly at the mention of Mingyu, but he does his best to send you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, I’ve got one with your name on it.”

Wonwoo was kind, patient and understanding from what you knew.

You’d only met him a few times and you knew he lived in the building across from Mingyu’s but all of your interactions with him had only ever been pleasant.

In another universe, maybe you would’ve been in a happy relationship with someone like Wonwoo.

A sigh escapes your lips as you get ready for Jeonghan’s party; short dress barely covering your ass when Mingyu saunters into his bathroom where you currently were.

“Jeez, who’re you trying to impress.” He mumbles, sidestepping you as he checks himself in the mirror.

“I just felt like being cute, that’s all.”

Mingyu grins, hands on your waist before they slide down to your ass. He squeezes hard; a chuckle on his lips when you mewl.

“Cute isn’t the word I’d go for with this ‘lil number but okay. Let’s get going.”

Mingyu drinks more than he should and he knows it.

He takes any drink someone puts in his hands and downs it before trying to find more which usually leads to a lot of 2AM drunk phone calls and quickies in the backseat of your car.

This time, however, you’re just as bad as he is; taking any drink available as you try to drown out the way you feel when you see Mingyu chatting up someone else across Jeonghan’s living room.

To be fair, you weren’t exclusive anyway.

But his eyes dance over to you, a cocky smirk on his face when he sees the effect he has on you. He knew how you felt too, even if you never said a word about it.

Mingyu didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had, even if he benefited from it more than you did. And the two of you were friends, albeit you weren’t sure for how much longer.

He leaves the other girl as he makes his way over to you, eyes unfocused when he presses you into the wall you’d been standing in front of.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.”

“Ngh, M--Mingyu, fuck--fuck, harder!”

Mingyu keeps you bent over the sink, hips slamming into your ass as he fucks you from behind in Jeonghan’s upstairs bathroom.

The loud music drowns out your loud moans and his filthy words as you eagerly fuck yourself on his cock. “Fuck, this tiny little dress of yours doesn’t do a damn thing. Bet you wanted me to fuck you just like this, huh? Bent over a fuckin’ sink at a party.”

Neither of you had even made the effort to get undressed as you hiked your dress up and tugged your panties to the side, hands planted firmly onto the mirror in front of you as you watched yourself get drunk off of his cock.

“G-god, yes, yes! Fuck me h-harder, damn it!” You whine. Mingyu slaps your ass at this, low grunts spilling from his lips. “Your cute ‘lil cunt begging to be filled with my cock at every second of the fuckin’ day. “ He slurs.

He feels his cock throbbing as he erratically thrusts into you, only a low groan on his lips before he’s cumming.

“O-oh, shit…”

You feel his thrusts slow down as he cums inside of you, a soft mewl on your lips at the feeling. You clench around him, shaking your hips slightly to get his attention back on you.

A sharp knock scares you both as Mingyu pulls out of you; panties slipping back into place like they’d never been touched.

“Hey! People need to use the bathroom, assholes!” Someone yells from the opposite side.

“Fuck, we need to go.” Mingyu grumbles, readjusting himself and zipping his denim back up.

You very slowly lift yourself up from leaning on top of the sink, tugging your dress back down quietly.

Of course. Of, fucking, course.

Mingyu can sense the annoyance even without you saying anything, lopsided smile on his features. “Later, okay? Don’t be a brat.”

“Whatever.”

You head for the door, unlocking it before you step out first and leave Mingyu behind. Your body still buzzes with the urge to cum when you start heading down the hallway, panties sticking to you like a second skin with Mingyu’s cum pooling into the material. You turn a corner into an empty part of the upstairs hallways, sighing slightly as you lean up against a wall.

You hear your name being called as you turn your head, finding Wonwoo jogging up to you.

“Hey! I was looking for you!” He smiles, noting the way you seem to sadly smile back at him. “Something the matter?”

“Ugh, it’s Mingyu…” You start. Wonwoo tenses up, hands balling into fists at his side. “What did he do?”

“He’s so fucking selfish! I don’t know what’s up with him lately but he always leaves me hanging!”

Oh.

It’s quiet between the two of you as your words sink in and Wonwoo’s demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. He takes a step closer to you, fingertips under your chin to lift your head up as he meets your blown out pupils.

“I wouldn’t leave you hanging, y’know.”

You feel a wave of arousal wash over you at his deep voice; did Wonwoo always sound like that or was it the alcohol? “W-what?”

“I said, I wouldn’t leave you hanging. I’d put you before myself, if you’d let me.” He smirks at you, eyes twinkling with promise.

“Show me then.”

Wonwoo drags you into the nearest bedroom; excitement coursing through his veins.

In another universe, he would’ve been more romantic about this.

Dinner and candles, picnics at sunset. Ah, well.

“Well, it’s not much but it’ll do.” He says, locking the door behind himself before he turns to you. He takes in your mildly disheveled appearance, walking you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed.

“You deserve better, y’know? Someone who’ll take care of you.”

“I know… But you promised you’d show me, didn’t you?” Pouting, you hike your dress up before you sit down on the edge of the bed. You spread your legs as you let Wonwoo see your panties that were practically transparent.

“Fuck, you let him cum inside your tight ‘lil pussy and he didn’t even let you cum?”

“How do you know I’m tight if you never fucked me before.” You retort, shooting him a smirk of your own. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, but you felt more confident now than you’d been in a long while.

Wonwoo leans over you, easing you down until your back touches the sheets. “Only someone as pretty as you would have a tight ‘lil cunt and I’ll prove it.” He pulls away, undoing the button and zipper of his pants before he shimmies his boxer briefs down enough to pull his half hard cock out.

You lick your lips at the sight; he was slightly bigger than Mingyu. “Fuck, your cock is huge, Wonwoo…” He smirks at your compliment, tugging on your legs until your lower half hangs off of the side of the bed. He eases your wet panties down, pocketing them before he spreads your legs wide.

“I’m not typically one for sloppy seconds, but…” You blush at his comment. “...If it’s you, I don’t care.”

“Usually I wouldn’t have someone else’s cum already inside my fuckin’ pussy before I hook up with someone else...” You mumble.

Wonwoo guides his cock towards you, letting the shaft rest against your folds. He starts grinding against you, coating his cock in your wetness and Mingyu’s cum. His cock is already throbbing as he continues to tease you and himself, resisting the urge to fuck you hard and fast like he knew both of you needed. “S’okay, I’ll just have to cum inside you too and fuck it so deep into your fuckin’ cunt that you won’t even remember Mingyu ever did.” He grins.

“God, yes, make me cum too, I wanna cum with you…” Whining, you buck your hips up to meet his teasing touches.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make sure you get my cock nice ‘n wet.” He positions his cock at your entrance, teasing you one more time as you whine and squirm underneath him. “Fuck, you’re so cute when you’re whiny.”

He slowly eases his cock in, meeting no resistance with how wet you already were and the cum already inside you. “God, you really are fuckin’ tight…” Wonwoo mumbles under his breath.

It takes you a second to adjust to Wonwoo’s size before he’s drawing his hips back and thrusting back into you and a mewl cuts through the air when the head of his cock taps against your cervix; eyes fluttering shut with how well Wonwoo filled you up.

“Oh, god, ngh, Wonwoo I--I don’t know if I--I can hold o-off…” A choked cry rolls off of your lips, fingertips digging into the sheets underneath you as you cant your hips up to meet his thrusts. You’d already gotten close to an orgasm before and now that Wonwoo’s cock was snug between your walls and curving into you perfectly, it was hard to hold back.

“That’s okay, baby. You can cum as many times as you want. Use me how you want me.” He offers; voice gentle and inviting as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“P--please, ah, touch my---my clit…”

Wonwoo obliges, pinching and rolling your clit between his fingertips. “O-oh, fuck!”

Your body locks up, Wonwoo’s name spilling from your lips as he throws you over the edge and into the first mind-melting orgasm you’d had in weeks. He smiles dreamily at you, hips still snapping into you as he fucks you through your high.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you’re cumming.”

You can only whimper in response, blushing when you can hear how much wetter you’d gotten after just one orgasm. He takes his fingers off of you clit, licking the wet digits.  

Wonwoo looks down to where the two of you are connected, a soft groan on his lips when he sees how much of your wetness coats his cock. “You really did get my cock fuckin’ soaked, baby. Think you still have it in you to give me one more? I’m close too and, ah, I’d love for you to cum with me.” He shoots you a sweet smile and you feel your heart beat out of your chest.

You nod feverishly, “Mm--Mmhmm… I---I haven’t c-cum in a few weeks so… I--”

“A few weeks?”

You avert your eyes from his inquisitive stare, already knowing how he’s going to react. “Yeah, s’just Mingyu’s been so busy so… He’s been, hah, kinda’ leaving me h-hanging and---Ah!” Wonwoo thrusts into you hard, grinding against you once he was fully bottomed out.

“For weeks now? He’s been treating you like that?” It’d made sense now why he’d seen you in Mingyu’s bed alone that one time. “Y-yeah… but---but he’s just busy, y’know, ah, being a TA and a-all...”

He shakes his head in utter disbelief; selfish Mingyu, as always.

Wonwoo leans in until he’s face to face with you, kissing you on the lips gently before pulling away. He doesn’t say another word and instead works on getting you worked up to cum with him and even through the muffled music, he can hear your loud whines and whimpers and the sound of skin slapping as his thrusts become erratic.

He licks the pad of his thumb before he brings it back towards your sensitive and swollen clit. “Baby, ‘m close…” He whispers; only loud enough for you to catch.

“Ngh, fuh--fuck, Wonwoo, please cum i-inside me… I wanna feel your, ah, cock throbbing i-inside of me when you fill me up with y-your cum…” Wonwoo’s thumb presses harder against your clit and he opts to grind against you instead when he feels the tension in his abdomen start to snap. He moans your name shakily, brows furrowed and eyes clamped shut as he lets the pleasure wash over him.

You lick your lips watching his face contort in bliss and you bring your fingers down and over his thumb as you press down harder onto your clit and the action is enough to throw you over the edge again, head thrown back and a sharp whine on your lips as you cum for the second time. 

Wonwoo slows down his thrusts as he starts to come down from his high and he works you through yours. “Shit, you really are so fuckin’ pretty.” 

A blush coats your skin as your orgasm starts to ebb away and Wonwoo is careful to not hurt you once he starts to pull his cock from inside of you. 

He watches the cum drip out of you, lips pursed into a tight smile. “Guess you should get these back, huh?” He fishes for the wet panties in his pocket; helping you slide them back on and up your legs before he pulls away and starts to smooth down his own disheveled appearance.

You laugh breathily, “I’ll let you have another pair next time.” 

“Oh? There’ll be a next time?” He grins. 

Biting your lip, you stand, readjusting your dress and grimacing at how gross you felt now that your panties were even wetter and covered in more cum. 

“I---I mean, I still... I still have feelings for Mingyu but--but...” You pause; Wonwoo’s eyes on you. “I know I should end things with him, it’s just gonna take some time and I--I think you’re a really great guy, Wonwoo, and I’d like for there to be a next time... It’s just... I think I need some time to get over Mingyu first.” You mumble the last few words, a little embarrassed you even admitted you liked Mingyu. 

“No, I---I get it. It’s no worries! Just---Just come find me when you’re ready.” He shoots you a beaming smile, “I’ll leave first, okay?” 

You nod in response, smiling at his back when he turns to leave. 

“Thank you, Wonwoo.” 

You end up heading home, leaving Mingyu at Jeonghan’s party all-together.

He’d find his way home eventually; maybe even puke in the backseat of a taxi and get what he deserved. 

You giggle at the thought, stepping into the lobby of your apartment building.

Huh, the lights are out. 

You’re a little confused, but you make your way towards the elevators; stumbling slightly with the alcohol still in your system. Pressing the button, you wait patiently in the dark lobby -- only the moonlight providing a soft glow. 

The elevator dings and you quickly enter it, pressing the button for your floor before resting against the banister. 

Hey, is that a person?

Your eyes catch a glimpse of a figure not too far off and only half visible from around the corner, brows furrowed. 

But you didn’t hear anyone enter the building.

The door closes and you shake the thoughts out of your head; it was probably just the alcohol making your eyes hazy.

Eventually you reach your floor, sighing in relief that the lights were still working. You stumble down the hall, dropping your house keys a few times before you can even make the turn to get to your hallway.

You reach your door, sliding the key into the keyhole and turning the lock.

God, it was so good to finally be home. 

“Good Evening, this is Boo Seungkwan reporting live on Channel 17’s 4 o’ clock news. We’re live at the scene here, as you can see behind me, at the apartment complex were Mr. Kim Mingyu resided. The police and detectives are still going through Mr. Kim’s apartment in hopes of finding any clues. His whereabouts are still unknown as well as his female companion. If you have any tips or information of where they both are, please do not hesitate to contact the police or the TV station.” Seungkwan pauses, waving down a pedestrian. “Sir? I’m a reporter for Channel 17 news, can we please have a word with you? It’s about the missing university students.”

Wonwoo sadly smiles, nodding. “Of course.”

Seungkwan gestures for the cameraman to come closer, holding the microphone in between himself and Wonwoo. “Sir, did you happen to know the missing couple?”

“Ah… Kind of. They were attending the same university as myself. He was kind of a friend of mine, and I know he lived in the building across from myself but…” Wonwoo pauses, shaking his head. “I--I don’t know what happened. They seemed like such kind people. I’ve heard rumours that they just fled to another city, but… that’s it really.”

“Did they tell you that, themselves?” Wonwoo shakes his head no. “No, just rumours flying around campus. Everyone saw them at a party last weekend, myself included. That seems to have been the last time.”

“I see, so have the police interviewed you? Do they have any suspects?”

Wonwoo shakes his head again, smiling sadly. “The police just think they ran away, which, I guess isn’t too far fetched. We’re all stressed university students, after all.”

“You mentioned he’s a friend of yours. He didn’t bother to say anything? Do you think he kidnapped her?”

Wonwoo bites the inside of his cheek, worry clear on his features. “I mean, Mingyu was kind of aloof and he was very drunk at that party. I’m not sure if they got into an altercation. We never really hung out outside of campus so sadly, I can’t really say I know if it’d be in his character or not.”

“Thank you sir, for your time.”

Seungkwan lets Wonwoo leave, stepping away to finish the live report.

Wonwoo nods, turning to make his way back into his apartment. 

He enters his place, toeing off his shoes before he heads towards his own bedroom.

By nature, he steps in front of his window; the same one that faced Mingyu’s now empty bedroom.

His lips ease into a small peaceful smile. 

He would have to make a trip to the east end once all the news vans and patrol cars were gone.

He was sure you’d love the food he’d be making for your candle-lit dinner. It was one of his favorite recipes.

And he was sure Mingyu wouldn’t mind watching from his place in the corner, either. 

[legends-live-in-memories]

Talk So Pretty, But Your Heart Got Teeth

AYO another day another oneshot as a part of the MGI Trope Tussle! BUT WAIT THERES MORE thanks to @nightlychaotic for letting me continue her oneshot that can be found HERE! 

Fics Masterlist

Dickinette Oneshot 2.8K words 

Summary:

“Nightwing was desperate to figure out Kit Noire. For reasons beyond professional.” 

without further ado:

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

Can't look away, can't look away

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay, yeah

It had been two weeks since Nightwing had last seen Kit Noire. While the lack of thefts and reported break-ins was doing wonders for his day job, he found his nightlife severely lacking its usual luster. He had done some research into her powers, cross-referencing with some of his more magically inclined coworkers. Aquaman had an interesting story about some god of destruction but it was Atlantean lore that led nowhere. He was drawing blanks on what his next move was going to be. Conflicted on whether to bring her to justice or to help her get justice. 

His team was of no help either. Batman was adamant on chasing her out of Gotham, her destructive powers too dangerous in the city, while his siblings were more engrossed in teasing him about his affections for the cat thief. Jabs about ‘learned behaviour’ and ‘truly being the next Batman’ went ignored for his own piece of mind. He loathed to admit it but his intrigue in her, his adamance to be involved with her case, stemmed from less professional intentions. He was compromised in this investigation but he was unwilling to relent to anyone else.

Kit Noire was his to solve. 

Sometimes, you're a stranger in my bed

Don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay, yeah

He finally found her one night by the Gotham Harbour. She was in the middle of an altercation with the same guy who had stolen some grimoire from her. ‘Guardian’ he had called her. 

Rather than intervene immediately, Nightwing hung back in the shadows, observing the two of them. The man was obviously much older than her and was particularly equipped to combat her style of fighting. He used what appeared to be a wooden staff and was dressed in Buddhist-inspired robes. Another piece to add into his investigation. 

Their fight was approaching a stalemate, neither willing to yield to the other. Nightwing decided to make his presence known. A couple smoke bombs were tossed into the fray, halting the fight. Taking the opening, he jumped in between and threw two bolas at the old man. He was wrapped securely in the wires and collapsed gracelessly on the planks. Not giving him anymore attention, he moved to intercept Kit Noire; choosing the evil he knew over the one he didn’t.

“Sorry, songbird.” She spoke with more bite than usual, her frustration with the older man still clinging to her. “But I already have plans tonight. None that involves you sadly.”

“What?” His casual drawl, partnered with his carefully crafted smirk did nothing to placate the hissing cat in his arms. “I can’t let the kitty have all the fun.”

“Please,” she scoffs; she slackens in his hold only fractionally. “As if I need a little birdy like you to give me permission to do anything.”

She slipped under his grasp and shot a leg up directly into his chin. He was taken completely by surprise and before he could react, one of his own smoke bombs was thrown at his feet. He was disoriented and by the time he switched his mask to infrared, she was already gone with the older man. His discarded bolas were the only thing that remained between the clearing haze of smoke.

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

He was pulling into the precinct parking lot for his morning shift with a poorly concealed bruise on his jaw and excuses already on his tongue for how it got there. His ego wasn’t fairing much better but that was concerns for his punching bag back at his home gym. Now, he was Dick Grayson, rookie cop at the GCPD. Now, his nighttime problems can’t reach him.

Or so he thought.  

He didn’t make it ten feet into the building before detective Montoya was slamming a file into his chest. He quickly glanced into the file, partially listening to her debriefing of the case, then immediately wished he hadn’t. In the file there were pictures taken from the most recent crime scene and sitting on top of the pile was a picture of a wall from the local aviary. The words ‘Sorry about last night, Songbird -KN’ were spray painted in steel blue. 

He felt his irritation flare as heat crept up his neck while a weight settled in the base of his spine. His warring feelings drowned out everything around him as he fixated on her very obvious declaration. Kitty Noire had been gaining infamy for never being caught by both the cops and the bats. Some in the precinct hadn’t believed she was actually real, just some urban legend the streets were stirring up to cause trouble. To let herself be caught like this, and to admit to contact with one of the bats— it didn’t take a genius to guess which side of the law she was calling out with ‘songbird’— was damning to say the least. 

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

It was another week before he was crashing into her midleap, throwing both of them down onto the nearest roof. They rolled a couple of times before he stopped them by pinning her down. Both of her arms were held above her head; his grips were tight around her wrists, avoiding her palms in fear of what her destructive powers could do. They were on top of the platform that had the doorway to the building’s stairs. Her distracting smirk curled up further as she was about to speak. Probably a suggestive comment but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual back and forth.

“Enough games, Noire.” He shifted his knees to brace on her shins, in case she had any ideas. “You need to tell me what’s going on. You’re bringing suspicious people into the city, dangerous people, and it’s my job to drive them out.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into the city,” she all but spat at him, the fury in her eyes burned bright at the accusation. “He tracked me here.”

“And he is…?” He was getting tired of being out of the loop, meta-abilities and magic are safety hazards if left unchecked in Gotham. He needs to put a lid on this before it spirals any further.

“He is my business and soon to be not a problem for the both of us.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no other choice, songbird. Above your paygrade, remember?” She mumbles something he doesn’t hear but from the shape of her lips it looked like Cataclysm. He didn’t have time to react before the roof was caving in under them. 

The freefall was disorienting but he could see from his periphery that Kit Noire was prepared. She had extended her staff out to fit between two walls and was hanging on, dangling over what was probably twenty flights of steps. Nightwing wasn’t so lucky and he had to angle his fall to crash into steps a couple flights below her.  

“It was nice crashing into you, songbird, but I have things to steal and people to rob.” Retracting her staff, she let herself freefall to the bottom floor of the building. Nightwing dove after her, shooting out his grappling line to one of the higher railings. She had reextended her staff, this time aiming for the height of the building, and was sliding down it like a pole. Banishing the improper thoughts of ‘Noire’ and ‘pole,’ he questioned how the staff was even able to extend that far. 

Right, magic.

Once they were more comfortable feet above the bottom floor, she paused in her descent and let him over take her. He wasn’t given a chance to question her actions as she immediately swiped at his grappling line, snapping it with her rather sharp claws. This time he was prepared enough to brace himself for the fall. He landed on his feet and crouched to roll out of the harsh impact.

“I thought it was cats that landed on their feet, not birds,” her jeer echoed against the walls. He looked back up to see her rapidly climbing her staff. She was gaining distance fast and he was running out of options just as quickly. He didn’t trust climbing her staff so he took to climbing the steps from the railings, jumping and swinging himself around to gain altitude.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” She had made it to the door that led back to the roof and her staff retracted in an instant. He was still a couple flights away but he knew he wasn’t going to catch her. He resigned himself to knowing that tonight was another failed night. He had let her go again.

Some days, you're the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Then you turn into somebody I don't know

And you push me away, push me away, yeah

Something Kit Noire had said was bothering him. She said she was a hero once. That she had given it up because of accusations that ruined her reputation. He had half a mind to not believe her. Write it off as one of her tricks to try and get under his skin. But the other half, the louder, more desperate half, implored him to keep searching. To uncover the cat themed enigma he had grown frustratingly fond of. 

He expanded his search, looking for anything or anyone cat themed with destructive powers. A deep web search had him discovering an old video. It was labeled ‘Reflectdoll’ and nothing else. It was a part of some long forgotten blog that had an entire catalogue of videos labeled in similarly vague ways. Desperate for answers, he rationalised that if anything else, he would cross this source and narrow the search further.

The video was quite the fanfare, looking something out of a movie with impressive CGI. He was about to label this video as another bust but something paused him in his tracks. Her. Kit Noire, or at least a younger version of her, lept into the action. Her and some ladybug patterned partner dealt with the fiasco and Nightwing watched, enthralled and hopeful, as the two worked to take down the foe. He was both impressed and even more confused because he recognised that infamous tower but had no memories of there ever being attacks of that caliber in the city of love. He had done several missions there over the years, and there was never any call for help or an attack to get his or the League’s attention.   

Just what was going on? 

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

He had her pinned again, one of his hands holding both of hers above her head, the other was fisting her braid in a tight pin. They were staring at each other, neither wanting to tip the scales in their own favor. The air was charged and each breath felt like one step closer to a dangerous precipice. Nightwing was struggling with what to do. He had a responsibility to this city. This was his home. And he was letting some magical ex-hero trample all over it because he let his infatuation get to his head. He was too involved but he didn’t care. She was his case to solve. 

“Something you would like to share, songbird?” Her smirk was enticing and infuriating. He couldn’t look away. 

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“What? Is keeping me here not entertaining enough for you?”

“I’m not keeping you here for entertainment.”

“That could be rearranged.” She had surged up to kiss him, her lips soft and inviting. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand

Still beating

She was hurt. The old man found her again and left her with a painful reminder of who she was up against. Nightwing wished he could track him down and beat him to bloody pulp but right now he was more concerned with patching her up. She was lucky he found her when he did. The gash on her side would be easy to stitch but he first needed to get her to somewhere safe. His options were limited. No clinic would take them in, she was still a notorious criminal after all. Batman would have his head if he brought her to any of their safe houses. The cave was completely out of the question. 

But she was still losing blood. 

“Why the long face, songbird?” Her voice which was usually jovial was tinted with strain. 

“Oh, you know, just getting blood on my suit while a cat bleeds out in my lap.” He tried to lighten the mood and her chuckles were relieving. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just need to find somewhere to put you.”

“Oh, is the birdy worried about his kitty cat?” She was teasing him, he knew, so he decided playing along would do more for his own peace of mind than trying to refute.

“And if he is?” He mirrored her own joking tone but he couldn’t help the taxes of sincerity that slipped in. She caught on if the slight widening of her eyes were an indicator.

“Oh.” The stunned look she had on her face would be adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “I have a place, not far from here you can drop me off there.”

“Lead the way,” he said, picking her up bridal style. If he pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck then no one had to know.  

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Nightwing never noticed this before but Kit Noire was small. Her waist fit in the palms of his hands so well and her legs were slender and lean as they tied themselves around his hips. He looked like he could overwhelm her but he knew better. He knew how strong and dangerous she was but the mental image of just holding her down as she submits beneath him spurred him on further. Her lips were cherry sweet and intoxicating. And her weight on his thighs left him reeling, silently begging for more.

“Someone’s eager,” she had pulled away from his mouth to speak but rather than entertain any conversation he just moved to suck bruises into her jaw. The hand she had in his hair tightened and pulled at the short strands. Her breathing became laboured as she pants into the night sky. He wanted to coax out more reactions from her, wanted to see if she can really mewl like a cat. 

A wayward hand had her grinding down harder in his lap. They were in their own bubble on this abandoned rooftop; it sat between two skyscrapers, both casting the roof in an almost impenetrable shadow, one would really have to be looking to see them. The sound of traffic below was nothing more than white noise, a background soundtrack for their current encounter. Using her grip in his hair, Noire dragged him up from her jaw and crashed their lips together again. Her kittenish licks asked for entrance and he eagerly granted it, savouring the taste of her as she mapped out his mouth with her tongue. 

He gripped her tighter, not wanting to let go, blind in the pleasure of her lips and tongue and teeth.

Teeth

Teeth

Teeth

Never, never, never ever let go

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

massaging them , bandaging injury in healer draco / auror Harry one shot please thank you ❤️

This one is new!! Btw sorry for delaying it. Here ya go, hope you like it. @flakeyakey

Single healers

" come on, get him in here" although it was deafening. He was probably losing his senses, his eyes opening and closing, blurring his vision. He couldn't really see the speaker but unconsciously sensed the urgency in their voice.

" and you're sure he wasn't bitten ?" The same voice asked again. Harry tried very hard to open his eyes and see who it was, but exhaustion was pulling him under and he was ready to sleep. Long sleep.

His breath was cutting short, his vision blackening, he was relaxed finally until someone started to lightly pat his cheeks.

" keep breathing, potter... Don't you dare give up right now " and that was the last thing he heard, only getting a slight peek of someone oddly familiar and with a nod, harry closed his eyes.

It was really exhausting to be where harry was right now but all he did really felt was the uncomfortable pillow, hurting his neck. In attempts to fix his pillow, he tried to move his arm until he realised they weren't exactly in a spectacular shape and he grimaced with pain.

" welcome back sweetie" he heard a sweet voice. Okay, there isn't any woman at Harry's home, so he opened his eyes.

" ouch " harry immediately shielded his eyes because of the intense light

" shut that light Karen, it's hurting his visuals" Someone said as they must've shut the door behind him.

Once the light was turned off, harry relaxed and opened his eyes again.

" wow, this is definitely not home " harry groaned

" well not if your home is a hospital potter" the guy in the white coat said. Harry couldn't see whoever it was, mostly because his back was turned to harry but also because he was very much leaned over onto the table that you couldn't see anything but his white coat, his black pants and nice black shoes, shining, and if harry wasn't wrong they were vintage, oh!!

" so how do you feel ?" The guy finally turned around

" I knew it, only you say my name that way " harry fisted his palm in a small victory.

"yeah, yeah very great achievement potter, now how do you feel ?" He asked

" well, for one, I can't feel my ass because of this bed, second, my arm is really sore, third my pillow isn't put right so it definitely is craning my neck too much that it hurts. And lastly my question how did I wound up here ?" Harry goes

" Karen please do the honours of adjusting thy majesty's pillow or he'd cry over it" the other man said as he poured some liquid carefull in a vial.

" now, to answer your question, I am not even slightly interested in how you wound up here, all I know is that you are here and I have to take care of you. Next, the beds are a bit uncomfortable, you'll get used to it in a bit and if not, I'll cast a cushioning spell and lastly, can you tell me exactly where your arm feels most sore ? And do the honours of actually telling me how you feel ?" He said as he walked towards harry, analysing the morning reports he received.

" still keeping the I am a prat attitude Malfoy, suits you " harry rolled his eyes, pointing above his elbow on the dorsal side.

" well the sodding insolent prat attitude suits you too potter " draco rolled his eyes as he lightly dabbed Harry's arm recieving a flinch.

" there's no such external injury here so I think that's a bruise. Think massage would do it " draco frowned to himself

" I feel a little dizzy by the way. Also there's a portion on my neck that is itching quite badly, can I scratch ?" Harry asked innocently.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows before helping harry sit upright and taking a look at the point of his itch.

" those are deep scratches. So no you can't scratch Over. Karen I thought all wounds were cleaned up "

" I did. It must've been because it's on his back I might've missed it. I'm sorry " she hurriedly Apologized

" that wouldn't really qualify you as a healer would It, now, next time don't make the same mistakes. Ms. Adelman across the room needs you by the way " draco said as he dipped some cotton in antiseptic potion and cleansed Harry's wound.

" it's burns ? " Draco asked

" a little " harry grimaced.

" I think you got that from the werewolf " draco whispered as he carefully studied for any bites.

" when will I be free ?" Harry asked impatiently.

" well at this pace not for another two weeks" draco replied as he pushed down his reading glasses and kept the files over the side table.

" no way. I'm not staying for 2 weeks. That's 14 days off work, I can't do that. I'm in the Middle of an important case and-"

" okay save it potter. You have to stay for 2 weeks and it ends there. Your friend Weasley will come by and explain you everything but under my watch, even if you're free you're not allowed to work"

" and who gives you the right?" Harry rolled his eyes frustratingly

" me. As your healer, it is my responsibility to make sure that you only resume when you're wounds are all healed up " draco huffed, annoyed by Harry's childish behaviour to just break free.

" and you think I'd listen to you ?" Harry narrowed his eyes in a glare at Draco.

Draco clenched his jaw before closing his eyes and continuing speaking " you are not going anywhere and that is it, you get me! And if you do try to get away, I will tie you up with shackles without a wand. Now if you're a chain eater or something like that then you'd be successful to break free otherwise not "

" whatever " harry rolled his eyes, again. If draco had one pet peeve, it was people rolling their eyes necessarily on his face and potter seemed to have a death wish.

" look " draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed " you don't understand the severity of your injuries. I understand your passion for work and all but not at the risk of health. If you must know you were attacked by a werewolf, the problem however is that we're not sure if you were bitten or not.. it might've been someone who bit you before full moon, basically not a werewolf then but there is a possibility that you're not bitten, the more likely one -"

" but if there's a bite, you should be able to see right ?"

" yes and no. The evolution of werewolves is allowing them to leave very little traces of bites these days which of course does not benefit them nor potentially harm the one bitten. The real reason why we can't figure whether you're bitten or not is because your back Is covered in scratches and if you can't feel them it's because of the numbing potion. And we're done talking. Drink this up quietly"

Harry looked at Draco strangely for a moment before taking the vial from his hand and bottomed up " can I work from here ?"

" no " and draco walked out.

And then it became a thing, harry constantly asking if he could work and draco constantly denying and threatening him that this time he'd definitely put him in shackles. And by the by, interactions between them did get pretty interesting every once in a while when Draco used to check him up late at night before leaving from work.

And one of these days harry shoot his shot "you pretty much always leave late, come early and stay here all day, so I should by now just assume that you're single "

" not that it's any of your business potter " draco absent-mindedly replied as he changed the bandages on Harry's back.

" ha- you didn't deny it. So you are single " harry exclaimed

" sit still "

" sorry "

" why do you care if I date or not ? My personal life Potter " draco said as he changed the bandages on the bottom right of Harry's back, amused for a moment of what he saw something going under his pants. It seemed like a mark, he didn't question it.

"I don't. Just curious " harry shrugged.

" well dearest curious George, I must assume that you're single too since nobody special visited you " draco said as he got up and lightly massaged Harry's sore arm from before. Harry relaxed in his touch before he continued the conversation

" I don't do Dating. Even if I do date someone, it's never about us or the dating in itself, it's just mostly to get into witch weekly or daily prophet under the chosen one's new beau sort of thing "

Draco almost pitied harry for never having found something but decided not to, since he obviously didn't need the pity.

"that sucks " draco hummed " does it hurt still ?" He pressed a little more firmly over the spot

" not much anymore " harry replied " what's your not dating excuse ?"

Draco etched a small smile especially for harry before he told him the truth " it's a bitter world for me out there. I think it's the same as you, you know just the opposite end. It's almost as if i- I'm still a death Eater and people still hate me for that "

Harry pressed his lips in a thin line, never having thought of it. He always thought it must've been easy for Draco to find Someone, with being attractive and working somewhere you're basically helping people all day but it came as a mild shock as it was opposite.

" whoever ends up with would be one lucky person though " harry complimented just in time draco stopped massaging and picked up the vials to give to harry.

" really ? What makes you say that ?" Draco smiled

" because I know you'd do anything to keep that person in your life no matter the cost. And I've seen the good in you, you're not all bad " and with that harry gulped the vial, missing out draco's blushing.

" I think whoever ends up with you would be a lucky one too then " draco said as he finished up aligning the empty vial bottles on a tray to take them away.

" and why's that ?" Harry smiled

" because- it's just you. You're different and you're nice.. think you'd always keep them happy and safe if it were your life on stake. That's just you " draco complimented smiling at harry.

Not as capable as draco, harry turned pink from the compliment " that's nice of you "

Draco should not have been mesmerized but unfortunately he was and it should've been a mistake, but he liked it. And he knew harry enjoyed gazing at him too but the moment Only lasted so long and draco broke free before he could've lost control.

" I should go. Goodnight. Take care " and he left the room.

The next morning draco returned to his room, the first thing he saw was an empty bed until he harry walked in, shirtless.

" y- you can walk " draco said

" yeah. I can " harry smiled.

Gaining his composure back, Draco resumed " and you cleaned up nice, with all the Shaving "

" I figured I'll be leaving in 3 days so better get used to it again " harry replied

Draco stared at harry dumb folded " oh, right, yeah, 3 days "

" so " draco pouted " does it hurt anywhere? Need of change in bandages ? Or anything else?"

" no, I think I'm fine " harry placed his hand over his hips, frowning.

" well, alright then. I'll be going. I'll be checking in on you at the end of the day like a normal healer. Goodbye potter " and he practically ran before his heart might've fell out of his chest, metaphorically ofcourse.

The rest of the day draco got so busy that when the night came, he couldn't visit harry again even if he desperately wanted to but he was so exhausted that he could Barely walk and so by the recommendation of the work counsellor, he got sent off.

The first he did next day was visit harry, who to his surprise was sleeping. So like a normal healer, he checked his bottled of vial, his normal medicines and the bruises and left. When the night came, harry was swamped with his friends that draco couldn't had stayed for more than professional purpose. The next day again when he visited harry, he was tiredly sleeping. Defeated, draco worked all day until again at the end of the night he visited harry to see him sitting with all the files.

" working?" Draco asked as he place his files over the side table and started checking Harry's injuries, which were now almost healed.

" yeah. Filling in for what I missed while being here " harry sighed.

Draco scrunched his eyebrows looking at Harry he retrieved his hands and asked him " do you really enjoy your work though? Like putting your life on line and working immensely over something so exhausting ?"

" do you enjoy your work ?" Harry huffed

" I do. I very much do. It's tiring sometimes yes but I like what I do. It makes me feel nice About myself. Is it the same for you ?"

Harry huffed pushing away the files before Pouring our reality " to tell you the truth, I don't enjoy work. It was all fun in the beginning, the chase and run but now it just seems as if that's all I've been doing my whole life. Running after the bad guys but then that's exactly what everyone expects of me and I can't let them down. So I do exactly what I've been doing, the right thing "

Draco amusingly watched him, as if it was fun story, only it wasn't " my mom always used to say, much before anyone else's you're your own. There's no point in living your life the way people expects. I think they must've have had enough of that already. There's nothing new in the potter magazine you know, the chosen one after the bad guy. Life's too short for the same title harry "

" hey, you called me harry " harry pointed out grinning

" don't I deserve to at least call you by your name after taking care of your lame ass for 2 weeks " draco chuckled.

Harry chuckled " you deserve it, draco "

And draco smiled.

The next morning when harry was finally ready to depart with no ill effects or presence of lycanthropy, he waited until he see'd off draco..

" and I thought I'd almost miss your departure " draco heaved, breathing in harshly..

" nah, I wouldn't had let that happen " harry chuckled..

When Draco finally had his air back he leaned upright looking at harry " it was nice having you here "

" it was nice being here " harry smiled

" so, I guess, I'll see you around then ?" Draco asked awkwardly.

" right, yeah, of course " harry rambled.

" cool then " draco pressed his lips in a thin line, pushing his hands in his coat pocket.

" alright then. Bye " harry hesitated

" oh. Yeah..bye. see you again probably " draco replied

" yeah, might. Bye then "

" bye " and then finally harry stepped back one by one until he reached the door handle and turned around to walk out.

" fuck it " harry whispered under his breath and walked back to draco

" something wrong ?" Draco asked

" you. I don't care how stupid I might sound, but I like you, like I really really like you and I haven't felt his way for someone in a long time and I don't want to blow this away. So draco malfoy would you maybe want to go out with me someday even if I'm a complete insolent prat-"

" okay, yeah "draco grinned

" and I've got attitude problem and you possibly don't feel the same- wait- you said yes?" Harry rambled

" yep. I said yes " draco chuckled.

" oh. Then I'll definitely see you. Outside leaky cauldron, at 7 "

" you definitely will " draco smiled

" okay then" harry grinned as he started walking back again.

" okay "

" okay " harry bit his lip.

" I like you too by the way " draco chuckled

" I really have to go.. but it's good to know " harry chuckled..

" okay " and then harry finally left, after dancing in victory of course.

Requests open

[dinosaurtsukki]

salty french fries | a tsukishima x f!reader fic

pairing: diner employee!tsukishima x f!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: fluff, the slightest of angsts, late-night diner talks, insomniac!reader, puzzles, tsukishima being a softie, salty french fries in case you couldn’t tell

summary: tsukishima works the graveyard shift at a diner near his campus to help pay the bills and ends up noticing you, a regular customer who comes in every night to order the same french fries because you can’t sleep 

a/n: i can’t believe it took me this long to write a full-length one-shot for tsukki as a self-proclaimed tsukki fangirl. this is inspired by me having trouble sleeping and wishing i had tsukki to eat fries at a diner with

knowing that he was attending university on scholarship, tsukishima fully expected having to work in some shitty, part-time job to help pay the bills and earn some money for allowance. he just didn’t quite expect that he’d be working the graveyard shift at a diner just a few blocks away from campus. 

tsukishima didn’t want to take on a job that was too much of a hassle and by hassle, he meant having to interact with customers. so, even though his sleep schedule was kind of fucked with him sleeping at four in the afternoon to go to work at midnight before heading straight to class, tsukishima was still okay with his job. he didn’t really care about the whole ‘night time is sleep time’ idea and the lack of customers during the graveyard shift gave him more than enough time to work on assignments.

during his shift, he’d deal with the usual late-night customers: fellow students who stayed up too late partying or purposely stayed up late to pull all-nighters, truck drivers and fellow late-shift employees hoping to grab a bite before going to work or going home, and the less favorable drunk men who passed out cold on the tables only for tsukishima to have to wake up in the morning. 

with the few customers that tsukishima had to encounter, of course he’d notice someone who regularly came during his shift. and that someone was you.

tsukishima first noticed you a few months into his work at the diner. in fact, you were his only customer on the first night when you came in and you stayed for three hours, eating just a plate of french fries, before leaving at five in the morning. the next night, you did the same thing, and the next, and the next. the thing tsukishima noticed about late-night customers was that there was always a noticeable purpose to their visit: a way to socialize, a place to hang out in the unholy hours of the night, even just getting a bite to eat. however, tsukishima couldn’t for the life of him figure out what your purpose was.

from behind the counter, he couldn’t help but watch as you’d absentmindedly pour ketchup on the side of your plate, dip your fries in one by one, and chew slowly while staring at the wall. it was as if you were just there to pass the time.

...

your visits ended up being frequent enough to finally pique tsukishima’s curiosity and cause him to actually initiate conversation.

“the usual, right?” he asked, taking your order as you sat at the counter.

“you got it,” you smiled up at him. tsukishima noticed that you always wore the same ratty, dark green coat over what appeared to be your pajamas. 

“you must love these fries,” tsukishima said sarcastically, arising a chuckle from you. 

“would you feel bad if i said i think they’re not exactly great?” you cocked your head at him. 

“as long as you don’t tell my manager who never comes in at this time,” tsukishima smirked, handing you your change.

“your secret is safe with me,” you mimed zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key. that one managed to get a laugh out of tsukishima as he strolled over to the kitchen to make your fries. 

“one order of shitty french fries,” he said, coming back a few minutes later. “and ketchup, of course.”

“hey, i didn’t say they were shitty,” you picked up a fry and wagged it at him. “just, kind of soggy and salty and... actuallly yeah, it is kind of shitty,” you giggled, dipping the fry and eating it.

“i can’t believe you thought soggy and salty would be euphemisms,” tsukishima shook his head.

“well, sorry for my brain not being in peak condition at three a.m. enough to read...” you paused and leaned over the counter to look at the book that tsukishima had been reading for class. “...Plato’s ‘The Republic.’”

“i actually don’t read anything, i just highlight stuff to feel good about myself,” tsukishima shrugged.

“that’s a mood right there,” you smirked at him. “so, you must be wondering why i come here all the time.”

“mmm, mostly i was wondering about the fries part but that’s a close second.”

you rolled your eyes at him. “well if you must know, i come here because i can’t sleep.” 

tsukishima blinked and realized, for the first time, how dark your under-eyes were, how weak and almost raspy your voice sounded, and how you always seemed to be vacantly staring at the same wall whenever you came in.

“actually, i do sleep but at most it’s just two hours before i wake up again and decide to come here,” you added. “sometimes i take a twenty-minute nap before studying, but that’s about it.”

“sounds... rough,” tsukishima said, very much aware that there were a million other better things to say. instead, you just smiled and nodded at that.

“pretty much.” 

“well, you’re lucky. the other diner serves shittier fries.” 

tsukishima couldn’t help but smile at the look of incredulity on your face before bursting out laughing. for some reason, it felt like an accomplishment. he couldn’t help but feel as if he should help you with your insomnia but the thought of ‘what can you actually do about it?’ overcame him first.

but ever since then, tsukishima did make an effort to make his fries less shitty.

...

it was safe to say that tsukishima did end up enjoying your company. at first, he was worried that it would be a distraction from his work but you always managed to give pretty good insights on any texts he was reading or papers he had to write. you had a sharp tongue and always managed to keep up with tsukishima’s jokes or have him keep up with you. 

but he noticed you kept coming earlier and earlier, sometimes even before tsukishima’s shift began, and he could tell you were sleeping even less. the voice in his head saying that it wasn’t any of his business steadily grew quieter with that progression.

“wanna try this out?” tsukishima asked, one night. you snapped out of your usual staring-blankly-at-the-wall activity and looked down to find tsukishima pushing what appeared to be a puzzle set towards you.

aside from greasy food, the diner tsukishima worked at had shelves full of board games and puzzle sets. ‘to entertain the student crowd,’ his manager reasoned. tsukishima didn’t know if the day customers actually used them but he’d always been curious about playing with some of the games.

“‘Vincent Van Gogh ‘Cafe Terrace at Night’ puzzle set, one-thousand pieces,” you read. “it’s, a thousand pieces.”

“we could use a puzzle board for it to save progress,” tsukishima shrugged. “only if you want to,” he added, starting to feel nervous that you’d be put off by his suggestion. ‘i could have chosen a one-hundred piece puzzle instead this was dumb of me,’ he couldn’t help but think. instead, you laughed and nodded your head.

“where’s that puzzle board?”

...

“oh my god, why the fuck did you make me agree to this? they’re all the same shades of blue!!” you exclaimed, holding up two puzzle pieces that had the same color but frustratingly didn’t join together.

“i thought it was a good idea at first,” tsukishima muttered, squinting at the mess of puzzle pieces before him. he was trying to put together the cafe part of the puzzle. “wait! i got it!” he suddenly exclaimed, picking a puzzle piece and joining it together with a small clump he had already formed.

“now, i have five pieces together,” he gloated, showing you the part.

“great. now we have nine-thousand, nine-hundred, and ninety-five pieces to go,” you laughed tiredly. the two of you were occupying one of the tables closest to the counter which was now covered with the puzzle board and puzzle pieces. 

when you first decided to visit the nearby diner after another sleepless night, you didn’t expect to befriend the tall, blonde boy who ran the graveyard shift and cooked shitty, but now slightly better, french fries. you didn’t really expect that tsukishima kei also liked to make himself milkshakes with strawberry ice cream or that he got unusually invested in puzzles, or that he looked cute whenever he was excited at joining pieces together.

“ah! i did it! i got a match!” you suddenly exclaimed, grinning and showing tsukishima the two identically colored pieces you managed to join together.

“finally, you managed to get one,” he smirked at you. 

“mean! do you know how hard it is to sift through all of this?” you gestured at the huge sea of blue in front of you. 

tsukishima cocked his head. “are you sure those actually fit right?”

“what do you mean? i just fit it together?”

“nah, i think it doesn’t work. give it here,” he grinned, snatching it out of your hand.

“give it back!” you pouted. “tsukishima!”

...

“tsukishima, it’s been half a month and we’re exactly halfway,” you deadpanned, looking at the puzzle before you that already had clumps of van gogh’s iconic painting formed. 

“i don’t know if i should be happy about this or just depressed,” tsukishima sighed.

“celebratory french fry?” you suggested, picking a fry off the plate.

“celebratory french fry,” tsukishima chuckled, mimicking your action. the two of your crossed your french fries together before eating them. 

“i don’t know if you know this, but this is my favorite part of my day,” you smiled.

“working on a thousand-piece puzzle with a diner employee?” tsukishima snorted. 

“yeah, sad right?” you laughed. “sometimes i just get excited about going to sleep just so that i could wake up and come here.”

“funny enough you have been coming later,” tsukishima pointed out. not that he really thought it was a bad thing because it meant you’ve been sleeping just a bit more. 

“thanks to the puzzle, i’ve actually been able to sleep once i get home,” you added, somewhat excitedly. “and, i don’t know, that makes facing the day less worse.”

“is that why you can’t sleep?” tsukishima asked. 

“pretty much,” you shrugged, taking another fry from the plate. “somehow, being in my own bed in my room gets claustrophobic and i just can’t help but worry about things i should be doing or haven’t done. you know, usual twenty-something problems.”

“well, there is something to look forward to after all that,” tsukishima crossed his arms. you glanced up at him. “climate change.”

you threw a fry at him. “i hate you.”

“it’s the truth!” tsukishima protested. “also, is that any way to talk to someone who’s been trying to help you out?”

“awww, you’ve been trying to help me out all this time?” you gushed, despite the flutter in your chest at having your suspicions finally confirmed.

“i-i mean,” tsukishima stammered, trying to save himself from his slip-up. “well, you just looked so pitiful coming in every night and just eating shitty fries and staring at the wall.”

“that’s true,” you laughed. “but, thanks, i guess. for helping me out in your own salty way.”

“you’re welcome.”

your smile at tsukishima’s response turned into a yawn. “is me boring you to death adding to you feeling sleepy because i guess i’m doing a pretty good job,” he said.

“haha, very funny tsukishima,” you yawned again. “well, let’s hope i’m still sleepy when i get home.” 

“if you want,” tsukishima rubbed the back of his head. “the staff room is actually pretty okay-looking. there’s a couch and everything so...”

“are you inviting me to sleep in the staff room?” 

“well, if you make it sound that way--”

you interrupted him by standing up. “that better be a comfortable couch then.”

...

tsukishima really didn’t want to be like edward ‘sparkle vampire’ cullen and be a creep who watches you sleep but he just couldn’t help it. at first, he thought it would take you quite a while to even close your eyes but you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the couch. the way you were curled up on one side using your hands as a cushion reminded tsukishima of a sleeping cat and he had subconsciously stopped breathing in fear that he would wake you up.

when he first signed up for a job manning the graveyard shift at a diner, tsukishima never expected he would meet a girl who came in every night because she couldn’t sleep and eat fries at two in the morning. neither did he expect he would fall in love with her. 

carefully, tsukishima set down your puzzle board on the coffee table, wincing slightly when he made a noise but you were still deep asleep. he looked down at the partially finished puzzle before methodically picking up pieces and joining them effortlessly together. after all, it was his own puzzle set. 

tsukishima finished just in time for the employee in charge of the next shift to come in for the morning rush. usually, he’d just be in a hurry to leave to try snatch a few hours of sleep for his class. but right now, it was a trivial thing compared to the fact that you were peacefully asleep. 

half an hour later, tsukishima would gently shake you awake because another employee was coming in. you would see the finished puzzle on the table and ironically piece everything together. like tsukishima, the thought of leaving the diner wouldn’t even cross your mind. 

even though eating fries at three a.m. with you wasn’t like anything tsukishima would ever experience, he wanted nothing more than to have breakfast with you. 

***********************************************

taglist (still open to anyone who wants in!): @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan@therainroguefanfiction @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh@charliefredb @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @tpwkatsumu  @waitforitillwritemywayout 

[homeformyheart]

ice cream - mason x f!detective (twc)

day 3 - date

author’s note: inching toward relationship mason fluff, enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – mason x f!detective (ria knight) rating/warnings: 14+; fluff, swearing word count: 1.2k based on/prompt: day 3 – date from #28dateswithunitbravo challenge by @wayhavenmonthly. summary: to ria’s surprise, mason insists their outing counts as a date.

ice cream

ria wrapped her scarf around her neck twice before stepping out of the station, bracing herself for the cold winter chill that had settled on wayhaven like a fog that refused to leave. mason had taken to picking her up when her shift was over, initially under the guise that it was part of their increased patrols of the town, but after a few weeks of it, they fell into a rhythm and didn’t even notice that she stopped teasing him and he stopped insisting it was only because of adam’s orders.

it was days like this though that she felt bad he still insisted on walking her home, his teeth chattering as he waited for her and skin icy to the touch no matter how many layers he had on. she wasn’t sure exactly why he did it since it wouldn’t be unreasonable for the team to take turns and help alleviate mason’s exposure to extreme weather, but he insisted in his own quiet, but firm way and shut down any attempted discussion.

not that she was complaining, of course. she enjoyed spending time with him,  comforting was not a word she thought she’d ever use to describe mason, but that’s what it was. there was something oddly comforting about his presence. and she never expected to be this kind of comfortable with someone, especially after the disaster that was her relationship with bobby marks.

the walk to the square was brisk. as much as she enjoyed winter, she didn’t want to risk frostbite in the below freezing weather, and she was sure mason felt similarly, even if he refused to admit it.

“how are you doing?”

although typically a normal question to ask, it still caught ria by surprise when mason showed genuine interest in her life and wellbeing. of course, some of that was to be expected given the increase in trapper activity lately around the town. they had been frustratingly and worryingly busy because of it all.

“i’m hanging in there, all things considered,” she replied honestly. the look on mason’s face told her he didn’t quite believe her, but she didn’t want to think about it any longer.

that self-defense tactic served her very well throughout her life and she wasn’t going to stop now. she looked up for some sort of distraction and realized they were coming up on her favorite ice cream parlor.

“let’s stop here for a sec. i’m going to get some ice cream,” she said, grabbing mason’s arm and tugging him into the little corner shop.

“it’s fucking freezing and you want ice cream?” he asked, his face pinched in disgust.

ria just laughed and ordered at the counter. “it’s weird, i know. but sometimes people want a cold dessert while it’s cold out.”

“i really don’t understand humans,” he muttered under his breath as she moved to the cashier.

she shrugged and pulled out her wallet but froze when mason put his hand on hers and gave the cashier a crisp bill from his pocket instead.

“what are you doing?” she asked as she put her wallet back and grabbed her ice cream from the clerk.

“you were moving too slow, that’s all,” mason said as he turned to walk quickly towards the door, but his voice was missing its typical snark.

maybe he really was warming up to her, she mused inwardly, a smile creeping on her face as she joined him outside, the sun just starting to dip towards the tree line, softening the air around the square.

mason’s shoulders hunched forward even further, and ria could hear his teeth chattering.

“i really don’t know why you’re subjecting yourself to this. you really should have one of the other guys escort me home when it’s really cold,” she said, her voice only slightly laced with annoyance as she handed him her ice cream cone. “hold this.”

he held his arm out to the side to make sure the ice cream didn’t get on either of them as she unwrapped her scarf from her neck and looped it around his, doubling the layer so the warm fabric sat high enough on top of his existing scarf to cover his chin.

he stared at her incredulously as she placed her earmuffs around him as well, his eyes swirling with a softness she hadn’t seen before. he looked amazed as though the idea that someone might care enough about his well-being to sacrifice theirs a little had never occurred to him as a possibility. his grey eyes swirled with vulnerability and ria avoided looking right at him given the intensity she found there threatened to overwhelm her.

“how’s that?” she asked, stepping away to admire her handiwork and simultaneously grabbing her ice cream back from him.

“warm,” was all he said as he slung an arm back over her shoulders and led her toward a bench in the square.

luckily the bench was dry and clear of snow, although that didn’t help the cold from seeping through her jeans. mason kept his arm slung around her shoulders but stuffed his other hand deep in his pants pocket. ria could tell he was still shivering, but it didn’t seem as violent as it had when she first saw him outside the station.

“ria!” she looked up to see tina excitedly running towards them, her too-long scarf flapping in the wind behind her.

“hey tina,” ria said quietly, knowing that tina’s boisterous personality had a tendency to rub mason the wrong way.

“look at you two, cozying up on a date,” tina teased.

the cold ice cream caught in ria’s throat and she coughed. “this is not a date. i told you we’re not dating,” she insisted, making an effort to avoid looking at mason.

tina looked back and forth between them. “i don’t know, you’re spending time alone together, i assume he bought you the ice cream since he’s not eating anything himself. sounds like a date to me,” she said in a singsong voice that had ria cringing internally.

“what qualifies as a date to you?” mason asked before ria could respond, with genuine curiosity in his voice, something ria hadn’t really noticed from him before.

tina looked as though she was just told she won a big prize. “well, a date is when two people who like each other romantically do something together. one person usually plans an outing and pays for things like dinner or a movie. especially if the relationship is still new,” tina explained, putting too much emphasis on the word “new.”

ria rolled her eyes. “it’s kind of stupid for one person to be expected to pay for things and besides, mason and i both agree that dating is overrated.”

mason’s arm tensed around her shoulders and she looked at him quizzically. “the bobblehead is right,” he interjected quickly.

tina laughed, “what did you call me?”

“sorry, tina. mason has a nickname for everyone,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “although you’re supposed to keep those to yourself.”

he chose to ignore her and continued his original train of thought. “i’m saying she’s right. we’re spending time together and i bought you that ice cream. this counts as a date.”

now it’s her turn to stare at him incredulously. he looked away at her scrutinizing gaze even as his arm around her shoulder tightened and pulled her closer.

ria’s lips quirked up into a small smile before she schooled her features, sharing a quick, knowing glance with tina who gave her a wink before walking away.

* * * * * permatag: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart​; @writer-ish; @fhauvilles;

[otherworldly-healer]

Raine sat down at her office desk warily examining the envelope that held her name on it. She had placed it there earlier after checking the mailbox. Taking a shower and getting into clean clothes after trekking through the forest all day was a more pressing matter. Then dinner, lesson plans, and a few chores stole her attention. After everyone else had returned to their rooms for the night she finally got around to investigating the letter. 

She noted it didn’t have a return address. It was rare if ever that she got mail that wasn’t some sort of advertisement for a business or an announcement of activities at the University or other community hub. Most correspondence was much easier on the telephone or meeting in person, so whatever it was it must have been formal. She unfolded her reading glasses and turned on the lamp to begin reading.

Professor Raine Sage,

I've been told I'm better at expressing myself in written word than spoken, and I'm inclined to agree. Even so, I'm not looking forward to writing this; I haven't written a letter in some years, and our relationship is complicated enough in normal circumstances.

I'm writing several letters now as a contingency. In the event I should disappear from the island before I find the courage to say these things aloud, I've given instructions for them to be delivered. If you're reading this, then I am no longer in Spirale. I suppose it's possible that you're reading this letter while I'm still here, but as I've entrusted these letters to one of my dearest and most reliable friends, I won't bother entertaining the thought.

A part of me is grateful that I won't have to deal with the fallout when these letters are first opened. For that, and for everything, I am sorry. On the other hand, it's entirely possible that I will return tomorrow and have to face the immediate consequences. But there's no way to predict what will happen, and I'd rather have those difficult conversations than leave, potentially for good, without a word.

Out of all of Spirale's victims from our world, I chose to write to you because I trust you are the most capable of understanding my intentions.

In my wake, I've left a path of devastation almost as wide as Yggdrasill's. I can't excuse the things I have done, nor would I want to; to try would be an insult to every life sacrificed, and despite what you may think of me, I cannot accept such callousness.

And yet, I must try to convince myself that there is a way to atone - that I am not irredeemable. I must believe that I can make a difference. It's naive - childish, even - but if I consider my current actions as useless, what hope can I have to actually make a change?

If I can't undo the past, I will do what I can to better the future. That is what I believe. It has taken me six years since my arrival to put it into words, but I believe I have felt that way deep down for a long time.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to act on that belief in Spirale, at least for some time. And that brings me to the point of this letter: I want you to remind me of this.

When people leave and return, their memories are sometimes altered or erased. I believe it due to the nature of the differing timelines between the island and its targeted worlds, but that's all I can say. Ironically, I can't remember if I ever told you this. It's a very real possibility that, should I return at all, I will not remember any of the experiences here that have shaped me.

I can remember who I was when I first arrived. The thought of being like that again scares me.

That isn't to say I expect you to restore my memories, nor do I expect you to try. If I do return as the bitter, apathetic person I was before, I doubt you would be able to convince me anyway. I simply ask that you tell me what I have said here - that no matter how hopeless it must seem, I must try.

I won't burden you with any other messages, though you are free to tell the others what I've written here. I pray that we get the chance to meet again, even if it is while I am someone else.

Take care, Yuan Ka-Fai

She had to reread the contents a few times before fully processing what was written. Even then she felt a rush of conflicting emotion that she couldn’t quite describe. He was really gone? Just like that?

She couldn’t understand him. He would write to her because he felt she was the most responsible one? He didn’t say that he trusted her personally, just that he trusted that she could understand his intentions. It made some sense, admittedly, rather than burdening one of the younger members of the group. Still, she couldn’t help but feel weighed down by this task that he had given her. To always have to be the mature voice, to be composed and weigh all perspectives, felt a bit unfair. Yet she had never been one to ever vocalize that she was being overwhelmed. Yuan and her weren’t close. Would this task not be better served to someone else? Was she just a last-case scenario, in case others had disappeared as well? Surely that must be all.

She had had little reason to keep checking her phone during these eclipses. Ever since Genis had arrived, she had little reason to keep obsessing over who had come and gone from this island. And while she felt a stinging loneliness when Colette and a melancholy when Six had disappeared, they had come back the same people. In her experience it seemed to happen more often than not. She knew from prior conversations with Yuan himself that it was possible for people to come here differently—Mithos had once been from four thousand years ago, and many of her companions such as Sheena had come from different times in their Journey. 

Of course it was possible. But she didn’t want to think about it. If she allowed herself to, that bubble of optimism that she’d been trying to build would surely burst again-- as fragile as it already was. She wanted to enjoy her time here to just be herself. She wanted to have a home and not have to be a historical figure, a leader for her race. Despite setbacks she was happy here; at times more content than she had ever been in her entire life. But time and time again the reality of this place threatened to take that all away. How long would it be before someone she was closer with would be spirited away back to their home plane? What if they came back, but had no recollection of ever meeting her? 

No. No. No. I’m so damn tired of starting over! That’s all my life has been! Hit a dead end, regroup, turn on my heel, and set off again. Pretend that it doesn’t hurt. Pretend that it is inevitable. Right when I’d been foolish enough to begin to feel comfortable in this city.

Yuan had done it again. What a frustratingly cowardly man. Even going so far as to say he’d be glad that he wasn’t there to deal with the fallout of the letters. He would speak with her briefly and leave her with some worrying information while having no answers for what to do with said information. No plan of action. Just a looming threat to be wary of. Raine could feel anger welling up as she ran her hand through her bangs. Her fist pounded the table, rattling the cup set next to her on a coaster. 

Of course after four thousand years he had never had answers before, why should she expect it to be any different now? A man of inaction. Indifference. And yet he still insisted that he had changed. Waver had insisted that his past didn’t matter in this place, but she couldn’t agree. Experiences and memories formed who people were. Yuan had admitted to his mistakes but she hadn’t known him well enough to tell if he had really devoted himself to changing. Besides her, how many of her companions had he approached and expressed his desire to atone? To build that better future?

She still had so much to say to him. So much to ask him. She hadn’t had enough time. As infuriating as it was, Yuan had been incredibly helpful with acclimating herself to the city. He was a straightforward voice that helped dispel confusion. She wanted to understand him better, but to the professor it felt like he was always trying to hide from her and the rest. Complicated was right. She had respect for him. She hated his guts. They shared more commonalities as half-elves that she cared to admit. Raine could never forgive how he hardened his heart to overlook the damage he caused through negligence. How turning into an angel had tainted him and his view of mortals as expendable. She was conflicted. In another time and place, she could have even seen them as friends with their common interests. It was just too hard to divorce him from his past actions in her mind. Not completely.

Yet…she had to admit there was a heart there somewhere deep down. She’d seen it, briefly, on more than one occasion. The one time that Yuan had let a glimmer of his emotions show. That one argument they had at the club. He was desperate to make amends. He repeated that wish here in the letter. To acknowledge how much of a hand he had in perpetuating the cycle of violence and hatred in Aselia. Even if those things could not be forgiven, at least he was not running from them. That alone proved that he had changed. 

She didn’t want to believe that it was too late for anyone. 

She needed to have hope that people could change if they wanted to. 

She refused to ever let go of that plea.

In her eyes he wasn’t irredeemable. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still too scared to actually face any of them. Meetings were always sporadic, and they had spent a fair share of their time working in the same place avoiding one another. She’d said it time and again…adults were troublesome creatures, stubborn and often stuck in their ways. Deeply complex and entangled in their own doubts and fears. Her included. She had to have compassion for that.

“You better believe that I will hold you to that, Yuan,” she whispered. Raine let the letter rest on her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes stung as if forcing back tears.

No, I refuse to be upset by this!

...though it was much too late.

 The half-elf closed her eyes and took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling. Her hands curled around the sides of the letter, causing the page to wrinkle. “To write me of all people a last message. What are you thinking? It sounds almost like a will.” She reached over to her phone to check the contact list and…sure enough, Yuan’s name had vanished.

“If you come back with all of your memories intact, you’ll truly be sorry.” She folded the letter back into its envelope and took her glasses off. 

“Whatever happens next, don’t ever stop trying. You’ve gotten too far to give up now.” But she was merely talking to herself. Her words would no longer reach him. Hopefully someday in the future she would have the opportunity to say that to his face.

[razorblade180]

Venqua Week:Music

“When you-gah! No, that’s not right. When- ugh! Come on Ventus, you can do this!” The boy said, frustratingly tuning a guitar. He had been at this for months now. It all started when Namine moved into the Land of Departure with him, Terra, and Aqua. The boy had stumbled upon her drawings and by extension, the arts itself. He was completely hooked. Outside of fighting, Ventus didn’t have much time to explore possible talents. He was determined to find a hobby he was good at! It took all of ten minutes of Namine teaching him about color theory for him to realize that maybe literal art wasn’t his calling.

That’s when Namine recommended music. Seemed like a good idea. He didn’t want to brag, but Ventus always thought he was a bit musically inclined. Between dancing and the ice cream beat machine, he thought learning an actual instrument would come easy. Wrong! It was critically difficult! Three months into learning guitar and his confidence was was fading like the golden sunset that washed over him as he sat at the edge of the trio’s stargazing spot. Ventus played a few more strings and sighed. It didn’t sound off. Honestly it never was. The problem was his nerves. Ventus was trying to be a perfectionist with the only song he’s been able to learn so far. All for a special someone, Aqua.

He had always had certain feelings for his friend, but expressing them was beyond impossible. Any time he tried to show her a cooler, more mature side of himself it never worked out. He’d either screw up really hard, or Aqua would do her pretty little giggle while patting his head like he was some sort of puppy. He was not a puppy darn it! Ventus wanted to at least be a cooler, older anime. Something like a fox or a leopard. Just once, he wanted to leave Aqua speechless. He thought a singing to her would be his best bet. His face face grew redder at the thought of her listening to the song in awe, her deep blue eyes captivated by his feelings.

“Geez, I’m so hopeless.” He said, covering his face. Ventus turned his head towards his master’s keyblade that rested peacefully just several feet away. He wondered if Master Eraqus had any hidden talents? No way keyblade wielding was his only gift. If Aqua’s fighting style was any indication, the old man was probably a bunch of fun on the dance floor. The thought of him doing even half the moves Aqua did was enough to make Ventus laugh lightly. Once again he strummed his guitar. “Oh master, you think I stand a chance?”

“Stand a chance at what?” A voice asked from behind. Ven’s face went bright red, then pale in a less than a second when he realized it was Aqua. She smiled her beautiful smile like she always did and held a crown of flowers in her hand.

“A-Aqua!?” He stammered, “W-What brings you up here....!?” He wanted to hit himself right now. The answer to that was quite literally in front of him.

“Changing out Master Eraqus’s flowers” she answered anyways. Aqua walked over to the memorial and did just that. The old ones weren’t dead yet, but their color was obviously starting to fade. Still, they looked rather pretty. So pretty in fact, Aqua took it upon herself to sat right next to ventus and hang it around neck. “Wow, I’m a little surprised it passed your hair so easily. I thought it would sit on top.” She teased, ruffling the wild dew.

“Hey! It’s not that spiky! Also my head would have to massive for it to sit on top!” He pouted. Why is always a head rub!? This time he was minding his own business and still wound up like this. “Do you have a thing with my hair or something? You’re always doing stuff like this.”

“Of course. You always pout and turn red. It’s cute.” She answered, watching him get redder. Aqua couldn’t help herself. Teasing Ven like this was just irresistible. “So, what is it that you were trying to stand a chance in? Maybe I can help?”

“What? Oh! Umm it was nothing! Just talking aloud is all.” Lying was not a strength Ventus had.

“Really?” Aqua said sarcastically. She reached over to the guitar in his arms and ran her fingers across the strings, making a subtle but pleasant sound from it. “Nothing to do with the acoustic currently in your hands?” She looked at the blue eyes that were inches away and avoiding contact. Aqua tilted her head, a bit confused by Ven’s shyness. “Ven, I’m not a mind reader. Tell me what’s up?”

“If you read minds then you know mine only has you in it.” He thought to himself. “I’m just having a little trouble with a song I wanna sing. I learned all the notes and everything, but I get anxious anytime it comes to playing the whole thing.”

“How come?”

“I’m...self conscious is all.” It wasn’t a lie but it was certainly vague. “Any time I think about singing it the way I intend to, I get worried if it sounds bad or if I look like an idiot.” Ven could feel his heart beating so loudly that he was afraid Aqua might here it. Here being this close was nothing new, yet it too much to deal with.m right now moved back a little by pretending to readjust how he was sitting.

Aqua could the boys hand fidget a little. He wasn’t kidding at all about feeling anxious. She had never seen him so flustered when it came to things like this. Aqua had caught him a few times over the past few months really putting an effort into learning when nobody was around. She had even secretly caught him sneaking off early in the morning to find a place to practice. Learning this song must’ve been really important. For Aqua, that only left one response to this.

“Can I hear it?”

Ven was going to have a heart attack. “What!?”

“I wanna hear it.” She repeated, “We’re often our own worst critics. If you only play with no one around then you might always think it needs improvement, so let me hear it. I’ll give my honest opinion!” She said, excited to listen.

“That’s the one thing that scares me!!!” Ventus could not believe this was happening. How was he supposed to explain to her that she couldn’t listen because he was doing it all for her!? She even gave a valid reason for helping! “Oh, no I uh- you don’t have to do all that! Hehe, I just-” he stopped when he saw Aqua move to sit on her knees. His crush sat patiently with her hands resting her hands on her lap, a heart stealing smile still on her face. Here she was. Here they were. Two people bathed in the golden light of a sunset. Warm air and breath stealing views anywhere you looked. A gentle breeze made Aqua run a finger across her face. All attention was on him. Well, no time like the present right? Ven stood no chance of resisting with a face like that.

He sat facing her, legs crossed. He new his face was still red and the sound of his beating heart hadn’t gotten any calmer. However, a comfort came from that with a mix of excitement. An honest truth about his feelings. He really had fallen for her and wanting nothing more to express his feelings with all of his heart.

“Aqua...can I ask a favor?” He somehow managed to say. “Can you...close you eyes while I sing to you?”

The request was surprising but understandable. This was more about sound then sight anyways. “Okay.” She closed her eyes in earnest. “Ready...” For some reason Aqua felt herself get a little embarrassed as well. She hoped it didn’t show on her face.

Ventus took the deepest breath he could. Mustering his resolve and composing himself, Ventus began to strum.

🎶When you walk away, you don't hear me say

"Please, oh baby, don't go."

Simple and clean

Is the way that you're making me feel tonight

It's hard to let it go....🎶

Yeah, Aqua could totally feel herself starting to blush. Ven was only a few lyrics in, but she couldn’t think of a time she heard a more stunning voice.

🎶You're giving me, too many things, lately

You're all I need, oh~

You smiled at me and said...

"Don't get me wrong, I love you

But does that mean I have to meet your father?"

When we are older, you'll understand what I meant when I said

"No, I don't think life is quite that simple"

When you walk away, you don't hear me say

"Please, oh baby, don't go."

Simple and clean

Is the way that you're making me feel tonight

It's hard to let it go🎶

Ventus felt his nerves melt away as he kept playing. His mind was too focused on the notes to worry. Too focused on the girl in front of him. He was starting to find his stride.

The daily things, Like this and that and what is what

That keep us all... busy are confusing me~

That's when you came to me and said

"Wish I could prove I love you but does that mean I have to walk on water?"

When we are older, you'll understand it's enough when I say so

And maybe some things are that simple.

When-🎶

His serenade was unexpectedly cut short. Aqua had reached for his hand and stopped him from playing. Ven’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, nothing but dread filled his thoughts. Did she hate it? Why else would he stop him midway. He would’ve asked, but Ventus couldn’t find the words. Not out of fear, but because of the look on Aqua’s face. Her calm demeanor was entirely gone. A the warmest smile Ven has ever laid eyes on was on her face with rose red cheeks. “A-Aqua...?” He finally spoke.

“S...sorry.” She spoke, “it’s just...well....” finding the words was a little difficult. Aqua couldn’t help but laugh at her own skittishness. “You confessing to me like this might be a little more than my heart can handle.” There, she said it. She watched a Ven’s eyes start getting bigger and bigger while his face tried rivaling hers in terms of red.

“Y...You knew I-”

“Of course.” Aqua giggled, “I watch you just as much as you watch me you know? Because...I like you...too. A lot.”

Ventus must’ve been dreaming. Chirithy has to have put him in a special dream. It’s the only way this made sense. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Like he was one to talk.

Aqua rubbed the back of her neck, “I’m not very good with this kind of stuff. Even though I had a feeling you liked me, I just couldn’t find the nerve. Then I started thinking about how I could be wrong and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I kept finding reasons to keep quiet. But next thing I know is I started thinking more and more about these feelings sense we got back home and I-” Aqua jumped at the touch of Ven’s hand grab hers. She’s glad he did it, or else she might’ve rambled for hours.

A pressure weighed on their chest. One that was slowly pulling them together. The two of them couldn’t speak, only lean closer. They wanted the same thing. They knew it buy all the blushing moments and not so secret glances. Aqua moved the guitar away from Ven to get even closer. Ven invited the approach by tugging her hand closer to him. Her face had to be only inches away. Way to far for his liking. Aqua finally spoke.

“I think we should both close our eyes this time.” She said, flustered by her own suggestion. She was glad she managed to say it though. The moment his eyes closed, Aqua understood why he asked before. Filled with ease and courage, Aqua pressed her lips against the ones that had just serenaded her moments ago. Neither kept track how long they remained like this and neither cared. The only thing that mattered was it had finally happened; and it was only going to keep happening for many days to come.

[many thanks to @venquaweek because fun fact, I’ve had this music idea for three years and never wrote it 😂]

[vs-redemption]

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch.21)

Chapter Twenty-One: The New Serum (HawksxGN!Reader)

A/N: Hello readers! First of all, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who is still reading/following this story! We’re nearing the end now, and I only anticipate a few more chapters. (Famous last words) Also, I’m sorry for the lack of Hawks in this one, but hopefully you are enjoying everything happening with the mad doctor!

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting!

Warnings:  

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga.

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga

Tag List: @gayforkeigo @marshmallow-witch @redflannel @toyo-shiro @elsasshole @astronomyturtle @iambashfulperson

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

“Don’t you feel guilty helping me when your boyfriend is a hero?” Shigaraki’s piercing red glare follows you as you move around the lab underneath Jaku Hospital, constantly keeping you on edge and fearful for your life. You hadn’t anticipated having him as a regular visitor after the first encounter, but thankfully you were getting better at keeping your composure in high stress situations. Over the past few days you’d run dozens of tests and simulations using Shigaraki’s blood, and you knew you were getting closer to the day when you’d actually have to do the real procedure on the villain. You weren’t sure which possible outcome of the experiment you feared worse.

If things went well and you managed to transfer All For One’s quirk, Shigaraki would be even more powerful than before. Would there even be anybody strong enough to take him down at that point? How many people would be hurt or killed thanks to your assistance? The other scenario was if the experiment failed and Shigaraki died or his DNA became too mutated for him to function normally. That would most likely get you a target on your back with the League of Villains. But, for all you knew, they might be planning to kill you just as soon as this was all over anyway.

“I’ve hardly seen my boyfriend in weeks, except in passing,” you respond to the villain as flatly as you can while gesturing for his arm so you could take another vial of his blood. You wished Dr. Garaki would get the samples for himself, but he was currently in the second lab doing status checks on all his terrifying high end nomus. “The hero commission has kept Hawks very busy lately.”

“The hero commission, huh?” Shigaraki narrows his eyes at you before thrusting out his arm. He hated all the poking and prodding you’d been doing to his body, but knew it was the only way for him to eventually get the ultimate power he so desperately craved. That didn’t stop him from whining and complaining like a child sometimes though. “A perfect example of why I hate heroes.”

“What do you mean?” You ask as you fill up a syringe with his blood. It thankfully only took a few seconds. The less direct contact you had with the villain the better.

“They spend all their time risking their lives for other people,” Shigaraki explains as you put a bandage over the spot on his arm where you’d poked him with the needle. He started scratching at the dry, flaking skin on his neck with the chipped nails of his free hand. You’d noticed him doing this whenever he got himself agitated over something. It was a disturbing habit that you wish he’d try to control. “None of the heroes give a second thought to how they’re neglecting their families and loved ones.”

“Hmm,” you ponder over his words as you prepare a sample of the doctor’s newest concoction that he hoped would seamlessly bind Shigaraki’s DNA with All For One’s. Using the deductions of your quirk, you’d decided to start playing around with polarity of the villain’s DNA molecules. The goal was to trick the nucleotides from the two samples into bonding together more cohesively even though they were naturally non-polar.

“Perhaps there’s some truth to that,” you admit calmly, wondering if he really cared about the families of heroes when he didn’t seem to have any issue with disintegrating entire cities full of people. “And let me tell you, as a scientist, I understand your desire to want everyone to fit into perfect categories that follow the same sets of rules. There are always going to be outliers though. Some people can fit comfortably into multiple categories while others, frustratingly, seem to be in a category of their own.” You pause in your ramblings to look back at the villain who was glaring at you with enough intensity to give you chills. You force yourself to let out a small laugh before turning back to the slides you were working on. “Even though I don’t see Hawks that often right now,” you shrug, “I think he’d be there for me if I really needed him.”

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Shigaraki had an eerie smirk on his face and it was a relief to see that it seemed he had no clue about how much you actually did know.

“There are definitely secrets about myself I’m keeping from him,” you gesture between yourself and the villain to show your meaning, even though it was a lie. “So you’re probably right about that.”

Thankfully you weren’t forced to have any more small talk with Shigaraki because the doctor finally came back through the creepy hidden tunnel, looking more or less satisfied with the progress of his nomus. You knew he wished they’d move toward completion at a faster pace, but the way he was manipulating DNA was already unstable enough without trying to rush the process.

“Did you test the new serum?” he asks once he finishes locking up the secret entrance.

“Not yet,” you tell him. “I was just about to.” He comes over and watches you push the slide with Shigaraki’s blood underneath the nearest microscope before adding a small drop of the new serum to the sample. You activate your quirk and press your face against the eyepiece to observe the results in as much detail as possible. Slowly, you watched as the two DNA samples fused together. You were used to this part by now, even though it still blew your mind sometimes. The difference this time was that the merged chromosomes looked completely normal, unlike the bulky mutated ones that made up the nomus.

“I can’t believe it,” you mumble to yourself, both out of awe and fear.

“Did it work?” Shigaraki asks impatiently.

“Wait,” you shush him more aggressively than you probably should have, but the chromosomes on the slide had suddenly begun to dissolve and break apart. Before you could deliver that bad news, the broken DNA inexplicably began to reform. “Something is happening.” You continue watching for a moment as the chromosomes break and repair themselves in a constant loop. You back away from the microscope to look at the doctor, your mind already working to figure out the secret behind the phenomenon. “It worked… sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of?!” Shigaraki sounded annoyed but the doctor remained calm.

“What happened?” he asks.

“The samples blended perfectly this time,” you explain, “but it’s still unstable. The DNA is simultaneously destroying and repairing itself. Take a look.” The doctor pulls over a stool so that he can reach the microscope to peer into the lens. What he sees makes him smile and bounce on his feet with excitement. He backs away from the microscope and hops off the stool.

“I know exactly why this is happening,” Dr. Garaki was beaming. “Good news Shigaraki! I don’t think you’ll have to wait much longer now.”

As usual, you had a lot of objections, but it was pointless to try and talk him into slowing down. Shigaraki wanted his power as soon as possible, and the doctor wasn’t going to make him wait any longer than absolutely necessary. Even if it was dangerous to use the leader of the villains as the first test subject, you knew they would do it anyway.

“It’s because the DNA was able to fuse perfectly,” the doctor turns his attention to you, “All For One’s regeneration quirk must have been activated. I anticipate that this sample will continue to try and fix itself until it finds a way to stabilize.”

The mere possibility of that being true astonished you. If the doctor wasn’t a madman who planned to turn an already dangerous villain into an unstoppable force of evil, he could do so much good with the discovery you both had just made. There were so many people who suffered with self-destructive quirks that would benefit from a serum like this. You wondered if Shigaraki’s skin problems would be alleviated after the procedure.

With a regenerating serum, so many exciting possibilities had just opened up. It was just too bad that you were stuck in such a messed up situation. You’d told the doctor that you weren’t going to judge him for helping the League of Vilains with the information you gathered, but you hadn’t expected him to have you work with Shigaraki directly. It worried you that you would be forced to go through with this insane idea soon. The silver lining was that, like the nomus, Shigaraki’s procedure would probably take quite a while to complete. You had no idea exactly how long it would take for All For One’s DNA to integrate with Shigaraki’s completely, but you had to imagine rewiring someone’s genes took time. It most likely was going to be excruciating for the villain as well. You wondered if he’d even survive if his DNA was going to be destroying and repairing itself over and over again.

“What are you thinking?” Dr. Garaki’s question pulls you out of your thoughts.

“I’m thinking we can check on the progress of this sample tomorrow,” you tell him almost robotically. You couldn’t let the implications of what you were doing affect you now. You had to continue to play the morally neutral scientist. “We can try to calculate the rate of repair to see if the regeneration is even working the way you think it is. Once we know that much, we’ll probably be able to predict just how long the procedure will take to complete.”

“Good idea!” the doctor claps his hands once. “Let’s start recording as much data as we can now with your quirk so we can come up with an accurate timeline later.”

The two of you set to work while Shigaraki watches and complains about there being nothing to do. You envied him of having the luxury of his biggest concern at the moment being his boredom. There were so many worries occupying your mind at present that being bored was far from being possible. You were already dreading having to inform Hawks of everything that had happened that day. If the Hero Commission didn’t find a way to put a stop to the villains before Shigaraki’s procedure was completed, there would be no limit to the amount of destruction he’d be able to cause.

[solowkeytony]

Trial and error as they say... Let me know what y'all think

Don't stop the Devil

(Lucifer Morningstar x Reader)

Summary: you are the immortal that Lucifer falls in love with.

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Word count: 2499 words

Full of angst. You've been warned

"Wow, that's a very interesting story brother." Amenadiel teased as he drinks the whiskey his brother gave to him.

Lucifer glared at him, "you don't believe me? Well, It's true! The girl walked away after I rejected her offer to make love in the backseat of her parents' car." he snapped as he finds his way towards the sit in front of his piano with a whiskey on his hand.

"It's not that I didn't want to. She just has to ask nicer rather than pushing me inside the backseat" he continued while playing a tune in the piano.

"Look, brother, I believe you... But did you ever love someone who is the same as us? Let's say...Immortal?" Amenadiel wondered as he stands in front of his brother.

Lucifer looked at him with a confused look before sipping his whiskey and putting it on top of his piano, "of course I do brother. What did you think of me? A boring angel just like you?" he joked.

"Yeah right." He sniggered and looked at his brother realizing that he wasn't joking.

"Wait... Are you serious?" he continued.

Lucifer angrily looked at him, "Do you think I'll make a joke about my reputation?" he glowered.

Amenadiel sat at his brother's sofa and looked at him like he's waiting for him to say something.

Lucifer looked at him, "What?!" he hissed.

"you're not gonna tell me who she is?" Amenadiel asked.

"Well you could've said something rather than waiting for me to talk about it." he answered as he brushed his hand against his suit. He looked at Amenadiel as he sipped the last of his whiskey.

Amenadiel sits properly and also drank his whiskey down and looked at his brother, ready to listen to whatever he's going to say.

"It was before the rebellion. Well, when I was still an angel, one of yours." he recalled as he points at his brother, Amenadiel nodded.

"She's different from the others, she's everything I ever wish for. She's perfect." Lucifer continues.

Amenadiel laughed as he hears the word perfect. "Aren't we all perfect?" he chuckled.

"You know what I mean brother. Don't act like a fool." Lucifer interrupts.

Amenadiel smiled at him and asked, "what's her name? I bet its beautiful as herself... Based on your description, of course." he exclaimed.

Lucifer smiled as he recalls, "y/n. Her name is y/n" he said. Amenadiel looked at him shockingly, "are you serious?" he asked.

Lucifer laughed as he stood up to go to his room's bar to pour himself another glass of whiskey.  His brother walks towards him, "did you just told me that you liked one of the fiercest warriors in heaven?" he asked, startled.

"well, I suppose... Yeah, I liked her... No, not like- I loved her." he concluded.

Amenadiel looked at him sadly, "I'm sorry. I should've not pushed this conversation" he sighed seating on chair at the bar.

"No brother, It's fine." Lucifer insisted before sipping on his glass of whiskey as he pats his brother's shoulder.

"She was elegant, perfect and everything that I hope for... She was my everything." he continues as he walks towards his balcony looking at the big view of the city while sipping his whiskey.

Amenadiel looks at Lucifer. He knows that he still mourns for her after all these years. If he only knew about Lucifer's feelings towards her, he could have saved her. 

He could have stopped time and saved her.

"It all started when we're still adolescents, still training and prepping for the Armageddon... She wanted to fight me because apparently, she hates me more than any of you." he chuckled. 

Amenadiel smiled as he remembers those days... How they always train with the warriors and the way he beats every single one of them except y/n... And Lucifer, which he never fought...

"And still she never wins." Lucifer murmured with a smile on his face.

"Neither you." Amenadiel continued.

Lucifer glanced at him for a second, then looked back at the view.

"That's when I knew that there was something... That I am willing to get tose over and over again if it means that I get to see her in her best." he continued as he sips his whiskey.

Amenadiel walks towards Lucifer and patted his back. "I never knew you care for her brother... Please forgive me." he sighed.

Lucifer glanced at him then smiled, "Very well then. Now that I told you I loved an immortal before... I just proved you wrong" he exclaimed as he drinks the very last of his whiskey.

"So what did I win?" he asked while walking towards his piano to play 

•chorus of Not about Angels•

Amenadiel looked at him as he plays, "I guess you're right.. Your ego not getting hurt will be fine as a prize right? Hey! I think I should go now before I get late for my dinner with Linda." he babbled.

"What did you just tell me-.. Yeah yeah, go on!" Lucifer yelled as his brother run towards the elevator.

He continues playing the piano.

After he's done pouring out his emotions and Amenadiel already left his penthouse, he walks towards the bar to pour another glass of whiskey.

He sits at his sofa and waited for hours to drove by...

"It was really my fault... I'm sorry my y/n" he whispered

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

"Lucifer?"  y/n asked as she opened her eyes.. she heard someone entering their room.

"Did I wake you up darling?" Lucifer asked anxiously for he might have woken up y/n as he peeks at her from their bedroom door.

"No, It's fine." she smiled as she pats the space beside her in their bed inviting him in.

He smirks at the gesture and sat at their bed beside her. 

"So how did it go love?" she murmured as she sat up and caresses his face, he looks at her worriedly before looking down holding her other hand.

 She nodded having an idea of what happened, "Did not go quite well I see." she resumed.

"They were not what they used to be y/n ... Dad was too busy making humanity and then Mom... She-... She was too busy hating them! They forgot about us, love... Their children... Me Amenadiel, Azrael, Uriel- Everyone! The one that they made together!" he shouted as he looks at her frustratingly.

She touches his chin and made him look at her, "I know Luci... I know that all of these are overwhelming and hard to understand, but...You are the light bringer, My Samael... You can give them the light and show them what they are doing is wrong... That they should not forget about all of you, their sons and daughters." she concluded.

Lucifer took both of her hands and holds them together as he looks at her

"I never even got to tell them about you." he sighed as he looks at her hands again.

"What's important is that we have each other. That's all." she smiled as she caresses his hands.

They looked at each other longingly and smiled.

Lucifer opened his eyes and saw his big view of LA, it was almost night time and it looks like he's fallen asleep at the sofa because of too much whiskey and reliving memories. He stands up and felt his head hurt, he slowly walks towards his bathroom to shower and also to forget.

He closed his eyes as the warm water starts dripping down his body. His mind starts recalling the memories.. Memories that he chose to forget because he has a new life to live.

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

"Why are you becoming distant Lucifer?" y/n asked as she looked at him entering their room. He looked at her with a blank expression and continued walking. She followed him and saw him packing his stuff.

"Are you leaving me?" she mumbled as tears from her eyes began falling. 

Lucifer looked at her after packing and tried his best to hide the fact that he's breaking. He doesn't want to see her like this, broken and crying but it was the only way to protect her for what he was about to do.

"Yes, y/n. I'm leaving you." he answered blankly as he pushes her away from his path and continues ravaging his stuff from their room.

"So this is where it leads then?! You leaving me after all that we've been through!?" she shouted as she weeps sitting at the end of their bed.

With his back against hers, he was doubting his plan. He didn't want to hurt her but look at what was happening, it looks like he is hurting her.. But it was the only way, to protect her.

"Yes." he answered again with a blank expression.

He was about to walk out of their room when y/n stood and block his way. 

"That's it? Without explanation?" she cried. He didn't look at her in the eyes, he just looked at the ground and think about the consequences of what he's doing.

"Look me in the eyes Samael!" she shouted with tears streaming down her face.

Lucifer looked at her in the eyes, he has to be strong to do it or she'll be in danger.

"Tell me you don't love me anymore and I will stop." she whispered with her hands touching the sides of his face.

"Tell me you don't love me and i will- and I will let you leave." she repeated as she caresses the sides of his face.

He doesn't want to but.. It was the only way...

"I don't love you anymore y/n. I'm sorry." he murmured as he removed her hands and left the room leaving  y/n collapsing to the ground, crying and begging for this to be a dream..

Lucifer opened his eyes as he sees that he's been in the shower so long that people in the Lux would think that he'll never show up. He turned the shower off then wipes himself out with towel and puts himself in some ravishing tux.

He gets down his penthouse and into the Lux. He stays there all night to find some ladies that are willing to have fun with him tonight. And well, of course, many ladies would like to have fun with Devil. 

As the Lux was bombarded with party people. Ladies, one by one, enjoyed their fantasies with him and sleeps in his bed after. He was always left awake to remember.

Tonight, as the last girl that he made happy, sleep in his bed. He finds himself alone, thinking, Or maybe remembering. He walks towards his penthouse bar, in his lavishing robe and pours himself a glass of whiskey.

After drinking some of it and pouring more, he finds himself looking again from the view of his penthouse down to the city of LA. Maybe the talk with Amenadiel today was terrible, he made him remember her.

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

"Brother you don't have to do this!" Amenadiel shouted as he looked at Lucifer from the other side.

Lucifer started a rebellion against his own Father.. His own family.

He convinced almost half of the angels to join his agenda for free will, the power to act, choose and think voluntarily.

Y/n was on the side of Amenadiel and seeing Lucifer start a war was everything she never think of.

"Don't be a liar brother! You know that I'm right! We deserve to have this!" Lucifer yelled at his brother as the angels on his side cheered him trying to influence the angels on Amenadiel's side.

"No brother. This is not what Father wants!" Amenadiel answered as he ready himself to fight.

"I don't care what he thinks anymore." he sneered as he looks at Amenadiel then to y/n who looks at him angrily as she draws her sword.

Lucifer wants y/n to resent him. He was trying to push her away so she will never have to fight alongside him, he was trying to put y/n in his father's side so if he's rebellion fails, she'll be safe.

So the war began...

The bad angels were stronger than what Amenadiel thought. They really wanted what they were after for. Many good angels were dead and Y/n was pissed about it, so she ignites her sword and started fighting without ease.

Amenadiel used his powers and beat up some bad angels but it wasn't enough.

Lucifer and his gang, on the other hand, are winning. They were really motivated to get what they want but then Lucifer looked at his side and saw her. he saw y/n using every power she got to win.

Then Johnson, one of the good angels, saw Lucifer looked at her with passion.

One of the Bad angels rushes over y/n and fought her. They clash their swords at each other but the bad angel got y/n drop her sword, so she fought the bad angel without a weapon.

The bad angel got y/n beaten up but been stopped by Lucifer with a blade in her chest.

Y/n shockingly looked at Lucifer knowing that he still cares about her but out of nowhere, the very own sword of y/n was stabbed into herself, from her back out of her stomach.

"No no no no no" Lucifer begged as he caught y/n before she falls to the ground.

He removed the blade that was stabbed to her and watches as y/n bleed to death.

"No y/n stay with me!" he plead as he thought of ways to stop the bleeding.

Y/n puts her hand in Lucifer's face as she bleeds to death, "Lu...ci..fer-" she mumbled.

"No... Im sorry. I am so sorry" Lucifer whispered as y/n caresses his face.

"Luci-"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Y/n? No no no y/n, please! No!!"

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

Lucifer looks down at the floor and up in the view. It was his fault. Maybe he should've not done the rebellion so that y/n might be here, alive and well.. But he was too selfish, too selfish to not even think of a better plan to save her.

He pushed down his throat all the whiskey he pours at the glass then sat at the sofa. He looked at the ceiling of his penthouse..

Maybe he deserves the punishment.. Well, he put up to that for eons to find redemption for what he did. But he doesn't want to be part of his father's plan, he doesn't want to be one of his father's pawns...

He looks at his watch and saw that it was already 4:25 am, maybe he can still get some sleep.

He walks towards his bedroom and lies beside the girl whom he granted desires from. He waited until the sun shines so he can start his day with the detective and forget about y/n...

[steakook]

not a house but a home

Pairing: boyfriend!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Domestic Fluff, Angst, very very light Smut if you squint

A/N: feeling all kinds of soft for the babie after his “Never Not” cover. This was supposed to be a Drabble but, as always, jungkook takes my heart further ༼;´༎ຶ.̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̨̨̨̨̨̨̨̨̨̨̨̨.̸̸̨̨۝ ༎ຶ༽ . Enjoy!

///

“Babe?”

I let out an unintelligible response. My toothbrush is still buzzing in my mouth, for God’s sake. Jungkook takes it as a sign to continue.

“Can you please please PLEASE clean your side of the bathroom?” He says pleadingly with puppy dog eyes but also a hint of seriousness. He means business today.. of all days, Monday.

“SDFGHHH!!! DFYJKGGJK” I let out.

“I know it’s morning and I know you’re grumpy but PLEASE I can’t keep looking at this mess.”

I spit out into my sink. As I’m doing so I look at the cocktail of toiletries that litters my side of the vanity. 5 different Bobbi brown lip tints strewn about. Several makeup brushes and palettes clutter the white marble. Multiple face washes, moisturizes, and various other skincare products I’ve been sold by the deceptive Sephora employees, 83% of which I don’t use. Hair. Hair everywhere. I can’t help it, with hair like this I can’t just empty my comb every single day.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” I say to my beautiful and unfortunately meticulous boyfriend with a smirk.

He heaved a loaded sigh.

“Baaaaaabe.”

Here we go.

“I can’t look at this every morning!! How can you have your side so messy and still be able to operate throughout the day clearly?! Being organized brings peace to one’s life.”

Oh God I don’t remember putting something up his ass last night and leaving it there. I giggle in my head. I need to save that joke for later.

“You know, if I knew you’d be this messy, I would’ve just stayed at the dorms. Living with you is basically as bad as living with them.” Jungkook says, no trace of playfulness in his voice.

“Oh really? The same? Y’all giving each other cuddles?? Y’all sucking each other’s dicks?! Hmm??”

Ok in all honesty i really shouldn’t start a fight this early in the morning let alone week. But he knows how grumpy I am in the mornings. Not only do I have to wake up and ungodly hour (7am is ungodly for some of us, okay?), but I naturally hate being forced out of my comfy bed cuddling with my exorbitantly organized but very hot boyfriend.

I look at him. He has an incredulous look in his eyes. We’ve had this fight multiple times since moving in with each other 6 months ago. To be quite frank, there have been more growing pains than happy moments. I started realizing my organized chaos choice of living deeply contrasted jungkook’s need to put everything in its place and if it can be alphabetized, all the better. I’m annoyed and so is he.

“Are you serious? Can’t you do this ONE thing for me? One thing that will significantly improve not only mine but your life as well? I swear it’s amazing how much you accomplish at work when you practically do nothing at home.”

Oh. Wasn’t expecting that.

He must see the change in playfulness in my face, immediately regretting his words.

“Babe I’m sor-“

“Don’t worry about it. I have to finish getting ready. I have a big presentation to present to the Japanese stockholders this afternoon regarding our globalization plan.... I mean, hopefully i don’t fuck it up seeing as how I live my life in such a clusterfuck it’s a wonder how i get things done there. Right, jungkook?”

I don’t wait for him to answer as i leave our shared bathroom but he just continues to stand there. I hit him low too.

Living together has put quite a strain on our relationship because we haven’t really found that symbiotic rhythm yet. To be honest, I kick ass and take names in the board room but I’ve never found myself to be very... well... domestic at home. Jungkook, on the other hand, not only is good at every chore. He is amazing. he has a neurotic obsession with making sure laundry never overflows in the hamper, dishes are always clean and the sink is empty, and making sure dust never accumulates. I swear to God. For someone who is an international kpop sensation, how does he have time to keep our house looking so great everyday.

This is a quality of his I worship. His never ending never endingness. There is always work to be done, this can always be cleaner, that can always be done today not tomorrow. Me, on the other hand, I wear two hats. There is the Business Y/N who has an MBA and literally climbed her way up the corporate ladder. Queen of making deals and making grown men cry around the world. I have a 401k. I know. Amazing. But outside of that, I’ve always been Party, easy going Y/N. My job already requires me to be ruthless yet charismatic AND strategic everyday, I don’t need to bring that elsewhere.

If I hadn’t had the second hat, I don’t think I would have ever met jungkook. We met at a random awards show I was attending for fun with some friends, my close friend from B-school scoring us tickets within the artists’ seating. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

I’ve always envied kook for his ability to be at the forefront in everything in his life. From his career, to his multitude of sports and hobbies, to taking care of his homestead. He’s more serious and cares more about little things than I think he purposely lets on. We are yin and yang. opposites attract, yes, but can they actually coexist?

It’s been a long day when i get home at 10pm. Funny enough, both our schedules are so hectic but perfectly align with his late dance practices and my evening calls to Belgium.

Our golden doodle puppy greets me.

“Matcha!!!!!! How are you my love???” She showers me with kisses. Oh how lovely this is after a particularly shitty day.

I turn into the tv room and see him laying there icing his knee. He looks gorgeous. Even now, barefaced and in a hoodie that’s three times his should-be size and basketball shorts, watching the 6th season of nartuto. (For the 7th time).

We look at each other waiting for one to break. It’s always been like this. What more could you expect from two highly-competitive and maybe a bit self-righteous individuals? Maybe we are more similar than we are different.

“Hi baby.” I cave.

The hard look on his face softens. He puts his guard down, relieved we won’t have to fight. I go over and lay down next to him making sure i don’t hit his knee. He wraps me in his large arms and I feel a glow of comfort. He smells like fresh laundry. (Which is probably accurate since he made sure to do a load today before heading to the studio.. someone say ANAL RETENTIVE with me!!)

“You smell so nice.” He is soft. No, he is softness personified. As much of a tough, stubborn Virgo as he is, he is a ball of pudding when it comes to after work moments like these. He tucks his nose into my hair. And kisses me absentmindedly.

“About this morning-“ He starts. But I cut him off.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard living together with our opposing..... lifestyle choices” he snorts. “But I know you’ve had to bend to me more than I’ve had to bend to you. And for that I’m sincerely sorry. I haven’t made nearly as much of an effort to make this work. But the change has been hard for me. I’ve never had to live with a boy let alone share a bathroom with one. And not only that, I had always imagined I WOULD BE THE CLEANER ONE.” He chuckles quietly and plants some chaste kisses on my temples.

“Babe, no. I know. You’re still adjusting. But I need to apologize too. I didn’t mean what I said earlier but i just get so frustrated sometimes! You’re hard headed and I am too. But still I shouldn’t have said those things I’ve said about you not being great at your job. Your ferocity is one of the reasons i love you. It’s also extremely hot.”

I smile and look up into those big brown doe eyes and I melt. How could he look so good after practicing the whole day? And how could he be so patient and loving to someone like me? Messy and unorganized.

“I love you. So much. I don’t deserve to be with someone like you. You’re amazing at everything it’s so damn frustrating sometimes. Not only do you devote your life to an occupation that require so much of you, you also still make time to take care of us, this place. I’m sorry I don’t make things easy.”

“Y/N. You may be frustratingly messy. I don’t understand how one person can produce so much goddamn hair at once to be quite honest. You shed more than Matcha. But being with you is easy. You make life easy. You give me easiness when so so so many other things in this life are so hard and time consuming. So many people want so much from me and I want to be the person they need. But when I’m with you, it doesn’t feel like work. It’s easiness in its purest sense. Even though you don’t clean up your shit.”

I giggle.

“But even then, i wouldn’t trade this for anything else.”

I kiss him chastely and he holds my chin up for better access. We kiss like this for a while before he swipes his tongue against my lip asking for permission. Though he doesn’t need any. The kiss escalated into something deeper. Hotter. He licks into my mouth and I feel heat stir in my stomach. Fuck.

He uses his arms already wrapped around me to place me on top of him. Ice bag long forgotten on the floor. We make out passionately as if our lives depend on it. I put my hand to the back of his neck and run through his gorgeous thick chocolate hair. So lush.

I find myself straddling his waist and grind my core against his half hard-on. He moans.

“Fuck..”

I grind harder with intention and fill fires of lust consume me. Holy fucking shit. It always feels like the first time. He puts his hands on my thighs gripping them and forcing me to go harder onto his dick.

After a few minutes he sits up, lips still connected and lifts me up. I smirk into the kiss already knowing where this is going. He carries me along the marbled tile hallway to our bedroom and throws me on the bed. He strips himself of his hoodie.

“You know... you’ve been quite disobedient to me, Y/N. I think it’s time to put you in your place.” He says sternly. God, he has never looked more hot.

///

A/N: thank you so much for reading!!!! Hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is my first fic so please let me know if you liked it! 

Lots of love.

-M

[ofmimzy]

Tarrytown Sentence Starters: Part Two!

tw for alcohol mentions & v brief graveyard mention ! again, feel free to change pronouns to fit ur muses !!

“at first i’d go out to the bars, just by myself and just to drink.”

“i wasn’t good at starting conversations ‘round those guys, my tongue forever tied.”

“finally free of past inhibitions, finally free to play.”

“just stay home tonight, alright?”

“lock your door and pray that you make it through another day.”

“that’s okay, more time to play.”

“where you gonna stay?”

“start all over, life brand-new.”

“get out of the city, somewhere sorta pretty.”

“take the life you thought you knew and tear it apart!”

“to think, i really could.”

“a chance to change, to grow.”

“wondering where this will take me, loving the fact i don’t know.”

“down the stairs a world awaits alone, awake, aware!”

“maybe if i make it down the stairs.”

“up the stairs is sad and staid.”

“never believed i could fly down the stairs and out the door.”

“get in the car, turn on a tune. it’s not too far, we’ll be there soon.”

“out to the farm, fun afternoon.”

“we need some time, just you and me.”

“throw on some jeans and you will see me looking strong on a ladder.”

“we need a break, need some give and take.”

“we need some time on our own. time to relax and just be.”

“we can’t give up now, can’t just resign.”

“wow, okay. your timing’s not so good.”

“where’s my phone? shit, i can never find it.”

“plus, look outside. see that cloud? what if it rains?”

“might as well go visit him today.”

“stop. for once just listen, please. i’m leaving.”

“you know i love you in my own way but i just can’t stay here.”

“you’re a goddess, i’m a buffoon.”

“i’m sorry, i don’t want to fight but i think it’s just too late for us.”

“i’m all packed, i’ll call. i will, tonight.”

“what we need isn’t apples, we need time.”

“i mean time alone - away from one another.”

“we can work this out here.��

“talk off my ear, please, just stay.”

“it’s just a week or two - we need this.”

“don’t misread this, okay?”

“sure, take a minute - take a whole year! see if i care.”

“i play both sides of the field.”

“biased, i’m not. she needs me, he’s hot!”

“i think about you all the time.”

“now i’ll admit: that ‘kiss me’ bit was maybe all in my head.”

“i’m prepared to call the score.”

“i’m not just the glue the two pursue, i’m the rope in their tug of war!”

“the man in the middle is: me.”

“you feel it in the drop in fahrenheit.”

“a wise man lives in fear on this night every year.”

“stop it, you’re scaring him!”

“look what i got!”

“it’s like i can’t focus or breathe.”

“when you’re near, i think about all the things i’ve done right.”

“i’m aware that this is a lot to take in, it’s not fair to throw this on you.”

“this is the sanest i’ve been since i’ve moved here.”

“i’ve improved here, so can you.”

“so maybe the neighbors will talk, say we’re smiting the lord up above.”

“even i can’t get over the shock that i love you.”

“_____, i love you - i’m in love!”

“did you hear what i said?”

“do you have something to say?”

“when you’re near, i dream of the future we’ll share.”

“doubt and fear disappear when you’re near.”

“god it’s quiet with no one around.”

“just don’t think of what rests underground - all the bodies interred.”

“wonder if they all heard what he said to me.”

“i’d started to doubt some but looks like the outcome is bright!”

“why’s it so cold? where’d october go?”

“not very romantic… but he asked me to.”

“meet me tonight on the bridge.”

“i always feared it would never connect, romance eluded above me. now it’s appeared and i’ve felt its effect - turns out that someone can love me!”

“hand in hand we’ll run away from befores.”

“together we’ll weather wherever we steer!”

“mind is spacing. am i awake or have i died?”

“you’ve done this before, you’ll be alright.”

“some hallucination’s fine, no big deal.”

“he’ll hold me and i’ll kiss him and cry.”

“what was that in the distance?”

“i sounded like maybe––i don’t know.”

“who would care? who would notice if i turned up dead?”

“they’re too busy destroying the other one’s life.”

“anymore trick or treaters?”

“do you think we could go into the city next weekend?”

“nevermind, it was just an idea.”

“not moving on, not looking back, a life frustratingly flaccid.”

“last year’s mistake - i tried to break through the placid sheen.”

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Hotel of Jedha | Bodhi Rook x Reader

Prompt: Myths

Fandom: Rogue One (Star Wars)

Words: 1620

A/N: Modern!AU. Inspired by the Korean drama “Hotel del Luna” one of my favorites overall. I heard that there might by a U.S. remake and I’m like :/ Idk how it’ll work unless they actually cast Asian actors since the story relies heavily on Asian culture and mythology. If you haven’t watched Hotel del Luna, I highly recommend it. Anyways... not sure if I’ll turn this into a series.

-

You had tempted fate for far too long and the gods seemed displeased by this. After years of running away from your past crimes, fate had caught up to you in the form of a simple little inn run by a drunken old woman who spoke in riddles.

“You can’t run forever,” she had said, even though you had barely spoken a word to her.

“What do you know, old lady?” you snapped, “Just get me a room and I’ll be gone by morning.”

She clicked her tongue at your attitude, pouring rice wine in a small cup before handing it to you. Not wanting to deal with any more questions, you pushed it away, splashing it on the floor. She angrily slammed the wine bottle down on the table and walked away, sending you a warning look. When she was out of sight, you refilled the cup and knocked your head back. You wretched, not having tasted rice wine this bitter.

The room began to move and seemingly transform around you. The old woman came back out with arms crossed, watching you sway in your seat. You pointed accusingly at her, thinking she had drugged you before you collapsed on the floor.

The old woman sighed and took a gander and the newly transformed inn. It was more spacious and grander, matching your personality.

“Welcome, new innkeeper,” she said, looking down at your unconscious form.

The sign outside stretched to match the size of the entrance, the writing becoming large and fanciful, reading “Hotel of Jedha”.

-

Spiritual guardians, elixir of life, the bridge into the afterlife. These were things that Bodhi had been interested about ever since his mother passed away. In a way, it brought him comfort in knowing that there was this spiritual realm or some type of afterlife that meant that she was well taken care of and gone to a better place. Never in a million years would he think that he would get to witness such myths up close and learn that many myths and legends are based on some truth.

He had just gotten back from living overseas and was hoping that his friends, Jyn and Cassian, would let him crash over at their place for a time. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to pick him up from the airport, he had to settle for a taxi and a hotel room for the night. He didn’t remember the airport being this complicated, going in the wrong direction a couple of times. When he made another wrong turn, he frustratingly spun around, almost bumping into an old woman.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, bending down to help her pick up her white flowers.

“That’s alright, young man. You’re lost, aren’t you?” she said with a knowing smile.

He handed her the flowers and smiled back sheepishly. “Yeah.”

She pointed him in the right direction before handing him one of her flowers. “You’re going to need it,” she said with a wink. With that, she continued on ahead.

Bodhi stared at the flower, twirling it from the stem and turned to thank the old woman, but she was already gone.

He followed her directions and found the right exit. Stepping out to the curb side pick up area, he knew that he would need luck to get a taxi this late, especially with other travellers flagging down and climbing into taxis before they reached a full stop.

A well polished yellow taxi drove up and stopped right in front of Bodhi. The window rolled down, revealing a kind old man, oddly dressed in a tailored suit.

“Evening,” he greeted.

“Evening. Have time for one more customer?”

“Of course, hop in.”

Smelling rain in the air, Bodhi hurriedly shoved his luggage in the backseat and climbed in afterwards. “Can you take me to the nearest hotel from here?”

The old man nodded, looking at Bodhi through the rearview mirror. “Of course. I know just the place.”

As the taxi began to move, Bodhi leaned back and let out a long and tired sigh. The rain began to fall, its rhythmic pattern along with the squeaking of the windshield wiper filled the silence. His hands absentmindedly played with the flower as he fell deep in thought. He had finished college, got a well paying business job, but he wasn’t feeling happy. He managed to transfer to the office back home and he hoped that it’ll be enough.

The taxi stopped in front of a large set of steps leading up to an ivy covered iron gate. At the top stood a simple looking hotel with a flickering cursive neon sign that read “Hotel of Jedha”. Bodhi had never heard of this hotel before and he had grown up in this city. It could be new, but the state of the front gate, the garden, and the sign, it looked to have been there for years.

“What is this place?” Bodhi asked.

“Hotel of Jedha. One of the finest hotels there is,” the old man said.

Bodhi narrowed his eyes, peering at the hotel through the window. “Is it expensive?”

“Well, you have an invitation to this hotel, do you not?” he asked, pointing at Bodhi’s lap.

He looked down in confusion, then his eyes widened. Where he had laid the flower now sat a red envelope with a golden wax seal that had the hotel’s emblem stamped in. He peeled it open and pulled out a formal looking card, inviting him by name to stay at one of the rooms of the hotel, signed with (Y/n) (Y/l/n).

“Huh.”

-

You sat back in your cushioned office chair with your arms crossed as you glared at your hotel manager of twenty-five years. You never should have trusted that old woman two hundred years ago, but it was too late. Even after all this time, you try to avoid her to no avail. Now, your hotel manager was siding with her, having sent that invitation to this Bodhi Rook without your permission.

“Why this Bodhi Rook out of all people?” you asked.

“I’ve done some digging and one of our guests is the mother of Bodhi Rook,” he said, “I believe that with his help, she will be able to finally move on.”

“If that’s the reason, we might as well do that to every guest we have that has unresolved business with a living person. This is why we settle it ourselves, not bringing some living person to see if our guest will find peace. I’ve been running this hotel for years and nothing good comes with this.”

“She insisted-”

“We take care of this problem quickly. We don’t want the other guests knowing, got that?”

“Of course.”

You waved a hand, opening the double doors to your office and dismissed him. He gave you a bow and left, closing the doors behind him. You sighed, looking around at the picture frames that covered the walls. A picture for every new hotel manager that you had throughout the two hundred years, yet you still remained the same. You were cursed to live this long and be custodian of this hotel. No matter how far you ran, it will always follow you. That was your fate until you could find a way to move on.

Your hotel manager suspected that there was another reason why that mysterious old woman that had cursed you all those years ago had brought Bodhi Rook to you. He knew you were tired of running, but he also knew that you were scared. Maybe one day, you will be granted the white flower and be able to cross the bridge. But that would also mean that the hotel will disappear until a new custodian is chosen.

-

Bodhi walked towards the small front desk, a smiley bellhop greeting him and asking for his invitation. He hesitantly gave it to him, wondering how he knew about it. The bellhop slid the guestbook over to him for signing before grabbing his room key and leading him towards the elevator. It was cramped with two men and a large luggage, but they made it work.

“You’re going to love it here,” the bellhop said.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a grand lobby topped with crystal chandeliers and furnished with mahogany tables and bookshelves with matching colored leather seats. Straight ahead was an even grander staircase lined with gold. On the very top of it stood you. Bodhi’s breath got caught in his throat, but you simply eyed him before walking down.

Up close, you’d admit that he was quite handsome. Innocent, judging from the look in his eyes and the way he carried himself. He would have to be warned about wandering the corridors and knocking on certain rooms.

“Welcome, Mr. Rook,” you said with a customer service smile.

“Bodhi, please,” he said.

You nodded. “I’m (Yn) (Y/l/n), the owner of Hotel of Jedha. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

“Oh, well, I’m only staying for one night, so-”

You looked over at your hotel manager and raised an eyebrow. He gave a nod, assuring you that something will be done to fix that. You turned back to Bodhi and smiled again.

“Well, no matter how long you stay, i hope you enjoy your experience. Please, if you have any questions, my staff will be happy to answer.”

“Thank you.”

The bellhop helped lead him to his room, rolling his luggage behind him. You watched them leave, feeling a familiar ache in your chest, one that you hadn’t felt in years. You spotted a white flower petal stuck on his jacket before they walked out of view. What was that old woman up to?