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thevibraniumveterans · 3 years

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Tony Leung: “[Wenwu] isn’t a villain at all!”

On September 6, 2021, Tony Leung sat down with Hong Kong actress Carol “Dodo” Cheng for an interview about life, sports, and of course, his latest Hollywood outing as a widower who grieved the death of his beloved wife and a father who “didn’t know how to love [his children]” in Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.

Interview is originally in Cantonese, and has been translated into English.

FULL TRANSCRIPT BELOW:

Today I'm really pleased to interview Tony Leung Chiu-Wai. The last time I really chatted with you in earnest was... Do you remember? In 2013.

I think that time I was with...

We were on a plane together.

At the mall? On a plane?

We arrived in Hong Kong, and went to some awards ceremony. We were waiting for our luggage, exchanged a few words. That was 2013, and we haven’t met since. Where did we meet up next? I’m sure you won’t remember. It was here in Hong Kong. I was surprised by you. I usually go to the supermarket, very early in the morning. Because there's no-one there.

Yeah.

I saw you there.

I think that was probably it. Not too crowded in the morning.

You too. Why so early in the morning?

To... buy food. I usually wake up at 6am. I’d exercise until about 10am-ish, and then I’d…

Go for a walk.

Shower, then shop for food. I usually eat quite simply— it’s either salad, or buckwheat noodles. Salad doesn't stay fresh very well. So I’d get up early in the morning, shop for what I like, and prepare it at home.

Have you been eating healthy all this time?

I’m not doing this particularly for my health. I get an upset stomach easily. I get food poisoning very easily. And it’s miserable having food poisoning! When you’re at work, others don’t know how bad you’re having it. But you can’t tell-- you can’t convey that.

Alright, at this point it’s time for a nostalgia trip. We used to be colleagues, and we’ve shot TV series together. At that time, did you feel that you could eat whenever and not have to sleep… When did you start prioritising your health?

When did it start? I think it would have been… at least 20 years ago. Because it’s miserable being sick while on set. You’ve got to keep working. Even when I had a fever, (producer) Wong Kar-Wai would say, “No, it’s the last day, you’ve got to make it.” So I would work with a fever!

It’s good that everyone's health-conscious now, and wants to avoid falling ill. So when I was preparing for this interview, some friends told me, They’d seen you and me do an interview, from many years ago. I don’t think you’d remember. We’re talking many years ago - decades here! You were really young at the time. At the TV station you were a rising star, a top male lead actor. So I interviewed you. I asked you a question, and I don’t know if you remember how you answered. I asked, “Have you thought about retirement?” You did give me an answer at the time. Do you remember at what age you said you’d retire?

I really don’t remember. I’m sure retirement was always on my mind then.

You were in your 20s then, not quite 30. You told me— “I will definitely retire at 36!”

[laughter]

What changed your mind?

I believe that when I started out as an actor, it was certainly hard work when I was just starting out. But I thought, I wouldn’t get to where I am today without going through tough times. But as I slowly grew as a person, my perspectives and values have changed. I feel more at ease. So I wouldn’t think in extremes like I did before. I think that in the past 10, 20… 10 years? I've become a more relaxed person. I wouldn’t just say, “now I’ll retire.” If I want to keep going, I will.

This is your favourite line of work, isn’t it?

Except sport.

Could you imagine yourself in any other career? I can’t.

I’d be a sportsperson.

A sportsperson, playing what?

I play a lot of sports. I like mountain biking, sailing, water skiing, surfing… I’m up for anything.

You really like water sports, don’t you?

It’s hot in Hong Kong, and summer takes up most of the year. What’s more refreshing than being in the water?

How about in winter?

I’d still be in the water, wearing long sleeves.

You wouldn’t take up running?

I don’t particularly like it… I can’t seem to find much variety in running. I like to interact with nature directly. There’s something new every day. Take sailing, for example. Every day is different, the weather changes.

Your body is in a different condition every day.

You're working with the changing conditions. You end up building up a lot of knowledge. You learn about nature, the weather, changes in conditions. The water, currents, what do you call it... Hot weather warms the ocean and you’ll have gusts of wind. I didn’t know all this. But the more I sailed, the more I thought,“This is great!”

You’ve got a real passion for this.

I do.

What have you been up to during the pandemic? It’s been 1— almost 2 years, hasn't it?

I was filming in 2 movies… And... flying here and there.

Do you need to quarantine?

Quarantine! Countless times.

We’ve talked for so long, let’s come back to this film, Shang-Chi. I believe Tony has received endless invitations to appear in overseas films. Why did you choose this film?

I didn't really... I believe it’s fate to be involved in certain films. I can’t just want to act in some type of film, then get it. An opportunity comes up, but sometimes the director might not like me, or I might not like the screenplay. Or I might like the director, but I don’t like the character. So you can’t just make this sort of thing happen. I think sometimes the time will be just right and things will happen. The director may like me, and I like the project, or I like the director. Or I might want to try something in particular. It takes a lot, a combination of factors, for something to happen.

It's like a piece of furniture, isn't it? The pieces need to be joined precisely.

Yes.

How were you scouted for this movie? How were you approached?

The director approached me, wanted to have a chat with me. So I...

What's your requirements for taking on a film? Do you need to read through the whole screenplay?

That would be best. It would.

You would've been in many films without a solid screenplay, wouldn't you?

There would still be an idea.

An overview of sorts.

But this movie... You know Marvel is very secretive. At the beginning, I was in a video conference call with the director. What he could tell me at the time was, "You're going to be the main villain. Your character has many layers." Then I asked, "do I need to fight?" "No, because you have those rings." So I said, "then I'll definitely be fine." That was all.

What about that drew you in? Being the main villain?

That was one of the draws. In the past few years, I wanted to try characters different to those I'd played previously.

Why do all actors who have played male leads want to go off and play villains?

Actually... there's more complexity to them. I feel like there's a different mindset between playing a protagonist and an antagonist. I've acted for 30-something years. It's about time I did something different.

So you're in, you're headed to the shoot, and you're now the main villain! What's the mindset behind this?

Oh, not for this film. I thought I was the villain at first. A month before the shoot, I read the script. I didn't think this character was a villain at all. There was a real human side to this villain. Perhaps Marvel was hoping to portray a villain from a different angle this time around. So I was puzzled. Initially I was expecting, "Ooh, a villain, this will be fun", but when I looked at the script, "no, this isn't a villain at all!"

Very sentimental?

Yes, and a lot of humanity.

You thought it would be easy playing a villain.

I didn't think it would be easy.

You didn't think there would be so much emotion.

I didn't think it would be easy. I thought there would be more evil in him. I read the script and thought, "oh no, he's not evil at all", And that's difficult to portray. How would you let the audience... and I thought, "wow it's as if he's a good guy?" I read through the script and couldn't find the evil in this character.

How would you portray this character? Was the director able to help you?

The director...

Or did he put a lot of trust in you?

I rarely... He put a lot of trust in me, and I don't discuss with the director often. I thought, what's the use of discussing? I could just act it out. You can be really idealistic when you discuss. I would rather do more... When I arrived, Destin would ask me, "Do you want to talk it out?" and I would say no.

Was there a read-through?

No, no read-through.

You went straight to shooting?

Yes, straight to the shoot.

Then it would be like, "Tony, stand here, in this shot do this and that, and you'd do it?

Yeah. It was kind of like that. We filmed the action scenes first. So there was time to warm up. Then the dramatic parts. I like the drama most. I felt the most excited during these parts. The action scenes were particularly tough, because it was summer in Australia then.

Did you need to train?

I did. At first I was told I didn't need to fight. Then when I got there— wow, there's so many action scenes! So I scrambled and...

But you've got those rings. You can just throw the rings.

Sure, but there's still some action involved. Because I didn't physically prepare beforehand, it was rather tough at first. I got used to it as the shoot went on, but the weather was still hot. And there were period costumes, so it was tough at first.

So there was a sequence, they filmed all the action scenes first, and then scenes with dialogue afterwards, is that right?

I think they deliberately scheduled this so I could warm up a little. So I wouldn't need to dive straight into very intense dialogue.

There are a lot of actors involved, right? Your character has a son, too. Is this the first time you're portraying a dad?

Would it be my first time...

Or you have, but not for a much older son?

Yes, not for a much older son. I had a child in “The Grandmaster” as well. But not that old, no.

How would you portray the emotions of a father-son relationship? Because your character didn't know his son.

It was manageable. In this movie, the father-- not that he didn't love his children. He didn't know how to love them. This character doesn't even know how to love himself. The love was from his wife, portrayed by Fala Chen, He found love in this woman. But he doesn't know how to love others. So he was very distant from his children, his sons— his daughters were pretty much ignored. He was a father figure who preferred sons over daughters, a rather... traditional father archetype. Almost the old-fashioned type.

In shooting this movie, what was most difficult for you?

The action scenes.

Do you do all these scenes yourself?

I try to, but they wouldn't let us do the really dangerous ones. If you're injured, who's going to replace you?

Sure.

But I try to do as much as I'm able.

You'd need to rehearse the scenes with everyone.

Of course. Once we arrived, they arranged for Fala, my son, played by Simu, and my daughter... like you and I used to, we would all practice in the studio.

How long were the working hours?

It was 10 working hours a day, but we went all the way through that. There was no break in between.

Really? I thought you would be sitting comfortably in your trailer?

No! We filmed a lot every day! You know how that made me felt? It felt like I was in my TV days again.

Really?

You'll think, "will we get through this much filming today?" And by the end of the day, you would. But it was very intense. Perhaps they didn't want us to have a break, because we'd have to disperse and regroup. So we went all the way through. Once we arrived in the studio, it was full steam ahead. There was no meal break, because there was always...

No meal break?

No.

I've never heard of a Hollywood film shoot without meal breaks.

There's food throughout the day. Catering comes around, and we'd just eat.

But there wouldn't be an hour for a meal break.

No.

How long was shooting in total?

I was involved for about... 4 months.

Was that long or short timeframe, in your experience?

I felt like it was short, because they were very efficient and organised. They planned it really well. So every you'd head in and whoosh,

It flowed well.

Yes, very professional.

In your opinion, are there particular scenes you're in that the audience should pay attention to?

I think... I wouldn't say particular scenes, but the film as a whole. I don't think you've all seen me in this get-up before.

We could tell from the promos.

Very different to what I've played before.

Did you stay in one place for four months, or did you have to fly around?

We were only in Sydney, because we were in a studio. It was all green screen. There were a lot of special effects, so we only had to construct part of a set, And the rest was green screen, so it was mostly shot in the studio. Only the opening and ending were elsewhere, in a park, and in a village on a set they'd constructed. So I was there for... I was in Sydney the whole time. But because of the pandemic, I left for a few months in the middle, and returned when were were able to shoot again.

How did you feel about your experiences after the shoot? It's a Marvel movie, very different from the dramas and other films you've been in. How would you sum up your experiences?

Very stressed, very frustrated.

Really?

Because I'm the type of person who stays in their comfort zone. I filmed with familiar directors, and familiar crew.

You've really leapt out of your zone there.

I really stepped out of this comfort zone, working with strangers. The only person I could trust in was the director. I didn't know anyone else there. And when I got a copy of the screenplay, like I mentioned, I realised, "Wow, a villain that doesn't feel like a villain, what do I do?" I'd only received the script a month before the shoot. And when I got there, I had to work with the dialect coaches on delivery. I was filming, I was thinking... it was stressful. But we got through in the end.

Where were the costumes done?

In Tokyo. I was there at the time, and our costume designer kindly flew over to dress and fit me. At the time I didn't know what was in the script, I didn't know the story. But the costumes helped me a lot at the time. The movie's costumes were made beautifully. I thought they had good design sense. So when I was dressed for the first time, I was able to feel...

That you were the character.

Yes, roughly. I had an initial feeling for it. And then I would turn up in person, and get a better feel as I played the character.

So the shoot is over, it's about to be released. What plans do you have next, Tony?

Well when I came back to Hong Kong, I took part in a local film. Then I might shoot one in Shanghai, and then a TV series in Vancouver.

So you've done a complete turn-around since I last interviewed you. You were thinking of retiring at 36, do you not plan to retire now?

Not that I haven't thought about it... I'll stop when I feel tired. Then I'll go back to playing sports. If I feel like I've taken too long a break, and go "no, I need to do something," and there's something I'm really interested in, I'll do it. I don't need to come to a complete stop. It's something I like, after all.

So when you film in future, you wouldn't be thinking, "oh, I've been in a Hollywood production, "I will only appear in productions at that tier.” You'll be happy with a good screenplay.

Yes.

You might be asked to shoot drama films again. You would still take that on?

Well, I haven't given myself...

You've already left your comfort zone.

Yes, but I haven't really limited myself to what I think I should film. If there's a good film, I'll shoot in it. If there's something I like, I'll do it.

Well Tony, surely a typical day in Hong Kong for you wouldn't be on the water all day. What's a typical day like for you without shoots?

Well I'd get up, and there would be at least 2 hours of exercise.

Every day?

Yes.

Monday through Sunday?

Maybe one, half day's rest. You've got to let your body recover.

How about when you're shooting in Hollywood?

Not during filming, I'd save up my energy for that. Shooting takes 10 hours a day, but hair and makeup could take 2 hours. That's 12 hours, and it was tiring.

That's true.

I needed the energy for filming. But in Hong Kong, without a shoot, I'd have 2 hours exercise in the morning, make lunch, I might do some sports, like sailing, or water skiing. I'll come home, maybe watch a movie, or read a book. That's it. Maybe I'll have dinner.

I wouldn't exactly call that exciting. [Laughter]

It's pretty exciting!

For you, at least.

If the weather's good and I spend the day out sailing, I'd feel really happy about that. But not every day's a good day. I might capsize, and it would feel wrong. But it's not all that bad.

Why don't you enter competitions?

I have entered competitions.

Have you placed in these competitions?

Well... I have placed before.

What did you place?

I think second.

Oh, that's quite good. If you competed in the Olympics in sailing, there's no age limit there right?

Yes, there's no limit. But you don't necessarily have to compete in the Olympics. I could...

But we would all be happier for it, Tony. Imagine, Tony Leung Chiu-Wai representing Hong Kong and winning a medal! You've seen how happy the medalists have been this year.

It's really hard! It's really hard!

Why is that?

You're not as fit as younger people. It's hard. I play sports purely for enjoyment. I feel like it's an experience.

Fair enough.

It's... I'm not the type to want first place or something.

You're not a competitive person.

Yes. I don't want to experience a sport in that way. I'm there for my own enjoyment, not to win.

Let's say in future... since I last saw you in 2013— that wasn't even an interview, and now I've met you after all this time. Let's say in 5 years. What would you be doing in 5 years' time?

Maybe I...

Back then you said you'd retire at 36. I'll ask you again now, let's not dredge up the past. What do you think you'd be doing?

In 5 years' time, I think I would have more time for sports. [laughter]

Still on the water?

Yeah. Well, not necessarily, but a lot of different sports. I do want to try some—

Try running! I've seen Kar Ling (Carina Lau) run before!

Yes, she likes running, and hiking too.

Why don't you run with her?

I don't really like running.

Hiking?

Hiking, I'd rather... well when I'm skiing, I'd walk in the back country, in good weather, carrying my skis and wearing my cleats, it's the same thing. I'd hike up and ski down. But not that kind of hiking. Well sometimes... when in summer, in Hokkaido, I can't ski. I would still hike, but I wouldn't really like it. But it would be better with friends.

But you don't like being around too many people.

I sometimes like being with family. But my family... not everyone can hike. One might cramp up halfway.

Since you like being on the water so much, how many people does it take to do that?

One.

Just you?

Yeah.

Just someone to steer the boat.

Uhh... yeah.

It doesn't matter if there's a boat?

I do a lot of different water sports. I have those... electric boards, the type that shoot up like a magic carpet on the water, I have a stand up paddleboard, I can surf by myself too, that's doable. A lot of the sports I do can be done solo. I don't need a lot of people around.

You've really changed from before. You used to like to... go out at night?

Yeah.

That's all gone?

It has for a while. I haven't been in the nightlife for 20, 30 years. I'd eat out for dinner at most. Then I'd go straight home.

I remember I used to shoot TV dramas with you, you surprised me— We've filmed one or two series together, I would go straight home to bed afterwards, because I've always been a morning person. You could still say, "I'm going to go out for a bit." Yet the next day — our call sheets had us in very early — you were still able to make it in on time. Back then…it was a rite of passage.

Because I was young. Yes, and it was life experience. There are things you should do at that age.

Sure. Well, I hope to see you in another production soon. If this series were really successful, would you continue in any sequels?

[laughter] I really don't know, I can't say.

Why's that?

I feel like... as I've mentioned, there's fate involved in shooting a particular film. We'll see where...

…where fate takes you.

...where fate takes me.

Thank you Tony Leung Chiu-Wai for being with us today.

You're welcome.

#mcu #mcu shang chi #scatlottr #shang chi spoilers #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #xu wenwu #徐文武 #tony leung #leung chiu wai #tony leung chiu wai #shang chi press tour #尚氣與十環幫傳奇 #尚氣與十環傳奇 #梁朝伟 #scatlottr spoilers

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saedii-gilwraeth-simp · 2 years

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After Aurora’s End: Part 14: Zero G

Characters having good communication skills? It’s simultaneously more and less likely than you think.

Also if I keep staring at this in my drafts, I’ll pick it apart forever so I’m posting. Enjoy!

Tag list: @the-weight-of-a-fingertip @isla-kady-blackwood @chloe123love607 @of-the-way-and-wildflowers @moonljte @iamheretodomythingrip

Zero G

~ 6 months after AE epilogue ~

~Tyler~

“I need a favour, and I need you to keep it a secret,” Tyler had his eyebrow raised before he even looked up at his sister, who was leaning too casually against the doorframe.

“Good morning to you too, Scar. How are you? Good, oh well thank you for asking me too, I’m doing great,” he says and Scar walks further into the room to punch his shoulder. He leans back in his chair and nods at the chair on the other side of his desk, which she sits in. She folds her hands on her lap but he frowns when she closes her fist tight enough for her knuckles to go white. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s noth-“ she starts before seeing his narrowed eyes. She rubs the back of her neck and sighs, “you did alright at zero g combat, right?” She asks and honestly, there wasn’t a question she could have asked that would have surprised him more. He blinked for a beat.

“I mean, if by alright, you mean, first in my cohort, then yes, I did alright,” he brags and she rolls her eyes at him. “Why?” Scar sighs.

“It’s Fin,” she says and he frowns, but waits for more information, “so we moved in together and so far, all great, fantastic, right? And it is, fantastic, I mean, there’s just an issue of sleeping together,” he scrunched his nose at the thought and she leaned across the desk to hit him again, “actually sleeping, bee-bro, get your mind out of the gutter. Anyway, I want to sleep next to Fin and he wants to sleep next to me but I’m not great in zero g and he needs it so I need your help and I need you to not say anything to Fin,” he considered her for a beat.

“I’m assuming by help, you mean get you comfortable in zero g?” She nods and he shrugs. “Yeah sure. Meet me at the zero g sims at 0600 tomorrow,” he wants to laugh at the displeased look that draws from her and he continues before she can protest, “and no it can’t be later, I start teaching at 7,” she pouts slightly but nods.

“Thanks Ty, seriously,” she stands and rounds his desk to give him a hug, which he stands to reciprocate.

“Any time, Scar.”

~Scar~

She hated 6am. Hated that it was so early she had to make her own coffee, hated that she made the choice to stay up later the night before, hated that she had to leave her boyfriends warm and comforting embrace.

And zero g was so far out of her comfort zone that she felt she would never succeed and she hated not succeeding. But for Fin, she would keep trying, not matter how uncomfortable it was for her.

“You’re not doing that bad, Scar,” Ty says, as she steps out of the sim and chugs the coffee she hadn’t finished before she got into the chamber. She sends a scathing look at his direction.

“It’s been a month and I still feel like I’m sucking ass at this. How is anyone good at it?” She says, crouching and running her hands over her hair.

“Practice, diligence, patience, etcetera,” Tyler says, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Things I very rarely display,” she says and stands again, checking her watch. “I have to go, I have a meeting with the Chellerian ambassador. Thanks for another lesson in my failure,” Tyler frowns.

“You’re not a failure, Scar,” he yells out as she walks away.

“Hey, handsome,” she says when she gets home that night, rolling the tension from a day at her desk out of her shoulders. Fin turns around, his arms crossed. “How was your day?” She says, approaching him and kissing his cheek. His hand comes to rest in her pocket, stopping her from pulling away. She stays there happily, sitting on the arm of his chair.

“I missed you this morning,” he says and she shrugs.

“I had a meeting with Ty,” she says and he nods.

“I know, I asked him,” she recoils slightly, a motion not missed by him.

“Why?” She asks and he shrugs.

“Because you’ve been having meetings with him in the early mornings for the last month. I was worried I had done something to upset you. But he got really cagey about it when I asked. Which made me more worried. Do I need to be worried, Scar?” He says and she can see his fear, that part of him that was cast out from his family. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds him tight.

“You don’t have to be worried, not about us, and if you did, I would tell you and we would work through it together, I promise,” she assures and rests her lips in his hairline.

“Okay. So why the sneaking out of bed at times of the morning you swear you hate getting up at?” He asks and she knows the jig is up and sighs.

“Tyler’s been running me through the Zero g simulator,” she’s not the most trained half-Waywalker in the ‘Way, but his confusion is so potent it’s impossible to miss.

“Why?” He says and she sighs.

“Because I like sleeping with you and you like sleeping with me and you need zero g and I want you to have the things you nee-“ she’s suddenly cut off by his lips on hers, his fingers sliding into her hair as he presses tight to her. Her eyes flutter closed as she sinks into him.

“I love you Scarlett Jones,” he whispers as he pulls away. “And also, why didn’t you ask me to help you?” She shrugs.

“I don’t know. I wanted it to be a surprise, but it’s also embarrassing how awful I am with it. I lack my usual poise and grace when I’m not on solid ground,” she says, blushing with the ridiculousness of the confession. Fin smiles and kisses her red cheeks.

“You should stop lessons with Tyler. I’ve seen him in zero g and he’s technically good in zero g but there’s no way he would never be able to sleep in it. If that’s what you’re working towards, you leave it to me. And I’m sure it will be more fun my way anyway,” he says, his fingers absently fiddling with the buttons of her blouse. She kisses him again.

“I love you too, Finian de Seel,” he just grins.

“Okay, so when do we start?” She says a week later while they’re settling in for the night and he shrugs.

“I’m working on it. I’m letting you get used to not having to get up before 6 every morning anymore before I start interrupting your sleep,” he says and she grins at him.

“Ah, Fin, I never mind you interrupting my sleep,” she says and his cheekbones and ears flush pink, making her grin wider. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and shakes his head.

“You’re a menace, Jones,” she scrunches her nose at him.

“And you love me anyway.”

“That I do.”

The next morning she woke up and at first didn’t realise anything was wrong. She was still in Fin’s arms (which was usually her biggest indicator for how right life was going) and she was horizontal, but there was nothing keeping her up. She couldn’t feel their mattress anymore. She opened her eyes to see Fin looking back at her, smiling.

“You made it through the night. I’m impressed,” he says and she tilts her head in confusion. He pushes her away from him slightly and that’s when she realises that they’re in zero g.

“I don’t follow,” she says and he pulls them together and guides them back to the mattress before pressing the button above the bed. She slowly feels the gravity return.

“I figured that it would be best if you were already asleep so I’ve been putting us in zero g after you fall asleep for as long as you seem to be able to stand before you start thrashing. We’ll have to work out how you can get to sleep in zero g but you slept through the night last night. I’m proud of you,” he says and she blushes a little at the praise.

“That was a really brilliant idea. You are brilliant, Fin,” she says, pressing her lips to his softly.

“You flatter me, Scar. Tonight we can try getting to sleep in the zero g if you want?” He says and she nods, stroking her thumbs over his fingers.

“Only if I’m falling asleep with you,” he pulls her into a hug.

“Always.”

#aurora cycle #auroras end #fin de karran de seel #scarlett jones #tyler jones

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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banner designer @jamaisjoons | many thanks to @joonsrack for her translations and @jooneggs for beta reading

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: just a heads-up, there is French in this chapter. it isn’t translated because y/n does not speak French and thus has no clue wtf goes On BUT if you want the goss, feel free to use google translate or ur Local Translation Engine. explicitly sexual content, cursing, voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, spanking, dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, public (not sex-sex but sexytimes in public), shoe kink, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, use of safeword, teasing, bondage, gagging, use of sex toys, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, overstimulation, crying during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, a sexy sliver of aftercare before yn zonks it

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week One only. Vote here. Multiple votes are allowed but please do not spam the voting as this is an overall audience pick. I’m very excited to see what the results will be ! Voting is closed! Thank you for participating!

DAY SIX

You wake up early in the morning to a sore throat. Though the arm that rests heavy on your waist and the breath that tickles the nape of your neck tempt you back to sleep, you can’t even swallow without wincing, and the only solution is a cool drink and some pain meds.

Namjoon doesn’t react when you slip out from under him, sliding your pillow under his arm. He simply lets out a satisfied hum and curls it closer to him. Still, you dress in breathy silence, tiptoeing out and leaving the door open a crack for your return.

Downstairs, the blinking numbers on the microwave read shortly before 6am and you groan. The chance of you getting any more sleep after this was slim.

You pour some water and swallow some basic pain meds with a sigh. If you were honest, quiet moments like this were rare. Past the glass sliding door which leads to the outdoor dining area, you can see glints of reddy golds and flaming orange, pooling between trees to warm the concrete patio. This villa was truly beautiful, and you knew you’d never stay in a place like it again. Not only the house itself but the company you shared was invaluable. All the guys had such a personality to them, and you were surprised at how quicky you’d grown accustomed to them all. Fond, too.

Yoongi’s thoughtfulness, Jungkook’s energy, Jin’s stability. Taehyung who was so giving and Hoseok who never let the mood falter. And more recently, Namjoon becoming more confident and Jimin revealing flecks of heart behind the stone facade. Everyone brought something to the villa that made it a truly magical place. You feel like you’d be happy even without the mind-blowing sex. As the elimination day draws painfully close, your stomach turns with the thought of turning someone away. Of removing them when they’d only just gotten settled. The Lady was the hardest job in the game in many ways.

Finishing your glass, you set it in the sink with a wet clink and roll your shoulders, arching your back as the last of your sleep leaves you in a final yawn. You turn to leave, squeaking when you’re met with a solid body coming out of nowhere.

“Woah- Jimin?” The last person you expected to be up so early, you cringe as your voice raises in disbelief.

The man in question grins, eyes twinkling even in the relative darkness of pre-dawn. “Going so soon?”

“I-” You find yourself at a loss of words, feeling caught somehow, and you clear your still-aching throat. “What are you doing up?”

“Looking for you, little mouse. Or did you forget I’m next in line?” He speaks as light and melodic as a music box, but his lips are twisted in a grin as his eyes roam over you, wearing the same clothes as last night. “Has our Namjoonie finally popped his cherry?”

The way he plays with every syllable has you feeling so vulnerable, so under his control, and your gaze falters, looking instead at his odd attire. Like he’d gotten up in a hurry, he’s wearing a mix of pyjamas and clothes. His legs are tightly clad in glossy faux leather, blacker than black, and his top half is a silk pyjama top, sinful red trimmed with black, and with only a single button done up in the middle of his torso, exposing his lower stomach and the top of his chest. You suck in a breath at the expanse of skin, and what looks like the black sliver of a...tattoo?

“Cat got your tongue?” he questions, drawing your eyes back up as he licks his top lip slowly, purposefully.

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, cursing the way your voice catches throatily, clearly affected by him. “And if you’re going to take your turn, can we at least go somewhere a little more comfortable? It’s six in the fucking morning.”

Like a switch is flipped, his face darkens, the humour gone. You swallow the lump in your throat as Jimin’s mouth sours into a scowl, but you can’t deny the heat that pools between your legs at it too. “I knew it,” he announces, voice acidic.

“Knew what?” Your fate sealed, a streak of confidence rises within you. You’d ruffled him. And every part of you is screaming to make him react again.

His eyes are molten power as they focus on you. “Five days and you’ve already become a spoilt brat.”

Your mouth drops open. “Fuck you! It’s your job to fuck me.”

“Why should I fuck you when you haven’t done a thing to earn it?” Jimin takes a step forward and reflexively you back up. “You’re an ungrateful cockhungry slut, little mouse. If you want me, beg for it.” He takes another step and again, you shuffle back, heart picking up.

“I shouldn’t have to beg,” you counter, though your voice isn’t as firm as before. Jimin simply raises a brow, continuing to walk you further into the kitchen until your lower back strikes the countertop. You swallow again, wishing you weren’t so easily affected. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll just send you home.”

“You could,” he gives dismissively, lips twitching into a sneer at his following words, “but I don’t think you will. I don’t believe you’d send me home if I didn’t fuck you. Because you want to know how it feels.”

You bite your tongue, glaring up at him, at the way he’s so indifferent about it. “Fine. Then fuck me.”

Jimin tuts reproachfully, his arms leaning forward to prop himself up on the bench behind you, caging you in. Your heart stops beating, the throb felt between your legs instead as he’s close enough to touch, his mouth close enough to kiss, not that you’d dare. “That isn’t begging,” he whispers in disapproval.

“I don’t beg,” you insist, even as your hands clench, fighting the urge to touch him.

Suddenly, the shadow over his face disappears, and he pushes up, creating some distance between you again. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says airily, causing you to frown in confusion. “We aren’t at the begging stage yet. You know what you need first?”

You stare at him blankly, giving him a shake of your head.

Jimin grins, and you swear you see his eyes flash. “Punishment.”

“You can’t be serious,” you breathe, though instead of sounding offended as you intend, you just sound needy. Fuck Park Jimin and his iron grip on your arousal.

His grin broadens like the Chesire Cat. “You’ve been very bad, little mouse. You’ve been demanding and impatient, you’ve used vulgar language and I seem to recall the night you interrupted my sleep because of how loud you were next door. I can’t let it slide,” he divulges with a solemn shake of his head, like your poor behaviour pains him, “I just can’t.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t punish me like a child.”

“And that will be another one,” Jimin says instead, perfectly calm, rich blue hair catching the light as the sun continues to rise just outside.

“Another what?” you fire back, beginning to tire of so much talk and so little action.

“Another spank,” he deadpans. Were it anyone else, any other situation, perhaps you would’ve laughed at it. Instead, you stare wide-eyed at the stoicism on his face. “That makes it five for swearing to me in this conversation alone, four for being impatient, and five for keeping me up that second night. Should we round it up to twenty?”

You stay silent for a moment, desperately trying to process it. You shake your head slowly. “You can’t make me,” you point out.

“Of course I can’t,” Jimin gives with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair as if to demonstrate how calm he is. Your eyes are magnetised by the silver rings that glint on his fingers, unable to keep yourself from imagining how they might feel on you. “You can always use your safeword, and I’ll respect it,” he continues. “But I doubt it. Whether you like to admit it, little mouse, you want this. You think I haven’t worked out that you a little pain with your pleasure?” He stands back, just a step, but the extra distance makes you feel suddenly unanchored, and you hate it. “I’m going to give you three seconds to turn around and bend over. If you don’t, I’ll walk away and you get nothing. If you take your punishment like a good girl, then we can talk.”

You huff, pressing your lips - and thighs - together in an effort to stay strong.

“One,” Jimin begins, eyes alight with bemusement. You don’t move, just sighing in annoyance again. “Two.”

Your incisors are clamped on your tongue so tightly you can almost taste blood as you glare intensely at his mouth. He draws it out cheekily, letting you wait painstakingly as he wets his lips and finally opens his mouth, the pink of his tongue pressing against his teeth as he-

Before you can process it, you’re flipping yourself around and pressing your upper chest against the counter, eyes squeezed shut in humiliation as Jimin begins to chuckle.

It’s far too loud for the stillness of the early morning, and you muffle a sob in your forearm - not regret, but neediness. A week he’d deprived you, and the smug fucker was right: you’d take what you could get, and love it too. Blessedly, he doesn’t seem to notice the sound, the air filled instead with his triumphant peal of laughter at seeing you presenting yourself to him just like he knew you would.

“Oh, little mouse,” he coos. “What would the others think if they saw you like this, hm? Bent over for me in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could walk in.”

You take in an unsteady breath, feeling your pulse race with excitement as his fingertips - still cold from the morning air - slip under your waistband, as he painstakingly slides it down, revealing your ass. You let out a small whimper when the toe of his shoe catches your ankle, pushing to widen your legs apart. You bite your lip, cheeks heating, core heating even more.

Jimin runs his palms flat over your bare ass and you hiss through your nose at how icy his rings feel. While his hands are smaller than those of other guys of the house, you feel no less under their control, shivering at the contact. “Was it twenty we agreed upon?” His tone is light, playful. He knows he’s got you, and one final burst of defiance bubbles up through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Does that make it twenty-one?”

You’re jumping before you even feel the lacing of fire on your right cheek or hear the smack that echos in the room. You choke on a moan, unable to deny how the pain settles into a low-burning pleasure that adds to the wetness between your thighs.

From behind you, you hear Jimin sigh heavily and quickly, like he’s trying to calm himself. “I want you to count them,” he instructs, and you flinch as his hand comes down on you again, but this time his slaps are weak, light swats that warm your skin to prepare it. “Twenty starting now. Understood?”

You bite your lip, but pull yourself up a little to free your face, propping yourself up with your elbows. You feel so vulnerable like this, just your ass bared, legs spread and at his mercy, but all you can think of is feeling his hand on you again. Blearily, you nod, and a pleased hum comes from his throat, barely audible.

Jimin makes you wait for it, holding the silence so that your ears strain, fighting the urge to glance ba-

You jerk with a shallow cry as your other cheek stings with his smack, core clenching. “One,” you announce quietly. With every moment of sunrise, the room gets lighter and lighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. Was that dread in your stomach or excitement?

He doesn’t speak, only smoothing the skin to cool it before laying another blow, waiting for you to call out a shaky “two.” He’s wearing at least three rings, and you can feel them, more unforgiving than his flesh and painfully ice cold. You wonder in the back of your mind if they’ll leave marks. You can’t help but hope they do.

You’ve made it to eight strikes before your knees begin to shake slightly. Every lick of pain simultaneously hurts more on the raw skin of your ass, but pools as liquid pleasure between your legs faster as you grow accustomed to it. Your pussy aches for contact, and you arch your back after the ninth spank falls, presenting yourself to him even more in the hopes that he’ll be tempted, but Jimin just tuts in disapproval.

“Look at you, little mouse. Soaking after a few spanks. You love this, don’t you? No part of you can deny it anymore.” You pant and bite down hard on your lip, wanting so bad to beg for it. Still, you refuse. Jimin just hums at your attempt at stoic silence, amused more than anything. “Almost halfway. It’ll be over so soon, don’t you think? We should make the most of this.”

You frown at his words, more so when you feel the heat of his body leave you. You crane your neck automatically, spine lifting to stand, but his voice freezes you.

“Fucking face the front and keep position,” he seethes, “I never said you could move.”

You sink back down, widening your legs and lowering your chest so it rests on the edge of the countertop, eyes locked onto the splashback in front of you. With ears straining, you shudder at the sound of a drawer sliding smoothly open, and the various clinks and thuds that follow as he rummages. Once the drawer shuts again and Jimin returns, you can barely breathe, goosebumps breaking out on your thighs and arms.

He pats something against you, then slowly runs it over the heated skin of your ass, the slight friction making you hiss. “Do you know what this is? Feel it.” He continues to brush it around slowly, and you wrack your mind. It’s not metal or plastic - the texture is a little too rough and it isn’t as cold as his rings were. You hiss when you feel it dip down between your thighs, too low to touch you were you need it most. The shape is a tall oval, flat on one side but concave on the other, and you let out a low moan, back arching lower as you work it out. Jimin laughs, bringing it back up to tap it teasingly on your cheek. “I think you do,” he remarks. “Shall we continue?”

You bite your lip but it can’t fully cover the needy moan that spills out. He’s really about to spank you with a wooden spoon, and you’re really dripping for it. “Ye-yes,” you gasp out, a cry ripped from your throat at the first hit. It’s far sharper on your skin than his hand, whistling through the air and landing with a resounding smack. The sting lasts longer too, almost like you can feel the exact outline of the spoon on your skin. “Fuck, ten.”

When Jimin speaks again, his voice is rich with sadistic amusement. “Do you like it, little mouse? You should see yourself. The outline of the spoon just now, the marks from my rings-” he drags a single nail down one of the aforementioned marks, and you keen, the raw pain sent straight to your core, “you mark so beautifully for me. This perky little ass of yours is so red, you know? Should we make it even redder?”

Without waiting for your answer, he lands three smacks in quick succession - right, left, right again. Your body’s instinct takes over and you pull your body forward, tucking your ass in as if to escape it, even as your core throbs with need and your nipples press stiffly against your shirt.

Jimin won’t have it, though, and you moan in a low keen as he wraps an arm low over your hips and tugs you back down, pressing the middle of your back with the fist and clenches the spoon so that you arch beneath it, dropping down that hand to run his knuckles lightly over your abused skin. “Shh,” he hushes firmly, “we aren’t done here yet. If it’s too much for you, you know what to say.”

Your heart warms at his reminder of your safeword, but you have no intention of using it, already melting under the additional physical contact. Instead, you lean back into his grip, presenting yourself for more.

You sense rather than see his grin, but it makes you shiver nonetheless as the amused breath escapes his nose, his cool fingers running over your flesh, thumb and pointer as the rest wrap around the stem of the wooden spoon. “Are you gonna count them then, little mouse?”

Your mouth drops open to answer, but you pause, having to really think back. “Mm, uh, twelve? Eleven?”

Jimin chuckles, returning to those light teasing pats of the wooden spoon, just to make your thighs shake. “Thirteen, actually,” he reveals in a rakish tone. “If you wanted more, you just had to ask.”

Before your brain can process a retort, the spoon comes down again, an audible thwack that jiggles the flesh of your ass with the force of it, and you keen, knees buckling for just a moment. The contrast of intense stimulation of the fiery skin on your ass and the complete neglect of your needy core is infuriating but addictive nonetheless. “Fuck, Jimin, fo-fourteen.”

You automatically suck in a breath in the sudden lull as Jimin rears his hand back, but the quiet reveals a different noise, the laughing and joking and thud-thud-thud of people coming down the stairs, and you’re choking on the air in your lungs, freezing as two familiar faces round the corner and come to a halt as they witness the scene you’re in.

Your legs shiver but your core throbs still as Jungkook and Taehyung watch you wide-eyed, eyes dancing in unision from Jimin, to you, to your ass and the spoon in Jimin’s hand. The cheeks of your face are somehow hotter and redder than the others, but regardless you stay frozen in position, waiting for someone else to make a move.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, the only one of you four unbothered. “She has six hits left, boys,” he offers up, patting your hip like you’re a ride to have a go on. “Any takers?”

Taehyung steps forward first, Jungkook’s mouth still hanging low. As you watch his slender fingers wrap around the handle of the wooden spoon, you shiver, and he chuckles at your reaction.

“You know,” he muses casually, replacing Jimin behind you as the older man steps away to lean against the bench beside you, “I think I’m starting to warm up to this whole situation, petal. Where else would I get to walk in on a sight like this? And Jimin-hyung is so generous to let us help out. Thank him, Y/n.”

A breath rushes out of your throat, one you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Humiliation rushes through you, but it’s cloudy with arousal, and your tongue is loose with it. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Good girl,” Taehyung coos shortly, and that’s the only warning before he’s swatting you harshly with the flat back of the spoon, and you let out a strangled moan. Your ass won’t stop stinging between hits, but you obediently call out ”fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” until you only have three to go.

Taehyung relinquishes his turn reluctantly to Jungkook; the youngest contestant in the house eying you up strangely, almost like he can read and understand the pleasure in the welts on your ass and the tremble of your knee. Almost like he’s been where you are, or somewhere close. Judging by the apparent variety of his streams, you don’t doubt it.

Like Jungkook’s testing the waters, his first hit is the weakest, barely making you flinch. You exhale lowly in disappointment. “Eighteen,” you say, swallowing down the drool that threatens to gather.

Before any more land, you instead feel fingers at your hairline, brushing back strands that have covered your face. Small but strong points of pressure light up on your jaw as Jimin pulls your chin to look up at him, his eyes swirling with deep satisfaction.

“I wanna see the look on your face,” he announces quietly. “I want our Jungkookie to make these last two hurt. Will you take it for me?”

His voice brooks no disagreement, still dripping with authority and control, but you know that he’s once more giving you an out should you wish to use your safeword, so you nod shakily, eyes fluttering. “Please.” You’ve still received no friction - or contact at all - on your pussy, and you feel yourself going crazy. The pain is addictive, licks of pleasure that seep into your veins after every spank, but you can’t handle how you drip down your own thighs, soaking your panties even as they rest hooked just above your knees. Two more hits and you’d finally get what you needed.

You haven’t seen Jimin’s face this close, and certainly not seen his eyes in such intense detail before, and instead of anticipating the next hit you find yourself blinking up at him dazedly. His hair, the deep glossy navy that you’d never seen on somebody before, is swooped gracefully over his brow, which is still a natural black, and below it his eyes are molten with lust and satisfaction, watching your face intently. His hands are hot on your face, the rings cool points of unforgiving contact, and you can’t help but wonder if the plush pillows of his lips are warm like his hands or cool like his rings. They’d feel softer against yo-

“Fu-fuck!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as two sharp hits strike you not on the already-red skin of your ass, but the tops of your thighs instead, just below the swell of flesh. It’s more painful than you’d expect, but you’re so turned on that your mind just screams better and more. Caught up in it, you belatedly gasp out a “nineteen, twen’y,” and feel yourself sink against the countertop, held up by Jimin’s hands on your face and jaw.

“Little mouse,” his voice calls out, and your brows knit together as you struggle to decipher his tone. “Little mouse.”

You force your eyes open, breathing heavily through your mouth as everything except the burn below and Jimin above fade away. “Jimin,” you whisper, lips barely moving.

His give a twitch, pleased. It warms your heart to see the flicker of approval. “What do you say, hm?”

You don’t even think, but your body knows the answer. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“I’m not the only one,” he remarks, though a pleased grin is evident on his face and in his voice.

Truthfully, you’d almost forgotten the others, but as you thank them, eyes still locked on Jimin, you feel your toes curl at the realisation that you’re surrounded by three extremely attractive men. Men that are all here to-

The dopey smile of anticipation is struck from your face when Jimin abruptly lets go of you, pushing off the countertop. You stumble, catching your legs under you and fumbling to pull up your jeans reflexively. “Where are you-?”

You jump at the dull clang of the wooden spoon being tossed in the sink, Jungkook’s hand free as Jimin discards the tool. You watch openmouthed, panties and jeans barely on as the former rest uncomfortably soaked against your core, as the eldest of the three rolls his shoulders and sighs happily. “So, boys; should we make some omellettes for breakfast? I feel like cracking a few eggs.”

Taehyung grins and Jungkook’s gaze slides to you in uncertainty but the two agree, casually retrieving ingredients and utensils like you aren’t sitting there with a stinging ass and your jeans unbuttoned.

“Jimin,” you mumble dumbly, and to your surprise he acknowledges you this time, walking over to stand in front of you with a congenial smile.

“You’re done here, Y/n,” he announces. Unabashedly, his hands slip down and begin to fully slide your panties and jeans up, fingers slipping up the zip and buttoning them closed. “You didn’t want to beg, and I’m not going to make you. You took your punishment, so why don’t you toodle along? I’m sure one of us will call for you when breakfast is ready.”

Your mouth drops open, the final lusty haze of the scene evaporating fast enough to leave you reeling. “Are you serious? You aren’t going to do anything?”

Jimin’s eyebrows lower intently, voice hushing like he’s sharing a secret, even though Taehyung and Jungkook are right behind him in earshot. “Oh, little mouse. You know exactly what to do to get what you want.”

He waits expectantly, but your eyes dart past his shoulders to the other two boys. Begging was one thing, but in front of the others? You fight a pout, hoping your face looks angry rather than put out. “You’re an asshole, and I’m voting you out.”

His grin broadens, wolfish. “Well then,” he remarks with an unbothered lift of a brow, “I better hurry up and make these omelettes before I get sent home, now, shouldn’t I?”

And with that, he turns his back to you and begins chatting to his friends. You stay for one more moment of shocked silence, but soon turn tail, stomping back up the stairs with the wet fabric of your panties pressing coldly against you.

---

When you peek your head in the door, Namjoon is still asleep, so you quickly duck back into your room and change into some fresh clothes and underwear before going back in, content to chill on his armchair until he wakes.

You’d told him you would stay, and the way the fabric of your leggings rubs against your sore ass when you sit only reminds you of the fact that you’d been gone longer than anticipated already. He looks peaceful, though, clearly quite content with the pillow you’d left him with. Namjoon’s mouth is parted slightly, slack and half-pressed into his own pillow. He clutches yours with both arms, snuffling or grunting in his sleep every few moments.

You’re happy with just scrolling through your phone aimlessly for the half hour or so it takes before he wakes, back arching and neck cracking as he stretches. A beam broadens on your face at the dazed slow blink and wide yawn that he emits. “Sleep well?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He pats the pillow and mattress beside him in confusion, sitting up to stare at you with a squint. “You stayed?”

“I said I would,” you dismiss, a single thread of guilt wrapping around your heart at the memory of where you’d just came from. “I woke up a bit early and needed a drink. Sore throat.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen dramatically, the concern on his face ringed by a mess of tanged purple hair. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked…”

“You’re fine, Namjoonie,” you murmur. “I was actually wondering if you’d want to-”

You break off to the sound of what is undoubtably Jungkook belting out his lungs from downstairs, announcing breakfast is ready. Namjoon lights up, kicking the blankets off in a rush to get out of bed. “I’m starving,” he chimes, getting dressed without a shred of the self-consciousness you’d witnessed the night before. Hunger has seemingly stolen all his brainpower, and you follow his eager slipstream as he rushes down the stairs noisily, thumping into the kitchen.

Both your heart and your core throb in disappointment, your opportunity for morning sex lost by the offer of a hot meal. Your mood sours even further when you come face-to-face with the three youngest serving up omelettes, Jimin smiling brilliantly, still dressed in a barely-buttoned silk pyjama shirt and some black glossy pants.

He barely spares you a glance, even as he sits almost directly across from you. You take a seat between Namjoon and Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin on the other side and the heads of the table kept by Hoseok and Yoongi.

You have to admit that the wafting smells of cooked egg, cheese and various spices have your stomach grumbling, so you vow to ignore the unsatisfied heat between your legs and the smug man across from you and tuck in, your knife cutting through the omelette like butter. It’s delicious, and clearly everyone at the table shares the same sentiment, moans of surprised enjoyment filling the air.

“I’m impressed, Jimin,” Yoongi admits, “the first time I’ve even seen you awake for breakfast and you make us this. It’s fantastic.”

His voice is melodic, teasing at your eyes even as you avoid looking at him. “Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin replies warmly, “I was actually taught the recipe from one of my good friends who works as a chef in France.”

Hoseok isn’t impressed, and the way he scrunches his face up in annoyance makes you suppress a grin. “Let me guess, Remy the rat? If we dig around in that hair of yours will we find him tugging you around?”

Jimin ignores him coolly, knife twirling deftly around his fingers. “I haven’t seen Victor in several years, but his cooking lessons have always stuck with me. Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai qui tu es.”

“You are what you eat,” Namjoon muses, shoveling a wobbling stack of egg into his mouth.

Your eyebrows lift, turning to him with shock. “You speak French?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin straighten in interest at the man directly across from him, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, cheeks bulging as he hurriedly tries to finish his mouthful. “Took it as an elective in university,” he explains once he’s done, “never actually been to France, though.” He turns to Jimin finally, eyes shining with the spark of curiosity that always seemed to smoulder there. “What’s it like?”

“C’est incroyable,” Jimin enunciates, the French dripping off his tongue like sparkling water. “Tu devrais y aller un jour. Mon ami a un appartement à Paris avec une chambre d’amis dans laquelle je séjourne des fois.”

Namjoon gasps, and you glance around the table, everyone bar the two of them looking totally confused. “Avec vue sur la Tour Eiffel?” The only indication it’s a question is the way his pitch rises, but the rest is incomprehensible to you, so you just return to your omelette, content to watch the conversation play out like a foreign movie without subtitles. Body language and tone being your only clues.

“Bien sûr,” Jimin replies easily, his head tipping to the side, eyes burning as he stares at the older man, “mais on pourrait peut-être parler de choses plus excitantes que cela? As-tu apprécié la compagnie de Y/N dans ton lit hier soir?”

You straighten up as you hear your name, glaring at Jimin in suspicion. You’d never regretted picking Spanish in high school instead of French more. Namjoon, interestingly, seems equally ruffled by Jimin’s comments. “That’s really none of your busi-”

“Tu vas me parler en Français, Namjoon, ou je vais commencer à te poser des questions en Anglais. Qu’est-ce que t’en dit? The choice is yours.” Jimin’s voice turns sharp, spitting out the syllables like jabs. The choice? In unison, everyone at the table turns to Namjoon in question as the academic flushes.

“Fine,” he says shortly in English, before switching back to French. “On n’est pas vraiment... allés jusqu’au bout. J’allais lui proposer ce matin, mais tu nous a appelés pour le déjeuner. .”

Jimin’s mouth curls slowly, deviously, making Namjoon swallow. You feel your own cheeks heat at the thought that they were very likely speaking about you. “Is that so?” Jimin asks in English, head tipping slowly. He takes a single bite of his breakfast, making Namjoon shift awkwardly in his seat at the wait. “Well; I do apologise for interrupting.” You look up between the two of them. Was he referring to him spanking you that morning? Or him calling you down just when you were going to make a move? Jimin isn’t done, sliding down in his seat just slightly, so he’s leaning back. “Laisse-moi me faire pardonner.”

Namjoon’s brows knit and his mouth opens to reply, but suddenly he goes ramrod stiff, eyes flying wide open. “Wh-what are you-?” His chest heaves once, his throat bobbing as he swallows down the rest of his sentence.

You frown, glancing down to see the shiny tip of Jimin’s shoe pressed firmly against Namjoon’s crotch, shifting back and forth. You look away, hoping to avoid attracting more attention to Namjoon’s predicament, but you can’t deny the hot rush of heat between your own thighs at the thought of Jimin getting Namjoon off at the breakfast table with just the sole of his shoe. You finish off the last of your omelette bitterly, hating the way that your mind wishes you were in Namjoon’s seat right now.

Like nothing’s happening, Jimin continues to converse with his elder, the others at the table seemingly none the wiser. “Ce n’est peut-être pas une une chatte bien chaude et humide, mais tu es un bon garçon, n’est-ce pas? Tu vas prendre ce que je te donne, non?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon croaks out, voice surprisingly steady even as it’s low with arousal, “i-is there any more batter left? I’d love another omelette.”

Jungkook pipes up, finally hearing enough English to be able to contribute. “There’s not much left, but I was actually thinking I kinda feel like some hash browns and bacon, so we could go for round two if anyone else is up for it?”

Yoongi and Jin, like they’ve been awakened with the promise of more food, drag their chairs back simultaneously to stand. “I don’t trust you with frying bacon, Jungkook,” Jin answers from beside you with a small grin, “let hyungs help.”

Half the table files away, Hoseok also joining those in the kitchen, probably because he’s hoping for some taste-testing, and you’re left with Taehyung being the only unaware party, on his phone as he mindlessly sips away at a glass of juice.

“Regarde-moi ça,” Jimin announces with melodic glee. “il y a moins de regards sur toi maintenant. Les autres sont dans la cuisine, Taehyung ne nous prête pas attention, et Y/N sait déjà ce qui est entrain de se passer; regarde-la.”

You glance up at your name but Taehyung doesn’t even react, mouth slightly open as he focuses on the video he’s watching silently, pinky finger tapping at the condensation on the glass absentmindedly.

Namjoon turns to face you, before glancing down at the shoe which rocks faster and broader between his legs, his cock tented and leaking a small wet patch in his trousers. He knows you know. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Jimin overtakes deftly, making Namjoon hunch over the table as the jerking of his shoe against Namjoon’s clothed cock speed up. Even as Jimin’s eyes are on you, he addresses the older man in lush French. “Est-ce que tu vas venir comme ça, hm? Crois-tu pouvoir rester silencieux?”

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat stemming from between your legs as you wish you could’ve felt some contact from Jimin instead. Even just the sole of his shoe would be better than nothing, but it seems that Namjoon doesn’t share the sentiment, as his hand shoves at Jimin’s foot. “Rouge,” he gasps out lowly, and Jimin recoils like he’s been shot.

Sitting upright, feet to himself again, Jimin’s eyes widen at the word. Even with the little to no French knowledge you have, you can guess the meaning. Red. Namjoon used the safeword. “I’m so sorry,” Jimin croaks, and you’re startled at the vulnerability and genuine apology in his voice, “are you not-?”

“Juste parce que je suis techniquement vièrge, ça ne fait pas de moi un soumis,” Namjoon explains with a rueful smile. You wish he would’ve spoke in English, but his light tone at least reassures you that he isn’t mad or hurt or upset. He mostly just seems a little embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Can we stop speaking in baguette?” Taehyung pipes up miserably, putting his phone away. “Oui, oui. Mercy. Oh reservoir. Anything more complex than that and you’ve got me lost.”

Namjoon frowns, bewildered. “Do you mean merci and au revoir?”

“Do I?” Taehyung questions rhetorically, eyes dazed. Namjoon just shrugs hopelessly, but that seems enough for the black-haired boy. He cheers up a bit and, glancing at Namjoon’s hunched figure, lets out a short sigh. “You look tense, hyung. Do you need some help relaxing?”

Jimin bites his lip with guilt, and you hate the way you’re drawn to that pillow of flesh, so pink against the white of his teeth. What you wouldn’t give to lean over there and see what it felt like to kiss him.

Namjoon, however, seems less concerned with Jimin. You get the idea that perhaps he’s not one to have a short temper or hold grudges. “It’s okay, I think I might have a quick shower upstairs before the second lot of breakfast is finished.” Displaying his characteristic shyness, Namjoon makes an awkward yet completely unsuccessful attempt to leave the room without revealing his tented crotch.

Taehyung’s eyes follow it out until Namjoon’s out of sight, his mouth hung open. After a moment’s thought, brows knitted tightly together, Taehyung turns back to the two of you at the table. “Do you think he’s turned on by food or something? He did seem pre-tty eager to chow down that omelette. I should go ask him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jimin sinks his face into his hands as Taehyung scrambles after Namjoon, and you honestly don’t blame him.

You manage to make it to late afternoon before you encounter Jimin again. After the meal, he speaks quietly to Jin and the two disappear into the private rec room. For you as well, the day is spent inside, Jungkook asking for your assistance in spotting him at the indoor gym, mostly so he can explain to you and Hoseok the extremely elaborate plot of his latest anime show while he lifts weights. You and Hoseok, completely lost, ended up spending hours there trying to understand all the character arcs and plot twists and backstories, eventually moving up to Jungkook’s room so he could show you the first few episodes. By the time he let you go, you made your way downstairs with a bag of laundry, having almost spent a full week in the villa.

Unlike most of the house, the laundry feels very basic and surburban: a front-loader, a dryer and a sink with some cabinets are really the only pieces of furniture, so you perch on the dryer as you wash, and the washer as you dry your load of clothes.

Letting the regular thump of the drying machine lull you into a sleepy daze, you’re too zoned out on your phone to notice someone approaching until fingers wrap around your phone, pushing it down away from your face.

Jimin’s still hasn’t changed out of his red pyjama shirt, and as you sit up ramrod straight and focus onto him, you admire the way the lapels lay open to expose his collarbones. “Fancy seeing you here,” he announces with a grin, eyes raking over you as you sit atop the washing machine.

“What a coincidence,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what would that be, little mouse?”

You fight the urge to press your legs together at the petname, Jimin’s eyes intelligent and self-satisfied as they watch you. “Coming here to seduce me.”

Jimin laughs, and your cheeks flush hot at the sound, his head tipping back to expose a graceful neck. “Oh, Y/n, don’t think so highly of yourself. I’m just here to do my laundry.”

Dubious, you keep your legs dangling over the side and your arms crossed as you look down. True enough, a basket of washing rests and his feet, and you wait bitterly as he brushes your legs wider so that he can turn on the machine, selecting the right settings and pouring in a scoop of detergent. You keep a stoic silence, biting down on your tongue at his actions, but he doesn’t seem to care about your eyes on him.

In fact, he appears to openly thrive on it, sinking into a crouch in front of the machine and blinking up at you innocently, his face in front of your aching crotch. Refusing to give in, you press your lips together while he opens the door and deposits his clothes, socks, underwear, everything he’s been wearing the past few days. Once he’s done, you feel yourself relax a bit, but then he lets out a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose I should wash these too,” he muses, fingering at the bottom edge of his shirt, and your mouth goes dry. That fucker. He doesn’t even look at you as he undresses, but the smirk on his lips speaks volumes.

Your hips long to writhe, but you force yourself still as he unbuttons his shirt, opening it up and chucking it in casually, running a hand over his now-naked chest, quite literally rubbing it in. The most skin you’ve seen on him yet, you allow yourself to drink in the sight. He’s more muscular than you’d expect, though it’s all lean muscle, graceful yet speaking to a corded strength.

Even though you know it’s coming, there’s nothing that can prepare you for the obscene sight of him pulling down the zipper of his black patent leather pants, revealing equally black boxers. He’s not hard, not even the slightest hint of a chub, and the thought infuriates you that he could make you so needy without even getting aroused himself, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

As he lowers his pants down, his thighs are revealed in all their glory, the thickest part of him. They flex as he lifts each leg, tugging off the pants fully and tossing them in. Though you hadn’t noticed before, now is the first time you’ve seen him without his shoes on, and you marvel at the fact that he loses none of his power like this, that it really comes from within, from his piercing gaze, knowing smile and confident posture. Chucking them in the washing machine too, he pauses for a moment, lip tugged up in a smirk, before his ringed fingers find the elastic waistband of his boxers.

Startled, a breathy, “Jimin,” falls from your lips unbidden, barely audible.

“Hm?” Jimin has no regard for modesty as he bares himself fully, cock twitching as you stare, wide-eyed. “What’s the problem, little mouse? This is a shared facility.” He chucks the slip of light fabric amongst the rest of his clothes and shuts the lid, pressing start. A gasp escapes you as the machine kicks into gear, already beginning to shudder and rock under you, sending vibrations to your needy core.

As you stare, Jimin stands in front of you, resting a hand on the edge of the machine, right between your splayed legs. His dick is slowly plumping up, the man completely unbothered as he lowers his free hand to press at the skin around it, sighing.

Your fingers clench into fists as your arms remain crossed, pussy thriving and dripping with the pleasure after so long, but cursing that his hand is so close yet so far to your clothed cunt. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you spit, leaning back and tipping your head up to stare stubbornly at the ceiling. The image of him, his naked body is still seared onto your eyelids and you let out a huff. “You have no shame.”

“Shame never seemed like a particularly useful quality to have.”

“I’m not giving you what you want,” you insist, voice trembling slightly - though you blame the steady jarring of the washing machine that runs from your core all the way up to your teeth.

“Then I could say the same to you,” you hear Jimin reply easily, before letting out a suspiciously low groan.

Your head shoots down and you gawk at the way he grasps himself, fully hard now, and runs the crook of his pointer finger over his weeping head. His cock is gorgeous, the hair above trimmed neatly and the tip arcing towards the ceiling, towards your shocked stare as he smears the glistening precum around his head, hissing at the coolness of his rings on the heated skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you utter in complete bewilderment. “This isn’t washing your laundry!”

Jimin hums, head tipped back and eyes slipping shut in indulgence. “I can leave to jerk off alone if that makes you more comfortable?”

You fall silent, eyes locked onto his languid strokes. That isn’t what you want at all, and he knows it. “Jimin,” you murmur lowly, captivated by the slow drags of his hand on his cock, rings glinting wetly. He makes a noise of response, almost lost in the mechanical whirring and thudding of the washing machine that stirs in your loins. Your voice is barely louder than his. “Jimin, why are you making this so difficult?”

His head tips back down, lips parted and eyes lidded. “Oh, little mouse,” he sighs, “do you wish you could touch? Do you wish I was inside you?”

You glance again at his hand, resting mere centimetres away from your core. “You know I do,” you admit in a small voice.

“Then beg,” he replies simply, hand slowly picking up speed on his dick. “The only thing that’s keeping you horny and unsatisfied is yourself. You could’ve cum three times already if you knew what was good for you.”

You sigh, licking your lips needily. A light ding echoes in the room; your washing has finished in the dryer. You ignore it. “Please, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes open fully, locking on you with a smirk. “Closer,” he answers, teeth exposed as he grins just slightly. Still, though, he continues to stroke himself, even going so far as to take a half step forward to rest the underside of his cock against the washing machine, groaning at the vibrations.

You huff when you realise he isn’t going to speak further. “You do realise I could just go get myself off, right? You don’t have all the power here.”

You know you’ve said the wrong thing when his cheeks lift, lips spread wide in a teasing sneer. “We both know that’s not quite true. Perhaps I don’t have all the power, but a little birdie told me that you’re no longer allowed to put your hand in your own pants. I don’t suppose that rings a bell?”

He knows about Hoseok’s deal. Perhaps they all do. In an effort to wipe the smug look off his face, you scoff, spreading your legs wider in a show of relaxation. “Well then, I guess I might as well go upstairs and ask Hoseok to fuck me. I bet he’d do a better job than-”

Like lightening, his hand leaves his own cock and lashes out, fisting your shirt in his hands and tugging you forward, hard enough that you have to quickly uncross your arms and grab onto him to stop your foreheads from knocking together. You gasp at the fiery look on his face, his voice a sharp growl. “If you think he can fuck you half as good as I can, you’re dreaming.”

“Wha-?” you make out, so close that your breath ruffles the wisp of hair that swoops over his brow.

Just as quick as he grabbed you, Jimin lets go, stepping away. “Your laundry is ready,” he announces lowly. “You’ll be waiting outside my bedroom door in two hour’s time or you won’t get anything at all. Clear?”

Startled, you nod, jumping down off the mid-cycle washing machine, your legs feeling wobbly with the sudden withdrawal of vibrations. Grabbing your washing out of the dryer, you rush out the room with one last glance at him before the door slams and locks behind you. All is silent in the hallway as you ascend the stairs, but internally you scream with excitement.

Two hours drags and stretches and then snaps, everything too slow and then too fast until you’re knocking on Jimin’s door, stomach swirling sickly with anticipation.

He takes his sweet time answering, heightening your heart rate, but by the time he does it takes your breath away. He’s in a different pair of black pants, jeans that are skinny enough to make his legs seem a million miles long. His chest is fully covered this time, but it’s a transparent white mesh singlet, a white pressed blouse with gold buttons and cufflinks unbuttoned at the top to expose it. His lips, plush as ever, are covered in a sheer gloss that glints in the light and his eyes are intense in the frame of thick lashes and a hint of shadow on the lids, warm and smokey. As usual, he’s laden with jewellery, his classic silver rings paired with a pair of thin dangling chains from his lobes that sway hypnotically when he tilts his head in greeting.

You, too, had dressed for the occasion, seeking out your prettiest pair of lingerie - a black lace set with embroidered vines and buds around the hems and cups. The only thing you’re wearing on top is a black silk robe tied lazily around your waist. Thanking your lucky stars nobody had wandered into the upstairs hallway while you were waiting, you step inside, the thick carpet under your bare feet muffling your steps.

Jimin is back in shoes, and you bite your lip when you recognise them as the ones he’d worn at breakfast just that morning. It feels like days ago, your heightened arousal the whole day stretching time into an eternity.

“Kneel,” he instructs shortly, pointing at the carpet in front of him. For a moment you hesitate, but you'd gotten so far and it would be foolish to test your luck and risk getting thrown out with nothing yet again. Besides, part of you wants to see what he'll do when you're actually good for him. You kneel.

His room is perhaps one of the largest excluding yours. His bathroom door is shut, but even just the bedroom has room for a queen bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a chest at the foot of the bed which you're facing. You wonder idly if he'd paid the staff off for the biggest room, but before you can ponder much more he steps in front of you, his crotch right at your eye-level. You glance up him, sucking in a breath at how perfect he looks glancing down at you.

You lick your lips in anticipation, and it draws his attention. "This pretty little mouth of yours," he muses, reaching out to run his fingers over your lips, tugging down the flesh to watch it bounce back. Your chest puffs in pride, mouth practically watering at the thought of sucking him off. You part your lips when he presses on the seam, and his first two fingers delve into your mouth, slowly thrusting so that the pads run along your tongue, making you drool around his digits. You widen your jaw obediently, eyes pleading. But his face changes, then, a frown clouding his features. "More trouble than it's worth," he decides stiffly, and suddenly your mouth is empty, Jimin wiping your saliva off on your cheek before he turns his back to you, opening the chest.

Your mouth stays slack and open, but for a different reason. From what you can see, the wooden box is filled with toys, slips of fabric and leather, metal chains, everything. Suddenly, something catches your attention. At the bottom right corner, the initial PJM have been gracefully engraved, painted in with a glossy black ink. This is his, you realise, what he uses for his shoots. You feel your panties dampening between your legs as he rifles around.

When he turns back around, you recoil slightly, recognising the buckled contraption he comes up with. A ball gag. He smiles wickedly at your reaction, standing over you and running his hand through your hair, combing it back from your face. "This is a good thing, little mouse," he explains, tapping your lips twice to indicate to widen your jaw. You obey in a daze, feeling the sphere of unforgiving black plastic fill the front half of your mouth, your teeth keeping it in place. "Now you won't be tempted to run your mouth. Isn't that thoughtful of me?" You glare up at him as the straps wrap around your skull, his deft fingers tightening the buckle just enough so you can't spit the ball out. Your breath comes through your nose now, huffing at him.

He chuckles, crouching in front of you. It's overwhelming, suddenly having his face so close again. The perfect swells of his cheekbones, the sculpted brows and intelligent eyes so intensely locked onto yours. "You can't speak now, little mouse. So your safeword is going to be non-verbal. Click your fingers once for yellow, and over and over as much as you can for red. Okay? Click now so I know you can do it."

You click your fingers, feeling your chest ease slightly with the reinforcement of your safety net. The moment you're done, however, that warm concern vanishes, and he straightens up, turning away from you yet again.

"You're lucky," his voice announces, leaning over to dig in his box of tricks, "normally I'm not so generous. Normally I wouldn't let you cum until you'd well and truly earned it. But those cries of yours on the Monday night..." He trails off, spinning back on his feet to face you, a pair of leather cuffs in his hand, unconnected with heavy duty silver loops dangling from them. His eyes pierce you with a hint of vulnerability that you don't think he even realises he's showing. "You drive me crazy, Y/n. I want to hear you cum over and over and over again for me."

No matter how much your chest rises and falls, you feel breathless, eyes wide. Unable to verbally respond - though you don't even know what you'd say - you just give him a pleading gaze, hips rocking against the bottoms of your feet in search of friction.

He lets out a breath, stepping forward. "Take off your robe," he instructs with a rough voice. Your fingers fumble with the slack knot, hurriedly shedding it and tossing it away, leaving yourself in just the lingerie. "Fuck," he says with a breathy chuckle, "you're gonna be the death of me, little mouse. Wrists."

You clench your teeth around the ball gag in a keen at his words, lifting your arms up to reach him.

One at a time, he fits on the leather cuffs. They're relatively wide, though not too thick, and once he does up the buckle on each one you feel your eyes flutter. Something you'd never felt before but it's divine, the way they wrap so snugly around your wrists, not only a physical anchor, but a reminder that you're his, letting out a low moan when he slips a finger in one of the silver loops, tugging to ensure the fit.

Jimin's lip twitches at your reaction, and instead of telling you to stand, he uses the hoops, pulling your wrists up by the cuffs until you stand to ease the pressure, stumbling slightly as you get off your knees without your hands to assist. He leads you to the head of the bed, where you see the two chains that wrap around the bars of the headboard.

"On," he instructs, letting go so you can clamber up, sitting as you await further instruction. "On your back, darling," he coos, pressing at your shoulder so your head rests back onto the pillow. Automatically, you lift your arms, pulling a smile from his lips as he loops the chains through the silver hoops of your cuffs, spreading your arms wide apart, knuckles brushing against the wood of the headboard.

"Don't go anywhere," he remarks teasingly before leaving you, retrieving a few things from the chest. You tug slightly at one of your cuffs, testing it, and muffle a groan at the feeling of being trapped, tied down and at his mercy.

When he returns, his hands are full, and he tosses the fruits of his labour on the bed beside your torso, getting up on the bed to sit between your legs. You gasp when he tugs your ankles firmly, making you slip down so that your arms are straight, less room to struggle. This way, too, you can barely crane your head up, chest blocking your few of the toys he's brought over.

"Now," he says with a patient sigh, fingering the hem of your panties, "let's get rid of these, mm?" You lift your hips obediently when he goes to slip them down, curling your toes at the sudden cool air on your pussy. "Fuck, look at you," he gushes lowly, his fingers running up and down your slit so light you can barely feel them, making you whimper. "So fucking wet, little mouse. I haven't even touched you."

You lift your head to moan at him, trying to get out your plea, though your words are unrecognisable through the ball gag.

He pouts teasingly, rubbing the flat of his palm over you, slicking up his hand. "Oh, poor baby. The mean old Jiminie kept teasing her, did he? Baby just wants to cum?"

You groan, eyes scrunching shut as you nod your head. Even the simple touch of his hand between your legs is so good you could cry.

You tremble when you feel two fingers slip inside your wetness, a tight fit but one that lets him in so smoothly with how much you're soaked for him. He finds your g-spot with an almost supernatural ease, rubbing at it with the pads of his two fingers, curling inside you. You let out a strangled groan which makes him chuckle.

"I'm being generous now, aren't I? Say thank you, Y/n."

You sob. He knows full well you can't speak, but you obey nonetheless, letting out an unintelligible garble of your thanks.

"Good girl," he coos, and your legs fall apart wider in bliss as he begins an indulgent pace, the cool bands of his rings when they plunge inside you addictive. The second his thumb lifts up and begins rubbing at your clit, you're already on the edge from being deprived so long, and you cum almost immediately, shuddering around his fingers at the deep but powerful satisfaction.

You come down from your high relatively quickly, but he's already slipped his hand out, and you glance down in confusion, only to choke on a moan when you see him, tongue poking out slightly in focus as he uses your own slick to lube up a dildo, a powder pink silicone one that's roughly the shape of a cock, but far smoother, getting wider at the bottom for a place to hold it.

Once he's done, almost without acknowledging you, he grips your knee, making it bend and your leg lift higher up the bed, spreading you wider open for him, the other one still flat on the mattress, splayed wide.

"That was your warm-up, little mouse, I hope you enjoyed it," Jimin remarks with a grin, and you breathe heavy around the gag, back arching as he presses the head of the dildo into you.

It's far wider than his two fingers, and the stretch dumbs you, making your mind slow to a halt to appreciate every inch that fills you, dragging against your sensitised g-spot. Jimin's knuckles bump your clit when he bottoms out, and you shiver, the dildo so deep inside you.

"Let's get started, shall we?" he declares rhetorically with a wolfish grin, and once again your eyes squeeze shut when he begins a bruising pace, every strike spearing you open and making your eyes water. Your spine hitches as you writhe beneath him, but his grip on your bent leg is too strong, and no matter how hard you clench he drives the dildo so fully inside you that your mouth is slack, wide enough that your teeth don't even clamp around the ball on your tongue. With an open mouth, more sound comes through, and you hear the room filling with the wet sound of him fucking you with the dildo, but also your own moans and hiccuped screams.

He fucks you to the edge faster than you can comprehend. There's so much pleasure on every stroke, and he's using so much speed that it feels like you can't take it, like you might explode, but still he pins you down, letting you yank at the cuffs that bind you as you're forced to cum violently around it, thigh muscles clenching as you try to clamp your legs around the intrusion.

"Fuck, that's it, don't stop cumming," you hear him growl, and you sob with pleasure as your orgasm morphs quickly into oversensitivity, but Jimin never lets up for a second.

Your eyes water, tears slipping down over your temples as he continues to fuck you, and suddenly you no longer feel his hand on your leg, it flopping down weakly as fingers tap over your hand.

"Don't forget the signal," he instructs as you sob and writhe, "I'm not fucking stopping without it."

It takes you a moment to process that he's asking about the safeword, but as overwhelmed as you are, you don't want him to stop. "Hngingn," you cry, his name coming out jumbled through the ball gag, and your legs automatically lock around his hand, seeking to stop the roughly thrusting dildo, but his spare hand just rips your legs away, one of his jean-clad knees pinning down your shin and your screams reach a new pitch when you feel fingers strumming at your clit, the pleasure like a million needles, making your hands fist.

After an eternity of going crazy with overstimulation, you pass a bend. The pain turns back into pleasure, and you settle, going quiet and shifting slightly to seek it out, eyes rolling at the rhythmic rocking of your hips as he fucks you with the dildo.

"That's it," Jimin guides, breathless with exertion, "I want you to cum again, little mouse. Clench tight for me."

You do as he says, eyes so blurry you can't even see anything but the patch of blue in your vision, his head bobbing slightly as he speaks.

Without thinking, you follow his instructions, and like clockwork a third orgasm rips through you, taking you by surprise as the extra pressure of the dildo on your g-spot plunges you over the edge. You hadn't even realised you were close, but clearly Jimin had, and you tremble beneath him, letting the waves of pleasure flood to every corner and crevice of your body, your fists tightening and your toes curling. You weep openly at how good it feels, whimpering when his fingers on your clit stop and the dildo slows, slipping out of you one last time with a slick noise.

You're sweating, twitching, trembling, but still you manage to blink away your tears and focus on him blearily as you feel him removing the ball gag from around your head, fingers gentle as they massage your jaw slightly, letting you close it and lick your lips, feeling the ache.

"Did so well," he praises, and you pant happily, a lazy smile stretching out on your face as your tears begin to dry. The sound of a zip makes you frown, so you glance down to see Jimin already fisting his own cock, just as red and needy as the last time you'd seen it. You whimper as he shuffles forward, lifting your legs up into the air to spread you wide for him.

Almost forgetting you can speak now, you whimper wordlessly for a few moments, before making out a weak, "Jimin," tone pleading.

"Shh," he coos, his cockhead tapping at your drenched entrance, making you shiver. "One more, little mouse."

"I can't," you sob, chest hitching as he slips into you, just bigger than the dildo. You let out a reedy cry at how he strikes you're abused g-spot, and his fingers massage the backs of your thighs soothingly.

"You can," Jimin insists, fucking into you slowly, making you hiss every time, "just one more for me. You have your word."

You sob at the overstimulating madness as his pace picks up, driving so intensely inside of you, but you don't use the safeword. There's a kind of euphoria bliss to being stretched to your limits, pushed so far, and you trust him to take care of you, want to do a good job for him.

So you shake your head, moans blending into cries blending into whimpers. "Fuh-fuck," you gasp as once more sharp stimulation turns warm again, and you near a fourth orgasm. You shiver under Jimin, his thrusts so deft and powerful, jerking your body in rhythm. "I ca- I can't cum again," you admit shakily, "'s too much, Jimin, I can't take it!"

Jimin grunts with the force of his thrusts, but his hands are gentle as they keep your legs spread. "You're almost there, little mouse, you're doing so well."

Your back arches violently when he drops one of your legs to rub at your clit, fresh tears streaming into your hairline. "Fuck, oh god, I'm gonna- fuck!"

You stream as your final orgasm takes you like a train, and a feeling you've never experienced rushes through you as you squirt, thighs clamping iron tight around his hips as he curses at the sight and spills into your trembling body.

Even in the throes of his own orgasm, you feel Jimin's hands pass up and begin releasing you from the headboard, your arms falling limply as he cups your face, barely even rocking into you as every slight movement plunges you into oversensitivity.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath with closed eyes as this thumbs brush away your tears, his cum hot inside you.

"God, Y/n, you were amazing, did so well for me," he confesses lowly in your ear, and you let out a whimper as he presses a single kiss to your cheek, the most tender he's been with you so far.

"Did well," you repeat mindlessly, "Jiminnie."

"You did," he promises, and you hiss as he pulls himself out of you carefully, the feeling of his seed mixed with your own cum flooding out down onto the sheets. "God, look at you," Jimin muses under his breath, surely not meant for you to hear.

Barely conscious, your eyes flutter, and the last thing you remember seeing is him stripping off his expensive white cotton blouse, cleaning you up with it so gently that you barely feel the sting on your clit.

FAN FAVOURITE

TAGLIST

Okay real talk doing 5 ppl per comment takes fucking AGES so imma just try 45 since last time 50 didn’t work.

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Unable to tag @risefallrise @btsphdotcom @kitty-queen-13 @stardust-and-ashes@crazykpopaddict @positivelyjada @paradisetaemin @awixxx @litty-dumb @passionate-love-57911 @sweeneyblue1 @carrooooooooo @purplepearl07

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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This pandemic has brought out the worst in me. My sleeping schedule is a mess (I go to sleep at 6am and wake up at 2pm), I'm barely able to get out of the bed, I can barely do the dishes and take out the trash, I spend too much time on YouTube and inside my head, thinking about all the stuff I wanted to work on but being unable to do it.

My memory has also gotten worse - if it's not something I'm not obsessed with then I'll not remember the details. I was trying to snap myself out of this hazy floating by trying to focus my mind at least on reading, which is something I absolutely love, but now I'm unable to focus even on a plot I find interesting and intriguing, my mind immediately starts to wander, or I need to do at least 2 things at once (reading and checking Reddit, or reading and listening to some ambient music). I've also started to not finish stories where I once used to read a book a day.

I know the theory of what I should be doing, but that's it. I'm unable to JUST DO it. I think my Te is trying to motivate me by trying to wake up my conscience, but it's not enough. I hate this because I know I can do things and concentrate and be responsible and productive, but because I'm fine and all my basic needs are met I don't have the need to pull myself together. I used to fuel my 7 by travelling and observing people, but now that we need to stay home, and I have covid (so my friends bring me groceries), my 9w1 core sloth is all too happy to be left alone, with my devices.

I know that this pandemic brought pandemic fatigue with it, plus it's spring and I'm always tired in spring (plus my years-long medical issues with thick blood and low blood pressure), but it's driving me crazy that I could've gotten better at my hobbies and could've reached some of my goals by now only if I DID things. Things that used to work don't help anymore. And then I don't even stay mad long because some new video distracts me.

Is there something from a mbti perspective that can help to start doing things and concentrating on them? (For context I'm an ENFP 9w1 7w6 2w3)

Also thank you so much for this blog, thank you for helping lost souls find their way and be better people, both inside their head and outside when interacting with the outer world ❤️ I haven't been studying mbti for that long but so far I've seen so much valuable information on your blog, and for free!

Are you mad enough at yourself yet to change your behavior?

That's really the bottom line here, because you KNOW that YOU have to start being responsible and doing things and not just wasting your time... but YOU are the only person who will force yourself to do things.

A couple of thoughts. First, I recognize this phenomenon / brain fog. It happened to me several times last year during the pandemic (where I am, things are opening up, so hopefully they will soon for you as well) and I hated it. My mind was unclear, I had lots of things I needed to do but could not focus on any of them. It was, to be honest, a Si grip, which yanks you out of Ne-dom (possibilities, excitement about doing projects, seeing things made real) and turns your intuition into a "fog." There's no access to Fi (do I care about this? if I care, am I a principled person enough to do it?) and no Te (how am I going to prioritize my tasks?), just Si (I'm comfy doing nothing and feeling depressed) and flits of Ne, which only show up as being bored, easily distracted, etc. So some of this is a Si grip, and some of it is general depression (being unfocused, sleeping in late, not taking care of yourself, no motivation even for things you love, unable to finish things). You need to approach it by dealing with both -- getting back into your stronger functions (Ne: envisioning possibilities and finding a purpose, Fi: drawing upon your character and who you want to be and what you care about, to take action, Te: making a plan, forcing yourself to do what needs done, and keeping track of your progress to self-motivate) -- and by recognizing and admitting that you are depressed, and asking what you can do about it.

Second, you have built up some BAD habits during the pandemic. I get it. I fell into some of this as well last autumn, when I ceased being my usual productive self and started leaving work (from home) at 3pm every day. I developed a bad habit of just watching television, which numbed my brain and ultimately bored me. It's only now that I have hope and can go to the store without a mask on that I am feeling happier (my little 7 wing rejoices and has PLANS) and can work through into the late afternoon. I'm re-establishing a schedule that is productive throughout the day instead of allowing myself to "meander" in life. So what you need to do is look at your habits. Make a list of them. Look at what you told me: basically, it is I have become undisciplined, my sleep schedule is bad, and then I wake up late and feel lazy so I don't do anything. What is ONE THING that would jolt you into a different routine? Go to bed on time. Set a time every night, shut off all your devices an hour ahead of it, read a book until you get sleepy, and go to sleep. Wake up at a decent hour. If you wake up at 7am instead of 2pm, your body won't fall into its usual "welp, afternoon is half over, guess I'll watch YouTube" habit. It will go -- wait, what new habit are we forming? Breakfast? Then work?? Okay!

Lastly, and this is HUGELY important for an ENFP -- decide the night before what you are going to accomplish or work on tomorrow. Why? It prepares your brain to know what is expected from it. Unless I do this each night, and have a notion of how I am going to spend my time, my Ne goes ?!?! and I get very little done or waste three hours trying to decide what to do. But if I say, "Okay, tomorrow I am finishing chapter four," I usually finish chapter four (and then some). Today, I have to work at my paying job. I knew this last night, so I am mentally clear and prepared to focus only on the task at hand. I don't treat today as "mine." It belongs to my employer. I know what I am going to do, I intend to do it, and when I get home, I know what else I can work on. Learn to create this habit each night before bed. Decide what tomorrow is going to be like and commit to it.

As for tasks you don't want to do that still need done -- just do them. You can spend 2 weeks avoiding them, or spend an hour and get it over with so you don't feel like crap about yourself because you have kept avoiding it for weeks. Decide, "Tomorrow, I am doing that thing first thing in the morning," and then do it.

You will find that when you start setting yourself tasks (Te) that your Ne starts working properly again -- it will become more focused, less hazy, and more interested in what you can contribute, rather than just mindless "consuming." It's fine to have a down day now and again (even so, it's also useful to have a vague idea the night before of what this day will contain, even if it's fun -- it's fun and exciting to anticipate things) but your life NEEDS structure, or you won't do anything.

I hope you can pull yourself out of this, because you won't be happy unless you do. ENFPs need to get things done, contribute, feel like they are moving forward, and have something to show for their time. Without it, they will get angry at themselves -- as you well know.

#question #mbti #enfp #depression #self growth #spiritual development

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stxvercgersslut · 3 years

Text

Sexting With Chris

A/n: Oh this is gonna be fun! I’m already excited to have you guys read this. Have fun with the shower sex guys!

Warnings: Sexting! Lots of sexting! Fluff

Description: Chris just can’t keep his hands off of you even when he knows that you are gonna be late for work

Word count: 1298

Waking up to an empty bed was a regular occurrence what with Chris having early mornings filming his new Tv series Defending Jacob, yet it still didn’t get any easier. Especially today of all days since your mind had decided to send you into one of the steamiest wet dreams that you’d ever had in your short life.

It had felt so real and the moment you had woken up your heart had been racing and you could already feel the wetness in your panties getting worse by the moment. You were horny and that much was instantly certain from the moment you’d woken up. But to make matters worse, Chris wasn’t there to relieve you.

As it on que, your phone pinged signalling that you had a message on your phone. Groaning in discomfort from your aching pussy, you pushed yourself up out of bed. Fighting the need to just push your hand into your panties and fuck yourself as you did. Picking up your phone you practically squealed in delight. It was Chris.

Chris: Hey baby girl, sorry I had to leave so early. It was a 6am start. I would have woken you to say goodbye but I didn’t wanna disturb you. Hope you had a good dream 😏 love you xx

A shiver ran down your spine as you read the message over and over again. Making sure that you had read it entirely correct before finally beginning to message back.

You: Depends what you mean by nice dream. What did you hear? Love you too baby xx

You sent back already eager for his reply.

Chris: You were moaning my name so loud that I almost wanted to be late just to fuck you. Are you still wet baby girl?

Oh fuck he knew. Well there was no point in lying to him was there? After all if you had continued to lie then it would get you nowhere. Plus you desperately needed to cum.

You: How about I show you?

You typed back, fingers on your left hand beginning to skilfully dip underneath your panties to feel at your wetness. As predicted you were soaked, you really much have had a god damn amazing dream.

This time it only took Chris 5 seconds to answer, clearly eager.

Chris: Do I even need to answer that baby? Of course I wanna see that pussy of yours. I’m hard just thinking of how wet you are Xx

Oh now it was time for the dirty shit. With Chris just aching for you to send him nudes you just really didn’t have a choice. So why waste time? There was no point.

Reluctantly you pulled your fingers from your pussy, pushing your sleep shorts and panties down your legs before jumping up and going to the body length long mirror and sitting down. You weren’t just going to send him a photo. No way. You were gonna do one better.

Speedily you picked up your phone again, switching the camera to video before standing it up next to the bed and pressing record and speedily getting to work touching your aching pussy.

To start with you began to tease yourself, using your left hand to pull your shirt up and over your head so that you were completely naked, before beginning to tease and tug as your left nipple. All the while whilst your right hand ran up and down your thigh. But, it really didn’t take long before you were completely dripping and you just couldn’t wait any longer.

Putting the teasing to one side you let your thumb start rubbing greedy fast circles against your clit whilst two fingers slipped into your wet cunt instant you beginning to fuck yourself. Clearly you didn’t care about drawing it out. All you wanted was to get to that needed high.

“Fuck!” You screamed out as that knot in your stomach began to form, letting you know that you were close to reaching the release that you had been aching for ever since you had woken up.

After several more moment you finally came with a shout of Chris’s name leaving your lips. Cunt throbbing from the attention that it had just received.

Once you had finally came down from your high you grabbed your phone, turning the camera so that you could quickly blow him a kiss before ending the recording. If this didn’t get him going then you didn’t know what would.

Hitting Chris’s name in your messages you sent the video with the caption ‘missing you daddy, just had to cum thinking about you 😘’ before getting back onto the bed.

To your surprise Chris had seen the message straight away, almost as if he had been eagerly waiting for your message since the moment you’d offered to send him that ‘picture.’

Chris: oh fuck baby girl. That pussy really did need fucked didn’t she? What were you thinking about? Were you wishing that your little fingers were my thick fingers playing with that delicious cunt? Wish I could taste you right now.....fuck I’m so hard for you right now.

He sent back, attaching an imagine of his crotch. Of course he was sporting a hard on at this point, how could he not be? That in itself was enough to get you dripping again.

You: yes daddy. I wish my fingers were yours instead. Miss the feel of your fingers against pussy. I really need you now daddy. Please don’t be too long. I need you.

Chris: awe baby, that’s so sweet.😘 when I get home I’ll make sure you pound your pussy until she’s stuffed full of my cum. Do you want my mouth on her first baby? Want me to fuck her with my tongue?

With that you couldn’t resist touching yourself again. It really was hard not to let your fingers just work at your pussy instead of having to message Chris too. If he was there then it would be so much easier.

You: please daddy fuck me with your tongue. Need you so badly.

15 minuets had gone by before he finally saw your message. You’d tried to keep your greedy fingers away from your pussy but it hadn’t worked for long, especially since you needed that release. And by this point you had cum twice. Of course you hadn’t lasted long either of the 2 times but it wasn’t your fault. If anything it was his fault for being in your dream and fucking you so well.

However, what you weren’t expecting was for your ring tone to begin singing through the room, signalling that you had an incoming phone call. Unfortunately it was Chris.

With you right had still teasing your pussy for the 3rd time this morning you shakily picked up your phone with your left and swiped the keypad to answer the phone.

Almost instantly your breath picked up as soon you felt your stomach tightening. The knot in your stomach getting harder and harder to ignore as you continued to rub at your clit.

Chris stayed silent for several minuets until he heard you moan out his name, causing a wide grin to appear on his face. “Oh baby...you wanna cum?” He teased, causing you to jump at the sound of his voice. You’d pretty much forgotten that he had been on the phone for almost 6 minutes already.

“Yes please” you’ begged rubbing furiously at your cunt as you did.

Chris laughed bitterly at the sound of your desperate begs to cum. ‘Daddy’ mode had fully been activated now.

“Get those greedy fingers off of MY pussy pretty girl. You’re not cumming anymore without my cock being inside of you. And if you do then you’re gonna regret it” he threatened.

Tag list: @chuckbass-love @navybrat817 @stargazingfangirl18 @jtargaryen18 @et-lesailes @cevans-fics @harrysthiccthighss

#chris evans #chris evans cute #chris evans hot #daddy! chris evans #chris evans and dodger #his laugh though 🥺#chris evans sexy #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans characters #kinkmas

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writing-fool · 4 years

Text

mlqc | sunday morning

I recently (well~like three months ago) got into this game called Mr Love: Queen’s Choice, and after doing some ‘research’ aka gaming, I felt confident enough to write something. So, here’s a little headcanon about a blissful Sunday morning with the boys~

Warning(s): ever so slightly NSFW (insinuations of a dirty-minded author), profanity/swearwords

Victor

Victor’s quite the workaholic, as we all know

like this man will be working 60-70 hours a week, often bringing work home with him

you’ll be on the couch in pajamas and acting like a total bum while he’s literally next to you wearing glasses and breezing through 50 reports and documents

you steal his laptop and glasses when he starts criticising your report

“Victor noooooooo~work mode OFF!” as you zoom past him with his prescription glasses (he got them fancy glasses with the blue light filter because he’s A WORKAHOLIC and he’s always staring at a computer)

needless to say, this man doesn’t usually have time to spare

sunday mornings are yours though

Victor doesn’t necessarily take the entire day off, but after a certain dummy’s whining, he has agreed to try and have a lie-in on sundays

he *usually* still wakes up before you, because he functions on like 5 hours of sleep (lemme tell y’all, it’s a curse and a blessing in one)

Vic’s a total tsundere, but these moments definitely show off his #SoftCEO side

his little lovebug is sleeping peacefully, wearing one of his pyjama shirts (I bless you with the headcanon that Victor sleeps in silk pyjama pants sans shirt because he runs HOT)

actually, you’re drooling a little bit but even though Victor’s going to pretend he’s annoyed, he never is

oOOhh, also canon that this man is the big spoon in sleeping positions. he naturally gravitates towards you and holds you tight because he’s NEEDY

sometimes you’ll sleep facing each other. Victor holds you against his chest and just cradles your body in his like his life depends on it

100% will entangle his long ass legs with yours

strokes your hair and presses kisses on the crown of your head to wake you up in a gentle way (despite his demeanour, he’s actually remarkably gentle y’all see why i call him #SoftCEO?)

as you wake up, he’ll mock your bedhead with this incredibly fond look in his eyes baby boy these words don’t match your actions

you guys actually get up rather soon after, cos you are both busy people...

fun times in the bathroom not like tHAT well actually kinda~ but for legal reasons everything you do is PG, please spare author-nim who’s still ~barely~ underage

you take a shower and belt your favourite song that’s playing from the built-in speaker (did Victor get a built-in speaker because you thought it was cool? yep. did you ask? nope. did he do it anyways? yehep.) while he goes through his simple morning routine

you probably have more steps in your skincare routine, but he uses a serum, cleanser, moisturizer and some eye cream on the daily

has given you permission to do his skincare at night whenever you both have time

to reciprocate, he dries your hair after your shower you guys HAVE listened to the Right Beside You ASMR, right? ...it’s on YT for free because we’re poor, i know

also canon, blowing raspberries on Victor’s bare back while he’s brushing his teeth will make him choke on toothpaste. tested and approved by MC

“Dummy. What on earth are you doing?”

he hangs around and waits for you to get ready if he’s already done, you do the same. time is something Victor knows all too well, so the precious time he has, he wants to spend with you.

you guys DON’T shower together in the morning because really you’re not getting cleaner ahhh author-nim should really stop

afterwards, you get dressed in some relatively casual clothes (i’m talking a dress shirt without a tie or a polo shirt because no way that this man owns actual t-shirts) and have a simple breakfast

he cooks, obviously.

always makes a balanced, Chinese breakfast (congee or wonton, noodles, tofu pudding, etc.) because he wants you two to start the day well, even on a slow sunday

also, he travels a lot, so he likes eating Chinese food whenever he’s home

ahh...waking up with Victor just sounds like a dream

Lucien

i’m a bit biased on this bitch because he was my first favourite in the game so this might get long. might not. just,,,we’ll see

Lucien is a bit like Victor, where he doesn’t sleep much and works a lot

On the other hand, his work is...ehem...shadier, so he usually works in his office when he’s at home

you’ll both have your own space to do whatever you need to do

days off for Lucien are rare. he usually powers through until he drops

for someone who constantly reminds you to take care of yourself, he’s mediocre at doing exactly that

after getting to know him better, which wasn’t an easy feat because damn this man has more layers than an onion he’ll also make you cry more bUUT we’re not ready to unpack that suitcase, you start noticing when he needs a day off. often even before he notices

you lock his office door and force him to take the FULL day off at least

he could technically open his office again, but he loves you and he’ll humour your attempts

Lucien wakes up before you. always. you’ve seen him asleep like 3 times in your entire relationship.

Luci sleeps like 8 hours,,,a week.

he watches you sleep i feel like that makes too much sense for his character. we love a creepy boy. and wholeheartedly feels at rest with your sleeping figure by his side

in his sleep, Lucien lies on his back, holding you by the waist as you sleep on top of him. your leg is often slung around his middle, so you’re enveloping him. he likes the weight of you on top of him; it keeps him grounded and he likes feeling like he’s yours as much as you are his.

on another note, Lucifer—ah whoops—sleeps butt naked. i honestly can’t imagine him wearing clothes in bed. he’s not shy about his body and feels absolutely no need to cover up for his significant other.

you, however, don’t usually sleep naked. well...nowadays you end up sleeping naked more often than not because alright author-nim’s horrible. can’t help it, he’s a fucking scorpio?

because you guys take a day off, Lucien’s content with waiting and watching until you wake up

he feels you stir on his chest and honestly your drowsy eyes make him swoon

“Already awake, my beautiful butterfly?”

his slightly husky morning voice *really* does things to a person tbh

you guys stay in bed for a good half hour after you wake up, just cuddling and talking, also sneaking in a kiss here and there

you have the same habit of tracing each other’s bodies with your fingertips

his fingers flutter over your waist, you trace his chest or hands with your index again, it’s a very grounding experience to Lucien

when you do get up and head to the bathroom, first thing you do is shower together

he likes washing your hair

bathroom bits might happen, but surprisingly, it’s not a thing that happens a lot so don’t come at me. we’re being wholesome

Lucien’s incredibly intimate and his love language is touch. Yes, he has a way with words but he’s also a really good manipulator

he’s used his words for evil too often and therefore can’t trust words anymore. so he uses physical intimacy as a way to show love.

Lucien has a skincare routine of dermatologically approved products. a double cleanse, serum, essence and moisturizer. he uses anti-age sometimes to prevent later wrinkles.

they’re also one of the reasons why he smells clean and fresh

will tickle you when you’re rinsing your mouth. you’ve sprayed water all over the bathroom mirror before. he loves the reaction.

if you’re having a day off, you’ll probably just wear sweatpants and a t-shirt or a sweater. Lucien’s closet is relatively plain but clean. he has the best cable-knit sweaters/cardigans though.

your breakfast consists of western things like yogurt or oatmeal. Lucien likes having fruit at the start of the day

the rest of the day is spent relaxing and lounging, walking in the park, biking, reading, drawing, whatever you’d like

maaan...i wish i had more days off

Gavin

Gavin’s actually a decently laid-back person on weekends

like, sure he has to work a lot, but his job doesn’t necessarily force him to work from home, so you pretty much have his full attention at home but also he can’t bear to not give you his full attention so what are we expecting

the nasty thing about Gavin being a police officer is that sometimes, he gets called up and needs to work at unconventional hours

also, he gets injured. most of his injuries are minor, but that doesn’t stop you from worrying.

but anyways, he’s not a total busy bee when he’s at home, and relaxing isn’t exceptional

sunday mornings are...well...active. Birdcop goes on a run/hits the gym every morning, so he’s awake by 6am. what did y’all think i was going to write

afterwards, he takes a quick shower and joins you in bed again.

Gavin sleeps in a pair of basketball shorts and a singlet. he’s somewhat shy about sleeping shirtless, and god forbid he sleep naked. but it’s all good and he respects your boundaries. besides, he’s comfortable in his sleep and that’s all that matters.

you spoon in your sleep. sometimes, he’s the big spoon because he likes being able to ‘protect’ you in his sleep. other times, he relishes in the comfort of being the little spoon and feeling you pressed up against his back.

very important headcanon! you’ve learnt to sleep with the bedroom window open. on workdays, Gavin gets home late and jumps right into the bedroom. it’s become a typical habit for you two, although you used to be grumpy about not being able to sleep with the noises of traffic.

you’re usually awoken by the sound of the shower and Gavin’s humming it’s canon that he hums now, bitches. also I bet his singing voice is amazing

so it’s less ‘sleeping in’ and more ‘lounging in bed like the lazy bastards you are’ i’m kiDDING

if he’s able to, Gavin might convince you to go on a run with him....but let’s be honest, you rarely agree

Gavin’s a total cuddlebug though, so be prepared to spend the next forty-five minutes in the tightest hug ever (to be fair, you’re not complaining)

he’s completely soft for you and you’ll have to wrestle out of his grip to get to the bathroom

you don’t shower in the morning, so everything’s pretty quick

Gavin doesn’t actually have a good skincare regiment tbh...he’ll slap on some cream and that’s it. probably washes his face in the shower with body wash...AND HIS SKIN STILL LOOKS AMAZING

you like making funny faces in the mirror while brushing your teeth and making Gavin laugh while he’s watching you in the doorway. he loves how you just make his day with the smallest things.

you guys both dress in really casual clothing, like hoodies and shorts/sweatpants/pj pants unless you’re going somewhere

Gavin has them grey sweatpants, if you know what I mean okay I’ll chill, sorry~

you wear his shirts a lot because they’re super big on you and Gavin secretly not-so-secretly thinks you’re adorable in them (a good thing about Gavin is that he’s easy to read; he blushes rather quickly)

“Ahh...it’s just—you look so tiny and cute.” guess he’s not the only one blushing now

i see Gavin as a ‘bun for breakfast’ kind of person. he picks them up at the stall a couple of miles away when he heads home. sometimes he does so running, other times...well he’s not called Birdcop for nothing

you guys have 2 buns each for breakfast because they’re delicious

lounge time is often spent gaming or cleaning the house (you’re both busy people and Gavin tends to get messy because he just chucks clothes on the floor after a hard workday)

you make the most out of your sunday, hoping Gavin doesn’t get called in

who wouldn’t like being domestic with Gavin?

Kiro

Kiro, unsurprisingly, has an incredibly busy schedule

one that, similar to Gavin, isn’t really decided by himself

i suppose his situation is a tad bit worse than Birdcop’s, since his workdays don’t even actually end when he gets home. he constantly practices choreos, singing, etc. at home

so, full days off are few and very, very far between

this makes them extra precious

it helps to have a lazy morning once in a while though (in Kiro’s case, lazy sundays are most likely a bi-weekly thing)

you wake up first! Kiro needs his beauty sleep, and damn this boy can knock in 16 hours of sleep if need be

you’ll probably lay in bed for a while and then attempt to get up and ready for the day

until...you feel Kiro’s arm tugging you back

for a skinny, lithe boy, he’s remarkably strong. he pulls you back to bed with the groggiest, cutest sleep-laced voice EVER

“Mmm, Miss Chips, it’s not time to wake up yet, is it?”

he snuggles into you and refuses to wake up unless you give him kisses

during the night, Kiro sleeps in actual pyjamas with cute characters on them. when he feels lazy, he’ll probably just slip on a t-shirt and some boxer shorts, but he likes putting in the effort to wear matching couple pyjamas

Kiro cuddles with you 24/7, and sleep makes little difference here. he’s often the little spoon because he does like feeling your presence and your grip on him. he moves around when sleeping, so you might end up out of each other’s embrace, but Kiro subconsciously always touches you in some way or form, like holding hands or intertwining legs. he’s a man with many identities and needs your presence as a reassurance that he’s still the man that you love

he loves to pepper your face with kisses after getting home from rehearsals/concerts, claiming that it gives him energy

you do the same in the morning, anything to hear that sweet giggle of his

he’s deceptively cute though, and innocent morning kisses tend to spiral into...something more let’s just be honest, his stamina is something else entirely i’M SORRY

morning exercise? check. Hotel? Trivago. non-sponsored~

you guys don’t shower in the morning. Kiro’s used to showering after practice, which is late at night, and you shower in the evenings to help you relax

however, on a rare occasion, you’ll draw a nice bath together and play around with bubbles and scented bath bombs so fun and relaxing

Kiro totally has a 14-step skincare regiment. you don’t get that beautiful baby-smooth skin without some effort.

he has the best ‘mid-range to high-end’ products on the market, and loves sweet and floral scents for his skincare and makeup. you guys try to line up each other’s routines to be able to do them together every morning.

Kiro also has a huge bedhead in the morning! it’s your job to get this sleepyhead styled for a fun day

even Kiro’s casual loungewear is top-notch hip and trendy. he has fun sweatpants with chains, belts, patches, you name it. he likes holding a little fashion show with you, no matter what you two are wearing

old jeans? strut it. thrifted shirt? vogue, honey.

Kiro’s on a strict diet, so usually he has a smoothie and some tofu pudding for breakfast. on occasion, you’ll indulge him in something decadent, like French toast or pancakes. on moments like these, you swear he loves you juuuuuust a little more but don’t tell Savin!

you guys are a relatively active couple, so unless you’re inside gaming or busy working, you’ll spend some time in thrift stores or karaoke bars, arcades, fun fairs,...

just thinking about Kiro brightens my day...

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this! I’ll try to bring out more content for K-Pop idols, otome characters and anime characters during the holidays. Requests are still open, so don’t be afraid to send a little message in my ask-box!

Love,

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #mlqc fanfic #mlqc imagine #mlqc kiro #mlqc gavin #mlqc victor #xu mo #li zeyan #zhou qilou #bai qi #mlqc headcanon #mr love #love and producer #evol x love #lucien #kiro #victor #gavin

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imagines-mha · 4 years

Text

class 1-B and night routines

Monoma: if monoma doesn’t annoy at least 2 people per night he simply will not sleep. Wears the comfiest pyjamas- like a 100% cotton top and plaid pj bottoms and everyones so fuckin jealous. He tells everyone he has a 16 step self-care routine he does every night but he really just brushes his teeth and then sits on his phone for like 2 hours? Ike what do you GET out of lying???

Tetsutetsu: he thinks going to bed after 11pm is criminal. Literally doesn’t understand the cryptidcrew™️ who DONT MF SLEEP. Works out before bed which is 👌🏻👌🏻 OOF. Aw hes the type of friend to make everyone tea and toast and send them asmr videos if they cant sleep i love him. He usually spends his night dancing around with pony and working off all his ENERGY

Kendo: “yall im turning into bed i’m too tired for this shit” “kendo it’s 7pm”

My girl will retire to her room as early as she can (usually with the rest of the girls) and she just RELAXES. Like self-care to the max: paints her nails, watches tv, plans her tomorrow, showers. She’s usually asleep at 10pm and wakes up the next morning full energy I want what she has

Awase: he has the WORST sleep schedule like fr. Literally sits up on tiktok until 3am and he’s just like “oh shit i’m up at 7…” *continues scrolling* like bro GET UR ASS TO BED U HAVE TRAINING AT 6AM. His night routine ain’t anything special- he sleeps in sweats and always keeps his window open (although someone told him about banshees once and now hes lowkey terrified lmao)

Kaibara- the type to fall asleep on the sofa and wake up at 4 in the morning to find tsuburaba in the kitchen eating a full course meal and he just SIGHS and goes up to bed in the worst mood bc why tf are his friends so WEIRD. Likes to watch the stars and edit pictures before he sleeps- its so therapeutic to him and also productive so he’s winning

Rin- he drinks coffee every night after midnight and then goes “oh my fuck shit i just drank coffee why am i like this” like congrats u fuckin dumbass now u ain’t gonna sleep. And he never fuckin learns. Always does his hw at like 11pm, Also stays up way too late binge-watching star wars smh

Tsuburaba: he gets up every night and treats himself to a three-course meal in the kitchen no cap no sound awareness my man will be blending shit full blast at 2 in the morning. Usually falls asleep sitting at the kitchen table and he 👏🏻 needs 👏🏻 a 👏🏻 chiropractor 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻. Also always forgets to do his homework until everyone’s packing up to go to bed and hes like “please,, anyone,, the math?”. Shoda wants to punch him so bad

Ibara: the most well-structured person in the entire building. At 7pm she has her shower, at 8:30pm she goes to pray, at 9:30pm she journals and draws to calm her mind, and at 10pm she meditates until she falls asleep- which is usually 10:20pm.. Everyone wants her self control and independance like damn how does she FUNCTION. Also queen of vegan self-care remedies

Pony: girl is chaotic as fuck it’ll be like 10pm and rin’s like “yo pony can i copy the hw??” And shes like “WHAT HOMEWORK.” . *cue two idiots freaking tf out*. She’s always wearing matching pj sets and fluffy socks and loves sliding around in them like a dork. Dances every night before bed to tire herself out like shes just in the lounge deadass vibing to taylor swift and a new person joins her everytime . people would be dead without her

Kodai: movies every night or she won’t go to class the next morning. Shes always just sitting on her phone w earphones in like she has absoloutely no time to deal with monoma’s shit so she just peaces tf out of existence. Cutest pyjamas ever i love her pyjama queen. The go-to girl for homework she just leaves her bag open, as long as u return it shes cool

Tokage: oh my god shes so CRYPTIC and FOR WHAT. Pranks pranks pranks pranks pranks. everyone hates her for it and she loves it so bad. Like she has the balls to prank kamakiri and that TAKES BALLS LET ME JUST SAY . she’ll just leave her body parts in people’s beds and its SO annoying. They usually just pick up her stray arm and fling it at the wall in revenge then act confused the next morning when she complains abt the bruises

Komori: cryptic as fuck. Does she sleep? Why is she always sitting at the table? What is she doing? . Closes her tabs whenever someone comes into the dining room and just stares at them til they leave again like :)). In the garden every night til she can’t bear the coldness- watches the stars and makes flower crowns and worships the moon i love her

Kuroiro: nighttime is the time he just evaporates like where tf is he like 🙄🙄 reel it in randy from monsters inc . Hiding in the walls and listening to everyones conversations and secrets is his only skill in life . Everyone thinks he doesn’t sleep and just wanders around (he does, he just likes to have an edgy reputation)

Kamakiri- did you hear that?? oh its just kamakiri fistfighting monoma in the hallway again. Fr takes no prisoners he needs his beauty sleep (or idk do bugs sleep lmao??). If you’re in his way while he’s RAMPAGING to his room youre dead bro when i say he takes bedtime routines seriously i MEAN it. He does self-care and tells NOONE but its lowkey cute idk lmao why do i have a crush on a bug lemme call my therapist real quick

Bondo- 9pm. Wind down time. A good book is all my mans needs and he’ll be out for the count in absolutely no time at all. Fukidashi will die jealous and bondo fucking loves it. Milks tf out of it too he’s like YAWN I AM SO TIRED OFF TO BED NOW TO SLEEP PEACEFULLY GOODNIGHT and everyone who WISHES they could sleep as early as that wants him to choke

Manga- king of never having hw done until 1am at the earliest 🤡. He lives on 1 hour sleep most nights and his speech bubble just says “no <3” until like 11am. Its cus of his crippling hyperactivity he’s running the halls at 3am practicing the entire mamma mia choreography ffs fukidashi U HAVE A CAREER AHEAD OF U

Reiko: energy drink addiction 101 if she doesn’t drink monster every night before bed she’s convinced she’ll die. “I sleep all day and party all night” she says, crying over math hw at 2am. Plays music too loud and has LED strobelites on ALL NIGHT. Shes deadass doing witchcraft in the lounge w komori all night during finals week she doesnt give a single fuck x

Shishida: another reader,, mans will finish an entire book in a night by the force of sheer willpower alone. Takes a bath every night and it makes his fur so fluffy and smell like apples smdnwjdnwd. Perfect snuggle buddy for wintertimes (pony LOVES HIM) and he’s that good man who carries tsuburaba to bed when he falls asleep at the kitchen table

Shoda: “please don’t speak to me while im doing my homework im 👌🏻 this close to having a mental breakdown and all it takes is a single poke to reel me over the edge.” Complains all day about being tired then goes to bed at 2am?? Like no shit ofc ur tired bitch . Always up for a deep talk at night he knows EVERYTHING abt EVERYONE and hes so trustworthy hed never tell a soul

Honenuki: he meal preps and does yoga before bed 🤢 like WHO HAS THAT MOTIVATION. Irons and sets his uniform out for the next day before getting his homework FINISHED by 9pm . He’s pretty flexible w what he does at nights it 100% depends on his mood. Usually he’s helping Tokage with pranks or working out w tetsutetsu tho. Used to annoy people who were up doing hw after 11 like “really tsuburaba? You should be ashamed”. Shoda almost DECKED him once for it tho and he was #traumatised and never did it again

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whattodowithace · 3 years

Text

Roommates code: Feverish

Title: Roommates Code: Feverish

Pairing: Liju x Donghun & Seyoon (But can be reader x Donghun & Seyoon)

Genre: Fluff/When your sick AU

Word count: 2226

Writer: Kpopmadness (Ju)

I sat on the couch curled in a blanket one Thursday morning trying to ignore my aching body. How my throat burned and I couldn’t breath out of my nose and how tired I was. I let out a dry cough and settled back against the couch to finish watching the show when my roommate came out of her room. Just waking up.

She looked me over with bleary eyes before asking, “Are you sick?”

I smile weakly at her, “Just a cold. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

She continues to stare at me, as if she didn’t believe I would be fine like I said I would. “Are you sick or just missing Donghun so much you think you’re sick?” She teased.

Making me narrow my eyes at her as I threw a pillow at her. “I’m not that clingy.” I snap, but still laughing.

She laughs evilly before going serious and asking, “Have you eaten yet?”

I wince, knowing she would ask that and wouldn’t like my answer even more.

“No.” I reply horsily. Not having an appetite.

She narrows her eyes at me and goes to one of our cabinets and takes out a few granola bars before handing one to me and sitting down beside me on the couch, making me share my blanket.

I fiddle with the wrapper for a few minutes, watching the TV and putting off eating. Which only makes my roommate take the wrapper from me and open it before handing it back.

“Eat or I’ll hit you.” She threatens, making me laugh.

For the next few days I feel no worse, but no better. My roommates boyfriend, Seyoon, continues to come by and bring us food. My roommate would scold me if I didn’t finish what she had given me, making Seyoon and me laugh.

Then, on the fourth day of me being sick, it all hit me. Hard. I crawled out of bed at around 6AM, my legs wobbly and hardly able to stand. The world tilting and spinning as I tried to walk to the couch. I managed to get a water bottle from the fridge and drink half of it, thinking maybe I just hadn’t drank enough. But my skin felt hot. Goosebumps rose all over my skin as I shivered as I covered myself up. Even though my skin burned I felt like I would freeze.

I dozed for some time, not fully aware of what was happening around me. I was only faintly aware of my roommate getting up and checking my room to find it empty before finding me on the couch, covered in blankets up to my neck but still shivered. She sucked in a breath when her hand rested on my forehead, my skin now hot.

I fell into a restless sleep. Crossing a line between unconscious and conscious. My roommate staying at my side by the couch. My fever raged at 101, which was high but didn’t concern my roommate too much right away. Figuring I would sleep it off.

But when noon hit and I was still sleeping and my fever now hit 103 she got worried. She had to fight to wake me up for a short time to make me drink water. My face going white every time she sat me up to drink.

She checked my fever for the millionth time and rested her hand on my forehead, hating how hot my skin burned but how despite the fact she had piled every blanket she couldn’t find in our house on top of me.

A slight buzz on the coffee table alerted her to a text on her phone. She thought about ignoring it but thought better of it as she picked it up and checked who it was.

From: Seyoon💕

How’s work, honey? :)

She winced, she had called in taking a sick day to take care of me. Knowing I was too sick to be on my own today.

She thought about her reply for a moment. Wondering if she should tell Seyoon how bad off I was or to just wait.

Her fingers danced against the screen as she replied.

To: Seyoon💕

I didn’t work today. Scrub is a little worse.

She didn’t lie. But left out the details, not wanting to worry him with his already busy schedule. She only waited a few minutes when she got his reply.

From: Seyoon💕

:( Do you need me to get anything? Donghun comes home from visiting his family tonight. Maybe that will cheer her up. 😉

She smiled at his thoughtfulness but answered with,

To: Seyoon💕

No. We’ll be okay. ☺️ And I’m sure she’ll be fine after she sees him. 😏

She put her phone down on the coffee table as she tried to think of other ways to bring my fever down. Trying to keep the thought of what if it wouldn’t break out of her head. She started placing cold washcloths on my forehead, the cloth heating up in seconds after resting it on my head. My only movement being my head as I tried to find a cool place on my pillow to rest it.

This continued for the next several hours. She would wet a cloth only to have to replace it. My eyes never opening once as she applied and replied the cloth. My temperature had stayed at 104, not rising anymore to her relief. But also not breaking.

Her eyes had grown weary and her hands dry from the constant contact with water when a small knock came at the door. It opened slowly to reveal Seyoon’s dark eyes peak into the room. His smile faded when he saw her tired eyes.

He stepped inside quickly before asking, “I came by because I saw the living room light was still on and nothing else was. You weren’t answering your phone either. Is she worse?”

She looked at Seyoon before her eyes filled with tears, exhaustion setting in completely. A feeling of relief washing over her at seen him.

“She hasn’t eaten all day. I can’t make her wake up long enough to drink water even. And her fever has just worsened since this morning. I don’t know what to do.”

Seyoon quickly was at her side, wrapping his arms around her comfortingly. Gently swaying back and forth as he rubbed her back.

“Let’s go to bed.” He whispered, helping her up.

“I can’t go to bed.” She whined, only half fighting him.

“It’s 1 in the morning. You need sleep.” Seyoon tells her gently, running his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll stay up with her. But you need sleep.”

She let out a small whine but didn’t object to being led to her bedroom and covered in blankets. Her eyes closing in exhaustion immediately. Her mind only half registering Seyoon’s lips on her cheek before he left.

He came back to the living room and started replying cold washcloths. Finding a few extra cloths to apply to my neck, hoping it would help some.

He sat beside the couch for the next few hours. Occasionally trying to get me to drink something and checking my temperature. At 4 AM he opened the apartment door to let Donghun in.

“How was your trip?” Seyoon asked, trying to make small talk through his tiredness.

Donghun sighed and tried to sound cheerful. He really had had a good time. But he was worried at that moment. “It was good.”

Donghun clasped a hand on Seyoon’s shoulder, “Go to bed. I’ll take care of her.”

Seyoon nodded and made his way to the bedroom. Glad he texted Donghun to come help. “She didn’t tell you she got sick?”

Donghun shook his head from his spot by the couch, his hand resting on her forehead, his eyebrows drawn together in worry.

“She never said a word.” He answered remorsefully.

~~~

After several minutes of placing fresh cloths on her forehead and neck, Donghun sighed and crawled in beside her under the blankets. Her skin hot and radiating heat as he curled up beside her.

He flipped over the washcloth to let the cooler side rest on her skin. Her eyebrows drawing together slightly at the sensation before relaxing.

Donghun propped himself up as he removed the cloth from her forehead and began peppering her head with soft kisses. Her skin hot against his lips and making him worry.

He rested his forehead against hers as he whispered in her ear softly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so sick, princess?”

He felt a lump rise in his throat at seeing her not respond. His touches going unnoticed as her pale face gave off no reaction.

He continued replying the cloth to her skin, trying to keep her cooled down. He removed the blankets from around her and took off the heavy sweatshirt she had on. Her arms covering in goosebumps all the way under her light T-Shirt.

Donghun kept the blankets on her lower half but kept applying cloths to her now uncovered arms and neck. He pulled her close to him as she started to shiver, her eyes staying shut. Despite her shaking her skin remained hot.

Donghun repeated the same things over and over. Applying damp cloths to her skin and gently kissing her forehead, hoping her fever would break and her eyes would open.

He took her hand in his and held it tightly. Watching her chest rise and fall slowly. The only thing reassuring him slightly since her hand was limp in his.

~~~

My eyes open slowly to soft light streaming through the living room. My body aches but my head feels clearer than it did that morning. I feel a damp cloth on my forehead and remove it before looking at the clock. Confused to see it read 7:15 A.M

I move slowly, going to get up, only to feel a sturdy object beside me. It registers then that an arm rests around my waist.

I smile softly to see Donghun sleeping beside me. The dark circles under his eyes making me wonder how long he had been there. I don’t wonder long, however, when his eyes open slowly. Widening to see me staring back at him.

“Hi.” I say weakly, smiling at him.

Donghun quickly sits up and places his hand on my forehead, leaving me to feel a little confused.

He sighs out in what sounds like relief as he takes my face in his hands and rests his lips against my forehead and cheeks.

“Your fever finally broke.” He whispered, as he kissed my jaw.

“How long have I been out?” I asked, running my fingers through his hair.

“A whole day and night.” He answers. “Seyoon called me this morning when my flight got in. He said you were really sick.”

“I’ve been out that long?” I repeat, confused.

Donghun nods as he wipes a climb of hair away from my face. “I was so worried.”

I stare up at Donghun, his dark eyes slightly watery. I had never seen him like this.

“You didn’t tell me you were sick. And when I came in and saw you laying motionless, I immediately felt like I had lost you. You were supposed to tell me.”

I take Donghun’s face in my hands, rubbing my thumbs along his cheeks. “You were with family. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You’re family too, princess.” Donghun whispered weakly. Making my own eyes water.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down against me. His warm breath against my neck as we embrace softly.

We stay that way for some before I whisper in his ear, “I’ve missed you, bear.”

Donghun chuckles deeply before bringing his head up to meet my eyes. His lips resting on mine for a moment.

“I missed you, princess.”

Donghun kisses my cheeks a few times before helping me sit up slowly, my body aching stiffly with the movement.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. A shower will probably feel really good.” He says as he helps me stand on shaky legs.

“Then can we eat pancakes?” I ask hopefully. Making Donghun smile at me.

“I’ll make them while you shower.” He replies as he helps my weak state to my bedroom to clean up.

~~~~

“Stop fighting me and rest.” Donghun grumbled as he sat on the couch.

“I’ve been sleeping for hours and you want me to rest more?” I reply, refusing to lie back as told.

“You aren’t better yet.” Donghun says as he covers me up only to slide in the space beside me, covering himself up too.

I rest my head on his shoulder, making him kiss my forehead gently as we relaxed and watched TV. Shortly after Seyoon stumbles into the living room. His eyes widening when he sees me awake.

“Your fever broke?” He says. Asking it like a question but it held more of a surprise tone to it.

“It broke around 7 this morning. She’s taken a shower and eaten since then.” Donghun answered cheerfully, rubbing circles on my lower back.

Seyoon seems to sigh in relief as he comes over and wraps an arm around my shoulders, surprising me.

“You scared us.” He whispers sweetly in my ear. “Your roommate will be relieved when she wakes up.”

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uwua3 · 4 years

Text

therapist.

❄️📚 tsukioka tsumugi

summary: you don’t need a boyfriend, you really just need a therapist

warnings: cheating, exhaustion, heartbreak, jealousy, lack of communication, passing out, toxic relationships

author’s note: this is a song fic! it’d be cool to listen to the song as you read, obviously the lyrics won’t match up to the pace of the passage! i recently went through something like this and thought it would be important to address in a healthy manner ♡

sometimes, you can’t expect your s/o to be the person who “fixes everything”. remember to establish mental health boundaries + ask someone if they’re in the right headspace to emotionally support someone!

word count: 3,352

music: therapist – mae muller

YOU DON’T BRING HOME ROSES, YOU JUST BRING HOME STRESS

YOU NEVER SAY I LOOK GOOD, WHEN I’M LOOKING MY BEST

Tsumugi anxiously fixed his hair as he shifted around his phone’s camera angle facing him. It was so late, he had so much work on top of his tutoring shifts, but you kept putting off this call for so long. Said you were busy, but Tsumugi knew you were nervous to talk to him face to face. You pretended to have family errands even though he saw you active online, but he wanted to see you (even if it cost him another sleepless night and missed assignments).

It was ten minutes past the allocated time frame you had suggested to call, but you weren’t responding to his constant texts. Tsumugi straightened his sweater (lucky sweater, actually) and saw his face frown as the clock kept ticking against his will. You were late, that’s not new, but you would have at least notified him. Tsumugi flipped through your texts, trying to find something that would justify your absence. No matter, Tsumugi figured, knowing you wouldn’t be too long. After all, you guys were just taking it slow, maybe scheduled FaceTime calls weren’t that serious?

As Tsumugi leaned back and felt the weight of the day on his shoulders, he released a sigh of disappointment as he stared up at his room’s ceiling. Tsumugi was looking forward to this call all week now, feeling jittery to see his potential partner because he really, really liked you, it honestly scared him.

It was the first time in a while he got back into the love scene as other than the resident wingman, so putting himself out there was new. As a joke (and moment of desparation), Tsumugi tweeted how much he wanted a significant other and hit send before going to sleep. Yes, social distancing and quarantine were getting to him, bad. But, waking up and receiving a message at 4am was exhilarating.

You guys met online. First, it was you liking his tweets back and forth before you DMed Tsumugi. It was out of character for him to even consider responding to a stranger, but it was quarantine... and maybe this could have been some fun! It was a childish thought for someone his age, but as soon as Tsumugi sent a laughing emoji back, the two of you hit it off.

There was instant chemistry, spending hours everyday (time he didn’t have) to have engaging conversations together that made his heart jump every time you instinuated something flirty. Tsumugi’s last relationship was years ago, it had been so long, he didn’t know how to respond as well as you did. But, one thing led to another, and it was barely a week before Tsumugi confessed he liked you, embarrassingly enough. It was after you put out a Google Form application to get suitors to make him purposely jealous, and Tsumugi definitely hadn’t felt that jealous in a long, long time.

But, you wanted to take it slow. Talking about how you never had such a cute partner before, that Tsumugi was so considerate so you didn’t want to rush anything and ruin the potential. Tsumugi agreed immediately, he knew you weren’t ready for commitment and that was okay. Maybe, he could change your mind?

That night, you two talked over the phone for six hours. It was the highlight of his entire romantic life, it was his first date! Tsumugi remembered there was little to no awkwardness the first time around, and fell asleep at 6am just to wake up one hour later. Although he was exhausted and his sleep schedule was destroyed, Tsumugi never felt happier and more comfortable with someone else.

Again, Tsumugi felt himself dozing off before he heard his ringtone blaring. He jumped up and quickly accepted it despite his bedhead. Hopefully the entire dorm didn’t hear it (they did) and Tasuku actually believed he was going steady with someone. (“Seriously, this is the fourth night I’m kicked out of my own room.” Tasuku complained, but didn’t bother fighting it when he saw Tsumugi’s pleading eyes). There you were, on screen, and Tsumugi instantly flushed.

First of all, you were drawing as you sketched something out with your headphones in. Secondly, Tsumugi self consciously covered his sweater, he was way, way too overdressed when you were dressed casually. Third, you only smiled at him before resuming your activity. Not even a greeting? Maybe a compliment that he looked nice (it was the best Tsumugi looked all quarantine)?

Tsumugi didn’t see it coming. For the rest of the short hour they had together, you guys barely talked as you seemed distracted. When the call ended with the first thing you said all night, Tsumugi dropped back into his bed and shoved his face into his pillow. You didn’t even say anything? Were you busy? Was he inconveniencing you? The FaceTime call felt nothing like the voice call, it was so awkward. It felt like there was nothing there at all.

But, maybe he was being hasty? It can’t be love at first sight, they were both adults with jobs—right, a job. Tsumugi pushed himself up as he rolled out of bed, returning back to the stack of papers balancing his phone. Grabbing his red pen and keeping the desk lamp on, Tsumugi prepared himself for a very long rest of the night. After all, these papers weren’t going to grade themselves.

AND IF WE’RE STAYING UP ALL NIGHT,

IT’S CAUSE YOU’RE MOANING

(AND NOT THE GOOD KIND)

Tsumugi forced his eyes open as he glanced at the alarm clock between him and Tasuku’s beds. It was 5am, weren’t you tired? Tsumugi attempted to read the tens of large texts that detailed everything that went wrong that day, just endless complaining. Tsumugi tried his best to console you at first, but he was so, so tired. You two had been awake talking about the issue at hand for nearly six hours. How can someone even talk about themselves for that long? Tsumugi increased his screen brightness, he needed all the reminders to stay up as possible.

If Tasuku caught him still up, he’d be in for a scolding for sure. But, no one suspected a thing. Tsumugi always had low–energy, this wasn’t any different. Except, he was messing up the entire order of his day. Tsumugi was missing appointments despite being known as a punctual teacher, skipping out on chores in the garden, even avoiding the other company members altogether to prevent creating plans. It was taking a toll on Tsumugi’s mental state, but he had you... right?

Tsumugi didn’t want to burden you with his problems, though. You were going through much worse and needed an outlet to rant about it. There was nothing wrong with that, of course! He just wished, it was at a different time. Tsumugi did everything in his power to make you feel better from the predicament, but you didn’t change. You were just as frustrated as before, maybe even more.

Was Tsumugi really that bad at being a good “taking–it–slow” boyfriend? Tsumugi sank into his sheets, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you leave without a warning. What could he had done different? Were you getting bored?

Tsumugi tossed and turned, unable to sleep as he turned on his phone to reread the conversation every thirty minutes or so. What went wrong? Why did you open up and suddenly disappear without thanking him? Maybe, it wasn’t his business anymore. Did you trust him?

Tsumugi fell asleep at 7am. He slept past his alarm, again.

WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY,

BUT NOT AT MY EXPENSE

You hadn’t responded to his texts asking about your day in forever. Your read directs were off anyways, so it’s not like he knew. But, Tsumugi started pacing his room as he kept refreshing your account. Were you okay? Did something happen? Could he have prevented this? What could he have—oh.

You tweeted on your private account. You were talking with someone else (Tsumugi scrolled back to the beginning of the thread), starting two hours ago. Huh. He hadn’t heard that you got a new friend, that was good! Tsumugi felt proud seeing you overcome your nervousness to interact with others, before he his heart dropped reading the tweets.

Was it normal for friends to talk like this? Tsumugi read the entire conversation despite his head telling him to respect your privacy, but how could he when you put it on his timeline? They were calling you your favorite endearment, and it stung when Tsumugi realized he wasn’t the only one who called you that. Ouch. Not only that, but it seemed exactly like the way you two started talking. It was flirty, to say the least.

Tsumugi heard everyone get called down to dinner and the rapid herd of footsteps running past his door. Tsumugi pocketed his phone, wanting to hear your specific chime as he joined the group to eat. He needed a distraction, but even Omi’s food couldn’t keep his mind off you and that new friend of yours.

Could this count as “cheating”? Was there even cheating in unofficial relationships? What stage were you guys at? Could Tsumugi ask you out right now and have it not be weird? Why were you, crushes so confusing? Tsumugi unintentionally sighed, eating slowly as he sensed multiple sets of eyes glance at him.

“You okay, Tsumugi? You look so tired~ even more than Hisoka!” Homare asked, a dramatic tone with his words but his eyes were concerned about the thin figure of his already skinny friend. Hisoka even nodded to strengthen the argument, poking at the egg white omelete with his fork. Tsumugi forced a casual chuckle, placing his utensils down to hide his shaking hands. Damn, caffeine.

“Sorry to worry you guys, I’m just getting more students, recently.” Tsumugi mentioned, awkwardly laughing to seal the deal. The other boys nodded, not trying to press Tsumugi for more information as they turned their attention back to the delicious meal. Only Tasuku kept his eye on Tsumugi, taking in the way his spine was slouched and focus seemed elsewhere.

Ducking his head, Tsumugi gripped the base of the kitchen chair, trying to keep the tears in as he thought of you. You who was probably messaging your friend instead of him. Leaving him on read for days.

This was the happiest he’s been... right?

THE MORE I LISTEN AND I LISTEN,

THE MORE I’M THINKING

Tsumugi was about to text you. He hated hiding these feelings from you, he wanted to be your boyfriend. He liked you so damn much.

As he was about to type a message explicitly stating how he thought you two were ready to pursue a serious, committed relationship, you texted him first (for once).

Tsumugi couldn’t even finish reading the message before running out of dorm room to the bathroom. Bumping into Azuma on the way out, Tsumugi dropped his phone in the corridor before disappearing behind the door to gag. Tsumugi tried to stop himself from throwing up but it was too late, he held himself over the toilet as he choked over his own spit. He couldn’t see anything, his vision was so blurry.

Tsumugi was so, so sick. Sick of all of this.

Azuma picked up Tsumugi’s smartphone and looked at the screen, seeing it was open to a number he had never seen before.

You: I don’t like you anymore, Tsumugi. I don’t want a relationship right now... I don’t think I even ever liked you as a crush.

YOU DON’T NEED A BOYFRIEND,

YOU JUST NEED A THERAPIST

Tsumugi: That’s okay! We can still be friends, right?

Life went on. At least, for you. You two still chatted every once in a while, and Tsumugi still put all his attention and effort despite knowing there was no possibility you liked him back anymore. It stung, to say the least. To know you ran circles around his mind all day and Tsumugi wasn’t even worth your time, it killed him. His attention span was limited to only reacting immediately when hearing your text tone.

Tasuku had to carry him back to the dorms after the whole bile episode. Azuma refused to say anything, locking his lips when Tasuku demanded to know what happened. Azuma casually suggested Tsumugi might have just had a bad case of food poisoning, much to the Mankai chef’s distaste. No one in Winter Troupe bought it but still took shifts checking Tsumugi’s health levels, acting like he had food poisoning when his puffy red eyes suggested otherwise.

When it was Azuma’s turn, he sat beside Tsumugi as he prepared the food. Tsumugi ate in silence and Azuma accepted that, knowing talking could ruin the mood. It was the first time Tsumugi was at least making an attempt to eat something. Without even looking, Azuma hummed as he gathered the plates after Tsumugi finished. As he rose, Azuma couldn’t help but turn back and rest a gentle hand on Tsumugi’s shaking form.

“I’m sorry.” Azuma quietly whispered and it was enough to make Tsumugi cry. Blinking rapidly, Tsumugi leaned into Azuma’s open arms as he hid his face in the latter’s chest. Azuma hoped no one heard Tsumugi’s sobs as he released all the pain you put him through.

There wasn’t much said, but it was enough.

Tsumugi slept that night. He woke up to his alarm and started the day without delay.

YOU GOT TOO MUCH DRAMA, I’M NOT QUALIFIED TO FIX

I WOULD HOLD YOUR BODY, BUT YOU WANT SOMEBODY THAT WILL HOLD YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

Tsumugi was going back to normal. He was arriving on time again (he muted your contact), taking care of the plants in the courtyard again (much to manager Matsukawa’s relief), and even actively went out with the other members daily. Homare stopped questioning him senselessly every moment, Hisoka offered him a marshmallow every once in a while, Azuma still suggested free cuddles at night, and Tasuku gave up on trying to find out whatever happened. Life went on.

Until, that night.

Tsumugi tried to avoid checking your texts, knowing he would be sucked in into the void if he did. But, you were sending multiple, which was strange. Tsumugi checked his surroundings, seeing Tasuku was out playing soccer with his friends. He had the room to himself for a while.

With no one to watch his every move, Tsumugi carefully opened your chat room and his heart soared.

You admitted you always liked him so much. You wanted to be in a relationship with him. You only lied to protect your own feelings. You wanted him back. You... liked him. Tsumugi didn’t see all the progress he made moving on get thrown out the window as he quickly sent a reply, agreeing to take things slow again to see how it would go.

Tsumugi wanted you to earn his trust again, even though he knew damn well he wanted to take you back in a heartbeat. Would you put in the effort? He was so curious. You two spent the entire night catching up and texting.

Tsumugi went to bed at 4am. He slept past his alarm again, again, and again.

I WANNA MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD, AND PUT YOUR MIND AT EASE

BUT I’M JUST WHERE YOU POUR OUT THE NEGATIVITY, I’LL GET YOU EXCITED

Tsumugi had high expectations for someone who didn’t change. You tried at first, checking in on him multiple times and even offering to help him out with anything. It was so nice being in the honeymoon phase, and Tsumugi was considering finally taking you back. But then, you slipped from his grasp. You stopped trying. You texted one–liners. You didn’t change.

This week was exams season. Tsumugi was overwhelmed with work and texted you his updated schedule so you weren’t upset every time he didn’t respond. No one noticed his unhealthy behavior starting to come back since he was always out tutoring students for their finals. Life seemed to stop, even though everything but you changed.

Tsumugi was on the train home, scrolling through his Twitter timeline to see you were active again. You were talking to that friend again. Tsumugi suddenly noticed how exhausted he was, holding onto the train pole as he rested his face against the cold metal. He needed a break, a long nap for eternity. He didn’t even know why.

Tsumugi didn’t eat dinner for the first time in a month. Azuma frowned when Tsumugi simply walked to his room, turning to see Tasuku doing the same concerned, parental expression. Azuma was about to open his mouth but stopped, instead exhaling sharply through his nose before volunteering to wash dishes. Tasuku assisted, forgetting all about Tsumugi’s lack of appetite.

Tsumugi didn’t sleep at all that night. At least, he didn’t miss his alarm, this time.

BUT IT’S SO ONE–SIDED

AND I’M GETTING TIRED OF FIGHTING FOR SOMEBODY, WHO AIN’T FIGHTING FOR ME

Tasuku had to drive his car to the student’s house after one of Tsumugi’s student’s parent quickly phoned the most recent contact.

“Tsumugi?” Tasuku answered, putting his phone between his ear and shoulder as he was supervising Winter Troupe’s street act on Veludo Way. Homare was pretending to be the equivalent of William Shakespeare, which didn’t require much acting to begin with. People loved it, though! Tsumugi couldn’t contribute since he had a study session. Maybe academics were really wearing him down, he looked more tired than ever.

“Hi, is this a friend of Tsumugi’s?” A woman with a worried voice asked. Tasuku put the flyers down as he held the phone, concerned, as he caught Azuma’s eyes staring intently. Had he always besn this curious? He usually minded his business.

“Yes, is everything okay?” Tasuku questioned, watching as Azuma made a graceful exit from the act as he made his way to Tasuku’s side. Tilting his head to the side, Azuma caught Tasuku’s face pale. Muttering a quick thanks and asking to be texted some address, Tasuku immediately started his car parked on the side without wasting a moment. Before he could run off, Azuma gripped Tasuku’s forearm and narrowed his eyes.

“What just happened?” Azuma inquired, his gut feeling proving him right when Tasuku shook his head. Stepping back, Azuma sighed as he notified Homare and Hisoka of their departure. When Azuma shuffled into the passenger seat, there was no time to put on his seatbelt as Tasuku punched in the address into the GPS and sped off.

“It’s Tsumugi, isn’t it?” Azuma cursed, holding onto the armrest as Tasuku’s grip on the wheel tightened. Tasuku didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“How’d you know?” Tasuku questioned, his voice carrying for miles. It sounded like an order, but Azuma fell silent and focused on the cars driving by. Tasuku swore before hitting the dashboard, making Azuma jump in his seat.

“How did you know?” Tasuku demanded again, even louder, as Azuma whipped his head to face him angrily.

“It’s not my place to say!” Azuma countered, immediately covering his mouth with his hand when he revealed there was something going on. Tasuku flinched, knowing it was the first time Azuma even raised his voice in fear of straining his vocal chords.

The rest of the car ride was silently tense. Azuma couldn’t help but shudder when he saw Tasuku carry a passed–out Tsumugi to lay in the back seat.

Tsumugi slept for the first time in a while. He woke up to something else other than his alarm.

Your text tone sounded. Tasuku checked the message, this time.

YOU DON’T NEED A BOYFRIEND,

TRUTH IS, YOU NEED A THERAPIST

You: I’m so sorry, Tsumugi. I like someone else, I’m sorry.

You started dating that friend of yours two days after Tsumugi officially called it quits on your friendship.

Tsumugi couldn’t sleep, all he could dream about was you. Tsumugi stopped setting alarms. Tasuku always turned them back on.

Life went on, for you.

#tsukioka tsumugi #tsumugi tsukioka #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! one shots #act! addict! actors! one shots #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #tsumugi x reader #a3! tsumugi #a3 tsumugi

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missmonsters2 · 5 years

Text

Leave Me Lonely

@eseqsays: Hiyo! May I request 12 and 17 with Natasha Romanoff x Reader please? I am in the mood to hurt. @marvelouschloe: Natasha x reader. 13 and 20 (angst)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Prompt Request: @yourmainlove, @eseqsays, @marvelouschloe 💗

- 12: I don’t even care that you’re breaking me. I am an absolute fucking moron because I’m always going to love you. - 13: We’re falling apart, and you don’t even care! - 14: I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with being just your friend when I want you in my bed. - 17: I want you to say anything! Scream! Yell at me! Just something to show you fucking care. - 20: If you walk out that door, we’re done.

Notes: Thank you for sending these in! I hope you don’t mind that I’ve combined some of them as they’re similar and just fit perfectly in this story!

Warnings: Angsty angst sadness :(

Count: 3469

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“If you walk out that door, we’re done.”

You stood before the door, hand on the knob, throat burning but refusing to let any more tears fall.

Because you’ve had enough.

A part of you isn’t sure exactly what caused everything to lead up to this moment because you had believed in forever beforehand.

Because you love Natasha.

And now, everything was gone, and you can’t tell whose fault it was.

Maybe it was Natasha’s fault for being a coward.

Maybe it was yours for believing forever could exist between the two of you.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

A month earlier...

“Oh my god, shut up!” You playfully said as you slapped Natasha on the shoulder, the redhead laughing so hard you thought you could see tears in her eyes.

“I can’t believe you jumped so hard,” Natasha said between her laughter. You rolled your eyes, shifted your legs, so it rested better against Natasha’s lap.

It was movie night, and the two of you always got together alone to watch whatever movie one of you picked.

Natasha picked a horror movie knowing full well you were terrible with them. The number of times you jumped into her arms or hid under the blanket, eyes just peeing over the edge amused her to no ends.

“It’s scary!” You defended yourself.

“We’ve fought literal aliens over the years and other freaky stuff, and you’re scared of this horror movie?” Natasha snorted.

“Yeah,” you said. “And you know what we’ve never fought? Ghosts. This shit is freaky.”

Natasha only snorted softly again but didn’t say anything as the two of you resumed watching the movie.

It was silent, only the movie playing as you two focused on the screen. Natasha had her hands on your legs, stroking softly at your shin idly.

It made you warm.

Eventually, you had shifted, so the two of you were lying on the couch with Natasha on the inside. Her hand rested against your hips, drawing light circles over your exposed skin.

It was bringing goosebumps.

But it wasn’t anything new.

Even with the movie playing, your mind wandered to Natasha.

It’s been like this for two years. You were new to the team when you first came, difficult for you to adjust as you never had anybody to rely on before.

Working in the team dynamic was new for you too.

It took time, but Natasha was someone you trained a lot with, and she took her time, never rushing you to open up.

The friendship was initially slow, but before the two of you knew it, it grew into something more.

But at the same time, not enough.

The two of you were friends, there was no doubt about it. You would die for her without a second thought, and you knew she would do the same for you.

But it was like there was this invisible barrier that kept the two of you from being more.

Sure, you could touch her. You could hold her hand, stroke her skin, or lean your head on her. But you couldn’t sleep with her or kiss her.

You could tell her you love her, but never that you were in love with her.

These were boundaries that were set up by Natasha, so maybe the barrier wasn’t that invisible.

But she never slept with anyone else, never dated anyone else.

So, this was enough for you for now.

Forever doesn’t need to be rushed.

Plus, you were pretty sure things would go south if you confessed or cornered Natasha anytime soon.

“That was an awful movie.”

Natasha’s voice broke you out of your thought, her breath on your exposed ear made you shiver lightly.

You noticed the movie ended.

“You picked it,” you teased her and Natasha rolled her eyes with a smile.

She fully wrapped her arm around your waist and pulled you close.

“Right,” she drawled. “Your turn to pick something, then, and no TV shows.”

“Why not!” You whined, earning a chuckle from the redhead.

“You pick TV shows that are entirely too interesting, and I cannot afford to binge-watch something this late, not when Steve wants us at the training room by 6AM tomorrow.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back slightly.

“Maybe we should head to bed then,” you sullenly say, thinking about how tired you were going to be in the morning.

Natasha sighed but nodded, but neither of you made a move to get up.

“Are you staying the night again?” Natasha asked, tapping her finger lightly on your stomach.

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyes closed. “Unless you’re kicking me out tonight.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Natasha tells you softly, and you grin. She shifts a little, and it’s a sign for you to get up.

You stretch as you do, shirt riding up and you see from the corner of your eye that it catches Natasha’s attention.

You smirk a little before heading off to the washroom.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next week is busy as you’re busy training the new agents with Steve and Natasha was sent on a mission with Clint.

“Alright! That’s enough for the day, go hit the showers,” Steve yells, and the agents sigh in relief before shuffling out the door one by one.

Once everyone is gone, you chuckle a little bit as you take a chug of water.

“What?” Steve asks you with a slight quirk in his lips and raised brow.

“Nothing, just Amber giving you the bedroom eyes while training is hilarious.”

“What?” Steve exclaims while the tip of his ears flushes slightly as he drinks water himself.

“C’mon, you’re telling me you don’t notice her giving off the feral pheromones every day this week?”

Steve starts coughing, which makes you laugh even more.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he grumbles.

“What do you mean?” You ask as your laugh dies down.

Steve rolls his eyes, shifting his weight onto one leg.

“Like you’re not eyeing Natasha like she’s a drop of water and you’ve been stranded in the Sahara desert.”

You slapped Steve, who jumped out the way with a laugh.

“Oh my god, I do not!” You blushed.

Steven just laughed even more before the two of you settled down.

“But seriously, why don’t you just move your relationship with her to the next level. It’s obvious the two of you are crazy about each other. I haven’t seen Natasha like that...well, since ever.”

You merely shrug.

“I just...I don’t know. I don’t think we’re there yet.”

“But you want to be there,” Steve points out.

The conversation is almost making you uncomfortable because you’ve never gotten the chance to speak about how you felt about Natasha.

“I...I like where we are now,” you tell Steve who just gives you a crooked grin.

“Why are you holding back?”

You merely smile.

“There’s no need to rush forever.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Later that day, you see Natasha talking to Clint and Bruce, and you smile as you walk up to them.

“Hey!” You greet happily. “You made it back!”

Natasha just merely smiles.

“Well,” you drag. “It’s movie night. I’ll catch you at your place later?”

“No, I’m actually busy tonight,” Natasha diverts. Before you can say anything, someone calls her name, and she turns and leaves.

You stand there staring at Clint and Bruce, confusion written all over your face.

“Okay, that was weird, right?” You say to them, and they looked confused too.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha is avoiding you.

You’re not sure why.

But she is.

And everyone knows it too.

You’re wondering if you did something to make her mad, but in the past, Natasha had no problem calling you out if you did something to upset her.

Every time you try to talk to her, she manages to escape. If she sees you down the hall, suddenly she has to go the other way.

There were no more movie nights.

She wasn’t in her room at night.

It was frustrating the hell out of you.

And one day, you just had enough.

So, after a training session with Steve and everyone left, you cornered Natasha.

“Okay, what gives?”

Natasha seems shocked that you’ve trapped and confronted her.

“What do you mean?” She asks as if nothing is wrong.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You frown.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Natasha denies, trying to walk around you but you block her again.

“See! Like that, you’re avoiding me.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, but you can tell she is getting frustrated herself the way her forehead crinkles.

“Just...did I do something? Just tell me if I did something and I’ll fix it.”

“It’s nothing you did,” Natasha tries to tell you but you cut her off again.

“Well, why are you avoiding me like I have the bubonic plague? Every time I try to talk to you, you leave. When you see me coming in your direction, you turn somewhere else. You’ve canceled movie nights two nights in a row now.”

“Are you done?” Natasha asked, rather callously.

You tilt your head back in a surprised manner from her tone.

“No, I’m not done actually,” you tell her, feeling the anger rise up in you a little bit. “I don’t know what your problem is, but if you have something to say, just say it because I don’t deserve how you’re treating me.”

“I don’t have anything to say!” Natasha says, frustratedly at you.

“Then why are you treating me like this!”

“I’m not treating you like anything! If I don’t want to talk to you or don’t want to hang out with you all the time, there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re the one who’s making a big deal out of it.”

The callous words hit you in the gut, and Natasha can tell.

It leaves you breathless.

She starts to call your name, but you cut her off.

“You’re right,” you say, clearing your throat because it feels like it’s closing up.

“My bad. Do whatever you want, Nat.”

You try your best to sound normal as your turn and leave.

Natasha stands alone in the room, more frustrated than before and groans.

She was really fucking this up.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next week, it’s you who avoids Natasha.

Though, you’re trying to be less obvious about it. You’ll stay and chat in a big group, even if Natasha is there. You don’t run the opposite direction if you see her coming. You merely give her a tight smile and keep walking.

The only painful thing about it is that Natasha doesn’t seem to be making an effort to corner you as you did to her.

It sucks.

It hurts.

“You should just talk to her again,” Steve encourages you. It’s already late at night, and you look pathetic drinking at the bar alone, but you feel as sad as you look.

But you sigh and stand up because Steve is right.

“Wish me luck,” you mumble.

You make your way to Natasha’s room, your nerves out of whack as you try to pep talk yourself that everything is fine.

You’re going to talk to Natasha, it’ll be heartfelt, and you’ll get down to the bottom of whatever it is, apologize, and makeup.

Everything will be fine is what you tell yourself as you stand in front of her door.

You take a deep breath and release heavily before knocking.

There’s giggling on the other side of the room that makes you cock your brow.

You knock more loudly and incessantly.

Then the door swings open and you see Natasha standing there, looking slightly disheveled and breathless.

“What is it?” She asks you like she doesn’t have time for you.

It stings, but you need to push on.

“I just want to talk,” you try to say disarmingly as not to make her defensive.

“It’s not a good time,” Natasha tells you, the door blocking your view from anything else.

“Then make time,” you say non-negotiably.

Natasha is about to say something else, but then there’s another voice in the back.

“Natasha? Who’s there? Hurry and come back! It’s getting pretty cold without your body.”

The annoying giggle in there again.

For a moment, you’re incensed, and you push the door open anyway even though it’s clear Natasha doesn’t want you inside.

You see one of the new agents sitting there, top off but bra still on with wine and cheese on the table.

You turn back to Natasha.

“What the hell is this?”

You may not be dating, but you both know you’re not just friends.

And this feels like a swift betrayal in your stomach. It drops when you see a dark red mark on the new agent’s neck.

Natasha doesn’t say anything, so you turn back to the new agent.

“Leave,” you scowl.

The new agent picks up her shirt, scurrying away while Natasha sighs.

“That was unnecessary,” she says as she straightens out her clothing.

“What you’re doing is unnecessary!” You shoot back at her.

“I don’t understand,” you say softly. “Three weeks ago, everything was fine, and now we’re falling apart, and you don’t even care. What’s changed?”

Natasha shifts uncomfortably.

“We’re friends,” she tells you, and you look confused.

“Yes,” you agree, not sure what Natasha is leading with.

“That’s it,” she tells you, and the realization hits you like a truck.

“Oh my god,” you groan. “You heard Steve and me talking that one time, didn’t you?”

“I came back early,” she tells you, but you know she means that she was eavesdropping.

“Well, we are friends. I told him I like what we have now.” You’re trying to peddle back because it’s obvious this has set Natasha off like you knew it would.

“For now it is,” Natasha agrees, “but you want more. I can’t give you that.”

You sigh.

“Nat, I’m not asking you to give me more. You give me plenty as it is right now.”

“No,” Natasha injects. “I can’t give you anything more. Ever.”

The words make you furrow your brows because yes, you believed that Natasha just needed more time to adjust to being more, to come to terms that she loved you.

“You can’t seriously be telling me you think we’re just friends,” you say to her.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”

“I want you to say anything! Scream! Yell at me! Just something to show you fucking care!” You tell her, putting your hand to your forehead.

“Friends don’t touch like we do, don’t stare at each other like we do, don’t get jealous the way we do.”

“I’ve never been jealous,” Natasha denies, and you scoff with a roll of your eyes.

“Right, so four weeks ago when you beat the shit out of the new agent Darren during training for flirting with me, that was just a coincidence?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything.

It’s so frustrating, her standing there like none of it matters.

Like you don’t matter.

“I’m not asking that we change anything right away, but don’t stand there and lie to yourself that you don’t have feelings for me,” you tell her softly and Natasha bristles.

“You’re being delusional if you think we’re more than friends,” Natasha stands her ground firmly.

You’re not sure why, but it pisses you off.

Because if she thinks you’re just friends, why does she treat you the way she does?

Why does she hold you during movie night, seek you out in the crowds, hold your hand softly, let you in her bed?

Why would she go and show you all the different sides of her?

“You’re delusional if you think we aren’t,” you fire back at her, taking a step towards her.

Natasha stands in one place, but you can tell she’s nervous.

“I love you,” you confess to her. “I’m in love with you, Nat. I have been, for a while now.”

The words make Natasha shut her eyes painfully.

“Don’t,” she warns you, but you press on.

“And I know you’re in love with me too. I’m not saying we have to date, but all I’m asking is that you acknowledge we’re different.”

“Why is this not good enough for you!” Natasha finally blows up. “What we have is so good, can’t you see that? No one has it as good as we do.”

“What we have can be better.”

“There is no better!” Natasha yells at you. “In our line of work, this is as good as it gets. Being in a relationship makes you vulnerable. Enemies knowing our vulnerabilities makes us an easy target. It’s not the same as Clint, where I can just hide you from the rest of the world. We both belong to our responsibilities.”

“Nothing hasn’t even happened yet!”

“And nothing will, because what we have stays as it is, or we have nothing at all.”

Natasha has a finality to her tone, but you don’t accept it.

“You say that as if in this very moment, or even if we try to go back to nothing, that if I die, it won't affect you. It’s too late, Nat, you’re already in love with me! We deserve happiness too.”

“I was happy, why weren’t you?” Natasha asks, almost tiredly.

“I was,” you tell her softly, “but eventually, I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with being just your friend when I want you in my bed.”

“And what?” Natasha asks you harshly. “Because I can’t give you what you want, you’re going to leave me?”

You shake your head. “I am fine with being just your friend if that’s what you truly felt about me. But you don’t.”

“But that’s what I’m choosing.”

Tears well up in your eyes, a gnawing in your stomach that tells you you’re being foolish.

“You’re a coward,” you tell her, voice raw as it stings in the back of your throat.

“You’re so scared of being happy for once, to get what you truly want because you think you don’t deserve it. Well, newsflash, Nat, you deserve the world and more, and I wish you’d let yourself feel that.”

“I’m not worth it, this far in and I’m already breaking you,” Natasha says with a shake of her head.

She just wants you to concede, so everything can go back to the way it was.

She doesn’t know how to tell you, yes, she is in love with you too. But she can live with only being your friend.

Because she won’t survive if she knows what your lips feel like, how soft your body feels, the way you’d tremble underneath her as she takes you, the way you’d taste, and the way you’d look as she brings you over the edge and it all went away.

Whether you die on a mission, her enemies got to you, or somehow you’d fall out of love with her and leave her.

It was so selfish of her, but she scared of more.

You’re right, she is a coward.

You merely shake your head, tears falling from your eyes and it’s terrible for Natasha to see and be the cause of it.

“This was incredibly stupid,” you say, voice trembling. “I don’t even care that you’re breaking me. I am an absolute fucking moron because I’m always going to love you. But that isn’t enough for you to want more, is it?”

You don’t even wait for Natasha to answer as you walk past her.

“Wait--”

“You’re right, I’m an asshole because I’m not fine with just being your friend. I can’t stand here and pretend with you that everything is alright, that’s I’m not in love with you, and you’re not in love with me, that you’re not deliberately just choosing to ignore everything.” You tell her as you put your hand on the knob.

Natasha panics.

Sirens are going off in her head because she just knows that if you walk out that door, she’s going to lose you forever.

That the two of you will really be nothing, and Natasha realizes that maybe she can’t live with that either.

“If you walk out that door, we’re done.”

Those are the wrong words, and Natasha doesn’t know why it slipped out of her mouth.

But she feels her heart breaking too, and she doesn’t know how to get you to stay.

She can only see your back, but Natasha hears a humorless chuckle as you turn the knob.

“We were already done.”

You leave the room, the door shutting with a soft click.

Perhaps that was as good as it could get, but neither of you realized that it could get worse too.

You pressed your lips together, walking down the empty hallway.

Forever did exist, you think, just not the way you thought it would.

#mm: my fics #natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #avengers reader insert #Modern Avengers AU #MCU #genre: angst #prompt request

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weakeninghope · 4 years

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Dreamless nights (until I met you)

Pairing: Pannacotta Fugo / Narancia Ghirga

Rating: Teen

AO3 link here

Summary: At school, people was always commenting what they have dreamed last night, telling crazy stories, laughing about it, or commenting the stupidest details.Fugo didn’t have what to tell. Hell, he didn’t even have someone to tell those stories to.

Notes: Hello! It's me again. I was truly excited about the Fugonara week. To be honest, I spent the whole day writing this because I couldn't focus. Depression does that to me... but I hope you like this. I really poured my heart into this, and I hope to keep writing more for the week. Fugonara is a really cute ship, and I really love them.A few things I'd like to say:- I don't know if when Fugo joined the gang, Mista and Abbacchio were already there, so I kinda invented it hehe don't blame me for that. This was written for Fugonara week day 1: Dreams!

- Fugo's backstory is the PHF one (please read PHF) - I'm not a native (I'm from Spain) so please take this into account if you see any mistakesComments and kudos are much appreciated! <3Twitter: Shirotxpoison Tumblr: weakeninghopeThank you and see you soon <3

fic under the cut!

Fugo’s never been one to remember what he dreamt last night. His life had always been pretty monotonous as far as he remembers. Or at least it was before beating his professor up with a dictionary. Waking up, brushing his teeth. Having breakfast (compulsory breakfast, if he could have decided he would have skipped it, he used to wake up without wanting to eat anything, but his parents always told him that he had to start the day with enough energy to study throughout the day). Dressing up. Going to school. Studying until dinner. Dinner. And then off to sleep. Turns out that when he went to sleep he was mentally exhausted and his brain didn’t have the energy to design a dream-like universe.

In this aspect, he was envious.

At school, people was always commenting what they have dreamed last night, telling crazy stories, laughing about it, or commenting the stupidest details.

Fugo didn’t have what to tell. Hell, he didn’t even have someone to tell those stories to.

He wasn’t allowed to play videogames, he wasn’t allowed to have friends, he wasn’t allowed to do anything that didn’t imply studying or nurturing his brain, because he was “gifted”.

As time went by, he continued having dreamless nights, but when he started university at the age of thirteen, he started having really uncomfortable nights. He still had no dreams (nightmares either) but he used to wake up feeling really nauseous, which made breakfast really hard.

It really didn’t help that his siblings would burn his textbooks or draw on them which rendered the textbooks useless, and his parents blamed Fugo for not taking care of his stuff, which brought Fugo to having to stay until 2AM studying because he was grounded. And then he had to wake up at 6AM to go to university because his parents were busy working and he had to take the bus to go to university.

His life until that point had created a Fugo whose only way to feel something was through rage. He felt furious. Furious because his parents were too hard on him and always mad e him prioritize his privileged brain over absolutely everything. Furious because he only received attention because his parents wanted him to be perfect. Since the day that he noticed that his sibling s started trashing his belongings when he was younger, Fugo started committing small acts of rebellion. Not dressing up as he was supposed to. Not having breakfast. Little fits of rage that at least let him feel something. But of course, those attempts at having a personality outside of what he was supposed to be didn’t last that long, because soon after, his parents resorted to physical violence. When that happened, Fugo didn’t cry. He was just angry. Angry at having to go through this. Angry at himself. And when his parents stopped hitting him, he would often slam his head against the wall or punch it until his knuckles bled.

This got worse when he started university. And got even worse when his grandmother died. That night, he did have a dream. He dreamt about his family disowning him, he dreamt about him living in the streets, having nowhere to go, nowhere to have a life, being a nobody that never got the chance to have a normal life, that never got the chance to be himself. Because, if someone asked him what he thought of himself (not that it was gonna happen though, Fugo didn’t have people who’d be interested enough as of to ask him his opinion of himself) he’d say… not a lot. He was just what he had to be. Until he beat up his professor with a dictionary because he badmouthed his dead grandmother. That was Fugo’s biggest act of rebellion. Against the professor. Against his parents. Against himself, for always following the rules.

That was when Fugo’s life went downhill, and his dream about his family disowning him became his reality. He was sent to a cell, and his parents told him that they wouldn’t b e bailing him, because for them, Pannacotta Fugo was no more, he was just a worthless punk who, tired of being the uptight, flawless perfect model that they had instilled him, committed the despicable act of hitting a professor, someone superior and worth of admiration, with a fucking dictionary. Multiple times.

W ithin the loneliness of his cell, Fugo thought long and hard. He regretted a lot of his life choices (being born was the first one, even though that hadn’t been a choice) but not what he had done. Because even if it meant that he wouldn’t have a future anymore, he had decided something for himself, and he wasn’t going to tolerate some dude who didn’t know anything about his life badmouthing the only person who has ever cared for his wellbeing. Besides, as he had thought before throughout his life, he’d rather not have the desired future his parents were waiting for him to experience. He was better of like this. He knew that, after what he had done, he had no place among society, that he was a lowlife, scum, garbage, that no one would ever want him again. He could say farewell forever to having friends, to being important to someone. He’d think about saying goodbye to having a girlfriend, but he’s never been interested in girls. He’s never forged an emotional bond with anyone, let alone with a girl, and to be honest, if he thought about it, it was a big “no, thank you”.

He’d already made peace with the fact that he’d be alone forever until someone, this Bruno Buc ciarati , came to his cell and told him that he’d give him a path in life. A place to belong.

It sounded interesting, indeed; a place to belong. Fugo’s never had one in his life. He’s never even dreamed of living in a world of the books he read, particularly because he wasn’t interested in reading, he became a bookworm because he had to be one. But truth be told, he’d rather read that hear his parents argue or listen to his siblings badmouthing him and complaining about Fugo receiving all the attention. Unwanted attention. Fugo never asked for this “attention”. Because his parents never cared for him as of to give him a hug when he needed one, for example. But his siblings only saw what they wanted, and it was that their parents only cared about one person in their family.

Bucciarati looked like a gangster. He didn’t have it written all over his face, but his composure, his attitude, how he talked, how he moved, how he dressed. Fugo was pretty intuitive and could guess as much. Not that he had seen a lot of gangsters during his life but… Bucciarati looked like one. But not like a “bad” one. Fugo couldn’t imagine this guy harming someone. Fugo had known cruelty before, and this guy didn’t fit in his standards.

For a moment, Fugo pictured what it would be like, being in the mob. Putting his talent in use for other stuff besides studying and studying for earning himself a righteous future, a good job, money, and a family to be with. Fugo imagined that the mob was a cruel world, ruthless, cold. But he was honestly so fed up with being “good”, and he thought that if he was going to die, at least he’d die doing something he’d decided by himself. And Bucciarati was right.

He could no longer live in his parent’s world. In their world.

He wondered that if he joined Bucciarati, he would stop having those awful, dreamless nights.

So he said fuck it and accepted his offer.

After some time, Fugo passed the test and acquired his stand, Purple Haze. He learned from Bucciarati that stands are spiritual manifestations of your psyche, so he quickly associated Purple Haze with his repressed rage. His stand was quite deadly, to say the least. So he preferred not using it a lot, because he was still learning how to use it.

On the other side, the gang members were quite… odd, if he had to use a word to define them. Abbacchio had a very hard shell to break; he didn’t look like one to give up easily, or to open up to others. He only looked comfortable around Bucciarati, which was probably the reason why he was there, at the restaurant meetups. He always sat close to Bucciarati, as if to distance himself from Mista and Fugo himself. Mista was… Mista. He had a strange phobia regarding the number 4, and a very… cute? Emotional connection with his stand. Mista was very extroverted, always trying to talk with Fugo, and Fugo only knew how to answer… awkwardly, since he had never had any friends.

In the end, Fugo grew used to it. But one day, he found one boy rummaging through the trashcan near the restaurant. At first, he thought of helping him; because the hopelessness in his eyes had reminded him of himself when he had given up on life when he was in his cell, right before Bucciarati came to bail him. But then, the rational part of Fugo, how he grew up and became to be, took over him and decided to ignore him, so he returned to the restaurant.

If he felt a pang of pain and his stomach twisted when the boy looked at him, with his unbandaged eye, Fugo tried to ignore it.

That night, Fugo had a dream. He dreamt of that boy falling in an endless pit of despair, he dreamt of Fugo trying to extend his hand to him, but they couldn’t touch; they couldn’t reach. He dreamt of darkness consuming them both, and when he tried to scream, he woke up and realized he had been screaming for real. He was sweating hard, and he had yelled at such a volume that Bucciarati came to him room to ask what was wrong.

Fugo didn’t say a word and left the building. He had something to do.

He spent two hours running around the suburbs of Naples until he found the same boy rummaging through another trashcan.

“You’re coming with me.” He said, as he grabbed the boy’s hand. Then, he went to the restaurant where everyone was and said “I’d like to buy this man a plate of spaghetti.”

The same day, the boy, Narancia Ghirga, he learned afterwards, passed the test and joined the mob. Fugo didn’t know if this had been the right decision; but he couldn’t let this boy face the same fate he was going to face if Bucciarati hadn’t come to rescue him. He would have felt too responsible. He knew that nothing good came from mingling with others, but he wasn’t a jackass, and he felt the… need, to help this boy out.

When Narancia Ghirga joined the gang, he started to live with them, since there was an extra room in their appartment. Narancia’s room was right next to Fugo’s.

A few days passed, and even though Narancia and Fugo didn’t spend that much time together, Narancia sometimes spoke to Fugo about how he wanted to go to school, about how he admired Fugo for being smart, something that he was never going to achieve in his disastrous life. At those remarks, Fugo felt something strange in his stomach and his heart started speeding up his pace.

However, Narancia seemed to get along with Mista, often telling him how he felt or what he dreamed about. Narancia seemed to have a lot of interesting dreams, since Fugo often heard them chatting about that topic when he was having his teas or writing or reading a book.

The same day, at night, Fugo woke up hearing someone scream. Preoccupied with what had happened, Fugo went to Narancia’s room to check if something was wrong. The room was only illuminated by the dim lightning coming from the window, but he could clearly see Narancia squirming and panting in the bed.

He was having a nightmare.

That was when Fugo decided to act. Ever since he went to rescue him and had went through Naples tightly clasping his hand to bring him to the restaurant, Fugo has felt a strong emotional attachment with Narancia. So he decided to sit in his bed and calmly touch Narancia’s face to bring him to reality.

“Narancia” He whispered. He didn’t want to talk really loud since it could disturb Narancia, maybe. He didn’t know how to act when someone was having a nightmare, but he tried to be soft so he wouldn’t experience shock when he woke up.

Narancia kept squirming. Fugo decided to slide his palm a little bit through Narancia’s cheek, and he felt how soft and sticky it was, probably because he was sweating buckets. He must be terrified. Fugo definitely had to help him get through this.

“Narancia” He said, this time, a little bit louder. This seemed to startle Narancia, because, in one last dream-induced spasm, he moved from the bed until his face was inches apart from Fugo’s. When he opened his eyes, they stayed one good minute looking at each other. From this distance, Fugo could see drops of sweat falling from Narancia’s forehead, could see how his purple eyes shone under the moonlight. Could see his sleep mused hair. God, even in his disheveled state, Narancia looked beautiful. Fragile, but beatiful. Fugo wanted to protect him forever.

“F-Fugo?” He asked, his face still inches apart from Fugo’s. Fugo’s hand was still caressing Narancia’s cheek.

“Yes, it’s me, Narancia. You had a nightmare. You’re here again. With me. You’re not alone.” He whispered, hoping that would make Narancia feel better.

Narancia sighed, and Fugo could feel the warmth of his breath.

“So it was just a dream, huh? It sure felt real as hell.” Narancia let go, putting a little bit of distance between Fugo and himself. If Fugo felt a little bit disappointed, that’s not to be discussed.

“Nightmares tend to be like this.” Fugo claimed, even though he had like, two nightmares. He used to have dreamless nights, but he was sure that upon meeting Narancia, his dreams would start having a very different content.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Fugo continued, removing his hand from Narancia’s face. He didn’t want to be too invasive, but in a brave moment, he put his hand on top of Narancia’s that, lay on the cover of the bed.

“It was the same as always, Fugo. My friends leaving me behind. My mother dying from her infection. My father being shitty. At that time I really thought there was no future in store for me.” Narancia sighed. His eyes gleamed under the light, and Fugo could tell he was on the verge of tears, so he clasped Narancia’s hand tighter.

“I used to feel that about me, too.” Fugo confessed. If he felt an emotional connection with Narancia before, now it was just intensifying.

“You? How could you think you don’t have a future? You’re brilliant, Fugo!” Narancia exclaimed. At least, he looked more calm now.

“If I joined the gang and I’m here it means that my life wasn’t that good.” He reckoned, caressing Narancia’s palm. Narancia looked like he was more calm now, and instead of retrieving his hand, it looked like he was leaning to the touch, and Fugo was really glad.

“But you’re not alone anymore. You have the rest of the gang. And me. You have me.” Narancia reassured.

“You have me too, Narancia.” Fugo said. Inching closer to Narancia.

And then, he had an idea.

“Hmm… Do you… err… want me to stay the night with you? So you don’t have any nightmares? I can sleep on the floor if you want! I just don’t want you to be alone after what you’ve been through.” Fugo rambled more than he had initially wanted, but he didn’t want to make Narancia uncomfortable, so…

“No! I mean, yes! Yes, stay! But… stay on the bed with me. I can make room for you. I don’t want you to sleep on the floor, after how much you’ve helped me. So, please stay, Fugo. That would make me really happy.” Narancia exclaimed, with a little bit of emotion in his voice. Fugo was happy that it looked that fear had left Narancia’s voice and features. Sadness didn’t fit the boy’s expression. Narancia looked better when he was his usual jiggly, happy self. Fugo really did admire that of Narancia. He didn’t just like his looks, he liked his positive vibes, his crazy stunts, how bad he was at math but how he still tried to get better. There was a lot of Narancia he liked and respected.

And for the first time in his life he understood what it was like to have someone with whom he could form a future with. For the first time in his life, Fugo felt attached to someone. And he didn’t want to let go. Ever. He was sure that he would still suffer with coming to terms with himself, after all, he had hated himself throughout his whole life, but when he helped Narancia, he felt better, he felt at ease. And the thought of spending a night with Narancia, sleeping at his side… Made him feel really warm inside.

“Okay…” Fugo said.

Narancia proceeded to scoot close to the corner of the bed to make space for Fugo, and then Fugo got on the bed with Narancia. Narancia lay on his side and so did Fugo, both facing each other. And then, none of them said anything, but they, slowly, closed the space between each other and their lips touched for a second, before Fugo retreated because he was too flustered to keep going. They’d have chances to kiss in the future (he hoped). Now they just had to bask in each other’s company. Fugo then held Narancia’s hand and intertwined their hands together.

“Good night, Narancia.” He whispered.

“Good night, Fugo”. Narancia whispered back.

And that night, Fugo dreamt about a future.

#fugonara #fugonaraweek2k20 #fugonaraweek2020 #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga

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leiascully · 4 years

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The Wong End of the Telescope

By @agirlcalledNarelle: submission for Angst fic exchange in Apr 2020. Prompt was ‘Mulder and Scully on the run angst’! Trigger warning: suicide reference, disordered eating. How did Mulder & Scully end up in the UH?

6,8K words. Here on AO3

Cotton candy pink grazed the tops of the darkened hills. It was the hour of magical thinking, when dreams fuse with reality and imaginary adventures are tethered once more by the earth’s physical laws. Scully pulled up at a trailer park, her eyes on the dirt track in front of her rather on the hills above. The energy of the hour moved around her like the parted Red Sea. Mulder stirred beside her, stretching his arms over his head, and wiped spittle from the side of his mouth.

‘Where are we?’ His voice was hoarse from sleep. He looked at her in a daze, so boyish and trusting, having slept for the last seven hours. She wanted to reach over and stroke his warm, pink cheek, but instead she sat on her hands and stared outside.

‘Crockett, Texas.’

‘Why?’

‘Sun was coming up,’ she answered tersely. ‘It meets the criteria, and we’ve been on the go for over 12 hours.’

The sky was now a cloudless blue. Dry air promised a hot day ahead. Their last town had been in flat and endless prairie country. Scully had ached to see mountains, the hodgepodge of nature competing for survival, so she subconsciously delivered them to a town surrounded by hills in the neighbouring national park. She used to like arriving. She would enjoy discovering what made each town tick, uncovering their customs and values, until she realised every place was the same in that they would one day leave it behind.

The door to the trailer park reception opened and a dishevelled woman eyed them suspiciously.

‘We don’t open til 7,’ she called, her features distorted with annoyance. ‘Y’all will just have to wait til then.’

Scully looked at her watch: it was 6:55am. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully got there first.

‘That’s fine, we can wait. Thanks for letting us know.’ She attempted a smile, but it sat foreign on her lips. The woman said nothing and closed the door.

‘It’s only five minutes, Scully,’ Mulder muttered, kicking the gravel. ‘I’m sure she could have sprung us a key.’

‘What’s the point in drawing attention to ourselves?’ Scully replied sharply. ‘We just got here. I don’t want to have to leave before we’ve even had breakfast because you’ve gone and made yourself all memorable. We’re living by your rules, you know.’

Yesterday, she had returned to their trailer to find Mulder urgently packing the car. Gotta move, he had said. The Sheriff had come into the store where Mulder worked stacking shelves, and Mulder didn’t like the way he’d answered the Sheriff’s innocent questions. Felt there was too much room for scrutiny, and he got his feeling. The feeling when someone looked at them for too long or asked too many follow up questions. Before she’d had a chance to shower, they were leaving town.

At precisely 7am, the sign on the door of the lodge switched from Closed to Welcome! We’re open. Scully paid in cash for a week while Mulder sulked by the car. She left him to carry in the bags while she entered the stuffy trailer in search of the bed.

She found work a café off a main road which offered all-day breakfasts for the laborers, and milkshakes and relative privacy for the high schoolers. The first time Mulder had been a fugitive, the Lone Gunmen had set up a couple of bank accounts in different names for him to access. Now they were nearing the end of their second year on the run as a pair, and without the Gunmen’s help, they worked to supplement themselves. As Mulder liked to say, their opportunities dried up as quickly as the money in those accounts.

Ed, the manager, had thought Scully would be perfect for front of house. She preferred something along the lines of washing dishes and his expression revealed that it wasn’t the first time he’d received such a request. He’d looked her up and down and nodded slowly. Shift is 6am to 2pm, 6 days a week, Ed said daringly, you think you can handle that?

Scully filled up the sink on her first day when a boy entered, skinny, with mousy brown hair in need of a trim. He slipped an apron over his standard teen uniform of black jeans, band t-shirt and converse. She guessed he was 17, maybe 18 years old. He stopped still at the sight of her.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was both deep and weedy, still adjusting to itself.

‘Denise.’ Another of Mulder’s rules: keep the same initial. Easier to roll off your tongue. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Chet. I’m the morning waiter until 2pm, when Sasha’s in.’ He reached across her to wash his hands. It had been a while since someone other than Mulder has stood in such close proximity. Feeling crowded, she inhaled quickly and concentrated on tying her hair up. ‘You’re different to the last washer.’ Scully didn’t say anything. ‘You new in town? Did you just arrive?’

‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ Scully busied herself with the pots, and Chet took the hint. They didn’t talk for the rest of the shift.

‘Do you think it will work?’ Mulder asked when she returned 8 hours later, accompanied by the smell of cooking oil. The afternoon was caught under a bell jar, hot and still. Mulder was sprawled on the bed with newspapers spread in front of him, looking for any information that could potentially threaten them. Scully was sure that, should she ever ask him, he wouldn’t be able to articulate exactly what he was looking for.

‘It’s fine.’ She removed her shoes and sat on the end of the bed. Her feet were humming from the day’s work followed by the 3 mile walk back. ‘Same as that place in Burlington.’

‘Kansas?’

‘Sure.’ She crawled fully onto the bed and tucked her hand under the pillow, her back to Mulder.

‘Good. The more anonymous the better.’ Mulder pulled the papers from under her. ‘It looks like there are two local newspapers, but the most popular one here is USA Today.’

‘Well that’s a surprise.’

‘Whatever, Scully. I’m not doing this for fun.’ She felt him lie down next to her. The hairs on her back stood to attention, hoping he wouldn’t touch. The silence between them was a black hole, and Scully jumped right in.

‘I found work at a local motel. They’re renovating for Summer.’ Mulder said quietly after a few minutes.

‘Ok.’ Scully stayed on her side.

‘I stocked up at the store, so we don’t have to go for a little while. Do you want anything to eat?’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes against the daylight.

The mirror in the trailer was placed such that she could only see her shoulders up. Mulder had to crouch to see himself, and Scully very nearly had to stand on tiptoes. Before, this would have made her laugh.

Around her 40th birthday, she had gone through a phase of avoiding mirrors altogether, but now she studied her reflection with interest. Her pronounced clavicle snaked around the bottom of her neck like two thin arms buried under the skin threatening to strangle her. Feathery lines sat under her eyes from months of squinting at the road. Her cheekbones slid into shadowed gorges and levelled out to her soft chin, slack and furry with little hair. Freckles splattered like paint on a pale canvas. Grey dominated the natural auburn at her temples so that when she pulled her hair into a ponytail her mother’s face gazed back at her. The first time she saw the likeness she had gasped, remembering her father sitting next to her Christmas tree, little Emily asking to be set free in a wooden church. From then on, her hair was always down unless at work.

Mulder made her wear a baseball cap when she was out. If she dyed her hair, she was allowed to leave the cap at home. The idea of being anything other than a shade of red panicked her: this was her last thing. She was already hollowed out, a tinman pretending to have a heart. If she lost her hair colour, she felt she would finally rust over and be lost forever. What else did she have left?

Scully was scrubbing stubborn scrambled eggs from a large frying pan. The effort made her arm ache, and she felt slightly dizzy. Though they had shared fewer than 10 sentences since she started a week ago, she welcomed a break when Chet walked quickly into the kitchen.

‘Trade places with me,’ He said urgently. She looked at him properly for the first time. His head was ducked, chin covered in the duckling fluff of a teen too keen to prove his maturity. He was tall, she realised. She hadn’t realised how tall, given his movements were soft and quick. She wondered what his mother felt when she looked at him.

‘Why?’ She asked suspiciously. ‘I need to stay back here.’

‘Please, would you just do it for me?’ He pleaded. Scully scanned the room to see a table of girls laughing over their menus.

‘You want to avoid those girls?’

‘Something like that,’ Chet mumbled, cheeks flushed. Scully sighed and took the apron out of his hands, her palms sweaty with nerves. She took their order and found she had forgotten how to move her face. Her reactions felt too big, too staged. She tested her limits by taking another order from another girl sat by herself. When she returned to the kitchen, Chet had scrubbed off the remaining egg.

‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully.

‘I’m not going to do it again,’ she snapped, snatching the brush from his hands. He left, and she leaned against the sink, hating herself for snapping. After almost three years on the run, her ability to make connections was off. She wrapped her right thumb and middle finger around her left wrist, measuring its circumference. Her wrist didn’t touch the fingers, and she was pleased when she could circle her wrist freely their grip. The bubbles in the sink crackled as they burst, slowly revealing a yellow glob of egg.

She would wake before Mulder to get to the café on time. He slept soundly, in a way he never could previously, on his back with an arm over his head. The conspiracy hadn’t been enough: he needed to be fully consumed by something, eaten, removed from life as he knew it, before he found peace.

He was enjoying his current line of work. She could tell because he once described the paint brush gliding like a toboggan, or by his swagger as he removed his t-shirt after a day of manual labour. Previously he was all about exposing the designs of others; now he was the creator. He was proud of himself. She had picked a hangnail on her pinkie, dry from constantly being in water, as he told her a tale about some wood and nails. Or it might have been shelves and a spirit level. She hadn’t listened too closely, knowing that whatever he found here would last only as long as he felt safe. Soon the time would come when his house of cards would fall.

‘What are you doing here, anyway, Ms Denise?’ Chet asked her. He was standing in the doorway, at a loose end. Rain kept the breakfast regulars away. Scully’s wet ponytail was plastered down her back and her soaked t-shirt stuck to her leggings. Her hipbones, sharp and round like pin heads, pressed against the sink as she leaned over, missing the usual padding of a dry t-shirt. They would bruise by the end of the day.

‘What do you mean?’ She asked flatly. With no customers, she kept busy by dismantling and cleaning the fat fryer.

‘Just that.’ Chet helped her remove one of the baskets. ‘Why did y’all come to Crockett? To work in a café? What’s the story?’

‘No story. Just in need of a job.’

‘No story.’

‘Nope.’

‘You’re here just because you need a job. All on your lonesome.’

‘Yep.’ She popped the ‘p’ sound at the end.

‘My uncle had a friend who just turned up out of nowhere,’ Chet said. ‘Turns out he had two different families over in Louisiana. Weren’t long before he got sprung and had to go back. Now he’s awaiting trial for polygamy.’

‘So what?’ Her forehead suddenly prickled with sweat and she wiped it with her wrist. She met his gaze and held it in a silent threat.

‘Nothing’s never nothing, s’all I’m saying.’ Chet left to serve a customer, and Scully exhaled shakily. The oil mixed with the soap in the sink to create rainbows on the slimy surface. This kid was smart. A liability best kept to herself for now.

Scully ate an apple each morning as she meandered down the dirt roads to work, its crunch made louder by the darkness. She emptied her mind and savoured her surroundings, appreciating each ditch in the road, and the way a particular shrub resembled a sheep as she passed the ‘Welcome to Crockett!’ sign. Sporadic streetlights illuminated her solitary figure like the beacon of a lighthouse.

They had started out as crusaders, underdogs who would come out on top having prevented the end of the world. However, it was clear a few weeks in that without FBI resources, and the very real talents of the Gunmen, they were doomed to exist on the fringes of society, chasing wicker men. On their first night running she had told Mulder that she wouldn’t accept defeat if he didn’t, a memory that now makes her prickle with discomfort. That Scully is a high school student scribbling love hearts on her exercise books. That Scully doesn’t realise that unconditional love is actually anguish, pain, boredom, compromise, rage, sacrifice, not just sometimes but all the time until you’re so far in you can’t see where you stop and the other begins.

She used to feel like Mulder was the one holding the other end of the rope. But while they had been distracted buying cheap second-hand cars with high mileage, crossing state lines, eating store-bought sandwiches in the middle of the night, the rope had frayed and snapped. They each still had their end, but their futile attempts to mend it hurt so much that after a while, she just stopped trying.

‘Scully?’

My name, she thought idly as she swam from the depths of sleep. Not my never name, though. Not Dana. It’s my sometimes name. She tried to ignore it, but it repeated until she slowly became aware of her dull head, her dry mouth, of Mulder’s voice coaxing her back to him.

‘Mmmh?’ Forcing her eyes open, she saw Mulder sat on the bed. He didn’t touch her, she noted, and her shoulder shivered in the absence of his hand. The space in the trailer compacted with Mulder’s return. The walls closed in as he crossed the threshold and there wasn’t enough room for her. She could see his mind humming with thoughts, but not knowing what they were, she would feel like an intruder.

‘You’re asleep again.’ He said with a hint of accusation.

‘Mmmh.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. If she was lucky, she could fall back to sleep quickly.

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘Oh. I ate at work.’

‘That was 6 hours ago.’ She opened her eyes again. It was 8pm already? ‘You were sleeping when I came home at 6, and it looks like you’ve not moved.’

‘I took a sandwich home with me,’ Scully lied. ‘You woke me when you left again, I ate then.’

He met her eyes and she realised she couldn’t remember the last time they’d properly looked at each other. His face was worn. She spied blue paint by his ear. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Like her, he had flecks of grey around his hairline, and his eyes seemed smaller among the creases of his cheeks. But there was energy coursing behind his irises. He can handle this, she realised enviously. This lifestyle suited him.

She shrank as he studied her in return. He had always been interested in her mind, had always valued her level-headed scientific approach. She knew he had found her beautiful at some point, but his true love affair was with her intellect. She counted on the fact that he wouldn’t ever really see her. She liked feeling invisible. But now he had noticed what she saw when she looked at her reflection.

‘Are you eating enough?’ His question landed heavily in her stomach. She circled her left wrist with her right fingers and twisted, drawing confidence from the gap.

‘Yeah.’ She avoided his eyes.

‘Are you sure, Scully?’

‘I told you, I already ate.’

‘You look thin.’

Scully fluffed her pillows and lay back down again. ‘It’s just from being on my feet all day. And the walk there and back.’

‘Do you need a ride there each day? I can get up earlier. I don’t want you –’

‘I’m fine, Mulder. Please.’ She rolled away from him, not caring that she was still fully clothed. She felt sleep stalking her in the periphery and prostrated herself ready for it to snatch her.

The first rule Mulder created was that they avoid being in public together, the net result being a lot of alone time for her when her shift finished. She was to go home straight away. He would pick up their groceries on his way home, comfortable with his own vulnerability, but he resisted her attempts at independence beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Every day the trailer was oppressed by afternoon heat. The air refused to move so it felt like she was wading through blankets. She would sleep the afternoons away, passing out so heavily that she felt drugged when she awoke, limbs heavy, clinging on to unconsciousness as her senses fired up. More than once, she thought she was still in her Georgetown apartment, and it took a few minutes to remember. She would try to wake up before Mulder came home, but recently that was proving more challenging.

Her bones were dragging.

‘Can you trade with me again?’ Chet arrived at her elbow. She instinctively took a step back. ‘Please?’

‘I told you the last time,’ Scully replied, ‘no. I need to stay here.’

‘Please. I can’t go out there.’ He sounded so desperate that she sighed and scanned the restaurant for the table of girls.

‘I don’t see those girls here,’ she said.

‘That group of girls? With the headbands and the lettermen?’ Chet scoffed. ‘No, not them.’

‘Then who?’ Curious, Scully couldn’t help but look again. She saw in the corner a small girl with brown hair to her shoulders reading a book. ‘That girl over there?’

Chet backed away, his cheeks blushing

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Amanda Jones.’

‘She seems nice?’ Scully asked, unsure of what to say.

‘She is nice.’ He ran his hands over his hair. ‘She’s super smart, and she really thinks about things. She’s not one of those girls you saw the other day…’

‘Those other girls don’t think?’ Scully bristled at Chet’s casual dismissal.

‘I don’t know if they do or not. But they’re not very nice.’ He paused, looking out at Amanda. ‘Please. I can’t go out there.’

Scully sized him up before holding her hand out for his apron. She remembered how teenage love teetered between affirming and soul destroying. The girl looked up and ordered a coffee with such self-possession that even Scully had to admit she was impressed.

Dana pulled up outside her mother’s dark house. It was 7pm and she was expected for dinner, but she was met with silence. Her mother’s purse was on the hall table. Shopping sat on the kitchen counters. There was a sweet, fermented smell of rotting fruit.

Professional instincts kicking in, she drew her weapon and checked downstairs before making her way upstairs. Her mom was on the bathroom floor, eyes closed and congealed blood at her temple.

‘Mom!’ Dana cried as she kneeled beside her. She patted her mother’s cheek urgently, and Maggie’s eyelids fluttered open. Relief washed over Dana and her arms shook as she moved.

‘Dana….’ Maggie whispered. ‘I fell….’

‘Mom, I’m gonna help you,’ Dana was unable to stop her voice from wavering. She held a damp washcloth against the side of her mother’s head. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Two days ago maybe… or three…I’m not really sure.’ Scully held a second wet, clean cloth to her mom’s lips for her to suck. ‘I couldn’t get to the phone…. I’ve been here for such a long time.’

Maggie closed her eyes and went limp. Dana felt her mother’s pulse weaken, and she screamed.

Scully sat bolt upright, throat wheezing as she desperately sucked in air. She panted, sweat rolling down her back as she held her hands out to orient herself. There was the bedside table. There was the side of the bed. There was Mulder, his strong back to her, snoring. Her mother was back at home, and Scully had to believe she was alive and well.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Mulder, and sat on the steps outside. It was warm enough to sit in her t-shirt. She put her arms around her knees and lit a cigarette. She struggled to sleep past 2am these days.

Some nights she would reach around Mulder to wake him with her hands. She would take him in her mouth, and he would push her head until she gagged. Their bodies grew slippery together, and she would dig her nails into his back to gain traction as she sat on him, feeling him plunge into the cavernous depths of her. She would cry his name – his real name - in her throaty voice, the black night their only witness. It was always quick, vicious, and she rarely had her turn although she didn’t want that. She wanted to be entered, to be filled up. They wouldn’t speak after, but the next day there would be a new charge in the current between them which almost made the situation almost bearable.

Most nights, however, she would simply sit outside and smoke. She savoured her secret cigarettes, this tasty rebellion. The orange glow soared through the air like a grown-up sparkler.

The expanse of the stars made her mind spin as she gazed upwards. She remembered her childhood astronomy, spotting the Big Dipper and the Big Bear. She heard her father’s commentary. In these moments, Scully wondered if she was even really there. She might blow away on the wind’s currents, floating higher and higher until she was as far away as the stars. She felt like she was looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope.

The day in May came, around which all others moved, and she dragged herself to the café when all her instincts told her to stay in bed and spend the day remembering his gummy smile and the sound of his cry.

The day before, she had eyed a bottle of whiskey as she replenished her clandestine cigarettes on her way home but had ultimately decided against it. Throughout the years they had both tried to escape this day via alcohol. For her, it resulted shame and hazy memories of tear-soaked grief, Mulder’s clumsy hands holding her hair back as she vomited, raging against his strength as he tried to contain her. On his part, he turned inwards, growing snarky, mean and morose. He channelled his energy towards the cruellest insults which swirled in her head for months after. You call yourself a mother? You give him up and then claim to be a mother? You’re a selfish bitch, Scully, that’s what you are, and you have to live with that for the rest of your life.

At the café, she saw Chet hanging around her sink. Her heart sank when he smiled as she approached. She wasn’t sure she could handle him today.

‘Ms Denise!’ He greeted her enthusiastically. ‘I have news.’

Scully said nothing and turned the tap on. Chet wasn’t put off by her indifference, having worked with her for 7 weeks now and seen little else.

‘I was riding home from work yesterday and I saw Amanda had a puncture,’ his thin, reticulin fingers gesticulated as spoke, ‘so I helped her fix it, and we walked home together and had the best conversation. Turns out she’s reading '1984’, which is my favourite book. We both think it’s so clever, you know, how they reduce thought by altering language. Kinda like what’s going on now, all this war on terror talk. You know what I mean?’ He laughed to himself. ‘Man, I can’t believe she actually spoke to me.’

Scully shook her head slightly to refocus. She was bothered by something he said.

‘You love '1984’?’ She asked, looking directly at him. He had shaved his fluff but kept a small, patchy moustache on his baby face. His hair had greasy roots, and she wanted to tell him to take a shower. He was clean and musty at the same time. ‘How old are you, Chet?’

‘I’m 19. I’ll be 20 in October.’

‘Why aren’t you in college?’ She asked sharply. He raised his eyebrows cynically.

‘College? What college am I going to go to?’ He replied, voice squeaking. ‘You’ve seen this town, there’s no college here.’

‘You’re a smart guy.’ Scully seethed at the waste of his potential. ‘There are colleges nearby, with scholarships –‘

‘No, I’m just gonna work here, get some money behind me,’ Chet interrupted. ‘I’ve been talking to Ed, maybe one day I can take over this place.’

‘Chet, you can have bigger dreams than the local café for the next forty years,’ Scully was desperate to make this boy see the world was bigger than this. ‘You can do whatever you want.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I can’t. I’m not that guy.’

‘Chet….’ She saw his face harden.

‘Anyway, what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘What all are your dreams, why are you lecturing me about mine?’ His voice was raised, and Scully’s heart ticked like a metronome on the highest setting. She stepped back from the sink. This was too much attention. ‘You’re hiding something. You don’t wash your hands like a normal person. I reckon a doctor, or surgeon, someone who has to keep clean. And then there’s that cornfed guy working at the motel on the other side of town. Funny how he pops up same week as you, same accent as you, yet you don’t know nothing about anything. So who are you really, Ms Denise?’

He reeled, surprised at his outburst. Scully blinked back tears, her hands shaking as adrenaline bled through her. He reminded her so much of Mulder: observant, passionate, gentle, and he had her number. Yet this wasn’t her mini-Mulder. He was elsewhere celebrating this day with strangers, and she was in a kitchen in small town Texas. She heard waves crash in her ears.

‘I’m nothing,’ she muttered, and pushed past Chet. ‘Excuse me, I’m not feeling well.’

He called her name as she ran out the back door and threw up beside the bins. It felt good. Chunks of apple, half dissolved by acid, lay at her feet, and her teeth chattered. Chet appeared with a glass of water which she took gratefully. Her stomach churned as the water hit, but it stayed down.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. He stood next to her, unsure of what to do. ‘Today is a hard day.’

‘I can tell Ed you’re not well,’ Chet said awkwardly. ‘You should go… I can handle it today.’

It was mid-morning by the time she turned down the dirt road towards the trailer park. Mulder would have just left for work, and she wanted to crawl in bed and close off the day. She wasn’t sure what four-year olds were even like: she had a vague recollection of Matthew being into trains. She couldn’t imagine his hair colour, what his voice sounded like, whether he could count to twenty, or if he could do puzzles. She had no idea, and her ignorance of rudimentary childhood development made her feel worse.

On a whim, she ignored her thirst and walked past the trailer park entrance to the natural bushland at the end of the road, lured by the refreshing shades of green. The ground was covered in grass, with natural tracks running between the trees. Leaves and sticks scraped her ankles as she walked, and she soon found herself deep within the bushland, with only the track behind her for navigation.

She walked until her shin bones ached. Suddenly the path dropped away. The cliff was 40 feet or so and framed by the overhanging branches from the nearby trees. A creek ran through the lush valley at the base of the cliff. It looked so quiet, so unspoiled. She crept closer to the drop and looked down to see rocks directly below her. Standing tall, the breeze blew temptingly across her face and her toes crept over the edge. Then the balls of her feet. Her weight shift to her heels. She knew if she closed her eyes, her balance would falter, and who knew which way she would fall? The risk appealed. She felt dizzy. Reckless. Her hands opened by her side, her fingers stretching downwards to feel the breeze on her palms. She imagined feeling weightless.

A rustle next to her made her jump back, her natural instinct to survive proving to be stronger than her desperation to for everything to stop. She fell as she retreated, landing hard on her coccyx. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she heard herself cry. Her chest heaved twice, three times, as she inhaled to support more sobs. Pain dripped like mercury from her fingers. She gripped her hair by its roots and let out a huge scream which echoed around the valley as her rage tumbled out. It was a relief to finally feel something. A fox squirrel shot out from under the scrubland and stood still, eyeing her as she wept. It tilted its head and ran up a tree trunk. Her right fingers wrapped around her left wrist, and she twisted her wrist in the gap. Tears splashed on the rocks beside her.

When she got back to the motel, Scully stayed away from the bedroom. She drank three glasses of cold water and took her towel to lie on the grass outside of the trailer, enjoying the solid ground beneath her shoulder blades. Studying the leaves above her, she realised that she still had choices. She could decide things. She could identify her limits, but it came down to how much she was prepared to fight for herself. She was a hologram of the person she used to be, and she wondered if she even had the strength to stand up. Eventually she was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic lullaby of leaves in the breeze.

She woke when Mulder pulled up. Her sleep had been light, leaving her unusually refreshed. The importance of the day crashed on her chest once more, but she recognised a very, very slight shift in perspective: today could be about more than grief. What should I do with this, she wondered.

‘Scully?’ He approached her with caution, wearing his own memories of this day on his face. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘It’s a nice day.’ She folded her towel and stood. ‘I just wanted to be outside.’

That evening, they sat outside with a beer to toast their son. They talked, though not about William. He was interested in her trip to the bushland. She told him about the sound the trees made, and the squirrel, but not how the whispers of the breeze had dared her to see if she really was immortal.

She had grown used to the smell of old cooking oil and grease. It seeped into her skin and her hair. Having been there for two and a half months, it smelled as much like home as anywhere had. Half-way through her shift one Tuesday morning, she asked for a plate of scrambled eggs, which the chef handed to her in surprise. Out back, past the bins, she found Chet on his break, and sat wordlessly beside him.

‘You taking a break today?’ He asked incredulously. ‘You never take a break.’

They had reached a truce after William’s birthday: he chewed her ear off about whatever he wanted, and she offered sparse but pertinent advice. Each day, he brought her some new piece of information about the youth of the town, and she found herself invested in spite of herself.

‘First time for everything,’ she replied, hoping she sounded light, carefree. The fork was awkward in her right hand, plate balanced on her lap. The eggs were yellow and solid; she sliced into them with the side of her fork. They felt like stones clogging her throat. Her mouth salivated as she ate. Scully tried to ignore how heavy the food felt inside her stomach and cleared her throat nervously. ‘Can I eat with you tomorrow too?’

‘Sure thing, Ms Denise.’ Chet balled up the paper from his bacon sandwich. ‘You don’t have to ask.’

She managed half her plate, and fought against the itch in her fingers, the urge to lock herself in the bathroom afterwards.

That afternoon, as she was leaving the Mom and Pop store, Chet and Amanda cycled past. He was in front, and he said something which made her throw her head back in laughter, her hair trailing behind like a mermaid. Scully felt a spark in her chest: a tiny flame, a burst of energy. She drew warmth from its glow.

They started to spend the warm evenings outside together, the fog between them slowly dissipating. She told Mulder about the legend of the Ozark Howler, a cat-like creature with horns and glowing eyes. It was said to be found in the Ozarks but there were sightings as far reaching as Texas too. Mulder’s core ignited with new folklore, curling himself towards her in his plastic chair. She presented tidbits of information to him like proud child. They found themselves in a discussion of whether it’s realistic for one cat-like creature to cover so much geography, or if it meant a growing species, and whether that contributed to or undermined its veracity. His eyes narrowed when he learned that Chet had told her about it. Careful Scully, his tone immediately changing, you don’t want to get too close. Keep your distance. She had smiled thinly, ruffled his hair, and walked back inside before he could see her tears because, for just a minute, she had forgotten and they had felt like a normal couple again.

‘Mulder?’ Scully approached Mulder as he lay on the couch in the tiny living room reading the papers. Three months in and she could see he was starting to twitch. It wouldn’t be long until he wanted to up sticks, and she wanted to get in first.

‘What’s up, doc?’ He smiled. She sat next to him and pressed her knees together. She had recently bought some dye to patch over her grey hairs. Her cheeks were starting to fill out with her daily plate of eggs, though she still couldn’t consider anything more solid without her palms sweating. She noticed he had started to look at her differently: he had stopped looking through her, and she felt herself take up more space.

‘Mulder…..’ She sighed and looked at the floor. ‘Mulder, I need to go home.’ She glanced up and saw shock, fear, pass over his face.

‘Go home?’ he repeated dumbly. ‘Scully, I can’t…. you know what waits for me there.’

Scully closed her eyes, not wanting to remember Mulder’s sentence: death by lethal injection. The danger had always been real, but somewhere along the way she had lost the sense of it as she had lost herself. With this request, she had to face it once more.

‘There must be a way,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘Please. It’s… I’m …. I’m not doing well. I’m… vanishing.’

‘I know that Scully,’ he said in his crinkly voice that reached into the dark shadows of her. ‘I see you. I think you’re right, I think you may have reached the end of this road. But what choice do I have?’

‘There must be a way,’ she repeated, the lump in her throat making her voice thin and tight. ‘We can email Skinner. I don’t want to leave you. I hate the thought you being by yourself.’ She paused to compose herself and reached for his hand. ‘You’re good at this life. You know how to duck and weave. The threat gives you energy, purpose, as it always has. I see you too, you know.’

‘You’re my gal. You’ve always seen all of me.’ He kissed her knuckles. ‘I know you’re struggling. I don’t know the last time I saw you eat more than a banana. I wake in the night and you’re not there.’ She stiffened but made herself stay in the conversation. It was the first honest talk they’d had in months. ‘But can you give me some time? Just a little. Please, Scully. Let me get my head around it some more.’

‘Mulder….. There’s Matthew. My Mom.’ She hiccupped the last word, and to her frustration, started to cry, releasing the pressure in her chest. She wiped her eyes. ‘I mean, what is our plan here, exactly? Wait for an apocalypse that we’re powerless to stop? Well, I don’t want to welcome that one without my family. Or maybe it doesn’t happen, and we run for the next 20 years. Or do we draw the line at 30 years? And what happens if you fall from a ladder, or even just get tonsillitis?’

They sat in silence. Mulder had abandoned the newspaper, and Scully circled her wrist. There was still a sizeable gap and her satisfaction at this quickly turned to guilt.

‘Ok, Scully.’ Mulder said finally, exhaling heavily. ‘Let’s email Skinner. See if there are options.’

That Sunday they drove two hours out of town to a random internet café. Mulder set up an email account and then they sent Skinner a cryptic message. Mulder drove three hours in the opposite direction two days later to see his reply, and he didn’t let Scully come. Too conspicuous for both of them to miss a day of work, he’d reasoned. Scully had wanted to throw her coffee mug at the wall in frustration.

They hadn’t spent more than a work shift apart since 2002, and Scully was bereft as she waited. She dropped a stack of plates at work, and spent the afternoon peeking out of the trailer window at the sound of every car rumble. It felt like snakes had taken up residence in her stomach.

She was sat the small table in the kitchen when he returned, a plate of celery, carrots and hummus in front of her. She cried out with relief as she heard the car pull up and ran to hug him as he exited the car. His sweater was soft, and she remembered how solid she felt when her body locked against his.

Once inside, he handed her a printout from the now deleted email account. Scully scanned it, seeing words like pardon, obstruction of justice, requalification, but her mind raced over the email before she could comprehend its meaning. She looked at him expectantly.

‘It looks like there’s a shot,’ Mulder said nervously, rubbing his palms together. ‘A long shot. Skinner thinks he could get any potential charges against you dropped as long as I continue to lay low. But he thinks there’s a possibility for us both to return.’

‘And we’d be together?’

‘Yes. We could be together.’ He finally slipped a smile. ‘I may not see daylight for the foreseeable future, so I hope you like the anaemic vampiric look.’

Scully covered her face with her hands and pushed all the air out of her lungs. Her fingers were hot, and her head tingled. She laughed, feeling a little light-headed and hysterical. She pictured her Mom’s face and the laugher turned to loud sobs of relief. Mulder kissed her head and held her tightly while she calmed. The energy in his eyes had already been replaced with fear, and she realised the price of the choice he had just made for her. For them.

‘Pack your things Scully,’ He started pulling their bags from the cupboard. ‘We gotta move.’

#submitted #submission #submission summer 2k20

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skylar102 · 4 years

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Prompt: Mystery Feathers

Read it on Ao3 here

It’s dark out by the time Alec leaves his job at the coffee shop. He doesn’t know why he agreed to pull a double shift at a place that is open from 6am to 9pm, but he’s in desperate need for the extra cash. If working overtime a few days a week helps him out, he will gladly take the hours where he can. Alec locks the door behind him and begins the trek through the alley towards his apartment.

He’s happy that he found a place to work so close to his one bedroom apartment. He puts one ear bud in and with low volume on, puts on a podcast to fill the silence. He’s not dumb enough to completely block out the world, especially walking down an alley by himself at night in Manhattan.

Alec is almost at the end of the alley when he hears what sounds like a fluttering of feathers followed by what is the saddest meow he’s ever heard. He stops the trek to his apartment and follows the noise of the meows. He peeks his head around a dumpster and sees a cat with fur black as the night surrounded by grey feathers. The cat mewls again this time walking towards him.

“Hey little guy.” Alec crouches down to the cat's level, holding out his hand in front of him. “Are you okay? You were making a lot of noise.” Alec watches the cat sniff his hand curiously before rubbing its tiny head against his fingers. Alec smiles as he lets the cat rub itself against his hand. He looks behind the cat at the feathers on the ground and comes to the conclusion the cat was chasing after a pigeon but lost its prey. “Did your meal for the night escape?”

The responding meow is all the answer he needs. Looking at the cat who is now between his crouched legs rubbing up against him with loud purrs, Alec knows what he’s going to do. Maybe he’ll regret it, but he can’t just leave the cat alone in the alley. He picks up the cat slowly just in case it doesn’t like being held. When he feels no struggle, he stands up cradling the cat in his arms. He doesn’t like how he can feel the cat’s bones so easily. The purring feels louder with the cat pressed against his chest. Smiling, Alec turns and continues back on his way to his apartment.

“Let’s get some food in you huh?”

Alec kind of regrets his decision on keeping the cat, now properly named Loki, in his apartment. He knew the trouble that would come with taking in an adult stray off the street, but didn’t think it would be this much trouble.

Alec sighs as he looks down at the destroyed couch pillows on the ground. Both are completely torn open and the feathers are strewn about his living room. Loki sits on the couch licking his paws like he’s congratulating his claws on a job well done.

It’s only been a few days since he brought the cat back to his apartment to give it some food. The cat chowed down on the bits of tuna Alec gave him and then proceeded to meow for more until he gave in. Loki had not stopped purring, rubbing up against him after the meal that he didn’t have the heart to put him back out on the streets.

Staring at the carnage on the floor, he kinda wishes he wasn’t such a good person. Letting out a sigh, Alec leaving the mess on the floor and heading to the kitchen. He hears Loki let out a confused chirp and a familiar thump hitting the floor. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Loki is following him.

Kneeling by the kitchen sink, he grabs a trash bag out of the cabinet below. Loki head butts his leg hard causing him to land on his butt. Loki climbs into his lap and meows for attention. Alec stares at the bundle of fur and can’t help but laugh. He runs a hand down Loki’s back.

“I really can’t be upset with you,” he chuckles. He picks Loki up and carries him back to the living room, setting him down on the couch.

Alec goes about picking up the feathers around the room. He grabs the two destroyed pillows off the ground. He gives them one last look before tossing them in the trash bag as well. Thankfully he had gotten the pillows at the thrift store so it wasn’t a huge loss. He ties up the bag and sets it next to the couch. He looks around the room one last time just in case he missed any feathers when a tearing noise is heard. He looks at the trash bag and sees that Loki has torn open the side and is playing with the small pile of grey and white feathers that has escaped the hole.

This is going to be a test of patience for sure.

Alec wakes up to a sunlight room, which wouldn’t be strange if he didn’t know he closed his blinds before he went to bed last night. Looking at his sunlit wall, he sees the shadows of his curtains move followed by the sound of ripping fabric. He turns over in his bed and sees Loki halfway up the curtain trying to rip them in half but seems to have gotten stuck.

Loki tries to shake free from the curtain but his claws won’t release the fabric. He lets out a loud mewling scream that has Alec sighing as he pushes himself out of bed to go rescue Loki from the curtain’s clutches.

“Okay, okay hold on,” Alec yawns as he walks towards the distraught cat. Loki tilts his head behind him and lets out a sad mewl. “That’s what you get for playing with things you shouldn’t.”

Alec calmly approaches Loki and wraps his hands around the cat’s stomach. Loki immediately squirms in his hold causing more damage to happen to the curtain as Alec tries to release him. A hind leg comes up and scratches his wrist causing Alec to let out a hiss of pain, but he doesn’t drop Loki.

Struggling for a few more minutes, Alec eventually untangles Loki from the curtains and watches as the cat hisses at the cloth before rushing out of the room. Alec can’t stop the laugh that comes out of his mouth even if he tried. Maybe he should think about getting the hyperactive cat some toys so he can protect his dwindling count furniture.

Alec grabs at the pole holding the curtains up and slides the now shredded cloth onto the ground. It’s going to be a while before he can replace them which means sleeping in on his days off is no longer an option. Not with his window facing the sunrise. Alec looks at his bedroom door and sees Loki peeking his head in though quickly turns around and runs at seeing Alec stare.

Alec chuckles at the sight. He bends down and picks up the destroyed cloth on the ground preparing it for the trash when he catches sight of some grey feathers on the ground.

Guess he didn’t get all of the feathers from the couch pillows.

“Loki,” Alec calls out to the suspiciously empty apartment as he closes the front door behind him. “Where are you, bud?”

Alec doesn’t like how quiet it is. He hasn’t heard the apartment this quiet since the day before he brought Loki home. Not that he misses the quiet. Alec can’t deny that the little furball has brought a joy into his life that he hasn’t remembered feeling in years. All the havoc can’t be blamed on the cat either.

The poor thing was homeless before Alec took him in. The stray was used to not being confined to the tiny box that is his apartment. The toys Alec brought for Loki seemed to do very little to stop the gremlin from going after his furniture, but they did help in stopping the destruction from happening so frequently.

Which is why he’s now suspicious of the quiet in his apartment. Normally Loki greets him at the door when he comes home from work. This is the first time in the two weeks he’s had the cat that he doesn’t see a blur of fur rushing to head butt his legs.

“Loki,” Alec draws out this time. He checks the living room and finds nothing. Same thing with the bedroom, nothing. He quickly checks the bathroom even though he knows Loki wouldn’t be caught in there anymore. Loki learned the hard way that jumping into the shower with Alec was not a good idea and was quickly drenched in water. Alec winces at the memory of a panicked cat and sharp claws. Loki hasn’t gone to the bathroom since.

Closing the bathroom door, he hears a crash in the kitchen. Alec leans against the door, closing his eyes he lets out a long sigh. He should’ve checked the kitchen first. At the sound of another crash, Alec pushes himself off the door and makes his way to the kitchen.

Stepping into the room he sees shards of glass all over the floor and a slightly open cabinet that has a swishing black tail peeking out of it. The cabinet door pushes open a bit and another glass cup crashes to the ground.

“Loki!” Alec scolds causing the cat to jump in the cabinet. He hears more than sees Loki bump the shelf above him which causes the whole shelf to fall and send a waterfall of glass to the floor. Loki scrambles out of the shelf and runs across the countertop out of the room. Alec chases after the cat as it tries to evade him.

The cat tries to jump over the couch, but Alec grabs him just in time. Loki squirms in his hold and a low grumble emits from the cat’s chest.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Alec soothes, bringing Loki to his chest to try and calm the cat down. “You’re okay, it was an accident.”

Loki seems to pause at those words, pushing out of the hold to look him in the eyes. Alec could swear the cat was looking at him incredulously. Alec pets Loki down his back to soothe the cat.

“I need to check if you stepped on any glass, okay?” Alec speaks softly. “Will you let me check?”

Loki doesn’t make a move to get out of his hold and Alec takes that as a sign to turn the cat on his back. Sitting down on the couch, Alec checks each paw with a careful touch and a sharp eye, looking for any bleeding or glass in Loki’s fur. He lets out a sign of relief that he doesn’t find a single piece.

“You sure know how to scare your owner don’t you,” Alec says as he releases the last paw. Looking up at Loki’s face, the cat’s head is tilted sideways like he’s trying to understand what Alec was doing. Alec can’t help but coo at the adorableness of it. Kissing Loki on the top of his head, he carries the cat to his bedroom and sets him down on the bed.

“Now stay here,” Alec says as he walks to the door. “I’ll let you out once I’ve made sure there’s no more glass on the floor.”

Alec hears a displeased meow as he closes the door behind him. The resounding thump against the door means he shut it just in time before Loki escaped. He ignores the clawing at the door and makes his way to the closet grabbing a broom, dustpan and the vacuum. He sets them down at the edge of the kitchen and goes to put on his work shoes, not wanting to risk slicing open his own feet.

Grabbing the broom and dust pan, Alec goes about sweeping up as much of the glass as he can. The cries have gotten louder from his room and Alec continues to ignore them. If he let Loki out now, the chance of the cat hurting himself is too high. He’ll just have to deal with whatever carnage is waiting for him on the other side.

Alec grabs the vacuum and does a triple sweep of the floor, making sure every corner is covered before he’s satisfied with the work. With one last glance at the kitchen, he grabs the bags of glass and makes his way to the dumpster outside.

Entering back into the apartment, he doesn’t hear the cries for help from his bedroom anymore. Preparing for the worst, Alec opens the door to his bedroom and sees that Loki is sitting on his nightstand. Right next to a cup of water.

“Loki please,” Alec begs with the cat even though he knows the cat doesn’t understand him.

Loki maintains eye contact with him as the cat knocks over the cup of water. The contents of the cup splash onto the ground creating a puddle of water on the floor. Loki meows once before jumping off the floor, making his way to a gobsmacked Alec. Loki rubs up against his leg and saunters out the room.

This cat is going to be the death of him. Alec grabs a towel out of the bathroom to clean up the mess. As he sets the towel on the ground he spots another grey feather on the floor. He picks it up and twirls it in his hands.

“Guess I’m going to be finding feathers forever now,” he sighs.

Alec has almost forgotten what today was. He managed to convince his boss to allow him to do a double shift to make sure he was thoroughly distracted for the day. He knows he has missed calls from his family waiting for him when he gets home. Alec had almost made it through the entire day without thinking about it until he got home from his shifts.

It’s a slow process, entering his apartment. He goes about the motions of taking off his shoes and coat, hanging the item on the hook. Loki runs up to greet him like the cat normally does, but Alec isn’t in the mood to greet him back.

He walks past Loki and makes his way to the kitchen. He hears an offended meow behind him as Loki catches up and runs between his legs to try and trip him up. Alec would normally scold the cat, but he just wants to eat his dinner and go to bed. Loki hops on the counter while he puts the leftovers in the microwave. Loki butts his head against his chest, purring loudly. Alec absentmindedly pets Loki waiting for his food.

The microwave beeps and he makes his way to the living room with Loki right behind him. Plopping down on the couch, he turns the TV on to some random channel and eats. Loki hops up on the coffee table and begins to meow, but Alec ignores the cries. Loki eventually stops meowing and hops off the table.

Alec is almost finished with his meal when he hears a clatter next to him. Looking over he sees Loki on the table that holds pictures of his family. Alec rushes to stand to stop the cat from doing any damage.

“Loki, get down from there,” he hisses at Loki as the cat makes his way across the table. Alec slowly approaches to make sure not to startle the cat. Sadly it does nothing to stop Loki from knocking over a specific frame and it crashes to the ground. It lands face down and Alec can hear the glass shatter on the other side.

Alec quickly moves to the photo frame, ignoring Loki’s accomplished meows above him. He kneels on the ground staring at the downed frame. He can’t help the sob that escapes his mouth as he picks it up. Turning it over, he can’t stop the tears that fall as he looks at the photo of him and Max behind the cracked glass.

It’s his most prized photo of him and his younger brother. Alec had decided to take Max to the amusement park for his 10th birthday. Max had begged Alec to take him on all the rides since he was tall enough. He had never seen his little brother that happy and excited for a birthday before. He remembers the absolute joy in his eyes as Max opened the gift from him and wrapping him in the tightest hug.

“You’re the best big brother ever, Alec!”

Shame that a mugger ripped his little brother from him in a matter of seconds.

Alec cradles the frame to his chest as he cries alone in his apartment. The memories he tried to hide from that day flash in his mind. He forgets that he’s not alone until he feels a nudge at his thigh. Loki is looking at him with a tilted head. He unwraps one arm from the frame and pets Loki on his head giving the cat a gentle smile.

“It’s okay,” Alec sniffles out. “You didn’t know.”

Alec pats Loki on the head one more time before standing up. He takes one last look at the broken frame and sets it down on the table. Leaving his abandoned dinner on the coffee table and the TV on, Alec makes his way to the bedroom. Stripping off his clothes down to his boxers and a tank top, Alec crawls into his bed.

Alec lays in his bed staring out his bedroom window, looking out at the city. He tried to close his eyes and sleep but anytime he closed his eyes he was taken back to that day.

So much for going to bed, he thinks.

Normally he would be worried about the silence of his apartment, but he doesn’t care what Loki gets into tonight. He’ll deal with it in the morning. He tries to close his eyes one more time and begs sleep to come.

Alec hears a shuffling sound at the foot of his bed. He knows it’s Loki without having to even look. He hears the shuffling get close to his side of the bed. A muffled meow is heard that does get Alec to look this time. Glancing down at the cat, he sees that Loki has his favorite hoodie in his mouth. The cat must have dragged it from where he left it on the floor in the living room.

Loki drops it from his mouth and lets out a soft meow. Alec doesn’t know what the cat wants and just stares at the feline on the floor. Seeing Alec not react to the sweat shirt, Loki huffs and struts out of the bedroom like a cat on a mission.

Not a minute later, Loki is back and this time with an arrow in his mouth. The cat must have snagged it from his quiver in the hallway closet. Though Alec is pretty sure that he closed it last time he was in there. Loki drops the arrow on top of the sweatshirt and looks at Alec like he’s waiting for a reaction. Alec looks at him in confusion and Loki lets out a sigh. The cat dashes out of the room again.

Alec can’t stop the smile that’s slowly appearing on his face as he watches Loki waddle his way back into the bedroom with the living room blanket in his mouth. The blanket is ten times bigger than his body and the cat looks absolutely ridiculous trying to carry the blanket into the room. Loki lets out an accomplished meow as he drops the blanket on the ground next to the arrow and sweatshirt.

Loki doesn’t give him time to say anything before the cat is out the door again. Alec waits with hidden glee to see what Loki brings him this time. He hears a loud thump followed by a shriek and a hiss. Alec has to hide his laughter under the blanket as he watches Loki drag the book he was in the middle of reading into the room. Loki tugs the book on top of the pile and nudges the cover closed with his paw. A grey feather flies out from the inside of the book causing Loki to jump back.

Alec can’t help but laugh at the absurdity taking place before him. Loki looks at him with pride at making him laugh. Alec pulls the covers off of him and reaches down to pick Loki up. Almost immediately the cat begins to purr and rub on any part of his body he’s able to.

“Okay, okay,” Alec laughs as Loki doesn’t stop rubbing against him. He holds the cat out at arms length with a smile on his face. “Apology accepted.”

Loki lets out a soft meow and Alec cradles him against his body again. Tucking his legs under the covers again, he lays on his back and sets Loki on his chest. The cat sprawls across his torso letting out a loud purr. Alec can’t help but tilt his head up, kissing Loki on his head. He pets Loki as he drifts off.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he murmurs as his eyes finally shut. Last thing he hears is a tiny meow before falling into a dreamless sleep.

Hours later Alec is awoken to a weight on his chest. A heavy weight. Unless Loki ate all the food in the kitchen and got fat overnight, something else was in bed with him. Judging by the slow breaths he feels on his neck, that something is a person.

Alec slowly opens his eyes to not disturb the person who has apparently broken into his apartment and sees a plethora of grey feathers in front of him, crowding his view of the room. He blinks at the sight and realizes he’s staring at wings. Wings. Alec follows the path of the feathers to the person they’re attached to and sees the most breathtaking man he’s ever seen before. The man’s hair is a mess and his makeup is a bit smudged but Alec can’t stop staring at the sleeping winged man before him.

Alec reaches out with the arm not trapped underneath the stranger and touches the wings. They’re soft, softer than Alec expects. Taking a closer look at the feathers, Alec realizes that these feathers are the one he’s seen around his loft for weeks. The man shifts on top of him rubbing his face into his neck. Alec stiffens at the press of lips he feels against his pulse.

The stranger lets out a groan and a sigh stretching his body. Alec watches as the wings expand and stretch in front of him and can’t stop the gasp that leaves his mouth at the sight. The body on top of him freezes, a clear sign that the man is now awake. The man slowly pushes his body up and stares at Alec with shocked golden cat eyes.

“Loki?” Alec whispers out.

“Uh,” the man says uncomfortably. “Actually it’s Magnus.”

“Okay, Magnus. Why were you pretending to be a cat?” Alec winces at the question. He should’ve asked why the man was in his apartment and in his bed. He’s not fully awake to truly comprehend what’s happening in front of him.

Magnus looks even more uncomfortable at the question, like he doesn’t want to answer it. The man debates with himself before giving up with a sigh and pushes himself into a sitting position with his wings tucked behind his back. Alec sits up as well, resting his back against the headboard.

“Originally?” Magnus tugs at his ear. “I became a cat to torment you and make you go crazy.” Alec eyebrows shoot up on his head. Magnus panics at the look and quickly continues. “I’m a trickster, it’s kind of in my DNA to mess with mundanes. I’ve been doing it for years making them go crazy that they’re no longer the person they were before.” Magnus sighs and slumps his shoulders.

“No matter what I did, you never got mad at me. You never yelled, kicked or threw anything at me. I tried everything I could to make you get angry, but all you did was make sure I was okay and that I didn’t hurt myself,” Magnus says as he fiddles with the rings on his hands. “And then I knocked over that picture frame and the way you reacted I thought I had finally broken you.” Magnus hangs his head in shame.

“But then you started crying and I wanted nothing more than to comfort you,” Magnus whispers out. “You’re the first person in centuries to treat me with kindness and patience that I was frustrated. All I could think was that there was no way that this mundane could be that kind. Be this gentle of a person.” Magnus huffed out a laugh. “Turns out it is possible,” Magnus smiles at him.

“You are the nicest person I have ever met, Alexander.”

Alec blinks at the man in front of him. The admission was a lot to take in. Loki is Magnus, Magnus is Loki. Alec knows he should be freaking out more. Maybe he could blame it on the emotional night and just waking up. He thinks back on everything that has happened since he took Loki/Magnus into his apartment and suddenly things start making a lot of sense.

“So that’s why you freaked out so badly when you jumped in the shower with me,” Alec blurts out. Definitely not what he wanted to say and he can’t tell it’s not what Magnus is expecting either judging by the blush that appears on his face.

“Ah yes, that,” Magnus says. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so attractive under all the loose sweaters that you wore and then I saw your, you know what and I guess I panicked?”

“You destroyed my shower curtains,” Alec laughs. Yeah, there’s something wrong with him. Magnus huffs, crossing his arms at being laughed at. Though that doesn’t hide how the blush gets redder on his cheeks.

“Well can you blame me? You’re a walking Adonis. It’s truly not fair to the people on this earth that you hide that kind of body underneath flimsy sweaters,” Magnus snaps while waving an arm in the direction of his closet. The wings behind the man scrunch up, like they’re also embarrassed. It’s quite adorable.

“So what happens now?” Alec asks. “Now that I know your secret, are you going to leave?”

Alec doesn’t want the answer to the question he’s asked. He realized last night how much Magnus’ cat form helped him be happy again. Something he never thought he’d feel again after his little brother’s death all those years ago. The cat was able to make him laugh, truly laugh for the first time in what felt like forever. Alec felt the need to care for himself again after allowing the cat to stay with him. He felt alive. His inner thoughts are interrupted by Magnus.

“I’d like to stay,” Magnus murmurs out like he’s afraid of the reaction the words will receive. “I will even stay in cat form for the rest of my time here. If you still want me around that is. I understand if you don’t.”

“No I,” Alec stutters out. “I want you to stay.” The smile that appears on Magnus’ face is as bright as the sun that drifts in through the window. Before Alec can think, Magnus launches at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. He’s frozen for a moment before returning the embrace. He can feel a slight purr emanate from Magnus’ chest and sees the grey wings curl around them.

“Thank you,” Magnus says in his ear. “I promise to never knock another glass over or tear up your furniture ever again, but I won’t say no to joining you in the shower again. Though with less claws.” Alec smiles into Magnus’ shoulder at the words. For once, his future looks brighter.

“Sounds like a deal.”

As the two make their way to the kitchen to make breakfast, Alec looks at the table and sees the picture of him and Max is fixed.

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