ᵃ ˢᵒᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵇᵉᵍᶤᶰᶰᶤᶰᵍ;; (ap)

        He took a step back in offense, lips pursed as he examined Seven. Harsh words were thrown around with ease between the both of them, but it didn’t mean Vanderwood wasn’t ever taken aback by them. Particularly when it had to do with deadlines. It wasn’t his fault that deadlines were set the way they were. If he had any control of them, he would take more time with them. If Seven didn’t meet their deadline, there was going to hell to pay as their client didn’t do too nicely to those who didn’t meet their deadlines.         “My expectations? It’s Boss’, and we both know what will come if we don’t meet it,” Vanderwood said through gritted teeth, hand reached out to grab hold of Seven’s shoulder once he stood. “I can only do so much.” He had knowledge of hacking, but nowhere near the skills that Seven had.          His hold tightened on that shoulder, fingers biting into the fabric of his clothes as he stared into his glossy, fevered eyes.          “I’ll try to see how much I can stall before you have to do it.” He released hold of his shoulder and went for his phone to call the boss. 

                          Sulfer eyes roll into the back of his head in agitation. It was the same things Vanderwood always said, making him sound more broken record than human these days. It didn’t help that the male was very well right, and Luciel ( who had found himself in more than one situation with their boss ) knew it. Somehow that didn’t make him any less bitter about the situation with his keeper. 

                             When Vanderwood reaches out to steady him, it is all Luciel can do not to lean into his touch. His body was weak and the movement to stand very well made him feel as though he would hurl all over the plush carpeting of his home. But still, the hand was gone as quick as it came and Seven watched as the male scuttled off to phone their prison warden. He knew it was futile, with the nature of the business they were in human nature was not a factor. They wanted results, and would kill to get them. Literally. 

☆ ❞ ( @soleilies ) you sent me this years ago ily

                      Liquid sunset eyes gleam, raising to meet the woman’s own within seconds. An edge of his lips come up in a half smirk where laughter passes through without hesitation. Not unheard of, but a rare occurrence none the less. His nose wrinkles, twitching from side to side in rabbit fashion. 

        Continued from an ask with @resetgod 

        The hand swatted away was retracted and dropped to his side. If Seven hadn’t realized by then that fussing over him was part of his job, maybe he shouldn’t have spent so much time goofing off. And be aware of his surroundings, both on computers and in person, more often.          It took all his strength to not roll his eyes in frustration, particularly at the use of Mary. But since Seven was sick, Vanderwood decided to give him some slack. Didn’t want him to start puking all over, since he’d be the one cleaning it up anyway.         “Will you just-” Vanderwood was cut off by Seven’s question about staying. Unexpected, since even if work needed to be done, Seven would never normally ask such a thing.          The fever had to be making Seven delusional.         Vanderwood moved back, both feet rested on the floor and folded his arms.         “Guess I’ll have to since no work will be getting done otherwise, right?” he asked, gazing at Seven’s down-turned face then sghed. “Here, drink this.”          He grabbed a bottle of water from the table and held it in front of him.  

                        He was quiet for several long minutes, long delicate fingers clenched into a fist until white kissed at his knuckles. While the pain ran rampant in the male’s head that throbbed and beat in time with this sunken heart inside his Atlantis chest - - - his fist did not clench from pain but from fighting the childish urge to reach out and knock the bottle away. 

                           Rose petal stained lips part, exhaling the breath he was unaware had locked itself away within his chest. Strange how a person can forget to breathe, strange how sometimes he no longer wished to. With a sigh Seven reaches out and wraps his hand around the bottle and forces the opening to the attic of his throat. The liquid makes him nauseous the entire way down his throat and into the empty well of this stomach. 

☆ ❞ ( @vanderwood-stark )

                        ❝ ———— how can i sleep with you fussing over me ? ❞ The feverish male reaches up toward Vanderwood’s hand, fingertips that left sunbursts of melted wax over icarus’ feathered forehead - - - only to swat the male away. It was a futile event, seeing as how in this weakened state he could hardly move. Teeth gnash together in agony as his body rebels against the slight movement.

                       ❝ This is it, Mary. This is how it ends. I can see a light ! ❞ Even through lips that threatened to quirk up on either side into a smile, it was all he could do not to interrupt his words with a pained whine. But alas, he had too much to do, codes to rewrite, work to be finished, people to protect. Sitting up, Seven’s legs swing over the side of the couch as he fights the urge to hurl up every ounce of medication the opposite has all but forced down his throat. Fevered wax wings grip at the couch cushions as he centers himself and dares the room to stop spinning.

☆ ❞ ( @wekeepthislcveinaphotograph )

                      Russet lashes flutter rapidly and golden icarus eyes stare down upon the ocean of waves in the form of hair that has flopped down across the hacker’s lap. He is unsure how the previous conversation left him here but all echos of agitation he previously had have faded - - - or rather frozen beneath the weight of V’s body and the world that rests on those atlas shoulders.

                     Paralyzed, he is unsure what to do. Physical touch so foreign it is craved but almost unwelcome in this moment. Fingers that don’t seem to be quite his raise, the Icarus in him eager to run through the tides that lay against the male’s forehead but the wax and feathers of his skin beg otherwise. Instead he takes a deep breath, the fear of drowning too great to risk, and his hand falls to the opposite’s shoulder for a moment.

☆ ❞ ( @etnim )

☆ ❞ ( @finalgarde )

☆ ❞ ( @latteloved )13. My muse pulls your muse’s hair during intercourse. ( not accepting )