#( answered / a simple shrug of shoulders will suffice )

[lickingthywounds]

Any chance we could get a teaser for your story? A dustjacket promo or a lil excerpt? No pressure!

Will the full first chapter suffice? 😌

Wool Over Eyes | Chapter 1

The first thing he remembers is the fire.

Not a stranger to arson, he’s plenty familiar with the idea of flames against poorly guarded skin. This, however, was a different kind of heat. A blazing inferno — and no creation of his own — tearing through his gut, pacing chasing racing like his heart as it burned from entry wound to exit.

A fire of the invisible sort. That is, ruthless and unforgiving agony. Warm tails lapping at the lacerations. A single breath, gargled between beads of crimson, and he finally comprehends the sensation — and the severity of it.

He’s been shot.

The second thing he remembers is wetted concrete against his cheek, the way his temple fell against the cold remnants of a late summer’s rain, copper bangs sticking to his forehead, and the echo of patient footsteps that prefaced a shadow. The way its narrow body stretched beneath the streetlight is forever seared into the back of his eyelids, its owner a mystery.

His current surroundings, too, a great conundrum. The place he wakes next is not home, nor a hospital, but somewhere entirely foreign to memory. A simple room, beige walls under flush mounted lights, a single picture window with the curtains drawn, and a small cot dressed in cotton sheets with which he currently rests beneath… until, upon a quick double-back of the room, he becomes distinctly aware that he isn’t alone.

Then he is sitting upward in a matter of seconds — or making an attempt of it, anyway. His endeavor is interrupted both by a miserable burn in his shoulderblade and the eager gestures of the stranger who’d nearly leapt from their chair upon seeing him up.

“Easy, kid,” says the man now at his side, “your wounds are only beginning to heal, try not to aggravate them already.” 

They are no one he recognizes. A tall and lissome frame, his head crowned in rich black hair that is wrapped in a lazy bun, the sides shaved out, he wears a comfortable turtleneck and a watch of extravagant design. A strange show of wealth when compared to such a plainly decorated room. 

Not allowed the chance to overthink the observation, his thoughts are interrupted as his savior’s hand reaches for his clean shoulder, “That was some mess you got caught up in,” they mutter, “Can you talk?”

“Don’t touch me,” he spits, answering the man’s question either way, “Don’t—” A stilted breath is kept hostage in his lungs until the man’s accusing hand withdrawals, and they lift both palms to show they mean no harm, only then does he release the air. His body sags forward with the effort. “Sorry,” he mutters under breath, as though it’s only an afterthought, “just — just give me a minute.” The heel of his palm lifts with careful measures — minding his wounded shoulder — to rub over his eyes, blinking away the remaining crust of sleep. “Who are you, again?”

An easy shrug is all he initially receives, unbearably casual. “Don’t sweat it,” the stranger replies, “you’re well within your right to be scared. Shouldn’t have reached for you just after wakin’ up, but you would’a torn right through the bandage if I hadn’t.” He turns over his heel and drags the stool he’d been on earlier to stand against the frame of the bed, then hauls himself over it so he’s less towering. “Let’s start over, yeah?” The man extends his hand to shake, “The name’s Esmond. And you are…?”

“Still waiting for you to answer my question,” comes his swift reply. There’s a drumming sensation between his ears, the headache he’d been nursing now making itself a force to be reckoned with. It does nothing but further sour his mood. “Maybe I wasn’t obvious enough. Where am I, and how the hell did I get here? The last thing I remember is a lead nose shaving through my insides, I should be surrounded by doctors right now.” Or dead, if he was being realistic, but that dreary thought didn’t need to be voiced.

“You don’t like the room?” Esmond asks, mock-disappointment dripping from his tongue. The attempt at humor is forgotten quick as it arrived, however, and replaced with a long sigh of defeat. “You’re in my house, that’s all. I found you half-dead on the pavement with uppers and snow spilling out your pockets. Thought I’d be doing you a favor, fixin’ you up myself over speed dialing the nearest cop.” He leans forward, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, “I meant no harm in bringin’ you here, kid. You…really don’t remember me?”

He stares long and hard, hazel eyes burning, trying his damndest to catch a lick of trust in the man before him and finding nothing promising. Cynicism is a bitch and it always got the better of him, anyway, but nothing about their character screams good samaritan to him. Not that he has much of a choice but to place his trust in the man for the time being. As it stands, he’s a whole arm short in terms of functionality and bedridden until the damage to his body and its residual soreness decide to play nice.

Speaking of soreness, that’s about all he feels of it. A sensation, or the lack thereof, that had gone unnoticed until now. He ought to be feeling a whole lot worse after taking a bullet like that, yet the pain in his shoulder is limited to a dull blade pressing hesitantly against his collarbone. Aside from that, it’s just the growing pressure between his temples and a subtle whirling of thoughts, like his mind swims through cotton, and that — if nothing else — is familiar.

“Hey, are you listeni—”

“Did you drug me?” He cuts the man off with a question of his own, aghast and well guarded, his head woozily swings upward to look him in the eyes.

“I…” Esmond pauses, a hand coming to rub against the back of his neck like a guilty dog hiding its tail, “well, yeah,” he answers honestly, “you were just shot, remember? I wasn’t about to let you endure that without some help, ‘specially since I had to dig the shrapnel out by hand. Real nasty work.”

His heartbeat quickens at the mention, and it’s a good deal calmer than it ought to be. Slower than if only under the effect of any over the counter pain relief he knows off the top of his head. A sedative, then?

He still isn’t getting the answers he wants. If anything, he only has more questions. The blanket shifts over his increasingly restless legs as he finally takes the time to better examine his surroundings; the feeling of clean linen itches against his skin, now more obvious than ever. He pulls away the covers with his good arm to see himself in a too-big shirt and gray pants, neither of which are his own. The beloved hoodie he went down in is no where to be found.

“It was like rooting around for a prize at the bottom of a cereal box,” Esmond continues to fill the silence, returning again to his strange choice of humor, if only briefly. “I didn’t give you anything serious, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just somethin’ to kill the pain ‘s all. Scout’s honor. Wasn’t sure how clean you were with shit like that in your pockets, after all, and I didn’t want a dead kid on my conscience.”

“I’m not a kid,” he’s quick to correct, “stop calling me that. I’m not some druggie, either. Only getting a few bucks where I can.”

Again, Esmond’s hands raise in a show of apology, “Alright, alright,” he resigns with a dry laugh, “why not give me something else to call you, then?”

A name. That’s all the man wanted, right? Even a nickname would do if only to keep that damn word out of his mouth. Still, his lips pressed together like a closing door, locked up tight. They weren’t getting anything from him.

“Fine,” hums Esmond, his mouth curving into a cheeky smile, “Ovis it is.”

Suddenly his lips can’t part fast enough. “That’s not my name,” he says.

“Maybe not,” Esmond shrugs, “but you seem determined to keep it from me, so I’ve decided your name is Ovis. You’re free to correct me at any time.”

The action is almost jarring enough to make him reconsider the decision to keep his identity a secret. Almost. This man already has him in the flesh, already has his clothes and any belongings left on his person after the incident. He didn’t want to give up his only remaining sense of privacy.

So again, his mouth clamps shut, visibly resolving to keep it that way this time. He’d rather stew in a pot of ire than give the man what he wanted.

Esmond’s smile grows teeth. “So stubborn,” his sigh is almost romantic, chin hanging casually on the base of his palm, “you’re more clever than you look.”

That’s all it takes for him to decide that it’s time to leave.

“Well, thank you for your help until this point,” he moves as he talks, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, his feet are bare as they land on the cold wood paneling, “but I think I can handle myself from here on out, so I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You’re leaving already?”

He moves to stand and makes it to his feet - barely. The sudden burden of his entire weight nearly threatens to topple him backwards and against the mattress once more. He grits through it, locking his knees in place until he feels stable enough to try again, and doesn’t bother tossing a look behind him until then.

Esmond, himself, does nothing to indicate that he plans to follow or stop him, anyway. The man remains seated at the bed’s side, hands now settling politely in his lap.

“I just really need to get home,” his answer spills out between labored breaths, each step further shocking the gentle analgesic from his system, “so if you could just hand over my shoes and jacket—” he is dizzy and heavy and so, so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion that has thoroughly settled its way through every joint, it makes the stretch between bed and door feel like miles. The left side of his body is beginning to scream. He makes it across the room and stables himself against the wall beside the door for only as long as it takes to catch his breath.

Still, Esmond says nothing, does nothing, up until the very moment his patient finally makes for the doorknob—

“Well, that’s a damn shame.”

—only to find it locked.

Ovis stills where he’s at, back turned to the man as his spine attempts to crawl out from between his teeth. The hairs along his arm prickle and brush against his soiled bandage, aching wildly, now, the wounds hidden beneath feeling all the more damning now that he’s well and truly cornered. 

Breathlessly, he risks a glance over his shoulder.

Esmond’s hands brace against his knees as he stands with a low exhale, as if the next words to come out of his mouth are in any way remorseful. “The way I see it, you owe me a debt.” Casual strides carry him across the room and in no time at all he’s covered the distance between them, that same sly grin making up for the otherwise lazy expression on his face. “See, you’d be dead if I hadn’t dragged your sorry ass to safety. You have me to thank for being alive and well. It’d be selfish to just run off now, don’t you think?”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Ovis barks, shoulders going rigid. His hair stands on end like raised hackles as he turns fully to face the man again while his hand continues its fruitless struggle against the doorknob at his back, relentless. “I can’t stay here, I need to get home,” he finds it easy to keep the tremble out of his voice if he focuses on his growing temper rather than the fear slowly overtaking him, “listen, I can pay you, okay? I’ve got some cash stowed away that’ll make up for all of this.”

Another step forward brings them ever closer, toe-to-toe, until their arm braces idly above Ovis’ head, against the door, and their breath warms his forehead, “I’m not sure you understand, clever boy,” he speaks sweetly, like explaining something simple to a child, nothing but smiles as he bends to be at eye-level, “I wasn’t asking.”

A beat of silence passes between them. Limbs still, paralyzed, his breath quickening.

He ducks beneath Esmond’s arm and heads for the window, ditching the idea of escape through the door, but his captor is fast, faster by a mile, and catches him by the wrist like one might swat casually at a fly. It snaps, the joint locking beneath his iron grip and reverberating up the chain of muscle until thunder claps against his shoulder and the first cry escapes between his clenched teeth.

“Settle,” they order, tone even, “you’re only going to hurt yourself further like this.”

“You’re the one hurting me!” Ovis growls back, struggling still against the firm hold.

“I’m only holding you in place, lamb, to keep you from hurting yourself more,” he counters, “you’re the one squirming, Ovis. If you’d only settle down, like I’ve asked, you wouldn’t be in so much pain. It will stop when you decide you’re ready to listen.”

“Fuck that!” He lurches away, all but tearing his elbow from its joint in the process, and stubbornly bites back the resulting scream until the insides of his cheek tastes like old pennies. “Let. Me. Go—”

He’s released in an instant. The sudden lack of binding has him staggering backwards, and he lands — shoulder first — against the hardwood floor.

There’s few means to stop the shriek that erupts from his chest this time around. It echoes against the walls and yet earns no change in expression from the man standing over him.

“See?” Esmond tuts, abandoning him there on the floor and momentarily stepping in the opposite direction, instead, “I suppose you’re determined to learn things the hard way.”

He isn’t listening, and he doesn’t care to. Rather, his attention is evenly divided between the blinding spasms abusing his newly reopened wounds and the wave of nausea that each brings. He chokes on the taste of bitter acid at the back of his throat and fights it off the best he can, but his vision is swiftly tunneling, and he hasn’t much time to do anything more than take shallow breaths and feel like he’s drowning on land.

It can’t end like this. If he passes out for a second time, there’s no telling where he’ll wake up or what else will happen to him. He has to move. He has to get out of here. He has to get up. Get up. Get up.

Shaking, still, he manages to gather the strength to prop an arm beneath him, bent at the elbow, and with that last remaining burst of energy he raises himself up by an inch, then two—

A boot makes contact with the space between his shoulderblades and drives him back into the floor with a resounding crunch. 

Ovis howls, dry heaving around the agony. With no strength left to shake the shoe off his back he is forced to stay down, fists clenched, angry and panting like a stray on the side of the road. 

Blearily, he realizes he will be forgotten like one, too.

The stars forming in his vision are warm and inviting, the ring in his ears like a blaring alarm. He lacks the strength to refuse them a second time, and so his body slumps, fists uncurling to expose open palms, and everything

falls

silent.

[knowltonsrangers]

provenance

TURN!Marquis de Lafayette x reader

[tw//: mentions of not eating, undefined depression, and anxiety ahead. please read at your own discretion.]

Food pushing was the first sign of distress, so he’s noted.

Lack of appetite always seems to be the reasoning, the simple “I’m not hungry,” can suffice, but for only so long. It carries, the concern, into a day, then heavily when it becomes a little less than a full week.

He can only sit and abide by it for so long, until he’s ready to keel over, watching once more as your fork becomes a stick, picking and poking at dinner.

It’s a frustrating thing to look at, because no matter how much he asks, you never have an answer for him.

His nose twitches in discontent, yet he pushes forth, swallowing the anger that fights its way forward. Anger that he cannot help you. Whatever it is, you’ve made it clear you did not want to talk about it.

“Is it alright if…if I go take a walk? I need to clear my head…”

You ask, still staring down at your full plate. You’re only asking because you know if you just got up and left, Lafayette would be at your heels in a moment, wondering why you’d want to go out in the cold, at a rather late hour.

But somehow, something in that sentence brings a smile to his eyes, and he nods happily, standing from his seat.

“Shall we?”

He’s invited himself, no surprise there, yet, you’d feel like something was missing if you gone without him. You haven’t gotten to do this in a long while, and it would be your mind that would become your enemy if you took this trip alone.

“I know you do not wish to talk about it,”

Lafayette had helped you into your coat, insisting on putting your gloves and scarf on. After, he shrugs his own coat on his broad shoulders, black leather gloves to his hands.

You had begun the walk in silence, yet, Gilbert broke it after a handful of moments.

“And you do not have to. I can talk this entire time, if you would like,”

You barely blink before another sentence leaves his lips.

“However, I am so very troubled by this, y/n. I do not like it that you have not eaten, and that beautiful smile has been gone from your face for too long.”

Your hands come to shove in your coat pockets, when you take notice of Lafayette’s hand, dangling just at the perfect height at your side. It’s a subconscious feeling, and you heed it, taking his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze.

To his surprise, yet, he doesn’t question it. It’s the first move you’ve made on your own, and he would rather die than have you pull your hand away.

“Y’know…when you have those obsessive thoughts. That sometimes everything happens for a reason?”

Your voice is hoarse, unable to find anything to look at besides the sidewalk below.

“Mhm, I do.”

“It’s a mantra that I keep saying over and over, yet, I still don’t know if I believe it. Everything has been thrown in my face, and then some, and I think I’m at my breaking point.”

Gilbert’s heart sinks into his stomach, and he slows his stride just a bit, feet shuffling at your words. It’s the first time you have brought this feeling to him, and many times you have expressed it physically, just by body language, this was the first time you have spoken it, verbally.

“Well, think of it this way,”

You sniffle, eyes watery as they slowly move upwards to catch his gaze. To blatant surprise, he’s staring right at you.

“Sometimes, people walk into your life for a good reason, and walk out of it for a good reason. Same with things, places—you must take the good with the bad,”

He exhales, and a puff of cold air comes as he does so.

“If you are at your breaking point, y/n, then do not hesitate to talk about it. Whatever you need, that is why I am here. A ‘good cry’, as you call it, may suffice as well.”

You nod, pulling his hand tighter so you leaned on the upper part of his arm.

“Promise me we’ll work on that?”

Most people, in times of urgent desperation, would make the decision to allow the other to solve it for themselves, with necessary assistance.

Lafayette says ‘we’. He insists on seeing you through this, together, and it wells something else in your chest as you can’t help the smile that comes to your face.

Still staring at the sidewalk though, you wouldn’t see it, the look Gilbert gives you. His heart actually skips a beat, he thinks, just watching your smile that had disappeared for so long.

It’s a huge relief to see it back, and you have no idea what it does to him.

“Thank you.”

You whisper, picking at your coat buttons with your unoccupied hand. Gilbert shakes his head, and mumbles something about ‘anytime’ before he waves his hand dismissively.

“If it’s alright with you,”

You start warily, eyes finally able to move off the ground.

“I’d like to go back, I’d hate to waste dinner,”

He sends you that award-winning smile, nodding happily as you begin to walk back home.

“Of course,”

There’s a lapse of silence.

“Oh, and one more thing, y/n?”

He asks, just when you reach the steps.

“Mhm?”

“I love you,”

Your lips twitch upwards.

“I love you too.”

[partyanimal167]

Hello! I came back with a new request if you are up to it! Of course no need to do it if you don't want to!

So could I request another fluff scenario with Law and smoker ( if you write for him, if not, ignore it !) ? Like the crew going to a place where it had a similar tradition of the one from mistletoe- you know about kissing under one - but this place it is considered a good luck charm.

So my request is: the crew had to split for whatever reason ( up to you here) how would they react if their crush ( they never said they liked each other), kissed him in the cheek for good luck before parting ways?

Thank you!

Hello again anon! I'm happy that you liked my other work enough to ask for more. I don't really have a handle on Smoker's character sadly. However, I think this idea is cute. This'll be short, but I hope you enjoy it.

Thankful for Customs- Law x GN!Reader

It wasn't too often that Law wanted to get on land and do some searching. He took pride in being a pirate; the sea was his home. He could spend hours in his study reading or looking for news of the latest conflicts. However, he needed to stretch his legs and being at an island that wasn't hostile towards pirates would seem like a good place to do it.

After getting settled in and talking with the crew about what to buy, everyone seemed ready to head out or stand guard. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin were going to go looking for some new board games and probably pick up a comic or two. Others had plans to get food, run personal errands, or find some simple entertainment.

Law peeked over at you. "Y/N-ya, what do you plan on doing here?"

You turned towards your captain and tilted your head in thought. "Not sure. I could check out some weapons but..." you trailed off and stretched "I probably should just take it easy and rest." you chuckled softly.

Law turned his head quickly away from the sound. He had found himself enjoying your company more and more the last few months. You were just as much of an oddity as the rest of his crew, but you two did enjoy random conversations and sharing stories since you came from similar regions and traditions. This would be a good chance to hang out.

He scratched his head a little and looked over at the port. "Well, you join me. I just plan on going for a walk for now."

You smiled and and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds nice." Law smiled to himself.

You joined him at his side and stepped off the sub onto the boardwalk. You two took your time towards the end where a local officer stood under a decorated arch and seemed to greet everyone who passed by.

"I wonder what the people are like here. It's not often we go to a place that isn't so hostile towards pirates. I wonder what their history is." you pondered aloud.

"Not sure. The New World has a lot of unique islands and cultures." Law replied. You two neared the archway and were startled when the man reached out his staff.

"Welcome travelers," he began "is this your first time here? Or do you know about the Blessing Gesture?" After a moment and based on the confused looks you both donned, he went on. "Ah, it is custom to show affection to your companion in this island. It shows trust and brings luck. We have a multiple archways for this purpose. This is one is here to welcome those from abroad."

Law scoffed awkwardly while you nodded slowly. "Affection? What gesture is normally done?"

"A kiss on the cheek will suffice." the man answered simply and as normally as saying the sky is blue.

Law coughed a bit. A kiss? He shook his head. "Absolutely not! I don't see the point in something so...unnecessary."

You laughed and shrugged your shoulders. "Oh, don't be like that Captain!" you paused and peered at some familiar figures further ahead of you. "Seems like the guys got through it?"

Law quickly turned to see his trio of friends already going about their day unbothered.

The man looked in the same direction as you two before starting again. "Oh that polar bear and his friends? They were just here. The men kissed the bear on the cheek. Quite good friends they seem--even the bear seemed to blush at his friends' affection." he laughed wholeheartedly.

"Tch, I still don't get-,"

"Okay cool! We'll do it." you agreed.

"What?!"

You scratched your cheek and shrugged. "It's not a big deal, haha. I wouldn't mind it. We could used whatever luck that might help us."

A slight blush appeared on Law's face. "I-, okay fine." he leaned forward into your personal space, but you were quicker. You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek--soft and delicate--before looking up at him brightly. There was some type of spark he felt even as cliche to say.

"How precious! Many blessings to you here and beyond." the man cheered before going back into a resting position.

You giggled before continuing on. You waved Law over. "Come on Captain, let's go!"

Law placed his hand on his cheek for a second before pulling his hat down and stuffing his hands into his pockets. ...That wasn't so bad.

~~~

Thanks for requesting! I meant to have this out sooner, but I'm not feeling well. I do feel better about writing Law a bit, so I appreciate the request.

Have a good one~

[sweetmage]

WIP WMonday

I always forget to post a WIP on Wednesday, so how about now?

I bring you ✨️Gale Angst!!✨️

This is part of a yet unfinished Rhidyl/Gale longfic I've been chipping away at for a while. This chapter deals with the degradation and hopelessness Gale feels from having to feed the orb and his feelings of being a burden on those who care for him. Takes place in act 1 the evening after the third artifact fails to sate him.

WIP under the cut!

"If it's hungry," Rhidyl reached behind his neck, fiddling with the clasp of his precious pendant until it came undone, "then feed it. If one won't suffice then maybe two will do it." He presented the pendant to Gale, chain looped loosely around his fingers, it's prismatic gem dangling to lure his gaze.

Temptation stirred beneath Gale's skin, the throbbing in his chest bringing sweat to his palms. "I couldn't," he said, though he knew the lie was evident.

Rhidyl closed the gap between them, pushing the pendant into Gale's reluctant hands. "You can."

"Might I remind you that these sorts of offerings have diminishing returns? Desperate as I am, I can't sponge the last life from your valuable possessions for a mere temporary—and might I add, not guaranteed— bit respite."

But Rhidyl looked at him without doubt or uncertainty, even when Gale tried to press the pendant back into his hands. "Are you in any position to turn it down?"

The answer was obvious, especially when the hunger panged so strong that he nearly doubled over.

No. He wasn't.

"I've never seen you without this around your neck," Gale muttered, turning it over in his hands. "What is this to you?"

"Something I snatched from a neck less deserving. I won't lose sleep over it."

Gale stared into the glinting, shifting facets of the jewel as they caught the torchlight. "Be as flippant as you want, I know there's more to that story. Why do you carry it if not for sentimental value?"

"Because it's pretty and I like pretty things," Rhidyl answered with a shrug. "There is, of course, a practical aspect in it's cloaking capabilities, but I've hardly any need for that now. That's not sentimental, that's pragmatic. And so is this. Eat up."

Rhidyl always dripped lies and half-truths like beads from a cut string and this was surely no exception. Whatever Gale held in his hands was clearly not surface made nor a mere trinket.

The chain's silver was worked too finely and it's pendant too elegant for any simple bauble. When held close to his eye he could make out small, intricate Drowic inscriptions winding in spirals around the beveled edges.

But why, then, was Rhidyl so keen to part with it? This could not have been offered lightly and the right choice would be, of course, to decline. Yet the desperate hunger in him could not—would not—wait.

"Could you at least... turn away?" Gale asked, voice low and tinged with shame.

"If you'd prefer." Rhidyl obliged, turning his back and crossing his arms. "Nothing I've not seen before, though."

"That may be," Gale muttered, turning his attention back to the jewel. "But that doesn't mean I'm particularly fond of displaying the uglier sides of myself."

Rhidyl only shrugged again, a barely there twitch of his shoulders.

Clutching to what little dignity remained, Gale brought the pendant to his chest and pressed it to the searing flesh until it sunk into him and was greedily swallowed by the orb. There was a brief flash of heat and light, followed by the rush of energy that flooded his veins. His muscles spasmed and his fingers twitched, his vision briefly clouded, but as soon as the sensation hit him it passed.

The pain lingered, however. The ache in his bones, the sharp stabs in his joints, they were all still there. But the pendant was no more.

He stared down at his empty hand until his vision blurred. He couldn't help the bitterness that rose up, the despair and the shame. He blinked and his clouded vision coalesced into long held tears that fell into his open palm.

[viviskull]

@eathandhax​ : x

|| 💛 ||: ❝ Hey what are you— ❞

They exclaim, finding themself pulled into a tight hug, arms somewhat pinned to their sides as they stand there rather awkwardly. Wide eyes keep shifting between looking around the room to the ghost currently hugging them.

It wasn’t as if they didn’t like hugs- they usually loved them. They love closeness, physical touch, but this hug had come so out of the blue- and so suddenly after they were caught writing that letter.

|| 💛 ||: ❝ Lewis? W-Why are you— ❞

They gulp the words, feeling a pressure build behind their eyes, emotions flooding in despite their attempts to fight them off. The length of the hug- still going for minutes now it seemed, making their battle against themself all the more futile.

They hadn’t been hugged like this, not in a long time, a strong long hug that grounded them, made them feel secure,

|| 💛 ||: ❝ Y-You– ❞

They wheeze, tears suddenly slipping down their cheeks as the battle is finally lost, a soft gasp, and they bring their arms up to wrap around the other’s torso. Clinging to him as they silently let the tears stream past his shoulder into the floor. Despite not being able to see their face, the way their body shakes, their breathing quick and hitched, it’s not hard to tell what they were feeling.

If you were to ask as to why he was really doing this?  This spirit wouldn’t have given you a real clear answer, much less even a simple shrug of his shoulders.  Lewis didn’t really mean to wander into their sleeping quarters like the way he did; floating right on through the open door that was left just ajar too wide, practically inviting anybody to take a peek inside.  Being tasked earlier by their companion, Eath, he had originally been given the charge of helping them clean out the cabin (like dusting out cobwebs and spiders, sweeping out any dust that may’ve littered their wooden floors, and maybe even move any unpacked boxes that Eath hadn’t have the time of clearing out herself when they first claimed this seemingly abandoned cabin), and he mostly agreed to it out of part of his own quiet guilt.  After accidentally burning half of their front door down the last time he came to visit (which had also been the first time they properly met)?  He didn’t have the courage to show his face to them much beyond sending apologetic treats through Vivi, or that was up until Arthur finally pushed him out of his own funk to do something for a change through him innocently stopping by.

In all honesty, since he was given so little to do in the hopes to make up for his last blazing intrusion, he did kinda wander out on his own to explore the cabin a little (even as it seemed pretty limited in the few rooms it had to discover) if only to get himself more acquainted with its interlayout.  Sure, he shouldn’t be sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but he was taking a large pile of books to move into the bedroom anyway.  They didn’t make a complaint when he quietly moved in.  Even when he did try to make himself scarce after he had already since settled the books onto the bed to be sorted for later, Lewis couldn’t help his gaze falling upon the with the thick journal as he drifted behind their shoulder, floating over the other’s shoulder to suffice his silent curiosity.  How was he to know Hax was in the middle of writing something extremely personal, much less something that had involved a brief entry about him and his colorful pals?  His eyes briefly glanced over their writing, no more than a small paragraph screaming his name that had coincidentally caught his eye.  There was so much heart being poured into the worn down page, it being filled with so much uncertainty being put into the text that he didn’t at all feel buzzing about this stoic Daemon moments before.

Maybe it could’ve been the urge of the moment, or even how he felt a little bit touched that they didn’t seem to hold any resentment towards him; back when they last parted, even on decent terms, he still wasn’t sure if he could’ve faced his own embarrassment again.  But something stirred in his locket, as he read their words in silence that he noticed how much endearment had been written in this intriguing letter, it had been addressed to someone of grand affection.. Yet he couldn’t shake off the quiet feeling of sorrow that flew from the page.  Someone had been lost, he could feel in his core.  Maybe it could’ve been his sympathy talking, or even if he felt he could relate in some stances in this odd circumstance.

But most of all, before he could even stop himself to think about it, Lewis made his presence known with a moving set of his arms circling about his friend; all to pull them in for an embracing hug.  Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all.  He was only moved to bring the other close, if not more to suppress the tears at the warm fuzziness that suddenly pooled around his locket.

His arms hold themselves firm about them in an unyielding embrace, the inky colors of his dark suit wrapped about them tenderly into his snug hold.  A startling warmth waves over the other the more he holds them closely to his bulky chest.  It was strange, sure.  They never spoke much beyond the few letters he wrote for them and Eath, yet still it was far and in between the many sweets he sent.  But still, he was compelled to offer the other comfort, if only just a little.  Attempting to rub some soothing circles into their back as he nearly loomed over them (despite that, he still had to crouch just a little to properly hug them), all he could muster then was a low, acknowledging hum.

“.. I know.”  He whispers then.  “It.. just seemed like you needed this a.. a lot right now.”

[multiversxwhore]

☾☾☾Hello! Hope you enjoy what you’re about to read, I would appreciate it if you like, and reblog my work here on tumblr. Please do not share my work anywhere else, and if you see it has been, or someone is claiming the work as their own please tell me. My master list is linked in my bio! My ao3 is pinned to my page ☽☽☽

Pairings: Adam Sackler x plus size–black!oc

Warnings: suggestive thoughts, drama.

Word count: 2k

Theme Song: Telepatía— Kali Uchis

Chapter 2

The worst thing about getting black out drunk, and partying all night, is the morning after.

“Fuck me.” I groaned, I turned over once, and off the bed I went. My body hit the floor with a loud thud; the way I fell yanked my breast at an awkward angle, causing the skin around my nipple to rub against the skin of my stomach.

“Shit.” I squealed in pain, the stinging sensation bringing tears to my eyes, I massaged my breast a little hoping it’ll help. I lay there for a moment, my body felt too heavy to be bothered at the moment. Last night was a blur, the only face that stood out was some tall, dark haired man. A permanent scowl on his face in each memory of him from that night.

At the thought of this mysterious stranger, a warm, tickling sensation stirs between my thighs. Flashes from me and Mr. Broody in the bathroom invades my mind; a phantom pain from my ankle reminded me of the way his large hands gripped me. I can still feel the way he pounded me damn near through the bathroom wall.

I reach my hand down between my thighs, the scene from last night replaying in my head on a loop, I shrugged my shoulders, “Mine as well rub one out while I’m down here, not like I’ll ever get that dick again.” I mumbled to myself, just as my fingers slipped over my naked shaved vagina, the short haired white woman, and blonde friend slipped into my head.

“Ugh, go away.” I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying my absolute damndest to go back to the tall fine man I met last night. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t go back.

“Stubborn cow.” I sucked my teeth, the aroused feeling that was once there, is now gone. I wanted to cry, it’s been way too long since I even wanted to masturbate, or touch myself in any kind of sexual manner. I knew for sure, I wouldn’t be getting that feeling back.

“Sigh, fuck it.” Carefully I get up off the floor so as to not tear the skin off my nipples a second time. Groggily I waddle into the kitchen, my hands automatically grabbing for the coffee pot, and mug.

“Eh, kinda stale, but it’ll do.” Just as I go in for a third sip my phone rings. Letting out a deep heavy sigh, I slowly make my way back into my bedroom, and over to the nightstand. Nyla, who I met at an event I planned for Maddison 2 years ago. She decided that a simple voicemail wouldn’t suffice since I didn’t answer the first three times.

Nyla: Answer the damn phone! Taylor told me about you being a whore last night!

Nyla: I need to know

Nyla: if you don’t call me, I’ll just show up.

I wished I could have rolled my eyes harder, of course Taylor told her, I’m not one to go into full detail about my sexual adventures. It just seemed inappropriate, and awkward somehow. I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and decided to call back anyway. The second she answered the phone, I was swarmed with questions.

“Oh my god, how big was his dick? Was he Black— wait nah, knowing you he was white, it was a white guy wasn’t it? Come on out with the filth Angie.” Nyla jumped right to it, as usual, blunt, and I expected nothing less. It remained quiet on her end, politely waiting. I put the phone on speaker and I moved to the bathroom to get ready for my day. After the skin care routine, I went back to my messy closet, I sighed out loud.

I wasn’t in the mood to be dressed up, so I put together something casual instead.

“Ny aren’t you a Gynecologist? You hear about sex enough don’t you?” This didn’t satisfy her, the sound of Nyla smacking her lips from the other end made me chuckle.

“Angelica…did he stab you in your cervix or not?” A flashback of last night popped into my head, I could still feel the way he stretched me out as if he was still inside of me.

“Girl, I don’t even remember his name, by the way, I’m about to go to the grocery store, want anything?” Quickly, I changed the subject. I'd rather talk about anything but getting buss wide open in a public bathroom while intoxicated.

“Stay put, I’ll come get you so we can shop together, and you can tell me all about your hoe-adventure.” Her tone is stern, but motherly. I usually take the train everywhere, Nyla hates it, she’s scolded me more than once about riding the subway. I don’t mind it though, people don’t bother me, a few men stare, or gawk.

“Fine, let me know when you’re outside.”

“Kay, byeee.” Nyla hung up on her end, I breathed out dramatically, and stared at my tired face in the mirror. My whole body felt heavy, I don’t even know how I got out of bed this morning.

My phone buzzed, Nyla’s name flashed across my screen, I sighed picking it up.

Nyla: I’m out side hooker

I looked out over my balcony to see Nyla is indeed outside, her chocolate colored skin glistening in the morning sun, the Prada shades on her face sit on the lower half of her nose. She laid on the car horn for what felt like three minutes. Her music blasting out of her car so loud, the air carried it up into my open window on the third floor.

“Get in loser we’re going shopping.” She shouted out the window, before I stepped off the sidewalk, I lowered my own shades so the sun wouldn’t burn my retinas.

“In a great mood this morning?” I fastened myself in, Nyla is a typically safe driver, but I couldn’t help but fiddle with the coins in the passenger side door.

“What can I say, ten inches of dick really solves world hunger.” A grin spread across her face, I looked at her horrified by that unexpected information. Involuntarily I let out a chuckle, I’m too bashful for my own good, but Nyla is open about her sexuality.

“That’s why you didn’t go out with us? Because of a dick appointment?” I pulled out a tissue to dab away at the fake tears that rolled down my cheeks, she snorted, turning back to the road.

“Yes, because what’s more important than getting beat down by a 6ft Hispanic man?” That was actually a good point. Nowadays, life is such shit, the least you could get out of it is sex.

“Sigh, I wish life was that easy.” I didn’t mean to say it outloud, a part of me wishes I hadn’t.

“Still worried about that first draft? I thought you were done with it already?” The lines on Nyla’s forehead creased as a worried expression settled in. That is why I didn’t want to say anything, I didn’t like when people worried about me, or offered help. Even if I needed the help, I try my best to refuse, and figure things out on my own.

“I’m not worried about it…I mean it’s fine honestly. Just a few tweaks here, and there. It’s cool.” I rushed out, though I tried my best to convince her, I didn’t even believe myself.

“Angela—

“It’s fine I promise.” I wanted to cry, I felt bad for cutting her off, but I just couldn’t deal with the tone of her voice at the moment. I'm not in the mood to censor myself, Nyla doesn’t deserve that attitude.

“Okay, fine.” Nyla replied sharply, that stung me a bit, and I’m not sure if I actually hurt her feelings. I could ask, though that may result in digging myself a deeper hole, so I let it be. The rest of the car ride felt rigid to me, the music playing quietly from the radio was the only thing filling the space in the car.

Unknowingly my fingers fiddled with the coins even more, just then my phone buzzed in the pocket. Who the hell is this? I stare at the phone for a while without blinking, I hoped that the answer would just come to me, but nothing.

“Uhhh, Are you gonna answer that?” My heart jumps as I’m pulled back into my current reality, I turn to Nyla and shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t know who this is.” Eventually the phone stopped ringing, letting out a puff of air, I unbuckle myself, and hop out.

The great thing about shopping with Nyla, is that I don’t have to talk. We just slowly took our time walking through the aisles, this is how I liked things to be all the time. Chill, quiet, and easy going.

“Um excuse me, miss.” I heard someone call from behind me, before I turned to see who it was, I instantly felt annoyed. The last thing I want while I’m enjoying my day is to be bothered by anyone other than my companion.

“Can I help you?” I could have delivered that better, usually my tone is kind, and soft to strangers. The short haired woman seemed just as annoyed as I was, but I don’t think it’s for the same reason.

“You don’t remember me?” She sounded offended that I didn’t remember her face, though in my eyes she looked like the last five women I passed by.

“If I did I’d say so.” One hand placed on my hip, and the other gripping the end of Nyla, and I grocery basket. She was off to the side staring at cabbage, I knew she was listening, but she didn’t say anything.

“From the bar last night? You literally fucked my boy— ex boyfriend. I saw you leave the bathroom with him.” She accused, her voice whiny, and her face screwed up. I looked at her plainly, to be fair, I really did try to think hard from that night.

“You’re that girl with that bitch of a friend! She’s a liar by the way, you don’t need friends like that.” I folded my arms, I remembered how her friend was practically screeching at me, and Hazel.

“Oh my god, Jessa is not a bitch, she was being a great friend. That’s what real friends are supposed to do.” She folded her arms over her chest like a child, I rolled my eyes at her antics. This is not how I wanted to spend my day.

“Let me ask you something lady, were you and him together that night? Like were you actively dating?” I held her gaze, I was already assuming their relationship was on the rails beforehand.

“It doesn’t matter! If a woman is telling you that’s her boyfriend then—

“Whatever sis, you can have him back, I don’t even remember his name.” I cut her off, honestly I didn’t care what her answer was, I had already unplugged from this whole interaction.

“Yea well, I don’t even want Adam back, I broke up with him!” She shouted, her face turning red, I stared back at her. Neither one of us were convinced by her words, I respect her for standing firmly in the delusion though.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the same number from earlier came across the screen. Clearly this person isn’t going to leave me alone, little Ms. Entitled has to wait.

“Excuse me.” I turned my back to her, she scoffed as if she couldn’t believe I had the audacity to not pay attention to her.

“Who is this?”

“Are you going to be this mean every time we talk?” The voice on the other end sounded familiar, his name right on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t push it out.

“Listen, I don’t know who this is—

“It’s me, from last night…we fucked in the bathroom. Which was great honestly—

“Adam?” I could feel a Grinch-like smile creep its way onto my face, I should feel bad right?

“Oh my god you’re talking to him right now aren’t you!” The woman behind me shouted, her sudden outburst made my heart jump. I forgot she was standing there.

“Wait a minute, are you with Hanna?” Adam’s voice fell flat at the sound of Hanna’s voice, I envisioned his facial expression in my head. A tiny giggle passed my lips, I just wanted to kiss that grumpy face.

“Listen whatever white people crazy ness you, and your girlfriend got going on I don’t wanna be a part of it.” As cute as Adam is, and as great as his dick game is, it’s not worth the headache.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Hanna, and Adam rushed out at the same time, I looked over to Nyla to make sure she was getting all this. She’s exactly where I left here, she was already looking in my direction. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with merriment, of course she was enjoying this.

“I don’t have time for this, hopefully you work your shit out. Goodbye Adam.” He began to argue on his end, but I had already ended the call.

“Goodbye to you as well, New York is a big place so I hope to never see your face again.” I turned swiftly on my heels, I tossed my long curly weave over my shoulder.

“You too.” Hanna mocked in a childish voice.

“That was lackluster, I expected more from the little white lady.” Nyla sighed, she came looking for a fight, but all she got was a tousle.

I tried my best to continue my shopping without thinking of either of them. Forgetting Adam would be harder than I thought.

a/n: tags— Nyla: @minishimi

[pleasantspark]

Where's My Love?

Unrequited! Skids x Rose

Spoilers for Spark Of The Lost Light and MTMTE/LL

Summary: "Carrier, why do the best people die?" a youngling asks a pink and white bot.

"When you're in a garden, which flowers do you pick?" the bot asked in response.

"The most beautiful ones." the youngling responds as the pink and white bot messed with blue, red and yellow roses.

When Skids first met Rose, it was when ze and Rung were running from a sparkeater in the vents. He didn't expect their relationship to blossom into a special friendship. Rung, Rose and Skids became a close knit friend group and a three of them would talk regularly and hang out. Skids began to catch feelings for Rose, but noticed Rung and Rose having feelings for one another. 

It hurt him, but nonetheless, he decided to stick by them, one day on a trip to Hedonia he picked up some red roses, exactly 10, he walked up to Rose with the vase and smiled. "Hello, Rose. Would you like some roses?" Skids asked. Rose looked up and smiled. 

"Of course." Rose said, walking towards zir habsuite with Skids following shortly after. He placed down the flowers and smiled up at Rose. 

"What's with the Roses?" Rose asked. 

"I just wanted to show you my appreciation, Rose, I just want to tell you. These flowers are special. If you keep all of them alive, that means I love you, if they die. That means my love for you will die." Skids said, Rose looks quizzly at the roses. 

"Okay!" Rose hugged Skids who smiled gently at Rose but it went sour realizing that he couldn't love zir for ze never loved him. 

Many cycles pass, and the group resumed hanging around like usual. Skids noticed that Rung and Rose would occasionally steal glances and his spark would play an uncomfortable twinge in it. But he decided to pull through. 

He soon realized that what his suspicions was when Rose came up to him expressing zir feelings for Rung, it wasn't just Rose it was Rung as well. As much as it pained him he wanted to be supportive of his friends. As the cycles pass, the roses that was given to Rose gradually began to wilt. Rose was actively trying zir best to communicate zir feelings towards Rung but couldn't. 

Ze kept going back to Skids who gave oddly romantic suggestions for confessing, but ze shrugged it off as advice. Each and everytime that Rose or Rung came for advice the Theoreticians spark swelled with pain, but he told himself that he had to be happy for them. It was his friends! 

"Rose, I know you can do this, you love him. Take your time and tell him that you love him, it doesn't have to be all fancy a simple "I love you." or "will you be my conjunx?" would suffice." Skids advised. Rose sighs and smiled up at Skids, his fans turning on from that. 

"I know, it's just... I'm wasting your time. With all this advice I'm taking from you I feel like I'm annoying you–" Rose starts, Skids placed his hands on zir shoulders. 

"Rose, you're not annoying me. I assure you. In fact... I love helping you." Skids said with a smile, "And I love you..." Skids thought. Rose blushed and hugged Skids. 

"Thank you, Skids." Rose said. 

More cycles pass and the Roses' petals were falling off gradually from the Roses that Skids got Rose. During those cycles after an incident with Getaway, Rung confessed his love in front of everyone to Rose. 

Skids knew it was only a matter of time before this happened, but his spark twinged in pain. But he masked his pain with happiness for the two. The friend group remained the same. But Skids felt like a third wheel. He didn't bring himself to voice his pain so instead he endured it. Rose and Rung would often include Skids in their conversations when they asked for his opinions. He answered as normally, but feeling as though he couldn't stand the pain of unrequited love. 

"You know you can't mope like this, Skids. It pains me to see you like this." Rewind said. 

"Yeah, I suppose your right. It's just... It's this nagging feelings I've been having for Rose." Skids said. 

"What are these nagging feelings?" Rewind asked. 

"I was in love with zir from the beginning, but couldn't bring myself to confess and Rose ended up being close to Rung... and the two are a thing." Skids said. 

"...Well they aren't really bonded yet, so you can still confess." Rewind said. 

"I... Suppose so, but it doesn't seem right." Skids said. 

"Well, stop moping around and enjoy the party." Rewind said jokingly. Skids sighed and got up smiling.

"Fine." Skids decided to have fun, but he noticed Rose and Rung dancing in the distance and talking about something, but he couldn't put his digit on what. Then the two heads off somewhere, Skids curious decided to follow the two. 

The two went to a secluded area where the two sparkbonded. Skids' Spark felt a huge twinge of pain as it brought him to his knees. He was too late, Skids after that point tried to push his feelings away for Rose, but it was a stark reminder that he loved zir. 

Rose, Rung and Skids still hung out, Skids tried to remain friends but ultimately, his time ran out. 

Rung asked about Skids to Ratchet and and found out Skids was dead. Rose went to check on Rung, he left the room. He was standing outside the room with a solemn look. 

"Rung what happened to Skids?" Rose asked. 

"...He's dead." Rung said sadly, Rose's optics watered.

"He can't be." Rose said, rushing into the room and holding onto the body of Skids shaking him and sobbing. Zey buried zir head in his helm. 

"Please, Skids. You're not dead. This is all a joke and dream... You can't be dead..." Rose begs, "You said, no matter what you'd stick around and not die on us!" Rose tears up. 

Ze ended up sitting zir back against the slab. "Remember when you and I used to pull a joke on Rung to make it seem he was invisible? It was cruel, but it was funny..." Rose decided to converse with the corpse of Skids as if it were still alive. 

Rose went through memories of Skids and Rose alongside ones as a friend group, Rose then looked up towards Skids. 

"Skids... Remember when you said you loved me? I never got the confirmation if you meant it platonically or romantically..." Rose said, "...If it were the ladder, I loved you too. I didn't think you'd felt the same..." Rose said chuckling sadly. 

After that talk with Skids, Rose heads back to zir habsuite ze shared with Rung. Noticing almost all the flowers except one was wilted, a datapad with a neatly wrapped bow with a sign addressed to zir laid on the table next to the roses. Rose picked up the Datapad and read it. 

"Dearest Rose, 

I've always wanted to tell you from the bottom of my spark that I loved you, from the moment I became your good friend to when I started these feelings. I assure you, this isn't an "beyond the grave" letter, I've worked on it for awhile now. Something about you made me fall in love with you, and somewhere in my spark I knew we couldn't be together. You probably never felt the same, and the true bot you loved was Rung. I was pushed by the others to confess, but.... How could I when you loved Rung? It hurt my spark when you were confessed to and bonded with Rung. I tried to be happy for the both of you and it was hard. But, I show no hard feelings for it. I simply am excited for the two of you. I want you to continue your life with Rung, if there's a chance I'm dead, please remember me as your friend. Not the bot who had a stupid crush on you. I am proud of you, Rose. 

Sincerely Yours, Skids" 

Rose tears up and looked over towards the wilted flowers and what was said to zir all made sense now. All flowers but one didn't wilt despite being there for cycles, but Rose found out that it was actually plastic. 

Cycles later, Rose gave birth to a small mechling who zey named Skids the II in memory of Skids. The two of them were going through some stuff in Rung and Zirs room. Skids The II looked through some stuff before finding a few items. One was a photo of his creators and a unknown blue bot. 

Rushing towards his carrier he waved the photo around. "Carrier, whose this blue bot?" He asked. 

Rose turned zir helm to face the mechling and smiled. "He was a very nice man." Rose said. 

"Was? Does that mean..." Skids the II asked. 

"Yes, unfortunately he passed a few days before you were born." Rose said. 

"Carrier, why do the best people die?" Skids the II asked. 

"When you're in a garden, which flowers do you pick?" Rose questions. 

"The most beautiful ones." Skids the II responds as Rose messed with blue, red and yellow roses. Rose smiled and looked at the flowers. 

"In that case the most beautiful ones are the most important ones." Rose said, Skids the II lightened up. 

"Was he a beautiful flower?" Skids the II asked. 

"No, he was an angel."

[alby-rei]

Arthur’s Pillow (Arthur x Reader)

a/n/: In which the resident mystery writer discovers his new favorite pillow... but at what cost? (Ans: MC’s patience)

[Characters]: MC, Arthur

[Tags]: Sleepiness, Comfort, Fluff

[Word Count]: ~1000 words

~*~

It was a pleasant spring evening. The crescent moon shone through the mansion’s French windows, illuminating the hallway that MC sauntered through on her way to her room. However, just as she rounded the corner, another figure blocked her path.

“Well, well, well. Right on time, MC.” It was the mansion’s resident flirt, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

“…for what?” She arched a skeptical brow at his high-spirited tone. “Were you wandering around looking for me again?”

“Not on purpose, I assure you. Although I do think it’s rather interesting that we do happen to bump into each other quite often when I’m on break from writing.”

Arthur walked closer, daring her to look away from his dazzling cerulean eyes.

“As to your first question: Why, to keep me company, of course,” he spoke confidently.

His gloved hands wrapped around her own, warming them up instantly.

“Tending to the garden at night must’ve left you absolutely chilled to the bone!”

“How did you know I was out?” MC wondered out loud.

Much like the infamous detective he penned, Arthur had a knack for observation and deduction, she knew. However, her question wasn’t born out of shock but rather intrigue, as she could learn a thing or two from him.

“Simple! I had a clear view of you from my bedroom window,” he said.

Disappointment was evident on her face, and she slouched at the simple answer. That shift in expression didn’t elude the mystery writer either, who chuckled to himself.

“I bet you were hoping for a cleverer reasoning, hm?”

“No…”

Arthur translated her hesitation to mean “Yes”, after all.      

“Arthur, I don’t have time for this. I need to go sleep,” she whined as she pulled back her hands from his.

She rubbed her face and her eyes to dispel her growing drowsiness. He wrapped his left arm up around her shoulders, keeping her locked in his warm embrace. The scent of coffee that clung to his blazer wafted into her nostrils, effectively waking her senses but not her fighting instinct.

“Let me at least walk you there, dove,” he offered.  

Her legs were as heavy as lead by this point, so she allowed herself to lean against Arthur as he led the way. They stopped at his bedroom door.

“I really should get back to my room,” MC insisted, but her voice betrayed her.

Arthur pouted, leaning his forehead against hers. He shook his head, which by effect also shook hers.

“But I’ve missed you. Won’t you humor a hard-working man with your lovely presence?”

“Ughhh… ok, fine. Alright, ok, alright…” she mumbled, shrugging tiredly as she did.

And so, MC found herself curled up in Arthur’s lap while they sat on his chaise longue. He leaned against the back cushion, admiring how his ink-stained fingers swept through her soft hair from the roots to the crown of her head.

His eyes widened when he heard a low rumble from his lap. What he thought were her snores were actually… purrs? Like a cat? Preposterous!

Preposterously… adorable!

Arthur caught himself in a whole new dilemma. His hands suddenly felt clammy, and he ardently rubbed his palms against his shirt without waking her up. He resisted the urge to fawn over this uncharacteristically vulnerable side of his beloved. She looked so peaceful, so serene. It was starting to overwhelm him emotionally; his bloodlust causing his fangs to ache and his ears to ring. He inhaled sharply, gingerly carrying MC to set her down on his bed while he went to take care of his thirst.

‘A quick trip to the kitchen for some Rouge should suffice… for the next six hours.’

The next morning…

It was nearly 5 am when MC felt the rise of her consciousness again. It was quickly followed by the force of a tremendous, devastating, unbearable weight on her person. Her eyes flew open to the stillness of a room faintly familiar to her. Once her vision had adjusted to the darkness, she realized she had fallen asleep in Arthur’s room.

But if that’s the case, then where was…

“Zzzzz…. I’m… the greatest detective… in town…”

The gears in MC’s mind started turning, ever so slowly.

An arm was wrapped around her waist — ‘The audacity of this man!’— and a leg caged her in his embrace. As much as she wanted to listen to his sleep-induced musings, she had a bigger problem on her hands.

“A-Arthur…!! So… heavy…!” She inhaled sharply, freeing her arms to scoot his head off her of squished chest.

He jolted in his sleep at the movement while she removed his limbs. She wiggled her way to the edge of the bed by the wall to sit up, and his head plopped back down onto his actual pillow. She sighed with relief at last, shocked that she was even able to breathe the whole night in that position.

“But you are so waaaaaarm…” he drawled.

He reached over again, only to get smacked and karate chopped while she tumbled and stumbled out of bed. Back on her feet, she straightened her work clothes, which definitely needed changing now.

“I can’t believe I feel asleep! What happened to walking me to my room?”

“Oh come now, luv, you loved every second of it, didn’t you?”

“Uh, no, I was being smothered in my sleep…” She shook her head in disbelief, muttering, “—can’t believe this.”

She was halfway out the door when she heard Arthur call out.

“Hey, MC… wait! There’s something I have to tell you,” his voice trailed at the end, and his eyes were downcast.

“Yes, Arthur?” She stared blankly at him, not really in the mood for his tricks so early in the morning.

“Would you kindly…” he sat up and pressed his hands together as one would in prayer, “…fetch me a cup of coffee, it’s the only thing that holds me back from biting you. You smelled especially scrumptious all night and—.”

SLAM!

The last thing Arthur heard, as MC stomped loudly down the hall, was her flustered cry of “UNBELIEVABLE!” in the distance.

[felswritingfire]

(Hades) Gods x Shade! Reader

No matter how much you try, mortality will always catch up to those who are not of gods. Even the most blinded of them learn this eventually. You take your death with grace, choosing to go and explore this new world as soon as Lord Hades permits you to go, impressed by how little you complain and demand. You are one of the brighter parts of his day (night?).

You drift along, catching certain snippets of other Shade’s conversations as you wander aimlessly. You notice a crack in the wall; deciding to muster up your courage, you slip through it to find yourself in the glowing green torches of Tartarus. With what little you have, you hold it close to your translucent body and push forward.

You’re quick to notice the large glowing ball with an oddly familiar symbol floating in the middle of it. You take your time circling it, feeling compelled to touch it. When you do, a beam of light comes slicing through the dreary air to reveal a mighty god who stares down at you at your shocked form...

Zues

Cause of Death: Lightning Strike

Zues is confused when he sees you. He’s even more confused when you start screaming at him, waving your hands about and threatening to fight him yourself.

“You fucker! You killed me!”

He raises a brow. “I think I’d remember if I killed you.” You flipped up your middle finger at him and his eyebrows drew into an angry v. “How rude! I am the God of Gods-”

“I don’t care!”

Zagreus had to high tail it to you before Zues tried to smite you (possibly a second time).

Suffice to say you hoped you’d never bump into that boon again. And you didn’t. No, the God of Gods and Lightning himself decided that he’d have to make a house call himself (Hades was not pleased when a bolt of lightning came crashing down and left a scorched black ring in the carpet).

He picks you out quickly and you try to zoom out of the lobby until he catches you by the back of your robe and then you’re swinging and yelling profanities at him. He’s kinda amused now instead of angry- you’re just so weak and tiny compared to him. It’s hysterical- ow! Did you just bite him?

After you and Zues finish your little “spitting match”- Hades kicks Zeus out and you're forced to hang out in Tartarus for a bit (“but I’m just a simple fisherfolk! I can’t fight anything!” You cry, Hades does not spare you a look as you're dragged out by Meg).

You think maybe that’s the end until you’re approached by a… a squirrel? You almost punt it when his voice spills out as he shoots into a long prattle about how much of a jerk Hades was and how he couldn’t handle someone as grandiose as him appearing before him. Threatened him as a god or something- you were busy trying to figure out how you were going to kill this guy and make sure he stayed dead.

Turns out, after the two of you chattered (argued) a bit about whether or not he actually killed you, Zeus had some neat stories about the gods.

While you were interested in his children’s and brothers’ and sisters’ stories, he was interested in your stories of the mundane. A simple fisherfolk? That was a word? You just fished and traded? Amazing! Tell him more!

After this particular interaction between the two of you, Zeus really ended liking you. Maybe a little too much, but, aw well, it wasn’t everyday a mortal soul had the balls to argue with him for something he doesn’t remember doing (he probably did. Probably. Most likely). He swore that he’d come and see you everyday as he sat on your shoulder as a squirrel, going on and on about how you should feel blessed to be praised by one such as he. You were about to throw him until a giant hand came out and grabbed him (seemed you drifted too close to Lord Hades’ desk), the hulking god flinging him out of a portal.

He continues to pop up and bother you and, to be honest, he’s kinda growing on you. Also, I’m gonna be frank and lay it out that, if he likes you enough, he’s probs gonna want to smash, especially if you lean more towards the feminine side (he’s fucking AWFUL). It’s up to you if you wanna indulge that or not, I don’t recommend it, but you can if you really want to.

We’re going with the option you don’t smash- he’ll be salty at you for a whole ass day before he comes back the one after that as a rat (Hades kept finding out his forms that he used to sneak in so it was an ever constant menagerie of appearances to keep up the disguise) and is like: “I thought you would miss me too much so I came back before you could even complain.”

Zag likes to watch the two of you interact because he finds it absolutely fascinating. It’s like watching… He doesn’t know what it’s like but he’s having a blast as you roast his uncle to bits. It really helps him out when he’s feeling a bit down after failing getting out one too many times.

When you first get Zeus an Ambrosia, he thinks it’s poison and then he gets all prideful because of course you would give him an offering, he was the strongest of all the gods! Him and him alone!

“Silly, mortal, you cannot poison me! I am a god.”

You squint your eyes at him before you huff and pull the bottle closer to you. “Fine, whatever, I’ll just give it to Zagreus- or better yet, Hades if you don’t want it.”

“No! No! I want it! Give it to me! It’s mine!”

During this time, he’s actually experiencing some purer emotions in life- he’s genuinely giddy that you got him the Ambrosia and asks how you got it. You hold up a makeshift fishing rod and grin at him, telling him you snatched it from some nasty shades before you wandered back down to Tartarus.

His gift to you is a little lightning pin that, when you're in danger, will send a nasty bolt of lightning down on your enemies. You wonder what good it’ll do since you’re dead already, but shrug and accept it, thinking that he looks years younger and friendler when his smile isn’t packed full of ego and pride.

Poseidon

Cause of Death: Drowning

Poseidon, Lord of the Oceans, Earthquakes, and many other things, is simply- how do you say? Amused? It’s the best way to describe it at least. Of course he was mostly surprised when he appeared expecting the Little Hades to be waiting for him just to meet a Little Shade in his place.

“Why, hello there, Little Shade! You wouldn’t happen to know where the Little Hades is, would you?”

You shake your head, he doesn’t miss the way you nervously play with your hands, drifting back as some of his droplets float close to you.

He laughs at your simple reply. “Shy one aren’t you?” He leans closer to you, squinting and running a hand through his beard while he hummed.

You fight the urge to take a step back, the smell of salt water making your stomach churn.

His eyes flutter shut as he takes a deep breath. He takes a moment before he opens his eyes again and a look of understanding flashes across his eyes. “You drowned. Didn’t you?”

You stare up at him, eyes round and glassy. You nod.

Before your conversation can go any further, Zagreus comes running through the window, surprised to see his Uncle talking to a Shade (you look so scared- he hopes that you aren’t being bullied). You’re quick to take your leave bowing to both and passing the boon to the Prince before you scurry away into the cover of the other Shades.

He hums to himself, a cryptid smile on his face as his eyes follow after you. Such a strange little thing you were- he wouldn’t mind seeing you again.

It takes a bit, but he does happen to see you again, by peaking through a fountain in a fountain room in the Underworld. He spies you trying to poke at the water that he happened to choose, but jumping back each time. You face scrunched up into one of pure frustration. He asks if you’re doing alright there, Little Shade? Causing you to flash out of existence for a moment before settling back down and looking into the pool with wide eyes. Posiedon almost busts a gut with how hard he’s laughing and you huff telling him that it wasn’t funny.

He says otherwise, but asks what you’re doing. When your face bursts into a large blush you mumble something that he doesn’t quite catch and he’s left with more questions than answers as you take the chance to phase out of the chamber when Zag walks in and steals his Uncle’s attention for a split second. He furrows his brow before asking his nephew about you, which Zag, surprisingly, supplies rather quickly, seeing as the two of you talk a lot: apparently you’re deathly afraid of water after you were thrown into the ocean by your supposed best friend. The memories of the waves crushing you deeper and deeper beneath them sticking with you even in death. So, you were trying to curb that phobia. Posiedon nods, letting the words sink in before he offers the Little Hades a thumbs up and says he’ll help with that.

The next time you see the god, he’s eager to call you over and explain that he’s figured out what you were doing last time and offers to let you mess with some of the drops of water that follow him wherever he goes. You stare at them, eyebrows furrowed and looking just as sick as a shade could look. Yet, you still nod your head and hold out a shaky hand. He smiles at you, praising you for your courage and flicks one towards you; it floats gently before it rests serenely on your palm, allowing you to feel the cool sensation of the droplet. You marvel at it, still shaking with an anxiety before you nod. He pulls it away, it shoots back to rest next to his head and you thank him for going out of his way to help you and ease your fears.

He remarks that you should fear the water out of respect: it’s unpredictable, terrifying in it’s own right- vast and, seemingly, never ending, what could possibly be more terrifying than the unknown, hm? He continues to say that you should also hold onto a bit of bravery at the very least, for untold treasures come from there for those who look.

After that conversation, Poseidon makes it a habit of having you hold onto his droplets of water, making them slightly bigger each time for you to get used to them.

By the time you’re able to touch them freely without experiencing crippling fear- the droplets are almost the size of you. Poseidon praises you the more you grow out of your fear.

You do eventually open up to him about how you died and he never tells you that he already knew. Just allows you to talk in a soft voice as you recall it. It’s a nice bonding experience for the both of you and Posideon decides that you’re his favorite Shade and he’ll treasure you for as long as you exist.

The first time you get him a bottle of Ambrosia, you come to him shivering and sopping wet. He’s confused and concerned as he hovers to you.

“What happened to you, Little Shade? Are you alright?”

It takes you a moment to be able to speak. “I- I found a bottle of Ambrosia. I thought-” you take a deep breath, holding out the bottle with both hands- “I thought you’d like it.”

It’s one of his prized possessions now, he takes little sips of it once in a while, but other than that it remains as one of his most precious memories. He’s very attached to you at this point and you’ll forever have his blessing. His gift to you, aside from the undying loyalty, is a shell necklace, if you ever need him- you only need to whisper his name to it and he’ll appear in an instant.

Athena

Cause of Death: Exhaustion

Athena had been prepared to meet with Zagreus- not a curious shade staring back up at her with all the relevance of one of her worshippers.

“What business do you have with me?”

She raises her brow at your gobsmacked expression, watching as you screw your face up before bowing. “Apologies, m’lady, I only happened to bump into your…” you look at where it glows, furrowing your eyebrow, “your orb?”

“Boon.”

You nod your head in understanding before bowing your head again. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

Luckily, she didn’t smite you, instead asking the question of how you were even talking to her. Getting a shrug from you, you say that maybe it’s because you worshipped her (unofficially, you were never able to make it up to her shrine much to your disappointment) when you were alive- maybe a deeper bond is there compared to someone who had never prayed to her for her protection and guidance.

When she hears this, she’s very interested, pressing you to elaborate further when the Young Prince comes jogging out of the glowing window, waving to you. You slink away, passing the boon to him and bowing to her once again before you disappear into the mass of Shades that choose to wander their new home as well.

After the conversation, you had caught the Goddess’ attention, planting a desire in her to see you again. Even going as far as to write a letter to ask her uncle for a council with you after a week passed of her placing her boon in Tartarus so that maybe you would drift too close to it once again. But each time only the little prince would find them (which she was fine with, but it still left such an unflattering taste of defeat on her tongue each time it wasn’t you). She figured it would be a moot point to send the letter, but it was worth a try.

But she decided to place her boon down once more before she sent it out. Just to try. And this time it worked.

You were the one she saw and she was absolutely delighted- not that she showed it, choosing to keep her stoic and sharp expression. You greet her in a similar way before: awed before bowing your head to her. You continue to go on about how you're happy to see her again and, despite how little you had been buried with, you hoped that she would take this- a broken sword, despite the worn hilt and the deep scars the littered what was left of the flat of the balde; it was still polished (at least what was left of it)- as a proper offering to her for all she had done in your life- even if it truly wasn’t all her doings.

She takes the sword in her hand, holding it high, her eyes shining as she studies it: truly, it was a warrior’s blade. She watches as the history and memories flash in the smooth iron. She remarks that it is a remarkable offering, but she cannot accept it. It feels wrong taking a weapon of a warrior such as yourself.

You smile as her, shaking your head, urging her to take it, for you didn’t need that blade in this afterlife. You had already fought your battles, killing the man who you had been battling with and quelling the rage that had followed you since you were a child for revenge. Eventually, dying from the strain of the fight with a feeling of contentedness.

Athena raises her brow, remarking how that sounded more along the lines of Ares rather than her.

You nod, but say that you couldn’t help but desire her help for she was the goddess attached to your favorite animal. She had to fight the urge to laugh, a shaky smile slipping through as she nods at you. Such a silly thing you are. She decides that she’ll take the sword as a reminder of you, no matter where you should go now. She also decides that you were forming a rather soft cradle in her heart.

After this, she is quick to ask Zagreus about you every chance she gets- not that he minds too much, he tells her about how you’ve been helping him train and you’ve even told him about your life when you were alive (“a general, can you believe that? They’re so young!” Zagreus says as he shows her the new move you taught him). She’s only the slightest bit miffed at hearing that you and Achilles have begun to form a sweet friendship. She’s pleased to hear that his father has been trying to barter with you to get you into Elysium, though she’s a tad confused on the reason you refuse to.

She asks you about it one day and you say that it would take longer to see her and you would prefer to avoid that. It was the only time the goddess has ever had to fight down a blush.

When you get her a bottle of Ambrosia, she’s in pure awe at the huge bottle.

“How did you get one this big?”

You lean against the new sword you managed to get your hands on- something simple and obviously used- you offer her a lopsided grin. “Well, not just any Ambrosia would work, so I decided to try my luck with Lord Theseus and, The Great Bull, Asterius. Took me a couple of tries but I managed to beat them and snag it.”

Athena smiles warmly at it, telling you that she’ll treasure it and think of you every time she takes a drink of it. She realizes in that moment just how important you had become to her, never feeling this… soft for a mortal soul in her life. Her gift to you is a shield and a new sword: the shield bares her symbol of an owl while the sword was ornate with a divine glow. She promises that no matter what they’ll protect you and so will she, you only need to call out her name.

Aphrodite

Cause of Death: A Broken Heart

When the Goddess of Love first sees you- she thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous (of course not as gorgeous as her). The sad look in your eye and the slight frown that rests on your lips makes her almost fall in love right then and there.

“Hello, little one- do you know where the little godling is?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, Lady Aphrodite. I know not where he is.”

She raises her brows, a smile on her face. “How did you know I was Aphrodite, my dear?”

You look up at her, a sudden glint in your eyes has her yearning to see it once again. “No one else could be so breathtaking, my Lady.”

Oh. Oh, she likes you.

She chooses to chatter away with you- despite you mostly listening, adding little things here and there, she feels a strange sense of fullness, like she just ate a full and warm meal for the first time in a very long time, by the time Zagreus arrives. You bid your farewell and she can’t help but follow you with her gaze as your transparent form blends in with the other Shades.

Aphrodite is thrilled the next time she runs into you- or rather you run into her boon. She missed the melancholy look in your eyes, she also doesn’t miss the fact that you’ve come bearing gifts this time: an assortment of colorful flowers rests in your arms and you offer it to her. That glint coming and going like a shooting star as she accepts the offering, holding it up to her nose to take in their sweet scent. How sweet were you to hand her something so delicate.

She asks you where you got them and you remark that you made your way up to Elysium. She’s surprised to hear as such- you didn’t seem like the warrior type. You shake your head, your eyes sweeping low. You weren’t a warrior, far from it- a simple florist if anything. You just drifted until you made it up there and plucked some flowers to make bouquets. You mumble that maybe you’ll be more useful in death.

She tilts her head at the comment, beginning to ask until Zagreus is jogging up to the both of you and it was time for you to leave. She’s a tad annoyed, but reminds herself that the little godling didn’t know- simply trying to break out of this dreary place he calls home and see Olympus in all its glory. She’ll just ask next time.

You gave her another bouquet, this one more beautiful than the last, when she gets the chance to ask you her question. Your eyes pool with a mournful look as you gaze up at her, your hand resting over the place where your heart used to beat as you look to the ground. You explain that you were young when you were wed- just as you were young when you died. You were married off to someone you did not love- someone awful, vile, who beat you down daily just to build you back up so they could laugh when they toppled you over once again. You remark about how you could feel yourself dying little by little, your delicate heart bleeding as your want for life began to dwindle away. You grew sick and you would sit by the window day in and day out, staring out and wondering what your life could have been if you were married to someone you loved. A ghost of a smile blooms on your lips as you look up at her, that glint she oh-so loved twinkling in your eye as you say that you did not die in as much loneliness and pain as you could have; having been making a bouquet dedicated just to her love and sweetness: your Lady Aphrodite who you love, ever so much.

She’s shocked when she realizes the tears that drip down her cheeks, her hand coming to caress your cheek (really your head, she was hulking compared to your small form) with her fingertips. She comments that she would accept every bouquet you made and treasure each flower like it was the one you made for her with your last breaths in the living world.

After that interaction, she comes down a lot more, asking Zagreus if he could bring along her darling florist so that she could talk to you. He always obliges, loving to see the two of you chatter about (well, her chatter about, you usually just listened with a smile on your face as you used the flowers you had plucked into flower crowns for him and Lady Aphrodite). You two become a sort of comfort for him when he’s getting frustrated: seeing your usually melancholy demeanor light up as soon as the goddess appears and in turn the goddess becomes something less vain and more gentle as she speaks to you.

At some point, you’ll probably meet Ares himself- the two never that far from each other, also she adores you, so it only makes sense for you to meet him. He’s honestly a tad unimpressed when you first meet, but when he hears about the heart ache you faced he gains a sense of respect for you, remarking that love is a battle in and of itself and you fought valiantly to keep your ability to love freely (Aphrodite might convince you to have a threesome, I’m not gonna lie, she’s attracted to you on a deep level and she has her trysts with Ares- it’s perfect in her eyes. Though she won’t push you if you don’t desire it).

When you first get her Ambrosia, she’s flabbergasted before it turns into worry for how you got it and the potential danger you were in.

She takes the bottle of gold liquid and the flowers that you had so carefully arranged. Her attention, though, is focused on the said bottle of Ambrosia. “My Darling Florist, how did you get this?” Before you can answer she shoots into a flurry of questions. “Are you alright? Did anything catch you? Hurt you? You don’t seem hurt. Oooh-” she puffs her cheeks out, her gaze sharp- “why did you get me this? It’s dangerous!”

You wait for her to calm down. “I apologize for making you worry, but I simply snuck around and grabbed it from some witches- they didn’t even notice me. And I-” you tap your fingers together, a blush blooming across your face as you look away from the goddess and she decides that she craves seeing that expression on you again- “I thought that you deserved it. It’s a much better offering than my silly bouquets.”

Well, aside from the ‘silly bouquets’ comment (which she corrects you on very quickly), she’s absolutely flattered and it might be the final nail in the coffin that has her falling for you, the little shade in front of her. She decides that you hold a piece of her heart in your translucent hands, though she chooses to keep that information to herself.

Her gift to you is a hairpin that matches hers, though if you don’t have enough hair- she says, you can always pin it to your robe. It’s a blatant claim on her part, but it also helps ease the residual heartache that followed you into death. And, hopefully (a personal hope of her), each time you look at it, you’d fall deeper and deeper in love with her as well.

Artemis

Cause of Death: Arrow to the Heart

She’s confused when she sees you, quick to voice her confusion as well. Also depending on if you're more feminine or masculine (and I don’t mean woman or man, I just mean how you present yourself), she will treat you differently depending. So, for now, we’re gonna go with the more “feminine” option:

“Who’re you?”

You bow. “An honor to meet you, Lady Artemis, I seem to have bumped into that orb on accident. Wasn’t sure what it did and the curiosity got the better of me.”

She hums, she perks when she notices your bow. “You’re a hunter?”

You smile, holding it out to her. “Yes, indeed, my Lady- I prayed to you a lot.” You laughed, adding. “Hoped to join your hunters when I was young.”

She’s quite happy to hear that and begins to chatter along with you. For some reason feeling oddly at ease around you. It’s probably because you were a fellow hunter but she simply can’t help the way she grows an odd sort of… adoration? Something like that, she thinks- for you. She almost laments the fact when Zagreus comes to get the boon.

You nod to him, biding your farewell to the Goddess and passing the boon to the Prince. She doesn’t miss how Zagreus’ eyes shine as you walk away. She almost comments on it but bites her tongue, wanting to observe the prince and the dreamy look that drifts over his features, even as you disappear.

The next time the two of you meet, she asks if she can see you in action. You agree and search up ahead to find something to demonstrate your skills on. You’re quick to find a few Numbskulls. She watches as you take a deep breath, your eyes narrowing on your unassuming targets and your footsteps become silent as you skirt closer to them. You nock an arrow, never looking away. Her eyes gleam with thrumming adrenaline at the way the muscles in your arms tense as you draw the string back. The low groan of the wood barely above a whisper as you wait for them to line up. You hold your breath, releasing the arrow- it goes through all three of them, making them break into dust in a consecutive line, a harrowing scream being wretched from them as they fade from existence. You release the breath you were holding and stand, sending a smile to the young goddess whose eyes shine with stars.

She praises you for your amazing skill and sings of your prowess. You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you argued that you were but a simple bow folk in your living life. Nothing more, nothing less.

She begs to differ! That type of skill only belongs to those of her highest ranking huntresses! She continues to gush about you until Zag comes up and, once again, greets the both of you. That dreamy look coming over his face as he looks at you. She watches as you once again disappear into Tartarus, this time though, after you’re gone, she turns to her cousin and shoots into a tangent about why he had never told her about you before and where did you come from? She has to know!

He answers all of her questions to the best of his abilities but there are even some he doesn’t know about, for example: how you died.

Artemis accepts this and decides that she’ll just ask you the next time the two of you meet.

And, true to her word, she does. She asks you point blank and you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. You laugh softly, leaning on your bow as you begin to recount that you were traversing her forest, as you had done many times before, and noticed fresh foot prints of man. You decided that it would be a good idea to look and you found hunters trying to kill her Golden Stag. You had dove in as quickly as you could, shooting one- the arrow sailing in a clean arch through his wrist before he could let loose his arrow. But as you went to nock another arrow- a searing pain in your chest and heart. You looked down to see blood pooling around your robes, dying the olive green of your cloak a wine red. You remember the last thing you saw was the Golden Stag running away. You smiled telling her that you were happy he got away- you don’t know what you’d do if he had been captured despite your effort.

Artemis suddenly remembers that day: her stag rushing to her and urging her to follow him- he bounded through the forest, frantic and panicked. When they got to a clearing, she was quick to notice the blood and the drag marks of a body. Her stag pressed his nose to the ground sniffing at the pool of blood, his eyes watering and bulbous tears slid down his muzzle. It suddenly made sense. You were the one he was mourning for.

She couldn’t help but grab your hands, resting her forehead against the back of them; thanking you for protecting her stag when she couldn’t. You smile at her, bowing your head to her and thanking her for the countless hunts she went on with you. You pull your hands away from her and hold out your bow to her. She asks what you think you're doing in a watery voice and you say it’s an offering. You couldn’t give much when you were alive and you still can’t give much now, but, this bow- it shall treat her right.

She sniffles as she takes it, trying to hold in tears. She vows to treasure it for all of time as she admires the worn wood.

That day, the two of you became closer as comrades, she would actively come down to say hi to you (and encourage Zagreus to take the leap and court you after she learned of his growing affections for you). The two of you would talk about everything you could think of, explaining how your hunting styles differed or how you could set a trap easier. She had realized that she had never felt this carefree with anyone before. She felt like a child. It felt nice.

When you snag her a bottle of Ambrosia- she’s swaddled in a whirlwind of emotions.

“You… You got this for me?” She asks as she takes the bottle of golden liquid.

You nod, that gentle smiling spreading across your face. “Of course. You had helped me so many times- it is only fair, my Lady-”

“Artemis-” she sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles- “call me Artemis, my friend.”

She finds you to be a perfect friend- a breath of fresh air from home. She may not feel any romantic feelings towards you, but she still holds you in a dear place in her heart. Her gift to you is a new bow and quiver that will never run out of arrows. The bow is enchanted and you’ll never have to fear it breaking for it will protect you for as long as you exist- in this realm or another.

Ares

Cause of Death: Blood Loss

When Ares first sees you, he is… well- he’s impressed that you stumbled upon his boon, but at the same time… He’s a tad miffed? That you found it?

At the very least he’s condescending as all hell about it:

“What is this? A little lamb came to beg me for power? How foolish. No matter how hard you struggle you will never be much more than some little shade.”

“Ah, sorry, my Lord! Didn’t mean to bump into it!” You hold up the basket in your translucent arms, “I wanted to see if I could find some new ingredients to bake with! I do oh-so miss it, sir.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

He ends up allowing you to chatter on with him despite his obvious judgement on your, what he calls, “soft mortal hobby” until Zagreus comes to do his daily try of breaking out from the Underworld.

As he watches you drift away (after passing the boon and giving words of good luck to the Prince, who happily takes it), he kinda hopes to see you again

And see you again he does! He literally sees you the next day- night? Whatever, he’s never sure when he drops a boon in there- it’s damn dark-

He’s presented with a basket of treats and your gleeful greeting as you chatter that you found ingredients to make some Baklava and you thought that, maybe, he’d like to try it?

He smiles- cruel and sharp- and asks if you truly think that this is a fit offering for a god such as himself?

You shrug, saying he doesn’t have to eat it if he doesn’t want to

He laughs and takes it and you two are off chattering again: him regaling you with his war stories and you of the ingredients you had (somehow) found down here until Zag shows up, once again, the boon is passed to him (this time along with a slice of the delicious, warm Baklava. Which, he’s confused on what it is but he finds out very quickly that it’s his favorite treat).

The two of you talk a lot, which Ares is pleasantly surprised about, usually he’s the scorn of everyone- not that he cares, it causes conflict and he likes that. But you’re so calm and sweet that he just can’t get a rise out of you. Which, on one hand, pisses him off to no end, but, on the other, it’s such a nice change of pace for him. He’s used to the bloodshed and animosity of battlefields- the iron tinged air that follows after the warriors that traverse those fields. And yet, here you are: a shade that always has a treat for him when you run into him and the smell of warm sweetness wafting after you.

So when he learned exactly how you died- he was absolutely floored.

“How did you die, little baker?” He asked one day, fiddling with his knife, tilting it discreetly so that your reflection was in it.

“Oh!” You smiled sheepishly, glancing away from him and placing the bag of flour (how did you even get that? He’d have to ask you next) back into your basket. “Well- you see, I bled out.”

He raised his eyebrow, suddenly very interested. “How? You’re so…” he tilted his head and flipped his knife so that the blade pointed at him and the hilt pointed at you, he poked your arm with said hilt. “Soft.”

“Well…”

You explain that you had a little brother who had a nasty habit of getting into trouble- he was a good person, just made foolish choices- and this time, it had cost you your life. He had pissed off the wrong person and, well, when the man had attempted to grab your brother when the two of you were out walking the stalls on your break- you did the only thing you could think of: you fought.

Of course it went horribly, you’ve never been in a fight before then and, despite all the work you did with dough, it didn’t help much when the man pulled out a knife and dug it straight into your gut. But, you don’t mind too much- your brother’s alive and well and, from what you understand from asking Lord Hades, he had started to be more aware of himself and who he angered. Which made you super happy and proud of him!

Ares can’t help but feel some sort of pity for you. So much life to be taken so quickly and placed in- wait. Why weren’t you in Elysium?

You’re incredibly confused when Ares suddenly disappears (Aphrodite appearing in his place in the blink of an eye- she greets you happily and asks if you have any of Baklava to share today. You do not but you do have some Loukoumades if she wanted some. She did). You’re even more confused when the Underworld shakes and angry yelling fills the entirety of it for a solid ten minutes before all goes back to normal.

You tell Ares about it the next day and he simply hums. Keeping it to himself that he made a whole scene about you not being in Elysium by popping up and butting heads with Hades, of course he got kicked out. That still doesn’t stop him from sending angry letters that can span anywhere from one word letters (usually containing a curse word) to a 30 page essay on why you should be in Elysium instead of milling about in such unkempt places.

The first time you go out of your way to get him a bottle of Ambrosia is the day that both scares the shit out of him and makes him hate you for giving him mushy feelings.

You came to him in, almost literal, tatters: your greenish, transparent form ripped in places, the few wisps of you following after your torn form like they were tied to a string. You had held it up to him in a basket, a plate of Baklava sitting next to it, along with some other treats. “Lady Aphrodite mentioned that she wanted to try my Baklava, so I made her some! Though the Ambrosia is just for you, my Lord!”

He blinked at you, taking the basket in a delicate hold. He turned it this way and that, his chest feeling… warm? He wanted to grimace at the soft warmth that thrummed through his veins, yet it was replaced with a smile as he held up the gold liquid. “Thank you, little Baker.”

It was the first time he felt something so unexplainably soft: so gentle and warm as it settled somewhere between the bottom of his ribcage and the top of his stomach. He listened as you told him how you had gotten it: with Zagreus’ help (you even got to meet Lord Hermes! It was so amazing! He had scoffed at that) he led you to a room with Ambrosia as the prize and, despite the young prince’s worry, you managed to beat the monsters and collect it, mostly, by yourself.

Ares was so flattered, but he couldn’t help the way that your tattered form made him feel a sort of worry. He waved his hands through the wisps of your body before he snapped his fingers and a small blade appeared: a beautifully constructed blade that was an exact replica of his (albeit much, much smaller). He handed it to you, telling you that you should have a proper weapon if you’re going to go out of your way to fight in his name.

Dionysus

Cause of Death: Alcohol Poisoning

Dionysus, unlike many, is incredibly excited to see you sitting there. He adores mortal souls and can’t help but look at them each time Zag chooses his boons and he has the chance to glimpse at their souls (despite his tendency to let them go completely after they die- he can’t help but wonder about them once in a while).

“Why, hello there! What’s a little thing like you doing strolling up to my boon, hm?”

He can’t help but notice the way your eyes are a tad dull, but he writes that off as the dark of Tartarus since it’s gone as fast as he noticed it. You smile up at him, absolutely beaming at the God of drink and madness. “Hello, Lord Dionysus!”

“Oho, you could tell it was me? What gave it away?”

The two of you laugh, diving into a conversation. He offers you a cup of wine and is put off with how long it takes you to decline it. He almost thought you looked absolutely ravenous as you peered into the deep red liquid. He shrugs it off and continues to chatter with you until his favorite Zagman stumbles upon the two of you. He’s quick to say hi to you and even leans down to ask you… something. Dionysus misses it, but still watches the way you stiffly nod before you pass the boon to the prince and scurry off.

He’s tempted to ask about it, but decides that he should probably ask you himself instead of trying to pry. Mortals didn’t take well to people snooping around their private lives, which he could respect.

The next time he sees you though, he relaxes you into a sort of peaceful lull as he chats with you before he drops the question.

You stare blankly at him, that dark look in your eye coming back and making his skin crawl. You suddenly laugh it off waving your hands as you tell him that a god shouldn’t worry about a little ol’ shade like you.

He doesn’t push for an answer but the question still swirls in his mind, even as you toddle off after his Zagman pops up. He decides that he’ll actually ask the Prince this time around.

He asks him point blank and Zag, despite him being hesitant at first, decides to spill how you died. You had been the black sheep of your family, never truly fitting into the carefully set path that they wanted you to follow- so you found solace in drinking from a young age. It had taken the edge off of everything, Zagreus recounted you telling him. It filled you with a warmth you had been missing all your life and you couldn’t help but indulge more and more in it until it slowly became your own personal poison. Dionysus grimaced, for once feeling a sort of queasiness in the pit of his stomach as Zagreus continued on with your story. So, one day, you had drunk yourself into a deep stupor after an awful argument with your parents. But, this time, you never woke up. Instead you woke up floating in the river of blood- the River of Styx.

Dionysus had nodded after the Prince finished the story, playing with the goblet in his hand and swirling the red wine that resides in it. He offers a bitter smile to Zag and bids his farewell (of course leaving a boon of his choice with the lad) popping off back to Olympus.

The next time he runs into you, he asks if you’re feeling alright- if you want to talk. You blink at him, confused at first until realization dawns you. You bite your lip, looking down. He’s quick to assure you that you didn’t have to talk about anything- you two could just have a good time like always. You tell him that you’d like that, not yet ready to face your past. He nods, immediately telling you about an embarrassing story about Ares and how much of a lightweight he was which had you letting out an ugly snort along with your loud cackles.

The god begins to take it upon himself to have you smiling more and maybe remedy those dark clouds that appear in your eyes once in a while. He’s pretty observant despite being piss drunk half the time, it also helps that he’s very intune to your emotions for some odd reason, so he’s quick to pick up on when you feel down or your having something the equivalent to a relapse. He has you drink just a little bit from his goblet since it’s better than quitting cold turkey. And that little bit is always enough to quench your thirst and calm you down. You’ve been needing less and less of it as the days (nights?) pass by.

The first time you get Dionysus Ambrosia is the same day that he almost swears that he’ll marry you. He’s quick to grow emotional with the sheer fact that you went out of your way to get something so special for him, his face almost splitting with how wide of a smile he has on his face.

“You got this for me, man?” He says, holding up the bottle in his hand and inspecting it like it’s a precious jewel. “You know this stuff is hard to come by, super hard.”

You nod, the clouds far from your eyes now. “I had to thank you some way and punching a couple of Shades to get my hands on that was worth it.”

“You punched people for me?”

“Of course.”

He fights the urge to squeal and pops the top off, summoning another cup and pouring some in it. “Here’s to us!” He says as he hands you the cup.

He’s honestly never had so much fun just existing with one person. After that he’s never far from you, one usually not seen without the other around- even despite the Underworld not being Dionysus’ favorite place, he can’t help but be willing to venture down there to see you in person (he’s been trying to convince his wonderful Uncle Hades to let you come up with him to Olympus for a little bit- he’s even got his dad and (other) Uncle in on it. Hades officially hates all of them). His gift to you is a matching goblet that will supply you any beverage of your choice. It also has the double power to protect you from all that wishes to harm you, but you’ll learn that in due time. It’ll be more fun that way, Dionysus muses.

Hermes

Cause of Death: Falling

Usually, Heremes wouldn’t have taken the time of day to chatter mindlessly with a shade. But, it was a different story when that shade summoned him through bumping into his boon- now it’s just interesting!

“Eh? Who’re you? It’s kinda strange for a shade to be here and not my Cos, huh? Did something happen to him? You his stand in or something? That’d be kinda funny because you don’t seem like his stand in- not buff enough or something like that.”

You blink slowly taking in the words of his mile a minute speech as he continues to prattle on. You take a seat in front of the quick mouthed god, getting yourself comfortable as he flutters about and chatters. Not like you minded- he filled in the places where you couldn’t with steady conversation. You nod to some of the quips he makes, just to show you were still listening.

He decides then and there that he likes you a lot and that you should meet Charon. As soon as Zagreus pops up to collect the boon- he grabs the back of your robes and goes zooming off with you in tow. You wave to the panicked prince, allowing yourself to be dragged around. He continues to chatter on and on, only taking a break when he reaches the Boatman (who was not expecting a Shade to be accompanying the God of Messengers). He sets you down, tries to introduce you two to each other- realizes he doesn’t know your name, so you end up telling them your name- and then is quick to say goodbye, after he gives a scroll to Charon, and shoots off.

You end up staying with Charon after learning a bit more about the quiet boatman and Hermes is quite pleased when he realizes that he’d be seeing you around a lot more. He’s quick to flutter about you and chatter for a few quick seconds before zipping off. You wave at him.

The process repeats for a while before he finally takes a moment to really sit with you, Charon having gone to pick up more souls and lead them down the River of Styx. He chatters on aimlessly, asking little questions here and there before he decides to ask the million dollar question: “How did you die?”

You blink slowly as him before murmuring that you fell from a very high place, you head cracking open on the rocks at the bottom and now here you are. He asks why you were messing about on a high place, as that seemed to be something most mortals avoided doing. You explained that there was a kitten stuck in an old root on the ledge and you couldn’t just leave her. So, you crawled onto the branch and put her back onto safe ground, but the root gave way and then you went tumbling to your doom.

Hermes is surprisingly quiet throughout the entire exchange until you reach the end and he says: “you’re a real bleeding heart under all that quiet, huh?” You nod solemnly and he laughs, pulling you into a side hug. How could something with such a fleeting life be so selfless with it? He squeezes you harder before he stands up and bids you farwell, shooting off once again. And, again, you wave as he goes.

He grows attached to you quickly afterwards, bringing you little things that might help make you more comfortable down in the Underworld. Of course Charon is there to keep you company which he’s happy about- and he voices that exact thought to the boatman, who just grumbles out a long: uuuuaagghhh as his reply. He pats his arm and says that he knew he’d get it.

When you manage to get your hands on a bottle of Ambrosia- he’s completely blind sided that he almost trips on his own feet. His face flushing a deep red as he takes the offered bottle.

“How’d- how’d you get this?” His speech is all jumbled and jumpy, though he tries to keep the giddy excitement bubbling in his stomach as bay.

“I saved up my coin,” you said, nodding to Charon who nods back. “And bought it from Charon. I would’ve fought for it, but I’m no warrior.”

A smile splits across his face and the wings on the side of his head flutter. He’s quick to scoop you up and hug you, floating up with you as he does.

Hermes is an absolute giddy mess with your offering, not sure if he should kiss you or simply remain holding you. He had a special place for you before but this just solidifies his adoration for you. His gift to you is a pair of boots with wings on the side of them- an exact replica of his (in your size! Somehow-). He promises that they’ll help you get anywhere you want quickly, also the two of you match! How cute is that?

[radioactivepeasant]

Demolition Trio au snippet

Continuing from this post, there's been a bit of a time skip and Damas has just been reunited, after a short skirmish with Marauders, with his son...and his other son, which he was very much not expecting. Nor was he expecting this older Mar to have absolutely no idea who he is.

"Young man."

Jak made himself look back up at the warrior king, hoping his face showed none of the envy he was trying to bury. This was Mar's father. Of course the kid would be more attached to him! But after having been "Big Brother" for two months -- after risking the wrath of both Baron and Underground to keep Mar hidden -- he couldn't help feeling a little stung that the little boy wasn't clinging to him quite so tightly.

Maybe because Mar was the only person who was not afraid of the darkness in him.

Or perhaps there was a part of him that was jealous of the kid, rather than the king. Mar had gotten what Jak had long since given up hope for: a rescue. A family. Someone to say "I will protect you. I will love you."

And now he would be safe from Praxis and Errol here, probably forever. This place was filled with people who didn't hesitate to fight back. People who were free to go where they wished, and followed their leader because they wanted to, not because they feared him.

Jak wanted to know what it was that made the warriors so loyal to Mar's father. Why had Praxis successfully betrayed and usurped him, and how? Jak had just witnessed this man up to his elbows in an infirmary, treating his own wounded soldiers. He didn't act like he thought he was better than them, he acted like he was one of them. Damas expected obedience, but it seemed like he was earning it more than demanding it.

[[MORE]]

"Young man," Damas said again once he had locked eyes with Jak, "There are no words that can truly express the debt I owe to you for protecting my son."

He passed his hand over Mar's head, and the child leaned into the touch with a pleased smile. "To know that he was not merely alive, but safe-!

"He's...he's a good kid," Jak said awkwardly.

"You um, he doesn't like to sleep without a light on. Just. Just so you know."

The king's stern eyes softened in a way that reminded Jak of something he couldn't quite place. His Uncle, maybe?

"I will keep that in mind...Jak, was it not? It is no simple matter to earn Sig's trust, and that is reason enough for me to trust your judgment."

Daxter almost fell off of Jak's shoulder.

"Wha-? That easy? No giant, deadly test? No insults? We don't even have to save your butt? You just trust us to know what we're doing from the jump?!"

He gripped Jak's collar. "Jak, I think we need to move outta Haven, we're getting too used to being disrespected."

Damas raised his brows at Sig, who shrugged in answer. It wasn't like Daxter was completely wrong.

"Although I know that no reward could ever truly suffice for bringing Mar home, if you require anything before you return-"

"Make me one of your warriors!"

Jak was as surprised as the king by the boldness of his own outburst. This guy wasn't Torn, or Krewe! He couldn't just interrupt him and make demands!

Damas leaned back on his heels, clearly caught off guard. He studied Jak as though seeing him for the first time, then asked simply, "Why?"

Jak couldn't shake the feeling that he was being tested somehow. He squared his shoulders, determined to meet that challenge.

"Because you actually know what you're doing. You're out there with the rest of them, not hiding in forts and castles. Your people are free, I can see the difference. And-"

He cut himself off, embarrassed.

"And?" Damas prompted.

Jak looked away and mumbled, "And I'd...be able to check on the kid."

Damas stared at him with a strange, knowing expression on his face. He chuckled and shook his head.

"I can see why Sig likes you," he said, and stroked his chin. "But becoming a citizen of Spargus is not a simple task, young man. There are competitions amongst outsiders -- most often to the death if not to the point of critical injury -- to secure a place in this city. Is that something you can do?"

Jak's eyes flashed. "So in other words, you want me to earn a place here."

Before Daxter could protest, he grinned. "Suits me."

Damas mirrored his sharp smile. "Then I see no reason not to grant your request. I look forward to seeing you complete the challenges of the Arena."

Barely a minute after Jak had left the throne room, Sig let out a low whistle.

"Now that, I didn't expect. With how hell-bent on killing Praxis that kid is, I figured he'd want to go back to Haven pronto."

He folded his arms and smiled. "Guess you made an impression, huh boss?"

Mar turned and blinked up at Damas with a hopeful expression. "Big brothers are staying? Right, Daddy?" he signed quickly.

Damas scooped up the tiny boy and held him close. "Yes, Mar. If that is what they want, then Jak and his friend will stay."

Mar hissed in elation and threw his arms around Damas's neck. It hadn't taken him long to open up to the man. With every word Damas spoke, Mar was finding him more and more familiar. He didn't bother to question the way everything seemed to just fit into place like Big Brother's puzzle gun. Some things were just so.

"Damas..." Sig shifted and looked a little uncomfortable. "About Jak-"

Damas frowned and held Mar a little tighter. "I do not doubt your story -- or rather, Onin's -- my friend. He looks much like his mother did at that age...But this is not something that I can easily process in a day. I..."

Damas sighed. "Do not take that as a reflection upon you or the boy. It is just...it is a lot to take in, Sig. And I would rather let him find his footing in Spargus before I broach the subject of his past with him."

It was, Sig could admit to himself, probably the wisest move. Jak probably wouldn't believe either of them if they told him outright that he had been Mar in another life of sorts. At best, he'd think they were delusional. At worst, he might assume they wanted to use him the way Krewe did. The idea of losing the kid's trust hurt Sig. More than expected.

"Then why let him go to the Arena now?" Sig asked quietly, "Why not wait until you're ready?"

Damas shook his head and looked out at the elevator Jak and Daxter had taken.

"I've seen those eyes before, Sig. He needs a chance to prove to himself that he can make it based on his own merits. Not based on who others say he is or must be."

He locked eyes with Sig. "He needs the chance the Arena gave me, when Praxis left me in the desert to die. And then, when he understands that his blood -- or whatever eco circulates in his blood -- does not determine what he makes of his life, then I will ask him about the Damas of his world."

"And if he really doesn't remember anything?" Sig pressed.

With a shrug, Damas smiled down at Mar and answered, "The Arena is a new beginning for those leaving their old lives. They build their place in the community from the ground up. It seems fitting, then, that if Jak cannot remember his old life, we help him to build a new one here."

"And what about Praxis?"

The smile on the king's face turned dangerous. "The boy isn't the only one with a score to settle, my friend."

1, 2, 3

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Mother May I Sleep with Danger - Servant!Nagito Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆ not a request, I’m just really horny for servant asjdkfkflddj

Summary: future foundation reader is kidnapped by the WOH and figures if they’re going to die anyway……..

Contains: Explicit Sexual Content, Fem reader, no pronouns used

Word Count: 3589

The foundation is not going to be happy with you.

Not only did you balls up your mission into Towa City, but now your uniform is ripped all to hell, basically slashed to ribbons by the Monokuma who managed to overpower you. It was your new set too, all fresh and clean. This mess is going to get you seriously mocked by the men in operations when you get back.

That is if the foundation even lets you back onto the helicopter after this disaster of a mission.

You huff and turn to face the man lurking in the far corner of your cell. He’s been standing there for the past 20 minutes, just shaking and staring at you with wide grey eyes. You had been planning to just ignore him until he left, but he isnt leaving, “What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer, just wraps his arms around himself and starts giggling.

“Are you just going to stand there all day?” You snap, crossing your arms and glaring up at him from your seat on the floor, “If you’re going to kill me just get it over with, the anticipation has all but worn off and I'm just starting to get angry.”

“Ah...kill you?” He giggles again. His voice is a lot gentler than you had been expecting. What with the manic eyes and tangled hair. You were prepared for him to be downright menacing. He sucks in a breath and levels his gaze with you, “I wouldn't kill you. That would be waste.” The chain around his throat jangles as he gestures at you with his mitted hand, knees wobbling like they are barely strong enough to keep him upright, “Honestly, a bug like myself killing you would help no one. It would be utterly disappointing for both sides, and what is the point in that? No despair...no hope...ahhhhaaaa…” he brings the cuff of his jacket up to his mouth and starts gnawing on it, “it would be completely pointless...mm?”

“Why haven't the children killed you?” Your brows draw together, watching his balance shifting from foot to foot, “You must be at least eighteen, right?”

He wheezes, throwing one shoulder up in a haphazard shrug, “Older. I think. I honestly can’t remember.”

For some reason. A terrible little voice in the back of your head whispers - Hey, at least it’s legal! You balk at your own lack of decorum. The man is still currently chewing so furiously on his sleeve that drool has started rolling down his chin, his hair is so matted that if you dug your fingers into it you would probably never get them out again. You are smart enough to take one look at this wheezing, sweating, drooling mess of a man and think: gross.

Unfortunately, your cunt is dumb enough to disagree.

Maybe it’s because you’re going to die anyway. Maybe it’s because his black jeans cling very tightly to his thighs. Maybe you just have terrible taste in men. It doesn’t matter why, but for some godforsaken reason, you are attracted to him.

“So. Are they just keeping you around as a--” you examine him again, eyes locking on the chain dangling down by his knees. (why does looking at that make you want to rub your thighs together?) “--a...pet?”

He laughs again, finally letting the sleeve he was chewing on drop back down to his side, “A fitting position for someone like me, but no. I am their servant.” The man takes a step towards you, the chain jangles in ways that your insides apparently find arousing. You swallow, “I came to this town to seek refuge, but...well...you can see how that turned out.” he laughs again, shoulders quaking with the noise. You can help but notice the stiff way the hand obscured by his mitt is moving. Like he doesn't have any real control over it.

“Ah.” You say, eyes still focussed on the hand you cannot see, but can imagine perfectly well. That hand, along with his age, seem to only lead to one conclusion, “You’re one of the remnants of despair, aren’t you?”

He grins at you, manic, all sharp teeth and wild eyes, taking another step closer to you “Oh! I didn’t expect you to recognise common garbage like me…” he makes a noise that is dangerously close to being a moan, before exclaiming, “you’re right, I am!” His grin turns syrupy in a way that you find yourself enjoying much more than you should. His eyes hooded as he breathes, “does that disgust you? Does my very presence make you want to spit in my face?”

The way he speaks, his soft lilting tone. It almost sounds like he is crooning, purring. You shift on the floor, trying to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs. You have gone from wanting to fuck a regular crazy man, to wanting to fuck a crazy man literally out for capture by the company you work for.

“Listen.” You start, suddenly nervous, “The foundation is looking for you, all of you. But Togami in the other cell and I are working with-”

Your words catch in your throat when he comes barreling towards you and claps his bare hand over your mouth. His eyes are wild when they meet yours, pupils little more than pinpricks in dark swirling circles that dig deep inside of you, his voice drops to a terrifying whisper, “No. Not yet...I have important work I must do and you will not keep me from it.”

“We want to help.” You hiss into the meat of his palm. Horrified at how you feel the jagged grin that tugs at his mouth deep in your stomach. His mouth pulls so wide that his lips tear and bleed, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth and dripping over his lips when he starts laughing again, loud and manic, wheezing and decrepit.

“You truly are an embodiment of hope. You think you can...ah...haha…” He wheezes again, tangled white hair falling over his face and he tries to hold in a laugh, “You truly think you can help me? What a feat that would be! Endlessly impressive I’m sure” He leans in closer to you, eyes calm once again, hooded and piercing, “Thank you for your kindness, but I assure you. It will not be so simple.”

His face is so close to yours now, you can feel his breath on your face, see the bags under his eyes and the way his papery skin has wrinkled around the corners of his mouth. He looks half dead, but under that. You see soft skin, pretty long eyelashes and what are undoubtedly the most stunning eyes you have ever seen. You are going to die soon anyway, so you dont stop yourself from whispering, “You were very pretty once. Weren’t you?”

His lips curl into a smile, but his eyes look almost sad, “Most would disagree.”

“Hm. That’s a shame.” you whisper, trying to ignore the seductive tone you have adopted, “I think you’re still quite pretty now.”

He lets out a wheezing giggle, dropping down into a crouch in front of you and resting his hands on his knees, “Are you trying to win me over with words of kindness? With sharp lies wrapped in goose down?”

They aren't lies, but you can tell he won't believe you even if you try to convince him, “Just tell me what you want with me.”

“What do I want with you?” He breathes, reaching out a shaky hand and running his knuckles down your cheek. One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile at the feeling of your skin, “I don’t want anything...eheh...I just...I just want to watch. I want to see what you will do, I want to see you fight.”

“I’d be able to fight better if you let me out of the cell.”

“Aha. Cute.” He drags his tongue over his lower lip, “But wouldn't it be so much more satisfying to watch you overcome impossible odds? For your hope to overcome the utmost despair?” His head tilts to the side and he smiles, “I have faith in you. I’ll be cheering you on, just dont expect my help.”

The more he talks, the less you understand him. At this point you're barely even listening to his words and are just letting the soft tones of his voice wash over you, his eyes are blinding, it feels like he is staring straight through you. The door of the cell is still locked, Togami is still far enough away that he couldn't hear you if you screamed. Help won't be coming for a long time if it is even coming at all.

And you want to fuck a remnant of despair.

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, reaching out a hand to push some of his tangled hair away from his face.

He stills, for a moment. The panic in his eyes is so powerful that even his ceaseless shivering stops. He blinks slowly, unsurely, and his lips pull up in a smile, “My pathetic name isn't even worthy of being heard by someone like you.” he breathes, leaning into your hand as it comes to rest on his cheek, “Servant will suffice.”

You make an upset noise, sitting up on your knees and leaning in closer to his face. His eyes aren’t grey, you realise, they’re green, “Are you sure? I was hoping for something a little more...intimate.”

“Intimate…” he whispers, almost like he is testing how the word tastes on his tongue. His face is so close to yours now, your hand reaches around and curls into the mess of hair on the back of his head. He starts shivering again, a wheezy laugh escaping his mouth almost breathlessly as he (with a surprising amount of tenderness) lowers you down to lay on the hard concrete below, “Is...this what you mean?”

Your heart is racing. He looms above you, knees planted firmly on either side of your hips. His hair tumbles down over his face, obscuring his beautiful green eyes in shadow and you feel your hips twitch upward at even the anticipation of his touch.

“Exactly what I mean.” you purr, slowly sliding your hand down the length of his chain. He quivers above you, a broken moan leaves his mouth when you give it a gentle tug. Your lips curl into a predatory smirk, and then you tug it again, hard.

His mouth collides with yours and a shocked gasp escapes his throat, his arms shake at your sides, desperate and almost panicked. It only takes a moment for him to soften, returning the kiss with a newfound passion, moaning deep and loud into your mouth and leaning into you. His kisses feel a little messy and unpracticed, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm. Choking on a groan when you bury a hand in his hair and pull tight on the strands.

He moves away from your mouth, trailing down the side of your throat and sucking hard on your skin. You can feel his breath hot and heavy in your ear as his tongue lathes over your flesh, teeth sinking in hard into the join between your throat and shoulder.

A moan breaks free from your mouth, and your hips buck upward high enough to meet Servant’s and you can feel his gasp against your skin. He grinds his hips down on yours in response, sucking in a breath at the friction.

“This…this really is my lucky day…” he whines, leaning back on his heels and undoing the few surviving buttons on your shirt. Your bra is conservative, skin toned and unflattering. It’s designed for missions out into the wastes of the world, not for whatever is happening right now.

Servant doesn’t seem to mind, running his tongue across his chapped lower lip, eyes blown wide as he drinks in your form. A shudder runs through him, and he swallows, “may I?”

You nod, “please…touch me…”

He giggles, gripping your breasts in both of his hands (though the hand hidden by the mitt is only really able to press down, but he is trying his best.) before burying his face between them, sighing happily against your skin. You choke on a moan when you feel his tongue run up your cleavage, hands squeezing almost desperately.

“Servant…” you whisper, “my bra, take it off…”

He leans up, a shy smile on his face, “Ah, I would like to! But uh, as I’m sure you know-“ he waves at you with his mitted hand, “-I can’t really use these fingers”

The thought of the dead hand attached at his forearm should deter you, but it doesn’t. You sit up just enough to unclasp your bra, chucking it off into the corner of the cell before grabbing Servant’s bare hand and pressing it to your breast. Servant chokes, brushing his thumb over your nipple.

Your breath hitches, and he is emboldened enough to take the other into his mouth. Your back instinctively arches upward, chasing the warmth of his mouth encasing your nipple, the finger and thumb on his bare hand pinching at twitching the other. His tongue is wet and sloppy, this is no precision to his licks and sucks. The servant is running on animalistic desperation alone.

Luckily, that doesn’t bother you much at all.

The cool metal of the chain presses down hard on your bare stomach, his mitt is scratchy where that hand is pressed firmly to your waist, not able to grab, but it still reads as possessive. You can feel him panting and moaning against your breast, his tangled white hair brushing against your skin in a way that makes you shiver. Your sex is aching, the way he furiously circles his tongue around your nipple feels almost feral and it makes you want more.

You hook your leg around the back of his knees, and use the leverage to flip the both of you over. Servant gasps when his back hits the ground. You grin, physical training at the Future Foundation is finally coming in handy.

Servant looks like a perfect ruin beneath you. His hair spread out on the hard concrete, eyes glassy with desire, cheeks bright red and mouth wet with saliva. You laugh, you can feel him quivering below you. The quivering grows worse when you tug his black jacket down off his shoulders and start working his shirt up and over his head. He is so thin, sickly, shaking, barely even there. All jutting bones and paper thin skin.

“Are they feeding you?” you find yourself asking quite seriously.

Servant giggles, “They’re children. I feed myself when I find the time.”

“You don't often find the time, do you?” he sucks in a breath when the tip of your finger runs up over his exposed ribs. You lean down and press a hot kiss to his collarbone, “Are you sure that you’ll have enough energy for this?”

“Ehehe...Don’t concern yourself with that-“ he leans up enough to lick all the way up the length of your throat, “I can be quite tenacious when required”

You don't doubt it. Leaning back down to kiss him firmly, licking into his open mouth as your hands trail down his torso and to the button on his jeans. He whines loudly when you undo the zipper and wrap your fist around the hardness in his boxers. His hips stutter up into your grip and you smile against his lips. He’s cute. It’s cute how desperate he is. You sit up, grinding your hips down against his, moaning aloud at the feeling of his cock pressing firmly against your clit through your panties.

Servant breaks out into a breathless giggle, panting and moaning as he pushes his hips up to meet yours, shivery and insatiable. The only light in the room is a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, just bright enough to catch on his teeth when his chapped lips curl back in a grin.

“Yes~” He whines when you grind down again, pretty eyes fluttering closed and white hair spreading even further across the concrete, “use me use me use me!”

You like that. You like that a lot, “You want to be used?” you breathe, sitting up just enough that you can wriggle out of your panties, hiking your tight pencil skirt up over your hips.

“Please...please…” he whimpers, hips stuttering up even though there is nothing to meet them. Drool trailing down his chin, “I want you to use me for your pleasure…” he gasps out a moan, like even the thought of it is too much for him, “...cum all over me...please...ruin me…”

“Okay…” you whisper, pulling his boxers and jeans down his thighs to expose his cock, he hisses a breath in through his teeth that turns into a moan when you grab him, “Can you be a good boy and stay still for me?”

He nods furiously. Thighs and stomach tensing as he forces himself not to move. It becomes even harder when you slowly slip yourself down on him, letting your head loll back in a moan at the feeling of him filling you. He cries out, hands jumping up to grab at your waist, trying so hard to keep his hips still when all he wants is to chase your warmth.

A smile crawls its way across your face when you lean forward, placing your arms on either side of his head. He stares up at you, enamoured with you, face flushed red and mouth hung open, “You feel so good, Servant.” you croon, slowly licking up the shell of his ear.

He mewls, thrusting up inside of you just a little. He just can't resist.

“I’m...I’m sorry, I'm so pathetic ehehe” he pants, “Can’t even follow such a simple order.”

“Well, hopefully you will do better with this next one.” You start, adjusting yourself so your bare breasts are now right in front of his face, “suck.”

He doesn't waste one second, licking up under one of your nipples and then pulling it into his mouth. Peering up at you through his pretty eyelashes as he sucks languidly on your tit, swirling his tongue around and moaning so deeply that you can feel the vibrations.

“Ahh…ah! You’re such a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

He nods

“Such a good boy.”

He nods again, moving his hands from your waists to your breasts, pressing them close enough together that he is able to suck on both nipples at once.

“Oh! Ohhhhhhhhh fuck- I…hng…” you rock your hips forward, keening loudly when the head of his cock meets your g-spot. Servant is still trying to stay still. Panting loudly as he furiously licks and sucks on both of your nipples. Wet and sloppy with little to no precision, so desperate to taste you, to devour you. The pleasure in your stomach is curling and twisting, the feeling of him so deep inside you, quivering as he resists the urge to move. It’s so much and not enough all at once.

“Servant…” you groan, hips twitching forward enough to grind your clit down on his pelvis, “you…you can move…”

His hips snap up immediately. He doesn’t waste even a second to drill himself deep inside of you, almost sobbing against the flesh of your breasts when the desperation he has been holding in finally gets to escape. He is animalistic, he is hungry. His hands move from your breasts to grip tightly to your hips, encouraging you to bounce up and down on his cock.

Luckily you don’t need much encouragement. Sitting up enough that your breasts leave his mouth with a lurid pop, throwing your head back and riding him like your life depends on it. Underneath you, you can hear the sound of his chain jangling with the force of his upward thrusts, along with his staccato breathing as he loses himself deeper and deeper within you.

Sweat drips down your forehead, down between your shoulder blades, it feels so good, it feels so wrong. The ever present itch of his mitt presses against your skin, a grim reminder of everything he is, everything he has done. It only turns you on more.

“I…I…AHAHAH! I’m…close.” He stammers, eyes wide when they fixate on the spot where you are joined, sharing himself disappearing inside of you again and again. His bare hand slides down your side and around to your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles that make your hips jump forward.

It’s too much, you can feel your insides growing tighter and tighter as his fingers bring you closer to the release you need so badly. Tossing your head back with a strangled moan as you finally cum, clenching hard around his cock and almost sobbing with how good it feels, how good he feels.

As Servant chases your release with his own, breaking into a breathless laughed as he pounds you with reckless abandon, cumming deep inside of you-

You can’t help but think that the foundation is really not going to be happy with you now.

But as Servant comes down from his high, his grip softens, his eyes grow sleepy, and he gives you a gentle smile that makes you heart race just a little-

And you realise that you don’t really care anymore.

[plush-rabbit]

Sickness - Mammon + Leviathan

Request: Hewwo, I'm sick atm :') and I wanted some comfort. Could you possibly do Levi and Mammon (hc or fic idc) with an S/O that gets super distant and moody when sick and they're liable to insult people (although they don't mean to) and they end up insulting the boys, and apologizing after they feel better.. if you can't don't worry about it :')

A/N: Get some rest!! Love you and take care!! (i think they would try to care but like they’re demons and they can be a bit too much at times)

-

Mammon:

Mammon likes spending time with you and he wants you to be at your best as soon as possible. He’ll do whatever he can to make you feel better because you’re his human and he can’t have one of his possessions go on and croak on him. You’re sick and terribly so given your complexion and how warm you feel. He’s been around other humans to know that they aren’t supposed to be this warm and he’ll do light research into what will make you feel better the quickest. He does his best to give you what you need- ramen made by him and plenty of water. As your first, he places it upon himself to make you feel better in any possible way that he can help. Demons naturally have a high immune system and human sickness isn’t something that he’s too worried about, so he’s able to spend as much time as possible with you in order to make you feel better.

While you enjoy spending your time with the second-born, you’re also sick and your nerves and mindset are extremely sensitive. His constant presence, while something that you do usually enjoy, is now something that is suffocating. Surprisingly, he’s very high in emotional intelligence, so when he senses that you're starting to grow a bit distant, he loosens up a bit, but he isn’t able to for long. While he is own demon, he really enjoys spending time with you and having you sick limits the time he gets to be around you. His eagerness gets the best of him, and he keeps pushing himself onto you. Rather than resting, you’re listening to him, helping him do his homework and having him complain to you about the day he’s had. He means well, but he’s pushy.

He can feel that you’re starting to get distant, that your initial pleasure is starting to fade and leave him, but he isn’t sure what else he can do. He’s doing everything that he can, or at least, he's keeping you company. Your patience is wearing thin, your body all sort of annoyed and stiff, you simply can’t be bothered to entertain him any longer. You hope that he’ll get the hint when you stop speaking, that he’ll figure that you're tired and just not in the mood, but he doesn’t. Every bit of you feels awful and you can only sulk as he continues to toss ideas your way. In a fit of anger, you lash out, harsh words spat out as you hide your face and look away from him, begging for him to leave. Wanting to do what he can to make you happy, he leaves your room without a word.

You’re left in silence, the only sound is your deep breaths that you take through your mouth and the blood rushing through your ears. The sleep that follows is upsetting, unable to get comfortable in your bed, your way to recovery is long without proper rest. During your remainder of sickness, you are unbothered by a certain demon, the only contact is a messaging and even that is scarce.

Once you feel better- at least enough to not be so easily over-stimulated, you make your way to his room, knocking on his door, waiting for an answer. Mammon lets you in with a simple “open,” and can only give you a quick glance before he turns away from you. When you sit beside him. The corner of his lips twitch, his face hardening and he doesn’t glance at you until you call his name. You hurt him, and you feel awful about it. You apologize- he had been trying to do a good thing, you hadn’t meant to be so snappy. His eyes are downcast, his hands dropping the magazine beside him, and gives you a tired grin and shrugs. You aren’t fond of his answer, you know how he’s teased and you inadvertently became one of them. You push yourself close to him, your hand covering his and you offer to take him out to eat- a thank you for taking care of you while he did.

Levi:

When Leviathan finds out that you’re feeling under the weather, he uses that to his advantage to have an anime-slash-gaming marathon with you. He already doesn’t like going out, he’s been meaning to complete or at least start on a few more series so having you sick is sort of a good thing to happen to you and to him. Plus, he’s a demon so your human sickness won’t affect him as strongly as it is you. He’s a bit more forward, his enthusiasm taking over and overwriting the more reserved nature of his. In his hands, he holds two plastic bags full of snacks, filled with candies that you both enjoy and energy drinks to keep you feeling energized and less likely to fall asleep.

Suffice to say, he doesn’t take notice of your sickness, but rather uses you stuck in bed to advance in shows that he wants to watch with you. It’s not that he doesn’t care, but his eagerness gets ahead of him, his need to complete things taking over. As the marathon continues, unhealthy snacks eaten, energy drinks that unsettle your stomach and make you buzz in your bed while loud music and flashing colors flash brightly against you, make you feel even worse. Any other day, you would have sung along to the opening with the demon, but now, all you want to do is tell him to just be quiet.

The environment is starting to get too much- your body hot and the skin that you wear feeling uncomfortably tight and you’re all too aware of where you sit- a messy bed with empty wrappers and bags. You tell him some awfully foul words, your throat sore and eyes wide, nails digging into your palm desperate for an ounce of blood to be shed. He sits in silence while you double over, the taste of chocolate thick on your tongue and making the acid all too sweet, and you can hear him scutter, wrapper crinkling under his hand and the laptop closing, followed by your door closing shut. You’re left alone with a growing headache and feeling even worse than you had done before.

It isn’t long before your sickness starts to pass over, relief flooding throughout you. The following days, he avoids you, not a step inside of your room and the only acknowledgement that you’re given by him is a “get well soon message”. It’s then that you groan in embarrassment and guilt. You hadn’t meant to snap at him but to be fair, you were sick and he wasn’t trying to make you feel better, he was trying to do things he normally enjoyed doing with you without regard to how you felt. No matter the amount of messages you send him, all that he responds with are one worded messages or simple emotes.

You knock on his door, his voice muted by the door, the volume steadily growing louder as he finishes his reply. The knob is cold underneath your hand as you turn it, surprised to find it open without having to resort to using a password. You call his name and he refuses to look at you, the air in the room thick as his gaze focused on the screen in front of him. Leviathan barely gives you a glance, his back straightened as you stand next to him, your hand on his shoulder. The screen is frozen, his controller placed down and he gives you a sour look, his lips pursed and brows furrowed. You apologize to him, your hand sliding across his back to his other shoulder, your chin resting on the now empty one. You hadn’t meant to snap, you were feeling sick and awful, but that was no excuse to tell him such awful words. You tilt your head, and he meets your eyes, his cheeks tinted with a peach hue. The air in the room is a bit more breathable, you smile at him and knock your head against his, apologizing to him once more and that if he’s still up for it, you’d love to have a proper anime marathon with him.

[hpalways]

Commissions || Childe

UNPREDICTABLE people were like magnets to you, somehow always managing to show up. Usually, you would avoid them at any given chance, preventing further interactions from occurring. As an adventurer, you didn't work for the thrill, but rather for the money. That meant that deep inside, you longed for a peaceful life, which was the main reason why there were certain beings that shouldn't exist in your reality. So how did it go oh-so-terrible with Tartaglia?

You first met Tartaglia -- also known as Childe -- in Liyue Harbor when you were at a stall to buy food. You had a few commissions in tail, waiting to be resolved for the day. But first, food was on your mind. It wouldn't do any good to fight hilichurls and whatnot with an empty stomach. As you were about to dig into your trouser's pockets to find any mora, a man stepped up in front of you, blocking the way. Assuming that he was budging you in line, you opened your mouth to protest, but the words faltered to come out when the male whirled around to face you.

Deep, blue eyes stared into your soul, twinkling mischievously... and somehow, you couldn't read into them. Fiery, orange hair accompanied his features, going unexpectedly well with the blue. Smiling at you crookedly, he saluted you with a gloved hand. A red mask was adorned on the side of his head, matching the red details on his overall gray outfit. He was very tall and attractive -- taking you momentarily off guard. 

"I'll pay for your meal. My treat," he easily told you, making a show of flashing the lump of mora in his hands. He even went as far as to swing his arm around your shoulders like the two of you were friends. The warm, close contact nearly caused you to freeze in place, getting flustered all over. What the hell was happening?

"Oh... sure," you uttered, staring blankly at him. Well, there was no use turning him down. The word treat was enough to hook and wheel you in. 

"What's your name?" he inquired in a friendly manner, lugging you along as if you were a ragged doll through the waiting line.

Hesitating to answer for a second, you were beginning to look stupid under his expecting gaze. There was a reason though: you were wary of strangers, having learned that the hard way when you encountered Treasure Hoarders one time. But seeing how amused this man was by your internal debate, you pushed the doubts away and decided to go for it. "I'm [Y/N]. You?"

"Lovely name befitting for a lovely person," he mused, leaving you embarrassed. "I'm Childe."

It was then your turn to order. Letting his arm around you go, he straightened up and nudged you ahead. The warmth evaporated from you and you suddenly wished for his touch again. Horrified by your thoughts, you brushed them away and stepped up to the front, telling the chef your order. 

Once that was done with and the food was received, you sat down at a table outside. Three whole dishes filled of food, you wasted no time to dive into them, the steamy aroma wafting into the air. Mouthful of food, you almost choked when you found the so-called Childe sitting down in front of you. Coughing for a good minute or two, you suffered as he watched you in enjoyment. When you could catch your breath, you averted your gaze to the table. Oh god, you wished you could bury yourself before you could humiliate yourself any further. He shouldn't have followed you here. 

"I'm surprised you bought three whole dishes for yourself," he pointed out, taking delight in teasing you. 

You scowled and looked at him, the shameful emotion fading away. "Are you insinuating something?" you asked, squinting at him. He rose his brows in surprise, quickly shaking his head to explain he meant no harm. Sighing, you decided to go all out then. If he already knew your name, what difference would it make to share a few more things about yourself? Besides, this was Liyue Harbor we're talking about; no one was that desperate to seek out trouble so publicly. "I'm an adventurer and I also do commissions. Fighting takes up a lot of my energy, so only one meal wouldn't suffice."

Something swirled in his eyes -- unknown and still just as unreadable. However, you paid no mind to it, too absorbed by the food and the conversation to notice. Maybe this was where it went wrong. "An adventurer?" he echoed, his voice breathless. His ears seemingly perked up and he leaned forward in his seat, anxious to hear more. "What would you say if I tagged along with you today?"

It was shocking to hear that, but eventually, you accepted his self-invitation and brought him along to the locations. Setting off by foot, the two of continued onward with full bellies and enough energy to last several hours. The land stretched for miles and miles, scaping the grounds of hills, mountains, rivers, and meadows. Hogs ran through the trees and birds soared in the skies. Monsters rolled around in the dust, waiting to ambush anybody in the way. The sun beating down upon your backs and the weather a little too warm for liking, it was a difficult trek, but nothing close to impossible for an adventurer.

The fighting began when the destination to a pack of hilichurls appeared on sight. Unsheathing your blade, you immediately attacked them, continuously slashing away until they were entirely cleaned up. Breathing heavily with sweat beading your forehead, you did all the dirty work as Childe inspected from the side, his eye following your every move.

It wasn't easy though. You struggled at some areas, sometimes missing them or getting slightly injured by their own weapons. It was sloppy and flawed, for you were not a skilled swordsman, born without the talent and money. Anyway, it didn't matter much; as long as you did the job, that was what mattered. 

The next one took place near the mountains. Insuring that a wagon would be delivered somewhere safely, you had to fend off more monsters, circling around the large transport tirelessly to prevent any damage. While you were doing so, the orange haired male lounged on top of the-said wagon, relaxed and watching the battle beneath him. 

Afterwards, it was of simple commissions, with no sword involved. On the last one and feeding ducks for a little kid you accidentally offended, you let out a yawn, ready to go home and sleep everything off. Your partner for the day was also there, crouching down beside the lake's bank, tossing the wheat to the little creatures. Turning his head to the side, he gave you a small smile. Unlike you, he was widely awake and full of energy -- you expected that much, considering he didn't do anything to help you. 

"I enjoyed traveling around with you today, [Y/N]," he said, straightening himself up until he returned to being taller than you. 

Minus the part where he was completely useless to you, you couldn't help but admit that it was enjoyable to have him him around. His cheery persona helped to distract you from your dislike with the job, filling the silence with easy discussion about basically anything. "It was fun... I suppose," you responded, letting out yet another yawn. 

"You know, you could've asked me help. It would've been less straining for you," he pointed out.

You swerved your head at the mention of this, flabbergasted with your mouth hung open like a gaping fish. "You can fight?!" You shot up from where you sat, stepping up to a half-laughing, half-scared Childe. He nodded slowly and you rubbed your eyes harshly, curses running through your head. "And you didn't think to tell me that until now?"

He shrugged, drinking in your angered expression. No ounce of remorse shown in his features, he was pleased to get a rise out of you. Goddammit, this guy was going to be the death of you. "You never asked."

Not replying to him, you faced the other way and crossed your arms, brooding like a kid after a tantrum. 

"Aw, don't be mad at me," he cooed, petting your [h/c] head endearingly. "Hey, are you thinking of improving your swordsmanship?"

Originally planning to give him the silent treatment, you could barely even hold on to the promise for a minute. His question intrigued you and you began to wonder why he was asking you something like that. "No, not really," you answered. 

"Why not?"

"It's not necessary. My level is adequate for the commissions I take on. It's not like I'm striving to be anything legendary... that's just asking for a death sentence."

His forehead furrowed and a darkened gaze was aimed at you. He seemed to want to say a lot of things, yet couldn't find the words to them. Was he... mad at you for some unknown reason? Almost expecting a big lecture from him, you were shocked to hear what he said instead. "You have potential though."

That was where you parted from Tartaglia that young evening, but by no means was that the last time you were to see him. 

You would run into him at Liyue Harbor, in Mondstadt, or sometimes in your travels as an adventurer. Each time you would welcome him warmly, always glad to have his company. He was seriously growing on you, become a friend that distracted you from the hardships of the cold reality. He brightened the atmosphere wherever he went, always the charismatic type, wooing anyone with a tip of a smile. 

Of course, you knew he was a Harbringer; he never made a show of hiding it, so you were acknowledged of this pretty much immediately. Hearing the gossip and rumors of the Fatui, you understood that the organization was hella sketchy, but it didn't shine a bad light on Childe at all. You wanted to put your hopes in him, to give him the benefit of doubt. He was helpful so far and your life was peaceful with him around -- which was the one thing you wished for. 

Or maybe it was because you had fallen for him already. 

At least for the first month or so, everything passed through wonderfully. The two of you were like partners in crime, back to back and supportive of the other. The amount times you would stroll through the meadows and just talk to the man was becoming countless. It began to be something you were looking forward to: to have the time to get to know him even better, from his family to the simplest of facts about him. 

It was too good to be true. As the saying goes, nothing lasts forever. 

You should have never lowered your guard down. Not when you were found laying on the grimy grounds of a domain, beaten and bloodied. Not when the man you supposedly loved was towering in front of you, his deep blue eyes glowering in lust for violence. Not when your peaceful life was shattered to pieces. Childe couldn't control it any longer that day. He wanted to battle you out, to cause chaos and havoc. Why? You didn't understand... he was your friend. This wasn't what friends do. Nonetheless, he was serious about this declaration. 

He spat at the ground, annoyed you didn't put up a greater fight. Not at all worried about your wounds, he paced around the chamber, pulling at his messy locks. "Didn't I say you had potential?! You should've tried harder."

You soon lost consciousness, too exhausted and pained to do anything else. The next time you awoken, you were in Mondstadt, getting healed by Barbara. Tartaglia was no where to be seen, as he ran off earlier without telling anyone of his whereabouts. That was the last time you saw him for a while...

Everything that happened was the past, occurring a few months ago. And here you were, in the present, back to the same life you had before meeting Childe. You still disliked the same things, whether that'd be fighting, unpredictable people, or your job. Day after day, you worked to gain money for a living, hating every moment of it. It was so normal that sometimes you wondered if you may have imagined the certain Fatui man up.

Walking through the mountainous parts of Liyue, you were on a hunt for resources. Hoping to stumble upon a mine and get done with the work as soon as possible, it was unfortunate that the weather hated you.

Droplets fell from the sky and the clouds darkened the world. Rain thrummed against the earth, soaking your clothes within a few minutes. They stuck to your skin, turning uncomfortable and cold. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you quickened your pace, desperate to find shelter for the time being. Shit, shit, shit. You hated the life of an adventurer so much--

Too blurry to watch where you were going, you hit a hard surface in front of you. Rather than a hard surface, it was actually a person. Squinting and wiping the droplets from your eyes, you cringed when you saw who it was. It was the one and only Childe, looking the same as always.

Wet orange locks somehow making him more attractive than he already was, he was as soaked as you were. The clothes defined his body and you frantically stopped yourself staring at it any further. 

"[Y/N]," he breathed out, looking unsure. The sound of his voice snapped you back to life and fury filled the pits of your stomach. Seething in spot, the hands at your sides clenched tightly. He had taken your trust and ruined it -- he was nothing but a fucking bastard. 

He took a few steps forward, growing nearer, his blue beautiful hues full of regret. You hated that he dared show himself up, wearing that damn look as if you would ever forgive him. Pulling your hand back without thinking, you laid it across his cheek, harsh at the contact. He touched his red cheek in awe, lowering his head in shame. 

"I deserved that," he whispered, smiling at you sadly.

"You do," you muttered. 

Despite how angry you were at him, there was this twisted desire to kiss him. Feelings were confusing, always making a situation more complicated than it should be. 

Leaning forward, you locked lips with his. His body had stiffened in bewilderment, but he soon returned the kiss, wrapping his steady arms around yourself. Digging your fingers into his hair, you sighed in between breaths and listened to your racing heart. He tasted like salt and the soil beneath you. He was the definition of unpredictable, but you couldn't get enough of him. He brought destruction in the paths he walked on and had the continuous yearning for war. He was everything you were not and you hated him for it. 

His lips trailed away from your own, peppering kisses on your jawline, causing you to gulp. He was swallowing you whole, taking in everything about you to memorize. His touch was intoxicating, the finger tips leaving a mark on your tender skin. "Let's never see each other again after this," you told him. He didn't respond as he continued to bruise your neck. "I hate you, Childe. I fucking hate you, you bastard."

Tears welled out of your eyes, mixing together with the tears from the gods, unable to be distinguished. 

He lifted his head and gave you one last long kiss. Your insides were this close to bursting, butterflies fluttering horrendously like a beast within you. Soft lashes flitted and he stared at you with understanding. He was going to listen to your wish; he would never show himself up again. 

[beifongsss]

the painter [zuko]

Pairing: (Fire Lord) Zuko x reader

Summary: A request from @queenofmankind​: “ Hi there! I’d like to request a Zuko x reader please. The royal painter suddenly falls sick a day before he’s supposed to paint a portrait of Zuko to put in the Firelords gallery so he sends his prodigy instead which is the reader. She’s the first person ever that successfully makes Zuko embrace his scar instead of being insecure about it and she makes Zuko laugh hard (several times if may) and he’s just overall so taken by her + bonus scene of Uncle Iroh encouraging Zuko to ask her out Thank u “

.masterlist.

please please ignore some of the flaws in this fic. i know that a detailed portrait cannot be done in a day, especially not with limited lighting. i’m sorry :(

~

You grumbled in annoyance as you walked up the steps to the royal palace. Torran, your mentor and the royal painter, had fallen ill the night before and had sent you to the palace in his place. You had no idea what you were going to be painting seeing as he had been too sick to give you any details other than to show up early and to bring your best paints and materials.

“You much be (Y/N),” a voice greeted you, causing you to look up. You met the eyes of the famed General Iroh and bowed immediately.

“General Iroh, it is an honor to be in your presence,” you said, still bowing. You heard him chuckle.

“Please, no need for that,” he spoke, motioning for you to follow him into the palace. “Just Iroh is fine. I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Actually, no,” you replied, following Iroh closely. “Unfortunately, Torran is quite sick and didn’t give me any details.”

“That’s a shame. I sure hope he gets better soon,” Iroh frowned before leading you into a small hall, a table standing off to the side. “Since you’re early, would you like some tea while we wait?”

You nodded silently, taking a seat and watching Iroh as he prepared the tea. Everyone knew about the Jasmine Dragon and how the once-general had a talent for making the best tea in the nation. You smiled gratefully as he handed you a cup, breathing in the steam before your brows furrowed. “What exactly are we waiting for?”

“Oh, right!” Iroh said, taking a seat across from you. “We’re waiting for-”

“Uncle!” another voice interrupted Iroh. “Is Torran here yet?”

Your eyes widened as they met a pair of piercing gold ones. Standing in front of you was the young Fire Lord. He was wearing an impressive set of robes, his hair tied up with the traditional hair piece, showcasing his handsome face. You stood up immediately, placing your cup on the table before facing the young Fire Lord and bowing deeply. 

“Who’s this?” Zuko asked, his eyes still on your figure. “Please stop bowing.”

You stood up straight, making eye contact with Iroh, who motioned for you to take your seat once more. You sat in silence, reaching for your cup as Iroh addressed the Fire Lord.

“This is (Y/N). She is Master Torran’s trusted apprentice, a true prodigy,” Iroh stated, causing you to blush at his words.

“Uh yes, okay,” Zuko said, now shifting his gaze to his uncle. “But why is she here instead of Torran?”

“I’m afraid Torran is out sick, Zuko,” Iroh said before motioning to you. “She will be painting your portrait in his place.”

Your eyes widened at his words and you found yourself choking on your tea before pounding on your chest to try and clear your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m here to do what?”

Both Iroh and Zuko stared at you in concern. You coughed a few more times before staring back.

“I’m here to paint the Fire Lord’s portrait?” you squawked, pointing at yourself. Your eyes were wide and full of nervousness and despite the situation, Zuko couldn’t help but chuckle. “N-No that’s not possible. Can’t you just wait for Torran to get better?”

“Do not doubt yourself (Y/N),” Iroh said, handing Zuko a cup of tea. He stood up, taking a hold of Zuko’s shoulders and guiding him to take his seat. “We have seen your works and they are most impressive. You will do a fine job. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will leave you two to discuss the details. I’m afraid I must get to a meeting.”

You bowed your head respectfully, receiving a warm smile from Iroh before he retreated. The silence that followed was awkward, the two of you shooting glances at each other and looking away hurriedly when you made eye contact before taking a sip of tea.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” you broke the silence, fidgeting in your seat as you forced yourself to look up at the golden-eyed boy. “For the portra-”

“Call me Zuko,” the Fire Lord blurted, looking away from you. He took a sip of tea before looking at you shyly. “There’s no need to address me as ‘Fire Lord’. The formalities aren’t necessary.”

“Alright then,” you said, surprised. “Zuko, about the portrait, do you have an idea of what you want it to be like?”

Zuko stared blankly at you, blinking languidly before answering. “No. What do you mean?”

You shrugged as you reached down to grab some paper and ink. “I mean, do you want the same pose as the Fire Lords before you? Tall and menacing with a ‘look at me the wrong way and I’ll smite you where you stand’ expression?”

Zuko tried to hold back a laugh at your words, only to end up snorting in the process. He looked up at you, embarrassment on his face only to see you smiling at him. Quickly composing himself, he contemplated your question, unable to wipe a smile off his face. “Um, yes. Wait, no. I-I don’t know.”

You quirked an eyebrow, giving him an amused glance. “You don’t know?”

Zuko shook his head. “I don’t want to come off as threatening. I don’t want this portrait to be like the others, I want it to be different, more welcoming.”

You nodded at his words, looking around in the hall you were in. “Is this where we’re doing the portrait?”

Zuko nodded, looking around as well.

“May I suggest doing it somewhere a little brighter?” you asked, noticing how the hall was dimly lit. “A brighter background might help make the portrait seem a little less intimidating.”

Thinking over your words, Zuko found himself agreeing before standing up. “Follow me.”

You scrambled to get your things before following the Fire Lord. He led you through many different hallways and you found yourself getting lost with the many turns you had made. Eventually you found yourself standing outside, a gasp escaping your lips as you took in the sight before you.

You were standing in the Royal Palace Gardens. Your eyes landed on the lake in the middle, the trees around it providing shade as the turtle ducks swam around happily. There was an impressive fountain on the other side, and you marveled at it briefly before turning your attention back to the turtle ducks. You heard Zuko clear his throat and glanced up quickly to meet his eyes. His face held an amused smile as he looked at you, causing you to quickly look away and walk towards the lake.

“If I knew that being royalty means you get to have turtle ducks in your home, I would’ve chosen a different path in life,” you said, now looking around the garden to try and find a good place for Zuko to stand. You blushed as you heard Zuko let out a soft laugh.

“They’re the best part about all this,” he said softly. “When I was younger I used to come out and feed them with my mom.”

You looked over your shoulder, about to make a witty remark before noticing the Fire Lord’s contemplative look. You pursed your lips before taking a few steps back, your eyes never leaving Zuko’s form.

“If you want,” you began, still observing the golden-eyed boy as you crossed your arms. “We can do the portrait with you standing in front of the lake.”

Zuko hesitated for a second, looking down at the turtle ducks before making eye contact with you. He didn’t say anything, instead choosing to smile softly and nod.

Silently, made sure that you had everything before you began to set up. You were fighting with your easel, muttering under your breath as it seemed to be winning, before you felt a warm pair of hands come in contact with yours.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Zuko mumbled, setting up your easel with ease as you tried to hold back a blush. He shot you a smug look as he stepped back. “You’re welcome.”

Huffing lightly, you picked up your paints and brushes before muttering under your breath. “Thank you oh great Fire Lord why don’t you just do the whole painting while you’re at it.”

Zuko let out a loud bark of laughter at your words before composing himself, turning away from you to conceal his smile. You flushed as you realized that he had heard your words, only getting redder as he spoke once more. “A simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed.”

Too embarrassed to speak, you busied yourself by preparing your paints. You propped up a blank canvas, shifting the easel around as you tried to find the perfect angle. Once you were satisfied with the easel’s position, you made your way over to Zuko. You looked up at him, rubbing your chin thoughtfully as you noticed the way the light hit his face.

Zuko didn’t meet your eyes, trying to stop the blush from creeping onto his cheeks as you reached out gently. You grabbed his shoulders, tilting him slightly until you were content with his position. Looking at him once more, you smiled widely, nodding your head in satisfaction before walking back to your easel. This time Zuko couldn’t stop the blush from appearing on his face.

It was silent in the garden as you began working. You began with the outline, only looking up to take in the general details of the garden. Zuko remembered how he had initially been apprehensive of allowing you to paint his portrait, especially because you couldn’t be any older than he was. However, after going through your works with his uncle he had realized that you were indeed talented, no matter your age.

It also didn’t hurt that you were witty. Or that you were easy on the eyes.

Zuko blushed at his thoughts, shaking his head slightly before letting his eyes rest on your form. He took in the way the light was hitting your (H/C) hair before observing the way you moved your brush fluidly, no hesitation visibly in your actions. He took notice of your relaxed stance as you painted, your confidence shining through but not in a cocky way. He finally let his eyes drift to your face, which was scrunched up in mild concentration as you tried to get the shape of the trees just right. Zuko’s eyes widened as your eyes snapped to his, quirking an eyebrow before turning back to the painting in front of you.

The Fire Lord closed his eyes briefly, trying to figure out how to break the silence. He licked his lips nervously before opening his mouth, only to cut off by you.

“So, if I may ask,” you began, eyes never leaving the painting in front of you. “Why is getting this portrait done so urgent? You’re really risking the quality of this painting by not choosing to wait for Torran to get better. But hey, at least this isn’t the final version.”

Zuko breathed out a laugh at your words before answering. “I will be leaving in two days time. I am needed elsewhere.”

You glanced up at him, nodding at his vague answer. “Ah yes. Elsewhere.”

“I am going to Ba Sing Se,” Zuko admitted. “Aang is waiting for me there. Together we will try to build up diplomatic relations with the Earth Kingdom and repair the damages done by my sister when she infiltrated the city.”

“Field trip with the Avatar,” you mused. The outline of the portrait was now done and you bent down to pick up more paint before straightening. “Sounds...fun.”

“Anything involving Aang is fun,” Zuko stated flatly, remembering all the mishaps he had had with the young airbender. “Not necessarily safe, but fun.”

You hummed in response, not replying for a minute as you began to add details to the portrait. “I see. So you want the final portrait done by the time you get back I’m assuming?”

Zuko nodded before realizing you weren’t looking at him. “Uh, yes.”

More time passed, with Zuko staying silent as he tried his best to not distract you. After a few more minutes, you were done with the background and the only thing left was to paint in the Fire Lord’s features. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to stand real still for me, okay? I can’t have you moving because then the light won’t be hitting you the way I want it to and it’ll be a mess.”

The golden-eyed boy didn’t reply, instead swallowing harshly as he realized that you were about to start painting him. He was now starting to realize that the position you had placed him in meant that his left side was facing the light, his scar fully visible especially since his hair was tied up.

Keeping his eyes on you, the Fire Lord began to shuffle slowly. He turned until he felt that his scar wasn’t fully on display, making sure to not draw your attention. Sighing softly, he stood still once again, glad that his little plan had worked.

At least, he thought it had until you glanced up, only for your gaze to harder when you noticed something was off. You bit your lip as you looked at the outline on your canvas before looking at Zuko before tucking your brush behind your ear and marching over to him.

“I told you not to move,” you stated gruffly, grabbing his shoulders and moving him back to how he originally was. Nodding once, you turned and walked back to the easel, only to turn around and groan out loud when you realized Zuko had once again turned slightly. Despite the annoyed look on your face, Zuko couldn’t hold back a small smile. 

“Zuko,” you said in exasperation, rubbing the bridge of your nose before repositioning him again. “What is the issue here? I need you to stay in this position so that I can capture your face perfectly.”

You stared at him expectantly, your gaze unnerving. He fidgeted slightly before releasing a quick breath. “It’s just, it’s...”

He trailed off, quietly muttering the rest of his words. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, looking at him. “What?”

“It’s my scar!” Zuko said bitterly, looking down. “The issue here is that my scar is visible.”

You scoffed louder than you meant to, causing his gaze to snap to you. “That’s the issue? Zuko, first of all, that scar is a part of you. It’s not going anywhere anytime soon okay? Second of all, yeah you might get insecure, but everyone has scars that they have to deal with; both physical and emotional. You shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Third, your father gave you that scar and as horrible as that is, it helped you become a benevolent leader, which is something that this nation has needed for a long, long time. Lastly, that scar doesn’t make you any less handsome than you would’ve been without it.”

Zuko’s eyes widened at your little speech before a blush overcame his features at your last sentence.

“Now please, for the sake of the spirits, stand still,” you breathed out, planting him firmly in the place he originally was before heading back to your painting.

The rest of the painting session passed in silence, Zuko’s eyes never leaving yours as he kept replaying your words in his head. You felt his gaze, of course, and it took everything in you to not drop your brush whenever you looked up at him. More than a few times, you found a blush staining your cheeks and you found yourself hoping that Zuko didn’t notice it.

Zuko noticed.

~ When you were done with the portrait, you sighed deeply. You quickly wiped your face, unknowingly getting paint on your cheek.

“Well,” you chirped, motioning for Zuko to walk over to you. “I’m finished.”

Zuko approached you slowly, a little hesitant to see how it had turned out. When he finally saw the painting, he felt his eyes widen as he inhaled sharply. Your smile dropped at his reaction, a sad frown appearing on your face.

“You don’t like it,” you stated sadly, wringing your hands before smiling weakly. “T-That’s fine. I told you that you should’ve waited for Torran.”

You managed to tear your eyes away from the Fire Lord and began packing up your things, your heart feeling heavy in your chest. You didn’t get far before Zuko reached out, grasping your hand in his as he felt guilt creeping up on him. He had noticed your sad expression and all he wanted to do was smack himself for causing it.

“N-No, I...” Zuko glanced at the painting before looking into your eyes. “I love it.”

Silence engulfed the two of you for a few seconds as you got lost in his golden eyes.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. “Because if you’re lying to make me feel better, you don’t have to do that.”

Zuko shook his head before speaking, finally breaking eye contact as he shyly looked down. “No, I’m telling you the truth. I’m just surprised because for once, I don’t hate how I look with my scar.”

You smiled at his words, squeezing his hand softly. “I’m glad you feel that way Fire Lord Zuko.”

He smiled back, rolling his eyes at his title before gazing into your eyes once more. His other hand came up to cup your cheek, a bright blush coating your face as his hand ghosted over your skin. The two of you found yourselves leaning in slightly, eyes never straying.

“You have a bit of paint right...here,” Zuko mumbled, his thumb gently swiping across the apple of your cheek. You didn’t respond, you didn’t think you could. Instead you brought up your other hand as well, carefully wrapping it around his.

Zuko had just convinced himself to steal a kiss from you when a voice interrupted the two of you.

“Ah the portrait is finished. I must say you did an exceptional job (Y/N),” Iroh spoke, stepping into view.

“U-Uncle,” Zuko stuttered, stepping away from you as though a fire had been lit under him. “How long have you been out here?”

Iroh shot the two of you a knowing glance before turning back to the portrait. “I just got out of my meeting and I wanted to see how the painting was coming along. I must say, I am very glad you didn’t stick with the more traditional style. This is a lot more you, Zuko.”

“It was (Y/N)’s idea,” Zuko stated simply, shooting you a smile.

You laughed lightly before proceeding to pick up all your supplies, shooting a thankful look to Iroh as he helped you. You carefully picked up the canvas, balancing it in one hand in order to be able to pick up the easel only to find Zuko holding it already.

Iroh and Zuko walked you back to the front of the palace, where your ride was waiting for you.

“Well,” you began, smiling at the two men. “I’ll make sure to have the finished portrait by the time you return Zuko. Thank you for being such a great model. I hope you have safe travels and I hope you have a great week Iroh.”

Iroh wished you a safe trip before nudging Zuko, who then did the same. Once you were out of sight, Iroh reached up and hit Zuko’s head.

“Ow! What was that for?” the Fire Lord asked, rubbing the spot his uncle had hit.

“She is very talented isn’t she Zuko?” Iroh simply said in response, shooting his nephew a sly look. “And very beautiful.”

Zuko didn’t say anything, but his blush said enough for Iroh.

“You should try to woo her when you return from Ba Sing Se,” the once-general commented, turning around and heading back into the palace.

“What do you think I was trying to do in the garden, uncle?” the Fire Lord replied, throwing his hands up exasperatedly as he followed Iroh back into the palace.

And woo you he did. A week later, you delivered the finished portrait to the palace and instead of leaving, you found yourself sitting next to Zuko in the garden, lounging under a tree as you fed the turtle ducks together.

~

okay the ending felt a bit weird but other than that i’m really proud of this fic and i hope y’all enjoy it and i’m posting this instead of a sokka one bc i’m excited about it but keep an eye out for a sokka fic soon!

[myelocin]

you & us, forever | hanamaki takahiro

synopsis: he’s always found love in the way you say his name.

genre: domestic fluff, comfort. | wc: 700+ | a/n: girl i love him

commissions | ko-fi

you see the glow in takahiro’s eyes light up the most when you say his name. 

it’s tender, he thinks. the sun on his skin; like gold, like the dying embers of a fire where the warmth lingers before it fades. except you don’t fade. you stay with him, in the moment and in the room, when you chuckle at another one of his jokes he knows isn’t all that funny before you say his name again. 

and he thinks that maybe love can be this too. 

it’s simple, because just presence can be more than enough. a whole lot of nothings shared with a person who redefines what it means to have everything is what it means to be in love. 

love is his mother who still insists on packing him lunch when he’s in town for the weekend, and his sisters who pat him on the shoulder and tell him he’s doing a good job at being out there. love is being able to look in the mirror after a night out, and thinking to himself that he’s still got this. 

love is forgiveness, because even if hajime’s got his whole career planned, issei’s halfway done with saving up for a house, and tooru’s on the other side of the world living out what it means to have his dreams become reality-- takahiro can look in the mirror and give himself a thumbs up, and believe that he’s fine. 

three packs of beers dwindling down into one, and it’s love too, because he’s slowly getting the hang of things. 

the corner of his room is clean, and most days of the week he can see the floor. the stains on his shirt are washed and the shampoo bottle in the bathroom is finally at the point where it needs to be replaced. 

he’s getting the hang of it, and he’s getting there. 

and love--as his favorite kind--is the way you say his name, because you’ve always done so with patience. you click your tongue and poke his ribs when he says a rated joke a little too loud than he should, but “takahiro,” is never said with disappointment. 

it’s always a blessing to be loved, he thinks, and even if there’s a million questions about himself he still can’t answer with love, in a way, this does more than just suffice in the for now. 

you’re scrolling through the phone, your head on his lap and he’s casting shadows on your face with the shape of his hand as he blocks out the sun. 5pm is kind of tender, because the sun shines like its fire is forgiving, so he decides that love is this.

the way you say his name, and his sweater looking good on you. the bracelet you thrifted last week around his wrist, and the smile on your face. “we need to get you more shampoo,” you say.

he shrugs. the way your voice rings in the quiet that doesn’t feel much like an empty silence is nice. “i can always just cop some of yours,” he laughs, and you love how there’s a break in his voice.

takahiro’s a man of imperfections, but that’s what makes him so real, you think.

tangible and warm, like the sun on his palm. gold in his eyes, and a blanket of marmalade soft in the room. dad jokes when it’s only 5, and you’re both only in your early 20s: too young for life, too old for fairytales. 

you reach up and cup his cheek, reminding him that you’re here, and that this is warm. 

takahiro succumbs into love.

it’s beautiful, the way he closes his eyes. he’s yellow and marmalade; peach and pink, and grey eyes that tell you the sun can paint the shades of scarlet within storms, and it’s so fucking beautiful--love just bursts.

“hiro. pretty.” you smile, the thumb on his cheek warm. “my takahiro is so pretty,” you say.

and he loves the way you say his name. 

takahiro, like he’s precious. like he’s treasure. like he’s the petals of the flowers you’ve always said were the purest form of love for you.

[kuroopaisen]

tiny love || vii

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime was easy. iwaizumi ultimately decided to rebuff you. through a few strange twists of fate, you’ve ended up living with the very boy who’d broken your heart. but, perhaps it’s not as bad as you thought it’d be. he is the perfect gentleman, after all. 

warnings: f!reader, depictions of intoxication

wc: 5.2k

m.list |  ch. 6 ↞ ch. 7 ↠ ch. 8

You peered at yourself in the mirror, doing your best to not crinkle your makeup.

It’d been a while since you’d bothered to dress up this nicely.

You were just wearing a simple yet flattering black dress, offset by your favourite shade of red lipstick. You weren’t sure if you actually looked good, or if it was just nicer than anything else you’d worn that week.

You’d sent a photo to Amaya, but upon receiving her affirmation you started to doubt the authenticity of it. Not that she’d given you reason to; no, you’d just decided that she was far too supportive to trust for an objective opinion.

You sighed, tilting your head to the side as you looked at the mirror.

Whatever, you thought. This’ll just have to do.

“I’m ready!” You called out, slipping into the front room after grabbing your handbag.  

“Give me a moment,” Iwaizumi called out. The tinniness of his voice implied that he was still in the bathroom.  

You sighed, taking a moment to check the contents of your bag. Phone, wallet, lipstick, mirror… That’s all you’d need, right?

“You got everything?” Iwaizumi asked, almost as if he’d appeared out of nowhere.

“Mhm!” You smiled, looking up at him.

You wondered, for a moment, if there was something on your face.

He was staring at you, his eyes a little wider and rounder than usual.

You tilted your head at him. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” He blinked at you for a second, as if your words had shocked him back to the present moment. His eyes scanned your body slowly before lingering on your face again. “You look good.” 

You hoped your foundation masked the heat rising in your cheeks.

It’s frustrating, how hot he looked without even trying. He was just in a black button up (the top few buttons undone, of course) and a pair of jeans, and yet he looked like that. He’d barely done anything to his hair, either; just a bit of gel, from the looks of things.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked, finally breaking the excruciating silence.

“Yeah,” you nodded. Stupid Iwaizumi Hajime with his stupid face and his stupid black button up and his stuck jeans and his stupid—

“I’ll drive,” he said, patting his jean pocket.

“Oh, are you sure?” You asked. “You don’t want to drink?”

“It’s fine. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you,” he grinned, throwing you a wink.

“Hey!” You whined. “You haven’t even seen me drunk!”

“Oh, so you do intend on getting drunk then?” He chuckled, heading for the apartment door.

You gaped for a moment, searching for a comeback. “Well, you’re the one who said that uni parties are for getting shit-faced.”

“That doesn’t mean you should get shit-faced, though.”

You rolled your eyes as you followed him. “Whatever you say, dad.”

✧ ✧ ✧

You hadn’t known what to expect from your first visit to a rooftop bar, but suffice to say you were impressed. When you’d asked Iwaizumi how the club had the budget to book somewhere this nice, he’d just shrugged.

“A lot of Japanese students, I guess,” was his only explanation.

Upon paying twenty-five dollars to officially ‘join’ at the door, you started to formulate a strong theory as to just where the club was getting its money.

There were far more people here than you’d anticipated. You knew it would be big, you hadn’t expected it to be this big. People were packed in like the clothes in your wardrobe, barely giving each other room to breathe. It was a sea of completely unrecognisable faces – and yet, seeing all these people who looked and sounded like you made you feel a little more at ease.

The music – which seems to be a mix of songs you don’t recognized – thumped loudly throughout the area. You wondered if there’d be any noise complaints.

Iwaizumi led you to the bar, managing to find two seats. You weren’t entirely sure how; you mostly chalked it up to the providence of God.

“I’m just going to go to the toilet, okay?” Iwaizumi said. “You’ll be alright on your own for a second, right?”

You nodded. “Don’t worry about me!”

Iwaizumi gave you a look as if to say ‘that’s impossible.’

You fought the urge to stick your tongue out at him. That would only elucidate his point.

After a few more moments of staring (under which you thought you were going to crumble to dust), Iwaizumi eventually disappeared into the crowd.

You sighed, placing your hands in your lap.

In all honesty, you didn’t know what to do. You felt it only right to stay where you were, mostly to avoid giving Iwaizumi a heart attack should he come back and see you weren’t there. But, you didn’t have the confidence to order a drink, either. Or get the bartender’s attention.

“Hey.”

A voice that somehow managed to make itself heard over the music startled you out of your thoughts.

You whipped your head round, only to see a guy you’d never met before sitting in Iwaizumi’s seat. He had soft features framed by a strong chin and wavy brown hair. If you had to guess, you’d say he was around your age.

“Hey,” you said automatically, relieved at the fact that he’d greeted you in Japanese.

“You speak Japanese?” He smiled.

“You’d assume so,” you smiled back. “Seeing as I’m here and all.” You gestured to the room around you. Underneath the music, you could make out a bubble of conversation – most of which was Japanese.

“Hey, a lot of second-gen immigrants don’t necessarily learn the language,” he shrugged. His entire demeanour was so… good-natured. So polite. Even if he had taken a seat without asking.

“Oh, really?” You hadn’t known that. Albeit, it wasn’t really something you’d thought about too much.

“Mhm,” he nodded. “I mean, that’s what my friend told me.”

“Ah,” you said.

“I’m Kohei, by the way,” he gave you a little nod.

You returned it as you introduced yourself.

“Nice to meet you,” he grinned. “What year are you in?”

“First,” you said. “I only got here a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh!” His face lit up. “Me too!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I’m from Tokyo!”

“Ah, so you’re a city boy,” you smiled.

He blushed a little. “Well, uh…”

“I’m from Miyagi,” you cut in. “Although, I did go to Sendai every now and then.”

“Oh, I never got the chance to visit,” he smiled. “What made you come to America?”

“I wanted to study psychology,” you answered. “I thought the options would be better here.”

“Ah,” he nodded. He had the sort of eyes that made him look like he was deeply engaged in whatever you were talking about.

“What about you?” You asked.

“Oh, I just wanted to come here for the adventure,” he said sheepishly.

“The ‘adventure’?” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I thought it would be cool. But… English is a bit tricky, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, yeah…”

A squeal of your name cut through the crowd.

You turned, bewildered and a little frightened.

“Hi!” Yuna beamed, throwing herself at you.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around her. From the flush in her cheeks, you could tell she’d already had a few.

“I’m so glad you came!” She whined. “And you look so pretty!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “So do you!”

Yuna whined again, drawing back to pout at you. “Why didn’t you come and find me immediately?”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you laughed.

She narrowed her eyes at you. “Fair enough…” Her gaze snapped to Kohei, her glare getting more intense. “And who is this?”

“This is Kohei,” you said, leaving them to introduce themselves to each other.

You scanned the crowd, a frown forming. Where was Iwaizumi? He’d been gone a while… Or did it only feel like a while? If Yuna dragged you away, it may be hard to find him and assure him that you were okay, because you just knew he’d be developing an aneurism…

You caught sight of him. He gave you a tiny wave, an expression that looked something like relief on his face. That look alone was enough to soothe you.

Tonight was already shaping up to be a good time.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Can you stand?” Iwaizumi asked, watching you with an expression of disgruntled concern on his face.

“Yes,” you said with far too much emphasis. You pointed at him with one very obstinate finger.

Kohei had bought you a drink, and Yuna had challenged you to a line of shots. Mei had pointed out that perhaps you shouldn’t go overboard. You’d been adamant that you knew your limit. That’d been a big fat lie.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, taking a step towards you.

“Yes!”

As soon as you said it, you toppled left.

Iwaizumi grabbed you by your shoulders, stabilizing you.

“Whoops,” you pouted.

He sighed, releasing you. “You alright?”

You blinked at him for a second. “Iwa…”

“Mhm?”

“I don’t think I can stand.”

Iwaizumi bit the inside of his cheek. He was trapped somewhere between annoyance and burgeoning fondness.

“Alright,” he said, standing at your side. “Let me help.”

“Thank you,” you hummed, beaming at him as he leant down to drape one of your arms across his shoulders.

You leant your entire weight against him without warning.

He grunted, one arm grabbing your waist to keep you on your feet. “Careful now.”

“Sorry,” you whined. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Iwaizumi smiled, shaking his head. “Let’s get you back to the car, alright?”

“That is an excellent plan, Iwa. You should be proud.”

Oh, fuck, he thought. He just couldn’t keep that smile off his face.

✧ ✧ ✧

By some miracle, he managed to get you to the car in one piece.

Even better, the drive home had been relatively uneventful. You’d just babbled on about why Riza Hawkeye from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood was, in fact, the perfect woman. Iwaizumi had just smiled, nodding along whenever he was required to.

You still needed support getting up the stairs to your apartment; when you tried to take matters into your own hands, you always managed to trip.  

But, finally, he’d gotten you both inside the house, your arm still draped over his shoulders and his arm still wrapped around your waist. It was, quite frankly, almost too much.

Iwaizumi sighed, opening your bedroom door with his free hand.

“But Iwa,” you whined, pouting up with him. “I need to have a shower.”

“You can’t stand up straight,” he chuckled. “You can have a shower in the morning.”

“But I’ve gotta wipe my makeup off,” you droned. “Or else I’ll get a breakout.”

“Hm…” He scanned your room, settling on the clutter of makeup on your desk. “Do you have anything you can wash your face with?”

The idea of you trying to stabilize yourself in the shower gave him more anxiety than he was comfortable with. You shouldn’t wake up with both a hangover and a concussion.

“Wipes?” You blinked, pointing at your desk.

Iwaizumi took a moment to find them. He assumed it was the little green packet that didn’t look familiar to him.

“Thanks,” you beamed up at him as he passed them to you.

He tried his best to ignore the squeezing in his heart as he noticed how your eyes sparkled as you looked at him.

You ignored him for a moment as you dealt with your makeup.

He looked away out of respect, eyes landing on the collage of photos stuck above your desk. He ambled towards them mindlessly, gazing at the myriad of images.

There were many faces he recognized. Tooru, Amaya, your mother, Kaori… He realised, not without a strange sharpness in his chest, that he only featured in a single photo. It was one from his graduation; one that you were both ‘obligated’ to be in.

But he knew his absence from these photos was his own doing. If he just hadn’t had been such an idiot, then…

“Is it gone?” You asked.

He turned back to you, biting back a laugh. “Uh… not quite.”

Your lipstick, which had already been in a poor state, was smeared all around your mouth, looking more like a rash. Your foundation was splotchy, some patches mostly removed and others untouched. And to top it all off, your mascara had been melted into a muddy puddle beneath your eyes.

Overall, you looked a bit like a raccoon he’d caught eating beetroots out of his garbage.

You whined, lying back on your bed.

“It’ll be fine,” he chuckled. “It’s just one night.”

“No, you don’t understand,” you emphasized, “makeup is bad for your skin.”

Iwaizumi grinned, grabbing what he assumed to be your pyjamas from the end of the bed and tossing them to you. “You’ll feel better if you change into something more comfortable.”

You glared at him from your horizontal position, the expression emphasised by a couple extra chins.

Iwaizumi left the room quickly and closed the door, making a beeline for the kitchen. He prepared you a glass of water, going through the checklist in his head of how to take care of someone well over their limit.

When he got back to your bedroom door, he was sure to knock.

He took the garbled ‘mhm!’ he got in response as affirmation.

He opened the door slowly, peeking round the door to see you sat cross-legged on the bed with a pout. From the looks of it, you’d put your top on backwards.

His heart thumped in that terrifyingly familiar way.

“Drink this,” he mumbled, handing you the glass.

You nodded, taking it with both hands and tipping it back with ferocity.

Iwaizumi gazed at his feet while he did so, trying to smother the burgeoning fondness in his chest.

He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair.

“I’m done!” You called out in a sing-song voice, thrusting the empty cup towards him.

“Do you want some more?” He asked as he took the cup from you.

You beamed up at him. “Mhm!”

Iwaizumi sighed. He wasn’t going to say no to that face.

As he went to get you a second glass of water, he kept trying to push those sorts of thoughts out of his head.

He’d been doing so well. Of course, he’d wanted to be friends with you again. Being able to get along would be key to making this whole living situation work. But the closer he got, the more he was reminded of what had happened two years ago.

And like an idiot, he’d tried to position himself as someone you could rely on. He wanted to be someone you could rely on.

But was that because it was the right thing to do, or because of something else?

He shook his had and blinked rapidly. He’s just thinking these things because he’s had a bit to drink. That’s all. It’s nothing serious.

He kept repeating those thoughts as he dragged himself back to your room, determined not to succumb to them.

The last time he’d fallen into them, you’d completely excised each other from your lives. That wasn’t exactly an option here.

He took a deep breath as he stepped into your room, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

You were laid on your bed, limbs curled around one of your pillows. Were you asleep?

Well, he thought, that’s probably for the best.

Iwaizumi sighed, placing the water on your bedside table. Chances were, you were going to wake up with quite the headache. But, he supposed, it’s something of a learning experience. It’s good to know your limits.

He carefully picked up the corner of your blanket and tugged it over you. It was fall, after all. He didn’t want you catching a cold.

Once he was sure everything was in order, he flicked your light off and left, closing the door behind him.

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit him as he dragged himself back to his room. He didn’t dare check the time; he was sure it’d just upset him.

Better to just try and forget about this night and move on.

✧ ✧ ✧

After that party, you’d made a vow to never drink again.

The vow lasted for all about a week. Although, you were much more careful about just how much you were drinking at any given time.

You did, however, stick to your promise to never, ever sleep in your makeup ever again.

Though neither alcohol nor makeup had been an issue as of late.

You’d done your best to give yourself as much time as possible to work on your assignments, mainly so you could ensure that your language use was as proficient as possible. But, even that hadn’t been enough to stave off the beast that is procrastination.

The result, of course, was a flurry of three days wholly dedicated to one assignment about neurotransmitters. You were in total shutdown mode, nothing on your mind but getting this stupid thing done.

You’d even left your room and settled yourself at the dining table in an attempt to stop the ever-coaxing allure of your bed pulling you away from your work desk for yet another nap.

Oh, and texting Amaya at any given moment as a way of putting off your work.

Our time zones don’t line up that well, you kept telling yourself. It’s fine, I can justify this distraction.

“Hey.”

You looked up at Iwaizumi with a thoroughly worn-out expression on your face. “Hello.”

“You okay?” He chuckled.

“As much as I can be,” you whined, turning to glare your computer screen.

“Here,” he said, placing a glass of water and an apple on the desk next to you. You hadn’t even noticed that he had them.

Your heart thumped a funny little rhythm in your chest.

Sure, you were used to Iwazumi’s gentlemanly ways by now. But that didn’t mean your heart didn’t race a little faster at each little act of kindness.

“Keep your fluids up,” he said, nodding at the water. “If you get a headache, we have some Panadol in the cupboard.”

“Thank you,” you blushed.

“No problem,” he smiled, turning around to return to the kitchen.

A new chat lit up on the corner of your screen.

[Kohei] [7:03 PM] Hey! How’s your assignment going?

[You] [7:03 PM] It’s… going?

[Kohei] [7:04 PM] Ahaha oh dear… that doesn’t sound good

[You] [7:03 PM] I am, as the kids say, suffering

[Kohei] [7:03 PM] Oh, I’m so sorry :( is there anything I can do to help?

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. You just needed to get this stupid thing done. Then you’d finally be able to relax.

✧ ✧ ✧

You held your milk tea up to your face, peering at it closely.

“Something wrong?” Iwaizumi asked, raising an eyebrow at you. He was perfectly content with the grapefruit tea he’d ordered, as he usually was.

“I think they skimped on the pearls this time,” you mused.

Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head. “Need me to talk to them?”

“No!” You shook your head quickly, any sign of malice disappearing from your face. “No, please don’t!”

“I’m just teasing,” he grinned, flicking your forehead lightly.

“Ow!” You pouted, rubbing the besieged spot gingerly.

“No need to be dramatic.”

“Quite the contrary, actually,” you shook your head, “I’m in my youth. It’s the prime time to be dramatic.”

Iwaizumi gave you the kind of look that implied he had no idea what you were talking about. In truth, neither did you.

You were just in an uncommonly good mood.

The two of you were on your way to a club meeting, organised by the Japanese Students Association. In all honesty, you weren’t sure what the meeting was actually about. All you knew was that you’d been invited. Specifically. Even though you were still just a first year.

And apparently, your presence had been requested by Mei.

Meaning you were actually wanted there.

The thought made your chest bubble with joy. You were wanted somewhere. People wanted to see you. On your merits. Not because of the family you’d be born into.

Sure, knowing Iwaizumi had given you a leg up, but they weren’t obligated to spend time with you, right? Right?

“Hajime?”

You both stopped in your tracks, turning towards the source of this new voice.

It was a girl you didn’t recognise – although you had to admit that she was quite stunning. Her dark hair was tied up in an impressively neat high ponytail, and her red lipstick was impeccable. The look, if she was going for it, was definitely ‘I could kill a man with the mere snap of my fingers.’

“Oh,” Iwaizumi blinked.

Was he… caught of guard?

“Ah, it is you,” the girl smiled, tilting her head at him. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said quickly. You didn’t miss how his grip tightened around his cup.

The girl nodded, her eyes fixed intently on his face.

You felt a bit like you were intruding on something very personal.

“Who’s this?” The girl asked, her gaze shifting to you.

You froze, unsure of what to say.

“Uh, this is my friend,” Iwaizumi said, gesturing to you. “Who also happens to be my roommate.”

You nodded at this girl as Iwaizumi introduced you, trying to ignore the swell in your chest at the fact he’d introduced you as a ‘friend’ first and foremost.

“Ah,” the girl smiled, nodding. “I’m Misaki, by the way.”

The warmth that’d just been spreading through your chest turned cold.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said automatically, trying to stave off whatever confusing mess of emotion was going on inside of you.

“You too,” Misaki smiled.

The three of you stood there for a moment, completely silent.

“We’re on our way to a meeting,” Iwaizumi said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, really?” Misaki blinked. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“It’s no problem,” Iwaizumi shook his head, holding a hand up. “You didn’t know.”

“Right,” Misaki nodded slowly, looking between the both of you. “Well, see you around.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, turning to you. “We should get going,” He didn’t wait for your response, walking off at a slightly faster pace than usual.

“Right,” you nodded, falling into step alongside him.

His whole demeanour seemed… off. Like something had really bothered him. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. But, you thought it best to get the facts instead of relying on your own suspicions.

“So,” you began, once you were sure Misaki was safely out of earshot, “who is she?”

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, gaze stuck firmly to the ground. “Uh… she’s my ex.”

“Oh?” You replied. You didn’t want to seem too interested – even though, in fact, you were very interested.

“Yeah…” Iwaizumi nodded slowly. “We broke up a few months ago.”

“Oh…” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “We didn’t suit each other.”

“I see…” Break ups were entirely new territory for you. None of your friends had really dated in high school – and if they did, the breakup usually came as some sort of relief. Your friends had never asked for comfort even if you’d offered it.

But, seeing how the two of them had just interacted with each other…

“How long were you together?” You asked. Was that too invasive? You weren’t sure.

“About six months.”

You tried to ignore the stabbing in your gut. Six months? Six months? Sure, that might not be that long in the grand scheme of things, but it sure sounded like a long time to you. You hadn’t even been living with Iwaizumi for six months.

“Ah…” You pressed your lips together, brow furrowing as you searched for what to say. “If you need to talk to someone about it…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi smiled. “Really, I’m over it. I just didn’t expect to run into her today.”

You nodded. “That’s fair.”

“Usually I’d get a heads up before seeing her,” he shrugged.

“Huh?”

“Well, uh…” He cleared his throat. “We see each other at events, sometimes. For the Japanese Association.”

“Oh?” Now that piqued your interest.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We actually met through it.”

Something twisted in your stomach. They’d met through the Student Association? It shouldn’t have made the thought of going to events weird, and yet it did.

“Oh really?” You asked, trying to seem unbothered.

“Mhm,” Iwaizumi nodded. “A lot of people end up finding a partner there.”

You frowned. Were you expected to find a partner there? Would you find a partner there?

Maybe you would. Maybe you’d finally find someone to date.

Although, you weren’t sure how anyone was supposed to measure up to Iwaizumi. Especially when he was standing right there.

“Anyway,” he sighed, picking up his pace. “We’ll be late.”

“Right,” you nodded, scurrying after him.

All you could hope for was to be able to push the thought of Misaki out of your head.

It felt petty, childish. You shouldn’t’ve been so concerned with Iwaizumi’s love life; his dating history shouldn’t matter to you.

But the questions swirled in your head as the two of you rushed across campus.

Had he dated anyone other than Misaki? Had he loved her? How far had they gone together? Did he miss her? Did he ever think about her?

Or, worse yet, was he on the look-out for someone else?

✧ ✧ ✧

“It’s not that hard once you understand the basics,” Iwaizumi said.

“Right,” you nodded, watching his hands intently as he sliced up an onion.

“If you place your hand like this,” he said, fist placed on the onion so that his knuckles ghosted the knife, “you’re less likely to cut yourself.”

“Ah,” you marvelled. “That’s actually a really helpful tip.”

“I know,” he grinned. “That’s why I’m sharing it with you.”

You rolled your eyes.

Iwaizumi moved onto the carrots, which you’d peeled yourself. Maybe you were a bit too proud, given the size of the task, but he let you get away with it.

He chopped the carrots with his typical proficiency.

You rested your elbows on the countertop, propping your chin up on the palms of your hands.

“We should have a dinner party,” you suggested, the image of all your shared friends gathered round your table, laughing and smiling, filling your heart with a precious warmth.

“That’s not what uni students usually do,” Iwaizumi smiled. “Not in America, anyway.”

“So?” You turned to him with a defiant expression. “We can all pretend to be upper-middle class for the evening,” you opined, tilting your chin at him. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll think about it,” Iwaziumi smiled.

“Pft,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “Like it’s up to you. I can just hold one without you.”

You wouldn’t really do that. You’d met them through him, after all.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi grinned, a certain glint in his eyes. “What’re you going to serve everyone? Burnt rice?”

“Hey!” You whined. “It was one time!”

“How do you even burn rice?” Iwaizumi teased.

You pouted, lifting your fist and lightly punching him in the chest.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, sweetheart,” he laughed, puffing his chest out proudly. “I barely even felt that.”

“Fine.” You went for another swing.

Iwaizumi caught your wrist, holding it above your head in a gentle grip.

You swung with your other hand, only for him to catch that one, too.

You glared at him – but you know he’s aware that you’re just having a bit of fun.

“You’re the worst and I hate you,” you huffed.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he smirked.

You tried to think of some retort, some witticism that’d catch him off guard.

Nothing came to mind. Not when you were so close to him, his hands wrapped around your wrists as he looked at you with that expression. Stupid Iwaizumi Hajime and his stupid face and his stupid voice and his stupid—

You brought your knee up to his stomach, making him flinch.

His stumbled backwards and you tried to tug your wrists away. But his grip was too strong, even when he wasn’t trying all that hard.

“Stop,” you whined. “Let me go.”

“Say sorry.”

“For what?”

“Punching me.”

“Oh, come on,” you pouted at him. “It didn’t even hurt.”

“And?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “It’s about the principle of it.”

“Of punching you?”

“Mhm. It’s not very polite.”

You tried to tug away again. Your mind was wandering much too far. Farther than it should.

“Brattiness is an inherited trait,” you said, “it’s just part of being an Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi chuckled, finally letting you go.

Maybe the implication of your brother was enough to do it.

“You might be right about that,” he teased.

You stuck your tongue out at him petulantly.

Don’t make it hard for yourself, you thought. Not again.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sound of some generic eighties rock band bounced through your apartment as you and Iwaizumi tended to the DVD rack stood next to the TV.

“You have the taste of an old man,” you teased, glancing at Iwaizumi out the corner of your eye.

“These are classics,” Iwaizumi tsked.

“Kohei described them as ‘dad bands,’” you hummed.

“And why should this Kohei’s opinion matter more than mine, hm?”

“I never said it did,” you grinned, moving the DVD for Ferris Buller’s Day Off to its designated genre category. Why Iwaizumi had spent so much money on DVDs, you didn’t know. You would’ve thought that they’d just provide more clutter, especially if he planned on moving back to Japan.

You’d just surmised that it had something to do with his natural ineptitude with technology.

“What does this ‘Kohei’ even listen to?” Iwaizumi asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t know, actually.”

“You know, you’ll look back at the music of this decade and realise most of it’s garbage,” Iwaizumi grunted.

“Okay, grandpa.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” you grinned, “you’ve got that look on your face.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at you. “What look?”

“You know,” you giggled, turning to face him. “This look.”

You drew your eyebrows together a little, narrowing your eyes just enough to make them a bit more intense. To finish it off, you turned the corners of your mouth down, performing your best impression of a certified ‘Serious Iwaizumi.’

He flicked your forehead gently, a fond smile on his face. “I don’t look like that.”

“Oh, but you do,” you stressed. “You’re going to get premature wrinkles if you’re not careful.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “At least I’ll have my arms.”

You couldn’t argue with that. The only thing left to do was return to your task, hoping that the very invasive thought of Iwaizumi’s well-built arms would get out of your head.

There was a tap on your shoulder.

“Hm?” You turned to look at him.

He held up two DVD cases. “Blade Runner, or Back to the Future?”

You glanced between the two of them intently. “Huh?”

“We should take a break,” he suggested.

“Ah,” you nodded. “Which one’s less depressing?”

“Uh…” Iwaizumi looked between the two of them. “Back to the Future. Definitely.”

“I wanna watch that one, then.”

Iwaizumi nodded, turning around and turning the TV on.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Watching a movie with Iwaizumi, huh? Now that was dangerous territory. This time, at least, you knew to put a pillow between the two of you.