#TURNS OUT I. THINK ABOUT HER A LOT <3333 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

withonly-sweetheart · 4 months ago

Text

Missin' You

A bad history makes for a wonderful future, right? You're willing to forgive and forget for the man you've always been down bad for.

a/n: OK THIS IS A REALLY OLD FIC... i haven't edited it too much or anything i just added some things here and there yk yada yada did stuff

first smut fic like explicit... ish... whatever. honestly this is just to address the allegations of me being a minor (UNTRUE.) and just for me to see it put out on something official !!

anyways @bunnivievve SHE MADE THE BANNER ART GO CHECK IT OUT ITS ACTUALLY WHAT INSPIRED ME TO DIG THIS FROM THE GRAVE AND REVISE IT!! LYSM GIRL <3333

tw: literal smut. like mdni seriously. also mentions of gore, death, a lot of references to spain just assume that the reader was with leon in the events of re4.

wc: 14.5k

The guy lunges for you, hands outstretched, a determined expression on his face. You step back and slam your rifle against his head, then open the door he was guarding, crushing his microphone under your foot before stepping inside. You grip your gun tightly, alert for potential threats, but it seems they forgot to guard the inside of the room.

"I'm inside," you say quietly, pressing a finger to your ear. The feel of the smooth black metal soothes you. "Permission to—"

"No," Rebecca replies immediately. "Absolutely not."

"What happened to Chris?" you ask, slightly confused as you traverse the room. He had told you he was the commander for this mission.

"I kicked him out because he would’ve said yes," she states simply.

"Sometimes I hate you." You were counting on Chris to give you permission for this. It was your only way to a promotion, which meant more money.

"Your request is denied," she repeats. "Turn back, we're sending in—"

You don't let him finish. You take out the radio that controls the communication device and switch it off. Breaking it would be too risky in case you get yourself into something.

You shoulder your rifle against your back as you press against the wall, glancing into the open doorway. You shine your flashlight once, twice, and one more time before stepping into the room with your gun raised. Almost immediately, relief floods you as you see Sherry sleeping soundly on a bed on the other side of the room. You walk around the table in the center, brushing against the chairs, growing more excited with each step.

This was it. The first mission that Chris had entrusted you with since he learned about Spain and... him. You promised that everything would go smoothly, but he still warned you to be wary of everything. Now it seemed too easy.

You near his bed, heart pounding. Then you smack straight into something, but there's nothing there. You step back, shaking your head, dazed. When you stretch out a tentative hand, fingers shaking, they graze a surface you can't see. You push your palm against it, forming a fist.

"What the…" you whisper to yourself, debating whether or not to report this to Piers. Just as you bring your hand up, you hear the distinct click of a magazine reloading and duck.

The bullet flies past your head, barely missing your skull. You can almost feel it parting your hair. Crouching to the floor, you pull out your gun. Luckily, the table provides ample cover as you stalk around to the other side, keeping your footsteps as still and quiet as you can.

"You're not as quiet as you think," a sultry female voice says.

Screw that, then.

You grit your teeth and glance under the chair to see a full-length, ebony blue bodysuit with black accenting straps. Blond hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and piercing brown eyes scan the room as her shoes clack on the tiles, slowly nearing you.

You don't recognize her, but her voice stirs something inside you, a faint memory. Those eyes seem familiar.

You bolt for the door, mind racing. She's too busy examining Sherry, too busy stirring her from her sleep, too slow to stop you from slamming the door behind you. About ten feet away from the room, you circle around the same pathway you used to get inside, to the parking garage just as the door's hinges give way as it crashes to the floor. The woman recoils from an extremely powerful kick, her gaze finding you.

You skid to a stop as her brimming eyes ground you to where you are. She breaks into a run, and that jolts you back to reality. Her... eyes. Sherry, that smart, smart girl sneaks around the back of the corridor to join you.

But as you faintly register her gentle touch, you’re still staring at the woman.

"Jill?" you choke out, a click of recognition. Her footsteps grow louder, more insistent towards you.

You swing your legs onto the motorcycle.

“Wait,” Sherry calls out, voice faint. “Just…”

You grip the handlebars tightly, then turn on your comms. Almost immediately, Rebecca’s voice comes through, panicked. And as everything is going to shit, of course, Sherry collapses in front of you.

"Are you stupid?" she lectures, oblivious. "Why would you turn the only way we can communicate with you off? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Calm down, I'm fine," you say, glancing down. "But I think you might want to come get the target."

"Why?" she asks, and you suppose you should be grateful she only sounds slightly angry. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. She just fell."

"I'll send a team out right now—but do not move," she says sternly.

"Don't worry, sir," you reply sarcastically. "I won't go anywhere."

"They're on their way. Please—" Rebecca gets cut off as the revving of another engine startles you. You glance to the other side of the parking lot, the realization that you aren't alone hitting you. Another motorcycle shoots from the entrance, heading for you.

You’re about to make the most insignificant escape in history when you see Sherry lying facedown on the concrete. Great, they're here for her, you think, then quickly lug her in front of you. It's an uncomfortable position, but the other motorcycle is catching up the ramp quickly.

You shoot towards the exit, cradling the girl between your legs as you carefully maneuver between lanes of traffic. You make it to some abandoned wasteland, thinking that you've lost the pursuer.

Then the same flashy, ivory motorcycle bursts through the brush and skids to a stop in front of you. You quickly start the engine again, but they've already caught up. You race alongside each other in silence, and you can't tell if they're here for her because they make no move to try and get her.

You look to your side, and the motorcyclist is looking straight ahead. "Are you part of the team?" you shout over the wind. Their head snaps towards you, but you don't get a reply.

You assume that the defenses will take care of them when you get to the base, so you skip the detour and race straight for it. The walls open, but no one tries to stop the other guy. The new sentry tries to convince the seniors, but they all shake their heads, smiling, as if they know something.

Confused, you swerve around shipping containers, ditch the bike, and sling Sherry’s arms around you, carrying her inside. You can't see where the guy is, so you drag her into the base and into the elevator.

They go through all the protocol—checking identity, running tests, all that bullshit. No one seems concerned that an intruder's lurking inside the base.

What if they don't know? A realization hits you. What if they managed to evade them somehow?

There's no way, another voice, a logical one argues. How could they have? We have the best technology in the US.

Not like that’s done any good shit for you.

A few nurses roll the girl in on stretchers, and you collapse onto the couch.

"You look like shit," Rebecca comments.

"Shut up, you wouldn't know anything about it. After all, your job is to send reinforcements to people that actually need it," you say jokingly.

Your friend fakes a hurt look. "Is that how you talk to your friend?" She sits down beside you, pulling up her tablet. "You wanna know about her?"

"Why not?" She hands you the tablet, and you read the profile. "Sherry Birkin… as in… Raccoon City?”

"That's the one."

"And?" Rebecca's eyes darken, but she tries to hide it behind an innocent smile.

"I don't know, actually. We... never got the data. Only that she’s been harboring the T-Virus for a long time."

"Liar," you say, but you let it go. After all, if she's not telling you, there's a reason behind it. "I like her though. You know, a guy followed me inside."

"Who?" she asks almost immediately. It's so fast that you get slightly suspicious. "I mean... do you know?"

"How should I know?" you say, crossing your arms. "It's not like anyone tells me anything around here. Besides, he practically followed me in."

"About that..." she begins sheepishly.

"What?" you demand.

"We all took a vote," she says quickly. "And we decided it would be better not to tell you about the new arrival because of your past and all the things you've told us, and we thought you might not be happy with it—"

"Just get to the point," you interrupt. "What's going on?"

"So... that guy who followed you in? He just joined, but he's made it clear he's one of the DSO’s best agents. I don't think you know he exists because the admin made it clear we shouldn't tell you."

"And why should I not know about this mystery man?" you raise an eyebrow.

Rebecca shrugs. "Dunno. Apparently he asked to be kept secret."

"So a mystery man who doesn't want me knowing that he exists... hm, wonder who that could be." You pretend to feign ignorance for Rebecca's sake, but your mind's already formed an idea of who it is.

After all these years, he's back for revenge.

"I can't tell you," she says apologetically. "Maybe you'll meet him at that conference today?"

"What conference?"

"Girl, seriously? The one with the agents? About the mission?”

"That's today? Shit!"

"Yeah, you're getting paired up." Rebecca stands and pats her coat down. "I'm going back to the lab. I'll see you later."

<><><><>

"So..." Chris leans back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. He looks oddly relaxed given the situation. "Wesker's not going anywhere since he’s managed to cheat death twice. It won't take long to infiltrate his manor. What now?"

"Either we take action, or we sit and wait," Helena replies, gritting her teeth. She has a somber look on her face. You don't know much about her, but she seems mysterious, as if she's hiding secrets. Then again, aren't we all?

"Why are you here, again?" Piers Nivans, Chris's new recruit, asks with his eyebrow raised.

"I'm on the mission," she chides. "My partner isn't here yet."

"Do you know who your partner is?" you ask her.

"Of course I do," she snaps. "Do you think I'm dumb?"

"Can I... know, by chance?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't concern you." She turns away from you, crossing her arms.

"So... I guess you'll be paired in case her partner doesn't show." Chris glances at the ground, his expression darkening as he mutters, "I wouldn't expect him to, anyways."

"And how do you know?" you ask quietly. Chris doesn't respond, his face stony.

The air turns awkward, and you sit in silence for a moment longer before Piers interrupts, "So, uh, captain, we should get some sleep."

"Good idea," Chris says quickly. "We need our rest." He stands up, but you grab his arm before he can leave, looking up at him.

"Wait, if Helena's partner shows up..." you trail off, hesitant.

Chris smiles wearily. "Don't worry. You'll still be with her. Trio wouldn’t hurt."

You exhale, relieved, then smile. "I'll hold you to that. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replies, shutting the door behind him. You can hear his and Piers's footsteps fade away, and then you glance at Helena. You open your mouth, but she shuts you down before you can say anything.

"Before you ask, no, I'm not going to tell you who my mission partner is, and I'm not interested in getting to know you."

"... I was going to ask if you could hand me that blanket."

You don't know how long you sit there. Helena stares out of the window, legs and arms crossed. You slump onto the pillow, clutching the blanket around you.

"I think that it might help if you learned that you might need to work with me," you say.

"I know," she says simply. "Phase one of the operation happens tomorrow. Get some sleep. And... don't take anything too lightly, okay?"

You don't know what she means by that. You're still thinking about it on the car ride to the manor. As you pull up, you cast a glance at her face, soft and fresh. When you woke up, she was making coffee for you both. You wonder why she switches back and forth with you.

"Alright, people, this is it. Everyone clear on their roles?" Chris’s weary tone holds an undercurrent of urgency.

"As clear as it'll ever be." You run your hands through your hair, nerves getting the best of you. Helena’s face softens, a reassuring look in her eyes. You feel like glaring at her. Your feelings about her are "don't trust her" at best.

Piers speaks again, his gaze boring into yours. "We blow this, there's no second chances. You listening, rookie?"

You stiffen defensively. "Hey, lay off, I know what I'm doing."

Chris cuts in. "Enough, we don't have time for this. Helena, you're on watch. Piers, you've got our exit. And—" he fixes you with a steely glare— "don't screw this up."

You nod, anxiety mounting. Helena peers through her scope. "Alright, looks like they're moving in."

Piers steps into position by the getaway vehicle. "Hurry it up, I don't like standing still for long."

Chris hands you your gear. "You're up. Do your job and we all go home, a step closer to beating this asshole. Understood?" You take a slow breath and check the belt, lined with tactical knives and daggers. You slip it under the hem of your dress, hidden from sight but easily accessible.

"He'll tell me the code, right?" You glance up.

Chris gives you a curt nod and a pat on the shoulder. "We're counting on you."

"Jesus, it's like you're expecting me to fail," you say, a small smile curving the side of your face as you turn away. You take a deep breath, then approach the entrance of the manor.

You could get turned away right here. The scary thought flashes through your head, almost stopping you. You could fail the mission right here. You could mess everything up.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice says, giving a small smile. The man to your right, guarding the entrance, extends a hand. "Invitation, please?"

You slip out the thin paper, the fake engravings brushing your fingers as you pass it to him. He gives it a cursory glance and nods to you. You dip your head and step inside.

The air is cooler than the summer air outside, probably due to air conditioning. Your eyes adjust to the dim lighting from the chandeliers, and you're immediately awestruck. A majestic staircase rises up and curls elegantly along the wall, its polished steps gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Intricate carvings adorn the banisters and newels, depicting scenes of frolicking angels and mythical beasts.

Even with this masterpiece, there’s still enough room for guests to mingle around the area. Built into the bottom of the staircase seems to be a bar of some sort, at which people laugh and drape their long, nimble fingers over glasses of swirling wine.

You walk slowly towards the staircase, feeling out of place. The carvings seem to come alive as shadows dance across their surfaces, leaping for you, telling you that you don't belong here.

You take a moment to wait for anyone to approach. No one does. You assume your partner must be running late and commence with stage one of the operation: find someone close to the target.

Taking a steadying breath, you near the grand staircase as a swirling sea of aquamarine silk and satin. There's a soft ballad starting to play, and you realize that if you don't find someone to dance with quickly, they might single you out.

Your eyes flit over the glittering crowd, picking out a victim turned away from you, engaged in animated discussion with several others. He turns to the side, exposing his face and laughs, flashing white teeth, then you recognize him.

James Marcus. You would pull up a profile on the man, but there's barely any information about him—known to you, at least. His white hair is chopped back in that classic old-man haircut, and you grimace, wondering if you really have to. Across the room, Chris gives you a look, his eyes holding a message. You can almost hear his voice yelling at you.

Hurry up before he leaves. Another voice argues, what if he doesn't want to dance? How will you keep him occupied and get information?

Only one way to find out. You glide over, catching the tail end of their conversation. "...simply unacceptable, the terms must be renegotiated." You try to make your presence known with what was meant to be a delicate cough, but it comes out as... well, something. It gets their attention. They glance over at you with bewildered eyes. You continue with a subtle, "Pardon my interruption, but might one of you honor me with a dance?"

Please don't have one of those other guys say yes, please, please, you repeat in your head, stealing a look at a burly man standing close to him, his suit looking as if it's about to rip.

Marcus eyes you appraisingly. Oh shit, he's going to— Before anyone can say anything, he suddenly bows. "The pleasure is mine, my lady." Relaxing slightly, you let him take your hand and lead you into the dance.

As you move in time to the orchestra, you try to feel him out, probing for his relationship with Wesker and other targets you had your eye on without arousing suspicion. His answers provide mere grains of insight, but he guards his full thoughts well.

You break away, smiling politely before heading for the bar, another face catching your eye. Just as you step towards the stools, a figure crosses in front of you, stopping directly as you glance up, slightly irritated.

"Hey," the waiter says casually, a tray of drinks balanced in his hand. He's wearing a black mask, the edges fanning out, looking soft and light. You want to reach out and touch them, but you don't. Even though you're glaring intensely at his face, he doesn't meet your eyes. "I don't suppose you're..."

"You've got the wrong person," you say quickly, stepping to the side. He copies you, blocking your path. The target, Edward Ashford, laughs and turns away, calling for another glass of fancy wine. "I think you're forgetting where we are."

"I'm not that certain," he replies smugly with a small chuckle. He still doesn't look at you. "Care for the next dance, my lady?" Great, another distraction.

You argue that if you give him one dance, you'll get back to the target faster. The ball lasts for three hours; you have plenty of time. Besides, you're intrigued. There's something familiar about the glint in this guy's eye, the fall of his hair over his ears.

You place your hand in his, allowing him to sweep you into his arms. He spins you around for just long enough to slide his tray, still clustered with drinks, onto the bar counter without spilling a drop.

You blink in confusion, but he pulls you near the clump of people, and as you move in time to the lively rhythm, he leans in, warm breath ghosting your ear. "Simmer down, Falcon. I believe we have... business to discuss."

You inhale sharply but don't miss a step. So this is more than just a chance. "I see. And what business might that be?"

"Only that I've been assigned as your partner for the duration of this mission. You didn't really think they'd send you in alone, did you?" His eyes gleam with quiet amusement, gaze flickering to the weapon hidden beneath your evening gown, a silent reminder of the danger you're facing.

"They told me," you say indignantly. "They also said you wouldn't show."

"Well, you can count on me, princess," he says, flashing a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, then glancing down at your dress. You feel silly in it, but Rebecca insisted it was essential to the look.

So, this is him. Your new partner, and somehow you’re slightly disappointed to find he’s nothing like who you expected, at least not based on outward appearances. You fight to control your expression. For now, you simply say, "Don't call me that. We have a lot of work to do."

"We're not going to that guy you were looking at," he says quickly, bristling. "He won't be useful."

"How do you—"

"I just do." You blink in confusion before shrugging. As you circle the ballroom again and again, searching, you notice the amount of weird looks you're getting.

"Hey, they're giving us weird looks." You look up at your partner. "What's with them?"

"Well, we're not dancing correctly," he says flatly. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"

"What?" You kick away the hem of your dress. "Why are you just bringing this up?"

"I mean, I tried getting you set correctly, but you keep slapping my hand away," he says, a twinge of exasperation in his tone.

"We— I— You—" You stutter, a faint heat fanning your cheeks. You thought he was trying to do something less civilized.

"C'mere," he says, his voice suddenly low. He puts a gentle hand on your waist and curls his other hand around yours. He tilts his head to his shoulder. "Other hand, here."

You do as he says, and for the next few rounds, people don't turn over their drinks to look at you as often. There's a foreign feeling in your stomach, igniting fire in your chest.

"Looks like Wesker's enjoying his show," he remarks.

"Maybe he just prefers operating covertly instead," you hiss. "Like we should be. Keep your voice down."

"Perhaps, but we won't get anywhere cowering in the shadows," he replies with an impatient edge that seems oddly familiar.

You frown. "Proceeding with caution is not the same as 'cowering.' Rushing in could jeopardize the entire mission."

"We need to take the initiative if we want results," he insists stubbornly. There’s something in his tone you think you recognize, but you've never met him. Of course not.

"Initiative is one thing, but not without a plan. Discretion is key here," you argue diplomatically.

He scoffs dismissively. "Plans tend to fall apart. Better to act and adapt than overthink ourselves in circles."

Engrossed in your debate, you take a step forward just as he does and collide directly into his solid form. He lets out a surprised "oof" as the wind gets knocked out of him.

Flailing your arms to catch your balance, you only succeed in further unbalancing you both. Your partner windmills helplessly, grasping for any support, and ends up seizing hold of the poor server who had been quietly passing by with a towering three-tiered cake.

The man goes toppling over with a yelp, and the magnificent confection sails up into the air as if in slow motion. You watch in horror as it seems to hover there for an eternity, the frosting and pastry suspended, while you and your partner collapse on the floor in a sweaty heap, the servant stretching his arm in a failing attempt to save his masterpiece.

Time speeds back up as gravity takes over, and with a massive splat, the entire cake slams into you and your partner. Icy frosting and chunks of sponge coat you from head to toe in an instant.

The ballroom falls deathly silent, all eyes now turning in shock to the spectacle you had unwittingly created. Through the mess obscuring your vision, you make out your partner staring back at you with equal disbelief written across his visible features.

Someone storms from a metal door, raising a spatula angrily. "L'ho appena sfornato! You know how long it takes to bake a cake?"

Meanwhile, the server whispers to himself, "I'm going to get fired, I'm gonna get fired, my life is over, I'm so done for," as if it were some reassuring mantra he was chanting.

The cream from the cake bursts forth on impact, now oozing over your shoulders and down your arms in long, dripping ropes. Your hands and legs below are caked in a technicolor mess—swirls of blue, pink, and yellow seeping through the thin fabric of your gown.

Through the haze, you see Chris push through the crowd, crouching down to help you. There's a strangled expression on his face, but he calls out to the crowd, "Sorry, my daughter and her fiancé are new to this. Please accept our apologies and we'll be headed home."

The murmur of people around you, their soft voices and judging gazes, aren't what stings and provokes your forming tears. What hurts is the disapproving look on Chris's face as he lugs you out of the ballroom, the sun heating your chilled arms, and the realization that you've failed everyone.

<><><><>

You slowly tug off the silver mask, then your billowing dress, covered in crumbs and frosting, and throw it aside. You kick your heels off and unclip your hair. It falls across your bare back in cascades of brown dotted with blue, pink, and yellow as you step into the bathroom. You switch the setting to the hottest it can go, which isn't even close to the burning, searing feeling in your chest.

Not the one you felt with your partner, but the one that slowly began to spread when you tried explaining to Chris what had really happened, and all he said was to leave.

"That's an order from your commander," he had said quietly, eyes cast downward. "Now get out of my face."

The scalding water pours over you, but does little to soothe your thoughts. You lean your head against the cool tile and try to process the events of this evening.

It looks like your own commander has lost faith in you, his dismissal cutting deep. As the clouds of steam envelop you, you try to decide your next move. You don’t know if you should abandon not only the mission, but the job entirely. It seems you can’t do anything right, huh?

A quiet knock at the door startles you. "Hello? It's... your mission partner. We need to talk." His muffled voice holds a note of concern that gives you pause.

"I don't want to hear your voice right now." If it were just you, Chris wouldn't have been disappointed. You wouldn't have failed him.

"I have plans. We can still get Wesker," he insists with determination in his voice. His tone gets you thinking. Maybe there's still a chance to prove to Chris that you know what you're doing.

After toweling off and changing into a random pair of shorts and a tank top you find in your closet, you brace yourself to face whatever awaits on the other side of that door. You grasp the door handle and try twisting it, but something blocks it.

"Hey," you call out. "I can't—"

"I know," he says suddenly. "I... don't want you to see me."

"You were the guy who followed me into the base," you say, the realization hitting you. "Who... are you?"

You hear a sound against the door, and the door handle tilts to the side, but the door doesn't open. You suspect he's let go of it, trusting you enough not to open it.

"Sit down with me," he says. You sit down with your back against the door, knees drawn up protectively over your chest.

"Who are you?" you repeat.

A weary sigh comes from the other side of the door. "Let's just say... we have a shared past with the man you're after. A past I've been trying to make right."

You offer calmly, "You don't have to face this alone. If we're honest with each other, maybe we stand a better chance of stopping him."

A long silence stretches before he replies. "Alright. No more secrets between us. I'll answer any questions honestly... if you promise to work with me as a team from here on out."

"Deal," you reply. "So, who are you?"

"A friend," he says with a smile in his voice. "But you can call me Condor."

"Really?" you deadpan. "You can't tell me any more than that?"

"Not yet, sweetheart. You'll have to wait a little longer for that."

As night falls, you decide to do some reconnaissance of the nearby training area. Moving quietly through the shadows, you spot a lone figure practicing maneuvers under the moonlight. You see the mask and know it's Condor (what kind of name even is that?).

At first, you take him for keeping his skills sharp. But as you watch closer, you begin to note subtle details. The graceful yet powerful way he flows from one form to the next, mixing kicks and strikes with fluid precision.

You had worked with agents from BSAA for over two years, and yet no one you'd trained with had this precise style. No one displayed this. It's a style you know well, one you have analyzed endlessly trying to gain any advantage in your mission together. A style belonging to only one agent you had ever seen move with such skill and poise.

His style looks like Leon's. His name sparks something inside you. Watching him just reminds you of heartache—of the months following Spain, searching endlessly for someone who didn't want you to find him, of erasing it from your mind, steeling against memories of him.

He doesn't see you observing from the treeline as he runs through an attack sequence on a training dummy, perfectly focused. But you see every telltale motion, recognizing the techniques you had practiced and perfected as partners long ago.

You continue to watch silently, taking in the bittersweet memories his fighting evokes. It couldn't be Leon, though. You had pulled up his file mere weeks ago, and the database had marked him as MIA. Maybe…

You shake your head and turn away, pressing your back and hands to the concrete wall that separates you. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, and you feel sweat trickle from your forehead.

It's not Leon. You're imagining things. Anyone could learn such elegant moves like his. There's no chance it's Leon. Don't get your hopes up. You'll just be crushed again. You're not stupid.

Curiosity gets the better of you, as it always does. While he continues training, you stealthily make your way to the armory. Flicking on the lights, you scan the row of lockers until you find the one labeled only with a number—his designation, it seems. Taking a steadying breath, you input the code and swing the door open.

At first glance, his arsenal looks standard issue—a selection of handguns and knives arranged with military precision. But you look closer and notice subtle modifications.

Most oddly, you recognize most of this gear. Old and worn with time, but still vaguely familiar. You brush it off as having seen them in the weaponry store Chris had taken you to when you were a freshly minted agent.

Extra notches filed into certain knife handles. Markings you had seen countless times before, wielded with deadly accuracy and calm focus under pressure. But this could all be from one big brand that created everything, custom-made.

You pick up a knife and run your thumb over the distinct patterns worn smooth from years of use. A memory surfaces of your first lesson with knives, Leon's hands over yours. The thought hurts, so you push it away.

As you throw the weapon back, your eyes fall on dog tags hanging from a hook on the back of the locker. Steeling yourself, you reach out a hand to grasp them when a voice stops you.

"Going through my stuff, huh?" A chuckle escapes him, and you glance at Condor, cheeks burning. "When I said we'd be honest, that didn't mean you could go through my stuff."

"I was just—routine check," you fumble.

"I did my own check yesterday." He crosses to you in long strides, slamming the locker door shut. His hand is still firmly planted on the metal as he leans closer. "You can't lie to me. What were you really doing?"

You purse your lips and try your best not to shiver under his gaze. His eyes wander over your face, a cursory glance that stops at your lips.

"I suppose I should be asking you why you still have that stupid mask on," you retort. The curved, ivory edges of his masquerade mask seem to shine in the dim light, seemingly freshly cleaned.

He coughs and steps back, bringing his hand to cover his mouth subtly.

"Don't let me catch you going through my locker," he says, half-joking and fully ignoring your question. You nod quickly, not thinking too hard about it, and notice the wet patch staining his combat shirt. He follows your gaze and turns slightly to hide it from you.

"Did you... get hurt?" you ask, slightly curious.

"I'm fine, it's nothing," he says quickly.

"It'll get infected," you reply, your voice a bit louder. "Let me treat it."

"I'll get a nurse to do it," he says, stepping back.

"The nurses aren't on night duty. It's just me and you," you say defiantly, stepping forward. His mouth parts slightly, face flushed, eyes wild through their mask, and he glances to the side as if someone's watching him.

"You won't—"

"No, you won't be going anywhere until I've seen to that wound," you insist, already rummaging through the nearby medkit propped up against the bench.

He starts to protest, but you level him with a stern look. "No arguments. Now sit before you lose any more blood." Reluctantly, Condor begins to peel off his bloody shirt, revealing a long gash that runs from the base of his forearm to his wrist. A flush rises in your cheeks at his bare torso on display, muscles gleaming with a sheen of exertion.

Another reason it's not Leon—Leon wasn't that comfortable with you.

If he notices your reaction, he gives no sign, focusing on the injury. But you see a hint of pink tinting his ears as he sits bare-chested before you, awaiting treatment.

Averting your eyes to the task at hand, you get to work cleaning and dressing the gash with steadier hands than you feel. Your eyes wander over his familiar yet unplaceable scars. One high on his left shoulder draws you in, a long pale line raising questions.

It tugs at something in your memory, just out of reach. You trace the scar gently, trying to place its significance. Your companion tenses at your touch, watching you intently.

"Does this wound mean something to you?" you ask cautiously. He frowns.

"It's a reminder that I'm never safe."

"Wow, uh, okay." At a loss for words, you finish dressing his gash in a bandage and order him to sleep. You watch him stalk off, raising his hand in a goodbye gesture without looking back. You also see him wince at the effort before cradling his arm and scurrying away.

<><><><>

The next day, at the dusk briefing for the mission, you lean back in your chair and sip from a cup of steaming coffee, courtesy of Helena. You sit together and watch Rebecca, Chris, and Piers argue over something on the map.

"You'll kill them if you send them there," Rebecca protests. "Just skip that sector and move to the next one. There's nothing there!"

"We're missing the intel on Irving's future plans. We used to have Sheva stationed there, but we pulled her back to train troops for the scaled invasion," Piers retorts. "Without that information, we're all going to be killed."

"Besides, I have faith in them." His eyes find you. You can't muster the courage to meet his gaze. "I'm sure they can handle it."

Condor enters the briefing room with his arm in a sling. You wince at the splatters of blood streaking across the patchy white material. Obviously, whoever treated his arm was not thinking clearly. He wears a face mask, one of the blue sterile ones. Believe it or not, it does a good job of hiding his face.

Chris stands at the head of the table, maps and reports scattered across the surface.

"Glad you could join us, Captain, even in your state," Chris says. "I know you're itching to get back in the field. Well, I may have a mission that will suit your skills and let you prove to me that you can be trusted to succeed in a mission that should be as..."

"Easy as cake?" Condor offers, a small grin quirking his lips.

"Exactly." Chris's expression mirrors his. At least he's not yelling at anyone.

"Let's get to it," Rebecca interrupts, raising an eyebrow at you. You can hear her silent question—what's going on?

You shrug as Condor takes a seat next to Helena and leans in. You do the same, eager to hear the details. Piers launches into an explanation. "Our troops had to evacuate sector five off the east, but they left valuable information behind. If this were to fall into enemy hands, we would be done for. Not to mention that without it, our whole mission would have to be rethought."

"A small strike team going undercover at night is our best bet." Chris nods to Condor. "You up for a reconnaissance mission, Captain?"

Condor nods, though he holds his injured arm gingerly. "Just say the word, Commander. I'll have our best men ready to move out at your order."

"Good man. Get some rest, and I want you geared up and prepped to leave at 2200 hours." You all stand. "Dismissed."

As you prepare to leave, Condor lingers. He looks up at Chris from his seated position. "I won't let this injury slow us down, sir. We'll get you the intel you need."

"Maybe," Chris says with a half-smile. "Don't get injured training by yourself in the first place." He nods to you with a genuine smile before turning and leaving.

<><><><>

The cover of night provides just the cloak you need as Condor's strike team moves stealthily through the forest. You follow close behind him, determined not to let his injury sideline your efforts. As his mission partner, you’ve vouched to replace the squad medic, Nathan, who will stay behind to watch over the injured soldiers that arrived from sector seven.

You creep toward the enemy encampment, relying on night vision goggles to pick out defenses and patrol routes. Condor signals a halt, then motions for you to join him.

"Take a look," he whispers, handing you the goggles. His uninjured shoulder presses against yours as you peer through and count at least three dozen hostiles milling about. They all seem to be guarding the warehouse where Chris says you would find the information. After surveying the perimeter, you pass the goggles back with your assessment. "We need to map their positions and strengths before heading in."

Condor nods. "You heard the woman. Fan out and record all details. Move fast but stealthy—we can't be spotted. Radio check-ins every 15 minutes."

The squad disperses on your assignments. You realize that you don't know any of them—not even their names, and promise yourself to ask after they return. You hang back with Condor, insisting on keeping his injury immobilized. "Don't overexert that arm," you warn softly.

He flashes a grin. "No promises, but I'll try for you, Doc."

Your heart skips. Then shouts arise almost out of thin air, and enemy fire lights the night as your team engages. You drag Condor into cover. "Time to pull out. Mission's blown. Have they got—"

"We're clear to leave, but they've gotten themselves into a bit of a problem. Turn on your radio," Condor urges.

You do as he says and almost immediately are met with gunfire and the sounds of panicked soldiers.

"I repeat, Captain, we need backup!" A woman's voice comes through only to end in a scream. The radio fades to static.

"Don't assume the worst." Condor stands up, helping you to your feet. "Let's get over there. We've got this."

<><><><>

You definitely don’t got this, you think barely a few minutes later, surrounded by seemingly never-ending hordes of zombies. It's been a while since you've seen those rotting, decaying corpses stumble toward you, but the memory of dispatching them has never been clearer.

"Leon, behind you!" you shout.

"I see them," Condor insists, plunging his knife into an attacker's throat before whirling to face the next. "Watch your six; there's more coming!"

"I've got it covered," you pant, gunning down two more enemies with practiced precision. "How many are left?"

"Too many," Condor growls through clenched teeth, blood dripping down his face from a fresh wound.

"Shit, you're hurt!" you cry out in alarm.

"It's nothing," he retorts. "Focus on staying alive—we'll worry about this later."

Your backs meet in the midst of the fray, fighting off assailants on all sides as if you’re two parts of a well-oiled machine.

"Behind you!" you warn, just a split second before it senses you.

He spins and fires without looking. You feel Condor's guard shift in turn to cover your exposure. "Thanks for the heads up."

"You're welcome," you say between shots. The crowd seems to be getting smaller, but you’re not going to say anything about it yet. "How's the shoulder holding up?"

"It's fine," Condor grinds out through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, you realize that even with dwindling enemies, your rhythm is thrown off by his compromised mobility. Condor struggles to keep up, taking more hits than usual as you fight harder to cover for him.

"We need to fall back," you say urgently, grabbing his uninjured arm. "We can make it back. The others already escaped."

"Not until they're all down!" Of course, he refuses to retreat, stubbornly fighting through the haze of pain. But his sluggish reflexes keep putting you both at greater risk.

When the last of the zombies' bodies litter the ground, the grim smile is evident in his voice, if not his expression. "Think that's the last of them?"

"I hope so." You scan the mounds of decaying flesh, gun at the ready. "Condor, you're looking a little pale..."

He opens his mouth to protest, but instead his eyes roll back. He starts to crumple to the ground before you manage to catch him in your arms.

"Shit, no!" You ease him to the ground, gripping his sides in panic. Blood pulses thickly between your fingers from the wound at his shoulder. "Don't do this to me, stay with me!"

Condor's eyelids flicker open, his gaze finding yours with effort. "Hey... get out of here. Before more come."

"I'm not leaving you," you say fiercely through tears. A weak smile touches his lips. You rip fabric from your shirt to bind a makeshift dressing, tears mingling with the blood on your cheeks. "Why'd you have to play the hero, huh? You couldn't dodge one lousy hit?"

"Had to... keep you... safe."

"Well congratulations, genius, now we're both screwed." Your breath hitches on a sob. "Just hold on, damn it! You're not dying on me, do you hear?"

Condor's hand finds yours, grip tightening with determination. "Not... going anywhere. Promise."

You press your finger to his lips, trying to draw strength from the lingering warmth of his body against your legs. But you know that out in the open, he won't last long without medical help. You have to get to shelter, and fast.

"We never got to learn... to dance," he says quietly. You bring your attention back to him.

"What?"

"Spain... you and I... you knew," he says with a small grin. "You knew... it was me." He gasps for air, and you shake your head.

"I did," you say softly. "I knew it was you, Leon."

You see the flash of his teeth in a quick smile before it vanishes, and a strangled moan escapes Leon's lips. "Just hold on, damn it! You're not dying on me, do you hear? You don't get to leave me twice in a lifetime!"

"Wish... I was... with you," he says quietly. A gentle smile tugs at his lips. "Always... knew you... cared..." His eyes slide shut as consciousness flees from his body.

The heavy thrum of approaching rotor blades cuts through your panic like a knife. You lurch your head to the sky, the sun blinding you, desperation fueling your exhausted limbs into one final sprint.

Waving your arms, you stumble directly into the landing chopper's spotlight, shielding your eyes against the blinding glare. Two medics leap out, bearing a stretcher between them.

"Please, help him!" you scream over the deafening noise, dragging Leon's limp form the last few feet. Your fingers cling to his jacket even as the medics pull him away, wanting nothing more than to keep contact.

For a second, you let yourself think that he'll be alright, then they whisk Leon aboard and settle him behind shatterproof glass, disappearing behind a tangle of cables and medical equipment as the chopper shoots skyward. You take an automatic step to follow—only to smash into an invisible barrier, your bloody hands leaving pale prints on the reinforced hull.

You see Leon's silhouetted form lost amid the bustle of medics working frantically to stabilize his critical injuries. Your shouts are drowned out by the thrumming engines. All you can do is watch helplessly through the frosted barrier, pounding your fists bloody against the unyielding glass.

A kind-eyed paramedic finally takes your elbow gently but firmly, guiding you away as an IV needle slides into your battered arm. You sag against the hull in reluctant exhaustion, unwilling to take your blurry gaze off Leon even as he starts to swim before your eyes.

The medic presses an oxygen mask to your pale face, assessing your injuries with a worried frown. You lazily recognize the face as Nathan's. But all you can really focus on through the haze is Leon’s still frame across from you, bathed in shimmering halos of light from above.

Your bloody fingerprints streak down like tears as you curl onto the cold steel floor, fingers clawing compulsively at the transparent wall between you. All the anger, fear, and desperate longing to bridge that gap come pouring out in a broken sob you can’t hold back any longer.

Through the pane, Leon remains ominously still—the rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he’s still alive. Nathan's hushed whispers are the only reason you feel safe enough to let darkness consume you. You let your eyes close.

<><><><>

It seems like the next second, you open them. Gasping for air, you clutch the arm in front of you.

"Ow..." Rebecca recoils, a grin on her face as she shakes her arm. "Well, I was going to discharge you, but it seems like your murderous thoughts have other plans."

"Never mind that," you reply impatiently. "What about Leon? Is he alright?"

"You knew?" she asks, eyes wide with surprise.

"I'm not as oblivious as you think," you retort. "Now please, tell me how he's doing."

"His shoulder was bothering him a few weeks back," she explains. "I managed to keep him resting it. But it seems fighting like that reopened the injury."

"Weeks?!" you exclaim in frustration. "Why am I only finding out about this now?"

"I thought you were already aware..." Rebecca glances down regretfully. "He was admitted about a week after you."

"So for three years, he's pretended not to know me." The fear for Leon's safety swiftly transforms into an unquenchable fury. How could he deceive you for so long?

"Calm down, he can explain himself," Rebecca says soothingly. "Let's get you to his room so the two of you can talk."

Her words do little to quench your simmering anger, but you nod curtly anyway.

"Lead the way," you say tersely to Rebecca. She gives you a worried look but compiles, guiding you out of the patient room and into the hallway.

You walk in strained silence for a few moments. Your thoughts swirl with questions and suspicions. After six long years apart, Leon owes you the truth. Why did he lie about being here? Why didn't he tell you?

"So how have things been around here?" you ask, your tone hardening on the last word as you shoot Rebecca a sidelong glance. "Is there something else that you've been hiding from me?"

She purses her lips, hesitating before answering. "There's no use taking it out on me. I should have told you sooner, I know. But Leon... there were reasons, I'm sure."

"What possible reason could justify this?" you scoff. "Unless the truth is even worse."

Rebecca opens her mouth to reply but is cut off by a shout up ahead.

"Hey Doc, think you can speed it up a bit? I think I'm dying over here."

Your head snaps forward at the familiar voice. Leon. After everything, you'd know that voice anywhere. A fresh wave of anger and hurt rises in your chest. It's time for answers.

"We're almost there," Rebecca calls back uneasily. "Leon, you have a visitor."

You quicken your pace, bursting through the door with Rebecca close behind.

Leon is propped up in bed, eyes closed as he massages his forehead in apparent frustration. "Tell them to fuck off. I don't want to see anyone right now."

"Leon Kennedy, you open your eyes right this instant," you say sternly, hands on your hips.

At the sound of your voice, his eyelids fly open in shock. "What are you—Why are you up—"

"Save it." You hold up a hand, your ice-cold glare stopping his question dead. "We need to have a long overdue talk. Alone."

Rebecca smiles apologetically at Leon. "I'll leave you two to sort this out. Call if you need anything." With that, she slips quietly from the room.

An uncomfortable silence falls as you and Leon size each other up. You've dreamed of this reunion for years, yet now only outrage remains. He fidgets under your burning stare, opening his mouth hesitantly.

"Look, I know you must have a lot of—"

"Questions? Accusations? You bet your ass I do." You pull up a chair and lean in close, lowering your voice to a furious whisper. "Start. Talking."

Leon sighs wearily, running a hand through his cropped hair. "I'm really not up for this right now. My shoulder is killing me and I just wanna get some rest."

A noise of indignant disbelief escapes you. "Too bad! You don't get to leave me for three years and then play the injured card."

"I never meant to hurt you," he insists, frustration evident in his tense features.

"Bullshit! You lied straight to my face." Your voice rises as your temper flares further. "Was our friendship some big joke to you?"

Struggling to sit up taller, Leon grits his teeth against the pain. "Of course not, you know that's not true. But I had my reasons, okay?"

"What possible reason—"

"I was trying to protect you!" he seethes, immediately recoiling as his shoulder flares up painfully.

You open your mouth to respond, but Rebecca must've already heard the commotion because she immediately rushes in with a syringe at the ready. "Alright, that's enough, you two. Leon, take it easy before you tear your stitches."

He relents with a weary sigh, allowing Rebecca to administer a sedative. Within moments, the tension seeps from his body as sleep claims him once more.

You slump back in your chair, fists clenched in your lap, overflowing with questions that will have to wait. Leon's deception cuts deep—but seeing him injured stirs regret along with your lingering anger.

"Okay, he's in stable condition," Rebecca says with a huff, stepping back and dusting her hands. Her eyes flit to you. "But he won't be much longer, by the look on your face."

You don’t want to admit it, and you definitely don’t say it out loud, but he’s gotten more attractive over the years. I mean, he was good-looking to begin with, but he aged well—taller, with darker hair and eyes, but you still recognize them with the same challenging look in them, daring you to speak out against him.

You clench your fingers together, watching the blood drain from them. "Leon… fucking Condor. You thought you were slick with that name? I'm going to fucking—"

"Come over here and talk it out?" Chris says from the doorway. He leans against the frame, a questioning look on his face as you approach, closing the door behind you. "Alright, so what's got you so worked up?"

"I won't work with Leon," you declare, arms crossed.

"So you know. Who told you?"

"Why does it matter when you hid it from me?" you retort. "I'm not working with him."

"You already have, but whatever," Chris says with a shrug. "We didn't know how to tell you, given how you react whenever he's on TV."

"That was once," you protest. "Jesus, you still haven't let that go."

Chris chuckles and shakes his head. "You acted like he was really there." A wistful look crosses his face. "Ah, I should've recorded that."

"Take him off the team," you insist. "You need me. Besides, you saw how the mission failed when he was there with me."

"That was partly your fault. And the second mission went perfectly fine. True, we might need you," Piers agrees. "But we definitely need him."

"No, you don't!" you protest. "All he does is 'protect' you when you don't need it and then ghost you for six years. And then work in your agency for three years that you only joined to spite him in the first place."

"We can still hear you," Rebecca calls from around the wall.

"Shut up!" you say, louder than you want to. Then you say to them in a quieter voice, "Look, I just can't work with him. Every time I see him... all I can think is..."

"Woah, calm down, I don't need the details," Chris says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You flush and swat at him.

"It's not like that! You're insufferable," you say exasperatedly.

"The admins need you to work with him," Piers says suddenly. "Wesker hasn't recovered from you destroying his image, and if anything, your actions have caused him to stray further from the media's presence. In order to get our team back, you need to get everyone to take the bait."

"You have to be kidding me," you grumble, running a hand through your hair. "There's no way I can act friendly toward that guy."

Chris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know you two have... history. But orders are orders. This mission requires the full cooperation of our team."

"Yeah, easy for you to say," you retort. "Leon didn't ghost you for six years."

Piers chimes in, "I know it's not ideal. But staying committed to the plan is crucial. The fate of our organization depends on it. We've come too far to let personal issues get in the way."

"Be friendly or they're firing you," Chris interrupts. "You have to fool Wesker, therefore the world, into believing that you're friends with him. It's really not that hard. If the target finds out you aren't friends with him, things could go wrong."

"Then get Helena to do it; I don't fucking care!"

"I'll be visiting inside, thanks," Helena says, appearing around the corner. She opens the door and steps inside, leaving it slightly open.

"Just give the man a goddamn chance, would you?" Chris sighs, a troubled sound that makes him sound far older than he really is. "You're always so quick to judge."

"Who else is on the team?" you ask, deflecting the subject.

"Well, we're supposed to have Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller. But right now, it's just us," he says, gesturing to himself and Piers, "and then, of course, Leon and Helena."

"So we're missing, what, a fourth of the team? That's not too much. We can manage without him." You roll your eyes and avert the subject again. "So about my group..."

"You're being grouped with Leon," Chris says flatly. "We argued about this for three months and we decided that Helena's only here for backup, in case something goes wrong."

"Three months? You've known about this for three months?" you sputter, stepping back.

"Wait, why can't I be backup?" you protest.

"Because you know Leon better," he says simply.

"I used to think that too," you say sweetly. "But obviously, we were both wrong."

"We were watching you while he had the mask on—"

"Whose idea was that?" They stare at you. "The mask, I mean."

"That was this guy," Chris says, gesturing to Piers, who flushes.

"It was part Leon's idea too!" he protests. "Besides, we knew you would recognize your partner any day now."

"So you're both in on this, huh?"

"You can say whatever you want, but the moment you're back in Wesker's estate, you better act like the sun shines out of his ass," Chris warns.

You frown. "Isn't that from—"

"Don't patronize me! Now, are you on the team or not?" Chris asks. There's an expectant look in his eyes. Your gut tells you to do one thing, but the agency expects something else from you.

You let your shoulders slump, catching a glimpse of Leon's darkened blond hair from the sliver in the doorway. You shake your head. "Fine then, put me on the team."

"That's what I like to hear," Chris says, beaming, all traces of his bad mood gone.

"So... now what?"

"Now, we wait for tomorrow. You might want to get some rest. You need to look nice for tomorrow." When you tilt your head questioningly, he smiles mysteriously and heads back into the room with Piers.

The door closes agonizingly slowly, and you catch a bit of Leon and Helena's conversation.

"Heard you got grouped with my favorite rival. Trying to steal my spotlight again?" Leon manages, coughing afterwards.

Helena huffs in amusement. "In your dreams, pretty boy. We all know who the real star is around here."

"Of course I do, sweetheart."

Pretty boy? Sweetheart? Since when are they so close?

You shake your head, not wanting to look at Leon any more than necessary, and you certainly don’t want to talk to Helena. You make the decision to head back to your room. You take the elevator up, walk to your door, and unlock it, stumbling inside.

The bedroom door's open, so you shut the window to block out the moon rays. You lay on your bed, resting your head on your pillow, and try to sleep. When you wake up again, the moon has moved further down its path to the horizon, not quite reaching it yet.

Still half-asleep, you pull open your drawers and grab your glasses, wanting to catch up on the announcements you must've missed. The first thing you do is call Rebecca, hoping talking to her might ease your conflicted feelings.

"No way, you called me back!" Rebecca dramatically gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. "I think I'll have a heart attack!"

"Save it," you grumble.

“What's got you so depressed?” Rebecca asks, her voice tinny over your phone’s speaker. On the screen, her brown hair is down, smooth and tame, and she’s poking at one of her dozens of window plants, vibrant shades of crimson and navy.

"The whole mission's going to be shitty." You groan. "Honestly, I don't know what they were thinking, putting us together. I hate his guts."

"I don't think you do," Rebecca replies thoughtfully with a smile. "For someone you hate, you sure do talk about him a lot. And I’m pretty sure you knew about his identity from the beginning, didn’t you?"

"That's only because he's a prick—I would know that from anywhere—and everyone needs to know that," you say dismissively.

"Well," Rebecca giggles, "I think he's quite charming."

"Great," you deadpan. "You can have your happily ever after with him."

"Actually, I meant for you," she says.

"You're exactly like Chris."

"Ew." She makes a face, and you start to laugh, but you cut off when you hear rustling from the entrance. You cover the speaker and peer out of the door frame.

Quiet footsteps approach. You step out of the bedroom. A light flicks on in the hallway, and the person who stumbles into the kitchen is Leon.

"Wait, is that—" you disconnect the call and shove your phone into a pocket. He’s rumpled and half-awake, shoulders slumping as he yawns. He stands in front of you wearing a light blue hospital gown. His hair is a mess. His feet are bare.

Leon freezes when his gaze falls on you. You stare back at him. He suddenly stands up straight, but his face is still bleary and confused.

"Hello," he says, his voice hoarse. "Sorry. I was just... Häagen-Dazs."

He gestures vaguely toward the refrigerator, as if the name somehow explains his odd behavior.

"What?" you respond, bewildered.

He crosses to the freezer and grabs a small box of individually packed ice cream, showing you the Häagen-Dazs logo printed across the front. "I was out. Knew they'd stocked you up."

"Did you—do you raid everyone's kitchens?" you ask accusingly.

"Only when I can't sleep," Leon replies. "Which is always. Didn't think you'd be awake." He looks at you, deferring, and you realize he's waiting for permission to open the box and take one.

"No," you say firmly.

"Why not?" Leon whines, a sound you’ve never heard from him before. It's oddly satisfying for him to push back against your refusal, but after all these years, conversing with him feels like a foreign practice.

You shrug and roll your eyes, and his face lights up as he grabs the box anyway.

"Have you practiced what you'll say tomorrow?" he asks suddenly.

"Yes," you reply, bristling immediately. "You're not the only professional around here."

"I didn't mean—" Leon falters. "I only meant, do you think we should, uh, I don’t know, rehearse?"

"Do you need to?" you retort.

"I thought it might help." Of course he thinks that—he's probably been around the world, mingling with all kinds of people. He’s never thought you could handle yourself, and it seems he still hasn't changed.

You walk toward him, unlocking your phone. "Watch this."

You line up a shot of the Häagen-Dazs box on the counter, Leon's hand next to it, and the side of your face as he glances up, confused. You open Instagram and add a filter.

"'Nothing like,'" you narrate flatly as you type a caption, "'midnight ice cream with my new partner.' Posted." You hold the phone out for him to see. "There's a lot of things worth overthinking, believe me. But this isn't one of them."

Leon frowns at you over his ice cream, looking doubtful. "Does this mean we're okay?"

"Oh, no," you say, a sappy smile on your face. "We'll never be okay. What you did was unforgivable." Dramatic, but it works.

"Well, uh, thanks." His eyes meet yours, and his icy blue eyes are full of emotion, glazed like they're brimming with tears.

"For what?" you say, your voice softer than expected.

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, lips pursing. "For the ice cream," he mumbles quietly. It's a goddamn box of ice cream; just take it.

"It's fine. Now, are you done?" you ask. "I was on a call."

Leon blinks, then folds his arms over his chest, back on the defensive. "Of course. I won’t keep you." As he leaves the kitchen, he pauses in the doorway, considering, leaning against the wood.

"I didn’t know you wore glasses," he says finally.

He leaves you standing there alone in the kitchen, the box of chocolate-swirl ice cream sweating on the counter, and the faint wish that he had thanked you for something else.

<><><><>

The drive to the interview is hot and stuffy, and it probably didn’t help that the driver refused to put down the windows and that you were seated right next to Leon, your legs almost brushing.

In the room, stylists twist Leon's hair into elaborate patterns that fall over his eyes, casting shadows over his pale blue irises. He gives you a crooked smile with the side of his face as a makeup artist dabs his cheekbones with powder.

Leon’s wearing a sweater that matches yours, except unlike you, he looks like he’s attending a private school in England over the summer, spending his days playing polo and betting on horse racing.

You don't understand why Leon needs makeup. He already looks fine, but you suppose "fine" won't suffice for the rest of the world—or Wesker. You realize you’re glaring at him and quickly look away.

"Alright, let's go over this," Helena says quietly, crouching near the edge of the couch you're sitting on. "You need to make it seem like you've been close friends with him, kept in touch for a long time."

"Got it," you say, slightly bitter. "Why couldn't you do this?"

"Because I didn't want to."

"And you thought I did?"

"It doesn't matter what you want," Helena says, but a small smile has crept onto her face. She shakes her head and glances up at you, eyes flitting to the complex camera system. "Do what you need to. Remember what's at stake here."

You nod, and she stands, dusting herself off before walking away. Someone shoos all of Leon's artists away, sending them scrambling like a school of fish. A voice counts down, and you glance at the preppy interviewer sitting near you, smiling eerily.

"So, you two, you look cozy over there," she says, waggling her eyebrows in a way that makes you want to throw up. "Let's hear a bit about yourselves before getting to the main questions, huh?" She turns to you, wide eyes boring into you.

"Uh, hello?" you begin unsteadily, introducing yourself. "I've been working as a government agent for around five years, skilled in combat and medical fields, and have been..." You falter here.

"We've been friends for a long time," Leon finishes for you. "Contrary to what happened at the gala, we're very close, and what occurred was just a misunderstanding." He smiles warmly at the camera, and the interviewer's own smile only grows.

"So, you've been friends since the Raccoon City Incident of 1998, yes?" she asks, directing her pen toward both of you.

"Uh..." Leon's eyes cut to you.

"Yes," you say for him. "It's almost like we've known each other for our entire lives."

"Mhm, yup," Leon affirms, like the easier thing for him to do is lie with a sweet smile on his face, the smile you know sends your knees buckling and stomach fluttering.

"Now, here's the biggest question on everyone's mind," she says, leaning forward in her seat. "Two special agents working together to serve the government. It sounds like a romance novel!" She giggles.

"I'm... sorry?" Leon tilts his head, and by the confused look in his eyes, you see he doesn't understand the full length of what the woman said.

"I understand what you're implying," you begin.

"What, wait, you do?" Leon turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "What does she mean?"

"Go ahead. Tell him what I mean," she says, eyelashes fluttering. She waves the camera over, and you feel the gazes of multiple people on you.

It's Leon. He'll laugh at the implication and wave it off. He's your Leon. The one you know. You can trust him.

"She, along with the rest of whoever 'everyone' is, thinks we're dating." The room holds its breath, Leon's expression unchanging. Then he smiles.

"Are we?"

"No, stupid."

"Women," he says, scoffing and turning to look the other way. The camera zooms in on his face, and you can see a smile creep onto the side of his lips.

"Leon has very readable emotions," you say, immediately getting his attention. He snaps back to you, eyes meeting yours in a challenging glare. You sit forward, and he copies your movements, his glare cast downward as yours is cast upward. Your faces are so close that your noses could be touching.

"My partner has visible reactions to everything I do. I guess I'm just too handsome for her to leave alone," he says smugly, a smirk curving his lips.

"Fuck off, you self-absorbed prick."

Leon leans forward. "Are we giving them something to talk about?"

You meet his gaze without flinching. "No."

Leon smiles strangely. "Your reaction says otherwise."

Your temper flashes. "Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't care less what people think. What even were we?"

"You know what we are," Leon says, meeting your gaze. His eyes, however much they've darkened over the years, are still his, full of emotion. There's something different now, though. There's something guarding them, some kind of emotional barrier to keep from showing too much.

"I used to think I did," you say. "But I don't think I do anymore."

"Why are you acting like this?" Leon asks, his voice suddenly angry.

"Like what?" you retort defensively.

"Like it's my fault this happened!" Leon says. "Did you honestly think I was gonna come meet you right after risking my life multiple times to save you and Ashley? Not everything is about you! I have people to meet, duties to fulfill, and places to be!"

"Your life doesn't have to be about me!" you protest. "All I wanted was to know that you were at least alive!"

"Maybe I should've," Leon says, sounding genuinely guilty. "Maybe I should've called you once, and then let the government kill you? Is that what you wanted?"

"Government... kill me?" You pull backward. "Why would they—"

"They threatened to find you if I didn't leave you the day we got back to the US. They thought I would tell you government secrets and they would get leaked." Leon crosses his arms and tries his best to look away from you.

"But... I don't understand," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Don't they know that you always put your work first?"

"I usually do," Leon agrees. "But... Ashley might’ve gone to ask if you could be added to her team."

"Team... like, security?" you ask. "Of course they said no! What was that girl on?"

"Actually," Leon says sheepishly, "they said yes. They figured if you survived through all that with no training, you must have raw talent. They liked that."

"So... why was I not with you and Ashley for these past six years?" you ask accusingly. Leon's eyes darken.

"Because I refused," Leon admits. "I didn't let them get to you. I told them you would be too big of a burden and that I'd take all the responsibility to keep you safe." Leon pauses as he runs a hand through his hair. "Because..." He trails off. "Look, I made a mistake. I know I should have called you after those six years. But I thought that you understood why I had to do what I did. I was protecting us."

"I don't need to be fucking protected by you, Leon," you growl. "Seriously, you thought I couldn't handle myself? That I need a big strong man to follow me everywhere because I'm too weak to protect myself? Jesus fuck, I'm not Ashley!"

"You're not Ashley," Leon acknowledges, anger in his voice as he flushes. "But you would've gotten yourself killed without me in Spain, watching your back!"

"You would've died from a blood infection if I wasn't there," you retort, crossing your arms. "You wouldn't have lasted a day without me."

"Why couldn't you trust me? I knew you would survive. You just had to wait. Why couldn't you wait longer?"

"I waited six fucking years, Leon," you say, tears stinging your eyes. "How much longer did you want me to wait?"

"I don't know." Leon mumbles. "Maybe two weeks. Maybe a decade. How am I supposed to know? They don't fucking tell me anything." His feet shuffle on the floor.

"A decade?" you laugh dryly. "We're getting pretty damn close to that milestone, aren't we?"

Leon’s eyes flash dangerously. “You know it isn't that simple.”

“It was for me,” you retort. "I grew to depend on you, and you left."

Leon leans in closer, voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “If you thought I would do anything other than that, you’re more naive than I thought. You have no idea what was really at stake.”

You match his tone, eyes glittering. “Enlighten me then. Go on, tell me where you really were.”

Leon recoils slightly but quickly masks it. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Coward,” you spit.

“Watch yourself, rookie. You’re treading on thin ice.”

You lift your chin defiantly. “Or what, Leon? You’ll leave me again?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. Finally, he straightens, avoiding your eyes. You regain notice of the cameraman, peeking out from behind his set, mouth slightly open. “We’re not having this conversation here.”

"Cut the cameras," the interviewer hisses, tracing a line along her throat. Her earlier giddiness seems to have vanished. “Actually, you know what? Cut all that out. He’ll have my head if that government shit airs.”

"No need." You grit your teeth. "I'll be taking my leave. Helena, let's go."

Your questionable friend stands up with you and walks out the door.

"Was that really the way to tell him your feelings?" You slump your head against the wall.

"I don't know how else to." Your eyes well with tears that sting. You swallow painfully past the lump in your throat and stand up straighter. "What's with you?"

"I don't follow," she says cautiously.

"The flirting. The pet names. You think I can't hear?"

"We have history. I don't like him in that way."

"Leon and I have history too," you reply coldly. "So I hope you'll understand why I'm quitting the mission."

"You can't!" she bursts. "We need you!"

"You need Leon more," you say flatly.

"I understand this is difficult for you," she soothes. "Working so closely with Leon again after… everything. It's a lot to process."

You say nothing, staring numbly at the floor.

Helena presses on gently. "If you feel you need space, we'll respect that. Your well-being is what matters most right now. We need to make this believable."

At this, your head snaps up in surprise. "You'd… let me quit?"

Helena nods. "This is about more than just the mission. It's about you finding your way forward, in your own time and way."

You think of this during the car ride back, in a separate car from Leon, and all the way to the base. And all you can remember is the anguish he caused when there were miles and miles between you, when you forgot the sound of his voice, crying for it at night.

So you might’ve taken a few drinks, waiting for someone to fetch you.

You might’ve let the alcohol get to your head.

What does it matter when you let Leon get to your head too?

Crying out helplessly, silently. Wishing for solace.

<><><><>

You storm up to your room, emotions raw. You throw open the door to see the person you just cannot stand, Leon Scott Kennedy, at your desk.

Leon looks up coolly. "Trouble knocking?"

"It's my fucking room, you..." You seethe, hands balling into fists. "You miserable piece of shit."

Leon raises an eyebrow. "To what do I owe this hostility?"

You step forward, flicking out your knife, all your emotions welling up inside you. You find the strength to slam him back against the wall and press the knife against his throat.

Leon grunts in surprise, but his eyes gleam with interest rather than fear. "I see you've come ready to play."

You press against him threateningly. "Give me one good reason not to end you here and now."

"Fuck, you've gotten good with that thing, haven't you, sweetheart?" The term stirs something inside you. His expression is suppressed, and he makes a strangled sound deep in his throat.

"You... you—" You break away from him, shivering. You collapse against the wall, your anger evaporating into a wave of despair so vast you think you might drown in it. Leon lowers himself beside you against the wall's solid support. His proximity feels both foreign yet familiar.

"I wasn't happy where I was." He lets his head lean back onto the wall, gazing up at the moonlit ceiling. "I hope you know that."

"Say I do," you begin half-heartedly. "What'll it take for you to be happy again?"

"You," he responds almost immediately. "I don't want you to be mad at me. God, you're all I need to be happy, doll."

You move closer. "What was that?" you say teasingly, resting your head on his shoulder.

"You heard me," he chastises.

"What about Helena?" you test.

"I..." He looks away sheepishly. "Let’s just say my efforts to get over you were in vain."

"Is that so, pretty boy?" Your lips quirk in a smirk as Leon sharply inhales, eyes fluttering closed.

"One more time," he says, his voice rough velvet against your ears.

"Hm?" you ask innocently. His eyes open, and when they meet yours again, stormy seas roil beneath the surface.

"Call me that one more time, and I swear I'll—"

"Make me, pretty boy. Prove you mean what you say."

Leon’s eyes burn into yours as he struggles to maintain control. He leans in close, whispering harshly, "Do you really want that?"

Your breath hitches at the intensity of his stare, your heart pounding in your chest. But you can't resist the challenge. "Go on then," you dare him, your voice barely audible. "Prove it."

Leon’s lips twitch into a grin, the tiniest hint of satisfaction lighting up his features. He pulls you closer, your bodies pressed tightly together. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your sensitive skin.

"I don't think you understand what you're asking for, doll," he warns softly. "This isn't what you want."

You reach up to grip his wrist, using it to guide his hand lower, tracing a path down your spine toward the curve of your hip. Your eyes never leave his, the challenge still present in their depths.

"I'm not sure you'd know," you counter, your own voice low and sultry. "But I know exactly what I want."

Leon’s breath hitches, his grip on you tightening as you slide your free hand up his chest to grasp the lapel of his jacket. Panic flares in his eyes, and he pulls away, standing up afterward. You follow his movements, watching his gaze on you.

Did you go too far? You quickly reach out for him, trying to reassure him with your eyes that you didn't mean anything, but he steps back, shaking his head minutely. His breathing is labored, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Are you drunk?" he rasps, taking a few steps away from you. At your silence, he shakes his head again. "We can't do this. We shouldn't. Not while you're like this."

But even as he tries to distance himself, you can see the fire in his eyes refuses to die down.

"Why not?" you retort, mirroring his movements except forward until you're once again only a few steps away from each other. "Because you still care about me? Because I bring out feelings you'd rather bury alive? This isn't about me being drunk; this is about you being too much of a coward to admit your feelings!"

Leon clenches his jaw, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each labored breath.

"You want me to admit it?" he snarls, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "Fine! Yes, I still care about you. I even love you. But that doesn't change anything!" His fists clench at his sides.

"Then why fight it?" you whisper, feeling boldness surge within you. Your hand reaches out tentatively, tracing along the edge of his shirt where it meets his waistband.

"Because it leads nowhere good," he growls, catching your wrist before you can venture any farther. His grip is firm, but not painful.

"Maybe somewhere better," you murmur, looking up at him with wide eyes. Desire courses through you like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending with its heated touch.

"What if I hurt you?" His eyes flash with fear.

"You underestimate me, Leon," you murmur. "I'm not as breakable as you think."

"Please, don't push me," he breathes hoarsely, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "I don't know what I'll do if you keep pushing."

"Why don't you understand that you don't get to decide everything? It could be my relationship too!"

Leon’s grip on your wrist tightens as he stares into your eyes, searching for understanding or defiance.

"You don't get it, do you?" he snaps, his voice low and dangerous. "I tried to protect you before, and look where it got me! Another man could've had you!"

"And now?" you question quietly, trying to reassure him with soft strokes against his palm. His heartbeats pound beneath your fingertips, syncopated with yours.

"Now..." Leon swallows hard, looking away briefly before meeting your gaze once more. "Now... I have you. And despite everything, that scares the hell out of me."

You glance up and kiss him.

The tension crackles in the air, thick and palpable. He leans closer, his voice a low growl. "And I'm telling you, I'm the last thing you need."

Your heart pounds in your chest. "Are you suggesting someone else?" you dare to challenge him.

"Fuck no." His eyes narrow, a flicker of jealousy crossing his face. Then, in a swift movement, he pins you against the door, his hips pressing against yours. The relief you feel at his answer is quickly replaced by a surge of pure desire.

"Good," you breathe, tilting your head up to meet his. You capture his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently before nipping it with your teeth. "Because I only want you, Leon."

Your words seem to break something within him. He finally gives in, your mouths colliding in a kiss that is hot, fierce, and utterly out of control.

Need pulses through you as he grasps your backside, pulling you flush against him. Your back grazes the wall as you use it for leverage, pushing closer to his strength. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind him. Your nightgown rides up with the motion, but you don't care. All you can think about is the way he's kissing you, the way his mouth moves against yours, the way his tongue dances with yours.

The world narrows to this kiss, this moment, this man. He is yours. Or maybe you are his. It doesn't matter, as long as he keeps kissing you.

Heat floods your body as his mouth trails down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"God," he murmurs against your skin.

Then, you're moving. You hear a crash as your desk chair hits the floor, and the next thing you know, you're sprawled across your desk, your legs wrapped around his waist. He leans over you, his fingers tangled in your hair as he devours your mouth once more.

You kiss him back with a hunger you've never known before. Your hands reach up to brace yourself, knocking over anything and everything in your way. Time seems to stand still.

"You'll hate me in the morning," he says between kisses, his voice husky. "You don't really want this."

"Stop telling me what I want," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair. You tilt your head, giving him better access. He takes it, his mouth moving down your neck to where it meets your shoulder.

Every touch of his mouth to your skin is like a spark igniting a flame. You gasp when he lingers on a particularly sensitive spot, taking his time.

"Unless you don't want me," you whisper, a flicker of doubt creeping in.

"Does this feel like I don't want you?" He takes your hand and guides it between your bodies. Your fingers curl around his length, feeling the evidence of his desire. You whimper, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his need. "I always fucking want you," he groans as you squeeze him. He lifts his head, his icy blue eyes locking with yours. You see the raw desire reflected in their depths, mirroring your own. "You walk into a room, and I can't look away. I get anywhere near you, and this is what happens. Fucking hell, I can barely think when you're around." He thrusts his hips into your hand, and your stomach clenches with anticipation. "My problem isn’t with wanting you."

"Then what is?" you ask, your voice trembling with desire.

"I'm trying to protect you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "From me."

He's right. You know he's right. But in that moment, you don't care. All you want is him.

"I don't need protection," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I want you."

And with that, he takes you. He takes you hard and fast, his movements relentless, his kisses demanding. You move together, a tangle of limbs and desire, until the world around you fades away.

You cry out his name, your body arching against his. He holds you tight, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've got you, darling," he promises. "Let it out."

"Shit," you gasp, as the pleasure builds to an unbearable crescendo.

He takes you over and over, never stopping, until you are both lost in the throes of passion. All that matters is the two of you, lost in a world of your own.

Finally, he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with raw emotion. You look up at him, your heart overflowing with love and desire.

"I’ve never lost control like that," he says, bracing his weight on one arm and brushing your hair back from your face with the other. The move is so gentle, so at odds with what you’ve just experienced, that you can’t help but blink, then smile.

"I know. I've noticed." The smile morphs into a full-out grin. "Not that I’ve ever had something to lose control of before." He laughs and rolls you to his side, keeping you close and cushioning your head with his biceps. You look to your mahogany desk.

"Did I…"

"Ruin your desk?" He lifts a brow. "Yes."

"Oh." You can’t find it in you to be embarrassed, so you brush the backs of your fingers across the stubble along his jaw.

"To be fair, I was messing it up when you walked in. I also might've broken your dagger stand." He grimaces. "I’ll get you a new one."

You blink. “That was…” You didn’t even get the man’s pants entirely off, and your gown is haphazardly hanging from one shoulder.

“Frighteningly perfect.” He cups the side of your face. “We should get you cleaned up and to sleep. We can worry about… your room tomorrow. And one more thing."

You look up at him questioningly. "Yeah?”

“You really should try to be more careful."

"I am!" you exclaim. His eyes narrow. "Mostly.”

"Well, if you weren't so reckless, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He sighs. "If what you said about our agency got out, what would have happened to you?"

Your gaze drifts away from his, and you bite your lip. "I know."

"Good, because now you're going to listen to me." He leans forward until your noses touch. "No more taking chances. No more being careless. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He grins, a crooked curve of his swollen lips. "But don't worry, we'll figure something out."

"Thank you." You lean against him and rest your cheek against his chest.

"Of course, princess," he whispers back, stroking your hair.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," you say quietly.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he replies, kissing the top of your head. "We all have our moments."

"I just wish things were different sometimes," you whisper.

"Me too, baby," he responds, wrapping his arms around you tighter. "But we'll make the best of it, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, nodding. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, princess," he mutters back, dipping his hand back between the both of you, snaking around your body.

“What are you doing?”

No response, only silence. Leon smirks, you feel it on your neck. You’ve missed that smirk, and he makes sure that you tell him.

Guess you never realize how much you miss someone until they’re gone, huh?

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #old fic #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy re4 #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #re4 #leon kennedy reader insert

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live-laugh-lenney · 9 months ago

Text

platform roulette | arthurtv

i've seen so so so many of these on my dashboard recently and i loved every single one i read/saw so lots of inspiration has come from it... testing the waters... seeing how well they go down... :)))

yourinstagram never too early to start on the grind. (but first, i need an iced coffee).

user1 where are you going??

user2 that's st pancras right?? international girly!!

user3 is this for an arthur hill video?? man's taking us all international now!! can't wait for the banger video you put together <3333

arthurnfhill Bloody hell, you're there early. -> yourinstagram hurry up, maybe?? -> arthurnfhill @/yourinstagram George was late waking up. Honest. -> georgeclarkeey @/yourinstagram @/arthurnfhill False. I think you will find that it was Arthur making us late... slept through that alarm.

user4 An Arthur Hill x George Clarke video incoming! -> yourinstagram don't you dare forget the little cherub that is @/arthurtv. -> arthurtv @/yourinstagram What have I told you about calling me that??

arthurtv Not very summer attire that jumper... Am I the only one that will be wearing shorts today?? -> yourinstagram preparing for any kind of weather, i guess. you never know what'll happen.

user5 the arthur hill reference in the caption killed me. -> yourinstagram it's a certified banger. (the coffee, not the song, btw). -> user5 @/yourinstagram howling. i love you so much

yourinstagram posted a story

[caption] filming something spectacular today 🎥 tagged; arthurtv, arthurnfhill, georgeclarkeey

yourinstagram i see you girlies are starved of content. i hope you're hungry...

user1 she's one of us.

user2 oh good lord. where are you?

chrismd10 Thank you so much. My tummy is full up now. -> yourinstagram i left my phone unattended and now have a whole folder in my phone full of their shenanigans today if you want them for the bank later on? ;) -> arthurtv @/yourinstagram Please don't do that.

user3 why is she there??? who is she??? -> yourinstagram i'm one of arthur's videographers, babe... have been for a while. feeding you girls the content you deserve. all the credit that goes to him should go to meee <33

-> user4 you deserve an award for a, the insanely good content you give us. and b, having to deal with the insanity of men when they're drunk. -> yourinstagram The three of them turn into children when they get together and have a few drinks. It's funny watching it unfold.

user5 oh good lord. george and the two arthur's with alcohol can only mean one thing: trouble. -> yourinstagram you're correct. today was like going out with three kids. you'll be able to feel my pain in the video. just you wait for the video to be posted and you'll understand.

yourinstagram posted a story

[caption] the perks of filming with arthur hill means i get to break into the arthur hill bank account and order the expensive beers. 🍺 tagged; arthurtv, georgeclarkeey, arthurnfhill

yourinstagram we somehow ended up in deal and it's become my favourite seaside town this year. platform roulette coming soon!

user1 what the hell have you been doing today?

user2 please tell us when it'll be out. i'm so so excited for this.

georgeclarkeey Of all the content you took and videoed today, you posted that weasel? -> yourinstagram @/georgeclarkeey he's a cute weasel?? -> arthurtv I'd rather be called cherub. -> yourinstagram @arthurtv sorry, my cherub weasel. <33

arthurtv We should go definitely back. -> yourinstagram will you also pay for my train fare like @/arthurnfhill did for me today?? -> arthurtv @/yourinstagram Of course. Not very gentlemanly of me to make my girlfriend pay for a date. -> arthurnfhill @/yourinstagram It was work-related. Wouldn't have paid for you if it was just for fun. x -> yourinstagram @arthurnfhill my resignation will be in the post.

user3 Has YN just hard-launched her relationship with Arthur? -> user1 check out the comments under his comment above. without a doubt... they've not just hard-launched them, they've practically shoved it down our throats. -> user3 @/user1 Oh my god. -> user2 @user1 I KNEW IT!!!! STAN TWITTER CAN DO ONE!!!

#arthurtv #arthurtv social media au #arthurtv fics #arthurtv imaginesarthurtv headcannons #arthurtv blurbs #arthur frederick #arthur frederick social media au #arthur frederick fics #arthur frederick imagines #arthur frederick headcannons

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p0ssywhippedcream · 1 year ago

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Hey girllll what’s up?? Hope you’re getting rest from your flight- that type of tired is A WHOLE OTHER TYPE OF TIRED LOL- I was wondering if you could do Apollo x Demigod reader where the reader kinda dies and he goes up to Olympus demanding and threatening Zeus to make her a Goddess? (if you have to use godly parent could you do Hades?)

TYSMMMM<3333 HOPE YOU GETS LOTS OF REST AND REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!!

FRRRRR I"M SO EEPY GIRL and istg if there are any spelling errors its cause I wrote this right as I got it n I'm too tired to notice!!

You miss your boyfriend. You've only been dead a day and you're sooooooo bored. Wandering around your father's palace can only be so entertaining when you've passed the same skull mantle three times. Apollo is a lot of things but he's never been a bore and you wish he was here, lighting up the gloomy atmosphere and kissing you dizzy.

You try not to think about how this was inevitable. You'd die and he'd move on because he was a god and that's what gods do, they keep living. You don't want to know that he's probably already moved on to wooing another so you stay in the palace, ignoring the gossipy dead and whatever news they bring because you can't bear to hear he has a new lover on his hip already.

You're sitting in the garden, picking at a pomegranate and turning your nail beds a deep red as they fill with juice when a familiar glow is skipping towards you. Apollo is tugging you to your feet and peppering you with his lips before you can even ask. Your father having followed not far behind is watching him with an observant glare.

When Apollo finally gives you a chance to breathe, you're cupping his face so he doesn't lean in for more as you ask, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to get you, silly! I'm not leaving my girlfriend in the underworld, what kind of boyfriend would that make me?"

"One that respects the rightful line between life and death." Your father chimes in but Apollo brushes his words away with an eye roll, his glittery teeth making it playful.

"Wait, wait," You put a hand up, effectively shutting them both up, "What do you mean 'come get me'?"

"You're coming to Olympus with me, Sunshine," Your jaw drops and his pointer is pushing it back up gently as he continues, "I talked to Zeus and he agreed!"

"Zeus wouldn't just.. agree." You shake your head baffled, glancing at your father when he says, "No, he wouldn't."

You turn back to your glowing lover, allowing your hands to run over his warm shoulders. "How do you persuade him?"

Apollo thinks back to when he'd approached his father's throne, casually bringing up the Black Plague and watching Zeus's face morph from confusion to anger to brief fear to understanding as he propositioned a new god with a little more threat than necessary.

"I'm his favorite son," He offers you instead, ignoring the narrowing of your expression.

"Sure you are.." You pat his beefy muscles before slipping out of his arms and wandering towards your silent dad. "What do you think of this?"

"You're happy with Apollo?" He confirms and when you nod, he says, "Then go be happy."

"Will I be able to visit you?" Hades reaches for your face, rubbing a thumb along your cheekbone with a faint smile.

"You're always welcome here, my child." You feel a light mist over your eyes as you envelop him in a hug, his chilly mouth leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead.

When you pull away, Apollo is by your side, taking your hand and allowing you one last squeeze to your fathers arm before he's leading you out of the Underworld. Your ghostly glare fades to a bright shine, leaving you sprinkled in sparkles and a well-fitted toga as he marches you to the heavens. Your father presses his fingers to his lips, blowing a shaky kiss towards the glow of your ascending forms, resigning himself to being alone again as he picks up the pomegranate you'd been toying with and slides back into the darkness of his reign.

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strikersexhaver · 2 years ago

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ACTUALLY ABOUT MY BRACELET REQUEST!

Can you do it with other characters as well? Preferably blitzø, moxie, millie, loona, octavia, and stolas?

It can be romantic or platonic, whichever you're more comfortable with or which suits the character more.

Thank you again babes <3333

(A/N) I love me some Striker, but I need to write some different characters LMAO! DW HE’S STILL IN HERE- I gotcha covered, I only write Via platonically however just as a heads up for anyone who wants more content of her specifically!

Helluva Characters with S/O giving them a bracelet!

Blitzo 🐎

You were crafting a little bracelet for Blitzø, as a thank you for bringing you into this family- IMP, was like a newfound home for you.

Even if it was a business, the co-workers were great- (even Loona- at times)

You even started a relationship with Blitzø, there’s a lot of hard moments with it sometimes but you still loved him and he still loved you.

Even if the idea of love scared him.

Hell, it did to you too sometimes- but you wanted to show him, regardless you’d be there for him thick and thin.

You crafted this bracelet that had charms of things that reminded you of him.

From Blitzø’s love of horses, to the IMP crew itself- plus that fancy revolver he carries around.

You thought of charms that represented little inside jokes you two had. The whole sha’ bang.

It was great! You thought before slowly getting a tad bit anxious, you know it’s unlikely but maybe would he turn it down if it seemed too unprofessional even for him?

Would people not take him seriously if he had this on? Or? Maybe he just- wouldn’t like it?

Your thoughts weren’t allowed to fester too much as you were startled at the sound of a door bursting open.

It was the one and only, Blitzø coming in with a smile on his face and sparkles in his eye.

“You’ll never believe what just happened- I got to pet- a pony! There was one outside, just chillin’ about and I got my chance to pet it- it ran away, but still got the chance too!” He rambled on, “I even drew it.”

He showed you a picture of a pony, you chuckled and smiled before you were able to say a word he slid over to you.

“Oh whatcha doing?” He looked over your shoulder and you tried hiding the bracelet.

“Making a bracelet-“ you said, testing the waters to see how he’d react.

“What type of bracelet? If it’s a friendship bracelet- I’ll be offended if there’s not one for me- just sayin’ no pressure of course.” He jest, you think.

You took that as the A-okay to hand him the bracelet you were crafting for him, rocking back and fourth with a grin on your face.

He took the bracelet as his smile got smaller, with a soft genuine grin.

“I- Wow- this- really was for me-“ he turned the bracelet to see the charms and his tail gave a small wag,

“Heh it even has the horses I showed you.. “ he scratched his neck, then he perked up with an ever larger grin.

“I’m gonna show this to Mox and Mills, they’re gonna be jealous I bet you right now-!”

He grabbed your hand and rushed out of the room with you, you smiled that he enjoyed it so much and you saw how he kept it on him at all times.

Even in fights- that made you the happiest demon in hell…

Millie 🪓

You thought about making something for Mills for a while kle now, but one of the main thing you thought of was- the main thing you knew how to do well for others.

Bracelets! You went out to get some charms, even made a few to fit her.

Getting one that was her iconic axe, a few things that reminded her of home and a black heart charm like the one on her shoulder.

You tried to make it a sweet as she was, yet fiery too because she was.

Making a little special thing for her made you happy, but it started feeling childish in some ways.

Dear Satan, when did anyone do this- outside of childhood? Y’all were adults now and, it felt kiddish to do this.

You debated on keeping it to yourself to save away from the embarrassment of giving it to her.

You scratched your head and sighed, looking around before putting away in a drawer.

Eventually you went off to do something else forgetting about for a while.

Till one day, you asked Millie to grab something for you out of your little work-station / desk, while you were distracted with what you were currently doing, you heard the pause of the searching of drawers.

Before you heard a gasp and her walking towards you-

“Did ya’… make this for me?” She looked at you with a large grin,

You blushed looking at the bracelet before nervously nodding.

“Y-yeah- it was supposed to be for you- I didn’t think you’d like it so I left it in ther-“

“Don’t like? Shug’ I love it! Anythin’ from ya’ I like? Ain’t cha’ realize that by now-!” she kissed your cheek with a smile before putting it on, doing a twirl while looking at her wrist.

“It’s so cute,” her tail wagged and she hugged you joyfully.

“I’m glad you like it!”

“I love it!” She peppered your face with kisses as she kept looking at it.

She loved it and you, to you- you wished you had given it earlier!

Moxxie 🎭

Moxxie’s a sweetheart, and a passionate fella everyone knew that- especially you.

He made you smile, you to him and you loved hearing his voice as he passionately talked about the things he loved.

From theater to weaponry, anything really.

He liked that you listened to him, and didn’t tell him to be quiet on the things he liked as other demons did.

You two got together, and it couldn’t be better!

But one day you decided to put that all together and put into a bracelet as appreciation for him.

Using charms on the bracelets, from theaters he personally liked the most- one of his favorites being Phantom of the Opera.

You used the mask of that as a little charm, then you put a few sniper model charms on it too.

Making it a little themed one of him! For extra measure, you added a cute small bowtie charm as well.

Putting in love and adoration into the bracelet.

You got picky with it however, and personally kept readjusted things to make it better.

Before having a frustrated sigh and breathing out a whisper to yourself saying, “how could he like this?”

Moxxie heard you as he passed by you-

“Not like what?” He said with a curious yet comforting tone, he walked over to you and pur a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey if- anyone doesn’t like what you do for them- that’s on them, okay? It’s on them, I like what you do- I like anything you do.” He smiled at you and you looked at his smile, his contagious grin that made you even smile a bit.

You nodded,

“Thanks Mox, it’s just- I made this for you and-“ you handed the bracelet off to him.

He looked at it and a wide grin came on his face,

“This is incredible- the detail on this! The little- the little- is that the mask from, oh my- this is amazing!” He put it on still looking at it.

“Thank you-!” he gave you a sugar sweet hug and his tail wagged as his leg bounced up and down.

You hugged back and smiled, holding him tight as you were happy this happened.

How just a little mutter he paid attention to, and how he proved to you regardless he’ll like anything and be there through anything with you. 💕

Loona 🐺

Loona you’ve always known to have a soft side underneath that aggressive and mean exterior, because she’s opened to you like that

She also can be an adorable dork, at times. It’s cute you’ve always liked that.

When you two got into a relationship, she was over the moon and happy about it- it wouldn’t be uncommon for her to even wag her tail when looking at you.

She’s even tried her best during arguments to calm down and not be mean, which is for her a lot of effort.

Albeit, today when you tried making her a bracelet you got a bit anxious she wouldn’t like it. Although you put as much love you had into it, putting all the things she liked into it.

Things you picked up with her, her enjoyments, her likings, plus all of the sweet things you two shared all into one as charms.

You had the beads be based on her eyes and fur, the colors of the moon.

You liked it and smiled at it, unfortunately you got a bit timid with showing her- you’ve seen how much she can dislike something.

Remembering that few times she’s smashed items she disliked because it pissed her off.

Even though she’s never expressed or acted like that to you, you fear if there ever is a day where that happens to you.

You looked at the bracelet and then looked at the reference image you used for the beads of you and Loona, you smiled at it then looked away.

Sighing you got up, with Loona you always have to try, in relationships in general you always have to try- she always tried, she did and you loved her for trying.

So, you got your courage and gave her the bracelet when you two met on your next date.

She looked at it, her tail started wagging erratically and her eyes widened with adoring shock.

She smiled, with her puppy eyes- she hugged you while trying to find the words to say.

“You know how much I love these little things! It has oh- you remembered that?” She chuckled, patting your back having her tail wag still.

“I look terrible for not giving you a gift this time, ugh- next date you’ll see-“

You smiled and hugged her, she perked up her body and her ears did.

She hugged back and her tail wrapped around you, the date went off to a great start- and if you wanna know it went great even till the end~ 💕

Octavia 🦉 🪄

You were friends with Via for a long time now, pretty much being buds for life.

You two shared everything together, whenever Stolas got on her nerves or Stella- even just them together in general she was able to vent her frustrations to you then you the same to her.

You the same to her, she may have been pessimistic in situations but you brought out a certain optimism in her that she thought she couldn’t really bring back up since her situation with her parents.

You two were close, like two peas in a pod, and you honestly- forgot you two didn’t have anything like symbolizing that like other friends do.

Like friendship necklaces or friendships bracelets, so you made the ladder.

You bought some beads and charms, then got to work.

You made it based on astrology. One thing you knew she adored was the stars, always the stars, both her and her father had in common was that.

You even remember talking to her dad about them at one point with Via.

You finished the bracelet and smiled, before running off to hand it to Octavia whenever you had the chance to.

You made one of your own too, to match with her.

You feared a bit not from what Octavia thought but what Stella would think, because from what you know she’s picky on appearances and might pick at the bracelet and get her daughter in trouble.

So when you gave it to Via you reassured her you didn’t have to wear it all the time, maybe not even at all but just know that you’ll always be her friend.

She let out a happy hoot when she saw it and shook her head no

“Are you crazy? I’m literally gonna wear this- all the time! I love this, it’s amazing! I think my dad would like this too-“ She looked over it and put it on.

She hugged you, then took a photo of you two wearing them in a selfie.

Then posting it to her Voxstagram, smiling at this.

“Literally do not care if anyone- even my mum talks about it, I’m wearing this. It matches with my favorite shirt too!”

She hooted again and smiled, you were thrilled when she said that and happy about it- scared she’d get in trouble but regardless you two just knew you’d be there for her even if something like that happened. ✨

Stolas 🦉 ✨

The way Stolas was, he honestly was appreciative of really- any nice thing that came to him.

His plants, his daughter, not his wife, and well- you.

He smiled at when you told him lovely things and he didn’t know how to respond, like how handsome he looked that day or how sweet he was.

His feathers puffed up- plus his heart skipped many beats, smiling at you with stars in his eyes. A faint blush over his face.

He was a passionate person with a loving heart that was just- something he wasn’t able to use, especially with his wife happening.

A relationship with you was controversial with the Goetia family, but he could care less as there wasn’t love in his ‘relationship’ with his wife anyway.

He smiled at the happiness he had with you.

You did too, it made you happy to see him happy and having instead of yearning for something positive.

You decided at one day, something small to give him would make him thrilled.

You made a bracelet that used a makeshift fake vine tying the bracelet together, with purple and blue beads.

Whilst using star-like charms on it to add to it altogether.

You spent a while on it, trying to make it look as fancy as possible to fit with his starry theme.

You got unsure if it would suit him or- if- if he would get in more trouble with Stella because of this.

It was lingering in the back of your head, but you wanted to give it to him because you know on weekends he’s lonely.

As weekends, Via is taken by Stella to her home.

So, during that time you visited him and as he welcomed you in with a smile. He was in his robe and you can tell he was- not doing the best that day.

You decided this was the best- you gave him the bracelet and he gave a loud hoot.

He took it and put it on without hesitation.

“You… made this… for me? Oh my, this is lovely- thank you, I’m cherishing this for the rest of eternity I swear-“

He smiled,

“You truly brighten my days even on the worst ones- i swear…”

He kneeled down (or just didn’t) to kiss you passionately and hug you tight spinning you around.

Stolas did NOT care if his wife got angered by it, he was getting a divorce anyway- let her be mad.

Striker 🐍

The gunslinging cowboy of the wild Wrath, you were surprised that you were able to date him.

With how prideful he was, and how confident he was- plus he was wanted (legally) and by other demons. So him looking at you, made your heart flutter.

He liked you, hell- he loved you, found you different and unique to other demons.

When you let him into your life and you into his, he gave you a wild ride. From his job, to at home, anytime was a fun time with him. He let you know how much you loved him.

You smiled at him whenever you’ve seen him.

But this day, he was at work- off killing someone you luckily did not know.

You decided to make him a bracelet, something that was reminiscent of his cowboy and western loving style.

Having it be less- fancy, and more down-to-hell.

You added the snake theme to it with the bracelet itself, then added a charm of a demon horse (more resembling Bombproof)

His hat, plus little additions of his favorite western movies you found from stores. Thankful that they had it-

You looked at it, you knew he probably wouldn’t wear it in in public all too often.

Especially on the job, because looking intimidating and seeming so, was important- you didn’t mind that. What you did fear was if it- wasn’t good enough for him.

You knew how much his appearance meant to him, how much he avoided the idea of being soft or vulnerable.

So maybe that this bracelet would refuse that for you, you sighed when you realized that.

Little did you know- because you were so focused- he came home early and surprised you, by kissing you on the cheek and holding you from behind.

“Heya’ darlin’-“ he grinned, resting himself in your neck and having his tail rattle with a low hiss of satisfaction.

“I missed ya’ all damn day, fuck ya’ got no idea- this bitch refused to fuckin’ die-“

You chuckled a bit,

“Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Well ya’ but- it would’ve been less painful if they did-“ his tail lowered down.

You looked up at him, then the bracelet, and he looked down at you.

“Whatcha’ got there?”

You smiled nervously, then showed him the bracelet.

Looking at his face for his reaction.

He smiled and took the bracelet.

“I wanted to make you something, since I had the time to-“ he cut you off with a kiss and lifted you up, his tail wagged and rattled.

“Darlin’ I fuckin’ love you,” he peppered your face in kisses with a grin on his face.

“I knew you’d love those movies!” He cackled which brought a smile to your flustered face.

“I can’t wear it all the time but… do me a favor and wear it for me when I’m not around, ya’ got piece of me nailed down into a band,” he smiled a bit before pulling you to him.

You know he loved you and you him, this just made it even better for both of you 💕

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 9 months ago

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Can u do the Curtis gang +curly with a f!scene reader plz!!!! :3333

Ofc Darlin!!! I’d freakin loveeeeeeeee to!! We love our scene queen x gang requests!!

The Gang + Curly Shepard x F! Scene Reader

Ponyboy Curtis

-he thinks you’re soooo cool

-super intimidated though

-he’s memorized your entire schedule before he actually talks to you lmao

-he’s down sooo bad

-he started listening to scene music too just for you

-after doing hours of research to find out your style

-and one time you were in the library and he played the music just a little too loud in hopes of you noticing

-“Is that <insert band name>?! I LOVE them!! I didn’t think anyone else here listened to that stuff…”

-he acts chill about it like he didn’t just start a week ago when he saw you

-once he finally gets the guts to ask you out you say yes

-he goes on music + reading dates with you

-he’d try to match bracelets, bandanas, belts, rings, anything subtle

-probably the most expected couple

Johnny Cade

-LOVES your style

-he sees you one day walk by when he’s sitting in the lot and his eyes pop out of his skull

-he loves everything. He loves your hair, your skirt, your bright fishnets, all your jewelry, your makeup

-it’s so big… and obnoxious in the best possible way

-he loves too

-he doesn’t stop thinking about you after that

-it isn’t until dally and ponyboy get tired of him mentioning you that their like go talk to her man

-so he finally does, and he thinks you’re sooo cool

-scene doesn’t really work well on him, but he tries to match you in subtle ways like pony too

-matching bracelets fsfs

-Fr if you make him a few bracelets he will never stop wearing them

-when you finally start dating he really likes a lot of the music

-and if anyone has to say anything about you

-they can welcome Johnnys fist to their face

Sodapop Curtis

-he was shocked when he saw you walk in to say the least

-he’s never seen anyone like you before

-super intrigued

-he gets surprised when after a few days he realizes he has a huge crush on you

-he usually dates girls like cherry, but with you…. He’s definitely willing to make an exception

-you have the rare ability to make him nervous

-and falter in his usual effortlessly charming manner

-and one day he gets enough of a pep talk from Steve to ask you out

-and he does, giving the biggest, stupidest grin

-when you guys date it’s so cute

-he tried to let you do makeup on him one time

-it didn’t end well

-he can’t sit still 💀😭

Darry Curtis

-the least expected couple

-he’s a very traditional dude

-so seeing you is kinda like 🤯🤯🤯

-when he sees you walking down the street

-his jaw drops so low you have to dig a hole in the ground 💀💀

-he’s just stunned by you’re mere existence

-he asks Sodapop and Ponyboy about you at dinner

-and there both like OoOoOoOOoh someone has a crushhhhhh

-he’s in denial fr

-but he finally goes up to talk to you one day when you’re both shopping

-and asks a bit awkwardly “So… uhm… what’s with your outfit?”

-then realizes how rude he sounds “WAIT not like it’s not amazing- I mean you’re amazing- beautiful too- wait-“

-you giggle at him and smile “Oh, I just really like dressing in the same culture as my music taste”

-that gets the ball rolling and you two actually get along pretty nicely

-you both turn heads for real though

-and Sodapop and Ponyboy see you as a really cool aunt/older sister

-matches belts and jewelry with you

Dallas Winston

-now, he has never seen a broad like you before

-was secretly a bit intimidated

-but he’s not gonna show that………..

-he probably went up to you on a dare though

-made some rude jokes

-and you furrowed your brows

-“You know, it’s really not cool to make those jokes. You don’t like it when people assume things about you for being a grease hm?”

-he’s super surprised at your reaction

-and for once in this ever loving man’s life he reflects on his actions

-he sighs “You’re right, doll. What’s your name anyway, princess?” He says with a smirk

-matches belts and jewelry with you

Two Bit Mathews

-he saw you

-and instantly made jokes

-it’s two bit you guys what you expect

-“Do you come out of bed like that or…”

-“Damn, what unicorn threw up on your clothing?”

-“You’re gonna cut off your circulation with that much jewelry doll.”

-of course it’s all good fun, and you roast him back with equal wit

-which is kinda when he realizes he’s in love

-he asks you out

-you say yes

-he absolutely wear matching belts, jewelry and even shirts with you

-you made a Micky Mouse scene outfit and showed it to him

-and he LOVED IT

Steve Randle

-oh girl

-you rocked his whole world whenever you walked towards him

-he looks you up and down for a full minute

-like omfg she’s sick

-he tries to hold back his excitement when he talks to you

-he thinks you’re style is so cool

-asked multiple times to touch your wig

-he grins so hard when you let him

-he asks you out the soonest

-you guys are very cute together

-you give him something interesting to look at while he works on cars fs

-he loves your wigs so much

-kisses your hair all the time

Curly Shepard

-thinks you’re styles kickass, and you’re a total bad bitch

-I mean he’s a bit punk/grunge himself

-probably the most familiar with alt styles in general out of everyone

-he hits on you almost immediately

-checking you out with a smirk and a whistle

-loving the way your fishnets and skirt makes your legs and thighs look

-you guys are a scary ass couple to encounter

-the punk/grunge and the scene

-he matches belts with you and you both take a little bit from each other

-you mix a bit of his punk/grunge in your scene fits

-and he mixes some scene into his punk/grunge fits

-and he sometimes does matching eyeliner with you

-and it looks super kick ass on him

#the outsiders hcs #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #dallas winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #curly shepard #x reader #y/n #the gang x y/n #the gang x reader #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders x y/n #the outsiders x you #urlocalnonbinarybastardwritesanswers

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wexhappyxfew · 20 days ago

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hey shannon!!!! from prompt list 3 & the action category - “intervene” with kennedy and bucky, but kennedy is the one doing the intervening/defending him????!!! HELP - @softspeirs

KATIEEEE!!!!!! @softspeirs i am *here* i am *back* and we are here with a kennedy x bucky prompt that had me lowkey losing my mind w/this piece half-written months ago and me now just finally having the time to finish it up. the pure EXCITEMENT of this prompt with kennedy and bucky, kennedy's reactions, bucky's reactions and their dialogue....oh i was absolutely losing it. definitely one of my longer ones i think, but it came out just as i was hoping (and probably better). also the scene inspo for this hit me even before your prompt and when you sent this in - oh i was SO EXCITED. so i sincerely hope you enjoy!!! :D

flak-happy

(a/n): kennedy x bucky (pre-stalag, pre-anything-that-happened-in-the-stalag lmao). i fear we enter bucky: the definition of yearning, and kennedy: the definition of miss-repressed-emotions and oh boy does it make for the absolutely perfect combination, especially in a moment of time where things are turning rather dark and dreary and sad. oh kennedy farley you are so seen!!!! please enjoy my-return installment in the silver bullets universe!!! <3333 (he'll make it up to her, he swears)

"5-0," Kennedy said quietly, the tiny bit of newspaper in her hands something she was half-way between scorning, ripping into a million pieces, and lighting on fire, "they're trying to kill me."

"It's a baseball team, Kenny," Margie said from beside her, "the only thing actually trying to kill you are the Germans."

"But I have a helluva lot more emotional involvement to this team than the Krauts, Margie, that's the difference." Kennedy said, flipping the paper over and grumbling under her breath, "Fucking Danny Doyle - at this point, just say he's in left field 24/7, even when he's actually in left field. Can't even hit the goddamn ball."

"Okay," Vivian Ratcliff said quietly from beside Kennedy, plucking the newspaper clipping that Lieutenant Montez had gotten for her this morning from her fingers and neatly folding it up, "you need a drink. A stiff one at that." Kennedy sighed and crossed her arms between the two as they continued walking forward towards the flying club and bit back her lip.

"And I'm going to have to hear all about how the Yankees won their game," Kennedy mumbled, "please say we can open a tab?"

"Or!" Margie butted in, "Better yet, someone will already have a tab started for us." Kennedy glanced at Margie, gaze burning into the side of Vivian's head, who was currently running a hand through her short, dark curls in the hand-held mirror she was carrying with her.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kennedy asked her and Margie chuckled.

"Ev Blakely." Margie offered with a grin, "He's always putting his ViVi on his tab."

"Oh, screw off, Margie." murmured Vivian, brushing her bangs that lay wilted against her forehead, back a bit - the entirely noticeable blush that had sprung across the waist gunners cheeks and the smile poking at her lips evidently hard to ignore.

"I am not, and I repeat, not his 'ViVi', he's just a sweet thing, a gentleman," Vivian offered with a shrug of her shoulders, wiping at a smudge of her red lipstick at the corner of her mouth gently, "honestly." Margie chuckled as Kennedy sent her a glance.

"Whatever you say, Viv, but he's a real charmer that Ev Blakely," Margie said, grinning, "especially that you're ViVi to him, hm?" A small smile quirked onto Vivian's lips as she snapped the hand-held mirror shut and slid it into her pocket and offered them a slight smile.

"Shall we head in?" she asked them with a smile and a nod before stepping inside, cheeks still flaming, "It seems like we're all in need of a stiff drink." Kennedy watched as Vivian then stepped inside, nodding and smiling to a few pilots that had stepped passed her. Slowly, Kennedy glanced towards Margie who simply smiled.

"What?" Margie said with a chuckle, "It's clear Blakely's sweet on her."

Heading inside the flying club, the atmosphere was alive with both a gentle, slow song by Ella Fitzgerald, the quiet chatter of voices still about the place and the mixture of smells which combined two of the finest things on Thorpe Abbotts - cologne and alcohol.

"Beer?" Vivian offered glancing back at both Kennedy and Margie stood in the small opening between the bar area and the dance floor.

"Yeah." Kennedy said quietly, following behind Vivian with a sparing glance towards the dance floor where Judy was, more probable, to be forcing Carrie to dance than anything it seemed.

A large group of some of the pilots had gathered in front of the wooden bar, a few backs turned their way, with a few pairs of wandering eyes meeting her own. At the moment, she made rather quick and inherent eye contact with Bucky Egan. Who was staring down Colonel Harding in front of him.

Kennedy glanced at Margie and Vivian, who sent her sparing looks as she stepped closer, curious to both listen in and figure out why the look in Bucky's eyes made her stomach twist.

"Now-now who's flak happy?' Bucky asked, leaned up against the bar, a morose look drawn on to his features, eyes peering into Colonel Harding's persistent and demanding. Kennedy stepped closer, her eyes looking to Colonel Harding's face - it was a mixture of sadness, grief and evidently being somewhat drunk, but it was somewhat a sorry sight.

"Who?" Colonel Harding seemed to challenge.

"You are." Bucky said with a nod, his eyes frozen on the Colonel's gaze. There was something slightly unsettling in that split second of time - this almost far-too-large group surrounding a somewhat bitter conversation. Flak-happy; what a word. Enough to stir thoughts of death in all of them. How much it surrounded them, consumed them. Buck's half-crescent glance towards Bucky was enough for Kennedy to catch Buck's gaze and see the unfurling repent growing.

"You are." the Colonel said firmly back.

"No, you are," Bucky said, before giving a quick tap of the back of his hand on the Colonel's front pocket, "sir."

For a moment, the low drone of the music seemed to dim to a distant hum as they all stood there, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to see the reaction of the Colonel, to someone like Bucky. Notorious for his outbursts at this point, it seemed.

Kennedy watched for a moment longer, before she bit the bullet and stepped forward, directly placing herself in front of Bucky and looking right up at the Colonel, hands placed behind her back, heart pounding in her ears, praying to God above that she didn't look a fool in this moment. Whatever conversation it had been, friendly or foe or whatever other words could've been tossed around - she was having none of it.

This was for Captain Dye, to celebrate 25 missions, for people to relax a bit. Not to think about what tomorrow or the coming days could bring.

Then, the Colonel began to laugh, eyes not fully connected to the bright laughter from his lips, reaching up to place his cigar to his alcohol-laced lips. Kennedy mimicked her best impression of a laugh that she could muster in this moment without feeling in-genuine and watched as the Colonel's eyes brightened a bit.

"Good to see you, Sergeant Farley." he said and she nodded, saluting as well.

"And you, Colonel." she said and he grinned, before turning away and pointing to the guys - 'Single fillies!' he began to yell and point, people clambering and murmuring amongst one another as the rather large group began to slowly disperse.

She watched, predictable as it was, Blakely saunter up to Viv and Margie seemed to drop to her knees immediately at the sight of a tail-wagging Meatball.

In the midst of this all, Kennedy seemed to only just remember now that she had stepped between the Colonel and Bucky in this very moment and that very same Bucky Egan was now stood just behind her.

And if anything, she knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face and would poke fun at her little heroic moment of relief. She really didn't know what had compelled her to do such a thing - to step in between people that had far higher ranking than she probably ever would. But there was something on his face, that look in his eyes. Like he was distant, in a completely different time zone and realm than where he actually was.

And she couldn't remember a time when Bucky had ever looked like that.

Kennedy found that she was bracing herself as she turned around, but by that moment, as she was turning, Bucky was already watching her. It looked like a mixture between an attempt to smile on his face, and the struggle of an onboarding cold front. And her heart sunk a bit.

Maybe she was a bit stupid for that.

They barely knew each other past their Yankees and Red Sox feud and those few times they'd had conversations together - about what, she wasn't sure - she had spent the greater part of the time noticing every bit about how his eyes lit when he laughed, the crinkle of his grin, the pure sound of his voice.

For what reason she was stockpiling those images and feelings in her brain, she'd never know.

But, standing here now, it felt completely different.

Bucky was different.

"Hi, Farley." he said, voice more exhausted sounding than intended it seemed.

"Hi." she said back, noticing their closeness to each other and the eager smell of his cologne, taking the opportunity to step back.

Then she stared at him - she had no clue what to say.

For the first time in months, she didn't have a clue what to say to him - to explain whatever that had been, to try and chalk it up.

Yeah, she had no clue.

"You alright?" she said him, before scratching the back of her neck.

"Doing the best I can, yourself?" He was bored of this conversation already, he was done with it - say something, say something. But when she took the chance to actually go to open her mouth, she noticed his eyes were far-off, looking past her shoulder.

Slowly, she took a glance and noticed all he was staring at were the people - the couples, the duos - dancing with each other. Kennedy looked back towards Bucky again and found his eyes trained on her again.

"You dance at all, Farley?" he asked her, leaning back up against the bar, the broad stretch of his shoulders enough to fill her entire birds-eye view, enough to make her cheeks tint to annoying pink.

"I regret to inform you that it is quite possibly the last thing you want me to do."

"Really?" Bucky asked with a wry chuckle, smirking at her, "Well, isn't this new. Thought Kennedy Farley was good at damn-near everything." Kennedy looked at him an tilted her head.

"Well, I don't know whether to take that as an insult or compliment, but I'm afraid that growing up my mother put me in ballet and in turned into a complete mess of me on stage - so no, I don't." she said, crossing her arms, suddenly wanting to get herself out of this conversation as quickly as possible.

"I'm intrigued," Bucky said, tilting his head slightly and nodding to her, "tell me more. Ballet, huh?"

"It was like a chicken on a balance beam, alright? I'm sure you could've done better than me-" Bucky chuckled at her mid-sentence.

"Were you really that bad?" he asked her, "I don't believe you."

"Wouldn't be the first time." she murmured and he raised a brow, "This typically would be the time where I ask the same question back, but I've seen you dance and well….clearly know you dance so…." Bucky let out a barking laugh and hung his head for a moment before looking back up at her.

"Well, Kennedy Farley, dancing is a whole lot more than just some stupid ballet classes your Mom put you in when you were a kid, alright?" he said, pushing off from the bar counter and stepping forward. Kennedy look up at him as he stepped closer and equally stepped back.

"What are you doing?" she asked him as he stepped in front of her, managing a small smile.

"Dancing." he said, "With you."

"You can't be serious-"

"Oh, I'm serious!" he said, reaching forward to take her right hand in his, adjusting his other hand to her waist. It was honestly a mixture of feelings, intoxication and his cologne that suddenly made her feel slightly insane.

"Bucky-"

"Nah, nah, you're fine, look at you," he said as they slowly started to sway back and forth, "you're a natural." Kennedy looked up at him, feeling every inch of her hand pressed into his, his other hand on her waist.

"Well, if we're doing this, then you oughta tell me what Colonel Harding was talking about when I came up to you all." she said, watching as his eyes darted to hers and his grip tightened.

"Maybe another time." he said tilting his head to the side, to which she raised a brow.

"Oh, no, no, no, I saw that look on your face-"

"Farley-"

"Major Egan." she said, pausing and looking up at him expectantly. It seemed to work. Bucky watched her, his grip tight on her hand and pouted his lips a bit.

"The war. In the air." Bucky said quietly, tilting his head to the side, "Guess you can say it's making people go crazy."

"Quite the observation." Kennedy murmured and Bucky let out a huff, "Well, why was he addressing you. I mean….sorta front and center there-"

"He thinks it's starting to get to me." Bucky said quickly, pausing as she peered up at him again, watching his eyes under the dimmed yellow lights of the flying club.

Kennedy felt her heart stammer for a moment as she looked up at Bucky - there was still that distant look in his eye, but something else that craved and yearned for touch and connection and possibly something else she couldn't quite decipher. She believed that was all anyone in this war wanted - when the battle was done, when the flight crews were back at base, sweat and grease-stained faces, eyes hazy and glazed. All people wanted was someone else to get it, to understand them and hold them and tell them that maybe things were going to be okay.

But, with Bucky, with their separation of rank and about a million other things, she quite honestly, was at a loss for words.

"You?" she instead asked quietly. Bucky watched her, face unchanged.

"Yeah." he said quietly, almost ashamed, "A trip to London would probably do me some good, don't you think?" Kennedy watched him - he wanted this. He agreed with the Colonel. Bucky wanted this.

"If that's what you want-"

"I think the Colonel was really onto something, Farley." Bucky said, stopping her mid-sentence, "Doing those missions. Over and over. I feel like I'm going crazy." Kennedy felt like she couldn't even hear the music anymore, she didn't even realize how close they were into each other's hands and arms, she didn't even realize the tick of desperation in Bucky's voice. Like he was alone in the dark, trying to grasp onto something.

"Bucky." Kennedy said quietly, watching as he sighed and shook his head, dropping her hand, removing his, rather warm, hand from her waist and stepping back.

"Sorry." Bucky said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before turning back to the bar and finishing what was left of his drink, before looking at her again, "I shouldn't have said a damn thing. Freak you out when you're trying to relax. I'll…" Bucky watched her and sighed, before stepping around her, "I'll see you around."

Kennedy stood there, the flash of his body disappearing from in front of her, the hint of sweat, beer and cologne trailing as she turned to look over her shoulder and found him moving right out of the room.

Kennedy's heart was in her throat - a mixture of feelings of not knowing what Bucky would do next, especially being alone and if this was making her suddenly want to do anything she could to help him.

So, she did the only thing a Farley would do. She hurried after him. She kept her eye on his form as he hurried out and into the cool night air.

Stepping outside she looked over and found him stood at the edge of the road, against the lick of grass that spread between the barracks and looked towards the dark airfield.

"You know, it really isn't the nicest thing to leave a girl hanging on the dance floor," Kennedy started, walking towards him, a slight smile on her face, "especially if she just told you how much she really didn't like dancing." She tried to joke about it, but she just watched Bucky's shoulders drop the slightest bit instead as he ran his hand again over his hair to hang on his neck.

"Sorry, Farley," Bucky said quietly, "I just, I don't want to rope you into this, right now." Bucky said, motioning to himself. Kennedy raised a brow.

"Rope into what, Bucky, I'm right here." Kennedy said watching his back and crossing her arms, "Quite frankly, you just told me you think you're going crazy from it all and downed the rest of your drink. And probably are slightly buzzed. So. I will rope myself into this." Kennedy eyed the few newer airmen walking by them. "Sir." Bucky glanced over his shoulder at her and she simply stared back.

If he wanted her to be scared of this side of him, it would have to take a whole lot more for her to disappear, for her to run.

This Bucky she almost liked. Where he wasn't putting up the facade, the mask, the strong-front that showed he was fine.

Because no one was fine when their job was trying to just beat the odds and survive.

"Farley-"

"Bucky." she said and she watched as he stared at her. He grew quiet.

Slowly, she stepped closer and moved to stand there beside him. Glancing upwards, she found him, looking far off again towards the darkened tarmacs with B-17s.

There was something about standing there in damn-near total silence with him. It was so unlike any other version of the Bucky Egan she'd met, but in this moment, she hoped that this was exactly what he needed.

Someone to be there, but to stand in this silence with him.

Away from the music and the drinks and the B-17s and the bullets.

Away from it all.

All to simply realize he was alive, and on the ground and standing on his own two feet.

"To get in one of those planes again," Bucky started quietly, "I can't….it's hard. To do that. Again and again." Kennedy looked up at him, her face drawn into one of concern and worry.

"I know." she said quietly, watching his eyes as he glanced at her, "It scares me. Every time without fail. After what had happened with Birdie and then Margie those few months ago. The thought? Jesus, I didn't want to have to leave solid ground." Bucky watched her for a moment.

"You don't give off the impression that you're scared, Farley," Bucky said quietly, "always thought you were one of the strongest we got." Kennedy managed a genuine smile up at him.

"Thanks, Bucky." she said - genuinely - she figured people didn't see that often, so she could appreciate when someone like Bucky told her that. He managed a slight smile at her words.

"Would you go to London?" he asked her and she felt her face change into one of slight surprise and near-joking. She offered him a look, one where she almost burst out laughing.

"Me?" she asked him and he nodded, "No, no….probably not." She looked at him again and almost nervously laughed.

"Silver Bullets needs me. And for the moment, despite everything, I'd rather let that trip go to someone else, who needs it more." Like you, she thought quietly. She looked at him and found his face saddened a bit and offered a shoulder bump.

"Go to London. Take the trip." she said softly, "Take some time to relax." Bucky looked at her, his eyes aching to watch hers it felt as she stared at him.

In another world, she would've said she'd loved to go to London - she always heard about London as a kid; Buckingham Palace, the guards in their uniforms, the city streets, all of it. But for now, she didn't need it. She was fine.

"Well….I only asked because…" Bucky cleared his throat, "Buck sorta denied my offer and I figured, well, since you and just about everyone else also need a break, figured I'd offer to come. With me." Kennedy looked up at him, her cheeks flamed in the darkness and she hoped the fact the moon was covered by clouds, covered her obvious shyness.

"Oh." Kennedy said quietly, her eyes wanting to leave Bucky's but whole-heartedly refusing. In her mind, she told herself that he could tell something was most definitely wrong with her, with her blubbering and lack of words and shock and nervousness. But instead he offered a slight smile her way.

"I mean," she started, a small laugh escaping her lips, "you're….you're a Major, Bucky, and I'm just, I'm a Sergeant. And we're from different planes. And it'd be…I don't know, people, they'd say stuff-"

"Farley," Bucky said, "we're…..friends, ya know, it'd just be us two. As….friends." And even she wasn't convinced of his words in that moment and suddenly she felt hot all over and the thoughts in her mind were enough to force her to look away from Bucky in an instant. She looked forward again over the field of B-17s in the darkness and swallowed her shaky breaths.

"Farley, I…" Bucky started, before clearing his throat, "I just…I think I'm drunk. Just, ignore me-"

"Okay." Kennedy said quickly, looking over at him and nervously meeting his gaze with a nod, swallowing sheepishly as she looked up again to his eyes, "I-"

She really couldn't get herself to speak properly at the thought. Of Bucky. Her head felt light, her cheeks hot, her body hot, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

He was drunk, she told herself, he was drunk and wouldn't remember this and she could go back to being brazen and bold and stubborn with him.

Not this mushy, genuine and sweet part of herself that she rarely showed a soul.

Looking at Bucky, suddenly her mind went into a frenzy at the thought of the two of them, in a room together, in London - how awkward it would be!

She'd take the bed closest to the window, he'd take the one closest to the door and she'd have to hear his every breath as he fell asleep and his snores through the night.

And she'd have to wake up and he'd see her exhausted and barely awake and exceptionally grumpy.

And then he'd say something about how she reminds him of the pigeons on the streets in the city and she'd launch her shoe at him.

And then she'd feel embarrassed having to get ready and knowing he's right in the other room.

And - no, it was too much. Because what if they just happened to ignore it all and she allowed herself to feel these feelings that made her feel sick to her stomach - no. She looked away from him and suddenly wanted to be alone.

No, let him go to London - get the drinks, get the girls, and she'll keep her mouth shut.

Because he was right - they were just two people, barely even friends, who happened to know each other and have strong opinions about baseball. No, she wasn't going to say a thing.

"I'll make it up to you then someday, Farley - the dancing," Bucky said before patting her shoulder gently and letting out a low whistle, "I'm off to barracks. Figured I need to shut up before I keep letting my mouth yap, ya know?" Kennedy slowly looked over at him, sticking his hands in his pockets and giving her a wide smile - one between a forced and slightly buzzed grin and a genuine one.

"I'll let you know how London is, okay?" he said and she nodded, tying herself directly to where she was standing so she wouldn't convince herself to follow him again.

"Okay." she said and he smiled wider and then mock-saluted to her before turning away.

"I'll be seeing you, Farley." he said and as he staggered down the path, her own heart thumping inside her chest she shut her eyes and let out a breath before crossing her arms tighter across her chest.

She couldn't have said anything better? Come up with better words? A better send-off and good-bye? Should she have taken the offer?

No, no, no, no. Nope.

And with that, Kennedy turned and moved right back into the flying club and ordered as strong a drink she could get at this time of night.

#i fear they were both INSANE for this energy but honestly.....#it really kickstarts EVERYTHING FOR THEM?!?!?!?!#like SURPRISE. i actually feel *emotions(?)* for you that i should NOT feel?!#like damn okay #these two are honestly everything and i was so excited to finish this piece for this prompt #not a full-on crazy intervention but enough to get this convo rolling to say the least #and just yes....i can't with kennedy's emotions and thoughts at the end!!! poor girl she wants some love! and thinks she has found it!#but is not sure! and CAN she feel these for this dude?!?!!#GAHHHHH #kennedy u are so real!#kennedy farley #john egan #bucky egan #bucky egan x oc #silver bullets #mota #mota writings #masters of the air #WE ARE SO BACKKKK #(also peep the viv x blakely mentions here yall they are *adorable* i tell you...more on them later though)

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mononijikayu · 7 months ago

Text

“a life, a sparkle in your eyes/heaven coming through” — gojo satoru.

It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a multitude of emotions in its simple curve. It was a smile of acceptance, of love, of unwavering support for the choices you had made. And in that smile, you found reassurance, a silent affirmation that you were cherished and adored just as you were, in every form and iteration. One that you hadn’t seen in a long time. And Satoru somehow has the kindest one you’ve ever seen before. The most precious.

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: the astronaut by jin of bts

NOTE: jin of bts is returning from the military in a couple of hours and this song was on repeat and i had a satoru idea so here we are!!! anyway, i love you!!! ill see you in the next update of ashes of love <3333

masterlist

u s and t h e m

YOU REFLECT A LOT ABOUT YOUR LIFE. You lost faith in love a long time ago. You had been surrounded by love all your life, enveloped in its warmth and comfort. But then your father died, and you were taken from your mother. Your world shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of sorrow. Then it was Kaiko and Namie who became your anchors. You clung to them desperately, finding solace in their presence and, once more, you were surrounded by love.

But the cycle repeated itself cruelly. Somehow, no matter how you want to escape it, the same suffering was bound to repeat itself. Namie died, and Kaiko went insane, driven mad by her own grief, and left you to inflict her pain upon the world. And then you spilled her blood with your hands, trying to prevent more suffering. You were alone again, cast into the abyss of solitude. Suffering the voices in your head and the shadow of a lost love.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. It was hard to not know what he looked like. You’ve seen him enough in the clan gatherings, though never once interacted with him. And besides, the six-eyes was too hard to miss. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

"Need some help?" Satoru called out, his voice light and friendly.

You glanced down, surprised by the sudden intrusion. "I think I can manage," you replied, though your grip on the tree branch was precarious.

Satoru chuckled, easily reading the situation. "Looks like the cat isn't the only one stuck," he teased, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hold on, I'll get it."

Before you could protest, he effortlessly climbed up beside you. With a gentle but firm hand, he coaxed the trembling cat into his arms. "There we go, little guy," he murmured to the cat before turning to you. "And now for the other rescue."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as Satoru helped you down from the tree, his touch warm and reassuring. "Thank you.” you mumbled, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

"No problem," he said with a grin. "I'm Gojo Satoru, by the way. What's your name?"

You hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Zenin. Gen—”

Satoru's eyes widened slightly with recognition, but his grin only widened. "Oh! Then you’re my senpai?" he said, a playful snicker in his voice as he eyed you from head to toe. “You look pretty for a Zenin.”

The unexpected comment caught you off guard. You couldn’t believe what he’s saying. No one had ever been this blunt with you. At all. You felt like you were glitching. Your face scrunches up as you narrow your lilac eyes at him.

"Excuse me?" you replied, a mix of disbelief and curiosity coloring your tone.

Satoru shrugged nonchalantly, his smile never wavering. "Just saying, you don't have that usual 'I'm better than everyone else' Zenin aura about you. It's... refreshing. Does that make sense?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his bluntness. "Well, I don't exactly fit in with my family." you admitted, the bitterness in your voice hinting at the pain behind your words. You stopped. He was literally stranger. There’s no need to say anything. “Wait, why am I telling you this?”

“Maybe I’m just a comforting person?”

“No, No, that—”

Satoru's expression softened. "Though, I think I get you, senpai. I get that. Not everyone fits into the mold they're given. But hey, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, you’re already cooler than the rest of your ugly—”

You snicker suddenly.

He looks at you for a moment.

You cough back, waving him off.

“Just a cough, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know, Zenin-senpai. That sounds like a laugh to me.”

"And what about you, Gojo Satoru? Do you fit the mold?" You say, changing the topic. Saying too much will only be a headache.

He laughed, a sound so carefree it was almost contagious. "Me? I'm the mold-breaker," he declared confidently. "I do things my way, and if people don't like it, well, that's their problem. But who are they to stop me anyway? I’m the strongest!”

You couldn’t help but be intrigued by the boy. If it wasn’t for how genuine he is, you would think his latter comment was condescending. But you feel like there was more to him than that. His eyes tell. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. A glimmer of life itself was in him and you could tell that easily.

This Gojo boy, with his easy going smile and unwavering confidence, was different. He didn't see you as just another Zenin, and that was a revelation. He reminded you of Kaiko for a bit. And that for a moment gave you heartache. But you don’t want to tell him that. You doubt it was proper.

"Maybe breaking the mold isn't such a bad idea, I think." you mused, a small smile playing on your lips.

Satoru's grin widened. "That's the spirit, senpai. Now, how about we get this cat somewhere safe and then figure out how to break a few more molds together?"

“Hm, why not?” you hummed back at him as you took the cat in your arms. The small creature purred, nestling comfortably against you, as if sensing the new bond forming between the two of you.

Satoru's presence seemed to imbue the world around him with a sense of joy and vitality. His easygoing demeanor and infectious energy were like a beacon of light in the midst of the wide echo of the school grounds. As you walked beside him, you couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly he seemed to navigate through life, as if every challenge was nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

It was a stark contrast to your own experiences, weighed down by the burdens of your past and the responsibilities that now rested on your shoulders. Yet, despite the heaviness that often threatened to engulf you, being in Satoru's presence brought a sense of relief, a temporary reprieve from the weight of your worries.

There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a confidence and self-assuredness that seemed to radiate from within. It was as if he possessed an inner strength that allowed him to face whatever challenges came his way with grace and resilience.

As you observed him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration and awe. Here was someone who had faced his own share of hardships and yet still managed to find joy in the simple pleasures of life. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always hope, always a reason to keep moving forward.

In Satoru's lightness, you found a source of inspiration, a reminder to embrace each moment with an open heart and a willingness to face whatever the future may hold. And as you walked beside him, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a brighter tomorrow waiting on the horizon.

"So, Zenin–senpai," Satoru began, breaking the comfortable silence, "what's your story? What makes you different from the rest of your clan?"

You glanced at him, contemplating how much to reveal. "It's a long story and too dull. I doubt it’s one to be heard." you replied cautiously. "Let's just say I don't agree with their methods. Or their values…..Or actually anything.”

Satoru nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. Sometimes family can be the hardest to stand up to. But you seem strong enough to handle it. You got out.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. "Strength isn't always enough. And I’m not yet out. I bear the last name.”

“But you don’t live in Zenin manor?” He hums, questioningly. “If you had, I would have seen you many times.”

“I did see you many times, before.”

“HUH? Then how come I haven’t seen you before?” His face contorts into a pitiful pout. “I would have noticed a Zenin like you — let alone that geezer’s eldest grandchild.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, really. But you never greet people.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. I was there.”

“Isn’t my presence enough as a greeting?” Gojo asks, almost haughtily. You want to smack him, but you hold yourself back. He’s such a brat. “I mean, I am a miracle, senpai.”

“No wonder Yaga complains about you.” You mumbled under your breath. “And it’s only the first year?”

“Hehhhhh, he complains about me?”

“Principal Gakuganji’s happier, if I’m being honest.” You look at him, as he seems curious. “Yaga complaints about you and that other boy—”

“Suguru got mentioned? Woah–”

“You both cause him high blood pressure.” You finally finished.

Satoru's expression shifted from curiosity to amusement as you revealed the cause of Principal Gakuganji's stress. "High blood pressure, huh?" he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess we do have a talent for causing trouble."

You nodded, a playful glint in your eye. "It's a special skill you and Geto-san seem to excel at." you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Satoru grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, what can I say? We're just too irresistible for our own good."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. Despite the challenges and chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went, there was something undeniably charming about Satoru's carefree attitude. It was as if he refused to let anything dampen his spirits, choosing instead to find joy in the most unexpected places. The quiet came again between the two of you.

“Sometimes, it's about finding the right people to stand with you."

“Hm?” Satoru looks at you, his cerulean blue piercing towards you.

“That would get you by.” You made it clear to him as you shifted the cat against your kimono’s sleeves. “But I suppose from what I heard, you and the other first years get along well enough. Continue that.”

Satoru's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, you've got me now too, senpai. And trust me, I'm pretty good at standing up to people. Aren’t I the one that made Principal Gakuganji nearly shit himself?”

“Language.” You tell him as he rolled his eyes. But he was right. Principal Gakuganji felt like he was about to whip out his guitar when he first met Gojo Satoru. At least that’s what Utahime told you. “I know you’re good at standing up to people. But I hope you’re careful, hm?”

“Oh, is that a senpai’s advice?”

“A friend’s advice.”

“You already view us as friends?” He seemed hopeful about that. His eyes were gleaming brighter than ever before.

You chuckled softly, the warmth settling between you. "I suppose I do," you admitted, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Though, if you keep pestering Principal Gakuganji, I might have to reconsider."

“Ehhhhhhhh, but I don’t like him.”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Fair enough. Just try not to give him too much of a headache, alright?"

“I can’t promise anything about that, senpai.”

As you approached the dormitory, the cat still nestled peacefully in your arms, you felt a sense of optimism that had been absent for far too long. Maybe, with Satoru by your side, you could carve out a new path, one that defied the expectations and limitations of your clan. Or at least free you, at least just a little.

Satoru opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the building embrace you. "So, where should we take this little guy?" he asked, looking at the cat.

"There's a place in the courtyard where some of the strays gather. It should be safe there for the little one." you suggested.

Satoru nodded, and together you made your way to the courtyard. As you set the cat down gently among the other strays, it looked up at you with grateful eyes before scampering off to join its new companions.

"See? One problem has already been solved by the great Satoru!" Satoru said with a grin. "Now, onto the next one."

You turned to him, a newfound determination in your eyes. "And what's the next one, exactly?"

He shrugged, his smile never fading. "Whatever we decide it is. The sky's the limit, senpai."

As you stood there, side by side with Gojo Satoru, you felt a spark of hope ignite within you. You didn’t remember him being this expressive or at all talkative all these years ago. But then again, you hadn’t met him in years. He had time to become the boy who met you now.

"It was nice to meet you today, Zenin-senpai. Really didn't think I'll meet you this soon!" Satoru said, setting the cat down gently. "But y'u know, I think you and this cat have something in common."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? What's that?"

He smiled, a hint of mischief in his cerulean eyes. "Both of you need someone to look out for you."

You looked away, the truth of his words hitting a little too close to home. You can’t believe how easily he sees through you. You just met this boy today and he’s already doing so much. You lived a lonely existence, you know that much. You were content with that. At least that’s what you always say to yourself.

"Maybe." you admitted quietly.

Satoru's expression softened. "Well, how about this? I'll look out for you if you look out for the cat. Deal?"

You couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. "Deal."

You did end up adopting the cat. Despite its initial skittishness, it soon settled into your life, providing an unexpected source of comfort and companionship. You named it "Gojonyan," inspired by the snowy white fur that reminded you so much of Satoru’s hair. And even more coincidentally, Satoru’s blue eyes.

Gojonyan had a playful and mischievous nature, always getting into places it shouldn't and constantly seeking attention. It would often curl up in your lap, purring contentedly as you stroked its soft fur, and you found solace in its presence. The cat’s energy and spirit mirrored Satoru's in uncanny ways. Just like him, Gojonyan seemed to have an endless reserve of curiosity and an unshakeable confidence, as if it knew it was meant to be part of your life.

Whenever you felt overwhelmed by the weight of your responsibilities or the shadows of your past, Gojonyan was there, a reminder of the moment your life began to change. The cat’s antics often brought a smile to your face, and its loyalty reminded you of Satoru’s steadfast support.

One evening, as you sat in your room with Gojonyan curled up beside you, you couldn't help but think back to that day by the tree. Satoru had shown you a new way to look at the world, a way that wasn't defined by loss and heartache. He had given you hope, and in a strange way, Gojonyan had come to symbolize that hope.

You often found yourself talking to Gojonyan, sharing your thoughts and fears as if the cat could understand every word. "You know, Gojonyan," you would say, scratching behind its ears, "you’re a lot like Satoru. Always so full of life and mischief. I think you two would get along just fine."

Gojonyan would respond with a soft purr, its eyes half-closed in contentment. You didn’t know if he was agreeing with you or not. But you still found your little one very cute. And comforting too. It was as if the cat understood the significance of Gojo Satoru’s presence in your life and the role it now played in helping you heal. And you feel like you are healing.

You often brought Gojonyan with you when you came by to Jujutsu High, especially when you had missions in Tokyo. The cat had become a familiar presence, trotting alongside you with an air of confidence that belied its small size. You enjoyed the company, and it seemed only natural to bring a piece of your new life with you.

However, you found yourself puzzled by Gojonyan’s behavior whenever Satoru was around. Despite the cat’s generally friendly disposition, it seemed to have taken a distinct dislike to him. The usually affectionate feline would arch its back and hiss whenever Satoru approached, much to his chagrin.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the common area of Jujutsu High with Gojonyan on your lap. Shoko and Suguru were there as well, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation between their duties. Satoru walked in, his usual confident swagger in place, but the moment Gojonyan spotted him, it let out a low growl and jumped off your lap, retreating to a corner.

Satoru’s shoulders slumped dramatically, and he looked at you with exaggerated sorrow. “Why does Gojonyan hate me, Gen-senpai? I thought we were friends!” His tone was a mix of genuine disappointment and playful theatrics.

Shoko chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s probably your personality, Satoru. Cats can sense these things. And yours is just that bad.”

Suguru smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, Satoru. Maybe it’s because you’re too loud and flashy. Gojonyan prefers a more refined company.”

Satoru's eyebrows shot up in mock offense. "Hey now, I'll have you know my personality is top-notch! It's just that Gojonyan hasn't acquired a taste for the finer things in life yet." He flashed them a playful grin, clearly unfazed by their teasing.

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.” Shoko snickers, biting against her lollipop candy.

“Suguru, defend me here!”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. "Can't argue with the truth, can we?" He smirked, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying Satoru's playful indignation.

Satoru huffed playfully, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine, fine. But just you wait, Gojonyan will come around eventually. He'll see that I'm not so bad after all."

In the midst of all the tension and seriousness surrounding recent events, the playful banter between Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru provided a welcome reprieve. As laughter filled the room, you felt a weight lifting off your shoulders, if only for a moment. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there could still be moments of lightness and joy.

Satoru feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Watch my words! Gojonyan will be in my hands lovingly! One day!," he retorted with a grin. "Gojonyan just needs to learn to appreciate my finer qualities."

Shoko shook her head, still smiling. "Sure, Satoru. Let that copium enter your lungs. I’m cheering for that cope!”

Suguru's smirk widened as he leaned forward, his gaze meeting yours with a knowing twinkle. "Don't worry, Genmei–senpai. We still like you, even if your taste in friends is questionable."

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging wash over you. Despite the challenges you had faced, you were grateful for moments like these — moments of laughter that reminded you that you were not alone. Not anymore.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their teasing. “I have no idea why Gojonyan doesn’t like you, Satoru. Maybe it’s just one of those things.”

Satoru sighed dramatically, plopping down on the couch with a forlorn expression. “This is tragic. I, the great Gojo Satoru, was defeated by a cat.”

Shoko leaned over and patted his shoulder mockingly. “There, there. Maybe if you try bribing Gojonyan with treats, it’ll come around.”

Satoru perked up at the suggestion, his eyes lighting up with determination. “That’s a great idea, Sho! I’ll win Gojonyan’s affection—”

“So, vote buying—”

“—just you wait.” He stood up, already plotting his next move. Suguru just shook his head. “I’ll get the finest cat treats money can buy.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “Good luck with that. Just don’t be too heartbroken if it doesn’t work.”

Despite his efforts, Gojonyan remained indifferent to Satoru’s attempts to win it over. He brought a variety of treats, toys, and even a plush bed, but the cat was unimpressed. It would sniff the offerings disdainfully and then pointedly ignore him, much to everyone’s amusement.

One day, Satoru sat next to you, watching Gojonyan with a wistful expression. “I don’t get it, Gen-senpai. I thought all creatures loved me.”

You smiled, reaching over to pat his hand. “Maybe Gojonyan just needs more time to get used to you. Or maybe it’s just being stubborn.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, I think I’m starting to like the challenge. It keeps me on my toes.”

Despite the cat’s continued aloofness, Gojo Satoru’s efforts never wavered. He took it in stride, turning it into a personal mission to win over Gojonyan. It became a running joke among your friends, a source of lighthearted banter.

But he’ll probably never get along with him.

You were right about that assumption.

Ten years of marriage, Gojonyan still hated him.

YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HIS REACTION WOULD BE LIKE. Gojo Satoru returned from his mission late in the evening, his white hair glistening with the remnants of rain. He didn’t get to use infinity as much this time, the creature being more clever than he would have liked. And he was exhausted now. He sighed as he brushed off the thread of rain on his head.

As Satoru stepped through the threshold of your home, the familiar comfort of your shared space wrapped around him like a warm embrace. The weight of his journey, the trials and tribulations he had faced during his time away, seemed to lift from his shoulders in an instant. Home, with you, was where he truly belonged, where the chaos of the outside world faded into insignificance against the backdrop of your love and companionship.

The soft glow of lamplight spilled into the hallway, casting gentle shadows on the walls as Satoru made his way further into the house. Tsumiki and Megumi were likely already fast asleep in their beds, the rhythmic sound of their breathing a comforting background melody to the quiet of the night. But even in their slumber, their presence filled the air, a reminder of the love and warmth that permeated every corner of your home.

And then, there was you. The thought of seeing you again after his prolonged absence filled Satoru with a sense of eager anticipation, a longing that had grown with each passing day spent apart. He could almost feel the ghost of your touch, the warmth of your smile, as he approached the living room where you were likely waiting for him.

The mere thought of being enveloped in your embrace, of feeling your arms around him and your soft breath against his skin, sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. After being so cold and alone for what felt like an eternity, the prospect of being with you again, of being surrounded by your love and warmth, filled him with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and joy.

With each step closer to you, Satoru's heart beats faster in his chest, his anticipation growing with every passing moment. He couldn't wait to see you, to hold you in his arms and whisper words of love and longing into your ear. For in that moment, with you by his side, he knew that he was home.

The anticipation buzzed through the air as you waited for Satoru's arrival, your heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. The decision to cut your hair had been a bold one, a symbolic gesture of breaking free from the past and embracing a new chapter of your life with Satoru. Yet, as you watched the seconds tick by, doubts crept in, and you couldn't help but fidget with the hem of your shirt, your fingers tapping anxiously against your thigh.

The sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Satoru stepping into the room, a bright smile lighting up his face as his eyes met yours. But as his gaze swept over you, his expression faltered ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by curiosity.

You held your breath, your pulse quickening with anticipation as you waited for his reaction. Would he like your new look? Would he be disappointed? The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you fought the urge to chew on your lip nervously as you watched him approach.

Satoru stopped in front of you, his bright eyes locked on your face as he took in your appearance. There was a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken tension as you searched his expression for any sign of approval or disapproval.

“Satoru, welcome home!” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your eyes away slowly. “I, uh…”

He stops at his tracks. “You cut your hair.”

“I... I cut my hair.”

As Satoru turned to behold you, his eyes widened in surprise, taking in the sight of your transformed appearance. For a fleeting moment, he simply stood there, his gaze fixed upon you, as if trying to imprint the image of you with your new hairstyle into his memory. The silence between you stretched, pregnant with anticipation, as he processed the change that had taken place in his absence.

Then, like the breaking dawn after a long night, a slow, warm smile unfurled across his features. It started from the corners of his lips, spreading gradually until his entire face was illuminated with genuine delight. The smile reached his eyes, transforming them into twin pools of warmth and affection as he looked upon you.

In that moment, you could see the flicker of recognition in his gaze, the silent acknowledgment of the courage it must have taken for you to make such a bold decision. But more than that, you could sense the depth of his appreciation, the unspoken admiration for the beauty that radiated from within you, regardless of the length of your hair.

As Gojo Satoru crossed the room to stand before you, his smile remained firmly in place, a beacon of warmth in the quiet space between you. With each step, his love enveloped you like a protective embrace, banishing any lingering doubts or insecurities that may have lingered in the recesses of your mind.

And as he finally reached your side, he gently took your hand in his, his touch a silent reassurance of his unwavering affection. "You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with genuine admiration. "But then again, you always do."

Your heart swelled at his words, warmed by the sincerity in his voice. You met his gaze, finding nothing but love and acceptance reflected back at you. "Thank you," you murmured, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I was nervous about cutting it, but I'm glad you like it."

Satoru squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could shave your head bald and you'd still be the most beautiful person in the world to me," he said earnestly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "It's not about your hair, darling. It's about you, and you're perfect just the way you are."

A surge of warmth flooded through you at his words, dispelling any lingering uncertainty you may have felt. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you were loved unconditionally, flaws and all. And as you stood there, hand in hand, you realized that your decision to cut your hair was not about changing who you were, but rather about embracing your true self, no matter the external appearance.

You nodded, feeling a rush of relief wash over you at his seemingly positive reaction. "Yeah, I wanted a change." you explained, your voice tinged with nervousness. "I hope you like it."

Satoru's smile widened, his fingers trailing along the curve of your jaw as he studied your face. "I love it, darling" he reassured you, his voice filled with sincerity. "It suits you well enough.”

The tension melted away at his words, replaced by a warm glow of happiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. With a grateful smile, you leaned into his touch, savoring the feeling of his hand against your skin..

You blushed, looking away. “I... I wasn’t sure. I’ve never had short hair before. I did it in front of Zenin Manor, to cut ties with them. Now that I’m married to you, I’m free.”

His smile widened, and he gently cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up so he could look into your eyes. “You’re always beautiful to me, no matter how you wear your hair. But this... this suits you. It’s like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life.”

Despite his words, you still felt a pang of uncertainty. “Do you really think so? You’re not just saying that?”

“I mean it,” he said firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look stunning, don’t worry about it. You’re free from all of them and it shows.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Thank you, Satoru.”

He held you close for a moment, his embrace warm and comforting. But then he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I have something for you.” he said, reaching into his pocket.

You watched curiously as he pulled out a small box. Opening it, he revealed a pair of blue butterfly hair clips, delicately crafted with intricate details. “I found these on my mission and thought of you. I know you’ve cut your hair, but I thought these might still look nice.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Satoru, they’re beautiful!”

He grinned, taking one of the clips and gently securing it in your hair. “I’m glad you like them. They remind me of how you’re spreading your wings now, free and beautiful.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at your reflection, the blue butterflies standing out against your short hair. “Thank you, Satoru. They’re perfect.”

He pulled you into another hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “Anything for you.”

To be known, to be seen — it's to be loved. The realization of this truth washed over you, bringing a flood of emotions that you could hardly contain. Happiness, relief, and a profound sense of belonging mingled together in a rush that made your heart race and your eyes well with unshed tears. For the first time, you felt truly like you had found a way to break that cycle — that cursed cycle of loss and heartache that had haunted you for so long.

As Satoru secured the delicate blue butterfly clip in your hair, his touch gentle and reverent, you couldn't hold back the words that had been building inside you. "I love you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "I love you."

His bright blue eyes widened in surprise, his usually confident demeanor giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. This was the first time you had ever expressed your feelings toward him so openly, so unequivocally. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still as he absorbed your words, the significance of them settling deep within him.

"You know," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with awe. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands against your skin, the solid presence of him grounding you in that moment. "I've never been able to say it before," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I want you to know, you mean everything to me. And I’m grateful to you. For everything.

In Satoru's gaze, there was a depth of emotion that transcended mere words. He looked at you as if you were the sun and the moon, the stars in his night sky, and the very air he breathed. It was a look that spoke of a love that knew no bounds, a love that had weathered countless trials and emerged stronger with each passing day.

In his eyes, you saw unwavering devotion, a commitment to stand by your side through thick and thin, to support you in every endeavor, and to celebrate your victories as if they were his own. It was a look that filled you with a profound sense of gratitude, knowing that you had found someone who loved you unconditionally, flaws and all.

But more than anything, in Gojo Satoru's gaze, you saw acceptance. Acceptance of your past, your present, and your future. He saw you for who you truly were, with all your strengths and weaknesses, and loved you all the more fiercely because of it. It was a look that banished any doubts or insecurities, leaving only a sense of peace and contentment in its wake.

As you returned his gaze, you felt a bond between you that was unbreakable, a connection that transcended the physical realm and touched the very essence of your souls. In that moment, you knew with absolute certainty that you were loved, cherished, and valued beyond measure. And as you basked in the warmth of Satoru's adoring gaze, you felt a profound sense of gratitude for the gift of his love, a gift that you would treasure for all eternity.

You were so lucky in this world.

Suffering may come and go to you.

But you will be loved by him now.

He will always be there to love you.

And you could not ask for anything more.

His smile was radiant, a beacon of light that seemed to chase away the lingering shadows of your past. "I love you too, darling." he said, his voice steady and sure. "More than words can ever express."

In that moment, the bond between you felt stronger than ever, a palpable connection that went beyond mere words. You had found your way out of the darkness, breaking free from the cycle of pain and loss. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go. "We'll create our own future," he whispered into your hair, his breath warm against your ear. "Together, we'll build a life filled with love and happiness. For us, for the kids. Together.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with hope and determination. "Together." you agreed, feeling the truth of that promise settle deep within you. "We'll break the cycle and create something beautiful."

As you stood there in his embrace, the blue butterfly clips shimmering in your hair, you knew that you had finally found a place where you truly belonged. In Satoru's arms, you were home, and together, you would face whatever the future held with unwavering strength and love.

Nothing else mattered to you now.

As long as you have Satoru with you, it’s all good.

As long as you could see the light in his eyes,

As long as you could see that blue spark in them,

Heaven was sure to come through in your life.

epilogue

The moment had finally arrived — the long-awaited introduction between Gojonyan and your son. Your husband Satoru was a bundle of nerves, pacing back and forth as he anxiously awaited Gojonyan's reaction. It was as if he was more nervous about this moment than he was when you gave birth to Satoshi. After all, the cat hadn't exactly warmed up to him in the past, and now they were about to meet the spitting image of Satoru himself.

You watched with amusement as Satoru fussed over his appearance, smoothing down his hair and straightening his clothes as if trying to make a good impression on a disapproving in-law. "Do you think he'll like me this time?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Relax, Satoru. Everything will be fine."

“Look, our son looks exactly like me and I’m scared, okay?”

“Gojo Satoshi is also my son, but alright.”

You couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's admission, his nerves palpable despite his attempt at nonchalance. "I'm sure Gojonyan will see past the resemblance and appreciate you for who you are," you reassured him, trying to ease his anxiety.

Satoru shot you a grateful smile, though the worry still lingered in his eyes. He pouts. "I hope so. I don't think I can handle being rejected by a cat twice."

“My love, it was more than twice.”

“I know, I know – just trying to lower the blow, okay?”

As you both prepared to introduce your son to Gojonyan, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. This moment held so much significance — not just because it marked the beginning of a new chapter in your family's life, but because it symbolized the unbreakable bond that had formed between you, Satoru, and Gojonyan.

With your son cradled in your arms, you approached Gojonyan, who regarded you with his usual air of aloofness. Satoru stood by your side, his nerves evident as he watched the interaction unfold. As if on cue, Gojonyan sauntered into the room, his tail swishing lazily behind him. He regarded Satoru with a curious gaze, then turned his attention to your son, who was cradled in your arms.

Satoru held his breath, waiting for the inevitable hiss or swat of disapproval. But much to your surprise — and relief — Gojonyan's reaction was far from what you expected. Instead of recoiling at the sight of your son, the cat approached him with cautious curiosity, sniffing him delicately before nuzzling against his cheek.

Satoru's eyes widened in disbelief as he watched the scene unfold. "I think... I think he actually likes him," he whispered, his voice tinged with wonder. “Oh my god, he does!”

You couldn't help but smile at the sight, feeling a surge of warmth and happiness wash over you. "Looks like you were worried for nothing, Satoru."

You laugh at the sight, marveling at the unexpected turn of events. "Looks like Gojonyan has a new favorite, though.”

Satoru let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he watched the unlikely bond form between his former nemesis and his beloved son. "I guess you were right," he admitted, a hint of awe in his voice. "Who would've thought that our son would be the one to finally win Gojonyan over?"

“Well, he is quite too cute to ignore.” You grinned at your husband.

As if to confirm Satoru's observation, Gojonyan let out a contented purr, curling up beside your son as if he had known him forever. Satoru's nervousness melted away, replaced by a sense of wonder and joy as he watched the unlikely bond form between his feline nemesis and his beloved son.

Your husband then pauses. "But wait…. Why does he hate me? Satoshi looks exactly like me….”

You grinned at him teasingly. “Maybe it's because he sees you as competition for my love, hm?" you teased, enjoying the playful banter with your husband. "After all, he's used to being the center of attention, and you were always the ‘Gojo' in town stealing his spotlight. Satoshi isn’t doing that, though!”

Satoru's eyes widened in mock realization, a mischievous gleam dancing in them. "Ah, I see. It's a classic case of jealousy, huh?" he remarked, playing along with your playful theory. "Well, I suppose I can't blame him. After all, who wouldn't be envious of someone as charming and handsome as me?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at his exaggerated self-assessment. "Oh, of course, how could I forget?" you replied with a smirk, poking fun at his inflated ego. "But, my love, I think Gojonyan just has his own unique way of showing affection. Maybe he's just a tough critic, and you'll have to work extra hard to win him over."

Satoru grinned at your suggestion, the challenge evident in his eyes. "Challenge accepted," he declared, his determination shining through. "I'll make sure Gojonyan becomes my number one fan."

“Well, ten years is a lot. But what’s another ten more, hm?”

“Yeah, why not!? Ten more years!”

You couldn't help but chuckle at your husband's enthusiasm, admiring his unwavering determination to win over Gojonyan, even if it took years. "Well, they do say patience is a virtue," you replied with a teasing grin, enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. "And who knows, maybe in ten years, you'll have Gojonyan eating out of the palm of your hand."

Satoru's grin widened at your response, his confidence unshaken. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Besides, what's life without a little challenge, right? And if anyone can charm Gojonyan, it's me."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a surge of affection for your husband as you admired his unwavering optimism and resilience. "That's the spirit," you replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand affectionately. "With your charm and charisma, there's nothing you can't accomplish."

He grins at you. “Well, I am the strongest, after all!”

“You’re so silly.” You shake your head at him, smiling lovingly at him.

“But you love me, hm?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” You hummed teasingly.

He pouts as he slumps against you. “Huh!? What do you mean unfortunately? Does the vows mean nothing now? Darling….”

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful pout, finding his antics endearing as always. "Oh, you know what I mean," you teased, playfully poking his side. "You're just too irresistible for your own good."

Satoru's pout turned into a mock expression of hurt, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. "Ah, the burden of being so incredibly charming!" he lamented dramatically, earning another round of laughter from you.

"But in all seriousness," you said, your tone softening as you gazed into his bright eyes, "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're my partner in crime, my confidant, my best friend. And even on your silliest days, I wouldn't trade you for the world."

His expression softened at your heartfelt words, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Likewise, darling." he replied, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately. "You're my rock, my anchor. I don't know where I'd be without you."

In that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm. And with a playful grin, you leaned in to press a loving kiss to his lips, knowing that your bond was unshakably true as much as your love eternal.

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