#Tempered Glass Top coffee table

[sumuraj]

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[snehalpatel]

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[babiedemon]

MISERABLE MAN . . . haymitch abernathy / reader

genre . . . fluff, post-war

warnings . . . age gap, mentions of war, swearing, sexual themes

inspired by miserable man — david kushner

haymitch was a drunk. he was a miserable old man with a bad temper and a lifetime worth of pent up trauma. even with the newfound peace, the end of the rebellion, the birth of a fair nation. you knew no matter the time, the level of freedom, he’d forever be a miserable old man.

you mulled over this as you approached his home, a looming tower of a house in the shambles of district twelve. you’d taken the train there, what was once a capitol luxury now a simple means of transportation. the gravel of the deserted district crunched beneath your designer boots, ricocheting off empty buildings of the desecrated town.

there was no response to the heavy knock you left on his door, or one of the side windows, or the back door. you’d almost given up hope, prepared to break the door off the hinges, muttering angry words to yourself as you rounded the side of the house, when you caught sight of a moving figure in the distance. you couldn’t mistake that mop of black hair for anything else in the world, the long hair of the former face of rebellion.

“hey, katniss!” you called over the wind rushing in the space between you. she brought her hand up to wave, a pair of squirrels dangling from her fingers, a slight smile on her softened face.

“hey, eagle eye!” she shouted in response, an echoing reminisce of your rebel nickname. “what brings you to twelve?” she was closer now, close enough for you to pinpoint where her eyes sat over her nose, the once hardened stone color softened to a plush storm cloud. she stopped a few feet before you, eyes giving you a onceover.

“here to see the drunk. any idea if he’s home?” you inquired, lifting your eyebrows. katniss tilted her head to the side, squinted against the piercing rays of the setting sun.

“knowing haymitch, he’s probably drunk off his ass right about now. he usually leaves a window cracked in the front if you wanna try getting in that way,” she suggested, switching the tails of the squirrels from one hand to the other in favor of scratching her eyebrow.

“thanks a bunch, kat. i’ll be sure to pay you a visit sometime before the week ends. lord knows i’ll have my hands full with mitch,” you hummed, slowly backing away as you spoke. she bid her silent goodbye the same way she’d bid her welcome, lifting a single hand as she parted ways toward her towering home.

you found the crack in the window almost as soon as you’d reached the top of haymitch’s stairs and pried it open, the metal frame squealing in protest as you forced the pane of glass wide enough for your body to fit through.

getting in was much harder, your body falling on the floor and taking out half the items displayed crudely on his windowsill. you were certain that you’d gained at least a few bruises from the tumble it took for you to reach the hardwood floor, a grimace on your face as you inspected your exposed, aching elbows.

“what the hell are you doing here?” haymitch sighed, his voice carrying over to the foyer from his place on the living room sofa. you couldn’t see him, and you doubted he could see you, but you guaranteed from your loud entrance he could deduce it wasn’t his usual visitor.

“is that how you greet all of your long distance girlfriends?” you asked dryly, pushing yourself up from the floor with a few grunts. you rounded the foyer into the living room, spotting haymitch’s salt and pepper curls from the entryway.

“‘s how i greet everyone, sweetheart. get used to it,” he muttered, making quick work of pouring himself another glass of liquor. his hands trembled violently, likely due to the withdrawal contorting his face, liquor splashing over the edge of his glass and pooling on the mahogany coffee table. you sighed as you seated yourself beside him, took the bottle from his hands, and shot him an unimpressed look out of the corner of your eye.

“how many have you had?” you asked, studying the hazy sheen over his stormy eyes. he tutted, lazily rolling his eyes, his body sinking into the cushions.

“only three today. woke up about six hours ago, so i’d say that’s pretty tame,” he remarked. you suppressed the agitated sigh and tipped the bottle, pouring a hefty amount of whiskey into his chosen cup.

“i thought for sure when you didn’t answer the door you were passed out in your own piss and vomit again,” you murmured, voice softened as you regarded him. he was aging, his stubble shining with a number of grey strands, the curls atop his head beginning to gain more of his eye color with every visit. he’d gained back a bit of weight in his cheeks and stomach since you’d last seen him, his face and gut now rounded out a bit more.

“i figured if it was important, whoever it was would find their way in,” he spoke, voice gruff, a pause interrupting his sentence. “i was right about both. it was important, and you did find your way. besides, i’ll have you know i happen to have cut back on my substance abuse, thank you.”

“you know i’ll always find a way to come pester you,” you mused, reclining next to him. you felt a bit of pride swelling in your chest, a smile growing on your lips as you processed his minor recovery from years of raging alcoholism. haymitch’s arm slid easily over your shoulders, an almost inaudible chuckle leaving his lips, the rim of his glass snuffing it at the source.

“you definitely are a pest,” he hummed, tongue lapping up the remnants of whiskey on his lips. “what brings you here anyways?”

“i was hoping we could spend some time together. i’ve missed you,” you spoke softly, your cheeks heating up with your admission. haymitch hummed, his nose brushing the top of your head, the smell of alcohol wafting off of him. you’d come to enjoy the bitter scent, associating it with the man you’d fallen for over the course of your teens and now early twenties.

“missed you too, doll face,” he muttered, letting his head loll against the back of the sofa. his fingertips, ever as tremorous, came to scratch at the itchy stubble spotting his chin. “got some geese around back if you wanna check ‘em out.”

“when the hell did you get geese?” you inquired, face lifted in amusement as your eyes traveled haymitch’s exposed windpipe. the skin there was red, flushed from his consistent substance abuse, and a few scratches laid about from his incessant scratching. your fingers reached to trace the raised lines, smoothing them over with your thumb.

“not that long ago. decided i needed a hobby. shit’s boring around here,” he grumbled, watching you curiously. he realized the source of your focus after a few seconds, clearing his throat embarrassedly. “my hands shake too much to shave now. can’t cut my hair either.” he gestured to the top of his head, where his curls fell unkempt to his chin. you tilted your head to the side, running your fingers through the knotted ends of his dark locks, a smile on your lips.

“i could always trim you up, mitch,” you muttered, picturing different cuts and styles framing his face. if only one thing benefited you from your days as a capitol stylist, it was the cosmetic knowledge. you got free cuts, free colors, free hemming. “i think you’d look pretty good with a shag. your curls would suit it nicely.”

“do whatever gets it out of my goddamned eyes,” he gruffed, grumpy as ever, prompting you to begin your search for his razors and scissors. for a reason you couldn’t place, you’d begun cleaning as you searched as well. you’d washed his clothes, polished the kitchen, dusted the paintings and tables, all whilst he lingered in every doorway with a bottle and glass in hand, eyes watching you with burning intensity.

“you look good cleaning,” he remarked, the devious smirk on his lips hardly hidden by his whiskey glass. he slunk towards you, footsteps slow and wobbly against the hardwood floor.

“you’re only saying that because i’m bent over scrubbing your toilet,” you muttered, standing straight up upon feeling his hips meet yours. he looped an arm around your middle, your heart beating out of your chest as you turned your face to let your gazes meet. his eyes, grey and clouded, held a heady desire you hadn’t seen in months. his body pushed yours partially forward as he leaned, settling his drink on the toilet lid in favor of taking full hold of both your hip bones.

you gulped, face red as you turned in his loose grasp, letting him back you until your hips met the bathroom counter. his hand settled beneath your chin, guiding your head up until your eyes settled back on his, his other palm settling on the marble beside your blushing body. his gaze was honed in on your parted lips, eyebrows furrowed and concentration painting his flushed face.

“haven’t seen you in ages,” he mumbled, voice breathy and depraved as a slight smirk quirked the corner of his lips. you let out a shaky laugh, looping your arms around his neck, toying with the greying curls jutting from the nape of his neck.

“i’m starting to think you missed me more than you let on,” you breathed, pupils dancing over the space between his eyes and mouth. his fingers slid, igniting a fire beneath your skin, thumb caressing your jaw and palm cupping the side of your neck. he let out a soft chuckle, leaning in just barely close enough for his chapped lips to brush the gloss from yours.

“that is the understatement of the century.” his eyes fluttered shut as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your buzzing lips, pulling away much too soon for your eager impatience. you sighed, breath fanning over his scruffy face, eyes squeezing shut as the smell of his musky body soap twisted with the stench of his preferred beverage.

“i’m supposed to be cutting your hair.” you chuckled airily, prying your eyes open to meet his lusted stare. he took a moment to process, no doubt distracted by the touch of your fingers to his exposed collarbone.

“you’ll have to wet my hair, right?” as he spoke, voice husky and eyes dropping to your body, he made agonizingly slow work of undoing the top few buttons of your dress shirt. you followed his train of thought, chest heaving against his fingers, eyes darting to the shower standing to your right.

“i like the way your pretty little head works.” you gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level, lips taking his in a short lived, rough kiss. “strip, then.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.”

you couldn’t help the boisterous laughter tumbling from your chest.

[odetolithium]

I fucking love describing Severus's quarters at Hogwarts 🖤🐍

Breathing in deeply, the smell of worn leather wrapped its arms around Harry and invited him further into the room. It hurt to twist his neck around to see every inch of the living space. A tall bookcase, the width of a long wall, stretched beyond Harry’s gaze and he felt drawn to study the titles across each spine. Books along the top row were behind a glass cabinet, a heavy lock joined the sliding panes. Gas lamps littered the stone walls, casting warmth to the darkest corners. They varied in styles and sizes, reminding Harry of an antique shop he once visited with Mrs Figg as a child. It was full of wonder and intrigue. He never expected Snape to be a curator of the eclectic. He had expected something reminiscent of the dingy classrooms, furniture serving functional purposes, a lack of character, curiously tempered.     Opulent, hand-woven rugs complemented the darkness in their muted green patterns. A dark, mahogany wood table faced the bookcase, it was set to seat two and the chairs pulled underneath where delicately carved in an antique fashion. Harry noticed each leg had a small wooden snake coiled around it. He could appreciate the details from the careful carving of each scale on its tightly wound body to its forked tongue at the mouth. Beyond the dining table, was the fireplace and a three-piece leather set. The familiar emerald-green wingback armchair faced its smaller counterpart and between the pair, was a long low-back leather couch. Harry was in the snake pit, and it was weirdly homely. The deeper he ventured; the more familiar things felt.   “Once you are finished inspecting my residence, you may take a seat.”   Harry realised he’d been running his fingers over the green leather on the armchair. This must be Snape’s seat as he was indicating Harry take the chair across from the coffee table. Harry slowly lowered himself on the edge of the chair, pressing his hands between his knees. Snape sat himself down, crossing his legs and extending his arms to rest beside him. His fingers tapped gently against the worn leather.  

[laterosal]

♤ My Dear Seraph | Yukimiya Kenyu x Reader

▽ featuring: yukimiya kenyu x fem reader … no repost on any platforms © laterosal 2024 … a stylist for yukimiya kenyu? ooh boy~ … word count: 3.1k

📌 AO3 | one-shot

“You’re the model?” You gaped at him in shock as you dropped the cup of coffee onto the ground. Monochrome loose top, gingham collar, cargo pants… It hadn’t been just moments ago you crashed into him and snapped at him; you, too, were almost late to another editorial shoot to be the stylist for the client—Yukimiya Kenyu. Him?

“Oh, it’s you—” Yukimiya Kenyu, the client, removed his mask and smiled warmly at you. “How are you?”

“You aren’t even going to ask why I—”

“There’s really no need, since I’m sure you have your own reasons.” He winked at me, the bells from closing the door jingled slightly. Hm.

“Y/N, this is Yuki-kun. I hope you two can get along well…” Yuki’s agent, Tomiko, clapped her hands. “Ah. This is Y/N, and she will be your stylist for this editorial shoot.” Tomiko’s hair was tied into a bun, a clipboard in her hands with her free hand adjusting her glasses.

You silently groaned to yourself as you realized you were rude to your client, this model and student who looked too pure in your eyes. You quickly cleaned up the coffee mess on the ground, before striking up another conversation with Yukimiya Kenyu’s agent.

“Yes, yes. Can I check his portfolio real quick?” You cocked your head to the right, forcing a smile on your face as you stared at Yukimiya Kenyu.

“Ah, here.” You gave a quick glance on the agent’s electronic device through Yukimiya Kenyu’s previous shoots and swiped past each photo. Well, he sure does look stunning. You grinned at yourself as you zoomed into some photos—then exited as quickly as you glanced. His smile, posted on some photos, had some type of warmth in it.

“He’s never once done candid photoshoots, huh?” You clicked your tongue and shook your head as you remembered the purpose of this editorial shoot: candid photos, rather than another commercial shoot. “Interesting. I kinda get the vibes. Oh, and the measurements, Tomiko-san.” You frowned as she quickly handed you the clipboard with the measurements as you hummed to yourself the numbers as a quick scan. You felt a pair of eyes staring at you closely, the eyes of Yukimiya Kenyu, who wondered what clothing you would bring to the table.

“Half-turtleneck top… no, how about a lapel deconstructed flight jacket? And some accessories… a pair of sweatpants? Hm…” You murmured to yourself as you reached the bottom of the measurements page. “Ah! Balloon sweatpants… The ongoing trend for now…”

“Is there anything wrong, Y/N?” Tomiko asked nervously as you murmured even more.

“Hm?” You snapped your head up. “Oh, no. Sorry, take a seat—please. I didn’t mean to take up too much of your time.” You gestured for them to sit on the high stools near your working space at the counter—in this small-space area of where your creations take place. Sewing, knitting, and the zippers and buttons and the needle that threaded every one of the clothing for the famous actors and models. That was you. And they—models and agents—sometimes fear you, since you tend to want things done as quickly as possible. Your need to rush things made your temper flare at times—but for this client, for Yukimiya Kenyu, you wanted to take your time. He seemed to have this certain charm for you to slow down your life, the time with him seemingly longer.

“Okay. Oh, will the photographer only be here tomorrow—the day of the photoshoot?” You asked as you set the clipboard aside, digging into boxes full of materials.

“Oh, yes. Just tomorrow. Uh-thank you so much for having us today, L/N Y/N. I wasn’t quite sure whether you would be willing to work with us for Yuki’s photoshoot.” Tomiko nervously responded. “You are a busy person, after all.”

“Sure. No problem.” You shrugged as you gave them both a smile. A college student and a feared stylist… You giggled as that thought wandered into your mind. Yukimiya Kenyu, hearing a giggle from you, raised his eyebrows when your back was turned to him. “Were the measurements taken recently?”

“Oh, yes. We didn’t want to bother you with such trivial things, after all.” You suppressed a snort. Trivial things? These “things” were what stylists often did themselves to perfect the best clothing choices for the client. Oh well. “Would you like anything to drink while you prepare some clothing ideas for Yukimiya Kenyu?”

“Sure. Any place is fine. Caramel macchiato, with milk foam and oat milk and steamed hot. Light caramel drizzle, and two shots of espresso, please.” Your eyes still trailed Yukimiya Kenyu’s photos that were still brightly displayed on Tomiko’s screen on your counter. You sketched out some designs on blank sheets of papers, tapping the butt of the pen against the counter.

“Then, a flat white for me.” You raised your eyebrows as your eyes were focused on the design as you heard Yukimiya Kenyu’s order.

“Alright. I’ll be back soon, you two.” Tomiko rushed out, with both orders scribbled onto a small notebook.

“Specific in ordering too?” Yukimiya Kenyu grinned at you as he drummed his fingers against the counter.

“Yep. Just a part of me, I guess. Specific and precise.” You locked eyes when you lifted your head up at his bright, orange eyes. “And you?”

“That’s just my go-to. I don’t try anything new—I just stick with whatever I like.” He shrugged in a carefree manner. “I’m not too picky with my orders.”

“And are you implying I am?” You smirked at him as he widened his eyes in shock.

“Oh, no, no, sorry—I didn’t mean it in that way.” He responded flustered. His cheeks were heated, and his ears had a pink tint.

You giggled as you slapped your pen down onto the counter.

“Yuki-san, I meant that as a joke.” You laughed even more as he opened his mouth to say some words, before closing it again. “Sorry.” You wiped a tear from your eye.

“Well, I suppose your order does make up for the spilled coffee from earlier.” You nodded at Yukimiya Kenyu’s words.

“Yeah. I was just… a little surprised to see you here. I didn’t realize—Oh, let me apologize for earlier… for being really rushed and rude.”

“No worries. Again, you do have your own reasons, yeah?” He murmured as he stared intently at you, his rounded glasses reflecting the light from your lamp on the counter.

“Do you wear glasses during photoshoots?”

“I don’t have to.” He mumbled uncomfortably, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table. He looked… stunning. His orange eyes gently gazed at you as your mouth dropped slightly, before you swallowed slowly.

“Oh, you can wear them if you’d like. It wouldn’t be a bother, I think…” You scratched your head nervously. He looked like an angel, from the Heavens they sent him. “Pulchritudinous star—” You slapped at your babbling mouth, eyes widening. “Sorry—” You burst into laughter again. “Your beauty throws me off, really.”

“I can see.” He looked at you innocently as a grin formed on his face. “I shouldn’t be distracting you too much from your work, right?”

“You already have, my dear client Seraph.”

The sound of the shutters and clicks from the camera made you feel at ease as you looked at Yukimiya Kenyu, the holy Seraph model— Too blinding for your eyes. You suppressed another giggle as you made eye contact with him, his small wink at you that made your cheeks feel flushed. Although you pulled an all-nighter to sew the clothing for him to wear, you thought that it was worth the end product. If he were really to have descended from the Heavens with his captivating beauty, you wanted him. He had a different aura from the rest of the boys who often flaunted you, and his signature smile that made you feel the wings of the butterflies fluttering.

“That’s it for today.” The photographer released a sigh and glanced through the photos from his camera. “Y/N-kun, as always, what an interesting outfit choice. I mean, your design for Yukimiya Kenyu—” He added when you raised your eyebrows. “Come take a look at the photos.” The agent Tomiko inched near the photographer as she nodded at each photo.

“Isn’t this cafe a beautiful shot though?” You sighed dreamily as you stared out the windows of the busy streets and cars driving by, the cityscape all displayed from this cafe window. A yawn escaped your mouth as you stretched out your arms.

“It really is.” Yukimiya Kenyu remarked as he glanced at you from head-to-toe. You turned to face him, grinning at him. Did he say that the cityscape was beautiful—or did he mean you? You noticed him pulling his pair of glasses out of his pocket, slowly adjusting his glasses. He sure did look alluring with or without his glasses. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

You shrugged and sighed.

“It’s what gets the work done.”

He looked at you guiltily and nodded his head.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing, Yuki-san. Really—”  You added as he scrunched his eyebrows together. Your phone vibrated in your pocket as you read the messages.

[M, REO]

Are you free today?

[YOU]

i’m with yuki-san right now

uh but yeah, i guess so

[M, REO]

Bring him over to my place.

I’ll send you the address in a second.

Business calls.

[YOU]

oh okay

ohhhh are you treating us for dinner?

[M, REO]

Yukimiya Kenyu, right?

He was my teammate in football before.

[YOU]

at the blue lock project thing?

[M, REO]

Yeah. Bring him over in thirty.

No, head to the park. I’ll have someone drive us over.

[YOU]

yes sir, rich kid

You paused as you responded, frowning as you scrolled up at the text messages. How did he know Yuki-san as Yukimiya Kenyu..? And THE Yukimiya Kenyu also played football?

“You are a famed stylist, after all.” You jumped as you realized Yukimiya Kenyu hovering behind you. “And I am somewhat of a well-known model. Sorry, I didn’t mean to glance at your text. I was going to ask you something, but I’ll tell you later.”

“Ah. Okay!” You gave him a fistbump before waving at his agent and the photographer. “See you two later!” They murmured their farewells before heading straight back to the photos.

“You know Reo?” Yukimiya Kenyu asked as you both hopped onto a public bus to head to the park. “Actually, I’m not surprised.”

“Mhm. He was my client a few times—” You rolled your eyes as you remembered him teasing you about taking his measurements. “And a long-time friend of mine since high school.”

“I see.” Yukimiya Kenyu murmured as he gripped your arm so you wouldn’t topple over in the bus as it screeched to a stop.

“Thank you, Seraph.” You giggle at him again. “You’re super adorable, huh?”

He smirked at you as he eyed you cautiously.

“Sure. You’re super cute, then.” He hesitated to add on: “Like a kitten.”

“So I am a kitten!” You squealed in delight as his face flushed again, shaking his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You know I’m just teasing you, right?” You gave him a grin again. “You don’t have to worry about that. I just make everything a joke—”

“Sure, then.” He patted your head like a kitten as he chuckled when your face was a pink tint.

“Oh… Um… were you going to say something before? Uh…” You stumbled over the words, still flustered from his head pat.

“Right. Do you want to get coffee someday?” He murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah! Are you waiting to have my order memorized and said to the barista who stares at you like a maniac?” You cracked a smile.

“Yeah. Caramel macchiato, steamed hot, with milk foam and oat milk. Light caramel drizzle, and a shot of espresso.”

“Two shots.” You corrected, still impressed with him memorizing your order.

He stared at you amusingly.

“And two shots of espresso.”

“There you go!” You playfully punched his shoulder. “Were you ever this good at memorizing things?”

“I don’t know, actually.” He scratched his head, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Maybe it’s just for you.” For you.

“Is my charm that strong?” You flashed him a smile as he examined your outfit: baby blue shoulder crop sweater with gray drawstrings and wide sleeves, laced beige cami top, midnight blue with golden patterns on the palazzo pants, and over-the-ankle leather flats.

“To attract people like me? Yeah.” He ruffled your hair as you stared at him in disbelief. Most of your voluminous hair, with the help of a hair clip, was tied into a bun, with a few deliberate curly strands that fell to your neck. Having pulled an all-nighter, you only lightly tapped some makeup to conceal any possible dark circles, as well as adding on lip gloss. Your silver earrings were dangling just below your neck, its shine reflected from the sunlight through the bus windows.

“Out-out-out,” You murmured as the bus screeched to another stop at the city’s park. “Come on, Yuki-san!” Your face was flushed as you fidgeted with your clothing, hopping off at the bus stop. He trailed behind you, admiring your figure as you skipped down the sidewalk of the park. His steps matched yours, soon quickening his pace to catch up to yours. His hand brushed against yours, before he grasped it gently.

You swiveled around, and gasped aloud, seeing Yukimiya Kenyu bring your hand locked with his hand near his lips, carefully planting a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Eh?” You put the back of your free hand near your face, trying to cover your tinted cheeks and surprised expression. “What—” So dignified.

“Oh look who’s here today!” A familiar energetic voice shouted as both you and Yukimiya Kenyu swiveled around, seeing the chin-length dark purple hair and his silly grin. “I didn’t realize you guys were all lovey-dovey, yeah? Are you guys dating?”

“No!” You shouted back and puffed out your cheeks, your face reddening. At the same time, Yukimiya Kenyu only shrugged and responded: “I wish.”

You twisted your body to face him with a startled look.

“Yep, it’s confirmed. They really are meant for each other,” Mikage Reo teased. “Isn’t that right, Yuki?”

“If Y/N-kun wants to.” Yukimiya Kenyu shrugged again, pointing at you. Switching the topic, he turned to you and added: “Do you want to go to the same cafe after lunch?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, uh—sure!” You, flustered, stammered to respond, before nodding along.

“Okay. So, Mr. Mikage, where to?”

“Drop the formalities already…” Reo groaned. “‘Reo’ will do.”

You giggled as Yukimiya Kenyu shooed him away. Yukimiya Kenyu then stared at you, at the sound of your laughs brightening his day.

“You do have the most interesting ways to get out of Reo’s grasp.” Yukimiya Kenyu chuckled as you didn’t dare meet his eyes, the heat rising up your face.

“Well… I mean…” You puffed out your cheeks as if a child pouted. “I… Just treat this like a date, then.” You two had escaped Reo’s pestering about your relationship with a simple response tumbling out of your mouth: We’re going on a date to the cafe. Without any other words, you rushed out of the restaurant after eating lunch and waited at the bus stop for Yukimiya Kenyu.

“Yeah, I will. I’m surprised they cleaned up the photoshoot equipment really quickly, though.” You two now sat at the seats near the window with a picturesque painting of the skyscrapers and cherry-tinted sky. The very place Yukimiya Kenyu had his photoshoot earlier this morning. Having slowly finished your drinks, you fiddled with the cup sleeve on the drink. The coffee aroma was an endless scent of tranquility, although paired with the constant clinking of coffee machines and mugs that clunked together in the sink… It was a chaotic pair, so to speak.

“We did come here, like, three hours later. And it’s nice talking to you, Yuki-san.” You gave him a grin, admiring his bright orange eyes that gently gazed upon you. “Oh, I do have a question—and I hope it’s not too uncomfortable.”

“I can probably guess what you’re going to ask.” He released a sigh, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I have optic neuropathy.” You widen your eyes, sitting up straighter.

“Oh… I’m… sorry.” You didn’t know what to say in such a suffocating, awkward moment. You did bring this up, after all. “Is… uh, that's why Reo said you used to play football, then?”

He nodded slowly.

“I didn’t want to, but it couldn’t be helped.” He forced a smile as you bit your lip.

“Oh. You can talk to me whenever you need to, okay?” You gently squeezed his arm on the table, reminding him he wouldn’t be alone to face these problems.

“At least I have you.” He ruffled your hair gently, his eyes slightly droopy. You leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, wrapping your arms around him. He jolted, his face reddening before he pushed you back and stood up. The slight curls of his dark hair covered his eyes, and you giggled at the sight. Such a beautiful, shy person…

“I did say to treat this like a date. So there’s a kiss, mm?” You grinned at him as he laughed—but still embarrassed, he seemed to want to get out of the cafe quickly. You suppressed another giggle before noticing his eyes full of surprise—again, seemingly wanting to ask you a question.

“Are you taken?” He coughed, before adding, “Relationship-wise.”

You grinned at him, dodging his question.

“How about you?”

“No. Although, a lot do think I’m eye-catching.” Yukimiya Kenyu winked at you as you giggled. Who wouldn’t think he isn’t?

“Hm…” You thought to yourself of how to phrase your response. “Well then, yeah.” Yukimiya Kenyu’s heart sank as he clenched his fist on the counter. You tapped his puffed out cheek gently, whispering: “Look at me, Yuki.”

Startled, he widened his eyes and stared at you, his eyes filled with desperation and sadness. He was going to accept that you were someone else’s already. He turned to look at the outside view, drumming his fingers lightly against the wooden counter of the cafe.

He held his breath when he listened to the five words tumbling out of your mouth, making his heart flutter and his gaze much more gentle as it reached your eyes.

“By you, my dear Seraph. ”

[keyrey]

Synopsis: You long for a change in your life, Nanami providing it in the most mysterious of ways. An angsty, short Kento Nanami x reader. A little !papamin and mamamin!reader with a twist! Word count: 2681 Animated divider & Please support by: @cafekitsune

Circular silicone plates holding broccoli and corn remained untouched on the table, neglected and chilled. Yet the pizza rolls and applesauce you paired with it were gone as quickly as you called out dinner time. How could one not appreciate the taste of broccoli? You questioned yourself while you wiped an intrusive bead of sweat from your brow. Temper tantrums reverberated throughout the house, their intensity seemingly unending.

The nocturnal hours unfurled amidst a whirlwind of little stubbed toes, a result of unmet reprimands. Each collision elicited a sharp cry. Nights felt bleak and parched. Your body squirmed and turned as it adapted to the imminent change in climate.

You paced back and forth in the kitchen. Each uneven step solicited a sharp pain in the back of your heart. The room seemed to close in around you. Sounds around you remained amplified and distorted, making it difficult to separate your thoughts from the overwhelming noise. Your mind had tangled in a false sense of perception.

No, I am not alone. I have a husband. He is in the next room over.

You repeated the thought until you were left breathless as if doing so could somehow pull you away from the suffocating grip of reality.

Bedtime. When you retired for the night in the guest room down the hall after a brisk decision to reside in different rooms. The initial intention was not to bother your husband while he worked. You were insistent about the change when he started his job, but you soon came to regret your decision as the bed grew infinitely eerie without him.

There was no need to dress up for bed anymore, except for someone who seemed like they cared. The laundry basket in the corner of your room sat dormant filled with unused silk pajamas. On top, were old t-shirts that carried muck and scum accumulated by weeks spent at home. No need to spend an hour on makeup or doing your hair. No tickets to a fancy restaurant or a basketball game. There was no one to go with. Except there was – but he was in the next room over.

You slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, desperate for a distraction and a glass of water to soothe the hoarseness of your throat. A shadowy figure laced with remembrance loomed over you like an owl perched on a pedestal. Fourteen hours, and he was finally here with you, sitting on the couch with a book in his hands.

“Ken!” you cried out in relief, padding your way toward him.

You wanted to smile, hug him, and kiss him senselessly to make up for all the time lost. But the weary expression on his face made you hesitate. The slight jolt of his actions as he turned the page, the scratching of his fingernails against the hardcover. Three coffee mugs laid out in front of him and to your dismay, every one of them was empty. It was well past eleven pm. So, this was what had been causing his sleepless nights?

“Are you okay? You look pale,” your voice brittle with worry as you spoke. “Have you been taking your medication or eating well?"

You took his frigid hand in yours, attempting to create friction against his rough palms to warm him up. A silent but breathtaking gentle squeeze of your hand and an acknowledging nod provided all of the reassurance you needed. But the moment had been a fleeting one as you felt the chill of your husband’s hand slipping out of your grasp.

He adjusted the reading lamp that was clasped onto the page. A soft cast of orange glow pronounced his baby-pink lips and sharp jawline. Kento glanced up briefly, his expression ruminating on a sense of hitting a new low.

“I’m alright. Do not worry about me, love,” he muttered, dismissively. All the caution you felt for him depleted, the sentiment replaced with hopelessness and frustration. "You have enough on your hands as is..."

“Look, Ken, all I’m trying to say is that I miss you, okay?” You try to start the dreaded conversation, light and simple. “The kids do too. I think your job might be taking a toll on you. Can’t you rest?” you pleaded. Your husband’s thoughts were redirected toward the illicit tapping of your foot on the ground which served as a testament to his patience. You observed as his gaze shifted away, his jaw tightening as he braced himself against the sofa.

You never remembered when he'd end his meetings early to take the girls to the park. You never recalled the time you caught food poisoning and were rushed to the hospital, cutting it off during a sales pitch. How he'd let your middle child doodle on a piece of his paper because drawing was her passion- Even though that paper was the most important one on the table, now filled with unicorns and rainbows. You only wanted to believe what you wanted to believe. And that was your downfall.

“I’m sorry, but you know there’s no such thing as breaks in this field. I can’t. There’s a mountain of logistics that go beyond a simple feeling of tiredness. Financial stability is never guaranteed, many hours of mulling over a resignation letter, I’d have to find myself a replacement employee, train them, then supervise them,” his voice rose like boulders crashing against the shore. “I can’t pack up my office and leave with a snap of my finger,” This only deepened the frown on your face and made the normality of ‘proper’ eye contact even more complicated.

His defensiveness was palpable, an edge in his tone that seared through the space between you. Yet, you chose to let it slide, knowing something deeper resided within. As if it were a means to convince himself that he wasn’t struggling like he wasn’t working himself like a starving canine working on a farm. Was this just part of his character, a counterbalance to the 'calm and collected' persona he wore like a thick coat of armor?

“It’s not an option I have on the ready. Not a trigger I can activate with the push of a button.” His irritation gave way to a more controlled demeanor, though the tension in the room lingered.

“And love, how can we survive if I quit?” His voice softened, becoming almost hesitant as he spoke. He looked down, tracing a pattern on the counter with his finger. “You don’t have a job and haven’t worked in years.”

As he continued, the weight of his words felt like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, like a spectator in a drama you couldn’t escape, your voice barely a whisper against the weight of his words.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You walked away, pretending to busy yourself by cleaning the mess off the floor. The grip on the broom was tight; you were afraid to let go. Terrified of losing your footing as you thought about your premature acquiescence.

Weekends once were a lovely respite. However, as the fifth day of the week commenced, the sixth and seventh days began, marking a recurring peak in Kento's work responsibilities. Countless, careless, clueless clientele, rampaging with their never-ending supply of wealth and power. He didn’t know who he was saving people for. The backlog of projects resulted in diminished family time and even less time for personal endeavors.

He remained locked in his study down the hall.

At last, the girls had bathed and tucked themselves into bed. The eldest had been blessed with privacy of her own while the other two sulked with their puffy and pouty lips. You sat down on the old wooden rocking chair across from them. It was once a spot where you’d nurse them when they were younger. Where you’d tirelessly read and digest parenting blogs like it was your morning coffee. Your exhausted tone had expertly been replaced by a soft one. Wishing your three little angels nothing but peace, happiness, and exemption from hardships. At least from– the knowledge of your own.

You leaned the chair forward, forcing a smile to appear upon the layers of dwindling hope within. The sight of your children rubbing their eyes with small, tender fists of love served as a balm that healed your weary soul.

"Would you like to pick out tonight’s bedtime story? Eldest’s privilege," you asked, hoping to connect with the nine-year-old. She always seemed so disconnected from you, her peers, and especially her sisters. She rarely spoke to you as is. Though a three-year difference in theory hadn’t seemed like much, her mind and body had already started to evolve. In mood, and recently the beginning of buying bras for more than just you.

“Can you read this for me, baby?” You point a finger toward the last sentence of the page as the girls shimmy around your calming presence.

“And following that day, Tiana and Prince Naveen lived happily ever after.” You let out a sigh as the story came to an end.

“Momma, where’s Dad?”

The unsuspected question made your heart swell with guilt. Where is Kento? You mustered up a response, taking your gaze off of your twirling fingers.

“He's working now, sweetheart. You know, in the next room over.”

An unexpected realization of the dismissiveness in your tone struck you. How you had reacted as if 14-hour shifts a day were normal— though you remember that in your household, they were. The girls finally took their rest as you quietly exited the room without a trace.

--- Morning. ---

The sun had barely risen when you shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and yearning for your first cup of coffee. The house was silent, the calm before the storm of another bustling day. You opened the fridge, the cold air hitting your face as you reached for the milk. That's when you saw it—a small note, neatly folded and tucked into a bag of Kento's favorite snacks.

Curiosity piqued, you took the note and unfolded it. His handwriting was unmistakable, strong and steady, yet with a touch of warmth that made your heart flutter.

Good morning, my love.

I know things have been tough lately, and I've been distant. Work has been overwhelming, and I haven't been the partner you deserve. But I want you to know that I see you, and I miss you every single day.

I left this note here because I know you always reach for my snacks. It’s a little reminder that even in the busiest moments, you’re on my mind. Let’s make time for each other tonight. I promise I’ll be home early, and we can have dinner together, just the two of us. Maybe we can even dance in the kitchen again, like old times?

I love you more than words can say.

Yours always, Kento

A smile spread across your face, warmth blooming in your chest. You tucked the note back into the bag, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Tonight would be different. Tonight, you would reconnect, even if just for a little while.

You stood behind him in the study, he’d let you enter on special occasions. There were no smiles, no dancing, no time for reminiscing. Your hand squeezed and kneaded your husband’s tight shoulders as you read the E-mail he’d been staring at along with him in your mind.

Esteemed workers,

I regret to inform you, that our higher-ups have made it clear. Due to the lack of materials for everyone, and the shortage of students attending Tokyo Jujutsu High throughout the school year, you have been selected as the first wave to undergo a prolonged unpaid absence, active until further notice. Each of you will mailed a one-time payment of this month’s salary. Following that, compensation will not be provided. Resignation letters must be sent to the front office if desired.

You knew, that Jujutsu Sorcery was never meant to be a full-time job, he knew it as well. Too goddamn well. Yet, the option was either he stay a Salaryman or return to sorcery. The lesser of two evils? You’re starting to think there’s no such thing. Yet, you had to be optimistic, you had to bring his spirits back up. Wasn't that your job? Something you've been neglectful about. But you are unable to avoid Kento’s shaking body.

“Hey, we’re alright, okay? We’ve still got money in the bank,” this was your attempt at convincing him? “You’re smart, you can get another job. Maybe be a baker like you always wanted, huh?”

“Bakers don’t put food on the table… I can’t,” he mumbled beneath the comfort of his palms over his mouth.

“Well… they put bread on the table, don’t they?” you couldn’t get past the irony despite the numbing situation, your eyes crinkled in amusement as you composed yourself.

Your joke wasn’t lost on him– thank god, that could’ve gone way worse. He giggled himself, though he caught his actions and cleared his throat.

“You never get serious, do you?”, it sounded like he was annoyed, but you heard the rare fondness of his tone.

“Never,” you graciously agreed.

--- One week after the other. ---

Your interactions with Kento had become limited to small fleeting touches while he searched for jobs hiring in the winter quarter. A brush of the arm while walking by or a brief accidental hand on your thigh. The most unwavering difference was your showers, your mind circled back to the way life used to be. Once a playful, unruly excuse you’d use to be together. Now, a reality. How he’d pin you against the cool confines of marble tile to merge his body with yours. No– no more thinking that way. You reprimanded yourself as you washed the dirt and grime off yourself while the man you married turned away from your direction.

His stance was uncomfortable, his shoulders hunched and his face a mask, unable to show emotion. His trademark soft blonde hair was streaked with black and light gray at the roots. You remembered how you used to joke about his future silver hair, calling him a silver fox in jest. You never thought the time would come before you. It had been months since you last saw his natural hair coloring, he always had touched it up, even having you assist him sometimes back in the day. The sight of his demeanor so changed made your heartache.

She heard Kento's breath quake and quicken, the soft splashes against his feet and the tile. Was he turning around? An arm reached forward, gently taking the worn washcloth from her hand, hoisting the duty all upon himself.

“Thank you,” you whispered in the lightest voice you could. It came out squeaky and awkward.

“You’re welcome,” his voice still shaky but less reserved.

What is he doing? Why is he waiting until now? Is this some way of buttering me up? A long-winded apology?

“How did we end up like this?” you faced him, unlike many other days.

“Do you feel it too? Is it just me?”

A soft exhale escaped Kento’s lips, accepting the situation for what it was. “I never listened to you.”

“Kento–,” you tried to interject, but he continued.

“I was so caught up in work and-- you’ve seen my hair right? I mean, it looks awful.”

You saw something shimmer in his eyes, a light that had been long gone. The corners of his mouth formed a half of a smile, one that was forced, but quietly prominent. Your smile shortly followed, yet this one was genuine and sincere.

“That’s right, but you know what?”

“What, love?”

“I think you’re cute, Kento, silver looks good on you,” you just randomly blurted out as his hands cupped the small of your back. It was uncalled for. You heard a small snort escaping the man’s nose. He used to do that whenever you’d mention things out of the blue.

“Thank you. You’re special to me.”

“You’re special to me too, Ken.”

Ah, how you’ve failed your mission once again.

Author's note #2 MC is holding onto the crumbs of nostalgia, it's why I never pushed 'your' confrontation with Kento too far. 'You' settle for what you have. Someone that makes you feel seen but only when he's close to you. And no, Kento still hasn't figured out the job situation yet. I don't see Kento as being like an amazing husband with no flaws whatsoever. Instead, I think he might become hyperfixated on things and neglect others without knowing. Or, he's aware but afraid to explain himself to MC head-on. He's human and everyone has their difficulties. He's not exempt from them just because he's some hot anime guy iykwim. Can you believe I've never been in a relationship before? 🙃😂😅💀 ha.ha. haha.

[evildeerboy]

I have a tempered glass coffee table with a removable top that’s super thick and durable. would it be an unbelievably stupid idea to turn it into a kotatsu for the winter. do you think that it would shatter all over me if i tried that even with a low powered heater

[districtunrest]

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

either this:

"I've finished a painting by the way," Peeta tells him upon checkmate. He doesn't gloat, which only makes the defeat rankle worse. "I want you to see it." Curious, Haymitch follows him to his studio upstairs. He's never been in the art studio before, and he looks away from the canvases lining the otherwise barren white walls, not wanting to invade or to see something that'll frankly ruin his day. Peeta gestures to the painting in question, still on its easel. The boy's skill with translating moments from his life into paint always amazes him, even though Haymitch tries not to look. But this one is not painful to view... They're sitting on Katniss' porch, lit by the overhead light. Katniss hugs a knee that she's pulled up on the top porch step she and Peeta share. She's looking down at Buttercup, who's stretched along her other thigh, a barrier between her and the boy as he naps. Peeta sits back on his hands and is smiling to himself. Haymitch doesn't look haggard for once as he sits in a rocker and looks out at the stars. He can't recall what he was thinking about, then, or when Peeta studied him enough to recreate his features and posture so deftly. But Haymitch remembers this moment, as it was officially July fifth, and the evening air wasn't too cool. They were running out of things to do or say and so they kept sitting together in silence. This was before they finally called it a night.

or this

He spreads his hands and says, "We can call it even now, right?" Seeing Hazelle temper her smile makes him smile himself. She nods once. "I'd say so. Not that that changes anything - unless this means I'm out an assistant." "Nah. I am trying to make all your undue effort worth your while." "It's not undue," she insists, which is as futile as him insisting that it is. "Even still," he says, leaning against the table with folded arms, "your end of the deal has been goose shit and broken glass whereas mine's been needlework and coffee." Hazelle turns to him fully, and his heart starts at how intent she is. Some tacky, bejeweled thing in the room refracts light in iridescent freckles across her neck and collarbones. She doesn't seem to notice as she says, "You got Katniss home. You were there to save Gale. I know none of that had anything to do with me. But it still mattered."

tbh I've even considered commissioning them. they're such vivid scenes in my head, I'd want an image that I could hold onto.

send me an emoji!

[fangirls-fanfiction]

Chapter 5

———

♦️𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝙸𝚝 𝚄𝚙 𝚃𝚘 𝚈𝚘𝚞♠️

Though reluctant to make yet another meal that night, Queen Dice convinced the chefs in the Casino kitchen to make the sisters a good meal- With help of her undeniable charm. Though what exactly was this 'favor' the Devil had in mind? Queen Dice hadn't the foggiest idea. Even so, she went straight back to the Devil's office after she was done in the kitchen.

"What was that favor you wanted, Boss?" She asked.

Looking up from her paperwork, the Devil pushed it aside and stood from her chair. Going to her bookshelf, she rummaged around the books before taking out a bottle of Demon-Only Bourbon and regular Whiskey.

"Uhm... Boss?"

Without a word, the Devil sat on the lounge, setting the bottles on the coffee table and using her magic to make two glasses appear. Noticing Dice was still standing, she patted the seat next to her.

"This doesn't seem like the appropriate time to be drinking." Queen Dice sat next to the Devil.

"I'm not going to get drunk or anything. Just a few drinks."

"What was that favor you wanted then?"

The Devil took a moment to answer, opening up her bourbon. She glanced over to Dice, looking back at the drinks, then back to Dice. Obviously hinting at something, Queen Dice raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I... I don't know... Today by itself has been a bit stressful... Maybe I just wanted a drink..." The Devil frowned. "And... And someone to drink with..."

Unsuccessfully hiding her flustered face, the Devil looked away, getting a chuckle out of Dice. Whipping around to face her, the woman should've known better than to test the Devil's temper. Especially after a day like this. Had her trident not been across the room, the Devil probably would have obliterated Dice by now. Though, even so, that was doubtful. Queen Dice had pushed the demon's buttons before- Whether intentional or unintentional- And yet, the Queen of Hell never did burn her to a pile of dust like she claimed she would time and time again. In fact, the more she insisted on it, the less Dice believed her. At this point, it was a simple way for the Devil to hide her embarrassment. Which Queen Dice found absolutely adorable.

"Boss, if you wanted to have a drink with me, all ya had to do was ask." Queen Dice smirked.

"I'm not having a drink with you!" The Devil's face went red, more flustered than angry now. "I- I- I just wanted someone to drink with. It's lonely drinking... Alone."

"Uh-Huh, yeah, sure."

"DIIIIICE!"

"Sorry, sorry." Queen Dice laughed loudly, getting one of the glasses the Devil had summoned.

Filling her own glass with Whiskey, Dice's smile never left her face. No matter how much it annoyed the Devil to no end. Not having an idea of what, Dice held her glass up and they clinked their glasses together in cheers. The Devil never usually did things like that. She's lived long enough to know that things like that and New Years Resolutions never last forever- if even that long. Though tonight was a special occasion.

Before taking a sip, Queen Dice stared at the glass. She glanced at her Boss, distracted by drinking her bourbon. Pursing her lips, Dice sighed. It was now or never.

"Hey Boss?"

"Hmm?"

"Seeing as how the girls are gonna be staying for a while- "

"Ugh, this again, Dice!- "

"Listen, listen." Queen Dice said, the Devil doing as she was told. "Could you at least try to be nice to them. I'm not sayin' you have to like them." She quickly added when the Devil growled. "Just, be at least a little bit kinder towards them. Ok?"

The Devil sighed, turning her head away from Queen Dice, the woman sneaking her own hand on top of the Devil's. Intertwining their fingers, the Devil didn't fight against it.

"Please?" Dice asked. "They'll be more willing to do what you want if they aren't scared of you."

"I... I do suppose you are... Right." The Devil huffed. "I'll... Try to be a little more... Nicer to those two brats- Erm... Girls..."

"Good start." Queen Dice gave her a reassuring smile.

Taking a sip of bourbon, the Devil sighed in relief to finally have a very well deserved drink. Soon, the demon yawned, getting more tired than tipsy- Which was proven to be better than worse. She never did stop Dice from holding her hand. She just wished she had stopped herself from leaning on Queen Dice's shoulder.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

The meal Queen Dice had so graciously gotten for the sisters was not only appreciated, but very much enjoyed. Not having lunch that day or dinner the day prior, the pancakes Henchwoman had brought were past their mark. Though, still appreciated.

There was, but one thing that troubled them still.

The fact that they had not only disappointed Queen Dice, but also gotten her in trouble. On any other given day, they would've cared less about hurting the woman. Aside from being egocentric, she had tried to get Cuphead's soul on multiple occasions, and tried to cheat at her own game when they were collecting those soul contracts. To say Dice got what she deserved would be an understatement.

However, everything changed when they saw just how it would effect Queen Dice. Even if she could be just as sadistic as her Boss and a complete egomaniac; the woman herself still had feelings just like the girls. And sure, maybe they should've taken the fact that she was being easier on them compared to the Devil. But at the moment, that wasn't a priority.

"I still feel bad about what happened..." Mugma'am spoke up.

"I guess I feel a little bad too..." Cuphead sighed. "Even if Dice had tried to get my soul before, she was trying to help us..."

"I wish we could make it up to her somehow..."

"Brainstorm; what's something we can do to tell her we're sorry?"

"Uhm... We could do what we did for Elder Kettle and clean the house... But I don't think the Devil would want us anywhere near the Casino at this point..." Mugma'am pondered aloud. "What do you think?"

"Something big enough to make her believe that we can be trusted- And will convince them to let us stay." Cuphead thought long and hard. "Do more work for her, maybe? I doubt they'll let us work in the Casino, but maybe smaller jobs."

"That's an idea." Mugma'am yawned. "I'll tell ya what, from all the excitement today and that dinner, I'm rather tired..."

"Same here... We'll think of something tomorrow- Hopefully. If we're gonna live here, I don't want them hating our guts..."

"You said it..."

🩷 🩷 🩷

The next morning rolled around, both Cuphead and Mugma'am not being awoken by Henchwoman knocking on the door. Knowing the situation, the imp was most likely ordered not to talk to them by her Boss- And Henchwoman wasn't exactly one to test the Devil's temper.

No matter the reason, both of the girls woke up very hungry. Though they were tempted not to leave their room unless ordered to do so, they couldn't help but want to since they were so hungry.

Figuring the Devil wouldn't mind under the circumstances, they made their moves, heading out of the bedroom. Also hoping to perhaps get a change of clothes- And a bath- But they didn't want to push their luck with the Devil. They had no idea whether she'd be in a likable mood in the morning or not. But there only one way to find out.

They walked down the hallway, coming upon the throne room. To their abject fear and slight dismay, they Devil sat in her throne, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, the newspaper in the other. Her trident was leaning up against the wall off to the side of her, and her attention seemed to be absorbed in the newspaper. Which gave the sisters a good feeling that they could just sneak by and the Devil would either not notice or not care.

Making their way across the room, they slowly and steadily walked in front of the Devil. Though they tried not to draw attention to themselves, apparently, the Devil's attention wasn't entirely on the girls;

"Good morning."

Stopping short, the girls looked at each other as if they were both going insane. The Devil didn't just say 'good morning', did she? Despite the weirdness of the situation, they had both heard her correctly- And they both also knew it was rude to not say it back.

"Good morning." They said in unison, continuing to walk to the elevator.

"What are you two up to?" The Devil set the paper down, picking up her mug of coffee and sipping from it.

"Uh... Nuttin... We're just gonna get some breakfast, then we'll be out of your hair." Cuphead smiled sheepishly.

"Well, if you're going to the Casino's kitchen, you won't have much luck. It's closed." The Devil said, as if it were obvious.

"Closed?"

"The Casino doesn't open until later. So no one is working in the Casino right now. They won't come until later," She smiled idly. "Except for Queen Dice, she has her own room here." Her voice's tone shifted slightly, the volume going down to a murmur.

Blinking, the Devil's attention came back to the point. The two girls stared up at her, the awkward silence finally getting to her.

"There is a kitchen here in Hell." The Devil cleared her throat.

"A kitchen... Here?" Cuphead asked, glancing at Mugma'am.

"Since when do demons need to eat?" Mugma'am furrowed her eyebrows.

"Well- We don't, but we use it to make banquets and... And stuff like that..." The Devil smiled once more, a genuine, warm smile. "Henchwoman also makes me a breakfast every morning- Her pancakes are the best, you should try them."

"That's debatable, Elder Kettle's are just a little bit bet-" Cuphead muttered, Mugma'am nudging her in the ribs with her elbow.

The Devil stood from her throne, her cup of coffee in hand. She got her trident from its place against the wall and began walking away while sipping her coffee. Noticing the girls not following, she stopped, staring at them for a moment.

"Do you need an invitation or something? Come on!" The Devil gestured for them to follow her.

Quickly following the Devil along, they went down the hallway adjacent to where they were staying. Though the hallway wasn't very long, they made it to a banquet hall, the Devil heading for another door. Opening it, she snapped her fingers, the lights flickered on to reveal a kitchen.

"There you go." The Devil began walking off.

Looking at each other, the sisters didn't exactly expect to have to cook for themselves. Elder Kettle was never really one to let them touch the oven or the stove- Ever. Not ever learning to use either, they found that getting this breakfast would be much harder than they initially thought.

"Well? What're you waiting for?" The Devil asked behind them, apparently having yet to have left.

"We uhm..." Cuphead turned around to face her, trying to explain the situation.

"What? You two don't know how to cook or something?" The Devil used a mocking tone, the girls not laughing with her. "Wait, you really don't?"

"Elder Kettle never really... Let us cook..." Mugma'am's gaze fell to her feet.

"It's that not hard. You just... Turn on the stove... Get a pan- Or something... "

Still unsure, the girls looked at the Devil, silently pleading her to help them out.

"Ugh, must I do everything?" The Devil gave in, walking into the kitchen. "Look you just... Turn on the stove..." The Devil looked around. "Somehow..."

Finally getting the stove to turn on, the Devil jumped at the fire starting suddenly. She then turned to a cupboard, silently opening it.

"Then you get a pan... That... Isn't in here..."

She checked multiple other cupboards, finally finding one and setting it on the stove.

"Then you get... Whatever you wanna eat- Do you fry eggs?"

"Devil, do you know what you're doing?" Mugma'am asked the demon.

"Wha- OF COURSE I DO!" The Devil frowned, crossing her arms. "It's just been a while since... I've had to care for myself..." Shaking her head, she turned to another cupboard. "Eggs are shelf-stable, right? Or... Or is that butter...?"

"'Not that hard', huh?" Cuphead smirked, Mugma'am giggling.

"Listen here, you little finks- "

The door opened, turning all of their attention towards it.

"Oh, am I... Am I interrupting something?" Queen Dice asked, brushing her unkept hair behind her ear.

Obviously having just woke up, Queen Dice's face was free of its usual makeup, revealing her true age. Though what was most striking about her was the fact that her everyday suit was missing, replaced by a royal purple robe- With her name on the chest, which was typical.

"N- No! I was just... Uhm..." The Devil smiled sheepishly as if nothing happened.

"I didn't know you cooked, Boss." Dice eyed the stove, which was still on.

"I... I don't..." The Devil held onto her tail for some kind of comfort in this situation. "I was just trying to cook for these... Guys..."

"Awe, Boss, that's so sweet."

"Wha- I'M NOT SWEET!" The Devil's cheeks and tips of her ears blushed a bright red. "I'm the Devil! I'm not sweet."

"Well, whatever you are, no need to worry, I can make them breakfast." Queen Dice smirked playfully.

As it should've been predicted, as a mortal, Queen Dice could cook- And pretty well. The girls only assumed the Devil couldn't cook for the simple reason that she was immortal. Not having to eat on top of having servants; wouldn't give her much reason to need to cook.

Either way, it was much appreciated.

Both Cuphead and Mugma'am still silently brainstormed ideas for how they could make up for what they did. All leading to dead ends.

Soon, however, Mugma'am gently nudged Cuphead. Just enough to get her attention, she pointed to the sink where Devil and Dice were. Though Dice was cleaning dishes, they both seemed to be smiling and talking quietly. Once in a while, one of them would giggle at what the other said.

The girls blinked, still silently watching all of this unfold.

They seemed to be getting along well.

Really well.

After finishing and pouring herself a cup of coffee, Dice began walking back out.

"I will be seeing you later." She booped the Devil's nose, making both of them giggle.

"Not if I see you first~"

With Queen Dice walking back out, the Devil seemed to have completely forgotten that the girls were in the room. An idle smile stretched across her face, her feet rooted to the ground as she stared at the doorway.

Snapping back to reality, she turned to the girls, blushing slightly. Without a word, she rushed out of the room, leaving the girls behind.

A wide smile coming across her face, Cuphead turned to her sister.

"Mugsy, I think I know a way we can make up for what we did."

[lukmebel]

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Hypnagogic Hallucination || Sg

I can wait for you at the bottom I can stay away if you want me to I can wait for years if I gotta

[”I’ve always been business before pleasure. Not sure what you think you’re gonna get out of me.”, says the madman machinist as he lifts a champagne glass to his lips.

“Maybe I’m suggesting they can exist as an intersection instead of a parallel?”

Brainstorm pauses, locking eyes with his conversation mate in the dim yellow light of a bar that looked like something out of a golden age movie.

“...And what did you say your name was, again.”

“Call me Skids. I’ll leave you my... contact info, QS Brainstorm. Drop me a line sometime.”]

Whirl didn’t like him. Part of it was, no doubt, jealousy- he and his ang- Boss had been getting closer, coming to a more even and equal keel since the rewrite of his contract and then this.... Usurper had decided to waltz in and now everything felt wrong.

Whirl swallowed the growl in his throat as this Skids person had the audacity to waltz into the kitchenette like he owned the place- neck smeared in marks and bites and chest not faring much better.

“Good mornin’.”

“Wow, you spoke to me! Progress.”, laughed Skids as he reached by Whirl for the coffeepot. The intruder in Whirl’s space froze, feeling the the silent rattle of prosthetic hands that wanted nothing more than to cinch shut.

“Allow me sir. I insist.”

“Uh- sure. Not a problem.”

The silence was palpable and broken only by the clink of a mug boasting all the signs of handmade and expensive.

“So.”, began Whirl, his voice low, “Who, exactly, did you say you were under the employ of?”

“Ah, hm. Well, I am... an agent of the New Institute of course.”, was the answer, and Whirl felt the sly tone wrapping around the words like serpentine hypnosis, “An academic, like your... boss. Shared interests, you see. I’d heard about his work, become fascinated by it really, and now here we are.”

“Heard of his work, hm?”, asked Whirl, his voice unnervingly calm.

“Yes, why?”

Whirl handed a mug of steaming coffee to Skids, his smile not reaching his eyes as he tilted his head.

“Well, I would like to have a list of your sources, Skids- it’s concerning you’ve heard talk of his work given how every project he heads or takes on is immediately classified unto redacted from official and unofficial record. If there’s a leak, I should plug it.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll get back to you on that.”

Whirl watched Skids retreat, noting the way his steps were silent, the way his body was tense yet fluid at the same time. He squinted, unsure. Against his preference, he reached up to tap his comm and called a line-number he’d pinged twice a day since his Boss’s relationship started almost a month ago.

[Commlink Identifier Perceptor Reached. Commlink Currently Unavailable. Please Leave Return Ping PIN. Thank You.]

“Damn.”

 The pinged scientist in question sat in dark silence. A wineglass in a twitchy grip and glaring at the wall.

He hadn’t left his hab in days. Hadn’t spoken in a week. He tongued a fang, and glared through the darkness with an eye mutated to see near perfectly in the absence of light at the vent at the top of his wall, as he had done many nights.

Many nights since Brainstorm had found a new... interest.

Waking up from fitful naps to the muffled call of a voice he recognized making sounds he had caused many times- the wine and blood staining the wall he stared at spoke volumes of when his temper would overtake him; normally so rare an occurrence and yet here he sits and grinds his teeth like ancient millstones and swears he taste saltpeter between sharpened incisors.

His commpiece on the coffee table goes off, and he frowns like a sneering predator knowing who it was.

“Oh piss off, punching bag bitch.”, he hisses into the darkness, “Go handle your little ANGEW you pathetic little. Ugh.”

He drains his glass, getting to his feet- bare, dotted with blood from broken glass he walked over by the wall without a care- and he walked with the sway of a serpent’s head to his own kitchenette to pour himself another glass.

His nails dig into the counter as he thinks. Remembers. Had it already been an entire month...?

[”What did you say his name was.”, asks Perceptor, frozen for a moment as he cocks his head.

“Skids.”, answers Brainstorm with an almost fond chuckle. Perceptor hates the sound, “Said he was with the main planet R&D department under Optimus himself.”

“...He’s not.”, says Perceptor flatly, turning and concerned and enraged alla t once, “He’s with the ADJ- Brainstorm, you need to chase him off immediately, it’s not safe to have him around you-”

“Oh please. I’ve handled YOU all these years haven’t I?”

“I’m the evil you know, but even I don’t dally with Prowl’s lackeys! You know the blind Zealot himself is beyond unhinged and dangerous and Skids is one of his favorites-”

“Oh shut the fuck up!”, snaps Brainstorm, “I can handle myself, you think some woowoo soldier-preacher can outsmart ME? Much less one of his underlings IF that is even true.”

There’s a beat of quiet in the conversation, before Brainstorm smiles smugly and crosses his arms.

“...You’re jealous, aren’t you Percy. Cause I don’t want you anymore.”]

“So what if I am.”, hisses the sniper to the empty hab, “At least I’m a devil you’re used to; you beautiful, brilliant dumbfuck.”

It would be another week before finally, FINALLY- Whirl got an answer.

::What is it.::

::Took you long enough, sniper.::, grumbles Whirl quietly, ::I don’t trust this Skids that ang- Boss is gettin’ with.::

::Come off it you sappy dumbass, we all know you call him angel. Own it. And you shouldn’t trust him- he’s ADJ. Prowl’s pet rats.::

::...He told me he was with New Institute.::

::That sector shut down years ago. He told Brainstorm he was part of Optimus’s planetside R&D sector.::

::This is fishy.::

::It’s not my problem. I’m just jealous, according to him- that’s why I get the most delightful symphonies at night.::

::...Shit, I didn’t even-::

::Don’t call me to save him anymore. I’ve paid my debts Whirl of Polyhex.::

Whirl flinched at the sharpness with which the connection died. He looked up, ,leaning slightly to peek through the ajar door to his boss’s personal quarters and felt something bitter in his throat at the way he could see Skids draping over the industrialist’s back.

Whirl looked away when he noticed the shine to their skin; busying himself with something, anything to keep his focus away and tame the frigid curling sensation in his chest.

The months pass like molasses, like syruped strychnine the days drizzle by and Whirl feels himself once more icing over in his old permafrost- no longer meeting Brainstorm’s eyes and feeling a peculiar sting at the realization that Brainstorm either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. He’s not sure which is worse.

Perceptor isolates in the biolab- arms burning from self-samples taken with little care for himself beyond protocol and sterile handling; throwing himself into understanding and controlling the mycomutagen rushing through his system and swallowing his soul. At least something needs him, anymore.

And Brainstorm... feels like he’s floating. His mornings are soft- soft in a way they hadn’t been with Perceptor in years, soft in ways he hadn’t yet really considered with Whirl; be it from insecurity or frustration. Skids was... easy to read. Easy to predict. Curious and gentle-voiced; body soft and unmodified and real and warm in ways Brainstorm wasn’t used to.

Skids’ teeth were blunt. Human, really human- like his eyes, like his hands. Like his expressions telegraphed like neon signs and so easy to read.

It would have been easy for Brainstorm to love him only for that.

But beyond that; flying under Brainstorm’s radar using the scientist’s ego as a shade- Skids was so very...curious. Asking questions, innocent and smooth and kind in that gentle voice of his like liquid gold, like warm honey. Eyes wide in awe and praise and his compliments sounding so earnest and eager and feeding into the forgefire of a god complex still blossoming.

However... there is a rule of the universe that is best to remember:

If it sounds too good to be true, it is.

The servers shut down all at once. Brainstorm jerks out of his work trance, blinking in the white light at his reflection in the screens and there is the sound of security guard’s boots and protection drone wheels up and down the halls. Doors automatically lock and seal and there is nothing in or out on the commlines for hours.

Brainstorm, curious and concerned, feels no qualms about overriding the lockdown and skulking down halls to security elevators- rolling his eyes and muttering something about handing control of security to him given the false alarms that had been popping up over and over-

He stands in front of his door, and hears it- a gunshot. Silenced, but audible to his modified ears; he shields with one hand and fires into the unlock panel for his hab to activate the emergency opening mechanism to see Whirl crumpled on the floor and the flash of a server case from near the glass door that led out to a balcony where many a night was spent looking up at false stars.

“...Skids?”

“Shit.”, is the sigh in the darkness as Brainstorm creeps in from the always muted entry hallway. 

“Lights full- what the- THAT’S MY-”

“Aht, don’t yell now. I’d really hate to have to kill you too Stormy.”, says Skids with a mockery of pity on his face, “Not to bothered by your bodyguard- it was getting annoying watching him pine over you and give me the stink eye every fucking morning.”

“What is the MEANING of this Skids, why do you have my transport case, what the hell is this!”, snarls the industrialist as he kicks briefly back at the half open door before stomping forward, “Put your fucking gun DOWN, you know I won’t fucking die.”

“Theoretically, you won’t die.”, says Skids too sweetly, “Unless someone knew how to set up something useful, like say a mini-EMP. And knew how your failsafe worked.”

Brainstorm stopped- his coat shifted slightly against his legs like the exhale of a bitter god laughed at his back.

“Don’t take this personally babe. You really are a sweet guy- not too bad in bed either, even if your snoring is atrocious. But... you’re easy.”

“Wha-”

“To convince, babe, keep up.”, said Skids impatiently, “You really gotta work on that. And hey, maybe getting your servers jacked by what your old fuckbuddy calls a Prowl Lackey will learn you a thing or two. Consider it a free lesson from the best.”

“But. But you, and I-”

“Brainstorm, don’t make this harder than it has to be. Handle your dying bodyguard there, don’t do anything stupid. Leave cockiness to the ones who can back it up, yeah?”

“Oh precious, big words!”

Brainstorm knows the smell of burnt hair. He felt the heat of plasmafire cruise next to his ear and scorch a few stray curls as it passed and saw Skids shriek and dive to the side. A pistol clatters to the floor and Brainstorm stumbles and falls when he’s shoved out of the way and Perceptor is there.

His hair slicked down, like the old days. His face severe and cold and vicious and in stark contrast to the deep gemstone tones of his cosmetics.

“Leave the case, jackal-pup.”, hisses the sniper with a rasp like cheap wine and expensive whiskey, “Leave the case and warn your precious little master that a notice has been sent up the chain. Some cookie jars don’t need bloody fingers fondling the rim.”

Skids raises his gun and Perceptor’s free hand has a pistol in it and firing before the ADJ agent can pull his own trigger- Skids swears again as his weapon is pinged out of his grip and Brainstorm can see the sizzle and smoke of burns on the agent’s hand.

And then Skids is gone- kicking the sliding back door and vanishing into the false night of an enclosed planetary colony.

Brainstorm looks up to Perceptor, feeling his chest clench at the nonacknowledgement as the sniper turns to the groaning Whirl.

“Come off it, you aren’t dead yet darling. Stop flopping about like an old roach.”

“Fuck...hyooo.”, wheezes Whirl as he eases himself into a sitting position. He taps fingertips over the hole in his shirts before pulling it off to reveal bulletproof armor with a heavy plasma burn.

“Good. Plan went off without a hitch.”, said Perceptor as he holstered his pistol and stood with hip cocked. Finally, then, he looked down to Brainstorm with something other than emptiness in his good eye.

“Next time, maybe you’ll listen when someone cares enough to warn you, asshole.”

And Brainstorm watched him stalk out of the hab, vanishing down the hall with a hand to his commpiece with a “Hello, Xaaron” as two medics rushed the room in a flurry of white and red and clinical concern.

Brainstorm sat on the floor, overcoat puddled around him like a wedding dress left at an empty altar- he looked up, he reached for Whirl with a plea he couldn’t manage to voice on his lips and felt his heart creak as Whirl flinched away, looking to the side like a scorned spouse.

For all Brainstorm had bragged of his intelligence, his wit, his perfection- he had been fooled with nothing more than kisses and smiles.

He takes his vigil around the empty space where Whirl should be- flitting about his bodyguard’s shadow like a brokenhearted ghost and desperately trying to build his anger back up- fuel himself on rage arrogance like he had before but the fire simply refused to burn. The tinder spent and wood dampened by the frost all around him until he did the only thing left for him to do-

He sat up, sleepless and hurting in his empty bed and hiccupped softly. The tears came easy, they always had to his eternal annoyance but the mourning- oh, that was hard to come by. And he dressed quickly; his coat abandoned on the form in the corner and he ghosted out of his hab and over to the next door in the line- so familiar a route.

He forewent knocking, entering a code long since memorized and choking on the twisting sensation in his chest when the code spat back NOT RECOGNIZED in a digital font.

He curled his titanium hand into a fist... and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing.

He knocked again. And again. And again and he hated the weakness, the need he felt and he all but crumpled in front of of Perceptor’s door and his breathing hitched and-

“P-Percy, please I. I messed up, okay I messed up I just. I just wanted. I wanted someone who, who...”

‘Who was like you. Who was like the you who never came home. Who never said goodbye.’

The door opened. The smell of menthol smoke and liquor. A cool hand reaches down to brush knuckles over Brainstorm’s cheek and catch under his jaw to tilt his face up to see the deadpan and hurting expression of one Perceptor of Altihex.

“...Oh darling. You’re a mess.”

“Y-Yes.”

Brainstorm stands, shaky and filled to overflowing with emotion, and Perceptor leads him into his lair, his home, with an exhale of smoke and a smile like the action hurts.

The door hisses shut behind the industrialist.

“....Love, this isn’t healthy for us. Especially not now.”

“I know.”

“...We can’t keep doing this, can we. This is... This is proof.”

“...Yes.”

“The jealousy, the goading... It isn’t good for either of us. I’m chasing a dream that died back when I had custody and you’re chasing a feeling that died when I got shot all those years back.”

“I. I know, Percy but- But please. Just.”

“Just one more hit, and then farewell.”

Brainstorm’s hands go to Percy’s hips and he buries his face into the sniper’s neck.

“I. I can’t promise that. I can’t, Perce, sweetheart, don’t make me lie to you.”

“We can’t keep hurting each other, love. It will only escalate.”

“Then let it, let it, let it-”

Perceptor’s back is against the wall, ash drifts away from the end of a cygarette and the chemicals turn their kisses tart and desperate.

‘Let it burn us both alive, maybe dying really would be easier.’

“How long, darling, before I abandon you for the good Doctor again.”, whispers the sniper as he nuzzles Brainstorm’s throat, “How long before you fade away from me to flutter your moth’s wings around the artisan bodyguard.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know anymore-....”

“Oh precious, you are easy to love based on your honesty alone when you allow it to show.”, coos the sniper before he licks a dribble of blood from the corner of his slyly upturned smile and looks down at the sprawled industrialist, “You are beautiful in your craving for punishment, in your demand for your own perfection but oh- oh you beautiful and brilliant fool.”

And Perceptor leans down and kisses Brainstorm’s already bitten lips before whispering, “I will give you your penance, because I know that’s what you want from me- to earn forgiveness. But this... this is the last time I allow myself to hurt you, my darling. Savor it, and then let yourself have the softness you need so very badly.”

It was unspoken. It was secret, and something their own and it never left Perceptor’s door.

Even when Brainstorm caught the eye of the curious who no doubt heard the whole night’s commotion and he glared at them with brass and blood eyes and a spine like iron; he silenced them without words and slunk back to his own hab to snatch his coat from it’s form and pull it over him like armor; fastening the front closed and sliding his feet into familiar boots that he laced with the cold practice of a madman binding his butcher’s heels.

And he stalked free into the halls, letting the grief and anger and sadness and hatred suffuse him.

Whirl awoke with a yawn when he heard footsteps, expecting a medic to be holding out a datapad with the discharge forms on the screen.

Brainstorm stood stock still, back towards the silently closing door.

“...I ignored your advice.”, said Brainstorm softly, “...That was fucking stupid of me to do, when you know better than I do. When it comes to people.”

Whirl was quiet.

“...I. I’m. I’m sorry, Whirl.”, he said quietly, “I was... needlessly...”

“You were an asshole, sir. All due respect.”, said Whirl quietly, “You are good at that, however. I don’t necessarily make a habit of pointing it out, you do that fine on your own, but I digress.”

“...That’s a bit harsh-”

“You made your ex listen to you get laid with your new piece every night for how long, again? That is not exactly the picture of professional grace.”

Brainstorm winced, “...You’re right. Unfortunately.”

“I’ll keep the admission between us, sir.”

“Thank you- please stop calling me that.”

“What.”

“Stop calling me sir.”

“You didn’t seem to be bothered by my silence or concern, so forgive me for going back to old habits.”

“Can. Can we try all this business again?”, said Brainstorm with a voice small, and quiet, and soft.

Whirl looked at him, an eyebrow raised, “This business?”

“...Being the way we were. Or were going to be.”

“...Maybe- but you’ll have to work for it-”

Brainstorm winced again, “Fair enough.”

“And we’ll see how you do... Angel.”

Brainstorm’s shoulders relaxed, and the corner of Whirl’s mouth quirked up into a smile.

[atplblog]

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