#a dagger keychain maybe

[sparrowtapes]

I feel like Little Caesars should have a deal today. Idk what deal but it should be a thing.

[nmakii]

must be love

— you find sae’s phone opened, and you decide to snoop.

or; sae gets exposed for being a fake idgafer. this is too sappy. 2.7k words, this is my longest fic in my whole life… what life feels like as a girl who loves too much core

tags: @narcjsistx

— for @itoshiluvbot. love ya, partner.

‘she seems really eager to please,

but she has quite the backbone.’

you huff out in frustration. “ah!! ugh…” you scowl. sae raises his eyebrow. “my groupmate never started on her share of the work… ugh, now i have to cram it..!” you explain your sudden outburst. sae scoffs. “then tell your teacher or something. it’s not like i can do anything about it, im not your teacher.” he, quite obviously, points out. “wh… ugh, i’m gonna… i just— needed to let out my anger.” you groan, face planting and screaming into your textbook. and he hums in response. although he didn’t show it on his face, your outburst was quite out of character for the person he had grown to know. it was… weird, to say the least. and it had caused him to make a mental note not to anger you.

‘her generosity knows no bounds.’

“sae, this is for you. merry christmas!” you hand him a wrapped box. “hm..? i don’t take christmas gifts.” he bluntly states. “i haven’t gotten any gifts since i was 10 years old.” you scoff to yourself. “maybe that’s why you’ve always got that stick in your ass.” you tease. “excuse me?” he glares daggers at you. “aaaanyway! open it!” you shove the box into his hands. he looks at the box, and then at you, and he decides to open it. “new cleats.” he acknowledges. yes, mhm. these were indeed cleats..! “i didn’t need these, i was going to buy them myself.” he states.

“i know, you could probably buy them yourself. but, i thought i’d save you the hassle, y’know?” how thoughtful of you. he eyes the cleats up and down; it’s an expensive brand, but it’s worth the price for the quality. “…thanks.” he says, at last. he didn’t expect a gift from you, he doesn’t have one prepared for you. he’ll make sure to buy you something you’ll love later. “oh! hold on, i wanted to give you some other things ♪~” you fish a keychain and envelope out of your bag and hand it to him.

“…cinnamoroll..?” he questions. “it’s cute right? i thought you’d like it.” what an odd way of thinking… never once has he mentioned anything about cinnamoroll. but then again, it is pretty cute. “…well, i won’t say i hate it. thank you.” he thanks you as he eyes the envelope. “ah, don’t read it in front of me..! i got a bit sappy, it’s pretty. embarrassing…” you awkwardly laugh. “ah, got it.”

later that day, he opened the envelope. there was a letter; it had cute doodles all over. and, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel your affection radiating off the letter. it was… really sweet.

‘what a beautiful human being she is.’

itoshi sae is what you like to call a shy lover, if you were to put it kindly.

you know for a fact that he loves you, he just isn’t good at verbally expressing it. words of affection are too sappy for him. he prefers to show it through the thoughtfulness of his gifts, and the longing touches of his hands, which seem to never leave your’s.

you know he loves you. but, you can’t help but wish for him to say it more often.

it wasn’t many nights lately that the two of you would have a date night. with sae’s rigorous training schedule and endless interviews, the only thing he wants to do at night is to fall asleep beside you.

however, today was the end of the season. meaning, sae would have much more free-time for you.

with sae’s last game for the year completed in 0-4, the first thing he had to do was call you. even though you weren’t far away at all, sitting in the VIP lounge with the relatives and girlfriends of sae’s teammates.

“s/o?” he calls your attention. “mhm? congratulations on your win, babe! i knew you’d win.” you congratulate him. “they could barely keep the ball when they had it. is it really an achievement for me to have won this match?” he says, almost sassily. “pssh— alright. i get it, mr. ‘tepid.’.” you tease.

“don’t call me that.” he huffs. “stay where you are. i’ll go to you.” he commands. you hum in acknowledgment, and he hangs up.

he doesn’t keep you waiting too long before showing up. “there you are…” he sighs in relief, kissing you as his hands automatically find themselves on your body— one tangled in your hair, and the other resting on the curve of your spine.

once he finds the will in himself to finally pull away, he’s breathless.

he looks like he wants to say something, but he holds himself back, his fingers flowing through your hair. “…get ready for our date later tonight, yeah? formal wear.”

you nod, and his lips curl upward. “i’ll see you later.”

you decided to go all out, pull all the brakes. and when sae picks you up in his car, he can’t help thinking that you look like a dream. ‘are you sure you aren’t a model?’ he muses to himself. his heart twists, and the fat of his cheeks redden with affection. your hair flows like silk, and that glimmer in your eyes was once a star, handpicked from the skies, he’s sure of it.

everything about you encourages him to keep staring, but he manages to get ahold of himself. “…you…look beautiful.” is the only thing he can get himself to say. but, beautiful doesn’t seem to encapsulate it, not at all. it’s not even close. beautiful is only a fraction of what he thinks. “heh, you think so?” you ask. “yeah; beautiful.” he assures. “let’s go.” he says, barely turning his attention away from you as he turns to the road.

the drive to the restaurant is quiet, but sae’s mind is screaming at him. his eyes can’t stop moving back to take sneaky glances of you. he drinks up your beauty like a serpent, and he still hasn’t had his fill.

“…we’re here.” he pulls the shift into its’ brake. he gets out, and hands his keys to the valet boy— his words are inaudible through the car door, but he quickly finishes his conversation and moves to open your car door.

you take your first step out, and his hand immediately moves to help you out. god, you might be even prettier under the gleam of moonlight, shining like the pearl of the planet.

his arm moves and snakes around your waist, guiding you into the restaurant under the flash of paparazzi cameras. he grimaces at the loud, pitchy voices of news interviewers, begging for a comment; anything for a headline quote.

the gentle touch of his fingers tighten, as he silently encourages you to walk faster, and lose the crowd. the two of you hurry up, and dash into the restaurant, where you’re greeted with a dim candlelight, mahogany walls, and the rhythmic trumpet of jazz.

“welcome, mr. itoshi.” the receptionist greets. “your table for two is right this way.” she quickly guides the two of you into a secluded part of the restaurant, just like he’s always done as to make sure neither of you are spotted and harassed in public.

lamps hang on the walls, creating a romantic atmosphere. and the curved dark-brown leather booth couch perfectly complements the dark oak roundtable.

the date isn’t too different from the others. the two of you chat about anything that comes to mind. but, it’s actually more like it’s just you chattering on, and sae listening as he admires that excited grin on your face.

on the outside looking in, it’s obvious how he has heart eyes when he stares at you. he’s in a trance as he listens to the rich honeying sweetness of your voice; his finger traces the lines on the roundtable, wishing that it’d be the crinkles of your smile he’s tracing when he blinks and opens his eyes again.

his trance is broken though, when his phone rings. damn it, he forgot to put his phone on do not disturb… “something wrong?” you ask sae, and he takes his phone out of his pocket. “not sure. there shouldn’t be a problem, i cancelled everything for tonight. ugh… just a second, amor…” he remorsefully takes your hand in his as a silent gesture of apology. he took too long to pick up the phone, it already went out…

he opened his call app, and saw that it was from his publicist, dabadie. he groaned before picking up.

“sae! you didn’t mention that you’d be going out on a date today, your paparazzi shot is already all over social medias..!” he worriedly stammers. “i didn’t? well, whatever… it’s just a date photo anyway.” sae shrugs, speaking quietly to ensure that you don’t hear. “right— but… you know the internet… they might criticize you, and say that she’s distracting you from soccer…”

sae is about to correct him— he’s about to say that you aren’t distracting him from his career, but he holds back once he remembers that you’re right beside him, eagerly waiting for his attention to be back on you.

“i… have to speak to you for a second, im already outside the restaurant… the paparazzi didn’t censor out the location well enough either… so, the agency’s security car will follow you two home…” he adds on. sae sighs. “i have to speak to you too. i’ll meet you outside.” he hangs up. he huffs in exasperation and shallowly drops his phone, making it clatter on the table; the screen is left open on his call record. “im sorry, amor… i have to quickly take care of something, i’ll be back soon, i promise.” he kisses your hand.

“hmph, don’t worry. it’s dabadie, right? he’s always worried about something…” you laugh. of course you’d be understanding about it. you always understood. “heh, that he is.” he sasses before leaving the table.

…and you can’t help but notice that his phone is still open.

his phone is practically yelling at you, “check out what’s on me, s/o! check it out right now!”, and you simply can’t resist the temptation to!

first, you simply scroll around at his call record; nothing too interesting, it’s filled with calls from dabadie, and you. as well as occasional calls from his mom. how tepid, as sae would put it. you exit the app, and find his home screen wallpaper to be a picture he took of you; you’re looking out into the distance, the large castle of sleeping beauty in the background.

you smile to yourself at that cute photo, and move to his photos; it’s filled with photos of you, and almost none of him— not unless you were beside him. you scroll down to check out his older photos; they’re childhood pictures, only a few of them are with rin included.

…

…anyways, ‘what is in sae itoshi’s notes app?’, you ponder. you open his notes app.

‘things i want to eat: 1. omelette, 2. paella, 3. pesto pasta’

‘onitsuka tiger mexico - kill bill/grey, new balance 2002r - grey, asics gel NYC - oyster grey’

‘laundry’

‘i love you’

you laugh at the randomness of his notes, quickly scrolling through them. it’s true when they say that a boy’s notes is truly random.

but that last note catches your eye. it’s a pretty odd note that just says ‘i love you’ with no additional text. and, it makes you wonder.

sae’s an organized person, more or less. so, his notes must be filed too. and, you’re correct. there are three files; ‘lists’, ‘important documents’, and a file with your initial as its’ name.

the other two don’t seem as interesting, nor seem as mysterious. so, you click on the mysterious file.

and, the file is filled with everything about you; he’s written down your birthday (including the time…), your family members’ names, foods you like to eat when you aren’t feeling well, shows that you like to watch… everything.

and, there’s a note that catches your eye. it’s a cut-off sentence, since it was too long. you decide to feed your curiosity and click on the note.

‘she talks to everyone, even the people she doesn’t like.

it takes a lot to piss her off.

she’s always kind to me, after all.

she seems really eager to please, but she has quite the backbone.

she works really hard, but i don’t think many see it.

her generosity knows no bounds, and she always knows what kind of joke to make.

i didn’t think it was possible for a soul to be so beautiful.

nor, that someone like i would meet a soul like her’s.

but, im grateful to the stars above that i met her.

someone as kind as her deserves to receive all the love she gives.

i don’t think she knows how loved she really is though.

what a beautiful human being she is.

there simply isn’t enough words to describe the way her dimples crinkle when she’s happy.

the day she was conceived, the gods must’ve tenderly sculpted her heart out of ivory and gold.

the way she enamors everyone in the room simply by walking inside, and the way her personality shines in her rushed, yet sweet handwriting.

one day, i hope she’ll finally be perpetually happy.

so, that she can always shine that enchanting smile of her’s.

she deserves all of it.’

was this a poem..? it didn’t seem like it, it didn’t rhyme, and the stanzas didn’t have equal amounts of lines… but, the way he worded it out almost made it seem like he was a poet.

you don’t… even know what to think at such a romantic confession. it’s certainly much more than sae has ever verbally said to you. but, the fact that he had written this with you in mind makes your heart pound like crazy.

you’ve always known that sae loves you, but seeing his private thoughts all written out for you to read was… overwhelming.

“going through my texts, amor? i’m not texting any other woman besides you.” sae nonchalantly jokes. shit— time went quicker than you’d thought. “ah, nn… just got a bit curious, babe…” you hum. “what were you looking at..?” he asks, and his eyes widen the moment he sees what you were reading. out of all the things on his phone, that was the last thing he wanted you reading.

he embarrassedly closes his phone. “so… what was all that writing about..? were you trying to be a poet?” you jokingly ask; you knew that sae wasn’t mad, per say… he was probably just embarrassed. “n..no… it was, ah…” he clears his throat. “it was just… something i typed out when i realized i had many observations about you that i needed to write down. i just got sidetracked while i was typing.” he explains.

you smile, your entire body feeling like you’re on fire. the love you feel for sae itoshi feels like too much to contain in your heart. “it was really sweet, sae…” you assure him. for some reason, you have the odd incentive to just… cry right now. you love him so much.

“i know. but, it’s also too sappy.” he huffs. “aw, don’t be so shy… i know you’re just a huge softie under that tough surface…” you tease, moving closer to cuddle up to his side. “im not soft. i just love you, okay?” he groans. “don’t make me say embarrassing things.”

your smile widens, making him look at you with that lovesick look in his eyes. “aww… well, i guess i know how much you love me now anyway, so that’s good enough..!” you mentally fist pump at this small victory.

the atmosphere suddenly feels light again as you start to chatter again, teasing him slightly before going back to what you were speaking about before he had left. and still, sae’s looking at you like you’re the world cup trophy, like you’re all he’s dreamed of.

and sae thinks…

‘…you’ll know how sappy i can get when it’s our wedding day.’

but he should save that for another 5 years, or so.

[positively-mine]

Possessive om boys

how they show it and ideal situations (not nightbringer)

tags: gn!reader, slightly suggestive, a little red flag at Satan's & belphie's part, lmk if there's others!

A/n: I hope this isn't too messy but I literally can't think of anything else 😔 might do for the other characters as well.

Lucifer

Touching/ holding you somewhere on your body. Resting his hand on your nape, hands resting on your hips to pull you closer etc. He likes to use his thumb to gently brush your neck back and forth or he'll even use the blunt part of his nails to gently glide around your nape. You know, that tingly feeling. Biting when he's really angry or upset. Maybe you've been spending too much time with another demon and he can smell their scent on you. Bite. You're not focusing on him? Bite. The areas he likes to do it on include the shoulder area, neck and inside of your wrists (inside of your thighs as well).

Mammon

Similarly to Lucifer, but more aggressive. If you spend too much time with his brothers or other demons, expect something to happen. He likes to mark you by leaving his scent on you or big bites where everyone can see them. He'll be pouty or throwing random fits when he remembers it. But once you're both in the comfort of the house of lamentation and in your bed, he's head is under your shirt and on your stomach. Giving you small kisses all over it. And bites. Like so many tiny bites you'll have to ask him to stop.

Leviathan

Scenting, always attached to you and I have a personal HC that when he feels strong emotions or jealousy (obviously) he's tail will pop out. And the tip of his tail will either curl around your ankle, your whole leg or your wrists. If he's not too embarrassed to do it that is. Cuddling in his room means being wrapped and trapped under him for a longgg time. Like hibernation. But shorter and lots of gaming sessions in-between.

Satan

:) Big bites and confrontation. Or glaring. At the demon, not you. May or may not leave small little scratches on your arms, nothing painful though. He's a cute little kitty that frowns and stares daggers at the other demons if they take up too much of your time. So be careful or he'll scare away all your classmates. When he scents you, he likes you to be wrapped up in his arms or vice versa and reading on the couch together. Bonus points if he sees you asleep. He'll bookmark the page he's on and pull you tighter to him, basking in each other's presence.

Asmodeus

HEHEHE LIPSTICK STAINS EVERYWHERE!! He understands that it's inappropriate to go out looking like that but it doesn't stop him from leaving them secretly. If you have long hair, he likes to push it away from the back of your neck and leave them there. If you have short hair, he likes to leave them right under your earlobe. Don't know if this counts as well but matching accessories. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings keychains, nail colour whatever he can get his hands on. Also biting your earlobe or your lips.

Beelzebub

I don't really see him as possessive but at times he can be hungry for all your love. No shame, so even if you're talking to somebody he'll hug you from behind or straight up turn you around and pull you into his chest. Holding hands is a big thing here. He's sacrificing his hand to hold yours which means one less hand to hold all his food. Cuddle sessions with him means his head is tucked into your neck and his arms and legs wrapping around your body. Can't say for long though because he gets hungry, but it's the thought that counts right.

Belphegor

Scenting, and lots of biting. He'll drag you to the attic and lay down with you until every part of you smells just like him. His legs will be tangled with yours under the sheets and he'll hold onto you tight. His is kinda general but is very possessive. Won't let go of you even if you need to pee. He's a little bratty boy that won't stop until you comfort him. Timing to pacify him varies from how upset he is. Also will put you to sleep if you still insist on leaving. Don't know if it's a red flag or not but I'll just leave this here...

teeth by @/mmadeinheavenn

barbed wire by @/benke1bear

reblogs appreciated!

[luvindrr]

Kenma is harassed into getting his nails done

kenma kozume x fem!reader | fluff | 773 words c/w: skinny shaming (briefly, once)

It’s a weird building, Kenma thinks, as he pulls into the parking lot. Enormous arched glass on a too-pink wall. It hurts his eyes. The entire street does; it’s all so Barbie-like.

He finds the inside is just as pink when he enters. “Time of appointment?”

“Uh, no, I’m just here for my girlfriend.” Where are you? It smells like alcohol in here. Maybe he should just text-

“Kenma!” His eyes whip towards you, as every other set of eyes whip towards him.

“Your boyfriend?” “He’s very pretty.”

“Very pretty.”

“Like a girl.”

Kenma feels himself go rigid. It feels like a family dinner, where every aunt is scrutinizing his long blonde hair. He points backwards with his thumb. “I’ll just uh- wait outside.” Fuck. Why is he so awkward? This is pathetic.

“You sure? I think I’ll be here for another half hour-”

“PICK A COLOUR! PICK A COLOUR!” Cardstock flurries in his face, and he instinctively stumbles backwards. The sheets are shoved into his arms- some land on the floor- and pushy hands are now ushering him into a chair. “Uh, no, actually, I’m just here for my girl-” He’s shoved into a seat- a very plushy one- before it rams into a table, lurching him forwards slightly. He whips up. Are middle-aged women supposed to be this intimidating?

“I’m- uh, I’ll just-”

“Pick a colour.” The sheer intensity of her glare shuts him up.

Fuck, are you laughing?

“Pick a colour, Kenma!” He whips around, affronted. “We can be matching!”

Kenma looks down at your nails-in-progress. Stickered. Sparkly. Kuroo would never let him live it down. “I don’t think I want that.” You smirk, and he knows you know exactly what he’s thinking.

“You have a My Melody keychain.”

He looks down at his hands, still holding his keys. They certainly are adorned with an obnoxious My Melody plush. You won it at an arcade, but couldn’t fit it on your own keys.

“Oh! You should get Pompompurin. He’s yellow, like you.”

“COLOUR!” He snaps back to the woman in front of him, somehow more irritated and somehow more frightening. He cowers. “PICK A COLOUR!”

Is this normal treatment? Is he paying for you to get your nails done or to be harassed and accosted? Because if this is normal he’s not sure he wants you coming to this place anymore-

“Kenma.” Your familiar scent drifts over him, releasing the tension he didn’t know was there. “You can get something simple. What about this?” You pull out a picture on your phone, but he doesn’t really see it, not when he's resting his head on you behind him. “Whatever you think.” Is that a mistake? Will he regret that later?

Thankfully, he doesn’t see the usual devilish smirk on your face, which surely means you’ve taken pity on him. He stares daggers as you walk away, willing you to come back. Why are you ditching him at the boss level? You’re supposed to be a team; this is supposed to be a two-player game.

“Your hands are pretty! Long fingers!”

“Good nail shape. Very healthy.”

“Too soft. You don’t work?”

When did the crowd spawn? And how the fuck did he get roped into this?

—

The next half hour is a blur. Somehow, he weathered the scrutiny of the mob (“too skinny”, “why blonde?”), paid some ungodly sum, and escaped that Barbie dollhouse hell. Fuck. It’s getting dark. He was going to treat you to boba but the shops are closing so he can’t do that. The shops wouldn’t be closed if your appointment wasn’t pushed back- and your appointment wouldn’t have been pushed if that one rude customer hadn’t been late. What’s up with late people anyway? Fuck them. This is why he became a streamer- so he doesn’t have to deal with people. Now he has to drive in the dark- he hates driving in the dark- he’d fucking die if he crashed the car and you flung out the windshield and paralyzed yourself. He’s not going to be responsible for making his girlfriend a paraplegic-

“Kenma. Your face is weird again.”

He’s never treating you to boba again-

“C’mere; I want a picture.” Kenma lets you manipulate his hand into frame, holding yours when you let him. They’re pretty, your nails. They always are, but this time they’re sparkly, catching the light at every turn. His aren’t bad, either. A simple four-point star in the corner of each. And a Pompompurin sticker on one. It’s cute, actually. They’re nice.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He looks back up to the sun. Probably not too late for boba after all.

masterlist

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XXV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Drinking is mentioned, Satoru is ooc and a bit mean. Umm... I don't know. If you think of anything, let me know.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII, Part XXIV

----------------------

“Are you sure you don’t want some company? You look kind of…” Haruki did not finish that sentence, but you could guess what he meant.

Affected? Dumbfounded? Hurt? I am, all of those.

After your argument with Satoru, both of you had returned to the table looking gloom and shaken, and none of you had had the stomach to try the dessert after all.

Out of decency, Satoru had not made any excuses to leave early. But his eyes did not meet yours for the rest of the night, alternating between Haruki, Shoko, and the dessert he would push around over his plate but would not eat. And just like you, he had lost all will to chat with the rest. Then he had said his goodbyes quickly and left you all standing on the street outside the restaurant.

After you accompanied Shoko part of the way in the direction of her house, Haruki had insisted on walking you home.

Now you were standing in front of the closed door to your apartment with concerned hazel eyes trying to decipher what was going through you head.

“I guess I could not impress your friends, could I?” he asked, testing your mood.

You still did not look at him when you replied “You didn’t do so bad. Shoko was quite pleased.”

It was true. Even if the mood had become awkward towards the end of the night, you could tell Shoko had apparently enjoyed herself for a while.

“But Gojo wasn’t… It must have been quite a chat if it let you both that quiet.”

You knew there was no hostility in his tone, but it still reminded you of everything Satoru had told you.

“Is it because…?”

“Why did you have to…?”

Both of you had spoken at the same time, but when Haruki’s eyes connected with yours, he knew the answer to the question he had not finished. “So, it is because of what I said that Gojo got so weird. Am I right?”

He sighed.

It was not like you to look for someone to blame, and in all honesty, you could probably blame yourself for most of what had happened, but…

“He got the impression you and I have something, and now he thinks I was toying with him.”

He figured it had been something like that. He had felt like Gojo was mentally throwing daggers at him when he finally returned to the table and set his eyes on him.

“I’m sorry...” Haruki’s eyes showed genuine regret. “I guess I got petty. The other night, when you told me you felt he actually likes you, and that you wanted to give him a chance…” He smiled sadly. “...I felt happy for you, really. But when I saw him tonight, and the way he looks at you, I realized I would have to let you go.”

He had never seen it up-close, the way you and Gojo orbited around each other; how any of you would say something and immediately look at the other as if waiting for their reaction, the looks and smiles between the two revealing the complicity shared, like a dance you were the only ones who knew the steps of, a synchronized waltz perfected through the years.

You leaned against the door and looked down. “He hates me now though.”

Haruki leaned his side against the wall, looking at you. “You know,” there was a slight change in his remorseful tone from before, “when I was in high school, I was working parttime at this coffee shop, and one day during cashier duty, I spotted this person in the line and immediately felt like I needed to know them. I could have just given them their order and taken their money, but I asked them about the keychain dangling from their bag.”

I remember.

“I’ve never once regretted it,” he said looking into your eyes. “They turned out to be fun and smart, and made me so happy during a time when I was so miserable at home. I even felt a bit jealous of the friends who got to see them every day, and of that Satoru they talked so much about, and who obviously had loved them long before I even met them.”

Right, even back then, you would constantly mention Gojo during your outings. You had thought it was just natural for friends to talk so much about each other, to be constantly reminded of your bond, to see something and wonder if Satoru would like it, eat it, what would he think of it, and the need to share anything you found enjoyable with him.

‘Satoru would say this is not sweet enough.’

‘Satoru likes this anime too.’

‘The other day, Satoru said…’

Looking back at it, maybe you had fallen for him long before your lips touched his.

“I am sure he still feels the same,” Haruki said almost in a whisper as he reached for your face.

Looking at you, Haruki wondered what would have happened if you two had had more time. Would he have had a chance if you had met at a different stage in life? Would you have still drifted apart if your time had not been cut short when you were younger? If only he had met you sooner or maybe later than that hot summer that persuaded you to enter the air-conditioned coffee shop where he was working to escape the heat for a few minutes, would things have been different?

No... It is unfair to blame timing.

Those few minutes making small talk with you stretched into one of the happiest seasons of his youth. He did not want to change it, and hoped you did not either, even if the period when he could hope for anything more than friendship had come to an undeniable end.

“And you and him will sure have many more happy seasons together,” he said before pressing a caste kiss on your cheek and embracing you.

To you and Haruki, this was his way of saying goodbye to the possibility of anything else between you and him, an amicable end to a bright summer.

Unfortunately, to the white-haired man standing farther away in the hallway, who had not heard his words but witnessed his actions, although unnoticed by any of you, it felt like the end of the world he had been living in for the last few weeks.

***

If anyone had told Yaga that hiring two of his own former students as teachers would make his life this hard, he would have decided against it from the start.

Gojo was MIA, and he had had to call a substitute to cover for him. And then, there was you, who while physically present before your students, did not look as focused as usual.

You had taken your class to the training grounds for an improvised training outside, or that was what you were telling to Principal Yaga.

“I didn’t think ‘improvised’ was your teaching style, [name],” Yaga said while observing your students. “That’s more like Satoru’s.”

“I suppose,” you agreed, trying to ignore the painful feeling hearing his name caused.

Yaga glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Your face was turned to the training grounds ahead of you, but a look into your eyes would easily reveal your mind was somewhere else.

As your former mentor, Yaga usually trusted your teaching methods and knew better than to pry on your personal business, so he opted for letting it is slip.

“Now, about Satoru, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

That question seemed to briefly pull your mind from wherever it was, and Yaga saw you focus on the kids running around in the field and shake your head lightly. “No, I haven’t heard of him.”

Nothing since that night.

“What a way to slack off,” Yaga grumbled. “I’ll have Ijichi pay him a visit.”

Despite your low spirits, that thought amused you.

Poor Ijichi; he had been your junior in high school, and while he had become a reliable assistant, still looked up to you and Shoko. You suspected he held some of the same respect for Gojo, and that may be why he put up with his antics so much. That did not mean that Satoru had stopped treating him as his underclassman, though.

Even if he can find Satoru, he will be lucky if he can talk any reason into him and drag him to the school.

“Right, why don’t you go instead?”

Yaga was looking at you, waiting for your answer.

Had you said that aloud?

“Me?" you asked. You? Reach out to Satoru, after everything that had happened? "I can’t.. I mean, I have to watch my students.”

Lame excuse, and by the way Yaga kept his eyes on yours, you could tell he knew it was just that, an excuse.

Of course, he probably was not caught up with all the drama between you and Satoru, so he did not see any issues with his request.

“You mean the students who are about to shot us an arrow?”

“What…?”

You did not have time to finish the question when indeed, and arrow infused with curse energy flew by between you and Yaga followed by the gasps and ‘watch out’ screams of the kids.

You looked at them in disbelief and yelled, “I said no cursed tools for now! Put that away.”

Their obedience probably was motivated by Principal Yaga’s stern watch on them rather that your scolding.

“Sure, you may need to keep a sharper eye on them.” The principal’s expression was a severe as always, but you thought you saw the ghost of a smile on his face. “Check on Satoru later, alright? And tell him that he should pass by my office when he finally decides to grace us with his presence.” Now his tone had been a bit more serious.

With that, Yaga left.

Only once he was out of your sight, he allowed himself to smile more openly, remembering a certain group of students who had done their own fair share of mischief back in the day. Not that he would not give one of them a good scolding for skipping work though.

***

“Hello?” you asked, cautiously stepping into Gojo’s apartment.

You had knocked, many times actually, but there had been no response.

He had missed the whole workday at the school; as far as you knew from the assistants, he not been sent on any missions, and even Shoko had confirmed not having communicated with him at all that day.

He had not responded to your texts or calls, so you did the one thing you had been hoping to avoid all day: going to his place.

After some awkward minutes knocking on his door, you decided the situation was getting concerning and took out the emergency spare key you had to Satoru’s apartment.

When you were finally in, the darkness was the first thing you noticed. The sun was going down and some light still filtered through the partially open curtains.

Maybe he is not home?

“Satoru?” you called.

You walked further into the apartment and saw Gojo laying down on the couch of his living room. You stepped closer and noticed he was asleep.

Carefully, you towered over him.

Is he sick or...?

Only then, you noticed the half-full bottle of vodka on the table. Since when did he have alcohol at home?

“[name].”

Satoru was laying still, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, and you took a step back, straightening up. “You’re awake.”

He sat up. “How did you get in?”

At least he does not look too drunk.

You raised your hand, still holding the spare key he had given you. “You did not come to the school. Have you been here the whole day?”

His focus shifted to his surroundings as if he was disoriented.

“Where is your phone? We have called you a hundred times. Yaga is pissed, and…”

“Can-can you stop?” His brows were furrowed, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have a headache... Why is it that you are you here again?”

You huffed. “Yaga asked me to come here. Are you drunk?”

You did not recognize the look he gave you and his eyes drifted to the bottle sitting in front of him, the recollection of the last couple of days slowly coming back to him. Him telling you those awful things in the restrooms, him going to your place because he felt bad for saying them, him seeing Ikeda getting all affectionate with you, his blood boiling at the sight and the ache in his chest that followed.

The rest was a blur.

He had bought that bottle and been hesitant at first about drinking any of it. No, he did not like the taste of it nor the burning feeling in his throat, but once the alcohol had settled in, it would numb his senses, and if he was lucky, he would fall unconscious into a prolonged dreamless sleep. At that moment, it looked exactly like what he needed. The only thing he had not considered was the pounding headache he would wake up with.

The place was almost completely dark, but the little light getting in shone too brightly. He closed his eyes.

“Satoru?”

With effort, he opened his eyes enough to see you were handing him his blindfold. He must had left it discarded on the floor.

He took it, and the way his fingers brushed yours did not go unnoticed by either, but he quickened to pull his hand back and cover his eyes as if it had not happened.

You let a soft sigh scape your mouth. “Can we talk?”

You looked at him expectantly.

“I think we’ve talked enough,” he said in a flat tone.

He knew you needed to talk. What had happened in the restrooms that day had hardly been talking. It had been yelling and accusing, mostly from his part. He had felt ashamed for exploding like that, but when he thought of Ikeda holding you in front of your apartment, he could not help but feel hurt and betrayed all over again.

“No, Satoru. I mean, actually talking, explaining, and…”

And telling you I love you.

“I said there is nothing to talk about, [name]. Please just leave me alone.“

You swallowed your words. He wanted alone time. That was understandable.

“Okay,” you agreed almost breathless. “I get you are not feeling well.”

You eyed the bottle on the table in front of him. “Don’t drink more, okay?” Your voice was soft, mindful of the headache he had.

You wanted to stay and look after him, just as you always did when he was not feeling well, but his rigid posture and the way his face was turned away from you, was a clear sign that he would not be receptive to your presence now.

“And call Yaga," you continued. "He wanted to know if you’re coming to the school tomorrow or if he will need another substitute.”

The slight nod he gave you was the only confirmation that he had heard you.

“Okay,” you nodded back and turned to leave.

“[name]?”

You halted at the mention of your name and walked back, hopeful.

Satoru was still looking at some invisible point in front of him instead of your face, and the fact that his blindfold was on, and the room was almost completely dark made it only harder to read his expression.

“I’d like you to please leave your spare key.”

Huh?

You blinked once, twice. Your throat was closing. Why did you suddenly felt like crying?

Was it the foreign courteous tone in which he had request it? Was it because he was asking you to return a symbol of your friendship and trust in each other?

Perhaps, it was the underlying meaning behind such action why your hand trembled slightly when you placed the key on the table in front of him.

If he noticed the tear that landed on his carpet when you bent forward or if he was tempted to stop you and comfort you, you could not tell because you had never walked out of Satoru’s apartment faster.

----------------------

Note: Sorry for any typos, errors, etc. I'll proof-read later... at some point...someday.

For now, I hope you are all well. <3

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XXVI

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski @rosellerinfrost @catowru @bi-narystars @wondermilka @fortunatelyfurrygiver @shrxui @cc1306 @chili-paste

[irisintheafterglow]

there's one week out of the entire year iwaizumi hajime loathes: back to school week at the gym.

as an athletic trainer? sure, he's happy for all these new students stepping out of their comfort zones and trying out their campus' amenities. as your boyfriend? he's one more lingering look away from hurling a kettlebell at whoever stares at your body for too long.

"haji, my love. you're scaring the new kids," you chide, setting the squat bar with your warmup weight back on its hooks.

"not my fault they've got wandering eyes," he grumbles, his usual approachable demeanor nowhere to be found. "how many plates, babe?"

"i'll do one for now, but grab me two ten's just in case. i'm trying to take it easy today, but not too easy," you request after a sip from the water bottle he'd gifted you for your first anniversary. a gold volleyball charm the size of your fingernail dangled from the side on a keychain, identical to the one hanging from his car keys.

"you can do two plates in your sleep. i'd say three is where you start to struggle," he points out while rolling you the weights, ever the cheerleader in testing your strength to its limits. "but do what you feel's right for today. don't worry about those assholes who keep lookin' at you." as you work through your sets and add on plates, you vaguely hear your boyfriend's firm mutters of warning as fresh faces pass by.

keep it moving.

eyes elsewhere, buddy.

look there one more time and i'm gonna call security, newbie.

maybe it's because he's preoccupied with playing security guard, or maybe it's because you want to show off, but you end up sliding on a bit more weight than you can handle on your best days. your legs wobble on their own, the strength in your quads gradually fading as muscle failure sets in. you shake away a few beads of sweat that drip from your forehead and will yourself to dig deeper.

"there you go, baby. that's it," hajime murmurs encouragingly, the note of awe in his voice evident. "doing great. just a few more."

"haji, i don't think i got this one," you chuckle nervously, your chest heaving with deep, hurried breaths. "might be...fuck...a little too close to the sun, here...shit."

"say the word and i'll get you, honey," he reassures you, smirking at your colorful strings of curses that you only said when you were really pushing it. his eyes scan your body for any inkling that your form is deteriorating; like he promised you the first day he convinced you to go to the gym with him, his number one priority will always be your safety. whether that be creeps who keep stealing glimpses at your legs or attempting a new pr, he vowed that he would be there to protect you. "two more, baby. you're killing it."

you better back the hell up before i make you, he quietly threatens to a duo of freshmen that were inching closer to you from a blindspot in your vision. as he's glaring daggers, you're blinking away dark spots in your vision and trembling by the time you finish your last rep.

"haji, babe, you got me?" your body feels like it's frozen in a squat, unable to push yourself back up no matter how much you tried. maybe this is how atlas felt when he was holding up the world, you think to yourself. hajime's definitely gonna tease you for that one, later.

"you need me?" he's behind you in an instant, enveloping you in warmth and positioning his hands next to yours. the smell of his cologne and the familiar shape of his body behind yours give you a surge of energy, enough to force out one more word before your final push.

"please." he shoots one last look of warning to someone behind him before effortlessly helping you place the bar back on the hooks, kissing the top of your head once you've let your muscles relax. "thanks, baby."

"it's what i'm here for. i'm proud of you," he murmurs, brushing his thumb against your cheek when you turn to face him. he holds your bottle for you as you sip, your lower body still shaking even though you're only standing.

"alright." you smile once you've had your fill and re-racked your weights. you spot a pack of girls eyeing your boyfriend from the treadmills and stifle a laugh that he catches anyway. "your turn."

"what're you laughin' about?"

"it's nothing. need help with your plates?"

"i'm good, just stay there and look pretty. i'm gonna be wondering what you're laughing at for the rest of the night, though." he shrugs passive-aggressively and you roll your eyes. he follows your eyeline, zeroing in on the group batting their eyelashes at him like sirens. "hmm. friends of yours?"

"never seen them in my life," you reply. "guess it's time for me to play guard dog."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[stickyspeckledlight]

“Happy birthday, Dimitri! It isn't much, but I hope you like this present. It's a small cork bottle keychain with a message inside— wait don't open it—!"

A message tried and true—for…me, of all these souls?

Speckled’s End of Year Interaction Prompts, (12/2/24 - 1/1/25)

You feel your world end with the liberating pop the cork makes, followed by the slip of paper sliding out with an air of smugness. Because yes, maybe it was a bit too much to hope you wouldn’t embarrass yourself. Maybe it was wishful thinking, to hope you could subvert the fate of humiliation the universe sees fit to bestow upon you.

And maybe, JUST maybe, it was too much to hope things like this would go well in the courtyard of all places.

You can only stare, stupefied and corpse like, as Dimitri innocently reads the message.

Out loud.

“To my dearest Dimitri,” the harbinger of your heart heralds, “I wish you the happiest of birthdays,—” he smiles at that, giving you an appreciative glance; but clearly, he must be too engrossed in this message to have noticed your skin, surely pallid and ghastly, “—befitting of a man like you: chivalrous, determined, compassionate, and handsome.” His ears grow a bit red at that, but not as quickly as the soul evaporating from you. “I can only surmise that you were crafted by the Goddess herself—” he falters for a moment, quirking his mouth in shock that can’t decide between being disturbed or flatters. He continues regardless, if only that his tone suggests a struggle to fathom the words he reads, “…who must’ve spun the gold of your hair, harvest the richest of creams for your skin, and extract the purest of sapphires from the skies to place your eyes…”

You aren’t sure if you’re a ghost observing this sorry spectacle from a distance, or if the Goddess herself forces your soul to wither in your body.

“Is it any wonder why I find myself lost for all but these words?

“Dimitri, I love you.”

Please, Goddess Sothis above, please tell me that my body is burning away into ash, you beg, mentally groveling at her feet.

You can practically hear him choke, and blink wide eyed.

“W—Well,” he coughs, “Ahem, [Name], this is…rather, rather forward of you. But…” red spreads to his cheeks, “I cannot say—”

“Kill me.” You blurt, staring at him wide and dead eyed. “Send me to the next realm. I don’t deserve to live anymore. Actually, I don’t think I have the will to live anymore. Frankly I think my life’s ended already, and that I am just a ghost, and that I am perpetually stuck experiencing the thing that killed me. Which is you. So do it. Kill me please. With a cherry on top.”

“[Name]—”

“Here,” you unsheathe and offer your dagger, “if you don’t want to soil your short sword, use this. That way, you won’t have to clean the blood from the longer blade—because cleaning blood’s a real pain, I know.”

Dimitri frowns, “Do not speak as if—”

However, you are too wrought with despair to acknowledge him; and laugh heartily, looking to the heavens, “Goddess Sothis…this is truly the fate you see fit to bestow me? Fate is truly a mysterious thing.”

An iron clad grip rips a yelp from your throat, and your thoughts freeze to a halt when icy blue meets your eyes.

“Do not speak as if your life means so little,” he hisses—no, growls, “Or that it is over. I can tell you in good faith that you are very much alive.”

“I don’t feel alive,” you dejectedly mutter. You feel a bit stiff, all at once encased in ice and burning in bright blue flame.

“You are,” he insists, “And as long as I live, you will be.”

You jolt, “Dimitri?” You can’t think of anything but his name to say. What else can you say, when he says that with so much conviction? Certainty?

Desperation…?

That’s not something you’ve ever seen—

He takes a sharp inhale. “I understand you’re embarrassed, but…”

“I love you as well,” he says, and he’s right back to the Dimitri you know and love.

Though you end up laughing, and spending a quiet, nice afternoon as a first date…

In the back of your mind, you’ll never stop thinking about that Dimitri you saw, for the briefest of moments. And it makes you fear what that Dimitri would look like, in a situation anything but utterly mundane.

[grabowskibeepboop]

Can someone please make a cute design of maybe a keychain that is a heart that's either being stabbed with an arrow or dagger by little Wednesday, or is being nibbled on by a teeny tiny hyde, or both at the same time? Because if you did that I'd totally buy it

[whataphantasia]

oog i keep forgetting to post here,,, i did a really big oc x canon promptlist on my alt twitter acc like, last year, and i like the stuff i did for it so im posting it here :3

day 1: dancing

needed to draw this for the fic where they dance at prom and a destroyed universe respectively ^_^

day 2: stargazing. the thumbnail image at the top :D

day 3: phone call

day 4: (not so) sneaky glances

ely sits inbetween these two in class. they have to deal with them staring daggers at each other. very stressful sorry ely </3 here's the doodle from like 2019 that made me wanna draw this

also like there's this moment in the fic where eadr is watching mysterious mysteries together and..... HSHSBDHSHDGDHDHS

day 5: "i'm proud of you"

THESE TWO NEED VALIDATION SO BAD RAGHHH don't @ me about the lighting on zim IK ITS REVERSED,,,

day 6: music/playlist. i didn't make any art for this but i did show off my playlists for zaeadr :D i will not elaborate here bc I Don't Feel Like It.

day 7: whispers

this is actually a redraw... :3c specieswap eadr! so cute :)

day 8: closeness

ok i didnt actually make any new art for this i just posted two old ones from 2021 LOL

day 9: protectiveness (CW blood)

dib and zim r dangerous to have as love interests come on ely 😔

day 10: "how was your day" (CW blood as well)

ely needs to tell him to stop tracking blood into the house.....

day 11: one wish

WOW something NOT ely related?! anyways ana and ad's whole love arc is kinda like... they both have responsibilities and unrequited feelings. moreso than my other oc x canon pairings. i think them a lot

day 12: matching accessories

cove jumpscare. IDK I WAS THINKING ABOUT THE MATCHING KEYCHAINS HE BUYS FOR MC... this is reiner btw i was playing as xim in my like 3rd playthrough >_< xe's fond of spoiling him with gifts, more than my other mcs...

day 13: nightmare

it took me 13 days to break and make sans x shelby art SJWKDJWJ anyway. shelby doesn't meet him pre-corruption but whatever i think they're cute

day 14: makeup

I HATE THIS DRAWING RAAAA but ely likes asking to do his nails ^_^ even tho theyre terrible at it but he doesnt mind :3c

day 15: "you are my happiness"

ok uhh my bad this isn't oc x canon LOL. but... erfi and ana... have a lot of angst like halfway/early in their arc bc erfi sees her as a beacon of light/savior, especially due to her current relationship with the ppl in her life.................... they get better dw!!! ad goes through a similar arc so i think that was how i tied it into the oc x canon promptlist LMAO

day 16: indirect kiss

SODA BOTTLE... IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW. i've talked about this scene in the fic NON STOP to my close friends.... its when dib realizes he has a crush on ely...... i drew this like in 2021 SHWJSJW

day 17: morning cuddles

SORRY i just think it's a super funny possibility that zim becomes domestic. idc if it's out of character thats why its funny U_U!!

oh and uhm yea i have a fankid 4 these guys... have i talked abt her... i dont think i have... but ive drawn her a lot... maybe ill post more art abt her later...

day 18: photoshoot

uhhhmmm im gonna crop this for my tumblr.... yea.... anyways i love the possibility that when they're adults they become super popular, like in dib's wonderful life of doom X)

day 19: voicemail. THAT ONE THING I POSTED!! yes it was a shelby x error thing. i was listening to pick up the phone by fir at the time, which like, its not the errorshelby dynamic at all they're not toxic, but. the vibes... in the fic after shelby leaves the anti void he has a massive crisis... thats what the drawing is...

day 20: "what happened to you"

BRO I HAVE SO MANY IMAGES RELATED TO THIS FOR ANA AND ADAMAÏ... the images explain everything idc read them instead

day 22/23: hand made gift, late night drive

ummmm sooooo theres this chapter in the fic where they go to an echo flower field on the surface at night........ this is that.... DIES

that last one i never posted on twitter :0c and uhm thats all i did of the 30 day promptlist! it was fun! i got to draw so much... yay :3 thats all. explodes in embarrassment

[glacialdeath]

@orangeshinigami asked: Tosses a bunny keychain at her head. "Yo. This made me think of you."

Her instincts perk up at his typical short greeting, making her turn her head and catching the small object between her hands with a echoing clap just in time. She sends a suspicious look of daggers at Ichigo before revealing to herself what she's caught in her hold and her usual cold face melts into rare affection and awe.

"Oh! He's-- He's very cute!" Pokes his cheek with her finger with a sing-songy giggle. Before she gets too engrossed in adoration, she peeks up at him, still smiling. "Maybe you do have a good eye for things sometimes." A brief compliment conveying her approval.

[dreaming-for-an-escape]

A is for Apartment:

This literally how I imagine his apartment to look like!

B is for Baggage:

I’d say he only packed the essentials. So gold and jewels for sure, maybe a dagger. And a satchel with a few of his clothes but not so much because he knew he’d have to change in order to blend.

C is for Clothes:

His go to outfit in the modern world? Easy. Jeans and a black/dark tshirt. Add a leather jacket because why not ;) if he’s feeling fancy, a nice dark suit.

D is for Drink:

Dude is tea drinker. So he’d love all the different teas there is. He’s gotten to like black coffee. But he’s more of a tea drinker. Also, he wouldn’t admit it aloud but he’d like pink lemonade.

E is for Electricity:

‘“This is what Adrian’s father works with? Gods…how peculiar but useful!”

F is for Food:

Aemond strikes me as the type to like sushi. Idk why but I see him ordering all kinds of rolls. He’d go to restaurants where they have the conveyor thing where you can grab whatever roll you want.

G is for Grateful:

That finding someone is fairly easy all thanks to technology 😅 how he quickly becomes the next Joe Goldberg.

H is for Hair:

He cuts and dyes his hair! 😭 but after that he starts buying all sorts of product and his hair grows back out again!

I is for Invention:

The computer and car! He’d want to learn how to drive (somehow lol) but would be cautious because he remembers the car accident Adrian told him she was in.

J is for Jamming:

Dude becomes addicted to rock. All sorts of rock. Alternative, soft rock, heavy metal, punk. That’s all him.

K is for Keys:

After getting to know Isabelle more I imagine his keychain to be filled with pins and maybe even stickers if they can stay on 😅

L is for Leisure:

You mean other than spy on Adrian and his daughters? He’d be learning how to use a computer properly and learn more about the modern world. He’d definitely go to a library. He can’t check out books (hello no ID) so he’d read there and catch up on history.

M is Map:

Europe. Y’all know he’d rather be in Europe.

N is Name:

He’d stick with his first name.

O is for Objects:

The object that brought him to the modern world. Which I won’t say what it is ;)

P is for Pets:

His apartment wouldn’t allow any pets but he’d definitely get either a grumpy cat or a scary looking (but a total sweetheart) doggie.

Q is for Questions:

Oh so many things. This is a brand new world for him. The questions are endless!!!

R is for Routine:

Wake up, shower, drink coffee, either skip or has a quick breakfast, follow Adrian and his daughters. Wander around the city, check on Adrian and his daughters from afar. Leave to do some solo stuff like research/learn and then return to Adrian and his girls when it’s nearing the end of the school day and Adrian leaves her job.

S is for Social Media:

Dude, he’s an old man when it comes to social media. He’s the boomer in this equation. But he’d make a insta or Facebook with a fake name so he can follow Adrian and by extension also Julieta so he can see what she has up on the internet.

T is for Toilet:

That the toilet saves a lot of time and is more clean. Plus toilet paper? He loved that stuff.

U is for Upbeat:

Y’all his family. I’m telling you he’s determined to be in their lives.

V is Vehicles:

After he learns how to drive he would buy a motorcycle. A fuckin’ Harley. I can’t picture him driving anything else.

W is for Weather:

It’s fairly the same as King’s Landing. But he’d like it more when it rains. Unlike Adrian who likes the sunshine.

X is for X-Ray:

If he’s alone then he wont be shy to walk around in his birthday suit. This is his new home after all. He needs to feel comfortable living there.

Y is for Ying and Yang:

Being with his wife and daughters. Thomas who? Oh he’s gone…or he likes to think so.

Z is for Zzz:

Since he only has a mattress at the beginning the couch is where he sleeps before he gets the rest of his furniture.

Aemond in the Modern World (Alphabet!)

@dreaming-for-an-escape

A is for Apartment: how does it look like? What are its distinctive features?

B is for Baggage: how much did he pack before coming to this world?

C is for Clothes: what is his go to outfit of choice?

D is for Drink: his favorite drink that he came across?

E is for Electricity: what was his reaction to it?

F is for Food: his favorite food in the modern world?

G is for Grateful: what makes him grateful in this world?

H is for Hair: what is going to be his new hairstyle?

I is for Invention: what kind of modern invention intrigues him the most?

J is for Jamming: his favorite music genre?

K is for Keys: How do his house keys look? Did he add any cool keychains to it or did he keep it simple?

L is for Leisure: What does he like to do in his spare time?

M is for Map: what place, city or country would he like to visit personally?

N is for Name: Does he go by another name in this world?

O is for Objects: what is something that he never parts with?

P is for Pets: would he ever consider getting a pet?

Q is for Questions: is he still unsure about certain things?

R is for Routine: what is his day to day routine?

S is for Social Media: does he struggle in that department? Does he know how to look people up on Instagram, Tik Tok, Facebook, etc?

T is for Toilet: what was his reaction to it?

U is for Upbeat: what keeps him happy and energetic?

V is for Vehicles: what is his typical mode of transportation?

W is for Weather: what does he think of the weather in this world?

X is for X-ray: does he walk around nude in his apartment or does he put something on when he's alone?

Y is for Yin and Yang: what makes him feel complete?

Z is for ZZZ: where does he sleep? Is it comfortable?

[orcelito]

"I have an axe on my display case" is probably less weird than "I have a machete in my bed frame" but since this one is out in view it feels weirder

In other news, I updated my dice display. I now have 79 sets of dice.

[kim-poce]

Kingdom's Sword 10 - By Heart

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Masterlist

CW: touch started whumpee.

=-=

The blanket Harriet gifted him was back there, he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge the fear he had of never seeing it again when the soldier took it away to wash. The glove was still there too, carefully folded near the spot he sleeps; he didn’t allow the soldier to take it away at all.

Usually Sword would touch them, trying to feel some long-gone warmth from the fabric, but today he didn’t need to, not when Commander Harriet was just in front of him.

“So, if i got this right,” She said, Sword was paying attention closely while enjoying her touch on his cheek, he was firmly holding her hand close, almost as if he wouldn’t let go if she simply asked, “Doesn’t matter what I order you’ll obey, right?”

“No,” he answered emotionless, always emotionless.

“How come?” Harriet frowned in confusion at the answer that goes against all she heard and witnessed up until then.

“I’ll try to obey, Ma’am, but if you order me to do something impossible, all I can do is try, not truly obey,” he explained. Ignoring the memories of the impossible-to-follow orders, memories of his body trying so painfully hard to obey, even when the mind knows that there is no use.

“Makes sense,” Harriet said, letting go of him to reach for a keychain she brought with her. “In this case: You can move as you wish, as long as you do not escape or try to hurt someone. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sword said, listening to chains falling, feeling the air in contact with his wrists and neck, where just before the iron cuffs were, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Harriet smiled at him, “I still don’t know what I’ll do with you,” she admitted, “Her majesty will still try to get you, the nobles too, but there is just no way she will let any of them ‘own’ you. Maybe she won’t allow even me to keep you for long.”

Sword listened, there were no questions or orders between these words so he said nothing, he almost allowed himself to hope to stay with Commander, but his heart was cracked and hurt, and no hope can survive in there for more than a second. With the hope dead, he just decided to enjoy while he can, and wait for the day his life will get worse.

“Do you know how to read?” Harriet asked, pushing the ‘Sword’s future’ subject to another day.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Would you like me to bring you a book? To pass time?”

“Ma’am, you could bring me a dagger, order me to stab myself and I would still like it because it’s from you,” Sword said unwavering, no emotion in his voice contracting with his words.

“...Is this… because of this power?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“...Okay… I’ll bring you the book then… I won’t be asking you to hurt yourself, you don’t need to do this much for me, or anyone on that matter.” Commander said, shaking her head lightly, “I’ll be busy for a while, if you have any complaints, say it now.”

“I don’t like it when you are not here,” he said, and Harriet knew he didn’t want to say that, it was a private feeling, one that he preferred to keep hidden, one that she forced out with her orders.

“Sorry,” she said, not getting any response. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Until then you can read the book, maybe we can talk about it when I’m back?”

Sword’s eyes widened in excitement for half a second, and Harriet smiled at the rare expression. “See you,” she said, caressing his hair for a bit before leaving.

Later that day a soldier brought the book, it wasn’t long, a story about a child and a tree, full of metaphors Sword didn’t quite understand. He read it once in the first day, and again in the second, he managed to read twice in the third; not sleeping meant more time to read and the more he read, the more he would have to talk to Harriet.

He only stopped reading to eat —he didn’t want to stain the book with food—, he soon went from ‘sleeping a bit’ to ‘sleeping nothing at all’.

When Harriet was back, over a week later, Sword had dark circles under his eyes and every word in the book memorized by heart.

=-=

Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch, @cupcakes-and-pain, @whumpcreations, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @extemporary-username, @whump-me-all-night-long, @clickerflight, @latenightcupsofcoffee, @rose-pinkie, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @morning-star-whump, @whumpsday, @inpainandsuffering, @extrabitterbrain, @redwhump, @professional-idiocy, @whumpyzombie, @neverthelass

[tootiredmotel]

spoiler alert: she keeps it

A coda fic of my beloved 10x20 "Angel Heart" bc Cas and Claire are my everything, for @emeraldcas 's celebration!

Prompt: meaningful moments

1.2k words – read on ao3 or below

First, it's a matter of where.

Dean says that the mall is a safe bet, and he’s probably right. It has options, a wide array of stores with near endless possibilities, so Cas asks him for a ride to the nearest one.

As Dean pulls into the parking lot, he asks "You really think you'll finally win her over like this?"

"I'm not trying to "win her over", Dean." Cas air quotes. "It's her birthday. A present is customary, isn't it?"

It's not a rhetorical question, and Dean seems to understand that after studying Cas's gaze on him.

"Yeah. Yeah it is, buddy."

Once inside, the number of options becomes overwhelming rather than comforting. Hundreds of people bustle about, bumping into them with reckless abandon. Cas pauses a few steps from the entrance, breathing heavily and looking every which way, trying to figure out where to begin and coming up blank.

He’s never been to a mall before. 

Dean, staring daggers at the back of someone who almost trampled them, puts a hand on Cas’s back. “C’mon. Let’s try this way,” he says, leading him down the hall to their right.

They walk for a while. Cas quietly studies every store they pass, while Dean speaks up every two minutes with a new idea. Tech store? A new phone. Clothing store? A jacket, hers is looking a bit worn. Shoe store? Do you know her size? We can get her some boots or something.

“Dean,” Cas finally says, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Dean’s arm. He's grateful for the ride, and he's grateful for Dean’s suggestions. Really, he is. “Thank you, but… This is my gift to her. I need to choose on my own.”

Dean starts doing that adorable thing where he can’t decide if he wants to shake his head or nod. “Uh, yeah, no. No problem, angel. You got this. I’ll shut up.”

Right now, Cas is less focused on the gift itself and more on finding a store that feels fitting, one that Claire might pick out on her own. He puts his hands in his pockets and scans the stores in sight. Further down the hall, one storefront stands out. The walls are black, the windows dimly lit, and the sign is made of backlit block letters. It feels… edgy. She’d like it.

“There.” Cas nods toward it. “The Hot Topical.”

The other thing is the matter of what.

Luckily, the Hot Topical seems to have a bit of everything. Dean sets off on his own soon after walking in, saying something about some Star Wars character or other. There's an overwhelming amount of pop culture merchandise, most of which Cas now recognizes. But he's not sure what kind of shows or movies Claire likes, so he opts against those.

Walking deeper into the store, he comes across the jewelry displays. Claire might like some, maybe stud earrings or a necklace, nothing too frilly. But if she's going to keep hunting, and she is, it's not very practical to wear things that can get caught and slow her down. He keeps walking.

The music section is mostly t-shirts. This is where he finds Dean, eyeing the wall curiously, but not looking like he's going to buy.

“Find anything?” Dean asks when he feels Cas next to him.

“Not yet.”

“You will. You got this," he says again, and Cas greatly appreciates the vote of confidence.

Dean turns his attention back to the shirts, and Cas, who isn't all that sure about Claire’s music taste either, goes over to the furthermost wall.

The back of the store is where they keep the miscellaneous things, apparently. One half of the wall is full of small, bobblehead-ish figurines whose heads don’t bobble (as Cas discovers when he picks one of the boxes up and shakes it). The other half of the wall has quite a few things: bags and backpacks on display, a few accessories such as mesh gloves that wouldn’t keep one warm in the slightest, and unnecessarily intricate belts. At the bottom of the wall, however, he spots some shelves with plushies.

That’s where something catches Cas’s eye.

Dean is already at the back of the line when Cas gets there. He's buying an enamel Scooby-Doo keychain and says it's because Baby's is old and he needs a new one; the unbridled delight in his eyes gives him away, though.

"A stuffed animal?" He asks when he notices what Cas is holding. There's no judgment in it. A bit of amusement and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fondness, Cas thinks.

Cas holds up the cat for Dean to take and examine. "It's an... inside thing."

"Right," Dean says, and hands it back.

Dean asks if he even has any money, to which Cas doesn't answer, realizing he doesn't. Dean happily pays for both items.

---

"She kept it, y'know," Dean says behind him, the next day. He pats Cas's shoulder, then heads back to the car, keys jingling against the new keychain.

Castiel stands there for a second, watching the cab roll completely out of the parking lot and out of sight, and he's wishing he could have hugged her longer. Despite having him and the Winchesters and soon Jody Mills, despite knowing she'll always have them… Claire is more alone now than she's ever been. Cas knows she's tough, tougher than she should've had to be, but she's still a kid (as much as she insists she's not). 

He… doesn't pray. Not anymore. But he hopes. He hopes for her every day, hopes for her wellness and safety, hopes he'll be able to see her face again and not just read her words or hear her voice through a phone. And right this second, he's also hoping that his present to her, (which she kept, Cas thinks fondly), will be able to serve its purpose. That it'll be a small source of comfort if she were to ever need it.

---

That night, as Claire settles into a motel bed, she gets a text from Cas. It's a Grumpy Cat meme, one of many cat memes she's received from him since they agreed to stay in touch more. In this one, the image is the cat lying in bed with that face of his, and it says "How many people got trampled on Black Friday this year? Not enough". 

After having cried herself out in the backseat of the cab, she actually smiles for the first time all afternoon; it's not a wide or toothy smile but it's a smile, and she lets out an amused exhale through her nose, so that's something.

She texts him haha and the eye roll emoji.

Are you safe? Cas shoots back.

She double-checked all the locks on all the doors and windows. She's got a knife under the pillow and a gun under the bed. She's all set to get to Jody's by tomorrow. She breathes deep, squeezing the plushie tighter against her chest, and texts back.

I am. Night Cas

She doesn't have time to put the phone down before it dings again.

Good night, Claire. Sweet dreams.

They probably won't be all that sweet. They haven't been sweet in years. But at least now, when the bitter dreams inevitably wake her up, she's got something to hold. Or maybe strangle. Depends on the dream.

Plus, she's got an angel-dad watching over her, too. In a sense.

Claire lets the dryness in her eyes and the heaviness in her body take over, and she falls asleep. Grumpy Cat in hand.

---

Fic taglist: ask to be added or removed! <3

@casismymrdarcy @youcaneven @zorelle @spooky-floral-cas @lilcasx @oh-in-italics @theehunterhusbands @knifelesbianjo @spoookycastiel @shakespeareintellectualbadass @stressedtaco @aniridescentdreamer @mishacase2003 @spookymixtape @dykekingofhell @evermorecastiel @autumncastiel @nightandwine @doyouhearthedestielsing @all-or-nothing-baby @hauntedrederadean @ciderdean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @heres-to-evil-skanks @wormstacheangel @the-boy-kings-crown @10x02 @the-moon-loves-the-sea @ghostlynatural @one-more-offbeat-anthem @spookynightdeancas

[abovethesmokestacks]

we go crashing down

Title: we go crashing down

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 5.4k

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: angst (what did you expect from me?), implied adult situations but nothing explicit, me giving the finger to Endgame while riding into the sunset.

This started with a photoset and a Taylor Swift-song. And then it grew into something that, as per usual, got away from me. A huge thanks to Beka, @hispeculiartreasure​, who betaed for me and gave me that most glorious compliment, “I say this with all the love in my heart, as you are one of my dearest friends. Fuck you.” Feel free to tell me the same if you enjoy this.

My works are not to be copied and/or reposted anywhere else without my permission. The only other place I post my fics is AO3, where you can find me under the same handle as here.

You meet…

Well, does it really matter? It's mundane, and yeah, you're starstruck and stunned for a moment. Who wouldn't be? The all-American boy and his blinding smile and the blue eyes. It's stars colliding and a world still trying to right itself and people left behind. It's whiskey neats and vodka on the rocks, and Steve Rogers follows you home and to your door and into your bed.

You ache in the morning and blush when you see the faint lines of your nails down his back when he pulls his shirt back on. He makes no promises and you don't ask him to call. That would be too much like hope, and hope does not much linger these days. You're lost in an apartment that overlooks a street that barely sees any traffic anymore in a city that feels too big for comfort. The posters lining every lamp post just make you cry, the hum of distant trucks makes you angry because slowly, slowly, they are trying to erase the mayhem, peel away the horrible and naked truth of what had happened, scraping out a façade that almost, almost seems familiar. The groups so helpfully suggested to you only have your arms curling tighter around your chest. 

It's not what you want. You’re fine. What good is talking, what good is remembering, what good is anything? Life in a post-snap world is one of apathy and despair and you have found there is little inbetween.

Until Steve.

Until three nights of restful sleep and dreams of fingers carding through long hair, the rough scratch of his beard and a voice like honey in your ears. It's a good three days, a blessed three nights. You don't hope, but you long and dream and languish for that bliss to return when once again you wake with a scream trapped in your throat and the feeling of dust all over you. The pipes rumble and creak before the showerhead shudders and water starts pelting your back. It starts cold, like daggers in your back before it turns scalding and you scrub until you feel your skin burn. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

Life goes on, much as you thrash against it and dig in your heels. When Steve crosses your path again, it’s on the verge of being blackout drunk and the bartender, barely 21, his voice trembling when he asks you if you came here by car and if so would you give him your keys. Enraged, not at him, but the world and all the gods and demons in it, you throw down your measly keychain on the counter, only to stagger into a solid body, and it’s like falling, like being suspended, it’s familiar and there’s his voice:

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

The rest goes in snatches. 

“I know-”

“- get home.”

“C’mon, honey.”

It’s a ridiculous car, but it’s a car, and Steve makes sure you’re belted in, and maybe it’s okay to relax. You’re safe. He talks to you on and off, making sure you’re awake and it’s sweet how he all but lifts you out and carries you up the stairs, takes hold of your straying hand when the goddamn fucking key won’t fit into the lock and why are there five of them and why is everything so fucking wrong and why can’t you just fucking function?

It’s the gentleness that breaks you. The quiet, resolute gentleness of his hands over yours, the solid press of his chest against your back, the way he guides you inside like you’re precious cargo. It’s the warmth of him, where you have rarely felt warm in months, and it’s such a small thing, a creature comfort and you break and you cry and you beg him beyond any shame not to leave you, please, please, Steve don’t go, don’t disappear.

He doesn’t. Not immediately. Steve lets you cry yourself out in his arms, on his lap, pressing kisses to your temple and rubbing his hand up and down your back, murmuring sweet things that wrap like a blanket around you. He lulls you to sleep and you let him, clinging to him and the steady beat of his heart and you dream of nothing, absolutely nothing.

Steve, he doesn’t disappear. Not immediately. There is honour in the moniker, but he does not stay either. He’s there when you wake up, hair disheveled and a pensive look in his eyes. It’s hard not to feel small in the face of that gaze, to feel like something fragile under a god’s divine touch.

“Sorry I ruined your night,” you mumble, looking away, down at the inch of space between you. “I was…”

Angry. Miserable. Empty.

All of the above.

“I get it.”

And for the first time, there is no bile rising in your throat, no resentment singing through your veins. For the first time, the reply feels genuine. 

He doesn’t ask, you don't want him to, it is as it should be, as you’d want it to be. Steve makes you a bowl of oatmeal that you crook an eyebrow at, but it goes down warm, a sprinkle of half melted brown sugar adding sweetness. You know he’s leaving. He’s tying up loose ends; feeds you, checks your apartment under the pretense of pulling curtains and opening a window, presses a kiss to your forehead. You want to keep him.

“Steve?”

For a second, you think he might ignore you. His back is tense, but bless him, seconds pass in hesitation before he turns to you by the door.

“I… I don’t know if you… where you live. I mean, if you have a place here in the city. But if you ever need someplace to crash… my door is always open. For you, if you need it.”

There's a wry smile, and nothing else. At least you tell yourself it's that. That he is a rascal and that what you saw was not pity or worse. You give yourself worse for days. Really, you told Steve Rogers- you told Captain America that he could drop by. Surely he has safer havens, older and more comforting haunts to go to than this place that still tries to sell itself like a home.

So it’s a surprise when three weeks later a heavy fist lands in rapid rhythm on your door, and behind it, you find Steve, wild eyed and looking like something dangerous and sharp. His breath is ragged, and your eyes skitter, looking for signs of injury, finding none. The uniform has been left behind, his armour in this new world is a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt that clings to his torso and a dark jacket that sits tight over his shoulders.

“Steve?”

“You wanna get outta here?”

“What?”

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

His voice is low and rough, husky. Just like when he- It’s like a touch, sense memory of filthy kisses and filthier words, the drag of his beard down between the valley of your breasts. Heat creeps up your cheeks, and you clench your fists. Focus.

“Where to?”

It’s an honest question as much as it is an answer. Steve holds out his hand, and there is no hesitation. You can see why he was such an effective tool for the war propaganda machine, why his friends would follow him into battle and exile and death. You’d do the same in a heartbeat.

He doesn’t take you into battle tonight. There’s a car far more ostentatious than you would have expected from him parked outside, and he holds the door open, offers his hand to help you get in. Some things remain sweet and chivalrous, you think.

“Fancy car,” you tease when Steve gets in behind the wheel, turns the ignition to make the beast of a machine roar to life.

“Borrowed it from a friend,” Steve replies, and there’s a hint of a smile that tells you just who he borrowed it from.

“Nice friend.”

The city flashes past, Steve taking you through Queens as the sun starts setting. It’s a strange sensation as you get out onto the Long Island Expressway. It’s dark when you hit the Hamptons. This playground for the rich, and now their mansions stand like empty shells, and the small communities are dotted with only a couple of lit up houses. Steve drives, one hand on the wheel, one on your thigh, and you slowly relax into the ridiculous seat, singing along to an automated radio station that plays 90’s nostalgia. If you don’t linger on the surroundings, on the way the evening gets darker, it feels… 

It feels like something you should not covet.

The drive should take three hours, but Steve makes it there in just over two, turning onto a deserted parking lot. A cold wind is blowing in from the sea when he opens the door, holds out his hand for you, takes you up along a path to the night’s destination. The Montauk lighthouse towers towards the sky, the beam of light circling around and around. Shivers run up your spine, something about the solitary bastion making a lump form in your throat. You should have brought a warmer jacket.

Steve stays quiet, sinking to the ground to sit, head tipped back. In the light, his features look so serene, shadows playing so beautifully along the planes and angles of his face. He looks like something sacred, gilded and frozen in time. The best you can do is sit with him and hope that the warmth he radiates will find its way to you.

“Did you know this was the first lighthouse in New York state?” Steve asks, an eternity that may as well be ten minutes later.

You shake your head, too afraid that if you spoke, your chattering teeth would give away how cold you are. 

“Built in 1796,” Steve continues, “fourth oldest in the country. Was one’a those things we’d hear about in school, and we’d see pictures. I’d tell myself, one day, I’d come here. On a good day when my lungs weren’t bothering me, and I’d sit on the beach and sketch and pretend I was one of the rich people who’d have their second home out here.”

He sounds so far away, trapped in a past that has you wondering if that life would have been kinder than the hand he was dealt. Harder, definitely, you won't deny it. But this life, this… reality that has trapped you both. It does unkind things to kind hearts, and Steve is looking more and more like a shadow.

You wrap your arms around you, soothing and rubbing for warmth, and Steve brings you into his arms, wrangles you to sit back to chest with his drawn up knees cradling you on either side. It's nice, sweet, but his fingers dig into your shoulders just a little possessive, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers, like you'll turn to dust like so many others.

“We can pretend,” you tell him quietly, one hand coming to rest over his.

You're here. You won't leave.

“Paint me a picture?” you ask, tilting your chin to look up at him. “Please?”

His voice is honey in your ears, drowning out the wind and the cold and suddenly you’re there. A different time, a different Steve with Brooklyn spilling from his lips, a Steve who is self-deprecating and sweet in equal measure, who uses the tip of an index finger to draw out a sketch on the palm of your hand. You see it all, hear it all, and with every passing second, every light brush to shade out a shadow or line to denote the slope of a nose or the curve of a back, you lose your breath more and more. 

“They’d look at us, whisper among themselves how such a pretty dame like you would be seen with a loser like me, 95 pounds soakin’ wet, peanuts to spend and everythin’ wrong with me and then some. You’d look so pretty, done up all sweet and that sunshine smile like I’d’a hung the moon for ya.”

There’s a pale sun on the horizon when you walk back to the car. You don’t make it halfway through Long Island before his hand on your thigh has wandered and you squirm in your seat. You crawl onto his lap by an empty beachfront, and any lingering chill leaves your body as he fills you slowly, lets you take what you need and nips at your throat when you slump against him, a slow throbbing between your legs. The walk up to your apartment is not one of shame, but of infinite sadness over a man and a life lost to time. It does little to make this world better.

In fact, it only makes it worse, and on your loneliest days you sometimes wonder if Steve is just a figment of your imagination. He transforms in your mind, you venerate him into something that makes memories seem like grace and his words like blessings. All of his faults, all of his mistakes both real and perceived fall by the wayside, forgotten because what glory could not outshine them?

Gods are fallible and gods are treacherous and gods will take anyone willing to worship. You learn this on another rare night out. The world is healing, but you wonder if you have somehow fallen behind. There’s a line outside the club, and you hope that the pulse from inside might fill you up and make you feel alive again, that something might strike you and resurrect you. You just want to get inside, to feel the press of bodies so you can close your eyes and pretend things are the way they used to be, drink and dance and stay out long enough that the silence of your apartment can be imagined into something less tragic.

It’s the laugh that catches your attention. Loud and shrill and so… wrong. Your head turns, neck craning, scanning the line, the street, trying to find-

Trying to find the source of the laugh and finding Steve. 

Steve, jeans and a white tee under a leather jacket, charming smile and an arm around a woman who is- 

Who is everything you're not and who holds him with an arm around his waist, hand tucked into his pocket, and hangs on every word leaving his lips.

It’s not that you are- not that you were- not that you thought you had been exclusive. An item. That is for another life, another universe. Still, it makes your stomach drop, and you wonder if Steve senses it, if that’s why he suddenly looks up, if that’s how he finds you so quickly. You wonder if he feels anything beyond the recognition that flashes in his eyes. No matter. You feel plenty. The bouncer calls for you to enter. End scene. Begin another.

It’s a petty decision. You’ll be the first to admit it.

But two can play that game, and when you wake up in the morning, it’s the first time in 584 days that you have not woken up alone. It’s not awful. They expect nothing, there’s even a cup of coffee, digits on a post-it note that you stick to your fridge. If nothing else than for proof that maybe life can go on.

Steve takes his time. It’s weeks before there’s a knock on your door, and you’re not expecting anyone, least of all him. Button-up shirt, sleeves meticulously folded with his hands clasped in front of him, ruggedly handsome as always. It’s not that you don’t want to invite him in. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed seeing him. But after- 

It used to be that this mystery between you intrigued you. Now it sits like an obstacle, and you hesitate in being the one to remove it. The silence stretches on like a game of chicken, seconds ticking away and a neighbour passing you with a long look.

“I-”

Steve’s voice is like a roll of thunder in the hallway, and he anxiously looks over his shoulder, makes sure no one’s there, that no one heard.

“Look, can I come in?” he tries, lower, gentler.

“What is this?”

It’s still there, a barrier between you and a lump in your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not asking to force you into a choice,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just want to know what this is. What to expect. I don’t mind hooking up, I don’t mind the trips and the sex and the kisses. I just… want to know what this is. I want to-”

You swallow, push against the barrier, wishing for it to hold just a little longer. Steve is looking at you like a wounded animal and against everything, bile and anger rises in your throat.

“I didn’t care. Life moves on, right? Everything fucking moves on and keeps spinning. Except me. I told myself not to hold on to you, and like a fucking idiot, I somehow still did. So just tell me what this is, so I can let go, and find something better to hold on to.”

“You think I’m not trying to hold on, too?” He stands stockstill, but you can tell every part of him is aching to crowd you, to grow before you and fill up the space. “You think I’m- I was there-”

“We all were, Steve. I watched my- I had someone slip right through my fingers. A whole street full of dust and shock.”

He has the decency to look a little ashamed, and why does that feel so good? Why does that give strength to your barricades?

“What do you want me to say?”

They are the words of a good soldier, someone who has parroted the ideologies of others for so long. Give me a cue. Give me a hint. Give me a purpose. Give me a fight.

“I want you to answer the question. No bullshit. I’m not looking for an excuse. I don’t know that we owe each other any. Just… Tell me what this is. What… What I am. What- Why do we keep coming back to each other when nothing and everything changes?”

He seems to deflate in front of you, all at once weary, as mortal as you, as broken as you. It’s easy to push it all on him, to only see his gilded lines, the light of the man he hides behind. He’s been on a pedestal for decades, and you have certainly not given him a hand to climb down.

“I think… I think maybe I’ve been holding on to you, too. Without meaning to. Without wanting to. I think you and I, we still live that day. I… For the first month I was torn between washing my hands because I could still feel Bucky’s dust on ‘em and then breaking down because I had lost the very last part of him in this world. You… We carry the same kind of grief, I think. Same but different, so we’re pulled together. We’re good at pretending, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the world is falling for it.”

It’s hard to contest with the truth. It hurts and you rage and you look at him and you see your own defeat and grief mirrored in his eyes. You were good at pretending, and so was he. You step aside, finally letting him in, finally putting down your sword and your shield. The door closes behind him. Steve steps up, and it feels like all the air leaves the room when he wraps his arms around you. The construct you built is crumbling, but this is real. Steve is warm and solid, and this will always be real.

When your lips meet, you instantly know. This is the beginning of the end. His kisses are tender, his touch reverent, and you take it for what it is. One last moment of make believe. Steve spreads you out, making you the divine, worshipping with a generous body and sweet prayers to you between kisses while staining himself with your red lipstick. It’s as good as ever, as satisfying, and your nails dig into Steve’s back as he cants his hips just so.

But the world keeps spinning just a little differently. The magic, it’s not exactly gone. The moments after are still soft, and for a little while you two exist in a vacuum of tousled hair and rumpled sheets, but reality seeps in, slower and easier than before, a magic in its own right.

“Should we…” Steve’s voice is a whisper, like his touch as he traces fingers along your cheek. “Is this it?”

You close your eyes. One more time. Pretend one more time.

“Do you want it to be?”

He considers it for a moment, but you can see by the set of his mouth that he has felt the truth of the world just like you have, “No… but I don’t think we can continue, either.”

You trace your finger along the edge of his beard, soft and coarse at the same time, up to where it fades into his hair, matted gold and pushed back. He is always beautiful, but this makes your heart flutter a little. You wonder if this is the Steve he wants to be or just another mirage to fulfil his own fantasies. Another attempt at hiding, at pretending.

“We were good, though, weren’t we?” you murmur, and it’s sweet, domestic, the way Steve kisses your forehead.

“We were good, sweetheart.”

The day continues like a good rerun. You are soft and warm and deliciously boneless. Steve scrounges through your cupboards, patches together a breakfast from odds and ends in nothing but unbuttoned jeans. When he goes to find orange juice from your fridge, there is a second of hesitation, where you know he’s looking at the post-it, now just a little bleached from the sunlight. There's a look shared, and Steve smiles a little when he sets down his offerings before you.

It's quiet. It's nice. And like all things nice, it can't last forever. Every last minute has been wrung out, you're teetering on the edge to where things will break. You follow Steve to the door, and he hesitates, hand on the deadbolt.

“It was for a mission.”

No context needed. You shake your head.

“No, it wasn't.”

Steve glances down, then back at you, a smile like it was worth a try, “No. No, it wasn't.”

You hum, set your hands on Steve’s chest, feel the strong heartbeat against his chest. Inhale. You're ready. It's fine.

“This is it. This is where we stop pretending.”

Exhale. It's fine.

“I hope you find something better to hold onto.”

A kiss to your cheek. There it is; a crash into reality with the ghost of the past bidding you goodbye. Steve makes no promises. You don't ask him to call. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

The door closes. When you turn around, the post-it note falls from the fridge, flutters down and lands right on the one sunny spot on the floor. You smile. Maybe life can finally go on now.

The world keeps moving, and slowly, slowly, you start taking steps with it. A phone call here, a complete and utter breakdown there, days when you feel accepting of what happened, days when you are back to where you were. This is a life, too, you suppose, one where it's taken you close to five years before you could go down to the big memorial and look at the names and wonder at the cruelty of chance. Your apartment feels bigger than ever when you return. Maybe it’s time to move on.

Yeah.

Maybe.

This is the new normal. You can almost accept it. It’s time.

Everything is packed up, neat boxes, and the last of the trash is taken out when the sky darkens, a ship looming in the distance, hell coming with it. 

No.

No, no, no.

People are screaming around you, but your feet are frozen to the pavement, gaze defiant. They can take you for all you care, but Steve. He hasn’t called, you haven’t expected him to, it’s been good, but this- He’d take this fight. He’d be the first line of defense, he’d be the last. He is the one constant, and you hope with every fibre in your being that he’ll remain.

You stand. You wait. No invasion in the street, no feeling yourself fade. You stay. You stay until an elderly neighbour herds you back in with gentle words and gives you tea and scotch that you don’t make it past one sip of. Dust and ash. The tea is safer. It’s warm and your muscles relax under a scratchy blanket. It’s fine.

He’s fine.

It’ll be fine.

The next month passes by in a blur. People returning. Things changing. A whirlwind of change once again and nothing to hold on to. It should be easy. It should be like before, normal and easy, and yet you walk around on eggshells, and look for a new place to run away to. You wonder if he’s okay. You force yourself to not say his name, to cast him as someone else, but every blond man you spot in the street turns into him, and you worry and reassure yourself in equal measure. 

When the chance presents itself, it’s too good to pass up. You need to move. You need to move on. Boxes are packed again, you find a post-it note so bleached by the sun that the digits have all but disappeared. It’s a silly thing, but you keep it, a strange little memento from the day you tell yourself you started to heal.

Away from the city, it’s a little easier to live. It’s easier to smile, to sit in the quiet and not feel it like a shadow. Away from the mess, from the memories, it’s easier to… not exactly forget, but to not be too close to the memories. You try to ignore it, but you know it’s another form of pretending, another imitation of life. You have found a job, you put on a smile, you make your way through the narrow streets down to the water. 

Far out there, there is a blinking light. Montauk lighthouse, the locals would tell you when you first started turning up down by the beach. Fourth oldest in the country, ya know. Nod. How interesting. I’d love to go there. Maybe in the future.

It’s as close as you’ll ever allow yourself, as close as you’ll get to ever admitting that maybe there was something there that you wanted to hold onto. You watch the light blink. There, and then gone. Just like- 

“You know what that is?” comes a voice behind you.

It pulls at something familiar, but in the moment, you figure it’s just another local, just another schmuck trying to talk you up, just another disappointment and a distraction from your peace and quiet.

“It’s Montauk,” you say, not even turning around. You know where this goes. You mouth along.

“Fourth oldest in the country.”

“Built in 1796,” you finish, resting your chin in your hands, elbows digging into your knees. The light sweeps past, in and out of view, in and out of existence. “You ever been?”

There’s no answer, just the light breeze bringing in waves that are only barely capped in white before they crash against the shore. Maybe he left. God, you should be so lucky. You crane your neck, find a pair of Chuck Taylors, legs in skinny jeans, up to a slim chest drowning in a peacoat and a face-

A face with a smile like a-

Like a god.

Like a dream.

Same, but different.

“Once,” he says, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, “but it feels like an eternity ago. Sat on the hill by the lighthouse with this girl that I did not deserve. So sweet, smiling at me like I’d’a hung the moon for her.”

“Steve?”

The memory of him wants to force itself into the moment, blame it on a forced perspective, strange angles, it wants to push the golden boy, the hero, an Adonis crowned in light onto you. It wants to give you the Steve that was created, but as you get up to your feet, it hits you. This is the Steve that was born. His height has diminished, his build is slimmer, but there in his eyes he is as he has always been. Strong. Stubborn. Steve.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Your arms are around his neck in an instant, those words like a magnet. Steve. Steve is real and he’s there, and his fingers press into your back as he holds you, the crook of his neck feels cold when you press your nose to it, and it’s as if the world finally catches up, finally syncs you with the passing of time and it’s good, it’s safe, you are fine.

“What happened?” you ask, hesitant to let go of him even a little.

“Couldn’t even begin to tell you,” Steve replies, jerking his head in an attempt to flick a stray fringe back. “I thought I- I was… gone. For a while, I think. I was somewhere- I was like before. And then I wasn’t. Came back, felt like the universe spat me back out. At least it kept all the illnesses I had before the serum, but it took me a while to find my footing. Can’t exactly be Captain America like this.”

His hair falls down over his forehead again, and you tuck it gently back, fingertips following sensitive skin.

“It’s funny,” you murmur, hands coming to rest on his chest, smiling when you feel the same solid heart beat as when he walked out of your apartment. “Those five years, and I just wanted it to be a bad dream. I wanted to wake up and have everything be as it was, everyone back. And when it happened… It was like I didn’t know where I was anymore. Who I was supposed to be. I’d… I think part of me disappeared along with all of those people, and it didn’t come back with them.”

“Did you ever find something better to hold onto?” Steve asks, voice a whisper like it is a secret between the two of you.

“No. Yes. I think I just tried to move with everything. Wasn’t maybe the best, but it got me here.”

“Life moves on, right?”

You give a snort, “It moves to where I’m thinking back to that one time I had something to hold on to. I keep coming down here, just to look at the light from Montauk and tell myself it’s just for the view and nothing else. We couldn’t keep on holding onto each other, but it was good while we did and… And it’s nice to remember that.”

“I know it’s a different world now. I’m different. And I’m not- I don’t expect anything.” Steve fumbles with the words, looks down while pink tinges his cheeks.

“We were always good at pretending, weren’t we?” You look out again, to the blinking light. There. Gone. There. Gone. Enticing and alluring, a chance presenting itself again and again. “I’ve pretended for a long time.”

“Oh? And what have you pretended?”

“That I could let go of you. That given a chance, I wouldn’t take it because I know where we ended. That one day, you’d walk back into my life.”

Steve barks out a breathy laugh, leans in to where your foreheads touch. “This isn’t pretend.”

“I know.”

“Today is not like a year ago.”

You shake your head, “No, it’s not.”

“Our lives can be our own.”

To the world, he may not be a god anymore, no paragon of truth and justice, but to you, his words have weight, hope, promise. You meet again like you’ve always met; by chance, by fate, pulled together by something bigger than yourselves. Life keeps giving you chances, maybe now your lives will align?

“Take me home.”

Inhale. We can try. We can. It will be fine. You look at Steve. 

[two-sides-halved]

@stcllafilivs | Continued

"I know, it's so adorable, and still shaped like friend just like any other little keychain doodlybop." Gem Steven replied.

"Ehh, I'm used to just having someone call out Steven with a specific tone for me to know who the gems were addressing." Gem added in reference to the nicknames.

"I still kinda get confused myself when the gems call out my name cause I'm not sure who they are talking to any more.... and it kinda seems weird to just call you Gem and Human." AHR Steven replied. "It's not the same as Ruby and Sapphire, ya know."

Gem Steven now starring daggers at AHR. "Who's Ruby and Sapphire?" Classic looked over confused, clearly having Steven Squared be his fusion reveal, meant that he had no idea Garnet was a fusion at all.

AHR Steven chuckled nervously at the glare Gem Steven was giving him, "Oh, just a couple of my mom's friends. But like if you met them, you couldn't even tell they were two different because of how in sync they are." He let out a laugh.

"That sounds really cute." Classic replied. "But I still think we should come up with nicknames... Winter's already got a different name.... So mmm well you're the only one with a mom... so maybe we can call you Momma's boy?"

"Wait, no. Don't call me that... that's an insult..."

"It is?" Classic looked confused.

Gem Steven looked over, "See, nicknames already proving to be a bad idea."