#and also it would make this long and I don't know how to word them either so

[mind-intheclouds342]

Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly

Previous - FINAL PART - Bonus

"Let me see"

You mentioned while laughing, sitting in front of the man who looked at you affectionately as you touched his face and observed him attentively.

"Your eye looks a bit red... Have you been using the drops the doctor recommended?"

Curly: "Maybe... I forgot them... today"

His voice was still somewhat strange to hear, it had the essence of what his voice once was, but much rougher and it was difficult for him to say long sentences, he had to pause between words to be able to say them.

You caressed his cheeks with your thumbs, seeing the scars on his face.

At first, it wasn't the same skin you knew; you were surprised at how his body returned to that familiar skin, changing its texture, gradually becoming the skin you love to touch.

You noticed the ring hanging from his neck, with the lack of hands, he wore his ring that way to keep it close.

He had to convince you to give him back his ring, but at that moment you were in crisis because you had told him that the day you took it off, you would leave him. Although you reached an agreement to annul that promise.

Five years had already passed since you returned to Earth, and too many things had happened.

On your side, you started following your dream when you were little, and today you have your own bakery.

But it was hard work getting here, because the first thing you worried about was your husband's well-being, who spent half a year resting in the hospital, and then you had to take care of him with attention at home.

Pony Express decided to give you a percentage of your salary and a bonus for the damages they suffered, so with that money, they performed the man's first surgeries.

A skin graft, hair, and facial reconstruction, among others, over the next two years.

He used prosthetics that helped him walk and pick things up on his own, although just in case, you still had his wheelchair as a backup, which he refuses to use again, and when you're not watching, he tries to get rid of it, but you've locked the room where it is.

You even adopted two dogs, the first was Jupiter, a Labrador, a service dog who helps Curly when you're not around, and he's also a very good companion.

And after insisting for so long that Jupiter needed a little sibbling, you adopted Sunset, a dog you had found outside your bakery begging for food, a golden retriever who had escaped from her home, where it seemed they only used her to have puppies and sell them because she was purebred.

Both animals got along well right away, both quite calm, they don't cause any problems.

On the other hand, you stayed in touch with the rest of the crew.

Anya was able to get into medical school a few months after returning, and she is currently in her final year to receive her diploma.

Swansea retired and stayed at home with his family and children, being welcomed by his wife and the little girl she had had a few months ago.

Daisuke tried again with the art school, giving his all and with the support of his parents, he was able to get in. He even has a blog where he talks about the experiences he had in his life to motivate other young people to follow what they love.

Jimmy on the other hand... The last thing you heard about him was that his sentence was extended further for causing conflicts during his time in prison.

As for the little baby... you found out she was adopted by a good family, and that was all you needed to know about her.

Curly: "They're already... about to arrive"

He alerted when he heard Sunset start barking upon hearing a car park nearby.

He got out of bed and went outside to open the door and let his friends into the yard.

There was something that became a tradition among you, every year you celebrated the anniversary of the day you returned alive to Earth after such an experience, having a meal at your home.

Daisuke: "Who is the cutest girl! Let me pet you, fluffball!"

The boy, every time he went, was determined to make Sunset his friend, but she always ended up hiding where he couldn't reach her.

Anya: "Today is a wonderful day... And the food smells really good, every year they surpass the previous year's food, it's incredible."

Swansea: "Not bad, huh! Did you make this grill by yourself, Curly? The meat looks incredible."

Daisuke: "Where is (Yn)?? I want to greet her!"

He had managed to catch the dog, who was resigned in his arms while Jupiter was barking at Daisuke, knowing how upset Sunset was.

Curly: "She has... a surprise for... all of you."

He said, smiling, waiting for you to come out in the summer dress he had bought for you, quite loose and comfortable, perfect for your growing belly. 

Everyone was surprised to see you, Daisuke was left speechless, dropping Sunset.

Daisuke: "But! You said-!"

"Well, not naturally—but... I was given the opportunity to do it in vitro and it was a success! I was afraid it wouldn't work because of my eggs, but... after several failed attempts... we finally got very lucky."

You caressed your belly, smiling.

Swansea: "Look at that... Congratulations, kid!"

Anya: "That's wonderful! Oh my God, how many weeks are you now? Do you already know their gender? Why didn't you tell us anything?"

She approached to touch your belly, happy that you have achieved what you wanted so much.

"I'm already in my 29th week... And we already know it's a boy! We were deciding on a name!"

Daisuke: "I have a really cool one!"

"I'm not going to call him Daisuke."

The boy let out a disappointed "aaaw" that you weren't going to consider his name for your son.

Curly: "We thought... of Charles"

"That I'm still not at all in agreement with that name."

You pointed at him, making him laugh and roll his eye.

Anya: "You still have time! When is your due date? I would like to be with you when it happens."

Daisuke: "Can I be there too? Maybe the second time I won't faint, hehe."

Swansea: "I wish you the best, boys are not difficult to entertain, they are difficult to keep alive, they love danger even after reaching adulthood."

You felt very excited about all the support you were receiving, happy to have met such wonderful people.

You didn't regret at all for having done everything possible to get them out of that situation.

The gathering continued with everyone eating and talking about the things they had been doing lately, catching up on their activities, until dessert time arrived, everyone's favorite moment.

Curly: "The best sweets... are from my wife..."

Swansea: "You don't even like sweets!"

Curly couldn't help but smile anyway when he saw everyone enthusiastically eating the ice cream cake you had made for that hot day, while he had his own special portion that you prepared for him so he could eat without too much sweetness.

You couldn't resist feeding him, and even though he wanted to seem annoyed, he adored the attention you gave him.

"Oops~ I'm sorry~ I stained your cheek"

You said with a smile to kiss his cheek, you started smearing hkd face with the dessert and left kisses on all those spots.

Swansea: "Get a room!"

Daisuke: "...Did you ever do it on the ship while working?"

"DAISUKE!"

You shouted with your cheeks red at such a true thing that had been said.

Curly: "...Two or three times..."

Swansea: "That's nothing, you managed to control themselves quite well."

Curly: "....During the week"

"Can I send it back into space?"

You didn't know how to hide your face in response to his declaration, you were extremely embarrassed.

But you had no escape, from the day you said yes, that man was going to stay with you until the end of his days.

And you knew well that he is going to be an incredible father soon as well.

In the end, everyone was able to have their well-deserved fate.

[rikkiz]

Bsf! Riki + sleepover + alcohol 😈🙏🙏🙏

Drunk in Love - Nishimura Riki

What was supposed to be a simple sleepover ended up taking a turn when Riki took out some alcohol he'd brought for the two of you to have tonight.

"Want some?" He asked, holding up the bottle.

"Mhm." You nodded, eager for a good time.

What started as a simple sip from the both of you every once in a while turned into bigger chugs which turned into the two of you playing a little game of Truth or Dare.

The questions started off innocent but with the both of you being drunk and all, they didn't stay that way for long. In fact, Riki was the one who made the switch when he asked what kinks you had, which you shyly answered honestly.

"I'd never expect that from you." Riki honestly said, looking over at you as you both lie in his bed next to one another, lying on your sides.

"Why?" You questioned.

"Just never thought you'd be that naughty." Riki responded.

"Hey, I could be naughty!" You whined, your drunken self taking that as some sort of insult.

"Well, how would I know, hm?" Riki teases you.

"I can show you." You suggest, confidence only because you were drunk.

"Oh, really now?" Riki asked and you nodded. "Well, I'm waiting."

You hesitate as he sits up a bit and motions you over. He pulled you onto his lap so that you were straddling him and you could feel him hard against you as his hands rested on your hips.

"Why are you hard?" You question.

"How could I not be?" He retorted.

You just respond with a "Hhmp" before pulling at his pajama pants and he lifts his hips and so do you so that you can pull both his pajama pants and boxers down his legs a bit. Once you pull them down enough, his cock springs out angrily and you feel yourself growing excited.

"You going to ride me or?" Riki asked.

You looked back up at him, slapping his shoulder, "Hey, don't be so mean." You say.

"Thought you said you liked that." He pointed out.

You can't find any words because that was what you said. He then slides your skimpy shorts and panties to the side before guiding you down on him.

You hiss out in pleasure as you hold onto his shoulders. He takes control, something else you'd said you'd liked, his hands guiding the movements of your hips as he slides you up and down on him.

Suddenly, you feel his hand going to your neck before he's gently squeezing down on your throat, just enough to make you feel some pressure but not enough to actually choke you or anything. That was something else you said you liked and you made it pretty fucking clear that you liked that.

He also made sure to throw some mean comments in every once in a while, his hand moving from your throat to pinch at your nipples before moving back to your hips to guide you more when you were slowing and so forth.

It didn't take long for you to come undone nor did it take long for him to do the same, cumming deep inside you. He definitely wouldn't have done that if you were both sober, but, well, you weren't.

"You liked that?" He asked, making you look at him as you remained straddling his cock, though he already knew the answer.

"Mhm." You nodded as you looked up at him with a drunken, fucked-out expression.

"Course you did." That was all he said in response.

[lee-laurent]

Together Again - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke and Tori rekindle their relationship

content: angst, fighting, fluff, lots of fluff, oc x ex!john marino

wc: 3.3k

notes: PART 9! ONE MORE!!! i think the resolution between luke and john is kinda abrupt, but i didn't want to drag it on anymore and i think john would come to his senses. so... also this ends on a conversation that's gonna be the plot of the next part!!

Showing up at Luke's door made her feel like she was in a rom-com. Would've been even better if she was soaked in rain, but... she wasn't. Instead, she was awkwardly standing outside Luke and Jack's apartment, her hand raised to knock when it flew open, revealing a very put-together looking Jack.

"Tori?"

"Jack?"

"Yeah? I live here. What're you doing here? Luke doesn't want to see you."

"Oh, um, he doesn't?"

"No, he--"

"Who're you talking to?" A groggy Luke joined his brother at the door, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his hair a mess. "Tori?"

"I was just telling her to go. I--"

"No, no. It's fine, Jack. Come on in," Luke yawned, pushing his older brother out of the way.

"Whatever. I was just leaving anyway," Jack rolled his eyes, shutting the door loudly behind him.

"Where, um, where's he headed?" Tori asked, awkwardly rubbing her arm.

"Huh? Bar, probably. Not sure."

"You're not joining him?"

"Not really in the mood. More focused on the fact that the girl I'm supposed to be on a break from is standing in my apartment."

Tori let out a shaky breath. "I know I probably should've texted first. But... I wanted to tell you in person."

Luke sighed, leaning against the wall, his eyes studying her. "Wanted to tell me what?"

The words came out sharper than he'd intended, and he sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, I just... I don't know what you could possibly have to say to me, Tori."

She stepped closer, her voice barely audible. "Can I start with 'I'm sorry?' Because I am sorry, Luke. I thought that taking a step back, would help things. But I just pushed myself back to John. Which... which isn't where I belong. I belong with you. And I-"

"Yeah? Sleeping with your ex-boyfriend really did wonders for your self-discovery, didn't it?" he bit out, his voice dripping with hurt. "Not the fact that he's your ex for a reason?"

"Luke. Let me finish. I know what I did feels unforgivable. But it really did make me realize that John isn't who I want. He's not who I need. Not even close. And honestly, he never was, even when we were together. It's you, Luke. It's been you for a while now."

Luke looked down at her, his jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides as he processed her words. Finally, he murmured, "How am I supposed to believe that? You don't know what's it like... thinking that I wasn't good enough. Like I was just a... a place-holder."

"You were never that to me, Luke," she whispered. "I didn't leave because of you. I left because I was afraid of how much I felt for you and how it was going to affect my family. And I know how backwards that sounds. I know. But I didn't know what to do with it. I thought I'd figure it out and come back to us more... solid. More sure."

"Yeah, well, I didn't need you to be 'more sure,'" he replied, his voice thick. "I just needed you."

Tori's hand reached out, her fingers brushing his bicep. "Luke... I know I messed up. And I'm not asking you to just forget it all. But I'm asking you to hear me. Because walking away from us was the biggest mistake I could've made."

"I just... it made me feel..." He trailed off, struggling with his words, his fingers nervously brushing through his hair.

Tori stepped even closer, until there were only inches between them. "I know. I'm sorry. I thought I needed clarity, but I just need you. Luke, you're where I belong and I'm sorry it took me this long to realize."

He swallowed. "And what if I don't know if I can just... let it go, Tori? I refuse to go through that again."

"Again, I'm not asking you to let it go," her hand found his, removing it from his hair before he made himself go bald. "But I'm asking you to let me try. Let me show you that I want to be here. I know I made a royal mess of things, but I'm willing to put in whatever it takes to make things right. If you'll let me."

Luke's gaze softened as he looked down at their intertwined fingeres, and his thumb began to trace gentle circles on her knuckles. "I've missed you, you know that?"

Tori's heart leapt, but she kept herself steady. "I've missed you too. So much, Luke."

His lips quirked into a faint smile as he looked at her, the distance between them closing even more. "Alright. Maybe we can try again. But this time... no second-guessing, okay?"

She nodded, tears pricking her eyes as relief washed over her. "No second-guessing," she echoed. "I'm all in this time. For real."

And as he pulled her into a tight hug, Tori let the tears finally fall. They were finally starting over--together.

~~

"Are you sure you guys are going to be okay?" Tori asked Ally for the tenth time.

"We're gonna be fine, V. Relax. Go have fun with Luke. Ri-Ri and I are gonna have a blast," her best friend laughed, placing her hands on both of Tori's shoulders. "Breathe."

Tori let out a long breath, closing her eyes as she tried to relax. It wasn't the first time she was leaving Riley with a sitter, especially Ally, but the nerves of going on a date with Luke again were getting to her. Her instincts were kicking in and she felt the need to protect herself and her son.

She took one more deep breath, giving Ally a grateful smile. "Okay... okay. I'm fine. Thanks for helping out."

"You deserve this, Tori. You'll come home, and Ri will be fast asleep."

With one final hug to Riley, who was happily playing Paw Patrol in the corner, Tori headed to meet Luke. Why was she so nervous to see the man she loved? Maybe she was worried about ruining everything again.

When she arrived at the quaint pho restaurant, she spotted Luke right away. He looked more put together than when she'd showed up at his apartment, and he broke into a smile the moment he saw her.

"You made it," he stood up to greet her.

"Almost didn't, but Ally wouldn't let me dip on you."

Luke laughed. "Remind me to thank her." His voice softened as he looked down at her. "I'm glad you're here."

They settled into their seats and Luke gestured to the menu. "This place is a hidden gem."

"It's perfect. I haven't had pho in ages. Eating out with a toddler usually only consists of Chick-fil-A and pasta. So this is a treat."

Tori was worried that the conversation would be awkward, that they'd sit there in silence between topics, but it wasn't. It was just like it was before. The conversation stayed light, talking about Riley, hockey, and funny things they'd seen recently. But as the bowls grew emptier, the conversation grew deeper, more reflective.

"Luke, y'know that I don't take any of this for granted, right? Being here, with you... it's everything to me."

Luke reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. "I'm glad you feel that way, Tori. Because I don't want half of you. I want all of this--all of you."

"You have all of me, Luke," she whispered. "I'm here."

Luke's smile grew, his eyes warm. "Tori, I don't think I can even put into words how much I missed you... and Riley."

"Riley will be thrilled to see you. He never shuts up about you and hockey."

"Future NHL player."

"Hmm... not sure about that one."

"I'll train him. He'll be skating in no time."

Tori shook her head, failing to hide her smile. "Whatever you say, Luke. Whatever you say."

~~

"Ri-Ri, look who's here," Tori grinned, pulling her son's attention away from his Duplo.

"'Uke!" he screeched, running to the door. He wrapped his arms around Luke's leg, hugging as tight as he could.

Luke chuckled, leaning down to ruffle Riley's curls. "What's up, buddy?" he asked, grinning as Riley clung to him like he'd never let go.

"'Uke! Play 'ego!" Riley said, tugging on Luke's hand, leading him eagerly to the pile of brightly coloured blocks on the carpet.

Luke shot Tori a smile over his shoulder, clearly happy to be back. She couldn't help the warm feeling that spread through her as they interacted. It was a different feeling than the one she got watching John and Riley. She wasn't sure how to explain it, but the feelings were too different to compare.

She settled onto the couch, watching as Luke dove into building towers and playing Bob the Builder with Riley. The two of them fell easily into their rhythm, Luke making exaggerated sound effects that had Riley giggling uncontrollably. Tori had never seen him so at ease with anyone except maybe his dad.

"You've got quite the builder here, Tori," Luke smiled, helping Riley to rebuild Scoop, the yellow digger. "Forget hockey. You've got a future architect."

Tori laughed, loving how natural it was having Luke there. She could picture their life together with Riley--a little family unit. He fit seamlessly into their lives. Why had she ever had doubts about him? Why had she let herself get in her head and sabotage something that clearly made Riley and her happy?

"Should we see how high of a tower we can build, Ri?" Luke whispered, earning a very enthusiastic nod.

"'uper tall!" Riley squeaked, handing Luke another brick. He balanced it easily, but then, with a grin, reached for Riley's nose.

"Boop! Oh no, the nose monster got you!" Luke declared, making Riley shriek. "We better protect our noses!"

Riley threw his hands over his face, giggling as Luke chased him around the room. When he finally caught him, he scooped him up, spinning him in the air as Riley erupted into laughter. Tori had never heard him laugh so hard in his life.

"'Gain! 'Gain!"

Luke raised his eyebrows, pretending to consider it. "Hmm... I don't know. I might be too tired. Unless..." He gave Tori a playful glance. "Unless Mama helps us with our super-duper high tower!"

"'Elp us, Mama! 'Elp us!"

Tori laughed, sliding down next to them, joining in the building with mock-seriousness. "Alright, team. Let's make the tallest tower ever."

They spent the next half-hour building, laughing, and toppling their creation over and over. Eventually Riley snuggled up to Luke, yawning with a sleeply smile, clearly ready for a nap.

"Nap time, Ri?" Tori asked, standing up and brushing off her jeans.

"No 'tank 'oo."

"Wasn't really a question, bubba. It's nap time."

"I don' know," he shrugged, snuggling closer to Luke.

Luke chuckled, looking up at Tori. "Someone's found a new nap spot."

Tori shook her head, smiling as she crouched back down beside them. "This is maybe the second ever time he's not wanted a nap," she teased.

Riley grinned sleepily, his eyeslids drooping. "Nap 'Uke," he mumbled, pressing his face into Luke's shoulder.

"Looks like you've become the favourite... again."

"What can I say? I build a mean tower," Luke said, gently adjusting Riley. "He's a special kid."

"He is," she whispered. "Thanks for being here... with us."

He reached out, giving her hand a loving squeeze. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

~~

Tori was on the phone with John, pacing around the living room while Luke and Riley happily played with his toys on the floor. Luke's laugh echoed through the room as Riley squealed, but her attention was on listening to John's request.

"Look, Tori, I know it's last minute, but I need to switch weekends with Riley. My brother can't come another time, but I'll take Ri next week to make up for it. I promise."

Tori bit her lip, looking at Luke who was obliviously helping Riley with his game. Next weekend was the first free weekend that Luke had and they were planning an outing to the aquarium. Riley hadn't been since he was one and Tori wanted to see if he'd still love it as much as he did then.

"John, next weekend's... kind of important," she said, hoping he'd understand without pushing. "We have plans."

"I get it, Tori, but I wanna spend time with my brother, it'd be hard with--"

"Maybe you should've thought of that before we had a child, John. I--"

"I'm asking you to switch one weekend, Tori. It's not that deep."

After a long pause, Tori sighed. "Fine. We'll work it out."

She ended the call and sat down, watching Riley climb into Luke's lap, his face lit up as he explained the latest addition to his Playmobil pirate-ship. Luke looked up, noticing Tori spacing-out.

"What's up?" he asked, setting Riley on the floor next to him, the toddler still babbling away.

"John needs to switch weekends," Tori said, trying to keep her tone neutral. "I... it would mean Riley would go to his next weekend instead of this one."

Luke's face fell, though he quickly masked it. "Ah, okay. I know you were looking forward to next weekend, but shit happens, V," he said with a small smile, though there was disappointment in his eyes. "It's gonna be fine. I mean, I can cancel shit with Z and Jack this w--"

"You're not cancelling on hanging out with your friend for us. We'll reschedule. I... I want you to be there with us. A little family outing, but you didn't sign up to cancel shit with Jack."

"Tori, I know what I signed up for. And I'm here for both of you. Z and Jack will understand."

"Nope. No way. You're not cancelling. John--"

Luke sighed.

"What?" Tori's brow furrowed.

"Just... sometimes it's hard knowing that because John's in Riley's life... he'll always be in yours too."

"I know it's not ideal, but... you're not a second choice. I promise."

"I know, V. I know. I--"

"Mama! 'Uke! Pirate! Arrr!!! 'Uke, 'oo play now?"

"One second, bud. Just let me finish talking to Mama."

"Everything is gonna be fine, Tori. We'll figure this out. Don't let it stress you out. I love you."

"I love you too, Luke."

"'Uke!"

"I'm coming, Ri! Let's see your pirates!"

Tori sighed, running a hand through her greasy hair. She had been looking forward to John's weekend. She was going to take a nice shower, clean the house, binge some TV and drink a few glasses of wine. Now... she was gonna have to take a babywipe shower and pray she didn't fall asleep in the middle of the day.

~~

Luke was packing up his gear when he noticed John lingering by his stall. It was unusual for them to end up alone together, but everyone else had already cleared out. Luke hesitated, but nodded in John's direction, signaling he was ready for whatever conversation John wanted to start.

John approached, hands tucked in his pockets. "Hey, Luke. Got a minute?"

"Sure," he replied, setting down his bag. He straightened, unsure of where this was going.

John shifted, looking uncomfortable but determined. "I just... I wanted to say that I appreciate how you've been with Riley. He talks about you a lot, and Tori said he's clearly happy when you're around. I can see it too."

"Thanks, John. Means a lot. Riley's a great kid, and I care a lot about him."

John nodded. "Look, I'll admit, it hasn't really been easy watching another guy take on such an important role in my son's life. But it's obvious Riley looks up to you. And I don't want him to feel like he has to choose between us, y'know?"

"Trust me, I don't want that either," Luke said sincerely. "You're his dad. I'm never gonna try to take your place. But I also want to be there... for both of them."

A silence hung between them, a final mutual understanding. Finally, John cleared his throat. "I think as long as we're both on the same page... for good, that's what matters. Riley deserves to have people that care about him. And I see that you really do."

"Absolutely. I'm here for both of them, but I respect your role in his life."

John extended his hand, and Luke firmly grasped it, both of them nodding. This was it. Peace at last. They finally had made peace. And Luke felt a renewed sense of purpose. Riley and Tori were his family. And he'd support and protect them, no matter what.

~~

Tori was scrolling through her phone, her half-eaten bowl of cereal forgotten in front of her. Riley was at John's and she was finally getting a moment to hereslf.

"Hey," Luke said, sliding in the room, looking... oddly calm.

Hey," she placed her phone down. "What's up?"

"I had a chat with John the other day," he began.

Tori swore her heart stopped beating for a second. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It was... it was good. We talked about Riley, about us. And we, uh, we finally seem to be on the same page."

"Wait? Really?" She couldn't believe that John had been so mature about it. "That's amazing, Luke! I'm so happy to hear that."

"I know. It feels good. Like the weight has been lifted off us."

Tori nodded, returning to her cereal. "Thanks for doing that, Lu. For all of us."

"Anytime, V. Anytime."

~~

Luke wasn't used to activities that involved lots and lots of excited children, so he couldn't help but feel a little out of place at the aquarium. He watched as kids ran around, their voices echoing through the dimly lit rooms, poiting at fish and pressing their faces against the glass.

Riley, who was practically vibrating with excitement, darted ahead, running as quickly as his little feet would take him. "'Ook! 'Uke, 'ishies!" he squealed, his face lighting up at the sight of a massive tank full of colourful, tropical fish.

Luke laughed, crouching down beside him. "Ya see that big one over there, Ri? I think it's giving you the stink-eye," he whispered conspiratorially, making Riley giggle. They stayed there, noses pressed to the glass, Riley's hand clutching Luke's while Tori trailed behind, smiling at how perfectly they fit together.

Riley pointed at an orange clownfish. "Nemo!" he declared proudly, looking up at Luke for confirmation.

"Yep, that's Nemo! And what about that one?" he pointed to a tiny, darting blue fish.

"Dowy!"

Tori joined them, her hand brushing Luke's shoulder as she knelt beside them. "Expert fish spotter Riley Marino. I like the sound of that. What about you, Ri-Ri?"

"Wiley Mawino!"

"Yes! That's you!"

They moved through the exhibits, Riley darting between tanks, his awe palpable. Luke and Tori held hands, exchanging smiles as they watched Riley live his best life.

"We should do this more often," Luke suggested, squeezing Tori's hand.

"You think?"

"Duh! This is so much better than sitting around and playing 'chel with Jack all day."

Tori cackled, "Luke!"

"Just telling the truth. Love you, V," he turned, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

"Love you more, Lu."

~~

"You want me to meet your family?" Tori asked, trying to make sure she had heard Luke correctly.

"That's what I said."

"Luke..."

"I know, I know. It's a big step, but I know everyone would love you and Riley. It's a good chance for him to hang with new people."

"Meeting you family is... big. Like life-changing big."

"I know it's a big deal, but I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure. Plus it's just a few days at the lake, nothing intense. My mom will eat up the time with a toddler. I think she's been secretly waiting for a grandchild."

Tori laughed, adjusting the sleeping toddler on her lap. "I... can I have some time to think about it? It'd be our first vacation together and my first time with your family. That's..."

"You've got all the time you need, Tori. Jack, Q, and I spend like most of the summer there, so any weekend that works for you... we'll make it happen."

"Deal."

[hoshinasblade]

you are so close to gaslighting yourself into thinking that maybe, just maybe you have already told hoshina's mom in the past what your favorite tea is.

the problem with that thought is today was the first time you met the mother of your boyfriend.

you denied it in your head - for all you know, perhaps mrs. hoshina is just really a good at guessing. that, or you are going batshit crazy.

because at that very day, people you have met for the first time - people who may be friends with hoshina soshiro but are practically strangers to you - seem to be aware of small details about you.

captain ashiro complimented you on your blue dress after shaking your hands, saying it's obvious why it is your favorite color, emphasizing how it brings out the intensity of your eyes. even okonogi, who you know works directly with the third division's vice-captain, had a specific joyful aura on her friendly face as she offered to hang out with you in the future, mentioning how she is a fan of true crime documentaries too and suggesting in the same breath that you should try the pudding sold in the headquarter's cafeteria.

you could have let all of that go if only you did not blush like a teenager after hoshina's own older brother called you by your childhood nickname during family dinner.

"i'm sorry." hoshina's hand found yours, his thumb drawing patterns on your wrist. he knows you'd been on edge since morning, and although this is entirely your idea - meeting his friends and his family in one day - he wouldn't blame you if you're overwhelmed.

"they did their research on me or something," you tried to laugh the nerves away. it didn't work.

"ah." hoshina suddenly looked guity. " that. well -" he stopped for a moment, gathering his wits, choosing the right words to say. "i mean, it makes sense that everyone who actually knows me would know about you, really."

you wanted to joke as a response; you wanted to say that he's talkative and tends to yap for hours about stuff he loves so yes, people around him would naturally know things about you. but then you caught yourself because this is yet another confirmation of what hoshina soshiro had been telling you for months now - that you are someone he loves.

you did not know being known could feel this sweet.

"huh. do you reckon i can extort them for information about you next time?" this time it was your turn to grab hoshina's hand, and with your forefinger, you traced three little words on the warm skin of his palm.

[author's note: hello guys, i know i haven't been posting a lot anymore, but i am thankful to everyone who still remembers this blog - yes i can read your asks, yes i see that you've tagged me in a fic, yes i checked my notifications in this blog every now and then. it might take me long to respond most of the time so apologies in advance but please know that i appreciate all interactions from everyone.

also i dont need to remind you but i don't tolerate copy-pasting or reposting any of my works anywhere. i read a lot from here too, and other writers can attest to this as well - we know if a line or a paragraph from any of our works is copied and/or reworded. ]

[verdantwyrm]

On that topic though, I would like to touch more on the subject of Jimmy being also a victim to himself. I fear this might anger a lot of people, but Jimmy is an almost exact perfect example of someone with BPD (As someone with it myself) and how his spiralling is directly tied to Curly.

The game never once insinuates that Jimmy is like this because he's mentally ill, the line of him having it "hard" back on earth doesn't mean anything either, but it also means a lot coming from Curly. Curly is a representative of a Favorite person, and everything Jimmy did in the game, who he hurt, how he did it and the language he used, is very close to how real-life people with BPD sometimes treat their own FPs and the people around them.

They become erratic, jealous, driven by fear, apologetic, desperate and cling to everything and everything. Jimmy insults Curly, twists his words and makes him out the be the villain, he drives everyone away from him at the birthday party and spends months feeding lies to the others that Curly is the one that crashed the ship despite this lie not actually really benefitting Jimmy all that much in the long run.

Jimmy wanted to kill everyone on the ship, he could have lied and instead said that it was simply a fault of the ship, a miscalculation, an accident. Instead, he took every opportunity to make Curly out to be the one who ultimately decided that this was the best way to go about it, and then also blamed it on Curly's mental health dropping after being fired.

This is all extremely elaborate, and a very difficult lie to keep up with, as almost everyone on that ship has plenty of reasons to believe otherwise that Curly didn't crash the ship. What with Anya's psych eval of him being "the same as usual" and being sane enough to continue doing his job. Anya also trusted Curly enough to tell him about the pregnancy, and to also tell him about the gun. And even though it's not very well expressed in the game (possibly intentional since we are seeing through Jimmy's eyes.) She does trust Curly, and she probably continued to trust him even when all was wrong around her.

And Daisuke also has no real reason to distrust Curly, we don't know much about their relationship, but there was definitely a sense of trust and reliability between the both of them. This is also evident through Swansea and Curly, where Curly trusts him enough to hold onto the axe, despite being told to return it to the case as everything has to constantly run through him. He was taking risks, he was terrified of being abandoned, left behind in Curly's shadow. He was having fits of rage, outbursts of suicidal thoughts and harm to himself and to those around him.

Jimmy twisted and kept twisting that knife in an attempt to turn away everyone from Curly even when he was at his lowest to isolate and to make him cling to the only thing he had left; Jimmy.

This adds even more to Curly's eventual condition, being completely reliant on Jimmy, being completely subject to his will and power. And something that he even admitted to liking, he likes power. And he likes that the circumstances given, might not have turned out the best way, it gave Jimmy that power over Curly. Something he had been climbing for a long time, and something he so desperately wanted because he was sick and tired of hearing just how fantastic he was at something Jimmy wasn't.

And yet, despite all of this, Jimmy praised Curly. He hated how much he adored him, hated how much he idolised him. And even at the end of it all, his main focus was just Curly, making him out to be the hero of the story despite spending such a long time attempting to make him out to be the villain.

And then even further to make the situation out to be that he was also the hero of the story, that all of his actions were justified to some degree because it was all for Curly. He fixed it, he fixed everything for Curly. Because despite what he did to Anya, Swanse and Daisuke, his only real concern behind all of it was Curly.

Every hallucination leads to him, every goal, every path. He was so concerned with him, that even when it was directly in his face, the only apology he ever muttered was to Curly. Using Anya's words.

Our worst moments don't make us monsters.

Jimmy is a victim of only himself and the consequences of his own actions, and he is by far one of the better, unintentional examples of BPD.

[avobrav]

My answers:

1. How long have y’all been radical feminists?

I've been calling myself one this year because I have the same morals, and for the purpose of finding like-minded women. But actions make the feminist, not the label. I want to take more action.

2. What ‘radicalized’ you?

Always had feminist thoughts, but no words for them. Years later, trans stuff made me research into what exactly I wasn't understanding, as I found it all to be horribly sexist. From there I found radical feminist accounts.

3. Do you consider yourself a terf?

No. My activism just doesn't include males.

4. Have you ever (or currently) identified as transgender?

Nope. I asked myself once if I wasn't a woman because: I don't feel like a woman, I'm not feminine, I don't enjoy the gross way peoole treat women, and I also have issues fitting in. But it just didn't make sense that the problem was my "identity."

5. What is your sexuality? If attracted to males, do you consider yourself a separatist or are you still open to being with males (or do you have a boyfriend/husband currently)?

Straight and separatist; I don't wish to spend energy on men.

6. What is your opinion on makeup? Do you still wear it?

Clown paint that men aren't expected to wear. I don't wear it.

7. What is your opinion on ‘sex work’? Have you ever done ‘sex work’?

If you wouldn't do it for free, it's coerced. And anything sexual you're coerced into is going to come back to you, even if you don't feel it right now. I used to think I could use a pseudonym for /something/ to make some extra cash when I was younger (like 20-26), but I'm really REALLY glad I never went through with it.

8. What is your opinion on pornography? Did you ever watch it in the past?

Recorded coercion. I've seen it in the past and thought, still think, it's weird to voyeur like that. If it weren't for the RAPE and HUMAN TRAFFICKING I could dismiss that as prudishness, but it's not.

9. What is your opinion on the hijab? Are you a muslim/ex muslim?

Not Muslim, but I know female oppression when I see it. I know a non-choice choice when I see it.

10. Do you still do some of the things you criticize? (Shaving, makeup, etc)

Sparingly, for survival purposes and also to maintain relationships with female family members. I don't advertise it though and recognize them as non-feminist actions.

11. What is your opinion on Gender vs. Sex?

Sex is our body, gender is how we are treated because of that body. If you want to change gender, it means you don't want expectations on your body - this is normal. The expectations are sexist and bad. Fight them, don't encourage them.

12. Are you anti-capitalist?

I think so, but I haven't read enough economic theory to make an intelligent argument for myself.

13. What country (or continent) are you from?

USA

14. What is a topic you wished more radfems would talk about?

Hm, I'll come back to this one!

15. Does anyone in your life know you’re a radfem?

;)

Questions for radblr / terfblr —

1. How long have y’all been radical feminists?

2. What ‘radicalized’ you?

3. Do you consider yourself a terf?

4. Have you ever (or currently) identified as transgender?

5. What is your sexuality? If attracted to males, do you consider yourself a separatist or are you still open to being with males (or do you have a boyfriend/husband currently)?

6. What is your opinion on makeup? Do you still wear it?

7. What is your opinion on ‘sex work’? Have you ever done ‘sex work’?

8. What is your opinion on pornography? Did you ever watch it in the past?

9. What is your opinion on the hijab? Are you a muslim/ex muslim?

10. Do you still do some of the things you criticize? (Shaving, makeup, etc)

11. What is your opinion on Gender vs. Sex?

12. Are you anti-capitalist?

13. What country (or continent) are you from?

14. What is a topic you wished more radfems would talk about?

15. Does anyone in your life know you’re a radfem?

Feel free to skip a question if it makes you uncomfortable!

[aleskie-hischier]

Summary: Tasked with eliminating the government spy Nico Hischier, you arrive in Paris prepared to do what you’ve always done: obey Father’s orders without question. Unexpectedly, you get closer to Nico and he shows you a glimpse of a life beyond the underworld. Torn between your present and the possibility of a future free from darkness, you make a choice that changes the course of your life.

Word Count: 15k Warnings: fluffy angst!! there's a swear word somewhere there and there's a scene that leads to something spicy but there isn't any actual smut!! also there are inaccurate descriptions of advanced technology and chemicals...don't come for me, i'm not a stem student and i don't actually know how that shit works

READ PART TWO HERE

You first meet him at a gala somewhere in Germany. It’s the birthday of some socialite, celebrated in the only way these people seem to know how—a garish display of lavish opulence. The mansion is dripping in gold, with polished marble floors that gleam under crystal chandeliers, and an endless fountain of champagne that flows throughout the night. Around you, guests float about in grand clothes, laughter echoing through the hall. And, from the corner of your eye, in the dimly lit corners, you spot couples slipping away for moments of…private intimacy.

In a perfect world, you’d join the festivities—join in the dancing and drinking, maybe you’d even find someone who catches your eye, flirt for a while, let the champagne make you bold. But you aren’t here for any of that. No, your attendance tonight is strictly for work, and you’re eager to make a good impression. After all, ‘Father’ had chosen you personally for this assignment, this chance to prove yourself by approaching The Target.

The honor wasn’t lost on you. Out of all your ‘siblings,’ it was you he’d chosen—‘Father’s’ quiet, watchful shadow. You almost let a smile slip at the thought of them fuming, quietly seething that you had been singled out as his best. Still, you keep your gloating hidden deep inside. You keep your expression composed, calm, your mask perfectly in place. Just like what you were trained to do.

One by one, ‘Father’ takes you through the crowd, introducing you to guests scattered throughout the hall. There are socialites wrapped in silk and jewels, politicians with their fake and steely smiles; There are actors who prance around with perfectly practiced charm and singers who cast secretive glances at one another—everyone who matters, the pillars of high society, are all here.

You’re cordial, polite, doing exactly as you were trained: standing straight with your head high, giving a subtle smile, letting ‘Father’ do most of the talking while you speak only when directly addressed. 

This is why you’re his favorite. You’re a shadow, a seamless extension of his will, your own desires tucked away beneath the polished surface.

Your gaze occasionally sweeps the room, catching every flicker of movement, every momentary lapse in composure. You’re waiting, watching, until finally, you see him: The Target. Standing across the room, just beyond ‘Father’s’ line of sight, and yet right within yours.

The cold and calculating Agent Heart. Real name: Nico Hischier. One of the top operatives the Swiss government had ever produced—usually, anyway. He’d unknowingly made a crucial mistake at his last job, leaving just enough of a trace to reveal the man behind the code name. And now, he would die by your hands.

It was almost a pity to end the life of someone so...well, so pretty, with that sharp jawline and those doe-like brown eyes. But a job was a job, and Nico Hischier had been a thorn in your client’s side for far too long. His audacious infiltration schemes and the false information he’d planted across organizations had finally backfired, landing him in the crosshairs of nearly every intelligence agency in Europe. The bounty on his head was astronomical. And very soon, you’d be securing a piece of it.

You quietly excuse yourself from the current group of guests as ‘Father’ continues talking, stepping away with a smooth, practiced grace that goes unnoticed amidst the swirl of laughter and clinking glasses. Moving through the crowd, you feel the thrill of anticipation quicken your heartbeat—not nerves, but the pure, cold excitement that only missions like this can give.

You’d studied him meticulously, learning everything from his birthplace to his weapon of choice to the peculiarity of his movements. By all accounts, he’s one of the deadliest targets you’ve ever been assigned. But here, under the shimmering lights and surrounded by Europe’s elite, he almost seems ordinary. Unsuspecting. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Carefully, you make your way to him with a calculated grace, cutting through the crowd with subtle purpose until you find yourself near the champagne tower where he stands, engaged in polite conversation but always surveying the room. In these few seconds, your mind runs through the best approaches. This first contact would be critical—too bold, and he’d suspect something; too subtle, and you’d be ignored.

As you near him, you make a choice. You pass close enough to him for a brief, delicate brush of your arm against his, subtle enough to seem accidental yet deliberate enough to catch his attention. The spark of contact makes him look down at you, his gaze as sharp as you expected. You meet his eyes, letting a faint smile tug at your lips, mysterious and inviting.

You let the moment linger just a second longer than usual before drifting away, casting a fleeting glance over your shoulder as you head towards a nearby balcony. A silent invitation, daring him to follow.

It works. Just moments later, you sense his presence behind you, following you closely. And when you step onto the quiet balcony overlooking the gardens, he’s there, closing the doors softly behind him. For a brief moment, you both stand in silence, the sounds of laughter and music now muffled by the thick glass. The night air is cool, and he takes a step forward, his posture casual but his eyes sharp, assessing.

“Didn’t think I’d see someone like you out here,” he says smoothly, his voice low and slightly amused.

You arch a brow, leaning against the stone bannister, feigning a casualness you don’t entirely feel. “And what is ‘someone like me,’ exactly?” you ask, letting a slight challenge slip into your tone.

He chuckles softly, his gaze trailing over you with an interest that’s as analytical as it is intrigued. “Someone who seems a bit out of place among all the gold and glitter.” He pauses, a smile touching his lips. “Though I suppose that’s part of the charm.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with a smile of your own. “Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He hums, studying you with a spark of intrigue. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

You smirk, crossing your arms loosely in front of you. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He chuckles, mirroring your smirk with one of his own. “Don’t you want to know who I am?”

You shrug lightly, keeping your gaze steady. “It’s not that important. We won’t be meeting after tonight, anyway,” you reply, your tone coy, almost daring.

He tilts his head, clearly amused, and leans in just a fraction closer. His hand rests on the bannister, his fingers nearly brushing against yours. “And what if I wanted to meet again?”

A playful smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “I think I could make that happen.”

He opens his mouth, about to respond with some new flirtation, but he’s cut off by a familiar voice. 

‘Father.’

“Ah,” he says, his tone measured, assessing, “My child, here you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

You turn, adopting a soft, slightly apologetic smile, and gesture toward Nico. “I found some lovely company tonight. I’m sorry for slipping away like that.”

‘Father’ shifts his gaze to Nico, then back to you, a look of subtle satisfaction passing over his features as he realizes you’ve made contact with the target. “I see.” He extends his hand to the spy. “Thank you for looking after my treasure.”

The air shifts as Nico straightens, his previously casual demeanor giving way to a guarded coolness. He accepts the handshake, meeting ‘Father’s’ gaze with a measured look. “It’s my pleasure,” he replies smoothly. “She’s been…lovely company.”

‘Father’ gives an approving smile that, even to you, seems convincing. “Well,” he says, glancing between the two of you, “I hate to cut this meeting short, but our chauffeur is here to take us back home.” His tone is warm, but there’s no mistaking the command in his words.

Nico’s eyes flick from you to ‘Father,’ assessing, before he nods. “Of course.” Turning back to you, he reaches for your gloved hand, lifting it with unexpected gentleness to his lips. “Thank you for your company tonight.”

You give him a warm smile, your heart skipping just slightly under the guise of composure. “It was no trouble at all.” Then, slipping your hand free, you take ‘Father’s’ arm, feeling Nico’s intense gaze burn into your back as you leave the balcony.

Once in the car, the silence is weighted, yet you can sense ‘Father’s’ satisfaction without needing to see his face. He finally speaks, his voice brimming with a rare touch of pride. 

“My Shadow,” he says, almost tenderly, “To have made contact with a target even I did not see is nothing short of impressive. I knew you were the right choice for this assignment.” He leans back, a hint of a smile ghosting across his face as he watches the city lights flicker past the window. 

A subtle warmth blooms in your chest, a swell of pride that you rarely allow yourself to feel. You’ve made ‘Father’ proud—exactly what you’ve been trained for, the purpose he’s molded you into. And tonight, you’ve once again proven yourself worthy of his trust.

You allow yourself a brief, quiet smile as you reply, “Thank you, Father.”

Suddenly, ‘Father’ turns to you, a faint glint of scrutiny in his eyes. “I must ask, however,” he says, his voice sharp and questioning, “Why did you allow him to kiss your hand goodbye? You don’t often permit targets to make contact with you.”

Caught off guard by his intensity, you pause, then offer a calm, practiced smile. “Oh,” you say, feeling the weight of his gaze, “I left him with a small gift, is all.”

‘Father’ raises a brow, his silence an unspoken command to elaborate.

With a slight, mischievous smile, you hold up your hands, drawing his attention to the delicate gloves still clinging to your skin. “I laced these with poison.”

For a second, ‘Father’ stares, his eyes widening as he processes your strategy, before he lets out a hearty, genuine laugh that seems to echo in the dim car. “Oh, my dear Shadow,” he says, mirth evident in every syllable, “This is why you are my greatest investment.”

He shakes his head, almost in awe, and pats your shoulder as if to say, well done. “Brilliantly done. Precise, discreet, and utterly poetic. I knew I was right to trust you with this.”

The pride in his tone washes over you, and you lower your eyes, feigning humility even as satisfaction hums beneath your skin. 

Right now, in this moment, you’re more than just his tool—you’re his masterpiece, a testament to his power, and his most prized creation. The night around you darkens as the car glides down empty streets, but you feel only the steady glow of triumph.

You don’t see Nico Hischier for another five years.

After that night, he vanished as if he’d never existed, leaving no trace, no sign, not even a whisper in the underworld. Informants scrambled and came up empty-handed, unable to find the faintest clue of his survival. For all intents and purposes, Nico Hischier was dead and Agent Heart was wiped from the face of the earth—yet his memory lingered, nagging at the edges of your mind. A shame, really. He’d been charming, a master of his craft, and more than easy on the eyes with a lovely accent to match. But business was business, and you’d pocketed a handsome payday from his supposed demise.

Life moved on. You took new assignments, completed them, and then went on a shopping spree with the bounty you collected from each person’s demise.

And then, just as you’d almost forgotten him, a report surfaced: Nico Hischier, codename: Heart, was sighted in Prague.

The message left you cold, gripping the paper so tightly your knuckles turned white. Somehow, he’d managed to reemerge five years after you’d assumed him dead. It could only mean one of two things: either he’d somehow already developed an immunity to your poison, or he’d anticipated your move that night and carried an antidote. Either way, he’d outplayed you.

When ‘Father’ found out, his reaction was…uncharacteristic. You almost expected him to explode in fury, yet he remained unsettlingly calm, though you could feel the chill radiating off him. “Lay low,” he commanded, his voice edged with a steely calm. “Do nothing reckless. We will let him think he is safe.”

You nodded, as did the others. Defiance wasn’t an option—not against ‘Father.’ You were his creations, his most prized agents, trained to bend to his will, to serve as extensions of his power. But as reports trickled in of Nico’s movements—Italy, Spain, then Germany, and now, most recently, Paris—a restlessness began to simmer beneath the surface.

It was infuriating. This job should have been finished years ago, with your flawless record kept unblemished. Instead, Nico Hischier was hopping across Europe as if untouched, while your high-profile clients grew increasingly frantic, demanding answers. 

What was his plan? He hadn’t been stirring up trouble, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was biding his time, collecting information, plotting something. Five years of his survival meant five years for him to watch, learn, and scheme. Who knew what kind of leverage he might hold now?

The insult burned, a taunting reminder of your one unfinished task. This was personal now.

With a calculated calm, you start packing, your room a messy whirl of preparation. You move quickly, gathering clothes and essentials, disguises folded neatly alongside your dark ensembles. The commercial airport would be a nightmare for weapons and the more, shall we say, experimental items you’d usually pack, so you strip down to the essentials—your laptop, and hard drives and USBs loaded with data on ‘Father’s’ warehouses, contacts, and safehouses in Paris. You weren’t about to leave anything to chance this time. You were going to get the job done.

“What do we have here?” Hyacinth drawls as he strolls into your room, that infuriating smirk playing across his lips. “Shadow, breaking Father’s orders? Never thought I’d live to see the day! Maybe the world really is coming to an end.”

His laugh grates against your nerves, adding fuel to the fire of your frustration. You clench your fists, willing yourself not to snap.

“Shut up, Hyacinth,” you snap, your tone ice-cold.

He lifts a brow, feigning shock. “Touchy, touchy. What’s the matter? Can’t handle the thought of being like the rest of us disappointments?”

Your glare sharpens. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

“Oh, maybe not,” he shrugs with feigned nonchalance, though the glint in his eyes says otherwise. “All I know is that Father’s perfect little lap dog has her first big failure and can’t handle it. Didn’t even get a scolding for it, either. Let it go, Shadow. Shit happens.”

“Not to me!” The words are out before you can stop them, the heat in your voice betraying the tight hold you’ve tried to keep on your emotions. “Shit isn’t supposed to happen to me. He should have been dead five years ago. Something is clearly wrong here, and I’m not about to wait around to see what it is.”

Hyacinth leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Don’t you think by going after him, you’re just putting us all at risk? Maybe you’re the one digging our graves.”

You set your jaw. “I’m making sure it doesn’t come to that. Someone has to, and if that means going out there myself, so be it. I won’t let him compromise us.”

He snorts. “That superiority complex of yours is showing again. Newsflash, Shadow: you’re not any better than the rest of us. We can handle ourselves, you know.”

“Then do that.” You meet his gaze, refusing to waver. “I’m going to end this, for good this time.”

Hyacinth shakes his head, letting out a scoff as he gives you a mock salute before flipping you off on his way out. Once he’s gone, silence falls, leaving you alone with the simmering anger and resolve that’s been building inside you since that first sighting in Prague.

You turn back to your preparations, each item you pack a step closer to reclaiming your spotless record. If Nico Hischier thought he could walk back into your world without a consequence, he was in for a rude awakening. This time, you’d make sure he didn’t walk away—no matter what it took.

The first thing you do when you touch down in Paris is seek out a café where you can start tracking down the location of the warehouse without raising suspicion. You drag your suitcase through the bustling crowds, winding your way to a small café tucked in a quiet corner off a narrow street. It’s the kind of place tourists overlook but locals appreciate, which suits you just fine. Settling at a corner table, you pull out your laptop and hard drive, your eyes flicking discreetly around before focusing on the screen.

Phase one: gathering supplies and resources. It’s essential to be meticulous here, covering your tracks as you hack into the security systems guarding the warehouse. ‘Father’ couldn’t know, not until Nico was back under control, one way or another. Hyacinth was a wild card, as always. But you know your ‘brother’ well enough—he wouldn’t risk his neck tattling to ‘Father’ when it could mean he’d get burned for letting you slip through in the first place. No, the only way you’d get caught would be if you made a mistake. But you don’t make mistakes. Not often, at least.

Steeling yourself, you quickly hack into ‘Father’s’ network, bypassing the high-grade security systems with a practiced ease. You knew every firewall, every code embedded in his system—hell, you’d helped create a few. Within minutes, you’re inside, scanning inventory lists, security schedules, and surveillance layouts. The target warehouse isn’t far, just on the outskirts of the city, and you catch a hint of satisfaction at the minimal security—surely an oversight on ‘Father’s’ part. A clean entry and exit should be more than manageable if you stick to the plan. This was your element. It’s what they trained you for, why they called you Shadow: no one saw you coming, and no one would see you go.

Hours later, with a mental map of the warehouse in place, you check into your hotel—a high-end spot tucked away in the heart of the city. You present your fake ID and passport with the same confidence you’ve honed in every mission. The upscale surroundings are a deliberate choice. Tourists flood hotels like these, and with so many faces coming and going, no one would remember one more guest. Plus, you think, casting a glance around the pristine lobby, it’s a definite improvement over some of your previous hideouts.

Your room is a large suite with a view overlooking the Seine, but there’s no time to enjoy it. By nightfall, you’re ready. Dressed in sleek, dark clothing, a mask fitted snugly over your face, and your bag packed with the essentials, you slip silently into the shadows outside the hotel. Your path takes you through side streets and alleyways, every step calculated as you make your way toward the necessary location.

The warehouse looms ahead, tucked in an industrial sector where only the hum of distant traffic breaks the silence. You slip into the shadows along the building’s side, blending in as you’ve always done. You double-check your tools, each one a lifeline in your hand. There’s no room for error tonight. Not this time.

When you arrive, the warehouse looms ahead in the darkness. It’s surrounded by high fencing, security cameras rotating from their posts like watchful sentries. For most, this would be intimidating, but you’ve faced far worse. The thrill kicks in once more, sharpening your senses. You take a slow, steadying breath, then melt into the shadows, silent as smoke. This time, you’d finish the job you’d started years ago—no matter what it took.

The sunrise has always fascinated you. It’s a signal of beginnings, fresh starts—a promise of new opportunities. You find it poetic that it’s the first thing you see as you slip out of the warehouse, your mission complete and a cold, gleeful satisfaction filling you.

Breaking into the place had been more challenging than anticipated. The exterior’s casual security had lulled you into a false sense of ease, making you believe the rest would be a simple infiltration. But inside, the game shifted. Lasers crisscrossed the halls like webs, ready to alert ‘Father’ at the faintest touch. You’d navigated through them with a mix of agility and nerves of steel, carefully calculating each movement. Then, hacking into the security system to loop the cameras—well, that had demanded an even steadier hand.

Each door you encountered was a new puzzle, a metal barrier locked with outdated ciphers that even the finest digital decoders couldn’t solve alone. Finally, you resorted to an old cipher-decoder tucked away in your bag, the kind you’d almost forgotten about, to get you through. Each second felt stretched, every click and buzz echoing louder in the silent warehouse, but you refused to let it fluster you. You were trained for this—methodical, composed, and ruthless in your precision.

The challenges only fueled you. They reminded you of the spies you’d watched over the years, their sneaky maneuvers and meticulous planning. Spies and assassins weren’t all that different, you thought wryly. Both had to be intelligent, inventive, and constantly three steps ahead. You’d taken notes, refined your approach, and now, standing here at the brink of success, you see it paying off.

Once inside the warehouse’s main sector, you located everything you needed: small vials of acids and chemicals with potent effects, needles to inject them into precise targets, and, of course, your preferred daggers. You recognize the risk of bringing such conspicuous weapons; the daggers would leave a clear mark, something easily traced to you. But they were your final line of defense if all else failed. A contingency. You liked to be prepared for every possibility.

With your haul secured, you slipped out as silently as you’d come, setting everything back to how it was before you’d entered. 

Back at the hotel, a wave of exhaustion hit you, the adrenaline finally draining. You collapsed onto the plush bed, relishing the soft linens and the contrast of comfort after the tense operation. As your eyes drifted shut, the golden light of dawn filtered through the window. In the back of your mind, a voice whispers that this time, things will fall into place. The sun feels like a premonition—a promise of victory.

When you wake up, it’s just about time for lunch, and the day outside is sunny, practically inviting you out to explore. After a quick shower, you slip into a simple outfit, throwing on a light cardigan, and head down to the lobby. You tell yourself it’s to grab a bite to eat while you figure out how to locate Nico—if he was even still in Paris. A grimace crosses your face at the possibility he’s already vanished, but a quick spark of determination flickers. You’re prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes.

Lost in thought, you walk briskly toward the lobby’s exit, but you’re jarred back to the present by an unexpected bump into someone. Instinctively, you’re ready to apologize—until you look up and see him. Nico, in the flesh, his expression caught halfway between surprise and something else. He’s as handsome as you remember, wearing a casual pair of jeans, a sleek knit sweater, and a trench coat that perfectly frames his sharp build. Jackpot.

His eyes first widen when they see you, a flash of recognition, but they don’t show any signs of him connecting you with a failed assassination plot, so that was working in your favor. Then he gives an amused smile.

For a split second, his eyes widen, a flicker of recognition lighting up his face. But he doesn’t show a trace of suspicion; if anything, he looks amused. It’s almost funny how little he realizes who you truly are or that you were ever tasked with ending his life.

“When you said you’d make our meeting happen again,” he says smoothly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I didn’t think you’d keep me waiting for five years.”

You recover quickly, letting an amused smile play on your lips. “Good things take time,” you reply, matching his tone with ease.

“Well then, I guess it’s about time we do this properly." His smirk deepens as he extends a hand, offering a more formal greeting. "I’m Nico.”

“Y/N,” you say, your smile widening as you take his hand, giving it a light but confident shake.

He studies you for a moment, his gaze both amused and appraising. “So, Y/N,” he says, the casualness in his tone belied by the spark of curiosity in his eyes, “What brings you to Paris?”

“Oh, just a bit of business,” you reply, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “But I don’t mind having a little fun on the side.”

“Funny,” he replies, the amusement in his eyes intensifying. His gaze lingers, assessing, as if you’re a puzzle he’s suddenly intent on solving. “I could say the same thing.” There’s a spark of intrigue in his eyes, a quiet challenge, like he’s not quite sure what he’s getting into but is curious enough to find out. “How about we continue where we left off and get lunch? My treat.” 

There’s a quiet thrill in how easily he’s letting his guard down. “I’d be glad to,” you say, your voice warm and laced with charm. You place your hand lightly in the one he’s offered as he leads you out of the hotel lobby, and a strange feeling of satisfaction blooms in your chest.

As you step out into the Parisian sunlight, you feel his gaze drift over you from time to time, like he’s trying to piece together the mystery that is you. In a way, it’s thrilling—the careful dance, the unspoken tension between you. For now, you’re both just two strangers, meeting by chance, sharing a meal in the city of lights. But beneath that veneer of normalcy, you know exactly who he is. And soon, he’ll find out exactly who you are, too.

The walk to the restaurant is mostly silent, save for the sounds of cabs and people on the street, though his hand remains firmly laced in yours, grounding you in a way that’s both strange and unexpectedly steady. You’re not sure if he’s doing it to ensure you don’t slip away—not that you would—or if it’s simply his way of staying connected, holding onto this chance encounter as long as possible.

He leads you to a cozy little bistro just a block away from the hotel. It’s the sort of place that’s swarming with locals, with warm wooden tables and waitstaff bustling through the crowd, balancing plates with practiced ease. You’re seated by a window, the afternoon light filtering through as the hum of Parisian life passes by outside. He lets go of your hand to pull out your chair, a surprisingly old-fashioned gesture, before taking a seat across from you. You’re handed menus, and after a quick glance, he orders a steak. You, in turn, order ratatouille—a choice that earns you a look of amused surprise.

“Ratatouille?” He raises an eyebrow, the grin on his face both intrigued and playful as the waiter collects your menus.

You can’t help but smirk back, rolling your eyes a bit as you explain. “I saw the movie last year and figured I should try the dish, see if it lives up to the hype.”

He laughs, the sound warm and relaxed, making him seem momentarily less like the man you’re here to kill. “So, you’re into those kinds of things? Movies?”

“Not really. Just curious.” You give a small shrug, keeping your tone light. “I figured that if I was gonna eat in Paris I might as well go for something classic.”

He nods, eyes never leaving yours, his gaze intense but inviting. “I suppose you just don’t strike me as the type to follow a…classical path, so to speak.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “And what exactly do you think my path looks like, then?”

“Something more mysterious.” His smirk returns, laced with a deeper curiosity, as though he’s trying to peer through whatever mask you’ve chosen to wear today. “You’ve got this air about you...like you’re here, but not entirely. A bit like a cat. Sneaky, quick,” he says, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that feels both measuring and teasing. “Elusive.”

You laugh, letting out a genuine sound. “A cat? That’s a first.”

It is a first. People in your world were more likely to call you names like “Golden Girl,” “Father’s Shadow,” or “Lap Dog” when your so-called ‘siblings’ wanted to get under your skin.

“Well, you are hard to pin down, aren’t you?” He leans back, still watching you, and the playful energy from before shifts. “People like us—those who can walk in and out of rooms unnoticed—we tend to be running from something, or toward it. Which one is it for you?”

The question catches you off guard, the subtle implication making you wonder if he knows more than he lets on. You lean in, matching his intensity. “Maybe both. Or maybe I just like the thrill of new places and new faces.”

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, as though filing the answer away with real interest. You notice the warmth in his curiosity, and for a brief moment, it almost makes you feel guilty, like he genuinely wants to know the truth about you.

“Besides,” you continue, a smile tugging at your lips, “I’m the one who’s hard to pin down? You’re the one who’s been quite hard to find these past few years.”

The words slip out before you realize how they might sound, and for a brief second, you see his expression flicker from amused to alarmed. Most people wouldn’t catch it, but you do, and you pivot quickly.

“I just…” You let out a breath, recalibrating. “I thought you’d stay in Germany longer. I tried looking for you after the gala.” It’s the truth, in a way—you had tried to track him down, though for different reasons entirely. “But you were gone. Just…vanished.” The words carry a hint of something unintended, something softer. You sound almost sad, like a lover abandoned or a child denied a favorite toy.

His expression shifts, easing into something more open, though there’s a guarded look in his eyes you can’t quite place. “Oh,” he says simply. “Had some business to take care of.” Then, his lips curve into a smirk, casual and inviting. “If I’d known you were looking for me, I would’ve found you first.”

You return his smile, allowing the flirtation to flow easily between you. “Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to try too hard this time.”

“Lucky for me indeed.” His gaze sharpens with interest, as if he’s thinking of something more he’d like to say but chooses to leave it unspoken.

As the light shifts, bathing the restaurant in a soft glow, you realize just how naturally the conversation has fallen into place, how seamlessly you’ve slipped into the part you need to play. It’s dangerous, how easy it feels, how perfectly he responds to every cue. For a moment, you wonder if he’s doing the same—if he’s playing a role, hiding motives of his own behind that smooth smile. But the real danger, you know, is how much you welcome it—yearn for it—how a part of you longs for this illusion of normalcy.

You let yourself drift for a second, thinking about a quiet cottage somewhere in the mountains. You imagine waking up next to someone you love, sharing breakfast and laughter in the early morning light. You picture spending your days apart, coming home to one another at night, swapping stories about the small things, the safe things, the little moments of joy. In this little dream, you hold children of your own—kids who’d grow up safe, untouched by the world you’d grown up in.

You look across the table at Nico, studying his face, his easy demeanor. And for a brief, painful moment, you think that if things were different, if he truly was just a man sitting here with genuine interest, the two of you might have been a good match. But that world, that life, feels as distant as the sunlit street outside, just out of reach and fading as quickly as it appeared.

The food arrives, interrupting the charged silence, and you focus on your plate, cutting into the colorful layers of ratatouille. The flavors are rich and earthy, a surprising comfort, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the meal. The flavors are unexpectedly comforting, earthy and rich, a pleasure you can savor for once, without wondering if it’s laced with some new toxin or if a hidden blade will come flying at you as you take your next bite.

‘Father’ had a way of turning even meals into exercises in survival, leaving you perpetually on guard, reminding you, every time you sat down, that you belonged to him. The absurdity of it all isn’t lost on you—the idea of “family” twisted into something you’ve learned to navigate but never fully accept.

As you eat, Nico occasionally glances up, a hint of curiosity in his gaze, and you realize he’s studying you, reading you as if you’re some puzzle he’s intent on solving. His careful attention puts you on edge, yet you find yourself playing into it, letting him look, letting him think he has the upper hand. But under the surface, you’re calculating, assessing how best to keep him close. After all, you have a job to finish, and the more he thinks he’s reading you, the more you can quietly prepare.

“So,” you say, dabbing the corners of your mouth, casually probing, “How long have you been in Paris?”

“About two weeks now,” he replies, his voice a low hum.

That aligns with the information you received, so you press a bit further. “Work?” you ask, giving him a look of mild curiosity.

“Something like that.” His gaze drifts, thoughtful, as if his mind is somewhere else, somewhere you can’t follow. “Just needed to get away from everything for a while.”

You nod thoughtfully. You understood completely. The life you both lead and the secrecy, the horrors that come with it aren’t for the weak. There are times you’ve dreamed of disappearing yourself, slipping out from under ‘Father’s’ iron grip, but fear keeps you rooted. The thought of ‘Father’ discovering an unsanctioned trip would lead to more than just fury; it would likely spark consequences you can’t afford.

You glance at Nico, taking a sip of water to mask the tension creeping into your thoughts. This job has to go as planned—flawlessly. If it doesn’t, you know you’ll be dragged back to face ‘Father’s’ wrath, and Paris, Nico, all of it, would be nothing more than a dangerous, haunting memory.

“I get it,” you say finally, a hint of wistfulness creeping into your voice. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.”

“Not even your dad?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head. “No one knows.” A pause, then you add, “Well, except my brother. But he won’t tell.”

“You have siblings?”

“Three older ones, one younger,” you say with a small smile. “They’re annoying, but they’re mine.” It isn’t exactly a lie. There may be rivalry and threats and a constant competition for ‘Father’s’ approval, but there’s also a silent bond, a certain understanding that only comes from surviving the same relentless environment together. In some twisted way, you protect each other.

He chuckles, a soft, genuine sound. “I’ve got two older ones. A brother and a sister.”

“Yeah?” you ask, leaning forward with genuine interest, surprising even yourself. “What are they like?”

“They’re fun,” he says, his eyes softening as he talks, affectionate in the way most families are with each other. “We’re close—we talk all the time, take trips to the beach or the lake. We play sports together, laugh about stupid things. Just…normal stuff.”

You can’t help the pang that tugs at you, the unfamiliar ache of what you’ve missed. “What about your parents?”

A smile spreads across his face, warm and fond. “My mom makes the best food. Seriously. She’s always trying new things, always spoiling us.” He laughs. “And my dad, well, he’s your classic dad. Quiet, but caring. You should’ve seen him when I graduated university, got all choked up—I’ve never seen him so emotional before.” He pauses, a nostalgic look in his eyes. “They used to drive my brother and me to a whole different town just so we could play hockey—never missed a game or a school event.”

You feel yourself drawn in, pulled by the mundane beauty of what he’s describing. The picture he paints is a world away from what you’ve known, yet there’s something so alluring, so...possible about it that it stirs something in you. A strange longing, a memory of a life that could never be, echoes faintly through your mind.

“What was that like?” you ask softly, not even sure he’ll answer, but he surprises you.

“Safe,” he says, looking right at you, as though he knows you need to hear it. “It felt safe. Like no matter what happened out there, there was always a place to come back to.”

The silence between you feels heavier now, carrying words unspoken, secrets untold. But for a fleeting moment, you let yourself imagine—just for a little while—what it might feel like to have that too.

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence, both of you focused on your plates as the weight of his words lingers in the air.

“So,” he says after a while, setting down his knife with a thoughtful expression. “How long do I get to enjoy your company here in Paris?”

You meet his gaze, a slow, amused smile forming. “Well, that all depends on you, doesn’t it? How long are you here for?”

He leans back, his expression light but his eyes intent. “I’ll be around for the next couple of weeks,” he says, fingers tapping idly on the table. “Exploring, finding the hidden corners of the city.” There’s a pause, and then his smile shifts, turning almost playful. “You should come with me. Two tourists, no plans. Let’s explore together.”

“A bit eager, aren’t we?” you say, tilting your head with a raised brow.

He grins, leaning forward just a little. “What can I say? Don’t wanna lose sight of you again.”

There’s something layered in his words, a glint in his eyes that suggests he may be speaking more truth than he lets on, but you can’t quite pin down what it means. He’s either a very convincing actor or just naturally this mysterious, and you can’t decide which one makes him more dangerous.

You take the final bite of your meal, letting his invitation sink in as you weigh your options. A simple "no" would be easy. Safe. But something inside you is intrigued, drawn to the thrill of the unknown he represents—a thrill so rare for you it’s almost intoxicating.

Finally, you set down your fork and look up at him with a slight smirk. “All right,” you say, voice casual but steady. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

His face brightens, the guardedness dropping ever so slightly. “Perfect,” he says, looking genuinely pleased. “Let’s see where the city leads us.”

The city, or rather Nico, leads you through winding streets and narrow alleys, his arm still linked with yours, his steps unhurried as though he has all the time in the world. There’s an ease to his movements, his glances at you are light and almost boyish, as if you’re both just a pair of tourists enjoying a quiet afternoon. Yet, beneath it all, there’s a tension that winds between you—a silent ache that pulls tighter with every look and every laugh.

You pause by tiny cafés and quaint kiosks, sampling pastries and sipping espresso from delicate cups. At one stop, he takes your picture in front of a flowering tree, snapping a few from different angles until he gets the best shot. At another, he buys you a small trinket from a street vendor—an inexpensive little charm shaped like the Eiffel Tower. You murmur a thank you, clutching it in your hand, the warmth of the gesture somehow surprising.

Yet, in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the thought of the vial of poison and the small dagger nestled in your purse, waiting for the moment you’re supposed to make your move. 

You imagine your life after he’s gone. 

The assignments will continue, the wealth will accumulate. And then every so often, you’ll look on your shelves and see these small ornaments and think of your time walking the hidden streets of Montparnasse. You’ll look at your phone and see these pictures from Paris and they’ll remind you of him snapping the photos as he bent into different angles until he got the best shot. You’ll see the cheap hair clip in your dresser, tucked away in the back amidst other jewelry and accessories you have, and think of how he noticed you wanted it and got it without needing to ask. 

Slowly, these mementos will gather dust, hidden in corners of your room, little souvenirs of the man who saw you. Nobody had ever seen just you.

It’s startling and strange, this feeling—this gentle awareness of being seen, of being considered. Until now, you were always someone else’s shadow, ‘Father’s’ instrument. You were trained to be invisible, an extension of his will and no more. But Nico isn’t like that. His gaze lingers, soft and genuine, as though he’s curious about what lies beneath the surface.

You shake off the thoughts and try to focus on the moment. There’s still time before you’re meant to make your move, time enough to let yourself enjoy the rest of the day. Just for now, you decide to let yourself exist in this quiet, stolen happiness.

Eventually, Nico leads you up a tower to a viewing deck where the city sprawls beneath you in an endless expanse of rooftops and streets. The Eiffel Tower rises in the distance, a towering symbol of the city, so far away yet it feels within reach, as though you could stretch your hand out and touch it. The evening light casts long shadows, painting the Paris skyline in shades of amber and rose, the kind of beauty you’d only ever seen in your dreams.

"So," Nico murmurs as you approach the edge of the deck, his voice low, almost reverent. "What do you think?"

You glance at him, taking in the slight, an almost vulnerable expression that flickers over his face as he watches you, waiting for a response. The view, the quiet intimacy of the moment, all of it makes the silence heavier. And for a split second, you allow yourself to forget who you are, who he is—to forget the guilt that’s rising inside you. Right now, you’re just Y/N, a girl seeing Paris for the first time, with someone who—if things were different—might have become a part of your life in another way.

“It’s beautiful,” you reply softly, though your words feel too simple, too small for everything swirling inside you.

He studies you, his gaze lingering with a weight that makes your heart beat just a little faster. “I figured you’d appreciate it. It seemed…fitting.” 

“Fitting?” you echo, glancing sideways, a faint smile on your lips.

He shrugs, his hands slipping into his pockets as he steps closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “For a girl who seems to belong everywhere and nowhere all at once.” He smirks, and there’s that gleam again, that sense he’s peering through the walls you’ve so carefully constructed. “You don’t stay still, do you?”

“No,” you say softly, the words falling from your lips with ease. “I travel a lot for work.” You pause, the silence thickening before you add, “The family business.”

He nods, his gaze steady, as if processing your words with more attention than you expected.

“My Father can be…strict about leaving, about staying in one place for too long,” you continue, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Says it can be dangerous. It’s his way of showing he cares.” You say it, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow, like you’re trying to convince yourself of something you’ve never quite believed.

His expression shifts, an intensity in his eyes that almost feels like he’s seeing right through you. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if you should tell him everything. Lay it all out in the open, be honest for once in your life, and admit the truth: I’m here to kill you. It feels almost tempting, the release of that burden, especially after the small kindnesses he’s shown you. But as you look at him, something inside you twists. The idea of telling him what you really came for feels like a betrayal, one that goes deeper than the job at hand.

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a quiet challenge. “You seem to be running too.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something solemn, almost haunted. “Maybe I am,” he admits, surprising you with the vulnerability in his tone. “But Paris feels…different. Nice.” He hesitates, glancing down at the city below before meeting your gaze. “It’s good to feel grounded, even if it's just for a little while.”

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, and something within you softens, cracking the thin armor you keep in place. In another life, you might have wanted this—the city, the warmth of his hand, the glint in his eyes. A life where you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder or running from the darkness that’s haunted you since childhood.

“So you’ll stay, then?” you ask, the question falling from your lips before you can second-guess it. 

Nico chuckles softly, but it’s a sound tinged with something sad, something fleeting. “Long enough, I hope,” he replies, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he’s already aware that time is running out for both of you.

You look back to the skyline, your gaze lingering on the Eiffel Tower glowing faintly in the dusk. You should be thinking about logistics, about his weaknesses, about how you’ll manage to complete this mission without the complications he’s bringing out in you. But instead, your attention is elsewhere, caught in the warmth of his proximity, in the fleeting tenderness of this moment. His hand brushes against yours, just the lightest graze of fingertips, and a strange pull stirs deep inside you.

The silence between you stretches out, heavy with the weight of things neither of you dares to speak. It’s fragile, this connection, and it feels like it could shatter with a single word, a single choice. But for now, neither of you makes it. Neither of you dares to break the fragile calm.

“In another life,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now, as if mulling over the thought, “I think I would have played hockey.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Hockey?” You laugh softly, amused, but the intrigue lingers.

He glances at you, his expression wistful. “Yeah. My brother and I played growing up. It’s what he’s doing now—he plays professionally.” He turns back to the view, his gaze distant, as if lost in the memory. “I think I would’ve liked that too.”

You hum, your mind wandering to your own past—those moments you never allowed yourself to think about too deeply. “I don’t know what I would’ve been,” you admit.

His gaze sharpens, sensing the quiet weight behind your words. “No?” he asks, his voice soft but probing.

You shake your head, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest. “Father always told us not to dwell on impossibilities. Said it was a waste of time. So, I don’t.”

There’s a brief silence, a gap between you, as Nico processes your words. His eyes flicker to the horizon, but his attention never strays too far from you.

“Well,” he pressed, the question gentle yet insistent, “What did you enjoy as a kid? Surely there’s something—something you loved, even for just a moment?”

You close your eyes, the memories swarming, distant and fragmented. The orphanage, the cold walls of ‘Father’s’ estate, the endless missions, the calculated steps you were taught to take. They blur together in an unbroken chain, all leading you to the person you are now. But there’s little more than blood and monotonous days.

“I don’t know, actually.” Your voice is soft, almost a whisper, as the weight of the realization settles over you. “I just…did what I was told to do.” It sounds hollow, even to you. A life spent living by someone else’s rules, devoid of anything truly yours.

“You can always start now,” he says quietly, turning to face you fully, his eyes intent and unwavering. “I mean, you came here on a whim, didn’t you? Surely, that counts for something. It was a choice, even if a small one.”

You chuckle, the sound escaping softer than you intended, and meet his gaze. “It might be too late for me,” you murmur, feeling the weight of your words settle between you. Part of you wonders if he can see past your deflection, to the fear simmering beneath it.

He shakes his head, a flicker of resolve crossing his face. “My dad used to tell me that people change as often as the wind changes directions.” His eyes meet yours, piercing yet gentle, holding a challenge you didn’t expect—or maybe a plea. “It’s never too late,” he says, his voice dropping, the sincerity clear. “Not even for you.”

You don’t get a chance to kill him that day—or the days that follow. Somehow, time keeps stretching between you, days folding into nights and back into days. You still carry your bag, its hidden arsenal of a dagger, poison, and an anesthetic always on hand if the right moment arises. But each day, that moment slips further out of reach.

In the days after that first encounter, you and Nico drift through Paris, claiming the city as if it’s yours alone. Together, you cover every iconic landmark—standing in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower as its lights sparkle above, wandering the vast halls of the Louvre, where he teases you about different statues and their poses, and insists that he point out and then mimic every half-smiling portrait you come across. He surprises you with his knowledge of art, the Renaissance, and even Latin, which he learned in school and continued through university. When you reveal you also know the language, it becomes a game, a shared secret as you converse exclusively in Latin for hours, drawing amused looks from strangers and fits of laughter between you two.

He takes you to hidden corners of the city he’s uncovered on his own—the quiet Canal St. Martin, where you dangle your feet over the edge, watching swans glide past as you sip wine together. You learn a lot about him from your day here as he regales you with stories of his childhood: mischievous pranks with his brother, run-ins with strict teachers, and wild nights from his university days. You don’t have many anecdotes to share, but you do tell him carefully curated pieces of a past filled with botany and gardening, though you omit the lessons in toxicology and the purpose behind knowing which plants to avoid—or harvest.

One afternoon, you wander through the ancient arches of the Musée de Cluny, and he spins a story of a different era, playfully declaring you both a lord and lady sneaking away from the prying eyes of nobility, relishing the thrill of being together in secret. For a fleeting moment, you feel swept away by the fantasy, nearly forgetting the truth as you and him find solace in making playful and risqué conversation in hidden corners of the museum, your faces getting dangerously close to one another’s.

He brings you to unassuming cafés, bustling markets, and winding streets that all seem to have stories of their own—each location now carrying traces of you and Nico, building memories you never planned to make. You rate the coffee and croissants with mock seriousness, shop for souvenirs and trinkets neither of you need, and get hopelessly lost trying to find your next destination, only to laugh when you end up exactly where you started. 

And every day, the armaments in your bag grow heavier as you begin to wonder when, or even if, you’ll ever use them.

You find yourself unwinding in his presence, relaxing into the rhythm of the city beside him where even the smallest, most ordinary parts of Paris feel enchanted. His hand often brushes against yours as you walk, or he catches your gaze and holds it a beat too long, a subtle invitation hidden within each glance and touch.

Today, he brings you to the Wall of Love in Montmartre, where countless couples gather, drawn by the allure of seeing “I love you” written in over 250 languages. The blue tiles shimmer with red letters scattered across the wall, each phrase a declaration whispered across the world and etched here—a universal symbol of love and longing.

He pauses in front of the wall, his gaze soft as he reads a few of the phrases. As they often do these days, his fingers brush against yours, light and unhurried, as if savoring the contact. When he speaks, his voice is low, reverent, as though the moment demands a quiet respect.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, tracing one of the lines with his eyes. “So many ways to say the same thing. Even if people don’t understand each other, they understand…this.” He gestures to the wall, his hand grazing yours in a way that sends a shiver up your spine.

You look up, taking in the mosaic of languages and emotions woven together on the wall, words you may never fully understand yet somehow feel, even here, in the silence between you. You wonder if he’s trying to tell you something with his own actions, if he’s hinting at something deeper beneath his words. The moment feels suspended in time—a fragment of connection forever binding you to this place and each other.

For that brief, fragile moment, you’re just two people in Paris, a part of the world where love and connection persist against all odds. The weight of the dagger and vials in your bag fades, his presence anchoring you to the present. It’s enough—almost too much.

Yet, even as your heart flutters, there’s a part of you wound tight, like a coil ready to spring. You tell yourself it’s because you need to stay focused, that letting your guard down even slightly could cost you everything. But every time he meets your gaze, the edges of your resolve blur, replaced by something nameless and terrifyingly real.

“Have you ever felt that?” he asks, his tone almost tentative, as though he’s not used to letting anyone in. “A feeling you don’t even have to translate. It just…is.”

His question catches you off guard, slicing through whatever shield you’re still trying to keep intact. You look at him, unsure of what to say, and then, with a carefully neutral smile, you reply, “I wouldn’t know.”

He looks at you for a long moment, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “Maybe it’s not too late to find out,” he says softly, as though he’s suggesting something that has the power to change everything.

And for a moment, you wonder what could happen if you could let yourself feel, let yourself know what it means to be more than just a weapon. What would your life look like then? 

The question lingers between you, silent and electric, and you feel it—your heart beating too fast, filled with a hope that you’d be able to stay in this moment just a little longer.

That night, he takes you to dinner at the hotel restaurant where you’re seated at a cozy, dimly lit corner. It’s the kind of place where the music is soft and the waitstaff almost invisible, giving you the sense that this moment belongs entirely to the two of you. You share a perfectly seared steak and a rich pasta dish, complemented by a bottle of red wine that he insists on pouring for you since there is apparently a ‘proper’ way to pour wine. The food is delicious, but the real highlight is the conversation—sharp, teasing banter that’s layered with the kind of teasing that’s come to define your time together.

“Superpowers are supposed to come with weaknesses,” he huffs, swirling his wine as he gives you a mock-serious look. “Yours, though? Too overpowered.”

You smirk, slicing off a piece of steak and savoring it slowly before answering. “Time control isn't as powerful as everyone makes it out to be,” you counter with a casual shrug. “I mean, have you seen the people who have these powers? Most of them are absolute idiots.”

“See, that’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re smart. Tactical. Absolutely stunning.” He leans in, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip. “You’re dangerous.”

His gaze holds you captive, his eyes twinkling with that strange mix of admiration and mystery that you’ve come to recognize. There’s a glimmer of something in his expression, something that suggests he sees you more clearly than you’d like—an unsettling thought, yet one you can’t seem to shake. You smile, hoping it masks the way his words make you feel, the faint warmth that they stir against your better judgment.

“If you only knew,” you reply lightly, reaching for your glass to steady yourself.

Before he can answer, his phone buzzes on the table, its screen lighting up with a notification. He glances down, and his expression shifts—serious, as though the world outside your bubble has come crashing in. He looks back at you, and there’s an almost apologetic look in his eyes.

“Work,” he says simply, pushing his chair back as he stands. “Give me a few minutes?”

You nod, watching as he steps away from the table, disappearing through a side door to take the call. As soon as he’s out of sight, the warmth and playfulness of the evening evaporates, leaving you in silence, alone with the untouched glasses and the low hum of the restaurant around you.

You glance down at his glass, still half-full, a perfect vessel for the vial of poison you carry in your bag. It’s as if the universe itself has laid this moment out for you, a seamless opportunity wrapped in the elegance of the night. The decision lies before you, chilling and familiar, and you reach into your bag, fingers brushing the cool glass of the vial.

Your heart races, your pulse pounding against the quiet that’s settled around you, and you feel the weight of the past few days hanging in the air. You tell yourself this is just another assignment, that you’re here to do a job—but you can’t shake the look in his eyes from moments before, the way he seemed to see you as something more than just a stranger passing through his life. 

The guilt seeps deeper, harder to shake than ever. And it’s not just guilt now; it’s something more—a gnawing certainty that you’ll regret this moment forever if you follow through. You’ll live with the memory of Paris, with his laughter and the streets you wandered together, haunted by the lingering, unanswerable what-if.

But you also know what needs to be done, and you steel yourself, feeling the familiar resolve settle in, as cold and unyielding as the vial in your hand. 

As you twist open the vial, preparing to pour the poison into his glass, your resolve falters. The weight in your hand suddenly feels unbearable. And then, almost involuntarily, you snap the vial shut and tuck it back into your purse, just as swiftly as you’d pulled it out.

Not tonight. You still have a little more time. There’s no need to ruin this evening; you’ll let yourself have this, one final night untouched by duty.

When he returns to the table, his expression is tinged with disappointment, and he slips back into his chair with a sigh. “Looks like we’ll have to cancel our trip to the gardens tomorrow morning,” he says, a faint apology in his voice. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

You nod, feeling an odd relief flood through you. “It must be important,” you say, the words coming out with a quiet, unexpected understanding.

He watches you for a moment, something warm in his gaze. “Yeah. But meet me in the lobby at 10 p.m.” He leans forward, that familiar spark lighting up his eyes. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

You smile, feeling the tension begin to loosen. “It’s a date, then.”

And in that moment, it feels like it really could be.

After dinner, with the warmth of the wine still buzzing in your veins, he offers you his arm for the short walk to the elevator. You’re both a little giddy, leaning into each other as you talk about small things—favorite flowers, favorite colors. Mundane details that you usually wouldn’t think twice about sharing, but now they feel oddly significant, like small secrets passed between you in the quiet of the evening.

Neither of you realize you’ve stepped off on the wrong floor—his floor—until you’re standing at the door to his room. You pause, staring at the unfamiliar numbers on the door, a surge of nerves rising in your chest. You could laugh it off, step back and blame it on the wine, let the moment slip away. But instead, you find yourself rooted in place, unwilling to pull back, unable to let go of him just yet.

When you look up, you find him already watching you, his gaze heavy, something unnamed flickering behind his eyes. The silence thickens, and the air between you crackles with a tension neither of you are willing to break. You’re close enough to see the way his eyes linger on you, as if he’s caught in a moment he doesn’t want to end.

Then, as if in silent agreement, he turns to face you fully, leaning down. And you, almost instinctively, rise onto your toes to meet him halfway. The kiss is tentative at first, soft and searching, but it quickly deepens, growing heated as his hands slide to your hips, pulling you against him. Your arms wind around his neck, and he holds you closer, the kiss turning into something heady and electric, filling you with a rush that’s terrifying in its familiarity.

It’s as if you’ve been here before, in another life where things were simpler, where there were no secrets and no deadly consequences. And in that moment, you can’t help but let yourself sink into it, feeling everything you’ve ever felt in the safety of his embrace.

By the time you finally break apart, your back is pressed against the wall beside his door, his hands framing your face as he stays close, his breath warm against your skin. You’re both breathing heavily, the quiet hum of the hallway the only sound around you, as if the world itself has faded to give you this stolen moment. His eyes flicker over your face, studying every detail as if trying to memorize it, and you feel an ache settle in your chest at how vulnerable he seems in this dim light.

He leans in again, his lips ghosting over yours, hesitant, as if he’s asking for permission that neither of you should be giving. His hands shift, sliding to the small of your back, pulling you against him once more, and you’re keenly aware of every point of contact, of the warmth radiating between you that seems to make time stand still. It’s almost too much, and yet, it’s not enough at all.

You close your eyes, your resolve blurring like mist, as he presses a trail of soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, each one more deliberate than the last. A shiver runs through you, and you clutch his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to this fleeting reality.

“Nico,” you whisper, barely audible, as if saying his name out loud might break whatever spell you’re under. He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his own eyes darkened with something unspoken, something that feels just as dangerous as the feelings swirling within you.

Without another word, he turns and, still holding you close, reaches for the keycard. The door clicks open, and in a quiet invitation, he leads you inside, his hand never leaving yours. Inside, the room is dimly lit by the streetlights filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over everything, lending it a dreamlike quality. You step in, and he closes the door softly behind you, a final barrier between you and the outside world.

For a brief moment, you stand in the center of the room, facing each other, as if testing the reality of this moment. His hand remains on yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin, and you feel the weight of all the words you haven’t said, all the truths you’ve hidden. But right now, they feel so far away, overshadowed by the nearness of him, by the quiet intensity that draws you closer still.

You’re both silent, the tension between you simmering just below the surface, until he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. It’s a simple gesture, but it sends a rush through you, and before you can overthink it, you find yourself leaning forward, closing the space between you once more.

The kiss quickly spirals into a whirlwind of sensations, a chaotic blend of tongues and breathy moans that echo softly in the dim light enveloping the room. His hands, warm and confident, glide down your waist, finding their way to your ass, fingers curling around it with a firm squeeze that sends a shiver coursing through you. As his lips trail from your mouth to the curve of your neck, the intoxicating way he devours you leaves you gasping for more.

He lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer as if the distance between your bodies could somehow separate the energy pulsing between you. In one swift motion, he throws you onto the bed, the soft mattress cradling you as it folds under your weight.

For a brief moment, he breaks the kiss, his deep-set gaze searching yours with a mix of urgency and desire. As he peels off his shirt, the dim light casts a glow over his chest, revealing scars—stories etched into his skin—that tell tales of battles fought and survived. You reach out, letting your fingers wander over the uneven terrain of his torso, tracing the outlines of those marks as though they hold a significance only you can understand.

He captures your hand in his, planting a soft, lingering kiss on the inside of your wrist, the touch conveying a tenderness that starkly contrasts the fervor of the moment. It’s a gentle reminder of the man you’ve come to know, the complexities beneath the surface that lie just beyond the heat of desire.

As he positions himself above you, his arms forming a protective barrier on either side, the intimacy of the moment grows palpable. Every part of you ignites under his watchful gaze.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

Your heart races as you reach up, cupping his face with your palm, and you draw him down for a tender kiss, soft yet electric, filled with unspoken promises. “I want you,” you murmur against his lips, surrendering to the impulses that have plagued you since you’d reunited.

A spark ignites in his eyes, darkening with desire that mirrors your own. In that moment, the world outside fades away, and there’s only the two of you, lost in a dance of want and need and maybe something more, something unspoken. 

Tomorrow you’d blame all this on the wine and the Paris atmosphere, but tonight? Tonight, he’s all yours.

By the time you wake, the room is drenched in the light of a quiet morning, and he’s already gone. You’d expected it, but the emptiness of the vast hotel room lingers, a reminder of the intimacy that filled it just hours ago. Your body aches, the dull soreness a vivid reminder that what happened last night was no dream. You run your fingers over the faint marks he left on your skin, each one like a silent promise, a testament to your night together that bled into the early hours of the morning.

You turn and find a neatly folded bathrobe on the chair beside the bed, a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of water, and a note. You unfold it, catching your breath as you read:

Thank you for last night. You were amazing, the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

A quiet laugh escapes you, and you shake your head. Of course, he’d thank you for something you both wanted, as if last night had been some favor you’d done for him. Your eyes skim the note, the faintest warmth creeping up your cheeks as you read the next line.

Stay as long as you want. Just remember to meet me at the lobby at 10 p.m. I have a surprise for you.

His signature trails off at the end, barely legible, a scrawl that feels both intimate and endearing. You find yourself tracing the curves and edges of his handwriting, as if somehow it can hold you here, hold you to him, even as reality waits for you on the other side of this door. You clutch the note to your chest, swallowing hard against the feeling building inside—a quiet, sinking ache that whispers of the inevitable.

For just a moment, you let yourself fall into the delusion that this could somehow become part of your life beyond this moment, this city, this tangled web of secrets you’re both keeping. But deep down, you know better. Whatever this was, however fleeting or real, it was doomed from the start. 

The softness of his touch, the laughter that lingered through the night—all of it will eventually be filed away as just another memory, another ghost from another life.

You close your eyes, clutching the note just a little tighter, feeling the weight of all that’s left unsaid between you. He’d left marks on you, physical and otherwise, reminders that would remain long after you’d finally carried out your mission. You were meant to be unbreakable, and yet here you were, on the edge of something that threatened to pull you under completely.

And as the morning sunlight filters through the curtains, it hits you fully—you are utterly, royally, and completely fucked.

At 10 p.m. on the dot, you’re waiting in the lobby, the anticipation almost unbearable. 

And then you see him, standing by the entrance, his silhouette softened by the warm glow of the lights. When he sees you, his face lights up, his smile tender as he steps closer, reaching out a hand to caress your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and for a moment, the world narrows to the warmth of his touch.

"Hi," he murmurs, his gaze steady, warm. “How was your day?”

The gentleness in his voice and the easy way he looks at you tells you everything he can’t say outright—that he doesn’t regret a thing. There’s still a tension between you, but it’s softer now, more grounded, something that feels like it’s become part of the air you share.

“It was good,” you reply, lifting your hand to cover his, savoring the warmth that seeps from his skin to yours. “Thank you for the fruit.”

"Just wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” he laughs softly, the sound warm and familiar, “Come. I wanna show you something nice." His fingers slip between yours, his grip firm but unhurried as he pulls you towards the door.

You give him a playful smirk as you follow, feigning skepticism. “Something nicer than what we’ve seen already? You’re setting the bar awfully high.”

He chuckles, glancing over his shoulder with a glint in his eye. “It’s my favorite spot around here,” he says, a note of something deeper lingering in his tone. "I wanted you to see it, too."

The streets of Paris are quieter at this hour, the hum of the city softened as the evening deepens. Hand in hand, you walk through winding alleys and past dimly lit cafés, his fingers laced with yours grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. The conversation is light, snippets of dreams and half-whispered thoughts, but you both feel the weight of the silence between words, the unspoken sense that this night means more than either of you dare to admit.

Eventually, he leads you to an inconspicuous building, old stone framed by wrought-iron accents, the kind of place you’d pass by without a second thought. He releases your hand for a moment to unlock a side door, glancing back at you with a mischievous grin. 

“Are you bringing me somewhere I won’t be able to find my way out of?” you tease, the words playful but carrying the faintest edge, as if part of you is still wary, still on guard.

But he just laughs, a low, reassuring sound as he steps inside, gesturing for you to follow. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

He guides you up a narrow, winding staircase, the only sounds your footsteps echoing off the stone walls. With each floor, you feel a faint thrill building, your pulse quickening as the city outside draws farther and farther away, until finally, he opens a door and you step out onto the rooftop.

The view is breathtaking.

Paris stretches out before you, the city unfolding in all directions, a sea of lights glistening under the deep indigo sky. The Eiffel Tower shimmers in the distance, its glow a warm, steady pulse against the night. The Seine snakes through the city, its surface reflecting the light like a thread of silver weaving through shadows.

He comes up beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and the silence that falls between you is comfortable, heavy with something unspoken. He doesn’t say anything, letting the view speak for itself, and you find yourself grateful for the quiet, for this moment that feels somehow suspended from everything else, a stolen piece of time that exists only for the two of you.

You glance at him, catching the way he’s watching the skyline with a reverence that tells you this city means something deeper to him, something that goes beyond words. When he finally turns to look at you, there’s an intensity in his gaze, a softness that makes you forget, for a split second, all the reasons you’re here.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, as if the quiet could somehow protect this fragile peace, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever spell holds you both here.

He nods, his gaze drifting out over the city before shifting back to you, his eyes unreadable. “It is,” he murmurs. Then he pauses, his gaze softening but sharpening all at once, layers of unspoken thought flickering there. “Some things are more beautiful when you see them for what they truly are.”

His words settle between you like a dare cloaked in careful phrasing, wrapped in a fragile honesty that you aren’t sure you’re ready to unfold. 

You don’t answer him. A part of you is afraid of what he’s implying—what he’s already begun to see. So instead, you simply stand next to him, your shoulders brushing, as you take in the Paris skyline. The world below is a vast glittering sea of lights and lives, yet everything you care about in this moment is standing right beside you.

The silence between you feels heavier now. The night air is cool, a breeze brushing past, yet the weight of his words clings to you, pressing in. This moment feels more fragile than anything else so far, as if it could fracture at the slightest touch. The weight of the armaments resting in your purse suddenly feels unbearably heavy, its presence inescapable.

“So,” he says finally, breaking the silence, his voice lower, rougher, edged with a tension that matches your own. He turns to you fully, his eyes piercing in a way that’s almost challenging yet laced with something like hurt. “When are you gonna kill me?”

You freeze, his words cutting through the delicate peace, a shocking confirmation that he’s known, maybe all along. You snap your head toward him, eyes wide with disbelief, the weight of what you carry crashing over you. 

His gaze is unrelenting, holding you to the spot, as if daring you to answer.

“You knew,” you say quietly, as if speaking louder might unravel you entirely.

"I've known since Germany," he admits. His gaze sharpens, but his voice is calm, almost careful. “You’re not going to deny it?”

You swallow, the weight of being caught pressing down on you, but nothing can dull the ache settling over your heart—the pain of knowing that somehow, you’ve brought him to this. Your hand drifts toward your purse, fingers grazing the cold metal of the dagger. You started this dance, and now you’re bound to finish it.

The familiar sound of the blade flicking open doesn’t startle him; he remains perfectly still, his expression calm, almost resigned, but there’s a flash of hurt beneath his steady gaze. He looks at you as if bracing himself for what you’ll do next, yet refusing to flinch, like he’s known this would come and decided to face it head-on.

“You should start moving,” you murmur, your voice barely steady as you raise the blade, the tip just inches from his chest. “I could kill you where you stand.”

His lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile, a mix of defiance and sorrow as he takes a step forward, so close now he could almost lean into the blade. “You could,” he says, voice steady. His hand reaches out, wrapping around your wrist, pulling it—and the blade—down to your side with a gentle but unyielding strength. “But I don’t think you will.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens, but his words unravel something in you. He studies you intently, his face inches from yours, his voice low. “You could have killed me at any time—probably should have. I gave you every opportunity to finish this. So why am I still breathing?”

The question slices through the silence between you, barbed with challenge but tinged with something else, something that sounds heartbreakingly like hope.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, unable to meet his eyes as the blade dangles uselessly from your grip. It’s close to the truth, but you know he’s not satisfied with it.

He steps closer, his hand still firm on your wrist. “I think you do, Y/N.” His voice softens when he says your name, like it’s something precious, something he’s been holding close all this time.

“I don’t,” you say, shaking your head, even as the words feel hollow. “I don’t.”

“You do. I know you do.” He leans in, lifting his other hand to cup your face, tilting it so you’re forced to look at him, his touch gentle against the raw tension hanging between you. “Tell me I wasn’t wrong about this. Please.” His eyes search yours, pleading, as if he’s hoping that whatever truth you have left to give will be enough to make sense of this chaos.

The weight of it all—the tension, the longing, the fear—crashes over you like a wave you can’t fight. The dagger slips from your hand, clattering uselessly to the ground as you sink to your knees, your shoulders trembling. “You aren’t wrong,” you murmur, unable to look up at him, unable to face the full force of what you’ve confessed.

Silence settles as he watches you, his expression softening, and for the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel utterly exposed, stripped bare beneath the weight of his gaze. And, impossibly, he kneels down beside you, his hand brushing yours, wordlessly reassuring you that he’s still here.

“Then come with me,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile trust that’s woven between you, “Run away with me and we can leave this all behind.”

You don’t miss the desperation in his voice, the way he’s so set on leaving the underworld, as if he already knows exactly how he’ll escape it.

Then it hits you like a wave crashing to the shore—he was always going to leave. One way or another, Paris was going to be his last stand, his final act before he vanished. For good.

“You were never going to stay, were you?” The words leave your mouth in a rush, sharp with the sting of your realization. Tears well up in your eyes as you lift them to meet his.

He nods, his expression unwavering. “These past few months have been my last mission for the government.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, cylindrical remote with a red button on top. “I infiltrated the warehouses from your father’s organization, taking what the government wanted me to and leaving behind…a present.” His gaze locks onto yours, filled with an intensity that cuts through the night. “Paris was my last stop.”

Your heart drops as the weight of his words sinks in. He’s going to destroy them all. Every warehouse from Prague to Italy to Paris, every asset, every last piece of ‘Father’s’ empire—all of it was going to blow to pieces at the push of a button. The very thing you’ve spent your entire life in service of, your family's empire, your future—all of it gone in the blink of an eye.

You should have been furious. Should have attacked him in that moment, fury and vengeance bubbling up inside you. Instead, something else surfaces. A soft laugh escapes you, one that’s equal parts incredulous and impressed. You smile at him, a genuine expression that seems to surprise even yourself.

“You outplayed me. All of us.” 

He doesn’t respond at first, just looks at you with a mixture of regret and admiration. The tension between you has shifted. He knows what he’s done, what he’s about to do, and yet—there’s something about the way he leans into your touch when you reach for his face that makes you hesitate. 

For a split second, you wonder if there’s still a chance for both of you. Or if everything you thought you knew was simply another game, one you didn’t even know you were losing.

“Ask me a question,” you say finally, your voice low and steady as your hand moves to gently tangle in his soft hair. “Anything. And I’ll answer it.”

He looks at you, a mix of amusement and confusion flickering across his face, before he nods, settling into the moment. “Is Y/N your real name?”

The question isn’t what you expected, but it’s also exactly what you needed. You smile, a tear slipping down your cheek that you quickly wipe away, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. He could have asked about anything—your work, sensitive details of ‘Father’s’ organization that only you were privy to, any of the secrets you’ve carried for years. Instead, he wanted to know about you.

It’s then that you realize the depth of what you’re willing to do for him. You make a choice. One that saves him. Even at the cost of yourself.

“It’s what they called me at the orphanage,” you tell him, your voice softening. You take his hand in yours, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. “The one I stayed in before father took me in. It’s who I was before I became father’s Shadow.”

He furrows his brows, looking at you with a quiet curiosity. “That’s what they call you, right? Shadow?”

You smile, the corners of your mouth lifting faintly. “I’m not as strong as Punch or as quick as Lightning,” you explain, your fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand. “But I’m sneaky. Agile. Unassuming to most people. No one ever sees me coming until the last second.” You inhale deeply, the weight of your next words pressing heavily on your chest. “But they call me Shadow because I was the most obedient. I did everything he asked of me, never questioned him, even when I knew something wasn’t right. I followed father everywhere. I was…his shadow.”

A look of concern crosses his face, the sadness in your voice not lost on him. He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, and there’s a softness in his eyes that makes the sting of your past feel like it might just be bearable. But the moment is fleeting. You know what’s coming next.

“Thank you for believing I can change,” you whisper, your heart heavy with the unspoken truth. Even when you thought there was no way out, when you saw no escape, he believed in you. He wanted to believe in you, wanted to have you leave this all behind with him. And that belief stirs something deep inside you.

You pull away from him gently, reaching into your purse. The soft rustle of fabric sounds loud in the silence of the room as you retrieve the remaining arsenals—a vial of poison and a syringe of anesthetic.

You take both of his hands in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. The taste of regret and longing lingers on your lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you say quietly, your voice breaking ever so slightly. A second kiss follows, this time slower, lingering just a moment too long. “Let me take care of you now.”

His eyes soften, his trust in you so complete that he doesn’t notice the quick movement of your hand as you grab the syringe with the anesthetic. You press it into his arm with practiced precision, the needle sinking into his skin. His gaze remains on you for a moment longer, confusion flickering across his features as the drug takes hold.

He loses his grip on the remote, it falling from his hand as he slumps back, the weight of the anesthetic bringing him near unconsciousness. You don’t hesitate. You pick up the remote and sit beside him, watching as he fights the sleep that crawls steadily toward him, his breath shallow and labored.

“Y/N,” he chokes out, his voice thick with the confusion and panic of fading consciousness. “What are you doing?”

“It’s okay,” you smile, though the fear in your eyes is undeniable, “I’ll take care of myself. So, you go out and live on. Be happy, okay? For me?”

“Don’t do this,” he slurs, his words starting to lose coherence. “We can leave together.”

You shake your head, tears welling up again, blurring your vision as they escape down your cheeks. “It’s too late for me.” You gently caress his face, fingers lingering on his skin, tracing every curve of his jaw and the line of his cheek. You commit the image of him to memory, knowing it will be the last time you ever see him like this. It was a shame this wasn’t the last thing you were going to see when this was all over, but at least you could remember it. 

A small sob escapes you, but you continue, your voice barely a whisper. “Just so you know, I think I could have loved you more…liked you even more than I do now.” His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, trying to stop you, but you shake it off. The tenderness in his eyes breaks something inside you, but you don’t let it stop you. “I think…we could have had a very happy life together.”

“Y/N, don’t!” His voice is filled with desperation, but it’s too late. He tries to reach for the remote, but the drug has already taken hold of him, and he doesn’t have the strength to stop you. You stand quickly, turning your back to him as he weakly tries to move toward you.

Before he can reach you, you press the button. The room is filled with a sudden, deafening silence that only amplifies the heaviness in your chest. The sound of an explosion rips through the night air, just a ways off in the distance, a harsh reminder of the irreversible decision you’ve just made.

His eyes widen in realization. He’s awake long enough to understand what’s happened, the realization of your fate when you return back to ‘Father’ settling over him like a weight he can’t escape. His gaze flickers, searching your face as the truth sinks in.

Then, his eyelids flutter, the anesthetic pulling him under as the last traces of consciousness fade from his eyes. His body goes limp, his hand falling from his chest, and the last sound you hear from him is a quiet exhale before his eyes close.

You don’t know how exactly how long you sit there, staring at him, the weight of everything you’ve done crashing over you. But there’s no going back. You’ve made your choice.

You chose him.

READ PART TWO HERE

[disaster-j]

What really pisses me off is people insisting the break-up doesn't make sense as its own thing when it's so clearly in-character for both of them

Buck has been in a serious relationship with a man for six months but hasn't said the word bisexual. We only know that's His Label bc Oliver Stark calls him bisexual outside of the show. Buck has had what seemed to be a perfect fairytale relationship with Tommy bc Tommy made him feel so safe and comfortable and taken care of that he just let everything else about his coming out journey kinda simmer on the back burner.

And, hey, there's nothing wrong with taking your time with that. But considering the scene at dispatch where he still couldn't talk about his sexuality in concrete terms, clearly he hasn't processed it much, if at all. Buck is the guy who dives deep into research at the slightest opportunity, him knowing so little about queerness and queer culture six months into a serious same-sex relationship isn't just out of character but a clear sign that he simply hasn't done any work to explore his sexuality for himself outside of his relationship with Tommy. Whether the writers intended for it read like that or not doesn't matter very much, bc that's exactly what I'm seeing here.

And, again, that alone as a reason to break up with someone is extremely shitty but that's also not what happened.

Tommy clearly has a history of isolating. He's been hurt a lot in the past, we don't need to know the details to know he's a deeply wounded man who spent most of his life guarding his own heart from the world. He told Buck and the audience over and over again, "I look confident. I look sure. I am comfortable. But it took hard work. I wasn't like this before. This is new. This is good but this is scary. I'm working on it I'm working on it I'm working."

He can see that Buck views him as something more, something better, than he thinks he is. Buck loves Tommy, Buck was infatuated with Tommy. Tommy was this perfect guy in Buck's eyes. And that scared Tommy. It intimidated him. But he kept going bc it wasn't a big deal and he could always remind Buck that hey he's just a guy, a guy who had done things wrong for a long time. But Buck never fully grasped it either. Likely bc of how good Tommy made him feel, he struggled to fully grasp that things with Tommy couldn't always be so perfect and good and safe.

They don't talk about that but they keep going bc they like each other bc they're falling in love bc until that six month mark they were both still fairly distracted by how good it felt to be together to really, seriously consider the ramifications of ignoring those not-so-little things they didn't want to face right then.

And then suddenly it's been six months and they're clearly both in love and they're both clearly not ready to be acknowledging that at all. It's been six months and they're just trying to match each other's pace but have never talked about what that pace actually is and then suddenly they're talking about how Tommy used to be engaged to the woman who taught Buck what a real relationship meant and they still aren't even ready to acknowledge they're in love but Buck is already asking to move in together and talking about marriage and they haven't even said i love yous and Buck can't even utter the word bisexual out loud but he wants to jump into living together and fusing their lives together.

But he's not ready for that. As far as Tommy can see he's not ready for that. And if he's asking for something so big when he can't even say the word love then maybe, in Tommy's mind, he'll never truly be able to say it. Maybe they'll keep going like this. Living together and being together but Buck can't face his sexuality as its own thing and Tommy can't face how his trauma affects their relationship and eventually it'll be too much and maybe Buck still wouldn't want to say it and Tommy would push him away like he pushes everyone away and then they'll be right back to that moment, weeks or months or years later, with Buck wanting more but not able to say those words and with Tommy wishing he'd left before it hurt so much.

And sure it hurts to leave now but at least now he's early. Now, Buck hasn't wrapped himself around every piece of his life. Just his heart. At least now he'll hurt but he won't have to move just to get rid of the scent of Evan Buckley perpetually lingering in every corner of his home.

Buck loves Tommy so much he can't imagine a future without him. Tommy loves him so much he can't imagine a future where he gets to keep him.

The break-up makes all the sense in the world. It just doesn't make sense that the break-up wouldn't force them to work on their respective issues and bring them back together stronger in the future.

[torasplanet]

been thinking a lot about frat!toman and being their sweetheart. i have many ideas but the one stuck on me is when they all just can't get enough of you! they all share but it's getting to a point where they're damn near ready to go through a barbaric war for you.

mikey, the frat prez, would treat you like an absolute princess like the most of them but with him you really are. he can do what he wants and say what he wants meaning you get whatever you want but he doesn't particularly enjoy it when you get mouthy. nobody else does either.

the only one who really seems to like it is nahoya, it really gets him going when you tell everyone how it is and make demands. what else gets him going is when he gets you to shut all that shit up. it's funny to him almost. you get a little bit of dick and everything you tried to stand on matters much less than before, in fact you've forgotten about it.

mitsuya is such a sweetheart when it comes to the frat sweetheart. he treats you like fine china, of course he has his moments but he's nowhere as rough as some of the others can be...he's your favorite, for a reason.

draken is also a nice one but don't get him wrong, he's very quick to snap you back into place if you're being too much of a...brat, he'd say. he's also king of casual dominance. he's sort of a mitsuya mixed with a baji. he'll always make sure you're okay while he's treating you and whatever you call that nasty thing between your thighs like nothing but a cumdump.

speaking of him, baji is such a tease. he's mean, to say the least. he likes to show you off, he's not scared of people knowing about the situation going on the frat. in his words, most people already think frat sweethearts get fucked like you. he can be nice, he's a gentleman of course but most of the time, he is such a meanie !!

however, this doesn't make him the meanest. chifuyu, whether you believe it or not, can be pretty fucking mean. he's such a sweetie, he loves you and adores you yet when you get him upset, he's torturing your poor clit for hours to the point you wish that nahoya was the one pissed off !! don't even get me started on how filthy his mouth will get...

kazutora is the real sweetheart though, him and souya both. kazutora is always so gentle with you, he takes you out on dates and treats you before he even thinks about getting between your legs. speaking of, he is a real eater !! he can cum just from eating you out and then he's satisfied for the day. but with the way he likes to cum, you'll be getting eaten out until kazutora has to get rid of his pants because of how much he stained them.

souya by far has to be the best gentleman. he waited so long to fuck you, he knew you were sore from the recent relationships in the frat and he wanted you to really feel him and everything he has to offer. he still does the same. he refuses to fuck you if someone else already had soon before him, the most he'll do is foreplay and enough to make you cum untouched. he hates seeing your pretty pussy all spoiled with someone else's cum!! all he wants is to stare at how his cum is so sheer spread all over your thighs and cunt.

but what they all fight about is who gets to do your aftercare and taking you out. as much as they love seeing you all fucked out, they love seeing that sweet smile when they give you a surprise date. the toman frat boys simply adore you !!

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

[fanofstuff01]

Okay this post was originally supposed to be longer and going into more depths of the subject but I decided to separate it in parts. Because I cannot write that long of an essay in one day lmao

But anyway here's part one

Wohoo

Why Adam from Hazbin Hotel Not Coming Back In Future Seasons Doesn't Make Sense (To Me)

Part One: Logical Problems

Now this section, even though it is still my favorite in the parts, can be fixed easily if Vivienne just gives a logical answer to all of it. But it is just my perspective and what I saw from this show.

Let's get started yippie

-

A: Him not coming back contradicts the show in my opinion.

-You see, when Sir Pentious died to Adam's holy light, all the other characters react like they think he's one hundred percent gone. And it was previously stated by Vivziepop that sinners cannot die unless it's from an angelic weapon, otherwise they just respawn somewhere else in Pride hence why the exterminations exist.

So this implies that Sir Pentious died permanently here, from an angelic attack and then became a winner, in other words respawned in Heaven.

Then.. Why can’t Adam, someone who we know (for now) that died to a weapon designed to kill souls permanently, come back exactly Vivzie? This doesn't make any cucking sense for me. Why are you showing us that a soul can rise after being perma killed, but then treat as if the other Alex Brightman died permanently and now there's no way for him to come back?

-"But maybe they didn't know that Sir Pentious could come back, they just learnt that angels could be harmed. (Yes someone literally said this)"

Oh you mean these characters, who include the Princess of Hell and a literal ex exorcist, don't know about one of the core reasons why exterminations are held in the first place?

Suure.

-"You wouldn't be sad and attack the person who did it if someone killed your friend even though you knew they'd be back? Their reactions don't essentially translate to them not knowing about the permanent death thing."

I would and I can definitely understand them still being incredibly devastated and going feral about his death even though it’s temporary, but then why does the show treat Pentious' death like something these characters think is permanent? Why does Charlie refer to his death as “Ultimate sacrifice”? Hell, this entirely contradicts the sense of finality and sorrow his sacrifice had. 

And to add to both questions, why would Adam come to the exterminations with a weapon that doesn’t kill sinners permanently? Specifically one where he knows that there’ll be folks that will try to fight them and folks he would be more than pleased to wipe out permanently? 

-I know I sidetracked to talking about Sir Pentious more than Adam here, but since he is the only soul we know that changed the place he was in afterlife he is the most relevant character when it comes to this discussion about Adam in my opinion.-

-”We don’t know if angel souls are equal to sinner souls when it comes to this. Maybe the angels simply cannot be killed unless it is permanent, and the show actually hints at this given everyone thought that the angels were invincible.”

This is the only argument I can get behind actually. But it is not because it’s a valid one for the right reasons, it is the only one that makes sense to me because the writers were lazy on this too. 

Then what happens when an angel is harmed with a non-angelic weapon? -Also maybe off topic but what makes something an angelic weapon? We see Cherri Bomb throw bombs at them or okay maybe angelic bombs are a thing, but Charlie shoot-kills the exorcists with the fireworks that come out of her fingers?- Do they just.. Respawn? Or it just doesn’t hurt them? Then wouldn’t a character as smart as Vaggie would’ve figured out that they can very well be killed permanently if they are able to get hurt? 

Not answered. And it’s not helped by how the show openly portrays winners, which may I remind you Adam is one no matter how powerful he is, as the complete opposite of sinners, which would take you to assuming the angelic steel works like it does on sinners for demons. It just doesn't make sense to me.

And it wouldn’t make sense in the next section either.

B: Him not coming back doesn’t make sense in the story or the worldbuilding in my opinion

Just a little disclaimer, I’m not all means a professional media critic and do not say what I say here comes from that distinction. It's just me sharing myself lol.

Also I may use the terms incorrectly due to my broken English skills.

-Okay. So what is Hazbin about? Demons getting redeemed and therefore getting into Heaven for becoming better people, right? Also showing us that everyone can change and they shouldn't be seen as who they are at the moment and they all deserve a second chance.

At least that's what I get from the show. Now..

Why isn't the previously good now bad, being punished at the same level the previously bad now good is being rewarded? Why are you saying that becoming bad would give you an easy escape through death, while becoming good can get you to somewhere better?

Being on Hell is a PERFECT way to punish corrupted holy souls. Because you often become corrupted in the way of arrogance in Heaven, and now you're humored by the universe and by the people you used to mock and see yourself above as but this world's ways don't allow that.. Okay?

Speaking of, this also frustrates me on the world's mechanics and how they work. Sure, it can be that way, but.. Sorry if thinking about a "Divine Judgement" that makes you rise for being good but doesn't make you fall for being bad doesn't make sense in my book..

I can't express my point in this one quite well like I did with the other one but it just melts my brain dude. Like on one hand, on the positive hand, you're saying that if you're on the bad side you can change for the better and that's what matters, but you can't change from good to bad and have the same levels just negative and simply.. Die??

I just.. Can't. Sorry if this part is messier.

-

So this is it.

Will be multiple parts stay tuned ig

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @beef-brisket

yea im delulu sue me

[ivystoryweaver]

Cosmic - Poe Dameron

Episode 2: This Island Earth previous

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Happy Poevember!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Summary: Clearing away wreckage, explaining explaining, Poe learns about bathrooms and tries to cook

Content/Notes: This chapter gets us from crash landing to domesticity. No warnings except food and injury

Word Count: 2.5k

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"You're saying you're from..." Your eyes widened as you pointed up at the sky. It would certainly explain his advanced and strange looking jet.

Your expression of shock was mirrored on Poe's face. "Hey, this is news to me too. I've never been out of our galaxy. I didn't even know I could...not in an X-wing anyway."

"X-wing?" Your eyes followed his to the wreckage.

"My starfighter."

You swallow hard, not sure how to feel. The 'I'm not from around here' explanation certainly seemed to make the most sense. Poe didn't appear to be a man who'd lost his mind. Even if he was, how else could you explain the...X-wing?

"Where's the nearest space station? Where could I go for repairs?"

You must have stared at him for a full minute, but seeing that he was seriously asking, you shrugged hopelessly. "We don't have those. No space stations. They launched a space shuttle earlier this year. I think it's kept in Florida. But it's nothing like this," you tried to explain. "We don't have anything like your..."

"Starfighter," he supplied. "No starfighters? No space stations? How do you go off world?" He asked earnestly. "The shuttles? Will they take me to the closest space station?"

So you spent the next half hour explaining to Poe that the people of Earth never actually left Earth. Sure, there had been a couple of trips up to Earth's moon, but no other planets. You also explained how space travel was rare and expensive, and entirely uncommon. There were no humans or sentient species to your awareness on neighboring planets in the solar system. Nor did Earth humans possess the capabilities, at this point, to explore the vastness of the Milky Way galaxy.

Poe remarked that your little planet seemed to be an island unto itself.

He asked endless questions about ships, which you called airplanes and jets - about how none of them, to your knowledge had hyperdrives or sublight engines or ion engines. Whatever those were.

"I honestly don't know much about that stuff," you admitted sheepishly. "Only what I see in the movies."

One of Poe's thick eyebrows lifted curiously. "Movies?"

"Um, yeah, like television shows, but longer." You waved your hands in front of you. "On a big screen. You know, people act in them and tell stories. Pretend stories, for entertainment."

"Ohhh, like holos," he nodded. "We have those. Sort of."

On and on the two of you went, speaking quite technically about space travel. It blew your mind to think that Poe could really be from another world, another galaxy even. You also talked about whether or not he was human. He assured you that he was, although he let you know that his galaxy was full of sentient life of all kinds - human and otherwise. Beings like Wookiees, Twi'leks, Rodians, Hutts and Ewoks and Ithorians - who apparently had four throats.

Poe asked how long before the sun would rise, suggesting that you try to haul away some of the wreckage before that time. You decided to take your truck over to get your tractor. Using all the tools at your disposal, including hay bailing equipment, you hauled away as much wreckage as possible and put it in one of your old, spare buildings. Even with the machinery, it was exhausting work, especially for Poe, who continued limping.

And you didn't finish by sunup, nor even by mid-morning. You could only pray that someone wouldn't come poking around asking questions. Thankfully, the smoke seemed to have cleared after whatever Poe did to quickly put the fire out.

With some strategic tarps and hay, you tried to cover the remaining wreckage until you could work some more under the cover of darkness.

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"Do you have a fresher somewhere?"

Dirt from the night’s labor and soot from the fiery crash covered the sharp angles of Poe’s face. His lips, full and plush were split and parched with thirst. Dark curls, wild and untamed, fell carelessly over his forehead. With eyes the color of tilled soil after rain and a gaze that fixed on to you with a silent plea, he looked at you like a lost boy.

Seeing the confusion on your face, Poe tried to explain. "Uh, to clean up? To wash, with water?"

"Oh, yeah, of course, let me show you. Follow me." You led him up the stairs to the bathroom, wishing there was a shower for him on the first floor, so he wouldn't have to use stairs with his sore leg.

Just then, an orange streak darted down the stairs, giving Poe a start. "What was that?" He breathlessly questioned, more curious than actually frightened.

"That was my cat, Cheddar. I have two more out in the barn, but Cheddar thinks he lives in the house." You waved your hand dramatically. "Welcome to my crazy farm. Do you have cats in your galaxy?"

He smiled, looking past you for a glance at the small creature. "Loth cats, yeah."

"Do you have any pets?" You inquired, leading him into the bathroom.

"No animals. Just...my droid. BB-8."

"Droid?"

"Like an android."

"Like a robot?"

Poe explained to you a little about his spunky, round droid, so full of intelligence and personality. A sadness lingered in his eyes when he spoke of the little thing.

"I hope you'll tell me more about him," you said, pulling back the shower curtain. "But I'll let you get cleaned up first." You gave him a quick tutorial on how to work the faucet.

Easing back around him in the small room, while attempting not to violate his personal space, you grabbed a towel and washcloth from the cabinet. "Here you go. I can get you some clothes. They were my father's. Probably a little big, but..." Quickly scurrying away, you gathered some faded navy sweatpants, a gray t-shirt and your dad's old, knit cardigan. No men's underwear. Oh well. Perhaps a trip to the store was in order.

Poe was waiting in the bathroom doorway when you returned. "Sorry, this is all I have."

"Thank you so much for helping me." His eyes flickered down the shape of your body briefly. "You must be exhausted."

"Hey, I'm not the one who crash landed," you chuckled.

Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, not my best work. I'm a good pilot, I swear."

"Uh-huh, sure," you teased. "My field would beg to differ."

Reaching out for you arm, he squeezed gently, but his touch did not linger. "I'm sorry. I'll help you fix it, if I can."

"It's okay, Poe," you gently returned. Now that you were getting a good look in the daylight, he was really handsome. It was more than just the cut of his jaw, his dark, delicious curls and his soulful brown eyes. There seemed to be an inner goodness and sincerity that was magnetic.

Clearing your throat, you took a step back. "I have to go take care of my animals, but when I come back, I can make you something to eat,"

"Oh...I can help you. I didn't realize - "

"No, it's all right," you assured him. "I'll introduce you later. You clean up. I mean, you did survive a fiery crash, right? Besides, you're hurt." You nodded to his leg.

He shrugged. "I'll live."

After your chores, you found Poe dressed in your father's clothes, which looked rather adorable on him since your dad was just over six feet tall and Poe was definitely shorter than that. He looked as if he'd leaned over and fallen asleep immediately over the arm of the couch.

Cheddar had curled up to his side in the most affectionate display you'd ever seen from your fussy feline.

Although you were starving and exhausted, you decided to hit the shower yourself. Maybe you could shirk some of your farm responsibilities for the day, after a shower, a warm meal and a good nap.

It didn't happen in that order. After your shower, you got dressed and passed out on your bed.

You awoke to the smell of food. Chicken, specifically. Bolting out of bed, you scurried down to find Poe cooking some chicken legs on a skewer over an open flame on your gas stove eye, with Cheddar circling his legs affectionately.

"Hey, I hope this okay. I found some...it said chicken legs in your cooling chamber. And I thought I would cook it on your stove. I didn't realize it was a gasser. I wasn't sure what pan to use because I don't want to burn anything, so I just did this."

"I am so sorry," you chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you scooped up Cheddar for a quick snuggle. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. Was this little guy bothering you?"

"Not at all." Poe had woken up with the strange feline curled up on his lap. As he petted the soft creature, he had felt it purr and noticed how short its ears were compared to a loth cat.

Depositing Cheddar onto the floor, you quickly reached for a pan so Poe wouldn't have to continue holding and turning the meat.

"Is this okay to eat? It's just meat, right?"

"Yeah, it's all right." You smiled at him, feeling something tug at your heart at how strange this all must seem to him. It was certainly bizarre to you. "I can make some vegetables to go with the chicken and some rice," you offered. "Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Poe stepped aside, watching carefully as you took command of the kitchen, his mind reeling with a thousand worries and curiosities. "Would it be okay if you describe to me what you're doing?" He softly asked, moving beside you tentatively. "That way, I can learn the names of things, and how they work."

So that's what you did, sparing no detail as you used a knife and a cutting board to chop potatoes and carrots. On and on you went, describing the boiling of rice and the toasting of dinner rolls. Most of it seemed to be pretty universal, but you were able to teach one another a few words here and there.

"Do you drink caf?" He questioned as you set the table while the food finished cooking.

"Um, caf, like caffeine? Coffee? Dark brown, made of grounds, from beans? Looks like dirt?"

"That's the one," he grinned.

"Absolutely Want some?"

"Please."

That word sent a shiver through your body, but you brushed it off.

As the two of you enjoyed your lunch, you apologized again for falling asleep and leaving Poe on his own.

"Please, you have no idea what your help means to me," he told you, rather seriously. "I could've landed anywhere. On any world. Or...this Russia, you were talking about. I could be in prison somewhere, or spinning out in space. But I landed here. Believe me, I've had it a lot worse."

"Is it really so bad, where you're from? With the First Order?" You asked him.

Setting down his fork, he swallowed his bite of food. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before resting both forearms on the table's edge and folding his hands together. "Sometimes it feels like every time I get in my X-wing, it's life or death. It's been kind of non-stop really."

"That sounds exhausting," you softly replied. "And scary. You must be very brave to stand up against them."

"I try to be," he answered, eyes meeting yours. "That's why I have to get back. There has to be someone I can talk to in your government. Do you have a senate, or a leader? A chancellor? I have to see what I can do about my ship."

Realizing what a dire situation he might be in, you sighed heavily. "Poe, it's not that simple."

"Why isn't it? If we just explain to them, like I did to you - "

"No one is going to understand, or even believe you," came your emphatic reply. "They'll probably do a hundred experiments on you because they'll think you're an alien, or that..." You trailed off, trying not to upset him.

"They'll think what? That I'm crazy?"

Your eyes dropped to your plate.

"Is that what you think, Trix? You think I'm crazy?"

"Of course not."

Pushing back from the table, Poe stood, pacing away and back a few times, despite his slight limp. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. None of it makes sense."

You could see the stress rolling off him. He was certainly handling the situation better than you would be, in his shoes.

But you didn't know this man. You weren't sure if he needed time alone, or some way to blow off steam or a hug or something to punch. So you decided to tell him what your father used to tell you.

"Let's just take it one day at a time, okay?"

He stopped pacing to listen to you.

"We worked so hard off clearing your ship away, and we probably need to go back tonight. We need to get it cleaned up and stored, somehow, no matter how long it takes."

He nodded, giving you that lost boy, puppy-eyed face again, so you kept talking.

"We need a cover story for why you're here - where you came from. The ship, we can hopefully hide. If the government saw you crash land, they would probably already be here, but just in case, we need a better explanation than the fact that you quite literally fell out of the sky."

"Right. Good idea."

"And you need a place to stay. Some clothes and personal things."

Standing up from the table, you reached for your plate to start clearing the dishes while you talked. "I have a spare bedroom. Two actually, but one is pretty small and up by the attic. It was my room when I was a teenager. Anyway, um...I could use a little help around here, once your leg heals. You could take the spare room, if you want, and work for room and board. I don't really have any spare cash."

"You would let me stay here, past today?" Poe sincerely questioned, dark eyes wide and hopeful.

"I don't see why not. I mean, where else will you go?"

His shoulders sagged in relief as he heavily sighed. "Thank you. That means so much to me."

"You're welcome," you softly returned.

"Can I ask you something?" He went on, easing toward you.

You shifted from foot to foot, feeling the need to set down the dish you were carrying as his gaze locked on you. "Mm-hmm."

"Are you always this nice to complete strangers who crash into your field?"

"No one's ever crashed..." You trailed off, realizing he was only teasing. "Well, it's like I said. You fell right out of the sky. And I'm not one to turn down free help."

He laughed then, but it was hollow and tired and worried. The merriment in it would not reach his eyes. "I promise you I'm not crazy. I really am from another galaxy."

Laying your hand on his arm, you squeezed gently. "Poe. I believe you."

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[tossawary]

I'm reviewing episode transcripts from "Merlin" to build up my worldbuilding document (character list, mostly) and, a little ways into S2, I'm kind of feeling like the show is actually quite mean to Arthur as a character sometimes? S1 E14: "To Kill the King" is one of those episodes where I forget how badly it pissed me off until I run into it again.

Like, don't get me wrong, Arthur can be a bully, entitled, hotheaded, and reckless, but he's also at this point risked his own life to save people multiple times. Both individuals whose lives were "worth less" than his own (getting the Mortaeus flower for a poisoned Merlin, smuggling Mordred out of the city, protecting Ealdor from bandits) and also Camelot as a whole (fighting the plague-causing monster in the sewers, drinking poison to lift the unicorn curse).

Arthur is giving me vibes of being both bored and frustrated (and probably not able to name those feelings or exactly why he has them) because he wants so badly to do good things, but he's not really sure how to go about it because (no one ever tells him anything, he almost NEVER knows what's really going on to make informed choices, and) he's also stuck under the thumb of his tyrannical father, who spends most of their scenes together berating Arthur for being too merciful, for not being dutiful enough, and/or not finding sorcerers for execution fast enough. When Arthur tries to be fair-minded and compassionate, Uther often essentially tells him that he's going to be a weak king with that attitude.

Arthur's pathways to betterment are limited, his parent and role model and boss here is an AWFUL person, but he's trying!

So, it's quite frustrating to get to this one episode where characters like Gaius (extremely biased, admittedly, clearly not an objective individual) are saying things like: "Arthur's not ready. The responsibility would be too great. Brave though he may be, he lacks experience, he lacks judgement."

Like, I don't know, Arthur may be only 21 and kind of a dipshit, but I personally think he'd still do a better job than the guy who tried to kill a kid (Mordred) just for existing a few episodes ago? Maybe? Gwen's father, who wasn't even a sorcerer, is dead explicitly because of Uther's awful laws. Did everyone in this episode forget that Uther tried to BURN GWEN ALIVE AT THE STAKE not that long ago (Episode 3)?

ARTHUR: "[Morgana]'s right, Father. You hear the word magic, you no longer listen."

UTHER: "You saw it for yourself. She used enchantments."

ARTHUR: "Yes, maybe. But to save her dying father, that doesn't make [Gwen] guilty of creating a plague. One's the act of, of kindness, of love, the other of evil. I don't believe evil's in this girl's heart."

UTHER: "I have witnessed what witchcraft can do. I have suffered at its hand. I cannot take that chance. If there is the slightest doubt about this girl, she must die or the whole kingdom may perish."

ARTHUR: "I understand that."

UTHER: "One day you may become King. Then you will understand. Such decisions must be made. There are dark forces that threaten this kingdom."

ARTHUR: "I know. Witchcraft is an evil, father. So is injustice. Yes, I am yet to be King, and I don't know what kind of king I will be, but I do have a sense of the kind of Camelot I would wish to live in. It would be where the punishment fits the crime."

UTHER: "I fear you're right. She's played with fire, and sadly she must die by fire."

When the adult druid (Cerdan) accompanying Mordred is killed (Episode 8), Arthur objects afterwards! On his own! While Arthur is sometimes an active participant in Uther's tyranny and otherwise complicit, he's been told all of his life that magic is inherently evil and corrupting, he was raised by the very man spreading this hateful philosophy, he should probably hate magic more than anyone after Uther, and yet he still disagrees with Uther's methods and judgments. Even though Uther is apparently VERY willing to lock both his son (Episode 4) and his ward (Episode 8) in the dungeons for disagreeing with him and disobeying him!

ARTHUR: The Druid was only in Camelot to collect supplies. He meant no harm. Is it necessary to execute him?

UTHER: Absolutely necessary. Those who use magic cannot be tolerated.

ARTHUR: The Druids are a peaceful people.

UTHER: Given the chance, they would return magic to the kingdom. They preach peace, but conspire against me. We cannot appear weak.

ARTHUR: Showing mercy can be a sign of strength.

UTHER: Our enemies will not see it that way. We have a responsibility to protect this kingdom. Executing the Druid will send out a clear message. Find the boy. Search every inch of the city.

Obviously, running a kingdom is complicated! Uther apparently won Camelot by conquest and is in conflict with many of the neighboring kings, including Odin and Cenred, and likely has more of the respect of the local nobility than young Arthur does. Uther's death would create some instability! (Agravaine de Bois hasn't been created yet, but let's assume there are many other potential vultures.)

But the show generally isn't pushing that angle. This isn't really about smooth transitions of power. Personally, concerning Arthur's "lack of judgment", I do find his ready conviction that it is his duty to die for Camelot's honor if necessary (he says as much to Merlin explicitly before fighting Valiant in Episode 2, then again before fighting the Black Knight in Episode 9) more than a little concerning, but that doesn't seem to be angle pushed here either.

The show has characters (Merlin, Gwen, Gaius) suggesting that offing the King, who regularly kills innocent people, who has forbidden use of the tool that might have saved innocent people from Nimueh's plague or the wraith of Tristan de Bois, would be wrong! It would be murder and murder is bad! It would make (in the words of a grieving Gwen) her "just as bad" as him.

Even though Merlin has at this point already killed Aulfric and Sophia (Episode 7), as well as Mary Collins (Episode 1) because they were trying to kill Arthur. And arguably got an assist with Valiant (Episode 2). And will kill many more as the show goes on. This conversation with Kilgarrah in S1 E14 is in many ways so, so funny:

KILGHARRAH: Well, young warlock, what is it you come to ask of me?

MERLIN: I need your help.

KILGHARRAH: Of course you do, but this time, will you heed my words?

MERLIN: The sorcerer Tauren is plotting to kill the King. He's made an ally of Morgana. I don't know what to do!

KILGHARRAH: Do… nothing.

MERLIN: What do you mean? If I do nothing, Uther will die.

KILGHARRAH: Don't you want Uther dead? It is Uther that persecutes you and your kind, Merlin. It is Uther that murders the innocent…

MERLIN: But surely that doesn't make it right to kill him.

KILGHARRAH: Only if Uther dies can magic return to the land. Only if Uther dies will you be free, Merlin. Uther's reign is at an end. Let Arthur's reign begin. Fulfil your destiny!

[The dragon flies off.]

MERLIN: Wait! Where does it say my destiny includes murder?

KILGHARRAH: Free this land from tyranny, Merlin! Free us all!

I feel for Kilgharrah here. He was VERY straightforward. I don't know how he could have been clearer about this.

I won't say that Merlin's character writing doesn't make ANY sense here (I do think the character writing in this show is NOT amazingly consistent), because... he IS being influenced by Gaius, who is, unfortunately, a bootlicker and also probably extremely traumatized by all of the death he's seen (big contributor of the bootlicking) (also, apparently Gaius only becomes a "freeman" at the end of Episode 6, so there's that). And Merlin is also being influenced by Arthur, who loves his father, despite everything. Merlin spends a lot of time in this show protecting a terrible status quo under some assumption that Camelot will... somehow suddenly become better under Arthur? Instead of perhaps eventually just trusting Arthur and talking to him after their years of knowing each other? There are reasons for this and I don't think they're unrealistic.

There's some tasty tragedy in this silly show, in many ways. Merlin is confused and conflicted and scared and without clear guidance in many ways. Kilgharrah is mysterious and not at all reassuring. Gaius is complacent and (very reasonably) incredibly secretive. Merlin doesn't get to see many of the moments where Arthur speaks up for magical people and tries to talk Uther down. Morgana and Arthur are both stuck here in a "The hands that cradled you are covered in an unimaginable amount of blood." "But they cradled me, yes?" nightmare scenario. (There's also a sexist element where male characters like Gaius and Merlin won't let Morgana know about her own powers "for her own good" in a gaslight-y way that's fascinating to me in how it creates a villain.)

But, also, the compelling elements here don't make certain episodes any less frustrating to watch in their execution. (I don't think villains being frustrating to watch or read necessarily makes them effective villains, especially when what I really find annoying here is the heroes' reactions to the villain. Uther has killed SO MANY PEOPLE! FOR NO REASON!) Especially when a lot of the overall results of this show feel more accidental than purposeful. I do understand why the writers keep Uther around! He's a formidable antagonist to have looming all over the place and the actor is fun.

But OOF, I felt that "Do... Nothing".

Merlin! MERLIN! LISTEN TO THE SCARY DRAGON! MERLIN, REMEMBER THAT TIME UTHER TRIED TO BURN GWEN ALIVE??? JUST BECAUSE GWEN IS TOO NICE TO GO AFTER UTHER WITH A KNIFE AND TAKE REVENGE, IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY MEAN KILLING HIM MAKES YOU "JUST AS BAD"!!! MERLIN!!! YOU HAVE ALREADY MURDERED MULTIPLE PEOPLE WHO KILLED WAY LESS PEOPLE THAN UTHER!!!

In Episode 4, Morgana says to Uther: "You can't chain [Arthur] up every time he disagrees with you." This implies to me that Uther has had Arthur thrown in the dungeons before. In Episode 3, Arthur says to Morgana: "Father will slam us both in chains if he knew I'd endangered you," and maybe he wasn't at all joking with that? Arthur is rattling the bars of his cell here, apparently fairly ready to be aimed wherever Merlin points him, bucking against being aimed at innocents by his tyrant of a father.

But nooo, Gaius says Arthur is "not ready yet" because...??? He seems less hotheaded than Uther to me, honestly. Are his tax policies not up to par yet? You can hire a guy for that. Suggesting that Arthur would be in any way worse than His Majesty "Anyone Who Talks To A Sorcerer Gets Executed Even If They Didn't Know They Were A Sorcerer" feels quite mean to Arthur, really. I think he'd do alright, in comparison, Gaius who lies to the King every single day, but I suppose you sometimes want to be a loyal friend to good ol' King "Made Merlin Drink Poison That One Time And Wouldn't Let Anyone Go Get The Cure". Good for you. Bad for everyone else.

Like, I know, I know this show is not very deep. I like that all of the characters are flawed and fumble a lot! It is a weekly burst of fantasy nonsense that is not especially concerned with consistency in worldbuilding or characters from episode to episode. But the discrepancies here are, like the ones in "Star Wars", weirdly fascinating with all of the holes and wobbly bits it creates.

This show: "Yes, our hero has once again saved the tyrannical king who kills innocents! Preventing the oblivious prince from assuming the throne and trying to do better as he so clearly wants to do! Good work, Merlin, taking the high road (which involved murdering the rightfully angry people trying to kill the tyrannical king) again!"

Me, every time: "...I am genuinely not sure how the show wants us to interpret this. What did they think they were doing with this? Was this always meant to be a tragedy from the first season? Because personally, I'm getting some kind of tragedy from this."

[milkmily]

Hello <3

Could you pls write Shoko x (female) reader where reader is feeling a little insecure about her body and Shoko praises her while making out (and maybe fingering)

Ty

Yes I can 😈 also sorry it took me forever I've been busy these past months 😭

Shoko Ieiri x Fem! Reader | Request Open :) |

You felt horrible.

You just felt horrible about yourself.

Maybe it was the outfit you had on.

Or maybe it was because on the way to work, someone pointed out how ridiculous you looked with what you had on. It was some random people you don't even know.

Their opinion shouldn't even matter, you don't know them. Yet, it affected you so much. Honestly it was probably because you woke up in such a bad mood that their words got to you so easily. You Honestly thought your skirt looked pretty with your shirt. Your color leggings and heels matched it all. But apparently, some people don't like it. And well, their opinions mattered to you a lot.

You were soon at work, grabbing your white coat and putting it on. You were presented with Shoko who walked up to you and kissed your cheek, her gloss left on your cheek. “Morning, I got you your favorite drink.” She says as she points at the table.

You nod as you smile And start to button up the coat. She gives you a puzzled look and asks, “Why are you closing it up? Though you hated it?”

“I'm cold. The skirt isn't helping it.” A lie. Shoko hummed and said, “it isn't cold. Keep it open.” She moves her hand on top of yours to stop you. You looked at Her and sigh. She smiled as she saw your skirt and your color leggings that matched with your shirt and heels. “hey, this outfit today is cute. I like it.”

And hearing her say that made you feel good.

“Really?” You never usually say that. You either say ‘oh, I know!’ Or ‘I made this for you because I knew You'd like it’ or something else that you always say with such confidence. But today, you wanted her approval. You didn't sound as confident as you always do.

“Yeah, of course. Everything you wear is cute.” She says as she moves her hands to your hips. “why?” she asks. “What's the matter?” her tired voice asks. And you told her. You told her how in the morning you woke up late, that the hot water at your apartment had gone off so you showered with cold water, how you ran out of your favorite snack, how at the Cafe you go to to get your drink was closed, and that some random people made fun of your outfit. “And I know I shouldn't care! I know! But today they really made me feel, just- ugh. I feel horrible. Of me, of my clothes, everything of me.”

Shoko listened to everything you said. She sighs and holds your waist. “I'm sorry that happened today.” She says. “You want to take a hot bath at my place after work?” She asks and you nod. She smiles softly and cups your face, “and who cares about their opinions? You're Beautiful, you always will be. I love your cute clothes you always wear at work or when We go out.” She says as she gets closer to you.

“They Turn me on sometimes.” She admits and starts to kiss your neck. You softly sigh and hold on to her. “Really?” You ask. “Always.” She says.

The whole day at work Shoko was driving you crazy. Absolutely crazy. You could already feel how wet your panties were. You tried your best to heal anyone who walked in who needed a small healing. Satoru had come in to simply talk with Shoko about some random thing you can't even remember because all you thought about was her. How her lips would feel in that sweet spot you liked to be kissed on your neck. Her sweet words hit your ear as she squeezed and played with your nipples. You groan as you look down at Your report as you try to concentrate.

“She seems really distracted. What you do to her?” Satoru asks while grinning at the long brown haired woman. Shoko shrugs. “Nothing. Said her outfit was cute today and that was all.” She says as she sucked in her lollipop. A lollipop you had given to her yesterday that she left in the pockets of her coat. He chuckles and continues to talk about how he annoyed Nanami and about his Students.

Once the final report is done, you and Shoko sigh. “Finally!” She says as she stretches. She took her coat off and hangs it. She helps you take off yours and grabs her purse. She hands you yours and says, “I need to stop buying at the store. Is that okay?” She asks. You nod as you walked out of the infirmary room.

Shoko ended up buying one of your favorite wine brands and some snacks. once at her apartment, she had told you to go and grab the clothes you wanted as she prepared the bath. You were nervous. It isn't as if it's the first time you two have sex. You two have had it many times, even at work. On your knees, your pretty heels hitting the floor as you sucked on Shoko's clit. God, she was so stressed that day, you just wanted her to feel good. your hands on her thighs As she moans and rides your face as she came.

You grab the towel and sigh as you go into the bathroom and sit down on the stool. You washed your body and stood up to see Shoko already in the bathtub. She smiles and you dip your feet in and sit down. Shoko's eyes never leave you or your body. She smiles and wraps her arms around you as you sit down between her legs and lay your back on her chest. She breathes you in and says, “you smell nice.”

The warm water made you feel relaxed. You Honestly forgot what those people even said about you. Who gives a shit about them anyways. As you relax, Shoko's hands go under your arms and gently cup your breasts. She squeezes them as she kisses your back. “You're beautiful, you know that?” She says as she planted another kiss. “You are so beautiful.” She whispers and gently tugs your nipples. You softly moan and move your head to the side, wanting her to kiss your neck. She smiled and kissed it.

“You know.” She says in-between kisses. “You really did look cute in that short skirt and those cute colored leggings.” You shiver and whine as she slowly moves one hand down as fge other cupped your breast. “You are always somehow cute with everything you wear.” her fingers spread your lips open as she teased your clit. You whine and gasp. “I sometimes feel like you only really wear those skirts with me and with me only.” She closes your pussy lips again and squeezes them, causing you to jump.

“You were wet for me, huh?” She grins. “I saw it when you went down to pick up that pen you ‘accidently’ dropped. I saw that wet spot.” She says as her fi gets open your lips again and start to rub your clit, causing you to jump. “God, you're so hot.” She says as she bites down on your shoulder. You moan and move your his, the water slashing, some of it landing on the floor. She couldn't help But whimpers at just hearing you.

You were just so beautiful. She kisses your neck and sucked as her fingers mkve faster, causing you to hold tightly to the tub. She smiles and says, “Baby, can you have your pretty ass up?” She says. Fuck, the praises. You do as so, your ass facing her as she stood up. She smiles as she saw how wet your pussy was. She licks her fingers and rubs your wet silky folds up and down. “You are so gorgeous. You know That?” She says.

“Your pussy is so pretty too. You're all wet because of me…hmmmm.” She smiled as she kissed your ass and pushed a finger in you. You moan and turn to look up at her. her breast wet, nipples perked up. You wanted to suck and bite on them just how she likes them. You moan as you feel her finger curl up. She smiles and pulls her finger out, tasting it. “Hmm, you taste so good.” She says as she gets on one knee and kisses your ass again. She goes lower and lower to your thighs.

You shiver and moan at her kisses. She was so close to your poor Aching clit. You move your ass closer to her face and she chuckles. “Eger?” She says and licks a long string of your pussy. She moans at the taste and closes her eyes as she goes to your clit and licks it. You felt goosebumps all over your body. You close your eyes as you press yourself more on to her mouth. She moans, her moans being muffled up by your pussy. She spreads your pussy lips up as she licks to taste you. She grins as she feels your legs shake.

Shoko moves two of her fingers to your wet entrance that aches for her fingers. You moan as you feel her fingers slowly push in and out of you. And then a sharp pain is on your ass. She slapped your ass. Fuck, it felt so good. She holds your ass tight and slaps it again as she sucks your clit. She loved hearing your poor moans. Her fingers start to move fast as she thrusted them in and out of your dripping cut, your cream covering her fingers. “S-Shoko! Wait- oh my god!” You moaned as you tried to push her but she kept going. You feel like you are going to sleep the Moment you cum on her fingers and tongue. She giggles as she keeps eating you.

“Shit, You are so hot right now.” She says as she moves a hand to rub her clit. She moans as she sees how your poor legs struggled to stay up, her fingers pumping in and out of your poor wet cunt. She grins as she goes faster and you scream, cuming on her fingers. She chuckles as she sees how you squirt on her fingers. She hums and licks your cunt one last time, tasting you.

You were whining as you try to catch your breath, holding on To the tile wall. She smiled and smacked your ass, making you yelp. “You did good, babe.” She says and kisses your shoulder. “Let's get out so we can drink that wine.” She says as she give you a towel.

You two did drink the wine on the living room sofa but you couldn't Help but return the favor by eating her pussy. Her cunt dripped in your mouth as she sipped her wine and moaned. Her fingers running through your hair. You moan and look up at her. Her beautiful brown eyes looking right back at your eyes. She bites her lip and throws her head back as you suck on her clit. “Fuck, you look so beautiful.” She praises as she opens her eyes to look at you. “Eating me like this- ah fuck.” She moans and smiles. “You are always so beautiful. All mine. Fuck, you're all mine….” She moans and closes her eyes. You couldn't help but moan at her praises. You push your fingers in her as you suck and Lick her clit.

God, you felt so good. Your back arching more as she praised you. She smiles at the arch and gasps as your fingers cruel up. She nods and praises you even more. “right there baby, God, yes- you are so good- ah ah fuck yes I'm going to cum soon baby.” You loved how she talks so much during sex. Her praises and everything about her drive you crazy. She drops the wine glass on the floor, not caring if the carpet is now stained red. She tugs your hair as her feet curl. She whimpers and moans as she cupped her breast. She was so close.

Her moans soon turn into screams as she cums on your fingers. You pulled your fingers out as you licked and licked. She is so sensitive. She jumped at every lip. You smile at her as you lick your fingers clean. She smiles at you, panting. She moves her hair away from her face and says, “you did good.” And pulls you into a kiss.

Honestly, you forgot why you even felt horrible. All you thought of was how Shoko and you both looked and were.

[herefortheships]

What do you think of the Bj and Lydia controversy due to age?

You know, the short answer I have for this is that I do not think it should be an issue that's even brought up anymore. Lydia is now an adult woman in her 50s; plenty of people end up with a partner who is 10+ years older than them, meaning that they would have been a full adult if they would have come across their partner at sixteen. And that's just speaking about the real world; let's not forget Beetlejuice and the characters in that world are all a work of fiction. I don't think the fact that they met when she was a teenager all those years ago should even be an issue to ship it or not. As a matter of fact, people can ship whatever they want. They can even ship it in the first film and it's not an issue... Shipping in itself is inherently innocent. These characters and the situations around them don't even exist, and therefore, whatever you imagine with them, has no effect in the real world. Shipping is no different from a kid grabbing a couple of dolls and making them kiss. It's all in good fun.

Let me tell you, I had written a long freaking essay under this question 😅, but I decided to leave all of that for a separate post. But a few notable points from that essay which I think would be good to include here are the following.

Back in the 90s and early 2000s we had ships with pretty big age gaps on network TV and nobody batted an eye about the age gap (as far as I'm concerned). I'm talking about Buffy the Vampire Slayer specifically in this post. This was before social media, but as far as magazines and fandom spaces go, I'm sure the discussions around Buffy's love interests in BTVS centered around which hot vampire was better for Buffy, Angel or Spike. (Even nowadays we see this kind of article, exhibit A). And you don't see these articles starting with disclaimers and trigger warnings, either.

For those who haven't watched BTVS, Angel was around 240-something when he slept with 17 year old Buffy. He slept with her the night she turned 17, by the way; they were already together while she was 16. At the time he was turned into a vampire, Angel was around 26 years old. Angel met Buffy when she was 16, but he was stalking watching Buffy since she was 15:

Now about Spike. Spike met Buffy when she was 16, but he didn't actually become obsessed with her until she was around 20. Still, they got together and it wasn't ever an issue that he met her when she was a teenager. In Spike's case, he did stick around and interacted with Buffy multiple times before they started dating. In Betelgeuse's case, we know that while he watched Lydia from afar, he never actually managed to interact or even be seen by her during the years they were apart.

A lot of antis throw around the word "grooming" around Beetlebabes; I don't think they understand the meaning of that word. To put it simple, to groom someone is to condition them and emotionally manipulate them for years into a certain behavior, in this context, into falling in love or becoming sexually involved with the groomer. This term, therefore, cannot and will not ever apply to Betelgeuse and Lydia's relationship (it also does not apply to Spuffy, while we're at it). How can it? When they only had a few interactions over 30+ years ago and only met now after all that time.

And about those interactions in the first movie, the fact that Betelgeuse attempted to marry Lydia is attached to an idea of sexual inappropriateness only when that particular idea is projected onto what actually happened in that scene. Objectively, for Betelgeuse, marrying Lydia was a means to an end; there was no sexual or romantic implications in their marriage in that movie.

I believe in the case of Betelgeuse x Lydia versus ships like Buffy x Angel or Buffy x Spike, people are quick to see an issue in one where they never notice an issue in the other for the following reason: While Angel and Spike are hot, young-looking vampires, Betelgeuse is gross and does look like a dead guy. That is literally the difference. Spike and Angel are good-looking hotties; Betelgeuse... I love him lots and he is hot for me, but he is not conventionally attractive. I bet you if Betelgeuse looked like Michael Keaton did playing Bruce Wayne... People wouldn't have an issue that he's lusting after 50-something year old Winona Ryder, (also a hottie herself btw).

Let's add here before I close off this post that both Angel and Spike did objectively horrible things to Buffy when they were soulless (Angel while Buffy was still a minor), and meanwhile Betelgeuse has never harmed Lydia (no, the insta-pregnancy didn't harm her; everything that happened in that scene was an illusion). He didn't even behave inappropriately toward her in the first film when he was wilder and hornier than he is now. And yet shipping Bangel or Spuffy (last I checked lol) isn't widely seen as problematic. I ship Spuffy to the moon and back, and used to ship Bangel as well at some point 🤷🏻‍♀️ and I haven't seen people attacking shippers nor have I seen discussions of these ships being inappropriate (though I'm sure there must be... it's 2024 and the purity culture fandom infection has spread widely), not in the way I see Beetlebabes fans being harassed.

Anyway, I wrote a separate post about this and will post it eventually. This wasn't meant to be this long, but here we are 😅.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

idol!Baekhyun x fan!Reader: truth be told.

Word count: 2382

Date of release: 11th November, 2024

Genre: angst, slice of life, half ounce of a fluff, established relationships, mentions of break up and dysfunctional relationships, way too much emotional yapping as for barely any plot.

I'm as surprised as y'all that I wrote something like this. You know, no vampires, no action, no one's actively dying? It's very much not my kind of writing, but I was feeling very emotional at the time. Just don't get used to it.

„It’s not good for you. I don’t think it’s good for me. It’s not healthy for either of us.”

He felt as if the knife you were cutting vegetables with cut right through his heart as well. You deliberately distracted yourself with the activity while he stood nearby, staring at you blankly, but not knowing how to respond.

In the recent weeks, he felt the two of you falling apart. It was like an avalanche that started with a small rock which he didn’t notice at the time, but which escalated into a disaster. Talking less, avoiding meeting up, and until today – the day you announced, as gently as you could, that you wanted to move out and live on your own. You said that it’s just because you want to become more independent, that you shouldn’t rely on him this much. But what will his apartment feel like without you? Your presence here, doing small things such as cutting vegetables, became a staple part of his life.

“Are you still talking about living together? Or about… us?”

Your movements were more frantic than he knew you for. With one a bit too sudden of a motion, the blade cut through the skin of your finger, and you let out a low murmur to cover up the hiss of pain, putting the finger to your lip in mild annoyance. It was more than clear that the cut was not the only reason behind your frustration.

Baekhyun didn’t move.

In any other situation, he would react – mock you a bit for being clumsy while being the first one to bring the first aid kid, maybe pretend to be a vampire struck by the scent of your blood, maybe even panic a little in this cute, puppy-like way if he felt that the amount of blood is greater than acceptable.

But now he didn’t, and it sparked a bit of hurt in you as well, but also brought your attention to the fact that maybe dismissing things and try to make them gentle only worsened the pain that would eventually come. The anxiety of the future that you exposed him to was not like the boil-the-frog that you planned to perform. You wanted to avoid confrontation for as long as necessary, until things dropped naturally. You didn’t expect him to hold onto it.

“Can you be honest with me? Are you able to?” His tone started to show that he, too, was growing frustrated. “Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen? I’m sorry if I can’t catch the clues, but if you made it obvious, then I’m just plain stupid.”

“Nothing… happened. And I’m sorry, I didn’t make it obvious. I didn’t know, how.”

He frowned ever so slightly, taking a step towards you. You backed against the kitchen counter, placing your hands on each side – your finger stung a little, but it was merely a scratch. The real wound was growing in your soul.

“If nothing happened, then why? Did you grow bored of me?”

“Of you?”

“Yeah. Please be honest with me. Just no more sweeting things up, alright?”

His tone was calm, but it lacked softness, it was almost business-like.

“I don’t know how anyone would get bored of you, Baekhyun” you admitted in a breathless whisper. You were starting to feel foolish, really. “And especially myself. That’s why I don’t think I can take it. I don’t think it’s fair to you. But I’m also not fair to myself. You just mean… too much to me.”

 “Too much?” The frown of the man’s face only deepened. “Why is something telling me I should not feel flattered?” A bit of frustration was slipping into his own tone as well.

You let out a deep sigh.

“I started off as your fan, Baekhyun. I thought that with time, it’ll be more… normal. That you’ll feel like a normal person. But somehow it’s not like that. Somehow… it feels like my life is even more about you than it was before. I feel like a creep. Like I’m using you to fulfill a fantasy.”

“Are you?”

“No!” You denied right away, but your voice faltered. “I… don’t know.” You crossed your arms on your chest, fixating your gaze somewhere down below.

To your surprise, Baekhyun let out a breathy laugh. The laughter didn’t feel light and cheerful, like his usual ones – it was heavied with worry, with some sort of underlying agony.

“Okay, let’s talk about this. We need to talk about this.”

His hand reached towards you and he pulled you by your arm, almost throwing you off balance when he pulled you towards the living room, snatching a paper towel on his way and putting it into your still bleeding hand. “You’re right. Do you think I didn’t consider it? That this wouldn’t work out? That it would feel fake? Heck, I talked to so many friends about it, and most of them said it’s not a good idea. But you know what?” He pushed you onto the couch and sat himself on the stool, bringing it close so that your knees almost touched – if only you let yourself relax, they would rest against each other naturally, but you were stiff and trying to almost shrink within yourself. “You know what? I’ve known you for a year. And I could always trust you. You’ve had so many chances to take advantage of me, and you didn’t. So I don’t want to think about how you could – potentially – hurt me. But we need to talk about the other part.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious that…”

“No, no. You’re thinking about what it’s like, for me, to date a fan.” He didn’t even let you finish, but it was as if he could read your mind, already knowing your thought process. “I want you to be honest and tell me what it’s like to date an idol. Because you’re right, you could be using me. But you also said it’s not good for you. And you’re right, because I could be using you, too. So be honest with me and tell me if I ever hurt you.”

So many memories came flooding at once – not of pain, not at all, but of all things that could have led to one tragedy or another. Your whole relationship, like a videotape.

Sure, your relationship was not always perfect. Barely a year has passed. Not long enough to develop a deep understanding of each other, but long enough for many things to happen, to get to know each other at least.

Not all of it was beautiful. There were arguments, some of which almost ended in a breakup. But they made you stronger, that much was undeniable – with each and every single time you almost fell apart, it felt like you knew each other a bit better, knew what things not to do and not to say, but which helped to soothe the atmosphere and help you get back along.

You had one, most important rule in your relationship.

That no matter what happened between the two of you, you would play fair.

That one time he lied to you about being at work while he was not – that one hurt. When you found out he’s not at the office in the first place, you even thought he was cheating. Wouldn’t that be understandable to assume in such a situation? You had every chance to cause a scandal on spot. But you didn’t. You knew that pulling his whole career down because of your relationship wouldn’t be fair. No matter how much it hurt, it was completely out of the equation.

It turned out he was with his friends – he really wanted to go out, but felt bad for not giving you much attention these days. You felt almost pitiful, seeing him crumble in front of you, all worried that you will feel like he doesn’t want you, when he genuinely didn’t have that much time, and it was just one evening with friends. You smacked him in the head for feeling bad about spending time with friends. And he learned that he can be honest with you.

Another time, you were all excited upon his album release. Seeing him on the stage later on made you feel all kinds of things, the way he moved, all the effects, clothing, makeup – all putting emphasis on his heavenly physique, as if you were watching an angel dance. He came back home disheveled, with remains of makeup on his face, but as excited as you were. You would give all of you to him at that exact moment, more than he would ask for, more than you would feel confident to give any other time.

But it was still early in the relationship, and Baekhyun knew that you weren’t ready. That, drunk on him as you were, you could regret it later, even feel disgusted with giving yourself in this easily, that your gentle mind wouldn’t be able to trust yourself with your own body. So he indulged you with kisses here and there, and then gently tucked you into bed, making sure that it all went smoothly, that it didn’t feel anything like a rejection, but a gesture of utmost care.

It took a few more months before you opened yourself to him fully, and he never rushed or reminded you of how eager you were back then. He could have had it all back then, but he decided to wait. That’s how you learned he’s more selfless than you ever even aspired to be.

“You didn’t” you spoke after what felt like ages, to the point you wondered if you even responded to the correct question. “You didn’t… hurt me. Did I ever hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t. You’re just hurting yourself all the time” he mentioned, jokingly motioning towards your hand, which you wiped hastily with the paper towel. “So if nothing bad happened, why the ifs? You realize it’s not going to stop if we just break up?” It was a rhetorical question, and you glanced up at him with a pout, feeling almost schooled by the way he talked. “You believe it’s a matter of just us, but, as much as it sounds ridiculous to say it, it’s all in your head. No matter who you’re with, you’re going to assume the worst. Won’t it be like that? Be honest with yourself.”

You crossed your arms again, feeling defiant for a moment, because his words were almost too much for your ego to take.

But there was some small part of you, somewhere at the edge of your consciousness, that not only knew that he’s correct, but also wanted it to be correct – because if it was just you, then you could learn to maybe keep those pessimistic parasites at bay, and… you wouldn’t have to suffer the loss that, despite weeks of preparation, didn’t feel like any less of a torment and regret that would come, were you to finish things as you originally intended.

All the beliefs, all the dogmas, that you carefully built over the past weeks, were falling apart in front of your eyes, confronted with very simple logic on Baekhyun’s end. You almost felt stupid for letting things get this far without confronting him earlier. Weren’t you the one who demanded honesty? Wasn’t he the one who proved you can trust him with your vulnerability?

“I’m… sorry.”

You felt yourself fall apart as well. Your body slumped down, relaxed knees rested against Baekhyun’s, and he put his hands on top of your thighs, as if in this exact moment, while knowing that he has you with him, he didn’t want to risk losing you again.

“Don’t be for feeling like that, things are never easy, now are they?” Here it was – the signature smile, the warm one that tore through the clouds of the darkest of your days, warm and welcoming. “But I am upset that you held it from me for so long” he whined. With the whine, he finally moved from the stool and onto the couch next to you. His arms shamelessly snuck around you, engulfing you in the close embrace that you knew so well, felt so good within. Partially pulling you into him, and partially leaning into the back of your shoulder, Baekhyun released a long sigh against the skin of your back, warm air slipping underneath your blouse – you missed it. You almost didn’t realize how distant the two of you became, and how long has it been since you felt his body against yours. But now, despite all of that, it felt good, it felt right. As if your souls have never detached from each other.

Maybe there was some form of destiny between the two of you; maybe it was not just a parasocial relationship that evolved into something that could turn dysfunctional so, so easily – maybe it was written in the stars that one way or another, the two of you would find each other, and it just so happened that you spotted him first, from afar, slowly making your way.

How else would the two of you find each other, after all?

Maybe you learned something this time, too. Maybe it wasn’t much, just the beginning of a stronger, even more intimate bond that would last years and years, and light years, and through all your reincarnations, with some of them as pitiful as they could be. Maybe it was just an accident that this time you were in such a position – in another life, would you be a princess, and he be a peasant?

But these were only some other ifs, fun to think about, but not worth spilling your heart over.

In this life, in this universe, you were his, and he was yours. And everything else was just more or less accidental circumstances that brought you closer together.

Only at the back of your head, you wondered if one day, the tale of hopes and stars would fall, and that dream would turn into a nightmare, fueled by your lives’ imbalance and selfishness that neither of you knew in each other.

Maybe you just didn’t have to think about it just yet.

[avnche]

WHAT ONCE WAS

Changin x Afab reader {angst-fluff}

PART FOUR

8 MONTHS LATER

Everyday after you became Changbin's girlfriend you have been really happy. There are times where Changbin becomes really busy with work so he can't come over to your place but he does make sure to send flowers and small gifts in his absence.

Now it has been 2 weeks and he hasn't even replied to your text or sent you his regular "Good Morning" texts. You are aware that he has an upcoming comeback and his schedule gets really crazy so you didn't want to push things even if you were worried. You decide just to text him how he was before putting your phone down and focusing on the customers that just came in.

You quickly became busy with barely any break in between and like always your so-called friends weren't much help. It's always like this. Tae is always in the back on his phone, Jiho and Momo either doing the bare minimum or doing something that doesn't need to be done right now. Momo stood a few feet behind you cleaning off the counter where you placed your phone.

As you continued running the shop making sure every customer was attended too Momo noticed your phone was unlocked once she saw you had a text come through from Changbin with a heart at the end of his name. Momo being the nosy person she is picked up your phone and looked at your texts you shared with Changbin. She wanted to know if it was true...if you were actually texting who she thought. Momo looked back to check if you noticed her but you didn't. You were too busy ringing up customers. So Momo called the number. It only rang once and Changbin's voice could be heard on the other side. "Hey Baby, What's up?" Is all Changbin said before Momo quickly hung up the phone.

Is she really dating Changbin? HER!? Momo thought. She finally put the phone back and continued cleaning.

After a long busy day the work was finally done. Jiho, Tae and Momo were just heading out. You waved goodbye to finish the last couple of hours before grabbing your belongings and closing up shop.

When you got home you were so tired you didn't even bother checking your phone. You would have noticed the multiple text and missed calls for Changbin but you were just so tired that you passed out immediately after you laid down.

It was now the morning after. The sound of your phone constantly ringing wakes you up earlier than usual. You grabbed it from your night stand and answered it in a groggy tone. "Hello?"

"I have been calling and texting and you don't respond!?" Changin yelled. His never yelled at you before like this so you were completely caught off guard and almost speechless. "I was tired from work." You said calmly hoping to help the already heated Changbin. "Have you ever looked all over the Internet!!?" He shouted louder. You began to panic as you weren't used to him mad at you and from PTSD from childhood trauma. Changin knows these things about you which is why he never raises his voice at you.

"Look at your texts!! This is bad!" Changin yelled again. You removed the phone from your ear so you can look at Changbin's texts. There were multiple links. Your hands were shaking from the complete panic you were in but you managed to click on one of them.

It took you to an article titled. "Changin's secret lover; a lowly bakery worker!"

This article somehow found out your name and even some pictures of the texts you shared with Changbin. Not only that, they also said some nasty things about you and toxic fans upset at the whole situation, demanding Changbin get kicked out of the group.

"I.....I didn't say a...anything." You stuttered. "Then how do they know!? How would they get pictures of our texts!?" Changin was roaring. "I DON'T KNOW!" You shouted back getting fed up with Changbin yelling at you like a child. "I knew it was a bad idea, ever letting you back into my life!" Changin shouted again.

You immediately froze and were shocked at his words.

"Changbin!?" You could hear someone in the background telling Changbin's last words were out of line.

You immediately hung up after that. Your chest was tight and your breathing was rapid. You felt like you were going to pass out.

You knew you had to call someone before you do something rash so you decided to call your mom.

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's happening again...I need you" You managed to say even though you were having a panic attack.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes...just remember your breathing exercises." Your mom said before quickly hanging up the phone so she can be there for you.

Minutes felt like hours but your mother finally made it. Rushing into your apartment and into your room where you were. You were more calm due to your breathing exercises but you were in tears.

"Honey what happened?" Your mother asked as she rushed to your side immediately putting you in her arms so you could cry in her arms. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." You cried sorry feeling bad to call your mom, pulling her away from whatever she was doing just because you allowed some childhood trauma to get the best of you again.

Your father was a drunk who used to physically and mentally abused you. Not a day went by that your father wasn't yelling at you for the smallest thing. Your mother often protects you the best she could. She finally got enough money to leave him. You never saw him again. You were happy but you didn't know the trauma you went through you would have to carry for the rest of your life.

Changin yelling at you like that brought you back to that scared little girl hiding in your closet to escape his wrath.

You told your mom everything that happened. She knew about your relationship through the articles but she didn't want to say anything. She just knew that she had to be there on speed dial for you when the time came.

"Changbin is just angry right now...give it some time he'll come around."

That time became 4 months without a word from him. Eventually you have given up. What the media was saying about you brought you to a dark place. You stop showing up to work as you started to get those same remarks from your friends and the constant media trying to interview you was bad for business.

You quit and eventually had to move back in with your mother. You even had to change your number after it was leaked.

Surely Changbin was going through a lot worse but it wasn't your fault but at the same time you thought maybe he was right that you were a mistake to come back into his life.