#and he would do so with great eloquence and poise

[uponthebarricade]

enjolras would love sending emails, that sadistic fucker

[v6quewrlds]

❝ say my name, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: success is great until you realize that you haven't touched your husband in nearly a month. feeling guilty about your absence, his new assistant's constant presence hits a nerve.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: game dey fic for good luck! i'm just gonna come clean and say that this picture inspired this entire thing. possessive joe we all say in unison. this was so fun to work on, thank you anon for the request <33 requests are still open!!

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: angst & smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, sexual content, established relationship, jealousy, dom!joe, exhibitionism?, public sex, mirror sex?, size kink? size kink, cunnilingus bc joe burrow is an eater™, the tiniest baby hint of a breeding kink.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x fiancee!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.8k.

The kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of the hanging lights hanging above the island, casting shadows that danced across the marble countertops as yourself, Joe, and your best friend, Tamara, sat around the kitchen table. The aroma of a quick meal filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of Joe's cologne and the sweetness of the boxed cake mix they had shared. Your dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun, your blowout beginning to curl up again. You and Tamara listening intently as Joe spoke of his assistant's impending departure. Your eyes, a deep shade of brown, drifted in and out of the conversation as you thought about the pile of work waiting for you at your office in downtown Cincinnati.

You just barely heard Tamara suggesting her cousin as a replacement. Tiffany, who was studying Marketing at the University of Cincinnati, had grown closer to her older cousin in her time in school despite the age difference between them. "She's been looking for an internship or something part-time," she said, hope sparkling in her voice. "It's tough out here, and she's really good with people."

Joe looked at you, who nodded in approval, half listening and trusting your best friend’s endorsement. "Send her my way, T," he said, smiling. "I'll set up an interview."

The following week was a blur of phone calls and emails as Joe prepared for the interview. Your schedule was packed with work, and Joe was buried in his season commitments. Your paths rarely crossed outside of brief moments at home, leaving your newly purchased house feeling more like a rest stop than a shared home.

When the day of Tiffany’s interview finally arrived, Joe was surprised by her poise and professionalism. She walked in dressed sharply, her confidence radiating in the room. Despite her youth, she spoke with the eloquence of someone who had been in the industry for years. Her references were impeccable, and her career goals were admirable. He had no doubts that she would be a valuable asset to his team.

You met Tiffany for the first time in the kitchen the morning after she started. The young woman's enthusiasm was palpable, but you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there was something not quite right with her demeanor. Tiffany's eyes lingered on Joe a little too long for your liking, and her smile was a bit too wide when he spoke to her. You shook yourself out of her skepticism and chalked it up to nerves and excitement about the job. You had to admit, after all, that Tiffany was a breath of fresh air. She was excellent in keeping up with Joe’s schedules and appointments, helping to shoulder some of the burdens he dreaded about his career.

The next few weeks passed in a whirlwind of game days and late-night reheated dinners. Your business was thriving, and Joe's season was on an upward trajectory. Yet, amidst all the success, there was a worrying feeling that something was off-balance. Tiffany was always there, a constant presence that seemed to hover closer to Joe than necessary. You tried not to let it get to you, but you couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy every time Joe laughed at one of Tiffany's jokes or thanked her for handling something simple so efficiently.

You stood over your side of your twin sinks, your coils pushed back from your forehead as you completed your skincare routine. You felt a gentle nudge as Joe leaned against you, his reflection in the mirror showing the exhaustion etched into his features. It was 10 PM, way past Joe's bedtime, but you appreciated the effort he was showing to take advantage of what little time you could spend together.

"So, I've got a dinner tomorrow," he began, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet bathroom. His strong arms wrapped warmly around your waist. "It's a sponsor thing. Nothing crazy, no cameras. Just dinner and a few schmoozes."

Your eyes met his in the mirror. "You want me to come?" You tried to keep the hope out of your voice, but it crept in regardless.

"Yeah. I know you've been slammed with work, but I'd love it if you could come. It's at the Kinley downtown. They have that amazing tiramisu you love." Joe's smile was boyish, and your heart melted at the thought of a rare date night.

The last time you two had been to the Kinley was the night of your engagement three months ago. That famous tiramisu had been delivered to your suite to accompany a bottle of champagne after the hotel manager heard the city's star quarterback was celebrating an accepted proposal. It had been a night filled with laughter and love, and you couldn't help but hope for a similar experience tomorrow.

"Okay, I'll come," you said, turning to kiss him. "But only for the tiramisu."

Joe chuckled and squeezed you tightly. "Whatever it takes to drag you outside with me." He kissed the top of your head before reaching for his toothbrush. "But promise me you'll wear that dress I like, the white one."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "The one that never makes it through the door before you're trying to get it off me? That one?"

Joe grinned, his teeth flashing in the bathroom light. "You know the one."

The morning light streamed through the blinds, creating a checkered pattern across your bed. Your eyes fluttered open, the promise of the dinner date lingering in your mind. You felt Joe's warmth beside you, his even breaths a comforting soundtrack to the start of your day. As you slipped out of bed and into the shower, you couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement for the evening ahead. Joe was gone from his side of the bed when you returned from her shower, his deep voice carrying from the kitchen as he laughed over the phone with Ja'Marr.

As you got dressed to leave for work, you heard the doorbell ring. You didn't expect anyone, but Joe's voice grew louder as he spoke to someone at the door. You made your way downstairs to find Tiffany, dressed in a sleek casual outfit, her hair slicked down perfectly.

"Morning, you two," she chirped, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Joe. You felt a flicker of irritation but pushed it aside.

"Hi, Tiffany," you said with a forced smile. "I can't believe your boss got you over here so early."

Tiffany's eyes darted to Joe before returning to you. "Oh, it's no trouble. I just wanted to make sure everything is set for tonight. Joe said I could tag along to the dinner. You know, for networking and all."

Your smile didn't falter, but your stomach did a flip. "Networking? At the Kinley? Downtown? Tonight?" You couldn't help the searing glare you shot towards Joe who remained wrapped up in his own little world. Completely oblivious to the dissatisfaction on your face. 

You had to admit that you had hoped for a more intimate evening with Joe, but you had no desire to be rude. "That's a great opportunity, Tiffany. It'll be good to make some business connections in the city."

Joe looked between you, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two women. "You're right, babe. Tiffany's going to be graduating soon, and she needs all the help she can get." He gave you a kiss on the cheek, a hand reaching to cradle your waist. "Don't worry, I'll try to keep the business talk to a minimum."

You nodded, trying to keep your emotions in check. You didn't want to ruin your night with a petty argument about his assistant. After all, Joe had done so much to support you, especially with putting up with your late work hours recently.

Tiffany grimaced as Joe's hand lingered on your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck. "Right," she murmured. "I'll just grab my laptop and get to work." She reached into her laptop bag, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance at her reaction. You had agreed to come to the dinner to support Joe, not to play chaperone.

The day passed slowly, a mix of business meetings and working through the massive to-do list from your secretary leaving you with little time to dwell on the evening's potential awkwardness. When you finally returned home to get ready, you found Joe in your closet, half dressed in a sharp suit that hugged his muscular frame. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, and you had to admit that you felt a spark of excitement at the prospect of a night out with him.

"Joe, did you think Tiffany's energy was off this morning?" You asked as you stepped into the walk-in closet to choose your outfit.

Joe looked up from his phone, presumably texting his stylist, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

You emerged from the closet wearing the white dress he had requested, your eyes meeting his in the floor-length mirror. "She just seemed... eager."

Joe shrugged, his tie now hanging loosely around his neck. "Eager to network, you mean? That's what she's here for, babe." You nodded, trying to convince yourself that your jealousy was unfounded. You reached up to do up Joe's tie for him, your hands trembling slightly. As you stepped back to admire your work, he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"You look amazing," Joe whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hand cupped your cheek, his blue eyes sweeping over your face. "You always do, beautiful."

You felt a warm blush creep up your neck. "Thank you, baby." You kissed him lightly, trying to ignore the voice in the back of your head that whispered about Tiffany.

The drive to the Kinley was filled with Joe's stories from practice and Tiffany's chirpy interjections about the inside jokes they built up over the weeks she had been working for him. You listened politely, but your mind was elsewhere, planning how you could make the most of this evening. You didn't want to spend the entire night watching Joe work the room with his assistant by his side.

Once you arrived at the luxurious hotel, the valet took Joe's car, and the three of you stepped into the bustling lobby. The air was filled with the sound of clinking glasses and laughter, a stark contrast to the quiet tension between yourself and Tiffany. You took a deep breath and slipped your hand into Joe's, reminding yourself that this was your night, despite the third wheel.

The dinner was a mix of business moguls and sports celebrities. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for a friendly face. You spotted a few local influencers from your business’ social media following, but you were already engaged in your own conversations. The grand ballroom of the Kinley Hotel was a sea of unfamiliar faces, all dressed to the nines and seemingly at ease. The three of you made your way to the table reserved for Joe and his two guests.

Tiffany was already scanning the room, her eyes lighting up as she recognized a potential networking opportunity. "Oh, there's Dr. Simpson from the university," she exclaimed. "I've been dying to talk to him about an internship."

Joe nodded, his gaze following her as she gracefully excused herself. "Go for it," he encouraged, offering her a kind smile. "I'll grab us some drinks."

You watched Tiffany weave through the crowd, an eager bounce in her step. As Joe returned with an espresso martini for you and an iced tea for himself, you couldn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach. You took a sip of your drink, trying to push the negative thoughts aside.

The evening progressed with Joe being pulled into conversation after conversation, leaving you to sit alone at the table. You checked your phone for the millionth time, scrolling through social media to keep yourself entertained. You were in no mood to schmooze with influencers and their sugar daddies, your work had already left you with minimal energy. The chandeliers above cast a warm glow over the room, and the clinking of silverware against china filled the air. You felt out of place, a fish out of water.

Your eyes followed Joe as he charmed a table of investors with a story about a recent game-winning play. Tiffany hovered at his side, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she subtly touched his arm, prompting him with information or a well-placed joke. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as you watched Joe's assistant monopolize his time.

A server approached with a tray of hors d'oeuvres, and you finally gathered the will to stand and mingle. You recognized a few faces from your own business circles, but the conversations felt forced, the words sticking in your throat as you tried to maintain a cheery facade. With each passing minute, your frustration grew. This wasn't the romantic evening you had hoped for; it was just another work function for Joe with an unwelcome plus-one.

Tiffany reappeared at Joe's side, her laugh a tinkling sound that seemed to carry across the room. You felt a twinge of annoyance at her ease, the way she moved with confidence and charm among these powerful individuals despite her lack of experience. You couldn't help but wonder if Joe had noticed the flirtatious glances she kept casting his way.

"Babe, you okay?" Joe asked, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as he took a seat beside you. His brow was furrowed with concern, and for a moment, you felt guilty for your jealous thoughts. You forced a smile and nodded. "Just a little tired," you said, playing off your discomfort.

But Joe wasn't buying it. He leaned in close, whispering, "What's going on, sweetheart?" You took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne calming your nerves slightly. 

"It's Tiffany," you confessed.

He frowned, glancing over at his assistant. "What about her?"

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, wanting to choose your words wisely. "It's just... she's all over you, Joe. And it's so fucking weird. She's supposed to be here for business, not to flirt."

Joe's eyes widened in surprise. "Flirt? She's not flirting with me." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to where Tiffany was now engaged with a group of businessmen. "Babe, she's just doing her job. Networking."

You felt a spark of frustration at his dismissal. "It's more than that, Joe. I can feel it." You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice low and steady. "I don't want to ruin your night, but I can't ignore how uncomfortable this is making me."

Joe studied you for a moment, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. But before either of you could say anything else, Tiffany came gliding back over, a triumphant smile on her face. "Joe, I've got a meeting with Dr. Simpson next week. He's interested in discussing some marketing strategies for the university's athletic program. You're a genius for bringing me here!"

Her eyes flicked to you, who offered a tight smile in return. "Congratulations, Tiffany," you said through gritted teeth. "You're doing a fantastic job." The words were perfectly sweet, topped off with a gentle lilt as you stood up from your seat. Your hands smoothed over your dress before pushing the chair back in. "But if you'll excuse me..." you trailed off, making your way through the crowd of people without a backward glance.

Joe's hand reached out to grab yours as she passed, but you slipped away. He watched your retreating figure, the frown on his face deepening as he realized he had a situation to handle. "I'll be right back," he told Tiffany, who nodded, her eyes tracking your exit with an odd expression that was not lost on Joe.

He found you in the quiet hallway outside the ballroom, leaning against the wall, your eyes closed. "Hey," he said softly, approaching you. You didn't open your eyes, but you didn't flinch either, which was a bad sign.

"Hey," you murmured, your voice low and tired.

Joe stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Babe, what's wrong? I don't like seeing you like this."

You took a deep breath, opening your eyes to meet Joe's concerned gaze. "It bothers me Joey, the way she acts around you is so fucking weird. And you're not even picking up on it." Your voice was laced with a hint of anger, but the exhaustion from your long day was clear.

Joe sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. If you're uncomfortable, I'll talk to her," he offered, his voice sincere. "But she's been nothing but professional with me, sweetheart."

You looked at him, your eyes squinting in disbelief. "Joe, she's been all over you since she started working for you. That’s not professional."

He frowned, clearly confused. "Babe, she's just trying to do her job. She's young, eager to impress. It's not what it seems."

You pulled your arm away, your voice rising slightly. "Why would she need to impress you by flirting with you? She's your assistant, not a contestant on a reality show."

Joe's expression darkened as he took in her tone. "Babe," he warned slowly. "You're being dramatic."

But you were beyond caring. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms with a huff, "Joe," you said, your voice a mix of exasperation and sadness. "You're so blind. She's obviously into you."

Joe's jaw tightened. "Look, if you need attention, I can give you attention." He offered his hand for you to take, his patience wearing thin.

You stepped back, the coldness in his voice cutting through the warmth of the room. "Is that what you think this is about? Attention?" You threw your hands up in frustration. "This isn't a game, Joe. This is our relationship!"

The music and laughter from the ballroom seemed to fade away as you faced each other, your words echoing in the quiet hallway. The silence between you seemed to stretch on for hours. Neither of you were willing to back down. 

Finally Joe took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I miss you." He hummed as a hand reached for your hip, pulling you closer to him. "It's been a month since we’ve done anything just the two of us."

Your eyes searched his, the frustration slowly melting away as you gave in. "I miss you too."

Joe's gaze softened, and he leaned in to kiss you. It was gentle at first, a sweet promise of comfort and reassurance, but it quickly grew into something more urgent. A month's worth of longing and tension poured into that kiss, and suddenly, the hallway didn't feel so cold anymore. Your knees practically buckled under his touch, his hands grasping at your curves with a hunger you missed so desperately.

"I need to feel you," he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding around your waist.

You felt a thrill run through you. You knew Joe wasn't the type to act on impulse like this, but you couldn't deny that a part of you craved this passion from him. You had been so busy, and this raw passion was a stark reminder of why you were together. You leaned into him, the heat from your bodies melding together.

"Baby, not here," you whispered, though your voice was laced with want. You didn't miss the twinkle in his eye as he glanced down the hallway.

"Come on, let's go somewhere private." He took your hand, leading you away from the ballroom's prying eyes. You stumbled into an empty bathroom, the door clicking shut behind them. The tension between the two of you crackled in the air as Joe's hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress up. You gasped as his mouth found your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of heat.

In the dimly lit bathroom, your eyes locked in the mirror. The reflection showed a side of them that hadn't been seen in weeks—desperate and passionate. You gasped as Joe bent you over the counter, his hands roaming under your dress. The cool marble sent a shiver down your spine, but it was nothing compared to the heat between your legs. You didn't protest when he pulled your panties to the side, instead leaning into the sensation of his hand on your skin.

Joe's voice was a gruff whisper in your ear. "Do you want me to stop?" His thumb traced a tantalizing circle around your clit, and you bit back a moan.

"No," you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck me."

With a grunt, Joe complied, his hand moving away to unbuckle his pants. He was already hard, his cock pressing against your ass as he lined himself up. He slammed into you without much prep, and your moan echoed in the tiled room. You gripped the edge of the counter, your breath getting caught in your throat as he began to thrust into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mingling with the distant laughter and clinking glasses from the dinner.

Your movements grew more erratic as you both gave into your desires. Your heels clicked against the marble floor with every thrust, the sound bouncing off the walls. Joe's grip tightened on your hips, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered dirty nothings that made your toes curl. It was a stark contrast to the elegant evening gown you wore, now hiked up around your waist, and the fancy hotel bathroom you found yourself in.

"Harder," you moaned, your voice thick with desire.

"Yeah?" Joe questioned, his grip tightened on your hips, his rhythm quickening as he drove into you. The bathroom's sterile scent was overpowered by your mingled perfume and the scent of your arousal. The world outside the bathroom door faded away, replaced by the symphony of your panting breaths and the wet slap of your bodies coming together.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, your eyes fluttering open to meet Joe's in the mirror. The sight of him, all muscular and intense, brought a new wave of arousal crashing over you. You felt the tension in your core tighten with every stroke, your body begging for release.

"I'm right here," Joe murmured, his voice a stark contrast to the urgent sounds of your lovemaking. His eyes held yours in the mirror, a silent promise that he heard you and that he cared. "You're all mine, baby. You're all I want. The only one."

You felt your body respond to his words, the tension coiling tighter, your orgasm approaching like a freight train. "Baby," you moaned, your nails digging into the counter. "I'm gonna come."

Joe's eyes darkened, and he thrust deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you. "Come for me, sweetheart," he urged, his own breathing ragged. "You wanted my attention? You got it. Right here, right now."

Your body obeyed, shuddering with pleasure as she climaxed, your inner walls clenching around him. He groaned, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. The sound of your passion bounced off the marble walls, echoing through the empty hallway outside. It was a reminder of the passion that still burned between the two of you, despite the distance your busy lives had created.

You both came down from your highs, your breathing slowly returning to normal as Joe held you against him, your hands resting against the cool bathroom sink. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice still shaky from the intensity of your encounter.

Joe leaned in to kiss your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't be. We both needed this." He pulled out of you gently, setting you upright to clean you up gently. You straightened out your clothes, trying to compose yourselves before returning to the dinner.

When you exited the bathroom, the tension between you had shifted. The awkwardness was gone, replaced with a newfound intimacy and understanding. You held hands as you walked back to the ballroom, your eyes meeting in a silent promise that you wouldn't let your busy lives come between you two again.

As you re-entered the buzzing room, the first person you saw was Tiffany, who was chatting with a group of people. Her eyes immediately darted to your joined hands and hazy eyes. You felt a smug satisfaction at the slight flicker of jealousy in the assistant's gaze. But you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on Joe and the rest of the night ahead of you.

Joe steered you to your table, and you noticed that the dinner had progressed to dessert without you. The other guests were engaged in lively conversations, oblivious to the passionate interlude the two of you had just shared. You couldn't help but feel a bit rebellious, a bit wild, knowing that while everyone else was munching on chocolate tiramisu, you had just been properly fucked by your fiancé in the bathroom.

You sat down and picked at your desserts, Joe occasionally squeezing your hand under the table. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of small talk and forced smiles, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Tiffany's eyes kept finding you, lingering a second too long on the lean into each other or the occasional kiss you shared.

As the dinner wound down and guests began to disperse, Joe leaned in, whispering, "Let's get out of here." The excitement in his voice was palpable, and you found yourself smiling genuinely for the first time that evening.

"What about Tiffany? She's not ready to leave," you whispered, glancing at Joe's assistant who was still deep in conversation.

"She's a big girl," Joe said with a firmness in his voice that made your stomach flutter. "We need some time alone."

"Joe," you warned, your voice a mix of amusement and concern. "You can't just leave her here."

He leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Why not? She's a smart girl, she can handle herself."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smirk that played on your lips. "Fine. But you're telling her we're leaving."

Joe leaned back in his chair, his own smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "My pleasure." He stood, his movements graceful despite his towering height. He approached Tiffany, and you watched as he tapped her on the shoulder. The young assistant's smile faltered when she saw who it was, the new glow in his features unmistakeable.

"Tiffany, we're heading out," Joe said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I know you're not ready to leave yet. But when you are, just order an Uber. It's on me, you can Venmo me in the morning."

Tiffany's expression tightened, and she nodded, trying to play it cool, but the sting of being ditched was clear in her eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt, but you couldn't bring herself to care much. Like Joe said, she was a smart girl, and it didn't take much to see the sexual tension floating between an engaged couple.

The two of you made your way through the lobby, giggling to each other as you tried to slip out under the radar. An older man passed by, giving you a knowing smile. "Looks like the night's just getting started for you two," he said with a wink.

Joe's arm tightened around your waist as he replied, "You could say that," with a mischievous grin. "I'm taking my wife home." The man chuckled before continuing on his way, leaving you to your own devices.

"Wife? Already?" You teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I was promised another ring, Mr. Burrow.”

"Might as well get used to calling you that," Joe said, a hint of possessiveness in his tone that sent a thrill through you. “The ring will come in due time, Mrs. Burrow.”

You stepped outside into the cool Cincinnati evening, the sounds of the city muffled by the plush hotel lobby behind you. The valet pulled up with Joe's sleek black sports car, and you couldn't help but feel like a teenager again, sneaking out for a date with your forbidden boyfriend. You drove through the city streets, the tension in the car thick with unspoken words and lingering passion.

Back home, you didn't bother with small talk. The moment you were through the door, Joe scooped you into his arms and carried you upstairs in a bridal carry to your bedroom. Your kisses were deep, your touches exploratory, as if you were discovering each other all over again.

"Joseph," you scolded as he tossed you onto the plush king-sized bed, your bodies tangling together as he followed you down. His broader, more muscular body covered yours completely. Your heart swirled with arousal at the thought of him towering over you, claiming you as his wife as he did earlier. 

He kissed you deeply, his hands exploring the curves of your body as if he hadn't touched you in years instead of just an hour. Your fingers danced over his chest, feeling the familiar strength beneath the fabric of his shirt, your desire for him growing with every beat of your heart.

"I think we have some unfinished business," Joe murmured against your neck, his voice deep and filled with desire as his hands continued to roam over your body. His mouth trailed hot kisses along your collarbone, making you arch into him with a gasp.

Your own hands found their way to his shirt buttons, eager to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. As the fabric parted, you could see the outline of his muscles, the result of countless hours of training and hard work. You ran your fingertips over his chest, feeling his heart race beneath your touch. It was a powerful reminder that, despite his rigorous schedule, he was all yours.

"Open those pretty legs for me," Joe groaned, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, pushing your body up even further on the bed and tearing your panties away.

You eagerly complied, your heart pounding in anticipation as Joe's eyes darkened with lust. He kissed down your body, peppering your skin with kisses that left a trail of fire in their wake. When his mouth reached your pussy, you bucked your hips upward, desperate for his touch. His tongue slid along your slit, teasing your clit before delving deeper. Your moans grew louder, filling the quiet room, as he feasted on you, bringing you to the brink of another orgasm.

"Fuck, baby," you whispered as Joe's tongue swirled around your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You couldn't believe how much you needed this, how much you craved his touch after being entrenched in your busy life. Your body felt alive again, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure as Joe worked his magic on you.

"Yes, Joe," you moaned, your hips rocking against his face as Joe's skilled mouth brought you closer to climax. You felt him smile against you, the movement sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. You were lost in the sensation, your body trembling as you reached for his hair, gripping the short strands in your fists.

"Yes, yes," you panted, your body writhing under Joe's relentless attention. His tongue was a masterful tool, bringing you closer and closer to the peak of pleasure. You could feel the tension building within you, your toes curling and your grip on his hair tightening as you approached your peak.

"I'm gonna come," you warned, your voice breathless. "Baby, please don't stop. I need you so bad."

Joe's only response was a low growl of approval, his mouth working faster as he felt your body tense beneath him. He knew you were close, he could taste it in the sweetness of your arousal. With one final, lingering lick, you shattered, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Joe looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with pride and lust as he watched you come apart in his arms.

You collapsed back onto the bed, panting and trembling, your eyes fluttering shut. Joe didn't waste any time, quickly shedding his own clothes before sliding between your legs. He positioned himself at your entrance, his cock thick and hard with desire.

"Look at you," Joe murmured, his voice thick with lust. His eyes traced the lines of your body, taking in every inch of you like it was the first time all over again. "So beautiful, all mine. Never seen anyone so fucking perfect."

You felt your body warm at his words, your eyes snapping open to meet his. "Joe," you whispered, your voice a plea for more as you felt him nudge against your entrance. He slid in slowly, filling you completely, making you gasp with the sudden fullness.

Your rhythm was slow at first, a gentle rocking that grew in intensity with every beat of your hearts. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, your nails digging into his back. Joe's eyes never left yours, the love and desire in his gaze setting you alight. You moved together in perfect harmony, your bodies speaking a language that only the two of you understood.

"Joey," you whispered, your voice strained with need as his hips rocked into you steadily. His thrusts grew stronger, more demanding. The bed beneath you creaked with the force of your passion, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the slick sounds of skin on skin.

Your voice cut off with a strangled moan as he hiked your thighs up higher. Your calves now rested on his broad shoulders, as your pelvises cushioned against each other. 

“What is it baby?” Joe questioned softly against your parted lips, your breaths mingling together in whispers of moans. “You know I’d give you whatever you need. Just ask.”

"Tell me you love me," you breathed, your eyes locked on Joe's. 

His pupils dilated, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"I love you, beautiful. So fucking much," he growled, his voice a mix of passion and frustration at the same time. "You're mine, and I'm yours. No one else." His words were punctuated by his hips, driving into you with a ferocity that mirrored the emotions churning within you.

"Only yours," you repeated, your voice a breathy whisper as Joe's cock slammed into you, each stroke hitting a spot deep inside that sent you spiraling towards another climax. The words resonated within you, a departure from the insecurity that had plagued you earlier in the evening.

"Fuck, Joey," you moaned, feeling the pressure build inside you once again. Your nails dug into his back, urging him to go harder, faster. "Don't stop, baby, don't ever stop."

Your movements grew more frantic, the passion between you a live wire, sparking and crackling in the air. Joe's muscles bulged with effort as he drove into you, each stroke hitting deeper than the last. The room grew hazy with lust, the only reality the feel of your bodies joined together.

"I don't want you to ever doubt how much I love you," Joe said through gritted teeth, his eyes stuck on your pleasure-ridden face. He pushed into you, each thrust a declaration of his love and ownership. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you felt the familiar tightness begin to coil within you for the third time that night. "Not when I'm with you, not when I'm at work, not when I'm around anyone else."

Your lovemaking grew more intense with every word, each one a promise that resonated through your soul. The feeling of him inside you was more than just physical; it was a reaffirmation of your commitment, a reminder of your bond. Your nails raked down Joe's back, leaving a trail of red in their wake. Your legs tightened around him, pulling him closer, as if you could somehow fuse your bodies into one.

"I fuck you too hard?" Joe smirked, his voice strained as he felt your tight grip on him. He knew you were close, your breath hitching in your throat, your eyes screwed shut with pleasure.

"Too good?" He continued his relentless pace, his hips slapping against yours. You could only nod, your mouth forming a silent "yes" as you rode the wave of ecstasy. Your legs trembled around him, your body begging for more.

“Want me to fill you up, baby?” His mouth kept running as his voice became more strained with effort.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped out, your eyes flying open to meet Joe's intense gaze. You could feel your orgasm building, your muscles clenching around his cock. The way he filled you, the way he claimed you with every stroke, it was more than you could handle.

"How could you ever doubt me baby?" Joe whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he drove into you even deeper. 

His lips found your neck, biting at the soft flesh and soothing the pain with the flick of his tongue until you were squirming beneath him. "How could you doubt me when this good cock is just for you, huh?"

Your eyes rolled back in your head as another orgasm ripped through you without warning, your body tightening around Joe's cock. He groaned, feeling your pussy pulse with pleasure as he picked up the pace, driving into you faster and harder. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, the bed shaking beneath you as you both gave yourselves over to the moment.

Joe felt his own release building, the pressure at the base of his spine growing with every stroke. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, your teeth clashing together as you lost yourselves together. He could feel your pussy clench around him, milking his cock, and with a struggle of a moan, he came, filling you with his warmth.

For a moment, you two lay there, panting and trembling, your hearts racing. Then Joe pulled out of you, collapsing beside you on the bed. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as you both fought to catch your breaths. You felt his heart thud against your chest, the steady beat a reassurance of his love and commitment.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you come," Joe murmured, his voice still thick with desire as he kissed the side of your neck. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the aftermath of your lovemaking. 

Moments later, you leaned back into his broad chest as you soaked in the warm water of your bathtub. Your bodies tangled together, the only sound your ragged breaths and the occasional whisper of love and reassurance. The tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by a comfort and closeness that you hadn't felt in weeks. You knew your schedules were hectic, but moments like these reminded you why you had agreed to marry Joe in the first place.

"You know I don't doubt you, Joe," you murmured against his shoulder, your voice sleepy with satisfaction. "Tiffany's behavior today was weird. And I felt guilty about my feelings and I took it out on you."

Joe sighed, his arms tightening around you. "I’m sorry we’ve been so distant, baby. I'll talk to her. I hated seeing you so upset." He kissed the top of your head.

"Thank you," you mumbled, snuggling closer to him. Despite your exhaustion, you knew that talking about Tiffany had brought the issue back to the surface. But Joe's embrace made you feel safe, and you allowed yourself to relax into the comfort of his arms.

"It's not just her," Joe began, his voice serious. "I know I've been distant, with the season and everything. But you're my priority, always." His fingers traced lingering patterns into your ribcage under the water. "I don't want anything to come between us."

Your heart swelled at his words, his voice devoid of any sign of doubt. "I know you don't," you said softly. "We'll do better, baby. I know we can."

Joe nodded, a serious look crossing his features. "We will. I promise." He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. The silence was a welcome comfort, the weight of your promises lingering in the air.

[hiraeth-sonder]

Delusive Masks - Nasu

Yan! Tamamo no Mae x Reader

Old foxes aren't the best servants, they're wily and complex, and most of all, possessive

TW: Mentions of violence in the form of burning, general toxic manipulative behaviour, not really proof read

//The brainrot hit so bad that I wrote a bad fever dream. A whole bunch of liberties taken with the way being an onmyoji works and with characters as per usual. Poem is from 陽成院歌合, topic of 夏虫の恋 and is number 06 of the whole collection

あふことを, いつともしらぬ

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

To be a good person is not difficult, to be a good onmyoji perhaps less so. For many people, merely getting the skill and natural ability to qualify as one is already a kind of privilege, it taints the way they view themselves, creating grandiose splendours that they can transcend beyond the mortal principles. Yet when one becomes powerful enough to summon shikigami beyond weak spirits imbued into paper dolls, it gets to their head. They suddenly, foolishly believe themselves capable of nothing short of miracles. How fast they fall, turning themselves into cruel masters, bidding their servants to acts no better than the very yokai they seek to exorcise, kicking upon their shikigami to which they had entered that sacred contract. 

You are grateful for many things in life, the first that you had good parents that supported your wishes, the second that you could become a practising onmyoji, and the third being your master’s consistent and persistent hammering of humility and altruism. No lesser or greater than any being that walks upon this world, whether human or spirit, your duty was to protect the innocent and excise the guilty. Of course, he had worded it much more eloquently than such, but the motive was still present in his orotund words. 

Your shikigami are as equally deserving of respect as you are, unconditional kindness could very often make the difference between an evil spirit and a good one. You have stuck by such truths for as long as you have started, even when the only spirits under your command were Ubume and Zashiki Warashi. It became a promise of kinds, that you would always do right by them so long as they showed the same sentiment in return. Eventually, you ended up with quite a few of them, a good entourage of them you knew you could trust. Yet, it was rather difficult for people to take you seriously without certifiably powerful spirits, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that there was a certain gap between the perceived disciple of the great Abe no Seimei, and the reality that you were. 

There was some part of you that did resent that expectation, partly that others should have no right to comment on your ability solely on your patronage, and partly because it felt too close to home. Of course you knew it was shameful to be so powerless when you study under one of the best practitioners, it is only natural you did. 

The smell of incense fills your nose as your eyes adjust to the dim room, a talisman before you laying on the wooden floor. With a brush in hand, dipped in ink and poised for use, you calm your pounding heart. You have already summoned a few shikigami before, yet at this very moment, you could feel nothing but inexplicable foreboding. It made no sense, with your current living quarters more than protected by both your and your shikigamis’ efforts, yet you could not merely shake off the tenseness in your joints and the roiling in your stomach. 

It hurts, everything still hurts. Your hands from all the preparation, your knees from kneeling on such hard floors, your head from everything that has been and shall be. It is as though your body only knows to bear suffering, pain from which is borne from being mortal, pain borne of the pure action of breathing. 

Still, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Picking up your brush in a ramrod perfect posture, the incantation so familiar to your lips spill out as ink stains the talisman. Your voice starts soft, barely a whisper in the wind and as your hand scrawls and scrawls with a fervour not quite known to human consciousness, it rises until the only sound in your ear is your very own words. 

The moment your brush lifts off the paper and the ink settles within, placed within the circle, it resonates and glows, bursting with light and into flame as it burns into a brilliant blaze. It threatens to engulf the summoning room, grazing at the ceiling as even the fire from your candles are absorbed into such a violent inferno. You can feel the heat, practically licking your skin and singeing the ends of your coat, sweat beading at your brow as you shield your eyes from the bright display. 

Even when the flames dim, what is before your eyes is merely the shaping of the firestorm into nine distinct tails, a vulpine silhouette that eventually reveals a tall figure, draped in silks and brocades. With an elaborate fox-like mask hiding the top half of his face, this spirit which presented himself as both court official and decadent noble snapped open his fan to further hide his jade white visage. Among the cool night, all you could feel was the radiating heat from his form, even if he retracted his flames, it was as if there was nothing beyond him and his fire. 

The high wooden geta clacks against the wooden floorboards, elegant footfalls approaching you ever closer as he steps out of the circle. He makes no effort to lower himself to your level, fervid eyes burning behind the mask as he tips his fan beneath your chin and lifts it. The spirit takes a gander at your appearance, scrutinising your every feature with an intensity far beyond mild interest. 

“This place has experienced great change since I’ve last been here,” The old fox’s lips curl into a smile, the peek of sharp canines peeking from behind. His voice is sultry, a minacious bite to his words,  “Onmyoji, we finally finally meet.”

No matter this first introduction, dealing with this great spirit will be much more complicated than any you have ever met. A venerable kitsune in which vagary destruction lay right at the snap of his fingers, no matter what kind of fate he deems worthy for your mortal self, it is exactly because you are mortal that you should meet this trial. 

Bowing, you raise your clasped hands in front of you and dip until you feel your back screech for mercy, “Tamamo no mae-sama, it is an honour to meet you.”

“Do take care of me, little lady,” He croons and a shiver runs through your bones, no matter how gentle his words were.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

なつむしの, おもひはかぎり

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“Master, I did not think you would arrive so quickly.”

Your hands are steady as you tip the lacquered teapot, fragrant tea pouring in a steady stream from its slender spout. The dark liquid a blend you rarely take out other than to entertain your master, there is a certain trepidation that comes with such an act, one you are not sure when will finally leave you. The joints of your fingers ache, throbbing even as you lay at rest. 

“It is so wrong for me to worry for you?” He raises a brow, azure eyes regarding you with some placid gleam.

Despite your admittedly out of place nerves, your master has done nothing to warrant such, that in spite of his graceful and aloof poise, Seimei may likely be one of the kindest people you have ever met. You understand that a person can in no way be entirely benevolent nor evil, for that is what makes a sentient being sentient, but there is merely something about him that brings forward ease within a person. 

You only shake your head, an abashed quirk tugging at your lips. Watching him take a sip from his cup, your mind drifts back to the message you had sent. A letter that was hastily scrawled and messy beyond reason, the paper carried the distinct stench of smoke and ash, it was a moment of panic now that you could look upon the incident with a much clearer head. The minute you had situated the old yokai in conditions appeasable to his own tastes, you remember sprinting back to your room, sweat clinging to your skin and staining the paper as you wrote, informing your master what had just occurred and asking for his guidance. 

“Of course not, I just thought you would have taken more time to get here,” You hum, your voice lowered and sheepish. “Were you not at the capital when my letter arrived?”

Your master only nods, “Your words were so fearful, I thought you had come across a great trouble.”

He takes a moment to partake from his drink once more, a silence falling upon the sun-lit room as birds chirp in the nearby trees and the sound of your shikigami going about their lives ring from the distance. You rest your eyes upon his form, noting the seeming flawlessness of his presence. Sharper features that hinted at some otherworldly grace, just the most minute sign found in the form of the slight furrow of his brow revealed the distress that plagued him. Then, his long lashes flutter open, and your master merely seems to smile, relief all but seeping from his eyes. 

“I am glad you are well.”

Averting your gaze, you thank him under your breath as heat flushes at the tips of your ears, not quite certain whether such bashfulness stems from troubling him or emotions else explained. 

You can only move the conversation of topic away from that moment, putting on a facade of ease, “I thought you would have more insight about him.”

The expression on his face shifts ever so slightly, a sudden hardness in his eyes as he grips the teacup just the little tighter. 

“He…has experienced a great number of losses due to both divine and human action,” He manages to breathe out, the sound almost all but serene if not for the lengthy pause between his words. Your master inhales, as though to continue his words, yet he only sighs, “I am afraid that is as much as I can disclose for now, it is not my place to tell what he does not wish to be revealed.”

Just as you think to pry just a little further, Hana’s voice echoes from beyond the closed doors, asking for your presence. There is a concern tinging her words, and judging by the pattering of rushed footsteps, this was a matter that required your immediate and utmost earnest attention. 

“Master, I must apologise but…” Your eyes glance between him and the door, chest tightening ever so slightly as blood rushes through your veins. 

Seimei merely shakes his head, an assuaging expression on his face as he waves you off, “Do not worry about me, go ahead.”

Nodding, you rise as quickly as possible, rushing off as you are swiftly carted off to the issue. The white haired man remains in his seated position, taking in the scent of his tea as he closes his eyes. He hears the silence of the wind, with neither bird song nor liveliness of existence. Seimei finishes the rest of his tea, herbal and heady fragrance greeting his senses for the last time before he places it down alongside your abandoned cup. 

He takes a breath, not bothering to open his eyes as he speaks, “Uncle, I know you are there.”

From beyond the door and announcing his entrance through soft clicks, a masked man deigns to show his face as he lowers his fan. With his lips almost permanently lifted in mirth, the scarlet markings that painted his mask aided with the unease that your master suddenly feels creeping onto his spine. He is unfamiliar with this sensation, especially from the man before him. 

“Seimei, its been a long time,” The old fox croons, insouciant tinge to his voice. 

Without missing a beat, your master finds a new urgency within him, “What are your intentions with my disciple?”

“We have yet to see each other after so long and this is your first question for me?” Tamamo hums, an unexplainable expression on his jade white face. His fan taps against his jaw in a rhythmic manner, voice much more playful and recondite than Seimei would have liked, “She called out and I responded, nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you have any malintention upon her, I fear I may have to take action.”

Not quite a threat, for even he is unable to deny their relationship, but more so a warning. This tension between the two of them has an unspoken depth, one that had existed long before this clandestine reunion, and with Seimei’s admittedly almost obvious concern for your wellbeing, it only seems to sour so. 

The old fox smiles, and the younger finds that he does not enjoy the way those golden eyes seem to shine with burning regard from beyond the mask. Tamamo only muses, yet despite the airy nature of his voice, behind his lilt was a zealous avariciousness, “I promise you, no harm shall befall her so long as I am by her side.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

なくやあるらん

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

For all that the froglets incident was worth, a situation that had been more so confusing and hysterical for the regional townspeople than any life-threatening catastrophe as you had been led to believe, it was only a mild inconvenience. A few dozen little frogs dressed to appear as great yokais were merely wandering around and acting as if they were the spirits themselves, of course they had also been imbued with some kind of ability that allowed them to recreate such acts, but it was still not some matter that would raze the whole of Heian-Kyo. 

Still, that had not meant you expected to return to your abode with said froglets nipping at your heels ready to make themselves useful. 

“Master…” At a loss for words, Momo could only cock her head at the image before her. 

Rather than being seated at your desk pouring over documents, you were instead making yourself quite busy with some leisurely reading while the froglets dedicate themselves to stacking your books in an order only they seemed to know. 

“It’s okay, they are not causing any issue,” You smile, an amused huff escaping your nose when your eyes drift to Susabi Frog balancing on top of Ichimokuren Frog as it just barely pushes a star chart into place, “I am just keeping them busy.”

Turning your attention back to Momo, you place down your book as you roll your shoulders back, the vertebrae in your spine not quite as sore. “Did you have something for me to look at?”

“Ubume asked whether you wanted to join us for lunch or have us eat with you.” Her voice is slightly hesitant, just one step away from wavering. 

It feels like instinct at this point, you rest your head upon your palm and squeeze your eyes in delight. If you had to be honest, you did quite miss being able to have meals with your shikigamis, always some lively affair and certainly occuring far too sparsely for your liking.

“It has been some time since we all sat down together and ate, has it not?”

She nods her head, a hopeful expression on her face as her eyes widen in mock innocence, “Mhm! So will you?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you get up and dust your clothes. An excitement fills her as the little blooms in her hair burst open, grabbing your arm and all but dragging you out. Turning a glance to the froglets, you wave them over and they come scampering to your side at the first notice, almost all too excited to follow along. They clamour in the occasional croak or ribbit, asking about this and that. More akin to children, you wonder when that sentiment started. 

By the time you arrive in your courtyard, it is all but a wonderfully teeming gathering, noise filling your ears in a manner that only served to coax your heart from its tight cage. Seeing them like this, you are happy that you get to have such a sight, living free from suffering and safe, that was the most important point, that they were safe. 

“I see you all are in good spirits,” You hum, an announcement that is swiftly followed by a symphony of ‘Master’s’. 

Some of the younger shikigami immediately leap from their seats to your side, to which you only greet them with on overfond smile and a pat on the head. Those busy with serving food or handing out cutlery likewise greet you, not quite able to pull themselves away from their tasks but still sending a smile or a wave. Momo is quick to join everyone else, flitting between chatting and aiding. Ootengu had busied himself with scooping soup while Hana had been floating around ensuring everyone had some kind of meal, leaving one person notably uninvolved. 

“Little lady,” The old yokai calls for you, resting his head on his palm as a smile plays on his lips. Sitting beneath the plum blossom tree, he almost looks like the subject of a great painting under falling petals and soft sunlight. Just the view of such makes you almost afraid to approach him, yet still you do so. You are unable to tell exactly whether his levity is real, but you can only assume so by his leisurely tone, “Have the froglets been helping you?”

Glancing at the frogs now being babied by the rest of your shikigami, a notion you did not think they would take up so fast, you only laugh, “They are very earnest, thank you.”

Silence falls upon the two of you and for a moment, it truly does feel that all is right in the world. There is little discomfort in your body, joints no longer cracking at every minute action nor head pounding at every little stimulus that dared to exist. The smell of sweet flowers and delightful aroma of proper food fills the air, and you yearn for nothing more than these days to continue on. 

Those froglets, troublesome at first though they may, had ended up being a kind of blessing. For ever since their attempted marauding, you have had little, if any issues that required your action. You spend your days reading and writing, responding to correspondence and finally able to focus on your studies. 

It is while reminiscing that Tamamo’s silvery words reach your ears, pleasant and coaxing. 

“These few weeks have been rather peaceful, don’t you think?” He tilts his head to the side, meeting your gaze in a single move. 

You squeeze your eyes again, a soft sigh escaping you as a smile tugs at your lips, “It has, I can finally get to some marriage proposals I had apparently recieved.”

For a moment, just the slightest second late, you thought the old fox’s expression darkened. Yet just as quickly as it came, it left, and he simply continues on. His eagerness almost resembles that of those older ladies, that crooning voice asking for more and more, ready to give advice you never thought you would need, older yokais surely were no different than mortals. 

“Oh? And who is the lucky fellow?” His nails, scarlet and far longer than you remember, clasp around his fan. 

“Just another onmyoji, he isn’t from the big name clans that sent their pathetic excuse they call letters,” You sigh, then hold your hands up in clarification, as though to correct yourself from your perceived distate, “Which is good, less likely to be some bigoted oaf.”

Tamamo merely hums, snapping open his fan to hide the bottom of his face, yet there was an odd wry tinge to his words, “How intriguing, our little lady seems to be quite popular to attract even onmyojis from the big clans.”

“Don’t flatter me, they just want to find someone they can continue their bloodlines with.”

Rolling your eyes, an acerbic grin appears on your face as you take a drink from the teacup one of the froglets brought over. Just like those old ladies, he places a hand on your shoulder and with an assuaging tone, a sense of warm reassurance is poured into your being. 

“Well, you won’t have to worry. I’m certain you will have no trouble.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

またまたも, みをぞすてつる

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Kiyohara Genjirou, a practicing onmyoji that had sought you out not only for his pursuit of the craft but admiration as well. So he cited in his first correspondence, and so you would like to believe. 

As he wrote to you, you found him an eloquent and diligent man. Genjirou, though not hailing from a noble family nor considered talented enough to join a major clan, wandered through the country aiding when he could. All he had were paper dolls and simple talisman, yet that was all he needed. He had heard tales from those whose qualms you have solved, and had grown curious of your being. It was natural, yet this natural curiosity had grown to longing when he caught a glimpse of you in the city. 

The image he described of you had seem otherworldly when you first read it, donned in simple robes and merely another face among the crowd, his eyes had no choice but to follow along your form, entirely unable to pull away from you. As if sent down from the high heavens, even the slightest whisper of your voice had made him understand why men should turn to religion. 

You thought of him less fondly, perhaps not an infatuation such as his but an interest nonetheless. He had only sent two letters, the first that had been introductory and more similar to polite courtesy, the second much more personal and akin to courting. Still, you had been touched by his words, further still when you read the last portion. He would make the journey to your estate, to meet you and to perhaps, if you would allow him the chance to, to court you. 

It was by no means a demand, but rather a suggestion. Genjirou had gone so far as to write that should you not find him appealing in any manner, that should you deem him overstepping, you were in every right to have him kicked out and his hair cut short. 

You remember showing Tamamo the letter, surrounded by the froglets as he read from behind your shoulder. You told him that you would like to meet such a staunch person, and perhaps at the time, you had laughed alongside him when he said that should Genjirou truly act as he feared, then it would not be humiliation that he would bear. There was nothing to worry for, all you had to do was await his arrival. 

Yet, despite his staid words and his solemn promises, he never came. 

Under the moonlight and through the cold night wind, you can only let out a soft sigh. Your shoulders slump beneath your robes as all of a sudden, your body feels too heavy for your feet. Leaning against the wooden pillars of the front gate, that familiar tightness in your chest returns once more. Yet rather than what feels like your ribs enclosing onto your rapidly beating heart, what occurs to you now is more akin to that sentimental organ squeezing against its cage, yearning to pry straight through to leap out and wither away. Your lungs long for air, forcing in and out and yet it is not enough, never enough. 

It is cold, so, so cold. Why were you cold?

Closing your eyes, you feel a presence approach from behind you, then a hand pulls you away from your resting spot. You lay against a warm body, that even through layers and layers of silk and brocade, you do not even have to open your eyes to know who it is. 

“Tamamo,” Your murmur disappears into the night, yet it is a call that he hears and responds to. 

With your limp limbs that which hang uselessly, the old fox gathers you into his embrace, allowing you to bury your face into his chest. “I thought he was different…”

Methodical and rhythmic, his chest rises and lowers, coaxing your breath to follow suite. Within his hold, there is a warmth that penetrates the skin, enveloping your tendons in loving flame. Tightly held and tightly received, Tamamo lets you dig your nails into him, until your fingertips ache and your wrists cramp up. He merely returns the sentiment, as though it was entirely natural to do so. 

“Will you be honest with me?” 

As though ashamed to even consider such a thought an option, you can barely muster your voice to above a whisper, “Do you think I’m a disappointment to my master?”

“Of course not, my little lady is very accomplished,” He croons, his voice soft and soothing. “Do you think I would have answered your call otherwise?”

Still enveloped in his presence, you inhale the familiar smell that clings to him. When he speaks to you as such, it truly does feel like all will be right in this world. Desiring nothing more than to keep you safe, this old fox you had once shrinked from has now become your only succour. How fast you had let him in your heart, that he should treat you with the same regard and care you do the rest of your shikigami, and you would become so easily reliant on what he may give you. Ironic, yet undeniably a notion you had grown aware of since his arrival. 

“Besides, he is rather foolish to give up on you,” He sighs, an undertone distantly related to triumph hidden beneath assuage and fondness. 

That graceful hand cups your face, reverent as though bearing a great treasure. Your eyes flutter open, and it is then you notice that he is no longer wearing his mask, presenting that exquisite face once hidden to you. Narrow eyes of beguiling gold with long lashes, lips that more appeared as delicate petals. No matter the scarlet markings painted upon his skin, it is no wonder that men should turn to fanaticism in the face of such sublimity. You can only stare in awe, how warm your ears flush and how heat roils in your stomach upon the sonorous hum of his voice. 

“You deserve much, much better than a human who only knows to lie to you.”

Lying on the beaten dirt path, Kiyohara Genjirou will be buried in an unmarked grave, neither name nor profession known to those who will find him. For all that remains of this unwitting suitor is the stench of smoke and shrivelled corpse, caught too soon in a fox’s tempestuous favour and left to burn in the same blazing rancour that once threatened to engulf the tranquil capital. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

なつむしの, なほあきたらぬ

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Being a good onmyoji is not difficult, it is not some arduous task to respect and love your shikigami, to treat them as one would dear friends and family. Yet, a shikigami that has only lost and lost, when given a second chance to make it all right, what then happens to that good onmyoji is very often known only to those hidden away.

Your master, when he had learned of the events that transpired had taken it with nothing more than a furrowed brow and a sharp exhale. Before he left, he had gifted you a talisman and instructed you to hang it in your room, to which you did. Yet, that very day, it had gone missing from your door. You had no unease at it, after all, he had given you hundreds of protection talismans, what difference was one going missing?

You on the other hand, had come to realise many things about your emotions with the arrival of both dismay and prolonged peace. That old fox who has done nothing but inexplicably care for you, with no explanation nor clarification. It had come out of nowhere, that quiet wistfulness and longing glances, you nearly thought yourself mad yet it was true. Torturing yourself with what could only possibly be, one could only imagine the joy that filled you when you had to do nothing but wait just a little longer, and even that foolish wish should come to be. 

Cicadas sing in the distant night, your lover has long retired for the night and lays atop the bed, what you may see now is but his most true form, masks and disguises left at the door. Vulpine ears atop his head along with nine full tails, he once again scoops you into his embrace as even his tails move to cover you. 

“Cold…” You only whine, squirming closer as though you could crawl into his skin. 

Tamamo only huffs in amusement, no sign of actual vexation, and pulls you in closer. The increased contact brings burning touch falling upon your skin, the old fox noses along some invisible line at your neck, his lips pressing a kiss upon your pulse. He coaxes a sigh from your throat, soft and airy and almost all too practiced. Wholeheartedly embracing the fervid greed within him, you think you feel the prick of sharp canines against tender skin, yet you could care less. 

In nothing more than your sleeping robes, luxurious clothes stripped off, legs entangled and limbs intertwined. To an unwitting observer, it would be difficult to discern whose form was whose, so thoroughly ensnared fox and human may as well be one body.

With neither onmyoji nor spirit to separate the two of you, and in this little delusion, not even the heavens will seize you from his side. He has ensured it, he shall see to it that the one he loves will never bear such suffering ever again. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

こひをたのみて

[earls-wife]

The reposts have begun! The Wife and Earl have been married for a few years in this one.

As always female reader only!

Warnings: aesthetic appreciation of body parts, memories of sex, mentions of claw marks/bites and hickeys, stripping, possible food reference, the Earl speaks French to you

Mon bijou- my jewel

Tarts

"Why are you so anxious Mon bijou? Did that head of yours start telling lies again?" The way his voice caressed me was a blessing, as was the way his gloved hand traces my back in gentle strokes.

Poised over a letter I had ruined yet another piece of paper with dripping ink from a quill he had gotten me.

Crumpling the mess I threw it to the side haphazardly to join the others. "Yes and no, it's difficult to say really." His gentle smile and sapphire eyes met me with comfort when my head rested on his stomach to peer up at him.

"I understand. We both are cruel to ourselves are we not?" His soft lips and sharp jaw move eloquently as he speaks.

"Indeed. We should learn to do better."

"And we will, in time." In a fluid motion I'm lifted from the chair and into his arms, skirts billowing about us. "As you tell me, a break will do you good, so let us spend some time together away from our minds."

I laugh cupping his cheek to kiss the prickled skin. He would need to shave soon, for appearances sake. "And what does my lord have in mind? We are creatures of habit after all, our minds are our palaces."

"A primal practice."

"Primal?" My brow lifts wondering if he was insinuating what I thought he was as he carried me to the day room. There I found tarts of different delights to welcome me.

Setting me down on the lounge he leans over me, hair falling in his face as he chases each breath I take. "Did you have something else in mind?" He purred.

"Not at all." I smirk, brushing our noses along each other while a hand strokes his white cotton sleeve. His arms weren't bulky like most men I saw work the kitchens or garden where we stayed. His arms were lean and precise, chiseled from marble with great care by a master carver. Those cufflinks at his wrists were an enemy to my wandering fingers. He knew this of course, delighted in the games we played despite the many years we had known one another.

"Pity. I was so excited to eat these off you." He challenges my bluff, pulling away to serve himself a tart of a deep red. The red I wore for him across my lips.

Those lips pursed as I had been had by him. Again. Most of the time he won our games since he was so smart. Intelligent really, more so than any man I'd known.

Watching his posture relax an idea came to mind and I acted.

"Indeed what a pity. After all, I do believe it's your turn to be my plate." Bracing myself on my arms I smiled as he stilled and looked over. Setting his current pastry down he spoke.

"Is it now?"

"Yes."

The word came out boldly and his eyes widened. For a second I wondered if I had gone to far, his past always a gorge between us.

To my surprise I watched him wipe his hands on a wet towel and start to loosen his clothes. Lucky, lucky me.

His fingers sliding against a tiny button forcing it back through the shapely fabric of his shirt drawing my eye. I could get lost in those fingers. I could recall their taste on my tongue when he stuck them between my lips. His praise as I cried out in ecstasy when he'd been pounding into my core. Those fingers prying music from me that even I hadn't heard before. But he was ever expectant to pull me down into the throws of passion with him everytime we made love.

That porcelain skin, I knew the texture of it. Reveled in it when it caressed my own. Never rough, no facet of his body ever was despite the sharp lines his structure created. That stark white shirt fell away to reveal the supple muscles beneath. Tongue longing to lick the divets of each shadow cast, the pink healthy glow of his skin reminded me of a blossom in spring. Untouched and ready to be devoured.

The bite marks across his neck and collarbone make me smirk. Still bold and bright as the claw lines down his spine from the night before. Mine.

"Distracted already?" He teased undoing the buttons on his pants knowing where my eyes lingered.

I lick my lips. "Not at all. Just eager to eat."

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hi!! Could I request a Milo Thatch x fem!reader going on a date or Milo asking reader out on a date? (I cant decide between the two Ideas 😭) It would be nice if it can be located in the year where Milo lives. Thank you so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

A/N: TYSM FOR YOUR REQUEST I HOPE YOU ENJOYYY!!

Milo Thatch had never felt his heart race quite like this before. He stood outside your door, shifting nervously from foot to foot, clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked up earlier in the day. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—every possible way this night could go wrong flashing before his eyes. He kept running over what he wanted to say, his usual eloquence failing him in the face of the one thing he desired most: a chance to tell you how he really felt.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the jittery butterflies in his stomach. His hand hovered just inches from the door, knuckles poised to knock, but he hesitated. What if she thinks I’m ridiculous? What if I mess this up? He closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself of the countless adventures he’d faced with far less hesitation. Asking you on a date shouldn’t be this terrifying, but with you, everything felt more intense, more important.

Finally, mustering all the courage he had, Milo knocked softly on the door. The sound seemed deafening in the quiet evening, and he quickly wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his trousers, his pulse racing.

When you opened the door, Milo’s breath caught in his throat. You looked stunning, a soft, welcoming smile lighting up your face as you greeted him. For a moment, all the words he’d rehearsed disappeared from his mind. All he could do was stare, feeling his heart swell with affection, mixed with a deep sense of awe that you were standing there in front of him.

“Hi, Milo,” you said, your voice warm and kind, breaking him out of his daze.

“H-Hi, [Y/N],” Milo stammered, his voice trembling slightly. He felt his face heat up as he remembered the flowers in his hand, and he quickly held them out to you, his movements a little too fast, nearly toppling the bouquet. “These are for you! I, um, I thought you might like them. I mean, I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you preferred, but these looked nice, and… well, I just hope you like them.”

You took the bouquet from him, your fingers brushing his briefly, sending a shiver down his spine. “They’re beautiful, Milo. Thank you.”

Milo’s heart skipped a beat at your words, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. “I’m really glad you like them,” he mumbled, suddenly very aware of how close you were. He found himself nervously adjusting his glasses, trying to avoid your gaze for fear that you might see just how deeply he liked you—how much this moment meant to him.

“So, where are we going?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, the gesture both curious and inviting.

“Oh, right!” Milo exclaimed, suddenly remembering the plan. “I was thinking we could go to that little café down the street? The one with the really good coffee and pastries? But, uh, if you don’t want to, we could go somewhere else! I mean, I’m fine with whatever you’d prefer. I just thought—”

“The café sounds perfect,” you interrupted with a gentle smile, saving him from his own nervous rambling.

Relief washed over Milo, and he managed a shy smile in return. “Great! I mean, that’s great. Let’s, uh, let’s go then.”

As you walked side by side through the bustling city streets, Milo found himself acutely aware of every little detail—the way your arm occasionally brushed against his, the soft sound of your footsteps on the cobblestones, the way your presence seemed to make the world around him feel more vibrant, more alive. He kept sneaking glances at you, his heart swelling with affection every time you smiled or laughed at something he said, even if it was just a nervous joke to fill the silence.

Milo was so wrapped up in his thoughts—how lucky he was to be here with you, how beautiful you looked in the evening light—that he almost didn’t notice when you reached the café. He held the door open for you, trying not to let his hands shake too much, and followed you inside, feeling the warm, cozy atmosphere of the place wrap around him like a comforting embrace.

You chose a quiet corner table, away from the hustle and bustle of the main dining area, and Milo gratefully took a seat across from you. His nerves were still buzzing, but being here with you, in this moment, made it all feel worth it. He could see the golden glow of the gas lamps reflected in your eyes, and it made his heart ache with how much he cared for you—how much he wanted this to be more than just a simple date.

As the waitress came to take your orders, Milo realized his hands were fidgeting again, his fingers twisting the edge of the napkin in front of him. He tried to focus, but all he could think about was you—how much he admired your kindness, your intelligence, the way you always made him feel like he was worth listening to, even when he was rambling about ancient civilizations or obscure historical facts.

“So, uh, how was your day?” Milo asked, trying to keep the conversation going. His voice was still tinged with nervousness, but he forced himself to meet your gaze, not wanting to miss a single moment of this evening with you.

“It was good,” you replied, your voice as soothing as ever. You noticed the way his hands trembled slightly as he picked up his coffee cup, and it made you smile—he was always so earnest, so genuine, and you found it utterly endearing. “How about yours? Anything exciting happening at the museum?”

Milo’s eyes lit up at your question, his usual passion bubbling to the surface as he launched into an excited explanation about a new artifact the museum had just acquired. As he spoke, his nervousness seemed to melt away, replaced by the familiar comfort of discussing something he loved. But even as he described the ancient manuscript he’d been working on, his thoughts kept drifting back to you—to the way you were looking at him, with such interest, such genuine care.

“You know, I’ve always admired your dedication, Milo,” you said softly when he paused for breath. Your words were sincere, your voice filled with warmth. “It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Milo blinked, caught completely off guard by your compliment. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he felt like he might melt into the floor from the sheer intensity of his emotions. “R-Really? You mean that?” he stammered, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “I… I’ve always hoped you thought well of me, but I never imagined…”

He trailed off, his mind spinning. How could he possibly put into words just how much you meant to him? How much he’d dreamed of moments like this, sitting across from you, sharing something as simple as coffee but feeling like it was the most important moment of his life?

“I think you’re amazing, Milo,” you continued, your smile soft and genuine. “You have such a big heart, and you’re so passionate about everything you do. It’s… it’s really inspiring.”

Milo felt his face heat up again, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a soft, almost breathless, “Thank you, [Y/N]. That… that really means a lot to me.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversation and shared smiles, with Milo growing more comfortable as the night went on. But even as the café began to quiet down, and the other patrons left, his mind kept returning to the fact that this was real—this wasn’t just another daydream. You were here, with him, and you seemed to care about him just as much as he cared about you.

When it was finally time to leave, Milo offered to walk you home, and you agreed, the two of you stepping out into the cool night air. The city streets were mostly empty now, the glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows on the cobblestones, making the world feel almost like a dream. Milo’s heart raced as you walked beside him, every step bringing him closer to the moment he knew he needed to say something—anything—to let you know how deeply he felt for you.

As you reached your door, Milo hesitated, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. His hands were shaking again, and he nervously adjusted his glasses, his breath catching in his throat. He didn’t want the night to end without telling you how much he liked you—how much he wanted this to be the start of something more.

“I… I had a really great time tonight,” Milo finally managed to say, his voice trembling with both nerves and the intensity of his emotions.

“So did I,” you replied, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his heart ache with affection.

Milo swallowed hard, feeling like he was standing on the edge of something huge, something life-changing. He took a small step closer, his heart pounding in his chest. “I, um… I really like you, [Y/N],” he confessed, his voice soft and filled with vulnerability. “I’ve liked you for a long time, actually, and… and I’m really glad we did this. I was so nervous, but… being with you tonight has been better than I ever imagined.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides, and it made your heart swell with affection. Without thinking, you took a step closer to him, closing the distance between you. “Milo,” you whispered, your voice filled with warmth, “I like you too.”

Before he could respond, you closed the remaining gap between you, leaning in and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Milo’s eyes widened in surprise, his breath catching as he felt the warmth of your lips against his. For a moment, everything else faded away—there was only you, the softness of your touch, the way you made him feel like the entire world had shifted.

Milo’s heart was racing faster than it ever had before, but after the initial shock, he melted into the kiss, his hands finding their way to gently rest on your waist. He couldn’t believe this was happening—that the person he’d admired from afar, the person who had occupied his thoughts day and night, was here, kissing him like he was something precious.

When you finally pulled back, Milo was breathless, his mind spinning with a thousand emotions. He stared at you, his cheeks flushed, his glasses slightly askew from the intensity of the moment. His hands were still resting on your waist, as if he was afraid to let go, as if this moment might disappear if he did.

“I… I didn’t expect that,” Milo admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with awe and disbelief. “But… I’m really, really glad it happened.”

You smiled, your gaze soft and affectionate as you looked up at him. “I couldn’t wait any longer, Milo,” you replied, your voice tender. “I’ve liked you for so long, and seeing how much you care, how much you were trying tonight… I couldn’t help it.”

Milo’s heart swelled with so much affection that he thought it might burst. He gently pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours as he took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m so glad you feel the same way,” he murmured, his voice still shaky with emotion. “I’ve liked you for so long, [Y/N]. I just… I never thought someone as amazing as you would feel the same.”

You reached up, gently adjusting his glasses back into place, your touch light and affectionate. “You’re amazing too, Milo. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Milo’s lips curved into a shy, but genuine smile, his eyes shining with happiness. “I won’t, as long as you’re here to remind me,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more confidence, more certainty in the way he felt for you.

The kiss was sweet, tender, and full of the emotions both of you had been holding back for so long. When you finally parted, Milo couldn’t help but laugh softly, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

“Does this mean we’re…?” he began, his voice trailing off as he tried to find the right words.

You nodded, your smile widening as you looked up at him. “I think it does,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth.

Milo’s smile grew, a mixture of relief, joy, and overwhelming affection filling his chest. “Good,” he said softly, his voice full of sincerity. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, just enjoying the closeness, the newness of being together in this way. Eventually, Milo pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist as he looked at you with a mixture of adoration and awe.

“Can I walk you to the door?” he asked, his voice still tinged with that endearing nervousness, even though you had just shared something so intimate.

You nodded, your heart fluttering at how sweet he was, how much he clearly cared. “I’d like that.”

Milo escorted you to your door, his hand warm and steady in yours. When you finally reached it, he turned to you one last time, his eyes full of a newfound confidence and affection. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“Definitely,” you replied, leaning in to give him one last kiss, this one soft and lingering, full of the promise of more to come.

When you finally said goodnight and closed the door behind you, Milo stood there for a moment, his heart still racing, a dazed smile on his face. He touched his lips, still feeling the warmth of your kiss, and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

As he walked back home, the night air cool against his flushed cheeks, Milo felt like he was floating. All the fears, the doubts, the nervousness—they were all worth it. Because now, he had you, and he couldn’t wait to see where this new chapter of your lives would take you both.

[babblingeccentric]

Strawhat Real World Jobs

Yes Oda did give out alternate jobs for all the strawhats in an SBS but I will die before I accept Zoro as a cop and I have a few other quibbles and elaborations I'd like to put forth for Modern AUs. I want you to keep in mind that I'm writing this from a distinctly US American point of view so some of the job cultures may be slightly different to your locality.

Luffy- Firefighter: this one is correct. Luffy needs a job that is highly physical with low organization and intelligence requirements (sorry) This man is not going to college. He isn't a hero but there's no other legal way to get the adrenaline rush he needs. Also firefighters have a higher tolerance for fistfighting than other jobs, but not as much as construction. I think he could do construction labor if needed but I also think he would get bored. He would also be a PR nightmare as a professional athlete or wrestler. Could make it as a YouTuber but only if someone else edited his videos. Honestly YouTuber Luffy is your best choice if you want to preserve the feel of canon in a modern world.

Zoro- Cop: I'm sorry Oda but this is dumb as shit. Zoro would get asked to serve an eviction to a struggling mother of three or clear out a homeless encampment and quit on the spot. Or he would get into fights with other cops and get walled out and have to quit. He could still be a swordsman as a professional Kendo fencer? Athlete? Idk what they call those but he'd go on the pro circuit and absolutely decimate. He'd teach at a dojo in the off seasons. I'd also see him as an athletic trainer. I think Zoro could make it through college

Nami- Nursery School Teacher: While Nami is canonically very fond of children and quite good with them this feels like kind of a cop out. I think meteorologist suits her skills really well and I think she could kill it in the looks contest that weather anchors have to play.

Sanji- Stylist: I love this one so much. Idk what the original was but a stylist in the US refers to either a personal stylist which is a person who picks rich people's outfits or a hair stylist which is a person who cuts and styles hair, usually women's. Both jobs are associated with flamboyant gay men. He goes to his job and he gasses up women and calls men ugly for eight hours and then comes home and cooks Luffy dinner because he got texted a picture of the most fucked up eggs you ever did see that morning.

Ussop- Graphic Designer: I honestly have no notes. Yeah Ussop can hold down a steady job, and yeah it should be art focused. What is art but lying anyway?

Chopper- Grade School Teacher: This one is just so cute. He's got a childishness to him that makes kids like him and he has a soft caring personality that makes him good at his job. He can also be strict when he really has to. I agree Chopper would be a great elementary school teacher

Franky- Pilot: I guess? The thing is I think flying a plane for a job is both stressful and boring and I honestly don't think it suits him as well as say mechanic. I think Franky would be great as a mechanic souping up hot rods and doing weird custom jobs and he would be very entrenched in the local car scene. I also do just love mechanic characters

Robin- Flight Attendant: We all know this is just for Frobin reasons. And while the idea of a hand sprouting from your fold down tray to serve you your in flight meal is charming Robin deserves better than being Franky's beautiful assistant. Also I don't wish customer service upon her after all her suffering. I think she would be a great lawyer. She's smart, she's eloquent, she's poised- she'd kill it in the courtroom. She does corporate law for Crocodiles unethical company for a ridiculous sum before quitting to start her own firm and defending Luffy's numerous aggravated assault charges cause she likes him.

Brook- Detective: I'm not really sure why they picked this but I now want a detective story where Brook runs around solving mysteries (wait isn't that just skullduggery pleasant?)

Jinbe- Train Station Attendant: This is really cute, but we all know he'd be a retired yakuza boss. Maybe in some wild world where none of the strawhats turn to crime. I think he would be a local institution and know a lot of people and ask them about their families and such

[fortifice]

[ lipstick ] sender is wearing lipstick, and uses that fact to mark receiver with a few lipstick stains

The mission being covert was hardly salvageable when Sampo so brazenly disregarded any sort of discretion. the act of grazing his stiff, white lapels with his mouth was taunting, the stark, scarlet smear hallmarking him as a libertine rather than someone who kept sedulously to his morals. even if he were indulgent, his narrowed eyes lingering longer than necessary on the strutting way he walked, the sweep of his elegant gown trailing after him. it was imperative to their charade of affluent attendees to this soiree to maintain the guise of decorum, the other’s fluttering lashes, accentuated by mascara which only served to make his eyes more penetrating, were doing little to amend the complication they were currently facing. “ and you were certain this was going to come out.” his cadence is taunt, exasperation sharp at the edges, the other’s languid poise far too relaxed for the severity of their situation. to glean intelligence on their current mark they were to socialize with the elite, ease their way into their most intimate circles and entice them to part with crucial information. where Gepard’s talent was in combat Sampo’s was in extracting intel in a way so eloquent as to make the other believe they had wanted to divulge their most cherished secrets. He could not help but admire the sway of the other’s hips and the way his mouth uttered the more captivating things, if he were not trained to resist he’s certain the other could have wrangled from him his own private thoughts. he was dangerous. “ we don’t have time to be.” the damp cloth pressed to the white fabric wasn’t doing much save for streaking it further, making it worse. he would have to change. “ stay here.” he says firmly, as if his authority had any sway over what Sampo may or may not do, It didn’t. “ and, don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” which is to say do not derail the meticulous plan he had laid out across the bar that evening, the other burnishing glasses while Gepard took great care in elucidating the specifics of their operation. the longer he spoke the less he was convinced the other was lending him his ear, the glasses crystalline and sparkling as he turned them left and then right in appraisal. “ I cannot guarantee the success of this mission unless you listen to me, you understand that don’t you.” as if he were prickling, puffed up and indignant. 

[upontherisers]

oc introduction: meet ‘em in the skies

hey y’all! this is a semi-formal introduction post to the women of meet ‘em in the skies, my Band of Brothers universe. thanks to @mercurygray and @shoshiwrites for giving me some guidance on how to structure this. my OCs are presented in alphabetical order by first name because that’s how my google doc sorted them. (there are also a lot of them so here’s a read more!)

Anita Kennedy Matthews, 18; from Harvey, IL

Youngest of seven girls, doesn’t often get the chance to be the first in her family to do something. Wants to do more with her life than sit around and wait to get married, so she volunteers for the paratroopers the day after she graduates high school. Loves to swim and go dancing. Dedicated to her friends, happy, and slightly naive. Has an unexpected reunion during training.

Coretta Bailey, 26; from Oakland, CA

A trailblazer. One of the first Black graduates of Scripps College, one of the first Black nurses accepted into the ANC, and the first Black nurse to report to the ETO for duty. Her parents would prefer her to be home, so she placates them by occasionally writing to a pilot she knew growing up, and he writes back, but she hopes no one thinks she’s serious about starting anything. There’s a war on. She’s beauty and she’s grace, refined, eloquent, poised, and determined to serve the men and women of her country to the best of her ability.

Doris “Trip” Davis Danes, 21; from Snowshoe, WV

Grew up hunting and farming in the woods with her younger sister while her father and older brothers worked in the coal mines. Shoots straight, doesn’t miss. Knows how to stick up for herself when threatened. Had to balance being the eldest daughter but the second youngest child with no mother in the house. The Army came and got her when the integration order went into effect. Only went to school through eighth grade.

Dorothy “Dot” Woods, 19; from Chicago, IL

City girl, loves heights. Grew up in the Bronzeville neighborhood of Chicago’s infamous Black Belt, and loved it. Was a NYA kid and ended up as a switchboard operator at a phone company for a year and some change. Her dad fought in the Great War, her older brother’s 4F, so she decides to join up before they try to draft her. She’s willing to do the dirty work in order to win the war. She’s not happy about having to serve with non-Blacks, but she’ll do it.

Eleanor “Ellie” Gibbs, 20; from Billings, MT

Rancher’s daughter. Loves riding horses, knows how to shoot, pitch a tent, and collect freshwater. Used to go on cattle drives with her older brother and her dad. Went to boarding school on the East Coast but was sent back for disciplinary reasons. Wasn’t allowed to follow her brother to the Pacific, so she bribes some stable hands to sneak her out of the house and she joins the paratroopers. She’s a sweet talker with a smile like warm sunshine.

Estelle Brown, 18; from Austin, TX

Replacement who joined up to kick some ass but ended up a medic. She’s trying to roll with it. Was constantly in school-yard scraps and fights with her nine siblings growing up, so she learned to patch up her own cuts and bruises. Competitive dancer, competitive in everything, that’s why it was the paratroopers or nothing for her. She wants to be with the best. She’s as stubborn as they come, fiery, and vibrant. Chews gum like her life depends on it.

Florence “Flo” Kanaka’ole, 20; from Honolulu, HI

Showgirl turned soldier. Was in her family’s tourism business dancing and making crafts, and picked up gigs at some of the sailor’s nightclubs on Waikiki Beach so she could afford to live with some friends. Wanted to join up after Pearl Harbor to protect her homeland, and Army posters appealed to her. No more makeup, dresses, or fake smiles. Makes everyone learn to say her last name correctly. If they can say Eisenhower, they can say hers. Loves to sing ‘Ōlelo songs and she’ll dance for everyone when she’s drunk. Best friends with Frankie.

Frances “Frankie” Wilson, 19; from Baltimore, MD

Joins up because she’s bored. Her husband is off being a hotshot pilot in the Pacific, and she’s bored in her in-law’s house, getting no action—combat or physical. Quits her seamstress apprenticeship to join the paratroopers because she wants a challenge. Her good looks and perfectly tailored uniforms can be deceiving. Feisty, foul-mouthed, funny, and a shameless flirt. Will tailor your uniforms for money, doesn’t really care how much. Best friends with Flo.

Georgina M. Webster, 20; from Harlem, NY

Comes from an illustrious pedigree, constantly name drops her parents’ acquaintances and some of the people she knew in her youth. Wants everyone to know she’s a Radcliffe student but refuses to explain what that means to anyone who doesn’t already understand. Incredibly smart, whip quick wit, regularly complains about the poor quality of everything that the Army provides. Has no bedside manner. Storms every room she walks into.

Gloria “Glory” Davies, 19; from Memphis, TN

A gentle, sweet Southerner. Kind, soft-spoken, humble, not a mean bone in her body. Oldest of eight, dropped out of high school to help her parents run their restaurant. Wanted to join up when the war started, but was too afraid to leave her family for the unknown. Eventually worked up the courage and met Easy Company at Ft. Bragg. Loves music but is too shy to sing in front of others. Quickly becomes a favorite of Col. Sink’s. 

Jeanne “Jeannie” Carmichael, 19; from Fruitland, GA

Comes to the Army with no strings attached. No family, no friends, no address. Just the clothes she has on and the few belongings in her bag. A quick learner, thinks fast on her feet, incredibly strong, good with her hands. Good memory on account that she can’t read. Has yet to learn how to people. Knows nothing of the world outside of her tiny farm town, and has to adjust to people with morals different than hers.

Josephine “Joey” O’Shaughnessy, 25; from Boston, MA

A red-headed fury. Is trying to get some heat off of her back after an incident at OCS by shaping her platoon into the best the Army has ever seen. Doesn’t have the time or patience to care about individual feelings, but always takes the time to help a soldier she sees struggling with a task. Refuses to leave a man behind. Believes in raising the lowest common denominator. Proud graduate of Spelman College. Best friends with Lil.

Lillian “Lil” Sikes Linetti, 22; from Atlantic City, NJ

Howard University Alumni. Got married at 18 and struggled to be a housewife after college. Believes the Army will give her something to do with her education and will give her space from her husband. The middle of five children all serving in the Armed Forces. Has always wanted to travel. Has a knack for maps and navigation. Mom friend, gets worried sometimes. Doesn’t put up with shenanigans. Best friends with Joey.

Matilda “Mattie” James, 17; from Pahokee, FL

Grew up as a migrant worker. Taught herself to sing and read music, soloist at her church, former music teacher. Wants to help her family move to Pittsburgh, where the Black community is growing and her dad’s family lives. Doesn’t tell her family that she’s joining up, or that she’s going with the paratroopers for the extra pay. Wants to fight so that her younger brothers won’t have to. Second youngest company member, and she’ll go after you if you bring it up. Wants to be treated like an adult. Faith is important to her.

Rose Robinson, 27; from San Francisco, CA

Though a New Yorker by birth, she spent her childhood and adolescence between San Francisco and Paris. Attended the Emma Willard School and Vassar College. Speaks several languages, loves baseball, and art. Joining up with the OSS puts her in close contact with her good friend Lewis Nixon over the course of the war.

Victoria “Bertie” Adams Albert, 19; from Green Bay, WI

Joins up when a recruiter comes into her family’s camera shop and asks if anyone would like to join the APS. Believes in telling stories honestly and truthfully. Will run directly into the line of fire for a picture. Easy to tease, but easy to apologize to. A bit idyllic, naive, young, in over her head at points. Trusts people in authority. Babbles when she’s nervous. Tries to use her camera as a shield but gets too attached anyway. 

if you have any questions or would like to know more about any of them, please don’t hesitate to send me a message or send in an ask!

[anemoi-i]

Hello. Hopefully this isn't too odd a question, but do you have any recommendations of first that center on, or have a focus on Kristoph? I don't think I can stomach much more trying to look and finding more dead dove shit tbh-

1. Cracks In the Graceful by cosmicpoet

Kristoph stretches in the mirror at exactly 6:30am, his arms poised and pointed into the air; side to side, cracking awake all of the bones in his body. A pas de deux with himself. Nobody could keep time with his flawless nature anyway, he’s keenly aware of that fact, and as he greets the sunrise with an eloquent body and mind, he feels the only comfort that comes to him daily. A warm cup of tea. Vongole at his feet. The unbegun morning.

Gabes' writing of Kristoph is phenominal. I actually requested this one with the idea of a headcanon that hasn't been explored before. Kristoph knowing how to do ballet is befitting of the elegance that I feel he portrays, but while that's only the headcanon part of the fic, Gabes does an amazing job at not even hinting, but flat out opening up the possibility that Kristoph may have been jealous of his brother, and how he felt that he must be better.

2. Perfectionism by cosmicpoet

The inheritance pattern of OCD is unclear. Overall, the risk of developing this condition is greater for first-degree relatives of affected individuals (such as siblings or children) as compared to the general public.

The first time Kristoph’s parents tell him that he should see a professional is when they find Klavier folding the towels in the bathroom seven times

Another lovely fic by Gabes, it is a backstory centered around both Gavins, with Klavier and Kristoph each getting a vital part in the story. I'll be honest, it's hard to read, but not in a bad way. There's also a bit of klapollo at the end which will soften you right up, but the main, main focus is on the Gavins which is why it's included here.

3. Klaviere Zerschlagen by Maddgarbagemonkey

The blood on Kristoph Gavin's face was not his own.

This is a criminally, and I mean criminally underrated fic centered on both Gavins. However, I'd like to explicitly warn that this fic has a major character death warning, and if that is not your cup of tea, PLEASE don't read this one because you will be sad beyond all belief. This is a case-fic style fic in a way, in which we see how Kristoph speaks with his clients, and aspects of his vices are full on display, and his internal thoughts are protrayed very well here. We also see how Klavier is his voice of reason. I don't want to give away too much here, but I want to stress how great a fic this is.

I will remind my followers that I don't actively seek out Kristoph-centric fics, hence why this list is so terribly short. Just like you guys, I don't have the mental capacity to doomscroll through his tag until I find a diamond in the rough. If you've written your own Kristoph-centric fics and would like me to read them, then I'll gladly do that as well.

[polishksiezniczka]

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna Fluff ABCs | Camerlengo x Female Reader

Il camerlengo deserves more love ❤

Notes: These take place in an AU where the Cardinal Strauss and Commander Richter are guilty of the attacks on the Vatican. 2K words.

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

There are so many things about you Patrick adores: your beautiful, soft smile; the curiosity and warmth your eyes convey; the feminine lilt of your voice. But most of all, he loves you for your heart. The kindness you show towards others makes you an angel in his eyes.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why or why not?)

Despite his vocation to the priesthood, Patrick would love nothing more than to start a family with you. He views the love you share as a gift from God, not something that should be disgraced or vilified. The arbitrary man-made rules of the Church which prevent him from realizing this longing—your own little family—frustrate him to no end.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

With the utmost care and gentleness. He holds you against him, reverently stroking your hair, face, and body with his warm fingers. He especially loves to admire the suppleness of you, softly kissing each and every glorious inch he can reach. While these moments are few, they are precious to him.  

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Because your relationship with Patrick is technically “forbidden,” you can’t go on dates in the normal sense. When he can, Patrick will use the secret passage between the Vatican and Castel Sant’ Angelo to discretely travel to the outside world in order to visit you. Because you really can’t be seen alone with him, you instead spend time with Patrick in your apartment, often cooking dinner, talking, and just enjoying each other’s company. Even if you can’t confess your love to the world yet, all he desires is to spend every moment he can with you.

E = Everything [“You are my ____________.” (e.g. my life, my world)]

“You are my heart.”

“You are my treasure.”

“You are my life’s greatest blessing. You are a gift from God.”

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

When he imagined his life without you. The pain he felt even entertaining the notion was too much for him to bear. He knew he needed to tell you before it was too late.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

This is one of the main reasons you fell in love with Patrick—he is truly the gentlest soul you have ever met. He treats you as if you were a priceless relic, practically worshipping the ground you walk on and swearing to defend you from any harm. Not that he won’t stand up for what he believes—he is a fierce defender of his faith and possesses the ability to inspire millions with his commanding oratory. But the look of love in his eyes when you catch him watching you makes your heart flutter rapidly in your chest like a schoolgirl’s.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Secretly and with all the affection he can possibly give. He especially loves to brush his thumb across the back of your hand, squeeze them lightly, or bring them to his lips when they are intertwined. When you are alone together, he always wants to maintain this type of intimate contact.  

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

When you first met Patrick, the always-charming young priest was left speechless. Not only was he enamored of your beauty, he was mesmerized by your intellect and eloquence. At first, he chided himself for such foolish and boy-like thoughts—he was a priest, after all! But after slowly getting to know you, he realized how much you embodied perfection to him: your poise, the uncommon kindness you showed to all those you met, your deep devotion to your Catholic faith. And you couldn’t help but feel the same strong attraction to him.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous much?)

Patrick is not the jealous type—he would never have any reason to be. Your love is built on trust and truthfulness, and he alone holds the key to your heart.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You were the first to kiss Patrick. You had gone to him for guidance after suffering a deeply personal anguish. His words were so gentle and reassuring, you couldn’t help but softly kiss his cheek in gratitude as tears slipped silently from your eyes. You were too numb to even feel ashamed, let alone prepare for Patrick’s response: taking your hand and kissing it lovingly, a gesture meant to assure you your feelings were reciprocated.

Because of Patrick’s profession and his constant presence in the public eye, you can’t be together as often as you’d like. But when you are, you nearly die and go to heaven from his mouth’s attentions alone. Patrick’s kisses are gentle, reverent, and full of love. He is never aggressive or rough; instead, he worships you with his lips, laying them everywhere like a starving man put before a feast.

L = Love (Who says I love you first?)

Patrick did. He was running to the helicopter to dispose of the antimatter chamber, willing to sacrifice his life for the safety of the faithful gathered in the Square and his beloved St. Peter’s. As he prepared to take off, he saw you standing on the steps at the entrance to the basilica, tears in your eyes. He silently mouthed to you, “I love you. Pray for me.” You were distraught but could do nothing but nod as tears clouded your vision and watch as he ascended from the plaza into the night sky.    

M = Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

One night you begged Patrick to go for a walk around the city together, like a normal couple would. You couldn’t brush away the romantic childhood notions of strolling through Rome with your beloved. He finally acquiesced to your pleas (your doe eyes and breathy implorations being of great assistance to you) and the two of you slipped quietly out into the dusky night. You frolicked at the Trevi Fountain, gazed at the enormity of the Pantheon, and shared a sweet treat from the gelateria while nestled on a bridge overlooking the Tiber River. Although the ancient city was beautiful, the sight beside him was what truly took his breath away.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Priests are sworn to a life of poverty, so Patrick does not shower you with expensive presents (nor can he afford to). But none of that matters to you because all you care about is Patrick and your love for him. Of his few earthly possessions, Patrick gifted you his late mother’s golden crucifix necklace inlaid with emerald, despite your attempts to dissuade him. He gave you the look of utmost adoration and smiled. “Angelo mio, you are the only one worthy of wearing it.” You wear the necklace every day as a secret declaration of your love for Patrick.  

O = Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

There are two: light pink (it is your favorite color and the color of your favorite flower, the gardenia) and white. White symbolizes purity and peace, as it is the color of the angels, and to Patrick, you are his angel on Earth.  

P = Pet Names (What pet names do they use?)

Angelo mio (“my angel”); cuore mio (“my heart”); mi amore (my love); “beloved”; “dearest”; “my treasure” ; “sweetheart.”

Q = Quaint (What is their favorite non-modern thing?)

His rosary, made of olive wood grown on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. It was a gift from His Holiness.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Ideally, he would spend the day curled up together on the sofa with you, reading, talking, or just basking in the other’s presence. Two mugs of tea and a plate of delectable pastries you had baked for him would sit on the table but would remain uneaten because of the sustenance you provide to each other. When he cannot be with you, he enjoys spending time in his study, doing research, reading Scripture, or writing his weekly homily.  

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Prayer—he always turns to God and the Saints for guidance.

Naturally, being by your side and in close physical contact immediately quells even his deepest fears. He relishes listening to your soft, sweet voice, lulling him into a sense of profound comfort and eventually, sleep.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Patrick is an intellectual at heart and loved the time he spent in seminary. He is incredibly well-versed in a variety of topics, including literature, history, science, music, art, philosophy, and theology. You could listen to him for hours and never lose interest.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

You. Patrick can be himself around you, let his guard down. He knows that he can tell you anything. Sometimes when he has a lot on his mind (responsibilities, the welfare of his Church, your future together), he simply gazes at you lovingly and observes the subtle movements you make when you’re engrossed in a task like cooking, reading, or playing the piano.

When he’s anxious and you are not around, prayer provides him a deep sense of comfort. He also relishes in your sweet scent—a small vial of your perfume you gifted him.  

V = Vaunt (How do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Vanity is a sin! 😉

But in secret, he loves showing off his Latin skills to you! You find it incredibly sensual when he speaks to you in that ancient tongue.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

On a dreamy spring night, Patrick led you up to a secret balcony near the base of St. Peter’s massive  dome—a hidden observatory shown to him by His Holiness when he was a young boy. The view is breathtaking; you can see the whole city bathed in golden light, the inky blue darkness above cut by the silver caresses of the moon. You turn to Patrick in complete awe and could hardly articulate how beautiful the view was. He pulls you close to him and whispers that he would be happy if he could never see this view again if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with you. You turned to him, overwhelmed with love, your breath hitching at the significance of his words. He then knelt down before you, taking your hands in his.

“Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, of all the blessings God has bestowed upon me, none is more precious than you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew that we were meant to be together, in this place and time.” His eyes were sincere and insistent, his tone earnest as he held your hands tighter and continued: “My mind told me that we could not be together, that my vows of celibacy and chastity forbid this. But my heart tells me that if a love so pure as ours exists, is it not a gift from God, meant to be treasured? And though I may not deserve to understand, all I wish to know and feel is my love for you.” His eyes shone softly with tears.  

“Y/N, my love, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and spend the rest of your life with me? Will you be my wife?”

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Patrick loves the ancient hymns from the early days of the Church, their melodies hauntingly beautiful yet powerful. “Ave Maria” also has a special place in his heart after he heard you singing it softly to yourself one evening while preparing dinner.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Every day! Patrick is so torn between the duties of his priesthood and his intense longing to spend the rest of his life as your husband. He prays to God often about this personal conflict, but finally decides to propose to you before Him alone, indifferent to anyone else’s judgement.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Because Patrick is so easygoing and affectionate, he would do really well with dogs.

Tag: @lemairepstuff @seraferna

[waveypedia]

the more things seem to change, the more they stay the same.

Ao3

Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright have loved one another since the day they met.

-

Against all odds, Miles returned the smile in full. “Then I suppose we shall just have to discover the truth together. Shall we, Wright?”

The grin Wright gave him in return was blinding enough to replace the sun. “We shall, Edgeworth. Now just take it easy.”

-

Four non-linear glimpses into the lives of Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth over the years.

Written for Narumitsu Week Day 7: Seasons

Winter

  [December 31, 2016

5:32 PM

Edgeworth’s Apartment]

 Bang, bang, bang.

Miles jumped out of his armchair, nearly throwing his book. 

Bang, bang, bang.

Someone was knocking at his door. Rather thoughtlessly, it seemed. Miles was always careful to scare any solicitors that dared pass the signs far away. Maybe his reputation simply hadn’t spread to this one brave solicitor.

The knocking continued, relentless. Miles dropped his book and stalked to the door. If this solicitor was blissfully unaware of how terrifying the Demon Prosecutor could be, they soon would not be.

“Oi, Edgeworth, open up.”

That… was not a solicitor.

Miles froze in front of the door, one hand on the handle. What could he possibly want?

Stubborn as ever, the knocks continued. Miles’ frustration outweighed his wariness, and in a burst of fury, he wrenched the door open, seething. 

On the other side of the doorway, Wright frowned at him. He was slumping, exhausted, with one hand still poised to knock. His ever-present cheap court suit was rumpled and wrinkled, like he’d slept in it - not uncharacteristic at all. Yet he was bright-eyed and sported the same expression on his face as when he was about to uncover a tangled mystery in court.

“Edgeworth,” Wright said, breathless and half unbelieving.

“What do you want, Wright,” Miles sighed, unable to conjure up the energy to properly rebuke Wright. Or engage in… whatever little tête-a-tête he had planned. 

That seemed to break whatever spell Miles had cast upon Wright by opening the door. The other man straightened, shaking out his wrist. “Can I come in?”

Miles stared, the query not quite processing for a minute. And when it finally did, he found himself unable to make sense of it.

“I suppose,” he supplied awkwardly, after he realized he had been staring blankly at Wright in lieu of a response.

Wright ducked his head abashedly, a small, awkward smile making its home on his face. “Great. Perfect. Um…. Yeah,” he said eloquently, ducking around Miles (who seemed to have forgotten all of his politeness and social skills, the one proficiency both his father and von Karma had imprinted on him) and into the house.

After a minute, Miles shut the door and followed, feeling hopelessly lost in his own home.

He found Wright in his kitchen, pulling some items out of his cupboards seemingly at random. 

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Miles said, feeling unimaginably out of place.

Wright Jumped as if he’d forgotten Miles was there at all. He glanced over, his mouth forming a small ‘o’. He frowned, seemingly turning over words in his head as he worked.

“Well,” Wright began, somewhat hesitantly, “When Ch- When Mia died, I never had the energy to cook.” He paused, glancing over at Miles to gauge his reception. After a moment of deliberation, Miles gave him a small nod, urging him to continue.

“Yeah,” Wright said, half to himself. “And after Do- Well. When these hard things happen, it’s… well, it’s difficult.”

“...Difficult,” Miles muttered, half to himself.

“Yeah, difficult,” Wright said, with a flippancy he didn’t completely feel.

Still feeling indescribably inept for the moment, Miles pulled out one of the chairs at his kitchen island and dropped into it. He resigned himself to staring awkwardly at the floor as Wright worked.

“Um, do you have a speaker or anything?” Wright asked after a minute. “I don’t listen to a lot of music, but Maya has a playlist she likes to put on while I cook, so…”

Wordlessly, Edgeworth retrieved the speaker from where it’s been collecting dust in one of his closets and passed it to Wright. “You cook for Maya?”

In a similar gesture to when he’s flustered in court, Wright laughed nervously and scratched behind his head. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta, right? Neither of us are gonna get our own cooking show anytime soon, but we manage. And between the two of us, I’m the one who’s used to living on my own. She’s learning, though.”

“She doesn’t know how to cook?” Miles asked.

“Eh, not really,” Wright replied, plugging the speaker into an outlet and fiddling with his phone. “Apparently they have this fancy system where the elders of Kurain cook for them. I doubt Maya would be too interested in cooking if it weren’t for the fact that she’s not really allowed to. She’d much rather go out for burgers every meal.”

Miles hummed in response. 

Seemingly, Wright finally figured out how to connect his ancient brick of a phone to Miles’ speaker, since his face broke out in a grin and he waved his phone in the air triumphantly. It was similar to the grin he wore in court, when he discovered a key piece of evidence or broke a witness’ testimony. 

Wright pulled up Maya’s playlist. Miles expected something bright and bouncy, much like the girl in question, but the notes that filtered through his speaker were far from it. Low and elegant, a familiar orchestral score filled the highest arches of Miles’ kitchen. Before he realized it, he relaxed into his seat, the familiarity of the music making him feel right at home. A millisecond later, Miles’ brain caught up to him.

“Is this the Steel Samurai soundtrack?!” Miles practically screeched, unable to believe his own ears.

Wright’s head, bowed in careful concentration as he chopped vegetables, snapped up in surprise. His eyes were blown wide. “Yeah, Maya really likes that show. It’s why she dragged me off to defend Will Powers that one time.” As he processed, a playful smirk began to worm its way onto Wright’s face, much like the pit of dread making itself at home in Miles’ stomach. “Why, do you watch it?”

“Nghoooh,” Miles groaned, burying his head in his hands.

Wright laughed, throwing his head back empathically. A few pieces of finely chopped carrot flew off of his knife and hit the counter in the back, making Wright and Miles wince in tandem. Miles made a mental note to clean his kitchen as soon as possible, since it was now certain Phoenix Wright would make a mess of things once again.

Although, was it really all that bad?

“It’s okay,” Wright said, still choked with giggles. “It makes sense, you know?”

Panic flashed in Miles’ gut. He wondered if he had been dropping unintentional signals. If that’s the case, what other subjects have I been dropping unintentional signals about?! But Wright simply smiled, completely comfortable.

Wright’s eyes sparkled, both with mirth and affection. Affection?! “Don’t you remember watching the Signal Samaurai with me ‘n Larry when we were kids? Signal Red, Signal Blue, Signal Yellow, remember?”

“Larry and  I, Wright,” Miles  sighed, massaging his temples. It was unimaginably easy to slip back into their courtroom personas, with Miles latching onto the tiniest contradictions to tear his argument apart.

Except here, there was no argument. Only a nostalgic window into the past and a dangerously comfortable relationship with his friend-turned-rival-turned-maybe-friend-again. 

“Whatever, whatever,” Wright said, waving the knife perhaps a bit too carelessly for a blade that size. Then again, Wright had always danced a little too close with danger, hadn’t he?

It wouldn’t stop Miles from worrying about him, though.

“I do remember watching the Signal Samurai with you when we were little,” Miles admitted. “I… I kept watching it, even after I… moved to Germany. Von Karma was never fond of it, unsurprisingly, but music and television were some of the only things from my home I found a way to keep.”

Wright set down the knife and leaned his elbows on the polished counter. He said nothing, but something in his open and earnest expression urged Miles to continue more than any prompting ever could have.

“I tried to get Franziska to watch some of it with me,” Miles resumed, embolded. “She never cared much for it, but she watched it with me. Sometimes. Usually after a nightmare.”

“Franziska?” Wright questioned.

Miles simply waved a tired hand in response. He knew better than to leave Wright in the dark now, after that mess of a trial, but Franziska’s tale was a long and complicated one that he simply didn’t have the vitality for. He could feel his already-low energy level slipping, as if willpower was bleeding out of his body like grains of sand in an hourglass. He dropped his head into his hands rather roughly, and his eyes began to droop closed.

In a rare stroke of luck, Wright seemed to understand him immediately, without Miles needing to summon energy he didn’t have to explain. Somehow Wright had always been able to do that - always been able to read Miles effortlessly. Additionally, he could pick up on what he  needed instead of what he wanted, even if he didn’t even know itself. 

Wright set down the cooking tools and carefully stepped over to where Miles was sitting at the bar. “Maybe that’s enough for tonight, hmm?”

“But your cooking,” Miles croaked, fighting to keep his eyes open. Exhaustion from the previous days, which he’d already thought he’d been suffering from, suddenly hit him like a truck.

Wright grinned at him, triumphant and crooked, like when he caught a witness in court. “Aha! You want to eat my cooking! You’re happy I’m here!”

Miles flashed his darkest, most terrifying scowl, coveted and perfected by the Demon Prosecutor himself. “I am simply trying to be a good-” He cut himself off with a yawn, frustratingly ruining his acerbic facade. “-host.”

Wright rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. Fondly?! “Please, Edgeworth. If anyone’s hosting here, it’s me.”

“In case you have not noticed, Wright, we are currently inhabiting my house,” Edgeworth said, unimpressed.

Wright beamed, unrepentant, and flung his arms out to both sides. “Yeah? And I’m the one cooking. I believe that’s what they call a  contradiction in court.”

“Absolutely not,” Miles grumbled. “This is ridiculous.”

Wright chuckled softly. “You just don’t want to admit I beat you again.”

“Hardly,” Miles groused, disgruntled. “When we go head to head again, Phoenix Wright, I will arrive with a guilty defendant. And I will achieve my guilty verdict.”

“And what if your defendant isn’t guilty?” Wright asked, tilting his head to the side with a small smile.

Against all odds, Miles returned the smile in full. “Then I suppose we shall just have to discover the truth together. Shall we, Wright?”

The grin Wright gave him in return was blinding enough to replace the sun. “We shall, Edgeworth. Now just take it easy.”

Miles rested his chin in his hand and watched Wright finish with an easy smile.

  Spring

  [May 25, 2019

11:03 PM

Wright Talent Agency]

 “You know what they say about spring?” Phoenix asked, apropos of nothing.

Edgeworth glanced up from the files he’d been annotating. He won’t let Phoenix look, but he knows they’re files for the case he’s prosecuting. A locked-room murder, Edgeworth called it. He’d offered Phoenix the coveted spot of co-counsel, but Phoenix had turned it down. There was no way he could accept that offer. He had thought both he and Edgeworth knew that well, but it seemed Edgeworth was still holding out hope.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

“What’s that?” Edgeworth asked, setting down his pen to give Phoenix his full attention. Oh, Phoenix could never quite handle this version of Edgeworth, the one full to the brim with careful kindness. Not like he was stepping on eggshells (which he, and everyone else, did a little too often around Phoenix for his liking, even if it was deserved).

Phoenix spun one of Edgeworth’s spare pens between his fingers. “It’s a time of change, and new beginnings.”

“Oh?” Edgeworth’s tone was carefully measured, knowing and wary of the minefield Phoenix was leading him into, yet following placidly all the same. “That is a nice sentiment. It most likely stems from the many agricultural plants that must be planted during this season, as well as many animals’ mating and birthing season during this time.”

“Yeah.” Phoenix scruffed his foot on his already dirty carpet. The hollow pang of pain he receives in response felt staticy and cloudy, like it was muffled through several layers of unreality. He barely processed it. Everything felt like that these days.

Everything except for Trucy, his light. Who was now fast asleep, hopefully dreaming peacefully and free of the nightmares that had plagued them both ever since the Gramarye trial.

And now, Edgeworth, apparently. To prove his point, Phoenix turned his focus to Edgeworth. The fuzz receded, and he could see clearly again. Just in time to focus on every smooth, unwrinkled thread in Edgeworth’s suit jacket that cost more than a year’s worth of rent, even though he’d been working tirelessly for the entire day. Or his grey eyes, sharp with focus as he examined the file for any hint of a clue or contradiction. Not sharp like the Demon Prosecutor’s eyes had been, glaring daggers from an unassuming newspaper photo and then again in the courtroom. No, Edgeworth was only dangerous to his enemies, and his enemies were the villains who stood in the way of truth and justice.

Like Phoenix himself, if the newspapers were to be believed, anyway. Everyone thought they were.

Sometimes he wished Edgeworth thought the same. It would make things easier, in a sense. Spending time with Edgeworth is tricky, but rewarding.

Rewarding enough that Phoenix continues to humor his old friend, even though he can barely bring himself to answer Maya’s stubborn calls. He can’t quite put his finger on  why .

(He knew the answer - he’s known since he changed his career path. Since he stubbornly kept writing letters to a boy who never once gave any hint he was reading them. But he’s not willing to break that black lock yet. Not with the hand the Gramarye trial has dealt him.)

“Yes, but when one examines the issue closely, one finds it does not have the negative connotation it appears to,” Edgeworth said, breaking the silence Phoenix hadn’t realized they’d fallen into. He punctuated his words with a quiet, thoughtful hum that always made Phoenix melt inside, even though their conversation topic was less than comforting. “It is true that some instances require an end of another in order to begin anew. Such is the cycle of life. Yet, the focus of the saying is always on the beginnings - the good in this hypothetical relationship. Life is a give-and-take of tragedy and joy.”

“Huh,” Phoenix blinked, stumped. “That’s awfully poetic, Edgeworth.”

Edgeworth chuckled awkwardly, clutching at his elbow. “I… may have given it quite a bit of thought.”

Phoenix’s lips quirked up in the tiniest hint of a smile. It was self-deprecatingly vicious, sure, and a little sorrowful, but there was genuine surprise and happiness there as well. “Nice to hear I mean so much to you.”

Phoenix fully expected a  “Don’t flatter yourself, Wright, I was merely pondering my   own    tragedies. Did you forget that? That my life is worse than yours?”  or a  “I was merely thinking of Franziska, or Ms. Fey. They have both been through quite a bit. Wouldn’t you agree, Wright?”

Even though he knew Edgeworth well, had watched him change and evolve from the Demon Prosecutor into the comfortable person he was today, nothing could prepare him for Edgeworth’s reaction. The prosecutor set his papers down and shifted so he was facing Phoenix. Quicker than Phoenix expected, he reached out and gripped both of Phoenix’s shoulders in a strong hold.

The contact shocked Phoenix out of his stupor. He blinked at Edgeworth, mouth partly open in shock. Edgeworth, for his part, seemed slightly surprised at his own brevity. A scarlet flush dotted his cheeks. Phoenix was sure his own face was much worse. Yet Edgeworth continued, strong and true.

“Wright, you must know by now that I hold you in high regard,” Edgeworth said, with only the smallest touch of awkwardness Phoenix would expect for such a declaration from the man who had once declared unease and uncertainty unnecessary feelings. “I will do everything in my power to see you properly reinstated to your rightful place behind the defense bench. Moreover, I… care for your well-being, very much. It does not do me any favors to witness you in such pain.”

“O-oh,” is all Phoenix could manage. How could he, in the wake of such a blunt confession? How could he possibly follow up to that?

The gravity of what he did seemed to catch up to Edgeworth, and he dropped his arms in a rush. Phoenix missed the comforting weight of his hands almost immediately.

“I… apologize if I was too forward.” Edgeworth cast his gaze to the ground, cheeks burning. “I mean every word I said, however.”

“I… thanks, Edgeworth,” Phoenix said lamely. “I feel the same way.”

Edgeworth smiled, comfortable and soft. “I… yes. I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you, Phoenix.”

I appreciate the sentiment. A bolt of surprise shot through Phoenix. He jerked up, filled with renewed energy and adrenaline, and gave Edgeworth a hard look. All static had completely disappeared now; dissipated in the wake of his shock. “You don’t believe me?”

It wasn’t quite a question, wasn’t quite a statement. Yet Edgeworth just frowned, confused, and shook head. “The opposite, in fact. I believe you wholeheartedly. You have proved it to me many times over.”

“I have?” Phoenix echoed.

Edgeworth gave a controlled, tight nod. “That is correct. Your boundless care manifests itself in your tenacity. That such trait became apparent to me in your many attempts to befriend me as a child, and later to secure my friendship once I had left. Yet again, when we faced off in court. I found myself on the other side of your tenacity, for I stood in the way of safety for the ones you cared for. You cared so much for me in my own trial that you refused to accept my confession, even though I wholeheartedly believed it to be the truth. If I had secured any other lawyer, well…” Edgeworth trailed off, a small smile gracing his face, but his eyes were hard and cold.

Phoenix chuckled mirthlessly. “You did everything you could to refuse my services.”

Edgeworth’s gaze met his once again. His eyes were still steely, but his smile grew. “That I did. I am forever grateful I folded when I did.”

Light footsteps padded down the hallway. Phoenix started, but relaxed when the door creaked open to reveal Trucy, still blinking away the last vestiges of fleeting sleep. “Daddy?”

“Hey, Truce.” He gave her an easy smile. “Uncle Miles and I are just working on one of his cases.”

Trucy stepped fully into the room and joined him on the couch. She leaned into him, and he wrapped her in a bear hug, relishing the comfort of his daughter in his arms and the fading warmth from her bed. She fit perfectly in his embrace, like a missing puzzle piece he never knew he needed.

It wasn’t quite perfect, though. Not yet. Phoenix cracked one eye open and, after a terrifying moment of deliberation, risked taking a hand off Trucy to beckon Edgeworth in.

Edgeworth startled at the invitation, eyes blown wide. He stood awkwardly next to the couch, case files forgotten. At first, it seemed like he would refuse. But Trucy, perceptive as ever even with her eyes closed, reached out and clamped a small hand around his wrist. Phoenix was fully aware of her surprising strength for an eight-year-old (although easily used to it, from Pearl - was this just how eight-year-old girls were?). Edgeworth, on the other hand, resided in Germany half the time and spent another chunk of his free time traveling the globe in his research of foreign judicial systems. His time with Trucy was much more limited (especially since Phoenix was loath to put Edgeworth in any danger from his mystery nemesis) and he was thus much more susceptible to her charms. Trucy successfully pulled Edgeworth in.

He fit into the hug perfectly. It felt like a tuning fork turned over Phoenix’s sternum. Home. Safe. 

Phoenix knew then, deep in his gut. This was his family. This was how they were meant to be.

For the first time since the Bar Association had stripped him of his attorney’s badge, hope sparked inside Phoenix. Times may be dire, but he had the people he needed right around him.

Tomorrow he would finally call Maya and Pearl back. He would call in all the favors Gumshoe owed him, and bring over Larry for old times’ sake. They would begin planning. They would begin fighting back. For Trucy’s safety, if nothing else.

But most of all, Phoenix just wanted to hold Edgeworth without worrying about the consequences.

  Summer

  [July 6, 2001

2:02 PM

Watterson Neighborhood Pool]

 “Don’t you wanna come play with us?” 

Miles peeked over the top of his book to see Phoenix, grinning at him toothily. He leaned forward, cupping a hand around his mouth theatrically. “I wanna push Larry in the pool.”

The friend in question had seemingly abandoned Phoenix. Across the pool deck, Larry was unsuccessfully attempting to chat up the lifeguard, who was clearly at least ten years older than he was.

“He was supposed to be getting us ice cream,” Phoenix said, the pout audible in his voice. But when Miles glanced back at him, he was smiling. Still having fun, despite it all.

That was Phoenix for you.

“I… might be amenable to that,” Miles confessed, hiding his small smile behind his book. His efforts were rendered futile when Phoenix broke out in a full-blown grin and punched his fist in the air, dancing around Miles’ beach chair. Phoenix’s excitement was as infectious as always.

Carefully, Miles bookmarked his book, noting where the last word he read was located, and set it down on his chair. After making sure it was safely in the shade, he followed Phoenix around the deck of the pool.

Larry turned at the sight of them. “Hey, dudes! So I know I said I would get ice cream, but I got something better! You see, I met this girl…”

The lifeguard sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “You are ten years old.”

Miles wasn’t really sure how they were going to go about this, but it seemed Phoenix had no patience. Cutting Larry off mid-sentence, he simply reached out and shoved Larry in the pool.

Miles choked on his laughter.

“Hey!” Larry emerged from beneath the surface, coughing and sputtering, his usually-voluminous hair drooping and plastered to his face. “Miles! Nicky!”

“You said you would get us ice cream!” Phoenix yelled back, fists propped on his hips. “Stop flirting with the lifeguard!” The lifeguard snorted at that.

“I was on my way over!” Larry protested, paddling over to the side of the pool. He gripped onto the side, right below Phoenix and Miles. He paused, and a mischievous grin grew on his face.

Phoenix’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “Larry, wait-”

“Hahaha! Take that!” Laughing, Larry splashed hard, splattering the shrieking Phoenix and Miles with droplets of water. “That’s what you get!”

“Hey!” Unrepentant, Phoenix leaned forward and stuck his hand in the water, splashing Larry back. After a moment of deliberation, Miles dunked his foot in and kicked water at Larry.

The lifeguard, sitting above them, rolled her eyes and leveled the three of them with an unimpressed glare. “Okay, you three. Until you can learn proper water safety, take it away from the pool.”

“Sorry, miss,” Miles said, properly chastised.

At the sincere apology, the lifeguard’s lips curled up in a small, amused grin. “It’s fine, kid. Just go have fun somewhere else where you won’t get hurt.”

“Will do,” Miles promised, smiling.

“C’mon, Miles!” Phoenix grabbed his wrist and pulled him along in a run after Larry. “We have to get Larry back!”

“Was he not getting us back for pushing him in the pool?” Miles pointed out, smiling ruefully. Yet he kept pace with Phoenix, lagging slightly behind so Phoenix wouldn’t let go of his wrist. Miles was no stranger to affectionate physical contact (Uncle Ray alone would fill that void), but Phoenix’s friendly taps and touches always felt... Different. He couldn’t quite articulate why he felt the way he did, or how Phoenix’s touch felt different from anyone else. Logically, if he had to choose whose love meant the most to him, it was his father’s, no contest. Yet Phoenix’s mere presence made him feel something different from his friendship with Larry, and even from his relationship with his father. He had no idea what it was. It frustrated Miles to no end. 

(Of course Miles knew about crushes. He read books all the time! He was no stranger to love, as he watched it dominate the society around him. His father was never specific, but he’d told Miles many times in no uncertain terms he loved him no matter what. For that matter, he’d explained his own aromanticism and asexuality to Miles a while back. It was more that Miles never realized he  could get crushes yet, much less on his already-established friends. He always figured if he fell in love, he would know it.)

(In his defense, he would know it, just… much later.)

Phoenix glanced back to catch Miles’ gaze, shaking him out of his stupor. At the sight of Phoenix’s euphoric grin, all of Miles’ musings fled his mind all at once. 

“Come on, we almost have him!” Phoenix called, urging Miles onward. Miles complied, sporting a playful smile of his own.

As Phoenix and Miles rounded a bend in the path, Larry appeared in their sights up ahead. When he spotted them, he let out an undignified squawk and quickened his pace, waving his arms wildly.

“You can’t run forever, Larry!” Phoenix yelled through peals of laughter. “Miles and I will catch you!”

“Just try me!” Larry squealed from somewhere up ahead. “You’ll never catch me!”

It was at that moment that Phoenix and Miles rounded another corner and caught Larry at a dead end. 

“Objection,” Miles said, in the poised and dignified way his father did in court and certainly  not broken up with snickers. “You have reached the end of the path.”

“Nowhere to run, Larry.” Phoenix grinned, a sharp and dangerous thing that sent a strong bolt of  something running through Miles’ veins. The threat was slightly undercut by Phoenix’s free hand, held out towards Larry, fingers wiggling with a treacherous promise. “It’s the end of the line.”

In the end, Miles’ only regret was that Phoenix let go of his wrist to ensnare Larry in a tickle fight. 

He missed the comforting warmth encircling his wrist, but it was worth it to affectionately terrorize Larry. Within minutes, they had dissolved into an all-out tickle war, punctuated by euphoric giggles. They ran circles on the field above the pool, the short grass tickling Miles’ bare feet. Together, Phoenix and Miles lay waste to a dead-in-the-water (which was a phrase Miles had heard his father use to describe certain trials and culprits, but didn’t know the full nuances of its definition yet) Larry, laughing all the while.

By the time they were all tired out, the sun was low in the sky, tinting the sky cotton-candy pink. The pool water’s vibrant blue was replaced with a creamy orange when they ran back down the path to it. The lifeguard smiled wryly when she spotted them, and Miles smiled shyly back.

Instead of going back into the pool, they chose the ice cream stand, finally getting their due. Phoenix and Larry watched with starry eyes while Miles carefully counted and paid with the money his father had pressed lovingly into his hand. Ice cream in hand at last, Larry found a place to sit on a big rock overlooking the pool. They sat, shoulders pressed against each other, swinging their bare feet in the air.

Phoenix nudged Miles with his shoulder. “Hey, Miles.”

Miles glanced over. “Hmm?”

In the fiery glow of the setting sun, the sight of Phoenix made Miles’ heart skip a beat. His heterochromatic eyes were soft and glazed over with faraway thoughts, and his spiky hair fluffed and mussy from hours running around and Larry ruffling it in their fight. A drop of vanilla ice cream was smeared at the corner of his lip, and it took all Miles had to keep from primly wiping it away.

“Thanks for playing with us,” Phoenix said, smiling softly. He turned the full force of his kind gaze on Miles, who suddenly felt the urge to shield his eyes from the metaphorical light. “I had a really good time today.”

Miles replied with an affectionate smile of his own. “I did as well.”

“Hey!” On Phoenix’s other side, Larry elbowed him with a bony arm, causing Phoenix to squawk indignantly. “I had fun too!”

Phoenix ruffled Larry’s thick hair with his free arm. “I’m glad, doofus.”

Larry grinned. “You’d better be.”

Without realizing it, Miles leaned further into Phoenix's shoulder as he squabbled with Larry. He froze for a second, then continued like nothing had happened. When Phoenix didn't react, Miles relaxed, slumping against his friend. Phoenix's hand brushed against his own. As Larry and Phoenix chattered excitedly, Miles zoned out, staring off into the ever-changing sunset. He rarely felt so comfortable.

A half an hour later, Father ceased his conversation with Phoenix’s mother and Larry’s older cousin and walked over to them, smiling. “All right, Miles. Ready to go?”

Miles nodded, jumping off the rock. “Yes, Father. Goodbye Phoenix, Larry!”

“Bye, Edgey!” Larry called, waving. 

“Stop calling me that,” Miles muttered under his breath, but without much heat behind it. They both knew Larry would not stop calling him that.

Phoenix jumped off the rock to join him. “Bye, Miles! I had a lot of fun today!”

“Me too,” Miles replied, smiling.

Father took Miles’ hand in his, and together they walked out of the pool. As Father opened the pool deck door, Miles turned around and waved to his friends. Larry was preoccupied bothering his older sister (until Phoenix elbowed him pointedly), but Phoenix waved back enthusiastically, beaming.

“So, did you have a good time with your friends?” Father asked, once they were both situated in the car.

Miles thought of sweet ice cream in his mouth and the feel of shorn grass underneath his feet and Larry’s wriggling form avoiding his hands. He thought of Phoenix’s smile, as bright as the summer sun. “Yes, Father. I did.”

Father smiled, soft and affectionate. “Oh, Miles, I’m so glad.”

Fall

  [October 9, 2029

5:04 PM

People Park]

 The crisp crunch of leaves underfoot filled the air, dominating as the loudest sound once Athena and Trucy’s laughter faded into the distance. After their latest case finished up, Phoenix had driven his junior partners (and daughter/co-counsel) to the park to let off some steam. Some prosecutors had deigned to join them, and thus (somewhat disgruntledly, in Blackquill’s case) fell in with the kids running on ahead. Apollo, back from Khura'in on an extended vacation, was more than happy to join them and catch up.

Phoenix was content to let them run on ahead. He wasn’t as young as he used to be (even if he was only thirty-five). He strode through the park in a casual, easy gait, hands in his pockets. 

It was nice. The fall breeze rustled through his spiky hair, and he closed his eyes in contentment. The wind was quite noisy, whistling through crinkly leaves and thin branches.

As he listened, he caught the telltale crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves. Phoenix opened his eyes with an easy grin to catch Edgeworth, stepping in time with him.

The late-afternoon sunlight, dappled as it filters through the tree cover, lit Miles’ dark gray coat in warm shades of silver. His hair and glasses shone in the light. Phoenix melted at the sight of him.

Miles had changed in the many years they’ve known each other. His shoulders got broader and his form more filled out, his hair became smoother and shinier, and the glasses perched on his nose made the changes all the more apparent. But to Phoenix, the real changes lay in the way Miles carried himself. He still had the confidence he had as a little kid and a prodigy prosecutor, but it manifested differently. Now his confidence was self-assured. Miles knew he’d worked hard for everything he had. He knew he deserved it. 

“Hey there,” Phoenix said, eyes sparkling. “Nice of you to drop in.”

“Hello, yourself,” Miles replied. He met Phoenix’s gaze with an Edgeworth-brand warm, affectionate smile that never failed to make Phoenix all gooey inside. 

Phoenix stepped closer, bridging the gap so their shoulders are brushing. Miles intertwined their hands, smiling so sweetly and chastely it made Phoenix’s entire face turn red.

Phoenix squeezed their joined hands

“Phoenix,” Miles sighed contentedly. “I am so happy to be here with you.”

Phoenix knew his face was lighting up, mostly because of the lovesick look Miles always made when it did. They melted in tandem, always together. “Love you too, Miles.”

As they walked, Phoenix tipped his head back, letting the dappled sunlight wash his face alight. He’d heard talks of love manifesting itself in a joy that made you feel weightless - hell, he’d felt that way himself, many times. Almost always with Miles himself. All the times that counted, at least. But today, like many other days, Miles’ hand in his was a comforting, grounding weight. He never felt trapped or limited, yet tethered to the ground all the same. It was the promise of someone there to catch him if he flew away again.

Dahlia (or Iris, really) made him feel unmoored, floating aimlessly without control. It was a dangerous game and he paid the price, but the honeymoon phase of love blinded him to the truth. With Miles, Phoenix still felt like he could float. But this time, he knew where he was going. He knew how to come back to Earth, where Miles would be waiting for him.

Phoenix dropped his head onto Miles’ shoulder, smiling as he heard the other hum contentedly. He could’ve stayed there forever, if not for the crick building in his neck. Stupid limited human body, breaking at the old age of thirty-five.

On the other side of the park, Trucy’s joyous shout caught both of the fathers’ attention. Their little posse of children, both official and unofficial, emerged from under the tree cover. Athena’s bright orange hair, usually so distinctive, blended in seamlessly with the fiery-golden autumn leaves. Phoenix would bet money the other kids had taken notice of this, if just for Blackquill’s smirk as he tugged gently on the tail end of Athena’s ponytail. Behind them, Klavier was laughing, beaming at Apollo with a lovesick grin Phoenix himself had mirrored many times looking at Miles. Apollo himself was blushing as red as his suit and fighting a ferocious smile. Trucy danced around them, light as a fairy on her feet as her pastel blue magician’s outfit floated around her. She caught everyone’s eye, sparking each of their smiles. At last, she spun, glancing across the park and finding Phoenix and Miles immediately. Her smile only grew, and Phoenix’s with it.

“We got lucky, didn’t we?” Phoenix murmured, squeezing Miles’ hand. “I don’t know if I could be happier.”

Miles hummed contemplatively. “I don’t know if luck is the right word,” he pondered. “It took a lot of hard work to get where we are now. Don’t sell yourself short, Phoenix.”

Phoenix huffed a small, breathy laugh. “I’ll try not to. The world certainly does too much of that.”

“Maybe so,” Miles agreed, but he pursed his lips thoughtfully like he didn’t quite believe himself. He spread his arms, gesturing to the pack of young attorneys across the park. “But look around you, Phoenix. You are surrounded by people who love and care for you. Not just here, but all over LA, and the world.”

Phoenix gently knocked his shoulder into Miles’. “That’s true,” he said, gazing softly at their faraway companions. “But the same’s true for you, you know?”

Miles followed his gaze, locked on the next generation of attorneys, so to speak. “I do,” he said, soft and full of love. “I never would have come this far if not for you in particular, Phoenix.”

Phoenix squeezed his hand. “Likewise,” he said warmly. “We’re good for each other, aren’t we?”

Miles smiled softly. “I would certainly say so.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they continued their circle around the park. In the distance, the kids had passed three-fourths of the way ahead of Phoenix and Miles, and were disconcertingly close to lapping them completely.

“I want to have a get-together,” Phoenix said suddenly. He noticed Miles’ head snapped towards him in his peripheral vision, but his focus was far away. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen Maya and Pearls. And there’s a bunch of people who live right here in LA that we never see! I’m tired of it.”

Miles smiled fondly, brushing his thumb over Phoenix’s knuckles. “I am in complete agreement. I will do my best to secure my sister from her Interpol business.”

“Maya’ll like that,” Phoenix said, the corners of his mouth twisting up in a teasing grin, even though the object of his mirth was far away. “As will I.”

“Good, then it’s settled,” Edgeworth declared. He pushed up his glasses so they flashed in the light. “We shall begin planning immediatel- Nghoooh!”

Phoenix noticed the pounding footsteps and peals of laughter from behind a second too late. He turned just in time to see Trucy, Athena, Blackquill, and Klavier (Apollo was pointedly hanging off to the side and trying to pretend he wasn’t watching), sporting matching mischievous grins, barreling into him and Miles. They landed in a pile of fallen leaves just off the path, sending leaves and twigs flying.

Phoenix coughed and groaned, stretching his poor back. “What the heck was that for?!”

“Just for fun, Daddy,” Trucy giggled. “You and Papa looked a bit too serious. We just wanted to lighten the mood!”

“Objection.” Miles sat up, coughing. “We were quite literally discussing our affections for each other.”

“Aww,” Klavier and Athena cooed in tandem. Apollo rolled his eyes.

Trucy shrugged, unrepentant. “Well, it still lightened the mood, didn’t it? Anyway, that’s what you slowpokes get for ditching us!”

“You ditched us!” Phoenix protested.

“Either way,” Athena said as she offered a hand to Phoenix, who gratefully accepted, “You should walk the next lap with us. We’ll slow down for you,” she added cheekily.

Phoenix grumbled good-naturedly. “Fine, but we’re setting the pace.”

“How many laps are we walking, again?” he heard Blackquill mutter to Apollo.

As their newly-merged group set off, Phoenix slung an arm around Miles’ shoulder. Trucy’s hand found his free one. Phoenix smiled and tipped his head back to the sky.

There was nowhere else he would rather be. There was no one he would rather be with.

"Thank you for being in my life," he whispered into Miles' ear.

Miles glanced back at him, curious. "I bestow the same compliment onto you," he replied, smiling. "Tenfold."

"Oh, shush, if you get to increase it so do I," Phoenix snorted, swatting at Miles (which was a little difficult since his arm was still wrapped around Miles' shoulder). "Let's just say it's equal, okay?"

"The prosecution accepts the defense's proposition," Miles agreed. "I love you.”

~

hello, everyone! this is my first completed and published work in the ace attorney fandom, and i'm really excited about it!

if you saw this work pop up on ao3 yesterday for like five minutes... no you didn't ;) i was up at around midnight two days ago night working on this. i double-checked the timeline for narumitsu week and i was like hey wait a minute. it's the sixth. tomorrow's the seventh. oh fuck i am nowhere near done. i was hoping to publish this early in the day too, so it would be in the tag all day. i may have rushed through the ending of this fic yesterday thinking it was the final day of the week. i published it on ao3 and then checked the narumitsu week tumblr blog to see how i'm supposed to tag and publish tumblr posts. i was like hey there are no day 7 entries. that's really odd. i checked tnhe blog, the tag, the blog again, etc etc. i was freaking out akdhksla! i finally glanced at the date and i was like hey wait a minute. it's only the sixth. i screwed myself up khfkala;sdl. also i almost forgot about narumitsu week until day 2, when i speedran this fic (and a couple other snippets based on prompts i might finish and publish later). i figured i'd try and get at least one contribution for the final day, which seemed easy enough, but i got distracted a lot haha.

god the amount of times i accidentally wrote in present tense and had to go back and edit aaaaaaaaa

im pretty sure edgeworth was never actually there in july, but this was the perfect setting for the kiddos, so... just suspend your disbelief for a lil bit. they deserve a summer pool day. the pool in question was based a lot on the community pool near my house, where i grew up swimming competitively for five or so years! it's built on a hill, and the upper part of the space is taken up by a grassy field and a clubhouse. so in my mind that's where phoenix, miles, and larry go for their tickle fight.

also the bit about edgeworth not knowing he's supposed to get crushes when he has one is basically the reverse of my personal experience skdfhks. i'm aroace, and around fourth/fifth grade i got nervous around a guy who intimidated me and i was like hmm. this person scares me, but he's funny and i want to be friends. he's a boy and i'm a girl (or so i thought LMAO). is this a crush? autistic kids who don't understand the social norms of crushes solidarity is real. it's between me and a game character but it's real.

title is from put your records on by corrine bailey rae! i've been saving this particular lyric for a title for a long time, and i'm really happy to finally find a fic where it really fits!

this is a bit messy and i'm still getting used to the characters' voices but it was really fun to write. if you read this far, thank you c:

if you ever wanna talk ace attorney, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on tumblr or on my twitter! i have terminal ace attorney brainrot and i cannot talk about it enough. i really need more aa friends, haha. thank you for reading, and please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed it!

[shookspearewrites]

When I tell you that this is the most exciting request I’ve ever received, nonnie my darling! I’m absolutely a history nerd & I’m especially interested in monarchies so this ask is honestly like a Christmas present for me, thank you so so much ^^ And honestly, not to toot my own horn or anything but, I am so incredibly proud of this 🥺 Like I worked so hard and I think it came out really nicely!

I chose the Victorian era for this not that creative given thats when Ikevamp is set BUT its the era I thought would most suit Arthur as he was born in the Victorian era and he radiates that sort of Victorian elegance to me somehow. Also, Ikevamp is set in the 1890s whereas I tried to write this to kinda fit the 1850s but it is what it is~  Of course, since I love historical aus, I’d be happy to write for other time periods if someone requested them!

I recommend listening to this playlist while you read this piece!

- JJ x

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur Conan Doyle:

The beautiful princess gazed upon herself in the looking glass as her hair was combed by her delicate hands in preparation for the evening’s festivities. Her hands took up the small photograph that sat on her vanity, her gaze soft upon the face in the picture - Her betrothed, Prince Arthur of Great Britain. The pair had met only once before this night but, the princess was sure of the fact that they were in true love with one another and that their reunion under the gentle moonlight would confirm this. 

Their two kingdoms had a long history of friendship and the relationship that had been set up between the young royals would only continue to let their nations’ alliance blossom and bloom. Princess MC’s breath caught in her throat as she heard the grandfather clock within her room chime, signalling 8pm and her call to the ballroom to dance, after all, a princess mustn’t keep her prince waiting. She stood from her comfortable seat and looked upon her exquisite reflection once more before hurriedly heading towards the party, the skirts of her elegant dress flowing as her heels clicked against the marbled floors.  

The radiant princess stepped into the ballroom, a bright smile upon her lightly rouged lips at the warm welcome she received as all of the attendees bowed and curtsied to her honour. MC’s eyes sought out her betrothed as her mind conjured up the most handsome image of his face in her imagination, wishing for her prince to appear in her line of vision amongst the countless nobles that waltzed to the symphony of violins which danced in the air.

“Your Highness,” Arthur’s voice lilted softly as he stepped into view, his brilliant crimson military coat a stark contrast to his breath-taking sapphire eyes. He bowed to the princess and MC curtsied back to him, their gazes meeting as gentle blushes arose on both of their faces. Arthur, Prince of Great Britain and heir apparent to the throne took Princess MC’s hands in his own pair and kissed her knuckles tenderly, his lips soft against her smooth skin. “Oh you do teach the torches to burn bright,” the prince sighed in adoration, quoting Shakespeare as he admired his ladylove, “One does hope that you have not missed me too much since our last meeting.”

The divine lady giggled softly at her lover’s charming smirk, her hands finding purchase upon his perfectly sculpted shoulders so that they may share a dance, “I miss you more so by every hour that passes, Your Highness. Your presence warms my heart, and I’ve been dreadfully cold without you.”

“Then allow me to reignite the flames within,” he replied playfully as his large hands grasped the princess’ waist, pulling their bodies close together so that their torsos pressed together lightly, the couple beginning to dance with immeasurable grace and poise. Their adoring gazes remained focused on each other as the perfect pair waltzed eloquently across the ballroom, ignoring all distractions and purely basking in their romance. During their dance, Arthur dipped his head to whisper in MC’s ear, his voice rich and smooth like the finest chocolate, “Princess MC, what would you say if I admitted that I would rather like to steal you away from this party? To have you to myself if only for a moment?”

Heat seared on the apples of the princess’ cheeks at the prince’s admission, a rose tinted blush staining her face and the very tips of her ears as she breathed in his handsome scent, “I’d say that you may have me to yourself whenever it’d please you, Prince Arthur.” She replied, her smile growing as she imagined all of the possible scenarios which could occur once they left the ball together, “Why do you ask, Your Highness? Do you wish to steal me away at this moment?”

“Yes, more than one would like to admit to, Your Majesty.” Arthur’s lips curled into his trademark grin as his grip on MC’s waist tightened momentarily before letting go of her, only to grasp her right hand in his left and lead her out of the crowded dance hall and down countless hallways until the pair reached the vast gardens of Arthur’s summer palace. The couple sat down next to each other on a bench which overlooked a small fountain in a ring of arches which bloomed with brilliant lilac and alabaster flowers. As the moonlight twinkled upon the water in the gently trickling fountain, the British prince found his lover to be sat far too far away from him and took it upon himself to pull her upon his lap so that the pair might share a sweet embrace. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

“The words of William Shakespeare to be sure. Perhaps you have remembered my fondness of his works?” MC replied to Arthur’s quoted admission of devotion to her as she lay her head against his strong chest, the beating of his heart steady and comforting against her ear. 

“Perhaps I have.” The gentle royal chuckled and shifted the position of MC on his lap slightly so that their eyes could meet once again, “Or perhaps, my pearl, you simply inspire the hopeless romantic within my soul to emerge.” Arthur leant forward slightly to place a soft kiss to his true love’s cheek, enticing an angelic giggle from her own lips which made his heart flutter within his chest.

“Oh Arthur, you are so bold!” She blushed once again, removing one of her hands which clung to her lover’s shoulders to fan her face, an action of bashful innocence in contrast to Arthur’s rather forward kiss. The prince’s large hands pulled the princess closer into his embrace, if that were even possible, so that their chests pressed together and their foreheads lightly rested against each other. MC sighed sweetly as Prince Arthur’s soft and charming eyes gazed at her as if he worshipped her as a goddess. 

“Oh my beloved, if only I were more bold as to show you how passionately I do love you.” He murmured as his gaze fell upon his lover’s plump lips as if in silent prayer that he may be blessed enough to kiss them, to taste her sweetness upon his tongue.

“Well, we are alone, darling,” the radiant princess smirked as she caught onto the prince’s wish, her own eyes now staring hopefully at Arthur’s lips and imagining what heavens his kiss would bestow upon her lips. At her encouragement, the slate-haired man who wore scarlet closed his eyes and pressed his mouth against his lover’s. Arthur’s kiss was soft and calculated, sweeter than honey as his lips danced perfectly with MC’s own pink pair. One of his hands travelled slowly from her waist and upward to hold the back of her neck, drawing the couple to drown deeper into each other like they were swimming in the warm waters of paradise. Quiet moans slipped past both of their mouths as their tongues and lips became better acquainted under the pearlescent moonlight which bathed the garden on that perfect summer’s night. 

The couple parted from their passionate kiss and the hand which had delicately placed itself upon MC’s neck now slid upward to find her silken hair, twirling a strand of its length around Arthur’s index finger. Both of the young royals panted lightly as they admired each other adoringly underneath the flowers which bloomed upon the arch above them. 

“I don’t know about you, my pearl,” Arthur whispered romantically to MC, “But I don’t believe that we’ll be returning to the party for quite some time.”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Always made to break (S.M.)

Summary: Shawn meets someone who reawakens his soul and makes him question his choices in love. 

Warnings: swearing, slight angst, fluff

Word count: 4k

A/N - I’ve had this in my drafts for a while, so I decided to post it and see how you guys like it, so let me know if you want more.

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''Were you ever going to tell me?“ She practically growled at Shawn as she threw a magazine in his lap, the tone she used scaring him enough to look up at her face, the beautiful features now twisted with rage and disappointment, something he never wanted to see her direct at him.

''I don't unders-'', but then he saw just what she meant, seeing his face attached to Camilla's on the front page of a random gossip magazine. He knew why she was looking at him with such fire in her eyes, and not the kind he expected to see in the bedroom, but the purest form of hatred mixed with pain.

''Not only did you poise as some poor photography student, but you also claimed you're single?! How stupid can I be, right?“ She put her right hand on her hip, using the back of her left one to wipe under her nose although nothing was there but a fathom sensation of coldness he had caused her insides now manifesting on the outside as well. She didn't shed a single tear yet, her anger not allowing her heartbreak to show.

It is better to hate him for his lies than to feel sorry for herself, she decided.

''I didn't want to...“ Shawn trailed off, unable to find the words. He, a man of many words, a person who had always managed to put his emotions in the most eloquent of ways had found himself speechless at a time he needed his words the most.

''Didn't want what? To tell me you're rich and famous? That you're dating a star? Huh?!“ She huffed, her eyes burning him with the intensity of the unrestrained pit of bursting flames within.

''What was this to you? Huh? A joke? Did it make you feel good to make me the fool?!“ She shouted, the raw emotion ripping her throat like a thousand razorblades.

Bowing his head down, Shawn swallows thickly, his eyes filling with tears he knew would only anger her more in this moment. He doesn't get to cry over breaking her heart, he just doesn't.

At the beginning

It was supposed to be a calm, ordinary Monday morning for Shawn. After months on the road, it was nice to be back home for a short break from the stage and screaming fans, just him and his earplugs and a good cup of coffee. It was supposed to be a regular, lonesome morning to start the day off right, but things never really work out the way we want them to.

Whether he meant to sit in that particular café, in that particular chair, with that particular song playing as he lazily glanced around before taking the first sip of his coffee, Shawn had started a chain of events that would lead him into a world of trouble, yet unimaginable love and heartache.

In that lazy glance, Shawn had managed to catch a young girl's eye, his curls falling over his eyes obscuring his vision. She had merely smiled at him, so sweetly, so shyly, enough for Shawn to return the gesture. Her eyes fell back on her phone and he assumed she was likely sending a message to all her friends about seeing THE Shawn Mendes, probably posting a sneakily taken photo of him in his moment of supposed tranquility as well.

It's not as if he's not used to it, but Shawn really hoped he'd have this morning to himself, a moment to put his thoughts in proper order and a second to breathe. He's been having his picture taken every day, multiple times by fans and paparazzi, especially since he started the whole agreement with Camila and her team.

Shawn was tired of it, drained, so when he hoped for a moment of his own and lost it? He truly didn't feel at ease anymore.

He looked back at the girl once more, angrily with eyes narrowed. She seemed oblivious to his newfound outlet as she kept scrolling on her phone. She was beautiful, Shawn couldn't deny that. In fact, it's why he looked her way in the first place – it's why he sat in this particular café, outside on such a cold morning to have his coffee, all because she caught his eye as he was passing the street. However, whatever drew him in had now pushed him away as he scoffed under his breath, shaking his head.

That's when she looked up from her phone and trained her eyes on him again, a confused look passing her features as she stood slowly, setting herself on a path toward him.

Rolling his eyes, Shawn reminded himself to be nice for his image is kindness and never random rage outbursts on young girls who want a photo with him. He drew in a short, quick breath of fresh air before he looked up at her when she stopped a few feet away from him, prepared to fake it if need be.

"I’m really not in the mood.” Shawn says before he can stop himself, mentally face palming when he sees the girl’s eyebrows furrow, her bottom lip sinking between her teeth as she cleared her throat.

“I wanted to ask if you needed something aside from the coffee considering you’ve been looking at me this whole time. I just assumed you were annoyed because my colleague hasn’t been out in a while. I’m sorry for making the wrong assumption and bothering you.” She wasn’t harsh or rude, making Shawn feel even guiltier as he paled. Finally realizing she’s the waitress, Shawn’s paleness is quickly replaced with a crimson shade that he could never truly hide.

The girl didn’t get a chance to walk away as he stood up abruptly, knocking the table up in the process with his thighs, some of his coffee spilling over.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be so rude, I just…I do want something.” Shawn exclaimed, hoping he can dig himself out of this deep hole he managed to dig for himself in a matter of seconds. “A bagel! And a brownie, please?” Shawn gave her an awkward smile, running his hand through his messy curls as she studies him with care, unsure if she should say something about his odd behavior or just take it like she usually does.

There are worse customers than him, she thinks.

“Sure.” She sighs, placing her phone on his table before whipping out a small notepad to write his order down, walking away right after.

Sitting down, Shawn sighed heavily at his stupidity, chuckling at himself. Rubbing his forehead to soothe an oncoming headache, he opens his eyes only to find her phone is still on the table, unlocked at that!

He stared at the gadget with great interest, wondering if he had assumed more than one thing wrong and if he had to change his opinion of this girl entirely. He didn’t want to take the phone and search it, but what’s the harm in peering over his cup to see what app she’s got open, right?

“Most common complications of a bowl resection?” Shawn reads under his breath, his eyebrows knitted together as he stares at the words that quite frankly sound like they came from a Grey’s anatomy episode.

“What are you doing?” A sweet voice startles him into a small yelp, the girl chuckling at this tall hunk who seems to be so clumsy and presumptuous that she can’t quite figure him out yet.

“Oh, I…Uh…I’m a simple guy, really. I see a phone screen and I have to sneak a peek, except I can’t understand a damn thing written on there.” Shawn rubbed the back of his neck nervously, sure as hell that his face is tomato red by now. He hates tomatoes just as much as he hates his treacherous cheeks for betraying every emotion he’s ever had.

Giggling, she places his order on the table, pushing back a strand of hair behind her right ear. She takes her phone swiftly, pocketing it in a single move.

“Yeah, I’ve got an exam to prepare for. Been working the night shift! Lucky me!” She exclaims sarcastically, her lips pressed together before she places the bill on his table too, turning around to go.

She isn’t even wearing a uniform, Shawn realizes, watching her as she takes her bag and begins to pack her things from the table she was sat at before. She took his order even after her shift ended. Biting down on his bottom lip, Shawn could sense a war is brewing between his head and heart, each arguing why he should or should not go after her.

Shawn’s always been a heart guy, deciding to go ahead and listen to it once again.

Jumping to his feet, Shawn moves toward her on instinct, not quite ready for her to go. He’s got too much accumulated guilt over judging her and assuming things about her that he was clearly wrong about and while she didn’t know it, he still wanted to make amends. Shawn needed to do something nice for the girl who had been kind enough not to cuss him out for being inexcusably rude to her.

“Where are you going?" He asks before he could stop himself. His head cocked to the side, his eyes shifting from the ground to the unknown girl. He barely knew her, hell, Shawn didn’t even know her name, but his heart stopped and he could barely breathe when she decided to leave.

She looked up in wonder, observing him with slight worry in her eyes, another thing he found endearing.

“I have that exam in an hour. Gotta get to my bus on time.” She shrugged, giving him a tiny wave as a means to say goodbye.

Shawn needed more time with her. He needed to talk to her, to get to know her, to at least find out her name. For some reason he couldn’t even fathom, Shawn felt drawn to this stranger, this girl who didn’t seem to know or give a damn about who he is. She is the type of people he surrounds himself with – people who are grounded and will keep him human. He wouldn’t admit to it, but she was also a beauty he couldn’t part with for reasons not of the mind, but of the heart. He knew it wouldn’t be a smart idea to get involved with someone now, not when he was under contract to be with someone else and so publicly.

However, when she made a move to leave, Shawn had to react before his heart completely stopped.

"I'm guessing you need a ride?" His voice was soft-spoken and mellow, sending a warm glow throughout Y/N’s body.

"Taking the bus won’t kill me, but thanks for the offer." Y/N smiled, waving at the café’ window. Shawn grabbed a twenty and left it on his table quickly, pointing at it in hopes of someone coming out to take the money for he had no time to pay for it right now. Shawn had decided to get in his car and chase after the girl who had started her walk to the nearest bus station, her determined walk noticeable and distinctive.

“You said you’ve been working all night, right?” He talked loudly, needing her to hear him, as if she could miss a car like his slowing down beside her or the doe-eyed guy nearly shouting at her through his open window.

“Yeah. So?” She stops, crossing her arms over her chest, uncertainty in her eyes. She looked at Shawn with such confusing emotion that he could hardly breathe when he allowed himself the luxury of staring into her eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she knew him for years, that they have history, that they’ve met in a previous life. The look in her eyes and the feeling he’d get in his heart when he’d meet her gaze? It felt like more than two strangers talking.

“Don’t want to fall asleep on the bus and miss your stop, now do ya?” Shawn tried, unsure how to convince her to let him drive her.

“I’d also prefer not to be killed by the seemingly kind stranger who offered me a ride.” She cocked an eyebrow, starting to walk again which forced Shawn to press down on the gas pedal lightly.

“My name’s Shawn and I promise I’m not a killer, just a big supporter of education who has nothing better to do than help a girl who looks like she could use a kind gesture after a hard night.”

Y/N stops again, rolling her eyes at the sky before letting out a deep breath she didn’t know she was holding. Was it wise to get into a car of a man she knew for less than an hour? A handsome stranger that could easily turn out to be a Ted Bundy she found herself attracted to?

Definitely not wise, she thought as she opened the passenger door and sat inside.

"Cute name." she smiled shyly.

“I’m Y/N.” She tells him, putting on the seatbelt before looking into his whiskey brown eyes.

“Your name is cuter.” Shawn’s crooked smile made her heart flip. The wind gently brushed his curls as he kept his window open, the breeze grazing his face, almost soothingly.

This is what he needed though, some adventure. Some risk. Some danger. Giving a ride to a girl he met didn’t constitute as adventure, risk or danger, but being seen doing so? Definitely.

She types in the location in his GPS, leaning back in her seat as the radio fills the silence. Nearly choking on his own saliva, Shawn changed the song he had recognized just by the first few beats, before Senorita could blast through the speakers.

“So, uh…what kind of music do you like?” Shawn asked awkwardly, feeling her gaze upon him not a second later. It’s as if being set on fire, but not in the way it hurts the skin, rather puts the soul on a path worth taking.

“Classical mostly. Old rock music too.” She responds, receiving a hum from Shawn in response. He relaxed visibly, knowing there’s a much lesser chance that she’d know he’s Shawn Mendes if he’s not what she usually listens to.

“You seem like a pop-rock kind of a guy.” She assumed, lifting her left eyebrow quizzically, waiting for him to agree or deny.

Shawn couldn’t hold himself back from smiling widely, nodding before sparing her a quick glance. “Nice guess.” He adds, noticing her cheeks redden, not nearly as bad as his, but enough to know she’s not indifferent.

“So, you’re a med student or a method actor?” Shawn chuckled, catching her playfully rolling her eyes at him and his stomach flipped at the gesture. She looked cute even annoyed with him and he knew he’d love to annoy her for a really long time if she’d let him.

“First one would be right!” She exclaimed, pressing her lips together as she turned to the side, looking out the window instead of him.

“That’s pretty impressive! Beauty and brains? It’s every man’s dream.” Shawn told her honestly, at least from his perspective. He had already found himself on her hook, wanting more and more all the while knowing he’ll soon have to leave her at the university and in less than a month, he’d leave the continent as well.

“You might be the only guy thinking that. It feels the day I started med school, I signed some invisible contract where I was doomed to be lonely and friendless. I never have time for friends or relationships. When I’m not in class, I’m working or studying. If I do have free time, I’m usually exhausted to the point of just curling up and watching Netflix. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.” She bit her lip, eyes everywhere but on Shawn.

She didn’t know why she told him this, something she’d been carrying around on her shoulders for so long. She barely knows him, yet Shawn just oozes good vibes and trustworthiness that she couldn’t help herself. It’s been a while since she had someone to be genuine with, so what’s the harm in oversharing with a stranger she’ll likely never see again?

“If you’re passionate about something, it will often demand you abandon all else. There will be times where you’ll wonder why you ever did it, why you’ve made such a decision as if you didn’t know it would be like this…you did, I know you were aware it would be hard and let me tell you, all the good things in life are hard and demand sacrifice and once you’ve got it, you’ll be reminded just why you chose it. Something happens and you’re reminded and you’ll be back in the right mindset.” Shawn tightens his hold on the steering wheel, aware he’s telling himself the same.

He’s lost the passion he used to have for music in the circus his team imposed on him and now he’s here, in the car with a girl he just met yet felt so incredibly connected to in comparison to the girl he’s supposedly dating that it was hard not to feel like life turned on him.

When he started writing music and playing it live, Shawn never realized how fake the public persona he’d have to create would be. He always thought musicians had free reign to be who they are, to enjoy life, but he’s received a cold shower of pure facts in the past year and he’s still struggling to come to terms with it.

“I really hope so.” She smiled, reaching out for his hand. She laid her palm gently on the back of Shawn’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before removing it quickly.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of bummed we’re already here.” Shawn sighed as he parked, looking over at the girl he wanted to stay more than ever. She wasn’t a stranger anymore, not even close. In his world, the rule states you’re no longer strangers if you’ve:

A) gotten drunk together

or

B) had a heart to heart.

“Bet you say that to all the strangers you give a lift to.” Her lips pulled to the left into a crooked smile, one Shawn wanted to make wider, brighter.

“Just ones I really like.” Shawn countered, smiling as well. It’s hard to resist a smile when she’s got her angelic lips spreading into the smile he wanted to see.

“You like me, eh?” She teased, coyly lifting an eyebrow as she lets her lips pucker.

“Never denied it.” Shawn raised his hands in a mock surrender, chuckling.

Then he moves closer with those eyes that look so deeply into her own, as if he could see who she is underneath all the layers she’s created to protect herself from the hurt. It’s like he sees her soul, the real Y/N and never in her life had she felt seen like she did with Shawn. He made her feel like she’s the only girl in the world and she knew then she’d never find that gaze in any other man’s eyes, never such intensity, raw emotion and understanding.

“As long as we’re clear on that.” She smirked, moving away slightly, not ready for what his eyes were telling her.

“Are you feeling better about the exam now? About everything? Because I meant what I said. You’ll be okay, even if it feels otherwise.” Shawn decided to diffuse the situation, the tension growing too fast for her to be comfortable with it, he could tell.

“About the fact that I’m not sure if I’ll ever find love or be the girl a guy would go to the ends of the world for?” She shrugged, chuckling dryly.

It’s much easier to make fun of what bothers her than face it head on. She’s been feeling so lost for such a long time that her coping mechanisms weren’t quite something most people are used to. But Shawn? He doesn’t even blink at her darkness. He doesn’t look away or shows he’s tired of her already. He doesn’t push her away for being so gloomy, he’s doing the opposite. He listens as if her words are golden, some elixir he's been waiting all his days to hear.

From what he says next she can tell he is thinking so deeply, already with a strategy that's several moves ahead of her. And in his words is a kindness, a concern that is so quick that, for him, it is natural. This attentiveness is a part of who he is and that is the most attractive feature Y/N’s ever seen in a man.

“You are though. I’ve known you for an hour and I’m already thinking just how badly I want to take you out and shower you with affection. You’re so beautiful, so raw, so fucking oblivious to your qualities that it makes me both angry and stubbornly certain that I want to change your view of yourself.” Shawn takes her hand in his, clasping it between his palms as his left hand, the one with a swallow tattoo, closes over hers. A tattoo like that would be hard to forget.

“I’ve found out that you’re intelligent, hardworking, ambitious, funny in a nonconventional way, incredibly brave for setting out on this journey, extremely good and devoted to helping humanity one person at a time, caring and you think of others even when you don’t have to. You were kind to me when I wasn’t to you, honest and open with your heart and mind…And that’s all within an hour of knowing you. And I desperately want more as creepy as it may sound.” Shawn’s words have made her eyes gloss over and she couldn’t stop herself from chuckling too.

When a woman’s sure she’s destined to be alone and that her perfect man isn’t real and then finds him when she’s given up on the notion – it’s a shock to the body. His smile alone burnishes her soul into a beauty it could never have achieved on its own. Before they met, both Shawn and Y/N were one, now they’re each a half, yet somehow so much more than they ever were before.

“I’m really glad I met you, Shawn. It’s truly an honor.” She managed to say before she leaned in so swiftly he had no chance to even move. Her lips brushed his for no longer than a moment, a single breath yet long enough to make him crave more, so much more. Just as quickly as they warmed his heart, her lips were gone and so was she.

He watched her walk away, her head bent as she stared at her shoes in thought, his heart slamming against his ribcage helplessly. He’d have ran after her, but he couldn’t afford some of the students recognizing him and snapping a photo. He couldn’t risk the world knowing he was living a lie, dating Camila on paper but already in love with a woman he was destined to fail in the long run.

Shawn should have let Y/N become a sweet memory he’d return to when the nights became too cold, too lonely to brave on his own. He should have let it be a fantasy, but he couldn’t. Whether he wanted it or not, Shawn was drawn to the same café the very next morning, hoping to run into the medical student who had captivated him.

[plush-rabbit]

Shigaraki Tomura Comforting S/O

A/N: I hope you feel better!! Drink some water and take care of yourself first!! Take care and know that you’re great and fantastic!!

Tomura isn’t great at comforting people. He’s never had the reason to, never really cared about anybody that would require comforting to learn about it. But then you come into the picture and seeing you cry is painful. Seeing you anything but happy is painful and he hates the feeling, hates how you can make him feel so powerless.

Cheering you up is tricky for him in the beginning. He doesn't know the proper things to say, the correct things to give you and ends up tripping over his words. He doesn’t make things worse and he can tell you appreciate his efforts but it still angers him that he can’t make you feel better right away.

As time goes on, he learns. He learns what words he needs to say, how to make you feel better- he figures you out, and he’s able to make you smile quicker than when he did in the beginning of the relationship. If you’re sad, he’ll make you feel better eventually.

It’s different when you’re crushed; when you have an empty look in your eyes and you’re just not you. He doesn’t like being out of the loop when it comes to you- he wants- needs- to know what happened, needs to know how to make you feel better and see your smile. He’s going to pry, he’s going to ask what’s wrong until you tell him.

When he finds out that your dreams were crushed- that the one thing you loved to do was shattered- he’s going to be furious. Fury will take over for a moment, narrowing his eyes and teeth bared, ready to ask who and leave the room to deal with it but then he catches a look at you. He hates the word pity- it leaves an awful taste in his mouth but that’s how you look like, so sad and small, so undeserving of the hatred and lies that were told to you. You look pitiful and he doesn’t want to leave you alone to suffer.

Tomura knows how to make things better when you’re sad- he’s learned but when you’re hopes and dreams are crushed? He’s at a loss- he’s staring at you and his hands are curled and he’s unaware of what to do. He just wants to make you feel better.

He’ll offer an apology- he doesn’t know why, he just feels like it should, feels as if he should apologize for the harm done to you. He feels like he should have prevented it, been there to shut down the words and comfort you and reassure you before the words were told, before the actions were given but he wasn’t. And he’s sorry.

He wants to make you feel better and whatever you need, whatever you want, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. He cares for you so much that it hurts, if you asked him to do something, he’d do it- no questions asked. You want the people who did something bad to you gone? Consider it done, all you have to do is say the word and he’ll hold you until you’re fast asleep and see to it that they won’t ever hurt you again.

He’ll hold you tight in his arms, press soft kisses on you and let you hold onto him as much as you want, let you stain his shirt with tears, let you fall asleep in his arms even if his own arms were to fall asleep. Whatever you want- you’ll get it. He cares for you and seeing you see defeated, will hurt him. 

He’ll whisper away the words of pain, replace them with love if that’s what you want. It won’t be as eloquent as when you speak to him, but it’ll be something, it’ll be enough to just see you smile at him, to gain that spark back. Tomura isn’t smooth with words, it takes a bit to find his footing, but he’ll make you feel better if it’s the last thing he’ll do.

He’s never seen you look so defeated, so tired and empty, so sad- no, this isn’t sadness, this is different. If you were sad, you’d be crying, you’d be holding onto him and he would know how to fix this. But he doesn’t know how to fix this because you aren’t sad- you’re just hurt and for some reason it’s hurting him. You’re buried under the covers, eyes dewy with unshed tears and a tired look to match. You look so tired- so defeated. 

"I'm," his eyes dart around the room as if the correct words would materialize in this air, "sorry."

You peer at him under the covers, your eyes still downturned and glossy. "For?" 

Your voice makes him flinch. It's empty- a hint of sadness laced into it, but no other emotion, nothing strong- just empty. "I- I don't know.” He sighs and lets his head fall. It’s silent and all he wants to do is find the perfect words to say to you- to just make you feel a bit better but, he doesn’t know how. His neck pricks and his hands flinch, the familiar sensations come to mind and it’s painful but it’s familiar, it’s safe and it’s something that always made him better- it was the one thing he had control over. He glances down at you, his fingers are poised, nails sharp and they’re ready to strike but then you meet his eyes and his hand unfurls. He lets it fall and meets you under the covers. “I can get rid of them for you,” he mutters, blanket pulled up to his chin.

You give him an inch of smile- it’s not much, but it’s something- it’s good enough for him. “It’s not a big deal,” you whisper. Your legs nudge his and slowly they become entangled.

“It's a big deal to me.” His fingers touch your check and your eyes flutter close. “Whatever they said, it doesn’t mean shit. You’re good at what you do. They’re just-”

“Please don’t say that they’re just jealous,” you hiss out the last word and squeeze your eyes tighter. “I just- It just sucks a lot right now,” your voice croaks and when you open your eyes he can see tears. 

He huffs and his lips pull into a thin line. “The offer still stands. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.” He stares at you, conviction in his voice and he means it. You want them gone, he’ll do it, you want a face worse than death? Leave it up to him. “You mean… a lot to me-” you snort and his knee presses against your thigh- “I’ll make you happy.”

“You’re being a bit of a yandere right now Tomu-kun.” Your hand moves under the blanket and peeks out, you touch his face and his eyes widen a fraction- your hands are warm and soft and he softens, shoulders lowering and lips parting as he stares at you.

“Shut up,” he breathes out, staring at you. He doesn’t know what’s appropriate right now- doesn’t know if he’s allowed to kiss your troubles away, if he can hold you tight until you break and cry, and he can finally fix it. He doesn’t know what to do, how to just make you smile again.

As if graced by something above him, you smile at him. It’s brighter than the one you offered a bit ago, more of a smile, softer and warmer and he’ll take it. “You’re going to tell your lovely partner to shut up? In their moment of need? Have you no shame Tomura?”

There it is. You’re personality peeking out, the teasing lilt in your voice, a pinch of cheek and he can feel the red bloom where your fingers pinched. He smiles and shakes his head. “Do-” his voice comes out hoarse and he clears it- “Do you want a hug?” he opens his arms and the blanket rises and makes a small place where you can come up to him.

“Four-to-five seconds?” 

“It can be forty-five seconds this time.” His breath hitches when you hug him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his neck, your lips brushing along the long faded scars and he swallows tightly. The blanket falls and his arms wrap around you, eyes shut and he hands bunching your shirt before loosening and coming under your shirt to rub small circles onto you. 

The seconds blur into minutes and he makes no motion to move, allowing the both of you to seek comfort in each other, allowing for you to hide yourself in him for as long as you need to and when you pull away, he pecks your temple, lips pressed against your skin and his hands slip from under your shirt and intertwine with your hand.

[theclassycandy]

Fluff Alphabet - Beckett x Anna

Word Count (Including the questions): 2075

A/N: Hi friends! I just really wanted to manifest the fluff energy into something! Some of these are are lot longer than others. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Tags: @miss-smrxtiee , @holystxne, @adam-dumortains , @herarmoredheart , @ilikeyellingatmyscreen

Tell me if you want to be tagged for future fics/headcanons about TE!

A = Attractive (what do they find attractive about the other?)- Anna and Beckett love everything about each other, but if you would force them to pick their favorite Beckett would say her duality. It may sound weird but Anna is optimistic, a very sunny person in real life. She loves how happy and loved she makes him feel simply by existing. Though, one time he had walked in Anna’s meeting room during a company-wide crisis and Anna had the poise, eloquence, intelligence and leadership skills to get the job done under an excruciating amount of stress. This stunned Beckett (and left him very turned on) of Anna’s stature that demands respect; he always knew that she’s a force of nature when she needs to be. For what Anna loves about Beckett, she would say his passion. His passion for his career. His passion for awards. His passion and ambition. His passion for her. His passion wanting to be a better man. Even his passion when they’re in bed...

B = Baby (do they want a family? why/why not?)- 100000% yes. Beckett would absolutly love being a father of Anna’s children. Anna has wanted to be a mother for as long as she could remember. Especially since she really wants a family of her own with Beckett.  

C = Cuddle (how do they cuddle?)- They like cuddling whenever they need to when they’re alone. But they like to do it best naked in bed, after doing something sexual. Anna loves to intertwine her legs with Beckett's legs and laying her head on Beckett’s chest, giving him kisses right above his heart. Beckett loves wrapping his arms around her, cradling Anna’s head and lovingly kissing the top of her head. 

D = Dates (what are dates with them like?)- Before they graduated they’re dates were low-key but still filled with love. But since they’ve become public figures and the public eye is always on them, they have more high-class, really expensive dates. Though whoever is the one responsible for planning the date they’ll make some sort of extra mile to make their dates special. 

E = Everything (“you are my ____” (e.g my life, my world…))- For Beckett, Anna calls says “you’re the love of my life” to Beckett. For Anna, Beckett would say “you’re my amazing sunshine” to her and whenever they say that to each other the break out in loving and wide smiles.

F = Feelings (when did they know they were falling in love?)- Beckett can’t pinpoint exactly when he fell in love with Anna since it’s probably like, before their first year of Penderghast ended. The word “love” first came to mind when he thought of Anna when they played hooky and skipped class (book 2 chapter 6) but quickly extinguished the thought out of fear that she probably thinks of him as just a friend with benefits. He remembers wanting to say it for the first time when Kane had kidnapped Anna and he was desperate to make a portal to her no matter if it killed him. For Anna she knew she loved him the moment he called out Kane after one of his minions put an illusion spell on her and Beckett went all ‘over-protective boyfriend’ (book 2 chapter 9) and they weren’t even dating at the time!

G = Gentle (are they gentle? If so, how?)- One of the biggest reasons why Beckett fell for Anna is because she is a great listener and very empathetic when it came to his family issues (like in book 2 chapter 2 when Beckett was upset because of Katrina’s professor position). Her kindness and gentle nature towards not just him, but to others makes his heart flutter every time, often caught staring at her in amazement. Beckett, on the other hand isn’t the most gentle person to others. But Anna feels special, knowing she’s the only person on this planet who sees Beckett’s thoughtful, sweet and romantic side. The way he cups her face and gazes in her eyes, how much effort he puts into their dates, the way he worships her with even the smallest of touches. Anna absolutely loves this incredible man that she’s fallen for, and at various times wonders what she did to deserve him. 

H = Hand/Hold (how do they like to hold? how do they like to hold hands?)- They hold hands whenever they can. When they go out on family dinners, especially Anna’s family they’ll joke it’s glued together. For Beckett’s family, since most of his family gathering are fucking full-on galas, the extended family will sometimes gossip about them. They’re really excited for Anna to join the family but that’s mostly because of her luxurious and and elegant public image and the prestige she’ll bring to the family name, they do know that she makes Beckett happy, though. 

I = Impression (first impression/s)- As we all know, Beckett was really fucking rude when they first met, and Anna hated him. For Beckett he was obviously rude, but he was secretly intimidated by her, because her could feel her magickal potential the moment she landed on campus. If only they knew back then how much they would mean to each other later in life...

J = Joker (are they into pulling pranks?)- They actually don’t play pranks on each other at all but Anna jokes around with him constantly. Beckett adores Anna’s sense of humour and that he can make him feel better and laugh even on the most stressful of days. Though, Anna plays pranks on the rest of the PendPals, even after their graduation! Beckett says “I’m opposed to joining in on this nonsense” but let’s honest, Anna is his biggest weakness so he’ll join and help her and even get a laugh form it himself. 

K = Kisses (how do they kiss?)- They kiss whenever they want to want. Whether it be a quick kiss when the other needs to leave or kissing like their lives depend on it, pushing each other on the nearest surface, getting their clothes off. They’re both amazing kissers. They both love when they lose their inhibitions and they kiss. The moans, the tiny gasps and gripping each other’s clothes. 

  L = Love (who says I love you first?)- Beckett said “I love you” first on their last day of their second year at Penderghast. He couldn’t keep it in anymore and he needed to say before they parted for summer break again. Anna was overjoyed that Beckett said the 3 little words and when she said them back, the both of them felt both elated and sad. Elated because they confessed their immense for each other and sad because they had to leave for summer break the next day. 

M = Memory (their favourite moment together)- I don’t think they’ll be able to choose, so I’m just gonna list them. 

- The first time they slept together (book 1 chapter 15)

- When Beckett healed Anna after falling in the mirror dimension (book 1 chapter 11)

- Anna’s birthday (book 1 chapter 14)

- When Anna came to visit Beckett in the medical ward (book 2 chapter 12) 

- When they said I love you to each other for the first time (book 2 chapter 17)

N = Nickel (do they spoil? do they buy the person they love everything?)- People ask “would you rather sentimental gifts or expensive gifts?” but for Anna and Beckett; who are some of the most richest and most famous people in the world, why not both? Anna likes to design luxury watches for Beckett every once in a while for a gift with loving messages engraved inside. Beckett loves gifting her experience, like trips all over the world on Anna’s private jets. 

O = Orange (what colour reminds them of their other half?)- Yellow, gold and light pink remind Beckett of Anna, because yellow and gold represent sunlight and Anna’s Beckett sunshine. And light pink because it’s Anna’s favorite colour. Gray, sliver and dark blue remind Anna of Beckett. Dark blue because that was the colour of Becket’s blazer when they were in college. Silver reminds her of his metal attunement and gray is the colour of his deep eyes. 

  P = Pet names (what pet names do they use?)- They will call each other baby, sweetie, sweetheart or call each other they’re last names. After they got married Anna’s full name is now Anna Yoon-Harrington but they both love it when Beckett just calls her Mrs. Harrington. (Beckett gets really horny when Anna calls him Mr. Harrington in bed but you didn’t hear that from me...) 

Q = Questions (what are the questions they’re always asking?)- They will often ask each other how much they love each other and what they love about each other. Sometimes they’ll ask each other when they’re just relaxing together, when the other is feeling down, or just because! They love being in love with each other. 

R = Rainy Day (what do they like to do on a rainy day?)- They’ll just stay inside and have a low-key night with each other, get some takeout, and watch some TV. They might get some work in and maybe even workout together but Anna bought her own personal gym for more intense exercises and Beckett does very calming yoga. 

S = Sad (how do they cheer themselves/each other up)- Beckett will wrap her up in his arms and comforts her, saying that he loves her and that she’ll be able to figure it out. When Beckett feels sad, Anna will just be near him in case he wants to talk about it. She’ll cook one of his favorite meals or order something. They both also love comfort, loving sex to make the both of them feel better. 

T = Talking (what do they love to talk about?)- Beckett loves talking about his studies and new discoveries in his research. He owns one of the biggest and technologically-advance research centres in the world. Anna often visits him, whether it’s because she misses him or because of work, since the both of them are in science but Beckett advances magick (mostly ward and portal magick) and Anna is in tech. But above all, his favorite thing to learn is all about Anna. Learning about her makes him so happy, wanting to memorise and learn everything about her. What she loves, what her plans are for the future and what makes her happy. 

U = Unencumbered (what helps them relax? Include a headcanon!)- For the both of them, the others mere presence is enough to comfort them, even if they’re even not talking. When they were seniors in Penderghast, Beckett had his finals and he was beyond stressed. But when Anna sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around neck and laid her head on his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her waist, he had never been so calm during studying! 

  W = Wedding (when, how, where do they propose?)- Beckett proposes on one of their international dates about a year and a half after they graduate. (They’ll both be around 23-24) He’s kind of scared because they’re both so young but deep down in his heart, Anna and him being soulmates is a 10000000% certainty. (I might do a wedding/proposal fic in the future!) 

X = Xylophone (what’s their song?)- “Can’t Help Falling in Love” is their song. One time Anna sang the song softly when she thought he was asleep while she was caressing his cheek but he could hear her singing the entire time. Beckett had never heard such a beautiful and ethereal-sounding voice.  

Y = You’re the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)- Beckett said “You’re the key to my heart” once to Anna, not realizing how cheesy it is so Anna will repeat it from time to time, as a way to tease him. But in reality, her heart absolutely melts and she breaks out into such a large smile that her jaw starts to hurt every time she thinks of it. 

Z = Zebra (if they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?)- Anna’s lumien, Solar, already lives with them though Anna would love a small kitten. Solar and Navi (Atlas’ familiar) already have play mates every time Anna and Atlas meet. 

That’s the end for the fluff alphabet! I hope you enjoyed it!

[fancytrinkets]

Toast (Dorian/Trevelyan)

Writer’s note: Just a scene I like from my Dorian POV Trespasser fic.

The banquet is a formal affair, prefaced by boring speeches. There's no shortage of phrases like 'our sacred duty' and 'your humble responsibility' — and even worse, 'the laudable merits of openness and reciprocity.' 

Oh, yes, these nobles all talk very eloquently, but as Dorian glances around the banquet hall, he gets a clear sense of menace. It's not as bad as a party in Tevinter, perhaps — at least here there aren't likely to be any poisonings around the dinner table — and yet the tension in the room is growing. Nobles and dignitaries from both sides of the Fereldan-Orlesian divide are perched like vultures around the table, their cutlery sharp as talons, ready to feast on the Inquisition's bloated corpse. They're waiting for the moment when Trevelyan stands up to deliver the evening's final speech.

Trevelyan has it memorized. The speech that Josephine gave him is mild and measured. He acknowledges that a problem exists, but he doesn't describe its contours. By the end he has promised them nothing and admitted to nothing. But he also hasn't given them more reasons to fault the Inquisition. He wraps things up by thanking them, one and all — these powerful men and women who've been plotting to undermine his organization at every turn.

And then, instead of taking his seat, he raises his glass to deliver a toast. Dorian knows what comes next — they've talked it over and planned on it. But that was yesterday. So much has changed since this morning, and he wasn't sure if Trevelyan would still want to do this. Apparently he does.

"And now if you all don't mind, I'd like to recognize our Tevinter ambassador, Lord Dorian Pavus. Soon to be Magister Pavus, I might add," Trevelyan says.

He turns and smiles at Dorian. And despite how terrible he must feel about that new title, there's nothing bitter or false in his smile.

Oh, Maker, he's honestly proud of me.

Dorian hadn't quite realized it before, but it hits him now with the full weight of certainty. How earnestly mortifying. And also — well, something else — some dreadful little feeling that's warm and bright and dares to be hopeful. But Dorian doesn't get the chance to think on it further. Every eye in the room shifts away from the Inquisitor and lands squarely on him. And suddenly, he finds his heartbeat racing as his nerves get the better of him. He's strangely terrified for the part that comes next.

"Dorian," Trevelyan says, addressing him directly, "you're a trusted friend to the Inquisition. You're my own dear friend and confidante. And I must be the luckiest bastard in the whole wide world, because you're also the man that I love."

At that, a collective gasp of feigned shock goes up through the audience, their eyes glittering as they delight in the thrill of the private made public. And yet to Dorian's great relief, none of them look horrified, none disgusted.

"Oh, alright, yes, how shocking," Trevelyan says. He's grinning, seemingly delighted by their overly dramatic reaction.

"It's an open secret at best," he adds. "I do hear the gossip, you know. And we've been sharing a room here, which several of you have commented on to both of us. Not to mention the — what, three times now? — no, twice, it was twice — that you've all seen him kiss me in the palace gardens. How is this a surprise?"

Many of the assembled nobles are smiling, charmed by the unscripted comments from the man they've known only as a figurehead and not as an actual person with thoughts and feelings of his own. He'd be fine if he left it there, stopping while he's ahead. But for some unknowable reason, he just keeps talking.

"Besides," he says, "solidifying alliances is lovely, but you all knew I wasn't ever going to marry any of your daughters."

It must feel enough like a criticism that he starts to lose the goodwill of his onlookers. Smiles fade. Lips purse tightly together. He's poised to win nothing else but their wrath, and he's not done yet. It's as though the most reckless part of him wants to revel in the chaos of watching it all go wrong.

"Speaking of your marriageable daughters, by the way, an awful lot of them are teenagers," he says. "You all know I'm a thirty-eight-year-old man, don't you? My own preferences aside, why in the Fade would that be a good idea for anyone?"

The banquet hall falls utterly silent.

Trevelyan remains standing as he takes a long sip of his drink, and then glances down the length of the table, grinning at everyone. That was entirely more candor than any of them wished for.

It sets a terrible mood for the start of the talks, and it will no doubt keep Josephine busy for the rest of the night. She'll be apologizing left and right to all the stuffy old nobles who've married off their teenage children — and to all the others who were themselves married to teenagers once upon a time. And yet, unless Dorian's mistaken, Josephine looks secretly satisfied as the Inquisitor takes his seat. Perhaps the vicarious thrill of watching him insult a crowd full of grasping, power-hungry sycophants was worth all the damage control it will cost them. Or perhaps she can see some hidden advantage in challenging the morality of their traditions. For now, it's impossible to know.