#and possibly things that only I will notice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

freyito · 15 hours ago

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪᴍᴇʀᴀ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ...

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti, mr. reca, sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, mydei, phainon, anaxa (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: you bring home a chimera that looks like them.

✧ a/n: SOMEHOW IT FEELS LIKE ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE POSTED A FIC??? IDK IF THIS IS NORMALLY HOW LONG IT TAKES ME BUT AUGHHH!!!!!!! i got a job again and many more things happening irl but i am FINALLY! FINALLY!!! starting to get back into the groove of writing and drawing and even gaming teehee... sometimes all you need is a change to get out of a slump i guess.

you may also notice that a few characters are missing from this post! thats cause whenever i do one of these big ol posts, a couple of characters really tend to make it feel like it drags on for me. that leads to me really dreading writing the fic and, of course, leads to me taking a month on the fic lol. this will be one of the last posts i do with all the male characters (and female, if i ever decide to write for them in the future), before i move onto writing five characters at most. im sorry if you guys liked these posts and your favorite characters werent written for, i know these are like. my most popular pieces. it just takes so long and by the time i reach certain characters i feel like im all outta juice.

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 4.3k

⎯ Aventurine

“Well… I suppose we’ll see how this goes…”

AVENTURINE isn’t exactly against the idea of a chimera, but with all his catcakes, is it a good idea…? Both of you don’t know, and you feel a little embarrassed to admit that you didn’t think of this before bringing home the chimera. He’s not mad though, he’s quite taken by the little creature. But, with his penchant to collect catcakes, he worries about possible socialization issues.

The chimera, however, fits right in– aside from its striking eyes. Loafing and lounging with the catcakes, day in, day out. With a big ol’ smile on its cute face, happy to be with its kin… You think. Chimeras have the body of lion cubs, right? So aren’t they like… kind of related to catcakes? It’s a question you’d rather not ponder. Still, even so far from home, the chimera seems quite content. Paired with a bunch of companions who are all spoiled equally.

That being said, it seems you have chosen one of the laziest chimeras known to man. Ever since you had brought it home, it had kept Aventurine in bed even later, refusing to get up from his chest, even if the man had a meeting. It seems Aventurine has spoiled it far too much, or it has gotten so used to the comfortable life that it’s gotten quite stubborn…

⎯ Dr. Ratio

“Interesting….”

Most would not take RATIO as any type of pet person. No cats, certainly no dogs, no birds… the list goes on. Even his colleagues would not have guessed he’d take such a shine to such a… cute creature. As far as they know, cute is not a word within Ratio’s vocabulary. So, when his peers and students see a chimera toddling behind him, they can’t help but be interested.

He acts like he isn’t attached to the chimera, treating it more like a specimen than the cute little lion-butterfly-thing it is. When you first brought it to him, he was quite intrigued. A creature from a planet that not even the memokeepers can reach… It's a wonderful research opportunity, and a gift. One he cherishes, despite his logical approach to it.

It seems he has bonded with the chimera on a deeper level than you expected. It just so happens that you have picked up a chimera that not only looks like Veritas, but also one that was just as enlightened as he was. You think. You don’t understand a lick of the chimera’s little chirps, but Ratio seems to understand well enough. Then again, the math that he prattles on about with the chimera, you don’t understand either.

⎯ Boothill

“Awh, who’s this little feller?”

BOOTHILL is actually quite delighted when you bring a chimera home to him, even if your reasoning is a little… odd. Looks like him? Well, there’s only one of him and that means there’s only one look-alike; the man in the mirror. Still, despite this, he’s practically in love with the chimera. It’s been so long since he’s even had a pet– and he’s always missed the dogs and cats on the ranch– so why not indulge in your silly little shenanigans, and appreciate this little critter you’ve taken the time to pick out for him?

The two get along so well. Boothill had always wanted a pet eventually, but with his lifestyle he was afraid to ever adopt. Considering he was running around half the galaxy, he was wanted, and the closest thing to home he knew now was a ship, it was just unfair to subject any sort of animal to that life. Now that he had you and a proper home, however, he had been debating getting a pet for a long, long while.

So imagine his surprise when you had handed off a chimera to him the minute he got home after a particularly rough bounty. Even the most snarkiest, annoying personality would have him charmed. It could constantly choose you over him, and he’d still fawn over the thing. He’s happy you have someone to keep you company when he’s away, but the little kid in him (who remained, despite the fact that everything around him had burned to ash) is much more happy to come home to a pet once more.

⎯ Gallagher

“Another stray, hm?”

Despite the chimera’s protests that it is not a stray, GALLAGHER doesn’t seem to mind a new pet. He’ll just pretend he didn’t hear that comment about the chimera looking like him. You had compared him to a dog so many times before, that he was practically immune. Even if a chimera wasn't a dog, or a cat, or… well, there was no use in wondering what exactly it was. Though, he was quite intrigued that you had brought home something from Amphoreus of all places, it seems that the nameless just keep going for bigger and bigger marks.

The chimera itself is quite happy to get away from its work and laze about. On the days that Gallagher is home, it enjoys curling up on his lap (or his chest, if Gallagher is napping), and bathing in his and your attention. It’s quite domestic really, you have seen Gallagher with his other pets before, but he’s more of a big dog kind of guy. To see something relatively small curled up with him, when he’s watching TV or getting ready for bed, it makes you feel… light.

He’s also quite happy to have a pet that can actually talk back. Gallagher often catches himself muttering to himself because of how much he tends to talk to his pets. So when he gets responses from the chimera, even if it’s asking to go back to bed or telling him that this work is just ‘too much’ (all Gallagher was doing was pouring himself a drink, the chimera simply chose to follow him), it was still wonderful for him to have a buddy. It’s not everyday that you have a pet that can talk back to you, right?

⎯ Sunday

“Ah… you thought of me…?”

Now, SUNDAY isn’t against pets, he’s just a little nervous. The last pet he had… Well, you know what happened to it. But, by all means a chimera is an extraterrestrial. So, naturally, he’s a little shocked. Even if the little chimera is as cute as a button and just so damn happy to be in his lap. While he knew stepping aboard the Astral Express would mean he would see quite a lot– which included different planets, and by proxy, different flora, fauna, people, and what not– he never really expected to be face to face with such a… thing.

Looking into its wide, golden eyes, however, he feels a sense of… kinship. As weird as it is. He does his best to ignore it, not to get too overly attached to the chimera. After all, surely you must bring it back to Amphoreus. Right? He does his best to ignore the papers in your hands, and chooses instead to believe that this ‘adoption’ is more of a ‘foster’ situation.

That worry dissipates with the coming days. He finds himself quite enamored with the chimera, even sneaking it leftovers when he can. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up reading the creature passages from his books, or from some data entries he borrowed from the archive. In fact, the idea that you would have to bring the chimera back breaks his heart a little. Not that you would, it’s quite cute to watch the chimera follow Sunday around.

⎯ Argenti

“What a stunning creature!”

Isn’t the word ‘cute’ better instead? Nevertheless, ARGENTI is quite enraptured by the chimera. So much so that he doesn’t seem to realize the similarity of the creature. Really, when you saw the sparkle in its eyes, you knew this was perfect for him. The similarity was uncanny, really. With the way the chimera was staring into your very soul, chattering off (which, you could already imagine it was praising the beauty of you), a part of you wanted to get it contacts.

Needless to say, The chimera is glued to Argenti. Or perhaps it's the other way around? The man doesn’t have any traveling companions, and he had preferred for you to stay on his ship whenever he was out on one of his excursions. The chimera, however, seemed to be quite the trusty companion. That little ‘awoo’ must be vicious, given how highly the man spoke of it. ‘It’s like a cry from the very heavens!’

It seems your gift is quite well loved, though. Not that Argenti would ever dislike your gifts. You could give him a rock– one that isn’t even shiny or shaped in an interesting way– and he’d treat it like you’d have proposed to him. The chimera, however, seems to have struck a rather special chord within him. It is hard to know if you’ve truly surprised him, but you can definitely see how attached he is to the chimera. It has been too long since someone gave him something so meaningful. Perhaps even the first time.

⎯ Mr. Reca

“Ah, is this a new crew member…? Or perhaps, a new star?”

Is there a universe where MR. RECA isn’t looking for some scene to capture? ‘Cause it’s definitely not this one. No one has ever had the ability to capture something, anything from Amphoreus, so of course he’s fascinated with the chimera. He glosses over the fact that the critter looks like him. Not enough time to think about that, when this is a star in the making. What shall he come up with this time?

He unknowingly dotes on that poor little Chimera, as well… in his own way. There’s no critiques for the creature's performance (though, you must think that it doesn’t understand exactly what Reca’s goal is.), only dazzling praise, even for something as simple as curling up and taking a nap. Such a tiny little thing, full of all sorts of inspiration! It deserves nothing more than the best of praise!

For at least a month straight, he simply cannot stop thinking of ideas and ways to make the chimera a star. A documentary, perhaps. No, no, that’s too simple. A thriller, maybe? Now, that would be interesting. How could he use such a cute creature for such a medium…? Ah, so many things to work out! This excitement keeps him fueled for days. Oftentimes, he’s writing out scenes at his desk, pacing, or even talking your ear off. All while the chimera is curled up in his lap, content as can be.

⎯Sampo Koski

“And what’s this? A new business venture?”

Of course SAMPO looks at the chimera and sees a business opportunity. Not that he’s planning to sell it, no… this little fella could be the new face of his business. Cold Feet Junior, even. Needless to say, he loves the chimera. Who wouldn’t? Such a precious little treasure from way out there, somewhere not even the great Sampo Koski can get to.

Aside from the chimera now being the face of his business, he brings the thing everywhere like it’s a little chihuahua. It gets pampered to high heaven, with little treats even you have never heard about before. From all sorts of places, from Izumo to Punklorde. You start to wonder if these treats are even good for the chimera, considering just how different these foods must be from the ones back home. The chimera seems fine enough, however.

When he can’t bring the chimera with him, however, he’s the most pathetic man you know. He’ll fake cry, use a voice that is just so tear-jerking, and say a sorrowful goodbye to the chimera. He texts you everyday when he is out, begging for pictures, asking if it's okay, asking if it's eaten… and so on. You, of course, do your best to shower him with pictures of the chimera, assuring him that it’s never been better. To which, he always responds with some sort of keyboard smash (rare for him), and praises going your way, and the chimeras way.

⎯ Jing Yuan

“Hmm…”

JING YUAN could never turn down a gift from you, of course. Especially one so cute. If you hadn’t caught him at such an inopportune time (also known as nap time), perhaps his reaction would be more grand. Or the same, he’s never been one for big expressions. A simple ‘thank you’, a kiss, and something in return has always been his style. However, this seems like a lot more than just a simple gift. A creature from Amphoreus… and a potential playmate for Mimi.

‘Potentially’ becomes a ‘definitely’ after some socializing. Instead of the chimera attaching itself to Jing Yuan, it’s very, very fond of Mimi. The grimalkin is quite well tempered, if not tolerant. The way the Chimera climbs onto him, like he is a mighty steed and not a proud lion… it’s charming in its own way. And yet, all Mimi does is maybe huff a little, and be on his merry way. Most of the time, he’d do the exact opposite the chimera wanted, by the sound of its annoyed chirps. Perhaps this was his way of playing with such a smaller creature…?

The chimera ultimately finds its spot on the bed. When you and Jing Yuan cuddled up, Mimi took his spot at the end of the bed. The chimera, unsure whether to stick themself at the end of the bed, in between you and Jing Yuan, or just sleep on the floor. Before it decides to exclude itself, Mimi makes the decision for it. With another huff (perhaps irritated that he had to leave his warm spot), he hops down from the bed, grabs the chimera by its scruff (not without it complaining, of course), and hops right back up. When you wake up in the morning, you find the chimera, stuck between Mimi’s paws, with the most content, familiar, smile on its face, while Mimi licks up its cheek repeatedly.

⎯ Blade

“...”

How many more times will this happen? First a cat cake, now a chimera. What’s next? A seal? BLADE really doesn’t know how to react. To be thought of is wonderful, but does it really always have to be in this kind of way? How many more creatures out there look like him? He can only hope you don’t find them for your ‘Blade collection’. Those poor, poor souls…

Regardless of his… pondering, the gift doesn’t go unappreciated. The chimera and Blade are like two halves of a whole, really. While Blade is sulking, so is the chimera… right next to him. When you adopted it, you swore it was just full of energy. Chirping and chattering to anyone who would listen, chimera, human, chrysos heir, no one was free from its chattering. In truth, you thought it was silly that something that held such a resemblance to such a broody man had such whimsy.

So, to see the little critter suddenly adapt Blade’s sulking and… edge, it’s a little surprising. Or not, if you understood how this tale has gone before. It’s actually kind of cute in its own odd way. When you point out the similarities in personality, all Blade feels he can do is grumble and huff. He should be used to your penchant for finding things that look and act like him by now, but somehow you always manage to surprise him.

⎯ Luocha

“What an… intriguing gift…”

LUOCHA is never one to turn down your gifts, and he certainly won’t start now. But, despite the worlds he has traveled to and all he’s seen, somehow he’s never seen quite a creature. Perhaps it is the resemblance that throws him off. He doesn’t want to turn down your gift, but where he travels to may not be the safest place for the little Chimera. Very rarely does he stay home long enough to take care of any pet, either. He rationalizes that while it is a little amusing, this must be for you.

And of course he isn’t going to take that kind of companionship from you. It’s actually kind of endearing to him that you went through all this trouble to find a cute little look-alike. He’s more entertained by the way you dote on it, by the way you call it ‘Luo-Luo’ (even though the Chimera seems over it), and he wonders to himself if you truly got this chimera for him, or to have something to coddle while he was away. Not that you coddled him, normally. He isn’t a man to be doted on like that, and you are just too shy to do that to him.

He indulges in the adoption of the chimera, of course. Even when he’s out for months on end, he makes sure to call and check up on the Chimera (and you, but he does that normally). He shouldn’t be so surprised to see all the little outfits you’ve stuck the critter in, from cats (which makes no sense, considering the body of a chimera was a lion), to wolves. He wonders how many people you have commissioned for these little outfits…

⎯ Jiaoqiu

“And this charming little companion is…?”

JIAOQIU truly thought that the Tuskipir would be his only pet. He didn’t really need a service animal outside of the emotional support, considering he had a cane, and he knew the Yaoqing like the back of his hand. You, however, decide that if one critter does well, why won’t two do better? Plus, while the Tuskipir was used for more emotional wellbeing, Chimeras were experienced with work, and when you think about it, they’d make quite the service animals.

What a shame that he can’t see the resemblance clearly. Still, he is quite touched by the thoughtfulness behind your gift. The chimera warms up to him all too easily, immediately taking its place by his side. Jiaoqiu doesn’t verbally admit it, but being thought of in such a way, especially after a trip that took you across the cosmos warms his heart. Even if he is pretty much completely recovered, it was quite nice to be cared for. Even as a healer.

In truth, as endearing as your gift was, he had expected the chimera to get in his way, under his legs, and become annoying in all sorts of ways. Given how happily it yipped and barked when you first arrived with it, he truly assumed it would be an annoyance. He’s pleasantly surprised that once the chimera has acclimated and settled, it becomes a wonderful companion. Chimera’s stomachs are so strong, you think, watching as Jiaoqiu feeds the critter a particular slice of beef that almost looks red, with the amount of spice he has put in the hotpot broth.

⎯ Moze

“I… Hm.”

It is rare for MOZE to talk without thinking. It is even rarer to interrupt his thoughts all together. You should be impressed with yourself. When met with the gloomy demeanor of the Chimera, Moze can only squint, open his mouth to form words, and ultimately lose them. What is he supposed to say? He’s never had a pet before, the strays in the alleyways who liked his scent were the closest thing to having one. All he really can do is hold the Chimera and stare into those oddly familiar eyes.

There is a quiet camaraderie between the two, once the confusion settles from Moze’s mind. When Moze is home (considering his work is too dangerous for any sort of pet), the two have a tacit, quiet understanding that you can’t quite… get. The Chimera follows Moze around, at a distance, and studies him closely, as if trying to commit his movements to memory. You swear, at some point, you heard Moze say ‘this is how you sweep’. When you walked in the room to check, the two were quiet as can be, while Moze was sweeping the kitchen floor, the Chimera perched on the counter.

When Moze is out, the Chimera sits by the door, or in the living room, or sometimes sleeps in his spot on the bed while waiting for him. It’s almost kind of heartbreaking when you think about it, knowing Moze is gone for most of the week. At the very least, it seems the Chimera is much, much more receptive to cuddles than your dear lover is. As much as it seems to miss its twin, it can’t resist curling up in your arms and taking a nap. It seems that the Chimera catches up on sleep in Moze’s place.

⎯ Mydeimos

“Hmph.”

MYDEI refuses to acknowledge the similarity. He pouts, sighs, and does his best to walk off and ignore the furry little companion you had brought home. The chimera trots after Mydei regardless, happy as can be, even if the man was ignoring it. You had to commend him, really. If you had something that cute following you around, you would fold immediately. But Mydei was stronger than you (and much, much more stubborn).

When Mydeimos wasn’t home, the chimera took up all his spots, short of the one in the kitchen. It’d sit in his chair at the table, enjoy the warmth of the private bath, and even take his spot on the bed. Which, Mydei truly doesn’t appreciate. Some days he is out from dawn till dusk, but he has always made it a point to come back home just before you fall asleep, so the two of you could sleep together. So to find you curled up with this little rascal, who was oh so happy to take his place, he doesn’t know what to feel.

He’s not jealous. No, no, he swears he isn’t. Why would he be jealous of a chimera? How silly. Despite that, you notice how he’s suddenly in much more of a rush to see you on the days that he is gone. He tries to beat the chimera to the bed, establishes his dominance in the kitchen (as if anyone could beat him), and makes it known– well.. you don’t know what he’s trying to prove to a chimera of all things. But it’s quite funny watching him try to one-up the creature, who was simply acting oblivious. Everytime you pet the chimera or praise it, you can always hear Mydei sigh. It’s not that he was neglecting the chimera in any way, not, he just had to one-up it. Almost every time he could.

⎯ Phainon

“Aha… Do I really look like this thing…?”

You are the third person to tell PHAINON a certain chimera looks like him. It worries him a little. Does he, a truly fearsome warrior that totally doesn’t have the air of a puppy, look like such a cute little creature? Looking into the chimera’s eyes, which are practically shining, he can’t help but concede… only for you, though.

The very first thing this chimera does is challenge Phainon himself. To his surprise (and dismay), the chimera starts to take all his favorite spots. Right by your legs, on your chest when you're sleeping, or when you're just laying down, and even in the baths. You find it cute, but Phainon… he’s not one to turn down a challenge, even if it’s initiated by a chimera. He takes every chance he can get to sweep you up off your feet and carry you off somewhere the chimera can only watch, like the hot baths.

While you find this kind of charming, if not funny, you can't help but feel bad for the chimera. When you show even the smallest amount of pity for it, however, Phainon decides its time to switch tactics. Instead of taking everything the Chimera did as a challenge, now it was a battle of charm. Anytime the Chimera begs for food (within his proximity), he rests his chin on your shoulder and tries to snatch the food from you. If the Chimera is sleeping on your lap, he makes an effort to also try and lay his head in your lap, and always, always, looks up at you with those pretty blues. You have to admit it's cute, but kind of pathetic. Not that you would ever want him to change.

⎯ Anaxagoras

“Hmph. But it is no Dromas.”

You, of course, know about ANAXA’s love for Dromases more than anything. You were one of the few who were graced by him and his magnificent onesie’s presence, after all. But, still, when you saw the little chimera, with its muted green coat and its missing eye, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Perhaps he is truly amused at the fact that you have found his doppelganger? Or maybe he’s finally figured out where one of his eyepatches has finally gone… either way, his tone is hard to read.

It is not long until you notice how he dotes on the chimera… in his own way, at least. He doesn’t outright ignore the critter when it toddles behind him, and on more than one occasion you have caught him talking to it, prattling on about his theories while he cleans his gun. Despite acting annoyed that you had taken one of his eyepatches for a ‘silly little costume’, he does not attempt to remove it. Not once. You take this as a victory, of course.

The real kicker is when you caught him sewing a Dromas onesie for the Chimera. His hands aren’t the steadiest, but he sits so quietly (for once), all while the Chimera lays curled up right next to his legs. You don’t mean to stare for too long, but he ends up catching you. Instead of acting shy (Which, he never did), and brushing you off, he only huffs softly, and shakes his head, before going back to his sewing. You read this as an invitation to properly watch, and when you step into the room, he doesn’t complain.

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joemama-2 · 3 days ago

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a dead end | chap. 5

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 10.5k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name being called causes you to pause, your face contorting into confusion. Slowly, you turn your head over your shoulder. A blink. Then another. Until your body fully turns to face the new incomer.

“Mr. Hayashi?”

“Oh, oh, oh my god. It’s you. It’s really you.” The older man laughs out dryly, relief in his tone. His blue, plaid shirt looks wrinkled, with tears at the bottom. He’s no longer wearing the glasses you’ve become so accustomed to seeing him with. Greying hair tousled as if he just went through some shit. There’s sweat beading at his forehead that he wipes away with the back of his palm, stepping closer.

From your peripheral vision, Satoru takes a small step forward, body stiffening.

Mr. Hayashi finally notices him, shakily holding his hands up. “I—I mean no trouble. I swear.”

Satoru doesn’t look at him, instead glancing at you. “Who’s this?”

“He’s the building manager.” You reply, glancing between the two men. Your eyes narrow slightly at Mr. Hayashi’s right hand, the sight of blood staining his fingertips. He hides it behind his back before you can determine whether it’s his blood or not. “What happened?”

“What didn’t?” He huffs a dry chortle out, shaking his head as he looks down at his feet. “It was just supposed to be a normal day, check in on things. But then…then people started getting weird, someone ran into the lobby, then another person, then another, and another. There was…so much…blood. I-I panicked. I ran up here and went looking for you, searched your apartment, but you weren’t there. I thought the worst.”

Searched your apartment? Is that why it was left open? The thought of your building manager searching for you first instead of getting to his own safety fills you with an uncomfortable tension, unsure if you should be flattered or disturbed. Satoru must have the same thought process as you, the pair of you sharing a silent, quick glance at one another. “And you’ve just been…hiding up here?”

Mr. Hayashi nods. “I have. Haven’t been down there in hours. H-How is it?”

“Not good,” Satoru replies.

Mr. Hayashi’s face crumples at Satoru’s bluntness, the lines on his face deepening with fear and despair. He sways slightly on his feet, as if just hearing the words drains the last bit of strength from his body. You catch yourself instinctively stepping forward, your body betraying the compassion clawing its way up your throat, but you stop yourself short. You don’t know what this man has seen, what he’s done, or what he’s willing to do to survive.

You can’t afford to trust anyone right now. You barely trust this white-haired fool.

Mr. Hayashi looks up at you, almost pleading. “You’re—you’re leaving, right? You’re getting out of here?”

You hesitate. Satoru doesn’t. “Yeah, we are.”

There’s an unbearable pause. Mr. Hayashi wrings his hands together like a desperate man on the brink of begging. “Please,” he rasps, voice cracking. “Please take me with you.”

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Your mind flashes back to yesterday—the blood, the screams, the chaos—and your stomach twists. Taking him with you means another possible liability. Another person to watch over. Another person slowing you down when speed could mean the difference between life and death. Your gaze flicks instinctively to Satoru, who’s watching Mr. Hayashi with a cool, unreadable expression.

“No,” Satoru says flatly.

It hits the air like a gunshot. Mr. Hayashi visibly flinches, shoulders collapsing inward like he’s been physically struck.

“W-Why not? I won’t—I won’t be a burden. I can help! I know the building, I know the streets around here. Please, please, you have to—!”

Satoru’s jaw ticks. He shifts his body subtly, like he’s positioning himself between you and the older man. “No offense, old man, but this isn’t charity work. It’s survival. We barely got enough supplies for two.” His voice is steely, sharp, and final.

But then Mr. Hayashi turns his pleading gaze back to you. You. Not Satoru.

“Y/N, please. I know you. I watched you blossom in this building. I—” his voice cracks again, and this time it sounds real, not manipulative. “Please don’t leave me here.”

The sound of your name on his tongue, so full of desperate hope, makes your heart lurch painfully against your ribs.

You clench your fists tight, nails digging into your palms. The logical part of your brain screams at you to leave him. You owe him nothing. The world is burning, and you can’t carry everyone on your back. But the guilt is a gnawing, bitter thing that eats at your insides. It’s been eating at you. You peer at Satoru again, but he doesn’t say anything.

Your chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, your heart pounding like war drums against your ribs.

Save him and risk everything?

Or leave him and save yourself?

Either way, you know that whatever you choose, it’s another weight you’ll have to carry. Forever.

The hallway is unbearably still, the low hum of whatever the fuck in the distance the only reminder that you don’t have all the time in the world to decide. Mr. Hayashi stumbles once more, hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. Your body moves without thinking, helping catch his body.

“Are you hurt?” You ask, eyes roving over him.

“I—y-yes…” he coughs out.

“Where are you hurt? He’s a doctor, he can help you before we move.”

“Y/N—”

“He’s hurt.” You reiterate, fixing Satoru with a steely gaze. “We need to help him.”

“It was already a risk coming here in the first place. We didn’t agree to bring along stragglers.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“Exactly, not stupid.”

You scoff in disbelief, eyes narrowing at him. “You’re a shitty human being.” Without waiting for another response from him, you assist in lying Mr. Hayashi on his back on the floor. Hands hovering over his body, unsure of where to even start.

Satoru watches you with that same maddening calm, his jaw locked tight and the muscle in his cheek twitching. You can feel his frustration radiating behind you, but you don’t care. You’re too far gone now. You’ve already made the choice—and even if it was a stupid one, it’s yours to live with.

“Shitty human being,” he mutters, running a hand down his face as he kneels beside you, eyeing Mr. Hayashi’s form with clinical detachment. “You’re really pulling the moral card right now? You don’t even know what kind of mess we’re walking into. This guy slows us down, we die. You get that, right?”

You ignore him, fingers brushing over Mr. Hayashi’s side, where the blood has bloomed the darkest. You’re no expert, but there’s a tear along the hem of his shirt and dried blood crusting at his ribs. A puncture wound, maybe. Definitely not fresh.

“He’s already lost blood,” you say, voice tight. “We won’t get far if we don’t stabilize him.”

“Oh, great. So we’re not only babysitting, we’re dragging around a half-dead man.” Satoru’s tone is biting, but his hands move with practiced ease. He peels back the fabric, revealing the wound more clearly. “Knife. Small blade. Didn’t hit anything fatal, but if it gets infected, he’s done.”

Mr. Hayashi winces under the touch, but doesn’t cry out. His breathing is shallow and ragged, and the sweat clinging to his temples is fresh. “It—it was someone from the second floor. I think. I tried to stop him, but he just—he just looked at me. Didn’t even speak. Like he wasn’t there.”

You and Satoru exchange another glance. No one says the word. Not yet. But it’s there.

Infected.

“They’re most likely changing faster,” Satoru mutters, eyes flicking up to you. “If he got cut by someone like that—”

“There’s no bite,” you say sharply. “It’s a cut. Nothing else.”

“You sure you wanna bet your life on that?”

You flinch. Not because you doubt yourself, but because the truth is, you don’t know. You can’t know. Not yet.

“Wrap him up,” you say, voice hard. “Give him a chance. You don’t get to decide who lives or dies.”

Satoru’s silence feels like a judgment in itself, but he doesn’t argue again. Instead, he digs into his bag, pulling out gauze and disinfectant like a man resigned to the worst. The scent of antiseptic fills the air, sharp and stinging as he works quickly, hands steady even when the rest of him vibrates with tension. “You’re lucky she’s got a heart,” he tells Mr. Hayashi, not looking up. “Most people don’t anymore.”

Mr. Hayashi gives you a weak, grateful look. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”

You don’t reply. You’re already trying to picture what the next few hours will look like—with him in tow, with Satoru seething at your side, with the threat of another attack hanging over your heads like a noose.

You’ll carry the weight. But you’ll be damned if you let someone die in front of you again without trying first.

Still crouched by Mr. Hayashi’s side, you glance at Satoru, who’s repacking his supplies with a clipped kind of efficiency.

“Ready?” you ask quietly.

He exhales through his nose. “No. But let’s go anyway.”

You help Mr. Hayashi to his feet, his weight leaning against you heavily. Your knees buckle slightly, but you steady yourself, anchoring him with both arms. You can feel Satoru watching again, quiet and unreadable. Then, without another word, the three of you move toward the stairwell, the echo of your footsteps swallowed by the quiet roar of a world that’s already started falling apart.

You’re not sure what comes next. But you’ve already made your choice.

You’ll live with it.

“You can walk, right?” You ask, fixing his arm around your shoulder.

“No choice.” He grunts out, face scrunched as he begins the descent down.

It’s hard helping a man twice your size down the stairs, especially when there’s someone else who can assist. But you don’t complain, it was your choice to bring him along, it’s your responsibility to help keep him alive. It’s quiet, only the quiet grunts from Mr. Hayashi filling the air.

Satoru trails behind the two of you, his footsteps light and deliberate, eyes darting around. You don’t have to look back to feel his silent disapproval—it clings to the air like static. But he says nothing, and in this silence, the weight of your decision settles deeper into your bones. Each step down feels like a negotiation. Mr. Hayashi leans heavier into you the lower you get, and your shoulder aches from the strain, but you grit your teeth and keep going. You feel his breath hitch with every jolt, but he doesn’t complain either. Maybe he knows he’s on borrowed time.

“We’ll need to stop soon,” Satoru murmurs eventually. “You’re slowing down.”

“I’m fine,” you snap, sharper than you mean to be. You’re not. But it doesn’t matter.

“No, you’re not,” he replies, voice cool but not unkind. “You’re shaking.”

Your legs are trembling, but you refuse to acknowledge it. Not when Mr. Hayashi’s still bleeding. Not when the building is too quiet. Not when you know what’s waiting beyond the front doors. Not when you’re still multiple floors up from the ground.

You swallow hard. “I said I’m fine.”

Satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, but lets it go. For now.

The three of you descend another flight. The emergency lights flicker above, casting the stairwell in an eerie, reddish glow. Mr. Hayashi’s breathing grows more labored with each step. Sweat soaks through his shirt, his limp heavier, and your guilt rises all over again.

You hear it then—something—a metallic rattle from below. A soft, scraping sound. Like nails dragging across concrete.

Satoru halts instantly.

You freeze, too.

Mr. Hayashi’s breath catches.

Satoru’s voice drops to a whisper. “Stay quiet.” Then, slowly, carefully, he starts to descend alone, his hand drifting toward the blade strapped to his person.

You tighten your grip on Mr. Hayashi. Because whatever’s down there… you know it’s not human.

You hold your breath, watching Satoru’s back as he goes down a few more steps, tilting his head down over the railing over the stairs to peer at the floors below. He says nothing for a few seconds, watching the darkness in preparation for any shadows that may pop out of nowhere. He then looks back at you, motioning silently with his head. You get the message, following after him even slower than before.

“Almost there.” You whisper to Mr. Hayashi, who offers nothing more than a simple, brief nod. You’re not really almost there, but the reassurance would probably do him well. However, he’s probably too focused on not bleeding out, just like you’re too focused on not becoming something’s next meal.

The stairwell creaks underfoot, the faint echo of your steps like warning bells in the dead stillness. The tension in your body is unbearable, every nerve pulled taut. You descend behind Satoru one slow, careful step at a time, Mr. Hayashi’s weight dragging your pace down even further. You can hear the slick sound of his blood soaking into his pant leg, the faint hiss of his breath through clenched teeth.

Satoru moves ahead like a shadow, silent and sharp. His blade is already in hand now, glinting faintly under the red emergency light. His posture screams readiness—knees slightly bent, shoulders relaxed but alert, eyes scanning the darkness like a predator.

Another faint noise. This time closer.

You freeze, your fingers tightening around Mr. Hayashi’s arm. His grip on your shoulder turns into a desperate claw, breath hitching audibly.

Then—

A soft, wet shuffle. Not from you. Not from Satoru.

Something else is here.

Satoru holds up a hand, palm flat. Stop.

You do.

He shifts down another step, slow, careful. A bead of sweat trails down your neck. Mr. Hayashi is trembling now, his legs barely holding. You can feel it in how he leans harder into you.

Satoru rounds the corner of the last flight and—

He halts.

You can’t see what he’s looking at. But his breath leaves his lungs a little too slowly.

His voice is low, cold:

“…It’s feeding.”

He turns back up to you, gaze deadly serious.

“Whatever you do, don’t make a sound.”

Every joint in your body is trembling even faster than when you drank two 5-Hour Energies, coupled with a Red Bull. Bile threatens to rise in your throat, and you swallow it back down with a hard gulp. The word feeding scares you, sets off every fight-or-flight response in your soul. Except, all you want to do is run. Just don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Don’t make a sound, not a single sound.

You repeat this mantra in your head, taking a tiny step one by one behind Satoru. The wet sound of this creature’s feast is new, one that you may never be able to erase from your mind. Biting hard on your lip to hold back a quivering breath, holding back a hot set of tears that pool in your eyes.

You barely even dare to continue breathing. Each movement feels like you’re dragging your body through quicksand, the air around you so thick with terror it’s nearly suffocating. You can’t spare Mr. Hayashi a glance—not when you’re certain that even the smallest slip-up could end in blood.

Ahead, Satoru is already moving, slow but purposeful. His blade stays low, angled behind his leg to hide the reflection. He doesn’t look back to ensure you’re not too far behind, but you know he’s listening—every fiber of him tuned to you and the creature just feet away.

Another wet, slurping noise reaches your ears, and your stomach flips violently. You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, just to ground yourself, just to breathe without falling apart.

Step.

Your foot accidentally brushes against a loose piece of debris.

A tiny clatter.

Your heart stops.

The feeding noises halt instantly.

Silence.

The most horrifying kind of silence.

You can hear the thick drip of blood onto the floor now, slow and steady. You can hear Mr. Hayashi’s ragged breathing. You can hear the low rumble—a barely audible warning sound, like a wolf baring its teeth.

And then—

The sound of something sniffing. Wet, heavy, greedy.

It knows you’re here.

Satoru slowly raises his free hand, a single finger pressed firmly to his lips.

Don’t. Move.

You nod shakily, looking to your left to communicate the same message with Mr. Hayashi. His eyelids droop lower by the second, which only intensifies your internal panicking. Even in the darkened setting, you can see the way his skin pales, his responses growing minimal by the second. You try to nudge him with your shoulder, which only causes him to groan lightly.

The world freezes. It feels like an eternity that you three have stayed frozen in place, ears perked up for the slightest noise or movement. Satoru’s foot hovers above the step below, just barely pressing down on it. Once again, you mirror his actions, attempting to get Mr. Hayashi to use whatever will he has left to stay quiet and follow.

However, the movement only makes him grunt again. And you’ve run out of chances.

Before you can even react, the sound of snarling and footsteps rushing toward your small group is all that encapsulates your senses. You don’t even know if it’s coming from right next to you, running up, or down; all you know is Satoru is clashing with the creature with his knife.

The suddenness makes you misstep, and you go stumbling down the remaining steps with Mr. Hayashi in tow. Your bodies hit the wall with a big thud and a sharp grunt, the back of your head colliding into the wall.

Sharp ringing bounces throughout your skull.

The pain is immediate and blinding, shooting down your spine like a bolt of lightning. The world spins wildly around you, warping and blurring into a sickening swirl of shadows and noise. You blink hard, trying to clear your vision, trying to think, but everything feels distant, like you’re floating outside your own body.

Through the haze, you hear it—the wet, ugly sound of a struggle, the growls and snarls of the creature, the sharp, desperate grunts of Satoru fighting for both your lives. You try to push yourself up, but Mr. Hayashi’s weight pins you down, leaving you vulnerable, trapped. You can feel him breathing—shallow, labored��as he struggles to stay conscious. Or maybe that’s you. You can’t tell anymore.

Somewhere nearby, Satoru curses under his breath, a sound raw and vicious, followed by the crack of something—bone? Blade? Who knows.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, forcing yourself back to focus. Move. Move now or die. With a broken gasp, you shove Mr. Hayashi off you as gently as you can, feeling the sickening warmth of blood coating his side, coating your hands. You stagger to your knees, your body screaming in protest.

Your blurred gaze locks onto Satoru—he’s grappling the creature, his knife embedded deep in its side, but it’s not going down without a fight. Its grotesque, twitching body snaps and thrashes like a rabid animal.

You don’t think. You just move.

Hand fumbling for anything, you grab a broken piece of wood lying nearby. A shard of someone’s ruined life. Gripping it tight, you launch yourself toward the creature’s exposed back.

You won’t be useless. You won’t die here.

With every ounce of strength you have left, you drive the shard downward, right onto the creature’s head.

The contact is a direct hit, blood sloshing and splurting from the open wound. The wood piece is stuck in place from the hit, allowing Satoru to hastily remove his knife from its side. You pull back harshly, the wood lifting. Again, you swing down. The wood splits the creature's head in two. Letting go, it goes down to its knees, falling down the stairs, and next to Mr. Hayashi’s body.

There’s only a momentary spout of silence from the scene that just erupted before it all spreads like wildfire.

Groans, grunts, creaking, and clicking noises.

Satoru grabs your arm, hoisting you along as you practically float down the stairs.

“Mr. Hayashi!” You call out.

“We have no time!” Satoru barks out.

Your heart fractures at the words, every instinct screaming at you to turn back, to help him, but Satoru’s grip is iron around your wrist, dragging you forward. You whip your head around, catching one last glimpse of Mr. Hayashi’s crumpled figure as he weakly tries to reach out, his mouth moving soundlessly.

You choke back a sob, the horror of abandoning yet another person sinking into your bones, burning hotter than the blood pounding in your ears.

Behind you, the sounds swell—more footsteps, more hungry, twisted things stirred from the darkness by the scent of blood and the promise of a fresh kill. The air feels heavier, thicker, suffocating with the weight of what you’ve left behind.

You stumble, but Satoru doesn’t let go, half-carrying, half-dragging you through the building’s rotting stairwells. Every turn feels endless, every second you stay in this place, tightening the noose around your neck. Your throat burns, and you realize you’re muttering under your breath again—

“Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back.”

Satoru’s voice cuts through the panic like a blade. “Focus. Move your damn feet or we’re dead.”

And somehow, you do.

You both scramble down the rest of the stairs, uncaring of the amount of sound you’re making, never looking back. You both push open the door to the lobby, racing out the way you came in. The monsters—creatures—zombies—whatever the hell they are—chase you both with a horrifying amount of speed.

The light from outside almost blinds you, but nonetheless, you run and run back to his parked car. He unlocks it from a distance with his key fob, and you two hurry in, closing the doors in a slammed rush. As soon as you do, the creatures slam into the windows, giving you front row seats to their red, frenzied eyes. Their wide mouths showcase the teeth that tear through flesh. Banging with their fists and heads, anything to get through the barriers.

Satoru starts the car, reversing back. The car thumps up as if it rode over something—a body, most likely.

You don’t even have the strength to react, only squeezing your eyes shut as the tires crunch over whatever is beneath.

The car swerves wildly for a moment, tires screeching against the pavement, before Satoru regains control, flooring it down the cracked asphalt of the abandoned street. The creatures chase after you, some so fast they nearly keep up, slamming their fists against the back windows in a desperate, clawing frenzy.

Your entire body trembles, hands gripping the seat so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Faster, Satoru!” you gasp, voice raw with fear.

“I know!” he growls back, slamming his foot harder on the gas pedal. The car jolts forward, the engine whining in protest.

One by one, they fall behind, until finally—finally—they’re no more than small figures in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the darkness you barely escaped. Breathing heavily, you sag against the seat, chest heaving as you stare at the cracked dashboard, too exhausted to even cry.

Satoru exhales sharply next to you, one hand gripping the wheel, the other slamming the car door lock button again and again, as if it’ll somehow keep the horror at bay. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. Just breathing. Just surviving.

Goosebumps run through the surface of your body, the back of your head feeling tingly from where you knocked it before. You blink and blink, vision blurring then darkening before regaining it.

You swallow thickly, willing yourself to stay conscious, to stay alert. But everything feels distant—the rumble of the car beneath you, the burning in your lungs, even Satoru’s tight, frantic grip on the wheel.

“Stay with me,” his voice slices through the haze, low and rough. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his gaze flickering over to you and then back to the road. “Don’t you dare pass out on me.”

You nod weakly, not trusting yourself to speak. Your tongue feels heavy, your mouth dry. Every blink feels slower than the last, the black edges of your vision creeping inward.

Satoru curses under his breath and takes a sharp turn onto another road, the tires skidding slightly. He spares another glance at you. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer, alright?”

You hum in response, a faint sound, barely audible. The words “almost there” circle your mind like a chant, the same lie you told Mr. Hayashi.

A lump forms in your throat. You didn’t save him.

You didn’t save him.

Your nails dig into the fabric of the seat, trying to ground yourself, trying to stay here—because if you start thinking about it, you’ll spiral, and if you spiral, you might not come back. You open your mouth to say something—to apologize, to scream, to cry—but all that comes out is a shaky whisper:

“…Where are we going?”

“Away from here,” is all he says before you inevitably lose yourself in the darkness.

Slowly, your eyes blink open, the sunlight beaming down on you. It takes you a moment to realize you’re reclined in the passenger seat, the sun shining through the windshield. You don’t move, rooted in place for a good moment. You fear that even if you try to move, the onslaught of pain might shoot up your bones again. You’re trying to shake off the haze clouding your mind. The events of the day rush back in flashes—Satoru, the creatures, the blood, the chaos, Mr. Hayashi—and you wince at the memories. Every muscle in your body feels sore, as if you’ve been through hell, and you’re not sure whether your exhaustion is physical or emotional.

Turning your head slightly, you see Satoru in the driver’s seat, his profile tense and unreadable. The silence between you two hangs heavily, thick with everything unsaid. The car is parked somewhere safe, the sounds of the outside world muffled by the thick walls of your own thoughts. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, but judging by the angle of the sun, it’s probably late morning, close to lunchtime.

Damn, you’ve lived a lot of lives already, haven’t you?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to push yourself upright, wincing as the soreness settles deeper into your body. Your throat feels raw, your head a pounding mess of memories and lingering dizziness. “Are we safe?” Your voice cracks, rough from lack of use, and you can hear the shakiness in it as you ask.

Satoru’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes dark and tired, but his tone is firm, reassuring in the way he answers. “For now.”

That’s good enough.

He hands you a water bottle. “Drink this before you get even more dehydrated. You’ve probably got a concussion, by the way.”

Lazily, you take it, bringing it to your lips and chugging.

The cool water flows down your throat, soothing the dry ache that’s settled there. It’s refreshing, but it only makes you more aware of how much your body is demanding from you, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off once your adrenaline wears off. You hand the bottle back to him after draining it, your fingers tingling as you do. He takes it, but you can see the way his jaw clenches as he holds it, the tension in his posture never quite disappearing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru nods, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he looks out the windshield, his eyes scanning the world outside as if expecting something to jump out of the shadows at any moment. “How are you feeling now?”

“Like shit.” You mutter, lying back in your seat. Your head lolls to the side, looking out the window. It’s strange how such a nice day can be contradicted by a big blood bath. You almost want to laugh at the circumstances.

“There’s a gas station not too far, we’ll head there.”

You hum lowly. “For your snacks.”

“And for you.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye.

“There’s no exact cure for a concussion,” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “But we can get you a shitload of medication to ease it for a bit. Some food, Pedialyte, whatever.”

“Sounds like a five-star plan.”

“It is. Unless you want me to do brain surgery on you with a pocket-knife, though that’s not really my specialty.” He says, shoulders rolling back and forth.

You hmph back, holding an arm to your stomach as he starts the car up again, slowly rolling forward in order not to upset your sensitive stomach. “Right. Well, only if you’re buying the treatment.”

His lip quirks up in a dry smirk. “Right, I am a gentleman, after all.”

The reassurance, even if laced with his sarcastic humor, eases some of the tightness in your chest. You don’t answer, just keep your gaze tilted out the window, watching the world go past—cracked streets, overgrown sidewalks, the occasional overturned car. It feels a little easier to breathe knowing you have even a scrap of a plan.

Even if everything else still feels like it’s dangling by a thread.

“You holding up okay?” he asks after a beat, his voice a little quieter, a little more careful this time.

How do you even answer that?

You swallow, fingers tightening slightly in your lap.

“…I’m still here,” you finally say. It’s not much. But for now, it’s enough.

Satoru glances at you briefly, and in that small, flickering look, you can see it. The way he’s holding himself together just as desperately as you are.

The gas station is only about a ten-minute drive. It’s done in complete silence, however. The streets look familiar to you, memories flashing through your twitcy mind.

“Stop.”

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. “Wha—”

“Just…stop.”

Sensing the tired, affirmative tone, he quickly checks around before coming to a stop. Putting the car in park, he turns his body towards you. You say nothing, reaching for the door handle before being promptly stopped. His hand is on your other arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” He grills, confusion laced with a hint of frustration. “I said we’re going to the gas station.”

“I know, but…but I just—I need to check something.”

“Did you hit your head that damn hard?”

You shake your head weakly, prying his fingers off your arm. “I just need five minutes. Please.”

The way your voice cracks on the last word makes him freeze, jaw tightening. He stares at you for a long second, conflict flashing across his face. Finally, he exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

You nod, too drained to argue.

Without another word, you push open the car door, stepping out onto the uneven asphalt. Your legs feel like they’re made of glass, but you force yourself forward, heart pounding harder with every step you take.

The world feels eerily quiet around you—like even the wind is holding its breath. You spot the intersection up ahead, twisted metal still littering the street.

Your chest tightens unbearably.

There.

The wreckage.

The car.

Exactly where you left it.

You almost can’t breathe as you half-walk, half-stumble toward it, Satoru shadowing your steps, silent but close.

The crumpled remains of your old car sit wedged against a broken streetlight, glass scattered like diamonds around it. You hesitate, staring down at the overturned frame, your hands shaking so badly they feel like they might snap off.

A little more down, another car stands still, frozen in time.

“Sayo…” you whisper hoarsely, barely audible.

And then, slowly—terrified—you walk over, crouching down to look underneath.

You don’t know what you were expecting to see. In a perfect world, Sayo would have been there, lying unharmed. Or, you might’ve scared yourself even more by staring at her mangled body. Anything.

What you didn’t expect to see was nothing, no body, no article of jewelry or clothing left, absolutely nothing. Just a puddle of dried blood that now stains the cement.

Your breath catches in your throat, a hollow ache ripping through your chest. Nothing. Not even a scrap of her.

You sit there frozen, crouched in the dust and debris, staring at that dark, ugly stain where your teammate should’ve been. “She’s gone,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

Satoru stays a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his jean pockets. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t try to offer any empty condolences of what he can only assume is a personal loss for you. Maybe he knows there’s nothing he could say that would fix this anyway. The world feels heavier now, the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders until your arms start to tremble. You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, blinking furiously against the sting building in your eyes.

You stayed alive.

And Sayo didn’t even get a chance. No one did.

For a long, breathless moment, you kneel there in the broken silence—until finally, a calloused hand presses against your back. “Come on,” Satoru says quietly. “It’s not safe out here.”

You don’t have the strength to argue. You just close your eyes for one long, aching second—then push yourself up, legs wobbling, and let him steer you back toward the car.

He doesn’t question the moment as you two sit back in your reserved seats, putting the key in the ignition before continuing the intended trek. Your brain runs miles a minute, thoughts swirling. Dread pools in your soul, head tilting against the headrest of the seat. Guilt once again creeps back in, raising a hand to your forehead to smooth out the crinkles of your strained expression.

You find yourself wanting to laugh again out of pure spite. A worthless sense of living is all you can associate with. Just how a person like you—a person who’s committed more sins than you’d like to admit—is the one breathing instead of someone who actually deserves it is the ultimate question you have. Is it the world’s sick way of getting back at you? Of making you suffer through this guilt with no one to turn to? Well, at least someone you’d want to turn to. All your friends are more than likely dead. Your family. Everyone you could possibly love and care about…gone.

Damn, this…this is really happening.

You squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging into the palms of your hands until they sting. There’s no waking up from this. No undoing it. The soft rumble of the car beneath you feels detached, distant, like it’s carrying someone else away—someone who still had a future.

You don’t even notice the shallow, erratic way you’re breathing until Satoru’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey,” he says, a little gruff, but not unkind. “You’re not gonna do me much good if you pass out again.”

You huff out a hollow breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “I’m fine,” you lie.

He doesn’t call you on it. He knows better than to try.

Instead, the two of you drive on through the hollowed-out skeleton of what used to be a world worth living in, the gas station inching closer with every second. And all you can think about is how survival doesn’t feel like winning anymore.

It feels like punishment.

He stops right in front, pocketing the key and sighing. “You can stay in here, I’ll be quick.”

“I’m going.”

He gives you a sidelong look, jaw clenching in frustration. “You can barely stand,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“I’m not sitting in the car like some helpless idiot,” you snap back, already forcing the door open despite the deep ache rattling your bones.

Satoru huffs under his breath but doesn’t argue further. Maybe he figures it’s pointless. Or, he understands in a way that words don’t need to explain. Without another word, you both step out into the open, the stale, metallic scent of dried blood and burnt rubber clinging to the air like a curse.

He tightens the strap on his backpack and moves ahead of you, knife glinting at his side, his frame tense and alert. You trail behind him, fists clenching at your sides, ready for whatever the hell is waiting beyond the shattered doors of the gas station. He hands you a tote bag, the blue logo of the Tokyo Metropolitan Hospital printed on it.

Inside the gas station is deserted. Items left scattered around by people who were probably in a rush to get the hell away from whatever occurred here. There are no working lights, and the sound of chips crunching beneath your feet as you venture further in. Satoru peeks over the other side of the counter to where the attendant would have normally been standing. His face doesn’t change, looking away and moving down the aisles. “Don’t go back there.”

You wouldn’t dare. You’ve seen enough death for today.

The refrigerators call your name.

The cool, stale air rushes out as you crack one open, the faint hum of whatever backup generator is left alive filling your ears. Most of the shelves are picked clean—only a few battered bottles of water, some questionable-looking sandwiches, and cans of energy drinks remain. You grab what you can with shaking hands, stuffing bottles into the tote. Your fingers graze over a pack of Pedialyte at the bottom shelf, and without thinking, you yank it too.

From behind you, you hear Satoru rummaging through shelves, the soft clinking of cans and pill bottles being shoved into his bag. No words are exchanged; none are needed. Survival has its own language. You spot a lone protein bar lodged behind a case of toppled soda cans. You lean down to reach for it—

—and the sudden slam of something heavy in the back room sends your heart dropping to your stomach.

Not again.

Satoru moves quicker than you do, coming over to your aisle in practiced quietness. “Stay here. Don’t move, don’t speak. I’ll tell you when to come out.”

You nod, swallowing the lump of fear clawing up your throat. Your fingers tighten around the tote bag, your body instinctively shrinking smaller, pressing against the refrigerator door for whatever little cover it can give. Satoru slips forward, moving like a shadow between the shelves, his knife already drawn. Every step he takes is measured, deliberate, almost too calm for the circumstances. You watch him until he disappears around the corner, leaving you alone with nothing but the sound of your own blood pounding in your ears.

You grip the bag tighter, forcing yourself to breathe slowly and silently, straining your ears for anything—anything—that might tell you what’s lurking just beyond your sight.

Satoru’s eyes narrow, scanning his surroundings with calculation. He avoids any scattered items of food on the ground to avoid unnecessary noise, stalking closer and closer to the back room. The closer he gets, the heavier the air feels, thick with the metallic scent of blood and something sour—something wrong. His knife is steady in his hand, the grip sure and tight, knuckles paling slightly.

He stops just outside the swinging door leading into the back, angling his body to the side to listen. There’s a faint, irregular shuffling noise—too heavy to be a rat, too erratic to be anything human.

His jaw clenches.

One breath in. One breath out.

Without hesitating, Satoru kicks the door open with the side of his boot, blade raised, ready to strike whatever hell waits for him inside. He reacts quicker than expected. Spotting the shadows in his left periphery. He raises his knife, anticipating hearing the squishy sound of rotting flesh being forcefully stabbed in, one he’s growing more accustomed to.

However, a dull banging is what resounds.

A second passes. Then two. And then three.

Satoru lowers his knife just slightly. Immediately, his eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“…Nanami?”

Lo and behold, his two former(?) coworkers stand before him, looking just as frenzied, but ready for a fight as he is. They’re still wearing their scrubs, though they lost their pristine color of blue. Tattered, stained, no longer representing what they were trained for.

“Satoru?” Nanami breathes out, lowering the metal baseball bat in hand. He pushes his glasses up, hair tousled and breathing heavily. Standing beside him, slightly behind, is Takuma. Holding nothing in his shaky hands except for a broken glass of beer.

Satoru almost wants to scoff in happy disbelief. Lip moving up into a half-smile. “You…you guys are alive?”

Nanami huffs out a dry, almost humorless laugh, the bat lowering fully to his side. “Barely,” he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion. His eyes flick briefly toward the door behind Satoru, where you still wait anxiously in the other aisle.

Takuma gives a nervous glance around the dim room, wiping his sweaty palms against his pants. “We thought you were dead, Satoru,” he says quietly, voice trembling slightly. “We tried going back to the hospital for you, but…”

Satoru tightens his grip on the knife instinctively, memories flashing behind his eyes. Blood. Screaming. Chaos.

“We can catch up later,” Nanami says, shaking his head as if to ward off the past. His gaze sharpens. “Is it just you?”

Satoru glances back toward your aisle, then returns his eyes to them. “Not just me,” he says simply. “I’m with someone.”

“Human?”

“Damn right.”

“Oh, I’m so happy you’re alive!” Takuma rushes forward, sloppily hugging Satoru like a pair of friends who have just been reunited after ten years apart.

Satoru stiffens for a second—almost out of instinct—but then he lets out a breathy chuckle and pats Takuma’s back a little roughly. “Alright, alright. Don’t get all emotional on me.”

Takuma laughs wetly, pulling away, his face a mess of relief and lingering fear. “Man, it’s been hell.”

Nanami steps closer too, more reserved but still visibly relieved. “We thought we were the only ones left. We didn’t know if any of the hospital staff made it.”

Satoru’s half-smile falters for a split second before he masks it again, his hand twitching at his side. “Yeah, they didn’t.”

There’s a tense pause, the three men standing in the wrecked gas station, the remnants of their old lives clinging to them like ghosts.

“Well,” Takuma starts, wiping down his clothes with a proud smile. “We have Mr. Gojo here now, our chances of survival are higher, Nanami!” He tosses his poor excuse of a weapon to the side, being the first to head out of the break room.

“We all got this, we all can—”

“Ah!”

The sound of something hitting something—presumably the back of Ino’s head—is all that’s heard before his body slumps to the ground face-forward. Nanami and Satoru stand still, watching the energetic, younger half of their trio knocked down to the ground.

Their eyes flicker to the right.

There you stand with a bloodied can of beans clutched tightly in your hand, raised defensively. Your chest heaves from the adrenaline, your stance wide, ready to swing again if necessary.

For a moment, no one moves.

Then Satoru runs a hand down his face, exhaling in a long, slow sigh. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “I said stay put.”

Nanami, ever the diplomat, simply blinks at you, deadpan. “Reasonable reaction,” he says, voice dry as sandpaper.

You stare at the two men, wide-eyed, heart pounding against your ribs. “H-He came out of nowhere!” you blurt, still gripping the can like your life depends on it.

Takuma groans from the ground, slowly rolling over onto his side, cradling the back of his head. “W-what happened…?” he whimpers.

“You got beaned,” Satoru says flatly. He finally walks over, gently lowering your arm with the can in it. “It’s okay. They’re friends. Dumbass friends, but friends.”

You glance warily between the two strangers, muscles still tense. “You sure?”

“As sure as I can be in this messed up world,” Satoru says, shooting you a small, crooked smile. “Put the weapon down, Rambo.”

Reluctantly, you lower the can, though you still keep it in your hand. Just in case.

You flinch slightly when the blonde man steps up to you, surveying eyes roaming over you, as if searching for an imperfection. Defensively, you shrink in on yourself, eyes narrowed.

“This is my best pal, Nanami, or Nanamin, or Kento if you’re really boring. We work together.” Satoru introduces, slinging his arm over the other man’s shoulders. “That there writhing on the floor, Takuma Ino. Resident where we work.”

Nanami barely reacts to Satoru’s arm around him, only offering you a polite but curt nod. His eyes, though sharp, seem less judging and more…calculating. Like he’s sizing you up for survival, not morality. “Pleasure,” he says, though his tone is so dry it’s hard to tell if he means it.

Meanwhile, Takuma lets out another soft groan from the ground, still not fully recovered from your ambush. “H-Hi…” he wheezes weakly, waving a hand without looking up.

Satoru grins, giving Nanami a firm slap on the back before stepping away, hands lazily shoved into his pockets. “Now that all the introductions are done and no one else has a concussion, maybe we can focus on getting what we came here for?”

You nod stiffly, still tense, still unsure if you can really trust these men. But a part of you—the part that’s clinging desperately to the idea that not everyone is lost—whispers that you don’t have much of a choice.

Nanami must see the doubt in your eyes, because he adds, voice low and steady, “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re just trying to survive. Same as you.”

You swallow thickly, nodding once more, finally lowering the can fully to your side.

Satoru tosses you a wink. “See? We’re all just one big, dysfunctional family now.”

Takuma, still face-down on the floor, groans, “Best family reunion ever…”

The car ride out of the gas station after your raid is a silent one. Still recovering from your concussion, it’s taking everything in you not to snap at the star-struck man sitting up from the backseat, blatantly staring at your pinched side profile.

You peek.

Yep, still staring.

A small scoff exits your mouth, brows furrowing even deeper.

“I—I just can’t believe I’m…you—you’re really—wow, you’re so much prettier than the TV.”

You don’t reply, eyes trained forward on the road. You would think for someone who just got their shit rocked would be less lively than this. Apparently not.

“You know, my favorite performance you did was the Championship two years ago! I don’t even really like baseball, but you guys always have the best routines. You’re just so flexible, it’s insane! And I—oh, you smell so good!”

“Quit that.” Nanami gruffs, pushing Ino’s side.

It doesn’t deter him, however. Finally seeing the star captain of the Yomiuri Giants cheer team right before his eyes, the one he’s always daydreamed of meeting…sitting right in front of him. Life couldn’t be better!

You don’t have the energy to deal with this. Your head is pounding, your stomach turns uneasily with every word that comes out of his mouth, and the last thing you want is to be reminded of the person you were before everything went to hell.

Satoru, sensing your growing irritation, leans back casually in his seat, arm draped lazily over the wheel. “Oi, Ino. You’re gonna make her jump out the damn car if you don’t shut up.”

“But—but it’s her!” Ino protests like a whiny kid, clutching the back of the driver’s seat dramatically. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing! You can’t blame me for being excited!”

Nanami sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Control yourself. She’s not here to sign autographs.”

You shift uncomfortably, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m not her anymore,” you mutter under your breath, almost wishing they hadn’t recognized you at all.

The weight of it—the life you lost, the people you lost—it settles even heavier on your shoulders.

Satoru glances at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the way your hands tremble slightly in your lap. Without saying anything, he reaches forward and turns up whatever is left of the radio, just enough to drown out Ino’s giddy rambling, a silent show of mercy. And for the first time since leaving the gas station, you feel like maybe you can actually breathe.

Even if just a little.

“You’re not her anymore,” Satoru thinks to himself, glancing briefly at you. But whoever you are now… you’re still alive. And that has to count for something.

For now.

“Where are we heading?” Nanami asks from beside Ino in the backseat, sighing heavily. “There’s not much to go to, we should be indoors before sunset.”

Satoru taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, eyes locked ahead. “There’s an old motel about fifty minutes from here,” he says casually, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Off the highway, tucked behind some trees. I used to pass it on my commute when I lived in Minano. Looked abandoned.”

“Abandoned could mean infested,” Nanami points out flatly.

Satoru smirks without humor. “Yeah, well, everything’s a gamble now, isn’t it?”

You lean your head back against the seat, staring blankly out the window at the decaying world flashing by. Part of you wants to tell them to just find the nearest ditch and let you all rot there. Safer than pretending there’s some place out there untouched. But another, smaller part—the one that’s too stubborn to die—keeps quiet.

“We’ll clear it if we have to,” Satoru adds, glancing quickly at you, then back to the road. “It’s better than spending the night in a damn gas station parking lot.”

Nanami grunts his reluctant agreement.

Ino just smiles brightly, oblivious to the weight crushing the rest of you.

An abandoned motel. Sounds about right.

You nap for the remainder of the ride. You don’t remember falling asleep. One minute you’re watching the cracked pavement blur by, and the next you’re being shaken awake by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Satoru murmurs, voice low, almost careful. “We’re here.”

Your eyes peel open sluggishly, the incoming afternoon sun bleeding orange across the sky, casting eerie shadows over the crumbling building in front of you.

The motel looks worse up close—a lot worse.

Windows shattered, doors either hanging off their hinges or bolted shut with whatever scrap the previous tenants could find. Faded paint peels off the wooden exterior, vines curling hungrily up the walls.

You sit up straighter, blinking the sleep from your eyes. The air is heavy with the scent of damp wood and something metallic lurking underneath. Nanami and Ino are already getting out, stretching stiffly, weapon gripped tight.

Satoru lingers by your side for a moment longer, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod once, though your body screams otherwise. You’re exhausted, sick to your stomach, and mentally fraying at the seams. But what else is new?

You shove the door open and step out into the dying light.

The ground crunches under your shoes—glass, debris, God knows what else.

Nanami’s already surveying the perimeter, and Ino’s bouncing on the balls of his feet like a damn puppy, coming up to your side.

Satoru comes around the front of the car, twirling the knife lazily between his fingers.

“Alright,” he says, voice deceptively light, “let’s clear us a place to sleep, shall we?”

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, holding the tote in your other hand. If the motel wasn’t infested before… it might be soon. One way or another, tonight would be anything but restful.

“I can carry that for you.” Ino’s voice chirps up, hands hovering above the straps of your backpack and the tote.

You cast him a glance. “I don’t need a lovesick fool like you helping me.”

Ino physically recoils like you slapped him, hands awkwardly pulling back to his sides. “Ouch,” he mumbles, pouting a little as he kicks a pebble at his foot.

Satoru snorts loudly from a few steps ahead, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “Don’t take it personal, Ino. She’s mean to everyone she likes,” he calls over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes but don’t bother correcting him.

If Ino were smart, he’d learn fast that getting attached to you would be the worst mistake he could make. Nanami, who’s been silently scouting the building’s outer edges, returns to the group. “The doors on the east side are less barricaded. We’ll start there,” he says, jerking his chin toward a crumbling walkway.

Satoru spins his knife once before catching it neatly by the handle.

“Let’s get this over with.”

And without waiting for a response, he strides forward, the rest of you trailing behind into the mouth of the rotting motel.

The entrance groans ominously as Satoru shoves the door open with his shoulder, the hinges protesting with a metallic whine. The inside smells even worse—like mildew, rotted wood, and the faint, stomach-churning tang of decay. You instinctively pull your shirt over your nose, muscles tensing as your eyes adjust to the gloom.

Wallpaper peels in long, curling strips. The carpet is stained beyond recognition. Furniture, if you can even call it that anymore, is overturned and gutted like some desperate animal tore through it.

Satoru moves first, knife gleaming even in the low light, every step calculated and soft. Nanami follows close behind, baseball bat held at the ready.

You take up the rear, feeling Ino nervously hover too close behind you. Every cracked door you pass feels like it’s hiding something. Every faint creak or scuttle in the shadows has your heart hammering against your ribs.

Satoru raises a hand—a silent signal.

You all freeze.

He points to a door slightly ajar at the end of the hall.

The room number, barely clinging to the wall above it, reads 207. A faint shuffle echoes from inside. Without a word, Satoru inches closer, signaling for Nanami to flank the opposite side.

You press yourself against the wall, holding your breath.

The air is so thick with tension you feel like you might choke on it. A beat. Another. Then Satoru kicks the door open.

What greets you isn’t a monster, but something else—

A man.

Disheveled, gaunt, eyes wild and sunken in, brandishing a rusty piece of pipe like a cornered animal.

He shrieks wordlessly and lunges. Satoru is faster. In one clean, brutal movement, he sidesteps and slams the man face-first into the floor, the knife pressed warningly against the side of his neck. The man thrashes weakly, but it’s clear he’s more bark than bite.

“Not infected,” Nanami states flatly, voice void of surprise.

Satoru leans down slightly, voice cold and low. “Then what the hell are you doing here, huh?”

The man whimpers, lips trembling. “H-hiding. Please—please don’t kill me.”

Your stomach churns unpleasantly.

If you hadn’t gotten here first, how long until this guy would’ve turned desperate enough to bash your head in for supplies?

Satoru sighs heavily, straightening and backing off. “Lucky you.”

The man scrambles away from him like a kicked dog, disappearing into the shadows at the far end of the building without a second glance back.

No one speaks for a long moment.

The quiet creeps in again, heavier than before. “Well,” Satoru says at last, sheathing his knife with a soft click. “At least it’s not infested.”

Nanami looks unimpressed. Ino looks like he might faint. You just tighten your grip on your sanity and steel yourself. This motel would be your home for the night. Whether you liked it or not.

“How do we know he won’t come back to try and kill us in our sleep?” You ask out, looking at Satoru.

Satoru tilts his head slightly, considering the question for a moment. His gaze flickers to the dark hallway behind you, then back to you. His expression is unreadable, though there’s a hint of something—calculated amusement or maybe something darker. “Because,” he says, voice smooth and casual, “if he had any intentions, he’d have already acted. A man like that, desperate and alone, wouldn’t have hesitated to take a swing if he thought he could get away with it.” He shrugs, as if the thought of being attacked in his sleep is more of a nuisance than a legitimate concern.

“You don’t survive this long by being dumb,” he adds. “He’s got no fight left in him. If he does come back, we’ll be ready. And if he doesn’t, well, then we can just go to bed.”

You stare at him, skeptical.

“Not that easy,” Nanami mutters from behind you, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. “But, I suppose it’s better than camping outside and hoping we don’t get surrounded.”

You can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s not fully convinced, but it’s clear he’s willing to go along with Satoru’s plan. He shoots a glance at Ino, who’s still looking pale but seems to be getting a grip on himself.

“Alright,” you finally say, your voice steady despite the storm of thoughts running through your head. “So, we post watches then.”

“Exactly,” Satoru agrees easily, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “I’ll take first, and Nanami can take second. Ino—” He glances over at the younger man, who’s busy trying to wipe away the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “You can take third. Sound fair?”

Ino nods quickly, still looking somewhat out of his element. “Got it!”

You’re still on edge, but at least there’s some plan in place. Satoru’s smirk flickers and then fades as he steps past you toward the lobby area. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” he says, his voice dropping in volume as he goes. “We’re not out of this yet.”

You take a deep breath and follow him, your mind still racing. The man who’d been hiding in the room is long gone, but the unease doesn’t leave. If you could trust anything right now, it was that nothing in this place was what it seemed. You could hear the faint hum of a distant generator somewhere in the building, the flickering of lights above your head. It was a temporary shelter, and nothing more.

“Let’s just get through tonight,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.

Nanami gives you a look that’s almost approving, like he understands where you’re coming from.

Satoru glances back, pausing just long enough for you to meet his eyes, his expression shifting briefly. “Tomorrow, we move out. Find a more stable safe house, we can’t keep moving every night.”

Tomorrow. The word doesn’t feel real anymore. Nothing feels real. You nod, letting the silence drag you into the night.

After carefully looking through each room on the first floor, you all decide to camp out in the room furthest down the hall on the second floor. Two beds with a dusty TV in front. You claim the bed closest to the window, dropping your things onto it with a huff. The sheets look like they could be cleaner. But it beats having to sleep on the ground. You can only hope and pray no bugs crawl into your ears during the night.

“Alright, princess gets her own bed and we three can share the other one like a bunch of best buddies.” Satoru claps, setting his bag down.

“I’m not cuddling you.”

“You say that now, Nanamin.”

Nanami rolls his eyes, moving to dump his things onto the second bed with an exaggerated sigh. “I’d rather sleep standing than anywhere near you two.” His voice is dry, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him.

Ino, however, seems oddly enthusiastic. “I’m okay with the whole ‘sharing’ thing! It’ll be like a sleepover.” His nervous energy still buzzing around him like an annoying fly. “Do we have snacks? I can go check the vending machine downstairs.”

You glance at him, wondering if he’s genuinely this optimistic or just trying to distract himself from the unsettling situation. Either way, his excitement feels out of place here, like a reminder that there are still moments in the world to be happy—even if it’s as small as a vending machine snack.

“Relax, Ino,” Satoru says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ll keep watch, but don’t get too comfortable thinking you’re gonna snack your way through the end of the world.”

Ino makes a disappointed noise but doesn’t protest. Instead, he lies down on the bed, his hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. His gaze flickers from you to Satoru, then back to the far corner of the room, where the faint outlines of shadows play in the dying light of the day.

“So,” he begins, breaking the silence that had settled uncomfortably in the room, “anyone have any stories or something? You know, to help us forget how much the world sucks right now?”

You shoot him a look, unsure if he’s trying to lighten the mood or if he genuinely wants to pass the time. The last thing you want to do is start talking about the old world, but it’s hard to ignore that he’s reaching out for some kind of comfort, even if it’s misguided.

Satoru leans back against the wall, his usual smirk back in place, though it’s a little more tired now. “I’ve got plenty of stories, but none of them are gonna make you feel better. Trust me.”

Nanami shoots him a look from across the room. “Keep it to yourself, Satoru. We don’t need your ‘life wisdom’ right now.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the weight in the air slightly lift. For the first time since entering this damn motel, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. At least for tonight, the world could feel a little more like it was before. Even if it was just for a few hours. As Satoru takes his position by the window, keeping watch for any signs of movement outside, you curl into the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. There’s no telling what tomorrow will bring. But for tonight, you allow yourself a small moment of peace.

Let’s see if you can even get a wink of sleep tonight.

(if i forgot to tag you, pls let me know) taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4 @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

@ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast @beabamboo @dickktektive

@sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @beabamboo @lovely-maryj @n1vi

@ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5 @ritsatoru @sadmonke

@zoeyflower @topmeyelena @sourairi @jlandersen01 @vamppirez

@ac27dj @aquariusscollection @itzkawaiix @a-trashbag

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cnnabon · 23 hours ago

Text

ㅤㅤ( OT7. )ㅤㅤ✷ㅤㅤTAKE MY BREATH

ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗇, 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁

SOMAR𝒊O ─── things you do that make them swoonㅤ엔하이픈 OT7 𝐱 𝑓. readerㅤ✉️ㅤwc. 1003ㅤ✶ㅤcareful !ㅤskinship, suggestive, petnames

ㅤ[𝗁𝗆𝗆…💭] ㅤschool is not it 😣

ㅤHEESEUNG [ lacing your hands through his hair ]

Sitting comfortably on his lap, you panted against his parted lips, fiddling with the back of the necklace he had been wearing. Your body heat and his hands snaking around your waist made you feel lightheaded, and the heat of the day didn’t make it any better. Moving your hands up to his silky hair, you laced your fingers through the roots, hearing him groan against your lips. “Pretty girl–” He spoke when you pulled back for a few seconds of air before leaning back into his lips. Digging your hands into his dark locks, you pulled at them, feeling him groan again. Pushing away from your lips, he panted up at you shooting your signature cheeky grin. “So, this is what you wanted?” He asked, feeling your fingers gently tug at his hair again and shutting his eyes at the feeling. “Exactly.” You answered, pressing your lips against his and feeling him shift his hips forward.

ㅤJAY [ pulling him by his tie or belt ]

Back pressed against the comforter, you let your hands roam freely against the fabric of his shirt and the tie around his neck. Your favourite moments when he came back was this. Skin against skin and slowly losing your breath in his. “I have to go to my meeting, princess.” He spoke, barely managing to get his sentence out before leaning into your tempting lips. Forcing himself off, you pressed your lips into a pout. “But it’s starting in five minutes.” Grinning down at you, he wiped off the tint on his swollen lips. “Five minutes isn’t enough.” Motioning to the edge of the bed to descend into his office, you pulled him back by his tie, forcing him to press hands beside your head. “It is.” You argued, sporting a grin and watching as his lips curled into his signature boyish one. “Whatever you say.” He agreed, leaning into you.

ㅤJAKE [ wearing his clothes ]

His heartbeat drummed loudly against his chest watching you saunter into the room, completely drowned in his hoodie with only your legs peeking out. Following your body with his eyes, you bit back a smile at his reaction and his body motioning towards yours. Less than seconds later, he had you cornered against a wall, innocently grinning up at him raking his eyes all over your body. “You’re doing this on purpose.” Fighting to hold back your grin, you replied. “What are you talking about?” Allowing a groan to escape his lips from your blameless expression, he shut his eyes and looked away, before facing you again and leaning down. “Let me help you understand, then.” He spoke, barely giving you a moment before he pressed his body against your and pressed a kiss onto your lips, hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. After pulling away for air, you spoke up. “Lesson learned.”

ㅤSUNGHOON [ removing his glasses during a kiss ]

Everything was perfect besides the hard edges scratching against your cheek distracting you from the bliss of his lips against yours. Trying to be as discreet as possible, you moved your hands up to his hair and tried to find the back of the glasses. Noticing that your efforts were to no avail, you found it difficult to scowl due to his lips consuming yours. Whining slightly as the side dragged against your skin, you pulled your lips only inches away from his and gently tugged off his glasses and discarding them away, leaning back into him. Feeling him smile into the kiss, he pulled back and moved to your neck, swirling his tongue over your collarbone. “Were they that irritating?” You hummed, too out of breath to speak. “Good girl.” He replied, making a mental note to wear glasses every time he came over.

ㅤSUNOO [ interlocking your pinky fingers ]

His hand was always on yours whenever he got the chance. Feeling uncomfortable in the heat, you rubbed your hands against the fabric of your skirt before meeting his awaiting hand. Knowing very well that you didn’t have it in your heart to make him let go of you, you unlocked your interlocked fingers and only held onto his pinky finger. Trying to act aloof you bit back the growing smile on your lips as he shifted in the bed to face you. Moving over you to block your view from the movie, he made sure your fingers were still interlocked before leaning down. “Was it hot?” He asked, watching your eyes lock with his. “Very.” Your voice was muffled from his lips consuming yours while you both smiled into the kiss.

ㅤJUNGWON [ biting his bottom lip during a kiss ]

Limbs tangled between his, you shifted out of the blanket carefully to make sure his lips didn’t leave yours. His arms encircled your waist, drawing circles on your skin while kissing you slowly. Used to him waking you up in the morning like this, you responded by moving your lips against yours. Unaware of what time it was, you peeked past him and noticed the sunlight glinting through the curtains. Turning your attention back to him, you bit down on his bottom lip and took his surprised grunt as an opportunity to pull away from him. “Good morning, love.” You spoke, cheekily grinning his dumbfounded expression. “We should go out before it gets rainy again.” You explained, watching him move over you and flick his tongue over his reddening lower lip. “That can wait.” He responded, pressing his lips into yours and mingling the blood forming on his lips into the kiss.

ㅤRIKI [ fiddling with his hands or fingers ]

Melting your petite frame into his figure, you were a mess of arms and legs on the couch, watching him fiddle with the game controller. Unable to take your eyes off the many rings he sported on his fingers, you reached over and pulled at the ones on his unoccupied pinky finger. Shooting you a glance, he moved his other two fingers within your reach and used all his strength to maintain a stoic expression while feeling you gently pull at the metal and slide it back onto his finger. Allowing his character to lose in the match, he turned off the game and slid down closer to you, bringing his other hand into yours. “You’re so cute.” He mumbled, showering your face with kisses and making sure to keep his hands on yours, still fiddling with the rings.

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allllium · 12 hours ago

Text

Sleepy

[ Jason Todd x Reader ]

- Fluff, WC: 1005

- Jason struggles with comfort

You are usually very good at understanding things about your boyfriend, Jason. It took you no time at all to find about his nightly activities and everything about his family. But on the other hand, you can't seem to understand him at all.

You've tried not to ask him about certain things because based on hints from his family, he's had some bad shit happen in his life. More than he's been comfortable telling you so far in your relationship.

However, the more questions you don't ask, the more that seem to pop up.

You haven't asked him why sometimes he flinches away when you touch him but other times he leans in.

You haven't asked him why his hands make fists when you're trying to sleep at night.

You haven't asked him about the scar along his chest or his aversion to certain foods.

All because you're too scared to make him uncomfortable, or maybe because you don't know if you could stomach it.

You're laying bed and waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. Somehow, you take less time getting ready for bed than he does. You suspect it's because he needs a couple minutes to process everything that happened during the day.

As usual you have a million thoughts running through you're head all at the same time. 99% of them are about him.

When he finally comes into your shared bedroom and gets comfortable in bed, you're debating whether or not to talk to him about some of the things you can't get out of your mind.

You decide against it. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable or bring up any bad memories that might affect his ability to sleep through the night.

He can obviously sense your unease, you don't hide it very well.

"What's wrong?" His raspy voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Nothing, sweetheart." You try to play it off.

"Uh huh." He says blankly.

"I'm just thinking about things, is that a crime?"

"Depends on what they are." He pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you.

"Nothing bad."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"If someone's bothering you, you should tell me."

"Why is that?"

"Well I have an ability of getting rid of people."

"Oh my God, Jason, you can't joke about that." You look at him in amused shock.

"Who says it's a joke?" He asks, face completely serious.

"Okay no killing people on my behalf, pretty please." You chuckle and he copies. "I'm just trying to figure you out more."

"Why?"

"Cuz I want to know more about you?"

"Like what"

"Right now I want what's bothering you, and know what you want." You pull away from him in order to sit up a little bit.

"I don't want anything at the moment."

"Yes you do. If you didn't want anything your fists wouldn't be clenched and your eyes wouldn't have that look. Like you want to say something but can't."

"You really want to know?" He asks.

"Yeah I really do." You immediately reply.

"A couple months ago while we were watching a movie on the couch, you played with my hair and it was very comforting. And the best sleep I've ever had." He rambles off as quickly as possible.

"That's it? I've been driving myself crazy trying to think of explanations and you're telling me you just want me to play with your hair." You question him in disbelief. It's been months of overthinking thoughts and random mind rampages for something you haven't even noticed you were doing.

"I didn't know how to say it." He shrugs, not looking into your eyes. "It sounds childish."

"No it doesn't. Everyone has different ideas of perfect comfort and I happen to agree with yours. Jason, if you want something from me all you have to do is ask."

You lean over to give him a quick, sweet kiss.

"I'm not used to that."

"Well you better get started."

"Fine, would you play with hair so I can go to sleep, Angel?"

"Only because you asked so nicely."

It takes a second for you both to get rearranged so it's comfortable. You're now laying on your back with Jason half on his side, half on top of you with his head on your chest.

It's almost amusing how quickly he falls asleep but above all else you feel a sense of pride at the fact that you're the one giving him this feeling.

He said this was comforting. He said this was the best sleep he's ever had.

And you're the reason he's having these things.

You stay up longer than you probably should have. This time the thoughts running through your head aren't worrying or overwhelming.

They make you happy. Happy enough to fall into a very sound sleep.

You wake up to coffee on your nightstand and a missing Jason.

"Jason." You call out and he quickly comes running.

When he walks in the room, you immediately begin questioning him.

"What is this?" You ask with an ounce of suspicion. You're worried it's a repayment of some sort.

"It's coffee. A hot caffeinated drink."

"Why?"

"Because you like it and it makes you irritable for far less time in the morning."

"Jason you don't have to do things for me just because I did something for you."

"Yes I do. Because words won't let me explain how grateful I am for you."

"Since when are you so sappy?"

He sits on the bed next to you.

"Don't be mean to me right now, I'll take it away."

"Fine. Continue your speech."

"I know it's a small thing for you but I haven't felt comfort like you give me in a very long time. Maybe even ever. And I need you to know that."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to give that to you."

The next thing you know, you both have giant grins on your faces and you're both happier than ever before.

- send requests!!

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jayblades · 18 hours ago

Text

practice round

dick grayson x fem!reader

summary; when some guy takes an interest in you, your extremely thoughtful best friend dick convinces you that you need a little more… experience. and who better to help you practice, than himself?

warnings; 18+, manipulation, yandere-lite themes… best friends <3 nsfw, reader is inexperienced, but not a virgin, possessiveness, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill)

author’s note; felt depraved things writing this… if you enjoy then let me know!

You’re sat on your bed, curled up near the edge where Dick is sprawled out on the floor beside you, scrolling through his phone.

He noticed a slight shift in your behaviour about ten minutes ago when you’d received a notification on your phone. He wonders if you’re going to tell him about it — he supposes it doesn’t really matter if you don’t. He’ll just look through it later, but of course he wants you to be the one to share.

You look so nervous, knees drawn up to your chest like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. It’s adorable. It’s pathetic. It makes something sharp twist in Dick’s stomach.

Finally, you blurt it out. “So… this guy asked me out.”

Dick stills, his finger hovering over his phone screen as he freezes in place. “Yeah? Who?”

You say his name like you’re embarrassed and Dick smiles, slow and easy. But inside, he’s seething. It takes a lot to keep his expression carefully neutral. He’s heard you talk about this guy before, offhandedly calling him cute. He has no idea you may have possibly been forming a crush on him.

You hug your pillow against your chest and scrunch up your nose. “He’s so… popular. You know? Good looking. Everyone’s obsessed with him, so I don’t know…”

“Sure,” Dick mumbles, pretending to focus on his Instagram feed again. “He’s been with… what, half the senior class?”

You wince. Dick thanks the universe in this moment that the guy who has taken an interest in you is basically a manwhore. It’s going to make this so much easier.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess. He’s really, uh, experienced.”

Dick turns around to face you properly. He scans your face, assessing the way you bite at your lip and look down, your gaze faraway somewhere. “Wait, you’re nervous.”

He forces himself to sound surprised, but of course he knows you’re nervous. He’s banking on it, in fact.

You nod, sighing as you lean back on your bed. “What if I’m not enough for him in… y’know, that area. He’s probably used to girls who know what they’re doing and I’ve barely even—”

“Hey, hey,” Dick cuts you off, getting up to take a seat next to you on the bed and reaching a hand out to lightly squeeze your knee. “You’re more than enough, sweetheart.”

He means that. You’re way more than that jackass deserves. Dick has heard how he’s talked about women before. Even if this guy wasn’t scum, there’s no way in hell Dick is going to let him have you. The gears in his mind are already turning and there’s a growing excitement in his lower belly that he can hardly contain.

“You just said that he’s been with so many people,” you point out, frowning at him.

Dick sighs, like it pains him to say it. “Yeah, well. Sure, he’s probably used to certain things. Stuff he’s probably expecting without even thinking about it. But that isn’t your fault.”

You stare at him, looking utterly crestfallen. He can practically hear your heart sinking and it only spurs him on as he shifts closer to you, dropping his voice into something more intimate and safe.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you. You know that right?”

“Thanks, Dick,” you mumble, trying to smile. But he’s not done.

“It’s just guys like him,” Dick continues slowly and deliberately, carefully choosing his words. “They get bored really fast. If something feels too new… too awkward…”

He trails off, allowing the implication to hang heavy between you. Dick is well aware that you’re not a virgin, but you may as well be. He’s talking bullshit, obviously. He knows that this guy would kill to have you in his bed and that your lack of experience would only make you more appealing to his sick mind. Dick would know, considering his mind is even sicker when it comes to you. The difference is that you actually mean something to Dick.

“Oh,” you whisper, dropping your gaze. You look disappointed and Dick knows exactly what to say next.

“Look, if you’re that worried,” he starts, sighing like you’ve presented him with a problem. “You could always practice.”

You blink at him, startled. “Practice?”

He smiles at you, all warm and encouraging like he’s offering you a life raft. “Yeah. To get comfortable. Figure out what you like, what feels good. What to do. So that when it matters, you’re not nervous.”

You let out a nervous laugh, hesitating. “I guess. But, with who?”

Dick shrugs, noncommittal. “Me, if you want.”

As expected, you whip your head up to gape at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “What?”

He rolls his eyes, as though what you’re saying is silly. “Don’t make it weird,” he chuckles under his breath, keeping his hand on your knee. “We’re best friends. You trust me, right?”

You open your mouth, like you’re about to argue but then you shut it. Because you do trust him — you always have. “Yeah, I do, but—”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, softening his voice even more. Every word coming out of his mouth is a lie, but they’re necessary, really. You don’t know what you want yet, which is exactly why he’s here to help. “And wouldn’t you want to practice with someone you’re comfortable with? Someone who only wants to make you feel good and confident. To teach you how to make someone happy.”

Lies, lies, lies. He has no intention of letting that happen.

Dick starts to stroke your wrist, thumb gliding lazy circles over your pulse like he’s trying to calm you down. Judging by the way it quickens, he’s doing the opposite and he has to fight to hide his grin.

Your voice cracks when you finally whisper back. “You really think it’ll help?”

“Yeah, but it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to decide right now,” he says lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and marvelling at how your gaze is tracking his every movement. “If you’re already this nervous…”

Your voice comes out impossibly small. “What would we even do?”

Dick’s mouth twitches as he tries not to smile triumphantly. He’s got you exactly where he wants and he’s elated.

“We can just kiss for now,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your lips, immediately making them part. Fuck, he’s going to have a hard time stopping if that’s all you want to do. “Whatever you want.”

After hesitating for a second and testing Dick’s patience, you finally nod. It’s shy, barely a movement of your head, but you’re smiling at him and Dick feels it go straight to his groin.

“Okay, then,” he murmurs, agreeable like you’ve coaxed him into it. “Do you want to set the pace, or should I?”

Your shoulders relax a little at the kindness in his voice and you swallow. “You… you can.”

He almost groans at your words. So submissive, so willing. You’re giving him permission to do what he wants and oh, he’s going to take it.

Dick gently positions you so that you’re facing him a little closer, sneaking his hand around to your back like he’s done a million times. Except this time, he gently lifts up your chin and offers you a reassuring smile and you can’t help returning it, albeit nervously. It’s Dick after all — your best friend in the whole world. And he’s such a good one for helping you out, right?

As if you’re getting impatient, you glance down at his lips and he decides that’s enough playing around.

Dick leans forward and brushes his lips against yours to test the waters. When you don’t move away, he presses his mouth to yours and your eyes flutter shut.

You’re a little stiff at first, hesitant and unsure as you allow Dick to lead. And he’s more than happy to show you.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his hand slips back to cradle the back of your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, fully controlling your movements and you let out the tiniest, most helpless whimper he’s ever heard from you.

Dick nearly loses it there and then.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to speak, and his lips brush yours with every word. “You can kiss me back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice coaxing and patient. He brushes his knuckles against your spine and swallows hard when you instinctively arch up into him. “Just… follow what I do.”

You nod, your expression dazed and faraway and when he leans in again, you press your mouth to his in a soft kiss.

Dick smiles against you, rewarding you by slanting his mouth more firmly against yours. This time he lets the kiss linger, letting you feel his warmth, the careful way he parts his lips to guide you how to breathe through it.

When you mimic him, he hums low in his throat, the noise vibrating against your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, barely pulling back, his voice rough with approval. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your lips turn up, a shy smile gracing your face as you shiver slightly. “Thank you,” you mumble out, like you’re embarrassed.

Dick has manipulated you into kissing him and you’re thanking him. He’s so giddy he could burst.

Instead he settles for kissing you again, even deeper as his hands slide down to your hips where they lightly squeeze. The action makes you gasp softly against the kiss and he uses it, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip.

You stiffen, unsure and he immediately soothes you, hand against the side of your thigh. Your nerves are so cute. Almost as cute as the strawberry lipgloss that he’s tasting, which he knows is your favourite.

“Open up for me, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with patience. “Just a little. Let me in.”

You part your lips, all hesitant and sweet and Dick rewards you immediately by slipping his tongue in your mouth. You melt against him some more and he takes it as a sign to go further until he’s licking into your mouth, kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive.

He’s borderline devouring you, getting hungrier when he feels you start to move with him, gasping into his mouth and making soft, pleased noises.

Dick can feel how overwhelmed you already are when you helplessly reach out to grab the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching him like a lifeline. He needs more.

Pulling back far enough to speak, he tries to control his own breathing. It’s just so hard when he’s this excited. “When a guy really likes a girl…” he says lowly. “He won’t wanna stop at just kissing. You wanna make sure you’re ready for all of that?”

You stiffen for a second and Dick decides to change his tune, gently kissing your forehead like he always does and begins to shift back a little.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” he relents, trying to sound as flippant as he possibly can when his hard on is painfully straining against his jeans. He begins to slide his hands away from your body as though he’s unaffected. As though his jaw isn’t clenched from the restraint of not touching you. “We can stop.”

“No!” Your hands shoot out to hold his own in place where they grip your waist and your eyes don’t leave his mouth for a second. Your’e panting softly, lips swollen and bitten — courtesy of Dick — and your eyes are glassy. “I— we don’t have to stop… I want to keep going. Please.”

Who is he to deny you when you ask so sweetly?

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, voice calm as ever. But his blood is hot and he’s trying so hard not to rip off your clothes and fuck you into the mattress until your bed is broken in half. All in good time, he tells himself as he guides you further back. “Lie down for me?”

You rest your head against your pillows obediently and Dick runs his hands up your sides, slowly and teasingly. “I’m going to take off your shirt now.”

Nodding, you lift up your arms when he begins to peel away your oversized t-shirt, shrugging it over your head to toss it to the ground. Dick’s eyes don’t leave your chest and it’s like he’s a man possessed when he immediately leans down to drop kisses to your neck and down your chest, grazing the swell of your breasts.

“So, so pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, his hands sliding behind your back to fumble with your bra clasp. You don’t stiffen this time and he takes it as permission to unclasp it before sliding your straps down your arms and leaning back to stare at you. “Fuck…”

You shrink under his gaze, trying to place your hands over your chest when he doesn’t move, and the action snaps him out of it.

“Don’t cover up,” he instructs, impatiently brushing your hands away before looking directly into your eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

A little laugh leaves you, like you don’t believe him and he decides it’s high time to convince you. Ducking his head down, Dick immediately swipes his tongue across your hardened nipple and you hiss, hand flying up to muffle your gasps as he starts to suck. Everywhere. He’s biting and licking at your chest, purposely leaving marks. If you try and do this with anyone else, they’ll know he was here first with all the blossoming bruises he’s sucking onto your skin.

Your gasps are coming out too quietly for his liking.

“No, don’t cover your mouth,” he says firmly, circling your wrists with his much larger hands to guide them away and pin them to your sides. “Guys like it when you’re noisy.”

Translation: Dick wants to hear you scream.

He returns his mouth to your body, this time venturing lower as he peppers kisses to your stomach. Lower and lower until he’s at the waistband of your shorts. He kisses around your belly button, nipping at your skin to distract you from your nerves as he slides the shorts down your legs.

You’re not even protesting anymore. In fact, you’re eager as you kick the item of clothing off your body. Dick huffs out a laugh against your belly when he sees your pink cherry-print panties. He recognises them from all the times he’s rifled through your underwear draw — it’s his favourite pair.

“Stop laughing,” you say breathlessly as you playfully tug on a strand of Dick’s hair. “It’s laundry day.”

“No, it’s cute,” he says, completely serious as you roll your eyes. The attitude you give him makes him want to fuck it out of you and so he swipes his thumb across the centre of your panties, right where your clit is, pulling a breathless sound from you. “So, so cute.”

You’re already soaked through the pink and red fabric, your wetness forming a damp spot visible through your panties and he grins. Shit, he’s barely touched you.

Dick props up your legs for better access and tugs at your panties, sliding them down to your ankles and then he groans.

He sounds like you’ve just sucker-punched him and before you have the time to process it, Dick sinks a finger into you easily and without any friction.

You’re so wet that it slides right in and the sounds that leave your lips make Dick’s mouth water. You’re gasping on choked breaths as he moves in and out of you, dragging his digit against your walls.

“So responsive,” he exhales, keeping a slow pace as not to overwhelm you. It only lasts a second though, as he can’t help wondering what other noises he can get out of you. His other hand comes up to start circling at your clit and your hand flys up to grab at his inky black locks.

“Oh, sh…shit. Dick, oh my God,” you whimper as the double stimulation makes your body twitch. You’re so consumed by pleasure that you probably don’t realise how hard you’re pulling on his hair — it’s a good thing he likes it. “Oh, please…”

He thinks he could die right now, hearing you beg him. For what, you don’t sound sure, but he obliges you with something. That something being a second finger which slides in almost as easily as the first.

The whine that leaves you is music to his ears and he pumps his fingers in and out, stretching you open in preparation. “Good?”

His question is teasing, since he can tell from the way your eyes are screwed shut that you do think it’s good. You nod nonetheless, whimpering out a “Yeah, so good. S-so good, Dick.”

Dick hums, increasing his pace absentmindedly as his erection brushes against your sheets. He’s practically humping your duvet, it’s pathetic. But he can’t bring himself to feel shameful about it when you’re looking so fucked out before him and he’s barely even done anything.

Fuck, he’s nearly drooling and so he decides the only thing to do is remove his hand from your clit. Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact, despite his fingers still moving inside of you.

“Wait, what are you— Nngh.”

Dick flattens his tongue against your cunt and drags it up over your clit. You cry out, tangling your fingers further in his hair and keeping his head between your legs. Not that you need to when he’s eating you out like a man starved.

His tongue is moving against you like you’re his last meal while his fingers curl upwards into your pussy, making your eyes prick with tears. The second he starts sucking at your clit, you arch off the bed and helplessly grind against his face, covering his chin in your slick.

Dick moans into your cunt, pulling away a little to ask you in between licks. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, his fingers pause in their movements and he lifts his head up to look at you.

“I— I don’t know,” you whisper, breathing heavily. “I’ve never… y’know, I haven’t—”

You’ve never had an orgasm

It feels like Dick’s luckiest day alive, he thinks to himself and he can’t help the wicked grin that splits across his face. His slides his fingers out of you, making you whine and his grin widens as he climbs over you, swiping a hand over his mouth before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he says soothingly, starting to pepper kisses over your cheek and jaw. “We still have more practicing. You’re going to cum on my cock for the first time, okay?”

“Okay.” Your response is almost immediate and he huffs out a laugh at how willing you are now. Any hesitation has since left you and Dick doesn’t have to convince you to do anything.

Not when you’re tugging at his shirt to take it off, which he happily obliges, reaching behind his back with one hand to shrug it over his head.

You exhale shakily, reaching out tentatively to trail your fingers over the sculpted lines of his chest, the hard ridges of muscle and the soft scattering of dark hair trailing down to disappear into his jeans.

“You’re beautiful too,” you say under your breath with a shy smile and he lets out a broken laugh, rough and shaky, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss at your pulse point.

He’s going to absolutely ruin you.

When your hand drags down his abdomen and further down to his waistband, Dick shudders — a harsh tremor wracking through his body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Take off my jeans.”

Your fingers fumble to unbutton them and before he knows it, he’s tugging them off and you’re looking down at his cock straining impossibly hard against his boxers.

Dick doesn’t need to instruct you this time, and you’re hastily undressing him, allowing his achingly hard cock to spring free. You let out a breath at the sight of him, his leaking tip practically sore from neglect.

Your hands come up to hesitantly wrap around him, dragging his precum down his length to better stroke him. You do it painfully slow and he hisses through gritted teeth, jerking his hips into your hand which is so, so tiny compared to him.

“Am I doing this right?”

Your quizzical voice nearly makes him buckle, and he decides he’s had enough of not being inside of you.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, sliding a hand up the expanse of your thigh to squeeze your ass. “You’re more than perfect, but if you keep going, I’m going to cum all over your hand and that’s not what we’re practising today.”

You give him a sheepish smile, removing your warm hand and letting it rest by your side while he hovers over you.

Dick glances over your naked frame and nearly sighs aloud at the sight, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you say, nodding at him to continue.

Dick brings his length to your cunt and drags it up and down once to cover the tip in your slick, marvelling at the natural lubricant. He’s not going to need anything else to slip right in and when your body twitches at the feeling of his head dragging against your clit, he smirks.

And then he slips the tip right into you, slowly working you through the delicious burn as you gasp. In the back of his mind, he’s a little bit concerned that you haven’t bothered to ask him to wear a condom (not that he was going to — he knows exactly what birth control you’re on, it’s fine), but your compliance is so naive. He’s glad it’s just for him.

“Ohhh, fuck. You’re doing so well, you can take it,” he grunts out, trying to go further in as slow as possible. His hands are clenched around your sheets as he slowly pushes and pushes deeper into you. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Huh? You gonna take all of me?”

“Yes, please, please, please,” you mutter, voice hoarse and nearly inaudible.

“Please what?” Dick stills, not moving another inch as he freezes halfway inside of you. “What do you want me to do, baby? Use your words.”

“Dick,” you rasp out, trying to buck your hips up for more, but Dick grabs your waist and pins you down. You can’t move an inch when he does this. “Please, please, I want more!”

He leans down to chuckle in your ear before he buries himself into you, sinking all the way down to the hilt.

He only gives you a few seconds to adjust before he’s pulling out and slamming back into you. The cry that leaves you is so beautiful and Dick wants to hear it again and again and so, all of a sudden, he’s driving his hips right into you with a desperation.

His cock is stretching you out more than his fingers ever could and you’re so wonderfully tight that Dick can feel every last inch of your velvety walls wrapped around him, sucking him in like something vicious and needy.

You’re practically incoherent now, the whimpers that leave you are basically sobs as Dick fucks into you hard and fast.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grits out, sweaty curls falling into his eyes as he doesn’t falter in his thrusts. He leans down to press his body against yours as he continues to pound your hot, weeping cunt. “You’re a fucking natural, you know that? You don’t need the practice, you’re perfect. He doesn’t even deserve you. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve to look at you, let alone fuck you.”

Dick’s control and flippant attitude is slipping as he mumbles the words against your skin, but what else can you expect when you’re scraping your nails down his back and pressing your tits against his chest? He doesn’t even care about fucking you under the guise of practice anymore and instead he’s whispering cruelly into your ear.

“You’re so fucking gone for my cock, I bet you can’t even remember his name,” he chuckles against the shell of your ear and you let out another sob, shaking your head frantically. “What is it, baby? What’s his name?”

“I don’t…” you trail off, jaw going slack and eyes rolling back into your head when Dick lifts up your leg to position it over his shoulder, hitting a brand new angle that makes your whole body tense and writhe. He repeats the question and you whine, arching your back even more as you clutch his bicep. “Fuck! I— I don’t know, oh my God, I don’t remember. Oh, Dick, please, it’s so good! You’re so fucking good, I can’t—”

Dick smirks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he pants. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

He leans back and brings your other leg over his other shoulder to drive his length into you impossibly deep and you scream his name so loudly that there’s no way your neighbours could miss it.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscene in the otherwise quiet of your bedroom that he wishes he could record it to listen to the audio later. He makes a mental note for next time.

As soon as Dick feels your cunt begin to clench around him, he knows you’re close and fuck if he isn’t too. Sweat is coating his back and he feels out of control — you don’t look any better as there are tears of pleasure running down your cheeks, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sheen of sweat over them catching in the light.

Fuck, he groans out a guttural noise as he picks up the pace to piston into you like a fucking machine. Reaching over in between your legs, he starts to rub quick circles into your clit with his thumb, leaning down to spit on it.

He watches with awe as his thumb rubs his spit into your cunt and the more he circles your clit, the harder he slams into you. Soon, you’re coming so hard that your body trembles with a high pitched whine and your nails are drawing blood down Dick’s back.

The way your cunt is clutching his cock through your orgasm makes him follow quickly and he’s as much of a wreck as you are, burying his face in your neck and sliding his arms under you to pull you close to him as his hips begin to falter. Before he knows it, Dick is shooting hot ropes of cum all over your walls with a choked groan.

It feels never ending, the way you’re milking him for all he’s worth and he decides he never wants to separate from you, keeping himself buried inside of you as he collapses onto you.

He leans most of his weight on his arms beside you, but he’s close enough to feel your racing heartbeat against his chest as you catch your breath.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he pants, one of his hands coming over to rest on your belly where he traces his fingers. “So fucking good…”

Your lips curve up into a smile and although it’s tired, he can tell you’re pleased.

He presses soft kisses into your temple, still buried deep inside of you. Your legs stay wrapped around him and your arms encircle his broadness in a bear hug, not eager to let go any time soon.

Dick is such a good best friend, after all.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #nightwing x you #dick grayson x you #dick grayson scenarios #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson fics #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson fic

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 20 hours ago

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Animorphs #8: The Alien thoughts (pt. 1):

How did I never notice this before? This is HILARIOUS, and I love that they included a "don't try this at home" for Ax's weird food thing.

I'm always so sad that this one brief conversation is all the interaction we ever get between Elfangor and Ax. There's plenty there, still — Ax being snotty about wanting to visit Earth, Elfangor torn between being his prince and his brother, both of them trying to act tough but also being scared. But still, I want more!

"For a long time I expected Tobias to ask me the question that must have haunted him day and night: whether it would ever be possible for him to escape his hawk body. But he never did. I guess he was afraid of the answer" (p. 13). Aw, Ax. Projecting much? That conversation is yet to come, but I'm pretty sure Tobias isn't the one haunted day and night by the question of whether andalite technology can denothlit Tobias.

I love that Ax wants Tobias's DNA for his human morph, and is sad he can't get it. There's a weird irony to Tobias being the only fellow Animorph he doesn't share DNA with.

"'I didn't think things just broke for you space people,' Marco said. 'Things break,' I said truthfully." That's it; that's the series.

Animorphs books can be read here | Book Club schedule is here

#animorphs #the alien #animorphs book club #aximili esgarrouth isthill #ax man

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hephslacker · 3 days ago

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Your post was incredibly fun and interesting to read and I couldn't help but want to point out some of my own observations and share some thoughts!

You have discussed how Ena’s sides represent her “individuality” and here’s another little thing I have noticed!

> In the game, Salesman actually says NOTHING regarding her opinion towards her job, staying “professionally-playful”, yet distant.

What I think is also a point of interest is that a few of the jobs Ena has collected didn’t promise her ANYTHING in return, basically making her work for free. And while helping Taxi Driver’s Heads might have been justified as "helping a fellow worker”, what about Hoarder Alex? The guy, at most, said that he MIGHT give us his thanks, but that’s about it. And yet Ena still accepts the job.

And we HAVE seen how Ena reacted when she thought that The Witches weren’t gonna pay.

The only explanation I can think of so far is that she was willing to let it slide due to the fact that she NEEDED to pass through the bridge, which made said task a priority.

> Just an interesting interaction I have noticed, especially if we take into account that this is Ena’s inner thoughts

> Another thing I wanted to talk about was the apparent “violent streak” you have briefly mentioned.

Technically speaking, “aiming for the target” could be taken metaphorically, aka cementing Ena’s main task as dealing with the Boss. What kind of “dealing” is being talked about remains to be seen!

> That brings us to another interesting point and a bit of a theme that I have noticed being subtly repeated throughout the game: miscommunication.

The most notable example of that would be the confusion that Genie and Bathroom cause, however I want to focus on what I think might be the most important miscommunication in the game, aka the one between Ena and Froggy.

What if we, and Ena, have misunderstood the task that was given? Considering that in this particular case Froggy was actually trying to use a fixed expression from a different language, it is quite probable that he might have caused confusion by what exactly he meant by “aiming for the Boss’s gut”. Do we have to kill him? Peacefully deal with him? Get rid of him? “Dethrone” him? Who knows!

> Another interesting thing is the Boss himself. What I have noticed is that… we actually have no idea if he’s been born, no?

After what the Receptionist tells us (You are too late! The Boss isn’t even born yet) I have realised that Froggy, while heavily implied, never did really SAY that the Boss has been born, no? For all we know he might be born SOON, but not yet.

It also aligns with the fact that both Froggy and The Receptionist mention us being “late”.

However, that’s just a speculation.

But who is the Boss? What does he do?

> Regarding Ena’s apparent Sin, it honestly feels like it’s not this specific Ena, but ENAs in general that are unforgivable. Honestly? It’s very hard to even start guessing what may be the reason, but I do have a few theories.

The first thing I have noticed is this particular sentence

I’m not doing what you SAY I’m doing

This most likely hints at some huge misunderstanding that has taken place.

If you think about it, misunderstandings are also quite a common theme in ENA DREAM BBQ. Just take the ending for example! Or when Ena goes to the Purge Event, during which Froggy assumes she’s partying and is having a good time.

Another theory I have is that Ena might be, quite literally, being punished for the sins of others, as has been hinted in the dialogue with Taski Maiden.

Maybe she’s unforgivable because she’s a “vessel” for the sins of other beings, hence her being unable to be “sin-free” herself.

Frankly, for all we know she might have been simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

But of course, it’s impossible to say for sure, although some sort of misunderstanding playing a role might be quite a possibility.

Honestly tho, Ena’s overworking tendencies and disregard for herself is honestly quite saddening:(

Wonder if it’s due to the feelings of guilt or regret? And if so, are they misplaced?

Could it be that it’s impossible to forgive Ena because she can’t forgive herself?

Have you noticed how she doesn’t seem to be all that concerned by the idea of being unforgivable?

But, well, all of this is nothing more than a speculation at the moment.

DREAM BBQ

What if the whole game is Ena's subconscious?

I'm sure that most have already heard of such a theory, but what if everything (or mostly everything) is nothing more than a dream, in which case this may open a whole other bug of worms.

However, what I want to focus on are Ena's view of herself, because if the world itself is a dream, in whatever way of form, then it means that what we have seen regarding Ena would be completely Ena's own view and opinion of herself. That, in turn, would mean that her "unforgivable" state would be entirely her "fault" too.

Could it be that she did something she deeply regrets? Does she blame herself for something out of her control, or is she actually responsible for committing something terrible?

The idea of other ENAs existing, in this context, has left me thinking that, what if they actually are the "species" that represent certain people? With the hints to war and Ena's connection to the military, could they represent different participants, including those who might have simply been affected by such events, or are they only the people who have actively been participating?

Well, all of that remains to be seen.

I’m not sure if I have missed anything because it’s quite hard to keep track of everything but yeah!

Ena in Dream BBQ and Work Culture

HELLO Dashboard!! Ever since i first played DBBQ i've found the entire game endlessly interesting (as have most people, LOL) But one of the most interesting, and in my opinion, most Potent things, is Ena's character and how she relates to the game's commentary on modern work culture.

So for anyone as much of a #SICKO as me 😭 Here's an embarrassingly long analysis of just that! There's SO much to talk about with this game, and even when I'm trying to focus on one specific idea with this post, I'm sure I'll still miss things, so just stick with me best you can OK? 😭 😭

My aim for this post is to allow you to understand Just how deep in the torment nexus Ena is, and to want to say "she should be at the club" Only to realize she can't even go to the club. She can't even go to the club. Because of Job. (Among other, hopefully more intelligently articulated things!)

SO, Let's just jump right in :D

First, to state the obvious—Ena's literal entire life is her job. The only moods she expresses under normal circumstance are "smooth talking salesperson where every line is about working or trying to sell something" and "Stops keeping up the veneer and gets frustrated and pissed because she hates her stupid job."

This permeates every aspect of her character—I don't think there's a single line in the game so far where she says like, Anything about herself. There's nothing about what she may want or what she may like. It's all about her fuckass job or the fuckass Boss.

And of course, even in gameplay aspects, you literally don't get a chance to choose whether you accept a job or not, like the thought of doing anything besides giving her time and energy for other people or her job's benefit doesn't even occur to her (Or, it can't occur to her—I doubt the Boss would want to allow her reprieve from anything at all, and I'm sure Ena would know this).

(^ Ena's reaction to being told to find a mythical figure that she maybe didn't even know existed cause Froggy sure as hell didn't to do a stupid job for Froggy's stupid ass. Like)

Maybe i'm reaching here, but I even find it interesting how her red hand has no fingers (besides a thumb). I feel like that represents a lack of individuality she has when she's in Salesperson mode, or at least, a lack of individuality she's been allowed. A lack of having a defined being cause it's all about this stupid job.

There's lots of avenues to go from here, but let's start with another big point of the game: Everybody hates her. Except for like, three characters, every NPC in the game either insults her, talks down to her, blatantly doesn't respect her, or Literally tells her nobody should be punished for being born except her. Typical day for Ena.

I'm not going to get into why I think this is—for me there's not enough evidence to speculate with surety right now—but I think this does tie strongly into her commitment to her job. Ena working her ass off in every aspect of her life and earning nothing but disrespect for it is very reminiscent of real life work environments.

Think of how almost every NPC claims they are "the Boss" in such a way that many of them seem to want to be the Boss, like he's some kind of well-known or respected figure. The description for the game on Steam even says as much: "Play as ENA as she searches for the Boss that everyone wants to be."

(eg: "I am the B-O-S-S!"):

People wish they were the Boss, they want to be some kind of rich capitalist with power and fame, but when looking at someone who actually works for him, and probably is the reason the Boss has profit and success in the first place, they insult her and demean her no matter how much she gives herself to them and the Boss. I'm sure you can see the real life parallels here.

It's even possible one of the reasons Ena works so hard in the first place is as an attempt to earn respect from these people, or to make up for whatever everyone thinks she did that made everyone hate her so much. Especially considering...

Our society is one that tells its people that Work is unequivocally Good. Committing yourself to work is what everyone, no matter who they are or what they face, is what you have to do to be a valuable member of society, and to have any respect from other people in the slightest. It tells its people that you only have value as a living human being at all if you give your life to work.

Even though this blatantly isn't true. If people think you're the Wrong type of worker, or if people think your work isn't valuable, helpful, or that it doesn't require skill, you can work as hard as you want but you'll still be treated like shit. But, hey, work is still your duty as a member of society, right? Stop bitching and whining and pull yourself up by your bootstraps, right?

Needless to say, it's easy to see how this whole idea is being represented in DBBQ. She even knows how much she's sold herself to this, she just... Seems to have extremely casually accepted it all LOL, which, I mean... What else does she have the power to do?

This very casual and nonchalant acknowledgement of her lack of autonomy connects to another big point: Ena doesn't value herself, nor does she even know how to exist without being in a constant state of working.

Let's talk about the Purge: There's a LOT to get to here in terms of Ena herself LOL, but the intrigue starts before she even enters the party. Literally Froggy just saying she's about to enter an "Event" stops her in her tracks and worries her. Not to mention the next line...

This feels like an indication that despite how much she commits herself to it, Ena does "crave freedom" from her shitty job, although she can scarcely admit this anywhere else so far. Then, if you talk to this slime guy, you get some strange text.

As far as I know, the text for interacting with things doesn't look like this anywhere else in the game. And given that it looks exactly the same as how Ena's lines do in the Purge, it's seemingly the only peek we get into her internal monologue, and it is. Quite worrying! She literally can climb up a hellish freezing floating mountain and yet this is by far the most freaked out she gets in the entire game.

And then to actually get into the Purge, an Evil eye Ball tells her that she needs to give a literal arm or a leg to get in. And she just does it. Like no hesitation no further questions she just gives it away to the evil eye ball. Presumably for Good? Because the only reason she regains the arm later is because of Genie magic? Like Ena. Girl. Are we gonna talk about this at all.

But so many real life work environments expect you to give every part of yourself in order to be allowed to exist and live in society, including your physical being and critical parts of your personhood at all.

(Let me also say I find it intentional that she gave away her white arm. Whereas her red hand literally doesn't have fingers, the sharp claws she has on her white hand represent the individuality and unique identity she Does have. However, it's also the part of herself that's in conflict with her ability to be a Good Worker, that always does exactly what she's supposed to do, and never complains, and never gets in the way of her duties.)

She was already very distressed here, but it's a clear indication of how little she values herself. It was a motion to lose a part of herself just to reach the Genie, both for her stupid job, and possibly for the possibility of "freedom" from it all. And your average job these days—no matter how important you are to your cause—will drill it into you that your ability to be a good worker is infinitely more important than your existence as a person. It's easy to see how Ena may have internalized that.

And then she goes to the club one time and this happens

I won't get too deep into her dialogue with the NPCs here because I think their intention is pretty clear; Being in a place so antithetical to a work environment, and a place where she's supposed to let loose and have fun, is so distressing and impossible to even fathom for her that This Happens.

(see: "H-How can I leave this stupid event? M-my lame schedule is full,")

Like, everything at the Purge is insane, but this is a particularly heartbreaking line for me. One because of her job's shitty environment that's broken her down so much—do you think she EVER gets a break, because I sure don't—but also because of how it's conditioned her to not even believe she can "afford another minute of joy." Ena :[

Note how she's covered in these branches that started growing during Froggy's phone call, which look very similar to how she looks in this gag with the Shaman—it's literally her nervous system. In her scene with Mitu she even says she's feeling "sick," She's literally freaked out of her flipping Gourd with her goddamn Nerves On The Outside

Hell, even though Meanie's speaking (which, I mean, no shit, in another line she literally describes her job as "deplorable" 😭), these sprites in the files are actually labelled "Anxiety", suggesting that she's SO freaked out by being somewhere supposed to be so opposite to her work she's become another variant of herself, a la Drunk Ena from Season 1.

I won't get much more into this, because @cube-cumb3r has a PHENOMENAL post I'll link in the notes that goes deeper into this stuff from the Purge and the "Anxiety" thing, And also gets more into theory territory than I do here! Please please go read that post, it is so damn good.

In any case, I think the scenes with the Purge NPCs are the biggest examples in the whole game of how much she hates her fuckass job, yet she can't be allowed to be anything besides a wage slave to it. And just as she's internalized everybody in her world's dislike of her, she hates herself for it.

So:

We've established that Ena's shitty job parallels the real life work conditions that plague our world, and that these conditions have caused her to devalue herself and believe she can't have any reprieve from them... but, what even is her job?

Apparently she's a salesperson, but what is she even selling? She tries to offer a "divestment opportunity", and tells the Witches she can show them how to "grow [their] own [boss]" which definitely falls in line with the Sales thing, but besides that it's still not clear, even when she talks to Froggy.

I suppose the "grow their own boss" line does sound a lot like the phrasing used in MLM schemes, with how they lure people in by telling them they can "be their own boss." The Receptionist also calls Ena a scammer and a conman, so maybe she is a sort of scammer, but, I also don't exactly think the Receptionist think she has the most reliable opinions of Ena LOL

She also calls her a "pink-collar slug", pink collar meaning a job traditionally associated with women, which. ??? I don't fully know where to go with that.. like ...Nothing she does harkens to... Any kind of job expected to be done by women, imo?? Um. Yeah idk i just thought that may be significant??/ 😭😭😭😭 Listen man I can't know it all

Anyway. Maybe I'll be proven embarrassingly wrong when we receive more information in future chapters, but I think the lack of clarity on what she's supposed to be is representative of the games themes. The constant disrespect Ena receives makes her seem likely to be a low-tier worker, someone at the bottom of the ladder that people have no problems walking all over.

Because these types of jobs will treat you the same no matter who you are or what you're supposed to be doing. She's doing what the world tells her she needs to do in order to be a respected member of society, and yet she's also someone people feel comfortable treating poorly because she's at the bottom—because has no power of her own. It doesn't matter what she's supposed to be doing, it matters that she's the Wrong type of worker.

And how is she supposed to ever say anything for herself? It seems virtually baked into her Salesperson side to completely ignore past all the rude things these assholes say to her. After all, not only would that probably just make most people ruder to her (and impede her ability to complete jobs for them) isn't the customer always right?

...OK I will say her whole "Understood! Aim for the target!" line DOES seem like her overall job here is to fucking kill the Boss, but this is long enough already and the likely theme of Ena having a violent streak and whatnot is another beast entirely that I am NOT getting into here 😭😭

Besides, maybe she has no clearly defined job because we've already seen exactly what it is. To sell her life, time, and emotions to whatever all these clowns ask of her, and to receive no reward besides another goddamn job to do.

I think future chapters may delve more into Ena's true feelings on her situation, and possibly even how she'll get freedom from it. Allow me to mention the scenes with Theodora, wherein if you try to "aspire to receive a blissful life" Theodora just tells Ena "You can't aspire for more than what you are capable of." (LIKE OKAYYYY.... RUDE MUCH????)

Until, finally:

How is her mind—containing a desire for freedom—supposed to be in harmony with the letters it spits out, when she's been so conditioned that the only thing she's allowed to be is a worker?

Now, even I still have a lot of questions after this. Like: What has happened in Ena's past that made her this way? How and why did she take this job in the first place? What is up with the "Guys wait, I'm not doing what you say I'm doing" scene I literally didn't even mention that once here. Why should nobody be punished for being born except poor damn Ena, and does it relate to any of the themes I just talked about?

I... don't know. Like I actually truly have no idea. But I have confidence, even if it's in a delightfully vague and abstract Ena-typical way, that we'll find out eventually.

#ena dbbq #ena dream bbq spoilers #ena joel g #ena dream bbq #game theories #discussion #i love this game so much

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ronearoundblindly · 2 days ago

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Pampered

Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Alpine!Reader (platonic Bucky Barnes x reader)

Summary: A stranger comes by while Bucky is stuck on a mission longer than expected. Your friend's friend is...uh...really hot.

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Warning for shameless enjoyment of cat behavior designed to mess with Steve, probably puns (many, many puns), thirsty thots, and fluff. Steve's just a sorta-clueless good guy. So...no warnings. WC 992

The sound of the key wakes you from a nap in the sunny sliver on the bed.

Normally, Bucky says he’s home when he returns, but all that follows the door clicking shut is “what’s this mess?”

No more words after, only the crinkling of plastic, foil, and cardboard as whoever came in cleans up your mess. Bucky has been gone for almost three days, and since you can’t figure out how to make yourself change back, you chewed through various packaged foods and snacks. You’re fine because this little form needs very little sustenance, but the intruder…doesn’t agree.

“Rascal” rumbles deeply down the hall.

You jump down as quietly as you can and peek toward the kitchen.

Enormous, broad shoulders are visible over the island countertop, and a perky, round bum angles to and fro as he gathers the last bits of trash.

The man straightens after shoving it all into the bin. He’s…he’s…he’s really handsome.

“Hey, kitty—I mean, Alpine, right? Hi, Alpine,” his soft, unfamiliar voice calls down the length of the apartment, “I’m Steve.”

Who the hell is ‘Steve?’

You shift so that only one of your eyes is visible to the newcomer.

“Bucky’s friend,” he adds, immediately muttering, “which she can’t understand, you idiot…” Steve begins searching the lower cabinets and finds the crap cans of cat food Bucky squirreled away after you refused to eat them.

“You’re either very hungry—or perhaps not hungry at all based on the stuff you ruined.”

This ’Steve’ is not a cat person. The big, blond man, bigger than even Bucky, fills your bowl and walks it over to you.

With each step forward, you bend lower in suspicion, but he doesn’t really notice before unceremoniously placing it in the doorway and continuing to the bathroom.

You’re not eating that, so you follow until he turns, looks confused, and shuts you out.

Gross. Unacceptable. You miss having thumbs.

If he’s going to bother at all, he’s damn well going to use those meaty arms to open you a can of the human stuff—the real food Bucky learned to feed you on day one.

You slap your bowl until it upends, trot into the kitchenette, and hop on the counter beneath the correct cabinet.

“Alpine,” you hear Steve shout from the bathroom, “what was that?”

Despite his annoyed grunt once he finishes and sees the spill, you paw repeatedly at the cabinet, crying in urgency because it seems to be the only thing he’ll respond to: pathetic guilt. You also come face-to-face with not just a handsome man, but possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and lose time staring into his sky blue eyes.

“No,” Steve says, knocking you out of your daze. “Get down.”

You growl when he shoos you off.

After a half-minute standoff, Steve caves, sighing in defeat.

“Buck always said he’d spoil a girl rotten…”

Well, you, sir, are cute, distant, and awkward. So there.

He starts to leave the kitchen, so you plant yourself in front of him.

“Babygirl,” Steve snaps, making you preen slightly at his tone, “I gotta get your bowl, or you get nothing, okay?”

Oh, yeah. I guess he does, you think with an indignant chirp, sitting by your bone-dry water bowl while he shuffles around, griping about wiping up the floor yet again.

You lick at the food only as long as it takes him to refill the water, and then you run over to the first potted plant, screeching. He’s making his way to the front door without noticing.

He hisses at himself. “Good call. I almost forgot.”

No one knows you can pull the tap to drink out of it like a fountain, but you have no way of transferring some water to the plants. Watching them wither has been the most motivation so far to attempt transforming back to a human, a problem you no longer have to worry about now that Steve is here.

“Buck got delayed,” he explains, “probably just another day or so. He’s mentioned figuring out a doggy-door situation for you, but apparently that’s a non-starter for the building. I guess…Guess you’re stuck with me coming by on occasion.” Steve rambles as he moves from pot to pot.

You stay at his heel, craning your neck to watch him gently tip the watering can repeatedly, a few veins pulsing along his thick forearm as he does so.

When he’s done, you sit in the middle of the hall, watching him gather his stuff and slide on his shoes.

“Eat, babygirl,” Steve encourages as he leaves.

You simply stare and shift on your paws expectantly.

He frowns. “Buck is coming home. I promise. He’ll be back soon.”

But Steve doesn’t continue to shut the door. His hand is just frozen there while he eyes you.

Then he gives in, comes inside again, and bends down to pat your head. It’s the first time he’s touched you.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay.” Steve squats down, a sad smile stretched over his face. “What do you want, huh? You want company? You been alone too long?”

Yes.

You press into his hand and slowly blink.

“Alright, alright—“ he stalks over to the couch and sits, relaxing finally “—I’ll stay a while.”

Steve waits for you to settle beside him, curling against his firm thigh before he rubs down your back in a steady rhythm. You’re sure to purr loudly and respond to his continued chatting with merps and meeps. You can tell he's stressed like Bucky was when you first met, but as the minutes become an hour or more, the tension melts away. Steve seems to forget about everything else until his phone rings.

When he’s almost closed the door, Steve peeks one of his eyes around to see you standing patiently.

“Be a good girl for me and eat, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

Yes, Steve, I will.

[Next Part: 'Babygirl']

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @bitchy-bi-trash @yenzys-lucky-charm @irishhappiness @fallenxjas

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #shapeshifter!reader #alpine the cat #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #shapeshifter #companion animal series #alpine!reader

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jybyls · 3 days ago

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Freckles || J.O

Navigation

Synopsis: You love your girlfriend's freckles.

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and some more fluff.

Words: 650~

- 📜🎧🍂 -

An early morning, curtains blocking the sun light so as not to bother you and your girlfriend's sleep. Her arms were securely wrapped around your waist, holding you close to her to feel your warmth. You slowly started to wake up, your eyes adjusting to the soft lighting in the room.

Your pupils dilated at the sight of your lover soundly sleeping next to you. She looked ever so peaceful. You did not want to distribute her resting, knowing how she usually struggled to have a good night's sleep. So you stayed there, in her arms, and didn't move, just admiring her beautiful features.

Your soft breathing matched hers while your fingers traced over her freckles. At this very moment, time seemed to have stopped. Just the both of you, lying in bed with nothing but comfort in your bubble where you felt ever so save.

Minutes went by, but you were still captived by her sweet speckles, so captived that you didn't realise she was waking up. Her eyes fluttered open at the sight of you, lovingly looking her the soft feeling of your fingers over her skin, caressing her in the tenderness way like you were scared you could break her. It made her feel, oh, so loved and cared for.

Your eyes finally met sleepy ones. However, it didn't take long for them to find their way back on her marbles. A faint laughter left. She couldn't understand why you liked this feature of hers so much, but your cute obsession made her heart melt every time. One day, you were enjoying a quiet evening in front of one of Jenna's movie recommendations, but obviously, you were more focused on those freckles than the movie. She noticed but didn't say anything about it until you spoke up to say, 'You should never eat lemon.' It was so random that it got her giggling before she asked you why only for you to respond that lemon makes freckles disappear and that you did not want her freckles to go anywhere. She only smiled and kissed your head as she reassured you that her freckles weren't going anywhere.

So it's safe to say she's used to your hyperfication on small details about her and, more specifically, her spots all over her breathtaking face. In fact, every week, your pure soul had something fetching to say about her freckles. It you would come to have a muse, it wouldn't only be the love of your life but also your favorite trait about her body.

Today was one of those days where you had a certain saying in that loving brain of yours that you, of course, wanted to share with your loved one.

Before even greeting her or asking her about her night, your mouth slightly opened for the words to fly out of it, "I like to think that they were so many stars in your eyes that they decided to spray out on your face and that's why you have freckles." Your finger was tracing the shape of her heart on her cheekbone, following what you now saw as stars. Jenna's poor heart had just woken to so much attention and preciousness coming from you that it almost exploded.

"That is a very lovely way to think, babe." She whispered, her hand caressing your messy hair. "I don't really need to try. You just make my brain come up with those things. Your looks and personality are poetic to me." Your tone shadowed hers. You were so effortlessly romantic. It was for her to keep up with you at times she would be overwhelmed in the best possible, too, but she didn't know how to answer those flatteries of yours besides giggling like a school girl.

You didn't mind either. You found it appealing. "I love you, freckles." You murmured, fondly smiling, "I love you, dummy." She grinned, playing with your hair.

You didn't compliment her to receive compliments back, you just wanted her to know how you perceived her.

- 📜🎧🍂 -

A/n: I love her freckles in case that wasn't clear. Wrote this in like 20 mins or some shit btw. Hope you're having a good day/night. Love y'all <3

#jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #oneshot #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega fluff #Spotify #jybyls #- 📜🎧🍂 -#jenna ortega x female!reader #jenna ortega's freckles #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh

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plumdale · 2 days ago

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Here are all of Nico’s Cupid’s matches!

Thank you so much to everyone who submitted a sim! I got more than I expected, but I am not complaining at all, I appreciate every single beautiful sim 🫶

Here is who each sim is by:

Kaori Kimura by @panicsimss

Nez Pickles by @blvckentropy

Marisol McCrow by @invisiblequeen

Morning Glory by @riverofjazzsims

Madisyn Whitcroft by @mylittleblackbox

Miriam Lee-Jones by @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants

Evi Claassen by @starrysixam

Zarah Hern by @milkyplumbob

Ezra Ferris by @batsycatsy

Sarama Nishimura by @n0-im-dirty-dan

Roxie Valdes by @bunnithechubs

Donna Leblanc by @pixeldye

THANK U AGAIN YOUR SIMS ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL!!! I am honored to even have them at all :’)

‼️ Read below for how I’ll be doing this AND an important note to those of you who submitted a sim:

Nico will be meeting ALL the sims, but will only be going on dates with six of them (sorry 😢 as much as I would want him to go on 12 dates, that’s a lottt). The selection of the six sims will be based on ranking how the first meeting with each sim goes!

He’ll go on an individual date w each of the six sims, developing (or devolving) the relationship.

Second dates with the 3-4 sims he earns the highest relationships with

Spinning the wheel w the top sims!

I'll be downloading mods to enhance the gameplay.

Sorry this is so unconventional and not as fun as a bachelor challenge, but I plan to do one at some point in the future w another gen!

‼️ Important note to everyone who submitted a sim pls read below!

Some sims probably look a bit different than they did when yall submitted them, but I promise I did not maliciously or intentionally change any features 🥲 (no skin colors were touched. If they appear different, it’s 100% my gshade). Genetics were touched for irises, for example, bc some were very small or huge due to my defaults. I also added skin overlays to some sims that didn't already have one + blush, lashes, and this shadow detail for ALL of the sims for the sake of consistency since I currently give these specific details to literally all my sims lol.

There were a couple sims that looked a little different and I assume it was because of some presets/sliders I didn’t have, so I did my best to make them look as close as I could to your preview pics. I downloaded just about all the cc that was included but I’m sure that I missed some stuff like sliders/presets, which make all the difference. Please please message me if you’re unsatisfied w anything. It’s also possible I accidentally switched traits (when I was in CAS making them pose for pics) so pls also lmk if you notice a mistake with traits. I’m a complete newbie when it comes to interactive things like this so please give me some grace for this first timeejdjsj 😭

#*nico's love quest #looking to start this week or weekend and posting it next week!#btw this was so fun and i love how everyone has a different sim style #duarte extras

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dlartistanon · 16 hours ago

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Shiningale Addendum: Since I made this, there have been a few updates, so we're going to go through the most pertinent ones!

Shining Operator Record #1 - On a Rainy Night

Shining's Op Rec takes place in the past, right after they both escaped from the Confessarii base of operations in Victoria. Something to note here is that before they managed to find shelter, they had gone into town to buy food and were met with hostility because they were Sarkaz:

Something I wonder is whether this was Liz's first time being discriminated against--remember, she's a homunculus and was kept in captivity since her "creation". She's never seen the outside world until Shining broke her out, so it's entirely likely that this is the first instance of her facing bigotry against Sarkaz.

Not that we needed it to understand, but this gives us a bit more context as to why Shining didn't want to run the risk of engaging with the Gendarmerie in Nightingale's Op Rec.

One thing I want to point out is the relationship between Liz and the little bluebird--it's my interpretation that the bird is in some way an extension of Liz herself. It's not just a gift from the Confessarii and her pet/friend, but also a part of her. It makes certain scenes where the bird is mentioned a little intriguing if we read it not only as the bird taking actions independent of Liz, but is also a representation of Liz exerting her will when she physically can't. It's all but stated to be tethered to her.

The first thing I thought of when I read this was that Shining was probably overcorrecting herself here. Either that, or Liz was attempting to not be the cause for them to slow down.

It's interesting because you can interpret it several ways that add something to their characters. Shining's vow to preserve Liz's agency isn't yet apparent--and likely came later--but her disregarding Liz's want at this moment is something worth noting, even if it was because she presumably saw through Liz's claim that she wasn't hungry.

I find it so tender how often Shining asks how Liz feels. Even if Liz doesn't have a good grasp on emotions, it's clear that she still feels quite a bit. It's actually quite similar to how Ptilopsis feels a lot of emotion, but has trouble with expression because of Oripathy.

But in Liz's case, her struggles stem from being a pseudo-artificial creation with not even an iota of lived experience. Every instance of Shining asking what she's feeling is further encouragement for Liz to define herself outside of what the Confessarii thought about and intended for her.

What's of additional note is that Liz seems to be slightly more optimistic than Shining. That could be a result of her aforementioned lack of life experience compared to Shining, but it's another point of contrast between them. Given how all of the Followers are themed after "light" in various ways, this could also serve as an example of that.

Nightingale Module #2 - Nocturnal Echoes

This module text is fascinating to me, not just because of the inherently suggestive imagery, but that this informs us that Nightingale holds close the falsified memories that Shining implanted into her, even after Shining wiped her memory.

It paints a fairly evocative picture of Liz's creation--eerily reminiscent of the Pygmalion myth, only instead of carving white stone, the carving is being performed with a white sword.

Some things I noticed:

"The first note of this night song began sooner than you thought" My interpretation of this line and the subsequent "dried bloodlines, 90,000 sinful names" falls along the theory that Liz's consciousness existed long before her body was formed. We know that the first Confessarius was a previous Lord of Fiends, though I'm not entire sure whether this part is referring to the clan or the general Sarkaz population. Regardless, it does feel compliant with the possibility that Liz could've originally been part of the Sarkaz Collective Consciousness.

The part about the new soul "no longer resisting" brings to mind consent, and the implication that she, even in that transient state, was aware enough to realize what was happening. That could make sense if a roaming consciousness was being bound to a body but had been observing for a while prior.

Their fates are truly entwined just from the line that describes Shining's life blooming at the same instant that Nightingale was given a voice...

I know it's probably unintentional for it to sound vaguely sexual, but I can't help but laugh at how much it sounds like a layered metaphorical allusion (stone bed, sword tip, life bloom, parched sheath, night song...)

"The first soul I healed was you, the person on the other end of the sword" is incredibly romantic... Shining cried in front of Liz, and Liz accepted all Shining gave her. "Don't ask me to tell memories from illusions. I never meant to forsake those echoes".

To quote a CN comment I saw: "This is a love letter from Liz to Shining, a confession. The song she sang for her is full of affection. The nightingale bird is a symbol because its song is particularly moving at night, just like a love that shines in the dark"

Chapter 14-12

I wanted to include this part because this marks the first appearance of Shining's mother (barring Shining's first module text) and it really exemplifies just how deeply rooted the issues are within the clan. Shining's mother was also a victim. Patriarchy, am I right?

(Also worth mentioning is that the recurring bluebird is additionally a manifestation of Shining's desire for freedom? Compare that with Liz being her "light"...)

Again, another instance of Salus dehumanizing Nightingale and treating Shining's growing interest in her as a curious quirk. That, and Shining's brusqueness towards Salus seems to be the normal dynamic between them. At this point Shining obviously holds no love for her remaining family, but the way in which she addresses Salus makes me wonder if this kind of coldness was what she greeted Nightingale with when she tried to distance herself from her...

Again with the bluebird visual... what's poetic is that it simultaneously represents both Shining and Nightingale. It's sweet how Shining found the bird from her favorite story with Liz. The cage motif is strong, particularly due to the perceived inseparability from the Confessarii bloodline and Nightingale being a man-made construct, routinely referred to as a "receptacle".

They're one and the same: two souls defying fate.

From this entire exchange, you can physically taste Confessarius’s patronizing of Shining; he sees her acts of defiance as nothing but her throwing a tantrum, acting as an “understanding”, patient authority figure merely biding his time until his favorite problem child calms down.

And when Shining throws his so-called compassion back at his face, he switches to try another manipulation tactic: talking to her through the guise of her younger brother. He attempts a variation of love-bombing Shining, but all it does is piss her off even more, because Shining’s brother never got a chance to live in the first place. He “died” the moment he was born, as Confessarius immediately inhabited his body.

As he tries to placate Shining by telling her that him dying again and again can be seen as punishment for his sins, Shining has had enough. Confessarius’s “suffering” can’t compare to what the rest of his family had to go through because of him. He is no victim, but a wellspring, the source of their suffering.

It's also here that we become privy to Shining's plan: Confessarius will always come back after he dies through reincarnation into his descendants. Shining means to kill herself immediately after killing him, so that there's no chance of him returning. Top-tier "the bloodline ends with me" maneuver. Doubly so because she's gay.

Narcissistic and deplorable as ever, continuing to weaponize Shining's love by tempting her with a 'happy ending' in which she can remain with Nightingale as long as they both do what he says. I don't know how much more bluntly they can communicate this style of yuri...

Yuri "with caveats" is often the usual modus operandi behind Class S and subtext, only in this case, the patriarch seeks to maintain control over every aspect of their relationship, not because of any desire to insert himself (again Confessarious comes across as homophobic and ableist), but moreso that he cannot accept that Shining can have a life that doesn't involve him.

Even the closest and most stalwart of relationships have their unspoken baggage. For all that they've been through together, ever since their first meeting where Nightingale healed Nearl from the brink of death and Shining offered her a place to belong, Nearl can't really hope to fathom what Shining has been mulling over in her head prior to their meeting. She assures Shining that she and Liz would never willingly abandon her, but Shining feels that the one who was always the closest to "leaving" was herself.

How can she readily explain that the only way she knows how to save the person she devoted her entire being to is to sacrifice herself? She's fought tooth and nail to be together with Liz, but continually running away from Confessarius's grasp isn't a permanent solution; he's still alive, his influence still shadows Shining. Try as she might, she can't truly escape him, just like he wants.

We saw the ultimatum he gave: either return Nightingale back to captivity to keep her body from deteriorating, or Shining kills Confessarius and relinquishes her own soul to him and triggers another rebirth.

It bears repeating that Shining is tortured over the possibility that saving Liz means losing her.

Her fatalistic mindset has already accepted the shaky conclusion that Nearl will have to pick up where she leaves off, no matter how badly she wants otherwise. And Nearl seemingly agrees, but in a roundabout way also refuses the notion that any of them will part. Not like this.

From this, we get a clearer picture of what Nightingale experienced as a prisoner: "a girl huddled in a dark corner, she can't tell day from night, does not react to any procedure performed on her"... it paints a dark image of her stripped of all will, feeling little to no stimuli, her body capitulating under Shining's experiments, going through the motions of whatever the Confessarii needed her to do.

Something that lingers in my mind whenever I think about Shiningale's relationship and plotline with Confessarius is how much consent plays into it.

Not just between our two heroines, but even the original Confessarius chose to exert his will unto his descendants, violating them through reincarnation to prolong his own life. Shining lost her father to him, lost her younger brother to him, and lost her mother who was looking for a way to escape and take Shining with her.

And through those losses, we see that Shining herself is not only a victim of consent violation, but a perpetrator, hence the above recollection and her succeeding guilt and atonement afterwards.

Consent is still highlighted by Shining making sure that Liz always has agency, a recurring theme throughout all of their interactions post-escape. It's a relationship and dynamic constant being emphasized that isn't beneath notice once you take their history into account.

Another thing to note is what Shining means when refers to "unnecessary vestiges". It could be that she's talking about her growing sense of attachment to Nightingale, of unwittingly giving her remnant feelings that would be useless for a receptacle's purpose. In which case, she then chose to implement false memories instead of removing those vestiges.

She continued her experiment, but tried to make it less painful for her subject. Shining's innate compassion slipped through the cracks of her mask. She tried to reason that it was a form of escapism, just like the bluebird.

"As long as I lost myself in those wholly trusting eyes, I didn't have to confront the cruelty of what I had done to her" is an incredibly poignant statement. She believed in blissful ignorance being better for Liz in the long run. It's simultaneously selfless and selfish, because she feared Liz would reject her otherwise. Shining never forgave herself for what she did, how could she expect Liz, her victim, to do so?

This scene is striking to me not just because of the visual, but also because this is a moment of strength for Liz, a parallel to the previous scene where she spoke to Shining before being taken away by Confessarius. Liz recalls little things she'd noticed about Shining, saw how she could melt when she laid eyes on her, recalls how Nearl took opportunities to be close, recalls how both of them would always be there for her... Liz asserts herself as a member of the Followers: not a damsel, not a burden, but an equal partner.

Shining is someone who defines herself by her sins, in that she struggles considerably with internalizing the good she has put into the world, but specifically the goodness she has shown to Liz. It's her own flavor of suffering from imposter syndrome. It's noteworthy just because of how stark the contrast is to how Liz and Nearl see her.

After the forced amnesia and initial escape from the Confessarii, Liz had no memory of Shining's previous actions. She only ever knew Shining as a caring individual. To her, post-escape Shining is the real Shining. And after she regains those lost memories, Liz reinforces that Past and Present Shining are the same, and that she accepts everything about her. She is who she is because of it.

View their relationship having evolved from unequal, to deceptive, to true. Shining hid the truth, but it was done for Liz's benefit and out of her own shame/cowardice. But just because it wasn't wholly honest doesn't mean it wasn't good. Shining committed that particular wrongdoing for the right reasons. Despite hurting Liz in the past, violating her agency, and keeping her captive, Shining never once did it again. No, she loves Liz more than anyone in the world.

Personally, I think their situation posits an interesting question about forgiveness where the answer depends on the person.

And lastly, it's here that we witness the tides turning against Confessarius. With renewed resolve, Shining's perspective on her potential sacrifice has shifted into one of grim determination. She will no longer fall prey to his clutches. She will trust that Liz and Nearl will carry on in her name. She vows to sever her connection to him once and for all--

--but until that day comes, Confessarius deserves nothing but scorn.

ENDING NOTE

This does segue into more of a Followers thread towards the end, but that's only because the bond between the three is so intrinsically intertwined.

We've already gone through how each of their dynamics differ from each other: Shining/Nightingale is complicated yet persevering, Shining/Nearl is one of mutual respect and admiration ("she is the hope I've been seeking"), and Nearl/Nightingale is one where it's the most honest and intimate.

Each of them has affected one another in profound ways that changed the course of their lives: Nearl would've either died or turned out like her embittered uncle if she never met Shiningale, Shining would just been another body to propagate Confessarius's perpetual immortality, and Liz would've never come to exist were it not for Shining.

I'm looking forward to seeing how their relationship changes from now on, and that Shining and Nightingale can finally achieve their overdue happy ending.

Shining and Nightingale: Connection, Plot Beats, and How Their Story Makes (Even) More Sense If You Read It As Romantic

Introduction

Belonging to the Followers faction, Shining and Nightingale were among the first 6* operators introduced at launch. With damage mitigation as their niche, Shining is a single-target medic who specializes in reducing incoming physical damage, while Nightingale is an AoE medic whose specialty lies in reducing incoming Arts damage. This post will delve into everything we know about them and how it's so gay, oh my god

Design Analysis

Upon first glance, you notice how they compare and contrast each other visually: Shining is dressed mostly in black, Nightingale in white. Shining has long, thin white horns that gently jut outwards, while Nightingale has thick, black horns that fold inwards. Shining keeps her hood on by default, giving her a mysterious and secretive appearance. She has dark brown eyes, Liz has light blue ones. Shining’s outfit is tattered and ragged, really giving off the vibe of a wanderer (a “roaming doctor”, as she puts it), in stark contrast to Nightingale’s clean and put-together attire. If you squint, Shining almost looks like a harbinger of death, whereas Nightingale is angelic. Both of them wear the insignia of the Followers, a Terran version of the Caduceus. Shining wears it on a necklace (and is the actual leader), while Nightingale has it etched onto her clothes. One of the black straps on Nightingale’s outfit also reads “The path to light is dark”.

The predominant colors in both their respective skins are the complementary blue and orange. Just as black and white are opposed, so is the contrast between blue and orange. Within Shining's Silent Night, there are flickers of red-orange accents in the form of crystals, while in Nightingale's Elegy, there is the vibrant blue of her bluebird and its wings/feather. Despite Shining’s skin being a summer/beach outfit, the overall atmosphere is foreboding, given the moonlit background, presence of crows/ravens, and color choices. The backdrop in Nightingale’s is very characteristic of Gothic settings.

The strongest theme tying both their designs (and stories) together is The Gothic, an atmosphere and aesthetic best exemplified and symbolized by moody, somber colors (often black) and the gnarled, twisted branches of dead trees found in both their designs, as well as pertinent cast. (We will discuss more on their narrative ties to The Gothic)

Nightingale is featured (alongside Myrrh) in the song “Spring’s Pulse”, while Shining’s song is called “Winter Absolution”. Spring and Winter are opposing seasons, different times in which life either flourishes or hibernates. Green and red (as well as blue and red) are contrasting colors, highlighting life and death. As well as white and black, often symbolic of purity and sin.

Additionally, one of the Latin verses in Shining's song translates to:

"Sing, my tongue, redemption. Of my flesh, the mystery sing. Of the blood, all price exceeding. Shed by my immortal being. Destined for the world's redemption. From a noble womb to spring."

Profiles/Voice Lines

For the longest time, the most we could gather from their past was that Nightingale was a victim, a prisoner, forced to heal others while captive and that Shining had rescued her before they came to Rhodes Island. She has a host of ailments that mere Oripathy can't be the sole cause for, including amnesia. Through other clues, we eventually learn that Shining had a connection to someone called "Confessarius" ("Confessarii" when referring to a group), something she is noticeably evasive and uncomfortable about.

Later, the mystery slowly began to unravel as many theorized that Shining herself was involved with Nightingale's imprisonment, evidenced by Liz drawing the similarities between Shining and her captors. A shared past dripping with intrigue.

It was these seeds that provided a tantalizing story of atonement, of redemption, from someone who had committed a terrible transgression against another, complacent in her pain and suffering, whom she eventually grew to care about--so much so that Shining decided to sever all ties to her former compatriots, slaughtering many and freeing Nightingale, running away together. Shining, disgusted with her actions, spending the rest of her life atoning for her sins, of which she feels she can never be forgiven for.

The juxtaposition of Shining, unyielding with her sword, covered in the blood of her once-fellow Confessarii, and her being exceedingly gentle with Nightingale as she leads her to someplace safe, away from that room, her captors, that tower, where they (she) can’t hurt Liz ever again. The fanon that Shining was complicit in what made Nightingale the way she is, and that she is currently atoning for those sins, was largely embraced by fans.

Nightingale’s Operator Record #1 - A Song and a Blue Feather

The Op Rec is a good showcase of the Followers dynamic (with Liz as the Lady and her two knights), but it also serves to show more of Liz's personality. We only get a very baseline interpretation of who she is as a person via her official file, but seeing her interact with Nearl and Shining gives us a clearer picture of just how strong-willed she is. She goes against Shining's warnings in order to soothe the pain of an Infected child, particularly because his father was inadvertently exacerbating his condition through what Liz calls "a cage of love" (foreshadowing?).

Throughout, we learn more about Liz's Arts, specifically that they give her empathic qualities and come with the drawback of shortening her lifespan every time she heals. The game-breaking ability to reverse Oripathy symptoms comes with equivalent exchange. Liz takes on the pain of others in order to make them feel better.

Near the end of the record, Liz asks if Shining is mad and to not blame Nearl for helping her. Shining's original call to avoid the town was born out of being concerned with Liz's health, but she admits that she should've respected Liz's decision. This is a stance that we then see get repeated in their future appearances in both side stories and the main plot--Shining prioritizing giving Liz agency, when she previously had none. Even when it results in Liz's condition worsening, something that Shining struggles with accepting at the same time, communicated through her asking Liz if her feeling more pain was necessary.

Nightingale’s Module #1 - Closed Hope

The module basically states outright that Nightingale views herself as a burden for having to rely on Shining and Nearl to help her navigate through life. This is another example of Liz's strong-willed personality peeking through.

"But for me, results speak loudest. Because I endured a little more pain, others can be born anew. This is very good. But… if I could be like ordinary people, without this physical pain, that spark of hope in my heart would surely shine a little bit brighter. Unfortunately, as I am now, I can only rely on others to survive. Like a light crystal in a lantern. Even if the lantern door is open, even if the light can bring warmth to others, the crystal itself is still fixed inside. It is fixed there, because it has no ability to move on its own. 'Nightingale, Nightingale––' I hope that one day, I will also be able to spread my wings and fly… just like the bird next to me. 'Nightingale, wake up already––' Until then, I must impose upon them yet more to take care of me.

...

'What's the matter, Shining?'"

In her Op Rec, she had even told Shining that if her legs had cooperated with her, she would not have asked Nearl for help, and that she would've gone out to heal that boy on her own. It's letting us know that she longs to be independent, and that she can't idly sit by as a passive observer when she has the ability to help others. Liz won't even let her own disabilities stop her from doing what she wants.

It's not a coincidence how Shining's presence in her module is represented by the analogy Liz uses to describe her predicament. Shining rescued her = the cage door is open. However, the crystal itself can't move = Liz's debilitating condition. Shining played her part in putting Liz in the cage to begin with. Shining is not only her savior, caretaker, and companion, there's a darker undercurrent as well.

Near Light

In Maria Nearl, Nightingale and Shining get a brief mention and cameo around the time Nearl crashes into the Major stadium. A connection can be made with Liz's Op Rec in which we evidently see that she and Nearl have a more physical (and arguably openly affectionate) dynamic compared to Liz and Shining. Before Nearl leaves to help her sister, we a get a brief look into her and Liz's parting conversation, in which Nearl assures Liz that she'll be okay and that Liz still has Shining with her.

In Near Light, where they get more screentime, we have the iconic Nearl and Nightingale slow dance underneath the streetlights. In the CG itself, Shining can be seen hanging back, sporting a smile. She calls Liz beautiful unprompted, which results in Liz getting a little bit flustered, already so from dancing with Nearl.

Beyond these instances fleshing out the NearLiz leg of the triangle, it's also a purposeful depiction of Shining intentionally distancing herself from Liz, presumably due to her guilt for her past actions. And how that can be extrapolated into Shining feeling as though she is unworthy to partake in that same kind of intimacy. This self-loathing mentality is once more reflected in Nearl the Radiant Knight's second Module--here's a rough translation:

"I suddenly felt a little regretful - after all, I have always hated my bloodline. I have never tasted the beauty of home and the meaning of family. She deserved to have it all, deserved to be noticed and blessed and I deserved not to be a part of it."

However, at the end of Near Light, we get the scene where Shining makes a decision to go back to Londinium with Nightingale, preparing us for their subplot with Confessarius. This exchange hangs over them like a cloud, as well as further cementing Shining's firm resolve to always remain by Liz's side, no matter her own misgivings about everything else. Even if the rest of the world is muddled in her eyes, the only thing that stays clear and in view, is Nightingale. Nothing else matters more.

Chapter 10-18

The depth of Shining’s feelings for Nightingale is truly something to take note of. "My place is always at your side" is practically a textbook subtextual/indirect confession. "I will always be at your side... for as long as you’ll have me." Because we must know that Liz has a choice. She will not impose her own wants onto Liz. Should the day arrive where Liz no longer wants her, Shining will honor it, as much as it hurts.

The way Shining navigates and conducts her feelings towards Liz in this manner is very reminiscent of the medieval concept of courtly love, which is essentially a kind of romantic love without ever imagining it to go any further. The lack of consummation is not only expected, but ideal. That the love existing in and of itself is satisfying.

The scenes where we see Shining holding back help supplement this reading. It also plays well into how the Followers are basically the "knight in shining armor" idea codified into three individuals with corresponding dynamics. For bonus points, courtly love has ties to spirituality, which coincides with another aspect of Shiningale's story with identity, fate, and their conflict with Confessarius.

The fact that Shining 's most immediate plans for the future all have to do with Nightingale is only the tip of her unending devotion. "I’ll stay with you, and go wherever you want to go, as long as you want me". And for Liz to quickly ask if Shining will come with her wherever she wants to go suggests that the love is reciprocated.

Chapter 11-10

Through a series of revelations, we discover that the current head of the Confessarii is Shining's father, who is possessing the body of her younger brother. And that Nightingale was an experimental subject whose physical body is a construct, making her the equivalent of an artificial human/homunculus.

The whole scene we see just how both Confessarius and Salus view Shining, Nightingale, and their relationship. As randmsapphic puts it, the method in which they talk about Liz as an object with a purpose and that Shining's attachment to her is nothing short of a phase speaks volumes as to how dismissive and strangely self-assured that Shining will come to her senses and do the right/rational thing and bring Liz back to help her. They entertain the notion of saving Liz by way of pushing Shining to return to them, because they are the only ones who can save her. Instead of immediately resorting to threats, they rely on manipulation, pulling the "family" card, preying on and weaponizing Shining's guilt and desire to help Liz. It's not subtle--this dynamic could very easily be seen as the reactions homophobic relatives would have.

In particular, Confessarius's fixation on bloodline purity is insanely creepy and not only comes off as very homophobic, but ableist as well. Him suggesting they can build Liz a new body is coercion to get Shining to obey him (which also implies that he thinks Shining's attraction to Liz is purely physical). Salus emotionally abusing Shining by saying that all of Liz's pain is Shining's fault. Attempting to shame Shining by claiming she abandoned her family for a stranger. Does it not have the vibes of homophobia saying that Shiningale's love/relationship isn't real and will never work?

Chapter 12-10

The way Shining utterly ties her sense of self-worth to Nightingale, literally describing herself as Liz’s sin… she will not refer to Liz with possessive pronouns, but will do it to herself for her. The longing, the guilt, the resolve, the codependency… is incredibly yuri. Back in Chapter 10, Shining has an exchange with the Nachzehrer King where she says the moment she was born, she had carried sin. After the dinner in Chapter 11, she tells a Confessarius soldier (before cutting him down) that she hates herself most of all.

Of all the ways to describe her relationship with Liz, Shining decides on "I am her sin". There is poetry in how she refrains from using any kind of possessive language about Liz. Shining belongs to Liz, but Liz belongs to no one. "I am hers, and she is everything to me". It goes back to how she somewhat keeps her distance despite the overwhelming devotion. "I cannot touch her with these sinful hands".

Shining truly exemplifies devotion. Whoever was responsible for writing Shining’s dialogue is pulling out all sorts of stops to have her express her love for Liz in every way without outright making her say the words "I love Liz".

Chapter 13-9 (unfortunately tumblr has an image limit so i can't cap the entire subchapter; you really should read it yourselves for that delicious Shiningale goodness)

Kal'tsit: The way you look at Nightingale isn't just with compassion. You're not just her doctor—she's healing your fears too. Her body has its issues, but she's a member of the 'Followers', as well as your companion, and not a delicate flower that needs your protection.

Nightingale: I'm fine, Shining. You don't have to look after me so meticulously.

More examples of Liz's strong character! A dynamic becomes even more interesting when the one you thought was less-dependent turns out to desperately need the other. By this point, you should know that Shining places Nightingale incredibly high up her list of priorities. The narrative makes it no secret. They continue to hammer home that, despite being her caretaker, just how much Shining is dependent on Liz. Liz has already internally talked about how she hates having to rely on Shining and Nearl because of her ailments. In her other appearances, she makes it even more apparent with her dialogue. While Shining mends Liz’s aching body, Liz is the one who soothes Shining’s hurting heart.

Confessarius: Poor 'Liz'. She think it's all her fault, because of the momentary kindness you showed her.

When you remember that Liz's Arts make her empathic to pain, it takes on another layer of meaning when she wants to take away Shining's suffering. It's reasonable to assume that Liz also had an attachment to Shining, even if you see it as such because Shining "brought her to life". But the vibe you get from her dialogue shows a strong affection and compassion for Shining. Arguably instinctive, considering the "nature" of who Liz originally was. A wandering spirit, a memory, a soul that was drawn to Shining because she felt her crushing pain and wanted to help her. An intangible presence given life by an achingly lonely and hurt individual.

Another post by randmsapphic suggests that Liz's "childhood memories" of her and Shining were in fact fabrications that Shining had imposed onto Liz, in some desperate attempt to have a connection with another person, which this scene confirms. Shining was so happy with Liz's creation that she quickly became attached to her. Is this a sort of twisted love/affection that was born out of Shining's self-loathing? Or her being born into a very dark and messed up lineage in which her fate is a doomed one, and so she latched onto Liz as a means of escape and a way to feel close to someone? It may have started off as such, but by the time we reach this point, the love grew to be genuine.

Remember in Liz's Op Rec, where she described the father hurting his son by keeping him in a cage of love?

The bluebird losing its strength the farther it travels away from home is a metaphor and reflection for how the Confessarii treat Liz, their experiment. This is the basis for her captivity. Combined with Shining's sudden shift into a cold demeanor when she had previously been warm to Liz, this only served to psychologically and emotionally damage Liz, as well as compound Shining's guilt for having continued to follow the wishes of her family.

At some point, prior to deserting, Shining had wiped Liz's memories, perhaps out of said guilty conscious, or a means to a fresh start, or even her own way to stop Liz from feeling any pain associated with those memories, but she was still afraid of what would happen should Liz recover them, which had been happening little by little. Shining had resigned herself to believing that Liz would hate her, would want nothing to do with her, if she ever found out the truth. She had to wrestle with the very real possibility that attempting to save Liz could mean losing her, or being separated from her. Shining never once saw Nightingale as a burden; she was only ever happy that Liz exists.

Credit to randmsapphic again: Every time Shining draws her sword, it's a viscerally unpleasant reminder of her eventual destiny. It's both the only way to truly free Liz, and is the bind that keeps her shackled to a doomed fate. When Confessarius offers her the sadistic choice between killing him (thus giving up her soul) or return Liz to captivity... what should she do? There is no choice here.

The way Confessarius keeps (creepily) phrasing it as Shining “giving birth” really does paint him to be a disgustingly vile patriarchal figure set on destroying not only Shining’s autonomy, but her life and relationship with Liz. How a woman is treated as an object, her worth limited to only serving as a breeding ground for the next generation. This read continues to make even more sense because remember the Confessarii dinner scene? The way they talked like they expect Shining to come home after having had her fun with Nightingale reeks of how society views lesbian relationships as not real/practice for men/just a phase. The proverbial Class S? Shiningale really is just Arknights-flavored Class S Yuri. If a Shining Alter has her pick up her sword again, it could very well symbolize her reclaiming her bodily autonomy and fighting for her love, and for the chance to have a life outside of what the patriarch(y) wants for her.

The more I read about the Shiningale in Chapter 13, the more I’m thinking that this can’t be anything else but yuri. Even the role Confessarius is playing as a villain/obstacle they have to overcome. A man getting between them by manipulating their feelings for nefarious purposes?

Liz telling Shining that she prefers her current name, how it encapsulates so much of who Shining is as a person; she's not just a means to an end for the Confessarii, she's more than what they've instilled in her since her birth. The Followers are all light-themed, and Shining is no exception. She broke Liz out of her cage and showed her the world. And Liz is the light of Shining's life, as was mentioned all the way back to her voiceline.

Liz telling Shining that she's always loved the name that she gave her... that she holds dear any and every part of Shining that's a part of her. Her gently chastising Shining for making the decision to sacrifice herself to save Liz... Don't give yourself up for me, especially without asking me. That's not what I want. For all the times that Shining made sure Liz knew she had a choice, this was the one time she didn't. Couldn't. And Liz won't have that. Whatever trials that await them, she wants to face them together with Shining.

The way Confessarius described Shining’s feelings towards Nightingale as “your rebellious love for her”. He knew that she would love Liz and factored that into his plan/manipulation of Shining. I don't know about you but… I don’t think there’s any other way to interpret that. No heterosexual explanation.

Realistically speaking, we know actual gay characters can’t make it past the censors unless it’s tragic (see Scavenger) or unrequited (see Tomimi). But Shiningale have like… playable immunity. It’s “implicit” enough to not trigger the censors but at the same time how can you not see it as romantic?

Their relationship is basically up there with Talulah/Alina. And I'd even go so far as to say that it's more explicit than Talulah/Alina. To my knowledge, they never used the word “love” to describe how Talulah felt about Alina. Just "friend". I know there's a point where subtext gets ridiculous enough to become maintext, but then that leads you to question why some get the "friends" label while others are allowed to use "love".

Could it be platonic love? Sure, of course you can love your friends. But would you pledge your entire life to a friend? What's so "rebellious" about loving a friend? (Interestingly, I think the JP translation calls it "immoral love", which is even more eyebrow-raising) Regardless, love exists between Shiningale. Confessarius knew it, and factored it into his schemes. He counted on Shining to love and cherish her. Shining loves Liz, that much is undeniable. And Liz loves her back, enough to stop Shining from sacrificing herself to save her. He's literally weaponizing the love they have for each other.

Shiningale and The Gothic

I had mentioned before that both characters' designs as well as the narrative beats of their story have Gothic literature elements. I want to make a list of the ones I could find that relate to them as characters and as a narrative:

A focus on medical conditions, doppelgangers (the "pure" Confessarii looking like each other), forbidden power/knowledge, the dichotomy between light and darkness, imprisonment, rebellion, isolation/seclusion, gloominess or a gloomy setting, the grotesque/macabre, terror/horror, justice vs revenge, good vs evil, fear and suspense, the supernatural/paranormal, female victims, prophecies/curses/omens, mystery and secrets, involvement of the clergy/religious figures (confessor/absolver of sin), the dead don’t stay dead/hauntings, romanticism

The Gothic hero is “weakened by love”, they either rescue their love interest or pine away in despair

Significance of blood (relations) and inheritance, the duality of giving and denying life

An examination of family structure, patriarchy, hereditary suffering

Dreams/nightmares, memories

Secrets, past sins, sins of the father, darkest deeds

Driven by love, duality of man (appearance)

Dwelling on the melancholy, of wistfulness and regret, but not overcoming kindness

Concept of “othering” from society (Shining split herself away from her blood family to be herself and with Liz, her chosen family

The protagonist’s passionate love is torn between his desire to achieve the beloved and the family’s disapproval, control, and choice. Gothic novels also tell the tales of love in vain. The lovers are parted due to the conspiracies of the people opposing them being together

Gothic sexuality is usually somewhat repressed—women are expected to be pure and somewhat helpless while men are expected to be quietly predatory. It's also patriarchal, with men making moves and women reacting to them

Homosexuality = the love that dares not speak its name. Repressed sexuality, forbidden desire

Female Gothic protagonists are often committed to justice, unwilling to compromise their values, loyal, respectful of others, curious, intelligent and devoted to their faith. Some are gentle, kind, likeable, clever, witty, quiet, supportive, thoughtful, hard-working, independent and strong. Others are courageous, witty, brave, determined, knowledgeable and socially competent. On the flip side, some are also strong-willed and outspoken to a fault. They’re often socially awkward, depressive, melancholy, brooding, solitary and selfish. Some are jealous, fiercely territorial, deceitful, powerless and deceptive. Others, like their male counterparts, are prone to violence

Male Gothic protagonists are often conflicted, solitary, tortured, brooding, and secretive, self-loathing, wracked with guilt, have a self-hate of their own existence

Female-centric Gothic stories often trend towards obscured/anticipated fears, focuses on persecuted women and the domestic space she risks entrapment within/disturbed spaces

Food for Thought

Ryuzakiichi has a knight original character. Tell me... this doesn’t just look like Shining without horns? THE RESEMBLENCE IS UNCANNY.

Knowing this, I'm convinced that he split the concept of a "knight in shining armor" into two characters: Nearl and Shining. Nearl embodies chivalry. Shining embodies devotion.

The followers dynamic can best be summarized as two knights swearing fealty to one lady, but what's interesting is that while Nearl is the most obvious depiction of a knight, it's actually Shining who serves the role even harder, because she is quite literally Liz's knight. Which tracks with how Shining looks nearly like a carbon copy of his OC. She's the one who rescued the princess from her tower, while simultaneously being the "wicked witch" who put her there in the first place. And just like a Gothic hero, is tormented and sees herself as a monster.

Comparison to the main plot of Shadow of the Colossus. The driving force is that Wander commits acts (largely agreed to be treasonous) in order to revive Mono. The relationship between Wander and Mono is left up to interpretation as to whether it's platonic, familial, or romantic, but most fans of the game seem to theorize that Mono is indeed Wander's love interest.

Normally I despise turning the Followers into a nuclear family unit in any direction (especially people saying Liz is a minor and infantilize her to be the designated "child"), but for a moment, seeing Shiningale looking at Nearl’s portrait, my brain interpreted them behaving like Nearl’s (substitute) parents being proud of her accomplishments.

This was not helped by stuff like Shining’s teasing ("Look at you, our knight acting snarky"), Liz asking if she and Shining were also Nearl’s family, and some apparent discussion about Mlynar being a "bad end" Margaret who lost his own light (his brother and sister-in-law, Margaret’s parents).

If Shining and Nightingale are to Nearl as Schnitz and Yolanta were to Mlynar, then that might also explain why he dropped his jerk behavior for one second just to compliment how the two Sarkaz were good for his niece. If Nearl had never met Shining and Nightingale, her own light might’ve gone out too...?

IN CONCLUSION

Shiningale are complementary in so many ways. It really feels like several aspects of their characters are tailor made to match; you can’t have one without the other, their development is tied together… soulmates. Hopefully this post helps encourage you to consider their story in a certain lens if you hadn't before.

To quote a CN post I saw on the matter after Chapter 13 was released (rough translation): "Shining's sword pieced Nightingale's heart, and Liz came alive. Liz's existence helped give Shining emotions. Liz became Shining's redemption. Shining renounced her old name and Liz cherishes hers, a transformation of two people choosing to fight and change their destiny. Although Liz is physically fragile, her spirit and will are very strong. Although Shining has excellent swordsmanship, her self-hate and inner turmoil weigh her down. They are truly complementary in every sense."

They each want to take away the other's pain. Shining doesn't want Liz to die. Liz doesn't want Shining to die for her. They are each other's mutual salvation.

#dltext #dl talks ak #arknights #shining #nightingale #checked out but i'll always love them #now to wait until they get more screentime #this update took so long but i did it #waiting warmly for shining alter and/or nightingale alter #'my name is liz and i am your enemy' is so badass

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chuellas · 17 hours ago

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Midnight City | Growing up with Chuuya and then being separated for years leaves a stain on your relationship that’s hard to navigate. Luckily, maybe unluckily, you have a shared ally (if that’s what you can call him) to help steer the two of you in the right direction, even if he’s the worst driver in the world.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, former Sheep!reader -> ADA!reader, mentions if alcohol, possible minor spoilers for SB and Age 15, use if the terms “Doll” and “Baby” and “Belladonna”, a lot of cussing and name calling, depictions of anxiety/insecurity, edited but who knows how well LOLOLOL, WC: 6.3k (yes i did add that extra scene 💀💀)

A/N | HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUSBAND EVERYONE WISH CHUUYA THE HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS PLS I PROMISE HE DESERVES IT 💖💖 I am actually so incredibly excited and nervous for this one because this is our official introduction to my beloved Sheep!reader who is very dear to me. I hope you guys love her as much as I do :((

“When’s Chuuya’s birthday?” The party goes quiet as everyone stares between you and the ginger with caution.

You were all gathered together for Yuan’s birthday, she’s the first one since your own birthday, which turned out miserably. You, Shirase, Chuuya, and a couple of the other Sheep that are your age put together this small party in one of the semi-destroyed buildings that was left behind in Suribachi City. Everything had been going well and even Chuuya seemed to be having a good time, which was a feat since he never really seemed to let himself relax.

Yuan likes to say that for some reason your presence puts him at a certain ease he’s never seemed to be able to reach before knowing you.

You’ve always waved off the notion with a dismissive laugh. Surely, it can’t be all your doing, that’s ridiculous and whenever you would push Yuan for her reasoning she would always just shrug in the most irritating manner that sometimes almost set you off and left your blood boiling irrationally. However, her reaction leads you to believe that she doesn’t even know the logic behind it herself and that was enough to settle it for you. She was simply incorrect.

But now, you think maybe her words hold some weight to them as Chuuya looks at you with an amused grin while everyone else looks like they’re ready to run at the drop of a dime in anticipation of a negative reaction from him. “C’mon guys, loosen up, she didn’t know any better. I don’t have one.”

Oh…Now you understand the hesitation coming from the others.

That’s right, you remember him mentioning that he doesn’t recall much about his past, before the Sheep took him in. His life didn’t really start for him until he was eight years old. He never told you this part himself, but according to Shirase, Chuuya didn’t even know what a piece of bread was. The only thing he clung onto was his name and the number of years he’s been on this earth, all other knowledge had to be relearned.

The thought always fills you with a certain sadness that you can’t quite seem to place, or even begin to explain. It’s certainly not the same sadness that you’ve been plagued with since the incident. This one is different from grief, it’s an empathetic type of sadness. Not pity, but maybe something akin to it?

“I- Sorry, I forgot…” You suddenly feel embarrassed at your confession, something as important as Chuuya not remembering a single thing about himself shouldn’t be so easily forgotten.

Chuuya is impatient, you’ve caught on to that quickly. He is outwardly annoyed when someone wastes his time or makes him repeat himself. But he’s never been that way with you, he is always patient with you and you’ve never understood it. You noticed it for the first time pretty early on in your friendship with the three slightly older sheep. Maybe Yuan had noticed it too and that is what she always meant when she said you put him at ease.

Just as you expect, Chuuya shakes his head and waves you off with a light hearted smile. “Nah, you don’t gotta apologize. We usually celebrate my birthday in December. The twenty seventh was when I was found by these guys. So it’s my…Substitute birthday. At least I guess that’s what you’d call it.”

You perk up at the mention of a “substitute” birthday, the idea of the Sheep still celebrating him for a day filling you with an unfamiliar warmth that you decide to ignore for the time being. Chuuya works hard for all of you, constantly on patrol and taking down any goons that try to fill the pockets of any trafficking ring. It’s common to find in Suribachi City, desperate men snatching children just to get a quick buck. Chuuya found that part of his duties the funnest, especially if it’s the Port Mafia’s ring he’s messing with.

Most of the Sheep had a hatred for the Port Mafia in common, but it was still something you and Chuuya have been able to bond over.

“Talking about someone else’s birthday on my own is illegal. Major party foul you guys!” Yuan chimes in and instantly the atmosphere goes back to the way it had been previously.

You let out a snort at the pink haired girl’s outburst and roll your eyes with a smile plastered on your face. You pretend to listen to whatever tangent Yuan decides to go on about her own birthday and the plan she has for the rest of this party. You try your best to pay attention and take her seriously, but you find yourself distracted. Your eyes keep flickering back over to the ginger and in the back of your mind, you’re wondering if there’s any way you could ever figure out when Chuuya’s real birthday is.

Dazai is pissing you off, his usual obnoxious persona amped up all the way to a ten today. It started with a seemingly innocent little question that he now refuses to answer after seeing your puzzled expression. His snide remarks all day are making you want to rip your hair out and shove your foot in his mouth because he’s clearly getting off on your utter confusion, something he never seems to elicit out of you so easily. So, when he is able to get a rise out of you he seems to revel in it, proud of himself. He’s been relentless the entirety of the day, probably to use it as an excuse to not do any of his paperwork that’s been piling up.

You just need to get him to shut the hell up if he isn’t going to clue you in on what he’s been going on about all day. You have to keep reminding yourself that you’re at the agency and murder or maiming is usually frowned upon — depending on who you ask at least. However, as of right now, you don’t think you could handle a lecture from Kunikida on staining the carpet with blood or a disapproving look from Fukuzawa.

You sigh heavily when the same annoying presence once again sits itself next to you. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, “I can’t believe you haven’t figured out what today is!” Dazai sings out, clearly pleased with your ire.

“It's Tuesday, April 29th, Dazai. I told you the first time you asked, and again when you asked later in the morning and again after I came back from my quick patrol. My answer has not changed. Clearly I'm missing something that you aren’t telling me. So if you aren’t going to, could you please—for the love of God—leave me alone and go do your work?” You swear your eye twitches as his eyebrows shoot up and mouth forms into a circle in what is clearly faux shock.

Your hunch that he’s mocking you is solidified when he lets out a scandalized gasp. “Don’t tell me…did that slug never tell you what today is?”

Your stomach drops. This is no longer funny, nor just annoying, your stomach churns at the mention of Chuuya. This is just plain cruel of Dazai at this point, somehow he always manages to show off just how much closer he is with both you and Chuuya than the two of you are with each other after all these years apart from one another. Dazai knows, you have never told the brunette how you feel but you know that he’s aware that you see Chuuya as more than just a childhood friend. What you don’t know is that Dazai is also aware of the way Chuuya feels similarly about you as you do about him.

The former mafioso’s intention isn’t to be cruel, it’s to gently guide you and Chuuya in the right direction. The moment you gave him that puzzled look, he had texted Chuuya calling him an imbecile. Of course the executive blew up his phone with several texted insults and expletives but the brunette was happily ignoring all of them.

Dazai’s attempts in steering you in the right direction were futile, failing miserably — his definition of steering definitely being skewed, he’s admittedly never been a very good driver.

The detective frowns in an uncharacteristically serious manner and then whispers out, “Do you really not know?” so softly, almost as if you weren’t supposed to hear it at all and the words confuse you so much that you don’t even know how to respond to that.

So instead, here you are, wallowing in self pity. It stings to think there is something you aren’t privy to, something clearly important, just because of how much closer Dazai seems to be with the ginger than you are. You can’t help the insecurity that begins to bubble up inside of you. It’s an ugly, gross feeling, a feeling of envy. You want to throw up at the thought of admitting to yourself that you’re jealous of Dazai.

You swallow your pride, as well as various other emotions related to the color green, mustering up the courage to finally utter the questions you know Dazai has been waiting for you to ask. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you please tell me what today’s importance is and what it has to do with Chuuya?”

You don’t know why you hadn’t noticed it before — Dazai was previously tense but the moment you ask him the question to explain himself, he seems to relax. The change is so slight that if you hadn’t been watching him so intently and didn’t know him better, you definitely would not have caught it at all. Knowing him he is probably relieved that he didn’t have to give up the information before you conceded. The thought kind of pisses you off though, because that means whether you gave in and asked or not, he always planned on telling. You know Dazai has his suicidal tendencies, but you’ve always been under the impression that he didn’t care for dying by your hands

“I’m glad you asked!” His tone is overly excited, back to being eccentrically unserious, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics. “Today is a very special day because…”

Dazai claps his hands together and sings out, “Today is Chuuya’s birthday!”

You sit there, dead panned as you stare at dazai. Maybe murder isn’t that bad of an option after all and you shouldn’t let Dazai dictate whether he dies by your hands or not, that’s not really his decision to make anyways. What's a little scolding from Kunikida? Compared to the daily headaches you get from the brunette sitting next to you it was nothing.

You’re baffled, completely gobsmacked, for three reasons.

The first reason being why the hell would dazai have kept this pertinent information from you? He knows how you feel about Chuuya, he was regrettably the person you went to when you came to the devastating realization that you still had feelings for the now Port Mafia executive. He also knows how important birthdays are to you, so he should have told you sooner. Hell, the eccentric detective should have told you several days earlier. You suppose there’s nothing you can do about that now and should be happy that he didn’t let you go the entire day being ignorant.

The second reasoning is a little trickier. Why didn’t you know today was Chuuya's birthday? Yes, it’s true he had no idea when his birthday was back when you were both still a part of the Sheep. So, the question is when did he figure it out? How the hell did Dazai know when it was and you didn’t. Had it really never come up in conversation? You’re sure you would have remembered it if it had because that’s a pretty important detail, although you did manage to forget he didn’t have a birthday all those years ago, but you think you should get a pass for that considering those were different circumstances. You remember the date December twenty-seventh, the day he used to celebrate as his birthday. The day you have celebrated with him in the past. Dazai knowing Chuuya’s real birthday is just another glaring example showing just how little you know each other now in adulthood.

The last reason is what has you scrambling out of your seat and checking your phone desperately to find last minute gifts. Suddenly all knowledge you have of the Port Mafia executive vanishes. What are his favorite things? His favorite food, his favorite wine, his favorite flowers, even his favorite movie. All of the things you can possibly think of being easily obtainable escape you at this moment.

You think you might actually cry.

Dazai, who was watching in amusement, furrows his brow in slight concern as he watches the way your anxiety spiking manifests physically. He can see it in your unfocused eyes — you’re spiraling. Something in the pit of his stomach twists. Guilt, most likely. He was just trying to have a bit of fun with you but now he has to face the consequences of his actions and suddenly he’s not having fun anymore. The realization that you hadn’t just forgotten the slug’s birthday but never even knew when it is decidedly not funny.

Dazai has forgotten one crucial detail, he forgot how important birthdays truly are to you. Which he thinks is so featherheaded of him when you had made his birthday last year only one out of a handful he’s ever actually enjoyed. Maybe he was being greedy. Maybe even a little spiteful, he had a penchant for doing things out of spite, one trait that has stuck with him even now that he’s with the ADA. Maybe he didn’t want Chuuya to experience the same thing, he didn’t really deserve it after everything he put you through, but then again neither did Dazai—not really and especially not after he kept so much from you when you had trusted him.

“I can't believe you, Dazai. I really thought you couldn’t surprise me anymore. Why the hell would you wait until the very last minute to tell me that?” You curse under your breath as you simultaneously search up vintage wines that are up to chuuya’s taste and begin to pack up your belongings to leave for the day. You groan as you realize all of the wines are wildly expensive. “Jesus Christ, how well does the mafia pay? These prices can cover at least a year's worth of groceries.”

The cheapest of the labels you’re looking at are a mis-batch from a few decades ago that had been bottled incorrectly and mislabeled. Even then they are still well out of your price range and probably taste awful. Sure you have savings but you aren’t even sure of what type of red wine Chuuya prefers.

You have to switch tactics, but before you can, Dazai snatches the phone out of your hand and starts pushing you towards the exit of the agency. “Dazai- what-!?”

“Hush, Belladonna. I’m going to help you out just this once.” You struggle to keep your feet planted but it’s no use because Dazai has always been deceptively strong.

You glance back at him over your shoulder with an exasperated expression, “What have I told you about call-“

“Yeah yeah. Let me have this. I am helping you after all.” He waves his hand dismissively and you narrow your eyes back at him, because he says that as if he isn’t the reason you’re in this mess to begin with. “We'll be back later Kunikida-kun.”

“Dazai- what the hell- where are you taking me?!” Dazai ignores your protests and shoves you out the door.

Chuuya has been checking his phone almost obsessively all day. He's not even sure what it is exactly that he’s waiting for. The executive has received birthday wishes from everyone that’s already aware of what today is. So why the hell was he still hoping for one more?

As if he didn’t just convince himself no one else is going to text or call him, Chuuya picks up his phone from the center console in his car and checks for any new notifications. The ginger chuckles humorlessly at himself. It’s almost pathetic how worked up he is over a single birthday greeting from a single person. He hadn’t even told you when his birthday was—he’s actually pretty sure you’re not even aware that Chuuya now knows when his birthday is. So, why would you just happen to know?

Maybe that damn bandaged freak clued you in on what today was. Chuuya scoffs at the ridiculous thought, as if. He climbs out of his car shaking his head. Dazai is ever the self serving bastard, there is no way he would do Chuuya a favor like that. Still, there was a pang of hope because despite Dazai being Dazai, the ginger was well aware of just how much you mean to the detective and he thought just maybe that mackerel would have told you as a favor to you.

The trek up from the parking garage to his apartment is agonizing. He couldn’t help himself, he’s been checking his notifications methodically every thirty seconds. Each time he’s disappointed by the absence of your contact icon and name.

Chuuya really only has himself to blame, he should just put aside his damn pride and give you a call to ask for you to come over and spend what’s left of his birthday together, but he can’t seem to bring himself to do that.

It’s so pathetic.

The elevator dings and the executive steps out only to instantly realize something is off. Chuuya is quick to activate his ability, the smell of food being cooked and the noise of pots and pans being sifted through in his kitchen instantly have him on high alert. How the hell did someone get into his apartment? This complex is a high security building with Chuuya not being the only executive nor the only person from the Port Mafia living in this building.

Chuuya quietly rounds the corner to his kitchen, careful not to make a single sound as he uses his ability to just barely hover over the floorboards, fully ready to subdue whoever found it smart to enter his home without permission when he recognizes the figure humming over a pan of food.

“God damnit, Doll, I thought you were an intruder- the hell are ya doin’ here?!” You let out a startled yelp and Chuuya quickly releases his ability not wanting to scare you more than he already has.

You stare frozen at the ginger wide eyed and mouth agape for a few moments. Chuuya watches as your mouth flaps open and close while you try to form a sentence but your words seem to get stuck in your throat after the start he gave you. Before you can force out an explanation, your timer goes off and you perk up. Chuuya can barely keep up as you don his oven mitts and begin to pull something out of the oven. You move so naturally around Chuuya's kitchen that he can almost imagine this was just a regular thing you did with him.

The executive can feel his face heat up as he lets his imagination run wild and he tries desperately to shake the thought off altogether but the sound of you humming and still running around his kitchen with ease is not helping.

The gravity manipulator clears his throat and tries to coax any information out of you so he wasn’t so damn confused. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

“Ah…Well…You see…” You finally stop to look at him, finally finding your voice, you point your spatula at one of his bar stools where a tan trench coat is draped over it.

Chuuya glares at the article of clothing, almost practicalling snarling at it. “Don’t tell me you let that freak roam around my apartment?”

“Who do you take me for? No, absolutely not. He said he was just going to the bathroom.”

Chuuya doesn’t seem satisfied by that answer. “How long ago was that?”

A look of realization crosses your face and you both know what your answer is going to be. Too long, he has been gone for too long and probably started snooping around just like Chuuya was worried about. One look at your face and the ginger knows that you’ve come to the same conclusion. You’ve become too trusting of the brunette, Chuuya knows that you knew better, that you probably should have kicked dazai out the moment he had served his purpose of getting you into this apartment. Although Chuuya does know better than anyone else just how convincing Dazai can be, it’s hard to argue with him.

You stand there sheepishly, guilt written all over your face and Chuuya lets out a sigh of defeat, because how the hell is he supposed to blame you for Dazai’s schemes? “It’s fine. I’ll look for him in a minute. First, you never told me what you’re doing here.”

“Ah- I wanted to cook you something special. You’re always doing the cooking and as much as I appreciate and adore your food, I thought I’d return the favor today.” You fiddle with the oven mitts in your hands, twisting them anxiously and the sight makes Chuuya’s heart swell so suddenly that he has to look away before he bursts. “I also got you a present…But you don’t get to open that until after dinner.”

It’s funny how one small gesture from you makes Chuuya’s worries disappear in an instant. “Why would you do all this for me?”

The executive doesn’t want to get his hopes up but he’s pretty sure he has an idea as to why you’re doing all this. Why Dazai helped you break into his apartment. Why you’re putting together a home cooked meal for him. You know, Dazai must have actually done Chuuya a favor and told what today’s significance is. No, that’s not it, the detective did it for you. Either way, the ginger is grateful for it.

“What do you mean? It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” You tilt your head at him in puzzlement, like it’s simply the most obvious thing in the world.

Chuuya swears you steal all his breath with just one look. His chest tightens even more than it did previously and a fond smile creeps up his cheeks and settles in his bicolored eyes. He probably looks like a fool, but he just can’t really bring himself to care how he looks right now. His focus zeroed in on you.

The ginger manages to let out an astonished chuckle. “It is, yeah. It’s my birthday.”

Chuuya can’t help how elated he is, this is what he’s wanted all day. He couldn’t bring himself to just outright tell you it was his birthday, he didn’t want it to seem like an obligation. But, god, did he want to hear the words fall from your gorgeous lips. Your voice drips in honey like always as you softly speak the greeting.

“Happy birthday, Chuuya.” Your smile is warm, igniting a fire inside of him and creating a heat that pools in his chest.

Chuuya lets out another chuckle, this one far more breathier than the last one, his cheeks hurting from just how widely he’s smiling. “So, I guess Dazai told you then? Thank you, Doll. Whatcha’ makin’?”

“Yeah, Dazai told me, he thought I already knew and just forgot…He also told me that after all these years, your favorite food is still rice?” You scrunch up your nose at him. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard by the way. C’mon Chuuya. rice? After all these years of being with the Port Mafia, you’d think you’d have a better palate than that.”

Chuuya lets out an almost giddy laugh. He can’t help himself, having you here doing something like this for him makes him feel light. It’s much like a feather floating, being carried by a gentle breeze and what a soothing breeze you are. More than just a breath of fresh air. But it’s not just like a feather, it’s also like the light that shines down on someone, a ray of sunshine blanketing one in warmth. That’s what you are, what you have always been to Chuuya.

He’s never been able to explain it, he’s never been able to explain why you’ve made him feel this way since day one but regardless of that, you just do.

This whole scenario is all so domestic, although Chuuya would much rather be making the food with you, he’s also not going to complain about you making him dinner. Maybe next time you come over, because no way is this going to be the last time you come over. Maybe you two can cook one of your favorite dishes next time. The idea alone makes his stomach flutter, somehow the thought makes him feel even giddier than he was when you told him what you were doing for him and why.

Chuuya can’t keep denying the power you hold over him anymore.

He shrugs at you, a smile still plastered on his face. “It's diverse. There's a lot you can do with rice. I bet we aren’t just having rice, am I right?”

“Well…no. Of course we aren’t. That would be psychotic. Eating plain white rice for your birthday dinner? Absolutely not. I'm making Oyakodon. I hope that’s ok…” Chuuya watches you intently as your expression shifts back into an anxious frown.

The ginger thinks he can figure out what the sudden change in your demeanor is about. You know that he’s used to fine dining, being in the Port Mafia it’s common for meetings with allies to be hosted over dinner. You’re worried about your cooking not fitting to the standards of fine dining. He understands your hesitation but rice is not a dish someone can really mess up.

The executive watches you as your hands falter in plating both of your meals. You had finished cooking not long after he entered the apartment, solely focusing on getting everything mixed and prepared. It all smells absolutely divine. He can’t imagine he won’t enjoy the meal you’ve made and even if he didn’t like it, he would never tell you so.

Chuuya walks over to you and presses his gloved finger between your brows and rubs it in circles to massage the crinkles away. “Don’t worry so much. It smells exquisite, I love Oyakodon. I'm sure it’ll taste delicious. Do you need any help?”

“No. Not from you, this is your birthday dinner. No work for you—Well, actually maybe some work for you. Can you go get dazai? I made him a to-go plate. He tried to invite himself to dinner and this was the only thing I could think of to make him happy and still get him to leave.” You pick up a disposable tupperware container filled to the brim with the most delicious looking and smelling food Chuuya has ever laid his eyes on.

You’re too good to that lazy bastard.

The ginger chuckles and shakes his head. “Sometimes I think you spoil that bastard too much, y’know that?”

You hum, barely listening to him while shooing him away. “Yeah, yeah. Now shoo. Go get him so we can kick him out.”

Chuuya puts his hand up in defense as he walks out of the room to find the unwanted guest. His first stop is both hallway bathrooms but, just as chuuya predicted, no sack of bones to be found in either. Naturally the executive checks his own room next. Empty, again and he’s starting to wonder if the brunette is even still here. He moves on to the next room, a guest bedroom that’s been collecting dust for a while now.

The executive doesn’t even need to walk through the threshold to know that he’s found Dazai finally. The lanky figure laying in his extra room has him breathing out a sigh of relief. It's strange to find dazai, of all people, sleeping so soundly. Chuuya still has half a mind to rudely wake up the detective as he notices the unopened expensive bottle of whiskey being tightly held in his clutches, clinging onto it like a child would with a stuffed animal.

The gravity manipulator lets out another sigh, this time in resignation. If it wasn’t for dazai, you wouldn’t have known about chuuya’s birthday. He supposes that he could cut the damn mackerel a break just this once, God only knows how long it’s been since Dazai has gotten some decent rest. The ginger still can’t help but to roll his eyes as he closes the door, only leaving it slightly ajar, knowing Dazai doesn’t care for the dark.

He turns on his heel to make his way back to you only to start at the sight of your figure.

“What was that about spoiling him?” Your tone is teasing but the soft smile on your face is enough to tell Chuuya you appreciate his decision in letting the brunette be.

What the hell were you doing to him? You were making him go soft, normally he wouldn’t think twice about barreling into that room and snatching the bottle of alcohol from that bastard's hands and kicking him out. Now he was letting him get away with it because of your fondness for Dazai.

He wonders if you realize just how much of a hold you have on him, you could easily bring the Port Mafia executive to his knees if you wanted to.

Chuuya would let you get away with it too.

He clicks his tongue and looks away in embarrassment at being caught. “Yeah, well who knows when that jackass last slept. It would take me forever to wake him up and kick him out. Easier to just leave him there.”

You smile at him in amusement and the ginger can feel the way his cheeks heat up, a blush dusting his cheeks and ears in a reddish-pink hue. He wants to say he hates this, the way you make him feel like that fifteen year old boy all over again. He wants so badly to deny it to himself but he can’t bring himself to do it. He enjoys the nostalgic feeling he gets when he’s with you. He loves getting to watch you now as an adult and still have some of the same mannerisms you had back then. He loves that he gets to see you grow with him again once again.

He loves you.

Chuuya thinks he always has. It would explain why you made him feel so comfortable. He can’t believe it took him this long to figure it out.

The ginger shakes off the thought, not ready to tell you what he just discovered quite yet, so instead he rolls his eyes at your amusement and starts pushing you back towards the dining room. “Forget it. C’mon, let’s go eat that delicious meal you prepared.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever the birthday boy wants, he gets.”

Chuuya almost trips over his own feet at the notion, his mind wandering to places it really ought to not wander to. He’s sailing across dangerous waters, his mind on the verge of drowning if he doesn't tread carefully. You’re partially to blame though. Wording it in such a way that you had to know just how suggestive it sounds.

But as he looks over at you, your smile is warm and your cheeks rosier than usual.

Oh. You did mean yourself, but Chuuya something in his chest tightens and he thinks it means something deeper than just his previous inappropriate thoughts. How deplorable, Chuuya is truly a bastard that doesn’t deserve someone like you but he’s also selfish and doesn’t know when to stifle an impulse this strong.

“Really? Anything he wants?” Chuuya’s breath hitches when your response is almost instantaneous.

You look up at him earnestly and repeat yourself, this time it comes out softer as you nod your head. “Anything he wants.”

A year later you lead a blindfolded Chuuya to the roof of the nicest hotel in Yokohama, far more prepared than last year. You made Dazai help with putting this whole thing together. You both spent a month planning this party and it was going to be perfect. Everyone Chuuya cared about was here. You even pulled some strings to invite a couple of old friends.

You smile proudly at your hard work paying off and you haven’t even gotten to the best part: Chuuya’s reaction.

“Okay, stay right here and no peeking until I say so, got it?” You let go of the executive to join the crowd waiting quietly to greet the guest of honor. Dazai has made himself front and center, slinking his arm around your shoulder and leaning into you with a satisfied smile.

Your nerves overtake you for just a split second, much like they did the year previously when you cooked for him for the first time—which he ended up loving and now when he’s asked what his favorite food is he always answers by saying it’s anything you cook for him. Then you hear it, a reassuring chuckle comes from the person you were always meant to be with, light as a feather like it always has been when he’s with you. Your cheeks flare up at the noise, knowing that it’s a side of him only you really get to see. A rare sight for anyone else that’s here.

His smile is relaxed and he tilts his head, somehow looking directly at you whilst still being blindfolded. “The last time you surprised me on my birthday, you got me a bottle of wine that you definitely couldn't afford on that detective salary of yours, Baby. I’m kinda scared for your wallet to see what it is this year.”

Your cheeks heat up even more and Dazai has to stifle a giggle of his own. He had been the one to loan you the money for the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. Where he got the money, you have no idea and frankly you think you’re okay with that. He only let you pay him back for half of it, he claimed he was letting the rest of it slide as his way of making it up to you for not telling you about the ginger’s birthday sooner. Who were you to argue with that logic? Especially when you fed him that night too.

“Just take the blindfold off, would you?” You try to sound annoyed but you’re too excited for him to see it all that your voice comes out a little too eager.

Time seems to slow down just a little when Chuuya reaches up to lift up the blindfold. At the same time all of the lights are being turned on and fireworks are being set off, courtesy of that one lemon guy who’s name you can never seem to remember, his eccentric appearance is always far too distracting for you to ever pay attention to his name. The sky is lit with various color combinations and you all shout surprise at the gravity manipulator.

You watch him with a wide smile as he lights up with almost a childlike glee at the multitude of love being cast his way. This is the first time in a long time that he has actually looked younger than his—still young—age. His bicolored eyes twinkling in delight as they take in everything from the decorations to the fireworks to the overwhelming amount of people that have shown up for him.

The moment he sets his eyes on you it’s all over. It’s almost as if you can feel the fireworks igniting in your stomach with the way he is looking at you in utter adoration, knowing exactly who put in the most work to make this happen. He’s moving towards you before you can even react—before you can even comprehend what’s happening he’s right in front of you, sweeping you off of your feet and twirling you around while laughing like an idiot in love. You didn’t think moments like this would ever exist for someone like you, they’re usually reserved for fairytales and happy endings, but maybe this was the start of your own.

Maybe after everything, you deserve this.

Everyone naturally disperses to give you and Chuuya your space before socializing and wishing him a happy birthday properly.

The ginger is holding your cheeks in his hands gently, still smiling brightly at you. “You did all of this for me?”

You smile at him just as warmly and nod your head. He lets out an incredulous laugh, He scans his surroundings once again, this time noting the people in attendance. His gaze falters when he notices two figures anxiously watching from the edge of the party. Eyes widening his head whips back over to you.

“Is that-”

You nod your head again. “Yeah. I tracked them down for you. You wanna go say hi? Because I definitely would love to catch up.”

Chuuya lets out another laugh but this one cracks in the middle, clearly overtaken by emotion and you think he knows he’s about to burst because he leans down and connects his forehead with your own — suddenly it’s just the two of you standing in the middle of this rooftop. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y’know that? I couldn’t ask for a more perfect gift than your love. I love you so much.”

“I love you, Carrot top. Always.”

RBs are always appreciated <3

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