#but I promise they will kiss..maybe…eventually

[snail-day]

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

[matts-girlfriend]

Undressed - Chris Sturniolo

1 2 3

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of sex, tension, heartbreak, crying?

word count: 821

Chris doesn’t hear from you for weeks.

Not a text. Not a like. Not even a glance when you passed him at that party last weekend.

You walked right past him like he was a ghost—and maybe he was.

Maybe he’s been dead since the moment you left.

It gutted him.

He didn’t realize silence could be that loud until it was yours.

The first few days, he told himself it was fine. You’d cool off. Come back. You always did.

But the days kept stretching, and the bed stayed cold, and the hoodie you left behind? It doesn’t smell like you anymore.

He replays your last words on loop—

“I loved you, you know.”

You had a dream, you wanted better

You were sick of all the holes in your sweater

You looked to me and wondered whether

I was the lamppost to which you were tethered

God, he should’ve said it back. Even if it wasn’t all the way true yet. Even if it was just to keep you one more night.

He wanted to kiss your forehead that night.

Say something real.

But he froze.

He always fucking freezes.

Now it’s March, and he’s drunk, sitting in the passenger seat of some girl’s car, but all he can think about is you.

How you’d never play shitty trap remixes at 2 a.m.

How you’d sing sad songs under your breath and never know he was listening.

The girl beside him says something he doesn’t catch.

He doesn’t care enough to ask her to repeat it.

Because she’s not you.

She’ll never be you.

And that’s the problem.

I’m lookin’ at you, and you’re lookin’ at me

But the glimmer in your eyes is sayin’ you wanna leave

You say you don’t mean what you’re sayin’ to me

But the glimmer in your eyes is telling me other things

He texts you that night.

Just one word: “hey.”

No reply.

The next day: “Do you hate me?”

Still nothing.

He doesn’t know what he expected. Maybe that you were waiting. That you were still mad, but not gone.

That maybe, just maybe, there was still a version of you that wanted him.

But you don’t even open the messages.

I don’t wanna get undressed

For a new person all over again

I don’t wanna kiss someone else’s neck

And have to pretend it’s yours instead

He saw you again two weeks later.

He wasn’t supposed to. He was just trying to clear his head, take the train, visit his mom.

But fate’s cruel like that.

You were standing across the tracks.

With someone else.

Smiling.

His whole body went still.

You looked happy. He looked kind.

Chris looked away.

I took the train to see my mother

I look across the tracks to see you with another

There’s nothin’ worse than seein’ your lover

Moving on while you still suffer

He thought the pain might pass eventually.

It hasn’t.

He still sleeps on your side of the bed.

Still sets alarms for times that don’t mean anything anymore.

Still hears your voice in every goddamn song.

I’m lookin’ at you, and you’re lookin’ at me

But the glimmer in your eyes is sayin’ you wanna leave

You say you don’t mean what you’re sayin’ to me

But the glimmer in your eyes is telling me other things

His friends think he’s fine.

He’s not.

He’s barely eating.

Barely breathing.

He tried kissing someone else. Once.

Stopped halfway through.

Apologized. Left.

Sat in his car for an hour, forehead against the steering wheel, trying not to fall apart.

And I don’t wanna learn another scent

I don’t want the children of another man

To have the eyes of the girl that I won’t forget

I won’t forget

Because how do you move on from a home?

How do you unlove someone who lived inside you?

I don’t wanna get undressed

For a new person all over again

I don’t wanna kiss someone else’s neck

And have to pretend it’s yours instead

an: okay i promise this is the last sad one part three will be better and it’ll be based on the maria’s.

taglist: @whore4chris @cherryystemm @chrepsi @sturniqloo @jcsturniolo11 @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @crazbubs @poolover123

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Mean Muggin’ for Marshall

You’re trying to be supportive. You really are.

But Marshall’s got that look on his face again—the same broody, mean-mugging, “I’ll murder your whole bloodline” expression he pulls out for almost every damn photo shoot. He’s dressed in all black, hood up, chains out, sitting on a stool like he’s about to spit the coldest verse of his life, while flashbulbs pop in rapid-fire succession.

Meanwhile, you’re standing just off camera, arms crossed, doing your best to stifle a grin. You’ve been through this routine before, but for some reason, today it strikes you as especially ridiculous. Maybe because you know the man behind the scowl—the one who left a sticky note in your shoe this morning that said, “You’re my favorite human. Even when you hog the blanket.” The one who kisses your shoulder like it’s a sacred thing and whispers “mine” against your skin like he means it with his whole soul.

So watching him try to intimidate a camera lens like it just insulted his mother? Yeah. It’s kind of hilarious.

You try to hold it in, but he catches your eye for a split second—and that’s all it takes. You raise your eyebrows and scrunch your nose into what you think is your best mean mug, arms crossed tight, trying to mimic his pose like you’re about to square up.

Unfortunately, it looks… wrong. On your naturally soft, sweet face, the scowl comes off more like a confused puppy trying to solve a math problem.

Marshall immediately breaks. He tries to fight the grin creeping onto his face, but it’s a losing battle. His mouth twitches, then splits into a full-blown laugh as he leans back on the stool.

“Yo, what was that?” he calls out, squinting toward you through the studio lights. “You tryin’ to scare me or ask me for cookies?”

You shrug, pretending to be offended. “I was mean mugging! You always do it, so I figured I’d try.”

He snorts. “You look like you smelled a bad secret.”

You stick your tongue out at him, but your cheeks are already warm from laughing. The photographer lowers the camera, chuckling under his breath.

“Okay, let's reset,” the guy says. “Try to stay serious this time, Marshall.”

Marshall wipes at his eyes, still grinning. “Can’t promise nothin’ if my girl keeps mean mugging like a Disney villain.”

You puff your chest dramatically, arms crossed again. “Take the damn picture. I’m here to intimidate.”

He looks over at you again, and now he’s mimicking you—tilting his head, batting his lashes exaggeratedly.

“Oh, so this is how you intimidate?” he teases, laughing again.

You shake your head, letting yourself smile. There’s no winning with him—not when he’s like this. But honestly? You don’t mind losing.

Eventually, the shoot gets back on track, but every few shots, he sneaks a glance your way. And every time he does, the hard edge in his jaw softens, just a little. He still mean mugs for the camera, but now there’s a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Like the whole world could burn down around him, and he’d still be cracking up over your terrible scowl from the sidelines.

Later, when it’s over, he slings an arm around your shoulder and leans in close.

“You’re cute when you try to be tough,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your temple.

You smile against his hoodie. “You’re cute when you laugh.”

“Guess we’re both screwed, then.”

And he tugs you closer like he’s never letting go.

[middlingmay]

Idk what your feelings are on cheating in fic so if you’re not okay with that that’s totally fine but do you have any scenarios you could share about Marge (or maybe John’s wife) catching John and Gale in the act? Like how that would all go down and how and where she would find them and what position they’d be in, etc. And maybe her reaction wouldn’t be as negative as one would imagine? Or she comes around to it once she’s given time to think on it and she’s okay with letting Gale go OR she asks to be allowed to sit in an watch or something and touch and kiss and praise Gale while John is making love to him? I’ve also had an thought of Marge catching Gale having phone sex with John over the phone…

Idk these are just some vague scenarios that I have and was wondering if you’d ever thought of any similar and could elaborate or build off of it 😘

Hello hello!

Okay, so, I appreciate the flexibility of your ask 😅 I'm not big on cheating fics, but it definitely depends on how it's handled. So, I'd definitely lean towards Marge being okay with it in the end <3

There are a few very good fics that touch on Marge catching the Buckies in the act. There's obviously Close and Yet Closer, where John visits the Clevens, and he and Gale cheat on Marge a lot. It's emotional and passionate and painful, and I think it's pretty highly recommended across the fandom.

BUT. If I had to write a cheating fic, i think it would go along these kinds of lines:

John is visiting, like almost a year after the wedding because both he and Gale are aware of their feelings for each other, and know they have no place in Gale and Marge's marriage. But they can only stay away from each other for so long, genuinely struggle without each other, and eventually give in.

Marge is thrilled. Sees the difference in Gale immediately and John is a very entertaining house guest. Except there are these tense moments that she puts down to shared memories of over in Europe.

However, she wakes one night to an empty bed and goes searching for Gale. She sees the door to John's bedroom open and sneaks up to peek inside. And she sees them.

It's not a sweet peck or gentle embrace. Gale is in John's lap and John is holding him so tight it has to hurt, and they kiss like they're purging something, furious and angry and hurting.

Marge heads back to bed in a daze. Pretends to be asleep when Gale returns. She spends the next few days thinking about what she saw. There is hurt, but it takes her a while to realise it's not because Gale kissed John: it's because he didn't tell her about his feelings for the other man. They promised honesty and communication even-especially-when it was hardest, and at the first hurdle it feels like Gale let her down.

It's awful at home, because John and Gale won't look at each other, won't look at her, and she has no idea what to do but she has to do something because she can't take it anymore.

So she confronts them. Gale is instantly apologetic, begging her for another chance. But John? John doesn't say anything. Gets up from the chair, heads up stairs and doesn't come down for several minutes. When he does he has his suitcase in his hand.

And despite just begging Marge for forgiveness, Gale's face crumples when he sees it, and John looks a him sorrier than she's ever seen anything.

John just whispers a very quiet "I'm sorry" before he walks out the door.

And Marge is stuck still for a minute because she doesn't know what else to do. Doesn't know how to tell her husband that she wishes he had just talked to her, and doesn't know how to explain it to herself why she's not angrier about everything.

But then the door snaps shut she snaps out of it and rushes out the door after John. He's got long legs but he's not rushing so she catches up and grabs the edge of his suitcase and holds on to stop him from going anywhere. He tries to take it back and they end up it a tug-of-war until John can't take it.

"Jesus, Marge! I'm trying to do the right thing here! Let go!"

"Like hell!" And she tears the suitcase out his hand and rushes back inside with it, so John has no choice but to follow.

When Gale sees them come back inside, he looks equal parts miserable and hopeful and Marge throws down John's suitcase and finally erupts, points the finger at both of them, saying things like, "Why didn't you tell me?!", and "You're supposed to be my friend. You're my husband - and you lied!"

They stand there and take it, but neither of them are getting the fact that it was keeping her in the dark that's upset her so badly. So she changes track. Holds Gale's hand and says,

"You trust me or you don't. Which is it?"

He trusts her. More than anyone; more than himself.

So she kisses him and hears John's breath hitch on something sad sounding, and then she turns to him, takes his hand and leans up and kisses him too.

She admits to them then and there, she doesn't know what this is, or how she feels, or how anything is supposed to work, but if they want to be together, all they needed to do was be honest with her. The rest they can figure out.

And that's as far as I can think today! Thanks for sending in the ask 😊

[sakusaswifee]

“𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 HAPPY BIRTHDAY + TS!KITA SHINSUKE

It’s my friend’s birthday, wrote this for them🤍

It’s pure fluff this time around

Even I wanna write smth cute once in a while I fear

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

You woke up to the smell of coffee and something sweet, pancakes maybe? It was rare that Shinsuke wasn’t already out tending to the farm at this hour, but the morning light was soft, and the air smelled like butter and maple syrup instead of fresh earth.

Your heart warmed instantly. You knew exactly what day it was.

Pulling yourself out of the cozy bed, you padded down the hall, socks sliding a little on the wooden floors. In the kitchen, there he was, Kita Shinsuke, your Shinsuke, standing at the stove in a loose white t-shirt and joggers, hair a little messy from sleep.

He turned the moment he heard your footsteps, a small, soft smile pulling at his lips. “Mornin’, birthday angel..”

You couldn’t help but beam at him, a little shy under his gaze even after all this time. “Good morning.”

“Sit” he said simply, nodding toward the table where a small stack of gifts sat..nothing extravagant, just little things wrapped neatly, and a tiny bouquet of wildflowers he’d probably picked from the fields himself.

“You did all this for me?” you teased, crossing your arms playfully.

Shinsuke turned back to the stove to flip the last pancake. “Would’ve done more if you’d let me.” His voice was so casual, but you caught the way his ears turned a little pink.

You sat, still smiling like a fool. “This is perfect.”

A moment later, he placed a plate in front of you, stacked high with fluffy pancakes, whipped cream, and fresh berries. He leaned down after setting it, brushing a kiss against your temple, letting his hand linger on your shoulder just a little longer than usual.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and warm.

You looked up at him, heart squeezing so tightly you thought you might burst. “Thank you, Shin. Really.”

He sat across from you with his own plate, reaching out to quietly brush your fingers with his, as if he couldn’t not touch you. Like he needed the connection just as much as you did.

Breakfast was slow, peaceful. He didn’t rush you. He never did. Between bites, you opened your gifts..a new sweater in your favorite color, a worn book he’d loved and thought you would too, and a small framed photo of the two of you on the porch last summer, laughing so hard it was blurry.

“This one’s my favorite,” you said softly, holding up the picture.

“Mine too,” he said. And the way he was looking at you—steady, sure, a little in love..made your breath catch.

When you were finished eating, he stood and offered you his hand. You took it instantly, letting him pull you into his arms. He hugged you tight, arms strong and sure around your waist, chin resting atop your head.

“I took the whole day off,” he said, voice low. “Wanted to spend it with you. However you want.”

You tilted your head back, smiling up at him. “Even if all I wanna do is stay here and be lazy with you all day?”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Sounds perfect to me.”

You knew, in that moment, you could ask for the moon and he’d figure out a way to pull it down for you.

But truthfully, you already had everything you needed, wrapped up in flannel and warmth, arms around you like a promise.

You had Shinsuke.

And that was better than any wish you could’ve made.

You stayed wrapped up in his arms for a while, just swaying a little in the middle of the kitchen, the morning sun slanting in through the windows, painting the room gold.

It was Shinsuke who eventually pulled back, only enough to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. “Go get dressed,” he murmured, voice full of something secret. “I got plans for us.”

You raised an eyebrow, suspicious but grinning. “Plans?”

He gave a slow nod, that barely-there smirk playing on his lips. “Trust me.”

And you did. You always had.

When you came back down, dressed in comfy jeans and one of the sweaters he gave you, you found him waiting by the door, a cooler bag in one hand and a blanket under the other arm.

“A picnic?” you guessed, heart skipping.

“You’ll see,” he said, handing you a pair of old sneakers with a wink. “Hope you don’t mind gettin’ a little dirt on those pretty shoes, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks warmed at the casual endearment, he could still knock the air out of you with just a word when he wanted to.

He drove you out past the far edge of the farm, along a little dirt road you didn’t recognize. It was just the two of you, the windows rolled down to let in the crisp spring air, his hand occasionally reaching over to squeeze your thigh gently like he couldn’t help it.

When he finally parked, it was in front of a quiet field, all wildflowers and soft, swaying grass. In the distance, you could see the faint glimmer of a creek winding through the trees.

You gasped, the beauty of it hitting you like a breath of fresh air. “Shin, this is..”

“Found it a few months back,” he said, sliding out of the truck and grabbing the blanket and cooler. “Thought it’d be a good spot for special occasions.”

You hopped down carefully, meeting him on the passenger side. “It’s perfect.”

He led you by the hand and he didn’t let go, not even once as you made your way through the grass, picking a soft spot under a big oak tree. He spread the blanket out with easy efficiency and dropped down, tugging you with him so you landed against his chest with a squeak.

He laughed, low and fond, arms coming around you immediately. “Gotcha.”

You buried your face in his shirt for a second, inhaling the clean, warm scent of him, your heart aching with how much you loved this man.

You spent the afternoon lazily, eating the sandwiches and fruit he packed, feeding each other little bites just to be silly, lying side by side with your fingers tangled together.

At one point, you dozed off on his chest, lulled by the rhythm of his breathing and the feeling of his thumb stroking lazy circles into your lower back.

You woke up to him murmuring softly, almost like he was talking to himself:

“Never thought I’d get this lucky.”

You kept your eyes closed, heart pounding so hard it was almost embarrassing.

He shifted a little, thinking you were still asleep. His hand brushed your hair back, gentle as anything. “Gonna spend every birthday you got makin’ you this happy, darling,” he whispered. “That’s a promise.”

You cracked your eyes open, looking up at him with a sleepy, lovesick smile. “I’m already happy,” you said, voice thick with affection. “You’re all I need, Shin.”

His eyes softened in that way that always melted you, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

He dipped his head, kissing you slow, sweet, thorough, the kind of kiss that said I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.

As the sun started to set, painting the sky in wild pinks and oranges, you sat between his legs, back against his chest, the blanket around your shoulders.

He wrapped his arms around you tighter, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Y’know,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “we could make it a tradition. Spend every birthday right here. Just you ’n me. No one else.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, feeling bold with all the love thrumming through you. “Only if we can add a kiss for every year I get older.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Darling,” he said, tilting your chin up with a knuckle, “I’d kiss you a thousand times today if you’d let me.”

And then he did..slow, sweet kisses all over your face, your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your mouth, each one making you giggle and squirm and finally melt completely into him.

When he finally pulled back, his smile was pure, quiet joy.

“Happy birthday, love,” he said, brushing your hair back one more time. “Here’s to a hundred more..all spent with you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into him, heart so full it felt like it might float right out of your chest.

You had all the time in the world.

And you’d spend every second loving him right back.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

The drive home was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt full, like your hearts were speaking even without words.

The sky had deepened to navy blue, stars blinking into existence one by one. You leaned your head against Shinsuke’s shoulder as he drove, the hum of the truck and the warmth of him making you feel like you could fall asleep right there.

When you pulled up to the house, Shinsuke put the truck in park but didn’t move right away.

Instead, he glanced at you, a tiny, private smile pulling at his lips.

“You tired?” he asked, voice soft.

You shook your head slowly, still a little dazed from the perfect day. “Not really. Just..happy.”

That smile grew, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Good,” he said simply. “Wanted today to be easy. Just..you and me.”

You leaned into his touch without thinking, heart squeezing so hard it almost hurt. “You always make everything better, Shin.”

He didn’t say anything back right away, just leaned in and pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead, keeping his hand on your cheek like he couldn’t bear to let go yet.

“Come on,” he finally whispered against your skin. “Let’s get you inside.”

Inside the house, he grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and led you straight to the couch. No fuss, no elaborate plans..just the simple, perfect idea of curling up together like you always did.

You both flopped down in a tangle, you half on top of him, your legs thrown over his lap, your head resting against his shoulder.

He pulled the blanket over you both and leaned back, adjusting until you were tucked perfectly against him.

One of his hands found yours under the blanket, intertwining your fingers lazily. The other ran up and down your arm in slow, soothing strokes.

The TV was on in the background, some old nature documentary neither of you were really paying attention to — but it didn’t matter.

The world outside the house didn’t matter.

Only this mattered.

Him. You. This.

At some point, you sighed happily, nuzzling closer, your hand squeezing his.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” you whispered.

You felt him smile against the top of your head.

“Not surprised,” he said in that low, teasing voice. “I was involved.”

You let out a soft laugh, smacking his chest gently and he caught your hand easily, pressing a kiss to the back of it without missing a beat.

You tilted your head up to look at him, and for a long moment, he just looked at you, so full of love you thought you might drown in it.

“No matter how old we get,” he said softly, “I’m gonna be right here. Every year. Every day.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you laughed them away, squeezing his hand even tighter. “You’re stuck with me too, you know.”

His grin widened, lazy and content. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, darling’.”

And there, wrapped up in each other under the soft glow of the TV and the stars outside the window, you realized:

You weren’t just celebrating a birthday.

You were celebrating the start of forever, a forever you got to spend with Kita Shinsuke, the man who had become your home.

And there was nothing, nothing, sweeter than that.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

[evarcana]

I See the Moon

Oh when you are looking at the sun

Ev wears some very impractical shoes and learns that she does not know the city quite as well as she thought.

characters: the usual cast of Ev and consul Valerius

words: 2,4k

warnings: none!

notes: I wanted to write something short and sweet to act as a placeholder between the previous part and what is coming next, but I think I got a bit too emotionally attached in the process. The title is from “Be the One” by Dua Lipa and I will leave it open for interpretations.

Darkness strikes Ev’s eyes as she steps out of the theatre doors and for a moment she is completely lost in time and space, staring at her surroundings as if seeing everything for the first time - the disorientation which comes with returning to reality after the magic of the theatre wears off.

A few myopic street lanterns glimmer faintly and the moon, pitched extraordinarily high, is covered by the ragged organza of thin clouds and barely available to light the streets below. Passing groups of people turn into clusters of dark silhouettes, and Ev watches the collars being lifted and scarfs wrapped tighter, as the theatregoers hide themselves from the wind moist with the cool evening dew and disappear into the shadows, leaving only trails of soft footsteps and animated chatter behind them. It is this time of the year when night falls suddenly and way quicker than anyone anticipates.

The impatient tug on Ev’s arm cuts through the hazy darkness. “Are you going to let me leave or what?!” Valerius sounds desperate in his exasperation.

“Just a moment and you are free.” Still watching the dark street, Ev reaches for her bag and throws a pair of flat pointy mules decorated with golden beads and tassels on the ground in front of her. Using Valerius’s arm for support, she lifts one leg to untie the ribbons on her ankle. Somebody behind them helpfully holds the theatre door open, letting the light out, and they both stare at Ev’s bright red toenails as she steps out of her shoes. Ev frowns to herself and curls her toes - it is hard to be an intimidating opponent when you wear a cute sparkly little ring on your fourth toe, when she feels another tug and catches her breath in surprise, losing her balance. The arm slips from under her hand causing her to immediately crash into Valerius. Well, no chance of looking like a menace now. At least Valerius can’t run away, she thinks, because her entire face is smashed into his chest. “So impatient,” Ev rolls her eyes and tucks her heels in the bag.

Valerius hurries to brush off something invisible from his coat and then looks down at Ev’s feet with cynical interest, “Going on a hike?”

She contemplates telling that it took her a very detoured walk from the palace and four nervous circles around the Town Square to finally burn all that destructive energy her body generated in their morning argument, and that right now she is dying to rub her sore ankles, but decides against it. After all, wounded animals are easy prey. “Looks like it,” Ev says, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She scans the road once again and clicks her tongue. There is a carriage pulling away, two people inside, and another one rolling on towards the theatre, the coachman already waving to somebody, but most of the theatre crowd chooses to walk. They all must be locals, or heading to the closest tavern, Ev realises.

“Don’t tell me, -” Valerius’s voice says and Ev looks up, surprised that he is still standing there, “you don’t have a carriage because you were hoping to find a date to continue the night. You shall forgive me for ruining this little plan of yours.” His words are dripping with distaste.

She realises that Valerius must have been following her eyeline. The nervous lough blasts out of her but she manages to catch it and it turns to sound like a cough. A lucky guess on his part? Or did he take inspiration from his own plans? Ev refuses to think about the whole theatre fiasco. The sinking feeling in her chest has started and she puts her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I thought there would be carriages waiting,” she manages to say.

Valerius arches his brow in response, “...how pathetic.” Ev gives him her best withering look and turns away.

The last carriage departs with the din of wheels hitting the worn edges of the stones. Valerius’s eyes are still set on Ev’s face and his brow begins to crease slowly. He is clearly deliberating something but Ev cannot see it. She is watching clouds moving slowly across the moon. “Where do you live?”, he finally asks.

“By the Town Square,” Ev responds automatically, squinting at the sky above her.

“Not in the Heart District?” It sounds like a genuine question at first but the edge of his mouth lifts in a wry grin. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t the only one with the money here?”

“Too close to you,” she smirks back, “the urge of leaving a dead fish by your gate at least weekly would be -,” she leans in closer, turning her voice into syrupy sweet hush, “- irresistible”. This is getting weird. “Anyway,” Ev hurriedly looks behind her shoulder at the theatre doors, “I think it is going to rain later. Have a good night,” the words come in a flat orderly row, she is already concerned with something else, “I will see whether the theatre director can fetch me a carriage.”

“My carriage is waiting down the road.”

“Mm good,” Ev mutters to herself but then the realisation hits and she turns to the consul, eyes wide. “Are you offering me a lift home?” A ‘thank you’ sign lights inside her head but she crashes it with a wave of suspicion. It’s Valerius out of all people. He has no reason to offer her a ride in his carriage besides plotting to murder her and then ditch the body somewhere in the forest. Ev gives him a hard stare.

Valerius breaks the staring game first - his eyes flash with the new unidentified emotion before he regains his usual dismissive look. “Not home,” he snorts, “to the Town Square,this should suffice for a favour.”

“No no, hold on,” Ev raises her hand in protest. “I haven’t asked you anything yet, and hospitality is not a favour.”

“What hospitality are you talking about?”

“You repeat that it is your city all the time! Technically, I am still a guest.” Inside her head Ev is thanking all the available gods for her ability to just keep talking, regardless of whether it makes sense or not, because she definitely has not processed what happened yet.

“Yes, well, just keep your mouth shut,” Valerius says and walks off without a backward glance, his back soon disappearing in the darkness of the narrow lane.

Ev’s eyes follow his path and then she throws another look at the theatre building. The light in one of its rounded windows goes down. She watches the emptying street and feels the goose bumps scatter her forearms. The air is beginning to chill. She looks down at her feet. Ev decides that the consul is the kind of man who would rather pay somebody if he wanted to get rid of her than being involved himself and for the second time this evening she rushes after Valerius. This is so weird.

She is about to call him out to slow down because the sound of duck feet that her ‘emergency’ shoes make is getting on her nerves when she hears a loud thud and a curse. In the darkness of the path Ev is not sure how close Valerius is to her but she knows that he stumbled and it makes her giggle in delight. She stretches her hand out glancing at the strips of warm candlelight coming from the gaps in the window shutters and the ivory glare of the moon. A small globe of light, the size of a plum, forms above her hand. Its light is delicate and warm, as if filtered through the frosted glass, but bright enough to fill the space between the two of them.

The consul straightens up quickly, “Why -”

“I don’t know about you but I like my toes all intact,” Ev walks over to him. “It’s only a small trick, here,” she raises her hand and the light gets brighter, “you can touch it, it’s not hot.”

Valerius takes a step back, looking at the ball of light suspiciously. “You are full of tricks, aren’t you?” he says.

“Don't even make me start on what you are full of.” She bunches her hand in a fist and the light sphere drops down but, before hitting the ground, it bounces back in the air like a small ball and splits into a dozen of smaller lights, startling Valerius. They hover in the air along the path similar to a garland of lanterns as they walk in silence until the lane ends, opening to the canal, and Ev asks, “Is it your carriage there?”

***

The servant opens the carriage door and much to Ev’s astonishment, Valerius waits for her to get in first. She gives him a confused look but complies. There is no evening chill inside and the cushioned seats are invitingly soft, so Ev’s immediately decides that regardless of what is going to happen it was a good idea not to walk home. Valerius takes a seat opposite her and reaches to unbutton his coat and pull his long loose braid from under the collar. His head rolls gently to the side and Ev sees a couple of inches of the neck, soft lines and the glowing skin. She feels her cheeks beginning to heat, suddenly remembering the warmth and the bitter almond fragrance she breathed in every time she got too close to the man, and gods did she get too close tonight.

This is about as far from the real world as Ev can imagine. The carriage is small and the little triangle of her beaded slipper somehow ended up between the consul’s leather boots. If she was to stretch her leg, the bareskin on the side her foot would brush along his shin. They have never sat this close together. Ev thinks about the old lady from the theatre. How would she feel if she knew that she was the only thin barrier stopping them from recognising each other and fully succumbing to the mutual hostility, claiming at least half of the theatre as casualties in the process. This could have been a disaster.

Ev looks at Valerius again and tries to understand how could she not recognise these features straight away. The signature crease between the dark brows and the sulky mouth. Valerius sits in silence, and his eyes are definitely not the ones she knows. They are so wistful and lonely, and so golden under the lamp light, Ev has to look away.

She puts a hand under her chin and leans to the window. A fine mist of rain has started to grit on the glass, and behind the sparks of its tiny drops - a bridge arches over the canal’s silver curve, both ends of which are clipped by infinity, which, in the dim light of the early night, is only ten feet away. The backdrop is all in flashes of the lit windows and the black outlines of pointed rooftops, round cupolas and slender towers, all together resembling a crown adorned by a single grand jewel of the moon, burning bright white. Then, the skyline and even the moon gets momentarily obscured by the huge wall, deprived of any lights, looking ghostly in the tempered gloom.

“That massive rounded building, what is it?” Ev is surprised with herself for striking a conversation.

“Have you not seen it before?”

“No, I have not really been to this part of the city,” she says, turning to Valerius, “What is it? A hippodrome?”

“It's the coliseum. The count’s favourite place,” he gives a chuckle which sounds bitter. “The man loved... performances.”

“What kind of performances?” Ev asks, watching his mouth twisting in distaste. Something about his look makes her frown.

“Gladiators. Bloodshed which lacked any order or purpose besides the count’s own entertainment,” Valerius rubs the bridge of his nose and glances to the window. Ev cannot tell whether he is looking at the moon or the looming coliseum, considering something. “But it’s not what this place was intended for,” he pauses. He turns back to Ev and the expression in his eyes is softer. “It was built before Lucio became a count, although it was slightly less grand back then. The rituals and ceremonies were conducted there during the festivities and the previous count used to reenact scenes of the famous battles there, using the actors. It brought the whole city together. Nobody wants to remember those days anymore.”

Ev feels a weird tremble inside and she is not sure what has caused it until she realises that it is a strange, unusual affection in his voice. She crosses her arms and seats back to contain the feeling. It’s so freaking strange to talk to him when his face is not a mask of boredom. “Did you use to come to watch?” she asks.

“Only when I had to. As if I would mix myself with the roaring crowd of plebeians. Besides, it was terribly distatestful and the smell inside was disgusting.” His mouth tightens, and a strange shadow clouds his expression this time. “Pointless waste of human life.”

“Oh,” is all Ev can manage. She cannot stop staring at Valerius. There is some kindness beneath this asshole facade, human decency, fairness even. It is not the perspective that she has been prepared for. “I meant before that,” she adds faintly.

“Yes I did, when I was much younger.”

“I cannot believe I have never heard of it.”

“Did you do any research before you came here?” The consul is back to his dismissive tone.

“Honestly? I had other things to worry about.” Ev turns back to the window, suddenly unable to look at him anymore.

She hears an irritated snort from Valerius but then, after a brief silence, he starts talking again, and it is not about Ev’s inadequacy. He talks about the canals named after constellations, traditions which Vesuvia used to have, and what you could find in the city before the plague. His voice is calm and steady, and has this velvet quality to it, which fits the night perfectly. Ev closes her eyes and thinks that maybe if she asked Valerius, as that favour she got from him, to continue his stories sitting by her bedside, she would finally be able to fall asleep before the sunrise.