#but damned if I don’t try anyway hoping it’s the former and then I get slapped with a man telling reader he wants to have a litter

[thus-spoke-lo]

I love when I read a fic tagged with breeding kink because it could mean it’s a guy obsessed with giving you creampies or it could mean a guy obsessed with turning you into an incubator and you won’t find out which til 7/8 of the way through the fic!

[kenjakusbraincum]

Hi, i can’t help but request this because you write so beautifully.

So I just had the idea of a former ballerina being sacrificed to Sukuna. She does her work good and gracefully but she longs for old times where she was able to dance and feel like she’s flying again. So she does it in the evening in Sukunas garden. He of course notices and as culture lover he is he makes her his personal dancer. And a cute lil love story forms from this scenario.

I would be so thankful if you form this to a proper story because i don’t have enough imagination. Love your work

Thank you for the compliment! I apologize in advance for my butchered descriptions of dance scenes and hope you like what I came up with anyways <3

Swan Lake

Sukuna x Reader

Word count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader but the words maid, whore and bitch are used, true form! sukuna, bullying, fluff with a very brief and soft smut scene at the end!

Sukuna doesn't care where his servants come from. People get offered to him all the time, and he takes them when he feels his palace is understaffed. And that happens quite often, considering how eagerly Sukuna gets rid of his servants for the smallest inconveniences. His staff is disposable to him, having no value beyond the services they provide him with.

So he doesn't know about your past. He doesn't know you were once an esteemed entertainer. He doesn't know that you were touring the world, sharing your art with audiences of all different classes and ranks in society. He doesn't know you were once the star of the stage, hypnotizing people with the fluidity of your movements in rhythm with the music. He doesn't know you were snatched from fame, taken against your will and brought to him to pay your capturer's debt. You're not sure he's even properly looked at you, much less heard your capturer tell him who you are. You were that worthless to him.

Now you are but a maid. You spend your days on your knees, mopping blood soaked floors. At night, you share chambers with dozens of other servants. Privacy is a foreign concept in Sukuna's palace. You are not entitled to it even in the bathroom. Everything is shared for the servants. There's no space for you to even try to indulge in your beloved profession, even as a hobby. Except...

The garden. Most servants are in bed, prepared to sleep, but your eyes linger on the windows. In every way, going to the garden would be to your own detriment. Losing sleep was dangerous, it could lead to getting caught slacking off, or being ratted out about it. And the consequences for that... well. One could only imagine it wouldn't be a simple slap on the wrist.

Still, you longed for this. The work you did during the day drained you, it was repetitive and soulless. You weren't made to clean floors. You were made to dance, it was your destiny. Since childhood, you don't remember a period of time as long as this one, where you haven't had the opportunity to enjoy your passion. Tears stung your eyes as this revelation found you. Every day, you could feel your life slipping through your fingers. You were alive, but your energy, your liveliness, your personality, all of it was dissipating in the pools of blood you were forced to clean.

''Can you be quiet? Some of us are trying to sleep.'', a servant who sleeps in the bed next to yours snaps you out of your thoughts. You are sobbing. You apologize quickly, and snuggle in bed, trying to muffle the noises against your deflated pillow.

But sleep just doesn't take you that night. You grow more and more frustrated, as time passes and you toss and turn in bed. Eyes wide open, fixed to the window across you. The garden lures you, calls for you. Damn it. You have to try. This is not much of a life anyways, you think. Sooner or later Sukuna or Uraume would find faults in what you're doing anyways, and you'd be served for dinner. You don't exactly have a lot to lose.

Sneaking out of the chambers is easy. You spent your whole life on your tippy toes. No one moves in their sleep as you cross the room, open the door and slide through the crack. Quietly, you make your way around the mansion. Outside, you're greeted by a light summer breeze. The garden is eerily peaceful, lit by the moonlight in this late hour.

You start to warm up, hopping, circling your neck, swinging your legs. Feeling the stretches in muscles you forgot you had. The grass tickles your legs as you splay across the ground and reach for your feet. Then stand and shift your weight to your toes, feeling out how rusty you've gotten in the time you've missed out on practicing. It's not too bad.

So you start out slow. The music plays in your head and you mouth silently, counting the rhythm. Your eyes are glued to the ground, you're trying not to trip and fall on the uneven surface. Your movement feels as smooth as it did before, but you can't see yourself in the mirror to check your form. You close your eyes, surrendering to the cadence of your motions. The music carries you, and as you turn into a poised second arabesque, time seems to slow. It's only a moment, but when you turn back to continue...

Slam. So hard you start to fall back, but his arms catch you around the waist. If you weren't scared out of your mind you would've wondered how did he even show up there without you noticing. But of course, he's Sukuna. You look at him with eyes so wide you think they may fall out, and he stares back with an amused smirk. Then he bites the air in front of you, clanking his sharp teeth together, and you scream in response. His hand flies to your mouth in an instant and he shuts you up.

"Quiet now. You wouldn't want to wake your colleagues up, would you?", he tilts his head, observing your terrified expression. "Or do you want everyone to slack off with you tomorrow?"

"I-I won't slack off I promise!!!", you panic, hands shaking as you bring them up in a defensive stance. Tears pool in your eyes as you stare death in the face. He is... weirdly beautiful, lit by the moonlight. And he holds you sturdily, but gently. It doesn't hurt. And he doesn't seem particularly mad.

"Is that so?", he asks. There's a smile on his face, but it feels dangerous, threatening. Like everything else about him. "Then just what do you think you're doing outside at this hour?"

"I was- I was dancing -", you stutter, struggling to form coherent sentences. Why are you so close to him? You're pulled flush against him. You can almost feel his -

"I didn't know I had a dancer in my ranks. Why didn't you say so?", he says, and surprisingly lets go of you.

You're so sure he's playing with his food. You're so sure he's going to slice you into pieces. You've already crossed so many lines, broken so many rules. You look to the ground, only now remembering eye contact with him was strictly forbidden.

"Speak.", he growls, audibly irritated by your refusal to reply.

You didn't think he was genuinely asking. What the hell are you supposed to say? Why didn't you say so? Maybe because you wanted to see the light of day again? "I ... A lowlife such as myself has no place speaking to your Highness.", you duck your head low in an apologetic manner. And he seems satisfied, smiling playfully again. Except you don't see it, you feel it. Sukuna's presence pulls the most demeaning, self-depricating things out of people's mouths.

"Humble.", he comments and walks a couple steps around you. He's huge. "Go on then, dance for me."

You stand frozen. It's not that you're ashamed... you've performed for audiences bigger than you ever could've imagined. But the weight of his stare is harder to bear than that of hundreds. And the stakes are higher than ever. He has to like it, or else...

"Dance!", he orders sternly, and crosses his arms over his chest. So you give it your all. Remembering where he interrupted you, you get back into position and start. Dance. Your life depends on it, doesn't it? Well if there's one thing you can do to save your life it should be this.

But it's not like before. Fear seeps into every muscle in your body, and your movements are unsure. Every jump is fleeting, every landing shaky. Tears blur your vision, and it's so hard to keep your breathing steady when you're struggling not to cry. But you're a ballet dancer, you were trained to endure. You finish the variation, cross your legs and gracefully bow.

Sukuna watches intently with narrowed eyes, like a predator stalking his prey. You can't see the sly smile on his face, but you can feel it.

"I apologize, your Highness.", your voice trembles. "It wasn't my best."

Sukuna huffs in amusement and waves his hand dismissively. "Go to sleep.", he orders.

You bow before him again, and quickly turn back towards the mansion. You don't feel relief from his piercing stare until you disappear behind a corner in the hallway.

You can't shake the feeling when you're back in your bed, snuggled in the sheets up to your eyes. You just survived a close encounter with Sukuna. And he must've liked what he saw at least a little bit, if you're still alive.

The next morning, you wake up and start getting ready for work with the other servants. The bathroom is busy, and as there's little else to do in the servant circles, gossiping starts immediately.

"Did you hear the scream last night?", the servant taking up the sink next to yours says, tapping foundation into her skin.

"Screams come from Sukuna's chambers all the time. It must be a new pet getting used to him.", another one replies. You shiver.

"Everyone knows how that sounds. This was different!", the two maids exchange a look.

The second rolls her eyes. "So, he killed someone. Nothing new.", she shakes her head.

"No. Uraume would've called someone to clean it up immediately.", the first servant continues. You really, really wish they would just drop it, until... "Hey you.", she turns to you. "Your bed was empty last night, did you hear anything?"

Your blood runs cold. "I was... feeling sick. And went to the bathroom.", you say quickly. "I probably couldn't hear... over the sound of throwing up."

"Hm.", both of them look at you now. "Well you look sick too.", one of them says. "Be careful with work today.", then they finish up and leave. You breathe a sigh of relief and finish up getting ready.

The next few days pass spotlessly. You don't cross paths with Sukuna. But some nights, you feel his presence in the garden. You stretch and practice simple movements in the bathroom, when no one's around. And the variations, you save them for the garden. At night. The only time you feel alive, the only time you feel like yourself. Human. Free. You think you might just get away with no one knowing, but then...

He walks past you and another maid while you're scrubbing the floors in the hallway. Both of you freeze as he passes by, assuming a submissive position and greeting him. You pray he won't notice, pray he won't know you by your voice, but he stops. Right by you, and then there's a moment of silence. He lifts his foot, touching your chin, and nudges you to look at him.

"Oh.", you watch his stern expression soften. "It's a shame for a talent like yourself to waste away on their knees.", he says. You look to the servant next to you, and she mouths a silent 'what?' as she turns her head in your direction.

You swallow your shame. It's not the first time you had to in front of Sukuna. "Its an honor to serve you, your Highness, even if it's on my knees.", you say.

Sukuna hums. "What a good servant you are.", an amused smile graces his face once again. "Well, get to rubbing then.", he nudges your face back downwards with his foot, and walks away.

You and the servants keep rubbing intensively, until he's out of sight and a couple minutes have passed. Then she grabs you by your shoulders and gives you a look that is both terrified and angry. "You did what with Sukuna?", she asks.

You frown, offended. Why does everyone in this mansion immediately think of that? "He knows I'm a dancer.", you say simply and look back to the floor, rage brewing in your chest.

"When did you do it. Was it you screaming? Oh my god it was!", the revelation hits the servant and she puts her hands on her cheeks, looking at you in shock.

"It wasn't me!!", you lie, agitation showing in your voice.

"Does he really have two dicks?", she asks.

You drain the washing rug and smack her in the face with it. "You disgusting pervert, how dare you ask that about your master!"

"You hit me! Whore!", she smacks you back, but harder, and her rag is full of dirty water.

"I'm not a whore!!", you cry, and wipe your face with your dirty, wet hands.

"Dancer. Yeah right, I can only imagine!", she throws the wet rag on you, and it sits on your lap, soaking you in the nasty liquid. "And you're a liar too! How shameless!"

"What is this commotion about?", a voice calls from the back of the hallway, and you turn around with teary eyes. Uraume looks like a blob of white in your vision, nonetheless they're recognizable.

"Tell them! You hit me, you little bitch!", the servant slaps your shoulder. You don't have it in you to fight back. The injustice pains your heart, and you can't bear the embarrassment.

Uraume smirks, noting your disheveled appearance. Your whole uniform is soaked now, even your hair. There's a pool of water forming around you as the liquid seeps out of the rags. "Clean this mess immediately. Master will be notified of this issue.", they say, and walk past the two of you.

The servant looks at you with contempt burning in her eyes. Then spits in front of you. "Clean.", she says, takes the rag you hit her with and starts cleaning.

Sukuna sees you that evening. He sits on his throne, head in his hand, and looks down on you and the other servant. He hides his inner smile, the joy he takes in executing power over others. And it's you again. He asks what this is about, and the servant wastes no time pointing her finger at you, saying you hit her first.

Sukuna's critical stare turns to you. ''Is that true?'', he asks, scanning you from head to toe, noting the state you're in. He's not particularly happy to see you like that.

You timidly nod, admitting your fault in the situation. Your stare is fixed to the ground, where dirty water drips down from your soaked clothes. You smell, and look like a rat, all of that in front of Sukuna. You wish the ground would swallow you whole and spare you this humiliation.

But he knows you. You've captivated him. Otherwise he wouldn't have cared to ask if you have anything to say in your defense. You tell him, omitting the details of her perverse question, you simply say she was slandering his holy name.

Sukuna moves, leaning his elbows on his knees. You care about his name? How lovely. So what is this slanderous thing his servants fought about?

Silence. You and the servant exchange uncomfortable looks. If there was one thing the both of you could agree on for the day, it was that repeating it in front of him was too vulgar. With that, Sukuna quickly grows bored with the situation. When he raises his hand, both of you flinch, expecting immediate punishment. However, nothing happens when he flicks his fingers. You're dismissed.

Quickly, both of you scurry away, leaving the throne room and going back to your jobs. The rest of the day is harrowing. The rumor spreads among the servants quickly, and you are the butt of every joke. You hear whispering and giggling behind your back, and everyone's stares linger on you as you go about your day. The culmination happens next morning, when the servants are getting ready in the bathroom, and the insults start getting more direct.

''Show us how you dance for Sukuna, why don't you?''

''Did you take both at the same time?''

''He didn't like you very much if you're still working as a servant.''

And then everyone goes quiet. When you turn around, you see Uraume at the door, their eyes fixed on you. ''Come.'', they say quietly, and leave without waiting for you to catch up. Well, it seems your punishment is due. You gladly leave the bathroom and follow them down the hall, anything is better than spending another second with the other servants. But now that you think of it, where is the servant that shares your punishment? Have you even seen her this morning? Or after the meeting with Sukuna at all?

You turn a couple corners, and stop at the end of the hallway. Uraume opens the doors to a room, and ushers you inside. What is this? It's furnished. Modestly, but... You open your mouth to ask a question, but you're quickly cut off.

''Make yourself at home.'', they say, and turn their attention to you.

''What about my things?'', you ask, looking around the room, then back to Uraume.

''You won't need them. Do you have good table manners?''

''Uhh.. yeah... I think.''

''Great. You dine with Master Sukuna tonight.''

''Huh!?''

''Your outfit is on the bed, be ready by sunset. I'll come to pick you up.''

Then the door closes and you're left alone in your new room. This isn't what a punishment should look like. Not when a beautiful kimono waits on your bed. Not when there's a barre fixed onto a mirrored wall, and there's a box on the ground, and when you open it, you find pointe shoes. Multiple pairs. He didn't know what size to get you. Ribbons, a sewing kit, glue, scissors... everything you need to break them in. Under that, a simple black leotard and a wrap skirt. By all means... this looks more like a reward.

You try everything on, find the perfect pair of shoes, and test them. It's not a big room, but there's enough space for you to practice with the bar. For the first time in so long, time passes quick. You're doing something you enjoy. It feels like in a blink of an eye, your shadow gets long on the wall opposing the window, and you have to get ready for dinner. You put the kimono on to the best of your ability - you don't have the opportunity to wear it often as a servant, being usually restrained in a uniform. And then reality hits you. Sukuna wants to have you over for dinner. This... is this a date? Unless he was planning to eat you, but you suppose he wouldn't have bought you shoes and furnished a room specially for you if that was the case... Come to think of it, what are you eating tonight?

Uraume knocks on the door, and takes a long look at you when you open. They fix your collar and nod, taking off down the hallway and expecting you to follow. They lead you to the dining room, vast and expensively furnished. You hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears. You only let your eyes explore for a second, before you fix them back to the ground and lower your head in Sukuna's presence.

''Your Highness.'', you bow in his direction.

''Master from now on.'', he says, and stands up to greet you. Master. You've only heard Uraume, and occasionally his pets, when he'd walk by with them, call him this by this... less formal title. He towers over you as his hand touches your shoulder, urging you to turn around. You follow obediently, making a circle and displaying your outfit.

He hums in approval. "Suits you much better than a cleaning uniform.", he says, and pulls your chair out for you to sit. You mutter a quiet thank you and sit down, already overwhelmed by the interaction.

He sits on the other side of the table, facing you. You can't bear the intense eye contact, and the silence that spreads across the room. Your eyes are fixed to your hands in your lap. ''Don't be shy now. I didn't invite you to sit there and be quiet. I reserve such duties for my pets.'', he breaks the silence.

''Master. Sharing a meal with you is a privilege, and I want to thank you for that. I'm not sure I'm deserving of it, though, and how my company may be of use to you.''. The kitchen servants scatter around the table, bringing food and pouring drinks. Various appetizers decorate the table, and only now do you notice you're hungry. You shyly pick the foods that catch your eye the most.

And your humility draws out a smile from him. ''You are an artist. And I am a man who takes great joy in consuming art.'', he says, and taps his finger against his glass, watching you pick. He's getting to know you, through your taste in food.

''I didn't know that about you.'', you say and look to your plate. You feel your hand shaking as you reach for the cutlery. You know Sukuna is judging every move. He was in your territory when you were dancing, now you're on his. And he will recognize the smallest mistake.

''Oh.'', his tone changes. It sounds like he didn't particularly like that comment. He finishes chewing. ''Did you take me for a savage?'', he narrows his eyes. More food is brought to the table, plates come and go quickly as the conversation progresses, and the tension grows.

You stutter, reading his volatile mood. ''I've only heard rumors.''.

He huffs in amusement again. ''I've heard rumors about you too.'', he says, leaning into the table. ''To be fair, I was asking around.''. So he took interest in you. ''They say you were the best there was, until you got captured.''

You chew slowly, taking his story in. He continues. ''They asked about you. Asked if I knew where you are. I said no.''. Sukuna watches as you grow visibly distressed by the mentions of your team. ''The best there is? What a wonderful prize. I'd rather keep you to myself.''. Oh. So that's what this is about. He gets off on the thought of owning you, the best there is, just for himself. You curse whoever told him about you. ''You showed me your worst, and mesmerized me. I want you to show me your best. Dance for me. Convince me you're worth my patronage.''.

The servants bring the main dish, and your head droops, stare fixed into the finely decorated red meat. You touch it with your cutlery, feeling it's texture. Sukuna eyes you as you cut a slice and bring it to your mouth, expectantly waiting for your reaction. You chew slowly, savoring the taste, but your expression is puzzled. ''What is this?'', you ask. And to make sure it doesn't sound like you're unhappy, you cut another slice. Truthfully, the food is incredible, but... you can't quite place the meat.

Sukuna bares his sharp teeth in a grin. ''Veal.''.

The conversation steers into a different direction then, and you quickly forget about how powerless you felt just moments ago. Sukuna is nothing like you've imagined him. He's right, you did take him for a savage. After all, everything you've heard about him pointed to a monster, who only took pleasure in wreaking havoc and destruction. Now, you find him to be eloquent, knowledgeable, and quite sophisticated. In a way, he appears similar to the other people you've met through your job. But way more powerful, and with it, way more intriguing.

Once again, time passes quickly, slipping through your fingers. The dinner is over, and you're facing Sukuna at the door. He seems to be pleased with your company, if you can read his face at all. ''Should I consider my offer accepted?'', he inquires. ''Everything will be provided for you. You just have to dance.''.

Well, it doesn't sound half bad, does it? You're not sure if the terms of the offers convinced you, or his presentation during the dinner. It might just be him. He made you feel you wouldn't be a jester, but a respected entertainer. And not for just anyone, but for a man as thoughtful and cultured as Sukuna proved himself to be. ''For you, gladly. Master.'', you smile at him. And he smiles back, taking your small hand into his, and planting a soft kiss to your fingers. You bow to him, wish him a good night, and you part ways.

Later, in your new bed, you find yourself replaying the interaction. Tracing his features in your memory. It's the first time you've had the chance to observe him, without fear of consequences. And he was beautiful. So elegant in the way he dressed and carried himself. Like a true king.

From then on, life in Sukuna's mansion is a game. Sukuna courts you in his dining room, feeding you delicacies from all around the world Foods that are hard and expensive to come by, that you've never heard of before. He courts you with the things he allows you to do, and the gifts he gives you. You dance and eat and walk around his garden and library. You don't dine with him every night, but when you do, rest assured that a new outfit is waiting for you in your room when you get back from practice.

And you court him on the floor, with feathery leaps that leave him on the edge of his seat, and dizzying turns that force him to focus all four eyes on you. You court him when you finish the variation by bowing before him, on one knee, a breath away from where he's sitting. And when you look up at him, he sees a lover rather than a personal dancer. Even though he's never touched you, or pressed his lips to yours.

There is love in the foods he picks for you specifically to enjoy, and there is love in the way you let him watch you practice. Even if you mess up, misstep and fall out of rhythm. Even if you stumble and fall in the most unceremonious of ways. There is vulnerability in letting him see you fail. It only happens a handful of times, but when you slip before him, you feel more naked than you would ever feel with your clothes off. And the relationship that the two of you foster grows intimate, despite the formal distance you keep from each other.

And that distance closes in, one day when Sukuna is there during a particularly nasty fall. You yelp when you hit the ground, and reach for your ankle, checking for injury. You only notice Sukuna when you feel his hand on your shoulder, and his brows furrowed in worry as his head looms over you. Your eyes meet for a moment, and you're hypnotized. Then you look away quickly, feeling your face heat up from the closeness.

''It's nothing.'', you say, and look down.

''Sure?'', Sukuna asks and stands up. You nod, and he offers you a pair of his hands, to help you stand. You take them, and he hoists you up effortlessly. And now you're face to face with his chest, and you're still holding his hands... ''That should to for today.'', he says, and when you look at him, there's a tender smile on his face. It sounds like a suggestion, but you've learned Sukuna is subtle about giving you orders. You nod, dust yourself off and untie your shoes.

That night, you recall his touch on your skin. Long fingernails ghosting over your shoulder, sending shivers through your whole body. You never expected Sukuna to have it in him to be gentle. But, that wouldn't be the first time he's broken the mold you thought he fit. And now in the cold of night, you find yourself craving him.

The next time you're invited to dinner, the tension is almost unbearable. ''Aren't you a sight to behold?'', he tells you when he welcomes you into the room. He always gives you compliments, but tonight they weigh heavy on your heart. You look across the table and curse every plate and glass that stands between the two of you. You look at him with quiet longing, and you think he knows. Because his smile is victorious, almost teasing. And when you accidentally hit his leg under the table, you start to credit it less to his size, and more to him deliberately crossing into your space. Subtlety is not a word you ever thought you'd attribute to Sukuna, but it seems this is the way you've established communication. You resist the instinct to remove your leg apologetically. So they stay touching.

Unfortunately, this little interaction slowly turns your brain into mush. By the last bite, your hand is trembling and you know you don't have the precision to pick up the last piece of food with your chopsticks. So you leave it on the plate, and wait for a moment when Sukuna is at least a little bit distracted, to attempt eating it again.

But such a thing doesn't happen. Today, he looks at you like you're the food on his plate. "Come on, eat it.", he nods in your direction. You can't read his expression, but it seems benevolent.

"I'm so full.", you make up an excuse.

"Just one strip.", he nudges your leg under the table, and you flinch, cheeks heating up.

"I.. I think I'll combust.", lies.

"I'll be offended.", Sukuna plays along with your game.

"Ah...", he wins, and you pick up your chopsticks with shaky hands. But as hard as you try, the little piece of food keeps escaping you, traveling through the plate.

"What makes you so flustered today?", he asks. "Is it the leg?". You blink at the plate, and feel your face going as red as the wine in your glass. "Come.", he waves his finger at you. You lean into the table, used to following his commands. And in no time, he is looming over your plate, one hand picking the last piece of your food with his chopsticks, and the other gently taking hold of your chin, nudging your mouth open. You part your lips obediently, and he places the bit onto your tongue, never breaking eye contact. His face is mere centimeters away from yours, observing you as you chew.

And the moment you've swallowed, and opened your mouth for air, he seizes you in a kiss. Slow, as he tastes your lips, and lets you adjust and catch up with him. He feels you go tense with the initial shock, then relax in his hold and kiss him back. His tongue brushes past your lips, and you think you'll sink right through your chair, and into the earth beneath the floor. The taste, the smell of him, so expensive and intoxicating. If this moment could last forever -

Foolish you. So much stress and tension, and you barely notice how quickly it passes. , how quickly his lips leave yours. His eyes scan your face, making sure you're alright, and then he's back in his chair. "There.", he says, "Have something to be flustered about."

That night, you think about his lips, slipping away from yours and moving to your neck, collarbones, shoulders. Not stopping until they've explored your whole body and touched your soul.

In the meantime, you practice your chosen choreography to perfection. And when you're standing in his throne room and awaiting the music, and your deciding performance to start, it's the first time in a while that you recognize feeling nervous. Uraume is there too, and his other disciples and guests. But he is the only one that matters. The only one your life depends on. Although the times when your life was truly on the line are long gone, Sukuna is still your patron, and now it's your turn to either satisfy or disappoint him.

The music starts, and the nervousness wanes as you start dancing. Sukuna's gaze is heavy, critical. He's seen you do this times and times already, but now it's final. Now, he's telling you, ''Bewitch me.''. Now, you're joining it together, one seamless show just for his enjoyment. And with every spin, you keep your eyes fixed on him. Enticing him with your movement, seducing him.

And for once, time passes quick for Sukuna as well. He finds himself lost in your dance. In your quick glances, in the way your body moves, contorts, withstands your weight on your tippy toes with so much grace and fluidity. You make it look easy. You nail the landing you failed so many times before his very eyes, perfectly, effortlessly. He almost wonders if you fell intentionally when he was watching you. And he's captivated. By the end of your performance, you earn his smile. You earn the clap of his hands, you even earn his standing ovation. The king himself, honoring you with the highest form of praise.

''It takes quite a performer, to entertain a crowd all by oneself.'', he comments later, over dinner. ''You've convinced me. You're worth keeping.''

''And when I can't dance anymore?'', you ask.

''You'll still be able to eat with me.'', he says.

At the doors, he bends down to kiss you again. You anticipate it, and accept it, kneading your hands through his hair. He asks if you're tired, and you shake your head no. He asks if you want to come with him. Yes, please yes, you've wanted to for so long. You almost thought he'd never ask. Again, his face lights up in a victorious smile.

He walks you through the halls, to his quarters of the mansion. Vast, and decorated with various works of art. They hang on the wall, or stand on the cupboards in forms of statues of various sizes. Sukuna likes to collect things, if that wasn't evident by your presence in the mansion.

''You're dragging behind. Did you have a change of heart?'', he asks, and extends his hand towards you. You step closer, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. You're standing at the doors of his bedroom.

''I was just admiring the interior.'', you smile at him, and take it upon yourself to cross the doorstep. His bedroom overlooks the garden, through a tall set of windows, little plants sitting on his windowsill. And his bed is massive. You think it could fit four people of your size. But then again, Sukuna is not a normal sized person. Your hand finds the mattress, testing it's sturdiness. And when you turn around, he's right behind you. Towering over you, and forcing you to look up at him, like the king he is. But you're not scared. You have no reason to be.

''Lay down.'', he orders, but his voice doesn't sound stern. Still, you obey, climbing into the bed. And he follows, letting you ease into the pillows only for a moment, before he settles above you, urging your legs apart. You welcome him, finally feeling the closeness you've been craving for so long. His body, big enough to enclose you completely under him, so carefully pressed against yours. Light enough not to hurt, but heavy enough to establish power. To give you what you want, what you've craved for a very long time.

He never lets you forget whose grasp you're in. He folds your smaller body with ease, adjusting you to his liking. And you let him, trusting him with your body and pleasure. He takes you gently, slowly, making sure you're comfortable in the process. You feel so full of him, but it's not enough, not enough until all of your senses are overwhelmed with him. You feel up his muscled arms and back, wrap around him, pull him closer with every stroke, every swipe of his lips against yours. Sukuna draws the moans out of you with practiced thrust of his hips, hitting spots inside you you didn't know existed. In no time you're seeing stars - his four eyes, never leaving yours as you come apart.

And Sukuna is stoic for the most part, but by the end of it, even he is loosing his composure. Hungry moans slip past his lips, his brows furrowing as he concentrates, trying not to let out too soon. You encourage him, babbling sweet nonsense into his ear. This flustered Sukuna, completely engulfed in the chase of his own pleasure, is as close as you've come to seeing a god. Moments later, his hips still, and you feel his muscles tense as he reaches completion, deep grunts filling your ears like the sweetest music.

You lay in his embrace, and trace your fingertips over his tattoos. Your stare is fixed on him, as he tells you various anecdotes from his long lifetime. You enjoy the opportunity to admire his beauty from up close. His eyes, so unusually benevolent as they stare outside the window and turn to you from time to time, to check if you're awake. The curve of his nose, the glimpses of his sharp teeth, his strong, masculine jawline. He is an art piece on his own.

After a while, he notices you struggling to stay awake. His hand on the back of your head nudges you to lay on his chest. He whispers you a good night, and runs his hand through your hair as you drift off. It's been a long day you've dedicated entirely to him, so he finds you worthy of this special treatment. After all, it isn't often that someone claims the title of both Sukuna's personal dancer and his lover, much less in the same day.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: After being yelled at one too many times by their strict Ubers teammate, Oliver Aiku enlists Ikki Niko in helping him get Shoei Barou a girlfriend, hoping beyond hope that that’s enough to get the guy to chill out a bit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Barou x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.8k

Content Warnings: crack fic, barou is also my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader is kind of an npc in this icl 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, everyone is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), everyone gets slandered (mostly by aiku), god bless niko for being chronically online

A/N: there were a decent amt of people who wanted barou’s version plus i felt like writing it so he’s up next!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long just like the sae version and somehow it’s even sillier so…but yeah anyways this is the second entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Barou is yelling at them again. Aiku’s not sure what the big deal is this time — so what if Lorenzo spilled spaghetti sauce on the floor? He’s Italian, that’s part of his culture — but if he dares to speak up, Barou will single him out specifically, and then he’ll be treated like a little kid in timeout, which doesn’t sound like an ideal way to spend a Friday night.

It’s the four of them in the doghouse as usual — himself, Niko, Aryu, and Sendou, that is. The most ridiculous thing is that Lorenzo isn’t even there, though he’s the true target of Barou’s rage; unfortunately for his teammates, though, Lorenzo’s off getting his teeth polished or counting his money while cackling or whatever else it is that he does in his free time.

Honestly, none of them are really taking the theatrics seriously. Aryu’s fiddling with the ends of his hair, Niko’s standing there, staring at Barou with large, watery eyes, and Sendou’s glaring back at Barou with his arms folded over his chest. Aiku sighs, because that means an argument between the two is most likely impending, but unfortunately for him, he sighs a bit too loudly, and Barou whips around, jabbing a finger at him.

“What’s so exasperating, huh?” Barou says. “I bet you won’t be sighing when we have an insect infestation because none of you can be bothered to clean up that damn tomato shit that Lorenzo’s obsessed with!”

“It’s marinara,” Niko pipes up meekly. They all look at him with varying degrees of incredulity; he shrugs, adjusting the headphones around his neck self-consciously. “Lorenzo’s trying to teach me how to make it. Supposedly a typical spaghetti sauce has meat and vegetables added, but a good marinara is the base, so — um, anyways.”

Barou’s upper lip is curled into a sneer, and Aiku’s just about to thank Niko for taking the fall and turning Barou’s rage to him when he remembers that that’s markedly not how Barou operates. He’s too meticulous to forget the former recipient of his ire, not so quickly, and indeed, Barou is pointing at them both when he speaks next.

“That stain better be gone the next time I come in this room,” he says. He doesn’t say what will happen if it’s not, but given his authoritative voice and enormous physique, he usually doesn’t have to resort to making threats in order to be obeyed.

“Thank goodness,” Aryu says once Barou has left to complete his evening meditations. “Seems like Barou appreciated our elegant silence, Sendou. We’ve escaped reproach this time.”

“Yup,” Sendou says. Whistling nonchalantly, he sidles out of the room, and with a fluttering wave, Aryu follows suit. Aiku can’t even blame them, considering it’s what he would’ve done if he were in their place.

Glancing at Niko, who is now his greatest friend due to convenience alone, Aiku shakes his head, wondering what choice he made in life that led to his weekend plans amounting to cleaning sauce stains from a carpet with a little boy instead of partying or something.

“You got the bleach?” he asks. Niko nods miserably.

“Yeah, I got it. You’re good with scrubbing?” he says. Aiku’s shoulders cramp preemptively at the mere thought, but he doesn’t protest aloud.

“No other choice, right?” he says. “Off to work we go, then.” 

Your best friend has been begging you for days to try this new restaurant with her, and it’s only now that it’s Friday that you can’t come up with any more excuses to avoid it. The truth is that you don’t really have a reason to refuse her as many times as you have, but the thought of summoning up the wherewithal to get ready and go out for dinner instead of throwing on your pajamas and eating something on the couch with a movie in the background is excruciating. Besides, you know her tastes. She always takes you to insanely fancy locations where anything less than your best will be embarrassing, and the only saving grace is that your outings always end up being insanely cheap, as she refuses to spend more than the bare minimum no matter what.

“You’re serious?” she affirms, standing in front of your closet and sifting through your clothes. You’re sitting on your bed, legs crossed and your laptop on your lap as you try to finish up the essay you have due Monday before getting ready. “You’ll really go with me?”

“I just told you I would, didn’t I?” you say. “I wouldn’t let you go through my closet if I wasn’t being serious. Actually, I wouldn’t have let you into my house at all.”

“Your parents would’ve opened the door for me,” she says dismissively. “They love me.”

It’s true, they do love her as much if not more than they love you, so you have no rebuttal. She grins at you, tossing a shirt in your general direction. It hits the back of your laptop, landing in a heap on the floor, and you’re too busy to pick it up, so you just leave it there, too lost in thought to care. Just the conclusion, if I can finish that then I can do something fun without anything on my mind—

“Hurry up and get ready! We want to get a table, don’t we?” she says. It’s a pair of pants she flings your way this time, and her aim is far more superior, for they smack into your face, temporarily blinding you.

“If you don’t let me finish this essay, I won’t go with you,” you say, and she knows you mean it literally, so she immediately pretends to zip her lips, saluting at you.

“Finish away!” 

“Barou’s totally got a stick up his ass, don’t you think?” Aiku says after thirty minutes have passed and the stain is no smaller than before. 

“I don’t think I’d phrase it like that,” Niko says, pouring another cup of bleach on the carpet. Neither of them really know much about cleaning, so this is the best they’ve got, even though Aiku’s pretty sure Barou would pass out if he saw their method. “But yeah, he can be kind of uptight at times.”

“He’s pretty nice otherwise, though,” Aiku says thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a shame. I bet if he loosened up a bit, he’d be a downright enjoyable teammate. Besides the cleaning and all, he’s a cool guy.”

“I do like training with him,” Niko says. “When he’s not yelling at us, it’s fun. Following his regimen has made me a lot stronger.”

“Agreed,” Aiku says. That’s the one thing he’ll give Barou — the guy is a master with the training equipment. He’s introduced Aiku to machines he didn’t even know existed. “You know what he needs?”

“What?” Niko says. He’s scrubbing at the floor while Aiku’s sipping on a soda; theoretically, they’re supposed to be switching off, but Niko hasn’t complained yet, so Aiku’s not about to remind him that it’s well beyond time for his turn.

“Some pu—” Aiku cuts himself off when he remembers that he is talking to a child. Niko’s like twelve or something, so maybe phrasing it in that way isn’t the most appropriate thing to do. “—I mean, a beautiful and loving girlfriend.”

Niko tilts his chin up at him, which means he’s probably looking at him; it’s hard to tell with his overgrown bangs falling in his face. Aiku makes a mental note to suggest cutting Niko’s hair during the next team bonding night that Snuffy forces them into.

“I guess having someone like that would make anyone happier, even Barou,” he says.

“That’s what I’m getting at! I bet he’s just constantly stressed out, so he takes it out on us instead of finding a healthy outlet. Maybe dating someone will fix that and give him something to do besides soccer,” Aiku says.

“Is that your secret to always being so calm?” Niko says. Aiku nods.

“The more girls you have, the less you can worry about things like training. You’re too focused on making sure they’re all happy,” Aiku says.

“Woah,” Niko says. “That’s a really great way of looking at things.”

“Right?” Aiku says. “With Barou, though, we might be lucky if we can find even one girl willing to put up with him. He’s a bit of a work in progress, you know?”

“Totally,” Niko says. “What if he yells at her the way he yells at us?”

Aiku has a vision of some poor, innocent girl on the verge of tears as Barou rants about how she didn’t fold her laundry the right way or something. For some reason, she looks kind of like Niko — oh, that’s probably because Barou just yelled at Niko for that exact reason — but the image is enough for him to balk.

“She can come to us for comfort,” Aiku says decisively before once again remembering that Niko probably only popped out of the womb a scant few months prior. He needs to be more careful — this isn’t Sendou, who would’ve made at least ten innuendos even worse than his own by this point. “I mean, me.”

“That’s a good plan,” Niko says. “You’re really good with the whole advising and comforting thing. I bet you’d make her feel better for sure.”

Yeah, I’d make her feel better alright. This time Aiku manages to keep it to himself, only coughing slightly and nodding towards the bottle of bleach as an explanation.

“The only question is where in Blue Lock are we going to find a girl, let alone one willing to date Barou?” Aiku says.

“Well, Bastard München is playing PXG this weekend, and Manshine City is playing Barcha, so we’re technically off,” Niko says. “I think if we ask Snuffy, we can probably have a day out.”

“What if Ego gets mad?” Aiku says, although the idea is sound enough that he’s just jealous he didn’t come up with it himself. Niko hums, giving careful consideration to the notion.

“We can just blame it on Snuffy. What’s Ego going to do, fire him?” he says. 

A grin breaks out on Aiku’s face.

“Niko, kiddo—”

“I’m fifteen.”

“—you’re totally a genius. Let’s go!”

“What about the stain?” Niko says. Aiku glances at the still marinara-colored splotch on the carpet, and then he waves it off dismissively.

“If we can find Snuffy before Barou gets back, then it’s no longer our problem,” he says.

Niko looks unconvinced, but he’s sensible as well as genius-material, so he only follows after Aiku — albeit not without a final worried glance at the section of carpet which still smells suspiciously of tomatoes. 

“So what cuisine does this place have, anyways?” you say. You’ve finally finished and submitted your essay, and now you’re taking a shower. Your best friend has closed the lid of the toilet and is sitting on it while playing on her phone, apparently because she wants to be able to talk to you even while you’re showering, and since you have a curtain you don’t mind.

“No idea,” she says.

“No idea?” you say, squeezing shampoo into your palm. “Why do you want to go, then?”

“My dad’s Facebook friends have been raving about it,” she says. “His ex-boss said that it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city!”

“We’re going to dinner based on recommendations from your dad’s Facebook friends,” you repeat dryly. “Wow.”

“Look, he may have chronically underpaid my dad, but the ex-boss has great taste in food!” your best friend defends. “Apparently they fill up super fast, though, so we have to get there right when they open for dinner, or else we’re out of luck.”

“Is this you subtly trying to pressure me to shower faster?” you say.

“It’s not subtle,” she says. You scoff.

“I hope you know I’ll take even longer now,” you say.

“You better not!” 

Snuffy is obviously confused when the two of them approach him — Aiku’s not sure if it’s the question that has their coach confounded, though, or if it’s the admittedly odd combination that’s approached him.

“You guys want a night out of the facility?” Snuffy checks.

“Yes,” Aiku says.

“And…you want Barou to come?” Snuffy says. That could be another reason for the incredulity — ‘Barou’ and ‘fun’ are two words rarely if ever seen in the same sentence, unless your name is Yoichi Isagi, in which case just being on the same field as Barou is your idea of ‘fun.’ For normal people — i.e. those with names such as Oliver Aiku and Ikki Niko — those concepts don’t generally align, however, so Aiku can’t blame Snuffy for the weird face he’s making.

“Yes,” Niko says.

Snuffy stares at them for a moment longer, and then, to make things even stranger, he chuckles in a way that’s almost fond.

“It’ll be good for him to get out of here for a bit,” he says. “You two are great teammates for thinking of him; I’m sure he’ll appreciate it one day, if not necessarily tonight. Go on, then, and have fun if you’d like.”

Aiku waits for the other shoe to drop, but Snuffy just returns to making a cup of coffee. It’s a little odd, given the later hour, but still, Aiku’s not one to count his blessings, so he motions for Niko to follow him, and with Snuffy’s official permission, the two of them march towards where Barou is probably doing his daily “fuck Yoichi Isagi” affirmations. They have that kind of weird relationship, after all. It’s unnecessarily complicated, but Aiku has observed during his time in Blue Lock that almost every single relationship between the members of the program follows such a mold. He’s given up on trying to figure any of it out, knowing it’s well beyond him.

“Are you ready?” Aiku says when they reached the closed door to the training room. Niko rolls his shoulders.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Niko says. Aiku decides he likes him, and that he should try to spend more time with the pipsqueak. Maybe he can be a mentor figure or a true role model for the younger player. He’d definitely do better at the job than, say, Aryu. Or Lorenzo, which is a more relevant concern, since apparently the two are cooking buddies, as per Niko’s marinara interlude during Barou’s earlier tantrum.

With a grim nod at Niko, Aiku swings open the door. Schooling his expression into a cheery grin, he calls out in a sing-song that really doesn’t spell anything but trouble:

“Oh, Barou!” 

You’ve made your best friend drive, since she’s the one who’s insisted on taking you out, which leaves you to play music and accomplish other such passenger-esque duties. You take full advantage of your freedom to be distracted, shuffling through playlists whenever you’re bored and scrolling through your best friend’s crush-of-the-week’s social media.

“He’s kind of ugly,” you say. She clicks her tongue.

“In a cute way, though, right?” she says. When you’re silent, she gasps. “Right?”

“Uh…” you trail off, zooming in on one of the photos. Something about him is reminiscent of a gerbil, and you can tell he’s short even before you swipe and see him in a photo with one of his friends, barely coming up to his shoulder. “There’s someone out there for everyone, I suppose.”

“That means you think he’s repulsive!” she accuses you.

“Repulsive’s a strong word,” you say. 

“Hideous?” she says.

“I can get behind that,” you say. “He reminds me of Tinkerbell.”

“Like the fairy, or our third grade teacher’s gerbil?” she says.

“The latter,” you say. “I’m glad you remembered her. That wouldn’t have been as funny if you didn’t.”

“I didn’t find it funny regardless,” she says, pulling into the parking lot and slowing the car to a crawl as she hunts for a space to pull in.

“Hm,” you say. “I did.”

“You know what? You’re not allowed to slander him until you find someone better for yourself. Girls in glass houses should not be throwing stones, and considering some of your exes, you’re in no position to talk,” she says.

“Low blow,” you say.

“No response? That’s what I thought,” she says. You scowl.

“Just park the car, you dumbass. 

“What the hell is going on?” Barou says, for probably the third or fourth time. Unfortunately, their attempt at kidnapping him didn’t go as planned, for neither Aiku nor Niko could lift Barou for any length of time, so now they were stuck with a supremely irritated striker following after them as they marched towards where the Blue Lock official parking was. 

Snuffy had given them the keys to his car, so at least they had a ride — if he weren’t such a good coach, Aiku would seriously question the man’s judgment. Niko ushers Barou into the backseat, claiming he already “called shotgun,” and then he dives into the passenger seat beside Aiku, fastening his seatbelt with a serious expression on his delicate face.

“We wanted to have a fun night out!” Aiku says, turning the child lock on so Barou can’t escape before reversing out of the garage.

“Huh?” Barou says. “There’s so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin. Also, why are we in Snuffy’s car?”

“He gave us the keys,” Niko says, like it’s obvious. In all fairness, it kind of is.

“He gave you two the keys,” Barou says. Aiku’s a responsible driver, so he doesn’t glance back at Barou, but he’s pretty sure that if he did, he’d be met with the kind of fearsome glare that made medieval-era peasants believe in the existence of creatures like trolls and dragons.

“Yes, he did,” Aiku says. “Told us to enjoy ourselves while we were at it.”

Barou sighs. “Say I believe that—”

“We’re telling the truth!” Aiku says.

“—uh-huh, sure. Anyways, where are we even going?” he says.

“Oh, I can answer that!” Niko says. “It’s this restaurant that my dad’s obsessed with. He’s been posting all over his Facebook about it. According to him, it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city.”

“At least you two are being frugal,” Barou says with a small ‘hmph.’ “How far is it?”

“Not too far,” Niko says. 

“Just sit back and relax, man! It’s a couple of friends going out for a meal. Totally normal!” Aiku says.

“Friends don’t kidnap one another to hang out,” Barou says.

“We didn’t kidnap you. Are you saying we’re friends, then?” Aiku says.

“I’m saying we’re not. You turned the child lock on, so that basically constitutes an abduction,” Barou says.

“I did that for Niko!” Aiku says, mentally patting himself on the back for the quick thinking.

“What? I’m fifteen, not five!” 

By the time your best friend finds somewhere to park, it’s already dark, and the spot is at the very edge of the lot, so then the two of you have to walk for another five minutes. She’s antsy by this point, but she does an admirable job of hiding it, only picking at her nails behind her back where she thinks you won’t see. 

“It’ll be alright,” you say as you reach the door to the restaurant. “I’m sure they’ll have space for two people, at least. Nowhere can be that busy, right?”

“I hope so,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.

You’re proven wrong almost as soon as you both walk into the establishment. Every single table has people sitting at it, and there’s a small crowd of people in the waiting area. Still, you and your best friend push past to where the hostess is standing. 

“Excuse me,” you say. “How long is the wait?”

“At least an hour,” the hostess says, her face wan.

“An hour?” your best friend says. “There’s nothing you can do?”

Of course, both of you know there isn’t, but it’s still disappointing when the hostess shakes her head regretfully.

“Would you like me to put your names down?” she says.

“Give us a minute,” you say. She nods, and you and your best friend walk a ways away. As soon as you’re out of the hostess’s earshot, you frown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would genuinely be this busy.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting it either,” she says, exhaling heavily. “I would’ve been way more serious about being on time if I had.”

“What should we do now? I don’t mind waiting,” you say.

“It’s okay. I’m a little hungry, so we can go somewhere else and come back here another day,” she says.

“Are you sure?” you say.

“Yeah, I am. Let’s go,” she says. 

You’re heading towards the door when a robust voice stops you. At first, neither of you are sure if the speaker is referring to you, but when it becomes obvious he is, you turn around in confusion.

“Where are you guys going?” he says. It’s a man with dark hair and eyes like mismatched marbles, and he’s sitting at a table with two others. There’s a couple of empty seats, and he motions towards them. “We’ve been waiting for you two for forever!”

“Oh, you’re in their party?” the hostess says. You glance at your best friend, who mouths why not? at you, and then you smile at the hostess.

“Yes, we are,” you say.

“You should’ve said so from the start,” she says, shaking her head. “Right this way, please.”

You and your best friend follow after her, both of you more than a little lost at the turn of events, but who are you to turn down the offer? Sure, you don’t know any of the three, but at least this way you two didn’t drive out for no reason, and the restaurant’s crowded enough that if they have nefarious intentions, you should be able to get help relatively quickly.

As you sit down and the hostess offers you menus, you can’t help but glance at the three boys, wondering what exactly it is they want from you. Is this some elaborate scam? An effort to get you to pay for their dinner? You can’t tell. They’re unreadable, and all you can do is hope that the meal still goes as well as you had originally planned — otherwise, you’ll be really mad that you’re not at home instead. 

When Niko had first suggested calling ahead to make reservations, Aiku had privately considered him to be a nerd, and one of the idiotic variety, no less. A lethal combo. But outwardly he had nodded along and told him to go right ahead, mostly because it seemed like the kind of thing Barou would appreciate. Now, though, he’s glad that Niko had that kind of foresight, because the place is completely packed.

“Where’s the rest of your party?” the hostess says when they walk in and give her Barou’s name. Aiku doesn’t really know why Niko made reservations under Barou’s name, nor what the hostess means by the ‘rest of their party’, but she’s pretty, so he gives her a charming smile. She’s working now, so he can’t exactly push Barou towards her, but if he’s talking about himself���

She blushes and ducks her head, although the moment is ruined by Niko speaking up. 

“What do you mean, the rest of our party?” he says.

“You made a reservation for five, didn’t you?” she says, leading them to the table. Aiku exchanges looks with Barou, mostly because the two of them tower over the others, so it’s convenient, but Barou seems as confused as Aiku is. Both of them clearly heard Niko making the reservation for only three people, so how in the world had the hostess written down five?

“Uh,” Niko says, and then for some reason he’s turning towards Aiku for help? Aiku’s kind of distracted, though, both with celebrating the moment he just had with Barou and with discerning the color of lipstick the hostess is wearing (red or pink?), so when she directs her question to him, he admittedly panics a bit.

“Will the rest of them be arriving later?” she says.

“Yes,” Aiku says. Coral! That’s the shade he was looking for.

“No worries,” the hostess says. “Although you might want to tell them to hurry up, just in case.”

“Wait, what—?” Aiku begins, but she’s already dropping menus in front of them and racing off to take care of the next group of customers.

“You fucking donkey,” Barou said. “Who else is coming to this?”

“Nobody that I know of,” Niko says. “I only made a reservation for three. She must’ve gotten confused and written down five or something like that, but why’d you go along with it, Aiku?”

“Um,” Aiku says.

“What unparalleled eloquence,” Barou says. 

Aiku’s mind is racing. Firstly, he’s accidentally confused this poor hostess into expecting two more people, and secondly, how are he and Niko supposed to set Barou up with a girl in this kind of situation? The food may be great, but the ambiance isn’t exactly what they’re looking for.

Somehow, these two lines of thought get muddled into one solution, the catalyst of which is when he sees two girls heading towards the door, obviously disheartened by the long wait time for those idiots who didn’t make reservations.

Wait. If those two are girls, and two plus three is five, then Barou might just end this night no longer single!

Another quick recovery by Oliver Aiku. He’s getting better and better by the minute. 

“Hi,” the man who called you over says. “I’m Oliver Aiku.”

“Hi,” you say. The five-person table is a circle, and Aiku’s across from you; since it’s your fault that you’re sitting with these random guys instead of by yourselves, you squeeze between your best friend and the more intimidating-looking one, leaving her to be on the right side of the youngest boy in the group. “Y/N L/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say.

“I’m Niko,” the younger boy says. He has dark hair falling into a heart-shaped face, and you can’t fully see his eyes, but you think they might be some shade of bluish green. Idly, you wonder how his vision isn’t horrible given how overgrown his bangs are, but he doesn’t seem to be having any problems, so you suppose he must have some kind of method around it. “And that’s Barou.”

“I can introduce myself,” the one at your side snaps. He’s by far the most handsome of the trio, although you’re sure your best friend would disagree — she has bad taste, though, so that’s irrelevant — with a regal face and sharp eyes. His dark hair is spiky and his eyes are a vivid crimson, narrowed with irritation while his mouth tugs into a perfect frown. “My name is Barou.”

“It’s a pleasure, Barou,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Same here.”

More than being a pleasure, it’s a little tense, so you return to reading your menu, not knowing what else to say, hoping someone else says something soon and rescues you from the ensuing silence. 

This is bad. Almost as bad as Japan’s performance in the last U-20 World Cup, which occurred right before Aiku moved up and joined the team. Almost as bad as that stain Lorenzo’s marinara left on the carpet. It’s that level of catastrophic, because clearly, Barou will take a lot more encouragement than originally anticipated. Kicking Niko under the table, Aiku nods meaningfully at Barou, who is also reading his menu, sitting next to the girl who’s doing the same.

It’s the perfect opportunity for small talk. Occasionally, the girl will peek at him over the top of his menu, so she’s clearly not affronted by him — either that, or she’s deathly afraid that Barou will kill her and is making sure he doesn’t do that when she’s distracted. If the latter is the case, well, it’s not entirely unfounded.

Solving the conundrum which has presented itself is even more difficult than their game against PXG was. How is Aiku supposed to flirt with someone for Barou? She’ll just end up liking him, which is rather counterintuitive, given that the end goal is to get Barou a girlfriend. 

If only Barou weren’t so stubborn! Aiku’s put him in the perfect spot, but instead of just reaching out his hand and snatching the opportunity up with both metaphorical hands, he’s sitting there, utterly absorbed by the intricacies of the restaurant’s entrees, which Aiku surmises are no doubt fascinating to people with such sensibilities.

It’s the girl, Y/N, who breaks the silence again. Clearing her throat and setting the menu aside, her eyes dart around the table before settling on Aiku. A natural consequence, given his dashing looks and genial personality, but not the one they’re hoping for at the moment, not in the slightest.

“We don’t know you, right?” she says.

“I don’t think so,” Aiku says. Has he gone out with her before? He’s pretty sure he’d have remembered if he had, but you can never be careful these days.

“Then why’d you invite us to sit with you?” she says.

Aiku’s in desperate need of an assist, and there’s only one person who’ll reliably send him one. Besides, the kid owes him a favor, so he doesn’t even feel guilty when he makes a face at Niko, as if indicating that he should be the one to answer the query.

“It was Barou’s idea!” Niko says.

“Excuse me?” Barou says.

“What?” Aiku says. 

“Yeah, it was. He felt bad that you guys were going to leave without eating, and we accidentally booked a table for five instead of three, like we originally planned, so he told Aiku to stop you guys before you were gone,” Niko explains.

“Oh, that was very sweet of you!” Y/N says. “Thank you so much. We both really appreciate it.”

Under the table, Aiku gives Niko a thumbs-up. Niko returns the gesture in kind, though neither of them let their true emotions show on their faces, which must be carefully schooled into blankness so that nobody else catches on to their scheming. 

“You’re welcome,” Barou says before freezing as he realizes that he’s somehow fallen for Niko’s lie, despite being there to witness the truth of the events. “Wait, no, it wasn’t—”

“Barou’s super considerate,” Niko continues, cutting Barou’s correction off. Aiku could just about cry. Niko’s a natural-born talent! He could never have predicted the younger boy’s sheer skill at this kind of thing. “Do you watch soccer?”

“Not really,” Y/N says thoughtfully. “I’ve never understood it well enough to become an avid fan, and my father prefers baseball, so it’s not something my family is into. I think it’s really cool, though!”

“Barou plays,” Niko says.

“So do you guys,” Barou says.

“Yeah, but you’re sitting next to her,” Niko says. “And you’re the king, right? Who better than you to explain the sport?”

“She didn’t ask for that,” Barou says, glowering at Niko and Aiku alike. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N says, even going so far as to smile at Barou. With a final suspicious glare at the two of them, Barou begins to explain the rules of the game to her, and Aiku takes advantage of his distraction to high-five Niko.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Where’d you learn this shit?”

“I watch a lot of anime,” Niko whispers back. “This is a classic set up for a twelve-episode romance that teaches the viewers about friendship, love, and what it means to grow up.”

“That’s not what I was expecting,” Aiku says after digesting this latest revelation, finding that it makes a surprising amount of sense. “But hey, whatever works!”

“Exactly,” Niko says. “Do you think it’s weird if I order chicken fingers from the children’s menu?”

“Order whatever you want, kid,” Aiku says. “You deserve it. I’ll even pay.”

“Yay!” Niko says. “Chicken fingers it is.”

Aiku doesn’t even mind treating him. If this is successful, then he’ll buy Niko all of the chicken fingers in the world in thanks. 

You’re more than a little grateful that Niko has given you something to talk to Barou about. Your best friend is busy texting her crush, the gerbil-looking one, who has apparently responded to her story, so you would’ve had to sit there in silence until she finished up or someone took pity on your helpless self. In this way, though, it’s much more natural, and even if it really was just an example of Niko feeling bad for you, it didn’t come across as such.

“You really scored a goal against the Japanese U-20 team?” you say after Barou has finished a long-winded explanation on the rules of soccer and some of the highlights of his career in the sport. In truth, you mostly tuned out the more technical details, but you have to admit that some of the things he’s mentioned about himself are rather interesting.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Wow,” you say. “You must be good, then.”

He shrugs in acknowledgement. “I’m good.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s bragging or anything like that. He’s just acknowledging an inevitable truth. He’s good. The way he says it, no one can deny it — not that you would’ve. Based on his build alone, you’d have expected him to have talent as an athlete; the things he’s mentioned have only been confirmation of that initial prediction, rather than blowing your mind in any significant way.

“Hi!” Your waitress’s arrival with a tray full of drinks cuts your conversation with Barou short, which you’re surprised to find you’re a little put-out by, at least until the grumble of your stomach reminds you of why you came to the restaurant in the first place. “Are you all ready to order?”

“I want the chicken fingers,” Niko says.

“The chicken fingers from the twelve and under menu? How old are you?” she says.

“Twelve,” Niko says. You frown, leaning closer to Barou in order to murmur in his ear.

“Is he actually?” 

Barou shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, but if that’s the only way he can get chicken fingers…”

“That’s a fair point,” you say. The waitress seems to share your doubts, but then Aiku flashes her a warm grin.

“My little brother’s heard so much about your entrees, and he can’t wait to try the, er, chicken fingers. Yes. The chicken fingers. He’s been talking about them all week,” he explains.

“Are they—?” you begin.

“They met like a month ago,” Barou says, rolling his eyes. “No relation whatsoever.”

“I see,” you say. You almost have to admire the lengths they’re willing to go to, as well as how natural they are with it. “Huh. I guess if it works, it works.”

“One order of chicken fingers, then!” the waitress says, jotting it down on her notepad, returning Aiku’s grin with her own. He has that kind of enviable charisma that lets him get away with a lot more than he should, and you’re more than a little jealous. “And the rest of you?”

You all give her your orders, and she promises she’ll be back quickly before running back to the kitchen. Once again, you’re left to your own devices, and given that your best friend is still texting that guy, you decide you’ll try and talk to the others at your table.

“Barou told me you guys are all in some program called Blue Lock together,” you say. “What’s that like? It sounded super intense.”

“It is,” Aiku scoffs. “I don’t even know if we’re supposed to be here at the moment.”

“We got permission from our coach,” Niko says. “But the guy who runs the program is kind of…what’s the word?”

“Freaky?” Aiku says.

“That works,” Niko says.

“I didn’t realize we were dining with rebels,” you say. 

“For the record, I was dragged into coming by those two,” Barou says.

“We didn’t actually drag him,” Aiku reassures you. “I mean, we tried, but he’s super heavy.”

“Too much training,” Niko says. “Barou, you should flex for Y/N — I mean, for everyone.”

“Hell no,” Barou says. “In public? Don’t be shameless.”

“So you’ll do it in private, then?” Aiku says. 

“That’s — that’s not what I meant!” Barou sputters. “I won’t do it at all!”

“Y/N, if you get a subscription to Blue Lock TV, then forget about asking Barou to flex. You can just watch him work out. He does it shirtless,” Aiku says. You choke on your water.

“What are you, some kind of salesman?” you say, coughing to dislodge the droplets of liquid scratching at your throat. “Was inviting us to sit with you a kindness or an advertisement?”

“Can’t it be both?” Aiku says.

“No, it cannot, you fucking donkey!” Barou says. “Please ignore him. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You do train without a shirt on, though,” Niko says. “Quite often. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s a lot of shirtless content on Blue Lock TV…Chris Prince stripped at one point, I’m pretty sure, and more than one of the Bastard München boys have had locker room features. I guess PXG is the only team without any fan service, since Barcha has Lavinho as a coach, and we all know how he is.”

“Good for them. You gotta give credit where it’s due,” Aiku says. 

“Agreed,” Niko says. “Hey, Barou, didn’t you take your shirt off after scoring in the game against the U-20s, too? Is it like an established habit or something?”

“Enough about my shirt,” Barou says through gritted teeth.

“Or lack thereof,” Aiku adds. There’s a baleful aura emanating off of Barou, and he doesn’t even need to say anything before Aiku winces like he’s been cowed. “Sorry. The opportunity presented itself.”

“Both of you are on thin ice. First you abducted me, and now you’re going on about this dumbass subject? And that’s not to mention the sauce stain from earlier. I bet neither of you cleaned it up,” Barou says. 

Aiku and Niko both look like they have been caught committing some crime. Barou’s about to snap, it’s very obvious, but you find his friends’ antics to be so amusing that you hesitantly pat him on the shoulder.

“Ah, I think they’re just teasing you. It’s common amongst people who are close to one another! I always make fun of my best friend for her taste in men,” you say.

“And I make fun of yours right back,” your best friend says, not even looking up from her phone. You roll your eyes at this.

“See? It’s really alright,” you say. “At the least, if you’re upset because we’re here, then don’t be. Neither of us mind. I mean, she’s not even paying attention to us. Too busy texting that Meriones unguiculatus of a man she deems crush-worthy.”

“Fuck you,” your best friend says. She ordinarily would have no idea what Meriones unguiculatus means, but given the context, you’re sure she’s figured it out.

“Don’t be mad because I’m right,” you say. “Anyways, like I was saying, it’s all good.”

There’s a strained moment where none of you know what Barou will do, but then he nods, crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll let it slide, just this once. But the two of you better behave from now on, you got it?”

Aiku and Niko both seem to be so amazed that it’s a wonder they don’t salute at Barou’s barked-out order. Shaking your head and laughing, you decide it might be for the best if you try to talk to Barou yourself and leave his slightly problematic companions out of the conversation.

“So,” you say, to him and only him. “What’s the story behind the sauce stain?” 

“Holy shit,” Aiku says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“She’s a genius. A god. A fucking Barou whisperer,” he says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“What are the odds that we managed to find the exact girl that could put up with his bullshit?” Aiku says.

“Pretty high!” a new voice chimes in. It’s Y/N’s friend; she never introduced herself, and it doesn’t seem like she’s inclined to, but she inconspicuously slides her chair closer to where he and Niko are talking. “You guys are trying to set your friend up with Y/N, huh? Good luck. She only likes ugly dudes.”

“Barou’s…kind of ugly?” Niko tries. Aiku snorts.

“Let’s keep it honest here,” he says. “Anyways, what were you talking about earlier? Barou’s a nutcase. It’s, like, a miracle that Y/N’s managing to have a conversation with him.”

“Maybe he’s like that with you, but to me, he seems to be the type that’s totally respectful to women,” Y/N’s friend says, brandishing her index finger in the air as if she’s making a particularly salient point. “The bigger the muscles, the bigger the heart, isn’t that ”

“Is that a real saying?” Niko says.

“No, I just made it up,” Y/N’s friend says. “But it kind of fits in this instance, don’t you think?”

“You’re not wrong,” Aiku says. “But do you mean to say Barou would be this nice to any girl?”

“It’s not like I know him personally. Shouldn’t you be able to answer that better than me?” Y/N’s friend says.

“There aren’t any girls in Blue Lock,” Niko says. “This is the first time we’ve seen him interact with one, so we actually have no idea.”

“Ah,” she says. “That explains a lot. Anyways, yeah, if I had to guess, he would be.”

“Hm,” Aiku says. This throws a definite wrench in their plans — up until this point, he had been convinced that there were sparks flying between Y/N and Barou, mostly because he had never seen Barou so gentle and quick to calm down in his life. Yet, if Y/N’s friend is telling the truth, and he has no reason to think she isn’t, then this is actually just his true personality.

On the one hand, it’s comforting to know that Barou isn’t constantly on the verge of an aneurysm, and indeed can even be persuaded towards kindness in his day-to-day life. On the other, it doesn’t solve their problem, which is getting him to calm down when he’s interacting with his fellow Ubers teammates.

Aiku comes to a decision relatively quickly. It’s his experience as a captain which lends him that swiftness; on the field, split-second decisions are the only way to go. He’s good at taking information and rapidly synthesizing it to come up with workable solutions, and though this isn’t a soccer match, the stakes are almost just as high.

The facts of the situation are as follows: Y/N does not seem to mind talking to Barou, and given that they’ve been engaged in conversation almost this entire time, the inverse is also likely true. Furthermore, she’s proven able to persuade him not to freak out at himself and Niko when they were pushing his buttons, which is something no one has ever managed before and is somewhat the end goal of the outing. Of course, she apparently only likes ugly guys, and Barou’s far from ugly — as a fellow member of the non-ugly community, Aiku is confident in saying this — but things like that are subjective, so he decides he shouldn’t worry too much about that aspect.

Then there are the theories, namely Y/N’s best friend’s one about how any girl might have a similar effect on Barou. This could be true, or it could also not be, but Aiku only has one data point and a limited amount of time to work with, so despite the likely veracity, he has to set it aside as false for the time being. It’s not like there’s an endless supply of girls just hanging around for him to test out Barou’s reactions with, so in this moment, he’s deeming Y/N L/N as a special case, an outlier, and this can only lead to one conclusion:

Barou is totally into her. 

“Two younger sisters, really?” you say. While your best friend has been talking to Aiku and Niko in hushed tones, you’ve been preoccupied with Barou, who’s proven himself to be nothing like his first impression. You had expected him to be fussy and rude and intimidating, and while the latter adjective certainly still applies, he’s kind instead of spiteful and almost shy instead of brash.

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice, although his face does not shift in the slightest. “They’re much smaller, so I look after them a lot — when I’m home, anyways. Obviously, I haven’t seen them since I’ve been at Blue Lock.”

“How sweet of you,” you say. “I bet your mother appreciates you a lot.”

“I try to help her whenever I can,” he says.

You’re about to internally swoon, but then you stop yourself. So what if he’s athletic, helps his mother, is tall, handsome, kind, muscular, and supposedly good with kids? That doesn’t mean anything. He probably has a girlfriend, anyways, given all of these positive attributes—

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say, standing up. Your best friend looks over at you in concern, for she knows of your distaste for public restrooms, and then she, too, stands.

“Want me to come?” she says.

“Yes,” you say, striding off without further explanation. As soon as the two of you are far enough from the table, you give her a distressed look. “I need help.”

“What’s up?” she says.

“I think—”

“Are you into Barou?” she asks, cutting you off. You blink at her.

“How did you know?” you say.

“You’ve spent almost the entire time talking only to him. It’s a little obvious,” she says.

“Oh, no,” you say. “He’s definitely caught on, then!”

“It’s not a big deal. According to Aiku and Niko, he’s single, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about, and besides, if that’s the case, then he’s fair game, isn’t he? There’s nothing wrong with being interested in someone,” she says. 

“He’s single? How?” you say. “You’re telling me no one’s been interested in him yet? That’s impossible.”

“There is the whole ‘locked away in a facility with zero girls’ aspect to be considered…” she says.

“Well, that’s true,” you say, feeling dumb for having forgotten that. “Do you think he’s interested in me?”

“He’s been talking to you back, right? That’s a good sign, especially since he’s been ignoring his friends to do so,” she says. “There’s a decent chance. If anything, does he seem like the kind of guy that would be mean about rejecting you? You should just ask him for his number when we get back.”

“Me? Ask for his number?” you say.

“I’ve heard girls have high success rates when they approach guys that they’re into. What’s the worst that can happen? Either way, the three of them are heading back to some weird facility after tonight, so we can just leave and never see them again if it’s awkward,” she says.

You mull this over. Nothing she’s saying is wrong, and anyways, it’s been a while since you dated someone. Besides, you’ll probably not meet someone like Barou again for a long, long time, and when you really think about it, you’d rather live with a rejection than a what-if scenario floating around in your mind for the rest of your life.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll do it, but that means you have to dump the gerbil dude and move on.”

“Did that earlier. I couldn’t stop thinking of Tinkerbell the gerbil whenever I saw his profile picture; it totally killed the mood. Thanks a lot,” she says.

“It’s my pleasure,” you say. “Now, let’s go back. I have a number to get!”

“Um, hold on,” she says. “I do actually have to pee, and the bathroom doesn’t seem too dirty.”

You sigh, because now that you’re this pumped up, you don’t want to delay any longer, but you’re not about to abandon her, so you nod towards the door.

“I’ll wait here, then. Be quick!” 

“Well, well, well,” Aiku says. “Who would’ve thought we’d get to see the day?”

“What are you talking about?” Barou says when he notices that both Aiku and Niko are looking at him.

“What aren’t we talking about?” Aiku says. 

“It’s Y/N,” Niko says, defusing the volatile atmosphere rather efficiently. Aiku hands him a French fry off of his plate as a form of praise; accepting it happily, Niko chews and swallows before continuing. “You like her, right?”

“What? No,” Barou says quickly — too quickly, which means the answer is the opposite of what he’s just said. Aiku steeples his fingers together, because he couldn’t have imagined things going any better, and he feels like he’s entitled to a villainous pose or two every now and again. 

“You’ve been talking to her the entire time we’ve been eating, and you didn’t yell at her when she told you to calm down,” Aiku says.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Barou says.

“I guess it’s for the better,” Niko says. “Her friend told us she has a boyfriend.”

Aiku’s about to reprimand him for making things up, but before he can, he sees out of the corner of his eye that the tips of Barou’s ears have turned a surprisingly light and rosy pink, and then he can only shake his head in amazement. Niko’s really fucking good at this. Aiku almost wonders if he should ask the kid for anime recommendations or something.

“Really?” Barou says. 

“Really,” Niko says.

“That’s — I mean, it’s none of my business, so why are you telling me?” Barou says.

“You’re awfully upset if that’s the case,” Aiku points out.

“I’m not upset!” Barou says. “Just…I wasn’t expecting her not to be single, that’s all.”

“Expecting, or hoping?” Aiku says. Barou glares at him but does not respond, which tells Aiku all he needs to know. “It’s okay for you to have a crush on her. She seems nice enough.”

“Yeah,” Niko says. “If you guys get along, then there’s no harm in just asking her out. We’re going back to Blue Lock after dinner anyways, so it’s not like you’ll see her in the future if you don’t want to. Can you live with yourself if you don’t give it a shot?”

“Aren’t you a king?” Aiku urges. “What kind of king doesn’t put his best foot forward at all times?”

“The kind of king that respects other people’s relationships, you chewed up wad of spearmint gum,” Barou says.

“Oh, I was just making that up,” Niko says. “I wanted to see how you’d react. She’s definitely single.”

“You—!”

Aiku and Niko are saved from another one of Barou’s tirades by the arrival of Y/N and her friend. With a final malevolent sneer, Barou continues to talk to Y/N, who seems eager to pick up where they left off. Aiku high-fives Niko under the table.

“You’re a genius, buddy,” he says.

“Does this mean you’ll buy me dessert, too?” Niko says.

“If you’ll share with me, then sure.”

“Deal.” 

“When should I ask him for his number? It’ll be awkward if I do it in front of everyone, I think,” you say.

“Why would it be awkward?” she says. “I’m not about to judge you. I already know you’re going to do it.”

“I was talking about Aiku and Niko,” you say, though you’re specifically referring to Aiku — there’s a sense of naïveté to Niko, so the thought of being so bold in front of him doesn’t make you squeamish, but it’s a difference case with his counterpart. Oliver Aiku has a sort of suaveness to him that makes you feel as though he’s not been rejected once in his life, and that’s more than a little terrifying. What might such a master say about your feeble attempts at flirting? You don’t want to imagine it. The mere beginnings of the thought are preemptively giving you hives, so having the thought fully formed, or heaven forbid the actual event occurring…you shudder at the plethora of side effects you’ll no doubt undergo.

“That’s fair,” she says. “I can distract them, if you want. While we’re getting dessert, I’ll tell Aiku I’m having car trouble and ask if he can take a look. He seems like the kind of guy that would fall for that. I don’t know what to do about Niko, though…”

“He’ll probably go with Aiku, but even if he doesn’t, I think it’ll be fine if it’s just him there,” you say. “He’s pretty harmless.”

“You better not wimp out, then! If I have to embarrass myself by pretending to know nothing about cars, then the least you can do is actually ask for his number,” she says.

“I’ll do it!” you say. She obviously doesn’t believe you, so you pout. “Promise I will.”

“Fine,” she says. 

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine!” she says again. “Just give me a second before we go back, then. I need to think of what kinds of issues my car will be having…” 

“Hey, Aiku,” Y/N’s friend says. The entire table falls silent, including Aiku himself — he’s more than a little confused about what she could want with him. After all, he’s not done anything that would seem like he’s trying to pursue her, so there’s no reason for her to believe he’s interested, and it’s not like they’re close enough for her to be talking to him in specific.

“What’s up?” he says.

“My car is making a weird sound when it starts. I was going to wait to ask my dad when I got home, but if you know anything about cars, could you maybe…?” she says.

Aiku knows nothing about cars, and he’s about to tell her as much, but then Niko of all people is answering. He hasn’t heard the boy talk this much since they met, which means he’s really getting into this.

“Sure, we can both take a look while we wait for dessert to come,” he says. It’s suspicious, because if Aiku knows nothing about cars, then Niko’s understanding has to be in the negatives. The kid doesn’t even have his driver’s license yet, so how would he be of any help? Unless this is another skill he’s picked up from watching anime, in which case it seems like that’s another hobby Aiku needs to take up.

“Thanks,” Y/N’s friend says, clearly relieved. “Y/N, do you mind staying back so no one takes our table?”

“Barou, keep her company,” Niko says. “We don’t want them thinking we’re the dine-and-dash type.”

“It’s okay with me,” Y/N says before Barou can argue, which effectively shuts Barou up. Aiku’s beloved teammate only grunts in agreement, watching the trio out of the corner of his eyes as they scurry out of the restaurant and begin to wander about aimlessly in the parking lot.

“Can you, uh, describe this noise to me?” Aiku says. It’s not like that knowledge will really change much for him, but he thinks that it might be better if he at least pretends to put forth some effort into assisting the girl. After all, it’d be bad for business if he gets flamed as the rude, unhelpful type.

“Huh? Oh, I made that up,” she says.

“As I expected,” Niko says.

“What? Why would you do that?” Aiku says. Then he comes to a realization, and it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. “Hold on just a second, I’m not the one looking for—”

“That was a great method of leaving Y/N and Barou alone,” Niko says, cutting Aiku off before he can continue to embarrass himself. “Now they can figure things out between themselves.”

“Right?” Y/N’s friend says. “There’s only so much they can do when we’re all sitting there.”

“Yeah, awesome idea,” Aiku says, relieved to hear that she’s on their side. Girls take their friends’ opinions seriously. If Y/N’s best friend approves of Barou, then that’s a plus in Barou’s favor, and given Barou’s uniqueness, he needs all of the pluses he can get.

“And just so you know, you’re not my type, so don’t take any of this in a weird way. I just want Y/N to be happy,” she continues.

“Duly noted,” Aiku says. 

“Sorry I wasn’t faster in cutting you off,” Niko whispers when Y/N’s friend pulls out her phone and begins to play on it again. Aiku shrugs.

“No worries. Nobody’s perfect,” he says. “Although, honestly? If this night ends up the way we want it to, then I’d say you’re pretty damn close regardless.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Barou says as soon as your best friend, Aiku, and Niko have exited the building. 

“For what?” you say. The crowd is dwindling, for the restaurant is nearing its closing time, but it’s still busy enough that you have to stay close to him in order to be able to hear what he’s saying. Or maybe that’s an excuse you’ve made for yourself; either way, he doesn’t pull back, so you remain in the comfortable space between you both.

“Aiku,” he says. “Also Niko, but mostly Aiku.”

“Why? He’s not done anything too horrible,” you say. “He’s pretty funny. And Niko seems like a nice boy.”

“They have this idea in their mind,” he says. “It’s totally stupid, but that’s why they’re acting like this. They’re not usually quite as idiotic.”

“What do you mean?” you say. You almost want to tell him to hurry up so you can ask for his number before the others come back and your best friend gets upset with you, but you’d rather listen to him talk, and anyways once you ask him for his number there’s a chance things will go wrong, so you want to soak in these last few seconds before that happens.

“I mean, you know,” he says, and then he’s turning a color you never would’ve expected from someone as reputedly tough as him. “Just that they think I like you.”

“Like me?” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I’m into you or something.”

You had hoped for it, but not seriously considered it — although, the teasing and whatnot do make a little more sense now that he’s added this context to it. If Aiku and Niko think he might be into you…you know you shouldn’t be fanciful, that it’ll eventually lead to disappointment, but you want to. You really want to, so when you next speak it’s tentative but optimistic.

“If you are,” you begin, nervous more than anything, though you’re certain the only cure is getting this over with, “I am, too. Into you, I mean.”

Barou’s lips are still parted as if he’s about to say something, but no words escape him. He just sits there and stares at you, as if you’ve said something profound or shocking or both. Probably both. You giggle, shifting in your seat and adjusting your position, because seeing him like this is endearing as much as it is uncomfortable.

“If you’re not, it’s alright, but my friend told me I should ask you for your number or something, so I don’t have any regrets when we leave,” you say. “She’s right, too. I’d have felt horrible forever if I never said anything.”

He’s still silent. You question if you’ve somehow caused him to malfunction, so you nudge his foot with your own under the table. This does nothing to break him out of his daze, and then you realize he’s probably trying to figure out how to best reject you, so you sigh.

“It’s okay to say no. There’s no expectation on my part. I just wanted to get it out there,” you say.

“No!” he says.

“Well, I mean, you didn’t have to be exuberant about it,” you mutter to yourself before smiling. “That’s okay, though! Thank you for listening and talking to me—”

“I mean, yes. No. I don’t know which question I’m supposed to be answering!” he says. “I do like you. That’s what I’m trying to say, but you just said so many things that I didn’t know what to respond to.”

“You like me?” you say. You had never in your wildest fantasies imagined someone like Barou being into you. It was the kind of thing that just didn’t happen, and yet, somehow, it had. Barou liked you. 

“I guess so,” he says. “That’s how Aiku would phrase it, I think. I enjoy talking to you, and you have nice table manners. You kept your hands and surroundings clean, and you didn’t spill anything, which is more than can be said about a lot of people. I really appreciate that kind of trait in a person.”

“Uh, thanks?” you say, because you’ve not really been complimented on your table manners before, but it’s kind of sweet. “Yeah, thanks. I’d compliment you back, but there’s so many things to say that I wouldn’t know where to start…”

“How about with your phone number?” he says. You’re pretty sure that that’s uncharacteristically bold of him, because his eyes widen as soon as he comprehends what he’s said, but he doesn’t take it back. Instead, he waits, his hands folded carefully in his lap as he watches you, probably wondering what you’ll say in response to the request.

Smiling at him, you pull out your phone and open your hand, waiting for him to give you his. 

“You got her number?” Aiku says as they’re driving home. Niko’s in the backseat this time, mostly because he offhandedly mentioned feeling nauseous after eating and Aiku has no interest in getting vomit all over him. “Way to go, man.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Barou says, gazing out of the window mysteriously. “I can’t exactly take her on dates or anything while I’m stuck in Blue Lock.”

“If you get Snuffy’s permission, you could,” Aiku says.

“We probably shouldn’t abuse that,” Niko says. “Otherwise, Ego will come up with some insane punishment for all of us. The guy’s a super-freak. I’m sure he’s got some crazy stuff stored away.”

“Very true,” Aiku says. “Don’t worry too much, though, Barou. If she’s the one, she won’t mind waiting.”

“How can I know if she’s the one when we’ve only met once? You’re delusional,” Barou says.

“It’s pretty simple,” Aiku says. “Do you want her to be?”

The moonlight hits Barou in a particularly elegant way at that moment. Aiku’s suddenly not surprised that Niko’s anime intelligence worked so well — Barou seems straight out of a girlish romance novel or TV show or something along those lines just then.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Then that’s that!” Aiku says, pulling into the garage and putting Snuffy’s car in park. “Trust me, there was major chemistry there, so I’m sure she’s of the same opinion.”

“It’ll work out,” Niko agrees. He’s clearly feeling much better now that they’re not in the car, his steps light and bouncy, his lips curving upwards at the corners. “You’re a great guy, Barou. We were talking about it earlier.”

Barou scoffs. “Of course I am.”

“Classic Barou,” Aiku says, throwing his arm around Barou’s shoulder. “So humble.”

“Get off of me,” Barou grumbles, shoving Aiku away, though there’s a marked gentleness to it that tells Aiku their plan worked. He’s excited to see the long-term effects — if only one dinner with Y/N was enough for Barou to relax this much, then the duration of their relationship might be akin to a vacation for the rest of the Ubers.

That night, Aiku and Niko are brushing their teeth in the bathrooms together, since nobody else is up and there’s a certain camaraderie built between them after their adventure.

“We did good today, Niko,” Aiku says after spitting his toothpaste into the sink. 

“Agreed,” Niko says.

The door slams open right after he does, which is horribly ironic timing, because it reveals a furious Barou. He’s already enormous, but his fury causes him to swell until his proportions are vaguely Hulk-like and entirely terrifying. Both Aiku and Niko glance at him in confusion, because he should have no reason to be upset, and then, right before he can start yelling, it hits them like a truck.

“Hey, you donkeys,” Barou hisses. “Did you think you could distract me by taking me to dinner? That stain is still there. Can neither of you do anything for yourselves? I’m going to kill you both, mark my words!”

Aiku groans. Niko face-palms.

Fuck. 

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, vomiting, child injury, allusions to gunshot wound, pregnancy complications A/N: Okay, this one turned out to be a monster. My brain is fried so any mistakes I made, I'll fix later. I really really hope Daryl isn’t OOC here. I tried to put myself in his shoes, knowing what I know about him. Anyway! On with the show!

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You stayed closer to the RV while the group had gathered around Carol to provide support. While you wanted desperately to be there for her, you couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of guilt. Your baby was safe inside your belly while her Sophia was lost in the forest. 

Rick had dispatched the two walkers that had scared the little girl into running, but found her missing when he returned. He had since taken Daryl, Glenn, and Shane back into the trees. Daryl was a tracker and a damn good one. If anyone stood a chance at finding her, it was him. 

“You okay?” 

You startled from your thoughts to see Andrea staring down at you with concern etched onto her face. You must really look like shit. You had completely forgotten about food and water along with the items you had gathered once you and Daryl had made it back to find that Sophia had disappeared. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” You didn’t sound very convincing even to your own ears. You were still dizzy with a trembling in your limbs that just would not subside. Your stomach was still uneasy. When wasn’t it uneasy, actually?

“You’re looking a little pale. Can I get you anything?” She laid a hand against the RV and leaned into it. 

“Some water, if they found any?” Your voice was so gravelly, your mouth dry. Your lips felt as if they’d split open should you smile. 

“Yeah! Shane found a ton! One second!” 

Then she was off! You didn’t have the energy to track her movements, instead deciding to place your forehead against your knees. You truly did feel horrible. If this was what women called the joys of pregnancy, you would pass, thank you very much, and just get handed the baby. 

“Here.” Reluctantly, you raised your head, finding a plastic cup at eye level. With a minute nod, you sipped slowly at the cold drink. It felt like heaven on your parched throat. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Huh?” You were absolutely abstracted. When she asked again, you really had to stop and think. “I guess at the CDC.”

“Oh, hun. That’s not good. Let me see what I can find for you.” Andrea began to turn but stopped when you laid a hand on her arm. 

“I really don’t think I can stomach anything. Everything makes me sick.” You ran a hand through your hair, grimacing when your fingers became trapped by some knotted stands. You had eaten the candies Carol had given you with only mild relief. There was not a second of reprieve from your stomach attempting to crawl out of your throat. 

“You need nutrients. For the baby.” She urged, crouching down in front of you. 

“I know. Maybe I can try when they find Sophia and we can go back to the normal amount of fear and anxiety.” One side of your mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile when you heard her chuckle. 

“Okay. But let me know if you change your mind.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Glenn and Shane returned first, the former handing out tasks to keep everyone busy. Most likely trying to control panic. You were no exception. The man sent you to grab the things you had found. You didn’t hesitate to inform him there was too much to retrieve on your own. 

“You’ll just have to make trips then, won’tcha? He scoffed, turning away and leaving no room for argument. 

You still wanted to show how useful you could be but you felt like hammered shit. The dizziness and trembling remained, and your ass met the pavement once you had arrived back to your treasure pile. There was no way you were coming back out there again. Listening for any signs of danger, you began to consolidate. Only the most useful things were placed in the suitcase, the remainder left on the ground. Zipping up the thing, you were beyond grateful for the wheels. 

Daryl and Rick had returned by the time you made it back. Sophia was not with them. Carol was in hysterics. Honestly, you weren’t sure that she had ever left the mindset. It didn’t take any persuading for you to relinquish the bed in the RV to her that night. 

Come morning, weakness and exhaustion were a suffocating blanket wrapped tightly around you. You wanted to stay there and sleep but that wasn’t even remotely an option. Not while Sophia was out there. 

Everyone was issued a weapon. You were given a second knife and holster, this one taking up residence on your hip. Only Shane, Rick, and Daryl were carrying firearms. Some bogus bullshit about everyone else needed to be trained. You were trained. However, there was no use arguing and you felt too horrible to engage in a losing battle. 

“What’re ya doin’?”

You lifted your head to find Daryl glaring at you. “My taxes. What’s it look like?” You replied with an over exaggerated roll of your eyes. 

“Ya ain’t goin’.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Unfortunately for him, there was no way you could care less. 

“Not asking permission, Dixon.” You made to walk by him but he caught your arm in passing. With a stern look at his hand on your bicep, you hissed “let go.”

“Nah, ya need to stay here.”

“I can take care of myself.” 

“Ain’t you m’worried ‘bout.” He shot a pointed look at your stomach. 

You snatched your arm free. “That’s sweet, but again, I’m not asking your permission.” It was getting easier and easier to walk away from him. You weren’t so sure that was a good thing. 

Andrea and Dale were engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation as you passed by. You had an inkling on what it was about but it was none of your business. It was Andrea’s choice and she felt it had been taken from her. You could sympathize, recalling the helplessness you had felt when Jenner closed those doors. You and the blonde were on opposite ends of that spectrum. You had wanted desperately to live while she had been ready to die. 

The group had already crossed the guardrail and entered the trees with you and Andrea pulling up the rear in a jog until you caught up. While she continued forward, you chose to hang back. Daryl had taken the lead, constantly scanning for footprints or other disturbances that could possibly indicate Sophia had been through the area. You could have helped him, but it would likely not be well received given he had rebuffed the idea of you being there in the first place. 

“Stop lagging behind.” Shane grumbled at you, halting his steps until you passed him. “Shouldn’t even be here.” You weren’t sure if he had meant for you to hear him. Nor were you sure of his reasoning. Because you were a stranger? Because you were pregnant? Regardless, you let it slide. You were there to help find Sophia. 

Your steps remained steady which meant Lori had slowed her own while talking with Carl. Yet another conversation you had no right to hear, but you did offer a tight smile in passing. You ended up behind Glenn, absently comfortable with that. He had said the least to you but when he did speak, he was kind. 

It wasn’t much further before Daryl gave a signal to slow. When he lowered into a crouch everyone followed suit, including you. The transition left you dizzy and leaning forward to place a palm on the dirt in order to maintain your balance. The all too familiar twist and cramp of your stomach signaled the impending purge. Maybe you should have stayed behind. 

Your steps were silent as a ghost. You retreated from the group, backtracking as far as you safely could alone before you no longer had control. All the water you had managed to drink splashed onto the dirt, leaving you once again empty. You were going to die from starvation or dehydration at this point. It was a terrifying reality. The only option would be to find a pharmacy and seek out something for nausea. But what was safe to take during pregnancy?

Your first few steps were unsteady but you managed to level your gait at some point while tracking your way back to the others. Before you could really gauge whether your absence had been noticed, there was a tolling of bells in the distance. Church bells?

The small group as a whole began to sprint toward the sound but you? You couldn’t run if you tried. The dizziness was worsening, your extremities feeling not unlike lead weights. You knew now Daryl had been right. You should have stayed behind. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. Now, you had no choice but to move forward. Making the trip back to the RV alone would be more dangerous than falling a little behind your group. At least they could hear if you called for help. 

When you finally saw the space in front of you open up to an old church house and the familiar shapes of your fellow party members, you could have cried. Well, actually, you probably physically couldn’t cry. Dehydration was taking hold, a fact that you knew without anyone pointing it out. You hadn’t needed to pee since the previous afternoon. Your tongue was sandpaper. Your skin was dull and a bit itchy. You were going downhill and you didn’t know what to do about it. 

When you noticed that a portion of the group had broken away from Rick, Shane, and Carl, you wondered if your mind was beginning to go as well. Why were they splitting up? Lost in your confusion, Daryl was nearly on top of you before you even realized he was approaching. 

“What the fuck d’ya think you’re doin’?” He hissed in an exaggerated whisper. Oh, he was mad. Oh wait. He seemed to always be mad. “Don’t think I didn’t see ya sneakin’ off back there. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“You’re right.” You stood a little straighter. If you had to admit you were wrong, you would at least be confident about it. 

“D’ya think this is a game? There’s fuckin’ corpses out—wait, what?”

You barely suppressed a chuckle at his expression. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be out here. I’m a liability and I’m—not okay.”

“Daryl, we should go.” 

He held up a hand, silencing Andrea without even looking back. “Whaddaya mean ‘not okay’?”

“I can’t eat. I can’t even drink water without puking. I think—I think I might be—”

“Nah.” He interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t even say that shit. Just need to getcha back to the RV. Y’can rest an’ I’ll take the bike. Find some meds or somethin’. Doubt anythin’ in Merle’s stash would be good for the kid but I’ll check anyway.” 

“Huh.” You raised your eyebrows, damn near astonished. 

“What?”

“I think that may be the most you’ve said to me at one time since we’ve known each other.” The corner of your mouth lifted and—it may have been a hallucination—you could have sworn you saw his lip twitch as well. 

“Stop. Can ya walk?”

“For now.” You took slow, albeit steady, steps to go around him, noticing that he never once tried to get ahead of you. He was worried. If you were this sick, what were the chances of your baby even making it? What if it was gone already?

“Let’s head back.” He instructed as the two of you passed by the suspicious gazes. Daryl had to lead them but his actions made it clear they would walk at his pace or venture ahead and get lost. Right now, his pace was your pace. You couldn’t make everyone suffer for your inability to keep up. The point was to search for Sophia, which meant as much ground needed covered as humanly possible. With a great amount of difficulty—and a few unsteady steps—you managed to pick up some speed. Daryl had taken only moments to be at your side once again, dipping his head as if requesting an explanation. 

“So this is it? This is the whole plan?” Carol’s meek voice came from behind you, both you and Daryl turning to regard her. With a hand on your shoulder, he steered you to a downed tree and pushed you to sit. 

“I guess the plan is to whittle us down into smaller an’ smaller groups.” You felt a tap against the front of your shoulder while holding your head in your hands. Daryl was still focused on the discussion but was offering you a tumbler of water. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled. You’d be stupid to let your pride persuade you into rejecting the offer. He gave you a nod and continued to listen to Lori's defense of her husband. Personally, you had nothing against Rick and believed he had once again made a call that was twisted to come back and bite him in the ass. No one wanted to blame him but in the face of fear and grief, blame was an easy scapegoat.

“C’mon.” Daryl gave you a moment to take one more sip and then helped you stand, clipping the water container back to his belt loop. It was blatantly obvious that his concern was for his baby, which in turn ensured that he made sure you were safe and healthy, but you couldn’t lie: having him be kind to you was something you wished you could grow to depend on. It was nice. Fleeting but nice. 

A wave of dizziness had you listing to the side, only briefly fearing you’d fall before you felt his arm around your waist.

“Easy.” His voice was calm, almost soothing to your frayed nerves. As you got your feet back under you, you nodded that you were okay. He lingered, watching you with those deep blue pools. If you weren’t careful, you could get lost. 

Several feet behind, Andrea cleared her throat, pretending to be looking at something up in the canopy when both you and Daryl quickly separated. How long had you been staring at him? Your cheeks warmed, actually managing to make you feel impossibly worse. Although, he had been looking right back. The tiniest of smiles upturned your lips, unbidden.

And then there was the unmistakable echoing crack of a gunshot.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Whether it was you or someone else in the group, the unease in your gut was more than the ever-plaguing nausea. Behind you, Lori had stopped again to look back from where you had all traveled from. 

You were all watching her, but Andrea was the one to speak up. “You still worrying about it?”

“It was a gun.” The dark-haired woman replied, her gaze still far away.

Daryl hadn’t moved from your side, and he was doing a terrible job at hiding his disquiet. “We all heard it.” 

Lori looked like she might start moving forward again, but she only managed to shift on her feet before looking back. “Why one? Why just one gun?”

You saw Daryl glance at you from the corner of your eye. He was losing patience. “Maybe they took down a walker.”

With a tilt of her head, her expression screamed unimpressed. “Please don’t patronize me. You know Rick wouldn’t risk a gun to put down one walker, or Shane. They’d do it quietly.”

Carol fidgeted where she stood, looking as if she felt she had to say something. “Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?”

Daryl took a breath. “There’s nothin’ we can do ‘bout it, anyway. Can’t run ‘round these woods chasin’ echoes.” He chanced a glance at you, and you knew then that he was eager to make them move to get you back to the RV. You’d never say anything yourself. That much was clear by how you had started to push yourself to move faster when you shouldn’t have been moving at all. Unfortunately, Lori didn’t seem to like that answer.

“So, what do we do? Same as we’ve been?”

“Beat the bush for Sophia, work our way back to the highway.” He hadn’t moved far from you at all, but extended an arm to indicate you should turn around and start walking. When there was a distinct lack of footfalls, you were the first to look back. Daryl looked at you before following suit. Carol and Andrea were engaged in conversation, though their hushed voices kept the nature inaudible. Daryl started toward them, waving you off when you tried to call him back.

“We’re all hoping and praying with you, for what it’s worth.” Andrea was offering a soft smile, extending some comfort to Carol. You winced when Daryl leaned in toward them.

“I’ll tell ya what s’worth—not a damn thing. S’a waste’a time, all this hopin’ an’ prayin’. We’re gonna locate that little girl. She’s gonna be just fine.” When he turned, you hid your smile behind your hand. “M’I the only one Zen ‘round here? Good lord.” There was nothing you could do to keep from chuckling. “Glad ya think s’funny.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled, still smiling, but at least treading onward. 

It wasn’t much longer before your legs felt like they might fail to hold your weight. Not only weak, but aching. You could feel your pulse pounding in your head. Daryl continued to offer you water, never bothering to drink any himself, you noticed.

“How much farther?” Lori gave voice to the question you had been thinking for the last half hour.

“Not much.” Daryl reached for you when you stumbled but you shook your head. His eyes remained on you when he continued his reply. “Maybe hundred yards as the crow flies.” The answer seemed to satisfy her for the moment at least. “Hey.”

You grimaced as the cramps you had been feeling in your legs seemed to move into your stomach. You hadn’t realized that your hand had immediately pressed into the area. When you finally heard Daryl and looked at him, you were bombarded by the naked concern shining in his eyes. 

“Y’want me to carry ya?” 

Though taken aback by his offer, especially in front of the others after he had spent the better part of the day more focused on you than on the tracking he was out there to do, you shook your head adamantly. “No. No, I’m good.” Another cramp, only slightly sharper than the one that preceded it. It was still enough to have you draw a hissing breath through your teeth.

“Don’t mind. C’mon, ya need to rest an’ we’re losin’ daylight.”

Before you could turn him down a second time, Andrea began screaming somewhere nearby. When had she wandered off? Daryl was readying his crossbow, tapping Carol on the shoulder as he started running. “Stay with ‘er!” He pointed back to you. The woman nodded even though he was long gone.

“You okay, honey?” She asked, brushing some hair away from your face after you selected a tree to lean against. “You look terrible.”

“I just need to rest. Maybe try to eat something.” You all but panted. The pain was still sporadic but each seemed to hurt worse than the last. As it was, you were torn between needing to vomit and the urge to drink the entire container of water Daryl was carrying. 

There was an awful commotion from the direction everyone had disappeared. Daryl soon came sprinting through, slipping the strap of his crossbow over his head before he reached you.

“Sorry.” He huffed between breaths at the same time he swept you up against his chest and continued toward the highway, everyone else right on his heels.

“What happened?” You asked breathlessly. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. 

“Some girl came ridin’ on a horse. Saved Andrea’s ass but she was lookin’ for Lori.” Wincing at being jostled when everything already hurt, you opened one eye and caught his grim expression. “Carl got shot.”

The remaining members of your group made it back to the highway in record time without you holding them up. Daryl gingerly lowered you onto the steps of the RV and pressed the water tumbler into your hand. Then he left to go fill in Dale and T-Dog. 

Your hands were shaking as you sipped down some water. First Sophia went missing. Then Carl had been shot. Children weren’t spared from the cruelty of that world. You felt your eyes burn with the desire to cry, yet no tears would fall.

“There are no blessings anymore. Nothing real to hope for anymore.”

And for the first time, you considered the possibility that maybe what Jenner did had been intended as a mercy. How could you even consider bringing a baby into that hell? Maybe you should have stayed behind with Jacqui, letting her hold your hand as she had done after the blood draw. Maybe it would be better to let whatever was wrong with you steal from you until there was nothing left. 

Your chest began to pull tight again, your breaths quickening in an attempt to keep pulling in air. Your pulse was thrumming away in your temples, making your eyes ache and your vision blur. All you could think was how badly you wanted to cry but couldn’t. You sat up straighter in hopes that it would make breathing easier, a small sound escaping when your stomach cramped again. It must have been loud enough to alert Daryl because when you opened your eyes, he was walking toward you, his brow pinched in concern.

And in looking at him, watching him react to your discomfort because of the little life the two of you had created, you instantly regretted ever thinking your baby shouldn’t be allowed a chance. That Daryl shouldn’t be allowed a chance to be a father. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N.” 

You were grabbing at his arms and attempting to stand, but in your panic, your voice failed you. The ability to breathe went right along with it. Halfway upright, with Daryl’s hands on your upper arms to aid you, you managed two words: “Something’s wrong.” 

“Shit. Okay. Listen, we’re just gonna get everythin’ together. Leave a note for Sophia. Then we can—”

You cut him off with a scream that made his blood run cold. Your arms wrapped around your middle and held tight, trying to smother the pain stabbing relentlessly at you from the inside. In some distant, dark crevice of your mind, you felt him lift you and heard him shouting. There was the roar of an engine. Daryl’s bike. You blinked, dots and wavering images making it hard to decipher what was happening. You were sideways on the bike, cradled tightly to Daryl’s chest. How the hell? 

“Hey, listen to me. Ya listening?” You gave him the weakest of nods. “Need ta hold onta me. Means ya gotta stay awake. Can ya do that?”

“Son, take a car. We can move more around and make a—”

You blinked slowly and watched Daryl look up and away from you. “There ain’t time!” You blinked again, his blue eyes back on you. “Y/N, can ya do that?!” You didn’t– couldn’t –answer verbally, but moved slightly to wrap your arms around his middle as tightly as you could, which wasn’t tight at all. “Stay awake.” He was already moving, pulling his legs up as he picked up speed. When your stomach cramped again, you only squeezed him tighter with a sob. “I gotcha. Just keep holdin’ on. You’re doin’ great.”

Minutes felt like an eternity, and eventually, you sacrificed holding up your head so the strength in your arms could hold true. When you opened your eyes, all you could see was blue sky. Blue like Daryl’s eyes. Would the baby have had his eyes? 

The wind was no longer blowing. The sound of the engine had disappeared, but you were moving. Daryl was yelling. There were other voices but you were too tired; it hurt too badly. So when darkness beckoned, you took her hand.

[scekrex]

I’ve had this idea for a while and I like your writing so I figured Id ask you! If you don’t like it, please feel free to ignore!! Can we get Lucifer’s reaction to sinner!Adam being with someone who seems to genuinely love and care for him. I always kinda saw Lilith and Eve as people who wasn’t into the idea of being with Adam in a serious manner (Lilith a lot more than Eve) which is why they turned to Lucifer.

I just find the idea of Lucifer seeing someone genuinely care for Adam more than any of Adam’s past lovers really fun. Like, would he be low-key jealous? Would he be happy for Adam (as much as he definitely would not admit it)

I also would find it funny of what Lucifer would think to Adam dating a guy. The first man, progenitor of humanity, Mr. everyone came from these nuts himself, discovering he’s bi waaaay too late into his after-life, and after he becomes a SINNER no less! I can’t help but chuckle about it

Have a nice rest of your day!! ❤️❤️

Okay so this turned into some Adam x male!reader n Lucifer being jealous over reader. Basically one-sided adamsapple. Hope you enjoy, xoxo/p

Part 2

Maybe you can call me Eve, standing here under the forbidden tree

pairing: one-sided adamsapple/Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

It was a little weird, that the devil had to admit, it was a little weird to see Adam so happy, so relaxed, so lovingly. Ever since the former angel had arrived in hell after Alastor's little demon girl friend had ended him he had been even worse than before. He had constantly insulted the residents of the hotel, whenever there had been the possibility to pick a fight with Charlie, Adam had done exactly that.

And it made Lucifer feel strange.

Adam was laying on the couch, you were laying on top of him - chest to chest - his guitar was gently placed on your back as he played for you. Has Adam ever played for anyone but himself? Lucifer certainly didn't think so. Sure, he had played concerts in heaven, but he had mainly played for himself, for his own entertainment, so that people listened to him had just been a nice bonus. But actively played for someone? No.

And your curious, loving eyes were watching his every move, an adoring smile was on your lips and Lucifer's heart felt heavy at the view. The thought was small but it bloomed in him, the thought that this could have been him, that he could be the one laying on Adam's chest while the first man played for Lucifer instead of a random sinner. It wasn't fair, but Lucifer had already known that. Life - or afterlife - never played fair. Never.

“Dad?” Charlie's soft voice made him tear his eyes from the scene, her hand came up to rest on his shoulder. “Are you-” she interrupted herself as soon as she spotted you and Adam and a small sigh escaped her.

Adam played the last chord and then proudly looked down on you, a cocky smile on his lips as you placed a small kiss on his stubbled chin. One of your hands moved to ruffle through his hair and Lucifer suddenly remembered Eden, back when it had been just Adam. Just him and Adam. Those times were long gone though, and the devil knew it, he knew that what they had back then would never return, especially now that Adam had you.

He was thankful that Adam had finally found someone, that he wasn't feeling as miserable anymore and that he actually seemed to try and redeem himself. And yet Lucifer couldn't bring himself to be happy for the first man, not when the person laying on his chest was you instead of him.

The fact that Adam was dating a guy didn't make it easier to deal with though. If you were a girl it would be different for Lucifer, that way he could trick his brain into believing that Adam was straight, that he had no chance anyway. But you weren't a girl and Adam wasn't straight. The possibility had been there, the possibility had been right in his damn hands back in Eden. The bond he and Adam had back then had been special, it had been a connection Lucifer had never felt again in that way. Yet Adam had always denied being queer once his soul arrived in heaven. The image of him kissing your forehead so softly however shed new light on it, Adam didn't deny being bi anymore, he had grown comfortable with it actually. The credit for that went to Angel Dust.

Why you? Why not him? That's a thought that constantly occupied Lucifer's mind. What did you have that he hadn't? The devil didn't know.

Charlie's hand squeezed his shoulder apologetic, she knew. Of course she knew, Lucifer had told her himself after all. He had told her about Eden, back when Adam had been the sweetest creation of God's, right after ducks, that was. A thing Adam had named. Adam had named most of the things, if Lucifer was being honest with himself, it had been his job after all. But when Adam had named ducks, Lucifer had been there, he had been with Adam when the first man had spotted a duck for the first time.

Oh how bittersweet that tasted now.

You looked over, spotting the devil and his daughter as you happily waved them over, Adam simply rolled his eyes in annoyance but remained quiet.

Lucifer tensed up, Charlie however led him over to the two of you.

Oh fuck him.

[c-rowlesdraws]

browsing twitter for longer than a few minutes gives me radiation poisoning these days, and it’s worse in the evening, in the hours when the dark feelings creep in anyway. So even though I’m really apprehensive to talk politics on my art blog (I mean, if the backlash to a hyperbolic post I made about a famous youtuber is this bad, posting about politics would turn my activity page into a window to hell), I have to vent some of my feelings or that radiation damage will just keep getting quietly worse. And a fair number of people read this blog, and seem to like things that I create and say, so for what it’s worth, I want to say some things I hope people will think about.

Someone I really admire tweeted recently about how hopeless they feel. They said that after many years of fighting for social change, they had no fight left. They said they were too exhausted to vote in the upcoming US presidential election. And I tried to understand where they were coming from, because this is someone I look up to. But I can’t. I understand feeling burnt out. I feel nauseous and heartbroken and scared, thinking about the situation in Palestine and the situation in my country. I understand that it seems like there is no good leader to rally behind.

But I can’t tap out. I can’t give in to hopelessness and say, “I can’t choose. I’m tired and I’m done”. When a choice is between maintenance of an imperfect society with incremental steps towards better things, and cranking human misery and suffering enthusiastically up to 11, I’m going with the former. We are all tired every day. But voting is not physically difficult. Even if you are tired, you can do it. There is a day where you go to a building, and you fill in a bubble next to a name, and you go home. They even give you a sticker. I said voting isn’t hard, but actually, it’s very important to say that for a lot of people in the US, voting is hard to access, and for some groups, impossible. It is made difficult on purpose, by people—Republicans, it’s fucking always them, I don’t know why I’m using vague language—who want to disenfranchise as many people as they can. If voting was really a useless gesture, if it really meant nothing— they wouldn’t be working so damn hard to stop poor people and immigrants and prisoners and folks in general from being able to do it.

If you hate Biden, god, fine, whatever. But he is going to be the nominee of the political party made up of judges and politicians that, for the most part, believe that climate change is real and ought to be mitigated, that the US should not be turned into an evangelical christian theocracy, that firearms should be regulated, that businesses should be regulated, that healthcare should be more affordable and accessible, that people should be able to get safe abortions, that trans and all lgbt people deserve to live their lives, and that asylum-seekers shouldn’t be shredded by concertina wire trying to cross the border. The wheel of social change is huge and fucking heavy and sometimes it looks like it isn’t moving at all. But we can feel it move if we all push together.

I caught a Trump ad on the radio the other day and it was some of the scariest shit. “Trump will bring order to chaos,” it said. “He will ban travel from terrorist countries, and end the disastrous open-border policies allowing illegal migrants and deadly drugs like fentanyl to flood into our country.” The fucking anti-muslim travel ban. It’s back, baby. That was the exact phrasing: terrorist countries. If Biden’s foreign policy with regards to the Middle East is frustrating and despair-inducing already, Trump’s would be a catastrophe. The Republicans think Democrats are soft on terrorism. As much as anyone with a conscience is horrified by the US’s continued passivity with regards to Palestine, this motherfucker getting back in office would bring greater horror. I’m really sure about it. I don’t know what that part of the world will look like next fall, but I’m confident that if this dumb bloodthirsty motherfucker regains office, there would be absolutely no hope of public pressure swaying US foreign policy towards “less murder”. Protesting against war and genocide or for any progressive or civil rights cause would become even more dangerous. I still think about the woman who was run over by a car at the protest in 2017

…I’m rambling. I can’t help it. But I don’t want to just ramble unproductively. I should end this with something I hope makes sense to people snd can’t be easily dismissed, even if you already disagree with something I’ve said. I want to say how I genuinely feel.

I believe that imperfect activism is valuable, because it is better to show up and stand in solidarity with other people fighting for a more just world than to not show up at all. I believe all activism is in some way imperfect, because activists are people, and people are imperfect. That is to say, one middle-aged woman who showed up to a DC protest wearing a hand-crocheted pink pussy hat, who maybe hadn’t been to many (or any) protests before but who felt fired up about this one, was worth ten of the smug “real leftists” sneering about her on twitter. Maybe more than ten. Your own activism will be imperfect. But keep an open mind— to your own learning and to others’. Doing “the bare minimum” (and, ugh, what a discouraging phrase) is still doing. We have to encourage everyone who feels drawn to fighting for social good. We have to link arms with one another and be strong. Even if you think the person next to you is a lame-o liberal, if they believe that (for example) trans people deserve access to gender-affirming care and should not be smashed flat into fruit-by-the-foot and sent straight to hell, they are your comrade.

Be wary of people who self-identify as Cassandras and unheeded prophets, especially if their messages consistently emphasize how everything is garbage and the world can’t be saved. If someone is telling you that only they understand how uniquely horrible things are, that no progressive or leftist political philosophy is viable except for the specific one they adhere to, that no news or media sources are worthwhile or even trustworthy except for the small handful of ones they endorse… I won’t say to stop listening to them or following them, but I’d recommend listening to other people, too.

Do your own reading about issues that are important to you. Read many people’s words, watch videos, think about what you believe, and how those beliefs have changed over time, and stay open to being further changed. We are all constantly learning and shaping ourselves, and teaching, and being shaped by others. All of us are tired. But we can hold each other up.

I don’t have a rousing call to action. Just the same things many people are already saying that I’ve felt encouraged by, in a grim sort of way: protest and donate when and where you can, support political candidates on the local and national stage who do support policies you agree with, who could do real good. It feels very hard right now to be hopeful. But we all have to live in whatever future comes eventually— so I think we have to still participate, and that means things like voting. We are all tired. But we have to keep going. There is, ultimately, no sitting out. People who opt out of voting still must live under the social climate and policies imposed by the person who gets elected, and who they endorse and empower and appoint, and who those people empower and appoint, and so on.

This post doesn’t have a good conclusion. I didn’t write it thinking about what would make for a satisfying structure in general. But if you read it, then thank you for reading.

[peachdues]

Hi hello yes I’m here to hear about Tengen’s FOUR kids!!!!!!! Was it one pregnancy for each wife and one of them got twins??? Tell me about themmmm (please if you want and have the energy to do so)

lmaooo so actually, your headcanon matches Sam’s — one kid with all three wives except one of them ends up with twins.

I think that’s viable — but I’m also imagining Tengen having one with each wife, but accidentally getting another one pregnant at the same time as the mother of the third child. So two wives being pregnant at the same time — which would be fucking hilarious because can you imagine the amount of stress that man would feel??

For their sake, I hope the two pregnant at the same time would be Makio and Suma, since Hinatsuru would provide the much needed calm and collectedness to the absolute hormone and stress-fueled anxious mess that would be Tengen x Makio x Suma. At the same time, Makio and Suma’s heightened hormones might lead to a house-wide emotional nuclear meltdown on more than one occasion.

Tbh, I see Tengen as someone who becomes even more high maintenance than his pregnant wives. Don’t get me wrong — he’s incredibly attentive and considerate during the pregnancies. But he’s also a fainting goat; he’s so stressed out trying to manage not one but two pregnancies while also dealing with two other kids (who are likely close in age and at that rambunctious stage where they think stressing Dad out is hilarious). He’s a hovering, nervous mother hen, and it doesn’t help that his wives are strong willed. I imagine him being beside himself because Suma has decided to climb up onto some taller surface to reach something she KNOWS Tengen will get for her, but she doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. So here he is, trying to help Hina with dinner, only to see Suma atop some tall, mildly rickety ladder and he has a fucking heart attack. Already her sense of balance is thrown off by the size of her stomach, but add an unstable ladder into the mix?? Poor man nearly drops dead.

Of course, while he’s rushing to help her down, Makio decides it’s the perfect time to get into a fight with the neighbor’s dog — you know, the one who keeps sneaking into the garden and trying to steal bites of food cooking atop the the outdoor fire pit as Hinatsuru has her back turned? Yeah. That one. Well, unfortunately for the dog, Hina happens to be making Makio’s favorite variation of grilled beef, and she is not about to let this mangy mutt steal from her. Too bad the dog also knows how to fight.

So imagine poor Tengen’s nerves when, just as he’s guiding Suma back down to steady ground, he hears screaming and snarling and barking while Hinatsuru is shouting Makio’s name. The former Sound Hashira doesn’t have time to appreciate the way his stomach falls out of his ass — he’s hightailing it out into the gardens, grabbing whatever makeshift weapon he can — an errant pan, an old training stick from his days in the Corps, anything.

Come to find his other equally pregnant wife in what can only be described as a tug of war with the neighbor’s poor dog. Said dog managed to snag a strip of meat off the cooking plate but not before Makio lunged for it, toppling the makeshift grill in the process and sending all of the family’s meal into the coals and dirt. But this last piece of beef is all she’s craved all day, and she’ll be damned if she loses to a stupid, flea-ridden bag of fur.

She loses anyway because both Hinatsuru and Tengen force her to drop her grip on the meat, and poor Makio has to watch as the dog scampers off, rapidly devouring her meal.

Anyways. That night, it’s Makio who is boo-hoo sobbing with big, fat tears because she feels terrible about having ruined dinner (and she didn’t get the meat she wanted, poor thing). Suma, as equally hormonal and a known sympathy crier, also bursts into tears the moment she witnesses Makio wailing, which in turn, awakens the two sleeping kids. Naturally, they don’t know why their moms are crying, so of course, they join in.

And you know what? It’s at that point Tengen joins in on the sob fest, because fuck it.

In conclusion: poor Hinatsuru.

[questionableratatouille00]

Hiii❤️! Could you write a Loki x reader ( maybe Tony’s older daughter) where Tony’s #1 rule is hands off my daughter like don’t mess with her but she’s kind of a trouble maker too and all of the avengers are really protective over her so when her and Loki start sneaking around at night together and someone catches them they’re like oh hell no definitely not happening and so there’s some angst and Steve or Bucky or even Tony are like fighting with Loki and the reader is getting all stressed but they like won’t see past it and stand there ground on her not seeing Loki and whatever you want to write after that is fine idk how it should end lol but it’s just an idea I love. Thank youuuu❤️!

Hi!!! 💕 thank you so so so much for sending a request! I hope you enjoy this!

𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 ℍ𝕚𝕞.

Pairing: Loki x fem!Stark!reader

Summary: You’re a Stark. He’s a former villain and the God of Mischief. Alternatively: shit is sometimes fucked.

Warnings: cursing, arguments, crying, murder mentions, this is the first time I’ve written for Loki and I hope I at least got his character semi accurate.

A familiar tapping sound coming from your window snapped you out of your focus. Abandoning your favorite book, you walked towards the window. Pulling back the curtain revealed a small black bird. You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes slightly.

You pushed the window open, allowing the bird to hop inside.

“You know that the security system is probably good enough to still be picking all of this up, right?” You murmured, but the bird still hopped down onto the carpeted ground. Before you knew it, a whoosh of green magic showed your beloved boyfriend, the God of Mischief himself.

“Well, I don’t see you trying to stop me.” He teased.

“Mm. Maybe not.” You hummed. “Y’know we probably can’t keep doing this. My dad might actually kill you.” You run your hands up his chest, resting them on his shoulders.

“I’ve slain countless beasts, I can handle your angry mortal father.” He huffed indignantly.

“Aw, is somebody scared?” You teased.

He rolled his eyes, fixing his hair. You moved your hands to his neck, gently pulling him closer. His hands drifted down your waist and over your pajama pants to grab at your asscheeks. You kissed him, and you couldn’t help but smile.

A knock at your door startled you. Before you could even pull away from Loki, your door swung open.

“Hey, bitch, we brought pizz—“ Wanda yelled out when she saw what was happening. You spun around in a panic, finding a dropped pizza box at your door and Natasha and Wanda glaring daggers at Loki.

“What the fuck is going on?” Wanda hissed.

“Back the hell away from her!” Nat threatened, a pocket knife already in her hand.

“No, no! Nat, Wands, please!” You begged. “It’s okay! It’s okay!” You shook your hands at them, standing there in front of him.

“Please, let us explain!” You pleaded.

They gave each other a Look, before slowly nodding.

That didn’t change the fact that they’d went and snitched to your father anyway.

Bucky, one of your close friends, even started giving Loki sharp glares whenever they were in the same room together.

You had been torn apart by the conflict.

“You can’t do this to me. This is my life, I know what I am doing with it.”

Steve, Buck, Nat, and even your father all stood in the room. Tony had his arms crossed; Steve’s brows were furrowed; Bucky and Nat both pretended they couldn’t see the wet patch’s under your eyes.

And then they filed out of the room, all of them except for Tony, of course.

“We know what’s best for you. We’re—I’m the adult here. I am. I know what’s best for you, just like I know what’s best for this damn team.” He looked angry, but you knew that deep down it was coming from a place of fear. Of love.

“I can handle myself.” You grumbled.

“I told him—I swear to God I told him that if he ever even breathed in your direction I’d—“

“I am a fucking adult!” You hissed. “I am a fully grown adult, I am fully capable of knowing who I feel happy dating. Loki—he loves me. And I lo—“

“Don’t you dare fucking finish that sentence.” He cut you off.

“I love him.” You said defiantly.

His eyes darkened. “No, you don’t. You don’t. He’s a monster; nobody could love that.”

“I love him.” Your words were a harsh whisper, spaced out slightly as your eyes watered more and you nodded along to your own words.

“You can’t. He’s a murderer, he doesn’t love you. How could he? All he could ever care about is his own damn self!” He slammed his hand down on the desk he was leaning on.

“You don’t even know him!” You slammed your hands down too. “You have no idea what he’s like! He’s kind, he’s thoughtful, and he’s so fucking gentle. He loves me. He loves me. And I love him.”

He stared at you, his eyes softening.

“He’s good to you?” He looks down at his hands, fiddling with them.

“Better than any other man I’ve been with.” You answer honestly.

“…Just..be careful. Be careful.”

But you knew Loki. That he’d never hurt you.

“I was worried,” the god confessed as he played with your hair. “That your father wouldn’t see your side of things. Our side.”

You laid against his chest. “I would’ve ran away. I don’t care where we go. As long as I have you, I’ll be fine.”

“As will I, darling. As will I.” He pressed a kiss to your hair.

A/n: dividers made by the lovely @saradika-graphics! This is the first time I’ve written for Loki, so sorry if the characterization is a little off.

[joyinunderland]

Aziraphale’s personality type -MBTI

INFJ vs ISFJ

Ok, so, I just had a thought.

You know MBTI personalities, right? On Pdb it is said that Aziraphale is an ISFJ, but I don’t completely agree with that, and I was wondering what you guys think.

My take on this is that he’s an INFJ (chatGPT thinks the same, but anyway), but I’m still not entirely sure.

First of all, just remember that for INFJ we have Ni-Fe-Ti-Se, while for ISFJ we have Si-Fe-Ti-Ne. This means that the biggest difference between these two types can be found in the dominant function, which is introverted intuition for INFJ and introverted sensing for ISFJ. But what does this mean? Basically, INFJs are better at seeing the bigger picture, while ISFJs are better at noticing the little details. For beginners in the field of MBTI, the difference can be reduced to intuition vs sensation.

As for personal experience, I believe INFJs are more prone to forgiving others because they put themselves completely in the other person’s shoes; while ISFJs’ kind of forgiveness seems to come more from the way they observe from the outside the other person. So, I would say they have a different kind of empathy: the former more overwhelming and personal, the latter more “rational” and detached.

Now, I don’t think I will be able to come to an actual conclusion before seeing season 3. Mostly because we still have to see, in my opinion, the real personality traits of this character. What I mean is, Aziraphale has been through a lot of religious trauma, so it’s difficult to understand whether his choices come from that or from his actual personality. We can only guess and speculate and try to find patterns.

As an INFJ, I personally see a lot of myself in him. I just rewatched the scene of the Church in London, 1941. We all remember Aziraphale’s reaction to realising that Crowley had protected the books for him. Usually, the angel is the one taking care of others without expecting anything in return, no one ever thinks of doing something for him and he doesn’t even expect anything. But in that moment he realised that the demon did care about him. For the first time in ages, Aziraphale probably felt seen, understood, cared for, with such a simple yet important action. Well, that’s how basically every single INFJ feels everyday: always caring for others, no one notices what you do, no one thanks you, no one does anything for you. But then, you find that one person that is different, and damn, that person can really change your life.

But let’s go back to facts. We know for a fact that Aziraphale always has a plan, but he waits because he knows that Crowley will come to his rescue. We also know that the angel strongly believes that things can be changed and that he in particular can change them. He has a strong sense of faith and hope, and I don’t mean religious faith, we know he’s been losing that for a while now, but he has faith in humanity, in people, in himself and in Crowley. He has hope that Heaven will be a better place. I personally see all of these characteristics as a show more of an Ni function rather than an Si: he’s more concentrated on the future possibility rather than the present reality.

But again, I won’t be able to tell for sure until season 3 is released, I have to understand what drives him, I have to see all the actual motivations that have led him to the choice he made and, mostly, I have to see who he will become, ‘cause only after he’s healed from his religious trauma he’ll be 100% himself.

Good, if you’ve read all of this long analysis (which took me like an hour to write), GOOD JOB, get a cookie, you deserve it.

Let me know what you think, I am really curious and I’ve always wanted to know what the fandom thinks about this.

Lots of love!

[chaoscheebs]

It's Midnight, Cinderella, chapter 5

(Chapter 1) - (Chapter 2) - (Chapter 3) - (Chapter 4) - (Chapter 5) - (Fic Tag)

--------

Mokuba entered his brother’s office to said brother cackling evilly at his computer. Well, that’s a hell of a way to start the workday. “Does this mean you found the guy, big brother?”

Seto stood up, a manic gleam in his eyes. “Not yet, but I found the e-mail address of one of the women who was talking to the playboy the man came in with. If I can get his name from her, the rest should fall into place.”

“Just make sure to come up with a good excuse for e-mailing her; you don’t want to come across as a creep,” Mokuba warned.

Seto just waved him off. “Yes, yes, I know. I already have a plan for that.”

“Which is?”

“The man mentioned a game I’m assuming the playboy was responsible for, but I can’t remember the name of it,” Seto answered with a scowl, resenting the fact that he let himself be distracted by the man’s charms. Remembering the stupid game he mentioned probably would have saved days of searching. “I’m simply going to ask her about that and pretend I’m interested in learning more about it.”

Mokuba nodded. “Sounds reasonable, as long as she’s not hoping for a business deal with him.”

“From what I heard, they probably weren’t talking business when I saw them together; I’m willing to take the chance,” Seto said with a shrug. “Besides, most people know better than to try to compete against me anyway.”

“Mm-hm.” Mokuba, looking less than impressed, walked around to his brother’s side of the desk, and stole the chair his brother vacated earlier. “Move over; I’ll take care of the e-mail.”

Seto, however, refused to budge. “I can handle it; get out of my chair.”

Mokuba looked up at him and raised a single eyebrow. “Big brother, I love you, but you don’t know the first thing about charming information out of a woman.”

“And you do?”

“More than you; I am the cute brother here, after all,” Mokuba said, stubbornly reaching out for the keyboard and pulling it closer to him. “What’s her e-mail address?”

“The man at the party thought I was cute,” Seto said, one hand on the keyboard trying to drag it back towards himself, before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth. He quickly realized his error and covered his mouth with his free hand, eyes darting away.

“He thinks you’re cute, huh?” Mokuba replied, grinning up at Seto. “Guess that means we really have to get this done with delicacy so we can get you reunited, then~”

Seto turned his back on Mokuba, hand still over his mouth, muffling his next words. “I said nothing, you heard nothing, nothing was said.”

“Sure, sure~” Mokuba said cheerily. “Anyway, her e-mail address?” Seto grumbled a bit, but eventually muttered a Kmail account address. “Thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll get the name from her, no problem, I promise!”

“Please do,” Seto said, finally regaining a bit of composure. “I want this entire debacle to draw to a close as soon as possible.”

“Because you want to see him again that badly, big brother~?”

Seto raised his hand to cover his face, the red tinge to his ears still visible. “Just send the damn e-mail, Mokuba.”

Mokuba kindly stopped teasing his brother there and got to work. It’s hard work, tightening the noose on the “mystery man”, but one way or another, it was going to end soon.

--------

The bell at the top of the game store door jingled. “Grandpa, I’m home!” Yugi announced, before doing a double-take and adding, “Jounouchi?!”

Both men in question were, in fact, out on the sales floor, the latter helping the former place things on one of the higher shelves.

“Ho ho, welcome home, Yugi!” his grandpa brightly greeted him.

“Hey, Yuug!” Jounouchi said, clapping his hands together to get dust off of them. “Yer gramps said he needed a lil’ extra help out today an’ I was free, so here I am!”

Yugi smiled. “Ah, OK! Thanks for helping out; we appreciate it.”

“’Ey, not prob, man! Just happy I was available,” Jounouchi said with a little half-salute.

“Oh, Yugi!” Yugi’s grandpa interrupted, slipping behind the register counter. He bent down to pull up what looked like an ordinary Amazon box, which he then set on the counter. “By the way, a box came in for you; why don’t you go take it upstairs?”

Yugi stared at the box, a chill running through him as he remembered the last time he got a surprise box. “… I didn’t order anything.”

He then felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I got yer back if it’s anything weird again.”

Yugi placed his hand over Jounouchi’s. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Yugi’s grandpa just laughed at their worries. “Ho ho ho, I’m pretty sure it’s safe, boys; it just sounds like a bunch of plastic!” he said, shaking the box to make whatever plastic bits were in there rattle loud enough to hear.

“GRANDPA, NO!”

“YO, BE CAREFUL WIT’ DAT!”

Yugi and Jounouchi both shouted in sync and rushed to the counter, Jounouchi getting there first and snatching the package out of the old man’s hand. He passed it to Yugi and said, “How ‘bout we go open this upstairs?” He cast a look at Yugi’s grandpa and said, “Yer good for now, right? Don’t need anything else?”

Yugi’s grandpa shot Jounouchi a meaningful look back. “No, no, that should be everything for now. Go have fun, boys, ho ho ho~”

Yugi looked to his grandpa, then to Jounouchi, and back again, confused. Something was definitely up, but honestly, this worked out fine for him. It’d be harder to talk himself out of talking to someone this way, ultimately. “… sure, grandpa. Let’s go, Jounouchi.”

--------

Several moments and a little work with an open pair of scissors later…

“These are…”

“… infinity cubes?”

Jounouchi finished Yugi’s sentence stared at the contents of the open box. Well, at least it didn’t look to be anything dangerous, although they thought that about that tape too…

Yugi opened the plastic bag the toys were in, picked one up, and began to fiddle with it. “Now I know for sure this isn’t something I bought and forgot about; I always break these—” His hands stilled for a moment, sudden realization hitting him. He searched the box more thoroughly and under the bag was a packing slip with a note.

“’Break as many as you need to’? The heck?” Jounouchi read over Yugi’s shoulder. He then noticed Yugi’s hands began to shake, Yugi’s shoulders soon following suit as Yugi grit his teeth and crumpled the note, though by accident or on purpose was beyond Jounouchi.

“You…” Yugi hissed low like an angry alley cat. “You…” He balled up the already partly-crumpled slip of paper, drew his hand back like he was about to throw it, but stopped and started to lower his hand. He would have succeeded in doing so as well, has Jounouchi not grabbed his throwing arm.

“Dude, if throwin’ the thing’ll make ya feel better, throw the thing,” Jounouchi told him.

Slipping free of Jounouchi’s loose grasp, Yugi lowered his hand to chest level, looked down at the paper, and after a moment of thought, pulled back and hurled it across the room. “HOW DARE YOU?!” he yelled.

He grabbed one of the fidget toys out of the box and threw that too. “NOW YOU PAY ATTENTION TO ME?!?”

CLACK. Another cube hit the wall.

“AFTER ALL THIS TIME?!?”

CLACK.

“AFTER…! AFTER EVERYTHING…!!!”

A shrill screech of frustration, followed by another loud CLACK.

Shoulders heaving with each heavy breath, he glared at the small pile of junk opposite him until he collected himself.

“Feelin’ better?” Jounouchi asked.

“A little.” Yugi then dropped back onto the bed in a sitting position, then flopped over on his side, barely missing the open box sitting on it.

Jounouchi picked up the box and set it on Yugi’s desk, then pulled up a chair and sat down, facing Yugi. “Right, now that that’s outta the way, what’s up, Yuug? I ain’t seen ya that pissed off in a while.”

With a groan, Yugi rolled onto his back and pulled his pillow over his eyes. “It’s… a long story. A long, stupid, stupid story.”

“I got time.” Jounouchi leaned in closer. “For real, man, spill. Y’always bottle things up an’ it ain’t good for ya. Just let it out.”

Yugi gripped the pillow tighter and let out a long, low, unhappy groan. “… all right…” he finally says, “but it really is really, really stupid.” He hesitated a moment longer, heaved a sigh, and slowly rose into a sitting position, setting the pillow back in its place behind him afterward. “… OK, so, I think I told you about that fancy masquerade party thing Otogi invited me to, right?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well… I met someone while I was there,” Yugi said. “Or should I say, I met someone I already knew who didn’t recognize me? Which I’m honestly still pretty pissed off about? Like how could he not--” He reached for the box of fidget toys, forgetting the box had been moved already. Realizing his mistake, he withdrew his hand, drawing it to his chest and looking down as he clenched it into a fist.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jounouchi replied, offering him one of the cubes.

Yugi took the cube, looked at it for a moment, and decided to busy himself folding it in on itself over and over. “Anyway, he approached me first, and it was really clear he didn’t recognize me at all, so I thought, hey, let’s see how long it’ll take for him to notice? Just a little harmless fun, y’know?”

“And he didn’t notice.”

Yugi practically leapt off the bed and slammed his hands down on his desk. “He didn’t notice AT ALL! Even after I dropped major hints! I even mentioned wanting to beat someone with a dragon-focused deck and NOTHING!”

Jounouchi blinked twice, then scowled as the realization hit. “This is totally about Kaiba, ain’t it? Y’need me to sock him in the face for ya?”

“Wha—NO!” Yugi backpedalled, waving his hands in front of himself. “This isn’t—this isn’t a ‘need to punch him’ situation! He didn’t even do anything other than be oblivious! I was the one who—uh…” Yugi faltered, balling his hands into fists as the memories washed over him again. “I was the one who really fucked up here, so don’t be mad at him for this, OK? I… let things go too far, and I know it.”

Jounouchi tensed, his eyes narrowing. “Exactly how did you ‘let things go to far’?”

Yugi sat back down on the bed, slouching sadly forward. “I… So, I told you he didn’t recognize me at all, right? So I, well, kinda took the opportunity to, uh, flirt a little? It was kinda cute to see him that oblivious and all.”

“Not the word I’d use t’describe Kaiba, but go on.”

Yugi sighed. This is why he didn’t want to talk about this with Jounouchi.. “Anyway, somehow, it led to a card game, which I really should have figured was his way of flirting back, and, well…" He stopped to take a deep breath. “Well, he said if I could pull together a deck that could actually challenge him on the fly like that, I stand a chance at defeating my ‘mystery rival’. Which… was really nice to hear? So I sort of kissed him on the cheek for that.”

“An’ he got mad about that?”

Yugi averted his eyes. “… he did not. In fact, uh, he kind of kissed me? And, uh… well…”

Jounouchi leaned forward in his seat, elbows digging into his legs and his hands folded horizontally, blocking view of his mouth. “Yuug. Buddy. Bro. Pal. Please tell me this ain’t leadin’ to what I’m thinkin’ it’s leadin’ to.”

“OK, I won’t.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, Jounouchi unmoving and unblinking as Yugi, still refusing to meet his friend’s eyes and getting increasingly red in the face. In the end, however, Yugi caved first. “I mean, look, he was like the fantasy for years, OK?! I know I should’ve said something, but, well…!” He hesitated, hands gesturing wordlessly in the air. “It was… nice to be wanted and acknowledged for once. Once he started getting handsy, that was it, it was over, brain dot exe has crashed, dick dot exe is now running.”

That actually got a snicker out of Jounouchi. “His nerd shit is rubbin’ off on you, Yuug.”

“More like rushing coding in the middle of the night to get out short games out for game jams is a bad influence on me.” Yugi sighed, then picked up the blue mask off the headboard of his bed, twiddling it back and forth in between his fingers. “But anyway, now I have no idea how to even talk to him about this, or if I even should, y’know?”

Jounouchi raised an eyebrow. “Y’didn’t talk to him that night?” Yugi remained silent, the mask in his hand suddenly seeming really interesting to him. “Yuug. Please tell me you didn’t hit it an’ quit it with Kaiba.”

“… more like I hit it, then fled like a scared rabbit in the middle of the night once I was sure he was asleep. Also, I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t know it was me.”

They sat in silence for a moment again, Yugi visibly sweating as he raised the mask just high enough to cover half his face. “You’re totally gonna die, y’know that, right? It’s gonna be Death-T 2.0: Revengeance if you don’t do somethin’ here,” Jounouchi said, not waiting for Yugi to continue this time.

Yugi slumped forward, his hand dropping in the same motion. “I know, I know, but how am I even supposed to bring his up to him? Or should I even bring it up? It’s not like he’s actively looking for me, right?”

"Maybe he ain’t,” Jounouchi said, “but even if he ain’t, the longer you don’t say nothin’, the madder he’s gonna be when he does find out. An’ he probably will; you know your luck, man.”

Yugi winced. “Ugh, you’re probably right.” He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out. “… I’ll talk to him tomorrow, and hopefully I’ll still, y’know, have a job afterward?”

“I mean, you could always take over the game shop, man,” Jounouchi said, shrugging.

With a dead, distant stare, Yugi replied in something that was not quite a hiss, but not quite a whisper, “I am not taking over the game shop; I have already done my time in retail hell.”

Jounouchi recoiled like he took psychic damage from that. “It’s kinda terrifyin’ when you talk like that, bro.”

“A life working retail forever is terrifying,” Yugi countered.

“All the more reason t’get this straightened out an’ fast, then.” Jounouchi ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head. “Seriously, bro, you’re already a trouble magnet, and now you’re dickin’ down the damn trouble. You got any sort of plan of attack for this?”

“Uuuuuuh… Word vomit an apology and pray it works?”

“Yugi…”

Yugi threw his hands up in the air in surrender. “I’ve been trying to think of something better! Just nothing sounds good after I write it down or try to rehearse something!” He dragged a hand down his face. “I just… you know I’m not good with people…”

“Yer better than you think you are; you just overthink things too much,” Jounouchi said. “C’mon, we’ll figure somethin’ out together, OK? I’ll be yer soundin’ board!”

Yugi weakly laughed. “… Yeah, we’ll figure it out together. Thanks, Jounouchi. I know this can’t be easy for you, because of who’s involved…”

“Can’t say I’m a fan a’ that jerk, yeah, but you’re the important thing here, y’know?” He held his fist out to Yugi, waiting for a bump back. “We got this.”

Yugi completed the fist bump. “Ha… Yeah, we got this.”

--------

Unfortunately, as time would soon tell, they did not, in fact, have this.

[ineffablelunatics]

Fleabag Ending Vs. GO2 Finale

I’ve made a few parallels of Fleabag and Good Omens 2 before, but they were really just one liners. But I wanted to show how the two endings line up quite well even though I don’t believe the motivations are directly equivalent.

“You nailed it.” -Fleabag.

“They always lie. it’ll always come in a minute. There really into each other those two.”-Priest

“They really pulled it off.”- Priest

“Was your sister okay?”- Priest “Yea, she just..” -Fleabag

“-seemed a bit on edge.”- Priest “-she..uh..had a bit of a work thing.” -Fleabag

“Wow, dedicated.” -Priest  “Addicted.” Fleabag; they say at the same time

a pause, she smiles at him..

“Its God isn’t it?”- Fleabag

“Yeah.” -Priest 

another pause

“damn” pause” damn” -Fleabag

then she looks directly into his eyes

“You know the worst thing is that I fucking love you. I love you. No. No. Let’s just leave that out there for a second on its own. I love you.”-Fleabag

the priest takes her hand, “It’ll pass.”

“This bus is not magically coming”- Fleabag

“I think I’ll walk.”

“Okay.”

The priest turns to look at her, “Uh, see you Sunday. I’m joking you are never ever allowed in my church again. I love you too. Okay. “ A small wave then he takes off down the street.

-The bus doesn’t come. But a fox does. She tells him that he went that way. Hugs the statue close. She gets up. Shakes her head to camera. Leaves the statue in the trash. 

—————————————————————————————————-

The sister and the man at the airport is a interesting parallel to Beelzebub and Gabriel running off together. Then ‘flying’ away. They were both ‘dedicated and addicted’ to Armageddon but they left that for each other.

Aziraphale chooses to go to Heaven. In my opinion, to try and change things, but nonetheless, he leaves. Crowley makes his confession anyway. They let a kiss ‘hang in the air’. Either way, Aziraphale still has to leave.

The fox(the Metatron) makes sure to go after him and leave Crowley. Crowley is the one to tell Aziraphale to talk to the Metatron. Crowley watches as he leaves. We watch them both walk away.

I think it could work for season one as well with Shadwell and Tracy. Dedicated and Addicted to their former selves but giving it up for the other. Adam chooses being a kid over being ruler of everything(if they’d won). A nightingale sings in Berkeley Square whilst angels dine at the Ritz like the fox(sometimes a metaphor for God) following them. They were holding onto their statuses like the statue and finally let it go.

I have no idea what this was for or why I wrote this, but hopefully you’ve enjoyed it if you’ve made it this far. I don’t really think their motivations line up specifically the Priest’s and Aziraphale’s. Fleabag and Crowley and their similarities and differences as well. But I think it’s interesting to look at the ending similarities. Anyway, hope you’ve enjoyed it.

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 3

Pairing: Chris Redfield x FM! Reader (but not in this part)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here) | Part 4 | Part 5

Summary: One year after running from your feelings for Chris Redfield, an oddly familiar face emerges from the shadows.

Contents: Small spoilers for RE6, mentions of vomitting from seasickness, canon typical violence/swearing, Jake banter, canon typical puzzle bullshit, LORE. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: Jake is literally one of the best characters in RE6 it is CRIMINAL that he's not in more fics. Be the change you want to see in the world. The plot is plotting in this part and I got a little carried away with descriptions but we're rolling with it. Also many thanks for 100+ likes on this series already. Enjoy!

w/c: 7.1k

1 Year Later:

Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

That’s all you can think of under the black hood. The last thing you need right now is to puke on yourself. You should be thinking of ways to escape your current predicament, but your stomach lurching with the irregular rise and fall of the boat you’re handcuffed to, the indiscernible shouting of your kidnappers, the sweat all over your body from the unbearable heat and seasickness, and the sickeningly strong scent of fish and salty air is making that near impossible.

How the hell do I keep getting caught up in this shit? Don’t fucking puke. Breathe in through the mouth, out through the nose.

You’d had terrible seasickness since Albert kept you on that tanker for so long until Africa happened. After the second time trying to escape him and being mildly successful, he wanted to make damn sure that it didn’t happen again. Therefore: boat timeout. A boat prison meant it would be more difficult to escape. More resources needed, more planning required for a chance at walking on dry land. The chronic seasickness was an unintended side effect you’re sure, but it only gave another weakness for Albert to leverage against you. ‘The sickness will cease if you listen to me dearheart,’ didn’t sound like a compelling argument on its own to inject Uroboros in your veins, but presented as a solution to vomiting constantly because of the ocean’s movement for four years, it was pretty damn tempting some days. If you didn’t already know that virus was a death sentence, you might have given it a shot.

You’d even insisted that any transportation involving sea travel be explicitly prohibited while you were consulting/in protective custody with the B.S.A.A. Travel by air and car were far more convenient anyway, or at least that’s what Chris assured you. The man witnessed you puking your guts out the day he rescued you from that tanker. Of course he’d back up your request.

I wonder if he knows I’m gone yet. Deep breaths. Don’t puke.

It’s likely, considering it’s been some hours. Even though you’re considered part of B.S.A.A Europe now, you’re still willing to bet that Chris still got important updates about you considering your history. Higher-ups wouldn’t think twice about their favorite soldier wanting updates about the widow of Albert Wesker.

You know better.

His interest is much more personal than that.

As much as you would like to entertain a relationship, you can’t bring yourself to finding out what the aftermath of Chris’ professional life would be if you did. You felt guilty about leaving so quickly and not even telling him, but you figured if you had told him before you left, he might have convinced you to stay. You’d sent him a text wishing him well when you got to your new apartment an ocean away, which is better than nothing you suppose.

You hope he’d get a kick out of the security footage at least. You managed to aggressively elbow one of your kidnappers in the jaw and make them stagger back before you were overwhelmed, restrained and thrown in the back seat of a car. Surprisingly, there weren’t any physical consequences to that besides a mildly sore elbow. Whoever wanted to take you wants you all in one piece, which can either be really good or really bad. It’s the world’s most shitty game of roulette; is it a job offer to work for a terrorist organization? Or is it one of Albert’s disgruntled business partners wanting to use you as a test subject for revenge? Both were unpleasant in their own ways.

With all the circumstances surrounding your transfer to the Germany B.S.A.A. lab, everything was going surprisingly well. Too well. You should have known it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing good ever does in your life. Chris had tried to reach out a few times wanting to talk, but you always dodged his calls blaming the time difference, your workload, or the near-constant stream of outbreaks that always required your professional attention. You didn’t mind. Keeping busy meant less time to think about Chris’ wounded expression the last time you saw him. The attempts at contact eventually slowed in frequency and you only saw him in the occasional group video call regarding major outbreaks. The North American branch rarely had a reason to visit your particular station with it only being a lab and having nothing to do with the B.S.A.A.’s military operations. A small blessing in your eyes.

Germany was a far away dream at this point. There’s light piercing through the fabric of your hood, so you know it’s the next day. It was night when you were taken. You didn’t get a good look at your kidnappers, but you heard them speaking some sort of Asiatic-related language before they bagged you, as well as throughout your journey to wherever ‘here’ is. All you know for sure is that you were in a car for a long time, a plane for an even longer amount of time (that you somehow slept through most of), and this boat for what feels like an eternity.

Mercifully, your hear shouts from the shore and the movement of the boat changes from a straight choppy line to a diagonal jerky tug and pull. They’re docking the boat. You hear an announcement from an old-sounding speaker in that same unfamiliar language close by, followed by an ear grating buzzer. The words from the speaker echo around the space, giving you the impression of a rocky and unforgiveable terrain.

You still feel wobbly when you’re practically dragged from the boat by your handcuffed wrists, but you manage to walk in what you think is a straight line towards wherever your destination is. The hollow echo of walking on wood underneath your feet turns into the gravely sound of small pebbles, then morphs into solid concrete. The overwhelming fish smell also grows weaker the farther you walk inland, although you can still barely smell it if you focus on your kidnappers. They’re talking boisterously and laughing. You can hear them on either side of you, in front of you, and behind you. The desire to rip off your hood, bodycheck the goons next to you, and run off into God-knows-where was strong, but it was also a rash, stupid decision.

Don’t lash out immediately, know the enemy first.

You’d always been told to comply with kidnappers until the B.S.A.A. could get to you, but on the other hand you’re just too proud to blindly do everything they tell you. You always operate on the assumption they won’t find you in time. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. So, you do what’s become natural at this point: observe and take mental notes.

After a few more paces and a comment from the leader in front of you that the other three belly laugh at, you hear a metallic click, then the metal on metal symphony of a large factory sized door slowly opening a few yards in front of you. There’s a moment of silence between your kidnappers. Then, the ringleader in front of you tugs on your cuffs so hard that you nearly stumble to the ground, but you manage to barely keep your balance. He says words where he sounds like he’s smiling. A joke like before? But the other three aren’t laughing this time. The one on your back right says something quietly, and the ringleader holding your cuffs barks something back angrily.

Then it hits you: these guys are nervous. They haven’t been here before. They’re hesitating to go into the unknown entrance in front of you. These guys are probably a hired third party. The man holding your cuffs shouts something else, startling you and breaking your train of thought. He pulls the cuffs forward as he walks and you’re forced to follow. You hear three pairs of hesitant footsteps behind you.

It only takes a few seconds for you to realize why three of the four men got cold feet at the door. It’s dark in here. The sunlight that was able to pierce through the dark fabric of the hood lessens in intensity the further you’re dragged into the room. As the sounds of the ocean outside get further and further away and you’re questioning what kind of building could possibly be this large.

There’s nervous dissent among the three kidnappers behind you when the big metal door starts closing, but another angry remark from the leader shuts them up. You’re led further and further into the room. You hear yours and your kidnapper’s footsteps echoing around the cavernous room, but the sound gradually reverberates less and less the closer you’re led to bright lights on the other end of the room. The darkness under your hood lessens and grows surprisingly brighter until you’re forced to stop. The ringleader in front of you clears his throat, and pushes you forward slightly. He speaks like a game show host presenting the grand prize, the forced showmanship feeling out of place in the empty environment. A higher pitched, lilting male voice responds over a speaker overhead. Unimpressed. The ringleader tries to keep up the act, but is quickly shut down again.

You hear the higher pitched voice bark out something that sounds like an order, you hear a huff from the leader next to you, then the black hood is ripped off your head. Your eyes are immediately assaulted with bright, military grade lights pointing in your direction. You try to blink away the blindness, but even after getting used to not being in almost complete darkness, you can only make out the silhouette of a wiry man and a bulkier man with some kind of rifle standing next to him in an observation chamber above you. You see the wiry man nod his head in approval. He leans forward and you hear a polite, lightly accented higher pitched voice over the speaker.

“Welcome Doctor. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you.”

You don’t recognize the voice, so you elect keep your expression neutral. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” You reply flatly, clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

“I do apologize for your long journey. But some things just can’t be helped. These kind gentlemen will show you to your accommodations.”

At first, you think he’s referring to your kidnappers, but then you see two soldiers walk out from the darkness in front of you. They’re dressed in black, military style gear and wear something similar to a gas mask on their faces. They’re also holding electric batons. You look around. Your kidnappers are dressed in street clothes and appear close to middle age. Maybe you should have taken your chances with them outside. As the soldiers walk out of the shadows, the lead kidnapper holding you by your cuffs, the oldest by the looks of him, gestures to the wiry man above you all and starts almost shouting in a firm tone while alternating between rubbing his fingertips together and an ‘okay’ symbol. Payment.

The wiry man’s silhouette presses a button on the console in front of him in the booth, and more lights come on to your left. Crates. Lots of them. You don’t know what’s inside from this distance, but judging by the smile on the lead kidnapper’s face the payment is more than satisfactory. The previous nervous tension among the four men is completely eradicated. The nervous one that spoke before tosses a small set of keys to one of the soldiers, the lead kidnapper pushes you forward towards the other soldier, and all four of the men head over to the crates to check out their bounty.

You see the soldier with the key place it in one of the pockets on the front of his uniform and walk back towards the darkness, while the other places you in front of him with a firm hand on your shoulder and walks you forward. You’re in complete darkness for a few paces before you’re blinded again by a pair of industrial elevator doors opening and shadows walking towards you.

You realize the two escorting you are guards at best, not soldiers. The squad in front of you is armed with much more deadly weapons; you recognize pistols and semi-automatic TMP’s as the group marches past you back into the warehouse-type room with your original kidnappers. You don’t have long to wonder why they’re marching back into the room. Just as the doors to the elevator are closing, you hear the confused shouts of your kidnappers get cut short by rapid gunfire.

No witnesses. That’s never good.

You’re not in the elevator for long. The doors open to reveal a long hallway with more industrial style architecture. The guard in front of you starts walking forward and the guard behind you lightly pushes you to follow. His presence behind you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

As you’re ushered forward, it feels like you’re walking through a cross between an old factory and one of the old Umbrella labs. Some things appear to be 40 years old or more, and other things, such as the doors, have been updated to be futuristic sliding electric doors with keypads for additional security. The wheels are turning in your head on what this place of operations could possibly be, but you don’t have enough information to make any solid conclusions yet.

The guard in front of you scans a key card on the panel next to the door, it beeps, then the door gracefully slides open to reveal another hallway similar to the last one, but completely renovated; bright white and futuristic. The architect clearly took inspiration from the old Umbrella labs.

About halfway down the new hallway, you realize you don’t feel the presence of the guard behind you anymore. You look over your shoulder and stop in your tracks when you see the guard unconscious on the ground a few feet away.

Huh. How’d that happen?

When you stop walking, the guard in front of you turns around, probably to get you to keep moving to whatever cell these people have prepared for you. But as soon as the guard turns around, you see a gray blur drop from the ceiling out of the corner of your eye. The gray blur, a ginger headed man, punches the guard, which makes the guard stumble but he regains his footing quickly. They exchange a few attempts at hitting each other; the guard tries to swing the electric baton but the mystery man dodges the attempted strike. The mystery man gets a few good punches in and successfully disarms the guard, but the guard is able to catch the man’s wrist, the guard then uses his forearm as leverage to pin the man to the wall. It looks the guard is trying to cut off the mystery man’s air circulation, but the man has enough strength and fighting know-how to not get knocked out.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do. You don’t recognize the new man. The only thing you know is that he’s a skilled fighter, and the other guard isn’t going down easy. You also know you can’t escape by yourself, and the B.S.A.A. doesn’t know where you are.

Help the stranger it is.

You run over to the unconscious guard and grab his electric baton and grip it the best you can with your hands bound together. The mystery man is still pinned to the wall by the guard and is trying to wiggle free.

You sprint down the hall, wind up the prod, and smack the guard on the side of the head. The guard doesn’t go down like you hoped, but the shock of you hitting him with the baton gives the mystery man enough time to grab the guard with both hands and ram him into the wall, knocking him out cold.

“You good?” You ask, somewhat out of breath.

The man stretches his neck and arms, nodding his head. “Never better. Thanks for that.”

Now that the man isn’t brawling with the guards, you get a better look at him.

A nagging sense of familiarity emerges in the back of your mind. You’re positive you haven’t met this man before. You couldn’t have. You would have remembered the large diagonal scar on the left side of his face that stretches from the junction of his cheek and nose all the way down to his jaw, or the buzzed ginger hair. Those features aren’t exactly forgettable, yet some detail that you can’t put your finger on in the moment keeps tugging at your memory.

You shake off the feeling. You can sort that out later, but right now you have more binding things to focus on. You hold out your wrists, still bound in the cuffs.

“No problem. Mind returning the favor? The key’s in his chest pocket.” You point your chin to the guard that you shocked.

“Sure thing.”

Jake saunters over to the guard, rolls the unconscious body over to unzip the front pocket to grab the key, then walks back over to you to start undoing the locks on your cuffs. Jake’s eyes flicker between the lock and your face as he does so.

“So… you’re the hot shot scientist.”

It’s more of a statement than a question. You narrow your eyes. Jake easily unlocks the first cuff and begins to work on the second one.

“That depends… who’s asking?”

“Name’s Jake.”

Knowing his name doesn’t help you place this man’s face. You stay silent and wait for Jake to keep going and give you a last name or the company he works for, but instead he unlocks the second cuff and tosses them away, looking at you expectantly with an easy smirk.

“This is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Not before you tell me why you’re here.” When in doubt, be on the side of caution. Just because this man helped you, doesn’t mean he’s on your side. You rub your wrists, trying to get rid of the sting of the cuffs being on your wrists for so long.

“Just a little… preventative maintenance for a friend. You got a name?”

You purse your lips, trying to get a read on what Jake means by ‘preventative maintenance.’ He took out the guards, so unless he’s going for a long con, he doesn’t work for the people who took you. Most mercenaries wouldn’t rescue someone on a job unless it’s in their contract, although any good murder for hire would know what their target looked like before accepting the job. You’re willing to bet his intentions are most likely in line with your own. You relax your shoulders.

“Just call me Doc. And yeah, I’m the virologist.”

The cavalier attitude Jake is exuding shifts slightly and for a moment you think he’s connected the dots on who you are, but instead Jake’s attitude morphs into optimistic determination.

“You know the periodic table?”

You stand there, confused and trying to figure out why he’s thinking about something so out of left field, but coming up with nothing. You answer honestly. “Uh… yes?”

A satisfied smirk stretches across his face. “Good. I could use your help. C’mon.”

Jake strides over to a specific section of wall and presses an unassuming panel on it. A keypad pops out and Jake starts to type on it while you stay in your spot processing what just happened.

“Excuse you, I don’t remember volunteering my expertise!”

“What’s the hold up Doc?” Jake finishes inputting the number sequence and you hear a hiss, something metal releasing, the panel of wall that you now realize is a hidden door sliding back a couple inches, then the wall panel sliding to the left to reveal an industrial staircase winding downward. Jake turns back to you, a cavalier expression on his face. “You got something planned already with sleeping beauty over there? Or are you coming with me?”

Jake gestures to the guard you electrocuted on the floor. You look at the guard, then the other one further down the hall, then back to Jake. “Lucky for you, my plans just got canceled. Let’s go.”

It only takes a few minutes to figure out that Jake knows his way around this place. The staircase leads to another series of dingy hallways that Jake saunters through with confidence. Either he’d already figured out these sections weren’t closely guarded, or he’d taken measures to make sure he wouldn’t have to worry about surveillance. Either way, you’re relieved to be in the presence of someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t trying to hold you hostage.

“So… you didn’t say who you work for.”

Jake thinks about his answer, then shrugs and keeps walking. “I consider myself an independent contractor. But right now, I’m on the B.S.A.A.’s payroll.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as B.S.A.A.” You know for a fact that the B.S.A.A. recruits almost exclusively from armies around the world. Army life causes soldiers to have a certain disposition. A certain disciplined way of carrying oneself resulting from years of drills and training. Jake’s body language felt much too relaxed for that lifestyle.

“I’m consulting.”

You give the man a half smile hearing that. The way Jake said that made it sound like he wasn’t exactly happy about it, but accepted the job nonetheless. Something you could easily relate to. “What a coincidence, so am I.”

“For viruses? You some kind of expert on bioweapons?”

You shrug and keep following Jake. “I’ve got a good amount of practical experience.” It’s a true but vague statement. Jake doesn’t need to know the details of why you know so much. Any mention of your past with Umbrella or Wesker never ends well with strangers.

Jake looks over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t give me that humble bullshit.”

You scoff and smile. Definitely not army. “Okay. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who knew more. Better? What do you need to know?”

“Give me a rundown of the G-Virus.”

You don't answer for a long moment, stunned. “The G? These guys went through the trouble to get me here for that?” Your tone is incredulous.

“What?” Jake doesn’t sound confused at your reaction. Only curious.

“It’s just… unstable and obsolete compared to other bioweapons. It’s not exactly competitive against strains nowadays where infected can tell the difference between enemy and ally.”

“Obsolete huh? What’s your theory on why they have it all the way out here then?”

“They’re… low on funding and have limited options? Or they didn’t care what they’re buying.”

You pause, realizing Jake can fill in some missing information for you. “And who are ‘they’ and what is ‘here?’ I didn’t get a good look at anything on my way in.”

Jake chuckles and shakes his head. “You must piss off a lot of people.”

You roll your eyes at Jake’s comment and keep following him. “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“Not judging, I respect it. I’m on a fair share of shit lists myself.”

“If you don’t know the answers, you can just be honest about it.”

“Alright alright. Technically, we’re in Japan, but it’s more of a small as shit island in the Pacific. I was told this was a former Umbrella research outpost.”

You scrunch your brows in confusion. “I didn’t know they had labs this far out from the mainland.”

“Neither did I, but ya learn something new every day.”

Eventually, the dingy hallways and platforms lead to another mechanical door that reveals another white hallway not unlike the ones you remember from Umbrella’s previous headquarters in Raccoon City. You don’t have much time to reminisce as you follow Jake to a door at the end of the hall.

The room you enter is somewhat dated. The equipment here looks like it came straight out of the 90’s, but with some modern updates in a few choice sections. Jake ignores all of that in favor of leading you to the other side of the room where a mechanical door and a keypad are waiting. The door is notably one of the only things in the room that’s been updated.

“Mind taking a crack at this Doc?”

Jake hands you a note with an Umbrella header on it:

Pierre if you’re reading this, I’ve changed the password to the specimen room. I know it impedes business to change it so frequently, but the boss insists on the highest level of security due to the nature of the special project. The new password is your namesake element on the periodic table. Just type in the atomic number and weight in that order. Don’t mess it up again. That damn alarm will lock everything down and Aimi nearly blew a gasket the last time I had to get the security key to disable it again.

“You brought me here for this? Seriously?” You look at Jake like a disappointed mother. Do schools not teach the manmade elements in chemistry anymore? In your mind, you think that Jake went a little overboard bringing someone with a PHD to solve a periodic table puzzle. Jake doesn’t react to your question. He just keeps up the cavalier attitude.

“So you can solve it.”

“You know Google exists, right?” You reply, deadpan.

“No service in the middle of the ocean. Are you going to help me out or not?”

You scoff at the comment, then hand the note back to him and stride to one of the bookshelves. “Yes. It’s Curium.” You thumb through the spines trying to find a chemistry book of some kind.

“But his name’s Pierre. You sure?”

You find a ratty chemistry book with university library stickers all over the spine. Bingo. You pull it out and flip through the back pages, finally finding what you were looking for: a periodic table.

“Pierre Curie and Marie Curie discovered the element. That’s the answer. Type in 96247.”

You snap the book shut and you hear Jake typing in the code on the door. Now that Jake’s errand is almost done, it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge. Or the ocean in this case.

“After you run your maintenance we need to find a radio, or a ride out of here. I don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere longer than I need to be.”

“I’m no travel agent, but I think that can be arranged.”

You turn to join him, but a logo on some papers scattered around on the desk by the bookshelf catches your eye; a Tricell logo. Your eyebrows scrunch together. Albert partnered with Tricell for the Uroboros project and the company has been defunct since Africa happened four years prior. Why is that logo here of all places?

You hear a beep behind you and a mechanical door sliding open with a soft hiss as you pour over the documents. They’re copies of internal documents relating to the development of the Africa strain of Plaga parasites with yellow highlights all over them. A large label that reads ‘G – U’ stuck on a keycard is blocking one of the notes so you move it to the side. More concerningly, the only things you see highlighted are locations of labs and sites of infection with handwritten margin notes in Kanji that you don’t understand.

“Hey uh, Doc?” Jake is calling you from inside the room that was unlocked.

“Hm?” You respond, still half-focusing on the Tricell documents.

“I don’t think these guys had limited options.”

A sense of dread starts to form in the back of your mind when Jake says that. You speed walk over to the now accessible room. It’s a large, white room with rows of what look like display cases. You see Jake looking through the glass and into display on the other side of it. You walk up next to him to look for yourself and your heart drops to your stomach when you see what he’s talking about.

On the other side of the glass, you see a complete family of Plaga parasite strains. As you walk down the aisle, you see the original strain from Spain, all the way to the newest strain that popped up in Edonia a couple years back. Although to your relief, you see that the Amber strain which allows the infected to have both strength and free will isn’t displayed.

You glance at the aisle behind the Plaga parasite display. You immediately recognize the familiar T-Virus series. It’s concerning how thorough the collection is. Even without reading the placards underneath each sample, you recognize the strain that caused the outbreak at the Spencer Mansion, the T-Abyss virus from a few years ago, a few different failed strands from the Marcus-Birkin projects, among dozens more. You feel your heart skip a beat when you see the T-VERONICA placard, but you relax when you see that the sample holder is empty.

“Doc? Talk to me what’re you thinking?”

Even with the display cases missing a few of the more powerful specimens, it was still the most comprehensive collection of viruses and parasites in a single place that you’d seen in your career.

“They nearly have the whole damn catalogue in here.” Your tone is grim. Samples as comprehensive as this can only spell something bad on the horizon, but you’re not too sure what.

“I don’t understand what their play is here.” You state, still walking along the T-Strain aisle and examining each sample. Your footsteps echo around the room from the grate flooring. Based on the setup, each one appears to be a live sample.

“I think I do. They’re trying to be a one stop shop for bioweapons and this is the showroom.” Jake spits in disgust.

At first glance, Jake’s observation appears correct. But upon closer examination, that conclusion doesn’t quite fit. You slowly walk along the aisle and look at Jake through the glass in the aisle opposite. He’s examining the strains in the G-Sample section, looking back and forth from the samples in front of him and his phone.

“I want to agree with you, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Jake stops and looks at you confused. “Why?”

“They don’t have nearly enough inventory. These are samples. An unusually comprehensive collection of samples, but there’s only one of each.”

Jake shrugs. “Maybe it’s somewhere else.”

Again, a logical conclusion that doesn’t quite fit. “Outside of this facility? Possible. Here? There would have to be at least a few dozen rooms like this to store everything properly.”

You stop walking.

“And logistically, it just doesn’t make sense. We’re practically in the middle of nowhere. Why would a business owner put their showroom in one of the most difficult to reach places on the planet? You would think they’d want to make it easy for the buyer to review product, as well as convenient for the owner to ship out that product. Someone wanting to be a one-stop-shop would be on the mainland.“

You pause, an icy feeling washing over you. The bag on your head during your transport here and the execution of your kidnappers suddenly makes a lot more sense. 

“These people don’t want to be found.”

Jake’s eyes flick from his phone to your face. “So they’re working on something big. A new G-virus?”

You shift on your feet shaking your head while looking over the G-Virus samples. “Yes to the big project, no to the G. Whatever it is, it’s not down here.”

“You sure about that? This one’s missing.” Jake holds his phone up to the glass so you can see on the other side of the G-Sample row. Jake’s correct this time: this specific strain isn’t displayed. You tilt your head in confusion.

“That’s not a strand I recognize.” At first glance, you know it's an unusual strand of G-Virus. G-Viruses are normally green in color, but this one is a sickly pink.

Jake grunts, shaking his head and pocketing the phone. “It’s never that simple. Is it? An all-inclusive virus buffet and one of the only one that's missing is the one I need.”

Jake pulls out a pistol you didn’t know he had, checks the clip to make sure it’s fully loaded, then holds it down by his side as he strides out of the room.

“Where you headed?” You call after him.

“Main lab upstairs. I’ll come get ya after I’ve got the G-sample.” He answers over his shoulder.

“Absolutely not!” You reply in disbelief and Jake stops walking, sighing in annoyance. He can’t seriously think he can take on the army upstairs with just a pistol. You try to talk some sense into him.

“We need to find a radio and get the B.S.A.A. here. These people will kill you no questions asked if they see you. Plus, that handgun of yours isn’t going to cut it against their hardware.”

Jake shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned. “I’ve had worse odds.”

“That doesn’t make lone wolfing this any less stupid! There’s a base in Tokyo, we just need to find a way to contact them-”

You stop talking abruptly when you catch a glimpse of a dangerously familiar sample. The one that changed the course of your life for the worse. The one that your dead husband tried and failed to infect the planet with. The name UROBOROS is proudly displayed at the end of the G-Virus aisle in the back, nearly drowned out by the sheer number of G-Virus samples.

You hear Jake saying something to the effect of ‘I’ll be back before they even know I’m there’ but you’re not registering what he’s saying. Your vision has tunneled to only focus on that devil sample. All it takes is one slip up by a careless scientist to infect this whole place. You think back to the keycard in the other room by the Tricell papers; ‘G – U.’ G-Virus to Uroboros. This time can be different. You have the power and knowledge to stop this.

“Hey? Earth to Doc? You still with me over there?”

“That needs to be destroyed.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you stare at the Uroboros sample. You keep your eyes on the sample for a few steps, then brush past Jake to rush into the other room to find supplies; some kind of glass beaker, metal garbage can, something to contain the damned thing when you burn it to ash.

As you begin nearly tearing the lab apart in your barely controlled frenzy, Jake steps back into the sample room to look at what has you so distressed.

“Uroboros? That’s the uh… it’s not a G-Virus is it?”

You open a cabinet and find a large glass beaker. You grab it and set it on the counter and keep looking for more supplies.

“Yes! Now less talking and more helping. There’s Bunsen burners here, so there has to be some matches-”

“Can't this wait? Is it really any worse than the other ones?”

You aggressively close some drawers as you turn back to Jake with a serious glare.

“Albert Wesker. Heard of him?” Your voice is low and controlled.

Jake’s face melts into a barely hidden look of disdain. “Yeah, I have.”

“He tried to use it to cleanse the world, as he put it. He spent years injecting innocent people with that and he was the only one who didn’t turn into a flesh-eating worm thing.”

You open more drawers and find a cleaning cabinet with a half full container of rubbing alcohol. You grab it, along with a pair of cleaning gloves, and set them next to the beaker. You start soaking random bits of scrap paper with the liquid and stuff it into the beaker.

“Not only that, he tried to launch that shit into the atmosphere with a deranged smile on his face. It nearly ended the world once and that’s not something I, or anyone, needs to deal with again.”

You put another splash of rubbing alcohol into the beaker for good measure then forcefully put the bottle on the table causing it to spill some of the liquid on the table. It doesn’t slow you down. You quickly put on the cleaning gloves and dig through the drawers around the lab looking for a lighter or matches. Smoking isn’t rare in Japan so one of those items must be here somewhere.

“So Wesker had special blood?” If you were paying closer attention to the way Jake said that, you would have easily picked up that he knew more than he was letting on. But you don’t. You’re too busy trying to get rid of a dormant threat sitting in the other room. You answer without thinking while opening more drawers by the bookshelf.

“Genetically, he was one in a trillion. But even with that, he still had to take doses of the virus periodically to keep it stable. All the more reason to nip this in the bud before it becomes a problem again.”

“You know a lot about this.” A statement of fact, not a question.

“Yeah, I do!” You exclaim dramatically as you slam a cabinet shut when there, once again, aren’t any matches. You’re so frustrated that Jake is asking so many questions and won’t just help you.

“You knew him.” Another statement of fact, not a question. His eyes are dissecting your every move now. The look vaguely reminds you of Albert and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Albert used to look at you like that when he wanted to know if you were lying or gauging your reaction to something he told you. You shake off the feeling. The Uroboros discovery is making you paranoid.                                                                                            

You sigh and shift on your feet, leaning back against the cabinet with your eyes on the ceiling. The scent of rubbing alcohol is strong in the silent room. You shift your eyes to Jake’s after a long moment. His expression is nearly unreadable, but there’s an underlying edge in his posture now. He knows. Not everything, but he’s catching on to why you’re so passionate about this. There’s no use lying about it.

“I knew him…well, okay? At least I thought I did before all the crazy. But right now we have more important things to do than rehash my history.”

You force yourself to tear away from Jake’s calculating gaze and resume your search.

“I nee-… we need matches. Can you just help me look please?”

You don’t hear a response behind you, and you think that Jake is going to keep asking you questions. But after you open a few more drawers you hear a rustle of fabric and a metallic tink.

“Use this.”

Your head whips over to Jake and a wave of relief washes over you. Then annoyance.

He’s holding a lighter.

He had that the whole damn time you were tearing through the lab looking for matches.

You decide it’s best to hold off on scolding him until after you get rid of the Uroboros sample. Instead, you take the lighter with a gruff thank you. You grab your supplies along with the ‘G - U’ keycard and head back into the sample room.

You enter the room with newfound determination. You couldn’t stop Uroboros on your own all those years ago, but this time it’s different. You’re stopping a disaster before it has a chance to start. You place your supplies on the floor next to the case, preparing to immediately plop the Uroboros sample into the beaker. In your peripheral vision, you notice Jake leaning against the doorframe, watching your every move.

You scan the card.

Instead of the glass sliding down into the base like you expected, it stops a quarter of the way down when a deafening alarm sounds overhead and Jake is forced off of the mechanical door when it reels shut. Before you can even call out to him, gas starts pouring into the room from the grates on the floor.

All senses of self-preservation leave you in this moment. Thousands of years of survival instinct telling you to run and claw at the door and scream for help is ignored because, once again, your thoughts are only consumed by the existence of the Uroboros sample. Possessed by only one thought: you can’t fail to stop this again. You couldn’t justify something as trivial as your own survival if it meant there was a sliver of a chance of something like Africa happening again.

You force yourself to focus, even though it’s getting so much more difficult with your mind starting to cloud from the gas. You hold your breath to prolong consciousness. There’s enough space between the glass and the edge of the case that you can squeeze your arm in and grab the damned sample. You can hear Jake banging on the door shouting your name, but his voice sounds so far away as you force the sample from its display rod and gracelessly sink to your knees.

Your hand feels unwieldy and heavy as you drop the sample into the glass beaker. Even more so as you try and fail to roll the lighter wheel fast enough to make a flame. You rip off a cleaning glove to get a better grip and you keep trying. You have to. This needs to work. You can’t fail again. You won’t fail again.

You pause to finally take a breath and force yourself not to cough from the downright bone numbing gas that’s still filling the room. Your vision is starting to blacken at the edges and your body slumps so much that you’re resting on your stomach, so you make a conscious effort to tighten your grip as hard as you can on the lighter and roll the wheel. A small flame erupts from the lighter. With a shaking hand you thrust it into the beaker and the alcohol-soaked kindling erupts into flame. You barely notice the sting of the flames against your hand when you retract it.

Everything feels heavy. You finally let your body resign to the gas and let your head rest on the ground. With each shallow breath, the darkness at the edge of your vision grows more and more prominent. You don’t hear Jake anymore, but you do hear indiscernible voices on the other side of the wall getting farther and farther away and loud pops. Gunfire? Or Jake banging on the door?

The last thing you remember seeing before the darkness overtakes your vision are blackened remains in a glass beaker and a pair of unfamiliar, polished shoes slowly walking towards you.

__________________________________

Thanks for reading!

Tag List: @killerwendigo

a/n 2: I really hate doing filler/transition chapters as a principle, but I promise that it's very necessary for what's coming. Chris x Reader is going to be on the backburner for a couple parts but I assure you he's coming back and it will feel rewarding when he does.

AO3 link for this part.

[jolalibrary]

I have to ask (only if you're willing to talk about it), how do you cope with hate...? I got the feeling from your last answer and tags that this was not the first time. Do you have any tips on how to self-regulate? How do you stay so kind-hearted & compassionate?

The reason why i'm asking is that I'm relatively new here and dread the day I receive hate mail.

Much love to you, I adore the way you write and lift others❣️

- Fellow cancerian who doesn't want to grow too hard a shell

hello fellow 🦀 thank you for the compliment on my writing and lifting others (honestly, I just feel too much and I have to thrust it on people haha)

and honestly I don’t mind answering, I don’t really have like a hard and fast answer so I apologise for the ramble under the cut:

it depends on what is said. which I know is wildly unhelpful, but it’s the truth. the one today was like…. silly? to me anyway. it wasn’t necessary, it was just—oh let’s kick someone. and like, I’m not just saying this, but I laughed and I honestly was like, jesus you feeling okay anon, like damn.

but, I’m nothing but honest (where I can be) and there have been some that have fucking hurt. like I’ve cried my eyes out—which is a lot for saying this is fun, and a hobby.

in my corner though, I have great people. one of my friends is like my rock, and she allows me to send her the more crazy ones. and we sorta have this process of talking about it first before I make a decision about deleting/responding. for me, it helps drafting my feelings or talking them out, just so I can get rid of that ‘initial’ reaction. because sometimes I just wanna shout and tear someone a new one, but that means letting them get a rise outta me? y’know.

so once I’ve done that, we normally fall on the deleting side, because it’s important to me to create a space that I feel safe in, that I’m proud of, and that others know they can come into and also feel okay. you having a bad day and seeing that I’ve been kicked down isn’t going to do anything except us both feel poopy. so unless I can be sassy, let it roll off my back, I try now not to respond.

to return back to chirpy, annoyingly nice Jo 😏 I spend time with people i love: fandom, irl and who I live with. I may go on a walk with my dog. I may put my headphones on and blast music (celine dion power ballads hit different), and lastly, I’ll churn it into something writing wise.

writing is what helps me regulate all of my emotions. I feel so much, always have done, always will. but writing helps.

unfortunately, there’s always a chance I’ll get hate. because like irl, we don’t gel with everyone. which is why I wish people would just unfollow, block and move on, but i can't control that nor can i guarantee the former will happen. so I just try to create a space I’m happy to be in, like this overtly pink blog with all you lovely lot who follow me as I throw you in fandom after fandom.

lastly, my friend said this earlier and I’m going to quote her (she’s going to love this) “you literally get what you see with you” and she’s right. it’s not me staying so kind and compassionate, that’s just who I am (which sounds big headed, like omg I’m amazing) but I just care. and on the days where being “me” feels hard, that’s when I stay off here. because it means I need some me time to get back to a good place.

I am not sure if this was helpful, 🦀 anon (this is what I’m calling you, hope that’s okay). but my dm is always open, and so is my inbox.

pls try not to let fear stop you from sharing with the world, don’t give the prospective haters any chance to steal your shine 🩷

[kyberrebel]

Things that went through my mind during The Acolyte episode 4

I guess Kelnacca got sick of wearing clothes during his exile. Typical Wookiee.

Osha is just going to leave without saying goodbye to Sol?? That seems a bit messed up to me.

If Kelnacca dies, I am going to riot. 

I think it’s kind of weird for Mae to bring Qimir on her mission to kill Kelnacca. It just doesn’t seem like it’s his thing. But I’m not really complaining, since I do like his character.

IS THAT KI-ADI-MUNDI??

It could just be another member of his species but if it is him THAT IS SO COOL! (I just checked and he doesn’t have a canon birth year so who knows.)

I really don’t think that not informing the High Council about Mae is a good idea. I understand not wanting the Senate to get involved, but c’mon, guys. 

Maybe I’m just biased, though, because I’m thinking about if it may be a Sith that’s training Mae. The Jedi don’t know about the Sith eventually returning at this point in time, so maybe they’re just less worried. 

So Mae is actually going to try to kill a JEDI WOOKIE without a weapon??? That’s literally the hardest of her targets to kill without a weapon. Can she use the Force to kill him, or does the Force count as a weapon.

“I can’t believe my sister is Jedi scum.” I mean, she’s technically not. 

Oh good, Sol caught Osha before she could leave.

IS THAT PLO KOON!?

I know I said it before a few episodes ago, but I’m saying it again since we’re getting these cameos. I would die of happiness if we got a Yaddle cameo.

Yord is growing on me a lot. He’s beginning to be one of my favorite characters in the show.

I am really not vibing with these giant bug things. They may be showing up in my nightmares tonight.

“My loyalties to Osha.” Mae, I hate to tell you this, but she kind of hates you right now.

Damn, Mae, you could knock before barging into Kenacca’s home.

KELNACCA’S DEAD!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW!? 

I was kind of guessing he wouldn’t survive the show, since my prediction has been only Sol surviving out of the Jedi Mae needed to kill, but damn seeing him dead still sucks.

I was not expecting to see Mae’s master again so quickly. 

His helmet kind of looks like something someone from the Knights of Ren would wear. I know it’s probably not yet, since they probably haven’t been founded yet, but it’s giving the same vibe.

Seeing all the Jedi with their lightsabers out is giving me CHILLS.

I really am not a fan of how short that episode was. I mean, I enjoyed it. It was nice to get back to the main story after last episode being a flashback. But it was just so short, I think it could have used another ten minutes.

I also wonder if we are going to get the story wrapped up this season. The show isn’t marketed as a limited series, but I hope we don’t have to wait for another season to get the full arc. We're halfway through the season. There's only four episodes left, who knows how quickly things will happen.

But anyway, it was a fun episode. I loved seeing Kelnacca again (RIP), I loved seeing all the Jedi fight together (even if it was for two seconds), and I am enjoying how badly I’m predicting what’s going to happen next. It keeps things interesting.

Right now, I'm predicting Qimir to be Mae's (former) master. Could he have killed Kelnacca without Mae noticing he was gone for that long? Who knows. But that's my prediction.

[clangenrising]

god i love how mystique has progressed throughout this story so far, it’s so real and palpable. it’s so crazy to think how she’s gone from someone so confident in her power and position and so blissfully ignorant of the shadow truth to someone who can’t really do anything but bathe in that same shadow truth now.

she’s really lost it all and it’s just like… i feel so much for her. i’ve experienced or witnessed similar things as her, it’s not fun. it’s nothing great to go through. obviously having a dictator sexual abuser brother is not the same as having really bad friends, but like, it’s the same kind of feeling that you don’t really want to accept that theyre bad people, yknow? it Hurts Bad to finally see that the people you love are not good people and have hurt you too, even if not as directly as they hurt others. and her grappling with the shadow truth is so damn realistic it makes my head spin. her just trying to push it back as much as possible but eventually it’s all she can think about, yeah… it be like that.

her postpartum depression is portrayed So Well too. i wouldnt be the first to say the kitten crash is done amazingly and rightfully so! huge credits to you on that for portraying it the way you do and in such a sympathetic way with oddstripe especially. but theres credit due to the way other cats see it as well because i think that’s also shown very… realistically, unfortunately, at least in a case i knew. i have an aunt who went through it with one of her first children and while i was too young to comprehend it properly, despite being the oldest cousin, i know i was always really confused when my relatives would either toss aside her feelings or actively make them worse or the good few would be understanding and help where they could. even little fogpaw doing what she can right now, it warms my heart.

her longing for razor and russetfrond despite her knowing now the former is terrible and the latter has hurt her, god it is so real. it’s a bit funny to think i’d been the one to come along with the rustique ship name at first but now it’s just like. there’s no way it’s healthy for them to stay with each other. i think the damage has been done and maybe, just maybe they could make up in some small way if they take it gently, but im not sure thats going to happen. even if they do make amends before mystique leaves theres obviously no going back.

but anyway yeah, thats my little thoughts on mystique. i love her deeply and really empathize with her so much. i hope for the best for her when she gets to go back home, despite all the unfortunate circumstances, she deserves to be back in a place of comfort and familiarity again 💜

Thank you <3 I really appreciate you saying all that. Not much to say because you said it all so well.

100 RisingBucks for your efforts!

[scekrex]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well!!!

I just read your Adam x Lucifer’s son fic and I loved it a lot more than I thought I would going in (that sounded really backhanded but I definitely don’t mean it that way 😭)

I was thinking of a part 2 that takes place literally just a few minutes after the 1st, Lucifer basically gave Adam a few… let’s say corrective love taps. And now the reader is patching up his now bruised face. Reader try’s to make Adam feel better by complimenting him and flirting with him. (I know damn well Adam is such a hoe for genuine affection like-)

Cut to Lucifer sitting across the room eyeing you both, now realizing that his son is in love with THE FIRST MAN and Adam is ALSO in love with his son. To put it simply, he is kinda freaking out. He now refuses to leave them alone together for the rest of the day, and also the unseeable future! He starts listing the reasons why the Reader should very much not being dating Adam. (Would be funny if he also mentioned the age gap as if he didn’t date a newly born woman as a who knows how old Angel LMAO) And Adam is like “Bitch, I’m am literally right the fuck here.”

Lucifer is just really activating his overprotective dad mode. That is… until Charlie really needs his help with something for the hotel. He eventually (albeit reluctantly) agrees to leave to help because he thinks “I’ll be quick, it’s just what? 5 minutes? And I’ll be in the room just a few doors down!”

He leaves and Adam, who for some motherfucking reason, can’t stop thinking about all the things Lucifer said to you about him and starts thinking ‘Maybe he’s right’ and starts just getting in his head about it

Reader finishes up patching his face and can tell he’s thinking about what Luci said. He reassures him that he loves no one else but Adam and that what his dad thinks is irrelevant. Reader gives Adam a kiss before asking. “Anyways, you ready to go?”

“The fuck you mean? Go where?

“I mean… how else are we going to finish what we started?”

And the was one of the first times the reader managed to make Adam flustered. Needless to say, Adam and the reader weren’t there when Lucifer returned. Much to Lucifer’s anger.

Nah man ur good, I wasn't the biggest fan at first too but y'know, it's kinda cute. Also u didn't specify anything about Reader and Adam having sex so I kept this SFW, my inbox is temporarily closed but if ya want a sequel that's basically just smut, lemme know once my inbox is open again!

Part 1

My lover's the sunlight to keep the Goddess on my side

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you

“Was that really necessary, dad?” you grumbled as you pressed a ball of cotton against Adam’s lip - Adam’s bleeding lip. Lucifer hadn't been too fond of the view he had been greeted with when entering the room. The brunette’s bottom lip was split open, his nose was bleeding and his eye was slowly turning black again. Adam had just recovered from the stabbing injuries Niffty had caused and now he was covered in bleeding wounds once again. A thing that surely did surprise you and that you wanted to look deeper into once the situation was less tense, was the fact that Adam’s blood was still golden. His blood had remained pure and angelic and while you partly understood why, it did make you curious.

Adam hissed in pain as your fingers gently traced along his nose, checking if it was just bleeding or if it was broken - Adam was lucky because your father had actually managed to break the former angel’s nose.

Lucifer was sitting on an armchair across the room, watching the gentle touches his son offered Adam, he didn’t like that they got along and he hated that they seemed so in love, so all over each other. Lucifer knew Adam, well that wasn’t entirely true. Lucifer had known Adam once, back in Eden when everything had been so new and exciting for pretty much everybody. Back then Adam had been a kind and loving soul, but that soul was no longer comparable to the man that was sitting on his son’s bed, bleeding divine blood onto the covers while his son basically sat in Adam’s lap and took care of the injuries.

“Yes, it was necessary, someone needed to teach him a lesson,” Lucifer answered your question, sounding quite bitter. And partly you were able to understand your father, he had history with Adam - history that did not end well at all but the man whose lap you were sitting on seemed almost innocent. You were very aware that Adam was the last person to describe as innocent and sweet though.

“My poor angel,” you hummed as you leaned in a little closer, carefully stopping the bleeding of Adam’s nose before inspecting the broken bone a little closer - it was nothing you couldn’t fix, that was for sure. It would heal just fine, it just needed time. With gentle hands you cupped Adam’s face and kissed his stubbled chin, causing the brunette to shiver lightly. Adam was not used to gentle touches, yes, he had been spending quite some time with you ever since his people had left him behind, but that didn’t mean he got used to affectionate touches like those you offered him - that didn’t mean he disliked them, quite the opposite was the case, he lived for your gentle touches and soft words. You somehow always found something to praise the brunette for.

Adam hummed in agreement, nodding his head lightly to underline the sound. “Don’t you worry, I’ll fix you up in no time,” you added, satisfied that there was no more blood dripping from Adam’s nose.

Lucifer growled from where he was sitting, not pleased with how close you were to Adam’s face - well, actually he wasn’t pleased that you were close to Adam at all. You shot your father a glare over the brunette’s shoulder. “You’re responsible for his injuries so shut up,” you hissed at the blonde king.

The king of Hell simply rolled his eyes at your words, “Yeah, well you shouldn’t be dating Adam - date whoever you want, I don’t care if they’re female, non-binary or male, just don’t date him.” Lucifer pointed towards Adam who seemed not very happy about how lowly Lucifer spoke about him. Sure, they had their issues with each other, but why was it such a big deal to the blonde that the first man and the prince of Hell had a thing for each other?

“Y’know, first of all he’s a maniac, he literally used to kill our people,” Lucifer started to list reasons why you should stay away from the brunette, you could only raise an eyebrow at your father, “Oh our people? The people you ignored for only God knows how long? Those people you’re supposed to rule but instead of doing so you simply let them rot?” You felt how the first man’s hands came to rest on your hips, gently patting them signaling you that he liked your answer. Lucifer huffed.

“Okay what about the fact that he’s manipulative and controlling?” The blonde king tried again, nodding his head towards Adam. “Dad,” you said, looking at Lucifer, you seemed quite unimpressed by his words, “Mom’s book is trash, Adam was told to keep Lilith on a leash, he was supposed to look out for her and stop her from being absolutely self destructive and reckless.”

The blonde king tried it yet again, his problem was not that Adam was a man, his problem was that Adam was Adam, “Okay but what about the age gap? He’s like so much older than you are, sweety,” you cringed at the nickname your father gave you and playfully slapped Adam’s chest as you felt a chuckle vibrating through his body. “Says the guy who fucked the first woman a couple days after her fucking creation,” Adam huffed, turning his head around to face Lucifer.

The short king was about to argue yet again, but Charlie interrupted him by opening the door without knocking, something that was very unlike her since she valued privacy. Your sister’s eyes watched you and Adam for a moment, she shot you a quick, reassuring smile before heading towards your father, who was still sitting in that stupid armchair, observing you and Adam like the both of you were little children.

“I’m sorry for bursting in without knocking,” Charlie apoligzed, sounding quite stressed about whatever was going on elsewhere in the hotel, it wasn’t that you cared all that much. Not when you were seated in Adam’s lap and Charlie was a great distraction for Lucifer’s sharp eyes. “Don’t sweat it, dollface,” Adam simply responded, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke, “You’re not the fucking first, seems to be a fucking family issue you have there.” Your sister spun around in confusion, frowning at the first man who simply rested his chin on your head and grinned at her. “Uh… yeah… no, what I came here for is actually,” the blonde girl turned back towards the king of Hell, “Dad, I really need your help.”

Lucifer shook his head, nodding towards you and Adam, “I can't leave them alone sweety.” Charlie glanced over at how you were seated in Adam's lap, patching up the wounds your father had caused. The blonde girl sighed, then returned her attention to Lucifer who was still watching you and the brunette very closely. “It's urgent, Valentino-” at the name of the pimp Lucifer perked up, he knew Valentino meant no good and the fact that Charlie was mentioning him in context with the fact that she needed his help with something only made it worse in his eyes. “I think I can spare a few minutes to deal with Valentino,” Lucifer grumbled, not exactly happy leaving you with Adam, yet he knew his daughter wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.

He got up from the armchair, twirled his cane and tapped it on the floor once it was right side up again. “Let's make this quick.”

You watched as your father and your sister left the room to deal with said Valentino problem. As soon as the door fell shut you stopped hiding the grin and looked up at Adam, who seemed to be thinking about something - most likely all the harsh words your father had said. A small sigh left you as you cupped Adam's face once again, looking deeply into struggling golden eyes. “Don't take his words to heart he's… a little overprotective when it comes to his youngest son,” you hummed at Adam, the grin on your lips turned into a soft smile as you caressed Adam's cheek with your thumb. “Besides, we have to get going before he comes back.”

The brunette frowned at your words, his concern about all the things Lucifer had said was replaced by confusion, “Get going? Where the fuck do you wanna go?” You glanced to the door, then back at Adam. The first man followed your eyes and the confusion cleared up rather quickly. “Somewhere where we can continue what we started without dad interrupting us.”

-

When Lucifer returned to your room only five minutes later the room was empty. Nothing had changed except for the fact that Adam was no longer sitting on your bed with you in his lap. Lucifer cursed under his breath and just as he was about to go seek for you and the first man, he heard moans coming from one of the other rooms, those soft sounds of pleasure caused the devil to stop in his tracks immediately.

The moans echoing through the hotel came from Adam.