#i can clear my head with a more straightforward idea

[hanamukes]

Uika in Ave Mujica episode 4

For episodes 1-3 of the Ave Mujica anime, I felt like while there was definitely stuff going on with Uika that's worth unpacking, the scenes were straightforward enough in what they wished to convey that I didn't feel like they warranted explanation. Episode 4 has completely turned my view of this character on its head though. It feels as if her every word and action in this episode completely contradicts what we knew of her prior. What is going on with her?

I wanted to talk about her in a longform post, so here I am. This is maybe half analysis, half just me rambling my thoughts on what's happening on screen.

DISCLAIMER: If you're not familiar with the way I discuss this character, let me make it clear now that I absolutely love her! This post is essentially a love poem dedicated to how fantastic I think her writing is. That said my tone here might come off a bit sharp, because of how contradictory she is (which I say as a compliment) and how I want to grab her by the scruff and shake her until she tells me what's going on inside that head of hers. Just wanted to mention something before anyone gets the impression I'm criticizing her or the writing when I'm doing nothing of the sort.

Her first moment happens and immediately a lot stands out to me

First: the models in this anime fall under two specifications, girls who always have a blush programmed in and girls who don't. For instance, Sakiko has one so she's always blushing no matter her mood. Uika doesn't. But throughout this entire episode, she does. Why? Why is she so... eerily happy, in a way we have never seen her before?

Secondly, what is her aim here? Sakiko expressed her discomfort with everyone's attitudes, and rather than just being "Sakiko's second voice" as she has been up until now (take the episode 3 fight as an example), she's taking everyone else's side. Her actions are already in total contradiction with the Uika we've seen up until now, who didn't care about anything except easing Sakiko's feelings

Then this happens. Uika is basically in la-la land daydreaming about having her destiny tied to Sakiko's forever (especially because Nyamu points out that sounds like something Sakiko would say), yet she's ignoring her beloved who sits on the other side of the table

Uika, do you really love Mujica as it is when Sakiko's expressing to you directly that she's unhappy?

Ironically, when she does acknowledge Sakiko directly, it only leads to further frustration for Sakiko

Because she's focusing on the wrong thing. She's more worried about Sakiko's exhaustion from writing songs (which is something she can physically see, thus easily pick up on) rather than Sakiko's concerns with the band (which is something she'd have to actually stop to think about). It really feels like she doesn't understand Sakiko at all. How much does she actually stop to think about her feelings? How surface leveled, rose-colored lens does she view her?

Her actions here scream, "well, so long as I get to stay with Sakiko, I don't actually care if she's happy," regardless of if that's her intent. Sometimes your inner feelings aren't enough, Uika. Sakiko is actively looking miserable in front of you and what are you doing about it?

Are you really just going to leave without saying anything to her? You express concern when halfway out the door, yet when face to face with Sakiko, you act like nothing is wrong?

Again, yes, Sakiko is exhausted, but that's not all there is to it Uika. And she hasn't exactly been subtle about what she's worried about!

Mortis keeps the focus of the conversation to Sakiko having to write all the scripts (thus prompting Uika to point out that she's been pulling all-nighters and maybe that's the problem), but I quite like this line, as there's a lot to unpack here

前はそういうの絶対見せなかったのに

The translation gets the idea across fine to be clear, but in Japanese, there's an emphasis on the "never" part. It feels unthinkable to Uika that Sakiko would perhaps lash out, or show her exhaustion to the others. Kind of putting a mental pin in this because that's not the impression we, the viewers, have seen from prior episodes (Sakiko in this episode was acting incredibly in line with what we've seen of her already in this anime), so I wonder where Uika got this idea from. It makes you wonder just what Uika's impression of "normal" or "prior" Sakiko is

This line is genuinely sweet of her, if not a bit ironic because Uika's already absolutely overworking herself for Sakiko, which Sakiko pointed out in episode 1 (a lot of the officially published interviews have been pointing this out over and over too, just as a side note). They really want to ease each other's burdens...

Yeah, we're not even being subtle about Uika having to "borrow" ways to cheer people up anymore

I actually noticed this about her even back in It's MyGO. When Uika comforted Tomori in episode 10, it was eerily close to what Sakiko did in episode 3. Tomori even associated Uika's actions as being reminiscent of Sakiko's behavior. I had no evidence about Uika copying what Sakiko did then (I don't... think? know? that Uika saw Sakiko's meeting with Tomori and thus could copy it), but now? There's evidence that perhaps her acts of generosity are in fact just things she's imitating from others. If you're curious about the It's MyGO example of this, I highly recommend watching this for yourself

Oh, I'll also mention that in my pre-anime analysis post for Uika, I mentioned she probably doesn't "shine" at all as an idol without Mana, and she more or less just confirmed that for us

Again there's a lot to unpack with this part

Hoo boy. Let's go back an episode. In episode 3, Uika was feeling insecure about the fact Sakiko "knew" Mutsumi "very well since they were kids." She looked visibly bothered by it before changing the topic. So hearing from "Mutsumi" herself that "Actually, you're the one closest to Sakiko, not me" must be making her day. Mortis is actively using Uika's affection for Sakiko against her (well, for the sake of the band, but she's still manipulating (for lack of a better word) her regardless). It's a bit harrowing when you realize that Uika's happy that her "competition" for being close with Sakiko is dead, despite her not realizing Mutsumi more or less is dead at this point...

Moving on to the scene in her apartment, my only addition here is... well, it sure is something how the only things she said to Sakiko were what Mortis told her to say. She has no lines here that weren't just parroting advice. Is that really all you have to say to your beloved?

This is an interesting comment from her

Because there's a couple ways you could interpret this. Is Uika referring to the "stiff" expression, or the close proximity? We know for Sumimi, she views herself as having a "terrible expression" (when Mana's not around to change her energy), but it's also not lost on me that it could also be referring to "my image of Sumimi [where we take photos together in close proximity]"

Sakiko's reaction to this is what makes it so meaningful to me

Nyamu and the photographers are saying "this doesn't look like Mujica at all, but that's a good thing," which Sakiko is obviously displeased about. Why would going against Mujica's worldview be a good thing? And yet... even Uika, who founded the band with her and who writes all their songs, is saying she likes the photo. Once again, Uika is completely disregarding Sakiko's feelings despite how close she is to her. Physically, they're almost close enough to brush shoulders, but emotionally, I don't think Sakiko's ever felt further from her. The betrayal in her face and voice feels so obvious, yet Uika's still in la-la land like she was earlier in the episode and doesn't acknowledge it at all... we really can put ourselves in Sakiko's shoes throughout the whole episode, because truly, what is going through Uika's head?

Uika doing sweet gestures for Sakiko. This is the character I recognize!

It's not lost on me that 1. she has two umbrellas like she does in her apartment, and 2. there's this almost eerie focus on Uika making coffee for people. I say this because the opening itself has a shot of her mugs, there's that weirdly placed clip of coffee dripping in episode 2 (it's also in one of the trailers), the donut scene in episode 3, and now this. I'll be interested in seeing why this is so important to her

I do wish we had gotten to see the conversation Uika and Sakiko had here. Sakiko has a habit of brushing Uika off, but she was finally able to open up to her about something. They finally talked together amidst all of this miscommunication and not understanding one another, but we didn't get to see it... (which may be a sign they didn't really talk about much, but hey, I like my Uisaki crumbs where I can get them)

Thank you for the confirmation that Uika would be the first victim in a slasher film. Moving on

I love the way this comment is framed. If Sakiko left the band, who would be most hurt? Sakiko or Uika?

Uh oh. She's having her words used against her

What she said in episode 3 was honestly a bit careless* (she said it in front of Sakiko, who famously broke up Crychic by leaving it)... but she did have a point. She just wanted to articulate that Ave Mujica should be the 5 of them, and that surely they have a strong enough bond that if one of them left, they wouldn't be able to carry on and just "find a replacement," right? She's our kindhearted front of the band who loves everyone equally, right?

Well

(To clarify the translation, it's not super clear whether Uika said this directly to her, or if Mortis just hit the nail on the head)

Oops! Now that's an awkward position to be in, especially in front of Sakiko herself! Zero denial either...

(*I'll just tack this thought on here, but there's potential Uika's "Please don't hate me" line from the trailer could be because she feels guilt for having said the "if one member quits it's over" line (and thus bringing about the downfall of the band))

Last thing for this episode...

Same, Mortis. What? Why does she have no fight in her? Why doesn't she care? Why is she not saying anything? Are her feelings of guilt, embarrassment and self-hatred actually overpowering her drive to be with Sakiko? Is it over for her, now that the cat's out of the bag regarding the fact she only ever cared about the band to be with Sakiko?

I noticed she acted like a kicked puppy in episode 3 as well. When someone points out how selfish she actually is, she loses all her edge and goes quiet. She wants to escape the situation. She can't fight against what's true about her (the ugliness in her heart), after all, lest she drives herself into a corner as a hypocrite even more than she already has. But her reactions are fascinating to me, because you'd think the front of the band, and someone who swore her life to Sakiko out of profound love for her, would put up more of a fight to keep the band together so she can stay with her. She's not doing damage control at all, she's just taking the hits and all the impact that comes with it. Maybe it's some form of self harm...

(I'm also incredibly curious to know what Sakiko thought of all of this, but maybe that was the least of her concerns...)

Anyway, we'll see what happens next week. I wonder if and when we'll get closure on why she's been so apathetic to Sakiko, despite her claimed devotion for her. I get the impression Sakiko will be moving out (next episode?), so we'll have to see how she reacts to that...

[bookshelf-in-progress]

I'm approaching the most terrifying part of the Exciting New Story Idea process: Writing it down.

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me all of that ultraviolence” | 2k

logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: You give Logan head for the first time.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ implied age gap. dirty talk. kind of inexperienced reader. oral sex (m receiving). face fucking. dom!logan. a tiny bit of degradation. he guides you through the whole experience (shocking!!! i know)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HI PALS!!! yes i'm alive and kicking. yes university is killing me. so recently i’ve been OBSESSED with this man and i needed to write something for him. english is not my first language and i may have made some mistakes (if you encounter any you can tell me, i won't mind it). comments/likes/reblogs would be highly appreciated. i've got sooooo many ideas to write and i'm finally getting my hands on them. i missed you all so fucking much. hope you enjoy this!!!

It’s common knowledge that all humans have needs. Try as you may, there’s a primitive side that you can’t spare yourself from. You, as everybody else, have urges.

“Logan,” you basically mewl his name, five letters that roll off your tongue with little effort. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge you, his kisses growing harsher on the delicate skin of your neck. Threading your fingers through his hair, you decide to try again, speaking a bit louder this time. “Logan, please.”

“What is it, honey?” he says, bitten lips still pressed to your pulse point. As you remain silent, he looks up at you, those big, brown eyes that you love so dearly almost completely dark now. “Do you want to call it a day?”

His question catches you off-guard. You cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, suddenly afraid that he might pull away from you. “No! Not at all. That’s- that’s not what I want at all, actually.”

“What do you want, then? You can tell me,” he kisses you on the lips, softly at first. What starts as nothing more than a sweet kiss turns into a needier one, his hard on poking you through your shorts. “Come on. Tell me, baby. What does my sweet girl want?”

“I want to suck you off, Logan,” you whisper as you latch your mouth onto his, and you can feel how he visibly tenses beneath you. His breath hitches in his throat when you grind your hips. “I really need it.”

From the very beginning of your relationship, you had made things crystal clear: you didn’t have much experience on this territory. For a man his age, he was totally understanding. He knew you had your own times, that for him to take you to bed would take longer. Truth be told, Logan was willing to go to the ends of the world for you. There was no use in forcing anything.

At present, the bulge amid his legs becomes even more noticeable as you get off his lap, playing with his belt. “Can I?” you ask him, amazed at how straightforward you’re being.

Logan stares at you, so far panting, lust glowing in his eyes. “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters as he helps you undress him. His worn out jeans end up pooling around his ankles, and you locate yourself in between his legs. 

You’re on your knees, hands folded in front of you. Suddenly, it hits you, the shame of it all. How badly you want him, how desperate you are to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue. How many nights you’ve dreamt of this moment, unable to stop that unbearable need of touching yourself every time you thought about pleasuring him.

That’s what you truly want. For him to use you.

“What’s wrong, princess? We’ve talked about this a lot of times. You know what to do,” you can’t help but stare at his crotch as you listen to him, and then he raises your chin with his finger, your lips parting unconsciously. You blink slowly at him, eyelashes fluttering together. At last, he seems to understand what you’re trying to tell him, and he raises his eyebrows, that cocky grin of his taking place where it belongs. “You want me to guide you, don’t you? Want me to tell you what to do? Know you like it when I go a bit off the rails.”

You moan at his words, squeezing your eyes shut and nuzzling your cheek up against his palm. Slick gathers in your panties as you push your thighs together. “Please. Tell me what to do.”

“Take it out,” he instructs you, and you do as you’re told. Grabbing him by the base, you pull his cock out of his briefs. He twitches in your hand, and he’s so, so incredibly big. 

You stroke him once, testing the feeling. This you know how to do. You’ve given him hand jobs millions of times, although this one feels particularly different from the others.

He takes hold of your fist, applying a bit of pressure. “I’m sorry, baby. I think you got it all wrong. I’m the one who makes the calls here, okay?” he grunts, his brows knitted, and you only nod, salivating at the sight of his cock already leaking precum at the tip. Logan licks his lips, curling his hand around yours. “You do as I say. Now, stroke me. Nice. And. Slow,” he punctuates each of his words by moving both your hand and his in unison around his length. “That’s it, darling. You just need someone to boss you around from time to time, ain’t I right?”

One thing to know about Logan: he’s so full of himself on a daily basis, but he just gets worse in bed.

“My mouth,” you hover your lips over the head of his cock, all shiny and soft. He has let you go, both of his arms now flexed behind his head, as if he were appreciating how pathetic you must look on your knees, begging for him to allow you to taste him. “Let me.”

“Not yet,” his hips follow your tormenting pace, seeking the warmth that your skin radiates. He grits his teeth, biting his lower lip. You’ve no idea how a man so strong can become putty in your hands like this. “Greedy girl. I’m beginning to think you’ve set me up. Only a slut would get so worked up about having a cock in her mouth. What happened to my innocent girl? Gone with the wind, huh?”

“Please, Lo. I need it so bad,” you are whining, peppering his thighs with kisses. You inhale his musky scent, getting dizzy. “Give it to me. I’ll be good.”

Out of nowhere, Logan grabs a handful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back. He scrutinizes your face, studying your blissed out demeanor. “I don’t doubt that. I’m sure you’ll be good. Otherwise, we’ll keep on trying. We have all night, and you have a good memory, just need to put it to use,” as he taps your lower lip with his tip, you catch him smirking. He repeats that same motion until he has you shivering from the excitement of being stuffed. ”Show me how much you need it. Go easy on it at first, okay? Don’t want you choking beforehand.”

You’re more than happy to comply.

Your tongue darts out to lick at his head, enveloping it between your lips. The salty taste of his precum invades your tastebuds, and you moan as you trace the veins of his cock with the pad of your thumb. “Tastes so good, Lo,” your voice sounds distant, almost unrecognizable to your own ears.

“I know, bub. Such a nice fucking mouth, can’t believe you’ve never done this before. I guess you’re a natural,” shaky fingers place a strand of hair behind your ears, patting your head as if you were a dog in heat. “Do you feel like bobbing your head a little?” he asks you, and you prepare yourself, attaching your mouth to his head once again. “Good. That’s good.”

With that being said, Logan fists your hair once again and shoves your face down, his hard cock tickling your throat. Your whines and his rapid breaths are the only sounds to be heard in your bedroom. He grins as he takes in the sight of you. “Oh, sweetheart. You look so beautiful with your mouth stretched around me,” his index finger taps your cheek and he feels the outline of his own cock. “You know I can smell you, right? You’re fucking soaked, baby. Think you’ll leave a stain on the carpet? You’d clean it off with your tongue, wouldn’t you?”

You have no idea how he’s coming up with these things, but you’re far from annoyed. In fact, you’ve never been this wet. Your underwear must be ruined at this point, and you wish Logan would tell you to touch yourself.

After some minutes of bobbing your head up and down, he pulls you off his cock and you breathe through your mouth for the first time in a while. As you gasp for air, Logan kisses you, tasting himself. He massages the back of your neck, his cock throbbing between the two of you. “You tired?”

Your glossy eyes widen. Shaking your head, you go for his balls this time, sucking one of them while toying with the other. Logan buries his hands in your hair for what must be the hundredth time in the night, unable to stop himself. “F-fuck, that’s it. A pretty girl like you just gets what she needs,” he praises you, and you return to his length, taking as many inches as you can without hurting yourself. Tears shimmer in your eyes, yet you can’t bring yourself to care about that detail. You’re far too focused on Logan’s grunts and growls. “Keep that up and I’ll come. You heard me? You’re gonna make me fucking come, bub.”

His words ignite a fire inside you. You use your hands, your mouth, everything that you have to pleasure him. He’s getting closer and closer, thighs shaking when you pay special attention to his tip. Logan responds to each of your movements, and as you feel every coherent thought fly out the window, you try to take him all the way down your throat, breathing through your nose and swallowing around him. He cants his hips up, brutally fucking your mouth. Like a dog without a leash, Logan seems to get lost in the warmth that envelopes his cock, chasing his own release. “You’re such a good girl. My good girl. Nobody will fuck this mouth ever again. I’ll ruin you for any pathetic guy that tries to get in your pants. You’re fucking mine, darling. Oh, f-fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck-”

You’re met with his happy trail once he spills his hot load inside your mouth. He keeps you trapped there, his cock twitching and spamming through the aftershocks of his orgasm. You don’t think twice and swallow what he’s giving you. Some of his cum slips from your lips, falling directly onto the carpet. Even Logan seems surprised when he doesn’t stop coming.

He helps you stand up after a moment, kissing you as soon as he gets the chance. He licks into your mouth, squeezing the flesh of your hips. Logan lifts his eyebrows, relishing how cock-drunk you must look. “I think you nearly killed me. And that’s a lot to say coming from someone who cannot fucking die.”

You plaster a smile on your face, hugging his wide frame. “So, was I okay?”

His jaw goes slack, and he lowers his head to capture your lips in another kiss. “You were fantastic. I could easily get hard again just from thinking about it,” his fingers trace the buttons of your shirt, tugging at the fabric of it. “What if you let me focus on yourself for a while? You’ve already done enough, baby. Let me take care of you,” he rubs his hands on your thighs, reaching for your drenched panties. “Perhaps we could try something else today. That pussy’s begging to be fucked.” 

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[kiwriteswords]

Finer Things [Aaron Hotchner x High-Maintenance!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 6k|| AN: Here we are! This took a little longer than expected, but I think I like how this one turned out!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, high-maintenance reader, female reader, progression of relationship, simp!Hotch, feminine reader, Jack exists but is only briefly mentioned, BAU reader, materialistic reader, Garcia the helpful friend, flirty banter, mild language

Summary: You're a stylish...arguably high-maintenance BAU agent who unexpectedly falls for your straightforward and grounded partner, Aaron Hotchner. As you both tackle cases and life’s surprises, you learn to blend your love for the finer things with his practical approach, discovering a deep and enduring connection.

Hotch’s office door clicked softly as you knocked, barely audible over the hum of the precinct around you. The frame filled almost instantly with your form—pristine as always, from your flawlessly styled hair down to the heels that added an effortless grace to your every step.

“Got a minute?” you asked, your voice as smooth and composed as the latte you held in one hand, the steam still curling lazily up from the cup.

Hotch stepped aside, allowing you entrance. “Of course,” he said, though he knew his afternoon was already crammed with meetings and reports. For you, though, he made time—something the rest of the team had noticed and often teased him about. But what could he say? Aaron Hotchner, stoic and steadfast, had indeed developed a soft spot for you.

As you settled into the chair across from his desk, Hotch couldn’t help but admire the meticulous way you organized your space on the table. Your designer bag was set precisely to the right, not a strap out of place. He often wondered how someone so particular could thrive in the chaotic unpredictability of the BAU.

“So, what did you think of the profile?” you began, breaking into his thoughts. Your eyes were bright, lively—a stark contrast to his own, which often carried the weight of the job.

“It’s thorough. You have a knack for getting into the unsub’s head,” Hotch replied, his voice firm yet carrying a hint of warmth reserved mostly for you.

Your smile widened, pleased. “I do try,” you quipped, stirring your latte leisurely. “But I think it could use a bit more… je ne sais quoi, don’t you think?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what would you suggest?”

“Well,” you leaned forward, the light catching your earrings just so. “If I were him, I’d be more careful about where I left my clues. Too sloppy. Maybe he needs a lesson in organization from me.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound more natural than he intended. “I think he’d be horrified at the idea.”

“Good,” you grinned, sitting back with satisfaction. “Then he’d know how I feel about unorganized data.”

Moving to the round table, the rest of the team began to filter into the office for the briefing, and Morgan threw a teasing glance your way. “Looks like Hotch is getting his daily dose of high maintenance,” he commented, a playful smirk on his face.

Prentiss elbowed him lightly, smiling in your direction. “Leave them alone. If anyone can get Hotch to lighten up, it’s her.”

Hotch cleared his throat, signaling the start of the briefing, but he couldn’t deny the truth in their observations. You brought a lightness to his often too-heavy life, a splash of color to the monochrome routine.

As the meeting progressed, your contributions were not just insightful but infused with a vibrancy that lifted the somber mood typical of these sessions. Each time you spoke, Hotch found his attention drawn not just to your words but to the way you expressed them—with a confidence and a flair that was uniquely yours. When you directed a comment towards him, accompanied by a playful raise of your eyebrows, there was an underlying challenge there, as if you were coaxing him out from behind his well-constructed barriers.

Your laughter, light and unguarded, filled the room at one point when you poked fun at the unsub’s choice of hideouts, suggesting even you could find a better hiding place during your shopping trips. The team chuckled, and even Hotch’s lips twitched into a smile—your cheer infectious, your presence undeniably compelling.

As the team began to disperse, you lingered over your notes, your meticulous nature evident as you aligned your papers and recapped your pens with a precision that spoke of a deeper need for order—a trait Hotch could appreciate, perhaps because it mirrored his own.

Hotch watched you, the way the light caught the highlights in your hair and the meticulous care you took with even the smallest task. He remained in his seat, an internal debate raging within him. He was the Unit Chief, always in control, always composed. But around you, those walls he meticulously maintained seemed less formidable, more permeable.

Finally, he stood, his decision made, propelled by a force he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. Approaching you, he noted the slight surprise in your movements as you looked up. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something more, something deeper.

“Dinner tonight?” he asked, the invitation hanging between them, heavier than the casual manner he attempted to portray.

You paused, a pen still in your hand, and met his gaze. The flicker of surprise was quickly replaced by a slow-spreading smile that warmed your eyes. “Trying to keep up with my high standards, Hotch?” you teased, the challenge back in your voice, but this time it was laced with an unmistakable warmth.

“I think I’m ready to try,” Hotch replied, his voice low, honest. The corners of his mouth turned up in a rare, genuine smile that seemed to reach his eyes, softening the usual hardness there.

“Then it’s a date,” you declared, your voice light but carrying a weight that filled the room with a promise of something new, something thrilling.

As you gathered your belongings and left, your heels clicking assertively against the floor, Hotch watched you go, a sense of anticipation building within him. It was a feeling foreign yet exhilarating, stirring something within him that had lain dormant.

He realized then, as the distance grew between you, that what the team jokingly called his ‘weakness’ was perhaps his most profound revelation. In you, Aaron Hotchner found not just a challenge but a vibrant counterpart who could match his steps in life’s intricate dance. With you, the future seemed less daunting, more vivid—colored by the finer things, in every possible way.

Since that first dinner, a subtle shift had occurred in the dynamics between Hotch and you. What started as a casual outing evolved into a series of clandestine meetings, each encounter deepening the bond that was swiftly becoming an integral part of his daily life. The secrecy was necessary—not just for the sake of professionalism within the team but to preserve the unique world that had begun to flourish between the two of you.

Hotch found himself anticipating your texts, which often popped up on his phone with playful emojis and witty remarks about everything from case files to the peculiar habits of their local barista. You managed to make even the mundane seem amusing, and Hotch, ever the stoic leader, found his day brightening with each notification.

One evening, as Hotch returned home from a particularly grueling case, he found a small package at his doorstep. Inside was a high-end espresso machine—a gift from you, complete with a note: "For your home office, so you can enjoy a proper latte without braving the outside world. Think of me when you use it." It was both a luxurious gesture and so quintessentially you, blending high maintenance with thoughtful consideration.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile as he set up the machine in his kitchen. It wasn’t something he would have ever purchased for himself, but now, brewing a cup in the quiet of the morning, he found a new appreciation for the ritual. It reminded him of you—how you’d insist on the perfect temperature, the ideal foam-to-espresso ratio, details he’d once overlooked but now found endearing.

At work, these small infiltrations into his life were becoming more apparent. You had taken to adjusting the small things around him, straightening the papers on his desk, sometimes replacing his usual stark office supplies with items that had a bit more personality—a stapler in polished chrome, sleek and efficient like the espresso machine, or pens that wrote so smoothly he found excuses to handwrite notes he would typically type.

Hotch had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that your influence was a welcome one. It was as if you were slowly coloring in parts of his world that he hadn’t even realized were so monochrome. And when you both sat down at the round table, reviewing case files together, the subtle touches—the way your knee would gently brush against his, or how you’d share a quick, knowing look over a shared inside joke—added layers to their days that Hotch hadn’t anticipated but found he no longer wanted to go without.

One afternoon, caught in a rare moment of downtime, Hotch found himself at the local shopping center, standing before a display of designer ties. He remembered you commenting on how a splash of color could brighten his usual ensemble of dark suits and somber expressions. With a critical eye, he selected one that was a soft shade--something that would match your eyes, he thought, a private acknowledgment of the space you were coming to occupy in his life.

That evening, when he wore the tie, the team didn’t miss the change. “Look at Hotch, finally taking some fashion tips from the best,” Morgan teased, nudging you as you both arrived for the briefing.

You shot Hotch a playful wink, and he responded with a slight nod, a silent conversation passing between them. Yes, you were changing him, but perhaps, Hotch considered as he adjusted the new tie subtly, this change was not just inevitable but necessary.

For Aaron Hotchner, known for his rigor and restraint, the gentle invasion of your high-maintenance habits into his disciplined life was less a disruption and more a revelation. Each new preference, each shared secret, wove a richer tapestry into his days. And as he looked across the table at you, he realized with a clarity that surprised him, that these threads, once so foreign, were now essential to the fabric of his life.

The rarity of a day off was not something Hotch took lightly, especially with Jack away on a Boy Scout trip. He had considered a quiet day at home, perhaps catching up on some reading or simply enjoying the peace. However, as he was contemplating his solitary plans, you texted him about your own plans for the day—getting your nails done, a routine you indulged in every few weeks.

"I’m off to maintain my high standards," your message read, accompanied by a laughing emoji. "Care to join me for a change of scenery?"

The invitation was unexpected. The thought of spending his day off in a nail salon was not something Hotch would have ever considered before meeting you. Yet, the idea of accompanying you, of sharing in something that was a part of your routine, held an appeal he couldn’t deny.

"Sure, why not?" Hotch texted back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he imagined your reaction.

At the salon, you greeted him with a bright smile and a quick peck on the cheek. "Never thought I’d see the day Aaron Hotchner steps into a nail salon willingly," you teased, leading him inside.

The salon was a buzz of activity, a stark contrast to the usual seriousness of his work environment. You introduced him to your nail technician, a friendly woman named Lisa who greeted him with a warmth that seemed to radiate throughout the room.

As Lisa started on your nails, you chatted animatedly about the colors and designs. Hotch found himself pulled into a conversation about the merits of various shades—a discussion he never thought he’d have, yet here he was, weighing in on whether 'Midnight Blue' was a better choice than 'Stormy Grey'.

"You know, you could get something done too. A manicure perhaps? It’s quite relaxing," you suggested, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, considering it. "What would the team think if I showed up with polished nails?"

"They’d think you’re embracing the finer things in life," you replied with a laugh. "But maybe just a clear coat. We wouldn’t want to give Morgan too much ammunition."

Surprisingly, Hotch agreed. As Lisa began to work on his nails, he found the experience unexpectedly soothing. The gentle handling, the focus on something so trivial yet intimate, was a stark departure from his day-to-day life.

"So, how does it feel to be pampered?" you asked, watching him with an amused expression.

"Strangely relaxing," Hotch admitted. "I can see the appeal."

As Lisa finished, you both sat under the nail dryers. Hotch looked over at you, taking in the relaxed ease of your posture, and the genuine smile on your face. It was these moments, he realized, that he cherished deeply—the simple pleasures shared, the barriers between professional and personal blurring into something beautifully ordinary.

"You know, I’m glad you invited me," Hotch said, his voice soft amid the hum of the salon. "It’s nice, sharing this part of your world."

You reached over, your hand finding his. "I’m glad you’re here, Aaron. It means more than you know."

As they left the salon, Hotch felt a lightness he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The day had been uneventful by most standards, yet for him, it was a precious insight into the everyday joys of the person who had unexpectedly become his closest confidant.

The team's discovery of his relationship with you was as inevitable as it was unintended. It began one morning when Garcia, ever observant, noticed the faintest of smiles on Hotch’s lips as he read a text from you. It was nothing overt, just the subtle lift of his mood, but it was enough to pique her interest.

“Spill it, Hotch. You’ve been smiling more these days,” Garcia prodded as they gathered in the briefing room, her tone teasing but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Hotch, caught slightly off-guard, managed to maintain his composure. “It’s just been a good morning,” he replied smoothly, hoping his nonchalance would deflect further inquiry.

Garcia, however, was not so easily dissuaded. “Uh huh,” she hummed, giving him a knowing look but dropping the subject in the presence of the rest of the team.

The next clue came unintentionally from you during a case briefing. You were discussing a particularly challenging aspect of the case when you casually mentioned a small detail—a detail that Hotch had shared with you in confidence during one of your dinners together.

As you spoke, Reid’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing in that characteristic way when he was putting pieces together. “That’s an interesting observation,” he remarked, glancing between Hotch and you. “Not many would’ve caught that.”

Hotch met Reid’s gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Reid’s expression softened into a subtle smile, and he nodded slightly, turning his attention back to the files in front of him.

Morgan and JJ were the next to catch on. It happened in the field, during a tense moment when you instinctively reached for Hotch’s hand. It was a brief touch, meant to be reassuring, but Morgan and JJ caught the action from the corner of their eye.

Later, as they regrouped at the SUV, Morgan clapped Hotch on the shoulder. “You know you can tell us, right? We’re family here,” he said in a low voice, his look pointed but friendly.

Hotch simply nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I know, Derek,” he said, grateful for the support he knew they would offer.

Prentiss figured it out during a late-night coffee run when she saw you both at a small cafe, your heads close together, laughing softly over shared stories. She didn’t approach, respecting your privacy, but the next day, her smile was a bit wider when she greeted you both.

“It’s good to see you happy, Hotch,” she said quietly as she passed by his office, her words meant only for him.

By the time Rossi found out, it seemed that most of the team had already accepted the new dynamic with characteristic adaptability. Rossi, ever the father figure, simply raised his glass to Hotch during their next team dinner, a silent toast that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got a good thing, Aaron. Don’t let the job get in the way,” Rossi advised later, when they were alone, his voice low and earnest.

Hotch appreciated the wisdom; knowing the balance between personal happiness and professional duty was a fine line to walk.

As the team gradually discovered the relationship, what surprised Hotch most was not the fact that they found out, but the ease with which they accepted it. Their teasing was gentle, their support unwavering, and in their acceptance, Hotch found not just confirmation of his feelings for you but also a deeper appreciation for the team he considered his second family.

In this newfound openness, Hotch realized that his relationship with you did not weaken his leadership; rather, it enriched the very fabric of his life, both at work and beyond. With each passing day, as you both navigate the complexities of a relationship built amidst the demands of the BAU, Hotch found himself not just accepting but embracing the vibrant color you brought into his once-monochrome world.

The integration of your meticulous routines into Hotch's daily life was gradual, almost imperceptible at first, until one day he found himself deeply enmeshed in the particulars of your high-maintenance habits. What began as playful observations soon became cherished moments of his day, each routine offering a glimpse into the meticulous and vibrant world you inhabited.

Every evening, as you both prepared for bed, Hotch would lean against the bathroom doorway, watching as you engaged in your elaborate skincare routine. The array of creams, serums, and tools was impressive, and he'd often raise an eyebrow in mock incredulity as you explained the purpose of each one.

“Do you really need all of this?” Hotch would ask, his tone light and teasing as you applied a night serum with precise, practiced motions.

“Absolutely,” you’d reply without missing a beat, your reflection in the mirror smiling back at him. “It’s about maintaining standards, Aaron. You of all people should understand that.”

“I thought we were just going to bed, not preparing for a photo shoot,” Hotch would retort, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile.

“It’s called preventive maintenance,” you’d say, tapping the side of your nose with a finger. “One day, you’ll thank me when we’re both ninety, and I still look seventy.”

Hotch couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the soft notes of the evening. He had to admit, there was a certain peace in these nightly rituals, a tranquility that had seeped into the crevices of his once rigid routine.

Sometimes, you would catch him watching and pull him into the routine, applying a bit of moisturizer to his face with gentle, coaxing motions. “You’ll feel better,” you’d assure him, and he’d comply, not because he believed in the miraculous claims of the products but because it meant more moments shared with you.

On weekends, the rituals would extend to mornings. You’d take your time selecting an outfit, coordinating accessories and makeup with an artist’s eye for detail. Hotch would sit on the bed, coffee in hand, offering the occasional nod or hum of approval as you held up two nearly identical pairs of shoes, asking for his opinion.

“What do you think? The matte or the glossy?” you’d ask, holding them up for him to see.

“The matte,” Hotch would decide after a moment’s consideration. “It’s subtler.”

“Subtle,” you’d repeat, considering this. “I like it. Subtle but effective. Kind of like you.”

The routine wasn’t just about vanity or upkeep—it was a dance, a way of you expressing yourself and inviting him into your world. Hotch found himself missing these interactions whenever you were at your own apartment. The bathroom felt too empty, the mornings too quick and utilitarian. He missed the scent of your skincare products, the sound of your voice explaining the benefits of jasmine oil, or the way you’d ask his opinion on things he’d never considered before.

Even his morning routine had adapted; where once a quick shave sufficed, he now found himself opening your moisturizer, the scent a comforting reminder of you. It was a small concession to the routines you loved, a way of keeping you close even when miles apart.

Through these shared routines, Hotch learned more than just the importance of exfoliation or the difference between matte and glossy finishes. He learned the value of slowing down, of savoring the quiet moments together before the chaos of the day set in. Each ritual, each routine you shared, wove deeper connections between them, turning mundane moments into cherished memories and in doing so, seamlessly blending his life with yours.

With your birthday on the horizon, Hotch was well aware of the intricacies involved in selecting the perfect gift. Your independence and flair for purchasing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted, left little room for him to dazzle you with something unexpected. Yet, the desire to surprise and delight you was strong; he wanted to be the doting boyfriend who could still manage to sweep you off your feet.

One morning, as he was choosing a tie for work, you playfully suggested one that would "match beautifully with my purse—if I had the right shade." The comment was offhand, perhaps even forgetful of the collection you already owned, but it sparked an idea in Hotch's mind.

Later that day, armed with determination, Hotch sought out Garcia. He found her busy at her workstations, screens flickering with data.

"Garcia, could I get your help with something a bit more... personal?" Hotch began, hesitating slightly as he ventured into unfamiliar territory.

Garcia swiveled in her chair, her expression instantly shifting to one of eager attentiveness. "Of course, Hotch! What do you need? Secret admirer codes cracked? Background checks for mysterious suitors?" she quipped, her tone light.

"Actually, I need advice on buying a purse," Hotch admitted, and briefly explained the situation.

"A purse? Oh, for you know who?! This is going to be fun!" Garcia clapped her hands, her earlier levity shifting into focused enthusiasm. "Okay, first things first, we need something as unique and classy as she is. Let’s dive into the world of designer handbags."

Garcia guided him through various high-end brands, explaining the appeal of each. "These are timeless," she pointed out, scrolling through an array of sophisticated designs. "But knowing our girl, something with both function and a high fashion quotient would be ideal."

Hotch listened, absorbing details about textures, colors, and what each brand symbolized. They finally narrowed it down to a few choices, each one reflecting a different aspect of your personality and style.

"This one here," Garcia pointed at a sleek, modern satchel with minimalist design but luxurious detailing, "seems like it could be the perfect accessory for her. It’s stylish but not ostentatious, much like how she approaches her work and personal style."

"It looks great," Hotch agreed, imagining how it would look draped over your shoulder. He made a mental note of the bag and the brand, deciding to do a little more research before making the final purchase.

"Good luck, Hotch! She's going to love whatever you choose because it's from you," Garcia smiled warmly, giving him a thumbs-up as he thanked her and left.

Back at Hotch’s apartment, as you both moved through your evening routine, Hotch found opportunities to subtly probe for more of your preferences without giving away his intentions.

"So, if you were to splurge on something frivolous, what would it be?" Hotch asked casually as you were both settling down with a glass of wine.

"Frivolous?" you chuckled, giving him a playful look. "Isn’t everything I buy somewhat frivolous to you, Mr. Practicality?"

"Perhaps," Hotch conceded with a smile, "but indulge me."

"A purse," you said after a moment, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "A really good, outrageously and stupidly expensive purse that makes me feel like a million bucks when I carry it."

"Sounds like a worthy investment," Hotch replied, his tone teasing but thoughtful. Your eyes met, and there was a spark of something that went beyond the casual banter—a shared understanding and appreciation for these little confessions.

Hotch tucked away every piece of information, each helping him build towards the moment he would present you with the perfect birthday gift. It was more than just a purse; it was a symbol of his attentiveness to your desires and his wish to celebrate everything you were.

But the birthday Hotch had planned for you was supposed to be special, a day to celebrate you in style, with every detail tailored to your liking. Instead, duty called in the form of a particularly tough case that dragged on much longer than anyone had anticipated. The hours turned into days, and by the time it was over, everyone was exhausted, physically and emotionally drained.

As the team began packing up, you sighed heavily, the weight of the last few days evident in your slumped shoulders. "I just want to go back to my apartment," you murmured. "I ran out of clothes, and I forgot half my skincare stuff in the rush out."

Hotch, who had been hoping to salvage what was left of the day, felt a twinge of disappointment. "You could grab what you need and come back to my place," he suggested, trying to keep his tone light, though concern etched his features. He’d go to your place if he could, but Jack was waiting for him. 

You shook your head, fatigue lining your face. "I'm just so tired, Aaron. Let’s just celebrate tomorrow, okay?" Your voice held a note of finality, but also a plea for understanding.

He knew he should let it go…give you the space you needed, but a part of him—the part that had been quietly contemplating a more significant step in your relationship—spoke up. "I was going to bring this up over dinner," Hotch began, his voice steady despite the chaos of the day, "but maybe this is the right moment. You and your... elaborate routines should just move in with me."

Your fatigue momentarily gave way to surprise. "Do you know what you’re getting into? My high maintenance might take over your space," you teased, a faint smile playing at your lips despite the exhaustion.

"Yes," Hotch said firmly, his gaze intense. "I know exactly what I’m getting into, and I love it. I miss it when you’re not there."

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, your smile grew, and the weariness seemed to lift slightly. "You really want me and my half a suitcase of skincare products moving in?"

"Every last bottle and brush," Hotch confirmed, his voice softening. "It’s part of who you are, and I want all of you every day. Not just on good days or birthdays, but every challenging and tiring day too."

Your eyes softened, and you stepped closer, leaning into him slightly. "Okay, but we’re getting a bigger bathroom cabinet," you stipulated, your tone light but sincere.

"It’s a deal," Hotch agreed, wrapping an arm around you. The case had taken much from you both, but at this moment, a new door was opening—a commitment that promised to blend your lives in ways beyond shared cases and briefings.

As you both headed back, the weight of the case still lingering, there was a new undercurrent of hope, of shared futures and bathroom cabinets, a testament to the resilience of your bond.

You decided to pick up a few essentials from your apartment and spend the night at Hotch's place--now your place, too, despite your tiredness. Hotch, feeling a mix of relief and excitement, drove you to your apartment, waiting as you gathered your things.

Inside, you moved efficiently, albeit with a tired grace, packing your cherished skincare products and several outfits. Hotch leaned against the doorway, watching as you filled a small suitcase with what seemed to him an elaborate array of potions and tools. Each item was carefully selected, a ritual that he found both fascinating and slightly amusing.

“You sure you’ve got enough there for just one night?” Hotch teased lightly, his eyes twinkling with humor.

You glanced over your shoulder, a playful smirk on your lips. “This is the streamlined version, believe it or not. You might have to rent the apartment next door.”

“I’ll consult the landlord tomorrow,” Hotch quipped, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

Back at his apartment, as you began setting out your skincare products in the bathroom, Hotch watched for a moment, his mind returning to the gift he’d carefully hidden away—something he hoped would make your day a little brighter after the tough case.

“Hey,” Hotch called softly, capturing your attention as you meticulously arranged your items. “I have something for you. I was saving it for a proper celebration, but I think tonight is as good a time as any.”

Your curiosity piqued, you followed him to the living room, where he retrieved a small, elegantly wrapped box from a drawer. Handing it to you, he watched as your eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and anticipation lighting up your features.

You unwrapped the box with a gentle precision, and as you lifted the lid and saw the purse—a beautiful, designer pocketbook that perfectly matched the sophisticated style you cherished—your expression transformed into one of sheer delight.

“Aaron, this is beautiful,” you breathed out, carefully pulling the purse from the box. You admired the craftsmanship, running your fingers over the smooth leather and the detailed stitching.

“It reminded me of you,” Hotch said, his voice sincere. “Elegant, practical, and incredibly stylish. Happy Birthday.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining not just from the beauty of the gift but from the thoughtfulness behind it. “I love it,” you said, stepping closer to wrap your arms around him in a heartfelt embrace. “Thank you; this is the best end to a rough day.”

Hotch held you close, his heart swelling with the joy of seeing you so happy. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you smile like that,” he murmured into your hair, feeling the weight of the case and the fatigue of the day finally begin to lift.

As you pulled back slightly, still holding the purse, you teased, “Does this mean I get a new purse for every rough case?”

“Birthdays,” Hotch corrected with a gentle smile, his gaze softening as he added, “You make it incredibly hard for me to spoil you more than I already wish to.”

You laughed, a sound that Hotch had come to cherish deeply. “I’ll try to be less self-sufficient in the future,” you quipped, clutching the new purse a little closer as if it were a treasured award.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about your independence,” Hotch replied earnestly. “It’s one of the many things I admire about you. But allow me the occasional indulgence of spoiling you, especially on days like today.”

The purse, an elegant and thoughtful gift, lay between you on the coffee table, symbolizing not just a celebration of your birthday but of the new phase in your relationship. The evening settled into a comfortable rhythm, the earlier tension from the case dissolving into the background as you both enjoyed the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

With the challenges of the case behind you and the warmth of your shared space around you, Hotch felt a profound sense of contentment. This was more than just a birthday celebration—it was a reaffirmation of your partnership, a testament to how deeply your lives had intertwined.

As you both relaxed into the sofa, the conversation drifted from light teasing to deeper, more introspective topics. Every so often, your hand would brush against the purse, a physical reminder of Hotch’s affection and attention to what brought you joy.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you said again, your voice lower, more reflective as the night wore on. “For understanding me, even when I think I don’t need anything.”

Hotch reached over, his hand finding yours, squeezing it gently. “You don’t need to thank me for that,” he murmured. “It’s just another part of our journey together. And I’m grateful for every step we take, side by side.”

The purse remained on the table, a beacon of new beginnings and mutual understanding, as you both shared the quiet comfort of knowing you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns

[sweetlyvibe]

TENDING TO YOU

Atsumu Miya’s day started like any other, with volleyball practice at Inarizaki. But when their captain, Kita, called for a brief team meeting before warmups, something felt off.

“The manager won’t be with us for a while,” Kita said, straightforward as always. “She’s caught a pretty bad cold, so she’ll need to rest. I’ve arranged for a substitute to step in temporarily.”

Atsumu’s heart skipped a beat. You were sick? He didn’t even notice you feeling unwell yesterday. He leaned forward, hands bracing on his knees, eyes fixed on Kita as if the captain might reveal more. He didn’t like this at all.

“You all better behave for the substitute,” Kita continued. “I’ll bring some supplies to her after practice. Make sure she has everything she needs.”

But Atsumu’s mind was already running wild. You were home, probably curled up in bed, miserable and alone. The idea of you being sick without anyone by your side didn’t sit right with him. Without thinking twice, he bolted out of the gym before Kita could finish.

“I’ll go!”

The knock on my door was loud enough to startle me, even in my feverish state. Sitting up slowly, I blinked at the door, confused. Kita told me he would drop by later, but it was way too soon. Did he skip practice for me?

Groaning, I shuffled over to the door, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. When I opened it, though, the last person I expected to see stood there.

“Tsumu?” I croaked, disbelief making me blink again. “What are you doing here?”

There he was, Atsumu Miya, holding two shopping bags in each hand, his face flushed—either from sprinting over or the awkwardness he was clearly not used to feeling. His hair was a mess, and his jacket was slipping off one shoulder. He looked as flustered as I felt.

“I, uh…” He hesitated for the briefest moment before stepping inside, as if he owned the place. “Kita was gonna bring this stuff over, but I thought I’d save him the trouble.” His voice was casual, but his eyes were scanning me like he was trying to figure out what to do next.

“You… skipped practice?” I asked, my throat scratchy as I spoke.

Atsumu put the bags down, suddenly busying himself with pulling out tissues, medicine, a water bottle, and… a can of soup? The guy bought canned soup. How could I not laugh at that?

“I couldn’t focus knowing you’re sick,” he muttered, half-avoiding eye contact. His voice softened. “Besides, that substitute manager isn’t gonna do the job half as good as ya do.”

I watched him fumble around my small kitchen, acting way more comfortable than he had any right to be in my space. It was kind of sweet, even if he looked absolutely lost. Atsumu Miya, the loud, confident setter who could command a court like no one else, was completely out of his element here.

“Tsumu, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” he cut me off, voice softer than usual. “You need to rest, and I’m here to help. So let me.”

It was clear he had no clue what he was doing. He kept glancing around, probably wondering what else he should be doing. But the effort—God, it made my chest feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fever.

I smiled, despite myself, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. He was trying so hard, even if he was in over his head.

“Fine,” I murmured, feeling too tired to argue. “But at least let me show you how to heat up the soup properly.”

He grinned at me, the smugness returning just a bit. “I knew you’d need me.”

Rolling my eyes, I tugged the blanket tighter around me and sat on the couch. Maybe Atsumu was inexperienced at taking care of someone, but the way he tried—earnest, awkward, and just a little bit proud—was enough to make me feel better already.

[pholla-jm]

Pretty Boy

IMAGINE: PRETTY BOY~ SANJI X F!READER GENRE: FLUFF WARNINGS: NONE ************************

Sanji flirts with any woman with a pair of legs, and you were definitely no exception. His straightforward techniques kind of made you scared, and shy away a little. Especially since his techniques were very different from yours. He was upfront about it, straight forward. 

You on the hand were very subtle with it. Dropping hints here and there. Making them question what just happened and let them ponder about you. You were all about personal space, eye contact, and body language. You weren’t one for words. 

For personal space, you didn’t get too much in his personal space, but just enough to make him freeze up. For example, when you were in the kitchen grabbing a drink or a small drink. Sanji usually tries to stop you from getting it, claiming that you shouldn’t have to do any physical labor while you are around. 

“It’s okay,” you softly say, reaching your arm around him, not really moving from your spot, “I’m a big girl. I can do it myself.” Sanji swears his heart stops at hearing your words. You were close to him, but not close enough. He could smell the faint trace of your perfume, and all he wants to do is pull you in closer to feel your warmth and smell more of your lotion/perfume. However, he holds himself back every single time. He swears he has the willpower of a god for not craving into his desires. 

For eye contact, you like to use something called the ‘lash method’. Every once in a while, when Sanji makes eye contact, you initiate the lash method. 

Sanji was clearing up the kitchen. Beside him, you were the last one in the room. 

“I can get that out of the way for you.” He says, offering to grab your now finished plate. You look up at him to see that he was holding a hand out. The light behind him made him almost ethereal. You look slightly back down at the empty plate, then back at him. But you didn’t move your head up. Instead, you looked back at him through your lashes. 

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” You say and his heart beats about ten times faster. 

He would serve you forever, just to have you look at him like that again. 

Body language is very important to you. When you can understand how to read a person, it is very easy to understand them. So you employ this language as well. Positive things that you did around Sanji included, constantly smiling, leaning in slightly, mirroring his actions, and tilting your head slightly while he was talking to you. 

Sanji definitely noticed this body language from you. And he enjoyed it very much. Especially when you leaned in slightly into his touch. 

But one night, you decide to be bold. Really get his heart beating and his brain to stop working. 

One night you offer to help Sanji with the dishes after a rather large dinner. So there were a lot of dishes. 

“Are you sure you want to wash the dishes, mi amor? I wouldn’t want your hands to get pruny.” 

You turn around, to see that Sanji was right behind you. So you had to tilt your head up slightly to look at him. He had a small pout on his lips, the mere idea of you doing physical labor bothering him. But he knew if he told you, you would only fight back. And he definitely didn’t want to do that. 

You smile up at him. The same smile that causes butterflies to swarm his stomach. 

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. That’s what gloves are for. I’ll be fine.” 

Sanji swears his brain stops working. Only one word repeating in his head. 

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty. 

Once you see his reaction, you couldn’t help but giggle a little before turning back around to head to the sink. 

“You think I’m pretty?” He finally speaks up. 

“Of course,” you say, turning your head slightly with a small smile on your face, “you are my pretty boy afterall.” 

His heart skips multiple beats at your words. He put a hand on his chest, trying to calm down his heart. “You’re going to be the death of me…” He mutters. 

Of course you hear his words and laugh.

[cheezbites]

Dating Ghost -- Part 4

✎: HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!! Ending 2024 off with a part 4 to my Ghost headcanons series!🤭

♡Summary: Headcanons of dating Ghost.

︵‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Bf!Ghost lets you drag him along to parties. You received a last-minute invitation to this big New Year's party, and he already knew there's no way you'll miss it. He doesn't protest. In fact, he doesn't even mind. He found himself mildly enjoying the company of other people, picking up on bits and pieces of meaningful conversations such as their resolutions, hopes or big plans for the year ahead of them.

His attention, however, is almost entirely fixed on you. Whether you’re catching up with someone you know or heading off to grab another drink, his sharp eyes follow your every move, ensuring you’re always within his sight.

As the clock nears striking midnight, the big countdown begins and the room almost instantaneously buzzes with excitement and anticipation. Ghost gently pulls you into his arms, tuning out the raucous cheers and clinking glasses around you. He kisses you softly, his masked demeanor melting away in the intimacy of the moment.

“Guess you’re stuck with me for another year, eh? Don’t know how you do it.”

Bf!Ghost loves the idea of cozying up at home with you. The world outside is cheery and loud: groups of friends heading to or returning from clubs, the occasional firework bursting in the sky, and the distant hum of cars as people race to make it home before midnight. But his world—being you—is cozily inside with him. A bottle of champagne, your favorite cheesy sitcom playing on the TV, and a soft blanket draped over the both of you, making the moment so effortlessly perfect.

Bf!Ghost keeps in contact with you, no matter where he is, this man will find a way. His texts range from sarcastic remarks to just random snapshots of his day. He has this knack for making you laugh with his dry humour and cheeky quips.

"Guess what I had to deal with today? Idiots."

*(Attached: A photo of some destroyed expensive looking military equipment) "Just a bunch of idiots."

Or, out of nowhere, a photo of a random animal he saw, captioned: “This you?”

Bf!Ghost isn’t the type to sit down and plan New Year’s resolutions. It’s just not his thing—too much fuss over things he figures he’ll do anyway. But with you, it’s become a tradition. He always kept his short and practical, things like, “Stick to the training routine,” or “Get the truck serviced.” Straightforward. No fluff. But every single time, you'd make sure to add an impossibly unachievable one regarding Simon, like “Convince Simon to wear a ridiculous party hat.”

But little does he know, you’ve got your ways. It's not even February, but he’s sitting on the couch with a sparkly, oversized party hat perched on his head. He grumbles something about how you’re impossible, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that he can’t hide.

His biggest resolution this year is different, though. It’s more personal: “Learn to take a proper holiday with you.” He’s honest about it—years have gone by without him truly relaxing, and he knows he owes it to himself—and to you—to find that peace.

He secretly loves when you set a goal for the both of you, like planning a getaway or trying a new hobby together. Even though he pretends it’s all “your idea,” he’s all in from the start. It’s the kind of commitment he doesn’t say out loud, but you can see it in the way he clears his schedule, shows up on time, and puts his whole heart into whatever you’re doing. With Simon, even the smallest resolutions become something meaningful when it’s with you.

Bf!Ghost stares. A lot. But not in a creepy way, but in a way that makes you feel like you're the only person in the room, and that's if you notice--most of the time you don't. When he zeroes in on you, it's like he's in a sort of daze and there's a softness that momentarily lingers in the creases of his eyes.

"Y'know, you always do that thing..." You mention whilst glancing over at him. He was leaning back on the couch, casually sipping on his drink with his eyes fixed on you.

"What thing?"

You tilt your head and a smile plays at your lips. "Stare."

He just shrugs like it's no big deal. But you can tell by the shift in his gaze that it means more. “I like looking at you,” he says, voice low and quiet, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Bf!Ghost keeps a picture of you in his wallet, hidden among the military IDs and mission cards. It's just a photo, after all—nothing to make a fuss over. But the way his fingers linger on it when he's pulling out his cards or the small smile that tugs at his lips when he sees it tells a different story.

Bf!Ghost holds onto little souvenirs from your outings and dates. The ticket from the first movie you saw together? It's in a safe place in his drawer. A napkin with a doodle you drew as you were chattering away with your friends on the phone, laughing about silly gossip? That's tucked into his wallet, next to your picture.

Bf!Ghost surprises you with these small, simple decorations when the New Year rolls around, like some dazzling fairy lights twinkling in the corner or some sparklers at night. When you asked him about him, he just shrugs with a nonchalant look and says, "Felt like it."

But deep down, you know it's because he loves seeing you get excited or surprised whenever he does something special, even if it's out of the usual for him. He's secretly a sucker for seeing you get all thrilled over new beginnings,

Bf!Ghost discovers you putting together a messy craft project, showcasing all your favourite memories from 2024. You've been in and out of rooms, running around to fetch a variety of creative supplies and being careful to not prick your foot with scissors or knock over an unscrewed glitter jar on your way back.

"What do we have here?" He asked, leaning against the doorframe and observing as you neatly trimmed a photograph to stick onto your collage.

"A time capsule, right? But make it *aesthetic*." You answer, still focusing on the right place to glue this photo of him (he didn't even realise you took it) onto your collage.

Stepping into the room, he watches you rearrange and readjust bits of paper as you searched for the perfect combination. He decided to make himself useful, sitting across from you and quietly helping with cutting things out for you or suggesting ideas. Every little thing he does makes the process a little smoother. He's there, helping you build something together—just like he’s always there for the bigger moments.

Bf!Ghost finally lets you paint his nails after what seemed like hours of pleading and begging--but just one, which was perfect for what you were trying to do, anyway.

You chose his thumb so you can have more efficient and visually representative thumb wars, of course. I don't know how this man does it, but every time he wins. His true competitive nature comes out in a good old fashioned thumb war. But it's also another excuse to hold your hand and hear you giggling as you thrash about and try cheating your way through getting his thumb cornered.

You carefully painted it black and added a tiny ghost doodle in white, refining all the details in black with a tiny and precise brush.

"Fits, don't touch think?" You teased, holding it up for him to inspect.

But you didn't want Ghost Jr. to feel left out, so you got a matching one. (But yours is pink, of course). Whenever you held his hand, you always dubbed them as 'best buddies' and pressed your thumbs together, making hand holding all the more special to you guys.

Masterlist

🌸Part One

🌸Part Two

🌸Part Three

✎: This one felt super short to me, but that only means there's more works to comeeesej!!😝 SHARE YOUR RESOLUTIONS IN THE COMMENTS I'D LOVE TO HEAR🩷 Mine's to stop perfectionism and procrastinating.. nasty habit of mine😭 hence the super long writing hiatus--but she's BACKK💕🫶 I missed you guys so much!!1!1!

[pucksandpower]

Grid Kids: Escapades

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: everyone’s favorite grid family takes on their biggest challenge yet … an escape room

Series Masterlist

“Alright, who thought it would be a good idea to lock a bunch of F1 drivers in a room and expect them to work together to get out?” Charles grumbles, eyeing the cryptic clues scattered around the dimly lit space.

George smirks, picking up a coded message. “Well you’ve had plenty of practice trying to decipher Ferrari’s strategy lately, so maybe you’ve got an advantage here?”

The room erupts in laughter as Charles feigns a wounded expression. “Low blow, George! Do I not suffer enough already?”

Lando, fidgeting with what looks like an ancient artifact, suddenly blurts out, “Do you think this is like a button or something?” Before anyone can respond, there’s an audible snap and the artifact falls apart in his hands.

“Seriously, Lando?” Max exclaims, shaking his head in amusement. “First my trophy, now this? Hands off everything, please!”

You chuckle, patting Lando’s back consolingly. “It’s alright. Maybe breaking things is part of the puzzle?”

Lance, busy trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, adds, “At this rate, we’re never getting out of here.”

Mick, focusing on a puzzle piece, comments, “We’ve only got an hour, guys. Let’s get serious.”

Sebastian begins delegating. “Alright, George and Max, you handle the codes. Mick, Charles, focus on the physical puzzles. Lance, Lando — just ... try not to break anything else.”

As the room buzzes with activity, you can’t help but think that this is one of the best ideas you’ve had in a while. It’s hilarious watching these fiercely competitive drivers work together in a situation that doesn’t involve cars and tracks.

After a series of (mostly) successful problem-solving attempts, a loud buzzer sounds, indicating you’re out of time. The doors swing open, revealing a grinning staff member.

“You were only one clue away!” she exclaims, clapping. “Not bad for a first attempt!”

Max looks around the room, a smirk forming. “Well, if Lando didn’t break that artifact, maybe we would’ve made it.”

Lando throws his hands up defensively. “Hey! I added character to the room.”

Everyone bursts into laughter, making their way out. Another day, another adventure — this one off the track.

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sebastian mutters, amusement evident in his eyes, as he steps into the living room. There are strings hanging from the ceiling, makeshift locks on the furniture, and “cryptic” clues pinned everywhere, like Look UNDER the couch, accompanied by a not-so-subtle arrow pointing downwards.

You, equally surprised and amused, chuckle. “What in the world happened here?”

Charles steps forward, barely containing his laughter. “Welcome to the Grand Prix Escape Room! Guaranteed to be at least 90% more escape-able than the one we failed at.”

George adds, pointing to a padlocked fridge, “I did the food clues. Trust me, they’re the most challenging.”

Max chimes in, “And Lando ... well, we didn’t let him touch anything breakable this time.”

Lando mock-pouts, “One little accident and suddenly I’m the family menace.”

Lance hands you a paper that reads The KEY to success is WHERE you eat BREAKFAST. He grins, “That’s my contribution. Top tier clue, right?”

Mick has a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “I suggest you look in very obvious places. We wouldn’t want this to be too hard.”

As you and Sebastian navigate through the hilariously straightforward challenges — like the “hidden” key taped directly next to the padlocked fridge or the note on the oven saying THIS IS NOT A CLUE, just wanted to remind you we have pie — it becomes clear that this isn’t about the challenge at all.

It’s about laughter, family, and the simple joy of being together.

After an entertaining fifteen minutes, which involves Sebastian dramatically pretending to struggle with a code that's simply “1234,” you successfully escape.

Mick raises a toast with room temperature champagne (they forgot to place it in the fridge before it was padlocked), “To the greatest escape artists in the world!”

You laugh, “And to the best, most creative grid kids in the universe!”

***

You wake up to the soft chimes of your alarm, stretching lazily before noticing an envelope on your bedside table. Scrawled on it in mismatched rainbow crayons is Mission: Breakfast Heist.

Opening the note, you read:

Dear Y/N and Seb,

Your breakfast has been stolen! To get it back, follow the clues and embark on a thrilling adventure. Also, no cheating by ordering takeout!

The Breakfast Bandits (aka your grid kids)

Amused, you head downstairs, following a trail of strategically placed toast crumbs. In the kitchen, you find another note taped to the coffee machine: To get your morning brew, tell us a joke that’s new!

Sebastian, rubbing sleep from his eyes, joins you and declares, “Why did the coffee file a police report? It got mugged!” Mick appears from behind you, making both of you jump, and hands you two cups of coffee before backing away silently.

Chuckling, you move on to find that on the fridge, instead of a padlock, there’s a touchpad with a question on its digital display: What’s hot yet cool at the same time?

You ponder it for a moment, thinking of all the possible answers. Sebastian, catching on to the playful challenge set by the grid kids, smirks and says, “It’s the Iceman, isn’t it?”

You both laugh, with you playfully nudging Sebastian, “I always knew you thought Kimi was hot.”

Entering K-I-M-I on the touchpad, the fridge beeps in agreement and swings open, revealing a lavish breakfast spread and a note that reads: Breakfast is served! We might have kept it under lock and key but only to make it special. Enjoy!

From the doorway, the “Breakfast Bandits” applaud, their faces beaming with mischief.

Lance grins, “Took you long enough! And Seb, never knew you had a thing for Kimi.”

Charles joins in the teasing, “Seems like there are still some secrets in the paddock!”

Sebastian playfully rolls his eyes, “At least my secret doesn’t involve singing into a hairbrush every night before bed.”

Charles blushes as the room bursts into laughter. “Who told you about that?” he exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Lando, who’s trying hard (and failing miserably) to stifle his giggles.

Lando attempts to defend himself through his laughter, “It wasn’t me! But if we’re confessing, who knew that Seb’s haircare routine involved more products than all of ours combined?”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “Gotta keep the locks looking good, don’t I?”

Max interjects, “Well, if we’re on the topic of secrets, who wants to bet on how many stuffed animals Lando has on his bed?”

Lando gasps dramatically, “Betrayed by my own brothers! Next time, I’m hiding them all in George’s room!”

[b0tsbby]

Signifying Meaning in Tristamp’s Vash and Knives S1 Designs and Visual Cues: Part 1

TLDR: How Everything but Stamp’s dialogue supports it’s characters

With the release of Trigun Stargaze looming over our heads, I wanted to look back at the Season of Trigun Stampede and really commerarate the efforts of Orange on what I think, was clever character design.

As I am not an Orange employee, I have no idea if any of this is true or even intended, but creativity lies in speculation, and analysis is really fun for me so here we go.

(If you didn’t know, I started this back in early 2024, but got hit with life and my short attention span. Better late than never.)

Tristamp spoilers and potential 98/Max spoilers.

Millions Knives

Part 1 goes to my almost favourite twin to think about, naturally. That means the elusive and infamous Stampede Millions Knives. I’ll be looking through both the character designs as they change throughout the season, with the omission of Nai and Vash on the ship as kids, as the twins hadn’t really diverged on their separate paths here.

Ep.3: A coat of one million knives

This is where it all begins. Episode 3, the alien man in a chromium coat of a million knives.

Now, Knives’ coat holds a plethora of meanings. It’s his shield, it’s his weapon, it’s what separates from him and humanity. It’s his comfort, his safety, his very own butterfly cocoon.

I feel the shield/weapon meanings are quite straightforward: This coat is impenetrable. It’s also deadly. It’s what Millions Knives shows up with to cover his ass at Jeneora rock, despite his very clear god complex.

And in that way, we’re already given simultaneously very little, and a lot to work off of, mimicking a lot of his Stampede arc in general. We can’t see past the coat, Knives has already been introduced as a mystery, but that in itself, tells us he doesn’t want to be seen. Doesn't want to be touched by both the hands and minds of the humans he deems less than him.

Furthermore, this coat is how he separates himself, physically and visually, from humanity. Beyond simply shrouding himself in mystery, Knives’s coat is aesthetically foreign and alien. It is how he ‘others’ himself on his first appearance. He’s not a part of humanity and dismisses embracing it even slightly. He is a singular, isolated entity. A herder among a flock of wild sheep. An angel among men.

But not a God.

The shape of the coat resembling a blanket is not lost on me. Please take note of the bubble formations that are littered everywhere on it, mimicking bubble wrap.

So we have a coat that looks like a blanket (warmth, safety) and is textured closely to what we could perceive as bubble wrap (again, protection but also comfort), and considering the coat is an extension of himself, (I can even go as far to say that, it is quite literally made of himself), his mental state is manifested into the physical. He is a man (or, more accurately a plant) bubbled up, kept safe and warm in his own embrace, much like his mind is coddled, isolated and protected by only his own ideas. Someone stubbornly stuck in their own world, in their own head.

While his 98/Max iterations are not any less intimidating, Stampede Knives (in S1 anyway) takes a completely different visual direction because truthfully he is a different character.

Alas, there's one more thing we can relate his coat to.

Most importantly, Knives' coat is a cocoon. I believe this was confirmed by Orange themself, but nonetheless it’s the most logical connection we can make, because I can distinctly remember the theme of butterflies in another Trigun iteration.

It’s a great callback to the symbolism in 98, and extends the butterfly metaphor across the whole season. We’re seeing what comes before the butterfly, the cocoon, where the cocoon symbolises, not vulnerability but metamorphosis.

And I think in a Stampede season 1 context, this is a huge revelation.

Hold that metamorphosis thought though. Let’s keep going.

Ep. 9: Where Knives doesn’t know who he is either.

I struggled analysing Knives design as a teenager for a while. It contradicted a lot of the ideas and cues I picked up in his older design.

Until I realised that’s the point.

While Tristamp takes a different direction in constructing Knives as a character, I’d like to assume some significant Maximum events still will occur in some way for the purpose of this. In that way, this is the first time we see Knives as a child, sometime after the fall but significantly before the July incident, the midpoint between his initial strike against humanity and the event that would lead to his resurrection as the brand new Millions Knives.

That said, Knives design choice here actually communicates his mental state and the strength of his morals and values at this point so incredibly. He is, conflicted, at best. Scared, confused and too unsure of himself to confidently embrace his planthood, instead still wearing clothes like humans and a cape to cover himself, over his plant undersuit.

Teenage Knives’ design comes across a lot like an underdog, a heroic saviour from the shadows. This is where he establishes himself as Millions Knives, but doesn’t exactly dismiss the existence of Nai, the boy raised by a human, and ‘betrayed’ by a human, completely. Millions Knives exists as a name, but still holds no real meaning yet. He’s fear driven with no real goal at this stage, despite what he says…as usual. He is also still the Knives that hasn’t constructed an identity to distract him from his underlying trauma.

Spoiler for Max and Trigger Warning for Self Harm up ahead: In Max we are shown that Knives bites his nails to the point of bleeding after discovering his sister. While it’s purely speculation, the inclusion of a bandage around Knives right arm could allude to some self harm occurring behind the scenes. Knowing he works with Conrad at this stage though, it could also suggest an undergoing of various experiments or tests.

Ep. 11 - 12 : Something to desire, someone to lose, somewhere to belong

And here comes the truly terrible pinnacle of Knives arc in S1, one I’d almost rather forget entirely. But like unraveling an onion while crying through it, at this point we get to the core of his design.

Right off the bat with the metamorphosis theme! Knives in the finale, represents a freshly emerged butterfly. His design signifies the birth of a whole new form. (He did jump out of his cocoon shaped coat so).

Many of the basic design ideas from episode three can be repeated here. Knives rejects humanity completely, going so much as to not wear anything not fashioned from his own skin. Knives takes some superior pride in his planthood. Though fitting for his character, there’s a bit of circular logic in how this is presented to us.

Orange takes a really interesting approach by making his ideal physical image the height of human desirablity, something so conventionally perfect to human standards.

Now If you’ve dabbled in art history you know, the obsession with the ideal human form in highly religious, mythical contexts and political settings is not really hard to find in classical art. However one distinct group really stands out when analysing Knives whole, thing, and that’s the Ancient Greeks (and Romans, if I may add dear Lady Justice.)

“Classical Greek sculpture aimed to depict the human form in its most beautiful and balanced state.” - Anna Gustafsson via The Collector, (2024)

Like most archaic societies, art was made as a tribute to gods, goddesses and heroes, this was naturally no different for Ancient Greece, particularly in sculpted works. My main idea turns to the aesthetic conventions of these sculptures, with idealistic realism of the athletic human form being the ultimate goal.

The Ancient Greek obsession with the human body and athletic skill was so prevalent during the Classical era, that athletes competed in the nude to essentially show off. Damn.

The artistic resemblance is something I find noteworthy, and if I’m being honest deeply appreciated as an art kid who loved theory more than the actual art-making, a lot.

And oh how well it works with this particularly narcissistic iteration of this character. While I’m not stupid, and aware that Orange could simply have made the decision to get some money out of reliable ‘ol fan service, it’s also not, completely out of character. It’s incredible funny how Knives finds a sense of safety in being different, and yet, he couldn’t fall any harder into the trap of conformity any harder if he tried. Finding his insecurities around his planthood in his childhood pretty easily, it makes sense why subconsciously he’d find pride, in not being human, but being human better than everyone else actually. I wouldn’t expect less from someone who renounces humanity while using quotes from checks notes the fucking BIBLE.

There’s a sadness to this idea as well. While I do think Knives finds some form of solace in being ‘perfect’, his objectification because of this decision almost feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Knives does becomes an idea, a dream, an exotic fantasy, for better or worse. In my opinion, this type of attention, is not something he’d want, but it makes me wonder, with his cult and all, how different from Vash he really is, simply masking the want to be admired, accepted, desired by humans with indifference and superiority.

P.S I also just like how this reference insinuates he’s so fucking dramatic and living life with a bizarre form of theatre kid main character syndrome ANYWHO-

It’s here we see even in his design, Knives starts to adopt the same human mentalities that triggered this existential flight or fight response of his to begin with.

What really supports this point for me, is the fact his design changes (or is ‘revealed’) after he makes the conscious choice to cut the rope of Vahs’s grappling hook, dropping him into the tank below. (Someone else please pick up on this umbilical cord symbolism, because i do not have the space to do it in this essay! Sublime level of detail.)

I’d like to first thank my bestie and much more knowledgeable beta reader @rainbowfoam for bringing this next point to my attention. There’s really a constant push and pull between this idea of rejection and subconscious embracing of humanity. The whole concept of his ‘nudity’ also could be tied back to the book of Genesis. Knives reverts to a state back before the forbidden fruit of knowledge was bitten. After all, Adam and Eve had not known shame before committing this sinful act.

So, Knives presents himself as this pure, unadulterated form, even if he has already had a bite of the apple, even if the knowledge of Tesla and humanity has injected him with shame and fear. He knows, but he wants to desperately go back to when he didn’t. When he was but a child under God’s gaze. This driving force to go back, and rewrite his story is an integral part of his character in S1.

Meaning and what can be associated with humanity in each brother’s eyes is actually incredibly important. Ya know, one of the obvious conflicts that drive Trigun!

Humanity to Vash means, change, a chance to grow. Humanity to Knives, means violence and betrayal and exploitation etc.

So when we see Knives reject human norms like human clothing to the best of his ability in Trigun Stampede Season 1, we are seeing a Knives that is still emotionally affected and steered by his childhood fears enough to consciously reject his perceived idea of humanity. We are seeing a Knives that is still consciously driven by his hatred for/fear of humanity more than his concern for his sisters.

And that fear for what he believes humanity stands for, unfortunately, is a part of him. It is a part of who he is after Tesla. Take that away…and you don’t have any semblance of Nai anymore.

So why I say having Knives in that silly ass plant marked under suit exclusively, was such an incredible design choice is because it shows that Knives is at a middle point in his arc where yes he’s crossed the line to controlling, abusive but he still closely holds the genuine childhood fears of Nai to motivate him. He still holds the hopes of Nai with him. To reiterate, he’s prepared to do anything to rewrite his childhood, to give the child within himself another chance.

But that never happens and the reality that he can’t go back and recreate the love he felt on Ship 5, is staring him in the face as he hurtles to his death. It’s why some of his last words to Vash in the finale were so significant. Not all of Nai died when he saw Tesla. Nai truly died at July.

To conclude, a lot of the themes in Tristamp revolve around the formation of identity in this post-fall landscape, and how each character changes so rapidly. Knives is no exception to the very messy and adolescent struggle of being shoved into adulthood while still desperately, irrationally clinging to the frayed ends of an unattainable childhood. I think if there’s one character really let down by his dialogue, it’s this guy. I’ve come to hope that that too, was furthering this idea of him holding an invisible wall between the audience and his true character. (Quite a lot implies that the Knives of this season is a big fucking fraud but idk.) In that regard I love dissecting Knives specifically, because I find this iteration particularly enigmatic.

Part 2- Vash the Stampede

[gay-dorito-dust]

Oh, should i request it again then?

Damian pining after a male reader, its like his first big crush, its like their first patrol and damians all like "should i confess or nauh..."

Damian didn’t do feelings, or at least he liked to say he didn’t but in actuality he was raised by those who felt that emotions hindered his potential, his progress and thus installed the idea that the moment he started to feel something; he was bound to become a dead man.

So when he realised that he was developing a crush on you- a fellow vigilante- Damian knew he was a man doomed to fall upon his sword because he felt as though he needed to keep you safe, despite knowing well enough that you were capable of taking care of yourself if you managed to stay alive as long as you had.

However main couldn’t help but notice how vastly different you both were from one another. He had rough edges, a sandpaper like surface that felt like thousands of sharp teeth like fangs, he wasn’t exactly a welcoming presence to others; unlike you as you were the exact opposite of him. You were soft yet firm, strong enough to be able to give other kindness, and wielded a will power of pure iron and unyielding strength to push through any and all adversity.

A true reason for people to hope for a brighter future in comparison to him, but as Dick told him once, opposites attract and it was only natural for Damian to feel pulled towards you that he couldn’t explain. He still couldn’t explain it and it sent him mad at most times, but now that he was here with you on patrol, he couldn’t help but feel that things were becoming clear to him now as your presence tended to clear the fog within his head and help things seem clearer then before.

Now Damian faced a completely different challenge, should he confess to you of his innermost feelings, or remain true to what he was taught and keep the emotions within his chest until he -or they- died. This conflict raged even more within poor Damian as his shoulder brushes yours ever so slightly, causing his breath to hitch and his body to straighten upon instinct, all the while you only smiled at him and Damian damned his heart for speeding up at the sight of such a small thing.

‘You okay dami? You seem a little more brooding than usual.’ You said teasingly.

‘It’s nothing.’ He replied straightforward, his eyes firmly locked on the city you both swore to better, to protect and change.

You furrowed your brows, concerned. ‘Are you sure? If you don’t feel up to going on patrol with me I can always get dick to-‘

‘No.’ Damian almost shouted at the idea of having to deal with his brother talking his ear off about how he missed his opportunity to confess to you tonight, and how he’ll have to try and find another way to set you and him up on a mission. ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I’m sorry if I come off as snippy or rude.’ You smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing as all Damian could do was get lost within your gaze, words that he wanted to say died on his tongue as his mind blanked everything out but you.

‘Good, I wouldn’t want my Damian to get bored of me now.’ You joked as you patted his shoulder twice before letting your hand drop to your side again before choosing to overlook the city yourself. Unaware that Damian’s eyes had long shifted to you in the process. He hated how you made him feel but didn’t want to live in a life without it either, it was the most frustrating thing he’s ever felt but yet the most beautiful and he wanted to explore it deeper, it reminded him of how he often had issues with how his art came off a times to the point he had to redo the entire piece all over again.

‘Bored? You’re the only person I can wilfully tolerate on patrols.’ Damian found himself saying upon instinct but thankfully for him, you didn’t think more of it other than him being blunt.

‘I’m glad because I’m staring to like you Damian.’ You admitted.

Damian wondered whether you knew what you were saying and the way they made him feel half of the time, but at least you were more open with your emotions then him, so when Damian went back to the thought of confession to you he decided that tonight wouldn’t be the night; he still had time to do so and besides Damian didn’t fell it would be appropriate to confess on a patrol, perhaps an outing with his dogs would suffice instead?

[elllisaaa]

enhypen as love songs

-> pairing : enha x fem!reader

-> words count : 3.8k words

-> genre : friends-to-lovers, strangers-to-lovers, established relationships, crush

-> warnings : self-depraciating thoughts, mentions of having difficult relationships

-> sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | enha masterlist | 1k event masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

-> Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey

"they say i’m too young to love you, i don’t know what i need, they think i don’t understand."

→ “- Are you really sure you want to move in with him ?”

That was the question everyone asked you when you announced that you and Heeseung were going to rent an apartment together. Your family was a little suspicious, and everyone thought that you were going to break up very soon after moving in together, that it wouldn’t last. 

“- Don’t you think we’re too young, Hee ?”

He looked down at you, wearing his shirt and nestled in his arms. Even if you had made that choice together, Heeseung had always been more straightforward, but he never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to. People always assumed that your relationship wouldn’t last, but seeing you so cozy in his arms, in your shared apartment, made him realize that everyone was wrong about the two of you.

“- No, for me everything is perfect. You’re perfect, and we’re doing perfectly fine.”

Heeseung caressed your cheek tenderly, the smile on your lips as you closed your eyes and kissed his knuckles telling him all the things you didn’t say.

“- Yeah, I think we’re perfect too.

- Then don’t worry about anyone else, yeah ? I love you.”

And he was right, because you’ve never felt better than when you came home to him and his warm smile cooking for you.

"and my boyfriend’s in a band, he plays guitar while i sing lou reed."

→ You had always been Heeseung’s number one supporter, always here to cheer him up, and even if he loved his fans, your encouragement and your presence was always what he looked up to when he was about to perform. 

“- Baby, do you think we could sing together one day ?”

You looked at him as if a third eye had suddenly popped on his forehead. He had a heavenly voice and he wanted you to sing with him ? The idea was almost laughable but you knew just by the look in his eyes that he was more than serious about the matter. 

“- I don’t know… You’re the expert, not me. But I do love when we’re doing our karaoke night, though…

- One day, I’m going to convince you and I’ll play that at our wedding.”

You slapped him for making you blush like that, and he only chuckled and pecked your lips because both of you knew that it wasn’t only a joke and that he was going to marry you for real one day. And you weren’t going to stop him.

PARK JONGSEONG

-> Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding 

"i’ll let you set the pace, ‘cause i’m not thinking straight, my head’s spinning around, i can’t see clear no more."

→ Jay had always been a true romantic, but he didn’t think that love at first sight was a thing until he met you. The moment your eyes crossed his, he knew it was you and nobody else that he wanted. Some of his friends had warned him that you had a reputation for being cold and not wanting to be in a relationship at all, but Jay didn’t care about all of that - he just wanted to be close to you.

“- I can stay or I can leave, you choose, but just know that I’m here for you, yeah ?”

That was why he told you so many times, all the times you were too lost to know what you were feeling. But slowly, you started to ask him to stay and hold you close rather than sending him away. And slowly, you warmed up to love again. Because you had never been cold, you’ve just been hurt and tried to protect yourself. 

“- I’m not going to ask you anything, we’re doing whatever you want. I would wait forever for you.

- I just want you. Is that too much to ask ?”

And it never was, because all Jay ever wanted was to be yours in the first place. He was happy every time he made you smile, and he was happy to see you open up to the world again. And he was even more happy that you’ll let him be by your side all the way. He just wanted to make you feel everything you made him feel - loved, cared for, adored. And he made sure to show you that everyday. 

"you’re the only thing i wanna touch, never knew that it could mean so much."

→ “- Was I too much at the start ?”

This was a question you often asked him, and the answer was always “no” for Jay. Every minute he spent helping you to realize your own value was worth it, and not only because you were his now, but because he would’ve been happy to see you being happy without him too. 

“- You’ve never been too much, princess, always perfect the way you are and were.

- You know I would not be the person I am without you, right ?

- It’s the same for me. You made me see so many things in a different way, I’m so grateful we found each other.”

And it was true. Sadness had invaded such a big part of your life for a moment, but it pushed you to admire art and music with another point of view that you shared with Jay. And it touched him, touched a part of his soul he thought had healed for a while. Sometimes, you were just looking at him and everything you felt was everything he felt too.

“- Me too, Jay. You’re the only one I’ll ever love.”

And with the way you were matching each other, there was no way this was not the truth. 

SIM JAEYUN

-> One Day by Tate McRae

"it’s impossible to get you off my mind, i think about a hundred thoughts and you are ninety-nine."

→ At first, you were only a girl he saw from time to time when he was ordering his coffee. You had a pretty smile, some pretty eyes and a pretty voice, but that was it. Or so Jake thought. Slowly, you invaded his whole mind, and he couldn’t spend a day without seeing your face when he closed his eyes. Everyone wondered why he started to drink so much coffee, and the only reason was you.

“- Hi ! Do you want your usual today ?”

Jake wanted to say something, but he found himself unable to open his mouth when you were smiling at him like that. So he only nodded and tried to remember the script he had prepared in his head for days. 

“- Can I ask you something, Y/N ?

- I guess you already did that, but go on.”

The determination and the courage he had when he entered the shop was already out of the window, but he really wanted to finally ask you out.

“- Do you think we could hang out sometimes ? If you don’t want to, it’s okay, I’m not gonna be weird or anything, but you’re really pretty, and you’re nice and I really like you. Please ?”

Jake could see your cheeks gradually becoming as red as his as you lowered your head. But you couldn’t say no to him, not when he was all you could think about all day too, not when you hoped it was him every time another customer entered. 

"one day, i’ll look into her eyes and say that “you’re my only light”."

→ Jake gladly spent months with you, simply hanging out and trying to not overstep. Despite the confident front you were wearing when you were serving your clients, he discovered a shy girl that had some trouble expressing her emotions. But that didn’t matter, because Jake was ready to do anything to make you believe that you were worth his time - something you were not ready to accept yet.

“- Do you want to come to the arcade with me and my friends tonight ? I really want you to meet them, they can be a little too much sometimes, but I think you’ll get along well.”

He felt your hesitation as you looked around and played with your own fingers - some gestures he learned to interpret with time.

“- I’m not sure, Jake. I don’t want to embarrass you. 

- You won’t embarrass me, pretty. You’re incredible, I’m sure they’re going to like you, and if they don’t then it’s their problem and I get to keep you all to myself.”

You chuckled and it was enough to make him smile too. He was ready to wait for years if it meant you would look at him like that in the end - with love in your eyes. That was all Jake wanted ; for you to realize that you were everything to some people, that you were everything to him. And one day, he would succeed. And one day, you will be his. You just had to discover yourself a little more, and he’ll be here for every little step you’d take.

PARK SUNGHOON

-> Love Me Right by Rendezvous At Two

"something about his love that’s driving me crazy."

→ Sunghoon didn’t understand what he felt for you at first. It was a strange mix of distrust and attraction. You were a new staff, but you already seemed so close to everyone else, it was suspicious right ? He tried to act unaffected by your kind words and your praises, but slowly, he started to warm up to you. How could he be so mean to someone who was honestly an angel ?

“- How are you doing today ? Did you eat and drink enough ?”

These were always the first questions you asked him everytime he sat down in your makeup chair. At first, Sunghoon always refused. But now, he accepted with a rather shy smile the snacks and energy drinks you offered to him every day.

“- I have some juicy things to tell you today, you’re lucky !”

And you were going on and on about what happened, about what he already knew because you had sent him a bunch of texts as soon as you could earlier that day. Because quickly, Sunghoon couldn’t detach himself from you anymore, he couldn’t let you go anymore and he just had to make you his. You often told him that he was driving you crazy with the way he acted sometimes, but it was only because you were too incredible for him to stay sensible whenever you were near him.

“- And that couldn’t wait until we’re home ?”

You stopped in your tracks and glared at him like he was crazy, but only his teasing smile answered you. And you couldn’t stop the smile spreading on your face too. He was really driving you crazy sometimes, but his love was all you needed. He was all you needed.

"no, you don’t ask, you don’t ask much of me, yeah, you just lovin’ me."

→ The one thing that often made Sunghoon anxious about your relationship was not even the risk of being discovered by his fans or the company, but that he wasn’t able to be with you as much as he wanted, that it might not be enough for you, that he might not love you enough. If it was only his choice, he would spend all his time with you, no questions asked. But he was busy, always traveling around the world, and you could not always come with him.

“- When are you coming back ? 

- On Friday. It’s only three days, darling.”

You nodded and kissed him again. You were used to seeing him leave, and you were not the one to ask him to stay, to make a scene. Sunghoon was made to be on stage, he literally glowed when he was dancing and singing, and you loved to witness that.

“- I know. But I’m gonna miss you anyway. Can’t I miss my boyfriend ?

- You can, that’s very much appreciated, actually.”

And this time, he was the one to kiss you, struggling to do so as both of you were smiling like fools in love. Because you were. You didn’t ask much from one another, you just needed each other and that was it. The purest form of love and that was all you needed to be happy. 

KIM SUNOO

-> Dandelions by Ruth B. 

"and i’ve heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime, and i’m pretty sure that you are that love of mine."

→ Sunoo always believed in soulmates, but he never thought it would happen to him one day. That was a beautiful thing that arrived to others but not to him. And he especially never thought that you would be his soulmate. 

“- Don’t be silly, we all knew that you would end up with her.”

That’s what his friends told him when he announced that you started going out together, though. Yes, you were his closest friend, but was it possible that he had been so blind and oblivious to his own feelings for so long ? When did he start really loving you ? But in the end, it made sense because you were the one he relied on, the one that had always been there for him and that will always be.

“- Baby, do you know where my moisturizer is ?”

Your voice echoed through your apartment, from the kitchen to the bathroom in which Sunoo was standing, in front of the mirror and trying to get through his night care routine.

“- In the first drawer, right by mine. I tried to organize everything a little bit better.”

And it was right where you had told him. Without really knowing why, it made Sunoo smile to see such a common product of yours sitting beside his. It was trivial, for sure, but it made him realize how perfect for him you were, because you had tidied up the drawers of the bathroom exactly like he would’ve done it himself. 

“- Thank you, baby. I love you.

- It’s just a moisturizer, Sunsun, it’s nothing.”

But for him, it was much more - like a physical proof that you were made for him, and that he was made for you.

"when you’re looking at me, i’ve never felt so alive and free."

→ Even if you had spent a good half of your life with Sunoo, you were still struck by his beauty sometimes. How was it possible for a human being to be so pretty, so angelic, so ethereal ? It was impossible that he could be yours, it felt so unrealistic you had to touch him to make sure it was not a dream sometimes. 

“- You’re so pretty, baby. I hope you know that.”

And everytime, his cheeks would turn all red, a pout on his lips because it was a crime to make him so flustered. 

“- Stop… You’re the prettiest here.

- No, no, no ! Don’t start again with that, just let me compliment you for once. Please ?”

Sunoo wasn’t able to look in the eyes as you showered him with praises, but he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face little by little. You always did that, always made sure that he knew how loved and appreciated he was. And not just by you, but by everyone else around him. He still remembered how you got all his friends to write him a letter for his birthday when you knew it was a rough time for him. He could never forget that.

“- You believe me now ? And you better say yes, because I could go on for hours.

- I know, baby. But tomorrow I’m the one taking care of you, okay ?”

You smiled at him and leaned down to kiss his lips, Sunoo still laying on your lap from his earlier nap. Even like that, he was so beautiful, inside and out. He made you feel so good about yourself, so it was your job to make him feel just as amazing. 

YANG JUNGWON

-> Apocalypse by Cigarette After Sex

"oh please, come out and haunt me, i know you want me."

→ Jungwon had always been adamant when it came to his career and dreams. He wanted to make it, and he will, there was no debate about that. And that also meant that he didn’t really let anything else into his life aside from his job, from his practice and from the friends he already had. But you were persistent, confident that you could lead him to open up to you. 

“- I hope you haven’t eaten yet, Wonnie because I brought you something !”

You always did that when you knew he had a bad day. With time, Jungwon learned that it was pointless to try and send you away because you would never let him alone until he didn’t eat what you brought him. He never talked, you had enough words for the two of you, but it was not a problem. At first, Jungwon found it almost annoying. But now, he loved the sound of your voice, and he missed it when he was alone in his bed at night.

“- Why do you keep doing that even if I’m insufferable to you ?”

You smiled at him and shrugged, trying to avoid the only question you didn’t really want to answer.

“- I guess that I’m an idiot and that I don’t know how to back up when it’s clear that someone doesn’t like me as much as I like them.

- You like me ?”

You giggled at the surprise you could see on his face. Was it really so shocking to learn when you spent all your free time worrying about him even when he was so distant ? 

“- I’m strange, I know.

- Then I must be strange too. Will you stop bringing me food if I ask you out ?”

Jungwon was always adamant on achieving his goals before allowing himself to be happy, but when it came to you, he lost all sense of reason. 

"your lips, my lips, apocalypse."

→ You never rushed anything when it came to your relationship with Jungwon. You let him go at his own pace, you let him move from one step to another as quickly or as slowly as he needed to. And that included your first kiss. You never asked him for a kiss, never even mentioned the possibility of kissing him for real. And that ended up making him anxious. Was it because he did something wrong ? It wasn’t possible that you’ll be this patient, this caring of his needs. 

“- Do you think I’m attractive ?”

The question took you off of guard, looking at him as if he had said something very dumb. Jungwon immediately felt stupid, because you always praised him about his looks, you wouldn’t have lied all this time.

“- Where is this coming from, Wonnie ? You know how handsome I think you are. What is really going on ?”

He chuckled only because you always seemed to know his thoughts better than himself. 

“- Then why did you not kiss me yet ?

- Because I want it to come from you, I don’t want to force anything on you. 

- If I asked you to kiss me right now, what would you do ?

- This.”

And you leaned in to peck his lips, and what Jungwon felt couldn’t be described with words, and he only had the reflex to close his eyes and savor the moment for as long as it lasted. So this what love felt like ? And Jungwon wanted to scold himself again for having pushed you back for so long if it was how your lips against his made him feel. He never wanted it to stop if it was what being loved by you meant. 

NISHIMURA RIKI

-> Run Into You by Clara Mae 

"i’m telling you, you’re my favorite, right now, i don’t care, no."

→ Being one of the youngest idols in the industry was not always easy for Riki. Sometimes, it felt too much. And often, he thought about giving up. But everytime he felt down, there was someone by his side to cheer him up, and most of the time, it was you. He felt closer to you because you were the same age, and you shared the same problems, the same worries, the same anguish.

“- Don’t you want to spend some time with your members too ? I feel like you’re always with me these days.”

Riki didn’t look at you, still focused on the comics he stole from you when he crashed your lunch break for the fifth time this week. You rarely had the time to have full meals, but you always packed more for him because you knew he had a tendency to ignore his own needs.

“- Why ? You’re tired of me ?

- Maybe.

- Don’t act like that, I know you can’t live without me, Y/N.”

And even if you had made him lunch, he still stole a piece of cucumber from your box. Like everyday, you childishly fought for some insignificant food. And like everyday, the best part of your lunch break was Riki's constant bantering and teasing. He always made your days brighter, and you always made sure to remind him with these little attentions. After all, he was your favorite. 

"running my mouth like i always do, but i wasn’t ready to run into you."

→ Riki was always teasing everyone around him, and it was actually a part of him that you liked. People around you often treated you like a child - it could be staff members or the other idols and trainees you met, it didn’t matter - but it never happened with him, he never considered you like that because you’ve gone through the same things. But that didn’t stop the both of you from doing stupid things sometimes. 

“- Do you think Jay hyung will ever know that you ate his cookies ?

- Nah, and even if he did, he has a soft spot for you. You should have accused Jungwon hyung, he would never even have been mad in the first place.”

You both laughed as you savored the cookies you had stolen from Riki’s member. His teasing never ended, but you didn’t care. It made you feel alive, it made you feel like your life was a little more normal. 

“- And do you think we would've met if we didn’t become idols ?”

Sometimes, he would ask you these types of serious questions out of the blue, and when you looked at him, he always seemed so sincere you couldn’t play it off like you usually did.

“- I hope so. I really like you Riki.”

And when you were honest with him, he always blushed and stuttered. It was cute, so you didn’t mind that he couldn’t find something to answer right away. Riki always had something clever to get you back, except when you said things like that. When you said things like that, it made his heart beat too fast, and he realized how pretty you were and how happy he was that he had indeed met you. And he also realized that he was ready to do anything to keep you from going too far away from him. After all, he liked you too.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

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Girlfriend-For-Hire ⭑˚🦋⭑ 𝟶𝟺

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Hoping to try something new and earn a bit of money on the side, you join an app that lets people hire you for your dating services. The idea is pretty straightforward — you pose as the client's girlfriend for a brief period of time, and in turn, you receive payment. But you didn't foresee everyone getting so attached to you, and suddenly, they're no longer satisfied with a fabricated relationship.

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Some total stranger is glaring at you as if you’ve just committed mass murder.

For obvious reasons, it’s a bit uncalled for. Here you were, minding your business and enjoying your coffee, and now, you suddenly find yourself in the middle of a messy altercation. 

“Who the fuck is she?” Nadia demands. She basically spits the words, as if the mere act of acknowledging your existence fills her with disgust. 

You’re too taken aback to respond. Callum still refuses to let go of you. In fact, he squeezes you even tighter, lips spreading into a wide grin as he utters his next words. 

“Oh, her?” Callum hums, mischief and delight seeping into his voice. “Nobody, really. Just my new girlfriend.” 

I’m sorry, what?  

Your jaw drops open, but before you can even dispute his claim, Nadia makes her thoughts on the matter abundantly clear. 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” 

She outright screams. It’s loud and shrill, and you involuntarily wince—especially since several people turn their heads to find out what the hell is going on. 

You are both shocked and mortified. Even though you haven’t yet gotten all the details, it’s obvious that Nadia doesn’t like the thought of you dating Callum. But you’re not even actually dating him, so surely once you clear up the misunderstanding, she’ll cool off, right? 

“He doesn’t mean that,” you hurry to protest. “I think he’s just messing with both of us, because—” 

“Was I talking to you, bitch?” Nadia sneers. 

Oh. 

Well, okay, then. 

You visibly deflate. It’s safe to say you weren’t expecting something like this. You’re not the most confrontational person to begin with, and even though you’d like nothing more than to tell her off, her sharp tongue deters you from trying again. 

But thankfully, Callum decides to end your suffering. 

“Whoa, chill, Nadia,” he scoffs, half-chuckling. “It was a joke, for fuck’s sake. She’s just my friend. She was obviously trying to correct you just now, but you didn’t want to hear her out. Goddamn.”

Nadia’s eyes widen, and her face turns red from shame. You hate to admit it, but after how she viciously lashed out at you, her embarrassment is a welcome sight. 

So, it looks like Callum was only joking around. Still, though. 

As far as jokes go, this one was remarkably shitty. 

“We’re seriously just friends,” Callum repeats, and much to your relief, he finally lets go of you. Then, there’s a glint of amusement in his pale eyes. “But why does it even matter? So what if I end up dating someone else? You’re the one who broke up with me. Did you already forget?” 

Holy shit. This situation is just getting more uncomfortable by the second. You honestly want to dig a hole in the ground and hide in it until this is over. 

Also, you now have a pretty good idea as to why Callum hired you.

“I’ve never seen you hang out with her even once in my entire life,” Nadia scowls. “This is why you’re an asshole. We’ve barely been broken up for a few days, and you’ve already found a rebound. It’s fucking disgusting.”

Callum blinks disinterestedly. “Can you chill out already? I already told you we’re just friends. Ask her if you don’t believe me. Besides, do you really think you know every single person I’m friends with? I’m allowed to have my own social life, you know.” 

“Oh, so you’ve been hiding the fact that you’re this close to another girl, even while we were dating? Congratulations, you basically just admitted to cheating on me.” 

You’re convinced that death would be a more merciful punishment than having to sit through the rest of this. 

“Fucking hell,” Callum sighs. He nudges you on the arm. “Hey, can you believe this shit? She’s crazy, am I right? Even though we’re broken up, she’s still acting like she owns my ass.” 

“Eat a dick, Callum,” Nadia spits. 

“But isn’t that your job?” he muses. 

“Ugh!” she screams again. “I can’t fucking stand you!” 

Just like that, she storms off, and honestly? Good riddance. You’re not sure how much more secondhand embarrassment you could have possibly stomached. 

Now that she’s gone, you can finally breathe normally again. But it’s not as if everything is just fine and dandy, and you turn towards Callum with a look of frustration. 

“What happened to only being your friend?” you ask exasperatedly. “I thought we agreed on those terms beforehand.” 

“But I told her right away that I was just joking. And I promised not to tell anyone else we’re dating or anything. I just wanted to see how she would react.” 

You frown. Granted, he didn’t try to deceive her for very long, but the whole thing still makes you feel rather icky. 

Even though you already know the answer to your question, you decide to ask it anyways. 

“So… she’s your ex-girlfriend?” you clarify.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” Callum takes a sip of his coffee, then lets out a heavy sigh. “She’s fucking crazy is what she is. But I figured she would act like that. Even though she’s the one who broke up with me, she still has the nerve to get jealous and possessive. I’m sorry she was so rude to you, though. I wasn’t trying to make you her target. I figured she would only bitch me out.” 

It was definitely off-putting, to say the least, but setting Nadia’s behavior aside for the moment, you need to get to the bottom of this. 

“Am I right in assuming that you deliberately sat outside the store so that she would see us together?” you ask. 

Callum blinks a few times, and after a brief pause, he smiles. 

“I guess you’re not the type who can easily be fooled, huh? Yeah, I’ll own up to it. I know her class schedule, and she always swings by to get coffee at this hour. I was curious to see how she’d act when she saw me with another girl.” 

You had a feeling that might be the case. Which means he used you to try and make his ex-girlfriend jealous. 

You don’t really like the sound of that. 

“Was it a bad breakup?” you ask. “If you’re going out of your way to try and make her feel jealous, I’m guessing it can’t have ended on amicable terms.” 

Callum shrugs. “No worse than all the other times she broke up with me before.” 

“...I’m sorry?” 

“She does this constantly,” he says, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “I don’t know what her problem is, but she always finds something else to bitch about, and she catches me off-guard every single time. The day will be going perfectly fine, then bam—she breaks up with me again. I guess I’m starting to get pretty fed up, so I figured a bit of jealousy would make her rethink her choices.” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Uh… but wouldn’t it be better to just move on? I don’t think trying to make her feel bad is a good use of your time. It sounds exhausting. She clearly doesn’t appreciate you, so maybe you should stop giving her so many second chances.” 

“What do you mean? We’re going to get back together,” he blinks. “I doubt it’ll even take that long. A few weeks at most. I just want her to think twice about it the next time she considers breaking up with me. If she sees me hanging around you a lot, even if we’re just friends, she’ll get insecure and come back to me. She’s probably already worried that you’re going to steal me away from her.” 

“You… want to get back with her?” you gape. “But why? It doesn’t sound like either of you is happy. I realize it’s not really my business, but objectively speaking, I don’t think a relationship where you’re constantly being broken up with is in any way healthy.” 

Callum chuckles. “Don’t worry, I know.” 

“You do?” 

“Mhm. People would call what we have a toxic relationship, right?” 

You nod weakly. It sounds like he has some self-awareness, yet in spite of that, he’s actively embracing this kind of self-destructive behavior. 

Honestly, you’re not sure whether to be appalled or impressed. 

“Some people just end up together, one way or another,” he shrugs. “That’s what me and Nadia are like. We make each other crazy, but we’re still the only right match for one another. You get what I mean?” 

No. Not even a little bit. 

It’s not your place to comment on someone else’s relationship. You know that, despite all the red flags that both of them are clearly giving off. It really, really doesn’t seem like they’re happy, but they’re grown adults, at the end of the day. If they want to be together, it’s their decision to make. 

“Anyways, I just wanted to see how she’d react to hearing I had a new girlfriend, but I promise I won’t make jokes like that anymore,” Callum reassures. “All I want is for you to keep hanging out with me as a friend, so that Nadia finally gets her shit together. I don’t expect you to do anything special. Just spend time with me so that she sees us, and that’s more than enough.” 

“Do you really think she’ll want to get back with you?” you ask unsurely. “Because this might just have the opposite effect. You could end up really pissing her off and pushing her further away. I don’t know if jealousy is ever the right solution.”

“Don’t worry,” he muses. “I know Nadia, which is why I can predict exactly how this will go. All this breaking up has gotten really annoying, so I want her to realize that I’m a catch, and that if she keeps playing games, one day I might just leave her for someone else.” 

As far as you’re concerned, someone who chooses to torment their significant other instead of being compassionate and honest with them is hardly a catch. You suppose that goes for both of them, though. God. Their relationship sounds like an absolute fucking nightmare.

Still, you take a moment to assess your options. It’s true that this situation is wildly uncomfortable, but in terms of the actual job, you won’t be expected to do much. Callum has promised not to lie about you being his girlfriend again (and seriously, one more strike and he’s out), which means all you have to do is hang out with him sometimes. Of course, all of this is being done with the intention of making Nadia jealous, and while she certainly doesn’t seem like the nicest person, it still makes you feel a bit guilty. 

“I’m not sure about this,” you admit. “I’m not going to judge you, because everyone has their own stuff going on, and every relationship is different, but you’d essentially be paying me to try and make someone else feel shitty.” 

“Not shitty,” he corrects. “Jealous.” 

“Jealousy is just another variation of shitty.” 

“But it’s not like I’m doing this for fun,” he insists, even though the shit-eating grin he had earlier would suggest otherwise. “I want to put an end to her bullshit. Maybe she’ll finally mature a bit and start treating me better. It’ll be a wake-up call. So, don’t think of it as making Nadia feel bad, but think of it as helping fix a relationship.”

He smiles brightly, but after the horrible exchange you just witnessed, you have serious doubts that their relationship can ever be fixed. 

As always, your strong sense of morality poses an issue. But maybe it’s like Ava says, and you need to stop worrying about everyone else and just focus on yourself for a change. No matter what advice you try to give him, Callum is determined to get back with Nadia. He’ll do whatever it takes to make it possible, with or without your involvement.

It’s just hanging out as friends. Ultimately, that’s all you’re doing. You’re not going to be cruel to Nadia, or even antagonize her. You’ll just mind your own business and be a good sport. Whatever happens happens. 

Everyone makes a living one way or another, so why should you feel ashamed about how you make yours? 

“Fine,” you concede, and Callum perks up immediately, just short of letting out a cheer. “But like we agreed on before, we’re just hanging out as friends. You’re not allowed to lie to people and tell them I’m your girlfriend. I get that earlier was just a joke, but if it happens again, I’m not going to keep doing this. Alright?” 

“That sounds totally fair,” he agrees. 

“Okay. Then I guess I’m on board. I hope whatever’s going on with you two, it all works out in the end.”

Callum turns away from you.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles, staring dead-eyed off into space. “I’ll make sure it does.” 

Since Callum already paid for your time today, you spent the rest of it by finishing up your coffee and grabbing a bite to eat. You took your meals to-go and sat down in the grass, enjoying the sunshine. It was kind of fun, you have to admit. Like a little picnic. 

You’re not quite sure what to make of Callum. He deceived you, admittedly, but he’s been pretty transparent from that moment onwards. He said he wasn’t really sure how to breach the topic of making his ex jealous over the app, and figured it would be better explained in person. To some extent, that is true, but you still wish he would have been fully honest from the start. 

But all in all, there’s not much room for confusion. Your job is incredibly simple—you just have to spend time with him every now and then, ideally in places where Nadia can see the two of you together publicly, and you’ll be paid for it. 

Perhaps the twinge of guilt you feel is necessary, because without it, you pretty much are getting paid to do basically nothing.

Well, you can’t really complain. Most people in your position probably wouldn’t either.

“Damn, time to go already?” Callum whines. “That sucks. I was hoping we could hang out some more. But I guess we both have classes now.” 

“It’s not like we won’t be seeing each other again. But yeah, this was fun. Apart from when your ex-girlfriend called me a bitch,” you add.

“Sorry again about that. She’s batshit insane.” 

Thus far, you have yet to hear him say a single positive thing about Nadia, and based on what you saw, she didn’t have particularly glowing reviews of him either. 

If that’s how they treat each other when people are watching, what kind of things must they say when no one else is around? 

You shudder at the thought.

But whatever. As far as friends go, Callum is chill, and it’s to know that he’s not expecting anything more. Setting aside his relationship problems, he seems like a pretty fun, easygoing guy.

“Do you go to parties on campus?” Callum asks. He stands up from the grass and dusts his pants off. “I was thinking that’d be a great place for us to hang out. Nadia will either be there, or she’ll hear that we were together from one of her nosy friends. Plus, I can introduce you to some cool guys I know. A couple of them are single, if you’re interested. Oh, but would you even be okay to date? Since you’re doing this job and all.”

“Probably not,” you admit. “I doubt my partner would feel comfortable knowing that I’m pretending to be someone else’s girlfriend. Once I get into a relationship, I won’t be doing this anymore. But it’s fine, since I’m not really looking to date right now. I just wanted to try something new.” 

“Well, you must be doing a good job, because it says you’ve got a five-star rating,” Callum grins, holding up his phone.

You blush. “Um… thanks. I’ve only had one other client so far, but he seemed happy, so I guess there’s that.”

“I’m guessing you actually pretended to be his girlfriend? What was that like?” 

“It was fine. I can’t get into personal details, but he had some family-related issues, and it seemed like having me around helped.” 

“That’s nice. I wasn’t sure what to think of this app at the start, but I’d say it worked out for the best. I can see us being actual friends, to be honest.” 

“But when you eventually get back with your ex, won’t that complicate things? Because I’m pretty sure she already hates my guts.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

Looks like he didn’t think things through that far, and it’s kind of cute how disappointed he seems all of a sudden. He’s actually pouting.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “Nadia will calm down at some point. Probably.” 

I highly doubt that.

For obvious reasons, it seems like your friendship with Callum is already destined to be short-lived, but it’s fine. You’ll enjoy it while it lasts. You have to admit, it does feel good putting yourself out there every now and then. You should thank Ava for helping you work up the nerve in the first place.

“I’m headed that way,” you point, “so it looks like we’re splitting up here. But it was nice getting to know you. I had fun, and I hope you did too.” 

“Sure did,” Callum hums. “Hold up one second. I’ll transfer the money right now.” 

You receive your payment, which concludes yet another job. Although this job has technically just started. You wonder how long it’ll take for Nadia to get back with him. Callum sounds awfully confident about it, but you’re not so sure. 

You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see. 

“Bye, [Name],” Callum waves. “See you soon!”

“See you around,” you nod, and soon enough, you both go your separate ways. 

It’s actually a good thing you got to chill with Callum for a bit, because unfortunately, you’re about to head into your absolute least favorite class. The professor is a real hard-ass and does a terrible job of teaching the course content, not to mention how difficult his assignments are. Everyone taking the class is miserable, and it shows. 

When you step inside the lecture hall, however, the atmosphere feels especially depressing. 

“Take your seats,” the professor barks. You’re one of the last few to enter the room, and you hurry towards the closest unoccupied spot. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out why everyone looks like they want to die. 

“I want to hurry up and get started with this, because it’s going to take up a lot of time,” the professor says. He paces back and forth, and your eyes widen as you finally take note of the powerpoint being displayed on the projection screen.

Oh, please no. Don’t do this to us. 

“I’m assigning a project that will make up a big chunk of your final grade,” he goes on to state. “I have already paired students up, so no, you will not be allowed to work with a friend. Each pair has also been assigned a research project at random. I’ve found that it’s far too difficult to make everyone happy, and the process of approving project ideas is a pain in itself, so you will be given pre-approved topics and they are not subject to change.” 

For fuck’s sake. Not only are you not allowed to pick partners, but you don’t even get to pick your own research topic either? You can already tell this is going to massively suck ass.

The professor changes the powerpoint slide, then gestures towards the screen. “There you go. Take a good look, because I’ve listed everyone’s partners up there, as well as what topic you’ve been assigned. Like I said, this is going to be a very demanding project worth a lot of your grade, so it’s in your best interest to get started as soon as possible. You will not be able to finish in time if you leave it until the last minute.” 

You sigh tiredly. People are letting out quiet, resigned groans left and right. By the looks of things, no one’s gotten lucky enough to be paired up with a friend. The professor probably went out of his way to pair up people who don’t normally sit next to each other in class. 

Anyways, it sounds like you’ll be working with some guy named Theo. Needless to say, you have no clue who he is, since you hardly interact with anyone in this class. You’re too busy trying to keep up with the ridiculous workload. 

Also, is it just your imagination, or did you somehow end up with what sounds like the hardest topic of all? 

Knowing your luck, it probably is. 

“Take a moment to get acquainted with your partner,” the professor instructs. “I’ll give everyone some time to exchange contact information and whatever else is necessary. But move quickly, because I’d like to move onto explaining the project outline. Let’s not drag our feet, people.” 

The whole class collectively groans again, and after a moment’s delay, everyone stands up from their seats and moves around the room trying to figure out who they’ve ended up with. 

“I’m looking for Theo,” you call out, raising your hand to be better seen. “Does anyone know who Theo is?” 

No one responds. It looks like some of the other students, the more vocal ones, have already found their partners, but yours seems to be nowhere in sight. 

Balls. Is he absent today? That would make things a hell of a lot more troublesome.

You keep calling out his name, and slowly but surely, the crowd of students begins to dwindle. Having met up with their partners, students sit down and start getting acquainted. 

Just as you’re about to give up, someone approaches you from behind. 

“Um… excuse me. S-Sorry. I’m… Theo.” 

You turn around to face your partner, who regretfully, seems to be making a conscious effort not to look you in the eye. 

“Oh, you’re Theo?” you say, offering a quick smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m [Name]. Is it just me, or does our research topic sound like it’s going to be a massive pain?”

Theo doesn’t answer. He barely even gives a begrudging nod, then without further explanation, walks away from you and sits down.

This is already off to a great start. 

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🦋 main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Muddled Waters 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, blood, violence,, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your boss has a dangerous secret.

Character: Nick Fowler (mob au)

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

Your shift goes as usual. You make drinks to order and bring them out to the tables, or to set in the windows set into the walls of the private rooms. Those are for the more exclusive patrons, the ones who remain mostly faceless. The Sapphire is as close to a speakasy as you’d find in this century.

As you bring out a single scotch and place it on the ledge of the order window, a voice intone from the other side.

“Pardon me,” the English lilt wafts through, “your boss wouldn’t happen to be in house?”

You pull back your hand and consider the question. The customers in the rooms never talk to you. No thank yous, no pleases, no special orders. Those all come through the screen in the back which lists their demands; no olives, extra salt, double vodka...

“No, sir, I’m sorry, he’s not in,” you reply.

“Pity,” he remarks and a hand reaches to take the glass. “You will let him know I was here. In Room Four.”

“I’ll mention it. Would there be a name I should give him?”

“He will know,” he returns and footsteps scuff away from the window. Right.

You’re somewhat used to the cryptic. As nice as Nick can be, he isn’t always straightforward. The establishment does give you reason to bat an eye but for the most part, your pay stubs keep your gaze in the other direction.

You return to the kitchen and work at cleaning the used glasses brought by the singular busboy. You don’t know his name and he doesn’t talk. He always has earbuds in and only puts bins of dishes in the wash tray.

To say the operation is minimal is an understatement. Yet there is never more demand than you can meet. It makes you wonder how Nick breaks even with such a limited audience. Especially with the grade of ingredients he gets in. You never worked at a bar that didn’t water down their liquor now and again.

The night comes to an end and the lights dim as the bar closes up. The busboy clears the rooms and locks the front door. You leave the glasses in sparkling rows on the shelves and a bin of dishcloths to have washed the next day. You place away a few stray bottles then wipe down the counters.

“You’re here late,” Nick’s voice startles you and you hiss, looking up at him from the edge of your vision.

“Cleaning up,” you say and toss the cloth with the rest. “Just finishing now.”

“Mm,” he nods and hooks his thumbs in his belt loops, “you wouldn’t happen to have time to make me something, would ya? I’ll keep it simple.”

You withhold a sigh. Or maybe a yawn. Your eyes tingle and you shrug, “sure, what do you want?”

“Rye and coke,” he answers as he approaches the island and crosses his arms over the top, leaning on the stainless steel.

You swiftly gather everything you need and put together the simple drink. You set it before him and return all you disturbed back to its rightful place. You face him as he raises the glass and considers the dark elixir.

“Oh, er, someone asked for you,” you untie your apron and fold it over the bin meant for tomorrow’s laundry.

“Someone did? Was she pretty?” He winks.

You shake your head, “no. It was a man. He was in Room Four. That’s what he told me to tell you.”

“Room Four,” he repeats and puts the brim to his lips, taking a slow draw. His cheeks dimple before he pulls it away. “Noted.”

You nod at his strange reaction. Almost none at all. You check the time and drag your hands over your head.

“Well, I’m going to head home,” you say, “if that’s okay?”

“Quitting time,” he says coolly, his eyes stuck on the cabinet, a squiggle in his forehead. “Go on, get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“You too,” you shoot back. “Look like you need it.”

You pass him and he stands, turning to watch you, “hey, what does that mean?”

“Nothing, just... look tired.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he scoffs.

You go through to the backroom and grab your jacket and purse. It’s not really a strange night. A few out-of-the-ordinary occurrences, but nothing worrying. The man in Room Four and Nick’s late-night appearance; it’s not really a pattern.

You glance back at the kitchen door before you leave. You head out the back and walk down the next street. You approach your car parked by the curb, the rush hour jam keeping you from finding a closer spot. You take out your keys and they jangle loudly as your footsteps echo.

As you shove your keys into the slot, you’re suddenly taken off your feet, a blunt force jarring your wrist as your fingers catch in the keyring. You hit the ground with wheeze and roll across the stray pebbles as you hug your chest. You can’t breathe.

“Look, honey,” the British voice hisses through the night, “I didn’t wanna bring you into this but I needa send a message.” A figure straddles you on their knees, holding you down by your neck. “Not much, you’ll live...” you hear a metallic shing, “bit of blood is all.”

You feel a piercing pain just below your neck, right at the small dip of your collar bone. You cry out as the metal slices down your chest and easily through your shirt. Your skin parts with the fabric as you vibrate in agony.

“Get... off,” you cough out as you regain your breath. “Please...”

“Shh, honey,” he takes the knife away and smears his hand over your chest, your warm blood spreading under his rough palm, “I just want him to see you painted up nice for him.” He drags his hand over your face, the metallic scent staining your nose and lips. “Mm, you are a pretty thing, too.”

The man wiggles his hips lasciviously before he pushes himself off of you. He stands and you cover your ragged skin with your hands and whine, sobs rising from the pain hewn into your flesh. There’s a noise, something distant, maybe a door, and the man’s silhouette strolls off, whistling into the night.

Another set of footfalls approach you as you writhe on the ground. You don’t understand what happened. Why did that man do this to you? You can’t move. You can’t think. You just can’t.

The street light flickers as someone steps around the front of your car.

“Shit,” Nick rushes over and falls to his knees beside you, “shit, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have let you come out here alone. I shoulda knew...”

“Why?” You babble as your blood seeps between your fingers, “why, Nick?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and bawl. He slides his arms under you and lifts you as you exclaim. He hushes you as he holds you against his chest.

“It hurts,” you whimper.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he rasps, “I got you.”

[droodlebug]

thinking about tokyo debunker again big surprise i know. but im thinking about,, the concept of the ghouls' stigmas being directly based on whatever they wished for. im going to go in order of house and just through everyone bc i like thinking about it

Frosty

Jin– stigma is to be able to literally command people for a time. it seems it is directly tied to his mental state whether or not he can use it (outside of the enhancement of the ring). hes the son of the president of anamolous research; it could be he wanted to be listened to either by a parent thats too busy or be listened to Over his father. With its connection to his mental state, maybe it has to do with an event where something happened specifically because he was unable to get people to do as he said because of an internal conflict. or it could be as simple as "i am the son of an important person i want everyone to do what i say"

Tohma– her stigma is described as being able to "send vibrations." this allows for destruction and for sending what are essentially radio signals to be able to telepathically talk to people, though its unknown if it allows for being able to hear anything back or if its just a one-way system. My idea is tohmas wish was to make an impact. To "make waves." Vibrations allow for this to happen literally and physically as well as allowing social influence via sending messages straight into peoples heads. We also know tohma used to be in vagstrom, the house given to those that pursue change and freedom. Shes now in frostheim, the one for ambition and unchanging goals. These also both happen to fit really well in line for someone who wants to make things change, make waves, make vibrations.

Lucas–it is probably the Most straightforward one. He wears his heart on his sleeve we dont have to guess too far. Lucas wants to protect people. It Wants to be a protector that is his goal in life. To use his power to help and protect. His stigma is to be, essentially, a shield. With him carrying around snacks and implying he used to always keep them specifically for its brother, we can infer that he was always protective of its twin. Maybe it was even a wish specifically to protect his brother that was painfully twisted by whatever demon granted that wish.

Kaito– We don't know Exactly what Kaitos stigma is. Hyde says it has to do with seeing auras, but Kaitos ability to see Luca's powered up stigma, to see usually far, and even to be able to near perfectly read lips can be inferred in our time with her. Taking into account her want to fit in with crowds and be up to date on trends and gossip as well as kaitos staunch awareness of how shes treated, we can guess the wish may have been along the lines of wanting to see more. Depending on what all Kaito can see, it may be a wish given vaguely and twisted. Or, it could be more specific, like wanting to be able to see people better, to see things first, to see how people are feeling, to see why people treat her differently, etc etc. With as vague as it is now, there's quite a few different variations that could apply. Given Kaito's clear lack of self esteem thats made up for by desperately trying to fit in, I'm inclined to believe it was something along those lines.

Vaggy

Alan– his stigma is unnatural strength. a wish to be strong. That's a pretty common wish, and a common feeling. Even if it wasnt meant literally, this is a really clear way to turn that wish into a power. Especially when it's someone like Alan, who is to the point and wouldnt add flowery language. Even assuming the demons just inheritly Know what the wishes theyre granting for someone are, wanting to be stronger physically is, again, not uncommon. Especially not for someone with an implied (and stated) tumultuous past like Alan.

Leo– Also realllly self explanatory. Leo has amplified hearing. personality-wise, he's a rat–a snitch. he thrives off using information to get his way and blackmail people and to presumably further his online career. Of course he'd wish to be able to hear people and eavesdrop on shit.

Sho– their stigma is ??? to jam stuff?? which includes opening doors and pushing ghosts and a myriad of other loosely connected things? Keeping in mind their implied estrangement from their family (and leo, especially since we dont know if theyve known each other before the demon pacts), it could be a wish to want to keep people away, or to make it easier to run away. If he knew leo before make the pacts and, considering how leo treats sho and how sho doesnt Really seem fond of leo, was pressured into it, maybe it has something to do with wanting to get away from leo ? hard to say on this one

Jabber

Haru– his stigma is to move fast. of course the ball of restless energy would want to be able to move fast and do a bunch more stuff. this stays in line whether we think of them now as they are in jabberwock, or as of his how he was in (presumably) sinostra. haru is a buzzing busybody. No stretch to say hed wish he could Do More.

Towa– another nebulous stigma. Lets put all the individual information of what he can do under an umbrella and say we know towa can control weather. Specifically, he seems to have a strong handle on lightning and wind in particular. Focusing on lightning, we know via conversations with Ed that towa used to have a disdain or hatred for humanity. This is also something we can still get glimpses through in her lack of care for people (and anomalies) being or getting hurt and their flippant attitude toward death. If we think of someone who has no care for life and a sour attitude toward people, well, wanting to hurt or cause destruction would be a good wish, wouldnt it? Which falls in line with Towa's reliance on lightning, which in many cultures and religious mythologies symbolizes anger, destruction, and vengeance. retribution.

the bigger question is whether or not towa is human (likely not), if being nonhuman is a source of some (still a ghoul) or all (not even a ghoul) of his powers, or if she has multiple stigmas giving him multiple powers, or a combination of any of the above. if we go along the line of them having multiple stigmas, his control over the wind may be indicative of a second wish to be able to help who she cares for (haru, most likely). Wind pollinates, carries, cools, and in many places you can see wind symbolizes healing and positive change. Alternatively, if all of towas powers come from one wish and he was a mortal being before making a pact, the powers of weather as a whole are great forces of destruction in enough capacity. and we have seen how destructive and scary they can be when they are upset.

or maybe this guy is just an anomaly, a forgotten small god such as the one in chapter 13, and darkwick has been keeping her there and haru was the first person to treat him like a person and "wish" to her which restored their faith in humanity to a degree (and is why he seemed in pain right after haru prayed to the other god) and this is where all her powers come from no demon input. or maybe still some demon input. who knows! i love him. so much to chew on.

Ren– SO. all we know for his stigma as well is that it's "good for cleaning messes." ok. whats good at cleaning messes (and is often a mess itself) that ren also happens to have an intense phobia of and avoids at any cost. water. i dont see ren being the kind of person to just go along and make a lact with a demon. Unless. It would help him avoid water. To never have to go near it, especially since it is explicitly not just the ocean, but Any body of water he fears. What better way to grant the wish to avoid bodies of water than by giving someone the ability to conjure or manipulate water?

not directly related but this would be a fun tie in to the hints of ren being the mermaid whether or not he even knows it, and that his fear of water is connected to that. (and if Ren doesnt even know what he is, that would be why he isnt in obscuary. clearly the guy doesnt go swimming so it wouldnt be a stretch at all)

Sinostra

Romeo– bomb stigma. the things he values most blow up the biggest. if we take into consideration his family having been passingly mentioned as losing their designer brand, we can start to connect some dots. romeo is materialistic, hot-headed, and prideful. so, in the fall of his family's brand, its easy to picture him in a rage at incompentence costing him what he is owed. Then, he wishes to make sure that he never makes the mistake of blowing up his assets. Then, he's given that in the most purposfully literal way possible. His most valuable assets are the ones he can blow up the best

Taiga–Also one of the easy ones. Heavily implied that its stigma allows it a glimpse into the future at the cost of his memories. the guy is a gambler and a generally risk-taking criminal. wishing to see the future to ensure you never lose, never miss a mark, it's very classic. and coupled with its memory loss is a fun bit of irony

Shinjo– another straightforward one! she can harden her body to take any blow. her goal in life is to be the most prestigious lawyer in the history of ever. so. you want to be able to take anything that can come at you. especially if we keep in mind the rumors of shinjos father being corrupt, which could mean dangerous clients and associates.... protection is important. she already has the legal knowledge and smarts to stay protected there, so the physical is the only flaw to fill. this would absolve the work of having to train, giving more time allotted to work and study. its the inverse of luca, she wouldnt be considering the protection of anyone but herself. wish to cast a shield on the only part unprotected–the physical.

Hotorubi

Suburu– his stigma is being able to see all te thoughts and memories of everything and everyone he touches. Whatever shady shit he may or may not be doing, subaru is unequivocally an anxious mess. what is a common wish during anxiety? wishing to know what everyone is thinking. and now he does, whether he wants it or not.

from here on is where it gets a bit dicey due to lack of knowledge

Haku– ok this is the one i have Nothing on. no clue what his stigma is other than he is almost certainly the one that conducted the stigma test for the MC. no idea what his desires are. other than the lack of information, haku is already the exact kind of character/person i struggle to understand on a base fundamental level tbh. moving on

Zenji– ??? dont know their stigma or of they can even use it as a ghost

Obscuary

Rui– His stigma allows him to ease other peoples physical pain for a while. we see through every interaction with rui that he is a person who is constantly thinking of other people and trying to make things better and easier for them. it stands to logic that he would wish to be able to help. well. ease people's pain. thank goodness he doesnt have to touch people to do it i suppose. small mercies

Edward– Unclear if anything hes done is his stigma or if its all just been old vampire knowledge and powers only so another harx ???? for now

Lyca– his stigma is ? following smells. the only reason we know thats not a werewolf thing is because he verbally activates it. but. we also know a lot about lyca. much like alan, he is a very straightforward thinker and doesnt mince words. he knows exactly what he wants. it os unclear if he was a ghoul when taken by darkwick, but he was taken and immediately imprisoned on a murder accusation so that does seem unlikely. (and also does like ? does darkwick even Know lyca is a ghoul or do they think he is still Just a wolf boy) Itd stand to reason Lyca was taken advantage of in the vulnerable state of a prisoner by a demon. We already know what lyca has been wishing for this whole time. To reuinite with Neros. And what would help that wish come true? Being able to follow anything and anyone hes smelled before.

[itsgrimeytime]

The Nurse (Part Six) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf @mcuclintasha

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You’d always wondered where he’d ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, angsty!Rick, jealousy, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: I listened to Boyfriend by Dove Cameron to write this, so... I think you can assume how this vibes. You simply have this man WHIPPED, I will not take any further questions. Thanks for reading :)) ]]

Your eyes were hazy, something warm coming across your skin, as you followed the empty hallways. Well, not empty.

Rick was there, Judith carefully held in his arms -every once in a while, he'd lean down to kiss her forehead. The casual affection took you somewhere else for a moment, like watching your grandparents in the kitchen just so natural in each other's spaces -so domestic. When you were younger, reading books about extravagance -big gestures and life-threatening situations, your mind had settled on the balance of fairytales.

Who wished for a lackluster ending? Who wanted to dance in the kitchen too early in the morning, instead of the adventure of a lifetime? It hadn't made sense then.

But watching him now, gentle and bouncing around the room, you'd realized somewhere deep within yourself... maybe you had.

The idea of a home, where the sun seeped through curtains and the smell of breakfast wavered out through the air. Smiles, and playgrounds. Movie nights, and the whispers of promises of forever.

Your brain fogged, and you blinked to try to clear your head. Even just for a solid second, you still found Rick in your eyesight. And maybe he was dusted in dirt, and his hair wasn't washed, but the idea with him made much more sense. You just couldn't chance the thought, not in this world.

"You're drooling."

Clearing your throat, you turned to the intruder -Michonne, her smile small but still enough, "Very funny."

She paused, eyes focused on you for a second -like she could tell you were off. Straightening in her seat, she fully faced you -concern furrowed in her brow, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you echoed, eyes drifting to the pair - imagining the warm glow of a kitchen instead of the cold prison walls, "-just thinking about what I'm missing, you know?"

Michonne turned back to the two, "Yeah, I know."

"Can you imagine your own backyard?" you retorted, in disbelief with a laugh aired in your tone.

"My own house," she hummed, eyes flicking to the ceiling instead, "-I think I'd have a dog."

"Sometimes," you took the edge of your shirt in between your fingers -the material soft to the touch, "-I think about what curtains I would have. Isn't that stupid?"

"No," she answered -simply.

Michonne was direct like that, her answers straightforward and steady; sometimes, you doubted she'd ever really been insecure about an idea. She seemed so confident, you never thought to go against her. You didn't know her past, but it was hard to imagine anything breaking through that resolve.

You pursed your lips, turning back to the two -he was smiling now, the crinkle by his eyes so prominent as he looked down at Judith. It was so unabashedly bright; despite his whole world crumbling, he'd still lit up your corner of the world. And maybe you were a little biased, but you thought it'd be a tragedy if it went dark again.

"You should tell him," Michonne spoke, unflinchingly as if she'd read your mind.

You whispered, a breath across the room -you'd never named it, "Tell him what?"

She placed a hand on your shoulder, a gentle pressure that guided your eyes to meet hers. Her eyes leveled with yours, the look was easy to read despite the schooled expression -she knew, and so did you. You often wondered how many could see it in you, you knew it was obvious -the gazes searching to find his first, the stares lasting just a touch too long, smiling when he did.

"I think you know."

And you did.

You just weren't sure of much, you weren't sure if this world could be... loved. Could anyone in this world love or be loved? Despite what you felt, deep in your heart, you still weren't sure. Was it even possible for it to work? With everything else so harsh and direct, how could you even begin to-

"Plus," Michonne interrupted, a smile biting at her lips, "-you could do worse."

You laughed, leaning your head back to the sky -the thoughts fleeing from your mind like leaves in the wind, "I could."

When you leveled your head, your eyes connected with something new -Rick was looking at you. Bright blue followed the movement of your face, your lips quirked into a smile and you raised a hand to wave. Trying to avoid the warmth that swirled up in your stomach and the very real feeling of 'I told you so' radiating from Michonne just beside you, you pushed forward.

And there it was, the bright smile you'd seen just moments before except this time, it was directed to you. In a spare second, he pulled Judith's little arm up and waved back -gentle movements, but the notion there stayed the same.

Laughter took the place of a response, and you couldn't quite get your brain to form anything else -it was so fuzzy with memories you hadn't made yet, but you wanted to. Eventually.

Your eyes flickered to the sky, it had to be midday at this point -just as it began to cool off in the day. With daylight flickering, you had someplace to be.

"Alright," you hummed pulling yourself into gear, "-I can only handle so much of Rick Grimes a day."

Michonne laughed, "Liar."

You snorted, walking out into the day -eyes searching for a particular person. It had started about a month ago when you and Daryl had formed a bet. He'd said something about your choice of a weapon, and you'd said something about his.

"Bet if we switched, I could kill more walkers than ya."

"You are so on."

So, with some new rules in place, Daryl had sworn on the blue sky that he'd teach you how to use a bow. Wasn't fair if you didn't know how, so it was a necessary step.

Your weapon wasn't as... complex. So, the opposite wasn't really necessary.

You eyes caught him in the field, where he stood across from a... what the hell is that?

There's was a tall branch, sticking up from the ground with burlap sacks and hay sticking out -instead of good seams and crisp corners, however, this was not quite a masterpiece.

You burst into laughter, eyes following the desperately tied rope and hay poking out of corners. It truly looked like a nightmare, but on the area where a "face" might be was detailed of an eyepatch and angry eyebrows.

"Really?" You yelled across the grass, as Daryl spun to you -shrugging as if he hadn't put any time into making... that.

Ranging closer, you extended your hand toward the character, you'd say for now, "I didn't know you were into arts and crafts!"

"Keep laughin'-" Daryl rolled his eyes, not quite responding to you as he loaded up his arrow -tone solid, but you could tell he was light.

Daryl was something you had to get used to, something you had to learn. He was a bit of an icy mystery to any outsiders, but you knew he cared an awful lot more than anyone claimed to.

"Maybe I will," you quipped, "-we ready?"

"Yea," he stood off the ground, brushing dirt off his pants, "-we're losing daylight, gotta start soon anyway."

He was surprisingly attentive, slowly doing each step at your pace -it was an air the man hadn't exposed to you yet. Kind and gentle. He was a great teacher, to your benefit.

Watching as he seemingly without a flinch, landed an arrow into the... target. Right on the eyepatch, and if you took out a ruler probably in the perfect middle. Why did you take this bet again?

Then the weapon was in your hands, the arrow already in, and just awaiting your next move. Trying to remember the steps, Daryl guided your hands to the right position and pulled back your shoulders -there was a proper posture, but you doubted he used it.

That was when a new voice presented itself, just as Daryl adjusted your grip on the bow, tilting the tip down a touch -assumingly something was wrong in your technique.

"What are y'all doing?"

You knew that drawl. He was always an echo in your brain, words bouncing around in your head -he'd stuck with you in so many different ways.

You spun around -eyes finding him with ease, "Hey, cowboy! I could ask you the same question."

Daryl hadn't said anything yet, his mouth in a stubbornly straight line and that was odd for him. Especially when talking to Rick. But then you looked at him, Judith wasn't in his arms anymore.

His flannel was rolled up his arms, and his eyes laid intently on the hand that Daryl had wrapped around your wrist to push down the bow. It was still connected there, passively, like he was waiting to take the weapon out of your hand. You hadn't minded, it was completely like a guiding hand really, nothing else.

Rick pursed his lips, something set in his jaw, "Right."

You furrowed your brow, quickly gesturing the bow to Daryl -which he with ease accepted. He knew something more than you, you could tell in the way that their eyes flicked to each other, heavy and filled with something you couldn't really read. The air stilled and brushed across your skin like a harsh gust of wind.

"Why? Is everything alright?" you asked, concern turning over in your tone. You'd always assumed the worse -especially as one of the sole medical professionals, you knew you shouldn't have gone so far out-

"What? Oh yes," he seemed to blink, facing you again -all the tension in his face seemed to melt and his hand went to rest on your shoulder, "-nothin' to worry about."

You exhaled, shaking the buzzing under your skin out as much as you could, "Okay, good."

He smiled at you, but it wasn't all there. Something was wrong, you knew it, but it apparently wasn't an emergency? Did he need to talk to you? Was he okay?

"I was just teachin' 'em how to use the bow," Daryl echoed, tone solid and seeming to address something you hadn't noticed -talking directly to Rick, "-nothin' else."

You quirked your brow, genuinely confused by the shift in the energy, "What else would we be doing?"

Rick's eyes flickered to you, where you now stood -kind of puzzled and a bit tense in the newfound energy you found yourself in. He sighed, running his other hand through his hair -you knew that was a sign.

"'Course," he hummed, his voice a little less restrained, but still not quite... Rick, "-it's for that bet you two have, right? Sorry for interrupting, just..."

He looked at Daryl -eyes unbreaking, and intense.

"Curious," he finished, eyes connecting to yours for a few seconds longer than you expected -then flicked back to the ground like he'd been embarrassed...? His hand carefully, hesitantly, drifted off your shoulder.

Before you could even open your mouth, the man cleared his throat and turned back around the way he came.

"Daryl-" you began, turning back to the other man. You weren't sure what that was, but you weren't going to just leave it like that.

"Go," he hummed, unbothered, as he carefully plucked a few arrows off the ground, "-I'm not as stupid as you think."

You rolled your eyes, relaying to comment on that later in the back of your head and trailing after Rick. He was actually pretty quick, despite the unfavorable footwear, but you somehow managed to catch up.

"Rick," you spoke, tone direct and stressed out into the meadow air.

He stopped in his place, a bit stunned it seemed, as he stood still. There was definitely something wrong, you could feel it. In a breath, you wrapped your hand around his wrist, pulling it to you behind him. He still hadn't faced you -facing straight ahead with air to him you'd only seen once or twice in your time knowing him.

"Are you alright?"

Rick didn't respond immediately, stance shock still. You watched as his shoulders huffed out breaths, the smallest rise and fall being the only thing you could focus on. His wrist was warm in your hand, and you felt your fingers rubbing gentle circles into the skin there -in an effort to soothe something you didn't know the root cause of.

His eyes flicked back to you, much softer and something more familiar to you -shining in a haze you couldn't identify, but had experienced yourself. (Merely hours before actually.) They flicked to your hand and then your face, almost in realization that you had made that point of contact.

"Shit, sorry," you pulled your hand back, tone a bit rambly, "-I didn't know if you were comfortable with that, I should've ask-"

"No, no," he echoed, pulling your hand back just to match it with his -intertwining your fingers, "-it's fine, better than fine. I am."

"Oh," you swallowed, watching now as he faced you -his own thumb cradling against the back of your hand that sent your brain into a bit of a fog, "-okay."

Rick grinned the kind that crinkled at his eyes then.

"I-" you began, suddenly remembering what you'd run after him for -blinking the fuzz out of your brain, "-you still didn't answer my question, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah-" he enunciated, eyes hanging on your hands for a second, "-I'm good, promise."

You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Great, even," he responded, thumb dancing against your skin and your brain almost flatlined again.

"Then," you pursed your lips, "-what was that back there?"

"Nothing," he answered back, a little too quickly for your taste, "-just curious."

"Rick-" you started, before locking onto the way he held your hand. It was the same one that Daryl had been holding just a second earlier, and your mind lit up with the flicking of his eyes to the touch, the set of his jaw, some internal dialogue between the two... oh my god.

He seemed to notice the difference in you, his own eyebrows raising in response to your change in demeanor.

"Cowboy," you hummed, daring only to look at your intertwined hands, "-were you jealous?"

Rick stilled in his place, the thumb frozen in its cycle and the breath caught in his throat. You could practically see the thumping of his heart in his chest, watching as the pink flooded up his neck -he totally was.

"Rick," you added, a little in disbelief.

He hummed, seeming to be unable to speak and his eyes lazily focused on your intertwined fingers. You found it kinda cute, actually.

"Rick," you continued, "-look at me."

He sighed, deep in his chest, the curls at the nape of his neck catching the sunlight just right. He looked pretty like this, like a painting. And finally tilted his face to meet yours -fingers squeezing your hand and thumb rubbing against your skin, his eyes were a bit distant then.

You reached your other hand up to the side of his face, trailing your fingertips along his cheekbone -the cut that you'd once been drawn to now under your fingertips, "There you are."

His breath hitched, as you brushed a few stray curls back behind his ears and let your hand rest against his skin for a few seconds longer. You could feel the heat bubble up there, as you focused your attention there -trailing along the now scab and up along the crinkling near his eyes. You smoothed them out with a few timid presses of your skin to his; it seemed so natural, so familiar.

Rick seemed in a trance almost, eyes dipping down to yours without much thought, like a sort of bliss. You wondered how long it had been since he had his face cradled like this, how long he'd missed the gentle brush of fingertips. Even just for a brush of contact, he seemed unable to speak, the air heavier in between the space than you'd known it to be before.

"Trust me when I say," you hummed, eyes straight into his -unflinchingly, "-you have nothing to worry about."

You noted somewhere deep in your head to do little things more, as you leaned back -pulling back your hand to your side but keeping the other one steady in his. Rick still stayed silent, eyes wistfully watching you fall back into your own space; he'd looked a bit conflicted. So calm and breathing peacefully, all the while his heart seemed to beat 100 miles an hour out of his chest.

Definitely cute, you decided.

"With that out of the way," you cleared your throat like you hadn't just crossed millions of boundaries that you'd established with him, "-I think you have some plans to make. You ruined mine, after all. It's only fair."

He laughed, eyes hooked on your hand in his and it was different then, you could feel it in the buzz of the air, "It's only fair."

[callsign-rogueone]

nothing burns like the cold - r.g.

what's supposed to be an ordinary afternoon sparring with your friend goes wrong in an unexpected way. words: 1.4k 🏷: one incredibly mild Iron Flame spoiler (Ridoc's signet), she/her reader, very brief description of friendly sparring, no real physical injury, nothing too bad... both of you have Feelings and need to talk about them, Ridoc being sad deserves it's own warning, wingwoman Violet to the rescue! this can be read as a standalone or you can consider it a way-back prequel to hey roomie, my poly Ridoc/Sawyer/reader fic (more of that trio coming soon, by the way!)

Ridoc’s fist lands against your ribs, and you don’t know how to describe what happens, other than cold. Coldest shower of your life, bucket of ice water over your head, jumped into the river in late December cold, that shocks your senses and has you crumpling to the mat beneath you.

Your friends gasp, at your side in an instant.

You’re indoors, but your shirt is soaked like you’ve been out in the rain for twenty minutes, and your hair is dusted with… snow? You blink the wet flakes from your eyelashes, stunned.

Rhiannon helps you to your feet, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering.

Sawyer removes his flight jacket, draping it over your shoulders. The fabric is warm with his body heat, but it doesn’t do much to fight the chill you feel around your heart; the way the wet material of your clothes clings to your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” Ridoc breathes. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”

You still haven’t said a word, your entire body trembling — you’re in shock, unable to process your friend’s words.

“Get her into dry clothes,” Bodhi instructs quietly. “She should be fine in a few hours.”

Rhiannon nods, leading you out of the gym and toward your room.

Ridoc stares at his hands, at the frost that still coats his fingertips. You should be fine? Gods, what had he done?

Now he knows how Sawyer felt when his metal-bending signet manifested and he nearly skewered his sparring partner. But that’s the operative word — nearly. He’d definitely hit you with… whatever this is.

“You’re an ice wielder,” Dain answers before the boy can ask, dry and straightforward as always. “Professor Carr can explain.” He takes a few steps toward the door, realizing that Ridoc isn't following him; the younger boy is still stuck in place, silent.

“She’ll be okay,” Violet promises, touching a hand to his arm.

Sawyer offers some encouragement as well: “She knows you didn’t mean it.”

That’s not what he’s worried about.

————————————————

You aren’t at dinner that night, nor at evening formation; he doesn’t see you until breakfast the next day.

Your heart aches as he takes a seat clear across the table from you, as far away as he can be.

Violet comes to sit at your side instead, not mentioning yesterday’s events, but she gives you a soft smile that says I’m glad you’re okay.

You return it, though it doesn't feel as genuine as hers— the cold feeling is long gone, but it’s been replaced with something else that feels just as terrible.

You push the feeling down, waving Sawyer over to sit at your other side and extending him his flight jacket with a soft smile. “Thank you. That was really sweet of you.”

“Of course,” he says, reddening slightly as he puts it back on. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he quiets when he sees you glance at the other end of the table, deflating when you realize Ridoc is already gone.

Ridoc continues keeping his distance. You stand between Rhiannon and Sawyer at morning formation, and sit with them during Battle Brief, Ridoc at the end of your row, uncharacteristically silent.

You don’t see him that afternoon; you haven’t manifested a signet yet, so you aren’t attending Professor Carr’s class. You choose to sit in the study room instead, a textbook in front of you that you hardly touch; you can’t bring yourself to focus.

It’s getting dark out before dinner these days, the winter solstice approaching quickly. It’s supposed to freeze tonight, you’d heard someone say this morning. How ironic.

You sigh, curling up in the chair and tucking your legs to your chest, trying again to start the reading you’d been assigned.

“Mind if I join you?” Violet asks, a matching book of her own in her hand.

You smile softly, gesturing to the chair opposite you.

She sits, but doesn’t take out a pen or paper. “Don’t take it personally,” she says quietly, being mindful of the few other students across the room. “It really spooked him when… that happened. I think he’s afraid he’ll hurt you -- or someone else -- again if he gets too close.”

You’re silent for a moment, your chest aching at the idea of Ridoc, warm, happy, confident Ridoc being afraid, feeling guilty over what had happened by pure accident.

“I talked to him, but I think he needs to hear it from you,” she says gently, opening her book and starting to read, ending the conversation there.

You gaze down at the text, not reading the words -- instead thinking of what you could say to him to make him feel better, to get him back into your life again.

“The truth,” your dragon suggests. “The whole truth.”

————————————————

As soon as Sawyer sees you, he knows what you’re here to do. He excuses himself quietly, mumbling something about forgetting his book upstairs before he shoves everything into his bag and practically bolting away — not subtle at all.

Ridoc blinks in confusion, looking up to ask his friend what the hell that was, but he falls silent when he sees you.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

You could nearly cry at the sound of his voice as he responds, speaking to you for the first time in two days. “Hi.”

You pause, just looking at him for a moment. He looks like he hasn’t slept well for a few nights, his usually vibrant curls and glowing skin flat and dulled. A few of his cuticles are bleeding — he must have been picking at them as a nervous habit.

It hurts you to see him like this.

“You can do this,” she encourages. “Speak from the heart.”

From the heart, you say to yourself. It should be easy enough to say the things you’ve wanted to tell him for weeks.

He speaks before you can, but remains seated, making no move toward you. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “I know saying it won’t change anything, but I really am sorry.”

You smile at him softly. “It’s okay. I’m fine, really. I slept it right off.”

You’d looked and felt so cold yesterday, but here you are, healthy and smiling, not mad at all.

“I’m still sorry. It was an accident, but if I had hit any harder, or hit you somewhere else, I don��t know…” he chews his lip, clearly still upset. “It scared the crap out of me, seeing you like that.”

You slide into the seat next to him and take his hand gently, interlocking your fingers. The warmth of your skin comforts him — that, and the fact you’re still willing to touch him after the other day, when that same hand had nearly frozen you to death.

“I never want that to happen again, especially not to you,” he says softly, gazing at your hands. “I really like you, you know.”

“You like everyone,” you say, not quite following. “That’s your whole deal. You’re easily the most likeable and easygoing guy in the quadrant.”

He cracks a smile, and you feel every ounce of stress melt from your shoulders at the sight of him happy again. “I’m glad you think so, but that's not what I meant.”

Your breath catches. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? He can’t be.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

You blink at him once, twice, letting out a shocked laugh.

His face falls, and he pulls back, starting to gather his things from the table. “Forget it.”

“No, hey, I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you,” you say quickly, reaching for his hand again. “I was laughing because I came here to say the same thing. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.”

“Really?” he breathes, starry-eyed.

“Really,” you confirm. “I have been for a while.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, maybe a little too eagerly.

You smile. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

His lips are on yours before you can blink, soft and plush and perfect. He lifts his other hand, settling it on your waist ever-so-gently, stroking over the slightly tender spot in your ribs in a silent apology. The warmth of his palm against your side soothes the ache, relaxing you completely.

He pulls back after a moment, gazing at you softly.

“I think I’m more than pretty sure after that,” you breathe, stunned.

It’s his turn to laugh as he presses another soft kiss to your lips. “Me too, princess. Me too.”