#i dislike that they upped the light prices so much......

[horseskitchen]

spring is finally back

[cinnammonfairy]

⌗ hybrids – f! cat x doberman ghost! + heat + virginity loss + squirting + implied pregnancy/breeding ⋆˙⟡

where you go into heat, and your not-so-new friend simon helps you.

when price finally brought simon home, you did not take it all too kindly. only familiar with the presence of price and few other hybrids (being a house cat and all, always preferring to stay home), you grew uptight at the new imposing presence at your home. you knew price was only trying to look out for you by gifting you a companion, someone you could cling to when he was away, yet he also knew how shy you were too which could translate to unwelcoming behaviour towards those who are unacquainted with you.

simon having been briefed by price of your shy tendencies played along, preferring to wait until you grew accustomed to his presence around the house. which admittedly took... quite a while. price having been home for the start of simon's stay to get you on friendly terms did little to help, only making you ever so clingier.

when it came to just the both of you within the confines of your home, you avoided him with an admirable amount of effort. he knew it wasn't that you disliked him, you just haven't gotten to know him and how could you when you'd scramble if he walked into a room you were currently in? or if he'd be leaning on the doorframe of your shared bathroom waiting for you to finish your lengthy baths, the scent of your bathbomb wafting through the crack of the doorway your humming gleefully at the warmth of the water clear to his impeccable hearing, doberman hybrid and all does little to quell his ever growing fascination in you.

the week leading up to your heat (not that he knew), was filled with uncommon behaviour from you, once an early riser now you woke later into the day, your sweet scent heightened keeping him alert of your whereabouts throughout the house. your usually energetic self, that always found a way to keep busy around the house also grew tired easier, which was how he found you sprawled out on the couch late at night, a show you were keen on running on the tv. gathering your weak form in his arms, he lifted you up bridal style making sure to cradle your head in his arm.

your eyes opened briefly, jolting awake as you realized who was currently holding you and walking you towards your bedroom, before you gave in to the lethargy that seemed to engulf your body. letting him carry you up the stairs, his scent overwhelming your senses leaving your body the slightest bit feverish.

"i don't feel so good." your words coming out barely more than a whisper into the chilly night air, lights dimmed out due to the hour.

"i can see that, let me take care of you yeah? " his arms wrapping tighter around your form as he rounds the corner to your bedroom, tucking you in, and closing the door softly behind him before placing a call to price.

"...the date of her heats are usually irregular, but she's probably going into one soon." price's voice crackles through the phone speaker, as simon's brow furrows.

"what can i do to help her?" simon's reply earns a small huff from price, who's answer has simon's cock growing hard in his trousers imagining you begging for him.

"you can help her but only if she asks, she probably will though. god knows you feel much better than her dildo does."

the next morning he was greeted with the overwhelming scent of your slick, your warm body atop him, bare tits pressed against his chest, his blanket pushed aside so your wet little pussy could rub on his still covered hard on. every pass of his cock spreading open your pretty pussy, his tip catching onto your clit creating pleasurable friction.

"what's all this about angel? where did my shy girl go hm?"

"m' sorry si, need you..." his hands go to guiding your hips, as they grew sloppier. your wetness creating a patch on his boxers outlining his hard cock.

"s' alright pretty, i've got you." tipping your chin up to meet his gaze as he connects your lips to his, softly pecking them as a form of reassurance. price said to take things slow and he promised to try, you had no qualms kissing him back so sweetly as he cradled your cheek in his palm. with your pussy still rubbing on his cock, he moved you to lay below him lifting his body enough to peel his boxers off.

spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, little hole twitching and leaking slick. your little clit glistening in the early morning sunrise, as he circles it softly with the head of his cock, dragging it down to your pool of slick and up to nudge against your clit, swiping it back and forth as you writhed on the bed moaning for him to,

"put it in now please si."

"so wet angel, i could just slip right in yeah?"

"'mhm! s' wet for you."

"such a good girl, so pretty for like this for me."

he positions the head of his cock on your hole, the both of you gasping as it enters. all the while rubbing your clit softly with his thumb, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks and lips. your pussy halfway enveloping his fat cock as your legs tremble softly, your hole clenching rhythmically at his intrusion. your hands go to his biceps as you feel the knot in your stomach growing ever so tighter, just from him putting his cock in. you've had a dildo and a couple pleasurable vibrators before to help you through your heat but never an actual cock, the feeling of his big cock entering your practically virgin hole was too much to bear, even more so as he rubbed at your clit so sweetly to build enough pleasure and wetness to take his cock. before you knew it, you were cumming hard on his cock a soft gasp left you as he worked you through your strong orgasm, clenching hard on his fat cock.

"so pretty... that was a nice one hm lovie, that feel good for your little pussy sweetheart yeah? y' love my fat cock stretching out your hole so much you can't help it huh."

"s' too big si..." you sobbed out as his fingers kept strumming your clit, prolonging your orgasm.

"you're taking it so well though sweetheart, i'm almost there baby. you can cum as much as you want angel."

your orgasm which left you wetter than before made it easier for him to ease his cock inside, groaning at your warmth as he bottomed out. he zoned in on where your eyes were currently resting, the filthy sight of your pussy plugged full of his cock as he took a testing shallow thrust, a mewl leaving your lips.

"your pussy's so pretty full of my cock sweetheart, you're taking it so well, 'm so proud baby."

"what do you say sweetheart?" he says, pulling his cock out halfway, watching as his cock slips out coated in your slick and cum.

"thank you si-i!" he slammed his hips once, again filling your pussy up full and catching you off guard.

his thrusts left you breathless as you looked into his eyes, pleading for anything and everything at all once. your current state of heat left your cheeks perpetually flushed which he found charming, your eyes fluttering, for someone who was practically begging to be fucked just this morning, he loved your sweet, shy and soft little mewls. slotting your lips together to meet for a kiss, one that you so kindly and eagerly return, he knows he's found your spot as a sweet little gasp leaves your lips. he rests his forehead to yours as you lock your feet on his back, your pussy clenching erratically as a telltale sign that you were approaching your orgasm.

"wanna cum si!"

"go ahead baby."

pulling out most of the way, he thrusts in to be met by a spurt of clear liquid splashing and splattering onto your stomach, his pelvis and abs. every time he pulls out the slightest bit to slam his cock back in to your tight squirting heat, he earns another splash of clear liquid that's prompted by his thrusts. the hot sight of you squirting uncontrollably whilst crying softly on his cock prompts his own orgasm, and pumping his load into you.

"made such a cute mess on my cock baby hm? my shy angel's a squirter huh?" he says as he pulls his cock out fully, rubbing his cock fast over your clit to be met by more messy squirts, his thick load now seeping out of your little hole.

"m s-sorry si, it's embarrasing." you choke out amidst sobs where he gathers you in his arms, sitting up and places you on top of him. opening your legs to scoop up his leaking cum and shoving back into your hole, which makes you squeal.

"no need to be sorry sweetheart, 'm so glad i made you feel so good."

you hid your face in his neck as you sunk back down on his hard cock, seeing his cum leaking out of your pussy was an extremely erotic sight to him. your heat making you insatiable for the need of another orgasm.

"go ahead sweet girl, ride me baby, use me all you want."

and you do, if it wasn't evident enough with the protruding bump on your belly with a possessive hand resting over it upon price's return wasn't clear enough, you were having simon's pups.

☆ hi omg um this was just like something i spewed out from my brain deliriously over the course of a couple midnights i acc kinda wanna continue it or make a couple parts of it ... haven't rlly made an intro post but i'm planning to soon .ᐟ ♡ also reqs are open but i'm having midterms rn so if you do plan to leave anything on there might not get around to it for a while :(

ᡣ𐭩 header by cafekitsune .

[tarotwithavi]

Random messages for you from your future lover/future spouse

18+ messages in some piles

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

These pictures belong to their rightful owners.

Masterlist

Paid services

Pile 1

"I want to bite your neck and leave my mark there"

"I love the way you walk"

"you look absolutely gorgeous from behind"

"God really took his sweet time creating the masterpiece in front of me"

"I want to worship every part of your body"

"all the lonely nights were worth waiting for you"

"In your arms, I have found my home."

"With you, love is not just a destination but a beautiful journey"

"I will buy you every book you like, but there's a price you must pay"

"In a world of billions, you're the only that makes time stand still"

"The darkness inside me is really to consume you, however I am scared of the consequences"

"If you had any idea about what I want to do to you, you wouldn't be standing here challenging me"

"I want to know everything about you, your likes, dislikes, what makes you happy, what makes you sad, every fucking thing"

"Your whispered desires set my soul on fire"

Pile 2

"You think you can run away from me love?"

"I crave you, I desire you, I want you. In. every. way."

"I love the way you look right now. You don't need to change anything"

"You're flawless. People who find flaws in you are blind"

"tie your hair up. Show me your neck"

"Your presence lights up my darkest night"

"You can literally sell me poison and I will buy that in gallons from you"

"Your acne scars correspond to the craters on the moon. They make you even more beautiful to me"

"You look so f-able in my hoodie"

"You can be my black cat and I can be your golden retriever"

"I will never force my beliefs on you"

"You look magical in that dress"

"I don't want other guys to be close to you, to touch you, I know it's selfish but it's something I can't help but feel. You make you go crazy over you"

"You're like a Siren, alluring me with your voice, enchanting me with your appearance and making me want to do things that are not so pure"

Pile 3

"You are so pure so innocent. I feel like I will taint you with my darkness"

"Some things are better as secrets"

"Do. Not. Provoke Me. You'll not be able to handle it"

"I am not that type of person who dreams of getting married on the first date. But something about makes me feel I should wife you up, like right now.

"I want to see a mini you or/and mini merunning around in our house"

"Do you mind if I ruin your lipstick right now?"

"can you see hearts floating around above my head? No? *Gets heart shaped balloons from God knows where, puts them above their head* Can you see them now?

"With you, even the simplest moments become cherished memories"

"I crave the taste of your lips and the touch of your skin, you are my sweetest addiction"

"With you, time flies by like a shooting star, leaving behind a trail of cherished memories"

"Don't leave me. I have loved you too much to be separated from you.

"You make flowers bloom in my heart just from the thought of you"

Pile 4

"I will work hard for you. I will work hard for us"

"To be honest I will let you step on me"

"Our future is so bright together mama"

"In your arms, time loses its meaning, and all that matters is our love."

"How long do you want me to wait for you? 1 month? 6 months? 1 year? 5 years? A decade? I will wait for you if it means that I can be with you even for a minute"

"I will never judge you for your past. We all make mistakes and it's fine. As long as you don't repeat the same mistake"

"You feel like chopping off your hair? Go ahead, do it. I bet on my left nut you will look good in every hairstyle"

"What makes you think that I wouldn't eat your snacks? Am I not human? Or Do I not have taste buds"

"In the heat of our passion, time fades away, leaving only the intoxicating blend of our souls"

"Your touch ignites a fire within me, and I crave the taste of your lips on mine"

"Baby I am preying on you tonight, hunt you down, eat you alive"

[strangespector]

Breathless

Summary: A bad habit that has consequences

Words: 1046

The flashing lights of paparazzi cameras illuminated the night, capturing Jenna Ortega in a moment that would soon be plastered all over social media. The young actress, beloved by millions, was caught with a cigarette in hand, the smoke curling up into the night sky. The pictures went viral almost instantly, eliciting reactions from fans, critics, and, most notably, her family. Jenna's mother was especially vocal about her disapproval, a sentiment echoed by the rest of her family. They knew Jenna had started smoking on set, a habit picked up in the chaotic world of Hollywood, but seeing it publicly displayed ignited a firestorm of concern and frustration.

Despite their pleas, Jenna continued smoking, a habit that became a part of her daily routine. She would often light up at home, the scent of tobacco lingering in the air. I, on the other hand, had never touched a cigarette in my life. The smoke bothered me at first, the acrid scent clinging to the furniture, my clothes, and even my hair. But I loved Jenna. She was my world, and though I disliked her smoking, I endured it because I knew how much stress she was under. I figured it was her way of coping, a temporary crutch in the high-pressure world she navigated every day.

Years passed, and Jenna's star only continued to rise. She became a household name, and with every new role, her fanbase grew. But alongside her success, her smoking habit persisted. By now, it had become second nature to her, a part of her routine as much as brushing her teeth or making coffee in the morning. I often found myself coughing, my chest tightening uncomfortably whenever the smoke hung too thick in the air. There were days when I felt short of breath, but I chalked it up to a cold or allergies. The thought that something could be seriously wrong never crossed my mind.

It wasn’t until I started losing weight rapidly, my energy levels plummeting, that I decided to see a doctor. The cough that had lingered for months turned into something more sinister, a persistent ache that gnawed at my insides. After a series of tests and a tense waiting period, the diagnosis came: lung cancer, stage three. The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The doctor explained that the cause was likely secondhand smoke, a byproduct of living with a smoker for so many years.

When I told Jenna, she was devastated. The color drained from her face as she realized the implications of what the doctor had said. This wasn't just any illness—this was a direct consequence of her habit. A habit she had nurtured and indulged, not realizing the price I would eventually pay. She cried for days, apologizing over and over, but I reassured her that I didn’t blame her. After all, it had been my choice to stay, my choice to love her despite her flaws. But deep down, I knew she carried the weight of this guilt, a burden she would never fully shake off.

The chemotherapy was brutal. Each session left me weaker than the last, my body battered and bruised by the relentless assault of drugs meant to kill the cancer. Jenna was by my side through it all, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and constant worry. She quit smoking immediately, the sight of a cigarette now repulsive to her. She did everything she could to make me comfortable, but the cancer had spread too far, too fast. The doctors were honest with us—it was only a matter of time.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I grew weaker. My once-strong body was now frail, a shadow of the person I used to be. Breathing became difficult, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a sigh of resignation. I knew my time was running out, and I accepted it with a calmness I hadn’t expected. I had lived a good life, a happy life, despite the challenges. And Jenna, for all her faults, had made me happier than I ever thought possible.

When the end was near, I made one final request: I wanted to go home. The hospital was cold, sterile, a place where people went to fight for their lives. But I wasn’t fighting anymore. I just wanted to be in a place that felt familiar, surrounded by the memories of a life well-lived. Jenna arranged everything, bringing me home and setting up a bed in the living room where the sunlight streamed in through the windows.

The last few days were a blur of pain and medication. I could feel myself slipping away, my consciousness fading in and out like a weak radio signal. But Jenna was always there, holding my hand, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of my fading life. I remember the last time I opened my eyes, her face blurry but unmistakable, framed by the soft afternoon light. She was crying, her tears falling silently onto our clasped hands.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for everything."

I mustered what little strength I had left and smiled at her, a weak but genuine smile. "I forgive you," I said, my voice barely a breath. "You gave me a happy life, Jenna. That's all that matters."

And in that moment, as I looked into her tear-filled eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace. I had no regrets, no anger, only love for the woman who had been my everything. I closed my eyes, holding onto that final image of her, my heart full even as my body failed. And then, with one last breath, I let go, slipping away into the quiet darkness, leaving Jenna with the memories of our life together and the lesson learned from a habit that had cost us both so dearly.

Jenna would go on to live her life, forever changed by the experience. She would tell our story to others, a cautionary tale of love, loss, and the heavy price of a moment’s indulgence. And though I was gone, I knew she would carry me with her, in her heart, every step of the way.

[melodic-haze]

Arlecchino with a dom filthy rich reader. Reader showers her with lots of gifts on a daily basis. Jewelry, clothes, you name it. Reader would buy it all for her. Arlecchino is spoiled rotten by reader. Arlecchino would always say how reader doesn't need to give her gifts everyday. She finds it unnecessary but the way Arlecchino would wear those expensive outfits and jewelry as Reader fucks her says otherwise.

[Sorry for my bad English]

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!afab!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader with a strap

☆ — NOTES: NOOO DON'T BE SORRY DUDE❗️❗️ It's easy to understand and it got the point across, this is actually pretty good english :333 gonna tell you rn it's so much better than the english from people where I'm at 😭 actually atrocious

Arlecchino would ABSOLUTELY try and refuse your gifts at first, saying that she has no need for such material things when she already has you :333 (could not be my ass I'm so money-oriented it's so bad LMAOOO)

You have money to burn though—you can so easily buy your lover whatever she may want without needing to look at the price!!! You wanna spoil this woman in a way that she had never been spoiled before, so you pay attention to her likes and dislikes, take notes on her preferences, buy things that link with your observations and/or remind you of her

Eventually though Arlecchino would come to accept that buying her things, especially when they're so expensive, is one of the many ways that you show love. Far be it for her to reject your gifts when you've taken the time to pick them out with her in mind, even if yeah she says it's unnecessary. If it's coming from you then why would she refuse???

I think she'd initially like. Not wear them though 😞 not bc she's ungrateful, but bc she personally thinks whatever you've bought her doesn't suit her unless it's something practical. This ESPECIALLY applies to jewellery bc like. It's. An accessory. She doesn't really need it in her life, does she???? But she warms up to it :33333

The jingle of the precious necklace around her slender neck definitely helps with convincing that perhaps such gifts were okay.

It was a custom-made gift crafted using the finest metals, notably the highest-quality starsilver one could find in Dragonspine's unstable landscape. Perhaps you could have bought something much more.. easily produced such as gold, but you didn't—couldn't—settle for less when it came to the prime target of your bountiful affection and the person who was in need of true love.

Though you admit, it wasn't because of the item's worth that had you wanting for a custom gift for your paramour, no. Rather, your thoughts had often wandered to the crafted image of a red glow illuminating pale skin, along with how beautiful a sight it must be.

And when you see the magical jewels reflect its crimson light on Arlecchino's naked skin, when the chains clink quietly as the pendant bounces on top of her chest, you pride yourself in being right as you smirk and continue to fuck her with your faux appendage.

Your hand went to graze her neck, fingers trailing down as you slowed your efforts. It would have been nice to overwhelm her, to fill her over and over until she forgot herself, but you adored the view you were blessed with right this very moment. Despite how formidable this woman was, you still managed to leave her grasping for breath, glistening chest heaving as her necklace followed suit.

Such a thought itself had prompted you to reach for the camera on the bedside table before taking a quick picture. She would often question your want to capture her visage in such an unruly state but really, you can't help it!

After all, she looks positively delightful, all dressed up and gilded with your money.

My GOD being rich would also mean you can do that thing where like you rip the clothes off bc you got way too excited. She'd ask you why you did that but then you can easily tell her that you'll buy her another one and more 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ full disclosure heat shot up to her very core at the display ☺️

This is like the greatest sort of ask I've ever had bc I LOVEEEEE jewellery just saying

I read something somewhere about how if you buy your partner a necklace or smth then it's like you're binding them to you. Like a collar but a lot more innocent unless yk you WANT it to be less-than-innocent

Buying her all these things being not just a way to show your love but also to show ownership is kinda crazy in a hot way, and really why wouldn't you?? When she's this formidable and Beautifully Handsome figure, why wouldn't you want to show off the fact that she's fully and utterly yours???? Just clocking onto how perhaps her children point out that the sparkles make her look brighter, or how random people may stop and stare at the shimmering pendant on her neck and knowing that you've given her whatever bounties she could ever ask for (if she wanted to ask) is!!!! Definitely A Feeling 😋😋��

BONUS if the necklace itself is sturdy too. You'd have to think of how she would much prefer practicality, so you've made sure the metal is STRONG and REINFORCED enough to withstand force........esp when you go to tug on it harshly like a collar. Bc really at the end of the day, that's what this is—the only difference is an actual collar would be thick and would wrap around the neck while a necklace is thin and hangs loosely

In any case you tug on it harshly, bring her even closer and more personal as you start drilling into her again, and it lifts her up instead of breaking thank god ☺️☺️☺️ and she does NOTHING but take what you give her!!!!! She hangs there like a ragdoll, eyes glazed over as little grunts and quiet moans escape her lips before you hit that One Spot at that certain and then suddenly her hands are grasping onto you frantically :3

And at daily life THEN that's when she starts fully accepting your gifts and wearing it without feeling like she's extorted you somehow. When people ask her about it, she'll say that she got it all from her lover before looking at you with a tint of red on her cheeks, remembering the times when you've fucked her to the point where she felt like an object herself 🫶

[macravishedbymactavish]

Hugging Headcanons (TF141 + König x GN!Reader)

Turns out, I'm better at full paragraph writing then headcanons, but we do our best in this house.

TW: Light swearing (like 2-3 words at most), little bit of cheeky adult(ish. Major ISH) behaviour, and mentions of anxiety/overthinking

| Blog HQ | Ghosts Version | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist | 18+ MDNI | Taglist Open |

Soap:

If he had it his way, he'd be hugging you constantly. Loves (and I mean LOVES) physical contact and just being close to you in general.

He is also very vocal about this. From the beginning of your relationship he's made it known that he L I V E S for physical contact.

His favourite way to hug you is from behind, especially when you're not expecting it. The little jump then relaxing when you realize it's him brings him so much joy.

100% content with holding you from behind like this, chin resting on your shoulder as you do things.

Cooking? He'll be there, likely stealing some of the food before it's served (and laughing when he gets smacked with the spoon).

Paperwork? He'll try to hold you with one arm and write with the other, until Ghost or Price gives him shit because you're both now working at half your normal pace.

Anywhere, anytime. He's going to try to hug you.

If at any point you stop and think: "does Soap want a hug" the answer is yes. Always yes.

Soap always wants a hug, please hug him.

Ghost:

Would either be 100% hesitant and unsure of what he's doing, or 100% confident and assertive. No inbetween for this.

I feel he doesn't dislike physical contact (quite the opposite actually), but rather just hasn't had any physical or emotional connections in quite a while. So long in fact that he's grown fine without it. Until you came around.

Like context pre-hug aside, he probably did the cliche "tense right up then relax once he realizes he's safe" the first time you hugged him. Now he's hooked on the warmth of your body, the way you feel pressed into him, and how automatically relaxed he gets while being hugged.

Since he strikes me as someone who isn't huge on PDA (he's a rather private person) as much as he wants to hold you 24/7, he reserves this for moments when it's just the two of you.

The exception to the rule being stressful missions or any time when he was concerned for your wellbeing. He will gladly hold you close to remind himself that you're okay. No matter where you are, just a reminder that you're still here. You're still his. He pays no mind to anyone else in that moment outside of you and him.

He would NOT be open to questions or explanations the first time this happens, especially if it's in front of the guys. Yes, he's proud of you. Yes he's happy your his. No, they don't need to know every detail of your relationship.

Price:

I can see him being the "little bit obnoxious but a lot of love bear hug" type. Like you can't breathe but that's okay, he loves you a lot.

Much like Ghost - not huge on PDA. Partially because he likes to keep his personal life and work life seperate. But also a professional thing.

He leads a team, he has to keep up appearances. He also doesn't feel like dealing with his sergeants teasing the life out of him for being a softie.

He's also not a teenager anymore, his "I need to touch you at every minute of every hour" days are over. He's perfectly content holding you when appropriate/when he can.

He tries his best to balance work and home. Hugs and loving talks before bed are a MUST in this household. Of course you'll cuddle up in bed, but he makes a point to love up on you a bit more while you're both awake and can remember it.

Like everyone on this list: long hugs before he's deployed and when he first comes home. But I feel like his are more worth mentioning? He's been in the military either the entire time or majority of the time you've been with him. So because of that, you've sacrificed so much for this relationship so he could pursue his career/what feels right. The least he can do is set aside time for just you, to let you feel even a whisper of closure before he goes/when he returns.

I just imagine in the kitchen, tight hug. Ready to say goodbye, as he whispers stuff to you. Like whether it be bits of your vows, quotes he knows you live by, or just how much he adores you for everything. He would make an absolute point to give you another piece of his soul to treasure before he leaves (we can get into this more later if wanted)

Gaz

Another very playful soul. Not outward on PDA, but won't give up a chance to hug you quick or keep a hand on the small of your back.

You rank pretty high on the better things he has in life (if not on top), of course he's going to show you off. He landed a partner who is gorgeous inside and out.

As shown in game, he is a cheeky mf. So expect this to translate into the physical contact.

Mid-hug he may grab a handful of your ass, or start peppering kisses to your neck if hugging you from behind - then pretend like nothing happened (obviously in private. Time and place for everything folks).

I can see him being big on having his arm around your shoulders quite often. Like in resuraunts, resting his arm on the back of your chair, or doing the same while sitting on the couch with you. Just casual contact, a small flex of "they're mine, crazy right?"

Expect to be pulled into a tight hug, then dipped during your first kiss at your wedding. A little bit of flair and spice on your big day. Especially considering he got so flustered after your second or third date, that instead of going in for a goodbye/goodnight kiss he chickened out and opted to hug you close instead.

You melted when he told you that one night, when recounting the many stories and memories from your relationship.

So hugs, needless to say are pretty symbolic in your relationship

König

(Side note: I live and breathe the fact that his social anxiety is canon. I've never related to a character faster)

As anyone with social anxiety knows: it's not about whether you like physical contact or not -- it's normally the overthinking about "Do I initiate? Do I not? Do I pull away first? Am I hugging them for too long? Is this weird?"

He's very sweet overall, but quite awkward and overthinks hugging you initially. But wishes so much that you'd hug him over and over again.

He almost melts the first time you do, but is another "cliche freezes then relaxes" because he's so nervous. He really enjoys your company, he doesn't want to mess this up. He wants this to feel as nice and loving for you as it does for him.

Needless to say, it takes a little while and a lot of reassurance for him to get comfortable hugging you first. But when this day comes, oh boy watch out.

He will hug you at any opportunity. From behind hugs, side hugs, bear hugs, quick hugs, hugs where you do that little sway thing, hugs where you lightly rub the other persons back. He loves them all equally.

He especially loves hugs where you rest your face against his chest, and relax into him. Letting all the stress from your day fade for even a moment (because that's how he has always felt when you hugged him)

He found it both comical and endearing when you dragged a chair from across the room to in front of him to stand on so you could either (depending on your height and the chair)

1) Press your face into his neck without him having to bend right down

Or

2). Let him rest his head against your chest and relax.

Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but that's the memory he finds himself thinking back to when he can't sleep during a long deployment. Or when he needs a quick pick-me-up after a long day.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[richarlotte]

more things you swear by?

Japanese Lingerie.

I swear by Japanese lingerie, especially if you love detailed sets. My body doesn’t suit American-made lingerie now that I’ve lost so much weight, and I learned about Japanese lingerie from r/abrathatfits on my journey to find what suited me. The bras are forward projecting and give me a much better side view. I love buying matching lingerie sets, and the sets I usually go for are lacy and intricate; they’re incredibly well priced for the quality they are, and they fit me the way I like my sets to fit me. Buying lingerie is extremely feminine to me, and I love finding sets that complement my body. I’m still not as secure in my new body as I’d like to be, and good lingerie makes me feel beautiful again.

French Tips.

French tips are my go-to. They look good, they’re low maintenance, they’re universally acceptable, and they look clean. When done right, they make my hands look longer and thinner than they are, and I love that with a thinner white line, they look and feel delicate. I mostly do French mani-pedis; it’s a habit I got into when I first went to Chicago, and it’s served me well, so I doubt I’ll ever stray from it. The nail salon combo is widely accepted to be DND865 and DND473, and I do an acrylic overlay on top of my natural nails, keep an oval shape, and request a thin tip if I’m not doing BIAB again. I won’t get into the acrylic vs. BIAB debate at the moment, but I will say that when properly done, BIAB looks amazing, is better for helping you retain length, and it lasts longer than acrylic while looking better.

Classic Makeup and Flicky Layered Hair.

I love styling my hair and doing my makeup; it’s like a reward for waking up in the morning. I get to sit down, make myself pretty, and enjoy the entire process. I figured it was time to update my skincare and makeup routines once again, so I took the time to start watching makeup tutorials (Uma Jammeh, amazing) and using what products I already have to adapt certain looks to my face. As for hair, I’m obsessed with Sarmadina de Beaute as of late and layers. I think my hair looks best with heavy, flicky layers (Remington curls) if I don’t have the time to do a blowout, and I’ve really embraced the process of both finding styling inspiration and actually doing my hair. I found my ultimate inspiration the other day, ordered hair immediately, and cut and styled one of my synthetic wigs to get the look in the interim, and I’m smitten.

Minimal Jewelry.

I’ve always worn minimal jewelry; I’m a major fan of Cartier, and I’ve curated a small collection that I wear nearly every day. I love accessorizing, but I don’t like wearing a million things that have no meaning; I prefer to only wear things I love or things that have a story behind them. Gold is my metal and diamonds are my jewel. I prefer this combo over all of the other combos I’ve seen or worn before, but I also occasionally wear mother of pearl when the time is right. I dislike being weighed down by poorly made pieces; I think jewelry can be used as a statement (when needed), and putting thought into what I wear and what I want my jewelry to say has saved me a lot of misery. With the exception of my charm necklace or lavaliere necklace, I try to wear the same sets every day.

Lymphatic Massages and Red Light Therapy.

Now that it’s November and the weather is soon to turn cold again, I’m much more focused on cardio and my diet. Because I’ve filled my weekday mornings with Pilates and my afternoons with the elliptical and stairmaster, I’ve added lymphatic drainage massages and red light therapy to my weekend schedule. I’ll be in Europe, on the slopes, in the freezing cold for the majority of my winter break, and I’m preparing for that now. Lymphatic massages are a lifesaver for me, especially during allergy season, and full-body red light therapy is just an additional benefit. I’ve also switched from studio yoga to hot yoga and from the steam room back to the sauna, stopped drinking coffee, and really started focusing on increasing my flexibility.

Tinting, Tanning, and Toning.

I love having dark skin already, but I do tend to go wild with the self-tanning in the winter. In my mind, there’s nothing more beautiful than dark skin against white snow, and the darker I am, the better I look. I grew up being told that I was too dark, but I’ve embraced it. I’m proud of my skin, and I love the richness of it, and I use tanner as a way to cover up the scarring on my body and contour my face. As for tinting, I tint my brows and lashes darker than I normally would in the colder months because they don’t turn over or fade as quickly. I never ever tint my eyebrows jet black; that color is far too harsh for my face, and I can’t pull it off at all. I use the darkest brown on my brows and jet black on my lashes. When it comes to toning, I spray my entire body with the Ordinary’s glycolic acid and let it dry after showering for the best results. I swear by it for clearing body acne and preventing any body odor.

It’s similar but different.

[laurentidal]

Catalogue

When the catalogue arrived at the house, Renee thought it was a prank. Someone had signed her up for some bizarre joke magazine like when she used to sign up her neighbors for Playboy under the name "Jack Mehoff." She opened up the flimsy paper catalogue, trying not to chuckle at the name Slaveseeker.

The paper was light. Almost like tissue paper. It was like holding a magazine printed on brown public bathroom paper towel. The comparison to Playboy had been apt, apparently. Each page contained a single naked woman and a listing of her features: blue eyes, red hair, 40DD, submissive. Finally, at the bottom there was a price tag. She sighed and threw the escort advertisement away, and it was out of her mind the second it hit the bin.

But then the next month, another copy arrived. Slaveseeker June edition. And this time it was a little nicer. Gone was the flimsy almost-see-through material from May. It looked like they'd been able to spring for real paper this time. She smiled and thought, "Good for them." She supposed enough people had called and hired an escort that they'd managed to scrounge together a proper printing operation. But again, she threw the magazine away.

July. August. September. All brought a new copy of Slaveseeker Monthly. By October, the magazine was positively glamourous. The paper was glossy. The pictures of the models were obviously professional quality. And the descriptions were more… in depth.

Listing No 724-A: Melinda Esthridge Eyes: Green Hair: Blonde

Renee stared at the woman in the image. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't touched herself flipping through the magazine last month. The arrival of the catalogue had become something of a guilty pleasure. Renee had never dreamed of hiring an escort before, but when you're given the option again and again. And this woman - Melinda Esthridge - she was new. Renee double checked September's copy that she'd stashed under the end table.

Something about this woman called to her. And the cost wasn't bad for a night.

Maybe if she hadn't been in such a dry spell. Maybe if she hadn't had that extra glass of wine with dinner. Maybe if she hadn't flipped to just the right page with a model that looked so much like…

Anyway, there were a lot of maybes, but none of them mattered. In the end, horny and a little tipsy, Renee called the number on the last page of the catalogue and told the sweet voice on the other side of the line that she'd like to purchase 724-A for an evening. The woman took her credit card information and assured her that Melinda would be there within the hour.

While she waited, Renee read more of the woman's profile. The simple "Submissive" that they'd included in that first shitty edition had expanded greatly. Now there was a comprehensive list of Melinda's like and dislikes and fetishes and their strengths. And last, just above the price, there was a Willfulness Rating, which the first page told her was a indicator of how easy it would be to make Melinda want or do things anathema to her above listings. Melinda's was quite low.

A knock on the door, and Renee almost ran to open it. In front of her, to her shock and dismay, stood her sister-in-law, Mary Ann. The church-going goody-two-shoes housewife that her brother had married was almost unrecognizable under the makeup and in the revealing clothing, but here in person, Renee could see what the picture only suggested.

"Mary Ann?" Renee asked, as the woman walked into her house. She didn't react. Instead, she sat on the couch, eyes glazed.

"Hello," she began to recite with robotic precision. "Thank you for selecting me from Slaveseeker Monthly. I am your slave for this evening. Our time expires at 4:00 AM, no matter what time I have arrived. Until then, I am yours completely. Any damage incurred will be met with hostility and substantial charges to the card on file."

Then, she blinked, and seemed to return to life. "Renee?" she asked, puzzled. Then a look at sheer panic filled her face. "Oh my god. Oh my god. You bought me? Renee what the fuck?"

"What the fuck yourself? What are you doing in an escort magazine?"

"It's not…," Mary Ann trailed off. "This isn't supposed to be possible. They swore when I signed up."

"What was that big speech you gave? You said you are my slave."

That glassy look returned to Mary Ann's eyes. "Yes, Mistress. I am your slave for the evening. I will obey all commands." She blinked again and came back to reality. "Fuck I need to go. This can't happen."

"Stop," Renee said forcefully, and Mary Ann froze on the spot. "Strip."

"Yes, Mistress," she answered immediately and began to obey. But as she peeled her clothes off, she begged Renee to let her go. And as she stood there, naked and helpless, she told Renee that it wasn't supposed to be possible to get family.

"But you're not family," Renee said with a sly smile. "You're Melinda Esthridge."

Melinda relaxed, allowing the persona to sweep over her. The worry melted away, replaced with eager lust for the task at hand.

After that, Renee didn't need to call the catalogue anymore. The editions continued to come, but so did Renee. The family dinners were much more exciting. Melinda was ever her secret plus one, no pretense or hypnosis needed - they both knew what had been unlocked that night - and she didn't even have to prepare another plate. Melinda ate a different dinner from everyone else; quickly and quietly in a back bedroom, where no one could hear the need in Mary Ann's voice as her personality changed in the blink of an eye.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[barefoothighlander]

i loved your simon x sunshine wife can you please do one with konig ? love your work!!! <3

of course, thank you so much!

warnings: none just fluff, mention of anxiety

It was a pretty big shock to the team when they found out you and König were married, he was always quiet, keeping to himself where as you would burst into rooms, chatting with anyone who wanted to.

Contrary to popular belief he was talkative, but only when you were home, he'd tell you about his day, animals he'd encounter on his way home if he saw something he thought you'd find interesting.

He loved listening to you talk, ambling about whatever was on your mind, his eyes practically heart-shaped at the way your face lit up, your infectious smile that he loved.

You'd find things to surprise him with, somedays you'd try to cook or bake something that would remind him of his home considering he spent so much time away.

On his most recent deployment, you made it your mission to try and learn some German to surprise him.

You extended your arms to him as he entered the door, "Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe" You struggle through the words, squinting your eyes as you try to remember them. Even behind his hood, you could see his face light up, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, "Where did you learn that?", "Tried to learn some while you were gone, is it terrible?" You scrunch your face and he shakes his head, stepping forward to wrap his arms around you, "You're pronunciation is off but, es ist perfekt, meine liebling"

He enjoyed how tactile you were, always having your hands on him somehow, his favourite was when you played with his hair after a long day. Every morning before he left for work he'd wake you up to braid it for him, insisting that you did it so much better than him and you happily obliged.

You were a naturally curious and extroverted person, stopping in the street to have conversations with strangers, asking to pet their dogs as you walked hand in hand with him, the idea of chatting with strangers made him nervous, scared they'd be intimidated by him but you always held his hand through interactions.

If he was anxious you'd pull him aside and wrap your arms around him, providing some sort of pressure on his chest to help him relax, reminding him to breathe.

He was utterly surprised when you first began dating, his face flushed as you asked him out on a date, most people crossed the street when they saw him, his large mask-clad form roaming the streets, but not you, you didn't treat him differently than any other person.

It took him a few months to be comfortable enough to show you his face, nervous you'd dislike the way he looks but he practically melted into your touch when you stroked a thumb across his cheek, tucking loose hair behind his ear.

"It's long, your hair, I thought it'd be short" "You don't like it" "I love it"

The wedding was small, held at your home with just a few friends, the team and minimal family, you had let him choose the food for the occasion while you took to decorations. Picking flowers from the garden that the two of you had made, it helped with his stress to tend to the flowers, having to be responsible for something so fragile.

You had gotten closer to the team and encouraged him to do the same, inviting them over on weekends and stopping by the base when they were there, it was no surprise that you got along with the men and it helped him get to know them better, lightly laughing along as you joked with Soap and Price.

"Cannae imagine how big your kin will be, I mean the man is massive" König practically choked on the air in his throat as Soap joked. "You have no idea, Johnny" You laughed, König dropped his head in embarrassment, laughing while you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder.

It was a weekly occurrence that you had to remind him that you weren't made of glass, every touch so gentle and careful like it he pressed too hard you'd shatter.

In public his hands always sought some part of your body, whether they settled on your waist or lower back, you grounded him.

He'd complain a lot about how you'd steal food from his plate but the truth was he thought it was cute, how you'd try to sneak bites away while he wasn't looking, or attempt to distract him while he was cooking so you could pick at the food.

Sometimes when he was really tired or stressed he'd slip back into German, forgetting that you couldn't understand every word and apologizing.

"will dich nicht verlassen" He grumbled, you hummed in response, turning his head to peak an eye at you "M'sorry, forgot for a minute" "S'okay, I like hearing you speak" "You can't understand me" "Your face says more than you think" You smile, kissing his forehead while his arms wrapped around you, tugging you into him.

It was a struggle every time he left home, not knowing when he'd be home, but the wait was always worth it, watching him walk through the door and immediately relax his shoulders at the sight of you, his eyes staring at you the same way they did when you first met.

Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe (welcome home my love)

es ist perfekt, meine liebling (it’s perfect my darling)

will dich nicht verlassen (i don’t wanna leave you)

[inaflashimagine]

(i’ll love you) til’ the day that i die

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader

wc: 5k

features: a piece that is part of a multi-chapter nagumo x reader x akao rion story i've been working on–i found it fitting that this section talks about his birthday! the only present he'll be getting here though is angst. includes manga spoilers, numerous mentions of akao. no use of pronouns. and for some context, reader was a poisons-making student at the JCC

The harmonious union between Sakamoto Taro and Aoi is slated to happen during the middle of the worst heat wave in years.

It’s also the same week as Nagumo’s birthday.

Within a hand’s length lies a mini swiveling fan working its best in spite of the brutal conditions. When the weak breeze finally hits the front of your face you let out the most contented sigh. 

Today you’re supposed to water the bountiful assortment of plants decorating your living room and balcony–some cultivated for fun, like the tricky fern a doting, elderly neighbor had given you recently, and others grown for work, like your newly blooming sacred datura–but completing such a task would require you to stand up. And since moving from your current position requires energy you cannot manage to expend, you continue lying on the wooden floor of your apartment, limbs sprawled out lazily like a lounging starfish as you try to ignore the perspiration forming on your forehead. 

Staring at the ceiling, you think about the outfit Asami helped you choose a few days ago, an alarmingly expensive one that’s currently hidden in the corner of your packed closet–a simple, but elegant chiffon fit that flows down to the ankles. Unfortunately, you fear that a feather-light fabric won’t stop you from sweating buckets if your current get-up of a loose tank top and baggy shorts has anything insightful to offer on how you’ll fare the weather in the coming days.

You also regret not buying a present for Nagumo the day you went shopping. The wedding is not for three days, but his birthday is tomorrow. There’s no shot you’ll be able to leave your place today unless someone drags you out of it.

Even if you somehow manage to get outside, you’re still not sure what you’ll get him. Though he denies your accusations of him being a scrupulous person with refined tastes (“Me? Picky? Never!”), you’ll never forget almost choking on your dinner the one time you decided to search up the price of those shiny custom leather boots he likes to wear on assignments. The same missions where blood splatters all over the place.

Not that it matters. Unlike Asami, you don’t have the uncanny ability to distinguish and pick out good designer items, so purchasing anything in that realm feels pointless when he likely already owns that piece or will return the ones he dislikes. You guess being a professional assassin with a lot of money to spend means you can afford to be more deliberate with what you wear.

It also feels cheap to repeat presents, although there are a few golden ones to choose from the previous list. When he turned nineteen, he was initially wary of using the hefty supply of medicine you made to treat his motion sickness, considering you first gave him a similar concoction in high school that only had him hurling more violently. (A genuine mistake, you swear. Perhaps just as much as he swears his car sickness is genuine and not an excuse to get out of driving duty.) But aside from a mission that Sakamoto said would’ve been a disaster without Kamihate, lately you haven’t heard any complaints about him feeling carsick.

(Though two weeks ago, Shishiba picked up the batch of incapacitating agents and truth serums he needed for a target before randomly telling you that Nagumo still takes the pills whenever there’s a particularly long car trip. It almost felt like the blond was indirectly thanking you, since he said he was grateful that the rental cars could now stay tidy, but that small, knowing smirk irked you enough to tell him to get going with his mission unless he wanted to be forcefed an onion salad.) 

Maybe Nagumo would like an air conditioner. You sure would like one. 

There is one other option. It wouldn��t be particularly fancy or brand new, but perhaps the sentiment it brings will suffice. Slightly lifting your head, you stare at one of the only two pictures hanging on the otherwise blank wall. You swear you had a copy of it, but now you’re doubting yourself. The more you mull it over, the more complicated it seems, and you groan in frustration as your head hits the hard floor rather forcefully.

Just fretting over this makes you laugh. Your high school self could never imagine this being what you’d spend your waking days thinking about. Back then, the thought of calling Nagumo your friend made you instantly gag, and while now you sometimes hate admitting it aloud, it would be childish to outright deny your friendship with him. 

You only started getting him presents when someone suggested a group one for his eighteenth, begrudgingly agreeing to the idea because you figured a smiling, happy Nagumo was significantly better than dealing with a version that would resort to theatrics to lament the lack of receiving a present. Strangely enough, gifting him something not only celebrates his day but also feels like you’re keeping the spirit of another alive.

“Care to share your thoughts?”

Your lips pull into a slight frown, finding that the comforting canvas that is your ceiling has now been blocked by Nagumo’s large forehead.

“No wonder why you grow out your bangs.”

“Hurtful!” But his smirk hints that he’s not too offended, even when a freakishly long arm stretches outward to flick your own head. “Whatever happened to a simple ‘Hello’, dare I even say, a cordial ‘How are you’?”

“Oh. Right. I guess I can say that.” You blink slowly, a gesture he returns. “But maybe after you tell me how you got in here?”

That question is a moot one, considering he’s become an expert at discovering new ways to break into your apartment without causing a ruckus. To tally the number of times you’ve opened the front door just to see him lounging on the couch–smooching off your snacks and streaming subscriptions despite having his own–would require more than the two hands you currently have attached. Unfortunately, there’s no point in changing the locks when he knows how to pick each one.

He remains bent over from the waist up, hands placed on hips as his eyes idly roam across your face. From this position, falling strands of his jet-black hair look like icicles that are on the precipice of impaling your head.

“You know, you really should shut your windows when you’re not in the room! Who knows when a psycho might sneak into your lovely home?”

Entering through your bedroom window is a new method. Though you’ve only started living here for half a year, eager to move into a place that wasn’t directly above your’s family perfumery. After the JAA News Channel and the JAA Times deemed the shop the second-best fragrance store in the Western branches–tragically losing the coveted first-place spot to the Nishimuras–clientele has been an all-time high while privacy has been abysmally low. (Yet perhaps you’ve overestimated your ability to find the latter in the first place.)

You’re just glad you don’t have to go to the locksmith again–the poor old man started to worry for your safety when he saw you for a third time in less than a month. 

“Did you say hi to Mochi? He’s been enjoying his free roaming time.” 

He appears as if his brain stopped working, blank doe eyes as wide as ever. A nervous laugh leaves his agape mouth that becomes frozen into a forced grin. “He’s what?”

“What’s with that tone?”

“Oh, you mean my perfectly normal reaction to finding out your poisonous snake is outside its tank?”

Your dejected sigh is a long one. “For the millionth time, he’s venomous, not poisonous.”

The footsteps of professional assassins are quieter than that of a seasoned ballerina, so the fact that you can easily hear Nagumo’s hurried ones as he retreats to the hallway shows how dramatic he’s being. Your assumption that he’s heading to the guest room–which currently holds all your reptilian enclosures, including a safely stored Mochi–is right as he exclaims, “Oh, you think you’re a comedian now?”

Though the joke was short-lived your amusement thankfully lasts longer. “You still haven’t greeted him, that’s so rude! My, oh my, whatever happened to a simple ‘Hello’? Don’t hurt his feelings.”

“Killing the birthday boy is ruder! I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”

While Mochi is a boomslang, a snake whose venomous bite can have you bleed from all your orifices until you die, his previous owner made the rather unethical choice to have its glands removed. He’s probably the most timid snake you’ve rescued–and one of the most beautiful with such vibrant green scales–but you’d never free handle him. Of course, Nagumo doesn’t need to know that important tidbit. With how rare it is to successfully prank or lie to him, you secretly enjoy pulling his leg once in a blue moon.

“Not sure if you know this, but your birthday isn’t for another twenty-four hours,” you say with closed eyes, trying to picture yourself on a cool island rather than the sweltering oven that is your living room. Talking right now feels incredibly draining. “So at this very moment, there is no obligation to keep you entertained.”

Nagumo draws out a weary exhale. “Must you make our relationship sound so transactional? I just wanted to relax with a friend after a busy work day.”

When you no longer feel the faint wind from your fan, you crack an eye open and turn your head, only to see that the precious item has been moved so that he can direct it toward his own face while he places himself next to you.

His body lies in the opposite direction to yours, but both your curious gazes match at the same level. He’s replaced the suit and tie for an unbuttoned and eccentrically patterned camp collar shirt over a baggy black tank top and bright blue shorts, meaning the scorching heat outside is no fluke. It’s the first time you’re noticing how long his hair has grown, a small knot poking out from the nape of his neck.

“I’m not sure if our relationship is transactional since that implies a two-way model,” you explain slowly, like a teacher introducing a complex concept to their students. “I give, you take, and then I take when you give. If that’s actually the case, what will I get after you’ve stolen my hair tie?”

You just bought a new pack of them, too. The urge to head to your room to see if they’ve all been swiped from your vanity is strong, but the will to stay still is stronger.

He grins largely, the pale skin on his neck pulling taut as your glance falls to the Fibonacci spiral. That was the first tattoo he got after receiving the hefty commission that comes with being a member of the Order. It seems to glisten with small beads of perspiration, and you’re surprised the only enemy that triggers him to break out into a sweat is this unbearable weather.

“Well, I figured my presence was enough for you. Maybe more than enough, even.”

The snort that leaves you is less than graceful. “That’s a line all your targets must love hearing.”

He hums, stroking his chin. “I wouldn’t know, since I just came up with it today, and I took the day off.”

“You said today was a long work day.”

“Did I?” His carefree laugh sounds like chimes rustling in the soft wind. “Ah, you know me, I always take the week off for my birthday.”

“You’ve never done that.”

“It’s a new tradition. Thought it would be fitting with the little wedding happening in a few days.” His fingers lock together when he places them atop his chest, exhaling a wistful sigh. “Sakamoto-kun, getting married! They grow up so fast.”

Your body tenses at that. You know it should be good news–you’re happy for Sakamoto, too. It’s the implications that come with marrying a civilian that makes you worry.

Hyo brought it up during the last time he stopped by the shop, needing to pick up domoic acid for a mission; the sight of one of the tallest men you’ve seen cradling a miniature bottle would’ve provided more comic relief were it not for his questions that followed. When he commented that the quiet man was taking more time off and following through on fewer assignments, you figured he was mildly complaining about the need for other Order members to pick up his slack. Then he asked when was the last time you talked to Sakamoto.  

It would’ve seemed random–especially since you and Hyo seldom discuss anything beyond fragrances and poisons–had you not made that unspoken agreement with Nagumo months ago. Since that night, you’ve been careful with running into Sakamoto, or any 7-Eleven for that matter. 

And from what Nagumo has told you, no one else in the Order knows about Aoi, much less the fact that you two have met her. You hope it stays that way. The last thing this wedding needs is a splash of red.

Especially when you know the JAA doesn’t take well to assassins exposing the cracks in the association’s carefully constructed structure, and particularly when those who disrespect the rules causes others to question whether they could do the same. Almost two years have passed since Yotsumura’s defection, but his absence still looms over like a dark cloud in the distance that no one wants to acknowledge. The members first pointing out the fresh jagged scar on Shishiba’s chin was the last time anything connected to the founder of the Order was mentioned. 

His death serves a dull, painful reminder. A threat. Yotsumura was the one who hired you as a poisons expert retainer for his organization, a deal you only accepted after he assured you that you were chosen not because of Nagumo’s unabating–and Sakamoto’s sporadic–recommendations, but solely for recreating a highly coveted poison that was last made by your father. (“I don’t trust those two and I’m not the type to do favors. Besides, people who can make decent poisons are short in numbers these days.)

If the JAA treated their former No. 2 man like that, you fear how they might dispose of others who forget their loyalty. It’s a warning those like Hyo heed, and those like Sakamoto will ignore, especially if it contradicts what they want. 

So with Hyo being such a stickler for the rules, you simply shrugged at his question before changing the subject. If anyone is going to announce a JAA violation, it should be Sakamoto himself. Your job requires you to be okay with helping others kill, a fact you’ve never challenged, but you refuse to cause the death of an innocent civilian.

Thankfully, Hyo didn’t think much of your lack of an answer. Maybe he caught the visible discomfort in your shifting figure before dropping the topic, asking how your grandparents were instead. You sincerely hope his soft side–which you swear you’ve seen before–allows him to be more understanding of this delicate situation Sakamoto’s placed himself in. 

But the real concern lies in how long everyone will continue believing this false narrative that one of the country’s most formidable assassins won’t call it quits the minute he gets hitched to a normie.

“I still can’t believe it,” you say after a hot minute, eyes fixed back onto the ceiling. “They seem like complete opposites.”

Nagumos laughs, sounding quite amused. “Well, you’re definitely convinced they’ll stay together…”

“It’s not that, I just–” Where are you going with this? “Marriage is such a foreign concept to me.”

Even the way the word rolls off your tongue feels weird. Sounds off. 

“Foreign? Haven't you been to a wedding before?”

“Have you?”

Although he doesn’t respond right away, you can feel him burning holes into your face. 

You continue to stare straight above. 

“Well, I guess I crashed one, but that counts, right?” He bites his lip in contemplation. “The bride didn’t appreciate me killing the groom before their photoshoot, though.”

It takes restraint to not laugh darkly at what you ideally hope is a joke, but are cynically aware could very likely be the truth. “Gee, I wonder why…”

“Anyway, you act as if people in our profession don’t get married.”

“They don’t.” You won’t. At least, you don’t think you will. But telling him that feels wrong, so you stick with the unpleasant, sour taste in your mouth.

“And your parents? Mine?”

You can’t recall the last time he’s mentioned his parents. In fact, you don’t think he’s ever brought them up before.

“I mean, married to civilians.”

The sound of the fan whirring back to life makes you switch your gaze back to the floor. To Nagumo positioning the petite contraption next to your face.

“Man, this heat has you all depressed! We gotta make sure you’re not behaving like this at the wedding–no one likes a party pooper.”

“Nagumo, be serious for once,” you plead wearily, hating that it sounds like you’re whining.

“Oh man, I can’t be the only one feeling this sense of deja vu!”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be daft. Haven’t we talked about this before?” There’s a mirthful glint in his gaze that accompanies that teasing tone.

Right, the ‘tranquil’ nightly stroll featuring a civil conversation that felt more like some absurd ultimatum. “Not to the extent we should’ve.”

“Hmm, I remember calling it silly. A tad foolish. Ridiculous, sure. What else will fit…I’ll have to pull out a thesaurus at this rate.”

“I’m worried for her.”

He immediately stops ticking off his senseless list of words, sharp eyes studying your concern. “Hah! Worried? Come on, you know he’ll protect her. Will probably teach her a few moves, or maybe it’s the other way around. He did mention that she’s a Bruce Lee fan.”

The steady thrum of the spinning fan matches the rapid beats of your heart as you look at him imploringly. “And you know that’s not what I’m concerned about.”

His lips press firmly, a sudden grim expression saying more than his words ever could.

Nagumo may be as skillful as Sakamoto, perhaps even more adept than his old friend, yet his inability to move on hinders him. He can lie about no longer being affected by it. Can masterfully hide his need for closure. But any hypocrite can spot when someone else is relying on the methods they also use.

He’s like you, in that way. The thought strikes your head so abruptly it begins to ache.

It’s his turn to look up, hands behind his head as he sighs. “It’ll be okay! Seriously. She trusts him.”

“As if that’s enough.” In this world, it isn’t. If Sakamoto attempts to leave, it will only follow him. 

He has to be aware of this. Right? Blind trust is reserved for idiots who enjoy getting hurt.

“Hmm, who’s to say? But being so guarded sure makes for a boring life.”

Your stomach twists into knots, cognizant of who that’s directed toward. “At least it guarantees safety.”

“Please,” he chides, not unkindly, “then why stick to poison-making? And nothing in life is guaranteed. You know that more than anyone.”

He must catch your slight wince–of course he does, who are you kidding?–because he quickly adds on, a bit higher in pitch and certainly more lively than how you’re feeling, “One never knows when there’s an assassin about to cut off your head, after all!”

“I’m talking about Aoi, here.” Yet you aren’t fooling anyone with how defensive you sound.

“You really are the worst liar I know.” He turns his body to face you in the same direction, calling your name when you’re reluctant to do the same. His voice is so quiet your ears strain to hear the low mumble. “What are you so afraid of?”

It doesn’t help that when you close your eyes, you only see her face. Can even vividly picture every single strand of blue hair that hides the tiny dark flecks in those annoyingly golden eyes.

This really is the last conversation you want to have with anyone, least of all him. 

You suck in a short breath before rolling to your side, growing increasingly aware of how stuffy the room feels. How close he is to you. 

“I’m not afraid, I’m…” You falter. “I’m just tired of losing people.” 

Your face burns as you continue to be met with silence, a quiet that you doubt with how loudly your heart pounds against your ribs. The confession is incredibly shameful to say aloud, considering what you do for a living. It’s more embarrassing to admit it to another person, specifically to someone who will undoubtedly respond with one of his classic facetious remarks. (Though you argue such a reply is warranted.) 

But still, finally getting it out in the open, after sitting with it for so long, makes you feel a bit less lonely. 

He doesn’t say anything, his uncharacteristically sober gaze searching yours.

You feel him grab your hand gently, your muscles initially flexed when you see him place it on top of his cheek.

Yet there’s no other resistance on your end, and you’re frightened by how quickly your body reacts to the movement. Your palm even seems to have a mind of its own with the way it cups his face immediately. As if some primordial instinct just kicked in.

Nagumo stays still as your fingers trace soft lines across his smooth skin. From the delicate slope of his nose and the high set of cheekbones to the sharp edge of his jaw and the long lashes that frame round, dark eyes. Eyes that hold a void you’re never able to tap yourself into, unless you risk getting sucked into that black hole. 

You feel starved, unable to stop admiring a beauty so alluring. Inviting. He’s warm to the touch. 

Alive. 

And despite your brain reminding you that he’s here, right in front of you, another part of you can’t believe it until you’ve committed every feature to memory. The intimate action requires all your concentration that you nearly forget the light trail of sweat forming at the back of your neck, or the insufferable heat threatening to swallow you two whole.

Your fingers hover right above his lips with a slight waver, though you unabashedly stare at them and the way they twist upwards when he catches you in the act. 

“Go out with me.”

A mere whisper, terribly low that if you aren’t sharing the same breaths you might’ve missed it.

It feels like you just got the wind knocked out of you. Looking up, you blink away the reverie you slipped yourself into, trying your best to forget the moment when those exact same words were said by someone else so long ago. “What?”

“Go out with me,” he repeats, a bit louder this time, and that’s when you notice his hand is on your hip. “We can go to the wedding together. Be the hottest couple.” He pauses, thinking that over again. “Well, second hottest, I suppose. That’s what we’d tell them, anyway.”

You’d laugh from the shock of it all if it weren’t for your unsteady heart attempting to jump out of your chest. “How…forward of you.”

Even his snorts are graceful. “You say that as if it’s a new trait of mine.”

“That’s because I don’t know what else to say.”

He smiles enthusiastically, and there’s a rare hint of nervousness to its boyish character. “How about ‘yes’? That’s not only the easiest answer but the right one, especially for the birthday boy.”

“Hey, you can’t pull that card.” You’re surprised your racing mind can currently form a coherent sentence. “Not yet, at least.”

His eyes crease with the smug smirk playing on his lips. “Huh, I guess you’re right. Not that I need to use it. Because we both know you feel it, too.”

The tip of his thumb skirts under your shirt and a shiver wracks your body from the contact. 

To steady the slight tremor in your hand, you flatten your palm against his face. Grasping fingers find purchase in his hair, a light exhale falling past your lips upon realizing how soft it is. Uncaring for how you cause it to fall loose from the tied knot. You know you shouldn’t, that you should stop. But it’s the only thing grounding you at the moment.

You can see your conflicted expression reflected in those big brown eyes that you get lured into far easily. The cascading sunlight makes them appear as a rich, coppery chestnut you can’t, or rather, don’t want to tear yourself away from.  

For a brief second, you can picture it clearly, can sense it with every fiber of your being. His comforting embrace after a long, tiresome day. The curve of his lips against your own. Entwining his hands with yours. Taking in his scent until you can distinguish no other. Him having you all to himself and you having him all to yourself. Where no one else, no thing can reach. The image is so vivid that you can touch it with a stretch of your arm, feel it brush against the edge of your fingertips. Closing your eyes, you feel yourself lean in, almost allow yourself to give in, to be swept by the grandeur of it all.

Almost.

You’re not sure what exactly pulls you back, but the uneasy dread that begins pooling in your stomach becomes harder to ignore with each sharp breath. You swallow the lump in your throat, a dull ache in your heart as you painfully pry your heavy hand off him and shake your head.

“I can’t.” Air leaves your chest. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

The instant those words leave your mouth you know you’ve made a mistake. You desperately wish you could tell him why–to provide him some sort of explanation beyond the half-assed ‘it feels wrong’. Or at least something, anything, that doesn’t teeter between the straight razor edge of unnecessarily cruel and downright insane.

But when his smile no longer reaches his eyes, you doubt a clarification would’ve prevented him looking this sad. 

And then it’s gone in an instant. His well-worn mask is back on, the sunny disposition written so well across his face you wonder if the slightest inkling of disappointment was simply a figment of your imagination. 

He truly is a master of his craft. 

The room suddenly feels frigid and sterile, and panic begins to rise in your chest the moment he starts getting up. 

You find yourself standing, lamely trailing behind as he begins to open the door. “Wait, hold on–”

“Now, no need to look so guilty,” he says casually, back facing towards you. He tilts his head so you can only catch a glimpse of his face. Save for the thin stretch of his lips, you can’t begin to read his expression, much less fathom what’s going on in that head of his. “Not when I was just kidding!”

The cheerful delivery of that last line sounds so feigned you much prefer being stabbed in the gut multiple times than being the one to blame for all this. 

“Nagumo,” you try once again, voice getting weaker, “We should talk about this.”

He’s less than a few steps away from you but you’ve never felt this distant from him. You hate how good he is at making it seem like you’re an acquaintance he can now cross off his yearly check-in quota. Oceans apart would be a generous underestimate.

“See you at the wedding!”

The door closes before you can register that he’s left, not giving you the chance to study even the slightest change in his face. 

Then again, you don’t think you’ve ever been able to read past his facade. 

In such a short amount of time, everything seems to have flipped upside down, anxiety gripping its claws into you while you pace back and forth in search of a solution. You worry it might be too late to mend the gaping hole you recklessly created. 

In your frenetic pacing, your shoulder bumps into the wall, two pictures no longer in view as they fall onto the floor. The shattered glass punctures the silence that weighs in the air. Cursing under your breath, you bend down, careful to not cut yourself with the broken shards as you pick up the first photo and stare at the four people looking right back at you. 

It was Asami’s first photograph on the new digital camera you had gifted her for her birthday. She told all of you to smile and look at the fancy device, but (shockingly) only you, the poisons student who treated a lab manual like scripture, followed her instructions. 

Sakamoto ended up blinking in this one, and the last time you checked, a frown was not a smile. A squinting Akao was right next to him and to your left. Her black jacket slipped past her shoulders as she poked Nagumo in the cheek after she caught him wiggling his hand behind your head with two fingers up. One of his eyes was closed, the other one looking at you, but at least he was grinning from ear to ear. You can’t even remember what she was shouting at him, her open mouth–with the slightest upward curve at the corner if you examine it long enough–remaining frozen in time. All you can recall is their bickering making you laugh hard enough that your smile felt effortless. 

You try your hardest not to cry but realize it’s a lost cause when a teardrop dampens the photo paper.

[heiznx]

BUNDLE OF PURITY

∗༝*◦✦ and they were roommates.

BEFORE READING, woman mc, includes out of character scaramouche, triggering implications and scenes.

|| STAINED HANDS || DEAR KUNI ||

There were times Kunikuzushi stared at what view was above him and everything else, wondering if there was more than what his bare eyes could see—the blending of orange and yellow to a color that was far from the color wheel, purple and blue—and it’s all because the sun was setting.

The hues that matched his appearance were made up from the sky he would look at: dark blue shaded hair and blue eyes, much like the background shades used when nobles ask artists to paint a portrait of them.

“I must be old,” he used to think back then, for having preferred the darker shades like adults do even though he was only in his early adolescence at that time, when in fact, he only liked the hues, because they were the only ones he saw more frequently than the sun.

His perspective about that now was that he was naive.

Now and for the past years, Kunikuzsuhi wonders how he allowed himself to be so easily swayed to do something that he used to think was a burden to his work, but now he would convince himself that it was only rational of him to follow what the other says.

The light was blinding even when he placed his hand over his eyes; it was proven futile as light continued to only slip past his fingers and shone right back on his eyes.

He can feel herself getting irked by it; it was too warm for his liking.

“Where are you?” Kunikuzushi thought as he looked around the crowd of people before him; unfortunately, however, their tall structures blocked him from seeing anything, and they also fortunately blocked the sunlight from meeting his eyes. “That sick—! She’s unnecessarily stubborn! I will lose my mind!”

He dislikes having to be alone in such a place where vendors surrounding almost every corner of the area were yelling to get noticed first for their products, even though most of them were just the same—same fruits, same words, and same prices.

Though the event was yearly, there were occasions where everything just looked the same, and because of that, he didn’t feel any thrill from being beneath the pennant banners connected from house to house.

Kunukuzushi isn’t interested in the celebration, in fact, when he explained this to his companion, he can’t help but scoff; the irony was just there—everyone having to celebrate the birth of the missing child of the Empress that might’ve passed away already.

What’s more was that the Empress seemed convinced the child was alive and was searching for them now since they are supposed to be near the age for having a royal debutante.

Nobles were so irresponsible, and his companion was too forgiving.

If given the time, Kunikuzushi would want to drill in his companion’s brain about his hatred towards people, his experiences about being left, and his disgust for feeling like his companion had been taking everything lightly.

He definitely did confide to his companion about it all except the fluttering feeling that he used to feel disgusted of before meeting his companion; the way his companion thinks wasn’t one that he gets to see too often—his companion might be the only person that he knows that is objective even when having high morals.

“Kuni!” Just like that, he found his companion, who was waving towards his way and then looking side to side before his companion was the one to walk towards him instead. “I bought a calendar—!”

Kunikuzushi wasn’t born luxurious; the moment he learned that he was going to live a hard life started when he was young, when he witnessed being abandoned by a golden carriage that bore a certain crest of a noble family. Prior to that, however, there were things that he couldn't remember.

He lives in a small town, a disregarded one at that; people were cruel, and in his view, it was either he learns how to deal with it lest he gets killed at an early age.

What more was that the place was prone to rumors and there were frequent crimes happening—Kunikuzushi had been living there for two years when the nobles decided to do something about it: by simply placing guards on the place.

The place flourished and more people—kinder ones—started moving in and it became populated to the point it even gained a name: Mikage.

Kunikuzushi doesn’t expect much from it, especially when the heinous crimes still continue; he wasn’t the nicest, and there were rumors of him having a hidden identity for being reserved or closed off in society.

Were those rumors because, despite his small structure, he’s able to be as wealthy as the lower-ranking nobles? They need better proof than that; being a bartender just happens to pay well—ah, the rumors were because he’s able to hurl his fists at people who don’t follow the policies of the bar he works at.

One night while on shift, Kunikuzushi had this customer—a woman, one he hadn't seen before—sure, everyone could have the same [color] hair and [color] eyes as this woman—but this woman wasn’t from Melius or from anywhere at all.

She wasn’t wearing a corset; it was obvious from the way this woman was able to slouch on her seat, or specifically just because of the shape of her body; it was considered an undergarment, yet even without it, this woman didn’t look uncomfortable.

The maiden asked for a simple drink and then never talked, simply drinking on the corner of the seat at the counter.

It wasn’t that Kunikuzushi thought the damsel was frail, but she was definitely weak—she wouldn’t survive this place before it became Mikage.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked the maiden.

Not that he was interested in the comfort of the customer, but he doesn’t want to be removed from a place that pays well and secures his identity as an employee.

“It’s actually... colder here than I thought,” the maiden responded as her fingers fiddled with the drink, and it was there Kunikuzushi noticed he was right about the woman being a maiden—unmarried. “Oh, and how much is this drink, by the way?”

Soft spoken but not scared; the maiden didn’t stutter in his presence, not like she has a reason to be scared; as long as the maiden doesn’t defy the rules of the bar, she has nothing to worry about.

Not like the regulars, men, who started a brawl on their first time.

Kunikuzushi only realized that he wasn’t able to reply quickly to the maiden when he met her [color] eyes, looking at hers with a tint of curiosity; the maiden was waiting for his response.

“It’s on the house.”

The maiden was feminine; she has that sweet, soft voice that doesn’t have a tint of fear or uncertainty, and even her eyes don’t have a speck of judgment in them.

Even the way her eyes widened a little in surprise, a bit of warm hue rising up to her cheeks as she suddenly averted her eyes from Kunikuzushi, almost embarrassed—or the better word for it: shy.

“Thank you...” she uttered to the bartender before looking up to him again. “Just... Just so you know... I’m planning to be a regular, so you shouldn’t do this too often.”

Kunikuzushi probably hit a nerve there, but he chuckled: “Is that supposed to be a warning?”

“I was just saying...” the customer, soon-to-be regular, muttered, loud enough to be heard by Kunikuzushi, who now just noticed the calloused index finger of the maiden. “It’s just that I drink a lot.”

“Turns out, she’s not perfect,” the bartender thought as he remembered his previous thoughts. “I thought she’s a perfect bait.”

With the current society, men preferred easily manipulated wives who are soft-spoken, those who would never question their husbands, or those who indulged in their husband’s dirty fantasies.

Kunikuzushi knew that much, which was why he never bothered with romantic relationships; he can never have a good perspective on the world.

It’s not like his stained hands can even hold something so pure; the reason why the maiden stood out was because she was a beam of purity—it was quite ironic that Kunikuzushi met her at the bar, though.

How can someone who drinks a lot have such pure energy?

To be sitting there without any trace of malice or even a trace of intoxication.

Kunikuzushi didn’t know she had this kind of complexion until he came face-to-face with one; not even the clergy in the temples could ever go against this maiden.

The bartender wasn’t obligated to watch over the maiden as she left the bar after drinking; he’s not obligated to look out for her safety to make sure she arrives safely at her destination.

It was only when Kunikuzushi got to his residence that he realized how shaken up he was to meet a human like that; the maiden looked weak, and it felt worse to know the maiden was soft-spoken—possibly nice.

His emotions were mixed up; he barely met her and he’s already making assumptions about the maiden’s mannerisms, age, and delight.

He remembers what she wore: the usual dresses commoners would wear—a ruffled white top and a dark-colored skirt that should have reached all the way down to cover the ankles—but the maiden wore a skirt a few inches over her ankles.

Why did it bother him so much? Why does he remember?

He’s met children who were unaware of the meaning of many words—they count as pure humans too, but children irk him.

He didn’t even know what being pure was or what the requirements were in his mind that he needed to see in something or someone before he labeled them as such.

What made that person so different? What was this lure that kept pulling him to the maiden?

It felt disgusting, like insects crawling inside his stomach that he wanted to claw out.

That maiden wasn’t the brightest, but she wasn’t dim either—she was just that—she looked soft, kind, and everything Kunikuzushi never faced when he started living a hard life.

“That isn’t just that,” Kunikuzushi thought as he placed a hand on his mouth, having felt foul towards the thoughts of that maiden.

It was as if he couldn’t process his own feelings of envy, but Kunikuzushi would know if he was truly feeling that way after seeing people live better than he did for years—he would know, but what he was feeling earlier was not jealousy.

“Tomorrow.”

There will be tomorrow.

Another shift. A restless shift.

It wasn’t that the work of being a bartender was too much for Kunikuzushi, but he was the restless one looking forward to seeing the maiden who said that she would start being a regular just the day before.

When the door opened to the bar, there was the [color]-haired maiden; she wore the same as she did before, but it had different hues, and this time, her hair was covered with a head cloth.

“What’s with that dreadful thing on your head?” the bartender can’t hide his distaste towards the cloth that hid the length and color of the damsel’s hair.

“Being [color] is apparently too noticeable for men’s eyes,” the customer responded as she rolled her eyes and then tried to adjust her head cloth to cover even the bangs. “Oh, and I’ll get the same that I did prior.”

“It’s not my business...” the bartender had to repeat in his mind as he turned away to get her the alcoholic beverage. “Not my business.”

The beverage was quickly placed down on the table, where the maiden was pulling out papers from her leather bag and a feather with an ink bottle.

Reading and writing were things only the privileged could do, and not even Kunikuzushi was able to gain access to those; he hadn't even seen a noble’s private library in his entire life—or perhaps he did.

He watched the maiden, who apparently was literate, tap the table in search of her cup before she held onto it and took a sip—that was where her ruffled sleeves showed a bit of her, revealing a purple-ish shade wrapped around it like an accessory.

“I don’t like that,” Kunikuzushi muttered, making the damsel raise her head from the paper, confused at his words.

“Are you talking to me?” the damsel whispered, a bit confused about what the bartender was talking about. “What do you not like?”

“That,” Kunikuzushi responded, pointing at the head cloth, which made the maiden place a hand over the cloth. “Why not let it down?”

“You like [color]?”

The bartender was thrown off, and the damsel laughed at him before looking back down at her papers, not even taking off the head cloth or asking for answers.

“I do not have any preference,” Kunikuzushi snapped.

“Sure you don’t,” the other replied sarcastically.

“I was merely asking—!”

“Oh, could you get me some ice?”

“The ice is thirty-one feet down,” the bartender replied, frowning. “As I was saying—”

“So you like [color]?” the maiden teased as she looked up from the papers, revealing scribbles that the bartender could not understand. “Just say so, and I’ll let my hair down for you.”

“You are getting on my nerves,” Kunikuzushi replied with a frown, yet did not feel offended by their exchange.

Being cut off when talking was supposed to be hurtful, yet it felt more like playful banter than both of them trying to be prideful and overpower one another—Kunikuzushi liked that.

Both their schedules worked like that, with the bartender’s shift being from night to dawn and the damsel would bring her work to the bar and work at that time until both of them had to leave; the bartender noted that the damsel liked to drink while working.

[name], that’s what the damsel’s name was; the quantity of how much she drinks heavily depends on the work she does—not only does she write, she can also draw—and that was what her work was; she calls it: blueprints.

Kunikuzushi also learned where she lives and they lived beside each other; when they realized they lived beside each other, [name] started muttering around her house while working past dawn.

The artist seems to get very little sleep.

She was loved by the neighborhood; Kunikuzushi couldn’t help but ponder on the reason why he hadn’t heard of her until now.

What he thought once about the damsel was gone, as they got closer, the more it sank in that [name] wasn’t any of the things Kunikuzushi made up in his mind.

She didn’t have some hidden identity and was secretly a noble—no, she was a commoner making a living by helping and saving pennies enough to afford a drink.

[name] wasn’t being mysterious; she openly laughed at her presence and would give satisfactory answers whenever Kunikuzushi asked about the maiden’s personal life.

“I work at the underground market, they pay a lot,” she whispered that day to Kunikuzushi, who was thrown off, and she moved away from the artist.

Just after that was revealed, on the same night, Kunikuzushi also had to save her from being taken by familiar black clothed mercenaries from an underground guild because they wanted her capabilities to draw structures; Mikage flourished because of [name]’s work.

“How much more are you going to drink?” the bartender asked as he looked outside the bar, assuring himself that the ‘closed’ sign she placed outside was making the regular customers disperse.

“Enough for a gold penny,” the artist responds, her nose red as she hiccupped after—she was horrified by the incident. “Oh, yes, and take... ten gold coins in my pouch, apparently that’s how much my life was worth, and since you saved it you can have the coins.”

“You have a sarcastic mouth for someone who was just clinging and sobbing earlier,” Kunikuzushi responded before he looked away from the artist. “I prefer it this way.”

It was bad enough that [name] clung to him earlier and Kunikuzushi didn’t know how to respond; to preserve a bit more of Kunikuzushi’s dignity after having frozen up that time, it would be best for him if [name] doesn’t seek that kind of comfort from him.

The poor maiden’s source of income turned their back on her for a reason that she can’t control, which was being knowledgeable—Kunikuzushi’s not sure of the extent but if that specific guild became greedy, it must’ve been more than he currently knows.

Still, in his eyes, [name] was innocent.

“I can keep it if you don’t want it,” the artist huffed as she wiped her cheeks that had a few red splatters. “How much are your services?”

“Two gold pennies.”

“And your house tax?”

“Sixty-three sil—” the bartender had to pause in his words. “Why are you asking about my house?”

“Let me live there,” [name] sniffled. “I’ll pay your house tax and services every day. I don’t want to even be away from you for more than a meter.”

“You don’t sound serious.”

“Do you want a blood pact?”

“Are you a witch?”

“I’m very human, thank you.”

[name] was strange, because the damsel made a fuss about sleeping on the same bed with very little shame, exaggeratedly murmuring and grumbling about being scared.

The same damsel sobbing and crying earlier easily fell asleep, but that was only because she disturbed Kunikuzushi by clinging to him for comfort.

[name] made Kunikuzushi’s arm numb.

He, however, looked up to his ceiling, his mind wondering how it came to be how it was then; he was awfully disgusted at her just a few weeks back then.

Insects being in his stomach were still there and it doesn’t change the fact that he hated their existence, still wanting to claw them out yet he doesn’t move.

He thinks back to the incident earlier; [name]’s words towards the mercenaries were harmful, and though she was in clear panic, she was able to get Kunikuzushi’s attention by simply kicking his door, though weakly.

The artist wasn’t triggered by the aftermath either; she feared her situation and specifically only that, not minding if Kunikuzushi’s hands were blooded from having to save her.

He was right; [name] was weak.

But she was saved because of her quick thinking.

As the victim continued to remain asleep, being in the comfort of someone who remained as the victor over three men, he wondered if it was not a bit hypocritical of [name] to feel safe with someone who could easily overpower her?

Perhaps she felt safe because, after all, Kunikuzushi did save her, but wasn’t his strength intimidating?

Not to mention he was also a man.

The victor doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he placed a hand behind the victim’s head and cradled her; Kunikuzushi’s hand rising up to [name]’s head before he curls just enough to place his chin over her head.

It was so dangerous—to trust and to rely—yet he wished to find solace in the person in his arms as much as the damsel sees in him.

If Kunikuzushi was right about another thing, it was the fact he wasn’t envious of [name]; he felt a totally different thing.

With Kunikuzushi’s security [name] received, he wondered what it would be that he would receive from the latter.

[name] emptied her stomach, felt nauseous, and her entire body was sore the moment she woke up; she didn’t feel any better when Kunikuzushi only laughed at her for having drank a lot the night prior to drown her anxiety for almost being kidnapped.

Now feeling awake, Kunikuzushi became conscious of what he pondered about the night before—about wanting to find solace in [name].

He wasn’t sure if he was in the right mind at that night, because how can he find solace in someone who was exaggerating a cry whilst laying her head on a huge paper on the table; the exact blueprint that was the reason for last night’s incident.

“Oh fiddlesticks, I forgot my quill in my house...” she muttered before she looked back at Kunikuzushi, batting her eyelashes in his way. “P-perhaps on my behalf...”

“I’m charging you for this,” Kunikuzushi hissed his words before he headed for the door.

“You have my gratitude, short man!”

Living with [name] felt unreal, because he had never met someone nearly similar to him in a different aspect—both of them having clothes lasting for a week and having the same style but different colors.

Despite being loved by the neighborhood, even [name] had little utensils, for example: having only two clay cups for drinking, two plates for drinking and a singular bowl.

The reason for having very few items were the same as well: because it was a waste to buy something just because they are pretty—most pretty items were left unused.

Another similarity was that despite having much currency as a lower-ranking noble, both of them prefer to keep their money safely kept until for emergencies or if it’s for work.

[name] was considerably more affectionate than Kunikuzushi had thought; she liked having to act the male part of what Kunikuzushi gives, especially when they lock arms to buy ingredients.

It was like living with a witch, because [name] was simply talented. She can cook and she created the weirdest yet convenient things in Kunikuzushi house with Kunikuzushi’s permission; they have a water dispenser now, and it was clean boiled water, not simply water from the well or faucet.

There also wasn’t a day [name] forgot to pay Kunikuzushi for his services in keeping her secured in his place, but Kunikuzushi had forgotten about it until he would see a bowl filling up with gold pennies each day.

Unbeknownst to [name], when she would work at the bar at the same time shift as Kunikuzushi, when the bartender says ‘my treat,’ it actually means he’s using a gold penny that satisfies [name]’s drinking habits for a week.

Dawn was when they usually rest.

[name] propped her arm on the bed for support to look down on the person that gave her shelter as she whispers, “I realized that you go home by dawn and we sleep, right? Shouldn’t we do something about our upside down schedule?”

“Like?” Kunikuzushi asked, a brow raised while waiting for his roommate's response. “I don’t have to, but you definitely do.”

“Chamomile tea,” [name] suggested.

“What makes you think we can afford that?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Who says we can’t?” [name] asked, a small grin on her lips. “If not chamomile, perhaps a different kind of tea—it’s not like all kinds of tea are only for the high-ranking nobility, we have rights too!”

“Chamomile is the least expensive of all.”

“Just agree with me on it,” the artist muttered as she moved just a little closer to Kunikuzushi, who visibly flinched. “If chamomile tea won’t help us sleep, perhaps medicine would? Scented candles are trending nowadays but they’re not that hard to make by hand... or we can use the money for a comfortable bed, not like we have budgeting limitations.”

“A comfortable bed?” Kunikuzushi scoffed, a smirk on his lips as he placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her away a bit to create a distance between them. “Are you implying you’re not cozy in my bed? You speak as though you don’t snore.”

“That’s because I don’t snore! You’re just accusing me of doing so!” the artist retorted as she jabbed her finger on Kunikuzushi’s collarbone. “I was murmuring! I wasn’t snoring—I was talking to myself!”

“You want to change a bed just so you’re cozy enough to snore?”

“I don’t snore!” [name] retorted before she gave up on trying to say otherwise and laid back down on the bed. “I don’t know, I thought a bed would mean we’d both be relaxing and all that... don’t you get sore too?”

“Do you?” Kunikuzushi asked, now being the one to prop his arm on the bed, making [name] tense. “I don’t.”

“Well, considering that I’m not used to heavy labor...” the artist muttered just enough to be heard. “It makes sense if it’s just me.”

“Shouldn’t you have... just suggested that you hire someone who is good at massage therapy?”

“And have someone’s hands on me? That’s an absolute no from thy,” she responded, frowning softly before she turned away from Kunikuzushi.

“To be fair, I’d hate it as well,” Kunikuzushi commented.

“And It’s not a big deal either, the next thing we know, our neighbors might send us canned goods and would be under the impression that one of us is sick.”

Kunikuzushi didn’t think much more of it as [name] reached for the blanket, and placed it over herself before turning back to Kunikuzushi with her [color] eyes blinking fast—batting her eyelashes.

“Disgusting,” Kunikuzushi muttered but kept his arms open and his heart at bay to provide more warmth for the artist.

He was getting used to the sight of his companion’s squished cheek on his arm and the coldness of her hand on his waist, or perhaps he was already used to it.

In a span of months, he got used to having someone beside him.

“You’re drinking too much,” the bartender would say and would take away [name]’s empty drink to replace it with a cup of water.

“You’re the one enabling it,” she murmured as she placed the cup of water down after drinking. “I told you to stop treating me.”

Kunikuzushi took the cup and refilled it with water as if telling the artist to drown every bit of alcohol in her mouth; surprisingly, [name] had a tolerance for the beverage she drinks every day.

He became aware that if [name] were to continue her drinking habits as she does now, she will soon grow ill—one that might be irreversible.

It was dawn and [name] continued to work on her notebook, scribbling letters that Kunikuzushi didn’t understand, not like Kunikuzushi took a peek anyways; he was busy bussing the tables.

The artist felt her perspective shift as she stumbled at first upon getting up, much to the surprise of the bartender, who stared at her with a raised brow.

“What is wrong with you...?”

“Well, I wonder what,” the artist replied sarcastically as she held onto the stool she sat on earlier. “My stomach was flooded with water.”

“Even if you drown me, you won’t emit such a reaction from me,” Kunikuzushi said as he placed the towel on the counter. “Nauseous?”

“I’ll admit to it if you carry me home,” the artist scoffed as she climbed up her stool and placed her notebook, quill, and ink back in her leather pouch.

“Since you can answer me like that, I think you can handle yourself,” the bartender said.

���Oh no! My head is in shambles! I think I will fall! Yes, I will definitely pass out in the middle of somewhere! I might get hit by a carriage—!”

“Stop exaggerating!”

“Fuck! That really hurts for real this time! Who hits you in the head when you’re having pain in the head!?”

“What even is that word!?”

It was just a week later when both of them realized it wasn’t merely soreness for having different physique; after all, [name] suddenly stumbled on multiple occasions despite no longer drinking under Kunikuzushi’s watch.

At the time of Kunikuzushi’s shift right before they left, they had an argument about [name] needing to go to a clinic to get herself checked, to which she disagreed.

Standing in the argument: [name] doesn’t want to get checked just because she doesn’t want to and it’s only a ‘minor’ thing that will disappear soon, while for Kunikuzushi it is better to be safe than sorry.

For once, [name] stayed in bed, never getting up to go to the bar to keep the bartender company; Kunikuzushi is under the impression she doesn’t understand what it was like to be cared for.

Even in bed did the artist have her back turned on him, but the relieving yet heartbreaking of that part was that Kunikuzushi, who had came home

after mulling over their argument, realized that [name] was now capable of sleeping alone.

It shouldn’t have stung this much.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“You’re taking up all the space,” Kunikuzushi replied as a reflex to defend himself from having a bit of his dignity broken.

The artist raised a brow at him, but with her half-asleep state, she rolled and felt the empty space beneath her that she noticed first before her heart dropped.

Kunikuzushi grabbed the blanket that bundled [name] just in time before she fell off the bed; he felt just a bit guilty for lying and nearly causing harm to her.

“If you want my soul out of my body, just say so!” [name] said as she moved slowly to get back to her place earlier.

She crashed on the bed on her chest before grumbling about her heart dropping and then she patted the space beside her as she turned her head, cheek resting on the pillow.

Kunikuzushi sighed, “Maybe you should consider our argument earlier.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve done my self-reflection,” her companion replied but her eyes avoided Kunikuzushi’s. “I’ll get that... saddle-goose... whatever check-up.”

“Was it necessary to swear?”

“Kunikuzushi,” she murmured as she laid on her side to face her friend. “Listen, I didn’t want to fight you earlier—”

“But we did.”

“And I’m sorry,” she murmured, her hands obviously shifting from beneath the blanket just by the sound, and her face just flushes the longer the silence goes on. “Can you not stare while I’m talking...?”

“I don’t stare,” the other responded as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re just anxious.”

“Of course I am, I am confessing my crimes!” the artist huffed but she turned solemn quickly. “I... It’s just that I don’t... have currency yet. If I did follow you, I’m not... I won’t even be able to pay... your monthly rent or your services.”

For a year living with [name], Kunikuzushi had now just realized that [name] was starting to run out of money for paying Kunikuzushi’s services every single day without fail.

Not only did Kunikuzushi forget the existence of that, but he also realized

that it was [name] that pays for his rent so they could remain on the same roof—and living with her was something he personally enjoyed.

“What happened to your job?”

“Well... ever since they tried to capture me, I stopped working for them—I mean, frankly, why shall I return to them after trying to kidnap me for what I can do?” the artist said, quietly, ashamed and a bit irked. “So I tried working for nobles.”

“By Jove, nobles?” Kunikuzushi emphasized on the word.

“I wasn’t paid well,” the artist said, frowning softly. “I have it bad.”

“You think you have it bad,” the other responded as he laid on the side of his place and then pressed a finger on [name]’s forehead. “Let’s start compiling our currency together.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Be serious for once,” Kunikuzushi groaned as he covered [name]’s face with his palm, earning a muffled hum of confusion from her. “I never asked you to pay for any of that, I only charged you for asking me to get your quill from the other house.”

“The end of my bargain—”

“You’re my only friend.”

“What does that have to do with... me paying you?”

“I’m doing you a favor, just shut up and mix your pennies with mine lest we start fighting again.”

“I like you, you know?” [name]’s laughter was muffled. “It makes me a little happier that you like [color] enough to take me in even though we knew each other for months.”

“And your type?”

“Bluenettes.”

“Bluenettes?” he scoffed before he averted his gaze from [name] and then to the ceiling. “I like having you around too, but it feels weird to oddly phrase it out loud.”

“By the way, when...?” [name] asked. “When and where?”

“The clinic... I’ll just bring the person to you,” Kunikuzushi responded, chuckling a little. “Oh, and... I’ll bring that person the day after tomorrow, make some time.”

“You know you can’t just barge in the clinic and pull someone aside, right?” the artist reminded as she felt a little thrown off, it was at her expression. “It takes weeks to be called on, as far as I know at least...!”

“You can if you have connections,” Kunikuzushi said, sounding as though he was boasting with the small smirk on his lips, to which [name] scoffed. “It’s not hard to pick and find someone capable.”

“And this person turns out to be a fraud?”

“Might as well just die and never appear.”

“Someone pray for that poor unfortunate soul.”

Because of the decrease of [name]’s health, she has been staying at the house and working from home; he doesn’t allow her to drink anymore and opts to bring her something else.

She asks him to do errands for her, including delivering the ‘blueprints’ that she has to sell to nobles, buying fruits and food ingredients.

They start drinking what [name] calls: Juice—and it tastes exactly like the fruits she asks Kunikuzushi to bring home; he was convinced that it is healthy to drink.

Those errands tire Kunikuzushi, but he doesn’t complain, not when by the end of the day, there’s food on the table, their shared bowl was getting filled up, and he can just crash in the bed and sleep.

He returned at dawn after work, and usually, he would ignore anyone on the way because he doesn’t usually bother with anyone, except for the old lady fidgeting near their door.

His eyebrows furrowed because he knows her, and [name] knows her too; she would talk to the lady outside the house for an hour or two because she was nice enough to help the lady read the newspaper.

“Oh, how fortunate!” the old lady exclaimed as soon as she saw Kunikuzushi. “I wanted to read the newspapers that were handed this morning, and I was about to leave because I thought she was asleep but I heard something fall! I have tried knocking but to no avail!”

“Since when?” Kunikuzushi asked, walking to the door and knocked on it to announce his arrival as he patted his pants for his keys.

“J-just minutes prior to your arrival...”

“For Christ’s sake...” he muttered. “I don’t have the keys.”

“I-is she okay...?”

He was tired; he wanted to lay down to rest to wake up for breakfast momentarily and then rest again until nighttime, but the situation wasn’t allowing him to.

“I’ll take care of it, you can go home.”

There was this twinge of irritation for being impatient when it comes to reaching the bed, but knowing [name] was unwell and learning that there was a loud thud from inside that could be heard from outside, Kunikuzushi placed her agitation aside.

He removed the safety pin from his clothing that she kept despite not needing it all the time, but he always had it for one sole purpose: to pick the lock in case he was locked out.

Kunikuzushi left the pin on the door as he opened it slowly, both wary and worried about who or what could be on the other side, but seeing as it was empty, he fully pushed the door open.

[name]’s name left his lips as he looked at the side, no one, but on the other side, laid [name] on the table, [bright/dark] hair sprawled all-over.

His heart clenched as he immediately rushed beside [name] to observe everything better; a hand on her forehead that went down to feel the temperature on her cheek, while his other hand prepared to carry her.

He took mental notes of her feverish, unconscious state and what the situation looked like; no matter how nice [name] was to everyone, Kunikuzushi’s hatred towards everything and everyone flared up.

Instead of seeking refuge, Kunikuzushi does everything on his own.

From observing [name]’s state, making sure she had a cloth over her forehead, and then wiping the ink splatters on her calloused fingers.

It was already confirmed that she was frail, but the thought of this severity was something Kunikuzushi tried to avoid thinking; he witnessed her stumble, fall, and then get up only to laugh it off.

Why hadn’t he noticed that she was sick before he left the house?

He cleaned the dishes on her behalf while also tending to her using methods he had learned during his early days; he rested [name]’s ankles, pressing a cold item nearby, compressing it, and elevating it every few minutes.

Does he really want to keep such a frail person in his line of sight—moreover, in his life?

It hits her that he can never fight against reality if ever [name]’s drinking habits caught up to her and if this incident was the cause of that.

Kunikuzushi was in the middle of kneading [name]’s fingers with oil in his hands as an attempt to smoothen the callous on the artist’s fingers when she woke up; he can tell that she was in pain especially when she flinched every now and then.

She was aware of what Kunikuzushi was doing yet didn’t utter a word, but she did let out a breath and then looked up at the ceiling; Kunikuzushi can only assume that the reason why the patient shut her eyes so tightly was because she felt disorientated.

He wondered if the patient’s eyes were hazy with the way she squinted her eyes a little to look at her hand that was being massaged by him.

“You should wear.... a mask,” she uttered, her voice dry and quiet, but as always, it was enough to be heard, and Kunikuzushi scoffed leaving to grab a cup of water.

“If you have the time to think about that, what about explaining to me what happened first?” he asked, sitting on the bed with a cup at hand that he placed on the nearby table.

“Won’t be the better question be how I’m faring?” the patient whispered as she attempted to sit up, but ended up grunting instead of actually moving.

“Better question is: how bad is it?”

“I will... out of five... rate it three,” she whispered before she gave a glance at the cup. “Sit me up.”

He helped, he rolled her to her side, pushed her legs off the bed, and then pulls her up to sit before asking, “How’s your forehead?”

“My forehead is doing not-so great,” his companion responded before she groaned. “I want to throw up.”

“There’s a bucket on the side of the bed,” He said as he stood up to support her back while he grabbed the cup of water. “I’ll flood you again with water.”

[name]’s face scrunched up and opened her mouth to retort his words, but Kunikuzushi placed the rim of the cup on her lips and tilted it up, leaving her no choice but to drink.

She wished for mercy.

Kunikuzushi sat on the table he would dine with [name]; his eyes downcast at the lines his companion drew in order to make a living as he heard the front door close shut with a gentle click.

Close—because the person that was supposed to check up on [name] arrived hours ago just left—the procedure to know about her state took hours just to hear news that she never wanted.

His breathing was ragged.

For the past year with [name], he was able to stop delving into his thoughts, in search for definitions and reasons to reasons what he feels and why he feels in such a way.

How can he now?

He was only able to avoid it because he achieved what he wanted: to find solace in the person who invaded his thoughts, his life, his home, and almost everything he had was shared with her.

And he was going to lose her.

He was too late to prevent it.

He choked because he thought that he didn’t try hard enough. All he had to do was to just place the cup of beverage away, to have prevented her sooner, or to have saved her from having her lung infected.

The thought of having to return to an empty house without seeing a single piece of paper on the dining table was taking away bits of his sanity that he preserved from having her.

Alone was he at first, without a single utterance of complaint for being so; used to it, he lived in a house so small that if he opened the front door, all of his items would be displayed before him.

Why now?

A singular human decided to ask for a drink at the bar suddenly became someone he lived with; his memories of what even happened were foggy because all he remembered was that he spent it with her lavishly.

The brown papers did not help him either—these were the reasons why she passed out before [name]’s arrival in the first place—she overworked to contribute to their bowl of pennies.

All of those happening in front of him yet it all slipped away from his observation that he couldn’t place a stop on them until it worsened.

He felt angered by the system.

The system that cheated on [name]: the underground guild for being greedy for her talents, the nobles that paid her less, and the bowl of pennies that she felt pressured to fill.

Kunikuzushi reached for the bowl; it was just made out of clay, but it was filled with his efforts alongside [name], except she had contributed more than he did.

He hated having to look at it, because it makes him think of everything he wished he could’ve done but didn’t.

The gold penny he takes weekly to use on [name]’s drinking habits, but he never thought that if he takes and takes from the bowl, it will keep refilling itself.

If there was someone who could read [name]’s mind, Kunikuzushi wanted to know why she was so determined to fill the earthenware—to fill the bowl that could never match her worth.

Kunukuzushi’s mind blanked and he dropped it, and he immediately cursed in his mind as he successfully caught the bowl before it fell, but he couldn't stop the heavy golden pennies from falling.

The sound clearly woke the patient up because Kunikuzushi could hear her groan and shift in her sleep; that made him stand up to tend to her, however, the clay bowl in his hands broke apart and added to the noise.

“Kunikuzushi...?”

If the bowl hadn’t fallen apart, perhaps [name] could’ve continued sleeping; the patient now tries to sit up, making Kunikuzushi rush to her—he’s not ready to tell her anything.

“Go... go back to sleep,” he tried to convince her as he placed her hands on his companion’s shoulders to force her back to lying down. “It was only the bowl, I... knocked it off.”

“Are you okay?”

Kunikuzushi was surprised; his eyes glistening as he faced the same [color] orbs that he did when they first met—their life has been filled with banter and their conversations weren’t serious that [name] had to revert to her previous tone—the soft and unjudging look.

He felt like the words were at his throat, and [name] had to hold his hands with her now warm hands because of her feverish state; he wanted to scoff, brush her off, and make fun of her as usual.

How come [name] was able to see through everything so quickly? She saw it with such haste, noticed the mood, and opened about it.

The shaking of her hands must be prominent; the tremble and wobbling of his lips at the sight of someone so unaware of her situation—aware of everything, but hers.

His words were forced as he said, “Forget it, and go back to sleep.”

“Kunikuzushi, breathe,” the sickly person had to say that to someone in a better condition than her. “I’ll sleep, but I need to...”

“What are you saying?” he asked, feeling irked that he wasn’t being followed and that he was caught vulnerable. “I said go to sleep, it’s still early.”

“I-I’ll follow you,” [name] stuttered now as she tried to pick his fingers from her shoulders. “But you follow me too, you’re panicking right now, and it’s making me feel the same—your touch... is painful.”

She breathed out before continuing her words, “So breathe... I’ll be here until you’re ready... but don’t stay too close, I’m sick.”

She frustrated him; he wanted to act normal, to act as though he didn’t hear the dreadful news—he wanted to scoff and say that she wasn’t the type to get sick.

In his eyes, she had always been so smart to predict what he could potentially feel in the future based on events that already happened.

The patient’s lips thinned, perhaps because Kunukuzushi noticed it himself that his breathing didn’t calm down in the slightest and his eyes were just staring as if he wasn’t in the same place as her.

He was, but his thoughts are in shambles, because he would never know when was the next time he will ever get to have her like this, or to even be in her presence—there will never be a next time.

It was when [name] had decided to cup his cheeks that he snapped out of the thought and he wanted to be greedy, to have more, to have what was presented, and so his walls collapsed.

His breath remained trembling as he buried his face on her chest and then up to the crook of her neck, much like a cat; he lavished the feeling of his companion’s hands on the back of his neck, pulling him down to her despite his weight.

He muttered what happened; each word was forced, his lips biting back sob per syllable: the alcohol got to [name]’s lungs, and though the disease was well-known by older people who waste their lives drinking, there wasn’t a cure.

There are temporary solutions, but never a full-healing remedy.

“You’ll be okay,” the patient murmured as she brushed the blueish locks of her somber roommate.

Kunikuzushi wondered what she was thinking about when she said that; he wondered if it was a form of self-reassurance or if it truly was to reassure him that she would remain living the same even after what he heard and told her.

There will never be a part of him that will be okay.

He wanted to retort, to yell at her for even saying that, for [name] to assume that everything will be normal—to ask loudly why he’s the only one feeling so strongly about it.

[name] was trembling too.

It was the last straw before the person, who finally found solace, started to sob at the shoulder of the sick who he found solace in.

The world was so unfair to [name].

There was more he wanted to see her do; he wanted to have her talents recognized by the world, to have her name be credited to every structure she planned and drew with her hands.

It was her idea and never theirs.

Change on that day was inevitable—in Kunikuzushi and in [name] as well, after learning her time was limited yet she pretended as if it was all the same if she didn't consider that days after, she was fired from her work despite being useful.

People who lived nearby would hand [name] baskets with ‘get well soon’ cards much to their ignorance; Kunikuzushi did nothing to correct them.

He was barely home anymore; he had a fear of going to his house and seeing another bruise on [name], blood splatter on her clothes, or worse, seeing her not breathing.

He began developing self-hatred for having better immunity than [name], and for being able to do things she couldn’t do because of her situation.

It was something he was proud of, but not it turned into nothing but reasons to hate everything.

He can’t help but clench his first whenever he sees her outside the house, having to hold back from reprimanding her for being outside without anyone watching over her.

His worry was evident, and perhaps the sick [name] could notice it as well, especially when she would follow his instructions quickly without question just to ease his mind.

Kunikuzushi reverted to his previous doings; the previous rumors sparking an idea within him, because, for him, doing it was nothing if it means to keep [name] alive for another second, another day, luckily if another year.

He has to keep you alive, even if his hands, which were used to tend to her, were stained red. There may be no cure, but the temporary remedies are what he needed—he just had to afford it.

When given the time to think, he would think about [name]’s changes: she eats all three meals in the day alone, she also started leaning more to writing than drawing, and she would smile softly at her whenever he bids her bye for the day.

Medicine was only used for the fortunate and people who heal nearby Mikage, a commoner place, barely even know how to read—[name] was fortunate to be able to.

Kunikuzushi had someone ship him medicine that he saved for.

[name] was in the middle of writing when he suddenly dropped the pouch on the table, making her jolt a little and give her an innocent confused look, but her smile dropped after seeing the small globular item.

When it comes to medicine—syringes were expensive, commoners can have access to a few and nobles are available to have all—pills were the harder ones to have, they are created delicately that everyone was stingy to give them away—the royal family are the only ones to have them, including the black market.

“What’s this?” she asked as she scrambled to place the fragile items back in the pouch lest she accidentally breaks one and has to pay for it. “This... this is not part of our budget! We never talked about this...!”

Kunikuzushi was exhausted; he felt hurt to see her scramble to take care of the medicine in the pouch and tried to hand it back to him.

He can see the way his companion’s hands tremble as he placed the pouch on Kunikuzushi’s now-calloused hands; she seemed to notice this and her attention magnified on it.

“Did I mistake it...?” she whispered before she looked up to Kunikuzushi. “Are you sick? Are these yours?”

“Mine?” the other scoffed, his eyebrows furrowed and then he snatched the pouch from her. “You think—this is mine? For what even? Do I look sick to you?”

“I-I don’t want to assume!” she stuttered as she looked thrown off by her roommate’s slight aggression. “Are you hurt?”

“What?”

The more she spoke, the more he was getting agitated.

“I’m sorry for touching it,” she apologized, her mind seemed to be hazy with the way she can’t think about what she’s saying anymore. “I’ll just get fresh air! I’m sorry for touching what was yours.”

“What... are you talking about?”

His hands were clenched as he tried to understand the way she acted; [name] thought the medicine belonged to him as though all the hardship he went through for the week wasn’t all for her.

Every wall he built for the past week after learning [name]’s condition broke so quickly, because her words made it seem like she wasn’t involved in his life anymore, but mostly because [name] sounded like she was resigning to her fate.

Did she?

He opened his mouth to mock her, to tell her that she was as weak as her physique and for giving up early, but he instinctively placed a hand on his mouth because what escaped was a sob.

He is so frustrated.

As usual, [name] turned her eyes on him and immediately tried to console him without knowing why he was shedding tears in the first place: [name]. [name]. Everything was for [name].

[name], whose hands went to Kunikuzushi’s hands, arms, shoulders, neck, and then cheeks with a worried and panicked look.

[name], who Kunikuzushi wanted to tell everything to, about the self-hatred that was eating him alive since last week, and the insects that in his stomach that he learned were butterflies.

[name], who Kunikuzushi kept his burdens away from, because he’s afraid that the weight of his problems would also become hers.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” she muttered repeatedly as she desperately struggled to wipe Kunikuzushi’s never ending tears. “I—was I too heavy to carry? I’ll be better.”

Kunikuzushi had no idea what [name]was talking about.

She said those words as though she wasn’t neglected, like she wasn’t coldly treated, like she hasn’t eaten all three meals without him, and like she hasn’t suffered.

It seemed like [name] was insecure; Kunikuzushi had to get his bearings in order to understand her.

[name], who lost her job for being sick, and who was disposed of despite having an enormous range of talents; perhaps, while Kunikuzushi stained his hands and slaved away, [name] got insecure for never filling the new bowl.

Kunikuzushi felt his frustrations build up again; everything, as always, was in front of him but he missed it all again.

“It’s for you,” he whispered, her hands holding onto his companion’s arm. “It’s for you—I want to keep you alive.”

For someone so insecure, that immediately made [name]’s eyes stung, and now that Kunikuzushi tried to see her perspective and piece things together, he understood; [name] was pressured to fill the new bowl again.

[name] whispered, “But I have nothing to give.”

“There is so much you did,” Kunikuzushi whispered, his hands lowered down to the fabric by the damsel’s hips, his eyes glossy. “You... you are simply too humble to realize.”

“I have nothing but clothing that’s only for a week, my quill, my papers, a cup, two plates, and a broken bowl,” [name] listed all she brought in Kunikuzushi’s house from the start. “But I will believe you. I feel... reassured.”

From that, Kunikuzushi can’t help but feel relieved and he wrapped the damsel in a warm hug, but a sinking feeling now that it’s highly likely that [name] would never find out what he did to get the medicine.

He relished the feeling of the damsel, choosing to forget his deeds, and choosing to continue what he has now.

If problems were to arise, he would deal with it, but for now, he will focus on [name] and try to delve more on the feelings in his stomach—or what people say ‘heart’.

With [name]’s presence; the fact he was still there, Kunikuzushi can bear it all, all the in-coming pain for choosing not to abandon her—he doesn’t have to tear down the world that was so cruel to her yet.

His breathing was shallow when he woke up facing the ceiling of the home he built with his companion; his head pounded, not remembering what it was in his dream that caused his emotions to go wild at such a time of the night.

He felt as though his throat was parched and his eyes stung that made him rub it in order to be relieved, but when he looked at his hands, he realized that they were calloused.

For some reason, he felt suffocated, but hasn’t he felt that way ever since he found out that her time was shorter than his beloved and that he couldn’t do anything about it other than try to extend it for a little?

[name]’s time will never be longer than Kunikuzushi’s—now that he thought about her, he wondered where he was.

The thought of her was suffocating Kunikuzushi oh-so-little, but he had to find her, the one to cause him pain and solace; it was dark as well, where else was [name] supposed to be other than the bed?

He hasn’t seen her since he started recalling everything and getting sentimental; he can feel his heart race at the possibility that [name] had passed out somewhere around the house, he used that energy to get up.

The house was as empty as his stomach, since the time he reassured [name], they have been taking turns in cooking, but he supervises her, who had to hit him with the pan for doing so.

From his place in the tiny house, he caught a glance of [name] dozing off on the couch, but he quickly drank water before walking up to the couch and sitting on the armrest.

He was thrown off by what [name] wore; she was taking up all the space with her small height and white outfit—yet he feels like that's the least of his worries.

“Why are you on the couch?” he muttered as he brushed his finger over her cheekbone up to her temple to brush the stray hair aside.

The feeling of her skin and the way her hair moved felt odd; he felt his heart just kept sinking the longer he stared at the unconscious damsel.

“Don’t you think your hair is a little... brighter?” he thought as he softly frowned. “Are you awake?”

It wasn’t making sense why she was holding her breath.

[name]’s face was something Kunikuzushi memorized; the oily skin and red patches that she was insecure about was gone, and even the ‘beauty mark’ she called that was near her [part] was gone.

Those facts were alarming, which was why Kunikuzushi got off the armrest to kneel by her side on the couch to see her better than where he was sitting earlier.

“[name],” he whispered, his voice laced with a tint of fear as his fingers glided over the white outfit she wore to find the spots that made [name] squirm in the past.

[name] knows that he was sensitive to the subject of her sickness, and he knew she knew, yet it seemed like she still chose to prank him about it.

He panicked as he pressed on her skin, knowing that she’d wake up if he pressed too hard because she was someone who was easily pained.

Was [name] the sort of person to pretend to be so still and motionless to the point of not breathing?

[name] was odd; her skin, her form of lying, and the way she refused to breathe, but she had always been odd because she give and gives—and what it was she takes from Kunikizushi, she returned it all ten times more.

she was never this still; she was full of life, like when she waved at him when she was on the other side of the path—like when her teeth showed as she smiled upon the success of buying a calendar for the new year because it was only out during festivals—like in his dream.

“What dream? What festival?”

As far as he remembered, he hasn’t gone on a festival with her yet; he feels like he’s losing a part of himself whenever he started remembering memories he never wanted to remember.

“You’re being too much now,” his voice cracked unintentionally, making sure to project as much emotion as he could so [name] would understand that her prank was going too far.

[name] was so aware of Kunikuzushi’s well-being and his mental state that she would know that she crossed the line if Kunikuzushi’s tone were ever akin to begging; she would never resist in attempting to console her.

“Joke’s over, you have to take your medicine,” he said as he placed her hands on her shoulders.

Even if [name] didn’t promise forever, she promised that she would try—and that was something Kunikuzushi believed in because he saw her—taking the medicine she deemed expensive, stopping her drinking habits, and taking a lot of time to rest even if she was a workaholic.

He waited for any reaction from her, whether it’d be her stifling her laughter, her lips thinning. or waking up and apologizing—at this rate, Kunikuzushi would take any of those scenarios.

He wrapped an arm around her nape and around on her waist to gently pull her up and make her sit—now, he felt something—a line that ran from [name]’s nape and upwards.

Her back was leaning on the couch, but her head was tilted upwards, leaning on the back rest, and the way her [color] hair was away from her shoulders was when the lines Kunikuzushi felt were exposed.

The truth was already in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t like her, who accepted the pressure together with reality.

[name]’s nape and up had stitches, and her skin glimmered like silk.

He couldn’t breathe as he took the lightness of her body—he couldn’t take it; he wasn’t like her.

He could never accept this.

He’s not ready to face the truth; both his hands moved to rest on her hips that were covered by a white fabric before he buried his face on her stomach.

The fabric wasn’t something he gave to her, he had never seen it in his entire life; he would never buy damask fabric, because that fabric was used for the dead.

He cannot tell what he was thinking; his mind goes into one thought, then another, and then another all at the same time.

[name] was a liar, and Kunikuzushi was delusional—his mind—thoughts—begging for her to cut off the entire joke she was continuing for the past ten minutes.

How could [name] remain so serious while Kunikuzushi was there—touching all he can of her with his head on her chest, uncaring if her body was nearly falling off the couch because he couldn’t resist his attempts to cover up the truth?

He desperately craved for her heart as much as he avoided having a confrontation with his memories.

Was this the compensation of the royal family that ran over her with their carriage whilst in a hurry?

The memory of the festival that happened hours earlier, one he deluded to be a nightmare, the memory of how loudly he yelled after seeing [name]’s body be trampled on and how every light in her faded.

The love continuously given to him was gone, taken away by something that wasn’t related to the disease that was supposed to slowly eat [name]’s life away.

How twisted is the royal family to compensate Kunikuzushi by dressing his beloved in silk and damask? To patch up the face of her and not even put the tiniest details she used to have? How dare they even touch her in the first place?

He cried all she could that day, regret and revenge deeply rooted in him even though all of those were the opposite of what [name] had taught him.

Having lost someone he never got to confess to broke his mind, especially when after [name]’s funeral was visited by a member of the royal family.

He can’t handle the scowl on his face and the way his blood boiled quickly, but all of it dissipated quickly when he learned the reason why the royal family was at the festival.

They were looking for him: Kunikuzushi, the lost son of the royal family that the empress loved so much.

He laughed and laughed as though he was unhinged, and he laughed even if the member of the royal family looked at him as if he was non-human; he laughed even if his eyes became glossy and brimmed with tears.

Kunikuzushi, the one [name] thanked the most, was indirectly the cause of her death.

The empress knew nothing of love, because in Kunikuzushi’s eyes, what would this insignificant woman know?

Not only was she the one who bought all the blueprints [name] made and sold to the black market, she was also the one to take [name]’s ideas and make the buildings knowing well that it was never hers.

Kunikuzushi  had to be patient; he would burn the place down and have everyone by his will—he would be the opposite of everything [name] was—the only good thing recorded in history was that he gave credit to her ideas.

THIS IS HEIZNX, i actually recycled this and made it a OC kinda story, but i still made it inspired by scaramouche. i submitted it to my teacher printed formatted and everything, but there were typos like goddamn i was abt to kms and the TYPO JUST OS HAPPENED TO BE AT THE DRAMATIC PART i WAS IN TEARS. and they were lesbians when i submitted it too. im so sorry i had to make it straight, the mc was a woman in the descriptions so it changed a lot when i turn them gn... while typing this, i kinda realize this is different from stained hands though the original copy was stained hands, i think it's bc this focused more of the development in their friendship rather than getting married quickly.

[snow--berry]

Roommate AU #1

Characters: John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Gary “Roach” Sanderson

Context: For convenience reasons and future things I have planned, you‘ll be sharing this really big house with all of the characters I‘ll write these headcanons for. Why are you sharing this house? Just because I can. I’ll find a better reason later. This also includes Alejandro, Rudy, Graves, König and Horangi. This is kinda like a peaceful AU, where they don‘t work military jobs. This can be read as platonic or romantic, I don‘t really care.

John Price

•He‘s the peace keeper in the household along with Rudy.

•He can‘t go without tea in the morning and it‘s the first thing he does. If you drink tea and are awake just as early, he‘ll also make you a cup.

•Price is only half-awake in the morning, so he‘ll accidentally say yes to the stupidest things, because he isn‘t really paying attention.

•Maybe he could work as a police officer? I'm not sure if I can see him do anything else. Suggestions are greatly appreciated lol.

•I feel like he’d play chess. Or just like. Strategy games altogether. With anyone who’s willing to join :D

•But mainly with Ghost and Alejandro. And König if he’d have the balls to approach Price.

•If you decide to play with him and know the rules of whatever game you’re playing already, it’s no mercy mode.

•If you don’t, or are still learning, he’ll go easy on you.

•He usually can be found in the living room, kitchen or backyard.

•He isn’t home for most of the day, due to his job, but he enjoys having dinner with whoever is available. He obviously favours Gaz and we all know it. That his adopted son after all—

•Also, because he’s an old man, he goes on long walks for no reason

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

•He’s somewhere in between troublemaker and just kinda chills

•I know this sounds very contradictory, but hear me out.

•He doesn’t get in trouble often, but when he does he’s either having a mischievous day, he’s purposely messing with Price, his dad or the most common option; he’s being dragged along by Soap and Roach.

•Even if he’s being dragged along, he just films whatever bs Roach and Soap are up to though. They need a camera man!

•In the morning he also makes himself a cup of tea, but he’s awake later than Price is. Usually when breakfast is ready already

•He’s a little groggy and sometimes grumpy in the morning. (Soap advice to you when you join the household is to not talk to Gaz before he’s had his breakfast and tea!)

•I can see Gaz spending hours in the bathroom in the morning and he ends up pissing everyone off, especially because Horangi, Alejandro and Soap also take ages in the bathroom

•I’m not sure what he’d work as, but maybe a professional gymnast? Is that what they’re called? Help—

•Or maybe a daycare attendant?

•I think he’d like cooking, so he usually makes dinner and lunch for everyone

•He has two lists; one with everyone’s allergies, likes and dislikes, and one with the meals he makes for dinner for the week

•Sometimes he’s away for a week or two at a time because of tournaments he attends

•He doesn’t mind sharing a bed if you have nightmares, or just enjoy close physical contact altogether. Especially during movies!

John “Soap” MacTavish

•Chaos Gremlin #2

•Usually is the one to drag Gaz along

•His shenanigans usually involve but aren’t limited to: drawing on sleeping people, mixing up salt and sugar, turning off the light in a room where people are, climbing on random shit, hiding people’s stuff & so much more These are all Roach’s idea btw, but you didn’t hear it from me—

•Will happily involve you in his shenanigans as well, you usually don’t have a say lol

•Drinks coffee in the morning, hot chocolate if he’s feeling silly

•He’s upset when people come after him for taking ages in the bathroom, he needs to style his mohawk properly!

•Constantly misplaces his ADHD meds, they mysteriously reappear on his pillow sooner or later

•He has this joking conspiracy, that there is a shadow man cryptid thing or a guardian angel giving him back his meds because no one in the house admits to placing his meds onto his pillow

•Works as either a football coach, PE teacher or freelance artist

•Still has a sketch book full of sketches and full-blown artworks of all kinds of stuff

•Has sketched/drawn every household member at least twice

•Also doesn’t mind physical affection, especially not since he’s pretty touchy himself

•Also definitely mixes different shampoos together lol

Simon “Ghost” Riley

•Is always, and I repeat always the first one awake

•Also drinks tea first thing he wakes up

•Sometimes at ridiculous hours, like, no one needs tea at 2:53 AM! He disagrees

•Knows of Soap’s and Roach’s shenanigans, only watches them… usually, there are times where he does stop them

•You’ll rarely see him around when you first join the household, he doesn’t quite trust you yet He also doesn’t like change. ‘Tism who? He don’t know her—

•The more he gets used to you, the more you’ll see him around

•He likes to tell you his jokes if you happen to be awake around the same time as him, it’s a bonding experience!

•He works as a dog sitter or a bodyguard. There is no in between. I do heavily lean towards dog sitter though

•Don’t touch him

•Unless he explicitly tells you it’s okay, that is

•Accidentally gives the worst side-eyes in history

•He is the shadow man cryptid/guardian ‘angel’

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

•Chaos Gremlin #1

•No one out-gremlins him

•Don’t even try, you will fail

•I was thinking Party Planner, but my friend came up with Entomologist

•So, he’ll do party planning as a hobby because I can’t let go of that headcanon.

•90% of the parties he plans are insect themed birthday parties

•He also has a few pet bugs and Rudy hates all of them

•Also, all of the shenanigan ideas are his

•Usually can be found in trees in the backyard or in a random bush somewhere in the neighborhood

•If you don’t speak BSL or ASL, he’ll start carrying a notebook and a pen around for you

•Randomly stands in a corner of your room at night and T-poses because he thinks it’s hilarious

•He’s like an outdoor cat, he sometimes isn’t home for a few days but he always comes back home at some point

•Roach is also sometimes outside all day long and only comes back for dinner

[the-words-we-sung]

Thoughts and pictures - S3E4

I've never been that slow with a Young Royals rewatch >< It's hard for me to get through this season (especially now that I'm in the last 3 episodes...)

And here we go, starting directly with a very sad Simon 😞 Omar plays a crying Simon way too well, it breaks my heart every damn time...

I like hearing Wilhelm call Simon his boyfriend 🥰 Also is it me, or do we have a lot more close up shots in season 3? (No clue if that's what it's called, I mean shots that are very zoomed in on their faces like this one.)

Vincent drawing a dick on the ground, of course... And I don't get his explanation: "why even try if there's no reward for the effort?". It means if the school closes, they all won't graduate and have to do their grade all over again? Surely if they're taking tests and all, it counts for something? Why fail an important test and take the risk to fail your year? 🤔 (Not gonna lie, most of Vincent's reactions to what's happening to the school this season left me quite perplexed ^^') And if it's just the graduation ceremony that is cancelled, it still doesn't mean they're not graduating, does it? 🤔

But can you really Simon?

And Wilhelm repeating his mother's words "it's a privilege, not a punishment" breaks my heart >< (Also I'm gonna be a little shit about it but even the Royals have a choice in the end about accepting or not their role and job: after all, Wille is gonna renounce it in 2 episodes :p)

I do like what he said about the role of the royal family in Sweden! We have very little information on that in the show so I appreciate it here. And he looks so pretty in this light!

Wilhelm sounded so surprised that Farima said yes immediately when he told her they needed to help Simon. He was expecting to have to fight them on that.

Why did he have to delete his whole account? Why not just put it on private? (I know I've read in several fanfics the idea that searching and deleting through all the new people who followed him before going on private would be too much of a hassle but I feel like it's a stretch, and an acceptable price to pay to keep his account?)

Their conversation about Wilhelm's choice of foundation makes me so so sad! I had hoped that he would see Simon's point of view on how he can use his role as Crown Prince to try and make things better! I was actually pretty surprised that he was 100% not interested. It's a new facet of Wilhelm's personality that we hadn't really seen before I guess? And it feels like it creates a serious gap between them, it shows that they're not on the same page at all about a pretty serious subject (which is not good for the future of their relationship...)

This shot of these 3 made me laugh :p

This one hurts... Another crack in their relationship 😩 Simon is realizing how different they are. He knew they were but this season is showing us a side of Wilhelm that just seems incompatible with Simon :/ It's not just differences in tastes or personality, now it's differences in their core values also. And that is a huge problem.

So we learn that Simon mostly avoided Micke for Sara's sake. Or maybe he's exaggerating that fact because he's really angry at her.

The sit-in scene is very funny, they're all so dramatic, thinking they might starve to death xD I didn't think that August's eating disorder would be confirmed this way! Also I guess Vincent does have ADHD then? It was not just an excuse to get pills.

"Because we are different?" Yeah... that's what this episode is really about, how different you both are. Which wouldn't be an issue for me if it was less about such important matters :/ I wish we had seen them learn more from each other this season, instead of being in conflict to much.

I agree with Felice that it's getting out of hand! (I still enjoy the whole thing though 😁). I don't dislike Stella as much as a lot of people seem to, but I don't like her in this scene and how she talks to Felice!

Cutest scene of the episode.

I adore this scene. It makes me want to cry. I love them both and I'm so happy that they're slowly finding their way back to each other <3

"Erik was there." This sceeeeene!! Such a punch in the face, so fucking terrible >< (So well acted also!!)

Another trauma for my poor boy...

So lots of mixed feelings with this episode! I'm very frustrated with Wilhelm and his reactions, but I love the Sara arc. I really like the end of the episode, with some very good scenes. But now I really don't wanna go watch the next one ><

[captainjamster]

Price x Reader - Shower Comfort

Pairing(s): Price x fat!Reader (SFW) Warnings: Non-sexual nudity and intimacy, mentions of sex, disordered eating and body image issues Wordcount: 3.1k Summary: John knows how to protect you from every knife, gun, bomb and other weapon he can think of, but he doesn't know how to protect you from the deep-rooted dislike you throw at your body. It takes him some time, but John realises that the best protection he can give you is unbreakable self-confidence, supplied by his endless love and adoration. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: Realised that this was only on my AO3 so I thought I'd post it here. The world needs more fat!readers and lord knows John Price is the right man to appreciate them. As I mentioned in my AO3 upload, this is inspired by 391780 and their Soft fic!

Full fic is under the cut <3

It’s your first shower together since a long, eight-month deployment. The times you spend together under the water are few and far between, even though it seems like a given for couples living together, but John understands why. When you first hesitantly agreed to a shower together, he thought that his wishful thinking had finally become so strong that he was desperately hearing things. For a man who wakes most mornings with the ringing of screams and gunshots within his ears, the self-deception of his senses isn’t entirely abnormal. Yet when he turned from the door to see you peering bashfully out past the glass, steam curling around you in lazy tendrils as it beckoned him in, he swears that he had never undressed faster – not even during the timed, godawful recruit showers.

He frequently asks; never pushing or demanding, but allowing you an opportunity to decline the invitation. After sex, as the shower warms under his hand and he watches you lay on the bed, hair spread out angelically as you catch your breath, he always lets you shower first. Calling your name, watching you sit up and draw the covers against your body with those wide, shy eyes, as if the bruises of his fingertips and mouth don’t rest on every part of your plush body that he could reach. You hide in the draping sheet as it trails along behind you (and John has to forcefully ignore how similar it is to the long, white dresses he dreams of seeing you in), pressing a gentle, thankful kiss against his cheek before playfully ushering him out the slowly steaming room. His reminders are playful each time – “just give us a shout if y’need any professional help with your hair, love – I mean, just look at these chops” - and he adores the roll of your eyes, the giggles, scoffs and huffs, maybe a poked-out tongue and a scrunched-up face he glimpses before you disappear behind the door.

Sometimes - to the displeasure of his guilt - he feels grateful for, even thanks your disposition to shyness. It keeps you docile, so sweet and nervous amidst the company of others, shying from the light and attention. If another man – another woman, anyone – found the side of you that he has, he would be beyond lost. He has no clue how he would stop them falling in love as fast and deeply as he did. John supposes, though he would never admit it to you, that he’s fond of the introversion you hold yourself with; certainly not fond of why you’re so withdrawn, feeling himself bristle at the reasons you’ve shared with him each time, furious at the way it manifests into your low self-confidence and insecurity. But he can’t help but love that you trust him enough to give him growing glimpses into the person that you keep reserved inside your mind, wrestling with a fierce possessiveness that wants to keep it only for himself.

For these reasons, John immediately notices that you’re much more shy than usual when he comes home. There’s no less enthusiasm in his greeting, your arms wrapping around him tightly as he stands in the doorway. This is his favourite part of coming home – being hit with the smell of you, breathing in whatever meal you’re welcoming him home with, the warmth and tenderness that permeates his worn, tired body as you pull his exhausted soul from its hollow depths and nurture it with all the love you’ve been holding onto in his absence.

He drops his bags, arms coming up to envelope you in a crushing hug, noticing no change in heft as he picks you up – despite your squeals – and swings you carefully, playfully. He does notice the way you pull down your sweater as he puts you down, tugging at the material to distance it from clinging onto your figure. If you asked John, he would honestly answer that you look beautiful in everything. Yet he knows that the clothing you wear can give him little insights into your mind – in the few years you’ve been together, John has learnt that sometimes your actions speak more than you do, and he recognises the loose fabric concealing your silhouette in a swathe of fabric. His concern remains poised, not hasty or assumptive, but ready to strike at the confirmation of your wavering self-confidence.

Your round cheeks flush red as you beam at him, and you look so happy to be reunited in his arms that he tempers his worry to a simmer, on the back burner until it flares again. The optimist in him hopes it’s just a bad day, compared to a loss of progress in his determination to build your self-love, that he can’t help but resent his dedication to the military for causing. However, that chance wilts as the evening drags on, catching the trails of something bigger brewing within the fortitude of your mind.

Your portion is smaller than his, just incrementally, to the point that someone who cared less wouldn’t notice – but John pays close attention to these things. You eat less than you talk as you’re curled up on the couch, hands busy with the glass of water as he quietly rumbles about his deployment. Your flesh melds into his, limbs twisted and tangled together on the soft couch. The fork you occasionally pick up off the plate dances around its rim, pushing the food mindlessly until you finally spear a less than reasonable amount to chew on.

John can work out that nothing else is overtly wrong, and he makes it his duty to soak up everything he’s missed in his absence. His knowledge is supplemented by the weekly calls he salvages in the midst of chaos, whether staring at the blank tent walls nestled in his bunk, or crouched in a vacant street as he listens to the sound of distance bombs and gunfire as your fuzzy voice informs him of your going-ons. You clue him into the normalities now he’s home, updating him about the new neighbours and gossip your dear old neighbour shares when you bring her bins in. He’s proud of you for the small talk, watching you glow with a pleased embarrassment when he tells you so. As the conversation stays lighter with no give-way to any reason for the changes he’s sensing in you, John becomes surer that the body issues you attempt to hide from him are creeping back into the shaky foundations of self-compassion and respect that he tries to instil within you. Though he can’t work out what’s caused it, he knows that there’s not always a reason why, and he’s not going to force it out of you unless he suspects it’s important. That doesn’t stop him from wondering though, mind busy as he cleans up the kitchen, listening to you giggle at the movie playing softly.

In his list of priorities to you, his highest, most valued one is acceptance – perhaps the easiest to keep, considering how sharply your life contrasted with his. John almost thinks it’s ironic; every reassurance he utters to you feels warped, and he wonders how the roles aren’t reversed, how he isn’t on his knees begging for your acceptance. Whenever he comforts you in the depths of your struggles, renewing every vow of love and adoration he’s ever had for you, he can’t help wondering how such a filthy and broken man like him can truly show you what it feels to be cherished.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, pressing his wet hands into his jeans as you thank him for washing the dishes. Always thanking him for doing such menial tasks, so grateful for the smallest thing. He smiles at another predictable ‘thank you’ falling from your mouth as he moves to the bathroom to turn on the shower.

You let him disappear for months at a time, and you worry that he would find anyone else to come back to. He would never tell you that he holds his breath with every return, searching pessimistically for signs of life, a goodbye note on the door, divorce papers on the doormat. Any indication that you’d finally realised what a depraved, moral-less machine his career had turned him into, or recognised that stretched nights apart with nothing but the company of longing and fuzzy, broken-up phone calls are the most he can offer until he retires – if he gets to retire.

He takes a moment to examine the bathroom as he waits for the shower to warm, where he knows that your troubles rage on the most. The scales are peaking out, shadowed by the cabinet they hide under. With a nudge, he scoots them back under, considering the idea of replacing the batteries with dead ones – maybe not. Something to think about later. The mirror is covered by a towel that drapes across it, obscuring the most of its reflection. He’s staring at it as you enter the room, enough towels for the two of you that are placed on the counter. Your entrance distracts his postulations, drawing his gaze as you cross the room. You turn to the shower, opening the door to stick a hand under the stream, and John knows this his natural cue to go. Though his brain sends the conscious thought, imagining his arm extending for the knob and walking out the door, his feet stay in place. Instead, he does something that he’s never done before, pushing boundaries for the both of you. The fat of your bicep is soft, warm as he reaches for your upper arm, holding you back. Surprise colours your face, an inquisitive look at his grip, and he musters back an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. Would… Would y’mind makin’ space for one more in there today?”

He can see the instantaneous dilemma that his question puts you under, torn between your comfort and fulfilment of his request. When you open your mouth, he expects an apologetic but firm no, and he can’t stifle the way his lips turn up in delight as you resign with a small yes. Turning and pretending to be occupied with getting his razor ready at the sink, he gives you a moment to slip out of your clothes, tossing them into the hamper and stepping into the shower. He relishes the sight of your backside as you disappear, stirring a desire he wills down for a more appropriate time.

After giving you a moment to settle, he spins back around to pull off his own clothes, discarding them in the same hamper. As he opens the mottled glass door, the blurriness of your figure dissipates, and John feels the urge to wrap his arms around you and clutch you tightly itch through his limbs. Stepping in, the water is the same blistering heat you like. You always grumble that it’s really a mild temperature, and John’s just accustomed to his cold showers, but John loves arguing back that it wouldn’t be as cold with a lovely partner such as yourself with him.

John is not an oblivious man, and he cannot ignore the signs. He notices the way you face the showerhead, shielding the softest, most vulnerable side of your body from his view. Like his little sunflower, always drawn back to the source of warmth flooding your figures. But John is not a cruel man, either, and he won’t force you to do anything. He nestles himself into the crux of your shoulder, pressing gentle, loving kisses as his arms wrap around your plush figure, feeling the way the fat tenses and sucks in under his pressure, and his heart squeezes in a similar way. You don’t pull away, however, and he takes it as a sign of consent.

“D’you wanna talk, lovey?” He mumbles gently, no petulant expectation or leading to an answer he wants to hear. The question is genuine, to be rejected or accepted, without judgment or consequence. He feels you deflate within his grip, your fortitude crumbling as he probes at things you were hoping to keep hidden for at least another day.

“That obvious, huh?” You huff, a hand coming up to run through his damp hair. The hum of his affirming response vibrates against your neck, and he can smell the fading perfume from when you applied it this morning. “I’m an attentive man, what can I say.”

He can’t help the smile that he presses into your neck as your shoulders shake, pleased to bring small moments of happiness to your day as you respond. “It’s stupid. Gained some weight that just… Fuck, I just can’t shake it.” Your fingers mindlessly run against his, tracing the wrinkles of his knuckles. “Just a few pounds, but it feels like the end of the world.”

John hums apologetically, rubbing his thumb up and down against a patch of your skin. “Why’s it the end of the world, my little dove?”

There’s a quiet hesitance before you confess. “Everyone… All the people you work with must be so fit. Strong, toned, athletic. I don’t know how you spend so much time with such attractive bodies, but feel happy coming home to mine.”

The problem solidifies within his mind, and there’s a relief in understanding what you’re thinking more clearly. “Hear me out, sweetheart,” he asks softly, waiting until you indulge him with a nod. “You could be the smallest or biggest person I’ve seen, and I’d love you no matter what. The fuckers I work with? Their bodies are built for the conditions they’re forced to survive in, ‘course they’re fit darl. Bein’ fit is kind of in the requirements.”

You snort at that, humming with a disgruntled amusement as John continues on. “They want us like that for deployment. Sendin’ us to war-torn countries, usually because of wars we cause, and seein’ the citizens there…” He trails off, taking a breath against your neck as he reminisces. “Kids so skinny that they don’t look real, babies so dehydrated they don’t even cry anymore. Parents going hungry to have their kids eat scraps for just one more day.”

Your silence knocks him into realisation as he ponders, your breathing faster as he notices the way your nails dig into the pad of your skin, and he realises how patronising he sounds without the context of his thoughts.

“I’m not sharing this to make you feel guilty, dove, m’sorry. Not my intention in the slightest.” Apologetic kisses brush up and down your neck, peace offerings to soothe the unintentional lecture as he clarifies his thoughts. “You – your body - reminds me what I’m fightin’ for, love.” He breaks himself off with a long, appreciative kiss on the point of your shoulder. “You are plump, round, well-fed because we have access to food. Because we have a stable house, we don’t walk for miles in need of shelter or a place to sleep. Because we have safe transport, and you can get where you need without walking until your feet bleed. It's somethin' everyone should have, but they don't.”

You turn in his grip, the water streaming down your body as it hits your head. Your eyes look red and a little puffy, and the shower provides a very convenient cover for any tears that might be slipping from your waterline, gazing up at him while he speaks.

“S’isn’t some ‘appreciate your conditions’ speech, sweetheart. I’m tellin’ you, your body is a beautiful reminder for me. Seeing you like this… It reminds me you’re warm, safe, fed - unexposed to the cruelty of my career 'n the havoc that we follow.” A hand comes up to cup your cheek, running a thumb along the skin affectionately. Yours comes up to rest against it, soaking in the warmth of his contact.

He can see your brain processing the information, and he knows that some part of you is looking for doubt, scrutiny at his declarations, that he pokes at teasingly. “Ey, before that little mind of yours runs off – even if your body changes, it stays the same. You lose weight? I’m happy you can do it voluntarily. Y’gain weight? I’m glad you’re eatin’ well, and you know I’ll always work with you if you want to lose it; but you’re not changin’ your body for me, only with me.” He knows the words ring true, looking at a flush of shame in being caught that lights your cheeks at his words, a sheepish, watery smile tugging at your lips as you prepare a defence.

He soldiers on, cutting off whatever argument you’re mustering up. “I know how y’feel about yourself won’t change with some words, darl. I’ll remind you any time, until you believe me. 'Til then, I’ll love you enough for both of us."

There’s a pause as you stare wordlessly, mouth slightly agape as you try to find a response. John’s confused as your hand leaves his, coming up to rest against his own cheek as your expression becomes a determined adoration. Questions are on the tip of his tongue, but you shove them back down his throat as your lips meet, and it’s John’s turn to find himself wordless. He’s captured by your act of affection, feeling the wetness of your cheeks as your nose bumps with his. Despite that you pull the slightest bit back, John doesn’t let you shy away from your stomach and chest pressing against his, running his hands along the dips of your back and holding you close.

It's only the need for air that has him pulling back to breathe, seeing your nose scrunch as the hairs of his beard tickle your face. A rush of affection floods through him so fiercely it almost sweeps him off his feet, squeezing at your hips. “I was doin’ so badly you had to shut me up, huh?” He jokes, underhandedly checking whether he had really helped. Satisfaction fills him as you roll your eyes, grinning as your head comes to rest against his chest, diverting the rivulets dribbling through his chest hair. “Always the pessimist. Maybe it was a reward for doing so well, John.”

He can feel his own chest rumble with a surprised laugh, steadying your head from jumping with each chuckle using a gentle hand. “You’d love me if I came home half a person, sweet thing. I don’t need a reward; I’ll love you no matter how much fat is on you.” His hand is slick as it runs down your hair, petting you gently. The shower is a warm blanket that cascades over your entangled figure, and as he feels you relax further into his body, John can’t help but hope that just maybe, you’d let him shower with you more frequently.

[skelnexswriting]

His Sun, Her Moon.

➪ | Pairing: | Ghost x reader

➪ | Warnings: | Fluff, Y/n used, fem reader, a sweet little story!

➪ | Summary: | Everyone had someone who was their sun or moon. And for ghost, Y/n was his sun. But for Y/n, Ghost was her moon.

➪ | A/n: | I thought this concept was cute, so hope you enjoy!

—

Ghost never expected to find love in his life, given his past and career. Yet he did..

He fell for the medic of his own team.

He always thought she was just as bright as the sun. Especially the smile that never seemed to fall from her lips.

He found that she was also just as warm as a spring day. She was kind to the people she met. She also cared for those on her team.

Ghost couldn’t count the number of times she saved him.

He still remembers the first day she was put on the task force.

…

They were told that a field medic was being assigned to the task force. Ghost wasn’t fond of the idea of a new teammate.

He didn’t know who he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t a woman who was so bright. He disliked the thought at having a female version of soap on the team. One of him was just fine.

The first weeks he found himself avoiding the medic. He just didn’t have much interest in getting to know y/n.

It wasn’t until ghost got shot that the two talked.

Y/n didn’t hesitate to get to work. She pulled ghost to cover, sat him down, and got to work. Ghost was caught off guard at how she could work fast and accurately yet so…gentle.

Maybe he should get to know her..

…

And he did.

He kept finding excuses to talk to her.

“come eat dinner.”

“We have a debriefing.”

“Price needs you.”

It didn’t matter what it was, he just needed to talk to her.

Soon he got the courage to make small conversation. He’d talk to her while walking to those said debriefings, or when they sat next to each other, even when they were on the way to a mission. He learned small things about her that he hadn’t before.

…

As a few years pasted, he grew close to Y/n. At first he couldn’t stand the idea of a new teammate but now he can’t seem to go without her.

She was the only one who he trusted. The only one who could make his heart pick up in speed. He even gave her the codename sol because to him. She was the only sun he needed.

…

And to y/n, Ghost was like the moon.

He wasn’t bright or colorful.

Ghost was surrounded by darkness yet to Y/n he still shined. At first she was intimidated by the famous skull mask solider. But overtime she saw past that. She saw the secret care he had for his team.

How he’d talk to soap during missions to calm soap’s nerves. Or the way he’d train gaz so he’d be prepared for future missions. Or how he made sure price didn’t over work himself with filling out reports.

To everyone ghost was as scary as darkness itself. But y/n slowly saw the light that bled through. Like the way a full moon softly lit up the sky.

She was relieved when he started to open up. She learned more about Ghost. Even some dark parts of him. But even the moon had a dark side. He was just misunderstood.

When the two finally got together, things changed for the better.

Y/n brought out the light of Ghost. Most saw it, even soap. They saw the slight change in him. He had someone to fight for.

Ghost needed Y/n and Y/n needed Ghost. Just like how the sun needed the moon and the moon needed the sun.

She was his sun and he was her moon.

[skylarsblue]

✦Call of Duty Bio Headcanons✦

(I know they have canon ages and heights and stuff, but listen. It's fiction, and I think I know better(/j). You can disagree, but these are my opinions. Also, obviously, not all of the info has changed.)

✧John Price✧

Age: 42 y.o Height: 6'2" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: "Sexy-Is-Sexy" (Or Pansexual) Middle Name: Samuel Likes: Whiskey, vintage radios, old westerns, horses, & mint ice cream. Dislikes: Streaming services, cigarettes(ironic), spicy food, dust, & cottage cheese. Birthday: January 1st Zodiac: Capricorn -Trivia- -Allergic to cats and didn't know until he moved out because his mother had like, four. Grew up around them his entire childhood and was honestly devastated when he realized they make him sick cause he loves'em. -He was definitely a fuck boy in high school/college. Not an asshole one, he made his intentions up front and he was overall sweet, but he didn't wanna be tied down. Ironic given how he ended up wanting the exact opposite later on. -Wishes he took better care of his teeth as a kid. They look great now but he has five fillings in his molars and one (now replaced), silver tooth all the way in the back. Phobia: Amenisphobia; The fear of amnesia Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Kyle "Gaz" Garrick✧

Age: 26 y.o Height: 6'0" Pronouns: He/Him (I heavily support the trans!Gaz HC) Sexuality: Bisexual w/ a male preference Middle Name: Dylin Likes: Hot chocolate, the smell of lavender, coconut, licorice toffee, & nostalgic music. Dislikes: Milk, politics(irony again), Winter, grocery shopping, & spiders. Birthday: September 5th Zodiac: Virgo -Trivia- -Second oldest of four children, the only boy. He's a family man when it comes to his siblings, but not so much when it comes to his parents. Barely present father and a stressed out mother create for a shaky relationship with them. -Cannot cook to save his life. Man lives off of delivery, MREs, and cup noodles. He knows like...four dishes, and most of them are really simple. -Struggles decorating and making outfits cause he likes tons of different aesthetics. Everything from Scene Kid(for his inner teen) to streetwear. His version of housed decor are a bunch of plants. (Fake so they don't die when he's on deployment) Phobia: Arachnophobia; fear of arachnids/spiders. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Dyslexia)

✧Johnny "Soap" MacTavish✧

Age: 29 y.o Height: 5'8" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Omnisexual Middle Name: Neil (heh) Likes: Knickknacks, loud music, punk aesthetic, chickens, & football(aka Soccer for us pathetic Americans). Dislikes: Silence, sitting still, vague answers, being told what to do, & big dogs. Birthday: August 12th Zodiac: Leo -Trivia- -Constantly on & off with a caffeine addiction. He'll do really good about just drinking water, then he'll have one energy drink and he's fucked it all up again. -The scar on his chin is from a dog, the scar in his eyebrow is from a fight he got in as a teenager. He got in a lot of trouble as a teen. -Borderline pyromaniac, honestly. Hyperfixated on fire as a kid and now he's really happy to be a bombtech. Bro loves blowing shit up. Phobia: Cynophobia; fear of dogs. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (ADHD, hyperlexia)

✧Simon "Ghost" Riley✧

Age: 36 y.o Height: 6'4" Pronouns: He/It (Using "it" makes him seem more ominous, which he thinks is fun) Sexuality: Gay or Homoflexible, demisexual/demiromantic probably Middle Name: Achilles Likes: Birds, alternative indie music, dark chocolate, Victorian architecture, & murder mystery books. Dislikes: Snakes, graveyards, the dark(when it's completely pitch black), 99% of physical touch, & fluorescent lights. Birthday: December 30th Zodiac: Capricorn -Trivia- -He'll never admit it but he loves babies. They're super tiny and super cute, and Simon's heart always melts when one's around. Alas, he's also terrified of scaring them or getting attached, so he avoids babies as best he can. Can't have people thinking he's soft. -Makes the best steak in Manchester. Sometimes his seasoning is bland but the meat itself is perfection, you won't find any better. Melts in your mouth every time. It's a steak equivalent of 6 orgasms. It IS an orgasm. He makes great fucking steak. -Isn't fond of pure silence like Soap, but he doesn't often wanna fill it with loud sounds. He has a playlist of softer, more instrumental songs for this. Or he'll listen to nature sounds. He likes quiet, just not silent. Phobia: Taphephobia; the fear of being buried alive. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Autistic, dyscalculia)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Age: 38 y.o Height: 5'11" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Bisexual (Maybe Poly? He's not sure) Middle Name: N/A Likes: Hot drinks, the smell of roses, his nieces/nephews, physical affection, & cowboy hats. Dislikes: Sweaty palms, tourist-y Americans, caramel sauce, white-lies, & the feeling of glue. Birthday: March 25th Zodiac: Aries -Trivia- -Was with Valeria for awhile, but differences, stress, and Valeria discovering she was pretty gay broke them up. They had some tension, but he wasn't bitter towards her. Until she betrayed them, of course. -Was actually the last of his friend group to lose his virginity. He's a passionate, flirty man, but he's not throwing that kind of trust out willy-nilly. He had a few relationships but didn't reach that point until he was like, 19, about to turn 20. He asked a friend to share the moment with him. ...a close friend. -Cannot function in the cold at all. And his definition of cold is 21 degrees Celsius. (70 Fahrenheit for us Americans) He layers and complains all day, he's got a fuckin' heated blanket. A heated blanket owner in fucking MEXICO. Phobia: Coulrophobia; the fear of clowns Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra✧

Age: 38 y.o Height: 5'9" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Bisexual (Also maybe poly but he's very hesitant about it) Middle Name: N/A Likes: Ice baths, windchimes, baked sweets(mostly pie), clean handwriting, & naps on the couch. Dislikes: Cutting onions, heavy blankets, confrontation(with like, loved ones. Not on duty, obviously), slow walkers, & reptiles. Birthday: June 20th Zodiac: Gemini -Trivia- -Super good at singing, but he never does, because he's embarrassed. His mother would often encourage him to sing when he was younger at family gatherings, and now he cringes when someone hears him sing and comments on it. -His house is full of fans. Some rooms have more than one. They're running basically all the time, as well as the AC. Sometimes he has to get a family member to go home and turn them off when he's on a long mission. -He knew Alejandro before Alejandro knew him. When they were kids, Rudy was shy and had some problems with his health(exercise induced asthma mostly), so he didn't go out of his way to befriend other kids much. But he was a people watcher, and Alejandro was the most fun to watch. They actually met because one of Alejandro's friends pointed it out and called him creepy, only for Alejandro to defend him. Then they became super close friends! Phobia: Bufonophobia; the fear of toads Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Autistic, echolalia)

✧Valeria Garza✧

Age: 39 y.o Height: 5'7" Pronouns: She/It Sexuality: Sapphic Demiromantic Middle Name: N/A Likes: Expensive paintings, perfect nail-polish, sandalwood incense, lemon water, & flowers. Dislikes: Shaving, back-talk, tiny text on documents or books, chunky rings, & pineapple. Birthday: January 23rd Zodiac: Aquarius -Trivia- -Has a pull to religious imagery in a darker light because of religious trauma. Roman Catholicism is quite common in Mexico, but her parents were really heavy about it. To the point it makes Valeria bitter over it. She has a rocky relationship with God, but finds Mary comforting. Because when she was brought to church, but wanted to hide, she'd hide beside a Mary statue in a corner. -She has an odd sleep schedule. She often only gets four hours of sleep, but she doesn't seem to be tired at any point. In fact, the more sleep she gets, the more lethargic she is that day. -Her first girlfriend was when she was still in the military. A traveling medic from Italy. Unfortunately, the flame came and went thanks to the medic having to leave. Valeria has moved on, but she does mourn their lost time sometimes and has a little dream of meeting her again one day. Though she knows that's not practical. Phobia: Ecclesiophobia; the fear of church Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Alex Keller✧

Age: 36 y.o Height: 6'1" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Heteroflexible Middle Name: Sebastian (he's embarrassed about this) Likes: Golden retrievers, bad jokes, most seafood, provolone cheese, & hummus. Dislikes: Thanksgiving, the sound of rubbing styrofoam, being told to "do what he wants"(makes him feel aimless), tobacco smell, & overzealousness. (He likes simplicity...excluding his tattoos) Birthday: December 2nd Zodiac: Sagittarius -Trivia- -He doesn't really talk to his family excluding holidays. BUT, he will always keep in contact with his older sister, and his niece by proxy. They're the only two that made him feel wanted in his family. He wasn't abused in his mind, but he wasn't paid attention to much either. He always seemed overshadowed by something/someone, and as he got older, he got tired of feeling like an outcast in his own family. So he slowly drifted away and he goes on the guidance of orders he receives. -Probably born in a small town in a place like Utah. He's got small-town-mid-south manners. But I like to imagine he spent a lot of his time in California too, he seems like he'd enjoy the sun and the ocean. -Picks up languages really quick, somehow. At least, when he's around people that speak it. If he had to learn purely from books, he'd have choppy speech at best. He's fluent in English, Spanish, and Arabic. Also, knows a bit of ASL, but he's still working on that one. Phobia: Lilapsophobia; the fear of hurricanes/tornadoes Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Hyperlexia, SPD)

✧Farah Ahmed Karim✧

Age: 30 y.o Height: 5'5" Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: Aliquaromantic Demi-Bisexual Middle Name: N/A Likes: Poppies, motorcycles, pretty much any food with chickpeas, super spicy stuff, and the sky at dusk. Dislikes: Overly salty things, riddles, genuine cockiness, the feeling of rust(that includes on spoons...), & long winded responses. Birthday: July 1st Zodiac: Cancer -Trivia- -Keeps her hair long despite the fact it's annoying to deal with sometimes. Purely for sentimental reasons. To her, it represents the growth she's had as a person. A far cry from the buzz-cut she was forced into when under someone else's control. So she refuses to cut it. -She will never use it, and she despises it, but she's semi-fluent in Russian. Being around it for so long made her pick it up. It works well if she needs to translate, but she'll be caught dead before she speaks Russian. -Honestly can't cook for shit. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing in the kitchen and basically relies on MREs or the skills of others. She's not a picky eater though, and she'll always finish what's put in front of her, even if she's not fond of it. Phobia: Agniophobia; fear of choking Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Konig✧

Age: 28 y.o Height: 6'10" Pronouns: He/They Sexuality: Bisexual Middle Name: Obercht (Bonus)Last Name: Badubrecht Likes: Making bracelets, boxing(watching or doing), soda, heavy metal, & fresh bread. Dislikes: Certain kinds of wool, small cars, low doorframes, having to go to the medic, & the smell of hay. Birthday: March 9th Zodiac: Pisces -Trivia- -Was bullied all through high school for various things. His demeanor, his size, his hair(which was long), his cleft lip scar, etc. It took until he hit the largest growth spurt he ever had in secondary school when people began to stop poking fun, but instead avoid him. He maybe had 2-3 actual friends in his entire life before the military. And even now he mostly has acquaintances, not friends. -Doesn't talk to his mother, she was overbearing and cruel, mostly because Konig looks a lot like his father. He doesn't really talk to his father much because the man is hard to talk to. He's not completely cut off, but they are estranged. Konig's grandma hears from him almost every day, sometimes twice a day. She's a badass in her 90s who has never done him wrong, and he would blow up the entire world if anything happened to her. -Sometimes Konig gets comments that say he's got multiple personalities. (By uneducated people, clearly) Because he seems to switch dramatically between modes depending on time, place, and circumstance. Sometimes he's childish and giggly, cute even. Sometimes he's silent, unreadable, and withdrawn. And on the battlefield he's...inhuman, terrifying, and nothing short of bloodthirsty. Phobia: Equinophobia; the fear of horses. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (autistic)