#i never know the correct spoiler tags

[devotedlystrangewizard]

the school arc to me is so good because it drags ciel out of his position as a powerful figure and literally places him in the shoes of the person he could have been. the circus arc ALSO drags him out of his position as big bad queens watch dog/head of the phantomhive estate but the school arc feels like a mockery of a future that never was. this is what he could have been had his parents not died. and even then its NOT because he will never be that kid.

he never was.

[cordycepsbian]

suffering a morel dilemma?

[napolean-but-cringe]

Good Omens Season 2 Spoilers

You know what? After a while of thinking, I dont want fix-it fics. Or Coffee Theory.

I want Aziraphale, as the new Head Archangel, to try to 'fix' heaven and convince Crowley to come up with him. I want him to realize how lonely it is up there but stubornly refuse to give up, because if he gives up then he admits that Crowley was right, and if Crowley was right then the entire fight was completely his fault. That he could have gone with Crowley and he didnt instead choose the side that has been playing him like a fool this entire time. He wants to prove himself right to affirm that this wasnt all for nothing. But most of all he wants to see Crowley just as happy as he was when they first met, when he was creating the stars. Not knowing that clinging to the memory of someone who disappeared so long ago blinded him to the fact that Crowley was content right where he was, with Aziraphale.

I want them to fight, I want to see the Messy Aftermath of their fights

And then Aziraphale can start healing, slowly but surely.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

There's a Calm Surrender

SUMMARY: The Bead Brawl tournament ends and Leona and the other three run away leaving you, Grim and Jack behind. This causes Neji(Kifaji) to reprimand Leona and trigger him into taking you on a ride to confess to you.

CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar x Reader 🦁

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Love Confession; Kiss; Flirting

WARNING: Spoilers from Cloudcalling on the Savanna (Sunset Savanna's Tamashina-Mina) and its respective cards.

WORD COUNT: 2.200 words

COMMENTS: At first, I was going to write scenarios for all the event cards, but as Leona's was so personal, it ended up inspiring me to write a lot. So I decided to let him have his solo post. I'll still write scenarios for the others in a separate post.

By the way, I was undecided whether to use the name Neji or Kifaji, so I used both. 😅

I hope you enjoy. 😘

To escape from Cheka, Neji(Kifaji) and the palace guards who were with them, Leona rushed to the car to drive back to the hotel. Vil, Kalim and Lilia went with him. And you, Grim and Jack were left behind in the rain.

I mean, Leona wanted to escape and the car didn't have seats for everyone but... still... it made you a little sad. At least you had Jack who never left your side. Eventually, Cheka and Neji(Kifaji) reached you, after Leona and the others had already fled. Of course the first thing Neji(Kifaji) did was apologize for Leona's rudeness and offer to take you back to the hotel.

During the ride back, Cheka wanted to stay with you, especially after finding out that the name Leona used to win the tournament was yours. You were like his new favorite person. He even started calling you Unca, like he does with Leona.

There was a moment when it seemed like Neji(Kifaji) was going to correct Checka, perhaps explaining that since you're not married to his uncle, calling you “Unca” as well wouldn't be correct. But for some reason, he interrupted himself with a smile and just said amused: "Yes, they are the real Unca [Y/N]."

SUNSET SAVANNA - SUNSET VILLA

When you arrive at the hotel, you decide to take a shower to clean yourself from the rainwater. And after that, you hear two voices arguing in a nearby room. One is from Neji(Kifaji) and the other from Leona. You can't contain your curiosity and lean against the door to listen.

“The other three only went with me because they wanted to!” Leona says “I could have left alone.”

“And you, as a prince, would leave all your guests behind?” Neji(Kifaji) replies “In the middle of the rain? It would be shameful enough if it were discovered that you did it to three of them.”

“There were no more seats in the car.” Leona says in that smug tone of his. “It would be dangerous if I took more people. I took whoever I could and you took the rest. And for that I thank you. For bringing my other dear colleagues when I couldn't.”

“Hum, dear colleagues. Fu fu.” Neji’s(Kifaji) tone sounded like he was smiling in amusement. “Is that all they really are to you, prince Leona?”

“You know even the ‘dear’ part was deceiver sarcasm. And I don't like that smug on your face.”

“Oh, forgive me, Prince Leona. Far be it from me to insinuate that I know, for knowing you, what feelings you hide for them.”

“Feelings? You don't really think they're my friends, do you?”

“I wish. But I didn't mean all of them. I was referring to [Y/N].”

“And what exactly were you referring to?” Leona's voice lost its smug and sounded slightly annoyed.

“You know, Prince Cheka liked them very much. He even started calling them Unca [Y/N]. Something tells me you would like the sound of it.”

“No, I wouldn't. And it's a good thing those thoughts and assumptions of yours never leave your mouth ever again! Or be written in any way!” Leona had a growl in his voice.

“But of course, Prince Leona. I would never do such a thing.” and his tone became more serious. “You let them get closer and at the same time they are the first person you push away.”

“I didn't ask them to come. The furball insisted that he wanted to come and he is unbearable without his caretaker.”

“You are trying to deceive others by deceiving yourself.”

“Mind your own business and get out of mine!” He roars. There is silence for a few seconds.

“Very well. I will withdraw now. Forgive my intrusion, Prince Leona.”

“I will not.”

“But there is a limit to which a person can be pushed.” His footsteps and voice approach the door and the last thing you hear before leaving is the phrase: “Until they find someone who is willing  to embrace them.”

SUNSET SAVANNA - SUNSET VILLA (later)

It was night. You were only going to return to NRC the next day. You were in your room with Grim and he was already fast asleep, when someone knocks on your door. With your pajamas on, you open it.

Leona looks you up and down. “If you want to come on one last ride, get changed and head to the entrance in half an hour.” He tells you and leaves.

You did as he said and a few seconds later you hear a car approaching. Leona stops, the front passenger door right in front of you ready for you to open and step inside. There's no one else in the car other than the two of you. You can't contain a little smile.

SUNSET SAVANNA - LEONA'S CAR

You ask him where you are going.

“I don't know.” He responds, very naturally.

What did he mean he didn't know? Why did he invite you to take that ride? What was happening?

“I know you heard our conversation.” He says, without taking his eyes off the path and speaking as he normally does. “I heard your footsteps and smelled your scent.” He smirks. “What a rude guest. If he knew maybe he wouldn't praise you so much.”

You apologize.

“It's a little late for that, don't you think? You already overheard a private conversation. And between a prince and the chief chamberlain of his royal family. Few would have such insolence.” he was grinning smugly.

“And what are you going to do with me?” you ask. “For this so-called insolence.”

“I could have you arrested for espionage. I invite you, out of the kindness of my heart, to introduce you to my country and culture, for you to betray me and try to find out personal information about the royal family of Sunset Savana.” He finally looks at you, from the corner of his eyes and with a serious face. “You know I could really do that, right?”

You immediately looked worried and flinched a little.

He laughs. “I’m kidding. Don’t be frightened of each little joke. It's not like I mean any harm to you.”

“Then... what is this?” You ask.

“A night ride.” Leona answers. “Just enjoy it. Look up.”

You do it and you see a beautiful, clear, dark sky full of stars you didn't even know could be seen from earth. He was calmly driving, which made you also feel like everything was okay and that you could relax too. He ended up making his way to the arena where the Bead Brawl tournament took place. But he continued driving toward the colossal boulder that was the tournament's background.

SUNSET SAVANNA - PRIDE ROCK

He parked right at the base of the stone. He gets out of the car, knowing you would follow, and walks up to a locked steel door. He takes a key out of his pocket and opens the door. You ask if you can be there.

“I can. I have the key, don't I?” He starts to climb the stone stairs and you follow him. “Close the door, will ya?” He turns on the lights in the passage and you close the door behind you.

You go up the stairs until you reach a kind of room with a large opening, like a cave. It was blocked by a fence with a locked door, probably for the safety of visitors. You look outside and see that extensive ledge in front of you, the most striking point of that place.

“When planning began to turn this place into a tourist spot,” Leona explained “they thought about placing the fence outlining the stone, to create a landscaped balcony, I think. But the stone has an unstable shape to support a lot of weight, so they blocked the passage here. For the tourists.” He takes the keys again and opens the fence door. “You're not afraid of heights, are you?” He laughs and walks along the ledge.

You go carefully after him. He stops halfway, takes off his cloak and spreads it on the ground. And he lays down beside the cloak.

“I know I'm hot, but wouldn't you rather lie down next to me and see the stars? You can admire me all you want at school.” He was referring to the cloak, it was for you.

You lie down and look back at that wonderful starry sky. It was calming.

“Legend says that it was on this stone that the shaman presented the newborn prince or princess to the other animals.” he tells you, and points to the tip of the stone. “The shama would go there, right on the edge and lifted the cub. Like the golden statue in the city center. I wonder if any lion has ever fallen from there.” he laughs. There's a short moment of silence. “Sorry.”

“Hum? Sorry for what?” you ask

“For leaving you behind in the rain.” he explained looking at the stars. “But if you had been faster I would have brought you too.”

“You’re apologizing?”

“Why are you herbivores always surprised by that?” he sighs.

And then he rolls over and positions himself on top of you with his arms stretched out. Making you look at him with the starry sky behind him.

“And just so we're clear, I didn't want to bring you because this wasn't a vacation. I was just trying to resolve an inconvenience. I didn't want to involve you in these matters, and I just wanted to get this over with quickly.” he smirks “However, I admit it wasn't bad that I had the opportunity to show off in front of you.”

You get flattered, maybe even blush and end up looking down instinctively from his face. But when you do this, your gaze ends up stopping at his torso, with that tight top and the muscles on his abdomen exposed and flexed. And you end up looking to the side, even more flustered, and with a little smile. He interprets this as a green light.

“You heard what Neji(Kifaji) said, right?” He wasn't smiling, but his face was relaxed and he was looking at you with strangely tender eyes. “About you.‘You let them get closer and at the same time they are the first person you push away.’... And you're still here.” he sighs. “Fine, then. I surrender.”

“What do you mean?” you ask “Surrender from what?”

He bends his arms, now supporting himself on his forearms and getting closer to your face.

“From the fight. You’re too persistent. Stronger than me apparently. Always wanting to see me happy. Always present with that smile. You looked like a puppy excited to go for a walk when I let you and Grim come with us... Cute... I’ll put all my cards on the table and give you a choice. And make sure you listen to me because I won't repeat myself. I like you and I'm willing to make you mine. I will give you the choice: Look away and refuse me or kiss me and accept me.”

You take your time. You look at his lips instead of looking away.

“It's your choice, herbivore. Let me be your number one and I'll make you mine... [Y/N].”

You kiss his lips and he lets his body move closer to yours. Until you're in each other's arms. You had started cuddling each other when he tells you:

“Don't tell anyone about this yet. I don't want Neji(Kifaji) to get all cocky thinking he was right and that he had a hand in this.”

“And he didn't?”

“He doesn't need to know that. No one needs. I never thought I'd say it this way, but...” with an arm around your waist he brings you closer. “Hakuna Matata... Let's not worry about it tonight.” and he kisses you again.

You will start to feel him more relaxed, even more than usual. He has nothing left to hide anymore, no feelings to fight against. Instead, he is free to behave however he wants, to hug you, kiss you and fall asleep next to you, especially if you pet his ears. But don't worry, he'll still wake up easily if you need to escape before you two get caught there and people start asking questions.

SUNSET SAVANNA - SUNSET VILLA

The two of you return to the hotel, when you are getting close to separating to go to your rooms, you say good night to Leona and turn to go to your room. But he holds you by the waist.

“And where do you think you're going?” he asks with a smirk. “I skipped the parade, but I still want to celebrate my victory.”

“Do you mean my victory?” you say “After all, I'm pretty sure that masked mysterious warrior that appeared last minute had my name.”

He laughs. “Whoever we celebrate, I want to do it in my room. And I want you there with me.” The way you smile is enough for him to know that you want the same. He picks you up and takes you with him to the prince's bedroom.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[v-anrouge]

Verryyy long ranting under this about vil and how this fandom treats him for absolutely no reason pls excuse any mistakes and feel free to correct me with any accidental misinfo i passed <3

Mentions of racism, fatphobia, eating disorders, elitism & ableism and also SPOILERS for Vil's character story (eng only)

Ever since this game started getting super famous in tiktok and twitter it seems that people just love to butcher literally every character in Twst and sometimes it's genuinely baffling how wrong some of the takes are, it really does make me wonder if some people just don't read the story and just skip every character who isn't their fave, and if they really do that, what makes them think they know enough about the rest of the cast to post in the character's main tag the most rancid read on a character, often accompanied by some accusations of literal crimes of bigotry that really should be taken more seriously instead of being terms thrown around.

I'm gonna be talking about Vil specifically but characters like Leona, Jamil, Sebek and a few others have it exceptionally bad as well (especially Leo and Jamil who's haters can even be quite racist)

I've been playing for a very long time (in eng) i remember being there to watch the Heartslabyul final release and the release of Savanaclaw's chapter and through these years ive seen the most horrific takes on Vil's characters, ranging from the accusations of racism (which have been debunked again and again especially by JP players) to accusations of supporting eds, fatphobia, elitism and ableism. The funny thing is that even with a very quick read of any of Vil's story you'll find out there is no support for any of such claims. They like to use the incident with Epel's accent when for years JP players have pointed out how this was strictly an error of localization since they couldn't find a situation similar to the one that is portrayed in the original game to put in eng twst, they went with the one we have where Vil asks Epel to "hide his accent" (he really doesn't he was talking about the way Epel is rude and disrespectful which would definitely end with him being beat up and then expelled bringing a bad fame to Pomefiore and also making Vil look bad for not properly guiding his dorm students) which is a terrible choice but alas it seems people prefer to ignore facts to stick with their claim that Vil is some sort of monster when this man is literally a teen. He's 18 years old and has to constantly look out for his image in and out of school since he grew up in front of the cameras.

Vil's character is all about beauty and self care and self acceptance yet for some people this seems to translate to "starve yourself if you don't want to be a disgusting fat pig" which is very weird to say the least considering all mentions Vil makes about diets he is talking about keeping a balanced diet to nurture your body and even has a voice line pointing out the importance of eating. Vil himself may be coded to have an ED in his overblot and Lab vignette but he has never and would never encourage one, he literally goes out of his way to annoy students to take care of themselves what makes anyone think he'd encourage them anyways? It's such a weird thing to assume of a character.

A lot of people seem to think that Vil is also the "beauty standart" king which doesn't even make sense considering vil is a gnc man, he already doesn't follow beauty standards and would definitely be against it, Vil's vision of beauty for himself may be twisted due to his traumas and troubles yet his vision of beauty for others is always exclusively on the person being their best version, this includes dressing how they want to and feel comfortable in, using whatever makeup they want (or just not using it at all) etc.

The way Vil speaks is often misunderstood as he tends to be strict and can be read as mean (I've already shared my theory on what may have caused this behavior here before so i won't be getting into too many details) but Vil is a famous and respected housewarden because if you actually stop and think about his advice the end result is always an effort to make the person's desires come true. (a good example is how Vil made Epel clean the windows and although Epel was displeased with the hard labor in the end he notices how the task may help with muscle growth and gets happy)

Vil's way of caring for others is often misunderstood and obviously that's understandable, not everybody may get his "rougher" way of handling advice, but also it's a bit weird how people react to it when in game all of the characters seem to be okay with it, Pomefiore has a lot of students and if they considered Vil to be a bad leader he would've been voted out a long time ago, no? And if i remember correctly wasn't it said in game they had very few transfers? (as in characters moving out of Pomefiore and into other dorms) That wouldn't make sense if Vil was really the cruel leader some people make him out to be. The truth is Vil is a nice caring person and his students recognize that which is why he is respected all across the school and not simply on his dorm (because ive seen people say Vil has brainwashed the Pomefiore students into thinking he is a good housewarden 💀)

Vil surely has issues he needs to work through, after all this game is literally about that, dealing with troubled teenagers and their internal struggles and the importance of asking for help (omg friendship is magic...) but Vil is also a teenager, and he is one of the characters that show the most desire to get better, immediately showing regret and apologizing to Yuu and his classmates for the danger he put them in, that is because Vil genuinely does care for them.

Another accusation people make is ableism, i remember seeing many posts saying Vil wouldn't respect disabled people and/or mentally ill people which is 1- extremely fucking rude to say? 2- absolutely wrong. Again just a quick read on Vil's character will tell you everything you need to know about how he'd feel about disabled people, he'd treat them like everyone else, and would adjust his handling accordingly to their needs, i really don't get where this claim comes from but it's quite ironic because a lot of Vil haters tend to be ableist themselves by claiming that Vil is a bad person mentioning traits that are often caused by mental illness and the effect of traumas, failing to analyze how their treatment of a character that displays common mental illness symptoms may affect people in real life who displays the same symptoms, and often being ableist themselves by judging these actions irredeemable and inherently evil/heartless, once again dehumanizing people with mental illness in real life who deal with the same symptoms.

Another common thing is the constant invalidation of Vil's trauma. A lot of people seem to read book 5 with their eyes closed and take away from the story that the reason Vil "got pissy and almost killed a guy" (wording of a terrible post i saw a few days ago<333) is because he's a "spoiled brat who couldn't handle getting the paper he wanted in a movie boo hoo" which is kind of funny with how terribly wrong it is, i really don't know what your thought process has to be to get his backstory this wrong but sure, let's start; The start of Vil's problems with being cast as a villain starts from when he was very very young, he was just a child when after being cast as a villain for a movie he was almost beat up by a group of boys for being an "evil guy" and by his reaction it wouldn't be impossible that this wasn't his first time dealing with that kind of thing. Vil also tells jack (who scared away the group) that he had trained so he would be able to deal with them on his own which again, could be a hint that this wasn't that uncommon in his life. In Vil's overblot dialogue is all we really need to know to debunk this claim.

What Vil wanted wasn't just to be a hero in a movie, he wanted to be seen, to be heard and cherished, he wanted to be more than a pretty prop they could put on the front to get attention only to be taken out of stage when he was no longer necessary in the next scene, do you get it? He wanted to be able to see his hard work pay off, to see his efforts of years being rewarded, to for once not be exchangeable for someone more favorable. Vil wanted to feel like all his pain was worth it in the end because finally he could shine in the stage, being himself instead of just another persona to attract people. In his overblot it's shown clearer than ever that Vil does not have a stable view of his own image unlike what he has trained himself to show, even calling himself ugly and begging them to not look at him. I don't think Vil is used to be being vulnerable, which would explain why he was so freaked out when the overblot happened, and why he cried when his beauty (the one thing about himself that was always recognized by others and therefore the thing he'd always been the most desperate to nurture) was taken away by aging in book 6 (note; the fact Vil sacrificed it for his classmates also just debunks the people saying he only cares for himself, if he did he wouldn't be who he is.)

I said i wouldn't give my thoughts again but i will, just briefly, i believe an easy explanation to Vil's behavior (the tough love he gives and his strictness) might be because of the industries he grew up in, we can't know for sure how similar twst's version of the movie and modeling industry is when compared to the real life one but considering the way Vil is, my guess it's that it's pretty similar, especially in the regard of their treatment towards children, in Vil's overblot he hears two staff members talking about how he'd never be able to pull off a relatable role because he is too perfect, and sure those may not look like insults, but to Vil who's only dream his entire life was to be seen in good light, those words stuck to him so deeply they'd come back to him during his overblot. (note; i have not seen a jp translation of the overblot scenes so i don't know if they also suffered from localization issues, if anyone has a link to one i could see id really like to see what the staff said to Vil)

The general point of Vil's overblot was how his efforts and hard work were always overlooked and ignored in favor of someone else, this happens with quite a lot of characters and happens as well with another overblot (Leona, who happens to be quite similar to Vil in many ways) and although i don't expect anyone to read it and think of analysing it more deeply even with a shallow vision of his overblot it's still incredibly insensitive to call it a "non-problem" especially considering the fact this is Vil's ENTIRE life, he's been working hard and failing for years again and again and that does get to you. I remember when i posted my first rant on Vil quite a lot of people who reported to be skilled at something (say for example music or dancing) as a child that any failures absolutely destroyed you inside, and that people who haven't passed through the same tend to call them dramatic and say they're overreacting to situations that can be classified as trauma depending on how much it mentally impacted said child. (and in Vil's case it's clear it had a massive one, after all he wouldn't have overblotted if he didn't have issues that had been bottled up until they finally exploded)

Mentioning Leona again, he and Vil share the same sentiment of anguish for being discarded and having their hard work be thrown away, the difference in them is the way they reacted to it, while Leona ended up not seeing any value in attempting to do anything because he assumes the outcome is always going to be the same, Vil overworks himself and forces himself to do things he might hate clinging to the hope that this time it'll work out.

Since we're talking about trauma ill already answer some things that may or may not come with this post (because in my first one i got this response a lot) "Vil's a fictional character it doesn't matter" and sure if you think like that cool, personally, when im talking about a fictional character that tackles real life traumas and issues, i talk about it as if referring to a real person because the character has been written with one (or multiple) in mind.

Twst may have issues but the character writing is undeniably about real life traumas and experiences, and the characters are quite accurate and good representation of the issues they tackle, so when you invalidate them, you are by result invalidating real life issues. Of course this won't stop anyone and i know that a few people will probably scoff at this and brush it off as being too sensitive but personally if you wouldn't dare invalidate say for example Riddle's traumas because you know it's a representation of mommy issues, which is a very real problem, to not go against your own morals you should also respect the issues of all the other characters, even if you personally think some are more "serious" than the other.

[kurosstuff]

Lute x fallen angel! Reader: Fallen

Short fic- tell me what you think! Hope you all enjoy it-!

Summary" lute SHOULD hate you. But. How can she?

HEAVY SPOILERS MENTIONED LIKE AKL OVER(in this like one?) IDK PLEASE. ALL HAZBIN FICS I WRITE ARENT SPOILER FREE UNLESS I STATE THAT IT IS. YOUVE BEEN WARNED

Warning(s): blood/fights, love at first sight, maybe ooc lute? Idk yoy tell me I never wrote her, heartbreak, also from my knowledge? Wing movements(from birds please correct me on the info if I do it wrong I do not own birds) in denial, Adam and his vulgur language

Ngl I love lute-

Lute a cruel sadistic woman. Odd place for a woman in heaven. But given her status as the leader of the executioners. The one who leads the battles against those vile sinners. Who trains the angels picked to fight herself. The woman second in command to Adam himself.

It's a fitting role.

Never in a million years(and she HAS been around for that long. Or so she lost track of such a useless thing) would she? A ruthless exterminator encounter this thing other fully pure angels speak of.

Love

Why would she? Lute is a fighter. A warrior. The one who Adam HIMSELF entrusts his life too. Why would she fall for anyone? She doesn't even know if she CAN feel such a thing.

But as always- Life(or afterlife?) Is full of surprises. She was well aware of a new angel coming in. Recently passed in some horrific accident she doesn't care for the details just knows- need to pick them apart see if their ruthless enough to fight. But the second she went into the room her eyes widden- an odd feeling in her chest as If her heart- her cold heart was heating up.

"Hello~ are you uh Lute?" You asked shyly- which given the situation even the most outgoing would be just as shy. She blinked, glad for the mask to hide the flushed expression - the confusion on it.

Clearing her throat, she nods slowly, ensuring you saw "I am. Welcome to Heaven, " she greeted uncharacteristically polite- gentle. If you were to be mistaken, she ignored the odd look Adam gave her, looking at the name tag, even your name is pretty- she blinked.

What?

She did NOT just think that. She did NOT Find you pretty. Gorgeous. She does NOT notice how your eyes sparkle how friendly your smile is as you both talked. She most certainly doesn't notice how your wings are the single most gorgeous pair she's ever seen. How white it is- signaling how pure you are. How the gold etched into it- putting to shame her grey and black wings- smiling soft behind her mask. How how she wishes to touch the- she stops she will NOT think that

-

It became as clear as day to her and anyone else. Lute? Is inlove. And not just anyone. The new angel- the kind soul who? Adam states follows her around like a lost puppy or in Adam's kind words "Hey look. It's lutes bitch!" Oh how she wishes to punch him everytime- hit that smug look off. But she won't. Not yet.

A common tradition in heaven- like the birds in the human realm(maybe a odd similarity she presumed. She doesn't care for the human realm after all) finding a mate, a lover with the most gorgeous wings. It was no surprise you gained such attention

Much to her displeasure.

Grumbling watching as how you yet again were surrounded by angels around you- and ad always rejecting them before that smile she oh so adored. Yet would never state aloud was sent her way- making her scowl darkly(but on the inside? She was warm) quickly making your way to her she noticed how you fidgeted. How red you were "out with it. What is it?" She grumbled out no matter how warm and soft she was on the inside? Her words on the outside could never match. No matter how she wished it

White cleared her vision making her back up scrunching her nose before finally realizing what it was- a feather. Not just any old feather. Your feather "i.. i want you to have it.. I know the meaning bur when I was preening my wings u couldn't help it.. I want you to have my feather" they whispered watching as she gently took the feather.

Silently accepting them courting her with a soft smile. Maybe she can make it a necklace?

-

As great as it was up there. There were rules. Easy to forget. Easy to break. But rules nonetheless. Once Adam instructed her to strip a betrayers wings, Lute sighed. Grumbling loudly going to the room. Ignoring the odd almost somber pitiful look Adam gave her. Hiding the feather in her shirt tucked safe near her heart, she hummed, stepping inside fixing her helmet before freezing

"No-"

Her heart dropped paling more then she was already at the bloodied sight

"NO WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!"

She roared storming to your bloodied frame she couldn't help but break her never-ending composure for the first time, kneeling to your side "do you HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS?" She snarled ripping her mask off showing her teary face. Knowing her counter was now a sinner. Her angel was a traitor. A million emotions went through her head glaring down at you with every emotion but the one she should feel.

It wasn't hate.

She ignored her feelings, swallowing it down she ignored the reasoning of what you did. Of what you SAID. putting her mask on, she steeled herself. She was an executioner. A peacemaker. She takes care of the issue. So she pushed you down with her foot grabbing your once gorgeous wings now bloodied gold- in her one hand grabbing her spear she sliced. Ignoring how she was covered in your blood. The deafening screams of pain. Of agony. How you begged for her. She took a sigh taking her mask off giving you the chance to se her one last time. Without the mask. How she stared cold at you.

Before the ground opened up, "lute. Before I go- please I lo-" she cut you off, kicking you in. Closing her eyes as the ground closed. For the first time ever. She fell to her knees, holding the now broken wings sobbing out for a sinner. How was she not a sinner to for showing the regret. Showing the selfishness in this?

~~

It wasn't long before she saw you again. Traveling down with Adam to meet with Charlie and her girlfriend- to Lute it was a vile relationship. Not because of the sex- no- because of the liar Vaggie is. How that bitch betrayed her kind and then fell for the ruler of hells daughter. She could almost laugh.

Blinking, ignoring the yelling match of Adam and Charlie. Looking out the window, she froze mouth wide open- even though the demons back was turned. No wings but a tail and horns. She knew that laugh. She knew that smell. No matter how different you looked. Eyes soft watching you turn. Even as a demon. You truly are a beautiful creature. She softened her gaze behind her mask before looking away in disgust. Not with you.

But herself.

Lute a angel? Finds a demon attractive. Sure it's you but. Your a demon. A angel and demon together is vile. Disgusting in all sense of the worse.

But even now. She can't help but still long for you. Long for the almost relationship. Frowning, she looked back at Adam, who watched her with a frown. She knew they'd have a talk. Sighing, she followed after him with a deep sigh

She truly wished this outcome was different. How she longs to see you once more. Touching the feather on her chest she sighs

The only way she would be with you. Is if she was fallen as well. What a cruel irony.

[starry-eyedblog]

Could you do one with either Simon and/or Price teach soap how to properly pleasure fem reader?

uhm yes the fuck i can, that's so hot please i need to be put in my cage to calm down(@~@)

warnings/tags: johnny x fem reader, simon x johnny x price, smut, degradation, dub con, oral (eating out), hair pulling, bad sex?? lol

johnny is someone who has all the right intentions; eager to please, sexually playful and always down for most things. he has the right idea, but no proper training.

that's where his superiors come in though, happy to help their sergeant learn and grow as a man. johnny had complained, well more like whinged to simon one drunken night about how about he'd never had a lass come around his cock and how no women let him eat them out for more than 5 minutes. he just didn't know what he was doing wrong!

simon had told price over a drink one late night, how they ought to show johnny the ropes and the captain agreed. so here they all were now, in a cheap hotel with you as the willing subject. you had recently met johnny on a night out and exchanged numbers, eager for a hook up. you didn't expect your first time with the cocky scot to be with two other men though.

you hesitantly agreed upon getting a glimpse of said two men, both standing tall and proud. it left you wondering if it was going to turn into a foursome but then the man in the ghost balaclava told you they were only there to make the experience more enjoyable. it didn't do much to calm you.

as of now though, you were laying on your back mostly bare, save for the pretty bra you picked out for tonight when you first got the text from johnny, who currently had his head between your thighs, licking and nibbling at what he thought was your clit.

spoiler alert, it wasn't.

you heard the bearded man speak up, tutting loudly before sauntering over to the two of you. he yanked johnny back by the hair, looking down at him and you felt your cunt drip at the display. "c'mon boy, you can do better than that eh? seriously, she's not making a peep." he grumbled, and johnny eagerly nodded.

"sorry cap," he ushered out before whining as his face was shoved back into your cunt, price keeping his head down.

"less talk, put that tongue to better use." he ordered, watching johnny intently. you continued to watch on, propped up on your elbows as johnny hooked his arms around your thighs. you let out a soft sigh as you felt johnny finally latch onto your clit. it was starting to feel good, enjoyable even.

"old man had to show me once too, it's alright johnny." simon utters out from the corner of the bed, his beady eyes watching johnny moan into your pussy.

"there you go son, that's it drag your tongue down 'er cunt. just like that." price groans, guiding johnny's head down until his tongue is sinking into your hole.

you whimper and whine as johnny finally finds all the correct spots for you. your hips buck several times, and your cunt gushes around his thick tongue. just as you're about to come, legs twitching and hands grabbing at the sheets, his warm mouth is pulled off of you.

a soft cry leaves you, your eyes fluttering open as you pout up at the scot who's face is drenched in your juices. "leave 'er wanting more, begging for your cock." price lectures his sergeant, combing his hand through his mohawk before condescendingly patting his face to urge him to get up.

johnny scrambles up onto his knees, grabbing a condom that he rips open and pulls down over his leaking cock. he looks down at you, grinning manically almost. before he can slip his cock inside, his hips are grabbed and held in place from the back by simon who looms over him at the edge of the bed. thick fingers bite into tough skin and muscle that has the scot groaning in pain.

price silently stalks around the corner of the bed, standing in johnny's line of vision with a cigar in his hand, ready to be lit. "ask before you slide into her. manners johnny, you seriously can't be this pussydrunk already." price tsks disappointedly, "fuckin' pathetic." he adds under his breath.

"ca-can i fuck ye now? please, need tae feel ye hen." johnny pants, looking back down at you and you nod softly. "yes yes please, put it in johnny." you whimper gently, watching as simon's hands guide johnny inside before pulling away so they can watch their sergeant and figure out why he's so bad.

as price lights his cigar, taking a deep inhale of the heavy smoke, simon comes to join him, heavy arms crossed over his chest. "you weren't as bad as him son, christ." the older huffs and simon dryly chuckles, watching the way johnny pistons his cock in and out of your cunt.

it's almost painful to watch, how bored and disinterested you look underneath johnny. he's mindless like a dog, only chasing his own pleasure with the way he pants and groans from how good you feel wrapped around him. he does lean down to suck and bite at your neck though, almost drooling into the crook of your shoulder when his body becomes overwhelmed with the pleasure he's receiving.

it isn't long until he's pulled off of you with a rough hand, his cock sliding out from the tight wet heat of your cunt. he whines and scrambles, desperate to get back in but simon is having none of it. he holds him back, forcing him to stay put on his knees.

"it's no wonder no one's came around your prick, boy." price tuts, exhaling a big cloud of smoke that dances and swirls up into the air. you follow it with your eyes, unable to stop your mind racing about just how weird this whole situation.

"you're fuckin her like a mindless dog. not doing anythin' to make the experience more enjoyable for her." he lectures, watching the way johnny's face flushes in humiliation, how the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"simon here is gonna guide your hips, so that you can focus on actually doing more than thinking with your cock. you'd like that, right sweetheart?" price asks you, the first time he's even spoken to you all night and you preen at his attention, he is very attractive.

you nod softly, "uhm, yes sir." you answer with a shy smile, glancing up at him and he chuckles. "that's a good girl. don't worry, we're gonna teach johnny here in no time, make this feel better for you." he states, patting your head for a moment before taking another drag from his cigar.

then, you feel the tip of soap's cock pressing at your cunt. you look up, seeing simon emerging from behind johnny with his gloved hands tightly wrapped around johnny's hips and guiding him inside of you. a soft gasp leaves you as he sinks in much slower than before, the pace is a lot more pleasant this time and you can actually feel the full length and weight of him inside of you now.

"now, bring a thumb down to her clit and gently circle it. can you do that for me son?" price orders, still standing to the side of the bed with his cigar. johnny nods his head, doing as his captain asks. as he lifts his hand, you gently tug it to your mouth and suck on his thumb, getting it covered in spit.

he watches with dazed eyes, cock throbbing inside of you as simon continues to work his hips. you then pull his hand out and guide it down to between your thighs, right above your clit so he can't miss it. johnny slowly circles the nub, watching the way your eyes flutter shut and as your tight pussy clenches around him deliciously. now he gets it, god it feels so much better like this.

johnny is a good dog, can follow orders perfectly and that is exactly what he does. as price continues to teach him tips and tricks to better his game, he slowly gets more and more control of his hips, proving he can do it on him own without simon helping him.

and finally, he makes you cum. it's one of the best orgasms you have experienced before, back arching and toes curling, cunt milking johnny for all he's worth. it's so good, it makes you forget about how weird this whole set up started off as.

@bjornthebearguy

@iciclesses

@mothymunson

[killerpancakeburger]

Outpace the dawn

Gif by @silverformymonsters

Summary: BG3 Spawn ending Fix It fic! Because I refuse to let him deal with the sunlight alone.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Warnings/tags: SPOILERS obvsly, angst/comfort, non canon compliant.

Words count: 936 words.

A/N: It should be Gender Neutral, but if I fcked up since I tend to write from my pov, you can tell me and I'll correct it.

Yes the title is from that Hozier song. It got me thinking how Astarion would need to outpace the dawn from now on.

Astarion’s voice cut through the silence that followed your last battle, as your little group was gathering on a pontoon.

“So, what’s next for us?”

You had been thinking about what was to come for a while, actually. Probably longer than any of your companions have. Some might argue that it wasn’t the time for that, that you should have been completely focused on defeating the Netherbrain. But you couldn’t help it; it was a matter of life and death - Astarion’s life and death. Or rather, undeath and death. Since you’ve known that the brain was within reach, it had become an omnipresent apprehension in your mind.

The slaughter of the brain sounded the death knell of the tadpoles, and their disappearance inevitably meant that Astarion’s resistance to the sun would vanish like it never existed. Like nature rightfully reasserting itself by getting rid of this aberration that had been a vampire walking in the sun in the first place. 

This knowledge has been haunting you for days and nights now. It was your first thought when you woke up and your last when you fell asleep. A knot of dread had settled inside your stomach, making it hard to fall asleep and to interact normally with the source of your worries. And right now, following Astarion’s question, the knot in your guts got even tighter, even more painful.

At any moment, any second from now on, your vampire lover would catch fire as surely as straw in the summer. 

It was fine. You planned. You prepared for this. You procured a large, thick, hooded coat that was guaranteed to block the sunrays. It was even imbued with magic that made it impossible to tear, pierce, or rip in any way. It hadn’t been easy to acquire, but Astarion didn’t need to know that. 

You were on the lookout for any sign of burning, wound as tightly as a spring while still trying to appear normal to the others.

“The world is our oyster, and she has many pearls we can choose from.” claimed Astarion, blissfully unaware of his fate.

He illustrated his remarks by spreading his arms far apart with vigor. The genuine excitement, the happiness in his voice almost made you sick to your stomach. Astarion’s displays of authentic joy were few and far in between, and this one would end as soon as it started. As fast as a vampire spawn left in the sun, as a pile of ashes on the ground.

You could barely bear to look at him. You didn’t have the heart to remind him of his imminent doom. He obviously had forgotten about it for the time being, and while the cruel reality was taking up almost all the space in your brain, like blaring alarms, you’d be damned if you took away from him his last, his only instants of light and warmth, of complete freedom, by reminding him. No Cazador, no tadpole, no mind control, no deadly sunlight, no slave and no master. Just an immense ocean of liberty, intoxicating, vertiginous.

“I honestly don’t mind what we do, once we get to- Ow!”

You instantly straightened up at the sound, like a wild animal who picked up the sound of an upcoming danger. For a terrible second, there was a twisted part of you who felt relieved. Finally, your gnawing, agonizing wait was coming to an end. Then, swiftly, the relief disappeared, flooded with your concern for Astarion. 

“What the- Oh no. Oh Gods.”

Already his hands were fuming, his beautiful pale face sprinkled with silververy cracks like delicate porcelain. He had always looked more like a piece of art than a living being after all. The frantic panic in his voice was like a punch to the chest. In all your battles and struggles together, you had never seen him so horrified. Even against Cazador. Even a True Vampire had to yield to the Sun.

He threw you a harrowing look, like he was bidding you goodbye before bolting. As if you were going to leave him to deal with this alone. Already you were rushing towards him, the life-saving coat in hands. You wrapped it around him as fast as your hands would allow, put the hood on, and gently grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him so his covered back would take the blunt of the light.

“There we go, you explained softly. This will block the sun.” 

“You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.” you added, mirroring his own words.

You were smiling sadly, trying to be supportive, to not add to his burden. The look in his eyes was hard to describe, an intense blend of heartbreak, vulnerability, and gratefulness. 

“Well… It was… it was nice while it lasted.” he managed to articulate, his voice breaking like he was about to cry. 

You could feel your heart break in response like an echo.

The magic sunproof coat was in no way a solution. Barely a bandage on a sinking ship. You had to get out of the sun, quickly.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you some shadow, uh?”

Your encouraging smile was as fragile as a spiderweb. You could feel it teetering on the edge of an abyss. 

Astarion simply nodded, like he didn’t trust his voice anymore. It was fine. He was already expressing so much through his gaze.

You put your hand on the small of his back, barely applying any pressure, threw a telling look over your shoulder at your other companions, and you both started your search for protective darkness between the walls of Baldur’s Gate.

[inaflashimagine]

SINCE LAST TIME

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from. But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader

wc: 9.4k

tags & warnings: (kinda) friends with benefits, suggestive themes, manga spoilers (sakamoto's past arc & assassination exhibition arc), light angst, reader was Nagumo's former spy classmate, no use of pronouns, instance of harassment/inappropriate behavior

notes: can be read as a standalone fic or the second part of a series found here. crossposted on ao3.

“Those are pretty!”

You can’t help but agree with the excited six-year-old holding your hand, though choosing the right words to voice your thoughts proves difficult. 

Your eyes survey the rest of your apartment. They seem to move quicker than your stiff tongue, less focused on the bouquet of roses on the dining table and more worried about locating the trespasser who put them there in the first place. 

The walk from the school back to the apartment didn’t take more than ten minutes. The television was still left on before you headed out. You didn’t realize how it was still programmed to the assassin channel until the JAA News anchors resumed their discussion of three wanted terrorists, their names when you first heard them a week ago as unexpected as the bloodred flowers currently staring at you.

In hindsight, wondering if you’d be able to find the culprit was a silly thing to fret over. Especially when the type of person to make such a grand gesture rarely decides to remain hidden. 

“I know, right?” exclaims a deep, jubilant voice from behind. “The florist freshly cut them from his garden, too! But how do we feel about the vase? Are the polka dots too flashy?”

The door shuts with a firm click, a sound you had already heard a few seconds ago. Because you closed the door yourself. 

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from.

But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. 

It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

The hand enveloped by yours feels smaller than ever as you turn the curious girl around and shield her from the smiling man leaning forward to wave at her. The action gets her to peek behind your protective stance, her giggles growing louder the more your frown widens. 

“Yumiko,” you say softly, refusing to show the hint of panic beginning to seize your chest. “How about you do your drills first? I’ll review them with you in a bit.” It’s already that time of the school year when her class learns basic kanji. However, you secretly fear all those hours of practice still won’t correct her sloppy penmanship.

“But you said we’d watch Sugar’s Sweet Adventures first!” she whines, the rare protest paired with her doe-like eyes close enough to make you cave in. 

Yet your gaze remains on the smiling man in front of you. 

“We’ll do that after you finish your homework. I promise.” You give her hand two tight squeezes, your voice reedier by the second. “Please.”

“I’d listen if I were you,” he unhelpfully adds as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his white baggy pants, “because the one time I hadn’t was sooo close to being my last day on this planet!”

Yumiko laughs, a melody so light that you can feel your resolve chipping away. “You’re funny, mister!”

“Aw, you think so? Well, at least I have one fan in this household!”

“Wait, if you brought flowers, does that mean you’re staying for dinner, too?” Her black pigtails bounce with the rocking of her feet before she takes a step forward. She tugs on the strap of her limited edition Sugar backpack while you pull her behind you again. “We’re having Chinese tonight.”

“Oh, from that one place around the corner? Their pork dumplings are so delicious!”

As if to prove his point, he pats his stomach a few times and lists a few other of his favorite meals from the restaurant with a satisfied smile, leaving you stunned and Yumiko giggling once again.

“Yes! Please join us, mister!” Her gaze flits back to you, catching your mortified expression reflected in those excited dark brown eyes. “Can he join us, please?”

“Not if you don’t finish those assignments,” you cut in, the anxiety gnawing at you so intensely that you’re able to snap out of your bewilderment. Desperate for any solution that gets her far away from all this. 

But you’re not sure what shocks you more: Yumiko’s disappointed sigh or the ease with which she proceeds to simultaneously slip out her shiny black shoes and shrug off her bag. 

“Fine, I’ll do them. But only after I go to the bathroom.”

The moment you hear the pitter-patter of feet being muffled by the closing of a bathroom door is the instant you push the intruder against the apartment’s front door. The one he somehow managed to picklock without so much as uttering a sound.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch,” Nagumo says cheerfully, his disguise gone within a blink. 

Though that smile hasn’t faltered one bit. If anything, you swear it’s gotten bigger.

“Seems like you’ve lost yours.” The grooves of your apartment key dig deeper into his neck, a tiny bead of red coloring the black spiral inked onto him. It’s a once-in-a-blue-moon achievement that would’ve made you insufferable to be around had it happened during your sparring classes at the JCC.

But when you see his pinned shoulders relax instead of resist, you remember how deftly he can flip himself out of this situation.

And how swiftly he can end yours. 

You snort derisively, trying your best to ignore the way his large eyes only seem interested in taking in the face that’s a hair’s breadth away from his. As much as his talkative nature drives you mad, you’d rather deal with his constantly running mouth over his silent one. “You call yourself a master of disguise but can’t change that obnoxious cologne you wear?”

He seems unfazed, the lazy stretch of his lips as he watches you with mild amusement infuriating you even more. “Obnoxious? How hurtful! And here I was worried that time made you softer.”

“The only thing you need to worry about is that target over your head.” Your eyes glance at the flat screen before returning to a slowly blinking Nagumo.

The tip of your tongue feels heavy with the number of questions you want to ask him. Why is he pictured in between an assassin who has long since retired and another who he swore he would kill? 

And why is he here, of all places? You already have enough on your plate to worry about. Are there others currently on his tail? The idea that more assassins may burst through this door while Yumiko is here terrifies you. 

You want to strangle him. 

“A target?” The confusion that tinges his voice is also seen in the exaggerated tilt of his head, the assassin uncaring that the action causes the key to poke further into his neck. “While I am flattered to be compared to that objectively attractive ‘Wanted’ guy, you’re confusing me for another Nagumo Yoichi. After all, I’m an upstanding JAA employee and obedient member of the Order, thank you very much.”

“Oh, cut the act,” you hiss, the flush of the toilet in the background proving how little time you have left. Leaning forward, you glimpse the silver key between your fingers beginning to turn crimson. “Or I’ll let the JAA know where their Special Class-A Extermination Target is…”

He dares to feign a pained gasp while mirth dances in his eyes. “You’d rat me out, even after I brought you these flowers? You have to admit that they’re an upgrade from last time.”

Despite it being the most inopportune time, his words bring back a rush of memories that you have no shot at ever blocking out.

The faint surprise your face undeniably showed upon opening the apartment door that one night over seven years ago–a shock that wasn’t caused by the all-too-familiar sight of long limbs occupying every corner of your couch but had rather stemmed from the bouquet of bright white roses he tossed between his hands.

White roses speckled with dark red splotches.

His thank-you gift, no doubt. 

At least his suit was clean. 

What remained uncertain was whether the present was for a favor in the past, or for a current one in his unlucky deck of cards.

You had grabbed it from him anyway, heading straight to the kitchen and swallowing a pleased sigh that threatened to leave you when soft lips grazed your neck and long arms wrapped around your waist. Ignoring the warmth in your constricted chest as fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and strands of silky hair tickled your cheek, instead attempting to focus on the scissors in your hands to cut the flower stems at a sharp angle. “But please don’t tell me those dots are bloo–”

“Nah, of course it’s not my blood!” he immediately clarified with a chuckle, the deep sound vibrating through your skin and going straight through your bones. “How was I supposed to know the dude would bleed like some stuck pig?”

“Nagumo!” You hoped he’d surmise your gasp as one of horror over his indifference, but saying his name like that the minute his hand dipped below your pants is not something even the most naive could chalk up to coincidence.

“Now, don’t act all innocent on me,” he whispered into your ear, planting a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Not when you’re the only spy who knows the whereabouts of one of my next targets.”

After placing the stained roses in a black vase, you managed to wiggle in his grasp, turning to pull on his tie before linking your arms around his neck. Unsure why the knot in your stomach seemed to tighten from his admission, one that you already saw coming the moment you opened the door. 

The more you thought about it, Nagumo rarely offered gifts of appreciation for services completed in the past. Perhaps a present of that magnitude could only be received for accomplishing a wish not even a god could grant.

If that was the case, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. The latest trail you caught wind of went cold months ago. At the very least, it was likely she was still alive, but providing him any further details would be pure speculation or straight-up lies. Despite all the classes Nagumo skipped when you two were in high school, one particular lesson always stuck with each student in the intelligence-gathering and assassin programs: a stiff body is easier to find than a constantly moving one. 

But if she wasn’t dead, then it was also very likely that she didn’t want to be found. 

Neither of you had ever discussed that last scenario—such hypotheticals were pointless in this profession, after all—but you’re sure he already knew. Even then, he still acted like a stubborn dog that refused to let go of the worn bone, as if hopeful that, maybe, just maybe, he could eventually trade it in for something of higher value. 

Hope was the last thing assassins should hold onto. Civilians who did so were often seen as optimistic or naive. But for those in your field, it got you killed.

Shaking your head, you sent him an unimpressed look. “Contaminated roses in exchange for valuable intel? Talk about unfair exchange.”

He merely blinked, blank eyes staring evenly at you before giving you a boyish smile. “Ah, of course, my bad! So would you prefer red ones next time?”

“You’re ridiculous!” And like last time, you laughed against his lips, closing the distance to push away the sinking feeling that this transaction, along with the previous ones, would never extend beyond that. Perhaps if he squeezed his eyes just as hard as you were then he’d be able to picture the one target that’s never been able to leave his mind.

Upset at Nagumo for evoking such unwelcome thoughts, you tighten your grip against him and repeat those two words.

What favor does he want now? Wasn’t last time enough?

Does he know how much you’ve risked for him? How much is at stake just because he stepped foot into your haven?

“You know, it’s quite rude to treat a friend like this!” he chides, grabbing your wrist with the key before wagging a finger from his other–now free–hand. “Especially one who saw their best friend fake-resurrect from the dead before nearly getting sliced to pieces by a senile man with a sword.”

The key clatters to the floor as your jaw goes slack, attempting to piece together the bomb he so casually dropped.

Akao Rion?

“She’s alive?” you ask, dumbfounded. Even saying it now is a foreign sensation. How? “And that’s made you a wanted man?”

And if Akao Rion is alive, then why is he here?

“Mister, how did you lose so much weight?”

Hearing Yumiko makes you recognize what else you missed amidst the chaos: the creaky sound of the bathroom faucet turning on and off; the echo of the bar soap she always drops into the sink when washing her hands; the shuffling of her feet when she opens the door.

Maybe you are losing your touch.

It doesn’t matter that for the length he was gone, you carried on normally. And it doesn’t matter that in those years you almost forgot how important he was to you. Because it makes no difference now. The time and distance apart lulled you into a false sense of security, and created an illusion that is so painstakingly obvious now– 

Everything is thrown out of orbit whenever he inserts himself into your life.

“That’s a good question! Well, you know how 70% of our bodies are made up of water? Mine is stored in all these mini balloons and your mom just happened to pop a few by accident. Crazy, right?”

“Just because I’m six doesn’t mean I’m dumb.” Standing beside you once again, she reaches for a scratched-up MP3 player and a pair of oversized headphones that are all neatly tucked in her bag before peering at you instead of the bleeding man in your apartment. “Can I go to my bedroom instead of the guest room? I forgot that I left my drill book there.”

Your mouth drops momentarily before you come to your senses. The fact that she might be safer alone than with you is pathetically insulting, although that might speak more to her capabilities than yours. Oddly enough, she’s probably the wisest child you know. Not that you run across many children with your career. “Uh, sure. Do you have the spare key?”

She nods wordlessly, opting for a cursory thanks before she excuses herself, puts on her shoes, and politely asks a perplexed Nagumo to step aside. As she opens the door, the small girl cranes her head upward to spare him a plain look before she leaves.

“And my mom won’t be here until dinner. But I’ll be done with homework before then.”

You think it’s one of the few times you’ve seen someone steal Nagumo’s last words. And based on how wide his bemused eyes are, it might be his first as well.

But the pride that swells in your chest is quickly deflated with another realization.

“Wait…you thought Yumiko was my daughter?”

“Not just your daughter,” he mutters as he loosens his hold around your wrist, the action–or rather, the absence of it–reminding you how warm his touch is. 

It’s your turn to be rendered speechless, taking a step back as you fix an incredulous stare at the former-spy-apprentice-turned-rogue-assassin whose blood continues to drip onto your typically spotless floor.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” he teases with the corners of his lips tugging into a knowing expression. He looks way too happy at the possibility of being a deadbeat. “You can’t deny that we look alike. Plus, you can do the math. She’s six years old, has my humor and intellect…”

You wonder if he realizes that comparing his intelligence to that of a first-grader isn’t the best demonstration of his mind at ‘its brightest’. Then again, his childish frivolity might also explain why kids seem to cling to him like a magnet.

Despite the roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and direct him to put it over his wounded neck, uncaring for how he winces at your rough treatment. As melodramatic as ever. You swore you had just nicked him, in spite of the mess he’s made with your clothes and apartment. “Just shut up and stay there.” 

“–And then you disappeared a few days after our little spat. I also remember the condom break–”

“What a spot-on analysis, Sherlock,” you spit out, picking up your dirty key before making your way to the kitchen drawers. “But you were the one who disappeared, after that night”–you falter, shaking your head furiously while grabbing a clean rag–“anyway, it’s not my fault I was assigned a two-year mission in Singapore. And you could’ve reached out anytime, especially for work matters. Other Order members have.”

Yet that number seems to be dwindling more with each passing day. You feel your fist slightly curl around the cloth when Hyo pops up in your mind. He always provided updates on how Nagumo was doing, no matter how reluctant he was to deliver them and no matter how awkward you felt receiving them. You think you would happily endure a thousand more of those embarrassing moments if it meant he could still be alive.

You guess that’s why it’s called wishful thinking.

Nagumo takes the rag from you, immediately offering a good-natured grin when he catches your eyes narrowing at how long his fingers linger on yours. “Ah, you’re no fun anymore. I was just kidding about all that!”

Your huff of disbelief is less than flattering. “Well forgive me for not being able to tell the difference between the truth and your shitty jokes after seven years of radio silence.”

His whistle rings far and low. “Wow, seven years? Has it been that long?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Folding your arms, you fling his words right back at him. “You can do the math, right? After all, I’m the one who doesn’t ‘know anything’.”

Nagumo sighs upon seeing your air quotes, scratching the back of his head with one hand while staunching the slower trickle of blood from his neck using the other. “So you are still upset over what happened that night.”

And for every subsequent night that he seemed to forget you exist.

“No, I’m upset that you show up at my home while you’re being hunted by every single assassin and spy in Japan.”

At least it’s not a total lie.

“Well, not every single member.” You can only scoff at the direction of his pointed finger.

“And what makes you think I won’t alert them of your whereabouts?”

“Because you already would’ve done so.” It’s a fact that seems to please him, based on that smirk plastered on his face. “Guess I can still call you a friend, even if you won’t formally invite me into your place.” 

There he goes with that word again. 

“No, don’t think about taking another step. I refuse to be an accomplice to whatever mess you dragged Sakamoto into.”

“Immediately taking his side? I see how it is.” For someone who sounds offended, his carefree laughter indicates otherwise. “I’ll have you know that I was the one trying to stop Sakamoto-kun. Not to mention he was the one with the billion-yen bounty! But you always did have a soft spot for him.”

“That doesn’t explain why you partnered with Uzuki. And after everything he’s done?” Though with Akao allegedly being alive, you’re still not sure what to make of any of this. It feels like you’re trying to solve a puzzle with lost pieces and several wrong ones. 

The smile on his face immediately hardens into a straight line, and like last time, that’s when you know you asked the wrong question.

“You’re missing the full story.”

Aware that you’ll fail, you futilely try to see anything past the void he expertly maintains in those eyes. Eyes that are cleverly hidden by long strands of hair. 

Against your better judgment, you take back the rag from his hand and nod, unable to suppress the tired sigh that leaves you. Or the splitting headache that follows. “I know. So tell me.” 

Once Nagumo reassures you that no one followed him (“Please, I’m a wanted man, not some half-baked assassin!”), you leave him in the living room area, make a pit stop at the laundry basket, and head to the apartment next door after letting him know that you’ll be back in a few.

“Hey there, I’m checking in.” You wonder why you bothered knocking on her bedroom door, considering Yumiko only responds after you remove her headphones, the young girl accepting your greeting with a bored expression on her face. “Are you done with your drills?”

“Hmmm, not yet. Is your strange friend still in your home?” 

You do your best to hide the twitch in your eye with an enthusiastic nod. “He is. We’ll be catching up on a few things but shouldn’t take long. I’ll come back here to review your book when we’re done.”

“And then Sugar’s Sweet Adventures?”

“Only if we have time.”

Shockingly, she doesn’t look too disappointed. “Okay. I also think you should get him a new shirt.”

That makes you pause. “Why do you say that?”

“Because of the stain,” she answers plainly, like you asked her what color the sky was. She must mistake your furrowed brows for bafflement because she elaborates with a small, uncertain smile. “It’s probably more difficult to scrub out blood on a black shirt than a white shirt because it’s harder to see where it ends and begins.”

Her mother is going to kill you.

“Right, thank you, that’s a kind suggestion for you to make. I’ll follow it.” 

“And is…he…coming for dinner?”

Pursing your lips, you search for any signs of anxiety or fear on her face. When her calm expression betrays neither, you sigh wearily. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He hasn’t told me. But I can see if he will.”

“If he does?”

“Then we’ll have to order some more dumplings.”

Yumiko smiles widely at that, her delighted laugh contagious. Her adult front tooth has started to fill in the gap of the baby tooth that preceded it, and you briefly wonder if you’ll live long enough to see when they all come in.

“Can some of them be fried then?”

“Sure thing, kid,” you say without hesitation, lightly tugging on one of her pigtails before ruffling the top of her head. “So long as you come up with a story on why we couldn’t get the steamed ones. And it better not involve me or so much mention my name.”

“Deal,” she says just as seriously, throwing in a solemn nod to demonstrate her commitment. But her toothy grin shows no sign of leaving. 

Standing up from your kneeling position you ask her one more question. “Also, can we make sure this conversation just stays between the two of us?”

But she’s already slipped her headphones back on, pop music blaring out as she resumes her writing.

As you return to your living room, you catch him holding a certain photo frame. He wiggles it in front of you with gusto, as if you don’t know what picture you placed there yourself. 

“Wow, you didn’t tell me Yumiko’s mom was a total bab–”

“...”

“I mean, a totally responsible-looking and contributing adult to society!”

“So I’m just going to ignore everything you just said,” is your surprisingly measured response, tossing him a large white shirt that you grab from the pile of clean clothes you thankfully laundered a day ago. “Yumiko thought you might want something cleaner. I’m not washing that black one for you though.”

He catches it with ease, already peeling off his baggy shirt as he puts on the new one. “So she did see the blood. Man, I bet she and Hana would get along swimmingly.”

Who? Your face scrunches in confusion, attempting to ignore the sharp stab you suddenly feel on the side. “Hana?”

“And a non-squeamish six-year-old sounds like the kind of promising candidate the JCC loves. You’re sure she’s not yours?”

You hum absent-mindedly, finding your gaze set on the new ink that accompanies numerous bruises on pale skin. He looks more banged up than normal, a strange sight to behold and one that makes you so unusually queasy that you try to brush the thought aside. Parts of the quote on his torso are blocked by thick bandages, some of which turn redder the more he moves around.

The number of assassins and spies you know with tattoos is so few that you can count them on a single hand. You always wondered why such a mysterious person whose life and career depend on the utmost discretion would willingly paint his body with such permanent identifiers. When you had first seen them–starting with seemingly random numbers on dainty fingers–you figured it would be best to stray away from such an arrogant spy apprentice. If a rookie did the same thing, they wouldn’t last longer than a month past graduation. Yet such concerns always fell on deaf ears–even during the JCC days, professors from the intelligence gathering program would chew him out whenever he walked into class with new ink. (“Oh, this? I must’ve forgotten to wash it off this morning! What a drag. Mind if I go to the bathroom to get it off? I swear I’ll be back in a few!”) 

Maybe that’s why he also transferred to another department.

“You know, you didn’t have to use the bloody shirt as an excuse to see me half naked,” he chirps with a close-eyed smile, a statement that is mortifying to hear alone, much less have it directed at you. Particularly when the new shirt hugs him tighter than you’d like. “If you politely asked, I might’ve even let you take it off me.”

Your face blooms with heat and for some unknown reason, you feel like a clueless teenager again. “Yumiko is not mine,” you reply through gritted teeth, trying to remember his original question before he nearly made your spiral. “But she is my neighbor. Her mom's a nurse with long shifts at the hospital, so I pick Yumiko up after school to make sure she’s not alone.”

“Helping your neighbors, for free?” he asks, unsure how to interpret the slight tilt of his head as he sends you a small smirk. “Maybe you have gone soft.”

“I have not ‘gone soft’,” you say defensively, shoulders taut. “Contrary to what you think, I like to help people.”

Besides, you’ve been told that you’re a nice person. You like to think you’re affable than most. Or at the very least, as approachable as a spy can be in this world. 

“Is that so? Tell me, does helping people also include killing innocent assassins on the run?”

But it doesn’t help that you always feel like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff whenever you’re around him.

If there were a way to weaponize your glares toward assigned targets you’d be the richest person in the assassin world. And the man cheekily smiling across from you would be dead a million times over.

Because if that’s an innocent assassin, you don’t want to see a guilty one.

“Hey Nagumo, has anyone ever told you that you’re a living oxymoron?”

The loud laugh he barks out sounds so nice that it grates your nerves. “As funny as ever! But on second thought, since the grannies at your last place made quite the snoopy bunch, I so get why you were reluctant to help them out.”

The mention of your previous neighbors gets a begrudging eye roll out of you. Nagumo had become such a frequent visitor at your last apartment that he, unsurprisingly, won the hearts of the two nosy, old ladies sandwiched between your unit. If he wasn’t at your place but you still heard rowdy laughter permeating the walls, you instantly assumed that he was gossiping with them over who knew what. Based on the frequent–and unsolicited–reports those two women provided you, he occasionally felt charitable enough to sort their trash and cross off a few items from their grocery lists. They had promised to not snitch on you for breaking the lease terms of authorized occupants despite your insistence that Nagumo–or as they liked to call him, the pretty boy with way too many tattoos–was not living with you nor was he your boyfriend.

“And after seeing this picture”–he, once again, waves the picture frame you repeatedly told him to return to the end table–“I completely understand your newfound passion for community service. She really is a total babe–”

You wack him in the head, which he smartly knows not to block.

“Anyway,” Nagumo says while nursing the newly formed bump on his head, “speaking of being neighborly, mind if I treat myself to some snacks in your pantry?” 

Squinting, you suspiciously eye the gleam of aluminum poking out of his pant pockets. “Good to know you still follow the values of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’.”

That youthful grin on his face never leaves, his simple shrug providing a sufficient answer when he pairs it with a familiar can of white peaches that he whips out. “Actually, I wanted to ask for a can opener. Couldn’t find it in your drawers. I’d use my handy weapon, but a juvenile delinquent ruined it the other day.”

“Oh no,” you draw out slowly once you make your way to the kitchen, deciding to hurl a chef's knife toward him despite fully knowing where the can opener is. “How will you entertain the masses without your party trick?”

Like a thrown dart, it sticks to the white wall next to him, taking some jet-black strands of hair for company. He sends you a flat look before he uses the heel of the knife to pry open the can. “At least sound a bit more devastated, will you? I doubt I can get my usual weapons maker to make another one for me right now. It truly is a tragedy.”

“The real tragedy is the little remaining time you have to tell me why your face is not only here inhaling all my food but also currently on my TV.” Pointedly peering at the clock hand that gets closer to six with each passing second, your fingers impatiently tap the kitchen island you’re leaning against. 

“So I’m taking the roses didn’t win you over? Was it the vase?”

You can only stare.

Changing into a clean shirt, being fed, and fulfilling the hasty catch-up have all been done. He’s run out of distractions and excuses, a fact he resigns to with an annoyed sigh.

“Fine.” Or at least that’s what you think he says, mouth still stuffed with food. He jumps onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. “But trust me that you’ll want to be sitting down for this.”

It’s a suggestion you’re glad you heed, unable to mask your shock as he spares no detail in his account of fighting a formidable member of X’s group; of thinking he finally killed Uzuki, only to hear the voice of his deceased friend come out the body of her executioner; of learning that Sakamoto knew about this ‘copy’ Akao since Thailand and deciding to not tell Nagumo about it; of losing his status as an Order member the moment Chairman Asaki placed a hit on the inadvertent trio; and of nearly dying from Takamura’s blade until X copied the old man as well.

It’s too much to take in. This might be the only time you wish that everything the trickster just told you was fabricated lies rather than the cold truth. And there’s no way he’s lied to you about this or even embellished a detail or two. Not when you can’t recall the last time he’s ever looked this grim.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, with you just sitting there, staring at an empty aluminum can on the coffee table. Watching how the mouths of the JAA news anchors on the TV screen move soundlessly, having muted the channel long ago. 

You don’t even know where to start. Everything feels too convoluted to begin to process.

And you can tell Nagumo is feeling the same. This is the most expressive you’ve ever seen him–the way his brow knits furiously as he provides a recap of his conversation with Uzuki’s Rion, almost as if committing each word to memory lest he forgets or misses a major clue. How his eyes harden and knuckles turn paperwhite when mentioning Asaki, who claimed to have seen Rion’s death. How his face seems to lose its tension when he relays some dumb joke that Uzuki’s Rion made about Sakamoto’s weight, only to regain it when he recounts his morning encounter with Oki and the two newest members of the Order.

Meeting X was supposed to solve the biggest question that’s plagued Nagumo’s every waking moment. Yet none of this makes sense. Now, it’s only introduced more cryptic puzzles and an increasingly higher risk of death.

“I fear you’ve told all this to the wrong person,” you admit with a sardonic smile. 

Nagumo’s gaze on you is steady, unwavering. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t know how I can help you with any of this.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhale deeply and try to ignore the mind-numbing panic that begins to trickle its way into your chest. “I don’t know anything about Uzuki or X or Slur or whatever the fuck his name is other than what you’ve told me. And I have no idea where he and his lame posse currently are. I don’t even know what you should do next.”

For the amount of stress he’s under, Nagumo sure doesn’t show it with his easygoing smile. “I’m not asking you to do any of that.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

It comes off more petulant than you’d like, and perhaps if he strained his ears, he might be able to hear the concern tinting your voice. Yet one thing is certain–you’re far from the professionally composed person you typically are during work meetings.

But when has anything ever stayed professional between you two?

He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours so that you can’t avert your gaze.

You don’t.

“The only people who know where Sakamoto and I are hiding include his ragtag group of wannabe pacifists, sweet ol’ Granny Miya, and you.”

You?

“Me?” It comes out as a whisper, and in its meekness, you’re relying on him to understand the implicit message.

Why?

“Yup!” he exclaims with an eager nod. “And hopefully, it stays that way!” Which roughly translates to ‘don’t snitch’. You’ve seen that threatening glint before. You’ve heard the hint of finality in that trademark sprightly tone of his before, his sunny disposition softening the blow that targets would undoubtedly feel just a brief moment later. However, none of that has ever been meant for you.

Until now. 

“But I will say, I’m surprised no one else from the Order has paid you a visit.”

“Well, they have, but no one’s asked for you. Oki-san needed the contacts for the two new members he recruited.” You bite your lip, mulling over your next choice of words. “Unless you’ve blabbered to Shishiba or Osaragi, I think only Hyo knew that we were…acquaintances.”

His lips quirk ever so slightly. “Hah! Not the acquaintance card. What will it take for you to say ‘friends’? Do you know how to say it? I can spell it for you.”

Your grimace is far from subtle. “Too bad I don’t have pen and paper,” you weakly joke, trying your best to not roll your eyes for the umpteenth time today.

He licks his lips, lidded eyes refusing to leave yours when he lets out a low, contemplative hum. “That’s for amateurs, which we are not. There’s other ways to teach you.”

Blood rushes to your face, and you blow out an indignant puff of air to focus on anywhere but that coy smile.

“Switching the subject once again,” you say with a dry laugh, relieved that the only stuttering that’s present is tucked away in the staccato notes of your heartbeat. “That’s when I know you’re hiding something.”

He bows slightly, eyes smoothly blocked by unruly hair. Yet his smile only grows. “Is that so?”

“What’s the other reason you’ve told me all this?” A hesitant pause before your voice lowers. “The real reason.”

You’ve always hated how he can quickly school his expression into a blank canvas when it’s impossible for you to do the same to him. It’s a skill that might be even more frustrating than your inability to read him, to break past the wall he effortlessly puts up. 

And you’re a good spy; deep down, you know this. But when your usually astute perception is impervious to his shield at every single angle, the only viable course of action is to take his next words at face value.

“Because who else will tell the truth once the JAA silences everyone?”

It’s the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Words said so breezily as if inquiring what day of the week it was.

And all you can picture is his lifeless body.

Another sharp inhale, followed by a shaky breath. Your stomach continues to drop, and you’re uncertain when you’ll be fully sunk. Every fiber in your being knows this is the wrong reaction, a sign of weakness that goes against all the training that’s been ingrained into your body since your family explained what they do for a living.

But the idea of a life without Nagumo in it feels worse than death itself.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Anything that reaches your ears sounds muffled, trapped underwater until two hands grab your face and pull you back to the surface.

His thumb strokes your cheek gently as he softly repeats your name. One. Two. Three times.

“You can’t die,” you finally say. Slowly, quietly. Almost as if you’re reassuring yourself. Your face hardens, a sharp edge to your voice. “You won’t die.”

He meets your stare unabashedly, an amused smile making its way back to his lips. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Nagumo, I’m serious.” You find your breath steadying, only for it to quicken the moment your fingers lock around his wrists. “You can’t leave…leave me.”

“I never left,” he says decisively, and right before you can get a retort in, he won’t stop talking.

“Your mission in Singapore was not only two years but two years, seven months, and twenty-nine nights. You went back to your old place but immediately found and moved into this one. Maybe because you wanted to get away from those annoying grannies, or maybe because you were afraid of me breaking in again–which I didn’t, by the way!–but I think it’s because you wanted to be closer to that used bookstore, which you visit every Saturday and only after ordering your tea latte and a chocolate croissant from the cafe next door. 

“You say you only pick up Yumiko after school, but I’ve seen you take her to each of her soccer games and sometimes to the Science Museum in Ueno whenever it’s rainy. Assassins and spies of all levels seek your intel, but you only let Order members and the Chairman into your place. Not that you have much say in that, I guess. Though what you do have control over is who you go on dates with and boy, do you go on a lot more shitty dates than good ones. That Ren was a character.”

You can’t tell if the urge to slap him is stronger than your desire to smash his lips with yours.

“Are you done?” is all you can muster. Yet in the time between you find yourself inching closer toward him, noses brushing as you take in his overwhelming presence. The smell of Granny Miya’s arnica tincture with the heady scent of smoky amber makes your head feel light and your clammy hands all tingly. 

But you can’t stop smiling.

“Hmmm, that depends,” he muses, a glance to your lips causing your stomach to flutter. “How much more time do I have before you kick me out?”

“You’re ridiculous.” More like insane.

You kiss him anyway. 

It starts slowly, hesitantly. Like you’re back to being clumsy teenagers, curious to explore what it means to carry out a mission of seduction.

Then his tongue swipes over your lips before parting them, and hunger takes over.

His mouth tastes sweet, and addicting, a warmth wholly inviting and so easy to get lost in that you can’t stop your content sigh. It’s all-consuming, and you pull him down with you, grabbing onto the front of his shirt as you sink into the couch together. 

His arms keep you trapped, though you don’t think you mind, legs wrapped around him as you indulge in a stolen moment.

Until a flash of bright blue hair pops into your mind.

You open your eyes, unclenching your fist from his shirt and recoiling like you’ve touched a hot stove. And all of sudden something that felt good feels so incredibly off.

“What?” He’s as breathless as you are, though his body still hovers over you, long hair tickling your forehead while you’re surprised to see the worried crease form on his. “What’s wrong?”

“Us,” you blurt out, cheeks hot from shame. “I can’t be her. I never will be.”

Dark eyes study your face as you feel his hands drift to your back. He lifts you with him until you’re back to sitting across from one another, and for a second you think he might leave right then and there.

And then he captures your lips again.

This kiss is fleeting, but softer, a tenderness that you didn’t think he had. A gentleness you don’t deserve.

He parts to look at you once more, a lone finger tracing your cheek with the caress of a lover.

“You don’t need to be her,” he murmurs against your lips, feeling the flutter of his eyelashes and his unyielding gaze. “I don’t want you to be her.”   There’s a gradual levity in your chest, a foreign sensation that makes you realize how weighed down you were.

You want to bask in it, drink in more of the giddiness he seems to get out of you so easily. And when he leans in to gently nip at your bottom lip, you find yourself caving in.

A feeling short-lived when the timer in your phone goes off. 

Nagumo doesn’t take the interruption to heart, a breathy laugh fanning your neck as you reluctantly peel away from him to stop the alarm. “So you did set a time limit.”

The grin you send as consolation is half sheepish, half nervous. “Didn’t think we would go past it if I’m being honest.”

He raises a brow, hands back to sliding all over you. “Ouch! Sounds like I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

Your thighs press uncomfortably when feather-like touches brush over your hip.

“As much as I’d love to, we’ll have to take a rain check,” you mutter, quite begrudgingly. Struggling out of his iron-clad grip is a challenge enough, legs wobbly as you stand abruptly. When you lick your swollen lips you can instantly taste the faint sweetness of white peaches. “I have to stop by the restaurant with Yumiko before her mother arrives.”

Yet your attention keeps finding itself on the clock, the incessant ticking of the big hand seeming to mock you as you realize how little time you have left.

“So what’s actually rushing you?”

Your shoulders tense, but you shoot him a casual smile that you’re confident could rival his. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, his scrutiny intense as he stands up to observe you. “I don’t know, you tell me. I thought we were done with giving each other the cold shoulder.”

Your eyes narrow. “Maybe lay off? Sorry if I don’t want Yumiko’s mother walking in on us going at it like some horny teenagers.”

Based on the way he purses his lips, he doesn’t seem convinced. You feel like you’re being examined under a magnifying glass, an unpleasant sensation that makes your body itch all over.

And then all your ears can hear is his boisterous laughter. 

Nagumo slaps your back, hard, right before he doubles over. Pretending to wipe a fake tear, he airily says, “Civilians see us killing from left to right every day without fuss, and you think she’s gonna bat an eye at two consenting adults kissing? Gee, maybe you’re more of a prude than Sakamoto-kun!”

“Oh, shut up!” You shove him near the edge of the step to the genkan, wondering if your chuckling sounds as nervous at you think it does. “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, don’t you think?”

“Ah shoot–did I just fumble my shot at a date?”

You open the door for him, trying to ignore your embarrassment with how your stomach flips from that question. Your small smile will have to be enough for him. “Yes. Yet if you focus on staying alive then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Good to see you’re still a terrible liar. But sounds like we have a deal,” says a larger man who bears no resemblance to one of JAA’s most wanted men. His voice is gruffer, but the lips that chastely brush yours hold a softness you already find yourself craving.

Then he’s gone in a blink. 

—

After making sure Nagumo didn’t swipe your phone or other valuables as he sped off, you take a few extra minutes to regain your composure before visiting Yumiko. Resting your head against her bedroom door doesn’t subside your pounding headache, and when Yumiko’s stomach begins to grumble in the middle of reviewing her homework, you finally think it’s time to eat.

“But why are we going back to your place?” she inquires, exasperation evident.

“Because I forgot my wallet,” you reply with a weary sigh. Your hands feel aimless, afraid that Nagumo’s one-liner on repaying Sakamoto for eating Hana’s ruined birthday cake was more than just a foolish joke. 

“Forgot, or lost?” 

You look up from your bent position near the coffee table. “I don’t appreciate the sass, kid.”  

“You seemed to like it when your friend acted that way.”

Mouth agape, you’re ready to rescind your offer of fried dumplings when you hear a familiar voice.

“Didn’t anyone teach you ladies how to close the front door?”

“Mother!” Yumiko calls out as she hugs the older woman’s leg. “You’re home early!”

“Wanted to make sure I made it in time for dinner. Chinese, right? Were you two about to head there?”

“Yes!” you answer with a triumphant smile as you shake the wallet in your hands. “And tonight’s on me!”

“That’s not necessary, I don’t mind paying our share…”

“I know, which is why I insist.” Just as you make your way toward the front entrance, the door still ajar, Yumiko drags her mother to the vibrant roses on the table. “Wait, what are you–?”

“I want mother to see the flowers!” The child looks at you before gazing back at the woman beside her. “Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

“They’re beautiful,” she agrees, smoothing Yumiko’s hair as she sends you a wink. “A gift from your boyfriend?”

Your heart nervously skips a beat. A white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

“–while the red roses are a classic option, that vase is too garish for my taste. Should I have to worry about a secret admirer?”

A shiver wracks through your spine the moment you feel his hand on the small of your back. Cold fingers linger around your waist, and it takes all your strength to look up at him and not suffocate under his bloodlust. There’s so much of it that you wonder how fast he can masterfully hide it without raising any alarms.

“Well?”

“Of course not,” you quickly assure with a shaky smile, your cheeks hurting from how wide your lips stretch.

“The flowers are from my secret admirer, Asaki-san,” Yumiko pipes up, her voice tiny among the adults. “They were too heavy to carry back home so I had some help. He told me that the florist freshly cut them from the garden, too.”

“Your what now?” gasps her mother, though Yumiko’s innocent gaze remains on you.

Is…he…coming for dinner?

You wish your eyes could convey how apologetic you are. How guilty you are for involving two completely innocent civilians into this.

Yet only adrenaline and fear course through your veins, preventing any other flood of emotions from rushing in.

“Being outdone by a child? That won’t do,” Asaki says after an impatient click of his tongue, his long earrings dangling with a slight shake of his head. He offers you a smile, but it appears more like a grimace. “I’ll have Watarai deliver a fresh bouquet of my preferred arrangement to both this apartment and my office tomorrow.”

You should change the door lock sometime soon.

You blink instead, opening your mouth before shutting it promptly. “Sure. Thank you.” Entirely cognizant of the arm snaked around you, you look at the bag in his other hand and do your best to not think about the cage you’re currently in. “What do you have there?”

“Ah, yes! I know you mentioned Chinese, but that place you go to looks pretty dismal, not to mention dirty. So I got tapas from a restaurant that just so happens to have a Michelin-star. Their food is exquisite. Watarai, you can prepare the table now, thank you.” 

The smug smile Asaki boasts seems more genuine this time, especially as his assistant–who, to no one’s surprise, materializes out of nowhere–carefully grabs the bag from his boss and begins to set the table. 

The roses are nowhere to be found. 

“You’re too kind, Asaki-san,” Yumiko’s mother says after an uncomfortable silence, the overt wringing of her hands making you wince. “But perhaps this dinner is best left to the couple?”

“Nonsense! The more the merrier!” are words he’s probably never uttered until now. 

Despite her appreciative bow, she exchanges a wary look with you before grabbing her daughter’s hand. “Well, thank you very much for thinking to include us. If you may excuse us, Yumiko and I will wash our hands.”

“But I wanted dumplings…”

“Yumiko, hurry along now!”

Once that door closes you pry his hands off you, uncaring for the disgruntled frown that tugs his thin lips downward.

“I’ve grown quite wearisome of your antics.”

“How did you know we were getting Chinese?” you focus instead, distress churning in your stomach. 

Asaki gives you an unimpressed look, like you’re roadkill that the tires of his car had the misfortune of running over. “Now, we’ve gone over this before,” he sighs despondently, already trying some of the cured meat on the plate Watarai had placed. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Your mouth feels like sandpaper, finding it harder to breathe while he appraises you chillingly.

Two times a day. That’s how often you check each corner and room of your apartment for anything amiss, how often you look through each gap and crevice for a camera, and how often you run your finger along each smooth surface for any hidden microphone that might’ve been placed in the time between those two moments you check daily.

The first time you removed the small mics placed in your rooms was his last attempt at bugging your house. Or at least, to your knowledge. 

Your phone rests in the back pocket of your jeans, the device feeling particularly heavy. You take it out and think of all the conversations he’s heard. All the messages he’s read. 

How silly of you.

Despite the urge to chuck it against a wall you remain frozen, save for the slight tremble of your fingers that can also be heard in your voice.

“I don’t know anything.”

Asaki walks, the click-clack from his Italian leather derby shoes reminiscent of a clock ticking away the last precious seconds of a bomb about to go off. You watch him through the mirror that faces him, but his eyes only look forward. He adjusts his black tie and wrangles a loose dark streak of his hair back into place. 

“Now might serve as a perfect reminder that lying to the Chairman is a JAA violation punishable by death.”

Clearing your throat makes the dryness in your mouth worse. “And what if I’m speaking to my…boyfriend?”

Black eyes shift to meet yours, examining you with a coldness that makes winter seem like summer. 

“Then perhaps I’ve far overestimated your abilities, and your use to me.”

You’re fine with dying. Ever since you were a student, all the training you’ve received was concentrated on preventing it. But you’ve experienced far too many brushes with death to sincerely believe that the job you love won’t be what kills you. If anything, the JCC only taught you how to delay death, not avoid it entirely. 

And so you’re fine with dying. With each close call, you update your will. Yumiko and her mother will receive the majority of your assets because you don’t really have other friends and family to give it to. Maybe some assassins and spies you’ve worked with will take a second to say your name when they hear the news in some passing conversation. Have it linger on their tongue as they maybe recall a foggy memory of you before they continue with their day. Death is simply a sped-up inevitability for you all, so you’ve long accepted that it can happen today. Tomorrow. Or now.

But he can’t die. Losing him once was enough.

“Is everything alright?”

You want to tell Yumiko it will be but as he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression, you figure it might be best to stop lying to the child.

“Sir,” Watarai interrupts, standing behind Asaki and bowing curtly, “I apologize for the interruption, but your presence is requested by the executive board.”

A sigh of instantaneous relief bubbles up in your throat until you glance down at your phone and spot the alert that appears on the screen.

JAA NEWS: TERRORIST ATTACK ON JAA-OWNED WEAPONS FACTORY

Your heart drops.

A lax smile rests on Asaki’s passive face. “I see. Then I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our visit short.”

“You won’t be taking the food with you, right?”

“Yumiko!”

He tilts his head toward the young girl and her scandalized mother, his closed-eye smile an off-kilter sight to see. “Well, aren’t you…precocious. Treat yourself to whatever! You’ll find the taste is much better than those greasy dumplings. Watarai, let’s hurry along now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yet his smooth strides don’t betray any urgency, eyes focused on the prey he approaches.

He kisses your cheek, your skin burning from the contact. It’s a clever position he’s placed himself in, the tall man blocking your figure and preventing others from seeing the exchange. Mere seconds feel like an eternity as a horrible combination of shame and cold dread wash over you.

“Next time, tell our friend to stop wearing that obnoxious cologne,” he whispers into your ear, his disgust ringing loud and clear. “I can smell him all over you.”

You can’t breathe.

He straightens and pats your tense shoulder. And then he leaves, the door finally locking with a short click.

Your head is spinning, panicked and scattered thoughts leaking out the tiny box you thought you could contain. You think you hear your name being called but your body seems to have lost all function, knees striking the floor. And that’s when you see it, just an arm’s distance away. 

A fallen rose petal.

end notes: me struggling to come up with a name for this fic: [insert preposition here] + last time. and you can bet i'll do it for the next one

i was rereading the manga and nagumo's comment about the chairman–"he does whatever he wants. and he'll do whatever it takes to achieve his goals"–inspired me to include that horrible man here. idk it just felt fitting :)

[zhongrin]

the art of breathing normally

— or, the ways you make him breathless so effortlessly

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, diluc, al haitham, wanderer, kaveh, kaeya

◇ tags ◇ fluff, angst, comfort, spoiler/hint of al haitham's character story 5

◇ a/n ◇ yes the title is taken from that one chapter title in “for better or worse” webtoon hehe i love dillon and cedric so much they’re cute

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli finds it hard to breathe (in a good way) when you wrap yourself around him in one way or another. you can drape your arms around his waist, nuzzle yourself against his side, or even jump up to koala-hug him (although he will still scold you lightly as he drops everything in his arms in favor to support you - he just doesn’t want you to get hurt.)

but his favorite has to be when you lace your fingers between his own (preferably gloveless) ones, before tightly squeezing, a pressure not enough to hurt but strong enough to leave tingles upon his skin, making the geo markings along his arms pulse and blink in happiness.

he just loves to be reminded and reassured that you’re here. you’re right here in front of him and you are here to stay. you’re here for him with your tender love and warm smile. and you’ll always be here, etched permanently in his heart, the most unyielding stone eroded in remembrance of your beautiful soul.

it was a spontaneous decision on your part when you slip into bed with al haitham and offered to read his book for him out loud instead tonight. he ponders over it for a bit and decides to relent, wanting to know what is it that made you so hooked on hearing him read his books audibly on normal days. your voice fills his senses as he settles onto his pillow, and his lips tug on the corners as you stumble upon difficult terms you’ve never heard before. he decides to show you mercy by telling you the correct pronunciation, and you thank him before continuing, as cheerful as ever, unashamed of your lack of knowledge - it’s one of the things he adores about you, he thinks. this happens several times, and as he relaxes, your lover found his gaze magnetically straying towards you, examining your features as you read.

al haitham’s lungs seizes momentarily when your words falter as you sensed his stare, a patient smile full of such love and adoration blooming on your expression like the freshest bloom of the padisarahs in the garden. a memory lost to time resurfaces in his mind, and he feels himself reliving the hazy scene behind his closed eyelids. he can’t explain it but it feels familiar and nostalgic, yet it’s also foreign and different. when he feels your hand worriedly caressing the stray tear on his cheek, he could only smiles and thinks to himself -

ah. so this is what a peaceful life feels like.

childe’s breath stutters when you kiss his nose or his eyelids. there’s something so adorable and intimate about those two specific places. like a forgotten childhood memory and the intricate vulnerability of allowing himself to be cherished and loved, to know that you won’t ever harm him despite him having his guard down. surprisingly, ajax doesn’t need a lavish display of love despite his repetitively showy endeavors in telling the whole world that you’re his. he’s already content with your soft giggles and tender touches, hidden behind doors and under the blankets in the cold starless sky of snezhnayan winters.

as the trained warrior that he is, he can last a good few minutes underwater, yet one simple kiss from you effectively diminishes his lung capacity, making him gasp and gulp for air, like a fish out of water. he can run for miles and keep his regular breathing pattern, yet a single notion of your well-being put in harm’s way makes his chest constrict and his breath fall into disarray. you’re the bane of his existence and the deity of salvation in his life.

you steal his breath away and with it, a piece of his cracked heart.

as cliche and boring as it was, kaveh’s breath escapes from his lungs whenever you visibly express yourself near him. he’s an empath to the core and he absolutely adores receiving the waves of your emotions like he’s some sentient radio transceiver who’s so attuned to your channel.

you could smile and he would follow, his chest constricting with incomprehensible joy as he drinks the light of happiness like a withered plant that hasn't seen sunlight in days. he loves to listen to your cheerful voice, like your own devoted transcriber, ready to commit your words and etch them into his soft and overwhelmingly big heart.

you could cry and he would bawl with you while holding you close, his lungs seizing with thorny vines that wrap and threaten to crush them to mush with each pearl of tears falling down the puffiness of your eyes. somehow the sight hits him harder than when the realization of his father not coming back hit him, or that time his mother told him she was going to move to fontaine and remarry - oh, it’s so much worse, because he’s holding his entire world in his arms, and he resonates with your bleeding heart.

kaeya would never admit to it but you would notice that his breath hitches whenever you yank his shirt to kiss him. he can try to deny it all he wants, but he finds your assertiveness hot - there’s just something about having you reaffirming how much you can affect him.

it used to irk him, actually - no one should have so much power over him. his life is already crumbling enough as it is, why would he want someone to shake it all up and potentially make it all crash down? and yet, throughout your relationship, he sees you fix the cracks, changes the rusted nails out, and solidifies his foundation. you’re so patient, your touch firm and gentle, and with each fissure healed he finds himself laughing breathlessly… and he lets go of his inhibitions. you can steal his marred heart away, and take his breaths too while you’re at it.

diluc finds his breathing spectacularly failing when your finger brushes against his nape as you help him tie his hair into a high ponytail. he still does not understand why you prefer this hairstyle, but he understands fully that the lack of air in his voice when you worriedly ask if you’ve tugged on his hair too hard is, in actuality, caused by how he wishes he could spend the rest of his life with you. to be with you, just like this, tranquil mornings full of domesticity and love, a replica of the little bits of memories he remembers of his late parents when they thought he was still asleep.

he’s so in love with you, he burns brighter in your presence, and he doesn’t even care if it uses up all the oxygen in his lungs; for he is sure his love for you is an eternal flame not born from the borrowed power of the gods, but from the deepest part of his heart.

wanderer has no need for these two specific atoms chemically bound to form an oxygen molecule that these weak humans seem to need lest they keel over and asphyxiate. and yet he still feels something compressing itself into an ever-consuming black hole within his hollow chest whenever you touch his white wooden skin with the most tender of touches as if he was something to be cherished. as if he was worthy of your presence. as if he was human. as if you truly love him.

ridiculous, he hisses and slaps your hand away every single time. his throat clogs and his lips purse, his vocal chord failing to enunciate how foolish you are, and the feeling got worse when he sees you merely chuckle at his ‘prickliness’.

you touch him again with the same hands five minutes later, and he struggles to squash the urge to smile.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @nachotrash | @algrimmammon | @sassy-cat-in-town

[buffyfan145]

I think I figured out what is going to happen with Haladriel in the season 2 finale after all the stuff we got today, mostly from Amazon's latest TV ad which gives away another major part of it. It's also all over Twitter/X and Reddit now but warning others in case they don't want that many spoilers as I've seen the fans who went to the NY screening now posting in disbelief how Amazon is just spoiling so much of it. Will say if what I'm thinking happening is correct it's actually good imo and not fully a repeat of the s1 ending like so many think. So it's up to you if you want to see it or not. It doesn't give away any other spoilers though for the other characters/ships just Haladriel.

So from all of this it seems like after Galadriel and Sauron/Annatar have their sword fight he does switch back to Halbrand and proposes again. We got confirmation of this from that review of s2 that was posted today and already in the tags (though that reviewer really didn't like a lot of season 2 as a whole so here's some negative stuff in there). It seems like whatever Sauron/Halbrand does with Galadriel does almost make her say yes. There might be a vision too or not, but whatever he says and does it's so tempting and we can clearly see that she does want it, but at the last moment snaps out of it either due to Nenya or her own will. Then she jumps off the cliff!!! 😮

The new trailer shows Sauron back as Annatar on that clifftop after she falls and he's using his magic to save her. You can see his hands are moving similar to how he controlled those elves in ep 2.7 in the forge. Seems it's similar to Eleven on "Stranger Things" with her telekinesis powers and he saves her from dying. Not sure if he gets the 9 rings back before this or after but this is likely the moment their head s2 director Charlotte says that by the end of s2 we'll know he truly loves her. A lot of figured she might get injured and he heals her, but saving her from dying again would prove this and that he won't let her die, and likely can't live without her now like the classic enemies to lovers troupe.

Then there's some leaks that Gil Galad and/or Elrond find her and take her with them and Sauron lets her go with Nenya before he leaves, which does make sense now if this is the case. Also that she lets him leave too with the 9. This also sets up s3 and them still connected, especially once he makes the One Ring and has control over all the rings.

I'm totally ok with this if this happens. It proves again he loves her and he won't stop trying to have her by his side. Would also mean that we'll likely get more mind palace scenes in s3 and that it's far from over between them since she almost said yes. I would've loved if she went with him but I never really thought that would happen anyway. We'll see for sure on Thursday but this is what my head is telling me now.

[dancingtotuyo]

14. in the cold light i live to love and adore you

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: you adjust to life with a newborn. Joel finally gets to tell you something

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed. Spoilerish for TLOU 2

Chapter Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt and comfort, TLOU SPOILERS

Notes: To my beautiful beta readers @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @janaispunk, I adore you both with my whole, entire heart!

Words: 3931

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

The winter winds blow in with gusto, granting one of the coldest you’ve seen in Jackson yet. The ground freezes in October and it stays that way into the next year. Reports say you lose more patrolmen to cold than infected even with the uptick in sightings. The brutal winter is relentless, keeping its freezing claws in the world well into the new year. You think if Al Gore is still alive, he’d be happy to see this kind of freeze, but Jackson keeps turning despite it. 

Rachel Perkins organizes a play for the kids. Willa is assigned the part of a butterfly. She has all kinds of ideas for her costume, continuously searching for items to assemble it. Joel shapes some old wire into wings and you manage to wrap them with pink and purple scraps of fabric. 

Someone gifts Willa an old tutu that needs mending in about three different places, but it’s easy work. Except once her ensemble is put together, you have no success convincing her to wear anything but the wings and sparkly pink tutu requiring another two mending jobs. On the third straight day, her wings require readjusting after they got bent out of shape during a game of tag. 

A few people decide there should be a dance, so within a couple of days, the Tipsy Bison is packed with dancing bodies and music and life. Carter finds his friends in a quiet corner. Willa runs, weaving through the crowd in her butterfly costume despite numerous attempts to talk her out of it. 

“At least it makes her easy to spot.” Joel winks at your side, whiskey in his hand. 

“Finding Willa in a crowd has never been an issue.” You laugh, taking the glass from Joel. He smiles as you take a sip before handing it back to him. 

“No, I don’t suppose it has.” Joel laughs.

“There you two are. About time you showed up.” Tommy grins, walking toward you with Maria at his side.

Joel rolls his eyes but it’s all in good fun as he clasps hands with Tommy. 

“I see Willa is practicing for the recital,” Maria laughs, her eyes pinned to her niece. 

“Haven’t been able to get her to wear anything else,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “I’ve already mended the damn tutu three times, it’s hanging on for dear life at this point.”

Joel chuckles, arm threading around your waist. “Can’t beat the smile on her face though.”

“I’m handing you the needle and thread next time she comes in with a tear.” You roll your eyes in playfulness. 

“Hey, I’ve fixed those wings several times now too.”

“Sounds like I need to send Elias’s pants over to your place,” Maria says. “I think every single pair needs patching.”

“I remember when Carter was in that phase. I gave up there for a while. Let him run around with holes. He didn’t seem to care.” 

“I’m about to resort to that.”

“Get Tommy to do it. He had to sew me up a couple times. Did a damn good job,” Joel grins. “You know that one scar.” He looks at you. 

You know it. It runs across the side of his torso, the scar so thin and faded, you thought it was from a surgery before the outbreak. You nod. 

“Tommy stitched that one.”

“Damn,” your eyes flicker to him. “I can hardly stitch someone up that nicely.”

“Luck,” Tommy shrugs. 

“Skill,” you correct. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Maria jabs her husband with her index finger. 

“Ow! Have not-“ Tommy says, but Joel is tugging you away from them before you can gather the rest of their argument. His deep chuckle settles in your ear.

“What are you doing?”

“Takin my woman for a spin on the dance floor. What does it look like?” He grins, guiding you into the sea of dancers in the middle of the floor. 

You suppose you should hate it when he calls you his “woman.” There was always something about it in the world before that felt derogatory, like men were trying to claim women as property, reducing them to a single component. It sounds cliche you know, but it’s not like that when Joel says it. 

You don’t have a title on your relationship. For you, to be called his in any capacity is an honor, just as he’s yours. Your partner, your co parent, your lover, all of those and more encompassed into the title “your man” and “his woman”

My Girl plays over the record player bringing a smile to your lips. The first of many songs you and Joel danced to both in the public eye and the quiet of your home.

He smiles down at you, eyes shining in deep, dark pools under the flicker of the lights strung from the rafters. You're drawn back to that first dance, the one you almost skipped out of but your feet carried to anyway. The way he held you. Kissed you, claimed you in front of Jackson without fear of the future even when you couldn’t do the same for him. Yet he stuck with you, waited for you

Moisture gathers in your eyes as you lay your head on his chest as he rocks back and forth. 

“I know, Sweetheart.” 

Your chest tightens with love for him. It’s not scary anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. 

Willa runs into your legs, demanding a turn with Joel before the song is halfway over. You oblige as Joel picks her up. She laughs, arms tightening around his shoulders. You watch them from the sidelines, wishing you had a camera to capture the identical smiles on their faces, the curls that fall on their foreheads, Willa’s fairy wings, Joel’s broad shoulders. It’s a perfect moment. A slice of heaven on earth you think. 

Willa insists on a second song since they didn’t get a full one the first time. Carter dances a two step with you, his smile beaming the whole time as he masters the steps. Tommy pulls you out at some point- spinning you until you’re so dizzy you need to sit down. He finds it funny. 

The air buzzes with electricity throughout the whole night as you let your kids run around on their own accord in games of tag, sardines, hide and seek, and whatever else their brains concoct. 

It takes some time before Joel tracks you down again, pulling you away mid conversation with Rachel and Lindsey. He’s not the least bit remorseful. 

“You're in high demand tonight. I didn’t have another choice.” He winks at you as the music slows to a soft instrumental. 

“Did I protest?” 

He laughs, placing his lips firmly on yours. “I love you.”

You can’t help the smile that appears every time he says it. You settle against him, letting the soft music settle over your bones. “I love you too.”

You don’t speak for another minute, too wrapped up in him, listening to the steady thrum of his heart beating in time with yours. 

You catch Ellie and Dina on the dance floor together. There’s an extra reach in your smile. They’re out of your sight when Dina kisses Ellie. Then, Joel’s muscles tighten around you. 

Your brow furrows as your head lifts. “What is it?” 

Joel doesn’t respond, eyes locked straight ahead. You know that look and follow it straight to Ellie and Dina and Seth. Your stomach drops

Dina says something, a smile on her face before it fades and she walks away, Ellie’s hand in hers. 

“Remember next time there’s kids around,” Seth calls after them.

Joel tugs you behind him. You catch the vein in his neck popping out. He's ready to pounce, to protect Ellie at the first sight of danger. 

“Yeah cause you’re setting such a great example,” Dina retorts as she heads for the door. 

“Just what this town needs, another loud mouth dyke!” 

It cuts through the room like a knife, drawing others’ attention. 

“What the fuck did you just say?” Ellie spins on her heels, heading straight for Seth. Dina fights to hold her back, but it’s useless. 

“Hey!” Joel surges forward, pushing Seth backward. “Get the hell outta here!”

“Get your hands off of me!” Seth shouts back.

Maria and Tommy rush toward the commotion as Maria steps between the two men.

There’s a soft thud and the firm pressure of two small hands against the back of your thighs. You twist around, finding a mop of dark hair and eyes to match staring wide eyed at the scene unfolding before you. You run your hand over Willa’s head, encouraging her to keep behind you as Maria and Tommy usher Seth out of the Tipsy Bison. 

Then your eyes follow Joel. He’s not coming back toward you, but toward Ellie. You barely manage to keep the cringe at bay. Not here, you plead internally. 

“You alright, Kiddo?”  

“What is wrong with you?”

Some people have the decency to turn their heads, to act as if they aren’t listening in. Others just gawk, trying to glean any answers they can from the cold shoulder Ellie has given Joel over the last few years. 

“He had no right-”

“And you do?” Ellie asks, anger shaking her words. “I don’t need your fucking help, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes cut from hers, finding yours in the small crowd. You see the way it stings in his eyes, and then he looks away from you both as he slowly eases backward.

 “Right…” He says, so quiet you barely make it out as Joel turns away, walking out of the building on display for everyone to see. The door slams shut behind him, ushering in a cool gust of wind. 

Pairs of eyes flash to Ellie. Some find you. There are a few mumbles exchanged between people, but they quickly die down as the music turns up and people return to their own lives. Your eyes find Ellie’s as people begin to fill in the dance floor once more. She seems more vulnerable now, more like the young teen you remember. The one who put on a big front, but wore her emotions so clearly on her face. 

“Mommy?” Willa tugs at your shirt. “Why were Ellie and Daddy yelling at each other?”

You snap around, picking her up, the fairy wings she wears making it more difficult. “People fight sometimes.”

She seems to contemplate the words, her forehead crinkling with consternation, like she’s trying to remember all the fights she’s ever witnessed. It tips your lips upward. She looks so much like Joel when she does that. Sarah used to make a similar face. 

“You fight with Carter and Elias sometimes.”

She sighs exasperatedly, pushing her hair out of her face. She’s so much sass and thought wrapped into a tiny package. “Yeah, but they ‘noy me.”

You laugh this time, kissing her head. Ellie and Dina are gone when you look toward where they were. Willa yawns, laying her head on your shoulder. You suppose it’s time to go home anyway. 

You pull Carter away from a game of marbles happening in the corner much to his dismay, but he's all too proud to show you the new green one he won tonight on the way home. 

Joel sits on the front porch, cup of coffee steaming in his owl mug. He still uses the one you got him for his birthday, but try as you might, you can’t make the damn owl disappear. Nonetheless, it’s reassuring to find him in such a natural position after tonight. To find him waiting for you, for his family, to come home. Carter rushes ahead, eager to show off his new possession. Joel listens to him with rapt attention. 

Willa wiggles in your arms, sliding down to the ground and rushing for the front porch, no doubt jealous of the attention her older brother is receiving. Joel pulls her into his lap, eyes never diverting from Carter. It amazes you how easily it comes to him, balancing both of their needs for attention, making them feel so seen and loved at the same time. 

You hang out at the edge of the front porch, back resting against the railing simply observing. Joel glances up at you, offering a brief wink before he’s pulled back in by Carter. He lets it go on for a few minutes before reminding both children that it’s time to get ready for bed. 

A chorus of groans fills your porch. You push back a smile. It’s endearing tonight. It isn’t always. 

“Get it done and we’ll have time for a bedtime story,” Joel says. 

“And a song?” Willa asks. 

“Only if you’re snappy.” 

It’s a bold face lie and you both know it. All Willa has to do is ask, and Joel is humming opening measures, but it works nonetheless. Both kids are racing inside. He eases up, staking over to you. An arm wraps around your waist, tugging you closer. His breath is warm across your face in the cold of the winter night. He kisses you, soft but possessive, like he needs to assure himself you’re still here. That you’re not going anywhere. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He shakes his head. “Later. We got kids to put to bed.”

He presses another kiss to your lips and then you’re both inside, ensconced in the bedtime routine. The four of you settle on the couch, a kid tucked into both of his sides, story book in hand. Reading glasses rest on Joel’s nose. Something you had admittedly teased him about. Old Man, you had called him more than once, but you like them.

Willa falls asleep before the last page. It doesn’t keep Joel from singing her a song when he tucks her into bed. His stripped version of Monday Morning drifts down the hallway HIs voice accompanied by Willa’s. Then he goes to Carter’s room. You catch a few words spoken between them, but can’t make them out. He sings to Carter. It makes you smile as you top off Joel’s coffee mug, the owl one. You hold the routine, the peace near. You doubt Carter has many bedtime serenades left before he decides he’s too old for them.  

When he comes out, Joel tucks his head into your neck. “Sit outside with me?”

“It’s freezing.”

“Please?” He kisses your neck softly. “I’ll keep you warm. Wrap you tight in a blanket. The wind ain’t bad tonight.” He tugs you closer and you sigh, knowing you’ve lost the fight already. 

“Fine, I’ll grab my jacket.”

You sit next to Joel on the porch swing as he plucks at the strings of his guitar, gleaning whatever body heat you can from him. His cup of coffee warms your hands. You turn the owl so it faces outward. The porch light casts a bluish hue over you. He still hasn’t said anything about tonight, hasn’t opened his mouth, but he continues pulling a melody from the instrument on his lap. 

You enjoy the moment for what it is. You take a single sip of his coffee, the substance bitter in your mouth as your eyes drift shut, head resting on Joel’s shoulder. There’s no pressure to say anything. You can just exist with each other in the freezing winter. It’s more than enough.

The guitar rings, but Joel stops playing, body easing forward. “Hey…” He says.

Your eyes open as he sets the guitar aside. Ellie stands at the opposing end of your porch, eyes focused on Joel. You sense their silent exchange, a long pause before either looks away. Ellie gives it another second before moving forward, resting her hands on the bannister. You immediately feel like an intruder. You’re not meant to be here for this. 

You lean over to Joel, kissing his cheek, handing him his mug without another word. You reach out, squeezing Ellie’s shoulder lightly as you pass by. She gives you a tight lipped smile. The front door clicks softly behind you, giving them their privacy,

Joel stands, cautiously joining her as the railing. 

“What’re you drinking?”

He lets out a little huff. “Coffee.”

Ellie watches him as she tries to think of her next words, formulating what she wants to say to him, what’s been building inside of her over the last several years. She’d held on to it for so long, and it’s all led her here. “Where’d you get that?”

“Those people who came through last week.” Another awkward pause. “A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it, but…” he pulls the mug to his lips. “It’s not bad.” 

Ellie looks out, studying her house across the street. Joel follows suit, allowing her to direct things. Let her take the lead, it rings in his head. Sounds like you even. 

Joel focuses on his coffee mug, The steam that rises and dances up toward the sky until it disappears in thin wisps never to be seen again. The fog of his breathing joins it from time to time, creating a new dance, intertwining with each other only to separate. 

“I had Seth under control.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.” She stands up straighter, looking at Joel as she gains her confidence back.

He nods, keeping his focus on his mug. “Okay.”

Ellie shuffles a bit, trying to decide if she’s going to leave it there or push. She expects more from Joel. She wants more from Joel. 

“Dina… is she your girlfriend?”

Ellie’s mind races. She shifts more thinking through her response. “No.” She shakes her head. Finally, Joel looks her way. Ellie’s eyes are all squinted up. “No, she- that was just one kiss. It doesn’t mean anything. She just- I don’t know why she did that.”

“But you do like her.”

Ellie takes a deep breath, trying to work through it all in her mind. She feels silly over it all. Looking away, she almost buries her head in her shoulder as tears well in her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”

Joel feels the fatherly instincts kicking in right away, “Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are, but I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

Ellie can barely get through his words, choking back the tears that form in her eyes. “You’re such an asshole.” It comes out almost like a whisper. 

“I’m not trying-”

“I was supposed to die in that hospital,” Ellie says, hand hitting the railing. “My life would have fucking mattered, but you took that from me!” She looks down at her feet, trying to reign in her emotions.

Joel says nothing, racking his brain for the right words to say. All this time, and they still didn’t exist, but he knows he wants to stop her pain.

Joel eases up, straightening his back. The mug settles atop the banister as he inhales deeply. “If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment…” He thinks through his words, wonders if there's a better way to say it. “I would do it all over again.” He meets her eyes, determination set in his.

Ellie doesn’t move, just lets it sink in. Her face softs almost and then a flash of annoyance, acceptance maybe as he catches tears glistening in her brown eyes. She gives a slight nod, rocking back and forth, trying to figure out if she can actually do this. “Yeah…” The words are a tangle in her head, will and want at war with each other. “I just… I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.”

Joel eases back against the banister, feeling as if she’s slipping through his grasp again, as if he hadn’t known those words would keep her at bay, floating around his orbit but never in it. 

Ellie contemplates her words. She reconciles her feelings. She misses him too. “But… I would like to try.” Her face twists up as she fights the tears.

Moisture instantly pools in Joel’s eyes, emotions over taking him. He doesn’t like to show this side, he rarely does, but the relief that washes over his body is all consuming. He thought he’d lost her for good, and now here she is telling him she wants to try. She wants to forgive him. That’s enough for him, more than enough, and more than he deserves. 

Ellie lets out a long breath, tension easing from her body, like a weight was lifted, extracted from her. She feels lighter.

“I’d like that,” Joel says, getting caught up on the words. 

They both nod slightly, almost in unison, like they actually share genetics. 

“Okay,” Ellie says, almost like she doesn’t know where to go from here. She rocks back on her heels, catches Joel’s profile in the light. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yep.” 

Joel clears his throat as Ellie turns to leave. 

She’s at the bottom of the steps before he manages to pull it out. It’s not overly affectionate or loud, but it’s warm, solid. “I love you, Kiddo.”

She turns, surprised. There’s a brief uptick in her tightly drawn lips, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “You too, Old Timer.” 

You’re half asleep when Joe crawls into bed next to you. You let out a soft sigh, hand falling to his chest. “How’d it go?” you ask, eyes opening to mere slivers. 

Joel kisses your head. “Said she wants to try to forgive me.”

A sleepy smile finds your face. “Good.”

Joel chuckles, kissing your head. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

You smile. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

You let out a soft sigh, letting sleep take you under. 

Joel lays awake that night, staring up at the ceiling, hand tucked under his head. His body is weary from the night, the dance, is confrontation with Seth and Ellie. He feels the ache of his 63 years in his joints, his back, but nothing covers up the deep seeded contentness that settles over him. 

He turns his head to look at you, fast asleep on your side facing him. You’re not quite tucked into him, arms and legs pressing against him. The exchange of body heat beneath the sheets is enough to stave off the winter chill. His lips tip upward.

He’s happy, undeniably so. Here with you next to his side. With the knowledge that Ellie wants to forgive him. With His two other children sound asleep in their rooms, tucked into beds where they feel safe.  

He pulls his hand from under his head, tracing the soft lines of your face, the bow of your top lip with his fingertips. You bristle softly, like his touch tickles, but you don’t stir. Joel knows you’re out for the night. 

He kisses your cheek, takes your free hand in his and kisses your knuckles before placing it over his beating heart, your hand sandwiched between his chest and palm. He should go to sleep. He has an early patrol with Tommy in the morning, but his mind buzzes with a quiet joy, keeping his eyes wide open. So he lays there, intent on memorizing the sound of your soft breathing, the warmth of your hand on him, and all the other little moments that lead him to this place in time. 

It’s some time before sleep tugs him under, but his eyes flutter shut with you in his periphery, lulled to sleep with the assurance he’s where he’s supposed to be.  

Tag List: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[saturnville]

torture, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan + black!fem!oc (amelia egan)s

content: John is interrogated in Germany.

an: y'all...part 6 of mota....tore me up. spoilers ahead. let's talk about this part! comment, reblog, and send asks!

gif: @olympain

tags: to maintain your place on the taglist, you're expected to interact! @turn-thy-paige @neeville @ineedafictionalman @ihe4rtisa @lovebyceleste

“Married?” 

Silence. The air was tense. How could it not be? An American soldier had been captured in the swamps of German territory, beaten like a mule, and whipped like a Roman traitor. Just outside of his line of vision, he saw the bodies of soldiers and civilians drug across the gravel lot. An American soldier had been captured in the swamps of German territory and questioned like a federal criminal by a German pilot who grinned like a cashmere cat; evil and conniving. Silence. 

The German interrogator, Hausmann, chuckled dryly and hovered his pen over the sheet of paper under his arm.“From what I hear, I assume you are unmar—“

“I have a wife,” he answered gruffly after some time. A lovely wife, at that. Full of love and affection, mercy and kindness. He missed her dearly. He kept a photo of her in his breast pocket but was too fearful of the damage to look at it. 

His throat felt thick like maple syrup running down the stump of a tree. His jaw shook as he inhaled the lit cigarette. He pushed the smoke out of his nose. 

Hausmann hummed. “Yes, Amelia. Amelia Mae Egan, correct?”

 John leaned forward. How the hell did he know that? He clenched his teeth. The tips of his ears reddened.

The interrogator nodded, his eyebrow-raising in amusement at the pilot’s demeanor shift. John saw the wheels turning in the man's head. In frustration, he ashed the cigarette and dropped his hand against the desk with a thud. The blonde interrogator met John's blue eyes. 

“Sorry, Major, I had to ask for documentation. She’s a beautiful woman. I didn’t think these kinds of…couplings were common in America. They aren’t here.” Gasket blown.

“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,” John hissed. His voice raised an octave which caused the interrogator to jump slightly.``You asked if I was married, and I said yes. I don’t see the point you’re trying to make here, but I’m sure it isn't a part of your freakin’ protocol. Keep my wife out of it.”

Hausmann raised his hands in defense and laughed lightly. John failed to find the joke. His patience wore thin. “Easy, Major Egan. I meant no harm. But um, I have to say, you are making this harder than it needs to be. I simply would like to talk to you, so, I’ll ask you again…”

The words went over his head. His mind spiraled out of control. He had never seen this man in his life yet he knew of his personal life? He knew of Amelia. His precious Rose. He knew of his relationship with Buck, and he was holding it in front of him like a treat for an animal. Is that how he was viewed? As a rabid animal who went killing people like it was a sport? 

No, that wasn’t the case at all. He was nothing but a soldier trying to defend his country. If there was another way to solve the issue, who would he be to decline the proposition? And this…this was the punishment for it? His dignity, his life, and his purpose were all questioned by a man who was no better than he was. It was torture.

John’s tongue scraped the roof of his mouth as he lifted his eyes from the papers littered across the desk. Planes crashed. Soldiers lost. His wife at home, clueless about what had gone on. She was unaware if he was alive or dead. Hell, he had no clue where his fate lay either. Would there even be an opportunity to hear her voice again? He could only pray. 

He blinked away the tears that pooled in his eyes. Once again, he stated, “John Egan. Major…” Torture indeed. 

[moonpetrichors-blog]

DOMESTIC LIFE WITH NETEYAM ONESHOT WHEN ⁉️⁉️⁉️ its so cute because i know how good neteyam is with tuk and he would (could've) be the sweetest husband ever

Death Won’t Do Us Part

Tags: Neteyam x Omaticaya!Reader, Oneshot, Fem!Reader, Fluff, Married Life, Domesticity, Teeny Tiny Angst

Warnings: Major Avatar 2 Spoiler

Ever since the incident, Neteyam was attached to you more than ever. When the two of you were finally of age, you mated, being bound to each other for life. But, there was a different binding Neteyam wanted to do too; to marry you. And so, here you are, living happily with the sweetest husband anyone could ask for.

THAT CORRECTION WAS SO EVIL 😭😭 but omg imagine dilf neteyam 🤨🤨

* ˚ ✦ 761 Words • Read below the cut

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [06/01/23] ❞  

Ever since that fateful incident with the Metkayina clan, Neteyam had grown more attached to you than ever.

You two had always shared a bond that transcended beyond friendship. You yearned for one another, longing for affectionate touches and the chance to lie together in the tranquility of eclipse. To talk for hours on end, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears.

Those feelings were wrenched out from you both only when he was on the threshold of death, as he drew what you feared was his last breath. You couldn't understand why the love of your life was in your arms, blood pooling from the chest where his heart beat so fervently for you. But, now it would no longer beat at all.

If it weren't for his miraculous survival that dreadful day, you'd swear Eywa was cruel. The feelings you exchanged hung like a heavy weight in the atmosphere between you two, creating tension that could be pierced with a knife. You were hesitant to talk about what you admitted to him, but you tried nonetheless.

Neteyam sobbed into your chest for the first time in a long time, confessing that he was afraid he would never receive the chance to be with you. That as he lived through Eywa, you'd carry on without him and eventually discover a new love. He was however here now, and you weren't going to give him up.

...

When the two of you had come of age, you were rattled by the anxiety that had accumulated in the pit of your stomach. You adored Neteyam, but the prospect of mating with him for the first time made you apprehensive. It left you queasy to be so exposed to him, laid bare without even a single barrier to safeguard you. Neteyam, on the other hand, assured you that he loved you and longed to explore every side of you.

Neteyam purred in your ear with that raspy voice you so loved when the two of you were finally bonded together. He wanted you to be his wife. To cherish and hold you for the rest of his days, and to wake up next to you and see your sleepy face as you roused from your slumber. His affection for you was pure, and it melted your heart.

Of course you said yes, a smile gracing your lips.

...

Neteyam was the sweetest husband you could have ever asked for.

When you awoke, you were snuggled against him, your daughter nestled between the two of your bodies. Neteyam opened an eye, and you grinned as you noted the shadows under his eyes. Your daughter, Ingayn, was a nightmare to get to sleep, and that much was evident on your husband’s face. Laying like this, you were the perfect picture of a family amidst the placid buzz of the morning.

Neteyam caressed your temples with the back of his knuckles, and travelled to your cheeks, tucking a braid behind your ear. Even after years of marriage, you could never get enough of his gentle and loving touches.

You swung an arm over your daughter, searching fingertips skimming against the long-healed bullet wound on Neteyam's rigid chest. Your eyes darted from the scar to his gaze, and he sighed into your palm.

“It feels like so long ago.”

In response, you hummed and traced the shape of his lips. You leant forwards to kiss them as your fingers shifted to rest under his chin. Neteyam smiled into your embrace, and it induced you to feel intoxicated. You could spend the entire day in bed with your gorgeous husband if your duties permitted it, but you knew you had tasks to finish.

Ingayn yawned, and sat up to discover you and Neteyam exchanging loving kisses.

“Ewww, gross!”

She struck her father across the face with the makeshift pillow under you. Neteyam yanked the pillow from her grasp, and you knew Ingayn was absolutely screwed.

She burst into wild giggles as Neteyam snatched her up, and tickle attacked her. You chuckled at the action, and pinched her cheeks when Neteyam pulled away.

He brushed one last chaste kiss against your lips, sighing contentedly. “Okay, I have duties to attend to. I’ll see you later, love.”

You picked up your daughter, and smiled at him. “Have fun.”

Neteyam could only grumble. “Fun is when I’m with you.”

He climbed out of bed reluctantly, and kissed his daughter on the forehead before departing. Knowing that every morning would resemble this made your heart soar. How did you become so lucky?

[nightmare-niko]

Bestfriend!SejanusPlinth Headcanons

Warnings: tbosas spoilers, idiots in love, tooth rotting amounts of fluff

A/n: THERE ARE LIKE NO GIFS FOR SEJANUS your honor I love him. The more I read the book the more and more I’m just absolutely in love with Sejanus, like he’s my baby 😖

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Bestfriend!Sejanus who hides behind you in social settings, even though he's much taller than you.

“Sej, what are you doing…”

“I’m hiding.”

“Everyone can see you- you’re taller than me…”

“No they can’t shut up.”

Bestfriend!Sejanus who will always buy something it it reminds him of you.

Bestfriend!Sejanus who insists on wearing matching clothes with you if you have an event to go to.

Bestfriend!Sejanus who never corrects someone when they call you his partner.

Bestfriend!Sejanus who picks any flower if its your favorite color (you’ve started to collect them).

Bestfriend!Sejanus who will always protect you from your clumsy tendencies:

hand over table corners, sidewalk rule, making your shoes are tied— because he knows you’ll forget—Steading you when you trip over said untied shoes.

Bestfriend!Sejanus Who casually flirts with you even though he Swears he isn’t into you like that.

Bestfriend!Sejanus who insists on calling you the cutest nicknames instead of your actual name.

“Honey” “princess/prince” “peach” “gorgeous”

Bestfriend!Sejanus who almost goes into cardiac arrest when you first kiss him out of the blue:

At First it was just a peck, but When you pulled back, you could see his pupils expand in his honey brawn eyes so you just had to pull him back in for a better kiss. You could feel his heart beating from the close proximity:

“Woah”

Tag list:

@nallasstuff

@chmpgneprblem

@qoopeeya

@lilybellalana

@sleepysongbirdsings

@anonys-world

(If you wanna be tagged when I post hunger games stuff just lmk and I’ll add u to a tag list!!!)

[amywritesthings]

something in the movies. / a gojo satoru holiday one shot

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader ( jujutsu kaisen ) word count: 2.2k / rated mature summary: A romcom marathon for the holidays (and his birthday) with your colleague, Gojo Satoru, hits a little too close to home with your own accidental romcom moment.

tags: hidden inventory arc spoilers, colleagues in denial, childhood friends to lovers, holiday movie marathon, sexual tension, romance, fluff with a little sluttiness, fade to black, gojo get smooches for his birthday because he deserves it credit: dividers by @saradika

welcome to the fifth day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!

When Gojo Satoru suggests stopping by your apartment for a day-long movie marathon extravaganza, you expect the usuals:

Something pitifully 1980’s with much too goofy graphic violence;

Thrillers with a twist that's solvable by act one, though Gojo insists this one will stump you;

A science fiction exploration flick that’s a little outdated but fun nonetheless.

Yet when he’s standing outside of your apartment door, his hands are full of—

“Holiday movies?”

You squint and turn your chin to observe the titles as he proudly holds them out to you to take.

Every cover is an endless array of snowy backgrounds and people dressed in all sorts of ugly sweaters, with no distinction in sight.

(He always did take his December birthday very seriously, even when you were just kids at Jujutsu High.)

“Not just holiday movies.”

Gojo corrects your assumption, stepping into your apartment without a formal invitation.

He kicks off his black shoes at your door with a smirk.

“Shitty romantic comedies."

"I've never heard of any of these," you mumble when you pluck the DVDs from his hands.

"How could you? They're only available in a discount bin, so they're guaranteed hidden gems. These babies never made it to the big screen. ”

You watch him making himself at home, navigating your apartment like he owns the place.

The world's greatest sorcerer never cares to be polite, not when this song and dance has played on repeat for ten years.

Pretending he lives here, as opposed to being a frequent guest second to your mutual friend Nanami, is just part of the norm when school is in recess.

(But you’re not dating.)

You can’t date a colleague, not really.

Although Principal Yaga wouldn’t particularly care if you did, fraternizing with someone you work with — someone you've grown up with, someone you've bled with — isn’t a leap you’re willing to make.

Besides, you’ve lived long enough as a first-grade sorcerer to know Jujutsu Society has a habit of fucking up good things, both intentionally and accidentally — so you don’t. 

Which, in turns, leads you both to a hairy situation where you’re both spending all of your free time away from the halls of Jujutsu High to do…

Well, this.  

Whatever this is.

“So you bought a bunch of… Hallmark movie DVDs?” you clarify.

“Yep.”

“And you want to binge… shitty Hallmark movies?”

“That’s hilarious. You say that like there are good ones.”

Gojo flops down on his favorite side of your couch.

He stretches his long legs out on the extended cushion, one ankle crossed over the other.

“Besides, what else are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, following him around the mouth of the hallway that spills into the small living room. “Maybe watch good holiday movies?”

His thumb catches the bottom of his black blindfold.

You never have to see his full face to know what type of mood he’s in, or how he’s looking at you: Gojo radiates his emotions like a neon shop sign whenever he’s around you.

Satoru pulls the fabric of the blindfold outward, teasing the reveal of his sparkling blue eyes.

(You’re not immune to their immense power. No one is.)

They’re not a flame to a wayward moth, but a fucking beacon.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never taken the time to binge these before.” He snaps the blindfold back in place. “They’re a riot.”

You shake your head.

“Not really in my wheelhouse, Gojo.”

“Well—”

Satoru slaps his hands against his thighs and uncrosses his ankles to stand, despite only just sitting down.

You’ve never seen a grown man so restless.

“—get ready for this stuff to knock your socks off, because I’m about to enlighten you on the true meaning of ‘tis the spirit.”

“You mean ‘tis the season?”

“Same thing.”

He fidgets with your ancient Blu-ray player you haven’t quite shelved yet as you make your way into the kitchenette connected to the living room. 

You know what he wants before you can ask — a White Russian mocktail to match your alcoholic one.

(But you're not dating.)

You mix the ingredients together, eyes following as he drops back onto your couch, long arm extended over the back.

Butterflies flutter when he pulls the blindfold off, pocketing it for later, and fixes a pair of black sunglasses over his eyes.

His hand then smooths over his white hair, curving at his freshly-buzzed undercut, and he settles in for the night.

Comfortable. 

An oasis of calm in the ever-present Jujutsu storm.

(But you’re not dating.)

And he’s right.

The movies? Fucking terrible.

Gojo doubles over when he laughs. You have to wipe your tears from laughing just as hard.

You find the back of your head dropping to the couch when you laugh, landing unintentionally into his open palm.

Satoru cradles your head safely in his hand to keep it from hitting the back of the furniture.

Two sappy romantic comedies and three drinks later—

You find yourself inching closer to the middle cushion of your couch acting as a zone of neutrality between you.

He isn’t much better, constantly fidgeting on his end. The white-haired man lets a long leg dangle over the arm of the couch, his torso scrunched in an awkward half-lay towards the middle.

With each peanut-gallery commentary and scathing review of unbelievable scenarios, you both find yourselves nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

He’s sober as can be, and you’re warm from the alcohol’s influence.

Still, it’s only a mere dusting of tipsy — you can stomach a lot of liquor in comparison to most.

And you get lost in it.

This — the comfort, the familiarity, the way the main characters of this shitty Hallmark movie are holding one another.

The Christmas Prince is confessing his love to the small-town girl that wrecked all of his plans under the cover of a gazebo while snow falls around them. He admits he was in denial about her this whole time, the big dipper in his little dipper sky— 

“Oh my god, look at you.”

You turn your face to Satoru at the record-scratch jest.

He smiles down at you, bordering a shit-eating grin.

Close.

A stone throw away.

Blinking twice, you begin wiping at your face assuming something got stuck on it. 

“What? What about me?”

“You’re swooning—” Gojo points to the screen. “—over that.”

Your jaw drops, and he starts laughing — full bellied and joyous.

“I— Shut up, I am not!” you sputter pathetically in response.

“Are too! I see you! Starry-eyed over some bad pick-up lines.”

Gojo's head tilts, snow-white brow quirked high.

“Don’t tell me this cheesy stuff actually works on you.”

You gesture with a hand to the television to protest. “He’s saying she’s his big dipper! It’s cute!”

Gojo snorts, seemingly disinterested, but he reaches forward.

Suddenly you feel his thumb run along the high point of your cheek. 

All motor functions in your body cease to exist. 

“Please, I can do way better,” the white-haired man says. “This guy isn’t even trying to act.”

All you can do is stare, flushed with uncertainty.

(When did it become a competition to woo you?)

Gojo slides his thigh off of the couch’s arm to sit up, leaning in.

Danger.

Neon signs.

You need your white flag, but you’re too curious about where this may lead.

“First of all, he’s cornering her like she’s a hostage. That’s kind of creepy. He’s all about ‘you’re my big dipper’, but what does that even mean? They haven’t mentioned any stupid stars once in this movie.” 

He drags his thumb once more with a breathy chuckle. 

“Dumbass doesn’t even hold her face right. Why’s his thumb all the way on her cheek? You gotta scoot your hand up a little so you can — there.”

Oh.

The movie becomes white noise to your own predicament when Gojo glides his palm across your cheek.

His thumb, once stroking your face, dips to your mouth.

He runs it timidly along your bottom lip—

Then softly tugs it down, and you're not sure if it's you who gasped or if you imagined the sound.

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?”

Satoru murmurs, voice an octave lower, keeping the conversation in the space between you. 

The way the question veers this situation away from silly pick-up line mockery to something more — something real — has your body tensing.

You should shut this down.

You should laugh it off.

Your voice is barely audible when you protest his name.

“Gojo, don't fuck with—”

“I’m not fucking with you,” he interrupts, as if he anticipated you to protest. “I’m not. I'm genuinely asking.”

"Where is this coming from?" you ask.

"Just wanted to know, that's all," he mumbles in return. "Have they?"

“...people have."

You reply after a beat, purposefully watching his mouth as his tongue runs along the seam of his lips.

“In fact, I’m pretty sure you have. Before."

"Yeah?"

"Multiple times.”

“Yeah?”

“When we were kids.”

“Ha—" The mention brings a passing glow to his face. "And I totally meant it back then, too.”

He must notice the way your eyes grow wider.

“What? I didn’t have a filter when we were kids,” he says with a snort, seemingly mesmerized by the way your lip moves under his thumb. “I was too busy to lie. Still am — busy, I mean. But you stuck around.”

You look at him curiously, trying to understand where he’s going with this.

I was busy.

Sure — trying to be the best with Geto, to avoid getting corralled by Yaga, to beg Ieiri to meddle in the incessant hijinks.

In Jujutsu High, you were a year behind him with Nanami Kento and Haibara Yu. 

Quickly it only became Nanami Kento.

And, with so few young sorcerers in the world, it was crucial to befriend. To trust.

Geto defecting, Haibara dying, Utahime opting to teach in Kyoto, Shoko becoming a medical professional, Nanami choosing the real world over the land of curses—

It just left you, and it left Gojo Satoru.

For ten whole years, it’s only been the two of you — dismantling the old ways and ushering in a new wave of sorcerers who, hopefully, do not have to be in so much pain.

Your brows knit. “Satoru, where is this coming from?”

Talk to me, you want to say.

Calling him by his first name conveys enough.

“Bad Christmas movies, I guess,” he breathes, leaning a fraction closer.

The short puffs of his breath tickle the lower half of your face.

“Premonitions. Reflections. The holiday spirit.”

“That moved by a Hallmark monologue, huh?” you try to tease, and his lips do quirk upwards with amusement at your jab. "And you said that guy’s speech was bad."

“It was terrible, to be fair,” he replies, “but it did give me ideas, so thanks Christmas Princess 7: Deck the Royal Halls.”

You snort to laugh, but before you can, he’s pulling your chin up and over.

Soft lips press to yours, and the world ceases.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a second kiss to his lips.

He briefly grunts, pushing you back until you're flush with the length of the couch.

Gojo cages himself over you, hovering with a long leg dangling awkwardly off of the couch so as not to crush you.

Third, fourth, fifth — you lose track of how many greedy kisses happen.

They grow longer, deeper, and soon his tongue is flicking over your lips to ask for access.

You easily open your mouth to moan into the kiss, and you feel him shiver above from the noise.

His hand crawls up your hip, seeking the hem of your shirt — seeking the warmth of your bare skin under his large hands.

You let him.

You'll let him do whatever he wants so long as he keeps going.

His glasses begin sliding down the bridge of his nose from the sheer passion of his kisses, awkwardly pulling you out of the moment when they nudge against your face.

You laugh and Gojo pants above you, blue eyes alight with a fiery desire.

There is an overwhelming ease to this, like you’ve waited your whole lives to try —

To enjoy.

To indulge.

To live.

"Happy birthday, by the way," you pant, and Satoru grins wicked and wide.

"Thought maybe you forgot."

"How could I forget? You're only very loud about your birthday every year," you joke right back, swallowing to coat your dry throat. "Did you wanna do something for it?"

He stares down at you over the falling sunglasses, blue eyes sparkling. "Was a shitty romcom marathon not my gift? Because that's kinda all I wanted."

Butterflies invade your stomach.

"Yeah?" you breathe.

He nods. "Yeah."

A moment of heavy air and anticipation passes over you both. He still pins you to your couch, hovering. His hands never left your sides, shirt scrunched under his wrists.

“I wanted to see how that movie ended, by the way,” you add.

That makes him bark with a laugh.

“I can act the rest out for you if you let me stay.”

He’s only stayed the night a few times, each ending with never happening again.

Yet history is doomed to repeat itself.

You’ve both learned that by now.

Still? It's technically his birthday.

“Fine,” you relent with an amused exhale. “Stay.”

(But you’re not dating.)

.