#like the emotion and intention with the performance was so spot on

[seokjinsonlyone]

omg this one of the best kpop covers i’ve ever seen i had to watch twice 😭

[paulyenvol6]

Getting it over with

Daemon x Stark!Reader (OS)

It is your wedding night and all you can think of is doing your job as quickly as possible. Your husband has different plans though and tries everything to show you that sex can be more than a marital duty.

Contains: dub con, detailed smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, gagging, biting, dom & mean Daemon, first time, slight humiliation, dirty talk, crying, angst, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader

Wordcount: ~3.58k

Masterlist

You faced the ceiling as you laid in this strange bed with the strange sheets underneath you.

The smell was different as well, as there was no trace of the familiar vanilla scent of your own bed. But perhaps you wouldn't have to get used to it. You had to provide your husband an heir, that was your duty but afterwards mayhaps you could live your lives separately.

You didn't desire to get to know him nor spend any more second than necessary in his presence. You just wanted to get this over with, preferrably have him plant his heir inside you tonight and then remain in your own chambers at night. With your familiar vanilla scent.

So now there you laid, stiff as a stick and only wearing your night gown. It had been the first thing you had done when you had entered your husband's room, you had taken off your gown, changed into the thin exposing night dress and laid down on his bed. You approached this whole matter pragmatically and tried not to listen to your emotions or fears. It was your marital duty to perform the act of bedding and though you were so scared of it that tears threatened to spill from your eyes any second, you would do it. You would have him do it as quickly as possible and then your job would be done. For tonight at least.

And then the door opened and seconds later the Rogue Prince stood in front of his bed and observed you with a smug look on his face. His eyes traveled down your body, unshamingly regarding every spot of skin that his eyes could reach.

"Wife," he spoke and you adjusted yourself on the bed expecting him to climb on top of you any second.

But Daemon just slowly sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest when you pulled at your gown in order to prevent it from wrinkling.

"Do it," you said and stared at him fiercely.

"Do what?" he hissed with small eyes.

"Claim me. Let's just get it over with quickly."

To your surprise your husband chuckled. "Oh sweet girl."

You frowned and propped yourself on your elbows.

"Please. I just want to be done with it."

Daemon came a step closer to you and towered over your lying figure.

"Touch yourself," he whispered and your frown deepened.

"What?"

"Run your finger through your slit. Do it."

You were confused but obeyed him, feeling curious about what his intentions were so you slipped your hand under your night gown and ran a finger through your folds.

"So?" he asked and you confusingly looked up to him. "Did you find any wetness?"

You shook your head and hated that you were so intimidated by his presence.

"There you go. If I just fucked you like this now and here, I'd tear you apart, little one."

You widened your eyes but swiftly collected yourself again.

"I don't care, just do it. Please, I can take it."

Daemon scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"You may think so but no. I think I've deflowered a few more maidens than you have and I consider myself a little more learned than you."

You frowned feeling discontent because this night wasn't going as you had planned at all. You were sulking and watched Daemon as he took off his shirt and revealed his strong chest. Then he approached you again.

"You're my wife now. And even though you are a stubborn little brat I don't want my sheets to be soaked with your blood."

But you were still pouty and had already made up your mind. When Daemon reached out to caress the side of your face you hissed out and pushed his hand away which made him lift his eyebrows. He tried again and this time attempted to soothingly stroke your thigh but you denied him and pulled away.

He paused for a second and then roughly took hold of your wrists with his left hand while his right reached out and grabbed your hair. He pinned your hands down over your head and crawled to lay on top of you. You squirmed trying to fight him off but you didn't stand a chance.

"Listen to me," he growled and his mouth came close to your ear. "I'm doing this for you, you stupid brat. I could just fuck you now, play my part and you probably wouldn't stop crying from the pain. You have no idea what you're asking of me so trust me and let me take care of it."

But how were you supposed to trust Daemon? You didn't know him and you had barely talked to him before your wedding. So you remained unwilling and tried to free your chin from his grip but Daemon was stronger and didn't let go of you.

"N-No," you whined and shifted underneath him but his body held you in place. He pressed your wrists in the sheets over your head and his hand that was now on your jaw didn't allow you to move your head around.

"Why won't you let me help you?" Daemon hissed.

"I don't want you to help me," you sulked and didn't stop fighting him off.

His right hand that had been on your chin finally let go and he instead yanked your hair back so your neck was exposed to him. He came close to your skin with his mouth.

"If you won't stop resisting me I'll do what you're asking me to do and believe me, little one, you don't want this. You're a virgin and you fucking need to be prepared for my cock. So will you just stay still while I try to make this a pleasant experience for you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes but you started to feel like you were on the edge of giving up. You were tired and at a point where you didn't really care anymore what would happen. So you didn't answer him and stopped squirming which Daemon took as a sign to start kissing you skin. At first you tried your best to ignore him and stubbornly stared at the ceiling while his mouth devoured your neck. You didn't want to, you didn't want to get involved in this and allow yourself to feel any kind of pleasure. You had sworn yourself to do the minimum of what you were supposed to and then ignore your husband to live your life the way it had been before. You would endure whatever it was he was doing and under no circumstances show him that you liked any of this or that you enjoyed his touch.

So you didn't let out a sound while his hand that had held your wrists slowly reduced its force and soon his hand just laid on top of yours. Quickly you pushed his hand away but instead he now ran it over the side of your body. You showed your displeasure when Daemon's mouth traveled up to kiss your lips and you bit him in his lower lip. You tasted blood and to your delight felt him twitch. Then you felt his left hand grab your chin once again and he forced you to look at him.

"You're a little beast. But I think you yearn to be tamed."

With wet eyes you tried to shake your head under his grip and tensed when Daemon's right hand ran from your belly up to your chest.

"Just relax and enjoy it, seven hells," Daeon growled when he felt your twitching. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I want the opposite."

"But I don't want what you're doing. I told you, I wanted this to be happening quickly," you snapped and determinedly stared up to him.

He rolled his eyes. "But it's what's best for you."

So his hand remained on your chest and he started to run his finger over the swell of your breasts. When his finger circled your nipple through the thin fabric of your gown you felt goosebumps on your arms which satisfied Daemon. At last you felt something when he touched you. But your mouth remained tense and your arms laid close to your body, refusing to touch him. You kept staring at the ceiling as he leaned down to kiss your neck while his hands worked on your chest. It didn't feel unpleasant but you wouldn't allow yourself to enjoy it. So you told yourself that you hated it, Daemon was the enemy and you wanted this to end as quickly as possible.

After a while your husband thought it was time to expose you to him so he grabbed the straps of your gown and pulled the dress down. A cool breeze hit your nipples and you shivered. You watched his lustful gaze on your chest and suddenly you felt very exposed and vulnerable. With a look on your face Daemon sensed it and softly caressed your cheek.

"It's fine. Let go, love."

But determinedly you shook your head and he sighed. He lowered his head and his tongue started to toy with your hardened nipples which made you breathe heavily. You were sensitive there and your body responded to him though you didn't like it. You still laid stiff and didn't even want to look down but then Daemon kissed his way further south until he had reached your lower belly.

"Lift your hips," he whispered in an attempt to finally get rid of your night gown that still covered what laid between your legs but you shook your head.

"Can't you do it with my gown on?"

Your husband exhaled loudly and wiped away the traces of your tears on your skin.

"It'd be hard."

You just looked at him with a mixture of sadness and fear and stubbornness. And you didn't. You refused to obey him until Daemon simply ripped your dress apart and you flinched.

"It was expensive," you snapped and he smirked.

"I'll buy you a new one."

You were bare underneath him now and pressed your legs together.

"Will you do it now finally?" you asked with flashing eyes and he looked pitiful.

"I don't get why you're so eager to refuse my help," he spoke while toying with strands of your hair. "I'll make you come now, little one. So you're all wet and nice for my cock and it will be less painful for you."

With fear in your eyes you looked up to him. "What will you do?"

"Shhh," he made and soothingly ran his hands over your hips. "Just close your eyes and relax."

Although you were confused, you obeyed him at last and rested your head on the pillow while you felt him crawl between your legs. You felt odd spreading your legs for him but when he pushed them apart you followed his gesture and he could take a look at your cunt. You weren't exactly wet yet though he could see a little glistening by your entrance. You looked at him anxiously and saw him dive between your thighs. You felt him lick from your hole up to a spot you hadn't know to exist to this moment. You widened your eyes in shock and had to surpress a moan that threatened to leave your mouth. Daemon had his eyes on you though and saw in your reaction that you weren't unaffected by his touch.

You tried to collect yourself and for a moment it worked but soon you couldn't help but get lost in the pleasure you were receiving. You really had tried everything, wanted to resist, you were too stubborn to admit that he might have been right with what he had been saying all along but after a few minutes you left out a quiet whimper which made him smirk.

"I knew I'd be able to tame you, little one," he whispered and you wanted to push him away and press him closer to you at the same time. So you chose to pull at his hair which he commented with a grunt. His tongue devoured your cunt, his tongue drew patterns and circles around this mysterious nub while spreading your wetness all over your folds.

And everything became worse the longer your husband continued. You restlessly shifted on the bed, threw your head to the sides and clenched your fists, still too proud to give in and touch his shoulders or arms. Your mouth formed an 'O' and you hated that he watched for your reactions. You had also started to move your hips along with his movement but you were restriced because his hands held your hips down.

"Please," you whispered and it almost sounded inaudible but still, he had heard it.

"What was that?" he asked with a wide smirk on his face.

You were pouty, refused to look in his eyes but Daemon had heard it and wanted to tease you a little so he stopped licking your cunt and your eyes immediately fell on him.

"W-What are you doing," you asked panicky and he caressed your thigh.

"Say it again," he breathed and you squirmed shaking your head. "Oh yes you will. Because I'll stop if you don't."

"I don't care," you hissed but he could see the movement of your legs and your shivering. You were lustful and needy and it would be a matter of time until you said and did whatever Daemon wanted.

"Go on," he demanded again.

You moved against him but your husband refused to give you any sort of friction which made you moan in dissatisfaction. You were defeated and closed your eyes because you knew as much as you wanted to remain strong you couldn't. You needed to feel him again so you opened your mouth.

"P-Please," you whispered and a content smile appeared on his face.

"There we go. I knew you could be a good girl."

Daemon kept his promise and lowered his head again to lick over your little pearl and after a few seconds you had forgotten everything about his teasing because his tongue drove you to heaven. He circled your nub, gently took it between his teeth and flicked it.

"Ughh," you whined and felt like you were about to burst.

Then, after a few more minutes of his dance on your pearl his hand wandered to your hole and without a warning he shoved two fingers inside you. You shrieked feeling a pain in your core and your eyes sprang open. Your walls were pulsating and the stretch brought tears in your eyes.

"Oww," you made and he looked up to your sternly.

"You see? This was only my fingers and you are soaking wet. What do you think it would've felt like if I had shoven my cock inside your dry hole?"

You didn't answer and turned your face away but Daemon wanted something else.

"No. I want you to tell me that you were wrong."

Your eyes fluttered and you raised your chin but at this point you were beyond turned on and needy for him and so you obeyed him.

"I was wrong," you whispered but still didn't look at him. "You were right."

He grinned and ran his thumb over your lower lip.

"Good girl. I knew you just needed someone to tell you what to do. My good little obedient wolf."

Daemon moved his fingers slowly out of you again and then back in until they hit deep inside you. You whimpered and felt your legs shaking while his tongue was occupied with circling your nub again.

"Please. Please, Daemon," you whispered having problems forming a whole sentence.

He was so smug about it and contently kept his mouth connected to your cunt until he moved the fingers that had previously been buried inside you to your mouth. When you understood what he wanted you determinedly shook your head but Daemon ran his fingers over you lips.

"Open, little one."

But you were stubborn and refused him.

"I said open," he repeated but you wouldn't give in so you just pressed your lips together.

All of a sudden Daemon's left hand reached to your chin and grabbed it forcefully. You were so surprised that he was able to open your mouth and he shoved his fingers inside of your mouth. Discontently you bit him and in response he simply thrusted them deeper inside of your throat until you gagged.

"Next time it'll be my cock you gag on," he threatingly hissed and you gulped loudly trying to breathe through your nose so you wouldn't gag.

It felt uncomfortable and you wished he would remove his fingers but Daemon wanted to feel your throat a little longer so he moved them in and out of you. You choked, coughed and then after a few more moments he pulled his fingers out again and caressed your lip.

"Pretty," he merely spoke and then his mouth finally went back to stimulating your pearl again.

It was now only a matter of minutes and then you were finally sent over the edge. The tension in your thighs and lower belly expanded and spread all over your body and you felt like you were exploding but in the best way possible. You moaned loudly and cried his name out until you collapsed on your back and panted uncontrolled. Your closed your eyes in exhausion and felt your husband's mouth pull away from your cunt. For a second nothing happened but then your calm was interrupted because you felt him crawl on top of you. Your eyes fluttered and you saw his face through half-closed eyes.

"You've been a very good girl," he whispered and kissed your forehead. "Ready for my cock?"

You could only nod and felt him reaching down between your bodies. There was definitely some fear inside you now and you felt your senses coming back when you felt his tip on your entrance.

"Daemon," you whispered, your voice thick with panic, and grabbed his arm.

"What?" your husband asked and looked at you.

"P-Please. Be gentle."

He smirked and took hold of your cheek.

"I will be, my sweet wolf."

With these words you felt him circle your hole and then he pushed into you. Tears gathered in the corner of your eye but you didn't allow them to spill. You hissed at the pain in your lower belly and looked at Daemon with widened eyes. Your breathing was quick and chaotic and he caressed the side of your head to calm you.

"Shhh. You can take it, my brave girl. Just breathe."

His words helped you a lot and after a while Daemon started to move. At first it felt uncomfortable again but soon he had a slow and deep pace which made you gasp for air now and then but you felt a lot more comfortable.

"Good girl," he panted against you ear. "Who would've thought you just needed a cock inside of you in order to be an obedient and willing little thing."

You whined, too overwhelmed with everything to answer him so Daemon took it as a reply and his hand grabbed your hair to yank it back and have better access to your neck. His cock steadily thrusted in and out of you and soon your cunt felt a little sore but you didn't care. You were just focused on his cock and Daemon's face and his hands on you and everything else became unimportant.

Soon his hand reached between your bodies and he started to circle your pearl again which made you melt under his body. Your little nub was overstimulated and swollen so at first you squirmed underneath him but Daemon's finger didn't leave it and soon his touch made your legs shake.

Meanwhile he kissed your neck and made sure to leave marks. Now and then you heard him moan in pleasure which only contributed to your lust. But when both of you started to approach your high Daemon lifted his head to watch your face when you came. He felt you clench around you and sensed that you were close so his finger moved faster around your pearl until you broke down and whimpered out. You closed your eyes, your face tensed and you breathed heavily while Daemon came as well and shot his seed deep inside you.

He had collapsed on top of you and his weight pressed you into the bed which felt very comfortable for some reason. You were both gasping for air and after your second high of the night you just felt exhausted at this point so you couldn't help but close your eyes.

But when Daemon had regained his strength he rolled off you and you were left feeling vulnerable and exposed but too tired to do anything about it. So you moaned in displeasure which your husband commented with a scoff. He knew what you were asking though and eventually grabbed the blanket of his bed to cover your naked body with it. You smiled while watching Daemon get comfortable as well.

"Well, I hope this night has turned out more pleasant than you expected," he said and you scratched your head.

"I guess. Yes."

He turned to you and watched you with raised eyebrows.

"Thank you," you mumbled with blood rushing up in your cheeks. "You were right, it was more comfortable doing it like this."

Your husband smirked smugly and you lowered your gaze.

"You're very welcome, dear lady wife. But you should get some sleep now."

You nodded, pulled your blanket to your chin and then closed your eyes.

"Sleep well."

[teastainedprose]

Breaking Point (Homelander x reader)

Homelander delights in teasing you until he needles you too much on the wrong day. 1.5k words | Jerk Homelander to guilty Homelander, hurt/comfort if you squint. Homelander x gn!reader, implied chronic pain reader, implied plus-sized reader, [A03]

You are so soft. Your flesh gives under his grasp when he yanks you by the arm, careless with how it makes you stumble. Homelander laughs mockingly at the small, annoyed twitch of your lip as he tugs you close. Too close.

"Hey. Where are those new poll results, sweetheart?" The words are a purr, warm breath a caress against your cheek as he looms too close to be proper. Everything done with calculated intent to pull a reaction from you.

You stare blankly up at him, expression schooled neutral. You're used to this game. You've watched other employees crack and fracture under the pressure Homelander exerts. You refuse. You're made of sterner stuff, a master of hiding how you're honestly feeling.

He knows he gets to you, but you rarely let it show on the outside. You can school your face, but there's no controlling how he makes your heart hammer in your chest. How being so close to him sets your nerves alight in a pleasant sensation. Homelander leers down at you, pleased at how your pulse skitters under his scrutiny. He releases you, stepping back as the persona of a proper gentleman settles into place. Homelander smiles as he waits for your reply, the well-practiced one that the cameras always catch.

You're quick to give Homelander an indulgent smile back. An exchange of fake expressions as the two of you play nice. You look so placid and calm before him, but Homelander knows better. He can hear your heart jumping in your chest.

"I can pull them up for you right now if you want?" You reply, the words even and calm as you look up expectantly. You're too tired to deal with any bullshit. Homelander's included. You're always too tired.

In his eyes you're so amiable, so sweet. So disgusting. Your response isn't what he wants.  It's controlled and that's no fun. He's not satisfied with your performance. Homelander sneers, whirling away with a flutter of his cape. "Never mind."

You stand there, grimacing in his wake as you rub the spot where he grabbed you. You briefly let your honest emotions flicker freely on your face while his back is turned.. No eyes on you at this moment as sheer frustration and pain settles in. You take a breath as your mask of calm is set back into place. You go on with your day.

Why are you so soft? Under his hands and how you interact with others. Why do you always hand out such easy smiles so freely? He hates that about you. You carry that weary calm like a cloak, but you'll shake it off with a vibrant smile and a laugh if the right person engages you in conversation. They distract you from your fatigue and you light right up.

Homelander has yet to earn one of those sunshine smiles. He gets the fake ones. The ones that make him feel like a child clamoring for attention that you only indulge with your patience. He hates it. It makes him feel small. A god should never feel this way around such a weak mortal as yourself.

As any god does, he lets it bruise his fragile ego. The mortal must be punished and punish you he does. Every day Homelander tries to get a rise out of you. He tries to crack that cheerful facade you've welded in place. It must be fake. No animal has such a cheerful disposition naturally. There's no reason for it because you're so often a lethargic thing. He can smell the weariness on you, the stress, and even pain. How the fuck are you still smiling?

-and why the fuck do you never smile at him? 

Homelander decides, in his usual mature fashion, that if you won't smile? He'll bait out your anger instead. He wants, needs a reaction from you beyond those fake smiles.

He continues to goad you day in and day out. He'll slide right up next to you, too close, and lean down to ask directly into your ear for a report or some statistics on what his numbers are doing. Any old excuse to engage with you. He gleefully invades your personal space and is extra handsy because Homelander knows you hate it while he's aware of the effect it has on your body. 

If he grabs your shoulder and squeezes just so, your breath hitches. If he places a palm against the small of your back, your pulse races away without fail. If Homelander berates your fashion choices or comments on how tired you look, you flash that hollow smile while your eyes speak loathing at him. He wants that fire, craves it.

The tired fatigue that you always carry briefly pulls back to hint at a simmering something. One day he'll get you boiling over. In anger, in lust. It doesn't matter which one as long as it happens with him there to witness it.

Homelander finds himself brimming with anticipation for that day until it finally happens.

Everyone has a breaking point, even you.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It's too much, please just-

He's caught you trying to hide away in a conference room, the scent of adrenaline in the air as your heart races. A glance with his x-ray vision reveals you staring off with shaking fists clenched against your plush sides.

Finally!

Will you lash out?  Will you bite back? The thought sends a thrill through Homelander at seeing little Miss Sunshine finally rattled. There's a storm brewing on your face as your fingers tighten. It's an expression Homelander knows he's worn many a time. The sort of look that has interns scattering and Ashley stammering.

What a delight it'll be to see what you unleash. What can you possibly do, as small and soft as you are? Will it be like watching a kitten hiss and claw? Adorably pathetic.

He strides into the conference room with a smirk, the door clicking shut behind him. "There you are! You missed today's meeting, you know." He chides softly with a waggle of one finger as Homelander strides closer. You stare up at him, eyes blazing.

"Now what are we going to do about that?" Homelander goes on, voice as smooth as honey as he smirks down at you.

Something in your expression shifts. A crack in your mask appears.

Gotcha.

"Well?" He prompts, expectant. Giddiness trickles down his spine as Homelander grins wide, fangs on display. He can't wait to see how this rage of yours plays out.

Except you don't unleash anything on him. You don't even insult Homelander, which would give him reason to taunt you further or retaliate. It would give him a reason to finally lash out at you in earnest, but all you're doing is standing there.

Your expression crumples up like wet tissue. The tears are white hot and silently streaking down your face in an instant. The sound you make is beyond pathetic as you drop back into your seat, huddling into yourself. Homelander watches stock-still as you draw your legs up, arms coiling about your knees as you bury your face away from his gaze.

It's a truly pathetic sight, sobbing like the little mud person you are.

Homelander should feel triumphant. His grin twists to a grimace. He awkwardly shifts, gloves creaking as he balls his fingers into fists at his side.

Why isn't he pleased? He's watching you shatter and it doesn't wash him in the usual delight bringing misery to others does. Your sunshine is gone and it's raining on your parade, which is exactly what Homelander wanted.

Your crying should amuse Homelander. He's not amused. Instead, there's a sinking feeling within the pit of his stomach. A dead weight settles heavy inside as all his amusement flees at the sound of your whimpering sobs. It's a foreign sensation and Homelander doesn't like it one bit.

Homelander works his jaw as guilt chews away at his insides, stuck to the spot hovering over you. You continue to cry, quieter now with your back bowed and face hidden. He can smell the salt of your tears easily. 

Silently, he reaches back to pull up the length of his cape. This Homelander offers to you. He doesn't have a handkerchief like a proper gentleman, so this will have to do.

He knows he's broken something. Carelessly snapped it in two. Homelander has done it countless times before. The snap of a spine. Fizzle pop of a control deck. The crackle and sizzle of flesh. The wet sucking sound as organs spill on the floor. It's natural for a creature such as him. Things breaking is a fact of his life. He's never felt guilty about any of those times. Guilt is a rare emotion for Homelander but now it's clawing up his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Homelander blinks and refocuses his gaze as he feels a tug on his cape. He watches in a detached way as you dab at your face with the fabric, sniffling loudly. Homelander can't make himself apologize. He doesn't know how.

Instead, he asks in a surprisingly tentative voice. "Bad day?"

That takes you by surprise as your gaze snaps to him. You stare a beat up at Homelander and then you smile. It's a quavering sort, but it's an honest smile. The sunshine rushes back into your face as Homelander sucks a breath in. Were you always such a lovely little creature?

"Yeah," You say slowly. "Something like that."

[ichorai]

chiropterology — balance.

drabble synopsis ; how does one juggle being a dad, husband, and vigilante? warnings ; some swearing.

series masterlist.

Cassandra could read just about anyone’s mannerisms as if it were an exact science. The man working the stage lights: tapping foot, slow eye movements, nails bitten—he was bored, and running on less than five hours of sleep. The woman in the front row of the audience, third seat from the right: quickened breaths, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and a wide smile stretching her lips thin—she must be a proud mother watching her daughter pirouette on stage. 

And Cassandra’s performance was up next, but Bruce was nowhere to be seen. From your expression, it seemed that he wasn’t going to make it. Pursed lips, drawn brows, and hushed whispers to Alfred, who had the phone up to his ear, presumably on call with Bruce.

Bruce was a busy man, with two whole lives, and an entire soccer team of kids. Cassandra understood that. Despite it all, she felt like she deserved to be bitter about it, even just a little bit. If he was so busy, he shouldn’t have promised that he’d be there for her. Simple as that.

From her place hiding behind the curtains left-stage, Cassandra watched your features morph with disappointment when Alfred murmured something to you. You turned your face back to the stage, and the showrunner behind Cass tapped her clipboard. “You’re on in a minute,” she said, breathless, frazzled. 

Cassandra nodded. “I’m ready.” 

And she was—she’d been practicing this routine for months by now. When she took position in the center of the stage, she forced away the butterflies fluttering in her chest, and started her performance. She danced like droplets of dew sliding down a single blade of grass; smooth, intentional, synchronized. Even Damian, sitting beside you in the audience, had given up his pretense of looking bored and watched his sister glide to and fro with genuine awe.

It was perfect, just as she expected it to be. When the song dwindled to a close, so did Cassandra. Her hands raised into her final position, and the audience burst into raucous applause. She felt warmth blossom in the pits of her stomach when she spotted you standing from your seat, cheering the very loudest for her. 

After the last few performances of the show, Alfred handed her a bouquet of congratulatory flowers and you smothered her with a warm hug. Cassandra felt muscles loosening under your touch, melting into you. Hugs were something she never had with her mother, but with you—it was so easy.

“I’m so proud of you,” you told her. The emotional crack in your voice told Cassandra that you were being as genuine as one could be. “You were amazing. My girl—an actual real life ballerina! This is insane!”

When you pulled away, Damian blinked up at her with a curt nod. “You were sufficiently graceful, Cain.”

Cassandra could tell Damian had been rehearsing that compliment since she finished her performance, so she ruffled his hair with a fond smile. It was quick to fall away, however, when the theater’s doors were shoved open, and Bruce came stumbling in. 

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his chest was heaving, and his lips were parted to ask if he missed it—which he very clearly had. Guilt. Cassandra read guilt in his eyes.

You rounded on your husband with a cross expression, giving him a stern talking to, but Cassandra decided she wouldn’t let Bruce bring her down. She did a good job, and she was going to treat herself accordingly. She turned to Damian and Alfred. “Ice cream parlor down block. Want banana splits?”

Damian bowed his head in solemn agreement, as if she were asking him on a deadly mission rather than for some scoops of rocky road. 

The Batcave was useful for many reasons. Training, building, researching—and, apparently, avoiding his own children by brooding. At least, Alfred said the latter was what he was doing. Bruce stubbornly told him he was working, which earned him a short, disapproving sigh, before he disappeared back upstairs to start on prepping lunch. 

Bruce grumbled unintelligibly beneath his breath, pinched the space between his brows, and stood up from the batcomputer. He made his way further into the batcave, hesitated and dawdled for another five minutes, and finally knocked on the door of your laboratory.

The few times the two of you had serious fights—serious meaning it wasn’t another one of your over-the-top inventions, and more Bruce’s short bandwidth for emotion—it always took a long while for you to make up. The last time you fought, your silent treatment lasted nearly two weeks and even Damian was sick of the strange tension in the manor. The kids had eventually conspired together and locked you up in one of the spare guest rooms until Bruce caved and apologized. 

This time, Bruce wouldn’t let it get that far. Not with you, and not with Cass, either.

“Come in!” came your muffled voice. When Bruce did, you glanced over your shoulder and heaved a sigh. “Oh. It’s you.”

“I don’t want to fight,” he said, stepping around the many piles of discarded robot models (some suspiciously cuboid-shaped cake robots he recalled seeing at his wedding all those years ago). He gently took the wrench you were using from your hand and placed it down on the workbench so he could fold his calloused palms over your knuckles. “Can we talk this out?”

You blew out a soft breath. “Okay. Do you want to start or should I?” 

Sheepish, Bruce gestured for you to go first. It was times like these you saw the uncanny resemblance between him and Damian.

It took you a few moments to collect your thoughts, and Bruce waited in patient silence. For you, he would wait eons if he could. Finally, you began to speak, words wobbly and uncertain, “I think… I think you sometimes forget that I was around before you became Batman. Your priorities can be… questionable. And I feel like sometimes… you don’t realize how isolating it can be for Alfred and I being the only non-heroes in this house. And it wasn’t just missing Cass’ performance, but—your constant lateness to everything. Your lack of communication. Your tendency to pull away.” You tried to shrink back with your next words, but Bruce didn’t let go of your hands. “Sometimes I feel less like your wife and more like a glorified task manager.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, slow and gentle, trying to process what you were saying to him. When the two of you were younger and newer to your relationship, he likely would have immaturely spouted off a ton of excuses, and you would have torn yourself away from him in return. 

He said your name, all soft and low in the way that always made your breath hitch. “I had no idea you felt this way. I didn’t realize I was hurting you this way. I’m so sorry. Let me make this clear, you are always my first priority. My very, very first. You’re right—you were there for me before I actually became Batman, and you always were every time I needed you. And I fail to be there for you and the kids so often, and I’m so sorry. You’re not a task manager, or just my wife… you’re the love of my life, and so much more than that. I’m so sorry I didn’t make you feel that way. I just don’t… I don’t know how to do this. Juggle all of this. Being a father, and Batman, and Bruce Wayne…”

“You have to talk to us,” you said, finally drawing closer to him, which Bruce took as a good sign. “Tell us when you need help and know when to take a break. I know, terrifying. But we’re all here to help you, Bruce. I’m not expecting you to be perfect—God knows I’m not, even though I’m cutting it pretty close.”

Bruce let out a chuckle at that. “Can’t say I disagree.” He nodded in understanding, then raised your hand up to his face to press soft kisses to your palm. “I’ll try my best, I really will. I’ll make it up to you.” 

“And Cass,” you reminded. “She’s good at hiding it, but she’s upset you didn’t make it.”

Bruce sank into the closest chair to him, pulling you closer until he was able to rest his face against your stomach. “Is she mad at me?”

“More like disappointed,” you said, which elicited a displeased noise from him, muffled against your lab coat. The number of times Bruce himself had said he was disappointed, not mad, had finally come back to bite him in the ass. “Best you go talk to her. I forgive you, by the way. Thank you for coming to talk to me. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to make the kids act on our behalf this time.”

The laugh Bruce let out echoed about your lab because he pulled away to look up at you with those pretty blue eyes of his, both mischief and amusement clouding his expression. “We could pretend we’re still angry with each other for a little while—would buy us some time alone when they eventually decide to lock us up again…”

You swatted at his shoulder and turned back to your cake robots. “I’m supposed to be the rule-breaker in this relationship.” You paused to think back on your words, realizing you were quite literally married to a vigilante. “But also—I guess it’s not a bad idea…”

The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few seconds before bursting into more laughter. 

“I missed you,” Bruce said, getting up from the seat to press a warm kiss to the side of your head.

“This argument has lasted less than twenty-four hours,” you said, arching a brow. “Is Bruce Wayne going soft on me?”

“Never,” he said, kissing you again, this time for so long you were just about to get dizzy from lack of air before he pulled away with a smug grin. “I’ll speak to Cassandra. Duke should be on patrol duty right now, and I’ll have Tim stationed at the batcomputer if an emergency comes up—I should be able to spend some time with you afterwards? How does a movie sound?”

You smiled at your husband, finding it endearing just how determined he was to curry your favor. “It’s a date, hon.”

To your amusement, Bruce was blushing slightly. “I love you.”

“Quit stalling, go apologize to your daughter!”

Bruce chuckled and made his way towards the lab door. “Yes, ma’am.”

(Cassandra accepted Bruce’s apology almost instantly. She missed her dad a lot.)

[nightlytoxicpassion]

Refreshing

Yandere!Neuvillette x FemReader

Content: Crybaby reader. (No shame, I cry at everything.) No spell check or proof read, Dubcon, Noncon, Piss drinking, Forced orgasms, Infantilization, Dacryphilia.

It was a peaceful summer’s morning. The sun barely poked over the horizon, yet the finches still chirped giddily as they ate their fresh caught meal. You’re a beautiful sight to witness everyday, far too gorgeous to startle so early. Neuvillette tried to gently and quietly shuffle out of the silk covers so as not to wake you. Throughout the Justice’s morning routine he’d stare at your unconscious form. Intently listening to any small sound that would escape, Observing each movement as if it was a performance only for him to enjoy. Salivating at the love marks he desperately chewed into you last night. Though watching the tension of your left leg pulling on the hard bolted chain did make him a bit queasy. Neuvillette thought you were finally adjusting. It may have been a bit too early taking off your leash in hindsight. The broken living room lamp and vases are proof of that. The chain was a necessary evil. That’s what he told him when he installed it before your wedding night. You were going to be a rowdy wife. That much Neuvillette knew when he bought you from your family. Despite the dubious past between you two, he still whole heartedly loved and cherished you. No matter your violent temper tantrums or foul bitter words. 

Once the sun had fully greeted the world, Neuvillette decided he’d surprise you with breakfast in bed. Though he ought not to be spoiling you after yesterday's fiasco. He however felt guilty for his treatment of you last night. Neuvillette was normally a gentle lover, yet he is still a man who can be wounded by harsh words. Thinking of you wobbling with soreness because of him. Neuvillette rather focus on making a filling meal instead of the creeping idea that his actions may have been wrong.

When Neuvillette was finished making you both something to eat, he softly called out to you. You had yet to awaken, still curled like a kitten in the impossibly soft sheets. He sighed happily at your cuteness, but it was time to eat. Setting down the trays, he pulled open the curtains fully, lighting beaming through the room. You whined as the sun reached your eyes, pulling the blanket over your head. 

“Now, now time to wake up my dear.” His tone overflowed with love.

You only grumbled in response. Stubbornly staying under the blankets, curling up even further even though the chain prevented your one leg joining the rest of you. Neuvillette sighed before asking if you wanted to be difficult today. He didn’t much like punishing you in violent ways. Instead he’d smother you with affection or orgasms. Perhaps he believed if he loved you hard enough you’d  reciprocate. After last night, you decide it be best to follow Neuvillette’s request. 

Crawling out from your hiding spot, you are greeted with a very happy looking Neuvillette. His face was normally neutrally pensive to everyone, but he donned a sweet smile for you. When he placed the tray onto your lap, he snuck a few forehead kisses before going to sit on his side of the bed to join you. 

Breakfast was a reheated flavorful consomme. You hated how sublime his cooking is, hated his honey filled voice, hated his handsome features. It was frustrating being loved by him. Because he was nearly perfect in how he loved you, giving you his everything then some. Yet he infantilizes you the moment you show any negative emotion. Cooing at you that he’ll make it better, or that exploring the world is far too dangerous for such a sweet girl like you.

You were snapped out you thought when he questioned:

“Why are you crying my love? Is the consomme not to your liking? You can simply say so,’ He says as he reaches to cup your face, wiping away your tears; “I won't be offended.”

You want to scream; “It’s not the fucking soup!” Yet you remain silent. 

Everything was far too complex to explain. How could you articulate that you yearn for him, yet despise what he has done to you? How could you manage to tell him that your body viciously lust for him, yet you're disgusted that he has forced himself on you multiple times in spite of your pleas to stop? The frustration of something so stupid as breakfast is bringing you to cry. Neuvillette moves both his and your food out of the way before pulling into his lap. He holds you almost painfully tight to his chest. Whispering soothing words, anything to make you passive. Yet you can feel him twitching against your ass. You’re still sore from last night, you’re not ready to take him again. Neuvillette slowly stops his sugary words in favor of give=ing you tiny kisses wherever he could reach, rocking himself against you. There’s no way back to a peaceful breakfast. He is going to do whatever he pleases with you.

“Could you not penetrate me please?” You quietly beg; almost uncertain in your request.

 Neuvillette hums, “Whatever you desire my dear, just allow me to indulge myself with your essence…” 

You’re still crying as he disrobes you. He kisses, bites and licks every inch of your skin. Pulling your hands away from your face, kissing your wrist before telling you to not cover yourself. 

“Don’t hide from me darling, I want to savor your reactions, your adorable sounds. You can do that for me, yes?” He goans.

He doesn’t wait for your input, as he refocuses himself on serving you. Neuvillette normally slows himself once he reaches your thighs. He teases you. But to your dismay, he rushes through his arousing performance to shove his face into your cunt. It's so jarring you can help but reach for him. Grabbing fist full of his hair, pushing him away. Neuvillette moans as you touch him, he grabs one of wrist, moving so it's like you're pulling him in. You bite back whimpers and squeaks. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that you’re enjoying this. However, he knows your weak soft, honing in on them. He’s merciless as he attacks your clit with his tongue, suckling on the pearl. Unwillfully you let out a high pitched moan. Oh if you only knew how feral you made him with such pretty sounds. Neuvillette grunts as he eats you out, trying to get more of you. He then pulls back to slip his tongue into you clenching hole, fucking you.

Then you feel something tight, not like reaching that glorious high he so often brought you. No this was uncomfortable, yet not entirely unpleasant. Then it hits you, you really have to pee. 

“Neuvillette stop! Wait please!” You cry as you try wiggling away from his grasp, pushing his head away. 

However he simply gives you a deadly sharp look. He didn’t want you to interrupt his meal so instead of listening he doubled down on his deed. In one hand reaching under him, the other gliding to below your navel. Neuvillette pushed a single finger into your pussy, fingering you meanly. Sucking your clit at the same time. Then pressing down right above your mound.

You weren’t having an orgasm, far from it. Yet your twitching and locking legs nearly made it appear as such. Some part of you was embarrassed for wetting yourself however hopefully this makes your husband think twice when you beg for him to stop. That hope quickly died when he kept lapping at you. The sound of him gulping was sickening. Neuvillette truly had no shame when it came to you. He continued licking and fingering you. Still trying to coax out an orgasm from you. It only took a few more minutes for that wave of euphoria to overcome you. Neuvillette only relented once he was pleased with himself. Normally he’d dreamingly kiss you back to reality but he held off, instead he scooped you out of the soiled bed, walking you to the bathroom. Neuvillette wrapped you up in one of the bath robes before sitting you down on the edge of the obscenely large bath. He then turned the faucet on, placing his hand in to check the temperature. Next he went to the sink. Leaning down and cupping his hand to gather water. Neuvillette rinsed his mouth a few times before turning back to you. He was smiling at your afterglowing self, still tear stricken with puffing eyes. 

His expression is love drunk and cheeky. “Don't be embarrassed my darling,” he kissed, “I found that to be most refreshing.” 

[moonselune]

hiiii I’m such a fan! I was browsing ur page and I saw your requests were open!! I’ve had this idea that I think you could pull off really well (if you want of course) of headcannons with Gale and Wyll and whoever else you want from the main crew. But it’s a bard Tav where Tav is a really free spirited performer, kinda Stevie Nicks-ish if that makes sense? But just how they would react to their partner performing and being so filled with whimsy lol

of course, take your time, and take care of yourself, love ya 💋

aww thank you and I love you too nonnie ! oxox

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The Elfsong Tavern was buzzing with anticipation, the usual chatter fading to a murmur as you stepped onto the small wooden stage. Tonight, the dim, flickering lanterns cast a warm glow around the room, amplifying the earthy wood tones and illuminating the eager faces of patrons crowded around their drinks. You stood under the lights, dressed in layers of flowing scarves, fringed shawls, and beads that caught every glint of candlelight, giving you an otherworldly aura. The intricate braids and delicate trinkets woven through your hair shimmered, and your movements seemed to echo the fluidity of the music you were about to bring to life.

The tavern was filled with your companions, too; Wyll and Astarion had secured a spot near the back, their friendly bickering put on pause as they waited for your performance. Shadowheart leaned casually against the wall, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation, and Karlach was already clapping her hands in encouragement. After all, you were their one shot of paying off the drinking tab they had racked up. But amid the gathered faces, it was Gale who watched you most intently, his gaze unwavering as if committing every detail to memory. You could tell he was more than eager for this; he had heard you sing before, but he’d never seen you perform like this. Tonight, he had the look of someone watching a dream come to life before him.

As you took a deep breath, your gaze met his, and you felt a jolt of warmth, steadying you before the first note escaped your lips. When you started to sing, your voice was soft yet powerful, like smoke rising from a fire, filling every corner of the room. The melody was haunting, weaving tales of distant lands, lost lovers, and ancient magic as if you were spinning a spell in every verse. The music ebbed and flowed, pulling everyone in and wrapping them in a shared reverie. You let your hands drift through the air, each gesture enhancing the magic of your performance, your body moving with an effortless grace that only added to the ethereal atmosphere.

Gale sat close, his eyes wide with wonder, his usual thoughtful expression replaced by one of pure, unfiltered awe. He had known you were talented, but he hadn’t realized the depth of your gift until this moment. It was as though he was seeing the essence of you laid bare, wrapped in a voice that seemed to pull emotions from his soul he didn’t even know he had. His hand rested over his chest as he watched, his breath shallow, and his cheeks flushed as he tried—and failed—to keep a grin off his face.

With each song, the patrons were drawn deeper into the dreamscape you painted, applauding wildly between sets, shouting for more. Coins began piling up in the small pouch you’d left at the stage’s edge, a few admirers even coming forward to drop in gems and trinkets as tokens of their appreciation. When your final song faded, you looked out at the room, allowing yourself a breath of relief and satisfaction as the patrons erupted in applause, whistles, and cheers.

Sweeping down to gather your earnings, you glanced over at Gale, giving him a knowing smile. The coins clinked together in the pouch, heavy and promising, enough to pay off the tab and keep the camp well-supplied for some time.

“So,” you teased, swinging the pouch of coins playfully, “what do you think, Master Wizard? Impressed?” You couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the flush of color that had spread over his cheeks.

But he didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rose from his seat and, before you could say another word, leaned forward and pulled you into a kiss. His hands were gentle but sure as they settled on your waist, his lips warm and soft against yours. The kiss was deep, sweetly lingering, full of every unspoken word of adoration he could convey. You felt him smile slightly against your mouth, his kiss a mix of passion and pride, as though he couldn’t help but show you how much he cherished this moment. When he finally pulled away, there was a brightness in his eyes, a joyful awe that left you a little breathless.

“That was… breathtaking,” he murmured, voice a touch unsteady, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “You were absolutely enchanting. You always are, but tonight… I feel as though I’ve just met you all over again.”

The way he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world, made your cheeks warm, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You might just have to meet me all over again later, then,” you teased, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “For now, I think we’ve got some celebrating to do.”

His laugh was rich and warm as he nodded, reaching out to clasp your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The other patrons were still clapping, some singing bits of the songs you had just performed, filling the tavern with life and mirth. As you looked around, clutching Gale’s hand tightly, you felt a surge of joy and a sense of belonging that was only strengthened when you glanced back at him.

“Perhaps,” Gale said, leaning close with a mischievous grin, “we could arrange a more private encore? Not for gold this time, but… let’s say, for inspiration.”

You chuckled, cheeks still warm, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’d be delighted, Gale,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze over his as you both made your way back through the crowd, the tavern still ringing with laughter and song.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The Elfsong Tavern was packed tonight, each seat filled and standing room claimed by folks eager to catch a glimpse of the rare performance. Word had spread that there was someone different gracing the stage, a figure draped in layers of midnight blue and silver with cascades of lace and ribbon, a glimpse of gold dusting your cheeks and collarbone. A glimmering amulet rested against your collar, catching the dim, amber tavern lights, casting an ethereal glow as you moved gracefully across the small, candle-lit stage.

At the back of the room, Wyll had found a perch along the wall, one hand resting on his hip as he leaned back, eyes fixed on you. He’d heard you sing before, often in quiet moments meant only for him and only with the flickering light of a campfire between you. It had been a comfort, the way your voice brought life to tales of distant places and people, weaving threads of fantasy that had soothed his weary spirit after long days. He’d known your voice was magic, but this was different. Tonight, you were stepping onto a stage that turned every eye in the tavern toward you, and he found himself awash in pride and something deeper, something far harder to name.

When you began to sing, the lively hum of the crowd faded into an awe-struck silence. Your voice rose, weaving tales of wild-hearted love, of spirit unbound by law or fear. Each word seemed spun from silver and mist, filling the room with a longing so palpable that Wyll felt his own heart pull with it. He barely registered the breaths he took; each one was held between your lyrics, his gaze transfixed by the way you moved, as if the tavern itself became a world of your creation, an enchanted space, and everyone present was helplessly pulled into your orbit.

You sang of love lost and found, of adventures taken in far-off lands under strange, foreign skies. The layers of your voice, low and haunting, rose to peaks of passion, before returning to gentle refrains that wrapped around each listener, drawing them into your spell.

Your eyes, half-lidded and glittering, swept the crowd but always returned to Wyll, grounding him even as he felt himself drifting deeper into your enchantment. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, and the realization that he could fall even deeper, love you more wholly, made his heart skip a beat.

As the final note faded, the crowd broke into thunderous applause, cheers rising and the atmosphere charged with a sort of collective reverence. You smiled, a soft, almost private smile, as you offered a bow, looking radiant in the warm light, your cheeks flushed with joy. You slipped off the stage, weaving through the tables until you found yourself standing before him. Your expression shifted to that familiar look, a soft amusement in your eyes as you caught Wyll’s unblinking gaze.

“Well, my gallant hero,” you teased, nudging him playfully, “how much gold did we rake in?”

Wyll blinked, still dazed as he registered your words, his eyes slowly focusing.

“The gold… right, of course, the gold…” He fumbled in his pocket, eyes still locked onto yours as if you’d vanish if he looked away. He was meant to collect gold, to raise some money for the refugees stuck in Rivington. His lips parted, and he tried again. “The gold’s… here. I think…”

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you tilted your head, studying him with a raised eyebrow. “Wyll Ravengard, did I leave you speechless?”

“Speechless?” he said, a bit dazed, before laughing softly, his voice catching. “You left me… spellbound.” He reached for your hand, fingers grazing over your knuckles as he held your gaze, his dark eyes warm and reverent. “I knew you were magic, love. But I didn’t know…” He trailed off, swallowing as he shook his head, his hand squeezing yours. “Didn’t know you could make the world disappear like that.”

Your smile softened, your fingers tightening in his as you took a small step closer. “Just a little music, Wyll.”

“No,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “It’s you.” He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Every word, every note… I swear it was just for me.” You could see him wrestling with his own words, fumbling for how to say what he felt.

Finally, he let out a soft chuckle, his expression slipping into something both tender and slightly bashful as he ran a hand through his hair. “I think I’m a fool, standing here in a love-struck haze when we’ve got a tavern’s worth of coins to count."

“Maybe so,” you murmured, unable to resist a grin as you reached up, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “But it’s quite charming, you know?”

He grinned, the teasing warmth in his expression faltering slightly as he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close. His hand found the small of your back, his other tracing the edge of your jaw as he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours. His voice softened to a whisper, as if sharing a secret only meant for you.

“I don’t ever want to stop loving you like this,” he said, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “You make me feel… everything. As if all the world could vanish, and I’d still have everything I need, right here with you.”

You felt your heart stutter, warmth flooding through you as you leaned into his touch, your own fingers curling around the back of his neck.

“Wyll Ravengard,” you whispered, leaning in until your lips brushed his, “if you keep this up, we may just end up broke—because I’ll only be singing for you.”

His laughter was soft, breathy, and it melted into a sigh as he pressed his lips to yours, the tavern and its patrons fading away until it felt like just the two of you beneath a star-lit sky.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Awww i do love these softies. Hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[berberriescorner]

"Through It All"

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: There aren’t many things that put Rio on edge. Most people see a calm, cool, and collected individual. Keeping a level head is his specialty. What happens when the person he loves most needs him to be strong for both of them? Get a glimpse of what it’s like seeing him hold someone down through thick and thin, in sickness and health. If you know, you know.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND AUTHOR’S NOTE**

Warnings: Angst…like seriously. You’ll understand once you read the author’s note. This fic contains sweet, soft, fluffy Rio. The fic includes some of my crazy humor with a smidge of the character’s inner thoughts. If reading about gynecological procedures makes you uncomfortable, this may not be a fic for you. It doesn’t go into great detail, but it is mentioned and sheds a bit of light. If mentions of the ins and outs of fertility is a soft spot, please read with caution. It isn’t my intention to bring anyone down, but this story is based on parts of my own experiences. Again, the note will explain more.

Author/Personal Note: Okay. Where to start? So, as some of you may know throughout the past two years I’ve been getting cycles of iron infusions. This year, after making several complaints and an ER visit or two. I had an ultrasound performed, which led to me getting surgery months later (the procedure I had done recently). I’ve been spending my days at home recovering, and it’s given me time to reflect. Damn, it’s been a rough couple of years, but I’m so thankful through it all. It’s difficult having a plethora of health issues. This situation put so much added stress on top of it all. As a woman, hearing you have a fibroid. Learning it’s best to get it removed to protect your fertility is scary as hell. You get it done, get sent home, and though you have loved ones taking amazing care of you. It’s still a difficult, challenging process. At times, it’s lonely. No one but you can fully wrap your head around the emotions and feelings the body is going through. It’s pretty wild.

Anywho, sorry y’all. Let me stop rambling and get to the point. We all know how overactive my imagination is. Being stuck in bed, my mind has been wandering. I thought to myself why not take this experience and channel it into a fic. I’m hoping that this will also be a comforting story to anyone who’s been through the same experience. Here is a look at how I envision Rio taking in the experience with his lady. I plan to write at least two more parts for this. Happy reading my lovelies! I wrote this on a whim, in celebration of my birthday, so ignore the grammatical errors my loves. I may come back and do some more editing. Depends on how I’m feeling.

Word Count: 1,800+. 

Inspired By💜:

Random fun fact: Toni Braxton and I have the same birthday😆. Happy Birthday, Queen💓.

Everything was still as a deafening silence fell across the room. It was as if each occupant was afraid to utter a single word. Your mother pretended to distract herself with a Kindle book as your father paced the floor quietly. They’d share a glance each time they checked their watch, smiling at one another in comfort and reassurance. 

Then, together, they directed their attention toward the chair in the far right corner. It was tucked in a tight corner next to a window, giving little relief and comfort to your husband, Rio. He, too was anxious, but no one would ever know it. He was always able to still his facial features. Never one to give his emotions away. The only person who could read him wasn’t in the room. You were on the other side of the building and the reason for your families’ nervousness. No longer able to stand the constant glances and silence, Rio stood from his seat. He released a breath, rubbing his palms against his jeans. Turning to your parents, he stated, “I’m going to grab a quick cup of coffee from the cafeteria. Would you two like something?”

Your mother, a gentle, nurturing soul, responded for both of them.

“No, baby. We’re fine. Don’t worry. I’ll come find you if we receive news.”

Rio ducked away in a vacant spot in the cafeteria, hands folded over top of the steam of the coffee. He searched for peace and solace until a jolting vibration exploded in his jacket pocket. Fumbling for the phone, he answered without looking.

“What they say ma-. Oh, my bad. Wassup? Everything good?” Rio listened patiently before snapping. “You know this is something you could’ve handled yourself, right? I don’t have time for the three stooges bullshit today.”

He instantly felt a slight pang of guilt. Rio realized that the stress and worry of his current situation were influencing his mood. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed. Inhaling, he continued, “My bad bro. She’s been in for three hours, and it’s got me tweaking. Nobody’s giving us any damn answers. It’s a non-invasive procedure, but it’s still considered major surgery. I just need to hear she’s good.”

“It’s all good, boss. I know you’re worried about wifey. She’s a strong woman. Boss lady’s going to be alright. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Call me as soon as you know something,” Mick responded.

“You're right. Thank you for holdin’ shit down.”

He laid his phone on the table, burying his face in his hands. The last few moments he spent with you were on repeat in his mind. Rio returned to the present, hearing the chair opposite him slide backward. His eyes connected with your father’s, and he readied himself for wherever the conversation would go.

It was no secret that the two hadn’t always seen eye to eye. The two men sat for several minutes before your father started speaking.

“I’ll be honest with you, man. You’re not at all what I envisioned for my daughter.”

“You seriously want to have this conversation right now?”

“Now wait, son. Let me finish.”

Hold up. It’s son now? Where is this going? It didn’t even sound disrespectful. It doesn’t sound like he’s trying to play me on some sucka shit. I’ll hear him out.

Rio nodded his head, giving your father the floor.

“I may not know all you do for a living, son, but I know you’ve managed to make a comfortable and safe life for my baby girl. When it comes down to it, that’s what I’ve always wanted for her. It took me some time to come to terms with it, but I know, without a doubt, that you’re doing everything in your power to make her feel protected and loved. Let me just say what I’m getting at,” he chuckled. “You’re good at hiding it, son, but I know you’re worried. Hell, so are we, but that’s alright.”

Rio’s head dropped, shoulders slumping. He took the opportunity to be vulnerable finally. Your father’s acceptance allowed him the space to do so. He felt a comforting grip land on his shoulder. Your father finished, “Baby girl is going to be alright, son. With all your love and support, she’ll be back on her feet soon. Now, you take a few more moments to yourself. Don’t be surprised when her momma wraps you up in a big hug when you head back. She’s worried about her favorite son-in-law.”

Rio chuckled, “I’m her only son-in-law, sir.”

“Even better. You ain’t gotta share. That sweet woman sure knows how to smother people in love.”

“You’re daughter is the same way. It’s one of the many things I love about her.”

“Which is why you understand my reasons for being so guarded. That’s my baby girl. Enough with that ‘sir’ shit too. Call me pops. My son may not like that, but I get a kick out of irritating him anyway. He’s overprotective of his sister.”

“Y’all gon’ try to take me out if I ever mess up, huh?”

“What I look like snitching on myself? Let’s not ever get to that bridge, son.”

The two men shared a laugh, but everything turned serious when they saw your mom power walking towards them. Rio's heart began thudding in his chest.

“Ma, what’s wrong? Did-.”

“Relax, sugar,” she cooed, rubbing a hand against both men’s arms. “The nurse said the doctor should be ready to talk to us in about fifteen minutes. Let’s head back to the waiting room.”

Fifteen minutes came and went. Your mother couldn’t help but crack a smile at both men. They both started fussing about how long the surgeon was taking. She felt sorry for the man once he approached them. The doctor, attempting to apologize, was cut off by an impatient Rio.

“You good, doc. We understand these things take time, but excuse us for being anxious. We were under the impression this would be about an hour-long procedure. How’s my wife?”

The surgeon explained himself. “That’s what we anticipated, but the process took longer. Your wife’s last ultrasound a few months back showed a fibroid the size of a plum. Sadly, it grew to the size of an orange, which would explain why things grew more difficult during her last few cycles. However, you’ll be happy to know that we managed to do it laparoscopically, and everything looks great. She’s being taken to recovery now, but we’ve decided to keep her overnight.”

All three of your family members asked, “Why is that,” in unison.

“We just want to keep an eye on her for the next twenty-four hours. Given gas was used to see things more clearly, we’d like to monitor her. We’ll need to see that she gets up and walks to get things flowing. I just want to be sure she gets it moving out of her system. Also, since she’s anemic, we just want to be extra careful. I promise everything went well, and she should be ready to go in the morning.”

Each family member felt at ease. The trio waited for an invitation to your recovery room. Though he wanted to be the first person you saw when you woke up, Rio encouraged your parents to go first. The two visitors' only rule irritated them all.

Your eyes fluttered open, and your parents laughed at the slurred responses given to your nurse. Your parents took turns kissing your forehead, expressing encouraging words. Your father, now at ease, left the room in search of Rio.

“You might want to hurry back there. She’s still a bit loopy. Baby girl has been asking the nurse, where my husband? You got my baby acting ratchet in this hospital,” he joked.

“Aye, she was like that when I met her,” he laughed, walking towards recovery.

Rio slid behind the curtain, laying eyes on the most precious sight. You were in bed, laid back, eyes closed, singing off-key as your mother held your hand, laughing. The nurse stepped beside him, giving a small giggle.

“She’s been looking for you. Ma’am, the man of the hour is here.”

Your eyes popped open as you halted the song. “My husbannnd! Hey baeee,” you winced, given the pain and having a hoarse voice.

“Mama, you back here wildin’ ain’t you? How’s our little patient doing, ma,” he directed toward your mom.

“Crazy as ever. This girl opened her eyes, looked at me, and called herself whispering. Loud as ever, she asked me if she still had a uterus. Her daddy would’ve turned red if he were capable.”

They both shared a laugh as you did your best to shrug shoulders. Wanting to give you two privacy, your mom went to sit in the waiting room. Rio turned to you, holding your hand. His lips brushed across your knuckles, and he shivered at how cold they were. Wrapping his hand around yours, he tried warming the digits.

“My momma ain’t answer my question though,” you mumbled, eyes closed.

Rio smiled, “What’s that now, mama?”

“My uterus. Sis still in there, right?”

“Yes, darlin’. What makes you think it’s not?”

“I signed them papers, man. In the event of a ‘mergency, they were going to take shawty,” you sassed, words still slurring.

Rio did his best to hold back a cackle. Clearing his throat, he replied, “Mama, you straight. Everything went according to plan. There was no emergency. The fibroid is out. It was bigger than expected. That’s why it feels like you were out for a while.”

“Aight bet. So when we making babies,” you asked, wincing again.

“First off, sit still, mama. Your body is pretty sore right now.”

“Baby, I’m drugged up! I don’t feel nothin’.”

“Second. You’ll be recovering for four to six weeks. You’re not going to be in any type of mood for all that. I believe the surgeon said no sex for two to three weeks. No babies for at least six months, darlin’. They just sliced your uterus open and stitched it back together, mama,” he explained, running his thumb across your lip.

He laughed at the pout etched on your face. Rio caressed the side of your face, kissing you gently. “On some real shit. I was worried out my mind over you, mama. I’m so glad you’re good. You’re my world. The clock kept ticking, and I was about to lose it.”

Your eyes connected with his, “I’m right here, papa. I’m good. We gonna be good. No matter what,” you whispered. Even through the drugs and drowsiness, you could feel his angst. Rio could read between the lines. He knew what you were trying to communicate. It had been on both your minds heavily. Your eyes connected with his. Rio saw the unshed tears you were holding back, and he swallowed hard, nodding his head in agreement. No matter where this path led, Rio knew, in his heart, that he loved you with everything in him.

Baby or not, we’ll still feel fulfilled and happy. My life’s purpose is to love and give you the world.

This piece was both personal and therapeutic for me to write. I truly hope you all enjoyed it. Please be sure to comment and reblog, it's appreciated. Now I'm about to go eat some birthday cake and read some amazing fan fiction😆.

Divider credit💜 : @firefly-graphics

tagging💜 : @4everbrookemarie @darqchilddaydreamz @astoldbychae @sunshine-flower

@nightlywords7 @starrynite7114 @amorestevens @fineanddandy

@rio-reid-whoreee @that-one-anxious-mango @novaniskye

@alertyoulikeitsamber @1andonlytashae @lovedlover @blkbutterfly816 @banana123pudding

[liviawildrose]

𝐞𝐠𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞

hey loves, let’s talk about one of my favorite energy-cleansing rituals: egg cleansing. it’s a practice rooted in ancient traditions (think mexican curanderismo, filipino spiritual beliefs, and other cultures) and is all about removing negative energy, bad vibes, or even spiritual blockages. i’m obsessed with how simple, yet powerful it is. if you’re feeling drained, stuck, or like something just isn’t right, this might be exactly what you need.

here’s a step-by-step guide to help you try it out:

ingredients

• 1 fresh egg (organic if possible—keep that energy pure!)

• a glass of water, salt, (chilly flakes and black salt)

how to perform an egg cleansing

1. set your intention:

• before starting, center yourself. light a candle, burn some incense, or say a quick prayer/affirmation like:

“i release all negativity and invite peace and clarity into my life.”

2. prepare the egg:

• rub some salt on the egg (massage the egg with salt) hold the egg in your hands and infuse it with your intention. visualize it absorbing all the bad vibes, negativity, and heavy energy that’s been lingering

3. cleanse your aura:

• starting at the crown of your head, gently roll the egg over your body. move downward head, neck, shoulders, chest, arms, stomach, legs, and finally your feet. don’t forget your back and sides if possible.

• as you do this, visualize the egg soaking up all the negativity. you can say something like:

“this egg absorbs all that does not serve me.” “this egg is absorbing all the negative energy” “i can finally start on a clean slate now”

4. crack the egg into water:

• once you’re done, carefully crack the egg into a glass of water (add some salt too in the water). be gentle; you don’t want to break the yolk right away.

• look at the egg and water for any patterns, bubbles, or shapes. these can symbolize the energy it picked up:

bubbles or spikes: negativity or tension.

cloudy whites: emotional heaviness.

cloudy water: signifies confusion, stress, or emotional overwhelm.

blood spots in the yolk: can indicate psychic attacks, curses, or unresolved trauma.

multiple bubbles in the yolk: represents people or situations contributing to your stress.

floating yolk or egg white: suggests unresolved emotions or health concerns.

a clear yolk and water: you’re in the clear, babe!

5. dispose of it properly:

• pour the chilly flakes and black salt mixture in it and flush it down the toilet or bury it far from your home. never keep the egg it’s carried away the energy you want to be free from.

pro tips for the best results

• perform this ritual during the waxing moon or full moon for heightened power.

• try doing this while in showers (naked) i did it like that

why it works/ why i did it

it’s not just about the egg. the act of intentionally focusing on your energy, visualizing negativity leaving your body, and creating sacred time for yourself is powerful af. combine that with the natural spiritual conductivity of an egg, and you’ve got a low-key yet magical ritual.

if you’ve ever tried this or plan to, let me know your experience! spiritual hygiene is just as important as physical hygiene, and rituals like this remind us to check in with ourselves.

so, yesterday something huge happened in the cosmos—pluto shifted into aquarius. if you know anything about astrology, you know this is massive energy. like, i felt it immediately. this shift brought this overwhelming urge to reinvent myself, release the old, and just become. but before stepping into this new chapter, i knew i had to cleanse myself energetically, spiritually, emotionally. i needed to clear all the stuck energy weighing me down. that’s why today, i pulled out one of my favorite rituals: the egg cleanse. it felt symbolic, like cracking open a whole new version of me. with Pluto entering Aquarius, this is the time to embrace transformation, growth, and that next-level glow up.

if you want to join me on this journey of becoming a higher self. please comment, like, reblog, and follow let's embrace the glow of together.

[irregularcollapse]

Hiiii just wanted to pop in and say I watched Masters of the Air and I really enjoyed it! Wouldn’t have known about it/known to look for it were it not for you and I enjoyed spotting all the moments I remembered seeing you reblog gifs of as I watched it ❤️ you’ve successfully carried on the grand tumblr tradition of influencing people to watch a show with gif sets! I can’t decide yet if I want to read any fic for it or not but if I do decide to I’ll definitely start with yours 👍🏼👍🏼

This is SO exciting to me hooray! I've managed to trick a few people into watching MOTA because I knew they'd like it, and it feels like an achievement every time. There's a lot I really like about it as a show, but especially the core performances, and John and Gale as characters. Personally, it resonated with me more than other war shows I've tried to watch, which is just a matter of individual taste really. I'm as surprised as anyone to find myself writing fic about military men 🤪🤪🤪

No pressure to read fic at all (though it's very nice that you're considering reading mine waowww ty ty) but this message was a perfect reminder for me to do something that I keep forgetting to do because my brain is a sieve, which is to shout-out a few writers whose stuff I have been enjoying recently, who I haven't personally seen recc'd a whole lot and so may fly under the radar (not a pilot pun, I swear) if you go looking for other fics. Alphabetised!

@blixabargelds / hart who is not only a brave writer, but one who writes with raw vulnerability that makes each work a visceral, multi-sensory experience, and truly approaches writing with a purpose and intent which radiates off the page -- as do strength of concept and the truthful, emotional weight that sits behind everything Frankie writes

@constanthaunt / justfine whose writing has such a beautiful cadence and flow to it, and who has such a rich understanding of not only how to use these particular characters but of how people work, and produces writing with real emotional nuance and depth

@feyd-meowtha / feyd_meowtha whose writing has a heightened, shiny quality to it that I really want to spend more time delving into. There's a real sense of fun and playfulness in what I've read of their work, and a clear enjoyment of the texture of words

@pleasuretrade / PleasureTrade has big things on the way I'm sure, because the snippets I've read have a really deft command of interaction and dynamic -- such lovely character interplay that I can't wait for more of, and dialogue which settles so organically and authentically

@reallylilyreally / ReallyLilyReally whose writing has a warmth and affection for character in it that is lovely to read, and really demonstrates how observation and action are the best tools for constructing characterisation. I've found a real "slice of life" quality in what I've read of their work which is so clever and well-executed, and I'm so keen to read more

@shipstorms / ipsilateral writes with a precision of word choice that I appreciate so deeply, and everything in each sentence feels so well-placed, and in their work as a whole there's such excellent use of pacing -- every paragraph serves a purpose

@soliloquy-dawn / soliloquy_dawn is so lyrical and lovely, with a richness of style that poses a confident challenge to the misconception that all detailed writing is "purple prose" (simply not true!); to me, Dawn's writing shows that often more is more and immersion is achieved best through a luscious focus on detail

@weimarweekly / VoluptuousPanic is delivering a masterclass on character voice with Looking for Eight, with writing that balances interiority, experience, and visualisation in such a delightful way. There's specificity in vernacular which is so competent and impressive, and the flow from a sentence > paragraph > chapter level carries you along in such a natural, gorgeous way

For a relatively small fandom, the writing side is quite prolific! There's a lot getting written all the time and I know I find it hard to keep up (and am sure a lot of people do). This list is hardly a dent in what I've enjoyed and who I've read! But it's stuff that's dug into my brain in the best way.

[fourthavecafe]

sukuna discovering you’re ticklish

Sukuna had always found humans amusing in their fragility, their emotions, their weakness. But you? You were something else entirely. You were small, fragile and yet somehow, he never broke you despite the power he held. He had always used you like a toy, tossing you around with little care but you never seemed to mind. You'd stick by his side regardless, laughing or smiling even when he was at his coldest.

Tonight, however, Sukuna stumbled upon something entirely new.

It started innocently enough. His large, clawed hand rested on your stomach, half out of boredom, half because he enjoyed the way you tensed under his touch. You had always been so reactive-wide-eyed and flustered by his every move. He thought it was adorable in a way he didn't want to admit.

But then something strange happened. His fingers pressed down a bit harder, squeezing the soft flesh of your tummy and you let out a sound he hadn't heard from you before.

A laugh.

At first, Sukuna paused, confused. His crimson eyes narrowed, staring down at you like you had just performed some sort of magic trick. His grip hadn't been hard, certainly not enough to hurt you but the way you had burst into laughter-completely involuntary-caught him off guard.

"What was that?" His voice was cold, but there was a hint of curiosity there, a rare emotion for him. He squeezed again, his fingers digging into your side experimentally.

This time, you squirmed, another burst of laughter escaping you, your body shaking as you tried to push his hand away. "S-Sukuna! Stop! That tickles!"

“Tickles?” Sukuna tilted his head, watching you with a mixture of confusion and fascination.

Tickling. It was a concept entirely foreign to him but the way your body reacted was... intriguing. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he pressed down again, this time on purpose.

You erupted into laughter again, your body jerking and twisting under his hand. "p-Please! S-Stop!"

But Sukuna didn't stop. If anything, his interest grew.

His other hand came down, prodding your side with more intent, his long fingers exploring your skin with an almost clinical precision. It was as though you had suddenly become an object of study, a toy for him to play with.

"What's the matter? Can't handle this?" he asked, his voice cold and taunting. He continued to tickle you without a shred of empathy, completely unfazed by your desperate giggles and pleas. Your body was thrashing now, twisting and curling in an attempt to escape his unrelenting hands.

Your face turned red, laughter pouring from you uncontrollably as Sukuna's fingers roamed over your ribs, down to your waist and back to your stomach. He poked, squeezed and pressed all while watching your reaction with an almost scientific interest.

"Why are you laughing? I'm not doing anything funny" he said, genuinely confused but thoroughly entertained. For him, this was a new discovery-something he had never experienced before. The fact that simply touching you in certain spots could result in such a dramatic reaction fascinated him.

Your words were barely coherent between your laughter. "Sukuna! I-I can't-stop! | can't breathe!"

But Sukuna was unrelenting, pushing you further. He had no idea why your body was becoming limp, why your strength was draining away with every burst of laughter, but it intrigued him. You weren't resisting anymore, only trying to squirm away weakly, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you laughed uncontrollably.

"You're so weak" he said, his voice cold as he gave your side one last squeeze.

"Humans are ridiculous." He was more amused by how helpless you were, confused that something so simple could reduce you to a writhing, laughing mess beneath him.

Finally, Sukuna stopped, his hands withdrawing from your body as he looked down at you. You were panting, your face flushed and your body completely spent. It was clear you were utterly exhausted from the tickling, your limbs limp, and your breath coming in shallow bursts.

Sukuna's eyes lingered on you for a moment, his expression unreadable. He still didn't fully understand why humans reacted this way, why something as insignificant as his hands on your skin could cause such a reaction. But he didn't hate it.

He leaned down, his face close to yours as he studied your expression. "You're still alive, aren't you?" he teased, though his voice lacked the usual venom. He had seen you in so many different states-happy, scared, shy—but this? This was something new.

You nodded weakly, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of laughter. "Y-Yeah." you managed to gasp out, though you were still catching your breath.

Sukuna's lips curled into a smirk, his fingers twitching like he was tempted to tickle you again. "Pathetic. But amusing." He straightened up, looking down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and mild curiosity. "I'll have to experiment with this... tickling thing more."

And with that, he left you lying there, still recovering, completely at his mercy, while he walked away, still trying to comprehend the strange concept of human ticklishness.

[retropopcult]

"Thirteen" is a song by American rock band Big Star.  Rolling Stone describes it "one of rock's most beautiful celebrations of adolescence", and rated it #396 on their list of the 500 greatest songs of all time. It was written by Alex Chilton and Chris Bell.

The name of the album was #1 Record, which was bitterly ironic, as it ended up selling under 10,000 copies upon its initial release in 1972 (the name of the band also proved to be an unfortunate misnomer, because outside of critics and other musicians, they remained virtually anonymous during their brief time together).

Bell and Chilton wanted to emulate the Lennon/McCartney formula as much as they could, so they shared credit on many of their songs even though there was in fact little writing collaboration between the two. “Thirteen" was in fact entirely Chilton’s creation, and he also delivers the aching vocal that vacillates between hope and heartache and that many cover versions have tried to emulate but never quite matched.

The yearning acoustic ballad focuses on an age that is somewhat underrepresented in pop and rock music. Chilton found that bittersweet spot when innocence still lingers but more complicated emotions start to work their way into the picture.

Over tender guitars, he begins with a question that thirteen-year-old boys have been asking thirteen-year-old girls for generations: “Won’t you let me walk you home from school?” “Won’t you let me meet you at the pool?” he follows, again treading lightly so as not to scare her away. He eventually suggests a date at the dance on Friday; “And I’ll take you,” Chilton delicately sings, as if anything more forceful than a gentle plea will destroy his chances.

In the second verse, the narrator for the first time reveals an obstacle blocking the path to this girl for whom he is clearly falling hard: “Won’t you tell your Dad get off my back?” he asks her. His response to the doubting father is brilliant: “Tell him what we said about ‘Paint It Black.’” By drawing a parallel between his own musical tastes and that of the father, he’s hoping to show that he’ s not just some punk kid with bad intentions.

The final verse finds him struggling as she remains seemingly unknowable (“Won’t you tell me what you’re thinking of?”) resulting in his sweet but awkward follow up (“Would you be an outlaw for my love?”) His final lines redeem him in terms of his integrity and honor, even as they suggest that he’ s losing his opportunity with her in the process: “If it’ s no then I can go/ I won’ t make you.” The final “Ooo-hoo” that Chilton utters is a real killer, tinged as it is with the sting of implied refusal.

Over the decades there have been some fine cover versions of this classic, with brilliant and diverse artists like Garbage, Wilco, and Elliott Smith taking their turns, among many others. But they’d likely all agree they were playing for second behind Chilton’s one-of-a-kind, haunting performance. “Thirteen” is as good as it gets for those looking to relive that moment when life is still rife with possibilities but love seems stubbornly impossible.

Music critic Simon Robinson rates it as Big Star's best song and one of the most important of 1972, praising the "catchy melody and jangly guitars that perfectly capture the carefree and optimistic spirit of youth" and the "simple yet poignant" lyrics that evoke the "experience of teenage romance and heartbreak."

[cruise-in-your-glow-bus]

Actual Skeletá Album Thoughts

In no specific order:

I love and miss the concept album storytelling specifically from Prequelle. I think that was executed so beautifully and I would love to see Ghost do another story-style concept album. Impera does have a cyclical theme to it but it loses the connection to the 'endless repeating cycle of empires' in a couple of the middle songs, like Hunter's Moon, so I'm really specifically talking about the way Prequelle does it. I hope in a future album that's something TF wants to do again!

The idea of visiting specific emotional states, common feelings, just cutting deeper lands for me, for the most part.

The weakest song on the album FOR ME is Guiding Lights, which is nuts because it has some beautifully triumphant moments to it, and I love the theme of it, it just feels like it was written for something else (which it was) and I don't connect to it as much as I do the others.

This however could change; I revisit prior albums all the time and find new tidbits to love!

The guiding lights / they lead you on = its both about being led into something dark and dangerous even if it looks pretty AND ALSO being "led on" like someone teasing and tempting you without an intention of following through!!

I can't honestly review Lachryma or Satanized within the context of the album 'story' yet because they are so fixed as singles in my brain, but I still really enjoy them.

The transition across the first three tracks is really nicely done for me; they flow well together.

Peacefields has this 'hold my hand as we walk through the unnaturally still battlefield as the dawn breaks' energy to me. It almost feels like two children taking care of each other, being brave as they head off to an unknown place. It's a song for when the cycle of Impera has finally broken, and it's moving into this glorious uncertainty and possibility. I bet this song rips absolute ass live. It's made for live performance.

Even though Guiding Lights isn't the top spot for me, the choral work throughout and especially the vocal runs TF does near the end are BEAUTIFUL. He's showcasing more versatility and flexibility with his voice and I LOVE that.

Into De Profundis Borealis, that's a great transition from Guiding Lights that makes me think of those two kids walking into this snowstorm, rushing by them, trudging forward. The message for me is 'in order to move into a new way of living, you need to honestly reflect on your past actions and learn from them or you are going to keep repeating the cycle.'

De Profundis Borealis feels like a fully-realized Subvision song in the best possible way, especially in the chorus.

This song has such a long-feeling intro and a long-feeling outro and I feel like it could have been either longer on both ends to really build into the prog roots its pulling from OR split into song with lyrics and then instrumental track, but that's a very small nitpick. I dig this song. It's not the standout on the album for me, but I dig it.

Cenotaph.

Oh Cenotaph, my beloved.

Listen, I'm some songs resonate with you when you're older or when you've experienced loss or when you've had death around you in a significant way, and I don't mean that in an asshole way, it's just the truth. Different life experiences mean we connect with the themes and messages in songs very differently, and that is okay.

Cenotaph for me might just be the strongest song on the album. It's bouncy, hopeful, loving, it tells a story, it paints a picture, it FEELS like having that loved one beside you. I sobbed at this song and none of you are allowed to judge me for it.

You don't stop loving someone just because they are gone. You can't NOT love them! They are with you so long as you keep them with you in your memories.

The vocal work on this one is triumphant, beautiful, strong as hell, the layering of the vocals, the little happy shout, it feels like remembering dancing to a record with someone on a warm summer night.

I am physically incapable of hearing "At the heart of the city right there where it glows and explodes into colors devour with me" and NOT picturing Tobias dancing under the confetti canons during Dance Macabre and imagining how much his big brother would be there cheering him on!!! Someone sedate me!!!!

"Right here where it feels I am actually living" shut up don't look at me don't talk to me

Missilia Amori - what a fun song to be an angry slut to. There's a real predatory anger to this, the mix of desperation 'please love me again, but if you can't, then fuck you' I mean this song is very silly but also very raw.

I've experienced my own hurts in relationships before, I've never really been in specifically this situation, because when I check out I go out cold, I just cut off, but overall the vibe here is great, the song is fun, no notes.

Marks of the Evil One is FUN. Its just FUCKING FUN. I really dig this one a LOT. I like how it just jumps right in to the song (love a long intro too but I don't want every song to have a long intro you feel me) Yes some of the lyrics are cheesy but I think that's the point? To me its about a fearmongering person looking here and there for "evidence" of the end times, "proof" of what's wrong with leaders or whatever, but as always the real evil is in all of us in that we're all capable of causing harm without needing any marks or horses.

The reference to revelation in this, the "fall on us and hide us" is a reference to shielding the speakers from god's wrath, not the devil's, which is always a fun twist. So who is the evil one here, really? People who claim to be righteous agents of god's wrath but cause tribulation?

I wish Umbra's intro track hadn't been used so much in promo OR that Umbra also started right at the guitar bit, because I love the synths but to me they don't 100% fit yet?

As a nosferatu fucker I respect the message of Umbra, I think it's some good pelvis-breaking, cheek-clapping fuckery.

I think Tobias' voice is mixed to be hidden a bit in the lower ranges and it should be pulled forward and easier to hear?

It's about fucking in a church!!!! I love desecrating things. Put your love in me baby, do it while god watches.

I bet this duel absolutely makes clits throb live

The ending just kind of stops and I'm like laying there freshly fucked like buddy can you at least get me a towel??

Excelsis right after Umbra is like... buddy I'm gonna need a minute here, hold on, let me get my inhaler okay??

That's not a criticism, but it does emotional whiplash quite severely between the two. If I had one spot to put an instrumental on this album it would be here. Just a short acoustic guitar beat like the end of Helvetesfönster. Let us clean up the cum, Tobias. Please. For Satan.

Excelsis is... a lot. it's very moving. It's beautifully sung, raw and vulnerable, and it's SO goddamn proggy I love it. But I will have to be in the mood for this one. I need to be at the right part of my cycle for this song. I can't be listening to this one when I'm ovulating you feel me?

"There is still time to love once again" you promise?

I almost feel like this song as an album closer isn't entirely about death, although it very clearly is about death and being at peace as much as we can about the inevitable end we're all sailing towards, but this is also possibly about Tobias speaking to the fans specifically and saying "I won't be doing this forever, and that's okay."

I don't think that means The End of Ghost, because I don't think he can give up this dream, it's just that maybe, once the dream arrives, and you live in the dream for a while, your musical goals expand, you want to do different things, you want to collaborate with different people. It's entirely possible that he'll do an EP of covers after this, one or two more originals, and then take a break for a while and do other shit. Which, look, I don't even like to say because gimmie gimmie gimmie as the swedes say.

But it feels like whatever he went through doing the album and the tour and the movie all at once, it burnt him the fuck out, and he had to do whatever he needed to do to get back into being a human and a father and a husband, and that's fucking brilliant, we love healing and self-care and mental health.

Just as Impera wraps around with the same musical theme, I really am struck by how beautifully the final lines wrap around to the opener.

This is the end of the avenue

I am afraid of eternity, too

I am not at all surprised that this album is divisive. Tobias has been so clear that he doesn't go back and retread old ground just for the sake of it, though. If you want Opus, listen to Opus. If you want Meliora, listen to Meliora. I love those albums, and i get it, after a delicious fucking meal you want another delicious fucking meal. But maybe that's the message here: You are who you are in this moment, right here right now, and you won't ever be here again. You can be sad about it, miss it, yell about it, try reaching for it, get stuck wanting it, and all of those things distract you from the very real progression of time. It marches on. It moves forward. And maybe it's our jobs as human beings to try as best as we can to accept that sobering, but unifying fact.

Just as we spend our early years wanting to move ahead, we spend our later years looking back. But we can only ever live RIGHT NOW. We can only ever be RIGHT THE FUCK HERE. I think its no coincidence that he wrote a lot of these during the movie production. I am imagining Copia sitting there on the couch teary-eyed listening to the speech about the house that's been lived in before, composing 'everybody leaves one day / i know it hurts'

Anyway, those are my thoughts. i could keep going. I like this album a lot. It doesn't unseat my favorites, but they're each excellent in their own way and in their own place and time and mood for me. This is a very vulnerable, open, honest album and it's not for everyone. And that is perfectly okay.

[omi-papus]

Now. Im not that hardcore with the toxic yuri so I would like to think Nala and Argus would become genuen, not normal, but genuen eventually. But if you ask me who catches feelings first I have no idea. Im tempted to say Nala because shes the one who dosent have a whole other person on her mind, and I can see her becoming posesive of Argus very quickly. But I also feel like Argus is a lot more naturally good natured, so she would develop a soft spot for Nala much faster.

Like theres very good posibilities for both.

Argus (in my head) was never one for casual sex, at least not multiple times with the same person. So I think it just wouldnt come naturally to her to not have some kind of affection for someone shes sleeping with. She gets to know Nalas quirks pretty well and comes to learn that shes just generally a little imature, and just needs to be allowed to learn that the world dosent revolve around her at her own pace. She finds that its most efective to simply set bounderies for herself and not give Nala any sort of leacture or boss her around, and she will learn and adapt quickly if a bit indignantly. And Argus learns that shes not actually that hard to get along with if you dont take her complaining too seriously, and she learns to tell what is a petty tantrum and what is genuenly upsetting to her. Shes surprised by the seeming contradictions of Nalas being, how she can be childishly petty but also deeply aware of the cruelty of the world, even more so than Argus herself, but instead of that knowledge making her jaded and hopeless it makes her angry, she never lets herself fall into nihilism, or accepts that thats just how the world is. Shes a romantic but never a hopeless one. And thats something that Argus as much as she hates it finds quite atractive. Because over time Argus finds that she likes that she complains, that shes opinionated, that she puts up a fight. Nala may act like a princess but shes no damsel. And what at first seemed to be emotional volatility, becomes simply efective comunication. Nala knows what she wants and shell let everybody know it. Argus is good at following instructions and finds it quite enjoyable to not have to do major detective work to figure out what makes her happy.

Nala is very much learning to navegate her sexuality on her own terms. Shes deeply embarrassed by it but finds that Argus’s rude careless demeanor actually makes it easier to be herself. Argus isnt someone shes trying to impress, or keep a good profile with. Shes just Argus. And Nalas never had someone like that before. Someone who has no power over her but still keeps her around. She knows neither of them have the deepest respect for eachother and that more than creating tension makes them more relaxed around eachother. Nala dosent really feel judged even when she should because their relationship is so casual that it dosent matter if they think the other is mean or bitchy or crazy. Nala as much as she tries not to, finds that deeply comforting. Argus has no real expectations of her, not even in sex. Nala never has to put up any sort of front or performance with her. Argus has no intention to fix her, she dosent care to. And Nala finds that shes compelled to give some of that casual security back to Argus. When she finds her feeling guilt or shame over playing rough or insulting her in bed, Nala makes it clear that she dosent care. That she dosent need Argus to be gentle or reverent because she knows thats not who Argus is. It takes a long time for it to register as what it is but Nalas trusts her, not in the same way she trusts Vertin, but in a more personal way. Trusts her with a part of herself she dosent want anyone else ever looking at, because they will twist it and ogle it and use it to hurt her. For the first time her sexuality belongs to her alone and shes decided to let Argus be a part of it, because something tells her its safe. That Argus wont use it to coerce her or run around and tell everyone. That dispite all the dirty insults she dosent actually think shes a toy. And Nala finds herself hoping that Argus trusts her too.

Like I cant imagine a straight forward “Oh Im in love with her” moment for either of them. But I do see them going like “Hey thats my bitch”

[mysteria157]

Chapter 13

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~14.4k

CW: profanity, minor character death, angst, coping with grief

Summary: You and Nanami navigate through grief.

Notes: This is angst heavy and while I was so sad writing it, it’s my favorite chapter in terms of emotion. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <;3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

“Do you purposely style your hair that way?”

The corner of his eye twitched, irritation flaring in his gut from the source of the voice. He had tried all day just to get a semblance of peace.

Gojo followed him around most of the morning, chattering about something he had barely listened to. Geto had followed him, silent as usual but his presence alone only encouraging his best friend. Lunch was the only time he could find a secluded spot and just be alone.

The small oak tree next to the track field was easily overlooked; no one ever ventured that far unless they were there to exercise and even then it was quiet and tranquil. He thought he was safe.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but I am pretty curious.”

He sighed slowly, shoulders sagging in resignation as he closed his book without making a new marker. There was no use in ignoring him, he had been followed by intrusive people all day and every day since high school began. If he could tolerate Gojo and his loud and smothering personality and still remain sane, he could tolerate anyone.

“Are you ignoring me? I won’t go away.”

Oh, how he wished the opposite.

The source of the voice was staring at him cheerily, brown hair dangling in the air and slightly comically large eyes twinkled in his direction, his entire face upside down as he hung from a low branch of the strong tree. An upside down eyebrow quirked in his direction, large mouth flashing at him as the source swayed slightly.

“The style seems intentional, but I’ve never seen a lot of people wear it that way.”

“Is there a reason why you care so much?”

A shrug, hanging arms pulling to accommodate the movement that would normally be performed rightside up.

“Are you sad?”

He folded his arms across his chest, eyes impassive and blank, a dark blonde eyebrow twitching as his irritation flared to life once more. He hated vague questions that left the answers open to interpretation. And while he appreciated the directness of the question, it was still invasive and unnecessary.

“Is there a reason why you have chosen to bother me? I don’t even know you.”

“I don’t know you either.”

He blinked at him in surprise, annoyance now joining the party and festering with his irritation, swirling together to create what would surely be a headache if he didn’t fix the situation quickly.

“I’m leaving.”

He made to get up, grabbing his book and throwing his bag over his shoulder. The man fumbled, his movements struggling from his haphazard form, arms flailing and face turning more red from the rush of blood to his skull.

“Okay I’m sorry! But its like you make yourself look broody on purpose! I had to know.”

He threw the man an exasperated look, the last fibers of his patience dissolving into the wind that had picked up around them both.

“It is not on purpose. It’s how I like to style my hair. Furthermore, I really do not have to explain anything to you.”

The man was quiet, large eyes flashing with guilt and flooding his face quickly. The sight was something he had seen on others frequently, but right now on his face, it felt foreign. Wrong. The guilt that had colored his features gave way to mirth, large eyes twinkling at him as he smirked.

“But you still did now, didn’t you?”

And just like that, he was done entertaining. He stood up, snatching his book from the grass and making for a start to the cafeteria. Maybe he could find an empty classroom to retreat to with what remained of his lunch break.

He ignored the yells of apology from the man behind him, closed his ears to the heavy groan as the man fell from the tree and plopped onto the dry grass, and kept his eyes forward even as the man jogged up to him, showing in his peripheral as he fell into step with him. The man didn’t speak for a while, the sound of grass and sticks snapping beneath their feet, the gentle hum of the wind around them sifting through the thin fabric of their clothes, the growing volume of chatter as they drew closer to the school cafeteria.

“I’m Haibara by the way.”

“That’s funny, I don’t recall asking for your name at all.”

He expected choked protests and loud shouts of playful indignation from his statement. It’s what always happened when he spoke to Gojo and sometimes even Shoko after they had pulled him too thin. They never gave up and always made it clear that his statements caught them off guard and only served as fuel to keep going, keep prodding, keep picking until he was red faced and teetering with frustration and annoyance. 

But Haibara remained silent, prompting him to look over. His large eyes were closed, hands shoved into the pockets of his black jacket, brown hair billowing from the wind and face turned up toward the sky as he soaked in the patchy sunlight from such a cloudy day. The relaxed smile on his face was hard to miss. Haibara looked like he was content to go about his day even if this interaction didn’t go well. Even if he never got his name, he would probably walk into the cafeteria with a smile on his face, sit next to his friends, and carry on about his day knowing he at least met someone new.

He didn’t understand it. 

“I’m Nanami.”

Haibara’s eyes popped open, his mouth dropping into a shocked ‘o’ as he realized he had struck paydirt. He looked over at Nanami, his already joyful face breaking as he smiled brightly in his direction.

“Oh ho ho we break the ice at last. Ooo! How about Nanamin? It really rolls off the tongue.”

“I will slap you.”

 ***

It was easy to get up and go to work every morning. It was easy to put on a pair of slacks and a button up, throw on a blazer and a crisp tie and shove his feet into nice shoes that he had worked hard for. It was easy to gel and part his hair, push the unusual glasses further up the bridge of his nose and slide on his Cartier watch before heading out the door and towards the office.

It was easy because the facts did not lie.

Everyone dies and time waits for no one.

Carry on.

Carry on even though Yaga had implored that Kento take a few weeks of bereavement. Carry on even though Gojo had hovered even more and his usual playful looks and comments were instead filled with sadness and worry. Carry on even though you had been nothing but supportive and caring and wonderful, trying your best just to let him know that he wasn’t alone, arms open to catch him when he finally decided to fall.

But it made no sense to fall.

It made no sense to take bereavement. What for? Yu wasn’t a family member or a partner. Taking bereavement was available to him because Yaga respected him, and Kento refused to set that precedent in the office. It made no sense for Gojo to change how he carried himself around Kento. Gojo and Yu were friends, but they were never as close as Yu and Geto. If anything, Gojo’s sudden decline obnoxious behavior only made Kento more annoyed, more angry, more anxious and he had refused to be around him even more than before.

He had thought it would be difficult to go about everyday tasks. It had only been a week but Kento acclimated like a fish to water and the mantra in his head kept him going.

Carry on.

And that’s why it was easy to wake up an hour earlier than usual and run in the cold Nakameguro air until his thighs were burning and his chest was aching and his mind could only think about regulating his heartbeat and nothing else. That’s why it wasn’t so hard to worry about eating when he realized he wasn’t hungry anyway. And even though he would sleep almost twelve hours every night, close his eyes and will himself to dream about getting through the next day, his eyes would be just as weary and heavy as the day before and it was easy to ignore the reason why.

He couldn’t think about it. If he entertained it, if his mind even drifted to that long day in the hospital, if he thought about the image of Gojo with his head in his hands, Kaya’s face soaked with tears and buried in Geto’s shirt as she sobbed ceaselessly, the sound of the Holter monitor incessantly beeping in his ears, if he had just one lapse in his thoughts he would snap. Because he was afraid of how he would react. He was terrified of the thought of sinking deep into a pool of sorrow and despair and never having the strength to come up for air.

He had to carry on. It made no sense at all to do anything else.

In only a week, the walls Kento had pulled up around himself were so thick that even you couldn’t get through. You had grown accustomed to his stoic and serious demeanor, because deep down you knew him. You knew that while he was a serious man who barely tolerated idiotic behavior and open ended questions, he was kind and reserved and sociable around those he felt comfortable with. You knew that the flat and relaxed line of his lips that he showed at work and in public would curl just a little for his family and friends, that his broad and tense shoulders would relax as soon as he was in the comfort of his home, that his direct and blunt words would soften the minute eyes he did not recognize were not on him.

You knew him.

You knew to expect a shift in his behavior the minute he walked through your door that night of Yu’s death. But you never expected a shift to such this degree. It was sudden, sharp and steep, throwing you off axis and making it so hard for you to right yourself.

His side of your bed was cold and empty every morning when you woke up, you were used to that though. He ran almost every morning, waking up at the crack of dawn to slip away into the cold. But he was always back by the time you woke; you were used to the sound of the shower running or pans clanging in your kitchen when your eyes fluttered open. But these past few days, you would already be showered and dressed, toast and eggs made for yourself and some for him and a cup of tea halfway done by the time he sagged through the door, covered in sweat and cheeks red from the cold air and his racing heart. He always smiled at you on his way to the shower, a small gesture that always filled you with warmth every morning, but lately only made your chest ache as you watched the muscles in his face curve but the look in his eyes remain just as dim as the day before.

He would kiss you on the lips and turn down breakfast every morning, using your pregnancy as an excuse to keep you from arguing with him.

It will help with your energy through the day. Don’t worry about me, I’ll grab something at the office.

But you knew he never did; you made Gojo snoop on him at the office to confirm. The white lie shouldn’t have bothered you, lots of people simply forget to eat because life gets crazy, but it only made the dread boil in your stomach, bubbling and thick and growing as each day passed and he buried his little lapses under the blanket of everyday routine.  

It was nauseating that he fell asleep next to you every night with an arm around you like everything was fine, upsetting that he kissed you on the lips before he left for work, troubling that he still went for morning runs, still cooked dinner, still talked about his day at the office. He did all of those things even though you could see the void of darkness in his gaze, the lack of subtle inflection in his usually even voice, the heaviness in his eyes every morning before he disappeared through the door.

It was as if he was trying so hard to go about his day as if nothing had happened, but his body displayed a different picture. Even though his actions were the same, his body only showed you the growing signs of despair, neglect, and sorrow festering beneath his skin, pushing against his epidermis and threatening to burst from the seams.

You had tried everything. Tried to talk to him when he was alone, tried to joke just a little to bring a smile to his face, tried to offer him any sort of affection just to break through the barrier of ice he had put around himself that he thought you couldn’t see, and nothing had worked. When you pulled him out of the house to get dinner, he could only take a few bites before feigning not feeling well with a gentle smile on his face, pushing his food toward you and beckoning you to eat. When you pulled him onto the couch to watch reality tv, he would only stare at the screen, throwing out usual comments that only felt rehearsed and empty. Even when you put a movie on, he would collapse in exhaustion almost immediately.

You knew to give him his space. Grief was never the same for anyone and the process for coping was a journey that each person had to take for themselves. You couldn’t force a reaction from him, it would either push him away from you completely or pull him into an array of emotions that would surely overwhelm him and surely overwhelm you; hearing a loud open mouthed laugh from him still jarred you due to how rare it was, how would you react when his actions stemmed from sadness instead of hilarity?

But you didn’t want him to run. Ignoring the reality of the situation would only make his grief all the harder to process, let alone accept.

The announcement from Kaya of Yu’s memorial came to both you and Kento’s phones a late night when he had managed to stay awake on the couch. Even though his eyes were empty as he looked at the screen, vivid hues and lights flashing in the reflection of his irises, his arm was still warm around you as he pulled you closer to him.

Per Yu’s will, he had outright refused a funeral and it only made sense. Someone as bright and happy as he was would have never wanted the people he loved to wallow and cry as they looked at his cold body inside of a casket. He had opted to have his ashes returned to the earth, buried in the soil under a reserved tree to help it grow and still be connected to things somehow.

He had meant for it to be a joke, a night of too much vodka with his wife before a child was in the picture and he had drunkenly purchased a protected tree at a ‘tree forest’ in Nakameguro with every intention to get his money back the next morning. But he never did. And when Aiko was born and he was forced to acknowledge his waning mortality, he realized keeping the tree would be a good decision in the long run. He hated the thought of rotting away six feet under the ground.

Chiyo and Santo replied in the group chat, offering their home for dinner and a small get together afterwards which Kaya responded with an enthusiastic yes almost immediately.

He was tense next to you as you finished reading the messages, his arm still warm around you but the muscles tight and hard against your skin. It felt as if a string had been pulled tight between you both, sharp scissors open and caressing the string, the sharpness of each side of its shears digging into the hair thin material.

And almost immediately he relaxed against you, hard muscles unflexing, the softness of his arms pillowing against your skin. You spared a glance up at him, smiling softly as his eyes locked with yours, his head already inclined down at you as you studied him. His hair was loose against his forehead, blonde strands messy and frizzy and beckoning for you to run your hands through them. His eyes were so cold, the natural light behind his brown irises completely extinguished. The light from the tv cast an almost eerie glow on his face, highlighting and sharpening his cheekbones, cradling the flat line of his full lips.

You wanted to shake his shoulders, pull his face into your chest and burying your hands into his hair and just allow him to let go. You wanted to stroke the hairs of his undercut, press a kiss to the sensitive spot on the underside of his jaw and tell him that it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel like its unfair. He was his best friend and he needs him to grieve. It’s okay.

But instead you stroked his cheek with your thumb, the soft skin sliding against your fingerprint and your chest tightening as he inclined his head into your touch for barely a second before he stopped himself, the action making your heart lurch and stutter, a discomforting pain shooting down into your belly.

“I’ll probably go to my apartment tomorrow, I have not been there in quite some time.”

There was a slight hesitation in his tone, his eyes flickering away only a centimeter before they locked with yours again. You didn’t reply to him, continuing to stroke his face as your thumb traced down to the sharp cut of his jaw.

“Are you comfortable with me staying there for a few days?”

You tilted your head in confusion at his question, your thumb now caressing the soft skin of his chin, the rough pad of your finger grazing the small bumps of growing stubble.

“If that’s what you would like. Have dinner at my place and then go to yours? Wont that be a commute for you every day?”

One of his large and warm hands suddenly cradled your wrist, stopping the movement on his cheek as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed the skin of your palm.

“You misunderstand me. I would like to just be at my apartment alone.”

You pulled your hand from his grasp, his touch suddenly scalding to the point of discomfort. The action made his eyebrows pinch, fractionally and barely breaking his face, but still there.

“Have I done something wrong?”

Kento shook his head quickly, taking your hand again in reassurance. You wanted to pull it away, his touch was too hot, your mind moving too fast with irrational implications of his words.

“Absolutely not. I just…I need a little time to just be alone, by myself, with my own thoughts. It has nothing to do with you or anyone, I just feel unwell and unbalanced and I would like to be alone to figure that out.”

You bit the inside of your lip, the pain a welcome distraction from the sudden stinging in your eyes.

“Would you like to talk about it? If you don’t talk about what happened with Yu then—”

“I can’t.”

His voice was practically a whisper. Just two words that were filled with so much pain and so heavy that they weighed between you both, fluttering over to you and pressing against your chest.

This was normal. Let him grieve, give him time. It’s okay.

But it didn’t feel okay. It felt like he was only pulling further and further away from you, the ice around him thickening even more to the point where you couldn’t see him through it.

But you had to stay strong. You had to.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your palm again, his eyes flashing with a variety of emotions all at once before they washed away.

“I can’t talk about it. And I just—I need to have some time to get my thoughts in order, to breathe on my own and think. Just for a few days…at least until the memorial.”

The memorial that was a week away.

Oh.

Your ears were ringing, anxiety blooming in your stomach and seeping into your bloodstream, pumping fast and steady to your heart. The voices in your head screamed nothing but rejection. He wanted to be alone, to think.

Away from you.

No. No you wouldn’t let the thoughts win, you wouldn’t entertain the absurdity blaring in your ears. You blinked up at him, nodding profusely and offering a quick smile that only made the stinging in your eyes intensify.

“Of course. I understand. Just—just know that you can talk to me, Kento. I’m always here. Please don’t think you have to do this alone.”

His steady gaze analyzed the features of your face, taking in the slight misting of your eyes, the small pinch between your eyebrows, the subtle twitch on the side of your lip that wanted to pull into a frown.

He wanted to soothe you, wanted to brush away the discomfort and upset with his hands and his lips and reassure you that things would be okay.

But he just couldn’t. Because the thought of acknowledging his own emotions suddenly made him feel tired. So very tired.

“We should head to bed.”

His usually low voice was scratchy from underuse and strained from something you wanted to hope was sorrow. You wanted to hope the tone in his voice was the sadness finally breaking through and asking for your comfort.

But it didn’t matter, he wouldn’t tell you anyway.

***

“My dear, you’ve hardly touched your tea. I would like to think that I know you well enough by now to know that something is bothering you.”

Chiyo’s soft voice was a startling welcome to your steadily growing anxiety. It had been almost a full week since your talk on the couch with Kento. Almost a full week of one call a day and a few texts to get you by as you gave him the time and space that he needed. Every day you spent on the phone with him, you thought he would sound just a little less despondent. But nothing had changed. And you should have known that. You weren’t naïve to the process. No one should be able to process the grief of a loved one in such a short time.

But it was hard not to feel alone.

Her son’s eyes reflected back at you as you looked up at her, her black hair tied up into a sleek bun, her face freshly cleansed and shining from her rigorous skincare routine that you had gotten to see firsthand. It almost felt like Ome was staring back at you and while Chiyo’s eyes weren’t as alien and cutting as your best friend, they could still read every single emotion on your face with little effort.

Perhaps it was years of being a mother to someone like Kento that gave her the edge. Being able to raise a child as quiet and reserved as him probably gave her the blueprint to reading even the subtlest of cues in almost anyone.

But even still you didn’t want to tell her about your talk with his son a few days prior. She was too protective of him and would no doubt be at his door, begging to come inside and hindering any progress he might be making.

“Has Kento ever had to process grief? Before Yu?”

Hey eyes filled with understanding, dainty shoulders relaxing in her seat as she clutched her steaming mug of coffee closer to her chest.

“Unfortunately, no. Both my mother and father are still alive. Santo’s mother died before Kento was born. Kento has not really changed; he’s always been reserved and direct. He had no problem telling me and his father how he felt about things, because we raised him, we know every intricacy and nuance of our son and I think Kento knew that to pull up some kind of mask around us was asinine. But besides me and Santo…Yu was the closest person to him. I never thought I would see the day of someone else coming into my own home with my son, introducing himself and slowly worming his way into the quiet and well routined life that Kento had made for himself. Yu was just…so good. Everything about him was good and I think the fact that he could acknowledge his own shortcomings and his fears was something that mystified Kento and also encouraged him.”

Chiyo took a solemn sip from her coffee, her eyes suddenly downcast as she contemplated to herself and let the hot coffee slide down her throat.

“Kento for all of his strength and courage and wit, ran from the things that would expose him to the world. He hated the thought of willingly accepting that showing himself to the world might bring ridicule and judgement. In his mind, what was the point of the potential for being hurt if you never had to confront it anyway? It’s why he never went to culinary school, why he never opened a bakery, why he ended his relationships with women before they could get too serious and he would have to open himself up. Accepting vulnerability and showing himself to others who he would never know on a personal level has always been his weakness. And the one person who actually made him a little more willing to break that pattern is dead. I would give anything to bring Yu back, not only for his own family but at least so Kento wouldn’t feel the way that he probably does now.”

You sighed into your mug, the pressure of your breath putting a watery dent in your tea, the steam furling around the cup and hitting your face. You watched the water smooth out, your reflection coming into view as you glared at yourself in frustration.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happened?”

You blinked up at her, eyes a little misty from the steam on your corneas. She offered you a kind gaze, her smooth skin pulling into a soft smile, evaporating all resistance you were desperately trying to hold onto. Her expression only changed fractionally, her eyebrows furrowing in between intervals as you explained the conversation between you and Kento days before. She was quiet for a few seconds too long when you finished speaking, the silence of her large kitchen deafening as she blinked slowly at you, her black long lashes fluttering against her round cheeks before she sighed down into her mug and threw you a somber look.

“You have every right as the mother of his child to give him time in a span that feels comfortable to you. While I don’t think my son would hurt you intentionally, I do know that his emotions and behavior right now are things I’ve never witnessed before so I’m going into this blind.”

She reached across the granite countertop, grabbing both of your hands around your cooling mug of tea. Her hands were warm, as small as yours but radiating a motherly affection that you soaked up like a sponge.

“See how he’s doing at the memorial and go from there. You cant dwell on things that have not happened yet.”

***

The May wind brought a nice draft against the billowy fabric of your v-neck maxi dress. You had opted to pile your curls atop your head, tendrils falling from the hold of the bun and framing your face. Even though the cemetery was so large, the small array of trees reserved specifically for this purpose was a great spot, nestled away from others but not too far to be ignored. Even while drunk, Yu made a great choice. You were thankful that Kaya followed every wish of her husband to the exact detail. The memorial was intended to be intimate and it felt like just that. Your friends, his parents, a few coworkers from the bakery, his daughter and wife; all people who had grown close to him and got to see him for who he was.

Kaya’s words were a blur in the background as you pulled in a deep breath, your eyes drawing up to the canopy of trees above you, the sun peaking through the holes and patches of leaves that had weaved together. Despite the gravity of the situation, everyone seemed to be in high spirits. Gojo had whisked Aiko onto his shoulders, pulling a small smile onto her face as she grabbed fistfuls of his white hair. Ome was watching them both, her smooth features holding a soft smile as her grey eyes took in the sight of the man who has been the bane of her existence entertain a child. Shoko hung in the back, her typical dark shadows beneath her eyes for once covered up with concealer, her hands free of a cigarette as she leaned against a lone tree. Geto hung by Kaya’s side, a hand constantly on her back and soothing her in his own silent way, his typical soft smile only directed at her. Their relationship was a question that you would have to ask Kento. If he would just show up.

The thought of him not being here, of not being able to face Yu’s death, it made your stomach twist to the point of pain. You pulled in a quiet breath to calm your nerves, absentmindedly rubbing the side of your growing stomach and willing yourself to think positively just for today. You had to be okay, you had to be strong.

But you missed him. It had only been a week and even with the constant communication, you missed him so much.

The feel of a hand covering yours on your belly startled you, your eyes flying open as you turned to the source, ready to yell and smack whoever had decided to touch you without asking. But it was only Kento. Face soft, eyes still a little vacant, but that familiar soft smile as he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the skin in what was becoming a habit you were growing all too fond of. You relaxed instantly from the sight of him, your chest unclenching for the first time in days. His loose hair looked good, you couldn’t deny the flare of heat that swept down your spine as you admired him. Even though it was free flowing, his hair was even, without flyaway and freshly clipped along the nape of his undercut. He was dressed in simple black pants and a short sleeved black shirt, the leather of his belt gleaming in the sun. Even with the black Chelsea boots completing his ensemble, the heaviness in his stance made him look smaller and less commanding.

“You look lovely.”

You soaked in his words, taking in every last syllable from his mouth, breathing in the soft richness of his cologne, distracting you from the density of the situation you were both in. You wanted to ask him how he was doing, wanted to see if he would at least come to your home after the memorial, sleep in your bed for at least tonight. But you knew that wasn’t the goal, not right now.

You threaded your fingers through his, relishing the feel of your small hand in his much larger one as you gestured to the crowd around Yu’s tree. The space between his eyebrows pinched, the skin crinkling and pressing together. You took a step in the direction of the crowd, tugging softly on his hand and refusing to react as you felt his fingers tighten against you immediately, sharp and sudden, beckoning you to enable his need to keep away.

“Come say hi to everyone.” Your voice was soft as you looked up at him, offering a small smile as a means to smooth the crease between his brows. “I’m sure Aiko would love to see you.”

That seemed to do the trick as you felt his grip loosen against you, the crease lightening and his throat clearing as he took one step and then another towards the crowd, pulling you unconsciously with him. You followed silently, content to watch him go towards the pull of Aiko’s gentle call of his name, her mother’s hazel eyes shining down at him from Gojo’s shoulders as she lifted her hands, demanding his attention. He answered her immediately, yanking her playfully off of Gojo and blowing a raspberry into her cheek, her squeals carrying through the warm air around her father’s tree.

***

“How is he doing?”

Ome had been surprisingly calm with you these past few weeks. Maybe it was the fact that she knew her typically sarcastic behavior would not work well in the face of grief. Maybe it was the fact that she was too sad herself; she had hardly known Yu but she couldn’t deny that the sadness of others around her had seeped into her pores as well. Maybe it was the fact that you were pretty far in your pregnancy and she didn’t want to risk you ending up in the hospital because you had smacked her for being stupid. Or maybe it was just Gojo. Something had changed with them, shifted almost overnight and she had resolved to simply be supportive of him. Regardless when it all came down to it, she would never leave your side.

You sighed as you took a sip of the water she had brought you in your perch in the Nanami living room. Chiyo had brought the fabric rocking chair out again just for the occasion and practically demanded that you remain seated unless absolutely necessary. When you tried to protest, Kento had doubled down, his empty eyes still looking down at you with worry to the point where you rolled your own eyes and gave up.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Ome.”

“I want to say something, but I’ll be nice because you’re going through a lot.”

“How very gracious of you,” you scoffed, a small smirk growing on the side of your mouth as you glared at her. “I’m just trying to be supportive and I’m struggling. But I’ll get through it.”

Even in her simple black dress, modest and stopping at the tops of her knees, she was of course the most beautiful thing in the room. Gojo, who had normally made twelve passes at her by now had remained silent, his weird blue eyes constantly shifting to her across the room, transfixed in a way that he had long given up trying to joke around. She twirled a kinky curl from her loose hair around her fingers, lips pursed in contemplation before you watched the resolve fill her eyes.

“No one deserves you. I will always say that, I will always believe that. I’ll always protect you until my heart stops beating. But if there’s one man I would want to try and steal you from me, it’s definitely Nanami. He’s trying. Be patient with him, keep doing what you’re doing, and only do what you’re physically able. You’re having a baby soon and as much as you love him, you cant afford for something to happen to your daughter.”

Your ears were burning as you listened to her, the rest of her words fading into nothingness as you replayed what she said. Surely it was a slip of the tongue from her. You tried to rationalize the logic and unlikelihood that Ome would ever mess up with anything. It was rare for her and that only made the ringing in your ears blare louder.

“I can only assume from your blank expression that you went brain dead when I said you loved him? Do have some sense, babe. If I was a man who managed to sleep with you, get you pregnant, and got to be around the type of person that you are, I would be smitten as well.”

You glared at her, the ringing snapping from your ear drums as her sarcastically wrapped compliment made you fill with annoyance. She gazed back at you, eyes filled with mirth as she realized you had fallen so easily into her trap, your mouth opening in her direction and ready to snarl at her to behave.

“Ome, I really don’t think—”

“What is this? Why are you giving this to me?”

Kento’s voice was low and without any raise in volume, but in the quiet of his family’s house it carried over to you, filled with shock and a small hint of irritation. You struggled to your feet, ignoring the concerned looks of Yu’s parents while they entertained Aiko as you rushed past them and into the kitchen. All of your friends were crowded around the kitchen island, each person holding an envelope that looked as if their names had been scribbled on the front. Kaya’s hands were clutched to her chest, her face filled with worry as Kento outright scowled down at the paper in his hands. Geto hung by her side, an interaction that was increasing in regularity and only puzzling you more as he rubbed his hand along her back, his own eyes downcast.

“Kento…its part of his will. Yu wanted you to have—”

“How do you even know his will is recent?”

Kento’s voice cut Kaya off, even like usual but blistering with skepticism as he blinked wide eyed down at the contents in his hands. You walked closer to him, teetering on a tightrope between the atmosphere in the room and the emotions radiating off of him that you had never experienced and were not prepared for.

Kaya took an even breath, her eyes pained and remorseful as she swallowed the bile in her throat and shouldered on. You imagine she knew to expect this, had prepared for the variety of emotions that would come with distributing demands of a will. It was a heavy burden for her, to look at her husband’s wishes on paper when he had not even been taken from her less than a month. You couldn’t imagine the grief, the pain, the strength to even be standing and doing any of this.

“Yu updated his will last month, Kento. I can assure you it’s recent and your portion of what he wants has remained the same since he opened the bakery.”

Kento shook his head in disbelief, his eyes reading whatever document was in his hand over and over and over, trying to contemplate the validity of it before he was folding the contents hastily, a slight tremble in his fingers as he shoved it back into the envelope and held it out to Kaya.

“No. There is clearly a mistake here and I refuse to take this.”

“Nanamin—” Gojo tried to speak but was cut short by the menacing look Kento shot his way. Gojo was used to his friend’s glares of annoyance and exasperation, thrived off of it and used it as fuel to keep pestering. But he had never seen Kento direct outright rage his way, had never seen usually serious and stoic eyes harden like stone, piercing his freakishly tall form and forcing him to swallow and look away.

Anger and confusion emitted from Kento in waves, flooding the room and pouring down your throat, drowning you slowly and paralyzing your muscles as you looked at your boyfriend clearly for the first time in weeks. That raw emotion you had begged for was finally pushing against his skin from the inside out, splintering and spilling through the cracks.

Chiyo brushed past you, coming up to the side of her son, her eyes filled with worry as she pressed her hands into her sides, her fingers flexing and fighting the desire to rest on his arm. She could feel the hesitation just like you, the uncertainty of the situation, of the fact that her only child was displaying behavior she had never seen nor practiced for.

“Kento please.”

The sound of his mother’s voice made him flinch, thrusting the envelope through the air in Kaya’s direction with a little more force than necessary, the action making her jump and Geto’s hand immediately rest against the back of her neck to soothe her, his dark purple eyes shooting his friend a dangerous look.

Kento could care less, his body running on exhaustion and fury as he ignored the way his body began to shake, his fingers digging into the paper of the envelope, threatening to rip in his hands.

“I don’t want it Kaya. I don’t care what the will says, it’s clearly wrong. Yu was wrong.”

It was hurtful on so many levels, cutting through everyone in the room as Kaya blanched from his words, her eyes misting with tears. Geto’s eyes widened in shock before fogging over with an anger you had never seen before, his eyebrows pinching as he fought the urge to snap at his friend.

“Kento, that’s enough.”

Your words shocked even you as they left your lips, low and gentle but still filled with warning and admonishment. He blinked rapidly, dry and emotionless eyes faltering with flickering emotion that he was battling to keep buried inside of him. You could hear the heaving of his chest, the deep breathing from his nose as he tried to control his emotions.

He swallowed softly, eyebrows furrowing with guilt as he slammed the envelope down on the counter, the sound pulling another jolt from everyone in the rom.

He opened his mouth to speak, gaping as he tried to come up with words before he spoke softly.

“Forgive me Kaya. Excuse me.”

He rushed past you without even acknowledging your presence, an action that made your chest clench tightly with discomfort as you watched everyone in the kitchen clear a path for him as he strode purposefully from the room, unbridled rage seeping from every footstep as he opened the front door of his family’s home and left without another word, the door slamming shut behind him, rattling the paintings on the wall and shooting a shock through your body.

Even through the thin veil of tears in your eyes, your first action was to go to him, taking a step forward in the direction of the front door before Geto was softly grabbing your arm and stopping you in your tracks. He had left Kaya in her spot, still rooted to the floor in shock as Gojo pulled her into a tight embrace.

Geto’s gentle eyes had lost that barrage of anger as he looked down at you, the corners of his lips uncharacteristically turned down into a frown.

“Leave him be. You trying to talk to him right now will get nowhere. Give him a few hours, come have dinner with us and then go see him.”

You wanted to pull away from him, to yank your arm back and chase after Kento anyway just to make sure he was okay. But you knew he was right, you knew you would get absolutely nowhere if you tried to talk to a man who you had never seen this angry towards the people he cared most about. And if he directed that anger at you, you probably wouldn’t have had the strength to shoulder through it.

So you nodded softly in agreement and drifted over to Kaya to console her as best as you could.

***

You were coiled tight like a wire as you knocked on his apartment door. Five long hours had passed since he had stormed from his parents house and not one word since. No text to say he was alright, no short phone call to apologize for his actions. Just radio silence and your nerves were in shambles.

Two minutes and no answer.

You could hear movement from the otherside, barely noticeable but still there to indicate someone was inside.

You took a deep breath, shouldering past the pain in the center of your chest and steeling what remained of your nerves as you raised your fist to knock again.

The door opened almost instantly, yanked from its hinges as the occupant inside came into your view.

The smell of alcohol, rich and expensive whiskey hit you like a freight train, shooting up your nostrils and down your throat, burning the muscle from the inside that you had to blink away the sudden prickle in your eyes.

His hair was in disarray, ruffled as if he had run his hands through it every two minutes. His cheekbones seemed sharper than usual; whether it was from the consequences of his reluctance to eat a full meal or the way his gaze down at you made him seem a little more menacing, you weren’t sure. Those brown eyes you were used to looking up into had almost been frosted with an overlay of grey and drunkenness, making him look so empty, so devoid of anything left inside of him. His shirt was untucked from his slacks, his leather belt nowhere to be found and his feet socked and free from his expensive boots.

You hated that even in his darkest moment, even when he was scowling down at you, he was the most handsome creature you had ever seen. Tall and dishevled, drunk and angry, even through all of it, the sharpness of his jaw had remained unchanged, the elegant curve of his nose had made him seem just a little bit more angelic.

You hated it so much.

“What is it that you need?”

It was a harshness that you were expecting but had hoped on the elevator ride up would not come to fruition. But you had to face the music now and try to shoulder through the hurt in your own body as Nanami Kento from the very first day of the marketing summit almost seven months ago spoke to you as if you were just another person at work.

Stay strong, you had to stay strong.

“I wanted to come and check on you. May I come in?”

His large pale hand gripped the side of his door, pulling it closer to himself and giving you the message loud and clear.

“No you may not.”

Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let it get to you. Stay strong. Stay fucking strong.

You rubbed the sides of your stomach, trying to soothe yourself and keep your anxiety in check and not bring any stress to the baby as you shook off the glare you wanted to throw up at him.

“Can you let me in please? You’re drunk, Kento—”

“Drunk or not, I’ve stated my demands quite clearly.” You refused to acknowledge the painful twist of your stomach as his words slid down to you. “I dont want to bring any stress to you or the baby, so please…leave.”

Your teeth dug into the sides of the dry tongue in your throat, your eyes stinging with every blink, shoulders faltering to display what remained of your wilting dominance as you lifted your chin up at him in defiance, silently commanding him to stop being stupid and let you inside.

But those stoic and straight eyes simply narrowed in return before he was stepping back into his apartment and slamming the door in your face.

Your eyes were wide with disbelief, your lower lids brimming with tears as the shock slapped you in the face. You had expected defiance, had expected him to smile through his pain and constantly insist that he was fine and he just wanted alone time. You had prepared for it.

You hadn’t prepared for him to be drunk out of his mind, talking to you as if he still loathed you, shooting sharp and painful indifference down at your shorter frame and outright rejecting the need to face all of this now. Tonight. In whatever form that would entail, he had to face some part of the reality of the situation.

The echoes of the door slamming replayed like a broken record in your ears, growing louder and louder with each passing second and bringing forth the emotion you had tried so hard to keep in check.

Rage.

It was only two weeks, you couldn’t force him to be a certain way. But the treatment you had just received was unjustified and unnecessary and painful to a degree that you would not tolerate it again. He could be mad at the world, but he would not rationalize the need to be mad at you. Not when there was too much at stake with a baby on the way.

Grief or not, drunk or not.

And if after tonight it meant that he never wanted to see you again, no matter how much you loved him you would know that you went out fucking swinging, by doing everything in your power to at least turn him in the right direction of a healthy path of recovery.

You knew this wasn’t the Kento that was real, even at his lowest, he would never have acted like this. And it only reaffirmed just how painful Yu’s death had been for him. How the one person he loved besides his parents had been taken from the world too soon, without remorse and in a way that was unfair.

But you would fix this, you would slap some sense into him even if that meant you had to strip his soul down until there was nothing left, forcing him to pick up the pieces correctly.

You were silently thankful that in his drunken stupor he had forgotten to lock his door. You yanked it open, one hand cradling your stomach and the other slamming the door shut behind you as you held onto that rage and confidence and bravery to see this through to the end. Kento was leaning against the sink in his kitchen, a bottle of Hibiki that you just knew had cost a pretty penny turned up to his mouth, the lip of the bottle pressed to his mouth in pause as he glared at the intruder of his home.

Recognition flashed through his eyes, his lids widening before they were narrowing to a deathly degree.

“Get. Out.”

The words were cold, chilly and icy as they slid across his hardwood floor and wrapped around your ankles, rooting you to the spot. Your anger had festered to an unprecedented level, pushing against the back of your throat with words tinged with a severity of harshness you hadn’t used on him in a very long time, making your heart race as you panted slowly through your nose, your gaze locked with his across the room.

“I said get out!”

Louder this time, uncharacteristically and shockingly loud, the decibles breaking the ice around your ankles and propelling you forward as you strode in his direction, taking in his seething form as he pulled the lip of the bottle from his lips and opened his mouth to sneer down at you before you were yanking the bottle from him, fighting against the sudden grip that he had around the bottle and grimacing from the contents that had sloshed through the lip and onto the sleeve of your dress.

Those words pushed harder in against your throat, sliding up the back of your tongue and out your mouth before you could stop them. The glare you sent his way could cut through glass, hard and menacing and pushing you to a side of yourself that you had not shown in years.

“Let go of the bottle Nanami. Now.”

The sound of his surname leaving your lips for the first time in months had him faltering, releasing his hold immediately and sagging against the counter as he watched you slam the bottle onto the opposite side of the sink, before you were turning around to collect the trash on his counter.

You were thankful that Kento was blessed with the liver and kidneys that he had. You had only ever seen him drunk twice since knowing him and Gojo had constantly boasted about his friend’s ability to drink anyone under the table if he was pestered hard enough.

But right now, the sight of the two empty bottles on his counter, the plastic from the seal of each litering the granite, it only made you nauseous.

But you wouldn’t show him that, you wouldn’t show him how much you wanted to cry because you were too angry to show that to him, too hard in your own resolve to put him in his place as you collected the bottles and plastic and threw them in the trash.

You turned the half empty bottle of Hibiki upside down, watching the amber liquid fall down into the drain of his sink as you snapped at him, your voice growing in volume.

“Is this how you want to handle your problems, Nanami? Hmm? If something happens to me or your parents and you’re left to care for your daughter, are you going to slither to a hole and drink yourself numb?! Snap at the people who care about you and turn yourself into a person that you don’t recognize simply so you don’t have to every face reality?! You want that?!”

You hadn’t yelled in quite some time, and the rattle of your throat as you spoke fueled your anger, fueled the desire to make him stop and see that he couldn’t continue down this path.

“No it is not, but I told you already that I don’t want you here. For the sake of—”

“SHUT UP!”

Kento’s stopped cold in his tracks as he reached for you, his eyes slightly wide from your yell. He had never seen you this way, even when you were glaring and indiginant when you both worked together, you had never yelled at him like this. Ever.

You ignored the fluttering of kicks in your belly from your daughter, clearly distressed of your voice and forcing you to calm down just a little for her. You slammed the now empty bottle onto the counter, ignoring the splintering of the bottom of the glass as you turned to face him, a finger pointed in his direction, another hand on your belly.

“Shut the fuck up, Nanami.”

He didn’t protest, his lips pulled into a thin line as he looked down at you. You grabbed his arm, trying your best to curl around his large and muscular bicep as you strongarmed him to his couch, ignoring his slightly drunken stumble as you pushed him down into his sofa.

“Don’t move. Don’t look in my direction. Don’t even speak to me unless its to say that you have to fucking puke. Do you understand me?”

His eyes were already locked on his coffee table, his shoulders heaving in indignation as he flexed his hands against the black fabric covering his slacks, mouth taut and eyebrows pinched in frustration as he conceded. You didn’t wait for another word before you were striding back into his kitchen, throwing the last glass bottle into the trash and yanking open his cabinets to search for food.

Every glance you spared his way was the same; he hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, hadn’t turned to look back at you, hadn’t offered any words as you made a few pieces of toast and miso soup.

He frowned in your direction as you set the food and glass of water down on the coffee table in front of him, full lips curling downward as he glanced over what you had prepared, his eyes blinking blearily to process what you were demanding of him.

“I’m not hungry.”

You shot him another glare, just as icy and jagged as before, yanking one of his hands to you and placing a piece of toast between his fingers, pushing it forward to press against his lips.

“I don’t recall asking you if you were. Eat and not another word.”

He took a slow, even breath, his glare losing its heat almost instantly before he was biting down into the buttered bread. You sat silently, your eyes locked on him with every bite, every chew, every swallow until both pieces of toast were gone. He shook his head as he looked down at the bowl of miso soup, his shoulders sagging as you felt the anger from before begin to evaporate into the air, exhaustion sliding up to bat and taking its place.

“I don’t want anymore.”

You grabbed a spoon, scooping some of the soup inside and holding it up to his lips.

“I don’t care. Eat it all.”

All hints of protest in his eyes were extinguished immediately, his mouth opening wordlessly as you pushed the spoon gently into his mouth and let him take over.

You made your way to his master bedroom. You weren’t surprised at the light brown walls of his room, casting it into a sort of comfort that made you want to climb into his own California King bed and rest your head against one of the long fluffy pillows and burrow beneath the grey duvet and sheets. His walnut headboard was so pristine and beautiful it looked as if he could have had it commissioned to be carved personally. You took a small second to admire the large bookcase on the opposite side of his bed, lining his wall with shelves full to the brim of books you had read your self and never heard of before. In the corner of his room and adjacent to the large wall of floor to ceiling windows, a comfortable black arm chair and ottoman was nestled in its own space, covered with a simple throw blanket and ready for use.

You wanted to trail your hands over everything in his home. In the time that you two had been together, you were hardly ever in his apartment. He wanted to be around you, loved the comfort of a home and that you were there in it, it made no sense to sleep in his apartment stories high above the ground. But you wanted to look through his simple walnut dresser, wanted to look through the long glass top case that held his expensive watches and turn over each small bottle of cologne. But you had a mission.

His bathroom was just as luxurious, marble floors, a floor to ceiling shower with a rainfall showerhead that looked as if it had been installed into the ceiling itself, a sleek large white tub and double vanity sinks. All of his appliances looked to be brand new, without blemish and exuding the type of lifestyle a man like Kento would live.

You turned on his tub, grabbing all the essentials you needed from his shower before entering his room again to find clean clothes and laying them on the bed. When you returned to the living room, his bowl and glass cup were empty, the man himself sagging into the couch, his eyes heavy and vacant as he stared at his black television screen. You felt the fluttering of your heart against your ribcage, painful and heavy, pushing away the anger just a little bit as you reached down for his hand and pulled him to his feet.

He didn’t fight you, didn’t try to hold himself down and instead wordlessly followed you through his bedroom and into the bright lights of his bathroom, the sound of running water filling his ears.

He was putty in your hands at this point, following your every silent command as you undressed him and guided him into the hot water. His eyes had lost all of their fight, his body giving up entirely to try and keep you away as he stared at the silver of the faucet, locking eyes with his own distorted reflection. It was a struggle to be on your knees and you couldn’t deny the twinge in your back was more annoying and painful than you thought it would be.

But you didn’t care. You had to soldier on just for tonight, blink through your tears just for tonight, fight through the urge to leave the room and sag to the floor and cry until things started to make sense.

You wanted to, god how you did.

But there was more at stake now. Not just Kento’s sanity but your own and the wellbeing of the child growing inside of you. If today would be the nail on the wall that would finally crack through the tether that held you both together, then you would do everything in your power to let him know that you loved him through all of it. Through the misunderstanding of when you first met, through the good and best times, and through the bad times of this moment. You would be happy knowing that you were there when he needed you.

He didn’t protest as you washed him, lifting his arms silently for you, letting you dunk his head beneath the water to wet his hair and blinked past the sting in his eyes when a sliver of his eucalyptus shampoo touched the edge of his eyelid. You dried him in one of his large fluffy white towels, combed through his thick blonde locks to prevent them from tangling as they dried, pulled a shirt and pair of boxers on his body, forced two more glasses of water down his throat and guided him into the open duvet of his bed.

The feel of his bed and the soft sheets hitting his body finally allowed him to acknowledge the heaviness in his eyes and the abating dizziness in his vision from the copious amounts of alcohol he ingested in only a few short hours.

For the first time since he had disappeared on his couch, his eyes finally slid up to look at you as you pressed a pillow a little more under his head, your eyes focused as you worked. He could finally see the red ring beneath your eyes, you had been crying or at least holding them back long enough where your eyelids were already inflamed. Your messy bun from earlier had been let loose, your curls falling over your shoulders and onto his sheets as you carded a hand through his bangs, pushing the locks from his eyes before you were leaning down and pressing a kiss to the skin above his eyebrows.

It was too much and even though he wanted to push you away and wallow in the dreadful silence of his home, he couldn’t bear to be away from you.

You made to stand, reaching for the lamp on the bedside table before one of his large hands was wrapping around your wrist, devoid of its usual warmth but pleading with you to not recoil from him.

“Stay,” he breathed out into the air, his cheek smushed into the pillow beneath his head. He watched your eyebrows furrow in contemplation, hesitance etching your features as you fought internally with yourself. He swallowed over the painful lump in his throat.

“Please.”

You sighed slowly, the slight beg beneath his deep voice pulling you to him like a siren’s call. You hadn’t expected him to speak again for the rest of the night. You had expected to leave and probably never hear from him for quite awhile. But as soon as he called for you, you knew you could never deny him.

You slipped off your dress, climbing into his large bed with just your panties and nursing bra before you were turning your back, allowing him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close to him, the fabric of his soft shirt pressing against your semi-naked back. The cold tip of his nose wormed its way into the crease of your neck, one of his large hands twined with yours and just like that, he relaxed into the bed against you, his bones settling into the sheets and pulling him under.

***

He had slept thirteen hours, thirteen blissful hours. He had hoped he would wake up refreshed, and while he did, the pounding in his head immediately washed it all away and brought back every vivid detail of the day before.

He had already hated the idea of taking a week to himself. In his mind, he thought it was a good idea; take a couple of days alone to just think and get his bearings. But the minute he closed the door to his home after leaving yours, he knew it was a grave mistake. He spent every day staring out the long windows of his room, eyes barely blinking, mind trying its best to go back to that day but being stopped by his own sheer willpower that took every shred of his sanity just to quell. He had been just as much of a mess as before and the sight of you beneath the trees of the cemetery was enough to make him feel just a little better if only for a moment.

He had tried—was trying to convince himself that he didn’t need to acknowledge Yu’s death. It was fine.

Why dwell on things you couldn’t change?

But the subtle pull from you to immerse himself around his family and friends, the constant glances his way when others thought he couldn’t see, everyone’s sniffles and cries and words about what had happened, it was too much for him. Too overwhelming and real. He wasn’t ready, would probably never be ready as much as he knew he needed to be.

But the minute he opened that envelope addressed to him, his name scrawled in Yu’s chicken scratch and looking at the contents inside, he saw red. He saw red over what was inside, forcing him with no choice but to finally immerse himself in a reality he was trying so hard to run away from.

Kento was a composed man, while he was quick to be irritated in the face of others who held no sense, he had never lost control of his temper in the degree that he did in his parents’ kitchen, or in the way he spoke to Kaya, or in the way he spoke and treated you.

And you had faced it head on, rebuked every attempt he threw your way, yelled at him with a severity he had never heard and forced him to get himself together. You were so angry with him, calling him by his own surname to show just how little you were going to tolerate for the rest of the night.

If something happens to me or your parents and you’re left to care for your daughter, are you going to slither to a hole and drink yourself numb?! Snap at the people who care about you and turn yourself into a person that you don’t recognize simply so you don’t have to every face reality?! You want that?!”

The thought of his actions made him sick to his stomach. He could hold his liquor but he had never willingly gotten himself that drunk in ages. And even through the thick haze of his drunkenness last night, your words cut through him clean and sharp. The thought of acting the way he did if something were to happen with his family or if something happened to you…leaving his daughter to deal with her own father choosing to be angry at the world to avoid taking control. The thought made the nausea rise to an unprecedented level.

He wanted to apologize, to get on his knees and beg for you to forgive him when he opened his eyes. But your side of the bed was empty and the sordid thought that his behavior was the final straw for you, made his eyebrows pull together and his throat draw tight.

But the sight of his door opening and you slinking inside with one of his t-shirts on, a glass and painkillers in your hand was enough to have him exhale in relief.

You sank down into the bed next to him and shoved the medicine and water in his direction. He took it without complaint, downing the contents of the water and pills before setting it on the bedside table behind him. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, his eyes locked on his large hands in his lap, fingering and pinching the soft texture of the duvet that covered his legs.

“Me and Yu got into an argument…at the baby shower when everyone was cleaning up. He had pulled me to the side and brought up co-owning the bakery with him again and we bickered about it for a few minutes. He knew how I felt about it, knew that my opinion wouldn’t change and still pried and pried and pried to the point where he ‘hinted’ at forging my signature on the deed. It was a joke of course but at the time, it only made me furious. All other times when we had this conversation I could play it off or divert it to something else, but this time I was so angry that I told him to find someone else, to never bring it up again and that my stance wouldn’t change.”

You remained impassive as you listened, resting a hand on his back and stroking softly to comfort him as he spoke, his eyes still locked on his hands below him.

"I think it was the first time I had ever seen him angry with me and we left that night without speaking to each other. Or the day after that, or the day after that until—” He stopped short, clearing his throat to disappate the tight clench of his throat.

“I don’t believe in Karma. This entire world is filled with terrible people who do evil and vicious things but also hold power and live in luxury and never face the consequences of their actions. I’ve never believed in something so vast and grand happening to me and altering my entire life based on a small interaction or choice that I made that was infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things. But ever since that day, its all I can think about. It was the last thing he heard—the last words I said to him and I tell myself over and over that maybe this was my consequence for hurting someone as good and as pure as Yu.”

You shook your head through the increasing darkness in his words, stroking his back harder to keep him sane, to make him see reason.

“Don’t say things like that Kento, it’s not true—”

“Yu was a good person. Even when everything was falling around him, he never faltered, he never turned away. He was the only person I knew who could look his fears in the eye, accept his own flaws and never bat an eyelash. He forced me to accept him because it only made sense, everyone should be able to see a person like him. He was deserving of everything; his family, his wife, his daughter, his career. It makes no sense.”

He shook out a sharp breath, a hand threading through his hair as he ignored the racing of his heart, the sweat on the back of his neck, the fraying of his nerves as he soldiered on.

“Do you know how he died? A fucking car hit him. He saw a girl playing in the street and a car that was going almost fourty miles an hour because the driver was looking at his phone hit him as soon as he pushed her onto the sidewalk. Just like that. How do you believe that to be fair?” You could tell he was running on low embers as he spoke, his cheeks ruddy and eyes piercing as he looked over at you.

“He was doing just fine in the hospital. By some miracle the surgery was a success and he expected to make a long but full recovery. I told myself that I would wait until he woke up to apologize to him…and he was awake when I stepped out to get some air. But by the time I had made it back to his room, not even five fucking minutes later, there was—everyone was yelling and running around, defibrillating his chest over and over and over and he just…didn’t wake up. Even when I was given a shred of time to right my wrong, I had missed the mark. I couldn’t think about that day, the very thought of it filled me with so much despair that I could hardly do a simple task. So I did what I do best and I ran. I ran and hid and put on an empty smile for weeks until I opened that fucking envelope and saw the deed to his bakery inside with my name on it.”

You already knew the contents of that envelope, you had let your curiosity fester as you took it from Kaya’s hands after leaving Chiyo and Santo’s house and had looked inside and read the deed and the letter addressed to Kento during a moment of weakness when you were cleaning his house this morning. You shouldn’t have invaded his privacy, but you had rationalized that you needed to know everything to effectively help him. You could forgive yourself later.

“I spoke to him so severely. I know this isn’t about me but a large part of me cant help but think that I may caused this. That my actions set something in motion, a twisted fate that I was bound to face.”

You wouldn't stand for the way he was talking, putting himself down for something that was out of his control. You cradled his face in your hands, your small palms barely eclipsing his cheeks, your fingers bending slightly from the sharpness of his cheekbones. His eyes were still a little empty, less tired than yesterday and a little more lively from the emotional tirade he was on, but still empty.

“You didn’t cause anything, Kento. You probably wont agree with me on this but I’ve always held the notion that everything…happens for a reason. As morbid as some of those facts sound in my head, I use it to bring me some semblance of sanity even during my darkest moments.”

You watched your own thumb stroke the soft skin of his cheeks, the action making his eyes flutter just a little as he listened to you.

“Yu wanted nothing more than to help others and make them feel good in a way that he knew how, baking. Owning a bakery that while small in its stature compared to other businesses, still brought everyone who walked inside of it just a little bit of happiness through their day. He’s always worked with that purpose in life and part of me wants to think that the little girl he pushed out of the way probably reminded him of Aiko. Because to him, he was good at being an amazing father and only he knew how to keep her safe. I’m sure that’s what was going through his mind before he got hit. And even on his deathbed, Yu for as wonderful and as kind as he was, could never hold any sort of animosity towards you. No matter what you tell yourself.”

Kento relaxed into your hold, sagging his shoulders in exhaustion as he listened to the finality in your tone

You reached to the bedside table and pulled the envelope from inside one of the drawers, the sight of it making Kento tense immediately as you opened up its contents and laid them on the bed between you both. Two folded papers, a deed and a note that Yu had inscribed to him. You unfolded the letter and placed it gently into his hands, pushing further into his chest.

“Read it. Please.”

Kento’s eyes analyzed yours, pleading with you as he realized he had finally been backed into the corner of the room he had stupidly locked himself into. He couldn’t argue with you. He couldn’t run from this. Not anymore.

He bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste the twinge of copper on his tongue as he looked down at the letter.

Yes, I wrote this as soon as you left the baby shower because I realize it needs to be done if you continue the way you are. I don’t care how angry you are, this bakery is yours. You’re the only man I have ever met with such talent but is so afraid to harness it to its full potential.

I’ve spent most of our lives making you see the other side of things and I need you to realize how much Nakameguro should see you. 

No more excuses. No more running. Leave that boring job and do what you love before you regret it for the rest of your life.

You’ve got millions in the bank, a banger of a girlfriend, a beautiful baby on the way, and friends who love you.

As you always say to me no matter how many times I try to tune it out, ‘not doing the obvious when all of your options are clearly laid out for you would be asinine.’ 

If I ever croak in some weird ass way (pause for silence if this is the fucking case), I will make sure my family and our friends shove this deed down your throat until you pass it a week later (or sooner idk your schedule) and you’re forced to accept it like you know you want to. 

I bought this bakery with the intention of us both running it until we are old and grey, with you running the show in your own straight faced way like you always do. 

Well its yours now, just like I’ve always wanted. Please take it, Kento and let it grow.

- xoxo (I put ‘xoxo’ here for dramatic effect. I truly hope you're red faced and cussing as you read it)

-Yu 

You had remained perfectly still as he read over the letter, his brown eyes tracing every letter of Yu’s appalling handwriting until he memorized it word for word. His face didn’t falter with emotion or break down into tears like you had imagined it would. He was still impassive, still stone-faced, still indifferent as he folded the letter carefully and slid it back into the envelope before turning his frame to you silently.

You wrestled with the words in your mouth, twirling them with your tongue in hesitation before you ultimately decided that it couldn’t get any worse than this moment.

“Before I met you and all of your friends, it was just me and Ome. And I knew that if something happened to her, I would have no one. Rory, I would have sure, but it wouldn’t be the same. No one understands me like Ome does and the thought of her being taken from me like Yu has from you is something that is almost inconceivable in my head. But, I have more people in my life now. People that care about me and would do anything to make sure I don’t fall.”

You cradled the side of his neck, rubbing the skin beneath his jaw gently and using the feel of him to steel your resolve.

“I know that you cannot force a certain way of grieving someone. But you have people in your life Kento who cannot afford for you to run away. Not like this. As much as you can't stand Gojo, you know he would tear down an entire building complex in rage if something were to happen to you. You have Geto and Shoko who grew up with you and want nothing more than to help you through this. You even have Yuji, who sees you almost like an older brother, who looks up to you, who wants to be just like you. You have your parents who love you. You have Kaya and Aiko who would be inconsolable. You have so many people in your life who will catch you when you fall, who want to do that. Because they all know just how much Yu meant to you and how much you mean to them.”

You could feel his pulse beneath your thumb, picking up speed and making his own chest heave a little quicker with each breath that he took.

“Do I have you?”

It was such a simple question that you were surprised he would ask you. The answer should have been obvious, but from the gentle crease in between his brows you could tell that he needed to hear anything right now. Anything to let him know that you weren’t leaving since he clearly wanted you to stay.

“Of course you do. As long as you want me to stay, I will never leave…but I need you to promise me you’ll stop running. I need you to promise me that you will try. That deed isn’t going anywhere and you don’t have to think about it today, or tomorrow, or even a month from now, but you have to try and acknowledge what has been given to you. For me, for your daughter…and for Yu.”

You offered him a small smile, it was the best you could do as you struggled with the urge hold back the tears threatening to pool in your eyes. Your lids were stinging with every breath you took, inhaling the rawness of the situation in the room, the vulnerability he had freely shown to you yet again. Now that he was finally facing it head on, he had no choice but to let the brevity of the situation cut him open and every single emotion he had been trying to hide for weeks begin to bleed into the room.

You didn’t widen your eyes as you watched the grey overcast of his brown gaze finally lift, every single emotion he had been hiding flooding his irises and making his brow furrow in pain. He exhaled sharply, the sound forcing through his lips and heaving his chest with such strength that you thought he wouldn’t breathe again. The twitch at the corner of his lips was hard to miss, a slight quirk of his muscle that wanted to twist the features of his face as he took another heaving breath and then another, the sound more shaky than the one before. You didn’t speak as he leaned forward to rest his head against your shoulder, his breathing picking up just a little in speed as he tried and failed to get his bearings.

You acted in the only way you knew how in that moment, picking up a hand and carding it through the soft blonde tresses of his hair, the touch of your fingers on his scalp making him jump and flinch, his forehead pressing harder into your shoulder.

“It’s okay, Kento.”

The whispered words seemed to be what he needed to hear, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer into his chest as he breathed shakily into the fabric of your shirt. The other hand not in his hair smoothed along the planes of his back, caressing the shaking muscle that you realized wasn’t rising from breathing.

The sharp dig of his fingers into the skin of your back was the first indication that something had changed. The slight jolt of his chest as he exhaled shakily against you was another. But it was the feel of the shirt on your shoulder sticking to your skin that let you know what was really happening. You could feel it dampening further, soaking along the manufactured stitches as he collapsed further and further into you, using you as an anchor in whatever way that he could as he silently fell apart in your arms.

For a man as tall and broad as he was, the tears into your shirt made him feel even more overwhelming, his previously held back emotions almost drowning you as you blinked away your own tears and stroked the skin of his scalp.

“I wont ever go. We wont ever leave you, I promise. I—”

You stopped your self short, continuing to stroke his hair and back as your mind scrambled with the words you had almost let slip from your mouth.

I love you too much.

You had said it a few times to yourself these past two days, a blip in your mind as you worked around the mess and anxiety and rage from getting your boyfriend together. But now that the dust had finally began to settle, now that he had finally been turned in the right direction and pressed his fingers further into you to keep you close, now you could finally hear those words echo in your head without nothing else to distract you.

I won’t ever go. We won’t ever leave you, I promise. I love you too much.

I love you so much.

You blinked away the swimming in your vision, tears slipping through your bottom lashes and down your cheeks as you stroked the hard muscles of his back and the thick hair on his head.

Kento took another long and heaving breath against you, turning his forehead to rest his cheek instead on your shoulder, his eyes tracing the subtle lines in his walnut headboard as he pulled you closer until he could feel the brush of your belly along the planes of his abdomen.

The feel of you against him, the slide of your fingers in his hair and along his back, your words sifting into his ears and pulling that odd feeling in his chest that he had spent months trying to figure out front and center, it was all he needed in that moment. He blinked blearily against the cool air of his bedroom, his blonde lashes wet and his head finally beginning to calm down for the first time in weeks.

[bb-bambam]

Acting Up

"I know what you're doing, you know," Jaebeom says as Jinyoung saunters into the living room wearing uncharacteristically skimpy pajamas. Granted, a "skimpy" outfit for Jinyoung consists of shorts that don't quite reach his knees and a shirt that rides up slightly to reveal a sliver of his stomach when he raises his arms - but it's unusual and distracting enough that Jaebeom can't possibly not notice.

"And what exactly am I doing?" Jinyoung asks, settling on the couch and lifting his legs to rest them on Jaebeom's thighs. He's gotten quite good at controlling his expression as his acting skills have grown over the years, but he'll never be able to hide his emotions from Jaebeom, who prides himself on being the only person capable of reading Jinyoung under any and all circumstances. For instance, right now, Jinyoung's nonchalant demeanor makes it obvious that he's feeling restless and suggests that were he not intent on feigning innocence, he would probably be pouting.

"You're trying to get back at me," Jaebeom says, setting his book aside so he can gently massage Jinyoung's ankles instead. His intention when Jinyoung walked in was to only give him a cursory glance, to not get drawn away from his book, but now that Jinyoung is here, he finds that it's an impossibility. Then again, he challenges anyone to give more attention to a book when their beautiful significant other is being alluring and seductive on purpose.

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow. "Get back at you?" His tone is so perfectly offended and incredulous that it just confirms that Jaebeom is completely right. "That implies that you did something to upset me in the first place. And you would never do that to your soulmate, would you?"

"Only for a good reason," Jaebeom says, fighting a smile.

"There are good reasons to upset me, now?" Jinyoung looks even more affronted, and Jaebeom almost laughs out loud at how blatantly Jinyoung is enjoying this exchange.

He manages to keep it in, though, and shrugs dismissively instead. "Sure there are. Just like there are good reasons to hold off on having sex until promotions are over." He works the knots out of Jinyoung's calves as he offers Jinyoung an innocent smile. "Which, of course, is why you're upset to begin with."

"Pretty confident about that, aren't you?" Jinyoung pretends to check his fingernails, once again silently affirming that Jaebeom is spot on.

"Pretty confident, yeah," Jaebeom says wryly. "Considering you've been acting up ever since I suggested it."

Jinyoung meets his eyes and flashes a sugary-sweet smile. "Well, I think anyone would be upset at the implication that they can't handle a little soreness while performing," he says. "What, I hit thirty and suddenly I can't take it anymore?"

Jaebeom can't stop himself from breaking into a smile this time. "Oh, you think I said it because of you?" he asks, amused. "How self-centered. I was actually worrying about my back and knees."

"You're thirty-one, not eighty-one, hyung," Jinyoung says, making a show of rolling his eyes. "I forgot that you like to cosplay as an old man."

"Are you saying you aren't concerned for my frail and aging body?" Jaebeom heaves a dismayed sigh, arranging his face in a disbelieving expression. "It's truly the ones closest to you who hurt you the most."

Jinyoung crosses his arms, and Jaebeom can hear the pout in his voice even though he manages to keep it off his face. "It's not like me riding you requires you to do anything. I do all the work anyway."

Jaebeom shakes his head fondly. "You really are a bit of a brat, aren't you?" He pats Jinyoung's shin reassuringly. "Here. I promise once promotions are over you can ride me for a day straight, if you want to."

"Wow," Jinyoung says. The hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is the only crack in his otherwise unaffected facade. "You think your frail and aging body handle that?"

"Guess you'll have to wait and find out," Jaebeom says, huffing out a laugh. "But until then, please rein it in a little."

The look of puzzlement on Jinyoung's face is picture-perfect and not even remotely convincing to Jaebeom. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure," Jaebeom murmurs, unable to keep himself from leaning in for a kiss. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence that you took a picture of yourself braced suggestively against the wall, and it's also just a coincidence that you were being a menace and targeting me the whole time during our relay dance. There was nothing behind any of it at all."

"There wasn't," Jinyoung breathes against Jaebeom's lips as he wraps his arms around Jaebeom's shoulders. "But since we're here now, I'm going to hold you to your promise. You said a day straight."

"I guess I did," Jaebeom says, tugging Jinyoung further onto his lap and kissing him again. "And I would never break a promise to my soulmate."

[experthiese]

SENSE AND OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE ? Bleu de Chanel and Gitanes cigarette smoke.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE ? They're not especially soft, but definitely have a gentler touch than some might imagine. He's used to handling ancient treasures and priceless jewelry pieces — he knows how to treat something delicately. They're callused, too, a side effect of all the climbing up walls and ropes and other rough surfaces he finds himself doing.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY ? A lot. I've mentioned before that Lupin has an insanely fast metabolism, so he can easily get through six or seven courses in a day. Not all of them are full meals, some being replaced with things like small helpings of bread or nuts, but when he's not actively on a heist he's always got some sort of food within reach (and all of the city's best restaurants earmarked).

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE ? Yes, but only because a certain level of (vocal) musical talent has come in useful for some past impersonations. He's not a particularly musical man by nature, so he doesn't make a habit of singing for the fun of it or honing the skill further than what's professionally necessary.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS ? He has a million bad habits. He's a thrill-seeking masochist who's so assured of his own survival that he feels no need to be cautious with his life.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR ? If he's out in public (and not disguised), it's a full suit with a brightly-coloured jacket and a different coloured tie. Red is his usual jacket go-to, though he has outfits in every conceivable colour. His shirts are always a solid colour, once again different from his jacket or tie, and his pants are the plainest part of the ensemble. They're usually black or grey or beige, something a little more neutral to balance out everything that's happening on top.

If he's at home, he's not wearing a whole lot. It's not at all uncommon to find him sprawled out across a couch in just his vest and boxers. What's rare, in fact, is seeing him in actual 'casual' clothes, like sweatpants or a hoodie. Those types of items are truly his last resort as far as clothing goes, and really only happen on laundry days when he's exhausted everything else he packed and has no intentions whatsoever of venturing outside.

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE ? HOW SO ? Incredibly so, sometimes to the chagrin of those he's being affectionate with. Verbally, physically... Lupin wastes no opportunity to remind his friends just how much he likes their company and assistance. Sure, it's often exaggerated and comes across as more of his usual theatric performance, but that's just a cover to avoid having to be... tender. Emotional heart-to-hearts aren't his thing.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN ? On his side, with his back facing a wall (or, if he's with someone outside of his close circle, facing them). It comes from a need to protect himself, never leaving his back unguarded or vulnerable unless he's in the company of someone he already trusts completely.

That being said, Lupin is capable of getting rest in just about any position on any sort of surface, so he's been spotted sleeping in all sorts of odd poses. If he's faking sleep, he defaults to facing the ceiling. If he's hungover, he'll often flop forward onto his stomach and smush his face against a pillow/the couch/the floor.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM ? Yes, but only if he's off-the-clock, as it were, or he's made the deliberate choice to allow himself to be heard*. Phantom thieves didn't earn that title through pure coincidence, after all: Lupin is a master at keeping himself hidden, and that naturally includes being able to control the noise he makes.

*The exception is Zenigata. Zenigata can track him based on aura alone, and simply knows whenever Lupin's nearby regardless of how silent he's being.