#sage green sofa

[sebastianchris]

New York Enclosed Living Room

Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary enclosed carpeted living room remodel with orange walls, no fireplace and no tv

[diebarbiemusikkollektiv]

Guest Bedroom in San Francisco Inspiration for a sizable, traditional guest bedroom renovation with beige walls

[ode-to-melpomene]

hello mel!!! your jason todd x artist! reader is a real gem, so delicious i think i would like to eat it!!! could i possible request a jason todd x famous poet!reader?

Anon, you get me.

I struggled a bit with the plot for this one, but I hope you like it regardless <3

Erato

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn poet!reader Synopsis: Jason convinces you to take a break. Word Count: 1281. Warnings: Established relationship and fluff!

The living room was dark. 

Blanketed in shadows, Red Hood stepped off the fire escape and into the apartment. Muscles taut, shoulders squared, jaw clenched tight beneath his helmet, he stalked with a panther’s grace through the shadows. Light on the balls of his feet, his heavy boots hardly made a sound against the floorboards of the creaky old Gotham apartment.

Red Hood kept his hand hovering inches from the gun on his waist as he stepped warily around the furniture. The white film obscuring his eyes trailed over the lamp atop an end table beside the familiar orange chaise sofa.

Something wasn’t right. It was so dark.

Filling the shadows with his presence, Red Hood slunk down the hallway. His broad figure filled the space, looming in the narrow hallway like a beast waiting to lunge from the darkness. His skin crawled with a sense of wrong, wrong, wrong. His teeth inched to sink into something. The scent of copper and gunpowder clung to his body armor, suffocating him as he inhaled it with each breath. His hackles rose.

There, at the end of the hall. The tiniest sliver of pale light filtered through the crack of an ajar door. Red Hood’s fingers twitched beside his gun, itching to reach for the grip that he knew fit so comfortably in the palm of his leather-clad hands.

Said hands, dirty and tainted, slid across the sage green surface of the door. Claws curled around the edge of the door, sliding through the gap. He inhaled deeply, a rumble like a growl deep in his chest as he steeled himself. Something was wrong, wrong wrong-

Red Hood pushed the door open and hovered in the doorway. A hulking, heaving, monstrous figure doused in oil-slick darkness that filled the entire threshold. Sharp eyes and predatory teeth staring down at-

You.

Your eyes jerked away from the dimly lit laptop screen on your desk and landed on the shadowed figure looming at the entrance to your home office.

“You didn’t leave the lamp on,” Red Hood gruffed, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side. You always left the lamp on.

Your eyes widened as you glanced around the dimly lit room, the blackout curtains drawn. “What time is it?” you demanded with a breathy sense of panicked realization.

“Three in the morning,” Jason breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the doorway. “Scared me, angel. Thought somethin’ might have happened.” His gloved hands reached for his helmet, dragging the metal from his skin with a satisfied exhale. He rolled his head on his neck, stretching the aching muscles. “What are you still doing up?”

“Finally found a groove,” you replied, your gaze again fixed on the dim screen. Your fingers hastened over keys with a swiftness he hadn’t seen in days. He had grown used to the sluggish drawl and frustrated taps, your dramatic grumblings begging for inspiration to strike. “If I stop now, I- I’ve gotta get this done before-”

“The end of the week,” he finished, an exhausted, lopsided grin rising on his lips. He lifted a gloved hand to swipe sweaty hair from his skin. “How many have you written tonight?”

“Six,” you answered quickly, fingers pausing over the keys. The sound of heavy boots crossing the floor drew your attention and you found yourself staring up at Jason as he leaned forward and planted one hand on the desk. His helmet thudded onto the desk next to your hand. Your eyes met his, lips parting slightly at the curious expression he wore.

Jason always seemed like a statue to you. Strong, immovable, broad. Your eyes grazed over the scrawling scuffs and scratches of his suit that spiraled like vines climbing over his marble surface. The red highlights of his armor like maroon clematis, blossoming from the vines that held him together-

“Might have an idea for a seventh poem,” you began as you turned back towards your computer. Your breath hitched at the feeling of leather sliding up your throat and stopping to cup your jaw. Jason’s fingers curled slightly as he turned your head to meet his gaze again.

“When was the last time you took a break?”

“Um…” your tongue felt useless in your mouth as you stared up at him with wide eyes. Green eyes gleamed back at you, brows pinched together in a subtle scowl. Your stare roved over his face–the subtle crook of his nose, twice broken, and the thin scar tracing from his jaw to his cheek, and the wisp of sweat-damp black and silver hair that stuck to his forehead. “Probably… noon?”

Jason sighed. “C’mon, up.”

“Jay-”

“Up,” he prompted, hauling you up from your chair. Your palms flattened to his armored chest as you sought to stabilize yourself. Your fingers fanned out wide against the red sigil scrawled across his chest, then slid down to rest over his ribs. Jason hummed appreciatively and looped one arm around your waist, the other cupping your cheek. “Take a break with me, yeah? Know you need to get this done-”

“- I’ve got the book signing next week, and I need to have my draft turned in to my editor before then-”

“- But you’ll be no good to anyone strung out and exhausted.” Your cheeks warmed and you cast your eyes down. Your hands drifted back to the vibrant symbol across his chest. He was right, of course–he knew better than most how important it was to avoid being overworked… not that he heeded his own advice very often.

You jumped from your thoughts when his gloved hand closed around your wrist. You felt a pop from between your teeth and your gaze shot down to where he pulled your hand from your mouth, nail slightly torn. Oh. You were doing it again, and you hadn’t even noticed.

Jason brought your hand to his lips and laid a kiss on your palm, then trailed down and placed another on your wrist. It was like butterflies gracing your skin. His hands were strong as oak as he tugged you tighter against him-

“Yuck,” you said, jumping as he kissed your forearm and his wet, sweaty hair brushed your skin. You wrinkled your nose in disgust. He chuckled when you tried to pull your arm away.

A squeal escaped your lips when he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You squirmed at the ticklish feeling of Jason pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin, dragging his damp face against your dry skin. “Jason! Gross!”

You groaned in disgust at the feeling of his damp hair dappling your skin. Your hands pushed at his shoulders, but his arms just pulled you tighter against him. There was no escape from the torment, and you whined pitifully in protest. He returned your frustration with a huffy laugh against your shoulder.

“You’re the worst.”

Jason grinned a crooked smile against your skin as his gloved hand slid into your hair and cradled your head against his chest. “C’mon, take a shower with me. Save some water. I can make dinner after, and we can eat in here while you wrap up.” He pulled away, his hair mussed as he gazed at you with a gentle expression. When he leaned in again it was to press barely there kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your temple, and back down. “Take a break with me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as a content sigh left your lips. Your eyes felt heavy under his ministrations and you finally acknowledged the weary ache in your bones. You hummed quietly, a wordless reply to his request. 

You could spare thirty minutes.

[aquarelliwrites]

Reading Date

SHIP: Oscar Piastri x Reader BLURB: A miserably cold day during winter break gives Oscar the opportunity to have a closer look at one of your hobbies. CONTENT WARNINGS: passing mention of alcohol, fluff, you/yours pronouns with no specified gender, no use of Y/N

1.8k

Weak white daylight streamed in through the gauzy curtains of your sitting room - first illuminating dust particles caught floating in its path, then reaching you on the sofa. The sage green record player played its honeyed vintage notes at a leisurely pace, the soft tones of a melody on piano only there for you to hear.

By all means, you were happy with this. The radiator right under the window kept the sitting room at a relatively normal temperature considering the miserable January weather outside, and you buried yourself in blankets in addition - if someone were to ask, you'd have to guess some number between 3 and 5, all covering different parts of you.

The collection of essays you'd been dragging yourself through reading was finally finished, which made you more than happy to pull one of your 'rainy day' books off the shelf and decide if it was a worthy successor to the last novel you'd read. The essays were incredibly interesting and provided a fresh view of the world, sure, but sometimes all you really needed was a good piece of fiction to sink your teeth into. Your boyfriend sometimes teased you about the number of books you bought and never read, but your argument was sound: you often needed the story to find you at the right time to enjoy it fully.

Speak of the devil - a door down the hallway creaked open and closed faintly, and you hear Oscar's soft footsteps on the hardwood shortly before he speaks up.

"Good morning." He really was the embodiment of a polite cat right then and there - cozy clothes, tired smile, a voice still scratchy from sleep.

"Good morning, darling," you smiled back. His hands held the back of the couch behind you, and you observed the way they supported his weight before craning your neck upwards to see him looking at you upside-down. "How'd you sleep? Sorry if the music woke you up."

"Oh, no, don't worry about that." He rested his entire forearm on the backrest now, laying his head in a way where it was right next to yours. You swore you got goosebumps from the way his morning voice spoken right next to your ear scratched your brain just right. "I couldn't even hear it in the hallway. I slept fine. Take it you did too?"

You nodded, sitting up slightly and reaching for his cheek to press a soft kiss on his lips. He let out a satisfied hum, reaching up to tangle his hand in your hair. You weren't a new couple by any means, having not been in your 'honeymoon lovebirds' phase for at least a year or two by now; still, you loved that every kiss and small gesture you exchanged still made you feel as warm and bright as the day you met.

"How does coffee sound?" He asked when he pulled away, his hand traveling from your hair to cradle your face. Tiny sparks lit a fire under where his thumb ran over the apple of your cheek, and you briefly shut your eyes to savor the moment.

"Coffee sounds great, Osc,” you spoke, and after his pointed pause chuckled, “please and thank you."

His laugh is in harmony with the song on the vinyl - although maybe you’re just young and in love and so it seems that way. The sound of him grinding coffee beans for you both sort of fades into the background, so you don’t really notice he’s back until a latte’s placed on the side table next to you. In the rich foam, the figure of a lopsided heart catches your attention.

“You did latte art for me,” you gush, a grin seemingly stuck on your face as he sets his mug down by the other end of the sofa. It’s nearly surreal: the athlete behind the visor is curling up on the couch with you now, sipping a latte from a matching mug and choosing a Netflix show. Lifting the needle and turning off the turntable, you watch the vinyl come to a slow stop before putting it away with care.

You’re left sitting in a comfortable silence after that, with background noise of muffled dialogue and the occasional flipping of a page. He did manage to end up with his legs completely in your space under the blankets, though. Not that you minded.

“You don’t have anything planned for today, right?” Is it shitty if he secretly really, really hoped you would say no?

"No.” He breathed a silent sigh of relief, and you smiled at his antics. “I was thinking about maybe, possibly taking a walk later, but…" you looked out of the window. The street outside was empty and foggy, and the overcast sky enveloped everything like the world’s most depressing duvet. “I’d have to bundle up, and I’m just not feeling it right now.”

"We could have a day in. Just the two of us."

"That sounds lovely, Osc." And with that, you were back to silence, each of you cozy in your own little bubble.

Oscar did end up having to get up later on your behalf to bring you a snack, but he lingered by the bookshelf for a strangely long time on his way back.

"What's up?" You glanced over to see him craning his head sideways and examining the titles.

"I kind of want to read with you. Just… not sure what." It’s cute how focused he was - his brows furrowed adorably and he chewed his lower lip a little. He didn’t even know how attractive you found him like that.

"I thought you weren't a book person."

"You seem like you enjoy it." He shrugged. "Any recommendations?"

It was a couple of beats of collective pondering of the titles before you clicked your tongue and pointed to the middle rack. "Uh, fifth from the left, white spine with blue letters."

He followed your instructions, but playfully rolled his eyes at the title. "'Normal People'? Is this supposed to mean something?"

"It's not a jab at you, it's just a pretty good character study that reads fairly easily." You sounded a little defensive, so he lifted his hands up in mock surrender before collapsing back on the sofa and curling up. He didn’t miss the opportunity to steal one of your blankets then, laughing at the death glare you sent him.

You waited for him to settle before scooting yourself and the blanket nest over, resting under his left arm. A satisfied sigh left you at the sensation of immense warmth and comfort you found and let him know you don’t plan to move away anytime soon.

Not that he really minded.

“Who has to cook?” He asked you around midday, both of you already deeply invested in your reading.

You hummed indecisively. “I'll rock-paper-scissors you for it?”

Oscar agreed, and you both cupped your fists in your left hands.

"Best of three," he added after losing the first round. You're unsurprised he lost overall - he always chose scissors first.

“Best of five?” He suggested.

“Get to it, pastry boy. Chop chop.”

He sighed dramatically, like the weight of the world sat upon his shoulders, and stood up suddenly, leaving you to fall into a fit of giggles - now in a fully lying position.

Eventually, you poured yourself a drink from the fridge and sat yourself all pretty on the kitchen island. He hummed along to some song from his Spotify, and you took a moment to really admire him. Even in a hoodie and sweatpants, his hair still fell in that graceful swoop across his forehead; the way you can see his forearms flex with how he rolled up his sleeves made your thoughts race.

You did also catch yourself staring at his ass. It was unavoidable.

“They should call you Oscar Pi-ass-tri, goddamn.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder and cocked his hip with a sly smile. “Did you put any alcohol in there, baby?”

“You know I'm just naturally like this.”

“I do.” 

"You know," you took a sip after an extended silence, "the sluttiest thing a man can do is know how to cook delicious meals."

He was quiet for a moment, stirring a pot on the stove, before he shrugged with a small smile tugging upwards at the corners of his lips. "'Guess I'm a filthy whore of a man then."

You both paused, again, and he looked up at you from the pasta sauce he was making. You could have heard a pin drop, then.

In the moment after, you were both roaring with laughter - he was almost on his knees on the floor while your knuckles were white with how hard you were gripping the countertop not to fall off.

You barely wheezed out, "That's your new name in my phone," before Oscar was practically folded over again and you were struggling to catch your breath.

The pasta ended up tasting divine, and you were both full before you knew it. The couch welcomed you back after lunch, the TV just on as background noise to avoid the afternoon drowsiness.

"You were right, you know," he said while marking his place - over your dead body would you let him dog-ear the page - "it is a good character study. I wish they'd just, well, you know. Talk about their problems."

"It's a little frustrating, yeah,” you mumbled. He was so indescribably warm and comfortable and you really couldn’t make yourself move to look at him from where you were still lying under his arm and several blankets. A certain comfort settled deep into your bones, and you felt as heavy as lead. "It ends well, I promise."

"It better." He grumbled, and you responded with a huffy giggle.

While he had a late lie-in, you had been up for a while already by that point. After a few too-long moments of silence, he lifted his elbow and noticed you dozed off completely. Your weight was comfortable on him, and the story was interesting, so he put yours away on the coffee table and decided he could waste the afternoon just like this.

Ultimately, you stirred a couple of times throughout the few hours you were out - never truly waking up, except to pull yourself closer to him. He was more than halfway through the little paperback you assigned him and, surprisingly, he was actually enjoying himself. Maybe it was just because he got to participate in a hobby you like as well. Or maybe he enjoyed the closeness and intimacy of getting to read your little pencil notes in the margins; enjoyed the soothing rhythm of your chest rising and falling; enjoyed the small pleasures of ‘normal people’ things.

It was such a perfect moment that, for an instant, he felt like he could spend every single one of the rest of his days like this.

Note: I'm not as happy with this as I was with the Max fic (and I'm upset with myself for not posting it when I said I would?? alas we live) but Oscar is one of my favorite drivers and I hope I did him justice lol

Liked this? Check out my masterlist!

[theslushiestnoob]

THE BOY NEXT DOOR (pt2)

Word count: 2k

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I need more furniture, I decided. My new flat, while nice, was boringly empty - vast expanses of walls remained unadorned, significant areas of the floor unfurnished. I had the basics - a bed, a kitchen, a chair, but I didn’t love any of them; they didn’t scream ‘me’ like I wanted them to.

I set out with the intention of buying a sofa - something plush and deep which I could collapse onto after a long day. As I swiftly discovered, sofas are expensive, and so my options were limited. I settled on a sage green one, padded with large pillows and a complementary throw blanket - included by the overly nice salesmen who seemed to take a particular interest in my customer satisfaction.

Driving through downtown Toronto with a huge green sofa strapped to the roof of my car was not a situation I’d predicted I would find myself in, but I can’t say that it is hugely out of character for me. Arriving at my place soon after, I placed my hands on my hips as I assessed the situation. Me, a sofa currently on top of my car, and four flights of stairs. Things were feeling awfully like an episode of friends before I was interrupted from my thoughts by a high voice.

‘Do you need some help?’

I turned around to face a small, pretty blonde woman standing in front of a tall dark-haired man. Her hair was held out of her face by a claw clip, her outgrown curtain bangs tucked behind her ears. She had a kind expression - the kind of face which you feel comfortable telling all of your darkest secrets to with no doubt of her loyalty. The man behind her held onto her hand affectionately, looking at the sofa with an intrigued expression.

‘Actually, yes please. I need to bring this up to my flat,’ I explain, smiling gratefully at their generosity.

‘I know I offered, but I think this is a job for you, Martin,’ The woman says, turning to rest her hand reassuringly on Martin’s shoulder. He sighs playfully, shooting her a soft smile before stepping toward my car.

‘Alright, Mandy watch out - let's just lift it onto the sidewalk first,’ He instructs, hooking his hands around the leg of the sofa. I mirror his movement, heaving with effort as we lower it onto the pavement. Martin straightens, shaking out his arms. He attempts to lift the sofa up again, but swiftly places it back down.

‘Honestly, I don't think we can do this alone,’ Martin pauses and gestures toward the complex. ‘Our friend lives in this building - he can help us.’

‘That would be perfect, thank you so much,’ I say, returning the smile Mandy gives me.

She pulls out her phone, rapidly texting who I assume to be their friend.

Less than two minutes later, a figure starts walking toward us; stocky, with golden skin and bouncing curls that I am frustratedly attracted to.

‘Oh, Jesus christ…’ I groaned under my breath as Hamzah approached us, his face contorted in a puckered smile.

‘Hey, y/n, good to see you again,’ He says with a mocking smirk.

‘You two know each other?’ Martin asks, slapping a hand against Hamzah’s back in greeting.

‘Not really,’ I replied, at the exact time Hamzah said ‘Yes’. I shot him an annoyed glance, causing his smile to widen further.

‘We’re neighbours,’ I explain, as Hamzah turns to hug Mandy.

‘Neighbours,’ Hamzah parrots in an amused tone. He turns to face Martin, asking ‘What did you say about a couch?’ 

‘Well, if you look just here there's a sofa, and it's supposed to be in my living room, not the side of the road,’ I explain, my tone mildly sarcastic.

‘Really?’ Hamzah deadpans. ‘But it goes so well with the greenery…’

I roll my eyes, turning away from him as he and Martin plot how they’re going to transport my sofa up to the fourth floor.

*

‘Thank you guys so much, honestly I could not have done it without you,’ I lean against the back of the sofa, now positioned perfectly in my living room.

‘Oh, we know girl,’ Hamzah mutters, and I shoot him a death stare.

‘It was so nice to meet you, too,’ I say to Mandy and Martin, ignoring Hamzah. Mandy steps towards me and hugs me, shocking me for a moment but I swiftly return the embrace.

‘We’ll see you again, I’m sure,’ Mandy says, ‘but here’s my number. You seem cool.’ She grabs my phone from the table, holding it in front of my face to unlock it and entering her number into my contacts. I secretly admire her unwavering assuredness, complete confidence that can only come from a certain kind of person.

The three of them leave my flat soon after, leaving me to plan out the rest of my decorations. I was hit by a wave of inspiration; two organised pin-boards and four shifts of the sofa later it was suddenly late into the evening. Through the paper-thin walls, I had heard the faint chatter coming from Hamzah’s place. As a trio, they seemed so close, so familiar - a great dynamic between them.

*

It was the late evening when I heard the knock - a brief but resounding sound that stirred me from reading on the sofa.

Opening the door, I rolled my eyes.

‘Ah, always so glad to see me,’ Hamzah deadpans, his arms laden with leaves. I looked him up and down, my eyes narrowed in question. He had a potted plant tucked under each arm and another on the floor beside him.

‘Why are you at my door with several houseplants?’ I ask, meeting his gaze and registering his amused smile.

‘To help you decorate. This place feels like a hospital. Very clinical,’ He replies, looking critically past my head and into the admittedly undecorated flat.

‘Hey! That's so unfair. I’ve lived here for three days - reserve your judgement, please,’ I say, turning around and leading him inside. He follows me to the expansive living room, placing the larger plant beside the sofa.

‘Already such an improvement. Adds some life, and there's just enough sunlight here from the window,’ he says quietly, admiring his own work. I cross my arms across my chest and smirk at him.

‘Didn’t take you for the gardening type,’ I say when he turns to look at me. He scoffs, shaking his head dismissively.

‘It’s calming. I actually just needed to get rid of some plants, so I’m dumping them with you.’

‘Oh, definitely. There was no generosity behind this at all, purely selfish,’ I say sarcastically. Hamzah turns to me, a vaguely pained expression crossing his rugged face as his eyebrows cinched. 

Moving around the apartment, he placed the plants - reciting care instructions to me. Water, light, humidity, nutrients - my head was swimming with all of the information he was feeding me. I was somewhat anxious for the responsibility - my pride would not allow me to let these plants die, I knew he would not let me live it down.

‘That’s pretty much it,’ Hamzah concludes, as if he hadn’t completely overwhelmed me with his vast knowledge of plant-care.

‘Great. And thank you, Hamzah, it was nice of you to give me these, I’m surprised.’ I said with a smile. He is quiet, his jaw flexing in response as a strained smile crossed his face.

He turned toward the door, pacing briskly to the exit. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, I felt compelled to ask him something.

‘Why are you so loud?’

‘What?’

‘You shout, a lot. Like when we first met - I was asking you to be quiet. Is it part of your job or something?’

‘Kinda, actually,’ he says with a laugh.

‘Okay, so you’re a voice actor. No, a horror game tester, or a sports commentator-’

‘I’m a YouTuber,’ He interrupts. There is a pause, and I giggle.

‘No, you’re not,’ I laugh.

‘Yes, I am,’ he affirms, crossing his arms across his chest.

‘You’re kidding, right?’

He scowls at me.

‘Oh, jeez, you’re not kidding. I mean - that’s not a bad thing, it's actually really cool, it's just unexpected. Like who is a successful youtuber, y’know?’

‘Mandy and Martin are, too,’ he adds humorlessly. I feel myself digging a deeper hole with every word I say, stammering as I try to explain myself.

‘I was surprised because that's a crazy freaking job - it’s every kid’s dream, no?’

He cocks an eyebrow, glaring at me wordlessly.

I feel my caution slip away. What do I care if I offend him? 

‘Still not a great excuse to be unnecessarily loud,’ I mutter under my breath.

He grins amusedly, shaking his head gently as he slips out of the door.

*

Food. A fairly important thing in life - one which I was completely lacking. I had an urgent need for a supermarket trip - and a lazy Sunday morning was the perfect time to do so.

I step out of my flat, balancing my cup of coffee and my reusable bags as I fiddle with the lock. 

I hear a faint, mocking laugh from behind me.

‘Just stop,’ Hamzah’s deep voice mutters, sidling beside me and taking the keys from my fumbling hands. For a brief moment, our hands touched - his skin was the darkest colour of honey, its blazing heat eliciting a shock through my body. His dark eyes snapped to mine momentarily, his emotion indiscernible as he locked my door. His hair was tousled and his curls unruly, giving me the expression that he had just woken up. I felt a compulsion to speak, attempting to quell the intensity of the moment.

‘Why are you up so early?’ I ask, eyeing him up and down. I registered the length of his shorts, my stomach involuntarily flipping as my gaze absorbed the expanse of his exposed brown skin from his mid-thigh down to his ankles. Even in his half-asleep state, he was frustratingly handsome - his indifference increasing his attractiveness.

When I met his eyes again, he was smirking, an incredulous expression on his face.

‘Did you just check me out?’ He said amusedly.

I flushed, stammering as I scoffed at the idea.

‘Just answer my question, stop deflecting.’ I say, diverting the topic.

‘We’re filming a podcast episode.’

A wicked smile contorts my face.

‘Now that has to be a joke,’

He frowns.

‘Why don’t you believe a word I say, y/n? Why would I lie about that?’

‘No way you have a podcast. What do you mean by ‘we’?’

‘Martin and I. We do it together, mainly. What’s so wrong with that?’

I laugh, looking up at his face. He wore a genuine expression, defensive and proud.

‘Nothing’s wrong with it, podcaster.’

He sighs, walking toward the staircase.

‘Why do you say it like it’s derogatory?’

*

The supermarket trip was successful - getting back home was the frustrating part. Toronto traffic was almost impenetrable at the best of times, and a local event increased the amount of drivers by tenfold. It took almost an hour to travel the five mile journey from the shop back to the flat - by the end of which I was thoroughly annoyed.

Finally pulling into the car park, I immediately spotted the one vacant space conveniently close to the building’s entrance. I smiled to myself triumphantly, driving toward it intently. Instantaneously, a black car pulled around the corner and swung right into the space.

I instinctively pressed my horn, blaring angrily at the conceited car that stole my spot. I pulled up closer toward it, scowling into the tinted window. It began to roll down, and in the driver's seat sat a beautiful yet infuriating man with a head of dark curls.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I mutter, rolling down my window.

I lean out of the car, locking eyes with him.

‘You stole my spot, asshole!’ I shout, fixing him with my angry glare.

‘I was here first!’ Hamzah shouts back over the mechanical noises of our running cars. ‘I’ve been parking here for months, girl. You’re the newbie,’ He shrugs.

I hold up a middle finger out of the window as I speed away from him - the noise of his victorious laughter reverberating in my head.

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[l0veu-somuch]

nct dream as boy/girl dads ... 👼🏻⭐️

mark who still maintains his insane working hours and practicing late into the night even when he has his two favorite girls waiting back home (and it makes him feel terrible). he comes home when it's way past your daughter's bedtime and you're always still waiting for him even when it's three am in the morning. when the day breaks his daughter thinks she's being very quiet but she's quite clumsy as she steps all over his legs while she climbs onto the bed to wake him up. he blows raspberries onto the baby's cheeks as he trudges into the kitchen, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder as a thank you for the pancakes.

renjun who simply cannot contain his excitement when his daughter's painting is selected for an award in the school art competition. he brags about her drawings all the time to his parents, his friends, the elderly woman who bags his groceries. he says she got it from him. it's quite right. he cheers the loudest when her name is called, even blinks some pesky tears away (something you make sure to make fun of when you're in the car later on) when his sweet girl comes up on stage to accept her certificate and take a picture, in the dress she picked out with his help because it's a very special day.

if you ever asked jeno what he kept in his bag then you would (or would not) be surprised at the endless amount of candy and sugary treats he pulls out of it that he keeps for both himself and your daughter. it's clear where she got her sweet tooth from. usagi transforms into sailor moon on the television screen, your daughter astrode on his lap, each of them holding a pink spoon and taking turns scooping bites of cookies 'n cream and macademia into their mouths. you collapse onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh once you finish dishes duty, your head falling into the unoccupied crook of jeno's neck. your daughter swings a spoonful of ice cream towards your mouth, calling it a reward for working hard "because daddy always does it" and you accept with a giggle.

donghyuck drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the soundtrack of moana, occasionally peeking to the back to check on his sleeping girl tucked into the car seat. he keeps a hand nestled into her soft locks as he steers her towards where you said you'd be waiting at the department store, making a very important decision on whether you should get the white or sage green kitten heels for your cousin's wedding in jeju next month. your daughter then pops on a pair of oversized celine sunglasses, and it's too funny and adorable that the salesgirl was giving the three of you the stink eye for making such a ruckus in the store. he pays for it anyways, because he'll probably steal it for himself for when he has to be at the airport at early hours to leave for an overseas schedule or concert.

jaemin tries his best, really. he just can't help it when he sees luke sitting by his son as he draws on the coffee table. you can't expect him to bake the chocolate chip cookies, watch for stains on the oak from your son's oil pastels and feed all three cats at once. he doesn't know how you do it. luckily the cookies don't burn in the oven, he puts down parchment so the oak table is safe, and all cats are soothed by your son's magic touch and gentle pressing hand. when you notice a speck of oil pastel in their furs later on you only sigh and make a call to the salon to get them a bath, noticing their claws have been getting too long to the point they can mar your precious boys' skin.

you raise a hand to shield your eyes from the blaring sunlight, the piercing rays making chenle and your son look like mere sillhouettes as they zip around the court, the boinking sound of the basketball echoing in the park that's not too crowded for a friday morning. you can tell he's being much more gentle and a lot slower than he usually does for your son, fixing his stances and the grip of his fingers on the ball as he demonstrates a three pointer. your son joyfully claps everytime he shoots, and he ruffles his hair as a thank you. he calls out to you, demanding his congratulations kiss, but there is no way you're even going to come close to two very sweaty boys under the sweltering august heat.

your son actually prefers jisung to read him the bedtime stories he keeps in his shelf. he tucks him into the crook of his arm, whispering gently of the boy who discovers a treasure box in the forest and goes on an adventure with his pet hamster. his voice is too low to catch over the running of the sink as you remove your makeup, secretly wishing your son would fall asleep faster so that you can brush your teeth together. you watch from the doorway as he very carefully detaches himself from your son's side to slip the book back into its place on the bookshelf, tuck the sheets up to his chin, and place a gentle kiss to his forehead before he clicks the star shaped light off and his arm comes up to circle around your waist, pressing you against the wall to collect his kiss that tastes like peppermint toothpaste and your scent he can never get enough of.

[andrearose96]

✨ Help Me Femme Up My Apartment, But Keep It Chill ✨ please 🙈

Hey Tumblr Sissy’s Mommy’s and Daddy’s, This Indecisive bitch NEEDS YOUR HELP! 🏠💖

Here’s the tea: I’ve been living in my apartment for a while now, and it’s giving *boring* Like, plain, blah, nothing special vibes I’m SO ready for a makeover, but here’s the thing, I want to make it feel feminine and cozy but I can’t go full girly girl Think soft, chic, and understated, not *cotton candy explosion* 🙈🙈🙈

💞 Here’s the vibe I’m thinking (not strictly) 💞

🌸 Feminine, but subtle: Soft touches of blush, cream, sage, or mauve,nothing too frilly or over the top

🌸 Chic + cozy: A space that’s warm, inviting, and comfy, but still polished enough to feel like an adult apartment

🌸 Practical magic: I have guests sometimes, so I need cute things that are functional or easy to tuck away if needed

💡 Help me brainstorm!💡

I’d LOVE your ideas for decor, furniture, or little touches that can help me find that perfect balance. Here’s some inspo ✨🌈✨

✨ Throw pillows, blankets, and rugs:

I’m obsessed with soft, luxe textures maybe velvet, knit, or faux fur in muted tones. Something that screams “curl up here” but doesn’t overpower the space

✨ Functional storage, but make it cute:

Decorative baskets, storage ottomans, or sleek shelves with brass or gold details. Pretty *and* practical

✨ Art and wall decor:

Minimalist prints, abstract art, or line drawings. I’m thinking feminine energy without being super girly, like soft botanicals or muted tones

✨ Soft, glowy lighting:

Fairy lights, warm table lamps, or maybe even a statement light fixture with gold or soft finishes Lighting makes ALL the difference, right?

✨ Plants and accessories:

A mix of leafy greens and cute planters nothing wild, just simple and fresh. Maybe neutral pots or ones with subtle pastel details.

✨ Unique touches:

A chic accent chair, a vanity corner, or little things like trinket dishes, candles, or cozy books to make it feel personal

But here’s the thing: If you want to recommend super girly pieces, *please do*! I’d love to know what you’d suggest if I went all out. Whether it’s frilly curtains, a pink velvet sofa, or even a sparkly chandelier, I’m open to hearing it all. You never know 🤭 I might just fall in love with it and buy it anyway! 🙈🙈🙈

🌷 So leave your ideas in the notes and vote on ones you like✨ also Tag your Pinterest girlies, decor baddies, and anyone who knows how to balance pretty + practical! 🌷

I’ll post updates as the transformation happens, so pleas help me Let’s make this boring boy space into a cozy, feminine dream! 💕

Love you all!! 💖💖💖

Andrea Rose 🌹

[dellalyra]

you putting “megumi needs his mom rn” in the cw makes me wonder how he and the family reacted to yuuji dying after the detention center mission (and also what was the reaction to him coming back since i’m assuming gojo told reader before they revealed it to everyone else)

Family Formations - Part Eleven

Summary: Deja vu visits you when your son loses his best friend.

Warning: swearing, angst, acc kinda soft too, mourning, mentions of blood and vomiting, canon typical violence, MDNI

A/N: I had already started this fic when this request came through so loving the telepathy going on here. Also. This is sad. I’m sorry. I’ll make it worth it dw dw.

Recommended Listening:

Daylight - David Kushner

No Surprises - Radiohead

Ghost of You - 5 Seconds of Summer

Sparks - Coldplay

Your doorbell chimed, glancing at the clock hanging above the fireplace from you’d spot on the sofa, 8 pm? Satoru wasn’t due home until 9 pm plus - he just warped inside your home. Did he order your flowers again? You check the baby monitor and see your 4-month-old is still sound asleep in his crib.

Walking up to the door, you sensed a very familiar cursed energy. Megumi? What’s he doing here, it’s Wednesday.

You could hear the rain and thunder pouring and hitting your windows in waves.

You open the door, and you see nothing.

A whimper emanates from beside you, and on the ground – slumped against the doorway is your eldest boy.

You fall on your knees beside him.

“Megumi! Baby, what’s going on? You’re going to catch a cold.” You brush his hair out of his face, and you are stricken with the realisation that he is crying. His angular face is so devoid of any emotion, but the tears scream otherwise. You could count the number of times you’ve seen him cry in 10 years on one hand and you hadn’t been prepared for this tonight.

“Jesus, baby what’s going on?” You try to heave him up from the ground and he’s as limp as a rag doll as you try to guide him inside the door. The hallway is as far as you can manage his weight before you give in and shut the door to the outside world. He’s now just leaned against your sage green wall, if he wasn’t breathing, you’d think he was comatose.

Only now do you realise he’s bleeding. His lip is busted, and his eyebrow is too. But what type of curse would elicit this reaction?

“Megumi? Honey? Talk to me - what’s happened?” You kneel beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the top of his head.

Empty eyes, now a dull blue, look up at you through lashes soaked with rain and tears.

“He’s dead.” The tiniest voice, again, void of emotions.

Satoru? No – you had been on the phone with him 20 minutes ago.

“He killed him.” His eyes are facing you – but they’re looking straight through you.

“Who’s dead, Megumi?” You probe – anxiety gripping your stomach like a vice.

“Sukuna – ripped his heart out. In front of me. Just ripped it out. His heart. He’s dead.” The words are barely intelligible in the mumbles that come from his out and you’re still as confused, Sukuna? How could- oh my god Yuuji is dead.

Yuuji Itadori.

Dead.

“Oh my god – fuck. Megumi, my sweet boy.” At this point, he turned to you.

He looked into your eyes.

He turned his head and vomited on the floor beside him.

You pull him into you, tears flooding your face as you think about that sweet, sweet boy – a soul too good for this world so brutally ripped out of it.

You wipe his mouth on your sweater sleeve and once again haul him up into your grasp he almost falls but you pull on every muscle fibre you had – you needed to get him dry and cleaned up.

A memory played in your mind, a sense of déjà vu – Satoru vomiting and sobbing and you shaking with tears curled up together – the loss of another best friend. The fates were cruel masters to make you relive this scene again.

Once he was up the stairs you lay him on his bed. Where he just sat on the edge, legs still on the ground and stared at his shoes. He went to vomit again, and this time you caught it with a bucket you’d retrieved from the closet.

“I need to get a cloth. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t acknowledge this. You just needed a moment to gather yourself before you went back in - you’d be no good to him if you continue to try to help in the state you're in, a mess of shock and grief and anger. White hot anger.

You shut the en suite door of his room behind you, and you rush to the toilet and heave up all of your remaining food at the mental image of that darling boy laying cold and dead and gutted on the ground.

You give yourself a moment – your son and you breathe so that you can deal with everything later – wait, does Satoru know?

Grabbing a cloth – you go into the room, laying the cloth down for a moment, you go into your and Satoru’s room and grab one of his sweatshirts. In Megumi’s room, you pull sweatpants from his wardrobe and look at your son. He’s dripping rainwater onto the carpet and there’s blood from his injuries mingling, tinging it pink.

You think some of the puddles might be tears, his or your own, you don’t know.

You stand in front of him, remembering the times when you’d do this to help him into his frog pyjamas - he was only 6 back then – 16 now and 5ft 9 – almost a whole foot taller than you. You lift his arms and unzip his jacket – his T-shirt underneath is soaked through too. You peel them both from him and check for cuts on his torso – bruises, old and fresh – but no blood.

You pull Satoru’s sweatshirt over his head, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that you’re moving him. He’s just limp in your arms, and you swear to anyone who’s listening to if you could take that pain and shoulder, it yourself then you would.

You peel his slacks down, pulling his sweatpants (a Christmas present from your brother) onto his lanky legs you tuck his hair behind his ears and dry it with a cloth. You then dab at his bleeding wounds, they’re clotting now, and the bleeding is stopping.

You throw the cloth away to the far side of the room.

He’s seen enough blood for today.

Tears are flowing freely from you both as you sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

Your proximity must trigger him back to this plane of existence and he looks at you.

“I couldn’t save him.”

“I know sweet boy, but it’s not your fault. You did everything you could.”

“It was a special grade – he, the curse had a finger. Our mission didn’t say any of that.”

“A special grade? Was Satoru there?” He couldn’t have been, he was in Osaka today.

“No. Just me and Kugisaki and Itadori.” His voice quavers.

You knew exactly what happened. It was clear from even the bare minimum you had heard.

But – now was not the time. Willing yourself to push the thoughts aside. Megumi doesn’t need that right now.

“You did everything you could, ‘Gumi. There was nothing you could have done.”

This was his kryptonite. A heavy, choked sob broke through the air and his body collapsed onto you.

“His heart – he ripped it out. He was right there and he just – momma, he’s dead. I couldn’t save him, Momma.” You broke down, sobbing yourself, cradling this boy – this poor broken boy, into your chest as you hugged him so tight you could feel every shake of his body in your own. You carefully moved. you both so you could sit against his headboard with his sobbing head laid on your stomach.

You are so grateful that Akio is a heavy-sleeping baby because you need to focus on your oldest son now. He needed you, and you were his to protect him, 100%.

You stroke his hair and whisper placating nothing into his ear. Nothing will fix this. Nothing will make it easier or make it feel better. You just need to be here; you just need to hold him now. You can tell him until the cows come home that he did all he could, he couldn’t have stopped Sukuna, that it was not his fault – but all these worlds will refuse to sink in until he’s ready to hear them. Yet, you tell him anyway. Over and over again.

You’ve no idea how much time passes. Your tears mingle with the lingering water on the side of his head as you cry with him but eventually, the sobs turn into heavy breaths, and you realise he’s passed out. Sheer exhaustion has taken his body hostage and for a second, you’re put at peace knowing at least right now – his mind will be quiet.

You slip your phone from your pocket, without moving or disturbing the boy on your lap.

‘Please call me.’ A message from Satoru.

You ring him.

The phone barely dials once before you hear his voice – hoarse.

“Y/N. I –”

“I know ‘Toru. Megumi came home.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t there.” He sounds so broken.

“You have no reason to be sorry baby, we both know how this managed to come to pass.” You hated that he always still felt the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

“I’ll kill them all.” He says, and you know he’s serious.

“You could, but you won’t. Maybe 10 years ago – maybe then we’d have done it together. But not now, not anymore.” You reply, voice still thick with tears.

There’s silence.

“Where are you, ‘Toru?”

“The morgue.”

“Shoko?”

“On her way in.”

“I can’t leave the boys.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

He hangs up the phone. Nothing more needs to be said. These feelings are sadly all too familiar to you both. You realise Shoko will have to do the autopsy.

She delivered Akio 4 months ago. Now she’d be cutting up the corpse of the boy who waited outside of the labour ward for 16 hours.

You lean your head back – closing your eyes. Flashes of a pink head tossing back in laughter and strong arms hugging you in thanks, of meatballs served to you as you nurse your newborn and the Spider-Man lamp being plugged in making you smile at the giddy teenager. The faces change, now they’re old and wrinkled and whisper words with serpentine tongues laced with deceit and heartlessness in their actions. They knew what they were doing. Satoru wasn’t in Osaka for no reason. They knew.

They all fucking knew.

They sent him to his death, knowingly and intentionally. They sent three children into a trap all because they are scared. Cowards who hide behind words of ‘the good of society’ and the guise of ‘the greater good’. Satoru and you had screamed and pushed and threatened to stay the execution, but they found a loophole anyway.

They risked Megumi and Nobara – did they think you wouldn’t piece together the big picture? Did they think that you wouldn’t realise?

You don’t know how long you sat there but your phone buzzed again.

📲Satoruuuuu is Calling… ✅⛔️

You pick up.

“He’s alive.”

“What?”

“He’s alive. Yuuji’s alive. Sukuna woke him up…” There are so many tones in his voice and so many thoughts in your head you have to close your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Well - he’s talking and walking so unless The Last of Us was accurate then…” he attempts a joke – relief clear in his voice.

You softly lift the head from your lap, and place it on the navy pillow. He doesn’t stir.

You walk out into your room, sitting on the balcony – the air was what you needed.

“I don’t know what to say.” That is all you can manage.

The torrent of emotions your mind went through was making you so dizzy you sat on the wooden chair looking at the sky.

“He’s not safe here, they’re going to come for him.” Satoru’s voice comes, quiet through the phone.

“What will we do?” You say.

“He needs time, he needs to train and learn to manipulate and use his cursed energy. If he can protect himself…” Satoru begins.

“We need to hide him. He can’t stay at school or come here.” Your sorcerer’s brain was switched on now.

“I can’t bring him to the Gojo estate either, the elders the family visit too much.” He speaks.

Lightbulb.

“They visit your family… but they’d never think to visit mine. Satoru, bring him to my mom’s. I’ll call her, you can train him there every day, and if we’re being watched it’s not suspicious to visit our own family. She’ll take care of him.” You say, you knew that your family would protect this boy with their lives, he was family to Megumi, family to you.

“Y/N… we can’t tell anyone. The only people who know are me, you, Shoko and Ijichi.” He says, and your heart stops.

You’ll have to lie to Megumi.

“Fuck. It’s too dangerous for him to know – if they catch wind of this, and they find out he knows…” you say.

“He’ll be branded a traitor. Who knows what they’d do for information.”

“He’s going to hate us.”

“He’ll understand. He’s a smart kid.”

“Come home to me, to us – ‘toru. Bring him to my parents and then please come home.” You whisper to him.

He agrees and tells you he loves you.

The weeks fly by as you feel yourself crumbling from the weight of the sadness spilling from your son, Kugisaki isn’t much better and Satoru is still reeling from the elder’s deceit. You stormed to the council meeting the following day and threatened to burn the place to the ground if they so much as considered harming a hair on the head of the other kids.

“Unfortunate circumstances occur on missions. Nobody knows the outcome of these situations.” They fought.

“Oh – you knew the outcome of this one. You knew full well. All of you, every single one of you knew and you allowed it. In legal terms, that’s murder. You’re all sociopaths and whatever awaits you in the next world, I hope it hurts even a fraction of the pain you’ve all caused. Endanger my family again, and I’ll deal with you all personally – never mind Satoru.”

The training was going well – you had gone to your mother’s house two days after his resurrection, after the water cooled and you were sure you weren’t being surveilled.

You had run to Yuuji, running your eyes and hands over every bit of him, checking for wounds and crying into his shoulder. He had died, and somehow you were being comforted by him.

Satoru and you explained the situation, taking turns to train with him. They came up with a ridiculous idea of Yuuji playing Jack in the Box at the exchange event all you could do was allow it.

Back home – you explained to Megumi that the mission had been a nefarious plot concocted by the elders and higher ups to get rid of Yuuji, since you and your husband kept getting in the way – they took the opportunity of your maternity leave to send Gojo to Osaka and place the kids in the path of a Special Grade Curse. You hoped being armed with this information would help him understand why you and Satoru had lied to him, and allowed him to grieve. It hurt you, but his safety was paramount.

When the day came and Yuuji was released, you stood beside Megumi as he and Nobara watched him return from the dead. Jaws hanging open, they couldn’t tear their eyes from their friend.

Reunions and rejoicing complete, you and Satoru pulled Megumi by the sleeve away from the scene, into your classroom.

When the door shut, you began to sob.

“‘Gumi, I’m so sorry. We didn’t have any choice but to keep it a secret. It –” Satoru wraps you into his chest.

“We had to keep it secret, because they would have killed anyone involved if they found out, kiddo. We had to keep you safe.” He says hand on Megumi’s shoulder and a crying wife clinging to him.

“It’s okay.” Megumi shrugs.

You freeze, you thought he’d never forgive you.

“What?” You and Satoru say in unison.

“I get why you did it. Thank you, guys, – for helping him, and uh – for protecting us all.” He says and God this boy will never fail to amaze you. His maturity was something you and Satoru could only have dreamed of at his age and even rarer was hearing such genuine praise from him – he was softer with you, but this was directed to you both.

Wordlessly, you and Satoru wrapped him in your arms and he begrudgingly and awkwardly reciprocated the affection.

Over his head, you looked at your husband. His crystalline eyes filled with relief and love for you and your patchwork family, and you pressed a soft kiss to his lips – a silent thank you for everything you do. The road was never easy, but God was it worth it.

TAGLIST: @vesta-ro @lilithlunas @mialexandruh @sassy-cat-in-town @madam-ri @cjm-cookiethief

[moonsapprentice]

⋆ ✶ ✷ 𝔉𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔩 ✷ ✶ ⋆

Gender neutral reader and Tord find a kitten

All day, you’ve been in bed. It’s very cloudy, the sound of rain pattering on your roof and windows filling your ears. The bed seems so warm compared to the intense storm happening outside. You yawn, stretching out your tired bones. With a sigh you stand up, taking your blanket with you as it’s way too cold to go without it.

Your socked feet walk across the hard wooded floors, which occasionally creak under your weight. Humming quietly, your fingers pry open the fridge for about the twelfth time that day.

“…I need to go shopping.”

You sigh, taking milk out and pouring it into a mug. You put it into the microwave with a soft clatter and set the time for thirty seconds. You look at the aggressive rain storm happening out side. Luckily, it isn’t bad enough to knock out your power. But it’s pretty damn close.

The trees are swaying, the leaves attacked by the water coming too fast at them. The house itself is making loud whoosh noises from the wind hitting it. But all that noise isn’t drowning out an unmistakable noise…Meowing. A high pitched, shrill meow.

Quirking your eyebrow, you lean over your sink to look out the window above it. Scanning your backyard you see nothing. But then it comes again. And again.

“…what the hell..?”

You mutter under your breath. A strong pair of arms wrap around your waist

“What is it?”

Your boyfriend, Tord, says behind you with that pretty accent of his. You turn around, and as you open your mouth to speak the meow sounds out once more. His eyebrows raise and his smug smile gets wiped off his face. He lets go of your waist to look out the window.

Tord’s eyes scan your backyard with a catlike ability. But like you, he doesn’t see anything. He keeps looking through.

“There has to be a cat out there. There’s no way in hell that wasn’t a kitten.”

Tord says, gripping the windowsill. You place a hand on his shoulder

“I’ll go check”

You smile, but he immediately shakes his head. He takes your hand and kisses it

“No love, I will. I don’t want you to get soaked”

Tord smiles and before you can protest he pecks your lips lightly, walking out after. You sigh and shake your head, muttering about ‘that man’. You take your warm milk and sip on it.

Sitting on the sofa, which is one of his inventions, you wait for him to return. Through one of your living room windows, you can see him looking through every possible hiding place a cat could be in.

The unmistakable sound of water hitting your floor tells you that your boyfriend is back inside. You stand up and see him with drenched hair, which tugs a frown on your lips. Although, for some reason, he has a grin

“Why didn’t you put your hood up? You could catch a sickness, or worse, hypoth-“

Then there’s a loud meow. But this time, it’s from his arms. He’s cradling a tiny orange kitten in his arms. You let out a gasp and run over to his side.

“No way! There was actually a cat!”

You get a grin that matches his. The kitten is soaked and it’s eyes are closed. Judging by it’s size, it must be at least a few months old. You take the kitty from Tord’s arms and hold it in your warm arms.

“Go change.”

He laughs.

“Bossy.”

You’re too busy to retort back. A parental feeling washes over your body. You need to protect this baby. It’s tiny eyes open, they’re a gorgeous sage green with small speckles of a lighter color. Though it doesn’t seem to register anything, as it’s eyes close again.

“Oh, honey…hello..”

You murmur in a baby-like voice while scratching behind it’s ear. You take it to the kitchen and start drying it with a hand towel, it seems too sleepy to fight back or even purr. After that you sit on the sofa and hold it close to your chest so it’s nice and warm. The couch dips beside you and a warm arm wraps around your shoulder. Your head instinctively rests on Tord’s shoulder.

He chuckles while scratching behind the cats ear, the fur being surprisingly soft for a kitten who’s been outside for who knows how long. You smile a little more. The kitten seems to be in a state of being half-asleep, it opens its eyes and does a tiny jump when it sees the both of you so close to it. The cat wriggles out of your grasp and jumps down off the couch, backing away with a tiny hiss.

You and Tord’s eyebrows raise, you crawl on the floor and he kneels beside you.

“Hey, hey…shh..it’s okay…”

You whisper, trying hard to not startle the cat again. Tord stays silent, staring at it. He moves a little closer, still kneeling on one knee. With a flourish he extends his finger.

“det er greit lille pus, jeg vil ikke slåss...”

(it's okay little kitty, i don't want to fight...)

Tord mutters in a smooth voice, moving his finger a little closer. The kitten hisses again, but it’s so small it’s really not that scary. He puts his finger directly infront of the cats mouth, which causes it to bite him. Tord doesn’t even flinch though, staring at him. Theres an air of kinship between him and the small kitten. Slowly, the cat lets go of his pointer.

The corner of Tord’s mouth tilt up. He gently scratches under the kittens chin, which causes it to relax a little and step closer.

“…animal whisperer”

You murmur jokingly, although your words ring a bit of truth. Tord snickers and picks the tiny furball up with one hand, bringing it to his chest. You lean against him and gaze at the kitty. Gingerly you reach your hand out and pat the top of its head, which causes it to purr and tilt its head into you.

“It likes you too babe..”

Tord murmurs, looking at you with a soft smile. You chuckle and lean your head against his. You stay there for a few minutes, breathing eachother in while the sound of rain and purring mix together with your hearts.

Eventually, Tord pulls you down on the sofa with a small hum. The kitten rests between his chest and yours. His arms are around you and yours are around him, your bodies warming both eachother and the bundle of joy sleeping between you. His forehead presses more firmly against your head and he kisses your lips.

“…I love you.”

Hope you enjoyed this little one shot! If you sent me in a request I promise I am working on it and it’ll be out soon, I just felt a burst of inspiration and didn’t wanna waste it.

This isn’t proofread btw lol, if there’s a spelling error or grammar mistake please tell me!

- xoxo, Artemis

[mirikitakato]

[Translation] 2024 Shylock Birthday SSR Card: Even The Sound Is Captivating

Happy Birthday, Shylock! I was going out the whole day and just have enough time to translate this for him at night so that I could release it on Oct 14.

The Birthday trait is crazy though.

Card Story: With the Orgel's Melody - Respite to Shylock

One day, as Shylock's birthday approaches, I’m searching for him while holding a small box borrowed from Rustica, called "Orgel of Respite".

Akira: (A magical tool that connects to a mysterious space that can heal wizards... I want to celebrate Shylock's birthday with this.)

Murr: Sage! What’cha looking for?

Akira: …..Wah! Murr! Right, actually...

Murr: I see! Since you're holding that box, you must be looking for Shylock. I'll take you there!

[Scene changes to Shylock’s room]

Murr: I've brought the Sage!

Shylock: Oh mine...Welcome, both of you. Please knock, Murr. You never know what I might look like behind this door.

Although he says that, Shylock looks as elegant and refined as always. He smiles gently at me.

Shylock: Good afternoon, Sage. Welcome to my room.

Akira: Good afternoon, Shylock. I'm sorry to drop by suddenly.

Shylock: Not at all. I'm delighted that you came to see me.

Murr: Shylock~ Make that cocktail for me again! The one with the crescent moon-shaped lemon floating in pale blue liquor!

Murr flops onto the couch and says so. Holding a chess piece, he is spending his time as freely as if it’s his own room.

Shylock: Really now... Look at you, I can't believe you were just scolded.

Akira: Did something happen?

Shylock: He crossed paths with Oz this morning and upset him.

Akira: I-is everything alright? (Last time they met was a huge problem!!)

Shylock: Fortunately, I happened to pass by.

Murr: He said, "I'll scold him," and helped me!

Akira: That's good then...

Shylock: Well, I did scold him, but...I don't think he was listening. Hehe, he's quite a handful to train.

Akira: (As expected of Shylock. Instead of being discouraged, he's excited.) (He really finds joy in any situation, I can feel his open-mindedness…)

Shylock: By the way, is there something you want from me?

Akira: Ah, yes. It's about Shylock's birthday.

Murr: They said they’d take you to Orgel!

Shylock: Ah. A magical tool that Rustica received from a fan, right? I've heard from everyone that they received a wonderful respite from the Sage.

Akira: I'd like to invite Shylock too, is that alright?

Shylock: It’s my pleasure. I'm looking forward to a peaceful time with you.

Episode 2

A Few Days Later

As I pass by Shylock's bar...

Akira: (Huh? It's unusually quiet today. Usually, I always hear someone talking...)

Peeking inside, I see Shylock sitting on a sofa, elegantly tilting a wine glass.

Shylock: Oh, Sage. Welcome.

Akira: Good evening, Shylock. Did you already close the bar tonight?

Shylock: No. Last night, there were quite a few people causing a bit of a ruckus, so I banned them from entering for today. So, tonight is probably just you, Sage. Please, come in.

Shylock takes my hand and guides me to a seat at the counter. Then, he goes behind the counter.

Akira: I'm sorry if I disturbed you.

Shylock: I was just thinking up a new non-alcoholic cocktail, so don't worry about it.

Akira: Wow, a new menu item for the bar?

Shylock: I want to increase the menu options for those who don't drink alcohol. Would you like to try it?

Akira: Yes, of course!

Shylock hands me a cocktail that looks like an aurora. As I swirl the glass, it shifts from red to yellow, green to blue, then purple.

Akira: Amazing... It's so sparkly and beautiful... I’ll take a sip.

The moment I put it in my mouth, a refreshing citrus flavor spreads. It has a refreshing taste like a cool breeze, and I can’t help but smile joyfully.

Akira: It's so delicious!

Shylock: Hehe...I can feel your joy from your face, more than what words can express. If you were to name this cocktail, what do you think would suit it?

Akira: A name?

Shylock: Yes. If you don’t mind, I'd like the first person to try it, the Sage, to name it.

Akira: Eh, me? It's a very wonderful cocktail, but I might not be able to think of a good name…

Shylock: You can name it however you like. But if it's too much trouble, I won't force you.

His voice is so gentle, and his narrowed eyes seem to sweetly say, "Do as you please."

Akira: ……………………Okay. Then, could I have a little bit of time?

Shylock: As much as you like. The waiting time is also a joyful one.

Akira: (Shylock always gently supports my heart...) (Even when I'm feeling uncertain or insecure, my mind can be at ease thanks to him...) (I think I've decided on my wish for him at Orgel.)

Imagining that moment, I look forward to Shylock's birthday even more.

Episode 3

A few days later, on the day of Shylock's birthday...

Akira: Wow, you look great! That cool outfit suits you so well, Shylock.

Shylock: Thank you. Chloe worked really hard on it. It makes my good points shine even brighter, doesn't it?

Akira: Yes! Definitely!

Placing a small box on the table, I close my eyes. To guide Shylock to a magical space, I recall his charms...Then whisper in my heart like a prayer.

Akira: (With his open-mindedness that allows him to enjoy any situation, and his ability to be there for others, may Shylock find perfect peace...)

The lid of the small box opens with a sound. A doll resembling Shylock begins to dance around. Music can be heard from somewhere, and the surroundings are filled with soft light. When I come to my senses, a healing space has spread out, filled with elegant music like a butterfly flapping its wings, both graceful and soothing.

Shylock: It's a beautiful melody. Gentle, refined, and soothing to the heart.

Akira: It's a perfect song for Shylock. I can clearly see that this’s indeed your Orgel.

Shylock: Oh, hearing that makes me happy. Thank you.

Without hesitation, I guide Shylock to a place that has an elegant sofa.

Akira: Today, I want Shylock to relax completely. I'd be happy if you could relax.

As I say that, I neatly arrange the items from the basket I have carried on the table.

Shylock: This is...

Akira: Normally, alcohol would be best, but I think you may have your own preference in that regard... So I prepared some snacks instead.

Shylock: Hehe... You're so kind. You know my tastes well. Let's have a toast with a special fine wine that suits this occasion. Of course, I'll have the alcohol removed from yours.

Raising our glasses, we slowly enjoy our time here. His long fingers, which have the tips neatly manicured, pick up the snacks I prepared.

Shylock: It's delicious. The bitter cheese is to my taste.

Akira: I'm glad! Murr and Chloe told me that you've recently enjoyed eating cheese with nuts. Same with the other snacks. Everyone helped me think of things that Shylock would enjoy.

Shylock: Is that so? The Western wizards like to observe people. Seriously...they’ve truly been watching over me.

Looking carefully at the table, Shylock smiles with a look of happiness on his face. That smile reminds me of the one he has when he’s in the Magic Manor.

Akira: Um, Shylock. About the name of the cocktail you made the other day...

Shylock: You come up with something?

Akira: Yes. "Days at the Magic Manor"...How does that sound?

Shylock: "Days at the Magic Manor"...

Akira: One of my favorite daily routines in the Magic Manor is visiting Shylock's bar. I really enjoy seeing Shylock smiling while surrounded by other Sage’s wizards... I think the name would be very suitable for a cocktail that has the refreshing and clean feeling I get when talking to you.

Feeling a little embarrassed, I tell him everything, and Shylock returns a very soft smile.

Shylock: That's a wonderful name. I'll add "Days at the Magic Manor" to the menu right away.

Shylock snaps his fingers. Appearing with the light is the cocktail that had just been named.

Shylock: I want people who can't drink alcohol to feel free to come to the bar too. I have to tell everyone that there's a non-alcoholic cocktail that was named by the Sage.

Mischievously, he says so, and his wine-colored eyes curve into a smile. It’s the elegant, gentle, and loving smile I love.

Akira: Once again...Happy birthday, Shylock.

----oOo----

Card Episode: Enjoy this thoughtful and stylish gesture

Akira: Oh, Shylock. Are you having lunch now?

Shylock: Yes. I woke up a bit later than usual today, so I'm having a late lunch. Thank you very much for yesterday, Sage. I had a wonderful day.

Akira: It’s my line, the birthday party we had last night was really fun too.

Shylock: Yes. Rustica played the harpsichord for a birthday celebration, and Chloe even prepared party clothes for everyone...

Akira: I was surprised when Murr used magic on the barware and glasses to make them participate in the party.

Shylock: Hehe. It felt like I was being celebrated by the children I was looking after. A very thoughtful and stylish gesture. However, since I usually handle the barware carefully, I was a little worried that the glasses might get scratched every time they danced.

Note: the “children” mentioned here are the barware, not the Western wizards haha.

Akira: Ahaha. Murr's magic was so full of energy. In the end, we all had fun dancing like at a ball.

Shylock: Yes. I didn't want the fun to end. And as I was thinking that I didn't want the fun time to end, the sky began to lighten... I got into bed after the sun had already risen.

Akira: Oh, so that's why you woke up later than usual...?

Shylock: Hehe, that's right. You're the only one I've told that I had so much fun. It’s our little secret, Sage.

--- Home-screen voice line ---

"Time is vague for a wizard who has lived a long time. Ten years, a hundred years—they melt away in an instant. The days of my birth passed as fleetingly as a moment, but none of them can be dismissed. It is because of those days that I am who I am now, and that I can meet you like this."

--- Birthday Trait ---

One Night: “To become the [me] that I could love” — he raises his lowered eyes, realizing something beyond the night he had changed his friend with his own hands.

Note: For the trait, the sentence in quotation marks uses watashi (I) when the rest of the trait uses kare (he). Originally, there are no quotation marks but I feel it will be very confusing to suddenly switch from I to he, so I twist the translation a little bit.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

i would do anything for dad!eddie painting the baby room in some matching overalls with reader 🥺 idea kinda inspired by paper rings cuz this song makes me melt

something similar for you! 🧡

“You know, Wayne would have my head if he walked in and saw you,” Eddie grumbled.

You snorted, dipping the brush back into the tin of paint. “That’s a bit dramatic, no?”

“You should be resting,” the boy responded, wincing as he swiped the colour onto the wall a little too vigorously, and when he turned to face you, he had sage green freckles across his cheeks. “You’re makin’ me look like a slave driver, baby.”

“Teddy, it’s a bit of paint,” you told him gently but when you turned back to slick the brush over the wall, you rolled your eyes.

“I saw that,” he told you.

“Good,” you laughed back. “I’m three months pregnant, not on my deathbed,” you reminded him.

You were barely even showing, not really, especially when you were wearing one of Eddie’s old hoodies, a Hawkins High gym sweater that was hardly worn. But Eddie had been the one to rub your back through the morning sickness, the nausea that seemed to not know how to tell the time, ‘cause it lingered way into the evening.

He made you ginger tea and brought in your favourite snacks when lunch and dinner seemed too much to bear and you appreciated it all, thanking him with more kisses than he could handle, his cheeks turning pink from all the fond attention.

But he’d come home from work with a bag full of paint and some brushes and trays, a bright excitement in his eyes that you didn’t dare snuff out, even though you were close to telling him there was plenty of time to paint before the baby arrived.

You followed him into the spare room instead, where the boxed up crib that Wayne had bought you both lay against the closet door. He’d grumbled and pouted when you picked up a brush and grinned, but the boy let you paint the edges of the doorframe until it got too high for you to reach.

“Don’t even think about getting on a ladder,” he warned and before you could huff back a response, Eddie cupped the back of your neck and pulled you into him, kissing away your argument with a smile that you could taste. “Don’t make me fight a pregnant lady.”

You grinned back, nose pressed to his and your eyes still closed and everything was the sharp smell of fresh paint, engine oil and Eddie’s cologne.

“Your pregnant lady,” you reminded him, as if he’d ever forget.

“Damn straight,” Eddie hummed, pressing another kiss to your lips, your cheek, your nose.

“I’d still win,” you whispered and neither of you seemed to care that your paintbrush was crushed between your chests, light green seeping into cotton and staining the skin below. “I’d totally kick your ass.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and pulled back just an inch, eyeing you with a fondness that you’d never tire of. “Don’t doubt it, sweetheart.” He took the brush from your hand, gentle and kind enough that you’d didn’t complain. “Can you do me a favour and go chill out on the sofa?”

You pouted. Eddie kissed it away.

“I’ll let you kick my ass if you have a nap,” he tried to bargain.

“You saying I look tired, Munson?”

Eddie twisted his lips to hide his smile, knowing that trouble was close by. He shook his head, curls bouncing and he pressed a paint covered thumb to your jaw so he could angle your face the way he wanted. He pressed another kiss to your lips to sweeten you and you hated that it worked.

“I’m sayin’ that I heard you emptying your guts into the toilet at four am,” he murmured and he made a soft noise of sympathy when you frowned. “Go sleep, or Christ, watch a movie, yeah?”

He gave your bum a pat, the small swell of your stomach a soft rub.

“I’ll wake you up later and you can tell me how to build that damn crib, how’s that sound?”

You smiled like you couldn’t help it, stifled a yawn into the front of his shirt and ignored the way he snorted.

“That sounds nice,” you agreed.

[prismaticpichu]

Oo how about “you’re safe now” with Sephiroth and any of agz? Whether that is true or not is up to you >:)

OOOOOOH, STAR!! That is a juicy one!!! :000 >:3cc Thank you so much for the delicious start!!! 💕

~

Sephiroth didn’t need to glance up to know it was Angeal who stalked into his office that evening, the exhausted huff and heavy slam of the door telling him all that he needed to know.

“...Long training session?” Sephiroth grunted, green eyes never straying from the document in front of him, his pen never halting in its elegant glide across the paper.

He heard Angeal plunk onto the couch. “Very long,” he corrected, and Sephiroth could see him sweep a sweat-sheeted layer of hair back from the corner of his eye. “I’m telling you... that boy, he drains me. Really drains me.”

Sephiroth scoffed, unsurprised. “Did I not warn you that a student would be a waste of your energy?”

“Gee... Thanks, Sephiroth.”

The man’s scoff hardened into a grunt. “I’m only being factual. If you had to take a protégée under your wing, I’m still baffled as to why you needed one of such... high demand.”

“High demand?” Angeal parroted, leaning back against the sofa. “What is he, a pet?”

“Mmn. I not the one who gave him the moniker, ‘puppy.’“

“Heh, well, it’s true.” Angeal’s lips curled into a smirk. “That kid’s got more energy than the average chihuahuas. And he’s clumsy like one, too. You know he broke three training swords by swinging too hard today?”

“Again...” Sephiroth scoffed, “why are you so devoted to this student?”

He was not expecting such a long swath of silence to pass after that. It was as if the words had struck something in his friend, strumming a tender cord that Sephiroth didn’t know to be so raw, leaving the man appearing extremely distant. Thoughtful. Wistful. For several beats, Angeal didn’t say a word, his gaze drifting over to the large, panoramic window behind him, scanning over the sprawling, bustling terrain of the cityscape below.

And when he did finally speak again, some noticeable time later, he seemingly wanted to redirect the subject entirely.

“...I need to ask you a favor, Sephiroth,” he said.

Grateful for the break in silence, Sephiroth continued to scrawl. “What?”

“...Can you look at me, at least? I’m serious.”

Something of a sigh escaped Sephiroth’s lips as he lifted his gaze from his paperwork, blinking a couple times to ease the strain, green eyes drifting across the office to lock with the sage, mako-fueled indigo of his friend’s.

He was almost taken aback by just how stern the man’s countenance really was.

“...If anything happens to me,” Angeal started, grimly, taking their connected gaze as permission to speak, “I need you to take care of Zack... alright?”

Sharp, blazing jolts of surprise coursed through Sephiroth’s body, stunned by both his friend’s direct words and the deeper implications. “W... what?” was all he could manage to say, the emerald eyes briefly widening before narrowing to slits, a pulse of concern hammering dreadfully in his heart. “Why would something happen to you?”

Angeal didn’t seem at all fazed by the question, the l prospect. “Life’s unpredictable... isn’t it? Who knows what might happen tomorrow.”

“Angeal—” Sephiroth started, unable to stifle the full extent of his panic. How... how could he even say such a thing? Genesis hadn’t even been gone for a week, and now Angeal was trying to insinuate something might happen to him as well? Something that might... take him away too...?! His lips curled into a snarl, defensive. “Why would you...—”

“Hey, relax.” Angeal put his palms up in a gesture of peace, comfort. “I’m not going anywhere.”—There was a flicker im his eyes as he said this, a spark that Sephiroth just couldn’t decipher—”I simply... worry about Zack sometimes. That’s all. I’m afraid he’ll get himself really tangled up without someone watching out for him. He’s a good kid, though, Sephiroth.:; Probably the kindest soul in all of SOLDIER. And really good with a sword, too.”

Sephiroth raised a brow. Skilled with a sword...? Heh. Most younger SOLDIERs preferred guns—much easier to handle, more practical, quicker to kill... It did take a certain courage to wield a blade, a certain character...

Still—

Sephiroth’s eyes returned to slits, throat rumbling in protest. “I don’t care.” he shook his head, tempted to reabsorb himself in his paperwork, the feline needles drifting back to his pen and document. “I have no desire to adopt a student.”

Angeal rubbed a kink in his neck. “...It was only a hypothetical, Sephiroth.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the man grunted. “I do not want the responsibility thrust upon me. Ask somebody else.”

Angeal remained silent for a moment. “...Like who, Sephiroth? Tell me.”

“Gene—” Sephiroth began, instinctively, before reality clamped down on his tongue in a cold, jagged vice, swallowing the rest of the name instead as a bitter silence dogged, one that loomed over the two SOLDIERs, breathing into and thickening the air around them like pollution.

“Exactly,” Angeal said after a few moments, quietly. “You’re the only one who I could really turn to, Sephiroth. The only one who be able to truly protect nim.”

Sephiroth’s gaze fell to the floor.

“Sephiroth...” Angeal sighed, pleading. “I need to know that there will be someone looking out for him. Please... I’m asking as a friend.”

Sephiroth grunted. “...And how would we ever get along?”

There was a beat, and Angeal cracked a small, wan smile. “...Don’t worry about that,” he chuckled. “I didn’t just call him Pup for the energy alone: he grows on you, you know? He worms his way into your heart.”

Heh, right... Sephiroth rapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. “...And who says I’m equipped to a student?”

Angeal shrugged, the tired smile still present. “I think you could use it. Both of you. Zack could likely benefit from someone a little tougher, and, you, well...” He thought for a moment. “I think Zack would be able to see what I see in you, friend. What... we both saw in you.” His smile faltered a little as he added this, another indecipherable flicker in his mako-fueled eyes. “In any case... I wouldn’t expect you to become best friends. I’m not asking that. Hell, I’d be rather shocked if you did. I’m only asking for someone who will look after the kid. Someone who I can trust, and someone who I know will...”—his eyes softened, swallowing thickly—”keep my friend safe...”

The silver bangs spilled over Sephiroth’s visage as he dipped his chin.

“Sephiroth... please.”

He never did give him an answer before Angeal’s phone rang, and the man raced out of his office in search of Zack.

The conversation never arose again.

—————

Green eyes fluttered open in the present, still sitting upright on his best friend’s couch, still cloaked in the sleepy darkness that had initially lulled him to sleep. Flickering lights from the television still puddled on his face, still buzzing with some late-night program that was left on... And that weight—the warm, sturdy weight pressing against his shoulder...

Sleepily, Sephiroth turned his head aside, and he couldn’t say he was surprised to find Zack sound asleep against him, a tranquil smile playing on his lips as he exhaled soft, rhythmic breaths into his coat, the light from the TV illuminating his sleepy visage, his scar, the thready cowlick that drooped endearingly over his nose...

Smiling softly, Sephiroth reached out, gently ruffling the feathery nest of spikes.

Zack’s own smile softened under his touch.

“…You’re safe with me. I promise.”

[allisluv]

COMING CLEAN.

Chapter Two — glitter pens and dart boards

finnick odair x fem!oc

wc: 5.7k

content warnings; finnick odair (that man makes me hyperventilate), unsolicited touching but nothing graphic i promise, oc is forced to sell her body, slight dissociation.

previous chapter — next chapter

"Stop messing with the headpiece!" Bloom chastised, her voice cutting through the crisp evening air as she swatted Dahlia's hand away from the golden flowers weaved through her hair. "It's essential to your outfit darling," she continued fussing. Even with eight-inch heels, she struggled to reach the hairpiece.

If you took the backhanded compliments, ridiculous stilettos and melodramatics out of the equation, Dahlia found Bloom to be quite pleasant. Sure, she was a diva and slightly self-obsessed but by Capitol's standards, she was a gem.

Not to mention that she was absolutely gorgeous. If a siren emerged from the sea, Bloom was precisely what Dahlia would expect to catch a glimpse of.

Porcelain skin that looked as though it would shatter with the smallest of touches. Flaming scarlet ringlets rippled down the length of her back and a sage green dress glided behind her as she skillfully moved about on the lawn. She was crafted by Aphrodite herself, she was sure of it.

"You both look extraordinary," Malaki slid his way into the conversation with ease. Silver gems and jewels adorned his suit and when he shifted his weight from foot to foot, he bore a striking resemblance to a disco ball. Glitter had been dragged down the bridge of his nose and across his eyelids.

Offering both women an arm each, they hooked their hands through the crook of his elbow. Under normal circumstances, Dahlia would have declined his offer, but being in the Capitol always unnerved her. Malaki was almost a comforting presence and right now, she would take that where she could get it.

Malaki worked his way through the crowds as if it was second nature. The presidents' parties had always been a hotspot for the richest and most influential Capitol citizens so, naturally, Dahlia had to be on her best behavior this evening.

Her escort guided her into a banquet hall, where the victors and guests alike would spend the majority of their evening socializing. As much as Dahlia hated to admit it, the place was breathtaking.

Elaborately dressed figures spun on the dance floor, and from the way a number of them staggered about and giggled, she could tell that glasses of alcohol had started being distributed. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling and velvet sofas were scattered wherever there was an inch of free space.

"Come on," Malaki interrupted her train of thought, gently knocking his elbow into hers and leading them towards a group huddled on a sofa. "I've got some people that I need you to meet."

Upon their approach, the men and woman sprung to their feet, planting a kiss on Bloom's rosy cheeks and clapping Malaki on the back.

Dahlia could feel her skin crawling as one of the men leaned in and kissed her cheek, too. She did her best to dazzle him with a smile, tugging on the heavy gold hearts dangling from her ears as they made space on the sofa and gestured for her to sit.

Bloom, thankfully, beat her to it, tossing her ringlets over her shoulders and blinking her winged lashes at the dark-haired man beside her.

A hand slinked its way onto Dahlia's lower back and she fought down the survival impulse that told her to strike first. Memories of the Hunger Games flickered behind her eyelids but once she registered that it was only Malaki trying to provide an ounce of reassurance, the kill-or-be-killed instinct ebbed away.

She forced a smile onto her face and hoped it would make up for her fleeting lapse of sanity.

"Dahlia, my darling, I'd like you to meet some of the Capitol's latest celebrities," Malaki announced, every muscle in his face aching from keeping up his facade. "I don't think you've had the pleasure of meeting our president's current friends," he let go of his victor and pulled up two silk lounge chairs, collapsing into one while Dahlia lowered herself into the other. The sofa broke into quiet protests and he tutted. "Don't go all modest on me now!"

Dahlia met his eyes over the conversation and tried to silently ask what he was getting at. He simply gave a gentle, but terribly clear, nod of his head.

If she hadn't gotten to know him over the years, she may not have thought twice about it. But she did know him and she could read him like a book—— he was trying to boost her Capitol status.

She didn't dare ask why. Not here, with dozens of eyes on her, anyway. His judgement had never led her astray before and hopefully, it wasn't going to fail her now.

"What can I say, I'm a busy woman," she ran a hand through the dark waves of hair framing her face. "To be honest, I admire you all— attending these parties every night and still being able to look as fantastic as you do. I don't know how you manage it."

The two women immediately turned the compliment around, praising how beautiful her dress was, from the ivy working its way down her arms, to the golden fabric of her outfit. Dahlia did her best to return the sentiment, but the women seemed determined to put themselves down and she was not here to boost their egos.

She eventually stopped listening and allowed her escort to carry the conversation on his back. She could read the room well enough to know when to nod or laugh. No one seemed to notice that their words were going in one ear and out the other, anyway.

So long as they believed her act, what they said was merely an inconvenience. Malaki would debrief her in the morning if there was anything he thought was of significance (—she didn't have the best track record when it came to paying attention).

After half an hour of agonizing small talk, Dahlia was desperately scanning the room for an escape route. If she had to spend one more minute pretending to like these narcissists, she would rip her hair right out of her scalp.

Then, as if her guardian angels had sent it right from heaven, she spotted the food tables scattered around the outskirts of the banquet hall. Pulling herself onto her six-inch gold stilettos, she staggered towards her escort, interrupting him with a tap on the back. "I'm going to get food."

She left no room for arguing and Malaki knew better than to stop her. She would do what she wanted with or without his permission. He nodded, turning back to Sparrow, an older man with an olive green wig who kept laughing boisterously and spilling wine down his dress shirt.

She didn't bother excusing herself— she hadn't been too involved in the conversation to begin with, so she didn't think they would notice her slipping out of the vicinity. Still, if Bloom hadn't been locking lips with the dark-haired man, she would have definitely been reprimanded for her lack of manners.

As she passed the velvet sofa that the Capitol people were lounging on, Sparrow slapped her backside, his hand lingering near the slit in her dress. Every single bone in her body tensed, a piercing cold wave of pain shooting up the base of her spine.

The sofa erupted into roars of laughter, all except the dark-haired man and Bloom, who were... well, preoccupied to notice what was happening.

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, she bunched the flimsy material of her dress into her hands and pushed her feet towards the food tables.

No matter how tempting it was to snatch the wine glass out of his hand and shatter it over his head, the consequences would only come back on her siblings.

Don't get her wrong, it would be worth it for the satisfaction alone, but she had lost too much at the hands of President Snow. If it put River and Ivy in harm's way, it was a risk she wasn't willing to take.

Her chest heaved with heavy, blazing breaths; it felt as though she was trapped inside a burning building with no exit in sight. She was swallowing smoke and thick clouds of it were constricting her windpipe. She blindly fought her way through the crowds of Capitol citizens, forcing harsh breaths out of her parted lips as she weaved between couples, muttering apologies as she went.

It was almost a godsend when the musicians struck up a livelier tune, sending flocks of giggling drunks to the dance floor and leaving her with a clear run to the food tables.

Gripping onto the first cream tablecloth in view, she used the back of her hand to wipe beads of sweat off her forehead. She didn't bother paying attention to the foundation that came away with it— if she didn't find a distraction soon, she would snap.

Thankfully, she had come to the right place. As much as she despised the Capitol and everything they stood for, she couldn't fault the food. It was one of the highlights of the evening, after all.

The choices were overwhelming; sushi rolls arranged in bite-sized portions; nachos drizzled in chilli sauce and topped with bacon bits; buckets of shrimp and dozens of different choices of meat.

As for the desserts, they gave a different meaning to heaven altogether; trifles drowning in whipped cream; mountains of profiteroles; apple pies the size of footballs and wedding-sized chocolate cakes.

It made her blood boil when she ate at the Capitol. People in the districts were dying of starvation and here, they drank flasks of champagne that made you sick with the sole purpose of eating more.

Dahlia begrudgingly snatched a paper plate from the stack and began piling food onto it. She hadn't eaten since earlier in the morning, so she pushed away the moral war raging on in her head.

She chose a lemon cupcake and shoved half into her mouth, continuing browsing.

Most of the guests were still absorbed in dancing and it left her with her pick of the litter. She had at least an hour until Malaki or Sparrow realised that she hadn't returned yet. An hour was good enough for her.

Spooning ice cream onto the side of her chocolate cake, a figure materialized out of thin air, standing beside her.

"After all these years, isn't it strange that we haven't managed to have a proper conversation?"

Dahlia resisted the urge to flinch and redirected her attention to the bread rolls across the table. "Well, my luck's gotta run out at some point," she offered sarcastically, stabbing a knife into a piece of cake.

She hoped that the cold shoulder would get him off her trail but after two minutes of silence, where he followed her around the food tables, picking away at the delicacies every so often, it was clear that he did not plan on leaving any time soon.

Tonguing the inside of her cheek, she lifted her gaze to meet his. "What do you want, O'Dair?" she hissed, slamming down the paper plates.

Finnick batted his eyelashes innocently and lifted his shoulders into a shrug. He was the Capitol's darling, adored and wanted by... well, everyone. As far as she was concerned, the only thing she and Finnick had in common was the fact that they were both stuck pleasing Capitol men and women.

In the eight years since she had been crowned victor, they had barely spoken. There'd never been a reason to, so what was with the sudden change of heart?

He knew how to play the game and he knew how to play it well, she'd give him that.

He was charismatic and talked circles around people. The Capitol women fell at his feet and as much as she hated to admit it, he was gorgeous.

He was built like a god, tall and tan, tousled bronze curls falling into his eyes. He was the perfect poster boy, the image of what a victor should be.

Dahlia had never been able to figure him out. She was beginning to think that maybe that was why she was wary of him. She didn't like the unknown and ever since the games, she found it hard to trust people. He was unpredictable, a bit of a wild card so to speak.

People in the Capitol may have been fooled by his charm, but Dahlia wasn't.

He had had eight years to speak to her. She found it highly unlikely that Finnick decided to talk to her on his own accord. Something had to be wrong. He had to have an ulterior motive— she just had to figure out what it was.

"What do you want?" she repeated, holding his gaze. If anyone was going to avert their eyes first, it wasn't going to be her.

Finnick chuckled breezily under his breath, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "Relax, honey. What's the rush, hm?" he arched a brow and reached out to steal a bread roll from her plate.

"Get your own," she slapped his hand away, hugging the plates close to her chest. He pouted dramatically and she rolled her eyes at his childish antics. "And don't call me that," she scowled and set the plates on the table.

She scanned the crowds for any glimpse of Malaki but the people on the dance floor moved too quickly and she soon became dizzy. He was constantly hovering over her and the one time she needed him, he was nowhere to be seen. It was typical!

Finnick chomped on a bread roll, quickly shoving the rest into his mouth when Dahlia turned around and swiped for it, her mouth hanging open. He shot her a smug grin, tilting his head to the side. "Come on, honey, don't be like that," he teased, taking two glasses of white wine from a passing Avox and murmuring his thanks.

Tentatively sipping, he held out the other glass and waited for her to accept his gesture of goodwill.

Dahlia's brows knitted together, distrustful eyes searching for any indication that he was trying to trick her. He didn't miss a beat, his face remaining expressionless, giving her no insight into how his mind worked. With her patience wearing thin, she took the drink from his outstretched hand, fingers closing around the cool glass. She didn't speak, simply fixing him with that same icy, blasé stare.

Finnick downed the rest of his glass, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he cast a cautious glance over his shoulder. "I suppose you've heard the talk in the districts. The Mockingjay and her lover have inspired some..." he paused, closing the gap between them so that she could catch his every word, "...interesting topics of conversation."

"Whatever game you're playing, I'm not interested," she snapped defensively, cutting him off before he had a chance to say anything else. In the districts, speaking about rebellions was punishable by public execution.

She dreaded to think what would happen if they were caught discussing the subject in the President's House, of all places. He knew when to pick his moments, huh?

Finnick might not have had many people left to protect but she did.

She carelessly threw the full glass back onto the food tables and spun on her stilettos to leave. She made it into a hallway until a hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her from going any further.

His grip was firm enough that she couldn't wriggle out of it but gentle enough that it didn't hurt. "Let go or I swear to god, I will slit your throat right here," she warned.

"Killing the Capitol's darling would only put a target on your back, honey," Finnick reasoned, releasing his hold and taking a step back out of her personal space. An apology lingered on his lips but the words got caught in his throat. He wiped his palms into the fish-scaled trousers that hung dangerously low on his hipbones. "I just wanna talk."

She had become somewhat accustomed to arrogance when he spoke, so the odd gentleness in his tone made her head spin. He tugged on a shell necklace falling down his bare torso and, if she hadn't known better, he almost seemed nervous.

"We can't talk. Not here, anyway," she gestured vaguely towards the security cameras and she could almost see the lightbulb appearing over his head. A mischievous twinkle glinted in his eyes and dimples etched their way into the skin of his cheeks.

It was still impossible to get a glimpse into his thoughts, but whatever elaborate plan he was conjuring up, she could tell it was something she wouldn't like.

Without a word of explanation, Finnick made a b-line for a door at the opposite end of the corridor. "Are you coming or not?" He asked, that teasing lilt returning with his confidence.

Dahlia huffed out a sigh, weighing up her options. No matter how insufferable Finnick O'Dair was, following him surely beat spending her time with Sparrow.

Picking up the golden skirt of her dress, she reluctantly traipsed after him. By the time she caught up in her ridiculously high heels, Finnick had pushed the door ajar and was propping it open with his foot. "Ladies first, honey," he mocked, lips quirking into a smile when she glared over her shoulder at the nickname.

The woman's eyes swept across the private study, no doubt searching for intruders lurking in the dark.

He closed the door quietly and the muscles in her shoulders tensed. "You can relax, honey. No offence but you're not exactly my type," he chuckled airily, no maliciousness behind his tone.

"Well, aren't you a charmer?" she scoffed, fingertips skimming along the spines of hardbacks on the bookshelves. For the most part, they were your classic fairy tales with happy endings and bright front covers.

She hadn't exactly expected the President to keep his personal items somewhere with so little security—the study door had been unlocked, for Christ's sake.

"Is there a point to any of this or what?" she asked curiously, browsing through the bookshelves.

"This is the only room that isn't riddled with mics or cameras," Finnick explained, leaning his weight on an oak table. "Which means we're able to talk about rebellions without worrying about anyone eavesdropping," he shuffled in the flimsy shorts his stylist had chosen and pulled a box of sugar cubes from his pocket.

Dahlia opened her mouth to ask how he could be so sure but fell short.

Finnick had been in the Capitol business' for a long time and if a client didn't want to wait to go back to the hotel, she assumed this was where they would come.

It would be insensitive to ask when she already knew the answer, so instead, she opted for the next question that popped into her head. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" She arched a dark brow and smoothed out the creases in her gown. "You could be trying to set me up," she speculated, watching as he threw a sugar cube in the air and caught it between his teeth. Show off.

Finnick lifted his shoulder into a shrug. "I'd be implementing myself," he countered, offering her a sugar cube from the container. She shook her head, unsure why he was acting so nonchalant about this.

"You're the Capitol's darling. Do you think Snow is stupid enough to touch a hair on your pretty little head?" She scoffed, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of a book to keep from meeting his eyes.

He hadn't asked to be adored by the Capitol; she knew that— Finnick hadn't asked to be put in this situation any more than she had. Regardless, a part of her couldn't help resenting him, even if it wasn't fair.

"You think I'm pretty?" he teased and without even having to look, she knew he was smirking like the fucking madman he was. "You're right—although our beloved president would have no problem putting me in my place."

He didn't have to explain what he meant; disobeying the president's orders only ended one way, and that was with someone they loved dead.

Guilt stirred in Dahlia's stomach, and she swallowed it down uncomfortably. It seemed that even the Capitol's favourites didn't get off scot-free. Well, they were off to a great start so far, weren't they?!

"So, what exactly do you want to talk about?" She cleared her throat awkwardly and reached out for another hardback, sliding it from its slot on the shelf. "You know, rebellions and the Mockingjay, you didn't pinpoint anything specific, did you?" She cradled the book in her hands and turned to face him.

"Fair point," Finnick ducked his head with a smile, nodding softly. "Alright. Let me ask you something, honey. Katniss Everdeen and the bakers' boy; do you believe the star-crossed lover's tale?"

Dahlia didn't answer straightaway, mulling over his words. It was a complex one, she supposed.

Katniss Everdeen kept her cards close to her heart and didn't allow an eye to bleed through to what she was thinking. It was almost impossible to tell if her feelings for Peeta Mellark, her district partner and fellow victor of the 74th Hunger Games, were genuine or an act.

Either way, the Capitol citizens ate it up, too tangled in the love affair to question the legitimacy of it.

When Seneca Crane, head game maker, announced that there could be two victors from the same district, only to revoke the rule at the last minute, neither Peeta nor Katniss could bring themselves to kill the other, which was exactly where the poisonous berries came into play.

Before they had a chance to follow through with the double suicide, Seneca Crane delivered the good news.

Somehow, someway, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had defied all odds and outsmarted the Capitol. For the first time in history, the Hunger Games had two victors.

To say that President Snow was livid would be an understatement; Seneca Crane had met his untimely end, and the star-crossed lovers had no doubt been warned of the consequences if they failed to keep up appearances.

If Dahlia had to bet, she would guess that Snow had tailored his message towards Katniss.

Peeta may not have been the best fighter in the arena but he knew how to sell their story and make it believable. He deserved credit for that, at the very least. It was obvious to anyone with two eyes that his feelings for Katniss were real, regardless of whether they were reciprocated or not.

Katniss on the other hand... well, she wouldn't win any Oscars in the future, put it that way. Every time she was in front of a camera, it looked like she was sucking a sour lemon as opposed to being madly in love.

Their recent engagement had surely been Snow's idea, and if it wasn't, it was still meant to satisfy his peace of mind and distract the districts.

Dahlia couldn't figure out if Katniss was in love with Peeta, but she had a nagging feeling that behind the faux relationship and engagement, there was something there.

"I think they have more important things to worry about. You know, like fanning the embers of a rebellion? I doubt that went down well with our president," she scoffed out a bitter laugh and fired the book onto a black leather sofa.

She had to admit that the thought of their president finally being knocked down a peg was most appealing. It was no surprise that he hated the two victors— they served as a reminder that he and his system could fall just as quickly as it was built.

It's a good thing, she thinks. It tells him that he is not untouchable. That he is just as expendable as the twenty-three children who are sent to the slaughter every year.

Finnick clears his throat and it snaps her back to reality.

"I reckon he throws darts at photos of their faces every night before bed," he snickered, clasping his hands behind his head.

Dahlia laughed, pulling off her stilettos and looping the straps around her wrists. Bloom was probably one of the best stylists in the business but the heels she favoured would surely land her muse in hospital one of these days.

Bunching up the skirt of her dress, she pushed herself onto the opposite end of the table and let the heels fall from her grasp. "I bet he has a journal where he conjures up extravagant ways to kill them off," she smiled, swinging her legs back and forth.

He shot forward, crossing his legs and snapping his fingers in her direction. "Oh my god, he'd use glitter pens and put stars on the most painful ideas," he added, breaking into a laugh halfway through his sentence.

Dahlia let out an indignant snort at the mental image of President Snow in his office, using an array of glitter pens to write in his pretty pink journal.

She looked to Finnick, which may have been a mistake on her part, as it sent them both into a fresh fit of laughter.

When the sound of drunken giggles echoed down the hallway, Dahlia's blood ran cold. All of the giddiness was sucked from her body, leaving her with a chill that cut bone deep.

"Stop for a second," she tightly grabbed his arm, desperately trying to listen over the thrumming of her heart in her ears.

Contrary to popular belief, Finnick wasn't as stupid as he looked. He kept quiet, and he could just about make out the giggling of a drunk couple.

"Someone's coming," he hissed, wide eyes darting about as he hopped off the table.

"What do we do?" she whispered, bare feet making contact with the floor as she scrambled to pick up her heels. Wisps of dark brown hair had escaped from her bun and were falling into her eyes. "Should we hide?"

Finnick pressed his palms into his forehead, willing himself to think of something that would get them out of this situation.

Biting down on his bottom lip, he managed to compose himself long enough to resort back to the one thing he knew. "Do you trust me?" He asked, taking a hesitant step towards her.

"Absolutely not," Dahlia answered without missing a beat. What kind of a question was that? Before today, they had both been perfectly happy to ignore one another's existence! Of course she didn't trust him!

She may have made some questionable decisions in her lifetime, but she wasn't stupid——she didn't trust Finnick O'Dair as far as she could throw him. Shakily taking a step backwards, her hands flew out to steady herself when she hit the desk.

"You have to kiss me." The words tumbled from his lips before he had a chance to stop them and in that moment, he thought Dahlia Holloway was going to kill him with her bare hands.

Instead of clawing at his throat, she scoffed out a laugh, knuckles turning white from how hard she was gripping the edges of the table behind her.

"Well, do you have a better idea?" He hissed, digging his dull nails into the skin of his biceps. "We're not exactly friends, are we, honey?" he asked rhetorically now that being hung for treason was becoming a real possibility "So, how are we meant to explain this away?" he gestured wildly between the two of them.

"We snuck off to see each other," she nodded, eyes fluttering shut as she understood what he was implying. The Capitol couple were about to stumble into the study in approximately five minutes.

Either way, they were going to get caught and to the people in the Capitol, keeping their mouths shut was a foreign concept.

It was bound to get back to President Snow; Finnick O'Dair and Dahlia Holloway were found huddled in a study at one of his parties. It wouldn't take long for him to realise that the room in question just so happened to be the only room that wasn't riddled with microphones and cameras.

With the threat of a rebellion looming over his head, he wouldn't take that risk. Their families would be dead by morning— unless they painted him a different narrative.

It was stupid. God, it was so, so stupid. But the clicking of heels was growing closer and what choice did they have? There was no talking their way out of this one, not when Snow was out for blood.

She cradled her head in her hands, digging the pads of her fingers into her temples. She could feel herself losing her grip on what was real and what wasn't as she sunk further into the depths of insanity. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she sighed in exasperation and hopped back onto the desk, legs dangling off the side. "This is all your fault, you know that, right?"

There was no point portioning blame at this point and technically speaking, this was her fault just as much as it was Finnick's. Still, it was becoming almost impossible to string together a rational thought and blaming him was the easier option.

"I didn't hold a knife to your neck and drag you in here, now did I, honey?" He tugged on his curls and shuffled forward in his dress shoes.

It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to strike first. She wondered if anyone's heart had ever ripped its way out of their chest. If not, she was sure she would be the first; her stomach was doing somersaults and not the good kind.

"We might as well bite the bullet if we want to make it believable," she swallowed down the lump in her throat, bright eyes lingering on the doorframe.

He hummed softly in agreement and took one more step forward, keeping his hands to himself until she gave him the green light. "I'm not going to hurt you," he clarified, unable to stand the tension in the air.

She offered him an amused smile but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was an attempt to hide her discomfort. "You'd probably kick my ass, anyway."

Dahlia laughed, feeling the weight around her chest slowly lift. It was still a struggle to breathe but it was a little easier to tell what was real and what wasn't, which was classed as an improvement if you asked her. "Yeah, you've got that one right."

Finnick closed the gap between them, knees slotting between her legs. He hesitated and Dahlia took matters into her own hands, leaning close to him. Their lips met, tentatively at first, and warmth lit her nerve endings on fire.

She hadn't imagined him to be gentle. He was soft, all tender touches and careful caresses. His hands fell to the juncture between her shoulders and neck, smoothing back the dress fabric that got in his way. Her fingers carded through his golden locks, skimming the curls at the nape of his neck.

Both Finnick and Dahlia were so caught up in selling their narrative that they missed the creak of the door. It hit the wall loudly, knocking a potted plant down and scattering dirt across the floor.

A Capitol couple blindly stumbled into the study, gripping the doorframe to keep themselves upright. Neither of the victors pulled away just yet, wanting to make sure that the couple saw them.

"Oh!"

They broke apart as the woman noticed the room was pre-occupied. She clutched a bottle of whisky in one hand, slapping her partner's arm with the other. The man laughed, muttering something about how the mighty had fallen.

"Sorry! We didn't realise there was anyone in here," she giggled, swaying on the spot. "We'll leave you to get back to it!"

She winked, linking arms with her partner as they staggered back into the hallway, no doubt on the prowl for a more private room before broadcasting what they saw to the whole population of Panem.

Dahlia covered her eyes with her hands, forcing deep breaths through her mouth. She completely ignored the fact that Finnick was standing in front of her, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. Too much, she would have answered.

Eventually, she choked down the clawing sensation of panic and let herself retreat into autopilot mode. She picked up her discarded heels from the ground, shoving her feet into the ridiculous shoes.

Huffing out a sigh of frustration, she shakily stood to her feet and wrenched the door open.

She disappeared into the hallway without wasting a second and Finnick was hot on her heels, practically running to keep up with her quick strides.

They didn't exchange a word as they made their way to the banquet hall. Finnick scuffed his dress shoes against the tiles and Dahlia glared at him over her shoulder, but that was as far as their friendliness (if you could even call it that) extended.

Dahlia peered through the glass double doors, watching flamboyantly dressed couples prance about the dance floor. Thankfully, it looked like no one had noticed their escape, which meant slipping back into the banquet hall would be a piece of cake.

The adrenaline high was wearing off and it left an anxious feeling in its wake. Reality was burying its way under her skin— and quickly, for that matter. "You're gonna keep quiet about what happened in there, right?" she folded her arms over her chest, her voice lacking its usual venom. She was too exhausted to bother arguing.

"Do you really think those two are gonna keep their mouths shut?" he raised a brow sceptical, confidence and cockiness both returning at full force. "It'll be all over Panem by morning, but I'll keep quiet if it helps you sleep at night," he winked teasingly.

Dahlia scoffed, her narrowed eyes honing in on the ruby lipstick marks on his face. "Red suits you by the way," she smirked, pointing a finger at the smudged colour and slipping back into the banquet hall, trying to swallow down the panic clawing at her chest.

What had she gotten herself into?

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Final Chapter - The Loyal Companion - Now Complete!

Lily Evans endures a series of disastrous first dates at her new favourite bar, The Loyal Companion. Still, at least the whiskey is good. And the bartender is cute. Not her type though. Nope, definitely not.

Chapter 6 - Nothing

An unexpected pep-talk and a new message on her dating app lead Lily back to The Loyal Companion once more. But is all as it seems?

Read it on AO3: From the Beginning // Latest Chapter

Here we are! The final chapter!

Thanks so much to everyone who has come along for the ride, but most especially @ginnyw-potter, who has been my beta reader, my chief cheerleader and this story's biggest champion since the beginning. Thank you for everything!

The Loyal Companion was my first foray into writing Jily, and I was both stunned and thrilled when it was recently nominated for a 2024 Jily Award, in the AU Long category. What an honour! It's been an absolute joy to become part of this wonderful, welcoming community.

Anyway - I've had a blast writing The Loyal Companion, I hope you've enjoyed reading it just as much. 

Snippet below the cut.

At about half past seven on Tuesday evening, Lily answered the door to find Sirius Black, of all people, standing in the corridor, carrying a bouquet of pale pink roses. 

Just like every other time she’d seen him, he was dressed entirely in black, though this ensemble was much smarter than any that Lily had seen him wear before. Gone were the ripped jeans and band t-shirts; in their place were polished boots, dress trousers, an open necked shirt and an impeccably cut wool coat. He honestly looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of a high-end lifestyle magazine.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she blurted, gaping at him. 

Sirius’s lips twitched in amusement. “I’m fine, Lily, thanks for asking,” he told her. “How are you?”

Wincing at her own poor manners, Lily stood to the side and beckoned him into the hall. “I’m fine. Sorry. I was just surprised to see you.”

“No worries,” he shrugged. “I’m here to pick up Marlene. Is she ready to go?”

So that explained the sharp outfit and the flowers. “Right. She’s still in the shower, I’m afraid. What time did she say to be here?”

Sirius checked his watch. “Seven thirty.”

Lily nodded sagely. “Ah. In that case I have some advice for you: The first rule of Marlene is that you should always add thirty minutes onto any time she gives you. Come and sit down while you wait for her.”

She led him down the hall and into the living room. Sirius shrugged out of his coat and flopped down onto the green velvet sofa, looking immediately at home.

“Nice,” he commented, looking around. “Very you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lily told him, smiling. “But thanks—I really like it. I was actually about to put the kettle on. Can I get you anything to drink?”

He grinned. “That’s usually my line. But yeah, tea would be nice.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black with four sugars, please.” Lily’s horror must have registered on her face, because he sighed deeply. “Yes, you heard me right, and yes, I have been told on more than one occasion that it indicates deep-seated psychological issues, but frankly, that will be no surprise to anyone who’s ever met my mother.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like she’d get on well with my sister.”

His lip curled sardonically. “In which case you have my most sincere sympathies.”

Continue reading on AO3

[chapel-of-rizztual]

❛ wait, you think i’m cute? ❜ with MountRain? What do you say?

My

“Wait, you think I’m cute?” 

Rain looked up at Mountain with wide eyes. 

Mountain flopped down on sofa next to Rain.

“I always think you’re cute, but you’re especially cute right now.” 

Mountain had finished his chores early for once and decided to chill out in the ghouls den, take full advantage of having the tv all to himself, have first dibs on the good snacks, but his plans were derailed when he found Rain curled up on the sofa watching finding nemo,  wrapped in a blanket. When Mountain got closer he noticed it was his blanket, sage green with little sheep on it, and it had been on his bed this morning when he left. 

Rain pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

“I don’t-what exactly about me is cute right now?” 

Mountain shrugs. 

“I don’t know exactly. You just look cozy.” He opens his arms out. “Wanna cuddle?” 

Rain let’s out a small thrill and practically jumps into Mountains open arms, letting himself be pulled into his lap. The blanket slips a little from his hold revealing his bare shoulder. 

Mountain let’s put a small chuckle, kissing along Rains bare shoulder. 

“Are you even wearing clothes under there?” 

Rain signs, resting his head on Mountains shoulder. 

“No.” He sighs again. “Clothes are not my friend today.” 

“Oh, one of them day, hmm?” Mountain runs a hand though Rains hair. 

Rain hums.

“Not even that really ugly shirt of Swiss’ that you love? That not even your friend today?” 

Rain pouts up to him. 

“It’s in the washing machine.” 

“Ah, I see. And you thought my blanket was a good enough substitute?” 

Rain hums again, rubbing the fabric of the blanket against his cheek.

“Soft and smells like you.” He continues rubbing the fabric against his cheek, purring now. “Safe.” 

Mountain feels his heart melting at Rains little confession, hugging the ghoul in his lap a little tighter. He places a kiss on his head, right between his horns, making Rain thrill as looks up at the earth ghoul. 

“Love you, Mounty.” 

It was Mountains turn to thrill, pressing his forehead against Rains. 

“Love you too, tadpole.” 

[defectivevillain]

come rest your bones next to me

pairing: leviathan x reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader’s pronouns: unspecified but masc-intended

“Can you check on Leviathan?” Lucifer asks you, after pulling you aside during breakfast. The Avatar of Pride’s eyes flit about the space behind you, evidently watching his brothers to make sure they don’t do anything mischievous in his absence. “He hasn’t been out of his room in a while and he won’t answer any of our messages.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, feeling a bit curious yourself. Levi isn’t one to leave his room unless he really desires to. You’re wondering why Lucifer seems so concerned about it. From what you know, social withdrawal is normal for Levi. You think about Lucifer’s request as you return to the table and finish your breakfast. Once you’re finished, you break away from the group and announce that you’ll return to your room. Somehow, you manage to catch Lucifer’s eye and he nods reassuringly. 

You finally make it to Levi’s bedroom, after minutes of doubt and hesitation forcing you past his door. The door is closed, unsurprisingly. You knock a few times, but no one answers. Grimacing, you decide to open the door slowly. Thankfully, you don’t get smited on sight. It takes you a moment to find the Avatar of Envy, since his room can be rather distracting. Eventually, you find him reclined on the sofa, playing some sort of game. 

“Hey, Levi,” you say, knowing he’s not quite paying attention to you. You linger in the doorway, biting your lip. Leviathan doesn’t really like having people in his room unless he invites them. Knowing this, you stay in the doorway. “Just wanted to check in on you. Have you, um, left your room recently?”

“No,” Levi growls, his gaze caught on his game. You frown and try to think of a way to get his attention. You could take the controller, of course, but you don’t want to die. Another idea crosses your mind. It’s stupid and embarrassing, but it might work. 

“That’s a kinnie moment,” you nod sagely. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to burst out laughing at the cringey nature of the statement. Your effort is worth it, however, because Leviathan’s face twists and he tears his eyes away from the game to look at you. 

“Shut up,” Leviathan scoffs, although he chokes out a laugh for a brief second. You grin victoriously and he rolls his eyes. His attention falls back to his game again. You hover in the doorway awkwardly, watching as he quietly continues to play. 

“Mind if I watch?” You find the courage to ask. Leviathan doesn’t say anything, so you walk in and settle down next to him. Upon closer inspection, the game he’s playing is remarkably similar to Animal Crossing. Although, there are some differences. For one, all the animals are significantly more... menacing. They all have horns, tails, or other features typical of demons. Even so, they’re cute. You watch Levi’s avatar walk around for a little, before he inexplicably comes to a stop. You have to resist the urge not to give him advice- you know he hates it when you try to advise him about games- and stay silent. 

His avatar is standing before a glowing spot of green. You think it must be similar to the yellow glowing spot that indicates where Bells, the game currency, are buried. Levi frowns at his screen and digs it up. Just before he can patch up the hole in the ground, you grab his wrist. 

“You can bury that, you know,” you point out. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence and you think your remark has gone unnoticed. Levi’s cursor remains hovering over the currency, which is apparently called Chimes. That can’t be a coincidence, you think to yourself mirthfully. “Then, it’ll make a tree. Like a money tree.”

“Yeah, sure,” Levi says with a roll of his eyes, clearly not believing you. You shake your head and take the controller from him, ignoring his startled screech and burying the currency. Sure enough, it works and his avatar is now standing in front of a sapling. Leviathan is completely silent for several moments, while your heart races in your chest. “Hm.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know that,” you blurt out, entirely unable to stop yourself. Levi freezes, his hands entirely still around the controller. Despite the near murderous aura rising around him, the words keep falling from your mouth. “It was pretty obvious-”

“Shut up.” You’re suddenly shoved down against the couch. Leviathan looms over you, a furious expression on his face. His eyes are gleaming and his tail is swishing angrily behind him. His hands dig into your wrists painfully. You flinch and close your eyes, but he doesn’t do anything more than tower over you. 

“Okay, okay, sorry,” you say sincerely. Guilt stews in your chest at the thought that he took your taunts seriously. “I was just joking. You’re obviously a skilled gamer. Hell, if Ruri-chan played video games, you’d beat her at them.” Okay, you’re laying it on a bit thick. It seems to work, though, as Leviathan gets off of you and picks his controller back up again. 

“Hmph,” the demon remarks, gradually shifting back to his normal form. He returns to his original position and picks up his controller again. There’s a slight frown on his face. “No one is better than Ruri-chan.”

“True,” you shrug. Levi raises his eyebrows. Even though his gaze is locked on the screen, you can tell that he’s thinking about what you just said. You grimace. Was it the wrong thing to say? Perhaps you shouldn’t have presumed-

“You get it,” Levi nods, his attention back on his game before long. You chance a sidelong glance at him, only to find that there’s a strange smile on his face. In a sudden burst of spontaneity, you decide to lean your head against his shoulder. The demon stiffens and, for a few seconds, you’re convinced that he’ll shove you away. Thankfully, he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Instead, Levi just... continues playing.

Time passes and you’re beginning to nod off. It's fun watching Levi play, but the game isn’t exactly violent or crazy enough to keep your attention for long. You find your gaze wandering to Henry swimming around. Idly, you wonder if Henry could use some more fish companions. The thought doesn’t compel you for very long, as you realize that the goldfish looks happy enough. 

You try to return your attention back to the game Levi’s playing, you really do. Unfortunately, it isn't interesting enough to keep your eyes open. Furthermore, Levi doesn’t really seem like he wants to talk. You frown and relax from your position leaned against his shoulder. Your eyelids are growing heavier by the second. Eventually, you give up on trying to stay awake and close your eyes. 

You’re drifting off into sleep when you hear a murmur. It’s too quiet for you to comprehend, so instead, you keep your eyes closed and let your exhaustion take over. The last sensation you register before succumbing to sleep is Levi leaning closer to you, as if supporting your form and allowing you to remain upright.

I've said it before and I’ll say it again: I love this son of a bitch. he is so autistic- he’s just like me fr 😵‍💫

idk why but I've been on an obey me! streak recently.... but I kinda love it. the brothers are fun to write, I can’t even lie.