#Curry Flow

[mouse-sucks]

Under Armour Curry 12 - Steph Curry's sneakers from the 2024 Olympics

[saviourkingslut]

not to be about opera again but to be about opera again. as an art form it has the reputation of being super stuffy and something for snobs who don't know how to have fun only but honestly this was one of, perhaps even THE main theatrical entertainment for centuries. i wish people knew how hard these things can go and how engaging they can be. like characters kill and die and fight wars and (almost) commit human sacrifice left and right. characters fall in love they mourn they're ecstatic they cry they're furious it's an extremely dramatic and emotional art form! and i understand that opera does not appear approachable bc of the general conventions of the art form but i promise old works can be fun and engaging if you go watch them with some preparation beforehand (reading the libretto helps) - not to mention not all operas are old bc there are so many modern operas which engage with topical events! also the music slaps.

[butchlifeguard]

i read the lyrics of the fighting irish freestyle before i listened to it so i was like ohhh shit this is pretty good. and then i was like oh 😟

[abrahamvanhelsings]

cleaned the whole house while experiencing some of the worst cramps ive had in a while i think i deserve some kind of medal

[heissenn]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 hsr fem! characters x fem!reader a sneak peak of what its like dating your favorite hsr character. includes: himeko, serval, seele, stelle, bronya, march 7th, ruan mei, herta, robin tags: tooth-aching fluff, smut on robin's part

himeko

being in a relationship with himeko means being in a relationship with coffee. her caffeine addiction would lead to both of you going on coffee dates. although she would never force you to like coffee if you don’t prefer it. these ‘coffee dates’ just consists of her drinking her exquisite blend while you sip the beverage of your preference, whether it be tea or juice or even alcohol. the important part is that you both enjoy a relaxing time together.

as your relationship grow, these ‘coffee dates’ evolved into a ritual to go to cafes or bars to every planet you go to. there’s always a glimmer in her golden eyes that makes you wonder if she came to this planet to taste test rather than exploring it. himeko tries to hide it but she always looks like a little kid given a new toy every time her taste buds come across something new and himeko would never stop until she tasted all the coffee beans and coffee blends the planet has to offer, not forgetting to buy a bulk to stock in the express.

“darling, how about this? roasted beef and curry frappe. maybe this tickles your fancy?” himeko reads the obnoxious name aloud as she hand you the cup graciously. just the name makes you want to shake your head in refusal but himeko’s sweet smile brainwashes you into nodding your head.

you take a sip from the cup and it took you your everything to school your features. there’s a bubbling at the pit of your stomach and you have an inkling that its not the usual butterflies himeko gives you. “it’s amazing, love. i’m sure the others would want a cup.” you say imagining the others' reaction.

serval

serval would prefer dates that are a bit more hands-on. she would take a page from lynx’s book and take you out on a camping date to watch the aurora. it's been long since she went camping but the knowledge from when she was serving in the army still remains in her.

but instead of preparing the camping materials beforehand, she’d be the type to just go with the flow. she’d bring a few essentials and the rest will be decided along you go and with serval’s quick thinking. the camping goes smoothly for the most part aside from some hiccups like monsters and serval burning the food.

she’d bring her guitar along too, of course. she’d play for you with the aurora as witness and the hearth of the camp fire embracing the both of you with warmth.

“the view looks amazing here, serval. thank you for taking me here,” you look up at the countless streaks of emerald painting the sky. “yes, it’s breathtaking,” serval mutters in reply and you turn towards her to see her blue eyes already on you. she smiles at you before standing up and going inside the tent, leaving you confused. she comes back with her guitar.

“i know this is cheesy but i thought it wouldn’t hurt being romantic from time to time,” she plops downs and gives the acoustic a few strums. “i dedicate this song to you, my love.”

bronya

as the supreme guardian, she is always swamped with work thus there are only a few times when she goes outside. this also means that dates between the two of you are rare if you don’t count eating meals with her.

she can’t really take you on movies like normal couples because it would take the whole facility to be rented out and bronya’s nice enough to think about the other civilians whose plans might be ruined because of her personal endeavors. the times that she is able to go outside, she takes you for a walk in the gardens. you both walk down the flower path, talking about anything and everything. both of your hands are intertwined as the both of you admired all the kinds of plants that managed to withstand belobogs harsh climates.

at the end of the path awaits a picnic she readied herself, she insists that she should be the one to prepare without any help from the servants to add her personal touch. the act of preparing sandwiches and picking the right blanket has special value to bronya since she can’t be there for you to do acts of service most of the time.

after your appetite is satiated, both of you lay down to admire the sky. bronya falls asleep besides you peacefully, even sleep is a luxury the supreme guardian can’t afford nowadays so you’re glad to see her rest. you press a kiss to her forehead as bronya forgets the worries of the planet and the responsibilities of a huge title.

“peanut butter and jelly, check. grilled cheese, check. orange juice, check. apple juice, check.” bronya mutters as she goes through the menu she prepared for the third time. it’s not as grandiose as one would think when dating the supreme guardian but she prepared a little bit of each, to say the least, to make up for the simplicity.

she heard footsteps from behind and saw you approaching. she wipes her sweaty hands on her skirt, your relationship has been going on for quite a while but still you never fail to make her nervous. “sorry. i hope i didn’t make miss supreme guardian wait for too long,” you smile at her and bronya’s heart soars. “you’re just in time,” she pats the spot beside her. you sit beside her not before raising your eyebrows at the plethora of food baskets laid in front of you.

“bronya, you didn’t have to prepare all of this,” you were touched to find the amount of effort your girlfriend put. “this is the least i could do. i’ve been neglecting my duties to you, allow me to make up for it,” she takes your hands and kiss the back of it, a gesture she couldn’t do in public.

stelle

the perfect bonding time for stelle is rummaging through trash cans together but since not everyone can appreciate the art of opening trash cans she’s fine with something similar. that’s how most of your dates are: going to junk shops or thrift stores. she like going over all the trinkets even if the item doesn’t have any particular use or is unable to operate anymore. she’s more interested in the history: how it was made and how it ended up there.

i feel like she’s also interested with unopened safes or treasure boxes and she’d buy them just so you can both guess what’s inside and opening them together. think of blind boxes they sell online. then you’ll make up wild stories of the items.

she’s probably friends with the owners and the staff. everytime both of you go somewhere new you’d both make it a point to go to the local junk shop. it helps both of you to learn about the lifestyle and culture of the planet.

you probably have a pile of random things that stelle found in your room. most of the time they remind her of you something like “this toothbrush made me think of that one time you washed the sink” or somthing. the item doesn’t really correlate with the memory but its more than enough to prove her unconditional love for you

you hear a knock on your door and you open it to find your girlfriend beaming at you while holding up two trash bags. “look what i got, babe!” she smiles at you proudly. “that’s great, stelle! i’ll go prepare a bath,” you say as you automatically head towards the bathroom, you were used to this. “nuhuh, where do you think you’re going?” stelle drops the reeking trash on your bedroom floor and snakes her hands around your waist to pull you close to her.“

we’re not going anywhere until i get my kiss,” she blinks her eyes at you like a cute puppy and you sigh before grabbing her sides of her face for a passionate kiss. she hums against your lips as the weight of her body crushes you. you both pull away breathless only for her to pout at you like a kicked puppy, “one more."

seele

seele may not admit it but she likes hanging out with kids. she says they annoy her and the only reason she’s with them is because she doesn’t want them causing headaches to natasha, who already has a lot on her plate. sometimes she says there is nothing to do anymore ever since the underworld and the overworld has been bridged and most of her former work is being handled by the silvermane forces.

but you know better, you never miss her little scowl every time she doesn’t find where the kids are hiding or hear her small grumbles when they ask her to go around town to find scraps for their play house. but you also don’t miss how she looks at them with the fondest eyes paired with softest smiles.

and if there is one thing she loves as much as she loves playing kids that would be seeing you play with them. you see it evident every time you catch her eyes while you lift the kids up in the air or pat them in the head or let them ride you back. and seeing you and the kids smile reminds her of why she joined wildfire in the first place, to protect these priceless smiles. she looks at the scene and suddenly she’s thinking about ways on how she can ask if you wanted to build a family with her. a family she could give the love she had that she wasn’t privileged to when she was growing up.

seele’s hands trace the back of your palm as you both lay in bed. you recognize it as the behavior she does when she wants to tell you something but couldn’t. so you switch from your position of laying flat on your back to face her fully to let her know your attention is on hers fully. she heaves a sigh, squirm and squeeze your hand in a series of fast motion and before you can react she’d already open her mouth.

“someday, it doesn't have to be right now, . it doesn't have to be anytime even, if you don't want to," seele starts and her eyes fly around the room. you rest your hand on her cheek and caress it.

another sigh escapes her. "someday, would you like to have a family with me?” seele asks and there’s hopeful tone in her voice that makes you swoon. “if that’s what you want, yes,” seele replies almost instantly. “no, i’m asking you.” and you response without missing a beat as well. “yes, i'd love to have kids with you, seele.” you say as you stroke her features and seele feels her eyes become wet at your words.

march 7th

it goes without saying that march likes taking pictures. and her favorite subject is you. there is a whole album of you in her phone that contains so much pictures she needed to buy several memory cards. she likes taking pictures in bursts so there are a lot of similar photos but she never deletes them even if the difference is a centimeter change in angles, she argues that each photo is precious.

she picks out the ones she likes best to print out and put in her scrapbook album. she spends hours on picking the right one and there are countless times where she has to resist the strong urge to just print everything. she writes the date of when it was taken and some notes (more like whole paragraphs expressing her love) to commemorate what you did that day. she decorates them with things that reminds her of that day. for example, she would take a picture of you with a flower crown and the page is decorated with the petals from the same flower. below that is a little message of what the flower meant and how it suited you.

when she is finished she gifts them to you on your anniversaries. and when you’re away or she has to go on expeditions, she definitely brings it with her to browse through when she misses you.

march delicately flips through the pages, caressing the photos, the colorful letters and the little stickers she vividly remembers putting there. “i can’t wait to see you again,” you can hear the pout in her voice through the phone. “give me lots of kisses when i come back?” she hates being away with you but the photo books make it a little more bearable.

“of course, as many as you want,” you say on the other side as you look through your own copy of photo book. a pile of them from when march gifted then to you on your anniversaries or when she felt like it. “or maybe you’d prefer something more than that?” you add suggestively. march turns bright pink and looks at a particular black leather bound photo book.

ruan mei

ruan mei can get a little occupied with her research to the point that she ignores her well-being and sometimes you just have to remind her that she hasn’t ascended to aeonhood yet and her body is still human with human needs and human boundaries.

she is not used to having other people care for her so the concept of it is relatively new. she was definitely surprised when you come to her lab with some snacks or some tea. and the thing with her is that, at first, she thought it was hindering her progress. maybe it’ll take a fight for her to actually realize she’s taking it for granted and apologize with feeding you with sweet treats, made by her of course. on the other hand, you learn to differentiate the time where you should step in or not over time.

however, ruan mei would grow too accustomed to your presence in her lab and would actually starting want you there more and more. before she can even realize, she’s putting more hours in her studies just so she can see you barging in with your cute frown, becoming slowly addicted to the warmth she feels every time she receives your care.

“i’m just gonna leave it here,” you say as you gently place the tray of cheesecake and orange juice on the unused table. “take a five, babe. the cheesecake wouldn’t be as delicious if you leave it for too long,” you give her a peck on her forehead and the scientist leans to your touch a little more so she can feel your lips better while her eyes scan through papers.

you turn to head towards the door and take your leave but a cold hand catches your wrist before you could move further away from her. “stay,” her tone was more commanding than pleading and her eyes are still trained on the words in front of her. but you knew she wasn’t reading it anymore. her hand goes to the nearest chair to pull it beside her but her hands paused suddenly. her palms hovers in the air for a second before she retracts it and pats her lap. you raise your eyebrows in amusement but indulge her nevertheless. after all, who were you to refuse.

herta

even in your relationship, the great herta is a bit too prideful for her own good. that’s why she relies on her puppets to convey her emotions to you but even her puppets are emotionally constipated so there's not much of a difference. but it's herta so she still makes it work in her favor anyway. after all, she can just tell you its a ‘malfunction’. she makes them do her bidding such as keeping you company under the guise of ‘babysitting’ you or gifting you new technology that makes your life a tad bit easier which she likes to call ‘letting you test a prototype’ or giving you ‘leftovers’ that looks a little too fresh to be called one.

we’re talking about herta here so naturally she’s the first one to grow tired of the own arrangement she made. eventually, she feels her chest getting a little tighter every time she watches her puppets do acts of service for you doing you favors. she actually asks nous about the feeling and how to get rid of it. the aeon just laughs at her, saying ‘maybe you found your new research topic’. and the poor scientist just blinks at the higher being.

she’s a bit lost on how to overcome the feeling so she just pops up randomly throughout the day and stare at you because she doesn’t know what to do.

“she should go to the basement to find out what’s going on,” the puppet beside you comment as you both watch the horror movie playing on the large screen in front of you. you still don’t know how you roped her into this but here you were.

“what? no, that’s the worst thing you can do. that’s like the big no no in horror movies,” you argue as you look beside you to find that the small woman beside you is not a puppet anymore but rather the herta herself. you move back in surprise after a double take, “what are you doing here?” herta moves an inch closer. “it was my turn to babysit you,” the woman shrugs nonchalantly as her hand reaches for the popcorn on your lap.

robin

it’s only natural that the renowned singer dedicates songs to you and she does, there are countless songs and several albums singing her love for you. robin insists that no melody can truly convey how she feels for you but its the closest way of expression. she never release them for obvious reasons but there are some that are vaguely coded enough for the fans not to speculate that she releases. and her heart is full every time she sings her never ending emotions for you for the whole universe to hear.

but it doesn’t end there. no, robin is too much of a lowkey freak to keep things sfw. she has tracks, albums that recounts your nightly adventures with her. too explicit that anyone listening would probably have a heart attack hearing the sweet robin sing such filthy lyrics. she makes you listen to it in front her and she never tells you which kind of song it is because she enjoy seeing your face turn a shade of darker red with each beat.

oh and you best bet she incorporate your sounds as well, blending your moans and hers with the sound of vibrator over a slow, sultry beat mixed with her breathy voice that is a drastic change from her usual sweet, honey one.

“darling, you promised me you’d help me record a new song,” robin muses as she puts her hand over her mouth to giggle while her other hand curls inside you enough to hit that spongy spot. she reaches for the mic beside you and hovers above you. you watch her as she gives it a dirty lick and a kiss before putting the mic closer to your lips so your moans are transmitted to the speakers surrounding the studio room.

your amplified sounds echoed throughout the room and it drowns the sounds of your pussy squelching over robin’s fingers. “if you can last through two songs, i’ll give you a treat,” she sings in your ear.

[kiyawritesforf1]

BOWLED OVER AND BUSTED

Pairing : Oscar Piastri x Sharma!Reader

Rohit Sharma x Sister!Reader

Summary : Secrets, surprises, and a very dramatic big brother—what could possibly go wrong?

Your relationship with Oscar Piastri had started off unexpectedly, thanks to Pat Cummins. You had met at a casual dinner with Pat and a few other mutual friends in Melbourne. At first, you hadn’t thought much of Oscar—just another reserved but friendly guy. But when the two of you ended up seated next to each other, the conversation had flowed effortlessly.

“You’re really into cricket, huh?” Oscar had asked, watching as you passionately debated a point with Pat.

You had laughed. “It’s kind of a given when your brother is Rohit Sharma.”

That had piqued Oscar’s interest. “Wait, the Rohit Sharma?”

You had groaned. “Please don’t turn into a fanboy.”

He had smirked. “No promises.”

That night, the two of you had exchanged numbers, claiming it was “just to talk about sports.” But soon, sports became late-night conversations, coffee dates, and eventually, something much more.

Dating Oscar was easy. He understood your world, the pressure of being in the public eye, and the chaos of a busy schedule. He never made you feel like you had to choose between your own life and your relationship. But there was one tiny problem—Rohit.

You had no idea how to tell him. Your brother was fiercely protective, and you knew the moment he found out, the drama would be endless. So, you and Oscar had decided to keep things quiet—for now.

That plan had worked perfectly. Until today.

⸻

Oscar was in your kitchen, struggling to chop onions while you stirred a simmering curry on the stove.

“I think I’m crying,” he muttered, blinking rapidly.

You chuckled. “That’s what onions do.”

“This is worse than driving in the rain,” he grumbled, wiping his eyes.

Before you could tease him further, you heard the sound of your front door unlocking.

Your eyes widened in panic as you turned to Oscar. “Did you lock the door?”

“I thought you did,” he whispered back.

A second later, your worst fear came true.

“Y/N! What the hell is going on here?”

Your stomach dropped.

Standing at the doorway, arms crossed, was none other than Rohit Sharma. And behind him, looking equally amused and confused, was Virat Kohli.

Your sharp inhale was loud enough for Oscar to hear. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Rohit said, stepping forward with his signature ‘big brother glare.’ “What is this?”

Virat, trying (and failing) to suppress a laugh, nudged Rohit. “I think we just walked in on something.”

Rohit’s gaze darted between you and Oscar, taking in the scene—the two of you in the kitchen, standing too close, too comfortable. Oscar, still holding the knife, froze like a deer in headlights.

Virat smirked. “Hey mate, you might want to put the knife down before Rohit actually loses it.”

Oscar, realizing the situation, immediately put the knife down and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. Not the best first impression.”

Rohit’s expression twisted from confusion to disbelief. “Wait a second. Don’t tell me…” His eyes widened as he turned to you. “You’re dating him?!”

You winced. “Umm… surprise?”

Virat burst out laughing. “This just made my day.”

Rohit, on the other hand, was not laughing. “How long?”

You hesitated. “A few months?”

Wrong answer.

Rohit’s jaw dropped. “A few months?! And you didn’t tell me?”

“I was going to!” you defended. “I just… didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Oscar, trying to help, chimed in. “To be fair, I wanted to tell you—”

Rohit turned his glare on him. “You don’t get to speak right now.”

Oscar immediately shut his mouth.

Virat, still grinning, patted Rohit’s shoulder. “I mean, it could be worse. At least it’s not someone like Max Verstappen.”

Oscar frowned. “Hey—”

Rohit groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is unbelievable. Out of everyone, you chose him?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with me?”

Rohit shot him a look. “I’ve seen you race, and you take way too many risks. And now you’re dating my sister?” He shook his head. “No. Not happening.”

You groaned. “Bhai, this isn’t your decision.”

He looked at you, his face softening slightly. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t,” you assured him. “Oscar is good to me. And I’m happy.”

Virat nodded. “She’s got a point, Rohit. You can’t baby her forever.”

Rohit let out a long breath before looking back at Oscar. “If you ever hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Oscar interrupted quickly. “I promise.”

Virat leaned closer to Oscar and whispered, “Good answer.”

Rohit narrowed his eyes but sighed dramatically. “God, I need a drink.”

You smiled, stepping forward to hug him. “You’ll get used to it.”

He grumbled but hugged you back. “Not anytime soon.”

Oscar, feeling slightly more relaxed, offered a sheepish smile. “So… does this mean you sort of approve?”

Rohit shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck.”

Virat smirked. “I approve, if that helps.”

Rohit rolled his eyes. “You don’t count.”

Oscar sighed. “I’ll take what I can get.

[empty-movement]

Revolutionary Girl Utena Storyboards! Now on the Internet Archive!!

Hi! Vanna here! Did you know we have scanned copies of the production storyboards for a whole SEVEN out of 39 episodes of Utena? Not bad, I think!!! Most were donated kindly by cscratch, with me buying a couple myself.

I have uploaded all seven as PDFs to the Internet Archive, and you can grab them here. For now, a gallery tour!!! PART 1!

Episode 3: On the Night of the Ball, storyboarded by Kazuhisa Takenouchi

Known largely for his work on Dragonball, this is the only time Takenouchi works on Revolutionary Girl Utena. Episode 3 is notoriously one of the 'b-side' episodes in terms of animation quality, and was probably done out of house so to speak. It does include the banked opening fairy tale, which is incredible to see, as well as a lot of crossed out shots and dialogue. Lots to unpack on that.

Episode 6: Nanami-sama, Take Care!, storyboarded by Jun Matsumoto

Matsumoto will go on to storyboard several episodes, especially Nanami ones! The storyboard is titled episode 8, because these two episodes' releases were switched due to the speedier production of this episode. Originally, the curry episode was episode 6, with this being part of, starting with 8, an increasing focus on Touga and the people surrounding him and how they view him. I can definitely see how the flow would have been incredible if preserved this way, alas!! His storyboards are very clean, and tight. They appear to need little revision.

Episode 9, The Castle Said to Hold Eternity, storyboarded by Juugo Kazeyama, an alias of Takuya Igarashi

Kazeyama often works with Yoji Enokido on projects, and will continue to work on Utena throughout its run, and will even write episode 19, Song of the Fallen Kingdom. We have an interview with him that was published in The Art of Utena artbook translated to English, even! Check it out! We have him to thank for the tea on Akio Ohtori's intended age. ;D

Cool! I hope you liked! I ran out of time before break is over though, so you can catch the rest of our storyboards next time, or check them out yourself, again, either via the gallery, or the IA!

[kikis-writing-service]

Spicy Curry (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader) Chapter 8

Summary: Pro-hero DynaMight hides his developing hearing loss from the public. He doesn’t want them or the villains to know about what he considers his only weakness. His family knows. His best friends know. And now you, the owner of his favorite little curry shop, know. You want to live a quiet life & to protect your son. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself. You hide your identity, you hide your scars, and you hide your quirk. And then Bakugou, Katsuki walks in one day with dried blood on his ears, and you can’t help but help him.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Parts:  1  |  2  |  3 | 4 | 5  |  6  |  7  |  8  | 9 | ? ? ?

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Content Warning: This fic will contain mentions of past abuse from a “partner”, including sexual assault. It will also contain depictions of ableism, both from external sources and internalized ableism.

This chapter contains explicit depictions of ableism.

The burn in Katsuki's muscles felt good as he lowered the weights back onto the rack with a satisfying clank. Sweat beaded along his brow, trickling down his temples as he grabbed his towel from the nearby bench. The gym was busy with the usual morning crowd—fitness enthusiasts and fellow heroes getting their workouts in before the day truly began—but the familiar cotton-wool silence that accompanied his world without his hearing aids created a peaceful bubble around him.

Two weeks ago, this silence would have felt unbearable. Now, there was something almost meditative about it. 

The days had settled into an easy rhythm—morning workouts to stay sharp, afternoons at the curry shop where lunch flowed into training with Kouichi, and evenings filled with homework, quiet conversation, and the hush of your little apartment after Kouichi went to bed. It had all fallen into place so effortlessly, like water winding its way home. The routine had formed so naturally he hadn't noticed it solidifying until it was already established, like water finding its path of least resistance.

As he wiped sweat from his face, Katsuki caught his reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at him looked different somehow—still fierce and determined, but the permanent tension around his eyes had softened. He'd been sleeping better, the constant anxiety about his career taking a backseat to more immediate concerns: helping Kouichi master control over his quirk, deciphering kindergarten schoolwork assignments, learning new signs to expand his vocabulary with you both.

He checked the time on his watch—still an hour before he'd need to head to the shop for lunch. His stomach growled at the thought of what might be waiting. You'd been experimenting with a new spice blend that actually delivered the level of heat he demanded, not the watered-down version most places tried to pass off as "extra spicy." 

In the locker room, Katsuki peeled off his sweat-soaked tank top and reached for his phone to check messages before showering. The screen lit up with an unusual flurry of notifications—missed calls from his agency, his publicist, even his mother, along with dozens of text messages and news alerts. His morning's peace vanished as he stared at the screen.

Frowning, he thumbed through the transcribed voicemails first, scanning his agency's messages: "Bakugou, urgent PR situation. Call back immediately." Similar messages from his publicist followed, each more frantic than the last. His mother had called twice, unusual enough to set alarm bells ringing.

He opened a news alert that made his blood run cold:

"EXCLUSIVE: Pro Hero DynaMight's Secret Disability—Is He Still Fit for Duty?"

The headline was accompanied by a photo of him at that café with Mina, the new hearing aids clearly visible. He remembered the waitress who had served them, how her eyes had lingered a bit too long on his ears, the overly helpful way she'd spoken to him. Fucking vultures.

Whatever shitstorm had just hit clearly required his full attention. With reluctance, he reached into his gym bag for his hearing aids. He normally kept them out during workouts, preferring the focus that came with the quiet, but he'd need them to make calls. The moment the devices settled into place, the world roared back with painful clarity—the clanging of weights, multiple conversations echoing off the tiled walls, the whir of treadmills, music blaring from the speakers overhead. The sudden sensory overload made his head throb as he dialed his agency back.

"Finally," his agency rep sighed. "Have you seen the news?"

"Just the headline."

"It's bad. That waitress from your lunch with Ashido sold her story to three different tabloids. They're running with angles about public safety concerns, questioning whether your hearing loss affects your ability to respond to crises." The rep's voice was clipped, professional, but Katsuki could hear the underlying tension. "Since the public didn't know about your condition, instead of us controlling the narrative, we're now playing defense."

Katsuki's free hand curled into a fist, sparks dancing between his fingers before he forced himself to relax. Blowing up the locker room wouldn't solve anything.

"We need you to come in. There's talk about issuing a statement, possibly scheduling interviews with hero-friendly media to get ahead of this—"

"I'm on medical leave," Katsuki cut in, his voice sharper than intended. "Doctor's orders."

"This is a PR emergency, Bakugou. Your reputation—"

"My reputation," he snarled, "is built on fucking results, not press conferences."

A heavy sigh crackled through the phone. "This isn't going away. People are already speculating about whether you've been compromised on missions, whether civilians were at risk because of your... disability. Some are calling it a liability."

The words landed like blows. Disability. Liability. Like he was broken, defective, dangerous. The comfortable acceptance he'd been building these past weeks with you and Kouichi suddenly felt distant, replaced by the familiar hot shame that had dogged him since his diagnosis.

"I'll call back," he muttered, ending the call before the rep could protest.

He'd barely set the phone down when it vibrated again—his mother this time. Taking a deep breath, he answered.

"Finally! I've been calling you for an hour!" His mother's voice was sharp with worry rather than anger. "Have you seen it yet? The news?"

"Yeah, just found out," he replied, the weight of the situation evident in his voice. "Agency's already breathing down my neck."

"Those vultures," she spat, protective rage filling her words. "Some waitress with a camera phone thinks she can judge whether my boy can be a hero or not? The nerve of these people."

"Those vultures," she spat, protective rage filling her words. "Some waitress with a camera phone thinks she can judge whether my boy can be a hero or not? The nerve of these people."

Despite their typically explosive interactions, his mother had always been his fiercest defender. Something in that protective rage sparked a memory of your eyes—the way they had sharpened when a stranger had gotten too close to Kouichi, that quiet intensity when you'd checked him for injuries after training. Different in almost every way, but that same unwavering resolve when it came to protecting what mattered. 

"How bad is it getting?" he asked, his voice strained with tension he couldn't quite hide.

"A hero commission rep called me for comment, can you believe that shit? Asked if there was a 'history of disability' in our family, like you've caught some fucking disease." The protective rage in her voice was so familiar it almost made him smile despite everything. She'd always been like this—all fire and sharp edges when anyone threatened her son, even when that same fire was directed at him minutes later.

"What did you tell them?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"To go fuck themselves, obviously. More politely than that, but the message was clear." A heavy sigh came through the line. "Your father's worried sick too. He's been pacing the living room all morning watching those damn news segments."

His father, always the quieter counterbalance to his mother's explosive nature, rarely showed stress so visibly. The image of him wearing down their carpet with worried steps unsettled Katsuki in a way he couldn't explain.

"How bad is it?" Katsuki asked, bracing himself.

"It's all over the hero channels. They're bringing in so-called 'experts' to debate whether someone with hearing loss can effectively respond to crisis situations." Her voice tightened with barely contained fury. "As if you haven't been saving lives for years. As if you haven't already proven yourself a thousand times over." She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice had that rare gentle quality that only emerged in their most serious moments. "Katsuki, you know this doesn't change who you are. Not to us, not to anyone who matters."

The unexpected softness hit harder than her usual shouting ever could. It was the same tone she'd used when he'd come home after his first real defeat at UA, when they'd thought he might not recover from the villain attack during his internship, when the nightmares from being kidnapped had left him raw and shaking.

"I know," he managed, his throat tight.

"But," she continued, steel returning to her voice, "you need to get ahead of this. Your father's already seen three different news segments speculating about whether you should retire."

Retire. At twenty-three. The word landed like a physical blow, making his stomach drop.

"They're saying that?" The question came out rougher than he intended.

"Among other things." Her tone softened again, just slightly. "Look, you've never let anyone tell you what you can or can't do. Don't start now. But you need a plan, not just your usual 'blow-everything-up' approach."

Despite everything, a small smirk tugged at his lips. "That approach's worked pretty well so far."

"Not this time." She was dead serious now. "This isn't a villain you can outfight. It's public perception. You need to decide how you want to handle this—on your terms, not theirs."

She was right, and they both knew it. This wasn't a battle he could win with explosions or determination alone. It was messier, more insidious.

"I need to see what they're saying first," he said, jaw clenched. "Can you send me the worst of it?"

"Already texting you the links," she replied. He heard the soft click of her nails against her phone screen. "And don't forget dinner on Sunday. Your father wants to see you—make sure you're really okay, not just saying you are."

The dinner invitation was her way of making sure she'd see him again soon, her motherly concern wrapped in the guise of a routine family obligation.

"Yeah, fine. Sunday," he agreed, knowing it was easier than arguing. "I'll be there."

"Good. And Katsuki?" The protective fierceness was back. "Whatever you decide to do, we're behind you. All the way."

"Yeah. Thanks," he said, meaning it.

After ending the call, Katsuki's phone immediately buzzed with the incoming links from his mother. He opened his browser, steeling himself. Each headline was more sensationalized than the last:

"HERO OR HAZARD? DynaMight's Hidden Disability Raises Safety Concerns"

"EXPLOSIVE REVELATION: Top Pro Cannot Hear Emergency Calls"

"SOURCES CLOSE TO DYNAMIGHT: His Career Is Detonating"

Accompanying each headline were candid photos from his lunch with Mina, his hearing aids clearly visible, along with quotes from "anonymous hero industry insiders" questioning whether someone with hearing loss could effectively respond to crisis situations. One particularly vicious article had spliced together footage from his recent missions, highlighting moments where he'd appeared not to hear something immediately, presenting them as evidence of endangering civilians.

Against his better judgment, Katsuki scrolled to the comments section. The digital cesspool of public opinion hit harder than any villain's attack:

"Always knew something was off about him. Too unstable to be trusted anyway."

"My tax money pays his hero salary and he's been HIDING this? Fire him!"

"what if he can't hear someone screaming for help?? my kids love dynamight but this is scary"

"Deaf people shouldn't be heroes, sorry not sorry. Some jobs just require all your senses."

A hashtag was already trending: #DynamightOut with thousands of posts calling for his license to be reviewed. Though there were supportive voices—some disability advocates pushing back, a few loyal fans defending his record—they were drowning in the sea of outrage and fear.

The worst part was seeing comments from parents saying they wouldn't feel safe with him responding to emergencies where their children might be involved. That cut deeper than he wanted to admit. Even people he'd personally saved were questioning everything now, as if his hearing defined his entire worth as a hero.

The shame that washed over him was quickly burned away by rage. He'd poured everything into being a hero—sacrificed his body, his time, his personal life. And now they wanted to reduce him to this? To some broken thing that needed to be discarded?

His phone vibrated again, but this time it wasn't a call—it was a text from you.

"Just perfected that spice blend I've been working on. Think I finally got the heat level you've been demanding. Your taste buds will be the judge."

The normalcy of your message stood in stark contrast to the chaos erupting around him. No mention of the news, no probing questions—just that quiet certainty he'd grown to rely on.

His thumbs hovered over the screen for a moment before he typed: "Better not be lying this time. Last attempt was barely medium."

Your response came almost immediately: "You'll be begging for water, trust me.”

Despite everything, a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "We'll see about that."

"It's waiting for you whenever you're ready," you replied, the unspoken understanding in your message more comforting than it should have been.

The casual text exchange felt like a lifeline amid the morning's chaos. He briefly considered canceling to sort through the media mess, but the thought of returning to his empty apartment, surrounded by nothing but headlines and expectations, made his jaw clench.

"Be there at the usual time," he typed, somehow certain that this was exactly what he needed.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Katsuki headed for the showers. He removed his hearing aids first, placing them carefully in their case. The world immediately muffled around him, the harsh voices of his fellow gym-goers fading to distant, unintelligible mumbles. The familiar cotton-wool silence settled over him like a protective blanket, creating a buffer between him and the morning's chaos.

The shower stall became a sanctuary of sensation without sound. He couldn't hear the water, not really, but he could feel every droplet striking his skin, the pressure against his shoulders, the vibrations traveling through his body as it hit the tile floor. Without competing auditory input, these physical sensations intensified—the steam opening his lungs, the heat loosening muscles he hadn't realized were tense.

The water couldn't wash away the headlines or the implications behind them, but as it beat against his shoulders, Katsuki found himself thinking about you. The steady way you carried yourself through each day. How you never wasted words but each one seemed to matter. Your eyes that saw too much and asked too little.

He'd never been one for getting caught up in other people. Connection meant vulnerability, and vulnerability wasn't something he'd made space for. Yet somehow the thought of your hands working methodically through curry preparations, of your quiet laugh when Kouichi said something unexpectedly wise - these thoughts felt steadying in ways he couldn't fully explain to himself.

As he dried off and dressed, Katsuki's phone buzzed with more media alerts, more concerned messages. The instinct to shut everything out pulled at him - the familiar urge to retreat into isolation until he'd figured out how to fight back. It was what he'd always done when cornered.

His hand hovered over his phone, ready to silence it completely. But instead, he found himself checking the time. He realized you'd be preparing for the lunch rush now. And something about that certainty drew him forward, pulled him away from the spiraling thoughts of his career.

Katsuki pocketed his phone and pulled a cap low over his eyes. 

The curry shop's familiar bell chimed as Katsuki pushed the door open, shoulders rigid beneath his jacket. The baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and mask covering the lower half of his face did little to ease the feeling of exposure that had followed him through the streets. The usual lunch crowd was noticeably thin—just an elderly couple sharing a bowl in the corner and a businessman typing on his laptop while absently spooning curry into his mouth. His eyes immediately darted to the television that typically played hero news in the background, now conspicuously dark.

His body tensed as he made his way to his usual spot at the counter, hyper aware of each step despite his makeshift disguise. The cap's brim shadowed his distinctive red eyes, but he still found himself waiting for whispers or pointed looks. His jaw clenched beneath the mask, teeth grinding as memories of the morning's headlines flashed through his mind. 

To his surprise, the elderly couple barely glanced up, and the businessman remained absorbed in his screen. No one stared. No one whispered behind their hands. 

Before he could settle, a blur of movement caught his eye—Kouichi racing from behind the counter, small face alight with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing around his hero.

"DynaMight!" Kouichi signed, his hands moving with the exuberance only a five-year-old could manage.

The simple, uncomplicated joy in the boy's expression made something in Katsuki's chest loosen, just slightly. There was no pity here, no questioning whether he was still worthy of admiration. Just pure, unfiltered excitement from a kid who saw him exactly as he always had.

"Hey, kid," Katsuki signed.

Kouichi's eyes lit up as he pointed to the counter where a fresh bowl of curry waited, steam rising in a fragrant cloud. "Mom made a special one just for you!"

His gaze followed Kouichi's gesture, finally landing on you. The sight of you standing behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron, hit him with unexpected force. After the hellish morning he'd endured, you appeared almost radiant in the shop's warm lighting, a sanctuary of calm in the storm that had become his life. Your eyes met his with that quiet understanding that never failed to steady him, and for a brief, unguarded moment, he imagined stepping behind that counter and burying his face in your shoulder, letting your fingers card through his hair while the rest of the world and its headlines melted away. The sudden intensity of that desire sent heat crawling up his neck, forcing him to look away before you noticed. He'd come here seeking escape, but hadn't expected to find himself wanting your comfort with such desperate clarity.

He was surprised when you didn't ask him anything. There were no questions about why he was wearing a disguise or what was wrong. You simply acknowledged his presence with that same steady warmth you always offered.

"I told you it was waiting for you," you signed simply, sliding the steaming bowl toward him with a hint of pride in your movements.

Katsuki pulled the mask down just enough to expose his mouth, the unfamiliar yet enticing scent of the new curry reaching his nose. A more complex aroma than his usual order—deeper notes of chilies layered with something smoky and aromatic that he couldn't quite identify. Something about this new offering in the midst of chaos steadied him. In a world that had suddenly shifted beneath his feet, your continued effort to perfect something just for him meant more than he expected. 

"Better not have been lying this time," he signed, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "Last attempt was barely medium."

Katsuki took his first bite, and the heat hit immediately—not the one-dimensional burn of most "spicy" foods, but layer upon layer of complex heat that built with each bite, exactly the intensity he'd been demanding for weeks. His eyes widened slightly, a hint of genuine surprise breaking through his guarded expression.

"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath, the overwhelming sensation momentarily drowning out everything else—the headlines, the calls, the uncertainty about his future. The physical intensity of the spice grounded him in the present moment when his mind wanted to spiral into worst-case scenarios.

Kouichi, who had been watching Katsuki's reaction with rapt attention, leaned forward with intense curiosity. "Can I try it too?" he signed, looking between you and Katsuki with hopeful eyes.

"No way," Katsuki signed immediately. "It’s way too spicy for you."

"Absolutely not," you signed at the same time, your hands moving in perfect sync with Katsuki's refusal.

Kouichi's lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, his small hands signing dramatically, "Just a tiny bit? Please? I'm brave!"

You exchanged a glance with Katsuki, who shrugged with a smirk that said "your call." The silent communication between you felt natural.

"Fine," you conceded with an exaggerated sigh. "One tiny taste. The smallest spoonful."

Kouichi bounced on his stool as you prepared a sample so small it barely covered the tip of the spoon. His face lit up with triumph as he accepted it. The moment the curry touched his tongue, his expression transformed—eyes widening in shock, then immediately watering as the heat hit him full force. His small hands frantically fanned at his open mouth, eyes pleading for water.

Katsuki's laugh burst out unexpectedly—rough and genuine. The rare sound warmed you from the inside as you quickly slid a glass of milk toward Kouichi. He gulped it desperately, dramatically fanning his tongue, while Katsuki's laughter lingered in the air between you.

"Told you, kid," Katsuki signed, amusement dancing in his eyes. For a brief moment, the weight he'd carried in seemed lighter. "Some things are too hot even for future heroes."

Kouichi, recovering with remarkable speed, signed with determination despite his still-watering eyes, "I'll train to handle spicy food too! Just like quirk training!"

"Good luck with that, kid," Katsuki signed with a smirk, before turning his attention back to the curry. He took another bite. 

"Damn," he muttered, genuinely impressed but trying not to show it too much. "You finally got it right." He gestured at the bowl with his spoon. "Not just hot for the sake of being hot. Actually has depth to it."

The compliment clearly caught you off-guard, a faint flush coloring your cheeks as you nodded in acknowledgment. "Took some experimenting," you signed, your movements betraying a hint of pride. "Worth it though."

Those three simple words – worth it though – struck him with unexpected force. Heat crept up his neck and spread to his ears as he quickly looked down at his curry. Worth the time, worth the effort, worth experimenting again and again just for him. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had considered him worth that kind of dedication, not because he was a hero or because they wanted something from him, but simply because his satisfaction mattered.

For a moment, the rest of the shop seemed to fade away. The simple act of sharing this meal, of having someone create something specifically for him – who thought he was worth the effort – steadied him in a way he hadn't experienced before.

You caught the businessman signaling for his check from the corner of your eye and pulled yourself away from the counter to attend to him. As you processed his payment and thanked him for coming, you couldn't help noticing Katsuki's subtle movements in your peripheral vision—the way his shoulders tensed when his phone vibrated again, how his jaw tightened as he glanced at the screen before quickly pocketing it. 

When you returned with the businessman's change, you caught the flicker of strain in Katsuki's expression before he masked it with his typical scowl. The news coverage must be taking more of a toll than he was letting on. Though he'd said nothing about it, you recognized the signs of someone carrying a heavy burden—you'd worn that same carefully controlled expression countless times yourself.

"You look like you could use a break today," you signed.

Katsuki's brow furrowed slightly. "I'm fine," he signed back, though the tension in his shoulders told a different story. 

"I'm thinking you should skip training today.”

"And waste a training day?" Katsuki's hands moved sharply, though his eyes held a flicker of relief he couldn't quite hide. "What's the point of that?"

"The point," you signed, your movements calm but firm, "is that sometimes stepping away helps more than pushing through." Your eyes met his, knowing and steady, your expression free of the pity or concern he'd grown to hate from others.

Kouichi, who had been following the conversation with increasing interest, suddenly perked up. His eyes widened with excitement as he looked between you both, unable to contain himself any longer.

"Can we go to the park with the ducks?" His hands moved eagerly, bouncing slightly on his toes. When he noticed Katsuki's uncertain expression, he added simply, "I can practice extra tomorrow! Promise!" His small fingers crossed over his heart with childlike sincerity.

Your gaze met Katsuki’s, patient and steady, as Kouichi waited for his answer. There was no expectation in your expression, just quiet understanding—like whatever he chose would be enough. That, more than anything, caught him off guard.

The way you so effortlessly made space for him, like you'd already accounted for the hesitation he hadn’t voiced yet—he wasn’t sure if that unsettled him or if it was just…unfamiliar.

“Sure, why not,” he signed, the words slipping out before he had time to second-guess them.

"Give me fifteen minutes to close up early? Slow day anyway." Katsuki knew that wasn't entirely true, but the gentle lie felt like a gift.

As you handed the elderly couple their complimentary tea, Katsuki watched Kouichi bounce with excitement. He let himself take in the moment—the quiet ease of it, the way no one here looked at him like he was fragile or slipping through their fingers. No pity, no hesitation. Here, he was just Katsuki. And somehow, that was enough.

When you glanced his way again, there was something steady in your gaze, something that said: You're safe here. Whatever's happening, you don't have to face it alone.

Kouichi tugged at his sleeve, impatient to get going, and Katsuki exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. The world outside would still be there when he returned—questions, speculation, the gnawing uncertainty about what came next. But for now, he had a reason to step away. Not because he was retreating, but simply because he could. Because you were offering something he hadn't realized he needed—permission to exist without proving his worth, room to breathe without explanations, company that asked for nothing except his presence.

You flipped the sign to 'Closed' and locked the door, while Kouichi waited by the entrance, his small backpack already strapped on.

"Duck food?" he signed, eyebrows raised hopefully.

You nodded, patting the container of leftover rice in your bag. "All ready."

Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the street. Kouichi immediately took the lead, his eager steps carrying him just ahead as you walked beside Katsuki. The baseball cap pulled low over his distinctive ash-blonde hair and the mask covering half his face couldn't diminish his presence, but provided enough anonymity to keep curious eyes at bay.

Every few meters, he glanced around, his crimson eyes scanning for potential recognition. The muscles in his jaw worked beneath the mask, tension evident in the set of his shoulders. You recognized the posture—the same alertness you'd cultivated during your first months after escaping, when every stranger might have been a threat.

"You come to this park often?" Katsuki asked as you turned onto a quieter street.

"At least once a week," you signed back. "They changed the landscaping in the central park—added those fancy stone pathways that look nice in photos but hurt Kouichi's feet when he runs. This one's more natural."

Katsuki snorted. "Fucking city planners. All aesthetics, no function."

The blunt assessment made you smile. After a long day of carefully measuring your words with customers, his honesty was a relief. As if sensing your amusement, his shoulders eased, the crease between his brows softening ever so slightly.

"The food trucks there are better though," you admitted. "The takoyaki stand on Thursdays makes the best sauce I've ever had."

"Takoyaki's overrated," Katsuki signed, expression deadpan. "Greasy balls of dough with tentacle chunks."

You laughed, the sound ringing through the quiet morning, startling a nearby bird into flight. It had been days since you'd laughed like that—unrestrained, unexpected, warm. Katsuki's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face before something softer settled there. His lips, hidden beneath the mask, twitched.

"Says the man who puts hot sauce on literally everything."

"Not the same thing," he argued. "Heat enhances flavor. Grease just smothers it."

Kouichi darted back to show you a particularly interesting leaf he'd found, then raced ahead again, boundless energy propelling him forward.

"How'd you learn to make curry anyway?" Katsuki asked after a comfortable silence had settled, his hands less rigid now, moving more naturally. "Family recipe?"

You shook your head, weighing how much to share. "Self-taught. Worked at a café during high school, but the owner only served bland, touristy versions of Japanese dishes. Started experimenting at home."

You left out the parts about cheap motels with hotplates, stretching ingredients to last for days, and the long nights spent perfecting recipes when you couldn't sleep for fear of being found. But something in Katsuki's direct gaze made you want to offer more truth than you usually did.

"Carried a notebook everywhere," you added, fingers forming signs you rarely shared. "Wrote down every recipe, every adjustment. It was... grounding. When things got complicated."

Katsuki's gaze lingered on your face, his eyes tracing every detail with an intensity that should have unsettled you, but didn’t.

The park opened before you, less manicured than the central city parks, with areas of wilder growth around its edges. A small lake gleamed in the center, its surface rippling with gentle breezes. A family of ducks paddled near the shoreline, occasionally dipping beneath the surface only to pop up elsewhere.

"Mom, look!" Kouichi signed excitedly, pointing toward a playground set back from the water where two other children played. "Can I go?"

You nodded, and he was off in a flash of movement. The distance was close enough that you could keep an eye on him while giving him the independence he craved.

"He's always moving," Katsuki commented as you settled on a bench overlooking both the lake and playground. His eyes tracked Kouichi's excited dash toward the slide.

"Yeah," you agreed, watching your son with a mix of pride and exhaustion. "Sometimes I wonder where all that energy comes from. By the end of the day, I'm completely drained, but he's still bouncing off the walls."

Katsuki snorted, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "When I was his age, my parents couldn't keep up either. Blew up the neighbor's mailbox with my quirk while they weren't looking." There was unmistakable pride in his voice. "Old hag grounded me for a month."

"Let me guess—that didn't slow you down at all?" you asked, finding yourself genuinely curious about what kind of child had grown into the man beside you.

"Hell no," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Just got better at not getting caught." He shifted on the bench, his body easing into a more relaxed posture. One arm stretched along the backrest behind you—not quite touching, but close enough that warmth radiated between you. He pulled down his mask to take a drink of water, the sharp lines of his face softening in the afternoon light.

"What about you?" he asked, crimson eyes meeting yours with unexpected interest. "What were you like as a kid?"

You hesitated, sifting through memories that felt like they belonged to someone else's life. "I was pretty normal, I guess. Had a group of friends I was always with. We'd spend hours exploring this creek behind our neighborhood, building forts and pretending we were pro heroes." The memory surfaced unexpectedly, warm and bittersweet. "I was always the mastermind, planning our 'missions' down to the last detail."

Katsuki nodded, as if this made perfect sense. "Control freak even back then, huh?"

"Excuse me?" you said with mock offense, though you couldn't suppress your smile. "I prefer 'strategically minded.'"

"Same thing," he replied, but there was something like respect in his tone. "Bet you were good at it too."

The casual confidence in your abilities caught you off guard. It wasn't flattery—Katsuki Bakugou didn't seem the type for empty compliments—but simple acknowledgment, as if your competence was an objective fact rather than an opinion. You weren't used to that kind of straightforward appreciation from anyone.

You found yourself looking away, suddenly aware of the warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.

A comfortable silence fell between you as you watched Kouichi introduce himself to the other children.There was something grounding about sitting in the afternoon sun, wrapped in easy conversation, where the words didn’t matter as much as the warmth between them. 

"This park reminds me of one near where I grew up," Katsuki signed suddenly, his crimson eyes scanning the landscape. "Used to spend hours there after school, practicing my quirk where no one would complain about the noise."

You followed his gaze across the open green space. "You had a place to practice freely? That sounds nice."

"Nice?" He snorted. "It was necessary. My quirk wasn't exactly indoor-friendly." His hands paused, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Blew up half my bedroom once when I was eight. The old hag threatened to make me sleep in the yard."

"I can't imagine how your parents managed," you signed, picturing a young Katsuki with his explosive temperament to match his quirk. "Mine had it easy with me. My quirk is subtle—food-based healing isn't exactly destructive."

"You kidding? My parents gave as good as they got," he replied, something like fondness crossing his usually stern features. "Mom's just as explosive as I am—maybe worse. We butted heads constantly. Still do, honestly."

The image of a young Katsuki facing off against an equally fierce mother made you laugh. "Sounds like a lively household."

"That's putting it mildly. Dad somehow manages to keep the peace between us. He's the only person I've ever seen who can handle both of us together."

"They sound close," you signed, a hint of wistfulness in your expression.

"Yeah," he agreed, studying your face. "What about you? What was home like growing up?"

The question caught you off guard—casual for most people, but complicated for you. You chose your words carefully, offering truth without revealing too much. "Quiet, mostly. Parents worked long hours. Dad traveled a lot for business, and mom was always busy with community committees and social events."

"So you were on your own?" he asked.

"I had the house to myself a lot," you admitted, the admission easier than you'd anticipated. "I had friends at school, but not the kind you call when things get tough. We kept things surface-level—homework, movies, that sort of thing."

Katsuki's brows furrowed slightly, his voice lower than before. "That sounds...exhausting."

The words weren’t sharp or dismissive, just an honest observation. Most people would’ve tried to fix it, to fill the space with empty reassurances, but he didn’t. He just let it sit.

"I got used to it," you signed, the admission feeling like peeling back a layer you usually kept firmly in place. "Got good at being self-sufficient. Turns out that's a useful skill later in life."

"But a shitty way to grow up," he countered, his bluntness somehow comforting rather than harsh.

You shrugged, surprised by how easy it felt to share this with him. "It made me vulnerable in ways I didn't understand until later. When someone finally came along and made me feel seen..." You trailed off, having already said more than you intended.

To your relief, he didn't press for details. He was quiet for a moment, his crimson eyes studying you with unexpected perception.

"Yeah," he finally signed. "That kind of thing can screw you over." His jaw tightened briefly before he let out a slow breath. "But it's not your fault for wanting that.”

The simple understanding in his words caught you off guard. There was no judgment or pity in his expression, just recognition.

"What about you? You've always seemed so confident. Did you ever feel... overlooked?"

A humorless smile crossed his face. "Tch. The opposite problem." His hands moved more deliberately now. "My quirk showed up early and it was powerful from the start. I was always good at everything I tried—sports, academics, you name it."

His hands stilled for a moment, something vulnerable flickering across his face that he quickly masked. "Everyone expected greatness. Teachers, classmates, even my parents in their own way."

"That sounds like a lot of pressure," you observed, watching as something shifted in his expression.

His eyes fixed briefly on a duck skimming across the lake's surface. The slight tightening at the corners of his mouth was the only indication that your words had touched something deeper.

"Yeah," his hands moved after a beat. "The bar was always set impossibly high."

You noticed the way his shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly, how his fingers flexed once before continuing to sign.

"When everyone expects you to be exceptional, being merely good isn't an option." His movements remained controlled, but there was a new precision to them, as if focusing on the technical aspects of signing helped maintain distance from the content. "So I pushed myself harder. Had to be the best because anything less would've been seen as failure."

"And now?" you ventured.

"Now?" he repeated, something vulnerable flickering across his face before his expression settled into thoughtful resignation. "Now I'm stuck figuring out what the hell happens when you spend your whole life crushing every obstacle, then something comes along you can't just blast through." His fingers curled into a fist against his thigh before relaxing deliberately, the motion a silent confession of his struggle.

You let his words settle between you, recognizing the weight they carried. There was something in his honesty that resonated with your own battles—different circumstances but a similar core: adapting when life throws something at you that can't be overcome through sheer force of will.

"Speaking of obstacles," you signed, deciding to shift the conversation to lighter ground, "this food critic came in last month. Guy sent back perfectly good curry because it wasn't 'authentic' enough." You made air quotes to emphasize your disdain.

His attention returned, the shadow receding from his expression. "What'd you do?" Katsuki leaned forward slightly, interest piqued.

"Added more spice to the replacement bowl. Twice what I'd normally use," you signed, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. "Watched him sweat through his designer shirt while insisting it was 'delightful' because he didn't want to admit it was too hot."

"Fucking perfect," Katsuki's eyes lit with approval, crinkles forming at their corners. "Should've recorded it."

His smile—rare and unguarded—lit up his face, softening the sharp angles without dulling the intensity in his eyes. It was disarming, unexpected. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you glanced away, startled by the way your heart stuttered in response.

The afternoon stretched comfortably around you. Kouichi occasionally returned to show off treasures he'd discovered or to grab a quick drink from his water bottle before racing back to his new friends. The simplicity of the moment felt like a shelter—one you suspected Katsuki needed as much as you did.

When Kouichi finally came to scatter rice for the ducks, Katsuki surprised you by joining in, showing him how to toss the grains in a wide arc to reach more birds.

"You're aiming like you've got no control," he told Kouichi, his signs precise and direct. "Think about the target point. Like this." He demonstrated with a practiced flick of his wrist, the rice scattering in a perfect arc that reached the farthest ducks.

Kouichi's face lit up as he mimicked the movement, his accuracy improving immediately. The pride in Kouichi's expression when Katsuki nodded in approval was unmistakable.

As evening approached, shadows lengthened across the grass. To the east, darker clouds gathered on the horizon while the setting sun cast an orange glow across the lake.

"We should start heading back," you signed, gesturing toward the darkening sky. "Looks like rain coming."

Katsuki glanced upward, nodding in agreement. Kouichi groaned in theatrical disappointment but didn't argue, his energy finally beginning to wane.

The first distant rumble of thunder reached you as you passed through the park gates. Though Kouichi couldn't hear it, he must have felt the vibration, because he looked up at the darkening sky with wide eyes. The first few raindrops began to fall as you turned onto your street, fat drops that left dark spots on the pavement.

Katsuki walked beside you, his earlier tension nowhere visible. The weight that had driven him to your shop this morning seemed lighter now, though not gone. You recognized the shift—not healing, exactly, but the temporary respite that comes from stepping away from what hurts.

[daisynik7]

I blinked and suddenly I had a Valentine

Author's Note: modern setting, no curses, high school setting. ~1.3k words. Divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Title from the song “Valentine” by Laufey. Rice bear bathing in Japanese curry looks something like this (reddit link). Part of the past lives vignettes series. Thank you for reading!

It’s almost the end of January and you’ve spent the past three weeks at your new school eating alone, either in the classroom or in the cafeteria. You’re too shy to socialize with your peers, who are already well-established in their own social circles. This is what happens when you transfer in with less than three months left of the schoolyear. No one wants to be friends with the new girl, right? 

Well, two people prove this theory wrong. 

Yu Haibara is the first to approach you in the cafeteria during lunchtime. “Hi there!” he greets, taking a seat across from you, a cheerful smile on his face. You can tell from his aura alone that this is someone easy to get along with. Jovial, optimistic, kind-hearted. You’d normally feel nervous interacting with someone you’ve never met before, but his welcoming presence immediately puts you at ease. 

He’s followed by a blonde boy, slightly taller, a bit lanky, and sulking behind him. His name is Kento Nanami. You recognize him from your homeroom, though you’ve never spoken before. Occasionally, he eats his meals there, usually in the back with his headphones in, listening to music, while you’re in the front, indulging in whatever homemade bento box you decide to make for yourself that day. It’s crossed your mind more than once to join him so that neither of you are alone, though you’ve chickened out each time, convinced that he’d rather remain that way than be bothered by a nobody. Unlike Haibara, his lips are pressed together in a natural frown. You don’t sense unhappiness or animosity from him; rather, it’s indifference, apathy. When he sits down next to his pal, he gives you a nod, acknowledging you. 

Haibara does the courtesy of introductions. You hold your hand out to him, doing the same. He takes it enthusiastically, beaming at you. “I know who you are. I’m a first-year too!”

It doesn’t strike you as odd that he’s already somewhat familiar with you. Instead, you’re relieved to finally be making friends in this cutthroat environment called high school. After this first meeting, the three of you are inseparable. You get on well with Haibara, who’s an expert at keeping the conversation flowing. Nanami doesn’t say much, though you notice his subtle mannerisms that speak volumes more than what his actual words do. You can tell he admires your homemade lunches each time you uncover them at the table. His eyes light up, marveling at whatever creation you’ve concocted the night before: yakisoba, onigiri, chicken stir-fry. He doesn’t say anything, relying on Haibara to do the complimenting. You appreciate how intently he listens to you, even if he doesn’t have much to contribute. In homeroom, you sneak glances at him when your teacher says something particularly ridiculous, to which you spot the faintest hint of a smile flitting on his lips. And you realize that every time you’re walking beside each other, he makes sure to switch his bag to his arm away from you. Part of you hopes the real reason behind this is to be closer to you, but you try to keep those lovelorn thoughts buried in the back of your mind, being certain that’s not the case.  

You eventually find out that Haibara has severe allergies, especially during the seasons of Winter and Spring. He explains how he has to take at least a few days off once a month, sometimes an entire week. Today, he dons a face mask, already anticipating it. “Don’t miss me too much,” he jokes, his bright smile noticeable even behind the mask. It’s February now; the three of you sit together at your regular spot in the cafeteria. Nanami eats his rice bowl in silence while you say to Haibara, “You’re going to miss Valentine’s Day.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “I guess the two of you will have to be each other’s Valentines.”

At this, Nanami almost chokes on his food, face turning scarlet. He reaches for his water bottle, which is empty, still clearing his throat as he excuses himself to refill it. When you’re alone, you glare at Haibara, scolding him. “Why would you say that?!”

He shrugs innocently. “What’s the big deal? He likes you.”

Your jaw drops at his surprising statement. You’ve always thought that Nanami tolerates you, but you never truly believed he could ever like you. “What do you mean?”

Haibara blinks at you, as if the answer is so obvious. “He told me about you. Said how you always had the most amazing bento boxes for lunch. How cute your smile was whenever you’d take a bite. He was too shy to talk to you first, so he had me do it. You…didn’t know that?”

You stare at him, shaking your head slowly, stunned by this revelation. 

He laughs nervously, scratching his head. “Oops.”

Nanami returns, back to his normal self now, remaining quiet. There’s still the faint blush on his cheeks; you pretend not to notice it. Nothing else is mentioned about Valentine’s the rest of the day, though it lingers on your mind the remainder of the week.

Haibara is out sick February 13th, leaving you and Nanami alone together for the first time since you befriended them. You’re curious to see if the dynamic would change, if Nanami would actually speak up now that his buddy isn’t around to fill the void with his amicable chatter. But lunch ends up being a quiet affair. You do your best to ask questions, start conversation, but he’s even more tense than he usually is. When you mention Valentine’s Day tomorrow, the familiar rosy tint spreads across his face. You drop it, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, though you can’t help thinking how sweet he is for reacting that way.

He likes you. The words have been replaying in your head since you heard them. And the truth is: you like Nanami too.  Based on what Haibara said, he might be too shy to tell you. 

So, you take matters into your own hands. 

The next day, February 14th, you come to school carrying a box wrapped in red ribbon. Inside homeroom. You greet Nanami politely, catching the way his gaze drifts to your hands. You smile wider to yourself, excited to present it to him later. At your seat, you can smell the decadent scent of homemade chocolates and heart-shaped candies from the other girls in your class. You get increasingly nervous about the gift, wondering if he’ll receive it well. Still, it’s worth a shot.

When class is over and it’s time for lunch, Nanami waits for you near the door to walk to the cafeteria together. Ready to leave, you stop him, clearing your throat before you announce, “I have something for you.”

His eyes widen, his jaw clenches. It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting this. 

You don’t hand it to him, afraid he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Instead, you untie the ribbon yourself, uncovering it. Inside is the bento box you prepared special for him. “I made this for you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Nanami.”

He reaches inside, holding the bento in his hands like found treasure. He snaps the cover off slowly, revealing rice balls formed into a cute bear, bathing in Japanese curry. A sheet of seaweed cut into a heart is placed directly in the center. 

You watch him for his response, heart racing against your chest. He inspects it carefully, his expression softening to one of adoration. When he looks at you, he smiles, and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Nanami Kento smiling. 

“Do you like it?” you ask, needing to hear it in his own words. 

He nods, still smiling. “I love it.”

You spend your lunch in the classroom, eating your matching bento boxes together while listening to his music on shared headphones. 

For the first time in his life, Nanami has a special Valentine.

[doomtrooper77]

Mr. Ambrizio - Stepping Up

Nate and I were working out in the weight room at The Gym. This place wasn’t just a meathead haven—it was the muscle-bound heart of a sprawling criminal network. On the surface, it looked like any old hardcore iron paradise. But look a little closer, and you’d see the truth: this was a stronghold for made guys, their hangers-on, and anyone looking to curry favor with the family.

Not everyone was straight out of a mob movie. Sure, some were walking Sopranos stereotypes, but many were just construction foremen, truckers, sanitation guys, business owners, lawyers—you name it. What they had in common was connection. The kind that wasn’t printed on a résumé. The family’s influence reached wide and deep. There wasn’t a corner of this state and the surrounding state they couldn’t touch.

Yeah, a few civilian fanboys came through, but they were always vetted. They knew the rules—shut your mouth and keep your head down. Ninety-five percent of the time, nothing happened here but heavy lifting and grunted reps. But that five percent? That’s what made this place legendary.

I say “big guys” for a reason. Gear wasn’t just available—it was part of the ecosystem. Didn’t matter what kind you were after, it flowed through The Gym like water. Most of the guys tied to the family were monsters in their own right. And the higher up you climbed in the organization, the bigger those monsters got. The boss had a nickname: The Monster Maker. Nobody called him that to his face, but everybody knew what it meant. You didn’t go to war with these people unless you wanted a bloodbath.

Nate and I? We were nobodies. Low-level drivers and gofers. We went where we were told, picked up envelopes or truckloads of God-knows-what, and dropped them off to whoever we were told to. Half the time, we didn’t even know what we were hauling. But it paid better than any 9-to-5. Still, we wanted more. More juice. More respect. Nate especially. There were lines I wasn’t willing to cross. Nate? I wasn’t sure he even saw the lines.

In the scheme of things, neither of us were huge, but I tipped the scales at 260, and Nate was a solid 290. We’d been lifting for about twenty minutes when Fucking Tony Ambrizio walked out of the locker room.

If you asked Google what a mob enforcer looked like, it should spit out his picture. Six-foot-four and tipping damn near 400 pounds of muscle. A thick mane of steel-grey and black hair, matching thick mustache, tanned olive skin covered in ink, and a thick, massive gold chain resting heavy on his chest. He didn’t walk—he loomed.

Tony wasn’t just a made guy. He was a capo, one of the underboss’s inner circle. Even other captains gave him space. Not just out of respect—but out of fear. See, Tony wasn’t crazy, not in the traditional sense. He was cold, sharp, and savage. The kind of guy who didn’t blink while yanking your spine out of your body.

Nate’s eyes locked onto him like a dog on raw meat. I nudged him. “Hey, stop staring.” I knew this was the kind of made man Nate wanted to be.

“Yeah, sorry,” Nate mumbled, but his eyes kept drifting back. So did mine.

Thirty minutes in, Tony was pushing weight that most elite powerlifters would call a personal best—as his warm-up. Every rep, every grunt, made him swell, veins bulging like cables. Between sets, he stretched and flexed, and it was like watching something transform—like his body was getting bigger just from exertion.

I caught Nate openly staring. I discreetly saw Tony through the mirror, his eyes turning in our direction. He was blatantly staring back. I jabbed Nate again, “Quit it.”

Then it happened. One of the family’s other big enforcers walked over—some giant named Jimmy-something—carrying a gallon jug of neon blue liquid. He handed it off to Tony with reverence and respect. Tony cracked it open, chugged the whole thing in one go, and muttered something to Jimmy—while looking straight at us.

Jimmy turned to glance our way, then back at Tony, saying something low. My stomach dropped.

“Shit,” I whispered. I started grabbing our stuff. Nate didn’t move.

I kicked him in the calf. “Let’s go.”

We made it three steps toward the locker room before Jimmy cut us off.

“Hey.” One word. Commanding. Deadly calm.

We froze. Jimmy approached, big as a damn doorframe. His eyes raked over us.

“Mr. Ambrizio is heading into the cage,” he said flatly. “He’d like you to join him.”

I looked over, Tony sat there like a statue, watching us. I turned back. “Uhh, we were just finishing up—”

Jimmy stepped in, and his big hand poked me in the chest hard. I stumbled back.

“I’m not talking to you, kid.” He turned to Nate. “This ain’t a request.”

Nate hesitated for just a breath, then said, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Wait,” I said, stepping between them. “Nate, you don’t have to do this. You know the stories. Just say you’re injured or—”

Jimmy cut me off with a snort. Then, to Nate: “Best way to survive this is to fight. You sandbag, he’ll know. You flop around, try to play soft, he’ll beat you into paste. But you show him you’ve got guts, fire in your belly, you might just walk out under your own power. This is how you prove you’ve got what it takes to move up.”

Nate looked at me and said, “It’ll be alright. Go get some coffee or something. I’ll see you later.” His face was set like stone.

I saw Tony heading our way massive, every step a low rumble. Jimmy turned to me. “Get your shit and get outta here. Don’t let me catch you waiting in the parking lot. Go sip your latte or whatever.”

Nate gave me a small nod as he followed them into one of the private fight rooms.

I walked to the locker room, looked back once and the three of them disappeared behind that reinforced door.

It was a little after 8 p.m. when I got the call from Lutheran General. ER staff said Nate had been brought in. I hauled ass over.

He was sitting up when I got there. One eye swollen shut, the other blackened. Lip split wide open. Nose broken. The entire left side of his face looked like a swollen fist print.  His left arm was in a cast. Dopily smiling from under a haze of painkillers.

“He said I got guts,” he kept saying.

The doctor told me he also had four cracked ribs. He asked what happened.

I just asked back, “What did he say?”

“Fell down some stairs,” the doc said, clearly not buying it.

I shrugged. “No idea.”

They released him the next morning. Paperwork said AMZ Iron Works was covering the bill—one of Tony’s shell corps. That told me everything.

Nate was quieter after that. Wouldn’t talk about the fight. Wouldn’t tell his family either. He healed, slowly. Stayed at his parents’ place for a couple of months. They kept asking me what happened. I kept giving them the same answer: “Ask Nate.”

Five years later, I still think about that night.

Nate got what he wanted. These days, he’s 350 pounds of pure muscle and menace. The only thing he delivers now is beatings to people who are late on their loans, or when he was at The GYM, he delivered that same blue gallon jug to Mr. Ambrizio.

He’s crossed lines I don’t want to know about. We’re still friends, but we live in two different worlds now. He’s never thrown it in my face. Hell, I think he even put in a good word for me.

I don’t drive anymore. I send drivers. I tell them where to go and what to haul. It’s a step up.

And it’s enough.

[injvns]

if words were flowers - zhong chenle

wc: 478

notes: based off the title of the curtis harding song :P enjoy!!!

if words were flowers, chenle would give you them all.

you don't know how long it's been since he opened his mouth, but it's been quite a bit since he shut it. 

he started off showing you clips of the latest golden state warriors game, raving about steph curry, then it went to how basketball has been going for him personally, to how if he had his own team he'd make daegal the mascot, and now he's planning a picnic date with you and daegal.

"do you think we could bring those chocolates you like or would that be too risky?" chenle's got his notes app open, writing down his groundbreaking picnic ideas, "ooh! or maybe i can get the macarons from the place in town instead!"

he looks so proud of himself as he backspaces to replace the words 'chocolate maybe??' with 'macarons from that one place.'

you can't help but smile at his excitement, it amazes you how chenle never lacks the imagination to keep endless conversations. words flow out of him like petals in the wind.

he hasn't stopped rattling off ideas, you honestly think his brain runs at least 20 miles faster than his mouth can keep up with. you also think it might be time to finally cut him off.

"babe, we can have a picnic whenever we want, slow down." you reach out to grab his phone from his hands, "figuring out all the details doesn't need to be done today."

he turns to you in sync with the taking of his phone, "but i was on such a roll.."

"and i'm sure you can get your groove back whenever," you put his phone on the table beside the couch before quickly turning back to him, "your thoughts are kind of endless, lele."

he scoffs, "you know you love my voice, don't even try to deny it." the sentence ends with an overly dramatic eye roll.

"i do love your voice, but i also hate you so they cancel each other out." you shrug nonchalantly as you say it, though your grin is anything but.

"then i guess i just have to talk so much that it overpowers the hate." he copies you, shrugging casually, but eyes smiling brightly.

"i guess you do," your head falls onto his shoulder, a content sigh leaving your lips.

chenle has never been one to stop talking around you, or at all. it's like his brain is running at full speed while his mouth is on autopilot, and today is no different. you can feel the vibrations of his voice as he talks, head rested where his neck meets his shoulders. it's relaxing, lulling you into a sleepy daze, but you'd rather die than give up listening to the soothing tones of chenle's voice.

if words were flowers, you'd cherish every single blossom chenle gifted you.

[kurishiri]

Darius Vogel ┊ To our greed this Christmas

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— the 110 times sent bonus for elbert's promised christmas event.

— cw: none.

(Hmm... the one on the right seems easier to use, but on the other hand I feel like the one on the left has a more gentle color...)

Christmas was approaching, and I had a day off. And so I found myself at a store selling miscellaneous goods, picking them up and mulling over them.

Darius: There should be some other colors if you go farther in, so you could check over there?

Kate: Thank you for the advice... wait, Darius?

Darius: Hello there, miss fairytale keeper. Are you shopping for something?

Kate: Yes, I am. I was thinking of buying something for everyone at Crown, so...

Darius: Oh, so that’s why Harrison Gray’s waiting some ways away, I take it.

Apparently, Darius, with his good eyesight, was able to see Harrison waiting at the shopfront — something I wasn’t able to see.

Kate: Ideally I would’ve liked to prepare everything in secret, but I’m not allowed to go out on my own for security reasons...

Darius: And so you chose the person most likely to figure out what you were planning first.

It was exactly as Darius said. Even if I were to keep it a secret, Harrison would know I was lying right away...

If that was the case, I decided to exclusively tell Harrison the situation sooner rather than later and involve him in the plan.

(Darius really is incredible, managing to figure all that out in an instant.)

Darius: Oh, I know, can I tag along in your shopping trip? I’m curious to see what you’ll choose.

Kate: It’s nothing so grand, so it might be a bit boring, but... if that’s fine with you.

And so, that was how Darius came to accompany me.

Having finished picking out presents, we stood in line to check out together.

There were a lot of people shopping, so it looked like it would be quite a wait before our turn.

Darius: By the way, miss fairytale keeper... giving them a gift to win them over, what are you planning to make them do?

Kate: W-win them over...?

Darius: Are presents not a way to convey how much you’re thinking about whoever you’re giving it to?

D: You know, conveying something like, ‘I find myself thinking about you sooo much.’

D: So I was curious what you were seeking in return.

Kate: Such a thing didn’t even cross my mind... I just wanted to give them something as thanks for taking care of me throughout the day.

Darius: Well is that so.

I told him my feelings as they were, and while he nodded [1], he didn’t seem very convinced.

Kate: But... I am glad to have gotten your perspective.

K: Even if my intention was to give it to them as a thank you and wasn’t seeking anything in return,

K: the recipient might feel otherwise, feeling an obligation to give something back and whatnot.

Darius: You kind, soft fairytale keeper, you.

D: But, if you want to survive, wouldn’t it be better to be a bit more devious?

D: Currying favor with the strong is one of the ways for the weak to live, you know.

So...he’s probably saying it would be better to use this present as a way to cajole them.

(‘Presents are a way to convey how much you’re thinking about whoever you’re giving it to’...huh.)

In order to pave their way through the world, sometimes one must show a fake smile or say something completely opposite of what they felt.

Darius was a person with status, so I imagined he must have had many interactions with ulterior motives laced in.

...But, for some reason, to think that all presents were given out of self-interest,

felt like such a lonely thing to me.

After checking out and retreating from the line, I gave Darius a certain something.

Kate: Darius, here... would you take this?

Darius: What’s this now?

Kate: Just now, I did a little lottery with the amount of money spent... and I got a piece of candy as a participation prize.

Darius: ...One piece of candy.

Kate: Well, I wanted you to know that there are presents that don’t have any ulterior motives, so...

Darius: Indeed... it’s hard to think a single piece of candy demands anything in return, though...

D: Pfft...ahaha!

As if saying he couldn’t take it any longer, Darius started to laugh.

Darius: Ahh, you really are strange... hey, miss fairytale keeper, did it never occur to you it could be considered rude?

D: It’s a bit hard to say this myself...but considering I’m a noble visitor from Germany, giving me a single piece of candy as a present...

Kate: Ah...! Y-you have a point there.

I was only thinking about how I wanted to give him a present with no strings attached... but I hadn’t considered anything else, much to my embarrassment.

Darius: Hehe...it’s fine. It is interesting, so I’ll allow it.

D: It’s the first time I’ve ever received such a trivial present.

Pinching the candy with his fingers, Darius lifted it up to his eyes, staring at it.

Darius: That said, this isn’t quiiite enough to convince me that ‘there are presents without any ulterior motives.’

Kate: Huh...

Darius: See, your version of a ‘present’ is something you chose while thinking of the recipient, no?

D: Like the one you chose for Crown.

Saying that, Darius pointed to the paper bag I was holding.

Darius: Go and prepare a present from your heart, miss fairytale keeper, rather than giving a participation prize and whatnot...

D: And make me believe that such a thing doesn’t demand anything in return.

D: You see, I can’t help but really want such a present.

(...I don’t even need Harrison here to know he’s lying through his teeth.)

(Darius truly, from the bottom of his heart, doesn’t believe such a present could ever exist.)

It started to occur to me that there were emotions in Darius’ heart that I couldn’t expect in others.

And to him, that flickering greed of his didn’t amount to more than one of his play on words.

(But...)

Kate: Alright then. Getting one right now might be a stretch... but someday, I will give you one.

This emotion that made me want to make Darius believe someday — I wonder, what could that be?

Driven by an impulse, I made this declaration, and in response, Darius grinned.

Darius: Really now? Well then, I’ll look forward to it.

His smile was as beautiful as it was perfect. ...But, those honey-colored eyes seemed to contain a cold hue.

And I felt a strong desire then... to get my hands on something that could strip away that fabricated expression of his.

Fin.

first next →

masterlist🪽🎁 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

NOTES:

[1] Kate uses [相槌] (aizuchi) here, which can indicate nodding, but more broadly speaking, it refers to interjections that a listener may use to indicate that they are listening to the speaker. This could be nodding or making “hmm” sounds or other small replies.

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (as one)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: the eclipse of the alliance

- Next part: a gift of fire

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The Great Sept of Baelor is resplendent, every stone and column adorned in the colors of House Targaryen and House Lannister. Red and gold banners drape from the high arches, interwoven with shimmering silver threads, casting an ethereal glow beneath the light of hundreds of candles. The scents of lavender and myrrh fill the air, mingling with the soft murmur of noble voices and the hushed reverence of those gathered.

At the center of it all, you stand beside Tyland, your hands joined, facing the High Septon. Your gown flows in layers of crimson silk and delicate gold embroidery, each thread catching the light as you move. A delicate circlet of dragon-inspired filigree rests on your head, glinting with the same fire as the rubies that adorn Tyland’s collar. He stands tall and composed beside you, his Lannister red cloak draped proudly over his shoulders, the lion of his House embroidered in striking gold against his back.

King Viserys, seated on a dais with a commanding view of the ceremony, watches with a warm, contented expression that you haven’t seen in some time. The weariness usually present in his face seems softened by pride and happiness, his eyes shining as he observes this union he so clearly supports.

Next to him, Rhaenyra’s gaze is radiant as she watches you both, her smile broad, her posture relaxed as she holds Laenor’s arm lightly. She exchanges the occasional meaningful glance with Harwin Strong, who stands near the edge of the gathered guests. Her glances are discreet, but there’s a warmth and anticipation in her gaze each time her eyes meet his, adding an undercurrent of intrigue and joy to the scene.

In contrast, Queen Alicent sits stiffly beside Viserys, her expression polite but guarded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She is dressed in her traditional Hightower greens, yet the vibrant reds and golds of House Targaryen and House Lannister dominate the Sept, making her seem more an observer than a participant in the celebration. Beside her, Otto Hightower looks even more uncomfortable, his gaze wary as he takes in the sea of red and gold, a color scheme that seems to shadow the greens of House Hightower entirely. His face is impassive, but his clenched jaw betrays his unease.

The High Septon’s voice rises in solemn cadence, reciting the ancient vows, his tone reverberating through the Sept as he lifts his arms to bless the union.

“Today,” the Septon intones, “we witness a bond forged not only in duty but in loyalty—a union that joins two noble Houses in service to the realm. May the fire of House Targaryen and the strength of House Lannister become one, a beacon of unity and strength in these uncertain times.”

He turns to Tyland, his gaze stern but benevolent. “Lord Tyland of House Lannister, do you swear to honor and cherish the Princess Y/N, to protect her and hold her above all others?”

Tyland’s gaze never wavers as he meets the Septon’s eyes, his voice clear and unwavering. “I swear it.”

The Septon then turns to you, his expression softened, as though recognizing the unique weight of your choice. “Princess Y/N of House Targaryen, do you vow to stand beside Lord Tyland, to honor and cherish him, to bring strength to this union as both Targaryen and Lannister?”

You hold Tyland’s gaze, feeling the depth of your love and commitment reflected in his eyes, and your voice is filled with quiet conviction as you reply, “I swear it.”

The Septon gestures for Tyland to take the crimson and gold cloak resting nearby. Tyland lifts it, draping it over your shoulders with reverence, symbolizing the joining of your Houses. The cloak settles over your gown, its weight warm and comforting as it rests upon you, and a murmur of approval ripples through the gathered nobles, their voices hushed with admiration.

The Septon raises his arms, his voice resonating through the Sept. “By the gods, old and new, I proclaim this union sealed. May it bring peace, prosperity, and strength to the realm.”

A chorus of applause fills the Sept, the nobles and guests rising to their feet in celebration as Tyland turns to you, his gaze filled with pride and affection. He takes your hands, pulling you close, and as tradition allows, he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that is both tender and full of promise.

The applause swells, and as you pull apart, you find yourself smiling broadly, your heart brimming with joy. Tyland’s hand finds yours once more, his grip steady, as you turn to face the gathered court together.

Viserys rises from his seat, lifting his goblet in a toast, his voice carrying through the crowd with a vigor that surprises even you. “To House Targaryen and House Lannister, united in loyalty and strength! May this bond be a beacon for all of Westeros!”

The guests echo his toast, raising their goblets in unison, and the hall fills with the warmth of shared celebration. Rhaenyra raises her own goblet, her eyes meeting yours as she offers you a smile full of pride and sisterly affection. Beside her, Laenor toasts as well, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Alicent, however, raises her goblet with restraint, her smile polite but strained, while Otto remains composed but tense, clearly uneasy with the magnitude of the Lannister presence and the strength of your House’s new alliance.

As the ceremony concludes, Tyland leans down, his voice a quiet murmur in your ear. “We did it, my love. Against all odds, we’re here.”

You smile, a quiet joy filling you as you whisper back, “We’ll face whatever comes.”

Hand in hand, you step forward, joined not only by duty but by choice, as the new union of House Targaryen and House Lannister is solidified before all of Westeros.

The Great Hall is transformed into a vibrant sea of color and celebration, the tables laden with a lavish feast in honor of your union. Music fills the air, the lively notes of lutes and harps accompanied by the laughter and cheer of noble guests who have gathered from across the realm. The wine flows freely, filling goblets with rich reds and golden ambers, and the scents of roasted meats, spiced fruits, and freshly baked bread drift through the hall, mingling with the hum of voices.

You sit beside Tyland at the head table, feeling the warmth of his presence at your side as guests approach one after another to offer their congratulations. Lord Jason Lannister is among the first to approach, his usual confident grin even more pronounced as he claps Tyland on the shoulder with a hearty laugh.

"Tyland, brother!" Jason exclaims, his voice carrying over the music. "You've done it, haven’t you? Tied yourself to the greatest House in the realm. Our House couldn't be prouder."

He turns to you, his gaze respectful but glinting with the charm that marks every Lannister. "Princess, you’ve chosen wisely. I’ve no doubt Tyland will be the most loyal and dedicated of husbands."

You smile, inclining your head graciously. "Thank you, Lord Jason. I am honored to join your family, and I look forward to what our Houses can achieve together."

Martyn Lannister, standing beside Jason, adds his own good wishes, though his tone is softer, more sincere. "You both have the support of the Westerlands. This union is a true strength, a symbol of what loyalty and alliance can build." He bows slightly, his gaze warm. "May the future bring you both joy and prosperity."

Tyland nods appreciatively, exchanging a look of quiet pride with his cousins. "Thank you, Jason, Martyn. Your support means more than I can say. Together, we’ll bring honor to both Houses."

As they depart, other lords and ladies approach, each offering their own blessings and toasts. Their voices blend together in a chorus of goodwill, though you catch glimmers of ambition and curiosity in some of their eyes—an unspoken acknowledgment of the power your union represents.

However, amidst the sea of well-wishers, a familiar figure makes his way forward, cutting through the crowd with his usual self-assured stride. Daemon stands before you both, his expression one of casual amusement, though you can see the flicker of irritation in his eyes.

“Well, niece,” Daemon says smoothly, his tone carrying an edge of sarcasm, “you’ve truly outdone yourself with this match.” His gaze shifts to Tyland, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “A lion among dragons. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it?”

You meet his gaze evenly, refusing to rise to his provocation. “I think it’s fitting, Uncle. Tyland and I have found strength in each other. Isn’t that what family is supposed to be?”

Daemon’s smile turns sharp, his eyes glinting with a challenge. “Perhaps. Though I’d have thought you might choose a Targaryen over a Lannister. Someone who understands the fire in our blood.”

Tyland’s grip on your hand tightens slightly, though his expression remains calm as he meets Daemon’s gaze. “I assure you, Prince Daemon, I understand what it means to stand with House Targaryen. And I have every intention of honoring that.”

Daemon’s smirk widens, though there’s a faint bitterness to it as he nods. “So you say.” He casts one last look at you, a mixture of resentment and reluctant admiration flickering in his gaze. “May you both find what you seek, then.”

You incline your head, offering a polite but dismissive smile. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Daemon lingers for a moment longer before turning away, his expression dark as he melts back into the crowd. You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the tension ease as Tyland’s arm slips around your waist, grounding you in the warmth of his presence.

Tyland leans close, murmuring softly, “You handled him well.”

You smile, your fingers brushing his hand. “I’ve had practice.”

Before either of you can say more, the music shifts to a lively tune, signaling the beginning of the dances. Tyland rises, extending his hand to you with a faint smile. “Shall we, my lady?”

You take his hand, feeling the thrill of the moment as he leads you to the center of the hall. The crowd parts, their eyes following you with admiration and curiosity as you come together, your hands finding their place, your movements instinctively synchronized. The music swells, and the two of you begin to dance, moving gracefully across the floor in a swirl of red and gold.

As you twirl in Tyland’s arms, the hall seems to fade away, leaving only the rhythm of the dance and the warmth in his gaze. The rest of the world feels distant, even the scrutiny of the court reduced to a faint whisper. Here, in his arms, you feel truly at peace, the strength of your union tangible in every step, every glance.

As the dance continues, you catch sight of Larys Strong standing in a shadowed corner, his gaze fixed on you both with a calculating intensity. He watches in silence, his expression unreadable, though you sense he is cataloging every detail, every move, with a quiet, unnerving interest. But as you turn back to Tyland, the weight of Larys’s gaze slips away, unimportant in the face of the joy you feel in this moment.

Tyland pulls you close, his voice a low murmur as he spins you gracefully. “Let them look, let them wonder. We have nothing to hide, and nothing to fear.”

You smile, pressing your hand against his as you move in perfect harmony. “Let them,” you agree softly. “Together, we are stronger than any of their doubts.”

The music swells to a crescendo, and as the final note rings out, Tyland dips you, his gaze locked with yours, filled with affection and pride. Applause erupts around you, the lords and ladies cheering as you rise, still entwined in each other’s arms.

In this moment, surrounded by admiration and the blessings of your union, you feel truly unstoppable—unshaken by the whispers, unbothered by the watchful eyes. For now and always, you and Tyland stand united, unbreakable.

Otto Hightower stands near the edges of the hall, observing the festivities with a calculating gaze. His expression is reserved, his thoughts hidden behind the impassive mask he wears so well. Beside him, Alicent’s gaze is sharp, her lips pressed into a tight line as she watches you and Tyland dance at the center of the hall, your figures close and moving in perfect harmony. She catches Ser Criston Cole’s eye, and a subtle look passes between them—a shared understanding, a quiet but mutual disdain for the scene unfolding before them.

Alicent lets out a low sigh, leaning closer to her father. “They are fortunate,” she murmurs, her tone edged with a trace of bitterness, “fortunate that Viserys allowed this… farce of a marriage to cover up their urges.”

Otto raises an eyebrow, glancing at his daughter with a hint of curiosity. “Urges, you say?”

Alicent’s gaze remains fixed on you and Tyland, her expression calculating as her eyes narrow slightly. “Oh, come now, Father. Just look at them—how closely they’re dancing, how freely they move together. It’s painfully obvious.” Her tone drips with restrained disdain as she watches you laugh softly, Tyland’s hand resting securely at your waist.

Otto’s gaze darkens slightly, his brow furrowing. “You’re suggesting… they’ve already consummated their union?”

Alicent’s lips curve into a tight, humorless smile. “Of course. A blind man could see it. They’ve shared their intimacy long before the vows were exchanged. And now they’re basking in it for all to see, believing themselves untouchable.” She pauses, her gaze hardening. “One wonders how they’ll endure the shame of the wedding night when their secret is out for all to see.”

Otto’s expression remains unreadable, though a subtle shift in his posture betrays a hint of discomfort at her words. “Alicent, that is a serious accusation,” he says quietly. “Such claims could damage both their reputations.”

Alicent’s gaze doesn’t waver, her tone cold. “The proof will be plain enough when the night is over, Father. When the princess is revealed as anything but innocent, and there is no… proof to present of their union.” She glances at him, her voice laced with quiet satisfaction. “Let them face the consequences of their indiscretion. They believe themselves above reproach, but the court will see them for what they truly are.”

Otto’s gaze flickers between Alicent and the couple dancing at the center of the hall, his mind turning over the implications of her words. The closeness between you and Tyland, the familiarity, the comfort—it all aligns with Alicent’s suspicions, and he can’t help but feel a trace of unease at the thought. But he tempers his reaction, speaking in a measured tone.

“Such matters are delicate, Alicent,” he replies quietly. “The King is pleased with this match, and any challenge to it could have consequences for us all.”

Alicent’s expression tightens, a hint of frustration flashing in her eyes. “I understand the need for caution, Father. But the Lannisters’ influence is growing unchecked, and Tyland’s hold over the princess only strengthens it. If their indiscretion is exposed, it may yet serve as a means to curb their power. Shame can be a powerful weapon.”

Otto nods slowly, his gaze contemplative. “Perhaps. But we must tread carefully, Alicent. Any misstep could turn the King’s favor against us.” He pauses, glancing at her with a note of caution. “And remember, our duty is to the realm. Personal grievances cannot outweigh the greater good.”

Alicent’s expression remains resolute, though a flicker of frustration lingers in her eyes. “Of course, Father. But sometimes, the realm’s interests and our personal concerns are one and the same.” She glances back toward the dancing couple, her gaze hardening. “Let them enjoy their moment of triumph. Soon enough, the truth will cast its shadow over their celebration.”

The Great Hall thrums with energy, the laughter and clinking of goblets growing louder as the night stretches on. With the wine flowing freely and spirits high, a rowdy chant starts to rise from the guests: “Bedding! The bedding ceremony!”

The lords and ladies cheer and laugh, some already standing, eager to accompany the bride and groom to their separate chambers for the traditional send-off. Tyland glances at you with a mixture of amusement and subtle discomfort, his hand gripping yours as he prepares to stand his ground. The crowd begins to surge forward, a few bold knights moving to escort him, while a group of young noblewomen eagerly eye you, hands extended to guide you away.

Before they can reach you, however, Rhaenyra rises from her seat, raising her goblet and her voice, the sound of her laughter cutting through the crowd’s rowdy calls.

“Lords, ladies!” Rhaenyra calls, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glances your way, offering you a sly wink. “While I know the customs of Westeros hold great appeal, Targaryen traditions are… quite different.” Her gaze sweeps over the hall, her presence commanding as she continues. “Rather than a bedding, we shall escort the princess and Lord Tyland to the Dragonpit!”

There’s a brief pause, the hall falling into silence as the guests exchange curious glances. Rhaenyra smiles, her voice lifting confidently. “Tonight, my sister will settle her husband on dragonback, as is fitting for a princess of House Targaryen.”

The guests break into murmurs of surprise and excitement, some looking on with admiration, others with thinly veiled unease. At the head of the table, King Viserys beams with pride, his eyes warm as he watches his daughters. “Yes!” he exclaims, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Let her ride with her lord on dragonback! It is an honor most fitting for my daughter, a Targaryen princess.” His gaze shifts to you, and there is a proud, almost protective glint in his eyes. “No need for crude traditions tonight. She deserves far more.”

Nearby, Daemon lounges with his usual irreverent smirk, his eyes glittering with a mixture of amusement and mischief. “A bold choice, indeed,” he says, raising his goblet lazily. He catches Tyland’s eye, the faintest flicker of challenge there as he chuckles, “I do hope you’ve a strong enough grip, Lord Tyland. It’s quite a drop from dragonback.”

Tyland, unflinching, meets Daemon’s gaze, offering a polite but firm smile. “I have every confidence in my new bride’s guidance, Prince Daemon. She has assured me I’ll be safe in her hands.”

Daemon’s smirk widens, though he merely inclines his head, an air of barely concealed amusement lingering in his expression. “We shall see, then,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of sardonic pleasure.

Across the hall, Queen Alicent rises slowly, her expression restrained yet clearly disapproving as she glances from Viserys to the lords around them. “Your Grace,” she begins, her tone calm but laced with concern. “The bedding ceremony is a respected tradition, rooted in the customs of the Faith. Perhaps we might honor it, as is expected in the eyes of the gods.”

Viserys’s smile fades slightly as he turns to Alicent, his gaze sharpening. “The Faith has no hold over House Targaryen, Alicent,” he replies, a note of finality in his tone. “My daughter is a dragon. She deserves a wedding night worthy of her heritage, not a spectacle for others’ amusement.”

Alicent’s mouth tightens, though she inclines her head respectfully. “Of course, Your Grace,” she murmurs, though a flicker of frustration crosses her face as she glances around the hall. Some of the lords nod in reluctant agreement, but others, particularly those aligned with the Hightowers, exchange murmurs of dissent.

Rhaenyra, ever attuned to the mood of the room, raises her goblet once more, her voice bright and commanding as she smiles toward you and Tyland. “Let us celebrate in true Targaryen fashion, then!” She casts a quick, conspiratorial glance your way, her pride evident as she speaks. “Tonight, we honor the strength of House Targaryen—and the courage of Lord Tyland.”

The guests raise their goblets in response, the hall erupting in cheers as they toast your union. Tyland turns to you, his hand finding yours as he leans close, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So,” he murmurs, his voice warm with affection, “it seems I’ll have to conquer my fear of heights sooner than I thought.”

You laugh softly, squeezing his hand as you gaze up at him, the thrill of the night coursing through you. “I’ll be right beside you,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, a promise meant only for him. “Together, Tyland. This is only the beginning.”

With the hall’s attention on you both, you rise, hand in hand, and the crowd begins to shift, forming a grand procession as they prepare to accompany you to the Dragonpit. The music swells, and as you and Tyland step forward, you cast a final glance at your family, at Viserys’s proud gaze, Rhaenyra’s supportive smile, and Daemon’s lingering smirk.

You catch Alicent’s expression, her face set in a forced smile, her eyes conveying a quiet discontent. Her gaze flicks to Ser Criston Cole, standing nearby with an unreadable expression, though you can sense the tension in his posture as he watches you pass.

The crowd moves with you, their voices lifting in songs and cheers as the night air fills with the energy of celebration, each step bringing you closer to the Dragonpit.

The night air is filled with excitement as you and Tyland, surrounded by a throng of nobles and courtiers, make your way toward the Dragonpit. The crowd is following eagerly to witness this unprecedented sight: a Lannister taking to the skies on dragonback. Tyland’s hand remains firmly in yours, his steps steady but his grip tightening slightly as you near Belerix’s lair.

Standing at the entrance to the Dragonpit, Belerix emerges from the shadows, his scales catching the moonlight, gleaming like a sapphire with hints of silver that ripple like waves as he shifts. He lets out a low, rumbling breath, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath your feet. His gaze lands on you first, then shifts to Tyland with a curious, almost appraising glint.

You squeeze Tyland’s hand, casting him a reassuring smile before approaching Belerix, stroking his neck as you murmur softly, “Tonight, Belerix, we’re not only bound in blood but in marriage. You’ll carry us both, as husband and wife.”

Tyland watches the dragon, his expression resolute as he steps forward. You can sense the quiet stiffens in his posture, the weight of the moment not lost on him, but he meets Belerix’s gaze with all the pride, dignity, and courage of a lion, standing tall. With a calm, steady breath, he reaches for your outstretched hand and begins the climb onto Belerix’s back, his movements sure despite the unfamiliarity of it all.

As he settles behind you on the saddle, his arms wrapping securely around your waist, you catch the faintest flicker of tension in his grip, the slight hesitation in his breath. Leaning back, you whisper teasingly, your voice laced with laughter, “Come now, Tyland. Surely you aren’t afraid of mounting a dragon. You’ve done it many times before.” Your meaning is unmistakable, and your smile is full of mischief as you feel his breath hitch, then warm against your neck as he catches your jest.

He chuckles, a hint of challenge in his voice as he replies, “And after this flight, I’m looking forward to… revisiting that experience in our chambers, uninterrupted.” His hand tightens at your waist, his tone low and intimate. “Think of this as… a warm-up for our honeymoon.”

The anticipation between you both is almost tangible, but Belerix shifts beneath you, his massive wings spreading wide, ready for flight. You give Tyland a final reassuring smile, feeling his arms secure around you, his presence grounding you as you signal to Belerix.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Belerix rises from the ground, the wind rushing past as you ascend into the night sky. The cheers of the crowd rise with you, their voices fading into the distance as the Dragonpit grows smaller below. From the ground, a chorus of admiration erupts, Jason’s voice carrying loudest over the others as he boasts, “My twin, the first Lannister to ride a dragon! I knew he’d conquer anything in his path!”

A murmur of laughter ripples through the guests, while Daemon, his eyes fixed on your ascent, leans in close to Rhaenyra, murmuring something that earns him a playful nudge and an amused roll of her eyes. “Oh, Daemon,” she chides, though her voice is filled with affection. “You can’t begrudge her happiness. Besides, the dragon seems quite content with him.”

Rhaenyra watches you with pride, her face softened in the torchlight as she observes her sister in the sky, a glimmer of sisterly joy in her gaze.

Meanwhile, up above, the ground fades into a quilt of lights as Belerix’s wings carry you higher. The stars stretch above you, vast and eternal, and the thrill of the flight fills you with exhilaration. You turn slightly, just enough to catch Tyland’s expression—his face a mixture of awe and reverence as he takes in the view, the vastness of the world below, the untamed freedom of the sky. Despite the slight nervousness in his hold, his gaze meets yours with a glint of admiration and pure wonder.

“It’s… beyond anything I imagined,” he breathes, his voice laced with awe. “It’s as if the world below doesn’t exist, only you and I up here, between stars and sky.”

You smile, pressing his hand at your waist as Belerix soars above King’s Landing. “Welcome to my world, Tyland. Tonight, we’re more than just husband and wife. We are bound by fire and sky, by all that lives beyond the earth.”

He leans forward, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “And I would follow you here a thousand times over.”

With the city lights stretching below and the stars above, you know that this is only the beginning of a journey you’ll share. As Belerix glides over the rooftops, his powerful wings carrying you both, the feeling of unity and strength fills you—a bond unlike any other, bound by dragonfire and the shared courage of two souls joined in love.

[causenessus]

love notes

part 0.6. ROWDY TEENAGERS

"the pavement moves so quickly, flying high. i'll be there soon. i'll be next to you."

from new song by lowertown, left in sakai, osaka

CONTENT WARNINGS: one use of the phrase "attention whore" in a joke, one "what if i kms" type joke, mentions of hyperventilating/a panic attack, mommy/family issues, lots of comfort <3 we love found family!! but also if you don't feel comfortable reading it, that's ok!! it's not incredibly important to the plot, and i would recommend skipping everything after the tweets after the written part of this chapter :)

when the door chimes open and she hears two sets of laughter and the rain pouring outside before it quickly closes shut again, she’s quick to peek her head out. it’s eleven at night and there’s an hour until closing, which oftentimes meant her only customers were rowdy teenagers stumbling into the only place left open for a quick bite.

she smiles at the sight of the two pushing each other, trying to get the last laugh. they definitely act and look like rowdy teenagers, but they’re her rowdy teenagers. they’re breathing hard and water is dripping from their clothes like they’ve been running through the rain for hours. she grins as they take off their coats, hanging them on a nearby rack before sitting down at the counter. “you guys are sopping wet, what've you been up to?” she asks, tone light and teasing.

they share a look that only spells trouble before they burst out laughing again. “atsumu got the police called on us,” suna answers once they've calmed down while she places mugs in front of both of them.

osamu comes around the corner at the same time, drying his hands with a towel and a raised brow, “what did i just hear you say?”

a smile ghosts her own lips, the energy of the two boys in front of her rubbing off on her as she pours them tea. “thanks,” she hears suna whisper with a smile towards her before he joins atsumu in recounting their story to osamu.

“seriously? and you decided to come here? if someone comes in looking for either of you, i’m not hiding you guys,” osamu shakes his head in disappointment at the retelling. despite his words, they all know he’d cover for them if needed and they all laugh again before atsumu sneezes.

“do you guys want towels to dry off? one of you are bound to catch a cold,” she chides pushing off the counter when they both nod their heads eagerly.

she comes back and osamu is still scolding the two boys for something. she passes by him to hand a towel to atsumu first, who gives her a wink in thanks. and when suna’s hand brushes past her’s as he takes the towel, she has to hold in a breath to keep herself from reacting. her heart tightens as if she's overwhelmed, looking at him in the moment. his normally combed-out hair is damp and slightly flattened down, and the mischievous glint in his eyes is something that’s only increased throughout the years. 

perhaps it had come with the way they’d grown closer together, but she felt like she could read his emotions better, now. she could see the way adrenaline was still flowing through his veins, the way his pupils had dilated and the wide grin across his face. it was an urge deep inside of her that made her want to just come around the corner and dry his hair herself, to tell him she’s loved him since the first time she saw them. 

but instead, she only interrupts the boys’ conversations to ask if they were going to order anything, already knowing the answer. and with how frequently they came, she could already predict their orders. she disappears behind the counter into the kitchen leaving the boys to talk before she comes back out, carrying a plate and bowl.

in her absence, osamu has brought over two stools for them to sit on behind the counter. he’s sitting across from atsumu, resting the side of his cheek against his fist while he listens to his brother talk. she places the tonkatsu ramen in front of atsumu and the curry in front of suna before taking her own seat, absentmindedly picking at her fingers as she listens to the blond. she doesn’t realize what she’s doing until she feels a tap on her hand and turns back to the boy in front of her.

“you’re shaking,” he points out and she examines her own hands, watching the way they tremble.

“oh,” she says, dumbfounded, “that’s weird. i don’t know why they’re doing that.”

“i saw your twitter,” suna mentions. “something about a hike, right? and you’re working on top of that. have you eaten?”

the question surprises her, as she has to wrack her brain to even try and remember her own day, and when she last ate something. “i don’t think i’ve eaten something since this morning…”

suna raises a brow, checking his phone, “it’s almost 11:30 now.”

“yeah,” she presses her lips into a thin line at the realization. “i should probably make something for myself.” she moves to stand up before a hand on her shoulder keeps her where she is.

“stay here,” when she looks up at osamu in surprise, he only smiles, “i’ll make you something.”

she lets out a sigh of relief, “thank you, ‘samu, you’re the best.”

when he walks away, it goes silent for a moment before atsumu speaks up, shoving food into his mouth. “how come you went on a hike again?” he asks.

“i have a photography exhibit coming up soon,” she explains, playing with her apron to keep herself from picking at her skin. “it’s an assignment for one of my classes with akaashi and kenma, so we all decided to hike up a mountain to take some pictures for what we’re doing.”

“did they turn out good?” suna asks, and she tries not to fall apart under his gaze. she doesn’t want to ramble on too much about her own work, but he’s looking at her as if he’s genuinely interested in what she’s talking about, and it makes her feel a little better.

“yeah,” she says with a small smile towards him. “i posted some pictures of the flower field on my twitter, but i’m not using any of those. i have a specific theme i’m going for and we set a swing on fire for it. that one turned out pretty cool, and i actually got another picture i’m planning to use, too, but i think i’ll leave that one untitled.”

“fire?” he echoes with a perplexed look on his face.

she laughs, “we had a fire extinguisher handy and i think we had permission to do it…i kind of left that up to kenma. but i’ll show it to you later. i'm gonna mess around with the saturation before i dodge and burn it.”

he nods, “does that mean you're go back to the darkroom again? can i join you?”

she can’t help the way her lips curve into a bigger smile at the question, “yeah, i’ll be in there again but in case you come to my exhibit, i want the photos to be a surprise. do you think you'll come?”

he doesn't have the chance to respond before a plate is placed in front of her and her face lights up. it’s the same kind of curry as suna’s, and it’s one of her favorites. “thank you, osamu!” she looks up at him and he only chuckles.

“don’t mention it. it's the least i can do for my favorite employee,” he says, sitting back down while she turns back to her plate in time to see suna stealing a bite from it.

“hey! you have your own. it's the same thing,” she scolds, fighting off his spoon with her own.

he hums in response with a small smile on his face, “no, yours is better.”

she takes a bite of her own curry as she responds, “well duh, osamu’s the professional here.”

“no, i mean the one you made for me is better,” he clarifies and she freezes, her face immediately warming.

“wow. i’m right here, suna,” osamu scoffs, but shrugs playfully when she sends him an apologetic look.

“well i have credibility as a fellow chef, and i think your curry is the best i’ve ever had, ‘samu,” she defends.

“oh please, you don’t have to appease me. everyone has their own opinion, that’s just the way food is,” osamu responds, but gives her a smile in thanks for the compliment.

“you probably just think his food is good because he makes it with love,” atsumu chimes in, looking towards her while still eating his ramen, “but for me, he probably spits in my food. i like your food too, y/n. ‘cause you actually care about me and give me discounts.”

she rolls her eyes at his words before suna draws her attention back to him, “when’s your exhibit?”

“it’s exactly a week from now,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. even the reminder of the event makes her feel exhausted, thinking about all the work she has to do between now and then. “honestly, it’s a problem. i don’t even have all my shots yet. i still need to find somewhere that i can set up the last one,” she explains further before stopping, “sorry, you didn’t ask about that.”

“that’s okay,” he reassures her, “i like hearing about the process. and i’ll be there—at your exhibit. just make sure you take care of yourself. you won’t be able to do it if you’re on the verge of passing out.” she’s sure her cheeks have flushed red at his words again, and she can only nod silently while he checks his phone, “‘tsumu, you ready to go? they’re gonna close soon, we shouldn’t hold them up.”

atsumu looks over from his conversation with osamu, blinking for a moment as he processes the question before he responds, “oh, yeah. i’m good.”

she stands up, meeting them by the register while osamu takes their trays away. she rings up atsumu first, who slips her a few notes with another wink that makes her roll her eyes. as suna is paying for his order, atsumu looks over his shoulder and gasps, “how come suna gets a bigger discount than me?”

she shrugs at his exclaim, “company policy.”

osamu comes up from behind her, following up, “i have a dedicated discount for you, ‘tsumu. you get 25% off.”

suna looks at his total, trying to do the math before he asks, “how much of a discount are you giving me?”

she turns red as osamu looks at the register screen and whistles, “damn, 75% off.”

the smile suna gives her only makes her more embarrassed and she’s quick to rip his receipt from the machine and give it to him, “see you later, rin.”

she slaps a hand over her mouth immediately as it slips out and he’s looking at her in surprise, “i’m so sorry, it just came out– i was looking at the receipt–”

“no, it’s fine. really. i don’t mind,” he cuts her off, taking the receipt and leaving a tip in her hand as well before the door chimes, signaling the exit of their last customers.

she’s left standing there with osamu at her side, her hand still reached out, the yen sitting in her open palm as she tries to process what just happened. she turns to osamu once she pulls herself together, “sorry, i can pay for suna’s food if that was too much of a discount, i promise i only do it for him.”

he laughs, shaking his head. “no, don’t worry about it. i know that’s what you always give him. akaashi eats here for free because we like him so much, so i really can’t fault you. i even put up with talking to my brother so that you guys could have a conversation. just make sure this all goes somewhere,” he pokes her forehead playfully, breaking her out of her trance as he walks past her. “now, let’s get out of here soon. do you wanna close back or front?”

she finally lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in and feels the weight lift from her shoulder, “i'll close front!"

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extras <3

SORRY FOR ANOTHER LONG CHAPTER </3 i didn't want to split it into two parts and drag it on

y/n and suna teamed up on atsumu to bully him back after his initial tweet which y/n didn't think much of. she just thought atsumu was being annoying again

hmmmmmmm i wonder who owns a convenience store and would get FLY spray painted onto it

UKAI APPEARANCE IN LOVE NOTES!!! DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT LOCATIONS in this smau he's retired and he owns a convenience store in osaka now and it has a little garage door with "fly" painted onto it now <3

while y/n and suna were off in their own world talking <3 atsumu talked to osamu instead bc my boy likes to yap and needs someone listening at all times

and osamu put up with it for y/n <3

osamu and y/n also have a very close sibling bond if that wasn't obvious

i stole akaashi's "bye cruel world" post from pinterest. i wish i was that funny. but nothing bad happened to him, he was just stressed out and wanted to pass out

y/n was NOT supposed to have a panic attack but then i almost did writing this so it happened

"mei" is short for "meimei" which is chinese for little sister but it's a term my family uses because i'm the youngest daughter so i put it in here bc i was influenced by how cool @cr4yolaas' use of filipino culture in their smau mezzo forte is!!! (shameless plug <3)

also a really silly thing but i colorcode my phone contacts into people i don't like (yellow) and people i do like (brown) through their pfps (like everyone has a brown or yellow pfp, or an animal/their face if i really like them) so i just did the same thing here but made blue the pfp picture of anyone y/n doesn't like lol

y/n has met kuroo before from when he visited kenma previously and they hit it off super well so they're always asking kenma how the other is doing

to which he always replies "why can't you guys just ask each other? 😐"

their response?

"bc it's more fun to ask you!!! ❤"

taglist: @0moonii @iluvmang @bluebeanbee @wyrcan @oyasumeii @froyaoya @gyuijns @nbcvs @milkteade @eggyrocks @guitarstringed-scars @makkir0ll @mylahrins @cherrypieyourface @vivian-555 @sharkerino @r0seandth0rns @staileykout @lunavixia @thvvluvr @elliott0o0 @wolffmaiden @rockleeisbaeeee @toges-cough-syrup @cnnmairoll @ryeyeyer @hibernatinghamster @localgaytrainwreck @lemonocity @bows4life @sereniteav @madiexuberant @eclecticeggknightpsychic @phoenix-eclipses @sonicsolos @httpakkeiji @brkfclub @snail-squasher @starry-magicshop @kitnootkat @zzzlevislothzzz @iluv-ace @iluvaquaphor @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @applepi25 @twiishaa @girlkissersco @sleepystrwbrryy @encrypta

[ladybyakuya]

| BLIND + IZUMO HARUICHI.

+cw. — izumo haruichi x f!reader, coworker to lovers, oblivious pinning, flirting, confession, description of panic attack, claustrophobia & coping mechanisms, forced proximity, fluff, angst, character study, smut ( kissing ).

+wc. —3.1k ( shocker )

+syn.— last summer Izumo Haruichi came under your radar but this summer he has managed to get under your skin.

+notes. — part of ‘HELP WANTED’ mini server collab hosted by @interstellar-inn | redirect to blog navigation.

+tags. — @dear-koi @qichun @violet-turning-violet

The refectory of the office is oozing with ruckus this afternoon. It is not unusual but today it is just unbearable. The compartment plate in front of you is still filled with rice, curry, and salad as when you started eating your lunch. The line for the food is still alive; people are gossiping, taking food onto their plates, gossiping, taking spoons and forks, chopsticks— the sound of utensils clanking against each other one after another or sometimes all at once in sync is bugging you today. Your ears should be used to it by now after working for two years straight but it seems like a bother today. It is awfully loud in here. Everything is, even the heat.

Among this hustle and bustle, the only sound that bothers you the most is someone’s voice. It is faint to catch on from where you are sitting but the voice keeps coming to you in bits and pieces, like ebb and flow. Sometimes it is there and sometimes it is not. Sometimes your ears pick up on it but sometimes not and when it does not, your heart waits for it, even searches for the sound to reappear. And the heat is just making it worse. You can practically feel the beads of perspiration cascading through your cleavage as you search, waiting for the voice to turn up again. The air conditioner is on though, and the fans are working perfectly fine but with this kind of crowd, and heat in the dining place is at par with some blast furnaces.

“Well, I can take you there sometimes if you want,” Izumo states as one of the new interns, sitting diagonally to him, places a dumpling from her plate to his. Aoi Kaguragi, Izumo Haruichi, Reno Ichikawa, and Iharu Furuhasi are sitting at one table but Izumo is the most disconnected from them. 

“No. No. Haruichi-san, it’s fine. I can manage.” The girl sitting beside him pleads. A group of four girls who joined as new interns have occupied the table beside them. There is just a slit of partition between the two tables. Most tables are for a group of four people, but cubicle tables are cluttered together to make the team bigger, and better to establish a good workplace culture to some extent. 

Izumo expresses his thanks with a sun-kissed smile to the girl who just gave a dumpling to him, without asking. You make eye contact with him for a second but it's awkward. Aoi's nose shrinks. It acts as a distraction from Izumo’s azure gaze. Aoi stuffs his mouth with the dumpling Izumo just received out of disgust earning an alarming glare from Reno. Izumo does not even bat an eye to it. But the girl protests, “Hey. . .” Aoi glups it before saying, “he hates dumplings.” Iharu is busy eating his lunch. This guy . . . he woke up early, made breakfast for himself, got so busy and immersed with cooking that he forgot to eat. So, he is eating quietly. Reno keeps telling him to slow down but who is he? His dad?

“Well, wouldn't it be easier if you could get some directions and details?” The girl looks confused so Izumo divulges. “I live around there. So, yeah I could get you in touch with some agents if you want,” The girl looks at him with so much hope as if she has a chance to ask for the moon. 

“Oh my God. Really? Thank you so much Haruichi-san,” she chimes

Oh Fuck! Here it comes. Aoi, Reno, and Iharu share a look as you get up. The clank of your spoon was a little too loud to be ignored. Okonogi asks, “You didn’t even eat today too. Are you okay? Do you wanna leave soon today? I can finish your work if you want . . . ” 

“No. Kono-chan. It’s alright. I don’t feel hungry. I will eat when I feel hungry,”

“Yeah, gallons of coffee and tons of cakes,” Kikoru prompts without missing a beat. Your shoulders sink at her statement. She is not lying but gallons? Tons? That’s surely an exaggeration. You take your plate and as you walk past his table he gets up. Please let him not run into you. . . please god, please.

“Going to share the rest with your boyfriend?” He grabs a bottle from its designated section. You watch him walk, pick a bottle, and then come back but he halts in front of you blocking your way. Of course. Why didn’t you expect that? You should have taken a different route. 

“So what if I’m?” you squint your eyes at him since his Adam’s apple shift. Now, that’s different, unlike other days. Your eyebrows jump. Teasing each other is as easy as breathing for you and him. So, you just give in to this golden opportunity. “Your flirt game is so bad, no wonder you’re still single, Haruichi-san,” you snicker emphasizing ‘Haruichi-san’ since you have already been granted the authority to call him by his name but sometimes it is just amusing how he hates it when you do not use it; even if he specifically said that you can call him Izu-kun or simply Izumo. He just wanted to get included in your league of people; the people who you have given a nickname. It's almost like adopting a puppy.

Izumo rolls his tongue inside, along his bottom lip too quickly to pinpoint his frustration. He is pouting now. His hand proceeds to his nape scraping his hair for a moment in the hope of seeking some respite from this heat. Why does he even keep his hair long? Why not just cut it? Or put it in a bun. Your eyes go to the bunch of interns who are eagerly watching you two as if you are big stage actors. “My flirt game isn’t bad, . . . he trails off and then sighs. His hand swings back in his pocket as clarifies, “It’s just that . . . the person I like is a fucking idiot. That’s why I’m still single.”

You scan the group of interns at his valor display of vulgarity. Girls must find it hot, don’t they? That’s why he does it, isn't it? Good for him! He has an audience now. You bet they are practically swooning. Aoi’s face is a sight to behold. Iharu has given up. Even Reno has his head tipped down while holding the bridge of his nose. He is not someone who loses patience easily except Kafka Hibino, his mentor and co-worker.

“What a loverboy.” You opined to him before your gaze switched back to the girl who was trying all the ways to get his number. Yeah, it was very obvious especially since she was practically rubbing herself on him since the day she joined. How do people do that? Get hooked onto someone like the twinkle of a star. That too in this heat. It is hard enough to keep coherent behavior, thoughts, and habits intact but now you have another problem, Izumo Haruichi. He is being spectacularly annoying today. 

You look at the girl before saying anything. You will probably be doing her a favor. 

“don’t waste your time on him, he is going to break your heart, girl.” 

The spoon from her hands falls on the dish splashing a little bit of soup on her dress. People have already started to look at this table by now. 

“You’re just jealous,” the girl sneers back.

You part your lips forming an apology at the tip of your tongue but you realize the damage you have done. She hurriedly tries to clean herself with a napkin to avoid eye contact. 

You should not pick on people’s emotions like that, however small, however meek it may seem to you, it's a lot for them. What’s with you today? This is not like you. This is more like  . . . Haruichi. He has this habit. Maybe it's starting to rub off on you simply because he is now working with your team on this upcoming project.

Izumo has always been like this. Flirting with girls, leading them on, giving them hope, and then, breaking their hearts. Does he realize that? The hurt he leaves in his wake? He is like a swan in a lake leisurely swimming in the evening that attracts ducks, influencing them to be like the swan, elegant and beautiful when there is a surge of fresh batches of interns; every year. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it backfires.

His flirting is not limited to just girls. That’s how he became such close friends with Aoi. But then again, it is not exactly flirting. Could it be he is unaware of how he carries himself? Nah! That’s too much of giving him the benefit of the doubt or maybe has managed to charm a part of you. Yeah! That would happen in any case. He picks up on people’s emotions really quickly and does not hesitate to call them out. It’s a nasty habit. 

That is how much you know about him, as a co-worker. Outside this office, he is a total stranger to you. So, you do not have to look out for him, worry about being among the swarm of ducks, he might turn into one, or fearing if there hides a hawk among them.

“That’s too much talking for an intern,” Iharu remarks, taking his plate and standing up.

“I agree.” Reno nods his head. “Wait, what?” He is not surprised by Iharu’s statement but rather his wit. Before the situation gets elongated you try to put an end in your way but whether the bow will pierce the heart or the head you gamble on that.

“Yes. maybe you’re right. That was so rude of me. But you see,” you bow your head a little to match her eye level since her eyes are on her plate. “ I don’t go for committed boys.”

Izumo’s face is aghast. What did you just say? He is not committed. He is single. Excuse you, did you not hear him a while ago? 

Izumo looks at Aoi, clearly uncomfortable and frightened by your burst of bubbling behavior. That was odd of you. He has never seen you this annoyed. He has always been like this with you, teasing and flirting around you with other people. Maybe the heat is going in your head today. You walk towards the dustbin to empty your plate before keeping it on a designated table. Everyone watches you as Izumo follows you like a kicked puppy searching for his owner. It’s pathetic.

He is not pathetic . You are just dumb. How can you not get it? How can you not see it? His feelings for you? Well, not that he exactly laid his heart out in front of you but isn’t it obvious? Everybody on his team is aware of it. Everybody on your team is aware of it. Are you really that dumb? Or do you just choose to ignore his feelings? If it is the latter then he is done for. Perhaps, the fear of abandonment and rejection compels him to create backups while at the same time, it gives him a refuge to hide his feelings; keep them protected, warm, and soft; so that he can still talk to you, still be around you, breathe the same air as you.

After all, who would look for a leaf in a forest?

“Fancy a candy?” Izumo chimes as he leans against the door frame of the archive room while you slide the access card to open the door.

“No thank you.” You tartly reply with a poker face. God, he followed you here, which means he is gonna yap for as long as he is here and God forbid he better not talk about what just happened in the dining hall. 

Izumo mumbles to himself, stepping into the room, “Guess I’ll have it then,” with a pout.

“Did the storage closet door lock behind us?” you ask as the bang of the metal door sends jolts throughout your body.

“I think so,” Izumo walks towards the door to check. He hopes that you are not playing any prank or something but then again, who would like to be stuck in the archive room? Especially in summer when the air conditioner is out of service and the fans have been hopeless since last spring. Izumo hears a loud thud. As he turns he finds you curled up in a fetal position on the floor struggling to breathe.

“Oh no no no no” you blabber feeling the dread and anxiety piling on top of your body. It is getting heavier. Seeing you like that, Izumo forgets what to do. At first, his feet move slowly though, then he quickens his pace but finally skids towards you since his calf muscles betray him.

“Breath. Look at me.” His voice is so faint or maybe you are already sinking in the depth of the attack. You know what to do. The tactic to overcome this. But with people around it gets harder. Most people do not know what to do and even if they did they are only aware of the ‘321’ rule since it is easier to remember, faster to execute, and the default suggestion before the medic arrives. Right. Medic. You can call, right? You touch your hips for your cellphone feeling only your skin and clothes. Your phone is at your work desk. Fuck. Your only hope is this guy, Izumo Haruichi.

“That’s not. . . it. you inhale barely but manage to say the next set of words in one breath. 

“That 321 rule doesn’t work on me.”

Immediately, your chest starts to feel heavy. Your head feels heavy. Your breathing is labored.

“Yes, I know. I know.” Izumo assures. His voice is so still, so even that it gathers all scattered pieces on him finally. “54321 it is.” He adds. He tries to make you sit but you are so stiff under the influence of fear that even with his strength he is in no luck. Moreover, he does not want you to treat him as a threat rather than a cane to grab on.

“Identify 5 things you can see,” 

Your eyes roam everywhere, to the farthest point it can see things. It has already started to itch and water. You blink rashly before mumbling. “Files—you inhale a long breath. “cabinets, AC, tables, chairs” 

“Next. 4 things you can touch” 

“The wall,” you say and touch it. You can finally sit up now, leg sprawled on the hot floor. Next, you touch your i-card. “My ID card.” Then your hair clip. “my hair clip,” unfastening it from your hair letting your hair fall onto your shoulders; it's a turquoise one today, and finally his ID card. You grab it in your hand and watch closely, flipping it too to glance at the other side . What an awful picture of Izumo .

“Your ID card.” 

Izumo holds you by the arms. His touch feels cold against yours. The full-sleeve dress is the only barrier between his skin and yours. Your palms clamp around his upper wrists. 

“Okay, 3 things you can hear:” 

“A.C.” 

“Fans.”

“Your voice,”

Izumo nods every time but it becomes slow at your third pick. 

“2 things you can smell.” It sinks in him: how in desperation and hunger you seek whatever you can get.

You take your scented handkerchief out of your pocket. Izumo takes it and holds it against your nose. Your exhaustive eyes look at him. His perfume smells rather too sweet today. You fall into his chest, embracing him. “Your perfume,” You whisper nuzzling against him. He is still sitting with his legs folded. You can hear his heartbeat, yours too. You are alive. You are very much alive.

“1 thing you can taste,” He says in a low voice, like the start of a lullaby. Reluctantly you pull your face away and look up. At this angle you can see his tongue, it’s white due to the candy. Could it be lichi flavored? There is still a bit of it left, peeking against his teeth.

Curiosity cascades into your body like rain and soaks him wet in a fraction of a second. It is an entirely foreign sensation for Izumo: Your lips are plush and soft with no hint of lipstick. The way your fingers press into his chest is unforgiving to his taut muscles creating a sense of pain, but a different kind of pain; the good kind. You are desperate and forceful. Your lips taste like spicy and honey. What did you have for lunch today? 

WAIT. You break the kiss. Izumo is as stunned as you are. His azure is asking why did you stop? You are still holding on to him. How did he know that the ‘321’ rule does not work on you? Moreover, how did he know that you have claustrophobia in the first place? 

Ah! Now it makes sense.

The realization paints your mind like it's high on drugs. Before you can think twice, your hands trail up to his nape enveloping his face. He instantly pulls you into his lap folding his legs one over the other to make you comfortable. He is swift and strong. This time, he is the one to demand first. The candy must have melted by now. It was coconut-flavored. You do not remember swallowing it neither does he but only the feeling of your lips on his, his on yours. He pulls away from the kiss gasping for air. His mouth and nose are cherry-tinted. He is getting an earful from Aoi for sure.

“I have texted Aoi.” His hands recoil back into his pocket from under your shirt. “He will be here soon.”

Izumo looks at the ground. Is it awkward? Yeah! Definitely. Does he want this to get over with? NO!NEVER. Damn him for wanting you. Damn him for craving you even at desperation like this.

You give him a long hum. “Why do you look like a crumpled receipt? It’s not like I will break your heart once we are out of the room, Izumo.” You place a kiss on his cheek. “Still have to thank you for saving my life.” 

You get out of his lap. He blinks hopelessly. Yeah, his suffering isn’t going to end . You still are as dense as a cabbage and so defenseless, so tactless, by god it drives him nuts. “I love you,” Izumo mumbles to himself. Aoi opens the door as you look at Izumo. 

“What did you just say?” Both of you walk side by side as you two walk out of the room. Aoi is still holding the door.

“Nothing” You continue to scrutinize him with your eyes.  “I said, I hate you.”

You smile. “Yeah! I hate you too.” 

Poor Aoi is still holding the door witnessing the cheesiest corny confession ever.

—

network: @underratedcharactercorner

[twst-drabbles]

Jamil 16

Summary: You eating the food he makes is one step among many. Jamil will admit, it’s nice, very nice, to see you eating his food, with his spoon, in your mouth.

(Here’s creepy yandere Jamil! One of those seemingly sweet things that gets real weird real quick.)

Jamil had a dream last night. A nice and, quiet frankly, fluffy dream. He was in a house on a beautiful oasis, where the scents of sand and fresh water flow through on the crisp morning breeze. The plants were watered and all sorts of fresh fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices were delivered right on his doorstep by a humble servant.

The only tasks he had that day were to make the morning meal. A meal for himself and a meal for you to enjoy.

You were there, living with him, sitting up on a chair even though he’s already told you to put your feet down. You were reading a book, but it was too blurry to tell what the title was. Not that it was of any importance, you can do whatever you want here. It’s your house as well as his.

Your little slice of paradise, away from the troubles of being a student, and away from being a servant. You have abandoned your love for you home and have chosen him. There is no one to visit you, and no one to look for him. You two are well and truly alone, allowed to be only yourselves.

And so Jamil made a meal, curry made to your exact taste. The plate was hot, steaming actually, but his pride in his cooking was overtaken by that beautiful smile you gave and a ‘thank you’ that was too muted to hear.

It was frustrating when Jamil woke up from that dream that morning. You had that spoon in your hand and the food was almost in your mouth. Jamil wasn’t asleep long enough to see it.

So, of course he had to make that food. Had to make an extra meal because if he doesn’t, Jamil knows he’ll be awake for way too long, shifting around in him bed in frustration.

He even chose his favorite spoon to go with it, as meticulous as that is. He couldn’t help it, too big a spoon and it would warp the shape of your mouth oddly, and would make eating uncomfortable.

And finally, lunch time rolled around. Jamil couldn’t very well excuse himself from Kalim’s side, so he had to grit his teeth and let him follow as he made his way to you on the lunch table.

“Hey–” Kalim’s eyes caught yours first, and Jamil had to redirect that attention lest he drag it out and leave Jamil with a cold meal in his hands.

“Kalim, I think that cat over there needs help eating,” and that wasn’t a lie, Grim was trying to use a knife and fork but can’t on the account of having paws.

“Huh? Oh! Grim! Here, let me help you with that!” Kalim took the bait, because of course he would.

“What? No! I can do it myself!” But Grim had no choice, not when Kalim was focused on his goal.

Jamil approached you, finally with no obstacles in the way. Except…

“…you’re already eating.” Honestly, he should’ve expected it, but in that fantasy high he was caught up in, that basic outcome didn’t have room to enter his mind.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, why?” You blinked and took another bite.

“Well, I made too much food, so I was coming over here to give you the left overs,” He has to play it cool, calm himself down, and not let himself get angry at the fact you’re already eating something. It’s just food and you like what you like. Besides, you could always eat it later, right? “Though, I suppose I should just give it you later?”

“Oh that’s fine, give it here.”

Jamil almost felt himself break into a stupid little smile when you put everything down and reached out to him. That’s nice to know, that he’s more worthy of attention then the plate in front of you, that his food was worth it.

“Well, here you go then, it’s just curry, nothing too complicated.”

“Wow, it’s still hot,” you put the container down next to your plate. You opened it and whistled at the steam that escaped, “that’s a strong smell there.”

You picked at your spoon and a… petty part of Jamil had to point out, “There’s already a spoon in there, in that little space, wrapped in cloth. I don’t like the thought of cross-contamination.”

Ah, that was too strong a word wasn’t it? Did he mess up already, implying that the food of others was… tainted in some way?

You raised at eyebrow at him and Jamil gritted his molars.

“It’s just food, man,” you frowned–Jamil sucked in air–and you picked up his spoon anyway, “But alrighty, you picky fuck.”

The spoon wasn’t even anything that special, it was just one that Jamil uses often. The handle had curling grooves in it, fancier than the average spoon because anything that’s going to potentially touch Kalim must be anything but normal. But, what Jamil liked the most was the gentle head, not quiet oval, more round in shape. A simple silver spoon, subtly fancy, and has lasted Jamil longer then he would imagine it would.

It was a spoon he sneaked into the general silverware from his home, just a little thing that he did in a fit of rebellion that he couldn’t outright express to any listening ears and watching eyes.

He stood there, watching, and Jamil nearly bit through his lips when you finally scooped his curry in your mouth.

“Mm!” A pleasant hum of a delicious dish landing on your tongue. “Hey, thanks Jamil! Tastes great.”

Alright, alright, maybe he can push this. Maybe he can… suggest something.

“Then, would you like some for tomorrow as well?” Okay, his voice almost stuttered from the pure euphoria flooding through his body, but he can handle this. He can make himself not look like a happy fool.

“Tomorrow? Well I do like free food, so yeah.” Jamil has never been so glad for that light selfish nature of yours.

Jamil can’t believe how happy just this one step makes him. You’ve tried his food and loved it! And, if things go right, perhaps you’ll end up missing his food, and, one day, maybe you’ll be unable to eat any other dish besides his own.

But Jamil’s getting ahead of himself. He needs to be patient. This is just one step and he has many others to go.

“Then, I’ll be sure to surprise you. I look forward to it.”