#I may end up deleting this after I sleep

[awakeskydoesntdraw]

Posting in this blog after an eternity because I feel like I'm going insane here and my friends are asleep so I need to dump my brainstorm SOMEWHERE (SPOILERS FOR ARLECCHINO'S BACKSTORY/SHORT ANIMATION!!)

The TLDR is basically I think that the whole story with Arlecchino and Clervie is foreshadowing for whatever is about to happen with Lyney and Lynette

I think the parallels between Lyney and Arle don't need to be too explained for the most part. Pyro Visions, Arle wants him to be the next "king" while he doesn't seem to be too into that idea just like her younger self didn't want it, both are associated with Rainbow Roses (they both use them as ascension materials)

Plus, I'd argue they look kinda similar here. I'm not sure exactly what is that makes the resemblance, maybe a bit of the hair, bowtie and shorts and you could say it's something she has with the others too (her kid design resembles Freminet, current one Lynette) but I thought it was good to mention anyways

Meanwhile, Lynette and Clervie are the two closest companions to their respective pair

Lynette's has Lumidouce Bells as an ascension material. Clervie is very clearly represented with the same flower (if her necklace wasn't enough, there's this)

Plus, a bit of a smaller connection, but they both have clear sweet tooths

(Lyney saying "we talked about this" implies this is a frequent event. The animation showing Clervie with cake twice while it only had 7 minutes to tell the whole story has a similar effect)

So, if Lyney is a parallel to Arle while Lynette is a parallel to Clervie, where does this leave us?

Well... Not exactly in a good spot-

To be fair, I don't think Genshin would actually kill a playable character (or at least, so I hope), but it's very possible Lynette gets really hurt, either directly by Lyney or by being close to him

Arlecchino swore to be nothing like her mother, but in the end, the way she's acting towards Lyney by wanting to make him the next king may be very similar to it

Once upon a story quest, Lyney said similar words to a woman who claimed he'd end up all alone. I can only pray that the writers will have mercy at my soul and that they wouldn't go that low with a playable character

If I were to make a mildly self indulgent guess, as the Freminet main I am, I'd say that he may be the key that's going to make things turn out different for the twins. His presence is the biggest difference between the twins vs Arle and Clervie, who seemed to have no one else that was even mildly close to them. From the 4.6 trailer we know that he's the one that has been hiding stuff and we do see him blocking out Arle's attack, so I don't think it's a stretch to say he'll have a really important role in this whole thing

So yeah! If you read all my rambling, thanks I guess, hope you enjoyed it. In the end, all I can hope is that the Fontaine siblings all turn out fine for the sake of my own mental wellness because God knows these 3 stay all day spinning in my head as if it was a microwave

Also, for the record: No, I don't have a clue about what the hell is going on with Freminet apparently finding "Clervie" (ghost?? Illusion??) and hiding her from Arle. Until this short my best shot was that she was some sort of mermaid creature, but that idea is out the window so it could be anything really

[rohirric-hunter]

I'm going to make a series of mods called 'It's Not a Bug, It's a Feature' specifically designed to make Skyrim worse and less playable.

[alexisomnias]

— "DOVES SING JUST LIKE YOU" . . . | twst

⤷ how they love your voice

characters | overblot boys

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

        he listens to your voice while studying, while sometimes its a distraction, he loves listening to you ramble while working. Too some its listening to music, but too him its listening to you. You're such a guiding voice for him and he can't help but want to cloud his head with you instead of the equations being put down. Sometimes even just the sound of your breath is sufficient to help him work more steadily. Perhaps its the overlooking hope to impress that is an encouragement, either way he's not hanging up the phone anytime soon! Nor is he EVER going to admit the affect your voice has on him!

"what do you mean, "why do you call me when your studying?" can I not worry about my dears day? In peace...!" 

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

        he listens to your voice before going to bed, as obvious as it is. He doesn't like having recordings of it, he'd much rather hear your voice in person. No matter how loud or soft it is he can fall asleep easily, so speak all you want, yap away he'd still sleep. Either way its a clearing of his head, and a purify of his dreams. He adores falling asleep to the sound of your voice, and if it has to be over call you better not hang up... He's also a fan of your breath, the sound of your breath relaxes him. He loves listening to yours voice! So never stop talking hm? you'd never annoy him even if you might think so. your his relaxant. 

"don't shut up, keep talking away as you normally do."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

        he's SO embarrassed about how much he adores listening to you speak. He keeps all your voicemails to keep and listen to while he works on paperwork. The tweels tease him far too much, but even then he'd never delete them. Don't tell anyone else either, but he falls asleep to them too. Voice messages are highly encouraged, he will save them! He may never bring it up other then in smooth talking and flirting, but oh the effect your voice has on him... is this how the land dweller felt when hearing the mermaid princesses voice? He's enchanted every time you speak... sometimes he'll even purposely call you when he knows you won't answer just to hear your voice message left after the tone. UGH! The effect you have is so unfair!

"89 saved voicemails..? what about them? as a business owner its... important to hold every detail said as a reminder!"

JAMIL VIPER

        Jamil will call you while he works. The sound of your voice and the knowing your presence is on the other end of the device motivates him to do whatever he's doing. Sometimes he'll invite you over, but he adores being on call too. Ramble away, please, he loves listening. He's a good listener, he swears. So please, yap away, he'll lovingly listen to it all. After all he adores listening to your voice. Don't tell him I told you, but he ADORES it when you whisper in his ear... just a thing that gets him flustered in ways nothing else could. He'll brush it off, but know he'll be replaying whatever you said for the rest of the 24 hour period.

"Would you mind repeating yourself? I think your voice is nice to listen to while cooking."

VIL SCHOENHEIT

        vil adores talking to you during routine. He'll call you in the morning, and night if your unable to stay over. Its apart of his everyday now, for you to be the first voice he hears and the last he hears that day. He wouldn't have it any other way though. He particularly adores hearing you ramble, or talk about whatever happened to you that day during makeup or skincare. Its on facetime or in person, he'll listen like your the only sound around. Conversation with you is always a highlight and he adores every word you say. Vil is also the type to hold onto voicemails if he can, he just likes hearing you speak.

"so how was your day? be sure to include every detail, I want to hear all about it."

IDIA SHROUD

        idia is the type to spam call you into vc. bros desperate. the first time he heard your voice he short circuited, and oh dear now is he getting thrown into the fantasies of falling asleep on call like the normies?! ARGH WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM!? this is unfair! he shouldn't be thinking about how silky,,, and nice,,, and amazing your voice sounds. get out of his head!! your voice is nice okay?! just get in the vc! Don't leave him waiting like a fool, like a desperate blundering fool!

"ah, y..your voice?! its not bad don't worry. no please don't mute! i'm not being sarcastic i swear!!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

        malleus loves listening to you ramble. every word you say he holds dear, and sometimes he gets needy to hear it he'll even come all the way from his dorm to yours just to hear you talk! he's not a fan of phone calls, it doesn't feel as genuine as in person. He fucking adores listening to you, no matter what the hell your talking about. He'll just nod his head no matter, he's listening sure, but your voice lulls him into a trance he never wants to be pulled out of. Keeping singing him a lullaby with your wonderful voice! he loves listening to you, and if you love listening to him then oh dear the conversations would never end. 

"I love hearing what you have to contribute, its very insightful. So please, what about that topic again?"

[of-many-fandomss]

jake seresin being drunk and coming home to the reader and it's basically just really cute and full of fluff!!

My first top gun blurb!! (I’m so mad I had to rewrite this cause it deleted the first time and it isn’t as good this time cause I don’t remember what I wrote)

—————

Jake was vaguely aware of the fact that he reeked of alcohol, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care as he stumbled through the short hall towards his bedroom, making a small game out of trying not to hit the walls in his drunken state.

Rooster had just dropped him off at home after a ‘guys night out’ at the Hard Deck for their first week off in a long time that may or may not have ended in one too many beers. Originally, he had insisted on staying home with you, to which you laughed and practically had to tackle him out the door to make sure he went to enjoy himself with his friend.

Clumsily, Jake flailed around for the handle, but stopped short as soon as he threw the door open. A person was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, eyes widening a little bit in surprise as they looked up from the book they held open in their lap.

A small smile formed on your lips at the sight of him standing in your doorway looking around in confusion, noticing right away that he was slightly drunk.

“Hey, honey-“

“Who are you?” He hissed in a whisper, “What are you doing in my house?”

The grin widened on your face when you realized just how drunk he was, and you feigned confusion, deciding to play along, “What do you mean?”

He sighed patiently, “Listen, you look lovely, but that’s my girlfriends spot you’re sitting on. And I really love her, so you need to leave.”

“I am your girlfriend,” You smirked, sliding off the bed and striding across the room until you were standing right in front of him, knowing full well that the two of you had been happily married for just over two years. But you also knew from past experiences that mentioning that would send your husband into a whole different spiral of emotions in his drunken state.

His eyes squinted at you until his mouth dropped open in realization and he relaxed, “Oh, darlin’ thank goodness your back,” His southern accent was thicker than it normally was when he was sober, “There was this women on your side of the bed, but I told her to get lost because I love you!” He stated proudly.

“Good job, honey,” You cooed out your praise, bringing his arm to rest around your shoulder so that you could lead him into the bathroom.

You sat him down on the closed toilet seat and made your way over to the sink to get him a cup of water, his eyes trailing after you in adoration the whole way, before you came back and handed it to him, “Drink all of this for me, will you, honey?”

“Yes, ma’am,” He murmured, causing your lips to quirk up slightly.

“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go get you something more comfortable to wear for bed,” You gave him a quick kiss on the top of the hair before leaving the bathroom.

He frowned after you, rocking back and forth against the seat and waited for you to return.

You barley even stepped foot back into the room a moment later before he sprang up and came barreling towards you, wrapping you into a bone-crushing embrace tightly, burying his face into your hair, “Thank goodness your back!” He gushed, “I missed you so much when you were gone!”

Laugher bubbled up inside you as you wrapped your arms around your husbands torso in return, “I wasn’t gone that long, Jakey.”

“It was too long,” He whimpered back.

Carefully, you pried his hands off of you after a moment and handed him a stack of folded sleep clothes you had just taken out of his drawer.

“Can you get changed?” You asked, to which he nodded his head excitedly and whipped around, accidentally knocking over the half full cup that he had placed on the ground in the process.

“Oh, here, I got-“

“I got it!” He interrupted you excitedly, not even hesitating to shed off his shirt and bend down to start mopping the water off the floor with it.

You blinked once at his toned back, chuckling slightly to yourself at how fast he had reacted to reveal his bare top to clean up a small pile of water.

He stopped suddenly, smirking up at you, “Unless you would rather take off your shirt and do this,”

That at least emitted a loud laugh at you as you shook your head at your cocky husbands antics and helped pull him to his feet once he was all done cleaning up his mess.

You helped him put on the rest of his pajamas- mostly just making sure he didn’t fall into the bathtub- before taking his hand and starting to pull him to the room so that you could both go to sleep.

You were stopped though at a tug of resistance you felt on your arm, and you looked back to question Jake, only to find him frowning down at your intertwined fingers.

“What’s wrong, honey?” You asked worriedly.

Slowly, he lifted your hand to reveal none other than the breathtakingly beautiful, shiny ring that he had used to propose to you with a couple years ago, “You’re cheating on me?” He asked quietly, a look of nothing but devastating heartbreak on his face.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly before your eyes widened, remembering that you had let him believe that you were still boyfriend and girlfriend, “No, no, Jakey! You’re my husband! We’re married!”

His eyes snapped up to you as his bottom lip quivered and tears began to sine in his eyes, “We are?” He addled quietly.

You quickly took his face between your hands and made him look you in the eyes, “Yes! We’ve been married for two years now!”

Automatically, as if nothing had happened, his features cleared of all sorrow and he grinned at you with a lovesick expression, “Oh, that’s good.”

You threw your head back with a laugh, continuing your journey to the bed, “Yes, that’s very good.”

Even as you helped him slide under the covers, he never once took his gaze off of you, and as you tried to move to get the light switch, you felt his strong but gentle grip stop you once more, “You’re pretty,” He commented, gaze wide and childlike.

You had to physically stop yourself from laughing, knowing that it would do nothing but upset his feelings because he never called you pretty. It was always gorgeous, stunning, beautiful, sexy- not pretty.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” You teased, unconsciously moving a hair out of his face.

“Nuh uh!” He exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth widely, “Only you!”

Your heart melted right then and there and you bent down and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead, “Thank you, Jake.”

Yet again, you tried to go and move, but his hand was still to let go of yours, so you turned back to him to see what he needed.

His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked at you, “What about me?” He demanded.

“What about you?” You asked in curiosity.

“Am I pretty?” Within his tipsy state, he wasn’t even joking, making the situation that much funnier.

You chucked slightly, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, “The prettiest,” You promise.

“Nuh uh!” He protested once more.

“And why’s that?” Your eyebrows rose.

“Because you’re the prettiest,” He said in a ‘duh’ tone, “I’m the… second prettiest!”

You laughed again, squeezing his hand lovingly, “The second prettiest it is, then.”

This time, he let you turn off the lights, and by the time you turned back to the bed, his breathing had already evened out and his chest was falling up and down steadily.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐈𝐭❜𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐭!

Summary ➳ When you and the rest decide to sneak up on an Orc camp, you receive an injury. You believe you can handle it yourself but Legolas thinks otherwise.

(A/n) ➳ I AM SO SORRY! Tumblr ended up deleting the request but I remember it but not all of it so forgive me if this isn’t what you wanted. If it isn’t then don’t hesitate to shoot a message or request again!! I also learned that apparently the Fellowship traveled at night and slept during the day. I seriously did not know that until today.

Word Count ➳ 1.5k

Content Warnings ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, description of violence, blood, death, stitching, blood loss, angst-to-fluff…

“There must be some other way.” Legolas uttered to Boromir. “You cannot believe that sending (Y/n) out to assassinate the Orcs is the best solution.”

“She won’t be alone, Aragorn will be there with them.” Boromir replied. “The two of them will attack from above while we attack from below.” He drew his sword, walking closer to the Orc that was alone. He was swift with it, moving behind the Orc and slitting its throat. “See? Wasn’t that hard.”

You took a deep breath as you aimed your bow, you kept your focus on the leader. You could see from the corner of your eye Aragon sneaking up on the other two. You knew he was waiting on your signal and he would wait however long, but you were all on a strict time.

Another deep breath and- “Hey!” You shouted out of instinct, Legolas’s arrow went through the Orc’s head, killing him but you brought attention to yourself.

You jumped down from the tree and quickly nocked, drew, aimed, and released at one Orc that was reaching for its weapon. You swerved past another arrow, more flying past your head until you took cover over a giant rock.

Before you could nock another arrow, an Orc came from behind, grabbing your arms to throw you against the ground. You rolled when he attempted to stab you, dodging more swings until you managed to kick his sword away.

He charged at you, taking your knife that was strapped to your leg, and used it against you. You used your bow to block a couple of slashes until he fell to the ground. Instead of standing, he got onto his knees and managed to stab you in your thigh.

You let out a scream but in return, you shot an arrow through his head. Your breathing staggered as your hand wrapped around the knife and slowly pulled it out and then covered it with terrible bandaging.

“(Y/n)!” Legolas popped up a few seconds later. “I heard you scream.”

“I believed I twisted my ankle.” You covered your wound with your as best as you could, smiling through the pain.

“Let me help you.” Legolas took your hand, helping you walk to the rest of the group. Luckily, your cloak covered your bleeding wound and your dark pants were enough to hide the blood seeping out. “We just have a couple more hours before daylight.”

Like Legolas said, Aragorn finally decided that it was time to rest. “We will set out when it becomes dark.” He told you all before he started to set up his makeshift bed.

Legolas looked over your ankle, looking closely and pressing against it, looking back at you for a reaction. “It doesn’t seem to be twisted, but it may be strained. You have been jumping a lot, and might have happened when your footing was incorrect.”

You could practically feel the sweat running down your forehead. “Does it seem bad?”

Legolas smiled, his usual smile that was beaming with kindness. “No, the pain should fade later. Are you in pain or hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no, thank you.” After Legolas joined Aragorn, chatting. It wasn’t long before it was just murmurs among the Fellowship. Sam and Frodo were cooking together, Gimli was most likely perched up against a tree sleeping, but you didn’t know about the rest.

You were farther into the forest, a needle and thread in your hand. You placed a thick piece of fabric in between your teeth and bit down, you used your other hand to keep the gash close together so you could stitch it.

You let out a strained cry as you attempted to stitch your wound yourself but it was difficult due to your vision blurring. You didn’t know how long you were out here, so focused on closing your wound that you didn’t hear branches breaking or leaves crunching.

“You’re hurt.” Legolas’s voice broke you out of your concentration. You could see the panic in his eyes, he kneeled by your side, taking the needle from you and moving your hand from your thigh. “And you’re doing it incorrectly. You’re hurting yourself more.”

He used his other hand to pull a container of water, and flushed out your wound. “How did you get this? And when?”

“Just a couple hours ago.”

“And you’ve been bleeding this entire time?” Legolas’s voice was filled to the brim with regret, like he was ashamed of himself. He carefully threaded the thread into your skin, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose.

You took out the cloth from your mouth. “Look Legolas, I’m still alive and well.” You tried to ease him. “I’ll be alright, I’m okay.”

“I should’ve known, you have been moving slower, as well as your reaction time.” He acknowledged. Once he finished stitching your wound, he poured water again to wash out the rest of the dried blood.

He helped you to your feet, throwing your arm over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. He moved at a slow pace back to camp, everyone was now asleep, save it for Aragorn who just watched you both silently.

He helped you lay down. “I’ll be fine.” You repeated yourself, it felt like the hundredth time.

Legolas shook his head. “Please, do not hide anything. You shouldn’t be silent about these kinds of things.”

As if waking up very early in the morning couldn’t be any better, Orcs have seemed to find you all. You had a feeling that they were stalking you all, waiting for the moment to attack. You used your bow instead of your sword, making sure none of the Orcs came close to the Hobbits.

An Orc charged at you. You dodged the first couple of swings but not the kick to the leg, making you kneel and it felt like the stitches broke.

You screamed as you used your arrow to stab it into the Orc’s shoulder. Legolas’s arrow came from behind and slew the bastard and Merry came to your side to help you stand.

“Run into the forest!” Boromir shouted, blocking the sword coming down at him. “Go! Quickly!”

Merry helped you speed through the forest. You suddenly felt sick, like you wanted to pass out. But it wasn’t long before the Orcs gave up the chase and Merry sat you against a tree.

“They’re bleeding!” Merry alerted the rest of the Fellowship.

Legolas dropped in front of you, pushing your hands away from the wound. “I need a needle and thread.” He said, more like demanded. “Or a cloth to stop the bleeding.”

Aragorn ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to Legolas, he snatched it and was quick to tie it around your wound. “I’ll need some herbs, in case the wound becomes infected.” Sam shuffled through his bag. “Luckily you should be able to walk but not run.”

You swore under your breath. “It seems the Orcs are watching us at all times.” You looked up at Aragorn. “What do we do?” You asked him.

“There may be another camp nearby.” Aragorn replied. “Boromir, Legolas, we need to search.”

“Someone should stay and protect the Hobbits.”

“Gimli is here and (Y/n) still has the strength to use their bow.”

“But what if they need to retreat? What will happen then?” Legolas still pressed, wanting to remain by your side. “We cannot put the Hobbits at risk, especially the ringbearer.”

“Gimli will be here, just go with them.” You told him.

“I will not.”

Aragorn was too annoyed to even put up an argument anymore. “Let us go then.”

When they were out of sight, you pushed his shoulder slightly. “What was that?” You asked him, confused out of your mind.

“Someone must be here to protect the Hobbits-”

“I know that, it would’ve been fine. They are taking care of the camp, the Orcs won’t be nearby to bother us.” You once again tried to explain to him. “What is going on with you? Are you still feeling guilty?”

“No-”

“Doesn’t seem like that.” Your breathing hitched as you attempted to stand.

Legolas grabbed your warm to stop you. “You cannot be moving at the moment. Give yourself time to relax.”

“It’s just a small cut!”

“A cut that could’ve killed you.”

You huffed. “What is going on with you Legolas?”

“Becoming reckless is one thing but hiding a serious injury that could have killed you is another. It makes me worry, it makes me question if you have more injuries you’ve hidden.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the wound. I didn’t think that it would mean so much for you.” You admitted.

“I worry, I worry every single day, every fight, during the night and during the daybreak. Will the morrow be the day where someone or something takes you from me?” His hand grazed over your wound. “I just want to know I’ve done everything and anything.”

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again.

“Just promise me, I do not care how small it is or how big, please do not hesitate to ask for help.”

You nodded. “I promise.”

© Intoxicated-Chan 2023, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

[shuamorollss]

unfortunate unexpectations — l.hs x f!reader

In an everyday attempt to avoid the man you eternally loath. Of course, the universe isn't always by your side as you accidentally reach a dead end, with no other choice but to dance with him.

romcom, regency era, enemies2lovers, just cute bickering warnings— not proofread, first time writing this kind of trope pls bear with me. 2.6k wc + reblogs are greatly appreciated!

author's note— I'm back again with another piece ( I'll disappear for a few months after this)! I wrote this exactly on Hee's bday but I only decided to post it now since i didn't really feel satisfied with this when i finished this a few days ago :/ i still don't so I may delete this when I'm in the mood to make changes ^_^ BUT HERE IT IS!! Happy belated birthday to my hubby wubby @Heeseung 😅❤️❤️

perm tags— @jangwonie @jungwonize @luhvlyuna @w3bqrl @ineedaherosavemeenow @leaderwon

"Would you be so kind and get that for me?"

Oh how annoying. You thought, gently tricking your finger up to block your ears and releasing in an instant, wanting the bothering itchiness to fade. His arms stretched beside you reaching to the the man holding a tray with glasses of wine.

Oh how you knew he did it intentionally.

Heeseung's boldness to give you an order was extraordinary, baffling even. You were not in a higher position than him, and he wasn't much higher than you, though he was just there, and heeseung didn't want to play the "he was just there" role in your life. He always feels the need to spite you at any given time, similar to a cricket making noises while you attempt to sleep.

Though much to his dismay, you certainly do show his own place as just a nobody in your existence; to which he never seems to catch the hint of your unintrestment.

Or he might do, only walking in and out of your life in terms of spitting utter nonsense to your peace.

Honestly, it did work. It made you fume and it certainly made you want to do more than just give out the usual glare and other threatening expressions to the other.

You turn around with utter confidence, meeting the man's eyes unbothered. Your eyes observed his structure, his unfortunately dashing attire, and his pretentious face.

As you check out the details of his sleeves, your eyes darted to Heeseung's exact shift of expression, smirking.

It was certainly expected, yet so mind flaming. You'd rather just explode right then and there than to keep up with whatever he wants to pull to you.

"You know, if a lady looks at someone from head to toe for too long it must mean that they yearn for that someone." He lets out a prideful scoff, eyes mockingly going through you as he sips from the wine glass.

Disbelief in what you heard, you halted your eyes from any further notice. Proceeding to roll your eyes at the man who had unknowingly tinted your cheeks red.

"Don't be silly, I was looking at your outfit. Actually baffling but not surprising for you to wear something so… Eye-vomiting." you spit. Twirling against his view and proceeding to waltz away from his standing figure, not setting a single glance at the man behind you. A fuming smoke sets up your chest at the realization of what you had just done to that awful of a man.

You explore more of the manor by yourself, enthralled by every piece of art plastered on the clean walls. You found an inner piece at the volume of the hallway, no noble bands performing and people crowding the room as they tap their feets and hearts out, it is truly a wonder to feel.

"Lady Y/N!"

Of course, every pinch of euphoria has their cut to its end, as one of your acquaintances calls you out.

"Oh, Lady… Lily? Was it?" You asked softly and loudly, as the woman clicked her heels towards you.

The girl smiles, "Oh yes! Though please, just call me Li."

"Alright, Lady Li."

…

For moments to what felt like hours, chit-chatting with Lady Li as you both walk around the manor corridors. The both of you had now reached your very destination which was the party itself that you so desperately want to be separated with.

You timidly smile at the girl beside you, eyes widened agitatedly at the crowd. "Uhm, Lady Li," The other nodded, her eyes also seemed to be searching through the sea of nobles.

"Why did we decide to return to this room?"

Lily simpers her smile as her eyes turn fixated on one figure, "There he is!— Thank you so much Lady Y/N for keeping me company through the manor." She gives you thanks, walking away with delight eventually linking arms with a man who Lady Li might have been searching for. great.

Another woman infested with men's validation, how unfortunate.

Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the couple in disbelief, letting out a brief sigh at the thought of almost every woman here might be just like that.

"Feeling all bitter now, are we Lady Y/N?", you trembled at the sensation of his teasing breath tickling your ear.

"What on— oh... it's you again."

"The one and only." Heeseung lets out a ridiculous triumphant smile, the smile that makes you feel itchy in all aspects of your body, it was extremely bothersome reaching to the point you would rip your hair out to the unspeakable rage you feel for the male.

"Don't make that face now, a real lady doesn't do that, well— that is, if you are even a lady." He chuckled, always digging deeper into your little actions in an attempt to reach you to the edge. How delightful.

"Your words remind me so much of my younger brother's pitiful counters." You face the opposite once more, your heartbeat slowing down at each step you take far from Heeseung, hoping to have a similar instance from earlier to happen once more.

Unfortunately, the things one desires don't really happen twice. As you hear the footsteps of the man through the crowded noise, the only shattered expectation you wish did not.

"Oh so I remind you of your family now? How thoughtful." His smirk added to his audacious response that could be sensed at such a distance you didn't even know was possible without even taking another look.

"It means you're just as annoying as my brother, don't take it as a compliment."

"I presume older sisters still love their annoying brothers nevertheless, so that must mean you secretly feel that way for me too if I remind you so much of your annoying brother."

"Oh how great, you can go stay in your own personal pride zone Mr. Lee, though that zone, will tell you to cut it out very soon."

"I doubt that, I think I can sense what's true and not true."

"Being ever so ethical now, aren't you?"

"You know what they say… I am that of a gentleman."

"Well so ethical now anymore, 'cause, you see… you claim to be a gentleman which in fact is ridiculously wrong, no, you're not a gentleman."

"Okay lady, I figured that was a mouthful to sneer."

Your eyes widened, subconsciously sighing aggravatingly, utterly lost of the others' words. "Please don't follow me."

"I'm not following you."

"You are? Don't make me feel stupid."

"I don't think I'm doing that."

You continued to walk further and further, you don't know where, it could be just anywhere to be out of this man's grasp.

not even reaching an uncomfortable minute of making your way, Heeseung finally made it way up to you for god-know-what reason.

Only a few more threads left to untangle until you implode, besides showing this man what you're capable of doing, you weren't about to do anything in front of hundreds of people.

You swiftly turn to face the man following, "Look Mr. Lee, don't even attempt to come and step closer—" the hissy grin never ever fading from his look. Before you snap even further, you raise your head as the lights suddenly turn dim, the current music start to tone down as the band plays a new mellow romance.

The both of you faced your worries, silently questioning the sudden change of atmosphere.

"Now, it is time for the party where the gentleman… dances with the first lady they set their eyes on, Amuse-toi bien!"

…

..

.

His eyes were on you, and yours on him. Slowly developing the idea you most certainly would refuse to believe.

"No." You shook your head promptly with no hesitation.

"Y/N."

"No, don't even"

"Y/N—"

"No. Not ever. Never in my life. Never in a millennia. You can serve the mediocrity of mediocrity— I am not even paying attention to what I'm saying, but just so you know, I am not dancing with you."

You groaned continuously at his spews, this chit chatter going nowhere at all. Heeseung was also growing exhausted of your opposed responses. Hearing your never ending hatred for him is never known to him, although being in this position during an all rounded dance segment, he was not about to embarrass himself in front of such nobilities.

"Y/N just—" His hand abruptly slid up your waist sending your internal nerves through every stage of shockwaves.

"What are you—" Your words began to halt from his tightened grip, slowly putting power on pulling you closer… and closer… too close to say the least.

"Just this once, we don't want to leave a bad impression at a party we're just mere visitors at." His breath fanned your neck and sent shivers down your spine. Truly a feeling between his embrace that you have never felt before.

Too much of a guilt to even feel, considering this is the man you swore your whole life to loath yet here you are. No other way of escape out of this man's grasp, other than to spend a minute and more with him following the melodious rhythm serenading within the whole room.

"Fine. This doesn't change the fact that I want to scar my name on your face."

"How romantic." His lips curved sarcastically, eyes shifts into pure mockery as it lays on you. You couldn't say if you were teased by his softly menacing gaze or comforted by it. Eitherway, you couldn't register the right words.

"Besides," Heeseung continues, eyes darting away from yours, looking elsewhere within the ballroom, suddenly a light flashes your vision, snapping you back to your current position, right in front of Lee Heeseung.

"I don't even think we could get away from this anyway, we're literally in the middle of the dance floor." His head shifts in every direction to deem his assumption correct, which you mirrored.

It's true, the both of your are really in the middle of the ballroom.

You felt blockage on your throat, as if your vocal chords refused to spit words out of your mouth. The close proximity between you and Heeseung felt extremely new, you wanted to escape it so quickly yet, quite in a state of culture shock of his careful and kind demeanor as his every step to the rhythm of the music are seemingly careful not to make a mistake or you could say in other words, step on you.

The distance soothes, your hands still intact as the both of you walk in circles. His gaze locked onto you as if a man had seen the beauty of the moon for the very first time. He was allured, not only to the sight of your eyes but also your entire attire.

Who was he kidding? He was making fun of how you looked earlier, or was it you who taunted his? Even he couldn't remember. What is this contact causing him?

His eyes followed the direction of your eyes shifting all the way to your linked hands rising, following the rhythm and everyone else's. Only then Heeseung was able to return to his composure.

Being quiet with you didn't exactly make him feel like himself. It's indeed a peculiar case, his eyes fixated on your focused figure attempting for a thought, any words, any attacks, frankly quite anything.

"I feel conceived Lady Y/N," He started, your eyes now transferring to the man.

"Did you walk all the way here on purpose just to lure me in this dance?" He smirks, deeply hoping he did not look ridiculous in your eyes, which in fact, he did look ridiculous to you, though in basic sense, he always does.

You scoffed, "Don't be such a crude, I was walking away from you, or if you didn't understand that, I was escaping you. however, you followed me. If anything, you expected this dance to happen beforehand." You sneered at your words, feeling vastly proud of regaining the upper hand.

"Now now, shifting the blame onto me?" He jokingly asked, swaying forward and backward, then continuing to circle in unison.

"Well, I couldn't be wrong." Your raised your brows at the man, receiving a tuneful chuckle.

"You're ever so ethical now aren't you?"

you scoffed, "Touché."

After a few warm-hearted rhythms, the distance slowly basking in, his hand starts to tenderly slide from your hand up to your shoulder. Now facing your back at a dangerously close proximity. The way his fingertips barely made contact onto your skin yet it still tickled, sending you into unreasonable wonders.

Lee Heeseung? Sending you to unreasonable wonders?

"What if I tell you that I really expected this dance to happen and followed you to be able to have this dance with you?" he breathes out.

Your mind stood place, frozen. It couldn't function solely because of those words.

You knew this was his tactic of his obvious teasing yet... that had sent your heart into places you did not expect for it to reach. Your breathing abruptly stopping at every emphasis you place into his words.

It wasn't any different for the man, he was hellishly anxious.

The way his hand stood still on your shoulder, then slowly sliding it down to your hand the same thing he had done at the start. He felt crazy, he couldn't grasp the feeling whether he's disgusted at this contact or was it, satisfactory?

Heeseung's breath unawaringly hitched in unison to yours.

The high-rising tension the both of you are desperate to escape yet… would embrace it more long.

As Heeseung's hand reached your hand, the distance once more soothes, or did soothe for you? Did it to him?

One spin had the same closeness return, now you two are entirely facing each other.

How did this moment feel too slow? normally the dance routine did not walk this type of pace before, usually it happens quickly before the music finally comes to its end.

The silence echoed immediately through the other's ears, having the slight worry of gkving you discomfort.

Worried? Heeseung, really?

Heeseung lets himself battle his own internal conflicts as the outer silence continued. You were in a desperate measure of developing a genius idea for a comeback yet none came into mind. The unexplained whimsical threw you off, the fact this man had to send you in this type of frenzy was never in your lists of expectations.

Yet now, at this very moment, changed your very view on your surroundings.

All because of this very man you swore to loath ever since his eyes laid on you.

One last twirl to the maiden as the band's instruments faded into the void, completing the romantic waltz.

As everyone in the middle applauded their elegant and coordinated routine just now, both you and heeseung processed your breathledd tension just earlier.

Finally having all the words reached the right parts of your brain, finally having control of your conscious, your hatred to the man came back with it.

"Aww, you really do feel deep adoration for me, Lee Heeseung." you politely curtsied. contrasting to the tone of your voice, as you reply to the man's words from a few minutes back.

Heeseung lets out a chuckle, "You know what? Maybe I do have a thing for such abominations."

"Haha. Aren't you a clever guy." You gave him a wide infuriating smile, as you turn around walking away from his presence, now leaving the man at the middle of the dance floor.

It was a peculiar state for you. You swore you completely lie instense hatred for the man, yet now you're smiling at his mere words that usually drives you to banging your head on the wall, sometimes the urge to bang his head on the wall.

Yet what happened just earlier felt, extremely out of place, something you couldn't quite explain for the time being.

You were conflicted about being bothered by it.

How it bothered your feelings, bothered you deeply.

A memory that surely the both of you would engrave in later lifetime.

.

..

...

"Wow, she called me clever."

© seungiepup. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

[berriblossom]

Hi can I make a request of Casper from a date with death with a short s/o that’s chubby and a baker and is a otaku and is a tomboy but still likes some cute things tho

I just wanna see some domestic things for Casper

-> This is so much cuteness! Thank you for the ask!

-> What he loves most | Casper x gn!reader! -> Second POV, just fluff!

There were a lot of things Casper had to get used to when he had his newfound freedom from being a reaper of souls. Many of which he happily shared with you.

Whether it was going through old manga that you had stored on your shelves that he read in his free time, or watching old animation films you bought for him to entertain himself with. Some nights if he felt up to it, he'd ask to wear a face mask while watching a new show of yours. He may not understand the concept of "fighting for your honor back " but he'd watch if it makes you happy. Another thing Casper loves while doing this is laying his head on your thighs or tummy. Slowly as you watch the film you'll notice him lean closer and closer to you as the show goes on. Soon enough he's lying on your thighs commenting about the protagonist being too bright or obnoxiously loud. (if you mention anything about being the same way to him, he will deny it and say you get an exception because his sunshine is supposed to be bright and vibrant.) He will also remind you if the show you are watching or catching up on has new episodes, just to remind you and make you smile at the end of a work day.

If you like playing games of any sort, he is down but is competitive and kind of a grandpa.(remember the emoji convo) so be patient with him. He is trying. I see Casper as the type of gamer to play the Sims and never leave the computer, just designing his future with you, your pet, Azrael, and a garden for you. (with a large kitchen and space for baking, with a personal room for you and your novelties and books). Don't let him play a horror game. He either makes fun of it for the overdramatic deaths or he'll challenge it. Either way, the fear factor won't work on him like that(in my opinion) but try and delete the 4 bedroom and 3 bath home on the Sims he made for you, there you will get tears and screams.

Another thing Casper likes is your job. Even though he has mentioned that reapers don't need to eat, sleep, or breathe somehow he is always jumping at the occasion whenever you text him about bringing home any baked goods or pastries from the shop home to him and Azrael. (yes, him too because it is an excuse for you to bring more to share) It doesn't matter what you pick, he'll eat it with an adorable face of joy. He sometimes will come down to the bakery and help if you need it.

While making fun of you for being "below the average mortal height" that he has seen over the years. You can flirt as much as you want to but, Casper will always use his height to his advantage. If you're in the shop and need something from a high shelf or above the fridge? Ask him politely to inflate his ego a little bit and then he will help you. While placing his tease a bit. Looking for something specific but can't seem to find it. He placed it on top of the fridge in "sky jail" because you teased him earlier about liking cream in his mouth. Now you'll never finish the dessert you were making unless you go to find the step stool. (which he has also put in a higher place to piss you off more.)

Cuddling sessions after a tiring day of work are as ethereal as Casper is. Had a hard day at work? Get in the blanket with him, he might be as frigid as a frozen tundra but his cuddles and affectionate squeezes and words of encouragement are just as warm. A customer made you a little upset? Oh, trash needed to go out on Thursday anyway (that's a joke, unless...).

The best learning experience for Casper is when he tries to bake or cook with you, he doesn't know the proper measurements for anything, it's random bullshit and go for him. But he will listen to your instructions. While he is intently measuring the sugar, water, and yeast mixture with full concentration, if you go up to him and give him a kiss or hug him from behind he'll shoo you away and mumble about how he was so kind to be helping you at work. FOR FREE. But after a few minutes, he'll ask for your assistance on a task and will cling to you like glue. Will he get flour in his hair? You'll never know, but he will snipe samples and test batches of anything you'll make. Your coworker's batches? Not so much. Even if it is hot garbage in your opinion he will still eat it up as if he was starved.

All in all, Casper can be a little shit or sweetheart for you. Just bring some extra snacks for him and Azrael for the next few days while he is on that Sims 4 dream home.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

(and if nothing brings you back) Surely, I'll roam through life in black

Mihawk x reader. NSFW!!

Title is an excerpt from Blind and Frozen by Beast in Black (again). Sequel to Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). There will now be a separate epilogue to this story!

Note - 13/11/2023: I have edited Built a haven to delete a brief reference to Kain, the reader's past lover, in order to focus on other, more important characters.

*****

Dracule Mihawk is a patient man.

It is a natural quality, and at the same time that self-restraint is one of the reasons he has come as far as he has. After all, you don't become the best at what you do if you get bored easily, or frustrated after a visible lack of progress after a few short weeks; while natural talent did undoubtedly play a role in making him the man he is, Mihawk knows it is the long hours he spent practicising his swordsmanship (every single day since he was five, hundreds and even thousands of repetitions of the same figure, of the same lunge or the same parry, until he could perform them in his sleep and through simple muscle memory) that has made him the most respected and feared adversary in the four seas. He has always known in his heart the way of the sword was his destiny, no matter how hard and long the way to the top would be, and that path he has walked, patient and persevering, confident that one day his efforts and dedication would bear fruit - which they have. Even so, he still practices, every day, with the same focus and tenacity of when he was ten, still until his arms hurt and his fingers bleed, and then a little more.

Dracule Mihawk is a very patient man, not least because there is very little nowadays that can actually excite his curiosity to the point of anxiety; no rival in the last decade has seriously interested him, no swordsman he has heard about or met has made him feel excited at the prospect of a fight (or rather, one has; but a full year after their first and only meeting, Roronoa Zoro still has a long way to go before becoming a worthy opponent. But that is not a problem; once more, he is patient, he can wait.) and no future plan or commitment has ever made him wish time would pass faster. He is not bored, per se; he is just perfectly content with the way he spends his days, without worrying about what the future may bring...

... except for a single, tiny (no more than fourteen pounds by now, according to a book he has accidentally found in his library and even more fortuitously leafed through until he has found the chapter about infant growth) detail... one that has kept him awake at night for the first time in his life, and that not even training until his body gave up and his mind begged for the relief of sleep has been able to banish from his thoughts.

You. Or, to be more precise, the consequences of the night you have spent together. Or, to be even more precise, the reason why you haven't made him aware of them like you had agreed to do.

That... your silence, and the suspicion you are not deliberately keeping him in the dark (why should you? You have promised to inform him as soon as you had seen your doctor, you have his transponder snail number, you know how important it is to him) but something is keeping you from calling... that is what is making him loose his sleep.

To be honest, he started feeling anxious (a feeling he has at first almost struggled to recognize, so alien it was to his personality) just a few days after you had said goodbye, a feeling that became harder and harder to ignore, and then to keep at bay, as the weeks succeded one another. At first, he wasn't worried - just irritated. Even the most ignorant man in matters of childbearing knows it could take a while, perhaps even a whole month, before a person has reason to suspect they are expecting, and a late period could be due to several reasons other than pregnancy. Also, according to the book, it is not uncommon for pregnancies to end in the first three months, for reasons not even the best doctors fully understand; perhaps, he reflected as he polished Yoru at the end of yet another day-long training session, you have decided to wait until you are reasonably sure your pregnancy is real and healthy enough to reach full term, before informing him. Given how important this is to you, how desperately you wanted to get pregnant and have a baby, you may have ordered yourself not to believe it yourself until then, as if you knew you couldn't bear to lose the child you had waited for so long...

He was sure - no, he had been ready to bet his life that you would call after three months, to tell him you were officially, undeniably pregnant with his child. You are not the sort of person who forgets a promise they made, and while he has not yet decided what role he would play in the child's life, if any, you knew (you had to know!) it was important for him to be aware of the truth. He expected to receive your call any day, and he was determined not to miss it, so much that for the first time in his life he started bringing his transponder snail to the training room, or wherever he had decided to practice in that day, to make sure he heard it ringing.

It didn't. Or rather, when it did, it was never the call he expected. It was never you, and while three months became four, and then five, and then six, Mihawk started feeling restless, and frustrated, and then worried. Why aren't you calling?, he kept wondering. The thought, that was rapidly becoming an obsession, was constantly on his mind (when he trained; when he ate; when he showered; when he fought, either yet another quarry the Marines had sicced him on, or some fame-hungry swordsman who thought they could measure themselves against him and invariably discovered they could not; when he tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep) and threatened to drive him mad.

Six months after your night together, he had to stop lying to himself and seriously consider the hypothesis that you hadn't simply failed to contact him, whether because you had forgotten (absolutely impossible) or deliberately, but something was preventing you from doing it. Also, the two of you had never gone so long without meeting, and your few mutual acquaintances had not seen you recently either; you might have taken some time off from, or indeed put an end to, your activity as a mercenary when you realized you were pregnant, but that would not explain the lack of contact. Were you sick? Was the baby making you sick, and so weak you could not even hold a transponder snail receiver and speak in it? It seemed absurd: you were a still young, healthy woman, and even the most difficult pregnancy could not put a person into a coma! What could have been happened, then?

Has something terrible happened to you? It was, unfortunately, much less improbable than he would have wished; after all being a mercenary had to be one of the most unsafe, potentially fatal professions in the world, and your latest quarry might have turned out to be more challenging than you had expected, or maybe someone set to avenge one of your past victims had been able to sneak up on you and...?

He wanted to know. He had to - no, he needed to know, he reflected one night, the umpteenth in which he had found himself unable to sleep, as he looked at the starry sky out of his bedroom window, because while very little in the world had the power to upset or even just to actually interest him, he felt not knowing what had happened to you, and if you were safe and sound, could really drive him insane. You were strong, clever and resilient, but no one could keep their guard constantly up day and night, and so many dangerous things existed in the world; if you were hurt, and kept somewhere against your will unable to ask for help, he would move heaven and earth to find and set you free. And if it were already too late, if you had... died, either at the hands of an enemy or for some other reason...

In that case I really don't know what will become of me, he thought, then and so many times in the following months. He would have gladly stabbed himself in the heart rather than uttering those words out loud, or having someone else know he felt that way, but that was the truth and Mihawk was not in the habit of lying to himself.

The thing that vexed him the most was the inability to contact, and then to look for, you himself. He had not thought about asking for your own transponder snail number (something he had reproached himself for many times) and he even ignored the name of your island, which would have been the first place to search in. Worry and frustration prompted him to do what he never thought he would: call the Marines and ask... for informations.

"(name)? I haven't seen her in a while." Vice-Admiral Garp said, his tone pensive, on the day Mihawk contacted him "I was informed the man I had sent her to dispatch is dead, but she never came to collect the bounty, nor has she called or written to ask us to send it to her. I'm starting to think something bad has happened."

"Have you tried contacting her?"

"Of course we have. But her transponder snail has been deactivated since the first time we called, I don't know where she lives nor whether she has friends or family. Why do you care what happened to her?"

The sudden question, asked in a deliberately casual tone, took him by surprise for a moment. This doesn't concern you, Mihawk wanted to answer, but he stopped himself in time. He didn't particularly like Garp, but the older man was clever and relentless, not to mention he considered those like the two of you, pardoned pirates and mercenaries, like a necessary evil to keep in check; he would not go as far as to hurt a pregnant woman, and was probably already aware of your acquaintance given all the times you and him had sat down to drink and talk at the Marine HQ, but the least he knew, the better.

"(name) had promised to help me find a person I am interested in." he invented, confident a mere business deal would not interest the Marine much "A famous swordmaker she had been acquainted with years ago. She had promised she would track him down for me after her latest assignment, but I have not heard from her in a months."

"Had she now."

"What do you mean, Vice-Admiral?" Mihawk asked, suddenly irked; he didn't like the skeptic, vaguely mocking, tone the older man had used.

"Nothing, nothing. I'm afraid I can't help you, Mihawk; If you see her, tell her we'll keep the bounty for her."

As if he were the Marines' messenger boy. Mihawk disconnected without answering, sighed, and covered his eyes with his hand. It was as he feared: the call had been useless; you had disappeared, and he had no way to find you.

*****

And he still doesn't, six more months later, as he sits on the front steps of his house, a glass of red wine in his hand and his gaze facing the sunset, the familiar but still breath-taking view of the sky lit of red and black for once failing to catch his interest.

A year. A whole year spent thinking about you, worrying about you - and without you. He has sent word to his (very few) allies, acquaintances and whoever he could trust or owed him a favour, asking them to be on the look-out and inform him of any news, no matter how apparently far-fetched, about you.

It was all for nothing. You must have given birth by now, your baby should be around three months of age (has he ever seen a baby that small? Probably not since he was a very young boy himself, and he is sure he has never held one in his arms; well, he’s sure you’ll show him how…) but there is no trace of either of you. You seem to have disappeared into thin air, and Mihawk has never been so worried in his entire life. The possibility you are safe, having decided to hide and fake your death, doesn't even cross his mind; you had a deal, one he knows in his heart you would never break, both because you would have no reason to and because you would never do that to him (you wouldn't. It may sound presumptuous to think so, to believe he has some kind of influence over you, and he cannot claim to know what is in your mind... let alone in your heart... but you would keep you word, he would bet his life on it) which must mean that something is keeping you from contacting him, someone has hurt you, either keeping you prisoner somewhere, which would at least explain why you have disappeared, or worse...

You could have been killed. You could be dead, and the thought is so fiercely painful, the agony it fills his very being with so scorching and bitter, Mihawk wishes he could tear his heart from his chest, because if that were actually true nothing else, nor vengeance nor the passing of time, and surely not another lover, could ever give him the smallest amount of relief. So many people die every day, in some cases alone and unmourned, but the same cannot have happened to you, you are too... too smart and capable to have let an enemy overcome you, and too special and precious to have lived through something so terrible and humiliating...

And the baby? Your baby? What has happened to them?

Accepting to conceive a child together has been an impulsive decision, taken after just a few hours of reflection, but Mihawk does not regret it... and not simply because it has led him to the best night of his life. The thought of a child, of any child, hurt and killed would naturally horrify him, but to imaginehis own baby, his son or daughter, in danger or hurt... is it possible for a man to bear such an overwhelming grief?

He never thought he could feel like this; he never thought he would meet someone capable of arousing that sort of feeling in him, but he has, you have, and while Mihawk doesn't regret it, and knows he won't even if he does discover you have passed, the thought of losing you and your child before even having the chance to meet them... and to say goodbye to you, and... to talk to you once more, is... is...

He doesn't pray. He never has, and he knows in his heart it would make no difference, nor would he be able to find some comfort in it. Mihawk doesn’t believe in God, not in the benevolent, all-powerful kind so many people trust to make their lives a little more bearable or at least to reward them for their good deeds in the afterlife. What, who, he believes in, is himself, and this is why, after he woke up screaming from an horrible, excruciating nightmare (in which he opened the house door to find your reanimated corpse in front of him, a tiny dead body in your arms, telling him you were sorry you made him worry) he promises himself that if he ever finds you, you or the baby or hopefully both, he will never leave you again, and will give his life to protect you.

I swear, (name). I know you didn’t break your promise voluntarily; let me keep mine. Please, come back to me; I trust you. I can’t go on like this; not knowing is destroying me. Let me know you are both all right, and I swear I won’t let anything happen to you…

Are his feelings (fear, the instinctive protectiveness towards a child who is the blood of his blood, the memory of the night of passion you shared) getting the best of him, leading him to make a much deeper commitment than he would have been willing to had you, safe and sound, phoned him after a month to announce him you were in the family way? Perhaps. After all he does have a heart, but while he doesn’t intend to ask for your hand as soon as you meet again, he knows that whatever destiny has in store for the two of you, he will never regret his promise or the choice he made a year ago.

He never could, if you keep being part of his life. So he vows, in the privacy of his heart, and barely one day later he receives an answer; by God, by destiny, or someone else, he doesn’t care, but he has to quickly put an hand to his mouth to prevent Garp from hearing his sigh of relief.

“(name) has just called me.” The Vice-Admiral says; he sounds amused, as if his conversation with you had confirmed his suspicions about the reason why Mihawk was so worried about your disappearance. Lookin for a famous swordmaker indeed! “She has lost your number, but she was able to retrieve mine through an acquaintance who works close to another Marine base and asked me to convey a message.”

Silence.

“Mihawk?”

“I am here, Vice-Admiral.” he answers, in control of his emotions once more, even though he is clutching the transponder snail receiver so hard his knuckles have turned white “What is the message?”

“Simply her number, that she has asked me to give you. Do you have a pen?”

Mihawk does, but he needs to hear the number just once to know he will remember it forever. You are all right, he keeps repeating himself, alive and if perhaps not unharmed strong enough to carry out a conversation. Relief hits him, so sudden and overwhelming it almost hurts; did she tell you where she’s been in the last year? Is she all right?, for a moment he is about to ask, before thinking better of it; he will call you as soon as he finishes with Garp, who in any case he wouldn’t confide his fears in.

 “I’ll tell her about the bounty she is owed. Good evening, Vice-Admiral.” he says, before hanging up and without giving the older man a chance to reply. He is alone, as always when he is at home, and Mihawk has never been so grateful for that lack of guests or, Gods forbid, house mates, because the last thing he wants is to have someone see him in that moment.

You’re alive. That is not enough to dispel all his fears, since as far as he knows you could be deadly ill or kept prisoner somewhere, and, most importantly, he still knows nothing about your baby, but suddenly he feels able to breathe normally for the first time in ages - in a whole year, that is. I knew you hadn’t forgotten your promise; that you hadn’t forgotten about me, he thinks, still worried but feeling a smile (a real, sincere smile, something no one in the world has ever seen on his face) open on his mouth. He remains still for a moment, the memory of your kiss and the sensation of your warm, solid body in his arms still etched in his mind, and a moment later he is already dialing the number Garp gave him.

You answer immediately; as if you were waiting for him to call. (You were. Desperately, fear and longing heavy on your heart; you needed to hear his voice like a person lost in a desert needed a glass of cold water, but at the same time you knew what you needed to tell him would destroy him, like it had destroyed you.)

“Mihawk?”

“This is him.” he promptly answers; until now you have always spoken in person and it has been a year since the last time, but he would recognize you voice anywhere “(name), are you all right?”

Silence.

“Name? Please…” he insists; that last word sounds almost alien on his tongue, but he can hear the call didn't fall, and the idea of you not wanting to talk to him is too painful to bear “Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I…”

“Is our baby all right?”

He can feel you hesitating for a moment more before slowly answering: “You needn’t worry; no one has been seriously hurt.”, which sounds too and unnecessarily complex when a simple we are both all right would have sufficed, but the determination in your voice is enough to reassure him “I’m sorry, I know I had promised to call you as soon as I had been to the doctor. I swear I would have, but…”

“Have you been kidnapped?”

“How do you know? Well, you’re right; I have been kept prisoner for a year, and my transponder snail was taken from me. I got free four days ago and I got home the day before yesterday. Mihawk, I…”

“Yes?”

Silence. Again. “I think it would be better if we spoke in person.” you state in the end “I’m sorry to ask you, but my doctor says I shouldn’t move for a few days a least, and my mother is of the same mind...”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Mihawk quickly answers, perfectly aware he doesn’t even know where there is, and utterly unbothered by the issue.

“Really?”

 “Of course. Give me the coordinates.”

You do, from memory, and he writes them down, just to be safe; he shouldn’t take more than a day to reach you, he is pleased to realize. “I will be there tomorrow morning at the latest.” he promises; most people would think twice before sailing at night in unknown waters, but he is not most people “How do I find you?”

“I’ll send someone to wait for you at the harbour. Mihawk?”

“Yes?”

“Were you worried for me?”

He snorts - inelegant, perhaps, but since you cannot see him…

“What do you think?” he pointedly asks, and he’s happy to hear you laugh, just for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, (name).” he promises, and then he is the one hesitating just for a moment, before adding: “I can’t wait to meet our child.”

You say your goodbyes and hung up, quickly enough he can’t hear you burst in tears.

*****

He is sailing less than thirty minutes later, pleased to discover a favourable wind is pushing his ship in the right direction, and exactly twenty-two hours later his ship docks at the only little port of your island, in a warm, sunny morning he would consider a good sign, were he inclined to believe in that sort of things (he never has). The moment he steps on the harbour, mainly occupied by tiny fishing boats, a trio of men in livery approach him.

“Welcome to our island, sir.” the oldest respectfully tells him as they all bow in unison; he doesn’t ask for his name, Mihawk notices, nor does he mention it to make sure he’s addressing the right man “Lady (name) has sent us to meet you. Will you please follow us to the fortress?”

He does, and the brief ride in the small but elegant horse-drawn carriage gives him the opportunity to explore the place you call home. You had told him it was small, and it really is, little more than a rock in a relatively unimportant corner of the sea, but patriotism aside, he can see why you like it: the streets are large, the building well-kept, the marketplace the carriage passes next to thriving, and the flora seems to be as lush as you said it was, given the huge trees he sees in the squares and along the streets.

Still, sight-seeing is not what he has come here for, and when finally the fortress (a solid, relatively large stone building, wind-tossed flags at the top of the four corner towers and a drawbridge over a deep moat) appears in front of him, Mihawl feels his heart skip a beat, both looking forward to seeing you and at the same time fearing the state he will see you in. Such sentimentality, such an inability to put order among his feelings, is very unlike him, as well as the sort of things he has always done his best to avoid and considered an unnecessary distraction. Still, he doesn't regret those feelings; you are part of him now, an unexpected but not unwelcome state of things, and while openly discussing matters of the heart has never been easy for him, and he doesn't yet feel ready to give a name to the emotions you have elicited in him, he wants you to know, he needs you to know, he has never stopped thinking about you from the day you said goodbye...

About you, and about the child you have given him. The child, about three months old now, who he is going to meet in a few minutes.

Crossed the large double door of the fortress, the older man in livery exchanges a few words with another servant. "Lady (name) is in her quarters." he then reports "I'll bring you to her straight away, sir, unless you want to rest for a while. A room has been prepared for you."

Mihawk is not tired, but had he not slept for a week, his answer would be the same. "Bring me to her."

You like admiring the sunrise in the morning, as you prepare to begin your day, hence your quarters are east-facing. Mihawk is led to a small parlor, which might double as your study given the desk and the full bookcase on one side. A closed passage leads presumably to your bedroom, while an open double door gives way to a sun-lit terrace, where a quiet but serious conversation is taking place.

"... need to tell him. You owe him the truth, especially if you hope for your relationship to continue."

"I know that, mother. I don't want to lie to him, but... he told me he looked forward to meeting the baby... I can barely bear to think about what the doctor said, but to discuss it..."

"I know how painful it will be; for both of you. But you still have a whole life in front of you, and you need to come to terms with..."

The conversation quickly ceases when the man in livery steps on the terrace. "Pardon, my ladies. Your guest is here, lady (name)."

The terrace is a mostly empty semicircle bordered by a wrought iron parapet, the breath-taking view opening on the whole island; Mihawk doesn't even glance at it, his yellow eyes immediately drawn to the younger of the two women sat not far from him, semi-reclining on a deck-chair under a large straw umbrella, a pillow behind her back hiding a tiny but deadly machine gun.

You.

The first thing he notices is the weight you have lost. He has tried many times to imagine how your body would change because of your pregnancy, what you would look like heavy with his child; he was sure he would find you beautiful as ever, perhaps even more so. He even entertained himself wondering how it would have been to make love to you as you were visibly pregnant... and discovered the thought was not at all unpleasant.

The you in front of him couldn't be farther from those fantasies. No doubt because of the year you spent imprisoned, you are clearly underweight, your left leg, left naked by the short skirt of your dress, is braced and bandaged, a profound, overcome but persistent weakness surrounding you, as if the excellent care you are receiving at home still couldn't undo the ill treatment you have suffered.

A strong-willed, resilient woman like you would not be cowed by a slap or a skipped meal. What sort of violence and abuse did your captors have to resort to in order to break your spirit? Have you been beaten? Starved? Exposed to the weather in the coldest days of the winter? Have they... assaulted you? Whatever the truth, Mihawk suddenly wishes he could have them in front of him; after a single hour, those bastards would beg him to die quickly.

Then you smile at him, happy and relieved, and the desire for revenge is promptly forgotten - or at least put aside. "Hello, (name)."

"You came."

"You know I would have."

You share a look, brief but enough to make him feel as if the last year had been no longer than a day; he can see unmitigated joy in your eyes, and relief, and... wariness, almost as if you feared what could be said during the conversation he has come to have. Are you... afraid of him? Why? What do you have to tell him that could upset him to the point of...?

He notices, a whole minute later than he should have, that the baby is not with you, nor there is on the terrace a cot or a little bed you could have put them in. He is about to ask, when the woman sat on the chair next to you, at the other side of a small round table, stands and turns to look at him. He doesn't need to consider the evident family resemblance, nor to think back to what you have told him about your family, to realize she must be your mother: you have the same look, the same kind but piercing gaze in your like-colored eyes. "Good morning. I am lady Veressa, (name)'s mother. It is a pleasure to have you on our island."

"Thank you, my lady." Mihawk answers with a slight bow of his head; he is able to behave courteously with people of authority, whatever Garp may think "The pleasure is mine."

"(name), I will leave you with your guest. Please, do not overexert yourself."

"I won't, mother. Thank you." you answer, and smile when she bends to kiss your brow. A moment later the lady of the island has left, the man in livery behind her, leaving the two of you alone.

Neither speaks as Mihawk moves the free chair even closer to yours and sits; there are about a million questions he wants to ask, but for a minute he is content like this, simply looking at you, reassuring himself you are really there, clearly exhausted but alive, healing, and still beautiful enough to take his breath away.

"You have a ten million berries bounty to collect." he points out after a while; you, apparently expecting to hear something completely different, blink, and appear to struggle a little to understand the meaning behind those words, as if your activity as a mercenary were a long-forgotten childhood game and not the trade you have practiced since you were still a girl.

"Oh... right. I will have to call Garp again one of these days."

You smile, still nervous but happy; your hand reaches towards him, and he takes it in his, careful, as if it were made of glass.

"I have missed you, Mihawk."

"And I you." he promptly answers; he wonders if you realize how rare, and surprisingly easy, it is for him to utter those simple words. Something tells him you do "Are you well?"

"Considering everything I have been through, I think so." you answer after a moment of reflection; there is no trace of complaint in your voice, rather it is the matter of fact tone of a person who dispassionately acknowledges a situation and moves on "The doctors said I have been lucky, a few more weeks under the loving care of my jailers and I would have died. And my leg should heal perfectly, which is the thing I was most worried about."

"That is good to hear. (name)..."

"You want to know about the baby." you interrupt him, and there is something on your face he cannot name, but that makes him shiver; as if you were preparing yourself for an unpleasant chore you could not avoid. You told him no one got seriously hurt, which only partially reassured him, and he knows he won't be able to relax until he sees his child with his own eyes... "Am I right?"

"Yes. Where are they?"

*****

This is a conversation you can't avoid; your mother is right, you owe him that much and more, especially if he is to still be part of your life from now on, which you desperately wish for. Still, you would give half of your blood (not a small sacrifice, considering how much of it you have wasted in the last year) to avoid or at least to postpone it, and enjoy the quiet, comforting joy of having Mihawk close once more, after fearing for so long you would never see him again.

You breathe in and, holding tight as if preparing for a violent impact, you confess: "There is no baby. I... I had my period a week after our night together, and regularly after that, at least for a while."

You have time to count up to ten before you hear him answering; you can't look at him, and perceive he'd rather you didn't.

"I see."

"I am so sorry, Mihawk. It was my most fertile period, and we tried three times... I was so sure..."

This time he is the one interrupting you. "I know. It is not your fault." he murmurs; you can feel the emotion in his voice, without a doubt much more than he wishes you to, and that makes you feel guilty, as if you were intruding in an intimate moment "I... I guess this is good, after all. You have clearly been hurt, and taken prisoner. That is not the sort of situation you'd want to be pregnant, and to have a child, in."

You can't help but agree, and you swallow, hoping against hope you can stop talking about it and the two of you can enjoy some time together before he leaves and you can go back mourning what will never be in the privacy of your heart, but Mihawk's next words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

"Maybe... maybe we can try again." he slowly suggests; he has started caressing the back of your and with his thumb, and the intimate tone of his voice, a still serious but unmistakably sensual accent in it, is enough to make you shiver, and cry "Once you have returned to health. Our night together was... very enjoyable, I wouldn't mind doing it again, and I must confess the idea of a child has grown on me..."

You will not cry. Not in front of him, not now. Don't you dare, (name).

"I can't." you murmur miserably; you feel as if you were confessing a terrible crime, something to be ashamed of, which couldn't be farther from the truth, and this makes you angry "I... after I came back, my mother insisted the doctors carried out a complete medical examination, to make sure we knew exactly what was wrong with me health-wise; we thought it was important to leave nothing untreated. My period had stopped after a few months, no doubt because I was given very little to eat, so my women's doctor visited me, and discovered... she found out that I..."

That I can't have children, and never will. Your voice breaks before you can utter those words, but Mihawk seems to perceive them all the same, and the flash of shock and pain in his lovely yellow eyes, brief but too sudden and fierce to hide it behind his usual sangfroid, makes you feel the worst, cruelest woman of the four seas. "Mihawk, I am so sorry... I swear I didn't know..."

"I believe you. I... I am the one who is sorry, (name). I know how important it was to you."

It was, and it still is; otherwise part of you wouldn't wish you had died in the cell you had been put in. "I know, but... you just told me you had started liking the idea of being a father. Well, I'm sure there are thousand of women who..."

"No. There aren't." he curtly stops you, as if to make it clear that he considers the matter closed. The intention behind those words, that he cannot imagine, that he doesn't want, a woman who is not you as the mother of his child, should make you feel happy, and flattered, and it does, even though that is just the light of a single candle in the unending darkness of your pain.

A still bitter but peaceful silence falls on you, your hand still enclosed in Mihawk's; even now, despite the excruciating pain making you feel as if a beast were eating you from the inside, you feel comfort, and peace, in having him close.

"What will you do now?" he asks after a while, and you shrug.

"My closest relative until two years ago was a distant cousin I didn't particularly like; he died, but he has left a son, and my mother and I agreed the best thing to do would be to name him my heir. He is only six, so it is too early to know whether he is a good fit for the role, but I will ask his mother to let the boy come live with us, and we can prepare him to rule after my death. He is technically of my blood so the succession should not be contested... but honestly I don't care much at the moment. The good of this island and its people has been my first and foremost interest since I was a girl, but now... now I would wish for everything to disappear. That I could disappear."

He has never seen that part of you, dejected and fragile and hopeless like a baby in the snow, and normally you would be embarrassed to have someone you respect and whose opinion you value witness those moments, but you know Mihawk has a heart, even though few people can say they have seen it, and you trust he will not judge you.

He doesn't.

"The people who hurt you." he mentions after a while "Are they alive?"

"The man who kidnapped me is dead, as well as a few of his henchmen I had to kill when they tried to stop me from escaping. Why?" you ask, confused, but a moment later you look at him, and a tiny smile blossoms on your lips "You want to go avenge me?"

"It is what you deserve."

"You don't even know why they did it. For all you know they could have had a good reason to try and hurt me."

"I'm sure they didn't."

"It was partially my fault actually. Every mercenary knows they should guard against friends and families of their victims, and I am usually careful, but that day I had lowered my guard." you admit, still ashamed of that rookie mistake "I was returning to the Marine HQ with the head of my latest quarry, and I fell in the trap this man had set for me; I had killed his brother years ago and he wanted revenge. I thought he would have killed me, but instead he wanted to prolong my suffering. He kept me in a cell so low I couldn't even stand, he starved me, beat me, left me outside and it was so cold I thought pneumonia would kill me... he took my derringer, my favourite gun, from me and smashed it under a rock, and I swear, that was the..."

And then he kisses you. To stop you from blabbering, perhaps, or because hearing what you have gone through has made him lose control with both rage and relief; you'll never know, and in the end you don't care. He has bent over you, covering the short distance between your chairs, his hand delicately cupping your face and his lips... his cool, soft lips, both gentle and hungry, are pressed against yours, and that is enough to light the fuse, to make your heart skip several beats and moan with pleasure, the memories of your night together instantly filling your mind.

You part your lips, suddenly so hungry for him you don't even care someone could enter and see you, but before you can deepen the kiss Mihawk breaks it, gently but firmly moving away and forcing you to let the hand you had placed on the back of his head fall.

"I am sorry." he says, with the least apologetic tone the world has ever heard "I shouldn't have."

"Yes, you should have. Do you really think you need to apologise?"

"You are very weak, and hurt. The last thing you need is to exert yourself."

"Is that your medical opinion?" you promptly retort; you still feel dead inside, like you have since you learnt you are destined to remain childless, but you want him so much you can barely breathe, and that makes you bold "I will not die if you kiss me, Mihawk; nor if we sleep together once more, which I would really like."

"(Name)..." he says with a sigh, and for a moment you almost hate him; he looks, and sounds, like a patient adult dealing with an unruly child, which is frustrating and more than a little offensive.

"You told me a moment ago you would be willing to try again. I know I do not look my best right now..."

"Do you really think I care about that?" Mihawk retorts; he hasn't raised his voice, but anger is seeping in his tone, which you approve. Anything, even rage, is better than concern; anything is better than him treating you as if you were broken, even though you are "I never have. Not with you. I have never stopped wanting you since we last parted, and I still do, fully and desperately."

If there is a thing you can always count on with Mihawk, it is him being sincere. "Then won't you stay with me?" you ask, holding out your hand towards him; you have always found it degrading for a woman, for any person actually, to beg for that sort of companionship, but this is what you are doing, you are begging him to take you in his arms and make you forget, at least for a little while, and you feel no shame or embarrassment, because you know that he, a proud and severe man, will not judge you "I need you, Mihawk. Please, don't leave me."

Your crutch, that the doctor (reluctantly) gave you permission to use to move around instead than using a wheelchair, is leaning against the wall next to your deck-chair, but before you can reach for it Mihawk's arms slip behind your back and under your bent knees, and a moment later he's crossing the terrace door and then the parlour, you firmly but gently held in his arms.

"Mihawk, put me down! I can walk..."

"You clearly can't." he reasonably points out, a trace of amusement in his voice "And don't worry, you're light."

You don't remember ever being held like this since you were a very young child, and you immediately decide you like it, both because you can feel his heart beating, much faster than normal, against yours, and because the proximity allows you to kiss him, which you avidly do, your arms circling his neck. You feel nothing but desire and joy and relief as you cling to Mihawk, pouring your very soul in each kiss, not stopping even as you push your bedroom's door open to let him carry you inside.

You need him. Because you are hurt and weak and scared and he is the only one you feel able to receive comfort from, but there is more to it; he is part of you, in a way you would be unable to explain but that you cannot ignore. In the solitude of your heart, you know it to be true, and it scares you, but you are not sorry for it.

Mihawk delicately lays you down on your bed, next to the little table cluttered with medicines and bandages, mindful of your broken leg. He takes his plumed hat off, his eyes trained on you as he leaves it on a nearby chair, and then places Yoru against the nearby wall. "I thought I would never see you again." he murmurs; he doesn't elaborate, keeping silent on the thoughts and emotions that belief elicited in him. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to, but that is all right, because you can perceive what he feels and thinks all the same; looking in his eyes is enough. "I... I missed you very much."

He doesn't know how much of a treasure those words are to you; which means, you immediately decide, you'll have to show him.

"And I you."

You quickly untie the knots of your dress, but then you stop, enraptured as you observe Mihawk undressing. He is not exactly putting on a show for you, but judging from the smirk adorning his face, he is more than aware of the effect he has on you. His long coat is the first to go, then his dagger necklace, his boots, his pants and what he wears underneath. Soon he is naked as the day he was born, and he joins you on the bed, slowly advancing like a predator moving towards his next meal. "Are you ready for me, woman?" he whispers, and you smile, confident you can play his game and even beat him at it.

"Maybe you're the one who is not ready for me."

Still, your self-confidence lasts only a few seconds, until you have awkwardly slipped the lower half of your dress from under your ass and taken it off, leaving him free to observe your abused, weakened body. You wait, anxious like a young soldier being inspected by a superior officer, afraid of what you could see in his eyes.

"Don't pity me." you warn him softly as you welcome him in your embrace "I have been lucky."

Mihawk sighs, as if understanding your motives but reticent to accept them; he gently lowers you on the bed, propping himself with his elbow next to your face. "I wish I could make them all pay." he whispers, his free hand gently caressing the bruises, wounds and scars scattered on your skin, the tenderness of his touch enough to bring tears to your eyes. "More than anything else... I wish I was there to help you. To protect you. I know you can take care of yourself..."

"I clearly can't."

"You know what I mean. You saved yourself in the end, did you not? (name), I wish I could make it all go away."

He can't, not really, and you both know it; still, you can smile, as you take his face in your hands, and feel his desire pressed against your tight. "Kiss me." you answer "And hold me tight. That will be enough."

He doesn't answer, but Mihawk has always been the sort of man who lets his action speaks for him, and thank the Gods, actions is exactly what you need now. You sigh, finally relieved, as he kisses you again, your mouths chasing each other as your hands explore the heavy, warm body above yours, your single night together, by now a year ago, enough to make you remember what he liked and what gave him pleasure. Mihawk pants as he feels your fingers caress his smooth chest, lingering for a moment to tease his nipples, and then descend towards the firm roundness of his ass; you grasp at it, greedily kneeding his flesh, and his hips quake. "(name)..." he murmurs, his tone reverent and almost worshipful; you are in awe, moved and grateful you see in his eyes the same emotions that fill your heart "(name), how... how I have missed you..."

"Tell me what you want, Mihawk." you invite him; it is his comfort you crave, the passion and pleasure of your lovemaking to forget at least for a while you will never have a family of your own, but that doesn't mean you don't want him to find joy in it "I want to make you feel good."

Again, he needs no words to express his intentions. He grins before moving to lie on one side next to you, your legs interwined; you are still kissing passionately as his hand moves yours to his hard cock, that you happily caress and tease while Mihawk is greedily sucking on your neck.

"You'll leave a bruise." you laugh; you can't wait to feel him inside you, and at the same time this is enough, the intimacy of feeling him close, not to protect you or to assure you you are still valuable and whole after what was done to you, but simply to know he cares "And everyone will know what I, we, have been up to."

"Good." is Mihawk's curt reply, and a moment later he is nuzzling your cleavage, his tongue lapping at the soft flesh of your breasts. He makes sure you are looking at him before capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking and even gently biting until you have to press an hand to your mouth, that a moment later Mihawk decisively takes off. "Don't." he orders.

"But..."

"Don't hold back. Scream if you want. Make the whole fortress hear, let your people know what their pretty lady is doing. Let all the men on this island know they have no chance."

Of all the things you could have imagined, Mihawk being possessive, even jealous, of you, would have been the last of the list. But you like it, you immediately decide, you like it a lot, so much that you lift his gaze towards yours with an hand under his chin, while the other grasps at his cock with enough force to make him quiver, and you see pure, raw pleasure explore in his gaze.

"I don't want other men." you confess; it is way too early in your relationship (assuming that he actually wants one; you know you do, and the disappointment would break your heart) for promises and commitment, but you know you'll never regret uttering those words "I only want you. All of you. Take me, Mihawk; I'm yours, whatever you want you can do it to me."

The sound Mihawk makes after hearing your words is not a moan nor a grunt, rather a growl, and when your eyes meet once more you know that he couldn't stop even if he wanted. He doesn't need to, fortunately, and you smile as you lift your hips, careful not to put your weight on your broken leg, and let him take off your panties. The moment you are finally naked in front of him, ready and so eager, you see him lick his lips as he lifts your good leg to wrap it around his hips. He kisses you once more, intense and devout and hungry, and a moment later you feel him push against you, and your body opens like the petals of a flower to welcome him inside.

The moment you are finally one, so close and intimately linked, the relief filling your body is so intense you could weep for it; you can feel his heart beat against your chest, and it is lovely, it is so amazing, because it beats jointly with yours. Mihawk's forehead rests against yours, his hand still caressing your hair.

He is smiling. "Now you're mine." he whispers, in what is both a claim and a promise; and then he starts moving.

*****

It is a good thing that he arrived in the morning, you reflect as you lazily caress Mihawk's chest, since you are free to enjoy the intimacy and closeness between you until it lasts, without having to waste time sleeping. You are lying on your back, pleasantly surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, and it is as if the world outside your bedroom had disappeared; another gun, that you chose to replace your lost derringer even though it doesn't carry the same personal value, is hidden under your pillow. You seem to remember you had some important task to carry out today, the opening of a new school or a meeting with some council member or other, but you are not sure, and for the first time in your life you don't care.

"Does your mother know about me? About us?" Mihawk asks after a while; he is lying on your right side, so as not to bump into your broken leg, and he has yet to let you go, his strong arms firmly encircling your shoulders and waist. Despite the intensity of his desire, he has been gentle with you, as you needed in your state but more than you wanted him to; still, you feel pleasantly sore, your body tired but content and satisfied as Mihawk's fervor still warms your skin.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. "Why? Would it embarass you?" you ask back after kissing his chest.

"Not at all. She didn't seem upset when she saw me, but perhaps she disapproves her daughter associating with a pirate."

You assure him that fortunately your mother has never demanded to choose who you made friends (or more) with, especially since you have become an adult. "Also, she wouldn't have the right to judge." you add pensively as you slowly turn on one side to return his embrace "Since she also fell in love with a pirate."

That also escapes your lips without you realizing; Mihawk does.

"Your father?"

"Yes. He... well, he was part of Gold Roger's crew. He was the navigator."

Mihawk's raised eyebrows suggest you have done what perhaps no one else in the world has: taken him by surprise - twice. "You are not joking?"

"Of course not. I hadn't been born yet, of course, but from what my mother told me their ship passed by our island during one of their voyages, and the captain decided to stop for a while to rest and restock provisions." you explain; many people would be excited to hear a first-hand account of a meeting with the famed King of the Pirates, but you have always been much more interested in the man who, in true pirate fashion, stole your mother's heart. "She, who at the time was the heir just like me now, was the one who went to welcome them at the harbour; she met my father, and for ten weeks they were inseparable. On the day the crew was meant to depart, she told him she was pregnant; she knew the sea was his home, and that no matter how much they cared for each other, and how amazing a father he would have been, settling down on land with her would have made him miserable. So she let him go, and they started exchanging letters. When I was little, my mother would read his to me to make me fall asleep; I never met him, but I kept his wanted poster framed in my room. Then he returned, suddenly one day."

Mihawk's fingers begin to move along your leg, tantalizing close to your crotch. "Was it after Roger had died?"

"It was. Apparently, Roger left his crew voluntarily, he wasn't captured as the Marines said; he had relinquished command to his first officer, but a few members of the crew decided to leave it. My father was among them. He didn't expect my mother and me to welcome him with open arms after seventeen years spent living as he pleased, he told us, but he had never stopped thinking and caring about us, and hoped we would give him a chance to prove it. My mother, who by then had succeded her father as ruler of the island, let him stay, with my approval, and so we had a chance to finally bond."

You don't tell him of those years. Of how you gradually got used to your father's presence in your life, where until then he had been just a picture on the wall; of how he slowly, patiently built a relationship with you, learning to know your emotions, your thoughts, your dreams and fears, and how equally little by little you came to trust him, to respect and finally to love him. Of all the things you did together, the quiet, pleasant afternoons spent fishing at the docks, your legs dangling next to his and the sun on your backs, his awe and pride as he saw how talented you were with a gun in your hand (your maternal grandfather had been the first to teach you, like his own had done with him) and capable in your recently started activity as a mercenary, and how he liked dancing with you while your mother played the piano. You don't tell him how happy you felt when he and your mother told you they had decided to pursue a relationship once more, and how proud and excited he was when you told him you were expecting.

You don't. You can't, because it hurts so much, still today, enough to feel your heart bleed. What you are able to share, although with a huge effort, is that one day, nine years ago, a merchant ship reached your island, ostensibly to exchange or sell the goods in its hold. The truth was very different.

"The ship's original crew had been massacred by a band of pirates, who had then stolen vessel and cargo to carry out the captain's plan. My father had been sure no one would recognize him from his past as a pirate; after all our island was so tiny and virtually unknown, and Gold Roger had been so famous few had ever paid attention to his men, especially one who had no special abilities and powers like him. He was wrong; one of the island's rare tourists had recognized him from his old bounty poster, and weeks later he mentioned it to his friends in a tavern. The captain of the pirate crew happened to hear."

"Did he know your father?" Mihawk asks, still holding you tight; he seems genuinely interested in your story, which does please you, but part of you regrets even starting it, spoiling the pleasant moment you were living together... and that you don't know how long will last.

"No, he didn't. The captain wasn't interested in my father personally, he just wanted to find one of Roger's men... and force him to reveal the location of the One Piece." you explain "My father told the captain he didn't know; that Roger had hidden his treasure in a place only he knew, and had brought the secret to his grave. The captain didn't listen; by then, his men had surrounded the fortress and announced we would both be killed had my mother, who had by chance been at the other side of the island when our home had been besieged, ordered the guards to force an entry. He told us he would kill both of us if my father didn't him what he wanted to know... and in the end he did. The pirate shot me, but my father attempted to shield me with his body; he took a bullet in the head for me, and he died, and then a few guards who had disobeyed orders broke into the room, and I got hit in the cross-fire. I survived, but I miscarried; and even though I had no idea, because I kept having my period as usual after that, it was then that... something must have broken inside me, preventing me from getting pregnant ever again. That day I thought I had lost almost all of my family, but I had no idea of how right I had been."

Your tale has ended; you spoke for a few minutes at most, but you feel exhausted, even more than after you had escaped from your captivity and dragged yourself back home. As you expected, discussing the loss of your father and your baby, and the fact that you are destined to never be a mother, has been an agony you would not wish on your worst enemy; last night you have cried yourself to sleep, and you thought the overwhelming, excruciating pain you felt was too much for a person to bear, and you would die from it. Now that you're able to rationally reflect on it, you know you're not going to be so fortunate: you're gonna live, potentially for decades to come, and this pain will never leave you completely.

A sigh escapes your lips. "I am sorry; this is not the sort of topic one should discuss when with... someone special." you quietly admit, and Mihawk grunts in disagreement.

"I think you and me are beyond this sort of things." he points out before kissing you once more, and despite everything, despite how dead inside you feel, the sensation of his tongue against yours is enough to make you tremble. "You didn't deserve it, (name)." Mihawk quietly adds; he can't make it all go away, no matter how dearly you both want it, but those few, apparently impersonal words matter more to you than any I am so sorry or display of sympathy "Nobody does, but you least of all."

"I agree."

You enjoy the quiet and intimacy between you for a few more minutes, sharing lazy kisses and touches that you know you have already developed an addiction for, and that you will never stop craving.

But you have to. At least for a while, because the strength you need to go on you have to find it inside you, and you can't do it if you're tempted to hold onto him.

"How long can you stay?" you murmur a moment after your hand has slipped downward to caress Mihawk's cock, tearing a satisfied moan from his mouth.

Mihawk shrugs. "I have -ah...!- no pressing duties to attend to. I can stay as long as I want." he explains; a moment, and then: "As you want."

"Oh, you're leaving me the choice?"

"This is your home, and your island. I don't want to be the sort of guest who overstays his welcome."

"You never could and you know it." you point out, and you shiver, feeling his fingers gently explore the expanse of your chest and belly; then, thinking that even the worst criminals are granted a twenty-four hours reprieve to put their affairs in order before the sentence is carried out, you propose: "What if I asked to stay until tomorrow at this hour?"

"That would be fine. Why?"

"Because I feel that if you stay longer, I won't be able to let you leave."

Mihawk reflects on your words; he doesn't seem surprised, nor particularly happy, about your proposal. "Then." he begins as he turns to cover your body with his once more; there is sadness in his yellow eyes, but even more, there is trust and warmth, and perhaps even love, even though that could be wishful thinking on your part "I say we relish the time we can spend together while it lasts. What do you say?"

You obviously agree; you take him in your arms and hold him tight, leaving everything else behind - for a little while at least.

*****

This fic is dedicated to @alphaash99 and @skynikan. Thank you for your support, hope you like this!!

[loveforsatoru]

Our Blue Spring- Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader (Chapter 3: Cameras/Memories)

"Gojo-sensei!" The loud voice coming from down the hall could only belong to Yuji which immediately wakes Satoru up. He hadn't even noticed he fell asleep in the chair of his office. But he did wake up with the familiar feeling of a heavy chest, throbbing headache and wet stains on his cheeks from his tears. He had another dream about you, and a nightmare of the day you left, reminding him that he failed to hold onto the thing that mattered most. He may not get lots of sleep, but when he does, the images of you always play in his head, giving him hope, only to wake up alone once again.

It had been 7 years since that night. He's a teacher now, so he tries not to show his sadness whenever he's around his students. It's hard when all he wants to do is weep and cry every time he thinks about you, but he has to hide it. The last thing he needs is his students wondering why their usually "happy" teacher is all of a sudden upset.

He quickly pulls his blindfold over his eyes as Megumi and Yuji walk into the room. Yuji was holding something that looked like a camera while Megumi silently scolded him, attempting to get him to not bring up the touchy subject.

Megumi knew what it was, Satoru definitely knew what it was and he felt a chill go down his spine the moment his eyes landed on the small black device. He swallowed a lump and got up off the chair, approaching the two young sorcerers.

"What's up?" He asks, his tone cheery, contrary to the thousands of thoughts and emotions running through his head.

"Nobara and I were looking through a couple boxes scattered around the school. We found a camera with your name on it and wanted to know what it was for!" The boy spoke to his teacher with excitement coursing through his veins. He saw it as a way to finally get to know more about the man who everyone calls "The Strongest."

But Satoru saw it as a deep dive into his past, something he didn't share with anyone. The only ones who know a bit of it are Megumi, Shoko, and Suguru. Even so, he doesn't like talking about it.

Megumi shot him an apologetic look, feeling sorry for not being able to keep Yuji in check. Satoru dismissed it with a wave and small smile which threatened to fall into a frown solely at the sight of the camera.

"That? It's just an old thing I forgot I had lying around." A lie.

"It doesn't matter much." Another lie.

That camera meant everything to him. It contained almost every moment you and Satoru spent together. He loved recording the times you spent together and looking back at it in your shared bed with you tucked in comfortably at his side, giggling at the videos he would take. Never did he think he'd have to look back on those without you.

Every night after the break up he'd rewatch every video taken, swipe through every photo he couldn't bring himself to delete. He did this for about 4 years. It gave him a sense of comfort, but he'd only end up spending the entire night crying. He missed the way you'd look at him. He missed walking into the kitchen and listening to you quietly sing as you cooked breakfast. He missed immediately taking out the camera to record whenever you tried on new outfits or got your nails done and showed them off to him. He missed snapping candid photos of you when you weren't looking, setting them as his lock screen and blushing whenever he opened his phone. He was unconditionally in love with you and that would never change.

The reason why the camera has been at the school, hidden in piles of boxes instead of the nightstand on his side of the bed like it used to? It simply pained him too much to look at. He tried to move on, he really did, but he couldn't. He figured that "getting rid" of the camera would help with that, but it didn't. He just never went to go dig it out because it saved him the littlest bit of heartache.

"Does that mean I can keep it then? I've been needing a new one-" Yuji continued, but he was quickly cut off by Satoru.

"No!" That came it louder than Satoru wanted it to, startling both Yuji and Megumi. That camera was a part of his life, one that he never wanted to let go.

Yuji's smile dropped, and his shoulders slumped, feeling bad for upsetting his teacher even if he didn't mean to. Nobody could blame him. Satoru never opened up. Nobody knew what he was thinking about.

"I'm sorry, Yuji. It's just, that camera means a lot to me. I didn't expect anyone to find it." Satoru exhaled, feeling his gut churn.

There was a couple seconds of silence. Yuji nodded as Megumi whispered something in his ear. Yuji hands the camera back to Satoru muttering a "I'm sorry" before exiting the room. Megumi turns back to look at Satoru with a pained look on his face before following behind Yuji.

Satoru stands there, looking down at the small black device in his shaky hands. He takes off his blindfold and tosses it aside before walking over to his desk and sitting down, his leg bouncing anxiously. He stares at the camera for a few more seconds, his mind and his heart at battle. Should he be doing this? Won't it just hurt him even more? It's been 3 years since he last watched the contents it holds.

But to see you was worth all the pain he'd have to endure.

He powered on the camera, waiting impatiently for the screen to load. A little red light began to flicker, indicating that it was about to die. There was only about 5 minutes of battery life left.

Fuck. He didn't have a charger with him. He'd have to do the best he can with the little amount of time he has.

He watched as the camera suddenly turned on, his eyes lighting up at the sight. The screen was a little grainy due to the camera being somewhat old, but your smile still shined just as bright. Every swipe of his finger against the screen held memories that he's never forgotten and remember as if they were yesterday. He swipes through the hundreds of videos splayed throughout the camera. His touch against the buttons, and fingertips against the display were so incredibly gentle, holding it as if it were worth all the money in the world, but to him it was worth even more.

There was a specific one that caught his eye. It dated back to 6 years ago, your one year anniversary. He blinked a couple times, hesitating before hovering his thumb above the video and finally pressing play.

3/3/07-Now playing:

The video had started off simple. Yours and Satoru's everyday morning routine. You woke up earlier than him and decided to make breakfast, but today was special so you made his favorite. Chocolate chip pancakes.

It was ironic, how you'd always wake up first while Satoru slept in for a couple extra hours, burnt out from missions because nowadays, he's lucky enough to get 3 hours of sleep a night. He can't sleep anymore, not without you next to him.

You were softly humming your favorite song as you started with the pancake batter. Your hair was tied into a ponytail as you paced around the kitchen wearing Satoru's shirt which was incredibly large on you.

You were so caught up in cooking that you hadn't realized Satoru had woken up, leaning against the wall with the camera in his hand, recording your movements which he found to be alluring.

"Good morning, baby!" He beamed, walking towards you and holding the camera close to your face.

You nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, pulling you out of your trance.

"Satoru! You scared me! And get the camera out of my face! I don't have any makeup on!" You scolded him, but he could tell you weren't being serious by the way you giggled and flashed a toothy smile at him before focusing your attention back on breakfast.

"Aww, but you always look beautiful no matter what." He cooed, pampering your face with kisses as he zoomed in on what you were making.

His sweet words caused you to blush and turn your face away. He chuckled at the sight before propping the camera on the table and helping you with breakfast. You always appreciated the little things he did for you. It went on to show how much he loved you. And of course, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Whether that included placing his hands on your waist to pass by, kissing you while you talked because he can't resist himself or wrapping his arms around you as you both waited for the butter to finish melting in the microwave.

It's safe to say things did not go as planned. Your kitchen was a mess. There was flour on the both of you and the floors with pancake batter smeared across the counters.

But you and Satoru were laughing, nearly falling onto each other like the lovesick idiots you were.

"Wait, wait, sweetheart, you have batter on your nose!" He spoke in between breathless laughs.

Before you could respond, he pulled you in by your wrists, and leaned down to lick the batter off your nose, making a face of contempt at the sweet flavor while trying to mask his laughter at your beet red face.

"Ew, Toru! That's nasty!"

"Oh cmon, you know you love everything I do!" He teased, picking up the camera and waving it in front of you to get a good angle of your face. The flour that coated your clothes, the flush on your cheeks, the way your bottom lip pouted out before curling into a smile as you let out the sweetest laughter. He could listen to you all day.

And he was right, you loved everything he did because it filled you up with such warmth and gave you a sense of security that you never had before.

“Hey, Toru.” You began, laughter dying down as you stared at him with admiration.

“Hm?” He responded, his eyes raking through you. Your beauty was incomparable and incomprehensible. How did he get so lucky?

“I love y-”

3/3/07-End

The flashing stopped and the screen went black. The camera died. He stared in disbelief, his heart shattering once more. Does the universe hate him this much? What wrong did he possibly do that he wasn’t allowed to hear his sweet girl say she loved him one last time? What could he have possibly done to get you taken away from him? He remembers this day and every interaction you shared on the back of his hand, but rummaging through his memory was nothing like hearing you say the words.

His head hangs low as he begins to cry into the palms of his hands. His throat sore, and eyes stinging as sobs fill the empty office space, emphasizing how lonely he is without you in his life despite being surrounded by hundreds of people. You're his everything. Those other people don't matter if he can't be with you by your side. You’re all he wants, all he needs. He’s been so miserable the past 7 years. It’s impossible to live without you. He can’t cry as much as he wants to, not here. He doesn’t want anyone to hear him, but his tears won’t stop flowing. Every passing second without you hurts him more and more. He doesn’t know how he made it this far.

His cries were so loud that he didn’t notice the camera slip off his desk and hit the floor, shattering instantly. The last of you, gone.

[fandomunite2107]

Help Wanted (Pt. 3)

Summary: Finding your place at Carmy’s resturant after you are offered a job (again).

Carmy left your apartment after offering you a job. He needed to get back to the restaurant and you needed to get the rest of your boxes unpacked before you started your new job tomorrow. Before he left, you exchanged numbers and he took your uniform with him saying that he would drop it off at the restaurant that you got it from, but based on his expression you’re not actually sure it’s going to end up there.

As the afternoon turns into evening, you finally have all of the boxes unpacked and everything in its place. Looking around your apartment you feel a sense of accomplishment in everything that you have done within the last couple of days. Your apartment is cleaned, furnished, and all of the boxes are gone through. You also now have a job that will give you some income that you desperately need. Life is looking good at the moment.

Settling on your couch with your dinner, you turn on the tv and find a show to watch. Hearing your notification sound on your phone, you move a pillow or two to see who is texting you. Entering in your passcode, you see a message from Carmy.

*Just checking to make sure that you’re good to start tomorrow.* - Carmy

It takes you a good 5 minutes to write back a reply, hoping he doesn’t see the three dots repeatedly appear and disappear, as you keep deleting your response. You finally settle on a text and send it. You then proceed to check your phone for the next hour to see if there is a response, which there isn’t one.

Needing to be at the restaurant fairly early, you decide to try to get some decent sleep. Washing your dishes from dinner and turning off the tv and lights around your apartment, you start to get ready for bed. Setting your alarm for the morning and picking out an outfit that seems like it would work for a day of sorting papers, you plug your phone in by your bed and get in bed. It doesn’t take too long before you’re fast asleep, only waking up to the sound of your alarm hours later.

Feeling optimistic about the day, you get up and start to get ready. With breakfast eaten and you showered, you finish getting ready. As you grab your bag and cell phone and start to head towards the door you hear a roll of thunder. Looking out the window, you see that the sky is grey, but it doesn’t seem to be raining yet as the sidewalks still seem dry. Checking your weather app on the phone, it looks like there’s a very low chance of rain. Realizing that you don’t have an umbrella, you cross your fingers that the weather will hold out as you make your way to work.

You barely make it to the restaurant in time before a monsoon hits, buckets of water begin to fall down. You hope this nasty weather doesn’t last all day or else you may have to ask someone for a ride home. As you walk into the kitchen area of the restaurant, you see Sugar talking to Sydney.

“Hey you! Glad you’re back.” Sugar smiles when she notices you walking in with your bag. “I have a few things that I need to get done today, but I wanted to be here when you got here to help you get started.”

“Glad to be back.” You say, turning to Sydney. “Carmy not in yet? I figured he’s the type that beats everyone here.”

“Normally, but today he had to drop off a permit at city hall. Shouldn’t be too long.” Sydney says to you as she does her prep for the day.

“Let’s get started. I figured you could try to make sense of all of these piles in Carmy’s office and make an organizational system.” Sugar says as she walks towards the office.

As you follow her into the office and place your bag on the desk, you look around at the piles of papers around the room. Even though you love to organize you know that this is going to be a long process. Turning to Sugar you say, “Hey. I got this, really. You can go do your errands.”

“Are you sure?” She looks hopefully and really you’re kind of looking forward to doing this job on your own.

“Yes. Go. Enjoy your day.”

Picking up her bag and getting her phone and keys out, she rushes out of the restaurant with a quick goodbye to everyone. Skimming the piles of paper around the room, you make piles ranging in a variety of importance on the floor. After a while, you stand up and survey the work that you have done so far, feeling satisfied with what you have accomplished you want to stretch your legs. Walking out of the kitchen and into the front of the restaurant, you see Richie struggling with the crowd that has gathered for the lunch rush.

Richie sees you walk in, “Hey kid. Could use some help. Start bagging up the to go orders will ya?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Walking to the area with the sandwiches waiting to be bagged, you begin sorting through the orders. As you bag the orders and pass them out, you and Richie form a rhythm. You are one order away from finishing up with the lunch crowd, after bagging up the order you call for it to be picked up. A man comes up to the corner to grab the bag, smiling at you as he does. Once he picks up the bag and looks inside he looks up at you and says, “You forgot something.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. What’s missing?” Thinking back and trying to remember what his order was on his ticket.

“My number. You forgot to ask for my number.” The man leans on the counter, smiling as he closes up his bag.

“Smooth man.” You hear Richie say as he gives a nod to the customer.

Carmy picks this time to walk in from the kitchen. “What’s going on here? Why is y/n out front?”

“I was helping Richie out with the lunch crowd.” You say as you turn towards him.

“Cousin chill out. Just needed some help out here for a bit. It’s all good.” Richie states.

“I should get back to the paperwork.” You say, not wanting to cause an issue on your first day.

“Wait. You forgot my number.” Realizing the man was waiting on your response you turn to response to him, but Carmy beats you to it.

“She doesn’t need it. Enjoy your food.” Carmy tells the man as he leads you back into the kitchen.

“That was rude. He wasn’t hurting anything.” You say.

Carmy runs his hand down his face as Sydney approaches with a spoon of sauce. “Chef try this.”

Feeling as though the conversation is done, you head back into the office to get back to work. Hearing the sounds of the kitchen makes for oddly soothing background noise. You are able to go through another portion of the papers.

“Y/N!” A bit confused as to why Richie is yelling your name into the kitchen, you stand up and poke your head out of the office.

“Richie, what’s up?” You say, turning a small shade of red as everyone looks up from their station.

Richie smirks as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. “You, sweetheart, just got that customer’s number.”

“Ooooo. Was he cute?” Tina says as she cuts vegetables at her station.

“Richie. What the fuck are you doing?” Carmy says looking not too pleased about the situation.

“What?! Just passing along the information to our y/n here. He seemed like a good guy, he tipped well.” Richie says as he walks to you and hands you the paper.

Taking the paper and putting it in your back pocket, you feel as if you are being watched. Looking up you see Carmy giving you an expression that you can’t quite figure out. Figuring it’s best if you get back to work you head back into the office, trying to decipher what that look was and coming to the conclusion that it’s useless to try to understand.

———————

Taglist: @iletmytittiestitty-russ @formulas-bitch @lennaboo @soorwellystan @mrs-reeves-17 @eddiesguitarskills @anelissegets @onlyreadz

[daemour]

Promise - Hongjoong

Part of Anthology

Every two weeks, I will post a drabble (and sometimes longer) alongside a prompt that went with it. The prompts may be songs, scenarios, or more.

M: Hongjoong

Wc: 1874

Warnings: Cursing, arguments

Genre: angst, some fluff, hurt/minimal comfort, e for everyone, established relationship

Summary: An argument with your boyfriend turns into something worse, and you're not sure how to come back from it

-

Hongjoong works hard, it’s not hard to see. He spends all his time in the studio whenever there’s a comeback, a tour, or an event. It’s commendable, and you love him for it, but it also wears down on your relationship. It’s the fifth time he’s come home late this week, and the other two days he just didn’t show up, sleeping on the work couch. You tried to bring up your worries as peacefully as possible, honest you did. But sleep-deprived and stressed-out Hongjoongs are not known for their patience.

“Hongjoong, I’m just trying to make sure you take care of yourself.” You’re done with this argument, but it appears your boyfriend is not.

“I don’t need you to do that, (Y/N),” Hongjoong bites back. “I’m a grown adult and I can make my own decisions.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “I didn’t imply you were anything else, but why don’t you try acting like a grown adult then?” You’re definitely not helping the argument end, but at this point, you’re quite annoyed at him. “You can’t not take care of yourself and then get mad at me for worrying. I’m not your parent, so stop making me baby you.”

“Then fucking leave,” Hongjoong’s voice comes out cold and you recoil. The two of you have had your fair share of fights, as all couples do, but never before had Hongjoong used that tone on you. No matter how angry he was at you, he wouldn’t ever speak to you like a pest in his life, nor has he ever cursed at you in a serious manner.

“Fine. Fuck you too, then,” you hiss, tears filling your eyes. Without another word, you spin on your heel and leave him standing in the middle of the living room by himself.

As you head down the street with nothing but your phone, you start to regret your decision. It would’ve been more safe and just as impactful if you locked yourself in the bedroom for a few hours. It’s windy and the fall air has a chill to it, and as if to prove your point, you feel drops of rain on the top of your head. As soon as you duck under the roof of a nearby convenience store, it starts to pour and you roll your eyes angrily, the bad weather not helping your anger at all.

After letting the anger stew in your gut for a minute, you pull out your phone with a sigh. You debate calling Hongjoong, but you’re still sore from the fight and would much rather eat grated cardboard than be stuck in a car with him. Your friends are not an option because they’d immediately notice your anger and you can’t tell them about your relationship with Hongjoong, nor do they know you’re even in a relationship in general. So you call the next best option.

“(Y/N)?” What’s up?” Understandably, Wooyoung's voice is full of confusion. You have all of the Ateez members’ numbers in case of emergency, but you’ve never needed to call them aside from Seonghwa once. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry to call you out of the blue, but I got caught in the rain after an argument with Hongjoong and I don’t really want to be in a car with him right now.”

Wooyoung sighs. “I told Seonghwa it was a bad idea to let Hongjoong go home all pissed,” he mutters to himself or another member, you don’t know. “I’ll be right there, okay? Send me your location.”

“Yeah. Thank you,” you sniff and end the call, not wanting to seem even more pitiful than you already feel. One text from Hongjoong glares at your face. ‘This is Yunho. Come back when the storm ends.’ With a scoff, you delete the notification and huffily enter the convenience store.

One iced tea later, Wooyoung walks in, San tagging behind him to no one's surprise. “(Y/N),” San greets you with a smile and it hits you that Hongjoong hadn’t smiled once at you the entire time he was home that day. “Are you doing all right?”

At the kindness you miss seeing from Hongjoong, you break down. San and Wooyoung immediately surround you, wrapping you in their arms and ushering you to the car where you can cry in peace. Once you’ve calmed down enough, you explain everything with the occasional hiccup and sniffle. “I shouldn’t have pushed him, but he’s never said that to me before,” you end with a groan and let your head fall on the back of the passenger seat.

“No, yeah, that was out of line for him to say,” Wooyoung says and San makes a noise of agreement. “I get being tired, we all are and he has worked extra hard, but he shouldn’t take it out on you. He knew he was frustrated, and he should’ve taken some space or even asked you for some space more politely.”

“It wasn’t your fault, (Y/N). You weren’t looking to argue, it only escalated because he snapped,” San reassures you.

You sigh, nodding miserably when your phone dings. This time, Yunho texts you from his own phone. ‘Come back soon…he’s worried and so he’s angrier’ and it’s followed by a couple of emojis. You frown. “Should I go back? Yunho is with him and says he’s angrier cus he’s worried.”

San and Wooyoung exchange a look before Wooyoung speaks up, turning the key in the ignition. “Tell you what, we’ll go with you and if Hongjoong acts out of pocket again, we’ll bring him back to the dorm and get a manager noona to stay the night with you.” And as much as you don’t want to inconvenience one of their staff, you also don’t want to be left alone in the apartment and you begrudgingly agree.

When you walk back in the door, you see Hongjoong pacing the floor with Yunho on the couch attempting to placate him. “Hey guys,” he waves and you smile back and mouth a ‘thank you’ just as Hongjoong registers Yunho’s words.

“Where were you?” Hongjoong whirls around and glares.

“I left, just like you told me to, Joong. Are you ready to to talk like adults now?”

“Don’t lecture me when you went gallivanting into the rain with your holier-than-thou attitude,” Hongjoong starts to argue again but San’s low, dangerous voice interrupts.

“Finish that thought and you’ll have more pressing things to worry about, hyung. You’re coming back to the dorm. Now.”

Hongjoong scoffs. “You can’t kick me out of my own apartment,” he glowers, crossing his arms.

You’ve had quite enough. “They can’t but I can. Get out, Hongjoong. You’ve relentlessly insulted me and I do not deserve the attitude you think I do. Go to the dorms and cool down and don’t come back until you’re ready to act your age. The lease is in my name, I can and will kick you out right now, Kim Hongjoong.”

You’re tired, and you exit the room without another word, slamming the bedroom door behind you. You hear murmurs in the hallway and the faint noise of footsteps fades. A knock sounds on your door and you recognise Yunho’s voice. “I’m sorry about him, (Y/N). He’s been testy for the past few weeks. I called our manager to come and I’ll leave once she gets here. Take care of yourself and I beg of you, please don’t hate him.”

His voice fades and you can’t bring yourself to say anything. Your thoughts swirl in your head, confusion, hurt, all of the above. And once you hear the quiet mumblings of Yunho and the manager silence, you let the tears spill out of your eyes and you fall asleep soon after.

When you awaken the sun is up and you can hear the manager talking with someone in quiet tones. You’re somewhat sure of who it is, but you’re not sure you want to deal with that. It appears you’re going to have to, however, as the door closes and you hear familiar footsteps walking down the hall. Grumpily, you cover yourself with the blanket and do your best to pretend to sleep.

“(Y/N)? Can we talk?” You don’t grace him with a response but he’s known you for too long to fall for your acting. “I know you’re awake.”

“There’s not much to talk about,” you mumble under your breath but he hears you anyway and the bed dips as he sits beside your body.

"There's a lot to talk about, (Y/N)," Hongjoong's voice is quiet. "Let me lead with this—I'm sorry."

You tighten your grip on the covers. "Are you sorry or are you just trying to suck up to me? This isn't something we can just gloss over."

Hongjoong laughs sullenly. "Yes, Seonghwa made sure I understood that clearly," he sighs and you can't help but smile to yourself at the thought of Seonghwa reprimanding his leader. "You know, Jongho threatened me?"

You manage a chuckle. "That I can believe."

A hand rests on where he guessed your head to be and you don't shake off the touch. "But aside from that, I really am sorry. I had no right to take my anger out on you or lash out, especially like that. You didn't deserve that." Hongjoong still speaks softly, solemnly. "I know I hurt you and I promise to do all I can to remedy that."

You pull the covers down a little to peek at him. "My anger waned a while ago, Joong. I'm more hurt than anything and I hope for your sake and mine that you never do it again."

Hongjoong nods and you can see the sincerity in his eyes. "I promise you, I'll hold you tight always."

-

Bonus:

"Hongjoong, I hope you know how immensely disappointed I am in you. " Seonghwa's glare and his crossed arms are what greet Hongjoong at the entrance into the dorm. Hongjoong groans but Seonghwa just shakes his head and the leader silences. "For someone chosen to be a leader, you do a shit job under stress."

"I know you're mad, but you will give me respect," Hongjoong hisses at the sound of Seonghwa cursing, but the oldest member tsks.

"Well, now you know exactly what you put poor (Y/N) through, and she handled it a hell of a lot better than you did." The rest of the members' heads peek around the corner to stare at the rare sight of Hongjoong getting scolded and the leader has half a mind to tell them off but Seonghwa's having none of that. "I want you to ruminate on the damage you caused to your relationship, and apologise first thing in the morning. (Y/N) loves you, Hongjoong, and you better work hard to prove you deserve it."

At Seonghwa's tone, Hongjoong finally slips out of the daze he's been in all day and his eyes widen. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Seonghwa nods. "You did. Fix it the best you can and I'm sure she will forgive you."

"I peomise I will," Hongjoong declares and Seonghwa smiles but his arms remain crossed.

"You tell her that. I don't need to hear it."

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hello i hope this isn't too specific, may i request in the self aware au, for a player that actually is a god? ( Examples: God of love and beauty, god of time and or night etc, etc)And for whatever reason they use their godly powers to protect them?(the twst characters) Separately for lilia, vil and jamil! Thank you so much!

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

My works are for entertainment and not meant seriously!!!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, religion, suicide, obsession, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, death, war, blood, murder, violence, unhealthy mindset

Jamil Viper/Vil Schoenheit/Lilia Vanrouge-Player who is a real God

God of wisdom

The Octavinelle trio and the fire rat had failed

We all remember Jamils Overblot happening, right?

Unlike the game however, they weren't able to beat him and despite the servant already seeing black spots in his vision the feeling of power and freedom was too wonderful just to give up on it

Deep down he also knew that this was his end, having heard the stories about other Overblots that also went terribly wrong

And then there was warmth in the cold desert night his heart had become, lulling him into a dreamless sleep and your voice telling him that it was ok, that he could let go, that you would protect him from his sorrows

Cue next morning and a crying Kalim later

There he was, alive

The one's that were present told him that he suddenly fell asleep during their battle

All they could say about the situation was that they surely had luck, after all it did end things in a positive, non-violent way

But Jamil knew what truly happened

You were a real God, not just an all-knowing scholar like they thought, the God of wisdom

If it weren't for your warning gaze he would have dropped to his knees, thanking you that you had saved his life

But apparently you didn't want them to know, so he held his mouth shut

This wasn't the end though

From then on out he started to become even more obsessed with you and whoops! Was that someone saying that you were just am otherworldly being and nothing more?

They jumped off the roof of the school on the next day, ending their life very early

Not knowing who you truly were was no excuse for denying you the worship you deserved. You, who knew about worlds beyond the stars and even much, much more

He had to know, he had caught a glimpse of it in your voice on that fateful day after all, telling him who you truly were

This had to mean that he was so important to you that you would tell him who you truly were, right? RIGHT??!

Jamil had learned how to serve and obey and who would he be if he didn't use that to show his loyalty to you. Even of it meant that there were blood sacrifices for which you never asked needed...

God of beauty and kindness

Vil was at his end

He felt like there was nothing to look forward to anymore

After going into Overblot and then even losing against Neige the dorm leader wanted to just delete his accounts on social media and burn his contracts with the film and modeling industry

I think it was your sixth sense as a God but you were there, in the room right when he was breaking down with him

And how could you not help him, he who was so lost and helpless

After all, you were not only the God of beauty but also the God of kindness

And that was the day on which the supposedly magic-less student made a miracle happen

Igniting the embers of determination of the Fairest Queen who was sitting slumped over in front of you you showed him who you truly were, showed him that he was worthy to witness the God of what he wanted to be sitting in front of him

Vil swore to never give up again

Ok he is happy, case closed. Want to drink something? How about- WHY IS THERE SOMEONE SUFFOCATING??!

Isn't that the model competing against Vil for a spot in that magazine?

In true evil queen... I MEAN FAIREST QUEEN fashion the man poisoned his rival

And then suddenly accidents happen all over the place to models and other figures in the beauty industry

Just yesterday a light fell onto an actor on a set, killing him in an instance

But there is no need to worry over Vil

He will make sure that he is extra careful!

And if you wouldn't mind, would you give him that bag with the screwdriver in it to him? Thank you!

Vil would be a fool if he were to ignore the blessing his God had given him, giving him the mission to become the most perfect one if them all

No need to wait for too long. He will make sure that he is worthy of you...

Just ignore the red makeup on his jacket. An assistant on set spilled it accidentally on his uniform

God of time

You and I, we both know that this will end in a tragedy and yet you still ask for him in this request

But ok, you are asking for it

Leonas Oveeblot, it happened so fast and unpredicted leading to him leaving for a short while to get help

And to what does he return? The other students lying knocked out on the ground and you standing there proud, not being afraid for a second

You stood there like the true God that you were

And it also ended so quickly, flicking the lion's forehead the student fell into himself like a house of cards

And then you turned around and oh... he was lost in time and space

Lilia is old. He has seen the rise and fall of kingdoms but there was nothing that could have prepare him for the eternity that he saw in your eyes

Suddenly he was nothing more than a child, suddenly realizing that all his joking about his age was truly nothing more than a joke to you

You were after all the beginning, the end and everything in between

The Headmage who had followed the general after the told him what happened seemed to be frozen in time, or rather was until you seemingly decided that it was time to move on in time itself

Of course everyone was confused why Leona was lying on the floor when he was the one beating others into submission just a minute ago

But Lilia knew, and Lilia knew that ou knew that he knew

This leads us to now, the time in which Lilia rests his head in your lap whispering with crazed whispers that all the bloodshed was worth it, that you were finally here

But for what happens next even you, a God, could do something against his next step

The Valley of Thorns is powerful if we are talking about magic

And they are more than looking forward to lay the world to your feet

It is like these peaceful times never existed, Lilia was once more a raging general who now even pulled his own son into the bloodbath he created

But even Lilia knows that you are just an excuse in his life. After all, worldly beings aren't meant to live so long as he already did, making him search for some reason in his life and if it is to end massive amount of life then be it that

And in all the sadness, in all the pain and blood there is a small, gentle part of him lost in time, cradled in your arms whilst it weeps tears of sadness and despair

[jaehyunsprincesspeach]

Hello! How are you doing? Hope you are doing just well and fine.

If your requests are open than I was wondering if you could do headcanons for Straykids where you are not dating but it's obvious you are inlove with each other? Like not friends but not dating type of trope (If it is considerd a trope), like really toeing with the line of friendship and dating. I guess it is pretty much how they would act around you when they have a crush and before the relationship and getting mistaken for a couple alot.

I apologize if it is too complicated and so feel free to delete this.

Have a great day!!

Omg I love this !!

Idk if it’s considered a trope but I absolutely adore this idea !!

Thank you so much for the request!!

All the love ~ lunar

Stray Kids With Their Crush

Bang Chan

In general, Chan is so unbelievably respectful

He would do anything you asked, big acts of service kind of guy

I don't think he would really show physical affection in public during the crush stage

Unless his crush initiates it, he won't be very physically affectionate

Is always nervous that he is acting in a way that could make his crush uncomfortable, so he will probably be very calm during this stage

But internally his heart is doing flips every time he sees them

Just wants to take care of his crush, not necessarily because he has a crush on them, but because he is just a caring person overall

Though he may be a little more attentive to his crush and their needs/wants

Makes a point to show that he supports his crush no matter what

If they're having a bad day, he will show up with their favorite foods or snacks, and maybe some flowers to cheer them up

Will put on a spontaneous movie night and wont let his crush lift a single finger

Anything they could possibly need, he's got it... and if he doesn't have it, he's already on his way to get it

Invites them to the studio while he is working, just so that he can see them more

Even has a chair in his studio reserved specifically for his crush

BOMBASTIC side eye to anyone who tries to sit there

His crush is always the first to hear their completed tracks, or what he is working on

Values their opinion on literally everything

Tries his best to hide his feelings for his crush but fails

Everyone notices how he is more attentive and gentle with his crush

When they call him out he'll say something like "Its noticable?! I thought I was discrete about it!"

Sorry, Channie is not very low key about his affection, especially with people he cares deeply about

Is completely oblivious to his crushes feelings though, whether they're subtle or not

Thinks they're just being nice to him (spoiler, they're literally in love with him... rightfully so)

Honestly, I think Chan would be so cute during the crush stage

100% boyfriend material from the start

Lee Know

This menace omg

He would tease you relentlessly

Sometimes, he makes it hard to tell whether he is joking or not

Honestly I think he does this as a sort of defense mechanism, not wanting to seem weak or vulnerable

But after some time he might soften up and open himself to his crush a little more

When he does this, he doesn't ease into it though

Could just text out of the blue one day like "had a bad day" and then starts ranting about it

Could seem like he sends mixed signals, in reality he is just nervous about opening his heart (brb crying)

Overall, he takes care of his crush in subtle ways

Subtly send reminder messages to eat, or drink water, or make sure they're getting enough sleep

Subtly drops off food at their door if they aren't feeling well

Subtly goes out of his way to bring them their coffee order in the morning when they are running late for whatever they have going on for the day

Does what he can to make his crush comfortable at all times

this is when people begin to connect the dots

Like when his crush is cold and he offers them his sweatshirt

Or when his crush is hungry and he shares his food with them, but refuses to share with anyone else

End of crush stage, right before dating, is not as subtle with his affection

Though he won't admit to any of it

"you know we all know you're crushing on them?" "I have no idea what youre talking about"

When he finally accepts his feelings, he gets shy (cutie omg)

The crush stage could be hard for him and his crush, but once they get through that stage, he becomes so soft (don't tell anyone though)

Changbin

This man does not care if people know that he has a crush, hes showering them with all of the affection he has

Shows up with flowers at random times, just because he wanted to

Always shows his crush that he wants to be with them

100% the guy who continues to try to win over his crush even after they're already together

He's a little more subtle with physical affection through this period, since he doesn't want to make them uncomfortable, yet at the same time, he just can't help but show some sort of physical affection

Takes his crush to the gym with him, whether they work out or not

That gives him more time with them (lets him show off his muscles) since he has such a busy schedule

Always makes time to see them, no matter how busy he is, but only if they are up for it

Doesnt pressure them to do anything

Like if he wants to hang out, but his crush is tired, he would rather them rest than do something that will drain them even more

Another acts of service kind of guy

Honestly takes amazing care of his crush

Lots of random little gifts, or food outings

Always makes sure his crush is eating and taking care of themselves

Invites them to the studio while he is working, especially if they text him saying they're bored

Gets Chan to agree to let them sit in their studio while they're producing

Also has a seat reserved for his crush in the studio

Writes songs for his crush, though he wont tell them its about them until they're together

goes back to it like "remember that song? yeah I wrote it for you"

"Dude, you're so obvious about your feelings for them." "Yeah, do you think they noticed?" lmao I love him

Such a sweetheart throughout this entire period and not subtle about it

Hyunjin

Honestly, I think this could go two ways with Hyunjin

Either he is super sweet with his crush (more than normal) or he’s avoiding them

If he’s sweet with his crush, he is similar to Changbin where he makes it known

The difference is that he doesn’t know that he’s making it known

In his head he’s being subtle

But it’s not very subtle to others when he shows his crush more skinship than anyone else

But to him he’s just always so happy when his crush is around

If he is avoiding his crush, it’s not because he doesn’t like them, but he unintentionally makes it seem like that

In reality, he’s just very nervous, and doesn’t know what to do around them

So his natural reaction would be to avoid them

Poor baby is just so nervous

If he is affectionate with his crush, he’s painting and drawing random things, and probably won’t notice it’s about his crush until he’s done

But his sketchbook is filled with drawings of them from memory, as he has memorized their features so that he will always remember them

Eternal love or whatever (screaming crying sliding down the wall)

Even if he avoids his crush, he’s still got his artwork portraying them

That’s when he knows for sure that his feelings for them are deeper

When he is called out, he starts panicking

“What?! No! Do you think they noticed?” Honestly goes through the five stages of grief within a five minute period

After that he gets really shy around his crush, whether he made it known to them or not

His crush would have to make the first move before he would really open up and tell them how he feels

Han

Han is literally so funny omg

This man would be in a constant state of being flustered

Even when his crush isn’t around, just the thought of them makes his whole face go red

I could see him making things confusing for his crush

Like is he always clumsy and tripping over his words? Is that a normal thing?

For his crush, yes it is normal, but for the others its a clear sign that he has a crush on them

Honestly throughout this entire period, he’s asking the other guys if he is making it noticeable that he has a crush on them

Which he is

But since his antics are the only thing that his crush sees, it could be confusing for them

Overall, he is big on acts of service for his crush (when he isn’t malfunctioning)

He loves to see them happy, so he is getting them anything they could possibly need or want

He’s also doing literally anything that he can to make them smile and laugh

His favorite sound in the world is his crushes laugh

Writes songs for them, though he wont be able to they’ll them he wrote it for them until he’s comfortable in their relationship

Gets butterflies when they agree to watch anime with him, whether they are into it or not

Tries out some of his crushes interests, whether he is interested or not

Simply wants to see them happy

Honestly, right before he confesses to them, is when he will open up more

Especially about insecurities and anxiety

This helps him determine if they are someone that he truly wants to be with and someone that can help him grow as a person and as a partner

Puts on a confident persona, even though he is freaking out internally

Honestly, depending on how his crush is, I think that this situation could bring him a lot of anxiety, if he is unclear on his crushes feelings

I think he knows that he doesnt hide his feelings well, but he just gets so excited and exhilarated when his crush is around, he really can’t help it

Felix

Sweet baby angel Felix, my love

He does not care if his crush knows about his feelings for them, honestly he would prefer it

He is already huge on ski ship, but when it comes to his crush, he stops showing that ski ship to anyone else that is not his crush

Constantly bakes for you, and always delivers it to his crush himself

Loves to see his crushes reactions when he buys them gifts

Even if its something as simple as a coffee, seeing them light up makes him so happy

Will honestly do anything to make them happy, and seeing them sad or upset breaks his heart

I feel like he would feed off of his crushes emotions

Like if they are sad, he is sad. Or if they are upset, he’s upset with them

If he sees them crying, it’s game over, the two of them are a crying mess together (kinda cute but whatevaaa)

He’s honestly such a softie with his crush

However, he’s not afraid to throw some hands if the situation calls for it, or if thats what his crush says will make them feel better

Big on acts of service and gift giving

Makes it known that he always wants to be there for them

Again, knows that he makes his feelings obvious, but he would rather have that clear communication than leave anyone questioning things

Gets nervous whenever the show him any sort of affection

He really is so good to his crush, even after they start dating. He just wants to be the best partner that he can be

Buys them things simply because it reminded him of them, or because he thought they would like it

Gets shy when the boys tease him for his crush

Honestly he’s just so boyfriend I love him so much

Seungmin

This man is already a different breed

His crush will not know about his feeling until he directly tells them

He wont act any different around his crush

He’s still gonna tease the hell out of them, though he never takes it too far

When it comes to his crush, literally nobody will know

It’s a complete shock even to the guys

Once he gets closer to telling them that he likes them, he might ease up a little bit on the teasing, but not enough for anything to be noticeable

Doesn’t really get shy around them, because he knows that nobody knows about his crush on them

Will do more things for them, but he usually has a sarcastic comment with it

“Minnie, can you bring me a coffee when we hang out?” “What am I, your sugar daddy?” Yet he still shows up with your favorite coffee regardless

Slowly starts to be more generous with his crush, but again, its not noticable

Not that he makes a conscious effort to keep things from them, more so that he just acts natural around whoever he is with

Regardless, he does do what he can to show that he supports them

If his crush is having a hard day, he’s there to support them

He really is their rock, even with how much teasing he passes, he’s always there to support them

Does things for his crush that are very subtle, but refuse to make anything known

Says that he’s just doing it to be nice, and that he would do it for anyone (whatever it is)

When he finally confesses, it’s honestly like dating your best friend

He doesn’t really change anything about how he acts, other than being more affectionate

Other than that, he’s still teasing the hell out of his crush

Menace with a soft heart for sure

I.N

Innie wont even realize he has a crush until someone tells him

Like he’s sitting with Chan one day, and Chan is like “why are you so different around y/n?”

Innie is like “I genuinely don’t know” and then starts talking more about it

Cue Chan “dude are you serious? You clearly like them”

Also cue innie shocked and confused face

Doesn’t realize that he acts different, it just sort of happens

His crush has an idea that he likes them, but they don’t want to make anything weird so he wont know that they know

He subconsciously looks through pictures that they have together

Or subconsciously only send them his OOTD

Always asks for their opinions on everything that he does

And if he is excited about something, they are always the first one to hear about it

Honestly they’re the first to know about literally everything

Styles their outfits when they ask for opinions, and really likes when they ask for his opinion on things

Trusts them with everything that he has

Opens up to them more about his thoughts and things that he is feeling

Especially when it comes to stress or when he feels like he could have done something better throughout the day

Always shows up to their place with some sort of food or drink

However, everything that he does for them is subconscious. He doesn’t realize any of it until someone tells him like “people only do that when they like someone”

And then it clicks in his head

With that, when he accepts it, he could either panic and retreat, or fully accept it and talk to them about it

Regardless, once he discovers why he acts they way he does around them, he’s gonna get shy, just because he doesn’t have a lot of experience in this realm

Still, he’s the sweetest menace to his crush

[vodika-vibes]

I seriously love your work and I’m so glad I caught your follower celebration in time!! May I please have jonquil and coriander with Captain Rex and F!Reader? Reader is a mechanic for the 501st? And Rex secretly loves her and carries her back to her quarters when she dozes off at her workstation in the hangar after long nights post-campaigns when she’s exhausted and is insanely curious about her tattoos that peek out from under her coveralls?

It's A Secret

Summary: You want Rex. Rex wants you. It takes a long night and a short conversation to make either of you do anything about it.

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 1619

Warnings: Smutty, though there's no actual detail

Prompts: Jonquil - you occupy my thoughts, Coriander - lust

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is okay! The actual smut didn't feel right for some reason, so I ended up deleting it. Sorry. 😔

You release an exhausted noise as you finish the last of the items on your list. As much as you enjoy your job, and as much as you appreciate the fact that you’re useful to the war effort, it’s still exhausting.

You end each day with aching muscles and an exhausted brain. 

And while you’re glad for it, it makes it easy to sleep, you’re more than ready for the war to be over. Partly because you haven’t had a proper spa day in what feels like forever, but mostly because you’re worried for the boys you serve with, and you want them to take a break.

They deserve a break.

You stretch your arms over your head with a groan. All you have to do is clean up your mess and then you’re free for the night. Free to shower and crash.

Ugh, imagine having time for fun.

“Still hard at work, I see.” 

You turn on your stool and beam at the man standing only a little bit away from you, “Captain! Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Rex absently rolls his shoulder as he walks over to you, and you can’t help but marvel at how handsome he is. Sure, he looks like all of his brothers, but there’s something…regal about him.

It’s insanely attractive.

“Any word from up high on how much longer we’re going to be here?” You ask as you hop from your stool and start cleaning up, “I’m not sure how much longer the equipment is going to tolerate the muck.” You say with a scrunch of your nose.

Rex laughs quietly as he claims your abandoned stool, “The equipment or you, mesh’la?”

“Both!” You spin and point at him with a wrench, “The equipment is absorbing my bad vibes. I’m so tired of the muck!”

Rex laughs a little louder, “Sadly, we’re going to be here for a couple months more.”

“I deserve hazard pay.” You announce as you turn and throw your wrench into its place, and then walk back to your bench and organize some things that stay on your table. 

“Mm, sure you do.” 

You turn away from him and sigh at the mess that is the shelving. You really don’t have time to deal with this during the day, but it needs to be done. So you take a steadying breath, and pull your hair up off your neck into a knot, and you start to work.

Though, you pause when you hear Rex make a strangled noise.

“Something wrong?”

“Is that a tattoo on your neck?” Rex asks, his voice sounding odd.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I have a bunch of them. Just, they’re normally hidden under my jumpsuit.” You flash a small grin at him, and then turn your back towards him.

“Huh. I didn’t know you had any.” Rex admits, and you turn back to look at him when you hear him get to his feet, “I should go make sure that Fives isn’t harassing Jesse too much. Don’t work too hard, Mesh’la.”

“Sure, sure.” You wave him off,  “I have to finish this, though. So I’ll be here for a while.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re able to focus.

Honestly, you’d think that the other mechanics would know how to clean up after themselves.

It’s late. Late enough that even he should be asleep, but Rex is filled with a nervous energy that he can’t seem to shake. 

Well. Not nervous. Not really.

His mind is locked on the flash of blue he caught a glimpse of on his mesh’la’s neck. He is insanely curious about what tattoos she has, and, honestly, the fact that she has tattoos at all only increases his attraction to her. 

And he already fists his cock to the thought of her lips wrapped around him on a nightly basis.

Well.

Not just her lips. 

In any event, he’s wound too tightly to actually get any sleep.

So here he is, wandering the ship, trying to get his mind off his mesh’la and her tattoos, and failing. 

His feet bring him to the hanger, and then to the corner of the hanger where the maintenance team works. Sure, she won’t still be there, but being in her space might help him clear his mind.

Rex stops when he sees his mesh’la dozing at her workbench. 

He should leave. He shouldn’t bother her. She works so hard-

He steps closer to her and brushes some loose hair off of her face. She shouldn’t be sleeping here, it’s not good for her back. He moves his hand to her shoulder, to shake her awake, when she mumbles something in her sleep and buries herself in her arms.

And Rex realizes that he can’t wake her up. 

He knows where her room is, he could carry her to her room, but he doesn’t know the door code. He has no reason to know the door code. The medbay is an option, there are plenty of beds…but Kix’s head will explode if he brings someone there because he doesn’t want to wake her up.

The only other option is his bed.

He stamps down on the images flashing through his mind without really giving them a second thought. She’s tired, overworked, and needs someplace to sleep. He can sleep on the floor or at his desk or something. 

Carefully he lifts her into his arms, and she whines before she rolls towards the warmth of his body.

Well…at least it’s late enough that no one is going to give him a hard time about this. Or her, for that matter.

Rex makes it back to his room in record time, and makes sure that the door is locked behind him, before he carefully settles his mesh’la on his bed. He removes her boots, and sets them next to the bed, and then he covers her with the blanket, and he steps away to sit at his desk.

He powers on his datapad and starts reading through some reports. It’s too bad that she never bothered to change out of her jumpsuit. He really is curious about her tattoos.

You stir when something wakes you up. 

You’re curled around a pillow, though it’s not your pillow. It doesn’t smell like your shampoo, and you slowly realize that you’re not in your room. You blink at the bare wall in utter bafflement, and then you sit up.

“...Rex?”

He looks up from his datapad, and a small smile crosses his face, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“...why am I in your room?” You ask, more confused than upset.

“You fell asleep at your workstation, and I didn’t want to leave you there. And it felt wrong waking you up.” Rex explains.

You glance at your chrono, 2 am “...have you been awake this whole time?”

“...I couldn’t sleep, so-”

You scramble out of the bed, “Rex! You need your sleep!”

“I wasn’t about to sleep in the same bed as you, mesh’la.” Rex points out.

“That’s very sweet, and very respectful, but Rex, I wouldn’t have cared.” You say as you walk over to him and pull him out of his chair, “You’re you.”

“...thank you?”

“I just meant. I trust you. I feel safe with you. I know you would never do anything.” You clarify. 

“Ah.” Rex pauses, “That makes sense.” He lightly pulls his arm out of your hands, and sets his hand on your shoulder, “I would have to lay pretty close to you for us both to fit, mesh’la, practically on top of you.”

You release a frustrated noise, and stand on your toes to kiss the corner of his lips.

He blinks at you, surprised, and then something almost predatory slides through his gaze, “Mesh’la, I want to see your tattoos.” His hand slides to the zipper high at your neck, “Can I see them?”

You frown at him, you just kissed him and he wants to see your tattoos? That’s not at all how you wanted him to react. “Yeah, if you like.”

He eases the zipper all the way down, and then he pushes the rough material off your shoulders. You move to catch the top of your jumpsuit before it falls too far, but Rex is faster than you.

He catches your wrists and allows the material to fall around your feet. Rex brings your hands to his lips and he presses feather light kisses against the pads of your fingers, and you stare at him in awe.

“Rex-”

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” Rex asks, his voice low and rough.

“...tell me.” You whisper up to him. 

Rex’s hands slide up your arms, and then down your slides to lightly grip your hips. “Mm, I fist my cock to you every night.” He breathes out, his grip tight around your hips, “You’re always the first thing I think of when I wake up. I have dreams about burying my cock into you and fucking you into my bed until I’m the only thing on your brain.”

You slide your hands up his chest and then wrap your arms around his neck, “What else?”

He chuckles and he moves his lips to your neck, “Love the idea of marking you up. Making sure everyone knows that you’re spoken for.”

You release a breathless laugh, “Possessive.” 

“Mm, maybe.” He nips at your neck, “I want you in my bed, pretty girl. Naked and wet and needy-” He trails off, dragging his lips from your neck to your ear, “What do you think?”

“Please.” You whisper up to him.

In the end, Rex wasn’t able to see your tattoos until morning as he was a little…distracted.

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #164

1. Hello everyone :) for a terrible long time I've been searching for a fic I remember. Maybe you lovely peoole can help me. In it, Aziraphale and Crowley were visiting Anathema and Newt. Crowley spiked his drink with a lil hellfire and of course, our favorite Angel took the wring cup by accident. Does anyone know it? Thanks in advance and have a lovely day :) - @belowperfect

2. this is probably a long shot, but, there was this one fic that I read when the show first came out. in it, Aziraphale moved into Crowley's apartment after doomsday because in it Adam didn't fix the bookshop (I think) I can't remember much, but I know that it was a multi chapter fic with sexual themes later on and I wonder if it sounds familiar to anyone, I wanna find it again because it was the first fic of the fandom I read lol. I feel like I read it here on Tumblr but it might have been AO3 too I'm not sure honestly. - anon

3. Hello I hope you are doing well. I have had this fic stuck in my head and I’m not sure if it was deleted or what but it was this fic about like Aziraphale and Crowley’s sexual tension throughout time and like for Crowley it was initially more lustful and eventually they sleep together during the French Revolution only for Crowley to treat it like a one night stand and it breaks aziraphales heart. The fic continues with the end of season one and like over time Crowley realized he messed up and loves Aziraphale and they are about to sleep together before the swap and Aziraphale initially is hesitant because of last time. Does this sounds familiar at all? - anon

4. Hi folks, Thanks for all the recommendations, and the tagging, you’ve led me to so many wonderful fanfics! I’m looking for a fanfic where Crowley sees Aziraphale beheaded, I believe in China. There’s also a story about Crowley and Aziraphale meeting in Japan I think, the plot involving a childless couple who find a child, collect and cage too many birds, and a bathhouse. It may be epistolary, or a diary. It’s long, and it’s wonderful! I just read the bloody thing (twice) maybe a month ago, and now I can’t find it. Any help would be very much appreciated. Thanks, L - @shoemakerobstetrician

5. I’m looking for a fic where either the book or radio versions of Aziracrow somehow end up in the bookshop and won’t stop having sex and it’s driving TV!Azi absolutely bonkers. I read it like two years ago and can’t find it! - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[boyfhees]

🗗 MORE THAN ROOMMATES | k. ayato

precis. you plan to move out of your apartment and ayato sees his whole life flash before his eyes.

wc. 10.3k please please please read this do not ignore because of the word count. please read it for ayato in silk robes

genre. humour, roommates ! au, modern ! au, suggestive, roommate to lovers ( ? )

warnings. profanities, this gets sort of sensual pls, suggestive, mentions of sex, disclaimer : there's no style & only writing, very bad jokes i'm unhinged with this one, more or less an inner monologue, unsolicited crack, kys and kms jokes ( ? ), drinking, mentions of dying, open ending ? it's pretty obvious if you'd ask me, thoma and sara are absolutely shit at giving advices, both the reader and ayato are absolute simps oh god please forget i ever wrote this ( actually don't. come talk to me about this )

note. repost :( my brother deleted my account sighh anyway please read this ig this is my fav work ever rip. inspired by this fic by my dearest mai go read it

ayato has no business living in an overly expensive apartment with a broken heater and cracked ceilings. in fact, he can instead move out any second. one call and his chauffeur would pick him up, another call and the kamisatos will have another villa signed under their names— well, ayato’s name, to be specific. for someone with overflowing wealth and a father who’s an excellent architect, ayato is surely down to earth.

his sister, ayaka, drops by every few weeks to check up on her brother. well, honestly, she only arrives to check up on the apartment and try another shot at persuading her brother to move out, only to return back home with nothing but failure in her palms. much to your surprise, she even offered the landlady a contract to buy the apartment. ‘we can buy, renovate and decorate this— then you and ayato can live happily!’ her exact words, but you declined. after all, you can not keep leeching off the kamisatos and living lavishly with a million dollars debt threatening to decapitate you in your sleep. ayato has done enough by handling your expenses when you were fired from your previous job.

talking about you, your life in the apartment isn’t any better. if you ignore the benefits of being roommates with ayato— which solely includes free boba and the opportunity to watch him in a silk robe every time he takes a shower— you don’t have any reasons to not move out of the apartment either. surprisingly enough, you’re sure that if you continue to living there and keep using the dark and narrow alleyway as your shortest way home from the university campus, you’ll be murdered luxuriously. 

that was four months ago, though, when you were a new resident who paid an offensively high rent for a shitty apartment and saw yourself on the streets in the near future. the you from four months ago is probably cursing the hell out of you; not even probably, it’s certain. every night, you entertain your two lovely, semi-functional brain cells telling you to gather your stuff and move out the day you get your pay cheque. 

you’re reminded to move in with your parents again after you had the nastiest argument with them and moved out impulsively, saying you’ll ‘slay’ out there, in the world, all alone. well, surprise, you’re not. instead, the world is slaying you by having you juggle between three part time jobs while managing your hair-greying college schedule and an apartment who’s faucet goes out every other day. that’s when the landlady gave you the happiest news you’d heard in months : a roommate. 

now, you see, for most people, having a roommate would be troublesome. no one wants to share the kitchen or their favourite spot on the couch or something, but the day you were informed about your roommate moving in, you were on cloud nine. you had a drink, blanked out completely in the middle of the living room for absolutely no reason, even cleaned the apartment extra carefully the next day for dear roommate. you’re crazy for that, you had your reasons. 

first, the rent. thankfully, it is still around how it was before with a bare fifteen percent increase; but hey, you no longer have to carry the financial burden yourself and have your conscience call you an imbecile every night before you drift into sleep. moreover, you’d finally have someone to fix the faucet, change the bulbs, and most importantly, hear you venting about how shit the apartment is. you were also excited about your roommate being the ‘nice, college student in his early twenties’ guy, as informed by your landlord, but that’s for another day. 

and that is how you had ayato as your roommate. his first look was intimidating. you remember wondering if he’s actually a college student and not some undercover assassin. but again, he looks too, if anything, decent, to be an assassin. ayato likes his boba extra sweetened and his closet consists of anything but hoodies and sweatpants. he watches bunny videos in free time and feeds stray cats whenever they come around. he also cooks two meals a day and ends up ordering the third one so you don’t have to overwork yourself after all the part time jobs and stressful classes, helps you with assignment, puts you to bed if you fall asleep in living room— yeah, no. he’s way too decent to be an assassin. 

ayato thinks he’s doing a wonderful job at being a roommate who you can depend upon. from the first hour of the day to the last one at night, he helps you, greets you, stays by your side; he’s an amazing roommate, and it’s a fact. thoma confirmed, and sara thinks he’s being a little too generous but hey, it’s about you; and when it comes to you, nothing is ‘too much’ for aayto. 

so when you tell him on one fine sunday morning that you’ll be moving out next month, ayato sees his life flash before his eyes. it’s been two days since you’ve informed him and he’s still too stunned to speak. 

“hey,” ayato greets you in the kitchen, fetching a glass from a shelf higher than usual. there’s something off about the atmosphere, and it’s definitely not you. so, your eyes travel to ayato as he pours himself a glass of ice-cold water at the ass crack of dawn. “so you’re really moving out?” 

what the fuck. 

no because, you’re still half asleep. it’s half past five, you’re getting water and ayato waltz into the kitchen with his robe half draping off one of his shoulders and a raspy morning voice that has you weak in knees. perhaps, you expect a sweet little ‘good morning’ with his trademark smile that has the landlord’s daughter wrapped around his finger— and you too, honestly. instead, you’re met with a frown hanging on his face and a question about the topic that was last brought up about two days ago. 

“yeah. surprise?” you let out the fakest laugh before letting it die just as quickly the moment the sound of your cracked voice hits your ears. actually, you don’t even care about how you look and sound. what’s more important is that ayato isn't acting like himself. well, he’s the one to react quickly and not resurrect a dead conversation two days after, especially when you’re in the process of mourning and grieving about the lack of ayato you’ll have in your life from the next month onward. 

see, you have a disease, and it’s terminal. you could’ve moved out the day you moved in, or the day ayato moved in, or on any day in the past four months, but your condition didn’t allow you. first, it was the lack of green money in your hands to get a better apartment and after ayato moved in, he became the problem. 

you’re down bad. outsold. you have one look at a fine man and you wobble on your knees; one sight of toned muscles and you’re a goner. flatline. dead. there’s no going back. the first time you saw ayato was after you came back from your classes with a cake in your hands to celebrate the welcoming of your roommate. you opened the door and before you stood ayato with his drenched hair and silk robe, smelling like primroses and everything that the man of your dreams could have ever.

he shot you a smile, and you were sold. 

forget the cake, you had a whole five-star exquisite cuisine standing in front of you. rent was no longer a problem, you didn’t mind living under leaking roofs and honestly, even if someone murdered you, you wouldn’t mind. you have been planning to move out for a long time but if that was going to be the scene you came home to everyday, you didn’t mind any of the problems offered by the apartment. 

that is what ayato did to you the day he moved in. 

so, making a decision about moving out and telling that to him was a torture. not only were you losing your man— how funny— but also your daily free boba supplier. it was a life changing, heart wrenching, decision; but it had to be done. 

you shoot him a smile, patting his shoulders as you walk towards your room. “hey, i’m not leaving until next month so don’t think you’re getting rid of me anytime soon.” you hear ayato let out an exaggerated sigh, one that could blow away the wig of your mathematics professor. you don’t know what occurred to him at five-thirty in the morning when he showed up with the saddest frown ever, but thinking he’s upset about you moving out would be getting ahead of yourself and making a clown of yourself once again, in the circus that your life is. 

.

.

.

“dude, what the hell—” that’s thoma, and the saccharine words of compliments leaving his mouth are for none other than ayato. “what’s with your face?” 

no no, not only his face; in fact, ayato, as a whole, is fucked up. he didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night and you can blame some netflix shitshow for that. and just when he was about to fall asleep, his hydration requirements led him into the kitchen and the rest is history. 

“why is she moving out?” ayato mumbles in the most disappointed and sorrow ridden voice. he didn’t even sound this heart broken when his last girlfriend dumped him in the middle of victoria’s secret because he didn’t help her choose, you know, her lingerie; as insane as it sounds. thoma hasn’t seen ayato this dejected in over a year and the blond head is convinced his one and only close friend, his bro, is losing his mind.

a second passes, thoma repeats ayato’s question in his head. “she, as in yn?” and the next second, he gets his answer. thoma sits straight, back tightened, eyes fixed on ayato who’s very, uh, desolate right now. he has a class in ten minutes but bros before everything, and especially before an hour-long lesson about shit newton did as a scientist. his priority at the moment is to beat some sense into his friend in the politest way possible. 

“why shouldn’t she move out— i mean, have you looked at the apartment? it sucks ass, i’m surprised she made it till four months, i would’ve killed myself on the spot if i had to live there.” ayato shoots him a desperate look, a whine rolling off his pout as thoma’s face scrunches up into disgust because the fuck kind of behaviour is ayato exhibiting in middle of the cafe. “you know, you should move out too. i can clearly see the damage that place has done to you.” 

oh no, the damage is yet to be done. it’s happening slowly, gradually, slower than the tortoise in that tortoise and the hare race, slower than a sloth, drop by drop, sucking the life out of him. ayato doesn’t have any interest in that sorry excuse of an apartment. instead, he’s interested in you. the day he moved in, you appeared in front of him as an angel. an angel with a cake, strawberry flavoured cake that he absolutely despises but you, on the other hand, looked edible— he means, you looked beautiful. you always do, even when you’re wasted after four bottles and a plattering mess. 

god, ayato thinks it’s a blessing to be able to wake up in the same apartment as you. you may say you’re a potato but for ayato, you’re the longest and spiciest chilli in the bunch, he said what he said. and now you’re moving out, he can already spot the differences in the apartment. your stuff is no longer lying here and there since you’ve started arranging your things.

ayato can sense his descent into madness for several reasons. first, you’re just a roommate so why the fuck does he care if you live with him or move to mars; and second, you lived with him for two months without complaints so, why do you want to move out now. he wants to rip his hair out, drink bleach and sleep, hoping to wake up with a better thinking process and stability. 

ayato feels like he has been stripped of humanity, all because you’re moving out in less than thirty days. 

“hi— shit— you need to start sleeping, ayato!” this is sara, and once again, the elite words of compliments are thrown at none other than the boba man. kujou takes a seat next to thoma, observing ayato as he whines and sighs into his hand, looking like a sleep deprived, homeless man who probably has post traumatic stress disorder, but it’s literally just him crying over you, much to sara’s unawareness. “is he okay?” 

thoma shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink, shooting her a ‘does-he-look-like-he’s-okay’ look before sighing at his friend’s state once again. “yn’s moving out and he’s not coping well.”

sara leans back on her chair, rolling eyes at ayato’s diseased situation. it’s surprising that someone hasn’t reported him to the infirmary or some asylum; but she knows the cure. unlike ayato, sara isn’t stupid. she knows; studying criminology gives her an advantage of knowing how to read between the lines, or in this case, ayato’s whines. 

“it’s about time you accept your feelings.” what. she states and it feels like ayato’s heart skipped several beats. he looks at her wide eyed, flabber-gasted, with jaw dropped to the floor. “what? i know you like her. you’re fooling no one with that stupid face of yours.”

no, what sara’s saying is stupid. you’re a roommate. his roommate. ayato’s roommate. mate of the room. nothing less and certainly, nothing more. you don’t share a single class. his mornings start with your face and then ayato doesn’t see you for the whole day, unless you bump into each other on the campus, which is rarer than him getting hit by a meteoroid and dying. ain’t no way, he likes you. sure, you’re pretty. god, you’re gorgeous. human embodiment of goddesses but it’s just the beauty. apart from being extremely gorgeous and someone who ayato probably values more than his life, you’re basically a no one. 

kamisato ayato trusts his instincts, and his instincts tell him that he doesn’t like you. he likes you, just not in that way, not the like-like. not the i-want-to-surrender-my-life-to-you kind of like, not the i-want-to-make-out-with-you kind of like. okay, maybe the last part is a lie— but he still stands by his words. 

“you’re gaslighting m—”

“you’re gaslighting yourself.” thoma cuts him mid-sentence. “i still have the screenshots from the day you spammed me after yn posted that pic. don’t even try to deny.” 

wait, that happened? 

the, going crazy and spamming after seeing your post? ayato likes to think he was drunk. 

“you we’re sober, by the way. never been more, honestly.” and oh god, he’s done for. but that’s okay, right? you’re his roommate, and it’s normal for a roommate to aggressively talk about how pretty their roommate is, isn’t it? ayato believes it is normal. it’s as normal as drinking coffee to sleep better. a human appreciating another human’s beauty, what’s so wrong with that? one should support their kind, mutualism is the way through the ecosystem. rhizobium doesn’t live symbiotically for nothing, after all. it’s just give and take— 

“are you going to say something or…?” sara interjects ayato’s trail of useless thoughts. he still doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t like you, right, right— it’s clear in his head, he just needs to put it in words. he’s unable to carry out the last part. “okay, if you don’t like yn, then why do you have a problem with her moving out?” 

ah, yes. now we’re talking. the life in ayato’s eyes revisits. “look, look— she’s a great cook,” hah, what a liar. you’re a cook, not a great one. you don’t even cook in the apartment to begin with. the kitchen belongs to mister kamisato ayato and you sit by the counter to watch him cook and add another ten to fifteen years in your life. “and she can clean,” that’s something you’ve always been good at. truthfully, you don’t mind cleaning or doing any of the chores for ayato. you’re ready to get on your fours and bark for him. “and, she's pretty…”

“there,” thoma interrupts, slamming his hand on the table, having ayato look at him with a curious gaze; which looks horrifying because of his lack of sleep, by the way. “i don’t see how being pretty is anywhere close to why you need her to stay.” 

sara nods in agreement, but ayato knows he makes sense. who wants to live with an ugly roommate? okay, maybe, all roommates are pretty, but thoma, if ayato had to live with him, he’d flee the country. so, being pretty does co-relate with living peacefully, because if you’re not pretty, your roommate will flee countries and that’ll cause unnecessary expenses. henceforth, point proven. ayato still thinks he makes absolute, completely, hundred percent sense. 

“whatever, just ask her to stay if it’s that important,” thoma snickers, rolling his eyes. but what he’s saying is not possible. ayato may be good at flirting, he does have a pretty good record with dating, but he becomes a nervous wreck around you. 

he’s nervous right now. 

you make him nervous. just the thought of you makes him nervous. 

and believe it or not, ayato can’t just walk up to you and ask you to not move away because you’re a great cook, you can clean and you’re pretty— no. he doesn’t have the confidence. the whole process sounds like a secret military operation where flexible deterrent options are a must if he wants to survive. 

talking to you feels like writing finals for a subject he has never touched in his whole life. it’s like skydiving without a parachute, going into space without oxygen, and whatnot. despite spending two months with you in the same apartment, under the same roof, ayato’s communication skills haven’t improved past the ‘hi / hello’ stage. 

it’s like stepping on his sister in front of his mother and then breaking her favourite vase before throwing his father’s golf clubs into the sewer. and even though ayato says he likes you, hypothetically, he wouldn’t stroll up to you and ask you to not move out. that's utterly selfish. you’re just a roommate, a chapter in his life, someone who he stumbled across on his way and took a liking to— platonically— that’s it. that’s all you are. ayato thinks it’s insultingly selfish of him to ask you to stay. so he wouldn’t ask you, but he wants to, he wishes for you to stay, no matter how selfish it sounds.  

“i can’t ask her that.” it’s a stern reply, ayato is way too confident with his words while thoma raises his eyebrows as an interrogative response. “what, you expect me to go ‘hey yn, please don’t move out’ one fine day?” 

“no, but you can definitely go, ‘hey yn, you have a sexy and hot roommate who will do you right so don’t move out,’ at her.” ayato believes that the stupidest and most brain-degrading sentence that has ever come out of kujou sara’s mouth. “i mean, you don’t have to tell her to stay, show her.” 

“this isn’t literature, sara.” 

“i know, but show her the benefits of not moving out,” she repeats, her eyes enunciating a bigger plan behind those few insensible words. “seduce her with your skills, ayato.” 

yeah no, there’s no bigger plan. 

the only plan is to fuck up kamisato ayato’s already fucked up life with her illogical, useless fucked up plan. for someone studying criminology and nailing those charts, sara surely thinks less before speaking. no, she doesn’t think at all. her brain is probably in the suitcase she trashed last week. 

“sara, shut up before i—” 

ayato wants to continue his statement, but thoma beats him to it. “no no, wait. she, she makes sense.” 

no, she does not. 

she doesn’t make any sense.

no dots are connected, the dots aren’t here to begin with. head in hands, ayato sighs again. this sounds like something that would ruin his life beyond repair. to damage his reputation so much, he’d have to flee the country and change his identity. perhaps, the kaedehara family would take him in. 

“dude, think about it,” ah, no. ayato very well knows that thoma doesn’t get to talk about ‘thinking’ and anything related to it after saying sara’s plan makes sense. her words are incredibly thoughtless. “you show her the benefits. drop her to campus and drive her back, cook for her, clean for her, arrange her bed for her, earn for her, spend on her, just anything— show her, ayato.”

no. 

ayato doesn’t like the direction this conversation is heading in. 

or perhaps, he’s just overthinking. well, he has been doing almost everything on that list, honestly. everything as in, cooking. that’s it. that’s important, cooking is necessary, one must survive to eat— he means, eat to survive. he has spent quite a generous sum when you lost your very first job. 

this whole conversation is eating his brains out. you’re just a friend, not even a friend, a roommate. a fucking roommate he got attached to and how his abandonment issues are surfacing and god knows what will follow. he repeats thoma’s words in his head over and over again— now way, it makes sense. if anything, it’s going to give you the wrong idea that your roommate became a sugar daddy overnight and you’re going to be his first sugar baby, as sweet and horrific as it sounds.  

talk to us when you’re in a state to accept your feelings. that’s what sara said before excusing herself out of the cafe with thoma following her shortly behind. yeah no, ayato is regretting every decision that led him to this conversation, this unsolicited therapy session that fucked his brain inside-out. he’s about to leave the cafe as well, planning to skip all his classes and probably go visit a temple or something, until you come around with your friends.

there’s a smile on your face, the one he wakes up to. he loves your smile. ayato thinks your smile is really pretty; you are pretty— platonically. a smile creeps up to his face as well, dissipating as soon as thoma’s words re-visited his mind.

show her. ayato bites the insides of his cheeks. he’s probably going to take that advice. after all, you can make anything make sense if you really tried. 

.

.

.

ayato is on his way to the apartment.

he clearly disposed of all his responsibilities as an ideal student and sprinted out of the campus like a criminal on the run. well, he’s on his way to become a criminal. he’s about to seduce you using his skills and then you’ll report him to the police. doesn’t matter that he can get bailed out in minutes thanks to his mad rich family, he’ll still flee the country, get a new identity, dye his hair. kaedehara ayato doesn’t sound bad, not bad at all. it sounds delicious, healing, sounds like something that would save his life. 

now, he’s on the elevator to the floor. he’s afraid the elevator would stop moving if another pack of stress stacks up on his shoulders. actually, that wouldn’t be half bad.

the elevator stops, security comes, you will come running, the management will open the door and he’ll die in your arms out of collapsing lungs? stress? anxiety? heart attack? you’ll cup his face and he’ll tell you about his last wish— please don’t move out. though, it would lack the necessary fucks to give since he’s dead but in case, he’s alive, in case, then you’d live with him. sounds like a plan. godbless to whatever sara and thoma have done, ayato is incapable of carrying out the general thinking procedure. 

now he’s walking towards the door, fiddling with the key between his fingers. show don’t tell, show don’t tell, show don’t tell— fuck, if ayato ever paid attention to all the lessons about creative writing in highschool, he would’ve been the best selling author; which he is not. there’s a reason why he’s majoring in history, out of all the available options.   

for some reason, ayato expected you to be home. if he remembers correctly, you only have half your lessons and he knows you wouldn’t attend half of those scheduled lessons to read webtoons in the library. 

but you’re not home, and he’s going crazy. did you run away? oh god— what if you already moved out? surprise, with the haha, happy living alone note? he doesn’t wait another second before opening the door, coming across a living room that’s seemingly… normal. 

he spots your plushie on the couch, your gaming console lying around like trash or whatever, and uh, a poster of some levi ackerman from that apocalypse au of the anime you watch after sacrificing sleep to you sleep paralysis demon. he remembers you ordering it a week ago, turns out it arrived this morning and you unpacked it, leaving it in the living room because you were getting late for classes. 

you’re still living here, definitely. there’s no way you’re moving out without that silly poster of yours. 

ayato picks it up, judging the man from head to his chest since that’s where the poster ends. he looks like a bergamot. that’s all, and ayato dumps the poster on the floor and leaves to take a shower. 

.

.

.

it’s six in the evening. 

you got drunk at two for absolutely no reason and passed out at your friend’s place. good for you, your hangover is evaporating. though, your head throbs like something else when you watch ayato in his silk robe after shower when he smells like the man you’d get on your knees for. 

you don’t have high expectations this evening. it’s tuesday and ayato never returns on time when it’s tuesday. no he doesn’t drink and judging from how he’s always up at six on wednesdays, he doesn’t get laid either; which is actually good for you because you would never, ever, want any girl to sleep with your man, even though he isn’t yours. 

you’re met with a pleasant surprise when you stand in front of your door with the keys in your hands, noticing that it’s already unlocked. perhaps, you can at least end your day with ayato in his finest attire. you smile, opening the door, your smile grows wider as you notice ayato’s shoes, it grows even wider when you smell freshly prepared creme pasta lingering in the air. you’re in for a ride. you step in further, eyes settling on your roommate who’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a wine glass in his hand— wait.  

wait a damn minute.

wait a fucking second, that’s— ayato for sure— okay, you decide to take it from the bottom. that’s ayato wearing a silk pyjama, okay that’s new. new for you, maybe not for him, but you’re used to seeing him in silk robes with nothing beneath, you know, bare calves and feet. his toenails probably look prettier than yours. your eyes travel up further, completely leaving out the part you shouldn’t be thinking about especially when you’re still partly hungover, you see his abs— pause.  

hold the fuck up, his abs? you blink, and look again, you stare at him for a better look. abs. fucking abs, you’re— but why abs?! no, you don’t complain. all you’ve ever seen is a part of his chest from the godsent chest window offered by his robes. nothing more, nothing below, not abs. never. 

you— okay— you take a deep breath and process the situation. ayato is wearing the same silk robe, except it’s with pyjamas, however he didn’t tie it. he didn’t tie it, oh god— you’re watching kamisato ayato from the first seat, full access to his toned abs, you’re frothing at the mouth. 

“welcome home, yn” silence. what. what. what the fuck did he say? no, ayato greets you everything but not like this. not in the seductive tone that makes your name sound a hundred times breathtaking and make you feel like you’re an empress to some crazy rich nation, not in a way where you can look at his abs, and he runs his fingers through his wet hairs before taking a sip from the wine. not in the sexy, knee weakening, voice that fills your brain with the visual depiction of ‘pregnant emoji’ over and over again. 

you’re done. sold. dead. gone. mother of his kids, probably? you don’t mind because just when you thought you’re over your silly little crush on your roommate and ready to move out, he stands in front of you, looking like aphrodite’s son or just, aphrodite herself— except, this one’s male. 

“yn, you okay there?” no no no, you’re not, you’re not. you’re not okay. you’re oscillating between having the time of your life and lying on your deathbed. it’s like you’re playing a quiz with your own mind where the first option is to die and the second option is to die as well. you’re— you’re failing to compose yourself and you’re sure if someone doesn’t drag you out of this, you will embarrass yourself horribly enough for you to dig a hole and decompose. 

ayato chuckles. he chuckles. he has the audacity to chuckle at you after looking at that. does he even know about the effect he has on you? no, of course he doesn’t. he probably thinks it’s completely normal for him to stand in front of you, half naked, looking criminally hot; yeah no— someone needs to stop him.

“your face is red,” oh, i wonder why. “are you sick?” it’s such a rhetorical question, you’re not sure if he’s actually that innocent or whether he’s having fun teasing you like this. you nod, avoiding all sorts of eye contact and verbal conversation. you’ve figured out enough that if you open your mouth, it’ll get you in trouble. you’re bound to say something stupid, perhaps about how you want him to blow your back like a glowstick or something, or maybe you’d tell him to dress up and put on some clothes, despite the fact that you very much adore the scene in front of you right now, and make everything terribly awkward for the rest of your lives. 

ayato smiles, putting his hand on your shoulder, and you feel several volts of electric current travelling down your spine. you’re getting butterflies, or perhaps the whole damn zoo with monkeys swinging off your ribs and vertebrates. you want to pass out. you want to faint right fucking now before something goes wrong because he’s standing right in front of you, and his hand is on your shoulder, and you’re getting a much much closer and clearer look at this toned muscles— you’re about to start barking. 

“uh, i’ll go—” yes. leaving is the only option, the only correct option. exactly what you should do right now. gather your useless thoughts, run away, go to your room, take a cold shower, and don’t come out until ayato leaves for his classes the next day. 

he smiles, taking his hand off your shoulder and you take a sign of relief. probably the best you’ve felt in months, really. “okay, i’ll set dinner.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“huh?”

“i’m not hungry, i feel sick. it’s uh— dysentery.” great. fucking marvelous. out of everything, it had to be dysentery. 

“oh. do you need med—”

“no, i have benadryl.” you want to bang your head into the closest wall, want the ceiling to finally collapse, the tiles to break and take you inside. you just want to disappear because benadryl is a fucking cough syrup. you simply excuse yourself before he could ask anymore questions, hearing him suppress his laughter as you walk away. he probably knows you’re lying, doesn’t take a doctor to tell what a benadryl is; and you couldn’t thank him enough for pretending you’re absolutely right with the medications and letting you be. 

you get inside your room, you shut the door, you lean against it and contemplate every decision you ever took in your life. 

where did it go wrong? 

was it the part when you moved in? damn, sure you should’ve moved out earlier. you should’ve ran away the day you saw a fine man like ayato standing in front of you, tagged as your roommate. you know you’d sell your soul or something for him, you are aware of the things you’d do for him, for ayato, because a man like him deserves the world. you should’ve moved out before your inner simp had started channelling herself. 

you grab your clothes and decide to sit in the shower until you prune up and die. that’s probably the only right decision. you’re about to get inside the bathroom when you hear the doorbell, halting your steps as you hear footsteps approaching inside. 

“hi,” that. that’s a woman. a lady, a female human, you didn’t think ayato would be capable of being friends with any other woman beside you and kujou sara. 

now judging from the low, scarred intensity of the voice that’s reaching your ears, you can tell she’s a pretty woman. pretty like those campus crushes but in your head, she’s pretty like those main antagonists of some melodramatic television show that make you want to strangle her to death with every breath she takes. you don’t even know her but the way your fist clenches, it’s definitely jealousy piping out of you like candies from pez dispensers. 

“i’m sorry for last night,” last— last what? “we can continue.” 

continue what. 

no. no fuck, you can’t.

if this is about what your rotten brain is thinking about then there’s no way they can continue. you’re here, in your room, the walls around aren’t soundproof and you aren’t ready for whatever obscene act they’re going to pull in his room, or perhaps in the living room because the woman seems to have zero patience. 

“my roommate is here,” that’s ayato. yes. you nod in approval. tell her ayato. tell her to gather up her fantasies and desires and get he fuck out of your apartment. “hope you don’t mind.” 

what. 

what. 

of course, you mind. you didn’t sign up for some real life porn show when signing the papers for this apartment. moreover, you’re not stable and mentally, physically or emotionally strong enough to stand all the moans and groans that’ll fill up the room when he’ll do everything that you want him to do with you, and you’re thinking this with all your soberness. 

“oh, she can join us! the more, the merrier.” no, never. you don’t want to join them in their silly little adventure. you’re not in for some monstrous threesome, as amazing as it sounds. you still have to live with ayato for around twenty-eight days and you can’t just join the two of them tonight and wake up the next day as if nothing ever happened. 

you’re insane, but the sane part is still functional. your last two lovely, worn out brain cells are working day and night to keep you alive, successfully having you avoid all the pits of embarrassment and shame, you can not let them down. 

you don’t hear ayato’s response, or perhaps, you want to pretend you didn’t. because you definitely heard something along the lines of ‘bend over,’ and then he cues some music. 

it’s sway by michael buble. out of all the testosterone stimulating sex songs out there, ayato had to choose this. well, it doesn't change the fact that she’s living the life you’ve been dreaming for, ever since ayato moved in. you’re fucking glad the song is loud enough to block any R-rated sounds or else you would’ve suffered a trauma and piss your pants everytimes someone brings up sex the next time in your life. 

you’re on your bed, covering your ears with your pillows, trying to sleep, while she’s in his arms, doing the deed. funny, very funny. is there a chance you would have completely misinterpreted the entire situation? maybe. but no woman randomly shows up at a man’s house after seven in the evening and the first thing she asks is to continue their last night activities. 

you wish your ears would fall off and you’d forget everything you heard tonight. the sound of music isn’t helping you sleep and you can waltz to ayato and ask him to turn down the volume in middle of whatever the fuck they’re doing and infect your eyes and lose your virginity along with the last bits of your sanity, but you don’t have the balls to do so. 

you don’t have the balls to do anything. maybe if you did, you would’ve told ayato about your feelings and maybe, tonight, it would’ve been you instead of that woman. so you just do what you can : bury yourself inside the covers and try to sleep. 

maybe if you ignore it, it will go away. 

.

.

.

waking up, you realise you haven’t had any sleep in the past twenty-four hours or so. maybe you did, thirty minutes, or so. that doesn’t count when all you’ve heard last night are some horribly weird sex songs and phrases like, ‘that feels so good,’ and other things along the same lines whenever the music stopped. 

you looked at yourself in the mirror and almost passed out at the sight. horrible, literally. failing valak from the conjuring universe. actually, you can be the new valak except you’ll have real, actual, trauma and reason to haunt people. 

what surprises you more is that you haven’t come out of your room since last evening and ayato didn’t even check up on you. not like he’s obliged to, but he must. despite the fact that he was probably having the best night of his life, he should have morals as a human who cares about another human; or, as a roommate, because what if you fell from bed and broke your back? what if you got stuck in a chair and died of poor circulation? he probably doesn’t care. you’re pretty sure he’ll call the woman from last night the moment he finds your body and they’ll dance and sing on your grave; maybe, even fuck around it too. 

you want to get out of your room and go to the kitchen. you want to eat. but you’re scared the pair from last night would be passed out naked on the floor— nah, you’re not ready for that scene at seven in the morning. and this wouldn’t have been another issue to worry about if only ayato showed a little more patience and compassion and took her to his room. 

well, you have to survive. there’s a harsher world out there.  

you open the door and creep out of your room as if you’ve been meaning to steal something. you’re acting like this isn’t your apartment but the apartment of someone you’ve stolen a couple million dollars from. oh, and your eyes are closed. yeah. you’re not ready, not ready at all. you’d rather bump and fall and hit your head, die on spot; that'd be way better—

“oh, you’re up,” that’s a familiar voice. you’re sure, you look crazy standing in front of your room with your eyes closed, but that’s for another day. the main question is whether you should open your eyes or not. “you didn’t come out for dinner, i was waiting.” 

your eyes shoot open. 

okay. okay…

so, he’s not naked. thankfully, he’s dressed. fully dressed, in a white shirt with a top few buttons undone, black jeans or trousers, whatever they are. you miss the chest window, but you’re glad he’s dressed because you don’t certainly want to look at the scratches and marks from last night and add more trauma to your life. 

“i told you, i had dysentery,” as if he believes you. the look on his face tells he doesn’t. no one would, you ruin things for yourself. 

as expected, ayato is a goddamn liar. the ‘i was waiting,’ part sounds so fake now that you’re aware of what happened last night. because waiting while fucking someone doesn’t sound like waiting to you. more or less, it sounds like he was devouring his dinner while you were starving in your room. 

“did you not sleep last night?” oh, yeah, of course not. he’s getting there, slowly, but he is getting to the point. you wonder who’s to be blamed for your lack of sleep and the reason why you woke up with only one living and semi-functional brain cell. “ah, is it because of me? was it too loud last night? i was busy.” 

busy? yeah, he was busy working really hard blowing someone’s back or whatever. sounds like a tough job, but that’s none of your business. ( actually, it is ) you don’t want to have this conversation. you don’t know how to look him in the eyes. ayato, your roommate, your crush, he rocked someone else’s world while he knew you were in the apartment, probably hearing everything. for someone who’s rich enough to be featured in crazy rich asians, ayato surely does work a lot, and hard enough, at that. 

you want to murder him. chop off his limbs and also the part he’s probably very proud of. you want to shave his head so that no girl approaches him in the future. 

“oh, you probably don’t know about my work, do you?” no. you don’t want to. you don’t want to hear about the details, you’re not ready for this conversation. “i help my mom with physiotherapy,” 

yes. yes therapy, sounds lovely. everyone needs it, especially him. wait, therapy? what kind of therapy is sex?  well, it is some sort of therapy by the way, it makes you feel at ease— no, you’re swerving away from the topic ! okay, maybe you didn’t hear him correctly. he clearly said psychotherapy and he needs to get his licence revoked for the kind of therapy he is giving. it’s giving rise to more mental patients; you, for example. 

“therapy?” you mutter, you didn’t mean to. you need to learn how to keep your thoughts to yourself, you lack severely in that department of life. 

“yes, therapy for joints and bones? my mother is a physiotherapist and she taught me a thing or two,” oh. oh. physiotherapy. is that why he asked her to bend over? what was the need to put on music, though? you don’t understand ayato. actually, you don’t understand anyone in the kamisato family even though you’ve only met his sister so far. 

now, you feel guilty for thinking about him in that light. apart from the potential visual representations of ayato from last night in your head, you have a very high respect for this man. you feel like you should get on your knees and apologise, offer a hand-written apology letter for thinking of him in such a non-PG-13 manner. 

though, you don’t know how to apologise. you can’t possibly go ‘sorry, ayato, i thought you were busy having the best sex of your life when you were actually providing her therapy.’ that doesn’t even sound right. it makes you look like you need therapy, urgently. but you need to apologise for your sake. maybe, this is just the consequences of your actions or in this case, your imagination. 

“i’m—” you open your mouth to speak, but ayato beats you to it.  

“do you want to go out with me today?” 

wait, what?

do what now?

go out with who?

it’s a question that catches you off guard, pushes off off the cliff, stops your heart. the monkeys in your stomach are alive again even though they suffer from utter embarrassment and guilt for assuming all sorts of things about ayato, and the perfect man he is. 

you want to say yes. of course, no one in their right mind would reject such a golden opportunity to ride in his Bugatti La Voiture Noire that’s worth 18.7 million dollars as of when he purchased it. you remember you have a terminal disease where you spot one toned muscle and sell your conscience to whatever demon is out there. even though you don’t see any toned muscles, you see ayato’s collar bones thanks to those few undone buttons, you see the nerves of his arms thanks to the rolled up sleeves, you see him wearing an apron because he was making breakfast, what a malewife. 

you’re sold, almost.

almost. 

the offer is tempting, but your new apartment is more. you’re an adult and it's a fact even if you don’t want to believe it and want to become a cat who solely lives for aesthetic purposes. you need to earn for yourself and move out of this apartment instead of living in a hell just to fill a void called ayato in your heart. 

“i have to go take a look at how the work at my new apartment is going,” you’re surprised at how sane and normal your response sounds. it’s truly concerning after everything that has happened since last evening and the trash that’s residing in your head. 

you try your best to sound apologetic. you are, you really are, you’re missing out on ayato and his Bugatti La Voiture Noire of $18.7 millions, the one that people ( aka, you ) drool over every time they pass by. it’s an expensive sacrifice, literally and metaphorically, worth more than your life. 

“well, that sucks,” ayato sighs, removing the apron in the most seducing way possible, proceeding to run his fingers through his hairs, looking like a mouth-watering, melt in the mouth, sizzling pork at seven-thirty in the morning. “i had plans for us,” 

and you’re floored. 

us. you like the sound of that. you and ayato, ayato and you, hot. very hot, very sexy, sounds like an eargasm, honestly. for a second, you think it’s a dream. it has to be. if not, then maybe he wants to take you to a shrine or something and have you cleansed from top to bottom for all the r-rated thoughts you’ve been having. but, that’s only possible if ayato has an idea of what’s going on inside your head. there’s no way he knows that, or maybe he does. you look at him like he’s the happy meal and you haven’t eaten in a good five-hundred years or so. 

you’re too lost in your thoughts to focus on ayato until he leans in a bit closer, alerting every single neuron in your body as he shoots you a smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “have fun, pretty.” 

and here lies yn, twenty something, majoring in one of the available majors offered by her university. cause of death: kamisato ayato. 

.

.

.

ayato lets out a desperate cry of help, sliding down the walls of thoma’s living room as soon as he enters thoma’s apartment, scaring the living shit out of his friends.  

“go die somewhere else.” that’s sara again. you can’t blame her, she follows thoma like a pest because he’s a good cook, that’s it. food above everything else. 

thoma walks to the entrance, sighing at the sight of his friend lying on the floor, dejected and lifeless, looking pale, running the beauty of thoma’s luxurious apartment tiled with granite floors. if it weren’t for his morals, he would’ve trashed ayato. 

“i feel like a whore,” sara’s face scrunches up in disgust. maybe, judging from the way ayato talks about you, he is a whore. if not a whore, then something equivalent to it. “never knew i’d have to do this.” 

sara leans against the wall that ayato just slid down out of pure despair. “do what?” 

“seduce yn.” thoma practically pukes out all the water from his mouth at his friend’s words. “what, you both told me to do so!” 

sara doesn’t believe his words. they say love is blind, but in this case it’s also ignorant and incapable of following the wise and helpful instructions provided. “how the fuck have you been seducing her?” 

“um, with my skills?”

“don’t tell me.” the disappointment, in thoma’s voice, is astronomical. who would’ve thought that kamisato ayato, the heir to kamisato estate, excels in the art of idiocy. god really said he can either have looks or brains, and completely missed out on the latter. “ayato, i talked about cooking and cleaning and your homekeeping skills and not about your talents in bed.” 

oh.

that’s right. 

even though all ayato did was fluster you a little this morning— see, he’s disregarding what happened last evening. ayato assumes you’re used to seeing him half naked in his silk robe, with his drenched hair while he smells like primroses and sandalwood and everything else that’s featured in Dior’s men perfume collection. he thinks it’s normal. it’s his apartment, he gets to wear whatever he wants and make himself comfortable. 

he doesn’t know what bed skills tho— wait, bed? skills? talent in bed? what? what? he’s not even marginally close to what thoma is thinking; and ayato is sure that he needs to get new friends before it’s too late. 

“what ‘talents in bed’ are you even talking about?” ayato asks, finally standing up from the floor like the kamisato he is and slumping on the couch. 

thoma deadpans. “do you seriously want me to elaborate?” no, probably not. never. thoma has experience in this field, you see, and ayato, as someone who has never even thought about this, doesn’t want him to explain and give details about every single move and curve— no.  

ayato chooses his sanity over human reproductive knowledge. 

“i— nothing happened, nothing! all i did was ask if she wanted to go out with me and,” he pauses, eyes travelling between thoma and sara simultaneously. the latter raises her eyebrows, gesturing to him to continue his precautionary tale about how to not treat your roommate. “and, and i might’ve flirted with her, a little, yeah.” 

the embarrassment is evident in his voice. 

ayato wants to liquify and evaporate. he wants thoma’s house to break down and kill everyone and him too. he wants the microwave to blast, just anything, anything that could save him from this conversation. now, flirting isn’t that bad in itself. it’s good, it’s fun, ayaka flirts with yoimiya when her inner lesbian unleashes itself. sara flirts with shogun for some goddamn reason and everyone thinks they have a thing or two going on because no one dares to talk to ei. itto flirts with himself in the mirror— it’s normal, completely, absolutely, certainly, normal-er than normal. normal-est.  

ayato, however, doesn’t flirt. he doesn’t know how to flirt. the leisure art of flirting is beyond the luxuries this specific kamisato can afford. the last time he hit on someone was a cat, not even his ex-girlfriend, a cat. a feline. it scratched him. ayato refrains from flirting to avoid all sorts of innuendos—

a pause. the innuendos, the fucking innuendos, oh god. what if, what if you get the wrong idea? well, thoma and sara assumed that he has been trying to get laid with you so it only makes sense for you to assume the same after all that half-naked, bare-chested, sexy-wine-sipping, jazz last evening. 

no no no—

he’s done. he’s done. 

over.

if there’s someone who should move out, it’s him. 

this life ruining emotionally stressing psychologically mortifying realisation makes him want to jump down the nearest window and pass out, then never wake up. he wants to trip on air and die of mesothelioma, wants to overdose on sparkling water and die of negativity in his life. 

if he doesn’t die, he wishes for the earth to explode or something so that everyone else dies and humanity comes to an end. his day has been ruined, his disappointment and shame is immeasurable. kazuha better be ready to have an adopted brother because ayato is damn sure the kamisatos are kicking him out after this. 

ayato doesn’t wait for his friends to say something. he simply walks out of thoma’s apartment, dejected in shame, hoping lighting will strike him in broad daylight on a day with clear skies. you’re not home, that’s great. you won’t be back anytime before evening because you’re out with your friends. no, actually, you’re out with miko and the new transfer students beidou and venti, who you are bound to get drunk and pass out with.  

that’s good, it’s great. a godsent opportunity. there are two possibilities: first, either you come home remembering everything and move out the very next day or second, you forget everything thanks to alcohol. he hopes it’s the second one. alcohol does wonders water could never. those two molecules of hydrogen and one molecule of oxygen don’t do shit when it comes to forgetting memories. alcohol, on the other hand, is capable of doing miracles. 

like the time he got home downright wasted and almost kissed you senseless while you were helping him clean up. he can swear, he saw the blush on your cheeks. but maybe, that was just fatigue since you had to wake up at two to deal with him. 

yeah, alcohol, a godly drink. 

he reaches home, grabs a beer can from the refrigerator and makes himself comfortable on the couch. ayato wants to forget everything, hoping you’d forget it all too. 

.

.

.

“ayato,” you whisper his name, shaking his shoulders gently in an attempt to wake him up. not like you want to, the sight of him sleeping soundly is healing you and washing off your sins. one does not see the kamisato ayato sleeping on the couch with flushed cheeks because of drinks and a shirt that’s almost half-a-way undone everyday.

it’s a godly sight. a scenery. mother nature could never. you genuinely want to thank his parents for the masterpiece they have created. 

you shouldn’t sit next to the couch and gawk at him while he’s sleeping. that’s creepy. what if he wakes up? imagine waking up to your roommate staring at you with the utmost attention. creepy, and moreover, you wouldn’t be able to face him. 

but again, he looks like the man you’d like to have as your boyfriend. scratch that, your husband, if not more. as if, anything more remains, but whatever. you smile, it’s a chuckle. you chuckle. you chuckle out loud, hand flying to your mouth immediately, hoping he doesn’t wake up. 

you reach out for his face, tracing his nose as superficially as possible, a faint gasp escaping your lips as he shifts a little. great. you have woken him up. his eyes flutter open and you quickly compose yourself, leaning away from him as you realise about the close proximity between him and you. 

ayato groans as he turns to his right, eyes landing on you sitting on the floor right next to him, eyes wide open like a deer caught in the headlights. a second passes, you’re okay. the next second, you’re not. 

you’re panicking. 

you’re experiencing all sorts of emotions at once because ayato just woke up and he probably knows you’ve been sitting here, watching him sleep for god knows how long. time is a social construct either way, who the fuck cares— okay, you’re swaying from the topic once again. and not to mention he looks extremely hot with messed up hair and those flushed cheeks. you’re barely composing yourself.  

did you mention that ayato has excellent facial features? he looks even more stunning up close. you know you should get up and walk away. hide yourself inside your room, live in solitary confinement for the rest of your life, or at least till ayato is around. but you don’t, because you’re staring at ayato, and he’s staring back at you. it’s like you’ve frozen in your place, you’re pretty sure you’d forgotten to breathe, if that even makes sense?

“hi,” he mutters, whispers, in his godly, eargasmic voice, and you feel like you’re hearing melodies of careless whisper ringing in your ears. 

no, you’re not sitting on the floor anymore. you stand up, pretending nothing ever happened, as if you didn’t stare at him sleeping and continued to stare for five solid minutes even after he had woken up. a very reliable solution, playing pretend always proves to be useful. 

“you can wash up, i’ll prepare the hangover soup,” you mutter, making your way to the kitchen, hearing him shuffle on the couch as he sits straight. ayato doesn’t remember a lot from the events that happened prior to your arrival, yet, which is fantastic. marvels of alcohol, everyone. 

“don’t go,” he mumbles, and you stop on your way. “don’t move out,” ayato doesn’t think before speaking, he never does. he doesn’t trust himself. he said you’re just a roommate, nothing less, nothing more, but he has been devastated ever since you told him you’ll be moving out. maybe, that was all a lie. maybe, this isn’t just platonical. maybe, you have always been a little more than just a roommate to ayato. 

it’s like the fireworks are going off all around you. you’re still processing his words, wondering if he really means them because in the end, he’s drunk. partially, completely, he is drunk. and you can never trust alcohol and its consequences. 

so, you simply decide to play along, hoping he won't remember this conversation the next day. “is there a reason for me to stay?”

“i am,” another quick reply, and you’re losing your mind. it’s like the ground beneath you is shaking. your heart is accelerating so fast, you’re scared it’ll come out of your chest. it’s not your first time witnessing a drunk ayato who has gone batshit crazy, but it is your first time having him look at you with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. at least not with regards to you. 

he sighs, getting up from the couch before making his way towards you with every step increasing your already racing heartbeat. and before you know it, he’s already standing in front of you, barely a few inches apart as he cups your face, eyes settling on your lips. “please remind me if i forget any of this tomorrow,” 

rest all feels like a dream because ayato, your roommate, the guy you’ve had a crush on ever since he moved in, the man you’d bark for— not literally, maybe, is kissing you. he’s not just kissing you, he’s kissing you, as in literally slotting his lips against yours, pulling you closer with every second that passes. he’s kissing you like the world will end tomorrow and even if it does, you don’t mind. you don’t fucking mind if the house burns to ashes and a truck runs you over the very next day because this is everything you’ve wished for in past two months ( you know, besides having a place with better living conditions to call house )

“ayato—” no he doesn’t let you speak. instead, he nibbles on your lips, soft gasps for air twirling in between as he frames you against the kitchen counter. no, this isn’t your first kiss. you’ve had relationships, but nothing compares to this moment. no other kiss compares to how he’s kissing you and how it feels like you’re on an amusement park ride where the adrenaline gets the best of you and suddenly, you’re drowning between pleasure and thrill. 

that is what kissing ayato is like. 

it’s like going to heaven and back in just the way his hands ghost up your cheeks and slot them against your waist, your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue slightly brushes against your bottom lips, and without a second thought, you let it in. kissing ayato is like gravitating towards a black hole, it’s like lying at the rock bottom and falling even deeper. you’re not sure if you should be doing this right now, especially when he’s drunk, but the taste of alcohol against your tongue inhibits your thought process, allowing your feelings to get the best of you. 

he pulls away, lips brushing against yours as you lean in to capture them in another kiss, only for him to retract. needless to say, it leaves you a little embarrassed. ayato cups your cheeks once again, making you look into his eyes with his warm breath fanning on your face. “i love you,” that’s all he says before navigating his lips to yours once again. 

you’re not sure if you heard him right. of course, you did. you have a good sense of hearing and there’s no way you’re missing such an important detail, but— love, you don’t know how sober that is. you don’t know how much of this kiss, and every sensation that you’re sharing with each other, is genuine. you don’t know how sober ayato is, you don’t know whether this is because of the alcohol or if he actually loves you. so, you put his hands on his chest, pushing him away as he stares at you with an expression ranging between confusion and heartbreak. 

you kiss the inside of his palms, shooting him a sweet smile, before walking into your room. “say that again when you’re sober.”

note two. hello if you made it this far im in love you and sending you all the, uh, things that you like ?? probably ?? yeah. trust me, i never knew i'd end up writing a 10,310 words long fic about ayato and reader simping over each other, in around five hours, two days before my english exam. but this had to be done. i had the rough draft in my keep ever since i made my genshin acc ( hi hi to people who remember my nezlys era ) i had to elaborate. i hope you liked this ?? not the kind of writing you want to see or even write, when this is your first post for a fandom but c'mon. it's about ayato. i had to do this for ayato in silk robe when he's freshly out of shower smelling like primroses and sandalwood and everything else from Dior's men perfume collection

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