#and two years is SO LONG in early years. being set back two years compared to other students can affect your education your whole life.

[seiwas]

two-part something (shouto x reader)

wc: 1.3k

contains: christmas, holiday parties, santa, mid-20's pro-hero!shouto x assistant!reader

full fic sequel: three-part honesty

a/n: just a lil writing exercise on shouto! first time writing him hehe

shouto’s late to his agency’s holiday party tonight. 

he breathes out, warmth floating as white puffs from his lips. the heating system on his office floor has been turned off, subtext directed solely to him: whoever’s here today, at this time, shouldn’t be.

his fingers move deftly around his waist, routinary—utility belt unbuckling as he reaches his desk. 

the venue for tonight is on one of the lower floors—a function room where briefings and press conferences are normally held. the number of attendees has grown compared to last year’s, sidekicks doubling and staff tripling; expected, given the agency’s projected growth next quarter. 

this is the agency’s third move since humble days in a rented studio unit (one shouto stubbornly and adamantly paid for fully, on his own), but one thing’s invariably stayed the same—

shouto’s office has always existed in its own space, whether tucked in a corner or spread out over an entire floor.

and wherever that space is, so are you. 

he settles in his seat, leather creaking as he twists to stretch his back. it’s been a long night, being dispatched earlier for an emergency downtown. his hand reaches for the folder on his desk, fingers swiping to release the yellow paper clip on the far left corner—evidence of your presence. 

since being hired as his assistant five years ago, you’ve devised a system for shouto that he now deems essential to keeping his entire agency afloat. his own urgency for paperwork hinges on the color of your paper clips (blue for next month, green for next week, yellow for tomorrow, and red for now).  

he should listen to you; the details of this evening’s take-down can be set aside for tomorrow—tomorrow, when everyone’s allowed to clock-in midday for the sake of tonight’s festivities. knowing you though, you’ll still show up early, if only to go over his desk, ensuring to swap that yellow paper clip for red. 

if he finishes this now, you won’t need to ensure anything; in all the years you’ve been his first and only assistant–a perfect match for how much of a workaholic he is–you might actually opt to sleep in for once. 

besides, it’s more productive if he gets it over with; crimes and mishaps never take breaks to party, after all—even during the holidays. 

that’s what he’ll tell you, at least. 

the party’s more for everyone else than him, anyway. 

he clicks his pen, letting out another puff of warm air as he spreads the document in front of him: 

page 1: basic information. identification details, time markers, a summary of the take-down. 

page 2: breakdown of events. scene-by-scene, additional comments, a two-beat knock on his door. 

then comes your voice, soft, unsure—

“sir?” 

—before you step inside, heels clicking against the natural stone finish of his office floor. 

he looks up, wide-eyed, piercing gray and blue. 

your gaze flits to the papers in front of him, eyebrows scrunching before you sigh. there’s an all-too-familiar smile on your face, a quiet chuckle brought about by how characteristic it is of him to be in this situation right now. 

“sir, that report is tagged yellow.” 

he shifts, looking at your paper clip; without a word, the leather of his seat crinkles again. it’s like this with shouto sometimes, you’ve come to learn: a non-response is a response on its own.

when his eyes meet yours, you shiver. 

goosebumps litter the sides of your arms, the decision to forego your blazer leaving yourself exposed to the chill of tonight’s office air. you try to hide it, but some things are impossible to keep from shouto. 

of course he notices your jaw quivering. 

“are you cold?” he stands up immediately, already moving halfway out from behind his desk.

“i’m okay, sir,” you stop him just as quickly, hands motioning for him to stay where he is.

two beats of silence find him tilting his head, gaze as intense as it’s always been pointed towards you. 

“shouto.”

“pardon, sir?” you step closer, leaning forward. 

“call me shouto.” 

the red fabric in your hand almost slips from your hold. 

this isn’t the first time shouto’s insisted on you using his name—he offered it up the moment he hired you, and the day you searched store after store for his thrifted leather chair during the agency’s second move; he’s suggested it plenty over the years, a casual reminder that it’s no big deal—if the world can call him shouto, so should you. 

pro-hero shouto, top three in the charts. 

pro-hero shouto, late to his agency’s holiday party because of paperwork—his tendency to be a workaholic. 

pro-hero shouto, asking you to call him shouto, but not in the way the world does. 

his eyes don’t leave yours as you blink, swallowing down your feelings (inappropriate, you tell yourself). 

“shouto.” you repeat. 

he nods slightly, a small, imperceptible lift to the corners of his lips. there’s an awkward pause as he looks down to the papers on his desk then up at you again.

“the party,” you clear your throat, smoothing out the fabric between your fingers, “you’re running late to your own party, si–shouto.” 

he tilts his head again, confused, “is this party not for everyone else?” 

you blink—he’s got you there. 

“i guess that’s true,” you sigh, chuckling. a pause, “that report is still yellow, though.” 

blue and gray land on white, bond papers spread out on his desk. he could argue with you, but where has that ever gotten him? you’ve kept him in check for years—it’s how he’s managed to stay on top of things. 

he looks down at his jumpsuit, the same shade of blue since he was 15. not much has changed with the design of his hero suit, just an overall sleeker design fit to match his age. the utility belt still exists, albeit more compact and less clunky; a similar modification was done to the straps that run down the sides of his chest. 

if anything, the biggest change is how the suit has molded around him—shoulders more defined, arms large enough for the fabric to cling onto it. shouto’s build has always been lean, but the areas of defined muscle stick out more evidently now that he’s older, much taller and wider.  

“i don’t have a costume.” he pouts.

you grin, stepping closer to his desk, hips digging into the edge. the red santa hat unfurls from your hands as you wave it in front of him—a perfect match to the shades of his hair. 

he blinks before you catch it, the slight curve of his lips as he leans forward, dipping his head low enough for you to reach the top of it. you tiptoe just a bit when you open up the hat to place it over his head.

you’re gentle with your touch, fingers running through the strands of his hair lightly; you tuck them neatly underneath the fluffy white rim of the santa hat. 

(it’s warmer near him, you notice—his quirk regulating a circumference of heat around himself that extends to you right now, you know. but you’re confident you’d still feel your own version of it–on your cheeks, down your neck–even if he weren’t). 

the hat sits perfectly atop his head, much like anything else that’s on him. when you lean back, moving away to take a better look, you notice it—

midnight blue, the backdrop on shouto’s floor-to-ceiling windows, littered with speckles of white—the first snowfall, and one you stand in awe of.

—gasping at the sight. 

you’re still so near when your eyes light up, zeroing in on the view behind him. you can’t help it, that smile on your face, bright and pretty, he thinks; it’s a short moment, but he feels it, a two-part ‘ba-dump’ that resounds in his heartbeat. 

a/n: they thrift the chair bc it's real leather so buying a new one is just no-no + he texts natsuo otw home after the party that he feels a bit funny! (it's just his feelings 😭)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[whore-4-drewstarkey]

Surprise- dad!Drew Starkey x Fem!reader

Summary: In which drew surprises his daughter at her kindergarten holiday after being away for work.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mean mothers 🥴, gossip

A/N: dad drew makes me melt 🫠 again idk how i feel about this. but oh whale. some friends wanted me to finish this so i did. NOT EDITED (bc i’m lazy asf)

Y/N and roslyn had just arrived to the elementary school located in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia. Y/N opened the drivers door to her Toyota Venza, walking to the back door behind the passengers seat, opening it to reveal her and drew’s daughter roslyn. roslyn looked up at Y/N, giggling lightly as her mom unbuckled her seatbelt, lifting her up and out of the car, and grabbing her pink unicorn backpack.

“you ready sweetheart?” Y/N asked roslyn sweetly as she grabbed her daughter’s tiny hand. “yeah but is daddy coming?” roslyn asked shyly, as she looked up at her mother with pleading eyes.

“baby, i already told you, he’s still working on that project in Charleston. i know he wishes he could be here for your school party, but you know he can’t baby” Y/N had bent down, caressing roslyn’s face as she’d told her baby girl the bad news.

“oh. okay then. maybe next time?” roslyn sweetly smiled back at her mama.

“yeah, maybe next time. just remember he loves you so much and hates being away” Y/N cooed back to her and drew’s creation.

as soon as the two were done with their discussion, they walked into the elementary school, and to roslyn’s classroom. roslyn was only five years old, and was the female spitting image of drew starkey. she had the beautifully straight, dirty blonde/brown hair and his piercing ocean blue eyes. but she got her mothers softness and care free attitude. the perfect mixture of the two.

“oh hello ms Y/L/N! and little miss roslyn! are you guys excited for the easter party today?” roslyn’s teacher, mrs. richmond, roslyn’s kindergarten teacher spoke with enthusiasm.

“good morning! she couldn’t stop talking about how excited she is for today the whole ride here” Y/N smiled sweetly as she played with roslyn’s pigtails. Y/N bent down to roslyn’s level and continued, “go put your bag up baby and go play with maisey before class starts” and with that roslyn obeyed, and went to find her friend.

“Y/N could you possibly help set up the decorations outside the classroom, like in the entry way and hallway? some of the other mothers are out there now” mrs richmond had asked Y/N sweetly. mrs richmond was an older woman in her mid to late fifties. she had dark brown hair that had started to turn grey and was decently tall.

“yes of course!” Y/N smiled as she sat her purse down, on the round discussion table in the back of the classroom, but grabbed her phone out of it, shoving it into the back pocket of her dad jeans which so happened to be a pair of drew’s old jean from set. but of course she had to roll them as his legs were so abnormally long to her as she was roughly 5’4.

as soon as she finished grabbing what she needed she walked outside of the classroom, to the hallway near the classroom entrance, being met with all the other mothers. compared to the other moms, Y/N was pretty young, at only 24-years-old compared to them who were around 30-34 years-old. she knew that she was judged for being a young mother, but she never let them get to her. there, however was one other young mother, maiseys mother, aka roslyn’s best friends mother; stella. stella had maisey when she was 20, so her and Y/N connected quite quickly. stella had been the only one Y/N had really ever communicated with outside of school events. that was her friend. Y/N had met drew when she was only just barely 19-years-old. drew had come to kent university one weekend to see his baby sister brooke, and his dad, todd, who was the head females basketball coach. Y/N had been roommates with his little sister brooke, and had become best friends with her instantly. Y/N had gotten drew’s number early on and as drew had visited more and more that year, they’d started dating, and shortly after they started dating she’d become pregnant with their sweet bundle of joy, roslyn.

“oh hey, Y/N? it’s Y/N right?” daniella, another mother asked Y/N as she attempted to not give Y/N a judgy look, but failed miserably.

“uh, yeah it’s Y/N. so what are we doing out here today?” Y/N smiled sweetly, telling herself she wouldn’t let her facial expressions affect her.

“you and stella can go hang these little floating easter eggs down the hall” daniella asked, well more so demanded Y/N and stella to do.

and with that, Y/N and stella made their way to the end of the hall entry way to hang the floating easter eggs from the ceiling.

“so, how’s drew? is he coming today?” stella asked Y/N knowing how much Y/N and roslyn had been missing him.

“i’m not sure. he said he had to stay in charleston another week for some voice overs for the fighting scenes. who knows. but i’m not gonna count on it, only because i know how busy filming has been and how anticipated season 4 has been” Y/N stated as she focused on stapling the string that had an egg attached at the bottom to the tiled ceiling.

“okay, do you guys think her rings real?” daniella blurted out in a loud whisper to the other moms, referring to Y/N wedding ring.

“um, what do you mean?” becky, another mother who was a part of daniella’s posse asked back.

“like do we really think she’s married? that ring is at least 50k. if it’s real, plus her last name is y/l/n and between us ladies, her daughters last name is starkey, so why are they different?” daniella ranted on about her suspicions about Y/N.

“hm, i never knew that. that’s definitely weird” tracy, another mom in the posse commented.

“yeah, and when have we actually seen this ‘husband’ of hers? never.” daniella continued.

“honestly, she probably got knocked up young, and gave her daughter the fathers last name” becky chimed in.

“wait, have any of you tried looking her up on facebook?” tracy asked out of curiosity.

“well, duh” daniella stated before continuing. “but like everything is private. plus, the only thing that isn’t is her relationship status, and it says married, but not to who. even tried instagram, same thing there. both profile pics are of her on the beach or something.”

ever sense drew had started acting in bigger roles, she’d turned all of her social media to private mode, as she didn’t want the hateful messages her way, nor the paparazzi. she didn’t need it and roslyn definitely didn’t need it. it’s something she and drew had agreed on the moment she found out she was pregnant. she never advertised her relationship with drew publicly. of course drew advertised his with her, but with her consent. plus none of the mothers there knew anything about his existence directly so it didn’t matter.

“oh my god, are they still going on about my marriage?” Y/N giggled down to stella as the two women listened in on the not so private conversation going on just a mere 10 feet from them.

“ugh, don’t you just wish drew would come in today, just to shut them up?” stella laughed up at her as she continued to staple the floating easter eggs up and across the hallway ceilings.

“more to see the looks on their faces actually” Y/N giggled out before continuing, “or to see roslyn’s face when she sees her daddy” and with those words coming out of Y/N mouth, stella chuckled to herself as soon as she saw the tall, lean actor round the corner of the hallway, sending her a smile, pleading not to acknowledge he was there.

drew slyly came up behind Y/N as she stood on a classroom chair, on her tippy toes and all due to her shortness, stapling even more floating easter eggs to the ceiling. drew, grabbed Y/N hips, speaking, “sees who’s daddy?” he’d chuckled. Y/N gasped, and jumped back, but didn’t fall due to drew’s strong, muscular arms, catching her from falling. she turned around, looking up, facing her husband of three years for the first time in person in over two months. he’d been wearing a crisp white tshirt paired with his favorite navy blue carhart jacket Y/N had bought him for christmas, along with his usual blue jeans and iconic vintage green stussy hat. Y/N took in the sight before her, seeing as his hair had grown out to its mullet form, and his facial hair had also started to grow longer during the early spring months.

“shut up. oh my goodness, you scared me! and to answer your question, your daughter” Y/N yelped out as she smacked drew’s chest. he leant down, whispering, “am i not yours too?” and with that Y/N smacked him again, “joseph andrew starkey!”

“okay, first off, no hug, no kiss, no ‘babe, i missed you! oh my god!’?

“well, yes, but i’m preoccupied love. also we’re in a school right now and people are lurking” Y/N chuckled lightheartedly, as she pointed up at the ceiling full of her work. as soon as she said the first half of that sentence, drew engulfed her in a huge hug, squeezing his wife tight, head resting on top of hers. his arms wrapped around her waist. Y/N had her arms wrapped around his neck, as she stood on her tippy toes.

as the two lovers hugged, just ten feet away the little mom posse was watching and listening very content.

“did she just say starkey? isn’t that what you said her daughter’s last name is?” tracy asked daniella.

“uh, yeah. wow he’s tall” daniella spoke as she stared at Y/N and drew hugging. she chuckled coldly, continuing, “wait a minute…. that’s her daughter’s dad? him? she got with him? how? have you seen her?”

“maybe they’re not married? maybe engaged? i literally don’t understand it” becky questioned, as the three stood in disbelief.

“i wonder how old he is” daniella spoke her thoughts out loud as stella had come over to join the older women to give the the couple some privacy.

“he’s 29 and they’re married. have been for over three years” stella spoke to the women matter-of-factly.

“wait, how much do you know?” tracy looked at stella quizzically.

“she’s my best friend. i know everything. they’ve been together since she was 19. you guys have absolutely no shot with him so give it up already. they’re soulmates. she’s been with him every step of the way, she’s known him before everything happened” stella chuckled at how dumb these moms were to her best friend’s relationship.

“what do you mean?” becky asked quizzically.

“yeah, not saying anymore” stella smirked at the moms again.

back over at the couple, they broke away, as they each held the others forearms. “i missed my girls, ya know that?” drew spoke softly to Y/N as he stared down into her eyes.

“i know and we missed you so much. roslyn can’t even sleep without the stuffed tiger you bought her. says it reminds her of you” Y/N softly spoke up at him. she soon continued, “and i cant sleep without one of your hoodies on. thanks for the attachment issues” she teased.

“awww that’s so cute oh my goodness, i cant wait to see my baby girl” he cooed at the thought of his daughter.

“what about you? were you able to sleep well away from home?”

“i mean not really, didn’t have your body against mine” he spoke quietly as he saw the mom posse staring at the two of them. “could barely survive without your touch” he whispered into her ear, earning a scoff from from her in return, but he continued to speak “had to bring out the old pictures in my hidden folder”

as soon as those words left his mouth, Y/N had a light blush covering her cheeks, as she knew exactly what he was talking about. “drew! we’re in a school, tone it down” Y/N spoke up in a normal tone on accident. drew looked down at her, as a warning to her loud tone, nodding his head towards the moms. she immediately understood and scoffed at the thought of them listening. she couldn’t wait to face them now.

“but babe, in all seriousness can i please just get one kiss? i know we’re in a school… but fuck it. right?” he began to plead.

“hmm, and have the mom posse over still watch the show?” Y/N asked as she placed her right hand under her chin, thinking. she came up with an answer and began to speak again, “sure, why not. fuck it” and with that drew gripped her jaw sternly but gently, tilting it upward, caressing it, and dipped his head down to Y/N level, since he towered over her. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck as drew placed his lips onto hers for a slow, passionate kiss, in which she reciprocated. the two of them just giggled after a second during the kiss as they knew the moms down the hallway were sure to be saying something about it.

“oh my god they’re kissing? in a school? with children around?” daniella scoffed in jealousy.

“i wonder what they’re talking about” becky thought out loud to the other moms.

“probably something you don’t wanna know. catch you ladies in the classroom” stella smirked proudly, mainly at the fact at how jealous the moms were. she couldn’t wait to talk to Y/N about their reactions to drew’s appearance.

as drew and Y/N finished laughing, Y/N spoke up, “well hunny, as happy as i am to finally see you in the flesh again, i think someone else will be even more excited”

“oh my god take me to my little girl. lead the way babe” drew chirped out so happily as Y/N started dragging drew by the hand towards the classroom. not before being stopped by the mom posse first though.

“oh, Y/N who’s this?” daniella asked in a sweet tone.

“this is drew, drew, meet some of the other moms. daniella, tracy, and becky” Y/N introduced nervously. drew, however noticed early on how nervous she’d gotten, instinctively wrapping his left arm around her from behind, splaying his large left hand on her left hip, wedding ring exposed.

“hi, nice to meet you all. i’m roslyn’s dad, but i feel like that’s easy to figure out because she looks just like me” drew chuckled as he did a slight wave, as he’d said hi.

“so lovely to meet you drew! why haven’t we seen you around… like ever?” becky interrogated.

“well, i’ve been doing a lot of work stuff these past few months unfortunately. i have to go out of state for business a lot for long periods of time” drew spoke, beating around the bush; his job.

“oh so what do you do for work?” tracy jumped into the conversation to draw as much information out of drew as possible.

“uh… i’m actually an actor” he blushed as he became a bit nervous, letting random strangers know of his job.

“hey, uh if you don’t mind, we’re gonna go see our daughter. he hasn’t seen her in over two months and she really misses him” Y/N sassily spoke to the mean mom posse.

“oh- uh yeah. right” daniella stuttered out as she became slightly embarrassed in front of the couple.

“take me to my baby girl please” drew smiled down to Y/N, who in return started to walk away, grabbing his large right hand into her left and dragged him into the classroom.

as Y/N opened the classroom door slowly, she could sense how excited drew was to see his daughter again due to his urgency, softly pushing Y/N ahead. “hurry up baby” he urged softly into Y/N ear from behind her as he bent down to her level.

as drew neared his daughter, who’d been sitting in her tiny chair at her tiny desk, he spoke up softly as he squatted his large frame down, “hey angel, what are you drawing right now?” as he pointed to the piece of paper roslyn had been drawing on.

roslyn simply dropped her crayon, slowly turning to her right to be met face-to-face with her daddy who she’d been missing for the past two month. her mouth opened as it began to quiver, as fears brimmed her blue irises. “d-daddy? you’re home?!” she stuttered out as she began to sob, attempting to put her tiny arms around drew’s neck.

“aw babygirl, don’t cry. are you trying to make daddy cry too?” drew cooed as he lifted roslyn into his arms, standing up with her crying into her neck. drew’s heart clenched so type at the sound of his precious little girls happy cries. “and yes baby. i’m home. i got done with filming early” he continued to coo as he cradled her tiny head against his neck, shushing her weeps.

with that, roslyn lifted her brown head of hair to look up at her father as her tears began to dry up, only to be met with her father’s face. tears brimmed his striking blue eyes, making the tiny girl twist her face in worry, wiping away any tear of his that fell. “don’t cry daddy. please don’t cry” she pouted as drew let out a chuckle at her words.

“happy tears my little girl…. happy tears. i promise. i missed you so much. you’re my little princess. ya know that?”

“what about mommy? what’s she?” the young child asked her father. “well, she’s my queen, and you’re our princess. how does that sound?” he smiled right at her, as she wrapped her arms around his neck again.

“i love that. i want a puppy. don’t princesses have puppies?” she questioned as drew let his head fall back in laughter of joy.

“we will think about that. yeah?” he smiled down to his little girl again.

“mmhm” she hummed in response, as Y/N approached the two loves of her life with adoration filled in her eyes. she was most happy seeing her daughter and her daughter’s father reunite. every time she witnessed it her heart was filled with pure love and bliss. nothing could compare to how she felt when the two were together.

Y/N walked up behind drew and to his side, brushing roslyn’s light brown hair from her face and behind her ear, as she smiled at the two, who looked back at her. “you good drew?” Y/N asked as she smirked at her husband who still had a few years every now and then leak from his eyes. she brought her soft, dainty hand up to his face to wipe them away as he smirked at her, still cuddling their daughter in his arms.

he simply responded with a sincere smile, “i’m just happy to be back with my two girls”

Taglist @slut4drudy @runningfrom2am @maybankslover

[heeliopheelia]

"i've missed you" (heeseung x reader)

genre: light angst, fluff word count: 1.3k requested by @probably-too-obssessed ♡

warnings: mentions of a break up, exes to lovers, crying

a/n: was the plan in my head perfect: yes. do i like the execution:... okay, ik this ain't technically a drabble but bear with me!! but anyways, we're officialy more than half done with the 1k event yayy!!

masterlist

Wiping the sleep out of your eyes, you make your way past the living room to answer the door. Knowing that only the closest people to you know the code to your apartment block's stairway, you can't help but worry as you approach the knocking on your door at such early hour. Has something happened? Did someone get hu-?

Suddenly more awake than a second before, you gape at ex-boyfriend in shock. Wide eyes scan his face, his brows slightly furrowed as he chews on his bottom lip, fingers twitching by his thighs. And you can't help but notice that he looks... the same. Yes, a little more mature now compared to the few years ago, features more defined than before but that's still most definitely Heeseung. Your Heeseung.

"What are you doing here?" You ask quietly, feet rooted into the floor as cold winter air sweeps from the stairway and engulfs your thinly-clothed body. You try to pretend that this sudden coolness is the cause of the shiver that runs down your spine but at the same time you know well that it's all because of Heeseung's relentless eyes placed on you.

"Hi," he breathes out and feels his heart coming up to his throat. Fuck, you're even prettier than he remembered. He clears his throat. "Can I come in?"

Somehow you muster the courage to nod your head and move back to open the door wider for him. As he sets his foot in your apartment, an instant wave of nostalgia and longing fills his heart to the brim and for the first time in three years Heeseung doesn't feel this void that's been constantly eating him from the inside. And it's all after spending only a minute with you again.

"I've missed you," he blurts out without wasting any more time, watching as your shoulders visibly tense. He takes a step closer and then one more, moving to stand right in front of you. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say it."

Pressing your lips together, you hide the trembling of your fingers by clenching them on the fabric of the shirt you've been sleeping in. His shirt which only now you seem to realize to be wearing and so does Heeseung as his eyes soften. And it makes him hope that maybe you too, after all this time, still keep a place in your heart for him.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

"You–," you stutter out, head full of running thoughts. Why is he here now? What's caused him to go against his manager and contract and show up at your door at 5 am? "Heeseung, where is this all coming from?"

"Ever since the night I broke up with you, there hasn't been a day without you on my mind." You can clearly see the distress and pain marring his soft features. "I'm sorry I fucked up, I never should've ended things with you back then."

And yes, you've missed him too. Yes, you've thought about him way too much for someone who's supposed to be over the relationship for at least two years now. But it's Heeseung after all. How does one simply move on from him?

But you keep a brave face and decide to be the more reasonable one out the two of you for once in your entire life. "There's nothing to apologize for, don't be ridiculous"

He scoffs, running his hand through his thick hair from frustration. "I was selfish. I dropped you for fame–"

"You left me for your dreams, Heeseung," you interrupt him with a scolding look. "And you did the right thing. I'd never want to be the one holding you back. Stop being so self-critical."

His eyes soften and he breathes out, all the tension leaving his body. "You could never hold me back, YN. I hate that only now I realized that you were the only thing that's kept me grounded. I'm no one without you."

Your heart stutters when his hands reach out and envelop your slightly trembling ones. "I don't know, Hee. There's just... There's so much happening right now, I can't think straight."

"I still love you." His words knock all the air out of your lungs and you swear you're falling. "After all this time, there's never been anyone else but you, love. I'd drop everything in an instant if you asked me to give my all to you right now. Everything loses its value when you're not there with me, I've learnt it the hard way."

"I–"

Your quiet stumbling gets cut off by his hands suddenly loosing their grip on yours. You watch as realization tinted with fear slowly creeps up on his beautiful face. All of sudden, Heeseung feels all of his muscles tensing as his heart drops down his chest, heavy and aching.

Already dreading your answer, he asks. "Do you... Do you have someone?"

"N-No!" You stutter out quickly, hands suddenly gaining a mind of their own as they desperately clutch on his again, heart wrenching as you already miss his touch even though he hasn't even fully pulled away. "I couldn't. Not after you."

"Then give us another try," he breathes out, chest feeling almost fifty pounds lighter at your quiet confession. His fingers quickly intertwine with yours as he pulls you closer with one tug. Your heart stalls when he leans down and starts kissing away the tears that you haven't even noticed started dropping down your cheeks. "All I want is you, YN. And there will never be anyone but you for me."

His lips trail down your cheeks, peppering kisses all over your jawline and chin and before you can even blink, your mouths are moving together in despair. The kiss is soaked and dripping with longing and love as you both pour all of the emotions from deep within into it. Even when your lips start to slightly burn from the saltiness of your tears and Heeseung's harsh sucks, you never even think of pulling away just for a second. It's only your muffled sob that makes the two of you part.

"I missed you so much," you cry out, trembling hand coming up to cover the bottom of your wet face. It doesn't take long for him to gently pull it away and bring it closer to him, pressing his warm lips to your knuckles. You sniffle, only to feel more tears following down your cheeks. "I've watched your every single performance, you know?" You chuckle shortly trough the sobs. The smile you sent him is wobbly and teary but so full of love it makes Heeseung feel the happiest he's been for the past couple years. "I'm so proud of you."

Your words impact him harder than he would ever admit, so before you can get the glimpse of his own eyes becoming glistening, he pulls you by your face and kisses you again, swallowing each one of your sobs and whimpers. Your hands tightly cling onto his hoodie as you find yourself becoming putty underneath his touch again. His slim fingers brush away the hair that got stuck onto your teary face, his caresses so gentle you can't help but feel your legs buckling slightly, so taking two steps backwards, you pull him on the couch along with you.

"I love you too," you whisper somewhere in between your ceasing cries and his kisses.

At that, Heeseung pulls himself up on his elbows to take in your pretty face. The face that he couldn't erase from his mind for all these years. The face that kept him awake every night until he passed out from exhaustion. The face that he loves more than anything else in this world.

And damn him if he ever found anything else that brought him as close to heaven as the sight of your swollen lips parted with a smile, blush spread over your cheeks as your eyes fill up with sparkles, looking at him as if he's collected all the stars from the sky and gave them to you. And fuck, if you really ever asked him to give you the entire moon itself, he knows that he would somehow find a way to make it happen. Because he would do absolutely anything and everything to make you happy. Even if it meant giving up his entire career – he will not make the same mistake twice and lose you again, now knowing that nothing is worth of the pain that being without you has put him through.

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi

[just-jordie-things]

[part two] trouble - takuma ino

word count: 9k warnings: swearing, drinking, slight harassment (a creep puts his hand on reader's waist for 0.2 seconds) summary: she's only agreed to one night out- and that doesn't mean anything at all. it also doesn't mean anything that a few drinks has her admitting that ino's eyes are actually quite pretty. contents: rivals to begrudged friends, gojo!reader, nanami leaves the function at his first oppurtunity, ino and (y/n) have an alcohol fueled breakthrough.

part two: "got so much to prove" ___

Gojo Satoru was nothing like his sibling counterpart, and she was dead set on keeping it that way.  Where he was overbearing, she was uninvolved.  Where he was obnoxious, she was reserved.  For most of her life she could recall trying to steer herself into the opposite direction Satoru was heading.  

That was, until it came to sorcery.

If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have needed to crawl up a ladder to claim the Grade One title.  If it weren’t for him, she could’ve made a name for herself rather than live in the shadow that was their family name.  If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be stuck in this too-loud bar throwing back too-weak drinks.

Nanami didn’t seem too thrilled about having his evening decided for him, either.  He was nursing his third beer and the alcohol still hadn’t loosened him enough to lose the look of pure disinterest on his face.  (y/n) couldn’t blame him, seeing as she didn’t want to be here either.

Takuma, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.  He’d eagerly ordered them a round of shots despite their protests, claiming it was a right of passage for their first outing together.

“I’m not taking a shot,” Nanami had pushed his glass to the center of the table, refusing it as soon as it was set in front of him.  “I have to be home by eight” 

“Eight?” Takuma gasped incredulously at his early retirement.  “But Gojo’s car won’t be here till eleven-” 

“Dibs” (y/n) plucks the extra shot off the counter, tapping it once against the table before throwing it back with ease.  

The other two are left to stare at her in shock, neither knowing how to react.  She’s quick to chase it down with her own shot in rapid succession, not a single flinch or twitch from the burning sensation left in her throat.  Nanami and Takuma share a quick glance, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by the young Gojo.

“What?” She asks innocently, propping her elbow on the table to rest her chin in her hand.  “Been a long week, no?” 

“It’s just… Satoru doesn’t drink” Nanami shrugs at the simple statement, leaning back against his chair.

(y/n) pauses, her brow twitching in the smallest of movements.

Even without him around, she was being compared to him.  And hearing it come from Nanami, whom she’d spent years looking up to, snapped her final straw.

“Right…” She drawls the word out slowly, and Nanami waits all too patiently for whatever she had to say next.  “Well since it is our first outing, let’s establish this once and for all, shall we?” 

And then she grins, which sends warning flags up in Takuma’s mind when she leaves the table and approaches the bar.  He turns back to Nanami with his worry evident on his face.

“That’s not good,” He says in a hushed voice.  “I’ve only ever seen her smile like that when exorcizing curses” 

Nanami only chuckles half heartedly, more than familiar with the way the Gojo siblings’ shared wicked grin.

Ino’s not so amused, but he does his best to get excited when (y/n) comes back with a stronger drink and another round of shots for the three of them.  Nanami refuses this one as well, and this time they let it sit on the center of the table unclaimed.

To his surprise, she taps her shot glass against Ino’s when he picks it up, eyeing the auburn liquid with uncertainty.  This would be his second shot in the span of only ten minutes, and it would be her third.  There had to be some ploy behind it, right? 

“Whatever it takes to prove to you both I’m not my brother, name it,” (y/n) announces before throwing back the shot.  “It can be like a game!” She decides, eyes lighting up with the idea.  If she notices the way Nanami and Ino seem unsure and uncomfortable with the sudden swing in behavior, she doesn’t show it.

“A drinking game?” Ino asks, not quite following her train of thought.

“Sure,” She nods at him.  “Like a truth or drink sort of thing? That works” 

“I’ve got one, then,” Nanami leans back onto the table, suddenly joining the conversation.  His pupils seem surprised, but both excited in their own way to have him participate  “That Grade Two at the playground, last week, did you lie in your paperwork?” 

A more authentic looking beam stretches over (y/n’s) face, and she laughs as she considers taking a drink, but she supposes he’d have his answer if she did, so she might as well fess up.

“About the swingset being torn apart?” She asks with a raised brow.  “Yes, I lied about that” 

“You lied in your report?” Ino gasps in shock.  “What’d you say?” 

“She claimed the swings had been torn away from their posts before she arrived on the scene” Nanami explained with a huff.

That earned another gasp from Ino before he turned back to (y/n) with wide eyes and an awkward sort of smile, like he was excited to have caught her in something, even though she’d admitted to it herself.

“You chopped down a children’s playground?” 

“It was a swingset,” She corrected.  “And it’s structural integrity was fine.  The city could afford to replace the swing itself.  It’s practically just rope” 

Nanami shakes his head, although he’d already had an inkling her report on that assignment was less than truthful.  He had stopped by to take account of the damage done, and it seemed to him like the scraped metal of the playset’s structure could have only been chinked up by a large blade.  Like an axe.

A few more random questions come up between the two, most of them work related.  The questions are all over the place however, with Nanami trying to get her to admit to more discrepancies in her paperwork, and Ino trying to learn anything and everything he could.  So she never quite knew what was going to be asked of her.

More often than not, Nanami’s questions led to her drinking.  Whereas Ino’s…

“Do you have any tattoos?” 

She wants to laugh, and ask him if he’s sure that’s what he wants to know.  But Nanami’s already got her another two drinks down, so she finds herself lifting up the hem of her shirt, just enough to put her hip bone on display, earning shocked looks from both men as they stared holes into the ink on her skin.

“When did you get that?” Nanami asks, his eyebrows nearly to his hairline when (y/n) looks up at him with a lazy smirk.

“I was sixteen, and you weren’t around at the time” She states matter-of-factly.

Ino’s laughing, and maybe cheering as he throws back the rest of his drink and makes his way to the bar for another.  (y/n) wouldn’t admit that she was having a good time, but it was quite entertaining to watch their reactions.

“That’s enough insight for tonight” Nanami sighs before getting up from his seat.  (y/n) watches as he lifts his jacket from the back of his chair, loosely shrugging it on.  A small knot forms between her brows.

“You’re actually gonna leave?” She asks, and if he didn’t know any better, Nanami might think she’s frowning because she’s disappointed to see him leave.  

“I’ve already stayed later than I planned,” He answers dryly.  “But you should stay, Ino too,” He adds, nodding to the sorcerer at the bar desperately trying to get the bartender’s attention.  “Make your brother pick up the tab” 

“He said it was on you” (y/n) replies with a shrug, before taking a sip of her drink.  

Nanami rolled his eyes as he turned to go, grumbling something about how a Gojo could be trying to pass off the bill.  (y/n’s) laughing as he leaves, and he’s almost compelled to stay, just for the sake of watching her open up more than he’d seen in years, but he supposes he’s not the one who needs that tonight.

Ino’s surprised when he comes back to the table with a fresh drink and hand, only to find Nanami missing.  He glances at the empty seat with a furrowed brow before turning to (y/n), who shrugs.

“Guess he wasn’t kidding about turning in early” She muses, pushing the ice in her glass with her straw.  Ino seems to pout at that.

“Too bad, I thought we were having a good time” He says as he takes his seat across from her.

(y/n) regards him with a slight tilt of her head, as if he were a stranger she were noticing for the first time.  As always, his mask sat on top of his head, posed as a beanie, and as he turned away to glance across the crowded bar, she’d never noticed before, but the curve of his cheekbones were defined.  Sharp, even.  Her gaze continued to linger, noticing the same detail about his jawline.  Had she really never noticed before, or was the dim lighting doing him a favor by putting his facial features on display? 

“Is this your idea of a good time?” She asks suddenly, and his attention is swiveling back to her.  Even with the lights shifting across his face, the defined features still stuck out to her.  “Going out somewhere crowded and noisy?” 

Ino laughs at that, every part of his expression lighting up with his delight, and once again (y/n) wonders if someone’s purposefully messing with the lights to put a spotlight on him.

Her brother’s words from their last phone call start to penetrate her thoughts against her will.  She tries to shake them off, but it’s hard when his brown eyes gleam like honey when he looks at her.

“Well, drinks are a pretty important part.  This wouldn’t be fun without ‘em,” He says, and she shrugs in non-committed agreement.  “But it is fun.  I’m having fun, at least”

“It’s not…” She starts to tell him this wasn’t her ideal night out.  In actuality, she was more of a stay in and relax on the weekend kind of person.  Satoru did enough partying in his younger years to turn her off from it early on.  But Ino perks up as he awaits her response, and it didn’t feel right to tell him the full truth.  So she changes direction and tells him a half-lie.  “It’s not terrible” She finishes.

He’s grinning again, as though she’d just told him she was having the time of her life, and she can’t help the confused knot in her brow.  Could he really be so pleased over simply having a few drinks together? 

“I knew you’d have a good time if you just came!” He cheered, reaching his glass across the table to tap it against hers.  “You should’ve just accepted the invitation months ago” 

She takes a long drink, stalling to try and find the right thing to say.  She doesn’t want Ino to get the wrong idea, she’s not about to make this a regular thing.  No, this was a one time occurrence.  She stood by what she said all those months ago.  It was silly to make friends in this line of work.  She’d witnessed first hand, one too many times, just what companionship could cost.  One night out couldn’t possibly change that.

Something twists in her chest before she can remind him of that, and it prevents her from saying anything of the sort.  Instead, she changes the subject.

“Can I ask you a truth or drink question, now?” She leans forward in her seat a bit, resting her elbow on the table once more as she studies his eager expression.

“Shoot!” He agreed excitedly, and she can’t help the short laugh that escapes her.  She blames the alcohol.

“How do you stay so positive all the time?” She asks the question that had been nagging at her for longer than just the past couple hours.  He shakes his head slightly, not quite following the meaning of her question.  “Even on assignments, and doing your reports, you’re always…” She wiggles her fingers in front of her as she tries to find the right word to explain it.

Ino chuckles, before full on laughter takes over and his shoulders are shaking as he grins from ear to ear, almost proving her point before he could actually answer.

“I love what I do?” He answers like it’s a question, like he’s unsure if that’s what she’s even looking for.  “I’ve been working towards one goal my entire life, I might as well enjoy it, right?” 

She’s stunned silent for a minute.  There was a time where she would’ve said the same thing, when she was young and naive and thought her and her brother would take the jujutsu world by storm, side by side.  Before she realized that her entire life would be spent under the shadow cast by him owning the family name almost all for himself.  It was a large, infinite shadow.  And the longer she’d lived in it, the more her joy for her work turned into a necessity.  Until now, she hadn’t even realized just how much she’d come to despise every step it took to move forward in jujutsu society.

Ino took her silence to mean she was thinking too deeply about what he’d said, and a question of his own came to mind.

“Do you not enjoy it?” 

Her gaze rises from where she’d zoned out looking at her dwindling drink, finding Ino across from her looking almost concerned.  The longer she didn’t respond, the more his expression reminded her of the night he’d found her injured.

She clears her throat before opting out of answering, instead drinking down the last of the contents in her glass.  He raises a brow at her choice.

“Did you not want to tell me your answer, or did you not know the answer?” He asks.

“Is that another question?” She asks, a small smirk forming on her lips.  “Because I’ll have to order another drink” 

Ino laughs, and despite her trying not to, she can’t help but laugh with him.

“Another round?” He asks, and she thinks about it for a minute, before nodding, and getting up from her seat.  To her surprise, he follows her up to the bar, even though there was still a good quarter of his drink left.  She doesn’t comment on it.

They have to squeeze between bodies to stake a place at the bar, the two bartenders already quite busy with the amount of people waving at them for their attention.  It’s bound to take more than a couple minutes before they would get to place their order.

“Guess everyone had a rough week” (y/n) mumbles absentmindedly, and Ino glances down at her.

This wasn’t the first time he’d taken notice of her height- or lack thereof- but with having her so close she was nearly pressed into his side, it was hard not to notice.  About a head shorter than him, he had to tilt his head down to properly look at her, which he was only doing now because the alcohol buzzing in his system lifted the barriers of his anxiety.  Had he been sober, he’d have been far too weak to stare at her so blatantly.

Luckily due to the drinks they’d both had, (y/n) didn’t realize he was staring at her for a whole minute or so.  She’d been too focused on trying to catch eyes with one of the bartender’s to feel his eyes on her.  Even without being caught, he felt a flush creeping up his neck.

In another life, or hell, another universe, Ino wonders if things could have been different between them.  If she would’ve been less closed off, or maybe he could’ve been more laid back and met her level of reserved.  He wonders if they would’ve been closer friends, or maybe even something more than that.

Truthfully, when they’d first met, he’d instantly had a bit of a crush on her.  He’d never met the younger Gojo before the day he started working with Nanami on his promotion, but as soon as he’d laid eyes on her, he thought his heart was going to go into cardiac arrest and he’d die right there.  She was quiet, but he could tell behind her calculating expression that she was thoughtful, and cunning.  And so, so beautiful, that he’d stuttered all the way through introducing himself, even his own name he’d struggled to get out.  Looking back on it, he still felt embarrassed, but he was sure she’d long forgotten the interaction.  It wasn’t long after their meeting that she’d made her disinterest in him explicitly clear, and the sparks of feelings she’d ignited in him were stomped out into ash.

He felt like a fool for feeling that spark ignite again just standing beside her in this congested bar, but he couldn’t be imagining that things were different tonight, right? He was sure that she was opening up more of herself than he’d ever seen before, and maybe the alcohol played a part in that, but either way, he couldn’t get enough of it.  She was giving him crumbs of her life- an impulsive tattoo, her hopes to have a pet some day, a few reckless acts on assignments- and he was eating it all up with gratitude.  He couldn’t help but want to learn more, wanting to press further until she couldn’t possibly deny that she enjoyed confiding in him as much as he enjoyed being in her company.

He knows he can’t be imagining things, because when she finally feels his stare and looks up at him, she doesn’t scowl, or spit out some cruel comment about it.  Her brows twitch slightly, drawing together in a confused expression when he doesn’t immediately look away like she would’ve expected.  He’s close enough that he can see the way a ghost of a smile hovers at the corners of her lips, and the way her cheeks warm up with color.  It makes that microscopic spark of old feeling in his chest burn a little brighter.

A nervous laugh falls from her lips, and it’s so uncharacteristically cute that he’s smiling now, and he feels like an absolute dope for staring at her and smiling like an idiot, but it can’t be helped.  He can’t be helped.

“What?” She asks, breathless and curious, her eyes shifting between his as though trying to find the source of this behavior, but instead she only finds warm pools of brown that almost resemble the rum and cokes she’s been enjoying all night.

And then all at once it’s almost too much.  She’s suddenly aware of how close she is to him, their arms brushing together, or if he tilted his head just a little further down he could easily push his nose against hers and-

Her eyes widen at the derailing of her train of thought, the soft expression of surprise on her face more recognizable than she would’ve liked, and she could tell that it doesn’t go unnoticed by Ino, as he’s now regarding her with intrigue, wondering what was going through her mind.

The idea of him knowing she’d nearly gotten lost in thought at the idea of kissing him made her chest ache, and she badly wanted to tear her gaze away from his, lean over the bar and demand to be serviced so they could get away from the crowded space as quickly as possible.

What an idiotic, drunken thought to have.  Kissing a colleague, how much more foolish could she possibly be? She tries to shake it off as a pesky intrusive thought.  Nothing more than the alcohol pressuring her into making a reckless decision.

But she’s frozen before him, her eyes locked on his like she was stuck in a trance, trapped by her own nerves.  The eye contact was going to kill her, especially with how soft his gaze was.  It wasn’t like anything she was used to.  It wasn’t setting her on fire from it’s heat.  The way he looked at her made her feel like she’d just cozied up in front of a fireplace after a cold day.  It almost scared her how warm it made her chest feel.

She’s opening her mouth before she even settled on what she needed to say.

“Takuma, we should probably get go-” 

She’s interrupted before she could finish telling him they needed to leave.  It almost saves her, seeing as she didn’t have a very decent excuse as to why they needed to end the night early, but there’s little time for relief when the unwelcome hand of a stranger settles on her waist, stealing her attention away from Ino’s.

“You waitin’ for a drink, sweetheart?” 

She vaguely registers that the stranger with the breath that reeked of booze was speaking to her, before she’s reacting on instinct.

The grabby hand on her hip is pried off with ease, her strength easily overpowering his in less than a second.  No amount of alcohol would be enough to hinder her reflexes.  The stranger cries out in shock and pain as she twists his arm back behind him, likely spraining his shoulder with how fast she pushes it into an uncomfortable position.  The sly expression on the man’s face is contorted into one of great pain, and only when he begins to cry out for her to stop does she stop pushing.  Her desire to feel the bone snap under her strength starts to melt away when she sees tears in his eyes.

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your hands so you’d learn to keep your mitts to yourself” She mutters, releasing him with a slight shove.  The drunken stranger stumbles backwards, still sniffling and gawking in shock from the whole ordeal.

The woman he’d tried to pick up is still scowling, and she looks like she’s still undecided in letting him go, the way her lip curls into a snarl and her eyes seem to pierce right through his soul.  The man beside her looks no different, rage evident in the way his brows furrow and his jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together roughly.  He has one hand on the edge of the bar, as close to where she stands as he could get without pushing himself against her completely.  His knuckles are paling by the second, gripping so hard one could almost assume he was about to rip a chunk of oak clean out of the counter.  His other hand is on his head, roughly grabbing at the edge of his hat.  

Even the non-sorcerer that was this stranger got a bad feeling emanating from the two, and he scurried off without another word.  (y/n’s) eyes rolled dramatically at the pathetic display, but as she turned back to Ino, she could almost laugh at the sight of him ready to pull his mask over his face.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and there’s not a crack in his expression as he glances over her with concern pouring out of every pore.  

He loses his grip on the bar, hand hovering over her shoulder but not quite touching her, not knowing if physical contact would be a comfort right now.  It’s odd, feeling like for once she was the Gojo with the shield of Infinity.

“I’m fine,” She tells him, and she means it, but she can tell he’s not so convinced.  “But just out of curiosity, what was your plan here?” She asks, cracking a smile as she flicks the edge of his mask, still bunched up at the top of his head.

“I- I don’t know,” Ino answers sheepishly.  “If he didn’t leave you alone I guess I was just gonna wing it” He admits.

She regards him for a moment, letting the answer sink in.  Her smile widens a bit when she laughs softly, almost fondly, as she really thinks about it.  She softens again, just like she had moments ago, before the creep ruined it.

“Well, for what it’s-” 

“Hey, you two need to leave,” 

The pair or sorcerers do a double take when one of the bartenders finally gives them their attention, but not for the reason they’d wanted.

“What?” (y/n) asks, certain they had the wrong patrons.

“We weren’t doing anything?” Ino’s brows furrow as the bartender looks them both up and down.

“I don’t care for the details.  We can’t have a commotion like that in the bar.  If you’re going to cause trouble, do it somewhere else” 

“But the guy was the one who-!” 

Before Ino could finish his explanation, the bartender was shoving a finger towards the door, an expectant look on their face that told them not to argue any further, unless they wanted to cause more trouble.

“Whatever,” (y/n) huffs.  “This bar’s a dump anyways” 

And before the bartender could react, she was grabbing Ino by the arm and pulling him away from the bar.  She was on a mission for the door, eager to leave a place if she wasn’t wanted.  All Ino could do was silently follow along, his mind barely processing the whole ordeal until they were outside, where it was significantly quieter.

It was darker than he’d expected, although he was well aware of the time, it was a shock to be out on the dark sidewalk with the stars on full display above them.  He glances up at the sky to admire them for a moment, until realization strikes him and he’s whirling around to look at her again.

“What about our tab?” 

(y/n) blinks back at him, her expression unwavering.

“Guess we won’t be welcomed back, either” She says, and Ino stares at her in shock as he processes the statement.

“Well then we better get moving” 

(y/n) hadn’t intended to end up at another bar.  In fact, before the handsy stranger made things weird, she’d been looking for an excuse to end the night early.  However, her words betrayed her when Takuma suggested another little dive not far down the street, and that’s where she found herself now.

This place wasn’t as crowded as the last, so she felt comfortable walking in and claiming a small corner booth.  By the time someone came by for their order, she’d already stretched out across the length of the leather cushion, back pressed to the window comfortably.  Ino had chuckled at how cozy she’d made herself, but didn’t comment on it.

Once their first round- at this establishment- of drinks came around, he’d excitedly started up their previous game again.

“Would you have really broken that guy’s hands?” He asks, and (y/n) doesn’t even lift her drink to pretend she wouldn’t answer.

“Without a doubt,” She hums, spinning the ice in her glass with her straw.  “Sometimes lessons have to be learned the hard way, right?” She asks him with a mischievous grin that tells him she might’ve done worse had the moment felt right.  “My turn?” She asks, and he nods, crossing his arms over the table as he gave her his undivided attention.  “Which little beast of yours would you have summoned?” 

“Kaichi” 

He answers with so much bluntness she raises her brows at him, surprised by his complete lack of thought before speaking.  She hums, nodding her head in quiet agreement that impaling the stranger with one of those horns would have been the best method of defense.

“Has that… happened before?” 

“The random guy hitting on me part? Or the part where I threatened a man’s hands?” She asks, and Ino doesn’t seem to have the proper clarification for her question, so she shrugs, and doesn’t drink to the question.

“No, that’s never happened before” 

She takes a few sips after she’s answered, hoping to keep up the buzz she had going.  Ino’s fingers tap rhythmically against the table as he processes her answer.  He seems unaffected at first, but slowly, confusion begins to seep into his features.

“Wait, so you’re saying no one’s ever hit on you, either?” 

“You already asked that one”

“Well then I’m asking again” 

(y/n) begins to pull her glass towards her, ready to take another drink, but maybe the alcohol gets on top of her a bit as she answers the question before she could evade it.

“No, I’ve never been hit on.  I don’t think, anyways.  But I think I’d probably know if I was” 

It comes out like word vomit, babbled out like her thoughts were on a direct pipeline to being voiced.  She doesn’t mean to share so much, but she finishes with a shrug of her shoulders, and raises her glass to sip some more.

“You really never go out, huh?” He asks, taking a drink as well.

“What, getting hit on is the true price you pay for going out?” She asks with a short laugh, not following the connection between the two.  Ino nods his head from side to side, indecisive in his response.

“Not always, just, y’know, figured it’d happen a lot if you didn’t stay in all the time”

By the time he realizes the implications of that statement, it’s already too late.  Ino nearly chokes on his drink when (y/n) tilts her head at him, realization slowly flickering over her features.

“You’re saying people would hit on me a lot if I went out more?” She asks skeptically.

He considers pulling his mask over his face in order to conceal the growing heat in his cheeks.  Not that it would help, the damage had already been done with his loud mouth.

“I didn’t mean it like that-” 

“Well how did you mean it then?” She asks, suddenly swiveling her legs to sit upright against the table, plopping her chin in her hands to study him properly.  

She always had a way of looking at him with calculation in her eyes, as if she was sizing him up like a curse.  Right now, he doesn’t know what to make of the way she stares at him.  There’s that familiar look in her eyes that makes him wonder just what it is she’s looking for, but the softness in her smile was unfamiliar territory, and Ino didn’t have the slightest clue of what to make of it. Was it amusement? Did she take sick joy in watching him fluster and stutter? Or could it be the alcohol to blame? Perhaps it was loosening her up, and any semblance of delight was merely the booze entertaining her.  The most outlandish reason would have been fondness, but there simply wasn’t a chance in the freezing depths of hell that she was actually growing fond of his company, was there?

“I just meant, y’know,” He gestures his hand towards her, pathetically trying to explain his thought process.  She shakes her head in a small motion, not understanding his poor attempt at reason in the slightest.  “Like, you… you’re… you know”

Ino would really rather be anywhere else right now, preferably somewhere that wasn’t so hot his collar was sticking to his neck and his throat was closing up, but then (y/n) begins to laugh, and he huffs out a sigh in aggravation, and ultimately decides to take a long drink.

“Fair enough,” She muses at his choice.  “It’s not a terrible assumption to make, I suppose.  My brother is acquainted with every eligible man and woman in the city, after all” She says, only half joking.  Ino seems to find a great deal of amusement in that, grinning and laughing, although he can’t say he’s that surprised.

“For the record, I wasn’t comparing you to him in that assumption,” He says.  “I just figured you’d… attract your own attention” He says.

There’s an undeniable flutter in her chest, and she wished she could say she hated the way it spread a tingle of warmth throughout her entire body.  It wasn’t like she’d never received that sort of attention from others, but it had been so long since she entertained the idea that it was starting to feel a little foreign.  And having Ino of all people assume that there were a line of suitors out the door waiting for her hand had her insides turning with the near unfamiliar sensation of butterflies.

Her silence is making him anxious, his fingers tapping against the table no longer playing a steady beat.  They mimicked the rapid increase in his heartbeat.  Wild and unsteady and with no sign of relaxing.

“That so?” When she finally does speak it’s soft, nearly a whisper, as if she didn’t quite believe him.  “Are you an expert in that field, then?” 

She catches the way his eyes land on his drink, which was now empty, so there wasn’t exactly an out for the question.  When his gaze shifts back up to hers, he finds she hasn’t looked away from him yet.

“What field?” He plays dumb, and her smile curls into a slight smirk.

“Flirting, courting, whatever you want to call it” (y/n) answers with ease, fiddling with the straw in her drink as she impatiently waits for his answer.  He eyes his empty glass once more.

“No, I’m no expert,” He huffs, a deep frown on his face for having to admit something so embarrassing.  “You timed that on purpose” 

“I did not!” She argues, but her nervous laughter gives her away.  She’s not as good at lying when she’s drunk apparently, and he might just have to store that information for later.

“My drink was empty! That was a trap!” 

She has to cover her mouth to try and suppress the giggles coming out of her uncontrollably.  He’s still embarrassed, but her laughter was contagious.  Anyone passing by or glancing over at the loud laughter pouring out of their booth would assume they were having nothing but a good time.  And for a few seconds at a time, Ino could pretend they were, too.

To keep things fair, (y/n) finishes the last few sips of her drink, before sliding both glasses to the end of the table.

“Alright, your turn then,” She says, a small hiccup punctuating the offer.  “You must have something good saved up your sleeve?” 

He thinks about it for a moment, folding his arms over the table and subconsciously leaning over it to get closer to her.  With his eyes wandering the bar as he racks his brain for a good question she couldn’t avoid answering, she was able to properly gaze at him without getting caught.  Just like at the previous bar, she gets a little lost in thought as she maps out every feature of his face.  There was nothing forgettable about Takuma Ino, but she found herself trying to commit it all to memory anyways.

That flutter in her chest hadn’t gone away, and the longer it prevailed the more she began to sink into the feeling.  It’s relaxing, the way time slows down, and the buzz sends goosebumps prickling up her arms.  She would have never thought she could find this much comfort in this setting, but to her, this booth was the only thing in her world.

“Would you do this again?” He finally settles on a question, and it’s clear that it’s not what she expected, judging by the way her eyes slightly widen from being caught off guard.

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out right away.  It’s as though he’d wiped her mind completely blank, not even a weak excuse coming to mind.  The fuzzy feeling in her chest turns to static, sharp and cold before disappearing completely, leaving behind nothing but an emptiness that stings as it lingers.  Her smile slowly falls as reality begins to seep back into their booth, reminding her of why she’d kept him beyond arm’s length all this time.

Deep down, she wonders if she always knew this would happen.  She wondered if self preservation took over as soon as she met him because if it hadn’t, she would’ve let him get too close a long, long time ago.  Guilt claws it’s way up from her gut to her throat, strangling her to keep her from saying the wrong thing first.

Ino’s sure he already has his answer when she doesn’t say anything right away.  It’s written all over her face, the way she winces, and shuffles uncomfortably in her seat.  Disappointment doesn’t begin to cover what he feels as he looks away from her, trying and failing to keep his face neutral.

“Got it” He mutters, catching the eye of a passing server and signaling for the check.  (y/n) frowns.

“Takuma, I…” She starts, but her throat still burns, and she struggles to find the right thing to say that won’t make things worse.  “I tried to tell you that tonight was just-” 

“I know,” He replies.  It makes her blood run cold, the way his voice lacks it’s usual chipper tone.  Now it holds nothing.  He’s so painfully emotionless that she almost wishes he would just get angry with her.  “You made that clear” 

They’re completely silent when a server comes back with the check, the tension turning awkward as soon as another person enters their bubble.  They must pick up on it, because they’re quick to bid them a good night before rushing away.

(y/n) drops the money on the table, and Ino’s out of his seat and headed for the door before she could even stand.  She huffs as she follows after him, although he stops just outside the door.  His heart was too good to leave her completely stranded, even though he wasn’t sure he could take another minute of being around her.

“Takuma, look, it’s not like it’s personal-” 

He scoffs, his hands in his pockets as he looks down at her.  She’s shocked to see the glare on his features, and if he wasn’t so irritated, he might’ve noticed the hurt on her face from the sharp look.

“If you tell me one more time just how not personal it is, I think I’m going to scream, (y/n),” He snaps, and in all the times she’s had this conversation with him and butted heads, she’s never heard him talk like that.  All she can do is stand there pathetically and accept it.  “Because it’s bullshit.  You know it, I know it, shit, Nanami knows it” 

“It’s not,” She mumbles, shaking her head.  “It’s not bullshit, I just-” 

“You don’t care about anything but becoming Grade One, I know,” He finishes the statement for it.  “You don’t care about drinks, and you don’t care about me.  Trust me, I remember,” 

A pout settles on her lips, and for the first time in a long time, she wants to cry.

“You know I actually-” Ino pauses to let out a humorless laugh, eyes fleeting across the busy streets as he finds twisted amusement in the way he’d fallen for this whole charade.  “I actually thought you were having a good time, I actually, stupidly believed that maybe you-” He stops again, not wanting to sound more idiotic than he already did.  

After tonight, as soon as they part ways, things would go back to the way they were, and she’d probably pretend nothing ever happened.  He’s not sure he was going to be able to survive that, even after all of this time accepting that she had no interest in him.  Ino doesn’t think he could go back to the way things were.

But fuck it, if this was going to be the last time she talked to him, he wasn’t going to lay back and take it.  He was going to put all the cards on the table.

“You know I care about you, don’t you? You have to know that.  Even if you can’t be friends or partners you- you have to know that.  You’re not dumb, (y/n), so don’t act like it,” 

She has to curl her hands into fists at her sides to keep control of the tears in her eyes.  She couldn’t dare let them spill over.

“But you’re so so stubborn, I’ve never met anyone like you,” He huffs, and the smile on his face is conflicting with the way he spits the words out like poison.  “You’re nothing like Satoru.  I’ve never thought so.  All these walls you put up to keep people from getting close to you so you don’t happen to stumble on the same path he did- because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You’d rather shelter yourself from everything than risk getting a little hurt?” 

Her bottom lip wobbles with emotion, and she turns away so she doesn't have to look at him.  She wished some mysterious force would suck her away from this moment and land her in the safety of her bed where she never had to face the consequences of her actions.  It was childish, but she couldn’t bear to argue with him right now.

“You’re drunk” She mumbles to the sidewalk.

“You’re drunk,” He repeats incredulously, his hands flying outward.  “You think I don’t know you because you won’t, just once, let someone get close to you,” He rants, “But you know what the worst part is, (y/n)? You’re only going to get hurt anyways.  And you have,” He gestures to her shoulder, making her defensively hold a hand over where the scars are hidden beneath her clothes.  Her brows furrow as she opens her mouth to argue, but he beats her to it.  “And then- while I was worried about you, because damn it there was so much blood, I thought you might die, you took it out on me! You got mad at me and pushed me away, again.  Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?” 

It’s only when his rant starts to die down that he realizes she’s barely looking at him because her eyes are glossy, and he knows damn well that she’s fighting every urge to cry.  He doesn’t know if she’s emotionally on edge because of him, or the alcohol making her sensitive, but either way, he sighs in defeat, and his shoulders slump from the weight of all of the thoughts he’d been carrying for the last few months.

“I- I know that you care,” She says weakly, her voice more strained than she would have liked.  “I just don’t get it, okay? It doesn’t make sense.  You don’t make sense.  I don’t- I- I can’t-” Her stutters come out in a whimper and she’s looking away again, desperately trying to compose herself before she could do something embarrassing.  

There were still people out and about even this late into the night, more than enough people to overhear their argument in the middle of the sidewalk.  Normally, she’d call her brother’s driver and leave without putting up with this argument.  But she can’t bring herself to do such a thing right now.  Not with the way he’s looking at her like she just destroyed the moon and all of it’s stars.

“My whole life has been wasted trying to prove something that I- that just isn’t possible,” 

The admission comes out in a shaky whisper.  She’s never voiced it before, but now is as good a time as any of he’s really so desperate to understand why she was wired this way.

“I don’t even understand why I was born, Takuma.  My parents had no interest in me.  They already had Satoru.  For as long as I could remember, I was only around to follow behind my big brother while the entire world bent over backwards to give him everything.  Attention, money, fame, candy apples- that’s what’s bullshit,” It comes out bitter and nasty, her nose wrinkling as she thinks back to every event she was forced to dress up and go to, only to be ignored, cast aside, and forgotten about completely while Satoru skipped around and received everything he could ever want.  “And I just can’t- can’t understand what anyone could ever want from me, I have nothing,” 

She hadn’t noticed the tears leaking from her eyes until there’s a pair of warm hands cupping her face, thumbs gently pushing them away.  She doesn’t want to look at him, not with all of the shame she felt just being comforted by him, but a stronger part of her can’t help but stare at him.  She hadn’t expected such sudden gentleness from him, and she hadn’t realized just how long it had been since someone had last comforted her.  When was the last time someone wiped her tears? Or touched her so softly that even in the frigid evening brought warmth to her skin? 

“Explain it to me,” She pleas quietly.  “Why- why would you possibly want to be around me?” 

Her eyes shift between his, but he’s too focused on clearing away each tear rolling down her cheeks.  She sniffles, and her hands reach up to grab his wrists.  Ino thinks she might yank him away, but she doesn’t.  She simply stands there with a solid grip on him.

“You are drunk,” He says quietly, just a hint of amusement in his eyes as he finally meets her sorrowful gaze.  “Don’t cry, (y/n), I didn’t mean to make you cry,” 

But it’s too late, she can’t stop the tears from streaming down her face now.

“I told you, I care about you, we’re partners, yeah?” He offers, but her expression is unrelenting.  “Have you considered maybe I don’t want you to get hurt, either?” 

Tears stick to her lashes when she blinks, and she has to bite down on her cheek to keep her lips from trembling.  He’s so close that he’d be sure to notice, but he also notices the clench in her jaw.

Every instinct she’d trained herself on is telling her to push him away.  Even if it meant physically shoving him off of her.  He’s too close in every sense of the word, breaching every wall she’d built brick by brick.

But something else nags at her, something far more sinister and cruel.  It pushes her forward, and has her clenching her hands around his wrists tighter as she stands before him in all of her pathetic glory.  Tears still pouring down her cheeks and her lower lip still wobbling, she swallows her pride.

“I’m sorry,” 

It’s quiet, but not because it’s ingenuine.  In fact it’s the opposite.  With a raw throat came a strained voice, so full of emotion she couldn’t possibly raise her voice any louder than the murmur that came out.

Ino blinks, his eyes widening in the slightest as he stares back at her in shock.  The entire night had been full of surprises, but now it had certainly taken a turn and set him on a path where he could see no clear ending.

“Takuma, I’m- I’m so sorry,” She continues, eyes glossing over again.  “I shouldn’t have pushed you away, I shouldn’t have said all those terrible things to you I- I didn’t mean any of it,” 

She’s shaking her head so rapidly it makes her a bit dizzy with the alcohol still in her system, but she doesn’t care if she sways a little.  She only wants to convey to him just how serious she was, and how important it was to her that he understood that.

“I think… I think you’re one of the greatest people I’ve ever met,” She continues, and slowly, the tears come to a stop.  “I’ve never known anyone as… as caring as you,” 

Her voice softens, a nervous shyness creeping in for admitting something so vulnerable.  But she wasn’t sure if she’d ever work up the courage to say something like this to him again, so it was now or never.

“And I know you’d never hurt me, b-because I’m… I’m the one who was hurting you,” He opens his mouth, likely to argue with that statement, but she was quick to keep going before he got the chance to interrupt.  “But I don’t think you understand that… that losing you would mean hurting me, too” She finishes, brows pinched together as they both sit for a moment to process it all.

Ino sighs, his thumbs wiping away the last of her tears, yet he keeps his hands cupped around her face.  A part of him was paranoid that if he let her go now, she might slip away once and for all.  The other, louder part knew that with the grip she had on his arms, neither one of them were going anywhere.

And so he tells her just that.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He assures her, a confident smile stretching across his face.  “You’re not losin’ me.  Promise” 

She snorts at that, the tiniest of laughs escaping her in a mere breath.

“You can’t promise something like that,” She scolds.  “In this line of-” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ino shakes his head dismissively.  “Too late.  Already promised.  So it’s set in stone,” 

She stares up at him with wide eyes, so lost in trying to understand him in his entirety that she doesn’t even know what to say next.  Had he forgiven her so easily? How could he say such a thing with as much assurance as he did? 

“As long as you can promise to drop the tough guy act and just… be the tough guy you already are,” He says, only half kidding, “Then I can promise that I’m not leaving you” He offers, tilting his head to the side as he gazes down at her fondly, admiring the way the corners of her lips begin to twitch into a smile.

“Okay,” She whispers, so quiet he only knew she said it from the way her lips moved around the word.  “I promise” ___

From that day forward, (y/n) worked more and more to loosen up around him.  It wasn’t easy at first, and the first day was the hardest.  The Monday back at work was a bit awkward, after she’d spent an entire weekend nursing a hangover, with an overbearing brother pestering her for the details.  Ino had brought her and Nanami coffee that first morning, and she’d made an effort to eat her lunch with him every day that week.

Then the week after that she began to accompany him on his coffee runs as well, spending the extra time chatting mindlessly and getting to know one another better.

A few weeks after that the two of them went out for drinks one evening, until that too became a part of the routine.  Once a month or so they’d go out to any new bar Ino could find and waste away as much of an evening as they could.

Slowly but surely, partnership grew into genuine friendship- something (y/n) hadn’t felt for a long, long time.  And Ino made sure to never let her forget it.  Whether it was remembering her favorite drink order, or watching an entire series she’d said she liked one time, he took her companionship seriously.  The more she got to know him, the harder he made it not to fall for him.

But, god, was falling for him one of the easiest things that’s ever come to her in this life.  It was unavoidable, unstoppable, uncontrollable.  No matter how much she tried to fight it, the way her heart raced whenever he was around was distinct to feelings only he could spark.  And the way her eyes searched for him first in a crowd was more than enough proof that her fondness for him had grown well past platonic.

It might have been silly to be surprised by her feelings when she’d finally realized that’s what the swell in her chest was all about.  After the incident that was their drunken night out where she’d torn herself apart at the seams before him- they don’t talk about that night, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s doing it out of favor for her, or if he’s just as embarrassed about it as she was- she found herself getting lost when thinking about him more often.

It ranged anywhere from how his eyes were their prettiest when they would leave Jujutsu Tech in the early evening.  With the sun low in the sky, rays of light caught them just right and made them appear to be the most brilliant, shining amber she’s ever seen.  

Satoru loved to brag about his baby blues to anyone who would listen, throwing his shades off with dramatic flare as he’d bat his eyelashes at unsuspecting victims.  Ever so full of himself, he loved the attention he’d get for the outrageously bright blue hue of his eyes.  When directed at her, (y/n) tended to scoff and tell him that his Six Eyes was far more worthy of bragging about than the damn color of them.

More recently, she’d shrugged her shoulders before directing her attention elsewhere.  “I prefer brown eyes” She’d told him carelessly.  At the time he’d pouted over it, whining about how his little sister thought he was ugly.  But ever since seeing her grow closer to her partner, he had a sneaking suspicion he knew who’s brown eyes she was talking about.

As much as she indulges herself in these thoughts- wondering how soft his lips were, remembering how gentle his hands had been when he’d touched her- she knows she can’t act on them.  Not after everything she’d already put him through getting their working relationship this far.  If she were to admit to him now that she was catching romantic feelings for him, it would be humiliating.  And she was humiliated enough as it is.  So she swore to herself they would remain hidden deep, deep down, under a lock and key- with said metaphorical key being thrown into a fire and melted down into a clump of misshapen chunk metal.   Then she threw that metaphorical chunk of metal into a metaphorical ocean. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

[houseofashesif]

The mad desire for vengeance burned within you like an uncontrollable wildfire, threatening to consume all thoughts and reason with each passing day. It lashed wildly like fire accumulating within the belly of a dragon, waiting to be unleashed at those who wronged you, and your family.

But you were too weak. Too fragile, like a newborn chick. What could you possibly do in your miserable state?

Every night while the world slept, you would lie awake in your dirty cot, praying endlessly for someone to save you. Be it God or the Devil himself, you begged to be saved. To be given a second chance.

Then, your prayers were answered. Not by God but the Devil.

"I can grant you only one of your wishes, little one. So, tell me, what do you desire?"

There were a million things that you desired. A warm home. A loving family. However none of those could be compared to your life long desire.

"Vengeance."

"Are you sure that is what you desire?" You do not remember what kind of expression he had on, but the amusement was evident in his voice.

"I am." You answer firmly.

"Very well."

He held his hand out for you to grab, a final chance for you to turn back on your world. But a normal life was something you have given up on a long time ago.

You firmly grab his inviting hand, knowing fully well that there was no turning back now.

The Devil smiled wickedly.

genres ; dark, gothic fiction, romance, crime, thriller

setting ; fictional world of Celtica (loosely based on modern Britain from 1900's), Modern (at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution)

Set in the early 19th century, you play as the heir of the powerful aristocratic family of Morrigan. But your true identity is that of a fallen noble from a disgraced house. Once renowned for its art and craftsmanship, your family collapsed after falling into crippling debt following a failed business attempt and accusations of planning a coup against the royal family. At least that's what the public is aware of. However you know better than that. Your family were no traitors, they were victims of a malicious plot woven by none other than the Duke of Sinclair, once an old friend of your family. Following the false accusations your family collapsed in no time and your parents and siblings were executed publicly.

You who were the lone survivor of this massacre changed your identity for fear of being caught and killed as well, living as a coal miner in an old orphanage. You craved vengeance but what could you, a fallen noble from a disgraced house, possibly do against a Duke who is one of the pillars of the great empire and the closest associate of the Empress.

You prayed day and night to the heavenly being that watched your downfall, desperately begging to be given a second chance in life. But all seemed for naught as the days turned to weeks and weeks to years. Just when you had given up all hope for revenge, an opportunity landed before you, appearing in the form of your father and the current head of the Morrigan Duchy, Law Morrigan.

Between the two choices given to you, as to whether you'd seek justice or vengeance against your enemies, you chose vengeance.

For the past 12 years you have been trained to become the perfect killer by your father. Born with the extremely rare phenomenon known only as a 'Miracle' you have been blessed by the Murder Miracle.

Now, young heir, this is your story. Your history to be written. Will continue down your bloody warpath of vengeance and be remembered in history as the punisher of the wicked and upsurer of the monarchy, OR will you let the impartial hands of justice make their judgement to your wrong doers and be remembered as the saint of justice. The choice is yours.

House of Ashes is a dark, interactive work of fiction that takes place in the early 19th century, at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. It follows the story of vengeance in the midst of political chaos, grisly murders and schemes behind the scenes, while you have to choose between morality and desire to achieve what you want and what you believe in.

It is rated 18+ for violence, explicit themes, possible sexual content, and ofcourse, lots of blood and gore.

Customize yout heir from their name, appearance, gender identity, pronouns anf many more. Choose what your heir thinks of their family, their position and their responsibilities.

Choose a weapon and master an ancient martial art of choice. Or don't and become a jack of all trades.

Choose what kind of heir you want them become and how far you're willing to go to protect your title. Will you go for a more diplomatic approach with a case of mutual relationship with your siblings or crush them with your overwhelming strength to show your authority.

Will you choose to give in to your murderous instincts or suppress them.

Get involved in a murder investigation following a serious of gruesome serial killings, and maybe learn that there was more than what meets the eye regarding the downfall of your house.

Indulge in some romance along the way with six different characters with varying backgrounds to choose from. Or just don't.

Choose a pet cat or dog to become your acquaintance. Perhaps if you're feeling a little exotic, a hawk will do?

More features to come

The Crown Prince - Maximilian Windsor Celtica [Male]

The oldest of the Sun Twins, Crown Prince Maximilian is a very reverred personality among the nobles. He is known for his shrewdness and extremely ambitious nature. A very charismatic person, he has a way with his words which often allows others to lower their guard around him. Aiming to become the Emperor of the Celtica Empire one day, having such ambitious goals mean Maximilian is willing to do anything to achieve them. That includes sending assassins after his twin, the Crown Princess. With an analytical mind that allows him to see those inferior than him as mere pawns, falling for him is a doomed endeavor.

He is the holder of the Domination Miracle.

The Crown Princess - Victoria Windsor Celtica [Female]

The youngest of the Sun Twins, Crown Princess Victoria is often compared to her golden brother and frequently referred to as the ugly duckling of the two. An aloof individual, Victoria is a person of very few words and prefers to end things up quickly with sharp jabs and assertive speeches. Although a cold person, she has a kind side to her too, which often sees her donating large portions of her personal wealth to orphanages and charities, making her widely beloved among the citizens of the empire. Due to the frequent assassination attempts on her life, Victoria has chosen to close her heart off towards everyone, preferring to bear all the burdens on her own.

She is the holder of the Conquest Miracle.

The Fated Enemy - Cedric/Cordelia Sinclair [Gender Selectable]

Your mortal enemy. The child of the person responsible for your family's death and your misery. There are many things that you wish to address them as but cannot find the words to. That's how much you despise them. Imagine the surprise when they offered their hand for friendship to you. Contrary to how you imagine them as, like a spoiled young master from a privileged family, they're relatively humble. And also a little stupid. But behind their sunshine happy-go-lucky attitude, something much darker is lurking.

They are the holder of the Shackle Miracle.

The Best Friend - Orion/Ophelia Lancaster [Gender Selectable]

The lone, stoic heir of the righteous Lancaster Duchy, and also your best friend ever since the day you stepped foot into your new home, they are one of the few people that you trust. Although they have some trouble communicating with people regarding their feelings, they're a gentle giant compared to their intimidating features. They're also very open and blunt with their words whenever they speak so people tend to think of them as rude, not you though, you like their honesty. The two of you have stuck through the thick and thin of each other's lives like gum and even promised to do so until the end of your lives. But good things never truly last do they? A small misunderstanding which eventually gew to become a feud between the two oldest families of the empire, you wonder, what went wrong?

They're the holder of the Belief Miracle.

The Dream Demon - [???]

All dreams have a price to be paid. Are you willing to pay yours?

The Ash Demon - [???]

An old fossil, rising from the burnt ashes of your past. Do you remember me? Don't worry if you don't. I do.

DEMO || THE RO'S || THE FOUR FAMILIES || THE MIRACLE

More details on the RO's, their families and the Miracles will be added soon. Until then, i hope you like my poor attempt for an IF 🥲

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

[Please read while listening to this.]

IF THERE WERE TRUTH IN REINCARNATION, you would beg to be reborn as a kitten. A cherished kitten who was allowed to sit on a human's lap whenever looking for warmth. Perhaps if people saw you as a nice, furry creature acting cute, they wouldn't hurt you. Perhaps if they thought of you as a creature simpler to understand, they wouldn't abandon you.

Being a human child is weary work. They say you were created from the proof of love between two inseparable people; your very breath is a testament to their unbreakable union. And your identity is sculpted by the undeniable beauty they believed the world possessed, compelling them to bring forth new life to share in the splendor of it all.

So, who are you now after they've parted ways? Father was no longer just your father; he had formed a new family with another two daughters as evidence of his love for a woman who wasn't your mother. You are no longer his favorite, and surely you are not the only one. Meanwhile, Mother is only left as a vengeful woman, reacting with anger each time she glimpses traces of your father in you—in your words, mannerisms, or even thoughts. Any divergence from her own beliefs, she considers defiance.

(Didn't you say, I am proof of their love? Don't you know, that promises can be broken and roots can be severed. Marriage should be forever until it isn't. Then, who am I if they are no longer love each other?)

The pitiful child of man shuffled through the world; full of despair, without self-identity. Not daddy's little girl, no longer a copy of mommy. The soft hair that was once braided was more like a tapestry full of wounds piled up early on. However, no one knows this – they say, “What do little children know about adult problems?” and yet, your body ended up bleeding internally from continuously swallowing the thorns spit out by your two originators.

Forced to grow—my spine wasn't developed enough to be your pillars! Mature little girl.

If reincarnation is true, then, you hope to be placed in a kinder world. A place where happiness is within reach—where you will always be embraced by love. So you don't have to scavenge looking for it in everything.

In a kiss offered by a stranger.

The tea lies long abandoned on the coffee table, gone cold hours ago. Yet, the taste still lingers on his lips – bergamot and spice mingling with something uniquely him. Your eyes were tightly closed, but you could feel the warmth radiating from his approaching body. He places a hand under your chin to tilt your face, and he slides his tongue in with practiced ease. You breathe in his aroma deeply, and a thin cloud falls over your consciousness.

Simon kissed with quiet intensity, giving you the impression that it wasn't his first time. It doesn't matter; you already lost your first kiss to your high school crush anyway. But, when compared, this is nothing like the chaste, fleeting peck bestowed by Billy Thompson behind bleachers in junior year. That was a schoolgirl's kiss. This? This sets your blood ablaze.

Laid bare, you are. With your pleading love-me eyes—the gaping mouth of a virgin begging for someone to pour love into it until it hits the back of her throat, swallowed without a trace – “let me wash my esophagus with this. So that my future lovers don't find out how unlovable I am.” Some sort of ablution. And Simon becomes the all-compassionate man, volunteering for a play where he acts as your lover.

His tongue brushes against yours—a clumsy dance of your inexperience. But Simon took the lead, coaxing your shy response. Your hands crept up and clutched the sleeve of his leather jacket. As he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, warmth pooled in your lower abdomen.

This, you realize dimly, is what fills the pages of your well-worn romance books—passionate kisses and warm breaths mingling with each other. One difference is your lack of love for each other. It doesn't matter; after all, lust is a cheap substitute for love, just as searing.

(Starving people eat anything, right?)

When Simon put his big hands on your waist, you gasped and pushed him away. His brows were furrowed in confusion, but his eyes were waiting for you. Your cheeks reddened as you avoided his gaze.

“S-sorry…”

Simon watched patiently, his hands hovering but not crowding. A thought occurred to you—clumsy and awkward as you felt. You bit the inside of your cheek as you gathered your courage.

“I should, um, find...” Your voice fell to a whisper. "Contraception."

He just nodded, his expression carefully schooled. You got up from the couch, knees shaking, trying to ignore the embarrassing damp sensation between your legs, and ran towards the bedroom like a frightened doe.

As you searched through the dresser, you stumbled upon a sealed box beneath a pile of clothes. In a rush, you pulled out the box with fumbling fingers, barely managing to keep it from slipping from your grip. A small foil wrapper—a precaution purchased on a whim, “just in case” some imagined future occasion arose. Little did you know, that occasion would be this night with this stranger turned companion.

Through the door, you hear Simon's gentle footfalls approaching. Your heart threatens to jump from the confines of your ribs. Turning, you found him waiting for you, sitting at the end of the bed, pink sheets against his dark leather jacket.

Suddenly, the tiny foil packet feels heavy and itchy around your fingers. Gathering what little courage you have, you approach on unsteady legs and perch beside him, close but not quite touching. Your gaze was still on the carpet patterns, which looked strangely more interesting, while your hand reached out to hand him the small square.

Simon's eyes fell on the foil packet, staring at it like it was a foreign object. He looked up at you.

“You ever done this before?”

Your cheeks flushed with renewed shame at his question. “No, I haven't.”

The quiet confession hangs heavy in the air. You wait for him to take that little packet from you—part of you expects him to take advantage of your inexperience. Is that not what men do when presented with a willing body and an opportunity? A chance to take the lead, to act like they know everything—taking it from a girl and then going home to brag off to their equally asshole friends. As if their cocks were that great to be able to change a woman with just a few thrusts.

And while this may seem unjust, you can't help but generalize the rough types that frequent bars like the one you've both visited. Subconsciously, you make the same assumption about Simon.

But, he proved himself to be different. He confounds your expectations and judgment at every turn. Calming softness is the last thing you would expect from a hardened soldier like him. He has mapped every opening, joint, and gap in you that he may exploit against you—

And yet, when anyone else would seize the opportunity for easy pleasure, he pulls back, lost in his own thoughts that you can't begin to understand.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Might be better, your first time… if it's with someone important. Someone who'll treat you right."

"It's just sex."

Before you can stop yourself, the words escape your lips in a feeble attempt to contain the raging tempest of feelings inside. But even as you say that, you know in your heart it's not true. From the time you were a teenage girl singing cheesy songs and poring over fairytales, you've dreamed that your first time would be with a lover—someone you truly cared about, someone who dedicated their body to you out of love rather than simply lust. You’ve imagined yourself on your wedding night, sealing your bond in the most sacred ways.

Foolish, romantic notions, like a fragile dream, you know. And some small, still-hopeful part of you holds onto that fantasy, hoping it will come true. But that too erodes with time, evaporating more and farther from your grip until you are forced to settle for something within your reach. Desperation drives the unthinkable, right?

Another wave of silence between you. Simon hung his head low before taking the foil packet from your curled fingers. The bed creaks softly as he rises to tower over you. His strong hands are bracing the mattress on either side of you, caging in but not touching. Your heartbeat forms an accelerando as you hold your breath, peering up at him through your lashes to take in every detail you could in this dark room.

“Last chance, darling,” he rasps, searching your eyes. “Once we start, there's no taking it back.”

When he speaks, his breath washes hotly over your lips, and the gravel in his voice makes your insides clench. Supported only the dim light of the moon through the window for illumination, the lean muscles under his jacket looked more defined, and those irises seemed to darken with promise and more enigma.

You swallowed to relieve the sudden dryness in your throat. He's so hard to decode, and a small voice warns you not to mess with something you don't understand.

Something born of desperation takes hold of you. Before your courage fails you, you reach up to trace fingers along his stubbled jaw, feeling his muscles stiffen under your touch. Your lips came closer and pressed against his as a plea and answer. Heat floods your veins at the contact. Simon paused over you, letting you set the pace as your mouths moved together. His hands gently massaged the fat on your thighs, following the curve of your hips.

Simon's hands find purchase on your waist, thumbs tracing idle circles coaxing soft sighs from your lips. He deepens the kiss, and you follow gladly, clinging to his broad shoulders as he leans you back on the bed. Your heart is pounding wildly. He drags his lips to plant kisses, molding your body perfectly to his solid form.

Before he even stripped your clothes off, you already felt exposed in front of him. Your body isn't good with secrets; when he marks your pulse point with gentle suckles, you tangle your fingers in his dark blonde strands. His mouth ignited a flame against your flesh.

Some small, rational part of your mind screams this is madness. What will Mother say, when she finds yourself lost in the arms of a stranger, giving yourself so freely? “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” she kept repeating. But you're only borrowing this man's body and tonight, not his heart.

As Simon straightens above you, his hand flies to your jeans button with intent. Shyness overcame you in a sudden wave. “I-I'll do it,” you stuttered in a small voice, your cheeks burning.

Without waiting for his response, you sit up enough to fumble with the stubborn button with trembling fingers. Stupid pants. Why does it have to be difficult when you're desperate to shed these last few barriers between you? Sweaty fingers are slipping clumsily. Frustrated, you curse under your breath, the haste making your efforts futile.

A lifetime seems to pass before your buttons are finally free. Peeking through the gap, the plain white cotton is visible, trimmed with a small white satin ribbon at the waistband. Shit. If only you had known what tonight held in store, you'd have definitely chosen something lacier, sexier to match the mood.

Though, Simon didn't give any reaction other than maintaining his steady gaze at you. You again try to wiggle and squirm against the denim down your legs. Come on, come on, don't ruin the mood-

Before you could protest, his hand replaced yours. Large and sure, they grip your waist to guide you to lie down once again as he tugs the jeans free in one smooth motion. The denim hits the floor with a careless toss, leaving you with your top and the flimsy barrier that you put on without thinking. Instinctively, you squeeze your thighs together, acutely aware of your condition beneath his stare.

“Please don't look,” you plead shyly.

“Why?”

The single word rumbles out gruff, without judgment—too flat to contain one. He asked that in pure curiosity while continuing to stare at you.

“It's… embarrassing.” Your voice was small, almost a whisper as you avoided his gaze.

In truth, you feel naked in more ways than one. Between your legs, a dark spot has formed where your arousal has bled through the fabric and how it might disgust him. Your breasts feel heavy and sensitive where they strain against your bra. Every nerve is alive—hyper-focused on every minuscule movement and warm breath between you. It only took one touch from him to dissolve any remaining control.

The silence stretches while Simon is on his own agenda, studying you in considerations you don't understand.

“You want to stop, then?”

Simon's question sent a shot of panic through you. Stop now, even though you've just lost yourself in the sensation? When this man is the only person who can offer you the only scrap of comfort and care that you will never find again?

You shook your head vigorously. “No, please… don't stop.”

It was so embarrassing how your voice came out small and ragged—full of pleading for him not to lift his warm touch on your skin. To send him away from your bed now would be to return to the cold emptiness that has become your constant companion. He has seen half of you; might as well completely strip yourself for him and lose these foolish inhibitions. It seems that you too have no idea what moderation is; it was always all or nothing.

“Can’t reach your pretty cunny with your legs clenched shut, darling,”

Simon's coarse words spread a new flame to flare up in your cheeks. Your core feels wetter and throbbing than before, and you swallow thickly in morification.

Before you can think further, his thick thighs part your own with gentle insistence. You let out a small gasp. The stupid, girlish white panties were exposed to his view. But he makes no move to touch, merely hums his approval.

A sharp breath penetrated your lungs as he dragged his fingers to trace the outline of your cunt through the fabric. He pressed his thumb against your folds and slipped in. Under his caresses, you writhe and grab the sheets, your hips lifting in an instinctive need for greater friction. He spreads your slick flesh.

You barely register anything when he positions his face in front of your panties. Then, he leans in, nuzzling his nose against the damp barrier. Panicking, you clamp your thighs together on instinct to deprive him of access.

“Wait!” you gasp. “That's… it's dirty.”

Simon looked up from down there, at you as if he didn't comprehend what you'd just said. The soft light of the moon cast a silver hue on his blonde eyelashes, making them resemble the feathers of a Greek goddess's wings. His gaze, intense and piercing, locked onto yours, penetrating through your feeble objections. They see beyond your meager resistance, straight into your deepest desires.

Color rose in your cheeks, but the dimness of the room made them blend seamlessly with the background. You bit your swollen lip, not sure if you should ask him to stop completely and pull back to spare you the vulnerability or continue the treatment.

Without a word, he placed his big hands on your hips. You watched him grasp the waistbands of your panties before dragging it down to pool at your ankles. The fresh air caressing your newfound nudity sends chills down your spine. Another tug, and the scrap of fabric joins your discarded clothes on the floor.

Now, you're lying there with evidence of your undisguised arousal—sticky, glistening liquid from his touch in the past few minutes. Evidence of your pathetic desires.

Some small, rational part of you wants to flee, to cover yourself with anything. To ruin everything by saying that this was all a mistake—that now that you think about it, you don't want it anymore. That it's not too late, there's still time before he makes engravings on your walls with his pen like a stamp.

But that other part of you—Goodness.

And unfortunately for your liar side, that's the part Simon focuses on.

A cry escapes your lips when Simon returns his committed mouth between your thighs, granting your latter wish. He brushes his lips against your swollen flesh, making your back arch helplessly off the bed. Your legs fall open of their own accord. He wastes no time to delve deeper, lapping eargerly at your dripping slit. Each flick of his tongue broke one by one the chains confining your control, drawing out more sweet moans that made his jeans tighten even more from the aching hardness that was growing inside.

When his lips close around your swollen clit, you gasp, fingers curling around the bed sheet. Your body wriggled and trembled beneath him but Simon remained unperturbed. His blonde head was steadfast, focused solely on his devotion to pleasuring you.

You feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter as he continues to lavish your weeping cunt. Incoherent noises spill from your lips – gasps and whimpers and cries escape without restraint. He pins your hips down and grips your thighs to keep them wide open.

“Simon… I… oh God…”

Tangles are created in your sheets as your fingers continue to twist them desperately in a tight grip. Every nerve alive and hyper-focused on the sensations his tongue continued to convey. Your pulsing walls close together as low pressure builds in your stomach.

“Si-Simon! I feel strange, I—oh!”

A wave of heat rolls from your lower stomach as your muscles clench and spasm uncontrollably. Your thighs quiver—you cover your face from the overwhelming sensation. White spots dance in your vision. Some dam has broken deep inside you, and you fall, fall, fall as a tear slips down your flushed cheek. Warm essence flowed freely towards his tongue, and he tasted it against the walls of his palate. His lips were wet, but Simon licked the remainder like a man long seized of water.

The room feels impossibly still and quiet. Only the sound of your mingled breaths and your racing heartbeat fill the humid air. You keep your flushed face covered. Now that the haze has cleared, your mind is swirling with shame and uncertainty again.

How do you deal with him now that he has buried his tongue in your cunt? The sticky mess between your thighs reminds you that he has brought you to the peak of ecstasy with just his hands and mouth. Nonetheless, your taut nipples and the pounding in your ears indicate that, despite everything, you still want more.

The whisper of fabric is heard as Simon shifts. You peer through your fingers to find him leaning over you, calloused hands gently pulling your palm away.

“You alright?”

The question, however gentle and well-intentioned, caused your skin to heat up in discomfort. You can't help but feel embarrassed—as if he sees you as some fragile thing, needing reassurance after every little touch. As if you're a mess, a tiny bird that soars too and falls, making sympathy his default emotion whenever he looks at you.

It makes you think about all the other women he must have been with, how he must have touched them in the same way he was touching you now. Those who are nothing like you. Those who understand their own desires and a man's. Those who could lose themselves for hours in passion, their stunning hips swinging above him as his hands glide along their curves without hesitation or restraint. It leaves a strange taste in your mouth—bitter and almost envious.

All the women around him, and unfortunately Simon has to settle with you tonight. A shy woman, unsure of her own identity.

Something has narrowed in your chest. Your lungs feel heavy as you breathe in, like an anchor is binding it to the bottom of your soul. But, you manage to give him a nod. And before your stupid mouth ruin everything, you surge up to capture his hungry lips with your own. Your arms snaked around his neck to bring his body closer to yours.

“How do they do it, those who make love without love?” you often ask. The first time you wonder about this, you compare it to building a house without a foundation. Impossible. It's like writing without words or dancing without music.

But as you sink beneath his bulky frame—as Simon lifts your legs to wrap around his hips and grinds his hardness against your cunt, drawing a moan from you and feeling the roughness of his jeans against your swollen folds—you begin to understand that it's possible. Those who make love without love simply need to possess the desire—a determined, tenacious grip on something.

As your teeth collided, the kisses grew more passionate and frenzied; it was unclear who was feeding off whom's hunger. His hips rolled into you. Tongues tangled together in an unrehearsed dance that ignites sparks coursing through your veins. He nibbles your bottom lip, and you moan into his mouth.

Reeling for breath, you turned away, only to give Simon the opportunity to nib on your jaw and trace kisses down your neck. His hand slid under your shirt, creeping up your ribs to cup your breast.

When he reaches the delicate shell of your ear, he closes his teeth gently around the lobe and tugs. You cry out at the sharp pain mixed with pleasure. His busy hands kneaded your breasts, twisting your erect nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He slides the other down your belly and stops to cup your cunt. You gasp and buck against his hand as he starts circling your clit lazily, dragging two fingers up and down, coating it with another wave of your essence.

“Off… take it off.” You mutter without thinking.

Simon understands your breathless demand. Kneeling between your thighs, he makes quick work of his leather jacket, tossing it without a care for the floor. You watch him take off his shirt, muscles rippling as he grasps the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

Your weathered heart, fluent with wounds and what is left behind in its wake. However, when the covering is removed, you're not prepared for the sight revealed to your eyes. His body—Simon's body. His chest was a masterpiece of defined muscle, and his abs were chiseled as if they were as solid as granite. The trail of blonde hair leads temptingly below the waist of his jeans.

It was the map of scars on his flesh that drew your attention. Pale lines, both thin and thick, had claimed their places, like the constellations he carried as proof that he had been hurt and survived. All his close calls, markings of victory—there were people who wanted him dead, but he lived to tell the story.

Still, in the dim light of the room, one scar seems strikingly different from the others.

A long, deep gash curves gracefully around one side of his ribs, which have healed into a thick rope of knotted flesh. You wonder about its possible origins—some accident, perhaps, working with tools or machinery gone wrong. Another one of his secrets you're not deemed worthy for him to share with.

Seeking to regain some composure, you grasp the hem of your sweater and draw it over your head. The only thing left on you was the white bra.

He observes your body with a careful scan before meeting your gaze once more. Leaning down, he captured your lips in his parted ones, renewing the kiss. You lifted your back slightly to make way for one of his hands. He fumbled with the small hook before releasing it, freeing your breasts in relief.

Simon cupped your breasts, fingers fully rounded and exploring freely now with more access. You let out another moan. He inserted your breast into the warmth of his mouth, his tongue dancing around it as he gently sucked. You arched against his body, pressing your chest against his.

He releases your swollen nipple with a tiny pop sound. You watched as Simon rose to his knees, eyes never leaving your form as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small foil packet you gave him earlier. Placing the square between his teeth, he reaches down to unzip his jeans. Your breath hitches in anticipation.

But to your secret dismay, the jeans stay on, shielding his thighs and underneath from view. Hope dissipates from your heart – a foolish, unfathomable melancholy seeps in through the empty rooms. As you watch him tear the packet open with his teeth and roll the condom down his length, you try to tell yourself that you have no rights—that this means nothing to him as it does to you. That this is merely your way of finding pleasure in each other until morning calls.

Yet, the disparity between you weighs heavily, as he has seen every intimate part of you, and you're still denied some access to him.

As Simon finishes rolling on the condom, your thoughts become detached. Desperate for a distraction—comfort, you stretch out your arms in invitation. He accepts your wordless plea, diving into your embrace and covering your mouth with his own as he slowly presses his cock forward. You feel the stretch and burn; your walls have been breached to accommodate his large size. The foreign fullness—the pulsing sensation of having a man fill you so completely—draws a quiet gasp from you.

Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You felt him take a shuddering inhale. He started to move slowly, the stretch and burn of your walls parting further. Your breath comes short and sharp as tears prick the corners of your eyes from the sting of it.

“Too much? Want me to go easy?”

The question that leaves his lips tugs at the feet of your heart. And you believe that's how unlovable people behave—the urge to keep searching, to lick it even from the tip of a knife. The urge to see where it was never present.

You know he only shows concern for you to continue bringing him pleasure. Yet, some part of your traitorous, fickle heart, swells. The conviction that there is something worth feeling, something flickering in the distance—timidly but surely blooming, waiting to be discovered.

(Butterflies take flight in my belly. My heart has learned to feast on even the driest of breads.)

“No… keep going,” you rasp.

So, you cling to him tighter, urging him on despite the ache, because having him move within you is the closest you'll come to an embrace—to a cheap substitute for love. Let me drown; let his touch envelop my body – to become both his refugee and prisoner. Let me lose myself in this illusion, for it is all I have.

Simon pushed himself in further. You bit your bottom lip feeling him against your walls; your blunt nails create half-moons into his flexing back and shoulders. The burning feeling is emphasized before gradually disappearing and is replaced by pleasure. You threw your head back against the pillow as he slowly sped up his thrusts, bringing your hips to meet his.

A broken gasp escapes your lips when he slightly changes his angle and slams back in. His name was uttered in the lewdest sounds—gasoline on the fire of his lust, creating another wave of vigor to slide his cock in and out of your weeping hole.

Silhouette was created when he straightened his back, blocking out the moonlight. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as he continued to deliver controlled thrusts. You watched the sweat slide slickly down the cords of his neck. He gripped your hips before pulling out. You whimpered at the empty ache. But, before you can protest, he slams in the angry crown and fills you to the hilt in one deep thrust.

The mirror at the end of the room has steamed over from the heat. Simon places his large hand firmly on your lower belly, pinning you down in place. He brought his other hand to rub circles over your swollen clit. Your lips form a perfect 'O' as you gasp.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, you follow the outline of his collarbone, droplets of sweat sliding down his skin. The sound of flesh slapping flesh was accompanied by mingled cries and moans. You turn your face into the pillow, watching how the sheets tangle and crumple around your desperate fingers. Simon quickened the roll of his hips; the bed squeaked with each one.

 “Ah! O-oh, Simon! Simon! I’m—!”

Your body trembles as unbridled moans escape from your failing lips. He pushes your stomach farther in while continuing to piston his hips. Your breasts bounce and sway; sweat covers taut, flushed nipples. He rammed his fat cock into you so hard that it caused you to boil and surrounded your messed-up brain with smoke.

“You close for me, darling? Gonna come all over my cock?”

Your cunt throbs from his breathy voice. Brows furrowed, lips parted around gasps and sighs. The lacrimal glands swell. Every inch of your senses is narrowed into hyper-awareness, with focus scattered all over and your thighs trembling uncontrollably. The white spots on your brain are spreading. His thrusts became sloppier as his hips stutter. Your stomach tightened, velvety walls pulsing around his twitching length until Simon buried his face in your shoulder.

A litany of curses and praise fell from his lips. His cock flooded in scalding heat of your slick juices mixed with his climax. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, trying to stabilize your ragged breathing and regather reality.

While your brain recovers, you stare at the boring ceiling of your room. The heaviness in your limbs and sore muscles replace the last waves of pleasure. Your mind wandered aimlessly, half-aware that you were still clinging to him.

Simon rose, drawing his body away from yours. He pulled out his cock, and the emptiness suddenly felt foreign. You observe drowsily as he stands on his knees to fix his trousers – his movements appear hurried now, as he no longer needs to linger after having taken his pleasure. Feeling exhausted, you lay motionless.

“You good?” he asked, looking at you.

You gave him a weak nod. “M’alright… just sleepy,” you mumble, biting your lip.

For a second, something flickered in Simon's eyes—something akin to tenderness. But it's gone as quickly as it came, and in your current condition, you're not a competent witness either. Maybe it's just a reflection of your desire for him to stay, to hold you one more night, and to leave in the morning. Too involved, too risky.

That wasn't the deal, you know.

And you also know that you've always been bad at letting go, of your habit to cling fiercely to what you love until your marks are ingrained upon them. You loathed the cold room now that he had detached himself from you. But it would be selfish beyond measure to ask him to stay, to shower your desperate wounds with his kisses as gently as he did when he was still under the spell of lust. You couldn't drag anyone along with you. It would be unfair, even cruel. You couldn't do that, not to Simon.

You turn to your side and pull the blanket over your naked form. Shutting your eyes, you tried to fight the dull ache rising in your chest.

“You can go,” you mutter.

Simon stood silent for a moment, his agreement given in silence. The mattress groaned softly as he shifted his weight. You heard him finish getting dressed, followed by the soft, steady padding of his footsteps against the floor. Each step takes him further from the bed. You heard the sound of the door knob turning and the door swinging open, allowing a sliver of light from the hallway to peek through the gap before it continued to narrow and darkness returned.

Then comes the click of the door as it fully closes, and you're all alone again.

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[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((

Past (xii) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s early morning, and he hasn’t slept for two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now—he glances to his left—the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.

The room is quiet, except for Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that's been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he must write you a letter, but the thought fills him with despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like… There’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced. 

What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he...will do nothing.

It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?

He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

No, he realizes, it doesn’t.

He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.

Dear Finn,

I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you. 

I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.

Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch. 

I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.

Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul. 

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system. 

In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.

That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them. 

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’. Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow… It always comes back to Snow. 

Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned. 

He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.

Still. 

He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself. 

He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk. 

He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one. 

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.

Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He writes you goodbye. 

When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now. 

With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made. 

He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.

Past (xii) - You 

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to. 

You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause. 

The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it. 

My heart, 

My moon and stars. 

I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years. 

There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.

It pains me to think it, let alone write it.

This will be my last letter to you. 

I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings. 

It ends here. 

I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me. 

But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto. 

Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours. 

I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you. 

Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you. 

I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you. 

I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing. 

There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper. 

I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself. 

I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.

But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit. Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.

And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two. 

Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be? I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you. 

God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.  

I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand in hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.  

We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.  

-Yours until words lose meaning,  

Finnick O.  

You reread the letter.

Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together. 

It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't. 

But he’s ending it. He ended it.

Why would he—?

He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be. 

You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank. 

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know. 

The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.

He promised he'd stay with you, he promised, and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other. 

The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk. 

No. You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have? 

A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears. 

You look down at the paper and find wet spots, and ink more smeared than before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?

Stupid. You grit your teeth, fury mixing with despair. Stupid tears. Stupid Finnick. You wipe at your cheeks roughly, angry at yourself for being weak enough to cry over him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. You know what it is to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it's like to have your mind broken. 

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Cold and serated. It's quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same. 

You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you. 

You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals. 

“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this alone.”

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sits rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs. Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected. 

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. If you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles, you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. 

Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright. 

You snort, anger flaring briefly. 

You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?

He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them. 

You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway. 

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

Present (X) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee. 

The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles, nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.

“Finnick, I understand you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”

He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…

He looks at the camera. Fourteen victors will perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?

"My love, my star. My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen.

Look how far we’ve fallen, Star. 

“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.” 

“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”

They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind, he scoffs. He settles on the raised platform beside her and he briefly squeezes her hand. 

You okay? He mouths and she nods, smiling. 

One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.

Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.  

He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.

From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and realizes he’s missed something.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Perhaps you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It's always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.

It wasn't your favorite thing to do, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory. 

“You’re kinda putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.

And you play.

It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him. 

The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room, and it is as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick, who can't seem to catch his breath. 

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it. 

It sounds like a goodbye. 

You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

“That was marvelous, my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad. 

“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry. 

You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—

He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes. 

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.

"If it weren't for what? What?"

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating. 

“Call off the games!”

“This is cruel!”

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous. 

Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow lead them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them, it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now. 

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity. 

“Stop the games!”

“Call them off!”

Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.

Present (X) - You & Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

“Star!”

It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.

”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “The message was for you! ”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? Honestly, it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy. 

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.

“What?” As he approaches, the lingering crowd fully parts for him. You regard the gathering audience warily. 

“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats. 

He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.

You look over to Chaff for help but he just smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape. 

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes. 

"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach you, but hesitates. 

This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always walk away, turn your back to him, and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here, once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt and regret. 

You don't owe him anything, let alone your time. 

And, yet. Yet, yet, yet.

Maybe you can get some sort of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena and—that reasoning sounds weak even to you.

Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.

Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has. 

Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign. 

You pull him away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. With how front and center Finnick has made this, you feel like a spectacle, but when haven't you?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”

“I don’t care.”

“—There’s already so much…what?”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”

Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.

“Please, Star. Just…just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him. 

“Not here.” He thinks he’s being rejected for a moment until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this. 

Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense. 

Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backwardsqasz glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”

Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.

“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.

“What the hell is a baby shower—”

“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.

“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.

Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.

Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?

It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence. 

Present (X) - Finnick

[21 & 22] -  THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.” 

He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”

“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”

“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.

You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them… I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that. 

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down onto his knees before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his muse. 

You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.

“I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”

“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”

You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.

“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”

He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said—”

He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.

“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”

“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?” 

“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this? What could have possibly been worth giving you up? 

“Snow, he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—to civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you. I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”

You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off. 

"Star?"

You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you. 

“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on and on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and tired for even longer.

“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."

Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less—long stretches of time where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol… Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now.

"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking—dammit.” He stops and shakes his head. So much lost time, so much pain. All unnecessary in the end.

“Come sit down, Finn.”

Finn. 

He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.

It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make. 

“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”

Your head whips up.

“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express how good it feels to be seen.

"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”

“...You don’t?” 

“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just…couldn’t." You grimace "I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”

His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless. 

“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved that you’re still facing him.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat. 

He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel. The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you. 

He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes. 

"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry?"

He thought you both had changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you could lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?

"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s a real challenge to separate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.

Far below you, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.

“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.

“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”

“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.” 

“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.

“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.

You hum, appraising the jewelry briefly before passing it to him. He smiles when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.

The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”

He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. 

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." If you'll let him, he'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart.

“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”

“What was?”

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

“Star.” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him. He grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”

You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.

A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY

[solkatt-arts]

We got more from what I'm calling the Intertwine-verse!

Quick facts about this verse of G4(/G5) that is unlike the canon:

- Alicorns cannot be made in this universe, therefore Celestial, Luna, Cadence, Twilight, Flurry and Luster never become full alicorns. However, by being crowned a royal by Sterling and Gold (alicorn's blessing), the pony in question will gain potent magic that amongst other things gives the pony a longer lifespan (up to 300 years extra). The magic is likely to manifest like how Sunny Starscout’s alicorn powers do.

- The lifespans of royals goes back to normal once the magic is taken away between G4 and G5. When the magic returns later on only Sunny gain the alicorn's blessing since she is the one to bring Luster's crystals back together. She is likely to be the last pony to gain the alicorn's blessing for a long time.

—————

Here's some Intertwineverse history

Gold Lily and Sterling were alicorns born long before Equestria’s beginnings. Similar in age but never acquainted in childhood, both were chosen to save the pony tribes from freezing to death.

Gold Lily chosen for her calm empathic and kind nature. She knew the unease of new unknowns, about being forced to face the dread but come out on top. The young alicorn had a way of easing the anxiety of change for others. How to welcome progress in a way that could only compared to the hope of a new dawn.

Sterling chosen for her reassuring but stern nature. She always put emphasis on the inevitability of a setting sun, nothing could ever last forever. That did not mean the past was no longer epochal in how it teaches us our most valuable lessons. Sterling had a way with closure and letting the past go that could only compare to the sun’s last light fading behind the horizon.

The two young alicorn first met only days before their departure to what would later become Equestria. Without yet knowing each other, they both knew their destinies were intertwined. They both felt it the moment their eyes met.

Gold and Sterling earned their god-like powers after restoring balance to the world by defeating Discord with the Elements of Harmony early in Equestria’s history. The god of chaos had made a rift so prominent that the two princesses had to learn how to manually raise the moon and sun. No longer could the day nor night make it through its natural cycle without them moving the celestial bodies.

After about 700 years of royal duties, Gold and Sterling began looking for apprentices. Someponies to take over the hardships of ruling Equestria, all this in hopes that the two of them could focus on finding a way to restore or undo what Discord’s magic had caused. Two young and promising unicorns named Celestia and Luna are chosen to train under the princesses until they are ready to take on the princesses' roles.

The unicorn sisters rule over Equestria for almost 300 years before taking on their own apprentices, Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle. Sunset Shimmer mysteriously disappears and leaves Twilight to train under Celestial and Luna on her own.

A jealous Opaline Arcana has watched Gold Lily and Sterling be the most powerful beings in Equestria for almost a thousand years. She decides she is more worthy of all that power and goes to take it all for herself. On the day Twilight Sparkle is about to meet her future friends Opaline makes her way to Ponyville where not only Celestia and Luna are, but Gold Lily and Sterling too.

With the help from the Elements of Harmony, Twilight and her friends defeat Opaline and banish her to the sun. Before being blasted away Opaline swears revenge on Twilight and her friends.

Gold Lily and Sterling leaves Equestria to search for the cure to Discord's chaos magic once again, feeling that Equestria will be safe in Twilight and her friends' hooves.

Twilight rules for a little more than 300 years before passing the throne onto Luster Dawn. (Cadence passes the throne onto Flurry Heart)

Gold Lily and Sterling manages to find an ancient draconequus artifact that restores balance to nature to the point that ponies no longer need to change the seasons, weather or day to night. Unfortunately they have to pay their immortality for the artifact. They retire to live out their last days back in their homeland.

When Opaline returns a thousand years after her banishment, she finds out that not only is Twilight long dead, but magic has disappeared too. Luster Dawn had had a moment of weakness not long before passing away in which she feared that once Opaline returns, she’ll have no one to stop her from taking everyone’s magic (and taking over Equestria). So if no one has any magic, there’s none to take. Luster separates the magic into one crystal for each of the three pony tribes. She orders her apprentices (one from each tribe) to hide the crystals away where they won’t be connected nor found.

Generations of misinformation and mistrust later, Sunny Starscout brings magic back together with her friends and Opaline is free to finally collect it. She is later defeated by Sunny and her friends.

[ivegotyourbackbuddie]

Working on the Fourth of July is always an adventure at the 118. Whether that’s a good or bad thing really depends on who you ask.

But when they get the call to a structure fire at an abandoned building with two victims… no one can really say it’s a good thing.

Buck is fidgeting on the way to the scene enough that Eddie nudges his knee as an encouragement to speak what’s on his mind. Buck gives in immediately. “Isn’t it a little early for people to be setting off fireworks?”

“They didn’t specify the cause of the fire,” Bobby replies.

Buck frowns. “But it’s the Fourth of July.”

“It’s also still daylight out,” Hen deadpans.

“And just because it’s the Fourth of July doesn’t mean that all fires are related to the holiday,” Chimney adds, raising his finger. “Remember last year when B shift responded to a house fire caused by a Christmas tree still up during the Fourth of July?”

“It’s what they deserve for leaving up the tree past New Year’s,” Eddie comments flatly.

Buck smiles to himself but can’t help saying, “Don’t let Eddie come over to your house if you do. Unless you want him to take the tree down for you.”

Eddie points his finger at Buck. “Next time, I’ll refuse to come over until it’s gone.” Hen raises an eyebrow at him. Eddie sighs, “Chris would leave up the tree and all the decorations year round if it meant he could get out of cleaning up. Every year he insists on putting up more decorations…”

“And every year, he forgets how much he hates packing them up again,” Buck finishes. “So Eddie gives into the puppy dog eyes until New Year’s Eve.”

Hen laughs. “Denny wishes we gave him that long, but Karen has a strict clean-up schedule two days after Christmas that no one messes with.”

“Athena’s second favorite Christmas activity is putting away all the decorations,” Bobby says with a bright smile.

“And the first?” Chimney asks.

Bobby just smiles. Buck exchanges a look with Eddie. They definitely don’t want to know.

Before anyone can press Bobby for an answer, they begin to approach the scene.

It’s a bit of chaos, but luckily they get things under control while Hen and Chimney tend to the two victims - a blonde girl and a brunette guy - who… very quickly appear to be victims of their own consequences.

As Buck and Eddie are bringing the hose back to the engine they quickly get cut off by the young blonde girl yelling, “Can you get my phone from in there?!” while desperately tugging on Buck’s arm as if she’s begging him to save her cat.

Before Buck can say anything, Athena is at his side, charred phone in hand. “I would say yes, but unfortunately, your phone is going to be placed in evidence.”

“Evidence?” The girl asks. “But we were just doing a TikTok trend!”

“A… what?” Eddie asks.

The girl rolls her eyes. “You know. All these couples are talking about how excited they are to get videos of them kissing with fireworks in the background. And we thought we would beat them to it.”

“By trespassing, setting off fireworks in a building you don’t own, and subsequently committing arson?” Athena asks in disbelief.

The girl shrugs. “It was dark enough inside for the fireworks to show up on camera, and we thought it was tall enough for the fireworks!”

Eddie glances back at the building and frowns. “It’s only two stories tall.”

“Yeah! That's more than tall enough!"

Buck, Eddie, and Athena all stare at her with varying degrees of confusion. Then, Athena shakes her head and leads her away.

Back in the engine, Buck nudges Eddie’s knee. “I was right about the fireworks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but he can’t wipe the fond smile off his face. “I’ve never gotten that trend.”

“You know about a TikTok trend?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No. Just the whole... kissing and fireworks being compared trend.” Buck frowns at him. Eddie continues, “Like… people saying that when you kiss someone fireworks go off. Or the whole 'kissing feels electric' thing. I mean. Do people really buy into that?”

Buck’s face falls when he realizes Eddie isn’t joking. “You’ve never had a kiss like that?” Eddie shakes his head. “You’ve never had a kiss that set every nerve in your body on fire or a kiss that made you get butterflies in your stomach?”

Eddie laughs. “You watch too many romcoms, Buck.”

Buck scoffs and stares out the window for a few moments wondering what it would be like to never experience that type of rush when kissing someone. Sure. Most kisses don’t feel that way, but those with a build-up and all the long-lasting tension that finally snaps the moment you lay your lips on the other person…

“I’m going to make you experience it,” Buck blurts out.

Eddie laughs in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m going to make you experience the fireworks and butterflies and electricity and all that stuff,” Buck decides. His eyes widen as he realizes his blunder. “I-I mean. With your consent of course. I’m not just going to… lay one on you randomly. That’s… not cool. More than uncool! Like… really uncool.”

Eddie glances out the window and laughs as if that's his way of ending the conversation. But then he shrugs and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Buck asks.

“Why not? It’s fun to prove you wrong.”

Buck cocks his head to the side and straightens up in his seat. “And what makes you think I won’t have that effect on you?”

Eddie shrugs. “Well, given your history…”

Buck shoves him lightly before leaning over to whisper, “I’ll have you know that none of them ever complained about a lack of spark.”

“Is that so?” Eddie asks, brows slightly raised. His eyes flicker down to Buck’s lips, and Buck thinks he’s got this in the bag already.

“Why don’t you find out?”

There’s a choking noise then Ravi pleads, “Can you please at least do this out of earshot?”

Hen and Chimney complain the rest of the ride about Ravi ruining their free entertainment, and Buck only feels mildly embarrassed that he forgot there was anyone else around. Mainly, he’s relieved that it didn’t happen quite yet. After all, a build-up was required to get the necessary results.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The next few hours of the shift are - dare they say - slow. They only have to respond to one incident at a firework stand where a nasty fight broke out over some firework that turned out to be illegal in the state of California. Bobby ended up lingering around the scene for longer than needed just to provide Athena with some much-needed emotional support.

As for Buck… he’s trying to be as normal as possible. But after a heated gym session of constant longing stares between him and Eddie that caused Chimney to uncomfortably announce his departure… Buck is feeling that familiar tension. That overwhelming desire to risk every sane thought he’s ever had and instead give in to all his desires.

And yes. They have a bet going on now that Buck is very much going to win. But at what cost to him? Because after this… Buck thinks any other kiss will be ruined for him.

But he thinks it’ll be worth it to feel everything at once. Or maybe he’ll feel nothing and things don’t have to change. Luckily, he’s sure he and Eddie could get through anything - even Buck’s potentially unwanted feelings.

While the sun is still out, they only get a few calls, and Buck is grateful for the breather they get before the sun starts to set.

Only, he can’t really get his breath to even out when he’s taking every moment he can to linger in Eddie’s space for longer than necessary, eyes dipping down to settle on Eddie’s lips. Their - thankfully - uninterrupted lunch is almost unbearable because Eddie chooses to sit next to him. And of course, when Eddie gets some sauce on his lip, Buck can’t hesitate to wipe at it with his thumb. Just to sell the moment, he licks the sauce off his thumb, and he swears Eddie is about to jump him at the table.

But before anything can happen Bobby calmly says, “Please don’t make me do unnecessary paperwork today.” And Buck immediately turns red and focuses back on his food. He’s pretty sure he sees Chimney hand a ten-dollar bill to Hen, but he’s too distracted thinking about the way Eddie’s eyes had darkened.

“Buck,” Eddie says bringing him back to the current moment, hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Buck glances around the now-empty locker area and nods. “Just preparing for tonight.”

“Are you sure this isn’t about the whole kissing thing?” Eddie asks with a small smile. Buck glances at him nervously. “Because we can call the whole thing off if you’re getting uncomfortable. But trust me. Even if you make me feel fireworks or it’s the worst kiss of my life, nothing has to change between us.”

Buck laughs loudly partially in relief. “You really have such little faith in me.”

Eddie shrugs and steps closer to him. “Maybe I’m just wondering what you’re waiting for.”

The air between them shifts and Buck wonders if Eddie can feel the tension between them and that unexplainable electricity. He thinks the way Eddie’s hand shakes as it reaches up to cup Buck’s face is an indication that he does.

Then, the bell goes off and ruins the moment.

Buck’s nose brushes against Eddie’s as they both step away only to find Chimney and Hen watching them through the glass.

“Can’t experience fireworks with them there,” Buck says dryly. Eddie laughs.

During the drive over, Buck notices the sun is starting to set. Luckily it’s only a twelve-hour shift so they only have a few hours before B shift takes over. But he still has a bad feeling.

And he’s right.

The next few hours are filled with call after call of Fourth of July related accidents. Including not one, not two, but three different couples failing to execute the TikTok trend correctly.

During one of the less serious incidents, while Hen is treating a couple with slight burns to their arms, Buck is able to grab Eddie and ask the couple for advice about the best poses for the trend. He tries each on Eddie who rolls his eyes but allows Buck to go as far as hold him in a dip.

When he catches Bobby's eye, Buck has a full speech prepared about how he’s being a professional by taking their victims' minds off the pain and keeping them entertained. He and Eddie are definitely not just engaging in public displays of affection, and Buck definitely isn't getting distracted by Eddie. But Buck doesn’t have to utter a single word because all Bobby does is give him a fond look before lecturing the couple about firework safety.

From there it's nonstop calls. Between a firework thrown in a grill, a Roman candle fight gone wrong, an allergic reaction to red face paint, and a random case of rat poisoning in a batch of brownies, Buck isn’t able to really do much about the whole kiss situation.

Well, the air between him and Eddie is heavy, and every time they have a moment to look at each other, they nearly forget where they are. But there’s no moment where the actual execution of the kiss is possible.

And before Buck knows it, the next shift comes in to relieve them, and everyone is getting changed into the clothes they came in. For once, Buck doesn’t hesitate to check Eddie out as he strips his shirt off, and Eddie takes an unnecessarily long time to put his blue Henley on - not that Buck is complaining.

Then, they’re walking out of the station together, Eddie rushing so he can get back to Chris in time to see some fireworks together.

They get to Buck’s jeep first, and Buck hesitates for a moment. His heart is practically beating out of his chest when he realizes this is the last moment today that he can really go through with things.

Eddie’s staring at him as if he’s thinking the same thing.

So, Buck takes a deep breath and says, “Who said I had to make you feel fireworks today? Maybe I need to build up to it more.”

There’s a slight look of disappointment on Eddie’s face that he quickly masks when he replies, “Yeah, man. No worries at all. Happy Fourth of July.”

“You too, man,” Buck says and climbs into his Jeep without a second thought.

He watches as Eddie walks away from him, fireworks in the distance giving him a perfect silhouette. And Buck realizes more than anything, he wants to feel those fireworks. And he needs to know if Eddie will feel them too.

“Eddie!” Buck yells as he scrambles to get out of his Jeep. “Eddie!” He yells again as he runs to Eddie just before he gets his truck door open.

Eddie drops his bag onto the ground immediately and lifts his hands to cup Buck’s face as Buck crowds him against his truck and kisses him.

There’s that feeling of the tension finally snapping. The fireworks. The electricity. The butterflies. The fire.

But Buck feels something he’s never felt before.

It feels like taking his first breath of air after being stuck in the middle of a fire. Like the first beat of his heart after stopping for three minutes and seventeen seconds. It feels like coming home.

It’s with great hesitation that Buck breaks the kiss, needing to gauge what Eddie is feeling.

Eddie just stares at him for a few moments, expression mixed with so many emotions it's nearly impossible to read. He nods and says, “Yeah, I get it now. Shit. I get it.” Then he’s pulling him in again only to break the kiss to say, “This absolutely changes things between us but in a good way, right?”

“Yes please,” Buck says with a giddy laugh.

Eddie laughs and tries to kiss him again but finds that they can’t properly kiss when they’re smiling so hard.

Later that night, they get a text in their small 118 group chat of a video from Chimney of their kiss illuminated by the fireworks going off behind them with the caption Looks like you guys won this trend.

Eddie begs him not to post it and encourage people to try to replicate it after the day they had. Buck laughs when Bobby sends them a selfie of him and Athena giving them a thumbs up while holding up paperwork. Thanks for putting off the paperwork until tomorrow.

Secretly, Buck and Eddie love the video and want to post it everywhere - with a PSA on firework safety of course. But they ultimately keep it between themselves and the rest of the 118 family because that’ll always be enough for them.

(Ao3 Link woooo)

[jedi-enthusiast]

Similar Stories, Different Treatments: Anakin Skywalker and Abijah Fowler

Ok, so recently I've been re-watching 'Blue Eye Samauri' on Netflix and last night it dawned on me that, generally speaking, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker have very similar stories and actions...and yet their respective fandoms react to the two of them very differently.

So, here's my long ass post analyzing the two of them and why people react to them so differently.

----------

First, comparing the two characters...

So, assuming that y'all know me for my Star Wars content, you probably know Anakin's story but, for the sake of this post, I'll explain it briefly.

Anakin was born into slavery and lived as a slave for 9 years. Then one day he and his mother met two Jedi and a handmaiden, and his mother asked the Jedi to take Anakin and train him---which they agreed to do, so Anakin had to leave his mother. At 19 he had nightmares about and then witnessed his mother's death when he went back to Tatooine before being promptly drafted into war along with the rest of the Jedi by the Senate. After a harrowing 3 years of war and having his worst behaviors enabled/encouraged by the villain and his wife, Anakin begins to have nightmares about his pregnant wife dying. He then tries to prevent her dying, even though she's in perfect health.

We know a little less about Abijah Fowler's past, but we do know an integral part of it from this monologue:

"My country's history is one of manufactured suffering. I was a boy when the Tudors burned any food the rebels under O'Neill might think to eat. We starved. Everyone starved. Mouths on the dead stained green from chewing nettles---you get resourceful in a famine. My parents died early, left me and my sister catching rats. The rats ran out quick. Fed my sister on my blood, it kept her alive an extra two weeks. I didn't sleep for three days to protect her body from the starving 'til the ground thawed. I cut out her kidneys and buried her, fat cap on them like a pea. I haven't eaten a single meal since my mind didn't go to that bite. It was the last thing I ever did because I had to. I control my life now, every bite."

-----

From my point of view, Anakin and Abijah are very similar in their motivations.

Both of them started out as, assumedly, sweet and kind and caring young boys. You don't harm yourself to feed your sister and then cause more harm to yourself to protect her after she's already dead, if you're not. Similarly, you don't bring three complete strangers into your home because you're worried about them and then risk your life to help them, if you're not.

Both of them then went through great tragedies and likely felt completely powerless because of these tragedies and the circumstances they found themselves in.

For Abijah it was growing up during a famine, witnessing the horrors of famine and what people had to do during it, witnessing the deaths of his parents, being unable to stop the death of his sister, and being forced into cannibalism---of his sister and likely parents, no less---to prevent himself from starving. For Anakin it was growing up as a slave, having to leave his mother at a young age, witnessing his mother's death, and then being thrust into a war and witnessing the horrors of that.

Because of that powerlessness, both Anakin and Abijah hate the idea of them being powerless and their actions are made from a mix of anger at whoever they blame for what has happened---whether they're actually to blame, or whether they've done nothing---and refusal to ever be powerless again, or at least accept that they're powerless.

These motivations led them both to commit- (Anakin) -or attempt to commit- (Abijah) -mass murder, *genocide, **cultural genocide, and murder of their female main character counterpart.

*Abijah wasn't necessarily setting out to commit physical genocide, but he was willing to do so if the people of Japan weren't willing to go along with his plans.

**I do consider Abijah's plans as including cultural genocide, since he has a whole monologue about the people of Japan being "godless" and how he'd force them into Christianity- (Catholicism?) -if he succeeded in killing the Shogunate.

----------

Now, comparing fandom's reaction to the two...

For Anakin, he succeeds in causing Padme's death, destroying the Republic aka the only democracy in the galaxy, committing cultural and physical genocide against the Jedi, murdering an entire village of Tuskens including the children, and going on to oppress and enslave the rest of the galaxy for decades...

...in contrast, Abijah only succeeds in committing mass murder and fails in all of his other plans---and his success in committing mass murder is partially due to the Shogun's sons and wife locking people inside the burning palace.

But, despite all of this, if you look into how their respective fandoms treat them, you'd assume that it was the opposite.

Anakin is lifted up as this good person who had no agency in any of his actions or, if he did, then the people he murdered "deserved it"---he's loved by most of the fandom and everywhere you look you see think pieces about how Anakin was really a victim, how his actions were justified, how he's not to blame for anything.

Meanwhile Abijah is hated and his actions are labeled by the fandom as bad. He's a terrible person and he's seen as such. I've never seen a single post justifying his actions or trying to say he isn't to blame for his actions.

Now, this is not me saying that the Blue Eye Samauri fandom is wrong to view Abijah this way---on the contrary, I agree that his actions are heinous and he's a terrible person, there's nothing there that I don't agree with.

However, I do think it's interesting how differently both characters are treated when one of them is, unequivocally, worse than the other.

----------

Why is this?

Now, I'm going to preface this section with the disclaimer that part of it is because Anakin is the main character of his media and Abijah is not---however, I believe that this has a very small effect on how fandom treats them since, as we've seen with other characters, screentime doesn't really matter that much when it comes to whether fandom likes a character or not.

Moving on-

-----

I think a lot of it is just that Anakin is conventionally attractive and Abijah isn't.

Anakin and Abijah are both selfish, misogynistic, racist, have violent responses to most things, and have committed atrocities in the name of personal gain. The only difference between them---besides the obvious differences that come with the medias they're in---is that Anakin is pretty to look at and Abijah isn't.

It'd be even worse if Abijah was a POC or a woman, even if he was conventionally attractive---as proven by other Star Wars characters.

Mace Windu? Fandom hates him and makes him out to be a villain.

Saw Gerrera? Same thing.

Rey Skywalker? People hate her and say she's "unrealistic" or "too OP."

Reva Sevander? People fucking CRUCIFIED her!

None of these people even come near Anakin's level of "I'm a terrible person and I do heinous things because why not!" Mace and Rey never did anything wrong, and Saw and Reva did the things they did because of trauma/revenge and/or working to take down a greater evil---and even then, neither of them do anything near as bad as Anakin!

Yet they're hated and held to a higher standard and crucified in a way that Anakin isn't.

-----

Another reason is that people can project onto Anakin in a way they can't project onto Abijah.

With Anakin, they can twist the Jedi's actions to fit whatever trauma they personally relate to, they can shove characters like Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Mace, Yoda, etc. into whatever archetype they want to fit their story, they can excuse away every atrocity Anakin commits because he's doing it out of attachment and they think attachment means love, etc.

Meanwhile it's hard for people to project onto Abijah because everything and everyone around him is harder to change to fit his narrative.

There's no one really around him that you can say manipulated, abused, or otherwise forced him into doing the things he did. The other characters don't really interact with him, so people can't say the characters "deserved" what he did to them. And he openly admits that he's doing things out of greed, whereas Anakin says he's doing things out of love when he's really not.

----------

In conclusion, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker are both people that experienced tragedy and became terrible people that did heinous things because of it---but people only justify one of their actions because they think he's pretty and project onto him.

They're the same person in different medias 🤷‍♀️

[jungle-angel]

This Cozy House (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob spend a chilly fall evening goofing around with the babies

It was absolutely freezing out, more so than it had been since last year despite it being only early October. It was already dark out in early evening, the sun having set around five-thirty in the evening while dinner was left to slow cook in the crockpot, but the house was as brightly lit and cozy as ever.

Auggie and Patrick's squealing giggles soon reached your ears as Bob tickled them, the three laughing up a storm in the living room. You laughed just as they did, your hands trailing to your bump as your baby girl kept rolling over.

A sudden noise made you jump a little along with Bob's stern warning to your son. "August Robert," he chided. "If you're gonna rough-house, take your glasses off."

"Ok Daddy," he chirped, quickly removing his glasses and setting them down on the endtable.

You pulled the grainy loaf of bread out of the oven and put it on the back of the stove, cutting it with great ease and putting it on the plate. The rain battering the roof was growing louder and louder, rattling the pipes that held up the stove vents whole a menacing roll of thunder was heard outside.

"Storm's rollin in (y/n)?" Bob asked as Patrick rolled onto one of the couch cushions on the floor.

"They said it was gonna get bad in a few hours," you told him, bringing the bread to the table. "Not sure how these two are gonna sleep tonight."

Bob nodded in agreement. Storms in California had been nothing compared to those in Montana where you were currently living. All summer long, you and Bob had not only worried about tornadoes but the wildfires which tended to spark up close to towns and cities. Luckily for you, Bob and his family had worked with a local hotshot team to create a burn line so that the ranch would survive.

"C'mon Patrick, roll to Daddy," Bob encouraged.

Patrick squealed and giggled as he somersaulted off the couch and into his father's arms. It always ended the same with Bob putting him back on the couch and having him roll right off, over and over again until finally the timer on the crockpot went off.

"Auggie, grab your glasses, then come eat."

"Ok."

You and Bob were soon seated at the table with Auggie and Patrick, the four of you just having said grace before dinner was passed around, hot pieces of bone-in fried chicken, white-cheddar mac n cheese with toasted breadcrumbs, green beans and the grainy crust of bread that had smelled so good warming in the oven.

Everyone ate their fill and talked about their day and all that had come about. "Oh," Bob said suddenly. "Sweet cheeks, before I forget, I've got next week off so I can go and get the boys from school."

"Does Luanne know?"

"She knows," Bob assured you. "Dad helped her and Magnus fix their windows last week since he had his rotator-cuff surgery. He told her I was gonna pick the boys up as soon as they were done on their nature walks."

Excellent....you thought. One less thing to worry about......

As soon as the boys had finished, you and Bob took care of the dishes and the leftovers, putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and putting the leftover food into clean plastic containers to store in the fridge for tomorrow's lunch.

"You want me to take care of baths tonight?" you asked Bob.

"Absolutely not," Bob insisted. "You're eight months pregnant and I don't want you having to hurt yourself."

"Bob, c'mon, we've been through this twice already," you chuckled.

"Which is exactly why I don't want you to hurt yourself," Bob informed you.

"I'm just teasing," you told him.

You leaned into his embrace, happy and content as ever in his arms as he lovingly kissed you, his hand resting on your bump when he felt the tiny little feet of your daughter against his palm.

"You get some sleep my sweet little pea," he mumbled as he stooped to one knee to kiss your belly. "I have a feeling you're gonna be trouble like your brothers."

You laughed a little bit before Bob told you to go and settle in and to get the Friday night movie ready. It was an odd choice of Auggie and Patrick's, but they were beginning to really love Disney's "Fantasia", one that Bob had grown up watching. Even if neither of them understood it, they loved the images that matched up with the music.

Bob quickly gave them their baths and stuck them both in their warm little pjs just in case they fell asleep during the movie. Auggie had run to his room to go and grab his little Dumbo stuffie off his bed while Patrick waddled out with his little brownie bear in its soft knit sweater that you and Bob's mother had both worked on when Patrick had been born.

You and Bob pulled out the couch bed and piled it with blankets, pillows and anything else to keep warm, snuggling in with your boys between you, your family dog jumping up to warm your feet and the movie playing on the tv screen in the living room. You and Bob couldn't have been more content than at that very moment, with both your boys between you, all snuggled under the warm quilts and blankets as the storm passed you by outside. Yet here you remained, unaffected by the rain battering the windows and safe in each other's arms, just as you knew, you always would be

[booksooks]

𝑳𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓: 𝑫𝒂𝒚 2

Author's Note: Hi friends, second part up on time? What? Who am I, god? Anyway, it's Toga's debut in today's piece, I hope you enjoy :)

Contents: College!AU, all characters depicted are STRICTLY 18+, no use of "Y/N"/any other variants, and possibly wildly ooc characters. I apologize for this. Light swearing.

Word Count: 2046

Summary: Entering your second year at college, only a few months after being broken up with, you weren't expecting anything special. Especially not in the romance department. But then a quiet, but friendly-enough boy on your floor catches your attention faster than you would like to admit. And oh, boy, are you in deep.

Waking up the next morning wasn’t as difficult as you thought it would be. Gentle sunlight streamed in through your windows, and all was quiet. It definitely wasn’t normal for your expectations of college, last year your roommate had insisted on blaring all sorts of TV shows and movies or music at any hour she pleased. You hadn’t minded, since whenever you were actually studying she had put earbuds in, but the silence was certainly a new sensation.

You took your time getting up, as your first class was only at 11am, which gave you ample time to wake up and rub the sleep from your eyes, and maybe hang out for a bit on your phone before taking a shower, and doing your makeup. You then arranged your hair the way you liked, poking at a strand that just wouldn’t lay right until you gave up, leaving at 10:30 to get to the building on time. Things were actually going really well, considering.

You got to class entirely too early, and resigned yourself to sitting on the floor in front of the doors as you waited for the professor or other students to show up. You weren’t alone for long, however, as a bubbly looking girl in as much pink as she could have had on skipped up. Her ashy blonde hair was tied up in two messy moon buns, and she had the cheeriest look on her face.

“Hi!” She crowed, waving at you on the floor. “Is this oceanography? Room 231? I’m Himiko Toga, by the way, nice to meet you! You can call me Toga.”

You looked up at her and waved back. “Yeah, I think so. At the very least it’s room 231.”

“Cool!” She brightened. “I’m a freshman, so I’m still learning my way around. This campus is so big! Especially compared to my highschool, which was only one building. I was afraid I’d be late.”

Toga continues chattering for a few minutes, putting her backpack (also pink), down on the ground to give her shoulders a rest as she talks about how she was supposed to dorm, how she had several friends here which was a major reason as to why she even chose this school, and how excited she was to make new friends, and would you be hers?

You couldn’t help but get caught up in her infectious positivity, and before long you were yapping along with her, of course you’d be her friend. And then it wasn’t long until the professor, an older woman with graying hair who walked slowly and talked with the same cadence, shuffled up to the doors and asked you and Toga to open them as she dragged a cart behind her on a dolly. The three of you settled into the room, the professor making small talk with Toga about her experience with college so far and the first few introductory days as a freshman. You were setting up your computer, so completely focused on trying to get the damn wifi to work, that you didn’t notice when the door opened and someone slipped in. But Toga definitely noticed, and she squealed, making your head jerk up.

“Tomura! I can’t believe you’re in the same class as me, already! This is gonna be so fun!” Toga nearly climbed over the tables to get to the man, wrapping her arms around his torso affectionately.

Shigaraki, to his credit, didn’t brush her off immediately, and even wiggled one of his arms free to awkwardly give her a side hug back. She let go as soon as he started trying to pry himself free.

“Hi, Toga,” Shigaraki greeted, much more quietly than Toga had. It was then that he had noticed you, and he gave you a few quick glances before looking away, moving further into the room to sit next to Toga. He gave the professor a quick nod and introduced himself before setting up his own computer, tuning Toga out as she shook your shoulder lightly.

“This is one of the friends I was talking about! His name is Shigaraki Tomura, but I call him Tomura because we’re besties,” she explained excitedly, and you didn’t really have the heart to tell her that you two had already met. Before you could say anything, however, Shigaraki spoke up in that soft, raspy tone of his.

“We met yesterday.”

Toga gasped excitedly, clapping as she smiled brightly. “Ohmygod, really? Ooh that’s so exciting! Now I have two besties in the same class, we can study together!”

Shigaraki glanced at you then, shrugging before turning back to his computer screen. The professor had been setting things up this entire time, and there was a powerpoint on the screen about plate tectonics. Several other students you didn’t know had also been steadily filtering in, taking up most of the seats around your little trio.

“Sure,” you told Toga, motioning for her to sit down. Class would be starting soon, it was 10:58. “I don’t mind if Shigaraki doesn’t.”

“I don’t,” he said quietly, and Toga took that as her signal to whip out her phone and make a group chat, already texting emojis in it with speed. “Put your phone away,” he muttered, pulling out his own phone to clear the now 10 notifications from the group chat. You sighed and finally got connected to the wifi, just as the last student came in sheepishly and sat down in the front of class, and the professor started introducing herself before roll call.

50 minutes later, and some very confusing instructions and explanations from the professor later, you were dismissed for the campus’s common hour.

“Let’s get lunch together!” Toga pleaded, already bouncing on her feet to get going as you and Shigaraki put your laptops away and stood up.

“Sounds good to me,” you agreed, following Toga out of the building. Shigaraki hadn’t said anything, but he followed you both out to the path without protest, so you took it as a sign that he was also down.

And so, the three of you made your merry way down to the commons, where there were several food chains open, along with… almost every other member of school. It was crowded and hot and loud, and you winced, almost losing sight of Toga as she dragged you along like she knew the place like the back of her hand. Which, was weird the more that you thought about it, because wasn’t she a freshman?

Either way, you wished for earplugs or something, scrunching your shoulders up to avoid touching anyone and making yourself as small as possible. Toga didn’t seem to notice, despite looking over her shoulder several times, and you tried not to be too annoyed. She was probably just excited and hungry. Shigaraki, however, did notice, and he held his sweater-clad elbow out for you to hold onto wordlessly. You take it gratefully, fingers curling into the soft fabric and trying to ignore how fucking solid he felt underneath, despite his lanky build. God you were touch starved.

You swallowed heavily and let Shigaraki somewhat bulldoze his way through the crowd. He was pretty tall and in his all black outfit he was more than a little intimidating, so people got out of his way like you were both surrounded by an invisible, protective bubble. You clung onto him tightly, incredibly grateful that people were less inclined to bump into you or push past you now that you were hanging off of Shigaraki’s arm.

Eventually, you finally caught up to Toga, who had somehow already bought herself a serving of sushi and a strawberry Fanta (sidenote, who actually liked those things? You had tried one during your freshman year and were barely able to finish the damn thing). She beamed up at the two of you, and was about to say something when she saw you hanging off of the crook of Shigaraki’s arm, and you let go like he had burnt you. Toga’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, and then she was moving on.

“I’m gonna go find us a place to sit!” She chirped, leaving you and Shigaraki behind, again.

You sighed and motioned for him to go ahead of you, which he took, also getting a container of sushi, and a monster, before checking out. You thought he was going to leave you behind to fend for yourself, but he stopped just outside the little cafe, waiting. You did your best to hide your smile as you acquired your own food and drink, paying for them and smiling at the cashier who looked like he would rather be anywhere but there at that very moment before you caught up with Shigaraki. He looked only a little less bothered when you stepped up next to him, and then once again he used his presence to clear a path to the little booth that Toga had claimed.

“How the hell did you snag this?” You asked, sitting next to her, as Shigaraki slid into the seat across from you. “These are normally never empty at this time.”

Toga smiled at you as she broke open the flimsy wooden chopsticks, and Shigaraki did the same. “Some people were leaving just as I got here,” she explained, bringing a piece of sushi to her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing. “And so I just sat down and threatened to stab anyone who asked if they could also sit here!”

You blinked at her incredulously, and Toga continued eating as if she hadn’t just told you she tossed around threats like she was talking about the weather.

“Is that normal?” You asked Shigaraki. He nodded, unperturbed, and shoved two pieces of sushi into his mouth. You gaped, blinked, and then decided if someone who’d known her since at least highschool said it was fine, it must be fine. Relatively.

The rest of your lunch is completed with more chatter from Toga, with you and Shigaraki occasionally giving input or asking her questions. The time flies, and soon you were all nursing your drinks, a neat pile of trash to be thrown out when you leave at the edge of the table. Toga is talking excitedly to Shigaraki about a game he’s… making? Playing? You had stopped paying attention after a while, letting the two friends catch up as your social battery depleted. You checked your phone, for a lack of anything better to do, and jolted when you looked at the time.

“Holy shit, it’s 1:50, I gotta go,” You exclaimed, cutting Toga off mid-sentence. The panic in your voice was unmistakable as you hastily shoved your phone into your back pocket, the screen dimming abruptly. You slung your backpack over one shoulder, the straps digging into your skin as you scrambled to gather your things, and with one last glance at Shigaraki and Toga, you snatched up the crumpled pile of trash from the table. Your movements were sharp and erratic as you waved absentmindedly at them, making a beeline for the door. You sighed and hurried your pace, mentally mapping out how to get to the library from where you were.

Just as you were about to push through the exit, Toga’s voice rang out, slicing through the clamor of the hallway: “Text us!” Her tone was light-hearted, but there was a pleading tone to her words that made it clear she already wanted to keep in touch with you. You threw another quick, half-hearted wave over your shoulder, barely registering her shout as you broke into a light jog. Unfortunately, people didn't get out of your way like they did with Shigaraki, and you were forced to dodge and weave until you got outside and were able to move around people more freely.

You’re not early, or even on time, by any means, but then again neither is the professor apparently, as he walks in 5 minutes late.

It’s not until hours later, when you’re back in your dorm, relaxing on your bed when you realize that you never texted Toga back. You quickly ran to your messages, and typed something out.

You smiled to yourself and put your phone away, getting ready for bed. Friday could not come soon enough.

End Notes: I hope you enjoyed :) Please let me know if you have any thoughts or comments, I'd love to hear them!

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ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

[neo-zone]

New 8-minutes Recap and Early Released Scenes of Sweet Home 3

Full un-cut version

Cut into parts version

Alright, let's get started

First is some kind of recap with old scenes from the previous two seasons and some parts of the official teaser and trailer clips. I guess I don't have to explain this one

Sang-won attacking Sergeant Tak scene is done right in front of all the attending stadium residents. While the rest of the residents are understandably freaking out, girlie is unflinching coz "duh monsters are my friend, this is just my daily life". Sang-won approaching her and then dun dun dun.... He knows she's his daughter! And he's smiling so gentle and proud to her, saying he's been waiting for so long. I guess he better pay the child support now after being a fucking deadbeat dad for almost an entire year leaving her to Hyun-su and her mom 🙄

Also confused seeing some people on twt calling girlie Ai. Is that like her actual name revealed on s3 or is it actually a simplified/romanized ahyi (Korean for daughter) that people mistook as her name?

The scene of Kim getting jumpscared by Eun-hyeok while investigating inside a church is followed by Kim asking some questions and Eun-hyeok answering while explaining some stuffs about his new identity. There's also a monster praying there before leaving

Eun-hyeok went with Kim after that church scene, it seems? They are passing by Chan-young and Eun-yu. Pretty sure Chan-young immediately connect the dots that Eun-hyeok is what Eun-yu been searching for all this time

The extended long awaited Hyun-su vs Eun-hyeok is here. Monster Hyun-su (I just realized it from the close-up on his eyes) just done fighting with the Neohuman that attacked Seok-chan in the last episode of season 2 (that burning wing still-cut is from this scene) before being hit hard and thrown straight inside an abandoned bus by the previous military jeep. I don't know if it's Kim or Eun-hyeok's idea, but there's this gut feeling that it might be Eun-hyeok's idea all along (also I noticed Kim unconscious inside the jeep if my eyes didn't fool me, apparently from the harsh crash)

How monster Hyun-su acted during the fight is exactly what I predicted what type of character he is from his appearance on the last episode of season 2. He is more collected and subtle compared to Hyun-su, there's more anger and bitterness beneath his calm and controlled demeanor. Because if it's the real Hyun-su himself seeing Eun-hyeok alive or if that sight reminded him of what happened to Sang-wook's corpse, he would show more aggressions and facial expressions out of strong emotions, like how he reacted to Sang-won's "teasings" back in episode 1 and 3 of season 2. You could see and feel so much sexual tension from them, as expected 👀 Hyun-su really being here having romantic and sexual tension with both Lee siblings, huh?

So, what a plot twist, girlie is the one "creating" the next protein monster that Hyun-su fought on the official teaser clip, with Sang-won watching the whole process (the still-cut of Sang-won and the girl at some outside setting with clear sky is from this scene). Although this one is clearly different than the previous protein monster. Apparently she can now make monster out of non-living thing too?

Another rehashed scenes from official teaser and trailer then done

Please correct me if I'm wrong and don't hesitate to tell me what I missed on the reply section. Thank you

[honeybewrites]

Proud of Tag

Wow I got a writers tag?!?! Thanks @kaylinalexanderbooks for the tag!!!! I got a little too excited to see that notification haha

Rules: post an excerpt you are proud of

Soooo I've never actually shared any of my writing. A spent a tad too long looking through my writings over the years. This is one I'm particularly pleased with, mostly because I finally nailed down (vaguely, this is still a first draft) how I want two characters to meet. So enjoy!!

P.S. I tried to get everything I could think of with the CW's, but if I missed something or another label would be better, please message me so I get it changed!

CW: condition, referenced physical abuse/torture, referenced blood and injury, referenced temporary death and resuscitation

The projections suddenly disappeared, vanishing like ghosts. Taking off the headset, there was no one else in the training cube. She knew better than to think it was a malfunction. No. Her training had been stopped for a reason. Taking off the rest of the gear, she set everything aside, standing and waiting in the center of the small room. Hands clasped behind her back. Staring ahead mutely. Waiting for whoever would deliver her next orders. Two minutes later, she heard Master Gerd's footsteps. Followed by another pair. The steps were heavy, long strides. Highly likely to be another male, though not a Master she was familiar with. The door to the cube opened. Master Gerd walked in, followed by a man. He was tall. Well built. Not as old as Master Gerd, but at least middle aged. Suntanned skin, white and gray shoulder length hair. A goatee completed the look. He didn’t wear the standard Mors black suit, but his clothes were certainly expensive and protective. The intricate knife on his belt and bulging bag with the Mirralian government insignia told her he was a respectable figure. One that was well above herself. But his eyes… they were like brewing storm clouds. Dark, dark gray, with a hint of white lightening when the light hit them right. Only there was no ferocity in them. They were gentle. Like soft rain in early spring. It was odd, to see that gentleness in a man’s eyes. What was more strange, was the fact he smiled upon entering the room. One that reached his eyes. Perhaps there was something wrong with him. What man would smile upon seeing her? Other than a perverted one she was tasked with seducing. Though his smile didn’t look like a perverted one. “She’s efficient. Loyal. Well trained and obedient. She won’t be near as difficult as your last Asset,” Master Gerd said to the man before turning to her. “Due to your increased injuries and… questionable mission tactics, you are being assigned a field handler.” She had become more careless in her missions. Leaving more messes and bodies behind. Coming back bloodier each time. Master Gerd had been growing more frustrated with it. Especially over her lack of tidiness. He’d said as much. Repeatedly. He couldn’t punish her directly for it, since she completed her missions effectively, but that hadn’t stopped him from finding other things to punish her for. The message was still clear. The momentary death and reviving needed after her last mission must have been the final straw. Though assigning her a field handler seemed a bit… unorthodox. She had grown more messy, true, but her completion rate had skyrocketed. She was completing missions normally reserved for squads or duos, alone, well under the allowed timeframe. Especially compared to before… no. Those weren’t things she should be thinking about. It wasn’t her place to question orders. She was trained to follow them. Nothing more. "This is Master Ronan Airvix. you will treat him with proper respect and you will obey his orders, just as you do mine. If I hear of disobedience, there will be serious consequences, is that understood?" "Yes sir," she said listlessly. "You've been assigned another mission. Debrief and objective has been sent to your comm. Airvix will be accompanying you. You leave tomorrow morning." "Yes sir." He turned back to Master Airvix, waving a hand in her direction. “Do what you will with her until then. She’ll comply. Though try not to do too much damage to her before departure.” “Her file has been sent to you. If you have further questions you may ask Healer Asurr, myself, or her if you wish. Though she likely won’t know the answers you want. She’ll need three hours before departure to prepare her gear and stop in Physical for her pre-check.” "Right, got it." Master Gerd left without another word. The door didn't make a sound as it closed behind him.. Leaving Master Airvix and her alone. She kept her position. Waiting for his instructions.

“I know Gerd introduced me as ‘Master Ronan Airvix’ but you can just call me Rage.” He chuckled a little. Hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Most people do. Nickname I earned myself in healing school. Uh, what else? Oh, I’m Mirralian, certified healer, and uh, I’m blind. Wasn’t born blind, result of an accident, but I’ve learned to live with it. Doesn’t stop me from ‘seeing’ and it’s helpful at times. What about you? What’s your name?” “Asset 703,” she said.  She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his little rambling about himself. Perhaps he just liked to hear himself talk? No. That didn’t seem to fit his personality. It seemed to make him uncomfortable if anything. So why would he bother? "Well yeah, I know your number, but what's your name?" "Asset 703," she repeated. This must be some kind of test. She didn’t have a name. Or at least, she wasn’t supposed to. Her number was all the identification she needed. Master Gerd had punished her many times when he caught her responding to a name.  Her name would never be spoken aloud again. It would remain buried deep in the crevices of her mind. Right next to the memories of them. She would keep those memories safe. Far out of the reach of the Mors. It was the only thing she had left to remember them by.  “Don’t the other Assets call you something else?” He asked. Brow scrunched. Frowning. “I’ve seen them call each other names before.” Many of the Assets did have names for each other. Most of the Masters didn’t mind. Even Master Gerd turned a blind eye to it.  But they were just Assets. She was different. Worse. So much worse. The other Assets didn’t talk to her, nor she them. If she was assigned a mission with them, they avoided her. She returned the favor and kept to herself. She was well aware her presence was unnatural. Disorienting. Unfavorable. There was no need for her to be close with anyone. She had learned her lesson on relationships well. Never again.

Umm, let's see... I'll tag @themboty @ink-enchanted @charlesjosephwrites @minamaybe @halfbakedspuds

[lovezbrownies]

Yandere! Chief Assistant headcanons!

First part here

Tw: Underwear theft, isolation, possessiveness, jealousy, slightly nsfw.

A relationship with Siolis contains a large amount of PDA and physical affection, in the few early years of their life they were denied any love and affection, although they were later on taken away and adopted into a much more loving family it still affects them to this day.

They love being both spoons, they adore the way you hold them as much as they adore holding you, although they prefer holding you, because then they would get to choose when you can leave their embrace.

Siolis loves touching you in any way, be it sexually or not, they’ve been using their office much more now in favor of being able to have you in their lap whenever they have any paperwork or downtime, sometimes they like to hum slow and soft to see you nodding off and eventually falling asleep on their shoulder. 

Although they hired you, you barely do any work to begin with, you chase Siolis around the palace and assisting them with errands, if there are any to do to begin with as Siolis never lets you do anything, even most of your paperwork was dealt by them, you just sit there and look pretty.

As touchy as they are it will never compare to how much they kiss you, hands, head, arms, neck, legs, lips, cheeks, chest, whatever their lips can touch it will be attached and stay there for as long as they possibly could. Siolis’s favourite spot to kiss will always be your lips, they adore the noises of your mouth as they smack together with theirs. Siolis adores your whimpers and moans, usually whenever your makeout sessions start making you moan lowly it ends with you screaming their name as the lengthy makeout session turns into a lengthy love making session.

Now, we move on from the cutesy stuffy and go to the more creepy yandere stuffy.

Before you two became an item Siolis was infatuated with you to begin with, they loved the way you worked the little jobs they give you, Siolis sometimes would intentionally startle you in the middle of the day to hear you yelp, Siolis also loved the way your uniform hugged your frame.

Siolis intentionally blackmailed their own queen so she would allow you following Siolis around and go to meetings and public appearances with them, they need you to even survive in a public setting, if you leave for the bathroom during a meeting trust that Siolis will have the meeting stop until you come back, because otherwise how can they focus with all the voices telling them you might be in danger?

Siolis stalked you, broke into your home to gave you a false sense of danger, and when you inevitably come to work looking disheveled, they would ask why, you would tell them your fears, and now you live with them! Bingo, Siolis won! You constantly apologize for intruding and always offer to just go book a hotel until you find a place, although sweet Siolis wouldn’t have any of it, they already got all your stuff back in their house so you don’t have to worry! How did they find your house? Well it’s in your file, silly!

Siolis would normally find underwear theft disgusting however… How can they stop themselves when it’s right there! I mean, you’re tempting them by putting your dirty laundry in the hamper. Obviously you want them to take it, right? It’s okay, when they’re done with it they will return it! They’re not a monster after all.

Siolis who would make you fall in love with them slowly, taking better care of their appearance, constantly smiling around you and being oh so kind to you, I mean their job trained them to charm people so obviously it was easy enough to charm you into falling deeply in love with them. 

Siolis who isolated you from the rest of your coworkers from the very start of your employment, and now that you two are dating you better know you will be isolated from society in and of itself now. Siolis is a very jealous individual, they’re quite insecure, they don’t believe in themselves at all so when they see someone trying to chat you up? Suddenly they vanish, all records of their existence have been permanently deleted from everywhere. 

Simply put, they’re quite obsessive but also very loving, they adore you, they’d kill for you, they’ll never let you leave, you are forever stuck with them. 

[real-jane]

you don't say

[bucky barnes x disabled!reader]

summary: you matched on a dating app, but you didn't tell him that you use a cane. bucky's response is not what you expected. it's better.

warnings: mention of smut, but mostly fluff and insecurity on both bucky and reader's part. autumnal vibes all around.

a/n: i became disabled in the last few years and i have really struggled with needing a cane to increase my mobility, especially where dating is concerned. i wrote this as a love letter to myself, and other babes who are processing what it means to accept love as a disabled human being. enjoy. <3

***

You didn’t tell him. 

If the last six were a good litmus, it was for the best. Apparently being that honest with a man you met on a dating app was to be avoided at all costs. The goal, ultimately, was to have him say: “You’re prettier in person,” and then flush like he was comparing the version of you in his head to the reality before him, and coming up wanting.

Bucky was his name. He hadn’t proposed anything rigorous–he liked coffee, as did you. It wasn’t like he suggested a Central Park marathon for your date.  You weren’t even sure how you matched; it probably happened when you left your phone unattended in the same room as Natasha–whose taste was much more varied than yours. Adventurous. It’s not that you wouldn’t have swiped in interest over Bucky, 39, Brooklyn. But not until he swiped first. 

That wasn’t entirely true. You remembered his face popping up as you doom-scrolled for Jesus, on a two day pajama pity-party bender. Consuming Norah Ephron films and cheap cabernet, you swiped right on any man with kind eyes who didn’t have a fish picture in his array. Which… the pickings were slim. But his face–Bucky’s–appeared beneath your thumb as Meg Ryan met Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building on your third watch-through of ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’ and it felt serendipitous. Bucky, 39, Brooklyn looked very serious, and he had a white long-haired cat. You swiped. He swiped. He was nice in his first message…

Hi… I’m new to this, but it looks like we both hit the magic button.

So, there you were.

You arranged to meet at eleven–you were at the coffee shop by ten-thirty, so you could sit by the window and not have to walk towards him. You tucked yourself into the booth and stashed your things on the bench seat beside you, eager to meet the first guy who said yes to a date since you got back on the horse, so to speak. Nevermind that you hadn’t told him the whole truth.

When he walked in–ten minutes early–he scanned the little cafe until his eyes fell on you. His expression went from hardened and serious to… bashful, almost. He recognized you right away, and there was no way you could mistake him either. 

What was that thing about people being prettier in person? 

He was dressed in layers to combat Autumn in New York (comfortable in varying shades of blue and brown) with leather gloves on, which shone like they hadn’t yet been worn before that day. So like a native New Yorker to wear the same tattered coat… but quality, definitely an expensive peacoat which could last him several generations… but buy brand new gloves when the slightest chill sets in.

Bucky was scruffy, like he couldn’t quite bother to shave but every few days. You didn’t mind. When he approached, he had vibrant energy, like it was all packed up inside with nerves.

“Hi. Sorry. I think we had the same idea,” he said breathlessly as he approached. He held out his right hand to you. You grasped his fingers automatically, but he didn’t shake. He squeezed softly, and then pressed it between his own. 

“It’s Bucky. I’ve already had coffee. Too much. I was nervous. But if you still want some, I’ll just get decaf.” 

“Y/n. To be honest, I did the same,” you chuckled, nodding to the half-empty carafe on the table, which your waiter had left after the third refill in twenty minutes. “It’s nice to meet in person.”

“I don’t do this kinda thing, I gotta warn you.” Bucky shucked off his coat and slid into the booth across from you. The gloves remained. He had a loved but noble corduroy blazer on, over a henley. “Dating. I hate the whole conceit.”

“You’re two-for-two!” You grinned. “My roommate got me on the apps. They can be blamed for seventy-five percent of my daily dread.”

“What’s the other quarter?”

“Global warming, and getting shat on by pigeons coming out of the subway.”

“Fair,” he said, smiling. You dimpled at one another. “We don’t have to stay. We’re caffeinated, and I might start levitating, here. We could walk a bit?”

Your stomach lurched. “We could. Where?”

“Dunno. I’m sorry–I have no idea how to be out. We should just sit here for the requisite number of minutes before upsetting the structure of a date.” He smiled at you pleasantly, but it was clear how incredibly nervous he still was… and how unlikely it was to go away unless he could be more active. Which meant standing. Walking, some. Something which you were not prepared to do.

Bucky watched your expression shift. He sat forward and reached out to touch your forearm. “You okay?”

“So. Yes, um. Yes, I’m okay,” you sighed. “It’s still new for me so I’m figuring it out, but… walking long distances? Can’t do it. I could probably handle a short walk, but I’ve had a rough time the last week, so I don’t know how much stamina I have. Even with my trusted friend, here. So.” You showed the head of your cane above the table bashfully, and looked away. “Sorry–people get weird about this stuff, I’m finding out, so I don’t really say anything in advance.”

Bucky blinked for a moment, then he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “What do you mean weird?” His blue eyes narrowed.

“Suddenly unmatch. Tell me ‘it’s such a shame.’” You huffed. “Although it’s guys, on the whole. Women care less. But that’s beside the point–”

“Because of that?” He pointed at the seat beside you, where all of your belongings were stashed, and you knew what he meant. You nodded.

“I don’t say it in so many words. I’m not like–hey, just fyi, I use a cane, so deal with it or fuck off–”

“Why not? That would be a good way to separate out the weak and worthless,” Bucky said, but you could’ve sworn you heard a little touch of anger in his tone. He shook his head. “Doll… shit. Men are shit.”

“Yeah. They are. Sorry.”

“No, I’m shit, too. You can’t insult me when it’s true.” Bucky sat back against the worn cushion. “So, we going? Or are you going to talk me into an espresso to see if I can fly?”

“Sure. If you want to. I’m just slow–”

“Nonsense.” Bucky scooted out of the booth. “I grew up in this neighborhood. There’s plenty to do. And see.” He paused. “If this is insulting, just tell me to fuck off… You can lean on me.” He held out his elbow like an offering.

You could have cried. “Um. Okay.”

“Yeah? I–I would’ve offered, regardless. I like talking to you. I’ve enjoyed myself… through the phone.” Bucky scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “So. Even if you didn’t share, I probably would’ve tried to find a reason.”

“Really, I’ve just given you an excuse,” you said, tamping down a smile. He nodded solemnly.

“It’s thoughtful of you to spare me.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, waiting. The waiter breezed by, just then–

“You can pay at the front register!” the beleaguered hipster sighed, gesturing to the counter at which there was an extensive line. Bucky grabbed his elbow and fished a bill out of his pocket, slapping it in the guy’s palm. The waiter stared down at the twenty in his hand. “Great. I’m a human cash register.”

“Keep the change,” Bucky said. He turned back to you. “Do you get motion sick?”

“No?” You were clearly holding up whatever grand plans he was making in his head, so you hastily grabbed your things. Bucky liberated your coat from your hands and held it open. You stood slowly, leaning on the aid which had given you newfound freedom. Bucky smiled at you softly. He wasn’t impatient, just… excited. You slid your arms into your coat with Bucky’s help, and then curled your fingers into his elbow. His cheeks reddened. He had a boyishness to him which was endearing. 

“This okay?”

Okay? Well. If you considered the wafting warmth of sandalwood cologne and the soft weave of his woolen peacoat okay, then you were dandy. You nodded, feeling your own cheeks flush under his attentive gaze.

“Great. I have an idea, if you’re game. So.” He cleared his throat, ushering you through the front door of the shop onto the sidewalk. “Where do you stand on surprises?”

“Um. Hate ‘em, to be honest.”

“How bad?”

“Flash mob? My idea of hell.”

“K–In that case, I’m gonna call a friend, he runs a ride service. There’s a festival in bridge park–I keep seeing fliers for it all over. We could check it out.”

You couldn’t help the smile which pulled at your cheeks. If that’s the sort of surprise Bucky had in mind, you would’ve been charmed by it. But knowing how quickly his brain was working to improvise a date was impressive, so you squeezed his elbow. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Good. Okay.” His mouth turned up at the corner and his eyes crinkled. 

He quickly dialed a number he had memorized, but not saved in his contacts. It made you wonder how many other people he knew by heart, and what it took to be remembered by this Brooklyn boy. He didn’t say much into the phone, just the intersection you stood on. Bucky hung up abruptly and pocketed his phone again, clearly intent on hiding it away.

“He’s two streets over, it’ll be five minutes max.”

He was a horse-and-buggy driver, who had festooned his buggy with bales of hay and pumpkins bearing hastily Sharpie’d faces drawn on them by someone under the age of ten. When the carriage pulled up outside of the chain coffee shop, Bucky grinned, passing the coachman a tenner and ushering you into the four-wheeled hayride. The straw was strewn over the plush seating poorly enough to poke you in the ass, even through your coat, but Bucky was so excited to pull the plaid wool blanket over your legs that you tolerated the gluteal acupuncture. He stashed your cane beside himself, and pressed you close enough that your thigh pressed against his. 

“I went to school with Pat,” he explained, gesturing to the driver who was too far away to engage in conversation, but kept throwing back knowing glances at you and Bucky. “Kindergarten through the twelfth grade.”

“You really are in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah.” He blushed. “Never did get out, like I thought I would. Not complaining though. There’s a lot to love about Brooklyn.”

Bucky encouraged you to wrap your arm through the loop of his elbow again, and pointed out things to you about Brooklyn which had defied your notice prior. Brickwork at the pinnacle of a building, dating back to the 1920’s. A man dressed like a bush who stood on the street corner, blocking the walk button so no pedestrian could disturb his meditation. The fire hydrant he broke the bolt off senior year, flooding the sewer drains and causing rats to rush down the gutters like a parade of hissing floats. Halloween decorations in windows. Scarecrows mounted to telephone poles like they guarded a field of yellow taxis with as much aplomb as a treasury of corn stalks.

All the while… he distracted you. Little touches on your wrist where your coat met your skin with his soft gloves left you curling your fingers around air, and still he persisted. You studied his profile when he was distracted. With stubble and expression lines, he had character. He wasn’t stoic like you had thought him. Every inkling which crossed his brain was projected on his forehead like a drive-in feature just for you. And he kept smiling at you. 

You arrived at Brooklyn Bridge park having spent an eternity and no time at all in a horse-drawn carriage positively burdened with loose hay, but the tents and balloons and various sizes of gourds distracted you from anything but the Autumnal joy of it all. Stalls lined the park in a makeshift walkway, which smelled of pie spices and syrup, and crisping ham on a rotisserie, and campfire. 

When he helped you down from the carriage, placing your cane at your dominant side, Bucky instantly seemed to have a plan. Time passed like you were observing through a looking glass. He ushered a cup of cider into your hands, and then adios’d the empty into the garbage once you finished it. You dominated the hammer game, winning a massive plush gorilla. Which you promptly gave away to the first screaming child you saw, to Bucky’s amusement. He fed you funnel cake while you picked out your choice for the fastest piglet in a race which consisted of five piglets running around a kiddie pool. You lost–everyone did, when the piglets abandoned course to lay in the tepid water and snort bubbles at one another���but you left a lingering dusting of powdered sugar behind at the corner of your mouth. Bucky wiped it away without a second thought.

And so the date continued, with you floating beside a man whose eyes sparkled with delight every time you found joy in something. It didn’t feel like you had only met that day. You reached for his hand to express delight. He curled his fingers over your shoulder to wish you luck in the ring toss. Bucky–Barnes was his last name, you learned–was some kind of familiar fixture. He even bought you a coffee, and then brutally beat a group of sixth-graders at bobbing-for-apples.

It wasn’t until the sun tucked itself behind the rooftops that you realized dusk approached. Without needing to ask, Bucky summoned a cab. You had leaned on him heavily the second half of the afternoon, and opted to sit every opportunity you got. Yet… Bucky’s excitement never diminished. It wasn’t until you sat on the top step of your stoop that you realized it.

That was the best date you had ever been on.

And you sure as hell didn’t want it to end. The stars were out in force–as clear a night as you had ever seen in the city of light pollution, and yet… Orion’s belt… the pan handle of a Dipper… stars shone for you.

Bucky shoved his hands into his coat pockets in acknowledgement of the drop in temperature, while he balanced one foot up a step from you. He studied you through honest eyes–that is, he looked at you like he saw who you were without pretense. Which felt very vulnerable.

“Repeat the question,” you breathed.

Bucky smiled. “You date much?”

You shook your head. “No. To be honest, I don’t usually feel like it’s worth it. Putting myself out there. I’m sorry–I know it sounds like I’m wallowing in self-pity, but, uh. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. Being turned down. Because I use a stupid piece of metal to walk.”

“You could spend a lot of time feeling sorry for yourself, doll. And–that’s not to say you don’t have the goddamn right to feel some type of way about it. It’s your body, it’s not how you pictured your life going. Of course you’re gonna be sore about it. You aren’t alone in that. I’m just sayin’... Anybody who’d lose out on a chance with you because of something as insignificant as a tube of aluminum ain’t the type of person you wanna waste your time with anyhow.”

“It’s weird. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but. I dunno. It’s hard to think people exist who aren’t gonna be weird about a freakin’ cane.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Fuck’em. Waste of your time.”

“What about you? Are you a time-waster?”

“Worse. I’m a Brooklyn boy. We can wait out a stubborn dame with the best of ‘em.” Bucky braced himself on the railing. “Can I take you out again?”

“You’re gonna sit on my porch until I agree to a second date?”

“I–when you say it like that, I sound like a creep,” he chuckled. “No, I just… if you had a good time, and I really hope you did, I would like to treat you to another date. I took a wild guess on the festival idea, but I can think of a million other things. More than just coffee.”

“I was holding a coffee mug in my profile photo,” you laughed. “That was enough.”

“There’s more out there.”

“I had a good time.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

You watched his face turn from excitement to pure glee. His body angled towards you intensely. All his energy was directed towards you. It made your skin tingle, and all good sense fled from your mind.

“Just come in, Bucky.”

“You gotta say it, or I ain’t budging. This is all up to you, doll.”

“Yes, okay?” You leaned against the doorway with an exasperated sigh. “I had a great time. You’re adorable, and exhausting, and I’ve never had more fun on a first date. Or any date, for that matter. Please–come inside. Kiss me a little. I think you’re probably good at it.”

“It’s been awhile,” he admitted quietly, though he pushed off the railing to do as you bid him.

“Good. I don’t like it so formal–”

“You’re so cute.”

“I’m not–”

“No, it isn’t up for debate.” Bucky tucked a finger under your chin so you’d look up at him, given that your attention had fallen to the laces of his boots in embarrassment. His irises flicked back and forth, mapping every refraction in your eyes. “I know cute when I see her. And there’s nobody else in this whole damned city but you, doll.”

He kissed you as if that were true… as if he had stepped out of the subway to a world devoid of anything but a billion scattered golden leaves tracing circles on the pavement, and a girl with a cane who hates surprises. As if–in that dystopian and autumnal universe, that were heaven to him. Like he’d been looking for you in every empty coffee shop. Like he knew you, and it was only a matter of walking into the right store. It was soft, the drag of his lips over yours. At first he just ghosted a millimeter from your mouth, but then he needed to know… so he gave in. He didn’t spoil it with tongue too soon. Bucky discovered you.

You’d been kissed, but never at the world’s end. The world you knew was siphoned away. In this one? Well, kisses stopped time. Made leaves hang in the air between gasping breaths. Kisses were where the light got in. Where sun broke through clouds… where a girl who didn’t much care for vulnerability let a man she barely knew steal every little sound from her throat, out on her front stoop where anybody could see them.

You got the door open by feel, and stayed on your feet by virtue of the man with roving hands who backed you into the building. It was for the best that your apartment was on the first floor, because your knees threatened to buckle when his tongue worried the seam of your lips. He tucked the crook of your cane into the curve of his elbow when you tore yourself away to fight the finicky lock at your threshold. 

“I didn’t expect to have anyone over,” you said by way of an explanation for whatever mess might be found inside, but Bucky snorted.

“When are you gonna get it through your head?” He nipped at the tendon which helped form the curve from your shoulder to neck, making you shiver. “I don’t give a shit if all you got is a mattress on the floor. I like you.”

“I have a bit more furniture than that,” you giggled, “but I still appreciate you saying it.”

The moment you were inside the apartment, Bucky leaned back against the door and turned you, so you stood between his feet. He looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes. “Tell me.”

You turned your attention to the buttons on his coat as he saw right through you. “Bucky–”

“I think you like kissing me, but you’re skittish. If you’re freaked out…”

“I’m–shit.” You sighed. “I believe you. That you like me, I do. But I am so used to feeling like nobody is ever gonna want me back–”

“Impossible.” He cupped your cheeks. “Look at you.”

“Bucky,” you groaned. 

“No, stop it. I know what you’re doing. Oldest trick in my book. You think that a good thing is a lie, that it ain’t gonna hang around. I’m a really, really, really bad liar. Alright? My ears turn red.” Bucky smiled triumphantly when you chuckled. “I watched you drink a pumpkin latte today like it was the best thing you’ve ever had in your whole damn life and it cost me three dollars. You’re charming. I’m addicted.”

He kissed your forehead and you melted into his chest in resignation. “I don’t do this,” you mumbled into his sweater.

“What? Let somebody say why they like you?”

You shook your head, and pressed your cheek against his chest. “I’m starving.”

“Oh–doll, dammit, I should’a fed you–”

“No. I mean, yes, we should order something,” you laughed, “but. Just. Why?” When you raised your hand, gesturing to your general being, Bucky’s expression transformed from concern to… something gentle. 

He shrugged, but his shoulders fell heavily downward, and his fingers curled into the pockets of your coat so you wouldn’t pull away while he found the words. 

“Because–I just knew. You were simply a notification in a stupid app and I still thought about your profile picture waiting in my ‘likes’ for days. And we talked like it was an everyday occurrence, feeling your world shift its axis. I didn’t talk to a single soul on that app but you, sweets, and I tried my damndest not to jump the gun on asking you to meet in person. Imagine my delight when you agreed. I was so terrified last night that I hardly slept, but I never thought once about feeling… self conscious, all day. It–I don’t feel that way with most girls. Safe, I guess. And I may not know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m not a guy who ever feels like I can trust a person and I’m pretty prepared to lay down naked in the street if you tell me that’s what you want–”

“Not necessary,” you said, smiling. 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Bucky brushed his thumbs over your cheeks. “Doll–I’m so sorry that anybody ever made you feel like you got some kinda worth to live up to. It makes me so angry, but then I think–who’s that for? What’s the point in me being angry at somebody who isn’t gonna change their mind… especially when it means that I get a chance.”

“Says the handsome guy with perfect teeth.” You winked at him when he scowled.

“I’m tryin’ here–”

“You’re wonderful,” you whispered. You smoothed over his bottom lip with the pads of your thumbs. “I’m… thank you.”

Bucky leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours. “I’ve overwhelmed you.”

“No, sir. I just need a second. To acclimate to the idea.”

“I can go–”

“Please. Please don’t.” You tugged him towards the living room, slowly walking backwards and giving him every opportunity to wrench out of your grasp and run. But he didn’t break eye contact, no. Bucky kept pace with you, toe-to-toe. “We’ll watch something.”

“Spooky movie?” he suggested.

“...I’m such a wimp,” you admitted, and he let out a quick breath.

“You can hide under my arm during the scary parts.”

“So just bury myself under you the whole movie, got it–”

“If that’s what you want, doll.” Bucky smirked as your knees bumped into the lip of the couch, causing you to sit abruptly against the cushions. You still had a fist wrapped in the placate of his coat, so he fell forward, catching himself on the arm rest and hovering over you. You watched intently as his tongue whetted his bottom lip absent-mindedly, and you had to bite back a groan.

“That’s what I want. Bucky.”

***

A long time later, when your body was so sensitive that you shivered beneath him, Bucky hopped up… pantsless, still wearing his sweater, but peachy ass exposed to the air so he could run to the bathroom and find a soft cloth. When he returned to you (with a towel around his waist, suddenly bashful), he bore a damp washcloth in his left hand, which… you sat up slowly on your elbows to watch the reticulated fingers on his left hand as he cleaned you with soft strokes over your thighs and bit his lip… asshole. You smiled at him softly when his eyes flicked up to yours. 

“You gonna tell me about it, or wait for me to ask?” you murmured, sliding the cuff of his left sleeve up his bicep, exposing a charcoal and gold metallic limb to the dim light. 

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. He lifted you beneath the knees, and behind your back. He had no choice but to shower with you (since you woefully lacked a bathtub), as cleaning you both was clearly his priority, so he sat you on the edge of the porcelain counter to help you fully undress. He did so with a type of reverence which felt undue… but you were reminded that he didn’t look at you through the same lens with which you viewed yourself. Especially when he trailed his fingers over your softness like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you. 

But then, he stepped back from you, and he shucked his sweater.

He didn’t look you in the eye once he was fully exposed to you. He studied the tiles under your toes, and his hands didn’t seem to know whether to rest on his hips or try to hide his flesh from you, so he fidgeted. Which meant he didn’t see you reaching for his left hand, and when you did so (threading your fingers through his metal facsimiles), he looked like he might cry.

Bucky was an amputee. With a gleaming prosthetic extending from his clavicle to the tips of his left fingers, so intricate and complicated a design that it must be something experimental and custom-made, just for the likes of a soft-hearted Brooklyn boy.

“You’re beautiful.” You meant the raw words, even though they escaped your lips unbidden. 

Bucky squeezed your hand. “I’m not.”

“You don’t have to agree for it to be true.”

He looked at you, then. An agreement passed between you, unvoiced. I’ll say about you what you can’t. I’ll hold for you what you won’t. I’ll touch you again, because I want you, all of you–the flesh and the metal and the weak and the kind. Especially the kind. Of course Bucky understood you. Your heart-wounds took different guises, but they pulled the same strings.

When he knelt at your knee, it was supplication. It was obvious when he bowed his head to kiss the skin above your heart. Your heart had known his forever, it seemed. 

“A long time ago, I didn’t have a choice,” he said, so quietly you could only make out his words because you had coaxed him up to meet your lips again. “I almost died. I–god, I never thought I’d live or touch somebody again. And then you. I can’t explain this to people–” He rolled his shoulder like the limb was hurting him, and maybe it was– “without inviting them to look at my naked fuckin’ heart.”

“Is it heavy?” You ran your finger the length of the connector, where metal met his skin and cupped his pectoral. You meant the arm, but the way his head bobbed… you inclined your head so you could catch his lips before his spirit fell one iota further. It was a kiss of knowing. Understanding, without words.

“I can take it off,” he breathed against your lips.

“So do it.”

Bucky sat back on his heels. Then, he looked you square in the eye and detached the prosthetic arm. It wheezed as it lost power, the moment its circuits no longer drew power from his body’s natural electric whims. You held out your hands, and he set the thing across your open palms. It was lighter than you expected, but still hefty. You could only imagine how it pulled at his muscles, unnatural as it was. It was incredible, but then–so was the man with an empty prosthetic socket, who sat at your feet like he hadn’t hastily fucked you on your own couch at the end of your first date. Like sex was a small exchange when there was a soul resonance at hand. If you said it out loud? It would sound insane. Holding Bucky’s cheeks in your hands, though… 

“I like sushi,” you said softly, “and any carbs, really. So. Jot that one down, for your date ideas. And I’m a fabulous co-pilot if you like road trips. I love Upstate. I excel at floating down a river on an innertube–”

Bucky pushed up between your knees so he could reach your lips and he kissed you senseless. “Doll–”

“Shhh, darling man,” you smiled against his mouth. “I am addicted.” Parroting his words back to him made Bucky beam. “Stay the night. Surprise me in the morning. I don’t care. You’re everything I didn’t think I deserved and–and I’ll keep you. To spite Me.”

Bucky laughed. “It will be a pleasure to help you get revenge on yourself.”

***

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