#but it's a bit...mm...obscure

[secondbeatsongs]

had a dream that I wrote the funniest joke, and I was trying to send it to all my friends but discord kept crashing, and I was so sad that nobody would get to hear my excellent joke, anyway when I woke up I wrote the joke down so I wouldn't forget it, and now that I'm home from work I checked my notes app and this is what I wrote:

what happened to the alchemist who got bitten by a lone star tick?

she got a metallurgy

[freedomfireflies]

Knockout*

Summary: The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

Word Count: 9.4k (jeepers, sorry!)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, very brief violence

Your stranger is here.

He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.

He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in white gauze, but are stained with streaks of red.

And he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.

A cup of coffee – black – and a slice of pie.

He’s like clockwork. He comes in exactly five minutes after midnight, takes a seat in his booth, and orders his usual.

Then, he pays his bill, and he leaves.

You’ve grown used to him. Comfortable with the idea of his face and his voice and the strange, but unsettling presence he brings with him.

You find that it’s more unnerving when he’s not here than when he is. 

“Hi, Cherry.”

Your stranger’s voice cuts through the quiet diner and forces your attention from the mug of coffee you’re pouring. 

You glance up, finally able to see his face now that he’s lifted his head. His skin is littered with deep cuts and vicious scratches. There’s a bruise just by his eye that’s dissolving into an unsettling shade of purple and his bottom lip is split down the middle.

Even still, he’s smiling. A gentle upturn that looks almost painful given the cracked fibers and dried blood.

“Hi,” you reply softly, feeling your heart race beneath your chest as his eyes find yours. “Would you like your usual?”

Somehow, his grin gets a bit brighter. As though he’s touched by the question. “Of course,” he answers calmly, in a voice you imagine you’d recognize anywhere. It’s deep and sultry, but it crackles like lightning. Sensual in a way you can’t exactly explain. “What have you made tonight?”

“Chocolate,” you tell him, glancing back toward the counter where the pies are displayed. “With extra whipped cream.”

“Mm.” His hum is playful, and it matches the glint in his eye. “How much extra?”

“As much as you want.”

He laughs, and you swear fairies are born. “Then I will have a slice of your chocolate pie, with as much whipped cream as you’ll allow.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you nod and turn on your heel to grab his order. Setting the coffee pot down before grabbing a small plate.

Once it’s ready, you return, sliding it across the table beside his mug. “Is that all?”

“No,” he says simply, gesturing now toward the seat across from him.

And just like every other time, you feel your pulse jump. “I’m…I need to get back—”

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” he interrupts with a wry grin. “Please?”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and your heart lands in your throat. Your stranger has always been good at getting you to do what he’d like, and it seems tonight is no different. 

So, with a sigh, you glance back toward the kitchen. Checking to make sure you aren’t needed too direly before you slip off your apron and slide into the booth.

“There,” he hums, placing his arms on the table to learn forward. “S’much better, hm?”

And you can’t help but smile as you nod and glance toward your cuticles. Avoiding that vivid green that always seems to send your stomach into a frenzy. 

“How are you?” he asks next, and his voice is soft, as if attempting to draw your attention back.

Braving a glance, you lift your head, and meet his eye. “I’m all right. How are you?”

“Good. Better now.”

The flirtatious remark sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. But you don’t respond, instead reaching out your hand toward his. Allowing your fingers to dance along the gauze that’s wrapped around his knuckles. 

“It’s bad again,” you whisper, and you feel him study you. 

There’s a gentle pause. And then, “Not by much. It’s been worse.”

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your lungs. Turning his arm around in order to inspect the wounds painted near his wrist. “You promised.”

Even without seeing the full of his face, you catch his expression fall. 

“I know, Cherry,” he murmurs. “And I’m trying, I promise. S’just…not that easy.”

Your throat constricts, growing dry from the implication. “I know.”

It’s almost inaudible, but your stranger still hears it, and he sighs as he slips his fingers between yours. Pulling your focus back to him. 

“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” he says, squeezing your palm as if to cement the point. “M’gonna be okay.”

“Are you?”

He looks gutted. Ashamed of your disappointment. “It’s just something that I have to do.”

“Why?”

He considers this before shaking his head once. “I don’t know.”

It’s the same answer every time. You ask him who does this to him. Why he does this to himself. Where he goes, why he keeps going back.

But he never offers anything concrete. Just enough to keep you hoping.

He leans closer. Desperate to make you understand. “I’m gonna be all right, Cherry. I promised, didn’t I?”

“But this isn’t ‘all right,’” you argue quietly, once again studying his scars. “You hurt yourself. Or you let somebody else hurt you. And I don’t know why.”

He takes in a breath before setting it free. “I don’t know why, either. But it’s not forever. And I promised you I would be okay. So, I will be.”

You release him and pull yourself from his grasp. Creating a physical distance much like his emotional one. 

“I have to be,” he adds, and that charming smirk reappears. Popping a dimple from his cheek. “I’d miss your pies too much.”

Even if your insides have twisted, you can’t help but laugh. “I suppose they’d miss you, too.”

“Good, I would hope. Might be my second-favorite sweet thing here. Only after you.”

Again, his coy remark leaves you entranced. Hands gathering on your lap as you look out through the large window beside you. “You’re quite forward tonight.”

“M’forward every night. You just don’t notice.”

“Is that right?”

“It is. Can’t really help myself, Cherry.”

The familiar nickname feels like home. It was coined after the first night he’d come in. He’d sat in your section – this very booth – and made small talk while you served him. 

He asked for your recommendation, and you suggested one of the desserts. The pies were your specialty, and you made a new one every evening. He seemed charmed by this and ordered two slices.

That night was cherry. He ate every bite between sips of his coffee and compliments to you. Leaving nothing but crumbs once you came to collect his plate.

He told you he loved cherry pie. It was his absolute favorite. But he’d never had a pie as good as yours.

And from that night on, you became his Cherry.

He never asked for your real name, and you never offered. You supposed this was intentional. A way to protect you from whatever life he led outside the diner doors.

And in the few weeks he’s been coming back for yet another slice of your pie, you’ve learned only three things about him:

He always pays with big bills.

He drives a vintage, black ’69 Mustang.

And his name is Harry.

Anything past that you suppose isn’t yours to know. Yet despite that, you feel drawn to your stranger. Even if he only seems to exist after midnight.

“You weren’t supposed to be working tonight,” he says, calling your attention back. 

You glance away from the window just in time to see his frown. “Joshua asked me to cover a few of his shifts,” you explain. “I’ll be here through the weekend.”

“You covered him last week,” he reminds you, with just a touch of disapproval. “And a few weekends before that.”

Your stranger is right, but you merely lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t mind. The extra money is nice, and the night shift is always quiet.”

“Not always,” he retorts, and you notice the pull of his eyebrows. “Not everybody is as kind as you, Cher. Not in this part of town. Or this late.”

You can’t help but smile at his need to shelter you. “I know. But Owen is here, and he makes sure to check on me from time to time.”

However, Harry’s expression seems to settle into something hard and unnerved. “And what if he gets distracted? What if he doesn’t see some loser trying to grab for you? Or talk to you? Or take advantage of you?”

His voice is rising, a gentle but obvious crescendo that turns the heads of the few patrons scattered about the diner. 

You reach for his hand once more, squeezing it hard to implore him to listen. “Then I will use my extensive training as a waitress and kick their ass.”

You can tell he doesn’t want to, but he smiles. Brushing his thumb along your wrist before looking down. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper, dipping down in order to find his eye. “But I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

The air is charged with a sort of tension you can’t explain. He feels so close and yet so very far away. Your heart aches for your stranger, and for his scars that never heal.

“Hey,” calls a loud voice, ringing through the small diner until you and Harry both turn. You find a man sitting near the counter, wearing a camouflage baseball hat and flannel shirt. His beard is long and scruffy, and his expression is wildly annoyed. “Do you fucking work here or not? Been waiting on a refill for ten goddamn minutes.”

Feeling rather embarrassed of the way you’ve neglected the other customers and deserted your post, you quickly slide out of the booth and stand. Cheeks warm and heart racing. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, sir.”

You rush to check on the coffee pot near the counter, making sure that it’s hot and fresh before you approach. Then, you tip the spout into his mug, and refill his drink that’s already three-fourths of the way full.

You can see Harry watching you from his spot. A similarly irritated look behind his eye as he studies the man sitting before you.

Once the coffee has been refilled, you nod an apology, and begin to retreat.

“Not so fast,” the customer grumbles, clearing his throat as he straightens up. Forcing you to hesitate. “I want my check. And a slice of pie on the house. For my troubles.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you nod again. The Starlight Diner doesn’t exactly offer free pastries, and anything that a staff member has to comp comes out of the employee’s paycheck. 

Granted, one slice won’t set you back too far, but the shame will. The idea that you left a customer waiting while you chatted with a man you hardly know. It’s unprofessional and not at all how you’d like to be perceived in the workplace. As a mindless girl who merely doddles her day away. Fawning over handsome strangers and daydreaming about a life she can’t have.

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rushing to grab him a fresh piece just as Harry begins to stand from the booth. “Will that be all?”

“Don’t be stingy with the whipped cream,” he instructs. “In fact, I’d like to see you put it on in front of me. So I can make sure you aren’t trying to fuck me over.”

The blood drains from your face. You feel humiliated under the warm hue of lights strung up around the restaurant. Grabbing the can of whipped topping in a desperate attempt to please and end the interaction all together.

“Why don’t you watch your fucking tone,” Harry grits, approaching the man from his left.

But the customer merely scoffs, refusing to offer him even a disinterested glance. “Yeah, and why don’t you mind your own business?”

Suddenly, Harry’s hand smacks down onto the counter beside him, inches from his plate while the coffee inside his mug trembles.

You can’t help but jump, arm recoiling away from the pie while the entire diner grows quiet. Everybody’s attention has turned to your stranger. Watching him closely as he leans forward, and dips down to catch the man’s eye.

“Wasn’t a question,” he murmurs darkly. “You watch your fucking tone when you speak to her. Or I’ll watch it for you.”

And you can tell the older gentleman is a bit off-put by Harry’s distressing demeanor. Yet he remains rather calm, clearing his throat again before leaning back. “And what are you gonna do about it, cupcake?”

Harry’s head cocks to the side. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Harry,” you whisper, just loud enough to force his eyes to yours. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, she’s fine, buttercup,” the customer snorts, spinning around to face you once more. “Now let’s go, princess. I don’t have all fucking night.”

His fingers snap together before he points toward the pie. Instructing you to continue applying the fluffy cream until you hesitantly continue.

The whipped desert sprays out of the can in a steady stream, piling higher and higher atop the pie until it begins to spill over onto the side.

Yet he doesn’t stop you. He simply nods and mutters for you to keep going. To fill the plate until he’s satisfied. 

And you know exactly why he’s doing it. Not to satiate a sweet tooth but to demean you. To force you under his cruel, sadistic stare until you fold like a house of cards.

Your stranger fumes from his place a few feet away. You can tell he’s desperate to intervene, but he obeys your look of frantic insistence. Remaining quiet while you oblige the customer’s request. 

Soon, the can runs out. The last few drops spewing from the nozzle until you’re left with nothing but air and an empty bottle.

With a hitch in your breath, you begin to withdraw your hand. He’ll have to drop this degradation act now, and you hope that he only demands the rest of his check before going about his night.

However, before you can fully retract your arm, a collection of grimy fingers dart out and curl around your wrist. Keeping you in place while the man’s eyes narrow and he hisses, “Did I say you could stop?”

But the moment his palm touches your skin, Harry is stepping forward, grabbing a fistful of his collar, and hoisting him from his seat. Then, he shoves him back against the tile wall just behind him, the connection so forceful, it knocks the gentleman’s hat askew.

The other customers, including yourself, gasp from the sudden act of violence. Watching as Harry steps up to him and sneers in his face with the vilest look of disdain you imagine you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t ever…” he seethes through deep, even breaths, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”

And he’s terrifying. So utterly terrifying, with his busted knuckles, his cracked lip, and his bruised jaw. It’s clear he’s a threat, and the man he’s holding goes deathly pale as Harry keeps him trapped against the wall.

All he can do is nod his understanding, choosing to end the fight before it can begin while Harry – after a very long moment – finally lets him go and allows him to flee from the diner.

There’s a stillness in the café that makes your heart race. The few regulars that are left watching on with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. It’s not until Harry shoots them their own venomous glare that they quickly turn away and continue on with their meals.

You slump into the counter, letting the can drop to your side while the sound of a door flinging open echoes from somewhere behind you.

“The hell…is going on?” Owen calls, exiting the kitchen in order to get a better look around. He finds you first, raking his stare up and down your frame before looking to Harry. “What happened?”

“You fucking left her out here, alone,” Harry barks. “That’s what fucking happened.”

Owen’s eyebrows raise as he moves his attention to you. But you quickly side-step into Harry’s path, attempting to end another confrontation before it can begin.

“Just…a customer,” you finally answer softly, reaching for the plate in order to clear your regret away. “It’s fine. He left.”

Your boss nods once. “But he paid first, yes?”

Again, your heart sinks into your toes. Lashes fluttering when you realize his bill will be coming out of your paycheck. “He…um, no, he…he left before I could collect it—”

“Darling,” Owen sighs, and it’s heavy with disappointment, “what did we talk about?”

“I…I know. I’ll…I’ll pay for it—"

Harry’s palm suddenly smacks down onto the counter for a second time this evening. Yet now, there’s a wad of cash beneath his hand. From the looks of it, well over a hundred dollars.

“This will cover it,” he mumbles, turning his unforgiving stare to your boss. “And it’ll cover the rest of her shift, too. She’s done.”

With that, his fingers are wrapping around your upper arm before you can even wrap your head around his offering. Blinking wildly while Owen glances from the cash to you in an effort to piece together Harry’s instruction.

 But your stranger leaves you no room for questioning or bargaining. He’s pulling you out the diner door and into the dark parking lot before you can even bid your boss goodbye.

He strides between the cars before hooking a left around the building. Leading you toward the back alleyway where he normally keeps his car, the wet pavement squeaking beneath his sneakers.

 And during this fervent stalking, his fingers slide down from your upper arm and into your hand. Grasping it tightly as if to make sure he won’t lose you.

Perhaps a part of you would like to feel miffed or ashamed of what just took place, but you can’t seem to fault him for his reaction. He’s always been nothing but kind to you – even if he doesn’t always lend that kindness to others. Expressing his desire to protect you, even if he doesn’t know you.

You wonder if this need to defend is part of the reason why you’ve only ever seen him covered in scars and bruises. If he comes to the diner in the dead of night in order to watch over you. Like a guardian angel or vigilante. 

Right now, however, he disappears into the shadows, gently pulling you along with him until you see his car only a few feet away. He releases you at the same time that he releases a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark curls as his hood is pushed down. 

“Harry…” you begin quietly, tentative of startling him.

“I’m sorry,” he says before you can even finish. “M’sorry, I lost my temper. I know.”

You watch the way he turns away from you. Bracing himself against the hood of the Mustang while dropping his head in what you only assume is remorse.

And your heart aches for him. For the gentleman that lives beneath the outlaw. “Harry,” you whisper again, stepping closer in order run your fingers down his back. Feeling the way his muscles tense before melting beneath your touch. “I’m not mad, I promise.”

“I know you don’t like it when I interfere,” he mumbles, and it’s almost swept away by the cold, early morning air. “But he fucking touched you, and I—”

“I know,” you interrupt tenderly. “I know, and I’m not mad. I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you were here.”

He hesitates, face turning toward his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You allow your chest to meet his spine. “Always feel safer with you.”

He exhales deeply, releasing something heavy before he’s turning around, and reaching for your cheeks. The soft, stained gauze slides against your skin, and his touch is firm. Keeping you in his embrace while he gazes at you warmly. 

“Are you all right, Cherry?” he asks now, thumbs sweeping beneath your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

Your head shakes. “No. Scared me a little, but I’m okay.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like this, that familiar frown reforming as he holds you a bit tighter. “He never should have spoken to you like that. Much less put his fucking hands on you—”

“I know, but it’s okay,” you interject again, hoping to ease his stress. “I’m okay because you were here.”

And this is the only thing that seems to calm him. That familiar smile of his the perfect remedy for such a strange night. You don’t want to tell him how often this happens. Especially during the later shift. But that’s what you get for working at a 24-hour diner, and you’re starting to think this is merely part of the job.

And truth be told…you think he already knows.

His forehead meets yours, and you can’t help but grin yourself. Grateful for the comfort he provides – stranger or not.

“Speaking of which…why are you here?” you ask gingerly. “I thought you didn’t come in on my days off?”

“I don’t. But…I saw your car.”

“Oh…how?”

His smirk transforms into something coy. “I was driving by.”

“Oh, really?” you tease. “On purpose?”

The smile slips now, a more reverent look in his eye as he nods. “I like to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

And maybe in any other universe, this would strike you as odd. Perhaps even unsettling or disconcerting. 

But even if you don’t know him, you know him. You know his intentions have only ever been pure, and even without having much more than his name, he has always made you feel safe. 

You choose to believe in him. In the goodness of your stranger and the care he provides. Inside and out.

“You do?” you murmur, allowing your hands to rest on his chest. “How often?”

A beat. Then, “…every night.”

The alley grows quiet. Scattered streetlamps reflect off the pools of water that are sprinkled across the cement, warming the dark night with their sepia-toned beams.

And you stand there, just you and him, while the weight of the world seems to rest on his shoulders.

But instead of chastising him or asking any further questions, you push yourself up onto your tiptoes…and kiss him.

It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and you know, undoubtedly, that it won’t be your last. Your stranger has been stealing your kisses for weeks now.

And you suppose stealing isn’t exactly a fair comparison. After all, you’ve nearly pleaded with him to kiss you every time he’s come in. 

Not that there’s much need for begging when he’s so willing to offer them to you. Sneaking you away the moment your shift is through. Chasing you through the parking lot…pulling you into the backseat of his car.

It makes you giddy. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the handsome senior. Slipping into the shadows where he waits. Letting him hold you, kiss you, touch you.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know more than his name or what he does behind closed doors. You choose to share these special – albeit somewhat scandalous – moments with the mysterious gentleman in booth 505.

“My sweet girl,” he breathes against your lips. The wonderfully delicious nickname melting on your tongue. “Missed you.”

You want to remind him that it’s only been about two days, but you can’t. Because you missed him, too.

“And m’so sorry,” he says next, trailing his quick but fervent kisses down your neck. “So fucking sorry for being so bad. Never wanna scare you or make you anxious.”

A soft, delicate noise bleeds from your throat, and you cling to his much stronger frame as though you’re afraid you’ll simply disappear without him.

“Wanna make it up to you,” he whispers. “Will you let me, Cherry? Let me be good again?”

You nod, needing him to keep himself as close to you as he’ll allow. You want to settle him in your lungs, keep him snug inside in your chest. Against your heart.

And a large part of you just wants to keep him…always.

“Let me make it better,” he says, hands dropping to your hips in order to push you toward his car. Placing you against the door in order to trap you and deepen his kiss. “Let me be good, sweet girl. Be good for you.”

And he’s always good. Good to you, good for you. It doesn’t matter how he is with everybody else. 

“Please?” he asks again, leaning back just far enough to catch your eye. “Will you let me?”

He wants your explicit consent. Wants you to say the words before he continues, and you appreciate this stricter habit. 

“Yes,” you manage to answer, exhaling the word with the little strength you still possess. “Yes, please—”

He takes your hand before you can finish, guiding you over toward the backseat before swinging the door open and stepping aside.

“Lay down, baby,” he mumbles gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head while guiding you in. “On your back, okay? Want you comfy.”

You do as instructed, dipping down into the vehicle before settling into the soft, leather seat. Flipping over until you can find a position you like. 

Harry is quick to follow, landing between your thighs before pulling the door shut. You both maneuver until he can hover his body above yours, keeping you beneath him as he runs a palm up the side of your leg.

His warm hand feels good against your bare skin, the dress you’re required to wear as part of your waitressing uniform bunching just at the top of your knees from the new position. But it’s like ecstasy, heating up your goose bumped skin from the nippy air outside. 

“How’s this, hm?” He squeezes your hip. “You all right, Cher?”

You rest your head against the door and nod, fingers already itching to reach for him again. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm. Promise.”

The side of his mouth curls up, and it makes your stomach flutter. “Good girl. Gonna go slow, okay? Earn my forgiveness.”

He continues the lazy strokes to your thigh, falling all the way down to your ankle before going back up. It is slow, and it almost drives you mad. Because he knows what you want. And he knows just how badly you want it.

Things with Harry never go further than you. Something you’re almost tempted to find odd, but he’s a giver. That was made clear from the first time. He derives more pleasure out of your orgasms than he apparently does his own. He only ever wants to touch you, taste you, feel you. It’s never about him. 

You often wonder if there’s a deeper reason for this. If he’s denying himself release on purpose or if he’s merely terrified of getting close. And occasionally you wonder if he simply just doesn’t want to fuck you, but something tells you that’s not the case.

Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to ask.

Tonight, however, it seems he’s still determined to put the attention on you. Long fingers gently scratching at your leg until you shiver. It makes him grin.

“Can I see you, baby?” he asks softly, letting his eyes trail beneath the hem of your dress. “See how pretty you are?”

Again, you can only whine pitifully as you motion your head up and down quickly. Wanting to succumb to his strong touch. Only feeling grounded if he’s there to hold you.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he breathes, using his scarred hands to push your outfit up a bit higher. Revealing your quivering stomach and the delicate pair of panties around your hips. 

They’re nothing special. In fact, you imagine they’re rather embarrassing. A simple, tan fabric that does absolutely nothing to make your pussy look more desirable. 

Perhaps it’s a little silly, but you like to look nice for him. On the nights you know he might be coming to see you (which has been every night you’ve worked since you met), you tend to pick prettier pairs. 

Some with lace, some with little bows. Sweeter colors, sexier colors. Anything that might make him smile.

But you hadn’t anticipated seeing him tonight, and now, you almost want to shy away. Lashes fluttering as you look up toward the roof of his car.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. Nor does he seem to care about the color around your waist, his eyes growing wide as his attention glues to the mesmeric sight before him. Pink, bruised lips parting with wonder while he moves closer. 

“Cherry,” he exhales, the feel of his breath sweeping against your bent knee, “missed you so much. Been forever, hm?”

You nod again, braving another glance just in time to see his hand lower. And then you feel him. Feel his thumb pressing gently into the front of your underwear, just above where your clit lies.

Your entire body seems to spark to life like the flicker of a flame. And you gasp, subtly bucking up into his touch in search of more. In search of him.

He smiles. “S’it feel good, honey?”

You let out a soft breath, chest nearly caving in as you whisper, “Harry…”

He looks up, eyes flicking to yours as that coy smirk grows. “What, baby? You okay?”

Of course you’re okay. He knows you’re okay, but you’ve noticed he likes to hear you say it. He likes to know he’s making it better for you. That he’s helping, that he’s doing good.

When you don’t answer, he returns to your pussy, fingers strumming up and down your covered cunt like he’s playing an instrument. Tuning your body to his needs. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks now, dipping down to nudge his nose beneath your jaw. Pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “Wanna touch you…be good for you, Cher. Was so bad…just wanna make it better.”

He’s attempting to atone for what he did in the diner. To apologize, offer his remorse.

And even if you know he has nothing to apologize for, you can’t find it in you to deny him. Reaching up to tangle your fingers in his curls as you tug him closer. Kissing him fiercely.

He’s hard on himself. You know he is. You don’t know why. You don’t know what the cause is. But you can see the repercussions. They’re painted all over his body, and he wears them proudly. 

He curses against your mouth, and you’re reminded then of his busted lip. Instantly pulling away while you mumble an apologetic, “I’m sorry. I forgot—”

“No,” he nearly groans, slipping his other hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind, I promise. I like it.”

His kisses become hard again. Anxious, desperate, and rushed. As though he needs you in order to survive. His nose knocking into yours from the way he readjusts himself. Wanting to take you deeper, really taste you. 

You’ve never been so happy in your life.

He only pulls away in order to slip your panties down your thighs, pushing them to your ankles until he can really see you.

His entire expression softens the moment his eyes find you. Filled with a certain kind of hope and indulgence as he gazes at you almost tenderly. Unable to resist reaching out and letting his finger brush down your folds. 

You make another noise, but he doesn’t notice this one. Too content to be touching you. Feeling you. Spreading you open just to watch you drip.

“So fucking good to me,” he murmurs. “You know that, sweet girl? So perfect for me. Exactly what I need and far more than I deserve.”

You aren’t sure what he means, but the implication makes you frown. Pulling on his hair a bit harder while he moves to your clit and begins to press down.

The pressure of his thumb against the more sensitive nerves leaves you breathless. Squirming beneath him from the rush of pleasure that only serves in making you needier. 

“Always so warm,” he muses quietly. Almost as if to himself. “So soft. So sweet. Can’t ever get enough of you.”

It makes your head spin the way he seems to adore you. The way he talks about your body as if he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to behold it. To feel it, to get to indulge in it. Worshiping you like you’re his religion.

He begins to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. Kissing you once more in order to taste your whines and feed off your desperation. Wet noises fill the car. Not just from your pussy, but from his frantic kisses that echo between the foggy windows. 

It makes you shiver, loving the way he nips at your bottom lip just to leave you restless. The way he whispers your nickname before moving to your neck, pulling your skin between his teeth and smoothing over the mark with his tongue.

He goes faster. Chasing after your whimpers and the way you arch your body into his. Loving how excitable you get from only a few flicks of his thumb across your sensitive clit.

Then, he slows down. Exhaling a heavy breath as if bracing himself to edge you. Like it hurts him more than it hurts you.

And you mewl pitifully as you cling to his broader frame and tug him down into your arms. “Harry—”

“I know,” he coos, and it’s gentle the way he speaks. Sympathetic almost. “I know, sweet girl. But m’not done with you yet. Just wanna keep you a little longer. Is that okay?”

You bury your face in his neck and make another noise. Something akin to his name that gets lost in the way he curses.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, allowing you to use his body like a lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. All right? M’right here, I’ve got you.”

He proves this by resuming his sweet torture. Circling the nerves a time or two more before moving down. Smoothing through your folds and lowering toward the pooling of arousal that waits for him. 

You hear him hum. “So precious. S’this all for me, then? Mine to play with? Mine to taste?”

You whine, “Yes, yes, yes,” as quickly as your mouth will permit, and he chuckles. 

The tip of his finger dips inside, presumably to collect everything you have to offer him before he’s lifting it toward his lips.

And you settle back against the door to watch. Enchanted by the way he places you on his tongue and sucks. His lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing from the taste.

You don’t imagine you’ll ever get used to watching him do that. After all, you’ve never been particularly…unbothered by the idea of somebody tasting you. Not even with past partners. You get too caught up in your own head. Worried about the taste, the feel, the smell.

Truth be told, most of the men you’ve been with before were never interested in you. They wanted what you could give them. And then they wanted out.

By all accounts, Harry is nothing like anyone else you’ve ever known. Not just because of the mystery that follows his persona, but because of his endless attention to you. To what you need, what makes you feel good. 

He devotes every second to making you feel like you’re God’s gift to Earth. A gift to him. Praising you for simply existing. Indulging in your taste as though you're the sweetest dessert he’s ever had.

Like now, while a deep moan reverberates from the depths of his chest. Filling the car and your ears like music, making your thighs clench around his hips.  

“S’why I call you my sweet girl, you know that?” he murmurs, sucking on his fingers until you’re sure there’s nothing left. And even then some. “So fucking sweet for me. Can’t ever get enough. Gonna get me addicted, baby. Might already have.”

The moment he takes his hand back out, you’re lifting up, and pressing your mouth to his. And you don’t even care if you can taste yourself on his tongue because all you really taste is him.

But the mixture of him, and you, and the slight tang of blood from the busted fibers of his lip is euphoric. Strange but lovely in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 

He seems to understand this despondency, growing a bit more frantic in his need to please. No longer focused on edging as he drops his fingers back to your cunt while his other hand moves for the buttons on your chest.

He pops them free one by one until your equally plain bra is revealed to him. But again, he doesn’t take notice of such things. Instead swallowing thickly at the sight of your breasts that swell behind the cups.

He kisses you again. And again, and again. Then he moves to your cheek and down your neck. Trailing his tongue toward your collarbone and along your sternum. 

You feel restless. Waiting for something – for him. You already know how magical his touch is. You already know the kind of pleasure he provides, and it nearly drives you mad to simply sit in anticipation. Stuck on his time.

Eventually he reaches your chest, lips moving for the curve of your tit before he’s making another noise and sucking into the tender flesh. Nipping at it, pulling it between hungry teeth. Smoothing over the marks with the warmth of his mouth while you reel.

Your hands disappear back into his hair. Stroking the curls almost fondly, nails lightly scratching at his scalp.

He’s always seemed to enjoy this. Instructing that you pull on him as hard as you’d like. That you tug and scratch. That you use him to inflict your pain and your pleasure. That you think of him first and foremost.   

Now is no different. He nuzzles himself further into your breasts while simultaneously sighing with contentment at the way your hand feels against his head. The way you keep him close to your heart. 

You’d keep him forever if you could.

You hardly even notice the way his finger has slipped inside. The way it strokes your delicate walls that flutter from the intrusion, tensing before relaxing in order to allow him in.

“There,” he whispers, pleased with the way your body obeys him. “S’okay. Gonna make it better. I promise.”

And you know he will.

“So tight today, baby,” he says, leaving another kiss to the swell of your chest. Open-mouthed and messy. “Has it been that long?”

You don’t know. You can’t remember the last time he touched you, although you’re almost sure it hasn’t been more than a week. The two of you have become rather insatiable for each other. Chasing after a kind of release you only seem to find within the hands of the other.

Those beautiful green eyes flitter up to yours, studying you closely. Benevolently. “Have you not been taking care of yourself, sweet girl?”

You take a moment to consider what he means before you feel your cheeks warm. Offering him nothing more than a quick shake of your head.

He frowns, brows pulling together. “Why not, hm? Thought you promised you’d try for me. Help make things better when I’m not around.”

You shrug, growing a touch embarrassed. “I know, but…it’s not the same. Don’t like it.”

“Is that right?”

Another shake. “Get bored.”

“Bored,’ he repeats, and there’s a certain glint in his eye. But instead of disappointed, he seems empathetic. “Cause it’s not the same, yeah? Your fingers too small?”

Now you nod, making a noise of agreement. 

He nods along with you, beginning to smirk. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bet it’s just so frustrating, isn’t it? Trying to find all your sweet, little spots, but just not quite being able to reach?”

You cling to him as he stretches you a bit further. Doing everything you can’t do for yourself. Effortlessly curling his finger into that one spot until you begin to shake.

“Just like that, hm?” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “S’that what you can’t find, baby? S’that what’s so achy?”

And it is. It’s so infuriatingly sore that it almost makes you cry. Wishing you could chase after that feeling until your heart gives out. 

“I bet.” More kisses to your chest. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix it, okay? Make it all better again.”

“Please?” you whimper, nails scratching down his broad back. Attempting to pull him closer. 

“Mhm.” He leans forward and brings his lips to yours now. His kiss quick but full of promise. “Always gonna take care of you.”

He begins to thrust the longer digit in and out. Slow enough to work you up but fast enough to leave you wanting more. Coaxing the muscles open before bringing a second finger into play.

The sounds of your wetness being pushed and pulled by his hand are sinful. Sending a chill down your spine and directly into your cunt.

You moan when you feel them, writhing a bit beneath his body until he has to press his leg into yours to keep you still.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbles. Leaving another kiss below your jaw. “Know you can take it, baby. You always do. Don’t you?”

And even if that’s true, you aren’t opposed to the slight sting. Instead invigorated by it and the way he uses great care with you. Wanting to make sure you’re all right so he can please you the way he wants.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough. Even with the way he curls, and pumps, and thrusts those beautiful digits into your pussy, you feel empty. Barely scratching the surface of that itch as he presses his chest to yours to calm you.

Your noises are becoming more pathetic. Your entire being heaving with the weight of promised pleasure in a way you can’t seem to understand.

His thumb presses into your clit every few minutes, attempting to guide you closer to your release, and it works. The combination making your stomach coil until you nearly see stars. Every cell in your body tightening.

“You close, Cherry?” His free hand moves for your face. Palm pressing into your jaw as the bandage on his knuckles sweeps across your cheek. “Hm? You gonna cum for me?”

And you are. You are, you are. You can almost taste it. Can feel it bubbling up from between your thighs, ready to unravel like the seams on your favorite sweater. 

“Yes,” you gasp, arching from the leather seat. “Yes, please…please don’t stop. Please—”

“Won’t stop,” he promises in a soothing tone, lips ghosting atop yours. “Never stop, I promise. M’gonna be right here until you do, okay? Go ahead. I’ve got you.”

And this is all you need. It happens suddenly and yet far too slowly. Pulling you apart from the inside out. 

You moan so loud, your chest shakes. Eyes rolling back and nails scratching down his spine as it hits you. 

Instantly, he moves his hand from your jaw to your lips. Palm pressing hard against your mouth in order to silence you as he whispers, “Shh, baby. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? It’s okay, you’re all right. Just let go—"

And you do. Allow your body to deplete itself of all energy as he works you through every goddamn second. Dragging it out as far as it’ll go. Increasing the speed of his flicks and thrusts. Pumping your orgasm out of you until it sits in his waiting hand.

“Good,” he breathes before finally removing his hand in order to kiss you quickly. Fingers squeezing the back of your neck as he brings you closer. “So fucking good, there you go. S’okay. Keep going, come on.”

And it’s so good, so wonderful. You feel like you’re floating, high up into the clouds. You decide then that he must be an angel, carrying you in his wings and setting you on a sunset.

But you’re still squirming, seemingly discontented, and he notices far too easily. “You okay, Cher?”

“More,” you whisper faintly. “More…please…”

“More,” he echoes. “My sweet girl wants more. More what, hm? What do you need?”

“More,” is all you say. Once again wiggling your hips down as if to sink his fingers in further. “More, Harry, please.”

“Oh. You want another one. Is that it?”

You nod silently, too strung-out to think in coherent sentences.

He chuckles again, kissing your other cheek before pinching your chin. “All right. Give you as many as you want, baby.”

Feeling incredibly grateful, you allow your trembling limbs to fall slack. Once again settling beneath him as he works to get you to your second.

But even as he resumes the languid but practiced thrusts of his fingers, you feel unsatiated. Eager for something else, but you aren’t sure what.

He realizes before you do. “S’not enough, is it?” he coos. “Need something bigger, don’t you?” 

That’s what it is, and you nod eagerly as your nails scratch down the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Think you can take something bigger? Think you can take another finger, baby?”

Another nod. Faster, more fervent. Eyes pleading with him to give you anything he has to offer.

He obliges this, glancing down before lining his fingers up, and slowly slipping all three inside.

This stretch is a bit more prominent. He’s deliberately gentle, never giving you more than he assumes you can handle. 

And he watches you closely. Searching for any grimaces or winces of discomfort. 

When he finds none, he seems relieved, kissing up from your chest to your throat once more. “Good girl. There you go.”

You begin to writhe a little more ardently until he has to bring his other hand to your knee in order to press it down into the seat. Keeping you spread and still until you settle.

“Easy,” he coos gently, placing some of his weight onto your thigh. “Gonna have to be good, baby, and relax for me. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

You want to obey. You do, really. But the overstimulation and sensitivity from your first orgasm is almost too much. Making you choke on the heated air until you can hardly breathe.

“Like it when I take care of you, don’t you?” he asks you now. Licking a stripe along your jaw. “Like it when I steal you away from them?”

He’s right, you do. Perhaps you shouldn’t, but there’s something about the way he makes you feel as though you deserve more than this. As though you’re meant for more than the diner. He makes you feel invincible.

“Maybe one day I’ll take you away,” he decides. “Fucking take you from them and make you mine. Forever. For always.”

And you decide you like the sound of that.

Another moment of his strenuous torture passes before he leans back to watch. And you notice something in his face. Utter fascination and lust over the way your body bends to his will. Over the way it stretches around his fingers, the way he pulls it open.

He releases a deep, coarse groan through clenched teeth. Fixated on the way his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. Know you’d take my cock, too, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper miserably, undone by the thought. You can’t deny that you’ve wondered what he’d feel like. All of him, stretching you open. Fucking into you while leaving you a panting mess.

You often imagine what he’s like in bed. In an actual bed and not in the backseat of his car or yours. What he might be like when he’s truly lost himself to the pleasure. Guiding his hips to yours, bending you into a hundred and one positions meant just for his indulgence. 

You wonder if he’d be just as careful as he is now. Just as devoted to you. If he’d be hard and fast or soft and slow. If he has dirty kinks, secret fantasies. If he likes the lights on or off. If he likes the bed or if he likes it up against the wall. 

You hope one day you get to find out. 

“Think you would, yeah?” he continues, sliding his digits all the way to the knuckle. The fibers of the gauze brushing against your clit. “Know you would. Be so good for me. This sweet little pussy would treat me so well, wouldn’t it?”

You nod quickly, pouting at him anxiously.

“I know,” he tuts, finally leaning back over to kiss you again. “Know you’d be such a good girl for me. Let me work you open until you could fit me…let me stretch you just right.”

You reach out for his wrist in search of something to squeeze, and it makes him chuckle. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you moan.

“Might take a while,” he muses. “Might take hours. Days. I’ll have to just keep you in my bed until you can fit me, hm?”

He attempts to pull away, but you chase after him. Looping an arm around his neck in order to yank him back to you. 

His smirk feels good against your lips. “M’not going anywhere, sweet girl. Just like to watch you. Bet it’d be fun to watch you take my cock, wouldn’t it? Watch it sink right into this tight little hole.”

He’s evil. Absolutely sadistic and it makes you groan against his tongue until he has to soothe you.

“I know, baby. One day,” he breathes. “I promise. M’gonna take you away and do it right. Make it worth it.”

The thrusting of his fingers becomes more poignant. Enough to drive a plethora of desperate moans from your chest as he nuzzles his nose below your jaw and simply breathes.

“Gonna worship you. Give you everything you deserve.” He sucks in a quiet inhale before dancing his lips along your throat. “Have you sit on my face until I can’t breathe.”

The image has your eyes rolling back. Even if you aren’t sure you’d ever feel comfortable doing so, you’re enamored by the idea. Of the thought of him holding onto your thighs, pressing you down to his mouth. Completely controlling you. 

“Can never breathe when I’m with you, anyway,” he whispers, and you almost don’t catch it. You wonder if you were meant to. “M’gonna do it right, sweet girl. I promise.”

And this is the vow that pulls you through to the other side. Large digits curling up into that one spot that makes your legs shake and you’re falling apart for the second time.

But he still doesn’t stop. Stroking, pressing, pumping even after the tears have begun to slip from your eye. 

“Keep going, there you go. Does it feel good? Feel so good, cumming all over my hand?”

And it does, but you can’t exactly answer. Can’t seem to do anything but cry out as you ride the wave and his fingers as though your life depends on it.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs gently, raising up to kiss you once more. Swallowing your pitiful mewling. “So fucking good, baby. M’so proud of you. Took me so well. So beautiful when you cum, Cherry, you know that? Could watch you forever.”

The sentiment makes your entire body grow warm. You’ve always wondered what you might look like when you orgasm, and truth be told, you imagine it’s not very pretty.

But to hear him say it now – so earnestly – makes your stomach wrench. Nails curling into the seat below as you lift off the leather and knock your chest into his.

He holds you as tight as he can before slowly pulling his fingers out. Relieving you from the overstimulation before putting you back in his mouth. Sucking until a string of saliva drips down his into the gauze on his knuckles. Painting it a much prettier picture than the red has.

After swelling every drop of you with a lewd groan, he finally pulls his hand out, and takes you into his arms. Kissing you through the remnants of the blissful rush.

“So good,” he says again, face burying back into your neck while stroking your thigh with his soaked fingers. “Always make me so proud.”

Your limbs tangle with his as you both slouch into the backseat. Allowing your heart beats to synchronize into one, steady rhythm. 

And once they have, you begin to grin. “Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He exhales a soft laugh before leaning back onto his knees to get a good look at you. “What for, sweet girl?”

“Just for…this, I suppose,” you mumble shyly. “For all of it. Tonight. Standing up for me and…you know, this part.”

His chuckle becomes a bit more smug. “Are you thanking me for making you cum?”

“I’m…trying. I think.”

“Hm.” His grin is playful and so damn charming as he dips back down to hover his lips near yours. “Don’t have to thank me, Cherry. Believe me. It’s my pleasure.”

His teasing remark makes you giggle, and you kiss him hard before he has the chance to leave you again.

You kiss for a while. A long while. Until you can hardly breathe, your muscles beginning to ache and your eyelids beginning to grow heavy from the lack of sleep in this early morning hour. 

It’s not until you actually yawn that Harry finally remembers to pull himself away and reach for the panties around your ankles. “Shit, it’s late, isn’t it? Know I’ve kept you longer than I should have.”

With a quick shake of your head, you push up onto your elbows. “No. I’m fine, I promise. Just…cumming makes me sleepy, I guess. And you’re so warm. It’s nice.”

This makes him smile again, and that dimple of his makes your heart ache. “You know I’d keep you in this car until the sun came up if I could.”

“I know.” Your fingers outstretch for his hoodie, tangling into the material on his stomach while he guides your underwear back up around your hips. “Maybe one day, yeah?”

His expression softens, and you almost swear you see a flash of sadness behind that sage green. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It’s quiet as you rebutton your dress and pull the hem back down. And even quieter as Harry opens the door and slips out of the car, extending his hand toward you in order to help you out as well.

But once you’ve straightened up and turned to face him, you see that something has changed. A look of longing that hadn’t been there before etched between those scarred features.

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye and then down to your lips. Tracing the lines and dips before he sighs and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Are you gonna be all right?”

You place your hand over his and squeeze. “Are you?”

Another deep breath. Heavier and more forlorn. “You know I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

His forehead meets yours, and you both still. “I promise.”

And you choose to believe him.

You say goodbye, and regretfully let him go. Shaky legs carrying you back to your car as his eyes follow you all the way. Making sure you get there safely before you take off down the road and leave him behind.

A few nights later, you’re back for your next shift. And truth be told, you’re almost excited. Because having to go so long without him feels like a form of punishment. Like your days aren’t nearly as bright without him. And neither are your nights.

You can’t help but count the seconds as you go about your evening. Unable to distract yourself with the pastries no matter how hard you try. Thoughts drifting back to those chocolate curls and that devilish smile.

When midnight strikes, you feel relieved. Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you grab your notepad and slip out of the kitchen. Ready to greet him in his favorite booth.

But the moment you slip past the door, you find that the diner is empty. Not a single customer to greet you as you scan the floor in search of that familiar face. Even a glimpse of his shoes or the sound of his voice.

But the booth is empty, the diner is quiet, and it’s 12:06. 

Your stranger isn’t here.

I know not too much has happened yet but we are building up to tons more smut and plot and angst and fluff, I swear!! 😭💞

Next Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (2/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

You don’t think your eyes are even able to leave, don’t think that they’re capable of ripping away from the sway of smooth silk-like noir. You notice the sharp up-curve of the nose, the flair of poise in his gaze. His features are tender, yet so sharp… It was like looking at some sort of doll.

You can see his lips part, mouthing words that you can’t seem to make out as he picks up a much smaller box, smile on his face soft with excitement, slowly curling into a laugh that you can’t hear…

And you just can’t help but think how pretty he looks.

There’s curiosity glimmering in your eyes, the uncertainty in the neutral, almost blank look on your face as you’re practically mesmerized by the sight. What sort of feeling is this? Is it normal? Are you meant to feel—

“Pah, it’s just some kid and his parents.” He practically has poison on his tongue, spitting them out with restrained irritation as he sticks his tongue out at the boy. “Bleghhhh, who even needs to look at ‘em, right?” He’s huffing a bit once he sees him disappear into the home, glad that was over and done with, hopping off the stool and chubby hand reaching for your curtain tie to draw them close.

Your eyes don’t need to see him. You have him, right? He looks to you for affirmation, for your compliance—

Only to be met with your silence, body still and eyes stuck onto the drawn curtains— The baby blue of the fabric starting to swirl your mind with perplexing images as your stare turns blank and your eyes go out of focus.

You’re not paying attention to him anymore… And that doesn’t sit quite right with your one and only friend.

He slaps a hand over your eyes, turning your sight dark and obscured and distracted. “Don’t look at him.” You can feel a slight sting from the impact, can feel how warm his hand is against your skin as you reach up to pat at him— To let you see again, please.

“Strangers are dangerous!” You know that. “Has your Mama never taught you that you shouldn’t approach kids you don’t know?!” You can hear the pouting grumbles, can hear how mad he is at the appearance of this supposedly ‘new kid’.

“Satoru…” You’re kind of confused about his behaviour, your words starting to trail off into a tone of uncertainty and slight fear. Does he not realize it?

“I’m a new kid too—“

“Y’er different!” He lets out a huff as he grabs onto your hand, tugging you towards him lightly, telling you to get off. “Don’t ask me to explain, okay!”

And you just blink at him, unintentionally hitting a nerve.

“What, ya wanna be friends with him or something?” He looks offended, a curve of his eyebrows downwards and crossed arms, feet planted themselves firmly into the tatami mats of your floor as you catch what looks suspiciously like the bristling of his hair. “Y’er not allowed to be friends with anyone from this neighbou—“

Your eyebrows furrow. “But he’s not from this neighbourhood— He just moved in, remember?”

“That’s not my point! The idea is that—“

“He’s pretty, though.” An interruption to his little spiel, eyes glancing back at the drawn curtains of your window. Does Satoru not think so too? You didn’t know people could look like that.

“Wha— Well, so am I!” Oh, so Satoru does agree. That’s enough to have you humming slightly, eyes turning into an up-curve and smiling at your friend. You’re glad he agrees. Now you both have one more similarity added to the list.

What was, unbeknownst to you, not similar right now, was his seething irritation as he watches you think about his claim.

“Mm…” Your face grows oddly serious as you slowly step off the stool, your small feet shuffling forwards to better stare at your blue-eyed friend. Your face is close, your toes on the edge as you really lean in to get a closer look, to really look him in the eye now that it’s too dark without the sunlight shining in.

You’ve never given much thought to Satoru’s looks beyond the surface level of ‘cute’.

Your scrutinization of his face leaves him quiet, leaves him to glare and pout back at you despite the close proximity. Like he was imploring you to look all you want, didn’t mind that you were coming this close to inspect the features of his face.

So you take your time to think, to ponder… To really have time to learn about his every characteristic.

You like the way his cheeks always looked full and red, always soft looking and squishy under your touch, liked the way his nose curved upwards at just that certain point and the cute scrunches he always does.

You liked his eyes, the sparkling blue akin to the shimmering ponds reflected by a sunny day, always glittering and shiny when they smiled at you. You liked how his hair, despite the sharp tips and messy styling— Looked purposeful and proper in a cute, rugged way. It suits him.

Every trait, suits him perfectly. You don’t know anybody else who would be able to pull off his looks the way he does, pull off that funny, stuck-up attitude he has… Because it wouldn’t be the same if it wasn’t him.

Maybe you just have an odd sense for beauty, or have an eye set on looking for something else. You think that maybe some people might find him to be, while some not at all. But— That’s not the point now, is it? What’s important now is what you think. You could compare him to many pretty things in the world, the skies for his eyes, the clouds for his hair— It’s not as simple as you think it is.

(And… Which word is better anyway? You can’t exactly ask Mama right now.)

So you close your eyes. What would he be to you if you can’t see him anymore? If you one day lose your sight, lose your only way of seeing the world, how would you remember him?

You think you would remember the way he smells like fabric cleaner, his soft clothing always having the same scent of refreshing chill, of vibrant sun and summer breezes.

You think you would remember how much you like him, how much you love him for being your first friend. A memory that you vow to hold clear in your head no matter how much time passes. You want to keep being his friend, until you’re clapping at his wedding, until you grow old and wrinkly and ugly, until you’re sleeping away in one of those boxes—

You have your answer.

You smile, leaning back so that the balls of your feet are back on solid ground, away from the airiness and lightheaded feel. The best compliment you can give him, the one you think suits him best.

“No.” Your eyes reflect too much light, happy joy and too much satisfaction for him to truly believe you, anticipation drying his lips as he awaits your continuation.

“You’re cute, Satoru. Not pretty.” And he believes you now, as much of the moment you had ruined for him as his pout and staunch attitude grow ever bigger.

“What?!”

Oh. You blink at him, expression taking on another look of blank neutrality and confusion. You thought you had said it pretty loudly. “I said,” You need to take another breath in, trying to project your voice ever louder than before. “You’re cute, Satoru. Not pretty—“

“I heard you the first time!” He’s still in disbelief, pushing up against your face with his own pouting one, getting all up in your face to glare at you.

Was he not satisfied with that answer? You say he’s cute, because he is. The cutest in the— You should apologise if he’s this upset.

“Sorr—“

“Don’t apologise!” He’s grabbing you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth as you just… Let him do it.

“Sorry—“ A glare. You’ll be quiet now… Or do you?

“I would still like you best no matter what, Satoru.”

(“Is that a promise?”)

——

“That sign,” A chubby, almost dainty looking finger points at it. “Ya see? It says it’s Gojo property. Means it’s mine.” His feet are kicking up sand, the creaks of the metal filling your ears as you let yourself tune into his words.

You’d have to remember how to recognize them later.

“Some letters and stuff were also sent out to the neighbourhood to let ‘em know their snotty kids aren’t allowed here.” He looks proud, smug. Bragging away at the fact that this was his playground as he continues to swing himself back and forth, with you sat right next to him on the other seat.

You stare off into the sky, noticing that the clouds looked fluffier, whiter today. More reminiscent of Satoru’s hair, more alike the puff up of his head when he wakes up from a nap beside you.

“And ‘cause ya can’t read yet, you ended up trespassing.”

Signs can’t exactly stop anyone if they can’t read, can they? Or is it your fault you didn’t learn more words?

“Sor— I’ll ask Mama to make more cookies.” You’re trying to apologize less. It’s tough, but you’re making an effort.

“Ya better!” And it goes silent after. It’s not uncomfortable, not one bit. You’ve never really been the type to enjoy talking too much, anyway. You like the silence, like it when it’s just you both, the swings, and the setting sun in the sky. You notice how you can see how the orange starts to glow against your skin, how the pinks in the sky look much lovelier than usual.

You like days like these.

“Oh right.” The creaks still all too suddenly. “I got something for you.” You can see him jump off the swing, letting out a hoot as he kicks sand up and around where he landed, running over to his Digimon backpack to pull out something.

(You think you remember the name of the animal on his bag that he taught you. Agu…Mon? Or something like that.)

You blink maybe 3 times before you’re unceremoniously fed something.

“Now eat!” A plastic spoon is shoved into your mouth before you can even say anything in response— Sweet, creamy and all too soft— Refreshingly cold and melt in your mouth. You can feel your heart turn fuzzy and melty on immediate contact, feel the sugary caramel swoon you into quiet bliss.

“Fufu,” You can practically smell the smirk in his words. “You only ever eat those cheap 3-pack puddings, right?” His smile… Looks too tight. Too forced, even. You’ve never seen him smile like this before.

“Nobody else in this place would ever be able to buy stuff like this regularly.” And he’s harrumphing, stuffing a scoop of the pudding into his own mouth in triumph and pride, a testament to the riches he can access.

You think he’s right. These cream-filled pudding cups are definitely the first you’ve seen of them—

“So you should only be my friend.” He stops chewing, stops shovelling pudding into both of yours and his mouths the moment he says that, eyes determinedly flicking from the ground up to meet yours. “You don’t need anyone else, okay?”

You think you can feel something bitter in his tone, something clinging on hyperventilating anxiousness and all-too practiced poise. It feels like he’s trying to say something he’s too embarrassed to admit, too scared to say.

If I keep buying you delicious things you’ll stay, right?

You have to remember to blink to bring yourself back into reality, your cheeks still stuffed to its capacity with caramel pudding, have to pinch your skin to really realize what he just said to you. What? Just what kinda relationship depends only on giving things to keep people as friends?

You think that’s dumb.

“But, Swatoru… Iw’m not being your friwend jwust cause—“ You’re hurrying to swallow your food, covering your mouth just to be polite like Mama taught you as your eyes catch the way his hands were starting to stiffen. “Just because you give me stuff.”

He waits for you to finish for once, all narrowed eyes, furrowed eyebrows and inquiring gaze.

“I’m your friend ‘cause I like you.” And you’re smiling, tapping at your mouth to feel the sweet stickiness left behind, humming slightly as your head tilts downwards when you feel up your pockets— To realize it’s not there.

(You forgot to bring the handkerchief Mama always makes you tout around. You now realize… How right she really is about its usefulness. You won’t doubt her ever again.)

“Satoru? Do ya have a hanky I can have?”

What you haven’t noticed was that your words have him freezing up, his face turning into an absolute mess of embarrassed cherry red, his body reeling away from you.

“Y-you’re stupid.” It’s all he can muster as his lips start to tremble, his words sounding like he was shivering. “And dumb!”

And all you remember is how hurriedly he had poured every last bit of remaining pudding into his mouth in retaliation.

(“Ah… I wanted more, Satoru.” You have a frown on your face, eyes showing a blank, slightly disappointed show. He uses your hanky to wipe his mouth, rubbing the cloth against his lips as he listens to you. “It was really good…”

He does feel kind of bad now.

“…sorry.” And it’s cute, the way his eyes have shifted to the side and the tips of his ears burning red, whispered apology under his breath that the wind whistled into your ears.

He won’t admit it.)

——

“Young Master Gojo, you will have the opportunity to talk to (name)-sama again soon. Master expects you to be home for the gathering as soon as possible.”

“You can’t approach him! Remember that!” The door of the sleek, black limousine shuts; fully obscuring your view of your friend as the servant lady— Kimiko-san, as you’ve learned her name to be, bows before you in a curt goodbye.

“Thank you for keeping the young master company today as well, (name)-sama.”

They dropped you off home.

The vroom of the engine picks up as you keep waving at the vehicle, your goodbye not being unseen as a certain milk-haired individual rushed towards the window.

You see his face pressed up against the glass, squishing his full cheeks to the surface as he points at you— And waves his pinky about.

A reminder, if you will. And you do the same in response.

“Sweetie,” Mama pats your head from behind, a sign to usher you inside now that the sun was on the verge of disappearing, the sky blanketed in dark blues and the street lamps flickering to life.

“The new neighbours moved in today.” There’s the clatter of some of the groceries she had just bought onto the table, a carton of milk, half a head of lettuce, carrots, potatoes— Tonight’s dinner is curry.

“I saw them.” You’re crawling up onto the wooden dining chair, unloading the reusable grocery bag as you hear her bring out the pot. “They have a pretty kid.”

“Do they?” You can hear the smile, the chuckle in her tone as she acknowledges you, the shuffle and crinkle of plastic in her hands as she starts to prepare dinner. “Then I hope they’re nice people.”

“Me too.” Even if you’re not allowed to approach them, you carefully descend from the chair that was just too tall for you to easily get off of, the considerably lighter items; a chocolate bar and a sponge huddled in your hands, your feet on the way to the fridge before—

You notice a sweet tartness in the air— Wafting to your nose as you take an inhale in. Oh, Mama smells nice today. Not— Artificial nice, but normal, nice. She smells like honey and vanilla, light and easy on your nose.

“You smell nice, Mama.” You’ve never been one to voice this out but… It seems that you’re just in a talkative mood today. In a mood to share your happiness. Just because.

The decisive chopping of potatoes and carrots stiffen, yet the boiling of water continues. “…is that so, sweetheart?” Her hands tensing just that little bit more as she continues on. The clacks against the wooden chopping board grow less erratic… Slow, uncertain.

Worried.

“Mhm. Didya stop by the bakery just now?” She really, really smells good. And you can see her visibly relax at that, her shoulders slumping as she lets out… A quiet sigh of relief?

(Did you say something bad?)

“I figured you would like some bread for tomorrow.” She’s back to normal. “Eating cereal all the time is bad for you, so I bought you some bread and cheese.”

“Yay! Thank you, Mama!”

Dinner passed by too quickly, too much so that you find yourself laying upon the tatami mats of your bedroom in a blink of an eye, futon yet to be rolled out, the sound of Mama preparing the bath downstairs and your tummy full of warm curry as you sigh— Life is good.

Too good, in fact. You’re starting to get suspicious— Starting with those new neighbours you just got today. You’re curious, you really are.

The window opposite to yours— That would be the rooms of one of them right? You remember a gait of confidence from his Mama, his own Papa not lagging in that aspect either. So… Which one would have that room? Does he sleep by himself? That would be so brave of him.

(Even you struggle to sleep alone… By yourself… In a dark room… You feel a shiver down your spine just thinking about it.)

Your curtains are still drawn, the room that you shared with Mama lit only by your dim ceiling light. She says she’s gonna replace the bulb soon, if you remember correctly.

So… It— Would be fine, right? You’re not approaching or interacting with him. If they were to spot you they won’t have a clear view due to the light. So technically, this counts as safe, no? Innocuous, even. You just want to see who occupies that vey room— That was directly opposite of your own.

Curiosity kills cats, or something like that. But you aren’t a cat, so it obviously doesn’t apply to you. You won’t die.

So you take the chance, grabbing hold of the fabric… Should you really be doing this? You’re unsure, uncertain. And it makes you really, really nervous. It feels like the scratchy material of your curtains were pricking into your skin as you ball up the fabric, taking a gulp… Just one peek. One is enough.

So you steel yourself, swallowing your fear and powering through your nerves. It’s just a quick peek, one glance— Get it over and done with already!

Your eyes catch bright light, the colour temperature warm and inviting. Cozy. You see curtains that were drawn open, but not just any fabric— The fancy type, with pretty lace and a neat ribbon. Pretty…

But that wasn’t the main focus.

What was, was the little boy that had already been staring at your curious little self, purple eyes widened in surprise and mouth already turning into a smile when he catches sight of you.

“Ah! You really did peek out!”

You’ve been noticed.

You squeak, ducking down and away from the window immediately. Oh no. Oh no no no no. This was not the plan at all. Not how you thought this would go! You’re panicking, using the curtains to hide your face away. Just pretend you’re not here, that you were just a figment of his imaginati—

“Oh—“ You can hear him slap a hand over his mouth. ���Sorry for yelling.” His words come out hushed, quietened now.

“Did I scare you?”

You have a promise to keep. You’re not about to break it to have a conversation with a window stranger, no matter how pretty he is. At least now, you know your windows are close enough to be able to communicate. If that were any useful information at all.

“That was rude of me, wasn’t it? My Mama would scold me for that.” You think he just attempted to make a joke. A lighthearted attempt.

But… No, he’s not rude at all. You’re the one who should be apologizing for hiding away from him like this, basically ignoring him on purpose. You’re not a rude kid, you swear you’re not. Mama raised you to be better than this— But a promise is a promise.

“My name is Geto Suguru, I just moved in today!” Something about that cheery tone in his voice, the mirth in his words has you feeling guilty, sad.

Yet you don’t reply. You can’t hear him anymore— Why’s it so quiet? Is he waiting for a reply, a sign that you were still listening?

You can’t exactly tell him you made a promise against him—!

So you choose to continue the silence, letting it stretch over the growing awkwardness as you huddle in on yourself.

“It would be nice to meet you.”

Would be. Is he trying to bait you out?

“Suguru! The bath is free!” A distant call from within his home, the feel of a night breeze starting to flutter your curtains as you grip onto them for dear life.

“Oh, coming! Well… I hope we get to talk properly soon. Sorry for scaring you, by the way.” Taps of feet against the carpets of his floors as he patters away— He should be gone now, right?

But… You learned something about the neighbour today. That he was… Unexpectedly really nice. Too nice, even. You feel your conscience gnawing at you, feel guilt grip at your heart.

Mama would not be proud of you for this. Not that you’re gonna tell her, anyway.

(Geto… Suguru, huh?)

——

You don’t meet them again— Until the next afternoon, that is.

You usually check the area for anyone outside the door before you go up open it, you swear that you really do. To go pick up mail from the mailbox, receiving Mama’s delivery items… The area has to be clear before you even dare to step a foot outside.

But not today. You weren’t careful enough to cover your tracks at all.

“Well, hello there!” A lady with black hair tied into a bun and the prettiest purple eyes you’ve ever seen. She’s bright, energetic… And really tall. Taller than Mama. “I’ve only met your mother just this morning, you know? She told me about you!”

She’s really chatty.

“I’m Geto Akari, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you!”

Introduce yourself introduce yourself introduce yourself—

“…(last name) (name)…” You hope you’re loud enough. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, adjusting the mail that you were holding to be more in line with each other— Less messy. You don’t want to leave the impression of being so, after all.

She spots the white of the papers that you were clutching to your chest, hugging the envelopes near as you blink up at her. “Running some errands for your mother, sweetheart?”

“Mm.” It’s all you can do, really. Just nod and agree as you stare up at her with a stiff expression.

Smile, you should smile. You need to remember to smile.

“Well, aren’t you quite responsible for someone so young! How old are you, darling?” It’s in a coo, a sweetened tone to her voice when she’s bending down slightly to look— Less imposing to you.

“I’m 4.”

“Why, that’s the same age as my son, haha!” She sounds excited— Sounds like she was happy to know about this information as she claps her hands together. “How coincidental!”

She’s so nice.

“Morning, (last name)-san!” You see a face pop out from directly behind her, nearly jumping out of your skin as you feel your heart miss a beat, finding his eyes that were glittering with excitement.

Geto Suguru.

He must’ve heard you just now—

“Suguru, that was rude! You have to introduce yourself before calling for others!” Her hand goes down to ruffle his shoulder-length hair as he laughs.

It makes you almost want to reply—

You slap a hand over your mouth before you even begin to say anything back. Eyes darting back and forth between your home, the front door, them— You think you remember Mama mumbling about gifts last night. You should give them something— Anything. Mama would want you to be polite.

An idea.

Your gaze flickers to her eyes as she tilts her head to the side in confusion, to her son that was still awaiting… So you just nod.

Before turning on your heel to run into the kitchen, climbing onto the stool to grab the last few cookies Mama had made yesterday— Which you were saving for both yourself and Satoru, by the way.

It’s for the best, you decide. TV people did always say that sacrifices are to be made for the grater good. Whatever a grater is, anyway.

(And while you may not have the best penmanship of… Anything yet— Considering you’re only 4. But you’re gonna try, at the very least.

WeL-chum n i hoPe we get aLonG! (Welcome and I hope we get along!) )

“Oh. Welcome back, sweetie!” She smiles at you once more. “I thought you got scared of us and ran away, haha.”

You don’t reply— Only holding up the note and individually wrapped cookies up towards her, doing your best not to look at the excited little boy next to her.

“Woah! Cookies!”

“Well… Aren’t you just so precious!” She’s practically swooning at this point, patting your head gently as you blink. “Looking at you already made me contemplate wanting a daughter, now you’re really pushing me to try for one!”

Please don’t. It would be harder to avoid 2 kids instead of 1.

“Thank you so much— Ah, don’t leave yet!” She’s already making you stop as she herself starts to rush back in her home, ushering her son along with her as you hear the commotion from inside.

“Mom, let’s give her this one!”

“I think those aren’t fresh, Suguru— Oh, how about these?”

“Wouldn’t it just be better to just—“

You tune them out, standing at the front of your house and swaying back and forth on the balls of your feet as you twiddle your fingers and look up towards the afternoon sun.

It would’ve been a good day to air out the futons, Mama would say.

“Ah—! Sorry for the wait, darling! Here you go!” It’s a plastic bag— A size that would be comfortable for your toddler self to drag in without much trouble… If it didn’t look like the items inside were gonna burst out of it.

“It’s for the both of you! I hope you’ll enjoy it!”

You only nod in thanks, smiling up at her slightly as you see her practically bite back a squeal, rubbing your head with held-back enthusiasm as her son… Smiles back at you.

And when you finally close the door behind you and take your shoes off at the genkan—

You think you feel some variation of guilt course through you as you look down at the strawberries you just received— Big, fresh… And really tasty looking.

They are too kind to someone like you. You drag it in, placing the plastic packaging carefully upon the lowest tier of the fridge that you can reach— Before bolting towards the phone.

Climbing up the stool to reach the phone, you grab hold of it as you start to dial the numbers you had memorized— Only just recently.

You hear the telltale ringing, awaiting his voice. It’s urgent, it really is. Your heart is starting to beat too fast, tummy feeling like it was churning the bread and milk from this morning too quickly… You’ve never even called anyone that wasn’t your Mama before.

Were you being too hasty with this?

“You have reached the Gojo estate. How may I assist with your enquiries?” You practically freeze where you stood, a socked foot nearly making you slip against the plastic stool as your breath hitches. You don’t recognise this voice. You don’t know who the man answering this phone was. He’s too old, much too fancy sounding compared to your Satoru.

He said Gojo estate… So you didn’t call the wrong number, right?

You think you’re starting to breathe heavily into the phone to calm your nerves— Making them the only sound before you even make a move to greet the person on the other end.

“…sorry, but the colour of my—“

“Can I… Talk to Satoru please?” You practically blurt it out with unpracticed anxiety, twirling the phone cord tight between your fingers as you try to calm yourself.

“Ah.” It seems that they understood. Thank goodness. “Please excuse my rudeness, but is that you, (name)-sama?”

“Yes…” No matter how pretentious that title sounds to you.

“Please wait just a moment.”

“(name)! Do ya wanna play today?! I bought a new puddi—“

“Satoru,” You practically sound breathless with relief when you hear his voice, but you have to tell him, you just have to. “I met the new kid just now.”

And that silences him in an instant.

“I didn’t say anything to him.” As rude as you may be. “His Mama saw me outside and talked to me first, though.”

Silence that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

(“Haha!” You hear him laugh, it’s bellowing, taunting and all too amused. “Why would I be mad? Ya ignored the kid right?!”

“Good job!”

And you feel satisfied.)

——

“(last name)-san.” His smile is ever courteous, ever polite and soft. It makes your heart melt, if you were to be honest. “Wanna play together?”

“I brought my crayons and some paper, since I thought you would like it.” Was it because of your note? Regardless, this was— A really bad time. A really, really bad time.

“(nameeeeee)! Why’d ya ignore me for the door—!” Oh no.

You didn’t predict that today would be the very day that they met— Swear you didn’t plan or foresee this. It was only this morning that you had heard your zodiac sign might be unlucky today, how troubles and tribulations may come swimming your way to stir the path of your future, only just this morning that you decided that that kind of thing was just another folly…!

You didn’t know it was going to be right?!

“Your hair’s ugly.”

“I don’t like your eyes.”

“Yea?! Ya wanna go, Weird Bangs?!”

“Not with the likes of you, Bug Eyes.”

“Haah?!”

With you cramped in between them, no less. You call it sheer, dumb luck that you were able to invite your neighbour inside without too much of a fuss. Get them to sit around you in your living room as you all… Draw.

Geto’s crayons are scattered about, the drawing block papers starting to fill with a myriad of colourful shapes as you hum and try to keep the peace between the two of them.

“Mama says that fighting is bad.” You think so too, honestly. What’s the point to them? It’s easier to keep the peace and be friends with each other.

“Sorry, (last name)-san.”

“Hmph!”

At least they’re settled down now.

“What are you drawing?” It’s Geto that was sitting cross-legged next to you as you’re lying on your front, legs kicked up and elbows propped against the ground to support your head as he watches your hands move.

And that has Satoru peeking over as well, much to his dismay.

“Don’t draw him—“ And he’s already huffing, puffing his cheeks and pouting when he sees you colour in black and dot in purple. He notices the telltale signs of the kimono he wore when he first met you, able to make out the figures you’re drawing in record time. Good. It’s good that you’re drawing him and you together, but he doesn’t want that thing with you both.

And that has him picking up a red crayon, catching your attention when you see him readying himself to scribble all over your hard work.

“W-wait, Satoru—“ You try to push him back, hold him away from the colourful drawing of yours. You don’t want it ruined, don’t want him to do something to it yet. I-it’s important to you, something you spent your time on, he can’t—

“She said she didn’t want you drawing on the paper.” Suguru’s grip on his wrist is tight, squeezing with a strength that was unprecedented for someone his size.

And you think you can feel something change in the air, the tension building, it’s bitter, unpleasant— Has you feeling like you want to curl into a ball and cry. A churn in your gut that you’re all too familiar with when you were living together with your Papa.

A warning. One that even children like them, like you; can interpret loud and clear even without having known the existence of pheromones and warning growls.

They say natures are inherent, after all.

“She’s my friend. I don’t get why you’re interfering, dummy.” He snarls back with just as much underlying aggression, stirring something in you to want to lie low— Disappear, even.

And you think that maybe you should listen to those zodiac sign forecasts a lot more.

previous masterlist next

[loveume]

# salt + sunscreen 🏖️

it was so warm.

sprawled out on his beach towel with a hand against his abdomen, the sun blanketed him in warmth, nagi drifts in and out of consciousness.

he can hear the ocean waves, smell the salt of the sea, but he can't bear to peel his eyes open when he's so content. not until he hears you bounding over and plopping yourself on the towel laid out next to his.

he turns his head and peeks at you with one eye. you're panting, chest rising with every inhale and exhale. water droplets sparkling on your skin, he watches one as it trails from the side of your neck down, down, down until it disappears into your cleavage. obscured from view by the clingy fabric of your patterned one piece.

"seishiro, baby," you nudge him gently with one hand while the other rummages through your tote, "did you put on any sunscreen before you decided to offer your body up to the sun as sacrifice?"

he's looking at you with both eyes now, and has even turned over to face towards you, head propped up.

"nah, sunscreen's such a hassle. why'd you go swimming without me?"

you let out a small scoff at his reply, "the real hassle will be when you're all burnt up. and i didn't go without you, my love, you looked really cozy on your towel."

you finally find the tube of sunscreen you'd been looking for, buried under the paperback you're currently reading. turning to your boyfriend, you catch sight of his lips pulled into a pout.

"don't pout sei, you can swim with me right after i get this sunscreen on you," you promise, "now up."

nagi sits up with a whine while you busy yourself with squeezing the right amount of sunscreen onto your palm.

"can't let my pale boy burn," you say, pressing your lips to his cheek in a sweet kiss.

your cream covered hands are a bit cold when they first make contact with his skin, and yeah he does flinch a bit, but he can't really complain. it's nice to be taken care of in these subtle ways by you. you're also his really pretty girlfriend who's rubbing your hands all over his chest, wearing what he thinks is the cutest swimsuit he's ever seen.

but that doesn't mean he won't take any opportunity he can to tease you.

"the sunscreen's a nice excuse to feel me up hm?" he asks as your hands glide across his shoulders and down his arms.

you giggle, "sei, you're my boyfriend. i don't really need an excuse to feel you up, baby."

"mm, and how many boyfriends you got, pretty?" he's got a smirk now, his big hands coming to rest at your hips giving you a little squeeze.

you fix him with a playful look before answering, "just the one."

"yeah?"

"yeah, any more and it would just be a hassle."

[politemenacephd]

A Winter Stroll

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader (ft. baby Gabriella)

Short AU where you and Miguel take your baby Gabi for a stroll in the park while its cold. Pure romantic fluff.

Word count: 1992

‘Hey, are you sure she’s covered?’

You glanced up and watched your breath turn to smoke in the air, its haze obscuring the face now glancing down at you from above. You watched it dissipate.

Miguel was staring down at you, his gloved hands manically rubbing against each other as he tried to warm them up.

‘Hmm? You mean Gabi?’

You turned from your beloved partner to what you'd been pushing; a clean, padded purple stroller that you’d only just bought, currently carrying the most precious cargo in the world to you both.

Little Gabi peeked out from beneath her coverings, her big brown eyes blinking against the cold. You instinctively bent down to check on her.

‘Hey, baby girl. You okay?’

You’d decided to take a small break and go on a walk in the local park, just something to get Miguel out and about. He was usually so restless but since Gabi was born he’d been nearly bed bound, utterly fixed to her side. His favourite thing was to spoon you beneath the sheets in your shared bed while facing Gabi’s crib, watching the mobile spin as she gurgled and cooed, holding you all in his grip and never letting go. If he had the chance he’d do that until the end of time.

But you insisted he at least get some movement into his day, and so he’d agreed to this short stroll, not realizing just how chilly it still was.

It was the kind of cold you could smell. When you breathed in through the nose it stung just a little, and all you could really scent was the ice on the grass.

Because of this the park was almost empty, spare for one woman and her dog in the distance, and the trees were bare and dark. The sky was empty and blue, like a still ocean in a timeless void. The world had been coated in a kind of dull, muted sheen, a dreamlike dullness.

Everything was still, quiet, sleeping. The grass crunched underfoot, and your shoes made little echoing clacks on the hard pavement when you walked across it. There was no sound but the single chirping of a robin somewhere nearby.

It was serene, to you, but to Miguel it was a little bit terrifying.

‘Gabi’s fine’ you insisted, gently reaching down to show her. She was utterly bundled in blankets and was wearing her oversized little parka onesie in his favourite shade of purple, and the only thing you could see was her little nose and her big eyes. She was blinking slowly, too young to really see but too curious to sleep.

Miguel curled his lip, his brows knotting against his will. ‘Mm- let me, just, check her again, please? Mi tesoro?’

‘Oh Miggy, you—okay, okay. You check her all you want.’

You graciously stepped aside for him to bend over, and he did, though not before giving your cold nose a quick kiss. You giggled at his insistence.

The moment he got close to Gabi his face lit up. Those old, worn, tired lines seemed to melt away in her presence. He looked so much younger.

With her father now in her line of sight Gabi’s eyes suddenly locked on. She focused in on his face and warbled softly.

‘Hola, mi amor’ he whispered. Gabi garbled a little louder in response.

When he smiled his breath condensed around his bared fangs, a soft white mist that highlighted the pearly sheen of his teeth. You saw the little wrinkles by his eyes when he smiled, the sign of a man who was gleefully exhausted.

‘Ah, mi bebita. ¿Tienes frío?’

Gabi gurgled beneath her pile of blankets. She managed to get one tiny fist free but Miguel immediately tucked it back in, though he did pause to admire how small it looked in his own enormous hand. Her little fist barely covered his thumb.

‘Sweetheart, she can’t talk yet’ you gently reminded him. You bent until you were at the same height, gently easing him away from the object of his obsession. His eyes were wide beneath the stray locks of his hair, big and soft and red.

‘I- I know, that, but—’

‘Mhm. You always say you know, and yet, you just keep doing it.’ You couldn’t help but chuckle at him, and despite his awkwardness he smiled back.

‘I just want to be sure she’s okay’ he whispered. With your smile still straining your cheeks you gently bumped your temple against his.

‘I know. But you know I want that too, right?’

‘Of course, mi tesoro! I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.’

‘Mhm. I know, but, consider, that constantly asking if she’s warm enough, it—’

You held out your hand to prompt him, and he begrudgingly shrugged. ‘It- sounds like I don’t trust you to do a good enough job.’

‘There you go. You know you’re very smart, you should be a scientist maybe. Have you thought about that?’

‘Aha, funny. Diablilla.’

You giggled as he gently clacked his fangs on your cheek.

‘You wanna keep going? We can turn back if you really want, in all honesty I don’t want to freak you out’ you said.

Miguel shook his head. ‘No, no, you’re right. She’s fine. You know best, as always.’

‘Oh my god- you big suck up’ you teasingly chided.

‘Mhm. Happily. The most beautiful creature in the world’ he said, his finger lightly brushing your cheek. You snorted in reply.

‘I don’t know about that. My- nose is running into my scarf, and my hair—’

Your list of complaints was stifled as Miguel put a single finger to your lips, smooshing them shut. With his gaze fixed on your's he then gently pulled up his sleeve and wiped your nose clean.

‘Beautiful’ he repeated, without a shadow of doubt or hesitation.

Despite the cold, you felt your body burning up.

‘Alright, you—come on, let’s go’ you said, trying to cover how coy you’d suddenly gotten. Miguel hid his smug smile at having very much already noticed it.

With his fears now quelled you both pulled back and continued walking, with your hands on the stroller and Miguel’s arm around your waist. He squeezed you tight to his side. Your head was squished against his pec beneath his jacket, and the woven material was soft against your cold skin. You relished the feeling.

‘Do you think it’s likely to snow soon?’ Miguel asked as you rounded the corner to the pond. You noticed that a light sheen of ice was covering the water.

‘Mm- if I had to give an educated guess… Probably?’ You hunched both shoulders as you weight the option with both hands.

‘Mm. I can’t wait till she’s older. It’ll be so nice to take her out when she can enjoy the snow’ Miguel said with a dreamy sigh.

‘Oh my god- I’m sorry, did you just said you can’t wait till she’s older?’

Your scoffing drew Miguel’s eyes back to you. He looked surprised. ‘Hm? Yes. Why, is that, strange?’ he asked.

‘For you? The man who almost cried when she didn’t fit into her very first onesie, the one she was put into when she was born? Yeah, it’s strange.’

‘Hey, don’t be mean. That’s different’ he insisted.

‘No, no it's not. You’re going to lament her getting older at every turn.’

‘Well- that's natural, isn't it? She’s just so- small’ he objected, trying his best to seem stoic while clearly whining. You felt his claws coming out as he squeezed you a little closer. ‘She’s my baby.'

‘And she’ll be your baby whether she’s one month old, or one year old, or thirty years old, or- god, eighty years old, you big soppy idiot’ you lightly teased, raising one hand to grab his thickset jaw. You squished his cheeks with your thumb and fingers and shook him until he chuckled.

‘Okay. Okay. Point taken. But I mean it, it’ll be nice to see if she enjoys the snow’ Miguel said.’

‘Oh it’ll be great. I bet she’ll be a real wild card, I think she’ll like snowball fights. She’ll beat our asses some day.’

‘You think so?’

‘Oh I KNOW so, she’s her father’s daughter. A menace.’

‘Menace? No, not my bebita, she’s itty bitty’ Miguel insisted. You just kept giggling.

‘Mm, no, nope, no, menace. Little menace.’

You bent and gently waved your fingers on Gabi’s cheeks as she cooed, a sound that never failed to melt your heart.

‘Menace’ you repeated affectionately. ‘Our little menace.’

For a little while longer you enjoyed the cold in peace and quiet. You were comfortable being quiet with Mig, or by letting your actions speak for you. Every little bump of your head into his bicep, every squeeze of his hand, each time he silently checked if your nose was close and subsequently kissed it. That was all enough.

But as you rounded towards the end of your walk, that silence ended.

‘Hey, I uh—’

Miguel coughed to catch your attention, drawing you to look at him again. He was avoiding your gaze now, which you found a little odd, with his free hand gently rubbing his jaw.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course, beautiful man. You go right ahead.’

You returned to watching the pathway ahead as you waited for Miguel to speak. He coughed a second time to pluck up his courage, a sight that was strange for such an imposing man.

‘Ah- can—can we have another one?’ he whispered.

You almost tripped over your own feet in shock.

‘Ah, shit— sweetheart, are you okay?!’ Miguel moved fast to stabilize you that his claws expanded. You shot him an incredulous look.

‘Mig- Miguel, she is three months old!’ you hissed. ‘What do you mean another one?!’

‘I just meant, you’re- you make such beautiful babies’ he whispered, his voice as low as possible while remaining just as intense as if he’d shouted. You felt your whole body tingle at the unexpected softness.

‘And Gabi looks so lonely, you know, she—’ Miguel was stumbling on his words as you put your hands to your hips. ‘You just- beautiful babies, really, just the most- beautiful. She's so perfect. And she looks lonely.’

‘My god, what a compelling argument’ you said drolly, though you could feel yourself already smiling. ‘I don’t know though, it’s been a while. You might be out of practise for making more.’

You savoured the little spark in his eyes, the gleam of red that brightened his gaze. It was an intrinsic curiosity, a deep-rooted hunger for one specific thing.

‘Mhm. Mhm. Well- I’d, have to prove you otherwise then, wouldn’t I?’ he whispered back. You hated how quickly you melted at his husky voice.

‘You would’ you said, leaning in closer. You held him there, with those narrowed eyes and that eager smile, before bringing him down with a gently clap to the chest. ‘You would, if we didn’t have a literal newborn.’

‘Oh, mi tesoro—’

‘Come on dummy, let’s get home’ you said, your voice firm even though you were still smiling. ‘If she falls asleep when we get in, I might be able to make time for a quick shower. You know, to get warm again.’

The way Miguel arched his neck the moment you said ‘shower’ never failed to amuse you. He certainly looked extra large beneath all that padded clothing.

‘Mm… Okay. Deal.’

To your surprise, Miguel then quickly swooped the stroller out of your hands and began pushing Gabi home, all while cooing at her over the rim.

‘Shh, you’re feeling sleepy, aren’t you bebita? ¿Estás cansada? ¿Si?’

As Miguel resorted to singing lullabies you were forced to jog slightly to catch up with him, your panted breath billowing clouds of smoke around your flustered face.

Sadly, while Miguel did get that shower, you were both too cold to indulge in anything but huddling together like sad penguins, and jealously hogging the water as much as you could.

[desceros]

me, having an insomnia: [copes by writing donnie snuggles] donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated g

You wait as long as you can before you finally give in and go find him. 

His lab is empty, which surprises you. Usually, when you’re having trouble sleeping, you can find him in here. Donnie’s good at making you interested in even the most obscure of his projects, but when you come to him in the dead of night, he has this… thing he can do where he rambles in a low comforting voice until you drift off in the chair next to him. He’s tried to explain it to you before—something about vibrations and pitch—but you like to think of it as the power of love.

Scoff, he’d say, turning his face away to hide the way his lips would go a little wobbly.

He’s not in the kitchen getting a snack or cup of tea, which isn’t too uncommon. Something about sugar boosting his brain while he’s tired, you think he said. Nor is he in the living room, scrolling through his phone in the dark while he battles his own insomnia demons. Donnie isn’t always productive, but it’s difficult for him to take a break, sometimes. 

Can’t turn my brain off, he says, eyes fluttering shut when your fingers find his face to caress it. 

You look everywhere—the game room, his lab again, the garage, his lab one more time—before you think, oh and check his bedroom. 

…He’s asleep, you realize, blinking a little to see it. His mask is draped on his bedside table, his battle shell gone to reveal the soft keratin underneath. It’s a bit of a relief to see, deflating that piece in your brain that always worries about him, even as disappointment stings just a little. A sleepless night it is, then, you muse, turning to leave and go back to your room before you’re stopped by a sleepy mumble of your name. 

“…C’mere,” Donnie slurs, reaching a hand inelegantly behind him to pat at the bed.

Completely busted, you come inside. Lifting his blanket, you crawl beneath it, pressing close to his soft shell. Instantly, there’s something inside your chest that just—relaxes. Your lungs take in a full, proper breath that smells of his skin. Cool beneath your cheek, his shell comforts you, enticing your palms to press against it even as you curl into him.

“…Can’t sleep?” he asks. 

“Mm. Okay now,” you respond quietly.

“Sure?” 

“Mm.”

A low rumble comes out of Donnie’s chest; not enough to disturb. It’s a bit like a white noise machine. You sink into it, into him, enough that you don’t feel him move to turn until he’s already halfway there. 

Facing you now, Donnie slides a hand to the small of your back and pulls. Easily, you melt into him, sliding one leg between his and slotting into place. Sighing with contentment as his plastron melds to your chest, you wrap an arm around his torso, your fingers tracing familiar divots in his soft shell.

After a few moments of just this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. You shiver, starlight catching in your throat. Wanting more, wanting him to know you want this, that you want him, you hum softly on your next breath.

He knows what that sound means. But he asks anyway. “Good?”

“Mm.”

Slowly, sweetly, he ducks his face in close. He’s a little shy, still, about kissing you; but it takes your breath away all the same, making you stroke a long line down his shell while you tilt your head a little to meet him halfway. It’s a gentle, chaste thing that leaves your heart mostly in place, though it quivers when he makes a little chirpy sigh that betrays his feelings on having you here. The night makes him honest, his hand sure on your hip to keep it pressed to his, his beak nuzzling your cheek confidently.

Tucking your face into his throat, you feel him inhale at the crown of your head and sigh out with complete satisfaction. He goes boneless, his body meeting the shape of yours and little churrs vibrating through your chest where there’s nothing between you except the cotton of your shirt. Mindlessly, your fingers trace little hearts onto his shell, quiet little promises of something you know you’re going to slip and say, someday.

Warm, happy, you close your eyes and slowly drift off to sleep.

[lookinghalfacorpse]

The way that Dream is nothing but a child to doomsday trio is going to haunt my brain !!

Like, imagine

You are young, and you are strong, and you have seen things, had things happen to you, that no one should. You're smart and you will never die in a way that matters, and one day you will know death intimately.

Imagine seeing that !!! Knowing that death will never touch you, that lives are nothing more than sparks on a good day, ants on a bad day, and finding himself caring for one.

I have more thoughts but they're incomprehensible. I adore immortals though

:)

i like to think that doomsday preparations took multiple days.

-----

Dream straightened his back, rolling his shoulders. His cloak (longer and thicker than his usual-- better for enduring the arctic cold) slipped from the sharp edges of his shoulderguard and pooled behind him, ruffling a few maps that he'd discarded there. His mask obscured his face, but judging from the soft rush of breath that left him, he might've yawned.

Philza passed him a mug of tea.

"You can stay the night, you know," Phil stated casually. The boy had been joining him and Techno during daylight hours to plan for the upcoming battle, but he disappeared into the cold each night. Yesterday, he didn't even say goodbye. "Might be easier. You can get a head start in the morning if you don't have to travel." Dream watched him, silent behind his mask. "I have a guest room for you," Phil continued, "Nice and private."

Dream took the mug in both hands, fingers splayed along the ceramic. He was cold. "I appreciate that. Really. But it's, uh... that won't be necessary."

This was a part of being in your early 20s, Techno explained a few days ago. A need for independence yet no life experience to know what it means to be responsible in the first place. All Phil saw, really, was a kid with cold hands.

Phil sat beside him-- or, rather, as close as he could without crumpling a map. "You're making a poor host of me," he replied, lightheartedly.

Dream seemed to ignore him. "What's this?"

"The drink? Ah, it's peppermint tea. I sweetened it a good bit-- it's bitter without. Let me know if it needs more sugar."

Dream nodded softly. He raised a gloved hand up to his head, and it lingered for a moment on the clasp of his mask, but he opted instead to simply tip it upwards to reveal no more than the slant of his jawline and the curve of his lips. A skintight, spandex wrapping covered a lot of neck and chin, but the sliver of flesh that showed was unmarred. Unblemished. He hadn't yet gained any frown lines or smile lines.

"It's good," he said after a small sip, "Thanks."

---

Dream was small in Technoblade's arms. His skin, freshly washed and slightly rosy from the warm water, was decorated by more scars and burns than Phil's ever seen on a living man. A few larger scars spanned his chest, where his ribcage showed behind the folds of his robe. Smaller scars hid along his fingers and forearms. On his face. His calves. His neck. Every inch of skin that was exposed had been violated in one way or another, it seemed.

Half-conscious as he pulled himself back from a seizure, Dream nuzzled into the crook of Techno's elbow. Wilbur used to do that, too, as a newborn.

"Yo, Dream?" Techno asked for the third time.

"Mm?"

"Hey, welcome back, dude. I'm gonna put you on the couch, mm'kay? Floor's cold."

Dream nodded, forcing his eyes to open. They were unfocused and foggy, but alert enough that his gaze successfully landed on some of the items around them. The table, the paintings on the wall. Philza's face.

Dream was shivering. All Phil could see, really, was a kid with cold hands.

"What can I do for you, mate?" Phil asked, staying close as all three of them moved to the couch. This boy wouldn't live long-- no humans do, really-- but without help, he wouldn't even last the night.

Dream tested his jaw, stretching it and chewing at nothing, before he spoke. "Do you still have that.. uh..."

"The peppermint tea? You bet I do."

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: I'm kinda sick rn so if this sucks, please do not think this is a reflection of my regular writings 😂. Only partially does it reflect how badly I suck.

C/W ::: I think this is mostly SFW but just to be sure I'm gonna leave the 18+ thingy up. If I missed something please feel free to bring it to my attention.

Here's the first set of HC's (I was NOT sick when I wrote these so they're exponentially better)

Mikey ::: This boy cuddles you all the time as it stands. But after you've both cum your brains out, he somehow manages to get even closer to your chest. He will nuzzle his sweet little face right up against the warm, soft mounds that are your tits and squeeze you tight. Even if you have to get up. "Manjirou, I have to use the bathroom. Get up really quick, please." You feel his arms wrap tighter around you. "Mm-mm. Don' wanna get off-uh you righ'now. Just a little longer, please, baby. I promise you can have your body back after this. I jus'," he buries his face deeper between your cleavage, "I jus' wanna feel you next to me for a bit longer. Ok?" His big eyes look up at you and just melt your freakin' heart. "Ok, a little while longer. But then you gotta move." Mikey hums in satisfaction as his weight completely relaxes on you. "Thank you, thank you."

*I'm a little torn up about Mikey right now so I'm casting him in a very soft light (I may be totally off here but after I found something out in the manga, well, *I* might need this more than him lol)

Takemichi ::: Did you say KING OF AFTERCARE? Oh, was that just me? Takemichi has taken everything into account. What you might want to drink, need a warm washcloth?… here! Hungry? He bought you your favorite chocolate, can he open it for you and feed you a few nibbles from this bar that he's holding up to your kiss swollen lips?! Want to take a bath? He wants to join you. Closeness after he fucked your brains out is essential to him, as well. He doesn't feel bad about poppin' your ass OR your cute little cunt a few times (he's experimenting, ok? Trying out new things because he's afraid you're going to get bored with how sweet and "mundane" he is - when in actuality, Takemichi is the most thorough lover you've ever had. And he only gets more confident with each romp in the sheets you have together.) So maybe take that into consideration and give him some aftercare, too, huh?

Izana ::: Low-key enjoys when you give him aftercare, too. After all, he is the King (in his head). He will offer you some trademark things: Some obscure drink that he has to order because he's a snob and likes that you're "at his level" now, sometimes will hire an in-house masseuse if he feels bad about something (ie: was too rough, was in general an asshole, etc.). Fun fact, he believes in fore care, too. He will try to butter you up if he's feeling amorous and wants you to reciprocate like, right away. Has on occasion "bought" you jewelry because he loves how pretty you look in the afterglow and the necklace with his initial on it (and in the sunlight peeking through the curtains of whoever's room you're in).

Pah-chin ::: Is so fucking happy you wanted to/will be with him that this boy will do anything you ask. You want a bottle of sparkling water that has lime essence but it has to be a clear bottle with NO limes on it? Consider it done. Pah would make the damn thing for you if it meant giving you what you want. He's so sweet on your that he anticipates your needs before even you have a chance to calculate what you want. His heart is big and in the right place: Your hands. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Taglist ::: @kazutora-kurokawa @katkitkats @viburnt @arlerts-angel @darkstarlight82

[nightghoul381]

Ellis Twilight~ Main Route Chapter 4 Premium Avatar Challenge

Disclaimer for route warnings | Masterlist

Additional Content Warnings: Ellis' sprite at the beginning is a bit unsettling

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Ellis: “How happy are you right now?”

I answered the question posed to me from the twilit-light with a big smile.

Kate: “I feel like my life could end right now!”

Ellis: “…I see.”

Ellis: “Then, how about I end it?”

(Eh…?)

Suddenly, cold ripples spread across my dreamy heart, as if a drop of darkness had fallen.

(End it…)

(My life?... He’s kidding, right?)

I couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice whether he was joking or serious, so I tried to focus on Ellis’ expression.

However, his face was obscured by the illumination of the setting sun and I couldn’t see it.

The strange feeling I had the night when we met came back to me.

It was as if the person who was laughing next to me just moments ago was a different person than the one in front of me—I had a strange feeling in my chest.

Kate: “Ellis…?”

At that moment, the sun completely set behind the building and the light suddenly disappeared—

Ellis: “mm?”

Ellis and I were swallowed up by the same shadow.

Then, I finally was able to see his expression.

Ellis: “…Kate? Is something wrong?”

(Oh it’s… it’s Ellis as usual.)

Ellis was smiling the same smile I knew.

Kate: “Hehe… please don’t make such a joke all of a sudden. I was shocked.”

Kate: “Right now, I’m so happy I don’t care if my life ends…”

Kate: “But tomorrow might be happier, so it’s okay.”

Ellis: “…I see.”

Kate: “I should return to the castle to properly report on my first mission.”

Kate: “Also, I have to thank you, Ellis, for making me so happy.”

Ellis: “Me?”             

Kate: “Please tell me about what you like, Ellis. Then I can make you happy tomorrow.”

Ellis: “…”

Ellis’ eyes widened a little in surprise, then he smiled softly.

Ellis: “…Yeah, thanks.”

Ellis: “But Kate, the formal language has come back.”

Kate: “Huh?...Oh, right.”

(Just now, he seemed like a different person… I guess I just got defensive.)

(The reason I felt that way was because I was fooled by the twilight.)

Kate: “So, Um… Can you tell me about what you like, Ellis?”

Ellis: “I like looking for a delicious restaurant… I guess.”

Ellis: “If I know a lot of different shots, I can introduce them to a lot of people and make them happy.”

As I had learned over the last two days, Ellis gave a familiar answer.

(I guess I could say it seems like Ellis, but…)

Kate: “Is there something you do to make yourself happy, regardless of other people’s happiness?”

Ellis: “—No.”

(Eh…)

He didn’t seem to think or hesitate even for a moment.

Ellis: “What I want to do is help others.”

Kate: “Right, okay…”

He stated it clearly and I nodded, even though I was confused.

Considering his actions, it was a natural response.

(But—Is there nothing he wants to do for himself, not for anyone else…)

Perhaps something happened that made him want to be of service to others so strongly.

(If we stay together like this, maybe someday you’ll tell me.)

(If that day comes, I’ll be happy.)

Anyway… What I want to do now is thank Ellis for taking me to the play I wanted to see.

Kate: “So, what’s your favorite food?”

Ellis: “I’ll eat anything… but I especially like buttery toast and cranberry jam.”

Kate: “Hehe, I like that too. I’ll make a note of it.”

Ellis: “Oh, and I also liked the baguettes from the shop you had recommended, Kate.”

(Ellis likes toast with lots of butter, and cranberry jam.)

(And the baguette from the shop I recommended… huh?)

Kate: “Ellis… did you just answer in a way that would make it easier for me to thank you?”

Ellis: “I didn’t…. It’s all true.”

Ellis: “I was happy when you told me earlier that you wanted to make me happy.”

Ellis was smiling as if to reassure me.

The last light of day is sucked into the horizon, and the light of the street lamps emerges from the gloom.

Even the beguiling remnants of the twilight sky were completely swallowed by darkness.

(For some reason, it suddenly got dark.)

My anxiety grew as the darkness approached, and I walked a little faster.

Ellis: “…”

Suddenly, slender, supple fingertips touched my hand.

Kate: “Ellis…?”

Ellis: “We’re lovers who have proven our love, so let’s hold hands and go home.”

Kate: “Lovers?”

(That’s right…)

Kate: “…like from Bill’s show, right?”

Ellis: “Exactly.”

The fingertips that touched me entwined with my hand, wrapping around me as if to protect me from the darkness of the night.

Ellis: “If you don’t like it, please let me know… But if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep connected like this.”

Kate: “…Why?”

Ellis: “So that you won’t get anxious.”

The way Ellis held my hand was gentle, almost soothing.

Just a moment ago, during the show, he reassured me when I was anxious.

Ellis: “…You don’t like it?”

Kate: “Uh…”

There’s no way I wouldn’t be happy about the kindness shown just for me.

(I can’t imagine not liking something like this.)

Kate: “No… it’s okay.”

Ellis: “Hmm, good.”

The warmth of our connected hands felt so good that my heart began beating fast.

Ellis: “I thought this earlier today too, but your hands are so small, Kate.”

Kate: “Is that so? Maybe your hands are just big.”

Ellis: “I see, I’m big.”

The innocent conversation was somehow funny and laughter naturally flowed between us.

(…it’s strange.)

(When I’m with Ellis, my heart races but I also feel at peace.)

Kate: “I should have asked you sooner about the things you like, Ellis?”

Ellis: “Why?”

Kate: “If I had gone shopping while the store was open, I could have said thank you tomorrow morning.”

Ellis: “… I quite like holding hands with you.”

Kate: “Huh…?”

Ellis: “As a thank you, this might be fine.”

My grip tightened, and my heartbeat became faster again.

Kate: “I don’t think it’s enough to thank you… for the theater tickets…”

Ellis: “Really? I don’t think so.”

Ellis: “… You don’t have to be in such a hurry.”

Ellis: “There’s still time until the promised month is up.”

Ellis: “Me too… I’ll do my best to make you even happier.”

Whispers like sweet, sweet jam and the warmth of palms pressed together.

I walked down the street at night with thoughts like that filling my head.

Leaving behind the memories of twilight.

Next Chapter

[64yrsold]

somebody else

“Excuse me,” he said, two fingers at my elbow, “Is anyone sitting here?” He looked at me with curious eyes, a lonely dark curl obscuring his forehead. I took in the tailored cut of his suit, fitting tight to his wide shoulders and landing squarely at his wrists. My eyes dropped to the ink peeking from his unbuttoned collar, the blinding white of his shirt contrasting the rest of his dark features.

He cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” I breathed, offering him a polite smile, “Sure, you can sit.”

“Thanks,” he returned my smile, sitting at the bar beside me. He waved to the bartender, “I’ll have the same,” he pointed to my wine glass.

“This might be too sweet for you,” I turned the stem between my fingers, taking a slow sip. I enjoyed the way his eyes followed my wrist, snapping back to his hands when I tried to meet his gaze.

“What makes you say that?” he frowned, head low. I glanced down the curve of his nose, letting myself admire the perfect pink of his lips. His breathing quickened at my shameless stare.

“Just a feeling,” I smiled, and he bit his lip. He propped his elbow up on the bar, turning the stool to face me. He laid his cheek on his fist, narrowing his eyes.

“Do I know you?” he asked with a smirk, tongue wetting his bottom lip. The action turned my heart.

“I don’t think so,” I shook my head slowly, “I don’t know you.”

“Too bad,” he pouted, his wine arriving. He took a sip, letting me watch the profile of his throat move with each swallow. “I’d like to know you, I think.”

“Mm, you would,” I agreed, earning a laugh.

“Then tell me something about yourself,” he said, staring at his hands again.

“Let me think,” I sighed, bringing my index to my chin. This caught his attention, eyes trained on my finger pressing into the soft flesh of my lip. “Well, I’m staying here tonight.”

“At this hotel?” he tapped the bar with his knuckles.

“Yes, here,” I nodded, “On the twelfth floor.”

“So am I,” he raised his eyebrows. His hand slid slowly towards me, staying in contact with the surface of the counter. “Are you staying with anyone?”

“No,” my voice was honey-like, “Are you?”

He shook his head, another curl dropping onto his forehead. He delicately reached for my hand, and I let him slip his fingers under mine. His thumb brushed over my fourth finger.

“No ring?” he mumbled, his hand radiating heat.

“No,” I watched his thumb circle my ring finger. His eyebrows drew together, and he leaned forward. His other hand cautiously trailed up my knee.

“No ring… At all?” I could hear the heartbeat in his voice, and I let a smile slip. I pulled at the chain around my neck, revealing the wedding band that was hidden under my neckline. He sighed, bringing my hand to his lips. “Had me worried, there.”

“Sorry,” I whispered, his matching band glinting against the black fabric of my dress as his hand pressed into my thigh.

“Which room are you in?” he asked, breathing into my ear. His nose nudged at my cheek.

“That’s very forward,” I scolded, trying to quiet my gasps as he kissed at my cheek, “Does that line usually work?”

“Don’t know yet,” he groaned into my skin, “You tell me.”

[bradshawsbitch]

first snow | bob floyd x f!reader

warnings: none, fluff! l-bombs. mentions of babies i guess. f!reader. no use of y/n.

description: sort of part two to first frost, but can probably be read on it's lonesome. you experience the first snowfall with bobby!

word count: 1,6K. short n sweet.

tagging some people who might like: @lt-bradshaw @hangmanapologist @theharddeck @roosterforme @sebsxphia @hangmanbrainrot

◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇

Later that night, Bob was sat in your comfortable kitchen, leaning back in an old looking wooden chair. In his hands sat a clay cup filled to the brim with homemade hot chocolate, lots of whipped cream and mini marshmallows topping the beverage. His nose was still slightly red from your walk earlier in the frost. The temperature had surprisingly continued to drop, and the dark evening sky was covered by large grey clouds.

“This is so good, darling,” Bob murmured in your ear as he let his arm wind around your midsection, guiding you down onto his lap, his lips skimming past your exposed neck and down to your shoulder to press a lingering kiss there, his cold nose making you wiggle a little. As you squirmed, Bob chuckled softly, and the vibrations from his chest warmed you as they hit your back, making you lean more into your boyfriend's embrace. 

“Where did you get this cup, sweets? I love it,” Bob was holding the ceramic mug in one hand, twirling it slowly to inspect it more carefully. Not many people knew this about the weapons system officer, but he was quite fond of hand crafted items, and would often be found in some obscure second hand shop to find the most homey looking cups and trinkets to add to his little collections.

“Mm, my grandpa made it,” your voice was soft, your adoration for your late grandpa apparent in your voice “It’s my favourite mug, that’s why you got that one tonight,” you smiled lovingly at your boyfriend, and bit the inside of your cheek at the awestruck look he wore whilst looking at you. His ocean eyes were twinkling happily, and he actually looked as if this was one of the greatest honors he’d ever been bestowed.

“It’s not a big deal, I know but-” 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you for trusting me with it,” Bob squeezed your hip, giving your cheek a sweet kiss. You felt silly, but it was so comforting to hear that Bob understood the importance of the cup. It was one of the only things you had left of your grandfather, a man you had gotten along with on a different level than any person you’d ever met before, besides from Bob. At that thought, you almost felt tears burning in your eyes. Hesitantly, you put down your mug on the sturdy table in front of you, before reaching for your boyfriends mug, putting it gently to the side before turning to straddle his lap, your arms winding around his neck, your face following to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Bob could feel you take in a ragged breath, your lips gently caressing his sensitive skin before uttering a breathless ‘thank you’ that had his heart racing a little bit, as his hands found their way to your back. 

“Anytime, darling… are you okay?” he murmured into your hair, placing small kisses all over the side of your face and the top of your head. He could feel you nodding against his neck, murmuring out a “You’re just so good to me,” Bob’s eyelids fluttered closed at the confession that was whispered into the silent kitchen. A warm feeling spread in his chest as he held you tighter to him, wanting to keep you close to his chest, wanting you to feel how hard his heart was beating for you. This emotion grew, and he had to take a deep breath to make sure he didn’t spontaneously combust right here in your kitchen, with such precious cargo in his lap. 

“I’m glad you think so, sweet, sweet girl,” Bob smiled “You’re good to me too, sweets,” he smiled, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his long slender fingers finding your chin. Ever so gently, he guided your chin out from its safe spot nuzzled into his warm neck. “Hey gorgeous,” he hummed, blue eyes scanning your face as you smiled down at him. His girl was sitting pretty on his lap, smiling and giggling down at him and now he was sure that he could hardly keep from combusting, or grinning, back at her. “Robby, you have whipped cream on your cheek,” she giggled, leaning forward to kiss it away. Bob’s breath hitched somewhere in his throat, and heat rose to his cheeks where your lips had been pressed just moments earlier. 

Bob’s hands swiftly moved from their perch on your back, settling on your hips as he surged upwards, his large hands gripping at your hips to steady himself as he covered your lips with his in a breathtaking kiss. Your hand found his blonde locks, that had grown quite a bit whilst he was on leave. It made for wonderful moments where you would tangle your fingers into his tresses, enjoying the noises Bob would make when you tugged softly or scratched at his scalp or twirled a strand between your fingers. It was hard to tell which one of you enjoyed it the most. 

“D’you want to cuddle on the sofa, Rob?” you suggested as you both had to break for air, your forehead pressed tight against his as you twirled a longer strand of hair around your finger. Bob let out another soft laugh, his eyes twinkling happily in the warm, dim light of the kitchen. “Yeah, sweets. There’s nothing I want more than that,” Bob replied, placing his hands on your thighs as he stood up swiftly, hoisting you higher with the smallest grunt, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he walked you towards the warm living room. 

As Bob perched you on the comfortable sofa, filled to the brim with blankets and pillows, he smiled down at you before turning to the radio that was sat in the corner of the room - switching it on, the room was filled with the sounds of Fairytale of New York crackling softly. Bob smiled at you before holding his hand out for you to take. He could spot your confused look and he couldn’t help but giggle happily “We have to dance, of course,” he spoke, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps it was. Or at least it should be. 

Wrapping you in his arms, Bob swayed the two of you to the slow start of the song, before it picked up and he was twirling you easily across the expanse of the room, the air filled with yours and Bob’s laughter and exclamations (“Careful of the vase, Bob!” “Please, darling, I’ve got a laser eye on it,”). As the song wound down, Bob once again cradled your body close to his chest, his chuckles subsiding as he placed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Robby!” your excited exclamation had him jolted for a second, brows furrowed as he saw you pointing towards the large window that let him see the back garden. “What?” he inquired, confused. Maybe you’d seen a rabbit. Yesterday you did and your eyes had filled with tears at how cute it was. But right now there were no tears, so maybe there was no rabbit. “It’s snowing!” you exclaimed again, breathless with excitement this time. 

“Oh!” now it was Bob’s turn to get excited, moving closer to the window to spot the snowflakes. They were big, and fluffy, and he couldn’t believe he’d missed them at first. Pressing his glasses higher up on his nose, he smiled widely at the serene picture outside the window. Whilst the two of you had been cozying up in the kitchen, the ground had been covered by a solid cover of snow, not enough to build a snow man, but enough to go out and enjoy all the same. 

“C’mon, pilot boy - we need to go out again! Get your Lovvika beanie and let’s go!” in a flurry of movements, you’d left his embrace to find your mittens again, and he only grumbled for a second that he was a WSO, before happily putting on the ugly-cute beanie again. He actually really liked the colors and the patterns on this beanie. Perhaps he could sneak it home. 

He was apparently too slow, seeing as he could hear the front door slam shut and later see your happy dance in the backyard, arms outstretched to welcome the snowflakes to the ground. 

Hurrying out after you, Bob laughed, picking up some snow in his mitten covered hands, examining it with interest, before flinging some at you. Your delighted laughter rang out in the stillness of the night, and before he knew what was going on, you’d taken off running towards him, jumping on him with snow in your hands, mushing it all over his beanie clad head. “It’s supposed to be for the face, but we’re kind to people with glasses around here,” you told him as he hoisted you over his shoulder to spin you around before putting you down, chuckling softly at your words. “Well, I’m very thankful for that, darling,” his accent growing slightly thicker as he adjusted his glasses “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my birth control goggles, hm?” 

“I think that name is quite misleading,” you teased, and Bob raised a quizzical brow at you, his tall form looking divine in the flurry of snow that fell around him. “Yeah, all they do is make me want to have your babies,” you giggled, Bob’s eyes going comically large at your words, and his sharp inhale unfortunately brought some snowflakes with it, which made him cough slightly. 

“I think we could make that happen,” he smirked, cradling your face in between his mitten clad hands, placing a hungry kiss on your chilled lips. A soft sigh tumbled from your lips at the sensation, leaning into his touch, your body melting against his chest. “I love you, Robby,” you sighed against his lips. Bob could only smile as he repeated the words back to you. Bob figured he would never be able to look at the first snow without remembering these sweet moments.

[goldencherryhazz]

Don’t Worry Darling

An: so a certain trailer was released today and if you think I am mentally stable you thought wrong, here is a fic to celebrate it hope you enjoy, note and reblogs would be much appreciated <3

Warnings: tiny bit of fluff, smut mostly!!

Harry had insisted that he showed you the trailer for Don’t Worry Darling for months but you had kept insisting that you wanted to watch it when it was released properly to the world, wanting to experience the same excitement and anticipation that everyone else would.

But nothing prepared you for this trailer.

‘Y’ready baby’ Harry asks sitting up against the headboard with you, your phone in hand as you wait exitedly for HSHQ or Olivia to tweet the trailer.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared’ a smile beaming on your face and he pulls your body so your we’re both squished side by side.

‘Love it when you get excited darling’ he kisses you forehead, and he can practically feel the excitement radiating off of you.

You don’t give him a response because as soon as he uttered those words hshq tweeted the video and it has you frantically clicking the link, you let out a scream when it starts playing, you tap his thigh repeatedly with your hand as if to tell him what was happening as it he couldn’t see what what was playing infront of his eyes.

‘I know baby, I know’ he says.

The video starts to play out, and not many words are exchanging between the two of you except for the occasional ‘oh my god’ from you and your hand slapping over you mouth at certain parts.

After a couple of minutes you phone screen turns black as the trailer comes to an end, you are breathless even though you hadn’t even moved from your spot but the rush of adrenaline and the scenes you had watched had such and effect of you.

‘D’you like it baby?’

‘Can I play it again’ was all that you managed to say.

‘Yeah of course baby’ he replies, getting the sense that you like it because of your desperation to play it again.

You click the button, the scenes lighting up you phone screen for the second time. There was something about this single video that sent something wild off inside you, you don’t know if it was the interactions and sexy scenes with Harry and Florence, the visuals and slight obscurities, how good your husband looked and got hot he sounded when he got angry in the video, the mystery of the film itself or how proud you were of Harry for getting a lead role in the film. It was probably a mixture of everything and it has you a little overwhelmed.

It finishes and your screen goes black once again ‘what’s the verdict petal?’

‘I fucking love it’ you bite your lip as you make eye contact with him for the first time since you started watching ‘I’m soo proud of you H’

‘Thankyou baby, you sure your okay seem a bit out of it’ he stokes a strand of hair out of you face.

You don’t say anything but merely nod in response as you drop the phone onto the bed, he doesn’t say anything as you manoeuvre your figure to straddle his lap and he instantly wraps his arms around you absentmindedly rubbing circles into your back.

‘Kiss?’ You request and he happily obliges captured your lips in his, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip after awhile asking for access to your mouth which you accept, he hums into the kiss as your tongues start to dance with each other.

Harry pulls away after a minute or so ‘what’s going on darling’ he asks wanting to get the bottom of what you were feeling, the way your weren’t acting your usual self has him a little unsettled.

‘Mm i jus-just’ you start but don’t find the words to finish you look away bashfully.

‘Tell me baby, no need to get shy it’s only me’ he encourages.

‘I just need you, trailer set something off inside me I just need you to fuck me please, please Harry.’ You ramble.

‘Fuck baby, got you all hot and bothered from just the trailer’ he feels his cock hardening, as it leaping toward your pussy that was nestled against him.

‘Don’t know what’s come over me, just so proud of you and you look soo good, your just soo fucking hot’ you moan as you begin to grind yourself down on Harry’s hardening length, the action making him hiss out.

‘Just soo needy for me aren’t you baby, soo desperate for my cock aren’t you’ he teases you even further.

Y-yes, fuck this feels good’ you continue to grind against him, the friction making your clit feel good even through your trousers and panties.

‘Can make you feel even better baby, fill your pretty pussy up with my cock’ he says as if it were a promise.

‘Please I want that soo much Harry’ you moan out before crashing your lips into his once again.

‘I’ll give it to you just gotta get these off of you first’ he refers to the clothes covering your bottom half, he taps your thighs gesturing for you to get up, which you do, immediately ripping you bottoms off of you legs panties, t-shirt and bra and all, and Harry gets himself situated again after he takes his clothes off aswell.

‘Fuckin gorgeous aren’t you’ he groans, his cock standing proudly against his abdomen and you can see the tip leaking pre cum in small dribbles.

You shuffle to him, before gripping a firm hand around his shaft making him jolt with pleasure ‘thought you wanted to be fucked?’ He questions your sudden change of mind as your hand jerks his cock back and forth.

‘Changed my mind, wanna have you in my mouth first’ and with that you head is ducked down to his cocked you press kitten licks to his tip and it had him moaning and groaning.

‘Does that feel good Harry’? you question, your hand smoothly jerking his cock as your mouth focuses on his head.

‘Feels so fucking good baby’ he replies. All he could think about was your sudden change in mood and he thinks he knew why.

‘You a bit jealous baby?’ he asks amidst the pleasure.

‘Things me and Florence did for the film, is that what got you like this petal, cause you don’t need to be, fuck- you have no idea what you’ve done to my heart my fucking soul, only goes out to you, I mean look at what you do to me baby’ he reassures you because he knew that you sometimes got a little insecure and he didn’t want you thinking that you had to prove yourself to him, his love was all to you always.

You obviously knew that the two were acting but you couldn’t help but get a little jealous, he was yours, the wedding ring on your and his finger being the main symbol of that, so it was pretty understandable that you didn’t like to share ‘maybe a little bit jealous’ you agree with him, the scene slightly comical since you still had his cock in your hand whilst you were having this conversation.

‘C’mere’ he points his finger into a come higher motion, so you press a final kiss to the tip of his cock making him wriggle slightly before moving into his lap.

‘I’m all yours baby, you fucking own me. Fuck when you’re in the room i can’t take my eyes off of you, why would I, your the prettiest, smartest, funniest girl I know.’ He tells you truthfully.

‘Thankyou Harry just being a little possessive I think’ you reply and Harry didn’t mind one bit, in fact the comment for some reason fuelled his ego massively and making his cock grow harder.

‘That’s okay darling, would you like to continue?’

‘Yeah, I’m soo fucking wet’ the moment picks up again, even though you were being possessive didn’t mean that you didn’t think the scenes were hot aswell, fuck your head was a flurry of whirling thoughts.

‘Gonna slip me in then angel, go slow don’t want you to hurt yourself,cause it’s gonna be deep like this’

‘I want it deep, so bad’ you moan as you line his tip up with you entrance and start to slowly slide your pussy done his length inch by inch until you were fully seated on his cock, and you both let out the loudest moans yet.

‘Oh fuck baby, gonna bounce on my cock like a good girl’ he starts to get desperate as your walls flutter around his already sensitive cock.

‘Gonna be your good girl’ you say as you start to move up and down his cock, the force if your thrusts making the noise of your skin slapping onto his emit into the room.

You are both moaning messes by the time you get a good rhythm going, his hands gripping to you hips and you know by how hard he is gripping them that there will be half moon indentations on them by the time you are done.

‘y’tits are fucking perfect’ Harry swears he is drooling over how your tits are bouncing up and down with every thrust, his cock twitches a few times inside your walls.

You carry on bouncing up and down, and eventually your legs start to shake out of pleasure and fatigue, Harry sees this instantly ‘getting tired baby, don’t worry I’ll make you cum, your gonna cum soo good for me’ he groans as he pulls you body straight onto his, your chests flushed together so you have the support you need and with that Harry is thrusting up into your soaking wet pussy, and you swear he had never been deeper, the change in dynamics had you tumbling to the edge of orgasm.

‘I’m gonna c-cum’ you moan into his neck, you have to bite down on the lobe of his ear to stop yourself from screaming at the intensity of his thrusts, the pain surging through Harry adding tremendously to his pleasure.

‘Cum for me baby, I’ve got you, soak me’ and you do just that, Harry never stops fucking into you and you were now indeed screaming out into the room, tears were streaming down your face, it was overwhelmingly good, you swear you could see stars. Harry rides out your high before he focuses on getting himself there, which didn’t take a lot.

‘I’m cumming’ he announces a mere few thrusts later and the effects were instantaneous as you feel your husband fill you to the brim with his warm cum. He stops thrusting as he becomes very sensitive from you playing with him earlier, to this. He swears he is floating on cloud 9 right now, your cunt still wrapped around him as he softens inside you.

Your body is still shaking in pleasure, you try coming back down by nuzzling your face into his neck taking a deep in breath of his cologne. ‘You okay baby’ he asks still out of breath.

‘I feel fucking amazing’ you smile into his neck which he can feel and it has him smiling aswell.

‘I love you soo much’ he whispers to you.

‘I love you to baby’

You sit in the same position for a while, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped around each other, but after soo long you both feel the cum dripping out of you so Harry starts to move from beneath you so that a mess isn’t made all over the sheets, because when Harry came he had to admit that he came a lot, but he blames that entirely on you.

‘No don’t go, stay here’ you say as he shuffles beneath you.

‘Gotta clean you up baby’

‘No don’t want you to go though’ you reiterate.

‘Who said that I would be going anywhere’ he pulls out of you slowly before moving you body to lay down on the pillows before he quickly manoeuvres himself between your legs so little mess is made.

‘Oh fuck’ you say knowing exactly where this was going.

He smiles at that ‘not going anywhere, gonna clean you up just fine, don’t you worry darling’

[fanfic-chan]

Snow Days and Broken Zippers

Heya @lovelynim !! Surprise! I'm your secret santa for this year! I'm so sorry this took so long to finish, but I had a really great time writing for these two and it was a great opportunity to work on something for one of the more obscure fandoms I don't often get to write for! I hope you like it!!^^

Wordcount: 638

Summary: Noe, after spending a gleeful morning playing out in the snow, accidentally ends up damaging the wintercoat he'd borrowed from a certain vampire doctor. Shenanigans ensue, and perhaps some people turn out to be just a little more childish than they'd like to admit.

Snap!

That was the sound of Noe's doom, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as the zipper he'd just been tugging on had popped right off the winter coat he was borrowing.... Vanitas' wintercoat, to be exact..

He hadn't meant to break it, really. He'd just gotten a little ahead of himself to get it off after playing out in the snow all day 'like a child', as Vanitas had put it earlier that morning, when he'd tried to pry the buzzkill of a human out of bed to go play with him.

This was fine though. Totally fine! Maybe he could fix it before Vanitas-

"Mm.. Noe? I see you're finally done prancing around in the snow... I can't believe you tried waking me up to- Eh?! The heck Noe?! Is that my coat you just broke?!"

And.. he was already here. Great...

"Vanitas! I, uh-" Noe stammered, smiling nervously as the irritated human approached to inspect the damage that had been done, snatching the broken zipper from him with a small pout, and Noe might have even laughed if not for the guilt he was feeling right now.

Before he could even begin to apologize though, a sudden tingling sensation on his sides caught him by surprised, causing him to stifle a small unexpected laugh as the irritated human suddenly began tickling him, expression a mixture of both annoyance and mischief as he squeezed the poor vampire's sides mercilessly.

"V-Vahahanitas?! W-Wait, what are you-"

Noe stammered, letting out a small squawk of protest as he was suddenly backed into the door behind him, leaving him no room to try and escape his current predicament as he plead with his friend, to no avail.

"Punishing you, of course. Isn't it obvious?" The blue eyed man answered, snickering evilly as he finally pinned the guilty looking vampire in place, pinching and prodding at the his sides while he started to crumble to the floor. "Shouldn't have broken my good winter coat Noe~." He cooed as he followed him down, causing his poor victim to squeak throygh helpless giggles.

"I- hehehehe! I dihihidn't- I didn't mehehean too!!"

Noe squealed out as he desperately tried to curl himself into a ball, twisting and turning in a useless attempt to free himself from the unfortunate situation he'd found himself in, with very little success. And after a few more minutes, it was beginning to look like he could end up stuck in this situation for a good long while, atleast until Vanitas decided to show some mercy... Which unfortunately, didn't seem likely anytime soon..

That is, unless he decided to play a little dirty too...

Now, would that be fair, considering the situation? Not really... But would it be funny? Absolutely.

Deciding to go through with his plan, Noe allowed himself to sink just a little further to the floor as he laughed more openly, pretending to give into the silly punishment, and once he'd lured the human into a false sense of security of having him properly subdued, he took action, subtly reaching up one arm to grab the doorknob, twisting it until the door suddenly swung open, a wave of freezing cold December air bursting into the house in an instant as they both tumbled backwards a bit.

Noe, still being safely wrapped in warm winter clothing, was totally fine, while Vanitas on the other hand, still dressed in nothing more than a set of thin pajamas, let out an embarrassingly high pitched squeal in response to the cold, before clumsily scrambling to his feet and retreating further into the house, shouting promises of merciless revenge and karma to come later, and despite the threats, Noe couldn't help but laugh.

Despite what Vanitas might say, perhaps that human was actually the more childish of the two of them afterall...

[cock-holliday]

Crazy that we can't send asks from side blogs still in the year of our Tumblr 2023, but re: your tags on my ask: YEAH YOU GET IT.

There's a distinct difference between acting in self defense/needing to protect oneself and others in the face of active violence being inflicted against you and just general revolutionary leftist bloodlust. Like, speaking as someone who both had his feet on the ground and was an at home lifeline for folks on the ground in 2020, I'm explicitly talking about how non-violence and deradicalization efforts should come before the latter, not necessarily the former (imo)

- ftmtftm

So my response went on for ten thousand years so I’m putting it below a readmore under the title of My Thesis on Violence:

Mm speaking from my own experience in 2020 and a good long while before, I think non-violence and violence depend on one another and all these concepts are super subjective. Non-violence doesn’t really work without the looming possibility of violence. Violence without restraint or consideration is dangerous to more than just your enemy.

Ultimately, I think we may differ a bit on what we consider justified or useful violence, and I get the sense I am a good bit more pro-violence than you. I do not think that necessarily makes for a bad combination, as I imagine there is quite a spectrum of opinion on what is “defense,” what is “justified,” and I think “deserves” is a horrible metric to measure anything against.

I am wholeheartedly, one hundred and ten percent against the death penalty. That doesn’t mean I don’t think killing is justified. I think in some cases, too much action is reactive and not pro-active, but then less people are inclined to find that action to be “defensive” or “justified.”

I think many people would agree, even the nonviolent, that if a white supremacist started shooting into a crowd and someone shot back, that shooting was “self-defense.” Would as many find it self-defense if a leftist tracked down a nazi and killed him in his home?

Freddie Oversteegen was a dutch resistance fighter during WW2. There are lots of heroic stories of people hiding Jews, destroying documents, smuggling supplies and people, and blowing up infrastructure. Freddie and her sister? They would flirt with nazis and lead them into the woods for the prospect of sex and then murder them. They also would ride their bicycles past isolated soldiers on the road and kill them. Are these murders defensive, yes or no? Either way, are they justified?

In Germany, an anarchist and her cohorts have been put on trial for having tracked down and beaten neo-nazis. In Germany, France, Greece, England, Scotland, and countless other countries, entire gangs circulated around football/soccer track down and offer nazi ass-beatings. I have found in my experience that the threat of death or an ass beating also pushes nazis out of the circles and away from their groups. Or makes them think twice about their activities.

One good punch to the face pushed Richard Spencer into obscurity, and he became a joke in right wing circles. In groups that circle around domination and superiority, being made to look weak to your peers is a fast-track to ousting.

I have been able to enjoy being as safe from nazis as I have been because when WW2 ended, antifash skinheads, gangs, anarchists, communists, groups like The Red Warriors, and random guys with baseball bats fought them in the streets and in their homes and made them regret hosting meetings. Their history is erased, yet I benefit from it.

The thing is, the only way someone stops being a nazi is de-radicalization or death. I am of the opinion that anyone who wants to renounce their ways and change their path should get the chance. I don’t think it’s a matter of deserving. I don’t think deserving matters, because who I think deserves what will differ from any fellow member of the struggle. I think chances should be given as frequently as possible. Because in my view, it should not be a question between doing nothing or de-radicalizing the nazi. The options are de-radicalize or kill them.

The same, essentially, can be said of cops. A cop would argue anyone who shoots at them is the aggressor and anything the cop does back is defense. I disagree. The cop’s position is already one of attack by his mere existence. A squad car of cops getting blown up will never incur my condemnation nor sympathy. And any cop who wants to quit and renounce his ways should be given the chance.

If a cop was dying in front of me and I alone could save him, I would do absolutely nothing to help. But I also would not fault a medic for rushing to save them either. I don’t find it a weakness, I find it a mercy I was unwilling to dole out.

Nonviolence and de-radicalization have to be acts of mercy not pitiful pleas. The state does not fear non-violence, and they will use it as justification for their own violence just as quick as actual violence, as I and countless others bear the scars to prove. Injustice is violence. Hell, the state itself is violence but that’s a whole other conversation.

Nonviolent marches are good for 3 things: garnering public sympathy, getting a gauge of numbers and showing strength with numbers, connecting people to groups after the event. That’s it.

Non-violence on its own does not change the minds of politicians. Or at least not enough to matter. The passing of legislature, the changing of laws, the shift in social conditions comes from viewing non-violence as the option that keeps those in power safe from violence.

The biggest piece of law regarding labor law in the United States was not passed because of polite bargaining, it was because tycoons and their families were being killed and factories were getting blown up, so sure, we can concede to the petitioners, it is safer.

I do not come from the region of the Coal Wars, from the state with the Homestead Strikes, from a family that escaped slaughter in Europe to think that violence does not have a central place in my politics and my privileges.

It is fitting to have this conversation right now, because the founder of the March of Return, a peaceful demonstration by Palestinians in 2018 where thousands upon thousands of unarmed civilians marched up to the border wall and were massacred by the IOF, has had his family targeted and killed, and now is fighting to stay alive after being bombed.

I think a lot of condemnation of violence is completely needless. I think a lot of what is seen as fetishizing the Revolution is a spark igniting in the fighting spirit of people. Now, my actual issues of fetishizing the Revolution comes from three places: 1. being so in love with the idea of a TV Revolution that you sit and wait for that moment to happen instead of participating. 2. Violence as a cover for domination. 3. Delighting in the idea of becoming the head of the state rather than dismantling it.

The first is pretty self-explanatory. For the second, there are plenty of leftists, often tankies, flexing their antisemitism real hard and pretending it’s liberatory. I cannot express how disappointing it was to be told that everything was just leftist infighting and there was no reason to be concerned about tankies vs anarkiddies, it’s all useless…only to watch groups of leftists cheer on Russian aggression or pretend it was to cleanse Ukraine of nazis. Or watch Nazbols become emboldened by the conflict and invasion. Or deal with the consequences of leftists who will wield the cops against others. For #3, pieces like Against the Logic of the Guillotine sum up how terrifying it is for many groups of leftists to be delighted in the prospect of deciding who gets the guillotine or the wall or the gulag—concepts that will only lead to greater abuse and oppression.

I am against all carceral violence, punitive violence, state violence. The concept of a body sitting down in little suits and calmly carrying out a death sentence on anyone is infinitely more violent to me than blowing up a nazi’s house. Frankly, an eviction where the tenant is calmly lead away from their home is as violent to me as the tenant shooting back at the cops coming to take them away. I do not ever want to replicate the magnitude of calculated violence that a state can produce, nor do I want to be an arbiter for it.

All in all I think violence has a central place in resistence movements of any scale and I think it is too hairy to decide what all is justified, and even in the face of unjustified actions by some I can’t say that I’d condemn a movement for it, even while challenging members of that movement.

I think nonviolence has to be a hand you are extending not because you fear violence as an option but because you don’t.

Not everyone has to be comfortable with violence themselves, but should not needlessly impede violence that is justified or defensive or however you like to frame it. When nazis are on a stage emboldening violence, I think it is not only excusable but required for violence to be an answer. They should be dragged off the stage and get their ass beat. Chants do not make them rethink their stance. Hand-painted signs do not. Violence also may not, but they’ll think twice before showing up again.

I do also sometimes have to laugh at the hypocrisy of those that consider themselves nonviolent who wield a type of violence against the violent you disagree with. In crowds combatting nazis, ‘leaders’ have tried to hand over ‘outside agitators’ to the cops. This is violence. In my opinion, it is much more violent than what was going to happen to that nazi.

On the flip side, many instances of nonviolence are necessary extensions of redemption, and also shouldn’t be impeded or framed as weakness. The very same nazis whose assbeatings I advocate for should absolutely be welcome to utilize de-radicalization resources. No one owes them anything, but they should not be turned away from trying. Again and again and again the offer should stand that they can change their mind and end it peacefully. Can change their ways and stop this. Can be a champion of the people they have hurt.

Because if they don’t, I will not spare a shred of sympathy if someone kills them.

Some pieces on this stance I really like:

This Nonviolent Stuff’ll Get You Killed pdf

Learning from Ferguson

[cheesy09]

[CN] Kiro's Partner Date

🌸 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date that hasn't been released on the EN server yet! 🌸

[Note: This date was translated with the help of Google Translate :>]

[PART 1]

The clear late autumn sunshine shone on me through the glass window.

The sound of sizzling fried eggs was not far away, and accompanied by the soft sound of exploding droplets of oil, there was a soft cry.

Kiro: Ah!

MC: Kiro?

Kiro: No worries, I was just shocked!

Kiro: Sit down quickly. I agreed to make breakfast myself to reward my temporary manager~

Kiro asked me to sit back in my seat and made a confident gesture.

I looked away from his blonde hair and flipped through the script on the dining table.

The logo on the printed paper belonged to Stellar, an affordable luxury jewelry brand that was popular in the global fashion circle.

Some time ago, Savin secured the endorsement of this brand for Kiro. The brand was going to shoot a set of advertisements for the new Valentine's Day products that would be launched later, but Savin was currently hospitalized with gastroenteritis.

Therefore, I agreed to Kiro's invitation and would be his temporary manager again tomorrow.

[T/n: An allusion to Kiro's Stardust Date where MC had agreed to be his manager for the first time :>]

My eyes scanned the script. Perhaps in order to cater to the theme, this advertisement was in the form of a two persons shoot.

MC: "Shot 1, Kiro opens his eyes as his partner touches his cheek gently, gazing at him tenderly..."

Looking at the lines of text, the tender and affectionate scene from this morning came to mind:

His soft blond hair fluttering on the tip of my nose, and his fair face obscured by the morning light that sneaked in through the curtains.

The person who was still dreaming still had a smile on his lips. He muttered something and hugged me tighter.

Indeed... quite romantic.

But when I thought about this scene being seen by more people, I suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.

Kiro: Ta-da!!——Kiro’s special breakfast is out~

Along with the words, a piece of fragrant toast was handed to me. The slightly crispy cut surface was covered with a crooked heart-shaped omelette.

Kiro sat next to me, glanced at the half-open script, and then dropped his gaze on my slightly pursed lips.

Kiro: Miss Chips' expression seems a little strange.

There was clearly a smile hidden in his words, so I deliberately dragged out my voice.

MC: I do care a little bit...

I said, as I quickly leaned towards his cheek and kissed him gently.

MC: But that’s all~

The breath of the person in front of me paused slightly. Kiro lowered his eyes and suddenly approached me.

Kiro: But I think it could be a little more.

Along with the words, a kiss followed and fell on my lips.

After lingering for a while, I pushed Kiro away with a smile, and then he cut off a piece of fried egg and leaned over.

Kiro: Come and try it, it’s rare that I make it so perfectly!

I took a bite in cooperation and opened my eyes wide in surprise.

MC: Wow! It’s really delicious!

Kiro: Mm, maybe the frying pan also knew that this was for you, so he gave me extra credit~

He seemed to have thought of something and winked at me slyly.

Kiro: However, given that the work of a temporary agent is very hard - if MC wants other "rewards" in the future, I can indulge you.

[PART 2]

The sky in the early morning had not yet soaked up the suns rays. We got out of the car and walked side by side to a retro villa.

After entering the filming location according to the address, I quickly saw the director coming to greet us.

Director: Kiro, thank you for coming so early.

Kiro: It's okay. It's work, after all. That's right--

He turned sideways and introduced me to the director.

Kiro: This is the producer of "Miracle Finder". She'll be responsible for all my filming work today.

MC: Hello, I've heard so much about you.

I took a step forward, smiled and shook hands with the director.

Director: Hello, I’ve seen you at a film festival before, but I didn’t expect to meet you here.

Director: We'll try to finish all the filming today. Kiro can go change clothes first.

Accompanied by the voice, the makeup artist hurried over. Kiro and I exchanged tacit glances and then he left. I looked around while I waited.

The spotless patterned glass windows reflected colorful halos, which is reflected on the flourishing gladiolus leaves. Classic European literary poetry collections and vinyl records were displayed on vintage mahogany bookshelves. Even the candlesticks displayed on the table had a delicate texture.

MC: So exquisite. As expected a big brand...

Just as I was obsessing over the scenery here, a figure suddenly appeared from behind the shadows of the leaves.

His satin shirt loomed under the wide open suit, and his necklace left a little sparkle between the lines of his collarbone.

Fragments of sunlight fell on his eyelashes, like dancing gold. When he saw me, a smile appeared on his lips.

Kiro: A lost princess was discovered.

I couldn't help but smile, and pretended to bend down and lift up the hem of my skirt, following his words.

MC: What a coincidence, I was waiting for a prince to take me away.

Kiro: Well... the stars on my chest tell me that the person you are waiting for must be me.

Kiro approached me as he spoke, his voice so low that it was drowned out by my pounding heartbeat.

MC: Really? How can you prove it?

Kiro: I heard that when you meet the person you are destined for, your heartbeats will resonate with each other. Listen--

He took my hand and put it to his heart. The firm heartbeat beneath his chest gradually merged with the pounding and accelerating heartbeat in my chest.

Kiro: Can you please come with me to the set, my princess?

I smiled, nodded, and walked down to the attic holding hands with him.

When we returned to the set, I saw many people gathered in the lobby. Kiro and I exchanged glances and stepped forward with some confusion.

Kiro: What happened?

Director: ...Kiro, at the moment, the filming will be slightly delayed.

Director: The model you're working with just accidentally scratched her finger. Some close-ups are difficult to take. We're looking for a suitable person to take over.

Every minute of space and labor was a cost. If such an accident occurs, it was no wonder that such emergency measures had to be taken.

MC: But still, there's a difference between amateurs and models. Wouldn’t it be problematic?

Director: Don't worry. All that needs to be shot is a couple of shorts of less than ten seconds, and the focus of the camera will be on Kiro's face. As for the post-production process, it will be processed more carefully.

Director: As long as the shooting atmosphere is in place, there won't be any big problems.

I felt relieved and looked through the director towards the noisy set. The assistant director was discussing something with the female staff on site one by one, shaking his head anxiously from time to time.

My heart moved slightly. I don’t know why, but there was a voice in my heart that seemed to urge me to comply with this sudden impulsive idea.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Kiro lowering his eyes slightly, and his gaze happened to fall on my hand.

Could it be that he was also thinking... Inadvertently, our eyes met. He winked at me and spoke softly.

Kiro: MC, I think you can give it a shot.

My original expectations were due to his encouragement, and I became more and more eager to try it. I hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

Perhaps rather than the clamoring thoughts, him being here was what made me more determined.

Kiro raised his voice and called to the director who was turning around to leave.

Kiro: Director, MC's conditions are actually pretty good.

Kiro: She's had previous shooting experience and can adapt to the position of the camera. She should make a good candidate.

I cooperatively took two steps forward and stood in front of the director. The director looked at my hand for a moment and nodded.

Director: It's indeed possible... Let's try it first.

My heart rejoiced upon hearing those words and I looked up at Kiro. His eyes were also gleaming.

Director: The camera crew is ready and the lights are in place. Kiro, you have both the scripts. Check the stage directions.

The crew started moving, step by step. Kiro also took my hand and walked to the dressing room.

Kiro: Let's go, Miss Partner.

Kiro: Don't worry. With me here, you'll definitely be able to perform exceptionally well.

[PART 3]

With the shutting of the door, the surrounding area became quiet. Kiro pressed me onto the armchair, hummed a brisk melody and pushed me towards the dressing table.

Contrary to my confidence, I picked up the script beside me and began figuring it out word for word.

MC: "Caress his face for 5-7 seconds and then slowly slide it down his neck."

I raised my hand into the air and roughly acted it out.

MC: Hmm... the action of staying on the neck should last four or five seconds.

MC: The gestures aren't marked. Will the director explain them on the spot?

I thought about it and asked the person next to me, but I didn't get a reply. The next second, the script in front of me was suddenly taken away without explanation.

Kiro's handsome face loomed in front of me, a teasing smile in his eyes.

KIro: Is my partner nervous?

I looked at him for a moment and nodded honestly.

MC: A little bit...

MC: Although I understand the process, it's another thing to personally be participating in shooting of the advertisement.

A familiar warmth coated my wrist. Kiro held up my hand and carefully applied crimson glitter onto my fingertips.

His warm breath seemed to ambiguously brush across my fingertips and I couldn't help but tremble when I heard him speak.

Kiro: Then let's seize the moment and review the acting lesson that Teacher Kiro gave before.

Kiro: Relax your shoulders first - then imagine the camera as a mute friend with big eyes.

Familiar words lingered in my ears. I couldn't help but think of the time when he snuck onto the set to cheer me up while I was filming a variety show in a foreign country.

[T/n: This a reference to Set Visit Date :>]

A warmth welled up in my heart. I took a breath and relaxed my body as per Kiro's instructions.

Unknowingly, a lot of my former tension truly dissipated.

Kiro: Remember the next step?

MC: Of course. It was the most important step - close my eyes and imagine you smiling at me.

I was about to close my eyes and picture the smile of the person in front of me in my mind, when I suddenly fell into a warm embrace.

His reassuring breath lingered on the tip of my nose, and I heard him speak softly.

Kiro: Although you've remembered it correctly...

Kiro: If the other party is in front of you, charging this way will be more effective.

His fingertips circled the hair on the side of my face and stroked it lingeringly. I simply rubbed my chin against his shoulder and spoke with a hint of teasing.

MC: Why do I feel that Teacher Kiro is being a bit selfish?

Kiro: Well, "practical classes" are very difficult, and this teacher needs to cheer himself up.

I smiled and hugged him back, hearing his voice ring out.

Kiro: Don't worry, just follow my lead.

Kiro: Believe me, you'll be the most suitable "partner" ever.

-

The European-style prop bookshelves and green plants were surrounded by large and small reflectors and swing arms.

The director stood behind the camera talking to the staff. His eyes wandered over us for a moment and he nodded with satisfaction.

Director: There will only be two shorts, is that okay?

Kiro: Don't worry, director, we're ready.

With that said, Kiro led me towards the corner where the scenery was set up. Following the director's instructions, he sat down next to the bookshelf and straightened his collar.

His left arm was slightly bent and rested casually behind his ear. His golden hair hung down a little messily, leaving a light shadow on his face.

His blue eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a sharp arc. Even though I was still in the studio, I felt like the air was filled with a little more danger.

Director: Three, two, one, hand model go.

Director: Change the angle and focus on the side of his face.

The director spoke from behind the camera. I raised my hand in response and quickly thought about the flow of the script.

In 3-5 seconds... move down slowly...

I steadied my breathing and gently touched Kiro's face with my fingertips, but my movements were slightly imperceptibly stiff.

Amidst the slow music, the distance of the camera narrowed again. The next second, my hand was held involuntarily.

The familiar warmth came from the palms of each of our hands. I blinked and looked at Kiro in surprise.

His fingertips rubbed my wrist gently, and he raised his head casually and lazily, staring at me intently with his deep eyes.

Strange, this interaction is clearly not in the script...

I blinked my eyes, some kind of vague suspicion emerging in my mind, and I tentatively moved my palm closer. Sure enough, I saw Kiro curling his lips slightly.

The next second, the force coming from his hand tightened.

I got closer unexpectedly, and my chin almost touched his golden hair. I subconsciously wanted to distance myself, but my wrists were clasped tighter.

His warm breath slipped from the inside of my wrist, with a certain lingering meaning.

I lowered my eyes involuntarily and looked into those eyes that made people indulge in them. Seeing Kiro tilt his head slightly, he spoke softly.

Kiro: MC, look at me.

Kiro: Pay no attention to them.

Kiro: All you have to do is look at me.

My heart beat uncontrollably. I unconsciously raised my hand and brushed the corner of his lips.

The light red smudged out silently, and my fingertips also gained a few hints of ambiguous color.

All kinds of equipment faded from my field of vision, and it seemed like we were not in a studio, but in a corner of our home.

And this moment was just a part of our everyday intimacy.

Director: Turn down the music, slow down the tempo...

Amidst the clicking sounds, the director said something to the assistant director behind the monitor.

I tried to hear clearly, but my attention was instinctively distracted by the actions of the person in front of me.

It seemed that he was dissatisfied with my lack of concentration just now, or wanted to show a more tense effect. He clasped my fingers and slid them slowly and steadily towards his neck.

He stared at me with burning eyes, like some kind of silent temptation.

MC: .....

We looked at each other off-camera for a moment, the corners of our lips slightly curved, and I hooked his fingertips in a nonchalant manner.

Stopping at the outline of his collarbone for a moment, I slowly touched down along the open line of his collar.

Kiro: .....

As if he didn't expect my reaction, Kiro's eyes flashed, but his smile deepened.

He followed my movements and turned sideways, pressing closer to me. The thin chain on his chest swayed, making a crisp and clear sound.

Director: Go ahead, keep the momentum going.

The music suddenly rose a little higher, playing a lingering and intimate melody.

The palm of his hand tightened slightly. Kiro tilted his head and left an instant kiss on the inside of my wrist.

Director: Cut!

The director stood up behind the monitor, nodded to us with satisfaction, and whispered something to the staff. The makeup artist on the side walked towards us immediately.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Amidst the loud noise, I felt Kiro hugging me from behind.

His smiling voice immediately brushed over my ears with warmth.

Kiro: Thank you for your hard work, Miss Partner~

Kiro: This shoot was ten thousand times better than I imagined.

[PART 4]

The gurgling boiling sound was drowned out by the noise of the hot pot restaurant, and the spicy aroma of chili lingered with the heat.

Kiro picked up the hairy belly and put it in my bowl, then coughed heavily.

Kiro: The first piece of hairy belly at this celebration banquet is awarded to the rescue hero MC~

MC: Thank you to the organizing committee. I will continue to work hard in the future!

I seriously picked up the hairy belly and bit down on it. The familiar taste spread in my mouth, and a satisfied smile appeared.

Looking at Kiro, I found that he was also looking at me with bright eyes. I picked up the small piece of crispy meat on the side and handed it to him.

MC: The reason I was able to enter that state so quickly was thanks to senior Kiro's guidance of the atmosphere. And so he deserves a special reward.

Kiro raised his eyebrows and spoke seriously.

Kiro: I wasn't deliberately guiding anything for that scene today.

MC: Hmm? But our interaction was obviously different from the one in the script...

Kiro: Actually, from a professional perspective, whether filming or advertising, it does not necessarily have to be performed according to the framework of the script.

Kiro: Sometimes acting appropriately on the spot can stimulate different chemical reactions.

I nodded thoughtfully and saw the clear and serious eyes of the person in front of me.

Kiro: But from my personal point of view, this was all possible because of you.

MC: ....me?

Kiro: Because you were my partner, I had those subconscious instinctive expressions.

Kiro: There's no need to deliberately think about interaction patterns and romantic atmosphere...

Kiro: I'd just hold your hand and everything would unfold naturally.

He picked up the tribute vegetables on the side and pushed them into the pot with ease. The final sound came through the curls of steam.

I thought about the interaction with him in front of the camera and laughed softly.

MC: Having said that, I'm actually the same.

MC: At first, all I could think about was the directions of the script. When you suddenly pulled me, I almost didn't react.

MC: But before I knew it, I had returned to our usual way of getting along, forgetting all about that...

The corners of Kiro's eyes curled up, and there was a hint of cunning in his voice.

Kiro: Actually, when shooting that set of shots, I almost failed several times.

I tried to remember for a moment and looked at him doubtfully.

MC: Whether that’s true or false, you acted so naturally!

Kiro: I'm not going to lie to you, do you still remember what the director commented in the script for that paragraph? "Keep an appropriate sense of distance and give a sense of gradual progression."

Kiro: But when I held your wrist, I really wanted to shorten the distance a little bit, and a little bit more.

Kiro: It's best not to worry about anything. I'll just follow my heart and hold you.

The lights reflected bright colors in his eyes. My heart moved and I couldn't help but lean closer to his position.

MC: Then let me reveal a secret to Teacher Kiro.

MC: I thought the same thing when I looked at you in front of the camera.

--I wanted to get closer to the person in front of me and bring us closer together.

Amidst the noise all around, we looked into each other's eyes and smiled, the cups in our hands clinking with a brisk sound.

There was no need to tell it to the whole world. The cries in our hearts had already been heard clearly by each other.

--I have the best you in the world.

Translation Masterlist: here

[nitewrighter]

Edible Flowers and Heartbreakers

Here is the BapWeaver date fic! Because I said I'd do it!!

-----

Baptiste looked up at the strangely fluid serif-font of La Brasserie Brassique's sign, then squinted through the restaurant's window, trying to get a better look at what everyone inside was wearing. It was one of those restaurants that had that carefully calculated rusticity and coziness, that was undercut by a waitstaff that moved with the clipped, furious discipline, grace, and speed that suggested a highly professionally competitive atmosphere.

Baptiste internally debated whether or not to keep his tie on for the next two minutes. 'Brasserie' suggested a casual dining experience, but then again all the terrifyingly fancy and avant-garde restaurants were always naming themselves ridiculously vague and minimalist names like 'The place' or '12' or 'Salt' or stuff like that. 

"You made it!" a buoyant, almost sing-songy voice behind Baptiste caused him to flinch to attention. He pivoted on his heel to see Niran.

Baptiste wasn't sure why he thought Niran would be any smaller without those big biolight petals constantly flanking him, the botanist architech still towered over him. He wondered if Vishkar forced its architechs to go through leg-lengthening surgeries to meet their high aesthetic standards—couldn't be any more invasive than taking one of their arms, right? Niran was dressed in his usual modified pha chung hang, but had swapped out his ivory-colored plunging neckline wrapped top for a less daring light blue tunic with delicate blooming trees embroidered in gold. The neural implants at the corners of his forehead were obscured by a more relaxed hairstyle, and a pale silken braid hung over one shoulder, tied off with a gold ribbon. A smile tugged at the corner of Baptiste's mouth as he wondered if this was Niran's attempt to appear more casual.

"Er--yeah, wasn't too hard to find," said Baptiste, adjusting his tie. Together, they both headed inside.

The interior of the restaurant was like a dark jewel in the evening light. The lights had turned on, but a little bit of twilight light made the multiple monstera and spider plant pots hanging above appear almost black. Their greenness was only barely maintained maintained by violet and warm yellow accent lights posted at strategic parts around the restaurant.

"Niran!" the hostess lit up from her little tablet pedestal and clasped her hands together, "You came!" Her eyes flicked over to Baptiste, "And... you brought someone!" The hesitance in her voice at this addition made Baptiste give Niran a short side-eye but Niran just beamed with that easy grace. "Tatienne, this is Baptiste. Baptiste, Tatienne."

"Charmed," said Baptiste, trying to match Niran's ease in the situation.

"We're here to take you up on that offer?" said Niran.

"R-right," Tatienne pushed a stray bit of hair back, maintaining composure, "This way, please."

Instinct made Baptiste want to request a table at the back, easy to keep an eye on the whole restaurant, constant eye on the entrance (and exit) and kitchen doors, but their table was located at a front window corner, cozy, decently lit, and frankly a little exposed for Baptiste's tastes. A mini holo-lantern projecting purple fractals like romanesco broccoli illuminated the center of their table. A waiter came by, set down their water glasses, ran through the usual spiel on the specials that night, and how the kitchen was willing to accommodate any allergies before setting their menus down in front of them and telling them to take their time and enjoy. Baptiste gave a glance over to Tatienne at her little podium and glanced back at Niran.

"...she likes you," Baptiste said, taking his seat.

"Mm?" Niran glanced up from the menu.

"The hostess. Come on, she took one look at me and it broke her heart!" Baptiste snorted.

"Wow," Niran scoff-laughed, "Come on, give her a bit more credit than that!"

"I'm giving you as much credit as necessary," said Baptiste, "So, what's the story?"

"There was a group that was insisting the restaurant needed insurance, and I stepped in on their behalf to say they were perfectly fine."

"So you're saying you fought off a protection racket that was threatening the restaurant."

"No! I mean--!" Niran's fingers curled in with a bit of helpless frustration, "It wasn't so vulgar."

"No, of course not," Baptiste sipped from his water glass, "You hold yourself to a professional standard."

"Anyway she asked if there was anything she could do to repay me and I knew it was notoriously difficult to get a reservation here, so I asked for a table for tonight, and she was all too delighted to elbow out some space for me."

Baptiste raised his eyebrows and pressed his leps together at Niran.

"Look, it's not like she would--" Niran was going on and then seemed to catch himself, clearly running the math of several social cues he may have missed in his recap of the events. "Oh," he said, and then "Oh..." a bit more concerned. He glanced over his shoulder at Tatienne at her little Maitre d' podium and his eyes flicked back to Baptiste.

"Do you think I should say someth--?" He shook his head, "A bit late for it now, isn't it?"

"A bit..." Baptiste conceded, "Heartbreaker."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like the drama," said Niran, looking back at his menu.

"I like drama I'm not be the center of," Baptiste admitted.

"Are you sure you're not the center of it?" Niran asked coyly.

Baptiste just snorted and picked up his own menu. He scanned for a seafood section, turned the menu over to find only the wine and other drink selection, thought for a moment, and did his best to hide his immediate realization.

Brasserie Brassique. Brassicas. Broccoli. Cabbage. Kale. Duh. 

"...Of course it's plant-based," Baptiste chuckled over the menu.

"Is that a problem?" Niran gave a slight eyebrow waggle from behind his own menu.

"Not at all. Don't usually have the option, in my travels," Baptiste shrugged.

"Well, I'm glad your travels could bring you here," Niran said breezily, leaning back in his own seat.

"You make time in all your running from Vishkar to eat at fancy restaurants?" Baptiste, sipped at his water.

"Well.. 'stop and smell the roses' and all that," Niran was scanning his own menu.

"And...not to be crude but you're sure you're okay with treating?"

"Well, if you're sitting on a giant pile of mercenary gold and just happen to go for the cutely scuffed-up improvising globetrotter part, I won't say that's not incredibly attractive in a deeply wrong way," said Niran.

"I... am afraid the 'cutely scuffed up improvising globetrotter' aspect of my appeal is completely genuine," said Baptiste.

"Ah. Yes. Well, Mum sent me her latest, 'You're killing me, you're killing your mother, please don't starve' check, and I'm on good terms with the owners so--!" He gave a theatrical little hand flourish, "My treat."

Baptiste snorted. "Just how far do you plan on getting by on charm and people worrying about you alone?"

"It's gotten me pretty far as far as I can tell," Niran shrugged.

There was a shy little throat clearing next to them and they both glanced up to see the waiter with a small tablet.

"Are you ready to order?" asked the waiter.

"I'll have the radish cakes and endive," Niran handed his menu off to the waiter.

"And I'd like the portobello steak, please," said Baptiste, handing his menu off as well.

"Anything to drink?" the waiter asked.

Baptiste hesitated and wished he had taken a closer look at the cocktails menu, but Niran said, "We'd like the 2074 Côte du Rhone Guillard Collines Rosé--and if we could get both an ice bucket and a decanter that would be wonderful."

"I'll... see what we can do," said the waiter.

Niran immediately picked up on the curious way Baptiste was looking at him and explained, "There's a very specific equilibrium for that year and region. It's battery acid, otherwise."

"...right," said Baptiste.

"Trust me," said Niran.

"I do," said Baptiste.

Niran fidgeted with the end of his braid as a pause passed between them.

"So..." Baptiste started, "You've been traveling alone for a while, then?"

"Well... like I said earlier, you can get surprisingly far on charm and worry."

"What are your plans for taking on Vishkar?" Baptiste leaned back in his seat.

'To be honest, I thought more people would be turning on them at this point..." Niran murmured.

"2074 Côte du Rhone?" the waiter returned with the wine bottle in an ice bucket and stand in one arm and a decanter in the opposite hand. He looked a bit harried, like it had taken some negotiation to get both.

"Oh--lovely, thank you," said Niran as he set both down, "I can take it from here."

Niran was rapidly spiraling the wine around in the decanter when Baptiste spoke up again.

"I'm just asking because, it turns out the crew I'm running with is actively working against Vishkar," said Baptiste, watching Niran pour the swirled wine into glasses, "The approach isn't as organized as we'd like, but we'd be very interested in having more people with inside information with regards to combating them."

"Goodness," Niran tucked a stray bit of hair away from his temple, setting the decanter down, "And here I thought 'invite them to join your group of vigilantes' was reserved for the third date." He held a wine glass out to Baptiste.

"You like doing things your own way, I can respect that," Baptiste sniffed at his wine, "But there is safety in numbers, and I think we could use more people like you."

"'Like me' how?" 

"Builders. Scientists--"

"Healers?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," Baptiste said a bit sheepishly.

"To builders, scientists, and healers then," Niran raised his glass.

"Builders, scientists, and healers," Baptiste clinked his glass against Niran's. They both sipped the wine. Baptiste had to admit that the seemingly contradictory practice of both chilling and decanting had brought out an unusual balance of both a refreshing and less acidic sip, and opening the palette's attention to the wine's more floral notes.

Of course it has floral notes, he thought, wryly.

"Listen," Niran's expression was apologetic as he set his own wine glass down, "I was happy to help you out for that one mission, but as you've already mentioned, I do like doing things my own way. I also have to admit... I'm not entirely convinced the new Overwatch has learned from the old one's mistakes."

"Such as...?"

"Over-reliance on combat to solve problems?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"You seem to hold your own in combat pretty well, though."

"It doesn't mean I enjoy it," Niran sipped his wine, "It's like fire, only I can never be sure whether I'm letting something burn itself out, or if it's spreading somewhere I can't see."

Baptiste took his own, small, hard gulp of wine at this.

"Believe me, no one is more aware than me of how few options I have. Vishkar has already done everything in their power to paint me as a thief and charlatan," said Niran. The melody left his voice here, and Baptiste felt a twinge of pain. Niran was an aesthete, that was clear, and the way he laughed things off and insisted he had no shame suggested a surprising resilience, but Baptiste could also sense a soft heart in there as well, someone who only ever wanted to help the world seeing all of their efforts and all the good they had done be drowned out by a cultish corporation trying to save face and push a bottom line, "The world is desperate for heroes, but I don't know if that desperation is enough to make people forget about how Overwatch let them down before."

"You're not wrong there..." Baptiste stroked his chin thoughtfully "I had similar doubts. Vaswani, too.." 

Niran visibly perked up. "Come again?"

"Plus, to be fair, she only joined us because Vishkar had painted a target on her back for Talon," Baptiste went on.

"Vaswani as in Satya Vaswani?" Niran was leaning forward.

"And it could be very well that we're pissing off Talon even more by having her here," Baptiste mused.

"Satya Vaswani is in Overwatch."

"She's dug out a niche for herself," Baptiste said vaguely.

Niran's mouth quirked off to one side and his eyes narrowed. "I see what you're doing," he said, leaning back in his seat.

"Mm?" Baptiste was sipping his water.

"I think you should know, if my friends jump off a cliff, I don't jump off right after them," said Niran, raising his chin.

"No, you strike me as the first person jumping off," Baptiste smiled.

Niran gave him a shrewd look, then. Up until now, Niran's glances had had an almost overwhelming warmth to them, but here was the problem solver, here was the evaluator, here was the architech. 

"For what it's worth, I'm there, too--- it would be a lot easier to coordinate our next date. That is, unless, your plan is just to run into me by chance, again."

"...or you could join me," Niran mused.

"Now who's moving fast for the first date?"

"Well it seems to me you did pretty well for yourself with the whole 'globetrotting' thing," said Niran, "Maybe you'd be interested in something more... fluid."

"I thought--" Baptiste started but was cut off.

"Portobello and radish cakes?" The waiter had returned with a tray.

"Oh! Beautiful! Thank you," Niran exclaimed as pale radish cakes lazily resting on a bed of vividly purple endive leaves and garnished with nasturtium flowers, with a small hill of forbidden rice itself topped with a violet. Baptiste's own plate was arranged in the kind of typical 'steakhouse' arrangement, with the portobello flanked by a parsnip puree, a small green salad, and a cleverly hollowed out parsnip standing at attention and stuffed with minced maitake in a way reminiscent to the bone marrow in pot-au-feu. Baptiste cut into the portobello and took a bite. He kept his bites and cuts slow. He was used to just kind of stuffing his face to keep himself going, it was a rare treat to eat something that had clearly been so carefully prepared.

"Merci," Baptiste gave a nod to the waiter who briskly headed off. There was a brief minute and a half filled only with the careful muted scrapes of forks on plates and quiet 'Mm's.' Plant based or not, Baptiste hadn't had anything this nice in months, maybe years even. His eyes flicked across the table to Niran who was first trying everything out individually, following bites with wine or clearing his palette with water, then he was experimenting with different combinations of the rice and endive or radish. So much of the time with Overwatch, 'eating' was just jamming in the necessary calories to make it to the next mission. You had chatting and jokes and a certain degree of camaraderie, but the food wasn't nearly this good and most of the time there was a conscious knowledge of this mission or that bit of Watchpoint maintenance and what parts of his equipment needed calibrating before the next mission. He honestly couldn't recall the last time a meal had felt this intimate, had had this kind of emphasis on the sensory.

"You were saying...?" Niran goaded.

"I thought I was," Baptiste conceded, taking another bite, "But... you tend to figure out pretty quickly that the 'one man war' thing is more about you than it is about stopping whatever you're fighting against."

Niran considered this, glancing off and taking another slow sip of his wine. "And I take it you had intel that was valuable to them, as well?"

"I did," Baptiste huffed, "Look, the way I see it is this: When Overwatch was first formed in the Crisis, it was about pooling resources and cleaning up logistics because so much destruction was being done, there was no way for the traditional governmental and military channels to keep up with it and respond to it. All the buzz about 'heroes'--that was propaganda. It was necessary propaganda to keep people from panicking and keeping from further complicating relief efforts. But it was still effective. Hell, it made me want to join, as a kid. But the current Overwatch I think is a lot closer to that initial framework, they just aren't in a position to propagandize themselves, nor do they really want to because—I'm killing the vibe, aren't I?"

"A little," Niran sipped his wine and gave him a catlike smile, "How many people have you hit with the sales pitch?"

"You're the first, actually," Baptiste laughed a bit nervously.

"I'm shocked," said Niran, clearly not shocked.

"For what it's worth I did tell myself I was going to try to relax tonight," he paused, "But... I do also want to see you again, and I would prefer if you did not get murdered by Talon or captured and lobotomized by Vishkar before then, so..." 

"You really know how to charm a man, don't you?" said Niran.

"Well I don't see the point in pretending we don't live the lifestyle we do," Baptiste shrugged.

"It's good for getting under their skin," Niran leaned forward, "Nothing drives your enemies crazy like making them believe you don't think about them at all."

"I am not interested in making anyone crazier than they already are," Baptiste chuckled.

"Ooh—Toxic exes?" Niran set his wine glass down on the table.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Baptiste sipped his own glass.

"Usually that means 'yes,'" Niran gave a slight raise of his eyebrows, "You know, I think I like not being the only heartbreaker on this date."

"You like drama?"

"Only in the nosy, obnoxious sense that most people like their drama. But... I do think you see more of people's true selves when everything's a bit off-kilter." 

"Well, if I was still making the sales pitch, this is where I'd say you'd like my team, then."

Niran scoff laughed before pushing his plate forward. "Here, have a bite of this."

"You sure?"

"That's the whole point of ordering different things at a restaurant. Which means I get to take some of yours."

Baptiste snorted. "Fine."

They exchanged bites, Baptiste carefully sectioning off a bit of radish cake and a small amount of the forbidden rice, the now-wilting endive that had lost a bit of its bitterness. It was complex, artful, and well balanced. He honestly preferred his own order since it was a bit more savory, but he could definitely see the appeal. But Niran grunted from the other side of the table.

"Dammit, you win," he muttered.

"It was a competition!?" Baptiste sputtered out a laugh.

"It's always a competition!" He huffed, "I hate the phrase 'portobello steak' it's fungus. Like fungi are miraculous on their own! Why jump through hoops to make them more meat-like!? And I hate that it's good."

"I think they just use the 'steak' phrasing to win the carnivores over," Baptiste snorted. "But I'd say they jumped through the right hoops if I won."

"Well if it won one carnivore over..." Niran smiled.

They ordered dessert, Niran tried to float the idea of lying to the waiter about it being Baptiste's birthday but Baptiste backed down. They talked more. They took turns taking bites from a coconut rice pudding brulée with a passionfruit reduction. Baptiste liked watching the bow of Niran's mouth as he nibbled on the mint leaf garnish. Niran talked about his siblings. His older sister who had more or less cut things off with him with the ultimatum of 'until he got his shit together', his younger brother who he was still in contact with whom he admitted he was probably a bad influence on. Baptiste didn't really have siblings to speak of, but he found himself talking a lot about Rosaline and the clinic.

"...I'd like to see it," Niran said, topping off both their glasses with the last dregs of wine from the decanter.

"What, the clinic? It's... not really impressive."

"It's not about 'impressive.' It means something to you," Niran was flushed at this point, "I always push the artist shit--the individualist shit--because I've disappointed so many people that the only standard I can really hold myself to is my own. But you have people. You have a community...." he stroked a finger along his eyebrow, "God, we're going to get back to the sales pitch, aren't we?"

"I wasn't going to say anything..." Baptiste felt a loose and easy warmth from the wine himself.

"...I just don't want to let more people down," Niran said quietly.

This sobered Baptiste somewhat. "Hey," he said "You... made something brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, there are lot of people who want you dead. And you believe in things--things bigger than what a lot of people want for you. And those two things together... that's lonely."

Niran made a short little "Hm" sound.

"I'm not going to push the sales pitch," Baptiste put both hands up, "But... I am going to say, you should be around people who care as much as you do. If that's not with my team, that's fine. But I do think you should look for it."

"...but your team has Satya," the wine was clearly hitting Niran at this point.

"My team does indeed have Satya," Baptiste confirmed, watching Niran drain the last of his glass. He knocked his own back in solidarity.

"I need to annoy her again," Niran was glancing off.

"Don't worry, I assure you, we all annoy her plenty."

"Well that I just might make time in my busy schedule to see," said Niran, "To make sure you're all doing it right, of course."

"Of course," said Baptiste.

True to his word, Niran covered the bill, but Baptiste insisted on the tip. There was a brief, less-than-sober apology to Tatienne over any misunderstanding considering the dinner, and she was absolutely saintly through it (and likely just desperate to end her shift at that point). Baptiste and Niran walked together through the city streets in a kind of easy silence, both suspended in that moment when the night was still full of promise and just as easily carried the potential for disaster.

We could go dancing, Baptiste wanted to say, And drink more, and maybe there would be some drama with someone else drunk at the club and one of us would end up crying and then neither of us would want to really text the other back after that mess.

We could sneak into a gallery showing, Niran wanted to say, And ask each other which is our favorite, and watch what is basically a weird bloodstained striptease behind a white tarp while someone sobs and rants in Spanish and clap bewilderedly and then steal a whole bottle of champagne, and run off to a park, and watch the sun rise like in that old movie and then become confronted with the horror that is our continued presence in the morning.

But instead they both ambled to the edge of the harbor and looked out, listening to the dark rush of the waves below.

"This is... my pickup point," Baptiste said, as he leaned against the guardrail, "If you want you could stick around, catch a ride, I'm sure Oxton would be happy to drop you off anywhere. Or you could..."

"...Come back to your place?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"Maybe I could continue the sales pitch," Baptiste shrugged.

"I say this to a lot of salesmen, but I mean it this time: You've given me a lot to think about," said Niran. He paused, "And..." he seemed like he was about to say something more, but he just forced a chuckle. "Yeah. A lot to think about."

The lap of waves was suddenly drowned out by a resonant 'vmmmmm' and both of them looked out over the water to see the Overwatch dropship approaching. Baptiste and Niran looked back at each other.

"Punctual bunch, aren't you?" Niran was smiling, but his brow was crinkled.

"Yeah..." Baptiste's voice trailed away from him and he looked back at Niran. They had to say goodbye now, and despite years of basically earning a blackbelt in avoiding discomfort, he had no idea how to do it.

Hug? Kiss? For the love of god, Baptiste do not shake his hand-- his mind was a fog of indecision but Niran stooped and gently kissed his temple and brushed some fingers behind his ear. 

"Don't be a stranger, Augustin, hm?" his fingers trailed down the side of Baptiste's jawline.

"I was about to say the same thing," said Baptiste.

"No you weren't," said Niran.

"Well I am now," said Baptiste.

And with that, he ascended into the dropship.

Niran was just a shrinking little spot of blue and ivory and gold below as the dropship pulled away. Baptiste slumped his head back into the dropship seat with a huff.

"Y'know... if you two wanted to get a hotel, you only needed to send a text--"

"It's not that simple--" Baptiste cut her off but then caught himself. He craned his neck to catch Tracer in the dropship's rearview mirror. "I don't--You didn't let me do this because you wanted to recruit him, right?"

"No!" Tracer said on reflex, "I mean, would we want him on the team? Sure! But... it's about you, Baptiste. I'm just glad you took a whole bloody night for yourself, really!"

There was a pause between them.

"You didn't try to recruit him, did y--?" Tracer started.

"I wasn't thinking about the team! He just seems to be doing this hippie thing and I don't want to worry about him!" Baptiste blurted out.

Tracer snorted. "You're adorable."

Baptiste just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Oi--what's that on your ear?" Tracer's head swung around from the pilot's seat.

"Eh--?" Baptiste felt at his ear, his fingers touched on a slightly smooth and warm mass, and he pulled away a pale pink orchid of biolight that had been perched upon his ear. He blinked a few times and then flinched as the orchid dissolved into a tesselation of pink-white sparkles.

"Wow..." Tracer said a bit breathlessly, "You realize you can't not call him back now, right?"

"I wasn't going to not call him back!" said Baptiste, frustrated.

"Good to know," said Tracer, settling into the pilot's seat, "Wouldn't want you to be a heartbreaker, would we?"