#feels like we only go backwards on ao3

[priarity]

do you ever read fanfiction that’s so traumatising that you need to read other fanfic just to cope

[akdjsjjw]

Wip.

Yes, I’m drawing old and happy zukka fanart so I can cope with that fanfic. Why do you ask? 

(will post finished when it’s done)

I have a few choice words for this author, the main few being: please update soon

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: The Zukka Amnesia Fic

Author: @oldpotatoe

Note from submitter: fire lily?

[thats-rough-buddy04]

I went offline for a little under two weeks and Feels Like We Only Go Backwards updated. The one time I’m offline for a bit and of course it updates. In all seriousness, I’m giggling and kicking my feet.

[nexysworld]

summary: Brat tamed by your step dad. pairing: Step Dad Toji x Fem!Reader tags: NSFW, Smut, Stepcest, Daddy Kink, Age Gap, Pussy Slapping, Spanking, Mean!Toji, Degradation Kink, Unprotected Sex, Manhandling, Dub-con, fem receiving oral, Reader is 18+, MDNI wc: 2.4k

Read on AO3 || Ask Box || Masterlists a/n: this is my first time writing for JJK and Toji, but god am I down BAD for this man. I wanna practice and write more because....yeah. 😏 Title based on the song. Also special thanks to @kaitkatme for beta-reading this for me.

“Fuck off Megumi, you’re always breathing down my neck!” You yelled, chucking the pillow across the room at your step brother. “Seriously, get out!”

“I’m only doing what I’m supposed to as your big brother!” He yelled back, easily dodging the weaponized cushion. “Dudes like that are only looking for one thing. They’re dangerous.” “Really? You sure? I would say you’d know, but I don’t think you’re getting any either.” You replied, rolling your eyes. 

“Whatever, give me the phone.” His hand was stuck out expectantly.  “No way! I’m an adult, I can go out with whoever I want.” 

The two of you tussle back and forth around the room, grappling over the device in your hand. Luckily for you, his back was to your bedroom door, giving you the chance with one good shove to send him staggering backwards into the hallway, sticking your tongue out at him for good measure. The door slammed shut with a loud thud, and you clicked the lock to make sure he couldn’t get back in so easily. 

You flopped back down onto the plush bed, intending to return to what you were doing when noise caught your attention. Loud stomping, followed by some muffled arguing – you recognized one of the voices as your step dad, he must’ve been woken up by the argument. 

As the voices got closer you could make out the tail end of the conversation.  “Why don’t you just buckle up and be a father for once.” “Will you stop naggin’ me, she ain’t even my kid.” “She calls you dad.” “So do you, fuckin’ brat. And you don’t listen to me either.”  “You really want her skulking around with one of those mercs? Bet that’ll look real good on you, old man. Your rivals joking about going through rounds with your slutty daughter.” 

“Tch, fine. But only because I’m sick of your fuckin’ nagging kid. We both know she isn’t goin’ to listen t’me.” His footsteps were heavy as they closed in on your room. The front door of the house slammed close downstairs, Megumi having retreated. There was a brief silence outside your door as he pondered what to say before his heavy fist landed on the door a few times. “Open up.”

“Don’t think I will.” You added, not feeling like being lectured again, and especially not by the deadbeat who fucks your mom. Or did fuck your mom, no one really knew where mom was these days. 

There was a huff of frustration as he banged on the door again. “I ain’t askin’ twice.”

“Then don’t.” You lazily went back to scrolling on your phone. 

“You fuckin’ brats are really startin’ to piss me off today.” A loud boom rattled the walls, nearly giving you a heart attack. Your bedroom door had been kicked right off the hinges, the top half of the door tangling by what was left of a single screw, the bottom half launched into the wall across the room. 

You’d seen Toji go at it with Megumi before, tossing all sorts of things at him with his absurd inhuman strength, but you’d never been the target of that anger before. Your mouth opened in shock, ready to say something, but words caught in your throat as he marched towards you.

“First I’m woken up because the two of you can’t keep yer traps shut. Then I get an earful about you running off with some merc kid – thought I raised you better than that.” “You didn’t raise me at all!” Toji had been around as long as you could remember, probably the closest thing you’d ever have to a real dad. Except he only really acted like a father when he was trying to get in your moms pants – or when you made cute bait for a potential bounty he was trying to collect on.  “Shut it.” He said, towering over you. “Screw you!” You spat indignantly.  “I ain’t dealin’ with any more shit today.” It always impressed you how fast he was, for such a large buff guy. Even still, it shocked you how quickly he managed to flip your positions, him sitting on the bed, you bent over his lap. The only noise you could get out was a yelp as his hand collided with your clothed butt cheek, the red hot warmth of pain radiating outwards.  “What happened to that filthy mouth?” He asked mockingly, this time tugging your pajama pants down to expose the plush mounds of your ass. “Come on princess, you wanna talk like a big bad adult, then talk.” He brought his hand down again, this one knocking the wind out of you, making your legs kick behind you tangled in your pajama pants – fat hot tears forming in your waterline. “No? Nothing?” He asked again, as he continued his onslaught, large hand imprinting its shape on you. “That’s what I thought. Shoulda knocked some manners into both you brats forever ago.” 

He shoved you off of him, making you tumble head first onto the floor. Your face was red with anger, cheeks puffed out, righting yourself just enough to look up at him, still tangled in your own pants. He looked down at you amused, scanning your form. He grabbed your face with his hand, squishing your cheeks together, forcing you into a kissy face. “Now that’sa look.” He mused. “Acting like you’re ready to go run around with boys, but can’t even stop snottin’ and cryin’ like a kid after getting spanked by your Daddy.” You wanted to say something back, insult him, tell him to shut up. But you couldn’t, ass sore, mouth still pushed out between his fingers. Instead, you glared him down as best you could.

“What was your plan anyway? Hope he’d take you somewhere fancy, call you pretty names while he licked that little cunt? Or were you hopin’ he’d be mean, put you in your place.” He chuckled, leaning forward so your faces were close together again. “Maybe Megumi was right – ‘m gonna have to listen to stories from half the guild about my slutty little girl, aren’t I?”  “N-no!” You managed to squeak out at the accusation, it fell on deaf ears as he continued rambling his own thoughts. “Only thing I can’t understand is why you’d pick some loser I work with. When ‘m sure there’s plenty of punks crawling around this city, ready to get their dicks wet.” His eyes narrowed, a smug ear to ear grin taking over his features. “Oh, I get it now, you want someone just like your Daddy, don’t you?”  Heat pooled between your legs at his words, cheeks on fire with embarrassment more than anger now. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping he didn’t notice. He let go of your face finally, red finger marks lingering on your skin. Despite having the chance to speak, you were stunned into silence. 

He noticed.

Of course he noticed. 

Toji yanked you up by your arm, roughly pulling you into his lap, pressed against his chest with your head over his shoulder. His large, rough fingers trailed down the semi-circle of your ass cheek to dip lower from behind, gently brushing against your slicked folds.  “Looks like I’m right on the mark.” “N-nuh uh!” You denied, exasperated.

“Dumb little brat, runnin’ around looking for trouble when all you need is your Daddy, right here at home.” He played with you a little, stuffing his index finger into your wet heat, his thumb rubbing against your clit in even circular motions. You whined, squirming your legs at the sensation, feeling your walls clamp around the digit. What remained of your dignity was fleeting, as you felt his cock press against your leg through his pants. “Looks like she’s been cryin’ for attention – no wonder you’ve been such a bitch lately. Shoulda known it woulda been easier to just fuck the ‘tude out of you.” 

He pulled his hand out of you so he could toss you unceremoniously onto the bed, ripping your panties and pajama pants off the rest of the way. By the time he yanked your shirt up, your hands were covering your face in embarrassment.  “Nah, none of that shy shit.” He chided, easily gathering both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. “Look at me, princess.” He used his free hand to force you to meet his gaze again. “You wanted this, remember? So you’re gonna be a good girl and watch while Daddy makes you feel good, understand?” You scrunched up your face in a glare again, still not wanting to give him the satisfaction of absolute obedience. The hand holding your face collided with your cheek in a sharp slap, making your tits bounce a little as you jerked with the motion. “You wanna keep that brat shit up and I’ll just fuck you raw instead, how about that?”  “W-wait no!” You exclaimed.  “S’what I thought.” Your step dad let go of your wrists so he could lift your lower half up, tossing one leg over his shoulder, tongue messily sliding up your slit before lapping at the bead of nerves. Like most things with Toji, he was quick, flicking his tongue side to side before circling it around your clit.  His hands dug into your hips with a bruising grip, you looked up catching the top of his head and eyes between your legs. Eyes squeezing shut in short-lived pleasure. “G-guah!” You made a sound, a mix between a moan and a yelp as you felt a lightly stinging slap to your pussy, eyes shooting back open.  “What did I say?” “T-to watch.” Another slap against your pussy made you squeal. “Then why were your eyes closed, hmm?” “‘M sorry!” Another one, this time angled just right that you managed to feel it against your clit too. “Wh-why?” “You’re sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” You replied. “Good girl.” Praise from him was rare, and while it was dripping with sarcasm, you couldn’t help the way it made your chest flutter. He resumed his meal between your legs, messily slurping you into his mouth. Your body felt like it was burning up, pleasuring pulsing between your legs each time he applied pressure with his wet muscle to your clit. 

Your back arched in pleasure, legs kicking at his back as you came, hard. “Oh god.” You whined, not able to keep your eyes open this time as waves of pleasure rolled over you, through your stiffened muscles. Luckily, he didn’t seem to care this time, dropping your lower half down so he could wipe your slick from his chin with the back of his hand. 

Your eyes, half lidded, watched as he reached down, pulling himself free of his gray pants. You let out an audible surprised sound as you watched him stroke himself a few times. It was thick from tip to base, uncut with pearly beads of precum that dribbled onto your thigh with each stroke. He ran his thumb over the tip, hissing at the sensation before rubbing it along your bottom lip, letting you taste him. Greedily you sucked the digit into your mouth, grinding your hips up when you tasted the slightly bitter liquid.

“Shit. You’re fuckin’ cute, I’ll give you that.” He said, pulling his hand back to line himself up with your entrance. He pushed into you, grunting as your tight walls clenched around him. “Tight as hell too. Relax.” He groaned, sinking inch by inch into you until the tip of his cock pressed snuggly against your cervix. It was overwhelming how full you felt, like you’d be split in half if he were any bigger. 

Not one for patience he leaned forward, nearly folding you in half, as he slid out to the tip before slamming back in, watching as you writhed beneath him, gripping the sheets. Your pupils were blown, you could feel his breath against your face again with how close he was in this position.  “Look at you givin’ me those lovey dovey eyes. Want a kiss too?” He asked. “Please?” You nodded, letting go of the bedding to wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him. He obliged the request, pressing his lips to yours – rough and slightly chapped. He gave a few shallow thrusts while tangling your tongues together, pulling away just enough to give him a better angle to fuck into you harder.  “S’too much.” You croaked as he set a steady pace, brutally pumping himself inside of you. “S’too much.” You repeated, eyes scrunching shut, overstimulated between the stretch and speed of his movements. “S’okay, you can take it.” He replied, between movements.  You clung to him tightly, a fresh set of tears brimming at your eyes, toes curling with pleasure. “‘D-daddy.” You sobbed out, clawing at his back. Each time he sunk back into you, he hit a special spot, one so deep you’d never reach it on your own. It made stars sparkle on the back of your eyelids. 

“That’s m’girl, let it all out. Gonna fill this bratty little hole up, make sure she remembers who’s in charge, yeah? Gonna be a good girl from now on?” “Mhmm.” You replied, so close to your second orgasm. “Never be bad…nnng…again….” Your muscles tensed, the pressure exploding again as you cried out, second orgasm exhausting the last of your energy. Your velvety walls clamping down were enough to bring him to completion too, his cock twitching as hot cum spurted out, drooling into your spent hole. 

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, you barely registered when Toji pulled out, or when he’d laid down next to you tucking you into his side. Your body naturally curled into his warmth, head sinking into the pillow as sleep pulled you under. 

It wasn’t until you heard the telltale sounds of arguing again did you even bother to crack one eye open. Megumi stood in the broken doorway, looking like steam was coming out of his ears. “What?” Toji asked lazily. “You didn’t want her goin’ with that guy, now she’s not. Problem solved.”  “Problem not solved –” He began, before you chucked a pillow at him again.  “Go away, Megumi.” You groaned, burying your face back into your step dad’s chest to resume your nap, too tired to feel any sense of shame or embarrassment in the moment. 

[togenabi]

my home is where your heart is

inumaki toge x reader

♡—your things keep winding up in toge's place, and his things in yours. what are you going to do about it?

word count♡— 1k

genre♡— fluff. pure fluff

content notes♡— blushy toge, established relationship, moving in together, dancing in the kitchen in the refrigerator light vibes, megumi gives advice

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is an overdue request! anon, if you see this I'm sorry this took me a while! I kept it short, but did not hold back on the fluff. please enjoy!

“Toge,” You call for your boyfriend, who is currently sprawled over your couch. “Have you seen my charger?”

Toge looks up from his phone, pausing for a moment to think. After briefly looking confused, he lights up and lifts his hands to sign, ‘I think you left it at my place.’

“Ah,” Not again. Must this always happen? “Remind me to get it back next time we’re there.”

He nods and gets up, gesturing for you to hand over your phone. Toge moves to charge it with his own charger.

“Thanks.” You kiss his cheek, relishing the way he blushes. Flustered, it takes him more than one try to plug the charger into the wall socket. You can’t help but shake your head at him. He’s just too cute sometimes.

About the case of things going missing, however, it happens to Toge too.

You were cleaning up your apartment when it suddenly started raining. Thoughts of Toge in the rain immediately caused you to worry, but you managed to calm down somewhat. He should be fine since he has an umbrella.

Only, he doesn’t. You stare at the compact, foldable umbrella in horror. It’s positioned beside yours at your apartment’s entryway.

Toge, completely drenched, arrives at your place an hour or so after that. Luckily, you anticipated as much, and already had a change of clothes, towels, and warm food ready for him.

He gives you a kiss on the cheek this time, walking backwards into the bathroom, forming a heart with his hands and a goofy smile glowing on his face.

The more time you and Toge spent in each other’s places, the more your things seemed to shuffle about. Your book on his desk. His jacket in your closet. An accessory of yours on his bedside table. That snack he bought is somewhere in your cupboard. It was getting confusing, how your lives were getting tangled up in two separate places.

“The solution is obvious, isn’t it?” Megumi asks one night when you bumped into him at a convenience store. “Move in with him.”

“Oh.” Speechless, you can only blink at him in response. “We’ve never really talked about that.”

Megumi shrugs, “Sounds like that talk’s overdue, if you ask me.”

And maybe it is, because you’re seriously considering it when you can’t find a single pen in your apartment. Why do ballpens vanish when you need them, and why are there so many of them when you don’t?

But of course, you find your favorite ballpen in a mug Toge had turned into a pen holder, sitting with his other pens and markers.

You must have been staring at the pen—at his desk—for quite some time. It makes Toge look at you with concern in his eyes.

“Takana?” He asks, checking on you while resting a hand on your arm.

Snapping out of it, you try to gather your courage to bring up living together. There’s no reason for him to say no, right? And you’d be fine whichever place he chooses. Or maybe, you could meet in the middle and  look for somewhere new?

The thought of apartment hunting with Toge strangely sends butterflies in your stomach. But before you get ahead of yourself, you have to properly ask him about it first.

“What do you think about living together?” You blurt out, and your heartbeat feels rapid and unsteady. Suddenly, it feels like you’re confessing to him all over again.

Toge breathes out a laugh, pulling you into his arms. Nestling his head into the crook of your neck, he accepts. “Shake.” 

“Really?” Stunned that it was that easy, it takes you a second before you return his embrace. “Where should we go?”

He pulls back to kiss the tip of your nose cutely. Smiling, he motions to sign, ‘Wherever you want! I’ll follow you anywhere.’

It takes several weeks of planning and headaches, but you and Toge manage to find a new home. It’s close by, still in the same neighborhood that you’re used to. You didn’t want to move too far from this community and your loved ones. 

Other than that, your main goal was to find a place with more space than either of your previous residences. You wanted to organize storage properly. Contrary to your expectations and true to his word, Toge wasn’t picky at all. He was just happy to always be close to you.

As you were unpacking food and supplies in the kitchen, you looked over at your boyfriend. He was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, configuring the wifi. 

“Toge, should we have food delivered? Or would you like to cook in the new kitchen?”

Mouthing, he responds, ‘Cook.’

You gasp, delighted he chose so. “Okay! Let me know if I can help you.”

He quickly fiddles with the wifi router before waving at you to come over. You laugh, “I meant I’d help with the cooking, but sure.”

Toge gets up, taking one of your hands in his. He presses something on his phone before reaching for the other.

The expression on his face is playful and sweet as he places your hands behind his neck; your fingertips brush against the ends of his hair. Music starts playing the moment he holds onto your waist. 

It’s strange, nothing has changed about the room. You’re still surrounded by countless unpacked boxes from the move, and yet the apartment has never felt so vibrant. 

Is it the music? The song he played fills the space and bounces back from every corner, breathing life into your new home.

It could also be the way he dances with you, making you feel like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. No other’s company you’d rather have.

Or, it must be all of that and how he looks at you while he mouths, ‘I love you.’ Because you love him too.

A few days later, while out on a date, Toge asks if you’ve seen his charger.

You hum in thought. “Did you leave it at home?”

Amused, he looks at you funny before pointing to your heart. ‘Is it in there, then?’

“I don’t understand.” You admit, waiting for him to elaborate.

‘My home is where your heart is.’

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

taglist: @flowerjun @songsofadelaide-archive @mellozhi @luccaaedd @ihaveanexistentialcrisis @starszns @msmisasoup @appalost @akakaze @isentsworld @hellyyy06 @lownna

[thatlittlered]

time warp | aaron hotchner

warning(s): none, just hotch being delicious

GIF by @katebeckets

part one

author's note: I have never updated a story this fast in my life. Another part is coming tomorrow.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

The door to his office is open, chatter from the bullpen reaching him when you all get too loud. He can tell Morgan is pestering you about something and the others have gathered around to listen.

“You only have one watch?”

“How many watches do other people have? You act like it’s insane.”

Spencer, like always, feels the need to interject, “I have three.”

You sigh, abandoning your pen and notes.

“I have another one but that’s my grandmother’s, I can’t wear it to work.”

Derek is not satisfied with your answer.

“You have a thousand pieces of jewelry.”

“I know!”

“You are wearing most of them right now.”

“I know, Morgan, you can stop bullying me now.” You pout at him and he pouts back, but his grin is indicator enough that he’s not even close to finished with you.

“Where do you even spend your paychecks, sweetheart?”

“Important stuff. Like shoes.”

“I only have one pair of shoes aside of my trainers.”

Emily laughs, “Yeah, we know that, Spence. Their time is coming to an end, by the way.”

Morgan zeroes in on you again, poking a finger into your knee to get a reaction.

“How many pairs of shoes do you have exactly? Fifteen? Twenty?”

“They were twenty… at some point.”

Triumph.

You almost can’t stand his shit-eating grin.

“There you go. Too bad you don’t get to wear them here.”

“Where do you spend yours? A lifetime’s supply of V-necks at GAP?”

You stand up from your chair, eager to get away from this conversation.

“You’re only mean to me because you know I’ll love you anyway.”  

“Maybe.”

He puts his hand over his heart in feign hurt. Garcia mutters something about a woman’s right to shoes in your defense and you kiss her cheek to thank her on your way to the kitchenette. Aaron still watches from his seat and squirms uncomfortably when he sees Morgan follow you.

You take his mug and pour you both some coffee while he takes a seat, thanking you. You don’t even see Hotch come in.

“Did your watch get lost?”

You almost spill your coffee at the baritone of his voice. Everything he says comes out so official, so professional, as if speaking orders, but not at that beach under the sunrise. Who was he then?

“Yes, it did. Totally on its own and not because I keep leaving my stuff in random places and not looking after them properly.”

“Maybe that’s why you spend so much on stuff, if you keep losing them.”

You quirk a brow at Derek, leaning over him menacingly from your position.

“I swear to God, Morgan, this might be the day you officially lose my affection.”

He takes the cup you’ve poured for him from your hand and slowly walks backwards in resignation.

“No, please, I didn’t mean it.”

You smile at each other and you point a finger at him. Hotch watches with a frown.

“Tread lightly.”

When Morgan’s gone, he can finally step closer to you. Getting to the coffee machine is only the excuse.

“You know, you’re really good at keeping him in check. Maybe you should be in charge here.”

You smile into your cup, “That’s alright, we already have a boss and he’s okay.”

“Oh, is he? Good to know, I can’t wait to have that all over my evaluation files next year.”

You nod. The fabric of his suit jacket brushes against your arm while he pours.

“Some might even use the words ‘pretty good’.”

He hums, “So eloquent.”

Your smile deepens, nose wrinkling upwards in a way that now really can’t be hidden in your cup.

-.-.-

It’s almost time for everyone to head home and for once, he’s trying really hard to make it out of the office before sundown; maybe spend some quality time with Jack.

There’s a knock on his door before it opens and he’s about to send whoever it is away but-

“Hi, sorry, am I interrupting?”

He looks up, uncharacteristically disoriented.

“Uh, no-no, come in.”

“Are you coming to Rossi’s tonight?”

He’s dumbfounded.

“I’m not really sure yet, I have some errands to run when I’m done here.”

“Oh, okay… I just found some old Marvel comics and I thought Jack might like to have them, but I didn’t bring them with me. Maybe I could give them to you tonight? That is, if you make it.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do you mind?”

“No, of course not, I just-”, he exhales, “I’ll be there.”

You smile and nod, ready to leave.

“Maybe I could give you a ride and you can give them to me then. I mean,” his thumb scratches his bottom lip uncomfortably, “your place is practically on the way.”

“Have you ever been to my place?”

Aaron laughs awkwardly, “No.”

“But you seem to know what you’re talking about, so I’m going to put my faith in you. Pick me up at seven?”

“That works.”

-.-.-

It’s not even half past six when he rings your doorbell and you open the door still clad in pjs.

“You are so early.”

Hotch suddenly looks so small for such a usually imposing man. He stands in your doorway with nervous hands in his pockets and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him act like this before.

“I’m sorry, I can wait in the car if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay, come in. I think I knew deep down that you would be; just not by this much.”

 He clears his throat and moves inside to now stand awkwardly at the apartment’s entrance, “I’m sorry, I started way too early from my house. Overestimated how long it would take to get here.”

Your interactions do something to warp his sense of time.

“That’s okay, Aaron, really. You’re just going to have to give me a few minutes because I haven’t had the time to get ready yet.”

He watches, frozen in his place, while you walk towards the kitchen.

“Do you need anything? Coffee, orange juice?”

He almost smiles to himself. He just knew you’d be the type of person to always keep the fridge fully stocked even if you’re barely ever home. He likes the confirmation that he knows you, despite his inability to really make conversation and establish familiarity. He grasps at straws; little pieces of you that he sometimes finds and keeps them close to his heart.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

You still bring him a glass of water, freezing cold, just like he likes it, and rest it on the coffee table.

“You can sit, if you want.”

“Right.”

He smiles and sits almost robotically. When he picks up the glass, he softly wipes the ring of water that’s formed underneath with his hand but you don’t see it.

“Let me just grab the box.”

“It’s a whole box?”

“Yeah, I got it at a yard sale.”

“You bought it? You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, now that him and I are officially friends I have to do something to maintain the relationship, seeing how I never actually get to see him.” You sit beside him while he looks through the various issues. There have to be at least fifteen in here.

“Yeah, neither do I,” he really appreciates the comforting hand on his shoulder, “This was very nice of you to do, thank you.”

You smile and nod at him.

“Actually, I also have something I wanted to give you; I just need to get it from the car.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, give me a moment, will you?”

He’s out and back in a second. Practically runs back into your apartment when you open the door; a small gift bag in hand.

“I would have brought in with me, but I chickened out at the last minute.”

His fingers linger when he hands it to you. It’s almost a caress in passing.

“You got me something?”

It’s a digital watch, neatly sat on soft velvet.

Was that the errand he had to run?

“Oh, Hotch, thank you so much, but you really shouldn’t have. I know I joked around today, but I would have actually gotten around to getting one. I am not that financially irresponsible.”

“It’s nothing really, it’s not an expensive watch.”

“Oh, okay, as long as it’s the cheap, trashy stuff. Phew.”

He laughs and you realize you’re both standing in your doorway again.

“I just wanted to do something nice.”

“You’re nice to me all the time.”

His brows furrow, “It doesn’t feel like I am.”

“It must come easy then.”

“It does with you.”

He meets your gaze and you stay there for a while.

“Can you help me try it on?”

“Of course.”

He clasps it high on your wrist, just like he’s seen you wear the previous one. The color matches your jewelry and it’s excruciatingly sweet just how much attention he pays to details.

“I just wanted to thank you, I suppose, for the other day. It meant a lot to me.”

Aaron’s hand doesn’t leave your arm, instead wraps gently around it instead, as if one of your bracelets.

“It meant a lot to me too.”

His breathing is heavy, his voice barely a whisper. What you are doing feels like a secret; like it’s meant to be hidden from the rest of the world.

“I’m not sure you mean that in the same way that I do.”

Your other hand comes to rest on top of his, thumb passing softly over protruding veins and scars. He thinks, for a moment, it might wipe them away.

“Then you’re not the people expert that you think you are.”

His laugh is heartbreaking.

“Guess I’m not very good at that either.”

You hum, “You’re okay.”

Neither of you is moving but it feels like you’re getting closer.

“So eloquent again.”

You can’t help but beam with pride at how comfortable he’s getting with your banter. A whole world unlocked and open for you to see. His body is drawn to you, almost folds over and around you to be closer. As close as he can possibly get without touching you more.

“It’s the worst moment possible now, when you’ve just given me a gift and picked me up from my place, but I think it deserves to be said that I would very much like to be kissed by you.”

His eyes flutter close.

“It really is the worst moment possible,” his hand slides slowly from your wrist to elbow, taking in the feeling of bare skin, “but I would very much like to kiss you.”

“But you won’t.”

His hand stops traveling up your arm, drops back onto your wrist and without really meaning to, pulls you closer.

“No.”

You stay like this for a while. Nothing but soft breathing to be heard in the room.

“I should probably go.”

You look up in surprise, “Are you not coming with me?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” he touches the inside of your palm and traces the lines as if to remember them, “I wouldn't know what to say or do after this.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s alright, I understand… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The loss of his touch is like a sudden drop in the temperature around you. You both feel it.

He doesn’t meet your gaze again, simply gathers the box and clears his throat as if that will magically return him to what he’s used to being.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You see him press his lips together before he turns to leave.

When you get to Rossi’s, the team is disappointed to know he’s not coming after all, but they’re not surprised. JJ asks you about the new watch and you lie. You can tell Emily is not convinced but she doesn’t say anything about it, merely smiles at you and inches closer with her chair.

Aaron spends another night alone. Jack is at a sleepover with a friend that he didn’t have the heart to pick him up from all of the sudden.

That’s the cost of being a stone, he supposes.

part three

[metamatronic]

Champions Resurrected AU / Prelude 1: Mipha

i was gonna post this on AO3 and I still might if I write more, but here’s a brief written retelling/continuation of the Mipha & Sidon reunion comic (warnings: canon typical violence? just in case)

The crackling noise that shook through Zora’s Domain that morning was mistaken for thunder at first. Zoras chatted amongst themselves, puzzled over lightning in a cloudless sky. Even King Dorephan, who had lived long enough to experience nearly every natural oddity that occurred near the Domain, leaned forward on his throne to peer into the vast blue.

“There, Father! Do you see it?” Sidon, always eager to abandon their discussions on politics, pointed toward the falling beam as it cut through the sky. “A falling star during the day. How rare!”

“I doubt it,” Dorephan rumbled. “I’ve seen many falling stars. I’ve never seen one like that. Something is strange about it.”

“Your Majesty, we are under attack!”

Sidon only winced a little at the sharp voice, before straightening up on instinct. He watched his father shoot his advisor an amused look as he rushed in.

“I doubt that as well, Muzu,” Dorephan chuckled. “If so, our enemy’s aim could certainly use some work!”

“Your Majesty!” Muzu cried, wringing his hands. “Please, consider the possibility at least!”

Sidon tuned out the conversation, walking out to the balcony and watching the dazzling light as it descended. Now that he was really looking, it had a faint blue glow to it that seemed to be dimming as it approached the ground. Its movement was strange, bobbing through the air like it was adjusting its course. A Rito, perhaps?

Sidon certainly hoped not as he watched the light plummet behind the rocks and into the Bank of Wishes. He hadn’t met many, but from what he’d heard, the Rito weren’t particularly keen swimmers. His fins itched as thoughts of warbled squawking and the charging of Lizalfo shock arrows plagued his mind.

“I will go investigate,” Sidon said, loudly enough to cut off whatever tirade Muzu had been in the middle of.

“Sire! Surely you’re joking!” Muzu said. “You cannot be so reckless! Ever since you took on Vah Ruta, you’ve been acting as though you are invincible, insisting you handle things yourself. If you keep acting as such—”

“I am very fast and very capable. I will be back if it is anything too dangerous, I assure you!” Sidon said with a grin. He was already stepping backward towards the edge of the balcony. “You have my word.”

“My Lord!” Muzu cried as Sidon winked, before leaping gracefully off the ledge and into the waters below.

By the time Muzu had made his way to the balcony, the only trace of the prince was a slice of red cutting effortlessly through Ruto Lake.

‌▲ ▲‌ ▲

Mipha groaned, opening her eyes and immediately regretting it as she was buffeted by the fierce wind. As she grasped uselessly at her surroundings, every nerve suddenly sparked to life as she realized she was falling. Fast.

Her right fin was pulled open by a gust and she spun with a yelp, being tossed violently through the air. It reminded her of swimming down a waterfall, the dizzying feeling of the current and gravity pulling you relentlessly toward the sharp rocks below.

“Always keep your eyes forward, my dear Mipha,” her father’s voice echoed, pulling her back to her youth when she’d foolishly closed her eyes and nearly missed the lake below. “The most dangerous thing you can do is let your fear steer you.”

Prying her eyes open, she extended her fins and clumsily straightened herself. She felt a wave of nausea hit as the faded blues of distance gave way to the vibrant greens and purples of the earth below. A long leap off a waterfall, she told herself, that’s all this was.

Mipha bit her lip as she took in the surroundings. Even from this height, she could recognize her home, even if the sight brought her little comfort in her current situation. She was positioned over the Zora River now but could feel the wind knocking her around. Even a few feet off target could spell the end, and Mipha was already more acquainted with death than she ever wished to be.

With a shaky breath, she pulled her arms to her sides and flattened her fins, picking up speed until the world blurred. The wind whistling past her was nearly loud enough to hurt but was soon muddled by the familiar sound of rushing water and bubbling air pockets. She opened her fins quickly to slow the pull downward, relenting only when the pull of gravity faded to the gentle current of the river.

When the bubbles finally cleared, Mipha found herself upsetting close to the rocky bottom of Zora River.

She could still feel her heartbeat everywhere, behind her eyes and at the ends of her fins. She fought the tears pricking her eyes, shaking as the adrenaline slowly filtered from her system.

It was only after she’d allowed herself a moment of reprieve that it clicked.

She had a heartbeat. She could see the small bubbles pushing around her as she moved the water around her. She was here, alive.

“How is this…” Mipha stared at her hands, unmistakably solid, and forgave the tremor in her voice. “What happened?”

A warm light had descended into the depths of Vah Ruta. Mipha had known instantly what it was—could feel the warmth of Hylia even through the coldness of her spirit. She briefly said her goodbyes, before capturing the light in her hands and fading away.

In all honesty, Mipha hadn’t been certain what would come after that. But hurtling toward the ground at high speeds had not been it.

“I should…what should I do?” Mipha waded anxiously back and forth beneath the turbulent current. “Should I return to the Domain? Would that cause some sort of issue? Perhaps I should return to Vah Ruta…”

Despite her fondness for her Divine Beast, Mipha couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through her at that. Surely after committing one hundred years to her tomb, the Goddesses would forgive her stalling her return a bit.

“I’m not even sure how much time has passed since Link’s victory over Ganon…” Mipha mumbled quietly. “For all I know, thousands of years have passed. Perhaps I’ve been reincarnated? Though I don’t think one usually reincarnates as an adult. Or with their memories, for that matter.” Even passing fish seemed to eye her warily as she fidgeted in place. She groaned.

“Oh, just make up your mind, Mipha!” she scolded quietly, squishing her face. “Right, then I’ll return to the Domain and ask around. Surely someone will be able to fill in the details.”

With that, Mipha propelled herself upwards into the main current, pivoted around the bend, and smashed headlong into something.

It was large and red, but that was all Mipha could make out past the stars in her eyes. The direct hit to the nose had shocked her system, leaving her nearly blind in the water. Dazed, she pushed upwards until water gave way to cool air. She shook her head, which only served to worsen the ringing in her ears.

Thankful at least that her sight returned, Mipha blinked and almost doubted her newly restored vision. A Zora nearly twice her size was treading water in front of her, rubbing his nose and saying something Mipha couldn’t quite make out.

“…a…logies, I must h… let the cur…nt…rry me too quickly. Are you injured? I can help you back to the Domain if you are. Again, I apologize for…” The large Zora trailed off as he looked down, blinking owlishly at Mipha.

He was familiar in a way that pulled deep at Mipha’s soul. She could see the lines of others—parts of her father, her mother, even some of herself—but it was the way his eyes lit up with an almost childlike hope that solidified what her heart already knew.

“Sidon?” She asked.

Sidon’s face split into a blinding grin.

“Sister!” He swam forward, before jolting to a stop. His eyes snapped behind her, and it was as they widened in horror that Mipha heard the charging of a shock arrow being knocked.

Spinning, Mipha reached for her trident and was met with empty air. Frantic, she launched a weak spray of water at the Lizalfo before being yanked away. She heard the arrow loose, then the sickening thunk as it embedded into skin.

She looked up at Sidon, who was hunched over her protectively. He winced, undoubtedly from the arrow lodged in his shoulder, and turned to the Lizalfo with gritted teeth.

“No!” Mipha cried. She pulled Sidon underwater, doing her best to ignore the pained yelp as she tugged on his injured arm to urge him lower.

“If I hadn’t struck the arrow with water and activated the shock before it hit you, your injury would be much more severe. We must dive deep enough that the shock radius won’t hit us if he fires again.”

“It’s just one Lizalfo, Sister!” Sidon said, but she could hear him hiss a little as he swam. “I promise, I’ve handled much worse!”

“There is never just one Lizalfo, Sidon,” She chided. “This should be deep enough. Let me heal you.”

She swam behind him, frowning at the scars that littered his body. “I need to remove the arrow before I can begin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Sidon says, his smile strained slightly with pain. “It’s not the first time that this has happened.”

“That is what concerns me,” Mipha said quietly. She yanked the arrow out quickly before pressing her hands to the wound, pooling her energy into her palms. “I have no doubt you have defended our domain bravely, Sidon. I’m so incredibly proud of you. I only wish I could have been there to heal you and protect you from harm.”

“Sister…” Sidon said quietly. He moved to turn, but Mipha tutted at him and he stayed still, tilting his head down to stare at the riverbed below.

“It has undoubtedly been difficult since your…since you failed to return from Vah Ruta,” Sidon said. “But your unending kindness and devotion have been a beacon of hope for our whole kingdom. None more than me. You may not have known it, but there was never a moment you weren’t with me.”

He tilted his head to the side, peering over his shoulder as Mipha worked. “If I may ask, Sister, how is it that you’ve managed to return? Not that I’m ungrateful, I assure you! But…”

“In all honesty, I’m not sure myself,” Mipha said, quietly lifting her hands as the last threads of her healing magic settled into Sidon. “One moment I was aboard Vah Ruta, a spirit, finally content to move on knowing the war was won and our people were safe. Then, the next moment, I’m hurtling toward the ground, several thousand feet in the air. I’m at a loss for explanations.”

Sidon spun around quickly, eyes sparkling. “That glowing comet in the sky, that was you? That is amazing! Extraordinary!” He grabbed her hands, smiling wide. “This must be a gift from the Goddess! Payment for your hard work and sacrifice, no doubt! No one would be more deserving than you!”

At that, Mipha paused. “Do you think…The other Champions, would they have also…?”

“Perhaps so,” Sidon said, scratching his chin. “I can’t say I’ve heard anything, but admittedly I don’t keep very informed on foreign affairs. Perhaps someone else in the Domain has heard something? Or…!”

Sidon snapped to attention, smile glowing impossibly brighter. “I’ll send for Link! Surely he’ll know, as well-traveled and sociable as he is, and I have no doubt he will be thrilled to see you again! Perhaps we could even call the engagement back on!”

Mipha sputtered bubbles at Sidon’a grin. “S-Sidon! There is—was never any engagement! Link and I are friends, th-that’s all!”

Sidon frowned, looking thoughtful. “But I was positive the Zora armor was for him. It looked like a perfect fit!”

“Oh, you found that then?” Mipha said, voice pitching up an octave. “That was, erm, well it was a rash decision really. I thought better of it, hence why he never found out about it! So really, there’s no need to tell him it was even made!”

“Ah, so you didn’t end up confessing anything,” Sidon said, nodding. “Your diary entry was unclear, so I wasn’t sure whether the two of you had made proper arrangements or not. Poor Link remembers very little from that time, unfortunately, and even showing him the passage didn’t seem to help.”

“You…You read my diary?” Mipha mumbled in disbelief. She then swayed a little, realization hitting her. “Link read my diary?!”

“Yes?”

“Did…Did anyone else?”

“Father, Muzu, and a very talented Rito bard named Kass.”

Mipha made a noise like a tea kettle and Sidon looked immediately abashed, glancing away. “Er, I do hope that was alright? Father said you likely wouldn’t have minded, and I wanted so desperately to preserve your legacy.”

“Well, then I have a few words for Father,” Mipha huffed. “Reading a girl’s diary, really! How uncouth.”

She swam past him before turning, holding out a hand for Sidon. It felt a little silly now, offering to guide a Zora so much larger than herself. He must be about her age now and had clearly grown into a capable warrior. But in those eyes, Mipha could only see her young brother, still anxious to speak to others or swim too far from her side.

If Sidon took offense to the gesture, he showed no sign of it as he took her hand tightly. But then he let go, swam beside her, withdrew his trident—Mipha almost thought it was her own, but reconsidered when she noticed how large it was—and set it horizontally behind his back. He tilted his head toward it, but Mipha simply stared in confusion.

“I imagine falling from the sky was a harrowing experience, and I cannot begin to think of how taxing being revived from the dead must be,” Sidon clears his throat, eyes drifting to the side. “Allow me to carry you back. It will be easier to dodge enemies if we travel together, and I assure you I am capable. I am one of the fastest swimmers in the Domain, after all!”

Mipha stared at him a moment more before his action clicked into place. She’d done the same things for him when he was young—using her own trident as a handgrip for a much smaller Sidon as they traversed the waterfalls. Muzu had worried endlessly about it, convinced that Sidon would slip or that his grip would falter and he would go coasting off the side of a cliff. But she’d insisted that she trusted Sidon’s strength and courage, and her father had agreed to allow her to continue.

Now, Sidon swam nervously in front of her, offering his trident to her in the same gesture. She felt her heart swell, seeing that even after all these years, he hadn’t forgotten their time together. She smiled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again as she dove behind Sidon. He turned to look, smile faltering for a moment before Mipha set a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Forgive me, Sidon. I was overcome with emotions. I trust you, and thank you for your kindness.” She tightened her hands around the trident, and the feeling of cool Zora steel beneath her hands for the first time in a century sent a chill through her. “I’m ready when you a—re!”

Mipha bit down a yelp as Sidon shot through the water at near-blinding speeds. It took her a moment to adjust, and even the familiar Zora River left her speechless as it whipped by. She now had no doubt her brother was the strongest swimmer she’d ever met—it was as if the water itself was pushing him forward like a jet stream. It was exhilarating, almost like learning to swim all over again, and Mipha couldn’t contain the joyous laughter that pulled its way out of her.

She was here, really here, feeling the water on her scales and the cool metal under her fingers. She could see the fish and plants move as they swam by, could see the trail of bubbles in their wake. When they broke the surface of the water, cutting effortlessly up the falls of the Domain, she gasped, taking in the view.

She was with her beloved brother, in her beloved home, and she was alive.

[kusanagihaku]

help me hold on to you.

⭢ alan x mc, 2.2k

It is a dance of wants and haves, of budgets and portion sizes, of learning to think for two. It feels like you could do this forever. How easy it is, to be with Alan. How easy he is to love.  or: supermarket date! supermarket date! soft and fluffy domestic alan!!! i love him!!!!! ( º ᴖ º ) // also on ao3

You frown. How is it that whoever runs the campus store can bring in three different types of almond milk, but only one brand of oat milk? 

You weigh both cartons in your hands. Maybe you should just get the almond milk. It isn’t even the good type of oat milk too–

“Y/N?” 

You glance up, only to be met with sea green eyes and arms full of flour and sugar bags. “Kaito!” 

Kaito beams back, golden hair washed a pale yellow under the harsh cold of the store lights. He looks slightly different dressed down, almost like he could be a college student elsewhere in a ratty old hoodie and sweatpants. “I’ve tried that brand of almond milk, it freakin’ sucks. Get the blue carton.” 

You can’t help but laugh. With the strange stocking style of the campus store, you can only ever trust comments of the other students and hope not to step on any culinary landmines. You reach to put both cartons you were holding back when Kaito clears his throat. 

“Why are you wearing a Vagastrom hoodie?” 

Ah. 

You flush, biting your lip. It was colder than you expected this morning when Alan left the bed for his morning run, uncurling himself from around you gently in an effort not to wake you up. But you awoke anyway, body leaning towards his residual warmth like it has every day you’ve woken up in his bed, eyes blurring open to Alan’s fond smile. 

I’ll be back soon, he promised, voice low. Go back to sleep. The sleep-rough of his voice left butterflies at the bottom of your stomach, a small dance of adoration and contentment that lasted long after he shut the door. 

But the cold was sharp, and as Alan’s warmth faded from the blankets you found yourself sitting up and leaning off the edge of his bed until your fingers snagged the yellow hoodie draped across the back of his chair. It smelled vaguely of engine grease, as does everything in Vagastrom, but as you pulled it over your head you were surrounded by sandalwood and summer, by sunlight and sea salt, by Alan. 

The brush of comfort was enough to turn your eyelids heavy and your dreams sweet, until you were awakened again by Alan’s touch on the crown of your head. 

“Y/N?” Kaito peers at you, and you jolt a little. 

“Um,” you say, intelligently. “Ah.” 

It’s not as if you were hiding the fact that you were dating Alan per se, but it… had never really come up in conversation? After all, it is a fairly recent development, and Alan isn’t the type to broadcast news about himself to others. The interactions you’ve had with most of the other ghouls involve mostly you running small errands for them anyway, and less so idle chit-chat. Other than the Vagastrom ghouls (Leo had scoffed the first time he walked in on Alan’s thumb brushing your cheekbone and walked back out, while Sho just smirked and hollered something in Leo’s direction about a bet), you don’t think any of the other students know anything about your relationship with the Vagastrom captain. 

But this is Kaito, one of the first people to befriend you in Darkwick, and now that you’re faced with the opportunity and his guileless eyes, you feel kind of ashamed you’ve never told him about it…

“Did you find it?” A gentle weight rests on the top of your head. A warmth blooms at the base of your throat, sweet and golden, and you briefly forget about Kaito as you lean backwards to smile up at Alan. 

“They don’t have the brand I usually get. Should we get almond instead?” 

Alan nods at you to place the carton in his basket. “Sure.” 

“Sho said he wanted us to pick up some bell peppers too–“ 

“Sorry, what the fuck?!” Kaito’s yelp is startling, and you reflexively jerk backwards into the solid harbour of Alan’s arm. “Since WHEN?!” 

You flush. A sheepish apology balances on the tip of your tongue, but Alan beats you to it. The gruff in his voice is evident as he says, “Your business, Frostheim?” 

Kaito’s eyes grow round. A million little emotions (mostly some frantic type of fear, but tinged with betrayal, you note somewhat despondently) flash across his face before your apology tumbles out. “Sorry, Kaito, I meant to tell you and Luca, but I’ve been so busy-“ 

“It’s okay,” Kaito squeaks, and before you can say anything else he disappears up the aisle, bags of flour dropping in his wake. 

Alan frowns. He pulls you slightly closer, fingers resting lightly on the waist of his hoodie, and there is something so unexpectedly tender in the action it makes your heart feel three times too big. Always soft, always warm. Always gentle, with you. 

You half-expect him to say something about Kaito, but he just sighs. 

“Bell peppers are up front,” he says, instead, and you laugh. 

You end up picking more bell peppers than Sho asked for, if only so you can add the extras to the dinners you cook for the week. Alan picks out spring onions and a new box of white miso; you trade it for a box of red (he has an unopened box of white miso hidden behind his giant tub of protein powder; you unearthed it while searching for his black pepper last week) and toss in an extra yellow onion. 

You spend the most time in the meat section, of course – Alan’s meals consist mainly of grilled meat on rice whenever you’re not around. You watch as he frowns his way through cuts of meat, bending over to trade pork shoulder for jowl, and you resist the urge to smooth out the crease between his brows as he looks between both price tags. 

It is a dance of wants and haves, of budgets and portion sizes, of learning to think for two. It feels like you could do this forever. 

How easy it is, to be with him. How easy he is to love. 

He doesn’t believe it, you know. Where you see caution and care in wrinkles of his palms he sees nothing but bloodstains and bruises, like there is nothing in him that deserves to be held. But oh, the way you’re trying to show him–

It is a whole downpour by the time Alan walks you back from Vagastrom. You are both soaked to the bone, your bangs sticking to your forehead and his yellow vest a dark ochre. 

You invite him in to dry off, of course. He can’t possibly make his way back to Vagastrom like this. 

(You also don’t think he can find his way back in the pouring rain, but you don’t say that part out loud.) 

“I’ve got towels upstairs,” you say, instead, and lead him up the stairs to your room. You pray hard that all your laundry is in its basket and you haven’t left anything stupid out. 

You haven’t, much to your relief, and you invite Alan inside after a cursory glance. You shrug off the wet sop of your jacket and dump it on your desk, heading straight to your closet to where you remember sticking the towels after your last laundry run. 

“You can leave your vest on the desk, I’ll hang it above the radiator to dry,” you tell him, and immediately regret it. Stupid. Stupid of you to think your heart can handle the visual of Alan removing any piece of clothing in your vicinity. 

You are weighing how stupid it would sound to retract your statement, when Alan clears his throat. “Your, um. Your toy is on the floor.” 

You twist around to see your white stuffed rabbit lying on the floor next to your bed. Huh. He must have fallen out when you clambered out of bed this morning, rushing to make your 9am class. 

“Oh, you can just set him back on the bed,” you say, before turning to rummage through your closet for towels. You easily locate your spare one with a triumphant ha!, and turn back to hand it to Alan so he can dry off. 

…only to see him kneeling next to your rabbit, fingers outstretched as if to pick him up, but hesitant all the same. You blink. 

Alan senses your stare, and looks up at you, almost embarrassed. “My hands are dirty.” 

You know what he’s talking about – you’ve spent countless hours staring at his fingers as they fill out your forms, watching his hands twist spanners around bolts, dreaming of what his hands would feel like on the bare of your skin. They’re mostly clean (or as clean as he can get with wiping them on spare rags and rinsing them in the sink), but there is always a line of engine grease lingering under his fingernails he can’t quite get out. 

You understand what he’s talking about too – he looked up at you one afternoon, seated on the worn leather sofa in the Vagastrom garage as he tinkered with the hood of a car. You were balancing a calculator on one knee and a form on the other, trying to figure out why the budget request for Leo’s next mission was so high and trying to look like you weren’t staring too much at the muscles in Alan’s forearms. 

Honour student, he sighed. He set down the wrench. Don’t get involved with me.

You looked up, slightly flustered and alarmed at having been caught, but a protest on the tip of your tongue all the same. He caught the look on your face and shook his head. You don’t want to get mixed up in my life.

You didn’t say anything back then, choosing instead to duck your head to hide the burn in your cheeks, but oh, how you wish you did. 

You want him to know how you’ve noticed that his hands and eyes linger longer on you than most, that he takes extra care to clean up whenever you’re around. You want him to know you’ve seen the sidelong glances he’s thrown at you, too, across the garage, and that you’ve seen the red on the tips of his ears after he leans in a bit too close for a bit too long, the peeks he takes whenever he thinks you’re busy fixing something on his phone. 

You want to show him how his fierce has always been used for protecting, how his heart has always been built to lead. How his hands have always been meant to build and fix and hold and never to hurt. 

You want to tell him that you don’t know what pushed him to make the choices he did all those years ago, but you know that he is more than the product of those choices, more than what those circumstances have made him become. That he’s more than the strength behind his knuckles and the decisions that he’s made, how he’s someone an entire house will rally behind and defend to the death. That he deserves to give himself a chance to go for what he wants, for once. 

You shake your head. You hope he understands, this time. “I don’t mind.” 

When he still doesn’t move, you move to kneel next to him, towel wrung between your hands. The wet green of his hair hangs over his eyes, but you can see him watching you all the same, almost as if you are the hunter and he is the prey. 

“I don’t mind,” you say, again. It comes out as a whisper this time, bullets careening into a moment glass-thin. 

His eyes dart up to meet yours, narrowing and wary, but your hands move before he can speak. The brush of your thumb over the rough of his cheek is feather-light, and you will him to understand what you mean when you lean forward to murmur, “That way, I can fall asleep thinking of you.” 

You feel Alan’s breath catch as you brush your lips against the edge of his mouth, and you can almost hear the cogs in his head turning, slowly, as you pull away. Please understand.

And when he turns to you, when he gives in to himself, finally, when he presses his lips against yours in a controlled kind of recklessness and the thirst of a man who hasn’t felt the cool of water for days and doesn’t quite believe that he can, it feels like he does. 

“Do I have breadcrumbs?” Alan turns to you. You blink, pulled back by the anchor of his voice.

“Mm,” you manage, “I don’t think so, but I do. We can swing by the cathedral to pick it up before heading back to yours?” 

Alan hums in agreement, and bends over to retrieve a tray of pork chops from the freezer display. You can’t help it – you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek as he straightens, and laugh when he turns to you, confused and slightly startled, smile tugging on his lips and blush climbing up his ears. 

“Thanks,” you say. For everything. 

Alan looks at you, eyes moss-soft, haloed in the artificial bright of supermarket aisle, then places the tray into his basket. He shifts the basket to his other side so he can grab your hand in his free one. “Let’s go home.” 

Yes, you think, tangling your fingers into his. Let’s. 

[amywritesthings]

Love your fic love, it's the best one I've ever read. Could you do something from Levi pov when he started realising he liked Reader and he felt about that?

first of all, thank you for such lovely words! i'm so happy you like it. second of all, i can certainly write you a levi pov where he had his 'oh shit do i like her?' moment xo

all at once. / levi ackerman x f!reader

word count: 900 warnings: language, levi pov set in the silver underground universe

( read on ao3 here )

Furlan had a funny saying about the people he fell head over heels for.

It happens slowly, he once told Levi.

The two of them were sitting around their newly-bought two-bedroom apartment, comically vacant and egregiously filthy.

With his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, Furlan chose to sink his palms into the dust to tattoo his fingerprints. 

To say he was there.

(I was here. I am here.)

Levi chose a more civilized position — sitting backwards on one of the only two chairs they had in this place, his sleeved forearms folded over each other on its curved back. He peered down at his friend with the utmost curiosity, head hung under a curtain of black fringe.

“The hell’s this question coming from?” Levi grunted as he shifted his shoe on the floor.

Fucking disgusting; he wasn’t going to sleep tonight if the entire apartment ended up being this damn dirty. 

“What do you mean?” Furlan asked. "Which topic?"

“The topic of this,” Levi clarified, “and why you’re so interested in who I may be looking at on the streets."

"What, we can't gossip?"

The way Levi's brow quirked said otherwise. Furlan sighed.

"We're roommates now."

"So?"

"So?"

"I don’t think I asked who you're interested in, Church.”

“No, you didn’t,” Furlan hummed happily with a dopey smile on his face. “But now that we have this place with two whole bedrooms to ourselves, we have the luxury of inviting people over. Think about it: two young and handsome bachelors, ready to take on the—”

“Wait, invite people over?” Levi interrupted, brow rising. “This isn’t a community house. It's headquarters.”

“No, I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah! But like I said, think about it: now that we’re taking names and carving our own legacies down here, I’m sure plenty of people will think we’re great. Maybe we'll even get some kinda group of admirers for our efforts.”

“Doubtful.”

“Aw, c’mon, Levi,” Furlan pouted. “Don’t you like anyone? There’s that one guy with the tattoos over on second street.”

“No.”

“Or the dark-haired girl who always seems to give you a discount on soups.”

“Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Furlan blinked.

The black-haired boy felt his temper — and embarrassment — rising.

“Because I wouldn’t know what the fuck it feels like to like someone like… that.”

Levi grit the truth between his teeth, hating the honesty that came with this ridiculous conversation. 

The Underground City doesn't quite offer anything real. Down here love was transactional. There wasn't room for emotional error.

He saw what it did to his mother.

He saw how it molded whatever the fuck he’d call Kenny.

Bottom line was that feelings weren’t good.

And then there was Furlan, looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Well, when you realize there's something about someone, it's slow,” the ash-blonde boy suggested, nodding with encouragement. “From my understanding, liking a guy, girl, person, whatever — it happens slowly, then all at once.”

“How’s it slow?”

Furlan smiled, knocking his feet side to side against the wooden floorboards.

“Probably because the people you actually like are kinda in the background until they aren’t anymore.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Levi echoed. "You're supposed to be attracted to them first."

"That definitely helps, but that's like... lust or whatever," Furlan challenged. "I'm talking about liking someone. Wanting to hold hands or be with them so you can listen to them talk all the time and never get bored of what they're saying."

Levi scoffed, turning his chin sharply to the right as he considered.

Slow, then all at once.

Except it was never slow.

It would’ve been really fucking helpful if it had been.

You’d been ready to rip his throat open all those years ago.

No one had ever gotten the jump on him the way you had. No one would ever come close.

Maybe watching your fights after Kenny dropped him for reasons unsaid had been the slowest part about this. Watching your sweat-streaked face as you caught your breath in the midst of folding someone double your size like it was nothing. Listening to your voice in the alleyway when you spoke to that witch of a woman. Conjuring up an excuse to talk to you, to see if you even remembered—

It’d been all at once from the very beginning.

Someone as fleeting as a ghost had haunted his once dreamless sleep.

Hell, you still did.

“Sounds like you got someone in mind.”

His gray eyes darted back to Furlan, instantly on the defensive.

The other boy sported a goofy smirk. Levi scowled.

He could tell him.

He could ask if the way his throat closed up whenever he so much as considered uttering her name was a sign that he was head over heels.

That sometimes it wasn’t slow, but as fast as a blow to the damn head.

That sometimes liking a stranger felt more powerful than anything he'd ever known.

“Nah,” Levi lied, surging from his seat to stand at full height. “Only thing I’m interested in is cleaning this piece of shit up. I’m not sleeping on cobwebs tonight, so get up, grab a broom, and help.”

James.

Maybe one day he’d face it; liking someone.

Really, genuinely, devastatingly wanting someone.

But he couldn’t afford it.

(Maybe one day.)

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 9: GOD IS A CIRCLE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Your angels do not react. They only look at you with concern, shielding you from the blazing sun with their wings. They stare as you laugh, doubling over, falling backwards into the green grass. You only remember that you’re alive when they trace the contours of your body with their fingertips.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, high sex, threesome, oral sex, fingering, graphic depictions of violence and blood, recreational drug usage, biblical imagery, angst

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i was barely conscious when i wrote this. sorry bout it

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

August, 2009

Bliss is never eternal. If it was, you’d think the world would stop turning with everyone busy with their greatest indulgences. It’s not like you were much of a hedonist anyway, not even with Satoru’s influence.

You feel intoxicated with him and Suguru, but it’s not enough to keep you from reality. Yaga-sensei proves this the moment the boys are ordained the task of protecting the star plasma vessel—a fourteen-year-old girl with more spirit than you ever had at that age. You admire her spunk, her unwillingness to take shit from either of the boys. It entertains you endlessly.

“How do you deal with them?” she mutters to you. You learn that her name is Riko Amanai. She loves the ocean and has a sweet tooth like Satoru. Her favorite flavor is anything blue.

“I keep them in check.”

“Are you my bodyguard too?”

“Not really,” you laugh. “But I’ll be around.”

Riko likes you. She clings to you more than you anticipate, considering this isn’t your mission, but you understand. She’s vulnerable despite her confidence in her fate as Tengen’s vessel. Talks a big game with blue eyes shining bright, similar to Satoru. 

She pouts at your absence. You think nothing of it, knowing that she’s in good hands between the boys and that caretaker of hers. The bounty on the girl’s head is daunting, but the boys are the strongest, and you watch them evade the enemies easily. 

It’s when they end up in Okinawa that something in your chest feels a bit empty. A bad omen, anxiety pooling in your gut. 

Satoru texts you pictures from the beach—sea creatures from the ocean and the aquarium, selfies with Suguru that are often blurry. He texts you how much he misses you, how much he craves the parts of you that you think may be too intimate to even talk about out loud, let alone through text. Suguru sends you pictures of Riko and Satoru on the beach with the creatures they pick up from the ocean, of sunsets he knows you would enjoy.

You ache for their return. 

satoru: gonna stay for another day jsyk

you: having fun?

satoru: yeaaaa

satoru: tired as fuck though

satoru: but riko likes the beach. thought we could give her one more day

you: you’re sweet

satoru: not as sweet as uuuuuuuuu

satoru: she says hi btw

satoru: shes mad ur not here

you: she likes me more than you

satoru: >:(

you: i’ll see you soon. get some sleep please

satoru: anything for u baby

Something has gone terribly wrong. 

You have no reason to be worried—Satoru is more than capable of handling that assassin, no matter how swift his movements may be. It was whiplash to see a sword go through him, and it was whiplash to see Satoru react like it was a paper cut.

Now, in the Tombs of the Star, you feel a chill run up your spine as you escort Kuroi out. She’s still emotional, wiping tears after her goodbye to Amanai. Trepidation strikes you the same way it did in that forest all those months ago. The air has grown cold, but you can’t sense any other cursed energy but your own.

“Kuroi,” you breathe.

“Yes?” She sniffles, wiping her tears quickly.

“Go on without me,” you say cautiously. “I think I better guard the Tomb just in case. For Geto.”

“Alright. Thank you for being there for them.” Kuroi smiles at you with a warmth you aren’t sure that you deserve.

“I wasn’t the one protecting her.”

“I know, but she admired you a lot. We missed you in Okinawa.”

You pull her into a hug, one that you wish you’d given Riko moments prior. It’s a parting gift. 

When she departs, you’re left alone in a dark hallway. You expect a spirit to jump out — something monstrous, an amalgamation of your nightmares. But this is a sacred place, you suppose. One meant for sacrifices and blessings. You’ve never really believed in blessings. The world is built on too many curses for that.

Something in the air made you want to choke, swallow back bile. Nothing like your old anxiety spells. It’s something else, you’re sure of it. And yet, it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The rustle of fabric. 

He couldn’t go undetected, not completely. Not when your intuition was on overdrive, making you sick with it. Your senses acute. 

“Haven’t seen you before.”

His voice is raspy, the sound of skinned palms on pavement. Deep the way Japanese whiskey burns down and sits in your stomach a little too heavy. There’s a split on the corner of his mouth as if he’d been nicked by a thorn. He smiles at you with lazy, bovine eyes and a snake-like smirk. 

This man is not a figment of your imagination — he’s real as can be as he towers over you, yet there’s not a lick of cursed energy you can feel, even when you’re this close to him. A human.

You think about Satoru and the sword that went through his chest. You look at the sword that the stranger in front of you wields. Within a second, you rush to touch him, but your technique doesn’t activate as soon as you want it, too. He slashes you across the stomach, crimson permeating the torn fabric of your uniform.

“Weak little girl,” he chides. “You’re too pretty to kill, though.”

You gag, nearly vomiting on the ground. 

“You their girlfriend or what? Would’ve thought they were fucking each other, to be honest.”

You shake your head weakly, your vision blurring already. You hear a bark of a laugh. Not even your bared teeth can be taken seriously, not when you’re bleeding out on the ground. He tuts as if he’s scolding you.

“He’ll kill you,” you hiss. The man laughs again. You must be referring to one of your boys. He grins wider when he realizes. 

“Which one? The one with the bangs?” he scoffs. “Because I already killed the Gojo brat, sweetheart.”

You feel your heart drop, sinking like an anchor as the feeling drags your body down with it. You look at him with wide eyes, and the sadistic stare you get back tells you he wants to humiliate you. It would hurt less if he just killed you.

Satoru would never die by the hand of a non-sorcerer. Not a fucking chance. But the notion doesn’t stop the itch behind your nose, your eyes threatening tears. The man crouches, his face looking down at you in mock sympathy, and places a rough palm to your face, swipes your quivering bottom lip. You taste blood.

You clutch his wrist immediately and he raises his hand.

Something metal whips the side of your face, something heavy. Your sight of vision narrows into black.

When you wake, you aren’t sure if you’ve arrived in a nightmare or had just left one.

For one, Satoru is saturated in blood. The scratches on his face are brutal. He looks half feral, half shell-shocked. It’s nothing you’ve seen before.

Despondency paints Suguru’s face into a shadow of himself. There’s something off about their cursed energy.

You don’t want to ask them how the rest of the mission went — you can already tell what the answer might be. If everything went according to plan, there wouldn’t be a blank stare in each of their eyes. If everything was fine, they would return to you like themselves — animated and flirty and teasing. If everything was the way it was meant to be, maybe you wouldn’t have the slight scar of a side wound aching at the side of your gut.

Instead, they’re all business. It’s like they look through you when they speak to you.

“Is Riko…” you trail off.

“She’s dead,” they say.

They deliver the news to you, expressionless. Mirroring each other.

There’s a blankness in Satoru’s eyes. Cold. No one exactly knows how to deal with being killed only to bring yourself back again. The thought of his mangled body surrounded by flyheads makes your stomach churn. 

He had always been god-like, prodigal. After being reborn, he really was a God. Untouchable. You’d think him to be cockier or more cruel, but on the surface, he’s devoid of anything, really. He’s stony-eyed, instead, a little empty behind the face. There’s a spark of something when he sees the large bruise on your cheekbone and the ghost of a slash on your rib.

He won’t say much about the man who killed him. Only that he had no cursed energy and a son. You remember a scar bending with the curve of a mouth and sharp green eyes.

It’s quiet at Jujutsu Tech afterward. Yaga continues classes like he always does, and all of you do your best. There are fewer missions that are being demanded of you. You think it’s because of the failed mission. Despite this, Satoru takes on whatever he can, even volunteering for the tougher ones just so he can let off some steam. Suguru often tags along with him, leaving you alone to sulk.

You don’t think you have any reason to sulk. It’s not like you were killed, anyway.

You feel them both pulling away. You don’t bother to pry — they at least seem to be occupied with each other. They were best friends before you ever got close to either of them. You knew your place. You’d give them space, knowing the gravity of the trauma they’d experienced on the mission, and yet your heart ached all the same. It was a familiar hurt, the same you’d felt in high school about Satoru. It was only peculiar now because those feelings applied to both of them.

But then there are times when Satoru sneaks into your room like he always does. He likes to nip at your shoulder with teeth that feel sharper, meaner. Hand around your throat, the calluses squeezing flesh. He likes to pin you down to the mattress, likes to hear the squeak of the bedframe as he fucks into you mercilessly.

Suguru takes you, too, but not so desperately, not so obviously. He lures you in, instead. You realize that he’s different than Satoru in the way that he has the patience for games. It explains the teasing, the touching. He’ll have you wrapped around his finger just from talking to you, and within the hour, he’ll be fucking into your soaked cunt in the locker rooms after sparring.

You suppose this is the way they both let out their frustrations, how they cope with the trauma of losing Riko. They were tightlipped about her. 

Both of them had changed in ways that were beyond your comprehension.

Satoru gets colder. Similar to the way he was in high school, when he barely acknowledged you. He doesn’t like to look at you for very long, as if the mere fact of his gaze on you would hurt him, hurt you. It was stupid. He didn’t care about your fragility before, so what point was there to care about it now?

Suguru is mostly the same, just quieter. Hell, he’d always been quiet, other than the times he’d fuck you or when you’d be alone with him. His sarcastic streak was weaker. He touched you less.

You can’t stand any of it.

Satoru isn’t meant to be someone so vulnerable. It’s out of character for him. 

You soothe his nightmares when he wakes you up in the middle of the night clutching your waist with nails digging into the skin underneath your shirt. He’s always shaking, always mumbling something nonsensical.

Selfishly, you find that it feels nice to be needed. To be his only form of salvation during these times.

In his waking moments, Satoru is himself again. Belligerently so, with his recklessness. It’s up to you and Suguru to tame him, often. Satoru is almost a different version of himself – familiar and still annoying — but he is much more adamant about his power, nowadays. A God complex in the making.

Satoru gets greedier. He likes to wake you up with his nose nudging your clit, tongue already making a mess of your hole. No amount of pushing his head away with your hand would make him stop, though you blame yourself for indulging.

He likes to tease you for the semblance of control. You suspect that beyond playing with you, he finds solace in Suguru, instead. They aren’t particularly shy about it—sometimes you walk into Satoru’s dorm and find them entangled with one another, clothes off and warm to the touch. They always welcome you into their arms, forcing you in between them. 

You feel like you’re at an arm’s length from them at all times despite this. 

November, 2009

You settle on a routine. It’s less than pleasant, but you’re used to it. Convincing yourself that it’s normal, at least.

Yaga puts you on more solo missions — you’ve improved your technique. The precision of it is tough, always a wildcard given the unpredictability of destruction beneath your fingertips. Regardless, it’s gotten better. It doesn’t traumatize you so much to be a vehicle of decay anymore. You’re numb to it.

It’s odd — you’re carrying the burden of something you didn’t experience. Satoru finds that you are a mirror for Suguru, the same temperament and all. Always leaving the party to smoke cigarettes together. It doesn’t make him pissy necessarily, but it makes him pout. Clingy to the both of you.

“Stop being antisocial,” he whines.

You and Suguru look up at him in question. He had followed you out of the party when you saw Satoru’s hand on the waist of a girl you didn’t recognize. It was nothing, probably, but it wasn’t something you had ever had to deal with. It wasn’t like he could pry anything out of you, anyway.

“We’re not,” you defend, waving a cigarette around. “It’s too hot in there.”

It was true, to be fair. You were too warm in there and the outside air was nice. That, and you figured that Suguru would follow you, and he always wanted to steal you away for kisses.

Satoru had technically intruded on that, interrupting the moment Suguru had pulled away from your mouth. He eyes you wearing Suguru’s jacket and softens.

“You wanna go home, don’t you?” he asks.

“I can stay if you want,” you shrug.

He sighs. “Can you guys at least hang out with me?”

“Needy,” Suguru teases, stomping the butt of his cigarette on the ground and ushering you in between the sliding glass doors, hand on the small of your back. He nips at Satoru’s neck on the way in. 

As if in apology, you don’t leave Satoru’s lap for the rest of the night. You don’t really get to. He even follows you to the bathroom and considers taking you over the counter for the hell of it.

It’s been difficult to touch you, lately.

In late August, the Zen’in outcast had killed him. Satoru had never thought of death as an option that was even possible. It’s why his mind was frenzied in his last moments, panicked as the two of them were surrounded by fly heads. He had not anticipated death, hadn’t anticipated the impact of it, how Suguru would have to return his corpse to Jujutsu Tech. How you would be shedding overflowing tears.

He’d like to think that your face or Suguru’s was in his mind when he took his last breath, but truthfully, he doesn’t remember. His mind was blank.

And when he had risen from the dead and shot a lethal hole through Toji Fushiguro, his mind was blank then, as well. The euphoria had faded. He had fulfilled the ordained role of a boygod, his hands were bloody, and he killed a man who would leave behind a son. He thought of his supposed immortality, his transcendence beyond something human, and then he thought of you.

You were the most human thing about him.

Your warmth, the flush in your cheeks. The way he had taken you back when you were in school, none the wiser about the world of curses. Sometimes he thinks you are one. 

It wasn’t meant to go this far, but he had taken the leap and continued to wade in the pool of it all. He does not think of love when he thinks of his family, but he thinks of love when he sees you and Suguru. Something beating, something alive.

It was why he was constantly tipping the line between overflowing completely and being numb — Satoru was no stranger to his indulgences. You, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Fragile underneath his hands. Sometimes, he didn’t even think it was worth it to keep you in the bear trap he had set for you.

And then Suguru would kiss away your tears when Satoru was too rough, too cold, and he would succumb to his desires again. Instead of being something akin to a god, he often dreamt about being ordinary. 

Maybe if his birth didn’t throw the planet off its kilter, he could truly be good to you instead of wanting to cut you open and live inside of you. Satoru would always be safe in your skin, but he had started to doubt that you would ever be safe in his.

You were the first to know him, he thinks. You had met him as a child and didn’t assume his divinity, rather, you were oblivious to it. Even as a little servant, you refused to kiss his feet. It relieved him. Satoru knew you always meant more to him than a toy, but in his emerging adulthood, he had taken you as a form of escapism and couldn’t cut you off. You had fastened yourself to him like an extra limb unknowingly. 

“I don’t get how you can be so overbearing to her yet so distant at the same time,” Suguru remarks. 

Satoru makes a face, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to,” Satoru says blankly.

“The teasing goes too far. And you get insensitive because you’re a prick, and then you barely text her back when you’re on missions.”

Satoru scoffs, fiddling with the pencil he twirls in his hands. Suguru was right, he supposed. He noticed you were a little hollow, all blank stares. Sleeping in while Satoru did not sleep at all. 

“They’ve gotten harder lately. And it’s not like I’m–”

“Not what?” Suguru snorts. “Her boyfriend?”

Satoru says nothing to this. Instead, he tackles Suguru onto his bed, slides his palms underneath his shirt and up the smooth planes of his abdomen. He sighs, setting his head on Suguru’s chest.

“It’s not like she cares.”

“She does. She loves you.”

Satoru’s face reddens as if what Suguru says isn’t fact. On Satoru’s end, however – his feelings for you were an understatement. Calling it love seemed fruitless. He’d like to be fused with you, never letting you go. Stuck in the bliss of your skin kissing his in the early mornings forever.

“Think something got knocked loose when I died,” Satoru mumbles, his eyes blank.

Suguru looks at him in question, not following.

“I’ll make it up to her.”

January, 2010

“What are you getting Suguru for his birthday?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru shrugs, a blue raspberry lollipop filling up the hollow of his cheek. Tongue matching the blinding saturation of his eyes. “A blowjob?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic! You like watching.”

“I’m serious,” you roll your eyes.

“We’ll take him out,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. Always stupidly attractive, his beauty borderline mythological.

You knew he was lying, knew that he would be away on that Wednesday, that his calendar was always filled a month prior with what the higher-ups needed from him. You thought it was unfair, given that he was still only a second year, though you still knew better. The glaring truth of his strength ever since the failed Star Plasma Vessel mission was conspicuous, a reminder that started to become egregious to you. 

Satoru takes some of your takoyaki in unspoken amusement with you rolling your eyes, passing the tray towards him. He pouts despite the gesture, reaching over to poke you in the cheek.

“That can’t taste good with all the sugar in your mouth.”

“You’d be surprised.”

You fixate on the television. Satoru had gotten lucky recently, convincing Yaga to convert one of the common rooms with the connected bathroom into a dorm for himself. He had the Gojo money to “donate”, and he’d been on his best behavior in the past few months, which was rare. It wasn’t like Yaga really gave a fuck about their boarding situation as long as the missions went smoothly. 

The room was big enough to fulfill that dream of pushing two beds together. A TV set and dingy couch to match. He needed the TV to fall asleep at night, especially if you weren’t there to stroke his hair. It was the only light source beyond a Hello Kitty lava lamp that Suguru had gotten him as a joke gift.

Satoru had recently started an obsession with Godzilla for some reason, forcing you to watch one every few days before bedtime. You were going in order since Christmas – tonight was the one versus Hedorah.

“You never look at me anymore,” he whines.

“What are you talking about?”

You’d rather say something biting, like how it was the other way around. How he’s been shoving your face into the mattress. How you’d come back to your dorm and see Satoru in between Suguru’s legs without much acknowledgment to you until he’d finish. 

“You look at me like I’m a mosquito bite or something. What’s wrong? You don’t think I’m pretty anymore?” he grins, settling his cheek into his palm.

“Not at all. You’re hideous,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. The remark earns you a light kick to your shin under the table.

“Wow. Rude. Personally, I think you’re God-sent.”

“I thought you wanted me to watch this movie,” you mutter, trying not to let him know how much his comment affected you. You always flushed when he said things like that still, and it would always be out of the blue.

“You know I like talking during movies.”

“Right. It’s one of your worst qualities,” you sigh.

The pillows around you are discarded when he suddenly pins you down to the carpet, your face right next to an old ash stain from one of Shoko’s cigarettes. He grins as he parts your mouth with the pad of his thumb, and you’re as obedient as you always are. There’s a ribbon of saliva from his mouth stretching as he takes the lollipop from his tongue to yours. 

It wasn’t difficult to get his dick hard, really. He’d known that ever since he’d seen you sprawled on the grass next to the track field when you were fourteen, the way your chest was heaving and your underwear was just slightly visible underneath your gym shorts when you parted your legs. 

Satoru thinks you’d laugh in his face if he’d told you about all the times he thought about you when you were teenagers despite the fact that he didn’t speak to you at all. He knows that he would deserve it.

It’s funny. He used to resent you then. He knew he could have you if he’d simply tried a bit harder, if he didn’t so abruptly toss you aside in middle school. Even so, you were everywhere for him—in his dreams, in his house against your will like a chained ghost. Back then, he hated that he loved you, hated that you were weak, hated that, at least besides Suguru, nobody knew him except you.

He wonders briefly if he was high on the taste of you or if the candy is laced with something— he wouldn’t be surprised, since Shoko and Suguru were enablers for the two of you even when you tried to be responsible. It didn’t matter anyway. Your body always made him this frenetic.

It’s when his fingers graze the heat of your cunt that Suguru barges in. He blinks at the two of you entangled on the floor and merely laughs.

“You guys just started?”

“Mmmf,” Satoru grunts. His hand’s wrapped around your neck, now, and your eyes are closed. 

Suguru’s musk fills the room. White pine and sugary maple — he’d used Satoru’s deodorant before the mission. There’s still a blood splatter under his cheekbone the color of ripe plums. This was the usual weekend routine. Mindless fucking with a movie in the background. At least one of you would be too exhausted to muster up the energy to go into the city. It was easier to indulge inside, especially when the temperature kept dipping.

Your eyes flutter as Satoru bites your neck down to your collarbone. When you look toward the couch, you see Suguru with a plastic baggie of something you don’t recognize.

“What’s that?”

“Shrooms.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Satoru quips, his hand digging into your hip. 

“There are some freaks in Akihabara,” Suguru shrugs. He eats the mushrooms like they’re crumbs at the bottom of a chip bag. “Got this shit after my mission in a fucking vending machine outside a love hotel. Can you believe it?”

“What, did you get a room there or something?” Satoru snorts. “Whore.”

“Why would I, when I can home to this?” Suguru’s eyes are viper-like, serpentine as he smiles lazily. You’d eat from his palm if he asked you to. In sickness and health—it was stupid. You crawl to him and you do.

Satoru doesn’t take any. He knows full well that psychedelics fuck with his Infinity, that it would only make his insomnia worse. The last time he’d tried acid, he had nightmares for days, seeing green eyes of a hunter. Blood slashed from a blade to his neck. Flyheads swarming.

The drugs make you giddy. Another hour and the room spins in an orderly fashion, the ceiling dancing around in a kaleidoscopic pulse. Suguru had limited your dose, knew you’d freak the fuck out if your self started to disconnect. He’d been there enough times to despise it. Ego death was torture for the introspective kind.

He sucks a hickey into your neck while you’re mindless. It’s amusing how invested you are in this episode of Sailor Moon. Satoru lays his head on your thigh, playing with you lazily. You’re happy enough to take it, grinding against his hand as Suguru distracts you with a kiss. It’s tender and slow, not unusual for him, but with the two of them together, everything is usually frenzied.

He gets you in his lap, the sacrificial lamb you are. Always eager to walk into the predator’s gaping maw on your own accord because of his beautiful eyes. Suguru is no beast, but there’s something twisted about the way he plays with you sometimes.

He likes you to beg for it, but it’s not the taunting way that Satoru does. Suguru will inch his face close enough to yours to smell the artificial sweetness of your breath, then pull your hair when you lean in to kiss him. He’ll touch your thigh under the table, not unlike Satoru, but his fingers will dance around your core in a way that leaves you unable to speak to your fellow peers.

You wonder if they’ve learned their cruelty from each other. But this time, he’s sweet.

It’s the hallucinogen fogging his brain. It makes him like a teenager in love. Open-mouthed, pawing love handles. You’re wearing Satoru’s t-shirt, something monochromatic and stupidly expensive, and Suguru tears it off of you as his mouth waters.

Coughing, Satoru tilts his head, supports it with elbows on the carpet. His temperament is neutral, teasing even, but for some reason, looking at him makes you sober up to some degree of lucidity that’s sensitive to him. The part of you that wants to please him at all times.

You crawl to him and say his name. It’s child-like. The shrooms make your eyes wide, colors innocence onto your face from the bliss. It reminds him of when you were younger—bruised knees and twigs in your hair from tumbling in the forest with him. Something tugs at his chest.

“You tryin’ to seduce me?” Satoru jeers, tongue licking his teeth. His palm on your face is hot.

You smile and nod. His gaze lowers and he snaps the waistband of your sweats against your hip. Hand on your thigh again, taunting your synapses. You think he’ll take you with his usual ferocity, but he steals your breath with a kiss instead. 

The kiss never ends. Maybe they switch in between, but you don’t notice. Your eyes are shut, tight enough to see phosphenes like a galaxy. Blue and purple bleeding into your irises. You feel them pulling you apart, cock filling you up, hands everywhere.

“Fuck,” someone gasps. Something like groveling, desperate hair pulling.

“Inside,” you beg. “Please.”

Satoru watches, mesmerized. The heat of your body, sweat pooling into the divot above your clavicle—it all makes his mouth water, but he stays still on the couch as Suguru pins you to the floor. It’s the most the Six Eyes has felt in months, for some reason, and he hadn’t even taken anything. He half-wishes he could get his hands on something other than you to inject into his veins—maybe then he could learn to be calm or fall asleep at regular times. Anything to stop the odd ache in his chest whenever he looked at you.

He’s never been a man of God. He was God himself. And then he sees you moan out, bliss-wrecked and flooded with light, burning like seraphim. He’d come back to life a thousand times just to see your face. It made him sick.

Satoru kisses you before you knock out on his bed, eyes half-open and dazed. You’re refusing to go to bed, citing euphoria for your desire to run a few laps. Meanwhile, Suguru is asleep on the couch, fucked out and satisfied. 

You’re coaxed into sleep. It’s not hard once you start rambling, shut up only by the feeling of Satoru’s fingers running across your scalp. He lays awake like he often does, talking to the moon. He sighs as you nuzzle into him, your whole body curling towards him to ward off goosebumps. You’re nearly bare considering you didn’t bother to put on clothes after you and Suguru had finished. 

Satoru pulls the blanket over you, sighing. He’d had the leftover beers in the mini-fridge just to feel a buzz, even the taste of German ales made his nose wrinkle. It still wasn’t enough to put his mind at ease. He stares at the stained carpet, then Suguru’s sleeping shadow, then your face. He shuts his eyes.

It’s been months, yet the memories still cage you. It’s like something wraps its hand around your throat in your subconscious. In each dream, you are aching for their return, and they come to you like newly-bloomed flowers.

It feels like you’ve been waiting for them for centuries, your body stuck in the grass with a bruise over your left eye that doesn’t stop aching. You don’t even know how much you’re bleeding until they return to you again, caressing your sides and pulling away at the sight of a wound. 

Your angels are not dead. It’s enough relief for you to keep going, but they still look at you with furrowed brows. Blood spills from your mouth.

“I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.”

Your angels do not react. They only look at you with concern, shielding you from the blazing sun with their wings. They stare as you laugh, doubling over, falling backwards into the green grass. You only remember that you’re alive when they trace the contours of your body with their fingertips.

Despite the pain, the vision is familiar. You’re too distracted by their beauty, how their mere presence is arcadian in itself. You don’t need anything else. You could die here.

Here, between them and their celestial bodies, in the green, green grass. Spider lilies bloom around you like kisses in blessing as the golden evening swallows you up. There’s a sinking feeling—a literal one, of you descending into the ground in a way that feels like a loose feather falling.

Your angels reach for you until they grasp the whole of you and turn you inside out. They pull apart the mess of you, reshaping you, undoing tangles and knots and bending the stem of your being so you can be reborn in their image. They love you enough to do so.

And when you look back at them with love in your eyes, you flinch. They’re eclipsed by something terrible, too far away for you to reach. It’s bloody. It has a voice like skin scraping pavement, full-bodied whiskey.

You stretch your hand out only meet a sweaty palm. When you open your eyes, a pair of blue ones stare back at you.

[akdjsjjw]

If you haven’t read “feels like we only go backwards” by oldpotatoe on ao3

Do I envy you. I wish I could read that thing for the first time again. How did I miss this craze in 2020. This is the best thing I’ve ever read.

Perhaps I will draw something from it bc Oml.

Edit: GUYS WHAT WAS CHAPTER 19 IM CRYING IM DYING IM RIPPING MY HEART OUT.

also how did no one catch the marvel reference at the end.

Edit numero dos: My therapist will be hearing about the events in Chapter 23. WHAT. LIKE. WHAT. LIKE WHAT THE ATCUAL. LIKE.

[defectivevillain]

slashers & thrillers

individual pairings: Reader/Demon Brothers, Barbatos, Diavolo, Simeon, and Solomon

It's horror movie night at the House of Lamentation!

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

word count: 4.2k | ao3 version

this was just my excuse to write horror movie headcanons for the characters. there, i said it.

warnings: blood/violence/gore typical of horror movies; slight angst in Simeon and Diavolo's parts

Asmodeus tends to be more preoccupied with the attractiveness of the actors than the story itself. In fact, he often forgets that you’re watching *horror* movies, as he usually enjoys watching romance films. Sometimes you’ll catch him leaning forward when two characters are in close proximity, only to flinch and fall backwards when the villain evidently appears. 

And, safe to say, showing him the Friday the 13th films is a huge mistake. You had forgotten the sheer amount of nudity and sex in the first movie until Asmodeus was dazedly remarking, “I like this movie.” You shake your head in disbelief. 

It’s rather surprising to learn that he enjoys the gore. You wouldn’t have necessarily seen him as the type, but he’s often leaning closer to the screen when people are being ripped apart. You want to joke that he may be part vampire, but you know that he’s just fascinated with the grotesque. Surprisingly, he even enjoys the films with monsters in them—especially if they’re rather unsightly and have sharp teeth or slime. It’s oddly touching (albeit in a weird way) that he can find beauty in the most unlikely of places.

Beelzebub is just there for the snacks. He doesn’t really care about horror movies one way or another. He’ll often leave to get snacks and never return. One night, you track him down after to ask if he disliked the movie, only for him to blink at you owlishly and go, “What movie?” He’ll see the way your face contorts slightly at his answer and try to remember. “Oh, right! It was good, I was just hungry.” Beelzebub admits. Your lips quirk at the edges. 

“We should just watch it in the kitchen next time,” you respond playfully. Despite the fact that the suggestion is clearly a joke, Beelzebub brightens at the idea. You resist the urge to laugh at his reaction, instead trying to think about how you could keep him in the room longer. “Maybe we need a popcorn machine or something, huh? A spare fridge?”

Beelzebub is practically salivating at the mention of a spare fridge in the room where you watch movies. He nods excitedly, neglecting the food in his hands to reach out and give you a hug. You happily embrace him back, glad that he doesn’t feel left out or guilty for leaving.

Belphegor falls asleep nearly every time. It doesn’t matter how gory or violent the movie is—by the time it’s nearing the end, he’ll be peacefully sleeping. It’s honestly a pretty impressive skill, considering the sheer volume of the movie and the chaos occurring all around him. After all, with all his brothers, you, Diavolo, Simeon, Solomon, and Barbatos, you’re sort of a rowdy group. 

Belphegor usually sits next to you, so you often end up with his head slumped on your shoulder at some point throughout the movie. You can’t find yourself to be bothered by it—he’s a peaceful sleeper and doesn’t make so much as a single sound. His brothers, on the other hand, are rambunctious as ever. They often bicker about whether they should wake Belphie up or not, but you violently shush them and they eventually let it go. 

One time, you’re so engrossed in the movie that you don’t notice Mammon and Satan trying to throw popcorn at Belphie until you’re promptly hit in the face with a kernel. You blink and look over at them, watching as they try and fail to hide your laughter. You then glance over at Belphegor, only to find that he has a few kernels stuck in his hair. Feeling strangely sympathetic, you pick them out and throw them back at Mammon and Satan. 

If there’s a movie Belphegor really enjoys, he’ll make sure to drink some caffeine before watching—so that he doesn’t fall asleep. He will still lean into your shoulder and act as if he’s an unmoving pile of limbs, but he’ll watch with unusually rapt attention. You haven’t quite picked up on the pattern between the movies he likes, but you hope to learn more as time passes.

Levi’s interest really depends on the movie. He enjoys the stories that are fleshed-out and have compelling characters; slasher films without much plot tend to bore and irritate him. If he doesn’t like the movie, he’ll often pull out his gaming console on low brightness and start playing that. Sometimes, if you find a film boring too—which is usually a rarer occurrence—you’ll rest your head on his shoulder and watch him play. Levi will let you, but if he loses or messes up, he’ll often blame it on you. He gets strangely embarrassed in those moments, as if ashamed of letting you see him fail. At that point, you’ll try to lift your head off his shoulder and give him some space, but he’s quick to tug you back and insist you watch him try again. 

If he is watching the movie, Levi is prone to letting out sarcastic and spiteful comments like Mammon—especially when he doesn’t like it. The two of them together are a pretty lethal combination, and they often render a bad film to a complete dumpster fire by the end. 

Truthfully, Levi enjoys psychological thrillers. There are a few of his favorites—and when you watch those, he’s practically shaking at your side as he resists the urge to explain the story, characters, and everything to you. You nudge him on the shoulder, encouraging him to speak. He’ll spend at least ten minutes of the movie whispering the details to you. And when Mammon turns around and hushes you both, you promptly throw the nearest object at him and urge Levi to continue.

Lucifer is a bit difficult to read. You can’t tell if he’s here to watch over his brothers or watch the movie. You suppose it could be both. He’s often tagging along to events like these, even if it seems as if he doesn’t want to be there. 

On the rare occasions that you find yourself near him, you always have a strange urge to make conversation with him. Whether it’s to reassure yourself that he’s not bored out of his mind or to make him more comfortable, you’re not sure. One time, you look pointedly to the main character on-screen, who is making their way through a dark cavern alone. “If you were ever in that situation-” You ask Lucifer, trying to make conversation. 

“I wouldn’t be,” Lucifer responds with almost unfounded confidence.

“But if you ever were-” You try to interject.

“I wouldn’t be.” He says with a prideful finality. 

“You’re just too good for the entire genre, huh?” You huff. Lucifer smiles knowingly and stares at the screen. He almost seems to relax after your small conversation; you swear you see his shoulders slowly lose their previous tension. 

Lucifer is often watching his brothers more than the movie itself. He’s always been the unofficial caretaker—and that role is never more apparent than during nights like these. He’s often anticipating fights before they happen; getting up to fetch things for his brothers when they need them; talking to them when they seem to feel off. You admire how much he cares for his siblings, but you always feel a little guilty. It never seems as if he has the chance to actually enjoy himself. 

At least, that’s what you think. But after one night, he pulls you aside and thanks you for organizing the event. You can’t quite control your thoughts at that moment. “It didn’t seem like you were enjoying yourself.” You immediately freeze and stare at him helplessly. 

Lucifer laughs goodnaturedly. “I appreciate your concern,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “My brothers are enjoying themselves. To see them so carefree… means more to me than you could ever know.”

“Oh,” you respond, feeling slightly foolish and embarrassed now. As if sensing your quickly spiraling thoughts, Lucifer squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. 

“Besides, seeing Mammon’s reaction was worth it.” Lucifer smirks. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” You smile in return. “He was talking such a big game earlier, too… Saying he wouldn’t be scared…” You think back to the way he flailed and screamed at the jump scare, practically hiding behind the couch. 

Lucifer’s hand falls from your shoulder and he pulls out his phone, tapping it a few times before showing you. Upon closer investigation, you find a picture of Mammon and him: with Mammon recoiling backwards in evident fear while Lucifer looks on with a blank expression. 

“That’s incredible,” you laugh. “Send that to me; I want it as my wallpaper.” 

“Will do,” Lucifer hums, clearly amused. He pockets his phone and studies you for a moment. His expression morphs into his typical stoicism, but with a hint of something uncharacteristic. Concern, perhaps? “Get some rest.”

“You too,” you respond. Lucifer nods and departs, leaving you to stand in the hall with a fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Mammon is the type to yell at the characters as if they can hear him. He’s often berating them for their stupid decisions and making sarcastic comments once they encounter the villain. He can be quite the talker, to the point where his brothers are frequently hissing at him to be quiet. Mammon will then cross his arms and pout exaggeratedly, until you tell him that he can just whisper his comments to you. 

He has somewhat dramatic reactions to the movie and its jump scares. Sometimes, you’ll catch him and Mammon will immediately stiffen, muttering something about how he was just acting. It’s never very convincing and he seems to know it, if the flush on his cheeks is anything to go by. 

Mammon enjoys seeing the cruel or vicious characters getting what they deserve. He’ll often be the one cheering when a filthy rich, abusive businessman gets cut in half or a criminal gets their eyes torn out. It’s amusing to see him so passionate, even if his glittering eyes and excited smile seem a bit misplaced. 

He also tends to brag about how he’d survive or fight through a situation the character is going through. Mammon is adamant that he wouldn’t take shit from anyone, ever, and it’s very amusing. He’s often pretending as if he’s in the scene himself, throwing fake punches with exaggerated sound effects. Mammon is a very active movie watcher, ultimately. It’s endearing most of the time, but when a movie is very quiet and requires you to really pay attention… Well, you often have to watch it again at a later date. 

Satan is infuriatingly knowledgeable about the specifics of horror movies: especially the medical practicalities. A needle jabbed into the neck of a person is enough to make him throw his hands up in the air in disbelief; a sacrificial cut to the palm will make him flip a table. “That’s not how it works!” He’ll hiss. 

“It’s fiction, you’re supposed to suspend your disbelief a little,” you try to remind him. This only makes him turn his infuriated attention towards you. 

“Oh, right,” he scoffs. “Because it’s totally smart to go to a hairdresser where someone was just murdered. This is stupid!”

“Satan, shut up!” You hiss, pointedly gesturing at the others, who are very engrossed in the movie. The two of you keep bickering for a while, until Mammon gets pissed and pauses the movie, chewing you both out and ordering you out of the room. (The irony of him telling you both to keep it down is not lost on you.) Satan and you exchange annoyed glances before you’re being pushed out of the room and sentenced to sitting in the hallway like two elementary students being disciplined. 

You adjust your posture and let your head fall back against the wall. “That movie was stupid,” you eventually acquiesce. Satan looks at you in disbelief, clearly not expecting you to concede the point. He was right, though. It made virtually no sense. It was just gore without plot. 

“Yeah,” Satan agrees after a second. “It really was.”

You tap your fingers restlessly against the ground. An awkward silence descends across the space, before you find yourself breaking through it. “Do you think Cat’s Eye is still open?” You ask. Offering to go to Satan’s favorite café seems like a pretty good peace offering. 

Indeed, Satan blinks for a moment, before a grin rises on his face. “It better be open.” He gets to his feet, walking over to you. Satan then offers you a hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. You walk through the halls and head outside to where the car is parked. Satan promises to drive and jumps into the front seat, a devilish smirk on his face. You sit in the passenger’s seat and pretend not to feel nervous… but it only takes moments for the reality of the situation to set in.

“...Lucifer’s going to kill us.” You realize aloud. He hates when you leave unannounced; as the eldest brother, he feels responsible for your safety, too. 

“Yep.” Satan smirks, looking thrilled at the prospect. 

Barbatos is just grateful to be there. It’s hard for him to escape the feeling that he’s just a third wheel… but you went out of your way to extend an invite to him specifically. If the other brothers are surprised by his presence, they don’t show it. Diavolo just raises his eyebrows at him, which Barbatos pretends not to notice. 

As for the movie itself… Even without his powers, Barbatos is usually able to intuit what will happen. He tends to keep his suspicions to himself, but one time he mutters something under his breath and a few of the brothers hear. Since then, they seem excited to test his theories. 

He doesn’t react to jump scares. At all. Even if he’ll truly be scared or frightened by something, Barbatos will remain stock-still with an unaffected expression on his face. When the brothers notice this, they soon take to attempting to scare him outside of movie nights. Unsurprisingly, their efforts never work. No matter how many times Mammon pops out from behind a corner or Asmodeus appears out of thin air, Barbatos is never affected.

“They’re never going to scare you, huh?” You ask him one time, after Mammon jumped out from behind a door and screamed loudly at him. Admittedly, it scared the shit out of you—but it didn’t even phase Barbatos. Mammon had departed after that, clearly conflicted between feeling proud of scaring you and disappointed for not scaring the demon. 

“I don’t think so,” Barbatos responds, a hint of amusement gracing his features. “But it’s fun to see them try.”

“Wow, that’s brutal,” you remark, unable to suppress your laughter. “It is funny to see them fail, though.” Barbatos is silent all of a sudden. You feel your lips rising into a smile. “What, now you’re going to deny it? Come on, it’s fun to mess with them.”

He’s still quiet. You feel strangely determined to break through his professionalism, to get a glimpse of the real Barbatos. “You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone. Hell, I live with them—if anyone gets it, it’s me.” You try to persuade him. 

Barbatos averts his eyes for a moment, as if making eye contact with you is growing to be too much for him. “Very well,” he acquiesces. “It is… amusing to mess with them.”

“There you go,” you smile, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You feel strangely proud of yourself for getting him to say it. 

Barbatos shakes his head in disbelief, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. “You are insufferable.”

Diavolo really enjoys himself at these movie nights. It’s not often that he can sneak away from his work—and few people treat him as a normal person. This movie night is refreshingly mundane. Here, he doesn’t have to be Lord Diavolo. He can just be Diavolo.  

He likes the movies too. Truthfully, he didn’t have much of a childhood: this is the first time he’s ever watched a movie. Diavolo doesn’t want to make that big of a deal about it, and he tells Lucifer as much as they’re talking in lowered voices. But then you whip around, somehow hearing him, and stare at him in disbelief. 

“You’ve never watched a movie?” You ask quietly from over the back of the couch. Fortunately, in the chaos of having all the brothers in the same room, the remark goes unheard. 

Diavolo stares at you for a moment, before looking to Lucifer for assistance. But Lucifer is just watching the exchange between the two of you, clearly unsurprised by your persistence. Diavolo rolls his eyes, before turning his attention towards you. “That’s correct.”

You stare at him for several seconds, studying his face. Lucifer is still sitting there, clearly sensing the tension but not making any move to diffuse it. It’s almost as if he’s amused by Diavolo’s suddenly precarious situation. Before Diavolo can muse on that thought any longer, Mammon and Satan are fighting—leaving Lucifer to walk off and break them up. 

“You’ve really never watched a movie?” You ask again, as if you genuinely can’t believe it.

“That’s what I said.” You can sense that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but you do get up from your seat and move to sit next to him. Diavolo chances a sidelong glance at you, confused. “What are you doing?” He eventually asks. 

“Sitting next to you,” you answer, as if the answer is obvious. “This is your first movie, I want to see how you like it.”

“Okay,” Diavolo frowns. 

“You don’t really seem like the horror type, but who knows?” You mutter to yourself, just barely loud enough for him to hear. Diavolo arches a brow and stares at you, expecting you to retract the remark. You just stare back at him unflinchingly, and he’s reminded of one of the many reasons why he likes you so much. You aren’t afraid of him. You treat him as if he’s a regular person. “You can pick the movie next time.” You offer. “Even if it’s not horror.”

“Thanks.” Diavolo says, not quite sure how to feel about what’s happening. On the one hand, you’re sitting next to him and conversing with him as a friend would. On the other, he can see you occasionally looking at him from the corner of your eye—as if seeing him in a new light. Somehow, Diavolo gets the feeling that you’ve intuited what his childhood was like. And that’s something he’s hidden from everyone in the room, save for Barbatos. 

Diavolo can’t shake the instinctual dread that’s assaulting his chest, as he imagines you worming your way into his heart and prying all of his secrets out of him. He’s seen the way you’ve interacted with the brothers—how you’ve grown closer with each and every one of them, despite their unwillingness. He knows it will likely only be a matter of time before you’re becoming a staple figure in his life, too. While before, he would’ve jumped at the chance to get to know you better, he finds himself in a strange balancing act. Diavolo can’t lie to you—he promised himself never to lie to others—but, at the same time, he can’t deny the appeal of closing off and remaining the elusive Headmaster. By all means, he should be nothing more than an acquaintance to you. Yet, here you are, sitting next to him during movie night and looking at him as if you’re actually worried for him, the future ruler of the Devildom. 

Diavolo doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. He doesn’t know how to feel about you. You’re igniting feelings within him that he had sworn off of. 

You must sense his racing thoughts, because you lean over to whisper to him. “You don’t have to talk about it,” you reassure him. He can feel the body heat practically radiating off of you. Humans are strange. “Just know that I’m here. If you ever need someone to listen.” You say, before leaning back and enforcing the distance between the two of you once more. 

Feeling strangely appreciative, Diavolo nods silently—pushing past the unfamiliar burning feeling in the back of his throat.

Simeon hates horror movies. He’s troubled by the violence and gore. You don’t realize this until it’s a bit too late—until he’s leaving the room with a flimsy excuse and not returning. After a few minutes, you decide to go looking for him. You eventually find him standing on one of the balconies outside, staring off into the distance. His shoulders are drawn tight and he looks tense. 

“Hey, are you alright?” You ask him as you approach. He almost flinches, before glancing back to find you and relaxing.

“Of course,” he responds deceptively. Simeon is rather adept at keeping his composure, but you’ve grown to know him better and are able to understand what he’s thinking. You frown and chance a sidelong glance at him, noticing the firm draw to his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you hear yourself say. Your chest feels tight and you feel terribly guilty for not having the forethought to consider how violence and gore would distress him. 

“For what?” Simeon asks, his brows furrowing as he continues staring ahead. 

“I should’ve figured you wouldn’t like horror movies,” you frown. “Being an angel and all.”

Simeon just takes a shuddering breath. He’s shaking slightly, you realize. Concerned, you reach out and place a hand on his—which is gripping the railing of the balcony with an unnecessary amount of force. With your support, he slowly loosens his grip. You’re sure he must have bolts of pain sliding up and down his fingers, but he doesn’t show any sign of feeling it. 

You squeeze his hand for a moment, feeling helpless. For a moment, Simeon doesn’t respond verbally; then, he extends his arms and hugs you. You’re quick to reciprocate, secretly surprised that he’s initiating the contact.  “I’m sorry.” You murmur again. 

“You apologize a lot,” he chokes out. 

“Says the angel,” you huff in amusement. You pull back for a moment, worried by the uncharacteristic tone of his voice. To your surprise, there are tears falling down his cheeks. You swallow past your remorse and take a slow breath, bringing your hands up to cradle his face and wiping his tears away with your thumbs.

“You should get back,” Simeon says, a note of something unreadable in his voice. “The brothers will be worried.”

“They can be worried.” You say with an amused smile. They’re not the ones who need you right now. “They’ll survive.” 

“Doubtful,” Simeon responds, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He’s grateful you stayed.

Solomon isn’t the biggest fan of horror movies in particular, but he enjoys spending time with you—especially doing “human” activities. It’s refreshing to do ordinary things—to maintain an air of normalcy, even when surrounded by demons and angels. It helps calm him down from the day’s events, from the pressure he sometimes threatens to buckle under. 

As it turns out, the Devildom’s horror movies are kind of bad. The two of you have to convince Lucifer—and later Diavolo—to let you snag some classics from the human world. This is how Solomon and you find yourselves standing in the middle of a superstore, sifting through a bin of clearance DVDs. 

“Will these even work with Devildom tech?” You realize aloud. You make sure to keep your voice down so any other humans don’t hear you. Solomon stares at you for a moment. 

“That’s a good question,” he huffs. “I guess we’ll find out.” 

You shrug and continue sorting through the seemingly endless pile of DVDs. The majority of the movies are rather old, but you glimpse Halloween out of the corner of your eye and immediately grab it excitedly. 

“What’d you find?” Solomon asks, evidently sensing your growing anticipation. 

“Halloween!” You respond. 

He looks down at the DVD in your hand and frowns. “Never heard of it,” he hums. 

“What?” You choke out. “You haven’t heard of it? It’s one of the most iconic horror movies of all time.” Solomon just shakes his head. You find yourself shaking your head in return, although your head shake is born out of disappointment. “I thought you were a human,” you say sarcastically. 

“Okay, low blow,” Solomon responds, clearly amused. “And, what, I’m not a human unless I know every movie ever made?”

“No, of course not!” You roll your eyes. “But Halloween? Seriously? Next you’re going to say you’ve never heard of Silence of the Lambs.” He doesn’t respond. “For real? How? Don’t you like The Quietude of the Black Lambs? It’s pretty much a plagiarized version!” 

Solomon throws his hands up in mock-surrender. “Okay, okay,” he says, attempting to calm you down. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal for you.”

“It’s a huge deal,” you respond exaggeratedly. “We’ll have to fix this immediately. With a full night movie marathon, when we get back.”

Solomon just sighs. It appears you’ve adopted the brothers’ stubbornness.

thanks for reading! <3

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friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[thats-rough-buddy04]

I can express the joy of seeing the notification of "feels like we only go backwards" by oldpotatoe, telling me that it was updated.

It snuck up on me and I know I'll be staying up late to read.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

hiii this is the anon that requested part two and i return begging for part three of tennis! zoro.

ahem.

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

thanks for coming to my tedtalk! :)

in all seriousness though i would love to see a part 3 and definitely think you should have an ao3 to post longer content!! please keep up your lovely writing 💋💋 (MAKE ZORO REALLY WORK FOR IT HEHEHEHE [i was sobbing over how cute his little offerings were AND FALLING ASLEEP AT THE DOOR i cant])

UR THE ONLY ONE KEEPING ME GOING GIRLY 🎀😞. SO GLADDD YOU LIKED THAT ONE, HERE HAVE THIS ONE NOWWW. ILL MAKE ZORO EXTRAA PATHETIC FOR YOU MWUAH😚

bitchimasnake-sss presents: the one piece AUs

03. AITA for going back to my ex? ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: part 03 [FINAL PART] to my badminton player!zoro au lol. you can find the first two parts here! (i recommend you read those first!) getting your heart broken when you were seventeen was inevitable, getting it broken on camera seven years later was also inevitable, it seems. but letting your ex back into your life with the glittering promises of "i'll win you back in a month?" was getting your heart broken again and again and again also inevitable? most importantly: was roronoa zoro worth your sanity? warnings: dumb people, even dumber plot by me! includes angst towards the end, zoro is an idiot trying his best to win you over! cameos by nami, sanji, perona and mihawk because i love writing them tysm. and obviously smut (hehe u nasty). nsfw thoughts include: feral!zoro. this man is nasty, he likes blood, sweat and tears. a lot of overstimulation, a little bit of bimbofication, hints of dub!con, car-sex, penetration, teasing, dirty talk, a little bit of feral!zor. OKAY THAT'S IT!! MINORS DNI OR I WILL HUNT YOU! wc: 10.6k m.list

17th of october 11:43 p.m.

"really?" and you could hear sanji drop his precious cigarette onto the ground in pure, unaltered shock, "are you toying with me right now, love?"

"no." you replied firmly, nimble fingers getting caught against familiar, green locks as roronoa zoro pressed honeyed lips to your stomach. he trailed downwards, uncaring as your manager spluttered on the speaker.

"you are actually dating that green-haired freak?" from his tone alone, you could imagine sanji to look wide-eyed and tongue-tied. meeting the eyes of the said “green haired freak”, you found a sour expression plastered to his handsome features.

"no... well, not yet.” you swiped your fingers against his scalp, manicured fingers softly scratching the frown on his face away, “we're on a one-month trial phase."

"are you and him a netflix subscription, mon amore? what do you mean one month?" the blonde hissed. but you were far too gone, too warped within the feeling of the athlete’s soft kisses on your hiked-up thighs to even offer a hairsbreadth of attention to your critic.

"well–" as the sportsman hands trailed over your thighs all-too-intimately, you found yourself sighing blissfully, "he said he wants a month to win me back.”

“that is insane.”

“maybe. but his time starts today, so, we have until 17th of november to come to some sort of conclusion." zoro didn’t dare still against your soft skin. kneading the fat of your hips, pressing hot kisses to thighs and nipping at fading bruises to renew them. but you tightened your grip on his locks, tipping his head backwards as you pulled on them. glaring at him, you breathed out a warning, “either he cleans his act up, or i leave him in the dust."

but who was roronoa zoro if not the man made to get on your nerves?

his mouth fell agape as his eyes met yours, and a soft moan tumbling past him at the sharp sting of your pull. that wayward moan soon turned into a grunt as the sportsman toyed with the band of your shorts.

“stop that.” you whispered, eyes growing wide as the blonde on the other end of the speaker continued his distressed rants.

"and what do i do about it?!" for the first time in the five years vinsmoke sanji had been your manager, you heard his voice shake in panic, "you two just broke up! in front of the cameras! like a week ago!"

"it's fine, sanji. people get together all the time—"

"—not if they're olympic level athletes!"  

"hey, you have no idea how much shit goes down in the olympic village." you shrugged, "last time 160k condoms were given out, and people flew threw them like it was nothing. there’s lots of crying. and fucking too, actually. sometimes both, now that i think about it."

“rabid monsters.”

“don’t be jealous. athletes just have a lot of stamina.” while you were busy rolling your eyes at the blonde and his dramatic antics, zoro climbed back up over you. a smirk on his lips, flashing you his canines, and mouthing “really? stamina?”

clad in a fitted, black tank top, your eyes drifted down to his arms and chest. shamelessly staring at the muscles flexing and unflexing under the flimsy material, you brought your free hand to run wild against his bicep. finding his index under your jaw, he tilted your face up to meet his eyes again. you smiled up at him without much thought and his heart stuttered out in the rhythm of his shallow breaths. fuck you for being so pretty.

before you could nod and ask what he wanted, he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips. next, he sunk his face in the crook of your neck. you felt the nip of his sharp canines against your sensitive pulse. but that sly bastard. all of that was to distract you from the way he dipped his hand under your shorts and pulled your panties aside.

“zo–“ you started slowly, but it was all in vain. the man above you was on a mission. and that mission was apparently to get your own manager to report you as a sex offender or something?! atleast that’s what it felt like from the way he rubbed his thumb against your sensitive clit. 

“either ways.” your manager huffed, ignoring the way your breath hitched at the new bruises against your neck and the stuttering swipes of his thumb against your folds, “this is still insane.”

"weren’t–” you gulped, trying to keep your voice steady, “you were the one saying that my job is to playand yours’ to take care of such things, so, do that.”

“and i can! i can fix it.” you heard a thud ring through the speaker and imagined that the blonde had fallen back onto his back helplessly, “but i need time to fix this. gotta talk to nami-san, and then i will need to fix the narrative using the media. i need time.”  

barely raising his lips off of your narcotic skin – with a flushed face and husky voice – zoro replied coolly, “don’t worry, nami’s on our side with this one.”

“HUH?! WHO WAS THAT?”

pinching the taut skin of the athlete’s bicep as a warning to stay shut, your tone stayed sickly sweet, “who? ‘twas the wind, sanji.”

“don’t try to sway me with your use of ‘twas.” he hissed like a wet cat, “is that mosshead here right now? is he in your room right now?!”

“and if you’re worried about the paps, roronoa will buy them out, you know?” as if to protest against your suggestion, zoro flicked his thumb faster against your swollen nub. you glared at him. “a-and if you’re worried someone will see us, they won’t. we won’t go public with it.”

“none of those suave answers.” sanji firmly stated, “answer what I asked first. is he there right now?”

you whistled a soft, “dunno what you’re talking about…” before drawing your phone away from your face, “because that’s blasphemous!!” purposefully covering the speaker with your palm, “hey, hey? sanji- hello? can’t hear… hear you right now. hello?”

you heard a muffled, “DON’T YOU DARE PULL THAT ON ME OR SO GOD HELP ME–“

“still can’t hear you.” your thumb hovered over the red button, “g’night, sanji!”

beep.

“i’m paying for the paps?”

trying to push his weight off of your relatively smaller frame, you huffed out, “c-can’t you stay shut when i ask you to, roronoa?”

in retaliation, he pressed more of his body weight onto you. snuggling his face into your crook and inhaling your scent like a man crazed, his fingers kept toying against you like it was as easy as breathing.

you tried to push him off again, gritting out, “do you think a good dick is enough of a reason to come back? cause it is not.”

“it is one of the reasons, is it not?”

“no. is it not.” you repeated, “shut it, and find a new strategy or something.”

“fine, tsk.” and with that the sportsman got off of you. pulling his hand out of your flimsy shorts, leaving behind your aching body as he got up. standing at the door, he looked back just to delve his long fingers past his lips to suck down on your essence. smiling as he pulled out, he made his conclusion in one, swift word, “sweet.”

and you just threw a pillow at him, face flaming up at the way he just simply caught the pillow and threw it right back at you, “fuck off, roronoa.”

“hm?” he cocked his eyebrow, careful hands still not attempting to open the door and leave, “I’ll just head back to my room, then.”

you found yourself crossing your arms over your chest, half to give him attitude and other half to soothe the skin that had been alit with his body over yours, “go, then. you’re the one who wandered in my room with unholy intentions.”

somebody could mistake his as the reincarnation of the devil with the way he was grinning. all unholy thoughts and malicious actions, “you’re the one still laying, waiting for me to do something.”

at his (correct) accusations, you sat up haughtily. adjusting the tank top and pulling it upwards, you found yourself glaring at the towering man for the nth time, “you’re insufferable. is this how you’re gonna win me back?”

“hey,” he shrugged, broad shoulders moving up and down with delicate ease, “worked the first time, didn’t it?”

“i was seventeen.” your eyes narrowed, “and you used to be way more handsome back then. it won’t work this time around.”

he hummed again, and within his cocky tone you could anticipate he had something to nag you with, “so i was handsome to you? that’s adorable.”

“fucking insufferable.”

“but handsome nonetheless?” and you almost threw your phone at his pretty face when he just grinned and exited the room. actually, no. you almost threw your phone when you realized that you were blushing, and fighting off a smile as he left your room.

what was this man doing to you?! ──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

19th of october, 7:58 p.m.

🍓attempt 01: no limits.

“okay, and i have no limits?” you asked again, just to ensure that you heard him right.

“yes, you do not.”

“and you’re not gonna sue me for using your money?”

“no, i will not. i don’t think i can legally.” he sighed, “do you wanna do it or not?”

“i do, but…” zoro's heavy voice kissed your ears, cutting you off, "then, stop whining. no buts, no ifs.”

“is this really how you’re gonna win me over?” mumbling, your lips fell into an easy pout, “feels more like bribery.”  

“nami said the quickest way to a woman's heart is shopping. or just cold, hard cash, really. but i figured this was more romantic." tilting his face downwards, his voice dropped down to a whisper, “does it feel romantic yet?”

goddamn that freak!

your skin erupted into a violent goosebump as you felt his words against your soft skin. your face heated up as your fingers stilled against the keypad of your laptop, the home page of your favorite shopping site pulled up and resting neatly. ready to do some damage on his wallet. well, honestly, what damage? he was a well-paid nepo baby who had a personal gym and court in his house. this would probably barely feel like a pinch to him.

“again, i ask for your consent.” you asked anyways, trying to remind yourself to be a business-savvy woman who had only come to absolutely wreck his wallet. zoro declared monotonously, “i give it with full consciousness. jesus, woman.”

“okay then, no taksies backsies.” you cleared your throat in anticipation. stretching your fingers slowly as they hovered over the keyboard. his arms wrapped around your middle and you fell against his chest with a soft thud, “start already.”

“what’s even the reason for this?”

“your manager said we can’t go out, like in public. and blondie hates me enough as it is right now. so, i didn’t wanna risk taking you shopping outside.” roronoa zoro found himself revelling in your dishevelled demeanour. voice honeyed, he rasped out, “what’s wrong with my room, though? nice ‘n comfy, isn’t it?”

“I meant what is the reason for me to sit on your fucking lap?”

“oh that?” he was laying in his bed, with you atop him and your laptop atop you. you grumbled on, “and is it necessary to do this in your room? the living room is a perfectly perfect place to shop online.”  

“you want me to get handsy in front of my father? that’s too much. the old man would probably die if he saw me like that.” he hummed, “not sure he’s ever even done anything. you know, given both me and ‘rona are adopted.”

you glared back at him at the shit he spewed but then your eyes widened as realization sunk in, “holy shit is he a forty year old... virgin?”

“dunno.”

“but he’s like emo, and vampirish. there’s no way he didn’t get some during the twilight era.”

“he was also the world champion at that time,” zoro reminisced, “he must have gotten girls.”

a laugh escaped you by, “zoro.” you stressed, “you’re the world champion right now. and the tally of girls you get is at a great zero.”

zoro mulled over your words before slowly shifting his pelvis so that you fell back at him unexpectedly, “not zero. got a girl on my lap right now.”

his laugh echoed yours as he held you tighter, and you tried to wriggle free, “jus’ cause you’re paying. no other reason.”

“how does it feel to lie to yourself?” he asked with mock grievance in his tone, and you tried to elbow his side to break free, “die.”

“kill me yourself, coward.”

“i will.” you admitted, still laughing as he decided to somehow tighten his grip even more firmly, “don’t. you’d look horrible in orange.”

“how dare you, roronoa zoro.” your palm struck his forearm playfully, “do not talk about my fashion choices when you shower once a week.” 

“nobody had a problem with it thus far,” he answered back easily, “but if you have a problem, i suppose i could shower semi-regularly.”

“semi-regularly?” you almost coughed up a hairball, “jesus christ, i don’t think i would able to fuck you ever again.”

“liar.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

22nd of October, 7:43 a.m.

🍓attempt 02: the way to the heart is through the stomach (i think??)

“roronoa.”

“father.”

“what are you doing in my kitchen right now?” the man raised a careful eyebrow, staring at his dishevelled son who he had caught not a minute earlier bickering with a red-head on his phone.

“cooking,” zoro deadpanned, “i'm trying to make waffles.”

his fathers hawk-like gaze swept over the kitchen. flour sprinkled over counter-tops, some on his cheek, a batter that looked more radioactive that the what remained of Chernobyl. the older man drawled on, “and i presume you know how to cook?”

“no. she's helping.” he flashed his father his phone-screen and the familiar, scorned woman who was on video-call. when she caught sight of mihawk, she smiled, “sir mihawk, how are you?”

“just passing by. come by for dinner someday, nami.” the man deadpanned and the manager laughed, “of course. how can I refuse?”

now his hawk-like stare was trained on zoro, who stared back at his father as if they were sworn enemies on court, “what is it, now?”

“is it for her?”

“who else?”

 “don’t burn my house down.”

“understood.”

and with that brief conversation, mihawk disappeared back into the mazes of his house, and zoro went back to bickering with the red-head.

“you add milk.” she emphasized, clicking her manicured nails together as she tried to guide an idiot to build the equivalent of rome, “do you not know what milk is?”

“i have enough calcium in my bones and I will not fall for scams like milk or medical insurance.”

“what?” she spluttered, “y-you don’t have insurance?!”

“when am I ever gonna need it, woman?”

“oh my god. you don’t have insurance!” and the last thing zoro saw the manager do was flip him off as she ran to some place elsewhere. possibly to get him some sort of medical insurance that he totally didn’t need. beep.

zoro’s fingers hovered over his contact list, the next stop being perona neesan 💗👻 .

“'rona.” zoro grumbled as he caught the face of perona on the other side. huge sunglasses were perched on her nose, a silky bandana flowing from her coloured hair, “awh, you remember me, zoro. finally.”

“quit that,” he mumbled helplessly before turning the back camera, “i need your help.”

“you’re committing arson at dad’s place?” she raised her sunnies so as to see the kitchen better. flour everywhere, and whatever the fuck was in that batter. kissing her teeth, she admitted, “i mean i don’t endorse violence… but that kitchen could use a makeover.”

“no. jesus, perona.” he turned to camera around to his face, “i– uh, i need to make waffles. an’ i don’t know shit. can you help or what?”

“huh?” her bug-like eyes widened impossibly wider, “yeah, obviously i can. but why are you cooking? is dad dying? and is his last wish to eat burnt waffles?”

“haha, funny.”

“wasn’t being funny. you have like... two left hands.”

“just to remind you, i’m ambidextrous.” zoro replied, poker-faced, and perona pouted, “who are you making them for, then?”

“myself.”

“liar.” narrowing her eyes, she probed further, “is it your ex? oh my god. are you guys actually together?”

“what?” zoro narrowed his eyes in return, “fuck off, ‘m not asking you for help.” he sighed, “where did you even hear about that?”

“it’s her?!” the goth girl squealed, “and you didn’t tell me?! I thought it was regular PR stuff that nami dragged you into. but she’s back? i remember how you sobbed when–”

“bye, 'rona. don’t call me back.” beep.

roronoa zoro had barely breathed when his elder sister called back. he picked it up with a groan, “what? I’m not answering your stupid questions.”

“okay fine.” she huffed, “’m not gonna ask you about your pathetic, little crush right now. keyword: right now.”

“perona.” he tried to threaten but the woman just leaned forward till her face was all zoro could see, “show me some respect, i’m older than you.”

“sorry.” the green-haired mumbled and his sister nodded in self-satisfaction, “and as far as waffles as concerned, don’t cook. you’d burn the house down. just order them in and say you made them.”

“isn’t that like, practically lying?”

“it is, yes.”  

“and aren’t you gonna tell me how it’s morally wrong to do that?”

“it’s a fucking waffle, zoro. not the olympics.” she finally pulled the sunnies back to her face and carefully perched them on her nose again, “nobody cares about cheating. just win her over, and thank me later.”

“you’re a bad influence, you know that?” a small smile cracked across his face, “oh, by the way–” the sportsman quirked an eyebrow, “do you have health insurance?”  

“i mean, who doesn’t?”

“me.”

“what?”

“nothing. thanks, i appreciate it.” the goth girl eyes widened all over again and zoro cut the call before her concerns could reach him.

8:55 a.m.

“you know what’s insane?” you mumbled through a mouthful, “i can swear that joanna’s bakery down the street makes these exact waffles.”

“do they?” zoro leaned forward, pouring more syrup to distract you, “that’s wild.”

“it is.” you nodded before taking another mouthful, “you know what else is insane?”

“how much of a good cook i am?” he tried, before having a bite himself.

“no.” you smiled at the way he gulped down the sweet breakfast up, “the fact that i swear i saw a brown bag with their logo in the trash, and now these waffles taste exactly like theirs.”

zoro froze, eyes trained on the mess of fried batter and syrup. he slowly looked up, “that’s insane, indeed.” he averted his gaze as you deadpanned, “you’re a terrible liar.”

“isn’t that an ideal quality though?” he tried again, “like, i could never lie to you.”

“mhm,” you nodded as a smile pressed to your lips, “try harder next time.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

25th of october, 10:03 p.m.

🍓attempt 03: with love, from an idiot.

“if this backfires, then what?” the man asked, and you could only make out faint noises from his phone. a faint, “if it backfires, then, you don’t get the girl, genius.” but nothing beyond that could deciphered as you stood with your ear to the door of your room.

“are you done?” you knocked at your door when the bickering on the other end ceased momentarily. the wood echoed under your faint hits as you called out again, “can I come in or what?”

there was no answer and you busied yourself with tracing the pattern of wood on the door once over. your forehead touched the cold wood, frustrated at yourself for allowing that beast to take over your territory.

zoro had waltzed into your room and declared that he was going to kick you out of your own room.

“huh?” you had mumbled, too confused at the way he tugged your arm and tried to push you outwards, “no way I’m leaving. fuck no.”

“I need like half an hour. I promise–”

“–if you intend to paint my room green, zoro.” you had barely started when he asked you to leave again. so, obviously, you both bickered for a good five minutes, got yelled at by mihawk cause you two were interrupting his wine drinking hour, and proceeded to bicker in whispers before you had to finally cave in and go out.

now, you were sitting in front of the closed door, and tracing patterns in the hope that sooner or later, your territory will be given back to you.  

“yeah, come on in.” you heard the man finally yell back from the other side, and you sprung up to your feet in part-excitement, part-fear. your fingers tried to turn the sleek metal handle to swing it open. except it wouldn’t open. moving it front and back, your eyebrows bunched when the door refused to budge open.

“what the fuck?” and to your surprise the green-head on the other side yelled back, “jesus, stop trying to break open the door.”

“it won’t open!”

“because I’m trying to open it for you.” he hissed back, “and you’re pulling from the other side. stop it.”

“you stop it.”

“if you could just let me do that for you. fuck–” the door swung inwards with such abrupt, wicked force that you almost kissed the ground face-first. glaring up at the man, you seethed, “what was that for?”

“i was trying to be a gentleman.”

you straightened up, squaring your shoulders defensively, “don’t. you’re barely a fully-functioning man.”

while you were waiting for him to counter you with his regular flirting disguised as hostility, instead his face softened and he apologized, “sorry. come on in?”

“huh?” your shoulders went slack, eyes narrowing at his broad figure as you walked past him and into the room.

the lights were dim.

“what’s this?” your eyes scanned the place, he had made a pillow fort on the ground with whatever haphazard sheets and pillows you had been hoarding in the room. the tv in your room showed a still from netflix: Ten Things I Hate About You.

you bent down, thumb and forefinger raising the sheets upwards to properly see inside, you saw packs of chips and instant ramen, coke and chocolates stashed to the side.

still frozen, you found him meekly call out your name, “do you hate it? do you? you do, right?” you heard the door lock behind you, “i can undo it, it’ll take me like ten minutes tops. it is literally not a big deal, i’ll take it down.” his voice dropped down to a whisper, “jesus fuck, I told nami this was stupid.”

he knelt next to you, forearms stretched forward as if he was itching to pull the flimsy housing to shreds. your hand grabbed his, face turning to meet his shy one.

“you did this for me?”

“uh,” he hesitated, “remember, blondie said no going out. so, I thought i’d try… this?” his voice grew weak, “you hate it.”

“you did it for me?” you repeated, almost in disbelief.

he sighed methodically, “who else?”

a grin broke on your face, “i didn’t take you for a romantic, roronoa.”

he shrugged off the goosebumps that threatened to break on his body at your reaction, “pfft. whatever. it’s not a… it’s not a big deal. nami helped… so, yeah.”

“you even put on my one of my favourite movies.”

“yeah, yeah.” the sportsman stood up, walking away from you to duck inside the fort and arrange the food items. but you could see his ear-tips growing redder, coy eyes carefully avoiding yours, “you’re, uh, you’re welcome.”

“but if you’re trying to impress me.” you followed suit, “this is not gonna work.”

he turned back to stare at you. a deer in headlights. “’s not?”

“well, I know you’re not a romantic. nami surely is though, it seems.” you settled down on the comfy mattress, turning your body so that it faced the wall the tv was plastered on, “i know this won’t happen again once we’re actually dating.”

“hey, it’s not like I’m not romantic at all. see, i’ve been doing well these couple of months. i think?” he tried to defend but you cut him, “you’re off season right now. once you have your five a.m. trainings and regular matches, you’d forget I even exist. you forget to eat, to fucking breathe when it comes to your game. a whole ass human?” you found yourself scoffing, “you would give up in a day. and that’s me just speculating based on observing you from afar per these past few months.”

he fell silent, probably reeling from your accurate observation. you sighed, trying to ease the unnecessary tension you had created, “i’m not attacking you, zoro.”

features downcast, lips pulled into an emotionless straight line. he repeated, “you’re speculating based on observing me from afar per these past few months?”

you probably should have drawn the line here, probably should have said okay and turned on the movie. but you were so well-versed in the language of self-destruction that someone should arrange a fucking pulitzer for you.

“you’re a sportsman first, son next.” you prayed your voice held atleast an inch of sympathy as you did a neat, little character assassination of the poor man. “as much as I appreciate the gesture, I am not sure where lover falls on that priority list. you like the chase, the idea… that i am something grand.” you stilled, “but i’m not. i am not an olympic medal, or a grand slam title. i'm just some woman.”

“you’re not just some woman.” he breathed slowly. “i suppose you have a point. i am not a lover. my hands find the racket before they find a bouquet, my words find silence before they do declarations of love. i- i don’t how to… just love.” he repeated to plead his case.

and this was it.

you barely held your breath as the man next to confirmed just who he was. he was not a lover. he was the number one on the global charts. and how selfish had you been to demand that he be anything but that demon on court?

“but,” zoro proved you wrong. “i wouldn’t have sacrificed long days and sleepless nights for just some woman. you underestimate how much you mean to me.” his breath grew strained, words unsure as if it was the first time he was telling the truth, “five years is a long, long time to come back home and yearn for your arms.”

you didn’t turn your head to gawk at him even though every cell in you wanted to. every inch of you wanted to turn your head, grab his face in your smaller palms and ask him to confess just how much you meant to him. but you were not sure you could listen to him come up empty handed like a fish out of water. you were not sure you wanted to find out just how easily roronoa zoro could break your heart.

but as the two of you fell into silence, your eyes zeroed in on the zooming in and out title card on tv instead, “let’s jus’ watch.”

“you mean everything to me. always have, always will.” you felt his palm on yours, and you flinched at his careful touches. pulling your hand back to your chest, you felt the familiar speeding up of your heart against your ribcage, “don’t. zoro, please.”

“don’t what?” he tried to ask, tried to turn toward you with anticipation making a home in his irises and vile thoughts on his lips.

don’t what? you tried to find the answer to the very same question. don’t what? what did you want to say to him? was it “please don’t make me think you could love me all over again.” or “please don’t break my heart again.” or just a simple “don’t say another word or i’d find myself risking it all for you. and i cannot stand to be the fool who fell for you yet again.”

just a series of unfortunate ‘agains’, it seemed.

instead, you turned your body towards his, tentative hands coming up to hold his face in yours before falling back to the mattress. you raked in a forbidden sigh, the sound so loud in the eerily quite room. finally looking at him, you found yourself growing dumber.

somehow, like this – vulnerable – he looked like just another twenty-two year old. not a world champion. not somebody capable of destroying you.  

“i am not sure i’m ready to get my heart broken by you again.” you confessed slowly, like a coward. “i am not sure i can celebrate my next birthday, just to beg some meaningless god above for you once more.”

“then don’t.” his eyes drifted downwards, heartsick fingers twitching as they inched closer to your warmth. his words were low, like yet another coward. “don’t ask for me back if i break your heart again.”

was it that simple?   

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

26th of october, 8:09 a.m.

you woke up with open packets and stacked cups of ramen on the floor, some episode of friends blaring on the tv and zoro stirring you awake.

sunlight filtered through the window, streaming in and pouring through the linen onto the man in front you. he was pretty, achingly so. his hair was tousled, lips parted, and thick brows bunched together like he was playing a match right now, “wake up.”

“huh?” rubbing your eyes, you tried to blink sleep away but instead grew more confused the longer you ruminated about his words, “what?”

“up and runnin’.” he repeated, “i need you.”

“need me?” your face contorted to show pure, unadulterated confusion, “zoro, ‘slike eight a.m.? can’t you wait a while?”

something nostalgic stirred within you as he smiled and bent down to face you easily. did the sun always get caught against his frame like he was a deity with a chokehold on you?

his smile was easy-going, and suddenly, you were fourteen year olds planning to ‘run away’ from home because you wanted to see the world. his voice shook you out of the daze, “get your head out of the gutter. didn’t mean it that way.”

“huh?” you couldn’t even find yourself growing offended amid your sleep-infused, hazed state. “what do you mean then?”

he tugged on your arms to help you sit up, “we’re going on a road trip.”

“we… are?” your expression grew awry, “where?”

“pack up and meet me outside,” he stood up, “you’d find out once we get there.” 

“but zoro, hey–” you tried calling out. but it was futile as he walked out of the room, and you stay seated in the mess of sheets and pillow and tried to make sense of what was and what is.

5:42 p.m. 🍓attempt 04: next destination: love!

zoro stared at his phone for what seemed like an eternity. your gaze shifted from him to the deserted road and back to him. the dull sun inching near the horizon skeptically as if watching you two making a fool of yourselves. the winds were warm, and your road-trip was in the hands of an absolute idiot.

you slumped back into the leather, muttering, “should’ve never let you navigate.”

“let me concentrate, woman.” he huffed as his forefinger and thumb zoomed in on the unknown streets on his maps.  

“how do you ever go anywhere?! your navigation powers are in the negatives.” tone haughty, you turned around to stare at him, ��what kind of grown ass man gets confused on google maps? it literally said go straight!”

“i did go straight.” he turned to stare at you, tone just as haughty. “and i have a driver usually, i don’t drive by myself.”

“you went straight?” you repeated, somewhat amused by his ability to get lost on a straight highway. you craned your head, eyes peering past the black, tinted windows to stare at the deserted road, “and we ended up here? near a ghost town?”

“hold on.” he shifted his attention to the useless app pulled up on his phone screen. his face bunched up in irritation, throwing his phone on the dash-board before shifting the gear to start moving, “no point staying in one place, let’s keep movin’ and we will eventually figure it out.”

“figure what out?” you groaned, slumping back all over again, “atleast tell me where we’re going.”

“surpr–” you cut him off, “there would be no surprise if we never reach it!”

“okay, fair.” he breathed in slowly as the SUV made its way down the deserted road, passing by curated farms only inhabited by scarecrows. he sighed, “if we don’t figure out the road by nightfall, i’ll tell you.”

10:53 p.m.

“so,” zoro avoided your heated gaze, finally admitting the truth, “guess we’re lost."

“yes. yes we are, roronoa.”

“and it’s nightfall, so, i should tell you the destination.”

“yes. yes you should, roronoa.”

“don’t use that tone with me.” he tried meekly and your eyes narrowed in response, “why? are you scared?”

“no.” he cleared his throat, trying to sound like his usual self as he looked around in the lonely diner. the wooden table was rickety, the theme of the diner felt vintage-y, but in a way that was more unused than vintage. a lone, old woman waited behind the counter as you both munched on your dinner. once done with his inspection, he continued, “but it’s unnerving. you sound like nami, and she’s a witch as far as i know. red-head, you know.”

“you have moss-green hair, roronoa.”

“witches support witches.” he emphasized, and in return, a witch-like laugh past your lips, “you should be unnerved. good, because i feel like i have no choice but to sacrifice you in a satanic ritual to go back home now.”

the old woman behind the counter looked at you with utter dread in her eyes but you were too busy stabbing your fork in your grilled cheese, “now, spill. where were we going?”

he sighed, “home.”

“home?” you repeated, “home?”

“i thought i’d take you back to our childhood home,” his voice trailed off.

“why?”

why that wretched place? the place that become bleak, repetitive once you were left all alone five years ago, once he left in the blink of an eye. you routine had become monotonous after him: badminton court, school, home, practice, home, practice, home, sleep. rinse and repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat.

pursing his lips together, he looked down at his plate, “for old time’s sake, i guess?”

“old time’s sake?”

“there was a time when neither of us hated that little, suburban town.” he grinned, “remember that park with the broken swings?”

“that shit was haunted.” you took a bite, conspiring through a mouthful, “i mean why else was it never fixed?”

he continued, “and that public swimming pool? how was every guard there a creep?”

“except dave.” you nodded in agreement, a slight smile playing on your lips, “dave was cool.” 

"he liked you so much, it was stupid." zoro huffed before popping a french fry in his mouth.

“you're the one to talk. do you remember courtney?” you grinned, shoving an index in his direction, “she had suchhh a huge crush on you in middle-school. it was honestly confusing.”

“why was it confusing?”

“you looked like a kiwi,” and you laughed when his eyebrows bunched together and he almost pouted, “i believe it was you that liked this kiwi.”  

“tch, that was lifetimes ago.” your voice softened as he stayed quiet, the two of you just looking at each other as if registering each other’s silence as the only, absolute truth. the knife lodged in your grilled cheese slipped past your grip and a soft clang rang out as it hit your porcelain plate. you hummed, “should’ve told me we’re going back. i would have helped you navigate, zoro.”

“’sfine.” he shook his head, right hand coming up to scratch the itch away and re-set the strands of hair, “we can just head back. if we leave now, we’d reach by dawn. it’s pointless to go back to that old town now.”

you sighed, fingers interlocking as you slumped back against the worn out seat. the booth was cold against your back, the light bulb flickering momentarily as the two of you existed in a place far removed from reality, a place where the two of you were just twenty-somethings eating dinner at a worn-out diner.

“are you done eating?” you asked once he pushed his plate away. he nodded and you found yourself tugging his arm to leave the diner.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, confused, as he trailed after you. you glanced back once, “if we keep moving forward, we’d probably figure it out, right?” you stilled, turning fully to face him, “let’s go home, yeah?”

if roronoa zoro could, he would follow you to the miserable depths of hell. what was a small town compared to that?

he nodded, “yeah.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

27th of october, 6:29 p.m.

“this is it, huh?” you stared at the massive suburban home in front of you. the lawn was trimmed, kept nice and clean as you two stood in front of what was once your humble abode.

your family had sold the place once you expressed that you wanted to move away to do better in your profession, and you had never had the heart to come back and check who bought the place or who didn’t.

“wanna walk around town?” zoro offered his palm, albeit a bit hesitantly, “let’s see what has changed.”  

well, that small creak behind your middle school had dried up, now littered with popped soda cans and torn packs of chip. cigarette butts stuck between jagged rocks and dried leaves. the ‘haunted’ park was still not fixed, but you saw little children running around, the scarfs against their tiny frames flying behind them momentarily as they chased each other around. and the leaves on the ground stirred like they were alive under their light footsteps. the old public badminton court had been renovated, it seemed, and the streetlights had been upgraded to a softer orange-y shade rather than the harsh white you both grew up under.

“they made another mall where the theatre was.” zoro commented as you both walked by what used to be your old cinema hall.

“you remember the theatre?” you asked as your eyes raked over the looming white structure with faces of celebrities plastered onto hoardings with the bold declarations of ‘now playing’.

“of course,” he shrugged, muscled arms methodically going up and down, “we had our first date there.”

“it wasn’t a date. you told me you wanted to catch the movies and then you tried to hold my hand for the next two hours.” you emphasized, kicking the dried twigs on the sidewalk. zoro joined in, lazily kicking fallen leaves and scoffing, “perona said it was. i even bought you caramel popcorn.”

and you found yourself giggling, “you even remember the flavour?”

“i remember everything.” his tone appeared to be nonchalant, “a white tank-top with strawberries on it and a blue-wash jeans, that’s what you were wearing.”

you lips pressed together, “can’t believe you remember that.” you came up to softly poke his side, “who would’ve thought you’re a romantic?”

“yeah, yeah.” he rolled his eyes, biting down an infectious smile, “i just have a good memory.”

“good memory?” you scoffed, “how come you’re such a bad navigator then?”

“tch, i’m just a bit geographically challenged.”

you laughed as your footsteps fell one in front of the other, and he trailed behind wordlessly.

as zoro saw you walk in front of him, your dainty hands interlocking so you could stretch them overhead and the way you looked back at him to beckon him towards you, so as to follow you faster. all of it made his heart twist unnaturally in the pit that was his chest. all of it.

next, you both passed your old high-school. standing at the metallic fence, the sun dipped far below the horizon as the streetlights behind you flickered and came alive. the two of you stood behind the metallic, looking at the buildings that had seen you grow in it’s hallways. when you sighed, the air fogged up just a tiny bit, “your blue jersey from state championships, and black jeans. white adidas too.”

“hm?” zoro cocked his head to your side, and you continued, “that’s what you were wearing on our not-date.”

“you remember?”

you pressed your forehead to the metal, the cold fence digging indentures onto your forehead, “of course i remember. i actually have a good memory.”

the two of your stood in frigid silence and the nightly winds grew stronger around you both. you pulled back, turning your face towards zoro, “it’s growing cold, wanna head back to the car?”

his thumb came up to ease away the red markings on your forehead, the friction of his touches melting away the cold essence of the metal. once he was satisfied with his damage control on your forehead, he nodded, “one more pit stop, then, let’s head back.”

10:02 p.m.

the car was parked in the middle of the field where you had spent reckless evenings just like this with zoro five years prior, to the very field where you had last seen him before he left without a word.

you remembered that cruel night as if it was your whole existence. it might as well have been considering how many time you had replayed the same night in your head over and over and over again, wondering if you had done something stupid.

you had sneaked out of your home, and he had sneaked here after his practice was finally over. his hair was sweaty, boyish features coloured a brutal shade of petrified as he approached you under the night sky.

“what’s wrong?” you had asked once you had noticed his downcast eyes and his shivering hands.

“nothing.” zoro had pressed his lips into a thin smile, “’m just tired from the practice.”

“oh?” you held his palm in yours, pressing a sweet kiss to it, “don’t worry, soon you’d win the state championship and then we would have all the time in the world to hang out, right?”

maybe you should have understood it right then when roronoa zoro simply nodded and looked away you. he had never been a good liar anyways. 

that night, you both had sat down on the ground. staring up at the night sky, you had traced the constellations with your finger-tips and made false promises of a candied future that never came by. the soft grass under you both had tainted your cream coloured shorts green that day. yet another cruel reminder of him, yet another proof that he and you were real, yet another physical evidence of the love that once was.

“why’re we here?” you couldn’t be bothered masking up the irritability in your voice. the raw edges of hurt cut right back your mortal body as you stepped out of the passenger seat.

“c'mon.” that’s all zoro said as he lend you a hand and helped you climb the car’s roof top.

“zoro.” you repeated sternly, but he just helped you up without much explanation. once you were perched on the metallic frame, he climbed up and your voice momentarily wobbled, “a-are we sure the roof’s not gonna break?”

“no, ‘snot.” he clarified, slowly inching closer to you till you could feel his body warmth against your arm.

tilting your face upwards, you drunk in the sight of the malevolent sky littered with heavy, grey clouds that covered the usual litter of stars; so cruel but so pretty underneath it all.

zoro pulled his knees to his chest, softly perching his chin atop them with a sigh, “pretty, isn’t it?”

“why’re we here of all places?” you pulled your knees to your chest, mirroring his actions.

“it felt wrong to leave without seeing this place once.” he admitted softly, “d’you hate it that much?”

“yes. i do.” you nodded, burying your face against the jagged, scarred skin of your knees. you hated this place, and the pair of green-stained cream shorts in your cupboard were nothing if not the proof of that.

“such a shame,” he sighed, “’s a pretty place.”

“zoro–” but he cut you off, “we’ve changed so much in these five years, haven’t we? let’s get to know each other again.” he lifted his head to look at you, “what’s your favourite hobby?”

you scoffed, “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not.”

“did perona put you upto this?” your eyes narrowed, head still tipped back to stare at the grumbling sky, “or nami.”

“no.” he stressed, “my hobby is probably playing pool now. luffy put me onto it, it‘s kinda cool.”    

“i thought sleeping was your favourite past-time.” you turned to look away from the sky and at him but somehow couldn’t. you sighed, slowly admitting, “that was what you always said in interviews.”

“did you stalk me via interviews?”

you tucked your knees one over the other and straightened up, “says the man who watched every match where I got my ass handed to me.”

“i never said i did or didn’t stalk you.”

“you also didn’t say that you won’t break my heart again.” his eyes were boring into yours as you turned your face to finally find his, “you just said to not pray for you back.”

“would you believe me if i told you i won’t break your heart?”

traces of sleep lingered in his eyes, patterns from guilt long-gone-by traced onto his cheeks. you realized with a certain ache that you would probably believe this man if he told you he made the colosseum in his past life, and that he was Genghis Khan re-incarnated. but the fact that he won’t break your heart again? doubtful.

you turned your face back to the thundering clouds. they flashed a myriad of colours and loud sounds enveloped your mortal figures as they churned impatiently above you. you heaved in a breath. slowly exhaling, you asked, “when i lost women’s doubles against the boa sisters, you know what they said to me?”

you believed he knew the answer, being an interview-stalker himself. but he played along, “what?”

“they asked me if you broke up with me because I threaten your legacy as number one, zoro.” a deep sigh passed you by, “since i’m still number two, and from the looks of it they don’t think i’ll be one any time soon.” a mirthless laugh escaped your lips, “honestly, i don’t think I’ll be one any time soon.”

“do you really think i give a crap about shit like that?” zoro raised his face fully, widened eyes looking at you as if you had just accused him of skinning men alive.

“why else would you leave everything behind to be number one, roronoa?”

to you it was clear. he wanted to be number one, so, he left everything behind to be it. simple as that. he wanted to go after his dreams, so, he sacrificed everything he loved. you just happened to be unfortunate enough to be one of those things he loved. simple as that.

“i promised someone.” he finally admitted when you stayed silent, “back when i was in foster care.”

“what?” you found yourself turning your face to look at his, and the man who stared back at you seemed to be a man ravaged and hunted, like a mere prey for guilt.

roronoa zoro had never kept any secrets from you. never. not when he met you as a kiwi-looking middle-schooler at thirteen, and not when he was about to be twenty-three a decade later. no secrets other than his past in foster care. you knew mihawk adopted him when he was eleven, and perona when she was fifteen but no more than that. his past in the foster-care, that one was off-limits.

no questions, no answers.

and you had never pushed. it was something he wanted to forget and you’d be damned if you brought his demons to his under the pretence of harmless curiosity. that was it.

no questions, no answers.

then why was he speaking of it now?

“i only had this one friend. no. she was more like a sister, really.” his eyes hardened, “kuina. she was obsessed with this game, and i hadn’t even heard of it. every fucking time she got her hands on the tv to the communal room, she would turn on sports channel and tear through them till she found one playing re-runs of badminton.”

your muscles ached, and suddenly you were reminded of the air you had ceased to breath in. zoro continued, “she used to drag me to play, and then she used to beat my fucking ass at it. every fucking time. then, one night…” his voice grew thicker, like tar lodged right in his larynx, “she told me that one day, she would make it out of that shitty foster system and she would be number one.”

“somehow, seven year old me thought it would be fun to argue with her. so, i told her ‘no, i’d be number one and you’d be watching.’ she told me no. she had every right to. she was a better player than I was. she deserved this more than i do.”

“zo,” your hand found his bicep as his eyes glossed over, “you don’t have to tell me.”

but you didn’t know any player by the name of kuina, so, it didn’t take you long to guess where the story was headed. somehow, you stomach still dropped when zoro spoke the next part aloud, “she died a day later. ran into the fucking street while chasing the shuttle that the wind blew over. died on the fucking spot.”

“zoro.”

“i made a promise. a-and she was my sister.” 

“zoro.” and you moved to engulf him within your arms. you felt him shudder under you, face pressed to your chest in a bleak effort to hold back tears as you held him tighter and tighter against yourself. as if your weak, mortal body could undo the past or stop him from the torment that was his own mind.

“i’m sorry.” your words paled in comparison to the feelings that brewed within the depths of your stomach. as if to reflect the words you couldn’t utter, drops of rain poured down onto you both mercilessly, as if the skies were mourning.

“i’m sorry.” you repeated, arms moving haphazardly to hold him to yourself closer. his hand moved with just as much desperation, trying to clutch onto you as if you were the only tangible thread of sanity left within him, as if your touch was all that grounded him, kept him alive.

“i- i can’t, i won’t lose you.” he mumbled into your skin, “i won’t let it happen. not again.”

he raised his face to look at you and bloodshot eyes met yours. his hair stuck to his forehead, lips quivering and you couldn’t tell which drops were tears and which rain on his soaked face.

your eyes racked over his frame. from his uncaring hair, to the eyes that had grown weary far too young, to the same pair of lips you had ached to call home, and finally the arms that you had yearned for much the same for the past five years.

“zoro?” you leaned towards him as your voice grew weaker. rain drops on your lips clung helplessly as he followed your voice, face falling forward till your foreheads were mere hairsbreadth apart, “y-yeah?”

why did your breath sound so strained? how come you could feel your heart pumping wildly against the bones lodged in your chest? how could you taste the metallic taste of blood and rain on your lips like as you heaved out ragged words?

you bit your lip to stop it from quivering helplessly. words failing to voice what not even your brain could, you asked for similar candied lies, “say you won’t break my heart again.”

words desperate, he nodded, “i won’t.”

“no,” your breath grew more ragged as each second passed you by, “no. swear on it.”

his calloused palm came to rest on your cheeks, forehead touching as he closed his eyes shut. “i swear on it. i, roronoa zoro, promise to never break your heart again.”

“and if you do?”

“you’re more than welcome to break my skull with my own racket. plummet it down really hard.”

a small smile cracked at your lips, “really?”

“promise.” he hummed. and as he leaned forward to catch your lips against his in a sickly, sweet routine, you pulled back.

he barely had the second to react before you crashed back into him. you couldn’t wait any longer. your lips against his in a clash of teeth and lips and tongue and the faint taste of rain on your skins.

“’s pouring.” he panted, words barely being processed in your lucid state, “wan’ you s’bad though. so, so fucking bad.”

the next you knew, your wet back met the leather backseat of his car.

the sportsman hovered over you momentarily. and next, all you felt was his naked skin pressed to yours, his calloused palms tracing patterns long-forgotten to your sides as he gulped down anything you had to offer. any cries, any grudges, any desires.

you pushed him away just to be able to breath, but air seemed to be the last priority on zoro’s mind as he caught your lips against his in a methodical, little game all over again. panting against your pretty lips, his fingers tried to rid you of your soaked jeans and panties. and all of it was so lewd, so unbearably lewd.

from the sounds of his skin on yours, the sound of the rain violently crashing against the tinted windows and the sounds of his desperate huffs and pants as he tried to manhandle you and get rid of the whatever unholy layers separated you from his feral touches.

“z-zoro,” you stuttered helplessly and the man that peered down at you resembled more a demon ready to fester on the last bit of your lucidity rather than the man you loved.

“c’mere.” he husked, and within moments he was under you. laying prettily on the backseat as your honeyed heat hovered only inches away from his pretty lips. as he stared up at you, his strong arms wrapped around your hips and he pulled you to his lips.

“fuck,” his eyes rolled back as he ran an experimental flick of his tongue against your core, and you flinched, already pulling back from him.

and how could you blame roronoa zoro for tightening his grip against your thighs and fully seating you over his face?

“none of that hoverin’ shit.” he declared in a series of hot pants against your drenched cunt, “let me eat my girl out properly.”

“z-zoro,” you bucked forward as his lips attached around the sensitive nub, sucking like he knew your untimely demise was his very duty. strong fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he ate you out like a man starved, like a man ravished.

it was all so messy, all so untamed, feral. just a mix of spit, your honeyed fluids and his insane determination to make you unravel at the tip of his tongue.

he sneaked in a hand, forefinger and thumb pinching the nub as his tongue delved deeper into your velvety hole. your eyes rolled back as his strokes stayed unrelentless against your heat and you found yourself falling apart at his preying touches, “oh my god, zo. ‘m gonna fuck–”

“cum f’me.” he rasped against you, the other hand coming down to smack the fat of your ass. you ass recoiled under his pressure and you jolted as he rubbed the stinging area better. hot tears pricked at your eyes as he brought down a unrelenting hand at the same strawberry-red patch of skin. the pain mingled in with the methodical strokes of his tongue and the messy rubbing from his fingers pushed you past your limit.

your walls spasmed, sickly sweet dew pooling at his lips as you bucked forward with a strangled cry in your throat, “zoro, zoro, zo.”

you weren’t quite sure if you imagined it, or if you truly felt roronoa zoro smirk against your aching cunt before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses onto the damage he had done.

as you tried to catch your breath, zoro kissed – no, devoured – your clit. your throbbing bundle of nerves caught between his lips dangerously, he sucked on it as you bucked and keened over him, “one more. c’mon, baby.”

“no, please.” you tried to cry out but the maddened man could hear nothing over the blood rush against his ears and the ecstasy of your orgasm on his tongue. clenching his eyes shut, all he could focus was on the way you squirmed over him. trying to run away? pushing him away?

he couldn’t help but grin like a man gone far too gone because this was like a challenge, and what did roronoa love if not challenges? you were practically begging him to eat you till you cried and begged him to let you go, were you not?

“z-zo.” your voice failed you at your fourth orgasm and all you could feel was the muscle pushing in and out of your sore, aching cunt and his fingers pulling on your nipple so, so meanly. “z-zoro,” you tried again, this time without stuttering, “you’re s’mean, zo.”

“am i?” the way he sounded, you felt like only more torture was on your way, “am i so, so mean?”

you nodded, tears rolling down your pretty face as he thumbed your sore clit and cooed, “sorry, baby.”

“y-you’re not sorry,” you hips spasmed at his careless touches and you threw your head back to hold back a cry, “you’re n-not sorry at all.”

“’m not,” he admitted cockily, pulling you upwards so he could press kisses to your sore thighs, “only i get to ruin my girl.”

“y-your girl?” you sounded so out-of-it, so innocent with the way he had fucked you dumb. wobbly lips, teary eyes and hoarse voice. god, he loved you. he nodded, peering at you as if breaking it down for you, “my girl.”

pulling your quivering thighs off of him, he sat up and softly placed you on his lap. when you met his pussydrunk face, his lips were drenched off of your essence. he wiped his face off the back of his hand, then using the same hand to pull your jaw forward to kiss you senseless all over again.

his mushroom tip sat hotly against your inner thigh, smearing the glossy precum all over your soft skin. as zoro battled his tongue against yours, your nimble fingers toyed with his flushed cock-head. as you softly thumbed the slit, zoro found himself whimpering against your pouty lips, slowly pulling back.

“ah, fuck.” he breathed in slowly, eyes rolling back as you finally stroked his dick. you met his eyes definitively as you brought up your soft palm to your mouth. spitting on his soft skin, you brought it back to his angry shaft nestled against your thighs.

moving it up and down, your face dipped down to his neck to bite down on his pulse. instead of whimpering the way he was, his strong hand came to push your head harder against his tanned skin. he rasped, “harder.”

and you sunk your teeth into his skin with enough force to break his skin, just to find the man under you stutter and his white seed to coat your hand. his hips stuttered, eyes clenching shut as realization set in, “f-fuck. shit hah, i came?”

growing cocky at the way he came undone, you bit down a teensy bit harder. until you felt the sweet taste of iron on your lips and you pulled back to see a small droplet of blood beading at his neck. but before you could apologize, zoro noticed your crimson hued lips. pulling you towards him, he revered in the sweet metallic tang of his blood against your tongue. madman.

the sportsman hummed against you as he pulled your sore hips upwards and positioned his cock to nudge your slit ever-so-slowly.

“mmph, zo–” you tried to speak but his mushroom tip got caught against your clit so deliciously. moaning, he guided his dick to finally push past your hole and your jaw went slack at the sinful stretch.

hair sweaty and clinging to your skin, your head was thrown back as he pistoled his dick in with slow circular motion of his hips, and you tried to ground himself by digging your nails into his shoulders. zoro grinned, his canine on display unabashed, “feel good?”

your jaw slacked open, just for nothing to come forth other than half-coherent jumbles of his name as his tip kissed your sugary sweet spots with the urgency of a madman. shallow thrusts into your cunt only resulted in persistent prodding of his tip against your g-spot. his thumb pressed debauched words to your clit as your hips moved on their accord, with only one goal: to forget anything but his ungodly thrusts into your rueful cunt.

“feel s’good, zo. feel so, so good hah mhph–” you babbled, nodding as he moved your hips up and down to fill you up and leave you empty over and over and over again. a hand snaked upwards to pull at your roots, tipping your head back so that he could sink his teeth and brand up your soft skin just over the column of your throat. 

“feel good?” he repeated, eyes almost crossing over at the crimson mark on your neck. if you felt like you were losing sanity, there was no need to feel lonely cause zoro trailed not farther behind. he laughed, bringing you down harder on his shaft, “feel good, baby? does my girl feel good?”

you nodded, eyes clenching shut as his cock massaged your gummy walls and his thumb tortured your poor, aching clit so well.

the familiar feeling built within you again, like a fire that burnt you to a crisp from within. your walls spasmed, head thrown back, drooling as roronoa zoro made it his life’s purpose to fuck you as hard as he could. to a point, where, you felt like he was just holding back to not break you.

“l-look at me, angel.” his hand squished your cheek mercilessly, pulling your face down just to press a mocking peck to your pouty, drooling lips and laugh when you jolted from the orgasm, “oh my g-god, zoro! fuck aah, hah shit shit shit.”

you slumped forward, sweaty forehead pressed to his heaving chest while he continued to fuck into your overused cunt. his thrusts grew weaker – erratic – before he painted your walls white.

“shit, baby.” the man laughed, his chest vibrating from the stuttered falsetto, “one more?”

“zo…” and the way you looked up at him so teary-eyed, shaking your head no. another challenge?

so now, of course zoro had you pressed in such a mean mating press, mumbling against your swollen kiss-bitten lips, “you’re doing so well, baby. ‘m so proud of my girl.”

“y-yeah?” you stuttered out, batting your tear-stained eyelashes so well that zoro couldn’t help but lap at the tear-drops cascading down your cheek, “mhm, course angel. take one more for me, can you?”

you nodded as if you had a choice.  

his chest pressed up against yours, broad hand pulling your knees so far high so that he could plunge in and out of you so very easily. zoro panted with every slow drag of his shaft against your addictive, sugar-sweet walls because every small movement seemed to set you alight. your cunt grabbed at him hungrily, clutching him so tightly as if you refused to let him go.

managing a few more thrusts, he brought your weak hand upto his throat and pressed your hand onto his pulse. you stared at him, wide-eyed, before pressing harder. as your soft hand pushed harshly against his pulse, zoro pushed into your heat harder with a low whimper.

his hips sputtered as splashes of white painted your walls all over again.

the sportsman heaved, dipping his sweaty face down to the crook of your neck and pressing his body weight on yours. after what seemed like eons of just catching up his breath, zoro slowly pulled out and you gasped at his absence.

“are you okay?” he pressed a chaste kiss to your collarbone before trailing upwards and pressing another to your cheek. your muscles went slack under him, soreness creeping up the tendrils of your flesh as you fluttered opened your eyes, “’m tired.”

“already?” the man grinned, licking a soft stripe up your jaw. your weak hands pushed him away, groaning, “already?!”

“sorry, c’mere.” settling beside you in the cramped seat, he pulled you to his chest. humming faintly as his fingers softly caressed the damp tressed and you melted against the feel of his warm skin against yours.

the soft pitter-patter of the rain against the windows quietened, the morning mist hovering around the car like some forbidden protector and dew clung helplessly to leaves in the field. zoro pulled you closer to himself, his shallow breath against your forehead and his soft fingertips massaging your sore hips, “i think i love you.”

“you think?” your eyes fluttered open, trailing up softly to take in his peaceful expression. you bit the inside of your cheek, stomach churning as you dug your cheek against his chest and nodded, “i think i love you too.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

11th of november, 12:01 a.m.

“go on,” you shoved the cupcake in his direction, the candle light flickering softly and barely holding out against his stuttered breath, “for real?”

“hm,” you nodded, “make a wish, zo.”

“i don’t even have a religion.” he mumbled and you pinched the taut skin of his bicep in retaliation, “jus’ do it.”

“okay, fine. here goes nothing.” he closed his eyes. eyebrows bunching up in concentration and high cheekbones coloured orange from the weak flame. a moment passed by as the two of you stayed huddled on his bed, him praying and you looking at him.

a soft breath and the flame went out. when he opened his eyes, you smiled at him, “what did you wish for?”

“nothing,” he replied softly, calloused fingers interlocking with yours, “think i have everything i could ever need already.”

“happy birthday, zo.” you pecked him and pulled back, but he pulled you back to him.

knock, knock, knock.

“are you both done?” perona knocked at the door, “everyone’s waiting for you out, idiot.”

the next morning your twitter was flooded with the same blurry photo of you kissing zoro at his birthday party.

@/roronoaswifeyy said: yOU TWO ARE MY ROMAN EMPIRE OMG!!! @/sweatytoenails asked: IS THIS ANOTHER PR STUNT?11 OMG I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER BREAK-UP. @/boaboaboa said: GUYS I THINK THIS PICTURE IS LEGIT, SOMEONE SAW THEM GO ON A ROAD-TRIP TOO

@/monkeydluffyofficial: very proud of zoro to be able to pull such a pretty woman without showering for days on end ❤️😃 @/dailycelebgossip: BREAKING: two-times grand slam winner and current number #1, roronoa zoro confirmed to be going out with his former flame!

@/vinsmokesanjiofficial: we will be releasing an official statement, until then PLEASE STOP TAGGING ME, YOU’RE BLOWING UP MY PHONE. AND @/ynln ANSWER MY CALLS. @/nami_bizconmgmt: like@/vinsmokesanjiofficial said, please wait for the official statement and @/realroronoazoro PICK UP MY CALLS.   

zoro wrapped a strong arm around your waist. sleep lingered in his eyes, and the pattern of the pillow case was imprinted onto his skin instead, “what’re you reading?”

you giggled, “people are losing their mind over the fact that we’re dating.” you looked over your shoulder, “can’t believe a PR stunt got us here.”

“oh, about that.” he mumbled, “nami never asked me to do that, i was just feeling bold that day. paid off pretty well though, didn’t it?”

“huh?” your eyes widened, words sinking in at a much slower rate, “HUH?”

“what?”

“HUH?”

“what?” he repeated with a grin, “it worked, didn’t it?”

“YOU ASSHOLE!” you pushed at him and he just held you tighter against his chest, “mhm, love you too.”

ladies and gentlemen, this is your friendly reminder to not go back to your ex by the way! they don't deserve you and aren't roronoa zoro!  

a/n: i cannot believe this has come to an end!! aaaah took me fucking forever to finish it (and i have like 5 more characters to write for ://) but im so so grateful for anyone who loved this and has shown me that love. thakyou so much you guys! i'd be making an ao3 soon enough so that it's easier to navigate. again, thankyou for keeping up with me <3 tagging: @litlebruh @mist-ixx @briezy04764 @otkuhotgirl [the credit for feral!zoro goes to her] @mars-mizuko @florallyarranged @ayumitho @lyany2k @dietcokefizz @kokanee-readinglist @angelsforever999 @rengokushuaige @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @gojoistetti tysm for reading!! you all were so incredibly nice that im sobbing :')) i hope y'all enjoyed this! much love, vix <3 m.list

[anamelessfool]

Papa IV "Copia" x GN! Reader (AO3 Link)

Domestic Fluff, GEN with some strong language.

You’re in the middle of recovering from a broken leg, and after a few months of this every appointment feels more like a setback than a step forward. At least Copia had been there. This whole time, your man was there.

Dedicated to my friend @thew0man. I hope this domestic fluff instantly heals you. Thank you for all your support. Keep being your lovely self.

Tags: Gender Neutral, Established Relationship, Healing After Injury, Married Life, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff. Broken Bones, Wheelchairs, Medical Issues

The lift stops at the fourth floor with a final clunk that knocks a tired sigh from you. Your leg in its cast and new boot stirs and issues a dull ache as a reminder. Your love Copia is wedged in the corner by the buttons, his mismatched eyes blinking in their perplexed way as he waits just a bit more until he's sure the lift’s stopped. He meets your eyes, flashes you a tender smile and a little thumbs up. “Home sweet home, eh?” He chuckles. He squeezes his body around your wheelchair in the tiny service elevator of your flat, nearly stumbling backwards into the hall.

“There you go, I got you,” Copia mutters, placing his hands on either side of the chair to help pull you out.

“I'm fine, I'm fine Copia,” you reply, moving your hands along the hand rims to roll the wheels forward. You exit the lift with a thunk and wince. The painkillers have done their job but your leg still throbs in its boot. The boot is new, and it was a good step towards actually getting over this. In the car you admitted to Copia your exhaustion from today’s appointment, so like a gentleman he brought down the wheelchair.

“Now, amore, we spend the rest of our Saturday relaxing, si?” He says by your ear. “You eh— you need help?”

“No I'm fine.” You give him a weak smile. He's so attentive that those butterflies start to wake. The ones where you're worried for him. You feel a flush of nerves as he continues his friendly chatter as you wheel yourself down the hall towards your flat.

In a few moments you're inside your place and sitting once more on the couch. Copia has arranged a nest of blankets around you as carefully as a mama bird, settling you in for another late afternoon and evening to get through while you heal. Your leg in the cast itches. It always does at the worst time. You stare at it hoping just giving it a tired look will make it stop, but it continues, taunting you. You notice once more an old get well card over the television and its memory continues to sink your mood.

Happy Valentine’s Day, you say to yourself whenever you feel down about your situation. The red and pink, white lace and teddy bears were the decorations festooned across your earliest memories of your accident. The sweet little tributes filled the hospital room but also reminded you too much of how badly you miscalculated. If only I…if I had just…why didn’t I… Over and over the moments replayed themselves in your brain as you stared into the black plastic eyes of yet another “Grin and Bear It!” Plush delivered to your room. Happy Valentine’s Day but it was nearing July. And every time you returned from your doctor’s office it never felt like an improvement, just another problem.

At least Copia had been there. This whole time, your man was there. He had travelled to your hospital bedside as soon as he was able, clearing his schedule to spend time playing Uno and reading you books until you fell asleep. “My love…You'll be well soon,” he had said as he held your hands in his own over the rough hospital blanket. “Believe you'll be well and you'll be well, amore. That's most of it, si? The em— power of the mind and all. Getting you through.”

He's helped you to every appointment he can, kept you clean and fed and comfortable. His whole world was you, even though it had shrunk to the size of your apartment and the occasional wheel around the park to stay sane.

“Let’s get you comfortable, here em—yes, perfetto,” Copia murmurs. He's here even now, adjusting the pillows around you on the couch. He's wearing his Saturday best of ratty red sweatshirt that’s seen better days but over time has become impossibly soft. His freckled cheek is right beside yours, his eyes lowered as he works. He smells of lavender and Florida water aftershave as you lean forward and steal a kiss for yourself. He makes one of those little noises in his throat, frowning comically as he stands up.

“You're distracting me,” he says. “Although I know I am irresistible. As I um— as I seduce you with all of these em…couch cushions.” Copia ends his task with his own thoughtful little kiss on your forehead before moving on to the kitchen nearby.

You learned that when he can't touch you in the ways he wants, he'll stack your table high with food. You're not sure if it's an Italian thing or a Copia thing but watching him putter about in a kitchen calms you down after another long day of being stuck in your thoughts. “We can see that see that gangster film if you like em— which one was it? The one with the guy who…oh, he's in that other film…”

Copia continues his rambling as he chops things in the kitchen. There's the sizzle of oil and the comforting scent of your favorite meal wafts into the living room. You shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself. Spiced tagine chicken, your favorite. Copia's awful proud about how he's figured it out and so now you assume with another chuckle that this is what you're going to eat for the rest of your life.

Or at least until your leg was better. You stare at the new cast now, frowning at it propped up on the ottoman.

You were better, but you were far from recovered. And as sweet as he was, you were worried Copia wouldn’t keep his patience. At some point he’d get tired hauling you from one appointment to another. Would get frustrated from helping you to and from the car, would get bored from all the missed opportunities for sweet dinner dates, concerts or cocktail bars.

It was embarrassing enough asking him for the most basic things that just weeks ago you would do without a thought— damn, if only I—getting up the stairs, bathing, cooking meals. A part of you decided to tell you stories about what was going through Copia’s mind as he doted on you. Surely, this task would be the one to put him over the edge. Yes, this setback, this latest appointment will make his smiles and cheerful demeanor fade. When he wasn’t around you’d sleep. Or lie awake wondering.

Maybe you'll start with a game. Some Zelda or Phoenix Wright, you're not sure. Although you’re halfway through a court case in Phoenix Wright and you don't really remember all the little details anymore. Maybe not. Maybe you'll restart the chapter later, although filing through all that text seems tiring at this point. Fine, perhaps no video games.

Painting? Copia’s left your iPad on the side table within reach. But you're not sure what to paint. And the last one needs some color correction and the thought of fiddling with the smallest adjustments that nobody will notice except you is far from appealing. There's nothing on the TV of any interest to you at this hour. You pick up a book you've been planning on reading but after a few minutes the text swims in front of your eyes.

Or you could always do the jigsaw puzzles. Dear God not the jigsaw puzzles.

You click on the television just to have noise to fill the air. It's two women crowing about handbags on a home shopping network. That’ll do. You set it all down and stare at the ceiling.

“I will set my alarm for eh— the three times a day you need the small white round ones, and the twice a day the long pill capsules and of course the injections….how many do we need?” Copia stares at the doctor’s note, mouth slack like he's attempting to translate an ancient curse carved into the side of a pharaoh's sarcophagus. “How, how do they write like this, tesoro? Is this em— is this English? Cazzo, what is this…”

“Twice a day,” you sigh. You're not happy about the shots but at least your man's been a champ when it comes to helping you with them. However, last two times he made you laugh too much to hold still. “Look away, dear, I’m eh—too scared to look too,” he joked, covering his eyes.

Dinner is set to steam on the stove for a while. He returns from the kitchen, with his Kiss the Cook apron on with the matching tacky fish-shaped oven mitts you brought back from Brighton for him as a joke. The money was worth the polite, nervous smile he gave you when he opened the gift. Now he uses them with pride cooking every night. Getting better at your favorite spiced tagine chicken recipe. He's close, almost.

“Is there anything else? Anything I can get you em—before dinner?”

All this fussing, all the delicious smells of your favorite meal and the buzz of shows on the TV and the warmth of the blanket he's draped on you spins in your mind. You want to be happy. You want to be at peace, but the twist in your chest doesn't go away, and in fact the more he dotes on you and mutters sweet nothings the more that tightness winds.

And right now, it just snaps. You let out a sob, something that you thought wouldn't be detected but is too loud across the space. Copia freezes. He heard it. Fuck. The tears pour out like fizz from a shaken soda can.

“I just…Copia, I'm sorry!” The scene swims in the onslaught of your tired tears. He's frozen in his bewildered mismatched expression, holding onto an oven mitt like a life raft against a tsunami. It's all too much but you can't stop now. “I'm so sorry you have to see me like this. You have to…take care of me like this. After— God, I'm such an idiot! I wasn't thinking and now…now you have to…I'm like a helpless little nothing over here, and it's my fault!”

You don't want to look at him. You've already wasted enough of his time. He's seen you at your absolute worst, and even worse than that carried you around like you were his nonna. You have the image of him wheeling you around some Italian square, pigeons flying about while you tighten your old lady scarf around you. The idea of that injects you with a odd feeling of pity and mirth, and you utter a tired noise you're not sure is a laugh or another sob, but it's an embarrassing honk just the same.

“You’ve done too much. I…” And you say the quiet part out loud. “Copia I don't deserve all this.”

“Amore…is that it?” Copia settles in next to you and places his hand on your good leg.

You nod wordlessly, tears still streaming down your face. The people in the television laugh, unknowing of your inner turmoil. But the secret’s out now. To everyone, including yourself.

“In sickness and in health, si?” His mouth quirks as he struggles to stay serious. “That's ah…that's fifty percent of that sentence, yes? There's good times and there's em—well, not so good times.”

Now you want to apologize for being such a baby. From nonna to whining baby, the shame is giving you whiplash but his touch keeps you tethered in place. “Copia, I’m—”

“Sickness and in health. One hundred percent. I love you one hundred percent, amore,” he says bringing your hand to his lips. His eyes never leave yours as you feel his soft lips graze your knuckles. “Love is getting through the hard times, is it not?”

The moments of shame still dance in your head but his warm presence wards them off. His gaze has softened into something more, deeper. He knows all about you, he always has. So why not give into it. Give in to his gentle glance of love. “Amore….” he presses.

“Copia, thank you,” you whisper as he leans into an embrace.

“We'll laugh about this one day,” he purrs in your ear, his scent enveloping you once more. You bring a hand up to run your fingers through his hair and he utters one of his pleased little myehs that usually make you chuckle.

“Yeah, we will,” you sniff.

“Laugh about it on the Amalfi. Over some gelato. And now I'm retired we can really get into it, you know? Doing nothing somewhere nice. Would you like that?”

You would. The blue sky and the pink gelato and the white sand. His handsome freckled face laughing in the sun. His gold cornicello on a chain against his chest barely covered by a crisp linen summer shirt. And his black socks. Those fucking dress socks in his old man slides. Your smile returns. “I really would, Copia.”

He meets your eyes and senses the change in you, returns your shy smile with his own. “I love you,” he murmurs. He leans in close once more as his mouth meets yours. That tender kiss never gets old. What your mind can't learn from his words its taught with his lips. And they're damn good at convincing you you're loved more than you’ll ever know.

He pulls back with a gentle caress of your cheek and your tears become happy ones. You love this man, and he loves you. He'll love you whether he's sitting at an exotic cafe or your bedside at the hospital. It's the same place in his mind, as long as he's with you.

“But until then we can bear a few Downton Abbey reruns, si?” He settles in next to you and curls his fingers around your own. “What is this…lord so and so? What's her face em— what is she up to now?”

“You'll have to actually watch instead of talk over it, Copia dear,” you reply.

“Right, right. I'm suffering more than you, tesoro,” he chuckles. “Let's ah…keep it all in perspective, here.”

“Of course,” you say, and you rest your head on his chest. He's still wearing his silly apron but you couldn't care less. You can hear his heart beat through it just the same.

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