#like. bland. boring. next

[bunnymajo]

Instead of trying to conform the original Tenchi cast to modern anime design aesthetics they should make the new girls look like they came right from 1994. Plastic hair highlights and jellybean eyes and all.

[voidmetal-alloy]

Feels a little ridiculous posting my reploid Rock/Quint design concept because all the others are like,,,, end stages of their design processes and are only getting minor changes for their profiles but he’s still on like,,,, attempt number 3 and I don’t really like how he looks at all

[whispering-kavka]

friends i love crocheting so much . why does it hurt me so

[captainimprobable]

whats up besties ya bitch is unemployed again but at least I have mac and cheese <3

[hazelcephalopod]

Lil aside. Fully believe Liam is trying to play Orym as a pretty even keel guy with some worries and a lot of loss in his past. I gotta admit tho. Orym often seems real fucked up. He’s got so deep rooted and suppressed issues.

“Replaying Otohan stabbing Keyleth in his head again and again.” Sir?!? You are not ok?!

Remember the petty stabbing of Yu?

[catcatb0y]

Every time Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel has a glimpse of genuinely GOOD WRITING, I go insane. Both of these shows feel like edging to me, like they will tease me with these bangers and then leave me to dry EVERY DAMN TIME.

[angstandhappiness]

😂 CORRECT

With the rise in panels of Tim going all unhinged 'I could kill someone' here's this

[cashandandrogyny]

Why do people hate happiness and fun. Like just because you don’t like a certain album (or stretch of albums) by a band doesn’t mean that your opinion is right. Everyone can have opinions, because they are just that. Opinions. But when you start saying you hate certain albums and think that everyone else should hate them too, you’ve gone too far

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations~ 43

Taurus placements usually have a big sweet tooth. They love carbs as well I notice.

On the other hand I notice Aries placements really love spicy foods (especially Aries suns). They are the types to always get the hottest sauce they have on their food. My Aries friend told me she “enjoys the pain of spice” (very Martian lol)

Scorpio moons get mad when you ask them too many questions 😭 if they aren’t ready to tell you you won’t get nothing out of them, they will dodge your questions every chance they get.

Venus in Cancer & Libra are the most committed out of all the Venus signs I notice. Once they like you they are already planning the wedding in their heads 😂 these women were made to be wives fr!

Aquarius moons are so ethereal, they have this unique glow to them that’s super captivating (ex; Marilyn Monroe). They are all just so beautiful.

Capricorn risings are super hot! Their nonchalance makes them more attractive and magnetic. A lot of people with a Capricorn rising have a Neptune in the 1st house which adds to their appeal a lot!

Mars in the 8th house people usually have had a bad experience with sex early in life. Many could be hyper sexual because of trauma 🙁

Leo risings/ moons have the best hair out of all the Leo placements. It’s usually so thick and shiny!

Moon in Aries have a hard time controlling their emotions. I’ve heard a lot say it feels like they’re burning up inside if they repress how they feel for too long (especially in the 3rd house). If they don’t let it out they can make themselves really sick. They just need to work on their delivery cuz they can be quite intense.

Uranus in the 5th house individuals get turned on by the oddest cringiest people😭 they’re into odd balls. (7th house too but I think the 5th house finds weirder people lol).

Scorpio suns can be big buzz kills when they’re depressed. They either trauma dump for hours or become really antisocial.

Uranus in the 2nd house people really don’t give a shit about money. They aren’t as attached to it as most people are. They also can either make an extreme amount of money and then be broke the next minute. Their financial situation is very unstable.

Mercury in retrograde people are always late😂. Also people with a mercury retrograde can have an easier time during a mercury retrograde transit than others that don’t have their mercury in retrograde. I notice as well they are either extremely quiet or say too much no in between.

Your mars is way better in a fire/air sign than in a water/earth sign. Aries imo is the best sign you can have in your mars. Even though people talk about Scorpio & Capricorn being one of the “best” I have to disagree 😭 Scorpio mars have great drive but I feel like their emotions 9 times outta 10 get in the way of them accomplishing a lot, their feelings are usually super hard to control. Also Capricorn I just feels like moves way to slow for mars quick paced nature. They go through more obstacles than I feel like most to accomplish their goals even small goals are hard for these people.

Cancer risings tend to have big 🍒 while Capricorn risings tend to be pretty flat chested.

Taurus moon & mars are THICCCC

I never met a Venus in Gemini or Aquarius that was straight. They’re all mad fruity😂.

Venus in Virgo is the most boring to date. (When I say this I mean mostly the men) they’re just so bland imo.

Scorpio rising/mars ruin a lot of relationships with how intensely they express their emotions. They can be super psycho when you’ve crossed them.

Virgo suns talk a lot of shit but are rarely able to back it up when confronted.

Capricorn suns don’t mind walking on others to get to the top. They have an ability to disconnect from empathy which is why a lot of people see them as cold and only caring about money.

Gemini moons are the funnest to bring to parties they are such social butterflies and are usually super funny!

Aqua Venus’s aren’t romantic to people that are openly affectionate but they are romantic to people who are super nonchalant and barely give them attention 😭 they don’t like when people act too into them too early it scares them. If u want to hook someone with this Venus act careless they’ll go crazy for you lol.

Cancer moons are really nice but super phony.

Capricorn moons are the opposite they are usually seen as harsh and mean but very real people.

The weakest mars sign in my opinion is Pisces mars. The ones I meet have like no energy for anything & they complain about doing the bare minimum. The men with this are soooo passive they always look super scared and never make the first move. They’re super submissive usually. They also need to sleep more than most people.

Venus in the first house women are lowkey haters. They do not like when other girls get more attention than them or have anything they don’t have (especially when it comes to looks or love). But they’ll never tell you directly they’re way to passive for that but you’ll definitely catch the shade👀

Mars conjunct venus are either really charismatic and sexy or very aggressive & irritating, if badly aspected they can come off way too strong which scares people away. But if positive they can attract people like bees to honey.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

[sweekuna]

Victoria Secret Run w/ Boyfriend!Sukuna

“Kuna! How about these?” You ask, smiling at the King of Curses as he glares your way.

“This is ridiculous.” The man snarls back. Sukuna had been making sure to keep a good distance away from you. This wasn’t his scene, not at all.

You had been dying to take a trip to your local mall. It had been ages since you’d been, with Sukuna keeping you by his side at all times it was hard convincing him to let you go out alone. You only ever went out when you had your guard dog right next to you, and why would Sukuna have any business traveling to some overly expensive shopping market?

After probably weeks of begging he finally agreed. The man had enough of hearing your whines and begs every day. So the two of you went out on what you like to call a ‘shopping spree.’

You place the pair of panties back down on the table and walk over towards Sukuna. The man looks down at you, a frown apparent on his rough face.

“This is supposed to be fun!” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you would enjoy helping me pick this stuff out.”

Sukuna looks from you and then to the overly pink store behind. His eyes, judging, scans over the products. “I don’t see why you caused such a fuss to come.” He states, looking back down to you. “Nobody sees what’s under your clothing anyways. Why pay such a large sum of money for useless things?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and walk back off to the table full of underwear. “If you aren’t going to help then just go wait in line for food.”

Sukuna sighs and for a moment you think he left. That’s until you hear his voice speak from behind your shoulder. “These are nice.” The man points to a pair of bland white undergarments with a lace trim.

You pick them up, turning back towards Sukuna. Just as you open your mouth to judge his boring taste you decide against it. Your eyes meet his own, the usual coldness everyone sees in the man is long gone whenever his deep red irises glimpse upon your face. “You’re so cute.”

Sukuna blinks to your snickering face as you skip off to go look at a different section of the store. He finds himself smiling as he lovingly follows in your steps.

[lcverwrites]

the lovers ― aegon targaryen

THE LOVERS ― AEGON TARGARYEN ... (part one) (2.3k)

summary ... aegon had never known the tender touch of love, from the cradle as a babe, he was cursed to be unlovable. his mother held no love for him, only the safety he provided her. his father never spared him a glance, to sickness struck to see past his golden daughter. his siblings were indifferent to him, never really having the want to dig past his drunkard front. but then came her... aegon never understood why she loved him, what she saw in him that others could not, what he could not see in himself. but thank the gods above, there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her devotion, because the unlovable had finally found someone who loved him; and who he loved in turn. pairing ... aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader (wife reader) warnings ... self loathing, talks of being unlovable, strained family dynamics, targcest (mentioned, but not seen), hurt/comfort, angst, trying to heal from unhealthy relationships, mentions of drinking, supportive wife mode note ... I want this fictional man a healthy amount, as you can clearly see. I might make some more things for this couple in the future, cause they've been on my mind for a loooong time. I just want to love this man for a second, after the shit storm they put him through this season. Let me know if you want more of aegon x tryell!reader, perhaps some smut between these two lovers 😏🫶🏻

next part >>

⠀⠀⠀Voices spoke muffled words around Aegon, drowning him in their monotonous sounds, unimportant and distant from his thoughts. Aegon knew he should have been listening to his merriment of council members, they were talking about the needs of the realm, the wants of the smallfolk, the unwarranted needs of the already wealthy lords and ladies in his court, the impending doom awaiting them across the sees, with his sister plotting to take the crown from his very head.

The crown she was once promised, The Realms Delight was worlds away now, and the crown snuggly sat upon Aegon's head, the doing of the Mother and Grandsire, the controlling hands that guided Aegon under the guise of their affection and want to see him succeed, to bring the promised peace Viserys once spoke about.

But Aegon knew better now.

His mother held no love for her eldest son. She held him at arms length, with contempt, her lips pursed as if she couldn't ever fathom smiling at her own son. With a faux guiding hand, never reaching for a tender touch, only a harsh slap to awaken him from thoughts of straying from the path laid out for him. Alicent Hightower liked to believe she loved her children to the best of her ability, but Aegon knew better, knew that her love came with conditions, and Aegon's was to keep the safety of her family, even if he was killed in the process.

His Grandsire was a bitter old man, who reached above his station as hand of the king, all but ready to snatch the crown from Aegon himself. He was the driving force for Aegon's ascension, seeing the malleable drunk as a way to reach his ultimate prize, to be King through Aegon. There wasn't a bone in Otto Hightower that cared for Aegon past the power he could bring him.

Aegon could hear his mothers docile voice, sweeter than those of the men whom sat around her. Her words blurred into a flurry of movement, her lips parts around the words he wasn't taking in.

He watched his mother. Seeing his lips in her mirror image, full and pink, a slight downtick in the right corner, a frown always threatening to take her tender disposition by the throat. He could see the shape of her eyes, wide like a doe, but all innocence was washed away by a bland rage that barely simmered beneath their dark pools of amber liquid, subdued and boring. She could see her picking at the skin of her nailbeds, a bad habit she never outgrew in her youth, a habit she passed onto Aegon, if his red and raw nails were a certain sign.

He could see so much of himself in Alicent, in his own mother, a mirror into Aegon's soul. But all she could see in Aegon was his father, and she despised him for it.

His gaze traversed from his mother, to the stoic statue was his brother. Foreboding and concealed all at the same time, Aemond was a fearsome foe.

Aemond spoke little, hums of approval passed his sealed lips, displeased puffs of air fled from his nose. When words did leave his lips, they were precise, vicious and cold in the manner, strait to the point, never one to flounder and flaunt with unnecessary grandeur. He spoke as if he were a worldlier man, knew the bitterments was war and what was required to secure their victory, through fire and blood, through destruction and death. Aegon didn't know if it meant their own destruction or their foes, Aemond's want for power knew now bounds.

It's what desired him to his Grandsire.

He saw a likeness in Aemond that he didn't see in Aegon, and he held hatred and resentment for his oldest grandson.

Aemond paid no mind to Aegon, as if he was not there, the chare beneath him empty, no figurehead to be seen. He spoke to the counsel with the convection of a King, hand perched on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to strike at any given moment, lest one of the lords spoke against him, as if it were treason.

As young boys, Aegon and Aemond were like most boys he supposed. They poked and prodded at one another, until one of them bled, pleading for the other for mercy, running and crying to their mother. Often it was Aegon tormenting Aemond for his lack of dragon, for being the boring little know it all, smacking him against in the training yard in the name of bettering his skills, but Aegon wanted his little brother to feel even just a moment of the bitter resentment he felt feasting in his insides, sloshing around with the sweetened wine he drank himself into a stupor with.

He wanted his brother to feel small, unwanted, unloved, just as he felt. But no matter what Aegon did, his brother would always have their mother behind him, caressing his with the tender touch he craved. The lick his wounds with her tender voice, chaste kisses to the crown to his head, all the while berating Aegon in the same breath.

Aegon knew he shouldn't have treated Aemond so, they were both circumstance of their family, they were the only people who could truly understand each other, but resentment flooded Aegon's bones, strengthening his hatred for everyone whom shared his blood, and couldn't taste the bitter bite of his flesh.

Aemond resented Aegon for what he was given, just because he had the audacity to be born first. He was given the crown of their founding family, he was given the undeserving respect of the smallfolk, he was given the time and energy the the King's counsel. He was given the best tutors and training teachers, but he never respected what has trust upon him, not in the way Aemond would have welcomed him. Now his brothers days were spent on the throne he desired so, drunk in his cups and stupidly stuttering around like the idiot Aemond has always known Aegon to be.

Aegon leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, hand reaching out to play with the ball before him, the marble feeling cool beneath his heated palms. He felt as of he were just melting into the wood beneath him, and no one seemed to notice.

Except...

A hand reached for his arm, a delicate little thing, decorated with gentle rings that glimmered in the afternoon light, shimmering shades of glittering gold, azure blue and brilliant emerald. The smooth skin of a palm caressed his forearm, thumb digging into the malleable skin beneath his wrist, as if she knew he was slowly floating away, grounding him to this moment, to her touch.

Oh but she....

She was a marvellous thing. Aegon hadn't seen anything so precious in his life, so delicate, so wonderfully beautiful. There weren't enough words in the world for Aegon to describe her, nothing could ever truly do her justice, and he had tried, many a times, much to her amusement.

The Lady Tyrell had been a gift Aegon knew he wasn't deserving of, it was as if the gods were cursing him to gaze upon the mirror of the Maiden, but never being good enough, strong enough, smart enough to be worthy of even a glimpse in his direction. Aegon would only think himself lucky enough to dream about her gentle touch, to be the lucky man whom would receive her affection, to have her smile at him in a manner he'd never seen a maiden smile before.

Her smile started small, only an upward pulling in the right corner of her lips, inch by inch, her pretty pink lips would stretch in the most delicious curve, revealing the pearls of her teeth, little creased would dip in the skin of her cheeks as she would freely smile, a crinkle would form in her nose, her eyes would glitter with a golden looking happiness, as if you were the centre of her world in that very moment, the very reason she was smiling, like you were the only thing that could make her happy.

Aegon wished he could bottle the feeling her smile encapsulated, pure and true happiness unlike anything Aegon has felt before.

How could a persons smile be so contagious?

Despite his reservations, the Lady Tyrell held no contempt for him. She gazed upon him as if she were seeing him for what he was and she was willing to accept him, bitter soul and all.

The Lady Tyrell squeezed his arm, only once, and it was enough to have Aegon retreating from the narrow tunnel he was burrowing himself into. His gazed picked up from the marble to look upon the visage of his wife.

His Wife.

They'd been married when they were ten and three respectively, much to young to be married, but as is the way Aegon supposed. He hadn't even been given the chance to speak with her, before it was announced in the King's Counsel that they were to be married.

But they've come a long way from those scared children they had been all those years ago.

But the one thing that hadn't changed, was the devotion and love she had bestowed upon Aegon. Day in and day out, there wasn't a moment in time where she didn't love him.

"Perhaps the counsel should take a breath" Her melodic voice pierced through his muffled thoughts, like it always did, his every being was tuned into every sound and moment she made.

"Pardon, your grace?" Lord Lannister paused a moment, looking at her with a look of confusion.

"You have been discussing for hours now" She mildly replied, keeping an easy smile on her lips, looking like the pliant woman they demanded she be. "If we were to be attacked by our foes, they would have done so already, surely you all see this"

"Just because it hasn't happened, does not mean it will not happen" Otto Hightower's condescending voice bounced around the room, looking down upon the Lady Tyrell, as if she were a speck of dirt on his boot.

Aegon clenched his fist, loathing that she was rained down upon by Otto's hatred because she was connected to Aegon.

She never seemed to waiver beneath his gaze, nodding demurely at the Hand, as if she were bending to his whims.

"I do not disagree my Lord" She announced. "But perhaps we have spoken on the themes of war for much to long"

"Your Grace, forgive me for speaking so candidly--"

"Then do not"

All eyes turned to Aegon, who for the first time since the counsel had gathered, had found himself voicing the words that had been rattling around in the back of his throat.

"The Queen has excused you" Aegon bluntly replied, leaning further back in his seat, pulling his arm along with him, turning it just so, allowing his palm to slide right along her. Their fingers gliding together like magnets pulling them together, locking them in place.

Aegon relished the feeling of her warm palm beneath his own, smooth skin against his own rough calloused skin, like silk against leather. The cool metal of her rings biting into his warm skin, a zinging shock to his system.

"Aegon, the counsel needs to speak about--" Alicent tried to gage her son back into the conversation, but Aegon was already detached from everything that was her.

"Your King has dismissed you" Aegon interrupted his mother.

Aegon looked to his mother, seeing her lips parted in surprise. She wasn't used to Aegon snapping at her so, he had always been so willing to bow to his mother, wishing for her affection in return.

But he now knew what love without restraints and conditions tasted like, he craved the affections of his wife, whom would willingly allow him to be loved without limits.

"Fuck off" Aegon waved off the counsel.

He didn't even watch as each member grumbled up their breath about something or the other. He didn't notice the shared look of concern on his Mother and Grandsires faces, he didn't see the glare Aemond had wagered his way, icy and void of any brotherly affection. He didn't see any of it, and if he had, he wasn't sure he would care.

Not when she was gazing upon him as she always had.

With love.

"You may have been too crass my love" She smiled as the last of the counsel left the room, the foreboding doors slamming closed behind Otto Hightower himself, sealing himself out of reach of the King.

"They are a bunch of power hungry cunts" Aegon shrugged.

"Be that as it may" She conceded with a soft smile. She pushed herself from her seat, keeping her hand within Aegon's, walking around her corner of the table, until she was standing directly beside the chair Aegon was currently lounging in. "They are here because they support your cause"

Aegon huffed a breath through his nose.

He used their connected hand to haul his wife's body into his lap, she fell willingly into his embrace, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders.

"I do not wish to speak about them anymore" Aegon announced, shifting his wife further into his lap, until the side of her body was pressed firmly against his chest, the warmth of her body radiating through the thick fabric of her dress.

"Then we shall not" She decided, resting her forehead against his temple.

In this moment, Aegon hadn't ever imagine he would feel a love like this. He couldn't have ever pictured someone would love him for what he was, not for what he could give them.

He placed a gentle kiss against her cheek, enticing a soft smile to paint her pink lips.

Whatever god had decided to bring the two lovers together, he was praying that nothing would bring them apart.

[krysmcscience]

It’s finally done, guys – five whole pages of Narilamb AU comic AND MORE be upon you! (If you have trouble reading any of the text, view the full-size! These pages are huge!)

Yeesh, this took forever. <:)

There’s probably a ton of inconsistencies and anatomy/perspective wonkeries, but this was mostly just comic practice, so Oh Hekkin Well, Lol <:D

(Yes, I am aware the Gateway’s door isn’t present in the Afterlife, and the actual way in is just a pentagram portal. Yes, I put the door in there anyway because Artistic License, i.e. it felt more impactful for there to be a prison door of sorts to walk through to freedom, rather than just a bland boring portal on the ground. 😠)

anyway, i hate backgrounds so much lmao

Alternate ending and a buttload of bonus art under the cut, followed by goofy AU rambles and headcanon stuff:

I’m calling it the Revival AU. It’s not all that creative a title, and someone else has probably used it already, but I am too lazy to really care, LOL

Alternate ending page, which you will Definitely need to view the full-size for, Whoopsie Daisy:

The alternate ending was actually the first ending I finished things off with, because I had a brief badbrain moment where I forgot the emotional beat I initially wanted the comic to end on, and I tend to write comedy, anyway. I later remembered and drew out the proper ending, but I preserved and finished this one, too, because it still makes me giggle.

They had to go back for the followers off-screen in the AU’s real ending. And by ‘they’ I mean just the Lamb, because they weren’t about to ask three newly freed cats to go back into what used to be their prison. The Lamb DID spend some time watching Narinder and the bois enjoying the outdoors first, though:

In other news, here’s the Lamb and me making fun of my anatomy-drawing ‘skills’:

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering why the Lamb is just a-okay with how things went down vis a vis Their Murder, this bonus comic should answer at least some of your questions:

Ah, yes, also this is how they get engaged outside of the alternate ending. Forgot to mention that bit. XD (I already refuse to believe that Narinder is capable of flirting normally, so why would his initial marriage proposal be any better???)

Oh, and before any of them get a chance to actually head back to the cult grounds, there is one potential problem:

And by ‘problem’ I mean something Narinder intends to ignore for At Minimum a thousand years. Cuz he’s a petty bitch like that. :D

what do you mean i drew the lamb too tall compared to the background? clearly they’re standing on top of baal and aym lmao, why else would you think those two aren’t in this one??? (aym and baal got way too excited about finally being outside, you see, and their silly modes are nothing to sneeze at)

And, speaking of heading back to the cult grounds, I’m sure y’all would love to know how the Lamb’s followers felt about the brand new change in management:

It all went better than expected. <:D Tiny ramble now, feel free to skip down to the next comic.

Before you ask, no, the Lamb does not have any actual powers anymore, other than the immortality Narinder definitely grants them. The Red Crown just thinks it’s funny to suggest otherwise, and Narinder does nothing to discourage this. Also, the Lamb and Narinder aren’t actually married here yet, but, uh. Pretty safe to say that particular ritual directly follows the events of this comic. XD

Given how quickly he mellows out in canon, Narinder probably chills out a lot in this AU once he’s in charge of the cult, too, if only because 1.) He’s finally free, and 2.) He’s equally smitten with and distracted by the Lamb. He’s definitely in charge at least 95% of the time, though, because the Lamb never actually wanted to be a cult leader and, now that their time as a vessel is done, they just want to be a normal(ish) sheep who’s wholly devoted to their hot new divine husband.

Some followers do still have some valid concerns about these two being together, though, which I’m sure at least a few of you might share…

Unfortunately for any such concerns, the Lamb is a bonafide masochist in this AU. :D

They’re also 100% a sub, obviously

Anyone at all: Your relationship is problematic and potentially toxic

The Lamb: fuck yeah it is, it’s so hot~ OuO

Here’s just the last panel, made transparent for whatever nefarious purposes y’all might have for it:

Additional exchange Narinder and the Lamb have at some point, probably after the Lamb does a fatal whoopsie while out on a mission trip or in response to things getting a little too sadistic in the bedroom, ahaha:

Look, there is a very important distinction between life and death, and if you don’t understand that, then you’re probably not worthy of being the God of Death, anyway. (At least, according to Narinder, and ONLY Narinder.)

Last but not least, have these shittens:

~Such creative naming conventions I have utilized, lololol~ :D Anyway, there's a few deets on them in the rambles down below.

The rest is all ramble, so before I get to that, I’ll just say – likes and especially reblogs are very much appreciated!!! :D If you happen to really really REALLY like my stuff, meanwhile, I do have a link in my bio to my ko-fi page, where I’m accepting commissions and donations if you’re especially generous… ÓuÒ

Now, BE FREE IF YOU AIN’T DOWN FOR READING MY GOOFY RAMBLES

First ramble is re: Baal’s question of ‘Did it really work?’, since I didn’t feel like expanding on it in the comic proper, and it’s arguably pretty vague? He doesn’t ask because he doubts Narinder or his capabilities, exactly, but because neither Baal nor Aym have ever actually seen their god at full power before (he’s still technically not at full power here, either). It’s not expressly stated how soon the brothers were brought to Narinder after his imprisonment, but whether it was early on or after a length of time for Shamura to (somewhat) recover from his attack, he must have already been weakened, since I have no doubts that there was a huge battle that accompanied the Bishops working together to trap him. So, between that fight with all four of his siblings, sharing his power with a variety of vessels over time, and being chained immobile for a thousand years, he must have been severely weakened by the time he lent the Red Crown out to the Lamb, which would have only weakened him further.

I like to think this is how the Lamb is able to defeat him if they refuse to be sacrificed, despite how it took all four Bishops working together to subdue and chain Narinder in the first place.

All that aside, the three cats have been trapped in the Afterlife for so long that Baal also wanted verbal reassurance that they are all, indeed, actually able to leave it now – something that I headcanon isn’t possible without a significant amount of power (i.e. the Red Crown’s cooperation with its bearer/vessel).

(On a semi-related note, I don’t headcanon Aym and Baal as twins. I like sweetheart big bro Baal and snarky little goth bro Aym too much to have them be that close in age.)

Ah, teeny thing: If you noticed I switched up the art style for Narinder on the second page, that was intentional. It's sort of a visual indicator that there has been a Big Change for him - that being, how much power he has after sacrificing the Lamb. As for why I changed up his arms in the grass rollin' pic, I don't really subscribe to the notion that his arms are spooky bones because they're horrifically injured (beyond chain-chafing scars, that is), but rather just because he's the Bishop of Death, so he can change how normal-to-spooky they look at will. At some point I might doodle out how I imagine his appearance to range between least to most eldritch... 🤔

Next ramble, regarding Narinder’s feelings towards the Lamb...he was initially too focused on being freed from his imprisonment to form any real attachment to them. They were a tool for his use, first and foremost, but he did notice their intense devotion towards him. It was impossible not to notice, because the Lamb was always very happy to see him, even if it was because they died during a crusade (yet again). He wasn’t originally planning to revive them once he was freed, either, because he saw no real point to it – after all, they were already dead when they first met him, just as any other mortal would be when meeting him in the Afterlife, so death has very little real consequence in his eyes. But, once the chains were off, and it really sank in that he stood to lose the most devoted follower he’s ever had, he decided…why put their soul to rest for good or leave them stuck in the Afterlife when he could just as easily revive them again? And why not reward them for their hard work, anyway? Not only would it cost him nothing by comparison, but the future devotion that could come of it would surely make up for his (bare minimum) effort in reviving them.

He wasn’t expecting to get a full dose of that devotion and a smiling face so soon after killing them, though~ :3c (because the Lamb is a bonafide freak, and not-so-secretly into the fucked up power dynamics going on here, lol)

I should mention here that I am firmly of the belief that any non-god/vessel who crosses through the Gateway and into the Afterlife just straight up dies. So, Aym and Baal? Also straight up dead, from the second Shamura brought them through. Their souls were just never put to rest so that Narinder could have some company – if only according to Shamura. Narinder kept the two around mostly out of bewilderment, because honestly, who are these kittens, and what is Shamura’s game here, anyway??? They never even explained anything, they just tossed these kittens into the Afterlife and LEFT!!! At any rate, Aym and Baal being dead is how I explain why their souls apparently become lost in the void if they’re killed, along with the added complications required to revive the two because of it.

So, with those deets in mind, and given a bit of time, if Narinder hadn’t chosen to revive the Lamb, and also hadn’t chosen to put their soul to rest, they still would have woken up at some point, despite being as straight up dead as Aym and Baal. Who, don’t worry, were also properly revived while Narinder was waiting for the Lamb to wake up. Because I am also firmly of the belief that, first, the dead cannot leave the Afterlife without the use of a ritual/relic (and can't stay in the living world for long regardless), and second, dead followers’ devotion isn’t anywhere near as potent as that of the living, given how much more the living stand to lose.

Final ramble, regarding the Lamb’s feelings towards Narinder, and why they’re so devoted to him…

Well, you don’t spend most of your life on the run with your steadily-dwindling herd, trying to evade the ongoing genocide of your species, without becoming a little fucked up in the head. Maybe a lot fucked up in the head. Life is suffering, so might as well have fun with it, right? Maybe start finding death and pain to be kind of hilarious, even a little bit hot, once everyone you know and love is dead and gone, leaving you all alone? And maybe after that, there’s something comforting in how, despite the cold, cruel uncertainties of life, at least you can always count on the inevitability of death, patiently waiting for you until your very last breath? Who knows. Either way, as soon as the Lamb was killed, and they learned that the literal God of Death was offering them a second chance at life and vengeance via effective immortality, they were 100% ride-or-die-devoted all at once. Turns out death is kinder than life – go figure. (Of course, it helps that Narinder is 100% their type.)

They weren’t put off by Narinder’s thinly-veiled sadism or manipulations, either – they’re not too different in those regards, albeit opting for vastly different methods. It’s a very ‘two sides of the same coin’ sort of deal. In order to stay alive once they were made the last of their kind, the Lamb had no qualms with using others to their advantage, and that did not change once they were revived and expected to run a cult. They didn’t care for the position of authority, though – being a sheep and all, they’re much more of a follower than a leader, and thus greatly appreciated Narinder’s need for control. With how they had to keep on their toes for so long, the Lamb was also pretty good at reading people by the time they died, so they could recognize that a lot of Narinder’s posturing was just that – posturing. Dude’s 95% bluster and only 5% bite. He could obviously be vicious when he wanted or needed to (the Bishops' injuries were clear proof of that), but underneath his outer layer of cruelty was a generous layer of tsundere, and underneath all THAT was a soft squishy middle sibling velcro cat in desperate need of attention and affection.

(Which, for the record, he Did Not feel comfortable getting from Aym and Baal – Narinder still has no idea why the fuck Shamura sent them to him, beyond acting as keepers at best or trying to sabotage his attempts to escape at worst. Which, he thought HE sabotaged in turn, by guiding the kittens into being his devoted disciples instead. He thought he was very clever for it. ‘I outsmarted Shamura!’ he thought, despite that there was never anything there to outsmart. ‘What do you mean, Shamura sent your kittens to me for company?’ he demands of Forneus later. It may or may not lead him to pull Shamura out of Purgatory just so he can shake them and scream about how they should have Fucking Explained that!!!)

But, getting back on track as to why the Lamb was so willing to be sacrificed, I cannot stress this enough – if you pay even a minimal amount of attention to what he’s saying, Narinder is REALLY NOT SUBTLE about his intentions. ‘Death is of little consequence.’ ‘Followers are for you to use to your advantage.’ ‘Sacrifice a follower to absorb more power.’ So, yeah, the Lamb knew exactly what would be expected of them once the other Bishops were dead. They knew Narinder would expect them to die for him one last time. But, after all, death is of little consequence (not to mention hot), so when the time came, they wanted to see him freed, even if it meant oblivion for them in the end.

He’d given them a second life, and the ability to avenge their kin, and they felt indebted to him for that – so, while they were still pretty glum about the possibility that they might not get to see him free of his chains, nothing beyond their devotion and debt to him mattered. They never wanted all the drama and expectations that came with the Red Crown’s power, anyway, so, better for Narinder to have it back so that he could deal with it. What he did with the Lamb afterward would be up to him, and seeing as he was their god, they’d accept his decision gladly.

Were they in love with him by that point? Oh, obsessively so, but only in the devotional sense – romance was nowhere on their mind nor radar. That is, until he unexpectedly revived them again, told them he still needed them, and then offered down his hand to help them up.

The Lamb fell HARD for him in that moment. :3c

And now, a tiny shitten ramble. Lu and Li are twins, because sheep tend to have those a lot, and are conceived not long after the Lamb and Narinder’s marriage ceremony. Lu is the minutes older one, but Li is much more mature. I have put no further thought into these two, other than that they are utter menaces, birthed by the Lamb, cling hard to both their parents but especially Narinder (who spoils them rotten), and they are both genderfluid, using whichever pronouns/names they feel like at any given time. They are also both intersex, same as the Lamb, who was initially infertile up until Something Something Vague Magic, which I have also put no further thought into ¯\_(シ)_/¯

oh, and before anyone tries to suggest i headcanon this AU’s lamb as trending more female due to them giving birth or whatever, no, no, a thousand times no, they might have a vag, but they've also got a dick, and even if it's not as big as they'd like, they still know how to use it

Finally, the very tentative name for the Lamb in this AU is Yazdi, which is really just another name for the Baluchi breed of sheep XD (Not that the Lamb is this specific breed, I just didn’t like any of the other sheep-related names I found, ahaha...)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW (collapses into an exhausted pile of goopy limbs)

[madebycloud]

Next To You

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: christmas comes around, you and your girlfriend prepare for a special day with Isha. (requested by anon) warnings/themes: fluff and fluff, domestic, christmas, established relationship, suggestive (making out, innuendo, etc?), modern au, baking, downbad!reader, grumpy!jinx ig but what the hell sure words: 17.6k notes: LATE AF but it is what it is

“Seriously? you want that as the star?” Jinx asks, looking at the star on your hand.

“What? It looks good and it's shiny.”

“It's boring and bland. Nothing special,” she mumbles, walking towards the tree to look for other decorations in a nearby box.

She grumbles while she rummages through the different decorations, tossing aside the ones she didn't like. She pulls out a string of bright pink lights but frowns. Her gaze keeps flickering between the star in your hand and the tree. “We need something new. Something... more.”

She starts looking through the discarded decorations nearby, picking up each and every one only to place it in the trash. “Nothing here? why do we have so many of these stupid things?” She slumps on the couch. “Ughhhhh... can't believe we have these dinky Christmas decorations.”

“That's my money down the drain.” You glance at the amount of decorations the Jinx has discarded. You sigh loudly and sit down next to Jinx, who leans against you.

“All of that was for nothing. So much damn cash wasted.” She groans. “We don't have anything good for the tree. Everything's so shitty.”

“At least the lights look nice.”

Jinx doesn't even glance at them. “There's nothing cool left. It's all so... bleh.” She frowns, kicking a box with her foot. She reaches out and picks up the star in your hands and stares at it. Her face scrunches up. “Look at all this crap. What a waste of money. Everything's just so…” She glances around at the various decorations. “Ordinary.” She lifts her head and gives you a sideways glance. “I'll be damned if that stupid star gets put on top of that tree.”

She tosses the star to the side, watching it roll along the floor. Her eyes flicker from side to side, trying to think of something that'll be a good replacement. She sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “There has to be something better than a star.”

While you're both mulling over options, Isha, who had been quietly playing with her toys, stands up and walks in front of Jinx. She tugs at Jinx's leg, holding up the toy to get her attention. It's a small replica of Fishbones that Jinx made for her.

Jinx looks down at her. She reaches out and grabs it from Isha's hands. “You want this to be the star for our tree?” 

She looks up at the tree and then looks down at the toy. She then gets up and stands before the tree. She slowly raises it and tilts it slightly. She nods. “Hmm. Yeah... Maybe…” She looks back at you, holding the toy up with one hand and the other rests on her hip. “What do you think?” 

You stand up and walk over to the tree, joining Jinx's side. You look up, and then look at the toy that she's holding. It isn't a normal choice, but it does go with her style. “It's not a bad idea.” You turn back to look at Isha. “What do you think, Isha?”

Isha nods eagerly, grinning widely.

“Well, guess it's decided then!” Jinx says. “You know, this will look even cooler than a boring ass star, huh?”

“Yeah, this kid is a genius.” You approach Isha, lifting her up. Jinx hands the replica to the kid. Isha carefully places the replica on the top of the tree, trying so hard to balance it. Jinx moves in and adjusts it slightly, making sure it's in the best spot.

You set Isha down, ruffling her hair. She swat your hands away, frowning. Once Jinx is satisfied with its placement, she steps back and admires the tree.

She smiles and nudges you with her hip. “Doesn't that look good?” She turns to Isha and nods with a smile. “Good choice, champ!” She then looks over at the pile of discarded decorations, frowning. “Hmm... the others might not match with this.” Jinx thinks for a moment, a finger on her chin. She looks down at the toys Isha had been playing with.

“Hey Isha,” Jinx says, getting her attention. “What if we used some of these toys to decorate too?” She crouches down and looks at the toys scattered on the floor. She starts picking them up one by one, holding them up and examining them closely. “Hmm... These could work…” She mumbles, glancing over at you and the tree.

Small rubber duck, a fish, and a rhino—all toys that she had made for Isha out of scrap materials. She holds each up to the tree, tilting her head, trying to picture how it would look.

She nods to herself. “Yeah. We could use some of these toys.” She turns back to Isha and holds up a duck. “I wonder if we have some ribbons or stuff we can use.” She hands the toy to Isha. “Make sure to hold onto it, okay kiddo?” She ruffles the kid's hair before heading over to a nearby shelf and searching amongst her random junk.

With that decided, you all went to work decorating the tree. Isha tries her best to help, although she can't reach some of the higher branches. You end up putting almost every one of Isha's toys as the ornaments. Isha really likes the blinking lights, so you add a lot of them.

“Almost looks like a rainbow.” Jinx grins, staring at the bright lights. She glances over at you. “Hope we don't break the power with all this electricity.” She snickers. “Not like it hasn't happened before.”

You shrug. It's certainly a possibility, but it wouldn't be the first time it happens. Jinx has the habit of overloading the power in the building with her inventions. It was only a matter of time before it happened. Again.

“If the power goes out, I'm blaming you,” you tease.

She takes things literally when it comes to inventions, and that leads to a bit of strain on the power. You're sure the neighbors are annoyed about it by now.

Jinx jabs you with her elbow. “'Course you would.” She turns her attention back to the Christmas tree while Isha continues to help. She watches Isha struggle to reach the higher branches, and Jinx chuckles. “Kid's got the spirit, at least.”

Isha reaches out, tries to stand on her toes, but still can't reach it. She huffs and glares at the branch.

Jinx watches as Isha struggles. “Hey kiddo,” she says. “Lemme help, alright?” She steps over and lifts Isha up to put the last ornament on the highest branch.

Isha giggles and stretches out her hand to place the last ornament, her fingers grasping at the branch. Jinx holds Isha steady, ensuring she doesn't fall and the tree stays upright.

“There you are,” Jinx says, turning her head to look at Isha. She lowers Isha back down to the ground. “Good work.” She looks over the fully decorated tree. “Well, I think we're almost done here,” she says. “Just need some... Oh!” She glances at a nearby box and grins. “Almost forgot.”

She grabs a marker from somewhere and tears up a nearby box into three pieces, handing one to both you and Isha. “We should draw ourselves,” she mutters. “And put them up on the tree.” She looks at the empty space on the tree near the top and gestures to it.

You sit down on the floor, leaning against the couch, and start drawing on the box, legs stretched out. Jinx follows, sitting down right next to you, her leg draped on top of your own. Isha sits right in front of the tree, her tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth as she works on her drawing.

It's quiet while the three of you draw your own pictures. Jinx leans her head on your side while she works, occasionally peeking over at your drawing and humming to herself.

Once the three of you have finished your drawings, Jinx grabs a pair of scissors to carefully cut the pieces out. “Alright,” she says, “all done.”

She walks over to the tree and reaches up, hanging all three of them. She steps back, putting her hands on her hips, and looks at the tree. She then glances at you and winks in pride.

“What do you think, kiddo? do we look cool?” she asks, turning to look at Isha.

Isha gives a thumbs up, her wide grin showing off her teeth.

Jinx chuckles. “And the artist herself approves.” She stretches her arms. “Now, who's hungry?”

—

“So?” Jinx turns around, letting you take a better look at her Santa Claus costume. The bell on her Santa hat jingles. “How do I look?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

She looks... Ridiculous. Hilarious, but ridiculous.

Jinx adjusts her hat, her fake beard (that's obviously a wig) swinging along with it. The costume looks itchy, but she seems comfortable in it. She grins, posing for you.

“Well,” you start. “I've never seen a Santa's costume quite like that.” You give her costume a once-over. “Though, this is you we're talking about.”

Jinx looks the part of Santa Claus, but it's not the classic outfit you've seen him wear in all those movies, books, and advertising.

Her Santa hat is blue and pink instead of red and white. Her coat is a mix of black, blue, and pink with silver trim. Her pants look like what you'd normally expect from a Santa suit, though they're the same black, blue, and pink colors her coat is but shorter. She's not wearing any boots, choosing her own high-knee boots instead. 

She looks like a demented, clownish version of Santa Claus. But she's happy, and it's a good look for her.

“Am I the best Santa or what?” She turns and jingles the bell of her Santa hat. “Ho-ho-ho!”

“The best and the best of the best,” you confirm.

She grins. “I mean, look at me!” She exclaims, holding her arms out. “Doesn't that costume make me look way cooler?” She turns around, giving you a 360. “Way better than all those boring red and white Santas,” she says, turning back to look at you. 

She strikes another pose. “Do you think Isha will love it?” 

You nod. “She'll love it,” you reply, taking another look at her costume. “She'll love it, because you're wearing it.”

Jinx had the brilliant idea to buy a Christmas costume for Isha, which is why she insisted on getting the costume early to wear on the day of. It's for Isha's sake, of course.

“Of course she will! What child wouldn't want Santa Jinx?” She tugs on her beard. “Anyway…” she says. “Santa can't go around without her trusty reindeers.”

You just know what she's going to say next, and beat her to it before she even considers it. “No, no, no. I am not wearing a costume.”

“Aww, c'mon!” She whines. “We could be Santa and Rudolph the red-nose reindeer together. Santa Jinx and her reindeer buddy.” She pokes your arm. “Won't you do it for Isha?”

You raise your eyebrow at her. She's playing you like a damn fiddle by using Isha's name. You sigh. “...Fine. But only for this Christmas.” That's a bit of a silver lining, at least. This is the only time you'll have to dress up. It's just for Isha. It won't be that bad.

She grins and brings her fingers up to your face to pinch your cheeks. “Yay! Good, now we'll match.” She claps her hands together. “This is going to be a treat and a half! C'mon, you won't regret this.” She grabs your arm and drags you to another aisle, looking around for a costume she thinks will suit you.

She keeps on rambling about how excited she is, mostly about how good she looks.

While walking, people give you both strange looks. After all, seeing a clownish-looking Santa Claus is certainly a sight. You hear someone mutter something along the lines of “What the hell?” under their breath.

She glances at you up and down every now and then, judging which kind would be best. “Gotta find you something nice and Rudolphy.” She browses through the costumes that are hung on the racks, trying to find one that she likes.

After a while, she stops and glances up and down each of the choices before finally settling on one. “This one.” She grabs one from the hanger and holds it up to your chest, observing it, then nodding. “Perfect,” she says. “Put this on, let me see how you look.”

Jinx shoves it into your hands and grabs the reindeer antlers that go along with the costume. She pushes you into the nearest changing room and closes the door on you. You hear her wait on the other side. “Hurry up!” she yells.

There's no running away from this, is there? you don't see any other choice but to put on the damn costume. It's just one day. You can deal with it. It's for Isha anyway. Hopefully your girlfriend doesn't make you wear this for any other occasion.

You grumble as you take off your clothes and put on the costume. It's a bit strange at first, but the costume is pretty similar to a warm sweater. She picks good costumes, you'll admit.

You stand there and stare at yourself in the mirror for a minute.

You look...ridiculous. Utterly and completely ridiculous.

Wearing a goddamn reindeer costume because your girlfriend wanted you to try it on. It's so stupid, yet somehow Jinx pulled off making the costume look good, while yours looks like a bad Halloween costume.

You make a face and scoff at yourself. You're going to look like a total fool and you have a feeling a bunch of people will point and stare.

You can hear Jinx getting impatient from the other side of the door. “How much longer?” This might be more for her entertainment than Isha's Christmas spirit.

You sigh to yourself and grab the reindeer antler headband, putting it on. This is so stupid. Jinx better appreciate this. You take a deep breath and open the door to the changing room.

Jinx waits outside, fidgeting with her hands behind her back. She looks over once the door opens.

She looks you up and down once, twice, three times, then bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, it's... you look... you look,” she says, trying and failing to stop laughing. “You look so cute!” She wheezes. This is absolutely a good decision in her head. This is hilarious, but damn, if it's not cute.

A few people in the store glance at the commotion, wondering why she's laughing so hard.

She grabs your arm and looks over the costume herself, chuckling to herself. “You look adorable.” 

As if this couldn't have possibly gotten any more embarrassing, she brings out a red plastic nose with a string attached to it. “Can't forget this little fella.” She brings it up and holds up to your face. “You're not my Rudolph if you don't have a red nose.”

God, she is absolutely reveling in the moment. 

You look ridiculous already, what's one more stupid thing? “It looks stupid.” You take the nose from her hand and attach it to your own.

Jinx stifles her laugh, biting her lower lip in an effort to stop herself. “You look so stupid,” she whispers. God knows what people in the building will say.

People are still glancing your way, wondering if you're some kind of cosplay or something... And why is this woman laughing hysterically. You'll say, 'I don't know her', but that will only make it more embarrassing. You just want to walk back home.

There's also a few children who are giggling while looking at you. Probably because they're jealous they aren't wearing a costume.

She takes her phone from her pocket and points it to you. Oh no. “Say 'ho ho ho'!” 

You let out a sigh. It's almost a growl from the back of your throat. Damn her. Whatever would make the torture end quicker. “Ho ho ho,” you grumble, forcing a smile.

You hear the camera snap several times. She's smiling so hard it'll be evident that she's enjoying this all too much.

She puts her phone away, looking up at you. “You look so so cute!” She pokes the plastic nose. She then starts walking, still giggling, and glances back over her shoulder. “C'mon, Rudolph, let's keep looking around.”

—

“Finally. Only took half a damn hour for her to go to sleep.” You step back and look at the bedroom door. You've both been trying to get Isha to sleep for what feels like forever. You're both tired, and it's the night before Christmas. Of course she'll be up late.

“Took forever,” Jinx responds.

You have so much to do to prepare. With Isha asleep, the house is quiet. Both of you make your way to the living room to prepare the gifts.

Jinx grabs some wrapping paper, the ones with Christmas themes designed on them, as well as a big roll of scotch tape and some ribbons. You grab the presents you and Jinx plan to give Isha. There's quite a lot, given that it's Christmas. You sit cross-legged on the floor, and Jinx plops down next to you. 

She yawns and stretches her arms out in front of her with a groan. “Damn, I can't wait for her to see what we got her.”

She pulls out her phone and searches on it for a while before finding a Christmas song. She presses play and drops her phone on the coffee table. The sound is low enough so it won't wake Isha, but loud enough for you both. She hums and sometimes sings along with the lyrics whenever she knows it.

She starts wrapping the presents, tapping her foot to the music while she puts a bow to it. She rocks her head and shoulders a bit. She put in a lot of effort into gift wrapping, despite it just being torn open in the morning.

You start to wrap your own gifts, but every now and then glance up, watching her.

Jinx wraps the presents one after another. One gift for Isha here, and another over there. “Bet Isha will love this one,” she mutters, adding a tiny bow and then a small piece of mistletoe. She places them all in order underneath the christmas tree, making sure they're nice and proper for tomorrow morning.

Each present has ‘For Isha, From Santa Jinx & Red-nosed Reindeer’ on top in her handwriting.

She yawns and stretches out her arms in front of her, arching her back before getting back to wrapping.

The two of you continue to wrap the gifts. 

She talks to you about anything or nothing, just to stay awake. She talks about what Isha will think of the gifts, how much she is going to love all of them. The tree, the costume, everything. At one point, Jinx goes on a rant about some neighbor who keeps playing All I want for Christmas is you on full blast.

She also talks about other things. Stuff that's going on in the building, people you both know, funny stories that happened years ago.

“I've heard that kids believe in Santa til they turn ten.” You put on the finishing touches of the gift you're working on. “Did you believe in Santa 'til you turned ten?” you ask, arching a brow.

“Santa Claus, The Tooth Fairy, The Easter Bunny.” She starts listing off things. She has some scotch tape stuck to her finger. She pauses to reach over for the roll of wrapping paper. Jinx glances at the gift you're working on and goes back to her own. She seems to remember something. “I kept believing in Santa til I was 10, when I finally realized that it was just Vander in a stupid costume.”

You snort, nodding. “Did you ever write a letter to Santa?”

She shrugs. “I may or may not have attempted to write one before.” She puts down the roll of wrapping paper, then grabs a ribbon and begins to tie a bow. “I always asked for something new for my bombs or for Mylo to stop calling me names.” She chuckles. “It got thrown in the trash the next day.”

She starts telling stories of the past christmases, of how she tried to sneak out and get a peek at what the presents the next morning would have, only to be caught by Vi. “Damn sister had ears like a bat, I swear.” 

She gets into a long talk and rants about the holiday season a decade or so back, when things were more peaceful. About making Christmas decorations with her siblings. As long as she got to put the star on top of the tree, she was happy. She also adds that she always ate the candy canes off of the tree before anyone else could get to them.

One story involves how she got a lump of coal in her stocking because she put it in firecrackers and caused an explosion the following morning. She swears Mylo put it there just to spite her.

Jinx doesn't really talk about her parents much, but when she does mention them in her ramblings, it's usually about things they baked together. Sometimes cookies, or cinnamon rolls. She remembers her father picking her up and putting her on his shoulders. She remembers her mother's apple pies and says she can still smell them in her head.

She puts down her last gift, setting it aside, grinning.  “Christmas has always been fun,” she says. “Even after…” She falters but shakes her head and continues. “I still love it. Isha does too.” She glances at you. “And you do too?”

“I'm fond of Christmas.” And you are. Mostly because of Isha and Jinx.

She glances at you, reaching over to pinch your arm. “Good.” She looks at the Christmas tree and the gifts below it. “I feel better sharing this with you and Isha than I ever did on my own.”

She gets up and stretches out her arms above her head, bending backwards to crack her back. She looks at the mess of ribbons, wrapping paper, and gift bows scattered on the floor around you both. “That's the last of them, right?”

All the gifts have been wrapped in various ribbons, bows, and wrapping paper. At least it looks nice. You nod. “Think so.”

You see her grab her phone from where she left it, unlocking it and scrolling through it for a moment before pausing whatever song was playing.

She looks around. “I'll clean this up tomorrow morning... or later this morning…” She yawns, looking up at the wall clock. “We should go to bed, get as much sleep as possible.” She then extends a hand down to you. “C'mon. Time for bed,” she urges, motioning with her hand. 

You take her hand, and she helps you up to your feet. Jinx then wraps her arms around your waist. 

She groans, yawning as she rests her head against your arm. “Carry me.”

You chuckle. “So demanding,” you say, but end up picking her up into your arms anyway. Jinx holds on to you like a sloth hangs onto trees. She lifts her head up and rests her cheek in the crook between your neck and shoulder.

You walk through the living room, and Jinx tilts her head towards you. “Mmm... Merry Christmas…” she mumbles before resting her head back into your shoulder.

It's a slow, slow walk to the bedroom. You swear your back is giving you a middle finger and you're pretty sure you'll need a chiropractor in the morning.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper.

“Love you.” She squeezes you tightly and gives the side of your neck a kiss.

Jinx is dead tired, and dead tired Jinx is a rather clingy, sleepy Jinx. She'll wake the entire world up at 6 AM though, for Isha's sake.

You manage to get Jinx into the bedroom and set her down on the bed, and she's out like a light.

Merry fucking Christmas.

—

Morning soon comes, and the sun shines through the window. Both of you woke up fairly early, since Isha is an early riser.

Jinx is doing some last-minute decorations around the apartment just to get it as stupid as possible. This includes the Christmas movie playlist she queued up on the TV and the stupid Christmas costumes.

She's also still half asleep. You can tell by how groggy she still looks, and you notice her trying to set up some of the heavier decorations before giving up and collapsing back onto the couch with a groan.

Now that the decorations are up, the playlist is put on, and the apartment looks like a Christmas abomination, all that's left is waiting for Isha to get up to open her presents.

It doesn't take long for Isha to start to stir. Jinx hears her first. “Isha is awake,” she whispers, sitting upright. You hear Isha's footsteps coming from the hallway.

She walks in, rubbing her eyes and yawning, and then promptly gives you both a judgmental glance. But then she sees the pile of gifts under the tree, and her eyes widen. 

Jinx, who was previously lying on the couch, stands up with a grin and opens her arms wide. “Ho, ho, ho!” Jinx says in a voice that's definitely not at all Santa-like. She sounds more like a drunk uncle.

Isha looks back and forth between you both, then giggles.

Jinx beckons her over with a finger. “C'mon kiddo, look! Santa Jinx left you stuff!” she says, sitting down and patting the floor next to her.

Isha runs over and sits down next to Jinx. You see her eyeing the largest gift, and Jinx notices as well.

“That one's up to you.” Jinx nudges the large box towards her. Isha immediately grabs it and tries to shake it but finds that it's too heavy.

“Santa Jinx wrapped it up extra well.” Jinx grins. Isha scoots closer to her, and Jinx wraps an arm around her to help her open the gift. “Go on, open it.”

Isha looks at you and then back to Jinx before tearing the wrapping paper apart in a few seconds and getting buried in the mess of wrapping paper. Isha tosses aside the wrapping paper, giggling as it flutters around her and flutters in the air. She tries to open the box lid, but it's too heavy for her to pick up even with both hands. She turns over to Jinx with a scowl, only for Jinx to open it for her, laughing.

“There we go, champ.” Jinx opens the box and reveals a massive plushie of the Poro from Blitzcrank's Poro Roundup inside.

Isha reaches in and pulls it out, wrapping her arms around the plushie, and burying her face into the fluff.

The Poros were her favorite part of Blitzcrank's Poro Roundup, and you saw her trying to recreate it with her toys many times. When you first saw the giant plushie and its price tag, it almost gave you a heart attack.

“Do you like it, kiddo?” Jinx asks, leaning forward.

Isha nods. She lifts her head and pulls Jinx into a tight one-armed hug, not wanting to let go of the plushie, still clinging to it tightly.

“Good,” Jinx mutters, hugging Isha back. “That one took me a while to wrap.” She presses a kiss to the top of Isha's head. She looks up to you and gives you the most smug smile she can muster without making a scene.

You're a bit jealous she's using Jinx as her first target for cuddles this morning, but it's hard to not smile at both of them.

Isha reluctantly lets go of Jinx, though she never lets go of the plushie.

Jinx looks around and picks up one of the smaller gift boxes, then hands it to her. “Here's another one.” 

Isha takes the box and shakes it, trying to guess the contents. She then looks up to make sure it's okay to open it.

Jinx chuckles. “You don't have to keep asking for permission, silly. They're all for you.”

Isha nods, and she tears open the gift. She pulls something out, and you can see it's a new, larger sketchbook.

“It's for all the drawings you want to make,” you say. She has a habit of always drawing on anything she can get her hands on, and you're always finding doodles and drawings in your things when she gets hold of a pen.

She turns it over in her hands and feels the pages with her fingers. She presses a kiss on the sketchbook. She then scoots back and drops it next to her giant plush Poro, and Jinx picks up another gift for her to open.

Isha grabs the box, and this time it looks a bit bigger and seems to have a bit more weight to it. She shakes it again, and you hear the sound of the item rattling inside. She looks up to both of you to make sure it's okay, and after you nod, she tears open the gift.

She pulls out another art supply: a box of colored pencils. You made a mental note to watch her and keep her from accidentally drawing on the walls. It's not that you don't want her to draw on things. But you just want her to not draw on everything... like Jinx. 

Isha gasps when she opens the pencils, and she immediately pulls her legs up against her chest and opens the box. She takes out a pencil and holds it as if she's holding a sword. She makes some more swoosh noises and pretends to fight with her pencil. You have to stop her from poking herself in the eye.

“There's more.” You nod towards the gift pile with several packages still there.

Isha puts the colored pencils back into the box, and Jinx hands her another gift to open.

By the time she finished unwrapping presents, the entire couch was covered in wrapping paper. Isha is surrounded by a sea of trash and gift wrap, the giant Poros plushie being her favorite, which is sitting in her lap. She has art supplies, a new set of pencils, a new plushie, a set of Yordle mini figurines, and several new toys, clothes, and accessories.

Now, there's one last package left, which is the one you're most excited to give her. You nudge Jinx to grab it from in between the sea of trash.

Jinx gets up and bends down, digging into the pile to find it. She sits down and hands it to Isha, grinning. “There's still one more.”

Isha puts her other gifts aside and grabs the last present. Isha takes one look at it and immediately starts shaking it, trying to guess what's inside.

“Hold on, kiddo, don't shake it,” Jinx says. “That one's special.”

The gift is about the size of Isha's head, a rectangular shape wrapped in gift wrap. It doesn't sound like anything is moving around inside. Isha shakes it more just to make Jinx annoyed, but stops after Jinx shoots her a look. She sets it in her lap and carefully undoes the wrapping paper.

It takes her all of 10 seconds at most, given that Isha was very excited about the other gifts but very carefully unwraps the last one. She opens the box, and you see her eyes widen. It's a new tablet.

It costs you a pretty penny for this one. It's the most high-tech, latest model. She had drawn with old tablets before, and you wanted to get her something better than the outdated garbage you used before. You downloaded some drawing software there along with parental and screen time controls, of course.

Isha pulls it out of the box and immediately turns it on. She taps the screen a few times, and she looks back up to you and Jinx with a huge grin on her face that shows the gap of her teeth. She looks so damn excited. She holds with both hands, tapping and touching the screen to see how it works.

Jinx snickers. “She loves it,” she whispers, nudging you. “Good job.”

Even after getting a brand new tablet, Isha doesn't forget her manners. She scoots over to Jinx and gives her a hug, and Jinx picks her up in response. She then carries the kid over to you, the two of them sitting down right next to you with Isha in Jinx's lap.

Isha makes a drawing on the tablet, which turns out to just be a big scribble on the screen, but Jinx and you both praise it anyway.

It's a huge change from her having an outdated tablet, and the software on that thing was so old and out of date. You know she's going to be busy with her new tablet for hours, which gives you free time with Jinx.

Speaking of Jinx, you notice how content she looks. She has Isha leaning back against her, resting her chin on the top of Isha's head. Isha is still making scribbles on her new tablet, giggling as she does so. 

You feel Jinx lean into you, and you put an arm around her, pulling her closer. She hums and reaches up with one hand and gives your hand in a squeeze, then continues watching Isha draw.

The three of you are all gathered in the living room, surrounded by wrapping paper, with the Christmas playlist still playing on the TV.

You look at Jinx. She looks happy. That's all you could ask for.

You lean down and press a kiss into her hair, and she turns up her head and briefly captures your lips. You feel her smile against your lips, and when you pull back, you see her own smile on her face.

Jinx glances down at her, and Isha doesn't notice, too absorbed in whatever she's drawing.

Jinx looks back up and presses another kiss into your lips, this time just a bit longer, before pulling away. She looks at you with that stupid grin she has sometimes. 

You lean back and let out a sigh. You're content. You have your two favorite people in the whole world right here in the living room right now, both content and happy despite the shitty world outside. They're safe.

—

Jinx is working in the kitchen, mixing up ingredients in a bowl. She's wearing an apron with a cupcake on it (a gift from you), working hard in the kitchen. She mutters to herself as she works, mixing up the ingredients. “This has to be perfect,” she mumbles. “The cookies have to be absolutely perfect.”

Isha is standing on a stool, trying her best to help. She reaches up to try and add more sugar to the bowl, but Jinx stops her. “Too much, Ish,” Jinx says, gently pushing Isha's hand away. Isha pouts but doesn't try to help again, instead watching Jinx mix together the cookie batter.

She's doing all this to make sure the holiday treats are, in her words, ‘absolutely perfect’.

You watch her mix up the ingredients, then decide to try to sneak up behind her and get her attention. “Hey,” you say, and she jumps.

“You scared me!” She hisses, placing the spatula down in the bowl with more force than necessary, some of the batter splashing over the side. She puts her hand to her chest and gives you a glare.

Isha narrows her eyes at you, mirroring Jinx's expression. It's cute, but also a little creepy.

“Jesus, you almost made me ruin the cookies.” Jinx groans, looking back at the bowl of batter and seeing some splatter on the counter next to it. She grabs a washcloth and wipes it up with an irritated huff.

Isha watches Jinx clean up the mess, then copies her by grabbing a different washcloth and holding it, imitating Jinx while narrowing her eyes even more at you.

“How long have you been standing there?” Jinx asks, still looking at the bowl with irritation.”You were staring. Didn't your momma ever teach you that it's bad to stare?”

….she pulled that your momma card, and turned her nose up at you. She's too focused on the batter, making sure it doesn't have any lumps or any of the sort. She puts the washcloth down and picks the spoon back up, mixing the ingredients.

You stand back and watch her. You know better than to try and argue with her right now. You know you're better off letting her do her thing, so you just reply with a simple “Yeah, mom,” knowing that'll annoy the hell out of her.

Bingo. You watch as Jinx rolls her eyes so hard you think they're going to get stuck in the back of her head. She groans, and a vein in her temple visibly bulges. She takes out her frustration by being just a bit rougher with the spatula, stirring the ingredients up more furiously than before. 

You hear her muttering to herself. “You're so annoying. Stupid, irritating, annoying idiot. Damn dumbass.”

Isha watches the two of you, her head turning back and forth like she's watching a tennis match.

You sigh. “Need any help?”

“No,” Jinx replies too quickly. “It's fine. Just—stand there and don't get in the way.” She gives you a glare, and it has that edge that says she's irritated. It's not the 'playfully grumpy' kind of irritation, it's the 'actually frustrated with you' type. Her eyebrows pinched together, and nostrils flared. She's got that expression on her face, the one where she's either really mad or really horny. Hard to tell sometimes.

Jinx turns to Isha. “Ish, can you go grab the chocolate chips for me?”

Isha nods and starts to hop off her stool and run to the pantry. It takes longer than it would if you or Jinx had gotten the chocolate chips, but eventually Isha retrieves the bag and brings it over, holding it out triumphantly to Jinx. 

“Perfect,” Jinx says, taking the bag from Isha's hands and pouring it into the mixture. She gives her a smile and pats her head. “You're a good helper, Isha.” She gives you a pointed look. “Unlike some certain people.”

It's a barb that's directed at you, and it hits its target.

You walk over to Isha and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart, why don't you go play with your new tablet?”

Isha nods and dashes off to play. Both of you watch her run, then Jinx goes back to her mixing, and you go back to being silently judged.

Jinx knows how to do everything. She knows how to draw, she knows how to paint, she knows how to make bombs, she knows how to bake, she can make the best damn food you've ever tasted... and she knows how to make you feel bad.

She stands there, mixing the bowl. She refuses to look at you. It's always like this. You know what she wants. She wants you to apologize, even if it's the most bullshit one ever.

She's like a cat. Get on her bad side, and she'll just ignore you until you do something to get back on her good side.

You sigh, knowing that there's only one way back on her good side. If you do this correctly, she'll forget about you being a dick to her a minute ago, and she'll go back to being a normal, happy Jinx. If you do this incorrectly, you're sleeping outside.

You walk over to her and wrap your arms around her from behind, pulling her into your chest. You rest your chin on her shoulder. “You know,” you breathe. “I am sorry…”

She groans and stops her mixing. She puts one of her hands on your arm, giving it a squeeze. She still looks at the bowl, not at you.

Now you get into the fun stuff. You press a kiss into her shoulder.

You're not just going to give her a random peck and move on. No. You've been around her for years. You know what to do. You kiss her shoulder again, then her neck, then her jaw, then her ear.

She still isn't saying anything, but leans back against you, tilting her head to the side to give you a better angle. She's still looking straight ahead, staring at the stupid bowl. You press another kiss into her neck, and you can hear her mumble, “I hate you.”

She's lying. You know she's lying. You also know that she knows you know she's lying. You know she's just saying this to get you on your knees.

She likes it when you're on your knees, begging her and apologizing for whatever stupid thing you didn't mean to do wrong.

“I'm sorry, really.” You kiss her neck again, and she groans. You can see her pouting.

“If you keep doing this, I'll put rat poison in the cookies,” she mumbles. You know there's a damn near zero chance of that happening. Maybe...

You press a kiss into her shoulder. She groans and finally drops the act. She turns around in your arms, looking up at you with a glare. “You're such an ass,” she says. “I can’t believe I got stuck with you, out of all the idiots in the world.”

You sigh. Might as well pull the big guns out and do it all. “Baby. Look. I'm sorry, I'll never sneak up on you in the kitchen. I swear.”

"You—you—ugh!!” She puts a hand on your chest and punches you with the other. “You always do it.” Another punch to your chest. “I was trying to focus on those cookies. You can't just sneak up on me like that.”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry.” You grab her hand before she can punch you again. “It was a mistake. Baby, I didn't mean to scare you, I swear in my heart and soul I'll never do it again.

She pushes and thrashes against you, still trying to punch you. “You say that every damn time you do it!” she snaps. “And then when I'm focused on something else, you do it all over again!”

You keep her hands pinned to your chest. “I'm a terrible, awful, stupid person,” you admit. “I'm an idiot. I can't help myself, you're so hot when you're focused, I just can't help it. It's a mistake, I swear.”

Despite the fact that you have her wrists pinned to your chest, she manages to give you another punch. “You're the most annoying person I know! You're lucky I didn't dump this bowl of batter on your head! Maybe you'd learn your damn lesson!”

“You'd be wasting perfectly good cookie dough if you did that,” you reply. “Don't do it, baby. C'mon, I'll get you and Isha some ice cream. Alright?”

She sighs and gives up fighting against your grip. “...That new flavor?”

You let go of her wrists, letting her arms drop to her sides. “Only the new flavor, just for you.”

She stares you down for a full thirty seconds, then groans. She glances at the living room. “And Isha.”

“And Isha.” You lean down and put your arms on the countertop, both on either side of her. “Please?” 

“Please what,” she asks, not looking at you.

“Please forgive me?”

Silence.

“Pretttty please?”

More silence. Wow, she's not giving in that easily. You're going to need to pull out the heavy artillery now.

“I'll get you two new stuffies as well."

Her head whips around, giving you a glare. “And what stuffies would you so graciously and lovingly buy me so I can forgive you for the massive crime of scaring me while I'm baking?”

You almost smirk, you almost smirk. “Anything you want,” you offer. “I'll even call up some people and get you a stuffed replica of me if you want.”

“Why the hell would I want a stuffed replica of you?” She scoffs. “I could dunk it in the toilet.”

“You'd get your hands on a plushy of me, and the first thing you'd do is throw it in a shitter?” You raise an eyebrow. “I thought you liked me.”

“That's why I'd use a plushie of you as toilet paper.”

“What if I bought you two of them? A first one to use as toilet paper and a second one to cuddle?”

“Hmm...” She pretends to think about it, giving the most exaggerated facial expressions while she tilts her head like she's in deep thought. After about twenty seconds, she grins at you. “I'm still dunking both of them in the toilet.”

“How about I buy you two stuffed replicas of me, let you do what you want, call in a bunch of favors with some guys, get a bunch of replicas of me made, rinse and repeat until you're satisfied, and then you can forgive me?”

“...Make it a dozen replicas of you that I can abuse in whatever way I want, and a replica of Isha.”

“You wanna put Isha in the toilet too?”

 “No, you moron, I just want a replica of her because I love her more than I love you.”

"Ouch!” You pretend to be hurt. “You kiss me with that mouth?”

“I kiss you with both my upper and lower mouths.”

…

…

Wow?

This woman.

You don't think you've ever been hit by such smooth lines before. Damn, you really pulled the rizzler.

You're trying to figure out how to come back at that when she suddenly puts her arms on your shoulders, her hand slowly tracing around your neck. Her smirk turns into a half-smile that makes those damn eyes nearly glow.

Alright, time to pull out some more bullshit. “You do like it when I use that lower mouth.” You smirk. “You especially love that first thing in the morning, as I recall.”

She puts a finger under your chin, tipping your head up. “How could I ever forget?” she mutters, her eyes half-lidded. “After all, it's my favorite alarm clock.” 

You can see her eyes dart down to your lips and back to your eyes. 

“And my favorite breakf-”

Before you can finish your comment, she grabs your shirt and pulls you closer before kissing you.

You aren't complaining, not at all. You'll never argue or protest when she's making the first move, no ma'am!

You wrap your arms around her back, pulling her against you. She nips at your bottom lip before quickly delving her tongue into your mouth. You can feel her other hand against your chest, then slide up to your shoulder, then up to the back of your neck.

Your hands go down to her hips, pushing her backwards and forcing her to sit on the countertop. Her legs open, letting you stand between them. You kiss her back, your tongue darting back into her mouth.

Her tongue keeps yours occupied in her mouth, and she wraps her legs around your waist. Her hands move to the back of your head, her fingers pulling on your hair, and her other arm wraps around your shoulders.

One of your hands is on the counter, supporting the two of you, while your other hand travels up her shirt to the bare skin on her stomach.

Her hand tugs on your hair, causing you to break the kiss and look up at her. Her lips are red and swollen, and she takes a moment to catch her breath. “One plushie and an ice cream. Don't go overboard.”

You take a breath in. Then, another one.

The taste of her mouth is still on your tongue. You thought you had a strong tongue, but she went right for the kill.

“Are you bargaining with me right after you kiss me?” you tease.

“Yes, because that's the only time your brain works correctly.”

She pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to take a step back. She hops off the counter then leans back against it. “You still get one plushie. And-”

“And an ice cream,” you finish.

“And for Isha too.”

“And for Isha too,” you repeat.

“And no more sneaking while I'm baking,” she warns, pointing a finger at you.

“And no more sneaking while you're baking,” you echo.

“No more being an annoying, distracting idiot and getting me off track when I'm baking.”

“No more being an annoying, distracting idiot and getting you off track when you're baking,” you respond dutifully.

“No more scaring me when I'm just minding my own business.”

“No more scaring you when you're minding your own business.”

She smirks.. “No more sneaking around me at all.”

You pause. “...Am I allowed to watch you bake?”

“Under specific conditions,” she responds. “You have to have your hands behind your back, and you’re not allowed to talk—at all. No making comments, no asking questions, no annoying me, no trying to touch me, nothing.”

You frown, but you know it's a fair compromise. “...Fine, I'll abide by those rules when you're baking. Unless you need help… what if there's an emergency?”

She rolls her eyes. “If an emergency happens, you can intervene. But if it's not an actual emergency, then it's just you being annoying and distracting again.”

You nod your head. “No talking, no hands, no questions, no touching, and only intervention for emergencies.”

“And one more thing.”

“And one more thing,” you parrot back.

She pushes herself away from the counter, keeping her eyes on yours, and takes a step towards you. “You owe me.”

“I owe you,” you repeat, but your mouth turns up in a smirk. “And what do I owe you?”

“You can start with giving the living room a deep clean on your day off,” she begins.

Ah, that's where this is going. She's going to milk this for all it's worth.

“And?” you prompt.

“And you're doing the laundry on top of that. All the sheets on the bed-” She takes another step closer. “-and all the laundry in the laundry basket,” she clarifies. She pokes your chest with a finger. “All. Of. It.”

“All of it?” you echo. “Are you planning on throwing every single piece of dirty clothing you own into the basket before I get back from work just so you can give me extra work?”

“You’re catching on.” She grins. “And you’re going to wash everything meticulously. No stains, no wrinkles, and everything is going to be folded correctly. You hear?”

“No stains, no wrinkles, and everything folded correctly.” you repeat the words back to her. “Anything else?”

“You're scrubbing the bathroom, vacuuming and cleaning the hardwood, and changing Isha's bedding.”

“Are you sure I can't just buy you a Roomba?” you suggest.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Her hand traces to your stomach before resting on your shoulder. “I’m not trusting my cleaning to some random little thing on the floor. You do all the cleaning yourself, and I’m inspecting it all.”

You’re pretty sure that’s a very roundabout way of saying, “I’m going to watch you do chores and get mad when you do it marginally imperfect.”

“Alright, so laundry, bathroom cleaning, vacuuming, scrubbing the floors, and changing the bedding. Anything else?” you ask.

She looks up at you, a pout on her face, and her other hand is playing with the fabric of your shirt. “And a Christmas movie night later with Isha.”

“And a Christmas movie night with you and Isha,” you repeat. “Alright, is that everything?”

“Not quite.”

“Not quite,” you mimic. “What’s left?”

“And I don't want to see a single dish in the sink after dinner for a month.” 

“And no dishes in the sink after dinner for a month,” you repeat. “You got it, boss.” You wrap your arms around her waist. “Anything else, or are you done chaining me yet?”

“A massage.”

“A massage?” you repeat incredulously.

“Yes, a back massage.”

“Just a back massage?”

She nods. “A nice long back massage that hopefully won't end with you doing anything stupid.”

Hey, the stupid things end with the both of you having a good time.

“With or without oil?”

“With oil. And I'm serious about only a back massage.”

“Damn, thought you were going to say full body.”

“I'm not that easy,” she snaps. “And I mean just a back massage. No trying to distract me, no straying from what you're supposed to do. Got it? No funny business.”

“Alright, alright,” you grumble. “I'll give you a back massage with no funny business or distractions. But only one?”

“One long back massage,” she corrects.

“Only one?” you whine. “I'm going to end up giving the best damn back massage ever, and it's going to be a waste after just one.”

“One nice and long back massage,” she replies sternly. “That's all you're getting out of me. Consider it a part of your debt.”

“Can I bargain for more?” you joke. Well, only partially.

She glares at you. “One back massage only,” she clarifies, her hand pinching your shoulder as a warning. "

You wince at the pinch. “Ow, ow, ow, I got it. One, and only one back massage with oil. Anything else? Anything else?”

“And you're buying me and Isha one plushie and an ice cream?” she finishes, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay. One plushie and ice cream for each of you, a nice back massage with oil, laundry chores, bathroom cleaning, vacuuming the floors, scrubbing all the hardwood, and changing the bedding. And a Christmas movie night,” you list off, counting on your fingers. “And no dishes left in the sink after dinner for a month. That's it?”

“That's it.” She nods. “Those are my terms. Do you agree?”

“Yes, yes. I agree.” You raise a finger as you add, “And I’ll add two extra hours to that back massage.”

“You're such a pain-” she starts, pausing to think about it. “...Two extra hours added, I'll say yes to that.”

“What will I get if I add three more?” you ask, smirking.

“Nothing more,” she replies. “I'm done adding more on. Unless you want to add more chores to be done?”

The smirk on your face drops. “I-” you start, hesitating. “...Damn it, no, no more adding on. Two extra hours is good enough.”

“Good,” she says, poking your cheek. “Now get out, I have cookies to finish.”

“Fine,” you reply, but you lean in to steal one kiss, to which she allows you.

“Leave, you're too distracting,” she mutters against your lips.

“You're damn tempting when you're baking,” you mutter back, and kiss her one more time.

Reluctantly, you pull away from her, stepping out of the kitchen and heading to the living room. Isha is sitting on the couch with her tablet, drawing.

“Hey, kiddo,” you say, walking up to her, “Let's go get some ice cream and another plushie for you. Just us two, how's that sound?”

Her ears perk up, and she puts the tablet down, getting up and running over to you with a smile on her face.

She grabs your hand, and you feel as she tugs against you, wanting to go now. Ice cream and plushies (and chores and nice long back massage with oil) have got to be one of the best things invented in the history of humankind.

—

Ice cream and plushies acquired, and the three of you are back in the living room watching The Grinch for the umpteenth time. Isha is curled up in Jinx's lap, watching the Grinch steal all the presents and decorations from Whoville. Again.

You're sitting beside Jinx on the couch, eating her ice cream while Isha eats a cookie. 

Jinx has an arm around Isha, watching the movie while she holds Isha up. She takes a bite of her cookie or takes a spoon of her ice cream. You've lost count of how many times you've seen this movie with Isha already. You can practically quote the entire movie by heart at this point. Jinx can, anyway.

Not that you complain when Isha wants to watch it. This is still a thousand times better than having to see the Teletubbies.If you ever see Jojo Siwa or Peppa Pig, you're going to lose your mind.

Jinx gives you a look, then glances at your ice cream. She's already finished hers, and now she wants yours. She really wants it, and if you don't give it to her, she's likely going to steal it.

But Isha is on her lap, and she doesn't want to take her attention off of her, so you're safe… for now.

Isha is so focused completely on the movie. You've never seen a kid more excited to see a grown man being a complete dick.

Jinx keeps glancing at your ice cream, waiting for you to let your guard down and grab it from your hands.

She's probably already done the math in her head and knows exactly how much you can eat in one sitting. She probably did the math the first time you two shared ice cream and has kept a note in her mind since then.

Isha giggles at one of the funnier scenes, and then Jinx ruffles her hair. Isha leans back against Jinx and keeps watching the movie, but your girlfriend glances back at you with a look. That damn ice cream.

But this is your moment.

A window of opportunity has opened, and you can use it. Jinx is trapped by the kid. She can't leave, she's stuck. You have the upper hand, and you can use this to your advantage.

You grab the ice cream and shovel a heaping spoonful into your mouth. And hold it there.

Haha. You smirk at Jinx. She looks at you and realizes that she's in a checkmate position. She's screwed. Trapped behind the child, all she can do is glare at you as you shove more ice cream into your mouth. It feels so damn good to win. It feels powerful. You feel like a god.

If looks could kill, you'd be dead. 

You shovel more and more ice cream into your mouth, looking right at Jinx while you do it. You're making sure she watches you as you slowly eat the sweet, cold treat.

You feel like you're on top of the world... not until Isha wants to go to the bathroom.

Isha squirms and looks up at Jinx, signaling that she has to go to the bathroom. Jinx nods, and the kid scurries off to the bathroom to do her business.

Meanwhile, you've just sealed your fate.

She hates not getting her way, and you've just denied her the treat she wanted. And she will get revenge. She'll probably use a dirty trick, too. Maybe she'll put something in the next batch of cookies she bakes next. Or maybe she'll put a dead tarantula in your pillow.

And the moment Isha is out of the room, Jinx turns to face you. She looks absolutely angry. You'd think she just walked in on you sleeping with another woman if it wasn't for the ice cream still in your mouth.

The look in her eyes alone makes you start to sweat, but you force yourself to keep your composure. You have to keep the upper hand.

You shrug. “I can get you another ice cream... and another stuffie?”

She scowls. You can see her fingers twitch. “I'll remember this,” she says. Like you're not already trembling in fear. “Next time you ask to eat the last cookie, I'll say no.”

You know she won't follow through with that, but that doesn't mean it won't still be a pain in the ass. Not like you'd ever take the last cookie in the first place. It's probably only a bluff, it's probably empty words. She's probably still thinking of ways to get you back. You'll probably be finding dead spiders in your socks tonight.

Isha comes back and stops in the doorway, staring at the two of you. Wondering why you guys are looking upset. Jinx sees her, and her scowl turns into a smile within a fraction of a second.

It's almost scary how quickly she can flip.

“Hey Ish, did you wash your hands?” she asks, looking at Isha.

Isha nods. She probably did. She's pretty smart, she knows how important it is to wash hands. She's even stopped doing the typical kid thing of putting her hands in the toilet and getting who knows what all over her. You're thankful for it, 'cause you definitely don't want to see that.

Jinx smiles and motions for Isha to come back to her. Isha does so and snuggles into her lap, and Jinx kisses her head before turning back to you. That glare.

You're in the deep end now. Like you're about to be thrown into the Mariana's Trench, or the Challenger Deep. You know hell awaits.

All because of this goddamn ice cream.

She's probably got her payback list going in her head, writing down every single slight you've ever done against her. You remember she made you walk around the entire apartment building because... you forgot to take out the garbage six months ago.

You scoff, holding out the ice cream to her, hoping it would somehow appease her.

She looks at you, then at the ice cream, then back at you. She looks like she's trying to figure out if this is some sort of trick and whether or not you're just making fun of her.

She looks at you again and then finally takes the ice cream bowl out of your hands, grumbling to herself. She starts eating the ice cream without any hesitation. You see her scowl start to melt away.

You lean in and whisper. “You could've asked nicely, you know.”

“Shut up,” she mutters.

Of course she doesn't ask nicely. That's way too much work, that's way too civilized. She's Jinx, she does things her way. And if her way includes stealing your ice cream without asking, she's going to steal your ice cream without asking.

She doesn't have the patience to wait, she wants what she wants at that exact moment. That's why it's safer to just share, 'cause if you don't, your food/drink/whatever it is she's going to swipe ends up in her hands.

She even tries to steal your fries all the time and gives you the most pathetic puppy eyes whenever you say no.

She has an ice cream on the corner of her lip, and you resist the urge to lean over and wipe it off. You know better than to get closer. Or she's going to give you a death glare. You've already gotten a couple today.

You see Isha lean her head against Jinx's shoulder, and she wraps her arm around Isha.

You know damn well she's going to use that as a shield against you too. You've seen it hundreds of times. She'll use Isha as an excuse to do everything. She'll say, “You're going to upset Isha,” and you'll fall for it every damn time.

Because you really don't want to make Isha upset. You've seen Isha in a bad mood, it's pretty damn depressing. And you've had to deal with a stressed Jinx who had a stressed Isha to deal with.

You've seen Jinx with a rocket launcher at her side while she's glaring out the window and chewing on a toothpick. You just pray it's never directed at you.

And you never want to go through that ever again.

You don't even want to imagine if they're both on their periods. You've got nightmares about it. You hope you never have to see it, but it's going to happen sometime soon.

And when the hormones start kicking in, you're pretty sure you're going to have to call a therapist.

Or a priest. Or a priest-therapist. You're going to need both.

Or a priest-therapist-exorcist. Three-in-one

Or a priest-exorcist-therapist-monk, someone who will bless the damn apartment and cleanse the demons out.

Maybe you'll want to call some kind of SWAT team. Get everyone out of the crossfire and just leave a demolition crew to clean up the destruction.

Because you already know what's going to happen if they're both on their periods and are having a bad day.

They'll probably try and blow the damn thing, the three of you probably won't have a place to stay, and you'll have to tell the landlord exactly how your apartment got destroyed.

But those are for future you to deal with. And past-present you don't want to think about it. You'd rather think about the now, where Jinx is eating her ice cream and Isha is curled up against her, watching her favorite movie and not being on her period.

You see Isha yawn and rub her eyes as the movie plays. She's getting tired, and it's getting late. Jinx seems to notice too.

She glances between the kid and the clock. She glances back at the movie, then back at Isha. She looks at the clock again and sighs. “C'mon, kiddo, let's put on your pajamas,” she mutters, setting aside her bowl, then picking up the remote to pause the movie. Isha makes a whine of protest. Jinx shakes her head. “Go on. Go take a bath, brush your teeth, put your pajamas on. Okay?”

Isha shakes her head. She's tired, and she looks like she wants to stay like this. 

Jinx sighs, then looks at you. You look back at her, and Jinx nods her head towards Isha, raising an eyebrow. You roll your eyes, realizing Jinx is already on her way to using Isha as an excuse.

You get up and put your hands under Isha's arms and start lifting her out of Jinx's lap, and the kid whines. Isha squirms and tries to reach for Jinx, but you start carrying her towards the bathroom.

You really hope that Isha has an easy time putting on her pajamas and brushing her teeth and doesn't want to fight doing that too. There are some nights it takes like a whole damn hour to make this kid brush her teeth. It's because she likes to chew on the brush.

You open the bathroom door and set Isha down. “Go on, kid. You need to take a bath and brush your teeth,” you say, and you feel her grab your hand. 

This is all your responsibility now. Jinx is off sitting on the damn couch eating ice cream and watching the rest of The Grinch while you're stuck having to get her to brush her teeth, put pajamas on, and take a bath.

You glance back at the doorway, and you can see Jinx watching the movie with a big smirk on her face. She looks at you, and you swear you can see her mouth ‘you're welcome’ while she's eating her ice cream.

You really should've shared the ice cream.

—

The war is finally over. You finally get the kid clean, finally finally get the brat to put on the damn pajamas, and she finally finally finally goes to sleep. But not before she kicks and cries and kicks and screams and screams and cries. 

It's a hell of a Christmas, but it's been a long, exhausting day, and you're finally getting a break.

And you and Jinx are back in your room. Your head is throbbing and all your muscles are sore from everything today.

Jinx's back is facing you, and she's sitting cross-legged between your legs.

She's letting you undo her braids, and she's quiet, just letting you do your thing. Probably too damn tired (and annoyed) to have much to say right now.

The silence is nice. It's soothing. You carefully undo her braids, trying not to tug too hard.

She doesn't seem to be saying anything, which is weird. She's usually making comments about something whenever silence starts to stretch out for too long. Or she's trying to annoy you in some way. But tonight... nothing. Not even a hum to fill the silence.

You undo the last braid, and her long, blue hair flows down her back. You're used to seeing it like this at this point. But it never gets old. Seeing it like this, even if you have to deal with the mess it can make on your pillowcase.

It looks nice, though. It is nice. You're glad that she trusts you enough to let you sit here and run your fingers through it.

You wrap your arms around her waist, and she doesn't protest. She does lean against you, allowing you to rest your chin on her shoulder. Her hands find their way to your arms, tracing circles on your forearm with her thumb.

She closes her eyes, just... taking in the moment.

It's quiet. She doesn't say anything, and neither do you.

You can smell the faint smell of the shampoo she uses. You can still smell the cookies she made earlier. 

She turns her head to the side, and she glances at you from the corner of her eye. Her lips part like she wants to tell you something. Her brow furrows, but then she turns her head away and goes back to tracing patterns on your arm with her fingers.

Something's on her mind. But she doesn't seem to want to tell you. Or she does, but she doesn't know how. Or she doesn't want to.

You lean your head and press a kiss into her shoulder, intertwining one of your hands with hers. Your thumbs run in a slow, circular pattern on the back of her hand. “What's wrong?” 

She doesn't respond, but her fingers twitch in your grasp. Her back is still to you, and she stares at the wall in front of her. “Nothing.”

She moves away from you, sliding out from between your legs and crawling to the other side of the bed. You follow her, sliding into the spot beside her and pulling the covers over the both of you.

She rests her head on your arm, tucking her head into the crook of your arm and leaning on your shoulder. She pulls the blanket up to her chin. You pull her closer, and your other arm comes to wrap around her. She puts her legs between yours, tangling the two of you together like some convoluted knot. 

Her thumb brushes your waist idly, and her fingers start rubbing along the edge of your ribs.

She's doing something. A tapping, sort of. She'll run a pattern along your ribs before tapping on it once.

She's doing it to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You can see her eyes are open. She's not quite asleep yet. Her eyes are distant, not focused on anything in particular because they stare at nothing in particular.

She blinks a couple of times. And just when you were thinking that she's just spaced out...

“...Can I ask you something?”

You wouldn't have heard her if you weren't holding her so close to your chest. She's not moving much, just fidgeting. She's staring into the darkness, like she's staring at something beyond the wall in front of her.

“It's stupid,” she adds when you're too slow to answer.

“What is it?” Your curiosity is piqued. She never calls anything she asks about 'stupid.' That's not how she works. The only stupid questions are the ones that don't have an answer, she told you once.

Her fingers stop tracing on your skin. Instead, she moves her hand down to pick at the hem of your shirt. Her fingers grasping the hem of your shirt but making no move to bring it up. “I've been thinking,” she starts.

Her voice is so quiet, it's hushed. Not out of fear or because she's trying to keep anyone from waking up, but out of a sort of... embarrassment?

But why would she be embarrassed to ask you something? It's probably just a big deal for her, that's all.

“What've you been thinking about?” you ask, trying to bring her out of her own head.

“I was thinking, ah…” she trails off and sighs.

She picks at the hem of your shirt and pulls it up just a bit before she pulls it back down. She sighs again.

“Why do you stay with me?”

Her fingers are still picking at the hem of your shirt. Almost like she's picking it apart, little by little.

For you, it's almost a strange question, considering the relationship you've had together for so many years. Why wouldn't you stay with her?

It's a question you haven't really heard from her. Most of the time, the questions she asks are “are you mad at me?” or “are you going to leave me?”

You start to run your hand up and down her arm, trying to soothe her with your touch.

She doesn't seem tense, she's not shivering. Actually, she seems pretty relaxed, like laying in your arms and tucked into your side is completely normal. Which it is.

But you can hear her breath hitch, you can almost feel her heartbeat pick up. And her picking at your shirt is starting to get a bit more insistent.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Like- I dunno. I'm a walking disaster. Or a catastrophe even.”

She stops picking at your shirt and brings her hand up to brush some hair out of her face. She's doing anything she can to avoid looking at you.

“It doesn't make sense,” she mumbles. “I'm not exactly-” she pauses. “-nice, to most people.” She says it as if it's an understatement, which it probably is. “And yet,” she continues. “I get to hold you and be close to you…”

She reaches for your shirt again, and pulls it up just an inch, running her thumb along the hem.

It's odd to hear from her. The way that she words it, it sounds like she can't comprehend being loved. She's not stupid, far from it. She's far smarter than she makes herself out to be.

She's always been clingy and craves attention and affection. She's possessive of you and sometimes can act like a child. She can be impulsive and can be reckless. She asks if you're mad at her if you don't answer her call for a few minutes. She makes you dress up as a dumbass reindeer costume.

Yet, you love her.

“Maybe…” she trails off, and you hear her swallow a lump in her throat. “I might get a little…” she starts, her fingers fidgeting even more. “Possessive?”

Possessive. She'll break your phone if you mention another woman's name. Or burn a restaurant. Or both.

“Maybe I'm clingy?” she continues, and you can almost hear the way her lip curls as if she's about to say something else. She doesn't say it, though. The silence stretches out.

She's thinking, thinking hard.

“I don't understand why you want to put up with all of my…” she trails off again. “My bullshit,” she finishes in a hushed voice.

“Your bullshit.” You chuckle, and her fingers pause. 

Her bullshit, as she calls it. You know about her past. Her upbringing. That she's been abandoned time and time again, betrayed. That she's got abandonment issues. That she loves you more than anything, yet is afraid you'll leave her, and she'll be alone again.

You pull her against your chest, hugging her tightly.

Her breath hitches again, and you feel her fingers tighten as she clutches at your shirt. Something that you've noticed is that she finds comfort in the scent of you. In the little things, like smelling your shirt. Or how she'll sometimes lean over to smell your hair or the collar of your jacket.

You press a kiss against the top of her head, then another, then another.

“What makes me worth staying for?”

You're quiet, as you think. There are several words out there you could use to describe Jinx.

Amazing.

Intelligent.

Beautiful.

Gifted.

Creative,

Brilliant.

Talented.

Wonderful.

There are so many words you could say. So many words with so much meaning that all apply to this wonderful woman.

She's terrified of being abandoned again, and yet she feels like she's not worth being loved. Even after all the damage she's done and all the damage you've both done to each other, you still stayed. And she doesn't understand it.

Or refuses to understand it. She still believes that you're going to leave her someday.

“You drive me crazy,” you start, and she lets out a huff. “You're funny,” you continue. “Sometimes.” You lean down and press a kiss against the top of her head. “And sweet, sometimes.” You lift your other hand to gently scratch her scalp, the way you know she likes. In turn, she nuzzles her face into your shoulder. “You make me look forward to things. You make me look forward to going home.” You pause. “You make me want to come home.”

Every single time you turn the key to open the door of your home, she's there. The moment you step into the house, she's the first thing you see. Whether you're coming home late in the evening after a long day at work or coming back after a quick trip to the store, she's always there waiting for you.

She'll hear the door open, she'll get up off the couch or bed, or even wake herself up. She'll come rushing over to see you, and she'll jump into your arms before you even enter the living room. She'll hold on tightly, and you have to pry her off so you don't both topple onto the floor.

When you can manage to get her off of you—just for a brief second—she'll immediately start talking your ear off. About her day, what she did, what she and Isha did, and about the latest shenanigans she did around town.

She'll make you sit down, and the moment you do, she crawls into your lap and clings on to you.

She asks if you're hungry, if you need her to get you anything, if you need food, if you're tired. She'll take your coat from your hands, and you've come back home multiple times to find your coats and shoes perfectly put away in their spot.

“You're crazy,” you continue. “You make me do the stupidest damn things I can think of, like dress up in a reindeer costume.” You huff. “But I don't mind any of it, because it's you.”

Jinx doesn't say anything. If she was tired before, she's wide awake now.

“You throw stuff at my head when you get angry.” She has the decency to look sheepish at that.

You continue. “You annoy the living hell out of me.”

Jinx's eyebrows raise. Yeah, she knew that already.

“You're weird.”

She grunts and hides her face at the crook of your neck. A smile is playing at the edges of her lips.

“But the best things in life are weird.” You sigh, pressing another kiss into her hair. “I like waking up next to you. Even if you get drool on my damn shirt.”

“That was ONE TIME-” she squawks, lifting her head to look at you. It was more than one time, but you decide not to point that out. She grumbles, then buries her face back into your neck.

“You steal all the blankets.”

Jinx freezes at that. She burrows her face deeper into the crook of your neck.

“It's a pain in the ass, but you're so damn cold, and I know you're gonna be shivering when you crawl into bed.”

She'll roll over and hug you as close as she can at night because she ‘wants to steal your warmth,’ but in reality it's her trying to keep warm. Her toes are always freezing cold, to the point that she sleeps with socks on.

“You're cute when you're angry,” you say, which earns you a kick to the shin.

“I am not.”

“Sure you are. When you get mad, you get this cute little pout, and you look like a puffed-up kitten.”

She doesn't respond, and when you can see her face, you see her pouting. 

“See?” You lift your hand up and reach to flick her nose, but she grabs it in a flash. 

“I'm not cute when I get mad.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

You both argue for a good few minutes, the both of you going back and forth, the both of you being just as stubborn.

Eventually you both get tired of going back and forth, so you take a different approach. When she's just about to say she's not cute, you lean down and smother her with kisses. Her protest turns into giggles, and she squawks when you bury your head in her neck and press kisses against her throat.

She squirms, trying to get out of your grip. Her hands fly up to push against you, but you have her pinned beneath you, trapping her against the softness of the bed. You pin her wrists with one hand and use the other to continue your campaign of kisses against her neck and collarbone.

“You talk in your sleep.” You trail your lips to the side of her jaw.

You've experienced that several times. She has a habit of talking in her sleep, which she doesn't realize. Or she does and is just messing with you.

“Huh?” She grunts out, still trying to free her arms. 

“You talk in your sleep,” you repeat. Your lips trail to the back of her ear. “You usually say weird things.” One of your legs slides between her knees, forcing them to spread. “One time you said something about bunnies and monkeys and fireworks.”

That got her to stop struggling. Her eyes are wide as she stares at you.

When she doesn't say anything, you chuckle, moving to press kisses against the tip of her nose, her eyelashes, and finally the corner of her lips. “You woke me up in the middle of the night by whispering something. You said the bunnies were gonna eat the monkeys, and the fireworks were to defend the monkeys.”

The words finally register in her mind, and she suddenly laughs. “You're making that up.”

“Nope,” you respond, popping the 'p'. “You've said more crazy things, you know,” you continue. “You said you were gonna 'shoot the sun down.' When I asked what you meant, you said something about using a cannon.”

She laughs again, and the sound of her laughter is like music to your ears. “That was a good dream.”

“I'm sure it was,” you murmur against her collarbone, moving up to her neck. “I woke up and you had your head buried under the pillow.”

“I wanted to muffle the sun.”

“At 2 am?”

“The sun was loud.”

You chuckle against her neck before you bite down, sucking at a spot in the crook of her shoulder. She gasps at that. “You kick me sometimes in the middle of the night.”

And her legs are always flailing about in her sleep. She has hit you multiple times in her sleep, accidentally whacking you in the face.

“I don't do that on purpose.” She huffs.

You raise an eyebrow at her and stop peppering her neck with kisses. 

You get hit by her feet, her elbows, her hands, all while she's apparently asleep. It's like she's having a damn fencing match in her dreams. 

“You absolutely do it on purpose.” You scoff. “When we first moved in together, I woke up one night and I had a black eye. And you had this smirk on your face while you were 'asleep'.”

“I swear that was an accident!”

She accidentally slammed her elbow into your eye while asleep. It left your eye bruised for a week, and the next morning she felt terrible about it. You can still remember her fretting over you and making you an ice pack while constantly apologizing.

“Uh huh.”

“I said it was an accident,” she says, her bottom lip jutting out.

“Then I guess it's just a coincidence that you elbowed me in the other eye a week after that?”

That time she had been having a nightmare, and apparently you jostled her. She swung around and socked you dead in the eye, which once again had left you with a black eye that took a week to go away.

“That was also an accident.”

“You do it on purpose,” you scoff. “You're trying to kill me in my sleep.”

“I like you alive,” she says, “who else is gonna keep me warm at night?”

“You could get a dog to keep you warm at night,” you respond, “or a hot water bottle.”

“Those don't have your warmth.”

You chuckle. “What, I'm just a replacement heater for you?” 

She squawks and tries to smack you on the shoulder. Which is difficult when her wrists are still pinned by your hand. “I don't use you just for your warmth, you dumbass.” She struggles against you. “Lemme go, I wanna hit you.”

“No,” you mumble before leaning down to bury your face in her neck again. “You wake me up in the middle of the night to talk about whatever nonsense you want or because you can't sleep.”

She'll wake up at the most random times in the night, just as you're about to fall asleep. She'll start talking, and you'll be half asleep as you listen to her go on a 3 am rant on how the neighbor a floor above you always stomps around in heels at random hours of the night and keeps her awake. Or about why pigeons are evil.

And if she's not talking, she's staring at you while you're asleep or playing with your hair. You've lost count of the times you've woken up with her fingers combing through your hair or tracing the lines of your face.

“You have the biggest sweet tooth I've ever seen.”

She wakes up in the middle of the night, leaving you to raid the kitchen for candy and pastries. You'll wake up at 3 am, only to realize the left side of the bed is cold. You get up, stumbling out of bed to look for her.

You'll find her with a spoon in one hand, a bag of cookies in the other. Sometimes sitting on the counter, sometimes sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, happily munching away.

“You even went ahead and stole the candies I keep in the fridge for Isha. I have to hide everything for that girl in the house or there won't be anything left for her.”

There's the time she ate all of Isha's snacks in one evening. And you had to make another trip to the corner store to go and replace those.

She'll grab a bowl of candy or chips and eat it in front of the TV, finishing the whole bag. If she's really into it, she'll probably grab a small snack here and there as well. Isha gets jealous when she eats all of her snacks, but she doesn't mind sharing either.

Sometimes you'll find her on the couch with a handful of candy in her hands while Isha sits next to her, telling her to “share and quit hogging.”

You also remember the one time she ate a ton of ice cream out of the carton and made herself sick later that night. She got a massive brain freeze and swore to “never eat another bit of ice cream again.” She ate some two days later.

“You steal my clothes. Always.”

She'll take anything you own that she can wear. Hoodies, sweaters, shirts. She'll grab a pair of socks or a pair of jeans and wear them herself. You're not even sure how you own any clothes anymore, seeing as a majority of your clothes have been stolen.

“You always take my hoodies-”

“-Because they're comfy and smell like you.” She huffs as a counter, cutting you off.

“-And never give them back,” you finish, raising an eyebrow.

“And it's not like you mind that much,” she counters again.

True, you like it when she wears your clothes. Still, not all of your clothes are hers to take.

She even takes your underwear. Or, at least, the ones that you don't mind her taking. Though sometimes she'll put them on and then try to tease you by making sure they're visible by the waistband peeking up from her shorts or her pants.

She tries to justify it by saying, “No one can see me,” and the fact you “see her naked almost every day anyway.”

“My underwear is still my underwear.”

She laughs. “What, you don't like it when I wear them?” She tilts her head.

She knows damn well you like it when she wears them.

She will sit herself on your lap, wearing nothing besides a pair of your underwear and one of your hoodies. She'll start to rock her hips against you, slowly grinding against you as she stares at you.

“Never said that, did I?” you kiss her neck again. “Just saying, they're mine.” Your hands are still keeping her wrists pinned.

She wriggles in your grasp again.

“You use up the hot water trying to shower.”

She always has these long showers that last way longer than necessary. She likes taking her time with it, so half the time you're left showering in cold water. Or just sitting around and waiting till she's done.

Her hair is the reason. Sometimes you'd get frustrated when you're already late to drop Isha off at school, and Jinx is taking a long time in the shower.

But you kind of enjoyed it when you joined her under the shower. 

She snickers. She's probably thinking the same thing. “Only because you jump me in the shower and start messing around,” she says, and she wiggles again, trying to pull her wrists out of your grip, and you tighten your grip on her wrists in response. She bites her bottom lip. “It's not my fault you can't get enough of me.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth again as you lean down, biting at the crook of her neck again. “No,” you respond. “I can't get enough of you.”

She sighs and arches her neck amore, letting you press more kisses against her neck, her jawline, moving towards her ear.

“You paint on my things, even though you have your own.”

She'd doodle in the margins of your newspapers, on the cover of books, on old magazines, and once she even painted designs on a white t-shirt of yours. A shirt that, now, you couldn't wear out anymore. But you kept it because she liked it when you wore it.

You remember coming home to find her painting your shoes pink, then complaining she got your shoes dirty. She was trying to make them 'prettier'.

Or the time she tried to paint the TV. Her excuse was that you needed a paintable TV. Somehow.

“Not all things are paintable.”

She huffs. “Well, all things are if you try hard enough.”

“That's not... you know that's not true,” you mutter as your grip on her wrists loosens.

Once they're free, she immediately lifts them up and hooks them around your shoulders. She pulls you down, pressing herself against you, until all you can hear is the sound of her quickened breathing and the rapid beating of her heart against her ribs.

You bury your face into the crook of her neck, your nose pressing into her skin. Your arms wrap around her waist, pulling her close.

She lifts her hands and lets her fingers tangle into your hair, playing with it before she grabs at your roots, her fingertips pressing into your scalp.

“I love you,” you murmur. “Exactly the way you are.” You pause to let it sink in, but you continue speaking before she can cut you off. “I stay with you because I want to stay with you.”

You can feel her heartbeat, the slow, steady thudding, picking up as she swallows. You can feel her hands, buried in your hair, still holding onto you. And you stay quiet too, until you feel her shift beneath you and her hands move, sliding from your hair to the sides of your face.

She pulls you away, just enough to get a look at your face. She cups your face in her palms.

You hold her hand against your cheek, turning your head as you press a kiss against her palm, before staring down into her eyes. “I'm with you,” you murmur. “Because I choose to be with you. I choose you.”

Your lips brush against the skin of her palm before they move up to her fingers. One by one, you press kisses along the tips of her fingers. “I choose to love you,” you continue. “I choose to hold you close.”

You raise your own hand, taking her palms in your grip, your thumb tracing over the ridges of her knuckles. “I choose to listen to you when you need someone to listen.” You pause to press a kiss on her wrist, feeling her pulse beating against your lips.

“I choose to stay awake with you on the bad nights.” You feel her pulse quicken when you brush your nose against it. “I choose to wake up next to you every morning. And I choose to deal with your morning breath.” You grin, and she smacks your arm at that.

Your thumb runs across the pale, soft skin of her forearms. “I choose to deal with you hogging the blankets and the space in the bed.” Your hand slides to the crook of her elbow, where you press another kiss.

“I choose to wake up to your cold feet against my legs.” Your thumb moves along the inside of her arms, tracing the shape of her bones. “I choose your snoring,” you add. “I choose to wake up with a drool on my shirt because you forgot to close your mouth.” 

You press another kiss onto her skin. “I choose to deal with your bad mood by making you hot chocolate,” you continue. “I choose to deal with your bad mood by pulling you into my lap and making you snuggle with me until you calm down.”

Your hand moves to her biceps, your fingers tracing the curves of her muscles. “I choose to love you even on the hard days,” you mutter. “On the days you can't look at me in the eye. On the days when you can't get out of bed. On the days when you're angry at the world.”

Your hand travels up her arms, your eyes never leaving her face as you finally reach her shoulders. “I choose to stay beside you,” you murmur, your thumb rubbing slowly, soothing circles over her collarbone. “On the days you feel like no one understands. On the days you feel like the world is against you. I choose to stay next to you.”

“I choose to be beside you on the days you can't stand yourself,” you continue. “I choose to be beside you even on the days you think you don't deserve to be loved.”

Your thumb trails up the side of her neck, feeling her pulse quicken when you pause at her throat. “And when the world is dark and cold,” you say. “And the shadows grow long.” Your hand slides further up the long column of her neck, until your thumb sits on her jaw, and you feel her swallow. “I still choose you.”

“I have you in my arms.” Your thumb on her chin, you lift her face, tilting her head. “I have you here,” you mutter. “And even if you're not sure why. Even if you feel like you're a shadow in the dark or a whisper in a silent room,” your thumb slides along the sides of her jaw. “I know you're here, and you're real, and I choose to love you.”

“And whatever comes after this.” Your thumb traces over the line of her jaw, her chin, and upwards again, moving over her lips. “Whatever comes tomorrow. Whenever everything's dark. I still choose you.” Your thumb pauses at the corner of her mouth, and you watch the way her lips part. “I will always choose you.”

Your eyes move upwards, your gaze meeting hers. “Got all that?””

“When did you get so goddamned good at sweet talk?”

“When I met you.”

Jinx wrinkles her nose, scoffing. “Damn, that's kinda cheesy.”

“Well, I was aiming for sappy.”

“You were aiming for corny.”

“Sappy, corny, cheesy.” You shrug. “Potato, potahto.”

She scoffs. “What's next? you're gonna tell me you 'love me to the moon and back'?”

“I love you to the moon and back.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I regret falling for you.” Her hands slide from your face into your hair again, and she brings your face down, kissing you once, then twice.

You pull away, just far enough that you can look at her face. “Every time you doubt it. I'll remind you. I'll tell you if you forget.”

She shakes her head. “Cheesy.” But she pulls you closer again anyway, stealing another kiss from your lips.

You kiss her back, letting your tongue slip out to drag against her lip. She sighs against your mouth, and you take the opportunity to slip your tongue between her lips. Your hands slide down from her waist to her hips and down to her rear, squeezing her in your palms. 

She shudders, her own hands sliding up to grasp your shoulders as you nip at her bottom lip.

You pull away from the kiss and slide your lips down her jaw, peppering kisses all along the column of her throat. One of your hands slides up from her rear to the hem of her shirt, tugging at it.

She sighs, arching against you as your hand sneaks under the hem of her shirt to touch the bare skin of her stomach.

You slide your hand further up, feeling the smooth skin of her abdomen and the ridges of her ribs, until your fingers are tracing the edge of her bra.

Just when your fingers graze the clasp of her bra, there's a knock at the door. Before you can curse at it, there's a whine from the other side of the door and the doorknob begins to turn.

It's Isha.

She stands in the doorway, her stuffed blue rabbit held tightly in her arms. She's wearing her new pajamas.

You sigh, pulling your hand from underneath her shirt. You look down at Jinx, and her shirt is ridden up enough and a generous amount of her stomach is exposed.

Isha lets go of the doorknob and shuffles into the room.

“What is it, Isha?” Jinx asks, sitting up and pulling her shirt down to cover her stomach. She scoots over on the bed, allowing you to move away from her to sit at the edge.

Isha shuffles closer, stopping just at the edge of the bed but not climbing up, and looks up at the both of you with wide, watery eyes.

“What's wrong, little one?” you ask, beckoning her to climb onto the bed.

She lets go of her bunny to grab at your hand, her fingers curling around your palm. You help her onto the bed, watching as she tucks her rabbit under her arm, once again holding it closely to her chest.

She's sitting between the two of you now, her little hands holding onto your own and Jinx's.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Jinx asks. You watch her lift a hand to brush some of the hair out of Isha's face.

She shakes her head. Her eyes dart down to her bunny, then to the hands that she's holding. 

“Then what's wrong, sweetheart?” You give her hand a squeeze. “Do you want to sleep with us?”

She nods, lifting her gaze to look at you. Her head turns to look at Jinx as well, who simply smiles down at her.

You let out a sigh, letting go of her hand to scoot back on the bed. “Okay.” You pat the empty space between you and Jinx. “Come on, then.”

She wastes no time scrambling over the covers, crawling over so she's sitting between you and Jinx. Jinx grabs her bunny and sets it near the pillow, making sure it's within Isha's reach.

Isha then plops down onto the bed and lays down, pulling her bunny close to her chest once more. Then she rolls over and snuggles up against your side, her head resting on your chest.

“She’s always stealing you from me,” Jinx mutters.

You reach out and pull Jinx against you, sandwiching Isha between the two of you. “Jealous much?”

“Nah.” She props herself up on her elbow to look down at the girl between you and pokes her cheek.

Isha grumbles, burying her face in your chest in an attempt to shield it. You laugh and wrap your arm around her body, holding her securely against you.

Jinx pokes her again, this time prodding a little harder. Isha whines and buries deeper into you.

“Stop it, you're bothering her.” You reach over and grab Jinx's hand so that she can't poke Isha again.

Jinx flips you off, then stops poking the girl. Instead, she lays back down on the bed and drapes her arm over both you and Isha. Isha grumbles, her fingers gripping at your shirt.

You look down at the girl, her head still nestled against your chest. You brush some of the hair out of her face, then gently rub her back. Slowly, her body starts to relax, her tight grip on your shirt loosening as she begins to fall asleep.

You glance over at Jinx, who's watching you with a smile on her face. She reaches over and pats Isha's head a couple of times before returning her hand to your side.

“She's asleep,” you whisper, looking down at the now dozing girl. Her eyes are closed, her tiny hands are no longer gripping at your shirt, and her features are relaxed. Jinx nods, her hand rubbing up and down your side.

Jinx shifts and cuddles closer to you, one of her legs wrapping around yours beneath the covers. “You know, we're going to have to sleep like this all night now,” she mumbles as she runs her fingers through your hair.

“Mmm, don't remind me,” you murmur. “She's as clingy as you sometimes.”

Jinx scoffs, poking you in the ribs with one of her nails. “She's a hundred times worse.”

Your side aches where she poked you, and you huff out a breath, swatting at her hand. “Maybe we should get a bigger bed.”

She snickers. “And risk having more room for little miss clingy to steal you from me? no thank you.”

“I think it is quite literally impossible for you to get clingier,” you mutter. “Besides, why are you so jealous of a ten year old?”

“I can be plenty clingy,” Jinx counters, her hand scratching at your scalp. “And I'm not jealous,” she continues. “She just needs to stay in her own goddamn bed.”

“We could start locking the door?”

Jinx snorts, her hand leaving your head. “And leave her to bang on and whine at the door for hours?” She scoffs. “Absolutely not. I'd be fine if she didn't crawl into our bed, but she always does the moment we're trying to have some alone time.”

“Fair enough” you sigh. “Maybe we could lock her door, keep her in there.”

Jinx laughs, poking at you again with a fingernail. “Or, or... we could just lock her out of our room instead and let her deal with herself for once.”

“You know that would never work,” you say. “She’d just end up sleeping on the floor in front of our door until we let her back in.”

“Ugh, I know.” She groans. “She really is the biggest pain in my ass. Second biggest, now that I think about it.”

“And who's the first?”

“Who do you think, dickhead?” she teases.

“Ah, me, of course.” Jinx pokes you in the ribs again. “Ouch. Hey, stop that,” you murmur, swatting at her hand.

Jinx scoffs, a smirk on her face as she pokes you again. “It's so fun to annoy you.” Her finger pokes into your side for a third time.

“Okay, okay, enough,” you grab her hand to stop another poke. “I surrender, you're the biggest pain in my ass.”

“I know,” Jinx grins, pulling her hand free to poke you one final time before resting it back down on your side. “I'm also the hottest pain in your ass, too. No one else compares.”

“You're the hottest and the biggest pain in both of my ass cheeks.” You brush some of her hair away from her face.

“Damn right,” she says, leaning into your touch for a moment before grinning and placing her palm against one of your ass cheeks. “My pain in the ass.”

—

“Ugh. She's still asleep?” Jinx whispers, staring down at the drooling little girl between the two of you.

You look down at her, her face pressed against your chest and a pool of drool collecting on your shirt. You try to shift away, but the girl won't let you go, her body and fingers still wrapped around you.

“You know…” you whisper, looking pointedly at the drool on your shirt. “She's just like you.”

You swear you just saw her eyes twitch.

...you end up on the floor the moment you wake up after that.

[nerdlvr]

"come in, come in!" a familiar face greeted him, only this time with his hair dyed pink, "jaemin... right?"

he smiled as the boy's face lit up, cheeks matching his hair.

"the hair's nice by the way." he pointed up to his hair, watching as jaemin's smile dropped, "i will make out with you if you let me-"

"enough-" renjun, the short one, stopped jaemin, poking his side to make him go away, "excuse him, he's a little-" he shot jaemin a cold glare, hushing his whines, "deranged-"

"oh my goodness!" your soft yell filled the living space, heat rising to his cheeks at the sound of you.

"my kitty!" he smiled in your direction, lifting an awkward hand to greet you.

"my hyuckie! i'm so glad you could make it!" you strode towards him, arms quickly wrapping around his waist to pull him in for a hug.

he was stiff of course, but he tried his best to wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against him. his eyes moved down to look at you, ignoring the glances jaemin and renjun exchanged.

"you know i'll always come when you call." you lifted your gaze, chin pressing against his chest as you spoke, "and i'll always only call for you baby."

he chuckled nervously, clearing his throat as you detached from him, slightly readjusting his pants.

"so how are we gonna study?"

you only just now noticed his full bag, textbooks sticking out from the top, "uhhh, i had more of a hands on approach- come with me!" you reached your arm out, squeezing softly as he took your hand.

your slippers scraped across the floor as you led him towards your room, door swinging open as soon as you both approached.

"donghyuck-ah! you're here- oh that outfit-" she reached for the fabric of his t-shirt, "lets get you changed- yes?"

you waved her off, "i think hair first- you brought button ups anyways so it won't mess with whatever jeno does."

oh right, he's here.

as if he had been summoned, jeno appeared next to giselle, his figure looming over her's, "i'll take it from here then-" his eyes followed where your hands met, an eyebrow raising in your direction, "if you let him go, of course."

you let go of donghyuck's hand quickly, pushing him slightly towards jeno, "yes- yes, go ahead- take care of him!"

.

"sit-" the larger boy gestured towards the chair.

he sat down hesitantly, hands seeking warmth under his thighs.

"so what are we doing today? bleach and tone? highlights? blowout? perm?" jeno scrolled through his phone as he spoke, voice bored.

"uh, maybe just like a simple style- i'm not sure, definitely no chemicals though."

jeno finally met his eyes through the mirror, hands coming up to squeeze donhyuck's shoulders, "you're bland."

donghyuck couldn't hide his confusion, eyebrows raising at jeno's comment, "w-what?"

"i said you're bland. i'm shocked y/n isn't tired of you by now- toys are supposed to be fun. and quite frankly-" he got close to donghyuck's ear, voice quiet, "you aren't even all that attractive."

he bit his lip nervously, looking towards the mirror to catch jeno's wide smirk.

"just a simple style it is then!" he ruffled his hair before turning to grab his equipment.

what the fuck just happened.

.

"he looks amazing!" you fidgeted in your spot, hands clapping softly.

"go ahead. wait-" giselle held her hand up slightly, "but don't touch him too much, the shirt's gonna wrinkle."

you stuck your tongue out at her, turning your focus to donghyuck, "do you like it?"

your warm smile made his stomach jump, cheeks growing warm under your gaze, "y-yeah i look- different."

your hands reached up to rub his arms, trying to calm his nerves, "different is good- you look good."

he smiled meekly, glasses slipping down slightly as he stared down at you, "thank you kitty."

a loud cough resonated throughout the bedroom, "we're leaving!" giselle laughed awkwardly, reaching towards the boys to push them out of the room, "come on guys, our work is done-"

"wait-" renjun reached towards haechan's face, fingers gently pulling his glasses off his face, "can't see the eye makeup with these thick glasses-"

giselle and jaemin gathered around him, "am i giselle of jaemin?" there was a loud slap against jaemin's chest, "idiot of course he can tell you're a man- hyuck how many fingers am i holding up?"

giselle and jaemin's banter seemed to fade into the background as he watched you and jeno from across the room. jeno's figure lean in towards you, talking in a hushed tone.

if it wasn't for his blurry vision he could've sworn jeno was talking about him, head tilting slightly in donghyuck's direction as he spoke.

"giselle- stop poking him." his attention turned back to your group of friends, renjun beginning to lecture jaemin and giselle, "this is why we can't have nice things- when was the last time y/n let us meet her actual boyf-"

"out! thank you so much! i love you all! now please leave my apartment!" you raised your voice, pointing towards the door.

donghyuck bowed as they each walked out of your room, not missing how jeno glanced at him, lips quirked up in a smirk.

.

"okay so then what do i do?" you leaned in closer to donghyuck, eyes trained on the camera in front of you both.

"you can change the lens filter here-" he clicked on some buttons, "this is how you zoom-" more button clicking.

your eyes followed the length of his fingers, soft veins bulging as he held the camera.

"uh-uh huh." you nodded your head dumbly, eyes nowhere on the camera.

"kitty-" his voice was sweet, your eyes moving up to meet his.

his eyes were soft, slightly dark from the makeup, his cheeks tinged pink from the proximity.

"kitty, just make sure the camera isn't out of focus okay?"

his smile made your chest feel funny, your face growing warm, "right- just- okay we can start- go stand over there."

you backed away from him, turning your focus to the camera as you took it from his hands.

"let me know how i should pose okay?"

you nodded quietly, face already pressed against the camera.

why were your hands so sweaty?

⋆₊˚⊹.𖥔 zoom, click, panic ! -> 13. music production

previous -> masterlist -> next

notes : and the crowd.... goes boo? i'm back!!! after long thought and consideration ik what the angst plot is LMAO,, jeno is not like a villain or anything dw but shits gonna get fucked up but... not soon... someday though... be alert...

taglist : @sunghoonsgfreal , @hizhu , @axo-l0tl , @strawberrysavi , @hyucktion , @4yunogf , @jakesbubu , @gacktsa , @iheartjayke , @annoyednblax , @luvvhaechan , @dudekiss3r , @nanaxwi , @yesohhsehun , @soobinbunnie5 , @hyucksunset , @peterm4rker , @byeonwooseokabs , @kodasity , @hyuckmoon , @catdonut657 , @lionzyon , @luvandletter , @defzcl , @nneteyamss , @222brainrot , @1lovejinki , @zzurao , @catpjimin , @multifandomania , @docilismo , @cyjzzl , @livingdoll-hara , @this-is-lowkey-a-hyuck-fanpage , @ohwowzersthatscool , @babyjenono , @wonswondrland , @jenoleeaesthetic , @bananinhazz , @hyuckna25 , @doejaejung , @angeliqueiguess , @mymartiniblue , @aerivrs , @heyitsbreeeeee , @choizzn , @jae-n0 , @hyuckshinee , @whothefvckami , @snoopyjimin

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 2. Rules

Masterlist

Summary: Simon lays the ground rules and shows you around the house.

Warnings: Simon's email etiquette, very mild cursing, beginnings of obsessive behavior.

Sure enough, Simon had emailed you by Tuesday afternoon. You noticed how... unprofessional it was. Not that he had been rude or obscene, but it was obviously written by someone who never had to write many emails for his career.

here is riley's routine. she likes walks, usually 3 or 4 a day. she eats one scoop in the morning and one at night. she doesn't finish her food all at once, but she'll come back to it. if you're gonna give her more cookies, just two per day. fill water every morning. around the house, if you could just dust and clean up any dog hair, that would be great. let me know if meeting me tomorrow at 0900 for the key works. I ship out thursday. thanks.

Simon.

You chewed your thumb nail, reclining on your couch with a confused expression. Was he irritated with you for some reason? He didn't show it at the interview if he did have any hostile feelings... you reminded yourself that he was a rather gruff man, and maybe that just bled into his written words, too. You rolled your shoulders and started working out your reply.

Hello Simon! Tomorrow works perfect for me, I'll be there by 9 am!

Does Riley have any favorite places she likes to go? Any particular spots or trails she enjoys? Also, are there any rules you have for her, like being on the couch? Is she ok going to the dog park? Lastly, does she take any medications I should be aware of?

See you soon!

You sent the message, sighing and dropping your head back against the arm of the sofa. You were honestly thankful that you'd gotten the job, even if Simon was a rather stiff client. You finally quit your shitty job, and while you did still have babysitting your niece and nephew, you never charged for that - the only time you were "paid" for it was when you took them out somewhere fun, and your sister forced you to accept money for the admission fee.

So this gig fell into your lap at the perfect time. And the fact that you had beat every other person Simon had interviewed made your ego soar. It wouldn't be a bad idea to make a career out of this, you thought.

Your phone dinged - you held it above your face, and saw that Simon had already responded. You sat upright and opened the email.

she only takes aspirin when her leg flares up. no more than twice a day. no favorite trails, we just go around the block a few times. she can sit on the couch, my bed too, but she'll need help getting up. no human food is the only other rule. never took her to a dog park, but if you really want to, that's fine. she's good with other dogs.

Simon.

You frowned. Walking the same block every day, multiple times each day, sounded awful. It wasn't even close to animal neglect, but you couldn't imagine walking the same route every single time. If it didn't drive Riley insane, it certainly would for you.

You read back over the email, your eyes lingering on "if her legs flare up." Simon had never discussed Riley having arthritis with you - and you sincerely hoped that was the reason she had leg pain, and nothing else. You made a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow as you began to write your reply.

Understood. Thanks again!

"Here's the basement." Simon said, leading you down the stairs and into a dullish room. It had a cheaply-manufactured desk, what appeared to be a dining chair (not matching the dining set upstairs), a stuffed bookshelf, and some cardboard boxes filled with paper. A fan stood in the far corner, and next to it was the washing room. Much like what he had shown you of the rest of the house, it was bland and drab.

You looked around, letting out a polite noise of approval. Truth be told, Simon's life seemed awfully boring to you. Your mother had always told you that military men were always overly practical, in more than just home decor. They never cared much for the environment around them, as long as there was no mold, or anything similar. But you had never expected it to be so brutally true.

You knew he had a life outside of his home - from the way he described it, he was usually deployed more often than he was in his own home country. But you wondered - what did he do for fun, besides watch the telly? Did he have friends, and were they all like him? Any hobbies?

"If for whatever reason y' need to clean up a stain, you can find solution in there." He said, pointing to the washer room. "Other than that, nothin' much to see down 'ere."

You followed him as he trudged back up the stairs. Riley was sat upright on the floor, watching you and Simon move about the house with an observant expression.

"The only other things I'll ask you to do is hoover n' dust when it looks like it needs it." He said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "There really isn't much else t' do; of course, if you do see anything that needs fixin' you can always text me." He rolled his head from side to side, wincing as he worked out a crick in his neck. "Might not answer immediately, but I'll see it."

You nodded, standing in the walkway of the kitchen. Even with him leaning against the counter, muscles hidden under his sweatshirt, he was huge. For a brief moment, you imagined what he looked like on the field, dressed in his uniform and holding a gun - but you quickly shooed the thought from your mind before it had the chance to latch on and fester. "Gotcha. And just so I know, do you let Riley sleep with you?"

Simon paused in confusion before he responded. "Come again?"

"Like- you know, if I crash on the couch, is she allowed up with me?" You said, shifting your weight. You couldn't quite tell if Simon was irked by your question, or if he was genuinely confused.

He paused again. "Uh, yea, that's fine. If y' don't mind waking up covered in 'er slobber."

You laughed. "Nah, I'm used to it. A little drool never bothered me. Although, if I do need to wash up, am I alright to use the shower? Or would you rather I use my own back at my flat?"

Suddenly, it clicked in Simon's head. You were planning on sleeping at his house.

He had assumed you would just stop by for walks and meals - he didn't expect you to actually live here while he was gone, and he wasn't sure how it made him feel. He'd never had anyone else spend the night. Hell, no one ever visited, besides the rare occasions of the rest of the 141 stopping by. Even then, they never stayed for longer than a conversation or two.

But, once he took a second to think about it, he realized it might be better if you did stay - at least, while he was on missions. Riley would be bored out of her mind if she was alone that long, especially after spending the past several weeks with Simon constantly there. It would be good for someone to be there when he wasn't, and you seemed like you would be the best person for that, of course.

"Sure, 's fine." He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just don't touch my shit in there."

"Don't worry about that..." You said quietly, "catch me dead and cold before I touch a 3-in-1 anything."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was refreshing that you could handle his gruffness - most people treated him like a landmine, never wanting to say the wrong thing and set him off. You seemed to have taken life by the horns, like you weren't afraid to bite back at someone. He wondered if that was all for show, or if you really would snap back if he was to test you...

He pushed himself off the counter and reached into the drawer behind him, pulling out a spare key. He walked over to you and held it out. You were just about to take it, when he suddenly yanked it back.

You faltered. "Sorry...?"

"You lose this key..." Simon began lowly, "n' I'll frame you for murder. Understood?"

You gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He didn't really mean that... did he? You waited for him to laugh and say he was just joking... but he never did. His eyes bored into yours so intensely, making you shiver, as he waited for you to answer.

"Y-yes, sir. Understood." You said, voice wavering a bit.

He grunted in satisfaction, then handed you the key. You let out the breath you had been holding, then cautiously took the key, before immediately attaching it to your lanyard. You didn't want to take any chances at losing it - not after Simon's threat. You took a deep breath and smiled at him, trying to dust the exchange off of your shoulders.

"You can come 'round tomorrow after o' nine hundred, I'll be out by then." He said, turning sideways to moce past you and heading towards the door. You followed behind and rubbed Riley's head when you passed her; she let out a contented sound.

"Feel free t' use the kitchen if you'll be stayin' overnight." He opened the door for you and leaned against it.

"Will do, thank you!" You chirped, hovering on the landing outside of his house, right were you were two days ago. "Thank you for showing me around - good luck on your- mission- deployment, thingamajig!"

He huffed. "Promise I will, luv."

Your spine tingled in response to his comment. Get it together, don't get your knickers in a twist over a client. You thought. You straightened your posture and cleared your throat.

"Well, see you around!" You said with a smile, then hopped down the steps to your car.

Simon waved, taking a moment to watch you pull out of his driveway. He shut the door and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

He was an observant man - he had to be, with his occupation. Your reaction to being called "luv" didn't fly over his head. And it's not like Simon didn't know the effect he had on women... he knew how he looked, how he presented himself, and he saw the reactions it got him.

But with you, something felt different. He saw your reaction, and a part of him wanted to chase after it. To see what you would do if he continued to apply pressure to your weak spots. Would you blush? Would you call him out? Would you drop the gig altogether?

He thought about how easily the word "sir" had rolled off of your tongue. He thought about how you would look, all tuckered out on his couch, donned in whatever pajamas you decided to wear, your face peaceful and expression soft as you slept - he imagined you in his shower, the room filled with warm steam and the scent of your shampoo, water hitting your skin as you-

Riley barked, making Simon jolt where he stood. She stared at him, ears turned to the side as she whined. She could always tell when he began to dissociate, and knew just as much as he did that it wasn't a good sign.

Simon sighed, running a hand down his face. "Get it together, fuckin' creep." He muttered to himself. "I need a bloody hobby, f' Christ's sake..."

He blamed it on the upcoming mission. He would typically stress about it beforehand, and if there was anything else that could occupy his mind, he would fixate on it. Right now, unfortunately, you were the victim. But he buried it deep down into his subconscious - it wasn't fair to you.

He pushed himself off of the door and headed towards the washroom, adjusting his crotch as he went. He figured he should at least tidy it up a bit, since you would be using it. The only other people who had been in there were Johnny and Captain Price, and of course, they never cared if there were trimmers on the counter, or if the mirror had splotches from toothpaste residue.

Hopefully, he'd forget all about you - at least, while he was on the mission.

Next ->

Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae