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heartpascal · 1 year

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Pls tell me there's a part two for "if the door wasn't shut". I need Joel and Ellie to come back and reader avoiding them and not speaking to them and just walking away when they try to talk to her. Ofc happy ending but make them work for that forgiveness

i would let you in

▹ — joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: part two of if the door wasnt shut — after being abandoned in jackson, tommy and maria take care of you. joel and ellie’s return hurts far more than their departure.

▹ — a/n: i have no idea how the timeline is gonna work out in the show so ignore that!!! i went off on a bit of a tangent in this one… oops. anyways. let me know if you guys do want a part three!!!

▹ — warnings: angst!!!! AND MORE ANGST!!! oh yeah and a bit of angst too. father figure joel (except he’s failed that role for reader), arguments, throwing of objects, general hopeless feelings, sadness, not proofread, also you WILL like pottery and ceramics sorry!! almost father figure tommy….

▹ — tags: @faceache111 @viknowsbest @inkiqayo @wrcn9fvlcver @pedropascalsrealgf @httpjiikook @issybee0611 @liableperfections @dksjskx @canpillowscry @beeblisss @lizzylynch1 @randomstory56 @hiphopdancer101universe (once again just tagged everyone who asked for pt 2! pls let me know if you want the tag removed<;3)

masterlist | PART THREE

howl’s song associations!

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Everything in this world felt empty. It all felt so… weightless. Like you could pick something up, and it would have no meaning. Sometimes, you felt that way, too.

You couldn’t help it.

It was like everything you felt had drained from your very being, leaving your deflated and aching and empty.

But the emptiness sometimes masked as rage, and then you were throwing all of these meaningless things at meaningless walls, sick to death of hearing yourself yell about things that didn’t matter, that held no weight.

It didn’t matter what it was, it just gave you the shortest reprieve of feeling something, of feeling angry. It burned hot in your veins, and for a moment, you were full of fire. Until your oxygen ran out, and the fire spluttered before it died away, leaving you panting and exhausted and empty once more.

You knew it concerned Maria. Knew that she didn’t need this, the stress of having some kid that lacked the ability to even feel remorseful for breaking the plate that she had only just given you. She should’ve been focusing on the impending arrival of her actual kid, not feeling responsible for the one her brother-in-law had practically dumped on her doorstep.

But you didn’t ask for this either, did you?

Even when you had tried to leave, tried to get a horse out of its stall in the stable, tried to follow the only people you believed you could trust, you couldn’t.

You just about remember the way Tommy had pulled you back from where you had been frantic, trying to untie the horse in a frenzy as your chest heaved, the abandonment trying to deep into your bones. You had coughed and gasped, doing everything you could to try and get this feeling out of you, but nothing had worked.

Then, you had woken up on Tommy and Maria’s couch, the two of them beginning to doze off as the night crept up on them. It had been Maria who had jolted awake first, even when you just rustled the blanket they’d placed over you.

You didn’t want her pity then, had outright refused it. The two adults had tried to comfort you, but you had made it so difficult — because why should you make it easy? Your trust had been burnt up, your tether had reached its end, and you felt… hopeless.

There was nobody left for you in this world — and you wouldn’t let Maria or Tommy try to change that, even with their consistent attempts at being there for you.

They had relented to letting you remain in the house across the road, despite wanting you to remain in their home. They brought over meals every day, whether it be from the pub in town, or from their own kitchen.

Luckily for you, they hadn’t mentioned the cuts to your hand, the ones you had gotten from scraping up shards of ceramic off of the floor, after yet another one of your meltdowns. Sometimes, the only way you could actually feel that anger, was to let it out. And considering they hadn’t given you any of your weapons back, throwing plates and bowls and cups against all available surfaces had to suffice.

It had been weeks — you were sure of it. As much as you tried not to take count, the absence of the only people you had left made the days and nights pass slowly, so slowly that it was just a matter of how many days had you been throwing things? Or how many nights had remained restless?

It was on the twenty-sixth day that Maria had enough, seeing the remains of yet another plate in the garbage around the back of your house.

“Okay, if you’re gonna keep breaking these, you’re gonna have to start replacing them.” Maria told you, voice sterner than it had been in a long time. She’d tried the gentle approach, tried being soft, tried letting you heal in your own way, but it didn’t seem to be working. So strict Maria it would have to be. “Come with me.”

You followed her, with some reluctance, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice. After all, as much as you hated to admit it, you relied on her. Without her, you were screwed.

So, you shrugged on your coat, and followed her as the snow crunched underneath your boots. She took turns so quickly, with so little hesitation, that you were almost surprised. You’d been in Jackson for a few weeks, and this didn’t feel familiar to you.

She tugged open a shop door, coughing away the dust that shot up at her, and felt the wall for a light switch, humming in victory when the store lit up.

You looked around, confused. You didn’t have money to buy new plates… and this place looked empty. You turned to Maria, watching as she wiped the dust off of a circular… machine?

“Well, it’s not the cleanest,” She acknowledged, “But there’s some supplies left out back, and the boys know where to get more clay.”

“Clay? What— Maria, what is this place?” You asked, running your finger against the dusty grooves of a wooden table, feeling bumps of dried something, and leaning forward to inspect the tools that had been abandoned on the table.

“Old ceramics shop,” She told you, opening the door to the back section of the shop and opening a window to let the air breathe. “Hasn’t been a big priority, really. Came in to get some plates when some of the houses had none, but nobody’s been all to bothered ‘bout fixing it up.”

“So, why am I here?” You raised your eyebrows, starting to get annoyed.

“Because, you’re gonna fix it up. If you’re gonna keep breaking all my damn plates, you’re gonna have to replace ‘em.” Maria replied, opening the windows at the front of the shop, and twisting the sign on the door from open, to closed.

“I… I don’t know shit about making plates.” You offered up quietly, fingers picking at your nails as you tried to get out of this. You did feel… almost guilty, about her plates, but at the same time, it was all you could do.

“Well, no better time to learn. Got some books around here, that’ll help, I’m sure. You can figure this out.” Maria said, your name falling softly from her lips, and you missed the other thing she was doing, which would be giving you something to do, giving you a purpose.

You huffed, feeling something nervous brewing in your stomach, but nodded at Maria before she left. You looked around the shop, eyebrows creasing as you realised you had a lot of work to do.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Tommy’s face was a sight, the first time he walked into the old ceramics shop.

When Maria had come to him, nearing tears in her excitement, telling him that you had finally done the ceramics shop some good, he hadn’t known exactly what to expect. He was well aware how much time you spent in that old place, and he had scolded you over it numerous times, saying the dust would do you no favours… or whatever.

The two of them knew that really, the ceramics shop had done you some good, but Tommy didn’t quite realise how much effort you had really put into it. Sure, it had been more than a few weeks now, but you were on your own in fixing it up.

So when you opened the door, something so close to a smile on your face, he was surprised. Shocked, even.

The surfaces were clean, for a start, which was nothing short of a miracle in his eyes. The furniture had been put back into place, not counting the pile of rotted wood that was outside, unsalvageable. Old ceramic work had been cleaned and put on display, alongside two names — the artists who made them, Tommy realised quickly.

And then there were the plates sat on the counter. New, slightly misshapen, and there was a box next to them, already filled with old newspaper.

“To replace the ones I broke.” You told him, when he looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. Tommy couldn’t help the smile that grew on him, something proud in his chest.

He hadn’t known you for nearly as long as Joel had, but god, he could recognise it in you immediately. The resemblance to his niece, just barely peeking out when you didn’t bury that part of you. He could see why Joel had gotten so… attached. Even if you didn’t resemble Sarah within your mannerisms in a way that was uncanny, you were a good kid.

Despite all the plate-throwing, name-calling, yelling and tears he’d seen from you, he knew you were good. He couldn’t blame you for your reactions, not with the way you had been left behind. And Tommy — he could understand why Joel did it, far more than you could, at least, but he recognised the pain in you.

Even if Joel did it as a result of his need to protect you, it didn’t come across like that in your eyes. From your view, he had taken the girl he knew for a couple months, and dumped you with his younger brother. He didn’t want you, didn’t care about you. It hurt. It hurt and it burnt your chest when you thought of it, and the only thing that made you feel a different kind of fire was creating your own destruction.

But this, this was different.

Tommy could see it in your face. This was such a drastic change from the girl who did everything she could to destroy what she got her hands on. This was a girl who finally got to create.

And sure, in a box in the corner of the room, there were the shattered remains of your failed attempts, but it hadn’t felt quite the same.

You thought of it this way; by throwing his and Maria’s dinnerware, you were destroying something that belonged to someone else. It was familiar to you. Trying to create the pain that caved your chest in, within another person. And yes, it was wrong, on so many levels, but you couldn’t help it. You just wanted somebody to understand.

When you had taken that first circular sculpture out of the kiln, and thrown it as hard as you could, it almost… hurt. These things were an extension of you. You had shaped these with your own hands, folded them into what you saw fit, so why should you destroy them? How could you? You made them this way.

So you had hidden the rest of the failed attempts, shoved into a cupboard in the back section of the shop, and had piled up your best attempts for Tommy and Maria to take home.

“You’ve been busy,” Tommy said, his eyebrows raised as he walked his way around the old shop, noticing you had even cleaned the two-decades worth of grime from the windows. “These are good, you been working on anythin’ else?”

“Tried a mug,” You offered, shrugging, “Didn’t really go so well. Neither did the bowl.”

“Work in progress,” Tommy replied, knocking your shoulder with his elbow. “Thanks, kid. You didn’t have to.”

“Actually, Maria’s instructions.” You said, but amusement was taking over your voice as you said the words. It was true — she had told you to replace what you had broken. But you hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much.

Tommy laughed, picking up the pile and placing it in the box you’d prepared, three layers of duct tape going either way across the bottom of it. “Well, it’s appreciated, anyway. You ‘round for dinner tonight?”

You shrugged again, making your way behind the counter to shuffle through some things in the back room absentmindedly, rolling your eyes when Tommy followed. You didn’t mind him or Maria hanging around as much as you used to, but you kept them at a distance.

“Come ‘round.” Tommy said then, instead, no longer posing it as a question. They’d tried to get you to move in, take up the spare room that would eventually go to their unborn child, but you’d strongly disagreed.

“You cooking? Or Maria?” You asked him, eyebrow raised as you turned to look at him, leaning back against the counter.

“Maria,” Tommy answered, rolling his eyes at your snicker of amusement. “She tries not to let me within ten feet of the damn oven.”

You couldn’t blame her. On the days that Tommy had brought food over to that big empty house opposite their own, it had been… an experience. Luckily for the two of you, Maria had agreed to go out on less patrols as the weeks passed by, sharing some of Tommy’s nervousness for what could happen.

“Not surprised.” You commented, a small grin on your face. You looked around the room, picking at your fingernails before you spoke up. “Hey, I was thinkin’—”

“That’s dangerous.”

You ignored him, only responding with yet another eye roll, “Get a bed in here, some drawers… could be a good spot for me.”

“Somethin’ wrong with Rancher Street?” He asked, concerned as he stood up straighter, looking around the room, not quite sure why you’d want to leave the house that provided you with plenty of space, warmth, and running water.

“No— No, there’s nothing wrong with it. Just… pretty big space for just one person, y’know?” You said, and gestured towards the door at the other side of the room, “This place has got a bathroom, anyway, so. And I mean, I always eat at yours or at the hall.”

Tommy frowned, contemplating.

Though they would’ve preferred you to have stayed in their home, Tommy and Maria relented when you had insisted on staying in that house. In the end, they had figured, what’s the harm? After all, once Joel and Ellie returned — which Tommy was sure would come, eventually, — they’d be living in that house, too.

That was the point. The house on Rancher Street was reserved for the three of you. Tommy had hoped, secretly, that you staying there, meant you wanted to fix things up, once the others returned.

You looked to him, when he was quiet for a moment too long, and he cleared his throat. “‘Spose it wouldn’t hurt. Bit of a trek from here, to ours, though.”

“Tommy, when I was…” You trailed, looking away, “I used to walk miles in a day. This short walk won’t hurt me.”

“You got a point,” He acknowledged, tipping his head forward, and ignoring your unfinished sentence. “But man, Maria’s not gonna be happy.” He thought of his wife, waddling her way over when she was near-ready to burst, and shook his head with a grin. “For you, I guess she’ll get on with it.”

“Shut up,” You said, amusement clear in your tone. “Now get outta here. I got some more fixin’ up to do.”

Tommy put his hands up in surrender, before slipping the box of plates into his hands, yelling out a, “See you later!” As he left.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes with a begrudgingly fond expression as you took another look around. There was a table that wouldn’t do you any good, too big, so that’d have to go. You wiped your hands against your tattered trousers, and sighed.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The lights in Jackson were warm, and filled the streets you walked through as the night slowly took over the day. It was nice, being able to see in front of you as the sky darkened. You tried not to get used to it, but knew you were settling.

It was hard not to — especially after Maria had officially declared that the shop was yours, for whatever you wanted to do with it.

You tried not to think of Boston, usually, but the last time you had had something that was truly yours, was there. It was hard to forget the things you had stashed away, hidden underneath floorboards that were concealed by the only half-decent mattress that Tess and Joel could find.

Thinking of that life was painful, especially when realising that it was unreachable. You hadn’t known it, when you’d left Boston QZ, but you would never get to return to that home that you’d built. To those things you had owned. To the family that had grown its roots in that crappy old apartment.

It was something strange, really. To think that all you had, perhaps all you ever would have, belonged to this town. You were reliant on its walls keeping you safe. At least that much was similar to life in Boston.

People were happier here, though.

You probably couldn’t include yourself in that statement, but for the most part, it was true. The streets remained lit through the dark nights, and you could go out for a walk at any time of the day, with no consequences. Which was a bit of luck, considering that Tommy and Maria always ate late on in the day.

Turning on to their street, you frowned, because the lights in the house opposite Tommy and Maria’s — the one you had yet to move out of — were turned on. And you always turned them off before you left.

You hurried into Tommy and Maria’s, shutting the door tightly behind you and kicking your shoes off in the doorway. “Guys?” You called out, hanging your coat beside the doorway and making your way toward where you heard their responding shouts in the kitchen. “What’s going on?” You asked, upon entering the room.

The glance they shared did not go unnoticed by you.

You raised your eyebrows as they looked to you, seeming almost… nervous. “Did you already tell her?” You asked Tommy, and saw the way Maria’s face immediately flashed with confusion.

“Tell me what?” She asked, turning to Tommy whilst being conscious to continue stirring whatever it was that she was cooking.

“I didn’t—”

“Then who’s in the house?” You interrupted, feeling like your stomach was sinking. You’d thought it would be strange for them to immediately place new people in the house, given that you hadn’t quite packed up the few things you had left there, and the shop wasn’t quite ready. But what other explanation was there?

“Okay, let’s just press pause for a second.” Maria said, shaking her head and looking to her husband. “What haven’t you told me?”

“Well,” He began, scratching the back of his neck, and gesturing towards you, “The shop’s lookin’ real good. And she was hoping she could, y’know, get a bed in there, and stay there.”

“So you haven’t moved new people into the house?” You asked her, feeling your stomach swoop down further as you spoke, and your mouth was going dry. “Then, does that mean—”

Tommy held a placating hand toward you, and it just told you all you needed to know.

“When?” You asked, feeling like your fingertips were burning and your chest was going to explode with how tightly it had constricted. They hesitated, so you repeated, more forcefully, “When?”

“No more than a couple hours ago.” Maria said, putting her spoon down on the counter and stepping forward, frowning when you turned away from her. “The guys on the gate spotted ‘em. Pretty banged up, but they’ll be okay. Sent them in to get some rest.”

“And you didn’t come and tell me?” You demanded, though your voice was weak and you had to hold your hand against your chest to try and steady your breathing.

“Kid, we—”

“Don’t call me that!” You snapped, immediately. Tommy sighed through his nose, nodding his head in something close to defeat. “I don’t want to see either of them. I’m not going in there.”

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” Maria said, frowning at your expression. “You can stay here, tonight, and we can sort the shop out for you tomorrow, but…”

Tommy placed a hand against Maria’s shoulder as she trailed off, “We were thinkin’, maybe you guys could talk it out. It’s been a couple months, now.”

“What’s there to talk about?” You questioned, voice sharp and paining your throat as you spoke. “They left me behind. Think that says everything, doesn’t it?”

It was all over their faces, the fact that they wanted to say more, wanted to say something in some kind of defence of the other Miller man, but they knew you. The married couple were more than aware that anything they said would mean nothing to you. You were like Joel, in that way, Tommy had said before. Stubborn.

They nodded, almost in sync, and Maria turned back to the stove, to continue cooking as she had been before.

“Would you get my stuff for me? When you get the chance?” You asked Tommy, who nodded his head, a frown prominent on his face.

“I’ll go first thing.” He replied, secretly hoping that come morning, you’d magically want to make amends with his brother. He knew it wasn’t likely.

“Thank you.” You said, feeling like heat was crawling up your neck the longer you stood there. The fire in your stomach was fading away, just leaving you feeling uncomfortably warm as you stood in the room. “I’m gonna go get some fresh air.” You nodded to the back door, and headed out once they acknowledged your words.

You stepped out, feeling the muggy air cool your lungs. It was colder than you’d expected, especially considering the way heat seemed to cling to everything in these parts, and you had to grind your teeth to stop the shiver that went down your spine.

It was only when Maria called to tell you dinner was ready that you stepped back inside, rubbing your hands against your arms to try and rid your skin of goosebumps.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Tommy had moved you into the shop the very next day, constructing a makeshift bed frame from whatever wood the town could spare, and bringing a mattress from an out-of-use house. You could tell he had wanted to say something, but he held himself back.

Now, it had been almost two weeks since they had returned to Jackson. And you’d been doing a fantastic job of avoiding any sight of them.

It hadn’t been difficult, in the beginning, with them taking time to rest and recover from their journey — or so Maria had told you. But it got harder as the days went on. They were beginning to explore the town, to join in on jobs, to eat where you would usually eat. It was getting annoying.

For the past few months, you’d found it so hard to live without them, but now, you realised it was much harder to live with them around. Hell, you’d even had to avoid Tommy and Maria’s on occasion, because you’d catch yourself starving before being in a room with the two of them, willingly.

Tommy had mentioned that they’d asked about you, that they’d been wondering where you were, but you didn’t need to say much for him to realise that you didn’t want them privy to any information about you. After all, they’d lost that right when they’d abandoned you here, in a town full of strangers, with no concern of what it might do to you.

You were getting angry, the longer it went on, the suspense of when you’d finally catch glimpse of them was eating you up inside. It was like life before Jackson, that feeling of being constantly on edge, of checking behind your shoulder consistently as time passed by.

It was safe to say that you weren’t happy.

You’d tried to keep yourself busy in the shop, in the little safe space in Jackson that was tucked away, belonging only to you, but things seemed tense outside of Jackson, and with Tommy taking on more patrols, Maria had been left alone an awful lot.

Tommy had asked you not to tell her, and you had absolutely no plans to, but he had asked you to hang around with her a bit more.

Partly for her own good, and mostly for his peace of mind. A little part, which he refused to tell you, was that it was also for your own good. Taking your mind off of Joel and Ellie was the best he could do for you, and this was the only way he knew how.

So, you had spent more time than you could’ve imagined at their house. Ending up falling asleep on their couch more times than you could count, with Maria insisting on waiting for Tommy to get home from his late-night patrols. He often came home to the two of you soundly asleep against the couch cushions, and you often woke up in a different position to what you fell asleep in, a blanket covering you and keeping away the slight chill.

It was one of those mornings, and you were in desperate need for a shower and some fresh clothes. You wrote a note for the two of them, knowing it was far too early for them to be up, given the way the sun was only just rising, to let them know you were going back to the shop.

Your feet were dragging with every step you took, and shuffling your jacket around your shoulders took more effort than you had expected. It was definitely going to be a long day, especially since you had promised Maria that you’d help her cook dinner later, considering she was still very against letting Tommy near the stove.

The morning air woke you up the slightest bit, but the chill of the breeze had you rubbing your hands together, regretting not bringing gloves, though you knew that later on it’d be far too warm for them.

You heard your name, and froze where you stood, hands clutched together, one foot in front of the other.

It was like your heart stopped the second you heard it, like it was being squeezed so tightly it couldn’t beat. The sensation made your chest ache, and you grit your teeth to move past the pain that had become all too familiar.

You heard him stop, his footsteps pausing as he hesitated behind you. You stood still for a moment more, before stepping away as he made a move to continue. He said your name again, trying to call you to a stop once more, but you hurried your pace, checking behind you after you had turned the corner, lucky enough to find nothing there.

A sigh escaped you, relaxing your tense shoulders just a fraction as you made a quick journey back to the shop.

You tried not to notice the anxiety balled in your chest when you finally made it. The way it was twisting up, pulling tighter on your lungs and leaving you feeling breathless as you thought too long on the slightest of interactions.

Despite not seeing his face, hearing Joel’s voice made their presence all too real, and you felt… overwhelmed. Nervous. Scared, maybe.

It was too much.

Why did they have to come back? Especially when you knew they hadn’t come back for you, but for the comforts of Jackson.

This was the only place that resembled the world before, the only place where you could feel something close to safe, and you could be comfortable. This town was a place for family, and it was clear that you didn’t have that, anymore.

Joel and Ellie had returned, but they weren’t your family. They had left you behind, to find your own way, whilst they went on an adventure of their own, creating a network of roots to settle in something close to a family of their own. You wondered if Ellie reminded Joel of his daughter, but tried to put the thought to rest as quickly as it arose.

You stepped into the shower, and tried to let the water wash away all thoughts of Joel and Ellie and family.

Later, when you stood at Maria’s side, stirring a pot on the stove as she took a moment to rest, complaining of the way her child was making her back ache. She told you about how it made her feel incredibly old, but you could see the fact that she appreciated it, as something of a reminder of the fact she was still here.

You had hummed along with her tangent, paying attention to her words but not feeling up to speaking all too much. Of course, Maria had noticed. She certainly prided herself on her observation skills.

“What’s up?” She asked softly, a strange contrast the the harsh voice she had just been speaking with as she had criticised her body for the pain it felt. Her hand was placed against the bump that has grown significantly, and you knew she was feeling maternal once again.

“It’s nothing.” You told her, because it was, wasn’t it? Joel and Ellie didn’t care about you, so why would you care about them?

“Mhm,” She hummed, raising her brows at you, “Sure it is. Got nothing to do with the two living across the street?”

You shook your head, continuing to stir the food, and tried your best to let out the sigh in your chest as a normal breath. It didn’t work, and Maria rolled her eyes at your denial of something that was so obvious. You didn’t say anything else on the matter, and couldn’t help but feel relieved when she finally let it rest. The two of you finished cooking, with you doing most of the work, and her giving all of the instructions.

But hey, you were much better than Tommy was, despite your inexperience.

It was when the door was knocked whilst you and Maria sat in their living room that you felt that tightening of your chest once again. She glanced to you, taking in the way your limbs had immediately tensed, all of your muscles straining like you weren’t sure whether to bolt, or stay completely still.

She raised a hand, telling you to wait where you were, and made her way to the front door after much groaning in her attempts to get up from the sofa cushions. You refrained from telling her that you were surprised she could manage it on her own, considering the size of her baby bump.

“Hey, Maria.” A familiar voice spoke, and your hands clenched into fists against your thighs, “Tommy in?” Joel asked, remaining outside the house.

“No, uh— he’s on a late patrol, today.” Maria responded, her voice much lighter when she spoke to Joel than it had been when the three of you had first arrived to Jackson.

“Ah,” Joel sighed, and you could hear him taking a step back on the porch, disappointment lacing his tone. It was too familiar. “Mind if I pop by, later on?” He asked, far more hopeful than you had ever heard him.

“Uh…” Maria trailed, and you knew she was looking back in the hallway, unsure if you’d be staying overnight. The wooden floorboards of the porch creaked as Joel stepped forward again, and you heard Maria shushing him as you clenched your teeth together. “Not now, Joel. It’s not a good time. I’ll tell Tommy to stop by yours.”

He sighed, and it was like you were back in Boston, with how heavy he sounded.

It was the same way he would sigh when you got too excited over something, like he was disappointed. Back then, you had thought it had been because he couldn’t guarantee anything for you. Now, you had no idea. You had always believed you had known him and Tess almost too well, but over the past few months, you realised just how wrong you were. Back in Boston, if someone had told them what would happen when you arrived in Jackson, you would’ve laughed in their face. Would’ve been so certain that Joel would never leave your side. You had no idea how wrong you were.

You swallowed, your throat feeling tight, and your tongue feeling like it was too big for your mouth as you heard the door shut, and Maria rounded the corner with a tight smile on her face.

With your heart pounding, you looked at her where she stood, and stopped her just before she could sit down, blurting: “Can you cut my hair?”

Her surprise was evident, but Maria nodded her head, and you tried to breathe through the pain in your lungs as you followed her to the kitchen.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was week four, and Joel was getting antsy.

Every time he sat down, he found his fingers tapping an unknown rhythm against his trousers, his legs bouncing up and down as he nervously scanned the room, as though you’d appear from around the corner at any second. Of course, it never happened.

Each time he arrived back to the house on Rancher Street, Ellie’s head perked up, the most hopeful he’d seen her since before winter, and he had to shake his head. Had to watch her expression fall.

When he had seen you leaving Tommy and Maria’s, far too early in the morning for anyone to be awake, something had risen in his chest. He knew it was stupid, that he was a fool for thinking you might speak to him after what he did, but he had hoped so badly that you might just understand.

It was the closest he had been to you in weeks, and he hadn’t even managed to see your face up close, had only just about seen a glimpse of it when you had dragged yourself from Tommy’s porch. The moment he had gotten close enough to reach for you, you had bolted, leaving his hand halfway raised into the air as he stared after you, wondering if he should follow you, or let you go.

When he’d arrived at Tommy and Maria’s one evening, hoping to talk to Tommy about his anxieties, he’d found something else. They were shielding you.

And yes, he had asked them to protect you, had trusted them with something he had never even fully trusted himself with, but god. Joel had never expected that they would protect you from him.

But now, here he was, standing in front of an old shop that had likely seen better days, two decades ago. Ellie was by his side, her hand gripping the sleeve of his coat tightly, before she released it to knock loudly against the shop door.

He had half-expected for you to not answer.

Seeing your face, properly, for the first time in months was not the moment Joel had hoped for it to be. Not when your expression had immediately fallen from something of confusion to anger, to something defensive.

“Hi.” Joel breathed, feeling like he should really kick himself for the pathetic attempt at a greeting. Ellie was close to trembling at his side, trying to stay indifferent, but even from the corner of his eye he could see that hope rising in her expression.

“What do you want?” You snapped at them, wanting nothing more than to close the door in their faces, to slam it shut and lock it, to never open it again. But you refrained, something in your chest balling tighter, but you couldn’t help the desire that arose for something. An explanation, maybe. A good enough reason for you to forgive them, perhaps.

Joel jumped in before Ellie could, saying, “Plates!” He saw Ellie’s head whip towards him, a dumbfounded expression painted across her face. He watched you blink in surprise, and saw your expression go towards indifference as you huffed, and moved away from the door, allowing him to push it open a bit more, pulling Ellie in with him. She closed it behind her.

The silence lingers as you busy yourself with fortifying a box, feeling bitterness creeping up your throat. You thought about why they needed plates, and could not grind your teeth together, somewhat hoping that the scratches and dents in the kitchen counters couldn’t be fixed.

“Listen,” Your head snapped up to him, knowing what came next, and saw the way he backed down, the word kid dying on his lips. He cleared his throat as you went back to taping the cardboard box. “We were hopin’… that, uh, we could all have a talk. Clear things up.”

“I don’t know, Joel,” You began, the bitterness falling off of your tongue with every word, “You guys leaving seemed clear enough to me.”

He hated how much older you sounded.

“We left because we had to, not because we wanted to.” Joel defended, immediately, feeling the hope that had been flickering in his chest for the past four weeks sputter out.

“I remember trying to come with you,” You said offhandedly, keeping your eyes on the cardboard box as you put the final third piece of duct tape across the bottom. “You said: ‘me and Ellie. Not you.’ Remember?”

Ellie’s expression fell further, somehow, and Joel gaped for a moment, flashing back to the way your own face had fallen at his words.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” He said your name, almost like a plead, and frowned when you just turned to go towards the back side of the room, beside a closed door. You ignored it, collecting some of the better looking plates that had been stacked up there. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I know you never asked for any of this.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. I wanted to stay with you. That’s what I wanted. No matter what might’ve happened, I just wanted to be with you two. You took that from me.” You said, voice harsher than Joel had ever heard it, even from when he and Tess had first taken you in. Remembering that version of you was painful, because he saw no resemblance within the you that stood before him.

Ellie spoke up then, her eyebrows furrowed inwards as she became something far too close to angry as she said your name, “You have no idea what we’ve been through—”

“You’re right.” You cut her off, placing the stack of plates in the cardboard box with a loud thud, “I don’t. And who’s fault is that?”

You looked between the two of them, as if you were expecting the answer, but Joel couldn’t bring himself to say it. You were so grown up, and he couldn’t understand it. It had only been a few months.

At their silence, you scoffed, and shoved the box towards them, watching as Joel instinctively shot his hand out to prevent it from falling off of the edge of the counter. He took the box, feeling like it was far too heavy for what it was, but perhaps that was just the conversation.

“I want you guys to go now.” You said, firm, despite the way your voice tried to shake. You wouldn’t let your voice tremor, not in front of them. Not when they didn’t deserve your devastation.

Joel’s face fell, a common theme in each of your recent interactions, and couldn’t help the way he felt sick to his stomach. All those months ago, you had been asking to leave with them, and now here you were, looking at him with eyes that he didn’t recognise, telling him to leave.

“Come on, Ellie.” He said reluctantly, turning away from where you stood, chin held high.

“No!” Ellie replied loudly, her lip trembling as she looked between you and Joel, like she was expecting something to magically repair the rift between you. Unfortunately, this world was real, and it was ugly, and you weren’t sure that fixing things was even possible. “We— We can’t just give up.” She said, pleadingly, looking to Joel to fix things, like she was so used to him doing.

But Joel knew that this was something he couldn’t fix so easily. “We’re not giving up.” He responded then, training his gaze on you, where your eyebrows had furrowed and you had turned your face away from them.

“You should.” You told him, your own trembling lip matching Ellie’s, before you turned away fully, making the short few steps and entering the back room, shutting the door tightly behind you.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“You asshole!” You yelled, the moment you saw Tommy stood in the kitchen doorway of his home, with him having turned to face you at the sound of his front door slamming open. He looked confused, but you didn’t fall for that expression, even as he said your name in an even more confused tone.

You stormed over to him, pushing your hands against his chest and feeling him take a bracing step back, not stopping you. He held his hands up by his side, surrendering once again, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from stinging with tears.

“How could you fucking do that to me?” You asked almost desperately, pushing your palm against his shoulder again, and then you felt Maria step around him, place a hand toward you that you flinched back from.

“Do what?” Tommy questioned, dumbfounded, and holding a hand up toward Maria, who backed off at your blatant dismissal of comfort.

“Tell them about my shop!”

Tommy’s face became one of realisation, and Maria whacked a hand against his chest. He immediately looked guilty a moment after the realisation, and held his hands out towards you.

“I let it slip, I know, but I didn’t realise he’d noticed. I swear, I wouldn’t tell him that purposely. He came ‘round?” Tommy spoke, frowning when you took a step away from his hands as they reached for you. He couldn’t help but feel like Joel had unravelled all the trust he had built with you, and his frustration grew at the second realisation of the evening. You could only nod in response, your expression a mixture of anger and devastation. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I didn’t mean for that. Joel wants to fix things up, yeah, but—”

“Fix things? Tommy, how could he fix things?” You asked, your volume raising immediately as you cut him off. “Joel— He knew everything about me, and he chose to leave. He left me willingly! That isn’t… every time I see myself, I see those parts that he rejected. How do you fix that? Tell me how you fix that, and I’ll fucking do it, Tommy, but I can’t figure it out. How can you fix that? How can you forgive that?”

You were yelling, you knew you were, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Everything you had built in Jackson was shattering like those stupid plates in that stupid kitchen. Tears were falling down your face, and Tommy blurred away as your eyes continued to fill with them. It felt never ending, this whole situation did. How did you fix this? Could you?

“I don’t know.” Tommy admitted, feeling like his heart could tear from his chest as he looked at you, your breaths shaking as you tried to get through sobs, your face covered in tears, chest heaving. “But we’re going to figure this out. We’ve got you.”

He moved towards you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders when he realised you’d let him. He felt your arms tremble as they wrapped around him, and he stared past your head as he took notice of Joel frowning in the still-open doorway. They shared a look, and Tommy gave Joel an all too familiar expression, one that he used to give when Sarah would be upset. Too upset for anybody else but Joel to be present.

It felt strange, to Joel, not only to be on the receiving end of the look, but because it was concerning you. But what was he meant to do? How could he fix it?

Joel frowned, nodding at his younger brother, and closed their front door as he turned away, breathing out a sigh that felt far too heavy. He needed to figure this out.

“Come on,” Tommy said, after a few moments, when he was certain you hadn’t noticed Joel closing the door. He led you over to the sofa where Maria was waiting, and when you collapsed next to her, they held you between them until you fell asleep, face still wet from tears. “It’ll be okay.” He spoke, quietly, despite knowing you were asleep. He was half saying it to himself and Maria, too. They needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

Tommy decided then, that when you woke up in the morning, he would do his best to help you figure everything out. And as he shared a look with Maria, he knew that she’d be there, helping right at his side.

PART THREE

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller father figure #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller angst #tommy miller father figure #tlou imagines #tlou one shot #tlou imagine #tlou angst #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal one shot #heartpascal writes

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v4mpgutz · 3 months

Text

HOW TO DISAPPEAR, Rafe Cameron [ DRABBLES ]

— i know he's in over his head, but i love that man like nobody can

rafe cameron x ditzy gf reader

warnings — sfw + nsfw hcs, slightly mean rafe, ditzy (silly, forgetful) reader, corruption, choking, blood mention, dacryphilia, petnames (baby, sweets), dumbification, piv sex

note: *laughing manically* its time to give the people what they want

rafe never really thought he'd be in a committed relationship. it wasn't that he preferred non-commitment or that he didn't like being tied down — he just had some form of abandonment issues which he would never admit to.

so one day when ward welcomes you into tannyhill as wheezie's new babysitter (sarah was running around with pogue's and he didn't trust rafe), rafe is a stuttering mess at first. he saw you, this innocent, silly little thing who seemed as pure as a baby lamb and decided maybe he did want to date someone.

when you two began dating, he very quickly realised that you seemed a little out of your head at times. you were very clumsy, causing accidents such as running into doors to happen often.

-> you sat on the counter in front of rafe, sniffling and wiping stray tears from your cheeks as he gently applied rubbing alcohol to the bloody gash on your hand where you'd chopped a little more than just capsicum.

"such a clumsy little thing, huh?" rafe teased with a chuckle as he gently patted your thigh once he finished. "gotta be payin' more attention, baby," he tutted with a shake of his head. "stop bein' so up in the clouds, yeah?"

rafe absolutely thrived off of you coming to him for any kind of help but especially when you forgot things. you often forgot specific chores ward and rose would ask you to do while you babysat wheezie and would hurry up to rafe's room for help.

-> "rafey," he'd hear you whine from the doorway and turn around with a raised brow.

"whatcha want, sweets?" he asked you, tongue poking his cheek as he bit back a smirk. he already knew what you came to him for and god he'd be lying if he said he didn't love it.

"forgot what ward wanted me t'do..." you mumbled with a frown, brows pinched together as you tried to think but to no avail.

"don't you remember?" rafe chuckled lowly as he approached you, large hands coming to hold your waist as his thumb rubbed circles into your hip. "he said you don't have to do anything today other than watchin' wheeze."

— NSFW

it wasn't true, of course. but rafe knew how ward was when you didn't complete chores and he loved to see you crying when you'd get scolded. you'd come running into his arms like always, crying into his chest as he tried to hide his boner that strained against his shorts.

sometimes rafe was gentle with you, thrusting slowly which had you crying out and scratching his biceps. feeling every inch of him with the slow pace as he buried himself deeper inside you. he loved when your brain would practically grow numb, eyes rolling around in your head as you whimpered and whined.

-> "feels good, huh?" he laughed and continued to push his hips forward and back again, slowly pistoning inside your sensitive heat. "so good i've turned you completely dumb for me. stupid little doll, right?"

all you could do was let out a whine as your muscles convulsed, eyes cloudy with tears of pleasure. rafe brought a hand to your neck, squeezing the sides. small little black dots filled your vision as he cut off your oxygen, not enough for you to pass out. a strangled moan escaped your lips as he chuckled and sped up, slapping your face gently.

"come on, baby," he grinned as he let out a few groans of his own. "look at me. awe, y'can't can you? too dumbed out to even see."

WHEWWWW LORD this was fun to write i am sweating ahahaahahahhhskkdf i need him rn

tags: @ladyinbl00d

comment to be added :o

#— river's sticky notes ✩˚｡⋆#fanfic #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe x you #rafe cameron x you #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #drew starkey

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dizscreams · 1 year

Text

Gotcha! — Ethan Landry ★

Pairing: Ethan Landry x fem!carpenter!reader

Summary: Reader is a Carpenter sister! She’s in a secret relationship with Ethan and has Ethan over not knowing that Sam’s home

Warnings: Y/N and baby is used, it’s kinda suggestive but mostly fun fluff

A/N: I AM SORRY! I know i have random thoughts that i always just need to right down and I end up not doing the things I should. BUT IM WORKING ON THE JACK FIC DONT WORRYY! The Ethan tag was just dry today so I’m trying to help 🫶

“Shh! I need to make sure nobody’s home.”

Your voice echoed through the halls as Ethan reluctantly pulled away from your lips and followed behind you. “You said nobody was going to be home,” he said looking at you slightly confused. You opened the door and double checked around the apartment. Sam and Quinn’s keys were gone from the rack by the door so you took it as a sign nobody was there.

“I know but I just needed to double check.” You smiled and kissed him again, he quickly followed your movements and smiled into the kiss. Without breaking the contact you stepped inside and went to your room, making sure to shut the door behind you.

Ethan signaled for you to jump so you did and wrapped your legs around his waist while he carried you to your bed. Once he laid you down on the bed and got on top of you, you broke the kiss to kiss his neck. You slightly tugged his curls causing a small whine to escape his lips while yours held a smirk. “Tease,” he mumbled before nipping at the skin of your neck as payback.

You could have sworn you heard a door creak at that moment which caused you to slightly push him back. “Did you hear that?” You asked looking at the door and he followed your eyes. You both listened for a minute before he broke the silence, “Baby, there’s nobody home, remember? I’m sure it’s nothing.” You looked at him slightly worried but figured he was probably right.

You nodded in agreement and muttered a quiet “Okay.” With that he started to kiss your neck, with one hand holding his balance above you while the other was lifting up your shirt. Ethan slowly rubbed his hand up and down your side. “Can I take this off?” He murmured against your skin and you eagerly nodded and lifted up. He quickly took the fabric off of you and threw it somewhere across the room before taking off his own shirt.

While slightly smirking, he went back to kiss you before softly kissing up and down your stomach, trying his best to ease you since he could tell you were on high alert.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of your relationship with him it’s just you knew your sisters. Ever since Woodsboro they were beyond paranoid, Sam more than Tara, and it was understandable. You all went through a lot so of course, it was easy to have trust issues. And you trusted Ethan, you really did, but you knew Tara and Sam would be sketch and you didn’t want to bother with it.

They’d meet him eventually but for now you liked having him to yourself. The thrill of having a secret relationship was fun anyways and he’s told you repeatedly he doesn’t mind. You were glad to have a boyfriend as understanding as him.

Right as Ethan was about to take off your bra you heard something again.

“Okay, you had to have heard that.” He raised his head up, he did hear it, he just didn’t want to say anything cause he didn’t want you to worry. And he was hard

“Maybe it’s just the apartment next door?” He suggested but you gave him an unconvinced look that shut him up. You sat up, “I’m going to check it out.” but Ethan pushed you back down, “No, don’t. Just stay with me, please? I can protect you.” He told you while kissing your collarbones.

You rolled your eyes, “What if it’s Sam or Tara?”

He huffed out a breath, “Here, what if I go check it out?”

You looked at him curiously with a playful smile, “What, cause I’m a woman you don’t think I can handle whatever it is?” You teased. He turned red at that, “What- no that’s not what I meant-“ you cut him off with a kiss and chuckled at his fanatics. “I know,” you softly said calming him down, “You can go look just be quick, please?”

He nodded and got up, not bothering to put his shirt back on. You sat up against the headboard and played with your fingers while biting your lip in thought. What if it was one of your sisters? Or what if it was Ghostface? It couldn’t be, right? You’d definitely rather deal with Sam or Tara than a serial killer, but Richie and Amber were dead. There wasn’t anything to worry about anymore.

God what was taking him so long?

Your thoughts got cut off by Ethan’s voice, “Um, Y/N, can you come in here please?” He sounded like he was in the living room. But more importantly he sounded worried. You wasted no time in putting on a shirt and heading towards the living room. “Yeah? What’s-“

Oh shit

You were met with your older sister, a smirk on her face and her arms crossed and your very embarrassed boyfriend, scratching the back of his neck. “Sam it isn’t-“

“Isn’t what it looks like?” She finished your sentence with a snicker. Then she pointed to Ethan eyeing him, “When did this happen?” She asked cocking her head to the side. You were speechless. Ethan cleared his throat, “I’m gonna- let you guys talk.. and I’m going to put a shirt on.” He mentally cringed at himself for stuttering and quickly went back to your room and shut the door.

You could barely make eye contact with Sam knowing that she found this amusing and was 100% going to tease you about this for a very long time. “How long have you been here?” Your voice sounded smaller than you wanted it to, but you held your head up anyways.

She laughed a little, “Oh you know- just the whole time.” Your eyes went wide and looked right at her. “The whole time!?”

This caused her to laugh even harder, “Yeah, the only reason my keys weren’t here was because Dan- a friend took me home. Tara has my car.”

You squinted at her not forgetting to bring up whoever this “friend” she mentioned was later. Just as you were about to say something smart to her Ethan walked back in still shirtless.

“Hi-“ he did his awkward wave, “Sorry to interrupt but you have my shirt, y/n.” You looked down at what you were wearing and your mouth made an ‘O’ shape. Oops. “Just go back in my room and I’ll be there in a minute.” You told him and he did what you asked with no hesitation. You smirked at that but turned back around to focus on your sister.

She was now sitting on the small chair you had by the front door. “Did you guys have fun?”

“Were you listening to us?! You’re so creepy!”

“I had to make sure he wasn’t going to murder you!”

“Oh my god, you’re the worst.”

“I love you too, sis,” Sam got up and walked to the kitchen, opening up the fridge, “I would’ve said anything before you two.. did anything. Speaking of which! You do know how a condom works, right?”

“Oh my god, Sam! You’re so embarrassing.”You said throwing a couch cushion at her. “Hey! I just need to know you’re being safe.” She said giggling and you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face. “Whatever, I’m going back in my room. I’ll make sure we keep it PG for you. Love you!”

She shook her head with a smile as you walked off. Once she made sure you were out of sight she called Tara, “You wont believe what just happened-“

lol this was fun to write hope you enjoyed :)

TAGLIST: @beary-rambles @wekiamo @dizzyscreams i forgot abt it sorry!

#scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #jack champion x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry thoughts #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #tara carpenter #dizzy writes?! 😵‍💫

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6lostgirl6 · 9 months

Note

I’m having a bit of bill skarsgård brain rot, lmaooo. Can you do a yandere alphabet for the marquis from John wick

Yandere Alphabet - Vincent de Gramont

TW: Yandere themes, Mentions of Torture, Mentions of Arguments, Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced-Marriage, Spankings as Punishment, Overprotective Vincent, Controlling Vincent

A/N: Please inform me if I did not tag something correctly. Please know the difference between fictional and reality. While fictional, these types of relationships are extremely toxic, especially in real-life. If your relationship is showcasing these toxic behaviors, please seek help from someone to get out safely. Reblogs are heavily appreciated!!

Gif Credit: @mndvx

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Vincent's love languages are gift giving and acts of service. He's used to money and connections being the answer for everything and that includes how he shows his affections for you. It would be very intense, he would practically shower you in riches if you allowed him. Whatever you wanted was yours and he has the means of making it happen.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Vincent is all about efficiency. Whatever directly concerns his darling, he would need it to be handled immediately with little to no waste, effort, or energy. He would have his men handle it or deal with it himself, it depends on the situation. He dislikes messes, however, if someone were to kidnap you, harm you, or touch you, it would be a different story.

If you were harmed, he would return it ten-fold. Remember the scene between him and Nobody with a knife to the hand? Yes, he's willing to get messy for that. If his men are handling it, he would watch and enjoy it.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Once abducted, he would treat you like royality, since you're his sweet darling. No, he wouldn't mock you because that's childish in his eyes. He understands it is a difficult situation, but he would expect you to adapt sooner rather than later. He can only be patient for so long.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

There are many things he wouldn't allow you to do with the sole purpose of protecting you. You'll have to ask for his permission for many of these things, but he isn't unreasonable. If you want to go shopping, take a walk, there's must always be someone with you. You'll either be escorted by him or his men when he's busy. Your privacy will become nonexistent.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Vincent would be closed off in the beginning, he would need to trust you completely before he can open his heart to his darling. However, once he trusts his darling completely, he will open up about many things, however he will keep things from you. For instance, he wouldn't want his darling involved with his "occupation" and the things he's done. His vulnerability is strong when he completely trusts you, he's not against telling you his feelings.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Vincent can be patient and might even find his darling fighting back amusing. However, that patience can slip away very easily if the fighting persists. He would feel somewhat betrayed from his darling's behavior. He risked your safety to have you in his life and home and this is how you repay him?

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No, this is not a game to him and he takes it very seriously. Again, he risked your safety to have you in his life, the risk of someone using you against him. He may find his darling trying to escape humorous during the first few attempts, but it would be in your best interest to quit. He won't find it humorous anymore.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

His darling's worst experiences with him would be his outbursts and controlling behavior. Vincent's patience only goes a certain way until he explodes. Fighting against him would result in him yelling at you angrily and breaking things. For example, when Vincent broke his phone after speaking with Nobody. I believe that Vincent would break things when he's angry or overstimulated enough.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Vincent wants to experience everything with his darling. His darling is his significant other, therefore he envisions marrying his darling and having children to continue the next generation. He'll force you to marry him if he has to.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He can be extremely jealous, however it is not because of insecurity. He doesn't like anyone thinking they have a chance with his darling without going through him first. He doesn't need to cope being the Marquis, he can have that person killed if he wanted and it will happen. Yes, he will lash out in his own way.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He's extremely protective and affectionate with his darling. He can be charming when he wants, hand kisses, arm around the waist, gentle caresses, he will do it all for his darling. His darling always has his attention, even if he's busy. If you're on his good side, it's all romantic.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Vincent would do things behind the scenes, make his darling think they have a secret admirer, which is true. He would secretly send you romantic letters and expensive gifts. He would have his men secretly follow you around and get information to bring back to him. He wants to learn everything about you and prepare before abducting you.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Absolutely, Vincent would be completely different with others compared to his darling. His darling is the only one that gets the sweet side of him while he remains aloof with others.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He would take away rights everytime you go against him. For instance, you would no longer be allowed to leave the mansion anymore, no matter how many times you try to appease him. He would need to see improvement first. Plus, he's not against putting his darling over his knee and spanking you until you're red.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

He would take away some rights from his darling and his darling would need to have his approval for things. For instance, you're not allowed in the kitchens or leaving the mansion without him or a bodyguard and your personal belongings are always monitored. For your protection of course ❤️

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Well, he would have a little more patience with his darling than with others. He'll let his darling off easily the first few times, but it would quickly change because he would assume that his darling is being ungrateful and disrespecting him and his wishes.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Absolutely not. Vincent would never be able to move on if something happened to you. If you died, he would remain heartbroken for the rest of his life. If you escape, that'd a different story, you will return to him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

He would never feel guilty for kidnapping his darling and it never crossed his mind that what he did was wrong. He has individuals killed for a living, kidnapping his darling wouldn't be any different. He would simply try to make you understand that what he did was necessary. He would never let his darling go, you would have to kill him first.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

I would assume his childhood and the things he deals with as the Marquis. He's used to having everything he wants, call him spoiled.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Vincent would feel disappointed about your behavior, especially when this is a reoccurring problem. However, he still loves you and would want to fix this as soon as possible. He would try to comfort you as much as he knew how. If you were upset about being restrained to the mansion, he'll take you outside. He would explain to you that this was only for your protection and he only wanted the best for you.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Vincent isn't sadistic, at least towards his darling and values their feelings. He actually likes communication, you can be open with him about anything because he prefers your honesty than lying and disobeying him.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

He's used to getting what he wanted and gaining his complete trust would give his darling advantages. He would let his darling have more privileges and his darling can use that in an effort to escape. However, his trust is a long process so you'll need to play the waiting game. Be obedient and docile and you'll have him eating from your palm.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

No.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He absolutely loves his darling and willing to do anything for them. He'll buy anything you want if it meant gaining your affections. He has money and connections, he'll make it happen.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He'll pine for his darling for a few months, gaining information on them and preparing his home for his darling's arrival before he snaps. Whenever he wants something, he has to have it soon or now. Again, he's spoiled.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes, he would.

Spam Liking w/o Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @britany1997 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bloodywickedvamp @daddy-issues-99 @kirishimasfiance @bigcreatorwombatdreamer

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blanketbvby · 5 months

Text

A Demon's Guide to Anthropology 1

It baffles me that I haven't seen any of something like this much, at least on Tumblr, so I'm making a mini 5 part series on Mammon (possibly others if someone wants me to) reacting to different human habits and such!

Please don't rush me on this series, though, I'm very busy with both school and providing for my family and will have irregular posting schedules :(

Part 1: RAIN

Word count: 636

Tags: Mammon's POV, use of 'MC' and they/them pronouns, more focused on Mammon's reaction to humans being able to smell rain, brief cursing and brief blood mention, rushed!!

★ ——— —— —

Humans were weird, it was a bit of common knowledge between the realms.

Michael was an asshole, Diavolo laughs a lot, and humans were strange. It was a fact at this rate, anyone— demon, angel, reaper, witch, or otherwise can tell you that much.

Mammon supposes he shouldn't have forgotten it, and honestly he didn't, in the beginning he just didn't care enough to take much note of it, considering MC was still settling down and that shady sorcerer didn't live under the same roof as him.

It took a week for the first thing to be noticed by him. Four days after the pact with MC was made, with not a cloud in the sky, they both were sat in the living room tying their shoes to head off to R.A.D.

Something important to note, Mammon is certain, is that demons had impressive noses.

Sure, not 'smell you from a thousand miles away' type noses, but sniffing out pheromones, blood, and a person's scent was common. Easy, natural.

Even angels were rather impressive with their noses, and honestly most creatures were. Well, he thought it was most creatures, at least. Humans didn't seem to so easily smell these types of things. Though he hadn't been around humans for far too long, that was something he could easily remember.

"C'mon," MC reminded Mammon, standing up.

"We'll be late unless you hurry up."

"Yeah, yeah, 'm comin'," Mammon merely grumbled in response, rolling his eyes and standing up and following the human out.

They make it to the door, opening it, and Mammon squirming his way past MC to step out first. MC, on the other hand, pauses once they're stepped out, eyes narrowed. Of course, Mammon doesn't notice at first as he begins walking.

"Wait," they say, causing Mammon to groan and turn around, looking at them.

"It's gonna rain soon."

Mammon raises a disbelieving eyebrow, deadpan expression turning to the clear sky, then back to the human he accompanied.

"Uh huh. What makes ya say that?"

MC's eyes narrow further.

"I smell it."

It's quiet for a moment, then another, then another, before Mammon bursts into laughter. The kind that leaves anyone heaving and clutching their stomach, knees bent and tears filling your eyes.

"I'm serious!" MC's voice is a little closer, and Mammon looks up to see them holding an umbrella, enchanted to withstand most kinds of dangerous Devildom weather.

Mammon laughs again when he sees them with the umbrella, reminded of the absurdity of such a situation.

A human smelling the weather? Smelling the rain? He couldn't help the cackling that he devolved into, howling away at the humor of such an outlandish claim.

MC whacked him over the head with the umbrella, and though it didn't hurt, he still jokingly replied with an 'ow' before standing on shaking knees. He glared playfully, and the mortal stuck their tongue out with a glare in response.

Heading to R.A.D., the topic of MC supposedly smelling rain was dropped, the two parting to their separate classes, and Mammon eventually forgetting all about it thanks to being entangled with his brothers, witches demanding debts be paid, and complaints being had about his kleptomania.

When he met up with MC for lunch, he noticed them shooting a knowing glance towards Solomon, the other human exchange student, who also coincidentally had an umbrella. It was bizarre, and the way that the occasional student glanced at them made it clear nobody else understood why the humans needed umbrellas.

Until school ended and many people were burdened with the troubles of rain, both humans having predicted the occurrence.

Mammon couldn't wrap his head around it, but after three more instances of this occurring, made sure not to underestimate the humans and their weather-predicting snouts.

#obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me mc #blanketbvby

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seoafin · 4 months

Text

dog days are over | chapter eight

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): gojo word count: ~9.6k

fic masterlist read on ao3

“No need to look so nervous! Loosen up!”

You try your best to smile, despite the nerves bundled in your stomach. “Thank you for inviting me out, Ikeda-san.”

She beams at you, opening the menu in front of her. You stare at her glossy, perfectly shaped nails and the smooth skin of her hands. You remember the softness of them. Still, there is no ring on her finger.

“Please, call me Meiko. And of course! Don’t tell Gojo and Geto, but I’ve always wanted to talk to you.”

Surprised, you say, “Me?”

“The mysterious fourth classmate of Jujutsu High’s 2008 graduating class. I was always so curious about you.” She smiles, and you are drawn to the cherry red of her lipstick. “Especially since those two are notoriously tightlipped about you.”

You’re sure it’s because there’s nothing to talk about when it comes to you.

“I’m not that interesting,” you say politely, because in your opinion, you really aren’t. “I’m sure you weren’t missing much.”

“Is that really what you think?” She leans forward, placing her chin on top of her threaded fingers. “I think you’re plenty interesting.”

Your face warms. Nobody’s ever called you interesting before. You meet her gaze. “Is there something you need, Ike—Meiko-san?”

She laughs. “Please, you’re so formal! No need for the honorific, you’ll make me self conscious. We’re nearly the same age! If I’m being honest, I just wanted to get to know you.”

“Because we have…” you consider her carefully, “a lot in common?”

Once again, she bursts into laughter. It’s not mocking, but amused. “I thought maybe you’d feel a little more comfortable if we had…common ground.”

The common ground being…

Your face flushes with heat. “Is it…” you stare at the plate laid flat in front of you, stomach churning in distress, “obvious?”

You think back to every single semi public interaction with Suguru and Satoru. Maybe someone had caught a glimpse of Suguru’s knuckles brushing against yours, walking a little too close to you to be considered casual acquaintances. Maybe someone had seen Satoru draw you close to him. It hadn’t been discreet. Satoru’s never been discreet. Not enough. And now you’re paying the consequences.

Your palms go sweaty.

“Oh, it seems I’ve worried you,” Meiko looks concerned. “It was just a guess,” she murmurs gently, reaching out for your hand. Your heart starts with a jerk when her hand closes around you. “An inkling if you will. Woman’s intuition?”

They are soft. They smell like peach flavored hand lotion. Relief sweeps through you like a cool balm. “Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Thank god.” It slips out before you can help it.

“It’s rare to see Geto and Gojo so ruffled,” she chuckles. “Geto especially. I can never tell what he’s thinking with that smile of his…I just wanted to tease them a little, you know? Make them sweat.” She studies you, face sobering. “They hold you in the highest regard.”

The she winks, and calls over a server.

She must be a regular here because she easily strikes up a conversation with your server about the new seasonal specials. You then watch in slight awe as she proceeds to order one of every single thing on the menu.

At your expression, she grins. “Instead of deliberating, isn’t it easier to just order the entire menu? That way we can try a little of everything. Besides, my palate gets a little bored with one plate.”

You blink. It strikes you as something Satoru would do. Order every single sweet on a menu to have his pick. The world of jujutsu elites and their bottomless bank accounts is truly something beyond your understanding.

“When Ieiri-san said you were coming to my reception as her plus one, I was surprised,” Meiko says. “I asked Gojo for your availability, and he said you were busy. Honestly,” she huffs, “selfish men are the worst!”

Satoru said you were busy? You wonder if he thought you’d somehow embarrass him and Suguru. Somehow, you can’t fault him. People just don’t seem to like you, and it’s probably your fault. “You wanted me to come?”

“Of course I did.” She makes a face. “Instead I had to deal with that Kumiko. The nerve of her to seat herself at my table! In your seat!”

She scans you, as if to gauge the measure of your outrage. You simply only look at her, unblinking as your mind runs wild with all the possible ways to navigate the rest of this conversation without stepping on any landmines. You're not good at this.

“I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”

Meiko’s smile turns tight. “We were briefly homeschooled together. Flower arranging class.” She spits out.

Her face clouds darkly.

You quickly change the subject. “I wonder when the food—”

Meiko’s eyes narrow. “ Wait. Are you acquainted with her?”

“J-Just briefly…”

“That snake,” her fingers fist tightly. “Of course she’d worm her way into your life!” She slams a fist onto the table. You wince. “It’s Geto isn’t it?” She scoffs. “I heard she got stood up by Gojo, but to think she was that shameless—”

“She likes him,” you say, a little more firmly than you intended. A look of surprise paints her face at your sudden boldness. You settle down, embarrassed. “I think…her feelings are genuine,” and it’s wrong to undermine them. The fondness in her eyes is real. You of all people understand her feelings. You love Suguru too.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize weakly.

Meiko exhales deeply. “No, I am. I always get carried away when it comes to her. We’ve always had bad blood between us. I suppose we’ve just never seen the world the same way. It’s always been her dream to be married to an influential man,” her voice turns bitter. “To be a perfect wife. To bear sons with cursed techniques. You could say we were bred for it. Disgusting pigs like that Zenin Naoya are a dime a dozen in jujutsu society. But unlike me, Kumiko was actually born with a powerful cursed technique.” There’s a bitter note to her voice. “What a waste.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You’ve never been good at knowing what to say at the right time. Not like Suguru.

But Meiko continues, “I suppose that’s why it’s a surprise to everyone she’s still not married. A lot of people think it’s because her clan elders are holding out for Gojo.” She snorts. “I guess everyone is expecting him to get married soon too, and have children. Lots of children.” She pauses, “Though I suppose they don’t mind the unmarried part as much as the not-impregnating-women part.” She raises an eyebrow. “They do make quite the pair, don’t they?”

You get the strongest feeling of deja-vu.

Your face warms, looking at anything but Meiko. “I…”

“They work even better together too,” she remarks with a sigh. “Unfortunately, good looks can’t save them from their lousy personalities.” She shoots you a sympathetic look.

L-Lousy personalities…

Clearing her throat, she says, “The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. To secure the Gojo line.”

You stare at her.

Meiko’s expression gives away to surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“Nobody mentioned it,” you answer truthfully. It clears up a lot of the happenings at the school. Perhaps they had come to Tokyo because Satoru refused to come to them. You knew Satoru’s less than enthusiastic feelings towards the burdens pushed on him by clan politics, such as marriage. A part of you can’t help but wonder if that had spurred Satoru and Suguru’s actions towards you. That and pity you suppose. In your first year, Satoru often used to remark that you seemed like you’d be the type to die alone. He wasn’t wrong.

“The Zenin and Kamo’s want him to take a bride from their own families, but the Gojo clan’s own preference is someone like Sasaki. Someone from a distinguished lineage and a clan that’s not as powerful as one of the big three. They don’t want a strong clan interfering in interfamily politics. It’s all terribly political.” She makes a face. “They want him to consider mistresses from other families too. He’s not the only one. Geto’s been fielding all kind of offers too. His cursed technique is too valuable, and the Zenin’s have always been greedy.”

Of course the Gojo clan would want someone as delicate and refined as Sasaki. She’s beautiful, talented, and holds a revered cursed technique. It would be easy to fall in love with her, if the way Suguru talks highly of her means anything.

You try to process the rest of the information, but all you can think of is marriage, marriage, marriage. Your head is spinning. Had your parents’ marriage been rife with such difficulties? This can’t be normal. You are confronted by the realization that the day Satoru and Suguru get married might be closer than you think. It throws your thoughts into disarray. All this time you’ve been unaware of the specifics and complexities of jujutsu society as it pertains to someone of Satoru and Suguru’s positions. They’ve never confided in you, and you think it’s for good reason. You’ve been so caught up in your own head that it never occurred to you that they might be troubled too. What a friend you’ve been lately.

Spirits dampening, you lower your gaze. “Is…that right…”

Luckily, you’re saved from a more coherent answer because the food comes. A line of waiters approach your table. Twelve plates, large and small, are set down in quick succession. You stare at the colorful array of dishes. Another waiter makes an appearance with a bottle of expensive looking wine, pouring the two of you a glass.

Meiko loads food onto your plate. “Eat up! You seem like you could use a good meal.”

“Thank you…” Eating saves you the trouble of having to speak when you don’t have the words. It’s easy. The food is delicious.”

“This is the restaurant that catered my food during the reception,” Meiko says, taking a bite of her ricotta peach salad. “I hope you enjoyed the food, then and now.”

“It’s delicious,” you admit with a smile. “Thank you for bringing me.”

A wide smile hangs on her face. “Of course! It was a terrible night, but it might have been a little better if you had been there.”

A warm flush creeps into your face. “I would’ve liked to have met you too,” you say shyly, hesitantly. You like Meiko, you think. It’s easy to like her, with her bold personality. There's a frankness to her that reminds you of Shoko. A familiarity. You wonder what she sees in you. You wonder if your night would’ve been different had you met her instead of Hideo.

You’re thoughtful. “You didn’t seem very happy at your wedding.” The words come out before you can stop it.

Meiko goes quiet. You quickly move to retract your statement, realizing it was insensitive of you to say something. “I’m so—”

Meiko lifts her wine to her lips and slams it down, emptied. “I didn’t want to get married. Not then, not ever. I thought my father had given up on it, after I scared the fifth suitor away.” She takes the bottle and nearly fills her glass to the brim. “Only to find out my father had given away my hand without my knowledge when I came back from visiting my mother in Hokkaido.” She takes a long drink. “To a politician of all people! It was horrible. I threw a fit, hoping to convince my father. You can imagine how well that went.”

You can’t imagine being unknowingly married, bound to spending the rest of your life with a stranger. It feels like the puzzle pieces are slowly coming together. Meiko’s sour expression throughout the entire reception. Shoko’s comment about the unwilling bride. You can’t do anything but commiserate with her in silence.

“My father said he’d be willing to break off talks if…” she trails off, looking vaguely uncomfortable for the first time since the evening started. “At the time, I hadn’t realized those two were into women.”

You nearly choke with laughter.

It’s an understandable mistake. The nature of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship have always raised eyebrows. They’ve never hidden it. It’s a truth, never presumed, never spoken, lest it be true. Or spreads. Satoru and Suguru have always enjoyed making people uncomfortable to an almost sadistic extent. You’ve seen people squirm in their seats beneath Suguru’s pleasant smile, Satoru’s creeping menacing grin.

Meiko looks amused now, eyeing you with an understanding you don’t quite get. “My mistake.”

You sober. “The reception…”

“He spent the entire time with Gojo and Geto, trying to worm his way into their good graces. He has ambitions, you see.” A mirthless smile. “He wants to be prime minister of Japan one day, and everyone knows it’s Gojo’s vote that matters the most when it comes to selecting the political face of Japan, and my father already has very strong ties to the current Kamo head.”

Oh you knew that. Upon watching a political debate with Shoko in the common lounge your first year of jujutsu tech, Satoru had taken up all the space on the couch with wide legs, eaten all your popcorn, and watching the current prime minister’s effective response to the burgeoning inflation, had commented that it was an aggressive policy for the mild and meek man who had cowered in the face of him and the Zenin and Kamo heads.

Shoko and Suguru had simply looked at him until Satoru shrugged and said that between the current prime minister and his former opponent, personally, he had flipped a coin before casting his vote. Suguru gawked at him, and had spent the rest of the week questioning the legitimacy of the political institutions in Japan.

To this day, you’re unsure of whether or not Satoru was joking.

Sometimes, the thought that the fate of your nation rests in Satoru’s hands makes you a little uneasy.

You try not to think about it often.

She snorts. “It wasn’t as bad as our first night.”

You straighten immediately.

“He didn’t touch me,” she clears up quickly. “Or force me, if that’s what you think. He slept on the couch actually.” Her face goes thoughtful. “It’s more than you can say of a lot of men in jujutsu society,” she completes darkly.

Relief shoots through you. “If you ever need help…” This time, it’s your turn to squeeze her hands reassuringly. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Meiko looks touched. “You’d help me?”

“I’m not all that impressive,” you respond truthfully, a little embarrassed at your bold proclamation with nothing but intent to back it up. You aren’t in a position of any strength to be promising easy help. But you’d do anything you could. “But I’m sure I could ask Satoru and Suguru to help if necessary too.” And if whatever you could meant pleading to Satoru and Suguru on the behalf of someone else, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

“Satoru and Suguru are good people,” despite the opinions of others. Despite…what Meiko may think. They are, you know it. You’re sure they’d intervene if needed, not because you asked.

She sniffs. You look at her in alarm. Then you realize the bottle of wine is empty.

“I’m sure…” she swallows, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to piece together her sentence. “I’m sure they’d do anything, if you asked them.”

You’re sure she’s just flattering you, so you smile, and motion for the waitress before Meiko can order another bottle. You hope she doesn’t cry. A pretty, crying woman would have you flying into a panic. You prepare yourself to call Shoko for advice just in case, although for crying women matters Suguru would probably be your first choice.

The bill is placed. You figure you should pay since she took the liberty of inviting you out in the first place, but there’s a black card in her hand before you can even blink. The waitress smoothly takes it, just as Meiko’s fist slams down onto the table.

“They don’t deserve you!” She exclaims, drawing stares from other tables. “You’re too good for them!”

The server hurriedly rushes away, presumably to quickly check you two out.

Your server returns with Meiko’s card and helps you collect her. Luckily, she’s not drunk enough to be immobile, but she tilts precariously as you two walk her outside. The weight of her body leaning on yours is almost pleasant. She must be a lightweight. Like Satoru. You don’t mind it. It reminds you of the time you had had to drag Satoru to his room after he mistook Shoko’s flask of alcohol for apple juice. Outside, a sleek black car awaits.

“Meiko,” you say, “would you like to stay at my apartment tonight?”

Her voice is small as she hides her face in the crook of your neck. Your heart nervously starts in your chest. “...Do you mind?”

You manage a smile. “Not at all.”

The driver (the same driver from before you recognize), a kind looking middle aged man, takes Meiko as you thank the waitress. When the two of you are seated, Meiko slurs to him that she’ll be following you home tonight. You tell him your address.

When you arrive, the driver does a double take at your apartment building. Meiko sobers up enough to be able to walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment by herself so she shoos the driver away as you promise to take care of her.

“Go,” you call as you open the door. “I’m home.”

Go is seated in front of the door, above the platform of the genkan, as if he’s been waiting for you, tail excitedly flicking from side to side on the floor as he regards you.

“Wow,” Meiko says. “That’s a beautiful cat.”

Pride blooms in your chest at her words. Go’s grown big enough to nearly encompass the length of your arms. You wonder if he’ll ever stop growing, but you don’t mind. More of him to hug and pet. You love him regardless.

After taking off her heels, Meiko clambers to her knees and immediately starts petting Go. You can hear Go’s pleased purr as Meiko showers him with bellyrubs.

When she finally pulls away, you lead her through the living room and then into your room, Go following beside your ankles.

“You can take my bed.” Meiko opens her mouth to argue. “I insist.” You’re no stranger to sleeping on the couch anyway. And having Go next to you made things substantially better. You leave to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

Clutching a tall glass of water, you return to your room to see the top dresser of your drawer opened, and a white envelope in Meiko’s hand.

“O-oh,” you say quickly, placing the glass of water down on your desk. “That’s…”

“Did you write all of these?” Meiko places the envelope back down at the top of the stack in your drawer. You had momentarily moved the letters there until you could finish Satoru’s latest one to ensure all the postage was up to date. His birthday was coming soon after all. But you couldn’t risk the letters being seen by any of the recipients. Your letters weren’t meant for them—not as long as you were alive.

With Satoru's tendency to snoop through your things, their usual home was in a shoebox inside a bigger storage container underneath your bed, covered with spare blankets. You hadn’t been expecting visitors.

Meiko gestures to three stacks of letters, each stack addressed to a different person.

“Three every year,” you reply, with a small smile, closing the drawer. She must have seen Satoru’s name written on the envelope. You’re relieved when she doesn’t say anything else, only gazing at the picture frames on top of your dresser.

“Your apartment,” her voice is quiet, “is very empty.”

“I’m not good at decorating. I’ve never had a lot of things.”

“The unsentimental type, huh.”

Meiko raises her hand, as if to examine the picture of Shoko on your desk, but then drops it. You open the covers for her. It’s easy to see how tired she is, the darkness of the night casting shadows on her face that make her expression muted. You should let her get rest.

Slowly, she gets into your bed.

“I wanted to enroll into jujustu high,” her voice is barely a whisper, covers pulled to her chin. “My father said my cursed technique wouldn’t amount to much as a jujutsu sorcerer. That I’d be killed on my first mission. I wanted—” her voice warbles, and you worry she might cry. “I could’ve been an auxiliary manager.”

Hesitantly, you reach out and pat her hair. You like it when Shoko pats your hair.

She blinks slowly, before her eyes close. A few seconds later, Meiko is peacefully sleeping in your bed. You exhale, relieved that sleep had come to her easily.

Freedom. It’s easy to take it for granted. Despite everything in your life, at least you had that. You could quit being a jujutsu sorcerer, move to the mountains unaccounted for, and live the rest of your life surrounded by rocks. There would be no great impact on jujutsu society. You’d be a fading memory at best.

You’re still thinking about it when, settled on the couch, with Go in your lap as you brush his fur, someone knocks on your door.

At this hour?

You set Go and the brush down, walking over to the genkan. You open the door.

A tall, slightly disheveled man greets you. From what you can make out in the sparse light coming from the small lamp of your living room, he’s nicely dressed, in an expensive looking suit, but his tie is loose around his neck in a way that reminds you of drunk businessmen splayed out in the streets awaiting the trains to open.

“Is Ikeda-san inside?” He asks sharply. You try to make out his face, but the darkness encroaches on his face, creating shadows. Your eyesight is going bad. Too many late nights in the archives.

“She’s sleeping—”

You immediately move to block him from coming in when he takes a step forward. Go hisses from in between your ankles.

“I’m her husband,” he says, in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “I’m here to retrieve my wife.” After a slight pause, as if remembering to be courteous, he dips his head. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Of course.” You meet his gaze. “Though I don’t think it’s wise to move her now. Like I said before, she’s sleeping.” You don’t share that she had been drinking.

You think you imagine the flicker of displeasure on his face, but then his face is smoothly dispassionate. “It’s only proper that she should rest at home.”

You don’t move.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t feel comfortable letting her go home with you.” Not in her current condition.

“Forgive me,” he says. “But my relationship with Ikeda-san doesn’t pertain to you. It’s a separate matter altogether. I simply want her to rest at home.” In other words: it’s none of your business.

A politician through and through, you think. Despite the fact that this straitlaced man seems to be the very opposite of smiles and fake goodwill.

It’s not. Your business. But you don’t think you can let her go home, not in good conscience. You wonder if this means making enemies with the future prime minister of Japan. Well, there wasn’t much he could do even if he wanted to retaliate.

“I’m sorry,” you say firmly. “I’ll take care of Ikeda-san until the morning. I may not look like it but I’m also a jujutsu sorcerer. A Grade One. I’m more than capable of watching over her.”

You leave out the part where your own missions have been on the backburner as of late. You’re sure Yaga-sensei is being considerate after what happened in Nagoya. You mentally thank Satoru and Suguru for all their hard work.

Surprise on his face. “You’re a jujutsu sorcerer?”

Y-yes… “I am.”

His fingers curl, unhappy. You can tell he’s hesitant. You understand it, but you already decided you wouldn’t let Meiko go home. It’s not something you’ll budge on. You’ll stand your ground.

“Then I leave her in your care,” he says curtly, straightening. He bows his head and you bow back. Then he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the entire interaction. You stare at your empty doorway until Go meows.

You close the door and sigh, sitting down on the elevated floor connected to the genkan as you scratch Go’s ear.

“Do you think the future prime minister of Japan hates me?”

He bumps his head into your thigh. You sigh again, picking him up as you stand. Like he said, it’s beyond you to assume their relationship, a nobody like you. Go immediately rolls onto his back in your arms, paws kicking up, nuzzling into you.

At least Go would never hate you.

You tread back to the couch, and put on a documentary about African meerkats. Go doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, entranced by the slim animals and their dietary habits. You eventually doze off.

—

You wake up to the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of breakfast. You blink, cold winter sunlight streaming in through the window. You sit up.

“Good morning,” Meiko says. “I’m making breakfast.”

You look at her.

She snorts. “What, did you think a rich girl like me couldn’t cook? I lived by myself in college, you know. No servants at all.” Meiko must mistake your blank eyed stare for something more because she hastily says, “O-on the weekdays anyway.”

You didn’t know you had food in your fridge.

“I went to the grocery store around the block,” she says, answering your unspoken question. “What do you live on? All you had was cat food in the fridge!” She opens a cabinet and points. “And this huge jar of sugar!”

“Satoru’s,” you answer. Meiko looks even more confused.

You yawn. Go is already awake on your lap, awaiting his breakfast no doubt. “There were some eggs…” Leftovers from the groceries Shoko had bought you a week prior.

“I can’t believe you…” She shakes her head, muttering something along the lines of ‘hopeless,’ before shooing you into the bathroom to wash.

After a quick stop to the bathroom, you feed Go and take a seat. Meiko puts a plate of eggs, bacon and sausage, and buttered toast in front of you.

“You didn’t have to.” You stare at the food. When was the last time you had breakfast in your apartment out of ingredients that had been bought?

“It’s the least I could do,” she sounds exasperated. “I can’t believe you let me take your bed!”

You feed Go a leftover piece of raw bacon which he gratefully accepts, nudging into your hand. “As long as you were comfortable.”

She huffs, and you thank her for the meal. The two of you eat in brief silence.

“Have you ever wondered what you’d be if you weren't a jujutsu sorcerer?” Meiko asks suddenly, spearing a sausage with her fork. “Like if you had never known curses existed.”

You wonder where this is coming from.

“Not really,” you admit slowly, staring at your plate of food. “It’s not like it would have ever made a difference. It was also highly probable I’d be killed during a mission anyway.” No need to think about the possibilities, no point in contemplating the path of your life unless you were debating the merits of suicide.

“Oh. That’s morbid.” Then she says, “Do you still think that?”

You think about your last missions, and the last time you had a close call with death. It could be tomorrow, it could be next year. You suppose that’s always been the inevitable reality for you. Who would you be if not a jujutsu sorcerer? You had little to no experience of life outside the world of jujustu sorcery. No other friends. No family. “I do. I don’t even know if I’ll survive to the next year,” you say plainly.

“What if you do survive?” She presses. “What if you don’t die? Next year, the year after the next…What would retirement look like for you?”

You consider it. It’s a difficult question. It must show on your face because Meiko laughs as if she’s torn whether to be amused or sympathetic. “Is it really that hard?”

“I would move somewhere peaceful,” you say slowly. “The countryside. Maybe somewhere along the coast, near the beach.” You’d like that. Somewhere aligned with nature. Somewhere where you could watch the sunrise and the sunset. Somewhere, where the stars are visible.

“By yourself?”

“By myself.” You would live in solitude, once again, content knowing Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko were living happily. Nobody would ever hurt you again. Go headbutts your ankle. Your lips curl, leaning down to pet him. “With Go,” you correct. No, you wouldn’t be entirely alone.

“And then?”

“Die.”

Meiko makes a face.

It wouldn’t be bad, you think. It’s all you can ask for out of life, if any higher existence is merciful enough to grant it. A peaceful death.

Meiko gawks at you. When she finally regains her words, she says, “Either you live as a jujutsu sorcerer or you die?”

You nod.

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. She sighs. “You’re so morbid.”

–

There are flowers on your desk. They’re lovely, a bouquet of a colorful array of flowers, some of which you recognize as japanese iris’, peonies, and wisteria.

You examine them, fingering their delicate petals, running your hands through them to try to find a card. You think it had accidentally been delivered to the library by mistake. You don’t know who would send you flowers.

There’s no identifying information on them, so you gingerly pick up the bouquet and walk out the library, all the way to Shoko’s office on the third floor of jujutsu high’s main building.

She raises an eye at the bundle in your arms when you knock and open the door.

“I’m glad I caught you before you went on break,” you say. “I found these flowers in the library, and I thought they’d brighten up your office.” You wrap your hands around the stems of the carefully trimmed flowers, and feel the thrum of your cursed energy imbue the flowers.

You place the bouquet down on the closest cabinet to you. As long as nobody intentionally destroyed them, they’d stay beautiful forever. “I’ll find you a vase.”

She swivels in her chair to face you, scrutinizing the flowers. “Are you sure? Those look like serious money.”

You play with a petal. “I think they were delivered to the library by mistake, but I can’t find a card.”

A knowing smile plays on her lips. “Men give women flowers when they want to apologize. Any groveling men in mind?”

You look at her. “No.”

She huffs a breath of laughter. “I’ll take them,” she says airily. She stands. “Are you going to join me on my break?”

You give her an apologetic look. “Paperwork.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, fine, but you owe me some of your time this weekend. It’s been a while since we went shopping.”

Shopping with Shoko always meant a good time. You’re looking forward to the weekend already. You wave her off, and back to the library you go. Just as you step into the gardens leading to the library, you hear a voice call your name.

“How’s your cat?” Hideo asks in greeting, jogging up to your side. “Have you named him?”

“Hello.” You smile. “His name is Go, and he’s very big.”

“Go…” Hideo’s eyebrows momentarily draw together, understanding dawning on his face. “I’m guessing it’s not because five is your lucky number, huh.”

You laugh. “He looks just like Satoru.” You adore him.

The two of you continue to the library.

“Has Go met his namesake yet?”

“Not...” Your smile slips, thinking of your last encounter with Satoru and Suguru. “Yet.”

“Well, all in good time, I suppose,” Hideo says easily, after a beat of contemplative silence.

You think about the flowers in Shoko’s office, and what type of vase they would look best in. Maybe Meiko would know. “There were flowers in the library.”

Hideo grins, amused. “A secret admirer?”

You blink. “I don’t think so.” A secret admirer? You? “I’m sure it was a mistake. I gave them to Shoko to brighten up her office.”

A wince crosses his face. It melts into a chuckle. You look at him curiously.

“You’re just a normal girl, huh?”

He grins, eyes bright, fond with a familiarity you still aren’t used to, but for some reason the comment makes your chest ache.

Normal.

You must be making a face because he straightens, mostly sobering. “Ah…how do I put this,” he scratches the underside of his chin. “When we were younger you always seemed…older. Somehow. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s normal in this world. I guess talking about love and secret admirers just reminded me…”

You tilt your head.

He clears his throat. “I prefer the person you are right now though,” he says easily. “You smile now” —like a normal girl— “and get sent flowers from a secret admirer” —like a normal girl—

You stare at him. Then lower your gaze to your feet. “Is that…bad?” You wonder if he’s making fun of you. You don’t think those flowers were intended for you.

Nobody has ever called you normal. If anything, you were abnormal. If you were a normal girl, maybe you’d be married like that woman you saw months ago. If you were a normal girl, maybe everything would be better.

If you were a normal girl would you be happier? Would things make more sense? You can’t imagine it. First Meiko asks you about a hypothetical future, and now Hideo seems to be under the mistaken impression that you are a normal girl.

It…

You don’t hate it. The thought peeves you more than you thought it would.

Hideo blinks rapidly. “No, of course not!” He frantically waves his hands. “Ignore me! I have a bad habit of running my mouth occasionally!” His gaze turns worried. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you respond, meaning it. You smile. “I don’t mind.”

Normal, normal, normal.

Hideo walks you inside the library. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his neck crane to look at the domed skylight in the center of the library, the interest clear on his face. The building is in a unique shape: a heptagon, walls lined with bookshelves that fit the shape of the building. “I didn’t know this building was a library. Cozy.”

“I think they converted it,” you say. You’ve always liked this library, away from the bustle of the campus. Not many people knew about it. You discovered this building your second year of high school, and found a thin layer of dust on all the books and scrolls. It was clear it hadn’t been occupied in a while. It wasn’t until you had stayed inside for a day or two, unaccounted for, reading whatever you could salvage, that Shoko had found you, Satoru and Suguru not too far behind. Yaga thought you had never come back from a previous mission.

Shoko helped you clear the library. Satoru and Suguru carried a desk and chair into the center, right beneath the skylight, and suddenly, it was a study. Yours.

“I like it here,” you say quietly. “It’s peaceful.”

As soon as you finish your sentence, you hear the large wooden double doors open and slam shut as Satoru strides in. You flinch at the noise.

“...?”

Satoru folds his arms as he rests his weight against one of the bookshelves. He doesn’t need to take off his glasses for you to know he’s keenly unhappy in a way that fills up the entire room.

“...”

Satoru’s jaw ticks.

You move your gaze to the floor, sensing Hideo looking from you to Satoru curiously. Greater men have scurried away from the palpable tension Satoru has injected into the room, but Hideo seems oblivious to it.

“Guess I should leave the two of you to it,” Hideo finally says. “Sorry for the intrusion!”

You startle, looking up, mouth opening to deny his statement, but Satoru’s flat expression snaps your mouth back shut.

“T-Then I’ll see you…” you say quietly, wanting him to stay, to buffer conversation between you and Satoru anyway. But that would be unfair to Hideo. Satoru and Suguru have vocalized their dislike of him, for what you aren’t sure. You think Hideo is similar to Haibara in temperament, with his winning personality and easy going conversational air, and the two of them seem to get along with Haibara just fine.

He stops. Then turns back. “Next week, right?”

You blink. Next…week…? “Yes…?”

Hideo smiles, as a crease forms between Satoru’s eyebrows. Hideo slightly bows in Satoru’s direction before taking his leave. You hold your breath as the doors close once more, leaving you alone with…

Satoru is in front of you before you can blink, pushing you back into your desk. Your knees slightly buckle.

“You didn’t want him to leave,” Satoru says, accusatory, pulling his glasses off his face. “You wanted that third rate sorcerer to stay!”

You frown. “That’s rude.”

He ignores you. “Where’s your phone?”

You look at him curiously. Where had you left it again? Satoru opens his mouth, then closes it so quickly you hear the click of his teeth.

“Is…” you sigh. “Is something wrong?” You would rather he just get it over with. Telling you your outburst that day was unwarranted, and that you had been a terrible person and friend and human being in general. He wouldn’t be wrong.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nothing is wrong.”

Something, you think, is clearly wrong.

Silence.

All you can think of are Meiko’s words. The Gojo elders who traveled from Fukuouka just to convince Satoru to get married, preferably, to Sasaski. They want him to wed a woman of standing and lineage. They want him to have children. Then take a few mistresses, and impregnate them for backup heirs.

Freedom, you once again think, is immeasurable. You’re sad for Satoru. You want him to be happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted for him and Suguru and Shoko. It makes you relieved and happy to know Suguru would always be by his side. Any sorrows or joys, would be shared together.

Satoru exhales roughly. In seconds he goes from bearing down at you, gaze alight, to sinking down to his knees in front of you.

You stare at him, confused.

There’s a loud slap of noise that has your eyes going wide.

When Satoru looks back up at you, his cheeks are stinging red, and handprinted. You reach out immediately, fingertips brushing over the heat of his sculpted face, wondering why he had slapped himself.

“Sato—”

“You know, Suguru and I were idiots.”

Oh. “No,” It wasn’t their fault. It was yours. “I shouldn’t have—”

You’re fully backed into the desk, taking a small seat (there’s nowhere else to move) as Satoru rises, hand closing around your nape. He brings you close and kisses you greedily, a moment’s indulgence, until he draws away, letting you breathe as you wonder what just happened.

“There’s nothing I love more than seeing you think,” he murmurs against your lips, piercing blue gaze never leaving yours for a second, “but right now I need you to stop thinking and listen.”

He sinks back down, expression almost smug when you close your mouth. He takes your hands, thumbs rubbing and pressing down on your knuckles soothingly, if not in an almost agitated manner. You’ve seen him do the same thing to Suguru. You don’t think he’s aware of it.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admits, expression unusually forlorn. “I forgot…” he hesitates, dropping that line of thinking altogether. “Suguru and I get carried away when it comes to you.” There’s not a hint of amusement on his face as he squeezes your hands. “We don’t like seeing you cry.”

He says it with such a truthful earnestness that your throat goes tight. He’s still him, you think. That very same long limbed mischievous boy who laughed loudly and smiled broadly and clung a little too hard to your side, as if unaware of his own strength. His arm perpetually slung over Suguru’s shoulder like he was always meant to be there. No matter how far you think Satoru and Suguru are, those are the memories you’ll carry in your heart. Those sun slicked, sepia tinged memories, echoing of laughter.

Maybe the only person who had changed was you.

You look down at your entwined fingers.

You, you, you. It’s all you.

You’re a bit embarrassed. You don’t think you cried. Not in front of them at least. You had gone home and locked your door first. I’m sorry too, you want to say, but somehow with Satoru gazing up at you, the words are lodged in your throat. He looks devastatingly sincere. You don’t doubt his words.

“You should forgive us,” Satoru says lightly, almost innocently. Too innocently. That should’ve been more than enough for alarm bells to sound, but you had been preoccupied by Satoru’s show of sincerity.

You blink when his fingers easily wrap around the length of your right ankle. And when he firmly presses your foot to his shoulder, you stare.

You try to drop your foot, move it away, but Satoru’s grip is iron clad. A smile is slowly sneaking onto the corners of Satoru’s lips, making him look more incriminating than anything. You don’t like that look. Not at all.

“Satoru—”

“Would it make you feel better to push me around a little?” He asks breathily, eyes glinting mischievously. “You can kick me if you want, I don’t mind.” His voice lowers. “ Anywhere , really.”

You sweat. Trying to pull your ankle out of his grip isn’t working.

“I’m sorry too,” you blurt out, unable to comprehend how you ended up with your foot on Satoru’s shoulder while he gives you his consent to kick him. “I forgive you, I forgive you—”

“No needa be shy!” He moves your foot to his chest, pressing it down. “Just give me one good kick—”

You give him a flinty, dead eyed stare. “That’s not funny.”

He returns it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not laughing.”

“Satoru,” you say weakly.

Finally, he releases your foot, and you are allowed to jerk your leg down. You’re instantly relieved, planting both feet firmly on the ground as you dust away the dirt on his shoulder and chest. He sighs, disappointed in a way that perturbs you.

“You’re so difficult sometimes,” you murmur, considerably warming up to his presence.

“That’s right,” he hums, idly trailing a finger down your clothed leg. “You and Suguru have your hands full, I’m sure.” He peers up at you daringly, looking every bit the petulant boy the Gojo clan had spoiled rotten in their adoration of the first six eyes user in centuries. “I’m worth it though, aren’t I?”

“...”

“Sometimes, I wonder that,” you say, (and mean) seriously.

“I didn’t hear that,” he says pleasantly.

“...If you say so…”

You think you imagined the twitch of his eyebrow.

You can’t help but smile. This is how things should be, you think. Now, if you could talk to Suguru, you’re sure you could draw this entire incident to a close. You wouldn’t have to skirt around the two of them with feelings of impending doom clouding your mind.

“Well,” Satoru says casually. “Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, apologies and all,” he promptly gets to his feet, so quickly you blink, gaze following him up. His face transforms into a full blown pout. “You’re a true sadist!”

You gawk at him. So soon after reconciliation!?

Satoru scowls. “Throwing Suguru and I away so quickly?”

“???????”

“Who said you were allowed to see and talk to other men!” He frowns even more vigorously at the confusion on your face. “Don’t act so surprised! Suguru’s been sulking every single day! He’s been downright distressed. The girls think he’s depressed! Again!”

You wince, recognizing the tell tale signs of another common Satoru overblown overreaction. Very high school reminiscent you think.

“S-Satoru…”

Satoru sighs dramatically, glaring at you. “Any day now, he might do something drastic.”

You stare at him.

“That’s why you should never get mad at us ever again,” he finishes succinctly, looking at you expectantly.

You stare at him.

When it’s clear you have no response, Satoru brushes off the silence so easily you think this is how others can get tripped up at the pace in which he leads. If you weren’t so used to it, you’d be one of them.

Satoru scans the small room. “Where are our flowers?”

“Oh, they were yours?”

Satoru levels you with a flinty gaze that would send others running to the hills. It elicits no strong response from you. His tone is chilly, displeased. “There’s another man sending you flowers?”

You give him an unimpressed look so withering that he clears his throat, almost meekly.

“Suguru’s idea. I picked them.”

“Well, they’re lovely,” a small smile on your lips. “They’re in Shoko’s office.”

“Of course they are,” he sighs, resigned. He regards you silently for a minute. “Did you like them?”

“I did.” You’re unsure where this line of questioning is headed. You slightly tilt your head to the side in a question.

“They were for you,” Satoru says. “I picked them for you.” He takes a step forward until your legs touch. “I wanted you to have them, so why’d ya have to give them away?”

You blink at the hint of roughness that bleeds through Satoru’s fixed (Suguru’s work) pronunciation. In hindsight, if the flowers were for you…it was awfully rude of you to have given them away wasn’t it?

“I…understand. I’m…sorry for giving your flowers away.”

Now he looks peeved. “They weren’t mi…” he groans, looking at you with an exasperated warmth. Then his eyes narrow. “You’re sorry, huh?”

You don’t…like that look in his eyes.

You don’t have time to respond, because Satoru’s finger comes to rest on the button fastened right below your neck. Uh oh. A sensation familiar to deja-vu suddenly envelopes you.

You’ve been getting a lot of those lately.

Your face warms as Satoru’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, playfully. The button comes undone easily. His voice is playful, but his gaze burns. “You can get on your knees—” your shirt is half undone, your black bra peeking out “—or I can get on mine.”

You don’t think he’s intending to give you a choice, because he’s so quickly down on his knees and spreading your legs apart, you’re blinking from the whiplash.

“Wait—!” You put your hands on his shoulders, thanking whatever deity was looking down on you today that you had put on pants instead of whatever easy skirt and sweater outfit you usually chose when sleep riddled in the morning.

Satoru smiles pleasantly. Too suspiciously well mannered when his fingers are on the zipper of your pants. “Yes?”

“H-how about a kiss instead…?”

You figure it would be easier to untangle yourself from him then…

Satoru’s fingers curl into your thighs, pinning you to the table. You’re surprised to see him seriously consider it. And relieved. His gaze is weighted with all the seriousness of negotiating a crucial deal. “How long?”

Your eyebrows furrow. You’re not sure how long a kiss should be. You hesitantly bring your hands to cup his face and lower your head to gently meet his lips. He’s as still as a statue, except for the sound of his breathing; deep slow breaths that overtake the rise and fall of his chest. His lips are immeasurably soft. A fact that you can only appreciate as time slows.

You take a moment to look at him. In the silence, you can admire the fine lines of his sculpted face and the inviting curve of his lips all within the grasp of your hands. He looks softer like this, happy. It makes you happy.

Satoru’s eyelashes flicker open, long white lashes framing the blues of the sky trapped in his gaze. You offer him a smile, a small quirk of your lips as you turn a hand over and lightly brush his cheek. You blink, taken aback when Satoru lightly takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckle.

His eyes flash, engulfed by a dark hunger.

You’re flat on your back against the desk, and there’s no time to think before Satoru presses forward, claiming your lips in an open mouthed kiss that steals your breath away. He’s trapped you into the desk, the weight of his body pushing you down. His fingers wind through your hair, cradling the back of your head.

You can feel his need between your legs, throbbing against you, all harsh panting and heat.

“Satoru,” you mumble the best you can with his lips still eager to meet yours. “We should—”

Your words are smothered when Satoru’s tongue licks into your mouth purposefully. You can tell he’s unhappy to be separated by layers of fabric. Your panties stick to your core, damp, as Satoru begins to lightly rock into you, straining against the material covering your heat.

“Satoru—”

He moans into your mouth, “Just like that.”

You snap your mouth shut, but Satoru doesn’t seem to notice as his lips trail across your neck with a single minded purpose. You feel his lips on your shoulder, as they glide across your chest.

Satoru’s lips are on yours again before you can even blink in an open mouthed kiss, tongue thoroughly exploring your mouth. His hands are tight, pressing into your waist, body flush against yours.

You mentally apologize. Then, you bite him.

Your teeth close over Satoru’s bottom lip. Hard. You almost wince yourself.

To your horror, Satoru does not release you like you thought he would.

You feel his body shudder to a near tremble, and the sharp exhale-like moan that leaves his lips. His eyes look delighted in their frenzied state. He presses closer to you, erection prominent and twitching, holding you even tighter. Your heart races in your chest as Satoru buries himself into your neck, hips grinding into yours.

You force your hands out against his chest. “Satoru,” you say tightly. “Someone could come in.”

That gives him pause. He rises, just slightly, enough to look down on you. You must look like a mess. His tongue swipes over the blood on his lips, and then he smiles.

“Oh?”

This is bad.

“I should talk to Suguru first,” you say quickly, avoiding his gaze. “You know…”

There's a brief pause.

“Hm.” He begrudgingly acquiesces, allowing you enough space to rise up. He briefly cups your face, before a hand falls to your neck. A dull ache flares when Satoru’s thumb presses down. You swallow, trying to calm your beating heart, all despite the fact that his hardness is within plain view.

You try not to stare at it as you busy yourself with buttoning your shirt. You can feel him grinning at you.

“And Suguru says I’m the one with no restraint.” Crossing his arms, he bears down at you expectantly. HIs foot taps up and down.

Your nerves are still frayed, electric, but you feel…almost better. Lighter. Despite the unexpected turn your meeting had taken, you’re happy.

“I love you Satoru,” you say, finishing up your top button. You really do. If he and Suguru and Shoko could be guaranteed happiness for the rest of their lives, you truly would have no problem dying in the next hour.

After straightening out your shirt, you finally look up. Satoru blinks at you, but there’s a flush to his neck, lips warbling.

You haven’t seen Satoru this flustered in ages. You should enjoy it now while it lasts.

“Where’d that come from?” He manages with a croak. He regains himself, straightening, but there's a pleased glint to his eye. Like a preening cat.

“I just wanted to,” you say happily. “Because I love you.”

You stand, rising on your toes to pat his head. Go likes it when you pet him. Meiko had liked it too.

Satoru stares at you, but he doesn’t push your hand away. He closes his eyes with an exhale.

“Are we…good?” you drop your hand, much to the disappointment that overtakes Satoru’s face.

“Always,” he confirms, and a part of you thinks he means it.

You smile. Everything’s going to be alright. As long as Satoru can smile at you like that, then things can’t possibly be as bad as you may have envisioned. You hear Meiko’s words once more: The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. They want him to have children.

It's odd. That such an important thing hadn't reached your ears. According to Meiko, those elders never left Fukuouka. A matter of the upmost importance. Nobody told you about it. Not even Shoko. It's none of your business. That's what you've been telling yourself, despite the disappointment swirling in your gut. You wish they could have confided in you.

“Do you want children?”

The look of interest on his face quickly fades as his gaze turns discerning. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, intuitively deciding that telling Satoru of your excursion with Meiko would be disastrous right now. “Just curious I guess…”

“About how babies are made?” His eyebrows waggle.

“No. I know about that.” Speaking of which. You’d need condoms.

Though you aren’t quite sure how well Satoru would react to you asking him what their to-go brand of condoms are. Maybe you’d ask Suguru instead.

“You weren’t at your place last Sunday,” Satoru says casually.

You blink, caught up in your worries about selecting the wrong condoms. Sunday…that had been…dinner with Meiko.

“Oh, I was out.”

“Out,” Satoru repeats. “Where?”

“With a…” you mentally apologize for being presumptuous, “friend…”

Satoru frowns. “You don’t have friends.”

Other than me, Suguru, and Shoko.

The unspoken words are pointed. You smile nervously.

You aren’t as popular as Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. That’s a given. Shoko gets invited to for drinks with the auxiliary managers every other day. Visiting jujutsu sorcerers have been known to ask her out for coffee. You’re sure it’s tripled for Satoru and Suguru.

“There are some…” you clear your throat. “I have friends other than you and Shoko and Suguru.”

Ijichi. Utahime….Hideo. Maybe Meiko.

But to be a friend…they’d have to consider you a friend right? It has to go both ways. You’ve never received verbal confirmation or anything. You shouldn’t have automatically assumed…but Meiko had invited you out hadn’t she? She wanted to see you. To talk to you. There were no ulterior motives. She wanted to get to know you. Isn’t that how friendships start? You don’t even remember how Satoru and you became friends. One day he hated you, and then he didn’t. It’s not that much of a surprise. He’s always been a little capricious at heart like that. Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko had seamlessly blended into your life, like they had always been there.

Satoru disregards your words. “You don’t need them.”

He doesn’t believe you. Your face warms in embarrassment. Of course he’d think that. You stay silent awkwardly.

Satoru hums. “So Megumi, huh.” He looks amused. “You should’ve just come over to the apartment.”

“R-right…” Sometimes, you truly believed it was easier to let Satoru think what he wanted. It was harmless anyway. So you’d let him.

He gently pulls you up to your feet. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But Suguru…”

“In Yokohama." He picks at something at your shoulder, but his knuckles brush your neck. "He won’t be back until tomorrow. So eager to see him?”

“Yes,” you admit. “I want to see him and I want…to talk to him.” If these past months have taught you anything, it’s that one of the things you miss most of all is talking to Suguru. Suguru is more than an excellent conversationalist, he’s attentive in a way others aren’t. Satoru and Suguru both. They make you feel seen. Satoru, when he looks at you. Suguru, when he listens.

You cherish it. You’ll miss it.

At your response, Satoru groans, falling to his knees once more. You blink at him, wondering what caused the sudden dramatics.

His fingers grip your pants, like a child hiding behind his mother’s dress.

He looks up at you. You suddenly get the image of a withered man in the desert, dying of thirst, and you already know what he’s going to ask. You step back. His hand falls loosely back to his side.

“No,” you say sternly, in the same manner you tell Go he can’t knock over your vases.

Then you walk outside.

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #m.jjk

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ghostboneswrites2 · 2 months

Text

Under the Stars || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Anon request from my old blog: "can i ask a tinnyyy request like you know s7 e8 daryl runs off from negans with jesus to hilltop later ricks group comes. How about reader and daryl reuniting after them not seeing eachother since negan takes him hostage and like all the time they spent away from each other in pain they try to make up for it"

Summary: Your mental health severely declined when Daryl was taken, but now he's back, and it's time to begin to heal together.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: depression, prescription medication, general unhappiness, but a happy ending (oh, and profanity, duh)

You had barely taken care of yourself over these last weeks. Minimal food intake, drinking water only when your body painfully begged for hydration, unable to get out of bed to even bathe on most days as the painful sinking in your gut was just too much. You felt dizzy sometimes, either from malnourishment or grief. Two of your friends were murdered in cold blood, horrifically. You still remembered how it felt when Abraham's blood splattered over your face, warm in contrast to the chill of the air around you. You could remember the way your breath made foggy little clouds in the bright lights, how you felt every ounce of air leave your lungs when Glenn was taken out next.

That man -- that monster -- he took more than just your friends. He took your sanity. You didn't sleep because when you closed your eyes it was all you could see. You hummed to yourself for hours because in the silence, you could still hear the whistle of the bat as it was brought down on your family members and the squelching of mangled skulls as he turned them into mere pulp.

With all that, the thing that stung even more was the memory of him being dragged away, your best friend, your love. The toughest and strongest man you knew, the one with a dirty abrasive exterior and a sparkling core of gold. They took him away, just like that. You knew he was alive. They brought him once, just to flaunt him in your face and remind you of what they had taken from you. To show you just how miserable they were making him.

On this day, though, Rick and the others had dragged you out of bed. Michonne sat with you while you showered, and washed your hair for you while you sat curled up under the steamy stream of water. She helped you get dressed, and told you they were taking you with them to Hilltop to see Harlan, their doctor. He would be able to give you a mild antidepressant, and something to help you sleep again. They had other business at the colony, but they decided you'd benefit from tagging along.

You were reluctant, of course. Why did you deserve peace and rest if nobody you loved could attain the same? But, they insisted, and who were you to argue when they already had more pressing matters at hand. You all did.

"This is setraline, or more commonly known as Zoloft. It can be used for anxiety and depression, and it isn't known to have many side effects. I'm going to give you a 30 day supply. Just take one every morning with breakfast, and it should help you break out of this funk." Harlan explained, handing you a pill bottle. "It wont take away the grief, but it will help balance some of the symptoms of it until you can cope on your own."

"This one," he continued, handing you a little baggie with ten pills. "Is a basic valium. Take it every night with a snack, you'll get your sleep schedule back on track by the time you run out of them."

He offered you a thin lipped smile as you stuffed the medications in your bag.

"Thanks, Doc." You sighed as you stood up. He held the door open and allowed you to exit the medical trailer before himself, shutting the door behind him.

"Don't thank me just yet. I want to see you again in 30 days. We can assess how it worked for you and then maybe you can thank me."

The others were all gathered nearby the gates, talking with Maggie and some others. You made your way over. Michonne smiled kindly as she placed an arm over your shoulders.

"Was he able to help?" Rick asked. You nodded.

"We'll see in 30 days." You told them. The conversation resumed where it left off, and you kind of just absentmindedly stood by, allowing little bits of information to register here and there but not enough to follow.

That was when the gates opened and Jesus walked in, followed by someone you didn't expect in the slightest. Your eyes were dry and wide, throat tight, heart racing out of your chest. Rick was the first to hug him, then Michonne, then Maggie, who he seemed shocked to see.

His eyes landed on you and time stopped. The world simply stopped spinning. He stepped toward you slowly, each crash of his boot into the dirt sounding off like bombs. Tears pooled in your eyes when you could finally reach him hear him, smell him.

"Daryl." You choked.

He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. The way he embraced you and lifted your feet from the ground, squeezing the air out of you was enough. When he set you back down he planted a kiss on your forehead, lingering there as he breathed you in.

----

The stars had never looked so bright than they did when you were underneath them with Daryl that night. You stayed at Hilltop with him, and instead of enjoying a bed and warm sheets, you both laid on the ground outside Barrington House, breathing easily for the first time since he had been taken.

"How'd you get out?" You wondered.

"Nah. Don't gotta talk 'bout that right now." He said softly, sneaking an arm under you to pull you into him. You rested your head on his chest and he ran his fingers though your hair.

"Okay." You whispered. "I missed you."

"Yeah." He agreed. "Me too. I missed ya."

"I haven't been able to sleep without you."

"Mm." He nodded, fingers still twirling in your strands.

"Can you talk? About anything? I missed your voice."

"Well," he sucked in a breath, searching for something worth telling you. "Every minute I spent away from you just felt longer and longer, ya know? 'N' now that I got ya back I don't wanna think about none of it. Don't wanna think 'bout the fightin' that's comin'.. Just wanna be here. With you."

You sniffled and blinked back tears as you nuzzled closer to him, wishing he could just absorb you into his very being so that you'd never be apart.

You peeked up at him through your eyelashes and he looked down at you, pressing a scratchy kiss on the top of your head.

"I thought about you every minute of every day." You admitted.

"I know." He said softly.

"I just.." You sighed. "I'm just so happy to be here with you. It feels like a dream."

"It ain't."

"But it feels like one." You countered. "Just so unreal."

"It's real." He affirmed.

"I know."

"Good."

"Do you wanna sleep inside tonight?" You asked.

"Nah. Too closed up."

"Okay." You smiled. You snaked an arm over his torso, holding him tightly. He returned the gesture, using dropping his hand from your hair down to your back and pushing you against him. You laid a leg over his.

"Ya been eatin'?" He asked suddenly, running his fingers over your ribcage.

"No." You admitted quietly.

"Gon' eat breakfast tomorrow." He instructed.

"I have to anyways. Harlan said I have to take my meds with food."

"Meds? For what?"

"Depression." You huffed, sitting up and reaching into your bag to show him the pills. "Zoloft and some kind of valium."

"Pfft." He scoffed, taking the pills from you and setting them on top of his own bag as he pulled you back down. You settled back into your previous position. "Don't need no damn drugs. I'm gon' give these back to him tomorrow."

"I guess they were just worried about me. I wasn't really that great, you know, with everything..." You trailed off.

"Okay." He nodded. "I'm here now. Ya don't need 'em."

"Okay." You said sleepily, eyes feeling heavy in the comfort of his embrace. You really didn't need valium, you just needed him to lay with you. He glanced down at you, feeling a bit of warmth in his chest as your eyes began to flutter.

"Get some sleep, now." He whispered.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl x female reader #18+ mdni

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stomach-bugg09 · 1 year

Text

summary: [y/n] has always been an angry girl. why wouldn't she be ready to fight any avatar that puts their hands in her siblings?

sully family x sully!reader

a/n: i just did this one for fun because i wanted one where she's an absolute boss and a half. love her !! remember , reqs are open and waiting. i probably won't write anymore fali x [y/n] stuff unless i get specific reqs because they're really difficult to write without direct inspo and ideas. once again , motivation is really important to keep me writing , so please comment feedback + reblog !! i would seriously appreciate it. ( also , for some odd reason my two most recent works have barely gotten any interaction -- idk if that's just bc tumblr is being a problem , or if it's because fali has lost his magic touch ( which if so , i completely get it ) , but if you guys could help me out to try and figure out what's going on ?? )

warnings: violence, guns, fighting, weapons, death, killing

tags: @rafeslovergirl @wxnderingthoughts @liyahsocorro @bonnibuckets @hjkshshjkhklhkl @itssiaaax @grierpilots @23victoria @nyotamalfoy @gcldtom @eywas-heir @historygeekqueen @missroro @sweetheart-bo

angry spirit

nobody quite understood the rage that naturally flowed through the veins of the women in the sully family. nobody quite understood the urge to protect that seemed to be carried between each and every one of the children that jake and neytiri shared and adored together. nobody quite understood… not until they experienced it themselves.

and trust me, plenty of people have experienced it, humans and na’vi alike. even from a young age, there were times where one of the kids were ( one-hundred and ten percent ) willing to fight another kid if it meant they would stop picking on their siblings.

luckily — of perhaps unluckily, depending on the perspective — that shared agreement only seemed to get stronger with age. as the relationships between each kid developed, as more seemed to join the family in general, there was a camaraderie between the five sully kids. even tuk, just a tiny thing herself, was well aware of her willingness to risk her own life if it meant she could save her sisters and brothers.

that being said, there was absolutely no way any of her older siblings would ever let that slide, but it was a sweet sentiment on its own.

even though this habitual response seemed to run through every sully’s blood, it was strongest in the eldest girl.

being neteyam’s twin — younger by just a few minutes — allowed for [y/n] to balance him out. while he had the expectations of future olo’eyktan on his shoulders from the moment he graced pandora with his birth, [y/n] was a freer spirit.

she was also a much more angry spirit.

not that she held fury against every person she interacted with, but [y/n] wasn’t scared of disliking anyone. she also wasn’t scared of letting them know that she didn’t like them; a blessing and a curse, the sully family often called it.

but it stemmed further than that. it ran stronger than that.

from a young age, jake taught his oldest daughter how to channel her anger much healthier. what did jake sully consider a healthy outlet? well, fighting, of course.

so, the sully child that’d been this close to fighting another kid in lo’ak’s honor? yeah, that was [y/n].

not to mention her iknimaya — the rite of passage that quite possibly boosted this girl’s ego far too high. she deserved it, though. not many young na’vis could complete the event in such little time, especially against the pain that her ikran was.

he was a bitter fellow, similar to his spirit sister. angry at the world for every little thing and always ready for a fight. they truly were connected in every possible way.

but, her iknimaya was physical evidence that fighting fire with fire never worked. the truth was that one flame had to overcome the other — one flame had to envelop the other. it was just a matter of which flame was stronger.

[y/n] knew from the moment she locked eyes and that joyful, adrenaline-filled grin blessed her face that she would win.

thank eywa she believed in herself, because neytiri and jake nearly lost all of their faith at the sight of the monster that towered over the young girl.

another notable moment — or perhaps a series of moments — of her oh-so optimistic and joyful personality was prompted by her very own father. if there was one thing that the oldest daughter was confident in, it was her father’s love. she knew that he loved her — loved all of them — and that made it extremely easy for her to argue with him on any topic she disagreed with.

as annoying as it happened to be to jake, neytiri loved that she was raising a strong woman. it often reminded her of herself at a young age.

but, every single one of those stories were child’s play compared to the raw anger that surged through her body when her and her siblings’ lives were held under knife and gunpoint.

[y/n], the original rebel and inspiration for lo’ak’s ‘admirable’ choices, was happy to join the crew on their adventure through the jungle. with lo’ak grounded from flying due to his choices just the other night, he’d practically begged his older sister to join them.

they were partners in crime, afterall.

once neteyam decided to become all responsible and stuff ( not that [y/n] blamed him… but it was disappointing ), [y/n] and lo’ak seemed to have magnetized toward each other, although that might be a sign to turn the other way and run as fast and as far as you can.

either way, [y/n] found herself exploring the similar jungle scene alongside all of her siblings minus neteyam and with the additional presence of spider.

as soon as the familiar scene turned not-so familiar, it seemed that [y/n] had a feeling. a feeling that something was wrong, that something else was creeping. she should have listened to her gut.

and that same thought resurfaced as soon as the stomach-dropping view of the avatars overcame her view from the bushes.

it was only once said avatars put their hands on her baby siblings that the familiar settled, bubbling beneath her thick layers of skin. it was only when [y/n] fell into an eerie silence and state of pure calm that every other sully sibling felt their own fear.

even as tuk squirmed and cried against the bruising grip of the avatar’s, even as kiri cried out at the sharp knife edge against her throat, even as spider fought his restraints, even as lo’ak stared into the terrifying eyes of the same man that had nearly killed his father…

[y/n] stayed perfectly compliant. stuck on her knees, queue throbbing at the feeling of her opponent tugging it, [y/n] merely stared straight at quaritch. silently, her urge to fight was building, and everybody that knew her was perfectly aware. and ready.

she ran her tongue smoothly against her fangs, eyes narrowed straight at the man that threatened the lives of her siblings.

a solid thirty minutes had already passed, eclipse coming quicker than [y/n] would’ve preferred. she just had to hope that, without being used to their forest and bodies, the avatar’s didn’t have the same keen night vision as she did.

“you okay there, kid?” the avatar teased, attempting to startle her with his threatening voice. he tugged her braid, nearly drawing a hiss from deep within her rib cage, but she held it back. he seemed to be bothered with the fact that her eyes hadn’t once left the body of their colonel.

but, for once, she drifted her gaze to meet her perpetrator and summoned english for his benefit. “ask again in a few minutes.”

and, almost as if [y/n] could feel the presence of her parents, a familiar bird call echoed through the nighttime breeze. her ears pressed back against her head in shock before she quickly recovered and flashed an innocent smile to the avatar.

he merely grunted, pulling her braid one last time for good measure, and looked back up at quaritch.

now, she just had to be patient. she could do that. well, as long as she got what she wanted in the end, and that was a good fight. she deserved it after letting the chains rub back and forth against her wrists, eating at her skin through the friction.

that being said, as soon as her mother’s signal became clear, she straightened up and locked eyes with lo’ak. a discreet nod was enough between them. grab tuk and go. she knew kiri and spider would handle themselves.

plus, the extra connection between spider and quaritch was just another layer of protection for her baby sister. perhaps it was a terrible way of thinking, but [y/n] wouldn’t dwindle too much on it. the urge to survive had its faults, afterall.

and finally, once neytiri’s arrow soared through the air, it was go time.

while lo’ak and tuk bit the arms of their restraining avatars, lo’ak also doubling duty and releasing whatever gas canisters had been accessible on the guy’s belt, kiri and spider were lucky enough to be given a chance to run as soon as the avatars lifted their guns.

[y/n] liked to do it the hard way, though.

she swung her legs in a swift motion, wrapping them around the avatar’s. she weighed his bottom half, keeping him from being able to move far, and in a split second, neytiri’s arrow was embedded in his chest.

[y/n] let go, scrambling to her feet and up the nearest tree, finding a moment of solace nested in the upper branches. she could see everything, and they couldn’t see her — she was a master of disguise and hiding, if anything.

and then, it seemed the world went a few clicks quieter, gunfire calming down just a tad. one scan of the scene, and [y/n] knew it was because they’d lost sight of her siblings.

“the kids are gone.” a voice crackled through the walkie strapped to a dead avatar’s chest at the base of the tree, the small noise quiet against the chaotic scene. [y/n] was merely lucky she was in little enough of a proximity to even catch the words.

“what do you mean gone?” quaritch. she could tell from his stingy accent and infuriating pronunciation of vowels.

a beat of quiet against more raining gunfire. “the boy and youngest girl ran off. tarzan and the other girl split to the opposite direction.”

“which other girl?” [y/n] felt a familiar smile on her face.

“what do you mean —”

quaritch was angry, and [y/n] couldn’t help but find pure enjoyment from the scene. little did he know that the young na’vi girl could now see him from her spot in the tree, eyes narrowed on the colonel hunched behind a fallen log.

“there are two girls. one of ‘em quiet and useless, the other looks like her devil of a mother.” the same mother that managed to kill him the first time.

[y/n]’s eyes focused on the demon in na’vi skin, watching his face contort at the familiar arrow pierced in the wood beside him. it was almost as if he’d conjured her very own “devil of a mother” into existence. “seems that very mother might be in attendance this fine evening.”

[y/n] scrunched her nose in disgust, her skin crawling at his words. she really could not stand him. but, her attention was quickly pulled back to reality when he dropped the walkie and called into the open air, all while reloading his gun, “that you, mrs. sully? i recognize your calling card.”

instantly, [y/n]’s head whipped around, locating the exact tree in which her mother hid behind. unfortunately, [y/n] was a few feet away and at the worst possible angle to help.

“why don’t you come on out, mrs. sully?” quaritch continued, and [y/n]’s eyes followed a different avatar that began to creep past the colonel. “you’n i, we got some… unfinished business.”

“demon!” neytiri’s voice caused panic to spike in the young na’vi’s heart, blood pumping with adrenaline. “i will kill you as many times as i have to.”

it was only when [y/n] looked back at quaritch that she noticed the other avatar was missing. a million different curse words rattled deep within her brain, eyes widening in fear.

meanwhile, quaritch would not be distracted from his tangent. “i guess you an’ the corporal have been pretty… busy, haven’t ya? got yourself a whole litter of… half-breeds.”

what could she do?

as quickly and as silently as she could, [y/n] scrambled through the wet tree branches, cursing herself every time her feet lost grip. nerves added up with rain never helped.

at the very last second, [y/n] reached a spot in which she could just barely see her mom. well, her mom, and the avatar that had a gun aimed right at her. just as [y/n] opened her mouth and prepared to scream a distraction, an arrow flew right through the avatar’s body.

gunfire followed almost immediately after, and her dangerous balance finally lost way, causing the girl to topple from her position and into the muddy ground below.

[y/n] was quick to stand up — she had to be — but the scene was not a pretty sight to behold.

she was surrounded. surrounded by three different avatars, each with their own weapon that could quite easily hurt her, if not kill her on the spot. she just prayed that, if they did manage to get to her, she could make them scream first.

[y/n] knew she would. it was always just a matter of mentality, right?

and so, as if the clock slowed down just for her, [y/n]’s eyes flashed around her and gauged every detail possible. the machine gun, loaded and prepared ( although she had noticed that it was already halfway empty ), in the hands of the avatar to her right, the two knives ready in the hands of the avatar to her left, and the last avatar just in front of her. nothing but his fists.

a smile surfaced.

she could deal with that.

and then, before the rest of her body returned to the consciousness of time, her feet began to move. [y/n] lifted her arms so she could see her wrists — still wrapped in chains — and she leapt upwards.

her long legs gave her a higher jump, bringing her and her hands to the perfect height to wrap her chains around the weaponless avatar’s neck. she swung herself around, legs hooking his torso as she tugged with every bit of strength she could muster.

at the chaotic sounds around her, [y/n] knew that bullets were being fired now. lucky for her, she had her very own personal shield, but that meant the tree she was choking was about to go timber.

once she felt the warm splatters of his blood against her stomach, she knew she only had a matter of time before getting squished under a dead man’s weight. [y/n] shifted her weight, unhooking her legs and placing her feet on his hips very carefully.

[y/n] kept her ears aware at all times as she leapt up and off of the now dead avatar, pushing him onto the ground with her jump. her ears moved vigilantly, picking up the sounds of the bullets just before they were shot so she could move just in time to avoid any casualties.

and then her favorite sound rang through the air. an empty cartridge.

at that, her infamous smirk surfaced as she locked eyes with the now useless avatar.

now, behind her, the third avatar with the knives thought she was being slick, creeping behind her with both weapons raised to stab her in the back.

luckily, [y/n] was far too aware and far too pissed to miss such an important detail.

just as the third avatar broke through stabbing distance, [y/n] whirled around and disarmed her in a quick movement. both knives flew into the air, and she swiftly grabbed each of them.

each blade found their own homes embedded in the chests of her enemies

and then, just like that, she’d won.

[y/n] huffed for air, three dead avatars laying around her feet. blood pooled, swirling in an overwhelming pool of maroon. and none of it was hers.

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #loak sully #sully family x reader #sully family x y/n #tuk sully #tuktirey #sully family #kiri sully #sully!reader #sully kids #sully family x platonic!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #neteyam x sister!reader

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 6 days

Text

I was tagged by the lovely @sidekick-hero to share a few lines from a WIP without context. Thank you, friend! 💖

“Chrissy was here, I see,” Eddie comments, inspecting the bouquet of flowers on the table.

Steve nods. “You just missed her. Robin and her went to look at some herbs, I think?”

“Did they now?” Eddie turns away from the flowers to shoot him a knowing grin. “How many times did Robin trip over her own feet?”

Steve can’t help it, he grins back. “Erm, only once, actually. I caught her.”

“Oh, that’s progress, good for her,” Eddie nods appreciatively, then cups a hand to his face to lean towards him for a conspiratorial stage whisper. “She doesn’t like it when I say it, but she does suck at flirting.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve shrugs. “She’s not the one going around trying to smooch strangers.”

Eddie flinches. Steve winces. Shit, there goes his smart mouth again.

“Fuck, sorry,” he blurts, averting his gaze, fingers twisting into the frilly hems of his shirt sleeves. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, you’re right.”

Steve feels his mouth drop open. When he whips his head up, Eddie isn’t looking at him. Instead, he’s laboriously pulling out a chair from under the table so that he can sit opposite Steve on his chest, at a healthy distance. Steve watches how he pulls his hands into his lap, twisting one of his rings on his finger, brow furrowed in thought.

“So,” he says at length, gritting the word out like it’s physical effort. “It, um … It has been brought to my attention that my behavior today may have come off as rude and overbearing, and that I need to make more of an effort to restrain myself, lest I frighten you away, seeing how you’re in a highly unusual and confusing situation already and will need some time to adjust before-”

“Did your uncle say that?” Steve remembers, suddenly, how Wayne excused himself as soon as they left El’s cabin, citing some important business he still had to attend to. He’s beginning to suspect what it was.

Eddie licks his lips.

“Doesn’t matter who said it,” he deflects, and Steve feels his mouth curl into a smug little grin. “Point is, he’s right, the old fucker. He’s right most of the time. So, I just … I wanted to apologize, I guess. I’ll try to not let it happen again.”

“Try?” Steve parrots. “As in, you’ll try not to kiss me again, but it might just happen accidentally? Like a hiccup, or what?” Eddie cringes, fingers reaching up to play with the gemstone necklace again.

“It’s hard, alright?” he mutters. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time, and nobody prepared me for how very kissable you’d be.”

Tagging: @sourw0lfs @wynnyfryd @wormdebut @cranberrymoons - no pressure, just kisses. 💋

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing

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cuffmeinblack · 1 year

Text

Out of bounds

Part 2 | Part 3 | ao3 link for all chapters

Garreth Weasley x gn!reader

Tags: fluff | light smut | first kiss | sexual tension | general shenanigans 3.5k words

Summary: You agree to help Garreth sneak into his aunt's chambers to retrieve some confiscated notes. In an effort to spend more time with him, you ask him to come with you.

A/n: Later parts will be f!reader, but for now it reads as gender neutral. Also, surprise appearance by @ask-deek. Screenshot credit: @deathlysallows

Pink. Your potion was pink, when it should have been a soft mauve. If you’d spent more time accurately measuring your potion ingredients instead of staring at the back of your housemate’s head you might have produced a better result. You thought perhaps it could be salvaged yet, scraping a little more shrivelfig off of your chopping board and throwing it into your cauldron. You were so engrossed in the steadily paling mixture that you hadn’t noticed the presence beside you.

"You're good at being sneaky," Garreth said.

You stirred your potion, counting the clockwise rotations before responding whilst trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

"Am I?"

"Well you did get me that fwooper feather. And the dried billywigs. Back in fifth year, remember?"

"I remember, and you're not wrong. Why?" you asked, cocking your eyebrow.

"Could I borrow your services once again?" he asked, leaning against the table.

"What's in it for me?"

"Erm, well I'm sure I'll think of something," he mumbled.

You could certainly think of a few things Garreth could do to you that would repay the debt ten times over, but now wasn't the time to bring up your lewd fantasies. You made a show of sighing in concession before replying.

"What do you need me to do?"

Garreth gave a furtive glance over to Professor Sharp who was limping over to his store room, moving closer to you and lowering his voice. Your breath caught in your chest as he moved, your eyes running over his freckled face.

"My aunt confiscated some very important notes of mine and I need them back if I'm ever to finish my latest brew," he whispered.

"You want me to steal something from the deputy headmistress?" you asked with a frown.

"Well, yes, I suppose so. I think they're in her chambers…"

"You're not serious. Garreth!" you said far too loudly, glancing around to check nobody had heard your exclamation.

"Please."

You sighed and looked into his brilliant green eyes, annoyed that apparently you couldn't bring yourself to say no to him.

"Fine, but my payment is you coming with me," you said, returning to your chopping board.

"Wh…what?"

"You heard me. I'll get you in there and back out. Teach you what I know, maybe then you can do the dirty work yourself next time."

A convincing argument, somewhat skillfully hiding your true motive—in honesty you just wanted the excuse to spend time with him alone, away from the prying eyes of your friends and classmates. You already spent much of your free time in each other's company but always with the presence of Natty or Leander. As much as you loved your fellow Gryffindors, you always hoped for just a moment with just Garreth.

"I…well, okay," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "When shall we do it?"

"Tonight, whilst she's at dinner? I'll meet you outside the common room."

"Brilliant," he said, flashing you his widest smile, making your stomach flip over as he retreated to his own cauldron.

Your potion was on the brink of ruin as you swore and flicked your wand to lower the flame. Garreth was a distraction you could ill afford, and you’d just agreed to indulge your attraction by sneaking around the castle with him at night. You shook your head at your own stupidity whilst simultaneously feeling a giddiness wash over you, eager for your lessons to end.

The hours passed slowly as you waited in eager anticipation of your dinnertime excursion. With a bit of luck you'd be in and out of Professor Weasley's chambers within a few minutes and could be celebrating your victory sitting next to Garreth at the dinner table before long, perhaps even granting you a pat on the back or two. With a rumble in your stomach, you straightened your robes and gave yourself a quick peruse in the mirror before skipping down the stairs to the common room and passing through to the portrait entrance.

The shock of red hair greeted you as soon as you clambered through the tunnel into the hallway, your heart skipping a beat as you approached Garreth who was leaning against the wall, deep in thought. He always had a nervous energy about him, never staying still for long—his foot bounced on the ground until you came to his side, stilling as he caught your eye and flashed you a wide smile.

“Ready for our…excursion?” you asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied as you started walking.

"How are you at disillusionment?"

Garreth's mouth opened and shut silently as he cast you a sheepish look.

"Don't tell me you've never cast the charm?" you asked in surprise.

"Well, I've never really needed to," he replied. "I don't make a habit of sneaking into places I shouldn't."

"It can be useful. Really useful. Come on," you said.

Turning a corner in the astronomy tower, you came to a stop a short walk from the entrance to the trophy room and pulled out your wand, waiting for Garreth to do the same. Flicking your wand in the familiar spiral and muttering the incantation, your body shimmered and disappeared, leaving only a faint trace of your shape in the corridor.

"You're almost invisible," Garreth said, amazed.

He tentatively reached out and poked what you could only assume should have been your shoulder. Unfortunately, his aim wasn't particularly good on your translucent outline and his fingers gently prodded your neck instead. The touch was absolutely, definitely not meant to be intimate in any way, shape or form—but his warm, soft fingers brushing the skin below your ear sent shivers down your spine.

"Ah, sorry," he apologised, withdrawing his hand, a blush creeping onto his freckled cheeks.

"Get…get your wand out and try," you urged in a slightly strangled voice.

Garreth followed your instructions, tracing the wand movement elegantly and repeating the incantation. He flinched slightly before his body began to fade, flickering until his form resembled frosted glass.

"I wasn't quite prepared for that feeling," he chuckled.

"Oh, yes, it's cold isn't it? Like an egg being cracked on your head."

"Felt like a particularly cold flobberworm sliding down my neck."

You gave him an invisible smile and cleared your throat, readjusting your thoughts to the matter at hand.

"Come on, quietly now."

You crept silently down the corridor until you reached the towering spiral staircase that led all the way up to the headmaster's study. Professor Weasley's chambers were situated just below it, on the first floor. With careful steps, you climbed the staircase—not being able to see your own feet very well was disconcerting.

After a few minutes of slow creeping, you came to a stop outside of Professor Weasley's chambers, giving the door handle a wiggle on the off-chance she'd left it unlocked. No such luck—the door didn't budge. Drawing your wand, you pointed it just below the handle and muttered 'Alohomora', hoping your charm was powerful enough to open the lock. You let out a deep breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding as it clicked open.

Pushing the door open, you peered into the room, taking in the empty space with interest. You'd never been in here before—even when galavanting about the castle you tended to steer clear of your professors' living quarters.

Garreth followed close behind you as you slipped inside, dropping your disillusionment charm once you were satisfied you were completely alone.

"I don't believe we did it! Merlin, this is exhilarating, isn't it?" Garreth gasped.

Garreth dropped his own charm and his smiling face came shimmering back into view, his eyes already darting around the room in search of his notes.

"Breaking and entering? Yes, it is quite the thrill," you laughed.

Your gaze tore from the redhead to scan your surroundings, admiring the paintings and ornate furniture dotted around the room. The decoration felt familiar, not worlds away from the cosy Gryffindor common room with its dark woods and plush fabrics.

Garreth had wandered off to search the mahogany desk whilst you were drawn to a large metal box on top of a sideboard. The lid was gilded, a beautiful pattern of roses and thorns embossed on the top. With a delicate touch, you removed it, finding a collection of random objects.

One such object appeared to be humming—you could feel pulses of magic emanating from it, perhaps the reason you'd been drawn here in the first place. Your eyes darted at the rest of the contents until they fell on a stack of parchment.

"I think this is it," you said, pulling the papers from the box. "This is definitely your writing…what is this, Garreth?"

"Ah, just an experiment," he said evasively, crossing the room quickly and snatching the parchment from your hands. "Top secret, you know."

"Mhmm, is it likely to end with first years in the hospital wing?"

"That was…only one time. I didn't think about the reaction of…"

Garreth's hasty explanation was interrupted with a shuffle of footsteps and squeak from the door handle as both of you panicked and ducked behind the sofa. You pulled out your wand and screwed up your face in concentration, casting a non-verbal disillusionment charm which clearly wasn't as effective as your verbal incantation. You only hoped that the visitor wouldn't venture this far into the room.

Garreth had done the same, his shimmering form crouched next to you and leg pressed against your own. You couldn't tell who it was by just the footsteps but you heard a click-clack on the wooden floorboards that sounded like heeled shoes—most likely it was Professor Weasley returned early from dinner, and your stomach churned as you imagined the trouble you'd be in if you were caught in such a compromising position.

The moment you spent waiting seemed to drag on forever as the footfalls continued, until they finally receded. You heard the creak of hinges and thunk of the door closing, then another click of the lock. You realised you'd been clutching Garreth the whole time, your fingertips digging into his firm bicep. You loosened your grip as you steadied your breath, once again dropping your disillusionment charm.

"We need to get out of here in case she comes back," you whispered.

Garreth looked slightly paler than he had done only moments before as he nodded his agreement. He glanced down to your hand still circling his arm, a faint flicker of a smile playing on his lips until you withdrew your fingers, averting your gaze.

"Come on, then," you mumbled, crossing the room with your wand out.

A quick Alohomora should have had you out of there in no time, but the deafening silence that filled the room after you cast the charm sent a ripple of fear through your body.

"Oh, no."

"What? What's oh no?" Garreth's panicked voice whispered from behind you.

"Alohomora," you said clearly, paying extra attention to your wand movement.

The lock didn't even twitch, stubbornly staying shut with every subsequent attempt until you were red in the face and flustered beyond belief.

"What has she done?" you grumbled, prodding your wand at the metal as if it would simply fall apart by sheer force of will.

"What if she put an anti-unlocking charm on it?"

"Why would she do that?!" you exclaimed, far too loudly.

Garreth shushed you as your heart and mind raced and you began to pace the room, wondering how you'd ever escape the situation with your academic record unblemished. He ran his hands through his copper locks, his eyes flitting about the room.

You sighed, suddenly feeling weary, flinging yourself onto the sofa and staring at the door as if it had personally victimised you. Garreth followed, sitting to face you on the seat.

"Maybe there's another way out of here," he ventured.

"What, you think your aunt has a secret passage in her chambers?" you said, your words dripping with sarcasm.

"There's no need to be snarky," he replied with a frown.

"This was your idiotic idea, Garreth! Now we're stuck in here for Merlin knows how long..."

"She'll be back from dinner soon, don't worry."

"I don't believe I went along with this just to spend time with you," you said, exasperated.

You only realised what you'd admitted to when you noticed his eyes widen in your peripheral vision as he watched you.

"You did?"

You blushed and cleared your throat, throwing him a shy look to see his reaction. He was sitting with his legs crossed, grinning like an idiot. Damn his smile.

"No need to get cocky," you said with a poorly-concealed smirk.

"Why wouldn't I be, when the most beautiful person I know wants to spend time with me?" he replied, completely earnestly.

You let out an embarrassingly loud chuckle, your cheeks now burning. He was still watching you intently, leaning back on his hands and waiting for your reply. You weren't really sure if you could form a coherent sentence, especially since your mind had wandered to some particularly dirty places as you scanned his pose and wondered what his reaction would be if you simply sat in his lap.

You bit your lip nervously and shuffled on the seat, hoping for a distraction. It wasn't the one you'd expected, but the one you hoped for, in the form of Garreth's hand on your knee. A tentative touch as he watched you, stirring something in you that you could no longer ignore.

You placed your hand on top of his and gave him a small smile as his eyes flicked to your lips, his head giving the slightest movement forward in his intention to kiss you. You waited, but he seemed to hesitate, so it was up to you to close the gap, pressing your lips to his as he inhaled sharply in surprise.

The moment he reciprocated, tilting his head and parting his lips for yours, a swarm of excitable butterflies erupted in your stomach. Your mouths slotted perfectly together like a puzzle—warm, soft and oh…wet, as his tongue unexpectedly ran over your lower lip. You tried to suppress the whimper that formed in your throat, but it spilled out, captured by his parted lips.

Garreth inhaled sharply, his hands twitching next to him. Perhaps his restraint was in part due to nerves, or the fact you were kissing on the sofa in his aunt's chambers, but it crumbled as soon as your tongues slid over each other. His grip was strong, his fingers encircling your waist and practically pulling you into his lap.

You had no intention of resisting—his lap was too inviting. You let him guide you towards him as your lips remained fused, settling onto his thighs with a soft sigh. His hair was just ripe for pulling as you ran your fingers through the strands, the smell of cinders and something distinctly sweet filling your nostrils.

Toffee? Caramel?

You hummed as your mind hazily tried to identify the scent, your lips curling slightly into a smile as you kissed him.

Whilst you explored each other's mouths and hands wandered, Garreth made his appreciation known with soft, low moans. It shouldn't have surprised you that he was as vocal as when he was chatting incessantly with his friends, but what was coming out of his mouth now was nothing short of deeply erotic. Each sound brought forth something desperate in you.

Years of watching him, wanting him, whilst ignoring the racing of your heart and churning of your stomach, had culminated in this moment. The tension finally exploded into unbridled enthusiasm for each other's embraces. You hadn't considered he'd felt the same, but his passionate kiss gave you all the information you needed to know.

Your breath grew heavier as his tongue caressed your own, slow but firmly decisive with no hint of his previous restraint. He was everything you'd ever imagined and more, every fantasy you'd had paled in comparison to his very real touch.

His hands had moved from your waist to somewhere much lower—a firm grip pulling you closer against his lap, his hips digging into your thighs. The unmistakeably hard bulge in his trousers pressed against you and your hips instinctively rolled against him, teasing a delicious groan from his mouth.

"Oh," you gasped.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, gently massaging and tugging with every grazing of your lips when a loud crack filled the room. Your lips broke apart, eyes bulging in fear as you both looked for the source of the noise.

"Mister Garreth!" a voice squeaked from somewhere behind the sofa.

You clambered off of Garreth as quickly as you could as you saw a pair of huge eyes peering up at you.

"Deek!" you all but shouted at the elf.

You looked at Garreth in shock, taking in his dishevelled appearance and wondering what you yourself looked like. His skin was flushed under his numerous freckles, down his neck and tingeing his ears. You suppressed the urge to flatten his hair that you'd dislodged as you pulled your gaze back to the house elf.

"Deek thinks you shouldn't be in here," he said with a small hint of amusement.

"Please, Deek, please don't tell my aunt about this. I was just trying to get something back that belongs to me," Garreth pleaded, awkwardly adjusting his robes to cover his legs.

"Deek has seen a lot of things in his time at Hogwarts but students canoodling in a professor's chambers is a new one," he said, rocking back and forth on his tiny feet, his hands clasped behind him.

"I was just trying to help Garreth, we didn't meant to…"

"Deek won't tell Professor Weasley, but you must put back what you took."

You sighed and clutched Garreth's arm again. He looked slightly dejected and you couldn't help but roll your eyes—of course he would be focused on his lost notes rather than averting serious punishment.

"Where are they?" you asked.

Garreth reluctantly groped around in his robes and pulled out the now crumpled parchment, smoothing out the creases as best as he could and handing them to you. You pointed your wand at it as both Deek and Garreth watched you with interest.

"Geminio."

The parchment rustled and another piece of paper popped out on top of it—a perfect copy of the notes below. Garreth's mouth dropped open and broke into a grin, his glittering eyes meeting yours.

"Have I told you that I love you lately?"

You laughed and returned his smile as blood rushed to your cheeks, your skin already burning. Your attention was diverted when Deek snatched a copy of the parchment from your hands and shuffled over to the box you'd found it in, tucking it inside and closing the lid with a little pat.

"Hold Deek's hands and Deek will take you back to Gryffindor tower," he said, his arms already outstretched.

With a raised eyebrow at Garreth, you both took one of the elf's tiny hands and braced yourselves before disappearing with another loud crack. The next sight you saw was the portrait of the fat lady, who jumped and gawped at you, apparently not expecting to see two students apparate in front of her with a house elf.

"That was much more comfortable than human apparition," you remarked.

"Of course. Deek thinks elf magic is much too undervalued by wizarding kind," he said simply.

"Right, well, thanks again Deek. We promise not to get anymore trouble," Garreth said.

"Oh, Deek very much doubts that. Until next time," he said, snapping his fingers and disappearing.

You couldn't help the laugh that came out of your mouth as you met Garreth's eyes and the fat lady tutted behind you. By the time you'd both controlled your laughter, the portrait looked incredibly unimpressed, her mouth forming a hard line as she looked down at you.

"Password?" she huffed.

"Conjunctio."

The portrait swung open in front of you and you clambered through the cramped hole in the wall, sighing with relief as you stepped into the safety of Gryffindor common room. Most people were still at dinner, with only a smattering of students occupying the space and paying you no mind.

You looked back to find Garreth standing just next to the door, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck and looking slightly awkward. You didn't like the look he was giving you, or avoiding giving you.

"So...Merlin…I, uh…sorry."

"Sorry for what?" you asked, your heart racing.

Did he regret what had happened? Of course the whole event has been a fiasco, but you couldn't bear to think that he'd deemed what had occurred between the two of you a mistake.

"Well I really ought to have taken you on a date before…that," he said.

"Oh. Do you want to take me on a date?"

"Of course I do," he said with a smile.

"Well, I'd love to go with you," you replied.

Garreth's smile widened into an excitable grin, his eyes full of ideas and possibilities. If your date was half as eventful as your evening had been, you were in for a wild ride.

#garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x you #garreth weasley fanfiction

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heliiacus · 2 months

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a creasing unfurled

tags: armin x reader, college setting, secret crushes, pining, origami, love confessions, armin has trouble connecting with his emotions

warnings: none!

words: 2.7k

★ There is not much he can do for you, despite that which settles earnestly in his heart, thrumming loudly at the sight of you. But this? This he can do.

★ Or the one in which Armin has a hard time connecting with his feelings for you, and the one in which he does so in the only way he knows how: by creating.

It started simple. Even he is not sure when. He would fold paper, over and over, as if on instinct; to soothe himself, to distract himself, sometimes – to enamor himself. And it stuck. Ever since childhood, it has, and none other aside his childhood friends know about it.

Or nobody has. Until now, he supposes. But that is his own fault.

You were so upset that day. Wilted and quiet, the skin around your eyes stained with a red tint. It hurt him so to see you like this, and you refused to budge or to tell him, and what else was he to do? Would he sit there, quiet, helpless? He could not do it. He simply could not.

So he, quietly, carefully, did the one thing that came to him so easily. He folded and furled the star into existence, easing its corners with the help of his pen, and it was so simple and so small, it felt feeble when compared to his worry, but still he could at least do that.

You looked so gentle as you took it from his hand. You'd called it pretty when you saw it, this he remembers so vividly even now. Then you softened when he'd told you that it was meant for you. He still remembers how you looked at it then, held tenderly in the heart of your palm.

He did not think of it after that. He did not. He tried not to – and he succeeded, of course he had. Until now. Until now, now that he sees the star lay safely in a tiny pouch within your bag.

He could barely believe it, at first. He blinked hard, then once more. And now as he sits, distracted and staring, you notice, embarrassingly so.

"Is something wrong?" You ask him, and he bristles. He makes a noise, and he feels himself flush. Armin tries to find the words, and he tries and tries again, but in the end he just points at it, at the lone star lying by your side. "Oh. Of course," you tell him then, grinning widely. "I carry it with me. It's my good luck talisman."

He thinks of it. Incessantly. He does not attempt to curb it – he knows it is futile. Instead he sits there, cheeks heated the whole day they are there. Instead he looks at it, stolen glances in its direction, each one swirling something up in his chest. Instead he goes home that day, exhausted and riled up in a way he can't quite comprehend, and instead he makes you a dozen stars more.

When he is done with them, they feel almost sacred. They feel weighted, in his palms, like they don't belong there. He thinks and thinks of what he is now to do with them, and it takes him a week – entire seven days – of staring, moving, and arguing with the stars, to finally gather them, and come up to you, and pour them half-heartedly into your hands.

And it's the way you look at them. Delighted, bright – a star of its own right. He can't help but grin helplessly as he watches you coo at each one. He knows your favourite colours, and your favourite patterns, and your favourite combinations, and he is sated beyond belief when you gleefully inspect each one, each paper chosen just for you.

You take them home, and he never asks what you've done with them. He dares not. He considers it, but instead of it he just finds himself hoping, quietly, that you keep them somewhere, that you do not throw them away.

But he does not ask. It is not his place – even if he is desperate to know.

And he is winded, the next time he sees them. Tucked neatly into a jar, placed lovingly at your desk in your home; he feels his chest expand, and cave in, and then burst into pieces altogether as he sees each one of them.

He can't help himself. Overtaken with the sight, with the thought of you looking at his stars each time you sit down to work, that same night he sits down to make you something more. He aims to make it bigger, to make it something intricate, and he's not entirely sure why he's so possessed with the thought. This has never been a sort of love expression for him, or anything beyond. This, even if private, even it close to him, has always been just what it is – a hobby.

But he can't get rid of it, of the image: you, gazing so besottedly at that lone star he has made for you so many months ago. At the way you looked at it a weeks ago, calling it your talisman. He knows you were joking. He knows that. But his hands begin folding on their own as he thinks of you, and before he knows it himself, he is making your favourite animal.

He knows you are obsessed with it. You talk about it, eagerly, exuberantly; fact after fact spilling out of you each time it is brought up in conversation. He is not sure, exactly, why he settles on that. But he dares not think about the feeling in his chest whenever he sees you like that, loud and animated and impassioned by something so simple and so seemingly small.

He ruminates on it, when he is done; oh, he does. He wonders, for the longest while, with hands on his face, if he should sign it; leave a message on it. He feels urgently, for a moment, a need to unfold it, to leave a message inside, for you to one day, someday to find. But as he takes it, he just stills, knowing: he does not know what to write.

So instead, he tightens and straightens the lines of it, working out the imperfect bends, and then he looks, and looks, and looks at it, undecided and conflicted.

In the end, he decides, he will leave a simple dot. It takes a bit of Googling, to find where exactly the animal's heart is, but he's fairly certain he's got it down. His pen nearly trembles as he places the dot, but when he does, he feels much better. He feels as if he's said something, something earnest and true, even if he himself is not sure what it is.

Two weeks it takes him to give it to you. Two weeks he agonizes over it, watching the animal perch at his desk defiantly. Two weeks his heart somersaults in its place each time he comes home, greeted with his own creation.

And then he does, one day. Impassioned with a bravery that comes to him from thin air, he comes to your home with the animal ready, secured safely in his bag. His hands shake when he takes it out, but just a little – enough that he can hide it. Enough that it grows forgotten as he near collapses at your reaction, delight and warmth bursting at your seams.

He does not know how you do it – how you grasp it so gently, and yet with such a vigour in your eyes. They sparkle now, ablaze with something he thinks he could call awe, and then your hand grasps at his, and he is breathless, just for right now.

"How did you do it?" You ask, again and again, loud and excited, and he shows you. He feels embarrassed, overwhelmed as you watch him, but he can't stop. Pinned beneath your watchful eye, hands precise in their own right, he presses on, folding and bending the paper the one way he knows how. He wants you to see – that is the truth. He wants you to look at him like that again, with that awe and surprise, so warm on his soul.

"It's really nothing," he ends up telling you, because it is, at the end of the day. It's just paper and folding. And you are vehement. You refuse to agree, loudly at that. And though he is abashed, you almost convince him.

Yet he leaves it at that. He folds a second animal at your behest, beneath your gaze, mind focused on this one gesture he can give you. This one, it is different; a different colour, a different paper than the first. It's less delicate, less intricate – this paper is not meant for origami, he laments to himself, so when he is finished, once he has shown you how it is done, he begins to dismantle it.

And you refuse. Of course you do. You grab the creation out of his hands, as if saving a kitten from some sort of harm, and then you cradle it to your chest, expression in shock and dismay.

"You can't just destroy it!" You tell him then, exasperated beyond belief.

"It's just paper," he tells you then, chuckling; because it is.

"It's not just paper," you tell him then, and then you repeat it, words so fierce that he nearly believes you; he lets himself to, he allows it, settling with a breath released from his lungs. He watches, then, as you place the both of his creations side by side, next to the stars enchambered in the jar.

His eyes linger on them, these two creatures watching the two of them work, and he finds he is unable to focus any longer. It almost bothers him, the way they stand there, lonesome and together, and it isn't until you've left the room that he can take his pen and fix the situation. He marks the dot out of memory, no longer needing to look up where it should be, and then, afterwards, he feels himself somewhat settled.

And he tries not to think of it, as the days pass. He finds that if he does, if he ever allows it, he is swiftly overwhelmed. He can't parse it, this image; the two animals perching, resting together on your desk, protected so fiercely by your own hands. He can't quite parse this feeling, either – this suffocating swelling in his chest.

So, he does not think of it. He clears his mind. He tries to. He really, truly tries.

But then, one day, you come. You cross the room over to him, approaching him meek as a mouse, and soon he sees you cradle it: your own creation, sleeping tenderly in your palm. It's a little crooked, a little bent. "You've seen my handwriting," you tell him shyly, "my hands aren't as deft as yours."

But it's perfect. It's absolutely perfect.

"Can I keep it?" He finds himself asking, without much of a permission of his own. He is mortified. He is speechless. He blinks owlishly at his own words, blushing fiercely for asking such a thing – and you just smile at him.

"I made it for you, silly. Obviously you can keep it."

And he does. He does keep it. Nestled safely in the inner pocket of his jacket, he keeps it there, safe from everything else in the world. He feels it there, at most times – it is his favourite jacket, after all. And he looks at it, turning it over in his hands; he does it often, whenever possible – even it sets his chest ablaze.

It does not stop there. How could it ever? How could he ever not repay you? It is the least he could do, after all.

And so it unfolds. And folds. And refolds. He makes you something, something new each time; something intricate, beautiful – something he thinks you will like, or something which makes him think of you. He stops, for once, holding himself back, and now it only takes a day, or two, or three, at most, to gather the mortal strength to gift each one to you; to gather the strength, in fact, to look at you, so happy, so radiant it almost stings his eyes.

And you, too, come back to him, little creatures and hearts and stars beholden safely within your hands. Each time, you smile at him sheepishly, each time you tell him you'll do better. Each time you tell him: "I did my best for you, please don't judge it too harshly." And how could he? How could be ever? He looks at them still, placed delicately on his desk, and even now he could cry.

It becomes their secret, in a way. It becomes their own. Stars captured during class, pushed towards one another beneath the table; little get-togethers in the furthermost corners of the library, where they glee over the paper. It's so simple. It's so simple, and yet he feels so fiercely protective of it. He can't help but feel greedy. He can't help it. He tried, he did – but it did not work at all.

He does not tell you as such. How could he? You would hate him, surely. Or you would disagree. And he is afraid of it – of disturbing this sacred balance between the two of you; he has been for so long now.

But he should have known better.

He should have known you were a step ahead of him – of course you were. It is that day he learns of it. That day, when his favourite animal sits before him. It plops almost unceremoniously in front of him, disturbing the work the two of you were finishing. Armin watches, with an odd, quiet awe as your hand gently uncurls from it after. And it's so precious. As it sits there, ahead of him, he can't help but feel overcome: with a warmth, and with a longing. He can't swallow how intricate it is, how meticulously it has been folded. This, he knows, took you a while. A long while. An incredibly long while.

"I practised," you tell him then, smile nervous, and it takes his breath, it steals it right beneath his nose. "Again and again. It took me a while. I really can't do the things you can." And he looks at you, lips parted, ready to defend your own skill to you. But he can't say it. He looks at you, at this timid, starlit look in your eyes, and something in it makes him grow mute, if only for just this moment. And it is then that you continue: "I must admit, I must have unfolded and refolded it a thousand times. That first one you brought me. I was sure, if I learnt to do it, I would find a message there. Something. Anything."

And then you laugh. So light and precious that his hands feel electrified. "It's so like you," you continue, "to have left such a small one. A whole dot." You titter, and therein he feels himself heat. His ears, then his cheeks, then downwards to his entire throat.

And you take none of it. Of course you don't. Wiser were he in the matters of the heart, he would have started with one – not with a star. So you take his hand, gently, so tenderly it almost makes him tremble, and you curl it around the animal you've made for him.

And he gets the message. He does. He just needs a moment. He breathes, in and out, eyes gliding over the folds within the paper, and he can't help the smile. It forms effortlessly, without his permission. Your hand still on his, you tell him, quietly: "Pick it up, Armin."

And he does. He knows what he will see at the heart of the animal, and still he is, inexplicably, surprised, and shocked, and so, so warmly pleased.

"You've done so well," he finds himself say it, and you just laugh. "You really have."

"It's a yes or no question, Armin," you tell him, laughing bright as bells, "don't be coy."

"Of course," he says then, smiling, no – grinning, and he pulls her creation closer, cradling it to his chest. "Of course it's a yes."

dividers by cafekitsune

#aot headcanons #armin arlert #armin fanfiction #armin x reader #armin x you #armin fluff #armin aot #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #snk x reader #armin headcanons #armin x y/n #aot fanfiction #aot fluff #my writing

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ashsostrange · 5 months

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"averagegirlie" is just "xxoxobree", formerly known as "breeandhermunches" on a burner. newsflash, your "fav" miles writer isn't who you think she is!

ik a lot of us must be VERY confused so let me help you out. @/averagegirlie and @/xxoxobree are the same mfkn person! why did bree make this account? i assume that it's so she could fend for herself and keep the "unbothered" act up on her main page. that's why she deletes all her reblogs after arguing w someone then comes over to this account to start bsing. not to mention she can say extremely problematic things with no repercussions, because she doesn't have a following on that page + it's not tied to her.. at least it wasn't before! bree's a very messy liar. i peeped the truth so lemme share it w y'all.

bree if you're seeing this, go take a couple shots before you read. you should've kept it cute but you didn't, so let's get nasty mf.

i have receipts! let's start right here cz i find this the funniest:

nobody but her spells "internet" like that... this is one of the many examples of the two accounts talking alike, even though bree said she wouldn't refer to "yao" as a friend when the whole rashad thing was going down. yesterday, i reminded yao of that. she said "i like bree, so what" but she deleted that and changed it to "when are y'all gonna catch on to the fact that we talk?" mhm.. bree's a lil confused, but next!

y'all see "yao's" tag? telling alexa to play some bs... then y'all see bree?? NEXT!

go look on miss average's page. she only comes online to defend and ride the hell out of bree's dick. remember ts w amani? why are you going so hard for someone who says they dk you like that LMFAO. not to mention, when the rashad shit was happening, bree said "this my girl and she never been wrong" but then she turns around and says "i wouldn't say we're friends" WHICH ONE IS IT MISS MUNCH??! 😭🤣🤣 next!

why we praising tf out of bree's oc? ts was ai bro. we got a self supafan. next...

look at this smart anon, putting tg the pieces and shit. "ash and dalia fight your battles every time" is literally.. a lie. what battles are we referring to? talia's never in drama as much as you're implying. and ima ride for my friends anyway, tf? but my entire blog will never be centered around ONE human being. it ain't that serious ever. "yao" and bree need hobbies cz writing obv ain't doing it for her. next.

bree has also said she's messy lol. she likes drama. hm!

look at how she came on her white horse when bree was battling the great war w anons over miles morales smut (which i don't fw, js to be clear.) who summoned her? BREE LMFAIOFHDGFKJAS... NEXT!!!

here's miss xxoxo munches being ableist, much like her alter ego. bro went silent and blocked lia after this. now let's get into miss average again.

look at this bs. ion even gotta say much.. this girl is black & not chinese!! y'all should know why this is weird. here's the "evidence" she gave me btw:

here's me proving her wrong! she tried! next.

y'all see the way they're tagging their posts w their usernames? mhm.. ik you do.

HMMM....

these are both bree. i don't mean to bring up maye again, but i have to for context. what happened wasn't js "drama"... the things she said to dalia were racist + that post she was lyin' about lia in. she also liked the post.. dead giveaway you silly bitch! 🥱 nd she was also instigating in honey's inbox. i know her typing style and her emoji colors lol. it's common sense atp. it's not hard to tell when an anon is bree. and from what i'm seeing not even maye is fw her.. LMFAISAIDHSAY GIRL YOU'RE DONE! 😭 feel free to go thru their accs, you'll see ts too. she's funny asf for this, i'll give her that and that only. i've never laughed so much in under 24 hours. 💓

in conclusion, bree is messy, bored, insecure, ableist & miserable! she thought nobody would ever find out but here we are today. she fronts not gaf but then switches to this acc to let off some serious steam... as miss freeman once said: "Alexa, play yikes!"

but bless bree 💗 maybe if you change now, you'll still be able to collect your tokens like dalia says.

#ash spills 💋#the downfall of her munches #fucked around and found out!#miles morales x reader #e42miles morales x reader #beware of the munch #breeisoverparty

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soft-girl-musings · 6 months

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An Unexpected Proposition (pt. 2)

based on this prompt from @imaginexhobbit, previously submitted under @jawn-i-made-coffee

cross-posted to ao3

part 1

Kíli x fem!Reader

tags: mentions of blood/injury, Reader is described as tall (by human standards), Y/N is used

wc: 1,741

fic summary: An injured dwarf appears on your doorstep. Do you grant him sanctuary on this stormy night?

A/N: once again posting the cuties for myself. i have a loose outline from years ago i revisited and honestly? still slaps. so this might get a part 3.

You can't believe it. You’re actually doing it. You walk along the road leading away from town with your pack on your back, boots on your feet-

"Come on, (Y/N)!" Kíli shouts from the top of the hill. You smile. A friend by your side.

Only a few hours earlier you had broken bread and prepared to say goodbye; now, you’re following Kíli after he promised you an adventure. Was this a foolhardy endeavor? Perhaps. But after years in the quiet countryside, your roving heart had gotten restless. Kíli had tempted you with the open road and the thrill of a quest; how could you refuse him?

As you climb the muddy slope, Kíli taps his foot in mock impatience. "You would think that with those long legs of yours, you'd move faster."

You reach the top and shove him lightly. "Shut up. I'm digesting." He laughs, shoving you right back. You notice he slows his pace to walk beside you this time. "So how much farther are you taking me, sir dwarf?"

"Ah, ah! (Y/N), if we're to be on the road together, we must do away with these formalities." He pulls a grimace and looks up at you. "'Sir Dwarf' makes me sound like some old fool."

You chuckle. Never a dull moment with this one. "Very well, Kíli, " you begin, drawing out his name in playful reverence, “how much farther until we get there?”

Ears tinged pink, he looks away, adding the figures in his head. "Where we're going is... three days on foot. We'd cut our time in half if I hadn't lost my pony." His brow furrows as he remembers his violent run-in with a few drunk locals.

You frown. "You're too weak to make that journey on a deadline." Kíli opens his mouth to object, but you shake your head. "There's a stable not three miles from here. I know the owner, he should take pity on our situation and help us." Kíli's face remains tense, but he nods in agreement and follows you.

Three miles later, you approach the stables and see your friend, just having finished mucking out the stalls. He raises a hand to greet you, but retracts the gesture when he sees who walks beside you.

“'Afternoon, Dylten!” You holler, but he turns and carts the waste to the back of the structure. Strange, he’s never this distracted. You place your bags down and chase after him. “Wait here,” you reassure Kili, “I’ll be right back!”

You find his cart abandoned as he walks hastily away from the stable. “Dylten!” you run to catch up to him. “At least a nod of greeting would suffice. Why the rush, friend?”

“I’m not sure I wish to be called ‘friend,’ if that’s the kind of company you keep,” he grumbles. His face turns red as he walks faster, and you notice a few fresh bruises along his jaw.

You piece two and two together as you reach the crest of the hill, where you see a chestnut brown pony tied haphazardly to a post in front of his home.

"New acquisition?" You ask flatly, knowing full well where the pony came from.

"Of sorts." He moves to walk inside, but you block his doorway, hand on the hilt of your weapon.

"You nearly killed him," you snarl.

"It wasn't just me! Nobody wanted him there!" He backs away, nearly tripping over his front step. "Some of us merely took it upon ourselves to send the dwarf a message!"

You're seething with anger at this point, sword drawn. You brandish the weapon toward him. "Yeah? And what was it-- that you and half the people in this town are beyond dense?"

He’s nervous, but scoffs all the same. “Don’t pretend to be all ‘high and mighty,’ (Y/N). I fought beside you. You knocked heads and drew blood just as easily as the rest of us.”

You’ve heard enough. In an instant, Dylan is knocked down by the pommel of your weapon and you crouch over him, knee to his chest. “Not innocent blood. Which doesn’t help you at the moment.” His breath staggers under your weight, struggling even more as you lean closer. “We’re taking the pony. And your black mare. If you’re lucky, my payment will include us never speaking of this again.”

__________

The next day and a half pass with ease. You notice you’ve reached the western countryside. Lush grass rolls in billowing green waves, speckled with countless wildflowers. Kíli plucks a few and sticks them in your hair while you’re busy preparing lunch; you sneak a few into his braid before he mounts for the final leg of the journey.

"Look!" You shout gleefully. As twilight creeps in, you are met with a most welcome sight. Little homes built into the sides of hills are scattered along the horizon. The grass rises and frames a beaten path before you.

Kíli rides up beside you, grinning wildly. "I think we've finally reached The Shire."

Exhausted from your journey, the two of you go to a cozy-looking tavern for a couple of drinks. You feel like a giant as you sip from a glass half the size of what you’re used to. The door jingles, opening to reveal a blond dwarf looking around warily before stepping inside. You nudge Kíli and point out the newcomer. He leaps from his seat almost immediately.

"Fíli!" He calls out. The blond turns and, upon seeing Kíli, moves to embrace him.

"Glad to see you arrived safely, brother." They clap each other on the back and return to the table. Upon closer inspection, the family resemblance is much more prominent. Fíli is clearly the oldest of the two, having a harder maturity about him.

Fíli sits across from you, his smile slightly faltering as he looks you up and down. "And who's this?"

"(Y/N)," you blurt out, offering your hand. "I've been traveling with your brother." Fili shakes it, looking to Kíli for an explanation.

"She's done so much more than that, Fí. Why-"

"Tell me on the way. We're due at the burglar's house any minute now."

As you travel to your next destination, Kíli speaks of your "grand rescue". Fíli listens readily, but later murmurs concerns of how "Uncle might not approve" of your presence at the halfling's home.

The rest of the company, however, simply adores you. After Kíli tells them the tale of how you had saved him and secured transport (you had eventually told him about your run-in with Dylten), the other ten dwarves show an apparent respect for you.

"That'd explain why yer face looks like you fell head-first into a rosebush!" a dwarf called Bofur shouts across the table. You laugh as Kíli's ears turned red.

A heavy knock on the door silences the household.

"He's here."

"Gandalf," you hear someone say in greeting. You find yourself growing nervous as he walks in. Thorin seems to tower over the rest of the company. The graying hair and beard framing his face give his features an aged ferocity. You recall facing foes four times as large, but they suddenly seem dwarfed in comparison to this… well, dwarf.

You take a sip of tea and whisper, "Kíli, what if your brother was right? What if your uncle doesn't want me here at all?" Sensing the panic in your voice, he takes your hand in his and hushes you. "Fí doesn't know what he's talking about. Uncle needs every man he can get, and you're just as good as any of these old fools claim to be." He squeezes your hand andofferes a small smile. "He'll love you, I swear."

Unfortunately, Kíli could not have been more wrong. Thorin's face had been cheerful enough as he greeted his friends, but when his eyes fall on you, the subtle joy vanishes. After taking you in, he frowns. "I had believed this to be a private meeting, Gandalf."

"I had no part in her being here," the wizard insists.

"I brought her, Uncle." All eyes fall on Kíli as he stands. "I didn't think you'd mind. This is-"

"-A human who should not be aware as to why we are gathered."

"But Uncle, she's more than worthy to join us!"

"I decide who is worthy!" The red in Thorin's face deepens with every syllable. Your hand tightens around Kíli's. "Tell me, were you yammering about this quest on your whole journey, or was it just to the pretty ones you wished to impress?"

"With all due respect, sir-- your nephew is not at fault. I came on my own accord."

Thorin turns his glower to you. "Silence, girl. I'll deal with you later."

"Enough, Uncle!" Kíli shouts He leaps forward, dragging you along until you both stand toe to toe with Thorin. You feel drastically out of place, awkwardly towering over the dwarf who looks about ready to take your head off.

"(Y/N) has done nothing to deserve your blind wrath! If anything, she deserves your utmost respect! She has seen battle in lands I'd never heard of. She served ten years of her life fighting alongside fierce men who were beyond her in years, and matched them blow for blow! And she saved my life. I wouldn't be standing here before you if it wasn’t for her." He entwines your fingers and looks up at you. You notice he still has flowers in his hair. "She... she nursed me back to health. She fought for my property and restored my dignity, all in a day. And because I asked her, she abandoned her life of comfort to accompany me." He looks back at Thorin, determined. "I owe her my life."

"Let her stay, Uncle. They mean well," Fíli interjects from his corner of the room.

Thorin's eyes never leave Kíli's. "I had known you to be reckless, but I did not take you for a fool."

"Nor I you." His uncle smirks, but does not let the humor reach his eyes. "Please."

A tense moment of silence passes between you. Thorin moves closer, now standing directly beneath you. "You have no room for error. One wrong move and I will not hesitate to make you pay."

You kneel before him, hardly believing what you heard. "From this moment on, you are my King; I will serve you as such. You have my loyalty and my sword at your disposal."

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #hobbit fic #an unexpected journey #kili #kíli #kili x reader #kili/reader #kili x y/n #imaginexhobbit

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Note

the thoma one, god i love him. what a sweetheart :') but like.......what would happen if we went to the kamisato estate with him. and like. the siblings caught us. would they be on our side or would ayato call for our arrest immediately. would thoma still try to help us once he realized or does his loyalty override that. i am dying to know 👀

silent conclusions

summary: the kamisato estate is welcoming, thoma and ayaka are kind, ayato is… ayato.

word count: exactly 4000. very cool

-> warnings: spoilers for inazuma archon quest, exactly one (1) swear word, ayato is a little shit (affectionate), if your name is maple uh… whoops?

-> lowercase intended!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @genshin-impacts-me || @5sos-wdw

@yoshikuno and @alexteea asked for part threes- sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged

<<first part || < masterlist >

teleport waypoints, despite being incredibly convenient, take large tolls.

the moment your feet were on solid ground again you reached, latching onto the closest person as your vision swam with vertigo. bile rose in your throat once more, exacerbating your nausea. though you managed to wash out some of the saltwater with the tea—shockingly sweet, from what you remember of green tea—it still soaked your tongue.

two people are talking, voices just out of focus, and the person you grabbed sets their hand over yours.

you’re thankful they give you a moment’s pause, and you take deep breaths. slowly, the stone beneath you is less blinding, and you can see that you’re outside the kamisato estate. the white and purple walls are tall, imposing, two guards stationed in front of the entrance. it looks like light security, but you figure nobody could be bold enough to try anything anyways.

you pull your hand from your support, hoping your gaze show your apology as you look at-

ayato?

he glances at you, eyes flicking over you once before returning to his talk with hisashi.

oh fuck.

thoma appears from your other side and takes you by the arm, walking for the entrance to the estate. “come on, let’s get you inside.”

you follow in a daze, still thrown off by the fact that you grabbed the arm of the yashiro commissioner after teleporting. you’re certain that most people would be knocked off in an instant—or worse—if not by him then by those around. you can’t tell which is more shocking: the fact that he didn’t seem upset afterwards, or that hisashi let you get so close in the first place.

the courtyard is full of life, plants lining the outer edge and the raised patio-like platform in the middle. the various workers around the area stare a little more at you than you’d like, but since thoma is besides you they don’t give you much trouble. the emblem of the kamisatos ripples on the flags they’re printed on, moved by a silent breeze.

the guards in front of the door eye you with more suspicion, and step inwards over the door as you approach, spears crossing in an X. thoma’s steps halt unnaturally, and you can see confusion on his face out of the corner of your eye.

“who is with you, retainer?”

“er…”

right. ayato had directed the conversation at the teahouse to your charges, not to you. you never got a chance to tell your name—not that you would have told the truth, incase history tried to repeat itself.

“the commissioner has employed new help,” he said, wisely keeping back the part where you were being hidden from the shogunate. “i am to show them to their quarters.”

the guard’s eyes narrow further, and you can’t find it in yourself to blame them. you don’t look fit for work by a long shot, let alone for somebody as prestigious as the kamisatos.

“come on souta, when have i ever been untrustworthy? the commissioner himself is just behind us, if you don’t-“

the door behind the guards slid open and they rushed not to block the way, glancing first at each other and then to the open doors.

ayaka is standing in the open doorway, barely-concealed curiosity evident in her eyes. in one hand is a fan that covers the lower half of her face, the carefully painted design matching her eyes.

your mind flashes back to when you were introduced to her, when she was sitting behind a screen and thoma said that that was the traditional way to greet guests, or something similar. sure, you’re less of a guest and more… maybe blackmailed is a little too harsh of a word, perhaps more coerced-

“m- my lady?” thoma steps forward, tugging you behind him, and you can’t tell if it’s meant to be protective towards you or her. “what are you doing out here?”

“indeed, it is rather rare for you to be out. i told you i was bringing home somebody, ayaka.” ayato’s voice once more comes out of nowhere, and you turn to see him and hisashi walking up. the latter looks more tense than you’ve ever seen him, and you don’t blame him. considering ayato gave a… warning..

…wait a minute-

“it’s well past when you said you would return,” ayaka points out, voice far more diplomatic than you’d expect from a conversation between siblings. “is it wrong of me to go for a stroll?”

an odd expression flashes over ayato’s face, but it melts into acceptance quicker than you’d expect. “that is fair. i apologize. negotiations took longer than expected.”

you have to bite your tongue to keep from saying something smart in return. the threat of salt also helps, but not nearly as much as the fear of angering him.

something like a laugh comes from ayaka, but you refrain from turning. even if you’re ‘allowed’ to, it feels polite. also, you really don’t want to upset ayato. after everything he’s done, he feels like the largest threat.

(your mind reminds you of how kind his hand was when it settled over yours outside of the estate. you arrive at the conclusion that ayato is strange.)

“come in, then. hisashi, you are dismissed.”

hisashi bows, then sends a questioning look at ayato. the latter nods, and the former turns neatly on his heel, leaving with barely a sound to his footsteps.

thoma pulls at your hand again and you turn to follow, keeping your eyes on his shoes. you figure it’s better not to snoop or get distracted, and considering thoma’s following ayaka…

ayato’s eyes weigh on your shoulders as you walk.

for the second time today, you’re sat in front of tea you have no intent drinking.

it’s smells a little more flowery, and you think you remember catching the word rose, but that could very well be referring to the flower arrangement in the center of the table.

they’re nice. pale pink, in a soft green vase. they still have their thorns, surprisingly, a detail that distracts you from the conversation happening at the table.

first, ayato filled in ayaka on your conversation at the teahouse. second, ayaka asked for thoma’s recount of how you met. third… third you had zoned out, distracting yourself with the details of rose petals.

“-what do you think?”

you jump slightly at thoma’s voice, the sound closer than before and obviously directed at you. glancing around the table reveals no indication of the former conversation, only two other sets of eyes. soft silver looks with genuine feelings, and pale lavender looks a little too smug for your liking.

the latter picks up his teacup. “we’re assuming you don’t want to reveal your name,” he says, taking a drink. you wish his gaze wasn’t so knowing.

nonetheless, you nod.

“thoma was considering maple, since it’s a pretty neutral name.” wait, what did you just agree to? “it’s not inazuman, but it’s also not anything else either. it’s.. an interesting choice, considering its also the name of a tree common on narukami, but i believe it will hide you nicely.”

oh. that’s better than you thought, considering who it’s coming from.

you give a half-shrug and a nod in response, the pen under your hand not worth picking up for such a simple reply.

“well, maple,” ayaka pauses, but the name doesn’t sound awful, and you let her continue, “thoma can show you around, and you’ll start either tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it takes you to get used to the place.”

sounds reasonable enough. you nod, and thoma speaks up next, nudging your notepad.

“do you have any preferences for where you’d like to work? i’ll keep you out of anything involving a lot of other people-“ you send him a silent thank you “-but just so i know…”

you pick up the pen and write down your choices, hesitating at the bottom before adding ‘but anything’s fine if you’re there.’ is it cheesy? probably, but he’s the person you’re most comfortable around here. he’s been nothing but open and kind, and doesn’t have a reputation to uphold or an agenda to fulfill.

he reads over the paper when you pass it to him, and a quiet pride comes over you as he flushes a bit at your end comment.

“a- alright then! i’ll show you around today, you can shadow me tomorrow, and the day after we can finalize things. sound good?”

you nod, and neither of the kamisato siblings have anything to add either, both silently showing their approval.

you feel yourself smile.

thoma’s work is surprisingly simple.

not that it was easy, of course, because what else would you expect working for a third of inazuma’s government, but it’s… shockingly simple.

he’d warned you the night before that you’d need to wake early, but he wasn’t angry when you didn’t wake up on time. he seemed upset, almost, regret lacing his words as he tugged you out of bed. even as you delayed him further by struggling with the uniform—the nightclothes were easy enough, but this one had so many folds and ties that you got lost embarrassingly quickly—he wasn’t upset. he just led you to the kitchens, where he explained every step of how the lord and lady liked their teas.

ayato prefers black tea, he says, carefully measuring out loose leaves. he takes it with no sugar, and as hot as it can be.

ayaka has been trying new teas from liyue, he mumbles, voice quieter than he intends to be as he stirs in honey. she’s quite fond of dragon’s well, but anything from there will do. feel free to experiment, just be sure it’s not too sweet.

he shows you their respective offices, and you wince at the amount of paperwork on both of their desks. they both greet you with a smile, but you can see how tired they are. absently, you wonder if that same exhaustion is why ayato likes black tea.

thoma’s interactions with them are short, and you waste no time in following him to his next task.

the day passes by easily, thoma’s easy conversation—despite your hoarse voice—easing the load of the work. floors are swept and shelves are dusted, and when he quizzes you on their tea preferences at dinnertime you get it right on the first try.

he beams from his post at the stovetop, bright green eyes shining in the same way dew does on grass. you feel your own smile form in response, and he makes you sit and wait while he delivers dinner—yes, to their offices—no matter how much you protest. he returns swiftly, pulling over a pot that you didn’t realize wasn’t empty and ladling out two bowls of soup.

he slides one over to you, and together you share dinner.

the next day is much the same, as is the next, and the next, and you slowly fall into a routine.

you wake up, the knots on the uniform more familiar than they were at the start, a simple way to start a simple morning. you tidy yourself up and meet thoma on the way to the kitchens, chatting about a dream you had the night before or a diplomat that had arrived yesterday for a meeting. water bubbles and you share a breakfast, the two of you preparing tea side by side.

today you decide to make ayaka a new king of oolong tea that had just come in a few days prior. after all the various security screenings, you could finally make it!

thoma encourages you to take the large platter this time, and you comply, however nervous. you’re watching it more than you are the hallway, making sure that nothing spills, and it pays off when you make it to ayaka’s office without incident.

she looks up with a smile as you come in, and you flash one of your own as you set down the large plate.

“good morning, lady ayaka.”

“good morning, maple. how did you sleep?”

you eye the bags under her eyes as you push over her teacup. “i should be asking you that, my lady.”

she chuckles, picking up the cup for a smell. “this doesn’t seem familiar.. what kind of tea is this?”

thoma looks to you from where he’s sorting out a stack of scrolls, and you recite the information off the box.

“it’s tieguanyin, also known as iron goddess, and is a type of liyuen oolong. it seemed sweet by the smell, so i didn’t put much honey in.”

her smile turns sweeter, an oddly genuine happiness taking you by surprise. “thank you.”

there’s a weight to her words, some other information tucked between the lines that you can’t reach. with a smile and a nod, you pick up your tray.

ayato’s office is strangely far from his sisters, something that confused you the first day and still does now. the only difference is that now you’re familiar with the sprawling layout of the estate, and you can take the right turn without missing it.

he’s much more tired, evident by the delay between when he sees you and speaks.

“maple, thoma. good morning.”

your hand paused over his teacup. ayaka… she hadn’t greeted thoma, had she?

you’re fairly certain there’s an implication there, something that ties into the heaviness of her voice when she thanked you, but you don’t have time to think it over. thoma nudges your side and you snap out of your thoughts, moving ayato’s tea and breakfast off the tray.

“is something wrong?”

you shake your head. “no. something.. caught my attention. i apologize, my lord.”

he picked up the cup with a grin, “oh? i do hope you’re not trying to pry into any yashiro documents.”

you shake your head and he drinks, but thoma catches your arm as you turn to leave. his lips part, something worried shining in his eyes, but ayato cuts him off.

“what is this?”

oh no.

ayato’s black tea was easy to brew, tea wise, and with thoma watching over your shoulder you had assumed it wasn’t burnt.

the housekeeper seems just as confused, the both of you turning back to ayato’s desk. he’s staring at the tea in his cup thankfully not with disdain, but certainly with confusion.

“it’s wakoucha, my lord,” you say. “no sugar. hot as can be.”

“is it a new kind?”

“it’s from the same box as yesterday’s, and all of last week’s.”

he looks to thoma, who nods. “the only difference is that maple brewed it.”

ayato’s eyes flick between the tea, thoma, and you, still not accusatory, for which you’re grateful. you’re not sure you could hide from poisoning the yashiro commissioner as easily as you could hide in liyue.

“…here.”

the cup is passed to thoma, who hesitates before trying some. he’s easier to read than ayato—most anybody is—and you can pick out the emotions in his eyes clearer. shock, delight, and then a careful sort of confusion.

“it’s very strong, though the flavor is perfectly intact… even without sugar, it’s still sweet.” you don’t know enough about tea to discern what that means. “but how? i was watching you the whole time…”

you’re tempted to say something stupid—‘well, i hear that nightshade can be pretty sweet’—but wisely hold your tongue, watching the cup return back to ayato’s hands. he stares at the rim of it for a moment, then a flicker of a smile crosses his face.

“well done,” is all he says, and after another sip, the cup is set down in favor of his pen, the prior conversation dissolving back into the air with nothing more than a glance. “and if you two are planning on going to the city today, do stay away from the docks.”

“are the tenryou receiving a shipment?”

“nothing of the sort, thoma, what do you mean? what reason would i have for directing you away from them?” ayato looks up from his paper, some stupid little scheme glinting in his eyes. “i’ve just received news from the shuumatsuban that the imposter is likely in the area.”

you can’t help the way your shoulders tighten, the office suddenly seeming smaller. though you had admitted as little as you could about why you were hiding from the shogunate, you had never brought up their accusations on this front. intentionally, too, because you knew that no matter how kind anybody could be, religion was a heavy topic in teyvat, inazuma especially.

and when you were staring down a man that held loyalty in high standard, it was wise not to admit such a thing.

the corner of ayato’s lips twitch into a smile. “do be careful, maple. i’d hate for you to get caught up in another incident.”

you cling closer to thoma’s side than you normally would when you two go into the city, your hand linked with his as he speaks with the various vendors. you’re not sure why you two are even in ritou, honestly, but didn’t bother with asking questions.

he’s speaking with a kanjou officer, which he’d addressed by name, oddly, and you’re standing behind him, looking around the city. the maple trees are a pretty pink for spring, making the island look a lot kinder. sure, the outlander affairs agency likely still has the area in a chokehold, and sure it’s run by a literal puppet government, but something could be said about its beauty.

“what do you think about lunch?” thoma asks, and you look back in alarm only to see the kanjou officer long gone, his eyes focused on you.

ah.

“we’re gonna be out for most of the day, and there’s a little food stall here that i like. granted, we could eat at shimura’s…”

you shake your head, “here’s fine, thanks.”

he brightens, pulling you along once more. “great! ryouko makes the best dry-braised fish, or she has fried tofu in a miso broth, if you’d rather?”

you make and tell him your choice, and he nods as you walk down sets of stairs, making note of it. people wave at you two as you pass, and though it’s mostly at thoma, you do see some smiles directed at you. probably just because you’re with him, though.

thoma leads you to the left of the main courtyard, taking you down another small set of stairs. it’s… familiar, the tree behind the sidewalk reminding you of something you can’t pin.

“hello ryouko!”

“hello, and welcome! care to have some specialty snacks?”

you keep a hand on his as you look around, letting him order for you. the food stall was backed against a wall, in a tucked away corner, near the port… if you turned so that you faced the staircase, it clicked.

this was where you met thoma. it was months later, at a wildly different time of day, and you were in a much better place… but you were back here. back when he held your hand much as he did now, in a drastically different context but for much of the same reasons.

guidance. security. promise.

comfort.

“first time in the city?”

you turned to the close voice, jumping slightly when you see the owner. maroon hair shadows grassy eyes, ones that seem to pick you apart—much like ayato, but a lot less subtle. the blue of an anemo vision shines behind the baton of a doushin, and you can feel your heart stop as you face down the best detective in inazuma.

you tug on thoma’s hand and he turns as well, apparently recognizing him. “doushin shikanoin? what are you doing out here?”

heizou crosses his arms with a heavy sigh, some of the tension in the air fading as his eyes fall to the floor. “on ritou, a failed mission. here in particular… well, ryouko’s one of the only in inazuma that makes a good katsu sandwich, and i’m in the market for a pick-me-up.”

“really? what happened? do you want eat with us and talk about it?”

“no no, please. there’s no need to interrupt your little excursion on behalf of little ol’ me.”

what is it with inazuman men with blue visions that makes them adore implying things most would rather say aloud?

“well we’ve got time while our food’s being made, don’t we?”

“mmm…” one of heizou’s hands comes up to his jaw as he thinks, tapping a steady beat. “i suppose i can tell you. after all, it was your boss that tipped me off.”

oh no. who could have ever seen that coming.

“ay- ah, i mean the commissioner?”

“indeed. you see, he’s been using his connections to keep the tenryou updated as best as he can, something any detective would appreciate, even if sometimes the information can be a bit lackluster. recently, he’s gotten a tip that the imposter was planning to leave inazuma tonight through ritou’s port, and madam sara sent me out to check it out. i, of course, looked over his evidence prior to coming, and though it was a little shaky, it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. i even heard from some fishermen that they saw somebody shady boarding a merchant boat, but… no dice.”

thoma’s grip on your hand adjusts, and he squeezes once. you don’t have much time to think it over. “i’m sorry to hear it. i can promise that we’re putting all of our effort into solving the situation as best as we can, and i regret letting them slip from our grasp.”

his voice lacks the usual depth behind it, like… like it’s rehearsed, almost. like he was prepared for this.

heizou’s eyes flick to you, jade green seeming to cut into your soul. “oh, naturally. this is such a pity, don’t you agree?”

subtext laces his words, and you’re left floating in the pause between his sentences. even as it stretches, his mouth slips up in a suppressed grin.

“after all, weren’t you the one who told him?”

you blink.

you didn’t do that. you didn’t tell ayato anything, you never even left the estate unless thoma—or, on occasion, ayaka—was by your side. you never had time to collect information, and you certainly didn’t give it to ayato- didn’t he say that the shuumatsuban gave it to him? didn’t he…

’i’ve just received news from the shuumatsuban that the imposter is likely in the area.’

’he’s been using his connections to keep the tenryou updated as best as he can, something any detective would appreciate…’

‘after all, weren’t you the one who told him?‘

you can see when heizou notices that you get it, the sharp light to his knowing gaze. he rests his chin in his hand and passes you a cheeky wink, one that makes you laugh.

kamisato ayato.

what did you expect?

#i am so sorry this took so long to come out #i wanted to finish ‘duality of man’ first and then the ‘plagued’ request had me in a chokehold #fun fact: every tea listed here exists!!! i did a lot of research on teas for this part :))#if ur curious i prefer black tea with an unreasonable amount of sweet; that may just be because i don’t make tea properly though #something i learned after finally finding the right way online. the box i got didn’t have any instructions so i fucked it up lmao #genshin #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #thoma #sagau thoma #thoma x reader #ehhh sure #ayato #sagau ayato #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayaka #sagau ayaka #anybody wanna guess why i chose the nickname maple? there are two right answers and one is because thoma found you under a maple tree #shikanoin heizou #heizou #sagau heizou #genshin heizou #heizou my beloved <3 #i just think he’s a very cool character in a sagau context #esp. imposter aus. mr ultra instinct ’this is only 10% of my power’ falling — genuinely or not — for an imposter…#i just think he’s neat <3 #the pacing here is…. oh boy. but hey the plots good!

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