#(if you want more info don't hesitate to ask!)

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

Fellow Travelers Fic Recs | April Recap

Some of the favorite fics read by FTFR and/or newly posted in April. This month we’ve got some stormy winter cuddles and lots of domestic bliss, old men in love, an awkward first date, plant POV, fics featuring Maggie and Estelle, Father Skippy, water sports and shower sex, office sex, fuck him on the floor sex, and threesome sex in this fandom’s first RPF fic!

Also, check out the latest fics in these collections:

🌼 Angstpril Prompt Challenge Masterpost

🌼 Promise You WILL Write Masterpost (Updated w/April fics) If you're feeling inspired, please visit the collection to leave a prompt for someone to write or take one for yourself... All are welcome!

Check out their page @promiseyouwillwrite for more info.

📣 April’s Features of the Month:

Fic of the Month: do these teeth still match the wound by @brokendrums | brokendrums

Author of the Month: @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup

April Featured Collection: Old Men in Love Collection

April Featured WIPs

📚 More fic recs can be found at the fic register, here.

Not quite what you're looking for? Tell us what you had in mind, here! → 💌

✨ Show authors some love with your comments and kudos on the fics you enjoyed after reading! Likes are lovely, but please reblog this post to share this content with your mutuals! ✨

🌼 Within The Heart of Me by drabbleswabbles💠 [NR, 9K] Lucy goes to the hospital to talk to Tim. When she arrives, Hawk is already there.

Otherwise known as a prompt fill that wanders a bit off the mark, but is close enough in spirit to give credit where credit is due as far as inspiration goes.

🌼 Something Out Of Reach by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [T, 1K] Before the phone call, Hawk knows.

🌼 Shut Up and Drink Your Milk by @bre1995 | bre_thomas & @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [E, 4K] It all started with Hawk's "shut up and drink your milk" and then whispering how he wanted Tim to "fuck him". With those words alone, Tim doesn't hesitate.

This is an extension on the Episode 8, '57 sex scene.

🌼 Catching A Breath Of Moonlight by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] One lazy evening, Tim tries to find the perfect endearment for Hawk.

🌼 After Hours by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [E, 2K] “That’s it,” Hawk praised, petting through the soft strands of Tim's hair. “Good boy.”

Tim moaned softly around him, swallowing him deeper into the blissful pressure of his throat.

Or, the office sex fic that no one asked for.

🌼 Forgive Me Father For I Have Sinned by @bre1995 | bre_thomas [E, 2K] Based around the episode 6 cabin conversation and scene, but with a little twist.

🌼 A Disaster, Beyond Measure by drabbleswabbles💠 [NR, 30K] Hawkins Fuller is a campaign manager with a PR disaster on his hands. The solution involves pretending to date none other than Timothy Laughlin.

Featuring: unrealistic portrayals of the life and job of a campaign manager for the sake of the fake dating trope.

🌼 the life of the world to come by @thewindyoubargainedfor | thewindyoubargainedfor [NR, 5K] Maggie flew to San Francisco to take care of her brother. She didn’t expect it to involve so many visitors.

🌼 Chances Are by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 3K] After a family Thanksgiving, Estelle and Hawk talk. Then she meets Tim.

🌼 Control and desperation by @mailboxbutterflies | mailboxbutterflies [E, 3K] Now Tim was really confused. "H… Hawk I really need to pee—" "I said no. You want to be a good boy for me, don't you, Skippy?"

Tim nodded slowly as he started to put the pieces together. "Then hold it," Hawk repeated coolly.

Tim saw a familiar fire behind Hawk's eyes. The kind that suggested he would be rewarded if he obeyed. "Okay, fine." And then, "Or at least I'll try."

Or, Hawk makes Tim wet himself and then rewards him with shower sex.

🌼 Only Himself To Blame by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [E, 1K] An evening out leads to some fun on the floor.

🌼 this time imperfect by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [M, 16K] 1986. Marcus arrives at Hawk's house and gives him a box. Marcus doesn't know that paperweight in the box is a time traveling device. Will Hawk change anything, given the chance? We'll see.

🌼 you lookin’ like a present by Saturn💠 [E, 5K, RPF] “You fly all this way just to fuck me?”

“Not just to fuck you,” Simon teased and pressed a kiss to Matt’s forehead. “And actually,” he added, tone suddenly a touch more serious, “If you want, I won’t be the one fucking you tonight.”

Matt’s eyes widened, and he scanned Simon’s face for any indication that Simon was joking. Finding none, he raised his eyebrows and said, “I’m listening.”

Simon visits Toronto for Matt’s birthday.

🌼 🪴His great consuming lovage*🪴 by @carnivalrow | nightfall_in_winter [T, 3K] Tim's potted plant has a story to tell...

🌼 Hold You In My Arms Again by @timothydavidlaughlin | mauralabingi [NR, 977] Old(er) Men Tim and Hawk (who are in love) at the gay club.

🌼 the coming of night by @alorchik | alorchik [E, 3K] March 1957. Hawk, exhausted from grappling with his own thoughts and emotions, seeks solace in alcohol at the Cozy Corner. What other thoughts might cross the mind of a desperate man?

🌼 Might Drive Me Crazy by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [NR, 1K] Hawk helps Tim get ready for a party. More or less.

🌼 So On We Go by TigerLilyBlue💠[G, 589] Maggie leaves for vacation, but it isn't easy.

🌼 forbidden joy by @redmyeyes | redmyeyes [NR, 440] Fellow Travelers drabbles.

🌼 Lost In A World Of Our Own by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] A stormy winter's night is the perfect excuse to stay home and cuddle.

🌼 Guide your light in by @cinnamoncountess | CinnamonCountess [M, 21K] A new patient, Hawkins Fuller, has been admitted to the neurological diagnostic clinic at San Francisco General Hospital. The circumstances of his hospitalization are harrowing and raise many questions. The patient's tragic story and the man himself quickly arouse the curiosity of young nurse Timothy Laughlin.

🌼 Friday Night I'm in Love by @doodlingawaits | DoodlingAwaits [M, 7K] Lucy Smith was a very busy girl.

She was meeting Danny, the cute bartender at her favourite watering hole, the Bell and Bird, on Monday.

It was going to be another date night with Jake on Tuesday after work, but she was thinking of ending this one.

On Wednesday, she had a “tutoring” session with Yannis at the café near the library.

Thursday was free, but she was sure her friend Katherine would confirm soon that her brother, Tim, was up for a date with her.

But Friday, her favourite day of the week and reserved only for the really lucky ones, was going to be the one night she had been waiting for since she was fifteen.

After a misunderstanding, Lucy accidentally double-books her date nights with Tim and Hawk. She tries to find a way around it, but it seems fate has other plans in store for these three.

🌼 Worship at Your Altar by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [E, 2K] Hawk visits Father Tim Laughlin.

💠 Authors: If your tumblr (or other socials) isn't linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it. Or, if you are linked, and you'd rather not be, please contact me to remove it.

#fellow travelers fics monthly recap #ftfics angstpril prompts #promise you will write prompt collection #ftficrecs #fellow travelers fic recs #fellow travelers fics #ftfics monthly recap #fellow travelers #ftfics apr24

[gyofukuki]

Introducing: Roy Mustang

Origin:

Sourced from: Fullmetal Alchemist (the entirety of manga and anime)

Voiced by: Travis Willingham

Character Name:

Full name: Roy Mustang

Nicknames: Flame Alchemist, Roy-Boy (please don't)

Basic Information:

Age: 30

Gender: male

Date of Birth: March 25

Place of Birth: Central City, Amestris

Place of Residence: Central City, Amestris* (verse dependent)

Nationality: Amestrian

Physical Appearance:

Height: 5'8

Build: sturdy, muscular

Hair Color: black

Eye Color: black

Scars or distinguishing marks: big scar on the left side of his abdomen, less visible circular one on his right hand, assortment of smaller ones across his body

Personality Traits:

Strenghts: valiant, introspective, shrewd, charming, ambitious

Weaknesses: conceited, domineering, manipulative, unrelenting, mistrustful

Background and History:

Family Background: largely unknown, to him as well. He was orphaned as a baby and doesn't remember his parents. He was adopted by his father's younger sister and that's the only relative he's ever met. [My headcanon is he is partly Xingese and if you ever feel like writing something in relation to that, I'd be happy to!].

Parents: deceased

Siblings: none

Childhood: It was a pretty peculiar time. His aunt, Chris, who took him in after his parents' death was still very young and lead somewhat chaotic life. All the same, she was preoccupied with the notion of raising him to be a good man, and it showed in her care and the discipline she showed when it came to looking after his best interest. Keep in mind, all of that happened in a chaotic environment of a hostess bar which Chris owns and is practically part of her household. As you can imagine, that made for a perfect food for prejudice and bullying. Good manners aside, Roy didn't shy away from a fight, be it just verbal or physical.

Education: He was far from a perfect student, your gifted-by-lazy archetype all the way. Meaning? He was pretty bored, for a long time keeping ahead of his classes with ease, until all of the sudden the level of studies caught up to him and he found himself quite lost, not being used to actually studying at all. At first he tried to pretend it didn't get to him and he didn't care about his grades but eventually it became a chip on his shoulder. During that time, in high school, he became a bit of a problem, acting out, getting into fights every other day. It wasn't until he became a mentoree of a renowned alchemist and eventually narrowed down a goal, to become a state alchemist, that he was able to put his head down a little and finish his studies in relative peace, both regular and in alchemy.

Major/Area of Study: Strategic Intelligence

Favorite Subjects: History, Diplomacy and Information, International Security

Least Favorite Subjects: Logistics

Career/Profession: military/state alchemist

Current Occupation: State Alchemist

Previous Jobs: n/a

Career Goals: Becoming Führer

Hobbies and Interests:

Hobbies: chess, procrastinating, reading non-fiction

Interests: philosophy, clothes, good company wine, women and song

#✎ character: ( mustang ) #✎ mustang: ( introduction ) #more info to be added when i'm better caught up with other stuff #(if you want more info don't hesitate to ask!)

[nekrosmos]

Thank you @moondustocean for tagging me !! This was so much fun <3

Making your BG3 OCs using this picrew !

Tagging @pathcrier @a-driftamongopenstars @howdoyouwanttoblogthis and literally anyone else who wants to do it. Seriously, tag me in the post if you do it, I wanna see everyone's beautiful oc <3

Hex: He/Him | Asmodeus Tiefling | Warlock, Great Old One patron | Chaotic Neutral | Gay - Greysexual | Cis | The personification of "curiosity killed the cat" | Mischievous, here to have a good time and collect knowledge

Shay: Dark Urge | High Elf | They/He | Paladin, Oath of Vengeance | Started out as Neutral Evil, ended up True Neutral | Bisexual | Trans masc | Fought the dark urges and now wants to retire and relax | (Dark urge storyline spoilers : they were a paladin of Bhaal, broke their oath after being freed from the urges, are now an oathbreaker)

Raemiel / Raemy : He/Him | Zariel Tiefling | Pan | Cis | Wild magic Barbarian | Chaotic Good | Basically a himbo, dumb but very sweet | Will give hugs that will break your back | Grew up in the druid grove, Halsin is his father figure

That's it for now <3 Thank you again and have fun !!

#okay this was such a cool tag game #I already hate Hex and Raemiel done with this picrew LMAO #it's my fav picrew #so good #I would tag more people but I'm shy and I don't want to annoy anyone :(( #anyway if you want more infos on my ocs never hesitate to ask <3 #oc: hex #oc: shay #oc: raemiel #bg3 #tag game

[serenitywinter-twe-if]

are any of the Ros trans? :o)

Hello 🤗

It's not scripted but it's available as a choice. Just like it's available to choose the RO's pronouns and genre in game.

There will be scripted side characters which are trans (either transgender or transexual).

Non binary characters are available as well. 🙃

Kisses~

#this is my first ask either omg #and my first anon #hello ! 🙌 #don't hesitate if you want more info ! #thanks for the ask! #answered asks #the ward's eyes

[carnation-stimboards]

Hi! Can you explain some of the terms in your DNI? Like radfems and swerfs, and stuff like that? I’m sorry I’m super uneducated 💔

(TW transphobia, misogyny, misandry, TERFs mention, etc etc!)

Radfems are radical feminists ; the terms includes both TERFs (trans exclusionist radfems) and TIRFs (trans inclusionist radfems). To make it short, radfems are the kind of "feminists" who think that all women are pure innocent little creatures who are oppressed by the simple existence of men. They are extreme gender essentialists (sexists) towards everyone and often think that all men are monsters by nature. Needless to say, they don't respect other people boundaries and I quite often find some in my notes.

SWERFs = sex workers exclusionist radfem

#don't hesitate to ask or send a DM if you want more info! #/notstim #tw drama

[4ngel-inc]

all the info about fukuzawa's big dick you didn't know you needed ۪ ✦ ۫ 𑄼ల۫  ۪

fukuzawa is an extremely talented martial artist—some may say, the best in the world. however, he has a few other hidden talents not many know about.

fukuzawa's cock is thick and long, and the first time you reach down to stroke him through his pants has you gasping into his mouth, pulling away momentarily to glance down at what's resting in your palm, "oh- f- wow, ok." he smirks at that, "something wrong, dear?" "mmf-" your words are muffled against his lips, "gonna have to go slow, at first, k?"

the first time he slides in you he stretches you open so good—it's burning and searing and so delicious as you gush around him the moment the tip slips in, rubbing against all of the sensitive little nerves at your entrance. it takes a while to get things going, but it isn't too long before he's fully sheathed, fucking you slowly but powerfully as your eyes roll back.

his cock hits all of those spots deep inside few others have been able to reach—but what's more, his dick hits spots inside you didn't even know existed. he makes you cum so hard you think you may pass out the first time, your moans and whimpers leaving little time for you to pull any air into your lungs as your vision grows fuzzy in the corners.

after a few weeks together, you still wonder if he even knows how big he is—how he's making you feel. he's never said anything about it, but fukuzawa has never been one to brag about anything.

fukuzawa is always gentle, but he makes you cum so hard you're starting to think you might be annoying him a bit—your moans and whimpers and the way you beg for it each time have you thinking maybe it's all just a little too filthy for his tastes.

he's more reserved than you, and he doesn't say much the first time you ask him to bend you over and fuck you from behind. he simply replies, "oh course, my sweet." he palms one of your ass cheeks, gripping it in his hand as he slides in and out of you—never slapping your ass, but simply caressing you gently. he starts off slow but it isn't long before you're begging him to fuck you harder—it's always like this. "nghh- 'm sorry, yukichi, need you to fuck me deeper- wanna take it all. oh fuck- yes, yes, yes, don't stop." you're crying into the pillow as he presses deeper inside you.

he moves faster, one leg on the floor to stabilize himself as the other is craned next to your thigh, grabbing your ass with both hands as he pulls your body into his harshly, "like this, love?" his voice is strained but it's a bit more monotone than you expect.

as you gush around him, being pulled closer to your climax quickly, you glance back at him—and it doesn't really look like he's enjoying it all that much. you feel bad for being so cock hungry—worried maybe he's isn't getting off as much as you are.

you sigh, stopping your approaching orgasm and both of your pleasure in its tracks, letting his cock slip out of you with a wince as you turn to face him, resting your head on the pillow as he hovers over you.

he looks confused, and a little disappointed, "something wrong, dear? isn't that how you wanted it?"

"am i too much for you?" you don't even hesitate to ask—you've been wondering for a while. "i know i cum a lot- probably too much, your dick is just so good, 've never felt anything like it. 'm sorry if you don't find this as enjoyable as i do, i just. . ."

"no, no- please don't think that. the position isn't my favorite, but i'm pleased to make you orgasm so powerfully." he leans down to stroke your cheek, "i only like to look at your face as i climax, i can't see your beautiful face as you cum for me when we're like this."

"ah-" your heart swells a bit at that as you spread your legs for him. "like this?" he smiles gently as he hovers over your body, sliding his cock back in with ease after fucking you so harshly only moments ago, pulling a gasp from your lips.

"hmm- yes, this is my favorite. but i'll gladly try anything to make you feel good. i've never been with someone who cums so much—trust me, dear, i'm always impressed at how well you take me."

#— love notes: [fukuzawa] ୧ ‧₊ #this plagues my mind night and day :'x #he's so pretty i'm sighing dreamily hmmm #bsd x reader #fukuzawa x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd smut

[fluentmoviequoter]

Yell at Me and Tell Me You Love Me

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: You distance yourself from Tim because you think he is still in love with Isabel. When he confronts you about why you've been avoiding him, you accidentally tell him the truth.

Warnings: angst to fluff, argument, friends to lovers, the timeline of Tim and Isabel's relationship is probably off but I needed to make everything fit

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

A/N: The first title I typed was "Yell at Me, Tell Me You Love Me, But Don't Push Me Away" and I'd just like to say (a very sarcastic) you're welcome for shortening it. (Unless you like the original, then I'm sorry.)

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

You met Tim Bradford less than a week after he left the Army and quickly became one of his closest friends. Despite the secret kisses shared without thought, holding each other tightly for no reason, and falling asleep in each other’s arms, you continue to be just friends��with Tim Bradford. Being part of his life for so long means you’ve seen more than most. You were at Tim and Isabel’s wedding, gave him a place to stay after the divorce, and you fell in love with him without even trying.

Since his divorce from Isabel, you’ve shared a few more thoughtless kisses, said “I love you” before ending phone calls, and slept in the same bed simply for comfort on more than one occasion. You know you need to stop, however, because Tim is still attached to Isabel, as far as you can tell. She calls occasionally, and he rushes to answer the phone, leaving you like an afterthought as the woman he truly loves becomes available again. You’re unwilling to be a rebound or a distraction while Tim works on his relationship with Isabel, but you can’t decide how to set a boundary you don’t want.

It's nearly midnight, and you can’t sleep with thoughts of Tim running through your head. As you consider the idea of simply giving him space, letting him know that you both have things you need to deal with before you can be his friend again, your phone rings. Tim’s name and face light up your dark room and life before you answer.

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hi. I- did I wake you up?” Tim asks.

“No, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither. Are you okay?”

When Tim asks that question, you realize that the only thing you want from or for Tim is for him to be happy. Alone, in the dark, you acknowledge that the only way for him to be happy is if you are willing to move out of the way of what he really wants. If you step away and give him room to work out his feelings toward Isabel, maybe he can find what he wants and focus entirely on that.

Tim says your name, and you rush to say, “Yeah, I’m fine, just- just thinking.”

“You want me to come over?” he offers.

“No,” you answer quickly – too quickly. “It’s late, and I’m really fine. Are you?”

Tim sighs before answering, “I guess. Isabel called today to tell me she’s going back to rehab. She wants me to come by once a week, act as part of her support plan.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I enabled Isabel for so many years that I don’t know.”

“You’ll do the right thing, Tim. You always do.”

A memory of last week, when Tim kissed you during a walk on the beach, flashes through your mind. Was that the right thing?

“Or you have too much faith in me,” he argues.

“I think I have just the right amount of faith in you.”

“It’s your turn to pick dinner on Friday.”

You see an opening to pull back and tighten your grip on your phone as you ask, “Actually, can we skip this week? I’m swamped and don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. I’d hate to leave you waiting.”

Tim hesitates before agreeing, “Sure. Just let me know when you’re free. We can do whatever you want.”

“I will,” you reply softly. “I’m getting tired now, though, so goodnight, Tim. And good luck with Isabel and your decision.”

“Yeah, thanks. Goodnight.”

You bite your tongue to keep from saying I love you one last time, and as you set your phone down, actively pulling away from your best friend, you want to call him back and ask if you ever had a chance. Instead, you press your face into your pillow and force yourself to think about other things as you fall asleep.

✯✯✯✯✯

You sit in bed and stare at your phone as your finger hovers over the star beside Tim’s contact. When you remove him from your favorites list, everything will begin to feel real. Just as you lower your finger, your phone buzzes with a text from Tim. Three simple words make your heart pound as you read them.

Call me, please.

You want more information before you decide to call him or not. Distancing yourself will be hard enough without Tim vying for your attention the entire time you pull away. Clicking the star so it disappears, you make the first step in separating your life from Tim Bradford’s.

“Please be the right choice,” you whisper, staring at his contact photo. “I just want you to be happy. Happier than I could make you.”

An hour later, your phone rings, and you send Tim to voicemail. If it is an emergency, he’ll leave a voicemail. With each unanswered call and text, the time between them lengthens. Maybe Tim has already realized you weren’t as important to him as you both seemed to think.

By the end of the first day not talking to Tim, you want to scream and cry simultaneously. It’s hard to lose a friend, but harder to lose the one person you love. Reminding yourself constantly that you’re doing it for Tim and his happiness, you don’t give yourself time to think about how much your decision and the distance are hurting you. You knew Tim would hurt for a while before finding his way back to Isabel, but you weren’t expecting to feel like a piece of your heart had been ripped out. That’s what you get for giving it to Tim without telling him, you suppose.

✯✯✯✯✯

After a sleepless night of tossing and turning, someone knocks on your door as the sun rises over Los Angeles. You roll out of bed and pull a sweatshirt over your head before looking through the peephole. Tim stands on the other side of the door and speaks before you can think about pretending to be gone.

“I know you’re here,” Tim calls. “I don’t have a lot of time, just wanted to check on you before work.”

After you open the door, you look out at him and give him a closed-lip smile. He looks at you like he can see straight through you, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could.

“We made a huge arrest last night and a couple of us are going out tonight to celebrate,” he says instead. “Do you want to come out with us?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for the offer. I’ve got a lot going on right now, and-“

“Like what?”

You tilt your head to the side, wondering what he means.

“What’s got you so busy that you can’t even text me back?”

“I- I don’t want to talk about it right now, Tim,” you say, opting to deflect rather than lie. “But congratulations on the arrest and have fun tonight.”

Tim’s jaw tightens as he nods. You watch as he walks away, wishing you could run after him. As you close your door, you decide that slowly pulling back will not work; if you want to give Tim room to find his way back to Isabel, you must leave him.

Pushing your fist against the closed door, you take a deep breath before walking through your place and gathering everything that reminds you of Tim. After placing it in a box, you shove it into your closet. Next, you turn off the notifications in your phone, so you won’t be tempted to answer when he calls or texts. The hurt of losing Tim worsens with each action as you pull yourself further away from him.

“Please be happy,” you beg as you close the door on your box of memories.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re grumpier than usual,” Nolan notices. “I mean- sorry,” he adds quickly.

“Timothy,” Angela calls. “A word?”

“No,” Tim replies.

“Bradford, now.”

Tim rolls his eyes as he stands and walks to her desk. She gestures for him to sit, and while he should feel like a kid in the principal’s office, he feels more like a man being told his wife is divorcing him and having to maintain a brave face even as his heart shatters in his chest.

“What do you want, Lopez?” he asks. “No small talk.”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying with you, Timothy. I want to know what’s up with you and why you’re taking it out on everyone here.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You’re making it our business by pushing your frustration, or whatever it is you’re dealing with, off onto us. Is it Isabel? I heard she’s back in rehab.”

“No,” Tim answers, scoffing as he leans back. “It’s not Isabel.”

“Is there any chance that part of you still cares about her, and even if you’re lying to me and yourself about it, Isabel still affects you?” Angela asks.

“No, Lopez. I can guarantee that this has nothing to do with Isabel. She asked me to visit her as part of her support plan and I told her I would think about it, but the ‘source of my frustration’ hasn’t even let me do that.”

“Timothy, just tell me what’s bothering you and maybe I can help,” she offers quietly.

Tim stands as he replies, “You can’t. The only one who can help me with this is avoiding me.”

Angela’s brows furrow as she wonders who he could be referring to. Tim is adamant this isn’t about Isabel, but Angela can’t think of anyone else with this level of pull over him.

“Let me know if you change your mind and want to talk, Tim.”

“Will do,” he answers, though he and Angela know it’s a lie.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Isabel!” Tim calls, jogging to catch up to her. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies, hugging him quickly. “I thought you were going to call my sponsor with your decision.”

“I was, and I did. But I also wanted to let you know, in person, that I can’t be part of your support plan. At least, not right now, not after everything I did over the last few years.”

Isabel nods as she guesses, “You feel partially responsible and don’t want to risk letting me fall back into my old ways. I get it, Tim, but thanks for considering it.”

Tim nods, and Isabel can tell something is bothering him.

“You want to stay? Talk for a bit?” she asks.

“I can’t. I’ve got a work thing,” he replies. “Thank you, though, and good luck with everything. I’ll be back by when I have some time.”

“Tim,” Isabel interjects, wrapping her hand around his forearm. “I recognize that look. I only saw it once, and it didn’t turn out well for me. Whatever it is you want to say to whoever it is, just say it.”

“I don’t know how,” Tim admits.

“My take: if she’s important enough to affect you like this, you’ll find a way to let her know what you’re feeling.”

“What if she doesn’t care, Isabel?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Tim, but I can tell you that waiting too long doesn’t make things any easier… I have to go, I’ve got a group meeting, but, Tim, what’s worth the risk: saying something or keeping it quiet until it’s too late?”

Tim nods before he waves as Isabel turns toward another building. Tim texts Nolan that won't be at the celebratory gathering while he walks to his truck. He knows where he needs to go but doesn’t know how to deal with everything once he gets there. Hopefully, seeing you will give him the right words to say.

✯✯✯✯✯

You broke your heart trying to let Tim be happy and keep yourself from getting hurt in the fallout of losing him. Your house seems bare, every picture and memory of Tim tucked away in a failed attempt to keep your mind off him. A knock draws you out of your miserable reverie. Whoever it is knocks again when you leave it unanswered, the sound harsher and louder than the first time. 

“Coming!” you call.

You open the door without thinking and are surprised to see Tim standing on the other side.

“Can I come in?” he asks in response to your stunned silence.

Say no, your mind says, but your heart makes you step back and invite him inside again. Pushing him away the second time will be much worse, but you can’t seem to stay away from Tim.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Tim says.

He leans against your kitchen counter with his arms crossed, waiting for an explanation you don’t want to give. The whole point of making room for him and Isabel to reconcile (like he wants) was for Tim to figure it out himself.

“Ready for what?” you ask defensively.

Tim shakes his head and scoffs as he tightens his arms over his chest. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? After everything we’ve been through together, you really expect to avoid me without an explanation or question?”

“Everything we’ve been through?” you repeat incredulously. “We’re friends, Tim. Friends stop hanging out when one of them gets busy.”

“Oh, now we’re friends? Were we friends when you crawled into my bed three weeks ago, or when we were making out on the beach? Because that didn’t feel very friendly,” he snaps.

“No, we weren’t friends; I was just a woman who made a mistake,” you reply.

“Am I your friend or am I a mistake?” Tim demands. “Because you can’t seem to keep your story straight. It’s a simple question: why are you avoiding me?”

“If I’m such a bad friend, why does it matter, Tim?”

Tim pushes off the counter, stepping toward you. His jaw clenches, and his biceps flex as he raises his arms in question. You would kiss him any other time, but right now, you’re angry that he can’t just trust you are busy. Granted, it is a lie, but you don’t appreciate the accusation, which is likely your emotions talking.

“I’m not answering your question unless you answer mine,” he says.

“Then I guess we’re not going anywhere.”

Tim looks up at the ceiling before asking, “Why?”

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you all night. If you think I’m a liar, just say it, Tim!”

“Well, you are the one keeping secrets.”

“So, what, you think I’m avoiding you? Then get out and let me!” you demand.

“And go where? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not surrounded by friends, and I thought you were one of the few I had, but I can see now that I made a mistake.”

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry that your precious, perfect little world decided to turn you into this,” Tim seethes, looking into your eyes as he steps toward the door.

You move with him, chest to chest, as you yell, “And I’m sorry that you couldn’t figure out I love you enough to let you go back to Isabel!”

Tim falls silent, and your chest heaves with anger. You realize what you admitted, drop your gaze to Tim’s chest, and lick your lips before lowering your voice to speak again.

“Maybe I was stupid for chasing after you when I knew you weren’t interested, that your heart would always be with someone else. I thought that someday you’d realize that everything I’ve done over the last few years has been for you; I’ve been chasing you just to find out that I never had a chance.”

“I don’t want to go back to Isabel,” Tim says after a moment of tense silence. “I went to see her today to tell her that I couldn’t be there for her anymore. If I’ve been acting different, chasing after someone, it’s because I’m falling for you.”

“You don’t fall,” you argue quietly.

“You deserve better,” Tim adds. “I don’t remember what it’s like to share my life with someone who cares about me and wants the same thing.”

You nod and try to step back, but Tim moves with you. The couch is right behind you, and you have nowhere to go, so you look into Tim’s eyes.

“I am not in love with Isabel,” Tim repeats. “You really started avoiding me because you thought I was?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“You could have asked instead of forcing me to start a yelling match for answers,” Tim replies, his lips quirking up into a small smile.

“I want you to be happy, Tim,” you explain. “And I thought that couldn’t happen if I was in the way.”

“You’re not in the way. You’re exactly where I want you.”

“Where is that?” you ask, leaning toward Tim.

“Right in the middle of my life.”

You raise your arms over Tim’s shoulders, smiling as his hands meet your waist. Tim pushes you against the back of the couch as he kisses you. He moves a hand up to cradle your head as you move with him. This kiss differs from the others; there is a need for more, an apology, and love coursing through you and Tim. Tim pulls back, and you pant for air as he places his hands on either side of your hips and leans forward.

“Just talk to me next time, would you?” he requests.

“And miss out on this? No way,” you argue.

“Don’t seem so excited about getting to yell at me for so long.”

 “You’ve never kissed me like that before,” you say before you distract Tim by moving your hands to his chest.

“You’ve never told me you love me before today.”

“Sorry I had to avoid you for a while to confess it.”

“Maybe we can do it again soon, without the insults before.”

“I don’t know,” you muse. “Insults and yelling are kind of your thing.”

Tim cuts you off, kissing you again and tipping you over the back of the couch. You laugh as he catches himself and hovers over you.

“I love you too, even though you were too blind to see I felt the same,” Tim whispers.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford angst #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader #hanna writes✯

[kaladinkholins]

While theorising about the events to come in future seasons, I just keep going back to the question about who Mizu's parents really are.

So to try to figure it out, let's go over what we already know about Mizu's parentage and the white men. This info is from the flashback of Mizu as a baby in Episode 3, from the bounty hunters who came to kill Mizu in Episode 5, and from Fowler's reveals in Episode 8, assuming that everything he said is the truth.

Mizu must be someone important, as Fowler calls her Little Miss. It is capitalised in the Netflix official subtitles. This implies that Little Miss is something like a title, rather than just a nickname.

There is a bounty on Mizu's head with a sum few can resist. Whoever is trying to kill Mizu is rich and powerful.

Two men are sent to kill Mizu as a baby. They are Japanese. We know this because their swords are both katanas, and they're shocked when they see Mizu's blue eyes, discovering she's a "half-breed." Man #2 also calls her a "devil child" at the end of the flashback.

Man #2 is hesitant to kill her, as she's "only an infant," and ends up killing Man #1 to stop him from killing Mizu. Man #2 then gives Mizu to Mama, who is actually her maid.

Mama is paid to keep Mizu hidden. Mama does as told for years. We can infer that there was a steady stream of income going towards her, as she did as told until "the money ran out."

Skeffington and Routeley were the "worst" of the four white men, making their money from "selling Japan's unwanted daughters." Unwanted daughters like Mizu.

One of the white men "tried to burn Mizu alive as a baby."

One of the white men killed Mizu's mother ("Don't you want to know which one killed your mother?").

When bounty hunters came to the ranch to ambush Mizu, she asked them which white man they worked for. They only replied that the only white person they see is her. This could just be a way to avoid her question, or it could also imply that they do not work for a white man at all.

So from this, again assuming this is all true, let's go over some things:

The white men are NOT the ones who paid Mama to protect Mizu, as one of them had been responsible for trying to burn Mizu alive as a baby.

Mizu's mother was killed by one of the white men. She likely died protecting Mizu.

If it was the white father who tried to kill Mizu and her mother, then it's likely the mother's side who paid Mama to hide Mizu.

Mizu's mother must have been rich enough to afford servants.

Mizu's mother must have been someone powerful enough to have been in the shogun's inner circle, allowing contact between her and the white men.

Furthermore:

Mizu's mother should be someone tied to existing characters, to make the reveal of her identity more narratively significant.

So with all that said, let me dip my toes into wild theory-land for a bit and propose a new idea.

WHAT IF: Mizu's mother was a concubine or even the previous wife of the Shogun? And, considering how people have pointed out how similar Lady Itoh and Mizu look (credits to @roninzuzu in particular for her post on this), what if, maybe just maybe, Mizu's mother was also Lady Itoh's sister?

If this is true, then Mizu's connection to the shogunate would explain why and how Fowler knew so much about Mizu's past, especially regarding her maid taking care of her, etc. This is because Fowler is allied with the Shogun himself, as well as one of the shogun's closest advisors, Master Chiba. So if it were true that the previous wife/consort of the shogun gave birth to a blue-eyed baby, it would've been a big scandal that was certain to reach Master Chiba's ears, and he would have in turn informed Fowler about it.

If this is the case, both the shogun and the white man would be trying to kill Mizu and her mother. The shogun would be trying to cover up the scandal, while the white man would be furious that she wanted to keep the baby at all, as the scandal likely ruined his business dealings in Japan and forced him to retreat back to London or wherever else he came from.

But then, if that is the case, then who would have been the one paying Mizu's maid to take care of her? I think it's Lady Itoh. If she and Mizu's mother had indeed been sisters, perhaps Lady Itoh went behind the shogun's back to protect her sister and her baby niece. Because maybe Lady Itoh knew that Mizu's mother had wanted to protect her no matter what happened. In such a case, what kept Mizu alive would thus have been love. Her mother's love. In this scenario, Mizu would have been brought into the world through the sheer strength of her mother's unconditional love. This would be a very poignant message that overturns everything Mizu believes about herself.

Moreover, Mizu having connections to the shogunate would inevitably lead to her wanting to discover the truth about her mother's identity. This would thus bring Mizu back to Edo palace, and would neatly tie Mizu and Akemi's storylines together again, letting them cross paths once more and work together to face the main plot-conflict.

TL;DR it's my crazy theory that Mizu's dead mom was the sister of Lady Itoh and the previous consort of Shogun Itoh. She had an affair with one of the white men, and against her better judgement and against what everyone else wants from her, she decided to keep Mizu. By making this decision, she risked and sacrificed everything for Mizu, out of love.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai theory #I JUST WANT MIZU TO BE LOVED!!! #also i feel in my bones that the show is gonna be about motherhood #which would add up considering all the themes about otherness and heritage and identity and aaaaaaa #shut up haydar #fandom.rtf #cross posted on reddit

[perfectly-imperfect82]

Is that a kid? -Arsenal x reader

Leah and Katie were leaving the looker room when a sight caught there eyes and stopped them in there trackers. A little girl was crying and screaming in a security guards arms, desperately fighting to get down.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Katie demanded as she ran over with Leah right beside her

"She's a lost kid, we are trying to get her to the police station" the taller security guard said

"She looks terrified" Leah stated

"Put her down now" Katie demanded as they looked hesitant

"She's going to run off again. We are just trying to get this over with fast" the shorter one said still holding on to you as you continued to fight in his arms. Both women continued to stare him down

"Okay" he said gently placing you on the ground and just like he said, you took off as fast as your little legs could carry you. Leah and Katie followed you at a slightly distance in hopes of not freighting you more. They ended up following you into the media room where you ran under a table

"Hey sweetheart, what's your name?" Katie asked kneeling down next to the table as you just looked at her with tearful eyes

"I'm Katie and this is Leah" Katie said pointing at Leah who waved. Both sharing a look when you didn't come out

"Do you know where your mommy and daddy are?" Leah asked hopeful but you just continue to look between them

"We may be here a hot minute" Leah said taking a seat on the floor and Katie following suit

"What are you guys doing in here?" Caitlin asked as she and Kyra entered into the room

"Is that a kid?" Kyra asked loudly walking up with Caitlin who looked confused, you whimpering and sliding further back under the table. Caitlin gently grabbing Kyra to stop her. "Why don't you go find some juice and snack for her?" Kyra nodded before heading off

"Who's the kid?" Caitlin asked taking a seat on the floor next to Leah and Katie

"Don't know, security found her" Leah said, both women watching as Katie continued to try and coax you out from under the table

"Kyra sent us with a juice box and crackers " Beth said as she and Viv showed up, "steph is taking Kyra home" Viv said causing Caitlin to nod at the info

"There really is a little girl here" Viv said shocked as Beth handed the food to Katie

"Want some?" Katie asked holding the juice box and cracker out to you. The girls smiling softly when they watched you wipe your tears before nodding and coming out from under the table but still keeping a distance

Katie opened the crackers and held them out to you, which you took happily

"These are my favorite, you know" Katie said and smiled fondly as she watched you hold out a cracker to her "thank you darling" taking it and watching as you continued to happily munch on the rest of the crackers

"Here" Katie said slowly moving over next to you to hand you the juice box, which you took as you looked at the other people in the room with curiosity

"That's Caitlin" Katie said causing Caitlin to give a small wave which you shyly returned "and Viv and Beth" Katie said pointing to the other two women who both said hi

"They are my friends" Katie said causing you to nod as you let out a yawn and rubbed your eyes

"Tired?" Katie asked and getting a nod in reply

"Here" Caitlin said hanging her sweatshirt over to Katie to put on you, seeing as you were only in a short sleeve and jeans in winter

"All warm and cozy now?" Katie once she got the jack on you, you only nodding before holding your hands up to her

"You want me to pick you up?" Katie asked making sure she understood what you wanted. Once you nodded, Katie quickly picked you and gently placing you on her hip. All the girls smiling softly as you wrapped your arms around her neck and rested you head on her shoulder

"She asleep?" Katie whispered and Caitlin nodded

"Poor thing must be exhausted" Beth said

"She can't be more then 3" Viv said taking a closer look at you

"Let's get her to the police station to figure who she is" Leah said "I'll drive. I'll go get my car and pull it around front"

"Keep us updated on the cutie" Beth said as her Viv left

Caitlin watched with a fond smile as Katie gently rubbed you back to keep you a sleep

"If she is an orphan, we are taking her home aren't we?" Caitlin asked with a smile as Katie nodded before placing a chaste kiss to her lip

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal x reader #arsenal imagine #woso

[silverwhittlingknife]

The Bats Are Fighting (Distaff Edition)

some conflicts I enjoy:

Babs is pretty hostile/judgy toward Helena at first & is bitterly upset and hurt when Helena starts wearing a Bat costume - apparently a Batgirl costume - without asking her. Later on, Bruce chases Helena out of the costume, and Babs gives Cass the Batgirl costume with her explicit blessing. Helena and Cass never have a rivalry over this exactly, but I don't think they ever really get along, either

Babs and Helena eventually make up when Babs lets Helena join the Birds of Prey but it's rocky in the beginning - Babs dislikes Helena's methods and doesn't entirely trust her; Helena resents being kept on the outside

Steph is super-impressed by Cass and tries to get her to like her and they eventually get close, but Cass has a pretty low opinion of Steph-as-a-vigilante and doesn't hesitate to boss her around or knock her out, and she's super-hurt by Steph lying to her about what's going on during War Games (probably not unrelated: Cass is the only Bat to blame Steph instead of Bruce after Steph dies)

Babs and Cass get very close but also have tensions because Babs wants Cass to have the 'normal' life that Babs thinks she should've tried harder to have when she was younger, and Cass isn't entirely comfortable with this pressure, plus - this one I think is a bit more well-known - Babs spends a lot of time tutoring Cass and looking after her (awww), BUT ALSO in a tense moment she gets really nasty and harsh about Cass's reluctance to learn to read and calls her "stupid"

Dinah finds Steph REALLY annoying and wants her to stop tagging around after her... until she finds out about Steph's miserable home life, and then she appears like an avenging angel and kicks Steph's dad and his cronies out of the house

Babs decides to work with a guy who tortured Dinah because she thinks he's capable of redemption and Dinah is NOT HAPPY about it

Just generally, Steph and Helena are very much outsiders who don't get brought into the "core" Batfam and who aren't trusted with info like Bruce's secret identity. By contrast, Babs is an insider almost from Day 1 - she may have conflicts with Bruce, but she's also got his absolute trust - and Dinah is as insider as it gets, with a mom who was also Black Canary and a stint on the JLA

other general characterization notes that cause Conflict (TM):

Babs is pretty much a classic Bat - she's got a ton of control issues and she's an instinctively secretive workaholic

Helena is an adult who will kill people if she damn well feels it's necessary and she doesn't appreciate being lectured about it

Steph is a defensive teenage outsider with a bucketload of family problems - deadbeat evil dad! addict mom! - and when she's upset she's got a reckless self-destructive streak

Cass is very much like Bruce in that 1) she is wildly super mega good at fighting, 2) she's an instinctive loner who's comically bad at people AND YET she can nevertheless effortlessly manage to head off to a foreign country for a weekend and have a passionately-felt mutual love affair with some random criminal or something, and then that person dies & she goes home like nothing happened, 3) she cares about other people but completely sucks at communication & when in doubt will just go silent & take off or refuse to have conversations, 4) because she hates talking sometimes she'll just knock you out or hit you so that she won't have to do it, 5) she will spend an entire year planning to have a fight to the death with someone for Reasons and tell no one about it because why would she tell someone

anyway they're all terrible <3

#I found this in my drafts & I was originally gonna do all the Bats I think #but I feel like the boys' conflicts are better known & also I'm lazy fdsfdsfs so here are a bunch of my favorite interpersonal conflicts #anyway some people think that female characters should support each other & have solidarity but they are wrong #i mean don't get me wrong i allow for SOME solidarity but you should also be snide sometimes!! rep for bitchy people <3 #helena bertinelli #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #barbara gordon

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 19

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 18, Part 20

Warning! This chapter has child abuse, neglect, racism/classism and other sensitive topics! This is a imposter sagau so expect these things frequently. Attention! This chapter is extra long as it deals with Y/N's past and present. But I don't want to force a backstory that you guys might not want. Therefore you can read and choose what part of the backstory you want to be 'canon' for your Y/N. Whether be all, parts or none of it. It's your choice.

Your earliest memory was of a hospital. A vase of dying daisies, a child-sized bedding and a window slightly cracked to let in the night breeze were the only things you remember from that day.

A nurse gently knocked before walking in without looking up from the papers in his hands. 

"How are you feeling today Y/N? I hope you aren't suffering from nightma-Oh! You're awake!"

The brief exclamation from the startled nurse pieced you in that you weren't supposed to be awake. Or maybe, you haven't been awake for a long time?

Dry cracked lips wheeze out your small plea. "W-Water…" Coming back to himself, the nurse adhered to your request and brought the cup to your lips.

It was a cool relief to your aching throat and the first thing you asked him was.

"Who's Y/N?"

That cup of water and clinically clean blanket was the comfort you had during the next flurry of events.

That day, laying in a bed on the pediatric floor of a hospital, you learned that your parents were dead.

An accident that would have presumably traumatized you had little to no effect on your psyche. When the doctor asked you what happened you didn't have an answer.

You didn't have an answer for most of their questions either. After a series of fruitless questions the doctor and psychiatrist called in, settled on the diagnosis 'Retrograde Amnesia'.

Being stuck in a medically induced coma, you had to relearn how to walk along with other basic info. The photo of your parents, friends and house went ignored on your bedside. Why should you care about people and places you didn't remember? It's not like you were going to go back.

Most of the hospital staff gossiped in poorly concealed whispers as your nurse, Malcohm, walked with you around the floor. It was all the same thing.

"That child's poor parents, to not even be remembered by the one thing left behind."

It didn't bother you much but Malcohm always shooed them away with a scowl. He was kind to you, from helping you remember your name, to remembering what your parents' names were. 

It's not like you didn't remember that you had a name or that you had parents. But all the memories you had of them were gone. All your past experiences were gone too. 

The doctors were relieved to see that your memory loss was only applied to everything before the accident and not after it too. A date to be discharged was decided and a stoic man came to greet you. 

There was no warmth or care in his voice as he introduced himself as Mr. Castio. Not a drop of sympathy as he explained that you would be attending your parent's funeral. That your relatives would be there too, to discuss who would be willing to take you in. All you could do was stare at the newly replaced daisies and nod silently. 

If there was one thing you had relearned during your time at the hospital, it was that adults were to be obeyed. With a sad goodbye to Malcolm, you trailed behind Mr. Castio into the shiny black car.

You sat in the first row dressed in traditional and simple black clothing. Multiple people came up to you apologizing for your 'loss'. With a soft nod, you thanked them and they left satisfied. Mr. Castio had already advised you to not bother explaining the situation.

All your relatives spoke fondly of your parents until it came time to name anything they liked about your parents. The whole room went silent before little hesitant whispers floated around the room.

Seems you weren't the only one that couldn't remember.

The silence only got more unbearable once the topic of who you would be going with came up. Older adults volunteering younger family members while they vehemently denied the position. 

It was only after one uncle asked what would happen to your parents inheritance that greedy stares bombarded you. Picking at the stray fabric of the cushion, you ignored them all.

Mr. Castio clarified that the money would be untouched until you turned eighteen. Immediately, everyone looked away. No one wanted to raise a seven year old to adulthood without any immediate compensation. 

The funeral ended with your parents being incinerated. No one took the urns. It made you wonder why none of your grandparents showed up.

By the end of the day it was your aunt who agreed to foster you. Mr. Castio brought you to your parents house to collect your belongings. 

The house was clean and in order but the slight dust showed that it hasn't had a visitor in a while. Entering your room, you noticed how plain it was. Not a single toy, drawing or other personal object in sight. 

It unnerved you enough that you packed quick enough to not stay any longer. Curiosity poked at you to find out what kind of parents you had but you were more concerned on what your aunt is like.

She had a son and a husband you haven't met during the months you lived there. Her son was rude but never gave you any personal trouble. It was more common for him to throw a tantrum over one thing or another then bother you.

It wasn't an ideal life, but you weren't miserable. You ate three meals, had a bed and had supplies for school. Everything is fine, life is fine.

That thought was repeated as you sat in school with paper being thrown at the back of your head. The teacher ignored the behavior and your aunt repeatedly told you to not cause trouble. Even as you ate a different meal then your cousin and slept in the cramped closet-like room.

It was fine.

Until it wasn't.

A broken picture frame laid on the ground between you and your cousin, the ball he was playing with rolled to the opposite side of the room. When your aunt walked in, he cried and blamed you for it, saying that he told you not to play indoors.

This wasn't your fault and you said as much, but no matter what you said she just shook her head. You laid in bed with an empty stomach as your cousin’s words echoed in your ears.

"You shouldn't have tried to snitch on me."

School got worse with your cousin instigating more bullying against you. The house got tense as your cousin put all his energy into making you miserable. Day after day your aunt looked more and more stressed.

You still couldn't understand why he kept picking on you. There were no plans of revenge or fights, you relatively stayed neutral and passive. Life wasn't fine but you would have stayed like that until you overheard a conversation.

"-yeah, I'm only getting that much money for fostering Y/N. Shitty, right?"

Inelligle sounds came from the telephone in your Aunt's hand as she stored her jewelry. 

"If only my son would stop taking it. He already fights so much with Y/N and I just punish Y/N because a parent should always take their child's side. That child should have just passed away with their parents if they wanted to cause trouble."

Silently, you left back to the closet with the makeshift bed. Staring at the ceiling, you slowly accepted the reality of your situation.

Her wishing you to be dead alongside your parents wasn't the issue. What mattered was that she didn't care about the truth. She knew it was your cousin who started every problem and punished you because you weren’t her kid. 

That night, sleep didn't reach you as you spiraled into plans of vengeance. 

There was no sadness or shock on your face when you eavesdropped on her phone call with Mr. Castio. You merely noted the date that Mr. Castio would pick you up from your Aunts. You always had a feeling she would give you up, it just took longer than expected.

She and your cousin left to go celebrate whatever made-up achievement he lied about. Leaving you, an eight year old, home alone to your devices. If you ignored the list of chores you had to clean for ‘provoking your cousin into hitting you’, of course.

The house was cleaned to perfection when your aunt returned. The door creaked as she peeked in to see you dusting off the bookshelf in the guest room. She left satisfied as you set a book back on the shelf, covering a broken lock.

That night she told you to pack everything as Mr. Castio would be coming the next day. You simply nodded and left the room as your cousin laughed. You smiled too when he began asking what would happen to the money as your Aunt shushed him furiously.

Breakfast was cold as usual the next day, the mocking jeers your cousin spouted rolled off you with no reaction. Rolling his eyes at your ‘tough act’, your cousin scoffed before opening his lips to spout whatever snarky remark he had. Until the door to your Aunt’s room slammed open. She stormed in and whispered-yelled to him while pulling his ear.

You didn't have to hear to know what was said. All you heard next was-

"I didn't take the money!"

She's too mad to shush him and yells back. "Then who did?!" 

He stutters as he glances around the room. His eyes lock onto your stoic face with a frustrated expression.

"It was Y/N, they took it, they took the money!" He points at you as faux tears bubble up, his pathetic little sniffles only earn an annoyed sigh from his mother.

"What money?" You ask, tilting your head. Wide eyed, you stare at them both innocently, confusion emitting from your being all the while.

Mouth agape, your cousin looks back to his mother as she pinches the spot between her eyebrows.  "You're grounded until I get back all the money I lost, or until you return it." 

He tries to argue more but the ring of the doorbell interrupts the argument. Mr. Castio is let in and he merely motions you to follow him. Your aunt leaves the room with more wrinkles than she came in with.

With no goodbye, you grab your bag and walk to the door. Pausing you glance back at your cousin, a wide smirk is clear on your face. His eyes widen as realization sets in but there's nothing more that can be done as you close the door. 

--------------------------------

The sun breaks dawn as a quill scratches against rough paper. The ink is used in elegant strokes as Violetgrass is grounded and packaged. Yellow-slitted eyes read it over once more before folding it and writing the recipient on the exterior. 

Pearly white scales glint with the ray of the sun as the snake is woken up gently. Sleepily, she loops around and climbs the outreach hand to hang around the owner's neck.

"It's merely daybreak, who could be needing medicine so dearly?"

"A fever could kill, you know that as well as I do, Changsheng." A smooth, melodic voice comes from the snake-eyed man as he stands from his desk and walks toward the cabinets. The letter is put into one cabinet and another is opened to obtain an opened vial of medication.

"Herbalist Gui stayed the night to take care of this particular patient so I'll give them the last of the medication so he can go home."

Glasses perched and viridian hair tied up, Baizhu walks into the back room and knocks softly. A tired looking Gui startles as a child sleeps on the bed. Her father is slumped on the bed as he sleeps soundly, his eye bags comparable to Gui's from his many nights spent worrying over his daughter.

"Go home Gui and have a proper rest. This should be the last medication she needs, her fever has lasted over the past few days but she's stable."

"Thank you Dr. Baizhu, I'll get going now. Let me just grab my belongings."

Gui stands from the small stool and ambles around the room quietly to not wake the patient. Baizhu stands at the bedside and pours the medication into an infuser.

A low fire begins to burn as the medication is properly prepared. Soon enough, Gui leaves the room as Baizhu brings the cup to the girl's lips for her to drink. It goes down smoothly and Baizhu turns to retrieve any supplements to aid her when-

"Dr. Baizhu, there's an emergency!"

Gui bangs the door open with a troubled look as the girl stirs and her father wakes up with a start. Baizhu smiles at the father as he takes long strides towards Gui.

Gui wouldn't react this strongly unless there's a real emergency. Baizhu has worked with him long enough to tell when something is out of Gui's expertise or life threatening. 

"I'll need to step out for a while to deal with this. Please keep watching Yiran, I can assure you that she's past any dangerous stages Mr. Kuan."

Kuan nods his head sleepily and stays in his seat as Baizhu walks out the room. The door closes and Baizhu follows Gui as he asks "What's the situation?"

Gui speaks as fast as he can while walking toward the pharmacy entrance. "Qiqi was missing most of the night, which isn't abnormal, but she's at the front desk crying inconsolable while carrying a person on her back. They're bleeding out heavily and I saw multiple cuts, bruises and arrows in their body."

"I'm sorry to ask this from you but please prepare the treatment room. Once you do so, I can take care of them as Qiqi runs the front. If anything, I'll close the front until the patient is stable."

Gui nods before turning back as Baizhu steps into the threshold of the front. His eyes scan the room and quickly spot Qiqi and the patient she's holding.

Qiqi stands frozen in place as she grips you on her back. Tears roll down her cheeks without stopping, a stark contrast to her blank expression. Baizhu walks closer and kneels down to her level as his eyes dart over your unconscious body.

"Qiqi, I need you to follow me while carrying them. Can you do that?"

"Dr. Bai… Dr. Bai, they need herbs. Dr. Bai, Dr. Bai…"

Qiqi stares past him as if she doesn't register his words. Baizhu recognized the name 'Dr. Bai' easily as her name for him when she was still learning to remember.

Changsheng lifts her head as she hisses in a cooing way. "Qiqi, you want to save them, correct? We have the herbs but you need to bring this patient to the treatment room."

Baizhu reaches toward the zombie child and carefully wipes away her tears. “There’s no need to worry Qiqi, just do as Changsheng says. Remember I love you most.” 

Qiqi nods but she doesn’t stop crying much to Baizhu’s surprise. Deciding to leave that for another time, he slowly walks to the treatment room passing by an exhausted Gui who sends a worried glance at you. 

“Don’t worry about it Gui, injured patients aren’t the most frequent but I have plenty of experience caring for them. Just go home and rest.” With a sigh, Gui leaves as Qiqi stands next to the clean bed. 

You’re quickly transferred to the bed and positioned to lay on your side for a proper inspection. “You should stay outside. Qiqi. I’ll let you see them when I’m done.” Not looking back, Baizhu changes his gloves before gingerly touching the bloody wounds. Bits and pieces of scrap can be felt inside the injuries under his fingers making him frown.

“There’s quite a range of injuries on them. Not counting the bruising and cuts, there are some deep stab wounds.” Changsheng comments from her perch as she stares down at the zombie.

“Their calves have been pierced too, it’s cold to the touch with elemental traces. Someone used a cryo vision on them. Their back isn’t straight and their breathing is harsh, I’m suspecting some broken bones. They must be identified soon so I can heal them.”

As he pulls his hands away, a small metal arrow tip falls out onto the floor. “That one has hydro elemental energy, different then the cryo one earlier. Two assailants means double the bleeding.”

“Baizhu! That can be dealt with afterwards, look at their head!” Changsheng’s sudden hiss pulls Baizhu’s attention to the area in question. The pillow your head is laying has begun to be stained red as a puddle forms. Blood dribbles out of your cracked lips as your breathing becomes strained.

Dendro glows at the tips of Baizhu’s fingertips as he carefully trails his fingers across the wounds. “Changsheng, they don’t have much time left. Their qi is perfectly balanced so I’ll only need to transfer some lifeforce. That head injury is the most pressing injury but I’ll spare some power to temporarily block the bleeding.”

The puncture wounds shine a soft green and the blood on your loose, shoddy bandages slow down. A pained gasp breaks free from your lips at the accident brush against your cracked spine.

Baizhu and Changsheng both peer down at your head, your matted hair knotting from the blood makes him grimace. “Their skull met with great impact but it’s not fatal.”

“Not yet, at least.”

“This mask needs to be removed for proper circulation and examination. More injuries may be hiding beneath it.” Baizhu speaks absentmindedly as he changes gloves and begins to reach toward the bloody mask on your face.

Your eyes snap open, making Baizhu freeze in surprise until you push him with enough force causing him to stumble. Changsheng hisses in retaliation as Baizhu steadies himself.

You stumble off the bed with a sway as blood rolls down your forehead. With glossy eyes and cracked lips you speak slowly. "Don't… touch it…"

Baizhu and Changsheng share a worried look at each other before focusing on you. Taking a step closer, Baizhu raises his empty hands in an act to calm you.

"Now, now, I'm just trying to help you. That mask is obstructing my care and can cause a serious problem."

"I… said… NO TOUCHING!" Your arm flails to the side, knocking over objects and causing a loud crash. 

An animalistic yell rises out of your hoarse throat while your limbs swing around in agitation. Baizhu keeps a safe distance away as he watches you.

"This enraged fool will be the cause of their own death!" Changsheng yells over the sounds of vials and glasses crashing.

Baizhu doesn't respond as he stares at you, your every movement is carefully noted under watchful yellow eyes. 

Your pupils blown wide, trembling body, and strange movements weren't lining up with a simple blood loss excuse.

A small hand tugs his pant leg as your rampage slows to an end. Baizhu looks down at the red rimmed pink eyes of the zombie child.

"What is it, Qiqi? Do you have something that can help them?"

Changsheng keeps a watchful eye on your exhausted body as your endless mumbles of refusal continue. Your bag in Qiqi's hands is handed over to Baizhu without a word.

"Is this theirs?" A single nod before she steps away to stare at you with a seemingly worried frown.

Baizhu opens the bag to find it completely empty. Not a single speck of dust or dirt can be seen in it unlike your dirty, ripped clothes. But before he closes it, he spots a tag on the inside of it.

'Property of Y/N L/N'

With that new information, he sets the bag down on a farther table and looks back to you. You stand trembling next to the bed as pieces of broken objects litter the ground. With slumped shoulders and eyes threatening to roll back, your voice cracks with every mumble.

"Don't take it off. Can't take it off.. Won't let you take it off…"

"Y/N? Is that your name?"

No reaction comes from you. He tries again. "Y/N, can you hear me? Can you understand me?"

Again nothing, not a twitch, not a flinch or even a slow in your mumbles. With a tired sigh Baizhu makes up his mind.

"Changsheng we have no other choice, I'll knock them out so be prepared to share my life force with them during the struggle."

"No."

Baizhu looks down at the snake in slight surprise, Changsheng speaks in a wary voice.

"For whatever reason, Teyvat is reaching out to me in warning. Don't take off the mask, keep it on and heal what you can."

Baizhu spares one more glance before sighing. "If that's really what you believe then we will do things your way. Perhaps Y/N's body is stuck in a fear response and may actually kill me."

Baizhu carefully steps past the shards and approaches you with a gentle smile. "Qiqi clean up the mess, lest our patient injure themselves on it. As for you Y/N, you can relax. I will not take off your mask, you are safe here."

Immediately your eyes roll back and you collapse to the ground. Baizhu was swift enough to catch you before any injury but your reaction was enough to cause him grief.

"Qiqi, as soon as you are done, manage the front for me. This will take a long while."

-----------------------

Change was something you grew used to during your childhood. You changed schools, caretakers, friends and homes long enough to know the process by heart.

Adapting was another thing you were good at. Shady houses with out of control classmates and unending fights meant that it was a dangerous place. That you had to stay low and be on edge constantly. Everything you owned had to fit in your locked bag or else you would find it missing the next morning.

It was a bit easier in the city where most were working class. Making friends would be too much trouble and fairly fruitless. You were content to stay invisible and deal with any problems outside of public view. Some students just didn't know how to describe you, some were too fearful of what they accidentally saw to say anything about you.

The most and least stressful was the rare times you ended up with a rich family. On one hand every student knew you as an orphan but at the same time, rich kids loved to feel like heroes. All you had to do was play the weak and kind student. Nearly every student flocked to be your guardian angel as you showered them with compliments.

You never lacked lies and stories to tell but you also never stayed in one spot for longer than a few months. Each time Mr. Castio got more and more fed up with you. From a stoic disappointment to a quiet rage filled with belittlement. 

It was at 12 years old that you got fostered by your third wealthy family. They already had children, a daughter your age and a son who was barely three. You already knew that you would be their designated babysitter.

After a month of living there, you began to truly enjoy it. There was no mistreatment, obvious favoritism, a nice allowance, and even your own room. Even though you held no love for them, you followed your foster parents requests with no trouble.

Cleaning, babysitting, organization, yard work, sewing and more spontaneous jobs. Not only did they give you a bonus for the work, they also let you buy stuff with it when you asked. 

You didn't need to be constantly catered to like their daughter, you were just happy to sleep without fear of getting robbed, an empty stomach or bruised skin.

After a while you began to realize just how much you depended on them. It worried you, you agonized endlessly about getting attached and abandoned. You worked harder at school, gave in to their request full of smiles and got along with their children swimmingly.

The longer you stayed and obeyed, the larger the possibility of them adopting you or at least fostering you till adulthood became. 

But, you really should have known better. You’ve gone through it so many times, yet it seemed you still didn’t learn your lesson on who you can trust. The only person who truly had your back was always going to be yourself.

A normal day, a nice lunch and a polite request to do the dishes, something you were happy to oblige in. The sponge absorbed the soap and water letting you wash the dishes with ease. The chore is second nature to you.

 Their daughter was out of the house, probably hanging out at a friend's house. Their son was with them in the dining room as their chatter reached your ears clearly.

“I’m so glad we got lucky to foster such a kind child.”

“As am I. They work hard, get along well with everyone, and help us around the house without complaint.”

Their praise was something you were still struggling to get used to. But it made you happy nonetheless. You couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that it was an exaggeration or a lie no matter how many times you chided yourself.

“That’s true, I never expected a kid with that upbringing could be so smart.”

“What child wouldn’t do well with us taking care of them? They struggled a bit at first but they seem to realize what a good deed we did with fostering one of their kind.”

The water running down your fingers felt colder, almost like ice was traveling through your veins. Was that really what they said? Did you hear them correctly? You held onto some semblance of hope that they weren’t speaking about you like that. But the longer you listened, the smaller your hopes shrunk as your doubts grew.

They spoke about you as if you were a pet. Due to what? Being an orphan? The class difference? Your race? Your gender? Or was it just you? All their past compliments and words that seemed innocent are thrust into a new light. One full of demeaning words hiding as kindness.

The dishes in your hands become like dynamite. Just one drop and it’ll set off a whole chain of events where you can tell them off. To scream insults and obscenities from feeling tricked. Yell at them exactly how you feel, how angry it made you to be spoken as if less than human. As if less than them. 

Instead, you set the clean dish onto the drying rack. A deep breath is taken and then two more. Impartial rationality is focused on as your wounded heart is shoved away.

You have a good home, you aren’t being abused. Taken advantage of? Yes, but you get paid for it. This isn’t a family, it’s a job. It’s the best foster family you’ve had by far. They were wealthy and if you played your cards right, you could graduate from this upper class school and get a good job. 

It’s a good deal. It’s the best deal someone like you will ever get. You should be grateful, you don’t need their affection, love or attention. You just need to survive long enough to support yourself. You shouldn’t ruin a good thing.

Those words play on repeat as the last dish is set on the drying rack. The sink is turned off before you grip the counter tightly. Water is drained down the sink as you tell yourself that you’re just angry. Your blurry vision is just from anger, you remind yourself over and over again.

--------------------

A strong stench of iron permeated the room as skilled hands continued to work on your body. Blood splatters stained Baizhu’s clothes, sweat on his temple as he carefully traced the wounds with Dendro glowing on the tips of his fingers. Life force was continuously given to you as Changsheng stabilized Baizhu’s weakening body.

With the most pressing injuries taken care of, Baizhu examined your bloodstained back. The broken and fractured bones there were the next in line to be treated. Grabbing a pair of scissors from the bedside, he raised them to the midline of your clothes.

“The blood is keeping the clothes stuck to their body. We don’t have time to pull the clothes off carefully.” The small mumbles left Baizhu as he concentrated on not accidentally nicking your skin. 

Once done, he set the scissors aside and pulled the remains of your clothes off. A clean wet cloth is gently used to clean the blood off as your skin becomes visible. Simultaneous gasps leave the contracted pair as the cloth is dropped.

“Those scars! Baizhu, this isn’t a mere coincidence anymore. This person is much too similar to The Creator. Those scars are exactly as described in the scriptures.” Changsheng’s frantic hissing doesn’t reach Baizhu as he stares sternly at the marks in question.

His lips part hesitantly as his eyes never leave your body. “We should leave it be….”

“And what reason may that be?” Baizhu reaches an ungloved hand to thumb the old and faded scars as chills run down his spine.

“While it may be true that they are suspiciously similar to the Creator, there is more to this situation. The most widespread theory on why their blood is gold is that their blood is supplied with pure elemental energy and oxygen unlike everyone else that simply wields elemental energy. Even inhuman beings don’t have elemental energy coursing through their veins.”

Baizhu focuses his attention back on your bones as Dendro is summoned by his vision again. Changsheng rests herself with a tense posture as she waits for Baizhu to continue.

“Y/N is bleeding red and naturally absorbs my Dendro seamlessly. Furthermore, the scars on them have a strange aura on them.” Changsheng gives a look to Baizhu silently conveying her theory.

He shakes his head in response and clarifies. “It’s not god remains, but it’s similar. If god remains are like a natural poison and plague on a body, then this aura is the cure. The best way to describe this is that they are god cores. I believe it’s connected to the reason their qi is perfectly balanced despite the situation.”

Changsheng settles down at Baizhu's words as she watches him continue to care for you. Your breathing hitches as your bones are healed and snapped back into place. A low wail is all that can leave your throat.

“So Y/N is something in the middle? Will you really care for them even if it means taking care of a potential imposter?”

A heavy silence follows the question as Baizhu’s natural smile softens. The medical supplies that were used during all these hours litter the room in a mess. His gold eyes stare down at your pale, trembling body. 

“Yes, I will. They are still a patient that was brought to me. If they truly are an imposter then the Millelith can deal with them after they’ve healed properly here.”

Baizhu cleans his hands and changes gloves once again as he examines the remaining wounds on your body. Smiling down at Changsheng, he speaks smoothly “Shall we begin the final stage of their treatment?” 

-----------------------

Middle school reaches its end and the summer before high school came. You had passed with a high grade from your many long nights spent awake. Long days spent babysitting their son while upkeeping the chores while their daughter played leisurely. 

You felt proud of yourself to pass with those grades while dealing with them. As the months went by, your foster parents felt less and less of the need to treat you the same as their children. At the end of the day, they still paid you so everything was fine.

Summer was reaching its end and you were creating a list of items you would need for the new school. Halfway through, a soft knock on your door broke your focus. Your foster parents stepped in and asked you to join them in the living room.

Swallowing down your nerves, you nodded and followed them. Were they planning on giving you up? So close to the new school year?

The moment you sat down, they dropped the metaphorical bomb. "We want you to stay back this year and go to high school next year instead."

That wasn't so bad right? You just need to wait another year to start high school. It's not like you could be thrown out at 18 with no high school diploma, left to fend for yourself after giving up a year of school for them.

It's safe to say that you reacted badly to the news. Every 'Why?' was given a half hearted answer that changed constantly, and when you put your foot down and said no, something about them shifted, as if a curtain had been lifted or a coin had been flipped.

The once kind and gentle gleam in their eyes dulled into something akin to annoyance. As if you were doused with cold water, the atmosphere became tense and you just knew that you messed up. You, who had been so careful to stay on good terms and always abide by their request, was looked upon with coldness. 

“A child like you should not be giving us this disrespectful attitude.”

“We’ve clothed you, fed you, provided everything in that room. And it’s now with this single request that you’re rejecting us this harshly?”

The lecture goes on and on. Told how grateful, how sorry, how happy you should be. Cruelty laced every word has their arrogant figures towered over you. There was no chance for you to speak up, the helplessness you felt only pushed you down further.

At the end you were sent to your room with the date of your ‘fostering’ decided. The suitcase you took out and began to neatly fill felt foreign. You truly believed that you would be staying here until your 18th birthday. With the room bare and your eyes puffy, you tried to sleep.

Thoughts of what you should have done came to you in waves. You should have just accepted it. Even if only as a facade and found some way to prevent them from alerting the school in time. You wouldn’t have lost anything, if only you weren’t so stupid.

Tears spring up and it’s wiped away harshly as more replace it. Bitten lips begin to bleed as you hold back any embarrassing sobs that crawl up your throat. It’s only as footsteps are heard outside your room that you freeze.

Eyes wide you listen to the conversation as the sadness turns to bitterness. The bitterness wraps around your heart and squeezes as you learn the truth behind the matter. Their precious daughter had failed her grade and they just couldn’t let their child be upstaged. 

Teeth grinding, you sit up from your bed and begin to dig through the stash of objects you’ve found throughout your time in this household. A plan forms in your mind that all depends on what opportunity is given to you.

Your ex-foster parents announced a dinner to be held at a fancy restaurant and dropped the responsibility of watching over their son on you. Their daughter cheers happily at the sound of her favorite restaurant being chosen as you go to your room. Curled up in the bed, you try to ignore the stabbing pain in your heart.

The door slowly opens as the house goes quiet, their son toddlers to your bed with wide worried eyes. Chubby fingers pat your cheek softly “Are you okay? You sad?” The broken sentences are cute as he stares at you sadly.

Sitting up, you pet his head and smile at him. Your eyes are a strange swirl of emotions as you reassure him of your well being. The next sentence is a familiar one, just with different intentions than all the times you’ve asked before.

“Do you wanna play a game of hide and seek?” The smile on his face is so bright that you almost feel bad for your actions. 

Mr. Castio picks you up the next day, your ex-foster family waves goodbye to you as you enter the car. Their son cries and begs his parents to stop you as they soothe him calmly. Their daughter is the first to leave as you close the car door.

“How could you fuck up such a good deal?” The harsh words are spoken easily now that privacy is ensured. Wrinkles are as clear as his scowl as he drives away and out of the neighborhood. 

“I got you to be fostered in a family like this, and you couldn’t just go along with what they asked? I never had much expectations for you, but did the amnesia take away your brain too? Actually, you were probably born this way.”

Curling your knees into your chest, you try to ignore his demeaning words. Round two of being treated like a worthless child began as you endured the long car ride. The more he spoke, the more you shook.

“-really. Making my life harder than it has to be. All because you couldn’t shut your damn trap. Is your useless pride worth more then-”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up instead?!” That was all it took for the loud argument between you both to begin. You had already tried to play nice with one set of arrogant adults, why should you deal with another?

A pained smirk crawled onto your face as you cursed Mr. Castio out who didn’t hesitate to dish it back. Whether it was being nice and submissive or being rude and blunt, both had the same outcomes.

You sincerely hoped that your ex-foster family would enjoy the gifts you left for them to find. 

The drugs you had placed in the nightstand for the strict and uptight breadwinner to find. The photographs of the breadwinners affair you printed and left for the house spouse to find in the cupboard. And finally the positive pregnancy test you set in the liquor cabinet that they never failed to open at dinner time.

By all means, their ‘perfect’ family should fall apart, it was just a shame you couldn’t see the fall out yourself… It didn’t stop the unease and slight guilt you felt for their son who had truly done nothing to you. It’s not like your actions would have too much of an effect on him right? You, you weren’t wrong.

Right?

At the lack of insults, Mr. Castio stopped his verbal abuse. Deep in thought, you stared out the window as the scenery passed by. Where you would go next was not known but it was all right. You would find a way to survive, you always did. 

You had to.

-------------------------

Calloused hands smoothened the blanket on your semi-healed body as Baizhu ignored the exhaustion setting in. The sun was high in the sky as the afternoon lull began to set in. Qiqi opened the door slowly as she peeked in, her eyes trained on your bandaged form.

“Dr. Baizhu, is it done?” Her hesitant voice was answered with a smooth smile and a calm voice. “It is, but Y/N needs their rest. You’ve been tense since you brought them in at dawn, that’s not good for you. Go to the courtyard and practice your arithmetics.”

Qiqi gives a small nod before walking away. With a sigh, Baizhu cleans up the remaining mess from the long treatment. “You’re exhausted, Baizhu. Stop acting tough and get some rest.”

Changsheng’s snotty but caring tone is clear to Baizhu as he walks out of the treatment room. “I’ll instruct Qiqi to gather some more herbs once she’s done. Before I can rest, I’ll need to check up on the counter. Gui should have arrived an hour ago.”

Opening the door, Baizhu is greeted with the sight of Gui giving a farewell to the last customer. At the sight of the doctor, Gui perks up in interest. “How is that patient? Did they make it?”

“Thankfully they did, but they’ll need to stay here a few days for the more severe injuries. I believe their name is Y/N, so address them by that name until we can ask them ourselves..”

Gui nods in response as Baizhu looks through what herbs they still had to use. Different prescriptions come to mind as he filters what information he knows of Y/N. What could trigger an allergic reaction, what medicine could have been consumed beforehand? What prescription is affordable without having too many side effects?

Those thoughts consumed his mind as Qiqi returned and he mindlessly instructed her on what herbs to gather according to the prescription of his choosing. Gui leaves deeper into the pharmacy as Baizhu finishes and stores the medical file safely.

Did you have any means to pay the treatment or follow up prescriptions? Any family to contact for visiting and support? You wouldn’t be the first patient to have no one to rely on but Baizhu still couldn’t shake off the feeling of something more going on with you. 

It was quite perplexing that he, who took great care to focus on being the best physician and on his own contract, was so drawn in by you. With a tired sigh, Baizhu pushed up his glasses as Changsheng raised her head to look behind him.

A knock on the doorframe only urged him to turn around and look at the unexpected visitor. With weary and suspicious eyes Baizhu stared straight ahead, “Is there something I can help you with?”

Lips curled into an ambiguous smile and with a polished voice, the visitor replies.  “I hope so, do you happen to have a patient wearing a mask?”

This chapter was fun to write, what writer doesn't like giving a trunk ton of trauma on their protagonist? I get 18 years to configure to my liking, what did anyone expect? But as always you don't need to consider this your Y/N's backstory. In truth I won't have you think back to these memories much as you have moved on from that past. You have for a long time. This is just the 'canonical' explanation as quite a few of you seemed to like my version of Y/N. Which makes me very happy! My editor approved of this idea, and edited it quickly enough for me to pump it out. I deal with the heavy work and don't need to do the annoying work! Also feel free to ask if anything was confusing. One last thing, after I got rid of the spam/porn bots I saw that I reached 1k followers! That's pretty amazing but I'm not sure if a special should be done or not. And if so, what should I do?

Taglist: Check Masterlist for more details but everyone is welcome to join it!

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#whisp's amateur work #sagau oracle au #genshin sagau #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #yandere sagau #yandere x reader #yandere baizhu #yandere changsheng #can I even have that? #you know what? #why not #yandere qiqi #another poll #tw abuse #tw abandonment #tw neglect #usually I don't put these in the tags buuuuuut #this goes pretty heavily into it #oracle au #genshin impact sagau #sagau #sagau cult au #genshin cult au #genshin yandere #honorable Gui mention #I really hope at least one person remembered Yiran and her dad

[thehusbandoden]

"Hold me?" -Vulnerable Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

A/n: sorry I've been so quiet! I took a little break from writing, but luckily I'm ready to write for most of the day!

General info:

Genre: fluff/reverse comfort // wc: 523

"Y/n... will you.. hold me?" A small, broken voice aroused you from your slumber.

"Mhmm, c'mere baby.." you mumble, searching around for your husband's familair, muscular arm.

Once your fingers brushed over his bare skin you gently tugged, silently telling him to come to you. Anixety and hesitation instanly melting away, he fell into your comforting embrace, face burried in your chest as he clung onto your shirt, sobs spilling from his lips.

"Shh, it's okay baby. It's okay, I'm here." You mumble, rubbing soothing circles across his back. "I'll always be here for you."

His sobs grew louder as his grip grew tighter, pulling himself against you to seek your loving comfort- to stop feeling so... useless.

"I-I-I-" He tried to piece together, uncontrolable sobs causing his voice to crack.

"Shhh I know baby, I know. I love you too." You whisper, kissing his forehead multiple times before going back to rest your head on his. "So, so much."

After a few minutes his grip became less harsh, finally relaxing into your hold- knowing that you wouldn't leave him.

It took another hour or so for his sobs to lessen, and a few more for him to fall asleep. But you stayed underneath him the entire time, supporting him both verbally and silently. Rubbing his back, kissing his forehead, telling him you loved him, kissing away his tears, telling him that you were xtherex.

Even after he fell asleep you stayed watchful, making sure that he didn't fall into anther nightmare, not minding the lack of sleep one bit. You loved this man, and there is no way that you would leave him feeling unprotected.

~~

8:29 a.m.

~~

You smiled fondly as you watched his pair of crimson eyes blink open, already searching for you the second they opened.

"G'morning baby." You smile, kissing Katsuki's lips tenderly.

"Good morning." He replied, crawling higher up your body to press his nose to your cheek before carefully flopping down onto you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Did you sleep well?" You whisper, twirling a strand of his blonde hair in your fingers.

"Mhmm.. after you held me." He whispered back, a fiery red blush creeping up his neck at his vulnerability. He shouldn't be acting so weak in front of you- he was supposed to protect you, not the other way around-

"It's okay Suki. I already know what you're thinking- but I promise you, it's okay. You deserve a break too."

"Bu-"

"No buts. Just trust me, okay?"

Nodding, Bakugo lifted himself up to kiss your lips lovingly- a silent thank you for your support.

Smiling, you kiss him back before pulling away, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Do you want me to make break-"

"You, Teddybear, are going to lay here and rest those pretty eyes of yours while I cook, understand?" Bakugo gently scolded, kissing both your eyelids, before pecking your lips and crawling out of bed.

"But you really don't have t-"

"No complaining or else!"

"Or else what?"

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[just-jordie-things]

shades of cool - zen'in naoya

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

word count: 16.5k warnings: swearing. a semi-soft naoya fic bcuz i'm a f r e a k. summary: naoya doesn't need to love you when the fate of your arranged marriage had been written when you were only kids. and of course, he'd never actually fall for you. more info: arranged marriage!au enemies (sorta) to friends (sorta) to lovers, obviously he's out of character a/n: i am so sick in the head for writing this. adding him to this even was such a... choice. don't request stuff for him i will delete the ask in shame <3 ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ but i can’t fix him, can’t make him better.  and i can’t do nothing about his strange weather.  cause you are unfixable.  i can’t break through your world.  cause you live in shades of cool.  your heart is unbreakable ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SUMMER, 1995

He’s six years old when Naoya first meets (y/l/n) (y/n).  She’s freshly six and she looks it, too.  Chubby cheeks colored pink from her obvious shyness.  She’s standing behind her father’s legs, reaching for his hand even though he’s repeatedly dodged her hold or swatted her hand away.  

Naoya’s spying on the scene in the entryway of the Zen’in estate, peeking through the second floor railing with a curious sort of glare on his face.  He’d heard whispers among the staff of a visitor from one of the more powerful clans, and while normally Naoya couldn’t care less about the many people coming in and out of the compound, when he’d heard his own name mentioned one too many times in correlation with this visitor, intrigue got the best of him.

And surely she was the reason why.  She was no older than him, dressed in a silk kimono that had to have been tailored just for her, and her hair swept back into a jeweled butterfly clip that sat at the back of her head.  Although half of her hair was falling out of it, seeing as the hand that wasn’t desperately reaching for her father’s was tugging at the uncomfortable claw secured against her scalp, trying to relieve the tension of her hair being pulled so tightly.  Naoya could almost scoff at how childish she looked.

He’s only been spying for a few minutes before his father is turning around and staring straight at him, the marble railings doing nothing to hide his crouching stature.  His stomach drops with fear, expecting to be scolded and punished for eavesdropping, even though he hadn’t heard a thing the adults were saying.  Instead, the head of the Zen’in clan beckons his son to descend the stairs and meet their visitor.

And although he wants to, he doesn’t hesitate.  He’s upright and quickly making his way down to courteously introduce himself to their guests.

“Naoya, this is the head of the (y/l/n) Clan, you remember him, yes?” Naobito gestured to the man still swatting away at his daughter’s hand, prompting Naoya to tilt forward in a respectful bow.

“Yes, sir” 

“It just so happens his daughter is your age,” Naobito continues, directing his gaze to where she stood.  

She was just a small thing, so tiny Naoya could hardly believe she was even six years old.  She was merely a pipsqueak, and her demeanor seemed so, too.  Her eyes could barely meet his, opting instead to stare at his shoes.  If his father weren’t standing there, he would’ve scoffed and walked away without so much as a second glance.

“It would be nice if you two could… get along,” Even Naobito seemed uncertain of this union.  His son’s apprehension was clear in his rigid stance and bored expression, and the young (y/l/n) didn’t seem like she could hold her own.  If that were the case, she didn’t stand a chance with his ruthless son.  “Why don’t you show her around the compound while the adults chat, hm? Be a proper host” 

Naoya looks up at his father, silently asking if this was the best use of his time.  Naobito’s expression was unmoving, and unforgiving.  There was no getting out of this, then.

“Fine” Naoya huffs, and he regrets the attitude when his father’s hand smacks up the back of his head.  He doesn’t say anything else as he nods for the girl to follow him.

Once more she reaches for her father, only to be gently pushed towards Naoya, and against her will, she follows behind him.

She’s silent as he boredly walks her through each room, pointing here and there at cursed tools he wanted to show off, or expensive art he couldn’t care less about.  A few times, Naoya even had to check over his shoulder that she was even still with him.  She was like a mouse.  If it weren’t for her buzzing cursed energy, he could forget she was there at all.

Every time he checks on her and her eyes meet his, his brows furrow.  He couldn’t explain it, since she hadn’t actually said a word to him yet, but something about her irked him.  He was certain there wasn’t a chance in hell they were going to be friends.

“What’s your deal anyways?” 

His question is abrupt, and full of cruelty.  He halts suddenly right before he’s about to show her the lame gardens that the staff tends to.  The girl merely blinks, seemingly unphased by his blatant rudeness.  At this point, he’s wondering if she’s a mute, or maybe just too stupid to—

“My deal?” She repeats, speaking for the first time.  

Her voice isn’t as timid as he would have expected.  It’s soft, but there’s an underlying boldness there, as though she were just waiting for her chance to tear into him.  It flips a switch in him to put his guard up, the prickle on his skin reminding him of his older brothers’ torment.  Perhaps she was just like them, playing the long game, stringing him along into thinking she was just another pipsqueak, when in reality she was about to pin him down and tie him up like a hog.  Or at least, that’s what his brothers would have done.

“I dunno,” She hums, shrugging her shoulders with her lame answer.  Naoya’s lip curls into an irritated snarl.  He certainly wasn’t expecting that.  “My dad said I had to come” 

That’s all the more she tells him, and young Naoya scoffs.  He’d only been around her for all of ten minutes and he was already over it.

“Whatever,” He mutters, pushing through the doors and not bothering to hold it open for her as she continues to follow him outdoors.  “Just try to keep up, pipsqueak.  Let’s get this over with” 

And that’s exactly how he feels the next few times her father brings her along on his visits to the compound.  Impatient, hurried, and most of all, irritated.  Whatever the point was for having her here was lost on Naoya.  She didn’t appear all that interested either, so why torture the both of them? 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SPRING, 1997

They’re eight when Naoya finally comes to realize why the Zen’in and (y/l/n) Clans insist on the two of them spending so much time together.  The idea makes his stomach churn and his throat fill with bile.

“You know this is all just an act, right?” 

His words are sharp, as they always are, while (y/n’s) busy picking the weeds out of the grass around them.  She insisted on gathering all the dandelions, no matter how much he criticized her for fawning over the dumb weed.  After a few years of regular drop offs, where her father would smoke cigars with Zen’in Naobito and have adult conversation, she was stuck entertaining the young Zen’in.

Naoya wasn’t the most pleasant of company, when he did speak he never had anything nice to say, and when he wasn’t talking, he had a resting scowl on his face.  Lucky for her, her patience seemed to know no bounds.  Or perhaps she’d just gotten used to his shitty attitude.

(y/n) had grown up mastering the craft of being patient.  Of smothering emotion from her face, especially ones such as disgust, or fear.  Coming from a long line of sorcerers who had mastered the Reversed Cursed Technique, she was in line to be yet another higher grade sorcerer with the (y/l/n) name.  Unfortunately, it had meant her training began young, and it was a gruesome lesson plan.  She met many sorcerers who came to her estate after unruly battles and exorcisms, covered in laceration wounds or missing appendages.  Any sign of weakness or apprehension had been taught out of her years before now.  If she was too afraid to go near an injured sorcerer, there wasn’t a chance of her learning how to heal them.  So it didn’t matter if it was a stranger or her own family crying out in agony as they tried to stop the heavy bleeding from a nasty injury, her first lesson was learning to keep a neutral face in the presence of gore.

This lesson came in handy during her visits with Naoya, as well.

“If you’re acting, you’re not all that good at it,” She replies.  Her own choice of words are witty for an eight year old, snarky, even.  But her voice is as soft as ever.  “Or, are you trying to look like an ass all the time?” 

When she looks up at him, her gap toothed smile is so large it takes up most of her face.  She knows she’d gotten him good when he’s scowling and letting out an annoyed sound from the back of his throat.  Truth be told, she didn’t have a clue as to what he was referring to, but the only way to keep herself amused during these little forced sessions was by picking dandelions and dishing his attitude back at him.

“You’ll never get a husband with that mouth,” Naoya bites back.  “No self respecting man would ever want the hand of a girl that talks back” 

She raises a brow at him, although her eyes are focused on the stems of a few yellow weeds in her hands as she diligently loops and knots them together.  Her interest is far more captivated by the dying weed than the obnoxious brat keeping her company.  Still, she pays him some attention, just for times’ sake.

“I don’t think I have to worry much about that,” She says with a small giggle, still knotting her pile of dandelions together.  Naoya’s disinterested stare is focused on her handiwork as she calmly responds.  He realizes distantly that she’s making a crown out of the damn things.  He looks away then, thinking he was far too focused on her waste of time than he should be.  “Don’t you think we’re a little young to have to think about marriage?” She asks.

Naoya sneers, his know-it-all attitude rearing it’s head as soon as it gets the chance.

“You don’t pay attention to anything, do you, pipsqueak?” He scoffs.  (y/n) fights the urge to roll her eyes as she continues on with her crown.  “You’re going to marry me” 

Naoya’s filled with a sick sense of pride for an eight year old, revealing the big secret that their father’s had yet to share.  He thinks he’s got her speechless now, and surely she’ll be shocked, maybe even cry.  Naoya thinks he’d like to see her sniffle and whine over this news.

He’d certainly gagged when he’d heard the whispered rumors among the staff for the last few days.  Anytime he’d heard their names brought up his nose would wrinkle, and he’d ball his hands into fists as he marched away from the ridiculous gossip.

But it’s silent for a few beats, and she appears as though she hasn’t even heard his announcement.  His heartless grin begins to falter as he watches her admire her little ring of dandelions, lifting it to get a good look at it in the sun.  A small smile stretches across her lips as she deems it finished, before setting it on her head.

“Were you listening?” His grin falls to a deep frown rather quickly.  

(y/n) doesn’t let even a flicker of emotion cross her face as she finally turns to look at him.  His dark eyes are wide with anticipation, and she knows he’s waiting for a dramatic reaction out of her.  She’s not sure why, she’s never really been one for the theatrics, that was always him.  Naoya was the one that wanted to march around, show off, and be relentlessly and pointlessly cruel.  She was the one who sat and bore it without a word or any reaction at all, really.  In the handful of times she’s been around him now, she had yet to understand his obnoxious personality.

“Yeah” She answers, simply, and without the notion of having anything more to say.  

Naoya’s brows furrow harshly as he glares at her.  He thinks he’ll never be able to understand this girl, much less get along with her.  If she really was set to be his wife, he’d have to find every way he could to wiggle out of it.

“It’s an arranged marriage,” He spits out matter-of-factly.  “Don’t you understand what that means?” 

(y/n) nods her head, the loose crown of dandelions slipping around her ears.

“When we’re older, we’ll get married,” She replies.  “It’s not that hard to figure out” 

“You knew?” Naoya scoffs.

This time, she shakes her head.

“No, I didn’t,” She tells him, calm as ever.  “But does it matter?

He blinks, his eyes wide and full of their usual nasty emotion, mixed with something else she’s never seen on him before.  He almost looks lost.

“Don’t tell me you actually want that?” He asks, his voice lowering to a near whisper.  

They were the only people in the gardens, always left alone to play and get to know each other, and they always sat there in mostly silence until it was time for her to go.  Still, Naoya couldn’t bring himself to speak at a volume any higher than that.  He couldn’t risk anyone possibly hearing his accusation.

To his displeasure, (y/n) shrugs.  Shrugs.  As if being arranged to marry him made no difference to her.  As if she barely had any opinion of it at all.  Sure, she might not have had a say, but she could think for herself, couldn’t she? 

“I don’t really know anyone else,” She tells him, lifting the flower crown off her head to adjust some of the loose stems.  “My parents insist on homeschooling me, so I don’t have friends.  I’d rather marry someone I know than a stranger” 

For the briefest of seconds, Naoya almost softens.  He almost feels pity for her.  He almost wishes things were different so neither one of them had to be in this position.  But just as quickly as the thought crosses his mind, he’s bristling and snarling again.

“You can barely even manifest your cursed technique,” He scoffs.  “You know that makes you weak, right?” His words are harsh, but judging from the lack of response from (y/n), he could almost believe she tuned him out completely.  “What makes you think I would want a weak pipsqueak like you as my wife?” 

Finally, she cracks, but not in the way he was hoping.  Her eyes don’t water, she doesn’t sniffle, or even frown.  She simply places the dandelion loop back on her head, and gives him a tiny, yet victorious smile.

“What makes you think you’ll have any choice in the matter?” 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That question sat with Naoya for longer than he would’ve liked.  Months pass, and each time he’s forced to see her again, his stomach is filled with the unfamiliar sensation of anxiety.  He hates it.  Hates the chill that crawls up his spine every time he has to greet her at the door and they have to go sit in the garden for hours on end.

He doesn’t enjoy talking to her, in fact, he despises it.  He hates the way every time she speaks her voice is soft, and full of whimsy.  Even as she tells him she still hasn’t mastered her Reversed Curse Technique, she sounds hopeful.  Too hopeful.  By the time they’re ten years old, she’s still struggling to get the hang of it.  

Naoya spends most of his time ignoring her, or reminding her of her weakness.  (y/n) spends most of her time picking the dandelions as she wanders the gardens, and not ignoring him nearly as much as she should.

She simply couldn’t help it.  She’d meant it when she’d told him he was the closest thing to a friend she’d had, after all.  The exception being her tutors and a few cousins that would entertain her when they visited.  But they had an obligation to be kind to her, the only daughter of the head of the (y/l/n) Clan.  Naoya, despite being her betrothed, held no obligation to her at all, and he certainly acted like it.

She had yet to figure him out, but as months turned into years, she was slowly getting a grasp on it.  He was more deeply insecure than he would ever admit, and as soon as someone stumbled upon those insecurities, they were scrutinized, blown to bits by his harsh words.

Naoya wasn’t one to give any piece of himself to anyone.  No matter how often she’d try to know him better, in order to care for him better, (y/n) made little to no progress.  She was lucky if he spent the day with his mouth shut.  She’s not sure he’s ever said a kind thing in his life, and after a few years, she’d given up completely on hoping he’d try.

Still, she didn’t put up a fight when she was brought to the Zen’in compound.  She smiled and bowed and followed the dark haired boy out to the garden where he’d sit and yank up the grass while she searched for dandelions, or maybe a ladybug.  If she were to be his wife, there would be plenty of time to get to know him later.  Maybe as he grew older he’d soften around the edges, and he’d be easier to be around.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SUMMER, 2000

When they’re eleven, (y/n) announces that she’d been accepted into a private school.

She’s grinning from ear to ear, practically glowing with excitement as she goes on to tell Naoya all about the new classes she’ll get to take, but most of all, all the friends she’d get to meet.  She talks to him more that day than she’d ever had before.

He sits in annoyance as he’s stuck listening to her talk about her uniform of all things.  But he doesn’t have it in him to tell her to shut up.  Maybe because for once, he could be deluded into thinking she’s enjoying her time with him today.  Even though naturally, she’s only in a good mood because of the coming school year.

“Kind of dumb to go to a school with non-sorcerers, isn’t it?” Is all he has to say when she’s finally finished rambling about all the great things about her new school.

“You think?” She muses, intrigued by his opinion for reasons that were beyond him.

“It is if you spend all your time gossiping and learning stupid non-sorcerer things,” Naoya says decidedly.  “You should be focused on your technique, pipsqueak.  Not friends” 

(y/n) hums thoughtfully in response.  She knows he’s only jealous, seeing as he didn’t have any friends.  Of course she couldn’t say anything of the sorts to him, he’d probably beat her up for it.  Instead, she gifts him with her patience.

“I think I can have friends and still work on my technique” She says decidedly.

Naoya scowls, as she predicted, but she doesn’t react to it, simply goes back to threading today’s dandelion crown together.  He doesn’t have anything else to say, even with plenty of bitter thoughts forming in his mind.  He keeps his mouth shut and counts down the minutes until her father collects her and takes her home.

Today when she leaves, she drops the dandelion crown in his hands with a smile as she says goodbye.  Naoya grimaces at the ugly clump of dying weeds, and once she’s gone, drops it into the trash before going on with his day, not giving it a second thought.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

WINTER, 2003

The first time she gets a grasp on her Reversed Cursed Technique, they’re fourteen.

And despite the unforgiving coldness of the February afternoon, (y/n) insists that they still sit in the garden for the duration of her visit.  Naoya tries to tell her that she’s stupid for wanting to spend their time out there where she was going to catch a cold, but when she doesn’t budge, he decides to let her suffer the consequences.

She was a quiet little pipsqueak, but she was stubborn as hell, and for some reason that afternoon, Naoya hadn’t been in the mood to bicker.  It probably had something to do with his brothers taunting him all throughout breakfast.  They’d learned that messing with him about his little girlfriend as they called her was the quickest way to get his temper to snap, much to their delight.  It only meant that by the time she’d arrived, he’d already been broken down and was too mentally drained to put up a fight over something as silly as the cold.

“I’ve learned how to apply my Reversed Cursed Technique on myself” Is the first thing she tells him once they’re alone, sitting in a patch of dry, dead grass surrounded by banks of snow.  

“About time” Naoya replies gruffly.  She’s not surprised that he has nothing nice to say, she hadn’t expected anything different.

So instead she rolls up her sleeve, tucking it at her shoulder to reveal her entire bare arm.  The little hairs stick up and her skin prickles with goosebumps in the frigid air, but she gives no other indication of being bothered by the cold.

When she displays the long, bumpy scar that extends from the dip in her shoulder, down her bicep, nearly all the way through her palm, Naoya can’t help but widen his eyes at the nasty scar.  It’s puffy and pink, clearly still healing.  He’s silent as he follows the raised skin from start to finish, before turning to look at her, trying to gauge what she was thinking based on the mostly neutral expression she wore.

She was an impossible person to read, it was one of her most annoying qualities.  Naoya always believed himself to be gifted in reading others’ thoughts just by looking at their body language.  Never once had he been able to penetrate (y/n’s) thoughts.  Every time she spoke she found some way to catch him off guard.  Even after these last few years, it would still induce a chill of anxiety to shiver down his spine.

“Learned one way or another,” She chuckles, before pulling her sleeve back down.  “The scar should fade soon.  I got to it a bit late” She explains.

Naoya’s brows fall into a furrow and his lips curl into a puzzled frown.

“You did that to yourself?” He asks, disgust laced in his tone at the cruel attempt at training.  Sure, his clan would likely applaud her for it, but the ends didn’t exactly justify the means to him.

“No,” (y/n) scoffs quietly.  “Slipped up during training and had a nasty scratch.  Had I not moved when I did, I might’ve lost the whole arm” 

His mouth opens, but no words come out.  He doesn’t know what to say, his brain is running haywire with the possibilities.  He wants to call her foolish for acquiring such a scar just from training.  He wants to drag her by her clean arm to where her father is mindlessly chatting away with his and demand he use his own Reversed Cursed technique to fix it.  She was his only daughter, wasn’t she? Couldn’t he have healed her up just fine? 

He doesn’t fully believe her story, not with the way she’s talking about her training thus far, but he doesn’t call her out on it, either.

When he snaps his mouth shut again his jaw clenches, and his teeth grind together as he squashes every thought that crosses his mind.

“Well, it’s nasty,” He mutters, sounding uncharacteristically helpless.  “But at least you can use your technique now” 

(y/n) beams.  That was as close to a compliment as she’s ever received from him.

“Hurt like hell, but worth it!” She declares, and the pride in her voice makes him sick.  “I can’t wait to show the kids at school.  They’ll think it’s cool.  They’ve probably never seen stuff like this” 

He gives a small nod in response.  He couldn’t exactly argue with that.  Non-sorcerers were bound to think of her as some sort of badass over such a scar.  It would probably boost her popularity among the insects of her school.  Naoya frowns to himself.

“You shouldn’t show people that,” He tells her, without much of a reason in his mind.  She looks at him curiously, wrapping her arms around herself while still refusing to claim she was cold.  There’s not an ounce of truth in his words as he talks out of his ass.  “They’ll probably just pity you.  They’ll probably think you did it for attention”

She hums, nodding back at him in understanding.

“You’re right,” She tells him, much to his surprise.  “I wouldn’t want that” 

When she leaves that day, he wonders if she actually took his advice.  He wonders if the scar will be gone the next time he sees her.

It’s the first time he’s ever thought about her next visit.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SPRING 2005

When they’re sixteen, Naoya notices a change in her.

Not just a physical one brought on by puberty and elegant growth into young adulthood.  It wasn’t just her sharper jaw and thicker lashes, or the way her eyes had a way of piercing through his in an unsettling way.  It wasn’t just her longer legs or the strength carried in her abdomen and arms.  It was a mindset change, he was sure of it.

She was more confident in the way she carried herself.  No longer did she try to reach for her father’s hand, barely casting him a second glance as they parted ways at the Zen’in compound’s entryway.  She respectfully bowed her head, but that was it.  She didn’t mess with the clip in her hair anymore, or avoid eye contact by staring at the ground.  She was a little more poised, and a little more sure of herself.

And now when she was with Naoya, he could practically feel the change in her just from the way she looked at him.  Inquisitive, with a small smirk on her face like she knew something he didn’t, and despite his better judgment, he was just dying to know what it was.

He had yet to decide if this change was a good one or not.  She was more vocal than usual, witty in their bickering as she yet again forced him to spend their time in the garden.  Her voice was still soft but her words were sharper than usual, more decisive.  He thinks that having a wife so mouthy and bossy would be an inconvenience to him and his clan, but he’s not sure if voicing that now would be of service to him.  He couldn’t go offending her father, not yet anyways, so he keeps his mouth shut and takes her out to her precious garden.

“I have some exciting news to tell you,” She says as soon as they’re alone outside.  

Her gaze is fixed on a clump of hyacinths, which irks Naoya.  No one else dared speak to him without looking at him, it was a respect thing.  The staff, even his younger cousins and some older ones, they all held eye contact when speaking to him.  She makes no effort to show him respect, but her manner isn’t intended to be cruel.  This was the playful side of her personality that he was starting to despise.  He grinds his teeth.

“I’ve been asked to the spring formal at my school” 

She sounds delighted, and it’s clear in the way her eyes light up and her smile curls just right to show off pearly white teeth.  She tells him this news like he’d been dying to know, like he’d cared at all.  He scoffs, rolls his eyes as he leans back in the grass on his hands, careful not to catch his sleeves on the dirty ground.

“I’ve never heard of something more stupid” 

“It’s a big deal,” (y/n) turns to him, her hands moving as she explains the details of the dance, how important a pretty dress is, how the most popular couple attending would be crowned spring prince and princess, all of which fell on disinterested ears as Naoya frowned and fought the urge to roll his eyes at everything she told him.  “It’s sort of silly, but it’s not stupid,” She tells him with certainty.  “Especially not since the most popular guy in my grade asked me,” She adds with a grin, leaning forward a bit to catch his attention.  Surely he’d care about that little piece of information.

Naoya rolls his head against his shoulder as he gives her a bored stare.  She’s still beaming, bright eyes flickering between his golden brown ones that fought so hard to keep their dull glare.

“Of course, he doesn’t know I’m technically betrothed” She adds, the word slipping off her tongue with syrupy, sticky sweetness.  That had a reaction flashing across his face, miniscule changes in his twitching brow and narrowing eyes.

They never really talked about their arrangement.  Not since bickering about it as kids, anyways.  Naoya always assumed it was because neither one of them were all that fond of the idea of an arranged marriage, especially to one another, seeing as they got along about as well as oil and water.  But here she was, bringing it up like it was nothing, like it carried no real weight.  And she was teasing him about it.

It made something in his chest snap.  Something sharp, something that had never been touched before.

“What, you’re asking for permission to go on a lame date to a lame school dance, with a lame non-sorcerer?” He scoffs at her, but his cruel words do nothing to hinder the excitement in her face.

“Permission? Of course not,” She shakes her head.  Her eyes land on a stray dandelion not far from her reach, and she leans over to pluck it from the grass without hesitation.  Old habits die hard.  “You’re not my husband, I don’t recall signing any papers” 

He scoffs again, his lips curling into a sarcastic grin.  She knows he’s going to spit out some vile nonsense, but she can’t help but brighten further upon seeing his smile.  It was a rare sight, after all.

“Not yet,” He corrects her.  “But I’m sure if I were to tell my father about how unfaithful you’ve been acting, you’d be pulled out of that non-sorcerer school by the end of the day.  And what then, pipsqueak?” He challenges.

She straightens her posture as she takes his challenge and runs with it.  The old feelings of anxiety stir in his chest as she tilts her chin upwards .  It was like she knew exactly what it took to get under his skin.  When did she get so defiant? 

“Immediately running to Daddy is so outdated, don’t you think?” Her voice drops an octave, and her smirk is widening just a bit as she watches it sink into his mind.  “Besides, unfaithful feels a little strong” She adds with a short breath of a laugh.

“Not if you’re practically engaged” He snaps back quickly.

(y/n’s) the one to roll her eyes this time.  He wants to hate it, instinct clawing up his throat and wanting him to tell her just how terrible of a wife she’d really make, that obedience was the first rule in marriage.  But the words die there, swallowed down thickly and leaving his throat dry and scratchy.  An aching throat could be the only explanation as to why he wouldn’t say a thing.

“Doesn’t there have to be a ring for that?” She snorts before chuckling to herself, a sound he’s never heard from her before, and doesn’t know what to do with now.  He blinks, fire burning in his eyes the longer she puts up this stupid game.  What was her ploy, anyways? “Or, you know, a proposal?” She fires back before he could even say anything.

Naoya clicks his tongue in irritation, turning his gaze in the opposite direction so she couldn’t see the way he fought to come up with something.

“I don’t care if you go to your stupid formal with some nobody,” He tells her in a mutter, still focusing his attention elsewhere, anything to keep from looking at her just yet.  “Under the condition you’re not actually unfaithful, of course.  No point in having you as a wife, then” 

(y/n’s) eyes are fixed on him even though he won’t turn back to her.  She can just barely make out the pink tips of his ears under the mop of dark hair that covers them.  A tiny smile cracks at the corners of her lips as she hums to herself.

He turns to her then, his brows furrowed as always, his lips pressed into a thin line as always, and her small smile breaks into a wider grin.

And then, she’s laughing.  His expression changes to one of confusion as bubble after bubble of laughter escapes her.  The more she laughs, the harder it hits, until she’s nearly cackling with it.  Even if he bothered to ask her what was so funny, she surely wouldn’t have been able to give him a proper answer.  So he watches in his shocked state of confusion as she throws herself back on the grass, hands over her stomach as she laughs loudly.

“Hey!” He barks then, head whipping around to be sure no one could see this childish display.  “Are you trying to stain your kimono?” He scolds her.

For some reason, she laughs harder.  Naoya thinks he sees a tear slip down the side of her cheek as it continues with no end in sight.  The expensive white silk she wore would likely have green stains all over the back now.  Naoya winced, knowing he’d be the one to be scolded by both of their fathers for letting her so recklessly ruin the material.

Her feet are kicking against the soft grass as peels of obsessive laughter flies out of her.  It goes on so long, Naoya lets out a humorless laugh himself, just barely smiling at the whole display.

He didn’t get the joke, not in the slightest, but as she opens her eyes and wipes away her tears while she looks up at him in her giggly state, he laughs just a little more, with just the slightest hint of genuine humor.

It takes a few minutes for (y/n) to completely calm down, her chest rising and falling as she took unsteady breaths to relax.  Her eyes fall shut again as she lays in the sun and waits for her breathing to even out.  She never does tell him what had cracked her up, but he doesn’t ask.  He simply works to keep his expression neutral and uninterested while she basks in the sunny afternoon, still laying in the grass without a care in the world.  She almost looks comfortable here, like she could be happy here.

And when she leaves, she drops the singular dandelion she’d plucked into his hand.  She can tell by the look on his face that he has no intention of keeping it, and she doesn’t really care either way.  But she smiles as the tips of her fingers graze over his palm while she hums a goodbye, and just like that, her and her father leave the compound.

Naoya hesitates before tossing it into the trash bin, giving the yellow weed a once over, just to see if he could see in it what she did.  Defeated when he can’t find anything special, he tosses it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SUMMER, 2006

Being on the cusp of eighteen, Naoya’s certain that their time before a proper wedding was waning.  Surely once they were both of age, there would be pressure from both clans for him to make his proposal, something dramatic and with as many eyes watching as possible.  The idea makes him sick to his stomach, so he’s been trying not to think about it, but again, time was running out.

Her visits are growing more infrequent.  It’s nearing the end of the month, and she’s only been around twice in that time.  He’s not sure what to make of that, undecided on if her father is proving the point that he’d need to make his move soon, or maybe…

“You seem to be thinking a lot today,” 

Her voice is soft, but it still manages to draw Naoya out of his busy head.  He turns to look at her, giving her every ounce of his attention.  There’s a small knot between her pinched brows, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen her look concerned for him before.  It makes his chest do something strange.

Is that a stutter in his heartbeat? He worries about the implication.  A stroke?

“Can’t be good for you” (y/n) finishes with a teasing little smirk on her face.

He scoffs, barely rolls his eyes, and the corner of his mouth betrays him as it tilts upward in her direction.

“Like you’d understand.  You don’t have clan politics to worry about” He mutters, his eyes squinting as he turns to face forward again, the sun catching his line of sight harshly.

As always, they’re sat in the gardens.  (y/n) had already collected her small pile of dandelions, and was diligently knotting them together to make her crown.  She’d gotten better at it over the years, thickening the stems with extra of the weed to make it appear more full.  Naoya sat with nothing better to do than be lost in his own thoughts, and occasionally watch her as she worked on her mindless craft.

“I don’t care to worry about clan politics the way you do,” She corrects him, casting him a glance for a mere second before going back to her stems.  “And besides, the politics you worry about are prehistoric,” She adds with a scoff.  “Medieval” She adds bitterly.

Naoya rolls his eyes in good nature.

“Like your clan is any different” He mumbles.

Her elbow knocks into his, and he turns to glare at her for the mock attack, but she’s smiling, and while the sun seems to make him wince, it does wonders to compliment her facial features.

And thinking that she looks beautiful isn’t necessarily a new thought… it’s not like he’s ever found her unattractive.  She was always… pretty… in her quiet sort of way.  But Naoya’s not yet used to thinking about her beauty every time he looks at her, and he hasn’t learned yet what it takes to squash those thoughts.

So for now he tries to pay it little to no mind.  Rest assured, he will find a way to not think about it.

“No, they’re just the same, I’m afraid,” (y/n) hums, tilting her head slightly as she regards him.  “But between you and me, I think I can escape it” 

Naoya barks out a laugh.  He doesn’t believe her.

“You don’t escape family,” He states bitterly.  “You’re stuck with them whether you like it or not” 

“You think?” She asks, arching an eyebrow at him.  Ever so interested in what he thought, even when she thought he was wrong.  

Naoya merely nods.  He knew all too well that you were stuck in the life you were born into.  Even if it meant under-achieving older brothers that didn’t deserve to be the head of the Clan, or the Hei.  Even if it meant being forced into a marriage with a young woman who deserved much, much better than this life.

But he can’t say any of that.  So he nods, and turns to face forward again.

“Well, I don’t think so,” She shrugs one of her shoulders.  “I think we get some say in who we want in our lives,” 

Says the girl forced to come sit here with me three times a month for the last ten years, Naoya thinks bitterly, but again, he keeps it to himself.

“Not that it’s easy, but,” She shrugs again.  “I like to think so, anyways” 

“What’s your grand escape plan, then, pipsqueak?” He asks, admittedly amused by her antics this afternoon.  Which is odd, seeing as normally he’d find it childish, and ignore her.

Pink lips curl into a precious smile as she looks back at him.

“Love, of course” 

He almost laughs, right in her face, which would have broken her seemingly fragile heart, but when she gives him her answer and he realizes it’s not a joke, he almost can’t stop himself.  Almost.  Naoya sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek and clears his throat.

“Love?” He repeats and it comes out of his mouth like he’s never even heard of the concept.  (y/n) chuckles as she nods back at him.

“Yeah, love,” She confirms.  “You remember that guy that took me to spring formal?” 

For fucks’ sake, she has to be joking.  Naoya rolls his eyes as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief.

Despite his clear lack of interest, she goes on.

“Well we’ve hung out a few times now and it’s been… nice.  He likes me and I think I could like him, so,” For a third time, she shrugs, like it was the easiest plan in the world.  “I think if we fell in love, my father would have to let me off the hook a bit, wouldn’t he?” 

No, no he wouldn’t, Naoya knows for a fact that when it comes to arranged marriages, there was no exception to the arrangement.  Unless someone died, there wasn’t a chance of getting out of it.  It didn’t matter if she bore this non-sorcerer’s children, this time next year, she would belong to him.  On paper, at least.

“Your father is far more reasonable than mine,” Naoya sighs.  For some reason, he can’t bring himself to tell her the whole truth.  He continues to entertain her foolish ideas.  “Have you talked to him about this yet?”

“Of course not!” Her voice squeaks as she gasps at the idea.  Naoya can’t help but laugh a little bit at her bashful reaction.

“Does he know about this non-sorcerer-nobody at all?” He presses, and (y/n) chews on her bottom lip as she shakes her head.  Naoya gives her a bored look, silently telling her that she was doomed already.

“Well what was I supposed to say?” She mumbles.  “I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea” 

“I told you not to go down the unfaithful route, pipsqueak,” Naoya sighs.  “Now you’ll have to fess up to all of it” 

“It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong,” She explains.  “Yet…” She adds in a smaller voice.

“Thinkin’ about adultery is just as bad as the real thing,” Naoya chuckles.  “At least in the elders’ eyes” 

(y/n) narrows her eyes at him in mock irritation.

“We’re not married” She reminds him in a mutter.  He only smirks back at her.  He doesn’t have to say anything for her to know what he’s thinking.  

Yet.

“Semantics,” He smirks.

She laughs despite herself.  He seems relaxed today, and after so many years she finally feels like she’s getting the smallest of glimpses into the real him.  She’s always wondered what Zen’in Naoya was really like, and she can’t help but feel eager to finally learn.

“Well, what’s the damage?” He huffs, acting as though he’s not dying to know the specifics of this little relationship she’s found herself in.  “You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” 

“What!? No!” She yelps at the accusation, and this time smacks the back of her hand against his arm.

“You abuse me, wife” He grumbles as he pretends to rub the spot to ease the nonexistent ache.

“We’ve just hung out a few times.  Sometimes he helps me study, sometimes he brings me the drink I like from the cafe—” 

“That stuff doesn’t matter” Naoya rolls his eyes.  What silly little things she found interesting in a man.  Women could be so simple.

“Sure it does,” (y/n) furrows his brows.  “Quality time is-” 

He could care less about the details, so he interrupts her.

“But you’ve kissed him, yeah?” 

The question shuts her up immediately.  She doesn’t try to deflect, or come up with a witty reply to snap back at him.  She shuts her mouth and stares at her lap.  At first he’s amused by the shy display, but as time passes, it begins to click for him that she’s embarrassed.

“You’re acting foolish, pipsqueak,” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back as he does.  Her face feels like it’s getting hotter by the second.  She covers her cheeks with her hands to relieve the burn.  “Your plan relies on childish love and you haven’t even kissed the guy? Who in their right mind will take you seriously?” 

“It’s not childish,” She argues, her voice quiet, and her face still covered by her hands.  “I just— there hasn’t been the right moment.  S-something always came up,” 

She grows quieter with every word, her humiliation washing over her like a wave of dread.  Perhaps Naoya was the wrong person to come to with this.

“Like you’ve kissed people—” She tries to bicker with him, but there’s a glint in his eye as her words catch his interest, and something about the way he smirks and tilts his head makes her second guess herself as she shuts her mouth.

“Oh, don’t tell me,” He’s snickering before he can even finish his words.  (y/n) wishes she could open up the ground and let it swallow her whole.  “You’ve never kissed anyone, pipsqueak?” 

“Would you stop calling me that?” She sighs, but it’s no use.  He’s got his paws on a juicy piece of embarrassing information.  His brutal nature was about to come out in full force.

“And here I was worried about a second-hand wife” He scoffs.

“Hey—!” 

“So why are you hitching your whole plan onto a guy you don’t like, hm? Shouldn’t you go out with a bang?” He smirks and leans back on his elbows.  “Or at least a kiss-” 

“Excuse me? I do too like him” She cuts him off before his cockiness could get overbearing.

“If you liked him, you would’ve kissed him already,” Naoya rolls his eyes.  “I think you need a different plan of action” 

“Well I— I mean I would kiss him,” She stammered over her words.  “There just hasn’t been a good time—” 

“Haven’t you known him for like a year?” Naoya sneers.  “Bit of a prude, hm?” 

(y/n) drops her hands from her face to gape at him, smacking his arm once more.  

“I am not!” She whines, followed by a quiet, “You don’t think he thinks that, do you?”

He huffs.

“I am not going to sit here and gossip about this bullshit with-” 

“Naoya, now you have to help me” She interrupts him, moving forward and latching her hands together in a pleading motion.  

His eyes widen and his brows furrow.  He’s not sure how he landed on this timeline, but this? Since when was she so open and personal with him? What was this treatment? Was it some sort of punishment? Did he do something in a past life to warrant this?

“I don’t have to do sh—” 

“Please?” (y/n) bats her eyelashes, and he’s starting to think she might be a witch.  “Just some advice, that’s all,” She tells him.  “Since you’ve clearly kissed so many people” 

He rolls his eyes, before sitting up off his arms.  That’s not exactly what he’d said.  But he smirks to himself.  There wasn’t any harm in letting her believe that, was there? 

“Whatever.  You don’t need advice.  You just need to pluck up some courage” 

She frowns at him.

“I have courage,” She states.  “It’s not about courage” 

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles to himself.  “Then why exactly haven’t you made a move?” 

(y/n) frowns, dropping her gaze to go back to working on her dandelion crown.

“Well I thought he’d make the first move.  And then he never really did and… now I’m sorta… relying on it, I guess,” She sighs and drops the dandelion loop back into her lap.  “Shit.  He doesn’t even like me, does he?” 

Naoya laughs, a real laugh, with a real smile flashing across his face.  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that some non-sorcerer-nobody wasn’t completely enamored in a girl like her.

“No,” He disagrees, the word firm, certain.  “Sounds like you’ve just picked a coward.  Can’t say I’m surprised, pipsqueak, I don’t know why you’d go for a non-sorcerer-” 

“This part’s not helpful” 

“—but, you’ll probably just have to make the first move.  It’s not hard.  You’ll be fine” 

She frowns at him, and it takes an effort for him to not roll his eyes back at her.  She couldn’t be serious.

“Just kiss him, (y/n).  Don’t be stupid.  It’s unbecoming of you.  But you are seventeen, and it’s a little embarrassing of you, too” 

Her frown turns into a look of offense, and he can’t help but laugh a bit again.

“Don’t laugh at me.  And don’t call me embarrassing! You’re the one that told me I couldn’t be unfaithful” 

“Yeah yeah,” He waves his hand dismissively.  “If you’re so worried about it, then kiss me” 

She freezes, her expression going blank while her eyes wildly flicker over his features, trying and failing for the thousandth time to try and figure him out.

He’d suggested so casually, like it was the most obvious solution, like it wouldn’t mean a thing.

Naoya raises his brows and purses his lips, waiting expectantly for her to decide what she was going to do.

“I— you can’t be—?” 

“What difference does it make?” He asks, shaking his head nonchalantly.  “Either you learn how to be a good kisser and you get your boring happily ever after with your non-sorcerer-nobody, or you end up married to me and you’ll only be kissing me for the rest of our lives anyways” 

When he puts it like that, the hair on the back of her neck stands up.  She’d always known in the back of her mind that at the end of the day, it was her and Naoya.  Whether they were friends or partners didn’t matter, and arranged marriage only went one way.  Most of the marriages in the more powerful clans weren’t exactly in loving relationships anyways, it was a mere power grab.  A way to unite clans, or to brush dirty politics under the rug.  

For over ten years she’d been brought to the Zen’in compound to play nice with Naobito’s youngest son.  In all that time she struggled to figure out what that actually meant, how to actually treat him with kindness when all he knew was a sharp tongue and a cold shoulder.  Over time she’d learned to sit back and let herself be entertained by him.  If she couldn’t grow to like him, or worse love him, then she might as well find some amusement in his company.

But now he’s sitting beside her with the offer of a kiss, and not just any kiss, her first kiss, and he’s telling her that it’s for her greater plan of getting out of their arranged marriage? She can’t help but think he’s been using her for his own amusement all this time, as well.  He must have had an ulterior motive.

“What’s in it for you?” Her eyes narrow inquisitively.

He scoffs at the question.

“A kiss is a kiss,” He shrugs.  “But I’ll take it back if you’d rather—” 

“No!” She’s louder than she means to be, and she jumps forward a little closer than she should, closing a significant amount of space between them.  “I mean- no, you’re right, then you can tell me if I’m any good at it” 

He pointedly eyes the small amount of space between them before tilting his head at her, a sly sort of smile on his face as he nods.

“Alright then, pipsqueak,” He hums, beckoning her forward with his hand.  “Do your worst” 

Her brows pinch together for a moment, before her eyes shift down to his lips with apprehension.

While she’s distracted by her uncertainty, Naoya keeps his focus on her.  And for once, he lets himself really look at her.  Her eyes are round with her nerves, just a little wider than usual, almost doe-like.  Her pupils are dilating, and he could almost hear her thoughts just from watching her expression shift and change with each passing one.  His gaze lowers when she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, growing more unsure the longer she thinks about it.

Naoya figures she must be having girlish thoughts.  She was probably worried about losing her first kiss over what was essentially a dare, and would be meaningless.  She was probably worrying herself sick knowing that after this, he would forever be her first kiss, whether she liked it or not.  He could almost scoff at the notion.

The plush of her lip gives under her teeth as she slides it back and forth anxiously.  Naoya watches the action religiously, lost in thought about how pink her lips are, and how he’d never really given them much thought.  Despite her worried gnawing, they look soft, plump, even.  He thinks just from looking at them that she’s bound to be a good kisser with lips like those.  If his own mind weren’t going so haywire with having her so close, maybe he’d make the choice for her and kiss her first.

But he’s too occupied.  Her perfume is wafting up his nose with the lightest scent of something flowery and sugary.  He’s breathing a little deeper to take more of it in, addicted to the feminine scent after just a few whiffs, but he’s doing it so slowly so that she won’t notice that he’s about to suffocate himself.

“Naoya,” She says his name and it comes out like a scold.  He arches a brow when he drags his eyes back up to hers.  She pouts at him.  “You have to close your eyes, you can’t stare at me like that” 

Her cheeks are pink, he notes the rosy blush that’s dusted across her nose, and the longer he watches, he swears he sees the color darkening.  Was she really that flustered just from a little staring? 

“Like what?” He finds himself asking without really thinking.  A nervous laugh escapes her as she sets her gaze on anything but his prying eyes.  The golden brown hue were piercing right through her it seemed, building up her nervous anxiety.

“Just— just close your eyes” She stutters out.

Naoya rolls his eyes, but eventually follows the instruction, letting them fall shut.

“I don’t like being told what to do, pipsqueak,” He says, and with his eyes closed, she finds the confidence to reach forward, fingertips barely skimming over his chin, and then along his sharp jaw.  She doesn’t miss the way his throat bobs when he swallowed thickly.  “And hurry it up, I’m getting bored-” 

“I don’t like being told what to do either,” She quips, but her voice is barely above a whisper, soft breaths fanning over his lips.  “I just— give me a damn second” 

She knows if his eyes were open, he’d be rolling them.  Jackass.

He can feel her fingers trembling against his skin, resulting in the lightest of tapping against his jaw.  His lips curl upwards against his will.

“Princess, breathe,” He mumbles, blindly reaching up for her hand, wrapping her fingers with his own.  “It’s just a kiss, what is it that you’re stressing this hard over?” 

“Well w-what if this all doesn’t work out and th-then—” 

“I said breathe,” He commands, and despite the instruction being in her best interest, his tone is sharp.  She obeys it immediately, shutting her mouth and breathing in deeply through her nose, before slowly letting it out.  He waits until she’s no longer shaking before speaking again.  “D’you want me to do it?” 

Her eyes snap up to his, although he’s kept them closed all this time.  She can’t believe he hasn’t cheated on her rule.

“No, I… I can do it” She mumbles with certainty, before tilting forward in the smallest movement.  

The tip of her nose touches his for a moment, before brushing past as she gets closer.  Her fingers press a little more firmly against his jaw, making sure he won’t move when she finally does it.

Her heart is beating so hard in her chest she knows he can hear it, if not feel it as she shuffles closer to him.  She can’t believe he hasn’t teased her for it.  Maybe he’s just waiting, so once she kisses him and this is all over, he can torment her and hang it over her head for the rest of their lives.

But just as the bitter thought crosses her mind, her eyes flicker down to where his hand is still loosely wrapped around one of hers, keeping her touch present against his jaw, and keeping them still.  It’s not a firm hold, but gentle, so loose she knows if she were to pull away he’d drop it instantly.  And then she can’t help but feel that maybe Zen’in Naoya has a soft spot for her.  Maybe there’s a side of him that’s quiet, and slow, and gentle, and maybe she can let go of her silly anxiety to indulge herself in that side of him.

She counts down from three in her head.  Then closes her eyes.  And leans the rest of the way forward.

As for Naoya, he can’t say he’s ever really thought about his first kiss.  He wasn’t one to care about the milestone of it, or really any of the specifics.  If it had crossed his mind in the past, it was only with the intention of wanting to kiss a worthy girl.  A pretty girl.  Beyond that, fireworks or romance wasn’t even in the question.  It didn’t really matter.

But (y/n’s) lips are even softer than they looked.  They’re timid, unmoving when they first touch his.  He’s surprised she even followed through with it, he was completely prepared for her to chicken out and beg him to forget the whole thing.  Next thing he knows she’s kissing him and he kisses her back as soon as he realizes she’s not shyly backing away after two seconds.  She follows his lead slowly, her fingers pushing along his jawline until they reach the soft locks of hair that just barely hangs past his ears.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

It wasn’t fireworks, and it wasn’t some grand romantic gesture either.  

It was… peaceful.  Like sinking into a warm bath after a long day of training.  

It was warm, and comfortable.  Like the first day of spring once the snow had all melted away and the flowers were getting ready to bloom once more.

A kiss is a kiss, he’d told her, like a damn fool.  

Naoya’s hands began to wander, dropping hers to cup them gently around her warm cheeks, making sure to touch her as softly as possible, so as not to startle her.  She surprises him again when she leans carefully into his palm, lips still too enamored with his to pull away.  

This was not just a kiss.

She lets out a soft sigh when they finally do part, lips still brushing his and her eyes still shut as she catches her breath quickly and quietly.

He’s frozen then, right through his bones.  His hands are still on her face, his eyes are unblinking when she finally opens her own, shyly meeting his gaze.  He thinks he must look like a fucking imbecile right about now, staring at her silently while she’s clearly waiting for his approval of her kissing ability.

But he can’t say a damn thing.  He can’t move an inch.  She’s rendered him weaker than he’s ever felt before.

The pad of her thumb mindlessly strokes a gentle shape at the junction where his jaw meets his neck, and his heart is stuttering again, just like earlier.

Except now he knows it’s not a medical condition.  

It was beating like that for her.

“Well?” She murmurs, soft and hopeful as her eyes flicker in between his.  “What’d you think?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

WINTER, 2008

Their eighteenth years came and went, and with it, the notion of an arranged marriage.

Naoya stood before his father, his hands currently curled into tight fists that were sure to leave crescent shapes in his palms with how harshly he dug his nails into the skin.  His jaw was locked as he ground his teeth together to keep himself from blurting out something he’d regret, but his frustration was made abundantly evident. 

It was more than frustration.  He was livid.

“What the hell do you mean she’s not mine to marry?” He’d all but snarled at the head of the Zen’in Clan.

Naobito sat back in his chair, still focused on whatever paperwork was in front of him, as disinterested in the affairs of his son as ever.

Even now, while Naoya’s entire perception of the rest of his life was falling apart at the seams, the older man barely lifts his head when speaking.

“She never has been, son.  Where is this sudden urgency to marry coming from?” 

“Sudden urg-? What are you talking about?” Naoya throws his hands out, exasperated from this conversation going in circles.  “Her father’s been dropping her off here with me for years in order for us to get to know each other.  You’ve been arranging this marriage from behind the scenes since we were six” 

Finally, Naobito raises his head just long enough to give his son a confused shake back and forth.

“You’re looking for things that aren’t there.  Our intention was never to arrange for young (y/n) to marry you, Naoya,” He’s calm, despite his son’s rage being too large for the room.  “What is this about?” He asks, dropping his pen as he regards his youngest son with a raised chin.  “Am I to believe you’ve grown to care for her?” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Naoya snaps with a scoff in his throat.  “What matters is she was supposed to be my wife, she was meant to be my bride since we were kids, that— that was always-!” 

“Her father never had an interest in you as a suitor,” Naobito lets out a scoff of his own, an amused smirk on his face.  Naoya shuts his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line as his anger starts to simmer.  “You were too harsh, son.  Too… sharp around the edges for his only daughter.  Look at it from his perspective, hm? Head of his clan, only one heir and it’s his precious little girl.  Would you be pulling strings to set her up with you?” Naobito scoffs again, this time followed by an amused chuckle.  “Our clans only recently started mending things after our… history…” He trails off thoughtfully.  “(y/l/n) (y/f/n) was never going to give away his only daughter to you, much less any of your brothers, or anyone who bore the Zen’in name” 

Naoya’s chest is rising and falling so roughly, he wonders if this could be the brink of a panic attack.  All his life he thought he’d be stuck with her.  The last thirteen years, he’d thought that at the end of it all, she’d be the one by his side.  And for a long time he resented her for it, hated her for it.  And then, for some reason, without explanation, something changed.  In the way she looked at him, in the way he felt about himself when he was around her, he couldn’t quite put a finger on when it happened.  

But when she was seventeen and needed to get her first kiss out of the way, he was the one she went to.

And when she was fourteen and had just mastered her Reversed Cursed Technique, he was who she told proudly, even with the gruesome story.

And when they were eight, and he’d oh-so stupidly told her that they were being set up for an arranged betrothal, she’d told him she would marry him.

Yet here he stands at nineteen, having naively entered his father’s study with the intent of arranging the details of the proposal— the dowry, the location, the letter he’d have to write to (y/n’s) father— and for the first time in his life, he’s being told no.

“I don’t know what led you to believe you were to be her suitor, son” 

“We both thought that was the arrangement,” He muttered.  “Since we were kids, (y/n) and I thought-” 

“She’s going to Tokyo this weekend, Naoya,” Naobito huffs, pinching his fingers through his mustache to relieve his stress from this pesky situation.  “Her father is bringing her to meet with a young man around your age.  He does intend on marrying her off, but he was waiting until it was appropriate” 

Naoya’s hands are clenched into fists again.  He couldn’t believe this.

“This isn’t— I won’t have this” He mutters.

That perks Naobito’s interest.

“Son, we can find suitors of other clans to-” 

“I don’t need to be set up with weak, worthless, women!” He shouts over this father, possibly for the first time since he was a misbehaving child.  “I already had a— there was already supposed to be—!” 

He can’t find the words, or maybe just the strength to say them.  But with a huff he’s spinning on his heel and marching back out of the study.  He’d said his piece, and there was nothing more the head of the clan could do for the situation.  It was out of their hands.

Naobito watches in silence as his son leaves, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him.  He hadn’t seen an outburst like that from his youngest son in years.  He didn’t understand the nature of it all, because it wasn’t like Naoya to be infatuated with a person, much less a young woman with a cursed technique that parallels his in strength, but he didn’t know what else could have gotten him so worked up over the whole thing.

There wasn’t a chance Naoya truly had grown to love her, was there? 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

2009

For her twenty-first birthday, (y/n) was gifted a grand party.  The guest list was extensive, the catering was expensive, and no cost was spared for the whole ordeal.  The grand courtyard of the (y/l/n) estate was the perfect place to throw such an elegant party, complete with fountains, twinkling lights, and of course, live music.  An expensive part for an expensive family.  It was typical.

Naoya didn’t come to these sorts of events often.  The idea of walking around and sucking up to whichever elitist family was hosting just seemed so… dull.  The parties themselves were often the same thing over and over, appetizers, mingling with people that only wanted to show off, drinking, and then going home and feeling like shit.

And truthfully, he wasn’t going to go to this one.  Even though he hadn’t seen (y/n) in over a year, and even once his father made it clear that while the Zen’ins had been invited, he was specifically requested to attend, from the birthday girl herself, he’d said.

So now here he was, with a permanent scowl on his face and a very expensive suit that he would never wear again.  He doesn’t look like he wants to be here, because he doesn’t, and yet anyone who saw him that night would have said that he was on a mission to find someone.  Whoever it was must have been important, seeing as he didn’t pause to talk to anyone.

But he figures she’d invited him specifically.  She requested his attendance.  The least he could do was wish her a happy birthday, right? 

There’s a lot more he wants to say to her.  A year and a half’s worth of messy thoughts that barely made sense to him but every bone in his body told him to find her and lay it all out.  Even if he had to drag her away from her own party, and hold her by her shoulders to keep her in place so she’d listen.

Naoya didn’t chase people down.  Ever.

So when fifteen minutes after his arrival he finally finds her, with The Honored One himself, he considers turning around and leaving without the intention of ever speaking to her again.

But it had to be Gojo Satoru of all people.  Powerful, filthy fucking rich, charming, devilishly handsome, Special Grade, Gojo Fucking Satoru.  It couldn’t have been any other eligible bachelor from a well of clan, it couldn’t have been some nobody for him to turn his nose up at and walk away from with a boost to the ego.

He stews for too long in his bitter thoughts, and from across the crowd of people, she sees him.  It’s too late for him to turn around and leave unnoticed.  She’s already picking up the skirt of her dress so her feet don’t trip over it as she quickly makes her way over to him.

He could still leave, he thinks distantly.  But as she gets closer he can see that she’s smiling, she’s actually glad that he’s here, and once again he’s frozen while he’s reeling from the shock.

He still tries to maintain his scowl, he can’t have people getting the wrong idea once she’s close enough he can hear her delighted laughter and ramblings of “You came! You got my invite? It’s been so long!”.

And he hates it, he hates seeing her, especially when she’s so relieved to see him, especially when she looks so radiant, in her pretty party dress that’s draped so perfectly on her it must’ve been tailored, and with her hair falling around her shoulders and down her back so perfectly she didn’t even look real she looked fucking angelic—

“Naoya?”

His name falling from her lips has him blinking himself back to reality, his nasty expression falling momentarily as he takes her in and realizes she really is standing here right in front of him.

“You alright?” (y/n) asks, once it seems he’s conscious again.  Her grin had morphed into a worried little smile.  Shit, he can’t tear his eyes away from her lips.  

“I’m fine,” He declares, void of any real emotion.  “Happy birthday, by the way” 

Her smile brightens a bit more then, and her eyes gleam too.

“Thank you,” She replies sheepishly.  “I’m really glad you came, I wasn’t sure if you’d accept the invite” 

“Yeah, it’s not really my thing” Naoya clicks his tongue as his eyes wander the courtyard, taking in the estate properly for the first time.  Anything to distract himself from her.

“I know,” She sighs softly, her head tilting as she regards him, her cheeks inevitably warming up the longer she stares.  “You changed your hair” 

He looks back at her, still making the effort to keep his expression neutral, and she can tell, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“Yeah.  While ago” He replies dryly.  

It wasn’t long after he’d last seen her that he’d taken to a change in style.  She just so happened to stop coming around with her father around that time.

“I like it,” She says quietly, a bit awkwardly.

At times it feels like she’s forgotten how to speak to him, not that he was ever the easiest person to get along with.  Yet, in their time apart, she found herself missing him.  Thinking about him.  Wondering what he was up to, or if he ever thought about her.

“Oh, I know,” Her eyes light up with an idea, before she beckons him to follow her.  “I should show you the gardens!” 

Just like that, she’s leading him away from the party, away from the prying eyes of Gojo Satoru, who seems to watch the scandalous pair with a smirk on his face.  Naoya scowls back at him, but ultimately focuses on following (y/n) around the courtyard, and then behind her estate.

“You do recall that you were the one that cared about the damn flowers, right?” He asks her once they’re far enough away that the voices of her partygoers were drowned out by the muffled music.

“And you don’t like being around crowds of people,” She reminds him, glancing over her shoulder with a proud grin on her face.  He rolls his eyes at her.  “I’m doing us both a favor!” She declares.

He’s not so convinced, but he doesn’t put up a fight.  He simply tucks his hands in his pockets and bears it as they wander around the yard in the dark.

He tries to keep his damn mouth shut, he really does.  But it doesn’t take long before he’s blurting out the thought on the front of his mind.

“So Daddy picked a Gojo for you, hm?” 

As soon as it comes out, he regrets it.  Because (y/n) isn’t shy in the way she pauses on her journey so that she can turn to face him with that curious look of hers.  He’s never been interrogated by her, but he suspects it wouldn’t go well.

“I wouldn’t say that,” She muses, her words carefully picked out.  “Not a Gojo anyways… more like, The Gojo, don’t you think?” 

The smirk on her face tells him that he’s bearing witness to the witty side of her personality, the side that likes to poke and get reactions out of him that she knows she can.  Naoya rolls his eyes again, and to his luck, (y/n) goes back to leading him out to the gardens.

“So full of it” He grumbles.

She giggles, having heard it.

“My father took me to Tokyo last year so we could meet.  Mostly, I think he wanted to meet Satoru, he was a bit shell shocked.  But we got along well.  He’s… fun” Again, she’s careful with her words, and Naoya can tell.  He grimaces, his hands forming fists in his pockets.

“So you hit it off then, hm?” He presses further, despite his gut feeling twisted enough.  “Whatever happened to your non-sorcerer-nobody?” 

“Oh,” It dawned on her that it really had been a while since they last spoke.  “You were right,” She glances over her shoulder at him once more, her expression unreadable as she says, “I didn’t like him,” And then she’s facing forward again and finally reaching the gardens of the estate.  “At least, not like I thought I did,” She clarifies.  “Kinda hard to explain, I guess.  He was a good guy and all just…” She shrugs her shoulders, and she couldn’t come up with anything else to say so she didn’t say anything at all.

Naoya nods, his brow furrowing as he glances over the large expanse of flowers and bushes, all trimmed and perfectly on display, even in the dark.  A garden at night was probably one of the worst places to be.  Not only was he stuck wandering around outside, but he couldn’t even see the damn things.

“To be honest, once I’d gone to my father to tell him about, well, having feelings for a non-sorcerer, I’d gone on my big speech about how I wasn’t ready to be married off, how I wasn’t ready to be a wife and how I wanted to travel and take on assignments exoricizing curses and— and trying to find the right field for my technique… anyways, I was pretty surprised when he told me I wasn’t arranged to married off at all,” 

She’s looking at him, he can feel her soft yet piercing gaze staring right at him, but Naoya can’t bring himself to look away from whatever blue flowers were before him now.

“We had a great talk, though.  He told me he wouldn’t marry me off if I wasn’t ready, and even then only if it were in my best interest and with my approval… not that this matters,” She mumbles the last part, realizing she was rambling on with nonsense.  “I mean it’s what I wanted… but I guess I’m still sort of surprised that’s how it worked out” 

(y/n) wraps her arms around herself, although it’s not a chilly night, she’s lured into the defensive stance as she drops her gaze from him.

He merely hums, barely nodding his head to agree.  Saying he was surprised to find out they were never truly arranged to be married would have been an extreme understatement.

“Anyways…” The air is thick with an uncomfortable tension, and (y/n) nervously coughs to clear her throat.  “How have you been doing?” 

“Fine” 

Naoya’s answer is quick, and sharp.  (y/n) winces at the bite in the singular word, and her nerves begin to grow into irritation, but she tries to remain as calm and collected as always.

“Has your father been giving you more responsibilities for—” 

“What the hell does it matter to you?” 

She can’t keep her expression soft at the rude question.  Her nose crinkles and her brows furrow as she narrows her eyes back at him.

“Excuse me?” 

Her attitude comes out in less than a second and suddenly she’s crossing her arms and Naoya doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look this upset.  There’s a twinge of guilt in his chest knowing he caused it with his coldness, but it passes as he’s quickly reminded of the reality they found themselves in.

“It doesn’t matter to you,” He scoffs, a humorless smile curling on his lips.  “So what do you care?” 

“What the hell is that supposed to—?” 

He interrupts her before she could finish her question.

“What’s the point of even inviting me here, huh? Is this some sick ploy? You want to show off for once?” 

Her eyes widened at the accusation out of left field.  She doesn’t have a clue what he’s going on about, but it’s making her blood boil.  It seemed that even when it came to him, her patience could wear thin.  And his time was long overdue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She mutters at him, wrapping her arms a little tighter around herself.  “I invited you because I wanted you to come,” She explained.  “And I thought maybe even though this wasn’t your scene, you’d want to come, too” 

Naoya rolls his eyes.

“Oh, spare me, pipsqueak,” The old nickname rolls off his tongue with nothing short of disgust, and he can see the way she recoils upon hearing it said in such a way.  “You invited me, I came.  We’re done now, yeah? You can run back to Satoru now” 

Oh, he hadn’t missed the way she’d oh so affectionately called the world’s strongest sorcerer by his first fucking name.

(y/n) scowls back at him, which was something unfamiliar to the both of them.  She was always the calm one, the collected, soft spoken one.  Now she looked seconds away from smacking him across the face.

“What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Her eyes are wide as they study his expression, trying to figure out what was going on in his head, seeing as he definitely wasn’t going to just be honest with her.  “I mean, fuck, is it really so hard for you to believe I wanted you here?” 

Naoya scoffs again, leaning back and facing away from her as he covers the upset expression on his face.  This only makes her more upset, and the harsh laugh that escapes her throat is anything but humored.

“You’ve got to be kidding! After all this time, you can’t just say it can you? You can’t be real with me for even a minute?” She moves forward, trying to grab him by the arms to turn him to face her, but he doesn’t budge, and shrugs her off.

He couldn’t have her looking at him right now.  Not when he was losing the battle of masking all of his emotions.

She huffs in defeat and throws her arms down when she fails to get him to look at her already.  Against her will, her anger turns into something worse as tears begin to prick the corners of her eyes.

“You know, I was actually upset when my father said he wasn’t going to take me to see you anymore,” She spits at him, but the tiny waiver in her voice betrays her.  She swallowed thickly to try to relieve the burn in her throat, but it was no use.  He’d already heard the crack in her voice, and finally, he’s just barely turning his head to peek down at her.  “Because I— I might not have known what I wanted, but I spent m-my whole, life, thinking that it’d always be y-you n’ me in the end” 

His irritation is washed away as soon as he sees those doe eyes filled with tears.  When he was younger, and more of a bratty asshole than a regular asshole, he would’ve loved to make her tick like this.  He would’ve felt pride knowing he’d reduced her to childish tears.

Right now, he thinks he could throw up.

Suddenly too much of his attention is on her for her liking, and when he pulls his hands out of his pockets to reach for her, she smacks both of his hands away as harshly as she could bring herself to do.

“(y/n)—” He tried to scold her but she wasn’t having it, already gathering the skirt of her dress to storm off and leave him there.

“Forget it.  You’re right.  We’re nothing to each other now, right?” She laughs bitterly as she leaves as fast as she can in the stupid heels she’d decided to wear.

“I didn’t— (y/n)!” He breaks into a slight jog to catch up with her, darting in front of her to keep her from walking away too easily.  “For fucks’ sake, would you just pause for a second?” 

She glares at him, as well as she can through the tears clouding her vision.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, his tone significantly more gentle than before, but it still doesn’t quite cross that line into genuine compassion.  It makes her scoff, before she’s roughly wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

“Because,” She answers lamely, looking down at her hands to make sure she wasn’t smearing makeup all over her face.  “Because— you—! Why didn’t you at least call?” 

His brows furrow, not following where her argument was going.

“Or write?” She adds before he can question her.  “I haven’t seen you in a year, did you just… just…” Her chest is rising and falling unsteadily as she tries to catch her breath before she starts to cry again, but her efforts are futile.  The longer she looks at him and his voice of emotion, the more the urge to sob her pathetic eyes out overwhelms her.  “You forgot about me” She declares, quietly, her eyes shifting between his before focusing on the ground.

“Forgot about you?” He repeats her, clicking his tongue as she shakes his head.  

She refuses to look at him, so he catches her chin under his forefinger, tilting her head upwards with a surprising amount of gentleness.  She still tries to glare at him, but her furrowed brows and big sad eyes do nothing to ward him off.

“(y/n), I didn’t forget about you,” He tells her with more sincerity than she’s ever heard out of him before.  “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, I really am, alright? But the old man said you were off to Tokyo and you had other— real suitors to look for,” He explains, golden eyes never once leaving hers so that she could see he was telling her the truth.  “What was I supposed to do, hm? What did you want me to do?” 

Her lips quiver as they move, but no real words come out.  He watches as she tries, as they form various shapes but inevitably she shakes her head as another tear slips down her cheek.  She doesn’t know what he should’ve done, and what she wanted was too tall of an ask.

“(y/n),” He sighs, a frown forming on his face that makes her worried about what he had to say next.  “You are far too powerful, and far too desirable as a suitor to be cryin’ over someone like me, alright?” He tells her.  She opens her mouth to say something, but he’s quicker.  “If anything, you should’ve forgotten about me as soon as you heard we weren’t—” 

“I didn’t want to,” She finally finds her voice, her nose wrinkling as she sniffles quietly.  “I didn’t want to forget.  I— I didn’t want to go to Tokyo to meet other suitors, I— I didn’t even want to go out with that guy back in high school, I— I just—” Her stutter worsens and Naoya fits his palm over her cheek, not knowing what to say to soothe her emotions.

Her eyes shut and she leans into the warmth of his hand.  She squeezes her eyes shut even tighter as she recalls when he’d last touched her like this.  He’d kissed her, then.

“I wanted more time with you.  I— I thought I’d have more time with you” She admits, barely raising above a whisper.

Naoya frowns when she looks up at him, her lashes sticky from her tears, her eyes full of an emotion he didn’t know what to do with.  Of course he’d sweep her off her feet and kiss her until every tear had dried if he could.

So he shakes his head at her, a sad smile on his lips as he does.

“No, pipsqueak, you don’t want that,” He tells her with as much certainty as he can muster.  She argues with him as she shakes her head back at him, and he even chuckles a bit.  “You don’t,” He tells her seriously.  “You need to be with someone your father has approved—” 

“No I don’t,” She speaks up this time, shaking her head a little more vigorously to make her point.  “I don’t, I don’t need him to—” 

“(y/n), I’m serious,” He tells her, cupping her face in both hands now so she had to look at him and see just how much he meant it.  “You wanted out of the arrangement, remember? You have a thousand lives to live still, you said so yourself.  You wanted travel? And to exorcize curses?” 

She frowns as he uses her words against her, and he sighs softly, his thumb stroking over her soft cheekbone thoughtfully.  He shouldn’t even be this close to her, but he can’t help it.  Seeing her cry because of him had his instincts making him do crazy things he’d come to regret soon enough.

“Why can’t I have both?” She mumbles, her eyes flickering between his.

He chuckles, and for a moment he actually smiles down at her.

“We don’t always get everything we want, pipsqueak” He mumbles, his thumb trailing downwards, around her smile line, and halting just under her lower lip.

“And that’s what you want, too?” She asks him, her brows knotting together.  “You don’t want to see me anymore? You want me to— to go find another suitor in someone else?” 

He would literally rather be dragged to the deepest pit of hell and burn for all of eternity without a second of relief from the pain.

His brow twitches.

“If that’s what’s best for you, then, yes” Naoya answers carefully.

“That’s not a real answer” She argues.

“It is” He retorts.

“It’s not,” She leans forward, close enough and fast enough that Naoya leans away to keep the distance between them.  Her brow furrows.  “If you didn’t want to see me anymore, then why did you come tonight?” 

His suspicions were correct.  He won’t hold up well being interrogated by her.

“It’s your birthday, you invited me” He states the facts, dropping his hands from her face.

(y/n) rolls her eyes, and she’s quick to grab his wrists, and she holds on tightly, making sure there wasn’t a chance he’d yank away from her.

“For once,” Her voice is soft, pleading.  “Just once, please, just be honest with me,” She begs him, her eyes wide and round and just as hopeful as her words.  “Please, Naoya, just… just tell me something real” 

He can’t.  And even worse he shouldn’t.  If he were to stand before her right now and tell her precisely how bad he wanted her, that he thought about calling or writing every day since she’s been gone, that he’d lay awake at night considering a life of an unmarried clan head that would be hated both by his own clan and every other one, just because the thought of having to marry anyone but the girl he’d sworn himself to at eight years old made him physically sick.  If he was honest with her now, there would be no taking any of it back.  At this point, they could be redeemed.  He could leave her now, hope for the best with her life with Gojo of all people, and maybe he’d have some peace of mind knowing she was at least treated well.

But there would always be that voice.  The nagging one in the back of his mind.  The one that wouldn’t let him rest if he never told her the truth.

And if after all this time she’d still have him, he would allow himself to be completely, utterly hers.  If she wanted a life full of travel and long distance assignments, he’d agree to it.  He’d bend over backwards to meet any ridiculous condition she held, as long as it meant that at the end of the day he was hers and she was his.  He didn’t need a housewife, a cook, a maid, nor a woman to carry his heirs, he wouldn’t ask anything of her for the rest of their lives as long as she would call him hers.  

Naoya frowns at her as he sighs, shoulders dropping and arms loosening in her hold as she stares at him expectantly.  To his surprise, when he pulls them away, she lets him.  Her hands fall slack at her sides, her face shadowed with hurt as she waits for him to turn and walk away from her.

He steps forward, closing the distance between them and laying his hands under her jaw, tilting her towards him just enough so it was easier for him to bend down and slam his lips against hers.

Her own hands are grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket and pulling, pulling, pulling until he’s practically stumbling just to get a little bit closer to her.  Naoya drops a hand from her face in order to curl it over her hip, squeezing tightly before wrapping his arm around her back, keeping her snug against his chest so she couldn’t pull away before he was ready to let her go.

And that time had to come at some point, even though he’d die standing here just to kiss her for a few seconds longer.  They’re already panting between messy kisses, neither one of them ready to give up just yet.

“Don’t,” She mumbles in between kisses, her hands reaching up to lay around his neck, fingers carding through the hair that laid over his nape, before curling and holding on to him there.  “Don’t leave” 

The hand that he still had resting around her cheek squeezed softly, and the kiss he gives her with it is slower, and lingers for just a few seconds longer than before.  (y/n) squeezes her eyes shut, trying to hold onto every second of it, worried he was going to decide it was the last one.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far.  His forehead is glued to hers, and their lips brush when he speaks quietly.

“Nothing could keep me from you, princess,” He murmurs, his thumb stroking her cheek in soothing movements.  “I would’ve readily, happily taken you as my wife,” 

Her eyes swell with tears again, and he’s quick to brush the wetness from under her lashes before they could fall.  She’s overwhelmed with emotion.  She’s never heard him speak so softly, so sweetly.  Her heart is beating erratically, and holds onto him a little tighter, knowing now that her feelings had been reciprocated, that she wasn’t just making things up.

“I mean it, (y/n),” He continues, eyes moving between hers.  “You were everything I ever wanted.  I… I couldn’t stand not having you.  It was always supposed to be you and me” 

A watery laugh escapes her, her lips tilting into a smile as she shuts her eyes to try and will the tears to subside.

“Y-you do, you do have me,” She tells him through a whimper, before stealing a chaste kiss and rambling on again.  “It’s always been you, I always wanted it to be you,” She cries.  “I— I love you, Naoya” 

Her face has never burned as much as it does now.  In all her years of training herself to have complete control over her emotions, it feels as though a dam has been broken clean through.  The honesty with herself and with him was so long overdue, it was as though as soon as she admitted it, a weight was lifted, a blockage removed from her path, and her heart felt so full it was as though the feeling couldn’t possibly be contained just by the beating muscle.  For years she found herself picking apart Zen’in Naoya, reading between backhanded comments and a cold exterior, and it was taxing work, but the reward had proven to be oh so worth it.

His lips curl into a faint smile, in pure disbelief that this was happening right now.  Her hands in his hair so tightly it would hurt to move, her face so close he could kiss her without moving a full inch, everything about her, from her pretty face to her genuine words, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind how he felt about her.

His smile twists into more of a grin as he reaches his hand up to push a stray lock of hair out of her face.

“I love you too, pipsqueak,” He tells her softly, earning a sweet smile out of her.  “Bit unconventional though, don’t you think?” 

“Good,” She murmurs, tilting forward to brush her lips over his.  “I hate the outdated bullshit” She adds in a whisper before locking her lips with his again.

Naoya kisses her deeply.  He kisses her like each one was going to be their last, like this was some cruel dream that he was going to wake up from anytime now, so he’d have to savor it.  (y/n) hums delightedly into his mouth, eagerly returning the long-awaited passion.

“So you don’t want to marry me now?” He teases in between a couple more kisses.  (y/n) laughs, struggling to meet his lips as she does.

“I couldn’t possibly accept a proposal on my birthday,” She scolds.  “You’ll have to do better than that” 

“Alright, fine then,” He agrees.  “If you don’t make me hang around Gojo the rest of the night, I won’t propose” 

She grins, looping her arms behind his neck and tilting her head at him with an affectionate look in her eye.  There wasn’t a moment that she wasn’t beautiful, but he always thought she was the most beautiful when she was looking at him.  It was as though she glowed.

He’d have to find a way to make it up to her— all the time he wasted not telling her how beautiful she truly was.  He’d likely spend the rest of his life reminding her, and even then, he doesn’t think it would be enough.

“You’ve got a deal, Zen’in” She replies, before tilting onto the tips of her toes again to steal one more kiss.

It would prove to be difficult to explain to her father that the man she’d previously tried to prove she didn’t love and therefore couldn’t marry is now the only one she could ever love, and that when she thought about the distant future, she could only see herself by his side, no matter his clan, it was Naoya her heart belonged to.  But she’s sure she could find some way to tell him the whole story and win him over the same way she’d been won over.

And if not, there was always eloping.  She was the only heir to her clan after all.  How hard could it be to pull some strings in the name of young love? 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

bonus:

To whom it may concern of the (y/l/n) estate, 

While it is my understanding that your intentions aren’t to wed (y/n) off without her say in the matter, I’m writing to you to declare myself as her proper suitor.  I plan on waiting a long while before officially making her my wife, but when the time is right and I’m sure that she won’t come to regret the choice, I will be taking her hand in marriage.

I’ve thought of her as my bride to be since we were children.  Whether I was thrilled about the idea at the time or not, it was certain.  She was my one true destiny, and that still rings true today.  The truth is I love your daughter.  And the prospect of making her my wife is something I’ve kept to myself for a long, long time.

When the time is right I will come to you in hopes of receiving a proper blessing.  Trust that your family will have the full support and allyship for as long as we both shall live, and trust that your daughter will be in good hands, of a man who isn’t marrying out of satiating clan politics, but completely, and deeply out of his love for her.

Sincerely, Zen’in Naoya.

“Naoya?” 

A tired voice from behind him has the man leaning up from his desk, just as he’s tucked his nearly written letter into a fresh envelope.  (y/n) sits up slowly off the bed, rubbing one eye as she squints at him in the dark.

“What’re you doin’ up?” She mumbles.  “Writing?” 

“It’s nothing, pipsqueak,” He murmurs, standing from his chair and sliding it quietly back into place before making his way over to her.  “Let’s go back to sleep, hm? It’s late” 

“That’s what I’m sayin’,” She mumbles back at him.  She coos when he’s back in bed and she’s able to curl back up on his chest.  It doesn’t take long for sleep to overcome her again.  “G’night”  “Goodnight, my love”

[ he lives for love... ]

___

a/n: there i did it i wrote a big ol' soft piece about na*ya zen'in bcuz i have a bitchass 'i can fix him' mentality </3

xoxo ~ jordie

[spcewild]

SHANE WALSH (SMUT!) HEADCANONS

(A/N sorry I haven't posted in a long time! I wanted to give you guys something so make up for it, and I've been watching TWD a lot recently and am absolutely inlove with Jon Bernthal 🫶)

Warnings: SMUT!!!, Kinks, Rough!Shane, Hair pulling, bruising/marks, public sex, etc.

• Shane Walsh, the man who would jump at the chance to brat tame you the second you said the words, "make me"

• Shane, the man who would never admit it, but LOVES when you leave his neck full of your lipstick stains, but would immediately punch anyone who would dare point them out.

• That man, Shane, who would dig his fingers so roughly in your hair, he would have you screaming his name

• Oh that man, the man you loved so dearly, and how much love you too could feel when he would tenderly kiss your neck, all the way down to your stomach, making sure no part of you was left untouched.

• The way he would hold you so gently, cherishing every moment, the way that clashes with his rough thrusts he would make into you, each one going deeper each time.

• That same way he would bite down onto your shoulder when he came so deep inside of you, his hold around you tightening ever so slightly

• But even the risk of getting caught only made him even more turned on. What if someone in the group were to see you like this? All ruined just for him, it drives him crazy in all the right ways.

• What rarely would ever faulter was the way he left bruises and hickies all over your body, sometimes even hiding clothes that were longer and easier to hide said marks; making you having to wear the shortest shorts and a tank top after that night he littered marks all over your body, making everyone stare when you walked around camp.

• Even then, that same man, that same Shane, would never even hesitate when you asked him to kiss those same marks, most of the time; doing it without even having to ask. Just feeling his lips against those purplish red marks he made on you, as if making a mental picture in his mind.

A/N: I hope you guys liked this! Ik I don't write smut very often so feel free to leave feedback! <3

I also updated my masterlist if anyone is interested in requesting!

(More info: Fandoms/Characters)

REQUESTS: OPEN

#fanfic #headcanon #oneshot #writers on tumblr #x reader #spotify #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #shane walsh #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #rick grimes #walking dead #smut #the walking dead smut #shane walsh smut

[nolita-fairytale]

don't you worry, there's still time | chef luca x fem!reader, feat. marcus brooks

summary: after losing his mother, marcus searches for joy and stillness in copenhagen. you and luca, who are more than happy to host, decide to take a big next step in your relationship. a oneshot from the world of 'burn your life down.'

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, light smut, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 5.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: wow, i missed this world! who is ready for the reveal of chef's restaurant name?! while i don't think i have the bandwidth to write another full series (nor a linear story to tell) i'm thinking of creating a second part to 'burn your life down' where we just get to drop in and see what they're up to. thoughts??

chef luca masterlist | full masterlist

After a tumultuous holiday season, it doesn’t take long for Sydney to realize that her friend is in need of a little help. A reprieve, she so kindly explained to both Marcus and Carmy when she’d proposed the idea. 

It was Sydney this time, who called Luca, knowing that she and Carmy would have to find something to do with Marcus. It wasn’t fair – that he’d lost his mom just before Thanksgiving – and they both agreed that Marcus needed to get out of dodge. Quick to act, Carmy set up a few stages in NYC for a week or so, which, while seemed to inspire Marcus, seemed to only plunge him further into a slump come Christmas. “I don’t know. I think we gotta send him on some kinda… eat, pray, love trip. The guy can only sulk on my couch for so long before I consider jumping out of the window,” Sydney says, her attempt to lighten the mood with humor still genuine. “It’s getting sad, Carm. Like… real fuckin’ sad.”

“You’re right. Uh… what about Copenhagen?” Carmy pitches with a shrug, because he knows what all consuming grief feels like. 

“Again?” she asks, uncertain of whether it’s the best choice that they could make. 

“Yeah,” Carmy shrugs in response. “Think he got a lot of it last time. Could be good for him to go back to somewhere familiar… work with Luca again. You don’t think it’s a-?”

“No I do! I just-,” Sydney hesitates, though she knows her business partner makes a good point. “Familiarity will be good for him. To be around people he can trust.”

“You want me to uh-,” Carmy begins to offer, figuring he’ll make the call. 

“Probably best if I explain the situation. Just ‘cause, you know, I know more of what’s going on… just send me his info and I’ll call later,” Sydney interjects. 

Carmy agrees with a curt nod before adding in:

“Uh… okay yeah. Yeah.”

*

You get plenty of time to prepare for Marcus’ visit, performing all kinds of fancy footwork to arrange a proper visit – a week’s worth of time spent staging and living in Copenhagen. When Luca finds out that the prolific houseboat, a chef retreat of sorts that’s always been an option for lodging, is booked for the week and a half that Marcus plans on visiting, you offer up your place without hesitation. 

The arrangement goes as follows: while Marcus stays at yours at no cost, you’ll stay with Luca for the duration of the time. 

This is how you find yourself at the massive Ikea on Dybbølsbro on a Saturday morning with Luca, in search of a set of fresh bed linens intended for guests. 

“I really should host more. And Astrid said she and Lina were planning a trip out here so… why not kill two birds with one stone?” you’d reasoned to your boyfriend, making a strong case for why you and Luca should make this little shopping trip. 

“What do you think of the blue?” Luca asks you, as you run your hand over a set of the display sheets, checking for softness. 

“Don’t know if the blue is what I’m going for. I was thinking of something warmer. Maybe a yellow or… I don’t know. I’ve kind of been into that trendy rust color as of late,” you reply with a shrug, moving onto the warmer colors. 

Luca chuckles and with a small shake of his head, he clarifies his previous questions with:

“No, I meant for me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask him curiously, his comment pulling all of your focus as you search his face for answers. “You just got new bedding.” 

And expensive ones too. 

But as your eyes follow his gaze, you realize that he’s not talking about sheets, focused on the XL Twin-sized duvets just above where the sheets messily fall along the shelf. 

“I was thinking…” Luca trails off, checking in with you before he continues, with “... maybe it’s time I get two duvets… you know… for us.” He takes a beat, and a step towards you, and you know you’ll never stand a chance against his boyish charm as one side of his mouth turns up into a smile. 

You’re no stranger to the Scandinavian duvet method – two twin duvets for one king sized bed – but it sounds like Luca’s suggestion is about way more than buying an extra duvet on this trip. 

“I want you to feel at home… at my place."

“I do,” you reply, almost instantly, a warmth spreading through your belly as you take a step towards him. 

“But I mean really… feel like it’s your home. Because it is. It could be. You know… if you want it to be,” Luca continues, this time with more insistence, a look of hopefulness in his deep blue eyes. 

“Are you… are you asking me to move in with you?” you manage to get out, your heart skipping a beat. 

“Why not? We could use this week to try it out,” he suggests so casually that you practically have to do a double take. “See how it goes while Marcus stays at your place?”

“Yeah I-... that sounds like a good plan, yeah,” you stammer out, the grin on your face undeniable as you nod enthusiastically in the middle of a goddamn furniture store. 

“Besides,” Luca says, clearing his throat as his tone changes to one that’s much more playful. “You’re an absolute blanket hog and a repeat offender at that.” Luca winks your way as you roll your eyes with a laugh in response. “This could prevent some of our silly little quarrels, don’t you think, love?” 

“Uh huh,” you sound, your face skeptical as you look his way again. “Preventative measures. Sure, babe.”

Luca chuckles before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, right then and there, in the Ikea bed linen section, the place you’ll now forever think of as the place your boyfriend asked you to move in with him.

Connection

When Marcus arrives in Copenhagen, you’ve arranged your home with the most comfort in mind, having already packed a week’s worth of things and left for Luca’s. You can only imagine what he must be going through, deciding that something like that – losing your mother – though inevitable, is your goddamn worst nightmare. 

“Marcus, 

Enjoy your stay and please reach out if you need anything. I can’t wait to meet you!”

…is the note that you leave him, along with a few morning pastries you picked up from your favorite baggeri across the street, and your number scribbled down at the bottom of the notepad. 

As Marcus arrives, his eyes drawn immediately to your note and gift, Marcus smiles to himself, noticing that you left a very nice looking bottle of wine on the counter as well. He’s moved by your generosity, considering you’ve never met, and the fact that you’re willing to take so much care, extend this much kindness to a stranger, causes a wave of softness to wash over him. 

Maybe, just maybe, he can find softness again – the last few months riddled with pain, grief, and numbness to get through the days. 

While he came here to work, encouraged by his friends that a change of scenery may do his broken heart some good, it’s the first time Marcus has had a chance to be still. His feelings of grief sit heavier here and it catches him off guard, uncertain that he’s quite ready to sit with them yet. He pushes aside the thought, focusing on exploring your home and unpacking his bags. Marcus knows how to stay busy – he’s become an expert at it by now – reminding himself that he’s got work at 5 am sharp tomorrow.

*

“A little too much, chef. Take it down by about 15 grams,” Luca directs, his voice even and sure as he inspects the balls of dough that Marcus currently shapes. 

“Yes, chef,” Marcus nods in understanding, plopping the ball of dough back on the scale to adjust the measurement. 

The two of them work like this for the rest of the morning, Luca treading carefully while keeping things professional, while Marcus buries himself in the work – something that feels good, safe, right. 

He’s missed this. While Marcus has one chef he works with directly at the restaurant, he’s the expert – the head patissier. He misses being surrounded by excellence, getting to be a student of someone who is just as driven, if not more, and inspired. It’s good, quiet, calm, yet there’s a focus and intensity in Luca’s kitchen that feels like a breath of fresh air. 

His stage trip to New York has been more of a mess than beneficial. Maybe it had been the chaos of the city, or the chaos of the chefs he was working with. Maybe it was the fact that Marcus, though hungry for a distraction, hadn’t quite been ready to walk directly into the line of fire yet.

As Marcus’ practiced hands move with the dough, there’s a newfound confidence in the way that he works that's not lost on Luca. Luca watches his friend carefully, pride swelling in his chest as his mentee makes the adjustment with ease and diligence.

“Can I join you?” Luca asks, gesturing towards Marcus' workstation. 

“‘Course, chef,” Marcus replies, his response short yet reverent. 

As Luca joins him, finding a space to the right of Marcus, he busies his hands with rolling each perfectly measured ball of dough into mini boules, ready to proof. The two of them work quietly, side by side, the air between them heavy with words unsaid. He can feel it – the weight that lays so heavily on Marcus' heart – but Luca doesn’t want to bring it up, uninterested in forcing the conversation. Especially about something so painful, something he knows that Marcus has barely begun working through. 

“Thanks, again. For uh… you know… letting me come work,” Marcus begins, momentarily checking in with Luca to gauge a reaction. 

“‘Course,” Luca replies, his answer instantaneous. “You’re welcome here any time, mate.” 

“Yeah?” Marcus asks, stealing a glance in Luca’s direction.

“Yeah,” Luca responds with a certain nod. 

“And uh… shit. I can’t thank your girlfriend enough for letting me crash at her place,” Marcus adds, as he works through his discomfort and overwhelm from the wave of feelings that begin to bubble up in his chest.

“You can thank her yourself on Saturday,” Luca brings up, excited over the fact that Marcus will not only be meeting his girlfriend, but staging at her restaurant too. “She’s really looking forward to meeting you.” 

Marcus nods slowly, his hands the only steady thing about him as he continues to focus on his work. 

“I just mean-, well, she didn’t have to-. ‘S not like either of you owed it to me or anything and I-. You guys just really came through…” Marcus trails off, wanting to make his gratitude clear. It means more to him that he can articulate so instead he settles for, “So thank you. Again.”

Luca shrugs with an aplomb about him as he returns with, “We got you, mate.” He pauses before continuing, fully aware that Marcus isn’t quite comfortable with the feelings that have presented themself in this moment. “And the way I see it, I wouldn’t have met her if it weren’t for you – for our conversation the last time you were here – so we really do owe you for it.”

This time Luca makes an effort to check in with Marcus, gauging his emotional capacity as he concludes with:

“But that’s not what any of this is about: debts, who owes who what. We were both more than happy to host you. That’s what mates are for.”

It’s not till the end of the next shift that it hits him, and Marcus finds himself sitting outside of the restaurant on a bench across the street. He’s not sure whether it’s the jet lag or the exhaustion of the 5 am start time in another time zone, but it hits him all at once, like a ton of bricks. Suddenly consumed with the feelings that he’s been trying his best to avoid, all he can do is pause, completely caught off guard by the strength of them. 

Quietly, Luca joins him, having spotted him on his way home, rerouting himself in Marcus’ direction instead. 

All he can think of are the words you’ve asked him, and he you, time and time again – the ones that cut right to the core of you each and every time – that show you how much he cares. 

“How’s your heart?” Luca asks Marcus, after a few minutes of sitting on the bench together in silence. 

And how is his heart? 

He’s not sure how to answer, considering it’s been a while since he’s really had a chance to check in, the crippling reality of this great loss is too much to bear alone. 

His heart is broken, shattered into an infinite amount of pieces. 

He, and his heart will never be the same again and he doesn’t know where or how he’ll ever put it back together. 

His heart is… lost, in desperate need of finding a soft place to land. 

Marcus takes a while to answer, racking his brain for any semblance of a cohesive answer. 

He waits. And then he waits. 

Until finally, he can answer. 

“I uh… don’t know. But I’m hoping this trip will help me figure that out.”

Creativity 

“do you remember the 21st night of september? love was changin' the minds of pretenders while chasin' the clouds away.” (earth, wind, and fire.)

Everything about the way you run your kitchen feels different than what he’s used to. 

It’s sure as hell different from his last stage trip to New York, Marcus thinks to himself.

With Carmy and Syd, working with them, there’s a buzz of chaos that runs underneath even the most organized and efficient service. It’s something integral to what they have, gives an edge to The Bear that seems to make it hum in all the right ways. Even with Luca, who comes from fine dining and Michelin-starred restaurants, there’s a quiet and determined focus – an intensity to his work – even without the undercurrent of chaos. 

But this. But you. 

Your kitchen somehow teeters the line of organized chaos and reckless play so well that Marcus understands why this works – why it’s efficient. 

Still, he watches as you and your staff dance – no, literally dance – around each other to the highly recognizable Earth, Wind, and Fire tune. Mathilde sings along while chopping chives for the brothy mushroom grain bowl, while, mid-phrase, manages to yell out a short command to a line cook in Danish. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus catches Jesper working the dining room, while you finish plating two more dishes, ready to be walked out. 

It’s as if you find focus in the center of all the noise, somewhere between the electric energy between you, Mathilde, and your staff, and the feel-good vibes and homeyness of the restaurant that you’ve created. 

You had been more than welcoming when Marcus had walked through the doors of your restaurant, Kokuore, mere hours ago. You’d given him the tour, shown him which station he’d be working this evening, then warmly introduced him to your entire team before family meal started. Marcus can’t stop moving, too afraid to be still in fear of falling apart in the presence of how comforting you’ve been. 

And this? Your kitchen. It’s all joy, connection, and artistry. 

It’s not hard for him to see why Luca fell in love with you. 

“Marcus, feel free to take a break,” he hears you say, as you nod towards the dining room through the open kitchen. 

As Marcus follows your gesture, he notices that Luca’s arrived, remembering something about a standing Saturday date. 

“You sure, chef?” Marcus asks, looking to you for approval. 

“Positive,” you nod, reassuringly.

Marcus nods in return to confirm, before taking his apron off and making his way over to the dining room where Luca is exchanging a few words with Jesper. 

“Wassup, chef,” he greets his mentor. 

“You know, you can call me Luca,” Luca reminds him with a crooked smile. “At least when we’re off the clock.”

Marcus chuckles, “Uh… yeah alright. That’s gonna take some getting used to.” 

Luca chuckles in return, before Jesper shows them to his table, mentioning something about Americans being so afraid of fluidity. 

“She’s brilliant isn’t she?” Luca asks, in reference to you as his eyes catch yours from across the room. 

“Nah for real. Like… mad scientist vibes,” Marcus concurs with a smile. “She can throw down for sure.” He pauses as they sit down at Luca’s table. “So you come every Saturday night, huh?”

“When I can, yeah, which is… most Saturdays,” Luca replies honestly, before beginning to list why he’s kept up this routine. “But it’s nice. Keeps me inspired. I get to see my girl, walk her home at night which makes me feel better.” Luca leans back in his chair this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I never mind helping close down at the end of the night.”

Marcus hums in response before one of the waitstaff comes to their table, with a glass of wine in hand, on the house. They chat for a little longer before Marcus returns to the kitchen, his excitement for what you’re doing here filling him to the brim. 

As dinner service comes to an end, Marcus can’t help but notice the chemistry and how unique it is as you all work together in perfect harmony. There’s a warmth to it, something different, and he begins to understand why the name of the restaurant comes from the word, heart. 

Luca is quick to get up from his table, quickly finishing his glass of wine as he offers to help close down. The music volume goes from underscoring the buzz of a busy night of service, to the main attraction, as a motown throwbacks playlist begins to blare from the speakers. You all work quickly and efficiently, eager to close down, get home, and begin your weekends, but it’s when an old Otis Redding track that Luca decides to put a pause on the progress. 

“Dance with me, my love,” he says, offering his hand out to you as a huge gesture that earns a few looks and giggles from some of your staff. 

“Luca,” you begin to protest, looking around. 

“You can take three minutes,” he offers, exchanging a look with you this time. 

You nod, taking his hand as you agree with, “Okay.”

And as Luca wraps you up in his arms, engaging you in a slow dance to Otis Redding’s “That’s How Strong my Love is,” you chuckle, relaxing into him.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” Jesper calls out after you, teasingly. 

“She pretends – always puts up a fight – as if they don’t do this every single week,” Mathilde adds, as an explanation to Marcus. 

“Every week?” Marcus asks, a little surprised by both you and Luca’s willingness to pause and revel in a moment with each other, instead of just pushing through. 

“Yeah. Romantics, they are,” Jesper chimes in. 

Marcus smiles to himself. It’s a reminder of slowness – something he hasn’t let himself experience in a long time – and for just a moment, he lets himself settle into the feeling. 

*

You don’t even mind that you woke up an hour before your alarm the moment you feel Luca’s arms wrapped around you, and his lips against your soft skin. The low rumble of his voice resonates across your shoulders, sending chills down your spine as you arch into his hands, his arms wrapped around you. 

“I know we’re only a few days in… of our little trial,” Luca begins, the bass of his voice reverberating through your shoulder blade.

“Our living together trial?” you clarify with your ask, letting out a gasp as he nibbles on your shoulder gently. 

“Yeah. Just wonderin’ where your mind’s at,” Luca murmurs, his eager hands beginning to explore underneath the oversized shirt you put on before bed last night. 

“Well… I really like this,” you reply, the sound that comes out of your mouth somewhere between a giggle and a moan. 

“Hmmmm?” Luca sounds, innocently. 

“This… Waking up to you thing.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

Luca’s name escapes your lips as his fingers gently begin to play with your nipples, his erection hard against your back as you begin to grind your hips back against. 

“And the access to round the clock sex is really a bonus,” you sigh, blissfully. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks you again, a large tatted hand slipping between your legs. 

“Yeah… I’d even be… interested in leaning into that part… right now,” you hiss in reply to his touch. “Considering you’re distracting me with sex.”

“Hmmmmm. ‘S not just it, love. Have I told you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for Marcus?” Luca asks, his mouth back on your neck. He presses your body against him, your back to his chest as he rocks his hips against yours. 

“Luca!” you protest, unable to focus on the conversation. 

“It’s your kindness. Your heart… I’m in awe of it,” he continues to praise you as the two of you begin to set a rhythm between your bodies. 

It’s all heat, and soft sighs of pleasure, and foreplay.

“Well, I know a little something about what he’s going through,” you answer breathlessly. You begin to impatiently push the hem of your shirt higher so that you can give Luca more access to your body. 

“That’s why I love you,” Luca murmurs into your skin, his hands all over you, his focus unbroken and your mind beginning to go blank. His hands are tearing your shirt over your head as he continues to praise you. “Your heart, the way you share it.”

“You helped me get there, baby,” you gasp, turning your head so that you can kiss your boyfriend. 

Instead of answering, Luca nods knowingly, before crashing his lips into yours. His mouth on yours feels like heaven, and you can’t believe that you ever fought your feelings for him. 

“Ah fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s move in together,” you surrender to him, lost in the moment. 

“Yeah?” Luca pauses, pulling away, as if almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Yeah. I mean it, baby,” you nod, catching his gaze, certain in the way you answer. “I wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Me too, my love,” Luca grins, before pressing his lips to yours again. “Now will you please let me fuck you, darling?”

“Fuck yes.”

Luca spends the next hour showing you just how grateful he is for you, while you in return, spend the next hour showing him just how sure you are about this decision. 

And you are sure. If mornings like this are a constant for the rest of your life, you think you’ll die a happy woman. 

You’ve found a home in him, and he, you. He’s the person you want to come home to at the end of the day. He’s the man that puts a smile on your face every single time he gets on his soapbox about how Beyonce is the performer of your lifetimes, and he is unequivocally the best, most unexpected thing in your life. 

Luca Davies, in almost a year of knowing him, and eight months of getting to love him, has somehow become your favorite person. 

By the time you and Luca are both showered and decent-for-company, you’ve begun your mise en place for brunch, completely content with the fact that you’re running a little behind schedule (and in all fairness, the sex was worth it – it’s always worth it). The smell of bacon sizzling away on your carbon steel fry pan fills the entire apartment, and you’re glad that Luca opened a window earlier. It’s not exactly window weather yet, but the air ventilation is a must when it comes to smoked meats.

While you play catch up with your brunch plan, Luca’s busy welcoming Marcus in, pouring him a cup of coffee using the extensive ten-step pour over he’s been fixated on ever since he purchased it, while they chat here and there about what else he’s explored in Denmark. 

“Been too busy working, to be honest but… I don’t know. I might wander around today… see what kind of stuff I can get into,” Marcus answers frankly with a shrug. 

“Ah, mate. We just had a walk at the Frederiksberg Gardens. Definitely something I’d recommend checking out,” Luca suggests, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he mentions it. 

Luca continues moving through his list of recommendations, Marcus chiming in with places and things he did the last time he was here, excited to spend a few days exploring the city instead of just working. 

“Wanderin’ around. I dunno. There’s something about it. ‘S good for the spirit, you know?” Luca concludes. 

“Yeah,” Marcus nods in agreement, before turning his attention over to the French toast you’re working on. “Okay, I see you. What is that? Mascarpone?”

“Yeah, good eye. It’s just something new I’m working on: a mascarpone stuffed french toast. We’re actually talking about extending our hours… maybe doing weekend brunch,” you answer thoroughly, as you dip the stuffed pieces of bread into their egg batter, pre-cook. 

“For real? That’s sick,” Marcus compliments, watching you carefully. “I mean… shit. You could have a whole brunch spot.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your cutting board. 

“A Brunch spot,” Marcus repeats, simply, the excitement in his eyes at the new idea, evident. “Yeah, you know. Luca could do the morning pastries. You work your magic on the rest of the menu.”

“That’s a novel idea! What do you think, my love?” Luca asks, intrigue in his voice as he searches your face for a reaction. 

“I-,” you begin, looking from Luca to Marcus, then back to Luca again. “I… never thought about it like that.” You take a beat, eyeing Luca carefully. “We’ve never talked about going into business together.”

Marcus shrugs, before picking up his coffee mug, “Yo, it’s just a thought. I think you two would be unstoppable together.”

“Unstoppable, eh?” Luca asks, his eyes locked with yours. 

You only hum in response, raising a quirked eyebrow in Luca’s direction before adding:

“It’s certainly one hell of an idea, Marcus.”

Kokuore

Monday afternoon, you find yourself at your restaurant with Marcus Brooks, on a day off. 

“I might need a little extra help with something tomorrow. We’re closed tomorrow, but I want to get ahead on this special I’m working on. Could use the help of a pastry chef. What do you say?” you’d proposed to him, over one more espresso before he left. 

To Luca’s dismay, (“ you silly Americans just can’t enjoy a day of doing nothing,” he’d teased the two of you) Marcus had given you an unwavering yes, reassuring you that he was down to learn everything he possibly could from you, especially while he was here. 

And it’s true. You do need the help. But should he want someone to talk to – someone who gets it, even just a little bit – you want to offer him the space and the opportunity to do so.

“As a patissier, do you get tasked with pasta? At The Bear?” you ask Marcus, as you pleat a dumpling in hand with a speed that only comes with practice. 

“Nah,” Marcus sounds, his focus on the dumpling he’s pleating too. His concentration on getting the pleats right is reverent and unbroken, even as he answers your question. “Our head chef, Carmy, he uh… he comes from an Italian American family so when we’ve done a stuffed pasta… he usually takes the lead on that.”��

You nod in understanding, placing the dumpling you’ve just finished down on the full-sized sheet pan. The two of you sit across from each other, having pushed a few dining tables together as a makeshift workstation. 

“Think Luca’ll take over this kinda stuff when you guys open a restaurant together?” Marcus asks, lightheartedly pushing his agenda from yesterday. 

You laugh in response, your hands working quickly on yet another dumpling. 

“For someone with no skin in the game, you’re really insistent on this idea,” you tease him in return. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Marcus pushes right back, his tone still light. 

“I…” you sigh, trailing off as you pause your work for a moment. “You know, we just said we’d move in together. That and a restaurant? Feels fast.” 

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… a few hours before you came over for brunch,” you elaborate, earning a whistle from Marcus. The two of you exchange a look, and a laugh, as you pick up another dumpling wrapper that you and Marcus rolled out together earlier. 

“It’s a good idea though,” you add, stealing a glance his way so that he knows that you’re serious. 

“Well, when you two inevitably do open a restaurant… I want ten percent,” Marcus jokes, earning another laugh from you. 

“Deal,” you agree with him. 

You and Marcus work like this, exchanging a few words, the conversation light, underscored by a softer acoustic soundtrack from one of your Spotify radio stations.

“So how’d you learn to cook like this?” Marcus asks you curiously. 

“Uh…” you hesitate, treading carefully as you realize this conversation could open a can of worms. 

“I don’t know how much Luca’s told you about me… but I was married… before him,” you begin, cautiously. “And… well, I learned a lot of this… a lot of traditional Japanese cooking from my mother-in-law.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These are her dumplings actually – her recipe. She passed away last Fall and… well, it was important to me to celebrate her – to celebrate her life – by creating a few dishes for her,” you continue, and it’s as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room. “We’re bringing this one back as a special this month but um… yeah. I’m… still very much grieving and… it helps me remember her. Cooking her food helps me feel close to her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Marcus sighs, his heart heavy as he exhales. 

He waits a beat. 

And then another, having paused his work as he watches you pleat, head down, with expert hands. 

The silence between you and Marcus is full, heavy, connected by shared experience. You wait for Marcus to say something, and when he doesn’t, you decide to continue. 

“This restaurant… has so much of my heart in it: it’s got my love for Italian food from growing up in my best friend’s family’s restaurant, and it’s got my love for her – for Aiko – and everything she taught me,” you begin to explain. “And lately… it’s got a fresh perspective… inspired by the love I have with Luca, I think. Well, I know. Inspired by him… how this place brought us together.”

“The name itself is… totally made up, but means a lot to me. The Japanese word for heart is, kokoro, and the Italian word for heart is, cuore. Somehow an homage to my past… and was… Prophetic in so many ways too.” 

As Marcus listens, Luca’s previous question lingers in his head:

How’s your heart?

At the time he didn’t know how to answer, and after five days in Copenhagen – after five days of doing what he loves in a place that he loves – his heart is somehow so full, yet so broken all at once. He’s filled with deep sorrow and with the spark of creativity all at the same time, and he’s just not sure how to hold all of this feeling inside of him. 

Marcus waits a beat, opens his mouth, then lets the words fall out. 

“It’s evident. In your food,” is all he manages to say. “It’s got soul. It’s got heart. I-, it’s inspiring. That’s for sure.” 

“I made a dish. For Michael,” Marcus adds, his eyes on the dumpling he works on, but the guard on his heart beginning to fall away. “He was uh… well, he was the old owner of the restaurant, called The Beef back then. Carmy took over after he died. Felt right to honor him and his life, you know? When we reopened as The Bear.”

“Food is… it’s our art, you know?” you agree. “Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to express myself and… sometimes it’s just the thing that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

A beat. 

“Maybe one day I can make one for my mom,” Marcus says, his voice stuck in his throat as he admits, “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. But I think… I think I’d like to eventually.” 

“Of course,” you reassure him gently. “You don’t have to be ready now. You don’t have to be ready ever. But when you are, your art will always be there.” 

“Thanks,” Marcus nods solemnly. 

You get up this time, realizing the sheet pan is full, and ready to be placed on the baker’s rack. As you return to the table with a new empty sheet pan, lined with parchment paper, Marcus finally asks you, his eyes soft, the heartbreak in them present. 

“How’d you get through? You know. Losing her? Your mother-in-law?” 

You return to your chair with a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll let you know when I do,” you answer, letting up a soft chuckle. “It helps to have good people and… from what Luca’s told me, you do. But… I had to let ‘em in, let ‘em help me. Let ‘em love me. And in all honesty, most days I’m still just… taking it day by day.” 

“Yeah, I-. I do. I got some really good people. Back home,” Marcus drags out slowly. 

“Then that’s all that matters. Your people and your heart. The rest… you just-,” you start. 

“Take day by day?” Marcus interjects, pausing to catch your eyes. 

You and Marcus exchange a knowing look, the recognition of each others’ pain is met with empathy. 

“Yeah. I think that's all we can do.”

By the end of your work session with Marcus, you’re ready to head home so that you can spend the rest of the day with Luca. 

“What’re you gonna do with the rest of your day?” you ask Marcus, curiously. 

With a sigh, and then a shrug, and a heart that feels just a little lighter, he answers with:

“Think I might wander around a bit. Someone once told me it’s good for the spirit.”

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not asking if anyone else wanted something I ruined for everyone else?

I (16m) am kind of the garbage disposal of the family. I eat stuff they don't like. Onions, pickles, olives and so on get tossed on my plate. I was also recently handed a bunch of raisins from my younger sister(13) and her friend's(13multiple) traillmix? They were all eating a little bowl of it then gave me the bowl of raisins. It was weird but I did eat them.

Basically my family and I do not agree on what constitues as gross and/or inediable.

Much like the fact that I am obsessed with Marmite. I could live off the stuff. I eat it more than I should but I can't eat it in front of my family. I typically have to hide in my room. The reason for that is that because they hate it so much the can't keep their comments to themselves on how disgusting it is that I eat it. It's to the point that I'm kind of insecure because even just us seeing it or hearing about it makes them go "Look it's that gross shit you like/how can you even eat that/Nasty/for some reason our son is obsessed with that stuff no idea how he even stomachs it he must be an alien" It's not fun. They are also not joking. They look at me with genuine disgust all over their faces and most of the time I have to buy it myself but my dad will sometimes buy it for me because while he does join in on calling it disgusting he doesn't think it's his buisness what I eat. It's actually recently gotten worse and I feel anxious eating in front of them at all. Which has lead to more comments about me not eating with the family, it's annoying but I'll live. That's not the issue here.

Four days ago I did something that while I will admit it was unsanitary and gross, even in the context that I am the only one who eats this, I did not think was a crime. I had a fresh jar of Marmate that my dad ordered for me and when I was putting it on my toast I got some on the rim of the jar and licked it off before closing the lid so it wouldn't get all over the lid. (It was also extra umph concentrated which was funny). My mother flew off the handle at me and asked why I would do something like that because now no one else can use it and called me selfish. I kind of stopped for a second and admittedly got a little smart and responded with something to the affect of "Now no one can use the stuff that I have to use in secret becauss no one in this house can shut up about how disgusting I am for even considering eating it?" She hesitated but then doubled down and said I needed to be considerate of others in the house who might have wanted to use it. I am beyond lost here so I'm asking Tumblr.

Am I the asshole? Willing to admit I'm the asshole and apologize if I'm deemed in the wrong. But I was honestly under the impression that I would never have to worry about my family wanting this stuff.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole