#I’m doing much better without you and to that I detest

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, childhood bestfriends to lovers, tlou'verse, jackson era, mild hurt/comfort

word count: 4.9k

summary: When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

warnings: okay so technically not cheating because your boyfriend literally gambled you buuut if that's not your thing I totally get it, piv, dirty talk, choking, spitting, size kink, soft!joel & feral!joel, he likes hearing how big he is, affectionate whore calling™, a hint of analplay, oral (receiving and giving)

a/n: another joel fic inspired by p.orn, we love to see it

a special thank you to @nothoughtsjustmeds for the beta! 💕

Joel was never that into gambling. 

Back before everything had gone to shit, that had always been more Tommy’s forte than his own. Joel doesn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to bail his brother out, either by protecting him while putting himself in the middle or by giving him loans he’d never ever see again. Joel hadn’t minded. Tommy was his baby brother after all. As long as he was safe Joel was happy—annoyed, for sure, but happy. 

He was surprised when he learned that Jackson had a pretty heavy gambling scene and that Tommy wasn’t a part of it. He didn’t know why that was, because even on the nights where he had to go bail him out and bring him home all bloodied and bruised, Tommy just made the same mistakes. Not even Sarah’s worried expression, while she peered from between the wooden stair railing, deterred him from it. 

Guess it was different when your own kid was on the way. 

However, despite his lack of interest in gambling, he found himself betting away what little he had for someone else—someone he thought he would never see again. But honestly, he wasn’t half bad at it so he didn’t mind it that much. His only complaint was when he had to get messy hunting down those who didn’t pay up. 

One by one the men around the table folded, only leaving Joel and Liam. A huge stack of weaponry lies in the middle of the table, Liam’s eyes constantly flit between the stack and Joel. They stare at each other long and hard. Joel knows that he’s going to win. He usually did with these face-offs. 

Liam folds. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s lips. There’s nothing better than to take what someone he absolutely detests wants. 

“Let’s go again,” Liam grunts, his forehead shining with sweat. 

Joel raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have anythin’ else to bet on.” 

“Come on now, Miller,” Liam leans back into his chair. “There must be something that you want.” 

Joel’s eyes bore into his long enough for the man to grow uncomfortable and nervous. Only then did he speak. 

“You still have that pretty girlfriend?” 

Someone Joel didn’t bother learning the name of pipes up from his right, “I thought we were only betting huntin’ supplies this time.” 

“Come on, let the man try to win his rifle back.” Joel grins. 

“Fuck you, Miller.” 

“Careful now,” he slowly places his elbows on the old table, his weight on it enough to let out a threatening creak. He cocks his head to the side, his smile small but still there. “My kindness wears thin.” 

Liam’s an addict. And of course, he says yes. 

“You fucking gambled me away?!” your voice is shaking, body trembling all over as you pace back and forth in front of the couch Liam was nestled on top of. At least he has the decency to look guilty. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? I’m your girlfriend, not some kind of deer hide you can put on the table.” 

“Look I said I was sorry alright?” He stands up fast enough to make you flinch. He holds you by the shoulders, thumbs moving in a soothing manner. “Won’t happen again, I promise.” 

You scoff, “We both know that’s a lie.” You lift your chin up in defiance. “I won’t do it. I have free will. You can’t make me.” 

That makes Liam sweat. You can’t blame him, you’ve heard of Joel’s. . . outbursts. But honestly, that’s the least of your worries. You’re mostly confused as to why Joel asked for you specifically. You’re positive that he’d been avoiding you ever since he came into Jackson, only talking to you a handful of times. Why now? And why like this?

“Baby,” Liam whines, snapping you away from your thoughts. “You have to. He’s crazy, he’ll kill me.” 

“You should’ve thought of that before.” 

“Please. All you’d have to do is entertain him for the night, make him happy.” 

“So to be his plaything? Is that what you want?” 

“Maybe he’ll ask you to cook him dinner, hell if I know.” 

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure he’ll just want something to eat.” 

You give him one more look before slipping away from his gentle hold. Your heartbeat is slow, hours spreading across every beat, making your chest feel heavy and lightheaded.

“Fine,” you cave, wrapping yourself with your shaking arms. “But after this, I’m done, Liam. I’m so tired of bailing you out.” 

“You can’t leave, where would you go?” 

The soft tone he used while begging you to spread your legs for Joel quickly turns into a tone with sharp, dagger-like edges. You don’t say anything. Don’t answer him or agree with him. You’re lost in a broken world. 

And now, amongst all the things you’ve been through, you have to see the pity in your childhood best friend’s eyes. 

You don’t want to be here. You don’t. It’s embarrassing. 

Your boyfriend is in the other room, brooding on his couch, examining his life choices. You’re not doing any better. Your robe loose over your shoulders, the chill of the bedroom settling over your skin. It’s especially embarrassing because it’s Joel for crying out loud. You’ve known each other since you were kids causing mischief all around the neighborhood. You still remember the time you fell and scraped your knee, how he kissed it better and placed a pink bandaid over it because it was your favorite color. 

Why the hell had he asked for you? To humiliate you? Well, he definitely succeeded. 

The door opens and you jolt. His presence is large in the room, making you shudder despite yourself. Your pulse quickens. You shouldn’t be afraid of him yet here you are, trembling like a newborn doe. He closes the door with a gentle click, the wood creaking and solidifying your fate. 

You haven’t known him for years. Even before the outbreak had torn the world apart. You had moved away two years prior and after everything went down you never expected to see him again. When he showed up in Jackson you barely recognized him. He looked rugged, more salt than pepper in his beard, his eyes drained of life. He had scars that ran deep and he had found a kid along the way. You were surprised but relieved to see he still had a big heart. 

You were ashamed the first time you two sat down after years. Everyone knew of Liam’s gambling problem, he couldn’t help it, and you knew that Joel knew. You hated the idea of him pitying you, of him seeing the world weighing down on you. You’ve heard from around that Joel also started to place bets. Nothing too big though, unlike your boyfriend who would bet on almost anything in the house. You knew those bets could turn out violent and people feared Joel. Even in a safe utopia like Jackson, the kind of man he’d become traveled from ear to ear, striking fear. And when someone that owed him money ended up with a bloody nose and broken jaw. . . no one dared to deny him of anything. 

And it seemed like you were no exception. 

Joel stands in front of you, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy muscle. He stands close. Close enough that you feel his breath on your lips. Your eyelids flutter before you avert them, tears stinging the corners. 

You drop the robe, the old fabric pooling at your ankles. You’re left in a decent enough-looking bra and somewhat matching underwear. 

“Not interested,” Your entire body goes taut, eyes wide. You hear the blood rush in your ears. Joel moves past you and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his arms over the expanse of his broad chest. You stare at him and a thick knot forms in your throat. He gives you a brief look before explaining. “I only wanted to teach your boyfriend a lesson. He’s reckless. One of these days he’s gonna be in real debt to me and, darlin’, I don’t want you gettin’ caught in the middle.” 

Your heart drops. You don’t know what you’ve been expecting but it certainly isn’t this. Tears blurring your vision, you quickly bend over and scoop up your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. Somewhere along memory lane, you forgot to remind yourself that Joel was your first; first crush, first love, first kiss, first time. But it just hadn’t worked out. You had stayed close friends until you moved away, he had Sarah, you had a promising career. You were planning on getting back to him. It just never came to be. Liam didn’t know you knew Joel, only Tommy knew about the connection you two had, mainly because he was there. 

And now you had Liam—Boyfriend who calls you names because he hates everything, Liam. Shitty boyfriend, Liam. Boyfriend who put you up as a prize, Liam. 

It’s just too much. All of it. Your heart can’t handle how unfair it all is. The pity Joel shows you, the way Liam treats you. He loves you, you know that much, but he just doesn’t care enough to treat you right or tend to you when he’s so broken himself. He doesn’t understand that you would take care of him just as much. 

And now you’re just a shell. A shell of your former self. 

The first salty tear slips from your lashes, it’s followed by another and then another. 

You manage to reach the end of the bed on shaky legs, collapsing, you cover your face, heaving silently into your palms. You don’t want Liam to hear you cry, deep down you want him to think Joel is fucking you this very instant. You want him to feel guilt, or at least a sliver of the way you feel. 

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your brain doesn’t even register that Joel is pulling you into his chest, wrapping solid arms around your shaking frame. He holds the back of your neck, squeezing tenderly just like he did when your mom yelled at you and he wanted to calm you down. 

“Why are you cryin’?” he mumbles. “I told you I’m not gonna do anythin’ to you. Or to him. I just wanted him to think before he put you in any danger. What if it wasn’t me there? Not everyone is as they seem in this town.” 

After all this time Joel Miller is still looking out for you. 

“It’s not that,” you answer, between sniffled and muffled hiccups. “I’m embarrassed and so fucking tired. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damsel in distress, even though me crying isn’t really helping,” you take a deep breath and peel yourself unwillingly from his chest. “I don’t feel good about myself. I never do with him. I just feel like shit with some more shit thrown over. And well. . . now I know that you don’t want me either. It’s just too much. But I’ll be okay, thank you for looking out after me even though I’m a mess.” 

He suddenly grips your chin and pulls you close enough that your noses almost touch, “What the hell makes you think that I don’t want you?” 

“You. . .” with a sigh, you look away. “You didn’t want to fuck me.” 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

Squeezing your chin, he forces your gaze back to him. His lips are parted, pupils wide enough to hide the chocolate brown of his eyes. He seems just as surprised as you feel. Arousal pools between your legs, heat dripping down the curve of your spine. You press your thighs together and swallow. 

Joel’s hand moves up to your cheek and cups it gently, thumb toying with the corner of your lip, “I just never thought you’d be interested if I’m bein’ honest. Especially not after. . . everything I’ve done.” 

“You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive,” you kiss the curve of his palm and he shifts, coming even closer. “I always wanted to come back to you, you know? You’re my first love, Joel Miller. Deep down I always wanted you to be the last.” 

Joel was never an emotional guy. He always had trouble expressing what he thought and felt, thinking he always had to hide behind large invisible walls. The outbreak had put a magnifying glass over that quality of his. You can only tell that your words affected him by how the crease between his brows softens and his cheeks gain a subtle red hue. 

He only grunts as he forcefully brings your hand to his crotch, his cock hard and throbbing under your palm. His lips skim down your neck, kissing where your pulse beats frantically. Joel grinds into your palm, “You still want to fuck with your boyfriend waiting in the living room?” 

“God, yes.” 

You stand up and he parts his legs for you, allowing you to take your rightful place between them. Looking up, his fingers dance up your shoulders, pushing off the robe so it once again pools at your feet. The fabric of your bra has worn away with time, meaning that your nipples meet no resistance as they stiffen under his gaze. Joel licks his lips and brings both thumbs to the peaks, rubbing them until they’re fully hard. 

Then he suddenly shoves you closer to him, your aching nipple met with his wanting mouth. He sucks through the fabric. Saliva darkens the color. He sucks and moans each individual nipple until both are hard like diamonds and only then do you find yourself on the bed, his mouth still on you, starving for more. Your back forms the perfect arch, the sheets feeling like silk against your skin despite them being years old—almost rotten.

He drags his lips down your body, rough facial hair tickling your skin, your hips helplessly stutters into the air. Two large hands pin your hips down. You can’t help the noises that tumble from your lips. For the first time, you’re feeling whole. He lays soft kisses against your inner thighs and finally, he reaches where you want him most. 

Joel sucks your clit through the fabric and your body jerks, seeking the heat of his mouth against your bare cunt instead. He smiles, digging his blunt nails into your flesh. 

“Patience,” he licks a stripe down your clothed folds. “I want you to be loud, sweetheart. Make noise for me. If you want me to fuck you, that’s my price—your sounds.” 

Liam never liked the sounds you made. Unless you were mimicking porn and whispering how close you were, which was a very rare occasion. 

Joel slides his hands up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing gently. Like you might fade away at any given second. He kisses the lips of your pussy and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Doesn’t it feel good,” he begins, his southern drawl more prominent as his voice grows deeper. “To have that prick in the next room listenin’ to me fuck you, riddled with guilt because he bet on his pretty girlfriend?” 

It does feel good. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“‘Course I do,” his brows furrow, eyes finding yours. “Prettiest girl I’ve known since the first day my dick got hard.” 

The words send a tingle up your spine but Joel doesn’t allow you to linger on them for long. He slides your underwear to the side. The fabric sticky with slick, he immediately presses his lips deep into your cunt, tongue swirling around your entrance and teasing it by pushing in the tip. You cry out and grip his head, your legs pressing against his ears. Your heart hammers within the confinements of your ribcage. 

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, licking himself deeper and rutting the bed. Your eyes roll back, your body melting with every fat stroke of his tongue. 

Joel takes you apart slowly. His jaw moves, head lazily going from left to right. You feel so wet, soaked, from both his mouth and your slick. It’s almost like he goes slower the more soaked you are. He draws various shapes around your throbbing clit. You're left withering under him, shaking, begging, and moaning his name loud enough that the entirety of Jackson could probably hear. The wet smack of his mouth is followed by loud slurps and groans, and your stomach coils tight. 

After all these years, Joel Miller had certainly learned a few new tricks. He wasn’t that same teenager anymore, though, neither were you. He feels different, yet he also feels the same. Like a familiar wind stroking your skin. 

“So damn wet and sweet like honey, fuck.” 

He moves away and you nearly cry out of frustration, fingers burrowing into the old sheets. You only move when you hear the deafening sound of a belt buckle coming loose. Joel’s pants drop to his ankles, cock painfully hard and slightly curving to the side. Your mouth waters, “No underwear?” 

“Got too lazy to wash’em last Sunday,” he lazily strokes himself. Today is Tuesday. He’s been going commando all this time. More saliva fills your mouth, you don’t know why but the thought excites you and he seems to notice. “You always did get turned on by the weirdest things,” he mutters. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart. Been waitin’ a long time to feel those lips again.” 

You pout, “Forearms are sexy, ask anyone.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, his dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. He ignores your comment entirely.  “Don’t make me say it again.” 

You sink to your knees immediately after that. 

He’s so much thicker than you remember. The bulbous head a beautiful shade of red, shiny beads of precome gathered at the slit. You notice the vein meandering down the underside of his cock and you trace it with the tip of your tongue. The blood pumps harder in response, his length twitches and smears the shiny pearls against your cheek. 

You moan as you finally take him between your lips. The corners of your mouth sting from how wide you need to open to accommodate him. You manage to take him half way in, swirling your tongue, you hollow out your cheeks. 

“That’s it—That’s it, fuck—suck me harder, sweetheart, please—” his hips rock forward, his cock filling your mouth until the head is hitting the back of your throat. You choke on him and his head falls at the way your throat constricts around the width of him. He then pulls out, prompting you to look up. His hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted. “Use your spit, need you to wet my cock good if you want me to fit darlin’. I ain’t that teenager anymore.” 

You kiss the soft crease between his balls, rolling them with your tongue. You’re delighted to witness how he shudders at the soft caress of your lips, “I can see that.” 

“Get on with it then.” 

Joel sounds almost annoyed—no, not annoyed, but eager, desperate—to have your mouth wrapped around him with Liam in the other room. You don’t want to make him wait so you slowly allow a thin line of saliva to drip from between your lips. His thighs tense when it touches the head of his cock. 

“Is his dick as big as mine?” he asks, jaw locked, words bouncing off of clenched teeth. 

“No,” you gasp, dragging your lips down the length of him while staring at him through heavy lashes. “No, it’s not as big as yours.”

Suddenly you’re lifted to your feet, your body nothing but a ragdoll as he pushes you to the bed, the old mattress creaking with protest at the added weight.  

“Play with that fuckin’ pussy for me, I want to see it.” He wraps a hand around his weeping cock, his strokes hard and calculated. Your breasts tingle as you push a hand between your thighs, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, approaching the end of the bed. “Spread your legs wide, honey.” 

As soon as you open your legs and spread your folds for him to see how soaked you are, he’s quick to climb up the bed. Turning you to your side, he gets right behind you. Joel wets his own fingers, sucking on them with a loud groan before replacing yours with his own. He rubs your clit with precise movements, each stroke hitting the mark and making you see bright, dazzling stars. Your body moves on its own. Heat pools between your legs, your hips grinding back to feel the heft of him on your ass. 

“Joel, please,” you whimper. “Please, fuck me, please—” 

His lips touch your cheek and he breathes heavily, his chest heaving and rattling with every exhale. You feel the head of his cock slowly sinking into you, stretching you wide as his lips decorate your sweaty skin with fleeting kisses. 

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well, honey,” your eyes roll back, a mild pain blossoming from where you two connect. He brushes his fingers over your clit, the sharp pleasure shortening your breath. “That’s it. That’s my girl takin’ my big cock so well. So good. So good for me.” 

Your jaw drops as you take him inch by inch. He continuously plays with your clit, kissing you and whispering words of praise while his tongue plays with your earlobe. You feel like mush. Like dough that only he can mold. Your lashes grow wet with tears, your heart beating so wild that you swear he can hear it as well. Joel slightly pulls back his hips and pushes back in, your breath catches in your throat, and soon enough he begins fucking you with shallow thrusts. 

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he mutters into your ear. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Tell me, louder, come on,” a smack echoes in the small room, and pain blossoms over your ass cheek. “Come on, louder.” 

“Yes!” you cry out. In a weak attempt to meet his thrusts, you roll your hips. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I’ve never stopped thinking about it—never stopped thinking about you.” 

“Is this pussy mine?” 

“Yes, it’s fucking yours.” 

Your voice must’ve come out too much like a whisper because Joel’s pace quickens. He fucks you hard, deep, hammering into you until you’re struggling for air. He wraps thick fingers around your neck, squeezing until there’s pressure building under your eyes, your lungs burning. 

He loosens his grip around your throat, “I wanna hear it, come on now, don’t make me beg for it. Tell me, is it mine?” 

“Yours! It’s fucking yours!” 

Suddenly Joel is underneath you and you’re on top, his hips relentless as he snaps his hips up into you. It feels even better now. The way his cock massages your walls shooting crackles of electricity up your spine. He holds your ass with both hands and spreads you for his liking. 

You moan his name and when you look down, seeing him staring at your face, a sudden gush of embarrassment overwhelms you and with a small whimper, you cover his eyes with both your hands. Joel grits his teeth at that. He fucks you harder, the vicious way he presses inside making you gasp and drop your hands so you can brace yourself by flattening your palms over his chest. His eyes flash with anger. 

“Why the fuck—” he growls, “would you cover my eyes?” 

“I–I got embarrassed—” you squeeze your eyes shut and open them back again. You push down your hips, taking him to the hilt as a form of apology, but he doesn’t seem to accept it and holds you still. Your head falls back with his every thrust. 

“If you ever pull that stunt again, I’ll take you over my knee,” he rasps, ignoring the way your pussy clenches at his words. 

His finger teases your asshole and beads of sweat gather at your tailbone. Joel’s grin is dangerous, something you’d run away from rather than run towards. But you can’t help it. A wanton moan rattles your throat, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He presses forward, burying his finger down to the first knuckle. You shudder over and over, your body building tension and releasing it simultaneously. 

“You like that, wildflower?” he groans, thrusting his finger in and out while snapping his hips up. “You enjoy it when I play with your tight little asshole?” 

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—yes, yes I do.” 

His other hand snakes around the back of your neck and yanks you down. His damp lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck this hole one day, pretty thing. . . gonna fuck it so hard you’re not gonna be able to stand for weeks.” 

Before you can catch your breath, you’re being hauled towards the closed door, the emptiness you feel sudden and cold. He pulls your hips up, presses your cheek against the barely standing wood. Your hard nipples graze against the surface, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. Again, Joel thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. The mild pain tingles within your lower abdomen and you melt against him, eyes rolling back as you wiggle your ass for him. 

With every rock of his hips, your body hits the door with a thud and you’re sure Liam can hear every forceful fuck, “Tell him how fuckin’ bigger I am than him—I wanna fuckin’ hear, it come on.” 

“He’s so much bigger than you!” you groan, bracing your palm against the door. “You hear me, Liam? Never had a bigger cock in my life, I’m soaked.” 

Liam’s muffled voice follows through, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? You fucking whore!” 

You know it shouldn’t, but his words still jar you. 

“I’ll fuckin’ break his hands for that, don’t you worry darlin’,” Joel mutters into your skin, his words marking you as something untouchable. “And I’ll make it fuckin’ hurt.” He then kisses your shoulder and shouts towards the door, slamming especially hard this time so the thud of you hitting the door echoes. “You’re the one who gambled her like some kind of prize you dickhead. Don’t blame her for feelin’ good about it!” 

“You could never satisfy me,” you say barely above a whisper, like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to feel good about this. About finally having him all to yourself. 

“That’s it, tell him,” Joel growls, pushing his cock even deeper. You swear that if you looked down at your stomach, you’d see a bulge, as impossible as that sounds. “Tell him.” 

You desperately grab at Joel’s forearms, feeling the sinewy muscle tense. Your slick drips down his length and wets the inside of your thighs. With a loud moan you repeat your words and it feels delightful. 

You only smile when you hear the outer door close shut. Liam is gone. 

“Yes yes yes,” Joel murmurs into your neck, ramming into you harder. “That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart, please—I wanna feel it—” 

Your breath catches in your throat, body seizing, “B—Bed,” you manage to choke out. 

If he pulled out, you’re not aware. His body is a constant presence against your back, lips always latched on to a patch of skin, tasting the salt. Joel lays you down gently and pushes your legs high enough that it grazes your forehead with every desperate snap of his hips. 

“Is this what you want?” he groans, the wet noises of him fucking into the tight fist of your cunt bouncing off the walls. 

“Yes, Joel— this is what I want.” 

“My whore,” he leans over and grinds into you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. The back of your thighs ache with protest but you whimper into the kiss anyway. Breaking the kiss, Joel breathes into you, “My good sweet little whore,” and another kiss. 

Your eyes roll back, “So deep,” you groan, breaking the kiss. 

“Deeper deeper deeper,” Joel mocks you by mimicking your dazed tone with his drawl. He slowly pushes in, holding himself there, he halts your breath. “How’s that, wildflower? Deep enough for you?” 

“Oh god, Joel—” you choke. You fist the sheets, your cunt fluttering and throbbing. He doesn’t move, he flexes his cock and the pressure of that is enough to break you. 

Joel wasn’t expecting it, this much your muddled brain is able to realize from the shocked groan he lets out. His lips find purchase on your forehead, kissing and mumbling praise as your entire body clenches and releases, your pussy gushing around him. You feel the trickles of fresh wetness ripping out of you and all you can do is take it when Joel resumes his thrusts, fucking you through your messy orgasm. 

Despite your insistent begging of wanting him to come inside, Joel pulls out, coming undone instantly as he does so. He rubs himself over your mound, thick ropes of come spurting across your stomach and even the underside of your right breast. He releases your legs and they fall limply to his sides. 

Joel kisses you long and deep, his weight comforting above your trembling body. When he finally pulls away, he lets out a low chuckle and brushes your noses together. 

“I think he left, sweetheart.” 

“Good,” you mumble and press a quick kiss to his flushed lips. “All I want is you.” 

Liam’s not your boyfriend anymore. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[earthtooz]

x : NO FEAR :*+ﾟ i wanna love you with no fear !

in which: itoshi rin rejected you, so why isn't he handling your avoidance well?

warnings: 5k wc, fluff with minor angst, jealous!rin, food cw, swearing, reo is reader's best friend, COLLEGE!AU, gn!reader, non-canon complaint

a/n: happy valentine's day !!! shoutout to @ryekoo for finally giving me inspo on what to do for the rin fic of my event - u rly saved my life <3

↳ 5K EVENT MASTERLIST ༉‧₊

you:i’m going to end you. <reo3: i’m too pretty to die ._. you: and you told me i was too pretty for itoshi rin to reject!?!?!?! <reo3: oh... <reo3: i’m sorry. <reo3: condolences fr.

with a disappointed sigh, you pocket your phone, decidedly ignoring the next few messages that reo sends as you wait for your bus. he owes you a million yen for the amount of grief and distress he’s currently putting you through, especially with the way he shattered all hopes you had with your love life.

well, hopes that you were stupid enough to feed into because this was itoshi rin you’re talking about; possibly the most standoffish, calculated, and devastatingly gorgeous man you’ve ever met in your life. yet, despite his detestable personality, you still found yourself falling hook, line, and sinker for the man, despite his insults, cold comments, and dismissive attitude.

maybe it’s masochism. 

now that you look back on it, rin’s rejection seemed almost inevitable. even if you lead yourself to hope with all the times you caught him staring at you, the prompt replies to your messages, and willingness to somewhat tolerate you during group projects, it was rather obvious that this would be the outcome to your heartfelt confession. 

‘i don’t see you like that’.

it’s cringeworthy simply thinking about it. now you’re going to have another memory that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.

recalling the expression he made after your confession; eyebrows scrunched and lips tugged into a slight frown, was traumatising enough for you to wish for the ground to swallow you whole. his face will plague you for an uncertain amount of time because today truly, was so very humbling.

the sight of your bus approaching your stop rouses you from the crevices of your thoughts and after you jump on and settle yourself into a seat in the relatively empty carriage, you bring your phone out to text reo again. he’d sent four messages since.

&lt;reo3: this doesn’t make any sense we all thought rin was into you &lt;reo3: like DOWN BAD into you<reo3: everyone on the team has literally made bets on you two <reo3: i’m sorry :c r u okay?  you: yeah. just gotta take the L and move on you: hey at least i’m free for valentines <reo3: LET’S GOOO we’re definitely doing something <reo3: i’ll be a better valentines than r*n you: you’re sexier too babes xoxo <reo3: duh!

maybe you’ll let reo see another day. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your university schedule was never the same after the ‘itoshi rin’ fiasco.

it was never an amazing schedule to begin with since a few classes were quite inconvenient, and there’s only so much to enjoy out of your seminars. the fun part about them was being able to sit beside rin and talk to him whenever you could without getting waved off, but since his heartless decline of your feelings, acting ‘buddy-buddy’ wouldn’t be acceptable. so you resorted to sit by yourself in a section of the space you’ve never really occupied before, busying yourself on your phone as students walked in to class.

despite the temptation to look at the door to see when rin would come in, you do not budge one bit, eyes glued to your phone screen (which had nothing entertaining on it). this meant that you couldn’t see the confusion on his face when he didn’t see you in your normal spot and how it merged further into a look of offence when he instead spots you across the room.

reluctantly taking his usual seat, rin’s gaze lingers on you, hoping to meet your eyes at least once. but upon your insistence to pretend your phone was more important than him, he sits down, practically flopping onto his chair with his backpack cushioning his fall. 

sitting here feels a little empty. rin can’t help but think how it used to be much better when you insisted on being next to him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 

&lt;;reo3: you can come now rin isn’t here yet

you: kk b there soon

the trek across campus towards the university’s soccer field, although long, is harmless enough, especially since you were doing a favour for your best friend by bringing the soccer guards and water bottle that he left at your dorm. the harmful part was the looming threat of itoshi rin’s presence and your fear that you would encounter him on your way. 

all you needed to do was drop in quickly and leave. 

when you get to the field, nagi’s the one who sees you first from where he was lounging on the bleaches, changed in his soccer gear. 

“oh, y/n,” he mumbles, sitting up. “hello.”

“hey nagi. are you trying to nap before practice or something?” you ask.

“yeah.” 

“won’t that drain you though before practice starts? you’ve got like… five minutes.”

“still classified as a power nap. wanna collect a power up before startin’.”

amusing as ever, he is. “sure. hey, you know where reo is?”

“he’s changed, probably warming up with isagi and bachira and whoever else.”

“shouldn’t you be doing that too?”

“not until reo forces me to.”

as if on cue, a friendly and very familiar voice calls out nagi’s name and you’re delighted to see the purple-haired in question. you can finally give him his stupid stuff back; the ones you’ve been holding in your hands this entire time like an idiot.

“come on nagi!” reo exclaims, jogging over. a smile appears on his face when he sees you. “yo! y/n! thanks for bringing my things.”

“‘s not a problem. next time i’ll burn them so don’t leave them again,” you counter as the purple-haired takes his things from you with an eye roll. “i filled up your water bottle for you.” 

he places his things down before sitting beside nagi to put his guards on. “so considerate even whilst terrorising me.”

“of course.”

“seriously though, thank you for bringing my things.”

“not a problem. i’m gonna head back to my dorm to study so i’ll see you later. bye reo, bye nagi,” you wave at the two, fixing your backpack strap before turning around to leave the field, only to bump face-first into someone.

the apology that surfaces on your tongue quickly withers away when you lock eyes with a pair of steely, teal ones, partially hidden by strands of dark hair. he looks at you like he has something to say.

but you’re not ready to hear it. 

“uh, hi rin! gotta go!” you squeak before stepping to the side and running away, leaving rin to stare in bewilderment after you.

part of him has the urge to run after you. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

<reo3: isagi’s invited a bunch of us to the on campus screening of spirited away

<reo3: wanna come?

you: ykw why not

you: not like i have essays to write

<reo3: FUCK THEM ESSAYS! 

you: YOU’RE RIGHT SPIRITED AWAY IS BETTER !

if you knew that this would lead you to be seated (uncomfortably) between reo and isagi, who acted as the only barrier between you and an-unnamed-man (rin), then perhaps you would’ve dedicated yourself to your essay rather than a fun opportunity to hang out with your friends. 

1500 words sounds better than having to pretend like there wasn’t an icy cold stare penetrating the back of your head every time you turned to talk to reo, or isagi trying to keep his interactions up with rin so the latter wouldn’t try to talk to you.

you owe isagi a vending machine drink after this because a ‘thank you’ will never suffice. 

it’s easy enough to forget about rin when the movie plays and isagi begins whispering little pieces of commentary to you from time to time, eliciting giggles from you that you try to suppress to not annoy those around you. however, each sound that slipped past your lips was enough to make the dark-haired boy scrunch his face in disgust, an ugly, green monster climbing up his throat when he catches a glimpse of how happy you seemed with someone that wasn’t him. it kills him to see how easily it is for you to just ignore him like your friendship never existed.

since the campus movie was scheduled during a cool but bearable, autumn dusk, you severely underestimated how cold the night would get. heating wasn’t the best in the gymnasium so the committee had instructed everyone to bring their own blankets and warm covers, yet in your haste, you couldn’t bring adequate layers.

so after a while of trying to warm yourself up and convincing yourself that you were warm enough with a measly sweatshirt, rin notices from the corner of his eye how you kept rubbing your arms. 

he doesn’t hesitate to take off the fleece jacket that he was wearing over his university jumper. sure, it will be significantly colder without his outer layer, but rin’s willing to suffer as long as you were okay (when has he ever been this considerate?), except he stops when he sees nagi handing you his very oversized jumper. you accept it with a gracious smile and the white-haired boy merely shrugs before going back to watching the film. rin, on the other hand, feels a cauldron of rage brewing within him.

the sight makes his chest twist, wringing him dry as he stares dejectedly at how snug you seem in someone else’s clothes. the green monster inside of rin bubbles in contempt, a being that makes him want to rip the hoodie off you and replace it with his own for you to wrap yourself up in. he wants you to be content with him- happy because of him, not because of another.

you confessed to him only two weeks ago- barely even two weeks ago, so how could you so easily forget about him and move on? pretend like his rejection didn’t shatter you and him when he saw a devastation like no other on your pretty face?

rin doesn’t know how much longer he can live like this. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the following tuesday, you’re already seated in your new spot for your seminar, busy setting up your laptop in preparation when rin walks in. you see him from the corner of your eye, backpack slung around his shoulder, hands tucked unassumingly in his pockets as all 185cm of him saunters towards the seats. however, when you notice that he bypasses his normal spot and walks even further out of your peripheral vision, alarms blare deafeningly in your head.

you freeze when you hear someone take the seat behind you.

there’s a hard gaze on the back of your head, one that roots you to your spot and wills you not to turn around.

sneaking out your phone from your bag, you hide it so that rin can’t see it from his angle. 

you: RIN IS SITTING BEHIND ME OH NO

you: terrible start to valentines day smh

<reo3: WHAT!??!!???!???! fr.

you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY I’M GOING TO DISINTEGRATE RIGHT NOW

<reo3: maybe *don’t* do that???? 

<reo3: WHY’S HE SITTING BEHIND YOU?????

you: FUCK IF I KNOW IT FEELS LIKE HE’S THROWING DAGGERS AT MY HEAD

<reo3: WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?

you: CRY???????????? IDFK???????????

you: oh fuck class is about to start

you: i’ll let you know if anything happens

<reo3: STAY SAFE 

you tuck your phone away with fear and dread looming over you, personified through the form of itoshi rin, who sits so indifferently behind you, head propped on his hand. you hear his pen click behind you and you don’t even need to see him to know that he’s taking out that stupid notebook of his since he preferred to take notes by hand. you want to turn around and rip said book into shreds.

as the professor starts the class, you try your best to shake rin out of your thoughts, wanting to leave him behind in the depths of your mind so you can concentrate on this damn elective. none of the notes you were typing onto your document made sense and it felt like everything the professor was saying went in one ear then out the other. curse rin for having this effect on you. 

at least you get to gossip with reo after this.

though your seminar was only 60 minutes, it might as well have been 60 years because of how significantly older you feel at the end of it. the weight of rin’s stare was heavy on your shoulders when you hurriedly grab your things and make a dash for the exit.

well. you try to make a dash for the exit because somehow, rin gained the ability to teleport and beat you there, grabbing your wrist unceremoniously before pulling you into the hallways. you fumble with your phone, hurriedly texting reo.

you: UHH MAYDAY I MGHT NEEE TO SKIP OUR PLANS

<reo3: WHAT’S HAPPENING?????

you: RIN IS DRSGGING ME SIMEWHERE IDK WHERE

you: MY LOCARION IS ON LIFE360

you: I LUV YOU STUPID WHORE

<reo3: WHDJFWIJAIDJFAWHAT THE FUCK????

“hey!” you exclaim, helplessly being pulled by rin’s long strides, shutting your phone off as you try to match his eagerness. he could at least be a little more considerate and lighten up that grip of his on your wrist. “rin- what? where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” he responds gruffly.

your mind blanks despite the hurricane of questions that circulate your mind. how did you get here? is the delirium finally hitting you after countless sleepless nights? you stayed up until 2am last night to make valentine’s chocolates for your friends so maybe it’s the sugar and the sleep deprivation. 

as rin pulls you through the hallways, you think about how weird it is to allow him this close to you again- well, you didn’t exactly allow him, he kind of just… invaded your personal space. but after a whole week of not talking to him, responding dryly to his texts, avoiding your regular hangout spots, and overall pretending like he doesn’t exist, being exposed to his intimidating presence once more is… exhilarating? unreal? 

“wait, can we stop for a second?” you demand, breaking out of your funk when you step outside as if the harshness of the sun’s rays woke you up. “i’m so confused right now. where are we going?”

“we’re going to have lunch together at that café you’ve been wanting to try out,” he tells you with a serious expression, not breaking his usual aloof and stern personality. 

rin doesn’t give mixed messages: no, he gives messages that have completely been lost, fallen astray somewhere along the path of communication.

shifting your weight between your feet awkwardly, you tell him: “well, i kinda had valentine’s plans.”

his mask of coolness and uninterest cracks, exposing all the emotions he’s been withholding from surfacing for the past weeks; jealousy, envy, greed, they all manifest through the helpless scrunch of his face. “with who?” asks rin, tone a lot harsher than he had intended, matching the crease of his eyebrows and the frown he was wearing.

it’s the green monster in him talking.

if you were going out with someone else, someone new, rin’s not too sure what he’d do. determination and pettiness can only take a man so far before his resolve cracks and you have the power to crush his heart with a single stomp, extinguishing his flames in one, swift sweep. 

“with reo,” you confess. the dark-haired relaxes again, his face returning to a neutral expression.

“okay. ditch him then.” his audacity is baffling.

“i can’t just do that!” 

“why not?”

“cause that’s a shitty thing to do!” you say, before murmuring under your breath, “not that you’d know the first thing about being polite.” 

“i don’t care, it’s reo, you two hang out everyday. tell him to give me a turn.”

“you’re a horrible person, rin,” you murmur, ignoring the butterflies that erupt in your stomach.

he doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely eyeing you expectantly, waiting for your next step. huffing, you reluctantly take out your phone as a sign of surrender under his suffocating pressure, muttering complaints under your breath as you find reo’s contact - literally your most recent one, to send him a quick message. almost instantly, your best friend responds with a thumbs up paired with a smirk and you almost want to block him then and there. 

“done.”

“perfect,” rin goes to grab your hand again but you retract from him just in time. when you look up to meet his gaze once more, you see his unimpressed expression whilst he keeps his palm extended towards you expectantly.

“i don’t need your help walking places,” you grumble, not liking how fast your heart was racing.

he gestures to his open palm once more. “i know.”

after a moment of silence, you give in, hesitantly placing your hand in his. with a small grin, rin intertwines your fingers before pulling you to his side. without another word, he begins walking, leaving you to merely follow the brutally fast pace he’s set.

you must’ve looked ridiculous to other people. being dragged around by an 185 cm man, how humbling.

the place rin led you to was not too far from campus; a totally manageable distance for the two of you to remain in silence during the walk. you try to bypass the awkwardness of it all by focusing on other things, like how warm rin’s hand is and how you hope he doesn’t mind your sweaty hands. he seems to be content from what you’ve observed, happily walking beside you whilst sparing a few occasional glances over; ones that you pretend you don’t see whilst admiring the cityscape around you.

there are various valentine’s decorations hung up around the insides of the cafe that made you cringe slightly. although they were very cute, you feel humiliation climbing up your throat, serving as a reminder that you were currently spending a day of love and romance, or whatever, standing beside the very man who rejected you. 

this is the cruellest version of a sick joke.

“welcome!” a cheery voice greets, breaking you out of your thoughts. “table for two?” rin nods. “perfect! are you here for valentine’s day because couples get access to a special menu on top of our regular one.” 

when you open your mouth to reject her offer, rin beats you to it. “we’ll take the valentine’s menu.”

“okay, right this way,” the waitress guides you to an empty table for two that was right by the corner. the atmosphere of the place was cozy with various candles and statement pieces to really bring it together, but you have no time or brain space to appreciate the aesthetic of the café. 

it’s not until the waitress leaves that you speak up, utterly confused. “why’d you get the valentine’s menu, we-”

realisation hits you like a truck. 

“-are we on a date right now?”

rin’s unmoving, save for the purse of his lips as he stares at you. you feel a little foolish right now.

“yeah, we are,” he answers, curtly and concisely.

alarms are blaring in your head, the earth is tremoring below you, there are distant screams somewhere in the back of your mind and all you can manage out is a simple ‘oh’. 

“get what you want, i’ll-” rin begins before you abruptly cut him off.

“-no, hold on, i’m so confused right now,” you rub your temples, staring at the stupid valentine’s day menu decorated with pink and hearts and chocolates. “why?”

“why what?”

“why are we on a date?”

“because it’s valentine’s day?”

“well- i know that part,” you murmur under your breath. “it’s just, y’know, people celebrate this day when they like each other.” and not when one party is miserable because the other rejected them. 

“we do like each other though.”

there are no words to describe the shock you feel. really. not even an anvil dropping on your head could wake you up from whatever dream you are conjuring right now. 

“no, we don’t! i like you, you don’t like me.”

he looks away, the tips of his ears turning red. “that’s not true,” he murmurs, no louder than a whisper, yet your jaw drops all the same at his confession. “i do like you.”

“a week ago you didn’t!” 

“a week ago i wasn’t ready to get into a… relationship… or whatever.”

“oh,” you fix the strap of your bag, feeling slightly awkward. “and you’re ready now all of a sudden?”

“yeah.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“the fuck? why?” 

“you don’t really seem like the type of guy to turn around on yourself like this. what changed?”

rin won’t ever tell you about how much he missed you during these two weeks and how it was his jealousy and greediness that spurred him to act on his feelings. instead, he simply slides the menu to you, pointing to a milkshake-‘lover’s brew’, and since the menu was decorated with pictures on the side, you could see what the concoction consisted of. whipped cream, heart sprinkles, topped with a caramel heart and fairy floss. 

“the milkshake?” you ask, trailing off towards the end. “you hate sweet things and this especially looks like it could give you diabetes.”

the dark-haired shrugs. “so? i thought you’d like it.” 

“sure, but it is kinda pricey for a milkshake.”

he shrugs again, putting his elbows on the table which causes his sleeves of his turtleneck to roll down a little, exposing the shiny silver of his, no doubt expensive, watch. “i’ll pay for us, it’s fine.”

“hold on-”

“i’m paying. end of argument.” 

it’s an offer you can’t really reject. being a university student and all, funds are limited, so wherever you can, you want to avoid withdrawing money out of your account. that said, it doesn’t mean that you don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about draining rin’s, but with how long you’ve been friends, you know that once he’s set his mind to something, it’s hard to change it.

“if you insist,” you grumble, straightening up your spine as you awkwardly fiddle with your shirt. you feel so scrutinised under his gaze, even as you reach for the jug of water and pour two cups of water. “what else should we get?”

the waitress then comes around to take your orders and when she’s gone, conversation flows easily, reverting back to how things were between the two of you (to rin’s relief). he listens as you talk animatedly about the unfortunate series of events you had with your professor the other day, how cute your encounter with the campus dogs were, and the really unfortunate run-in you had with a guy from your shared tutorial classes.

(the dark-haired boy makes a face when you mention another man’s name before his usual face of indifference melts back in.)

“here’s your milkshake,” the waitress says, placing the drink in the middle of the table before walking away, “you guys are really cute by the way.”

“thanks,” rin says calmly, a stark contrast to your flustered reaction.

two straws stick out from the milkshake and when you put one in your mouth, you almost choke when rin takes the other one, causing your noses to bump in the middle. the look he gives you is nothing short of mischievous before pulling away, a knowing smirk playing along his lips. 

“ew. that is really sweet,” he mutters before leaning back, crossing his arms. 

“yeah,” you cough. “it is really sweet.”

recovering from your embarrassment, the rest of lunch goes by quite seamlessly. he goes to pay for everything with a confident tap of his card, causing you to stand awkwardly behind him, keeping all complaints to yourself as it goes through. thanking the waitress, you leave the café hand-in-hand once more. 

“thanks again for paying,” you repeat and rin gives a hum of acknowledgement whilst you two walk aimlessly on the path. “what do you want to do now?”

“i don’t know. do you have anything you want to do?”

“i might have an idea.”

leading him in the direction of a nearby store that just opened recently, you come to a stop in front of a shop that had neon-lights illuminating its inside and claw machines filled with adorable plushies lining along the walls. 

glancing at him, there’s a glimmer of amusement in rin’s eyes as his lips turn upwards into a small smirk. “really?” he asks, looking over at you.

“really. this’ll be fun!” you promise before walking in, the dark-haired following suit as you stop in front of a token-purchasing machine. 

from the corner of your eye, you can see him taking out his wallet already and you immediately put your hand on your wrist, ceasing his movement.

with just one glance, a whole conversation passes between you two. “if you pay for me i will sock you.”

“i’d like to see you try,” he deadpans, quirking a brow before pressing the ‘20 tokens = $19’ button on the machine, “but i’m paying.”

then the sound of his card meeting the reader and the transaction being approved rings through the air, followed by the deafening noise of coins clashing against metal. the look he gives you is nothing short of proud. 

“come on babe, bet you won’t be able to get any prizes,” challenges rin as he brushes past you, the pet name causing your stomach to churn as insults rest on your tongue, offended by his declaration.

he’s gracious enough to give you half of the coins, allowing you to play four games each. you only manage to win on one of them and even then, you were astonished at your own achievements, excitedly grabbing the plushie and hugging the stuffed toy to your chest protectively. rin, on the other hand, comes back to you with two in both hands and the gawk you let out was completely against your will.

“how did you do that?” you ask, a little stupified at the sight (it was kinda hot though). although at this point, you shouldn’t really question how itoshi rin works since he takes the meaning of ‘march to the beat of your own drum’ to a whole other level. 

instead of answering, he hands them over to you and you have no choice but to take them, your arms now overloaded with three stuffed toys. 

before you can even open your mouth to ask if he broke into the machines, your phone buzzes with a notification and the second you open it, you’re met with a familiar ‘⚠️bereal’ banner, one that makes you excited over the impeccable timing. rin raises an eyebrow at your sudden surprise.

“bereal! quick, pose!” you demand and rin obeys, raising a peace sign with a slight smile before the camera turns around to you and the many stuffed toys you’re cuddling. 

how adorable you are might just kill him. 

the dark-haired shakes the thought away before taking out his phone, instructing you to smile. you pose for the photo, hugging all the plushies closely to your chest whilst rin gives his usual deadpan stare into the camera. he then gives you his phone to check if it was okay to post and when you approve, you press the ‘post >’ button for him.

shutting off his phone for him, it’s at the same time that the bereal notification pops up again, this time detailing how one of his friends had posted but that’s not what caught your attention.

it’s a certain photo that made your heart thump loudly in its ribcage.

“am i your lockscreen?” you ask, pride and flattery swelling in your stomach, manifesting through the warmth of your cheeks. 

the slight widening of his eyes give you all the answers you need. “you weren’t supposed to see that.” 

nothing could stop the slow grin from erupting on your expression. it’s ridiculous to say so, but it almost feels like a weight is being lifted from your chest, the pains of the last few weeks erasing themselves completely with this one detail. 

that’s how you know rin was meant for you.

“out of all pictures of me, you chose this one?” you question, gesturing to the selfie that you once sent him during your study sessions. your hair was messy, there was a semi-crazed look in your eyes, but at least the moisturising lip gloss you had reapplied then made you look somewhat put together. 

looking at his phone once more, you feel a little warm.

“i like it,” he mutters shyly, unable to look you in the eye. despite his embarrassment, his statement fills you with endless relief, providing gratification for your relationship with rin that you didn’t know you needed. 

though you’ve been friends with him for quite some time now, you feel as though you don’t really recognise the man in front of you. past perceptions you’ve had of him has now been shattered by his flustered gaze, the relentless blush coating his cheeks, and the uncharacteristic way he slumps, as if defending himself from any judgement you might throw at him. 

luckily for him, that’s not what you’re interested in doing.

unlocking your phone, you hand it to him. “take a matching selfie so i can make it my lock screen too.”

at least you have all the time in the world to get to know him all over again.

(rin will never tell you that he only has been active on bereal so he could see what you were up to. except it backfired every time because instead of satisfying how desperately he was longing for you during your two weeks of no contact, it only made him want you more. he wanted to be there with you through your intense study sessions, he wanted to be going on walks with you, he wanted to be there with you when you were watching one more episode of your favourite tv show before going to bed, he just wanted to be there with you.

now he has all the time to make sure he is.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[@y/n’s BeReal]

@ karasu69: @fruityninjaotoya YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS 　　→ @fruitninjaotoya: Shut your micropenis up

@ yocchan: Y/N WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS 　　→ @ nagixxxxxxxxxxxxx: ratio 　　→ @ yocchan: DON’T RATIO ME RN

@monsterbachira: omg are y’all 😍❤️😍 rn 　　→ @y/n: wut. 　　→ @itshrin: Yes 　　→ @monsterbachira: y/n rin is actually a good kisser 　　→ @y/n: thanks for letting me know meguru! 　　→ @itshrin: i’m going to end you. 

@bbgreo: i’m glad y’all had fun but no itoshi rin on our platonic date pls! 　　→ @y/n: would never dream of it luv <3 　　→ @itshrin: Sleep with one eye open, Reo 　　→ @y/n: that’s my best friend :( 　　→ @itshrin: You don’t need him 　　→ @y/n: reo and i are one you can’t separate us 　　→ @itshrin: Ok fine 😒 　　→ @bbgreo: yay! 　　→ @y/n: yay!

<reo3: told you you were too pretty to reject xx

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin #itoshi rin bllk #blue lock

[louebel]

Hi! Can I request fluff Law x fem!reader where reader is feels sick but tries to ignore it/do things on her own (she’s not used to ask for help) but as a doctor law easily can tell by the signs and it happens during their sea journey on the polar tang? Hope I’m not asking too much love ya 🥺

Feel free to add angst or anything else to your writing ^•^

this is super old and the only request i'll ever do (atm) since i had a wip— ANON SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER <\3 reader is gn since i used the second person and no description.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 6,124 wc. a bit angsty, ends with fluff, emotional reader for the sickness, law is bad at emotions. this turned longer than expected, i hope it's decent xdd hit me up if there's any mistakes lol. supposed to be called windows of the soul,, divider by @ benkeibear my lord and saviour. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: sickness overtook your body and worsened your already pitiful situation. law has been ignoring you and you have no idea why... but with how you felt, there was no way you could confront him at the moment.

scrub, scrub, scrub... 

"... phew ..." 

scrub... poof! 

"Oh! — damnit — aargh..." 

Cleaning today has been a nightmare. Never been so tedious. 

Like, it was already uninteresting compared to all the other things you could do, but today it was ten times worse. You could bear it, seeking to make dusting shelves fun by humming some random tune to yourself. It was okay, something you had to do every once in a while. You could do it. 

If only you weren't sick. 

"Achoo! Achoo! — urgh... Achooo..! Damn." 

You began feeling like this some days ago, or so you told yourself as you delicately hunched down to the floor, hoping to grasp the yellow sponge soaked in foam and water without experiencing excruciating pain. However, your hopes soon shattered as your back screamed in agony and your legs trembled with soreness, almost giving up on you. 

Just the flu, you insisted, it would go away. A couple of sneezes mean nothing. You would feel better and all would go back to the ordinary. 

... Oh, how wrong you were! And how stupid for not getting a day off. 

You were capable, though! You counted on your immune system (it sounded heroic the first time you thought of that). One night is all you needed. 

Or not. 

"Ow, ow..." 

You should've told your captain. Sure, it would cost your courage, pride, and dignity, but at least you'd be cured. You'd rather die than tell him you got sick because of the one herb he instructed everybody to avoid. 

What's worse is that he's been rather distant, and he's unquestionably avoiding you. The way he shoots daggers — no, whole machetes in your direction every time you do anything, smart or not, is so clear even the crew can see it. And the worst part? You do not know why. 

It had been like this for a while now, and you detested this whole plight with passion. Everything was okay between the two of you, you were sure of it! What did you do that spurred such a reaction? From one so dear to you? 

Those sweet memories... 

From new findings you excitedly presented him, to revealing himself, his past and adventures to you after almost a year of sailing. You knew everything about him. He knew everything about you. 

So why? Why stop so abruptly? You didn't mind when he digressed about his newfound coins. When he murmured under his breath while he pored over medical books or mulled about a particular topic. When he stressed over labor and called for a brief break, where you or the crew would attend to him by delivering him a meal or helping when he wasn’t looking. He's so stubborn.

"Uurgh..." 

From captain, to Law, to captain again. Not to mention how he deftly stopped you from hanging out with him. You thought he needed space at first. Maybe he was tired and had to rest for the next few days. That’s alright. However, your thoughts deteriorated as the days passed. But well, right now it's better if he doesn't see you at all. Nor the crew‌ — oh, the damn crew. Those two.

The "two" being the pair of nitwits that constantly stand by law's side and grin at you. Seriously... 

You do not understand what Penguin and Shachi find so amusing about your situation with him. It's a tragedy, not a comedy. You love them both, truly, the minute you stepped into the polar tang they were the first ones to get you to open up and all, but goodness, you wish you could beat them for sitting there, cackling and clapping their hands while confiding some mysterious comments to each other when la — the captain, showed up in the area and walked past you with an unreadable gaze. He'd constantly salute you and the others with a bow of his head or more, depending on his mood. 

Now? If he saw one inch of your form? 

Sigh. His face always went red. 

Why can't those two just tell you? Even Ikkaku seemed to know something you didn't. She was more subtle about it, though. Jean Bart wasn't slick either. You could see him smile from a mile away. Hakugan and Clione? Shachi and Penguin 2.0, except they hid behind Jean Bart. The rest pitied you instead, sometimes patting your back — sometimes shaking their head almost in disbelief. Oh, and Bepo gave you suspicious smiles! Every time he tried to say something to you, those two animal hat-wearing goblins silenced him. Did they just want you to suffer? 

And if they did want that then their curses were working because even after grabbing the sponge (almost losing your temper as it slipped through your gloved palm twice) and straightening back to an erect pose, your head was still banging with fervor, muscles barely reacting. 

If only you could snuggle with the fluffy, warm mink right now. A bitter sigh rushed past your lips at the thought. 

Those two were just so mean. But Law was much meaner — the captain, the captain... Yes, the captain. That... That dummy. 

You groaned and shook your head while forcing your wobbly arms to scrub the table, exhausted mentally with this never-ending train of thoughts and these fanciful fists leaving invisible bruises all over your poor body. Not to point out those hands pinching your brain like dough... 

Just — you... Goodness, what was it he suddenly despised so much? The submarine felt like home. It was home, especially when he joined you. Now when he does, he — the aura he emanates is intimidating, yet everyone is either unaware of it or not affected by it. 

What made him so resentful? You can barely say anything when he strides into the place, too panicked to learn how he would perceive you or talk to you if you go on. It's like you're back on step one, isolated, too scared to be yourself with your family. Because of one man who's supposed to be the head of it. 

Being you felt like a sin when close to him, as if he preferred the private variant of who you are, and shunned your curious and spirited self. You could understand since he’s rather closed off and well, in a certain aspect you are too, but — did he not like you at all? Was it all an act to not offend you? He didn't seem to dislike your vivid reactions initially, or your foolish gestures when nearing a fresh island. You were often silent, smiling and listening to others converse, but when around your companions, you easily liked to open up since it was the only time you could do so. And they were more than just that. You entrusted all the members of the heart pirates. They meant everything to you. Even him, who stopped including you. 

Ugh... 

You wished it could all go back to normal. 

This disease enjoyed fumbling with your previously scrambled sentiments. Law did mention it brought a high fever and emotional susceptibility. You didn't consider it'd be this severe. 

"... Okay, I'm done." 

You certainly weren't, with your bed unmade and furniture still dusty; floor imploring for a good wash. However, with the croaky voice you had paired with your runny nose, you doubted you could do more. Even if you did, it'd be better not to. 

You peered down at the bucket full of water that probably smelled better than you at the moment, ignoring the small puddle beside it made by your poor handling sponges skills. Grimacing, you decided to leave it where it was in case carrying it back turns out to be a challenge. Hopefully, Ikkaku can provide you help later. 

Looking around, your droopy eyelids dimmed your perspective and further provoked you as both exasperation and exhaustion mixed and boiled in your gut, room so messy it mirrored your current state. You didn't know what was irritating you more: the light of the lamp or the disarray you resided in. 

Howling dejectedly, you turned and plodded to your bed, opening your arms, ready to throw yourself on the mattress. The more you sleep, the sooner you'll get better. Yeah, you're so brilliant. You closed your eyes and — 

knock knock. 

— reopened them a second after, remaining immobile for an extra few before glowering at your door, contemplating whether to go open it or linger to determine if they'd leave. Hmm. 

You waited. 

... knock knock. 

Fantastic.

You gritted your teeth, drawing a profound breath to settle your nerves, haywire thanks to the hellish illness. They didn’t deserve to withstand your rage, but who knows, maybe by seeing your shape, they'll show sympathy and tell you. That could work. 

Okay. 

You sluggishly trudged to the door, not bothering to adjust your unbuttoned pajamas and faking a cheerful facade. You hoped your face didn't look too awful, but you couldn't care less right now. 

Gripping and twisting the knob, you pushed it open, greeting them with the feeblest voice you've ever had, your sore nose making it unthinkable to inhale air. You rubbed the back of your head while doing so, eyelids closed to evade any light. 

"Yo, Penguin, Shachi, how can I—" the words automatically came out of your coarse and blazing throat, opening your eyes a bit to look at... them... 

Then you saw a tattoo. And more tattoos. No white, poofy boiler suits in sight. 

By barely seeing light before, you tried giving yourself mercy, but now you were only slaughtering yourself to make sure the person in front of you was, well. Him. 

Your jaw fell while your brows lifted in consternation, but shortly returned down thanks to your declining headache. Your pupils then scaled the mountain of mass before you and arrived at the peak. Another pair of eyes. 

Cool, gray eyes. The ones that just a week ago welcomed you with compassion and comfort. Now they drive you to wither away from this world. Even if you look up to them. (Hehe, get it? man, you're so silly, wow.) 

"—help … Captain. Uh, hello." and there goes your comfort zone. 

You tried swallowing down air but got pounds of mucus down your stomach instead, curved posture closing up even more in his presence, ashamed to be seen in such a weak state, instantly regretting not managing your appearance as his gaze scrutinized you from top to bottom, probably displeased with how you presented yourself.. 

You looked everywhere but at him. He only looked at you. 

Envy spurted from the plant’s toxins. How could he focus on one thing and have so much confidence to stare at someone without breaking eye contact at all? If you do the same for longer than two seconds, it feels like whoever looked at you has seen your entire personality, life, darkest secrets that you didn't really have, closest people to you — everything in poor words. The windows of your soul, perpetually agape.

How does he keep them closed? Why can't you seal them at all? Why?— 

"—so care to explain the meaning of this?" 

"Huh?" 

You stupidly stared at him, blinking and glancing at his shoulders, then back at him to break whatever spell he put on you, not able to concentrate at all. 

Barely could you see the annoyed expression on his face. You hoped he wasn't dealing with excessive stress. Making him feel worse was not your intention. 

"I said, care to explain what this is? You look... terrible—" you cringed at that, "—and you haven't come out of your room since this morning. Do you have any idea what time it is?" His scrutinizing tone made you want to crawl under your blankets and stay there forever, but his patronizing gaze didn't let you. 

You could merely fidget with your fingers and glance back at the floor to relieve your worries, which mixed with pain, fatigue, and dirtiness. You called for sleep so badly. 

"I'm—I'm sorry, Captain. I, uh, I didn't—" sniff, "—mean to skip my duties. Sorry." 

His brow creased in suspicion at your raspy voice and poor shape. 

"Is that so? Look at me while you say it." if his words weren't menacing enough, his tone was too. He knew you couldn't do that. Especially now. 

"Uh..." you unconvincingly whispered, continuing to play with your fists, until rubbing your nape once more, shuddering at how chilled your hands were compared to it. 

Your actions were, again, spotted by him, and if one more thing occurred, then he'll be correct. 

"Well? I'm waiting." 

"..." 

Sighing exasperated, you raised your head to look into his pupils once again.  

Unbeknownst to you, he already confirmed another of his impressions while taking a further view of your sullen visage. 

"I, uhm, overslept, Captain. That — that happens sometimes, yeah? Sorry about that. I'll—I'll..." stopping for a moment, you squinted your eyes and scrunched your nose while the man before you attentively fixated his stare on your frame and— 

"Achooo!" —covered half of your face whilst he recoiled back at the loud sneeze you let out, not expecting it at all. He blinked, then you sneezed again, and again. Streak of three. 

If your voice and glossy eyes already told everything to the doctor, the continuous sneezes only reinforced his thesis. 

You exhaled haplessly as he sternly said your name. 

"You're sick." his firm and coherent words could not be fooled. Your fate was sealed. 

"...Yeah." at this point, you didn't care. He was gonna scold you, nothing you could do about it. You could only hope he'll do that after you're cured because right now, you could barely stand still without shivering. You were sure if he wanted to do something he would have already, so he definitely will have a talk with you after you're healthy. 

"Why?" you've been proven wrong so many times this morning — afternoon. Evening? That you don't know what's gonna happen next. 

You stared at him numbly, almost done with everything. 

"What do you mean 'why'? I don't, I don't know. Probably our... Ugh, our last stop, isn't that obvious—" 

"Not that. Why didn't you say anything? To the others? To me?" 

If it wasn't for your head beating incessantly and the aching of your tendons ruining everything, you would think this was a dream. 

You kept gawking at him like a goldfish. His timbre wasn't as stern as it regularly was. It was a bit, just a tad bit lower. Like, barely. His eyes were softer, and if you met the man yesterday, you wouldn't be capable of identifying his mood. It's because you knew him for so long that you could distinguish it. 

"I..." you mumbled talks under your breath, awfully feeble to maintain the discussion, barring your eyes and hitching away when Law planted his freezing hand on your forehead. You fussed in protest, although it didn't last long. 

"You're cold... Off." 

"My hands are perfectly fine. You're burning," he interrupted you, stating the obvious. But you were far too deep to listen, fatigued. 

"Yeah... M'sorry." you nodded while deliberately looking down in shame, almost dropping to the ground out of fatigue. Everything seems hazy, the pressure in your skull fading, while the breaths you took were meager. 

Something skimmed over your shoulder and nape — ah, his fingertips — palm carefully tilting your head back up. Your mouth hung open, and you attempted to focus on your captain's facial features and the iconic hat to not fall asleep. 

"It's fine." But his gentle approach and mellow maneuvers set you in a soothing trance, where you couldn't do anything other than auscultate him. 

It’d be an exceptional moment to speak up about these last days, his odd actions. 

"It... It is? You, ah... You're not..." but you struggled to do so, chest too heavy to speak. He narrowed his eyes, striving to make out what you were saying, but it was all incomprehensible to him. 

"I'm not?" he urged you to proceed, getting closer — he felt warm. Wasn't he cold some seconds ago? Ah, he’s draping his coat over your shoulders, so, so cozy, — and holding you as if you were glass. Why was he holding you? It felt nice, undoubtedly nice. Oh, you were going to fall, you think. 

“Hey—hey. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.” 

Cradling you in his arms, Law cursed and crouched down, snaking an arm under your knees and sweeping you up, a short "there" slipping from his tongue, keeping you close to his breast. Naturally, you snuggled close to the source of heat, losing consciousness, unaware of your surroundings, his distress, and jogging to the infirmary. 

“Hey. Keep your eyes open. No, no, open—yes, yes, like that. Good job. A bit more, then you can go to sleep, alright?" 

While nodding lazily when he said your name again, you curled up for more warmth, and he mellowly followed your movement, hefting you up and pressing his lips upon your forehead, his frown deepening at how high the temperature was. He needed to administer medicine quickly. 

"Law …'m sorry if I smell." 

He scoffed. Thinking of such idiotic things was exactly like you, sputtering them out so bluntly. Rolling his eyes was natural at this point. 

"That's my last concern. We'll think of your scent and hygiene later. Don't speak. Shh." 

So stupid, so stupid. He should've confronted you ever since you left the island. He should've. It's been a recurring pattern these days. He couldn't see you because of his work but spoke with the others at breakfast, lunch, dinner... They all grew concerned about your distance. Uni shared that it began right after the departing... He knew something wasn't right with you, he could feel it.

Back in that inhabited location, he quickly took note of your drooping posture and fatigued breathing. He wanted to ask about it, but the following days, you acted normal, and Law thought you were queasy because of the heat.

Then he got busy checking on the crew's documents, medicine supply, the damn broken scope Hakugan sadly reported, bounties, news — and something else. He managed to give a check-up to everyone but you. It was mandatory after leaving an island.

With you evading him and him doing the same, this happened. Great. He could only hope it wasn't contagious.

... Wait.

He gritted his teeth in sour realization — Not once has he seen you in the halls or dining hall. No one mentioned you, either. Have you eaten anything at all? Oh, you imbecile.

He palmed your skin through your suit, easing your laments and whimpers, walking through the hallways of the Polar Tang and reaching the infirmary. Kicking the door open while lulling you a bit, shushing and fluttering his eyelids at your sick and quaking form. 

"There we go. Shh, I know, I know, it's awful." 

Uplifting the blankets, he quickly covered you and began searching for his equipment, rustling and metal clicks tangling with your whines. 

"U- uuh... W- where..?" 

"I'll be there in a second. I'm here." 

As he said that, he quickly came back to you, already stirring medicine in a cup. He had to give to you before you blacked out or fell asleep. Sliding a hand under your back, he carefully pushed you up, gaining a groan from you; you sounded so tired. Tipping your head forward, he brought the rim of the cup to your lips. You were delirious, could barely see or feel, but managed to follow his direct instruction to "open". The first glass was tasteless, fresh... water. 

The second tasted awful. 

"E—eugh..." 

"A couple more sips and we're done. Come on, you're doing good." 

Once you drank it all, with a small praise from Law, he gently laid you back down, about to check your vitals. He knew you were in no condition to do as he instructed, it would be all him. Idiot, idiot... 

Just looking at you made him guilty. He never saw you this awful. However, what truly pushed him were your next phrases. 

“Do you feel better now..?” 

Low and dry, they all were. He halted his movements, his hands in the bag, shifting his attention to you. 

Your question puzzled him. 

Feel better? Him? He was fine. Perhaps you thought the disease was contagious? No; you would've phrased that diversely. His forehead creased, slightly tilted to the side. 

"What?" 

“I … I missed you." 

And as clear drops cascaded down your cheeks, his limbs froze, a bittersweet ache striking his chest. 

"I—I thought I did something wrong … I’m sorry … Should've told you. 'M sorry ... really...” 

Shit. 

“No, no, don’t be. It’s alright, don't—don't speak. You did nothing. Shh...” 

And if you stayed conscious for some more seconds, you could've seen those severe pupils mitigate. The windows of his soul open up; the "stern" gaze he preserved for you withering in an instant at your vulnerability. 

All he wanted to do was clear that up. When, now..? 

“I—I’m the one that should’ve apologized, damn it…” 

"Aargh..." 

Warm. 

"Mmh..." 

It was very warm. Pleasant. 

"Hn..." 

The boilersuit felt different. Heavier, and not … poofy. Hm. 

The pillow was so nice, though... 

You sought a better position under the comforting and amiable regime of your blanket, squinting your glistening eyes as if sand had struck them; eyebrows knitting in distaste and discomfort, choler cramming up your insides — but not for long, extremely achy and sleepy to lament. 

Shouldn't it be easier to relax now that you are tired? Shifting left and right left your muscles throbbing. The peace you could achieve in your dreams was all you begged for. But no, you just had to rise two more times in the span of minutes or hours. 

When you woke up the third time, someone surprised you. He was perching on a chair near the infirmary's bed, head, presumably about to doze off. An encyclopedia of vegetation and exotic environs sat in his palms and dotted jeans, the cover made of green-coloured leather, firm to the touch. 

He looked peaceful. 

"... Law?" 

Your lashes fluttered at the fierce shudder that rocked his frame, the textbook about to fall, his eyes snapping open and rapidly darting up to you. 

"Oh. You woke up. Good. Good evening." 

You were mad at him. You were mad at him. 

His lips were indubitably moving. Whatever he was saying, you were not listening. Something about being out for hours, but you were too out of it to pay attention. 

And looking down at your body, your eyeballs almost popped out of your sockets at the sight of... Not your boilersuit. 

"I'm in my pajamas?" 

"And — hm? Oh. I changed you." Pause. "With my devil fruit, of course. Obviously. You were way too hot in it." 

"..." 

"..." 

Pause number two. 

"I'm hot?" You bluntly said,

"Not in that way." And he quickly retorted, bashful. You immediately got gloomy.

"Oh..." You and Bepo were alike. He couldn’t help but sweatdrop.

"No, no, no, don't — you look fine. That's not what I meant." 

A hoarse chuckle ripped from your sensible larynx, a noise that he hadn't heard in a while. His back loosened at your jovial note, the pressure applied on the envelope of the manual lessening. 

There was a superb illustration of the flora you accidentally whiffed. 

"You inhaled it, didn't you?" 

... Silence followed. Then a sigh.

"A simple allergy with a sore throat and emotional instability in the first phase caused by the pollen, weakened muscles and headache in the second, and heightened senses, nausea, and worsening of the body in the last one. You felt them all." 

Quick and precise, each symptom he mentioned appeared throughout the weeks you boarded on the Polar Tang. He hit the mark. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you nodded sheepishly, feeling hot in your cheeks. 

"Y—Yeah." 

"I thought I mentioned dodging those peculiar red flowers. I don't expect you to recall the name, but to avoid it. Thankfully, you only inhaled its pollen, or else you would've been in this bed the moment we departed." 

"O—oh... That bad?" 

"No, not really. The symptoms would've developed quicker, but nothing dangerous. Perhaps you would have slept over two days, as all cases do when encountering this allergy," He narrows his eyes at you, shutting the book and crossing his long legs, his foot jouncing. "Not at all fatal, only worrying when the patient in question mentions nothing about the symptoms and overworks themselves.” 

“Hey—” 

“You're fine." 

A small huff left your lips, nodding lazily. Nothing was uttered after from both sides. Occasional groans from yours. Only then he spoke. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"..." The answer was simple. He immediately found the illness yet couldn't pinpoint the cause of this? It was almost ironic. Your quietude wasn't taken well. 

"Well?" 

"... You ignored me. You made it clear." 

And he was faking ignorance. That glance, his attitude. You knew him too well, but had no energy to call him out. 

"I—I didn't." 

"Don't play coy, Law. Did I do something? Even the others know. Penguin and Shachi told me. I—" 

You paused when he raised his hand, glancing at it in confusion, then back at him, twice or more. He sighed and dropped it back on his thigh again, using his other one to rub his temple in distress. 

"You did nothing. I don't know what... Shachi and Penguin said," You tilted your head at his peculiar manner of quoting them. "But I've got nothing against you." 

He stopped rubbing and lifted his head to check on you again and you were unsure of what to say. His brows wrinkled the tender skin of his forehead, severity, and minor unease painting every fiber of his appearance. 

You just... didn't know. 

"Really? Then why those weird stares? Why leave the room the moment I come in? I mean." you flailed your hands around, looking everywhere as if you could find an explanation. "You never behaved this way, Law, not with anyone. I... It was fine before, right? Let me ask again, did I do something wrong?" 

"Of course not!" 

At his hasty exclamation, you blinked, uncertain why he became as rigid as stone. Palms back on the blanket, you awaited an elaboration of his thoughts, observing his adumbral face to detect any key to figure out what caused him to alter his ways with you. However, his hat, which you've always appreciated for its fluffiness, turned out to be an issue. Those eyes you've grown so fond of refused to meet yours. 

You just couldn't get it. The surrounding air grew an intoxicating no romance book would mention, one that did the contrary of setting your heart aflame, that poor muscle of yours. 

If he explained, it would've been easier. 

"Okay, 'of course not' ... Sure—" 

"We are not having this conversation. You need rest." 

He briskly cut you off, and your heart felt constricted. The words felt bitter upon both of your tongues, so bitter and revolting, they made his jaw clench and your eyes water. You weren't having it. Absolutely not. 

"I feel better now, thank you, and I say we're having this right here." You pushed, ignoring how he clenched his tattooed fist.

"No—" 

"Yes, Law! I don't know what I did, but if it bothers you, shouldn’t you tell me? There are things we can all miss." 

The pang in your brain was still active, and you had no patience nor strength to argue. Either he spoke up or you'd go straight to sleep. 

"I... You did nothing that bothers me." 

His speech was almost a whisper, a low rumble, and were you in your regular state, you'd feel sad to see him like this. Law had no trouble speaking up— perhaps with apologies, or admitting to be wrong when in the midst of a conversation. Maybe something genuinely bothered him. But he'd tell you, wouldn't he? He had to.

But you weren't the only one who had to consider the consequences. He also had to do his part. 

"... And?" you encouraged him, to gain something, something that would lead you both to that damned thing you were both chasing, that ounce of understanding. 

“And—and what?" alas, it served another wave of blistering dissatisfaction down upon the membranes of your boiling stomach. 

He couldn't be serious. 

"... Whatever. I'm going to sleep." 

"What?" 

You detested how you were feeling, a volcano of passions, the pounding in your skull, and the heat, and the ludicrous, nagging insecurity, all these wretched, gristly sensations shoved in your mouth and scraping your gullet, such a relucting and squalid dish, contaminating your palate and inflaming the gums of your teeth. 

But all Law could see was how your eyes moistened and reddened, the crinkles at the corners of your mouth, the contracted tissues above your nose. 

You couldn't feel how his heart plummeted, either. Again, he caused you to cry. 

"Hey... I—" 

"No, Law, no! I said leave! You ignored me for almost two weeks and now—now you're just..!" 

Perhaps you were being a bit too "dramatic" for something you could solve with a modest exchange, something that, compared to all the obstacles you and Law went through, was a sheer grain of dust in your shoes. Yet you erupted for the frustration, the plant's effects and that nameless thing you'll bring in your grave, for if he knew, he'd probably pity you. 

Maybe, just maybe, he should've kept ignoring you. If solely to dim that warmth. The glow in your eyes that only sparked with him. 

"I don't mind if you need time. I don't mind if you're busy or whatever, that's obviously fine! But can't you tell me? Is it that hard? Instead of treating me like a stranger? Just—just, just leave..." 

Your snotty voice seemed ridiculous, resounding through the infirmary alongside your sobs and sniffles. Vision tarnished by your tears, staring at the ceiling with resignation. It alarmed Law, whose emotions were already scattered; unnerved, anxious. 

He couldn't take seeing you like this. He couldn't. 

"That’s not it! I... I just — I..!" His broken explanations fell as your cries didn't stop; spasms traveling through your frazzled nerves. He swore under his breath, getting up and coming to you, standing close but so, so distant. His fingers jerked, impatient to wipe your tears, to calm you down, to assure you everything was alright, and this was all on him. 

"What..?" you meekly whimpered, gazing at him as he appeared in your sight. 

"I, I..!" if only he could express himself. You'd figure out. If only he could, without buckling and tearing apart at the weight of his own feelings. 

"... You what, Law?" 

It was tough to see with all those tears coating your scleras, but... His lips quivered. His jaw tensed. 

His hands craved yours. 

"I like—I like you!" 

... You wondered if illusions were part of the symptoms. Your eyelids were all but relaxed. Popeyed. 

"There. I said it. I mean it. Seriously. I—I think I love you." 

You could feel his frantic grip, slightly pulling the blankets in his direction, tense as him. You've never seen Law so … jittery with you. Perhaps when he slowly spoke of his past, or when his plan failed. 

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I... I was confused. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't... No, okay. I, I love you, but you don't have to reciprocate, really. ‌I just wanted to clarify that I wasn't—" 

This was different, however. Not the same vulnerability, nor agitation. That teetering edge coating his sayings, not at all close to those instances. 

"... Law." 

"—ignoring you, I mean, I was, but I just couldn't face you, you know? I didn't know how to act—" 

That glow, those feelings. The twinkle in his eyes Bepo mentioned when you spoke of something that fascinated you, that rare grin on his lips, and that sweetness, the swelling in his chest, and the red, and the breath of fresh air, and the intoxicating romance books loved to talk about... 

Those tints blooming in his cheeks. The faint relaxation of his defined brows. How he covered his pretty, vulnerable self. 

He's no different from you. Oh, oho ho, no, he wasn’t. Only now did you realize. 

"Law." 

"—but I missed you so much, I missed your presence, being with you, I—" 

Your heartbeats matched. 

"Law!" 

You understand now. The definitive yell induced him to quit his blabbering, and eventually, he found your gaze. Those windows were not locked at all. Not marginally, not halfway. They were fully open. You could see him. 

"It's... the same." 

It was all you could utter. His jaw loosened, and you could recognize his wide, stormy irises. 

"Huh? Wh — what?" 

"I feel the same way, Law. I—I love you too." 

Yours were open, too. They always were- yet he never acknowledged what dwelled inside. Two fools you both were. 

"... Oh..." and a breathless whisper was all he could offer. 

The silence dissipated. A delightful warmth occupied your rib cage. The pressure was gone. 

All is back to normal. 

"If... If you weren't sick. I'd kiss you." He mumbled, and his lips looked more luscious than ever. He shouldn't have said that. Now it was even harder. 

"P—pfft... Of course, of course. Can you come closer, at least?" you pouted, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. “Pretty please?”

"... Fine. It's — not contagious, anyway," he huffed, his cheeks a light pink, and he sat on the margin of the infirmary's bed, hustling just a tad bit closer... 

Closer... 

"Closer?" 

"Alright." 

His ears grew pink at your giggles. Your fingers graced each other, "DEATH" entwined with you. His hands were lukewarm. Long, slim, calloused in some places, but also tender to the contact. His metacarpals were partially discernible, defining the shadows. He took care of his nails, ensuring they were cut short, although they appeared slightly, just somewhat lengthier than usual. Not considerably, however; they were still short. 

How you missed holding it. 

"Sorry, by the way. About everything." Squeezing his hand, you attempted to show him what it meant to you. He squeezed it back, brushing the top of your hand with his thumb, a pensive and solemn look on his face. 

"No- I should apologize for not saying anything sooner. I neglected and avoided you. I … I don’t know what to do. You know I’m not the type for relationships.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement, but weren't as worried as Law. You'll wait. Nothing would change. 

“Mmm. I can wait for you, Law.” Saying it seemed to take him off guard, as if he hadn't thought about it. Or, rather, didn't expect you to propose it. In his head, it seemed silly because it's him. If you were to ask in his place, he'd also wait. 

He felt lighter. 

“… Truly?” 

“Yeah. We can figure it out together. Like we always did. I’ve loved you for years." He inhaled deeply, your words buttery and sweet. "I’m fine with waiting longer.” 

Thinking you wouldn't accept, if he asked, was stupid of him too. Of course you would. Of course. With another squeeze, he nodded, and turned his head away from you a bit. 

His eyes glistened. 

“I’d like that. Thank you.” 

You smiled, too, saying nothing in return. 

He can take all the time he needs. 

After some days, everything went back to the typical routine. The first thing you did was knock Shachi and Penguin's heads, (supported by Ikkaku) and since Hakugan and Clione were on duty, you couldn't do the same for them. 

You puffed your cheeks and enjoyed chewing the well-earned treat you snagged from the kitchen, reorganizing boxes since this morning. 

"Tired?" 

Peeking at the door, a smile adorned your mouth at the sight of your captain leaning on it. 

"Mm, there were a lot of them." 

"You could've asked for help. You know I don't want any of you to strain yourselves with tasks." 

"I had it. Don't worry. Although..." another bite. "I miss it." 

"Hm?" he crooned, tipping his head forward. "Miss what?" 

You gazed into his eyes, "Miss getting pampered by you when I was sick." lovingly observing how they enlarged a bit before returning to the stoic stare he always wore, swaying his head to dismiss your remarks. The chambré tint on his cheeks was as clear as day, like his light smile. Not that you'd tell him, he'd immediately disregard it. 

"... Meet me at my office once you're done." 

As he turned his back to you, his boots making clicky rumors with each step, your smirk amplified... After all, who could wait to get coddled by none other than their favorite captain?

#law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x you

[feyascorner]

7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind. 

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’ 

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat. 

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.” 

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings. 

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. “I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter. 

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid. 

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry. 

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles. 

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

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#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff #shadowheart #astarion x you #astarion x oc

[mysteria157]

Chapter One

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Hints of Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

“I’m only going to say this one more time, Toji. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

His hands are so bloody, that if you ever knew the source, you would'nt want someone like him to try. He shouldn't be here, taking up so much of your time, asking for more. But he's selfish.

-or; Toji, a notorious hitman, moves to America for more money and a better life for his son. He didnt expect to sleep with you, let alone want more. When his dangerous life catches up to him, he takes on one final lucrative hit, but realizes this target has unseen connections hitting closer to home. Now he must navigate a perilous job while desperately keeping his criminal double life hidden from you.

Authors Notes: Hello! I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. As stated in the masterlist, this fic is a continuation from Maneater, so reading that will definitely help set the tone for this fic. I plan to dig deep with this story and really find my voice writing a different genre.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Prologue | Next Chapter

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

…women like you drown oceans -Rupi Kaur

*** You ***

Pop!

The sharp sound of gum expanding and then exploding causes you to flinch, your eyeliner pen frozen just above your lid. Through the mirror’s reflection, you shoot a glare at the open closet door, where your cousin rummages through your clothes.

Pop!

She’s in her own little world. If this were any other circumstance, she would have been scolded for her habit of popping gum—a top offender on the list of annoying behaviors ingrained in both of you since childhood. You detest the sound, and if you were closer, you would have punched her in the stomach by now.

You and your cousin typically get along well, but she enjoys testing your limits to coax you out of your shell. The only way to shut her up is by letting her tire herself out during her talkative rampages or swinging at her when you’ve had enough.

Every day with her is a gamble of which will come first.

Your eyeliner is still hovering by your upper lid, suspended in place as you watch another sundress get haphazardly thrown against the closet wall instead of being put back on a hanger where it fucking belongs.

You can’t bother with trying to get violent with her, you’re way too preoccupied with other thoughts. More incessant thoughts like how to play it cool on a date. It’s not that hard, right? Be yourself, get a gauge of the man trying to impress you, entertain a few hours of your day and then back home to relax.

Easy.

If it were anyone else but Toji, then it would be easy.

You had buried yourself in double shifts and extended hours in the lab just to distract yourself from today. Anything to keep you busy and keep your mind off the fact that someone you are sort of interested in…wants to see you. And he reminds you every day when you look down at your phone.

Despite his admission of being a lazy texter, Toji is surprisingly consistent. But the messages take on a blunt form wrapped around a small pearl of care.

Toji: Eat breakfast. What good are you in a hospital if you pass out?

Toji: Stop taking on more shifts, its stupid. Go home and rest.

Toji: You better not be tired this weekend. 

No matter how hard you try to force your face to stay immobile, each text makes your lips twitch into a small smile. He masks his words in harsh deliveries, but the intention is obvious. The satisfying jolt that shoots up your spine when your phone buzzes with a notification from him should be embarrassing. It should be.

But you love it.

It’s absurd, really. Only two weeks have passed since you met him, hardly enough time to form any meaningful connection. Yet, that night at your uncle’s was unexpectedly delightful. Toji was, against your better judgment, charming and attentive, almost to the point of clinginess. And, undeniably, he’s attractive. And a fucking fantastic lay.

So, despite your instinct to ignore a man and the way they flaunt their feathers for your attention, you want Toji to bring that same energy as last time.

You lean your elbows back into the shiny wood of your vanity, focusing your attention on your eye as you lower the eyeliner to your skin.

Pop!

The sound makes you jump, disrupting your focus and smearing the eyeliner across your temple.

“Rene!” you bark, slamming your eyeliner down on the vanity top with a force that makes your hand sting, and you yank a drawer open in search of a makeup wipe. “Stop popping your gum before I come over there and beat the shit out of you.” As you wipe off the smudged makeup, you catch the reflection of your cousin emerging from your closet.

She embodies a beauty that’s almost blinding, matched only by her lively personality. So naturally, heads turn when she enters a room, her chocolate skin seemingly radiant wherever she goes. With her thick, kinky hair always in a protective style and her unshakeable confidence in her intelligence and appearance, Rene caught Shiu’s attention immediately, and he’s been captivated ever since.

She is one of very few in your family who truly gets you, who sees the world with clarity and understands its nuances and how to navigate through it without compromising her ideals. Since childhood, you’ve stuck to each other like glue. She understands you and your guarded demeanor, you understand her and her loud personality. She’s one of your best friends.

But at this moment, as she stands before you in booty shorts and a tank top that accentuates her curves, her twist out cascading from a pineapple updo, and an outfit draped over one arm, she is pissing you off as she pops her gum againwith a cheeky expression.

“I like your makeup.” A sly grin stretches on her face, enhancing her soft features. You ignore her, feeling your defenses rise as she effortlessly peels back your layers. The liquid eyeliner glides against the smooth brown of your skin, forming a subtle cat-eye as you pretend not to notice her approaching you from behind.

She gracefully settles onto your vanity top, ignoring your lipstick casing that teeters over and rolls across the shiny surface. You shoot her another glare before moving to your other eye. “You should put on some mascara too. When you give him head later today, I’m sure he’ll love to see it run down your cheeks and—”

You swing at her not even a second later, landing a solid smack on the side of her thigh. “UM Ow?!”

“Um?? Shut the fuck up,” you growl, sneering at her with a leveling scowl that you hope cuts through her.

It doesn’t.

Rene snorts, shrugging off the vanity and moving to your bed to change her clothes. As she pulls your dark jeans over her thick thighs, you can’t help but wonder if you should dress more…sexy?  Your jean shorts reveal enough skin, and the jersey fits snugly around your torso. You’re no stranger to dressing to the nines and making heads turn just like her, but you value practicality more than appeal. It’s a football game, after all, and you love football. Why bother looking overly sexy when you’ll be screaming and stuffing hotdogs and pretzels in your mouth?

Despite the logic, a hand of insecurity tightens around your throat.

Rene, like the annoyingly clairvoyant bitch she is, tastes the shift in the air and rolls her eyes at you through the mirror’s reflection. “You look fucking amazing. Toji asked you out—frequently, I might add.”

The memories of his persistence flash through your mind in a rush. Heated touches in the backseat of your truck, sweaty skin sliding against each other, and your mouth dripping with moans of satisfaction were constantly interrupted by his repeated question.

“Let me take you out.”

As if he couldn’t get enough. As if he wanted more. As if he wouldn’t leave your uncle’s house that night until you flat-out told him to leave you alone.

You haven’t entertained a man since your cheating ex, so your defenses remain high and guarded, fortified with brick and mortar, armed to fend off anyone who comes too close.

But in such a short time, Toji managed to advance further than others with hard skin resilient to your attacks, and a constant insistence to be by your side. He’s spoken to you in ways that would have landed others in the ER, yet his words were always laced with harsh care to make you confront your own overreactions instead of hiding.

“Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

“You’re not mean to men; you just don’t do bullshit.”

“It’s okay to be a little excited about this,” Rene interjects, slicing through the thick current of your anxiety.

And you are, excited and a little nervous, though you don’t respond to her, simply reaching for your clear lip gloss to finish your makeup.

By the time there is a knock on your door thirty minutes later, you and Rene are ready to go. Your curls are piled high on your head, tendrils falling to frame your face and your hairline slicked with curled edges. There’s a subtle shake in your hands wrapped around the handle of your front door, betraying the calm façade you wear.  As you open it, expecting Toji’s familiar face, you’re met with Shiu, a toothpick in his mouth and a gentle smile playing on his lips.

You greet him warmly with a hug, letting him inside. He can only hug you for a second before rushing past you and toward the direction of your room, anxious to see his fiancé. “Don’t fuck on my bed!” you yell after him, loud enough for your cousin to hear.

It’s only a minute later when there’s a knock at the door that makes you jump, shocking you into reality again as you realize that you haven’t moved since inviting Shiu inside. In your stupidity, you look through the peephole and swallow the gasp at Toji’s distorted form.

“I can see your feet. Open the door,” his deep voice cuts, familiar and commanding.

Your fingers curl against the wooden surface of your door, nails scratching lightly along the veneer as you wrestle with the innate temptation to be stubborn. Besides Nanami Kento—another close friend and coworker—Toji is the only man you’ve let talk to you like this. He’s a little bit of an asshole, but beneath his rough exterior lies a tender core that beckons you to peel back the layers like an onion, eager to feel just how soft the bulb is in the center. You’re drawn to him in a way you can’t explain, and it’s a longing that ignites a hunger that you haven’t experienced in a very long time.

With a resigned sigh, you swing the door open to be welcomed by the sight of him, a picture that leaves you momentarily breathless. You swallow the drool that pools instantly in the back of your throat, curl your toes in your sneakers to resist the urge to spring forward and slant your lips against his, and bite the inside of your lip so the twitching on the sides does not turn into a gentle smirk.

“You look good, baby,” his words roll off his tongue effortlessly, his gaze sweeping over you with a knowing intensity. It feels as though he’s studying a heavily guarded masterpiece that he finally has his hands on to steal. He notices every stroke of paint, every blotch that makes you who you are and it’s with a concentration that leaves you dizzy enough to grip the door tighter in your hands.

Though only a week has passed since you last saw him, his presence still grips you with a force that borders on intoxicating. Clad in a black shirt that accentuates his commanding presence, his broad shoulders exude a magnetic strength that summons you, stirring a primal desire to dig your fingernails into him like you did that night in your truck. One of his hands is tucked in a jeaned pocket, the other is behind his back, and jet-black locks brush his cheeks as he chuckles, undoubtedly amused by the dumbfounded stare that you’re still shooting his way. His scar cradles the side of his lips in a seductive curl as he smirks.

God, he’s so—he’s so—

His presence seems to fill the entire room, a tangible force even without crossing the threshold of your home. An urgent ache surges within you, craving the warmth of his embrace, the security of his strength.

“You gonna let me in or just keep your mouth open for the flies?” His voice breaks the reverie in your mind, a well-known blend of annoyance that fills your chest immediately. You’re reminded of how effortlessly irritating he can be, yet there’s a strange allure in his confidence.

At this point, you don’t have a quip loaded up quick enough to shoot back at him. So, you step aside and hold your breath as his large body crosses the threshold of your home.

The last time he was at your door, he barged inside with a barely contained fury and pulled you into an argument that stemmed from your unwillingness to be vulnerable and his lack of expertise in expressing himself. It was a weird song and dance that marked the beginning of something you still don’t fully understand. Now, he’s here with a slightly different demeanor, calm and self-assured as he plants a firm kiss on your cheek as if he’s a hardworking husband returning home just in time for dinner.

You gape at his nonchalance, watching in disbelief as he kicks off his shoes and pulls his hand from behind his back, presenting you a bouquet of flowers in a manner that feels both rushed and sincere. You look down at the flowers, wide-eyed and blinking to make sure the reality you are currently in isn’t actually a simulation.

Daisies.

Not the cheap, wilted blooms you kind of expected from him, but fresh, vibrant flowers. Their white petals gleam softly, each grain of pollen in the yellow center visible in the light of your kitchen. The stems are freshly cut, wrapped in a simple red bow and your chest is fluttering with a severity that unsettles you.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked. And I don’t trust Shiu with an honest answer so…” His words trail off, leaving unspoken sentiments lingering in the air.

 Your lips curl around words that won’t form, and you mentally sort through your book of tricks. It’s a book you’ve spent years filling after countless experiences. Men will do just about anything for pussy. There’s no reason to be shocked at why they do the things they do—they’re all the same.

But even from that first day you met, you have already shuffled through your book when it comes to Toji. Every time you look up whatever trick he tries to pull, you come up with an empty page. There’s never a solution or a pre-written response that you can use. You have no choice but to figure this out on your own and fill in the pages later.

“If you don’t like them, you don’t have to take them,” he cuts into your thoughts, words edged with a trace of embarrassment that he’s trying to cover up with frustration. “Just give them back—” He reaches for the flowers, and you reflexively pull your arms away, much to your own shock at the way your body moves on its own.

“I like them,” you blurt out, your voice not as strong as you want it to be but thankfully steady as the words leave your lips. “They’re very nice, Toji. Thank you.”

He drops his hand, shoves it deep into the pocket of his jeans before clearing his throat and giving you a sharp nod. His eyes take in your face for only a second before they flit away to focus on a random spot in your living room, a hint of blush on his cheeks that makes the fluttering in your chest pick up in speed. It’s a weird feeling that will consume you if you don’t stay in control.

So, you push it down, swallow the pool of saliva in your mouth so it can help the glide, all the way down to the pit of your belly to extinguish the embers that threaten to lick to life. You shuffle past him and into the kitchen to fetch a vase, your mind sorting through the symptoms of various pulmonary diseases to distract yourself from the giddiness of him getting you flowers.

A normal thing. The bare minimum for a man. But it makes you feel great all the same. They aren’t your favorite, not even close, but it’s a gesture that shatters your preconceived notions about Toji that probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“What are they?” he asks, face still pink below his eyes that linger on the countertop instead of at you. You untie the bow at the stems and slide the daisies into an antique vase with crystalline ridges, shooting him a questioning raised eyebrow in response. One of his hands gestures wildly to the vase you are filling with water. “Your favorite flowers.”

“Snapdragons.” Toji throws you a quizzical look, his eyebrows pinched together in a clear display of confusion that makes you chuckle. You push the now full vase of flowers to the center of your kitchen countertop, the sight warming your stomach no matter how much you try to stop it. “They aren’t in season, but there’s a vendor here that sells them in the Spring and Fall. Growing up, we lived right next to a river where they would grow. My father would pick them every year and bring them to my mother as a gift. Whenever they wilted, he picked more and replaced them…over and over until they weren’t in season anymore.”

You dig your teeth into the wet flesh of your cheek to stop yourself from rambling, the need to talk more about yourself is at the tip of your tongue. He’s quiet as he takes in your response, eyebrows twitching with fleeting emotion before they smooth out into their usual calm expression. Maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks, but he looks as if he’s locked away your little nugget of information and is ready to move on to the next thing.

More of you.

That gaze is now free of shyness and taking you in, sharp and cutting and rough around the edges, his green irises sliding down to the exposed skin of your thighs, and they must beckon him because he makes his way towards you with a dominating presence that tightens your throat. He walks around the countertop, avoiding the sharp edge from biting into his side and now he’s standing in front of you, looming and dwarfing you without even trying. You catch a whiff of his cheap cologne—a different scent from what you smelled before—but still rich with bergamot undertones that make you more curious than bothered at his frugal mentality.

“Can I kiss you? Or you gonna smack me instead?”

Even though he’s teasing, he displays the growing knowledge of your boundaries and the lengths you will go to protect yourself.

“What, you want to get smacked, Toji?” you retort, lifting an eyebrow at him, your neck tingling from the strain of looking up due to his height. God, he’s such a big man. Big and burly and just enough to overwhelm you in a way that you crave so, so much.

“Nah. I want a kiss,” he confidently responds, blowing away the cloud of lust from around your head.

He’s too close and yet not close enough. He smells too good, looks too good with a voice that’s too deep and melodic for you to ride on logic for a full day, but you need him closer, so much closer and—

Your back brushes against the edge of the kitchen sink, making you tense at the realization that he’s backed you up against it and is looking down at you with that nasty smirk you entertain more than you should.

“You…” you begin, trailing off when one of his muscular arms reaches past you to rest onto the counter on one side, still giving you an escape route even though you’ll take being trapped against him any time of the day. “You already kissed me on the cheek when you walked in without asking me. Don’t be stingy.”

Toji clicks his tongue in disappointment, the sound pushing a rush of electricity down your spine that’s generating too much energy between your legs. He shrugs, broad shoulders pulling up and down, stretching his shirt in the most delicious way. “That’s not enough.”

Although lust is darkening your thoughts slowly despite your resolve, you still have enough common sense to remember the kind of woman you are. You’re someone unwilling to tolerate fuckboy behavior and would rather humiliate a man than give in to temptation that would only embarrass you in the future. You have to stay in control. Just for the rest of the day to measure his intentions with a level head. Even though you feel heavy with lidded eyes, you slip into that second skin of yourself with ease.

“Ask nicely,” you whisper.

He takes the bait—like they always do—and slinks further into your space, his broad and muscular form brushes against your softer one. Your gaze remains indifferent as he asks to kiss you in a sing-song voice that’s borderline annoying and teasing, threatening to make you laugh despite your resistance.

You take in his question with a noncommittal hum and slide a hand up the soft fabric of his chest. The muscles underneath flex and twitch beneath your palm, echoing memories of that unforgettable night when you could slide your fingers on the sweat of his abs as you rode him for all he was worth.

Your hand rests against his cheek, watching as he slowly falls for your trap, inhaling deeply with his lips a mere breath away from yours before you speak calmly and softly.

“No.”

You stroke his cheek in a soothing manner before patting it a little too hard that’s close to a smack, yanking a grunt of frustration from him as he pulls away with an bothered growl. You relish in the sigh of his scar twisting when his face curls with annoyance, his eyes rolling and his arms folding across his chest like a child being denied dessert. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips, growing in intensity as his eyes narrow at you.

“You’re so damn annoying,” he pouts, and the fact that he truly looks put off for not getting a kiss only makes you laugh harder.

***

The sight and sound of cheering fans excite you, filling you with childhood memories of games with your father. As the four of you make your way through the large parking lot and in the direction of the stadium, you take in the display of emotions that cross Toji’s face as he is immersed in a part of culture unfamiliar to him. The intricacies of American sports are puzzling to Toji, you realize. While you wave excitedly to the fans who are tailgating and grilling food and playing cornhole, he looks on in disbelief. When you explain the concept of tailgating to him, his expression deepens even more. He doesn’t like the hecklers that litter right outside the entrance and try to sell nosebleed tickets twelve times the market price. He thinks porta-pottys are foul as he takes in the long line of people who wait along the side of the large parking lot. You can tell he’s a little overwhelmed, and aggravated by the new things he learns. But he doesn’t complain, content to listen to the three of you as he watches his surroundings.

Despite the array of emotions that engulf him, he keeps you by his side without a second thought. The closer you get to the stadium, the thicker the crowd gets. When you make it through security and begin the long journey up the stone circular walkway of the stadium, Toji wraps a muscular arm around you and rests his hand on your hip in a grip that conveys a protective strength that shoots fluctuating reactions through you.

At first, you think he just wants his hands on you, and you’re prepared to smack his touch away. But then your perception shifts; a random man bumps into you with a sharp elbow into your arm and he turns around with an angry expression ready to yell. The glare that Toji levels at him leaves the man sputtering and apologizing before he slinks back into the crowd.

Normally, you don’t thrive off blatant displays of masculinity, but the sight of the man running away from Toji’s imposing stare makes your stomach fill with a deep-seated lust that surprises you. Like you’re a cavewoman, watching her caveman beat at his chest when another caveman gets too close to you. Toji grumbles to himself about the sheer number of people, his voice tinged with frustration even though his reassuring touch is gentle as he guides you through the throng of people toward your seats.

Thankfully, they aren’t nosebleeds, and they give you a good view of the field, with players already warming up. There is a large group of kids who hang off the rails, squealing in delight as their favorite players come and say hello and sign their jerseys and footballs. The speakers boom with music and commercial ads, the warm air carries the smell of popcorn up your nose, and your blood pumps in excitement.

It has been a while since you attended a football game, distant memories of sitting on your father’s shoulders as you both cheered in the stands. Since his death, you haven’t had the drive nor the time to attend another. So, to be in this position again with a man you are still trying to understand, it’s odd. But it’s not unwelcome and you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. When you watch football at home with your family, you’re a different person. You are loud and unashamed to express your feelings when you watch the games unfold. You stand up and sneer and bark at the officiant who can’t even hear you. You argue with your family about plays and players who will never know you. You love every emotion that the game brings out in you, and you’re unashamed to hide it. Toji is going to see a side of you that will either push him away or make him slink closer for more.

So, when the game begins with the kickoff, you join in the collective screams of the crowd, waving a towel in the air adorned with the yellow and black of your favorite team that is playing.

To your surprise once more, Toji did his homework. He effortlessly explains the rules as you both watch the first quarter together, looking to you for approval to make sure he’s correct. His attentive nature transforms into active participation as he cheers alongside you, his voice deep and booming compared to your screeching.

In the second quarter, there’s an injury on the field and the clash of pads ceases for long enough that fans leave their seats for food and to stretch their legs. Shiu and Rene disappear to get themselves a drink and it’s just you and Toji in the middle of empty seats.

“You’re a screamer,” he teases, his voice low and appreciative as he leans on his thigh with a cheek resting on his fist. His hair flows in the warm air before settling on pale cheeks.

“Too loud for you?” you retort, even if mildly curious about what he thinks of this side of yourself.

Toji purses his lips as he regards you with relaxed eyes. “It didn’t take me long to realize you’re not a dainty little thing. And besides,” A smile stretches across his face, white teeth glinting with a sinister disposition before his lips load with a remark you know will be salacious. “I like my women loud.”

You can be loud if he wants you to be. Preferably in another place besides your car where he can thrust like a man mad between your legs and dig those gleaming white teeth into the skin of your neck—

Oh.

For fuck’s sake. 

Your blood simmers in your veins at the suggestion in his words. His eyes watch your throat when you swallow a thick pool of spit and that smile grows impossibly larger, a Cheshire cat looking at you with nasty intent. He’s too aware of the effect he has on women, and you have to look away from him to resist succumbing to the seductive charm that he wields naturally.

You steer the conversation back into your hands. “You were so curious about me when we first met but I don’t know much about you. Are you here in America for a reason? What do you do for work?”

In your own line of work, observation is key; every subtle cue from your patients holds significance, revealing layers of truths that they usually try to conceal. So, when you notice the tension in Toji’s jaw at your question, the way his features contort subtly, it’s a detail you slot into a drawer of curiosity that takes part of the file cabinet of Toji in your mind.

“I’m a private investigator,” he confesses harshly, catching you off guard. It’s a revelation you don’t anticipate. His imposing features give you the impression of a firefighter or maybe even a cop. Not someone watching others in his car, bugging houses and apartments, and gathering evidence. A PI? You open that drawer of curiosity again and slot away this information as well. He shrugs away the awkwardness that your silence brings, nonchalant and dismissive, avoiding your gaze. “It pays the bills. The hours suck sometimes but…the work is easy.”

“So…naturally I can’t really ask about the things you do?” you don’t hide the inquisitiveness that coats your words.

“It’s nothing glamorous enough to talk about.” And that’s all he offers you in response.

You have a myriad of questions swirling in your mind, each vying for attention from a man who is as tight-lipped as you. How did he even get into this kind of work? Who are his clients? Cheaters, embezzlers…or criminals?

That and so much more brew in your mind, tumbling over the other but ultimately dissipating when you sense his reluctance, evident from his still-averted gaze and tense shoulders.

“What about family? You asked me about mine, but I never got to hear about yours.”

Granted, you only told him about the members of your family who danced in your backyard when you both were wrapped in one another two weeks ago. He doesn’t know about the more intimate parts of your family life. He doesn’t know about your father’s death, or the estrangement of your stepfamily. But that can come later. Toji hasn’t given you enough of himself.

Toji’s features now morph into disdain, souring the air between you. The bright emerald of his eyes dims with a grayish overcast, the liquid of the irises hardening like cooling lava.

His response is terse, laced with palpable displeasure that intensifies the acrid taste in the air. “There isn’t much to tell. I don’t get along with them, and they do their best to not get along with me either.” The timbre of his voice is lower, menacing enough to let you know it’s a subject he won’t entertain. At least for right now.

You open your mouth to speak again, to maybe apologize for making him uncomfortable, to reassure him that you wouldn’t judge him over something like this. He shifts in his seat, clasps his hands together and absentmindedly picks at a callous on the side of his thumb. The pink flush on his cheeks is not one of bashfulness, but of frustration and embarrassment. From the sliver of his eyes you can see, there is something simmering beneath the surface that might take you a while to unveil.

 “I do have a son, though.” The sentence shoots into the air and down your spine with a chilling clarity, breaking the flow of your thoughts as you blink in astonishment.

Pardon???

Considering he’s a grown man a few years older than you, it’s understandable. But the notion of him being a father never crossed your mind. The concept of children isn’t foreign to you; you see and take care of them every day. It’s the concept of children coming from him that’s a new development you have to consider.

While you believe you can handle a relationship with a single father, you’re upset at being told now, rather than before.

“You were with me all day two weeks ago and you never took the time to mention you have a son?”

You don’t hide your irritation. Once your trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to regain. Why would you give away sacred pieces of yourself to a man you wouldn’t trust to hold those pieces with care?

Despite your frustration, you rationalize.

Maybe Toji was nervous to bring it up? Some people may like to ease into such topics. This relationship, or whatever this is, is brand new and smooth. There haven’t been any cracks caused by arguments or behavior that is damaging.

But this isn’t about having a job that he’s not proud of or admitting that he is not financially responsible. This is about an entire child, a facet of his life that he cannot hide away. How long would he have waited to tell you if the topic of family hadn’t come up so soon? Would he have told you? Would he hide his son away and push him off to a babysitter on date nights so you are never aware? Would he sleep over at your house, so you can’t see the room that’s decorated for a child or the toys scattered about the floor?

As you wrestle with the growing anxiety that crawls across your skin, Toji fumbles for something in his pocket, his face a satisfying beet red as you watch him hand you his open phone. Bright from the illumination of the screen, you take in a picture of a young boy who bears a striking resemblance to Toji. His raven locks spiky and disheveled, his green eyes sharp and ethereal, and he wears a bored and calm expression just like his father. The chubbiness of his cheeks and innocence in his eyes tug at something in your chest; he can’t be any older than six years old. The sight of the boy makes you think of the many kids you take care of every day, and some of the frustration subsides within you.

“His name is Megumi,” he informs you, shy despite his rough exterior. He picks at the callous on the side of his thumb again, and one of his legs begins to shake in place.

The frustration dies down more. It’s a beautiful name, and as you look at the picture, a small smile tugs at your lips. You wonder what kind of a boy he is.

“Fuck listen—just I-I’m shit at this.”

You look up at him and take in the apprehension on his face. His lips are downturned in a gentle frown, the scar on the side of his face warped along with the muscles of his mouth. There’s a sense of shame in his gaze, and it somehow makes you feel relieved to know that he can feel just how upset you are.

“I don’t date women…I fuck them and stay around until they want me gone.” He doesn’t bother to sugarcoat his words. They shoot out of his mouth, piercing your skin with their directness. It’s a little painful, and you struggle to absorb his blatant honesty, feeling flashes of anger and indignation fill your chest as your lips part, ready to respond with directness of your own. “But you’re the first woman in a long fucking time that’s made me want more. So just…” he trails off, stuttering over what to say before ultimately growling low in his throat into silence.

You hesitate, lips flinching and syllables of fury dissipating in the small space between your top and bottom lip. “You gonna let me meet him?” you snap because you’re still mildly irritated as you give him his phone and pinch the muscle of his bicep with a harshness that reflects your fading anger and your desire to see him squirm for his actions.

He swats your hand away as if you’re a pest, moving his arm from you with a sneer that holds no malice. “No let me just lock him in my closet every time I want to see you—of course, I’ll fucking let you meet him.”

You throw him a withering glare, ignoring his sarcasm, and the smirk that slides onto his lips only makes you want to either smack or kiss him. The fact that you can’t decide on which only annoys you more.

*** Toji ***

“Gimme two hot dogs and a pretzel,” Toji mutters to the concession stand attendant. It’s halftime, and the walkways behind the stands are crowded with fans hurrying to go to the bathroom, or for more food and alcohol. You stand close to him, a welcome warmth that he wants more of but refuses to ask for on the off chance you deny him. He doesn’t feel like pouting for the rest of the day.

“And what’ll it be for the lady?” the attendant asks with a level of humor that is off-putting, a smile on his face that Toji knows you itch to smack off.

“It is for the lady,” you correct, a hint of condescension falling from plush lips that you still won’t let him taste. The attendant sputters, his face red as a tomato as he takes the rest of Toji’s order, doing his best to ignore the deadly glare you shoot him as he counts Toji’s money. A snort rattles from Toji’s chest as he watches you. He’s known from the beginning that you’re fiery, but seeing it firsthand fascinates and arouses him at the same time.

This environment is different for him, odd in every way, and a foreign ground that he’s unsteady on. The celebratory atmosphere reminds him of the loud laughter and fireworks from festivals that he could hear outside the Zenin compound throughout the year. He thinks of the Tanabata festivals he never got to experience or the years of Hanami that he was forbidden to enjoy. He could only take a small bit of pleasure in cherry blossoms in the Zenin gardens, blooming and scattering their petals on the well-kept grass to mark the beginning of the season. As a child, he was never allowed much. He was seen as ‘inferior trash’ that was insignificant and unworthy to be looked at let alone talked to unless it was to yell or belittle. Naturally, his family didn’t want others to see where said trash came from if they could help it.

He can’t think about it right now—he won’t. The thought of his family brings a tight coil of pain and anger in his chest, a coil he had used as fuel to cope with his dangerous decisions.

There’s so much more that he needs to focus on, like the fact that you’ve already taken a big bite out of one of your hot dogs. Half of it has disappeared from your hand, and there’s ketchup on the edge of your mouth as you chew. He notices the way you shift your hips from side to side in your seat, and the satisfied hum that escapes your throat. You’re satisfied, and while you eat with manners, you don’t hide your boisterous enjoyment, finishing one hot dog and moving on to the next, your pretzel wedged between the meat of your seductive thighs.

He’s been trying to be respectful all day ever since you denied him a kiss in the kitchen, but you’re tempting him. When you answered the door earlier in the afternoon, the hand that was in his pocket pinched the side of his thigh until the shameless thoughts could fade away.

You’ve graced his presence with shorts and a jersey, a yellow and black number that lays against your chocolate skin in a way that still seems to make you glow in the setting sun. No braids this time, your natural curls have fallen from your bun after screaming so much, framing your face and causing your gold hoops to wink at him. You didn’t wear makeup that night when he met you, so the sight of eyeliner on you today, and the way it accentuates the curve of your eye and the heaviness of your long lashes, it makes him shift in his seat.

He’s had to clench his jaw and bear the pain of his teeth grinding against each other to stop himself from ogling at the mouth-watering canvas of your legs. You’re all curves with dimples at the bottom of your thighs when you sit, and his gums ache to sink into the flesh so you can squeal and beg for him to touch you where you want it most. It’s been weeks since that night and he’s feigning for more. When you smile at him or shoot him a glare, it reminds him of that commanding aura you had in the backseat of your truck, and the back of his neck prickles with sweat.

While the thought of you skinning him alive if he decides to be a Neanderthal turns him on, he wants to be civil. In your kitchen earlier today, you allowed him to get close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin, to catch the scent of coconut from your curls, tantalizing his senses until your firm ‘no’ sobered him up immediately. It was a stark reminder of who you are, and how little you tolerate.

He'll behave.

His eyes catch you guzzling down five heaping gulps of your beer, the foam coating your upper lip. You wipe it away with your finger, sucking the digit into your mouth, and popping it out completely oblivious to how sinful you look and Toji’s catapulted into that day when you sucked your own cum off his fingers.

He has to behave.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket sours his mood immediately, turning his gaze from your form as he digs into his pocket. It’s the third time it’s buzzed today, and he knows who it is. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he can only put off his job for so long.

Unknown: Good job on the assignment last week. 

Unknown: Your pay should be in your account by tonight.

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

“Everything okay?” Your voice pulls him from his phone, and he meets your curious gaze, one of your elegant eyebrows lifting in question as you assess him. “Something with work?”

“Yea,” he replies and regrets it immediately.

Lie #1

It’s not a complete lie—it is work—but the details…

Toji takes a long swig of his beer, attempting to soothe the shame that washes over him.

You really are a screamer.

Toji sits back in his seat, watching you with a wicked smile as you unleash a torrent of colorful language that makes his cock twitch. Even though you roar with the crowd, your voice rises higher.

“That’s a fucking flag! I should come down there and officiate for you instead you stupid piece of shit!”

Your curls brush the skin of your cheeks that puff in your frustration, your arms folding across your chest as you cock your hip and growl beneath your breath. You’re easily the loudest one in this section of the stands. Rene revels in it, egging you on by rooting for the opposite team and giggling when you bark at her. Shiu is content to watch the display, a fresh toothpick in his mouth and an arm over Rene’s shoulders as he idly twirls a lock of hair at her nape. You’re all yelling and sputtering indignation as you watch the game unfold, your team losing by what Toji has learned is a touchdown.

He knew this side of you was there. He could tell in the weight of your gaze that night. It's a side of you that he did not expect to see so soon. He soaks it in. He takes in the way you cuss out the man three rows down who won’t stop glaring at you. He absorbs how high-pitched the screech of your voice makes his eardrums shake, and he revels in the smile that forms on your lips when your team scores the game-winning touchdown.

When there are lulls in the game, you tell him about your career. You’re a pulmonary pediatric fellow at a hospital here in town that’s only a year and a half from completing your fellowship. You smile when you talk about the kids you take care of and your associates at work. You’re proud of your research and of how far you’ve come.

All of it, every part of you that you show him, is comforting. Warm despite how cold you appear. It’s a comfort he didn’t imagine having…ever in his life—especially a dreary life like his. But he soaks up this—you—as much as he can.

When the game is over, you’re elated and giggling, tucked into his side as he guides you through the drunken crowd. The moon is high in the sky, and it bathes your skin and makes you stand out in the crowd. You look up at him, smiling softly with a buzzed gaze that’s two beers deep.

“Did you have fun? Not bad for your first American game?”

“You screamed the entire time,” he teases, chuckling at the way you gape up at him and then sneer before turning away. He throws his arm around your shoulders, using the touch as a safe territory to keep his hands to himself, and pulls you closer.

You demand cotton candy which he indulges in as well before you both part ways with Rene and Shiu. The journey back to your apartment is a quiet one. As Toji drives, the warm July air fills the car, mingling with the faint strains of classic rock playing on the radio. Toji watches with flickering glances as you hum along, your eyes closed and the breeze wafting through your curls loose around your shoulders.

Something inside of him rattles. Whatever it is, it’s long-forgotten and buried deep within him, surrounded by cobwebs and dust that have accumulated over time since that dark day years ago.

*** You ***

From the short journey of his car to inside of your apartment, you repeat to yourself that you have to take this slow, for your own peace of mind.

You keep the most intimate parts of yourself locked away and only those who are worthy of you have a copy of the key. But somehow, and in such a short time, Toji has stolen a copy for himself and slotted the key into the door. But thankfully, the door is caught against the wall, hinges rusted over and ungiving.

You have to know more about him before you let him in to look at those parts of you. If you jump the gun and give him more so soon and end up hurt, it will throw you into a depth of pain that you promised yourself to never touch again if you could help it.

“You have a good time?”

Toji’s voice breaks the silence, his arms folding tightly across his chest, betraying the restlessness in his hands. His messy black locks, tousled by the late July humidity, partially hide his emerald gaze, which flickers briefly to meet your own before darting away.

Your socked feet pad across the hardwood floor, closing the space between you, and your head slowly tilts to look at him. Despite his façade of composure, his scar curves against his lips in a slight twist, twitching as he tries not to frown. Thin eyebrows pitch down in frustration, and you catch the way his fingertips drum against the skin of his biceps. He’s fidgety—nervous. Is he upset with himself? Ashamed that he couldn’t take you out on a proper date with dinner and a movie like everyone else expects?

Hopefully, he will learn that you go against the grain of proper in so many ways.

“I had a great time,” you confess softly, noticing the subtle relaxation in his stance at your words. The thrumming of his fingers stop, the tension in his shoulder fades. “You wanted to take me out and I let you. That all you want from me?”

He’s such an expressive man.

His face twists, perturbed by your bluntness and the prospect of delving into emotional territory. “I told you already that I want more.”

His declaration sends a fluttering through your heart that is reminiscent of the feeling you had when he surprised you with a slice of yellow cake. It’s comforting, and you want to lean into it. But it’s not enough to overwhelm you. You’re still in your right mind and still aware of your expectations even though he captivates you.

You press your finger into the firmness of his chest, hard so that the muscle pillows around your digit. The gaze you shoot up at him is unyielding, serious, and menacing enough that he straightens his spine just a little.

“Listen to me, because I’m only going to say this one more time. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. I’m not saying things need to be serious with us but…you need to show me that you mean it.”

As you speak, you assess Toji, who shows no signs of amusement or ignorance. His posture is rigid, his back ramrod straight, and his deep green gaze locked onto yours.

“That night we had was great. I won’t deny that but…I won’t compromise my expectations and I don’t tolerate bullshit. I’m not going to let you fuck me just because we did it before. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

You relish in the way his eyes widen, contemplating your words and the severity beneath them before his face smooths back into its usual cool demeanor. He unfolds his arms from his chest, and you curse inwardly at the way you immediately watch his shirt stretch across defined pectorals.

“You know you’re a feisty little thing.”

Heat from the way he speaks and annoyance at his lack of attention flare within you like wildfire. You open your mouth to yell, to bark at him to be serious, but the sound of his laughter extinguishes that fire inside of you instantly.

He doesn’t offer an apology for his comment and you don’t need one. You know you’re feisty and steadfast. It’s the only way you can function around men to survive, to stay afloat and still have a grasp of who you are. And if Toji couldn’t handle it, you definitely wouldn’t have slept with him or entertained a date that you thoroughly enjoyed.

“I’ll try,” he finally offers, voice soft but filled with conviction. Normally the small remark would offend you, but surprisingly coming from Toji, it’s enough.

Observing his behavior today and a little bit two weeks ago, you note his acceptance of your quirks and individuality—at least the bits you allow him to see. He marveled at the amount of food you ate and joined alongside you. He let you babble to him about every single player on your favorite team and how many championships they had won. He let you display your strength in your voice and personality, didn’t try to control or overshadow you like so many other past experiences you’ve had before learning how to rule the men in your life.

He let you be yourself.

And that thought makes you finally open your mouth to give him something he had asked for earlier, something you had previously denied despite your own desires.

“You can have your kiss,” you offer with a shrug, feigning nonchalance even though your heart picks up in speed as the implication registers on his face. “So you better do it right.”

It’s an invitation that he snatches away from your imaginary hands and tears open with thick fingers, greedy and growling with finality.

His sharp gaze traces the contours of your body, unabashed in its appraisal, leering at the pieces of skin visible to him. You know he’s been looking at you all day, but his observation now is intense, heavy and without reservation and you’re fumbling from the sudden rush of longing that pumps hot through your veins.

Toji inches closer, your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, his towering presence overwhelming your small stature. His height ignites an evolutionary desire in you that makes your mouth water, makes your cunt pulse with need beckoning for him to fill the mold he left inside two weeks ago. You’re still not used to climbing up the summit of him, so the air is thin once more, pulling the oxygen from your lungs and stuttering in your chest when a large hand cups the side of your neck and tilts your face up to him like an offering.

When his lips slide against yours, your fingers in his shirt tighten. His touch singes the ends of your nerves, boils the blood in your veins that pump fast throughout your body. Your skin is burning, searing when muscular arms hoist you up and wrap your legs around his thick waist before your ass is sliding on the cold marble of your kitchen counter, your lips still sealed against his.

There’s so much of this that feels like that night at your uncle’s. So much and yet not enough.

He drowns you with his touch, digs his fingers into the plump flesh of your thighs before yanking you, hard and with unforgiving impatience, closer to his body. The fabric of your jeans rubs too harsh against your wet panties, digs against the sensitivity of your clit and you repress the insatiable yearning to roll your hips against his.

Toji’s large hands slide up your body, traversing the mesh of your jersey that hugs you before cupping each side of your face again to tilt you sharper in the way he wants. Blue raspberry from the cotton candy you both indulged in after the game coats his tongue that licks your bottom lip in a silent request for entrance, and you grant him access, surrendering a whimper into his mouth as his tongue slides sinfully against yours. Tastebuds kiss your own, slide against them with whispered promise of satisfaction if you just relax and melt further into him. Just a little.

But you can’t, god you can’t.

You’re losing control and you have to stay strong. You have to stay above the waters of logical thinking even though you’re sinking with every stroke of his tongue, with every sweet, hot breath into your mouth, with every inch of flesh that your fingers dig into his chest because you need more. More than a kiss, more than what he’s offering, and you know he can give it to you. Toji can pull you into the inferno he’s raging inside of your body until your clothes are scorched off and his skin is sliding against yours sweaty, sticky, and undulating with every roll of his hips.

But he doesn’t give you more. He doesn’t pull you further into that fire.

The intensity of his kiss dies down slowly, his lips pulling away from yours with a wet smack as you pant along with him. Toji kisses your lips once, then twice, nips your bottom lip to seal everything he’s given before smirking down at you. Too devilish and arrogant and you don’t have a working brain cell in your head right now to correct him. His hands that cradle your cheeks slide down to your upper arms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he speaks.

“You still gonna let me be nice to you?”

His words are an echo of that night, his own way of telling you that he’s here. That he wants more—that he wants to give you more. You just have to let him.

With your head still swimming and the pulsing between your legs refusing to calm, you want him to be more than nice right now. But remembering the boundaries you have set, you nod instead and sigh into him when he kisses you one last time, sweeping his blue raspberry-flavored tongue against yours before pulling away, acting as though it’s nothing, as though you’re not sweaty at the small of your back and trembling with desire.

“Lock the door for me,” he commands, words devoid of a questioning tone, but filled with a sense of security and protection that you lean into.

“O-okay,” you manage to breathe, your heart slowing back into sinus rhythm, only to jump again as he places one final kiss on your lips, then your nose. You frantically bat him away before you lose consciousness, because any more and you’ll drag him into your room and disregard everything you said five minutes ago.

 You watch him saunter away, pull his keys from his pocket, and twirl them in his hand before winking. “I’ll text you.”

It sounds so ridiculous coming from his lips, from a grown man who looks as if he doesn’t even know what a cellphone is, let alone a text message.

But it still makes your heart jump all the same.

You can only nod in response because your throat is too dry and heavy in the back of your throat with each swallow you take. You follow him to the door and roll your eyes at his annoying smirk before he closes the door behind him, casting your apartment into silence.

Your fingers wobble as they turn the locks of your door into place. You’re lightheaded, brain flitting through salacious memories of what you both did weeks ago and what you could easily be doing now.

You throw your back against the door and sag to the floor with an annoyed sigh.

*** Toji ***

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

Toji: I’m interested. Send me what you have.

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #Toji Fushiguro x black reader #toji fushiguro x black fem reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #mysteria157 #masterlist #anime x black reader #Toji Fushiguro fanfic #jjk fanfic #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji fanfic #toji smut #toji x reader #toji jjk #jujutsu toji #soft toji #jjk au #In Too Deep

[thefearedashantis]

Garlic Toast and Bloody Noses

Pairing: Sirius Black x SAHM! Reader (stay at home mom)

Summary: Your eldest daughter got in trouble at school and Sirius is livid.

Word count: 3.1K

Warning: None (if you think it needs one lmk)

Emmerson is cranky, per usual. You weren’t sure how long a two-year-old could cry before tiring themselves out, but he was surely going for the record.

Nothing you did soothed him. Rocking, singing, a stroll around the block. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to play. He didn’t want to sleep. The reasoning for his upset was simple enough. One you’d figured out shortly after he was born.

He hated you. Detested. Loathed. Abhorred. As much as the very idea broke your heart.

From the moment he took his first breathe he despised your very presence. Would absolutely scream his little head off until Sirius, or anyone really, rescued him from your grasp. Only then from the comfort of his fathers’ arms would he calm, then turn back to stare at you accusingly with watery eyes.

Well, his father wasn’t home at the moment, and you stare at the clock praying for the minutes to go by quicker. School and extracurricular activities having ended, Sirius and your other two children should be walking through the front door any second.

Your husband would enter your home silently, tuckered out from a long day. He’d take off his shoes and hang up his coat. Round the couch and lean down to peck you gently at the corner of your lips before prying your son from your arms. Wrestling his fat hands loose of your hair which he never failed to get an ironclad grip on. Then you’d stow away in the bathroom for a few quiet minutes after saying hello to your girls. Just to give yourself a little pep talk and allow the headache pulsing behind your eyes to recede. Give yourself some much-needed reassurance that this behaviour couldn’t last forever. At some point he’d warm up to you.

He had to, right?

You’re wretched from your thoughts at the slam of the front door. Followed by a gust of air whisking by you where you were slumped in the living room, thunderous footsteps banging up the stairs. Another door slams in the distance.

From the brief glimpse at the back of a muddy soccer uniform you know it must be Amelia, and that fact has you up on your feet in a panic. Because just as your youngest scorned your existence your eldest adored you. If she wasn’t at school she was virtually glued to your hip. She would never come home without stopping to throw herself at you like you’d been apart for an eternity.

Something was wrong.

You’ve barely placed Emmy into his playpen, a rigorous tussle, and taken a step into the hall when a small body crashes into your middle. Your kindergartner. Backpack, coat and shoes still on.

“Mom!”

“Claire!” you try to match her enthusiasm.

“I’m hungry” she mumbles against your stomach, arms squeezing you tight.

“I made your favourite snack. It’s on the counter for you.”

Sirius appears in the archway just as Claire scurries away. He’s in a flurry, making long strides in the direction of the stairs without so much as acknowledging you. “You get back down here right now young lady!” His voice all but shakes the house, sending your heart scuttling into your throat. Sirius never raises his voice, especially not when angry. Sirius was hardly ever angry to begin with.

Your hand shoots out to grab at him before he can get too far, pulling him to a harsh stop. “Whoa, whoa whoa! What’s going on?”

“Lia got in a fight at school!” Claire calls from the kitchen.

And he’s teetering on you, trying to get you to let him go.

“What? Why didn’t you call me? What’s happened, is she alright?”

“I’d say she’s doing better than Isaac!” Now he’s moving, circling to the other end of the room, dragging you along with him. “I mean parents trust me to look after and teach their children! How does it seem when I can’t even discipline my own? She’s old enough to know not to hit others!”

Sirius was the music teacher at the local elementary school. The one both of your daughters attended. That being the case he usually handled anything pertaining to the girls while on the premises.  Didn’t mean you were out of the loop however. If one got so much as a scratch on the playground you were sent a text about it. For the entire day to have elapsed without him informing you on what had happened was odd.

“Sirius” you release his arm in favour of his face, rubbing at the space between his nape and ear in a manner you knew he found soothing “Honey, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

But your attempts to pacify him prove worthless when his roaming eyes finally snap to yours with a steely coldness that has a chill running up your spine. You see none of the sticky affection you’re accustomed to within them. Nothing but distaste. There was no questioning Emmy’ parentage with that gaze.

“I told you the haircut wasn’t a good idea.”

Haircut? Was he still upset about that all these weeks later?

“What’s her hair have to do with anything?”

His eyes roll so hard you fear they’ll be lost in the back of his head. He shakes out of your hold. “Because you undermine me with every little thing when it comes to her! I try to put my foot down and you immediately slag it off!”

“It’s her hair Sirius. She wanted it short and you couldn’t give a good enough reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to have it that way.”

Emmy has finally gone quiet in his play pen. Standing and peeking over the edges at the two of you, gaze flitting back and forth like a ping pong ball whenever someone speaks. Probably wondering why his beloved father hasn’t come to pick him up yet.

“Because she looks like a boy!” Sirius throws his hands up, looking to the sky for some sort of backup he would not be receiving. “She already dresses like a boy, you’ve let her chop all her hair off and now she’s running around getting into trouble like some little delinquent!” With every word his face gets more and more red, voice trembling with raging effort.

You can’t seem to find anything to say for a long moment, just watching him breathe in and out in desperate rags. A minute passes, then two. When he manages to catch his breath and stumble over to the couch you follow closely behind. Leaning down near his ear so you won’t have to speak above a whisper.

“First of all Black, I don’t know who you’re speaking to in that tone but I suggest you check it, right now. Her hair and the way she dresses are nobody’s business but her own and they don’t make her a boy.” The fact those words could even leave his mouth after the childhood he had baffled you “And second I think you should stop and reevaluate the way you talk about your daughter, especially while she’s right upstairs to hear you.”

He turns his head. You’re so far into his space that your noses almost brush but you don’t back away. You would always stand firm when it came to your children. The one’s you two created and set out to raise together in the loving and supporting environment neither of you had gotten growing up.

 “Are you guys arguing?”

You straighten up at the squeak of Claire’s question. She stands behind the couch with a slight frown on her round face. Her snack of garlic toast held between two hands.

“No darling of course not,” a smile splits your expression for good measure “why don’t you come with me to check on Lia while Daddy says hello to Emmy hm?”

Claire is not convinced “sounded like arguing.”

You’re at the base of the stairs, swatting the girl up them, when Sirius calls back in a very small manner “I’m sorry.”

He appears more like himself now, the love of your life. Thin, long limbed, warm eyes with a hint of melancholy. Deflated of his anger and replenished with his token skittish composure.

“When I come back there will be no more yelling.”

He nods, and you’re off to discover the root of this grand affair.

Claire stands outside of Lia’ closed door when you arrive. Shifting from foot to foot as if nervous to go in. You reach over her and rap on the sticker covered wood with a firm knuckle. There’s no answer but you turn the knob and enter anyway.

The room is dark, lights off and curtains drawn. The only illumination comes from the device set up on the bedside table that projects stars and planets onto the ceiling. A balled-up form rests in the very corner of the bed, back to you, arms slung over the head.

“Is she crying?” Claire whispers. Well, her version of whispering. Which was just her regular speaking volume but slower.

“No.” Lia grinds out. She twists herself around so you can see her face. She wasn’t crying but she surely had been if the red of her eyes were evidence enough.

You make your way over to the bed, posting yourself up against the headboard. Claire opts to sit at the bottom, gazing up at the light show.

“Want to tell me what happened at school today?”

“Can I sit in your lap?”

Despite the circumstances a warm fuzzy feeling seeps throughout your chest, always happy to indulge in some physical affection. Lia is still quite small for her age. She crawls over your legs and slots her body against yours, burrowing as close as she can manage, sticking her nose into the material of your shirt and inhaling deeply. Her dark hair tickles your face. Not long enough for a scrunchy and too short for much other styling. It sticks up in amusing ends from sweat.

Claire must feel left out because she wraps a crummy hand around your socked foot.

“Daddy’s disappointed in me,” her voice is hoarse and wobbly. She keeps her eyes shut tight while speaking, nose scrunched.

“He’s not, he’s just…unsettled, stressed maybe.”

“Is there a difference?”

To an eight-year-old there might not be.

“Daddy was yelling” comes a whisper snaking up from the end of the bed.

“Be quiet Claire!” Lia tries to shoo the younger girl out of her room but she refuses to go.

“Loudly.” She continues “His face was all red.”

You fight a giggle “Eat your bread Claire bear.”

“Furious” she finishes around the last mouthful of her treat. She’s always been your chatty baby, forever excited for new vocabulary words.

You return your full attention to Amelia “Tell mom what happened bug.”

She doesn’t start immediately, instead relishing in the feeling of your fingers combing through her damp hair for a while. When she does start speaking the story is much worse than you thought it would be.

The boys in class have been bothering her for the last few months.

One in particular who sits directly behind her by the name of Isaac. He is the reason, she confesses, for originally wanting to cut her hair short despite loving the lack of inches now. It was in hopes of deterring him from yanking it by handfuls.

They apparently dislike her always trying to hang around with them and not the girls. Girls belonged with girls and boys belonged with boys as it went. Not allowed to mix. Cooties too easily spread. 

They took to stuffing things down the back of her shirt. Swiping her glasses off her face. Shoving her in the lunch line. Ripping the pages out of her notebooks. Pouring glue in her chair. Scratching mean names into her desk. Cornering her during recess while the teachers were distracted and pulling her pants down in front of everyone. Because if she wouldn’t play with the girls then she must be a boy but if she was a boy then they'd need proof. 

She tried to tell her homeroom teacher when it first started but the woman didn’t believe her because Isaac is a top student and his family name stood proud on the sign outside of the new gym complex. She must have done something to him to earn such treatment.

“Did you go to your father?”

Lia shakes her head “I started to once but he just told me to try sticking with the girls more.”

“What about me? I thought we didn’t keep secrets between us.”

“You always tell me to be brave and stick up for myself if someone bothers me. I was trying to build up the courage but—” she dissolves into a low whine, struggling to finish around her tears. “I don’t think Daddy likes me.”

Claires eyebrows furrow. Up until then you didn’t think the girl had even been listening “Why would you say that!” she shouts, looking seconds away from bursting into tears herself.

You’re quick to intervene “She doesn’t mean it. Your big sister is just really sad right now.”

“No, I mean it!” Lia insists, sitting up to rub at her eyes “He doesn’t like me! He complains about everything I do!” her head bobbles from side to side as she lists “Sit more lady like. Why don’t you wear any of the dresses grandma bought you. Why don’t you do ballet instead of soccer. Why don’t you grow your hair out like the other girls. Why don’t you have any girl friends”

You take her hands into yours, they’re cold. You feel unprepared to deal with her emotions, she’s so young to even be ruminating over such things. All you want to do is ease her heartache, as her mother. An adult in her life who should have all the answers, but has no clue where to start. What would be saying too much and what would be too little. “Oh, my love, your father had a really hard time growing up with his own dad. He was really strict with him. That’s no excuse for him to take it out on you, but I know he loves you very much”

She deflates back onto your chest “Yeah, but he doesn’t like me.”

She finishes the story. 

It was recess. She was climbing up onto the monkey bars and about to go across when Isaac caught her pant leg and tried to yank them down. On instinct she went to kick him off and accidentally struck him in the face.

“I didn’t mean to break his nose. Swear.”

Never in a million years would you think her capable of intentionally hurting some. You placate her with a kiss on the forehead anyway “how about you and mom go out for a treat? Huh? Just the two of us?”

She sniffles in contemplation “Ice cream?”

“Anything you want.”

“Can I come?” Claire crawls her way up to the headboard.

“I’ll bring you back some, but Lia’s had a very bad day and that means what?”

“She needs mommy time?”

“Exactly.”

You ease said girl out of your lap gently, laying her out on the pillows, and promising to be back in five minutes. Then you’d go for her treat.

On your way out of the room you notice Claire scooting closer. She sticks her pointer finger right in her sisters’ face. “Your eyes are puffy.”

The aggravated “Claire!” follows you down the stairs.

In the living room Sirius and Emmy sit in comfortable silence, your husband bouncing the now cheerful baby on his knee. His neck nearly snaps at your approach. Eyes already glassy with regret.

“Is she terribly upset?”

“Heartbroken more like” you say, not bothering to sugarcoat it for him “she thinks you don’t like her.”

He lowers his head in shameful anguish when you sit beside him. “I just, she’s so much like me when I was young.” No friends his own gender. Only interested in things typically deemed non-conforming “the things I went through in school, at home, it pains me to imagine that happening to her.”

How much had she told him of the bullying you wonder and why had he kept it from you. You'd been there for so much of his own struggle that it honestly hurts your feelings that he’d allowed himself to spiral so much without seeking you out. The number of times he showed up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. The cuts and bruises you’d tended, caused over simplicities like nail polish, the length of his hair, the music he listened to. The way he dressed, acted, spoke. 

 “Ok, but you can’t just force her to change who she is in the name of protecting her. Just because she isn’t the girliest girl out there doesn’t give anyone the right to bully her, not even you. All you’re doing is teaching her that being herself is not ok. Then to go and blow up on her like that. It’s confusing Sirius. You know better.”

You don't say it, wouldn’t ever go that low, but you know he’s thinking it. He’s acting like his father.

Sirius sits with your words.

“Why did she hit him then?”

“She didn’t really. He tried to pull her pants down on the playset so she kicked out. It was an accident.”

“Pull her pants down?”

A fresh wave of anger rolls over his shoulders. You snatch Emmy from his grasp before planting a kiss onto his temple.

“No more of that. Go upstairs and talk to her before we leave.”

You’d get on him later for keeping secrets from you.

Sirius returns the kiss, lingering for a few seconds too long, pressing his nose into the fat of your cheek. He smells like peppermint.

“I love you.” Her murmurs. And you’re suddenly transported back to your childhood bedroom. The sun just creeping over the horizon and spilling through your window right onto his sleeping face. The lips so like Claires’, ears and brows so like Emersons’, freckles like Amelias’.  Hovering your finger over the bridge of his nose, skimming along his throat. Blowing gently at his thick lashes. Poking at the sliver of skin peeking out at his tummy where his shirt had risen up. When you’d fall asleep with him on the floor and always wake up to his breath on the back of your neck, legs tangled in bed with you. The fit of giggles sneaking him out the house before your parents woke up. 

“Love you too. Now go!”

You’re once again left with Emmy in the exact same place you’d started. He watches Sirius take the stairs two at a time before turning back to you, frown already forming. 

“And you my little man, i love you so much.”

#fem reader #female reader #fem!reader #mauraders #mauraders x reader #thefearedashantis #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black #dad!sirius black #maurauders fanfic #mom!reader #sirius orion black #the marauders era #the marauders #hurt/comfort

[bbunivxrse]

❥ HATED HIM - SATORU GOJO

pairing: - gojo x f!reader contents: you hate gojo, but even so, youre forced to go on a mission with him, which ends badly. for you, anyway. - no warnings js fluff at the end but a bit ooc?? i think??? word count: 1.9k a/n: hi!! ik im late but happy new years!! i wanted to post earlier but i have no idea what to write :sob: if u have any requests pls send i need ideas

you’ve always hated Satoru Gojo. the day you met him you knew you’d never want to be around him. his persistent grossly inflated ego and cocky attitude always had your gears grinding. the way he seemed to somehow develop a crush on you despite you never saying a single kind or loving word to him is beyond you. he has no shame in trying to flirt with the girl that not only has no interest in him, but also openly hates him. no matter how many people are around he’ll always go out of his way to bother you. everytime you hear him speak you think about how fucking lucky he is to be the strongest, if he wasn’t you would’ve taken care of him and his attitude already. 

you weren’t shy to make this opinion known, even straight to his face. all your classmates seemed to understand and even agree, everyone except for gojo of course, who always persisted that he is the ‘best person ever’ and that ‘nobody can hate him’. your friend utahime seemed to really enjoy listening to your long, harsh rants about him, reminding you that your not alone in your detest for gojo. 

Today you had what seemed to be a start to a good morning, until you were informed you had a mission to attend to the very next day. that news alone obviously wasn’t enough to ruin your mood, you had missions all the time, it was normal. this mission however was not only a special grade curse, but it was also assigned to just you and gojo. 

“man, that sucks..” shoko sighs, patting your shoulder. after explaining and ranting about your situation you felt a bit better, but still didn’t change the fact that you’d be out overnight, possibly for two nights, alone on a mission with gojo. you groan in frustration just at the thought. “don’t you ever think you’re being a bit hard on him, y/n?” his best friend piped up. he just happened to be passing by and eavesdropping on your conversation. “well of course you’d defend him.” you roll your eyes as suguru laughs. 

to be completely fair, maybe you were a bit harsh when it came to gojo. but that didn’t matter to you when all he does is put his face in your business 24/7, attempting to flirt while simultaneously pushing your buttons whenever he gets the chance and only laying off when you get annoyed enough to actually scare him away. “i wouldn’t have to hate him so much if he wasn’t so annoying.” you shrug, feeling completely justified in every word you’ve said. suguru nods understandingly as he considers your words. he does know that gojo can most certainly be a handful.

the day of the mission arrives and you’re up early, getting ready and packing your bag to set out on the mission. with your extra time you decide to keep yourself calm by reading a book you’ve had on your to-read list for waaayyy too long. it was nice until you realized gojo was late, then you were back in your grumpy mood waiting on him. “hi y/n!! are you ready for our honeymoon together??” gojo waves enthusiastically, his loud voice was already starting to irritate you, along with him unapologetically showing up an hour after the established meeting time. “you’re late.” 

“i had stuff to do.” gojo frowned, but you know all too well he had absolutely nothing to do. the day is gonna be too long to keep arguing with him, so you decide to be the bigger person for once and begin to make your way to your next destination without saying a word to him. “wooow! you’re not even gonna say anything to me?? i’m so hurt!!” gojo whines behind you, already managing to piss you off at the beginning of your mission.

the place you were headed to was a building that was rumored to be haunted. supposedly it had been involved in a lot of accidents in the area. people last being seen near the house before going missing, car accidents in the area, reported “weird activity” inside the house. it was enough to have the curse inside deemed a special grade, which meant the two of you needed to focus on this mission and you know gojo isn’t gonna do that.

after a long ass train ride that felt like it was gonna go on forever because of gojos endless talking, the two of you made it to the house. it was much older than all other houses on the street and was visibly abandoned and overgrown. the immense amount of cursed energy coming from inside was a bit intimidating, even for you, and made you a bit tense, which did not go unnoticed. “you really scared of some little house?” gojo teased, which took you out of your train of thought. “obviously i’m not scared. i’ve dealt with worse.” you lied through your teeth. of course you’re not gonna reveal that you’re actually trembling in your boots.

“that things no match for me! since you’re soooo scared, why don’t you sit this one out and let me take care of it, princess? i'd hate to see your pretty face get hurt,” truth is, gojo can tell just as well as you can that this curse was no joke. he knows you’re powerful and could probably handle something like this on your own but he doesn’t wanna risk it. seeing you get messed up by a curse while he’s there to protect you, he’d never forgive himself! “no thanks.” you reply dryly, walking up to the house and heading inside. 

the presence of the curse inhabiting that house was just as, if not even more intense than it was from the outside and honestly unlike anything you’d dealt with at that point, which is probably why it was able to catch you off guard. you hadn’t even been able to get a glimpse of it before it had you on the floor, across the room and unconscious. 

waking up, it felt like you had been asleep for decades. at first you were happy to be in your bed, until you realized it wasn’t your bed. your head hurt like hell, it felt like your brain was too big for your skull and wanted to break free. the lights in the room blaring in your eyes didn’t help. you tried to sit up, suddenly feeling waves of pain along your weakened body. when you were able to sit up, the one person you were hoping not to see was looking out the window and had been alerted by the sound of bedsheets shuffling.

“hi y/n!!!” he yells excitedly, getting up and bringing his chair to sit beside you. “i totally saved your ass! that cursed fucked you up bad!” gojo laughs at you. under normal circumstances you wouldn’t be amused by his antics, but especially now it was even more upsetting. for one, you were embarrassed. the man you hate most watched you get absolutely folded by some random ass curse. and on top of that he had to save you and bring you back afterwards. the realization made your blood run cold and you couldn’t even be bothered to look him in the eyes. you hear him lightly sigh in response to your silence.

The switch in his demeanor was sudden when he can visually see on your face how hurt you are, physically and emotionally. “i know your head probably hurts. i got you some advil.” you finally look up at gojo, before looking down at the bedside table to see a little bottle of advil and a glass of water. “the water had ice in it but.. it melted.” as you graciously take the advil and gulp down the water like you hadn’t drank for days, you think about the amount of time that must’ve passed, evident by the pinkish hue of the sky and the bright orange sunlight shining through the window and onto the floor. 

after finishing the glass of water and setting it down you sat in silence, your lightly bandaged arms lying in from of you. you decide to appreciate the silence, as normally gojo would be laughing and teasing to no end. and after a catastrophic mission like this? being knocked cold out for hours? you thought you wouldn’t hear the end of it from him, but surprisingly you hadn’t heard a word. “is the advil working?”

“it hasn’t even been 10 minutes.” you hiss at him, instantly missing the peace and quiet. you take a quick look at gojo, noticing the unusual darkness of his bright blue eyes and the way his hair is somehow messier than it usually is. he almost looks like he’s been through war even though you know that isn’t the case. he probably made light work out of that damn curse. “remember what i said..? about not forgiving myself if i couldnt protect you?”

"you did not say that." you actually look up at him but his gaze is focused on the floor in front of him. “i know you hate me and all but.. i really care for you, y’know? you had me kinda worried.” he somewhat laughs to himself but not the same way he usually does.

“sorry.” is all you can whisper out. “thank you for saving me, though.” as much as you want to be nice to him for saving your life, the way his demeanor changes when your gratefulness strokes his ego makes you regret it. “yeah, i know. i’m awesome. don’t i deserve a reward?” gojos eyes light up again, continuously making you regret being kind to him for once. but at the same time, considering his sweeter words to you, you’ll humor him. “what kinda reward?” you roll your eyes playfully. “hmmmm… i think i deserveee….” gojo pretends to think hard, putting his hand to his chin. “a kiss!!” the slight smile on your face instantly melts, which in turn causes gojo to start pouting and whining like a child. “don’t look at me like that! i saved your life and patched you up and all i’m asking for is a kiss!!”

“i don’t want to kiss you.” gojos jaw drops as he genuinely looks shocked by your blatant statement. “what!? how could you not want to kiss me?! you owe me your life!!” all you can do is sigh and cross your arms, which leads gojo to using a different avenue to convince you. “pleeeaseee baby? one kiss won’t hurt…” the look he gave you can only be described as the same one a sad kitten would give you when they want you to give them food. his face almost makes you feel bad for your mean words since he looks like he’ll genuinely cry if you don’t agree to kiss him. “fine. one kiss. hurry up.” gojos face lights up in a way you’ve never seen before, a big smile across his face as he practically lounges onto the bed beside you. he swiftly places a hand around your waist while the other picks up your legs and places them on his lap. “can you slow down! i said one kiss. not whatever this is.” 

“it will be one kiss! or maybe two? i don’t care, i’ve been waiting for this!” before you can say a word, he already has his lips on yours. you couldn’t deny that he was a good kisser. suddenly everything and everyone melted away and it was just the two of you, your hands on his chest and his around your waist. you kinda wanted it to stay like this, in a weird twisted way you never thought you’d feel with a man like gojo.

i think this would make the perfect prequel to a cute fic if anyone wants a pt 2!! js lmk!!

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader

[livelaughlovesubs]

Mc as an airhead in hades pt. 2

Part 1

(Cuz I realised you didn’t only request for Levi, but hades as a whole, sorry 😞)

Foras

You were pretty much the opposite of foras. Due to how hopelessly ignorant you are, you always stand out. Though he finds you funny, because sometimes he’d just go invisible and you’d get all surprised and exited, “foras?! Weren’t you here just a moment ago?! Woa, where did you go??”

He liked how you still haven’t found out he can go invisible, and how you’d always look for him afterwards was very cute.

Barbatos

I feel like you two would get along amazingly. This men probably likes how naive you are, since it’s easy to talk to you. Like that one time you asked him why he likes sunbathing so much, “and you always do it naked? Why?” Barbatos answered, “because then I can touch the sun better!” Normally others would give him a weird look, but you? You stared at him as if a lightbulb had gone on, nodding your head, “ohh! I see!”

He loves how you two are on the same wavelength, or maybe he’s just as carefree as you.

Glasylabolas

He likes watching others get into trouble, so he’d like a clueless mc too. Because it’s easy to make them break rules or other things. Glasy would like doing that with you especially much, cuz you never realise he’s the root of your problems. That means, he can keep making you stir up chaos and you wouldn’t mind. “Hey, y/n, why don’t you sleep in his majesty leviathans bedroom? I’m sure he’d be thrilled about it.” “You think? Should I?” “definitely!”

And if Levi punished them for going into his room without permission, especially climbing into his bed and cuddling with him, our little airhead still think, ‘is this a normal bed activity from devils of hades?’

Orias

Now here is where it gets tricky, because I think orias doesn’t buy your persona. He doubts and is suspicious of others, he also lies, so he doesn’t believe that mc would be so bubbly and slow. You were the descendant of Solomon after all, right?? He’d probably be passive aggressive towards you, leaving snarky remarks every now and then. But since mc doesnt realise they’ve been insulted, they’d keep being nice to him and ask him questions about his channel.

With some time he’d probably come to realise you were truly just living in the moment. He doesn’t know how you do it, but there’s no reason for him to detest you for it, right?

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb glasyalabolas #foras whb #whb foras #whb barbatos #whb orias #what in hell is bad orias #whb levi #leviathan whb #whb hades #whb headcanons

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x Reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 5[*?]

A/N: Baby steps, Azzie. Baby steps.

Warnings: degradation, sexual tension, almost smut, 6.9K words

-Part 4- -Part 6-

You wake to the feeling of a wet snout pressing into the crook of your neck.

Azriel.

You jerk away from the large creature, deep hazel shining through the darkness of his blacked out eyes. “I’ve told you not to do that,” you snap groggily at him. He ignores you. Typical. You shift away from him again but flinch when his tongue lolls out, flicking over the bare skin as he tastes you, shoving tighter against your body. Your fingers thread through his fur for purchase, gripping him as you tug lightly, ordering him to get off you.

“Azriel…I’m trying to sleep, can you not?” The male merely growls softly in response. You huff, then yelp when he shifts—more toward his humanoid form—one powerful arm wrapping beneath your torso as he smushes you against him. You hesitate. He’s never this affectionate. The only time he particularly cares to touch you is while he’s fucking you—or breeding you, as he so detachedly calls it. Your nose crinkles at his wording alone. It makes it sound so unemotional. You suppose fucking isn’t exactly any better.

You sigh. The bathhouse had been nice, in a way. He’d seemed to care about your pain, though you were unsure if that was due to you being his bride or not. Perhaps it was a proprietary instinct. You sometimes wondered if he had any attachment to you or if it was just that you held the title of bride. The name had become a weight, as of late.

“Get ready,” he says, finally pulling from your body, allowing you to flop unceremoniously back into the plethora of pillows—you still don’t know where they had come from, they just sort of appeared one night. You peer up at him, fingers still laced in the fur that dusts the corded muscle of his upper paws. “For what?” You narrow your eyes at the male, his features completely blank, save for the light reflecting in his mostly onyx gaze.

He growls softly at the questioning, but relents. “Out.” You stare up at him—glare up at him—silently willing him to understand how unhelpful he is. His brow dips when you don’t release him. You wonder why he doesn’t just pull away, it wouldn’t be too much effort. You both know he’s far superior to you in terms of, well, everything…

“It will do you some good to go outside again. It’s been a week.” Since you were dragged through unending marshland, cold biting at your soggy skin. You shake your head, “I don’t want to.” The light in his eyes sharpens to something more lethal, more dæmon-like. “Either you prepare, or I take you as you are.” Almost entirely unclothed. “It’s for your own good,” he adds when your fingers loosen their grip, “your kind shouldn’t go long without the light of the world.”

Your lips twist in a satiric smile, “I would have thought your kind would detest the sun.” It had become a game of sorts—to yourself, you doubt Azriel derives any sort of pleasure from humour—to see how many passive aggressive comments you could make before he finally picks up on them.

He doesn’t deign you with a response.

“I need you to get off me in order to change,” you deadpan, unthreading your hands from his fur, albeit reluctantly. His brows narrow but he removes himself from you, shifting to stand at the edge of the bed, waiting silently as you move to the chest that holds your clothes. “Where are you taking me?” You don’t look at him as you speak, though you feel his gaze stabbing between your shoulder blades. “Out.” He repeats. You drop the clothes in frustration, spinning on your feet, “I need to know more than ‘out’ so I can dress appropriately.”

His arms fold over his chest as his features morph into what can only be described as a grimace, his eyes glazed. They sharpen again, as if he had come out of thought. “By a river.”

“By a river…” you repeat, trying not to show your exasperation. Your fingers find your temples as you rub lightly, then move to the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath, returning your gaze to him, “and the temperature? The weather?”

“Fine.”

“I need more than fine, Azriel.” His brow narrows—he’s getting impatient.

He prowls across the room on lethally silent feet. You take a step back slowly, your thighs bumping into the chest, making you stumble. Hastily, you right yourself, in time to see the male pull an ankle length dress from the wooden box. He forcefully pushes it into your arms, his inhuman strength having you yield a step with the momentum behind it. Then he’s grabbing you by your upper arm, pulling you tight against him, free hand gripping your hip as shadows and darkness swarms around you. Just like how they had when he had first found you.

A horrifying weightlessness overtakes you, and you grip onto him in any way you can as something like wind howls in your ears. And then it’s over, and you’re stood on grass. You blink; he releases you. Immediately, your arms crisscross over your body, stepping into the large build of his body.

He watches you keenly—you’re panicking. His hands grip your shoulders, steadying you. “What is it?” You glare up at him, fury and fear blazing together in your eyes. “‘What is it?’” You seethe, “I’m practically bare!” You hiss, eyes jumping about as you scan for other people that would inevitably be around. “What is—” you cut yourself off, “why did you do this? What did I do wrong?” Ire lights your eyes as they return to his, “what if someone sees me? Do you not understand human dignity?” You snap, angrily.

His fingers tighten on your shoulders in silent reprimand. “You think I would bring you somewhere other eyes could see you?” Azriel growls, displeasure shining through his usually bland tone. You tilt your head at that, confusion marring your features. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what does it matter if people see me?” You retort. When he opens his mouth to respond, lips twisted down at the edges, you hurriedly beat him to it—which he does not appreciate. “With clothes on.”

“You’re my bride,” he says simply, voice rough around the edges, as if that clears everything up. You furrow your brows at him, still skittish from the idea of someone seeing, and it makes you jumpy. His wings flare at his back, furling around you as you’re hidden from sight, despite him knowing there’s not another soul anywhere nearby.

Contemplation flashes through your eyes at the action, making you pause. You clear your throat, tension slowly seeping from your body, “calling me your bride doesn’t explain anything to me.” Your voice has evened out. It seems you’ve calmed now that your imagined threat is held at bay. A kernel of satisfaction sprouts in his chest.

“Until the ceremony, you are to be kept under my watch from now on.” Your head tilts, like a curious animal. You’re picking up on some less-human mannerisms, and it pleases him. The less human you appear, the easier he can forget about the Ritual.

“What ceremony? Why only now?”

“Stop asking so many questions. They bore me.” Your fingers tighten on the dress he’d shoved in your direction. “I’m so sorry they bore you, Azriel.” His brow dips at your tone, sensing you want to argue. “Get changed if you’re uncomfortable. You have clothes.”

“Where am I supposed to change?” You bite out, clutching the dress closer to your torso. “Here.”

You stare up at him, taken aback. “In front of you?”

“Does it bother you?” Your eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“We’re in public,” you beseech, “can’t you use those shadows or something? I’m not having you watch while I change!”

“You would like my hands on you as well as my eyes?” It’s impossible but you manage to look positively scandalised. You splutter up at him, while he watches silently. “You can feel? With those shadows?” You murmur.

Azriel nods, pleasure warming him as you flush. All you can think about is every quiet brush they’ve given you, every small push to get you out of bed, every touch as you fall asleep, every lick between your thighs. You swallow, “oh…” He waits. “I didn’t…I didn’t know that.” You clear your throat at a poor attempt at modesty.

Heat always seems to twist inside him whenever you try to appear dignified. The promise he’ll get to spoil it.

You realise he’s waiting for you to change, and you tug your lower lip between your teeth, “can you at least close your eyes?” They seem to sharpen at your comment, taking you in with renewed interest. “You seemed to like my eyes on you when I had my tongue between your legs.” You suck in a sharp breath, cheeks heating as you freeze, mouth open at his salacious statement.

“There is a time and a place for everything,” you manage, primly, locking your eyes on a space below his jaw. “When’s the time and place for breeding you again?” He drawls casually, silently revelling at the heat radiating from your body. Maybe he said that simply to get a rise out of you. You take a step back from him, but his shadows glide up your legs—up the backs of your bare thighs—to keep you in place as they twine about. He can scent the arousal that’s alight in your belly, the beast inside of him wishing for nothing more than to pin you to the ground and fuck you into the dirt.

He knows you would enjoy it.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, watching the moment his pupils dilate, the only sign of his own arousal your human senses can pick up on. Fear and heat twine together, making a mess of your insides. “Strip.” Your mouth goes dry at the quiet command. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips that are suddenly dry, but regret it when his blown out eyes mark the movement.

“I…” you stammer, his gaze flicking up to yours with arrogant expectation. “Not now…” you request softly—fearfully. “I don’t— Not after…” Not after the everlasting fields of freezing mud you were dragged through, thinking every breath was the last before you were pulled beneath the stagnant pools of water. “I’m telling you to change,” he drawls, and shame heats your body, looking away hurriedly. You hate it when he misleads you like that, plays his games with you that leave you stumbling blindly after him, in a mix of fear and confusion. A mess of emotions.

You try to push your embarrassment down, but you know he can sense every sign your human body reveals to him, leaving you stripped bare before him. As though you’re strapped to a dissection table for him to examine at his pleasure. “Go on,” he encourages, dark amusement underlying his tone as his eyes pierce into you.

Swallowing, you turn away from him, sliding the straps of the silky night vest off your shoulders. “You think it wise to turn your back to me?” He drawls. You freeze when his shadows wrap around your waist, slipping beneath your top. He can feel all of that. “Azriel…” you breathe, shakily, “why did you bring me here? Really?” You turn your head, peering at him demurely from over the bare slope of your shoulder.

The dim hazel of his eyes is cold; hard. Despite the sun in the sky, hairs raise across your body beneath his icy gaze. “Because you need it.” He replies, mouth set in its usual bland line.

“Who are you to say what I need?” You murmur quietly, watching him through your lashes. His shadows thicken, beginning to blot out the sun. The male prowls closer, wings tightening around you, “do you believe differently?”

“I believe I would like to have my agency returned, and not have you lord over me.”

“You’d like me to leave you alone?” You dip your head. Yes, that would be perfect. “That ended well the last time, didn’t it?” He drawls, words bladed with a lethal edge.

Heat ravages your body, “you’re not putting that on me.”

His wings circle tighter, and with a final shove, you’re sent stumbling into him, his hands snaking round your waist, brushing over your hips as they choose to set themselves at the small of your back. “If you hadn’t been so set on remaining a lone creature, then no. It wouldn’t have happened,” he growls.

“So what? I’m supposed to remain locked in your chambers until…? When? You were the one who stressed how my kind need to feel the outside world every once in while, yet now you’re trying to take that away from me?” Anger freezes his eyes, warmth seeping from the hazel as they’re swallowed by blackness.

“If you would just learn to obey me, you wouldn’t find your life riddled with such suffering,” he snarls softly, shadows completely blocking out the sun. “Obey you?” You utter quietly, staring up at him in horrified disbelief. “And why would I ever do that?” With each word, his hands raise higher, until they’re set on your waist. “Because you chose to submit to me, remember?” He snarls, lip curling. “I made it very clear. Gave you every opportunity to pull away. But you were the one who came to me, the one who crawled on her hands and knees to me, every night.” One hand leaves your waist, only to wrap around your throat. “Or do you need a reminder what you were crawling for?”

You bristle at his owning touch, wanting to shrink away, knowing how easily he could snap your neck. “You don’t own me,” you tremble, feeling the squeeze of his fingers, the press of his hips—and something else you dare not acknowledge—as he pulls you tight against his body. “You can’t—…you can’t tell me what to do. Or order me about like that. That’s not how—” you cut yourself off, before you lay more of your aching heart bare to him, “that’s not right.”

A terrifying silence echoes between you, freezing ire blazing in the depths of his pitch black eyes. He jerks you closer, squeezing your neck as he curls down, features sharpening, turning beastly. “What’s stopping me?”

Heat wells behind your eyes as the extent of his power dawns on you. No one’s going to stop him, and between him and the beasts that stole you away, he knows that to you he’s the lesser evil. So you’ll remain with him until he’s done with you, because he’s the best that you have. “That’s right,” he murmurs over your mouth, “you can’t do anything against me. If I want something from you, I’m going to take it.”

He releases you, suddenly. So suddenly you don’t have a chance to realise how dependant you’d become on him until he removes his support. Your knees buckle as you stumble, crashing to the floor, bare knees hitting the grass. “Now, why don’t we start on getting you properly trained, and have you change out of those damned clothes?” He growls quietly, not an ounce of amusement to be found, getting off on how far he can push you. How low he can shove you.

The dress is still clutched to your chest, both straps of your vest spilling off your arms. Shakily, you move to stand, so you can follow his orders, like he wants.

Azriel lifts his boot from the ground, pressing it down on your shoulder painfully. You wince at the heavy pressure, collapsing back onto your knees. “I think you should stay down there a little longer,” he drawls, sadism shining in his charcoal gaze, “help you learn your place.”

Shame weighs heavily on you as you bow your head, too hurt and embarrassed to look at him. He’d been so gentle before—asking you where the pain was so he could stop it. How are you supposed to resolve the polar opposites of his character?

You choose to further repress the part of you that wants him to push you down into the dirt.

He removes his boot, allowing you to follow through with his orders. You refuse to look up as you kneel in front of him—the Mother knows where it would lead. You peel away the silk of your top, and you suck in a sharp breath of air between your teeth when his shadows grow at your back. They build, their cool caress like whispers over your skin as they wrap around your middle, flowing across your stomach before branching upward, cupping your breasts.

Azriel releases a pleased growl when you don’t attempt to move away from them, allowing his shadows to brush your skin, flick gently over your nipples. He sees you biting your lip but says nothing about your silence, just content you’ve finally obeyed him and adorned yourself in the dress.

Ever so slowly, you raise up onto your knees, and it takes a surprising amount of effort on his end to not grab your oblivious form by the hair and pull you against his hips. He can only imagine what you would look like, lips swallowing his cock, tongue licking over the tip, tears rolling down your cheeks. He grits his teeth as he imagines how you would look with his come decorating your cheeks, the erotic liquid like a smattering of freckles. Maybe you’d swallow him down. Open your mouth wide with a smile to show him how obedient you’d been.

One day, he swears to himself, one day he’ll have you trained well enough you’ll do that unprompted.

The perfect, superficial symbol of innocence for him to have fun with.

You manage to get to your feet, and flush when you look down at yourself. The dress is cream, light and breathable, as modest as any dress you would normally wear out. Sleeves down to the wrist, hem down to your ankles, the neck concealing your collar bones. It feels like a small snippet of home, and you allow your fingers to graze the crisp material.

“Thank me.”

You peer up at him, arms wrapping across your chest, keeping your nightclothes in your hands. “‘Thank me’?” You echo, voice shaking. “For what?” You swear something like amusement gleams in his eyes as he leans down, so he can stare at you. “For bringing you to a river instead of dumping you in some frozen wasteland for the beasts to fight over.”

Then his wings are pulling away, shadows retracting back to him, light returning to your skin.

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and feel yourself fracture. The tiniest break, splitting along your vertebrae. Your lips part slightly, vision blurring with painful confusion. He’s so…volatile. You can never tell what mood he’s in. Whether he’ll be nice to you, let you nestle into his fur when he shifts to sleep, or whether he’ll snarl and snap, degrade and punish you until your pieces are lying scattered across the ground.

“Why must you say things like that?” You ask weakly. Keeping yourself together in front of him. He’d enjoy your destruction, no doubt. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Not this time, at least.

“I will not repeat myself to you.”

You hear the words loud and clear. I will not repeat myself to a human. The edges of your mouth wobble, but you straighten your spine, raising your chin. “Do you find them funny?” Your voice trembles, but you dig your nails into your palms as you lower your fists to your side. “Does it entertain you to torment my people? To be so cruel to me?” A muscle feathers in your jaw as you try to maintain your stance, but it’s difficult to do when you’ve seen the carnage he can wreak.

“Do you find amusement in belittling me? Hope to push me until I crumble before you, like the weak human I am?” Your mouth is set in a sad line, turned down at the edges while your pupils are blown out with fear. You take a small, trembling step forward, craning your neck to stare him down, baring your throat. He could rip it out before you even know he’s moving. It’s a quiet taunt on your part, perhaps the only act of rebellion he will tolerate. One where you’re put at his mercy.

“I will weather you, Azriel. And I will not crumble. For some reason, the gods have thrown me to you, but I trust in them to guide me, so until my last breath, I will stand against you, and use my every skill to push back.” You silently pray you haven’t been abandoned. That some entity watches over you, still.

A small kernel of hope lights in your chest as you move to walk past him, and he does not reach to murder or maim you.

A shudder passes through your body as your feet carry you farther and farther away, enjoying the distance they give you as they move you to the river bank.

You hadn’t had a chance to admire it’s beauty, the pebbled land beside the babbling river. The willow trees that line it’s edge, swaying with the breeze. You could sigh with contentment as the light wind catches at your dress, playing with its hem. You make your way toward the edge of the grassland, and a slight drop down onto the small shore has you crouching to make the jump.

Some distance away, Azriel watches you. He feels disturbed; ruffled. He should be splattering you on the stones, drowning you in a muddy field, but he can’t find so much as a spark of anger. Instead, he feels strangely calm.

You’d spoken so softly to him, and though he hadn’t liked what you had to say, you’d been so understated he’d been left with a yawning pit inside his chest yet nothing was filling it. Rage should be pouring in, lighting his skin, but he just feels empty. Itchy, almost skittish.

If you had spoken at him with fury, or hatred, he would be able to retaliate.

A low growl sounds in his chest with grim frustration at your strategies. He’s not familiar with your quiet warfare. He wants to get under your skin, make you spark up like he does, wants you to bare you fangs at him and show your talons but you insist on keeping them hidden.

Maybe he’d misjudged you.

Maybe you don’t even have any claws to bare.

————

You feel jumpy with him being so silent.

You sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, crouching beside the shallow river. He’s shifted into a more beastly form, fur covering him, snout resting over the powerful muscle of one of his paws, wings tucked into his sides while he lies on his stomach.

You do your best to ignore him, but he’s been surprisingly docile, snoozing peacefully in the dappled shade of a willow tree. Sometimes you think you feel his eyes on you, but they’re always closed when you turn to check.

The water looks delightfully cool, and you consider dipping your feet in, only to be reminded how inappropriate that would be. Especially with male company.

A butterfly flutters up to you and you yelp, falling backward with surprise as it remains in your face. You stiffen, squeezing your eyes shut. Something tickles the bridge of your nose, and when you open your eyes, you see it’s settled down.

You scream, reeling back as you frantically brush it from your face, heart pounding as you feel the flutter of it’s wings against your palms. It leaves you in peace, thankfully, as you shudder, wiping down your hands on your dress, trying to rid them of that spasmodic sensation.

Azriel growls lowly, displeased at your racket, cracking open a single eye to peer at your form. You quickly turn away when you see he’s watching you, freezing where you are, waiting for him to inevitably prowl up behind you, poised to rip you apart. But he just huffs, settling back into his dozing.

Maybe he likes it here.

You suppose it wouldn’t be unreasonable. You used to see creatures lazing by the riverside before you were snatched away. How they would bathe in the water then dry off on the large, flat rocks. They looked so peaceful and calm, relaxing in the sun, made drowsy from the heat.

A bead of sweat slides down your temple and you hastily brush it aside. It’s getting quite hot.

Well, it’s either settle beside him in the limited shade, or wander to the river. The willow trees provide a small amount of shadow on the opposite side, which is perhaps six large steps across from you. One look at the sleeping beast has you getting to your feet and gingerly tip-toeing to the water’s edge.

You lift the hem of your dress, so it comes to your knees as you take a small step into the cool stream. It’s shockingly cold, considering the heat, and you quickly remove your toes from it’s freezing current. But you’re still to hot, so you try again.

It takes you a while before you’re able to wander deeper, the peaceful water raising to your ankles. You sigh with contentment, eyes sliding shut for a moment as a breeze blows past you, ruffling your hair as it spins the wisps from your face, pleasantly cooling your heated skin. You take a few small steps farther, entering the dip in the riverbed.

The water rises to your calves, and you raise your dress higher, bunching it so it’s just below your hips. The shade washes over you, now up to the tops of your thighs in the babbling stream, the deepest it goes. Perfectly safe, and calm. Surprisingly tranquil.

Until that damned butterfly.

It’s returned with a pair, and they flutter straight into you, dancing around your head as they twirl and flap. You flinch, foot slipping on the slick river stones, and you drop.

The water swallows you, freezing cold shocking against your skin as your eyes squeeze shut, lips sealing against the invasive pressure of the river. The iciness seeps into your bones too quickly, cooling your sun warmed skin in an instant, and suddenly you’re back in the marshland. Like you never escaped in the first place.

The rain is lashing against your skin, wind whipping your hair as it cracks against your muddied cheeks, lightening and thunder sparking in the sky as it booms across the clouds. Your fingers sink into thickened, sludgy water as you claw for air, heart slamming against your ribs as the bed gives out beneath you.

It feels as though there’s no bottom, and you can’t tell up from down, and you need air dear gods you need air and—

In the back of your mind, you hear something from the outside world splash. And then something is hooking beneath you, hoisting you from the water and you splutter, gasping for precious air. The world’s swaying slightly when you manage to open your eyes, collapsing against the sturdy warmth beneath you.

You swallow, looking down as you use your hands to push your upper body straight. You choke on saliva in surprise as you realise you’re perched on his snout, legs hooked either side it’s bridge, your hands resting on the space between his eyes. You’re in his blind spot.

You yelp as he begins to move, flattening yourself against his wet fur as he shifts out of the water, disrupting its flow as if cutting through butter that’s been left in the sun. Your legs squeeze him as your grab at his fur, tensing as he prowls out of the water, so quiet despite his large form.

A thin branch of willow traces over your spine with how high he’s raised you and you flinch, shuddering as the wind begins to freeze your water-soaked dress. He growls as he brings you into the sun, leaping up onto the grassy bank, lowering to a crouch for you to slide off as he begins to shift.

It catches you by surprise though, and you tighten your grip in his fur, trying to keep from slumping to the ground. It doesn’t do much to help you—you end up flat on your back, eyes squeezed shut, hands still fisted in his fur.

“Get off me.”

He’s looking more familiar, hazel eyes returned, humanoid features peaking through against the natural sharpness of his dæmon complexion.

Your heart is still pounding, but you can feel the breeze, can feel the grass beneath your back, and you’re inhaling the clean air that’s void of any stagnant smells. Your vision blurs as you stare up at him, pulling your hands away.

You feel wrecked.

You curl up into yourself, rolling onto your side, covering your face with your hands as tremors run through your skin. Your lungs spasm as your breathing increasing, turning to startling gasps, quick and hurried. You grit your teeth, muscles contracting across your body as your brow furrows, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you try to block out the onslaught on memories.

With a frustrating amount of effort, you roll onto your stomach, crawling out from under him, but his hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you back. You grunt as you hit the ground, his shadows rolling you over so you’re facing him.

“What was that?”

He’s watching you intently, and you feel a spark of anger toward him, but quickly smother it. It wouldn’t be wise to piss him off, not when he just hauled you out of that river.

“What was what?” You manage, mouth trembling. His lip curls as you feign ignorance. “That.”

You exhale a shaky breath, pushing up onto your elbows. He doesn’t yield any space as you prop yourself up, your faces inches apart. You try to shuffle back but he prowls after you. “You can’t swim.”

“I can swim perfectly fine,” you breathe, trying not to let his proximity overwhelm you. “I just slipped.”

“You were scared.”

“I was not.” You insist.

“I can feel it. You’re still scared.”

“I am not.” You don’t think it’s a good idea to let him know your fears. “Is it me?” He growls, lowering closer to you, “do I scare you?”

“Not one bit.” It’s an obvious lie, but one said to protect yourself. He knows it as well as you do.

“Liar.”

Piss off.

“You don’t scare me.” You lift closer to him, praying your arms don’t give out as your mouth brushes his. “You can’t kill me. I’m your bride.”

“I can do worse than kill you.”

“If you wanted to, you would have. If you wanted to, you wouldn’t have come to get me when I was—” You swallow, pushing away the memories as they invasively press against your mind. “You wouldn’t have saved me,” you admit, refusing to back away, calmly standing your ground as he bares down on you.

Fuck, you’re so close to him. If he just lowers his mouth, just shifts a little closer—

The river water has soaked your dress, highlighting every dip and line of your body, showing off the shape of your breasts without revealing anything. And you’re beneath him. If he just lifts your dress, he could get to you. You’re practically begging for him to take you, with that scent of yours, those quietly determined eyes…

“You wouldn’t have helped me out of the river just now, either.”

Azriel zones back in, eyes lifting from your body to return to your face, and your mouth.

“I don’t know if it has something to do with my supposed ‘perfect compatibility’, but so far, you’ve managed to keep from hurting me. Even if you’ve been wildly unpleasant during the course of my stay.”

He curses silently. There you go, acting all prim and proper again, letting foolish human dignity guide your actions. Heat coils down his spine, boiling beneath his skin. Your prudish nature, the cream gown that’s accentuating the inherent eroticism he finds in you, the firm set of your eyes as you steadily take him in— He feels himself hardening.

“‘Wildly unpleasant’?” He snarls softly, moving forward, forcing you to yield ground or else his mouth will connect with your own. “I’ve been nothing but generous to you,” he grits out. His pupils are dilated, pulse picking up as he again imagines you in all sorts of positions you would surely wish to slap him for picturing.

How good your mouth would feel, how perfect you would look kneeling. His shadows whisper to him, repeating how you’d moaned his name.

‘Azriel’

‘Az’

‘Azzie…’

“You stole me from my home,” you accuse, softly. His breathing seems shallower, and you wonder if he needs to move into the shade. The sun’s been beating down on his back for a while now. Even your own clothes have more or less stopped dripping. He must be boiling.

A harsh breath hisses from his teeth. “You seem to conveniently forget that it was me who saved you.”

“In that frozen wasteland, yes.” You repeat his words back to him, with a little more bite that you had intended. His lip pulls back from his teeth, gritting them against the urge to wrap his arm beneath your back to pull your chest tight against him. Just to have you touching him in some way. Not this taunting game you’re playing, keeping him just out of reach.

“You were going to be eaten in that forest. I took you from those creatures. They would have shredded your soft skin with the gentlest brush of their teeth.”

Your lips purse. He’s got you there.

“Nothing to say against that?” He taunts quietly, moving so you have to look at him. He needs to get this conversation wrapped up so he can put his own teeth on you. It’s been so long since he last tasted you, and his tongue flicks against his canines with anticipation, mouth watering.

He watches as your eyes dip away from his, body stiffening as your gaze lands between his legs. Heat flushes your cheeks and he needs you. You move backward, raising a hand to press against his shoulder as he inevitably follows. Something like a mix between a growl and a purr sounds in his chest, and your lower belly heats.

“Azriel…” You warn, pressing harder against him as you try to crawl away. His arm snakes around your back, smushing you against him but he needs more, needs to have you riding him. He needs you to need him.

“I don’t believe you’re hurt when I pleasure you.” He growls, and you feel every letter on your lips, the aroused drag of his voice as his hand trails lower, settling on the swell of your ass. “In fact, I think you rather enjoy me. As much as you try to deny yourself.” You shake your head, attempting denial. But then his large palm scoops beneath you, lifting you up and you have to grab onto his neck to keep from falling backward.

He pulls back, so he’s kneeling on the grass, keeping you tight against him, not an ounce of space between your chests and finally he feels himself begin to relax. He indulges in the decadent feel of your body over his, the elegant sweep of your arms, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your thighs tense with how close you are.

You gasp, hurriedly untangling your arms from his shoulders as you attempt to pull your dress down that’s ridden up to your thighs. Azriel growls, gaze dropping to between your legs as he thumbs the front of your dress up further, revealing you to him. This time you swear he purrs, shadows gripping your hips as he raises you to perch atop his cock.

“Azriel, stop.” You bark with surprising force, palms splaying across his broad shoulders in attempts to leverage yourself.

His large, near-black eyes bare into you, and it’s a struggle to keep his gaze. You realise his pupils are dilating. No, not dilating. Almost splitting— seeping across his irises and they begin to fill the whites of his eyes.

Oh.

“Azriel, do not—”

He’s already shifting, eyes dimming to pitch black, carnal features sharpening as his canines protrude from his upper lip. In another situation, you might have been in awe as you feel him shift, actually feel how the skin grows to accommodate the transformation. Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you feel his fur brush against your legs, your inner thighs—

You can feel his cock at your entrance, and you think you might already be dripping down onto him.

A large, taloned hand lifts your chin as his hips press upward, making to guide himself deeper into your heat. “Just the tip,” he taunts, that lazy drawl of his setting something fluttering between your legs. “You can manage the tip, can’t you?” Your nails bite into his skin but he doesn’t even feel it. “Don’t you ‘just the tip’, me,” you whisper, finding it difficult to speak properly with the knowledge that you could just sink down—

No, you can’t let him do this. He has a mastery over lulling you into a state of submissive arousal, using his temptation to seduce you in obeying him.

What were you talking about again?

Satisfaction glides down his spine as he notes your glazed eyes, how you’re becoming more pliant beneath his touch. Just a little longer, and you’ll be sinking down into his lap, and he can feel as your heat swallows him, wrapping snuggly around his cock. He nearly groans from pleasure.

He can scent your arousal, feel how slick you are. How easy it will be to slide in, bury himself inside of you.

“No. You always do this.” You say, pushing out of his lenient grip, quickly stumbling backward as you shove your dress down to your ankles.

What?

He blinks away the haze that you’d manage to cast him under. Witch.

Your cheeks are still flushed, but awareness is sparking in your eyes as you take him in. Damn you.

He begins to prowl forward, shifting his arms to paws, his features sharpening further as he rises into a quadrupedal form.

You root yourself to the ground as he stalks forward, your hands fisting in your cold dress. Before he can start anything however, you speak first. “I want you to listen to me,” you manage, shakily. You have to do better. If he senses uncertainty, he’ll pounce.

Azriel snarls, snout nosing roughly at the mouthful of your belly, running up between your breasts.

“You’re capable of reason, just like I am. So act like it.”

He shifts in the blink of an eye, startling you, but you refuse to yield any ground, even as his shadow spills onto you. He’s trying to intimidate you, you realise. You’d seen animals do it countless times: making themselves appear larger to scare off— Predators.

For whatever reason that he’ll inevitably hide from you, he believes you to be a threat of some kind. Something he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“You have rationality, and a conscious, don’t you?” You meet his blacked out gaze, and feel your courage draining. Why are you trying to pick a fight with a dæmon? “I can take whatever I want from you, human.” He growls softly, reaching for your hips.

“No, you can’t.” His fingers pause a little away from your clothed skin.

“What’s stopping me?” He growls, stepping closer so you can feel his presence.

You clench your hands into fists as you look up at him steadily, “maybe you should be asking yourself that, Azriel.”

He stiffens, and you’ve gotten him. You don’t need him to concede, or for it to be a clear win—you know you’ve gotten him.

Finally, you take a step away, and his pupils shrink with the movement. “I’m going to lay in the sun, and dry off. Don’t try anything while I’m resting.”

Maybe you could have done without the niceties, but you seemed to have found somewhat stable footing, and you aren’t going to squander that by suddenly trying to push him around.

It’s progress, you remind yourself as you step out of his reach, walking back toward the bank. It seems like progress is being made.

You settle down a little way from his previous spot in the shade, so he won’t be as on edge. Maybe it would be worth thanking him for saving you—he does have a point about that. You would most definitely be dead had he not taken you from those woods.

Azriel said he wouldn’t bring you to a place where other eyes could see you, so you decide to show him you’ll trust him—this once. Work on that tenuous bond that’s slowly forming.

It’s probably not much by dæmon standards, but you undo some of the buttons of your dress, creating a V that shows the top of your chest, and loosening your sleeves to reveal your forearms a little more.

You hear him prowling by, moving to settle beneath the dappled shade.

You wonder if he made the noise for your sake.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #shadowsinger #teeth and talons #demon!azriel

[fortisfilia]

Promised Part 2 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, sickness, bullying

Word count: 1.7k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

Part 2 - Back in Hogwarts

Being back at Hogwarts felt strange. Usually, it was like coming home, where the old stone walls kept you warm even when they were so cold. But this time, having left your sick little sister behind and after practically selling your soul to the devil, you felt as if everyone already knew. Every time someone looked at you, underlying judgement was inherent in their gaze.

How could she do this? How could she agree to marry someone she didn’t love? She probably did it for the money. Or for his reputation. Both perhaps.

No one had said anything to your face yet, but the nasty expressions they wore gave them away. Girls from year five had always greeted you, had looked up to you, trying to impress older students and wanting to be noticed. Now they didn’t look you in the eyes, even though their stares bore holes into the back of your head and when they thought you were out of earshot, they would group up in the hallways and whisper to each other.

Camille Kegley was the only person you trusted enough to talk to. She was your best friend since your first year in Hogwarts and being with her had always been easy. She was a breath of fresh air - humble, fun and a loyal friend. A true Hufflepuff. So you had told her every little detail. How your sister got cursed, that the Gaunts visited, what they offered and what they asked for in return. Camille’s mouth hung open by the end, but she understood.

“I would have done the same thing for my brother,” she said. “I’m so sorry all of this happened though. If I can do anything to help you out, just let me know.”

“Thank you. Really. The only thing I want right now is for everyone to stop looking at me like I murdered someone.”

“You think they know already?”

“‘I’m not sure,” you sighed. “Seems like it.”

“Have you told anybody?”

“Just you. And please. Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Elsie to be the girl who’s been cursed when she starts school next year and I won’t be here to help her.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry. But how would anyone know it then, by now?”

“I have a feeling the Gaunts want as many people to know as possible. To make it harder for me to back out.”

“You think Tom-”

“No,” you said and shook your head. “It seemed he was even more against it than I was. His grandfather, Marvolo. I think it’s him who’s eager for everyone to know.”

“Wanker,” Camille said.

“Tosser,” you added.

“Merlin’s saggy left bollock,” Camille went one better and you both laughed. “And what about Tom?”

“What about him?”

“Well, if they’re going through with the pact like you said, you’re going to marry him. Do you like him at least? In any way?”

“I… don’t know. I hardly know him. Though he seems to take after his grandfather, unfortunately.”

“Saggy bollock,” Camille whispered.

“I guess I’ll try to get to know him. We’ll have to get along someday after all.”

“Good idea,” Camille nodded. “You should do that.”

“He’s so distant. Cold. I don’t know how to approach him.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be too hard. He’s just a man. They're all quite similar if we're honest.”

“I’m not sure he’s similar to most men we know, Camille,” you said and she laughed.

“You’ll have to find out, then. Maybe, deep down, he’s quite nice.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe not. Tom acted like nothing had happened for the first week of school. Either Morfin had slipped some Forgetfulness Potion into Tom’s tea, or he actually detested you that much, because it felt as if he didn’t even know who you were. He didn’t greet you in the hallway, hell, he didn’t even glance at you in class. Nothing. How was this supposed to work if he didn’t try at all? It was unfathomable.

The only person who talked normally to you, besides Camille, was Benjamin Hilt, a Gryffindor boy from year six. He was annoying, to put it mildly. Perhaps he just tried to be nice, but it seemed he wanted to know a lot about Tom and you. And, to be fair, you didn’t even know much about Tom and you.

Ben acted like Hogwarts’ very own private investigator, trying to elicit as much information as possible from you. He had you wondering if he was working for the Daily Prophet. 

How did the engagement happen? Weren’t you still too young? Did your parents agree immediately? Was it possible that you didn’t do it willingly? Was it forced? 

“Merlin, Ben!” you shouted. “Stop asking all those questions. What are you trying to get out of this?”

“I don’t know,” he said and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just so strange, you know. I’ve never seen you two together. Seems off.”

“Well, mind your own business then. Git,” you said and rushed out of the great hall. 

Even though Tom avoided you magnificently, his friends, or rather his followers, seemed very much interested in you. And not in a positive way. They looked you up and down in class, followed you in the hallways and you could only guess what they were mumbling to each other. Certainly not compliments.

Emlyn Avery and Tiernan Lestrange were the worst of them. The two boys were on you all the time. You tried to act as if you didn’t notice, but it got more concerning each day. Every time you looked over your shoulder, those two were standing close. And they smiled so spitefully, it was clear how much they enjoyed freaking you out. Bastards.

It had become a habit not to walk the corridors alone. Camille was with you most of the time and if she couldn’t be there, you followed random groups of people until you found one of your friends. This technique, as humiliating as it was, worked well. Until that one day, when Professor Binns asked you to stay for a moment, after your History Of Magic lesson. Not only did he take ages to get his point across, but made you more nervous each second, when your classmates’ voices faded until you couldn’t hear a single sound from the hallway.

Your heart was beating in your throat when you left the classroom. Of course. Avery and Lestrange had waited for you. With their stupid grins on their faces. They didn’t even act as if they were there for something else.

You pondered where to go. The great hall was always busy and also quite near, so you turned right. They were following you. You heard their footsteps behind you and they were coming closer. 

Whenever you went a little faster, the two of them did too. You thought about running away but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. 

Eventually, they caught up. Avery walked to your left, Lestrange to your right until they had you cornered.

“What do you want?” you asked and tried your best to control your voice. 

“Just wanted to say hello,” Avery said.

“Hello,” you said and tried to push through them, but they didn’t let you.

“No,” Lestrange smirked. “We’re not done yet.”

“Did Riddle send you?” you asked. “To scare me?”

“Why would he do that? To his future wife.”

“You tell me.”

“We’re here to clear some things up,” Avery said. “That you might not know.”

“And what’s that?” you asked.

“You see, we don’t know how you did it. How your family pulled that trick to make Tom agree to marry you. It can only mean that you’re plotting something. And -”

“Wait, he didn’t tell you?” you asked.

They didn’t answer right away but exchanged an involuntary glance with each other. A sore point. Interesting.

“We know enough, okay?” Avery hissed. “Tom has a great future ahead of him. And I swear, if you get in the way, you’re going to regret it.”

“I’m not -”

“Shut up,” Lestrange interrupted you with his wand close to your face. “I don’t know what you’re after. Money, fame, whatever it is. You might want to think about it again and I’ll have you know it’s not worth it.”

“I don’t care for any of that.”

“Come on, what other reason could you have to pull off something like that?”

There was no way you were telling them about Elsie. Every student would know by next year and she was far too sensitive to handle that. “None of your business.”

“That just proves you’re not trustworthy,” Avery said.

“Because I’m not telling you two my reasons?” you almost laughed. “Give me a break. Why didn’t you ask Tom? Your good friend who confides everything to you.”

Their faces turned red, their embarrassment obvious. Even if everyone knew how much power Riddle had over his friends, they didn’t like to be reminded of it.

“Listen here, you little -” Avery stopped talking when a hand touched his shoulder and pulled him and Lestrange away from you.

Tom stood there, looking at them rigidly. “What are you doing?”

“We’re… Just…”

“Talking to her. Trying to get to know her better,” Avery mumbled.

Tom looked at you for a second, then back at his friends. “Doesn’t seem like you were having a nice chat.”

“Oh it was very nice,” Avery said. “Making friends.”

“Was it a nice chat?” Tom asked you.

You were still so tense from them threatening you and hadn’t expected Tom to talk to you directly after days of silence, so you just stammered, “I… They -”

“Shut up you,” Lestrange took a step in your direction until Tom pressed his wand against Lestrange’s chest.

“Don’t,” Tom said through gritted teeth.

“I wasn’t -”

“I don’t care Tiernan. Let’s go.”

Without another word, the three boys walked away towards the Slytherin common room. You were still glued to the spot when Tom turned around and glanced at you.

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 3

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle angst #tom riddle AU #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #voldemort #voldemort x reader #hp #hp fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter #imagine #imagines #fluff #angst #x reader

[alicentes]

Why do you like Gale? No hate, I’m honestly glad because I feel like we’re a minority because everyone seems to detest him. What is it specifically about his character that draws you in? For me it’s his endurance despite loss, his devotion to the cause, he’s the flawed rebel that isn’t pure because the system doesn’t allow him to be.

I like him for the reasons you just listed too. His growing hatred towards the capitol and his commitment to ending the oppressive situation is relatable and REAL. He is willing to make the hard choices that aren't always morally right but under the circumstances I can understand why he is willing to use violence, why he accepts that they aren't going to win this rebellion without a few civilian casualties. He was fully committed to the rebellion and was willing to die for Panem to be free and wasn't naive to how that was going to be achieved. I can respect that. Especially given his life circumstances and how much trauma he's been through (something that fans ignore because he wasn't in the horror that is the games, therefore, his trauma doesn't count). We get insight into his view on the people in the capital, the privileged, early on, Before the reaping he says "if they all stopped watching, there wouldn't be any games." in his eyes they are all complicit, which isn't necessarily true for every single peson but you can understand his point. The people in the capitol could at the very least all boycott the games and this would put an end to them because then no one would be profiting off them. We know this to be true as well because the games were not successful and barely anyone watched them in TBOSAS and they were likely going to stop them.

Another reason I like him is because of how loyal he is to his family, the everdeens (he would have taken care of them if Katniss had died and was taking care of them when she wasn't around) and his loyalty to his district. He saved as many people as he possibly could from 12 during the genocide and yet, he still felt guilty that he couldn't do more. It is important to note that it was AFTER witnessing the genocide that he fully became involved in the rebellion and the creation of weapons and was willing to make the tough calls that would've got people killed. He was still a rebel in the making before then but who can blame him? his father is killed in the mines and he has to take care of his mother and siblings and make sure they don't starve to death (yes people in district 12 were literally dying of starvation if anyone is forgetting that fact) and Katniss was the only person who understood this. He resents the fact that some people are living in luxury when his people are suffering so much, he hated the class system and wealth disparity which separates the districts and that is something most of us can understand in todays world. In catching fire, when more people started hating him, he's working 12 hour shifts in the mines that killed his father and yet, his family still don't have enough food to get by, he has siblings who are now getting old enough to enter the games and there's nothing he can do to help them if they get reaped because he's aged out and can't volunteer on his behalf. He acted like a dick at times but he was also suffering and lets not forget that moment when he was TORTURED by peacekeepers and could have been killed had Katniss not stepped in.

I don't agree with all of his decisions but when this war started there was no going back, they either win and create a better Panem or they die, their loved ones die or worse, they suffer fates worse than death and worse than the lives they had before. The first rebellion resulted in the games and further oppression of the districts, imagine how it would've ended if this rebellion was lost? When you're fighting a leader as brutal as Snow you have to fight dirty and be prepared to make terrible moves that Snow thinks you haven't got it in you to make.

Gale is resilient, passionate, a fighter, loyal, smart (disagree with his strategies but they were good and pragmatic war strategies) and just as flawed as any other complex character. It is a shame people hate him so much, and mainly because of a love triangle that Suzanne never intended to write in the first place.

Sidenote: the way the fandom hated on him just made me analyse his character more closely and like him MORE which is a bit of pattern with me and unfairly hated characters.

#sorry this is such a long post and turned into kind of a character analysis and sorry I took so long to reply #I also wish Katniss and Gale were written as having a brother/sister relationship instead of a trauma bond romance #gale hawthorne #the hunger games #thg meta #it is pretty funny that most of this generation is all like eat the rich tear down capitalism overthrow the government and yet #they hate on fictional characters who do just that because they can't do it morally or aren't badass enough or smth

[sunflwryu]

warning: yandere, violence | not requested

role

“you’re cheating on me, aren’t you?” felix screams. he knows you’re not, but he can’t help accusing you of it. the reaction he gets out of you everytime is worth it to him.

but something’s different in your eyes this time. he doesn’t like it, not one bit.

you don’t say a thing, instead just staring at him with that strangely defiant look in your eyes, so he decides to spur you on further by taking the nearest vase and hurling it at the ground. it shatters instantly, making a loud crashing sound that doesn’t startle you like it usually does.

“you always do this to me!” he shouts, kneeling on the ground, dangerously close to the glass shards scattered on the floor. he forces the tears to come, letting out pitiful hiccups and sobs as he covers his face with his hands. “you always want to go places without me, making excuses that you’re hanging out with friends! you never want to stay with me because i’m a bad boyfriend!”

“you are.”

it takes everything in him not to break character at the unexpected indifference in your voice. he thought he already molded you into the perfect partner, compliant and saying everything he wants you to, always guiding you back on the right path, pushing you back into the cavity he forced you in when you accepted his confession.

“w-why would you say that? if i-i am, tell me how i can do better! please, darling...i-i’m so sorry!” he begs, sputtering.

and for the first time ever, you glare at him, gaze as sharp as razor blades, a stark contrast to its usual softness. “i know what you’re doing, baby,” you say mockingly, putting sarcastic emphasis on your nickname for him. he grits his teeth, hating how you act like you have power over him when he’s the one who should be commanding you, playing you like a marionette controlled by his hand. you’ve never pulled something like this before, never something so out of pocket like this. he loves you for sure, just not whatever you this was that’s outside his expectations and unpredictable.

but if you could take a step back, apologize, get back to your senses as his little obedient darling, he’d forgive you. heck, even if you just walked out and came back, he’d forgive you too. after all, one mistake here and there, it’s forgivable. he can just teach you again, mold you better, stricter so this doesn’t happen again. it’s his fault for not noticing this earlier, but he’ll fix it. he’ll fix you.

“w-what...? what do you mean, d-darling?” he feigns a stutter, moving his hands away from his eyes as he meets your gaze, letting you see the tears stream down his cheeks and drip onto the floor, the tears that always reeled you back in. you’re going to apologize, he knows it. “i-i just want to know, i r-really don’t understand what—”

“shut up, felix, i know your tricks. we’re fucking over.”

the words hit him like a truck, and he blinks in surprise as you turn around, heading to the door of the house without looking back at him, without hesitation, without anything at all. you’re doing what he absolutely detests the most. he was such a fool to go easy on you and let you have a taste of power over him.

did you think you could leave him? you’re so pathetic, there’s no way in hell he’d let you. now, it’s your own fucking fault what happens after this, not his.

before you can put your hand on the doorknob, he maneuvers around the vase’s shards and tackles you to the ground, ripping a surprised shriek out of your smart little mouth. you’re flailing around like the powerless idiot you are, but he’s too strong for you, too angry to possibly stop, because how fucking dare you do this to him? you were supposed to do what he wanted you to, say what he wanted you to. he’d have to show you that now in a much more...unlikeable manner, unfortunately for you.

he’s so disappointed in you that his hands find themselves wrapping around your neck before he knows it, making your voice fizzle out and your vision swim with dark spots as he presses hard, viciously, mercilessly, bitter hatred and annoyance flashing in his wild eyes.

“it wouldn’t have had to be like this if you just played your role properly, darling...”

note: aka maybe how “chains” would’ve turned out if sunoo was more aggressive and the mc (main character) was less naive?? btw, thanks for 200+ notes on that one, it’s my favorite! i’ve been swamped with writer’s block for a request and my other drafts lol, but dw, i had some fun writing this one. i hope you guys liked this one!! thank you for reading as always.

skz masterlist | main masterlist | by @sunflwryu

#yandere skz #skz yandere #yandere stray kids #lee felix #skz felix #stray kids yandere #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz #yandere felix #yandere kpop #stray kids #felix #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction

[lonepantheress]

the pickle theory

genre: fluff + established relationship

pairing: yang jeongin x reader

wc: 712

a/n: i think i hate this. i have serious writers block so pls plspslplsps send requests guys lol.

“The food is here!” You called for Jeongin from the kitchen, having ordered some takeout for the both of you. It was a sweet gesture that you hadn’t thought much about or put much emphasis on - you memorized his order and you didn’t want to cook.

Jeongin emerged from your shared bedroom, smiling sweetly at the sight of you, “What did you get?” 

“Burgers,” you said, pulling the wrapped food, fries, and drinks from the bag and setting it all on the counter. 

Jeongin let out an exaggerated gasp at the sight of the food, picking up what he assumed was his and giving you a short kiss on the cheek. “Why are you the best partner ever?” he gushed. 

You laughed at his question, feeling warm at his choice of words and picking up your own food, “Just trying to keep you happy.”

He unwrapped his burger, took a huge bite, and let out a happy sigh, “Y/n, this is so…” he trailed off, his happy face contorted into one of disgust while he searched for a napkin.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at his reaction.

You swore his face was going to turn green the way that they did in cartoons. “They put -” he spit the offending bite into a napkin, “pickles.”

“Oh, shit! Really? I could have sworn I ordered it without,” You grabbed his burger from him and took the top bun off. You found that it was, indeed, covered in pickles that your boyfriend absolutely detested. 

Jeongin let out a dramatic groan. “I can’t eat that now, it’s ruined,” he complained.

You laughed at his melodramatic response, “Babe, switch with me. I don’t think my burger has any pickles, and besides, you know that I like them,” you suggested, lifting the top of your burger to show him no green offenders.

Jeongin grinned at your offer, taking it up quickly and switching. “You’re the best,” he said, biting into his new pickle-free burger.

You dug into your food and chatted with one another about what your days consisted of, commiserating about the annoying parts, and giggling about the funny ones.

As you began finishing off your burgers and fries, Jeongin leaned over to give you a quick kiss. "Thanks for being so understanding about the pickles. You always know how to make things better," he said, his eyes soft with affection.

“Jeongin - you don’t need to thank me for that!” You smiled at his fondness and picked a fry from his pile since yours had finished. Suddenly, you had an ah-ha! moment and widened your eyes before speaking, “Babe! Do you know about ‘the olive theory?’”

“The olive theory?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, leaning in closer to him. “It’s this theory and it basically says that, like, when two people are eating together and one of them doesn’t like olives and the other does that they’re a perfect pair!”

Jeongin raised his eyebrows, surprised and entertained by you, “I don’t think I’ve heard of that before,” he began, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “but it makes sense, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like how we switched burgers just now. I’m basically the best partner ever because I’m super duper considerate about your food preferences. ‘The pickle theory,’ if you will.”

Jeongin laughed, nodding in agreement, “I do think that we’re a perfect match. If your pickle theory proves it, then it has to be true.”

You finished off his fries and with your mouthful said, “Thank you!” full of pride.

He stood up, leaning in to give you a quick kiss once again, “You’re too cute.” Your cheeks heated up while he took it upon himself to clear the table of any trash and quickly wash the few dishes that you two had accumulated. 

“Look at how chivalrous and responsible you are!” you exclaimed, watching him finish up the dishes. You walked up behind him, waiting for him to turn around, “This is why I love you!”

Jeongin turned, giving you a love-filled grin with a glint in his eye, “You know that I love you too,” he said, grabbing your hands and leaning in, “But I think that I love the food that you buy me a little bit more.”

#skz #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #yang jeongin #yang jeongin x reader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids fanfic

[rom-e-o]

Forever and Ever. (Constance DoGoode lore)

@quill-pen proposed an amazing idea, and I ran with it into the first, concrete store of exactly how little Connie's life began.

Full story beneath cut. For all ages, though this story does describe fictional child abandonment.

"We have to go. Leave her."

"I can't."

He shuddered at the reluctance oozing from his wife’s weepy voice, and detested how it threatened to make sobs rise in his own throat.

The man, mid-thirties in age, watched in agony as his wife, a copper-haired woman of similar age, hugged their daughter tightly. He saw her staring up at him over the bony edge of the woman's shoulder, and it hurt too much to stare.

Wide eyes, bright as twin stars, stared up at him as if he was her whole world. And she had no clue that he was casting her away.

“S-She’ll be in better hands here,” the man added feebly. “They have money in this part of town! She’ll have a better life than we could ever give her. You know that. We owe her that.”

The woman fired a glare at the man at the mention of the word ‘owe’. As if an infant owed anyone anything.

"I still can't, Emeryk,” she hissed through tears. “It’s not fair!"

He paused, hand settling on his hips. His head hung suspended in a slight swing between his shoulders, his brow furrowed.

“We … can’t support three children,” he finally reminded her. “The boys are home. Crying. Waiting for us.”

“I…I could…”

“We have tried, Myrna. Let her go. Someone here can give her the life we can’t.”

Her sob was strident enough to send a nearby rat scampering from its post as the garbage pile. The man checked around them frantically to make sure the sound hadn't drawn the attention of any humans. It was the dead of night, but New Yorkers had a pesky tendency to be light sleepers, even after long hours of toiling.

"Myrna, please," Emeryk beseeched, his agitation causing his words to slur into a hiss, accentuated by his Polish accent.

She swallowed another cry. "S-She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to not have a mama.”

"These people will give her a new one,” he replied, gesturing up to a large engraving above the doorwaythat read, Albany Center for Children.

“It’s not the same!”

“It must be, kochanie. We have no options left.”

Myrna was still; a silent admission that her husband was horribly correct. With another steadying breath, she placed a tender kiss on the little girl’s head. “Oh, my angel…please. Whether you forget this day or hate us forever…please know that we love you.”

The word ‘love’ made the girl smile. She nodded, and Myrna’s heart nearly shattered.

“Myrna.”

“We loved you so much, słońce.. As hard as we could and knew how to.”

After a final squeeze, hugging the girl as tight as she could without pressing her into her heart, the woman gently nudged the girl out of her arms. “Be happy in your new life, my love.”

In a shaky voice, she then pointed to the stoop of the orphanage. The wide step was cradled by iron fencing and littered with leaves from a swaying English elm. "S-Sit."

The redhead girl stared at the space for a moment before obeying. She waddled to the step, and after a moment of struggle to pull herself on the second step, rolled over on her bum and sat up as primly as she could on the steps of the orphanage. All the while, she stared at her mom with wide, cornflower blue eyes. She was barely a toddler, but old enough to see the distress on her mother's face and feel it through her frantic movements.

The little soul could sense and see something was terribly wrong, but was powerless to ask what was amiss, let alone do anything. “M-Mama? Sit. I sit.”

"Good job, angel," Myrna said, scrubbing her red eyes with the frayed hem of her shawl. The threads were so worn and caked in grime that they felt like straw on the sensitive skin.

Upon feeling the chilled cement on the backs of her legs, the little girl let out a whine of discomfort. She rocked in place, her brow furrowing.

"Cold, mama."

"I know. I’m sorry."

"C-Cold..." the girl repeated, shivering as a strong wind tugged at her threadbare onesie, which was taut and ripped at the elbows and knees. She pulled her chubby legs close, rubbing her bare feet together like a cricket in an instinctual gesture to try and warm up.

As the breeze passed, the child reached her arms out, seeking comfort and warmth from her mother. He fingers splayed frantically as she rocked in place, as if trying to will them closer to her.

Myrna’s expression crumbled as she turned away. “No.”

Checking over his shoulder again, Emeryk squeezed his wife's shoulder before looking down upon his daughter. “We have to go, little one. Goodbye.”

She kicked her feet in excitement, ready to get out of the cold. "D-Da..."

"No," he repeated with a heavy sway of his shaved head.

"No?" The girl didn't understand, her expression only growing more confused with each moment. She flicked her head to her mother, only to see her cowering against the form of the other adult.

The little girl started to push herself off the step to go to her guardians, the only two people in the world she knew. When she’d barely teetered forward, the man pointed a finger at her.

“Stay.” His tone was hard as granite, and unlike before, he did not stutter.

The girl waddled forward another inch, not understanding the word. Moonlight caught the fury in the man’s eyes at the perfect moment, his gaze startling her like sparks from a spitting fire.

“Sit down, and don’t move!”

His voice rose to a dangerous growl, and the young girl bristled in fear. Reassuming her stop on the stoop, she lowered her head and blinked back tears.

So, without any other order or hope, the little girl sat back down on the stoop.

After one last check to make sure nobody was watching the couple and waiting to confront them, they joined hands and started to run. They bolted down the road together, their fingers twined and eyes ahead, even as tears clouded their vision to near uselessness. The two adults were spry, and in a blink of an eye, they had vanished like nymphs in a shadowy glade.

All that was left in their wake was the silence of the city.

After waiting a few moments, the child peeked down the road. A sense of alarm from not seeing her parents took over, and despite her orders, she clumsily slipped off the stoop and tried to run after them. However, her small legs stood no chance of carrying her within hope’s reach of her parents. Almost instantly, she tripped and crumpled on the pavement, skinning her knees. She whimpered, laying in the road for a moment before pushing herself upright.

In the cold and dark, she returned to the steps of the orphanage, waiting for parents that would never come back to get her.

She waited.

And waited.

Even when she heard voices up the street or saw a light flicker on in a nearby window, she didn’t call for help, for none of the voices or shadows belonged to her parents. The girl was too terrified to try, fearing that something would distract her at the exact precious moment that her parents would come back to get her.

She kept waiting, all through the cold night.

That following morning, when one of the center’s groundskeepers emerged from his basement-level apartment to start the day, he saw the red-headed girl curled up like a kitten on the doorstep.

Fearing the worst, he threw his jacket over her and furiously knocked on the main door.

When the live-in staff did answer and saw the girl balled in his arms, they were shocked. Nobody had heard a sound or a cry all night, and the realization that she’d survived an entire night alone on the streets of New York sent them reeling with shock.

“Do you think she’s lost?” one staff member asked. The others swung their heads, skulls heavy like solemn, weighted pendulums. Children that arrived on their doorstep were never there by accident, after all.

“They couldn’t even bother to ring the bell?” one social worker asked another as they mounted the stairs to the W.C. “They have to know people live here!”

“Probably terrified of getting tossed in the bin if they got caught.”

“Cowards.”

“Hush! We don’t pass judgement. We can only hope they made this … decision with a heavy heart.”

“Hope. I suppose so.”

The redhead was immediately brought inside and doted upon in every way possible. The girl was changed, bathed, and given clean clothes. They then gave her porridge, which she ate in silence while a doctor gave her a physical. Upon seeing her knees, he took care to clean the wounds and patch them up. The girl remained catatonic despite the kind and insistent prodding, even when bribed with stuffed animals or candy for any information. The entire time, she didn’t so much as mutter a word.

Meanwhile, staff spent their early morning hours sending correspondence to every member of their board to alert them of the emergency take-in. After all, the center wasn’t exactly swimming in funds. They couldn’t turn away a child, but in the same breath, they had to be transparent with their sponsors and fundraisers about the use of their funds. Lots of care would need to be paid for, and the center was already bursting with children in need of foster homes, or permanent homes.

However, one particular member of the board told them to tally the charges, then charge them to her name.

“I’ll bring my bank book,” the woman wired in return. Then, the line went dead.

Fifteen minutes later, Theresea DoGoode strutted into the children’s center.

Entering in a flurry of fur and floral perfume, the woman removed her pillbox hand and stole. After smoothing her belted dress, she entered the foyer of the building that she and her husband had contributed a small fortune to build and support.

As a result, she was greeted with enthusiastic salutations and many thankful praises and comments from the staff. While obviously thankful, she brushed them off with poise and grace. After all, today was not a day that she had made a trip from Manhattan to speak to the center’s crew.

“Here,” she said, handing the lead social worker a small piece of paper. “A blank check, already signed and authorized. Write the amount I need to pay on it, and feel free to cash it now.”

She then made a beeline to the in-house physician’s office, her heels clicking with the rhythm of a heartbeat.

When she rounded the corner, she saw her.

A small, redheaded two-year-old, sitting opposite a doctor. The doctor looked stressed and forlorn at his lack of progress with the mute child, but Theresea absorbed none of it. Instead, she walked forward and beamed a gentle smile.

She kneeled down softly, careful to make no sudden movements.

“Hello.”

The little girl said nothing. She kept her blue eyes averted, staring at the wall.

Theresea, ever patient, lowered her body further. Sitting cross-legged allowed the child to have a slight advantage in height over her, which was mostly attributed to the chair. It wasn’t made for a child so small.

“What’s your name, love?”

“She won’t talk, this one.” The little girl had looked up, but the strident baritone of the doctor had startled her back into silence. “If she had a name, she may not remember it.”

Holding back a groan, Theresea kept her tone airy and easy. “Well, every little girl deserves a name. Do you know yours, angel?”

‘Angel,’ The girl’s eyes welled up at the familiar word. A word she knew was for her, but spoken by the lips of a stranger. “M-Ma…”

Tears had barely begun to fall before Theresea leaned in and hugged the child. The little girl crumbled into Theresea’s embrace, crying audibly as her fists gently pounded the woman’s shoulders. It wasn’t a gesture of aggravation, but rather, the only way the girl could think of siphoning out the horrible dread that she didn’t have a name for yet.

Theresea lifted her off the chair and into her lap, cooing as the little girl clung to her like an infant cloth.

The doctor was stunned at the sight, and even more stunned when Theresea turned and regarded him with an unyielding stare.

“I’ll stay with her while you finish the check-up,” she said, “Once she has a clean bill of health, I’d like to submit a form.”

“A…payment form?”

“An adoption form.”

Arthur DoGoode was a truly, truly happy man.

Despite hardships in life that had made him frail and delicate than most other adults, he had surpassed them all and amassed quantifiable success that could be measured by both his bank balance, and his social standing. He'd had the privilege of being able to work hard and cultivate a career as a prestigious property owner and investor in New York. Through those ventures, he'd met an aspiring philanthropist traveling from Morocco to New York, looking to make a difference. They shared a passion to help others and change the city for the better. Their shared passion culminated into a blissful marriage.

To him, it felt almost lucrative to have such a wonderful life. What had he done to deserve such grace?

Then, one day, an unfortunate situation turned into yet another blessing.

An abandoned two-year-old left was overnight on the doorstep of a New York orphanage. Staff had sent for his wife, and she'd made the trip while Arthur stayed back to tend to the real estate business affairs and make the meetings he'd scheduled. The entire time, the minutes ticked by more slowly than sap from a tapper.

Two hours later, Theresea came back through the door of their Manhattan abode with a swaddled, red-headed babe in her arms.

That day, a tepid April 30 in New York, at just before 9 a.m., Arthur DoGoode became a father to a voiceless daughter.

An entire year had passed since that fateful day.

"Papa!"

At that moment, on a cue uncannily parallel with his wandering imagination, said daughter manifested in the doorway. A copper-haired girl with bouncy pigtails bounded into the Manhattan breakfast nook. Her dress was trimmed in pounds of lace, and the layers shook like the pelt of a dog shaking itself off after coming in from a deluge.

Seeing her father seated at the table, she used all her strength to jump up onto the wooden chair next to her father's seat.

She jumped, then faltered, and her polished Mary Janes lick-clacked against the tiled floor.

"I-I can do it," she said, tiny fingers holding onto the wooden arm with all her might. "I can do it!"

He nodded.

"K-Keep watching, I can do it!"

He nodded again, further encouraging her while simultaneously restraining himself from reaching over to help her, even when she struggled.

When the three-year-old did pull herself upright finally, she raised her arms in victory, and he clapped as if he'd just watched a running cross the first-place marker at a marathon.

‘Well done!’ he mouthed out, beaming ear to ear.

Arthur never spoke much. Or, more accurately, he couldn't. He was a frail man; a delicate soul since birth. It hurt his lungs and throat to speak, and the pain was only heightened by a lurking dysphonia that made breathing some days difficult as trying to manually fill a hot air balloon with just his lungs. So, he conveyed his emotions with expressions and hand gestures.

To Constance, her father's lack of speech wasn't an absence of any communication, for there was never a statement between them that went misunderstood.

The same could be said for Arthur and his wife, Theresea. The love of his life, and the one who had brought their daughter home. For that, and many other things, he’d be forever thankful.

"Well, well, look at this!"

Dressed in a navy jumper and white skirt, Theresea entered their kitchenette with a wide grin, hands balanced upon her hips.

Unbeknownst to both Arthur and Constance, Theresea had watched the toddler's monumental feat from behind the arched doorway leading into the spacious kitchen.

"I say,” she started with a cheeky lilt, “Did you pull yourself up all by yourself, my girl?"

The girl nodded proudly.

"Well, you are a clever young girl, aren't you?" the mother inquired with a teasing tilt of the head. She reached down and tousled her bangs playfully, then placed a painted kiss atop her crown. Theresea always wore dark plum or deep, mahogany-tinted lip paints. Yet, by magic Arthur couldn't fathom, Constance never had so much as a trace of a lipstick mark on her forehead after kisses.

“Well, well, what are you two schemers up to so early?” she asked while pulling out a chair to join them. “It’s Saturday, and the sun is barely up! Last I saw you before my bath, you were like a rock.”

Arthur pointed subtlety to the oven. which was on and baking … something. Theresea closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in a sweet aroma that she noticed building in the kitchenette. The smell was one she knew. Vanilla.

“Ah, baking a cake?” she asked, and he nodded.

Arthur then pointed to Connie’s festive dress and done-up hair, his fingers starting at his forehead and spiraling down in loops to convey the shape of her pigtails.

“Yes, she roused me a little earlier than normal,” she said, “So, I brought her into my powder room for a little girl’s pampering session. Hair, clothes, nails, the works!”

She reached over and tickled the young girl through the lacy layers of her dress. The toddler screamed in mirth, her strawberry-seed teeth bared in a full grin. Not for the further time that day, Arthur’s heart sang with joy. “After all, today is a very special day!”

Constance paused her laughter to stare at her parents in intrigue. Her cornflower eyes bounced between them as they took turns humming and making dramatic ‘pondering’ gestures. Even a audience member in the back seats the Globe Theatre – if it still stood today – would have rolled their eyes at the over-dramatic display, but Constance was enthralled.

“What?” she asked, bouncing up and down on her chair. “What? What day? Spe-thial?”

Then, in unison, both parents gasped in mock-shock.

“Why, it’s your birthday!” the parents expressed in tandem.

Theresea cheered while Arthur went to check the delicious cake in the oven, hearing the timer ping just moments before.

“Birf-day?” the girl repeated as Theresea kissed her chubby cheeks.

“That’s right. It’s the very special day when you came into our lives and made us very happy.”

Connie’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, which quickly shifted into a sheepish grin. Her fingers steepled in front of her face and she rocked from foot to foot. In her large dress, she looked like a tipsy snowball. “I did? I made mama and papa happy? For real life?”

“You did.” She reached out and folded her tiny hands into her own. “You do, my love. Every day.”

Arthur lightly spread a layer of premade glaze over the surface of the round cake. Then, he sifted a blanket of powdered sugar and cinnamon on top of the perfect, circular surface. After sticking on a paper topper, which was cut into a kaleidoscope of swirls and flourishes, he scooped it up proudly.

With a skillful pirouette, he turned and placed it before the young girl. Upon seeing the vanilla cake, her face lit up. It was her favorite kind, even down to the dusting of cinnamon. How had her father known? She loved everything he baked, after all.

Arthur smiled as he gently placed a candle in the middle of the topper. Then, with a hand as steady as a surgeon, he struck a match and lit it.

“Now,” the woman said, nudging her forward, holding onto her side to prevent her from drifting too close to the frame. “Blow out the candle and make a wish.”

She thought hard. What was her wish? There wasn’t much she wanted, she supposed. He lived in a very pretty house, had a really nice bedroom with a real mattress, warm clothes (although they were sometimes itchy) and she had the best parents in the whole wide world. Her beautiful mama and handsome father; the two people she loved more than anyone.

That, she realized, was the part she loved most.

With a mighty inhale, she blew as hard as she could, dashing the flame out swiftly. As her parents clapped, she settled between them contently. She held the wish in her heart, content with the warm buzz it generated there.

Please … stay my mama and papa forever and ever.

#oc constance dogoode #lore

[rockingrobin69]

Pack

1.4k (gasp) for dear anon, AU full of - family, friends to lovers, and of course pining

It was cute when they were in school, the whole rivalry thing. Draco’s “I got an E in potions” versus Harry’s “my mum sends the best parcels”, Draco’s “Padfoot let me ride his bike” to Harry’s “I’m still faster on a broom”. It was fine. Fun, even, rolling around the Gryffindor common room, teasing and screaming and laughing, endless nights of sneaking around and annoying the shit out of everyone.

(Draco told him once, hiding underneath a desk in an abandoned classroom, waiting for Filch to leave the library. How his Father always said he’s meant to be in Slytherin. Father, with that look in his eyes, detesting and sneering and a little hungry. But then he got Moony and Padfoot, and can you imagine the look on Pads’s face if he got sorted there? Mental. Besides, who would want to anyway. It was better to be here with Harry, making sure his stupidity didn’t get him killed.)

It was still a little cute after graduation, when Harry came to stay with them for three months. Draco’s “I know the best restaurants” to Harry’s “I made your favourite pasta”, Harry’s “early registration” to Draco’s “already have a job”. Moony and Padfoot let them do whatever, almost, treated them like adults, in a way Harry’s parents never really would. Although Sirius got so angry one morning, when Draco came back from a night shift he wasn’t meant to do. He hasn’t told anyone about it, and Pads was worried about him, wanker. Draco had tears in his eyes when he shouted back, about back off and shut up and this isn’t even, a lot of “you don’t understand”s that Remus actually laughed at.

(Harry never had shouting matches like that with his parents. His mum would usually storm off to cool down, and his dad never raised his voice. But Draco and Padfoot made up before breakfast was finished, frowning around their toast and glaring at Moony, who was still laughing, and it was okay. Then at the end of summer when Draco handed them the envelope with all the money he’s saved—“I just wanted—to give you something back—” Harry was glad he’d be leaving soon, because it was terrifying, watching Remus and Sirius cry so fucking much).

It was less fun during Uni, because Draco never went, and Harry had no one to compete with. Draco got a better job than his crappy summer one, and Moony got him his own bike, which was really unfair. Harry’s shitty old car used to be his gran’s and it didn’t go thirteen miles without falling apart. Whatever. They met every break, sometimes during the semester too. Often as they could travel. But it wasn’t the same, because their lives were so different now. “Submitted my essay on the very last minute” didn’t really compare with “getting an actual office here!”. And Draco looked so grown up in his black jacket and that annoying new eyeliner-habit, so good and—far away, and it hurt, a bit. To not be a part of it all. Of his life.

(He went to see Father, he said, a rare three AM phone call the night before Harry’s organic chem exam. In prison. He went to visit him, mostly because—well, he didn’t really know why. And it was awful. Which Harry was a little happy about, because he always hated the man, and it was easier, he imagined, not to be so torn up. But Draco sounded so sad. Heart-breakingly so. There were lots  of pauses on the phone, like Draco was smoking fifteen cigarettes one after the other. “Anyway,” he said in the end, sighed again. “Don’t tell Pads or Moony. They’ll break that man’s face, and I can’t have my real dads in prison, right?”)

It got infinitely better when Harry moved to the city in work placement. Draco got his own flat—a horrible, dingy little place he was endlessly proud of, and Sirius and Remus came by every weekend. Harry loved it and hated it and decided he was moving in too, to which Draco laughed and said, I already have a room for you. Supposing he won that round.

(it was messy, and gross, and wonderful. They found the best-worst pubs in the neighbourhood and became friends with the old queer couple the floor above. A lot of things became—clearer, and more confusing, and his mum almost got a stroke when she came to visit the first time, and dad and Sirius warded the entire place like it was a national security issue. It was amazing, and Harry was a little bit in love. Oops.)

It got worse again, because being in love (oops) meant Harry lost every single argument, seeing as he couldn’t think straight anymore. He forgot to tell Draco about his big findings because the bastard wore the tightest trousers. Draco’s ‘hilarious’ stories about his ‘hilarious’ ‘’handsome’’ (!) colleague made Harry green with nausea, which meant he couldn’t form any good rebuttals with his co-researchers. It was a disaster, and Harry hated losing, and losing to Draco all the more—then Draco got that promotion offer in Italy, and—it was getting worse and worse by the minute, because he was actually thinking of going—

(“I have to be my own man,” he said, with that face he makes when he’s hurt, like Harry’s betrayed him. “I need to find—it’s not that easy, not like it is for you, it has nothing to do with—” and Harry didn’t know how to ask him not to leave, how to make him understand he’ll be taking Harry’s heart with him too, how to keep Draco from doing what might be the best thing for him. So he only nodded and said, “You should go.” And Draco turned around, still shaking, and left.)

Then it was the worst, because Draco was in fucking Italy, and the flat was so empty it made him sick. His mum and dad came over, and when it wasn’t enough they brought Moony and Padfoot too, so his whole family was there, and they had nothing to tell him. Harry hated his job, hated his life, hated everything and everyone—and no, even if it wasn’t true, it felt like it, because Draco wasn’t there. Sirius patted his arm, and mum hugged him so tight, and Moony sighed, but dad was the brightest, because he said, “Why don’t you go too?”

(It took three Floo calls, a month of preparation, and five job interviews. Dad bought him a new suit, mum rewrote his resume, and with some of Pads and Moony’s contacts, they got him this magical-researcher position in Verona. Booked the portkey and everything, and didn’t tell Draco he was coming. And then, suddenly, they were all coming: always wanted to see Italy, apparently, and hey, they missed Draco too, he was basically all of theirs son, and—butt off, mum—didn’t help. They all got tickets on the same key, and ambushed Draco outside his new, fucking-gorgeous building.

He came down the street around half five, laughing with this handsome Italian bloke, and Harry wanted to die. But then he saw them all and stopped still in his tracks. Blinked and blinked for an impossibly long time. Tilted his head, blinked again, then said, out loud, “What the actual fuck?”

The others waited, thank god. Harry ran forward, so nervous he was choking, and said, without a single thought in his head, “I missed you so much. You’re so fucking beautiful, I missed you, who’s this guy, I missed you I missed you I—”

Draco smiled, that lopsided thing with the eyeroll and said, “I missed you too, but why did you have to bring my parents?”

And then he kissed him, and Harry felt like he’s floating, like fireworks went off—no, it was just the others, cheering like bloody idiots. Harry’s grin was so wide it hurt.

“I know the best ice cream place in town,” Draco whispered, conspiratorial, still smiling. “Fabio’s wife owns it, right around the corner. Want to go, catch up a bit? Just the two of us? Before we… with everyone else? I just. I really missed you.”

And maybe it wasn’t a competition, not exactly, but Harry still felt like he won.)

It got even better after that. Pretty-fucking-great, actually.

#drarry #1.4 k #prompt #wolfstar raising Draco #Jily raising Harry #is that the ship name even #friends to lovers #draco in gryffindor #AU AU AU #pining #family #it's a whole pack of em #Italy and soft rivalry and childhoods entwined with each other and #rockingrobin69 #hello yes i am here

[himehikoshrine]

Oh, Rama Havenna Stage Script (EN)

This is the full Stage Script from the game menu for Oh, Rama Havenna (occasional typos and all, though I tried not to add any that weren't already there, but no promises).

Another verse, much like the first, I've gotten through Oh, Rama Havenna with a few weeks to spare. You can read Mary Jane here [x]. Some notes - the formatting is a bit different on this one. I've gone without the constant quotation marks, and tumblr let me do different things with line breaks.

There are some things in this script that are not in the game version - in-game, parts of the script are elided in favor of summary.

The Stage Scripts don't include any character ad-libs from the in-game performance, though. Of course, you can access it from the game menu, if you've got it, but this version is searchable! The play is a touch under 700 lines long, and is thus behind the cut. I have a version saved elsewhere if you'd like an easier way to save it, feel free to ask.

Oh, Rama Havenna

By Neji Kokuto

(1) Singing Havenna

◆Havenna Lakeshore

Father:   …

A boat docks.

Father:   A boat.

Father:   You in the boat, stop in the name of the Lord.

Chicchi:   …

Father:   This is Havenna. A town of decadence and pleasure.

Father:   Step ashore, and you will never be able to return to the other side.

Father:   Do you desire gold? Or fame? Succeed, and the town will be yours for the taking. Fail, and you will become a mugwort seller in a back alley.

Father:   Young woman, clean and pure. Will you still enter Havenna?

Chicchi:   Yes.

Chicchi:   I have no intention of returning to the other shore, Father.

Father:   I see.

Father:   Then dance until you collapse.

Father:   Oh, Rama Havenna.

◆Singing Pub

★Song “Oh, Rama Havenna, Oh Beloved Havenna”

Man A:   Oh, Rama Havenna! Indulgence is sweet and nothing to be ashamed of!

Man B:   Oh, Rama Havenna! Just give into your desires!

Rukiora enters with a flourish.

Rukiora:   Oh, Rama Havenna! As warm as a baby’s first bath. Oh, Rama Havenna! As gentle as a rocking cradle.

Man A:   Love the setting sun. A trash bin can take the place of a hotel!

Man B:   Aimless pleasure. A place for the lazy!

Rukiora:   Melt down to your bones and forget it all in Havenna. Let the lovely food and drink sing to your core in Havenna.

Rukiora:   Oh, Rama Havenna! Oh, Rama Havenna!

Customer A:   Rukiora, Havenna’s singing princess.

Customer B:   I want to be ripped apart by those beautiful arms of hers!

Customer A:   Hey, cut that out. Just imagining that will get you kicked out of here. She is well known for being a fine woman.

Customer B:   That’s even better!

Chicchi quietly appears

Chicchi:   …

Rukiora:   Oh, Rama Havenna! …That’s all for my singing. Thank you very much. Have a good night.

Applause

Customer A:   Oh rama! Oh rama! Secanda!

Customer B:   Give us more! Secanda, secanda!

Rukiora:   Haha, how many times are they going to make me sing… Ah.

Chicchi:   …

Rukiora:   I’ll sing one more song. Only because a friend is here today.

◆Town Streets

Rukiora:   Chicchi! You came.

Chicchi:   Rukiora. You sang beautifully today, too. Your guests were so delighted.

Rukiora:   Thank you for the praise… However, haah, I’m unhappy.

Chicchi:   Unhappy?

Rukiora:   With the song itself! Those lyrics are just atrocious!

Rukiora:   'Oh, Rama Havenna, we are a bunch of sloths', 'Oh, Rama Havenna, even so, our life is great!

Rukiora:   Ugh, I hate it. The guests at the club are just excusing how pathetic they are with these lyrics.

Rukiora:   They're filling the singing club with their muggy stench.

Rukiora:   If my nose weren’t so stuffy, I’d have thrown up from such a horrid stench. I’m so glad it is!

Rukiora:   Though I want it fixed because it’s difficult to sing.

Rukiora:   …But what I detest even more is the fact I’m making money by interacting with them.

Rukiora:   My living is dependent on them!

Rukiora:   Aagh, I just hate it.

Chicchi:   I think anyone’s amazing who works hard at what they do. I love your singing, Rukiora.

Rukiora:   Chicchi! My friend I love so much! You’re my one and only solace here in Havenna.

Chicchi:   Heh heh…

The two of them hug.

A little distance away, a dirtied man address a charming woman.

Dirty Man:   … I can’t sleep. Can you sell me some mugwort?

Suspicious Woman:   Yes, I just got some good mugwort in.

Rukiora:   …Look, Chicchi. A mugwort seller. The most indecent and immodest women in all of Havenna.

Rukiora:   The smell of mugwort will get all over you if you get near them. What a revolting smell.

Chicchi:   Right. Let’s walk far away from it…

The two of them walk away from the mugwort seller.

Girl:   Waait!

Rukiora:   What now?!

Fugio:   Ah, I’m in trouble…!

Rukiora:   Someone’s being chased by that crowd of women…! They’re coming this way.

Chicchi:   That’s…

Woman:   Wait! Waiiit!

Fugio:   I’m going to get caught at this rate…!

Chicchi:   This way. Come hide in the shadows.

Fugio:   Huh? You’re…!

Rukiora:   Chicchi?!

Girl:   Hey, let me shake your hand! Hug me! Come talk to us!

Sound of footsteps run past.

Rukiora:   …Looks like they’re gone.

Fugio:   Thanks, you saved me!

Rukiora:   …Are you Fugio, perhaps?

Fugio:   Oh, you know my name.

Rukiora:   You’re the princeps of the Agua Club… The most famous celebrity around! There isn’t a woman in Havenna who doesn’t know you! Right, Chicchi?

Chicchi:   R-Right…

Fugio:   Haha, thanks. You two really saved me. Come see my show if you’re free. I’ll prepare some VIP seats for you.

Rukiora:   Really? For both of us?

Fugio:   Of course! All right, bye then, Chickachina

Chicchi:   …!

Rukiora:   ‘Chickachina’?

Fugio:   Oh, that’s just a way of saying goodbye that’s making the rounds at the club! It could be old news by tomorrow. 

Rukiora:   I see. Chickachina!

Fugio leaves.

Rukiora:   Oh, he’s so cool. Fugio, the finest treasure of Havenna. I never imagined running into him here.

Rukiora:   They say not even thieves can get their hands on tickets to his shows. Could this be a reward for trying to live a clean life?

Rukiora:   Well, looks like our next meeting will be at the Agua Club! Bye-bye, Chicchi!

Chicchi:   Bye-bye, Rukiora.

Chicchi:   …

A man comes closer as Rukiora leaves.

Jire:   …Chicchi. I see you went to meet Rukiora.

Chicchi:   Jire… That’s because she’s my one and only female friend in Havenna.

Jire:   …Is that all right? She’s famous for being so clean that she won’t even eat a rat.

Chicchi:   Even I won’t eat a rat. Except for the kebabs on Tigris Street.

Jire:   The kebabs there are fantastic, huh?! They say there’s a secret in the spices.

Jire:   Er, no, I didn’t come here to talk about that.

Jire:   …It’s almost time for your shift at Pontartia. Domina said to come to your room an hour before.

Chicchi:   I was just a bit late from running into a guest. I always make sure to do my work.

Jire:   I’ve heard as much from Domina… More times than I’d like.

Jire:   All right, let’s go. Time for ‘Chicchi’ to become ‘Chickachina’.

(2) Bright Havenna

◆Back Alley

Sounds of murmurs

Girls advertising their store and men looking around.

Mugwort Vendor A:   Hey mister, need some mugwort?

Mugwort Vender B:   Our’s is much better than that shop… Hm? Oh my, it’s the priest.

Father:   …

Mugwort Vendor A:   He sure is faithful, proselytizing in a town like this. But we’re sick of those sermons!

Mugwort Vender B:   Our customers are going to run away, fearing God’s wrath. Go on, get out of here!

Father:   This place is once again gloomy with the smell of mugwort…

◆Pontartia - Chicchi’s Room

Jire:   Chickachina, your next guest is here.

Fugio:   Hey, nice to see you again!

Chicchi:   Please don’t call me by my work name outside the shop.

Fugio:   Sorry, Chickachina… Er, Chicchi. I was just so happy since I never thought I’d see you around town.

Fugio:   Shouldn’t you be the one who should be more careful?

Chicchi:   What do you mean?

Fugio:   You could have just ignored me like you do your other customers.

Fugio:   You’re hiding it, right? The fact that you’re a mugwort seller.

Chicchi:   This conversation is absurd. As absurd as someone like you coming to a shop like this to buy mugwort.

Fugio:   It’s really tiring to be the princeps. The eyes of the public are on me, so I can’t ruin my image.

Fugio:   You understand, right Chicchi?

Chicchi:   I’m going to light some mugwort. Set the money down. You can call me by my alias here.

Fugio:   Haha, sorry. You keep a lot of secrets, Chickachina. Ah, what a nice smell.

Chicchi:   Hey, take off your coat.

Fugio:   Right.

Chicchi:   You like having my arm around you, don’t you?

Fugio:   Yeah… So hurry, wrap it around my neck already…

Chicchi:   All right, then… Hmph!”

Chicchi wraps her arm around Fugio’s neck from behind, choking him.

Fugio:   Rrgh…!

Fugio falls unconscious without any resistance. 

Sound of a thud on the bed.

Fade out.

Fugio:   …I think I’m sick.

Chicchi:   Yeah. Did you sleep well?

Fugio:   Really, I wonder what kind of person first thought up of a business like this?

Chicchi:   I’m sure anyone would think up a business to make men who can’t go to sleep fall unconscious. Someone from this town, at least.

Fugio:   Havenna’s full of guys who can’t sleep, after all… Can I stay by your side a while longer?

Chicchi:   Yes, I’m your Chickachina until morning.

Fugio:   Seriously, I hate the sun for that.

Fugio:   Someday, I want to take you away from Havenna. I wonder how I can have you all to myself.

Chicchi:   There’s nothing outside of Havenna, Fugio.

Fugio:   Haha, you speak as though you’ve seen it for yourself. Outside Havenna is overflowing with dreams and hopes bigger than here. 

Fugio:   Someday, I’ll get out of Havenna… with you.

◆Pontartia

Chicchi:   I smell like mugwort all over… 

Chicchi:   I’ll be taking a shower. I don’t know when Rukiora’s stuffy nose will get better.

Jire:   I’m sure it’ll be fine if she’s seeing the same doctor. That guy’s a quack, after all.

Chicchi:   With any luck, he’ll hit his head and get some sense knocked into him.

Chicchi:   If her nose gets better, she might notice even the faintest scent of mugwort.

Chicchi:   If that happens, it’s not just my job that’s in trouble.

Jire:   Pontartia’s earnings would plummet instantly. All your customers are the good ones, after all.

Jire:   Even that Fugio’s all over you. My ear gets itchy every time I hear his pickup lines.

Chicchi:   He’s popular in Havenna. There’s no way he’d actually fall for a mugwort seller.

A man and woman in gaudy clothing approach them as they talk.

They are Facchio and Domina, the owner of the shop and his lover.

Facchio:   Chickachina!

Jire:   Its Facchio. Pontartia’s owner and the millionaire of Havenna. If he’s here, that means…

Domina:   The smell of mugwort is so strong here. I’m sure you’re not wasting any of it, are you?

Jire:   Domina… The madam of Pontartia and Facchio’s lover…

Chicchi:   Good evening.

Facchio:   Did that prince boy come by again?

Chicchi:   Not ‘prince boy’. The princeps Facchio.

Facchio:   Prince, princeps, whatever. The fact that such a popular boy is mad about you is what’s important. 

Domina:   So, how much did we earn from him? Ah, here it is.

Chicchi:   Ah.

Domina:   A bit low for the star of the Agua club. He could be more generous with the tip.

Domina:   Subtracting the rent for the room, equipment expenses, other miscellaneous fees… Here’s your share.

Chicchi:   …This is it?

Domina:   What’s that I hear?

Domina:   Who was the one who plucked you off a dirty street corner stinking of matrik into a fine mugwort seller?

Chicchi:   You, Madam Domina.

Domina:   I thought so.

Domina:   The one who taught you how much pressure to apply to block one’s airway, how to charm the beastly men of havenna and send them into heaven was me, right?

Domina:   I can be real scary if you mouth off to me.

Facchio:   Come now, my little butterfly. The reason you’re upset is proof that Chickachina sees herself as worth more. Let’s give her a little bonus later. 

Domina:   Facchio, I’m going to get jealous if you keep treating Chickachina so well. Enough to kill her!

Facchio:   You’re flapping wings are the most beautiful, my butterfly.

Domina:   Hee-hee

Jire:   Um, can we leave now?

Domina:   Oh, Jire, you’re still here. Get out already.

Facchio:   Later, Chickachina.

The two of them leave Facchio and Domina.

Jire:   That Domina. She took all that after you worked so hard, Chicchi. I’m going to complain about it later.

Chicchi:   There’s no helping it. Those two were the ones who took me in.

Jire:   Domina’s jealous of you, Chicchi, because you’re so young and beautiful.

Chicchi:   Domina’s beautiful, too. Even though she’s not young.

Jire:   Chicchi. What’s so worth gaining here in Havenna that you would go this far?

Chicchi:   Jire, Havenna is the town of desire and pleasure. I am a woman of Havenna, too.

Jire:   I don’t understand, Chicchi. I can’t imagine this kind of work being fulfilling for you.

◆The Edge of Town

Facchio and Domina enter a church confessional. The priest listens to them from the other side.

Facchio:   Father! Oh, Father! I have sinned!

Domina:   Please hear Facchio’s confession! And please here mine as well!

Father:   Go on.

Facchio:   Pontartia has been prosperous here in Havenna. 

Facchio:   Eventually, we will cross the river and expand Pontartia to a hundred locations.

Facchio:   Please, God! Forgive my arrogance and ambition, and protect me from those jealous of my genius!

Domina:   And I will follow this man, whose pockets overflow with profit.

Domina:   Please allow me to support him in a way his wife is unable to.

Domina:   …And please punish that arrogant little Chickachina.

Facchio:   Father, what is it that we must do?

Father:   God is always watching over us, each day and each night.

Father:   He loves us in all our greed, arrogance, jealousy, and envy. Be thankful for the love from our magnanimous God.

Father:   You must dance.

Facchio & Domina:   Aah!

★Dance “Intense confessions at the confessional”

(3) Swaying Havenna

◆Agua Club

Fugio’s performance is a cheerful, empty song.

Fugio:   The future is a hope without a dream. Let me see your dazzling smile tomorrow! I am your princeps!

Fugio:   Shining tears become shooting stars! We can create a love that’s true, if we’re together! I alone am your princeps!

Audience:   Ahhh!

Audience:   Fugio!

Rukiora:   Amazing! I never imagined we could watch the princeps of the Agua Club from such good seats! Let’s dance later! I have to thank God for this!

Chicchi:   I’m happy for you, Rukiora.

Fugio:   Thank you, thank you! Here’s a flower to remember this night by.

Customer A:   Fugio threw a flower!

Customer B:   It’s mine!

Customer A:   No, it’s mine…

Rukiora:   Huh? No way!

Customer:   Aww, no fair!

Customer:   Fugio, one for me, too!

Fugio:   Thank you all! I love you like the stars do!

Rukiora:   Look, Chicchi! I got the flower from Fugio…!

Chicchi:   Well, you’re the cutest one here, Rukiora. I’m happy for you.

Rukiora:   Yeah… I’m so happy…!

◆Yorubeya

Chicchi talks to Miguel, an employee at the club

Miguel:   Rukki, Chicchi. Welcome to the Yorubeya. Hm? You look happy, Rukki.

Rukiora:   Listen to this, Miguel! Fugio tossed a flower to me at the Agua Club!

Rukiora:   Look at this flower! It’s so pretty…!

Miguel:   A man giving a flower to a woman is a meaningful thing. And that man is Fugio, the most popular man in Havenna.

Rukiora:   You’re right, Miguel. What do I do? What if Fugio becomes my lover?

Rukiora:   If I’m with him, I might even be able to leave Havenna and live somewhere far away from here…

Chicchi:   Leave Havenna?

Miguel:   If you do that, I won’t be able to see you or Chicchi anymore. I’d be a bit lonely.

Rukiora:   Miguel! I’ll write to you.

Miguel:   Really? I can see you taking your sweet time in responding.

Chicchi:   Rukiora, if you were to become Fugio’s lover, would you really leave Havenna? 

Rukiora:   Chicchi, the world outside this town is full of things that aren’t just pleasure and desire. 

Rukiora:   Things unimaginable to people like us who have grown up in Havenna!

Chicchi:   What do you think is outside Havenna, Rukiora?

Rukiora:   I don’t know. Probably…everything.

Miguel:   You think? It might just be dandelions and neshiromi fields, you know?

Rukiora:   That would be so boring!

Miguel:   Havenna’s a place with everything. You can get all the riches and privileges you want here. If you have the power, that is.

Miguel:   To me, Havenna’s the most amazing town! There’s no one to criticize you if you spend all your days having fun.

Rukiora:   You really are the embodiment of Havenna, Miguel.

Miguel:   There are girls as cute as you too, Rukki.

Rukiora:   You playboy.

Miguel:   Ahaha, it’s true.

Rukiora:   I want to get out of here as soon as possible. If only Fugio really WOULD take me away…

Chicchi:   But we’ll be apart if you leave Havenna.

Rukiora:   You just need to come with me! Me, you, and Fugio, all three of us will leave.

Miguel:   No fair. You’re only taking Chicchi.

Rukiora:   It’s different with Chicchi, Miguel. We’re special friends.

Chicchi:   …

Chicchi:   …So you want to leave Havenna, Rukiora? You have no desire to stay here?

Chicchi:   Even if I’m with you…?

Rukiora:   Wait, Chicchi. It’s not like I want to leave Havenna right NOW.

Rukiora:   Though if I could leave, I would.

Miguel:   Are you okay being with anyone, so long as they’ll take you away from Havenna?

Rukiora:   Well, of course I’d prefer Fugio. He’s a pure-hearted princeps. This flower must be a sign of things to come.

Rukiora:   I’m sure something will happen before this flower’s fragrance fades. Oh, what a nice smell. If my nose weren’t so stuffy, I bet it’d smell even lovelier. 

Chicchi:   Rukiora, you’ve got pollen on your nose.

Rukiora:   Oh, no! I need to touch up my makeup!

Rukiora leaves her seat.

Sound of her hurrying away.

Miguel:   Rukiora is quite taken with Fugio.

Chicchi:   It’s because he threw her that flower. What is he trying to do, anyway?

Miguel:   You think he could’ve been trying to throw it to you? I mean…

Miguel:   I’m sure you were the cutest one in the audience.

Chicchi:   …That’s why people call you a playboy, Miguel. I don’t eat up sweet talk like that.

Miguel:   You’re my guest today. Shouldn’t I be serving you?

Miguel:   …I can’t sleep. I crave the scent of mugwort.

Chicchi:   Don’t talk about that here. Rukiora will be back soon.

Miguel:   It’s tough, isn’t it? Having to keep lying.

Chicchi:   I’m not lying. I just haven’t told her the truth. 

Miguel:   And you want her to believe a false truth? Why are you so adamant on hiding it?

Chicchi:   When I first started taking customers and Pontartia, Domina always scolded me for failing to knock them out right away.

Chicchi:   … ‘We don’t need someone like you here, you freeloader’.

Chicchi:   I cried as I walked around Havenna, and when I arrived at Pig’s Rear Street, I heard someone singing.

Chicchi:   “‘Oh, Rama Havenna’… I love Havenna so dearly. You can be a good-for-nothing, and that’s all right. Laugh and dance, and you can forget it all…

Chicchi:   I was crying.

Chicchi:   I cried and cried, and couldn’t stop. When the show ended, I still couldn’t move from where I was… 

Chicchi:   Rukiora spoke to me.

Chicchi:   I think she thought of me as a pure-hearted girl who was moved by her singing. When in truth, I’m far from pure.

Chicchi:   But I was happy.

Chicchi:   Rukiora’s the only person who can’t know who I really am. No matter what happens. 

Miguel:   Even if it hurts her in the end?

Chicchi:   Is there anything that would her her more than the truth that her friends sells mugwort?

Miguel:   Don’t glare at me like that. It’s fine. No one knows anything about who you really are. No one in Havenna. Not even me.

Chicchi:   Miguel. You’re different. You’re special. 

Miguel:   Hey, now. Look who’s dishing out the sweet talk now.

Chicchi:   Then, will you be honest and tell Rukiora that you care for her?

Chicchi:   You’re a liar, too. You mix in flippant, nonchalant flirting with your true feelings, then shrug off your sleepless nights with mugwort.

Miguel:   …I give up. You win. You sure are mean today. Are you annoyed that Rukiora’s so obsessed with Fugio?

Chicchi:   Rukiora seemed happy to get a flower from him. That’s why I’m happy, too.

Miguel:   You’re not telling the truth again.

Rukiora comes back.

Rukiora:   Sorry. Where were we?

Chicchi:   We were thinking about how you could stay in Havenna, even if you and Fugio become lovers.

Miguel:   I think Fugio going totally broke at a casino would be most effective.

Rukiora:   Idiot. Fugio leads a proper life, so he wouldn’t go somewhere like a casino.

Chicchi:   …

(4) Noisy Havenna

◆Town Streets

Miguel:   Then, can I get those? The Bakuu cookies. Yeah, thanks.

Rukiora:   …Those cookies are cute.

Miguel:   Rukki! If you had cookies, I would have gone straight to buy them from you.

Rukiora:   I have no such thing.

Rukiora:   Are they for your customers? I think they’re a little too cute to give out at the club. 

Miguel:   They’re for me, I just like them. 

Rukiora:   Oh, you’re so adorable.

Miguel:   Right? I AM adorable!

Rukiora:   Oh, never mind that. Look, the flower Fugio gave me. It’s still alive. Isn’t it amazing?

Miguel:   That’s love for ya.

Rukiora:   It is.

Rukiora:   I’m going to have my nose checked now. I want to be able to enjoy the fragrance while I still can.

Miguel:   I see. I hope your nose gets cleared up soon.

Rukiora:   Yes. Goodbye now.

Sound of her walking away.

Miguel:   …I think tonight’s going to be another sleepless night.

◆Pontartia - Chicchi’s Room

Fugio:   Chickachina, how I’ve missed you. We couldn’t stay and talk for long last time.

Fugio:   First, thank you for coming to my show. My heart was dancing just from seeing you there at the Agua Club. 

Chicchi:   Rukiora was there, too.

Fugio: Oh, right. So, that flower. Did it surprise you?

Chicchi:   Rukiora caught it.

Fugio:   My aim was abysmal. I really wanted you to catch it. I’m sorry!

Chicchi:   I see. She was really happy. She’s a big fan of yours.

Chicchi:   But I don’t want you to play with her feelings. She’s a dear friend to me.

Fugio:   I see. I didn’t mean to do so, but I admit it was wrong of me. I’m sorry.

Fugio:   I’ll throw it next time so that you catch it. No, maybe it’s better if I give it to you directly. 

Chicchi:   Rukiora is enamored with you. You’re all she talks about.

Fugio:   What about you? Talk about me, too.

Fugio:   About how you want to run away from Havenna with me.

Chicchi:   What a ridiculous conversation. 

Fugio:   You always avoid the topic whenever it leads to what’s outside Havenna. 

Fugio:   …Could it be that you have the strongest desire of all to see what’s out there?

Fugio:   Don’t you want to escape this harsh reality? 

Fugio:   Why? Why are you working as a mugwort seller? Debt? Is there something you need?

Fugio:   I can give you what it is you desire. Whatever you want, even a moment to make you forget reality.

Fugio:   So, just quit being a mugwort seller and…

Chicchi:   …Stop already!

Chicchi:   If you’re just going to pity me so much, then just stop buying me!

Chicchi:   What do you even know about me? …Jire! This customer is on his way out. 

Fugio:   Chickachina, calm down, I was out of line.

Jire:   Chickachina, what’s wrong?

Fugio:   It’s nothing. This is between the two of us.

Jire:   And I’m stepping in between the two of you as well.

Fugio:   Aren’t you just Domina’s lackey?

Jire:   What did you say? I’m Chicchi’s ally!

Fugio:   What can you do, with no status, prestige, or money?

Jire:   You’re one to talk! Buying mugwort all the time when you HAVE status, prestige, and money.

Fugio:   What was that?

Jire:   What’s your problem?!

Chicchi:   Stop!

Chicchi:   …It’s fine. I’ll just do my job. I’m a mugwort seller, after all.

Jire:   But, Chickachina…

Chicchi:   I’m sorry, Jire. Leave the room. I don’t want to be seen working. 

Fugio:   And this is time that I purchased. Am I mistaken?

Jire:   …Understood.

Fugio:   Oh, wait.

A clinking sound.

Fugio throws a tip.

Jire:   100 panie…!

Fugio:   It’s a tip. Go get yourself some kebab with that.

◆Pontartia

Jire:   Who’s he kidding with the kebab crap.

Jire:   I don’t need this!

Jire throws the 100 panie. 

Sound of him throwing the coin

Jire:   …Chicchi! Aah, Chickachina! ! I… I…! 

Jire:   The smell of mugwort is seeping into her body…!

Jire:   …

Jire:   …100 panie.

Jire picks up the coin.

Jire:   He has the power to give 100 panie as tip…

Jire:   What I have is…

Jire:   …Chicchi.

◆The Edge of Town

Father:   …Lost little lamb.

Jire:   …

Domina:   Oh, Jire. I didn’t think I’d run into you here. Have you been up to no good?

Jire:   Please don’t lump me in with you. I don’t have any sins to confess.

Jire:   I have something to talk to you about in regards to Chicchi. I’ll ask bluntly. What do you think about her?

Domina:   She’s a pupa who doesn’t know her place. She may grow to be a carbunculus-patterned butterfly.  

Jire:   You’re scared of her, aren’t you?

Jire:   Would you like to make a deal?

Domina:   A deal?

Jire:   Yes.

(5) Aromatic Havenna

◆Singing Pub

Rukiora:   Chicchi, Miguel! You came!

Chicchi:   You were lovely today as well. 

Miguel:   You sang like an angel.

Rukiora:   Hee-hee, thank you.

Rukiora:   Here, look, Fugio’s flower! Two petals fell, but it’s still in bloom!

Miguel:   Perhaps it’s the magic of love.

Chicchi:   It’s not a fake flower, is it?

Rukiora: A fake flower wouldn’t have a scent like this!

Rukiora:   Here, have a sniff. Hnnn, hahh, hnnn, hahh… Huh?

Chicchi:   What is it, Rukiora?

Rukiora:   I smell something displeasing.

Chicchi:   Huh? From Fugio’s flower?

Rukiora:   No. Mugwort.

Chicchi:   …That’s just your imagination isn’t it? Remember, your nose is stuffed.

Rukiora:   I changed doctors. Thanks to that, it’s getting better day by day.

Chicchi:   …!

Rukiora:   I DO smell it. That filthy stench… That dreadful stench. 

Miguel:   Maybe it’s this.

Rukiora:   What… The cookies?

Miguel:   There are all sorts of flavors. These are mugwort.

Rukiora:   What terrible taste you have, Miguel!

Miguel:   I didn’t think your nose would get better… Sorry!

Rukiora:   I’ll forgive you since you were honest.

Rukiora:   Ah, it’s time to give the flower some water. Excuse me for a moment.

Sound of her leaving.

Chicchi:   Thanks, Miguel. 

Miguel:   Never thought she’d change doctors

Miguel:   What are you going to do, Chicchi? If her nose gets completely better, she might notice the smell of mugwort on you.

Chicchi:   I’ll change perfumes. 

Miguel:   …Chicchi. I don’t think you can fool her forever. What about being honest with her?

Chicchi:   …

Miguel:   Or maybe… I’LL be the one who takes Rukiora and runs away from Havenna?

Chicchi:   You’re joking, right?

Miguel:   Yeah, just trying to distract us for a bit.

Chicchi:   Stop. I’m not in the mood for this right now.

Miguel:   Then, want a Bakuu cookie?

Chicchi:   I ate those as a kid. There aren’t any that are mugwort-flavored.

Chicchi:   You like those, Miguel?

Miguel:   I hate them. They’re dry and have no taste. But they remind me of the past.

Chicchi:   Are you eating them to not forget about the past?

Miguel:   That’s about right. You don’t have anything like that for yourself?

Chicchi:   Memories just make me feel empty.

Miguel:   That’s so like you.

◆Pontartia

Chicchi:   …

Jire:   What’s wrong? You don’t look great.

Chicchi:   Rukiora’s stuffed nose is starting to get better.

Jire:   Huh? But that hospital’s supposed to be full of quacks…

Chicchi:   She found another doctor.

Chicchi:   If she finds out the truth…

Jire:   It’ll be okay, Chicchi. God will protect you. 

Chicchi:   God’s been asleep for a long time.

◆ Pig’s Rear Street - Second District

Rukiora:   The flower smells so nice! I’m so glad I changed doctors.

Domina:   You’re in the way.

Rukiora:   Aaah?!

Sound of the two bumping into each other. 

In a hard collision, the flower falls onto the street.

The woman who bumped into her steps on the flower.

Rukiora:   What are you doing! Huh?!

Domina:   Well if it isn’t the moonlight princess of the singing pub.

Rukiora:   I feel sick… Of all people, I had to bump into you…!

Rukiora:   Ah, the flower. My flower…

Domina:   Flower?

Domina:   You mean this filthy trash under my shoe no different from a rat’s carcass?

Rukiora:   Move!!!

Rukiora:   How could you… The flower I got from Fugio!

Domina:   Oh, too bad I’m not sorry.

Rukiora:   Don’t you ‘not sorry’ me! What are you going to do about this?

Domina:   It’s not something to be so down about. Flowers wilt eventually. Humans are the same.

Rukiora:   Quiet! You vermicurmi! You rotten matrik woman!

Domina:   How rude. I am still in my prime.

Domina:   That’s why your father is still so obsessed with me!

Rukiora:   You dreadful mugwort woman…! Shut your filthy pig mouth!

Domina:   And how is that woman doing, tossed aside by her husband?

Rukiora:   Don’t make fun of my mother…! She’s… passed.

Domina:   I see. Facchio made no mention of that at all. 

Rukiora:   I’ve erased any memory of that man reeking of mugwort!

Rukiora:   Ah, I’m going to vomit! I’ll leave you all in this filthy putrid town… With Fugio, my beloved.

Domina:   Fugio? From the Agua Club?

Rukiora:   Yes! The princeps Fugio! One who would never reek of mugwort like you!

Domina:   So what if you found out that Fugio spends his time buying mugwort?

Rukiora:   Huh…?

Rukiora:   …What a joke! Fugio is Havenna’s treasure. He’s my idol!

Domina:   I don’t know if he’s an idol or an idiot, but I’m only telling you the truth.

Domina:   He’s a man stained by Havenna, collapsing every night in the arms of a mugwort seller.

Domina:   What an innocent young, Havenna-like woman you are, fooled by such ostentatious displays as his. 

Domina:   Your fate is to have everything taken away by mugwort sellers in the end.

Rukiora:   Lies… Lies!

Domina:   If you think it’s a lie, come by Pontartia sometime. Behind Ant Hill Alley.

Domina:   It’s possible… that he might come today.

Domina:   He’s mad about a woman named Chickachina.

Rukiora:   …Chickachina?

Domina:   You want me to tell you more? She…

Miguel:   Stop!

Rukiora:   Miguel…!

Domina:   What do you want?

Miguel:   Get away from her. If not…

Domina:   If not, then what? …Hmph! Out of my way!

Sound of her leaving.

Miguel:   Rukiora, are you all right?

Miguel:   That woman is a mugwort seller full of lies. Don’t take what she says seriously.

Rukiora:   Miguel.

Miguel:   Yeah?

Rukiora:   Then why did you interrupt her?

Miguel:   Because she says the most ridiculous things.

Rukiora:   …You lie so much that the truth is clear.

Miguel:   Rukiora? Ah! Wait, Rukiora!

(6) Fussy Havenna

◆Pontartia - Facchio’s Room

Chicchi:   Excuse me

Facchio:   Ah, come in, Chickachina

Chicchi:   You wanted to talk?

Facchio:   It’s as though you are my adorable daughter. I can ask about how you’re doing, can’t I?

Chicchi:   I’m having a lot of fun. All my customers are good people.

Facchio:   I’m glad to hear it. I want to ask you, my adorable little girl. 

Facchio:   Chickachina, what do you think about Domina?

Chicchi:   Domina? If you’re playing the role of my father, that would make Domina my kind stepmother. 

Facchio:   Chickachina. I swear I will never tell Domina.

Chicchi:   She’s an aged vermicurmi.

Facchio:   Ahaha! Oh the things you say behind people’s backs are always so amusing!

Facchio:   Domina’s a clever woman. She’s planning on a higher status in Havenna, using me as a stepping stone.

Chicchi:   Is that so?

Facchio:   Of course she is! Chickachina. Aren’t you interested in status as well? What would you think of becoming the madam of Pontartia?

Chicchi:   But the madam is Domina.

Facchio:   You’re popular among the men. You’re affectionate, and you knock them out quick. And above all, you’re clever.

Facchio:   There’s no one better suited to represent Pontartia.

Facchio:   Will you build this business with me?

Chicchi:   Facchio. I don’t intend on going from daughter to stepmother. 

Facchio:   Of course, I’ll prioritize whatever it is you wish. It’s just that there’s no mistake that a brighter world awaits you.

Facchio:   Just think about it. A woman of mine will wear a ring of carbunculus. 

Chicchi:   …I understand. I’ll think about it.

◆Outside Pontartia

Rukiora:   Pontartia… there’s no mistake. This is it.

Rukiora:   I can smell the mugwort even out here. Is it possible Fugio actually comes to a place like this?

Rukiora:   There’s no way such an upright and clean man could…

Rukiora:   …

Rukiora:   No, this isn’t right!

Rukiora:   I should be ashamed for getting led on by that woman and doubting him!

Rukiora:   I’ll go home… Huh?!

Rukiora:   Is that…?!

◆Pontartia

Chicchi:   Facchio wants me to be…

Jire:   …Chicchi. It’s time for work, Fugio’s coming.

Chicchi:   R-Right…

◆Pontartia - Chicchi’s Room.

Fugio:   Chickachina, I’ve missed you!

Chicchi:   Good evening, Fugio. You can’t sleep again?

Fugio:   I feel like my face is heavy with a mask I put on myself.

Chicchi:   All right, I’ll light some mugwort then…

Rukiora:   Hey!

Chicchi:   …!

Rukiora:   To think the princeps would come to a mugwort shop…!

Fugio:   You’re…

Chicchi:   A-Ah…

Rukiora:   Chicchi…!!!

Chicchi:   Aah, ah…

Rukiora:   …What is the meaning of this?

Chicchi:   I… I…

Fugio:   Let’s calm down for a moment.

Rukiora:   You be quiet! You falsa of a man!

Fugio:   Wha…

Rukiora:   Chicchi. We’re friends, right? Friends don’t hide things from each other, right?

Rukiora:   Tell me the truth. If so then I, I… will forgive you.

Chicchi:   Rukiora…

Chicchi:   Tell me!!!

Chicchi:   I… I…

Chicchi:   I’m actually a mugwort seller. A mugwort-selling woman, the likes of which you hate so much…

Chicchi:   I’m sorry for hiding it from you… You’re the one person I didn’t want to find out.

Chicchi:   Because I care about you. Because we’re friends…

Rukiora:   Chicchi…

Rukiora:   You’re terrible! To trick me like this!

Chicchi:   R-Rukiora…

Rukiora:   What do you mean ‘friends’?! You were ridiculing me, drenching yourself in mugwort with Fugio!

Chicchi:   No, Rukiora! I…

Rukiora:   You were jeering at me, exhilarated over a single flower!

Rukiora:   Don’t ever come near me with that disgusting stench ever again!

Sound of her running off

Rukiora leaves the shop.

Chicchi:   Rukiora!

Chicchi:   Ah, my dear friend…

Chicchi:   Because I’m… a mugwort seller.

Fugio:   Chickachina… Poor thing.

Fugio:   Come here!

Fugio takes Chicchi’s hand.

Chicchi:   Fugio?! Were are we going?

Fugio:   Towards hope.

Sound of them running off.

Jire watches in the shadows as the two of them exit Pontartia

Jire:   …

◆The Edge of Town

Rukiora arrives at the church.

Rukiora:   …Please let me confess!

Father:   Proceed.

Rukiora:   God… Please forgive me! Please forgive me for being unable to forgive such a dirty lie, unable to forgive my precious friend!

Rukiora:   I wanted to… I wanted to forgive her, but my head and my heart are all a mess, and I can’t do anything about it at all!

Rukiora:   Not only that, I want her to be punished, even though we’re friends! Even though we WERE friends!

Rukiora:   Or, am I the one in the wrong?

Rukiora:   Am I the terrible one? Is my heart the one that is dirty? Aagh!

Rukiora:   Is everything disappearing around me because I’m the one who’s no good? If only I had done better, If only I had more value, things wouldn’t have turned out like this?

Rukiora:   Then Father wouldn’t have been taken away, and Mother wouldn’t have gone mad?

Rukiora:   Please forgive me, forgive me, please forgive me. Please take out my heart, and wash away all its sins.

Rukiora:   Please forgive me, forgive me, please forgive me, forgive me…

Miguel:   Mind letting me confess too?

Rukiora:   Miguel…! What is all that luggage?

Miguel:   I’m leaving Havenna. I finally saved enough money.

Miguel:   In fact, I’ve been able to leave for a while now. I just kept letting things drag on.

Miguel:   But I made up my mind after watching you run off. 

Rukiora:   Whatever do you mean?

Miguel:   My family is made up of poor neshiromi farmers. We are not from Havenna.

Miguel:   With so much debt, the farm was in danger, so I was sent to Havenna to earn money.

Miguel:   But now that I have enough saved, I’m going back home.

Rukiora:   What are you here to confess about, then?

Miguel:   For lying to myself.

Miguel:   Rukiora, I’m in love with you. 

Rukiora:   What?

Miguel:   Escape from Havenna with me.

(7) Drowning Havenna

◆Pontartia

Facchio:   Chickachina! Where’s my pupa?

Domina:   She went off somewhere with a man.

Facchio:   Domina! Why didn’t you stop them?

Domina:   I saw my younger self in her and thought she might get in my way, so I just thought to rip off her wings before she became a beautiful butterfly. You don’t need two women, Facchio.

Facchio:   What a terrifying woman you are!

Domina:   Who’s the terrifying one here?! You ebrietas of a man. I’m the one who raised Pontartia to who she is, you leech.

Domina moves behind Facchio

Facchio:   What are you doing! Stop!

Domina:   My skills have not yet dulled. Hmph.

Facchio:   Rrghk!

Sound of him dropping to the ground.

Domina:   …Chickachina, Facchio. Now everyone in my way is gone.

Domina:   I’ll confess to God later.

◆Havenna Lakeshore

Fugio:   Alright, we’re here.

Chicchi:   This is the lake.

Fugio:   Right. We’re going to cross it on a ferry and reach the other side.

Chicchi:   Stop, Fugio. I don’t want this.

Fugio:   Then what DO you want?! Your lie has been found out by your dear friend.

Fugio:   Is it money? Status? Fame?

Chicchi:   I don’t want any of that.

Fugio:   Then tell me, Chickachina. I want to help you.

Jire:   Chicchi!

Jire runs forward. He has a knife in his hand.

Chicchi:   Jire! What are you holding…

Fugio:   A knife…

Jire:   Celebrities have so much confidence. To think you’d take Chicchi away from Havenna.

Fugio:   Urk…

Jire:   Chicchi. Come back here. This man is nothing more than a thief.

Chicchi:   …No, Jire. This man is the princeps of the Agua Club. Rumors will spread quickly.

Jire:   Then…

Jire:   All I can do is pretend I didn’t see anything.

Jire:   Chicchi, you decide.

Jire:   Whether you’ll cross the lake with that man and leave Havenna, or punish him and come back to Pontartia.

Chicchi:   Jire…

Chicchi:   I won’t cross the lake, nor will I punish him.

Fugio:   Chickachina…

Jire:   That’s not a choice you can make! You need to leave. I don’t want to see you dirtied by rumors.

Jire:   When you first came to Havenna, you were pure as the purest white. A vase for a single flower, descended down to us in the snow. 

Jire:   To watch you poisoned by this town, stained by the scent of mugwort is… painful.

Fugio:   Even he agrees. Leave Havenna with me.

Fugio:   If you do, you can become pure again. You won’t have to lie anymore.

Chicchi:   …

Chicchi:   …Leave Havenna so I can become pure again? How can you decide that all on your own?

Chicchi:   I came to Havenna of my own free will. When I leave Havenna, it will be of my own free will as well.

Jire:   Chicchi…

Chicchi:   It was you who provoked Domina into telling everything to Rukiora, wasn’t it Jire?

Jire:   I…

Chicchi:   How arrogant of you to get Fugio involved in this.

Jire:   Chicchi, I just wanted you to…

Chicchi:   You should confess to God. Before I can no longer stand you. Goodbye.

Chicchi leaves.

Sound of her leaving.

Jire:   Chicchi!

Fugio:   You…

Jire:   Uurgh…

Jire:   I… just cared about her so much…

Fugio:   I understand

Jire:   …Thank you.

Jire:   Hey, sorry for dragging you into this. Will you join me in the confession booth?

◆Pontartia 

Sound of murmurs

A crowd forms around the shop.

Domina and Facchio are arguing.

Facchio:   You finally showed your true colors, you sneak!

Domina:   What about you? Isn’t it about time you realized you’re about to be fired?

Chicchi:   Facchio and Domina?

Man:   They’re arguing over who gets ownership.

Woman:   It seems like the fight led into an investigation, and it turns out this shop is illegal.

Chicchi:   I see. That’s terrible.

◆Pig’s Rear Street - Second District

Chicchi staggers.

Chicchi:   …

Chicchi:   Ugh…

Chicchi:   Urgh… Aagh…

Chicchi:   Aaaaaagh…

Rukiora’s voice can be heard.

???:   Oh, Rama Havenna! As warm as a baby’s first bath.

Chicchi:   …?!

Rukiora’s voice continues.

???:   Oh, Rama Havenna! As gentle as a rocking cradle.

Chicchi:   Rukiora.

Chicchi:   Rukiora!

◆Singing Pub

Chicchi runs into the pub.

Chicchi:   Rukiora!!!

Rukiora:   Chicchi…!

Chicchi:   Rukiora. I…

Rukiora:   I was asked to leave Havenna with someone.

Chicchi:   Huh?

Rukiora:   By Miguel. He wasn’t raised in Havenna.

Rukiora:   He said he’ll be returning to his family of neshiromi farmers… He wants me to come with him. 

Chicchi:   Miguel…?

Chicchi:   Ah, right. I see. Miguel was finally able to be honest with himself.

Chicchi:   …I’m sorry.

Chicchi:   Miguel told me as well. That I needed to tell you the truth. But I couldn’t.

Chicchi:   I just didn’t want you to hate me.

Chicchi:   I thought that instead of hurting you, it would be better for me to stay silent.

Rukiora:   I see.

Chicchi:   I wanted us to become true friends.

Rukiora:   …I see.

Rukiora:   Even if it meant lying?

Chicchi:   …Yes

Rukiora:   Your problem has always been that you’re too lovable.

Chicchi:   Huh?

Rukiora:   Hey, Chicchi. Are you able to forgive me?

Chicchi:   Huh? What do you mean?

Rukiora:   I lied to you, too. I was unable to tell you the truth.

Chicchi:   That’s not true! You’ve done nothing wrong.

Rukiora:   Then, forgive me. That’s far simpler than having God forgive me. It’s a pain to go all the way to the church.

Chicchi:   But…

Rukiora:   Chicchi!

Chicchi:   …I forgive you. I forgive you, Rukiora.

Rukiora:   Then I forgive you, too.

Chicchi:   Rukiora…!

Rukiora:   When Miguel asked me to go with him, the first thing that came to mind was you.

Rukiora:   When you listened to my song, so full of tears. You were so beautiful.

Rukiora:   Whether you’re a mugwort seller or a kebab seller, I don’t care. You’re you. My dear friend.

★Song "Faded Color"

Chicchi:   Rukiora…

Chicchi:   …Pontartia’s gone.

Rukiora:   You can just sing here with me. Dancing would be good, too.

Chicchi:   But what about Miguel? Aren’t you going to leave Havenna with him?

Rukiora:   There is a desire in his heart that Havenna cannot fulfill.

Rukiora:   I do like Miguel, but he and I desire different things.

Rukiora:   I want to be with you.

Chicchi:   Rukiora…

Rukiora:   …Chicchi, can I ask you one more thing?

Chicchi:   What is it?

Rukiora:   I want to know the truth.

Rukiora:   Coming here to Havenna, going so far as to become a mugwort seller… What was it that you desired?

Chicchi:   …

Chicchi:   I’ve been asked this question by everyone. But I’ll tell the truth only to you, Rukiora.

Chicchi:   I wanted to live the life of a mugwort seller.

Monologue:   After that, Chicchi and Rukiora lived their lives. Singing and dancing, laughing and crying in Havenna, the town of desire and pleasure.

(8) Havenna

◆Back Alley

A few days later, Chicchi stands in a back alley.

A man appears. It is the priest.

Chicchi:   …Oh, Rama Havenna. As warm as a baby’s first bath. Oh, Rama Havenna, As gentle as a rocking cradle.

Father:   …

Chicchi:   It’s you…

Father:   I cannot sleep.

Father:   I cannot sleep, night after night. What should I do?

Chicchi:   I see…

Chicchi:   Shall I burn some mugwort for you?

Father:   Oh, Rama Havenna.

The End

#jack jeanne #stage script #reference #oh rama havenna #my posts