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#and then you discover an AU within that AU
tachvintlogic · 6 months
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"Soulmate" Mark Idea
Soulmate marks are an interesting idea, but why should the marks only tell you about a soulmate? Why not something else?
Imagine an AU where everyone has a mark indicating the person who will have the greatest impact on their life. This mark can change as a person goes through different stages of life or remain the same.
Babies usually have a soulmark representing one of their parents, and parents their children. Soulmarks can switch between parents, or always stay the same, or represent people other than their parents.
In adulthood, the rate the mark changes tends to slow down, and the mark can represent lovers, close friends, bosses, a stranger who saves their life, a roommate, or anyone whose impact on their life will be profound.
Marks do not have to be mutual, nor do they have to represent a good impact. Mortal enemies can have mutual soulmarks. It can represent a landlord, someone who killed a loved one, a business rival, someone who starts a years long harassment campaign, an unhealthy obsession, a stalker, etc.
After an election, many people will find that their soulmark is the president/prime minister. These people are frequently sought out to help participate in reelection campaigns if the current administration significantly improved their living situation.
Murder investigations frequently look at the soulmark of the victim to check if it represents the killer.
You can tell a lot of soulmate stories with this premise, but with the added nuance that the "impact" of the person indicated by a soulmark isn't guaranteed to be good. You can also have an enemies to lovers story where the main characters think they know exactly what the soulmark means, so the "to lovers" part comes completely by surprise.
I think it would be cool if instead of telling you your "ideal partner" a soulmark basically told you "hey, you see this person? This person's going to make your life more interesting. How? Guess you'll find out!"
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datastate · 2 years
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yttd timeloops are so so delicious but unfortunately unless ive whittled down every little reason and realistic explanation for a scenario to occur i physically can't write it
#this is why my kai ch2 has gone kaput and my mr chidouin fucking dies au has been my primary focus instead#though there's still something special to me abt kai & sara within the death game...esp if ch1 proceeds as normal#letting sara be uncomfortable even after the truth comes to light bc. trauma lol. kai's acceptance of that and giving her space#reko taking on a protective role in kai's stead. nao and reko both offering emotional support#eventually slight open up. but ch2'1 final attraction -> kai is tempted w the opportunity to save sara before the death game ever happened#he doubts they've killed her but ranger has acted so erratic he may have gone against the rule. as far as he knows the doll is the only#essence of sara that is left. etc. it's a whole thing i have unfinished 24 pages of the outline#mainly because altho it is interesting to have them discover the exit sooner. and ranger v. kai. and strained relation w many#kai's story is generally satisfactory for me? and he would be a bit questionable sure but he would try to get everyone out at first#really the main intrigue is how ranger goes for kai's throat and kai dealing with ch3 paired w hinako (another agent)#& how kai makes it very clear that he's willing to sacrifice any one of the others to keep sara alive. which makes him a slight antagonist?#anyway i could go on but anyway anyway i could make up something else for the yabusames but him being there detracted from nao's story#and i would never do that to my girl so goodbye kai i will miss you forever and ever 💔#jestersvaguely#yttdposting
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infohazardouz · 11 months
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DEMON WALLY DESIGNS! im still working out his design but here’s a general vibe hehehahe as well as some thought provoking sketches... HUUUGE infodump about the design & demon wally au below!
below i explain my choice of representing hindu designs as opposed to christian ones! if you want to skip to the relevant information pertaining to the actual au, jump to the big bold JUMP HERE paragraph!
alright, to address the elephant in the room: no, this isn’t the typical demon/devil design you may be used to! i was originally going to keep within the red-horned pointed tail kind of mythos that generally stems from christianity/christianity aligned concepts, but then i realized i honestly don’t know much about that stuff and don’t really feel qualified to handle it in a narrative. i also know that, especially within the welcome home fandom itself, a lot of people have religious trauma that generally tends to be from various branches of christianity, so i thought this would be an interesting solution: seeing as i know a fair amount about hinduism, wally’s design is inspired by concepts about demons in hindusim in general! that way, it’s easy to write and hopefully refreshing/non-triggering to the audience! also it’s fun!
JUMP HERE: Wally’s design in the demon AU is inspired by Asura in hindu mythology! That’s why he’s got like a billion hands- I’m looking at adding jewellery/a tail/other stuff, but it’ll fall in that general theme. in terms of lore relevancy: asura in hindusim were not strictly evil, which you will find reflected in my story. wally isn’t evil per say; the neighbourhood is his turf, and he will protect it from outside threats. that being said- he is generally self-serving for now and may not always have the best intentions for his fellow neighbours. what his overarching goal is and who exactly his enemy is (as well as Home’s relevancy to the story) is being left to you to discover as the comic goes on! themes of puppetry, where wally darling ends and the asura begins, and stuff like that is left ambiguous for now! puppetry will also play a role in the story, as well as self-awareness and meta themes. hinduism and religion WILL NOT play a role in the story itself. anything i think might need contextualizing will be contextualized in the description of every update; honestly im just pulling the asura elements for Wally’s design and part of his character! this will still be a very accessible comic to people of all backgrounds. if you have any questions or concerns please don’t hesitate to send them to my askbox or leave them in the comments!
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kingkonoha · 2 months
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐃! 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
Join Satoru & Y/N on their journey through parenthood as they navigate through a curse-filled world with their biological children and their adopted sons, Megumi & Yuji.
It is recommended that you read the fics in the correct order as listed below. Some parts can be read as a stand-alone fic.
𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈) — ♛
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➙ PHONE CALLS || gojo chats with you and your daughter while in the middle of a meeting.
➙ “WHAT? YOU’RE MARRIED? AND YOU’RE A DAD?” || yuji discovers that gojo has a family.
➙ “YOU WANT TO ADOPT ME?” || you & gojo adopt yuji & megumi.
➙ “LET’S HAVE ANOTHER BABY.” — ♛ || after adopting yuji & megumi, you & satoru decide to have another baby.
➙ FIRST FIGHT || the children overhear you & satoru arguing. megumi & itadori try to distract their little sister from it.
➙ VACATION || the entire family goes on a much needed trip & megumi starts adjusting to his new life. (coming soon)
➙ “YOU’RE PREGNANT?” || you’re getting ready to have a baby. (coming soon)
𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀:
These are fics that are a part of this au series but aren’t necessarily “canon” and/or don’t happen within the current timeline of the au series. You can think of these fics as filler, to be honest!
➙ MOTHER, HOUSEWIFE, & SORCERER || the shibuya incident has endangered your entire family. it’s time for you to do something about it. (coming soon)
➙ ALL GROWN UP || your children are all grown up and have had kids of their own. you & satoru are grandparents. (coming soon)
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charliemwrites · 3 months
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Mafia au with Price perspective
John, for the life of him, can’t believe he ever ran SpecGru without you.
It’s a hit to his pride to admit it, certainly. That an outsider has discovered a small conspiracy within his own organization less than three months into employment. That, apart from even that, he’s never been less scattered, having someone right by his side remembering details, appointments, bits of information.
Morning smells like Earl Grey and your perfume now. Steam mixing with whatever you’ve spritzed for the day, his own little aroma therapy. Revitalizing after however late the previous night dragged him out.
In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of color and delicacy in his world of saturated shadows, blood and brutality.
Clean-cut dresses with patterned tights, soft-knit scarves. Lace accents and modest stilettos. Thin, sparkly jewelry and smart makeup. The scent of you drowns out the lingering burn of gunpowder; or maybe just transforms it into something heady.
John lingers on your hair. Smooth ponytails, tight coifs, intricate braids. Likes when it’s loose enough to brush you shoulders and neck, a little bounce to it as you toddle in and out of his office.
You’re gorgeous, he knows it like a gun in his hand or the stench of fear in the air. Has encountered (and indulged) in more than his share of stunning women. Women with beautiful smiles, and bright laughter, and sweet voices. Cunning women, too. Women who could outfox all but his best on any given day.
You have all of that in spades, though you’re not the first.
The difference, he thinks, is your sincerity. You’re never anything but honest with him. Even when you maybe shouldn’t be. Not that you share your opinion every time you have one, but if he asks for it, you’ll answer without pulling punches.
Respectful, always. Polite. But scalpels are elegant tools as dangerous as any dagger. You’re not cold by any means, but you’re made of steel. Precise and implacable in some ways. Have never hesitated too look him in the eye and cheerfully explain why he’s wrong.
That, he knows, is a rare commodity.
“I understand this is time sensitive Mister Graves, but raising your voice is not going to open Mister Price’s schedule.”
Your voice goes silky when you get like this. A finely draped, overly pleasant “no” in each word. A wall is still a wall no matter how finely it’s painted.
You’ve just gotten your nails done again, glossy wine red tap-tap-tapping over your customized keyboard. Whatever Philip is saying on the other end does not seem to be impressing you. Soap and Gaz are trying not to snicker. You shoot them an amused look.
“Well, he’s booked every morning for the next two weeks,” you continue.
John is not, in fact, booked every morning for the next two weeks. There are two mornings with two hours open and you’re serenely looking at them on your computer screen. He doesn’t correct you, interested to see how this plays out. You know he hates Philip and are gleefully taking advantage of that fact.
“Well, Mister Graves, a lot of people have time sensitive issues to bring to Mister Price,” you explain, a touch condescending now. “I’m afraid I can’t reschedule them just because you have… a trip to Glasgow, is it?”
You don’t sound impressed. Neither is John. You clear your throat, arch your eyebrows at him. Put up three fingers. He nods.
“I can schedule you in on the 3rd in the evening. Your assistant said you’ll be back by then.”
You blink, an almost smug curve to your lips at whatever is said. A pleasant shiver runs down John’s spine. Philip will just have gotten in then - a full day of travel after whatever business he’s been up to will put him at a disadvantage.
“Well, I’m afraid Mister Price’s next availability won’t be until the… 8th. So shall we schedule something for the 3rd? I can always call if he has a cancellation.”
A pause. Your eyes narrow into a mean little smile at nothing in particular. Practically glowing with satisfaction. Without your attention on him, he shifts a bit.
“Of course, Mister Graves,” you hum. “I can forward your people the details. Have a lovely day now.”
Soap and Gaz start laughing the moment you hand up. You huff at them in amusement, shaking your head, then turn to John.
“Was there anything you needed, sir?” You ask, syrupy sweet.
John snorts and finally approaches your desk, leaning his hip against the edge as he crosses his arms. You tilt your head to give him your full attention, a stray curl falling against your jaw.
“Since you seem to be on rampage,” he says, “I need you to get a reservation for Friday at Muse.”
You blink at him. “Muse? Sir, that’s… don’t they book that place out months in advance?”
He smirks. “Just use my name, luv. I’m sure you’ll have the rest under control.”
You don’t look convinced, but you slide your sticky pad over - light purple clouds, now. With a pink glitter pen.
“How many and what time, sir?”
“Six for eight o’clock.”
You hum as you scrawl it down, pretty round letters that shimmer under the office lights.
“Before you go,” you say as you set the sticky pad aside. “I have those inventory logs from the docks - as well as the incident report from security that evening.”
You pluck up a neat stack of papers, held together by a star-shaped paperclip. Already he can see pink highlighter on the first page, a little memo-note summarizing information for quick review at the top. Somewhere within, you’ve attached a pink tab to something.
“I’ve highlighted anything in the original shipment that wasn’t found in the inventory log,” you explain, tapping at one of them.
He hums, skims the summary, then starts rifling through the papers. Will never admit how much he appreciates the thoroughness, even if he’s comb through every detail himself just to be sure nothing has been missed.
“Oh, also,” you add, spinning the glitter pen between clever fingers, “I think we should maybe set up a camera near that back entrance to the warehouse.”
He pauses. The back entrance where they do the more gruesome aspects of “business.” Odd that you would suggest that.
“Why’s that?”
You hum. “Well, I’m no narc, but I heard from someone who works over there that one of the shipping guys smokes weed with his cousin in that area. Maybe someone saw them and realized that’s a good way in.”
You shrug, leaning back in your seat again. The computer dings, calling your attention. John shoots Soap a glance, who nods and quietly steps out. You don’t seem to notice, clicking your tongue at whatever you see.
“Nicely done, luv,” he says, voice warm in his chest. You beam at him, pleased as always when he recognizes your hard work. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”
“Yes, sir,” you reply.
Twenty minutes later, you tap lightly at the open door to his office.
“Got the reservation!” You announce, a funny little smile on your face. “They were so nice about it too. What are you, some kind of mafia boss?”
He chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.
How did he ever manage all this without you?
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andypantsx3 · 3 months
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READY OR KNOT | 1 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER
SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.6k, 1st of 7 chapters
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Tetsutetsu’s apartment was exploding with people by the time you made it in from the cold.
Even from outside, you could hear the chatter of dozens of voices, the thumping bass of a distant party playlist. The front door was practically wedged shut by all the bodies blocking it, and you had to suck in a breath as you squeezed yourself through, slithering through what seemed to be every single employee of the Pink Riot agency—a plethora of bulky pro heroes stuffed in among lanky support techs and sleepy-eyed case analysts.
Inside, it stank of warm beer with a slightly sweeter, sharper liquor undertone. Your nose wrinkled. You could only imagine what the scent was like to your alpha and omega coworkers, grateful you had a beta’s dulled sense of smell, and no innate reaction to the physical proximity of other secondary genders. The space was already almost overwhelming as it was, the press of people nearly claustrophobic, although no one else looked like they minded much.
You shoved yourself through the crowd, squeezing through people, somewhat regretting how late you’d gotten here. You hoped there was still something good to drink.
In your defense, you’d gotten bogged down with a bombshell of a new case at the agency, something Mina had pulled you aside to talk about on your way out to the party. She’d meant for you to pick it up Monday, as you couldn’t take any action until a supervising hero had been assigned to you. But it was so unlike any other case you’d been handed in your years at Pink Riot that you’d immediately yanked your coat back off and holed yourself up at your desk, poring over the information in shock.
The case file told you that there was a rogue pro hero harassing and assaulting the omegas in Bunkyo ward—the very ward the Pink Riot agency operated in.
What was more, local authorities suspected someone from the agencies within Bunkyo itself, considering the attacks were exclusively confined to the ward and had so far never deviated. The police had been alerted to the fact that a hero might be involved when one of the omegas who had been attacked last night had escaped, shaken but untouched, and reported their aggressor attempting to strap quirk suppressors on them—tech that was almost exclusively a tool of the heroics trade.
And so all Bunkyo-based agencies had been asked to internally investigate their heroes, with mandatory out-of-agency supervising heroes to be assigned to the cases as well, to ensure everything was above board and no cover ups were being staged. And you, as Mina’s personal friend and therefore the case analyst she trusted most with a sensitive file like this, had been assigned the task.
And it was already almost too mind-boggling for you to bear.
You plowed your way towards the kitchen, eager to chase away the idea of any of your hero coworkers as the perpetrator. You liked and trusted all of the heroes Pink Riot had on call, and hoped so desperately that another agency was at fault here. You couldn’t imagine a single one of them being responsible for something like this. You couldn’t imagine the harasser themself attending this very party.
Once in the kitchen, you discovered that Tetsutetsu had invited more than just the Pink Riot agency itself—he had also apparently invited a plethora of heroes from his former UA days. Sero Hanta and Uraraka Ochako were propped up in the kitchen with Mina and Kirishima, smiling and chatting, while Iida Tenya stood next to them, looking, as usual, like he was on the verge of a hernia. Monoma Neita was skulking in a corner, along with a couple of lower-level heroes you recognized as Tetsu’s Class B friends.
Mina perked up immediately when she caught sight of you, hopping off the counter at Kirishima’s side, beckoning you closer with a hot pink nail.
“You have to taste this disgusting thing Tetsu made,” she told you gleefully, gesturing at something vaguely gelatinous on the stove. You recoiled reflexively, even as Mina ladled a generous portion into a plastic cup for you, passing it over.
You did not like the weight of it in your hand—and the smell of it, even to your duller senses, was not exactly appetizing, more nail polish remover in profile than anything.
“Wow, this looks almost as lovely as the new case file. How generous of you,” you intoned, taking a small, investigative sip. The taste zipped down your spine all the way to your toes, so alcoholic you could almost taste an emergency room visit.
But it figured. Pro heroes in general were a hard bunch to get drunk, their metabolisms fast and their bodies honed to withstand limits a normal person could never. You imagined this was Tetsu’s own invention based on years of personal research.
Mina sloshed her own cup at you, bright-eyed as she normally was, but otherwise looking unruffled. “Tetsu and Eiji already have a bet going which of them can put back more of this, but my bet is on me,” she grinned. “They’re behind a cup already.”
You winced. “Such responsible agency heads I have.”
Mina practically cackled. “You love it.”
You couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at your mouth, listening to her bright laughter. “I do.”
And it was true, after years at the Pink Riot agency you were spoiled for anywhere else.
Your caseload was broad and interesting, Mina and Kirishima the perfect amount of invested but trusting, always caring about the results you brought in for the safety they brought Bunkyo ward, but never micromanaging you or demanding the impossible. The agency was a little bit smaller than other agencies founded by members of their former class—a mid-sized, fairly-closely knit operation that prioritized action and minimized bureaucracy.
And it was a sort of family operation. Mina was an omega, small and bright and totally beautiful the way so many omegas were, the warmness of her personality like a magnet. And Kirishima was her bonded alpha—fairly friendly and easy-going for one, you thought—but strong, firm in his resolve, and deeply committed.
You liked them, liked their relationship, and liked how their traits translated to their management of their joint agency. You liked how the agency had basically sprung up around them, filled to the brim with good people. And so yeah, Mina was right. You did love it.
“Make sure you unwind,” Mina ordered you, flashing a pink nail in your face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that it’s been like two hours since I saw you disappear with that case file.”
Your cheeks heated. “Did you know some agency heads like it when their employees do their jobs?”
Mina grinned wickedly, then made a sort of clucking noise. “Did you know that some agency heads are no funsies? I like when my employees do their jobs and still have time for a social life.”
A smile tugged at your mouth. Your social calendar had never been so full as when you started working at Pink Riot, their rosters absolutely packed with outgoing heroes. Someone or other was always throwing a party, organizing a celebratory dinner when an especially big case was closed, or dashing across the floor yelling “drinks on me!” after nailing a particularly notorious villain.
Between the agency and your own friends you thought you were kept rather busy. But the sudden, shifting look of undue interest on Mina’s face told you she thought otherwise.
“When was the last time you went on a date, hmm?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I never catch you smelling like anyone. Looking for anyone here?”
“And who told you you could smell me?” you demanded.
Mina cackled. “It’s not like I can turn my nose off. Plus you smell nice and comforting. Very beta. I wouldn’t stop smelling you even if I could.”
Your ears went hot. Alphas and omegas were always so nosy and inquisitive, a byproduct of being able to smell way too much for your comfort, a fact you and your circle of beta friends never missed a chance to bemoan.
And this was not the first time you’d been told as much, most betas apparently smelling some level of chill and less intrusive than the insistent scents of alphas and omegas. You didn’t exactly understand how something could smell chill, but enough people had said it that you accepted it.
“Well then it’s good I’m not polluting that with other smells,” you said. “Now mind your business.”
Mina’s grin was sharp as she reached over to ladle more of Tetsu’s concoction into your cup, a small revenge. “Fine but keep your options open tonight! I know plenty of nice beta boys I can set you up with—there’s a couple of analysts from Ingenium’s crowd here tonight.”
You nodded, affecting sincerity, although you had absolutely no plan to follow through. You were going to find your agency friends, go ham on some apps, and then head back home just as soon as Mina and Kirishima ended the night the way they usually did—locked mouth to mouth after drinking a little too much, causing a scene.
You waved Mina away, poking your head back out the kitchen door and surveying the rest of the party. Over near the couch, you caught a flash of a couple of your fellow case analysts in conversation with Asui Tsuyu, a beta hero at your agency who you got on well with. Your people exactly.
However, no sooner had you started to push back into the crowd than something slammed into your shoulder, sending you stumbling back into the wall. Your drink splashed right up over your shoulder, cold and biting. You let out a strangled noise, turning your head on impulse and catching a mouthful of hair.
“Oh my god, I am sooo sorry,” a soft voice said. You realized you’d collided with an omega analyst from another Bunkyo agency—a girl you vaguely remembered from a joint case a few years ago. She was small, petite, and delicately pretty in the way of most omegas. And she had also managed to empty nearly the entirety of your cup onto you.
“Shit, shit—I got your shirt wet!” she said, yanking herself back from you. She looked a little glassy-eyed, but genuinely apologetic, and she wiped at your shoulder with her bare hand. Definitely a bit drunk.
“No—it’s fine,” you told her, attempting to duck her hand. “I also didn’t see you!”
The omega girl didn’t look reassured however. She frowned, pausing over you—then suddenly slithered right out of her cardigan, throwing it over your shoulders.
“We’ll hide it like that. Please take it,” she said, her delicate fingers flitting back and forth over your now-covered shoulder, like she still itched to fix something. The cardigan was soft and warm, and even you could tell it smelled good—a soft, powdery, classically omegan scent.
“It’s really fine—” you insisted, immediately shrugging the cardigan back off, though you appreciated the gesture. You glanced down at your shoulder, surveying the damp patch that was slowly soaking closer to your boob. “It’s clear—it will dry in a couple of minutes and no one will be any the wiser. It already stinks like alcohol in here anyway.”
The omega girl hesitated as you handed her sweater back to her. She leaned in to sniff you tentatively. “Are you sure? I really am so sorry. Your mate is going to be so mad, now you can’t really smell you over the vodka unless you get in close—”
You held up a hand, sending her a reassuring smile. “I don’t have a mate, so there’s no problem. I promise.”
You did not add that as a beta, your pool of potential mates was limited to other betas, and that no beta’s sense of smell was enough to get worked up over this. Alphas and omegas tended to forget that not everyone was as sensitive as they were.
She bit her lip, the gesture pretty, but looked somewhat mollified. “You’re sure?” she ventured one last time.
You nodded. “Totally sure. I appreciate the gesture though.”
She nodded, still looking hesitant, and you decided there was only one way to put an end to this.
“Nice to see you, though. Maybe I will catch you around later!” you said, waving her off firmly. You quickly abandoned your now empty cup on a nearby table and turned to head back into the living room. You spotted Tsuyu’s head of dark green hair through the crowd of shoulders, a homing beacon in the dim.
As you charted an unsteady path through the crush of people, you noted several more heroes and analysts from other agencies, including Kaminari Denki and a beaming Midoriya Izuku, crammed into a corner and chatting animatedly to—oh.
Your cheeks flushed. Pro hero Shouto was here.
The other hero stood tall and solemnly handsome across from Midoriya, just as maddeningly gorgeous as always. You, like every other person with working eyeballs, had long nursed a tiny bit of a celebrity crush on him, as he was literally the most beautiful person on earth—a fact evidenced by his now six-year running sweep of Tokyo Beat magazine’s cutest hero award.
In your time at Pink Riot, you’d worked a couple of joint cases with Shouto’s agency and met him a few times in passing. You’d always found him to be a little bit intense, but kind, thoughtful, straightforward, and diligent. He was every bit the reassuring hero the media made him out to be, and even more striking in person. He also always wore scent patches flush at the sides of his neck, concealing what his secondary gender was from prying noses, although you’d always sort of suspected he had to be an omega.
He was tall and solid and strong in the way of most pro heroes. But his features were so finely-wrought, so strangely graceful and elegant for a man, that you would have put significant amounts of money down on his omega status.
Not that it mattered. Betas really only dated betas, and alphas really only omegas, so Shouto’s status wasn’t much to you, regardless of what it was.
You slipped past, averting your eyes, wondering absently if an omega like Todoroki Shouto ever encountered harassment like the victims in your newest case file. Maybe his scent blockers were for this very purpose—hiding his omega status so he didn’t run the risk. You imagined with a face like his, he would be sure to garner migraine-inducing levels of undue interest.
This thought was suddenly arrested, however, when a hand pressed to your chest, shoving you back into the wall you were sidling past.
Your breath wooshed out of your lungs as a strangled “fwuuh” noise escaped you. Your gaze jerked up to find an alpha you somewhat recognized was holding you against the wall, grinning in an incredibly unsettling way.
Fuzzily, you matched his face to one of the techs from the support department, someone you occasionally saw at work functions but never worked directly with. Support interfaced mainly with the heroes, mending their tech, inventing new items, and—if Mina’s complaints were to be believed—running up quite the bill for the agency with their experimentation.
“Can I—help you?” you garbled out, staring the alpha down.
He leaned in, leery, slurring, “What’sa pretty li’l thing like you doin’ here, huh?”
He smelled strongly of Tetsutestu’s horrid concoction, like the alcohol was literally seeping from his pores. You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his hand. It was large, and too-warm against your shoulder, and the desire to turn and bite it welled up in your mouth.
“Can you get off me?” you asked, grabbing the alpha by the wrist. A support tech though he was, his hold on you was firm, and your grip didn’t dislodge him. He clung to your sweater, his gaze glassy but intense.
He closed his eyes, nose twitching like he was-–ew—like he was scenting you. “Aww come on baby. A li’l omega like you? There’s no need to pr’tend you don’t want this.”
Your brows furrowed, confusion bubbling up inside you. A little omega like you? What the fuck was he talking about? Was he that blasted?
“You have three seconds before I bite you,” you said, certain that would be clear enough, even if he was too drunk to tell you were a beta.
But his hand didn’t move. Instead he laughed, hot and humid and smelling strongly of liquor, and he fumbled with something at his belt.
A hot wave of fear suddenly washed over you, a stab of panic lancing your heart. He wasn’t going to expose himself right here, was he? You pushed back against the wall, feeling entrapped, yanking at his wrist harder to get him off of you.
“I’m not an omega,” you said loudly. “And I’m not interested, now get—”
The alpha’s hand was gone. You blinked, suddenly finding his face missing too, your vision gone entirely gray and strangely…knitted?
“Do not touch her,” a deep voice intoned, and you realized you were staring at a broad back, clad in a handsome gray sweater. You tipped your head back, your gaze fixing on a suspiciously familiar mop of scarlet and white hair.
Shouto. Pro hero Shouto had put himself in between you and the asshole alpha.
A thrill raced down your spine.
“The fuck I won’t,” a snort issued over one of Shouto’s strong shoulders.
There was a small, silent moment where you watched Shouto’s head tilt just the tiniest bit. He didn’t say anything in return—but a sudden, creeping unease slithered over your senses, raising the hair on the back of your neck. An audible hush fell over the people nearest you, though you couldn’t see what exactly was happening, caged between Shouto’s back and the wall.
You could just make out Shouto’s scent patches, perfectly even against his neck like always, and wondered whether they would help—-if the alpha couldn’t smell Shouto was an omega, maybe he thought he would respect his boundaries more?
“Dude—” someone hissed, from somewhere near the alpha, just as Shouto spoke once more.
“You will leave,” he intoned in that deep tone again. His voice was soft, placid—but the feeling of unease grew within you, a strange itch under your skin. You had the sudden urge to flee, but one of Shouto’s hands closed over your wrist, as a cerulean eye caught yours over his shoulder. “You…please stay.”
You could do nothing but nod, your feet practically freezing in place, the desire to obey subsuming your entire brain. What the hell was happening?
As Shouto turned back to face the alpha again, that hunted feeling grew stronger, like there was something in the apartment that you should be very, very wary of. Your throat started to close up, and your breath came a little short.
The room was so suddenly silent that you could hear the nervous shift of the people beyond Shouto, and you caught the sound of the alpha suddenly stumbling back.
“You’re—are you fucking Ordering me?” The alpha asked, but you could hear that he was still backing away.
The question crawled right under your skin along with the unsettled feeling.
An Order. As in, an Alpha Order. From Shouto? Pretty, kind, patient, careful Shouto? Classic omega material Shouto?
Was…using an Order on an alpha, and it was working?
Your head spun with the mismatch between Shouto’s face and the latent command in his tone. It was almost too strange to be contemplated, and yet here it was playing out in front of you.
Shouto, for his part, didn’t bother answering the question. “I believe I asked you to leave,” he said firmly. His voice carried an inflection that sliced through the air like a knife.
“Sorry, Todoroki, he’s super fucking drunk—I’ll get him out of here,” another voice said, one you recognized as a different support tech.
It sounded like he didn’t need to expend the effort, however, as the alpha’s footsteps were already beating a hasty retreat. The other support tech’s footsteps followed, his pace clipped on the hardwood.
As soon as they were out of view, the suffocating feeling all but evaporated. You could almost feel the sigh of relief around the room, and the line of Shouto’s shoulders untensed.
He turned to you slowly, drawing in a deep breath. His normally blank expression had been exchanged for something troubled, his perfect eyebrows knitted in concern, his full mouth pursed up like he’d just let it drop from a snarl.
He blinked down at you for a second, those distinct heterochromatic eyes flicking over you, before you found yourself suddenly crowded back into the corner, your back bumping the wall. Shouto leaned down and gave a delicate sniff at your temple, as if checking your condition.
“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was still strange, rough with something you couldn’t name.
He was warm where he lingered over you, his shoulders broad enough that they blocked the light and cast falling shadows into the meager space between you. He was near enough that the dip of his sweater collar rasped over your shoulder, sending a swarm of tingles over your skin. You drew in a careful breath, trying to figure out just what the right answer was, coming up with nothing.
Shouto frowned over your lack of a response. His nose pressed right into your hair, and he crowded even closer, like he was trying to find the source of your discomfort—even though he’d just chased that source right through the front door.
“Your scent is difficult to find,” he murmured, his chest expanding and contracting. “It is covered by many things…” He trailed off as he seemed to find it—and then something strange happened—even stranger than the scene with the support tech alpha.
Shouto froze in place, going so unearthly still he might have been transmuted into marble. You heard his breath catch and hold in his lungs, and his fingers came up to grasp your sleeve, clutching you tightly.
You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when a shudder swept down him, from head to toe. His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment, and a groan bubbled up from somewhere low in his throat.
“Your scent—” he rasped, then cut himself off.
He huffed out a harsh breath instead, stirring your hair, before his face dropped into the cradle of your shoulder. He breathed in, slow, measured, his mouth just barely touching the skin of your throat. You could feel his long, pretty eyelashes flutter against your skin, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine.
Something under your skin shifted in response, then.
To your utter shock, you could feel yourself tilting your head to the side, baring your neck. A strange feeling of malleability settled over you, like your bones had jellified and your muscles had atrophied.
“Shouto—?” you garbled out, unable to articulate any question beyond what the fuck was happening? You knew it had something to do with the way Shouto was most definitely not an omega after all. The thought made your brain fuzz with static.
Pretty, gentle, elegant Todoroki Shouto was an alpha. Kind, placid, beautiful Todoroki Shouto was even some kind of…distressingly strong alpha.
It crossed all the wires in your brain to think of that face possessing that kind of strength. But there was clearly something there. And you were being so weird and embarrassing about it, but you couldn’t have moved, even if you wanted to.
It felt like a short eternity, the time Shouto stood over you like that, his face pressed into your throat, your own throat bared to him. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest, simultaneously hammering a zillion miles a minute, and yet feeling slow, syrupy.
Distantly, you registered the hum of voices in the background, Tetsutetsu trying to rekindle the happy atmosphere. But Shouto was so warm over you, breathing slow and shallow, a tall, strong anchor weighing you against the wall.
It could have been minutes or hours before he finally stepped away. He looked calmer, but a little dazed. You felt the same way, mystified by what had just occurred between you.
His gaze picked over you in some kind of assessment. “You’re well?” he asked carefully. His voice was pitched low.
“Yeah,” you managed, your throat weirdly dry. “Yeah. I—thank you, Shouto.”
Shouto inclined his head in a nod. “You, as well. I don’t usually…I try not to rise to anger. But when alphas try to use their power to—” he cut himself off. His throat bobbed with some emotion you couldn’t name.
“Your scent is….calming to me.”
You nodded. The beta chill thing again, like Mina had said.
“Your friendly neighborhood beta, at your service,” you saluted him, trying to ignore the strange, lingering shiver in your limbs.
A tiny smile quirked the corner of Shouto’s mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on you, almost inhumanly intense.
“That is not quite what I mean,” he said, but did not elaborate. There was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you that you didn’t understand, but you didn’t know him well enough to try to dig into it.
Instead you just gave him another smile, your face heating as you noticed several people around you were still watching you.
You figured it was probably time to make an escape after that little scene you had just caused, for Shouto’s reputation as well as yours. You didn’t need people thinking Shouto had been scenting you for any reason other than your apparent beta chill pill scent, especially now that people at the party would know he was an alpha.
God, he was an alpha, even with a face like that.
You waved at him, garbling out another, “Well, thanks for the save! I, um, have to be going, but I’ll see you around!” before throwing yourself back through the crowd, your head spinning.
Mina had come out of the kitchen and tried to flag you down as you passed. You waved back at her like you’d misunderstood, quickly fighting your way back to Tetsu’s front door. You felt the weight of dozens of eyes on your back, and the prick of two heterochromatic ones, somehow more certain and weightier than the others. But you didn’t turn around, eager to get out of the crowd, still reeling from what had happened.
You didn’t know how you had been mistaken for an omega by that drunk alpha, and understood even less what had possessed Shouto to sniff you all over like that, embarrassed by how much you had liked it. It most probably had something to do with how inherently non-aggressive beta scents were supposed to be, maybe helping Shouto down from how keyed up he’d been about that other alpha.
But it had still been so embarrassing and strange, the way your head had tipped right back for him, the way your limbs had gone to jelly in his hold. You hoped he’d had a little to drink too or he’d probably realize how weird you were, reacting like that.
Finally, you spilled out of Tetsu’s and into the night, the evening air cool on your heated skin. The phantom touch of Shouto’s mouth still lingered on your throat, warm and disconcerting.
You beelined for home, your head swimming. You wondered just how long it would take you to forget how very strange this evening had been.
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baeshijima · 10 months
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— hsr men in a royalty au
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INCLUDES : blade ; dan heng ; gepard ; jing yuan ; luocha ; sampo + gn!reader
A/N : what started off as a duke!blade word vomit became a hsr royalty au brain dump. sighs. also once again pushing my knight!reader agenda bc the lack of royalty aus with knight!reader is criminal.
genshin ver.
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imagine you're the personal guard for emperor!jing yuan, picked by his hand when he was still just a mere crown prince learning the ropes of what it meant to rule an empire. in truth, there's not much for you to do other than stand close behind when in public settings or indulge in his whimsical nature when in private and within the confines of the palace walls. in spite of that, you can't help but to wonder whether it's necessary to be his partner when he practises ballroom dances, despite never actually dancing in the banquets. well, who are you to question your duties, right?
there is no destination without a journey; jing yuan would know this best. having been thrust onto a pedestal from young, he's witnessed more types of people than he can count on his fingers: those who act nice in order to gain, those whose eyes cannot hide their contempt, those who are kind out of fear, those who act on behalf of others, those who hold respect without ulterior motives... he has seen them all. his view of the world grew dull, the predictability of those around him bringing only disappointment to the young heir. the days passed in a blur with nothing of note, other than a lingering emptiness which kept him awake at night and a passion which only emerges when sparring with his instructor. and so when he was told it was time to choose a personal knight after countless assassination attempts, he trudged through the halls with poise ingrained into his stride and a blank gaze reflecting his thoughts. but when he arrived at the training grounds to oversee the potential candidates his attention was immediately seized by another, his usually stagnant heart thundering. for the first time in his life, jing yuan discovered what it meant to want something as he watched you strike your training sword against your opponent, his world bursting into colours he never knew existed before then.
jing yuan sometimes finds himself envying those who can dance without care at banquets. he has an image to maintain in front of his people while you tend to be a stickler for this kind of thing, often refusing a dance in favour of maintaining your post. he supposes it's fine if you're both together, despite the numerous times he's imagined what it would be like to dance with you in front of everyone, as opposed to the privacy of the palace under the guise of “not becoming rusty”. but as he casts his gaze over to where you rest, having fallen asleep after a particularly thrilling game of starchess with your body tucked within the protective embrace of his ever-dutiful lion, he finds himself engraving moments like these into his memory and filing them away to look back on when nights to himself become a little too lonely for his liking. it's one of the many sides to you which only jing yuan has been privy to; one of which he takes immense pride in and vows to shelter from the danger which lurks around every corner.
(he will never let you know how your bright eyes is what set his once monotonous life ablaze in colour all those years ago — the aloof crown prince utterly besotted with a starry-eyed rookie knight. he will also never let slip how he still thinks back on the warmth he felt when you took his trembling, slumped form in your arms after he fought his stricken teacher all those years ago, the aftereffects of your touch still lingering on his skin even to this day.)
despite being duty-bound beside the impish emperor, there are times where you, too, are in need of some peace away from his scheming mind and watchful eyes. in these moments, you find yourself finding respite within the royal library built into the palace, a stack of books typically used as your makeshift pillow. and even if librarian!dan heng gives you a death stare from his designated place, you know he appreciates your company when he drapes a blanket over your shoulders and replaces the book pile with a cushion or two. although, you can’t shake off the feeling you’ve seen him from somewhere before…
for as long as he can remember, dan heng has always been on the run. from what? he’s not even sure anymore; it has been that long. it is but a mere shadow, a phantom which haunts him under the glowing sun and the gleaming moon. he can run — run until his body is weak and heavy with fatigue — but he can never hide, for it follows close behind and lurks around unseen corners. as unnerving as it may be, he has grown used to the chilling gaze and staying on edge. after all, no matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he tries to blend in, there is no escaping a shadow. maybe that is why he felt a churning sensation stir in his gut when he first met the emperor to discuss his newly appointed position as the librarian, whose gaze held an unfamiliar sheen of conflict veiled behind an amiable disposition upon making eye contact. amidst the eyes of the sun held a glint of familiarity, one which dan heng couldn’t put his finger on the longer he dwelled on the thought.
dan heng didn’t know what to expect when he first met you; you, the personal guard handpicked by jing yuan himself. with all the duties he’s sure keeps you busy, it wouldn’t surprise him if he never met you past the glimpses he catches here and there when in official spaces. perhaps that is why it came as such a surprise when you stumbled into the library one day, all bleary-eyed and attempting to stifle your yawns, and he could only watch in a daze as you pulled out a random set of books from the shelves, plop yourself down at the nearest table, set the books on the surface and slam your head atop the pile, your soft snores filling the once-quiet room. dan heng wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring at you for, but it was long enough to wake you up and inform you of the library’s closing hour when the day’s hues bled into the night. what he thought would be a one-time thing soon became a regular occurrence — a routine — and he has become accustomed to your unceremonious visits and wonderful laughter and draping the blanket he now keeps under his desk over your slumbering form and admiring your peaceful expression over the rim of his novel. it’s come to a point where he can no longer imagine a life without it; without you.
(sometimes he wonders whether you enjoy the time spent with him as much as he does with you, in which he cannot help but to compare himself to the emperor you have pledged your life and devoted your loyalty to. amidst those thoughts, dan heng finds himself hoping you would favour him over the shine of the empire’s revered sun.)
royal guard captain!gepard is someone you have always admired, ever since you were just a rookie knight trying to prove your worth amongst a sea of prodigal candidates like him. he is kind as he is strong, a formidable ally and a terrifying foe. however, you can't help but wonder whether you’ve done something to offend him, what with the way he sometimes avoids you if you happen to bump into each other amidst the palace grounds and speedwalks in the opposite direction with hasty apologies trailing behind him.
the landau dukedom. it is known for its military prowess and defending the borders, but infamous for the strict duke landau. as well-respected he may be by the nobles of the court, gepard only knows a strict man more like a superior than a father. it wouldn’t be a lie to say duke landau was just that; a superior — a teacher, one who viewed his children as either heir candidates or a foundation to bolster the territory’s military power. while it may be a strict method, the respect gepard holds for his father is undeniable, feuling his desire to make him proud and carry out his teaching in the name of the honourable landau duchy. he stuck to harsh training regimens, endured countless trials of tactics and wit, witnessed his elder sister begin to refute against their father’s suffocating hold upon returning from the academy, watched as she left the duchy to have control over her own life with a promise to keep in touch with him and their youngest sister. these moments were fleeting, passing in a blur until he entered the ranks of the elite, eventually promoted to captain as he remained steadfast in defending the borders.
it took gepard countless sleepless nights tossing and turning in his bed and a highly amused serval laughing at his predicament to finally understand his feelings for you. love was an unfamiliar concept to him. he knew of camaraderie between fellow knights (which was what he assumed he felt for you, but just a bit more… intense?) and familial bonds between family, so this new experience of his heart palpitating, hands clamming up, words stuck in his throat and an incessant heat clinging to his cheeks was unfamiliar, thus his avoidance. though that didn’t sit well with him, as a longing ache only seemed to replace it instead. and so, despite the apparent awkward flair his body language carried, gepard decided to follow his heart when it came to matters pertaining to you. he quickly came to discover your likes and dislikes, your miniscule habits when practising swordsmanship, the subtle cues you display when uncomfortable, the smile you showed upon seeing something you liked and the grin you displayed upon besting him in a duel. they were all segments which made up the very being you are, and the pieces which fit within his heart to establish this newfound love he holds for you.
(as your direct superior there are many things he notices when watching from the sidelines. among many, the one which stands out are the eyes which follow you — some gaze at you with envy, others regard you with awe, but there are a few which regard you in the same adoration he does. love and jealousy were never something gepard thought he would experience; not until he met you.)
with your role as one of the empire’s royal knights and the emperor’s personal guard, it comes as no surprise to be inflicted with injuries of varying severities. as a result, you are well-acquainted with royal physician!luocha through your numerous visits. you’ve come to find his pleasant visuals and soothing voice does wonders to heal your fatigue, even if he does tend to go a little overboard in his lectures when you come to him with less-than-fine wounds.
being able to wield elements and being able to use divine powers are two different things; one is widely accepted, the other is not. at least, that’s the case in the xianzhou empire. those born with the ability to use divine powers have fled into hiding, unwilling to be outcasted — or worse, executed — for being afflicted with the cursed power of the divinity. as such, having lived the majority of his life in concealment, luocha is no stranger to hiding his abilities. curse or blessing, it’s an irrevocable part of him. still, he didn’t want to stop helping others the way the nature of his powers could. and so he resorted to learning medicine. he soon became a renowned travelling doctor sought after for his vast knowledge, all of which garnered the attention of the emperor when he stopped by in the capital and was offered the position of royal physician. with little drawbacks, handsome pay, and a grand place to stay without needing to be on the run, luocha accepted and became the sole royal physician of the empire.
there was very little luocha found himself to be afraid of. with no one but himself to rely on, he’s crossed many bridges on his own without care. there was no need for such sentiment in survival. or so he thought. in all his years, luocha doesn’t think there was anything more terrifying than the day you were rushed in by a frantic jing yuan, your complexion sickly and covered in sweat and breathing laboured. as it turned out, you were poisoned, having drank it in place of jing yuan upon sensing something suspicious. he doesn’t recall anything making his heart drop as quickly as the situation then had, his mind blank yet frantic as he forced the panic-stricken emperor out of the infirmary and laid you on one of the beds. your symptoms were dire, he noted, and there was nothing in the cabinets suited for this kind of quick-acting poison. your condition was worsening, a pained furrow of your brows and haggard appearance being clear indicators. a bright glow then illuminated the room, and luocha came to the belated realisation he had used his abilities for the first time since concealing them, for the thought of losing you was far more torturous than his will to hide his abilities.
(there was no thought to the act, just sheer desperation to not let you die. it took him a long few days to realise that, all of which were spent looking after you by your bedside. he never spoke of how he cured you when you asked, eyes bleary with confusion on how you’re still alive, instead choosing to keep it to himself as he chided you for being so reckless. you will never know of the inner turmoil he endured, even praying to a deity he never once believed in to ensure your safety. should you sustain more severe afflictions, luocha has no qualms using his abilities again — if it means you live, he will make an exception.)
thinking about duke!blade, whose… less than pleasant disposition does little to help refute the fearful rumours surrounding his name. you've met him a handful of times when he visits the palace under jing yuan's summon or catching him at the odd banquet or two, and even back when he used to train with jing yuan before his visits suddenly ceased. even so, you find yourself doubting those rumours, especially when he seems to wear an expression akin to peace more often than he does of one resembling disdain.
the cold duke remains an enigma to those around him — even those who work under him. is it due to his quiet hostility? or is it perhaps something no one knows, such as a secret known only to him, his butler, his family physician, and the emperor? a curse; one of immortality where his soul is torn to shreds only to be stitched anew before he can succumb to the paradise known as death. it's a never-ending cycle, one which causes him to no longer track the days when they all feel the same. the days out on leading monster subjugations and expeditions are just a temporary means of escape — an outlet for his pent up frustrations to let loose without worry. no one knows what truly goes on in his mind, only ever witnessing or hearing tales of his brutal yet awe-inspiring deeds on the blood-soaked battlefields, and the origin of his adopted alias: blade. his true name evades him, having been discarded the moment he lost his humanity.
he has always noticed you. it was hard not to when the favour you received was blatantly obvious, even from when you were just a fledgling knight and he the young heir of his duchy. there weren’t many opportunities for him to talk to you, what with the way jing yuan always seemed to divert his attention back to their instructor when noticing his wandering gaze to your distant figure, and even more so after the curse struck him full-force and he stopped visiting altogether outside of summons and banquets. it wasn’t until he returned from a monster subjugation as the sole survivor did he first properly meet you. with his mind torn and body regenerating itself, he failed to notice someone rush towards him, an unfamiliar warmth encompassing his bleeding torso as his conscience began to fade. an unfamiliar ceiling and an unfamiliar room was what greeted him when he awoke, but a warmth he registered as familiar gripped his calloused hand. what met his gaze then was your dozing figure, your head smushed against the duvet beside his leg with even breaths giving way to your unconscious state. his typically chaotic mind was silent as he stared at you. it was an odd feeling, one which elicited a sharp inhale when you shifted in place, your grip on his hand loosening as you sought out a more comfortable position, before exhaling in relief when you resumed your rest. it was an odd feeling, but it wasn’t unpleasant. and, for the first time in his life, blade experienced what it meant to be at peace.
(while he never spoke of that incident to you again other than a brief thanks for giving him (unnecessary) medical attention, he found himself drifting towards you more frequently — whether it be conversing with you during those bothersome banquets, stretching out the time you escort him before he enters jing yuan’s office-slash-meeting room, sharing specialties from his territory during garden strolls, or even requesting you to spar with him. the victory from either side is sweet, but the strained expression he catches from notable figures is even sweeter.)
amongst the many you’re acquainted with, merchant!sampo is the one you’re most on edge around in spite of the years you have known each other for. it’s not that he’s a bad guy, but there’s something about his easy smile and ever-searching eyes and his words that always seem to form into something people want to hear which all seem… off. well, maybe you’re reading too much into his demeanour. after all, if he truly did have sinister intentions, you’re sure he would have acted on them by now — he’s had plenty of time to.
there’s a certain level of cunning one must have in order to survive. whether that be wits, deceit, getting one’s hands dirty, it doesn’t matter. they are all just a means to an end, after all. sampo has long since tread on the path of deceit, a game of cat and mouse with unassuming clients and authorities. but business is business, and what better way to make use of that than exploitation? disguised in a bar known as “masked fools” mapped across the globe sits a wealth of knowledge, hidden behind a secret code only known by those who covet wealth or revenge. it’s a fun pastime; the information-slash-mercenary guild receives money, the client has their request done. sampo quickly discovered playing the unassuming fool in front of the target only for them to discover they were the fool all along to be exhilarating. it was a rush like no other, even more so when he mastered the art of disguise and blended in with the crowd, building connections and biding his time as the airheaded merchant.
sampo admits, he was a tad hasty in his judgement of you. just a little. well, when compared to the ever-imposing figure of the royal guard captain chasing him down when he makes his weekly medicinal run for the palace’s physician, you weren’t all that impressionable at first glance. maybe it was the way you passively regarded him before walking off which led him to that belief, or perhaps it was the unassuming expression you always carried despite being the famed personal guard of the emperor. whatever the case, he was wrong. he realised that when his balance was tilted, back flush against the grass with your body pinning him down. the tip of your sword was against his throat and your eyes burned so brightly when asking what he was doing sneaking around a forbidden area to outsiders. he doesn’t remember what he said or did in response; all he does remember is the adrenaline rushing through his veins at the stern countenance you bestowed upon him. unconventional as it may have been, sampo thought you were the most breathtaking in that moment, a wondrous sight for his heart which only knew of cunning and deceit.
(it would be no lie to say money talks. in his line of business, it does all the talking. the only exception, sampo discovered, was when an ignorant fool attempted to hire him and have you… removed, to put it lightly. sampo couldn’t help the laugh which escaped him at the expression on the man’s face after his carefree refusal, a sound which ceased as he pointed his weapon to the man’s throat and demanded he spill the identity of the one who sent him. after all, a mere small-fry like him doesn’t have the ability to even dream of hiring someone against you — mercenary or assassin.)
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if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33
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melobin · 25 days
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behind the screen 𐙚 sungchan smau
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✧ camgirl reader x roommate sungchan
✧ synopsis. in which sungchan discovers his favorite camgirl also happens to be his roommate.
✧ genre. nsfw, mostly smut, fluff, angst. each chapter will contain its own warnings. includes original mc reader, jung sungchan, song eunseok, park wonbin, anton lee, jeon somi, kim chaewon and jake sim.
this is a half written, half social media au. any chapters that are written or contain writing in them will have notices on them. any idols personalities used within this smau are created for purely fictional and do not reflect the idols themselves or my views on the idols. rights are reserved to melobin and i will take action against plagiarism of any kind. no face claim will be used for the reader. thank you @byunejoo for making the banner for me!! the masterlist for the series will be below.
fill out this tag list form to be tagged in each chapter
character introduction
#1
#2
#3
#4
#5
#6 | written. smut.
#7
#8 | half written. half smau. smut.
#9
#10
#11 | half written. half smau.
#12
#13
#14
#15 | half written. half smau. smut
#16
#17
#17.5
#18
#19 | half written. half smau.
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bluerosefox · 5 months
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Taking a Chance
I want more TaliaxDanny stuff so how about this AU. Its mostly HEAVILY hinted though.
[Side note: Danny is in his 20s, maybe mid 20s btw, also enjoy my actual writing style, haven't done this in a while besides some small snippets I write]
Talia discovers the future plans Ra's has for her baby, her heir, her child. She is hurt and enraged because "How dare he! How dare he raise my son to be a sacrificial lamb just to extend his own life!" And the fact he had no plans to truly step down from being the Demon Head. (Basically the timeline where Ra's planned to overtake Damain's body)
-x-x-
Talia stared, her green eyes almost glowing toward the sleeping form of her son on her bed. Her eyes roamed his tiny face, the way he lightly dozed the day away unknowingly of the danger that had set in stone for him. Yes, being not just her son but the son of the Bat and the grandson of the Demon Head he was always going to be in danger but never had she really thought the danger would come from the very person who just declared him his heir. At least not in the way its been presented.
Talia had just discovered the fate her father, Ra's al Ghul, the same man that had held Damian not even a day ago and spoke of the future he could see Damian bring to the League once he was of age and would lead it, had actually planned for her son.
He planned on using her son, raising him to be the perfect heir.... to... to...
Use him as a vessel in the end.
He planned to leave his old decaying body, a body that was beginning to no longer respond to the Lazarus Pits as of late, and basically jump ship to a younger and better body...
The body of her son. The son she created and craved to have and raise. The son she made with her beloved's blood running in his veins.
Despite how enraged she is' Talia knows she can't confront her father. He would kill her... no he would torture her by hurting her baby to the point death would be a mercy if she tried. She also knows she can't go running to Bruce, she had burned the bridge to him ages ago when she refused to leave her father and his teachings and knows he would rip Damian away from her should she tell him what she did. He would, under the guise of protecting their child gain sole custody from Talia, set up next to nothing visitation rights for her to follow. He would say it would be to protect Damian from Ra's but Talia knows Bruce, knows he would use it as a half-excuse just to keep her away... but Talia wants to be in her child's life. Wants to raise him. Wants to be his mother, despite knowing next to nothing on how to be an actual normal mother, she wanted to try. She needed to try.
Running away was also out of the question, especially since Damian had been declared her father 'heir'. He would hunt them down and there was no where in this world she could hide that her father could not find them...
And-
Talia barely gives any warning when she flings the knife behind her. She waited for only a second, either to hear the ting of metal being blocked or the sound of it burying itself onto the wooden door she knew was in its pathway.
Instead she heard neither of those things and instead heard the ticking of a grandfather clock and a deep chuckle.
"As expected from the daughter of the Demon. Sharp and deadly with no hesitation in sight."
"Who are you." It was not a question but a demand. She slowly turned her head and was meet with an odd sight that even the daughter of the Demon has never seen before.
"At most.. an ally to have. At worst, merely a passing stranger with an offer."
The ticking never stopped.
Everything else outside the room though did.
-x-x-
Danny stared, his currently green eyes burning even more brightly than they normally do. Many emotions passed through them, anger, frustration, pain, sadness, regret, heartbreak, and hopelessness to name a few.
He stared at the tiny sleeping face within the healing pod in front of him and closed his eyes as memories of spending time with the one sleeping filled his mind.
"My King." A voice began, Danny's sharp pointed ears twitch for a moment and he turned his head slightly but it was all the speaker needed to know that they had his attention even if he didn't give them his full attention.
"I bring the updated reports from Chief Frostbite you requested." The young yeti ghost said, this had Danny finally turning around and looking upwards and towards the young yeti, who was smaller than Frostbite but none the less bigger than Danny. Danny held his hand out and took the stack of papers in their hands.
Once the papers were in his hands he gave a curt wave of his fingers as if to say 'go on' without actually saying the words and turned his attention to the words on the papers. The young yeti, Icewinds took the signal and began.
"Princess Danielle's core has remained the same since the last check up. No major sign of deteriorating or destabilizing... However that also means there have been no signs of improvement or healing as well..." Icewinds stopped for a moment, allowing their King to register the words being spoken "We will continue to monitor her as best as we can but... My King..."
Icewinds took a deep breath and delivered the news everyone already knew "Without a female donor to complete her Ecto-DNA, should the Princess suffers from another Fading even a minor one, I fear it might be too much for her core and with her current body form it will not be able to withstand the stress... I'm truly sorry My King."
The room fell silent, the only real sounds being the monitors in the room and sound of rustling papers in Danny's hands, who was staring blankly at the words written on them but not really taking them in.
After a moment, Icewinds shifting uncomfortably for a second, Danny spoke his voice raw but strong and firm "I understand. Please inform Frostbite I am... grateful for his, yours, and everyone's continued support and everything everyone's has done to help her... If you do not mind Icewinds, I would... Like to be alone for a while and think... For a moment."
"O-Of course My King." And with that Icewinds left the room, Danny barely taking not of the door closing and his enhanced hearing picking up the hushed soft words being spoken to the Knights that stood outside the room of Danny's request of being left alone for a while.
Once the talking outside the room faded, Danny tilted his body and head back on the chair he had been sitting in for the last few days and allowed the papers he had his hands to fall out and onto the floor. Danny took in a shaky breath and closed his burning eyes as he tried to keep his core emotions in control, knowing if he lost control the Realms would echo him and would panic or worry his people.
And he couldn't deal with that. Not now.
"Clockwork, whatever timeline you are trying to set in motion, I hope it pans out soon." Danny rasped out as he tried his best to keep himself from falling apart. Losing Danielle, losing the girl that was his clone, his mirror, but also was like a sister... daughter sometimes would break him, harshly and deeply.
He knew his advisor and resident Timekeeper had something in the works, the way the aging spirit had looked at him before he left was telling when the news of Danielle's suffering from another Fading attack and Frostbite having to perform a Core Transform nearly last second, which in turn turned her into a baby from how close she was to fully Fading, had been delivered to Danny and the others.
But despite knowing Clockwork had a plan, Danny knew that smile he had before he had left. It had been Clockwork's 'Have hope, but even I am unsure.' smile, a rare one the Timekeeper would wear when even he didn't know which way the pendulum of chance would swing first.
So he did the only thing he could do for now, and that was to remain in the room with Danielle, keep her stabilized as best as he could with his own ectoplasim flowing, and wait to see if whatever Clockwork had planned would work out.
Waiting, even with all he's done in his life from becoming a Halfa, to defending his home and haunt, from fighting off insane Fruitloops to dismantling government bigots until there was nothing left of them, all the way to fighting a tyrannicidal Ghost King to the point Danny had won the crown by Trail by Combat thus taking up the mantle of Ghost King of the Infinite Realms since his seventeenth birthday and bringing the Infinite Realms into a new age of healing the broken crumbling lands and ruling over all justly but firmly, waiting was all he could do for Danielle.
And the waiting. The stress. Was agonizing.
Because what they needed was...
Was a miracle if Danny was to be honest. They needed a female, a donor in all sense of the words, to complete Danielle's incomplete Ecto-DNA, because of course that damned Fruitloop tried skipping steps in creating a clone of Danny and it was no wonder he had failed so many times with only Danielle the most stable of them all and given the fact she still wasn't was damning, but they couldn't just have any female donate their DNA to her.
No the DNA needed the donor to at least be limenal, thus turning the DNA into Ecto-DNA because Danielle was created to be a halfa... The only problem was that the person in question needed to be Jazz level of limenal Ecto-DNA as well.
Meaning that despite both Sam and Val offering their Ecto-DNA from the years of being exposed to the Realms and Ectoplasim theirs wasn't enough to work with Danielle's. Jazz's Ecto-DNA was off the table seeing as she was his sister and mixing it with Danielle's would just lead to problems.
No they needed someone who was born near or in ectoplasm, breathed it, ate or at least filtered it, grew with it for years like Jazz and Danny did, basically the person in question just needed one odd day of dying and returning to life at the same time to becoming a halfa levels of limenal. Only those high levels could complete and combined with Danielle's.
Which given the fact only Jazz had those levels, finding someone near those levels was like looking for needle in space, because forget the haystack.
"....You've returned." Was the only words Danny said when his ears caught the sound of a ticking clock suddenly in the room, his anxiety raising as both dread and a tiny slimmer of hope both slowly climb up in his emotions, knowing whatever answer Clockwork would give him would outweigh the other.
"On time, as always My King." His cryptic Timekeeper responded "I bring... a chance."
Those words were enough to snap Danny out of his chair, he quickly looked towards where Clockwork's voice had been coming from and floated. His eyes burning with determination for a moment before he caught sight of movement behind Clockwork.
Behind the ever changing being stood a breathtaking woman. Tall and proud from the way she held herself, she looked a few years older than him but Danny could sense she was far older her soul not really matching her body. She was lovely to look at no doubt but deadly, very deadly and that was something else Danny could sense after all he was the Ghost King.
And she wasn't alone for in her arms was a baby, roughly the same age that Danielle had been de-aged to as well.
Danny blinked at them when he noticed something.
She...
She was limenal.
Very limenal. Even more limenal than Jazz.
In fact both of them were.
"I would like you to meet Lady Talia al Ghul and her son Damian, My King." Clockwork said as he gave a tiny bow towards the woman who stepped forward, a frown on her face she took in Danny's features and her eyes darting towards Danielle's healing pod for a moment, Danny could see she was tensed and a little weary from no doubt everything so far.
".... Welcome Lady Talia to the Infinite Realms. I am King Phantom." Danny greeted, his many years of training with other royalties coming forward as second nature now, he wasn't some normal teen from the middle of the Mid-West after all. "Has Clockwork told you the reasoning as to why you have been... chosen?"
He honestly would put it past Clockwork to be cryptic about the reasoning, but he hoped he hadn't because Danny really didn't want to explain the importance of it all and why they needed to hurry. And judging by the roll of his eyes Clockwork knew what Danny had been meaning as well.
"Yes King Phantom" Talia spoke, her voice rich and silky that sent a tiny shiver up Danny's spine from the sound "You need my DNA to help heal your clone. Should it be successful however it will change her from being merely a clone to instead into becoming yours and mine daughter."
"Correct." Was Danny's response, short and to the point. He needed her answer now if they wanted to save even a fragment of Danielle's core.
The room fell silent again, each them of taking a moment to think.
But eventually Talia spoke. Her voice steady and strong.
"I will offer my aid to you and yours... But only if you swear to both me and my son that we will be given sanctuary from my father and any who dares harm us for the blood that runs in our veins."
Danny only had one answer to that as his eyes caught hers.
Because despite being the Ghost King Phantom nowadays. He had once been Danny Phantom whose core started as a protector spirit and could sense the honestly of needing safety in her words.
"Yes."
-x-x-
Clockwork watched and smiled at the two adults in the room as they continued to stare at each other.
He knew he had been cutting it close, waiting for Talia to be at the ends of ropes and needing a chance to finally leave her deadly and abusive father without the toxic strings attached her ex would tie around her under the guise of safety for their son.
Turning his attention away from the two as they began to speak terms, Clockwork cast his gaze towards an window in the room and stared out of it, smile still on his face as glimpses of the rare future he saw slowly rose up more frequently.
Danny and Talia slowly and surely working together to raise not just Danielle, or rather Ellie as they renamed her since she was no longer a clone of Danny, but also Damian together. Passing them off as twins to those outside the Realms or Amity Park.
Talia learning to release the toxic love she had towards Bruce Wayne, and understand if someone truly loved you for you, they would demand sudden change from the only way of life one knows. That since she was no longer the thumb of her father she could finally be free to be herself.
Danny learning that despite being crowned so early in his life, that the weight of the crown didn't need to be carried alone. Sure he had his friends and family but Danny needed someone, someone who understood the weight of the feeling of needing to wear it head held high. And who better to help teach that than the woman who had to carry the name Daughter of the Demon Head herself.
The two growing closer and closer. Until fondness changed and shifted into more. As they raised the two infants with laughter and joy and love.
Ellie getting a kiss from Talia on the forehead when she had a nightmare and seeked her mother out for comfort. Toddler Damian riding Cujo around the castle as he copied Fright Knight after watching him ride off, Danny floating right by him making sure he didn't fall off. Ellie learning how to fight not just from her mother but from her idol Pandora. Damian learning to identify the stars and their names from the man he saw, and later wished was, his father. Ellie and Damian building pillow forts in the library and reading all manners of stories to each other. Danny and Talia holding their tiny hands as they took them to their first day of school within Amity Park their joyful laughter bringing soft smiles on their parents faces.
Danny holding a crying Talia as she explained the things she had been taught and forced to learn by the orders of her father in the dead of night. Doing his best to calm her down as he had been taught by Jazz ages ago.
Talia standing tall and firm when the Observants tried to undermined a order, no a law Danny had set in motion that had upset the eyeballs badly. How she gathered evidence of their attempts to go against it and how they were nothing but traitors towards their King and couldn't weasel themselves out of it this time.
Clockwork smiled warmly when he caught sight of one more glimpse of this future timeline.
Talia dressed beautifully, a crown made of stars and black jewels on her head. Her son dancing with her as firm as he could but his little tongue peeking out of his mouth as he concentrated on his steps and was dressed like a tiny prince complete with a tiny crown of stars on his head as well, Talia's face held a tiny smile of love watching him try his hardest to dance correctly with her. Joyful squeals of laughter rang out as King Phantom twirled with Ellie, who was dressed like a true princess, in his arms.
Around them in the ballroom the citizens of Realms laughed, joyfully danced, sang, ate, or merely watched. For the first time in many, many years the Realms felt... Complete. Whole. Happy.
A true wonderful afterlife that all could enjoy.
Yes.
He knew waiting the last second was a long shot, for a chance that almost wasn't, but the future he saw was well worth it.
A good future. A balanced one. A happy afterlife one.
Now, all he had to do was wait for the seeds of this future to bloom.
1K notes · View notes
astraystayyh · 10 days
Text
The snow falls, we fall apart.
summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.
genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)
warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.
a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)
winter falls masterlist.
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You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.
First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.
Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.
And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.
A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.
You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.
It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.
“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.
You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.
Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.
“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.
Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.
Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.
You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.
And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.
Two weeks ago.
“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.
“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”
You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.
“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.
What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?
“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”
Deny, deny, deny.
“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.
“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”
You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.
❁ ❁ ❁
Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.
“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.
You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.
As he is doing now. Looking at you.
“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.
“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”
“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.
“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.
“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.
“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.
Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.
“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”
“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”
Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.
Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.
❁ ❁ ❁
Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.
You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.
What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.
You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.
You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.
And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.
But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.
“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.
“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?
“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”
“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”
Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.
You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?
You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.
You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.
And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.
“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.
“What next?”
“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.
“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.
“How are you surviving without me?”
“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.
You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.
“They’re for Yn.”
Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”
It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.
But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.
“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”
“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.
His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.
“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.
Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.
“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.
Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”
“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”
“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”
“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”
“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.
“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”
“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.
The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”
“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”
The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.
“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.
“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”
“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.
“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.
“Yes.”
“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.
“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.
“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”
“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.
“Well, run faster!”
“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.
“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure
“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.
“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”
“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.
“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”
“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.
“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.
“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.
“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”
You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”
You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.
“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.
“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.
“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.
“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”
“I understand.”
Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.
And Hyunjin loves winter.
He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.
❁ ❁ ❁
Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.
You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.
“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”
“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.
“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.
You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.
“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.
“And the cupcake?”
“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”
“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”
“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.
“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.
The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.
“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”
Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.
“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.
“In my free time.”
“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.
“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.
It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.
Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.
Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”
“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”
“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you
“I want it to stop hurting.”
“It will, with time.”
Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.
“Do you promise me?”
His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.
“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”
“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.
“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.
“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”
“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”
“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.
“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.
“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.
The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.
Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.
“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.
“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.
“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.
“As do mine.”
A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.
“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”
“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”
“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”
You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”
He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.
“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”
“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”
“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.
“It's my job,” he grins lightly.
“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”
“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”
A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.
“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”
Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.
Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.
Five days later.
hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?
yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?
hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu
if you say no i’ll freeze to death..
hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ
“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.
“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.
“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.
“You’ll see.”
Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.
“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.
“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.
“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”
Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.
“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”
You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.
“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.
“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.
The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.
And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.
But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.
“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.
“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.
Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.
“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”
“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.
“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”
You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”
“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”
Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”
“Hyunjin!”
“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”
“I'm not coming!”
But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.
“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”
“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.
Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.
“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”
“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.
“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.
“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.
“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”
“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”
You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.
You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.
“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.
Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.
He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.
“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.
“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.
You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.
❁ ❁ ❁
Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.
Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.
And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.
And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.
But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.
But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.
You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.
You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.
You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.
So, you want to say thank you.
You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.
“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.
“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.
“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.
“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.
“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.
“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.
“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.
“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.
“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.
“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.
“It's beautiful.”
“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.
“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.
“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.
Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.
“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.
You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.
You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.
“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.
“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.
“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.
“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”
Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.
“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.
“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.
“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.
Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”
You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.
You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.
It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.
“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.
“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.
“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.
“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”
It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.
“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”
“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”
“Neither did you.”
Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?
“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”
You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.
“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.
“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”
“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”
A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”
“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”
He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”
“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.
“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”
“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”
You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.
He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.
A week later.
hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you
You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.
You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.
It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.
hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch
You giggle, shaking your head before replying.
yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t
hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ
but i finished the song
wanna hear?
Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.
“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.
“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.
“I know. We are so lame.”
“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.
Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.
“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”
“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”
“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.
Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.
In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.
Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.
The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.
Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.
I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.
You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.
The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.
You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.
So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.
You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.
So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.
The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.
You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.
For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.
How could he love you?
How could you not love him?
“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.
“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.
“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.
It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.
“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”
“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”
His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.
“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.
“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.
“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“Is it good?”
“It's everything to me.”
“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”
“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.
The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.
❁ ❁ ❁
It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.
On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.
On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.
But then, there’s a knock on his door.
His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.
“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.
“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.
He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.
“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.
You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.
“Hi, my Yn.”
“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.
“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.
“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.
“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.
“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?
“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.
His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.
You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.
“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.
“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.
He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.
“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.
He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.
And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.
He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.
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peachdues · 16 days
Text
THE GREAT WAR
PART I ♤ SECRET PREGNANCY AU
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A/N: After seven months, it's finally here. Part I of Giyuu's Bundle of Joy. This fic involved a ton of research and tears. I hope you all enjoy. Special shout-out to @squishybabei @kentohours @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 @ghost-1-y and @xxsabitoxx for letting me bombard your DMs with endless snippets from this fic for feedback. Note that this is a multi-part fic, and it will be a non-linear story.
CW: explicit sexual content ☼ MDNI ☼ loss of virginity ☼ unprotected sex ☼ protective/possessive Giyuu ☼ canon-typical violence
LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST HERE
January, 1915
The moon’s rays filtered through the sparse canopy of the trees from above, bathing that small portion of the forest in its silvery glow. There, about twenty paces ahead, Giyuu locked eyes on his target.
A demon; one he’d been pursuing through the dense forest separating his Manor from the base of a great mountain for the last several miles
The demon had yet to notice him, for it was focused entirely on its own prey — a human woman, who was frantically zigzagging as she ran in a desperate effort to evade its clutches. 
She was succeeding rather well in her endeavor, managing to dart out of the beast’s reach right as it snapped its sharp, deadly claws at her back. But the girl then miscalculated her movements and stumbled over something — whether it was a tree root or her own feet, he could not say — and she went airborne. For one, sickening moment, Giyuu feared he would not be fast enough to save her from falling victim to the demon he was readying to kill.
The girl squealed as she fell, just narrowly managing to avoid the swipe of the beast’s claws as they cut uselessly at the air where her back had been only seconds before. Something long and wooden flew from her hand as she sprawled across the forest floor – a broom.
Odd. 
Steps quick and even, Giyuu’s thumb flicked his sword free from its scabbard. Within seconds of him drawing his weapon, the Slayer’s blade sliced seamlessly through the demon’s neck, its head thudding pathetically to the forest floor before the beast could comprehend the threat.
He landed swiftly on the balls of his feet, the Water Pillar quickly shaking his blade free of the demon’s blackened, rotted blood before sheathing it at his hip. A quick job – that was how he liked it; free of fuss. 
Behind him, he heard the leaves coating the frozen ground of the forest shift and crack as the human girl he’d rescued rose to her feet. He grimaced; while helping rid the world of the blight inflicted upon it by demons was his life’s sole and true purpose, and one he fulfilled without hesitation, he was little more than a fish out of water when it came to talking to those he helped. 
The girl had yet to flee; Giyuu suspected she might be in shock, if not a bit simple, and he sought to prod her along. After all, the sooner she left the forest, the less likely she’d end up a demon’s meal and waste his efforts in preserving her life. 
“You should be fine now. Please return to your ho-,” The dark-haired Slayer’s words were cut off with a sputter as the head of the woman’s broom whacked him sharply up the side of his skull. 
Giyuu stood there for a moment, dazed and slightly confused as he turned towards the woman whose life he’d just preserved. 
The Water Pillar had not paid her much mind upon discovering her seconds away from becoming the slain horned demon’s newest meal, his attention having been entirely focused on eliminating his target. But now, without the distracting threat of a man-eating beast, he could see she was clad in the traditional attire worn by Shinto priestesses, though she looked far too young to have achieved such a status. Instead, she appeared to be much closer to himself in age. The front of her red hakama pants were streaked in mud and dirt from her fall, and several strands of hair had fallen loose from where they’d been gathered in a ribbon just below her shoulders. 
And she was glaring at him. 
“What are you?” She demanded, and the Water Pillar noted the faint tremor in her voice that she worked to conceal behind her defensive stance, her broom braced in front of her like a blade. 
A slow blink. “I am Tomioka.” 
It baffled him that he let his name slide so freely when he’d never been one particularly keen on sharing it. Yet, he’d thought that perhaps the exchange of names would get the wild woman before him to calm, and perhaps lower the sweeping tool —-
“What the hell is a Tomioka?” 
Giyuu wondered whether the — Miko, that was what young priestesses in training were called — had hit her head in the fall. “My name.” 
A faint dusting of red spread across the Miko’s cheeks as she realized the absurdity of her mistake, though she still did not lower her weapon. Rather, she jutted it towards him in what Giyuu thought may have been an attempt to be threatening. 
“And what was that thing just now, Tomioka? And what are you?”  Quickly, her eyes swept behind him, scanning. “Are there more?”
Idly, Giyuu wondered why he was bothering to indulge in such a silly conversation to begin with, chalking it up to the mere fact that they were still in a dark forest, with dawn still several hours away. 
The foolish girl would end up a snack for another demon if she did not turn around and go home. 
“It was a demon. I’d been tracking it for several miles when it stumbled across you. You can count yourself lucky — do not hit me again.” He cut off with a warning, eyes narrowing as the Miko drew the broom back up over her head. 
There was a tense moment as the two regarded one another, Giyuu’s eyes locked on the Miko’s trembling arm as she stared distrustfully back at him. 
The girl’s hands twitched as the broom cleaved through the air once more, but Giyuu knocked it easily away, sending the cleaning tool flying uselessly to the side where it rolled under a bush. 
“Are you finished?” Giyuu asked, irritation creeping into his tone as he stared coolly at the flustered Miko. 
“You’ve stripped me of my only weapon, so I suppose I have no choice,” the young woman sniffed, her tone as frosty as his glare. 
Giyuu grimaced. “You would not have lost the privilege had you simply done as I asked.” 
The Miko folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and glowered at him. “You would truly leave a woman defenseless in the woods? With nothing to protect herself?”
Giyuu scoffed. “You are not a woman; you are a menace.” 
The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times as her face flushed several shades deeper. “Y-you!” 
A crack! somewhere in the woods made the sputtering Miko fall silent with a small squeak, and Giyuu was bemused to find that the woman’s hands shot to him for safety, when only moments before she’d tried to clobber him away from her. 
“You said that…that thing earlier was a demon, yes?” She whispered and Giyuu nodded, tense as his eyes swept through the shadowy line of the trees, searching. 
“Do you think there are more?”
“So long as we continue sitting here like a pair of lame ducks, more are bound to come sniffing.” The wary Pillar replied. “Which is why I suggest you return home — without bludgeoning me further.”
The young Priestess continued to cling to his arm, her eyes wide and anxious. Giyuu cleared this throat, and when the woman’s attention snapped back to him, he pointedly glanced down at her white-knuckled grip on the sleeve of his haori. 
“Apologies,” the Miko blushed, and her hands quickly relinquished their hold on his sleeve. She wrung her hands nervously before her. “Might you escort me back to my Shrine? It’s not far from here – less than two kilometers.” 
Still within his territory — albeit at the opposite end of the forest where is own Manor stood. He grimaced, but nodded stiffly. His efforts to save the woman’s life would be in vain if she walked away from him and straight into the waiting, eager claws of another beast that lurked in the shadows.
The Miko smiled brightly at him and offered her name. Giyuu elected not to reply, and the girl settled into step at his side, a small frown pulling at her lips.
“I’m sorry for earlier — for hitting you with my broom.” The girl — Y/N — said a short while later, the faintest trace of shyness in her tone. 
Giyuu did not think the apology warranted a response, and so he gave none, but the chatty little devil prodded him once more. 
“Did I injure you?” She gestured to the side of his head where her broom had caught him. 
Giyuu snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. “The day I am hurt by a mere broom is the day I retire from the Demon Slayer Corps.” 
Y/N hummed in contemplation. “And what exactly is the great and mysterious Demon Slayer Corps?” 
The Water Pillar’s eyes remained forward. “I should think the name is self-explanatory. There are demons who eat humans. We slay them.” 
Inwardly, Giyuu cringed at the harshness of his words. It did not happen often, but there were times when he wished he was better with them, when he wished he did not come off quite as aloof and callous — 
“You do not know how to talk to people very well, do you Tomioka-sama?” Y/N’s tone was not judgmental; it rather had a mild curiosity to it, as though she were merely commenting on the weather or the quality of a cup of tea. 
But the Water Pillar did not know how to answer her. Kocho once told him that others disliked him, but Giyuu wasn’t sure that was entirely true; after all, no one had ever said so much to his face. 
Then again, if the young shrine maiden’s words were anything to go by, then perhaps the Insect Pillar’s scathing assessment hadn’t been too far off the mark. 
“What even brought you into the forest so late at night?”  Giyuu did not know why the question needled at him, but he found the pressing silence of the trees more disconcerting than the Miko’s voice, and so he was desperate for the distraction. “And why a broom?”
Y/N herself seemed surprised at his sudden interest. “Night-blooming herbs,” she said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “They are critical for certain rites and medications. And I cannot collect them any other time. The broom was for protection, obviously.” 
“I wasn’t aware shrines still performed rituals,” Giyuu pushed an errant tree branch out of their way, and ahead, faint lights began to swim into view. The Shrine. “Are you not a mere relic of a time long since-passed?” 
“I’ll have you know that we still perform basic cleansing rites for those in the village,” Y/N bristled. “And we provide medical aid, since there is no hospital nearby.”
She shot him a cold look. “Modern medicine would not have developed but for ancient practices such as ours.”
Giyuu frowned. He hadn’t meant to insult the woman. “Be that as it may,” he said flatly. “Demons prowl at night. You wandering into the forest none the wiser  is akin to you waltzing into their territory with a giant sign that says ‘Eat me.’”
Y/N grimaced. “Then what would you have me do? Neglect my duties?” 
He could sympathize with that. “No, I’m not saying you should forsake your obligations,” he furrowed his eyebrows at the thought. “Perhaps it is simply a risk you must take. But you should at least be aware of your surroundings.”
Y/N looked upon him with a miserable expression. “You’re of little help, you know that?” 
Giyuu only frowned, perplexed as to why she couldn’t understand the import of his words.
An awkward silence ensued, punctured only by the faint hoot of an owl. For that, the established swordsman was grateful; noise meant the absence of predators, which meant they were safe – for now. 
“You mentioned tracking the demon earlier – how long had you been doing so?” 
“A while.” 
The girl was relentless. “And you just so happened to track it here? Where it was conveniently chasing me?” 
“I patrol this region. Your rescue was nothing more than coincidence and luck on your part.” 
“My gratitude is endless,” the shrine maiden said drily. “Forgive me for not falling to the ground in prostration.”
At that, Giyuu fell silent and refused to engage in any further conversation. The shrine maiden, for her part, seemed to take his cue that he had no interest in her or exchanging meaningless pleasantries, and so she too, went quiet. 
The forest floor eventually began to slope gradually up, and before long, Giyuu found himself walking along a carved rock path that curved through the trees until it widened at a great set of stone stairs. At the very top of the steep incline, he could spot a great Torii gate.
Y/N turned to him with a beaming smile. “Allow me to introduce you to the Shrine." Tomioka opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly added, “You should at least know who it is you have dedicated your life to protecting.” 
“I’d rather not.”
But she was already leading him up the stairs, his wrist pinched delicately between two of her fingers. Realistically, Giyuu knew it would take him no effort to shake the woman’s hold and disappear into the night. But to his own bemusement, he allowed her to tote him behind her as though he were little more than a useless pet. 
The pair passed under the Torrii and into a sprawling courtyard. Though night sky was a deep, inky black, the perimeter of the courtyard was dotted with several stone lanterns -- toro -- each of which had been lit with a generous flame. Giyuu's quick perusal of the Shrine, however, was cut short as the Miko led him into the Shrine's main structure -- the honden -- and tugged him down a narrow hallway. Based on his rough appraisal of the building, Giyuu surmised she was taking him to the center of the honden, likely where the girl's master was.
His theory was proven correct when Y/N drew up to a great slat of shoji panneling. The Miko knocked softly on one of the wooden beams before she slid the door aside, revealing a great, open room that was littered with scrolls, half-dried pots of ink, and burned incense sticks. There, in the center of the room, knelt the head Priestess of the Shrine. She was an old, shriveled, wrinkled thing. The white hair that she’d gathered into a knot at her neck was as wispy as the thinnest clouds, and a quick glance over her hands revealed swollen joints covered by skin spotted with age.
But the Priestess did not appear to be a gentle elder by any means; her thin mouth was curled down into a sneer that was directed at the Miko at his side, and her eyes were hard and cold.  
"Head Priestess," Y/N bowed to her elder. "This man is called Tomioka, and he helped save me tonight in the forest."
Giyuu resisted the urge to snort. Helped, indeed.
The old woman's eyes shone bright with an emotion he could not name as the Miko continued. "A creature attacked me as I was returning home. Tomioka says he is a swordsman whose occupation --"
“I know what he is, girl,” the Priestess snapped at her student before she turned those beady eyes to him. “A member of the Demon Slayer Corps will always be welcome at this Shrine – particularly one as esteemed as yourself.” 
The Water Pillar straightened at the old woman’s casual mention of the Corps. “I was not aware that of any Shrines so affiliated with the Corps.” 
“There was a time when the Demon Slayer Corps would partner with shrines such as this to carry out its mission,” the Priestess replied evenly. From his periphery, Giyuu spotted Y/N’s head snap toward her mentor, her jaw slack. “Once, priestesses were akin to shamans who offered a variety of rituals for cleansing and protection. You slayers relied on our connection with our communities to operate more effectively, and we in turn, counted on your protection to fight what we could not.”
Despite the distinct scent of sake that clung to the elderly shrine keeper like a cloud, her eyes remained sharp and fixed upon him, and her wrinkled mouth pulled into a rueful smile. “Now, it seems, our wise and benevolent government has forced us both to retreat to the shadows to operate in secret.”
She bowed her head. “You have nothing but my respect, Lord Hashira. You are always welcome here.” 
Giyuu did not respond, but he inclined his head toward the Priestess in polite acknowledgement. 
Y/N gaped at her Master. "Lord --?"
The old woman poured another generous serving of sake and brought the choko to her lips. “Though we are honored by your visit, young Lord, I’m afraid your presence is nothing more than a calculated effort by this one,” she nodded pointedly at the young shrine maiden at his side, whose cheeks pinkened. “To keep herself out of trouble. My apprentice was not permitted to leave the grounds, you see.” 
“Oh hush you old drunk,” Giyuu’s eyes snapped to the irate Miko in surprise. “I told you earlier I was going to the village market –” 
“Telling me while I am in the middle of lessons with the younger girls and sprinting off before I can respond is hardly me giving you permission,” the Priestess’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You’ve defied me for the last time, girl.” 
The old Priestess turned away from her apprentice, dismissive. “You will take the rice bundles and hang them in the drying shed – every last one, for the next three days.” 
“You hag!” Y/N fumed, her face pinched in outrage. “I was on rice duty all last week without an ounce of assistance –” 
“And you apparently have yet to learn your lesson,” the old woman retorted bitterly, shooting the seething Shrine Maiden a withering glare. “Considering you still think it seemly to mouth off at any and every opportunity –” 
The Miko spat a curse at the elder Priestess so filthy and colorful that even Giyuu could not mask his surprise, raising his eyebrow. But if Y/N’s outburst shocked the Shrine’s head, the old woman gave no sign. Instead, she only glowered at the young woman as the latter turned and shoved the shoji door harshly to the side. Giyuu, ever the unwilling observer, was left to be pulled by his wrist back into the hall behind the young Miko before she whipped around to face her senior once more. 
Giyuu had thought himself stunned by the crassness of the Shrine Miaden’s language before, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the obscene gesture she made at the old woman before she slammed the door firmly shut. 
A telling crash on the other side of the wall signaled the Elder Priestess had hurled her empty sake dish at the door with all her might. “And work on your aim!” Y/N snapped before turning sharply on her heel to stomp out of the honden, tugging the Water Pillar helplessly behind her. 
“She seems unstable.” said Giyuu once they were a safe distance away from the main Honden. 
Y/N brushed aside his concern with a flippant waive of her hand. “Granny is harmless. As her charge, I suppose I instigate her nearly as much as she torments me.” 
Granny. It made sense, then, the curious affection the girl held for the rancorous head Priestess, even if he could not bring himself to fully understand it. 
“You are more than welcome to stay the night,” the Miko’s mood lightened considerably the more she put distance between herself and the drunken head Priestess. “We serve breakfast at sunrise, but of course, you’re not obligated to attend.” 
The ravenette’s mouth quirked down in a faint grimace, the only sign of his discomfort. “I should return to my own home.” 
“It’s quite late,” Y/N glanced up at the night sky, now awash with stars that surrounded the fat, glowing moon like thousands of glittering jewels. She turned back to him with a radiant grin. “At least allow me to show you around.”
If anyone had asked him, Giyuu Tomioka would not have been able to explain the series of events that had led him here. 
He distinctly remembered telling the vexatious young Shrine Maiden no, that he could not stay the night, yet somehow he’d found himself in the Shrine’s old, musty guest house, already prepared for his stay, a lantern flickering merrily in the corner. 
He glanced warily at the fresh sleeping kimono folded beside his futon. The possibility of him actually sleeping in such an unfamiliar place was nil and while the Water Pillar certainly had no issue in appearing impolite to others, he thought that perhaps the Shrine was affiliated with the connection of Wisteria Houses dotted throughout the land, and he didn’t want to risk offending the head Priestess and cause her to shut her gates to other slayers in need of lodging. 
So, Giyuu paced the floor of the small guest house, restless. Though his eyes remained carefully trained on the window of his room, waiting for the slightest hint of movement that would give him an excuse to leave without offending his hosts, no sign of either his crow or any demonic threat  manifested. Though, he supposed with a frown, it shouldn’t surprise him that he’d not heard from Kanzaburo; the ancient bird was likely flitting about the forest, lost.
He continued to pace until finally, the sky in the East began to lighten signaling that dawn was fast approaching. Stealthily, he slipped out of the small hut that had served as his temporary accommodations and made his way toward the Torii under which he and that Miko — Y/N — had passed upon their arrival.
He’d almost cleared the gate when he saw the elder Priestess standing beside the Torii, apparently waiting for him. Giyuu nodded his head at her, the only expression of courtesy he was willing to give, but he was halted as the old woman flung out a single arm in front of him, her hand flat and palm turned up, waiting.
And that was how Giyuu learned the Shrine was not, in fact, a Wisteria House; not as he was forced to fork over a considerable sum of his earnings into the Priestess’s expectant hand. 
Wisteria Houses meant Corps Members stayed free of charge; the price the Shrine’s keeper demanded in exchange for his brief stay bordered extortion.
At least he’d had the money; if he’d been of any lower rank, the old woman would have cleaned him out.  
He scowled as he departed but his irritation quickly fell away as he finally laid eyes on Kanzaburo, who nearly collided with his Master’s head as he struggled to pant out his orders. 
And so, as the Water Pillar trekked through the forest and toward his new assignment, the view of the Shrine faded behind the dense canopy of the mountain forest, and so too, did any final, sparing thoughts of it, or its inhabitants.
———-
Nearly a month passed since Giyuu stumbled across the strange shrine maiden in the forest separating his Estate from the old Shrine, and the Miko had nearly faded from his memory. Not that such a feat was difficult; the raven-haired Pillar’s mind was far more occupied with tasks like patrol and chasing down leads that could potentially lead the Corps to an Upper Rank demon to focus on much else. 
He’d intended only to find a decent meal and then depart the village before nightfall to investigate rumors of women disappearing in a small town to the south. Night was rapidly approaching, however, and he’d yet to find any vendor that sold anything he liked, much to his chagrin. He was about to cut his losses and continue on, when he spied a familiar blur of white and red idly perusing one of the stalls, apparently oblivious to the impending sunset. 
Without thought, his feet carried him toward her, his annoyance sparking to life. 
“What do you think you’re doing?” 
The Miko’s – Y/N’s – head turned back and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the Pillar standing behind her. 
“Tomioka-sama,” she greeted with a polite bow. “I did not expect to see you so soon.” 
He ignored her greeting, choosing instead to take a step closer. “I asked what you were doing.” 
If she was taken aback by his terseness, she didn’t show it. “I am returning to my shrine after an afternoon of errands,” she replied smoothly. “As is usual for me.” 
“It is nearly dark.” 
“An astute observation,” and to his annoyance, he saw an amused twinkle in her eye. “Do you also know that tonight is also a full moon?” 
Said moon had already made an appearance above them, growing brighter and brighter as the sky faded from twilight to night. 
Giyuu had never been one for rolling his eyes, but the young woman’s knowing smirk grated at something inside him, made him feel as he often did whenever Kocho would make a sly comment with that smile of hers, that for some reason made him feel like he was the butt of some joke only she knew. 
He grimaced. Teasing; that’s what the shrine maiden was doing. She was teasing him. 
“It is nearly dark,” he repeated. “And I did not think you’d be naive enough to risk traveling after sunset.” 
“I believe it was you who insisted I did not have to ignore my duties, so long as I paid attention to my surroundings.” She replied coolly. “So that is exactly what I am doing.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fine. If the stubborn girl wanted to be bait for whatever awaited her in the forest once the sun finally set, then that was her choice. He’d saved her once, and he’d given her sufficient warning; what she did from then on did not concern him. 
He was about to bade her farewell when a slurred, boisterous voice boomed her name from across the market. Several heads turned toward the source, including Giyuu's, until he found a round faced, piggish man stumbling away from a sake stand, his cheeks flushed a bright red.
The man repeated the Miko's name in that grating, sing-song voice of his. "Whe're you goin' all by yourself so late?"
He didn't know what possessed him to ask, but Tomioka turned to the shrine maiden. "A friend?"
“His name is Susumo,” she said airily, though she could not conceal her scowl as the man drew closer. “He’s merely the village drunk who forgets to keep his hands to himself.”
The shrine maiden’s eyes narrowed accusingly at the villager, and the Miko remarked, in a raised voice, “And he is not welcome at the Shrine, though he pretends to forget otherwise.”
Susumo only held his hands up, as though in surrender. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to know what lies under all those layers,” and as if the implication of his lechery wasn’t clear enough, he gave the Miko a leering once-over. “Can’t say I was disappointed.” 
“But your friend is right,” he slurred, a smirk forming on his lips. “The dark is too dangerous for a pretty thing like you to risk walking back alone —“
“I shall escort her,” Tomioka said abruptly and she whipped back to him, her mouth falling open. “After all, I’m welcome at the Shrine.” 
Susumo, too, gaped at the Swordsman. The Miko recovered quickly however, unwilling to allow the opportunity to pass or for the Slayer to suddenly come to his senses and realize he’d rather leave her to fend for herself in the forest. 
“You have my gratitude, Tomioka-sama,” and she gave him a small bow of her head. Relieved, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and smiled warmly up at her raven-haired companion. “Shall we?”
She did not wait for Tomioka to answer, nor did she give any further acknowledgment to Susumo, who only continued to stare at the Hashira, his face bright red. With a feigned indifference, she breezed past him, but a sudden yelp from behind caused her to snap back in alarm. 
The first thing she noticed was the proximity of the back of a dual-patterned haori as it stood between her and the village drunkard. The Water Pillar’s shroud nearly brushed the tip of her nose, forcing her to step back. Cautiously, she peered around Tomioka’s rigid form, and her eyes widened at the sight before her. 
Susumo, it appeared, had tried to grab her, only to be cut off by the Water Pillar himself, who snatched him by his wrist. Though it did not appear that Tomioka was using a great deal of effort to restrain him, it was clear Susumo was struggling — greatly so — against the ferocity of the Slayer’s hold, given how a vein bulged in his forehead, his face,  rapidly turning purple. 
Her gaze flicked to the Swordsman’s hand, and she felt herself blanch at the odd angle of Susumo’s wrist. 
She was no doctor, but she knew wrists weren’t meant to twist as his did in Tomioka’s crushing grip. 
“Leave.” the Water Pillar ordered coldly, and there was a darkness in his eyes that matched the brutality of his hold. “Your presence is unnecessary and unwanted.”
“Y-you! Susumo sputtered.
But Tomioka’s grip only tightened. “Now.”
And then he released him, Susumo half-stumbling back from the Swordsman. His eyes were wide with both fear and loathing, and he muttered incoherently under his breath as he massaged his rapidly-swelling wrist.
The Water Pillar, however, did not pay any more attention to the red-faced villager. He turned only to the shrine maiden, who remained frozen in place, her eyes wide. "Shall we?"
Numbly, Y/N nodded and the two set off down the path that led back to the Shrine. Dimly, the Miko noted that the Slayer kept noticeably close to her as they walked, as though he was unwilling to let her wander too far away. The air between them as they traveled was thick and tense. She was on edge enough thanks to Susumo and his oily words, and she was desperate to do anything to distract herself from the buzzing mounting under her skin. 
She cast a sly, sidelong glance at the Swordsman walking at her side. He’d not been receptive to her small-talk the last time he’d escorted her back to her Shrine, but saying something — anything — would be better than this stifling quiet threatening to choke her.
“How old are you?” Before the Swordsman could decide whether to answer, she continued on. “If I had to guess, I would suspect you’re around my age, and I just passed my nineteenth birthday.”
She hummed aloud. “You seem quite young, yet you’ve achieved some level of status as a swordsman, according to Granny.” Her eyes fell to the blade secured at his hip before she lifted them back to his profile. “Yet you’re as withdrawn and taciturn as an old man.” 
Her words, thankfully, seemed to irritate him into responding. “Are you always so forthright?”  
The Miko grinned. “Perhaps I am like you, Lord – what was it? Hashiba?”
“Hashira.” 
“Yes, that. Perhaps I am like you, Lord Hashira – utterly lacking in social ability.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she brushed her shoulder against his bicep. “But at least I make up for it by talking.” 
“Talking is a distraction,” Tomioka monotoned, his eyes fixed resolutely on the hidden path of the forest before them. “It only serves as an interference to one’s duties.” He looked pointedly at the Miko’s profile, but inexplicably found himself unable to look away. “Or an excuse to ignore them.” 
But she was unflappable. “And yet you are the one who decided to escort me all the way back to my Shrine – so who is the one ignoring their duties, Tomioka-sama?” 
“I think you enjoy diverting my attention,” the Water Pillar retorted, though Y/N could see the rising annoyance in his eyes. 
She felt his gaze bear into her as she flipped her loose hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not possible to distract someone unless they find the diversion in question captivating, Tomioka-sama.” 
The Water Pillar almost looked amused. “And you are certainly that, Y/N.” 
The Miko ducked her head to avoid that piercing gaze, so that the ravenette would not see the faint rosy blush creeping across her cheeks. “I did not think you had the constitution for teasing, Lord Hashira.” 
Tomioka looked at her fully then, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not jest.” He hesitated for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized her. “Nor do I lie.” 
Y/N’s lips parted. There was something about the way the Swordsman beheld her that made her stomach flutter. In her last encounter with the enigmatic Slayer, she’d been so rattled by her close encounter with the demon, that she hadn’t truly noticed much about the man who’d saved her life, apart from his bland detachment and rather unfortunate social skills. 
But now, the Miko was struck by how handsome the raven-haired Hashira was; she was mesmerized by the deep azure of his eyes, as vast and deep as the sea. His skin was a delicate alabaster, and, contrasted with the flesh of his hands which were calloused and scarred, his face had not a blemish in sight.
She blinked, clearing away some of the fog that had crept into her mind, put there by the vexatious Slayer. “I must return to my duties,” she said softly.
They spent the remainder of their journey back to the Shrine in silence. She was quick to break away from him the moment they passed under the Torii, though not before she muttered that he was welcome to stay, should he so choose.
She busied herself with her duties, but even the neediest obligations could not fully distract her from feeling the burning heat of his stare as the Water Pillar’s watched her fiercely from across the courtyard. And nothing, nothing at all could have prepared her for how he eventually  joined her in carrying out her duties, 
The Water Pillar stayed the night once more, departing sharply at daybreak. Later, as Y/N swept the courtyard free of loose brush and clutter long after his departure, she noticed a crow sitting high in a tree, its black eyes watching her every movement. Though its gaze was sharp, the presence of the great, sleek bird did not disturb her, though not as much of a feather twitched from its perch upon the branch as the Miko continued through her day. 
As she’d readied for bed later that night, she realized she’d felt oddly comforted by the crow. She imagined it a silent protector, a new guardian of the Shrine, no different than the statues of the gods which dotted its grounds. 
She settled into her futon with a great yawn, the image of a certain dark-haired Swordsman flickering in the back of her conscience until she was swept into sleep’s sweet embrace.
Just outside the Shrine’s sleeping quarters, the bird remained, eyes carefully tracking every shift in the shadows, waiting. 
And then the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, and the threat of night receded once more.
But the crow remained. 
———
Spring, 1915
The crow became a permanent fixture at the Shrine, though it always seemed to keep strictly to a single tree at the edge of the property, one that gave it a full view of the courtyard and structures surrounding the main honden.
Despite the bird's constant presence, more than a month passed before the Water Pillar returned, though he'd seemed even more sullen and withdrawn than he'd been during their previous two encounters. Y/N did not consider herself a friend to Tomioka by any means, but she was the only one brave enough to approach him as he'd lingered by the Torii, apparently unsure whether he should seek out their hospitality or return to the forest.
"You are welcome to come and sit for a hot meal," she called cordially, though she maintained a tentative distance. She frowned when he did not respond. Instead, the Water Pillar continued to stare unseeingly at the cracked stone path leading to the Shrine's courtyard.
"Tomioka-sama?" She pressed gently and the Swordsman's attention finally snapped to her, as though he'd just become aware of her presence.
The haunted look in his eyes sent a chill up her spine. The Miko cast one, cautious glance up at the sky, and her eyes narrowed at the wall of black clouds steadily rolling in from the east. A shift in the wind brought forth the distinct, metallic scent of rain, and if she listened hard enough, she swore she could hear the distant rumbles of thunder. “You know, there will be a storm tonight — please consider waiting it out here, where it’s safe.”
Tomioka only stared at her for a moment before he nodded. His hand twitched into a vague gesture inviting her to lead the way, and Y/N escorted him to the Shrine's elder, in search of her permission.
Granny Priestess agreed to let him stay, but on the condition he paid for his imposition. The Water Pillar had silently agreed, producing one small money bag from his pocket and placing it squarely in the Priestess’s outstretched, waiting hand. 
The heft of the bag had made Y/N frown; it seemed a great sum in comparison to their meager lodging offerings, but the Swordsman did not object, so she held her tongue. To comment would only serve to irritate her Master, and the old hag was scornful enough to assign her to duties that would isolate her from the raven-haired Slayer.
Only after the old Priestess sauntered off, leaving behind nothing but the lingering, bitter stench of sake, did the Miko speak again. 
“I’m glad to see you in good health, Tomioka-sama,” she bowed, though she thought she spied the corner of his mouth twitch down at her formal greeting. “I trust your patrol went smoothly?” 
The Water Pillar’s expression was tight; dark. “It did not. The demon I was tracking managed to get away.” His jaw clenched tight. “But not before it slaughtered an entire family in the mountains.” 
All at once, the world around her seemed to slow. It had been easy to assume the dark-haired Swordsman before her always managed to find his target just in time, before it could slaughter its victim. Now, as she beheld the lethal coldness that had settled over his features, Y/N knew her assumptions had been wrong. 
Perhaps, she noted with a shudder, her rescue had been the exception and not the rule. 
Beneath the icy stoicism limning the Water Pillar’s eyes, the shrine maiden noted a distinct heaviness that weighed down his shoulders; made them curl slightly forward, defeated.
She resisted the urge to reach out to him, in comfort. “I won’t offer you empty platitudes,” she murmured. “But I can invite you to offer your prayers for those who were lost.” 
He looked at her, brows drawn, and she knew his instinct was to decline, so she added, “I will do it regardless of whether you join me.”
All at once, any protest he had was snuffed out within him. Instead, he was left with a curious softness as he regarded the shrine maiden, so assured and earnest in her invitation. 
He didn’t know why he’d sought out the Shrine.
He’s been angry; angry at himself for not being faster, for allowing innocent people to die on his account of his failure.
He still felt angry. Yet, as he followed Y/N into the Shrine’s haiden to light incense, he also felt a solemn gratitude for the Miko, who’d not let him indulge in his self-loathing but instead requested he act, and act with her. 
So he had; and somehow, the weight on his chest, the one that threatened to suffocate him, lightened bit by bit until Giyuu felt like he could breathe once more. 
Later that night, Giyuu spotted the shrine maiden from his window as she darted around the courtyard to light the tōrō to illuminate the Shrine grounds. A deep rumble of thunder, however, signaled the spring storm had finally arrived. Y/N, however, only continued with her task, huddling over herself to strike the matches needed to finish lighting the lanterns as rain began to dampen the landscape around her.
He was about to go outside and demand she return to the warm, dry haven that was the girls’ sleeping quarters lest she catch a cold, but then the last of the lanterns were lit and the shrine maiden straightened.
And then she tilted her face up toward the sky, allowing the rain to wash over her. 
And she grinned. And Giyuu was mesmerized; so much so, that he had not stopped staring at where she’d stood, laughing in the rain, even long after the Miko retired to bed.
-
Y/N awoke well before sunrise the following morning and spent hours laboring over the hot stoves in the kitchen. By the time the sky finally lightened, she'd only just finished her task and was in the process of boxing up her creation when she spotted one of her fellow shrine maidens passing by the entryway.
The Miko called out her name. "Has Lord Tomioka awoken yet?"
Her sister trainee lingered in the doorway. "Oh yes, he's been up for a while," and the girl looked back over her shoulder. “But he is already on his way out —“
The Miko swore viciously under her breath as she slammed a lid atop the small bento and hastily wrapped it in the small cloth she’d swiped from the laundry. 
“Move,” she barked at a small group of trainees that had gathered in the hallway outside the kitchen. The girls flattened themselves against the wall as Y/N sped by. She hurtled up the stairs, nearly tripping in her haste. Just as she burst into the courtyard from the honden, panting and winded, she spotted him.
“Tomioka-sama!” Y/N called, hurrying after the retreating form of the Water Pillar before he could pass through the shrine gates. “I have something for you!” 
The raven-haired slayer turned back to her, his face neutral, though Y/N could tell, by the slightest raise of his brow, that she’d piqued his interest. 
“Thank goodness you hadn’t left yet,” the Miko said brightly, holding out a small bundle wrapped in furoshiki cloth. “I was worried this wouldn’t be ready before you did.”
Tomioka’s eyes dropped to the parcel in her hands. “What is it?” 
Y/N motioned for him to take it, and to her slight surprise he did, holding it slightly in front of him as though it were liable to burst open. “A meal for the road. Granny and I prepared it this morning — as thanks, for everything you’ve done.” 
But the Water Pillar was already shaking his head, trying to press the package back into the shrine maiden’s hands. “I need no thanks; I do my job, and your shrine happens to be part of it.” 
If his words disappointed her, Y/N did not show it. “And yet we are grateful all the same,” she said firmly, arms crossing in front of her chest to avoid taking the small bento back. “Besides, it’s salmon; it will only go bad if you don’t eat it.” 
Had she not been watching him, Y/N would have missed the slight widening of his eyes, or the way his hand twitched back towards himself, bringing the packed lunch closer to him. 
Cerulean eyes watched her for a long moment, before dropping as Tomioka tucked the bento into his pocket. 
“Thank you,” was all he said before he turned away and continued through the gates of the shrine, setting off on the path which would lead him through the forest. 
If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn the Water Pillar looked happy as he departed. 
———
The Slayer returned exactly one week after she’d given him the home-cooked salmon – but he did not return empty-handed. For there, wrapped in the same furoshiki cloth, was a strange, oblong object, sitting in the palm of his hand though if he thought it heavy, Tomioka gave no indication. 
“What’s this?” Y/N leaned curiously over the Pillar’s outstretched hand and squinted, trying to discern what the cloth could have been concealing. 
Tomioka pushed his hand toward her, beseeching her to take the parcel from him. “A knife.” 
The Shrine Maiden looked up at him in alarm, pulling away from the Water Pillar. “Why on earth would I need a knife?” 
He rolled his eyes. “Protection.” 
“From what?” The Miko wrinkled her nose down at his offering, though there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “As I recall, I walloped you just fine with my broom.”
Tomioka shot her a dull look. “Be that as it may, cleaning tools are useless against demons. Without the sun, the only thing that works against them is decapitation with this — its metal is unique.” 
He parted the folds of the cloth to reveal a simple blade, though Y/N found it daunting all the same. The hilt was basic, an unembellished metal handle wrapped in plain black leather. The blade itself was an unassuming silver, slightly longer than her hand. 
The Slayer motioned for her to take it, though she only shrunk away. “You know how to use one, yes?” 
The Miko’s eyes met his, wide and anxious. “For domestic uses, of course, but not –” 
Tomioka’s fingers closed around her wrist and lifted, guiding her hand toward the dagger. His hand moved to cover hers, wrapping them both around the hilt of the blade before squeezing. “Grip it like this,” he held their joined hands up for her to inspect. “Keep your hand in a fist; do not lift your fingers away from the grip – that’s the best way to injure yourself instead of your target.” 
But the shrine maiden could hardly focus on the Pillar’s instructions. Her attention was directed entirely at the way her hand was swallowed by his, his skin warm and his grasp firm. She studied how his calluses – thick and forged from years of brutal sword training – pressed against hers; how, despite the roughness of his fingers and palms, and his solid hold still remained gentle. 
“-- and thrust like this,” he remained oblivious to her distraction as moved her arm in a sharp jab, a second and then a third time, before dropping her hand.  “Now do it yourself.” 
His command startled her out of her trance, a heat creeping up her neck from beneath the collar of her kosode. She held out the blade awkwardly before her as scrambled to recall the Water Pillar’s words. To her dismay, all she was able to conjure was the memory of his touch, and how cold she suddenly felt without it. 
Lamely, she mimed jutting the knife at an invisible enemy, the blade gracelessly wobbling through the air. Though she was by no means a swordsman, even she knew something was off, her movements disjointed and clumsy.
She glanced shyly back to the raven-haired Demon Slayer and deflated as she was met only with bemused resignation.
Tomioka shook his head in disdain. “Perhaps you would fare better with a broom.” 
The Miko bristled. “I am not a swordsman —“
“You’ve made that abundantly apparent.” 
“— and I do not have the basics you seem to take for granted.” She finished, glaring indignantly at her raven-haired companion. “So teach me.”
The Water Pillar considered her for a moment before he gave her the slightest, almost imperceptible nod of his head. 
“Watch me.” He turned his body toward the Miko and mimed getting into a defensive stance — feet ajar, his weight evenly distributed on each leg, and bent. 
He looked back to the Shrine Maiden expectantly, and she parroted his movements, crouching into what she imagined was the perfect mirror of his position.
It wasn’t.
“No — you need to—“ Tomioka straightened and huffed, impatient. He moved quickly behind her, and without thinking, his hands shot to grip her hips to guide them into the proper stance, until her weight was evenly distributed on both feet. 
“Like that — now bend your knees.” The ravenette pushed down on her hips until her legs bent, apparently oblivious to the way the Miko flushed crimson.
He was close; far, far too close. She’d never been touched the way the Water Pillar touched her. Tomioka’s hands were twin brands, burning her skin even through the layers of her shrine attire, and it sent every nerve beneath her skin buzzing.
She was aware of every inch of him pressed against her; of his arms, caging her in, his hands twin brands against her hips as he turned and pulled her into the proper stance. She was aware of how warm he was, of how formidable his presence felt, even though to her, he posed no threat. Every movement of his was precise and fluid, like the water he’d claimed to style his techniques after.
And if his touch wasn’t distracting enough, his scent threatened to overwhelm every last bit of sense she’d clung onto. Y/N didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed how good he smelled — like mahogany and citrus — so rich and so warm; a stark contrast to his otherwise cold and aloof nature mask.
The swordsman, however, appeared to remain oblivious. “There,” he finally said, having satisfied that she’d achieved proper form. For moment, the two of them lingered there, with Tomioka’s chest against the shrine maiden’s back, his hands remaining steady in place on her hips. It was as though they’d frozen: Y/N, out of a mixture of shock and red-cheeked embarrassment, and Tomioka out of utter cluelessness.
Another beat passed before the Water Pillar finally realized the compromising nature of their position. His hands dropped quickly from her hips, and there was a rush of air at Y/N’s back as he swiftly stepped away, putting distance between them once more. 
The raven-haired Slayer gruffly cleared his throat. “You should also keep wisteria on you.” And Y/N gulped down her embarrassment to turn back toward him. 
Tomioka kept his face neutral and cool, but the tips of his ears had turned pink. “Check your perfumes for it or ask one of the other shrine girls if you can borrow theirs – oil would be better. More concentrated”
Any residual awkwardness that may have lingered fell quickly away. The Miko only stared blankly at him, her head tilted slightly to the side as her eyebrows pinched together. “Perfume?”
Tomioka blinked. “Yes. As all women have.” 
It was an effort to fight off the smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Exactly how many women do you know, Tomioka-sama? Such that you would know their perfumery habits, that is.” 
His mouth thinned into a firm line. “Enough.” 
And though Y/N supposed he’d meant to sound self-assured and confident, the Slayer was betrayed by the slight doubt in his voice, as though he’d been questioning his own answer. 
The shrine maiden only continued to look at him, her eyebrow slightly raised, amused. The longer the silence stretched between them,the more awkward the ravenette grew, his discomfort plain from the way he shifted under her stare. 
“You seem like someone who would use it.” He finally offered, after another moment of quiet.
It was her turn to blink, taken aback. Her smirk quickly slid from her face and with a grimace, she felt her right eye twitch, ever so slightly. “Apologies, then, for disappointing you.” 
Tomioka frowned and he made like he was going to respond, but the Miko squared her shoulders and stalked briskly past him. 
“I must return to my duties, and I’m sure you need to do the same,” she paused in the doorway of the garden hut and cast one, sidelong glance back to where he stood, clueless. “Until next time, Tomioka-sama. Thank you for the blade.”
With that, the Miko paced briskly away from the garden hut, her spine stiff. The Water Pillar remained in place for a moment, stupefied, before he collected himself once more, before setting off back toward the forest; to his Manor.
And as Giyuu retreated through the rusting Torii gate, he could not quite shake the distinct impression he’d done something wrong, though he knew not what. 
The Water Pillar returned the following week, though to a decidedly cooler greeting than that which he’d steadily grown accustomed to receiving. 
That wasn’t entirely true — the majority of the Shrine’s residents had welcomed him warmly, their kindness always far more than he thought he deserved. Only one hadn’t greeted him as enthusiastically as the others, and to his annoyance, that one was the only person whose opinion of him mattered, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why.
She hardly stopped to acknowledge his arrival, only gracing him with a brisk nod, though she’d refused to meet his eyes. Bemused, Giyuu followed her across the courtyard as she made her way to the Shrine’s small storeroom. He leaned against the doorway and watched as the Miko began pulling jars of dried herbs from the rickety shelves lining the walls and stacked them on a sizeable work counter that cut halfway across the room. All the while, she continued pointedly ignoring him, humming lightly under her breath as though she could not see or hear him as he shifted against the doorframe, waiting.
Her obstinate silence grated at him. “May I assist you?”
“No, no, I am perfectly fine, thank you.” She turned away to browse the shelves once more, before finding what she needed: a stone mortar and pestle.
The grinder settled against the wooden counter with a heavy thud and the shrine maiden snatched up one of the jars she’d stacked and dumped its contents into the bowl, followed by another bottle of herbs. Pestle in hand, she set to work grinding the leaves together, mixing in a vial of fragrant oil she’d kept in her pocket to create a thick paste.
Giyuu watched her quietly as she worked. “You’re…” he frowned. “You’re behaving strangely.”
Y/N glanced up at him. “In what way?” 
“You’re trying to avoid me.” 
“Am I?” She straightened, rolling her shoulders. “Only because I’ve not yet bathed today. I didn’t want to risk offending you with my stench.” 
Giyuu paused. “Why would that matter?” 
“You made sure to point out you thought I needed perfume during your last visit.” 
He pushed off the doorframe, eyebrows knit together. “For protection.” 
The shrine maiden rolled her eyes. “Yes, and apparently, because you believe I am the type to need it.” When Giyuu only continued to stare at her with that same, mildly lost expression, Y/N groaned, exasperated. “You implied I stink.” 
The Water Pillar’s jaw slackened as he gaped at her. “That is not –” 
“It is what you implied,” she repeated, turning away from him to focus on her task of grinding herbs, though the force with which she ground the pestle was perhaps greater than necessary.
Giyuu rounded the small countertop of the Shrine’s storeroom to face her head-on. “I like how you smell.” He insisted. “It’s nice.” 
The Miko’s irritated churning of the stone paused and her eyes finally lifted to his. For a long moment, she watched him, head slightly cocked. 
“You are very odd, Tomioka-sama.” 
But she said it with a small smile that he almost wanted to return. 
Before long, things between them returned to normal once more, with the Miko directing him to collect her gathering basket from where she’d left it in the Shrine’s infirmary and bring it to her. Once he returned, he helped her grind charcoal to make incense sticks as she chatted happily away. 
Surprisingly, Giyuu found himself not only engaged in her musings about daily life at the Shrine, but offering her small personal anecdotes of his own, though he was not nearly as proficient as she when it came to story-telling.  
Once the sun began setting once more, and he received no new orders from Headquarters, he simply sought out the Shrine’s head Priestess and silently passed her a small money bag. 
And then Giyuu retired to the guest’s quarters for the night. 
—--
As spring warmed into summer, the Water Pillar began making bi-weekly visits to the Shrine that quickly melted into habit; expectation. Once a fortnight, a thrill would settle over the young maidens in anticipation of the arrival of the stoic yet handsome Slayer, with girls of all ages eagerly looking toward the Shrine gates in hopes of spying him the moment he crossed beneath the Torii. The elder employees of the Shrine had learned to time Tomioka’s arrival by listening for their excited gasps, exhaled as a collective as brooms and rices sacks were dropped where their handlers stood, the girls far too interested in rushing to greet the exalted Slayer than they were in completing their tasks. 
“I do not see the reason for such excitement,” she sniffed, though even she wasn’t stupid enough to think her fellow trainees bought her bluff. “He is only a swordsman.” 
“A handsome one,” a wispy trainee named Miyoko sighed dreamily. “And no doubt strong and capable.”
The group of maidens dissolved into another fit of giggles, concealing their blushes behind their hands.
“His face is attractive, but his hair is odd,” another commented. “It looks like he’s hacked at it with his own blade.” 
“Oh, who cares about his hair? I’m far more interested in what’s beneath that uniform —“
“Enough,” Y/N snapped. While her friendship with the Water Pillar was tenuous  at best, the suggestive way her sisters-in-training spoke of him left her feeling decidedly discomforted.
Though, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she, too, wondered whether Tomioka’s strength was the product of a finely-hewn tuned physique. But she wasn’t, so she bottled that thought up and tucked it tightly away, where it belonged. 
Slowly, her cohorts all turned to look at her.
“You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister,” Miyoko directed at Y/N, who felt her cheeks heat. “Is there anything you’d like to share?”
“Tomioka-sama always asks where Sister Y/N is, the moment he arrives!” A tiny voice chimed, and Y/N’s eyes slid shut in an effort to fight off a wince.  “Sometimes they even do chores by themselves!”
Komatsu. At only ten, she was the Shrine’s youngest trainee, and followed Y/N around like a shadow. Not that the shrine maiden minded all that much; she tended to spoil the girl a bit, when she could. But as pure as the girl’s intentions surely were, she’d yet to lose that childlike earnestness that made her prone to revealing information that Y/N rather remained a secret. 
“Alone with a man?” Miyoko repeated, her eyes shining with malicious glee. “How scandalous — even for someone without a family to embarass, dear Y/N.”
“Careful, Miyoko,” she warned softly. “Don’t go speaking on matters of which you know nothing.” 
“Or what? What would you do?” 
As fond as Y/N was of her sisters-in-training, one did not make it through the Shrine’s rigorous education and training without learning how to trade in the kind of currency young women valued most.
Information; specifically, gossip. 
So the shrine maiden only leveled Miyoko’s own smug smirk with one of her own. “Or I shall tell Granny how you spend your afternoons kissing the boys from the village, rather than tending to your lessons.” 
The other girls gasped, their stares turning back to the gossiping shrine maiden. She savored how quickly the girl’s prideful grin slipped from her face as the weight of the threat settled. 
While Y/N, parentless and thus without anyone to truly care about her propriety, was being primed to take over Granny Priestess’s position overseeing the shrine, her position was unique. She was parentless and thus, without anyone to truly care about her propriety or whatever other ridiculous expectations of modesty that were often attached to other young women her age. In being no one, Y/N was relatively free to do as she pleased, and that freedom almost made up for her lack of belonging.
But the other girls residing at the Shrine were different. Families across the region sent their daughters to the Shrine for training, not only in their cultural practices and arts, but also for education; to become well-rounded women who would then serve to be valuable marriage prospects once they returned home. 
Scandal would not affect her; but it would affect someone like Miyoko.
“How do you think your parents would feel, to know their heir was behaving so brazenly in public? Risking her reputation on the marriage market before she’s even entered it?”
Truthfully, she liked Miyoko; had gotten along well with her, in fact. But she would not risk those sacred few moments she spent with the Water Pillar in an effort to keep the peace with another trainee. Not when those few instances she spent in his company were the only times she’d felt connection — true, human connection and belonging. 
Her sister-in-training ruefully fell silent, and Y/N savored her victory. Later, when she was left with nothing but the company of her own thoughts, however, the exchange played back in her mind.
In all her posturing, she’d managed to avoid having to answer for Miyoko’s lofty observation. 
You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister. 
She did; and, to her slight horror, she realized that she had no interest in stopping. 
She only wanted more.
It was past dawn when Giyuu trudged under the great Torii gate of the Shrine, exhausted and aching. 
It had been a long while since a demon was last capable of wounding him, but he’d been blown backward by a delayed attack that hit after he’d beheaded the damn thing. As a result, he’d been sent flying back, slamming through a dilapidated wall of the abandoned hut he’d tracked the creature to, resulting in a sizeable gash to his shoulder. 
He grit his teeth in mild annoyance. He would need some treatment of his wounds — not that they were deep by any means, but they were substantial enough that he knew infection could spell trouble for him, should it spread. 
Some small, irate voice in his head snidely reminded him he could have just as easily gone to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment — that, in fact, the Insect Pillar’s estate had been much closer to the location of his mission than the Shrine had been. He’d rationed that, as much as he admired and respected Kocho, he was still a bit raw from her mocking about how unliked he truly was among his comrades. 
Besides, he groused. Kocho was not the one he really wanted to see, anyway. 
He found Y/N in the Shrine’s storeroom, seated upon the floor with a detailed ledger spread out before her as she took inventory of various scrolls and texts.
Giyuu did not bother to announce himself. “You have medical training, do you not?”  
The Miko startled, the charcoal stick she’d been using to tally the ledger clattering to the floor. She blinked up at him in surprise. “Tomioka-sama — welcome, it’s been a few weeks — forgive me, I did not see you come in.” She quickly rose to her feet, shutting the store ledger and tucking it under her arm. 
Her eyes found the blood-stained shoulder of his hair and widened. “I have some; I can stitch and dress wounds —“
He nodded. “Then I require your assistance.” 
—-
Y/N led him to a small office inside the honden that served as the Shrine’s unofficial infirmary.  “Take a seat,” she nodded at a small stool that sat under the room’s solitary window, right by a modest working table. “Let me see what we have.” 
Tomioka sat upon the stool with his back to her as she busied herself sifting through cupboards in search of supplies. “What sort of wound is it?”
She turned back and nearly dropped a tin of medicinal salve she’d located as she beheld the Water Pillar strip himself of his clothing from the waist up. 
There, across his right shoulder blade, she saw it — saw his blood. Quickly, she located thread and a needle and she grabbed a roll of cloth that could double as wrappings and she crossed back across the room.  
She spread her bounty out across the table, right beside the neatly folded pile of his clothing. Silently, she set to work cleaning the gash, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she saw that it was little more than a shallow flesh wound.
“Lucky you, this won’t need stitching,” she said lightly as she wiped away the last of the dried blood from the Water Pillar’s skin. “But I shall need to wrap it so it won’t become infected.”
Tomioka only gave her a curt nod. She stepped back to work open her tin of medical salve, and as she warmed the substance in her hands, she let herself fully examine the Swordsman sitting before her. Her eyes trailed over the sculpted planes of his back. It surprised her how muscular he was, given his leanness. Yet, without the layers of his uniform shirt and haori, she could see he was well-built, each muscle defined. 
She didn’t know why it surprised her that there was a man beneath the mask of the Slayer, but what a man he was. Her mouth went dry at the thought. It was an effort not to allow her eyes to wander lower; to ponder what he might look like under his uniform pants, stripped and fully bare before her — 
“What is that scent?” Tomioka’s sudden question startled her away from her increasingly treacherous thoughts. 
She’d never been more grateful to be facing away from him. That way, he could not see the blush coloring her cheeks as she hastily slathered the salve across his wound. “Anti-septic; I know it’s rather stringent, but — ”
The Water Pillar shook his head. “I know what antiseptic smells like. I mean you. The scent you wear.” 
She pursed her lips for a moment before she recalled the distinctly floral scent of her cleansing oils. “Sakaki blooms, I suppose.”
“What properties does it have — what are its effects on others?” He pressed. She was surprised at how insistent he seemed, and there was almost an urgency in his tone that unsettled her. 
“None, to my knowledge �� why do you ask?”
The tips of Tomioka’s ears turned pink and he turned away from her, lips pressed into a firm line. “Forget I said anything.” he muttered after a moment, his shoulders and spine stiff.
Neither one of them spoke again as Y/N finished treating the Water Pillar’s  injury and wrapped it. 
“You're done,” she said after a moment, tapping him lightly on his other shoulder. 
“You have my thanks,” Tomioka quickly refastened the buttons of his uniform shirt as the Miko stepped aside, pointedly wiping her hands clean with a small cloth. She only looked at him once he lifted his haori from where he’d carefully laid it atop the small examination table, but her eyes narrowed as he rose from the stool, shrugging the material back over his shoulders. “I am happy to pay you for the resources you used —“ 
Y/N did not appear to be listening, not as she leaned forward and pinched the sleeve of his haori between her thumb and index finger. 
“You have a tear,” she frowned, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right here, see?” 
There, on the side bearing his sister’s half of his haori, right where his sleeve met his shoulder, was indeed a small hole, the threads around it broken and shifting slightly in the wind. 
The Miko’s hand fell away, and she squared her shoulders, mouth set in a firm but determined line. “If you’ll give me a moment, I assure you I can have it repaired in no time –” 
“Not necessary,” the Swordsman said abruptly, twisting back from her. “I can figure it out on my own.” He would not part with it, would not so much as let another put their hands on it and risk ruining his most cherished possession. 
Y/N only stepped toward him, ignoring his attempt at distance. “There’s no need to be prideful,” she huffed impatiently. “Truly, it would take no effort at all –”
“No.”
“Why are you being so difficult?” She snapped, but her hands continued reaching for him, for his sleeve – 
Tomioka snatched her wrist mid-air and held it there, halting her. “No one touches this. Understand?” 
Y/N’s lips parted in faint surprise at the Water Pillar’s severity. Her eyes darted to where his fingers were locked tight – uncomfortably tight – around her wrist. When she glanced back at the stone-faced Slayer, she felt a chill lick down her spine. She’d known he could be intimidating against threats, even without saying a word. It was his eyes – his eyes would harden, with the lapiz hue of his irises darkening to something more akin to indigo, as he stared down an opponent. She’d witnessed it the very first night she’d met him. 
She just hadn’t thought she would ever be on the receiving end of such a cold glare. 
“I understand,” she said softly, and she began flexing her wrist against his grip in an effort to work herself free from his hold. “Please forgive my indiscretion, Tomioka-sama. I overstepped.” 
The raven-haired Slayer blinked and quickly let her go, her wrist falling limply back to her side. Just outside the infirmary’s small window, he heard the familiar, urgent cry of a crow.
He’d never been more grateful for a distraction.  “I must be on my way.” His tone was stiff; clipped. 
“But — you’ve only just arrived —“ 
“Farewell, Y/N.” Giyuu gave her a curt nod.
Helplessly, the Miko watched as the Water Pillar stalked out of the small office, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He did not so much as spare a glance back, leaving Y/N to wonder whether she would see that odd patterned haori again.
The thought she might not made something cold and heavy sink into her gut.
—-
(One week later)
It wasn’t often that Giyuu Tomioka found himself annoyed, much less angry. He much preferred channeling his existing emotions into slaying demons, allowing them to taste a fraction of the rage and hatred he felt deep within, a vicious fire he so rarely let bubble up to his service.
Until that evening. After the fiasco that was Mount Natagumo and the subsequent chaos at the Master’s mansion as a result of the Kamado boy and his demon sister, Giyuu had finally noticed that the previous day’s trials had resulted in the tear along the shoulder of his haori that he knew could no longer be ignored. 
He grit his teeth; the battle against the Lower Moon spider demon had hardly required him to exert any energy — yet the demon’s last ditch attempt to preserve its life had managed to enlarge the small hole in his most prized possession, and the Water Pillar was utterly without the skill to repair it. 
So, he’d been forced to sit through the meeting with the Master, the hole in his haori feeling more like a gaping wound that only festered with every passing moment, until finally, finally they’d been dismissed. 
Giyuu hadn’t wasted any time departing swiftly from his Master’s estate, though that hadn’t stopped him from catching the tail end of Shinazugawa’s biting remark of how fuckin’ typical it was for him to leave without so much as a farewell to his comrades. He tried not to let the Wind Pillar’s words get to him; but he was unworthy of their company regardless, so he supposed it really didn’t matter what they thought of him. It shouldn’t. 
And so, that was how Giyuu found himself padding silently along the cracked, stone pathway which led to the Shrine at the edge of his designated territory, ready to eat crow and ask for assistance from a particular Miko whom he felt certain would not hesitate to remind him of how he’d coolly rejected her help only days earlier. 
Hence, his irritation. 
So, his movements stiff and his mouth twisted into a firm grimace, Giyuu stalked under the Torii and into the main courtyard of the old Shrine. It was coming upon midday, though there was a thick cover of clouds overhead that threatened that open up at any moment and shower rain across the region. He ignored the respectful bows of the Shrine’s various inhabitants and staff, eyes sweeping over faces in search of her. 
He located her near the storehouse, chatting with one of her fellow trainees as the pair worked to clean vegetables. Giyuu trudged over to her, eyes locked unwaveringly on her serene, easy smile, as he tried to ignore the way it made something in his gut clench and churn. 
He drew to a stop right before her and her Shrine-sister, the latter looking up at him with wide eyes, her hands stilling over her work as she looked up to the Slayer in awe. 
Giyuu cleared his throat but Y/N only continued wiping the dirt from carrots with her cloth. 
The ravenette tried again. “I am in need of your assistance.” 
Y/N’s comrade nudged her with her elbow, but the Miko only continued to clean, pointedly ignoring them both. 
Giyuu pursed his lips. “With my haori. The tear has grown larger —“
“I am busy.” Y/N’s tone was clipped. “Perhaps there are others who might assist you.”
“Please.” 
The Shrine Maiden’s hands finally stilled and she lifted her chin to face him. The moment she beheld the pleading sincerity in his eyes, coupled with the hard set of his jaw that betrayed just how desperate he was, her gaze softened.
She sighed. “Very well then,” she rose, brushing her hands free of any residual dirt. She held her chin high and squared her shoulders, determined not to show him how he’d bruised her ego; how he’d frightened her. “Follow me.”
The Shrine sat at the base of a great mountain. But, nearly half a kilometer up the winding, twisting path leading up the mountain and carved into its side, was a grassy hilltop that then plateaued into a small overlook that boasted a phenomenal aerial view of the Shrine below. 
The summer grass had turned a vibrant shade of emerald, broken up only by dots of tiny white and blue wildflowers that had gathered in small clusters sprinkled throughout the overlook. At the back of the clearing stood an ancient willow tree, its trunk gnarled and knotted with age, its wisps swaying lazily in the wind.   
It was her favorite spot; a little ways away from the hustle and bustle of the Shrine, which meant they would have some privacy as she worked. Y/N settled down against the grass and pulled a needle and a spool of thread from her pocket. She turned her face up toward the Water Pillar where he stood over her. “I’ll take that haori, now, if you’ll please.” 
Wordlessly, Tomioka carefully slid the garment from his shoulders and handed it to her, though he hesitated in letting go as she took it gingerly into her hands. 
It was clearly very important to the Slayer, and perhaps that was why she felt the need to reassure him. “I promise to take care of it.”
He nodded stiffly and let go of the fabric and the Miko quickly set to work repairing its torn shoulder. The Water Pillar lingered awkwardly beside her for a moment longer before he too, sat in the grass next to her, though his back remained straight, his posture rigid.
She glanced at him as her needle wove the haori’s fabric back together. “I suppose this happened because of your occupation?” 
It was faint, but the shrine maiden swore she saw his mouth twitch into something reminiscent of a grimace. “Yes.”
“You should be lucky it wasn’t your flesh.”
At that, Tomioka scoffed. “I would not allow such a weakling to get close enough to try.”
“My, I’d not pegged you as the boastful sort, Tomioka-sama.”
“It’s not boasting; I speak only the truth.” He retorted evenly. 
The shrine maiden only hummed as she worked. “And what of your family? Do they support your path as a Slayer?”
The Water Pillar turned his head away, his form stiff. For a moment, the Miko feared she would be left to repair his haori in silence, with nothing but the faint whistling of birds to keep her company. 
“I have none,” Tomioka’s voice was soft, nearly swallowed by the wind. “There is no one left to object, even if they wanted to.”
Y/N’s hands paused their work as she thought. “You are alone?”
It would be nice, she supposed, to find another who, like her, belonged to no one; a kindred spirit of sorts.
“I suppose,” Tomioka spoke up after a moment, his eyes squinted in thought. “I have a mentor. But it was he who trained me to join the Corps.” 
“I should hope he’s more sober than mine,” Y/N drawled. “And less irritating.” 
The Miko’s attention was so fixed on her careful stitching along the hole in his haori, that she didn’t see his faint smile at her words. 
——
The Slayer and the shrine maiden continued talking long after she’d finished repairing the tear in his haori. It was only when Tomioka had realized nightfall was a mere hour away that the two reluctantly descended the hillside to return to the Shrine.
“I almost forgot.” The Water Pillar said, halting in front of the honden as Y/N escorted him back to the Shrine’s entrance. He dug into his pockets and pulled something free. “Here. For you.” 
The Miko gaped down at the fat red fruit that sat heavily in his palm. “This is -“ she said breathlessly, “A pomegranate!” 
He nodded, arm still outstretched towards her as he waited to drop the ruby fruit into her hand. 
She shook her head. “No, Tomioka-san, I cannot accept something so expensive-“
“I insist.” The Water Pillar withdrew a small knife and split the fruit in half, staining his hands crimson with the juice that spilled over its soft flesh.
Hesitantly, the young Miko accepted the half he offered her, and thumbed some of the fat, glistening jewels loose. The moment she brought them to her lips, Y/N sighed, contentedly, and for some reason, Giyuu found his cheeks heating as he watched her savor the sweet fruit. 
She lazily opened her eyes after swallowing her first mouthful, but she was startled to see the Hashira staring at her, unwaveringly, and she realized he’d moved closer towards her than he had been only seconds earlier. 
Tomioka’s azure eyes were fixed hard on her lips, as he leaned in close to her, Y/N flushing as he drew nearer. 
Is he going to kiss me? Her traitorous heart thundered at the idea, and it caused her no short amount of grief to know she was uncertain whether she wanted him to do so. As her emotions warred with her logic, the Water Pillar’s gentle fingers cupped under her chin, and his thumb brushed delicately across her lower lip. 
“Pomegranate juice,” he said, but Y/N could still feel the warmth of his breath still as his hand lingered under her chin. His eyes were wide as though he, too, could not believe what he’d just done. 
“Yes,” she breathed, before she felt her cheeks heat. “I – I mean, thank you.”
The Water Pillar’s gaze dropped to her lips and her stomach twisted violently. All at once, awareness seemed to come crashing down upon him, and he then stepped back, his hand falling from its hold on her face and back to his side.
The shrine maiden remained frozen in place for a heartbeat longer. “Are you certain you’re unable to be our guest tonight?” Her voice was little more than a pitiful squeak.
Her eyes lifted to his and she knew the answer before he spoke it. “I cannot,” and to her surprise, he almost looked as disappointed as she felt, but he added hastily, “But I will be back. Soon.”
“Soon,” she echoed, feeling rather dazed. “Yes. Of course. I — we — look forward to it.”
She was thankful that Tomioka had already turned away from her as he made his way down the long, winding steps that led to the main route out of the forest; that way, he could not see the way her cheeks burned crimson, or how she buried her face in her hands as she cursed her own embarrassment.
Giyuu was grateful his back was to the young Miko as he retreated through the Shrine’s gates and back to the path which would lead him home. It meant she could not see as he stared at his thumb – the thumb he’d used to clear away the small bead of pomegranate juice from her lips – or how his eyebrows pinched together. It meant she could not hear his heart as it beat wildly in his chest at the memory of how soft and full her lip had been beneath the pad of his thumb, soft enough that some treacherous part of his brain had urged him to lean in, to see if her lips would feel as good against his – 
He shook his head, trying desperately to dispel his wild intrusive thoughts. It was ludicrous; he did not think of the young shrine maiden in that way. Not when she frequently sought to needle him, not when she frustrated him to no end. 
His collar suddenly felt tight; his skin, far too hot. His gaze dropped back down to the hand that had touched her, and it clenched. 
A pomegranate. It was only a pomegranate; nothing more. 
“It was a thank you gift,” Giyuu declared, as though speaking the words out loud gave them more force. “It is nothing more than an expression of gratitude.”
And even his crow, ancient and dull as he was, scoffed at the obviousness of the lie.
——
Late Summer, 1915
Summer blazed hot and humid. But neither the sweltering heat of the sun nor the most arduous missions he took exhausted Giyuu more than the complicated, tangled mess of feelings that had taken root within him. Because with every day that passed, the Miko of the Shrine at the edge of the forest occupied more and more of his mind. And Giyuu did not know what it meant or what he should do about it. 
She’d not just repaired his haori or made him salmon; she’d somehow wormed her way into his every waking thought, and to his great confusion, he found himself almost unwilling to think of anything but her. 
Admittedly, Giyuu Tomioka did not have the requisite tools in his social arsenal to successfully navigate human interaction. He hadn’t quite known the extent of his ineptitude however, until the Insect Pillar had so cheerfully pointed out that none of his comrades, in fact, liked him. That revelation had made him doubt every interaction he’d had since, made him wonder whether even the lower ranked Slayers viewed him with the same apathy, if not the same outright hostility toward him shared by Shinazugawa and Iguro.
He’d come to doubt them all — except her.
Y/N was different; at the end of each visit to the Shrine, the Water Pillar did not find himself feeling drained or unwanted.  He felt lighter; rejuvenated, even. She was a breath of fresh air that Giyuu found more difficult to go without with each passing day. 
She still picked at him, but she did so without the malice he’d normally come to expect, even from those he considered friends, like the Kocho. The young Miko had a way of teasing him that did not leave him feeling decidedly othered. Rather, her japes only spurred him to respond with his own, though admittedly, they tended to fall flat.
He’d known, from the moment she’d attempted to bludgeon him with her broom, that there was more to the Miko than met the eye; but he hadn’t imagined he’d find himself as drawn to her as he was, unable to tolerate going more than a handful of weeks without paying her a visit.
And, given the way she’d blushed after he’d thanked her for repairing his haori, perhaps she was drawn to him, too. Perhaps he hoped she was.
But he would have to wait to find out, for his obligations to the Corps had taken him to a village a considerable distance away from his designated territory. He’d been tasked with investigating a series of disappearances of young women in the region, but his orders had come abruptly enough that he’d not been able to spare a visit to the Shrine before he departed.
He was anxious — eager — to return, though not before he took care of the demon likely behind the mystery plaguing the village he now patrolled.
Nightfall was still a little ways off, and so Giyuu found himself wandering the streets to pass the time. He made his way to a sizeable outdoor market, still packed with shoppers oohing and ahhing over vibrant displays of silk, crafted jewelry, and sugary confectioneries.
Idly, he too, joined other patrons in browsing the small vending stands that lined the bustling village streets, though his perusal was disinterested, if not bored. But his eyes snagged on one small bauble displayed on the merchant’s small stand upon a swath of silk. It was small; unassuming. But the carefully crafted decoration was painted in a startling shade of crimson that he found hard to ignore. 
The image of a certain Miko flashed through his mind. He couldn’t leave without it. he wouldn’t; not when its paint so perfectly matched the color of Y/N’s hakama trousers.
I spend the year longing for autumn. That was what she’d told him, that day on the hillside after she’d repaired his haori. 
He almost smiled to himself. This would be a way for her to enjoy her favorite season even in the scorching heat of summer or the biting cold of winter. 
He waited for the merchant to notice his presence, his fingers twisting around the small money sack he kept tucked in his pocket. His eyes flickered back to the small trinket. Idly, Giyuu wondered when he’d begun associating the color red with the shrine maiden and not with the blood he’d always imagined stained his hands. 
He continued to stare the merchant down until he finally managed to catch the vendor’s eye, who flinched at the intensity of his unblinking stare.   
Giyuu jutted his chin toward the small token. “How much?” 
—-
He found the Miko a few mornings later, relaxing on the hillside overlooking the Shrine. She laid amongst the late summer wildflowers that had bloomed, her form framed against the grass with petals of soft blue and bright marigold. 
Giyuu wordlessly settled beside her, and he tried to ignore the thunderous beat of his heart against his sternum as she rolled her head toward him to greet him with a sleepy smile. They exchanged pleasantries and settled into a comfortable silence, both content to watch the sun rise higher over the horizon.
Easy; it was so easy for him to sit beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 
“So, you are to take over the Shrine, one day?”
Y/N’s head turned to the Water Pillar in surprise; though he’d grown steadily more talkative over the months since she’d met him, it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation. 
She settled back against the cool grass of the hilltop overlooking the Shrine, enjoying the precious few moments of quiet in the early morning before the chaos of the day called her away. “Yes,” though there was a slight uncertainty in her voice. “I’m sure it’s the expectation, after all. I have to repay Granny for her kindness.”
Giyuu frowned. “But is that what you want?”
“What I want is irrelevant,” the Miko folded her arms behind her head and tilted her face up toward the sky. Her eyes tracked the great, fluffy clouds that drifted lazily by, though the Water Pillar suspected she was attempting to avoid having to meet his eye. 
“It’s not irrelevant,” he countered. “If nothing else, you should be allowed to consider other possibilities.”
She did not answer him, and the silence between them stretched enough that he thought to drop the subject, not wanting to press her any further. 
“I think,” she said in that faraway voice that Giyuu had come to learn meant she was trying to conceal some deeply felt emotion. “I think should like to belong somewhere.” Her eyes shone. “No, that’s not it — I want someone to belong to me, and I to them. 
“A husband.” He said flatly. 
The Miko shook her head. “I have never belonged to anywhere or to anyone. I’ve no family to call my own - only an old woman who took pity on me as an infant and raised me. I wonder — what must it be like?” She laid back on the grass and closed her eyes. “That is the one thing I would change. I belong nowhere because I’m no one — nobody’s.” 
Giyuu frowned. “I don’t think that’s true—“
“It is true,” she insisted, though she said it with such ease and conviction, like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “I am here for a moment and then I will be gone, and no one will ever know or remember that there once was a shrine maiden named Y/N here. I’ve made peace with that.”
I would, Giyuu wanted to tell her. I would remember and I would tell them all. 
“I am nobody as well,” Giyuu admitted quietly after a moment. “And I have no one left to belong to.” 
The image of her face, so kind and sad and full of understanding at his words, had stayed with him for the rest of the morning and even as he settled in for a few hours of sleep in the Shrine’s guest wing.  
And in his dreams, her face remained a constant.
The sky had turned a vivid shade of orange by the time the Water Pillar emerged from his guest lodgings, ready to depart and resume his duties.  Y/N had been helping another shrine maiden tote firewood across the courtyard when she heard a quiet call of her name.
She turned and saw the raven-haired Swordsman standing near the great Torii gate. 
She looked back to her fellow trainee, who waved her off with a knowing smile, and Y/N brushed her hands clean against her hakama pants before she approached him. 
“Leaving so soon?” And she tried to mask her disappointment at the shortness of his visit. 
Giyuu nodded. “We’ve been stretched thin, in light of a few…changes to our ranks.”
The Miko nodded grimly. He’d told her that a fellow Hashira had been slain a few months prior, and another had retired following a rather violent battle that had destroyed part of a far off city.
“But I wanted to give you this.”
She glanced down to his outstretched hand, where a small parcel was wrapped in plain furoshiki cloth. Stunned, she took the package from him, her eyes flicking between it and the Water Pillar watching her intently.
Gingerly, she unfolded the bundle and unveiled a long, but fragile metal and wood reed.
A hairpin, she realized with a soft gasp. Y/N could scarcely bring her fingers to run over the exquisitely crafted ridges of the leaves that adorned the top portion of the pin, afraid that even the slightest pressure from her touch would cause the Water Pillar’s precious gift to her to crumble. 
I spend the year longing for autumn, she’d told him. She hadn’t thought he’d been particularly interested in listening to her talk; but as Y/N cradled the delicate ornament between her palms, she felt a blush begin to creep across her cheeks. 
As her fingers traced across the delicate ridges of a cluster of maple leaves, lacquered in a thick coat of scarlet paint — a perfect match to the hue of her traditional Miko hakama pants — Y/N realized that perhaps Tomioka had been paying more attention to her than she’d realized. 
For the Water Pillar had given her a piece of autumn to hold onto year-round. 
“Tomioka-san, you do not-“ 
“Giyuu.” The ravenette interrupted her. “Please, call me by my name; it’s Giyuu.” 
Y/N’s mouth closed, but she smiled softly, considering. “Alright. Giyuu — please, you do not need to feel obligated to bring gifts for us — it was only salmon.” 
But Giyuu only shook his head. “I don’t bring gifts for everyone; just you.” 
Y/N turned scarlet. 
“Please, just-“ Giyuu frowned, and Y/N could have sworn she saw the faintest glow of pink coloring the Hashira’s cheeks. “Just take it.” 
“Okay,” her voice resembled a mouse’s squeak as she cradled the pin delicately between her hands. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” 
“And it wasn’t just salmon.” 
Y/N looked to him in surprise, her head cocked in curiosity. “Pardon?” 
Giyuu exhaled harshly through his nose before stepping closer to her. “This is not only because you made salmon.” Her eyes tracked his hand as it rose to grip the front fold of his haori in his fist. “This – this is all I have left of my family.” 
“My sister,” he gestured to the red half of his haori. “She died protecting me.” His hand drifted to the green and orange patterned half of the garment. “And this belonged to a dear friend. He also perished protecting me – and others.”
The Miko’s lips parted, understanding and sorrow flooding her eyes. “Tomioka-san — Giyuu — I had no idea —“
“They both died because of demons – because I could not help them. And now this is all I have left to remember them by.” And then he did the unthinkable; he grabbed her hand and pressed it against the checkered portion of his haori, right over his heart. His hand was warm and firm. Gentle, though she could feel his callouses against her knuckles as he held it in place. “So it wasn’t just salmon.” He repeated, and there was a heat in his eyes Y/N had not seen before, one that stoked a fire in her belly. “And you are not just anyone.” 
A soft exhale blew past her lips at the sincerity of his words. For the first time in all her nineteen years, she wondered if this was what it meant to mean something to someone.
“Thank you,” she breathed, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed emotion. “I will treasure it.”
She swore she saw a faint blush creep across the Water Pillar’s cheeks, but she brushed it aside as nothing more than the shadows of the sky as twilight darkened the horizon. 
Tomioka nodded. “I must get going now; I will see you soon.”
She did not want him to go.
But the shrine maiden concealed the pang she felt in her chest with a breezy smile. “Farewell, Tomio-“
“Giyuu.” 
She blushed. “Yes — Giyuu. Until next time.”
“I cannot believe he lets the old woman charge him an arm and a leg to stay a single night,” Miyoko said in awe as the pair watched the retreating form of the Water Pillar through the shrine house gates. 
The hairpin clutched tightly in her hands suddenly felt like a stone weight. “I’m sure he stays here only for convenience’s sake,” Y/N replied airily, turning sharply away from the egress to the shrine to hide her warming cheeks.  
Miyoko snorted. “Hardly. The Demon Slayer Corps has tons of safehouses throughout the country. Corps members get medical treatment, hot meals, and lodging free of charge.” Y/N’s sister-in-training grunted as she heaved a hefty bag of rice flour from the storeroom to the girls’ side, no doubt hauling it out to prepare the evening meal. 
“I’ve heard of at least four such houses in this region alone. As a Hashira, Tomioka-sama could go to any one of them and be treated far more kindly than he is here.” 
Y/N frowned. “I wonder why, then, he continues to return here so often? Surely our shrine is some distance from his home, given that he stays the night each time.” 
Miyoko shot the young shrine maiden a knowing glance. “Perhaps he tolerates the Granny’s abuse because he is fond of the company.” 
Y/N only felt her face grow hotter as she ducked down, though she felt Miyoko’s amused stare burn through her back. 
—-
The Water Pillar had returned from his intel assignment and promptly journeyed to the Shrine, its inhabitants abuzz as they prepared for the arrival of autumn and the colder months, now only mere weeks away. 
He found the shrine maiden of his interest inside the main wing of the manor, back in the kitchen as she prepared herbs to be incorporated into various salves and medications. Y/N smiled brightly at him as he’d sidled up beside her, taking a handful of dried greenery from the bunch next to her and deftly pulling the leaves from the stem and handing them to her. 
“Is it your day off?” The Miko gratefully accepted the leaves he’d stripped and dumped them into the rocky mortar to join the others. 
Giyuu felt his stomach clench as his fingers brushed against hers. “I have completed my duties for the time being, yes.”
"You're welcome to help me, as long as you do not mind a bit of busy work."
He didn't; of course he didn't. In fact, as he accepted the heavy stone pestle from the Miko and set to work mashing the leaves she handed them into the mortar, Giyuu rather supposed he would do just about anything to remain in the shrine maiden's company, even if that meant assisting her in a task as banal as grinding medicinal herbs. And though the Slayer and the Miko fell into their well-practiced habit of quietly tending to Y/N's duties side by side, there was a notable absence of the bright chatter he'd grown accustomed to hearing during his visits.
The Water Pillar frowned. “You’re quiet.” It was not a question. “There is something on your mind.” 
“Is there?” Y/N hummed loftily, her hands continuing to strip leaves from their stems. “Perhaps I am simply focused.” 
Giyuu found his eyes wandering to the side to study the Miko’s face more often than usual. Though she maintained a pleasant smile as they worked, he could see that it did not fully reach her eyes. And even her sage expression could not conceal the way the troubled look in her eyes, hands pausing their work as she stared at something behind the walls of the small shrine kitchen. 
“Something is bothering you.” Giyuu took the bundle of herbs clutched in her hands and replaced them with his pestle, allowing her to work her frustrations over the paste forming at the bottom of the stone bowl. 
She blushed and refocused her gaze, grinding the pestle hard. “Nothing is wrong!” She chirped. 
“You are a dreadful liar.”
The Miko replied with an airy laugh that made his throat tighten. “So I’ve been told — often, in fact.” 
“There is…trouble in the village,” Y/N said carefully, though she kept her hands busy as she continued to grind herbs into a thick paste. “It is nothing we can’t handle, but it has put many of us on edge. Particularly Granny.” 
Giyuu frowned as he handed the shrine maiden another bunch of leaves from her basket. “What sort of trouble?” 
She hesitated. “It is petty village drama, nothing more.”
“You won’t give any further details?” 
The Water Pillar could not explain it, but he found himself troubled by the way the Shrine Maiden forced a smile and a far too casual shrug of her shoulders. “There are none worth re-hashing.” 
He frowned, but he did not press her further, resolving instead to poke around later. Perhaps he would see whether the Shrine’s head Priestess’s tongue was as loose with information as it was with vulgarity once she’d properly indulged in her sake; he’d make certain she was well-stocked in advance. 
Giyuu furtively glanced back at the shrine maiden’s profile, in part to see whether he could deduce anything from her expressions, but he found himself instead studying her, puzzling over a change in her appearance he hadn’t noticed before.
Sensing his stare, the Miko turned to him with a light smile that then  faltered. “What –?”
“You changed your hair.” It took everything within him not to reach out, to see if her hair would feel as silky in his fingers as it looked shifting softly in the wind. “I’ve never seen it down.” 
“Oh!” Her smile turned bashful, a pretty pink dusting spreading across her cheeks. “I wanted to wear my hairpin – see?” 
She turned her head, the long curtain of her hair rippling smoothly with the movement. With her back to him, Giyuu could see the pin he’d given her neatly tucked into the long strands of her hair, pinning half of it back. The red of the pin’s maple leaves posed a lovely contrast with the hue of her hair. 
Y/N was already quite beautiful, but with her hair partially down, he thought she looked softer; younger. She peeked over her shoulder at him, fingers nervously combing through her tresses. “It’s not practical for every day, of course, but I thought since you’d likely be arriving soon –” 
His eyes widened and Giyuu became acutely aware that his heart now thumped wildly in his throat as Y/N choked off with a squeak, apparently realizing what she’d revealed. Though she hurriedly turned back around, Giyuu could see how the tips of her ears burned bright red. 
Despite her efforts, her admission hung like a cloud in the air between them. She’d worn it – the hairpin – for him. 
Giyuu swallowed thickly. “I like it.” He cleared his throat and turned, allowing his own unruly hair to obscure his face. “On you, that is.” 
For once, the Miko had neither a quick remark nor barb to lob back at him. Instead, she only turned back to her task of grinding her herbs, a thick curtain of her hair concealing her face from his sight.
Once she'd finished bottling up her new medicinal salves, Giyuu helped her carry the tins to the Shrine's storage house, directly across the courtyard from its main wing. The shrine maiden remained curiously quiet, even in spite of his own lame attempts to converse with her. He'd finally given up after his dry comment about the weather went ignored. But every so often, he let his eyes wander to her as they returned to the honden, and that nagging feeling returned as he watched her gnaw incessantly at her bottom lip, a faraway look in her eyes. 
Giyuu was not a nosy man, but the Miko's clear distraction unsettled him. He was about to pull her aside, to demand she tell him exactly what it was that had chased away the smile he so longed to see when they were approached by Y/N's haughty Master.
“Lord Tomioka,” the head Priestess nodded curtly at him in greeting. “I am glad to have run into you — I am in need of your assistance.”
The old Priestess turned to her young protégée. “Go assist the younger ones; they need to give their offerings before dinner.” 
Y/N’s mouth opened to protest but the head Priestess cut her off. “Now.”
To his surprise, the shrine maiden did not argue with her Master, only turning to him to give him a helpless shrug before she began to make her way toward the Shrine’s honden. 
The Water Pillar grimaced. He tried to convince himself the pit in his stomach was only because her odd behavior gnawed at him; that he was only curious to learn what it was that troubled her.  But as the Miko cast one last, reluctant look over her shoulder at him, Giyuu found that he was as unwilling to watch her go as she was to leave. 
If the Shrine’s head priestess noticed his inner anguish, she paid it no mind. “You will accompany me in the kitchen.”
—-
The first thing he noticed was the conspicuous absence of the scent of sake, which he’d grown accustomed to following the Priestess around like a pungent cloud of perfume. He resisted the urge to scowl; he would have to find another way to get the old woman to talk.
Giyuu followed the woman into the small structure that stood adjacent to the honden that served as the Shrine’s kitchen. He watched silently as she pulled a cleaver, large and deadly sharp, free from where it was stored in a cabinet and laid it atop a butcher’s block. The elder stepped outside of the kitchen and returned a moment later, a recently de-feathered and skinned chicken in hand.
“Things around here seem…tense,” Giyuu observed carefully  as the old woman slapped the chicken on the counter for preparation. 
“Tense is one word for it, I reckon,” she bit, taking up her cleaver. “The world we live in is dark. I should think you would know that better than most.”
The corner of his mouth dipped down. “But even your girls seem unusually subdued; distracted.” 
Her eyes flashed to his, piercing and sharp. “You mean Y/N.”
It wasn’t a question. 
“She is always restless this time of year,” the old woman sighed. “Though she loves autumn, she despises winter — or, rather, she despises how it reminds her of what she does not have. And winter is well on its way.” 
He nodded, recalling what the shrine maiden had revealed to him that day, on the hillside.
“But your observation is correct — that is not all of the reason she is so distracted,” the old Priestess said darkly, and Giyuu was surprised to see how alert and focused the normally soused elder seemed. “A man from the village — Susumo — has been following her. Demanding her.” 
Giyyu straightened. “What do you mean by ‘demand?’” 
The haggard woman cursed below her breath as she broke down the chicken’s body. “I mean in the way that men often feel entitled to women — especially angry drunks like him.” 
Every hair on Giyuu’s body stood straight as the weight of the Priestess’ warning settled. 
“I have forbidden her from venturing out in the dark alone,” the Granny continued, harshly wrenching a joint on the fowl. 
“She is a Priestess in training; surely that status affords her some protection?” Giyuu’s knuckles turned white where his fists clenched at his sides. 
“I’m not sure the shrine is enough to keep him out for much longer. He’s been lingering — and threatening consequences, if I do not agree to hand her over to him for marriage.” The old Priestess grimaced. “Her status does her no good if he burns this place to the ground.” 
The old woman set her cleaver next to her with a heavy thud, her frustration palpable. “The girl is of age, and I am not her blood family; there is no one here who can claim authority over her, not like a parent or an elder sibling.” When her eyes lifted to his, Giyuu could see a hint of fear underlying the hard anger in her gaze. “These days, I half-expect to awaken and find that she’s been stolen in the night.” 
The Water Pillar felt his jaw clench. It was rare that he felt the burning flush of anger and it was not directed at a demon, but the idea that Y/N was being harassed and threatened by some village drunkard who felt entitled to her, lit something hot in his stomach. For as vexatious and confounding as he found the young Miko to be, no one deserved to be stalked like prey. 
Especially her. 
“I’ve had a crow stationed here to alert me of any demon attacks for months,” Giyuu began, and the old woman looked to him in surprise. “But I will assign more to keep watch during the day. If there is anything strange afoot, they will tell you.” He paused a moment before adding, “And they will alert me, too.”
The head Priestess laid down her cleaver to look at him, long and hard. “Then she may have a fighting chance yet, Lord Hashira.”
————-
By the time he found Y/N once more, dinner was over and the moon had risen high in the night sky, casting the shrine grounds in its pale, silvery glow.
He’d told her, rather tersely, that he was unable to stay the night, and he tried to ignore how his chest tightened at the crestfallen look that flashed across her face. Despite her tangible disappointment, she insisted on escorting him out of the Shrine, desperate to cling to every second that might be spared to them.
“You are rather quiet tonight,” the Miko observed, walking him to the grand Torii. “More so than usual.” It was an understatement; the Water Pillar had been downright sullen and withdrawn from the moment he’d returned from whatever takes Granny had insisted she help him with. 
Rather than give her any explanation, Giyuu halted his step and reached for her wrist, stilling her. “You did not tell me you were being harassed.” 
She looked up to the Water Pillar in surprise. “How did you —?” 
He released her from his grip in favor of drawing closer to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 
Y/N opened and closed her mouth, struggling to find her words. “I suppose,” she began, but her mouth quirked down in a frown. “I did not think you needed to be burdened by something so insignificant.” 
Giyuu stared at her as he mouthed the word insignificant, the look he shot her giving the distinct impression he thought her an idiot. “I do not think your safety is insignificant,” Giyuu’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, clenching it tight. “Nor do I think you are insignificant.” 
“Compared to your other obligations? I should think I’m very unimportant.” Y/N turned away from him, fiddling with a gathering basket she carried on her hip to avoid having to look him in the eyes.
But the raven-haired Pillar caught her wrist and turned her back to face him, not willing to be ignored. “If you call for me, I will come to you.” 
Y/N’s heart lurched at the Water Pillar’s words, spoken with such conviction and sincerity that it made her falter in her step. “Tomioka-san,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide as she turned to him. “You have far more important duties to see to than to concern yourself with than mere village drama —“
But the raven-haired Hashira only shook his head as he took another step towards her, his expression severe; calculating. “You have the knife I gave you, yes?” His eyes dropped to her pocket, and Y/N felt compelled to show him that the small blade was indeed tucked safely within the folds of her hakama pants. 
“Giyuu,” she pled, and she noted the way that he twitched towards her at the sound of his name falling from her lips. “Please, don’t worry —“
“I do not make promises I cannot keep,” the Water Pillar cut her off, closing the distance between them until the tips of his zori nearly grazed hers, his head bent down towards her as the heat of his stare threatened to consume her. “So I repeat: if you call for me, I will come to you.” 
Any thought of arguing faded from her mind as Y/N became keenly aware of the lack of space between their bodies, of the way her hands, clasped in front of her chest brushed against the folds of his haori as it shifted softly with the wind. 
“I understand,” she breathed. Y/N held his gaze for a long moment, though it was in part due to the battle waging within her not to allow her eyes to drop to his lips.
She would not let herself acknowledge how close they were; how soft they looked, or how warm they might feel against hers; her skin. 
Giyuu lingered as well; after a pregnant pause, he finally stepped back, blinking as though coming out of a trance. “Good,” he nodded, and he glanced furtively over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed and he nodded as though satisfied before he turned crisply on his heel to begin his trek towards his duties and away from her. “Do not forget.” He called one last time over his shoulder, before the shadows of the woods swallowed him whole. 
As Y/N dazedly made her way back towards the shrine, a crow following closely behind her, she almost laughed at the suggestion she could. 
——-
Autumn, 1915
The weeks passed by without much fuss, and soon, the palpable tension that had settled over the Shrine as a result of Susumo’s lingering threats subsided. Soon, life at the Shrine returned to normal, and Y/N often found her mind wandering to thoughts of raven hair and endless blue eyes. 
Until that night.
It had been a normal evening at the Shrine; autumn, blissful autumn had arrived, heralding forth crisp winds and golden skies. Though the days were steadily growing shorter, Y/N found herself rejuvenated by the new chill, especially as she watched the leaves of the trees shift from green to gold to ruby. 
The leaves on her hairpin indeed had been a perfect match to those which were steadily drifting from the tall maples dotting the Shrine. Though she couldn’t wear her hair down the way she had the last time the Water Pillar paid the Shrine a visit, Y/N had found new ways to incorporate his gift into her daily life, weaving it through her plait or tucking it behind her ear. 
That night had been one like any other; after dinner, the girls of the Shrine had scattered to tend to their evening duties.  The shrine maiden had been walking alongside her Master, planning for the upcoming festival in the nearby village, during which the Shrine would seek new patrons to keep it operational. The women mulled over which families might be more inclined to assist them, and settled on a prominent merchant known to frequent other shrines on his travels through the country.
That was when they’d spotted the smoke.
“Fire!” A shrill voice cried, and both the old Priestess and Y/N blanched. “The honden is on fire!”
All at once, chaos broke out across the Shrine grounds as girls darted to and fro, frantic. Granny began barking at her charges, ordering the younger ones to gather in the courtyard while instructing the older girls to assist in putting out the flames.
"The granary!" Someone else cried. "The granary has gone up in flames!"
The elder Priestess snatched Y/N's wrist in her weathered hand. “The scrolls!” Granny's expression of horror was a sure match to her own. “They’re in the storeroom near the granary!” 
The scrolls in question had been in the Shrine’s custody for over five hundred years, carrying sacred inscriptions of the gods and prayers essential to its operation and legitimacy.
They were priceless; irreplaceable. 
“I’ll go!” And before her Master could protest, the Miko had already turned away and began sprinting toward the fire that was rapidly engulfing the granary near the back of the property.  
Thankfully, the storeroom had yet to catch fire, but if the one steadily consuming the granary was not dealt with soon, it wouldn’t be long before it spread to consume the small wooden hut. 
And Y/N knew it wouldn’t take much to reduce the storeroom to ash. 
Coughing, she pressed her arm to her nose and mouth, using the large bell sleeve of her kosode to block some of the smoke that burned her eyes and nose. She pulled her other sleeve over her hand to protect it as she pushed the storehouse’s door aside. 
Inside was dark; quiet. Though the nighttime made it difficult for her to see the scrolls and prints carefully rolled and tucked away into tiny cubbies lining the hut’s walls, Y/N wasn’t stupid enough to waste time searching for a candle to light. So, with only the flames eating away at the granary at her back to light her way, she began pulling handfuls of scrolls free from their storage, tucking them under her arm. 
She turned to take her first armload of priceless Shrine artifacts from the storeroom and nearly tripped over a collection of heated coal pans that had been stacked in the corner to keep the scrolls sealed within the room at a stable temperature. She managed to hold onto her scrolls, however, and she quickly moved them away from the hut, placing them safely on a nearby rock that was still far enough away from the storeroom should it catch fire. She returned to the hut to survey what else she needed to salvage, but a familiar, tiny yelp and the flurry of movement in her periphery made the Miko’s stomach twist.
“Komatsu!” Y/N turned and saw the anxious younger girl lingering at the storage hut’s door, her tiny hands trembling. “Get away from here! It’s not safe!” 
“B-but Sister,” the girl cried, hopping anxiously from foot to foot. “This is too much to do on your own —“
“You need to go find Granny,” the shrine maiden ordered. “I will join you in a moment.”
The girl’s lower lip wobbled. “But —,”
“Now!”
With a great sniff, the girl turned away, leaving Y/N alone once more. The Miko sighed and resumed her hasty perusal of the hut’s shelves, searching for anything else that could not be replaced. 
There was a rustling near the doorway and Y/N bit her lip in an effort not to swear in front of her younger peer. “Komatsu, what did I say —“ 
She turned to admonish the girl, but her reprimand dried instantly on her tongue. For there, in the entryway to the storeroom, was Komatsu, her eyes wide and her face bone-white with a terror that matched Y/N’s own.
Because the girl was not alone.
Wrapped around her bicep was a hand, as large as a small boulder, and tipped with long, wicked claws that threatened to pierce Komatsu’s bicep. The hand was attached to a forearm, inhumanly thick and muscled. Slowly, Y/N’s eyes dragged up the length of the monstrous arm to behold the sinister face that grinned at her. 
It was Susumo — only it wasn’t Susumo. Y/N recognized the vague features of the face that had once belonged to the village drunk and her personal tormentor. His hair was the same as was the general shape of his face, and the cruelty of his smirk, but that was where the resemblance to the Susumo she’d once known ended.
Now, he boasted a row of sharp fangs that distended nearly to his lower lip. And his eyes — no longer were they a cold, soulless black; now they were crimson red, and his pupils were cut into catlike slits.
Demon. A voice whispered in her mind. Demon.
“Enjoy my fires, Priestess?” Even Susumo’s voice had changed, forming a growl that matched his monstrous appearance. “I set them for you — I knew you would not be able to resist seeing such a spectacle.”
“Komatsu,” Y/N ignored him in favor of addressing the young girl, though her voice was unusually high though she fought to keep it as steady as possible. “Please go find Granny and help her with the honden.” 
The young trainee trembled but Susumo’s clawed hand only tightened around her arm. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sweet Priestess,” the demon crooned. “You have something I want, you see.”
The slick, oily look in his eyes made his desire clear.
Y/N’s eyes darted quickly around the hut, finally falling on a series of coal pans stacked to the side of the room, only a few feet from where she stood, paralyzed. Her quick, cursory glance at the pans revealed iron that was slightly red, and she swore she could see the air around them distorted by the heat.
Hot; they were still hot.
The Miko looked back to where the demon continued to leer at her, ravenous. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I will go with you, Susumo.”
Komatsu looked between her and the demon in horror, but Y/N only kept her eyes locked with the demon’s. She edged closer to where the coal pans were still burning hot, eyes not daring to drop his as she drew closer to the demon and the younger trainee. He grinned, revealing cruelly sharp and bloodstained teeth, and his yellow eyes shone with a triumphant smugness, believing the Miko was surrendering to him at last. 
As she brushed past the pans, Y/N furtively reached out a hand and closed her fingers around one of the handles. “Komatsu,” the Miko kept her eyes carefully trained on the demon. “Run.”
Her hand seized around the coal pan and with every ounce of her strength, she swung it toward the demon. The hot iron of the pan slammed into the side of his head, forcing him to drop his hold on the younger girl. There was a struggle between the older shrine maiden and the demon, who fought to wrench the pan free from her fierce grip, but Y/N would not relent. 
“Run!” She shrieked at the girl again, and Komatsu darted away. Y/N’s fingers stretched to close around the tiny lever on the handle of the coal pan, and with a snarl of fury, she managed to latch around it, squeezing it with all her might. The lid of the pan opened and red-hot coals spilled forth over the demon’s head. Susumo howled in fury, and Y/N dropped the pan, letting it crack against his head as she shot past him, desperate to escape the tiny storeroom.
The faster she got into open air, the better chance she had of living. 
But a claw, sharp and deadly sunk into her bicep, and yanked her back. She could not help the small scream that tore from her throat as she felt his talons rip at her skin and the sleeve of her kosode was shredded into ribbons beneath his nails.
“Sister Y/N!” Komatsu’s tiny, terrified voice cried out from several feet ahead. 
The shrine maiden swallowed her building panic. “Go!”
The little girl hesitated again and Y/N knew she could not follow after her, not without risking her safety once again. With a defiant scream of rage, the shrine maiden tore her arm free of the demon’s razor-like claws, fighting back the bile that rose in her throat as she felt blood run down her arm, hot and thick. 
The demon grasped wildly at her but found only air. Thinking only of the safety of Komatsu and her fellow trainees, Y/N turned on her heel and ran for the trees, away from the chaos unfolding at the Shrine. 
And the demon, still snarling and panting and undoubtedly enraged, followed her into the forest.
Shit, shit, shit!
Y/N hurtled over a snarled root as she ran, her life dependent upon every stride as she fled the newly-demented Susumo.
In the back of her mind, the Miko knew her efforts were in vain; because for every inch she managed to gain, the angry demon at her heels seemed to gain a foot.
“You’ve denied me for far too long!” The monster’s voice growled behind her, far too close for comfort. “I will have you!”
Y/N palmed the small nichirin knife tucked safely within the deep pockets of her hakama pants, and wildly she wondered whether it was possible to decapitate a demon with such a small blade. Perhaps the Water Pillar should have left her a sword. After all, a sword could not really be that different from a broom, and she’d walloped her fair share of handsy drunkards and would-be thieves with the cleaning tool.
If she lived through the night, she would tell him as much the next time she saw him.
Y/N’s musings did nothing to help her avoid the root of an old tree that jutted out from the earth, snarling around her ankle and sending her flailing to the forest floor. Angry tears of frustration clouded her eyes. Although she knew these paths like the back of her hand, that knowledge did her little good in the dark, as she fled for her life.
Scrambling up to her feet, Y/N caught sight of a pair of eyes watching her from the brambles, dark and inky.
A crow. The image of a certain Hashira flashed before her eyes, as Y/N recalled the way that the members of the Demon Slayer Corps used crows to communicate.
Perhaps this crow was so affiliated, and she was desperate enough to try. “Please!” Y/N begged, sobbing as the crow stared down at her with those black eyes. “Giyuu!”
———
The night had been unusually peaceful for the Water Pillar.
His ambling patrol around his territory’s perimeter hadn’t revealed so much as a whisper of demonic activity. But the absence of any conspicuous threat did not mean his guard was down; his eyes remained sharp, his ear finely tuned, listening for any shift in the wind, any sign that something was amiss and required investigation —
A sudden rustle of leaves sounded from his right, and Giyuu’s hand moved reflexively for his blade, bracing against its hilt in preparation. A small shadow burst from the canopy above him, its wings flapping wildly. He recognized it instantly as the crow he’d assigned to watch over the Shrine — to watch over her.
“Demon attack at the Mountain Shrine!” The crow squawked, circling above him frantically. “Demon attack! Go now — quickly!” 
He hadn’t hesitated to turn sharply on his heel, furiously making his way toward the Shrine. He broke through the line of trees at its edge in record time, and even he’d been taken aback by the chaos that had broken out.
“The honden is on fire!” the old woman cried out to the Pillar as he swiftly landed among the chaos unfolding across the shrine grounds. “The girls were still doing their evening duties – but then another fire was started near the granary!” 
“My crows said a demon had made an appearance,” Giyuu’s eyes carefully scanned the terrified, frantic faces of the Shrine’s residents, his hands braced against the hilt of his sword. “Has anyone been hurt?” 
The head Priestess stared at the Water Pillar in muted horror. “I have not seen – but I haven’t taken any headcount of the girls to know –” 
A piercing cry from near the south gate of the Shrine cut the old woman off, and both Priestess and Slayer whipped toward the sound. A girl, no more than nine, was half-running, half-stumbling toward them, frightened tears streaking down her face. 
“Komatsu!” the old Priestess blanched as she caught sight of the small apprentice’s busted, bloodied lip. With a sob, the young girl flung herself into her elder’s arms and clung tightly to her. “What on earth –?” 
“Sister Y/N!” the girl called Komatsu wailed, and Giyuu felt himself go cold. “Granny – th-that man – he’s a monster!”
The head Priestess paled in recognition. “Susumo?” Giyuu’s gut clenched at the name. The old woman knelt before the girl, her hands clutching wildly at her slim shoulders as she shook her lightly to recenter her. “Komatsu, was Susumo the monster?” 
The young girl nodded. “He was so – hiccup – fast! I didn’t even see him!” She only cried harder. “And t-then Sister Y/N – she grabbed the coal pan and dumped it on him until he let go.” Komatsu trembled as she lifted a shaking hand to wipe at her cheeks. “A-and then she t-told me to r-run –” 
THe old Priestess caught the girl’s quivering chin in her hand and forced her to meet her eyes. “Where is Y/N, Komatsu?” 
Komatus’s eyes were wide with fear. “She ran,” she whispered. “Into the woods – b-but Granny – she was bleeding –” 
The Shrine’s Priestess turned to the Slayer, ready to beg him to follow after the demon and her apprentice, but the Water Pillar was gone. For a brief moment, she feared all hope was lost; that they’d been abandoned and non one would be able to save the young Miko – her heir – from whatever horrid fate awaited her at the ends of Susumo’s crazed, brutal claws.
She caught a flurry of movement right against the dark line of trees that snagged her attention; a flap of the edge of a mismatched haori, and the glint of a blade being drawn, its wielder already furiously making his way into the shadowy depths of the forest. 
The Priestess exhaled and clutched her trembling young trainee to her chest. As she soothed the shaken young girl, the old woman prayed the Water Pillar would not be too late.
She was fucked; well and truly fucked.
Y/N had no idea how long she’d spent sprinting furiously through the forest, but she knew she was quickly running out of stamina. Worse, it seemed the demon on her heels knew she was slowing, and was now playing with her. But even his patience seemed to be at its wit’s end; for a sudden sharp blow to her back sent the Miko flying several feet forward until she slammed against the uneven, rough terrain of the forest floor.
Y/N gasped for air that would not come as she tried to push herself up. Crawl! Her mind begged her body. Crawl, damn you!
A dark chuckle from behind sent every hair on her body standing straight on end. A hand locked around her ankle and flipped her over until she was nearly nose to nose with the demon crouched over her. “Got you,” he sang, and the moonlight glinted off the sharp edge of his fangs as he grinned. 
Her fingers found the handle of the knife the Water Pillar had gifted her in her pocket. With a determined grunt, she pulled it free and plunged it deep into the meat of his shoulder, praying furiously to any god who would listen that she might have hit an artery so that he would bleed out. 
The demon loosed an enraged scream and fell away from her, hands blindly fumbling for the blade.  
No longer pinned beneath him, Y/N  scrambled back. Her hands scraped against the broken brush and pebbles below her in her desperate attempt to put distance between herself and the demon rising to his feet ahead of her, snarling. As he began advancing toward her, Susumo gripped the knife she’d buried in his shoulder and with a grunt, he wrenched it free and tossed it carelessly to the side, right along with the last shred of any hope she’d had of making it out of the woods alive.
The demon’s mouth curled into a cruel, savage grin, the moonlight glinting off his long, wicked fangs. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growled, saliva dripping down his chin as his nostrils widened to scent her blood and her fear. 
This was it; there was nowhere for her to run, no weapon she could try and protect herself with. There was nothing she could do; she was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Just as Susumo drew upon her, close enough that she could smell the rancid, pungent odor of rotted meat on his breath, he stumbled back, startled. 
One moment the demon was standing mere inches from her, ready to devour her whole; the next, he was sent sailing back, his body smashing into the trunk of a nearby tree with a sickening thump! 
A blur of dark matter soared over the Miko’s head toward the monster. Susumo barely had time to stand before the shadow converged on him once more. There was a flash of light — the moon reflecting off metal — followed by a dull thud. The shrine maiden’s heart lodged in her throat as she watched the head of the former village drunkard roll across the forest floor before distingrating, his body following soon after. 
She was nearly hyperventilating as the shadow turned to face her, but the pall of the moon finally illuminated the face of her savior — her Water Pillar.
“G-Giyuu,” she stuttered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of relief that washed over her all at once.
But Giyuu did not respond, his lapis eyes narrowing in on the dark stain spreading across the white of her kosode. Y/N cowered at the cold, unbridled rage that contorted the ordinarily stoic Hashira’s face as he began to shake at the sight of her blood. In a flash, Giyuu had closed the distance between them and knelt down by her side, gripping her wounded arm in his hand as he tried to pull her tattered sleeve down and  inspect her wound.
“Tomioka — Giyuu,” she pled, trying to wrench her arm from his iron-like grip. “Please, it’s not that bad —“
“Did it get you anywhere else?” Giyuu demanded harshly, and the authority underlying his tone made Y/N fall silent for the first time since she’d known him. “Did it -“ the Water Pillar hesitated. “Did it touch you anywhere else?”
Y/N was trembling, and the Hashira’s hand around her arm tightened. “Ah!” She winced. “No, I promise, Giyuu, it’s just a flesh wound, I’m fine-,”
“You are bleeding. You are not fine.” Giyuu snapped back. “You could’ve been killed, or turned, or -,” the Water Pillar began to hyperventilate, and it shook the young Miko to her core. The Water Hashira was normally so unflappable, so stoic, that his panicked anger frightened her.
“-So do not tell me you’re fine,” Giyuu’s rant continued. “Not when you could’ve — not when I might’ve failed — not again --”
She was at a loss for what to do as she watched the raven-haired man struggle to form words. Vaguely, she recalled the way the Granny-Priestess had once explained to her that when someone panicked, they needed to regulate their breathing, and there were many ways someone could help force another to breathe properly…
Stomach fluttering, Y/N’s free hand came up to grip the fold of the Water Pillar’s haori. Giyuu’s incessant rambling only ended when her lips urgently pressed against his own, his eyes going wide. A heartbeat or two passed and then the Miko pulled away, her eyes serious as she stared at the stunned Water Hashira.
“You need to give me a sword.” She told him, earnestly, her face blazing.
———
Giyuu helped her back to the Shrine, though the Miko found herself needing to bat off the Water Pillar with a stern reminder that she’d only sustained a small arm wound as he’d tried to scoop her up into his arms.
The Swordsman had been rather subdued the entire journey out of the forest, his eyes curiously wide and dazed right until the pair breached the tree line at the edge of the Shrine’s property. The moment they stepped into open ground, they were swarmed by the tearful, relieved faces of the Shrine’s inhabitants. Words of gratitude to him were woven through worries over the Miko’s arm wound as they made their way across toward the small infirmary which, thankfully, had not been touched by Susumo’s fire.
The honden itself was still standing; though the flames had finally been subdued, smoke still curled up toward the sky, blocking any view of the moon or the stars. 
The head Priestess waited for them outside the infirmary. Though her face was grave, Giyuu could spy the relief shining in her eyes. He stood numbly by as the Miko and her master regarded each other warily for a moment, before the elder Priestess reached forward and yanked her charge forward into a fierce embrace.
“Reckless girl,” she chastised gently against the side of Y/N’s head. “Thank every one of the gods that you’re safe.” The old Priestess’s eyes found those of the Water Pillar. “And thank you, Lord Tomioka.”
Y/N was promptly escorted inside to have her wound examined and stitched. Despite the old shrine keeper’s gratitude for his aid in saving the young shrine maiden, that thankfulness apparently did not extend to permitting him inside the infirmary with them, and for good reason. For under the Elder’s withering glare, the Water Pillar realized that Y/N’s treatment would require her to be stripped of her kosode, leaving her exposed and bare. 
As unwilling as he’d been to part from her, the thought of witnessing the Miko undressed and vulnerable had been enough to temper his urge to look after her, if nothing else because the mental image of her in such a state flustered him to no end.
Though, he supposed his bewilderment also had something to do with what had transpired between them in the forest.
Kissed him; the shrine maiden had kissed him. 
His fingers drifted to his lips. They still felt warm where they’d been graced by hers, and he swore he could still feel the softness of her mouth from where it had brushed against his. 
He needed to talk to her; he needed to know what the hell she’d been thinking, kissing him like that. 
But as shocking as the Miko’s kiss had been, there was something else, something far heavier, that weighed on his mind. 
She’d nearly been killed. By a demon. On his watch. 
He should’ve apologized; he should’ve begged for her forgiveness for letting her come that close with death. For letting her get wounded because he hadn’t been fast enough.
I was concerned for you, he wanted to tell her. I thought I would be too late.
No; concern didn’t cover it; did not do near enough justice to his true emotions upon learning the Miko had fled into the dark forest with a hungry, loathsome demon hot on her trail.
He’d been scared; terrified; almost beside himself at the possibility that he’d be too late and find that she’d already been reduced to the beast’s meal, 
He’d been scared he’d never again see her smile or hear her laugh, and that had terrified him more than anything. For it was the memory of both that soothed his anxious nerves each time he startled awake from visions of his dead loved ones, demanding to know why they had died in his stead.   
He’d feared that he would have to add her face to those he saw when he slept — the faces of those he’d failed to protect, who’d died for his sake. He’d been terrified of seeing her image in painstaking clarity, just as he saw the faces of his sister and Sabito every morning. 
He did not know what to do with them, these confusing feelings, so abundant and intense that they’d welled up within him and threatened to spill over. He couldn’t name them, let alone begin to untangle the knot they’d formed within his heart. All he knew was that every one of them were inextricably tied to her. 
His shrine maiden. 
His.
Y/N’s arm ached, but it had been properly sewn and bandaged, and there was work to do before she could settle in for the night; and so, she found herself helping her peers with cleaning up the courtyard from the debris of the night’s events. 
Truthfully, she'd been grateful for the distraction. Occupying herself with cleanup meant she did not have to think about what she’d done in the forest. But then Granny Priestess saw her trying to heave away broken wood with her freshly stitched arm and Y/N found herself forced to abandon her fellow trainees as the old bat smacked her upside the head and squawked about how she was going to break her stitching and complicate the healing process.  
The Miko tried not to pout as she retreated, opting instead to grumble over the old woman’s dramatics as her arm stung and her ego throbbed. When she finally returned to her sleeping quarters, exhaustion slammed into her, making her limbs heavy and leaden. Unable to quite rally the energy to crawl into her futon, she slumped against the doorway of the room, her head and her heart a tangled mess of emotions she couldn’t quite name.
What she’d felt the moment the Water Pillar had stepped into the moonlight had been more than mere relief that he’d managed to save her life for the second time. She’d felt safe, so unbelievably safe that the forest itself could have been on fire and she wouldn’t have been afraid; not as long as he was there with her.
Something between them had shifted; that much was clear. In truth, things likely had begun to change the moment she repaired his haori, and she’d admitted to him her deep-seated loneliness and lack of belonging.
She only hoped he felt the change, too.
Much to Y/N’s chagrin, autumn was quickly giving way to blasted winter.
Though, the Miko hadn’t been able to fully resent the rapid shift in the seasons; repairs at the Shrine had consumed nearly all of her attention, and as Granny’s heir, she was expected to contribute to its reconstruction more than any other trainee.
That expectation meant Granny left the task of figuring out how to finance the necessary repairs entirely to her young protege. Y/N had spent all of two days agonizing over ways to raise the necessary funds when she awoke to find a mysterious sack of money that had been left on the doorstep of the honden. Inside had been an amount more than generous to cover the cost of repairs from the fire, with a hefty remainder that could be put toward other necessary improvements to spruce the Shrine up, and perhaps restore it to its former glory. 
No note had been left with the money to indicate the identity of the Shrine’s benefactor.  But amid all the excitement of her peers at the thought of being able to afford materials and laborers to assist with the more difficult aspects of the Shrine’s refurbishment, Y/N had spotted a familiar crow perched high in a nearby tree.
That position had afforded the bird with a perfect view of the money sack, allowing it to silently ensure it fell into the proper hands. But repairs had finally slowed, and Y/N now found her days returning to normal. Almost. 
What was not normal was how agitated she'd become in waiting for his return.
Another week passed without any communication from the Water Pillar, and the Miko had grown desperate for any sort of distraction. She found herself one late, autumn morning passing the time in the Shrine’s garden hut. She was pretending to be searching for tools that would help her prune the wilting Shrine garden when something grazed against the small of her back. Startled, she turned and was greeted by familiar, unruly raven hair and a pair of deep azure eyes. 
“Giyuu,” his name slid easily off her tongue, and suddenly she could not remember why she’d called him anything else. 
A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Hello, Y/N.”
A poignant silence followed, and her cheeks grew hot. "Don't mind me," she said quickly, turning her head away from him as she pretended to organize stray gardening supplies. "I am only just now finishing my tasks for the day."
Though he remained silent, she became acutely aware of the way Giyuu’s eyes followed her as she tried desperately to keep herself busy, to avoid having to meet that piercing, discerning stare. 
“I did not get a chance to properly thank you after the turmoil of that night,” she said casually. Nervously, she hoped that his heightened senses did not alert him to the way her heart fluttered in her chest, or how her stomach flipped in her gut. Her nails dug into her palms as she lifted her head to meet that unnerving, fathomless stare.
But the Water Pillar had already closed most of the distance between them, having moved so silently she’d not heard him, despite even the creaky, uneven slatted floor of the garden hut. “How is your wound?” He asked softly, his hand skirting up the outside of the arm Susumo had wounded. “Has it healed?” 
It took a great amount of effort for Y/N to remember how to keep her breathing steady. But she forced her lips into an easy smile as she rucked up the flared sleeve of her kosode to reveal her bicep. “It will likely scar,” she admitted, her fingers lightly tracing over the three, angry red marks that remained imprinted on her skin, though they’d fully scabbed over. “I consider myself quite lucky, all things considered.” 
“Why did you do it?” 
The Miko ducked her head, willing the sheet of her hair to fall and conceal her mounting blush. She did not need to ask him to clarify; she knew after what he was asking.
But she feigned ignorance all the same. “I don’t know what you mean, Tomioka-sama –” 
“Don’t call me that,” and even though she refused to meet his eyes, she could sense his irritation at her avoidance. “We’re well past such formalities, Y/N.” Giyuu stepped closer to her, his cerulean eyes melting into something more akin to the midnight blue of the evening sky. “You kissed me. That night.” The Water Pillar’s hand glided up the arm that Susumo had injured, caressing softly over the healed skin beneath the sleeve of her kosode.
“I-I did no such thing!” Y/N sputtered, though her reddening cheeks betrayed her. “I was only attempting to help you calm down — you were panicking, and inconsolable.” 
Giyuu’s responding smirk only served to irritate her more. “Should I thank you then, Y/N?” His hand slid from her shoulder to below her chin, his delicate fingers curling to tilt her head up towards his, as he closed the distance between their bodies. “Should I show you how grateful I am that you were able to assuage my worry?” 
Y/N tried to focus on anything but the feeling of Giyuu’s breath — warm and enticing — against her face as he leaned in close. “You had no reason to worry; I was completely fine before you showed up.” 
“Fine,” the ravenette scoffed, his grip on her chin tightening slightly. “So fine that you were bleeding and about to become that beast’s snack — or worse.” 
“But you saved me, did you not?” Y/N whispered, unable to stop her eyes from dropping to the Water Pillar’s sensual, soft-looking mouth before rising once more to meet his punishing gaze. “And then I helped you.” 
Giyuu’s second hand brushed against her waist and the shrine maiden thought she might leap out of her skin. “You did,” he conceded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small, half-smile. “Though I apologize that you needed to do so — I suppose I become a little over-zealous when things that are precious to me are threatened.” 
Even if she could have thought of some witty remark to throw back at him, those words surely would have been blocked by her heart as it lodged in her throat. 
Things that were precious to him. She was precious to him.
“So I’ll ask again, Y/N,” Giyuu whispered, and his nose brushed delicately against hers. “Should I thank you for your assistance?” The fingers beneath her chin stroked her jaw. “Should I kiss you?” 
She fought to suppress the excited shudder that licked up her spine. “Yes, Lord Hashira,” she breathed, and her stomach turned cartwheels as Giyuu’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Perhaps you should.” 
“Who am I to deny the request of a priestess?” Giyuu murmured, and then his lips were moving against hers, warm and soft. Y/N’s fingers flew to clutch the Water Pillar’s rocky biceps beneath the soft cloth of his haori, anchoring him against her. The hand that had gripped below her chin slid to the side of her face, tilting her head so that the Water Pillar could have better access to her as he pressed his lips harder against hers. 
Y/N moaned into his kiss, wanting him closer, impossibly closer to her than he currently was. 
Giyuu broke away from her once, though he kept a hand on the back of her neck to keep her in place. “What are your duties today?” 
Y/N’s fingers curled around the front of the Water Pillar’s haori, her forehead resting against his. “None of import.” She gave him a sly smile. “No one will miss me if I am gone for a few hours.” 
Giyuu returned her smile with a tiny smirk of his own. “In that case,” he tugged her hand and he began to lead her towards the grassy overlook where they’d spent a great deal of time talking and learning one another. “I could use your assistance.”
Y/N hadn’t greeted the sunrise with the intent to neglect her shrine duties, but she couldn’t say she regretted how she ended up spending the day.
They spent the day resting on the hillside overlooking the shrine grounds, rolling back and forth upon the browning grass as they kissed each other again and again. 
“You weren’t wrong, that day — right after we met,” Giyuu gasped against her lips as they broke apart, the blush on Y/N’s cheeks a sure match to his own. “I do not find you captivating.”
Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth parted, a protest on her tongue when Giyuu surged forward, his lips brushing against her neck. The Miko’s words choked off with a squeak as the Water Pillar danced his lips to the hollow of her throat, his tongue flicking out once right where her heart pulsed wildly. 
“I think you are utterly transfixing; enchanting,” he breathed against her skin. “You have cast a spell over me that I do not want broken.”
“I find it hard to believe anyone could wield that sort of power over a Hashira,” Y/N’s voice was high pitched as Giyuu’s lips made their way back to hers.
In the back of her mind, Y/N wondered if his words were motivated purely by his physical desire for her. It would not have surprised her if he was only so taken with her because he longed to be touched; held. Like him, she’d gone much of her life without intimacy from anyone. She could not blame him for seeking it from someone so willing to give as she. 
“But you are not just anyone, not to me.” was all he replied, his lips moving softly against hers once more. “You are…everything.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The Water Pillars words, dripping like honey from his lips, were only sweetened by the fervent sincerity of his eyes as he pulled back to gaze into hers, so deeply, she felt as though he could see every thought in her head.
She wondered if he lowered that piercing, discerning stare, whether he’d be able to see straight to her heart, too; see how it bore his name. 
Even though her breath guttered in her throat at his words, her heart clenched painfully in her chest. The idea that she’d attached more meaning to their relationship than he, that perhaps she’d overestimated her value to him made her tense, made her want to push him away and —
“You’re distracted,” Giyuu murmured against her lips, brushing his nose against hers. “Your thoughts are loud.” 
Her fingers caught the front fold of his haori, fiddling idly with it. “There is nothing for you to repay, you know. You do not owe me your time or your attention. I know the Shrine is simply a part of your designated patrol. I understand if its convenience is the only reason —” 
A single finger pressed itself against her lips, quieting her. “You think and talk too much.” The ravenette chastised. Her mouth parted, a protest forming on her lips, when he cut her off again. “Ah ah,” Giyuu silenced her with his lips, his tongue flicking out to skim along her bottom lip. Above her, he shifted and allowed his weight to fall against her, pinning her beneath him. Reluctantly, his mouth broke away from hers. “It is my turn to speak.” 
“I do not come to the Shrine because it is easy,” Giyuu’s lips brushed hesitantly against her jaw. “Nor do I come here out of any preconceived obligation to repay your kindness.” 
He pulled back to study her, panting and flushed beneath him. As his eyes slowly combed over her, Y/N felt a strange knot pull and twist in the depths of her stomach. “There is only one thing that brings me back here, no matter how exhausted I am after weeks of endless missions; no matter how often certain junior Corps members pester me to train them.” His eyes narrowed at the hollow of the Miko’s throat, exposed by the way her kosode had shifted as the pair of them rolled around the grass. Curious, Giyuu leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against it. 
And then he did the unthinkable;  the Water Pillar moaned, ever so softly, against the fluttering of Y/N’s frantic pulse. The sound, so rich and full of need – of want – washed over her and drowned out all other thoughts, all other higher reasoning from her mind. INstead, the Miko was left with nothing but the sharp urge to press her thighs together, an unknown heat beginning to pool in her most sacred area. 
“Do you know what that thing is, Y/N?” He whispered against the soft dip in her throat, his breath hot as it fanned across her skin. “Can you guess what it is I cannot stay away from – could not, even if I desired otherwise?” 
His fingers dropped to the collar of her kosode, tracing lightly over its crisp, white fold. “When I close my eyes in the mornings, it is your face I see,” he murmured. “It is your laugh I hear in my dreams; your scent I find myself longing for when I awaken.”
The Miko shivered as his index finger traced from her collar up her throat, over her chin until it came to rest on her bottom lip, gently stroking over its curve. “It is you I seek to turn to remind myself that there is still good in this world – good still worth protecting. Why is that, Y/N?” His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed almost earnest in his question. “Why is it that my mind refuses to be occupied by anything but you?” 
“Because I vex you,” she said softly, eyes wide and locked with his. “Because, try as you might, you’ve never been able to fully fit me into a box as you have with others.” 
Giyuu shook his head. “Vex me?” He tsked at her. “Perhaps once that was true. But now? I desire you in ways I can hardly understand, and it drives me mad.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “What are you saying?” 
“I think I’ve been rather clear,” and instinctively, Giyuu rolled his hips against hers, desperate to relieve some of the friction mounting in his groin. “And it’s that I want –” 
But the Miko did not get to hear what Giyuu wanted; not as he was drowned out by the screeching cry of a bird from high above. Only, this bird was not the dull, graying crow she’d come to associate with her Swordsman.
“I thought your crow was older?”
The Water Pillar frowned as he turned to look up, his eyebrows drawn together. “That’s not Kanzaburo — that’s one of the Master’s —“
“CAW,” the bird circled above their heads in narrow, rapid turns. “Lord Tomioka! Return to headquarters immediately!”
Giyuu’s jaw clenched. “Can it not wait?” 
Y/N, however, only gaped up at the bird flying above them. “It talks —?” 
But the crow only cried again, “Emergency meeting at headquarters!!
With a short, frustrated exhale, Giyuu rolled to the side of the Miko and rose, but not before he extended a hand and helped lift her to her feet.
He gingerly brushed some loose grass from her hair. “I’m sorry.” 
She only shook her head as she reached to adjust his haori, righting it in his shoulders. “It’s your duty, Giyuu. I understand that.”
He scowled back up at the bird still circling above them, bleating a refrain of “Emergency! Go now!”
“I’m not finished with this conversation,” Giyuu said plainly, a frustrated hand working through his hair. Though his annoyance was plain as day, it fell away as he looked back to the Miko at his side, his gaze softening. “Nor am I finished with you.” 
A single finger reached under Y/N’s chin and lifted her head toward him so he could brush another kiss against her lips. “I will come see you – soon.” 
With a shy boldness, the Miko rose on her toes and gave him one final kiss, and Giyuu’s hand tightened where it rested against her waist. “I’ll wait for you, Lord Hashira.”
———
December, 1915
Y/N cursed at the ancient priestess who insisted on using only gas-powered lanterns rather than the newer, much safer, electric powered lights that other shrines had begun using. 
“We are an esteemed shrine dating back hundreds of years,” the old crone had simpered, “Tradition has kept us going this far!” 
Y/N hadn’t helped her cause by asking whether tradition or spite was what kept the hag from dying off and finally leaving her in peace.
And that was how the young Priestess-to-be found herself stomping through the snowy grounds of the Shrine, forced to light each and every lantern by hand using a match and oil, utterly by herself.
She knew better than to levy such an obvious taunt at the old woman, but admittedly, Y/N hadn’t been in the best of moods as of late. 
Giyuu had not returned since that day on the hillside, when he’d kissed her silly and told her he could not stop thinking of her. It was as though he no longer existed; even the crows at the Shrine were no more, having all disappeared one morning before she’d awoken.
As the weeks passed, the weight of his absence had grown heavier, threatening to beat her into the ground below. 
But Y/N had done her best to hold her tongue over the last weeks as her anxiety mounted, and Granny should’ve known that — so really, it was her own fault if she’d taken offense to the Miko’s barb.
She grumbled and cursed under her breath as she trudged toward the small garden hut standing at the furthest edge of the Shrine’s grounds — her last stop of the night. She shoved past the old, rickety door and braced her merrily flickering, hand-held lantern out before her, bathing the small hut in a warm, orange glow.
All was silent and quiet within the small storeroom. The air was cold, though the slatted walls of the hut offered some protection from the howling, snow-dotted winds outside. Determined to complete her task and return to the comfort of her warm futon, the Miko fumbled around one of the store shelves for a small can of oil. 
“It’s you,” a quiet voice startled her from behind, and Y/N nearly dropped the lantern clutched in her hands.
But she did not feel afraid as she recognized the calm, soothing cadence of the voice, that voice that belonged to the one person capable of making her blush. 
The one person who held her heart.
“It’s been a while, Giyuu. I was wondering when I’d see you again.” She turned and saw the raven-haired man standing in the doorway of the garden hut, his face characteristically neutral, though he seemed tense, even more so than usual.
Instantly, she moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes tightened, and the darkness which swam within them betrayed his aloof facade. “Things have changed quickly in my world,” he began, and she saw his fists clench at his sides. “We believe the demons are preparing for war — and so we have been as well. 
“War?” She repeated softly, her step faltering. “I hadn’t realized the demons were so…organized.”
Giyuu nodded. “One creature is responsible for all demons. He is the orchestrator; he is the one we must kill, and we believe the opportunity to do so is drawing nearer.”
The monotonous cadence of his voice fell away as he quietly added, “That is why I haven’t been able to return — we’ve been training. This battle — it may start at any moment.”
He made like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself, pressing his lips into a tight line. 
“And?” She prompted gently, taking a solitary step toward him.
“He hesitated, and she spied how his throat worked to swallow. “And I do not know when I will be able to see you again. After tonight.”
Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyes searching his. “When you say you don’t know ‘when’ we will see each other again,” she began, cautiously. “Do you mean ‘if?’”
Giyuu’s answering silence said more than any words could. 
For a moment, the Miko could not remember how to speak, not as she felt the organ in her chest splinter into a thousand, mismatched pieces.
“I just wanted to see you,” the Water Pillar struggled to swallow around the growing lump in his throat. “One last time.” 
She could scarcely breathe. 
He was leaving and he might never return. 
Leaving to go try and put an end to the scourge of demons that plagued their world. It was a noble thing to do; sacrifice in its purest form. 
But she hated it. 
She was filled with such a deep melancholy that it nearly brought her to her knees. As the Water Pillar turned to leave, Y/N couldn’t stop herself as she reached for him, her arms encircling him as her hands locked over his front, stilling him.
“Giyuu,” she said thickly, her face pressed into the back of his haori as she willed the tears in her eyes not to fall. “Giyuu.” 
He turned in her grasp and looked down at her in awe, a finger rising to brush the errant tear that had escaped down her cheek as he held her gaze. 
The flame within her lantern flickered as Giyuu softly grazed his lips against her own, Y/N’s arms weaving around his neck to hold him close to her. 
His hands were gentle, if not a little uncertain as they found her waist, but once they came to a rest against her, he pulled her close, arms winding around her middle and holding her securely against him as he deepened the kiss. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as she opened up for him, his tongue gliding alongside her own until she was left breathless and wanting. 
Vaguely, the Miko was aware that he was walking them deeper into the garden hut, allowing the old door to thud shut behind him, and the thought of not returning to her plush futon suddenly did not seem like such a loss. 
Giyuu’s hands returned to her face, thumbs stroking softly along her cheeks as he broke their kiss to brush his lips against her eyes, her nose, and forehead. Y/N’s hands parted the Water Hashira’s haori from his shoulders as Giyuu’s fingers dropped to her collar bone, sliding beneath her kosode, and grazing her bare shoulder. 
“You have been my most treasured encounter,” he whispered, and she felt her heart seize in her throat, tears threatening to spill anew from her eyes.
A year’s worth of interactions had all led to this moment, but it was not the satisfying payoff of the tension and longing that had been steadily building between them.
This was a goodbye. 
Because it was likely that the Water Pillar would not survive the impending battle; but neither did he want to leave this end untied. 
She had known, deep in her heart, that this affair had been doomed before it had ever begun, but that hadn’t stopped her from falling for the kind, brave, selfless man now kissing her like she was his entire world anyways. 
She would not get to have him in the morning, so she resolved to give herself to him for the night. 
Giyuu’s hands eased her kosode from her shoulders, exposing her to the cool air within the garden hut. His warm hands, however, worked to chase away any chill that spread across her skin as he ran his palms over the curve of her shoulders before sliding down to rest on her bare waist, his long fingers grazing just below the curve of her breasts.
Her own fingers trembled as she fumbled with the buttons on his uniform shirt but in time, she’d worked them open and Giyuu broke their kiss long enough to let his shirt drop to the floor beneath them. 
The two stood there for a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly, as they looked at one another, half-nude and vulnerable. The shrine maiden and the slayer knew that they had come upon a precipice, and if they stepped off that ledge, there would be nothing to break their fall. 
Y/N made the first move, taking a tentative step towards the Water Pillar as she trailed her fingers lightly up the beautiful, sculpted ridges of his abdomen, relishing how warm he was beneath her touch. 
Giyuu shivered beneath her fingertips as the miko’s hand came to a rest against his sternum, marveling the way his heart thundered beneath her hand. “Are you certain?” He breathed, his face was impassive, but his own uncertainty was betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice. His hand rose to gently cup the side of her face, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip. 
She reached to grab the Pillar’s free hand and brought it up to rest against her sternum, mirroring her own hold on him so that he could feel the steady drum of her own heart — and how it thrummed for him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m yours, Giyuu.” 
Once, she had believed the Hashira incapable of expressing anything other than cold aloofness. she’d not been able to comprehend the subtle ways with which his eyes could signal his mood; how they darkened when angry, or how the outer corners turned up, almost imperceptibly, when he was content. 
But she had long since learned to read him, and so, her stomach fluttered at the way the raven haired man’s gaze heated with both adoration and desire — for her. 
Giyu brushed his nose against hers affectionately before bringing their lips together once more, his kiss growing fervent as her hands slid up to tangle in his ebony hair. Y/N gasped into his mouth as she felt Giyu bend down, his hands gripping firmly under her thighs as he lifted her up, forcing her to lock her legs around his waist. Her lips parted, and Giyuu’s tongue slid seamlessly into her mouth.
Her lover locked one steely arm firmly around her lower back to support her as Y/N felt him lower them to the floor to lay her down, the Water Pillar’s free hand coming to brace against the back of her skull, to protect her head from thudding back against the wooden slats of the hut floor. The Miko steadied herself, prepared for the cold bite of the dirty hut floor to nip at the bare skin of her back, but she was only settled against something warm and soft; something that smelled distinctively of the Slayer panting above her. 
Her fingers dropped to her side and grazed against the familiar fabric of Giyuu’s haori; his most prized and cherished possession, spread out beneath her to protect her from the cold ground,  a makeshift bed against which she would let him take her and make her his.
He withdrew his lips from hers to sit back, his cerulean eyes tracing over every inch of her, from the way her dark hair spread out in a soft halo around her, to the blush staining her cheeks. His eyes darkened as they lowered to her bare chest, at the way it rose and fell jerkily as Y/N struggled to control her breathing. 
Giyuu’s long, slim fingers reached out to trace along the top of her scarlet hakama pants, his finger tips just grazing along her ribs and the underside of her breasts. 
“I’d never known such -,” He covered his struggle for words by pressing a sweet kiss against the hollow of her throat, a soft gasp escaping the Miko at the unfamiliar sensation. “Such beauty,” Giyuu’s lips trailed down to skirt across the ridge of her collar bone. “Not until I met you.” 
His face was against her sternum, pressing kisses as he trailed his lips down her skin. “I am sorry I could not give you more time.” His voice was soft, softer than even she had ever known. Before she could respond, Giyuu’s mouth hesitantly brushed against the stiffened peak of her breast, and Y/N’s mouth fell open with a soft cry. 
Azure eyes flashed up to meet hers. “Is this — is this okay?” 
The Miko's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, unable to trust that she could hold her voice steady if she spoke. Her fingers weaved their way through the Pillar’s thick, raven locks, and she grazed her nails against his scalp in encouragement. 
Giyuu grunted softly at her touch, and he leaned forward to suck more of her soft mound into his hot mouth, teeth grazing lightly against her nipple as he explored her. 
“Oh,” she moaned, her thighs inadvertently pressing together as Giyuu’s tongue and lips worshipped her bared flesh, licking and sucking and nipping at her in his devotion. 
“Beautiful,” he murmured against the soft, sensitive skin of her breast. “So very beautiful.” 
He repeated the movement again and again before he traced his mouth across her sternum and began lavishing her other breast with the same fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair as she mewled for him, enamored with the feeling of his hot mouth latched around her. He gave her more and yet it was not enough; every pass of his tongue over her stiffened peak only amplified the ache between her legs, only made the emptiness she felt more pronounced.
A breathy, whining and needy moan blew past her lips in time with a reflexive buck of her hips against his.  
The ravenette pulled off her breast with a start, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed as he gazed down at her in awe. “Do that again.”
“W-what —?” She pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, her chest heaving.
“Tell me what to do,” Giyuu’s breath was ragged though his fingers continued trailing down her sides, seeking out the ties securing her bottoms around her waist. “Tell me how I might help you make that sound again.” 
“I –” Y/N squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze, her thighs rubbing together to stifle some of the electricity she felt between her legs. “I want you to – I need you closer.” 
Her eyes drifted to the bulge that had formed between the Hashira’s thighs, and she felt her heart skip in her chest.
Giyuu pressed his groin against hers and ground. She gasped at the spark of pleasured friction the movement stoked between her thighs, and her eyes flew to meet his, only to see they were as wide as hers. 
And just as hungry. 
Her hand gently cupped his face. “Closer. Please.” 
He pressed his cheek into her palm and with a soft groan, his fingers quickly loosened the fastenings of her bottoms and then he was pushing them down her hips and over her legs, discarding them carelessly to the side. Giyuu sat back on his knees and let his eyes roam her, now fully bare and laid out beneath him. 
When his appraisal of her finally reached the thatch of curls between her thighs, the Water Pillar loosed a shaky breath. She had half a mind to cross her legs, to conceal the most intimate part of her body from the raging fire of his gaze as he studied her, but she forced herself to remain relaxed; open.
One, broad and calloused hand stretched tentatively out to run along the outside of her hip and down her leg, before smoothing back up in the inside of her thigh. His eyes flicked once to hers, and then he leaned forward and brushed delicate kisses down her abdomen, over her hip and along her thigh. He continued his descent as he slowly pushed himself back from her, and once he imparted one last, sweet press of his lips against her ankle, he rose. 
The flickering light of the lantern cast shadows along the alabaster of his skin, further accentuating how the muscles of his torso and abdomen flexed and shifted as he worked to free himself of the remainder of his clothes. His eyes did not leave hers, not even as his hands found the buckle of his belt and tugged it loose, and Y/N found herself free falling into their depths.
The ravenette dropped his belt to the floor, and then his fingers were at the waistband of his trousers, pulling and fiddling with their fastening. At last, Giyuu freed his lower half from the confines of his uniform pants and stepped out from the puddle they made at his feet. 
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes raked over his beautiful form, so lean yet solid and muscular. Her cheeks burned with a renewed blush as her gaze followed the small, dark trail of hair beginning just below his navel, and down between his hips, where the evidence of his desire stood proud. 
Her throat went dry. He was large — the flared head of his tip nearly grazed his navel, and his width was a little more than two of her fingers. Her thighs clamped together nervously, as she pondered how on earth she’d be able to accommodate him.
Giyuu noticed her hesitation, and a faint dusting of pink spread across his cheeks. “I have never -“
The shrine maiden shook her head. “Nor I,” she whispered, though the knowledge that this was as new to him as it was to her helped ease the clench in her stomach. For all her nervousness, the Miko could not ignore the heat and longing which burned within her as she lifted her eyes back to his. She found her muscles softening as she saw the same fire within those cyan pools she’d come to love. Y/N laid back against the floor — against the comforting soft of his haori, and let body relax, her legs falling open to him. 
She held her hand out to him, beckoning, “Come back to me, Giyuu.” 
The ravenette did not hesitate as he returned to her, covering her body with his own as he pulled her in for a heated kiss, the weight of his hardened length resting heavily against her hip as he settled between the cradle of her thighs.
Y/N moaned into his mouth, instinctively rolling her hips against him, desperate to feel closer to the man who had claimed her heart before she’d realized anyone was capable of holding it.  
Giyuu groaned, softly, against her as she repeated the movement, breaking their kiss to look down at the flushed Miko threatening to drive him wild with her silken touch. As much as he was desperate to feel her — every part of her — he knew what they were about to do would not be nearly as pleasurable for her as it would be for him. 
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the Water Pillar’s eyes were stormy, a tempest of competing desire and pain at the idea of causing her even the slightest discomfort raging within him. 
Y/N brushed her lips against his once before trailing along his jaw, pausing only to suck softly as the soft spot beneath his ear. “I am only ever undone by you; never hurt.” 
He moaned softly, lowering his head back down to reclaim her mouth firmly with his own, his lips beseeching her to let him consume her. 
She was only too happy to do so, parting her mouth so that his tongue could slide in and dance languidly with hers, as he reached between them, gripping hold of his aching length and positioning himself at her entrance. 
The first brush of his hot, velvety tip against her folds broke their kiss, both gasping at the new yet intoxicating feel of the other’s most intimate area. 
Giyuu braced his free arm by her head, his fingers stretching to run comfortingly through her hair, as he pressed his forehead against hers. “If it becomes too much, just tell me, and we can stop.” His voice shook ever so slightly as he waited for her signal, the ache in his groin becoming nearly painful. 
The Miko grazed her lips against his throat. “Don’t stop.” She murmured. She hitched her legs higher up on his hips, angling herself so the trembling man above her would have better access to her. 
Slowly, so very slowly, the tip of Giyuu’s length began to push into her, and Y/N felt herself temporarily forget how to breathe. Above her, Giyuu’s eyes squeezed shut in a concerted effort not to sheathe himself within her in one stroke. 
“Y/N,” Giyuu panted, unable to stop the shaky moan that fell from his lips as he sunk into her warm heat that wrapped tight, so impossibly tight around him.
The shrine maiden winced at the unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable sensation of being slowly stretched and filled by the Pillar. She felt as though she was a wave, crashing and breaking and parting around a rocky shore with every inch gained by the press of his hips against hers. 
Giyuu hardly had a quarter of himself seated within her when he felt his head brush against a thin barrier. His eyes opened to look down at the Miko, panting beneath him, her eyebrows pinched in slight discomfort. When she noticed he’d stopped, she peered up at him through her thick eyelashes, her cheeks flushed. 
The hand Giyuu had held at his base to help guide himself within her lifted to grip her hip, her legs relaxing as his fingers massaging soothing circles into her flesh. Giyuu removed his forehead from its resting place against hers and he buried his face into the side of her neck as he pressed his body flush against hers. The hand he’d used to brace himself found hers, and he lifted to rest above her head, his fingers twining tightly with her own. 
“I’m okay,” she whispered, pressing a sweet kiss against the shell of his ear. Giyuu nearly shuddered at her words, and he pressed his hips forward, his cock finally breaching that thin, inner barrier to the rest of her welcoming heat. 
Y/N cried out at the bright spark of pain that flared through her as Giyuu claimed her as his own, but the Pillar held her steady, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her neck. 
A hitched gasp blew past Giyuu’s lips as he became fully seated within her heat, her core gripping him like a vice. He panted against the sweat-dampened skin of her neck as they both adjusted to the sensation, her nails digging harshly into the skin of his back as she waited for the discomfort to subside. 
Giyuu pulled his face back to look down at her, the hand he’d had on her hip rising to cup her face as he brushed his lips across her cheeks and eyes. 
“My beloved, are you all right?” His breath came hard and fast as he panted, the growing friction between where they were connected becoming hotter, more demanding the longer he remained still. 
Y/N’s eyes slowly opened to meet his, he felt her relax as he kissed her, slow and gentle. 
Her lips broke from his and she nodded, shakily. “You can move — just hold me. Please.” 
Giyuu let his full weight fall against her as he wound an arm tightly around her waist, his other hand tilting her face up so he could kiss her fiercely, eager to show her what she meant to him when his words otherwise failed to do so. As she opened up to him, tongue flicking out shyly along his lip, Giyuu rolled his hips experimentally against hers. 
Both the shrine maiden and the Pillar cried out in unison as Giyuu’s movement stoked an intense pleasure where they were joined.
It was like a spark of flame had ignited between her legs before shooting up to her belly, making her insides clench and pulse. 
It was addicting, and, judging by the way the raven haired swordsman above her hissed, he’d felt that jolt of electrifying pleasure, too.
“Oh,” Giyuu moaned as he began to move atop her, his cock sliding in and out of her heat as he worked to set a pace. “You feel – this is –” his stutters broke off  into ragged pants that melted into broken moans with every movement as he found his rhythm.
The grip he had on her hand tightened as he pulled back from her neck in favor of watching her body jolt and bounce with each of his thrusts. 
His head dropped down to study how his length, now coated in something shiny, appeared with every long draw of his hips out before disappearing back into her warmth. 
He threw his head back. “Heaven,” the Water Pillar groaned out, a tendon throbbing in his neck as another cracked moan slipped free from his throat. “You are heaven.” 
Shallow thrusts turned deeper, more purposeful, as the Water Pillar settled into his tempo. Each push of his hips opened her up more, bit by bit, until Y/N’s limbs liquified and she was left moaning and whimpering in time with his movements.
One particular thrust made her cry out, caused her legs to reflexively tighten around Giyuu’s hips as something hot flared deep within her stomach. 
“M-more,” she managed, her voice tapering off with a squeak. She needed to feel that spark again, wanted to feel that jolt of electricity that made her stomach clench. “P-please — ah!— Giyuu —“ 
With something between a moan and a growl, Giyuu  angled himself to thrust deeper, his weight pushing her hips back from the floor. Her legs were forced to hike higher up his waist, her ankles locking instead against the dip in his spine rather than his backside. 
The new angle meant that Giyuu was able to hit at a spot that sent a bolt of lightening between her legs, and she could feel herself tighten around him. 
The combination of her walls fluttering and pulsing around him and the strange fullness she felt was both overwhelming and exhilarating. She did not think she could stand to feel empty again; to not feel him consuming every inch of her.
Gradually, the small garden hut was filled by the sounds of their pants and moans, weaving together to form the melody of a song meant only for them.
Giyuu began thrusting harder, and soon, a dull clap of skin began to reverberate off the hut’s slatted wood walls, adding a steady beat to the rhythm of their pleasure. Though the air inside the hut had been nearly as frigid as what lay beyond its door, both the Miko and the Slayer found themselves coated in a thin sheen of sweat that made their skin glisten in the faint, orange glow of her lantern.
Above her, the Water Pillar was as lost in his pleasure as she. Guided purely by instinct, Y/N arched her lower back away from the floor until her breasts were flush against his sternum, desperate to feel that jolting spark between her legs. 
She felt the walls her of her core clench tighter around Giyuu’s length with her movement, and he answered her with a deep growl as his arm cinched tighter around her waist.
Deep; he was so deep within her, that she wondered whether he might reach her soul before they had to part.
Giyuu’s thrusts quickened, the base of his groin grinding against that sensitive spot between her thighs that had her wanting more as she moaned, her thighs squeezing the Hashira’s hips.
His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly shut as the most beautiful sounds of pleasure Y/N had ever heard poured from Giyuu’s mouth.
“I — fuck.” He growled as one arm tightened around her waist to the point of pain, the other grabbing her hand to bring it to his lips in a futile attempt to stifle the sounds lilting from him like song. 
His name fell from her lips like a hallowed oath and Y/N’s legs fell to the side, allowing Giyuu to chase the crescent of his release, as hips pistoned into her with wild abandon. 
“Y-Y/N,” her black-haired beauty of a lover grit through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “My treasure, I-I’m gonna-“ 
The Water Pillar buried his face into the side of her neck, cradling his groans into her throat, and Y/N could feel his length twitch within her.
As Giyuu’s hips slammed into her one final time, so to did the realization that she loved this; she wanted always to be this close to him, wanted always to be unable to tell where she ended and he began.
She loved him. 
But the bitter truth was that she’d never again get to hold Giyuu the way she was right then, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt something warm gush through her, a pleasured groan, so beautiful and husky tumbling from the Hashira’s lips as he pressed a sweet kiss against her collarbone. 
She would not get to love him past this most sacred rite. 
If she were honest, she’d likely never again experience this intimacy with anyone, for as long as she lived — for how could anyone else ever possibly compare? 
She supposed she’d been doomed to never hold onto the people who were meant to love her since the day she was born. She should’ve known better.
But as the roll of Giyuu’s hips into her heat slowed, and his labored breaths eased, Y/N could not find it within herself to regret it; to regret him. 
Because, fool though she was, she loved him. 
Giyuu collapsed against her, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he came down from his high, still buried inside her as the two panted. 
Her hands moved of their own accord to card through his raven hair, fingertips massaging his scalp as his breathing slowed, his breath adding further moisture to the already sweat-dampened skin of her neck. 
She wished they could remain like that always; that the dawn creeping over the horizon would not herald forth the sun, and they could stay on the floor of the garden hut forever, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She desperately wanted to memorize the tempo of his heart as it beat steadily against his chest, the vibrations of which she felt against her ribs. Such a beautiful melody, it was, and yet it filled her with such despair to know she might never again hear its sweet song; that it might cease playing forever, the moment Giyuu resumed being the Water Pillar once more, and walked through the shrine gates for the last time. 
But Y/N had never had anyone she could call her own, and as much as she loved the man nuzzling her neck as he whispered sweet nothings against her skin, he’d never been hers to keep. 
“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N,” Giyuu murmured, kissing his way up her throat to her lips. “Are you alright?” 
She held his lips for a moment before breaking away, letting her eyes roam his face, and she nodded. “Are you?” 
To her utter surprise, the Water Pillar chuckled softly, his laugh breathy and his smile heartbreakingly beautiful. “Yes, my treasure. I am more than alright.” 
He brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. “After all, I am with you.”
———-
He’d brought her against his chest and they’d laid there together, simply staring at one another, trading soft kisses as Giyuu traced a finger over every feature of her face at least twice. 
If he was to die, he knew his last thoughts would be of her, and he wanted to be sure he’d committed every last detail of her face to memory.
Soon, far too soon, the deep indigo of the night sky was broken by the first, watery rays of morning light, and both the Miko and the Slayer knew their time was up.
The lovers dressed quickly, their backs to one another as both steeled themselves for the goodbye they could no longer avoid. 
And now, that time had come. Though it was Giyuu who walked to his likely doom, Y/N felt as if she was embarking on her own death march as the pair drew near the towering Shrine gate. Perhaps she was; after all, he would be taking her heart with him, and she was unlikely to get it back.
Y/N did not know whether to lean in and kiss him, one last time, or whether such a display of affection would only scratch at the gaping, open wounds they now bore on their chests, where their hearts had been. 
Giyuu, apparently, did not know what to do either, so the two only stood there beneath the Torii, eyes swimming with emotions neither could bear to voice. 
There was a beat, and then the two moved toward one another, drawn together like magnets as they locked themselves in a tight embrace. Giyuu’s hand cupped the back of her skull as Y/N pressed her face hard into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his haori, desperate to keep him rooted to her — to life, safe and away from demons. 
But he couldn’t stay; she knew that. And so, with a deep inhale in a desperate attempt to memorize that mahogany and citrus scent of his she so adored, Y/N pulled away. She made to step back from him entirely, to put distance between them, but those warm fingers caught her under her chin, tilting her head up to face him before his hand slid to cup her cheek. 
The emotion swimming in the azure depths of his irises threatened to chisel away at the lock she kept on her own. Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not let them fall; she would not make this harder for herself — for him — than it already was. 
“If you do not hear from me, leave the mountain. Go to the city, and do not go out at night. Keep your dagger and wisteria on you at all times, even when you sleep,” Giyuu’s eyes were serious, the hand on her face holding her in place. “Live, Y/N. Grow to be an old woman. Die only from age.”
The shrine maiden closed her eyes as she willed herself not to cry. “And if you win?” 
Giyuu hesitated for a moment and Y/N knew better than to ask him to make a promise he could not keep. 
“Send a crow, if you can.” She whispered, feigning a small smile. “It would be nice to not be afraid to go and gather night-blooming herbs.”
The Water Pillar nodded, his hand smoothing through her hair one last time as his lips pressed against her forehead. “Thank you, Y/N.” 
She didn’t need to ask what for.
She hoped she’d never forget the way he said her name; the longing and the breathless passion that dripped from every syllable, and the way it sent shivers down her spine. 
Giyuu broke away from her and set off towards the east. Y/N watched until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, before he disappeared entirely. 
He did not look back. 
————————
He hadn’t trusted himself to look back at her, though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to turn around and behold her beauty one last time. But the Shrine Maiden had become his largest weakness, and Giyuu knew if he’d looked back, he would never make it back to his estate; to the Corps. 
And if you win? She’d asked him, and he hadn’t been able to form the words of the answer he’d so desperately wanted to give her.
Because while Giyuu Tomioka never made promises he couldn’t keep, that did not mean he didn’t hope. Right then, more than anything, his greatest desire was to win this war; win it, and come back and tell Y/N that she no longer needed to fear the night. 
In any other life — if Giyuu had been any other man — there would be no question as to who he’d choose to spend the rest of his days with. 
And so, Giyuu thought as he forced himself to march forward, his eyes burning, if he made it out of this war alive, he would go back to the Shrine and tell Y/N of their victory himself.
And perhaps she’d then allow him to make her his wife.
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Keep an eye out for Part II to see if Giyuu comes back and makes good on his promise!
COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!
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thvhoe · 9 months
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SOUR | JJK
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PAIRING: Boxer Jungkook x Ballerina Reader
GENRE: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, BOXER AU, DANCE, AU SMUT, FLUFF, ANGST
Words: 10k🥸
WARNINGS: abusive parents, drugs, making out, Jungkook breaking in again, cursing, they're complete opposites, cringe nicknames, ANNOYING fangirls, reader is insecure, polar opposites dynamics, emo boy Jk, inexperienced reader, bullying
SYNOPSIS:
In the world of boxing, Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of an ace with his tattoos and rippling muscles. You, however, are his opposite—a delicate presence. When told you're not his usual type, doubts arise. Are you truly meant for each other?
A/n: Hiiiiiii it's that time again! Hope you enjoy reading this update and please let me know what you think or if you have any ideas I could add in the future also just wanted to take a moment to say ty to each and every one of you who keeps coming back to read my lil stories or just discovering them for the first time whether you've been here for a while or are brand new on this blog! You're all welcome (as long as you're over 18 eep-) 🤍. Let's go feral over this Jungkook together in the asks <3.
Dressed in a black shirt and a pair of loose training shorts, Jungkook's muscles were prominent beneath the fabric as he made his way to the boxing area.
Theres sounds of gloves meeting punching bags through the place and loud music blasting over the speaker as the scent of sweat hang strongly in the air.
Frustration welled up within Jungkook as he caught a glimpse of his self-proclaimed fan club, who seemed to have found their way near the ring. He rolls his eyes.
A surge of annoyance coursed through his veins, and a quiet "fuck" slipped past his lips but is gaze quickly fixed on the boxing ring that stood at the center of the room like a trophy.
Jungkook was pumped to kick some serious ass today, eager to release all the emotions that had been swirling around in his head for the past few days. He was now dating you—the fucking girl of his dreams–what better way to celebrate, than by going all out and fucking up his opponents?
Jungkook had always been passionate about working out, pushing his body to its limits with hardcore training.
But there was something about boxing that ignited... excitement in him—a primal energy that had caught his complete attention.
It was more than just a way to get stronger for him– it was an opportunity to prove his strength, both physical and mentally testing his limits.
The sound of leather gloves connecting with the punching bags, the shouts of trainer Chan motivating his friends who came earlier than him today, all filled him with happiness, only thing that could make today better was you.
But there was no way he'd let you set foot in this place, not with all these sweaty men, weirdos, and the damn crazy fangirls swarming around
Taking a deep breath, Jungkook stepped onto the padded floor, the ring was his sanctuary, a space where he could let his true self shine.
He easily put on a pair of boxing gloves, tightening the straps around his wrists with practiced movements. The weight of the gloves was familiar, a reminder of the victories he had earned over the past years–Jungkook was this gyms–no–this cities pride whenit came to boxing.
Flexing his knuckles inside the gloves, he cracks his neck and looks at Namjoon, his friend and todays opponent.
"Good luck fucker" Jungkook joked earning a laugh from the small crowd that had formed around the ring–and this was just practise, when it came to an actual fight, people would pay thousands to see him go all in.
"You too kid"
With that, the bell rang, and the sounds of punches and grunts began.
-
"Three, two, one... Three, two, one..." Mrs. Chuu acknowledges you with a nod as you flawlessly execute your choreography, just as you had rehearsed these past few weeks.
"And two, and three, and..." Mrs. Chuu furrows her brows, shaking her head. "You're going the wrong way, Y/n," she speaks firmly. "I can't understand why you consistently turn left instead of right." She shakes her head "Again."
You nod, regaining your composure, readjusting your skirt and foot placement, and gripping the ballet bar once more, your body was tense, but from the outside you looked as effortless and soft as possible.
After dedicating a solid seven hours to dancing today–with well-deserved breaks sprinkled in–it was no surprise that exhaustion was settling in.
You were used to this kind of exhaustion. It was like a routine for you, dancing for seven days a week. The only silver lining was that on Fridays, you got a sweet long break only having to be at the studio for 1 hour of stretching—a well-deserved rest day.
"Hey, focus, y/n!" Mrs. Chuus voice snaps you back to reality, making you bitebyour lip for getting caught daydreaming
Your mom was about to arrive any minute now, eager to see your progress. And to be honest, both you and Mrs. Chuu dreaded her arrival. She had this annoying trade to nitpick and find flaws in everything.
"She's gonna be all over you, judging your every move," she sighs, fully aware of what was about to go down.
Your mom's a known perfectionist and a pain in the ass, no doubt about it. "you have to nail this. There's no room for errors L/n" she scolds.
You give a nod, glancing at yourself in the mirror.
You adjust your pose, making sure everything is on point.
As the musiv starts, you immerse yourself in the flow of it, letting it guide your movements. The music fills the room, your body signaling you exactly what to do. You're in your zone now, giving it your best. It's like you and ballet are in perfect sync–one.
You steal a quick glance at Mrs. Chuu, who's watching you intently. She's got that poker face on, not giving anything away. But deep down, you know she's analyzing every step, every turn, every facial expression–maybe even if a strand of hair lays weird.
From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of your mom walking into the studio. She exchanges pleasantries with Mrs. Chuu before her gaze sets on you. Instantly, nerves kick in.
What if you stumble? What if you miss a step? Your mind starts wandering threatening to throw you off balance.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, there's a loud crash that sounds through the studio. You feel yourself losing balance, and before you know it, you're down on your knees, completely crashed on the floor.
The room falls silent, and you can practically feel the weight of your mom's disapproving gaze tearing you apart.
This is it. You're done for.
You brace yourself for the criticism that's about to rain down on you. She's never going to let you hear the end of it. Shit
Her voice breaks the silence. "Y/n L/n." You don't dare look up, too scared to meet her eyes.
"Not one thing can you do right."
You freeze, not surprised by her harsh comment. It feels like a punch to the gut, though, and your breath hitches. You've been working so hard, giving it your all, and now it feels like it's not enough.
You gather your strength, slowly lift your head, and meet her gaze head-on nodding and standing up again, fixing your outfit. "I'm sorry mom" you whisper close to tears, not of sadness, but of stress.
"I'm leaving. You're such an embarrassment," your mom's cutting words hang in the air as she actually walks out, not even bothering to apologize or offer any reassurance.
The embarrassment settles in, and you feel a wave of humiliation wash over you. Getting yelled at in front of Mrs. Chuu was beyond...uncomfortable
But before you have a chance to dwell on the situation, you feel a comforting hand on your shoulder. It's Mrs. Chuu, her presence bringing a sense of solace. She gives you a small smile.
"Everyone makes mistakes, y/n," she says gently, her voice reassuring. She walks over to your bag and gets your water, handing it to you. "Don't be too hard on yourself. You know how your mom can get. You don't have worry about what just happened."
You nod, grateful for her words of encouragement. Mrs. Chuu has always been there for you, not only as a dance instructor but also as someone who understands the relationship between you and your family and the pressures that come with it.
"Thanks, Mrs. Chuu," you say giving her a sad smile.
-
Kook🩷: how's my girls day going?
Today 5pm
A soft smile forms across your face as you read the text message on your phone, causing a faint blush to colour your cheeks. Sitting on the studio floor, with Mrs. Chuu is already gone. You find yourself lost in the moment, thinking of when you would see Jungkook, your boyfriend, again.
"If you only knew, Kookie..." you whisper to yourself, a sad shine in your eyes, and with a quick press of your fingers on the screen, you type out a response tilting your head.
With newfound energy, you gather your belongings and make your way out the studio.
You: good, Im heading home right now. How was yours?
Today 5:07 pm
Jungkook's brows furrow as he looks down at his phone, his expression shifting into a frown. "Good? Just good?" he mutters under his breath, a sense of confusion creeping in. It didn't add up. He was used to receiving a "very good!" or "amazing."
The simplicity of "good" left him feeling unsettled. Something must be off with yoy. Maybe you were just tired, he tried to convince himself, shaking away the negative thoughts.
Just as he's about to lock his phone, determined to put it out of his mind, a girl, Wendy, interrupts his train of thought with a god awful smile. "Jungkookie, we're all going out for drinks. Will you join us?" she asks, her voice carrying a hint of eagerness.
"No," Jungkook responds abruptly, dismissing her invitation. He swiftly grabs his bag, ready to make his exit. However, Wendy insists, stopping him. Annoyed, he glances back at her, his eyes basically telling her to fuck off already.
"But why not? You did such a great job today," Wendy chirps, her voice slowly getting on his nerves "it's on me!"
There's something about her overly cheery demeanour that rubs him the wrong way. Her piercings and tattoos may give off a rebellious vibe, but Jungkook can see through the facade. She's one of those manipulative bullies who always gets what she wants. He knows she's after him, and he hates the thought of him being with someone other than you.
"I'm going home," Jungkook states firmly, repeating his decision, tone leaving no room for negotiation.
"Who's got you by the balls, huh?" Wendy's real demeanor shines through, but Jungkook isn't fazed. He's seen this side of her before.
She had pushed her limits in the past, causing trouble that led to her being kicked out. This gym is not her personal Tinder playground, where she can just stroll in and pick whoever catches her fancy in the moment.
He meets her gaze with a firm expression, his voice laced with anger. "You wanna get kicked out of here again?" he questions, his tone carrying a warning. He knows exactly what she wants from him.
Wendy smirks, her lips forming an enticing pout. "So you know what I want," she sing-songs taking a step closer to him. "Then why don't you give it to me?" Her voice drips with suggestion, her fingers lightly grazing his chest. It's a calculated move and he knows.
Jungkook's expression hardens as he pushes her away, "Back the fuck off, Wendy. Find someone else to fulfill your needy desires. I'm not down," he growls scanning her from head to toe, already reaching for a cigarette to light up once he's outside the building.
What a fucking day
"Get the fuck off my back," he rolls his eyes, dismissing her presence as he confidently walks away.
"Aish" Wendy is left huffing and stomping her feet in frustration, making her way back to her clique.
-
"...I'm feeling lonely..." you sing, playfully belting out the lyrics to a catchy new song while rummaging through your wardrobe.
It was that time of year again—time to declutter and donate some of your clothes. You realize you've accumulated way too many pieces, and it's always a good feeling to give to those who needed it more. This has become a bit of a tradition for you.
As you're completely engrossed in what you're doing, dancing to the beat of your favourite music–knock
Out of nowhere, there's an unexpected knock on your window that jolts you right out of your daydreamjng. You quickly hit pause on your playlist, and with a hint of curiosity, you cautiously look around "what on earth...?" Walking back into your room making eye contact with none other than the one and only Jeon Jungkook, standing on your balcony once again like he owns the place.
You can't help but feel a mix of excitement and panic. Like, damn, how does this guy manage to pop up at the most unexpected moments? He's like a master of surprises. Your master of surprises.
As you lock eyes with Jungkook, a grin stretches across his face, and you can practically see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
"Is this going to be a regular thing now?" you teasingly ask, opening the window and letting him in, Jungkook adjusts his shirt, his expression back to a smile. Hed once again climbed the tree in front of your window just to see you.
"It's the only way I get to see you. Should I start knocking on your door instead?" he playfully retorts, leaning in for a quick "hello" kiss and the surprise of his spontaneous affection leaves you momentarily stunned, your breath hitching at his unexpected gesture.
"I-I was just cleaning out my closet, though... I don't know if that's so interesting for you," you say, walking back to your walk-in closet and settling back down on the floor amidst the pile of clothes.
"I'll help you," Jungkook smirks, joining you and holding up a cute pink top that you hadn't worn in months. He gazes at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Try this on for me," he suggests, passing you the shirt.
It was a cute shirt, you remember wearing it for practise once or twice.
"You want me to try this on?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook as he holds up the cute pink top. A mischievous glint dances in his eyes, and you can tell he's up to something.
Jungkook smirks, his teasing nature in full bloom tonight. "I just want to see how it looks on you," he replies, shrugging. But Jungkook knew what he was doing.
"Well, if you're that eager to see me in this shirt, who am I to deny you the pleasure?" you tease, talking like one of those girls you went to rpivate school with.
Taking the top from him you head to the bathroom to change making Jungkook poke the inside of his cheek.
As you slip into the pink top, you notice that it fits in all the right places. It looks perfectly fjne, accentuating your figure, and you can't deny that it looks great on you. A smile spreads across your face.
Walking back to where Jungkook is waiting, you strike a playful stupid pose, "So, what do you think sir? Does it pass the test?" you ask, twirling slightly to show off the shirt.
Jungkook's eyes widen as he takes in your appearance, clearly impressed by how the shirt enhances your...boo-chest. He smirks, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he responds. "You look cute," he admits, his voice filled with genuine adoration.
You feel a warm blush creeping up your cheeks, flattered by his compliment. "Well, I guess this shirt is a keeper then," you say, getting shy again.
"It's not just the shirt, sugar. It's you. You make everything look incredible," he says, his voice laced with affection.
A smile tugs at your lips, and you reach out to gently brush your fingers against his cheek. "You always know how to make me feel special," you whisper, staring into his dark eyes "I really like you Jungkook" you confess, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind his ear.
"I like you even more," he smirks, playfully pulling you onto his lap "A lot more," he teases, causing you to lightly hit his chest and pout in response.
"So, what exactly are you doing here? You know it's risky, Jungkook... my parents..." you say, biting your lip and sitting up straighter, suddenly realizing the seriousness of the situation.
"Well, we'll be fine, sugar. Just be quiet," he reassures you with a smile.
Your eyes widen in disbelief. "Me? Quiet? It's my room!" you complain, shaking your head. "I don't care if they hear me, but seriously, my mom heard you last time. I still can't believe I managed to convince her that there was no one here."
"Because you're my smart girl," he says, raising his eyebrows and playfully pinching your arms. "You're tougher than you look."
You let out a silent sigh, trying to make him understand the seriousnes of the situation.
Taking another piece of clothing from the pile and analyzing it, Jungkook shrugs, saying, "I'm just here because I was bored at home. Can't a boyfriend visit his girlfriend in peace?"
With another playful tap on his chest, you exclaim, "It would be so freaking adorable if my parents wouldn't go all crazy and ruin my life if they found out about us." Frustration lingers in the air as you mindlessly toss the skirt into your "give away" bag, silently hoping to finish decluttering by tonight.
"Seriously, Kookie," you hiff, biting your lip in concern. "Can't you give me a heads-up when you're planning to swing by? It's not always just me in my room, you know." You look at him, your eyes worried.
Jungkook can't help but let out a hearty laugh at your plea, pinching your cheek affectionately. "Kookie, huh? I kinda like that nickname," he admits, before clearing his throat "only from you thoigh, of course"
"Kook..."
Leaning in closer, he whispers, "Alright, alright, I promise I'll try to give you a heads-up next time, sugar," he starts "but you gotta admit, the surprise makes it more thrilling." He smirks, fully aware of the effect he has on you.
You roll your eyes, hitting his arm. "Thrilling, huh? Well, it's not so thrilling when I'm on the verge of a panic attack every time you appear out of thin air." You try to sound annoyed, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips when you look at him. "Poof" you imitate with your hands "like that"
"I'm sorry, sugar. I didn't mean to scare you. I just can't stop thinking about you, i have to see you, even if it means risking your parents' wrath." He plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his tone still teasing
You melt into his embrace, "I know, Kookie. I can't stop thinking aboutyou either...," you admit, burying your face in his hard chest. "Just... let's try to be a bit more cautious, okay?."
He holds you tighter, "Absolutely, if that's what my pretty girl wants."
In that moment, as you nestle in his arms, you sigh "this is nice, I never got why people hugged so much until now" you smile kissing his nose. "Let's get this done yeah?" You say pointing to the pile of clothes, Jungkook sighing dramatically. "It's so much..."
-
The walk-in closet is an absolute mess it's bursting at the seams with pants, skirts, and shoes. It's like a fashion explosion in here if you were honest.
And right in the middle of all that fashion shit, you find yourself tangled up with Jungkook, his lips eagerly meeting yours and creating audible smacking noises.
What started as a simple decluttering mission has quickly escalated into a full-blown make-out session.
"Wait," you manage to breathe out, lightly tapping his shoulder. "How do people make out for hours on end?" You take a moment to catch your breath, wiping off some of your lipgloss from Jungkook's smirking lips.
"I don't know, never really cared," he nonchalantly shrugs, gripping your waist as you sit on his lap, ready for another round of kissing. But you put a stop to it.
"No, seriously," you insist, "Have you seen those movies? It's insane how they can keep it up for so long!" You start to rant, but Jungkook interrupts you once again.
"Sugar, you're my girlfriend, but respectfully, shut up and kiss me," he playfully bumps his nose against yours. "You're such an interesting girl, you know that?"
"Wow, I'll just take that as a compliment," you say, raising an eyebrow and pursing your lips playfully. Glancing at the clock, which annoyingly showed 11pm, you let out a sigh of frustration. Time was slipping away, and there was still so much left to do.
As you pondered, Jungkook leaned in, his big hand gently squeezing your hip and pulling you closer "Kiss me again." A mischievous smirk played on his lips as he licked them suggestively.
Caught off guard, you bite your lip, glancing around the room. There was still a lot to be done–it far from complete. But, after a moment of consideration, you give in to the temptation.
Okay, fine. Just a bit more You think to yourself.
With a hushed whisper, you let your agreement slip, your voice shy.
Despite the nagging voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the unfinished decluttering, you cave, after all, a little more fun couldn't hurt, right?
Jungkook's lips connected back to yours, and you could feel the intensity of his kiss as his skilled tongue left you breathless. His hands roamed around your body, but always with a respectful touch, only grazing your waist or arm.
With gentle pecks, he playfully nudged his nose against yours, provoking a shy giggle. It felt surreal, as if he couldn't possibly be real.
After a moment, he broke the intimate silence, his voice slightly husky as he asked you, "Hey sugar."
You responded by leaning your head against his hard chest, finding comfort in his embrace.
As you relaxed in his arms, he asked, "Did anything... happen today?" His tone grew more serious, and he cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.
"What? Why do you ask?" confusion formed across your forehead as you furrowed your brows, wondering why he was bringing this up.
He sighed softly, his fingers playing with a stray strand of your hair. "Just because your text seemed a bit off when I asked you about your day earlier" he explained, his eyes searching yours.
Your lips instinctively pressed together as you bit down on them, deep in thought, reflecting on the events of thsi afternoon.
"Everything was fine." you glance at Jungkook, offering a shrug, it was a lie, but you didn't want to burden him with the truthful details of your mom completely losing it.
Jungkook wasn't stupid, and he could tell when you were lying. "Aish" He let out a soft sigh, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "Why don't you want to tell me?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.
The soft touch and the way he looked at you made you squirm uncomfortably. You were so used to people not caring about your problems that it felt strange for Jungkook to actually be interested. Did he truly care, or was he just asking out of obligation as your boyfriend? The doubt crept into your mind, leaving you questioning his intentions.
"It's not a big deal," you shrugged, trying to downplay the situation. But, deep down, you knew it bothered you.
Unconsciously, you pulled away slightly, creating a small distance between the two of you.
Jungkook noticed your this and sighed, using his strong arms and pulling you back in.
He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against the side of yours in a tender, affectionate kiss. "It's a big deal if it makes you sad, sugar," he admitted.
Still hesitant, you shrugged again, as if trying to convince both him and yourself. "I messed up at practice today," you finally admitted, your voice frustrated.
"But see, it's not a big deal. It just annoys me," you added, your agitation becoming apparent. You were trying to maintain your independence and not burden him with your struggles, but deep down, you longed for his understanding and support. For comfort.
"Yeah, I get that," Jungkook sighed, leaning his head back against the couch behind him. His eyes scanned your figure, taking in your body language. "I feel the same way sometimes when I lose fights or make mistakes. It's frustrating, but I guess there's nothing we can do about it, huh?" He chuckled lightly, playfully poking your cheek.
"You're incredibly talented, sugar," he stated, his voice sincere and encouraging. "Don't let one slip-up fuck up your mood. Everyone has their off days. It doesn't define you."
He shifted his attention to the chaotic scene of the closet, where piles of clothes were still scattered on the floor. A mischievous grin appeared on his face as he surveyed the mess. "Let's finish this, huh?"
-
"You're in a good mood, Jeon," Chan his trainer, noticed, playfully hitting his side with the boxing glove on his hand. "Finally got laid?" he joked, trying to provoke a reaction, which earned him an even harder hit from Jungkook.
"Fuck off, man. Not everything always has to be about sex," Jungkook scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"Wow, Jeon Jungkook not thinking about sex? What happened to you, man?" Chan couldn't help but laugh at Jungkook's response.
However, he quickly let it go, glancing down at his watch. "It's 5pm already. Do you want to do one more match, or should we call it a day?" he asked, giving Jungkook the option to decide.
A mischievous smirk spread across Jungkook's face as he pondered the question. "Let me beat you up one more time," he replied with a harsh glint in his eyes. He was eager for another round, ready to release his pent-up energy in the ring.
"Damn, just look at him" Wendy lets out a sigh, absentmindedly toying with her lipring as she fixates her gaze on Jungkook's intense fight in the ring. The way his muscles ripple beneath that shirt of his with each punch he delivers is straight-up sexy.
"I mean, seriously, he's smoking hot," another girl chimes in, unable to resist biting her lip and shooting heart-eyed glances in his direction.
Lisa, shakes her head disapprovingly and takes a sip of her soda, "Come on, guys, get real." She rolls her eyes at the infatuated girls, knowing all too well that they're letting their imaginations run wild.
"You're all living in a fantasy world," she scoffs. "Let's be honest here, he's way out of your leagues. That guy probably has biker girls lining up for him, not just groupies like you." She laughs
The girls stand stunned into silence, their jaws practically hitting the floor exchanging bewildered glances "she's such a bitch," the girls mumble in unison as they turn on their heels and walk away, clearly annoyed by Lisa's remarks.
Meanwhile, Lisa can't help but chuckle mischievously, thoroughly enjoying the reaction playfully bumping fists with her girlfriend Jihyo.
"You know, babe, I love it when you drop those truth bombs," Jihyo laughs, planting a tender kiss on lisas cheek.
As their attention returns to the scene unfolding in the ring, Lisa's curiosity gets the best of her "Hey, do you think our dear Kook has a girl hiding that he's not telling us about?"
Jihyo ponders the question, her eyes fixed on Jungkook as he throws punches. "It's definitely a possibility," she responds, shrugging nonchalantly. "I mean, he's been leaving practice early lately, and he even canceled plans with us a few times. Something's up."
Lisa nods, her intrigue growing. "Hmm, interesting. Can't blame him though. If he's that committed to her, she must be someone special—definetly a keeper."
"Alright, alright, you win," Chan spits out, visibly frustrated, as he yanks off his gloves and tosses them aside.
"Didn't you tell me not to overreact when I lose? Yet here you are, Mr. Condescending," Jungkook laughs sarcastically.
He takes a swig of water, relishing in the victory. Disregarding the empty bottle, he casually tosses it into the nearby trash can.
"Fuck ofd" chan rolls his eyes
"Hey, I'm just keeping you on your toes," Jungkook retorts playfully
Chan stares at him, growling something as he walks towards the changing rooms, slamming the door leaving Jungkook behind, a smirk playing on his lips.
Spotting his friend Namjoon nearby, he can't resist extending a victorious fistbump. "Man, winning against our coach? Good job, man!" Namjoon chuckles, the amusement between them evident.
"Fuck yeah, m really showed him who's boss," Jungkook replies, giving Joon a nudge
Casually reaching into his pocket, Jungkook pulls out a cigarette and lights it up with a flick of his lighter. He takes a drag, exhaling a plume of smoke, and then looks at Joon with a raised eyebrow. "You smoking?" he asks, nodding towards the exit inviting him for a quick smoke break.
Joon shakes his head, a hint of resignation in his expression. "Nah, man. I quit. You know how Jinny always bugs me about it," he replies, shrugging his shoulders. He glances at the cigarette dangling between Jungkook's fingers.
"Fair enough," Jungkook responds, taking another drag from his cigarette before flicking the ash away.
As Joon starts to walk away, he rememberes something, prompting him to halt in his tracks "Hey, by the way," he interjects, his voice calm. "When were you planning to let me in on the secret that you've got a girl at home?"
Jungkook's eyes widen, caught off guard by Joon's question. "How'd you dind out?" he asks, his tone filled with curiosity.
Joon smirks, raising an eyebrow "Saw a text message from 'sugar' on your phone earlier," he says.
Jungkook's surprise transforms into a faint smile, a hint of a smile breaking through his tough exterior. "Well, you caught me," he admits.
"As long as you're happy, man," Joon adds, his tone softening. "You seem calmer lately. Must be good for you."
"Mh" Jungkook hums taking another drag
"Gotta go now, see you tomorrow," Jungkook says casually, walking over to his bike and putting on his helmet.
Unbeknownst to him, Wendy and Irene, overhear his words and exchange mischievous glances.
"Did you hear that?" Wendy gasps, her eyes widening with excitement. "A girl? Jeon Jungkook's got a girlfriend!" Her voice is filled with surprise and a hint of jealousy.
"No way," Irene scoffs, crossing her arms and smirking. "Must be some girl for Jungkook to actually commit." She takes a final puff of her cigarette, casually blowing the smoke into the air.
"Right? Seriously, though, which girl hasn't he fucked?" Wendy scoffs, dramatically rolling her eyes. Irene, unfazed, simply shrugs saying "you" earning herself a playful punch in the ribs from Wendy.
"Not yet," Wendy grins mischievously. "Trust me, he'll give in eventually. Girlfriend or not, mark my words." She smirks confidently, swiping her friend's cigarette and taking a drag for herself.
"Okay, whatever," Irene sighs, her eyes rolling in annoyance. "I've got to go pick up my little sis from ballet class now. Catch you later, loser."
-
"One, two, three One, two, three" Mrs. Chuu's voice fills the dance studio, her words sounding over the music. She stands at the front, conducting the ballet class with a keen eye. "Amazing, girls, Keep it up!" she encourages.
Moving carefully, she begins to make her way around the room, inspecting each girl's posture and offering corrections.
"Joy, straighten up, my dear," Mrs. Chuu advises gently, her voice carrying a tone of guidance.
Turning her attention to Mina, Mrs. Chuu raises her voice slightly to be heard over the music. "Not too fast, Mina," she advises.
As Mrs. Chuu walks by Sana, she notices a slight tension in the girl's expression. "Watch your facial expression, Sana," she reminds her.
Then, Mrs. Chuu's gaze falls upon you, "Y/n." Her experienced eyes scan your form from head to toe, evaluating your progress. "You're doing good," she remarks, her words accompanied by a warm smile.
-
Slipping off your worn-out ballet shoes, you let out a heavy sigh, relieved that today's ballet practice was a group session rather than an intense solo session with Mrs. Chuu. Although the pressure seemed somewhat alleviated during group rehearsals, you couldn't deny the exhaustion that rushes through your body.
As you gather your breath, a friendly voice interrupts your thoughts. "Hey, Y/n, can I borrow a pen?" It's Joy, a girl from your class who was around the same age as you.
You respond with a nod, returning her smile. "Sure, Here you go," you say, retrieving a pen from your bag and handing it over.
Taking a moment to catch your breath and stretch your tired muscles, you look at yourself in the mirror, checking your hair and makeup, you were seeing Jungkook after this after all.
A few more moments pass and there's only you and Joy left in the studio, you give her a small smile and type on your phone while she does the same
You: I'm done with practise now, beach later?☺️
Today 6pm
Kookie🩷: can't, im a bit far
Today 6pm
You frown "oh" pouting you type an okay, turning off your phone and gathering your things to head home.
As you lift your gaze, ready to head out, you nearly let out a surprised scream when you spot Jungkook casually leaning against the door of the studio, as if he owns the place.
Your eyes dart towards Joy, still engrossed in her phone, oblivious to the presence of the leather-clad man standing at the entrance.
With wide eyes and a racing heart, you quickly make your way towards the door, feeling a surge of panic.
Without uttering a single word, you grab Jungkook's wrist and guide him into the nearby janitor's room for more privacy and safety from any prying eyes.
"What are you doing here, Jungkook?" you whisper with concern, "You're practically begging to get me into trouble at this point," you add
Jungkook smirks in response, his gaze fixed on you. "Chill, sugar. No one saw me," he reassures leaning in, his intention clear as he moves in for a kiss, but you instinctively stop him, your hand placed firmly against his chest.
"Yet," you scoff, a note of panic creeping into your voice. "No one saw you yet," you repeat, emphasizing the word 'yet'.
Jungkook's smirk fades slightly, "Okay, okay," his tone shifts to a more serious one. "I'll be more careful. I didn't mean to worry you," his voice softened.
Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you glance at the door, "We should go back before someone notices," you suggest, grabbing his wrist
"Sugar," Jungkook stops you, tilting his head with a raised brow. "Did I ever tell you that you look cute when you're upset?" His comment manages to both annoy and make you blush.
As he tilts your chin up, his lips meet yours in a gentle kiss, causing your pout to fade away almost instantly. It's hard to stay mad at him for too long.
But reality quickly sets back in, and you regain your serious tone. "We really have to leave," you insist, taking his hand once again, ready to make an exit.
However, he stops you in your tracks with a tilded head
A smirk plays on Jungkook's lips as he raises an eyebrow suggestively. "ever made out in a janitor's closet?" He steps closer, pulling you towards him,
You can't help but blush at his question, a mixture of surprise and curiosity bubbling inside you.
His boldness always catches you off guard. But as tempting as the idea sounds, you try to maintain your compostire, aware of the potential consequences. "Jungkook, we can't just-"
Before you can finish your sentence, his lips find yours once again, interrupting your protests with a kiss. In that moment, all rationality drifsts away as desire takes over.
Eventually, the need for air pulls you both back to reality, as you catch your breath, a small smirk tugs at the corners of Jungkook's lips. "See? Sometimes it's worth taking a little risk," he whispers with satisfaction.
"You're impossible," you mutter, unable to hide the smile on your face.
Irene's heels echoed through the studio, the sharp clacking sounds against the polished marble floor. She nonchalantly popped a gum bubble, her eyes scanning the various rooms in search of the right one. Spotting her sister, Joy, engrossed in her phone, Irene let out a small sigh.
"Yo, sis! Let's bounce. I've got a dick appointment lined up once I drop you off," she muttered, jingling the keys in her hand and waiting for her sister to join her.
Joy frowned, tucking her phone into her pocket and grabbing her bag. "Wait, I thought Mom was picking me up," she said, confusion on her face as she walked towards her sister.
Irene rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling into a sarcastic smile. "Change of plans, i guess," she replied dismissively, eyeing Joy from head to toe. "Nice tutu," she scoffed before strutting off, not bothering to wait for Joy to catch up.
Bit irene's jaw practically hits the floor when she catches sight of Jungkook strolling around the corner, hand in hand with someone whos outfit looks very familiar to her sisters.
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she quickens her pace, determined to catch up with you. With a stupid smirk, she grabs hold of Jungkook's wrists and teases, "Jungkookie, how adorable! So, you're picking up your sister too?"
Chewing her gum with a playful grin, Irene looks up at Jungkook, seemingly unfazed by his intimidating presence.
Meanwhile, your eyes meet Joy's, both of you wearing puzzled expressions, before shifting your gaze back to Irene, who still has her hand on your boyfriend's.
"You're Joy's sister?" you inquire, offering a friendly smile to Irene, hoping to clear up the tension. However, instead of a warm response, you receive a judging glare from her. "Yeah, whatever," she mutters dismissively.
Jungkook rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by Irene's behavior, and scans her from head to toe, taking in her shabby outfit.
"Oh? So, she's your cousin then?" Irene continues her interrogation
Quickly correcting her assumption, you speaknup with a bright smile, "No, actually, Jungkook is my boyfriend." The words slip out confidently
Irene momentarily stops chewing her gum, her eyes judging your appearance from head to toe. With a burst of laughter, she mocks, "That's the girl? Seriously? You've been leaving practice early for... her?" The sound of her laughter makes your brows furrow in confusion.
What was wrong with the way you looked?
"Irene, enough," Jungkook interrupts, his voice dripping with anger. He tightens his grip on your hand, his face agitated.
Without wasting another moment, he starts walking out, with you hand in hand, slamming the entrance door shut behind him with you.
As you step outside, the fresh air hits your face. Jungkook squeezes your hand reassuringly, breaking the silence. "Don't pay attention to her," he says, his voice soft yet determined, as if trying to shield you from Irene's hurtful words.
Before you can even gather your thoughts, you find yourself about to ask what the actual fuck just happened, but his words stop you in your tracks.
"She's one of the girls that goes to my gym, don't mind her, I've never-" he starts "I didn't have sex with her or anything" he finishes, "I promise."
You nod slowly, your lower lip involuntarily pouting as you stare at the ground. "Why was she so mean to me?" you murmur, feeling a wave of hurt wash over you.
In that moment, you release Jungkook's hand, your fingers no longer intertwined with his.
Jungkook lets out a sigh, his expression softening as he reaches up to brush away a stray strand of hair from your face. "Irene's friend has been trying to make a move on me," he explains, his voice tinged with frustration. He then cups your chin gently, lifting your gaze to meet his. "But you know I would never cheat on you, right?" he asks earnestly, his eyes searching for yours.
You take a moment to absorb his words, looking into his eyes. "Of course I know that, Kookie. I trust you completely. It was just... very sudden." Your words are laced with irritation, as you remind yourself that Irene's words should mean anything to you
Feeling a sense of relief, Jungkook pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he always did. "Shes a mean girl" he murmurs, his voice filled with spite. "I'm sorry you had to go throug that, that's the reason I don't... I don't mention you around the gym, the poeple there... they can be harsh" he admits poking your rib to cheer you up.
"Please, don't ever think I'm damn embarrassed of you or anything like that," Jungkook says, his voice filled with sincerity. He steps back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, his gaze unwavering. "You're my girl, and I'm gonna do whatever it takes to keep you safe and sound."
His words wash over you, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you take in the sincerity behind his words. The weight on your shoulders seems to lighten just likebthat.
Wrapping your arms around Jungkook, you lean into his embrace, resting your head against his chest. "I know"
SERIES MASTERPOST
Plot credit to all my lovely anons🥺🩷
@kooliv @sexymenandcuteanimals101 @tatyhend @idontevenknow75 @dunixxd @saweetspoiled @codeinebelle @telepathytae @faepurity @koobsessed @jooniesxbby @bebejungkook @sxtaep @janedukiesworld @outro-kook @grasstrainerjoonie @ziko @jungshook7 @zerocge @dodoneck @beahonomo @jiimtaee @nervoustyphoonpersona @fan-ati--c @koobsessed @nucleo-bang-tan @sincerelyflora @lil-sracha @sweetonkookieandtae @exactlygreatcoffee @hoseokteardrop @aeonianamour @chaelvrx @genkima @gamer-carat @seokjinspinkslipper @kelsyx33 @loveejkk
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after-witch · 1 month
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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]
Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]
Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.
Word count: 7100ish
notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre
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The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly. 
In surprise.
In trepidation. 
In realization.
The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance. 
How lucky for him. 
How unfortunate for you. 
You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?
The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill? 
And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear. 
He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later. 
His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise. 
As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you. 
The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches. 
Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy. 
What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate? 
All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front. 
As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way? 
But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once
From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.
And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.
He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him. 
Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis. 
It’s you that he focuses on, now.  And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted. 
Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person. 
You.
What to make of you? 
You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find. 
He remembers such a living. 
You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats. 
It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them. 
With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you. 
Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.
He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm. 
“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you. 
You stiffen. 
“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”
You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.
“None of your business,” you say. 
And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.
“That’s all right.”  He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”
Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.
“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”
Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City. 
“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.” 
He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.
And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.
“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.
He nods his head.
“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach. 
“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”
He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels. 
You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that. 
“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”
Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.
“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”
--
The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them. 
Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it? 
You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more. 
Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear. 
“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.” 
“You want to buy me clothes?”
You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips. 
He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.
You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant. 
“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies. 
For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised. 
The elevator doors open.
Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter. 
“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”
You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?
“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.
That might come in handy.
He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him. 
“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.” 
You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.
Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.
Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs. 
5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets. 
Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.
--
The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining. 
He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement. 
What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?
Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?
He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You. 
What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume. 
What would  you be like, once you were fully his? 
What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden? 
The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it. 
He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--
Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.
He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.
--
The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder. 
But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits. 
He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it. 
This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate. 
Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping. 
Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two. 
But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.
Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb. 
And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least,  you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit. 
It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut. 
Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer. 
--
At least, not before today.
“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.
Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good.  Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.
“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.
“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”
Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?” 
You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.” 
“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”
You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.
Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.
Only... none of that happens.
His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.
“I know a lot about that, actually.”
It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you. 
It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside. 
“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom. 
He nods.
“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think. 
He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.” 
Dear.
The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.
Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself. 
Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top. 
The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest. 
A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.
You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.
There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.
And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.
If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner? 
He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears. 
“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.
Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”
“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”
His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.
“You’re familiar with his work?”
You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling. 
You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?
“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.
 He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm. 
His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why? 
Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.
The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap. 
And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.
Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.
The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you. 
Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.
“So you were… homeless, before?”
You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.
His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?
“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”
Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.
If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.
“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”
“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin. 
“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”
“Which was?”
There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.
“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.
“Aren’t you lonely?”
“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”
He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you. 
Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.
Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.
“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.  
He tilts his head a little. “What for?”
Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.
Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.
“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”
You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology. 
He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.
It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.
Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.
A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.
You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do. 
The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild. 
Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap. 
Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it. 
Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two… 
You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.
--
There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.
But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.
You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there. 
You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras. 
The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.
He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.
You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years? 
How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.
He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be. 
Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this. 
There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever. 
1K notes · View notes
shibaraki · 8 months
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LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO
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synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.
tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing
wc: 17K
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It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.
Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.
Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.
“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”
“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.
“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.
“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”
“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.
“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.
A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.
Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.
The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.
Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.
Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.
From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.
A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?
Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.
Shouto clicked start.
The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.
Then there’s…
XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy
By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist
▻ ASL?
Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.
His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.
Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you
The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.
‘InsertNameHere’.
You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.
But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.
InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.
Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.
Sooba ▻ I have one.
InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.
Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.
Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.
InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.
Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.
A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.
InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?
Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.
Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.
A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?
Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.
A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.
✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐
InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.
Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:
Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)
The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.
But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.
Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.
Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.
Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.
InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?
Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.
Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.
You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”
Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.
Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.
Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.
His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.
The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.
“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.
Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.
Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.
“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”
His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”
“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.
InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company
Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.
“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.
Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?
InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.
That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.
Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.
“Shouto”.
InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.
Sooba ▻ ???
Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”
Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.
And his feeble resolve fractures.
“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.
Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.
“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.
“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”
“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.
“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”
“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.
Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”
Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”
“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.
“Shouto. She’s deaf”.
Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.
They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.
His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”
Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.
A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?
Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.
The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.
Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.
“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.
Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.
“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”
“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.
“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.
“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.
“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.
“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”
“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.
Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.
Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.
After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.
InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ン? ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.
Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.
Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.
He barely thinks it over before adding:
▻ My mother said hi by the way.
Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.
InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.
A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.
Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.
InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?
That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?
Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.
There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.
Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.
Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—
Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.
Your reply is immediate.
InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?
Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.
Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.
It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.
InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?
Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.
Sooba ▻ They are.
InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?
He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.
Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?
Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.
Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.
Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.
The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.
It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:
InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.
Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.
▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain
He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.
Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.
InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]
It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—
Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.
—Shouto swallows dryly.
You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.
▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.
The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.
He saved that one to his camera roll.
Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.
InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・` ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.
Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—
The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.
Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.
You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.
InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.
The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.
Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.
InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.
This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.
Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.
InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)
“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.
Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:
Shouto : 00:14
I think I need help.
Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.
Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.
InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met
The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.
▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.
Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.
But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.
Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.
Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.
InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori
He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.
Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]
After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.
Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.
The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.
He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.
And relief beats like a drum in his chest.
Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.
The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.
“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.
InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.
“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.
“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.
Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.
Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.
“When was the last time you went anywhere?”
Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.
Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.
Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.
Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.
He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.
▻ I thought it was cute.
That’s about as brave as he felt today.
Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.
“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.
Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.
Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.
Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.
“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.
Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.
They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.
The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.
Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.
“Mon petit chou!”
Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.
“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”
Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.
The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.
“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.
Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.
“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”
“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”
“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”
Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.
Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.
“How much will it be—?”
“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.
Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”
“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.
Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.
“My little cabbage?”
Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.
“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.
Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.
“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”
He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.
In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.
Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—
Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.
He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.
Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.
You’ve messaged him.
InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol
Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.
Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.
Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.
He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.
▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.
“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.
Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”
“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.
“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.
It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.
“What did you do?”
“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.
Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?
Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.
“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.
“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.
“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.
They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.
“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.
“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.
Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.
InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night
“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.
Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.
Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.
And it feels like a confession.
Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.
Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.
He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.
Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.
InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!
You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.
Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.
Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.
InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.
Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.
InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.
Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.
Sooba ▻ A kiss?
You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.
“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.
Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.
InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.
There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”
“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.
Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.
Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.
Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.
Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.
Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.
According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.
There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.
“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.
Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.
The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.
“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.
Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.
Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.
“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.
Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”
“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.
“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?
Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.
Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.
Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.
Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.
“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.
“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.
“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.
“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”
“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.
Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.
“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.
Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.
Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.
Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.
“I just—uh…”
His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—
“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.
—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.
“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.
You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.
You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.
“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.
“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.
“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.
Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.
Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.
Shouto swallows, “Who was—”
“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.
“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.
“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.
“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.
Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”
“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.
Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”
The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”
Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.
The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.
There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”
Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.
“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.
“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”
“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.
“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.
“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.
“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”
“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”
“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.
“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.
The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.
Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.
“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.
He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.
Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.
The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.
Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.
Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.
Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.
Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.
His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.
Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.
A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.
Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.
Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.
She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”
Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.
A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.
He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.
InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol
Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.
Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?
InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙_⊙’) the whole time.
Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.
Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.
InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.
Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.
Now did he want to do anything about it?
Sooba ▻ You think so??
The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.
InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me ( ̄ロ ̄lll)
The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.
Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be
InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would
His breathing picks up ever so slightly.
Sooba ▻ What would you do with me
InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now
Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.
Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.
InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic
He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.
Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.
▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to
The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.
Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.
Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to
Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.
Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?
The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.
InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate
Sooba ▻ You like it?
InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]
Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.
Sooba ▻ I want to touch you
He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.
InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too
“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.
“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.
Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.
Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.
The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.
InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names
Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.
Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name
Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.
InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?
Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy
He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.
▻ what about you
InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3
The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.
The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.
▻ Can I ask you something?  ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to 
Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it. 
Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him. 
Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing. 
Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had. 
Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too.  ▻ I’d like to go with you  ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there 
InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited  ▻ And super nervous
As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight. 
Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction. 
His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”
The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister. 
The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy. 
Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”. 
That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”. 
Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”. 
“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”
A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found. 
“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”. 
The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement. 
“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”. 
Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”
“No, I don’t know”. 
“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks. 
Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”. 
The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.
Scarier is the hope that you won’t.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”. 
“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.
“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol. 
He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”. 
Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages. 
After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter.  It is disconcerting that you would now go silent. 
The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks. 
As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?” 
And his mouth goes dry. 
You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face. 
Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap. 
“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you. 
Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you. 
“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?” 
The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.
He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”
Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then. 
“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”. 
“Shouto,” he says. 
Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”
“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed. 
“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”. 
“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”
Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics. 
Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”. 
Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.
Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door. 
The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.
He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.
“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine. 
“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”. 
He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued. 
“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek. 
“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”
You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.
You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears. 
“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”. 
“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.
“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”. 
You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter. 
“Hey, Shouto?” 
He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.  
Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?” 
“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”
And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason. 
“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”. 
Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him. 
“Can I kiss you now?” 
“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”. 
Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively. 
He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him. 
You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders. 
You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him. 
Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass. 
“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities. 
A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.
“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”. 
“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”. 
Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?” 
“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.
You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him. 
“It’s just a tremor”. 
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amorfista · 8 months
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[WIP] "Shenanigans at the beach"
The Dad Batch (and Omega) deserve a day of blissful relaxation, I don't think there's anyone out there who wouldn't agree!
While Tech is taking the best nap of his life [Part 1], Omega and Wrecker joined efforts to make the coolest sand-Tipoca city there is out there!
But hold up just a second...
-"Hey Wrecker, look!"
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"...now wouldn't it be a shame if someone was feeling extra mischievous today?" Omega thought to herself. Turning to her left, lips pressed in a smile, she discovered Wrecker mimicking her expression. Apparently, he had just read her mind >:).
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Tech had felt such peace, such safety that he had fallen into a deep slumber, further fueled by his usual lack of sleep.
Tough seldom wrong, today he was.
Because at this moment Tech was, in fact, in grave danger.
...TO BE CONTINUED!!
[Part 3] [Part 4]
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(Acknowledging the lil' banner for a fraction of a second, it's just something I'm testing out and would like some feedback if you'd be so kind to give it :)) I'll probably make it just a tad bit more refined and (possibly) include the members of the Batch appearing on the post? but I might just randomize it for fun too. Thank you for taking the time to read this!!)
OKAY SOO. I decided to post these two drawings that I completed a few days ago because:
- once again i deadass couldn't wait anymore💀
- I have decided to make as many "beach episode" themed drawings as I can during the summer (and fall if we get there cuz why not) so i'll just post them as I'm done with each of 'em! I have SO many ideas for it and I want it to be a big project and not some sketches as I had initially planned. I want to make it WHOLESOME and HEART MELTING!! Whenever I get burnt out or need some fresh air I'll draw other things, probably still within the Star Wars theme because the brainrot is real🤓, but just letting you know in advance because AAAH!! this is a big thing for me and I want to share it with you guys because love is all you've shown me and I want to reciprocate 💕 🥺 
- and last but DEF NITELY not least I want to celebrate thAT I REACHED 300+ FOLLOWERS TODAY!! AND ALSO 1000+ NOTES ON MY OMEGA DRAWING??!! IN LIKE NO TIME TOO!!? WHAT THE FRICK. THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!!
Never before had my art had such an impact in a community. I am so grateful for all of your comments and interactions with my drawings, it's a ridiculous boost in inspiration and confidence :) It makes me want to push my limits every time!! So once again THANK YOU!!☺️ 💕 
Here's my taglist, just let me know if you wish to join!! ♥
@dukeoftheblackstar @justalittletomato @darthmaulshispanichousewife @botherbother-blog @aftergloom @badolmen @ihaventpickedausername @ohboi @stardustbee @nik-barinova @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @gen-has-green-vibes @ejfivercommander @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @eyecandyeoz @noesqape @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @staycalmandhugaclone @callmesunny04 @freesia-writes
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navybrat817 · 7 months
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Ladies and Gentlemen
Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: Bucky reflects on you and your date the morning after. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Tension, flirting, brief moments of insecurity, implied sexy times, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. Previous Part of AU: Technically Innocent and Sinful, but posted part is Sundresses and Leather A/N: A bit more Hottie and Sugar from our Sin on Skin AU and you voted to go to his place! ❤️ I realize that I've skipped over Innocent and Sinful for now, but I really wanted to showcase Bucky and his feelings regarding the date and you. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you for spitballing), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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Bucky hummed to himself as he made breakfast, doing his best to move quietly around the kitchen. He normally only hummed along to the radio in his car, which you discovered during your date the night before, but he couldn’t help himself today. He was happy. He had a spring in his step he hadn’t realized was missing.
Turns out, the thing he was missing was you.
“So. My place or yours?”
Tiptoeing back to his bedroom, Bucky saw you asleep peacefully in his bed. It was a sight he could get used to. Your gentle breathing and serene expression brought a small smile to his face as he leaned against the doorframe. When he woke up earlier with you in his arms he feared for a moment that he was dreaming again, like he had in his shop. But when he placed a kiss on your forehead and received a sleepy moan in response, he knew it was real.
So was the night before.
Bucky held back a groan as some of the images of the two of you together replayed in his mind, his eyes closing and only serving to enhance what he was already thinking about. He wanted to be a gentleman to you. He tried. After your last prick of a boyfriend, you sure as hell deserved that. Which was one of the reasons he was making you breakfast, as tempted as he was to climb back in bed and wake you.
Told you I’d take care of you, Sugar.
You opened up to and for him so beautifully. You were nothing short of an angel. His angel. His Sugar. It was crazy to think like that after one date, but there was something there and that was before he took you out. And you already planned what the next two dates would be, which he was looking forward to.
Even if our first date didn’t go as planned.
It turned out for the best. Even better than he could’ve imagined. He refrained from leaving a negative review online at that restaurant for mixing up his reservation, which was a blessing in disguise. The place was far from his style, but he saw it as a chance to impress you when his other plans fell through. He should’ve known better and gone with his instinct to take you to a place like Antonia’s from the start.
The smile slipped from his face as he remembered you talking about your mom, his fists lightly clenching. If he ever had the chance to meet her, he’d have a hard time staying silent about how she treated you. As if you sensed the sudden tension rise within him, you shifted closer to his side of the bed and rubbed the spot with your hand. The sight soothed him. For you to tell him something so vulnerable, to trust him, gave him a glimpse of how strong you truly were. Because it took strength to open up and stay kind when others tried to knock you down.
I’ll catch you.
Silently dashing back to the kitchen so he didn’t burn anything on the stove, he pushed the thought of your mom out of his mind as he finished up. He wasn’t going to focus on the negatives today. Not when he had you at his place. Maybe he could convince you to stick around for a bit after breakfast if you didn’t have plans.
Before he had a chance to wake you, someone knocked three times on the front door.
Steve.
He wondered if the noise woke you as he glanced down the hall, but he didn’t hear any movement as he headed toward the door and yanked it open before Steve could knock again. Sure enough, his best friend had his fist closed and ready. “Not dressed?” he asked as he lowered his arm.
With a shrug, Bucky glanced down at himself. “I’m wearing sweatpants,” he said, which he only put on to cook for you. “What are you doing here? It’s my day off.”
“Is that how you greet your best friend, jerk? After I came all the way over here?” He asked, looking back and forth as he pushed his way inside. “You weren’t answering your phone and you usually don’t sleep this late.”
“Come on in, punk. And don’t act like you drove across town to see me. We live in the same building,” Bucky said sarcastically as he shut the door. “So because I didn’t answer my phone on my day off, you decided to come over? Really? You’re spying, which you’re terrible at because you’re a terrible liar.”
The blonde pushed his hair back as his gaze swept the apartment. “I’m not spying, but come on. You have to tell me something. Jake and Hal won’t shut up in the group chat. Even Andy asked about your date and you’ve ignored everyone,” he argued, following Bucky to the kitchen.
Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to feel annoyed at Steve showing up or at the rest of the guys for wanting to know how the night went. They looked out for and supported each other. The fact that they all liked you made them root for the two of you more. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you guys,” he said, not saying he didn’t answer anyone since he was preoccupied with you.
“So, how did it go?” Steve asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.
Perfect because it was with Sugar.
“Minus getting rained on and the restaurant screwing up the reservation, just fine,” he said, giving a quick rundown of some of the details. He left out the heart-to-heart conversation in your bakery. Steve was his best friend, but that wasn’t any of his business.
“It didn’t go the way you wanted to, but it was ‘just fine’? Judging by that smile on your face, I take it the date went well,” Steve said.
Very well.
Bucky managed not to smirk as he set out two coffee mugs. “A gentleman never tells. Now do me a favor and get the hell out of my apartment. My breakfast is getting cold.”
“I know you have an appetite, but this much food?” Steve said, nodding to the two plates. “Considering I showed up unannounced and you already had two plates out, I’m guessing you weren’t planning on feeding me.”
“Mmm. Something smells delicious. Oh! Hi, Steve.”
Bucky sucked in a breath when he turned his head and drank in the sight of you. You had a sleepy expression on your face, which was adorable, but it was the fact that you were wearing one of his shirts that made his heart stop in his chest. You toyed with the hem as you smiled, your gaze on him and not on Steve. He wondered if it would be too much to ask you to wear one of his shirts while you worked in the bakery.
I can have a dress made out of one of my shirts, right?
“Good to see you.” Steve smirked before he looked at his friend. “A gentleman never tells, huh?”
Bucky allowed himself to smirk this time. “I didn’t say a word.”
“Oh, he’s very much a gentleman,” you said as you joined Bucky and slid an arm around his waist. His arm instinctively went around your back, his fingers gently touching you through the fabric. “He’s also a sorcerer. Or maybe a magician. I’m not sure which.”
Steve’s brows furrowed as he glanced at Bucky. “You’re a what?”
“Well,” you said slowly, biting your lip before you looked at Bucky. “There’s this magical thing he does with his tongue where-”
The blonde held a hand up to stop you. “And that’s my cue to leave.”
Yeah, because my cue of telling you to leave wasn’t enough, Punk. Now go so I can do that thing with my tongue again.
“Told you a gentleman never tells,” Bucky stated, pulling you closer by the waist. It amazed him how perfectly you two fit together. “I never said anything about my girl speaking.”
Your eyes lit up at the small endearment, making his heart race. “Should I tell him about your massive-”
“Text me later!” Steve said, giving you a small smile before he quickly showed himself out.
Bucky chuckled when the door shut. “Don’t let his modest act fool you. He’s far from innocent,” he joked. Steve respected women though.
“I think he was trying to act like a gentleman for my sake,” you teased. “And if Tess knew where you lived, she probably would’ve shown up, too.”
With a chuckle, he nodded in agreement. “How’d you sleep? I would’ve stayed in bed with you, but I wanted to make you breakfast.”
Are you sore? Do I need to take care of you?
“I slept very well, thank you. And breakfast in bed sounds like the perfect way to start the day,” you said, touching his cheek. He could stay wrapped up in bed with you all day if you'd let him. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Best night of sleep I’ve had since I can remember,” he answered honestly, his eyes soft as a full blown smile spread across your face.
You leaned in to brush your lips against his before you stopped yourself, some of the light fading from your eyes. “Sorry. I haven’t brushed my teeth and my breath probably stinks-”
Bucky closed the gap to kiss your lips. He didn’t care if you brushed your teeth or not. “Taste sweet to me, Sugar,” he whispered, taking possession of your mouth again to leave you breathless. He wanted to taste every part of you and sweep away any insecurities or doubts that tried to take over.
You pulled away to take a breath. “Keep kissing me like that and I won’t eat this breakfast you worked so hard on.”
“Did you purposely say ‘hard on’?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. “And I don’t mind feeding you my-”
You covered his mouth with your hand, giggling. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say.”
He licked his lips when you moved your hand away. “I was going to say I don’t mind feeding you my food,” he told you with a blank expression since he couldn’t feign innocence. “You’re a dirty girl for jumping to conclusions.”
“I’m not a dirty girl. I’m a lady,” you protested, inhaling sharply as he began to back you up against the counter.
“You look good in my shirt. Really good,” he said, his voice gravelly and low as he flexed his fingers on your hips. “Tell me to stop, Sugar. I already wore you out once and you need to eat so you have your strength.”
Because I want to ruin you all over again.
“So I have my strength? You sure I didn’t wear you out, Hottie?” You questioned.
He found himself laughing as you tilted your chin up. Not at you. Never at you. No, it was that happiness creeping back in at how the two of you fell in sync. The banter, the ease. He wished you could see yourself through his eyes and feel what he did.
He’d continue to find ways to show you how special you were.
“How about we agree that we wore each other out? I think that’s what happened.”
You gave him a single nod. “Looking forward to us wearing each other out again.”
Me, too, Sugar. Me, too.
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He's a dream, isn't he? Love and thanks for reading! 💙
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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