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arachine · 1 year

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cross-court . . . (๑>◡๑)

synopsis :: after a long day of patrolling, bakugou wants nothing more than to unwind by taking his furry companion on a stroll near the park. what he doesn’t expect, though, is to run into you. genre :: mature warnings :: smut (18+), characters are in their mid-twenties, phone sex, bakugo is lowkey a creep, maybe just a tiny bit of a loser, mentions of alcohol word count:: 3.7 k note:: this is a really old fic that i edited a bit. couldn’t be asked to edit it further! just wanted to get smth out >_<

The soreness in his bones is definitive proof of a hard day's work. He’d been summoned earlier that afternoon to patrol the perimeter of Kyushu (well, he was asked to pick up a shift for Kirishima and felt obligated to comply), and hadn’t caught a break since. Bakugou expected this much, though. The days and nights were growing warmer, which could only mean that there’d be a significant increase in crime—to his disdain.

Although he spent most of the day chasing down criminals, there was currently only one thing occupying his mind. And if he could successfully (and quickly) get to his apartment without any obstacles, then he’d have a little more time to see…you.

He’s not exactly sure when he first noticed you. It’s something that he tries to recall often, but he only ever comes up short, ultimately guessing that you were always there in the background on the days he wasn’t paying attention. The earliest memory of you—and the only one he can vividly remember—is sometime last spring. There you were at the community tennis court, with your racket in hand, dashing gracefully across the cement and skillfully obstructing your opponent’s strokes.

If it were any other day, sure, he might’ve paid you no mind, but the way your eyes gleamed with determination—like you were certain that you’d win—is what made his stare linger a little longer. Your force on the court was fierce, and care-free, and all encompassing, and if he had a say, he’d say that you were in your own little bubble. So, that’s what he associates you with now. Spring. The season that brought warmth, and clear skies, and cool breezes, and cherry blossoms.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is short, just as short as the conversation he had with the pro hero who happened to enter the elevator with him. He responds to their attempts at small talk with half-hearted grunts, and sometimes he says nothing at all. Honestly, he doesn’t know why people even bother. Soon, the elevator arrives on his floor with a ding, and he exits without saying a word.

“Yeah I—oh! Have a good day, Dynamite. Nice tal-” T he elevator shuts before they can finish their sentence.

As soon as he jiggles his keys in front of the door, his ears pick up the familiar sound of heavy paws and excited barks that belong to his furry companion. Instantly, he’s greeted with slobbery kisses and licks.

“Alright already…y’damn mutt,” Bakugou hisses, pretending to hate the affection, “quit actin’ like I haven't seen ya in days.” After a minute or two of playing around, he kisses his teeth to call the dog over to where he stands with its collar and leash.

“Where are we going? Are we going on a walk, girl?” he smoothes a hand over her coat after adjusting the collar around her neck, “we gonna see that pretty girl? Hm, Nala? Yeah we fucking are. Let’s go.”

He takes this route often just to see you. It’s pathetic, really, and it’s also embarrassingly far from his apartment complex. Makes him feel like one of those creeps who frequent the park to get a glimpse at you—which was what he was kinda already doing—albeit, he liked to persuade himself into thinking his intentions were of pure heart.

At first, he told himself that he just liked watching you because you were good. You were strong, and fast—quick on your toes and quick with your words. Sometimes, he’d pick up on the shit talking between you and your opponents, and he’d laugh. All low and hearty, nodding his head like he was on the receiving end of the jab. But then he realized one day how odd he must’ve appeared to passerbyers like himself who probably witnessed him laughing along.

You reminded him of himself, though. And as much as he tried to tell himself that this—or whatever this really was— was just pure and unadulterated admiration, he knew it was just bullshit. Because now he wasn’t just noticing things like your strength, and your quick-wittedness, and your drive for triumph. No, he was starting to take interest in other things—other thoughts. Thoughts that were beginning to sound a whole lot like: ‘I wonder what color panties she’s wearing’ and a lot less like ‘she’s so cool’.

Soon, every thought at the forefront of his mind was becoming sullied with fantasies of you. He was gradually becoming hyper-aware of the fact that you had a body. And yes, you had arms, and hands, and legs, and feet, and skin—in the way that everyone does—but he was starting to notice something. Your figure.

The cords of muscle in your calves (sinewy and taut, in the way that only muscles can be), your neck, the sleekness of it—a precursor to your chest, and your torso, and your ass. God, your damned ass, and your damned, stupid fucking tennis skirts. It drove him crazy. Seeing you frolick all around the court, in those little skirts that did fuck all at keeping you covered.

And as much as he wanted to pretend that seeing a flash of your cute little panties for a modicum of a second was the biggest of his concerns…He can’t. Because regardless of his faux disdain for your prancing around in tight clothes, it’s what keeps bringing him back. And he’d keep coming back. Again, and again, and again, and…again, until he worked up the nerve to say something.

Today he finds that nerve quickly. Not intentionally, unfortunately, but by force. Because today? Today the odds were working in his favor. Today his dog’s dumbass ball happened to roll a little too far in your court. Far enough for it to roll all the way under the gate and to your feet, presenting itself like a silver platter.

Fucking great, he thinks. He wasn’t prepared in the slightest to talk to you, at least not today. But today wasn’t just a day; today was the worst of days, and shit was hitting the fan fare more than he would’ve liked. He’s pulled from his reverie when Nala gets the bright idea to run after the ball, and before he notices, she’s already up and tackling you over.

So much for first impressions. He’d damn her straight to hell if he could (he wouldn’t), but then he figures he ought to thank his furry companion for piquing your interest because instead of freaking out (like a normal person would after being tackled by an unaccompanied dog), you receive her with open arms. All pets and giggles, praises and kisses. Nice, Nala.

Now he’s standing there awkwardly, making that one ultra-specific face that owners make when their pets get loose and they don’t know whether to run pathetically after them or let them wreak havoc. Yeah, that one. All he can muster is a slanted smile and a wave of his hand, though from this far, he supposes he just looks weird.

In a last-ditch attempt, he tries to lure Nala back to where he stands, but to no avail. She’s enamored with you. Giving you paws and kisses, exposing her tummy to you, wagging her tail–but most importantly she’s ignoring him! Maybe he would damn her to hell.

“Phwt, Nala,” he whistles, rather badly, “stop ignoring me y’damned traitor. I’m your owner. You’re supposed to listen to me…” The last bit comes out in a whisper reserved for himself, but he guesses he wasn’t as quiet as he thought he was, because now you’re making eye contact and rising from your haunches.

Fuck, you were coming.

You jog over to where he stands stupidly in his tracks, yelling a loud, “hey, is this your dog?” from across the court. When you get within his proximity, he thinks you’re stretching your hand out to greet him (to which he offers his own), but your limb strategically misses his, and he freezes as he watches you drop the ball in his hand. The blond feels stupid, but he quickly fixes his composure, forcing a stiff smile on his face, trying not to gag at the amount of slobber on his hand.

“Sorry about that, I get a little carried away whenever a dog’s around” you confess, looking down amicably at the furry giant. Bakugou shakes his head in response, mumbling a cool ‘it’s fine’ under his breath. You’re the first to initiate small talk—a pleasantry he finds vexing—but he finds himself hyper-fixating a little too hard on your lips that are spewing words of triviality. Every now and then, he remembers to nod his head, and then he subconsciously tells you his name when the question arises.

His irises shift from your plump lips, to the dip in your collarbone, and then finally, they settle on the dew droplets of sweat that trickle down your chest. The pro hero notices that he hasn’t heard a damn thing you’ve said for the entire duration of this conversation. But now you’re looking at him, and your lips aren’t moving, and fuck, you were definitely waiting for a response.

“Do you wanna fuck?”

It takes him a second to register you’ve said something, and then it takes him another second to register if what he heard was truly what you’d said.

“I'm sorry, what?” he queries, wrapping the leash around his hand once, then twice.

“I asked if you wanted to exchange numbers?” you smile innocently, holding your phone out.

“I've seen you and this pretty girl,” you start, bending down to pet the excited pup, “walking around for a while, and I figured…I don’t know—that I could play around with her some time. you know, if that’s alright with you…”

Oh, so he must’ve heard you wrong the first time, he thinks. Looking down at his pup, the two make eye contact briefly before the furry companion barks in approval, wagging its tail eagerly.

“Yeah, sure,” he nods and gestures for you to hand over your phone. After he punches his digits into your phone, you’re quick to exchange your phone for his, undergoing the same process of punching in little numbers.

When the two of you part ways, he opens his phone again to look at your contact. A small chuckle leaves his lips once he sees the name you saved your number under.

“Tennis girl,” he whispers to himself.

The door to his apartment swings open swiftly, and he unclasps the leash around the dog’s neck before meandering over to the fridge to grab a beer. The first sip is pure elation. He doesn't drink everyday, but he likes to keep a case of this liquid-gold relief at his disposable.

Before he can indulge in another sip, his phone buzzes with a notification. Nobody usually has the balls to bother him after his shifts, but he doesn’t think much of it. Not until it buzzes for a second time, then a third, and now he’s agitated enough to rest his drink on the counter.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethes, clobbering over to his room where he threw his phone. The screen flashes brightly from across the room and then fades to black. “Who the fuc—“

He taps the screen to see one message, two image attachments, and a voice memo, all from you. Skeptically, he opens his phone and clicks on your contact to see the messages. The first message says ‘figured you might like these’ and then his vermillion eyes flicker over to the two pictures.

One is angled low enough to show the bottom of your ass, and the other is of you bent over with your hand pushing your panties to the side, cunt front and center, and dripping. Your face isn’t in either, but he knows it’s you because of that damned skirt.

The longer he stares at the pictures, the more his face riddles with confusion, and the more his sweats become impossibly uncomfortable to be in. Then he remembers the voice memo. There's a brief silence before a familiar voice begins to speak. It's low and breathy.

“You know—shit—you’re so fucking clueless. I've s-seen you ogling me for months, and t-today I caught you staring at my chest,” he’s almost certain he can see you playing with your pussy with the lewd sounds that are coming through his phone.

“I asked if you w-wanted to fuck, but you were—fuck—were too caught up in being a p-pervert. Guess you missed your chance...”

The voice note ends there. He utters a few proclivities into the air, sighing frustratedly as he falls back into the marshmallowy plush comforter of his bed. The tightness in his pants is annoying, really fucking annoying, but the dull ache in his cock is much more convincing than the small voice in his head.

Fumbling to untie the drawstrings, he quickly pulls his sweats, along with his boxers, down to rest at the apex of his thighs. His cock is heavy against his abdomen, the mushroomy head burning scarlet and dripping with silk. God, he hated how easily he had fallen victim to your trickery. He was observant, and quick-witted, and could generally tell when a chick wanted to sleep with him.

But this? He’d never expected this. Or whatever this really was. He'd watched you from afar all these months, overheard your many idle conversations with friends as you tied your tennis shoes on the bench, and he often caught glimpses of the smile that graced your face whenever you scored a point. You were innocent, then. at least, that’s the conclusion he came to after clandestinely peering into fleeting moments of your life—but now he figures that’s what you wanted him to see, allowed him to see.

Bakugou's heart begins to thump a little faster with each firm tug to his length, the fixed lub-dub murmur of the organ now something completely unrecognizable. Just as he’s about to shut his eyes, he sees a flash of white from his peripheral view. It’s another text from you.

tennis girl: left me on read :(

tennis girl: you touching yourself rn?

The boy huffs out a breath and throws his head back, continuing his ruthless ministrations on his aching cock. His ears perk up to the sound of yet another notification.

tennis girl: want some help ;)

“The fuck?” His eyes narrow into slits as he reads the message, but he’s too concerned with finishing to respond. When he thinks you’ve finally given up, you once again, prove him wrong. Instead of a few intermittent buzzes, his phone now rings irksomely. You’re requesting a facetime call. He stares at his reflection on the phone, uncertain if he should indulge you or finish without your ‘help’, as you put it, but impulsively picks it up.

The camera is already flipped once the call goes through. You’re sitting on your bed with your legs spread, and a dildo nestled in your cunt. He hears the creak of the bed as your body thrashes and contorts from pleasure, and he hears the pretty moans that spill from your mouth. Of course, you’re the first to break the silence.

“‘M so wet ‘cause of you,” your voice is sultry and sweet, “couldn’t wait to get home ’n touch myself…wanna touch you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he asks, you can’t really see him in the dimness of his room, but you know there’s mischief laced in his voice. “Y’wanna touch me? What would you do?” Bakugou squeezes his girth just before bringing a cupped hand to his mouth to spit.

“Go on, tell me, and then I'll tell y’what I've been dying to do to you for months,” he flips the camera, smoothing the warm spit down his length.

“Been thinkin’ about taking you to my apartment since i first saw you,” you bring the dildo out momentarily, “and you fucking me like this,” you slam the silicone back into your cunt. The dildo wasn’t nearly as big as he was, but the sight of it disappearing in and out of you made his dick jump pathetically.

“That all, princess?” he mocks, like he’s unimpressed by your reply. You vehemently shake your head but realize he can’t see your face, so you open your mouth again to speak.

“No…I think a lot about sucking you off too,” you confess, “and how bad I want you to finish down my throat.”

“So this whole time you’ve been thinking about me like this? What a dirty little slut,” he breathes, a light chuckle leaving his wet, bitten lips.

“Guess it’s my turn now, huh?” Your eyes flutter closed so that you can hone in on his words.

“For starters,” he says matter-of-factly, “you might wanna get a bigger dildo, ‘cause my dick’s a lot bigger than that.”

“Really?” you pull the dildo out of your cunt and opt to use your fingers instead, resting the cold pads on the swell of your clit. Slowly, you circle the flesh, a few whimpers emitting from your throat.

“Yeah, it’d—shit—stretch you out b-better too,” his breathing quickens as he begins to reach his peak. “Been wantin’ to dump my load in that pretty little cunt for a minute.”

“What else?” there’s curiosity nestled under your tongue. You wanna say more to coax him on but find it rather difficult to form a coherent thought.

“‘Bout your thighs wrapped ‘round my head, and stuffing you full of my fingers,” Bakugou’s calloused grip is tighter now, sloppier. You assume from his occasional grunts and curses that he’s close to finishing, and judging by your intermittent pants, he comes to the conclusion that you are too.

With determination, you continue your brutal ministrations on your clit, the nub wholly numb and engorged beneath your fingertips. For a second, you almost forget about the man’s presence, utterly too focused on reaching your own climax, not even paying mind to the fact that your eyes had been glued shut. The sound of slick skin, rubbing against slick skin, reverberates through your phone’s speaker. You’d like to imagine the expressions he’d make if he were here with you now. Would they be soft? Hard? Plain? Or would they be an amalgamation of each. Your imagination doesn’t get the chance to wander too far, because soon, he flips the camera towards his face, almost as if he’d heard your inner monologue.

The light in his room is still dim, save for the bits of the sun peaking through the blinds that aid in exposing half of his face. Most of his features are subdued by the darkness—all but his eyes (and his flushed cheeks)—which seem to hold so much expression in them. Even with just half of his face on display, he still looks pretty. You attempt to see if you can make out any of the rest of his features, but to no avail.

“Turn your camera around, wanna see your face,” it comes out more like a demand than a plea. You do as he says and flip your camera. When his eyes find your own, he sits up against his headboard, the second half of his face now uncovered. Seeing all of his features work harmoniously to make a lewd expression was enough to tip you over the edge, and it wasn’t helping that his open-mouthed pants were growing more and more provocative.

“S-So close, ‘m gonna come!”

“Fuck, go ahead, baby,” he weakly ruts into his fist, “Show me the face you make when you come.”

You feel the knot in your lower abdomen begin to wind tighter and tighter, the pressure on your bladder becoming almost unbearable. Your flicking and circling never falter, that is, until you press down on the spot where your bladder resides beneath, and feel an abundance of pleasure wash over you like an unruly tide. The essence that drips from your core stands out starkly against the dark linen of your bed.

Bakugou watches intently as you whimper and pant through the screen, your chest rising and falling like rose petals in the wind. Your tired, sultry eyes alone are more than enough to make him finish, but then you flip the camera to show your bed and now he’s really close.

“Look at the mess, you did this.”

“God, you’re so f-fucking dirty,” he grits through bared teeth, “Show me your pretty pussy, yeah?”

Once his vermillion eyes meet your cunt, dripping and convulsing, he reaches his peak. The boy releases a strangled moan, falling tirelessly onto his back as his cock streams liquid hot white onto the expanse of his stomach. He uses whatever energy he has left to fist the appendage a few more times, groaning into his neck once he sees the globs of cum coating his knuckles.

The gentle breeze sneaking in through the window aids in cooling down his hot skin. From the window he can see cherry blossoms dancing in the air; his heart slows as he witnesses a single petal stick to his window. Bakugou is brought back to reality upon hearing your voice.

“Hope this isn’t the last time,” your face is softer in the afternoon glow, “don’t think I’ve ever come this hard.” There’s some lingering hope hidden in the obsidian of your eyes. He can’t help but to laugh, of course this wouldn’t be the last time. Not after he’d been dreaming of this for months.

“You won’t hafta hope for nothin’, princess. Next time you’ll be gettin’ the real thing.”

The call ends promptly, and as soon as it does, you get a text.

Bakugou: Free next Friday night at 8. Come to this address.

Bakugou: xxxxx xxxxx Apt.

Your lips upturn into a mischievous smile. He has no idea…

#bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader smut #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader smut #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #:: — LEXI WRITES !

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flwrshee · 8 months

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✉️ LOVE NOTES

duo ﹒ jake x fmr genre fluff , classmates to lovers , high school au wc 1,4k warnings two pecks and use of nicknames

you didn't know when or how or how you fell in love with jake but you did. maybe it was when you noticed how he would lift his glasses on the brim of his nose when he concentrated on a hard maths problem, maybe it was when you saw him feed a stray dog outside of school or maybe it was when he helped you in physics and gave you a sweet for doing well.

every since you had come forth with your feelings for him, you would wait for a new school day. just seeing him walk through the same hallway as you or revise his notes in the same class as you, he brought a smile to your face that you never had before. your monotonous days became just a little bit more exciting with him to look at.

your days that were filled with joy were something you wanted to reciprocate to jake, so you left notes in his locker. your friends had told you multiple times that everything would go wrong if jake had found out the real owner of these notes — three months without getting caught proved to them and yourself that nothing would happen.

however, today was a day that you had been anticipating for a long time, it was the day that you would finally reveal yourself. you were the one behind all the love written pieces of paper, you were the one behind the daily chocolates and you were the one behind the physics puns that you stayed up all night thinking of.

looking outside of the bus, you see the cherry blossoms on the trees slowing falling to the ground — autumn had finally come. you could smell the faint rain from the night before and the breeze lightly graze your hand. today was perfect.

making your way into the school grounds, you go to your spot that you always stand opposite of, his locker. the plan was to put a note in which had your name on it so jake would know it was you. however, who knew that there would be a sudden change of plan?

about to place it inside, you hear a sudden whistling sound way to familiar to your ears — it was jake's.

you were screwed.

shutting the door of his locker and trying to make the run for it, you hear a voice call out your name, "kim yn? come back yn!"

turning around slowing, you come face to face with jake and his friend sunghoon. both in their football kits you assume they have morning practice, they still look so good. jake's hair is slightly ruffled in some places and his bareface makes him even more angelic at nine in the morning.

"yn? are you there?"

a hand waves in front of your face and you recognise it as jake's, you were day dreaming this entire time? oh god, you have never wanted to kill yourself so bad.

"um, yes i'm here i was ju—"

"what did you put in my locker, pretty girl?"

before you could answer his question, jake's eyes had already gone to his locker and picked out the note you had put it. this was going to ruin the whole plan, everything you had wanted to do was going to fail.

"another note? how cute." he says under his breath while a slight chuckle leaves his lips.

did jake just call you cute? well he didn't know it was you but his words still had an affect on you, you could feel your heart beating in your chest, very immensely.

"i hope you have a good morning jake, make sure you keep smiling because you remind me of an angel when you do! good luck with your practise and make sure to drink enough water, we can't let our captain pass out :( but most of all, i really like you jake / dear yn." he recites the whole note that you spent the whole of yesterday night thinking of — you barely had any rest after that.

how humiliating. this was the second time you wanted to kill yourself so bad.

when he finishes saying it out loud his face, painted with a smirk, turns towards you. you were expecting him to be ashamed, perplexed, flabbergasted but teasing you with his smirk? you did not expect this at all, you almost believed it was a plot twist in some type of action crime movie.

"so.." he takes a pause before shifting his face closer to yours, you could see your reflection in his marble-like eyes. you were intoxicated by his stare and the way his lips moved when he talked didn't help your fantasies at all.

"pretty girl yn has been giving me all these notes?" his words are laced with a teasing voice and a glint of seductiveness — his words and voice were about to become the death of you, funny how he didn't realise the grip he had on you.

putting your head down in embarrassment, you neither respond to his question nor make eye contact with you.

but to your surprise, your chin is on the tip of his fingers and all your attention is on him, but you can only focus on is the way his pupils stare at your face, examining every small detail he can find, the way he tries to look at your lips not so obviously and the way his eyelashes would flutter every couple of seconds. jake was a dream, right in front of you. no scrap that, he looked even better than he did your dreams.

"not going to answer me, huh?" the distance between your faces decreased enormously and you could feel his breath fanning your face. the more you didn't answer him, the closer he got. at this point, if you moved your face just the tiniest bit your lips would be on his. your noses were already touching and you could both see yourselves through each other's eyes.

"fine! i did, but i did not expect to catch me red-handed like this."

he moves his face away from yours, making you sigh in relief, and straightens his back. looking at you, he chuckles for the nth time today, adding more nervousness to your poor heart. he says an inaudible phrase that you can't really hear before making eye contact with you.

"did you know yn? you have always been pretty that's why i call you pretty girl, but today you look even more prettier than usual."

what on earth did your two ears just hear? sim jaeyun complimenting you was the last thing you had expected to happen today, you could now say that you were officially dead. without yourself knowing, your face had already flushed into the same colour of a strawberry and jake was looking directly at you with the most prince-like smile that you never knew existed. but all of a sudden, your trance gets cut off when you feel something soft touch your lips.

jake just pecked you. the sim jaeyun just put his lips on yours.

you didn't know whether to feel flabbergasted and over the moon because as you look up, all you see is the prettiest man you have ever laid eyes on with the most innocent yet smug smile that you wanted to kiss right off. he was not allowed to be this fine you thought — in your mind it was illegal.

"was that what i think it was?"

"do you want me to show you again pretty girl?"

flustered and taken aback, your back hits the wall behind you as jake leaves a dangerously small distance between the two of you, one of his hands hovering behind your waist. you still hadn't got over the peck he had given you and he was already putting his face up yours. before you could say anything he cuts you off by telling you,

"meet me at the garden at lunchtime pretty girl and i really like you too."

he doesn't forget to peck your plump, lip gloss coated lips one more time before leaving to practice while whistling. everything that happened to you in the past few minutes felt like a fever dream — this can't be true right.

but by the time you were debating whether or not everything was true, you had realised that jake liked you back, you had achieved the number one goal on your list of silly things you wanted. whether it was a dream or not, all you know and care about is the fact that jake is now yours.

taglist! @goldenhypen @sjyuns @okwonyo

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thegreathuxton · 7 months

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Partner in Crime

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem! Reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Inspired by "Partner in Crime" by Madilyn Mei.

Summary: You walk right up to the head of the empty grave and point at it.

"Get in," you say.

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS - Follows book 5 (I've read the books lol). Friends to lovers. Angsty teens, but they find a resolution at the end. Lucy and Lockwood are JUST FRIENDS. Underage drinking. Swearing. Barnes is a huge cockblock. Fluff to angst to fluff. Insinuated height difference (Lockwood is taller than reader).

A/N: NOT BETA RED WE DIE LIKE MEN!! RAHHHH... I went a little Cuckoo Crazy for this one, guys. I'm guesstimating it's between 6k and 9k words. Who knows!

The first time you met him, you were sitting on a bench in Scotland Yard. He was still quite young. Years younger than how you knew him now. He had a bloody nose and sat alone. You had a broken arm and sat alone as well, on a bench opposite of him, all the while filling out some paperwork with your one good hand. Your penmanship was undeniably horrendous, being it was coming from your non-dominant hand.

You felt him staring at you. A little too hard, you must admit. You got through half your case report before you got fed up. You were already agitated because filling out this paperwork was taking twice as long as it should have. You'd be done and gone if it weren't for that stupid, bloody poltergeist and your stupid broken arm.

"Can I help you?" You snapped.

He wasn't slow at giving you a faint smile. Even while holding a tissue to his cherry-red nose in quite an unattractive manner, his charm hit you in waves.

"Quite the opposite, actually," he said so softly. Your wall of anger cracked like an eggshell. "I was hoping I could help you out."

You looked down, partly because you didn't want him to see the blush of frustration blossoming on your cheeks and partly because if you stared at him any longer, your angry act might just crumble all together.

"I'm fine," you muttered.

"You don't look fine..."

The silence engulfed the hall. The ringing telephones were merely echoes, and the voices of people were quiet. It was three in the morning, after all. The only people who would be up at this hour would be the dead, and kids stupid enough, like you, to make the choice to become an agent.

You go back to your chicken scratch. It's a slow and miserable process. There really is no nice way to describe how you had a safe hurl towards you at lighting speed and pin your arm against the wall, snapping it in three places, when the pen you're using is bleeding all over the page and is very well-bound determined to empty itself all over the white paper.

You sat your pen down again out of frustration. You took a deep breath.

You suddenly felt someone draw close, and the clipboard you had been using was lifted out of your lap.

"I don't quite like asking for help, either, you know," he said, picking up the pen and crossing his legs. "But we all have to learn how to do so, eventually. I'll let you off this time."

He was smiling as he read over what you had written. He had shoved a tissue up his nostril to ease the bleeding for the time without having to use his hands. Quite frankly, he looked as stupid as he was exhausted. His hair was messed up. His clean dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was undone, hanging limply around his neck and shoulders.

He said your name, and you snapped to attention. He was still smiling and looking at the paper.

"Beautiful name," he murmured. "Too bad it's the only thing I can read on this piece of paper."

"It's not that bad!" You scoffed, taking offense.

"I beg your pardon?" He chortled, then held out the clipboard. He pointed to what looked like a sentence. It was more of just a blob where you had pressed down on the pen too hard. "What does that say?"

You were silent.

"Can't tell, can you?" He said, his eyebrows raised and the twinkle in his eye agitating you beyond belief. "Neither can I, and I'm sure Inspector Barnes won't be able to decipher this hodgepodge, either. So, let's start over."

He takes the paper you had spent thirty minutes on off the clipboard and crumples it in his hand. There's a fresh, new page beneath it. He then turns to you, grinning.

"Anthony Lockwood, professional scribe and interpreter at your service," he feigned a salute in an attempt to make you smile. Begrudgingly, you let him have that small win. He sat up straight and pretended to push up an imaginary pair of glasses on his nose. He spoke in a hoity-toity voice, like a stuck-up therapist. "What kind of visitor did you have this evening, ma'am?"

To be completely frank, it was hard to resist smiling. He was trying to cheer you up, and, admittedly, it was working.

"Poltergeist," you muttered, hunched over and looking at the floor. He scribbled on the paper.

"And is that what hurt your arm, or is the cast and sling merely a fashion statement?"

You shot him a look. He was still smiling, and he looked at you through long eyelashes. He looked like a dopey, single-tusked walrus with the way his tissue had been so stuffed up his nostril. You looked away again. If you looked at him any longer, your smile would break free. You then felt him gently touch the cast. His fingers merely grazed it. When you looked at him again, his eyes were still on yours, as if he knew you'd look again.

"How'd it happen?" He spoke oh so softly once more.

You sighed.

"It was a situation at the bank on Baker Street. A team had gone in and done away with one visitor and called DEPRAC to come help with the rest and disposal. I show up and go in by myself. The place didn't feel right to begin with, even with the visitor eliminated by a team of agents. I started scattering salt, and all of a sudden..." When you spoke, you used your good hand to help visualize. "A safe just launched out from the wall and pinned my arm there. I was lucky it was just that, but I'm going to be stuck in this cast for a while."

Anthony nodded along and rubbed his chin.

"Are you a sensitive?" He asked and started scribbling on the page again.

You nodded. "They employed me here at Scotland Yard to go on cases and provide extra security to our adult team."

He slowly set the pen down. "I bet working here is such a drag," he said rather slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, what's the adventure in working for Scotland Yard. You must have amazing skill for them to employ you. You could be an agent, I'm sure..." He casually started to tap the pen against the clipboard. "And, you know, I've been looking for a sensitive in my agency. I'd be happy to interview you."

You scoffed and smiled. "I'm good. Thanks for the offer."

"Oh, come on," he half-whined. "What do they have here that I haven't?

"Free room and board, all on top of good pay."

He was instantly stumped.

"Ah," he swallowed, looking away and slumping back against the bench. "I see."

He wrote a little more on the paper and then cleared his throat. He set the clipboard down but still held the pen intently. He looked at your cast then up at you.

"May I?"

You thought about it for a moment. Again, you decided to let him have this small win.

He helped you gently remove your arm from the sling and rested it on his lap while he signed your cast. He had the faintest smile on his face, and his eyes were so focused on writing as neatly as he could. When he was finished, he put the pen on the clipboard. You looked down to see what he had written. It was a phone number and his name. You wanted to scoff again but held it back. Inspector Barnes had just stepped out of his office and pointed at Lockwood before eyeing you.

"He troubling you?" The Inspector asked.

"Not at all," you muttered back, putting your cast back in the sling. "He helped me finish my paperwork."

Barnes hummed, and Anthony stood.

"Take that bloody tissue out of your nose, Lockwood," Barnes muttered. Lockwood was fast to cooperate. "Follow me."

Barnes disappeared into his office again. Anthony looked back at you. His gaze was soft and his smile softer.

"Stay out of trouble and away from haunted banks, won't you?" He beamed. "I'd quite like to meet again."

"Lockwood!" Barnes barked from his office and made you both jump before you could respond.

"You better go," you murmured. "He often gets quiet cranky when four o'clock hits."

You watched his chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

"Noted," he murmured back. He gazed at you for a heartbeat longer, then turned and disappeared into Barnes's office.

You and Lockwood became good friends over the following months. You would see him on many cases and occasionally went out to lunch or breakfast with him and his associate, George Karim. He would make excuses to come to Scotland Yard to see you if he wasn't on a case. If he was on a case, or if he was pulled to the building by Barnes, he would go out of his way to find you and see you while he was there. You came over to Portland Row, his agency, more often than not. Sometimes, you'd even spend the night because you'd stay after supper for a cup of tea and get to talking into the late hours of the night. He's told you many things. He's told you about his sister. He's told you about his parents. George had even noticed that you'd become more trusted by Lockwood than he was.

What locked and sealed your bond was when he showed you the family graveyard, where his parents and sister had been buried. It was something even George knew nothing about.

An incredibly close companionship started there. When Barnes noticed, he warned you about the trouble that came with Anthony Lockwood, but you didn't listen, and that is what became your downfall.

"He throws caution into the wind at every chance," Barnes scolded you after you turned up late one evening after spending the night at Portland Row. "You'll get yourself killed."

Again, you refused to listen to his harping.

It was one winter, a year after you'd first met Lockwood, the last year you'd laid eyes on him, when cases spiked all over London. The London Underground had suddenly been infested with clusters of visitors. Many agents had already died by the time you had been brought in. You were assigned as a monitor/supervisor. The rest of Scotland Yard's supervisors were all scared shitless to go anywhere near the Tube, so they sent you instead, since you still had Talent.

Three teams from three different agencies were brought in that night. Fittes, Rotwell, and last, but not least, A.J. Lockwood and Company. That last one made you giddy and nervous all at once.

The clock had struck ten, and all the teams were gathered around in the station in little pockets of groups. Lockwood had a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder, regaling you and George on a story. George couldn't have been less interested. He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. You, on the other hand, were enthralled. It had been days since you'd last seen him, then. Just having him close to you was a great pleasure.

It was a quarter until eleven when you all decided to start moving deeper into the underground. One of the sensitives from Fittes claimed to have heard a scream echoing. You were too enraptured in Lockwood's words, so you hadn't really been alert enough to confirm what she had heard.

All three agencies, plus one (you), moved deeper into the tunnel. Each team took their own readings but continued to come up with nothing but rubbish. Lockwood stuck right by your side with one hand on his rapier and his other hovering just above your lower back.

"I missed you," he muttered into your ear. You grinned.

"You're just saying that, so I'll tell Barnes to up your pay," you joked.

"No, really," he said. His thumb ran a tender line down your spine, distracting you from the skittering noise that your ears had just picked up that came from down the tunnel. "You'd be surprised by just how hard it is to get you off my mind after I've seen you. I still wish you'd quit this lousy job and come be with me... Us, I mean." He corrected himself and cleared his throat when George looked his way.

"You know good and well that there's no room for me in that shoddy house," you chortle and mindlessly check your thermometer. You unconsciously register the slight temperature drop, the deeper you travel into the tunnel.

"There's plenty of room!" Scoffed Lockwood. "The attic is always available. Or, you know, you could always stay with me in mine." He wiggled his eyebrows at you. You elbowed him in response.

You all walked about half a mile into the tunnel when you heard something that the others didn't and stopped. Lockwood was the first to notice. You listened for a moment longer. Those who were also sensitive to sound started picking up what you were getting as well.

"Flashlights off," Lockwood ordered for you without you having to say anything at all.

You couldn't help but cringe when overhearing another agent mutter the words "kiss ass" beneath their breath. It wasn't the time to get snippy, though. Something was coming. You could hear it, but the fact that you couldn't see it unsettled you. The long and dark tunnel before you made your hastily grasp the handle of your rapier.

It was a very faint clicking and hissing sound at first. It wasn't until it got just the faintest hint louder that you realized what it was. The air itself seemed to start shaking, and the ground trembled beneath your feet.

"Everyone get to the side!" You screamed. Lockwood pulled you to him, then pressed the two of you flush against the wall of the tunnel, and all three teams divided unevenly on either side of the tracks. Not but a few seconds later, the air screamed past you and rattled everyone's equipment. The rush of a speeding train made everyone's ears pop, and the wail of the dead came with it. There was no visual. Just a foul smell and a sharp, piercing scream. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, then abruptly stopped. The clicking and hissing and a faint whistle of a train died away.

"Ghost train," you grumbled. "Lovely."

Lockwood was the first to open his eyes. You were next. Your heart dropped.

One by one, visitors of all kinds started to morph out of thin air. Not a single one of them were recognizably human. The reimagined corpses were singed flesh in bone. You could actually smell the burning, and it made your eyes water.

"I read that there was a crash down here in 1980," said George suddenly, loud enough for everyone to hear as you all brought out your rapiers and salt bombs. "Fittes documents say that it's been taken care of... but I guess it wasn't taken care of well enough."

The Fittes agents had no time for witty retorts. More and more visitors started forming, and their sorrowful wailing was becoming too much to bear.

"Is it even possible for sources to reappear?" Lockwood mumbled.

"No clue. That, or Fittes didn't take care of it properly in the first place," you mumbled back. "I don't see anything that could be considered a source. There's no wreckage or bones or anything. Not even a stuffed animal. They probably just scattered salt and called it good..."

You looked down. The railroad tracks were rusted over and stained from ectoplasm burns. You had a feeling your theory was correct.

"There's too many," said one of the Rotwell agents.

"You all were assigned this job for a reason. You get it done, or you don't receive pay," you said. Later, you cursed yourself for this. You had spent too much time with Lockwood and started to pick up on his reckless habits. He still stood next to you as if personal space didn't matter.

You took a step forward, much to Lockwood's chagrin. The closest visitor, a tar-black skeleton with a dangling jaw and a few wisps of charred hair clinging to the dead scalp, raised its head and reared back. Orange fire engulfed it as it screamed and drew the rest of the visitors to attention. It charged, and you readied your rapier.

A salt bomb exploded behind you and sent your flying forward before you got the chance to swing. You missed the visitor by the meekest of scrapes. You scrambled to your feet. The sleeve of your coat steamed from the slightest touch of ectoplasm. A Rotwell agent was ghost locked, standing in the middle of the tracks. The visitor was still charging, now heading towards the agent on the tracks.

"Move!" Someone screamed, trying to get the agent's attention, but it was too late. Another Rotwell agent threw a bomb but sorely missed. The panic had turned the lot completely stupid. It exploded against the wall and blinded everyone in proximity, including you.

You covered your eyes for just a second. Your ears were ringing, and your vision was blurry when you looked again. There lied the Rotwell agent, flat on their back, jaw dropped and eyes a pure, milky white. Their body twitched and spasmed, then fell still.

Someone screamed. The rest of the visitors followed and started charging. You sat there and watched the body, feeling entirely numb, until someone grabbed your hand and pulled you free from the state of shock you were in. It was Lockwood, of course. He had his rapier drawn and protected you with his life, swinging at visitors with the passion and excellence you were so used to.

Fittes agents joined him in his fight and held their magnesium flares high, but the visitors were fast to reform, and there were too many to look for a mass source.

Out of bombs, flares, and steaming with ectoplasm, you all had retreated. The visitors still screamed in their agony. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, still held your hand and held it tight. He didn't let go until you were back at the station.

Everything passed like a blur. The Ghost-Touched Rotwell agent had been left on the tracks. The team would go and retrieve the body in the morning when it was safe.

DEPRAC was called and brought in. Inspector Barnes came to you first, and it wasn't a pretty sight. He went rumbling right past everyone else, straight to you. Lockwood had been consoling you before he'd seen Barnes, and the color left his already pale face. Barnes screamed at you for your reckless abandon. The fact that a Rotwell agent had been killed only made it that much worse.

Lockwood tried to interject, but Barnes quickly had him pushed away.

"You were supposed to supervise!"

"I was! It's just that--"

"There are no excuses. You had one job, and you blew it. Now we have another dead agent, and another mountain of paperwork to fill out before this section can be cleared!" Barnes didn't want excuses. When he looked at you, you crumpled. Your self-worth lowered with every searing second.

"She was doing her job, Inspector," Lockwood came back and cut in again. He tried to get close to you, but Barnes quickly cut him off.

"You," Barnes seethed. "If it hadn't been for you, she would have been fine."

"Don't blame this on him!" You interjected. "He didn't do anything!"

"He did plenty," barked Barnes. "He's been distracting you and knocking you off course for the past few months. And I speculate that he's been doing it on purpose, too." He switched and looked to Lockwood. Lockwood had a sudden stillness about him. He was stiff and quiet, neither denying nor agreeing with Barnes's statement. Barnes's eyes narrowed.

"You've been trying to get me to fire her, haven't you, you little shit?"

Barnes using such foul was virtually unheard of to you. You wanted to get Barnes to stop, but once he was going, there was no stopping him.

"Just so you could add her to your own grubby crew, huh? Is that what you want?"

"I have to say, it's been quite tempting," Lockwood said very quietly. He still did not move. "She's quite an agent, sir. And I believe she deserves to be with us, rather than waste her time in a place like Scotland Yard."

Barnes's eyes went wide with anger and shock. Without turning to look at you, he spoke to you.

"I'm transferring you to the Liverpool sector."

"What? You can't just--"

"Yes, I can," said Barnes. His word was final. "Until you can get whatever this little twat has done to you out of your head, you will be working with the DEPRAC stationed in Liverpool. End. Of. Discussion."

You stood there, frozen. It felt like your world just shattered into a million and one pieces. Lockwood was calling your name, but it all seemed like an echo. You felt warm hands on your cheeks. Your vision came back into focus. Lockwood had his forehead pressed against yours, getting your attention so abruptly.

"He doesn't mean it. He couldn't possibly," he muttered relentlessly. You said nothing because his words weren't registering in your mind, and the tears stung your eyes.

If there was anything you had learned about Barnes over the years you worked with him, it is that he never went back on his word.

"It's over, Anthony," you muttered and squeezed your eyes shut.

"What?" He whispered, brushing back your hair. You could feel his breath fanning your face. "No, no. You can't be serious. He's not serious at all. You are NOT leaving. That's not how this is going to go. That's not right."

"You can't decide how the world works," you said. You reached up and placed your hands over his, slowly getting him to lower them. "If that were true, all this wouldn't be happening in the first place."

You opened your eyes again and wanted to do nothing but start crying. His big, brown eyes searched yours so desperately. Every time you tried to lean back, he'd chase after you and keep you right up against him.

"Don't go," he whispered.

"I don't think I have a choice."

"I need you here," he wrapped his arms around your waist. "I need you to stay with me. Stay forever."

"Lockwood, I--"

"Please..." He buried his face into your shoulder and held you tighter. "I can't lose you. I need to be around you. I swear, I'll go crazy if I can't see you."

His hands shot up to hold your face in his hands again. His thumbs gently brushed over your cheeks, and his lips seemed impossibly close to yours. Too close. You had to break free. If he got any closer, you knew you'd quit your job just to stay with him. Stay there in London. God, the longer it repeated in your head, the more irresistible it seemed to be. He was driving you crazy.

"I have to go," you whispered.

"I won't let you."

"You have to."

"I don't, and you know it."

He kept getting closer, and he spoke more breathily. His lips barely touched yours. They ghosted, then finally pushed fully against yours. His lips were soft and sweet. His kiss wasn't demanding. It was full of something you've never felt before, on top of need and desperation. You had to yank yourself away because you could feel yourself slipping. You actually had to shove him because every time you tried to peel yourself away, he would follow and keep you with him.

He stumbled, and his hands fell to his sides. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes were wide and wild. His lips still moved like a fish out of water, gasping for air. His shoulders, heavy with the burden of running an agency and the guilt brought on by past, rose and fell with heavy breaths. You just stared at him, unable to define whether he was an image of beauty or longing.

You then turned away before he could speak again and call you back like a siren. You had to cover your ears. Even as you rushed out of the station, you could hear him calling your name.

Years had passed since then. You hadn't seen Lockwood since the morning he escorted you to the train station. Even then, that was filled with silence and his longing glances. Getting on the train was the hardest part. He would have followed you up the stairs if the conductor hadn't stopped him.

For months, you exchanged letters with him until he stopped replying. It made your heart ache. You waited weeks for a reply, but it never came. You gave up on waiting after a year. Barnes also checked in with you and constantly made sure you kept busy. You wanted to thank him for it. You managed to forget all about sometimes, thanks to the shit-ton of work he had provided you.

On your spare time, you would buy copies of The Times. More often than not, you'd find Lockwood somewhere inside. Pictures of him from yet another successful case. Then, there was suddenly the mention of another girl that had joined his team. A sensitive by the name of Lucy Carlyle. True, your jealousy festered and bubbled, but you didn't let it explode. Instead, you stopped buying copies of The Times and focused on your work.

Well, that all lasted until news of the death of Penelope Fittes and the collapse of the Fittes agency altogether came into light. And Lockwood was at the center of it all.

You'd never bought a train ticket so fast.

You swept off the last traces of dirt from your clothes and pocketed your gloves, since they were dirty as well.

On the train ride, you'd read all about Lockwood's excursions. You'd read how many times he's been shot and stabbed. It made you sick to your stomach, just how much this boy had gone out of his way to get himself killed.

And now here you were, just outside of Portland Row, about to face him for the first time in years. It was obvious from each tabloid you'd read that someone needed to put him in place. If Barnes, George, or this Lucy Carlyle girl wasn't going to do it, then you would.

The first knock on the door sends an electric bolt right down your spine. There was once a time, you remember, when knocking wasn't even necessary when you came to Portland Row.

A dark skinned girl in a navy pinafore dress answers the door. You're a little taken aback, but if that shows on your face, the girl doesn't express it.

"Do you have an appointment?" The girl asked curtly.

"I need to speak with Anthony Lockwood."

"Many people want to speak with him, but with the recent collapse of the Kingdom's biggest agencies, he is kept occupied. Please, make an appointment and come back then," she moves to close the door, but a hand that isn't yours stops it. A familiar face is at once at the door, and it puts you at ease.

George replaces the girl in the door. He gives you one look, then moves to clean his glasses on his shirt. Once he fixes them back on his face, he motions for you to come inside, and you enter Portland Row in a split second.

While the girl closes the door after you've come in, you are met with an unexpected and grappling hug from George Karim himself. It sends you into a shock. You give him an awkward hug back, so unsure of what all that was for.

"Thank you for coming back," George mutters. He fixes his glasses once he pulls away from you. "I'd given up all hope of your return months ago, and I'm sorry for being so straightforward, but..." His eyes flicker from side to side. "Now that you're here, I can't help but think that Lockwood might go back to normal."

"Back to normal?" You scoff quietly. "He was always reckless, but from what I've read, he's way past that. He's suicidal!"

"He's mopey and hung up, is what he is. And I've only known him for a few months at best," the girl suddenly mutters. Her arms were folded.

"That's Holly, by the way," mutters George. "She's... our assistant. And you haven't met Lucy yet. I think you might like her. She almost got Lockwood out of his spunk, but not quite."

He shuffles around on his feet for a moment.

"He's out with Lucy right now, by the way. Got called for another interview. I don't know when they'll be back..."

You take time to look around the home. It's changed so much. What catches your eye most is the door on the landing. It is wide open. The house no longer smells of burnt toast but of fresh paint and new carpet. Everything smells new. There was no death glow beaming down the stairs. There is nothing. Just an empty room where the paint continues to dry.

"Where's Jess?" You whisper, and George joins you in looking up the stairs at the swinging door.

"He's managed to move on from some things," mumbles George. He fixes his glasses. "Just some things, though."

George then turns and goes into the kitchen. You and Holly follow. George starts the kettle and takes a seat at the kitchen, as do you and Holly.

"How's Liverpool? Last time I heard from you, you said it was quite drab," asks George, trying to make some nice conversation.

"It still is," you chortle and poke at the new thinking cloth on the table. It made you sad. Out of all the things you thought would remain the same, you didn't think the thinking cloth would be an item to go. "It's not as bad as London is, most of the time..." Your thumb rubs over an ink blob that contains Lockwood's handwriting. You stared at the same handwriting on all the letters he sent you for months, and for many more, you wished you could see more of it.

You and George continue to speak quietly. You learned more about Holly as she started warming up to you, too. George fixed your tea, making it just the way you liked it. It touches you that he remembered.

You try not to focus on the time and instead hone in on the conversation at hand. Before you knew it, it started getting late. Really late.

You glance at the clock on the stove. It reads 7:45 PM. When you look, so does George and Holly. The room falls silent.

"You could... spend the night. I know Lockwood won't mind," says George.

Suddenly, you all shift. The front door unlocks and swings open. Three voices enter the house. You all stand. First George, then Holly, then you.

"I'm fine, I told you. Don't touch me! Let me go!"

You recognize that voice all too well.

"Lucy, do you think you can get him upstairs?"

"I don't think so. He's too heavy."

"Lemme go, you bloody idiots," Lockwood grumbles. There was rumbling, and things were knocked over. A glass breaks. "Ach, bloody hell... who the fuck put that there?"

"Aaaand there he goes," one of the voices you didn't recognize sighs. George steps into the hall, and so does Holly. It was too crowded to see much.

"What happened?" Mutters George.

"He got asked a question that was a little too sensitive. Took it too hard and got something to drink because of it. A little too much to drink," says a female voice. "I asked Quill to help me get him home. He kept smacking me away every time I tried to take away the bottle of whiskey away from him."

You step into the hall, finally. Heads raise.

"Who's she?"

The heads turn. You recognize Quill Kipps, an agent who also frequented the pages of The Times. You also recognize Lucy Carlyle. You look down. Long legs in dress pants are slipping and sliding on the tile floors, trying to stand. You look away, back up at the eyes staring at you with curiosity.

"Hi," you murmur and introduce yourself. "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Who the hell..." More things rattle. Your heart races as you watch him stand. He swipes his hair back, eyes closed, and a cocky, drunk smile on his face. His eyes open slowly, and they then focus on you and stop. His smile wavers.

"Here we go," mutters George.

Your eyes burn with tears, and you stand straight as he stumbles slowly forward. He shoves Kipps and George out of the way when they try to steady him. Nothing stops him from reaching you.

Lockwood's long arms wrap around your waist, and his nose buries into the crook of your neck. You feel him breathing you in and starting to melt against you. It's all silent. He starts to shake, and you hold him to you, afraid he might fall and actually hurt himself.

"I missed you so much, my sweet girl..." He whispers. His breath is hot and shaky against your skin. You feel hot wet tears streak along your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper.

You put your hands on his shoulders and try to push him away so you can see his face. He allows only that. His brown eyes search yours. His pupils are blown, and his pink lips are slightly agape. He goes to push his forehead against yours. His lips are so close to yours again. You can smell the whiskey on his breath.

"I waited for you for so long," he whispers and leans in.

Before he can get too close, your instincts kick in.

You smack him across the face so hard his body tilts to the side. The sound echos through the hall. He stumbles again and has to put his hand on the wall to catch himself. He raises his hand to touch his stinging cheek. It's bright red, and he immediately flinches as soon as his hand comes into the slightest contact with it.

George suddenly grabs Lucy's sleeve and starts dragging her away. Kipps and Holly follow as well, a little too quickly. You and Lockwood are then alone.

"That wasn't very nice..." mutters Lockwood, pouting like a petulant baby as he puts himself back together.

"I hoped it wasn't," you mutter, wiping the tears from your face. "Maybe it'll fucking sober you up so I can finally tell you what a piece of shit you are and have the chance you'll listen to me for once."

He actually chuckles and leans his back against the wall. He rubs his cheek and looks at you, as if he still can't believe you're here. He's smiling, and the tears are still present in his eyes. You stand there, unable to look at him and rocking on your heels. You keep rubbing away the tears, then fold your arms, trying to quiet your sniffling.

"The fuck is your problem, Anthony?" You hiss again.

"Don't believe I've got one, sweet girl," he chuckles again, tilting his head and taking his hand off his smarting cheek. "But we could make one. Me aaaand you. In my beeeed."

He slowly tilts himself forward and stands up straight. He glides across the hall in one long step. You're tempted to slap him again. Instead, you just shoulder-check him and head straight to the door. You shrug on your coat and open the front door.

"I've got something to show you," you say to him and point to the road outside. "So get your sorry ass out of the house, and you better sober up a little before I smack you again and make you."

Lockwood looks at you, his lips pursed. He wipes his mouth and blows a raspberry. He looks at the ground, rubbing his shoe on the new entrance rug.

"Whatever you want, sweet girl. You know I'd die for you."

"Aha, I think I know where you're taking me!" Lockwood beams and grunts as he pulls himself up over the ledge of the small graveyard. He drops down and dusts himself off. He still has that dorky, drunk smile on his face as he looks up at you, and he puts his hands in his pockets. You have to turn away and walk deeper into the tiny cemetery, shuffling through knee-high grass and over abandoned tombstones.

"You know, if you wanted me to cry out all the booze I drank, you could have just hugged me back when we were at the house," he chortles, but once he came upon his family's graves, he stops. There is a freshly dug grave sitting right next to his sister's. The shovel is sticking up from the mound of dirt beside it. His smile drops as soon as he sees this. You see it, and as soon as he sees you see it, it pops right back up like nothing has changed.

"What is all this? Certainly not the... homecoming gift I was hoping for..." He says, breath lost and choked up. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

You walk right up to the head of the empty grave and point at it.

"Get in," you say.

"Pardon?" He stutters.

"Get," you point again, "in."

"Why?"

"Well, you've obviously had a death wish since I've left. You made England's biggest agency collapse and nearly died doing that, too. You've been shot and stabbed I don't know how many times, and it's driving me insane that you keep doing this. You keep getting hurt, and it's not by ghosts. You're getting yourself into shit that I don't know about and I'm so afraid that, one day, I'll pick up a fucking paper and your obituary is going to be the first thing I see," you tried to keep yourself from yelling. "So you wanna die so fucking bad!? Then die then! Get in the grave and see what it's like! Show me what I came all the way from fucking Liverpool to see!"

He just stares at you, almost in disbelief.

"This is a nice joke," he laughs. He raises his hands and beams. "You got me! I'm sober! I'm good!"

"I'm not joking."

You storm back around the grave to face him.

"Get in the grave, Lockwood."

He scoffs and laughs. His eyes roll and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. His tongue clicks and he leans forward, getting face to face with you.

"No."

Oh. His smile makes you want to slap him twice as hard. You purse your lips, and your jaw ticks from side to side. Upon your silence, his smile keeps growing.

"This was nice, but now it's time to go back home and get something to eat--"

You grab him by his collar and shove him toward the foot of the grave. He spins, his arms flailing wildly to try to catch his balance. He gets his footing, just as his heels teeter right at the very edge. His arms still whirl around like windmills. His look of panic transforms into flushed embarrassment. He smiles again. God, that smile.

You pick up a rock and chuck it at him. Unfortunately, that's the one thing to send him over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as he yells out and comically falls backward into the grave. You heard him land with an 'oof' and loud thud.

You run up to the edge, get on your knees, and look down. You are worried at first, but slowly feel that worry ebb away.

He is lying on his back, legs up in the air. His navy blue socks, covered in a sailboat pattern, are now covered in dirt and dust. You huff and glare at him as his legs fell to the ground. Another cloud of dust plumes at his theatrics. He coughs a little bit, trying to catch his breath after the fall. You watch him take a deep breath and huff.

"Did it hurt?" You ask.

"When I fell from heaven? Not really, but I scraped my knee pretty bad crawling my way out of hell--"

You throw another rock, and it pings right off his chest. He yelps and croons. He curls himself into a little ball, as if that will shield him from being pelted further by rocks.

"Okay! Okay, I get it. No jokes. All serious," he let's out another deep breath but remains in his protective ball formation. "Yes. It hurt quite a bit."

"Good. And you deserved it too, since your the biggest twat I've met on this side of the world."

"You've met other twats like me?" He teases.

"Sure. Never as big as you, though."

You sit there in silence for some time. There are so many questions running through your brain, but your mouth runs dry, and you don't want to ask any of them. You force yourself, though. If you were going back to Liverpool the next morning, you'd be going back with long awaited answers.

"Why did you stop writing back to me?" You ask.

He sighs. He doesn't respond. You clump up a wad of dirt in your palms and throw it at him.

"Hey, will you cut that out!?" He barks, looking up at you. You throw another wad of dirt and hit him square in the face. It knocks him back onto his back. He's spluttering and snarling at the same time.

"Are you gonna answer my God damn questions? Or am I going to have to keep throwing dirt at you? I could do either, honestly. Seeing you look this pathetic makes me feel powerful."

"Oh? Does my misery turn you on?" He mutters, wiping dirt from his cheek.

"Shut up and answer me."

He sits up and tries to shrug off the rest of the dirt on him. He clicks his tongue and leans his back against the wall of the grave.

"Barnes found out I was contacting you," he says softly. "And told me to quit."

"And you listened?" You scoff.

"Not initially, no," he says in defense. "But I had to, eventually. One day, he just showed up at our doorstep and told me if I sent one more letter, I'd be fined."

"That sounds like bullshit," you say, folding your arms. You take a seat at the edge of the grave and let your legs dangle.

"I thought so too," he laughs, "until he hand delivered me a blue slip saying I owed one hundred pounds for an obstruction of privacy between a privately employed agent, and an employed agent of federal law. I still thought it sounded like absolute rubbish and sent another, but in came just another fine. Then, I was two hundred pounds in debt. I actually just got that paid off, by the way. There was a time when I tried to send another, but George nearly lost his marbles when I attempted it. Another hundred added to our debt was the last thing he wanted. That bloody bastard wrestled the envelope from my hands. He's actually much stronger than what he lets on."

You smile. The thought of George actually initiating physical contact with Lockwood amused you. You look up at the setting sun. The sky is a beautiful salmon and orange color. You sigh.

"So when you stopped talking to me, it wasn't intentional?"

"Of course it wasn't," chortles Lockwood. "You're my favorite person in the entire world. God would smite me before I'd ever purposely give up on talking to you. And I'd been planning on sneaking away to Liverpool for a holiday, but... well, I've had quite a few pairs of eyes on me for some time now. I didn't want to bring the danger to your front door."

"Anthony, your trouble in a man-shaped package. There's always some danger lurking in your corner," you laugh and he laughs too.

The silence is more comfortable now. Less tense, now that some weight has been released.

"I really did miss you," he then whispers. You almost strain to hear him. "I tried so hard to find someone to fill the gap you left, but I... it was impossible. There's no one like you out there in this world. No one as special. No one I could love as much as I do you."

Your heart stopped.

"You love me?" You whisper.

"I'm crazy about you. Of course I love you. Ever since I met you in Scotland Yard and I signed your cast," he smiles fondly at the memory. "I know that was probably at my least attractive point then, with a bloody tissue shoved so high up my nostril, it tickled my brain, but I just knew there was something about you. And when you first called, my heart was going so fast. You can ask George about it when we get home. He'll tell you all about how I nearly collapsed at the sound of your voice."

You laugh again, and it's like the sweetest song he's ever heard. He'll do anything for that sound. He'll do anything for you, alone.

"I saved all your letters," he says. "I have your picture by my bedside. I dream about having you by my side, every single night."

"Now you're just starting to sound cheesy," you scoff and smile. He keeps smiling right back up at you. That million giga-watt smile. He had your heart in a steadfast hold, and you knew it.

"Cheesy is my middle name," Lockwood hums. He picks himself off the ground and stands up. His hair is riddled with dirt, and his white shirt is stained brown in many spots. He watches curiously as you hop down into the grave. You teeter and struggle to land on your feet, but he's there to save you, like he always is.

His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you close to him, preventing your fall. His free hand cups your cheek and brushes away a small tendril of hair.

"So now you know my story," he beams. "I get to ask a question now. So, I missed you. That much is obvious. But... did you miss me back?"

You stood there, looking at his smile, feeling the way his thumb traced your spine just how you remember and ogling him. Not too long ago, you thought you'd never see him again. You're so glad that you were wrong then.

You lean up and kiss him. He's fast to kiss back. You don't push him away this time.

He lets you breathe once you both are satisfied and breathing hard. He looks right into your eyes.

"Grant a crazy man one wish?" He murmurs, eyes sparkling and rejuvenated. This was the return of the Anthony you knew. "Stay forever. Here. With me."

"Crazy man doesn't mean reckless or suicidal man, does it?" You giggle.

"I will fight to the very last inch of my life if it means I get to come home to you again," he whispers.

"Then you've got yourself a deal."

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood and you #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood/reader #anthony lockwood/you #george karim #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #lucy carlyle #i love them

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seravphs · 1 year

Text

(青春) —

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

There is before-Getou and after-Getou. In both spaces, Gojo exists.

wc — 3.1k

tags — the gradual but inexorable realization that your youth is lost to you, possessive Gojo, so hard to write Gojo and Getou together without making it a little ménage a trois, eldest daughter coded reader trying to pick up the pieces Getou left behind, missing your childhood innocence that can never return, blurry lines, unreliable adults, mild Getou x reader, title from The Belladonna of Sadness by Sally Wen Mao

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The road to Jujutsu High is littered with the fallen cherry blossoms. Gojo kicks at the large snow banks of pink flowers, letting them land in drifts marking your progression across campus. He complains incessantly of the pollen, the bees, and whatever else he finds it in his heart to complain about. Petals rain from the sky over your head.

Spring arrives with the new students on campus. You’re the first, because Gojo insisted on arriving early. He wants to assert his superiority over his classmates by knowing the layout of the land before they can, though you’re sure possessing the Six Eyes would’ve worked just as well in that capacity. Lady Gojo, as always, does not challenge her son. He leaves the day he says he will.

Before you go, she takes you aside. There is an almost saintly quality to her beauty, as if something about her is not of this world. Her white hair sweeps over her shoulder, tracing the delicate curve of her neck.

Her son is undeniably of her blood. They share the same pale coloring, as if a photograph had been bleached to a true negative. Only a woman like her could have given birth to a son like him.

When she places her hands over yours, it’s hard not to pull back, feeling unworthy. Even having known Lady Gojo for most of your life, it’s often difficult to shake the overwhelming feeling of respect you have for her. She asks you to look after him in her stead.

There’s only one answer you can give.

“Good girl,” she says, pressing her lips to your brow like a blessing. This close, you can smell the camellia oil in her silky hair. Loose strands brush against your face, and then she pulls back.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Another student is there when you arrive.

“What the fuck,” Gojo says. “It’s a week before the semester starts. Why is he here?”

“You’re here,” you pointedly remind him.

He blows you off. “That’s different.”

Getou Suguru got special permission from Principal Yaga to join Jujutsu High two weeks early. As the only student from a non-sorcerer family, Yaga wanted to help him get acclimated before class started. Gojo seethes in rage, especially when Getou tries to help you move your things into your new dorm in the other building.

“Hands off,” he slaps Getou’s hands away from your suitcase. “She’s mine.”

“You can’t own a person,” Getou says, mildly annoyed.

He’s trying to play nice, feeling out the intricacies of completely new faces in a new setting. You wish you could tell him he doesn’t need to bother. Gojo will always be Gojo, no matter where he is.

He’s only mildly more bearable the next day, as the final student arrives just on the cusp of being late.

“A reverse cursed technique user?” Gojo’s practically shivering with excitement. “Cool! I wanna do that!”

Yaga smacks his desk with his ruler for attention. “And you will, if you can manage to pay attention during class.”

You’re surprised you’re even using the classrooms at all. They might be useful for theory, but in truth, everyone knew Jujutsu was best learned through experience. It really wasn’t learned at all, but earned through being on the field.

Yaga doesn’t seem to think so.

“Boring,” Gojo interrupts halfway through his lecture. “I learned all of this already with my tutors when I was eight! When do we get to the good stuff?”

Getou scoffs. “Not all of us have tutors, asshole.”

“Yeah?” Gojo says. He pushes his sunglasses up so they rest on his head.

Yaga takes a quick survey of the classroom. You already know what he’s going to do before he does it.

“Getou, move to the seat next to you. And you,” he points at you. “Sit in his seat, please.”

“We don’t need-“ Getou starts.

“I don’t care,” he says. “Do it. Now.”

You’re almost impressed as you take your new seat. Part of dealing with Gojo is knowing when to pick your battles. It seems Yaga has already picked up on that.

“Hey,” Gojo says, grinning at you. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Shoko, who has been quiet up until now, makes a soft gagging noise from the other side of Getou. On the very first day of class, the relationships between the four of you have already been solidified.

Despite their rocky start, Getou and Gojo seek each other out like they’ve been magnetized to each other. They play terribly off each other, goading the other on.

“Bet you I can take out more cursed users-“

“Bet you I can take down the curse faster-“

Gojo has never had a challenge like him in all of his fifteen years of life. For all their bickering, they take to each other quickly. A little too quickly. They’re attached at the hip before long, which means Getou’s also attached to you.

“Psst,” Gojo hisses. His breath is fogging up the window you just cleaned. “Open up! Hurry!”

You check the clock. It’s past curfew, and the sun has long since set. His hair glows radiantly against the backdrop of the dark sky. Weak to him as always, you push the window open.

“What are you doing?”

He’s already clambering in without an invitation, knowing you won’t refuse him. The consequences of growing up together means you can speak a language that doesn’t need words, a poetic way of saying Gojo is used to being spoiled by you.

“What are you waiting for?” He throws over his shoulder, his leg straddling the windowsill and his torso halfway inside your room. For a second, you’re worried he’ll be stuck. He hit a growth spurt last year and hasn’t stopped since. “Are you coming or not?”

“You didn’t say we were going to her room,” Getou attempts to and fails at hiding the blush on his face. “We can’t be in a girl’s room!”

“Don’t be a prude,” Gojo shoots back.

Getou hesitates, looking at you. You extend your hand to pull him through. He takes it.

Gojo makes himself comfortable as always, ransacking the little box of snacks you keep above the mini fridge. Getou smacks his hands away, trying to discipline him. It’s no use. Gojo’s manners are something his mother despairs at.

Finally satisfied with his pick, Gojo sprawls out on the floor, every single inch taking up as much space as possible. With no room left for Getou, you pat the bed to offer him a seat next to you.

“Where’s Shoko?” You frown. “You invited her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gojo waves you off. “I knew you’d be pissed if I didn’t. She said she doesn’t want to hang out. Probably asleep by now.”

He looks up at the two of you through his eyelashes, his eyes half shut. There’s something charmingly open about his expression right now, sweet and boyish. The lamplight casts dancing shadows across his face, making the moment feel ephemeral, though it’s just another night that Gojo has snuck into your room.

He has a way of making all time spent with him feel significant, seared into your memory like it’ll be taken out of its treasure chest and lovingly pored over later. Perhaps it will. He’s an important man - these moments may be like family heirlooms in the future, the good old days when grandma was best friends with the Legendary Gojo Satoru. Maybe your grandchildren will beg you for stories of him. You’ll tell them about how he was talented, brave, and above all, reckless.

He’s beholden to no authority, and beyond willing to prove it. It’s a thorn in the elders’ sides.

“The elders are pressuring Yaga to ask me to take a special grade mission,” he says.

Getou jolts. “That’s confidential.”

Gojo rolls his eyes at him. “Come on, everyone knew I was going to tell her. Do you want me to?”

The last part is directed at you. Carefully, you turn the question over in your head. Gojo is offering you the choice, letting you balance and discard lives. Right now, the elders only have one special grade, Tsukumo Yuki, and she’s fond of going rogue after missions. Maybe it’s just a special grade thing, to be a loose cannon. It would be helpful to have another special grade willing to step up, but-

“Tell him no. You’re just a first-year,” you say.

“I want to go. I’m good enough.”

“Please don’t.”

“Will you give me a reward if I don’t?”

Getou interrupts the beginning of your answer. “It’s fine, I’ll go with him. It’ll be okay if it’s the both of us.”

“You’re a first-year, too. Don’t go, Gojo. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll talk to Yaga for you.”

As if his name summons him, there’s a loud thump on the door.

“Hey!” Yaga has a bad habit of knocking so hard it startles you. “Are those men’s voices I hear? No boys in the girls’ dorms!”

You freeze. You hate lying because you’re horrible at it. Gojo mouths at you furiously, ‘Just lie! Make something up!’

“No,” you say, too shakily. It’s so obvious. “Just watching TV!”

“Hmph,” Yaga grumbles, but his footsteps fade away.

Years later, you’ll realize that Yaga could’ve checked the boys’ rooms if he was really suspicious and wanted to separate you three. Your heart squeezes, as it always does in the future, thinking of these quieter times. It was nice to be so young and untouchable.

Yaga’s visit kills all future conversation, and Gojo is yawning, anyway. You know you can convince him to listen to you, so you let it go. Getou wakes both of you up the next morning. It’s a particularly brutal day to practice - Tsukumo’s back, which means she wants to have a personal hand in training the “baby special grades,” as she calls them.

You’re waiting for Gojo to finish his private training session on the porch when Getou joins you. He’s drinking green tea out of a reusable bottle. In his other hand, he has a can of soda for you. It’s so cold it sweats condensation even in the barely there warmth of spring.

“Thanks,” you take it gratefully.

“Done already?”

“Waiting for Gojo.”

“Why are you so obsessed with him anyways?” He regrets his words immediately after he says it. “Is that rude? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be.”

You take another gulp of the drink so you can think about his question. It’s so cold your teeth hurt. “I promised his mother I would take care of him.”

“But you’re the same age as him. And not as- You’re-“

“Not as strong as he is,” you supply, without anger.

“I didn’t want to say it.”

“There are different types of strength,” you say, brushing off your clothes as you stand up. Both Gojo and Getou are growing like bean sprouts. The shoulder of his jacket stretches dangerously taut, one of the threads fraying. You reach out and snap it off for him.

“Besides, this is just how it’s always been. Gojo needs a little extra spoiling, and I’ve always been happy to provide it.”

“And if I need spoiling too?” He says, half-joking.

You reach up to pat his head, causing him to freeze. “Sure. I can spare you some.”

“What are you two doing?” Gojo’s voice is like a whip as he strides towards you.

You pull your hand back instantly and hide it behind your back. For some reason, you feel like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“There was something in my hair,” Getou says smoothly.

Gojo pulls him towards him by the cuffs of his sleeves. He pats Getou’s hair down himself, as if for confirmation. “Huh. Guess she got all of it. You guys hungry? I’m starved! Let’s get dinner.”

“Wait for Shoko,” you reprimand him. “She’s still in training.”

“But I’m so hungry!”

“It’s just 5 minutes. Come sit by me,” you say.

He whines and moans about it, but he does come to you, laying his head on your lap. The weight of him is soothing and familiar, the heat of him felt through the thin fabric of your skirt. You press a teasing finger to his cheek and feel the whistle of air as he snaps his teeth at you playfully.

“You too, Getou,” you say. “We can all wait together.”

“She’s taking so long,” Gojo complains. You pat him absentmindedly on the head to shush him.

“You’ll be grateful when she’s healing your dumb ass,” Getou tells him.

“Me?” Gojo scoffs. “As if I’m ever going to need healing.”

Your first year passes uneventfully, as slow and syrupy as the jam Gojo eats by the spoonful for breakfast. Gojo still sneaks over occasionally for sleepovers, bringing Getou or Shoko or both. Sometimes you all sneak out together to town.

You continue learning theory and refining your technique. Shoko lies about her age and receives a deferred medical school offer. Gojo and Getou are strong enough to go on missions already, taking everything up to grade 1.

Even during these halcyon days, as if you know what’s coming, your heart is filled with longing. You miss the moment even as you’re living in it, wishing that your first year at Jujutsu Tech would never end. It’s nice to be so peaceful. Though you’re all training to become sorcerers, it doesn’t feel real yet. You cling to each day as summer starts to approach, robbing you of what little is left of your first year.

Spring comes and goes, leaving you with nothing but wistfulness. You can’t help feeling that these are the days you will miss when you graduate, these moments you can never experience again.

It’s bittersweet, the joy of having something for the first time. If you could, you would give yourself temporary amnesia so you could meet every moment anew.

Instead, the uncompromising march of time remains indifferent to your silent prayers. The second day of your second year, Getou asks you to meet him behind the main campus.

“Let’s take a walk through the woods,” he says.

“That’s how good girls get murdered,” you joke, though you follow him anyway.

“You think I would hurt you?”

You gasp, tripping over a root you didn’t expect. He turns around and lunges for you just as you trip backwards, trying to catch you before you can fall. He grabs your shoulders right when you grin and reveal that you were just fine the whole time.

“No,” you say, only cheered on by his exasperation. “I don’t think you would.”

He makes an annoyed sound, and you realize for the first time exactly how close he is to you. He notices simultaneously. Suddenly the awareness that the two of you are just inches apart dawns on both of you. His breath hitches. His kiss tastes like the green tea he drinks to get rid of the aftertaste of curses.

You touch your fingertips to your lips wonderingly as he pulls back. His face is dark with an emotion you can’t identify, something that you don’t think you can call love. He shivers when you press those same fingertips to his lips, your touch burning him through.

You draw back instantly, aware you’ve crossed a line.

“Oh, Getou.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” For this boy from the villages, the strongest but still not Gojo, pity is unbearable. He doles it out to others like a benevolent saint. To receive it feels wrong.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. I know. It’s Gojo, isn’t it?”

“Not like that,” you try, though you know you’ll never be able to explain the complicated relationship between you and Gojo. Some day he’ll get married. Perhaps he’ll leave you behind, or perhaps you’ll have to explain to some poor girl why there’s an automatic third in her relationship. You just come with the territory, a package deal. 2-for-1 is always just a way to sell a sucker something they don’t want.

“I know,” Getou says. “Do you ever think of doing anything for yourself?”

That’s an interesting question. You thought about it all the time when you were younger and resentful of babysitting, but you’ve long since grown used to your role, like a tree pruned into the right shape.

“Not really.”

Getou’s words are said thoughtlessly, just the musings of a boy who wants to understand why. They take root in your heart and become something else. The leash slackens, little by little.

Spring of second-year is much like first-year. For all you worried, little has changed.

There’s only one major difference.

Gojo and Getou take their first special-grade mission.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You’re annoyed, and surprised by exactly how annoyed you really are. For everyone else’s bad temper with Gojo, you have the patience of a saint when it comes to him. It helps that he gives you more than he gives anyone else, too, except times like these.

He looks askance. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

Gojo goes. You can’t stop him. You don’t have the right to when he’s more than capable of it. He’s the strongest, after all. Technically, he should’ve been doing field work long before. He’s the most valuable asset the sorcerers have.

Once you’ve uncaged him, Gojo rampages. He comes back within a day, predictably victorious, brutally so. This only solidifies his understanding of himself as the god of this cursed world. He can’t help but push himself even more, trying to find the seemingly limitless boundary of his power.

When he’s given the Star Plasma Vessel mission, he doesn’t turn it down. Getou follows him.

Everyone seems to be walking their own paths. As Gojo and Getou keep exploring the limits of their own strength on missions, Shoko spends her days in the morgue. Eventually, you too find something to pass your time.

Yaga recruits you as an assistant. Most days, this means paperwork and making tea, though occasionally it gives you glimpses into the bureaucracy of the Jujutsu world. Shoko thinks it’s boring, banning you from talking about it on your lunch dates. You don’t mind - you’d hate being idle more.

Though it’s normally unexciting in Yaga’s office, you notice the mood immediately when you walk in. Yaga’s leaning back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, almost like he’s trying to stop a nosebleed. He looks like he’s about to cry. You’ve never seen your principal like this, and it alarms you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Gojo says. “I fixed it.”

Turning around, you see his hair first. Gojo’s bone white hair, so like his mother’s, is matted with dark red blood. It drips into his eye and leaves rust colored stains across his cheek, the collar of his shirt, and his jacket. His eyes are manic.

You should’ve gone with them.

(夏) —

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader

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yoimix · 2 years

Text

「 inazuma winter session 」

[ tw: alcohol mention ]

snow falls with quiet anticipation on inazuman winters, as excited as a lover’s lips.

there are lights up to celebrate, and to ward off the darkness that looms end of the year, and there are people breathing in the cold with smiles and loved ones huddled by their side. you’ll admit that it’s quite infuriating to see couples on nights like these. jealous? that’s hardly the bottom of it. no, you’re so resentful of your unrequited love that you’d rather ruin other people’s dates than ask your friend out on one. petty? of course.

your friends rub salt on the wound, saying it’s such a shame that THOMA is only your best friend, just a confession short of being your lover. funny enough, you get tongue-tied every single time you’re about to spill—that smile of his is not to be trifled with.

“—but it’s not mondstadt winters, you know? i- (name)? are you listening?”

“hm? y-yeah, of course. mondstadt. should we get some dandelion wine?” you quickly save. truth is, his face is of the sun and you’re basking in the glow.

“not after last time,” he reprimands, furrowing his eyebrows. “i’m sure i have imprints of your arms around my waist from how long you held me.”

your cheeks flare up with heat unprecedented in winters, causing you to take a sharp intake of breath.

“did you dislike it?” you huff, trying to steady your beating. yes, some light teasing might help you get back on your feet.

thoma breaks into a sheepish smile. “not really. not when it was you.”

oh, it seems your plan backfired. does he not care at all for your poor heart?

“(name)? are you alright?” he leans his face towards you. thoma’s not as nice as everyone regards and you have proof. look at how he’s holding your heart hostage. “you’re not catching a fever again, are you?”

“n-no...”

“you’re shivering,” he continues, pressing his lips into a thin line. my, don’t they look soft?

you look away by reflex, focusing on the mochi and dango stalls a few feet away. they have incredibly pretty lights, red and orange adorned with cherry blossom petals, and you’re noticing for the first time. you’ve been a bit too occupied with the light in thoma’s eyes instead, like some sort of lovesick fool. then again, it’s hard to not stare at honeydew eyes so sweet, so loving.

“i’m i- i’m fine,” you manage to stutter.

“your skin is freezing!” he exclaims, arms wrapping around you before a response can leave your lips. you’re glad he’s hugging you from behind because you sure as hell can’t face him anymore.

o electro archon, please strike me down this instance.

“well, not anymore,” you laugh, an overflow of heat warming up your face too. that one isn’t from thoma though. “it must be nice to have a pyro vision.”

“it gets the job done.” he grins into your hair.

it’s so easy for him to touch you, and for you to cave, that you forget that this is what lovers do on winter evenings. not friends. how you wish you could rid of that fine line, tug at that thread till the tapestry of your heart is undone and thoma can stitch it back together. surely, there are better ways to go about it? thoma brings out the teenager in you, immature and exploding with emotions.

he sighs, shifting his head to rest his chin on your shoulder. no, this is certainly not what just a friend should make you feel.

you can’t let things end like this.

“thoma?”

you hesitate. he’s far too close for you to think straight, yet he’s still too far to hear your feelings. you can’t even turn around to face him.

“what do you think of me?” you ask quietly. the winter wind picks up and you find yourself engulfed further into thoma’s warm chest.

“think of you?” he repeats, sounding somewhat surprised. “gosh, there’s so much i think about when it comes to you.”

“don’t mess around like that,” you chide, getting impatient. “it almost sounds like you’re flirting with me.”

“well. i have been for the past two years but thanks for noticing.”

“...what?”

“what, you think i go around holding everyone in my arms like this? did you ever even read the notes i write in your bento boxes?! or- or did you really think i’m an easy sort of man? that i melt into everyone i meet?”

you turn around abruptly. “but- but you make bento boxes for everyone! and the notes- oh.”

they were far more charming and affectionate than, say, ordinary friends would write each other. and he cooks for the kamisato clan because it’s in his job description. thoma gives you a deadpan look.

“you- you like hugs too! how was i supposed to know from this?” you gesture to his arms around your waist. gosh, you’re awfully close. the realization sends yet another jolt of fire to the pit of your stomach.

“would you be absolutely certain if i do this?”

thoma’s lips hover right above yours, a moment of pause in his movement to make sure you’re alright with it. you, on the other hand, might just faint. despite that, you gather enough of yourself to close the distance, shutting your eyes close like it’s a schoolgirl kiss and hear a chuckle against your mouth. no way he just laughed at you.

“hey-”

unbelievably soft lips press back onto yours, shutting off the flow of thoughts in your head. god, this better than anything you could dream of. could you be dreaming perhaps? thoma’s hands move to cradle your face, a touch so tender it could rival the petals of liyue harbor’s silk flowers. his hands may be calloused from day to day activities, but you feel no discomfort. it’s thoma, after all. your best friend, your pillar of support.

“so?” he says, pulling away and short of breath.

“so?” you repeat, confused.

“can i tell you i love you yet? you know, i have waited two years.”

you bury your face against his body, unable to bear the emotions this man just flooded into you. do pyro visions make people unstable? archons, he’s perfect but your heart might need a little getting used to the flames.

“not if i blurt it first.”

“i love you.”

“ah, i wanted to- whatever. i love you too.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #thoma x reader #thoma #genshin fluff #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff #thoma fluff #thoma x you #genshin fanfic #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #thoma scenarios #thoma imagines #genshin thoma #genshin thoma x reader #yoimix.drabble #yes i love fluff and unrealistic confessions honeyworks shaped me

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the-coffee-fandom · 10 months

Text

Sometimes It Works Itself Out

By: the-coffee-fandom

Art here

Marinette really could not take any more bullshit. Honestly. She might punch the next person that comes by if they try and say something dumb to her.

Here she was on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Well, the anniversary of such anyway. The anniversary of what she was told was the best day of her life. But even though she was told as such, it never felt that way to her.

Your wedding day is supposed to be filled with a million flowers, a cake too big for all your guests to eat, surrounded by everyone you love and cherish, and with the person you plan to spend the rest of your life with. Your chest is bursting with joy and the smile can’t be contained nor wiped off your face, the birds feel like they are singing love songs far into the night. Everything is perfect. That’s how she always thought it was.

That’s what she thought she had with Adrien. She didn’t realize that her vows were hollow in his heart and his eyes were always on another.

Even if that other was technically still her.

Ladybug felt like a different entity to Marinette. She was strong, confident, and powerful. Marinette had a semblance of that still within her day to day life, but not to the degree that Adrien Agreste had fallen for. He was in love with a hero, not with a human.

Maybe that’s why she wasn’t upset when she found out about his crush on another. She watched as his eyes drifted over to him whenever they hung out together. She saw the hearts in his eyes, felt the quickening of his heartbeat, and heard the stutter of his breath. It was so clear that he had moved on now that he had grown up and realized his fantasy of marrying the mask of what she used to be wasn’t the life he was meant for.

She was in a light pink dress, cherry blossoms decorated the ends of it. If she twirled her dress would flare out and circle her. She liked her dresses like that. She knew her maskera had begun running down her cheeks, black streaks decorating her face like rain drops on a window. She felt it deep in her soul that this was definitely the right thing to do. Not just for her partner, but for her as well. Moving on is hard but it's right.

So she finished the last of the papers making it official, and walked out of the room now a single woman again.

She paid no mind to the blonde that tried calling after her. She didn’t need to hear a thousand more apologies, empty words falling past his lips trying to fix the pieces of a relationship that was never meant to be. Her heart hurt and she didn’t need him to see her break down.

She threw open the doors and stepped into the cool breeze of the outdoors. It was almost a slap in the face how bright and beautiful everything was. It was a painful reminder of her own wedding day. So filled with warmth and love and laughter. Everything and everyone but her.

She lifted her eyes from the concrete and they met with azure blue eyes that were filled with a sympathy and understanding beyond what she thought she deserved.

“Hey.”

Marinette let one side of her lips perk up into a half sort of smile.

“Hey,” she responded back softly.

“I thought you could use a ride?” She used her head to nod sideways towards the purple mini behind her.

“My knight and shining armor.”

The blonde smiled and chuckled, “I am dashing enough to be one.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Marinette shoved her shoulder, her smile becoming genuine.

“I will,” the other girls voice followed as she walked around the back of the car to get to the passenger side.

She stopped short when she saw what her friend had done.

“Really, Steph?”

The amused tone of her voice showed that she wasn’t actually upset.

“Yeah, I thought we could head out to celebrate being single.”

“Because that’s something to celebrate now is it?”

Stephanie punched her lightly in the arm, “duh! Single people have the most fun. Everyone knows that!”

“Sure,” Marinette rolled her eyes with a giggle as she moved to climb into the car.

Steph joined her, taking her space in the driver's seat and looking over at her. Her eyes sparkled in the midday sun and her hair blew lightly in the calm breeze. She looked like an angel.

“Is that for me?” Marinette joked, pointing at the coffee sitting in the cup holders.

“It is!” She beamed brightly.

Marinette’s heart, for the first time, today felt lighter.

“Is this really all for me?”

Steph looked at her, her eyes softening and her shoulders relaxing, “of course. If you ever need me, I’ll be right here for you.”

Marinette nodded, blinking back more tears.

“Where to?”

Marinette tilted her head slightly in thought.

“Nowhere,” she decided on.

“Nowhere it is!” Her friend called out excitedly.

The music was cranked up to full blast as the windows were brought down so they were completely open. The blonde driving sped up to ten above the speed limit and they were off to who knows where.

And for once, Marinette decided she was fine with the unknown. Maybe things don’t work out the way she had planned but she was here and she will live in the moment.

Her eyes trailed back to the girl beside her, singing at the top of her lungs to a song that wasn’t even that good while her hair blew widely in the wind. Her music tastes were adequate at best. But she was goofy and fun and beautiful and…

And maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

She was with the person she wanted to spend her life with now. And that’s enough.

#maribat #mlb x dc #ttt2023 #stephinette #stephinette fanfiction #is that for me? ttt2023 #fanfiction #dc x mlb #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat Stephanie brown #who’s adriens love interest?#take a wild guess

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howaboutcastiel · 2 years

Text

The Regular Surprise (Jake Lockley)

Content Warning: Major Self-Harm Themes, Su*cidal Ideation, PLEASE proceed with caution

Summary: The OC is a waitress at a retro diner on the outskirts of the city. Life is hard and she’s struggling to cope with everything, plagued by depression and self-destructive tendencies. On the night of a big town festival, she reaches her breaking point. A familiar face at an unfamiliar time may just be her last hope. (Based on a request. Asker wishes to remain anonymous.)

Content: Angst with some resolution, substance abuse, verbal abuse (yum), extreme language. I don’t know how to describe this fic other than to say it's dark, sad, and cathartic for a select few. Fictional festival based on the one I used to go to as a kid.

Word Count: 7.0k

An Author’s Note: Please PLEASE do not read this if there’s even a chance it could be triggering to you. I have plenty of other content that you could read instead, and there’s loads of other talented writers on here that you can go and support as well. Stay safe <3

I woke up way too early.

Not that that’s out of the ordinary. I served breakfast at the diner three days a week. Today was one of them. My alarm went off at 5:00, ripping me from my sleep with absolutely no gentleness. My head was pounding, of course, but I couldn’t complain about that because it was my own choice to drink half a bottle of bourbon the night before. Honestly, all things considered, I was holding my liquor pretty well. Didn’t even feel sick.

But I did feel tired.

There’s nothing fulfilling about working at a diner at six in the morning. Sure, there are a few cheery regulars that keep you in mind, ask you about your folks and if your home loan got approved, or whatever. But they can also be so grating. When are you having kids? You’d be much better off if you found a nice man. Say, are you coming to work high? Most waitresses are on drugs, right? I can’t tip today, hope you don’t mind. We’re friends, aren’t we?

Then there’s the tourists. Grabbing breakfast on their way in or out of town, their kids screaming because they’re up too damn early and we don’t sell chocolate milk. Or the honeymooners who stuff themselves in one side of the booth, sharing their waffles with one fork. Give me a fucking break.

But when I walked into work that morning, there was one familiar face that didn’t entirely make me want to rip off my own skin. He wasn’t exactly a regular. He’d show up every morning for several days in a row, then we wouldn’t see him for weeks on end. More often than not, he wore a grey or brown flat cap and on particularly dreary mornings you could hear him whispering to himself, sometimes in Spanish. My manager had told me once to refer to him as “Mr. Lockley.” Not sure exactly why, he didn’t seem that much older than me, but she was adamant. So that’s what he was called.

Today was a double shift. I worked from 6-10, and then again from 5 until we closed at 9 o’clock. It wouldn’t have been too much of a big deal—more hours means more money, right?—save for the fact that the annual Cherry Blossom festival happened to be that night, and I really didn’t want to miss it. I’d technically have a bit of time to catch the end after my shift, but the sun would already be set and the biggest vendors and entertainers would have dipped by then. Plus, tired and drunk festivalgoers would be pestering me for some cheese fries for the whole night, and we were definitely going to run out sometime after 7 p.m.

“Morning, sugar.” Mr. Lockley put on a sleazy grin as I came to take his order. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t one of those perverts that said rude things to his waitresses, but he had a mouth on him. A severely unfiltered one. “What’s the special today?”

“You get a piece of toast for free if you order eggs.” My owner didn’t do specials. Everyone was struggling to make ends meet around here, and creative marketing was far down on the list for a desolate joint like this. Every Tuesday was free toast, though. But that’s only because the truck came in on Wednesdays and everything in stock was going stale.

“Okay, I’ll do that, then. Two scrambled and some coffee if you have it.” He gave a tired smile, though he seemed very awake considering the time. I’d never given much thought to what he might do for work. He was so cryptic anyway, there was too much to wonder about. “And uhh… do you have turkey bacon?”

“Sorry, honey. Just regular.” He didn’t have his hat on today; I noticed for the first time that he had quite curly hair. It almost didn’t match his face, which was so contorted by stress and lack of sleep that it certainly made him look older than he was. Like I said, though, he was barely older than me, maybe ten years at most. There was no grey in his hair, but there was a bit peeking out of his stubbly beard. Don’t get distracted. He was asking for turkey bacon?

“Scratch that then, sweetheart. I don’t do regular.” He unfolded his newspaper, sliding his knuckle along his lips as he read. I wrote his order down.

“Eggs and toast, then. And coffee, coming right up.”

I pretended not to notice him staring at my ass as I walked back toward the kitchen. I know I said that he wasn’t a pervert, but he was still a man. They tend to look, and I try not to dwell on it in this line of work so long as I don’t feel unsafe. I slid the ticket to Bernie, the cook. He gave me a familiar smile. He was too old to be working still, but like I said, we’re trying to make ends meet.

The mug shook in my hand a bit as I poured the coffee for Mr. Lockley. At this ungodly hour, there weren’t too many other customers, and my coworker had already taken care of most of them. There wasn’t even a manager in yet; the owner, David, wouldn’t be here for a while. The lazy shit showed up whenever he wanted to. I brought the man his coffee.

“Thanks, sugar.” His smile was kind of offputting, not in a creepy way. He just seemed kinda unhinged. He took a sip, hissing at the heat. “¡Carajo!”

He swallowed hard, obviously having burnt his tongue. Mr. Lockley seemed embarrassed that I had seen that. He tried to distract me.

“You going to the festival tonight?” Why was I even still standing here?

“Uhh, yeah. I’d planned on it.” Now I know, you’re not supposed to tell the customers what you’re doing when you get off work. What if they’re some kind of stalker, right? But honestly, if Mr. Lockley had wanted to kidnap me or something, he’d had multiple months to decide that already. So forgive me for my vulnerable honesty. “How about you?”

“I’ll be around. But I got work tonight, so no dice.”

I don’t really remember that much of my morning shift. I had enough coffee and ibuprofen to keep the hangover at bay, but it was still the crack of dawn. Even by 10, I would have rather been in bed. But that was also largely unrelated to my shift. I spent a lot of time wishing I was still in bed.

I spent a lot of time wishing I wasn’t anywhere at all.

Of course, I was having a rough time, you know? I was a fucking waitress in my twenties, with no solid plan to get ahead and I was borderline an alcoholic. Life was just so damn exhausting. My family was no help, not that I would dare ask them for help. It takes a village to raise a child, but at the end of the day, no one in the village wants to take responsibility for the fucked up way that the kid turned out. They want to take credit when money’s tight though, and they can ask the kid to spare some of her paychecks because “hey, I fucking raised you, didn’t I?”

Yeah, no. I was going at this alone. And it was eating me alive.

On this day, I was teetering on the edge. I’d struggled with self-destructive action for most of my life. There was no one around to teach me a healthier way to deal with shit. I didn’t have the money for a habit like cigarettes or drugs; plus, I’d seen enough of the horrors of addiction through my folks. The alcoholism was an accidental thing. It had started in high school, and who was I to turn down the sleazy attention of older boys who liked to party? It was attention, and I needed that.

I didn’t see Mr. Lockley leave. I was too busy with the morning rush of all those nine-to-five people. He’d left his newspaper on the table alongside his empty plate, but at least he’d been nice enough to fold it back so that I didn’t have to. By this time, David had gotten around to coming in. What a fucking asshole, that guy. I hated the thought of making a profit for him, but I was doing all I could. Looking ahead for better days.

Except I wasn’t looking ahead.

When I say that that day was bad, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I was about three minor inconveniences from putting a pistol in my mouth or taking a handful of Bernie’s blood pressure pills. Everything was so overwhelming as my own ambitions were underwhelming. Seriously, it was a fucking dreadful day, and I was just unhinged enough that it could have easily been my last. It very nearly was, too.

I was less than a half-hour from my shifts end when last night’s bourbon caught back up to me. I was carrying plates for a table of four, two snot-nosed kids and their wealthy grandparents on some god-forsaken vacation. Someone had spilled their drink in the floor with out telling any of the staff, and I couldn’t see it for the food in my hands. Luckily I didn’t drop the whole thing, but the grandpa’s meal was a goner as soon as my foot hit the water.

He seemed a little more upset than was necessary; entitled boomer thinks its cute to yell at the wait staff. I just kind of stood there and took it, numb to being berated by customers at this point. It wasn’t that that made the first strike, though it did start there. No, it was fucking David’s reaction to the whole experience.

“You fucking watch where you’re walking.” He was spitting at me in the back room. “Gonna keep losing money by working your clumsy ass here. Don’t think I’m gonna forget how often you show up off your game.”

That wasn’t fair and he knew it. I never showed up to work drunk, even if I desperately wanted to. He couldn’t hold against me what I did on my own time off. I did have some respect for my job, though admittedly not much. I knew I couldn’t afford to be fired right now.

“I don’t want to see those goddamn tears.” Of course I’m gonna cry. You’re tearing me a new one. “Wipe that shit off your face. I swear to God, you fuck up again tonight and you’re out of a job. You hear me?”

I knew he wasn’t gonna fire me, but I nodded. He needed the help, and with his attitude it was unlikely he could hire a new waitress to replace me in a timely manner. He let me off my shift after that—I don’t think he could stand to see my face anymore. So I sauntered off to my car, not even saying bye to Bernie, and certainly not stopping to ask if that table needed anything else.

See, this is where I knew it was bad. I would have seven hours before returning for my shift. I should have done something really therapeutic, like treat myself at a coffee shop or gone window shopping at an antique store. But I couldn’t be bothered to do that. I shut myself into my car, not bothering to turn on the radio or even the AC. For a little while I didn’t turn on the engine, I just let myself continue to cry until no tears were left. I was really so goddamn tired.

I know that I shouldn’t have done what I did next, but like I said, I was never taught better. That excuse only goes so far, doesn’t it? Either way, I did what I did and I gotta own up to that. When I couldn’t use alcohol to numb myself—say, because I had another shift to stay sober for—I would simply amplify the pain. It wasn’t logical, really, but it made me feel like I was in control. If the world was gonna hurt me, at the very least, I could do it better.

So that’s what I did.

Like I said, I don’t smoke. The smell alone is so offputting to me and I can’t support the habit in this economy. But I did have a lighter in my car. You know, the one that comes in the little charging port thing? I don’t know exactly where I got it, maybe it came with car when I bought the damn thing. Regardless, it was perfect for this. I knew that. It wasn’t the first time that I’d done it.

I had a little line of scars right above my waist. A nasty habit, I know, but it’s better than shooting heroin I guess. It was the same concept as drugs; it fucked with my hormones in just the right way, gave me an adrenaline rush. So I pressed the little lighter into the skin right across from my belly button. It hurt like shit. Of course it did.

And then I did it again. I don’t know exactly how many times, but I remember that it made me feel better. No, it decidedly made me feel worse, but at least I was feeling something. Also, my headache was magically gone. Either that or my brain just wouldn’t allow me to process both at the same time.

I sat there for a while. Then I got a fucking call from David.

“I need you to switch shifts with Miranda.” He didn’t ask. He just told.

“Why?”

“Just do what I say. She’s got a family emergency or something. I need you to come in at three. You’re off at seven.”

Maybe the day wasn’t so shit after all. I could make it to the festival for sure, now. I was hell-bent on a candy apple at least, as well as one of those plates of fried Oreos. I didn’t care that they would probably make me feel like shit.

Well, then. That brought seven hours of free time down to five. What to do? Go back to my apartment I guess. So I did. I didn’t do much else, just used my time to make myself lunch, pay some bills and do some dishes that my roommate had left in the sink. The time went by pretty fast from there. Except for when my mother called. It went painfully slowly for that.

I could already tell when I got back to the diner that the shift wasn’t going to end well. Strike one had hit me like a fucking train. I would say that the second was already halfway struck, just from the rain that followed me up to the door. It was gonna clear out by sunset, though. The festival was going to be dry. And warm.

David looked as annoyed as ever to be blessed with my presence, but he didn’t say anything to me as I clocked in. Three is one of those weird hours where hardly anyone is there. If anyone, a few teenagers would stop by on their way home from school. Or camp. Or wherever.

The monotony wasn’t good for me. Even if the seating area was empty, David forbade me from being on my phone. Just one of those things, don’t look like a piece of shit while you’re on the job. Doesn’t matter who sees.

Strike two happened suddenly. Around 6, some dirty executive thought he was being funny and pinched my ass. I don’t put up with that shit. I politely told him to leave. Well, as polite as could be reasonable.

“Awe, I’m just poking fun, sweet thing. Say, what time you get out of here?” His teeth were yellow and gross. He was with some buddies from work who thought he was the funniest person in the room. I wasn’t impressed.

“I don’t disclose that information.” He frowned. His eyes were bloodshot, but not in a drunk way. A different kind of way. It was scary. “Now I need you to leave. We don’t tolerate physical harassment here.”

“Harassment? Now you’re being shy on me? I can’t help you look so good, sweetheart.”

God help me for what I’m about to do.

“Dave!” I yelled just loud enough to startle the man closest to me. His friends shut up real fast as David walked into the room, pissed as all hell that I’d bothered him. The pig wasn’t amused.

“There’s no need for that, sugar.” He grimaced at David and patronizingly scoffed at me.

“What’s the problem here, sir?” David put on his customer service voice with absolutely no intent of keeping it on. As shitty as he was, he didn’t fuck around with creeps. I tried to steady my breath.

“This man grabbed me under my skirt. And he refuses to leave.” I didn’t have to look Dave in the eye for this. Thank God for that, at the very least. The ugly man’s friends looked like deer in headlights, but he just looked smug.

“Yeah, no. Get the fuck out.” That’s what I thought.

“You’re gonna talk to a customer like that?” The man was shocked that another guy would dare call him out like that. What an absolute fucking pig.

“You’re not a customer anymore. Get out. All of you, as a matter of fact.” Save for Bernie and himself, everyone who worked under David was a young woman. He’d gotten used to sending perverts on their way, and he’d walk me to my car if he absolutely had to, but he wouldn’t be happy about it.

He wasn’t happy about losing the business, either. Even if the people leaving were the scum of the earth. He side-eyed me for the remainder of my shift, as if I’d somehow tried on purpose to seduce the man.

And then we make it to strike three.

It’s a goddamn lucky thing that I don’t own a gun. Or sleeping pills. Or anything else I could overdose on. But do not get me fucking wrong, I was determined by the end of the night, as tragic as that sounds.

My shift ended and there was no sign of the men, so David didn’t bother to stick around. He wanted to see the festival, too, and he never stayed until closing anyway. It was dusk when I got outside. There was enough light to see, but not enough to feel safe.

And my fucking car wouldn’t start.

I started sobbing on the spot. Visceral, ugly, snotty crying that made it hard to breathe in. It was the second time today that I had cried in my car. It was my absolute breaking point. I was a mess. An illogical mess.

I punched the steering wheel until I was sure I had bruised my hand. After that, I held my head in my hands until the tears were all gone. Not because I felt better, but because there wasn’t anything left. The headache was back now, by the way. There was no way in hell that I was walking from here. I wasn’t going to the festival either.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

I was so done. Really, truly done. Realistically, I don’t think I would have done anything to hurt myself—in the permanent way, I mean. But the thought was at the forefront of my mind. Images flashed through my head. How would I do it? Would it be quick? I wasn’t thinking logically. I was struggling to think at all.

Okay, here’s what I need to do. It’s too fucking far and cold for me to walk back home. I’m gonna call a cab.

Cab’s didn’t stop too often near the diner. I wasn’t in the city-center, but I was close enough that they would find their way there every half hour or so. At least, that was what I thought. In reality, there happened to be a cab right then and there. It was parked on the other side of the block.

I waved it down, noticing a silhouette in the front seat. Maybe he was on his break? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I had wiped the tears and other stuff from my face, but the aggression of the sobs had left me a complete wreck. My head was pounding, my tongue was stiff and dry. My stomach still burned.

The cabby pulled over to me.

I checked the window just to make sure that it wasn’t some kidnapping scheme. That’s not unheard of, and with my luck that’d be the cab that found me. Sure enough, though, the cab was registered legitimately. I sighed in relief as I opened the door.

“Where to?” He met my eyes in the mirror, but I didn’t look back at him. That is, until he turned his head to me. “You having car trouble or something?”

I knew the face staring back at me. This was not in my plan for the night. I didn’t know how to feel.

“Yeah, I am.” He looked just as confused as me. He was wearing his hat now. I noted that. “I didn’t know you were a cabby, Mr. Lockley.”

“Call me Jake.” He was still turned to look at me. I felt myself blushing at the way he was peering into me. “Now, come on. Where to?”

“My apartment. I guess.” I gave the address. This was unexpected, but it didn’t change anything. It was a weird feeling, though. Vulnerable. I felt ashamed to be involving him in my shitty, self-destructive night. At the time, what I was half-convinced was my last one.

“I thought you were going to the festival, señorita.” He looked prettier in the fading light. I couldn’t see the circles under his eyes.

“Change of plans.” He furrowed his brow, but turned back toward the front. He didn’t start the meter.

“This one’s on me, yeah?” It almost sounded like pity. That’s great, I really wanted that.

“No, Jake. I can’t accept that. I’ll pay.” There’s that line in that Alanis Morissette song, right? A free ride when you’re already late. That’s kind of what this was like. Was the universe trying to stop me, or trying to mock me?

“¡tonterías! If you can’t afford a tow truck, I doubt you can afford a cab ride.” Okay. Mocking me, for sure.

“Don’t rub it in.”

“This one’s on me.” He repeated, slower. Then he put the car into drive. Fine, work for free. That doesn’t change my night. It doesn’t matter anyway.

If I had more sense in my head, I would have seen that he noticed how dreadful I was. My mascara had run, not completely wiped away to the best of my ability. My shirt was untucked, my hair was a mess, and the crescent moons on my palms were leaking blood. Not that I’d noticed that. I had spiraling tunnel vision.

What was I going to do when I got home? The thoughts were jumbled and racing through my mind, but I was too exhausted to catch all of them. I was crawling in my skin, half-convinced that I was possessed or something, but I also felt numb. The kind of calm you feel when you have nothing to lose.

I didn’t own a gun. There weren’t any pills. There wasn’t any rope. But there were… kitchen knives? None of the thoughts stuck around too long, they just played themselves on a loop, attacking my brain.

“You seemed excited about that festival. What’s keeping you?” His voice rang in my ears. My head was hurting so bad.

“I’m just tired.” I lied. I couldn’t tell that he saw right through that. He was too observant for his own good. I pulled my flask from the bottom of my purse.

Yeah, I know. This was certainly a wrong move. Jake Lockley was upset by this, for sure.

“Hey, no open bottles in my cab.” I hadn’t even gotten the damn thing to my lips. I thought I’d try to be cute with him.

“It’s not a bottle. It’s a flask.” I downed a swig before shutting the lid.

“Put it away.” Whatever, man. I pushed it back down in my purse, not hiding the way I rolled my eyes at him before doing it. The calm was warping into something else, but I didn’t know what. The possessed feeling wasn’t going away, though.

“You worked a long shift today, huh? Considering I saw you here at the crack of dawn.” Why was he trying to make small talk? Just leave me alone. You and the rest of the world, leave me alone.

“Wasn’t here the whole day. Opening shift and closing one, supposed to be anyway.” I just mumbled the first words in my brain. He was asking a lot of me in this state.

“The diner closes at nine.”

“Like I said, supposed to be.” Why did he know that the diner closes at nine? That’s a weird thing to remember, especially for someone who only shows up for breakfast. Maybe it’s a cab driver thing. They know the open and close of places around.

“It’s a little early for you to turn in, then. Why don’t I drive you on to the festival and let you have some fun?” You’re overstepping, Mr. Lockley.

“I said to take me home.”

“So you can do what exactly? Drink alone?” I was starting to feel uneasy. I’d never made small talk with this man beyond when he ordered his food. Now he was flirting with me? Or calling me out? I didn’t exactly know. Weirdly enough, I felt safe, but I also felt exposed.

“That’s none of your business.” We were almost at my apartment. He slowed to a stop, not yet close enough for me to get out of the car. He looked angry. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not sure I should let you leave.” He didn’t say it in a creepy way. I know that’s hard to believe. How could he say that and it not be creepy, right? But I immediately knew what he meant.

“You gonna kidnap me then?” I didn’t have the energy for this. And it wasn’t any of his business anyway.

“That depends. Will that keep you alive?”

“Okay. I think you’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” He couldn’t possibly know what was in my head. I hadn’t even made the decision yet myself. This man was way outside of bounds here, but I couldn’t prove him wrong. We stared at each other for a long time.

“Let me take you to the festival.” Why did he care so much about this? About me?

“Why does it matter to you?” Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be here.

“I have a conscience, you know.” He talked to me like a dad might. That really made me feel bad. “I can’t drop you off here if I think you’re in danger. I can’t live with that.”

“Why do you care? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Just come to the festival with me.” Jake’s eyes were pleading. That instantly made him look younger. A lot younger. Child-like.

God damn him.

“Fine. Don’t do anything weird, though. I have pepper spray.” That was a lie. I did not.

Cherry blossoms lined the street where the vendors were parked. I could smell the carnival food before we even got to the point of the roadblock. Jake Lockley parked the car, coming around to open my door for me.

“Wait, aren’t you on duty or something?” He took my hand to help me up. What a gentleman. I think I should feel thankful for that. If only I could be bothered to feel.

“I drive a cab. I can work when I want.” He put his arm around my waist for support and I tried to conceal how his hand set me on fire as it touched my burns. I couldn’t be bothered to hate the gesture, though. It was the sweetest touch I had felt in a long time. I’m pretty sure he was only holding on to keep me from making a run for it. Jake was convinced I was a danger to myself.

The street lights illuminated his face in a new way. He looked a lot more vulnerable in the dim crowd, but he held himself with confidence. I got the feeling that I was safe with him. I noticed now that he was wearing gloves. That made sense for a cab driver, right? They had crescent moons on them, little white shapes right on the knuckles, disturbing the black of the leather. What an odd little thing.

“Is there something, in particular, that you want to see?” He led me down the street with his hand barely grazing my side, but I was firmly in his grasp. The lights were too bright. The crowd was too noisy. I couldn’t concentrate.

“I always get a caramel apple.” I tried to search my brain for what I’d normally be doing here. I was elated before, right? There had to be some ideas floating around in there somewhere. It was hard to find any, though.

“Okay. Let’s get one, then.” For all it was worth, I could have been drunk. I’d had the one swig of booze, but my state of mind was far gone regardless of that. That was probably a good thing. I couldn’t make any rash decisions if I couldn’t think at all. I turned my head to him as we made our way through the swarm of people.

Why was he so concerned? Sure, he knew me from the diner, but I meant nothing to him. Just some waitress in the background of his life. He could have just dumped me at my place and let whatever was going to happen go ahead. But he didn’t, and I couldn’t understand why.

“Two caramel apples, thanks.” I heard him say to one of the vendors, but I was so out of it. I reached for my wallet, but he swatted my hand away. That’s on him, too, I guess. I kept my eyes on his face.

He was a fairly short man. Not that there was a problem with that, I had just expected him to be tall. Mr. Lockley had the energy of someone with a bigger physical presence. He was some kind of tan, maybe Mexican? He spoke Spanish, I knew that. He must be some kind of Latino, then, I guessed. I didn’t really dwell on that thought, but he was pretty, whatever he was.

Yeah. He was pretty. His face was pretty, his curls were pretty, his muscles were pretty, and these thoughts were those of a deeply tired, not-thinking-straight woman. I felt warm at the idea that he was my arm candy tonight. Even if he was holding me against my will so that I didn’t try to off myself.

I don’t think he liked that I was staring. He handed me my apple and ushered me over to the tent-covered benches that were set up for people who wanted to eat sitting down. There was music coming from the stage nearby. Not good music, but it was live music, which was something. He paid it no mind.

“How are you feeling?” Jake had that same child-like look from before. Was he that worried about me? I let my mouth continue to act before my brain, as it had gotten me this far.

“I don’t know. The music sucks, though.” I took a very large bite of my apple. I kept talking, even with the food in my mouth. “You’re kinda rude, y’know. What kinda cab driver gets to pick the rider’s destination? That seems… abnormal.”

“The kind that’s not taking your shit. Look me in the eye and say you weren’t going to hurt yourself.” What a nosy motherfucker.

“Maybe I was. What does that have to do with you?” He kind of blushed when I said that, which made me feel powerful. I made Mr. Lockley blush.

“You think I could live with myself if I dropped you off knowing I could have stopped you from that?”

“I don’t know. You’d have gotten over it. I’m just a waitress.”

“No you’re not.” He blushed even deeper, taking a bite of his own caramel apple. I was stuffing my face, the sugar making me feel better as it took away some of the cloudiness.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you’ve served me breakfast a hundred times.” Even he didn’t seem convinced by that answer. I scowled at him.

“Yeah. That still makes me just a waitress.” It was amusing to see him stumble on his words. As the sugar reached my head, it brought energy elsewhere, too. Particularly to my aching stomach.

“Can you just not act disposable for one second? You’ve got to mean something to someone.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. I really don’t think that’s true.” He took a patronizing bite. How that was possible, I’m not sure. “I’d surely miss your pretty face over my coffee.”

“Someone else can serve you coffee.” I was kind of getting pissed because he cared. Why did he get to care when I didn’t?

“I don’t think I want that, though.” This was pointless. I just wanted to go home, still. Though I was beginning to want something else, too. I tried to distract him.

“What else is there to do here?” I hadn’t thought that one out. The festival had lots of vendors, but it seemed a lot less vibrant than I’d imagined it would be.

“Dunno. You want me to win you a stuffed animal?” Now there’s a thought.

“I’d certainly like to see you try.”

I learned a lot of swear words in Spanish over the next half-hour. More than would ever be useful, that’s for sure. But the man did it. It cost him three times what the stuffed monkey should have cost, but he did it. I found myself giggling at the way he so clearly felt he was above the rigged dart-throwing game. He was giggling, too, in between the swears. I don’t think he’d played a carnival game in a long time.

He did that thing where you talk to the stuffed animal like it’s a person. I don’t know if he thought it would be funny or if he was pissed about spending so much money on the game. Whatever the reason for it, I was entertained.

“You are more trouble than you’re worth, pequeño.” He stuck his pointer finger into the belly of the toy, a playfully stern look on his face. “You’re not even that cute.”

“He’s the one I wanted, though.” I took the monkey out of Jake’s gloved hand. Really, what was up with the gloves? The plush toy felt cheap in my grasp, but he was meaningful. “What should I name him?”

“el cabrón,” Jake muttered under his breath, grinning. I didn’t know that word, but from the cheeky tone in his voice I had to go with no on that one.

You know how they say that adrenaline drains everything from your body? I didn’t know it, but that was what was happening here. I’d gone through so many emotions through the day, and so many cups of coffee, too. The devastating tiredness had plagued me from the cab ride to the apple truck, and now there was exhausted giddyness. When I say that I could have been drunk, that’s truly the most accurate description. They say sleep deprivation mimics inebriation. By that metric, I was nearly at the black-out stage.

I was holding on to him like a little girl as we walked back to the cab. There was an unspoken agreement, I guess, as he saw how fucking tired I must be. He had to be pretty tired, too. The sky was totally dark at this point, and both of us had been awake since before the sun had come up this morning.

“Why don’t you sit in the front, cariño?” He asked me gently. I followed his request, hopping in the front seat as he opened the door for me. Jake was still treating me like something fragile. I didn’t really have the frame of mind to realize that I was. There were just isolated thoughts swimming around.

We took the entire ride in silence. I guess there wasn’t much that either of us really had to say. I ran my hand along the thread of the monkey toy; I had decided to name him Button because of his eyes. I don’t know. Drunk thoughts. The thread felt soothing under my skin.

He turned off the engine when he got to my drive. I raised by eyebrow at him, but he had one of those looks like it wasn’t really up for debate. My tongue felt like it was stuck in my throat.

Jake didn’t take my hand or open the door for me this time. He just let me lead the way up the steps with the keys in my hand. I know I should have felt more uncomfortable about the whole thing than I actually did. My roommate wasn’t there; I don’t know where she was gone to. We only lived together for the money. We didn’t make conversation that much.

“Do you want something to drink?” I mumbled at him as he followed me through the door. At least I had done the dishes, so the place wasn’t a total wreck. My roommate’s cat meowed angrily at me as we made out way into the living room. She probably hadn’t fed him all day. Jake’s eyes lit up at the sight.

“Who’s this little princesa?” He bent down to scratch the cat’s head, swooping him up into his arms. The little bastard drank in the attention.

“Artichoke. He belongs to my roomy.” I plopped onto the couch. I would feed him before bed. Not right now, I was too tired.

“My bad, man. Eres el gato más bonito que he visto.” Jake’s lips parted over his teeth, his eyes crinkled in a wide smile. Arty was purring under his touch. I’d never seen such a soft smile on Mr. Lockley’s face.

I was starting to really like this man. Sure, I’d seen him lots of times before, but it was so impersonal and he was normally much cruder in the way he spoke. I guess I’d given him a good scare. My mind was out of spiralling thoughts, but the chaos lingered in spite of the absence of self-destructing tendencies. He sat down beside me, and Arty leapt off the couch.

I thought of one thing that might make me feel better. Might make me feel something.

I fucking tackled that poor man. I smashed my lips into his, pushing my weight over top of him. My hands found their way to his hair. He was shocked for a second, then he reciprocated for another before pulling back altogether. His grip was surprisingly strong, and suddenly I was separated from him.

“Don’t do that.” He didn’t look angry at me, but he did dawn a look of disappointment. I fucking hated that look. Jake’s arm held me away from him.

“Why not? I know how much you stare at me when you come by to eat.” It was true. He never hid how he ogled at me. Like I said, severely unfiltered. That didn’t mean he was a bad man.

“You’re not in your right mind. I didn’t come here for that.” I winced as he stood up off of the couch, tugging off his gloves. His face and neck were bright red. He threw the gloves on the kitchen counter, right beside my bottle of whiskey.

“Consider it payment for the ride.” I reached my hand out to him, signalling him to come back. He just stared down at me. “It’s not like I’m drunk.”

“But you’re not thinking straight.” He ventured into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He poured me one, too, and I noticed his fingers tense against the cold of the glass. Jake walked over to me and handed the cup down to my hands, which I was noticing by now were very weak with exhaustion. I took a sip, carefully.

“What are you here for then?” I don’t know exactly what I wanted him to say. He was there, though, and that mattered a lot. He really didn’t have to be there.

“I don’t know. I want to make sure you’re safe.” I couldn’t fault him for that. He’d given me a free ride, bought me dinner, won me a prize, and then he’d endured my unwanted advances. It would have been quite rude of me after that to repay him by hurting myself.

“How long are you gonna stay?”

“Until I’m sure.”

And that’s what he did.

#moon knight #jake lockley #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #triggering themes #Mr. lockley #triggering content #tw #masterlist

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argumentl · 1 year

Text

The Freedom of Expression - Vol:16 - Spring (2023/03/25)

(*This is a very long post, so to summarize the topics discussed quickly:

•Baseball/ The WBC

•Hanami/Cherry Blossom viewing

•Kaoru's dislike of chalkboards

•First Meetings - Kaoru tells a fun story about this.

•Spring Songs

•Moving house - Kaoru talks about dealing with cockroaches, and house sharing with Kyo.*)

K: Ok, here we are getting started with The Freedom of Expression on our Niconama channel. Im Kaoru from Dir en grey.

J: Im Joe Yokomizo.

T: And Im Tasai from Tokyo Sports.

*applause*

J: Well, everyone's writing cherry blossom emojis in the comments.

K: Yeh, its already blossoming, right?

J: It did seem to be at full bloom, but then with the rain it might already be starting to fall.

K: Ah, yeh, maybe. Actually, today its cold all of a sudden, isn't it?

J: It is, yeh.

K: It was really warm until yesterday, but today I even have to wear a leather jacket.

J: Yeah, you need it to keep the cold out.

K: But then Tasai is here dressed like that! *points to Tasai* You came from home like this??

J: Hahaha

T: Yeh, I was so cold.

K: I bet you were!

J: Its weird...Out in the dressing room he was saying he was cold, so I told him to put a jacket on, and he was like, 'No, I came here like this'.

K: You must have felt cold when you left home though?

J: Its not even a little bit warm today!

T: Yeah, but I thought I would be ok. I mean, on the way to the station I saw a woman wearing a coat, and I had a moment of doubt, but then I thought, 'No no, I can do this'.

J: Cause its already evening, right? By the time we finish this, it'll be really cold. And you've gotta go home like that.

T: Yeh, I havn't got the hang of this adulting thing yet.

J: Adulting thing, haha.

K: Haha

J: Im not sure if thats really the issue here, haha. Well, today, its just the three of us again at long last, but I should ask you Kaoru, and Tasai, as you both like baseball...the WBC was on until last Thursday, right? Did you watch it? How was it?

K: Did YOU watch it?

J: No, I didn't even watch a second of it!

K: Haha, I thought so.

J: I can't say anything about it, but I figured you two could. So, did you watch it?

K: Yes, yes, I did.

T: Of course we did!

J: Did you watch all the Japan games?

K: Yeah.

T: Yes

J: Well, I should ask who played well etc, but..

T: Ok, Joe, do you know this...what pose was trending during the WBC?

J: Oh, a lot of people were doing this. This twisting motion (*twists fists one on top of the other*?). What is this?

T: Its...strangling the eel (*or something, I dunno, haha*)

K: Hahaha

J: No way, haha, the Samurai Japan team wouldn't do that.

T: Haha, like squeezing an eel.

J: I mean, that is quite Japanese though. What actually is that pose though?

T: Don't you know? Its like grinding pepper. Like with a peppermill.

J: Why are they doing a grinding pepper pose?

K: Yeh, why? I dont actually know either.

T: Well, you know the player, Laars Nootbar? He's part Japanese, he's really likeable.

J: Oh yeh, I've seen him.

T: His mother is from Higashi-matsuyama city. But anyway, its his move. The meaning behind it is grinding, like making a big effort, and doing a perfect job. For example, you can do this action to congratulate someone who tried hard and did well. So Nootbar uses this pose, and its just started trending in Japan.

J: I see. Hey, lets do something like that for this show, for when we have fun conversations.

K: Like what?

J: I don't know. Viewers can give us suggestions in the comments about what pose they want us to do.

K: Haha, no no, this was your idea, you think of something!

J: Ahh, I can't think of anything of the spot. But for people who didn't watch the WBC, just give us your highlights. Who played well, the best moments, etc.

T: Lets hear Kaoru's thoughts.

J: Yes, Leader first.

K: Wellll...of course Ohtani was memorable. But for me personally, I think Yoshida did well.

T: Ohh, from the Red Socks.

J: What did you like about Yoshida.

K: Well, he hit when I wanted him to.

T: He was great. Especially in the game against Mexico, he got 3 home runs. And he could hit even a perfect pitch. He was amazing.

K: Even when they used to play at Tokyo Dome, Ohtani and others would hit regular home runs and get the crowd excited, but Yoshida would just hit the ball right out of the stadium.

T: Yeh, if we didn't have him...

K: If we didn't have him, it would have been tough.

J: Japan might not even have won, or might not have even made it to the final?

K: Yeah...well, that goes for all the other players too.

J: Well, yeah.

T: All the players were very active, right?

K: Yeah, but there was also that special 'Goodbye' at the end of the semi-final.

J:...I have no idea about any of this.

K: I cried a bit with Murakami at the end. He hadn't hit anything until then, it was like, 'What is this guy doing??'

T: Do you know who Murakami is, Joe?

J: I don't know who he is, but I've seen the news that he had been playing in bad shape, and some people wanted him replaced etc. But I don't know where he's from, or what was actually going on, or anything like that.

T: He plays for Yakult.

J: Oh right.

T: He won a triple crown

K: Yeh, he is the youngest to get it.

T: He's had 56 home runs.

J: Haha, Tasai, why are you sitting like that all of a sudden. Oh look, someone commented, 'I thought Murakami was like a god'. Amazing. Lots if people watched it. So, Murakami was great?

T: All the players did great though.

K: Yeah, they all did.

J: Ive heard people telling me the manager was great too. Whats his name again, Kuriyama? What do you think, Kaoru?

K: Well, yeh, he had faith in the players.

T: Yeh, he is the type to throw his support under the players to raise them up, as opposed to pulling them up from above.

K: He would have been criticized for this method if the team had lost though.

J: Yeah, people would have said he should have been more strict. Ahh, it all depends on the result.

K: Yeah, thats it.

J: Well, anyway, they won. What do you think? Lets hope for more of this when the pro-baseball season starts this Spring?

K: Yeh, it starts next week.

J: How is it gonna be this year?

K: I think it'll be interesting.

J: If anything, the amount of baseball fans will have increased after the WBC.

K: Yeah, baseball is gaining more fans every year. Its great.

T: I think they will keep increasing too. Oh, and then this year, the Tigers have Okada as their manager. They are aiming for THAT*, right? (*Translated from the japanese word アレ meaning 'that thing', which is pronounced 'ah-re', and written as 'are' in roman script)

K: Oh yeh, THAT.

J: What? I don't understand.

K: You know, THAT.

J: THAT...

K: A-R-E, 'アレ'(THAT)

J:...A-R-E...?

K: Its the team slogan.

J: Really? I had no idea! Why A-R-E?

K: You know, THAT/アレ!

T:The only thing a player in yellow can aim for!

J: ...To win?

T, K: Just THAT/'アレ'!

J: THAT?

K: Yes, everyone is aiming for it!

T: Look at the comments!

J: Oh yeh. Everyone knows what this is??.A-R-E, is it like the english word 'are'?

K: No, just アレ(THAT).

T: Of course its THAT!

J: Tasai you are scary today.

T: Haha, its cause I didn't sleep last night.

J: You've been acting weird today!

T: Joe, you are still on air, haha.

J: Ok, ok, well, both of you enjoyed the WBC, but for the show today we'd like viewers to send in lots of messages. Anything is fine, ideas, opinions, suggestions, send them in. If you are using Twitter, you can use the tag TFOE. The first part of this show is free for anyone to watch, but the second part is for members only. If you become a member, you can watch this broadcast in the archive for one year, and we also have extra videos for members only. So please use the link at the top of the screen to become a member and watch to the end. Ok, so today, Leader, we have this chalk board behind us, with various phrases written on it. Its already Spring!....Well, its already Summer for Tasai...

T: Yeh, I saw a comment about this, so I'll just show you my tshirt.

K: Ah, its our Phalaris shirt.

J: Yeh, but I wore that already on here!

K: Haha, there's no need for.....Ok guys, thats enough...(*gestures to break up fight between J and T*) Thank you, thank you, I appreciate it, haha.

J: Haha, its a fight over who loves Dir en grey more!

K: Hahaha

J: Ok, so today we're gonna be talking about all these Spring topics that are written on the chalk board behind us. Oh, there we go, we have a close up of it. Leader, could you read out the topics for us?

K: Yes, 'Graduation', 'Starting school', 'Hanami', 'Spring songs', 'New starts', 'Food you want to eat in Spring', 'Spring Clothes', 'April Fools'....'Moving house'

J: No, hold on, hold on...haha. Leader, you missed that one right in the middle!

K: Haha, 'April Birthday'.

J: Yes, but who's?!

K: 'Joe Yokomizo's April Birthday', haha.

J: Thats right, thank you. haha

T: Were you born in April?

J: Yes

T: Which day? Must be the 1st, right?

J: No no, the 8th. Its the same day as the Buddha's birthday.

K: Ohh, thats a shame for the Buddha.

J: Haha, don't be like that! You should be celebrating!

K: Haha, ok, next...'Sports Days (Recently, some schools hold Sports Day in Spring)'....Oh, ok, yeh...., and then, 'Koshien', and, 'First meetings'.

J: Thank you. Ok, so we'll discuss some of these topics, so if you see any you'd like us to choose, please write them in the comments. If anything really stands out in the comments, we'll go with that.

T: So, its really up to the viewers?

J: Yes, the viewers can get involved. This is really how niconama works. Ok, someone suggested Spring songs...

T: Joe Yokomizo...

J: Koshien...Hanami...

T: We could talk about them all.

J: Haha, yeh....Moving house...

T: Lots of people saying Spring songs.

J: Yeh, is Spring songs the most popular? Oh, maybe Hanami?

T: Yeah, Hanami....Joe Yokomizo.....Hanami isn't one of the topics.

J: Yes it is!

T: Oh yeh

J: Hanami...First meetings....There are a lot of votes for Hanami.

K: Lets go with that then.

J: Ok, the first topic of conversation is 'Hanami'! ( Cherry Blossom Viewing)

T: As for Hanami, im generally against it.

J: Eh?! Are you trying to ruin our plan? You are scary today! I mean, cool. Haha.

K: Why are you against it?

T: Well, don't you feel cold doing Hanami?

J: No, no, thats just cause you don't dress warmly, haha.

K: Yeh, you are too lightly dressed, haha.

T: Haha, its just a coincidence today, really.

J: You would be cold dressed like that! Haha

T: No, but when you do Hanami in the park or somewhere, you sit on a sheet spread out on the ground, right? Don't you think the ground is quite cold?

K: Thats right actually, it is cold. Well, its not bad during the day, but at night it does get cold.

T: Yeh, and I always end up wanting to go indoors to drink, so Hanami loses its meaning for me.

K: Well, yeh, after you've bought all this stuff from the supermarket to eat, you do end up thinking you might as well have gone to a restaurant.

J: For something nicer and warmer, right? Haha, yeh, there is that.

T: See, Kaoru is coming over to my side.

J: You don't actually spend much time looking at the blossoms either, do you?

K: Yeah, people just want to drink.

J: Yeh, its an excuse to drink. But still, it is only a short time when the blossoms are here.

K: Its fine during the day, but you can't even really see the blossoms at night. Plus, its warm during the day, well..today was raining, but yesterday would have been great for Hanami.

T: But someone just commented, 'Hanami is impossible if you have hayfever'

K: Ah, of course, yeh.

J: Look, someone wrote, 'I prefer the food carts in winter', Ah, winter, right?...'Street vendors are fun!'. But there are food carts out in some places at this time of year too! Havn't you seen any?

T: Ohh, they are good.

J: Yeah, see!

K: There are some places that do have loads out, like how you see at festivals.

J: Ah, like in Ueno park.

T: Those are good.

K: Yeah...but there are some places that have like a restaurant feel, right? There'll be oden, and you can grill seafood, like you can sit around the grill and have a drink.

J: There's a good atmosphere.

K: Right?! That type of place is good.

T: Didn't there used to be something like that at Hanazono Shrine?

J: There was, yeh. Leader, tell us about some of your Hanami memories.

K: Well, yeah, it does just feel a bit cold, and the food is usually nothing impressive.

T: See!

K: But I do like having a drink outside.

J: Yeh, it feels spacious, right?

K: Yeh, but its better when its warm.

T: Someone's commenting about pizza for Hanami.

J: Thats pretty interesting.

K: Well, you can get it delivered easily with Uber.

J: Oh right, so you could specify which tree you're under, and you just raise your hand when they call out your name?

K: Well, yeh.

T: I read something in a magazine ages ago about how people playing pachiko used to order pizza, and even specify the machine they were sat at, to get it delivered directly to then.

J: Ehh, to pinpoint their location?

T: Yeah.

J: Well we'd love viewers to let us know their hanami memories, or recommendations for good hanami spots, so please send them in. Hey, we could do daytime Hanami on this show next year?

K: Yeh

T: Someone wrote, 'I want Kaoru to pour me a beer from a Tora no ana food stall'.

K: Like one of those ones? How do you even get those, we probably can't, right?

J: Tokyo Sports could do something for us, couldn't they?

T: No, I don't think so.

K: Aren't those the type of things that get handed down to people?

T: Im not sure.

J: Hm, you probably have to have connections in the street vendor business. Tokyo Sports has power in that sphere, right?

T: Not at all, haha.

J: But Tokyo Sports is like a street vendor.

T: Well, the street vendor of mass media maybe.

K: But even if we didnt have that kind of thing, we could do it with just a regular hot plate, or your pressure cooker...an event where we make that kinda stuff would be good, like a public live broadcast.

J: Oh, thats a good idea!

T: Apparently you can rent food stalls.

J: Well, if we have enough support...

T: Someone wrote 'The pressure cooker is nostalgic'...Nostalgic?

J: Well, we could do The Freedom of Expression Hanami next year.

T: I wanna do it this year.

K: Oh, those comments are too fast, I can't read them! haha

J: Why do they go by so quickly sometimes?

K: I don't know.

J: Can't Dwango even tell us? Ehh. 'Cause they do fly past too quickly sometimes don't they?....Oh, it only happens to long comments? Long comments move fast!

K: Ah, I see. That makes sense, cause it goes fast when people use lots of applause emojis.

T: Oh right! Lets test it, everyone do lots of clapping in the comments.

J: Ah, Tasai, you're on good form.

T: Aren't you curious? haha

*everyone sends in a load of long emoji strings*

K, T: Oh, look how quick it is!

J: Amazing

K: Wow, its so fast!

J: Should we really get so happy about something like this? haha. Ok, so that was our first topic, Hanami. Leader, could you erase it from the board.

T: Isn't it that one in the middle next to April Fool? (Joe's bday)

J: No no! Don't erase that one yet! Not yet! Erase Hanami.

K: Ughh, I don't really like chalkboards.

J: Why? The noise?

K: I just imagine my nails on it. Just looking at it I get a nasty feeling in my nails!

J: Aghh, there always used to be someone who would scrape the board like that, right?

K: I can only picture that when I see it. I just get so sqeamish in my nails, haha.

J: I know what you mean, and you feel ticklish all over too, right?

K:....Well, no, I don't feel ticklish.

J: Eh, why is that just me?

K: My nails just get this awful feeling.

J: Don't you get this ticklish sensation down 'there' though, too?

K: No.

T: Hahaha, this is too funny.

K: But actually, its not the noise that bothers me. Its that sensation of nails draging on the board.

J, T: Ahhhh

K: I hate that.

J: Kaoru, you are showing your cute side. So you hate even looking at the chalkboard?

K: Yeah, it just makes my nails feel awful.

J: Ahh, I cringe just imagining that sound aswell. Ok, well we finished Hanami. Lets decide the next topic. Write what you want to hear about in the comments.

T: How about we choose the first really fast one?

J: Ok, but there is a bit of a time lag, so just wait a sec. The first fast one right? Ah, there!

T: Spring songs!

K: First meetings!

J: First meetings overtook Spring songs!

T: Haha, lets go with First meetings.

K: Spring first meetings, right?

J: Yeah, like meeting people when you start school, or start a new semester etc. Haha, there are a lot of Spring song comments.

T: Haha, someone wrote 'There's a perv* around' (*Looking for a better translation of 出会い厨*)

J: 'We hit the limit', haha, great. Anyway, Spring first meetings!

K: Well, I've never worked for a proper company, so I can only draw on memories from school.

J: What do you remember?

K: Well, I have a friend from high school, I still go for a drink with him now and again, but this story is from our school days. It was a mixed school in theory, but in reality, there were only a handful of girls in each year group. So in our classroom, my seat was at the front, my friend's was behind, and behind him was a boy called Hirai Miki. So on the first day before we'd all met, that friend of mine looked at the seating plan and thought, 'Oh score! I've got girls in front and behind!' (*Kaoru and Miki are both commonly used as girls names too*)

J, T: Hahaha

T: In between Kaoru and Miki! He thought he got lucky, haha!

K: Then when he sat down, he was like, 'Who the hell are you two?!'

J: Haha, like, 'You're in the wrong seats! These seats are for Kaoru and Miki!'

K: Haha, yeah.

T: He didn't expect that you were boys, haha.

J: Ahhh, Kaoru chan and Miki chan! Someone wrote, 'His harlem'

K: Yes, but we were both boys.

T: Thats a good story.

J: Tasai, do you have any stories?

T: Hm, let me think...

J: Oh, by the way, the members only video is great this time, don't miss it! Isn't that right, Leader?

K: Yeah.

J: Yeh, so everyone please...

T: Well, I have a story from my university entrance ceremony.

K: Haha, he just cut you straight off!

J: Haha

T: Yes! As I was saying, my university entrance ceremony. haha. You never know what type of people you will meet at university, but the guy next to me at the ceremony was really friendly to me, and you could also tell he was really well-built. But I was just talking to him, trying to blend in, as you do, and I noticed he kept looking at his watch. Then at a certain time, he apologized to me and got a banana and a protein drink out of his bag, and had them right there. He was like, 'Its time to feed my muscles', even in the middle of the entrance ceremony! So that was one first meeting of this kind of strange person.

K, J: ....

K: That was a bit if an anticlimax.

J: Yeh, the story was ok, but...

T: Aghh, Im sad now.

J: Hey, but the members only content this time is brilliant!

T: Hey, thats not fair.

J: No, but even the staff laughed this time! They have never laughed at any of the members only content until now!

T: Can I ask for some super fast bananas in the conments to make me feel better?

J: Oh, banana emojis in the comments? Ok everyone, make Tasai feel better with some bananas.

T(*reading a comment*) Ah, no, Im not still in contact with him.

J: Oh, the protein guy?

T: Oh look, here come the bananas!!

J: Wow, so many banana emojis!

T: Thank you, haha.

J: Its kinda dirty, right?

T: No, Joe, thats just you!

J: Its just my freedom of expression. I want the whole screen covered in bananas!

K: The screens gone all light, haha

J: They all merge after a point.

K: (*Sees the macho muscle emoji and copies that pose*)

J: Haha, the macho emoji!

T: This is turning out well.

J: Yeah, I think the viewers are getting used to nicinama.

K: But we've had guests a lot lately, so its been quite structured. This time is more chilled, haha.

J: Its good having a bit more freedom, right?

K: Haha, yeah.

T: Ahhh, more bananas! Someone wrote, 'My finger hurts', haha.

J: Ok, lets move onto the next topic.

K: I'll just erase First meetings (*grimaces after contact with the board*)

J: Tasai, you choose the next one.

T: No, I'll leave it to the comments.

J: Strictly the viewers choice?

T: Today we are doing this together.

J: Haha, you sound like a bandman saying that type of thing. Ok, comments. It doesn't have to be a fast comment?

K: Nah.

J: Spring songs... Koshien.

T: Ok, lets go with Spring songs....Oh, but Koshien!

K: No, there were a lot of votes for Spring songs earlier, so we should go with that.

J: You don't have much of a Spring song image though, Leader.

K: Hm, yeh, I don't know any Spring songs.

J: If we had to make a Spring song playlist for this show, what would you put on it?

K: Can I use our songs? Well, probably '304 goushitsu, hakushi no sakura'.

J: Of course, yeh. That was in the comments too.

K: Oh, 'Kaishun' aswell....But what songs would you call Spring songs in general?

J: Anything by Moriyama Naotaro.

K: Ahh

T: And there are a lot of songs out there titled, 'Sakura'.

J: Whats the first Spring song you can think of? What Spring song would you hum in the bath?

K: What would you?

J: Ohh, what would I...?

T: (*reading comment*) Ah, Yuming, right. (Matsutoya Yumi)

J: Oh, I heard a song on a show I did yesterday...What was it again?

K: You won't remember, haha.

J: No I will, haha...Kawaguchi Kyogo!

T: Ah, that singer/songwriter?

J: Yeh, that song is 'Sakura...something', isn't it? I couldn't remember it after all, haha...(*reading a comment*) Oh yeh, Fukuyama Masao too.

T: Joe, someone said that song is called, 'Amnesia'.

J: No, thats just me they're talkIng about. haha. Leader, what are your Spring songs?

K: I don't know.

T: Egao saku....Buck Tick.

J: How does that go again? Ah! *sings*

T: Ah, Sakuranbo! (cherry)

K: Is sakuranbo a Spring thing?

T: Well, it has sakura in it...

K: No, but I mean the actual fruit.

T: Hmm, its not a fruit of sakura is it?

K: No, it can't be. Cherries, yeh?

T:Yeh, its not the blossoms.

J: Wow, its like two teenagers are talking right here.

K, T: Hahaha

J: Anyway, someone just commented, 'Kitakuni no haru'

T: Any cherry experts, let us know....Oh, cherry season is from May...so thats a summer song then.

K: Hm, yeh, Sakuranbo is not a Spring song.

J: Loads of people suggested it though.

K: No, its wrong.

J: Ah, wrong season. Leader, cant you think of any sakura songs off the top of your head?

K: No.

J: What about you Tasai?.....Of course there is Yuming with 'Haru yo, koi'.

K: Ahhh.

J: Also, that one from earlier....🎶mata haru ni aimashou🎶

K: Ah, Hide san.

T: Also, Ketsumeitsu....and 304 goushitsu again.

J: But you can't really think of any Spring songs, Leader?

K: Not really.

J: Ok, shall we do one more topic for the free part? Hmm, lots of people saying Yuming. Well, time to pick another one. Spring songs has been erased.....Oh, look, a strong vote for Joe Yokomizo's birthday!

K: Nah, I couldn't read that.

T: Yeah, what did it say??　

K: I didn't see it.

J: But it came up slowly after that!

K: Nah, didn't see anything like that.

J: Haha, now its just turned into JoeYoko in the comments

K, T: Hahaha

J: Ah, but maybe JoeYoko is best saved for the paid section.

K: Yeah, thats a good idea!

T: Ehh?! You should be paying them to listen to it!

J: Haha, like, 'Pleeease!' No no, seeing me being teased can be paid content....Someone suggested a two level billing.

K: Oh, we had someone before talking about that, right?

T:Toshi-Low, right?

J: Yeah, can we even manage that with this system?..Ah, no, unfortunately not.

T: Moving house!

K: Shall we go with Moving house?

J: Yes, ok. Bandmen move around a lot, don't they?

K: Yeh, well I've moved 5 or 6 times since I came to Tokyo.

J: Have you had any disastrous, or dangerous moves?

K: Not reallty.

J: Any hauntings?

K: No, I have no supernatural sense at all, but then again, who knows?

T: Ohh, thats lucky to not sense it.

J: Do you, Tasai?

T: Well, Im really sensitive to noise. So I'll get freaked out by the tiniest thing.

K: Hahaha

T: There was stuff like that appearing on this show too, wasn't there?

J: Yeah, and voices appearing. What even was that?

K: I don't know.

T: We went for purification on that snowy day though.

J: Yeah, and I was foretold many blocked roads for the year.

T: Yeah, how was 2022 in the end?

J: It wasn't that bad really....I just finished my tax return too.

T: Are you talking about your fee? haha. Not about achieving what you wanted or anything? Your fee?? haha

J: I did achieve what I wanted! No, I did, and thats one element of it, haha. Anyway, as for moving, I wanna hear from Kaoru, what was your most difficult move?

K: Hmm, well I have moved after finding cockroaches in my place.

J: Ehhh?

T: I understand that.

J: Thats like a woman.

K: Yeah, thats how much I hate them.

J: Ehh. So if you moved house and found cockroaches straight away, what would you do?

K: Well, I would first try to get rid of them, and if they were gone after that, then its fine. But if they kept coming back, I would have to move.

J: You would give up and move out? Ahh, you would move because of cockroaches?

T: Even with all those cockroaches in your music videos...

K: That has no relation to it.

J: Someone asked, 'Do you get rid of cockroaches yourself?'

K: Well, I get them in a paper cup or something, and then put something flat under it, then take it outside like that, then throw it away. (*demonstrates with notes*?

J: You're so gentle! You let it go?!

K: Well, now I can kill them, but even then I will still always use paper...but they dont run off quickly then, obviously.

J: Yeh, it would be good if they go quickly, haha.

K: Also, when you kill them, they might have eggs, which is gross. So I if I can just catch them with paper, I will, and then just throw them out.

T: 'Use soap on them'. Ahh, yeh.

K: I do sometimes use a plastic bag to catch them, and then tie it up.

J: Ahh, and then throw it away?

K: Well, I will hit it while its in the bag first.

J: Ah yeh, someone wrote, 'If you find one....(there isn't just one)'. Thats true. Its a tough problem, but really difficult if you have to move because of it. Someone else sent a question, 'Do you hire a moving company when you move?' Or do you get your friends to help?

K: I tend to hire someone, yeh. But a long time ago, like when I was first here, I would get the manager or someone to help, and shove all my stuff in the band van.

J: Well, yeh. 'Do you like house hunting?'

K: Not really. I only do it when I have to.

J: You don't always check around.

K: Nah.

J: Ah, someone commented they moved house 12 times. People wanna know how much your rent was back in the day. Where was the cheapest place you lived? Was it an apartment?

K: No, it was a unit. Well, I talked about this on my blog before, but it was towards Nerima ward. It was a two bedroom place on the third floor, and it had quite a big living area, like the size of this room. I lived there with Kyo, with a bedroom on either side. I think it was about ¥120,000 a month, between us.

T: Thats cheap.

J: With seperate bedrooms and a big living space?

K: Yeah, but we didnt really use the living area, because we had our own rooms. Of course we had a fridge, and a bathroom etc. But we never spent any time in the main area, so we just used it to pile up all our band equipment.

J: You put your instruments there?

K: Yeah, and obviously garbage would pile up, and we ended up with cockroaches, haha.

J: Kyo strikes me as someone who would be able to deal with cockroaches.

T: No, I bet he hates them.

K: Yeh, he seems like he hates bugs.

J: I see. 'Did you have a cleaning schedule?'

K: Not at all!

T: Did you write your names on your desserts in the fridge and stuff?

K: Ah, yeh, I think so.

J: 'Did you fight over food in the fridge?'

K: Hmm, no.

J: Ok, well that was the Moving house topic. We've done 4 topics so far, but there are still a lot left. We'll move over to the members only part next, so I'll let you know how you can watch it. You have to be a member if you want to watch to the end. If you join, you can watch this broadcast in the archives for a year, and there will also be a members only video released in the next few days, so check it out. Leader is pointing to the link you need to join. If you click this link, you will get a screen asking you to choose your payment method. Choose your preferred method, yes, Leader is pointing to it now, click proceed, and then enter your details, and then you're good to go!

K: (*Doing thumbs up to the camera*)

J: Haha, thats the 'You're good' gesture! If you havnt already joined, please do to enjoy the rest of the show. Leader, show us your gesture for 'enjoy thr show'.

K: (*spreads both hands out happily*)

T: Haha, they like that. Well, we'll be getting to know Joe more in the second part.

J: Yeh, the Joe charge.

K: Haha, Joe charge.

J: Do you have anything to announce before we switch?

K: Uh, the tour will start next month. Oh, also, I mentioned this at Tora no ana with Joe, but Im planning another art exhibition.

T: Oh, when?

K: Im not sure yet, but I'll let everyone know when I can.

T: Do you have a lot of material?

K: Im in the process of creating.

J: Yeh, you mentioned it at the talk event...is event the right word? What was I calling it?

K: Yes...you were saying talkshow.

J: Yes, we talked a lot there. There was an evening part and a midnight part in Tokyo, wasn't there?

T: How long were you drinking for?

J: Oh, well into morning.

K: The midnight part finished at about 4am, right?

J: Yeh, it would have been great for fans who went to both parts. Anyway, an art exhibition this year. Can you give us any hints about the upcoming tour?

K: No, I can't say anything yet.

J: Well, regardless, me and Tasai will get Kaoru talking a lot in the second part.

T: Ahh, Im sleepy today.

J: Haha, sleeping during the show?? Anyway, we will change over here, the screen will change for a moment, but the next part will start shortly. Please join us for part 2.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #translation #kaoru #薫

53 notes · View notes

lavender-long-stories · 5 months

Text

Spoilers for I Will Love You | Chapter 2 | Rated T

Hinata didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t even know if Sasuke was serious or if he just had an emotional break. Maybe he was drinking. She passed up his jacket once again. She still didn’t want to make a scene of giving it to him if he changed his mind.

“How are you feeling?” Kiba walked her to her first class.

“Uh… better today,” Hinata mumbled.

“Really? You look a little spacey.” Kiba countered.

“I’m fine. I just had an exhausting weekend.” Hinata excused.

Kiba’s head tilted curiously down the hall as Hinata’s weekend came back to haunt her. “Does Sasuke take this class?”

“No… Uhm, I’ll see you at lunch, Kiba-kun.” Hinata sped up to meet Sasuke and lose Kiba.

“Hey,” Sasuke moved off the wall he was leaning on. “Can I get you to meet me in the courtyard after lunch?” He adjusted his bag.

“I didn’t bring your jacket,” Hinata admitted.

“Don’t worry about the jacket,” Sasuke told her.

--**--

Hinata didn’t know how to answer when people asked her what Sasuke wanted. She answered as truthfully as she could. He wanted to talk to her. She jittered through her class, wondering what Sasuke was thinking. Surely he wouldn’t do something stupid like asking her to marry him again in front of everyone, right? Right?

Hinata glanced down at him at the end of the lunch table, but blond caught her eye and kept her head down. When she finished eating, she felt a nudge on her shoulder. She expected to see Shino ready to talk, but he was looking behind her, where Sasuke was standing.

Sasuke nodded his head toward the courtyard and started heading that way.

“What was that?” Shino wondered.

“Is this about earlier?” Kiba also added.

Hinata collected her things to follow him. “Uh… I’ll see you guys later.”

--**--

Sasuke stopped in the corner of the courtyard under a cherry tree. Hinata caught up with him before he turned to her with a small box with a bow in his hand. Hinata tried to ignore the curious eyes from the rest of the courtyard.

“Hinata. Will you go out with me?” Sasuke was going to do this publicly?

The wind blew past them, shaking a few blossoms off the tree. It made Hinata’s speechlessness feel longer. What was she even supposed to say? What would even make sense? Maybe this would be easier for her if she had ever had someone confess to her before. “Why… ?”

“I’m taking the opportunity since someone else won’t.” Hinata’s heart clenched and fluttered at the same time. Sasuke really did know her well enough to know just what she wanted to hear. “I gave him his chance. He didn’t take it. Now I am not going to hide my feelings anymore.”

Murmurs and gasps assaulted her back as she shakily took the box, opening it to reveal a chain with a cased pendant.

“Will you accept me?” They were really doing this. Sasuke was trying so hard to pull at her heartstrings and be the love story she always wanted. He was successful.

“Yes.” Gasps rang out behind her. Sasuke took the necklace out, motioning for her to turn around and pull her hair out of the way. Hinata’s cheeks burned as he fixed her hair over it. She forced her eyes to the ground to avoid his eyes.

Sasuke leaned close to her ear to whisper. “Thank you.”

--**--

Hinata twiddled the necklace between her fingers, staring blankly out the window at the leaf dancing in the breeze, not helping her to get the picture of the confession out of her mind. Sasuke was out of his mind. She couldn’t believe he had thought this up. She couldn’t believe she agreed to it. She rolled the pendant around in her fingers. It had seams down the side. It must be a locket. It was big enough to have pictures or something else inside. She tried to open it, but it didn’t budge. She was either wrong, or it was locked.

It was beautiful and simple. How had Saske found something that fit her so perfectly? Maybe they did know each other too well.

“Hinata.” Hinata heard her name called.

“Hmm?” Hinata closed her hand around the pendant.

“You coming?” Kiba called from the classroom door. Oh, it was nearly time for her next class.

“Oh, sorry.” Hinata jumped up to follow him.

“You seem to be the only one on campus who isn’t lively today.” Kiba chuckled. Shino eyed her as he fell in line to her other side. Hinata ducked her head. Kiba rambled on like usual until. “…and there is some buzz about Sasuke finally confessing to a girl.”

Hinata stumbled over her own feet and cleared her throat.

“Did you hear who?” Shino raised an eyebrow at Hinata. “Did he tell you after lunch?” Cruel. He knew already.

Kiba shrugged, missing context. “I only heard it. I can’t imagine who. Can you even think of a time he’s been nice to a girl?”

“He’s… always been nice to me,” Hinata gave a pout to Shino.

“You’re special, Hinata. You’re hard to hate, and everyone knows who you like.” That earned him a swat in the back of the head from Shino reaching behind her. “Ow!”

Shino steered the conversation back. “Yeah, you are the one girl I can think of that he’s never rejected.”

Hinata let her face scrunch. “Shino-kun…”

“I’m not telling him,” Shino turned his head away. So cruel.

“Telling me what?” Kiba wondered. “Do you know? Wait… It’s not a boy, is it?”

“No.” Hinata muscled out. “Kiba-kun, the girl Sasuke-san confessed to … was me.”

“Mie who.” Kiba wondered.

Shino and Hinata stopped to stare at Kiba in disbelief as he took a few seconds to process, and his eyes widened. “No…”

Hinata nodded. “After lunch.”

“What?!” Kiba barked.

Hinata waved her hands. “I wasn’t expecting it. I just thought he just wanted his jacket back.” She lied.

“His jacket?” Shino asked.

“He gave it to me last week. When I was having a bad day.” Hinata didn’t want to think about that day. “I got caught in the rain. That’s why he bought me the immune booster.”

“Well?” Shino asked.

Kiba nudged him. “Well, what? It’s not like she accepted.” Hinata shrank guiltily. “What?!”

Hinata shushed him, pushing them both to start walking again. “We… are going to give it a try.”

“But what about Naruto?” Kiba sliced her heart. “Hinata, that was just last week.”

“I think she knows.” Shino scolded.

“It’s just… I know what it’s like having a crush that long,” Hinata explained. “And I can’t hold on to someone who’s rejected me.”

“So he just waited until you got rejected to ask you?” Shino asked.

“He said he was giving Naruto-kun a chance.” Hinata corrected.

“I don’t know. Hinata, this feels too quick after you got your heart broken.” Kiba voiced.

“He knows… and I think he is going to be patient with me,” Hinata reassured him. “I’m fine. I am happy someone likes me.” Hinata gave them a smile. It was only a little forced.

--**--

Sasuke leaned against the wall next to her classroom door as it emptied. Hinata walked right past him. He broke into a smile. Oblivious.

Sasuke caught her wrist before she got far. Hinata squeaked before she recognized him. “Oh.” Sasuke slid his hand down to take hers. She puffed out her cheeks. “Sasuke-san…” She was so easily embarrassed.

“What? I can’t hold my girlfriend’s hand?” Sasuke grinned.

Hinata hung her head, trying to hide her red face. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” Sasuke chuckled. “But your reaction is cute.” Hinata whimpered. Okay, that was teasing. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What? Where?” Hinata stumbled behind him.

“Our first date,” Sasuke told her.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Hinata grumbled.

“Of course.” Sasuke pulled her. “I will be the boyfriend you always wanted.”

--**--

Hinata’s heart pounded. She could feel blood rush to her ears. Sasuke was taking this too seriously! He didn’t need to make her head rush! Sasuke tugged her towards his motorbike. “Wait.” Hinata squeaked. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”

“Don’t worry, I have,” Sasuke told her smugly, handing her a helmet. Hinata hesitated, so he placed it on her head, latching it for her. “I won’t go fast. I know you’re not a thrill-seeker.”

Hinata huffed as he flipped down the visor.

--**--

Ino took a picture and wondered what she should do. Should she send it to Sakura? Sakura skipped classes for an interview. It would be a nasty surprise tomorrow morning, but she would find out either way. The whole campus knew by now that Sasuke confessed to a girl. But Hinata Hyuga? The one girl who was never interested? Sakura would be livid.

Ino held the phone to her chest. She had never seen Sasuke smile like that before. It was like they had been together for ages, not a few hours. He must really like her. A small tear in her heart made itself known, she let go of her old crush, but she knew someone who hadn’t.

Her finger hovered over the send button but passed it up for delete.

Maybe Naruto would have his chance now.

--**--

Sasuke held out her caramel cream latte. Hinata took a sip. Would it be more or less interesting to be in a relationship with some when you knew everything about them already? Not like he knew what a normal relationship felt like.

“How has your brother been?” Hinata asked.

Sasuke rested back and sighed. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to dwell on it.” Hinata mumbled into her cup.

“How do you feel?” Sasuke waved his hand between them. “About this.” Hinata’s face told all. It melted in a range of emotions, mainly discomfort, and embarrassment. Sasuke chuckled. “Don’t worry. Only the confession had to be public.”

“I just…” Hinata lowered her face into her coffee. “It just feels… weird.”

“I think we will get used to it. All relationships have an awkward phase.” Sasuke sipped his coffee.

“Most people go through a honeymoon phase at the same time.” Hinata countered.

“Just wait.” Sasuke earned himself a look. “How have you been feeling about everything else?”

Hinata shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it. Father’s been ignoring me, and I forgot my confession last week until Kiba-kun mentioned it. There’s just too much going on.”

“That’s good,” Sasuke concluded. “Wouldn’t want my girlfriend thinking about other boys.” Hinata flushed. Sasuke was going to have too much fun with this. “Do I get a -kun?” Hinata frowned at him. “Naruto did.” Sasuke defended. “You know what? That makes it undesirable.”

Hinata giggled, then her face fell in thought. “Does he know yet?”

Sasuke shrugged. “If he does, he didn’t mention it to me. Knowing him, he will be the last to know.” Her face fell. “Sorry, bad wording.”

“No, I need to move on from it. It’s not fair to you.” Hinata mumbled.

--**--

Hinata got off the bike and handed Sasuke back his helmet. “You know I can pick you up in the morning.”

Hinata shook her head. “I think I should tell my father before you show up when he’s leaving for work.”

Sasuke reached forward, detangling her bangs that suffered from the helmet. “No better way to tell him than show up.”

Hinata frowned at him. “You’re going to show up even if I tell you not to, aren’t you?”

“No. I’ll let you decide.” Hinata felt her heart rate pick up. “We are in this together. I’m not making this uncomfortable for you if it’s not what you want to do.”

Hinata thought for a moment, though her heart pounding was distracting. “Show up early tomorrow, I’ll tell him tonight, and then we won’t be late when he wants to make it a problem in the morning.”

Sasuke smiled. “That’s why you’re the smart one. I’m just pretty.” Hinata giggled. “I’ll get going then.” Sasuke looked to the side, opening one arm.

Hinata was confused by the pose. Oh, a hug. Hinata hesitantly wrapped her arms around his waist inside his open jacket. It was warm and felt too intimate. Sasuke tucked his arm around her and held it for a moment. Hinata could feel her blood rushing too quickly. She backed up and bowed her head, rushing inside.

On the other side of the door, Hinata shook her head to get rid of the dizziness. She was not going to faint over a hug from Sasuke Uchiha.

I Will Love You

Pairing: Sasuke x Hinata Rating: T

Description: Hinata and Sasuke make a desperate deal. Can they intentionally fall in love?

Image by Don Kawahigashi

#sasuke x hinata #Hinata Hyuga #hinata hyuuga #sasuhina #sasuke uchiha #full chapter #i will love you

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little-svt · 1 year

Text

GENDERNEUTRAL | FLUFF (small angst) | CHANNIE DAY

Wc: 620

Taglist: @pastel-princess-please @kiki-woo @fishsquishh

Surprise Party

It was nearly Chan’s birthday and you were so excited to celebrate with him. He always made the effort to make sure your own birthday was fun and you wanted to return the favour. You wanted to make sure your daddy knew just how special he was on his special day.

With the help of his hyungs, you had decided to throw him a surprise party. Even Seungcheol helped you pick out the perfect gift.

The day before his birthday, you were sitting in the living room at the coffee table. You were surrounded by the many colouring pens Chan had given you, happily colouring away in your animal colouring book.

“… and then uncle cheolie took me to the mall! It was so big and dere was soooo many people!”

Chan looked up from his phone, a wide smile on his face.

“Really? Did uncle Cheol take care of you?” He asked, reaching over to move some hair out of your face.

“Uh huh! He made sure I didn’t get lost.”

“Well that’s good, what did you do?” Chan asked. You put the lid back on your pen and turn to him, an excited smile on your face.

“We went to soooo many shops, Appa! We got balloons and banners and those things you pull and they go pop! They have the colourful thingies in…” You trailed off, trying to think of the word. Chan couldn’t help but tilt his head in confusion. Balloons? Banners?

Oh…

They were throwing him a party. He decided to not say anything, not wanting to upset you.

“You mean confetti baby?” He offered. You clap your hands and nodded as you rocked back and forth.

“Yes ‘fetti! It was so pwetty! And then we went to get some cookies cause we saw pwetty ones with cherry blossoms! I know it’s your favourite!” You exclaimed. Chan chuckled softly at your excitement and shook his head playfully.

“You know me so well baby.”

“Then uncle Cheolie took me to get you your present but I can’t tell you cause it’s a supwise….” You said, going quiet. Oh no! No, no, no, no! You weren’t supposed to tell him any of this! A pout began to form on your face and you could feel the tears start to pool in your eyes. “… I wuined it…”

Chan couldn’t help but chuckle at that and he shook his head. He moved off the couch to sit in front of you on the floor and he took your face in both of his hands. He gently wiped away your fallen tears and mimicked the pout you were sporting.

“Hey, you didn’t ruin anything silly. You just got a little excited and wanted to tell me about your fun day!” He said, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Jus’ wanted it to be special…” You said with a sigh. Chan smiled and he could feel his heart swell at your words.

“It will still be special baby because you and the boys planned it. And I know that you would have put sooo much effort into making it amazing because you have the biggest heart.” He told you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Don’t be so hard on yourself baby.”

You sniffed and moved to sit on your appa’s lap. “Pwomise you’re not mad?” You asked quietly. Chan gasped and placed a hand on his chest dramatically.

“Me…? Be mad at you? Never!” He replied, tickling your sides gently. You squirmed in his lap and giggled softly, pushing at his hands.

“Appa! Stop!” You giggled. “Will you pwomise me one more thing?”

“What is it?” He asked.

“Pwomise you’ll still pretend to be surprised?”

“I promise baby.”

🧸Endnote: Happy Birthday to our future of Kpop maknae Lee Chan! Gosh this man makes me so happy and giggly and I wish him the happiest birthday ever. He is the sweetest boy and never wants to see his baby sad or pouty. Eeeee I love Channie so much! 🥰🥰🥰 ~ 👑🐰💛

🧸Masterlist🧸

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lostusagis · 18 days

Text

@jiraipink asked:

"Mui~!" Namida comes back from her room and hops onto the cute sofa right next to him. There was something noticeably different about her. She was wearing pink fashionably-cute glasses! They're round-frame, decorated in cherry blossoms and little stars and pearls and also has two chains on the side with one of them having a wing pendant attached at the end of it while the other has a Sakura flower. She uses her hands in an excited "come here" gesture. "Here! Hold out your hand for me! I wanna read your fortune~!" She just wanted to wear these glasses to look smart about what she wanted to do with him; acting adorably silly. Namida waited for him first and then the dark girly lightly traces along the lines of Kamui's palm with her index digit in soothing motions, while her other hand is cupping his hand underneath.

"It says..." She nods a couple times as she leans her face closely to his hand. The two pink chains of her glasses swinging gently as she squints really, REALLY hard; focusing so intensely, "Mhm. Mhm. Mmmmmmmmhm!" before looking up at him with a pearly playful grin.

"You're a really really reeeeaaally good friend." Her finger then slides over to a different spot. "Oh! And over here? It says you give the best hugs." Then to another spot. "And here? It says you're the most attractive friend there is!" Then it moves to another spot, but this time her face got serious. Apparently, the next reading is significant. "But here's a big one. It's a pretty important one so listen well, okay?" She gives him a stern stare, confirming that he's listening, before she looks back down to his hand. "You're powerful. You have this really powerful technique.... to make a certain girl happy so easily." Namida peeks up at him with a cheeky little smirk, before letting go of his hand and folding her own hands behind her back. Her body swaying in a good mood left and right; acting coy as to who this "certain girl" is. Cheeks dusted pink as she softly giggles. "Eheheh~!"

(I missed them and love them so much here you go Dee enjoy ♡)

Kamui really loved visiting Namida's apartment. Whenever she invited him, his answer was usually yes. Or if he didn't see her at her workplace, he'd come over himself sometimes. He pretty much memorized the directions to her apartment. Honestly, whenever he was with her, Kamui was probably at his calmest, most peaceful state of mind. Which was rare for him to even have. He was a Yato after all.

Kamui looks over at Namida once she returned and he heard the nickname she used for him. When she sat beside him, and he noticed the glasses she wore, he'd blink wondering why she was wearing them. He was pretty sure she had good eyesight. Although, Kamui thought they looked cute on her. Anything did in his opinion.

He'd scoot closer to her given that's what it seemed she wanted, then held out his hand for her. Kamui wasn't sure what she was going to do, but he'd usually always humor her. He hadn't had the bandages around his hands like usual.

Although, he never had his fortune read, so he wasn't sure what to expect. He'd watch Namida intently, a gentle smile on his face. She really was so entertaining to be around for him. The way she was so focused, he honestly tried not to laugh but a slight amused sound came from him anyway.

But once she started 'reading' his fortune, Kamui looked at her surprised. It wasn't as if he hadn't heard her say these things before, but hearing it again made his chest feel odd. Fluttering a bit. The last thing she said before letting go of his hand made him laugh a bit though. She really was adorable, he kept thinking that while watching and listening to her.

''Hmmm, I wonder who this certain girl could be?'' He'd say, with a playfulness to his words. Of course he knew she was talking about herself. There wasn't any other girl he treated the way he treated her.

''I hope she knows the only girl I want to make happy is you.'' Wholehearted honesty when he said that, as he lays his head on her shoulder. He's become really comfortable being physically affectionate. Although, he does make sure to not make her uncomfortable whenever he's like that.

''You're the only girl I think is cute, the only one who interests me, the only one I have fun with, you're the only one I'll ever give my time to. Because I know you're worth it.'' He didn't realize the meaning behind his words, since he thought this was how friends were with each other.

He loops his arm with hers while snuggling a little closer while he laid his head on her shoulder.

''I think your smile is one of my favorite things ever, definitely makes me feel something I never felt before. So... I'll do anything to make sure I see you smile as much as possible.'' Just thinking about it was enough to make his heart swell.

She was one of the most important people in his life, and that'll probably never change.

#IC. Kamui #| Kamui x Namida | She Lights Up The Darkness In My Life | jiraipink |#( i saw you in my inbox and got soooooooooooo happy lmao )#( AND I MISSED THEM TOO TBH EVEN IF IT WAS ONLY A FEW DAYS )#( sobs )#( he's so in love but too stupid to realize hahahaha )#( obsessed with these two ugh )

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Note

Hi! How are you? I was wondering if I could have a level 6 ship with ACOTAR, Twilight and House of the Dragon if that’s not too much trouble?

So about me :

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: I think I’m straight…

Height: 170cm/5’7 ft

Body Type: Inverted triangle

Skin tone: Olive skin

Hair: Armpit length, dark brown and wavy

Eyes: Almond shaped, dark brown

Style: Casual chic

Zodiac signs: Taurus Sun, Virgo Rising, Cancer moon and Aries Venus

Mbti: INFJ

Moral Alignment: Lawful Good

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Favorite food: Ice Cream

Things I love: reading, drawing, writing, cooking, walking, daydreaming, sleeping, rainy days, cookies, gardening, listening to music, animals, cherries, watching Youtube and surfing on Tumblr.

Love Language: Acts of Service and Physical Touch

Personality : I'm an introvert, but I can act as an extrovert. I'm really sarcastic, I hate confrontations, from the bottom of my heart, and most of the time I'm more of a diplomatic person. I’d describe myself as stubborn, intelligent, argumentative, hard-working, patient, emotional, creative, empathic, bossy, helpful, kinda bitchy when I’m angry and sensitive.

I'm a really loyal friend and the mom of the group. I have all kinds of things in my bag: tissues, lip balm, pens, emergency numbers, etc. I'm the eldest, and I love my siblings, even though they drive me crazy most of the time. I love learning new things, reading new things.

My favorite colors are blue and purple, my favorite flower are cherry blossom and lotus and my birthstone is an emerald.

And I think that's it ^^. Thank you so much and have a nice day :)

Want one? Here be the rules 🦋🌈

𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐴𝑧𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑙! You would show him the softness that he needs. He’s been through a lot, especially in his childhood, and isn’t a very open person. His quiet personality would work so well with you, because although you aren’t the most loud person, you can hold a conversation. And you would keep him comfortable in both social and intimate settings.

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Doesn’t want you to feel like you have to be with him. So committment was very difficult for Az. But once you prove to him that you want to spend the rest of your life with him, he’d tie himself to you in every way possible

・Doesn’t like going out all that much, prefers to stay home and spend time with you. Loves laying on the lounge with you on top of him, reading while the fire is crackling.

・Towers over you - and makes you feel like a Hobbit at times, especially when you haven’t got heels on.

・Calls you ‘sweetheart,’ ‘darling,’ ‘my heart.’But only when you’re alone.

・Being protected even when he isn’t there. Either there’s someone shadowing you so that no one will step out of line and hurt you, or socially everyone knows you’re Azriel’s, so no one starts anything with you.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Young and Beautiful by Joel Sunny

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔: ↬ Similar Personalities ↬ Morally Grey (Az) x Always Tries To Do The Right Thing (You) ↬ Would Die For Each Other

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔: ↬ Soulmates

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢: He loves that you’re the mum friend. You’d become a member of the Inner Circle, and basically become everyones mum. High Lord Rhysand hasn’t eaten? EAT RIGHT NOW. I’LL MAKE YOU A SANDWHICH. Amren, the most fearsome person you’ve ever met? If you don’t drink that glass of water, you aren’t getting dessert!

He just loves how you aren’t afraid to fluff over people. And you know what? The whole Circle absolutely fcken loves it.

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑: Would be Feyre! I think she would love how much you care for others. The fact that you labelled yourself the mum of the group; she'd absolutely adore you.

𝑊𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒: From Nesta's book 'A Court of Silver Flames', I think you're most like Gwyneth Berdara! Not sure if you've read the book, so I'll do my best not to spoil it. But she's a very gentle-natured diplomatic young woman. She's so gentle and caring and would do absolutely anything for her friends. Like Elain ... but more badass....

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕:

It was by accident. Complete and total accident. You didn’t even know magical creatures could become domesticated! Let alone ... well, see for yourself:

The poor thing had a broken wing and you took pity on it. For weeks you had been visiting the creature, until Azriel followed you one morning and scared the living day lights out of you.

“I thought you had been seeing someone else-” He said with a sigh of relief.

”Ugh, nope. Just...” and then you stepped aside and showed Az the creature.

𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐸𝑑𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛! He would be the best match because you need someone who is emotionally mature and aware. You would get fed up with someone who is absentminded. Edward would remember everything about you.

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Always stands up for you, and if you’re ever in a bad situation, he’s always the first person who will help you

・Likes when you hum, or turn the music up and dance. Your happiness is his happiness

・He would be so awkward around your family for a while. Especially if you had siblings. He would want to get as far away from you as possible - he doesn’t want to take you away from your family. But you want him in your life. And he’s just going to have to deal with that!

・His love language is quality time and acts of service. You always have a clean car, perfect tyres and the best stereo. He wants to give you the best of everything actually.

・His nicknames for you are variations of your name. But the way he says it is always different from anyone else who does. It’s like he says your name with so much love that you always melt. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Into My Arms by Midnite String Quartet

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔: ↬ Tough on the Outside, Soft on the Inside (Edward) x Soft on the Outside x Soft on the Inside (You) ↬ Mum Energy (You) x Dad Energy (Edward) ↬ Forbidden Love 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔: ↬ Beauty and the Beast

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢: Edward loves that he doesn’t have to change himself for you. That you don’t want anything but him. Sometimes he can think he isn’t enough, but you remind him that he’s perfect the way he is.

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑: Alice Cullen. I think you two would have a lot of fun together. She would take you to the best shops and want to pick out new clothes for you. You love hearing about the visions she’s having.

𝑊𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒: I think you’re a mixture of Angela and Esme. You’re very kind-hearted and intelligent. You’d never leave anyone out, and people love being around you because of how attentive you are.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕:

Given to you when you were younger by your parents, this little kitty has been by your side for everything. Named after Betty Boop, she wasn’t so sure about Edward for a while.

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐃

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐴𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑇𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑒𝑛! He would absolutely love that you have such a big heart. He would find how much you care quite odd. And the fact that you show your love so openly - it astounds him.

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Feels the most safe, and welcomed is when he’s with you. He honestly doesn’t feel comfortable unless you’re around

・Whenever you’re upset, he will get ready to literally kill that person. You’ve had to calm him down on multiple occassions because he was actually going to.

・His love language is acts of service and words of affirmation. The latter is how he likes to receive love.

・Will always bring you back gifts whenever he’s off travelling. Not that he travels often, but when it calls for it, he will bring you something special.

・Likes when you braid his hair. He’ll wear it to bed and wake up with wavy hair. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

True North by Joseph Trapanese

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔: ↬ “I love you!” (You) x “You shouldn’t!” (Aemond) ↬ Chaotic Dumbass (Aemind) x That’s My Chaotic Dumbass And I Love Him (You) ↬ 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔: ↬ Only One Bed

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢: Your loyalty. That you always have something in your satchel that will help any situation.

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑: Would definitely be Rhaenyra! She would take you out of your comfort zone, and give you the confidence that you sometimes lack. I think you’d also be like a big sister-mother figure, with your caring ways and gentle aura.

𝑊𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒: I think you’re a mix of Rhaenys II and Heleana. Both dreamy but alert and responsible.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕: You would be the rider of Dreamfyre, the she-dragon who had hatched during the reign of Aegon I, the Conquorer. She’s smaller than Caraxes but larger than Syrax.

#match ups #pair ups #open #ships #personal ships

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risukadarlin · 2 years

Text

[piofiore no banshou] vol. 1: nicola - track two

2; giocoso

masterpost

✿

[00:07] Did you have fun?

We should come again, if you did.

There are still loads of exhibitions left and our hotel is right in front of Central Park.

We didn’t make any other plans for today but…

The sun’s still up; let’s see what’s in this area.

If you see anything interesting, we can go take a look.

But a place as big as this…

There’s no way we’ll be able to see it all in one day = just like the Met.

But it’s extremely safe around here.

We should come more often.

Well, such a nice environment is bound to attract trouble eventually.

Maybe it’s because of the art gallery or the hotel or the fancy buildings…

But doesn’t it remind you of Falce?

Apparently they built Central Park to bring some nature into a crowded residential area.

But most of the people living here are rich.

A lot of people were upset because of how hard it is for normal people to get here.

If we carry on north from here, there’s a conservatory.

It’s quite far away, so we should go when we have more time.

There’s a reservoir around here…

Oh, look! There it is.

The size is more like a lake than a pond.

I can barely believe this is manmade.

Hm? What kind of tree is that, I wonder?

There are so many white flowers on its branches.

It’s a cherry blossom?

Now you mention it, I heard they received cherry blossoms as a gift from Japan and planted them here.

I think they’re called Yoshino cherries.

You can see Belvedere Castle from this side.

It’s a familiar word to us but…

I wonder why they named it something Italian.

There’s an observation deck inside?

Shall we go in?

Let’s go then!

✿

[02:35] Your hand, signorina.

The staircase looks quite narrow.

Watch your step.

Wow, the cherry blossoms are really beautiful when you see them from above.

They’re pure white.

There are petals floating in the water too.

The breeze feels so nice right now but I’m sure it’ll get colder when the sun goes down.

It’s already spring but the climate here is much harsher than Burlone - even harsher than I thought.

Summer in New York is hot and humid.

And the winter is supposed to be quite cold.

I heard this park fills with snow, so the whole floor looks white.

Sometimes they even have snow storms and you need to spend the entire day indoors.

Just thinking about it is depressing.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m not really great with the cold as it is.

I hate snow.

So you need to warm me up on nights like that, signorina.

Now then, let’s get home before it actually gets cold.

What should we have for dinner?

What about that restaurant we went to last week? You really seemed to like it.

I prefer fish to meat but the steak there was really good.

What?

Is there somewhere you’d like to go? Tell me.

I don’t mind where.

Let’s eat what you want.

We could go to the first diner we see or we could buy hotdogs at one of the stands and take them home.

Homemade food?

You want me to cook something?

Of course!

If that’s what you want, I’ll gladly make something.

I’ll make something delicious for you.

Oh, but… That’s right.

Why don’t we cook together tonight?

I want to eat your cooking too.

Grazie, signorina.

Right, let’s go and buy ingredients.

✿

[05:10] Just going into one shop is enough to convince me that the Falzone made the right choice by leaving Italy.

They have meat and vegetables, pasta and canned food and even general goods.

It’s like having a market inside the building.

It’s ground-breaking that you can pick the items up yourself and pay for them altogether at the end.

You do have to have a lot of trust in people for a place like this to work.

But apparently shops like this are popping up all over America.

It’s amazing.

I can’t help but feel like Italy has some catching up to do, when I see places like this.

I don’t have time to stand here and get emotional.

We have a job to do.

So…

What do you want to eat?

And you can’t just say “anything”.

If you say that, then I’ll have no choice but to cook you several dishes.

Lasagna? Okay then!

I’ll make something delicious.

Do you want a traditional one, with bolognese?

Or what about one with spinach and egg?

Don’t look so worried.

Maybe I’ll just make both.

If you don’t finish it, we can always heat it up and finish it tomorrow.

What do I want to eat?

Hmm… Let me think…

What about acqua pazza?

I showed you how to make it the way I like, didn’t I?

You came to mine to make it.

We won’t be able to get the same wine here but…

I see…

This country is under prohibition.

They don’t even sell wine here.

When we move over here, we won’t be able to drink, will we?

I mean, there are ways to get alcohol, but…

The quality and quantity won’t be as good…

We can think about the future another time.

I’ll have acqua pazza without the wine today.

We can add herbs if you’re worried about the fish being too strong.

They should sell rosemary here.

Oh, they have rocket!

Seeing familiar vegetables like this makes me miss Italy.

We might as well make a salad with this.

W-wait a second, signorina.

The food you’re holding… Let’s not buy that.

You’ve never had it before?

Parsnip?

It looks like a white carrot.

But the taste is very… unique.

It’s sweet, like a medicinal herb…

If I had to compare it to something…

It’s like liquorice.

I heard that it tastes better, depending on how you cook it but…

I don’t really want to eat that…

Artichokes?

Yes, don’t worry, I can eat that.

You can put it in pasta or make omelette with it.

Giulia uses it a lot in stews.

And… I can’t say this too loud but…

Artichokes are actually a big source of the Italian mafia’s income here.

Do you not believe me?

I know it doesn’t sound true but it is.

They’ve been cultivating them in California for generations.

This should be enough vegetables.

Should we buy meat next?

Or fish?

I know about most kinds of fish you can buy but I wonder what they have here.

Do you think the sizes are different?

You can tell?

I know we’re just shopping but I’m having loads of fun.

We can’t shop like this in Burlone - like a normal couple.

When I think about how this really is a special occasion, I get a bit carried away.

I know it’s a bit childish.

I’m a little embarrassed.

That’s unfair, you can’t just say things like that.

I love you too.

I love it when you’re by my side, laughing like that.

More than anything.

✿

[10:05] It’s starting to smell good.

Is the acqua pazza ready?

You’ll need to wait a little longer for mine.

Why are you apologising?

I’m making it for you so I’d rather make something complicated.

It makes all the cooking worth it.

To finish, a lot of cheese.

Then put it in the oven.

Now we just need to wait for it to bake.

We were right to choose a room with a kitchen.

Now I can eat your home cooking every day.

We did eat at restaurants a few times too.

I should have made something for you much earlier.

I was only able to help you a little.

But look forward to this week!

Let’s cook together again tomorrow. If you don’t mind, of course.

I’m happy you agree.

No, I was just thinking about how you always look so cute in an apron.

I know it’s a bit early but…

I can’t help but think wow… you’re actually my wife.

You never have to dress like that at the mansion, right?

They don’t even let you use the kitchen most of the time.

So it’s… unusual.

It takes me back a little.

You helped Giulia a lot when you lived in the Falzone mansion.

I wish I could eat your cooking when we get back to Italy too, but I’m not sure Baltoro would let you.

Hm? Well…

I’m sure if you ask Giulia she’ll let you cook at the Falzone mansion, but…

But then you won’t just have to make food for me, but for everyone.

If I’m being honest… I don’t really like that idea.

Nothing makes me happier than my adorable fiancée doing things for me!

But I don’t want to make you do things for other people.

Really?

You understand how I feel?

I’m really happy.

I’m glad you want to keep me to yourself, even if it’s just a little bit.

I’m not joking.

Everyone gets possessive sometimes.

Isn’t it a good thing when your lover wants you that badly?

I might be a bit more possessive than most but…

That’s just because I love you so much.

But Giulia and Baltoro don’t get it at all.

There’s no need to get so angry.

Hm? No, it’s nothing.

I remember them butting in when I was talking about it before…

We weren’t fighting or anything…

Anyway, it’s nothing serious.

More importantly…

Now then, signorina.

My hands are free until the lasagna is finished…

We can be quick– Ouch!

You’re right.

I’m sorry.

We shouldn’t do that in the kitchen.

I’ll be patient.

I’ll behave until this finishes baking.

#Piofiore no Banshou #piofiore #drama cd #Drama CD translation #Otomate #Nicola Francesca

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