#and ending up carrying the name of an entire group of people as their last descendant and representative

[aphantimes]

man im still so obsessed with the fact that it seems like knuckles either didn't originally have a name, or that he dropped it to carry the name of his ancestors

LIKE UGH. it's so sad. it's so unfair. knuckles' entire existence is so unfair. imagine having no name and having the only identity you have being the name of a dead group of people you never even got to meet? alternatively, dropping your own birth name to carry that name as your own because there's no one else around to do so?

i NEED. NNEEEEDD. canon media to acknowledge this in some way. it's mentioned once that he was named after his ancestors in an obscure character bio, and never brought up ever again as far as i know. i don't know japanese but from what i can tell the way it's worded implies that "knuckles" became his name? as in, it wasn't his name originally.

I NEED TO KNOW MORE. I NEED THIS TO BE EXPLORED.

#sorry i repeat myself so much lol #desperate for more people to play with this #auhghghghh #can you even IMAGINE #GOING YOUR ENTIRE CHILDHOOD. WITHOUT. A NAME????? #and ending up carrying the name of an entire group of people as their last descendant and representative #AUGHHGHGH #IT MAKES ME SO SAD IT'S SO UNFAIR #i hope movieverse adds the echidna clan being called the knuckles clan #thatd be a cool place to explore knuckles taking on their name #bc he grew up with them .. its unlikely that he was randomly named after the clan at birth imo. idk #but aahh he might have changed his name after they all died ..... #knuckles the echidna

[talas-starlight]

Scarred Spirits - Zuko x fem!reader (pt.7)

Summary: reactions from team avatar when they find out your ozais assassin

warning: mentions of scars, not very happy gaang, mean katara!, angst

masterlist: here!

most previous part: here! (all other parts can be found in my masterlist!)

authors note! hello!! idk if anyone will be reading this but if you are welcome!! i haven't posted to this series in YEARS so please forgive me as I'm very rusty at writing but please enjoy!

Unified screams erupted upon Appa. “YOU’RE WHAT!”

“Aang what have you done! You literally let a murderer on Appa! She’s going to kill all of us! Katara was right, and I can’t believe I ignored her.”

“I KNEW IT! Quickly Aang, land Appa and let’s get her off!”

Unable to take it anymore, Toph lost her cool. “Can you knuckle heads shut up! I highly doubt that she will kill us, why the hell would she listen to you guys fighting all the time when she could end her misery by taking you out.”

Reality hitting Sokka and Katara, they finally piped down, allowing Toph to continue.

“Look, what you said is highly questionable. I’m not saying that I trust you, but you’re going to have to give us more information than that or else I’ll throw you off myself. Got it?”

You sighed. At least someone in the group had more sense. “Yeah, of course. What would you like to know?”

“Well for starters a name would be great. Oh and maybe, I don’t know, how and why you’re the Fire Lords Assassin?!”

You almost wanted to pull Katara’s braid for the irritating look of satisfaction on her face. “Right okay… well my name is y/n. uhhh and I was forced to become his assassin when he caught me after I broke into the palace three years ago.”

“That’s it?! Nuh uh lady. I know he’s the Fire Lord and had done some awful things but why would he do that to a child?! You’re either lying or somethings still missing.”

There was a lot to weigh up. To suddenly reveal everything about you would be too much and would get you thrown off Appa anyway. Yet to reveal nothing wouldn’t let you gain enough trust to even last a day. Leaving you to share the one thing you knew so little about yourself that you didn’t care if they knew and hopefully enough of a miserable, pitying tale that they’d let you off the hook for the time being.

“My parents aren’t in my life, they never were. I don’t know who they were or why they did it. All I had was my trainer, Zemin. In his time, he was the most notorious Assassin in the entire Fire Nation and when he retired, he never took on any students to carry on his legacy - if you could even call it that. Every other trainer was ecstatic because this meant that their students would earn the most bounties. Until there was me. I don’t know why he took me in… he just said that he found me as in infant and regretfully took me from an islands rocky shore maybe to sell me off somewhere. I suppose he realised he could make even more money from me if he trained me until I could pay off debt for him raising me. I did the one thing assassins could do, kill. All the money I ever earned from each bounty went straight to him. Luckily enough, I learned quickly, and I got to my final payment when I was 13, then he would have set me free.”

Horrified, Aang couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was nothing like this in the Air Temples growing up. “Luckily enough?! How in any universe is that lucky!”

“Most assassins in the Fire Nation, and others, are stuck paying off their guardians or trainers well into their adulthood. Because of… certain tactics and advantages, I became quite popular if you could put it that way and most of the people, I had to take care of were…” Halting, you knew that if you verbally said some lives are worth more than others, Aang would probably go into cardiac arrest.

“Well, some had more people wanting them gone so the bounty was higher.”

“How does this have anything to do with you working for the fire lord! I don’t see why Zemin would let you go if you were doing so much for him.”

Your strength was fading. You hated yourself for how much you scretly enjoyed having people around that weren’t as idealistic as those in the Fire Nation.  “He didn’t. I got an anonymous mission to take out a high general in the palace. So high, that it was going to be enough for me to finish my debt.” After not being met with screams you felt reassured to continue…. they seem to be taking this well…

You took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “On my way out, I got caught in the middle of an Agni Kai. The fire lord wasn’t too pleased I killed one of his generals or interfered with punishing his son. Yet somehow in his psychopathic mind he saw it as an opportunity to pledge my allegiance to him.”

The silence amongst the group was short lived.

“YOU MEAN ZUKO?”

“YOU KILLED SOMEONE.”

“AND YOU ACCEPTED?”

You scrunched your face. Maybe this was a bad idea to tell them. But it was too late to go back. “Yes, it was Prince Zuko in the Agni Kai, that’s how he got his scar. Yes, Aang I did kill the general, but to be fair I haven’t killed anyone since then… And Katara if you were being tortured every day for 8 months, I’m sure you would wear down too.”

The waterbender was unsatisfied with your answer. “Unbelievable! Of course, you did! Everyone has a choice in this world, and you chose the fire lord. You’re nothing but a coward.”

“My life was on the line! You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh please, y/n. I do. I know everything! Sure, you were raised to assassinate others, but you can’t expect me to believe you didn’t know what you were doing when you were standing before Ozai. I would have stayed in a life of suffering than go with him.” Shaking her head, she pierces you with a disgusted look, “You’re no better than Ozai. No better than Azula.”

As Appa continued to glide through the ever-ending expanse of the sky, it seemed nothing could break the suffocating tension that encompassed everyone upon his saddle.

Toph was the only one to speak up. “Didn’t you hear her Katara? She hasn’t killed anyone since then! She’s surviving. If you ask me… she’s braver than any of us, you never know what could have happened to her if she got caught not actually killing her targets!”

Irritated Katara only grumbled, turning away while leaving the two boys to think about how they felt about you. Despite giving them answers, they still had so many questions.

It was undeniably clear that Katara has made her mind up about you, and you were sure everyone else was the same despite the earth benders attempts at comforting you. Hence, as you sat there across from the four of them, you were the first to break eye contact, turning your head to the side as you searched for something to focus on out there in the sky. Bird, a cloud, anything. You didn’t have the heart, the courage, to argue against what she said.

Unknown to you, Aang shuffled closer to you scared that his angry friend might hear him going towards you. His words only just loud enough to hear above the wind he whispered to you… “Its okay y/n. I don’t really understand what you’ve done or what you’ve been through but when youre ready.. you can tell us.

That was the first time your heart ignited a comforting warmth.

As Appas soft paws skilfully landing on the hard earth, you felt your heart drop inside you. What do I do now? Mind racing through all the possibilities, Toph seemed to have decided what to do before you could even stand.

“Hey! Come with me.”

Jumping off Appas saddle you landed on your feet with such a skilled silence, Toph had to sense your heartbeat to even realise you were next to her. Setting off towards where she’d set up her sleeping area, it was best you stuck closely behind.

“Don’t think about what Katara said, she doesn’t get it.”

“How so?”

Stalling in her tracks, she turned her unseeing gaze towards you. “She doesn’t know what its like to be born into a life that you don’t want. And she definitely doesn’t know how hard it can be trying to escape it.”

Unsure with how to reply, humming in understanding was the best you could come up with.

“Just stick with me and you’ll be fine. I know you most certainly don’t need me, but I’ve got your back.”

The next day had gone by agonizingly slow. With Toph trying to teach Aang earth bending you were left to your own devices since Katara decided to tag along. Although you found yourself tailing Sokka as he went his own way looking for food unaware of your silent giggles seeing him get stuck in the ground.

“...big things eat smaller things. Nothing personal. But this time, it didn’t work out that way…I admit it, you’re cute…”

You decide to finally reveal yourself, tired of your lack of entertainment. “What are you doing down there Sokka?”

Letting out a girl like squeal, he’s horrified at getting caught in this position. “Nothing!”

“You look like you could use some help.”

“I don’t want help from you!” You dismiss it. Surely he has no other choice but to make himself acquainted with you.

“Yeah, right. It’s funny, you’re probably the third person that has ever said that to me. The second in about the span of 48 hours.” you cant help but divert your attention towards the cute animal annoying him. “Aweee look at this cutie!”

“Get away from it!”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because I don’t want you to hurt it!”

“Please, I actually quite like animals. They’re a lot better than humans anyway.”

“I- well… fine! Just go away?”

You scoff, “Why’s that?”

“I don’t like you!”

“Hmm… is that so.”

“Yes, of course it is!”

You’re done feeling sorry for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t like me, or do you feel that way because of your sister?”

“I- well… argh! Fine! I don’t know.”

“Well… why don’t you talk to me and work it out for yourself? If you still dislike me so much I’ll leave you be and get someone to come help.”

A  silence fills the distance between the two of you.

He sighs, caving in, “So.. this Zemin guy. Did he REALLY not give you a choice?”

Looking up, you stare at the clear sky. “I learnt early on in my training that I didn’t have a choice or options in life other than what he wanted. Any exercise I rushed through, half assed, or tried to skip through when he wasn’t looking came with consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?”

“The kind that keeps all of my clothing and bindings on so I don’t constantly get pitiful looks or too many questions.”

He scoffs, “prove it”

Staring at all your layers you sigh, “don’t say I never warned you.”

Peeling off all your layers one by one until your down to just your tank top and pants, you decide to take off your face mask last. Your eyes meeting Sokka’s, you notice him swallow thickly. But its you to break the ice first. “In all fairness, most of them are now from Ozai. The older they look… well I’m sure you can work it out for yourself.”

“b-but-“Fuck why did I have to make him uncomfortable.

Unable to take it any longer, you pull him out from the hole in the ground. “Its fine.”

You turn to walk away after helping him, but he grabs your scarred wrist, the feeling of the textured skin making him internally wince. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you expose yourself like that. Its horrible that you had to experience that… hell we look the same age!”

“Everyone is on different paths. Look, lets just forget about it..”

Sokka feels like he could bust into tears “No! you don’t understand. I’ve seen the effects of the fire nation… hell they took away my mum. I still remember it, sometimes I have weeks where I keep reliving it in my nightmares, only finding peace when im awake. Its like im being haunted. But- but you?! You have to face it whether you’re awake or asleep”.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you can’t handle the intensity of his words. Theres nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. You hug him. You don’t remember the last time you held someone. It feels weird, almost wrong. But as he squeezes you back, tightening the embrace, you understand one thing. You have an understanding with the water tribe boy, despite how dark it may feel.

Hours pass by as you sit with sokka talking about useless topics until the other three join you once more. Feeling weariness in their gaze, you realise you forgot to put your layers back on. Now everyone can see your face and scars.

Only Aang has the courage to speak with you.

“Hey. Uhhh, y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I just… I’m sorry for not speaking much with you since yesterday. I didn’t mean to, it was just a lot to process personally! Growing up with the Air Nomads, I was taught that killing is wrong and that under no circumstance should that be the answer. If I’m completely honest with you, I still stand by those teachings and to have someone who has… killed… so close to me and the people I care the most about is… unsettling.”

There it was. You knew despite how much he was trying; you knew he wouldn’t be able to see past what you did. What you are.

“I understand. I don’t blame you, or anyone for reacting the way they are, and I know what it feels like to want to protect those who mean something to you.” You glance at Sokka, remembering how he understood.

“Just… please understand that I’ve realised what I did was wrong and while I can’t change everything that I have done, I’m trying to move away from that way of life. I don’t want to be a killer anymore. I’m trying my best to fix it.”

“I know…. Its just-“

“You don’t trust me.”

“What?! NO! I mean…. I don’t know. You clearly have good inside of you but it’s hard to look past.”

“I get it. I’ll head off then, the world needs you Aang and I won’t be the one to stand it your way.”

“No! stop! Please! I know I said it’s hard for me to do, but I clearly see you trying your best. I know you won’t hurt me. I just… I suppose I need to open my eyes more. See you for who you are now, what you’re doing now.”

But what if you can’t? What if I’m still that person, no matter how much I try to shove it away. This is what I have been made to become?

“Okay.”

Letting out a nervous quiet laugh, he glances back to everyone. “okay well… lets eat!”

Zuko stares at the sky in the heavy downpour. “You always through everything you could at me. Well, I can take it. And now I can give it back!”

Lightning cacks in the sky before his eyes.

“Come on!”

“Strike me! You never held back before!”

Met with only the sound of the world around him, he feels helpless. Lost. Alone.

Screaming out, Zuko falls to his knees as the rain and guilt encompasses all of his senses.

His voice scratchy from screaming, he can hardly croak out… “You never held back from her."

taglist: ​​ @mangoberry43​​ @eridanuswave​​ @slythergirlimagines ​​​ @whiskeywinter89​​ @simplyfandomish @khaleesi-of-assassins​ ​ ​ @calciumcow @ilovespideyyy @callums-keith @nnon-it-up @blackhood5sos @chewymoustachio @tiffy119 @reclusive-chicken-nugget @lozzybowe​ @scarletemeterio​​ @simpinforsukka​ ​ ​ @sokkassuki​ @spearbatty @kaylove12

#zuko x reader #zuko fanfic #zuko #the gaang #zuko angst #atla zuko #prince zuko #avatar aang #aang #toph #sokka #suki #avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko x aang #aang x katara #atla aang

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

word count: 6.8k

about: Gojo is many things but you get to know him best as Satoru through the eyes of the people who see him as something else entirely - nothing but a fellow human being.

contents: Told through three non-linear stories. CW: Reader is drinking alcohol in story 1, discussions of non major character death and marriage in story 2, discussions of trauma with Megumi and food mentions in story 3. Established relationship, reader is a sorcerer and teacher alongside Gojo, reader is referred to as girlfriend and my girl in story 1 and he is referred to as boyfriend. A bit of angst/discussion of losing someone you love in story 2 but otherwise it's mostly silce of life fluff.

notes: Happy early birthday to my Sagittarius superstar! ♡ This isn’t birthday themed but i’ve been working on this for a few weeks and am proud of how it turned out. If you read, thank you and I hope that you enjoy.

“I have this thing tonight and I want you to come.”

Generally when Satoru says something like this you roll your eyes, irritated about the last minute notice he’s infamous for, but his grin was so earnest you said yes without thinking too hard about it.

It’s easy to indulge him no matter how hard you try to deny your tendency to give in to his whims and it’s how you’ve ended up stepping into a bar in a neighborhood you have never been in with his arm slung over your shoulder, the moon hanging high in the sky while the stars twinkle above. The atmosphere is practically buzzing before he enters and it’s even louder when the patrons spot him, various cheers scattered around the room and arms raised in the air.

Clearly, they know him and he knows them.

“Hideki!” He points to a man who cheers. “Takahiro!” He points to another who nods. “I don’t remember your name,” he points to a third man who is already tipsy enough that he simply smiles and shrugs. Alcohol helps but you’re sure that Satoru’s smile and demeanor are half of the reason his worst behavior isn’t held against him by anyone in the small group that is clearly regulars to this bar.

Food sizzles behind the counter and you start to ease into the unfamiliar setting, sliding onto a chair and leaning back to watch the master at work, his natural charm infectious and soon it feels like the dimly lit room is practically thrumming with energy, voices chatting excitedly and other patrons typing texts inviting friends to come see the man, the myth, the legend in person.

GOJO SATORU - DARTS CHAMPION!

His name is written on a napkin and stuck in the wood paneling above the dart board with a dart. Seeing the bold characters when you spot them on the wall, you giggle. It’s so like him to do something like this for no other reason beyond what was likely boredom and inability to sleep one random night.

The patrons buzz amongst themselves about Gojo’s appearance, his sunglasses slung low on his nose while he flashes a grin at anyone who comes near him, and you watch from afar with a far more demure grin of your own. His name clearly carries weight even outside of the confines of the sorcerer community and you hide your smile by looking around the dimly lit bar, sizzling coming from behind the counter while the chefs flip yakitori by the skewer sticking through it. Your mouth waters and a beer is placed in front of you without even asking for it, your eyes darting across the bar only to be met with a wink tossed over his shoulder from your boyfriend.

One of the men he was speaking to sidles up to you and offers a polite bow of his head. Returning his gesture, you lift the beer glass to your mouth and take a sip, raising your eyebrows when he speaks.

“You must be the girl he always talks about.”

Raising your eyebrows, the warmth in your throat from the beer you’re sipping slowly spreads through your face out of slight embarrassment he talks about you at all when you’re out of earshot. You can’t control what he says when the two of you are apart and only whatever God reigns above knows what he has said but it couldn’t have been too terrible considering the man doesn’t look at you lecherously or with anything but curiosity. Smiling, you fan your face and tilt your head toward the grills to play off the heat of embarrassment as heat from cooking.

“I certainly hope so.” 

You believe that you are the girl in question but your gut churns at the thought he may be mentioning someone else despite the two of you recently making it very clear you are serious about one another, closing off any lingering attachments elsewhere to focus on your relationship. 

“Oh, I know so. He shows us pictures of you all the time.”

Sipping from your beer, you look away briefly, embarrassed about that as well. Gojo has many photos of you, not all of which are meant for other eyes, and you hope that he has enough decency to keep them to himself. Looking to change the subject, you remember the legendary title held by your boyfriend within these walls and shift in your seat to face the man next to you. He’s probably in his 40’s and looks a little worn around the edges but it could also simply be the hazy vibe of the entire bar making him seem that way. Nothing here seems clean, pristine, or perfect - unlike the way Gojo is elevated by his peers - and it amuses you how easily he has found his place amongst it all. 

“So, how long has he been coming here to play darts?” Your question makes the man shake his head and shrug. “A few months, maybe. Came out of nowhere one night.”

He gratefully bows his head when a dish with a skewer is passed across the bar toward him by the chef and wordlessly, another is passed in your direction. You accept it with a bow of your own, appreciative of how kind everyone has been despite your status as an outsider. It’s easy to feel outcast when you consider how isolated the work of a sorcerer tends to be, something you’ve lamented to your boyfriend on more than one occasion, so being accepted open armed and without question is almost uncomfortable no matter how well you play it off by saying thank you for the meal and biting through a perfectly charred green onion and humming your approval.

“It’s the craziest thing any of us have ever seen. He hits the bullseye without even looking sometimes.”

Snorting as you chew, you keep it to yourself that he’s in all likelihood using his excellent perception to cheat knowing that the average person doesn’t care about Limitless or Six Eyes or anything remotely similar. They don’t know he has been exceptional since birth, they just know he has a mean wrist and hits his mark every single time.  Honestly, you think that may be why he likes it here so much. He doesn’t have to be anything but some guy sipping on a cold soda.

“He has a knack for a lot of things,” you mutter to no one in particular, noticing that your companion has left his seat and walked toward where a crowd has gathered around the dartboard. The show must be about to begin and you settle into your seat, taking another bite and washing it down with a sip from your beer. More people weave past you and Satoru appears almost out of thin air, joking and laughing at the crowd.

“Who thinks I should show my girl over there why I’m the champion?”

The champion, The Strongest, it’s all the same to him as long as he’s the star of the show no matter where he is. 

The crowd erupts and turns to glance at you, much to your mortification as you shrink slightly into your seat and another skewer is passed across the bar. You aren’t shy or apprehensive about receiving attention but it’s the insinuation that you are his girl that makes you feel a little uncertain. It’s a big responsibility to love a man with the world in his palm and there have been many times you’ve wondered if you are even up to the task. Will you be enough to keep him happy forever?

He doesn’t give you much time to chase a trail of darkness in your own mind, your attention grabbed when he shouts your name across the bar and flings a dart. It whizzes through the air and hits its designated bullseye with a definitive slam and the bar erupts into applause and hooting.

“That’s not even how you play darts.”

You’re talking to yourself again but simultaneously biting back a smile while Satoru spreads his arms wide and looks around as if to say, “yeah, I did that.” You want so badly to be annoyed by his pomp but his enthusiasm is nothing if not contagious and the crowd grows more rowdy with each second that passes.

“Now it’s her turn to throw one for you!”

As soon as the suggestion is tossed out, you lift the yakitori to your mouth and take a bite to avoid having to walk toward the opposite end of the bar to do just as you’re being asked. He’s a tough act to follow and although your ego isn’t even a speck compared to his, you aren’t sure you can handle the disappointed aww-ing that would come as a result of firing a shot that lands off of the board. 

“Come on!” 

“Do it for Gojo! Do it for Gojo!”

Just as you’re about to throw your hands up and shake your head, Satoru locks eyes with you and crooks his finger, beckoning you toward him with a smirk that you know you are far too weak for him to deny. Making a show of groaning and rolling your eyes, you trudge across the wooden floors and finally you stand next to him. He throws his arm over your shoulder with an easy chuckle and bends his knees to get low enough to whisper in your ear, voice a rasp.

“Yeah, do it for Gojo.”

He produces a dart between his fingers and you reach to grab it, plucking it between your own to get a feel for it while casting him a sidelong glance that clearly amuses him. You have done this just once or twice at an arcade with darts that do not have the sharpened metal point but this is real and everyone is watching you and you’re doing it for him - the man you love no matter where the two of you are.

You take a deep breath and he removes himself from hovering over your shoulder, giving you ample space to get comfortable. Spreading your feet apart, you make a few motions with your elbow to test the angle you need to throw at and you swear the bar falls completely silent the moment you gnaw your lower lip with your teeth and toss it, hoping some of Satoru’s natural good luck has rubbed off on you. 

Instead, the dart clatters to the ground. For a millisecond, you want to follow suit and fall to the ground and hopefully disappear and never come back but without missing a beat, everyone cheers for you anyway. The eruption makes the building feel like it’s shaking, stomping feet and clapping hands coming from every direction while Satoru bundles you in his arms and pulls you against him. Dipping his chin, he presses a kiss against your temple and you sigh, leaning into it. 

“Looks like the champion is still undefeated!” He shouts and you elbow him playfully in the ribs. This only draws a wicked little snicker from your boyfriend and he bends down to whisper in your ear again, one hand wrapped around your waist. “Better luck next time, baby.”

The crowd continues to cheer and several patrons take their turn approaching and clapping Gojo on the back. It’s surprising despite knowing his Infinity is off because you’re in his arms but you know it means that he’s comfortable. He trusts everyone here and their intentions, at least for now and that’s good enough for you.

You tap his arm once and he lets you go, his eyes following your every movement as you bend to pick up your dart from the ground and hold it in your palm. Smirking, you turn toward him with a twinkle in your eye that he recognizes all too well and the patrons hold their breath wondering what will happen next.

“I think the champion is counting his chickens before they hatch.”

An ooh spreads across the bar and you grin to match Satoru’s toothy one, holding your arms open to offer yourself as a contender. His glasses slide down his nose a little and he pushes them back up, covering his eyes enough that you won’t be able to tell if his abilities are on or off.

“Finally, a worthy opponent!”

His words send the patrons into another frenzy and you laugh although the only person who can hear it is the man standing closest to you, the one who wants to make you laugh the most. You join his side and he wraps one of his arms around your shoulders again while plucking a dart from his pants pocket and moving to toss it again.

“Good luck,” he mutters while looking down at you with a smirk and he lands yet another shot perfectly without even looking. 

It’s always evident when either you or Satoru have a rough day. Your shoulders slump and smiles become half hearted, hiding the frustration simmering inside of you. His need to cling to you becomes more intense than ever, you are the desperate reminder he needs that he’s human after maiming curses, and that’s how you’ve ended up walking hand in hand back to his apartment.

The two of you were lucky enough to make it off campus before sunset and you can count today as one of the handful of times that you’ve been reprimanded by Principal Yaga thanks to a mission that leveled the bottom floor of a local preschool. Thankfully no one was injured but you were reckless and deserved the reminder of the innocent that needed protecting. That’s why you do what you do.

Gojo, well…he is rarely not in trouble but today hurts worse because he got you in trouble, too. The two of you are rarely paired up for missions after the Great Restaurant Destruction of 2012 where he leveled a small family restaurant in Yokohama in an ill guided attempt to impress you but now that three years since then have passed, Yaga insists it’s to keep at least one instructor on campus at all times. 

No matter what occurred today, both of you seem a little zapped. His steps are heavier and slower and you’ve been quiet the entire walk to his apartment from the train station. It has been awhile since the two of you have spent any time over here, too busy with work and crashing at your place that is closer to campus than his if you have a night together, but it’s nice to get a change of scenery. His neighborhood is far nicer than your very normal one and you enjoy taking in the sights of how he lives when he’s not with you.

Down the sidewalk, an elderly woman catches your eye and you see her struggling with a few bags. Nudging Satoru’s ribs, he looks down at you and then down the sidewalk and immediately shouts, holding his arms in the air.

“Baba!”

Before you can reprimand Satoru for being impolite and skipping all sense of formality, especially toward an elder, the woman turns her head with a smile and offers a small wave in his direction. She’s slightly hunched in the shoulders likely due to age and her hair is a beautiful pale gray, the fading sunlight catching the hollows of her cheekbones. Your breath catches in your throat as you’re reminded that there’s nothing more beautiful than to grow old, something you pray often that yourself and Satoru are able to do together. Especially after a day like today.

“That’s Mrs. Ikedo, remember?”

You nod at his words, vaguely remembering a conversation the two of you had about Satoru helping her move some things from her home into storage a few months ago. Mrs. Ikedo steps slowly in the direction of the two of you and he takes a few long legged steps toward her and offers his arm to help. She swats it away playfully and you smile watching the interaction, almost identical to how the two of you behave often. How does he so easily find stubborn women to surround himself with?

“Where have you been, young man?”

Witnessing the two of them interact, you wonder how much she knows about the life Satoru leads. Does she know about his abilities? The danger he willingly puts himself in to keep people safe? He doesn’t see it as dangerous, of course, his incredible belief in himself outweighs all other possibilities but there is always a chance he’ll never come home regardless. A breeze blows by as the ominous thought of him never coming back bleeds into your mind and you shiver slightly, pulling your jacket closer to your body.

“You know me, I’m a wanted and busy man.”

She laughs and you smile despite only being on the fringes of the conversation. The sun dips lower in the sky, dusk coloring the world in warm amber, and you’re almost too lost in your thoughts when he joins your side once more and pulls you close to him. He doesn’t caress all of your sadness away but the way his thumb massages your side even through your jacket helps you feel more grounded.

“Baba invited us in for a cup of tea. You up for it?”

It would be impolite to say anything but yes so you nod, letting him lead the way to the home you know belongs to her because it’s four buildings down from his. The longer you’ve been standing here, the more you recall about her because he has mentioned her more than once. 

“Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Ikedo.” You smile warmly in her direction and she walks slowly beside the two of you, her grocery bags now slung over Satoru’s free arm despite him jokingly picking up the lightest one and then asking her to handle the rest. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, this one sure isn’t.”

She jerks her head in the direction of Satoru who chuckles and waves his arm, the reusable bags hanging from them rustling against his shirt. Your formality is almost always a balm to his brash nature so you too easily fall into the role. Gratefulness warms you against the cool evening air and you lean further into your boyfriend’s side.

“Remember who is carrying your bags,” she pats his forearm and you follow her inside of her home, taking your shoes off at the door and looking around. It resembles the home of every other elderly person you’ve ever been into - covered in various collectibles and photos. Smiling faces and one you can easily recognize as her a long time ago, hair cropped to her chin in a tidy bob.

“Satoru looked at that one and asked me what century I was born in.”

It would be best to reprimand him for rudeness once again but instead, you giggle and rub your palms together to warm them. Winter has arrived and while there isn’t yet snow on the ground, the air feels chilly even indoors and you will welcome a cup of tea between your hands as soon as you are able. Mrs. Ikedo leads you through her home and into the kitchen where Gojo places her shopping bags on the counter, sighing.

“I just remembered I have something for you from Gifu,” he says with a sigh and a stretch, pretending the bags were any kind of a hassle for him. “Is it okay if she stays here while I run home to grab it?”

The woman nods and you fight the urge to be annoyed that he’s leaving you in a stranger’s home no matter how kind she may be. This day keeps going on and on and you are fighting off a pout and an attitude when a warm mug is offered to you with a smile, the lovely scent of green tea filling your nostrils and calming you down. 

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

You laugh, head bobbing in agreement. That is certainly one word to describe him and many have said the same thing to you in the past. He is something, the word takes a life of its own and has a different meaning to everyone who says it. To you, he’s your “sometimes not but currently yes” boyfriend, a man who has known you since you were fifteen years old and still had baby fat making your cheeks chubby, your best friend most of the time but you understand why others struggle to see him that way.

“He knows it, too. Most people say that’s the worst thing about him - he knows who he is and brings him everywhere he goes.”

The woman laughs and ushers you in the direction of the sitting area of her home, inviting you to sit down at a kotatsu that she flicks the switch on to heat up. You will be the last person to ever turn down the opportunity to warm up and you kneel on the ground, holding your mug against your legs that are tucked beneath you.

“I was surprised when he told me he’s a teacher.” You nod again, understanding that this surprises many people that the mouthiest man in the room has apparently been entrusted to create future well adjusted adults. “I figured he would be a model or something judging by the size of him. What do you feed him?”

“It always surprises people when he tells them that he teaches but he really has a way with the kids.” You respond with a giggle, sipping your tea as you finish speaking and letting the warmth seep through you. The strain of your shoulders starts to relax and you lean back, comfortable. “He keeps things fun for them so they don’t realize they’re learning most of the time.”

She hums and nods.

“He brought that Hakari over here last year because he told me the boy needed to learn a little hard work.”

That’s an amusing sentiment from someone who doesn’t work very hard himself, you think, but you remember the issues he had with Hakari last year and how only a few of them resolved themselves going into his second year and now he’s your problem - attitude and all. Despite his hands off approach to work, he is a good kid deep down and you know the support of the man the sorcerer community basically views as a god probably helped bolster his confidence. That’s what makes Satoru so good at what he does - the weight that his praise carries. All people dream of being told they’re doing a good job by the star in their field.

“He was right about that. Hakari is my student now and it must have helped him a little bit, he shows up to class three days a week now instead of one.”

She grins at you and sips from her tea, settling beneath the warmth of the kotatsu with a contented sigh.

“You’re a teacher too, I recall Satoru telling me. You seem more suited to the role than he does.” She nods and sips again, placing the cup in front of her when she’s finished. “A lot more nurturing.”

It always embarrasses you a little bit to know that Gojo talks about you when the two of you are apart. That’s not to say that you don’t talk about him because you do. In fact, you gush. Your sisters and friends get tired of hearing about it during the good times and put you on temporary bans against talking about him at all. It feels more vulnerable when it’s him doing the talking, though. 

“Thank you for saying that. I’m glad I get to work with him, he’s definitely one of the best parts of the job even on bad days like today.”

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for a moment and you know she’s appraising you but you aren’t sure on what criteria. Are you slouching? You’re certain that the mascara you put on this morning is likely flaking beneath your eyes by this point and you look a mess but you doubt she’d care too much about that kind of thing. 

“Would you take some advice from a nosy old lady?”

She sure is funny. You find yourself laughing at her again, nodding gratefully. You are warm and relaxed and you can see why he has made friends with this woman.

“Of course. All of the best wisdom comes from nosy old ladies.”

Sighing, she leans forward and makes a face while moving her legs. 

“This cold…terrible for my joints,” she laments while settling back in. You sip your tea and watch patiently, scooting closer to the warmth of the kotatsu yourself. 

“He loves you.” You choke on the mouthful of tea you were swallowing and she chuckles while you wipe the corners of your mouth and cough. “The person you want to spend the night with after a bad day is the person you love. Don’t push him away or punish him for not understanding everything yet, he has a lot to learn too.”

You’re shocked by the wisdom and you blink at her dumbly. Words aren’t coming to you easily and she can tell, smiling kindly and watching you grip your mug for dear life.

“Give him time. He’ll grow to be the man you’re married to for 70 years.” She nods toward the wall behind you and turning your head, you gasp to see a portrait of Mrs. Ikedo and who you are assuming is the now gone Mr. Ikedo by her side, matching grins in wedding kimonos. It’s overwhelming to be compared to a couple that clearly had so much love in it and you blink tightly, willing yourself not to cry and embarrass your boyfriend in front of his friend. 

“Take it from me, the ones who need a little patience are the ones you have the most fun with.”

Sniffling, you nod and sip from your tea again. You hope that she won’t hold it against you that you’re struggling to find the words of appreciation for her sentiment. Blessedly, you hear her front door open and Satoru hums while taking his shoes off and entering her home, whining when he sees the two of you are comfortable without him.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he mutters sarcastically while joining your side, kneeling and sliding a decorative box across the floor in the direction of his friend. You lean your head on his bicep and he smiles, glad to be touching you in any capacity. You are his comfort and his Infinity always off when you’re near, something that the woman across from you likely has no idea about. 

There is a wall between him and the world and you are what reminds him of what exists between the two places. You make him more..human.

“If you brought me another set of tea cups I’m going to throw them at you,” she mutters while opening the box but a delighted grin quickly replaces her teasing frown when she sees a ceramic frog inside the box. Lifting it out, she shows it off and you smile.

“Another for the collection. You know me too well.”

Satoru shrugs and you see it rather than feel it, making a note to ask him a few more questions about just how close he and the widow are when the two of you get home.

At 8 am on a Saturday, a knock rings through the Fushiguro children’s apartment and Megumi rises from where he sits on the floor reading with a groan, his sister scrambling to get up behind him to see who could possibly be visiting them this early. He would assume it’s Gojo but usually he just invites himself in so it has to be…

You.

Megumi opens the door wide enough you can see his eyes and you wiggle your fingers in a wave. The morning sun shines behind you and his sister appears behind him and says your name excitedly. Suddenly he feels annoyed and shy and a million other things he can’t explain because he’s twelve and the world is nothing short of frustrating at that age anyway.

He almost got into a fight at school this week and that’s why you’re here. Satoru is off in Iwate on a mission and as his guardian, he received the phone call while “decimating a den of second grade curses” (his words) and debated even telling you about it. His concern for Megumi outweighs all else though and he asked you last night to check up on them today, just to see how he seems. Tsumiki is always the angel of the household and right now she’s pushing past her brother to let you in even though he’s reluctant. He knows you must know, that big mouthed overgrown idiot-

“Good morning, I’m here to make you breakfast!”

Megumi’s mean thoughts cut themselves off when you offer to cook and he moves enough that the door can open, letting you slip through a narrow crack with a smile. He knows you’re a capable cook and he’d be silly to shoo you off when you’re offering so kindly.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asks as you toe your shoes off and enter the apartment, taking a deep breath along the way. It’s clean as always, the futons are folded, it’s small but cozy and you smile seeing pictures of Satoru and the two of them hanging on the walls. Megumi can pretend he doesn’t like to be around him but there are many signs that point to otherwise, a little smile evident on his face in each framed image. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing! What do you want?”

Breezing through the living room, both of them follow after you.

“We usually have rice with a fried egg on top,” Tsumiki chimes in while she trounces to your side. She’s almost taller than you are and it amazes you how time flies. It wasn’t all that long ago you were braiding her hair and polishing her fingernails for her, her brother shyly requesting you paint his thumbnails alongside hers.

“I’m not asking what you usually have, silly, I’m asking what you want to have.”

You raise yourself up on the balls of your feet slightly to reach high enough to affectionately rub the top of her head and it makes her giggle, the two of you finally making it through the kitchen where her brother is already waiting.

“Depending on what you have in the cupboards, I can make just about anything,” you offer with a hum at the end, wondering who will offer up a suggestion first. You know the two of them are shy about their needs and often pretend they don’t have any lest they concern their guardian or anyone else he has around to help out with the situation but you try to encourage them to speak up when they can. They’re both good kids; wonderful, even, if you consider the situation they’re in.

“How about something fancy? Oh, I can make some French toast.”

Despite himself, the surly almost teenager smiles and shrugs. His sister practically dances out of the kitchen, walking back toward the small living room space of their accommodations, her unabashed sweetness the perfect foil to her brother whose mouth remains in a flat line while his green eyes scan over you, hunting for ill intent he will never find. 

“Why are you here?”

You look up from combing through cabinets to find even the most basic ingredients and make a note to give Satoru a piece of your mind for keeping the kitchen mostly stocked with convenience food rather than what they need to make meals, meeting Megumi’s uncertain glance. He rests against the counter and for a moment you realize that he is no longer the unruly haired child the two of you used to take for the occasional picnic and day at the museum with Tsumiki. He’s growing up and you feel guilty for making things confusing for him thanks to your admittedly confusing dynamic with the man who more or less cares for him, his de facto big brother. 

Megumi and Tsumiki both have experienced a lot in their young lives and all of the attempts everyone in Satoru’s life have made to help them have a normal childhood cannot fix the pain of loss and the anxiety of not knowing what comes next. Neither of them are apt to open up about all of it, satisfied long ago with the thought that their parents ran off together and never returned, and part of you hopes they never find out the truth. There is safety in ignorance and what have these last four years been besides an attempt to keep them as safe as two children can be?

Stepping away from the cupboard, you turn to face him and lean your own hip against the countertop, attempting to meet him on his level. 

“I’m here because the two of you got good grades and I wanted to celebrate with you. Is that okay?” His skepticism practically wafts off of him and you snort. “We got good grades three months ago.”

You sigh, knowing you’ve been caught in an admittedly bad lie but you don’t bother to elaborate the real reason knowing he’s well aware. Changing the subject is probably the worst way to handle it but hey, you aren’t here to discipline him so you assume the role you’re better at and that’s comfort.

 “Can’t I just do something nice for you two? You don’t have to earn everything.”

A shadow falls over his face and you notice it, leaning forward on your elbows slightly to look at him. He is a boy with big emotions even if he hides them to appear stoic on the surface, something you have worried for years that Satoru is not equipped enough to handle given he rarely blinks at his own distress before compartmentalizing it. There’s more than meets the eye for the enigmatic man who ties all of your lives together but children aren’t always the most capable of picking up on that, seeing him as an overly happy nuisance rather than someone who covers up anguish with smiles. 

“People have been doing things for me my whole life even if I’m not acting my best.”

Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask him to elaborate if he would like to and he sighs. The way his shoulders slump gives away anything he’s trying to hide and the nurturing part of you fights the urge to make him spill knowing it would surely backfire. You’re aware he has mixed emotions about his relationship with Gojo thanks to the few times you’ve been able to get him to open up enough to talk about how he feels indebted to the man for saving his sister more so than saving him but that’s a big load to carry for a twelve year old. To keep things as light as you can, you take a card from Gojo’s book and play it off as nothing, propping your chin up with your fist and keeping your elbows on the counter.

“So? It’s not like they’re asking you to pay them back. We all have times where we are not our best.”

The unspoken part of your statement is that Megumi knows he will eventually have to become a sorcerer someday but given his abilities, it was inevitable no matter whose care he came into. Perhaps this is some form of payment for the guardianship he has been given over the years but you don’t believe that Gojo sees it that way on more than a surface level, a debt paid with flesh is hardly one that the cornerstone of sorcerer society would care to collect on from a child.

“Listen,” you use the weighted silence in the kitchen to your advantage and keep your tone low and even while speaking. You’re sure that if Tsumiki were listening that she would hear you anyway but you don’t think too hard about it. “All anyone wants is for you and your sister to be safe and happy. We stop in because we care about you and want you to know that you always have people on your side.”

Watching him carefully, you hope that your words bring him some comfort and you swear that a trace of a blush comes across his cheeks. The tips of his ears are red which always gives him away and you reach to pinch his cheek, to which he responds by slapping at your hand and groaning, scrunching his nose. 

“We love our little Megumi, what can we say?”

He rolls his eyes but something about him feels definitively lighter so you feel as though your job is done. You open your mouth to speak again but you’re stopped when you hear the front door open, Megumi looking over his shoulder to see who could possibly be here.

“Pancakes!”

The shout comes from the front door and you recognize the voice immediately. A smile comes across your lips and Tsumiki stands up in the living room and rushes to the door to greet Satoru who just arrived at the apartment with still hot breakfast in takeout bags dangling from his arms.

Megumi rolls his eyes but his usual frown is replaced by the hint of a smile. He leans against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest and watches his sister greet Gojo gleefully, already thanking him profusely while he heads toward the kitchen to see you standing there. He raises his eyebrows, feigning surprise, and you roll your eyes as he holds up his arms and shows off the bags.

“Celebrating the two little geniuses in apartment 9-A!” 

You nod and he sticks his tongue out at you while he passes, shimmying past Megumi to place the bags on the counter next to you. Wordlessly, you try to indicate that the smart boy has already picked up on the lie and to not proceed with it by widening your eyes and shaking your head but he misses the cue.

“I had the same idea.”

Megumi scoffs and lifts himself away from where he leans, stepping quietly toward the enticing smell of a fancy breakfast looking between the two of you while gathering plates from the cupboard to his right.

“Yeah that’s because you guys are exactly alike.”

Tsumiki opens her mouth to reprimand him for being rude but you shake your head, smiling as you lean over toward her brother.

“Yeah but which one of us do you like better?”

This finally draws a chuckle from the usually sullen boy and you nudge him playfully, a shy smile on his face that he dips his chin to try and hide. The curve of his cheek gives him away and you decide to leave him be for now until he leans in and fake whispers, plates between his palms.

“You but don’t tell him.”

“I heard that!”

Feigning offense, Satoru scoffs and holds his hand to his t-shirt clad chest. You smile up at him and he winks down at you, the two of you aware that the Fushiguro siblings are watching your every move. Megumi pushes past you to begin unpacking the bags after handing the plates to Tsumiki who giggles and leaves the three of you alone.

“So I’m not in trouble?” Gojo sighs and claps Megumi on the back, shaking his head. “No but if you start a fight you better win it or else you will be.”

You gasp and smack his bicep with the back of your hand, frowning while Megumi genuinely laughs and starts opening containers that smell so good it makes all of your mouths water. The discussion isn’t over but it’s paused for now and that’s something all of you can accept.

“What? I’m just saying,” Satoru argues while picking up a container and heading toward the set table. “Haven’t I always taught you to finish fights that you start?”

Megumi nods, following after the man with another container. Their relationship is unconventional but he can’t deny that he has learned not just that but much more from him. Each of you sit and you notice Megumi perk up a bit, Satoru using his chopsticks to put pancakes on each of the plates.

“To winning fights!”

“Hey, I thought it was to good grades! And he didn’t even fight!” Tsumiki interjects and you laugh, hugging her shoulders. Her brother scoffs at the white haired man next to him while he pours criminal amounts of syrup over his plate and for a moment, you think that maybe this arrangement is more comfortable for them than it seems.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #satoken

[dulcesiabits]

stars you only see during the day.

summary: reo mikage needs a date for his parties, and you need something to do during the summer. What could possibly go wrong when you both enter a contractual relationship?

notes: 11k words, fic, author's notes, fake dating, trying to capture goofy summer fun romcom vibes

Swanky parties like this are so not your style. 

Lavishly dressed guests buzz in little groups, sporting designer handbags and miles of silk that cost more than your entire house. Tropical fishes swim in tranquility through the glass tanks of the walls, which cast blue light over the white tablecloths and platters of prime cut roasts and elaborately crafted desserts dusted in gold dust.

Honestly, you wouldn’t normally have been allowed into a place like this; the security guards would have taken one look at your sneakers and chain store jeans and told you to go home. But you’re not here as a guest. No, your sister has hooked you up with a gig as a caterer, so you’re actually one of the invisible waitstaff in a stiff black vest and white collared shirt, drifting amongst the crowd, serving rich people their fancy little foods.

“It pays well,” your sister had pronounced, batting her eyelashes at you. “Come on. You’re always strapped for cash. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“And if it’s so good, why aren’t you going?” you had asked her dryly. 

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have the time. Otherwise I’d be hustling with you. Come on, do it for me! It’ll be fun! The place will be nice, promise!” 

Nice is an understatement for how decadent the place is. If you were to break something here, you think your family would be in debt for the next seven generations over. But since you’re captive to your need for money, you try to skirt past the pricer decorations. 

Still. Your sister is right in that this is a simple, and more importantly, well-paying, gig. Get in, walk around aimlessly with a platter in your hand, and get out. That’s all you were looking forward to, really: the paycheck at the end of this. You vaguely recognize some of the guests– probably from the news or on social media, A-list celebrities and trust fund babies– but you don’t care enough to take a closer look.

It’s been a few hours into your shift, and your arm is starting to cramp from carrying around a silver plate for most of the evening. The little shrimp on your plate are dwindling, and you rotate around the room slowly one last time to tempt people to grab your food. Then, you can take a break and put up your feet, and maybe sneak a little bit of the fancy food to try yourself; after all, you heard that some of the ingredients were imported straight from Europe.

You pass by a pack of guests knotted together near a table, and one of them bumps into you with enough force to make you stumble, some youngish looking man in a white suit and slicked-back bleached hair. He barely spares you a glance. 

“Watch where you’re going or I’ll get you kicked out,” he snarls.

“Right. Sorry, sir,” you say blandly, fighting back the urge to strangle him and ask “who the hell do you think you are?” Your sister has warned you to stay out of trouble, after all.

“Don’t bother the waitstaff, Takei-san,” someone says just as Takei sneers, opening his mouth to berate you some more, probably. He looks the type. But Takei’s head swivels back around so fast it makes you dizzy. You crane your head, just in time to catch the owner of the voice: a boy with a flute of fizzy water in his hand. He’s cute, with uneven bangs and a dove gray suit, and probably around your age, if not a little older.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mikage-san,” Takei simpers. “Ah, but we have more important matters to discuss, don’t we? What do you think about meeting my sister? She’s lovely, and she’s around your age. Just say the word, and I can arrange a meeting!” 

Mikage? Is that the boy’s name? It’s familiar. You’ve seen it on social media a few times; maybe this boy is a lot more famous than you thought. He’s a corporate heir, if you remember correctly. Mikage catches your eye and inclines his head, as if to say you were free to go. 

“I would have to think about it, Takei-san,” Mikage replies, turning back to Takei. If there’s one thing you can pride yourself on, it’s how to read people, and there’s plenty to dissect from Mikage’s tense body posture. There’s a smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, he looks a little bored, underneath that veneer of politeness. Bored, and strangely vacant, as if the uppercrust of Japan’s society weren’t more interesting than the blades of grass outside of his window.

Normally, you would shrug, go “that sucks for him,” and run back to the break room as soon as you could. The problems of fancy rich boys aren’t really your business. But it’s been a long night, and you’re a little antsy (your troublemaking instinct, as your sister calls it). That, and maybe you’ve watched too many romcoms and dramas with your sister recently, too, because he’s cute. And, well, you should at least try to help out the guy who helped you, right? Tic for tat, and all that, even if it was a small thing on his part.

But none of your justifications to yourself really matter, because you’re already sliding your way into the crowd until you’re at Mikage’s elbow, saying, “sir?”

He inclines his head at you without really looking at you. “Yes?”

“There’s someone looking for you,” you say blandly. “They were impatient. It seemed important.”

“Hm? Did they tell you their name?” Mikage asks.

“Didn’t quite catch it, but it’s urgent,” you stress.

Mikage’s eyes widen, just slightly, and you can see the puzzle pieces coming together in his head. He must have picked up on what you were doing, because he nods gravely, and says, “I should head over, then. It’s probably Yasuhiro-san. Can’t keep a board member waiting.”

“Ah, but Mikage-san–” Takei’s mouth is slightly slack, and he glares at you when you catch his eye. What did you even do to him? Is he mad that you’re taking Mikage’s attention off of him?

“I should go.” Mikage extracts himself from the crowd, who all groan in disappointment. As the two of you leave, you make sure to subtly dig the heel of your shoe onto Takei’s foot, who yelps.

“What the– Did you just step on– Hey! Stop!” 

But you’re speeding off with Mikage at your side, and you try not to grin when you imagine Takei’s red, angry face. 

Mikage snorts, but when you glance at him, he’s passed it off as a cough, turning his face into the crook of his elbow. “You’re a bit clumsy, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say primly, and this time, Mikage doesn’t hide his laugh. To keep up your ruse, you lead Mikage into a hallway, where rows of imported European impressionist art stretch along the walls, your footsteps sinking into the plush burgundy carpet.

“So… I have to be honest,” you say. “There isn’t someone asking for your presence. I made it up to get you out of there. Surprise!” You wave your hands.

Mikage crosses his arms. “So why did you do that, then?”

“You helped me, so I helped you,” you say simply. “Besides, you looked bored.”

In the darkness, Mikage is reduced to shadowy shapes, but you can still feel the force of his gaze, like a lighthouse cutting through the darkness. He’s appraising you, and it sends tingles down your spine.

“Huh.” That’s all Mikage says, and you wonder if you passed whatever mental evaluation he was doing.

 The platter is still in your hands, and there’s still a few shrimp left, so you grab one and shove it into your mouth. You chew, savoring the freshness, and the tangy sauce it’s coated in.

Wait. It’d be rude to just eat in front of someone, without even asking if they’re hungry. You offer Mikage the plate. “Want one?”

“S… sure,” he says, carefully plucking a shrimp between his thumb and forefinger, before placing it on his tongue. The two of you pass the platter back and forth between each other until it’s empty.

“That was good!” You stretch your arms over your head. “I wanted to try at least some of the food at this party before I went home. There’s nothing else really going for this place. No offense,” you add. 

“None taken. You’re… huh.”

“Weird? Bold?” you supplement. “I’ve heard it all.”

“No, I was going to say you’re interesting,” Mikage says quickly.

You roll your eyes. “Interesting? Like a dog?”

“I would say you remind me more of a hamster,” Mikage says. 

“A hamster? Really? What if I bit you right now?”

“I’m not sure you could do much to me.”

“I wouldn’t want to damage my teeth, anyways,” you quip. The noise of the party leaks into the hallway, and you glance back through the door. “I should get back. I don’t want to give anyone an excuse to dock my pay.”

Before you can move a step, Mikage holds out a hand. He takes a breath, as if coming to some sort of internal decision. “Wait. What if… I hired you for something else?”

“For… what?”

“What if I hired you to stand around and talk to me?” 

You take a step back. “Um… I’m a first year in high school, just so you know. I don’t want to do anything weird.”

“Wh– No!” Mikage says, his veneer of poise sliding right off and shattering onto the floor. “I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not asking you to– I just– I’m only a second year!” he adds.

“Takei did offer to introduce you to his sister back there,” you say wryly, jerking your thumb towards the party. “And, like, I don’t know much about your life, but if you’re desperate enough for company, there’s dating apps. Just… uh… hang in there.”

Mikage runs a hand along his face. “I’m not desperate. I’m the most popular guy in my class, just so you know.”

“Okay…”

“I wanted to ask if you would date me,” he says, “Fake date me. Because people like Takei keep trying to jump down my back and draw me into political marriages. We can draw up a contract to make it official,” he adds hastily. “I just need someone to come with me to parties like this as my partner.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’re interesting,” he says simply. “Besides… you would get to eat as much shrimp as you want. Without having to sneak them off of plates.” 

“I don’t know,” you say coyly, looking down at your fingers. “I don’t really like doing boring things.”

“It won’t be boring.” Mikage takes a step towards you, confidence in his face, a hand on his chest. “I’ll ensure everyday is fun for you.” 

You can already imagine what your sister will say when you tell her what happened today. No doubt she and your older brother would both groan at your carelessness. What if this is some sort of prank, or fancy trick? Oh well! You’ll just have to take your chances. 

You stick out your hand. Mikage takes it without hesitation. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. But if it’s boring, then I’m going to leave you, Mikage,” you warn. 

“Hah. You’ll never have a reason to,” Mikage says confidently. “But call me Reo.”

You raise an eyebrow. “We just met, and you want me to call you by your first name? Moving fast, are we?”

“I’m going to be your fake boyfriend,” Mikage says. “Don’t tell me you’re already getting cold feet.” 

“Not at all. You can call me by my first name too, Reo,” you emphasize. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” 

Reo smiles, squeezing your hand once before firmly shaking it. “Likewise, partner.” 

Well. This certainly isn’t what you expected to get up to when your sister offered you the job, and there are a thousand ways this could blow up in your face. What if Reo is actually a bad person, and tried to sell your organs? Or his mother threw money at you and told you to leave her son because you aren’t good enough for him, just like in every drama you’ve seen?  

But this is the most exhilarating opportunity you’ve been offered in a long while. Exciting experiences, and fun opportunities: you’ve always been the first to jump onto those. Besides, Reo is cute, and this deal will definitely be a good story to tell your friends about later. There’s no way this could go wrong.

—

You’re usually never up before 10am, but somehow, at 8am a few days after the party you worked at, you find yourself at a little cafe in Shibuya, blinking blearily in the pale light. Reo, sitting across from you, has a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow, and you privately curse his poise and his nice polo and slacks. How dare he look so put together, especially when you just threw on some clothes from your floor.

“So,” you say, propping your elbows on the table, your cheek pressed against your hand, “What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait for a more decent hour to call me?”

Reo raises an eyebrow. “This is a decent hour. But I wanted to discuss the terms of our contract.” 

You stare at him blankly. He snaps his fingers. “Remember? Our deal?”

“Right.” You yawn, and Reo pushes his cup of coffee towards you.

“I haven’t drank any of it yet,” he says. “Have some.”

“So no indirect kiss for me?” you tease, but take a tentative sip of the brew. You wrinkle your nose; it’s bitter and dark, and it stings your mouth as it goes down. “You didn’t put cream in this.”

“I like the way coffee tastes naturally. Besides, the coffee they brew here is through a special drip pour method, to allow the beans to retain maximum flavor…” You take another sip as Reo rambles, and shudder. Well, you were definitely more awake now.

“So, what is this about a contract?” you say. 

“I want us to establish some ground rules for our deal, just so we’re both clear on the expectations and procedures for what we’re about to undertake,” Reo begins. He slides a packet of paper across the table, the kind that’s made with cardstock, thick and creamy. It’s neatly formatted, but your eyes glaze at the professional tone and the dry language of the text.

“All right, hit me with it, rich boy,” you say, slouching back in your chair.

“Well, I wanted to establish a basic time frame for our operation, as well as some ground rules, and cover some of the various scenarios you might encounter–” You put up a hand, and Reo pauses. 

“Do you have a pen?” you say bluntly. 

Reo fishes out a fountain pen from his bag. “I do, but why do you–”

You flip over the packet to the blank backside, and write down a number one. “So! I think it’s really nice of you to get this entire thing prepared for us, but this is too much. We’re high schoolers, and your rules are 15 pages long. Why don’t we make this easier on ourselves?”

Reo purses his lips. “I guess. For the sake of fairness, it’s probably better if we come up with rules together.”

“Great! So, rule number one. We’re going to be fake dating until you stop needing a date to your parties. That’s probably going to be when summer ends, so that’s when our contract ends. Rule number two. I’ll go with you to all your fancy parties, but you have to help me with, like, etiquette and clothes and what to say. I’ll just be your eye candy. Which I absolutely excel at, by the way. Rule number three. I’ll go to as many parties as you want, but you need to give me at least two days’ warning in advance. I have my own life, you know.” You scribble as you talk, and Reo nods at each of your rules. When you pause, you look up to see Reo with furrowed eyebrows.

“Add another rule,” Reo says seriously. “No falling for each other.”

You burst out laughing, dropping the pen in surprise. A few early morning workers stare at you as they walk past, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “Seriously? Do you think this is a drama?”

“It’s a necessary precaution,” he insists, but his ears are red. “I just want to make it absolutely clear: this is all for show.”

You snort, but move to jot down the rule anyways. “No offense, but you’re not my type at all. That’s not going to be an issue. You’re kinda full of yourself, huh?”

“I’m not! I’m just saying with my specs, it wouldn’t be weird if you–” Reo falters at your pointed stare. “Listen. I’m used to all sorts of people coming up to me. It doesn’t hurt to be careful, okay?”

“Maybe you’re scared of falling for me, Reo,” you say, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. “I understand, though. I’m pretty cute.”

Reo purses his lips. “And no offense to you, but you’re also not my type at all. I prefer people who are more mature.”

You throw your hands up in mock offense. “Wow! Only five minutes since our fake relationship began, and you’re already hurting my feelings.”

“My apology, baby,” Reo says in a cloying tone. “How on earth shall I make it up to you?”

You shudder. “For starters, don’t call me baby ever again. Ick.”

“I don’t–” Reo begins indignantly, but you quickly scribble your signature under your list of rules, before thrusting the paper at him. “What?”

“Sign your name,” you say, “So it’s official. Isn’t that how you business types like to do things?”

“We’re minors. Our signatures don’t count. But if you insist,” Reo says, signing his name with an elegant scrawl.

“Perfect! Now that we’re officially dating, what do we do?” you say.

“What about a date? A practice one,” Reo says hastily. A pity, because now you can’t tease him about how enamored he is with you. “It’ll be easier to act like a couple at parties if we’re more familiar with each other.”

“All right. Come pick me up in two days, then. And at noon,” you add, “Because I don’t want to do an early morning date.”

“What about right now?” Reo protests.

You throw him a withering stare. “First, I’m not dressed for the part. Second, neither of us are prepared. And third, what did I just say about early morning dates? We need a bit of planning time, rich boy, because dates are serious business.”

Reo holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. I got it. I’ll run our plans with you by tomorrow, at the latest. Sounds good?”

You smile. “Great! Sounds like you’ve already got being a good boyfriend down pat. See you in two days, boyfriend.”

—

If there’s one thing Reo is, he’s meticulous. After you part ways, you exchange phone numbers, and true to his word, he blows up your phone with a detailed plan of your first date. He’s so overzealous in planning that you remind him it’s just a practice date, and that it’s better to keep things casual, rather than the boating-fancy restaurant-live musicians extravaganza he has planned.

Two days later, when you ascend from the subway steps into the sticky summer heat and walk a few blocks until the concrete turns to greenery, you find Reo waiting at a nearby park, sunglasses on his face and a wicker basket under his arm.

“Welcome,” Reo says, making a half-bow. “I hope you’re ready for the date of a lifetime.”

“I’m giving you three stars of five,” you say.

“Wh– We haven’t gone on it yet! How can you rate me that low?”

“Two out of five,” you say. “Just for talking back to me and questioning my review.”

“Let’s just hurry up and go,” Reo grumbles. 

The two of you glide alongside blossoming trees, white flowers perfuming the air, and cross a stone bridge stretched invitingly along a river. The water rushes cold and clear across gray stones, a weeping willow trailing its graceful limbs on the opposite bank.

When you reach a narrow glade, Reo gallantly unfurls a blanket and spreads it along the grass. From the wicker basket emerges a rainbow of sandwiches, freshly cut fruit slices, and a thermos of tea.

He pours you a cup, and you take a sip as Reo settles down with a sandwich.

“You went through a lot of trouble to set up this contractual date,” you say, picking up a slice of skewered mango. “What’s the point? Couldn’t you just hire someone else?”

“Do you think I could set up an ad, announcing to the world that the Mikage heir is looking for a partner?” he says dryly. “Any of the other people I could have asked run in my parents’ business circle, too, so it wouldn’t have been convenient for me. And I’m not risking my own social standing at school by asking a girl from there. That leaves you.”

You twirl the mango around. “What if I was, like, a bad person, though? And I leaked your personal information or something?”

“I ran a background check on you. You came up clean.”

“What? Hey! That’s not fair. I didn’t get to run one on you,” you protest.

“I’m someone in the public eye,” he says. “Anything you want to know about me, you can look up online.” 

To be fair, you had googled his name when you got home after your morning meeting, and scrolled through his various public social media accounts. Not that he needed to know that. Wait, maybe he already did, if he ran a background check on you. Did he have access to your internet history? Okay. Maybe it’s better to stop thinking about that before you drive yourself insane.

“But that’s not the same as getting to know you. The person Mikage Reo is in public, and the person he is in private are two different people. Tell me something juicy. Like, why don’t you just reject any proposals thrown your way instead of getting a fake partner?” you say.

Reo spreads his hands. “Social maneuvering. It’s better to ward off people from sending proposals to me in the first place than it is to reject each and every person who approaches me.”

“Sure. That makes sense. So… then… Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

“What sort of question is that?” he says.

“I’m trying to get to know you,” you declare, “And I’m curious. You can ask me a question like that, too, if you want.”

“I can answer your question. It’s fine.” Reo pours himself a cup of tea. “Being in love… I haven’t. Not yet. I’ve never been interested in romance. Why, have you?”

“I wouldn’t call it love, but I did date a boy back in middle school. Not because I really liked him, but because he thought I was cute, and I liked him well enough as a friend. Didn’t last too long, though. Your turn for a question,” you add.

Reo takes a sip. “Well, I was wondering… do you have any hobbies?”

“That’s a pretty simple question. But I like scrapbooking and volleyball. I like making memories, and I like sports.”

Reo leans forward, a keen interest in his eyes. “Do you like football, then? I run the school’s football club.”

“I’ve only ever played a little with my older brother. He’s the bigger fan,” you admit. “Do you want to play a game one day? I bet I could demolish you.”

“Hah. As if. I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t regret it later,” you warn, and he laughs. “What do you even like about football?”

“I want to win the world cup,” he says simply. “It’s my dream.” His eyes are reflective, and there’s an edge of seriousness to his tone, an intensity he’s never had before.

You pick up a cucumber sandwich, taking an experimental bite. “When you do, give me an autograph. I can sell it for a million yen.”

“No jokes? I thought you would tell me it’s silly.”

“Well, it sounds like it’s important to you. I’m not going to make fun of something you care about,” you say, amused, shoving the rest of the sandwich into your mouth.

Reo scratches the back of his neck, though there’s a pleased, cat-like smile curling on his face. “Thanks. Do you have a dream?”

“I don’t know if it counts, but I just want to have fun. I want to see new places, and to meet new people, and to experience all sorts of fun things. Isn’t that enough?”

Reo picks up another sandwich, handing it to you, which you demolish in one bite. “I think it is,” he says. “It sounds like you.”

You lick the crumbs off your lips. Reo is a lot more… different, than you thought a corporate heir would be. But it’s nice that it’s easy being with him. Easy, and fun. “I should thank you, actually. This contract is pretty exciting. I’ve never done anything like it before. Thank you, Reo.”

“I don’t know if this is something you should thank me for. But you’re welcome. Thanks for agreeing to go along with me,” he says.

You smile at him, sunshine warm on your shoulders. “So, when’s the first party, boyfriend? I’m pretty excited for it already.”

“Straight to business, huh? Well, it’s in a few days. I’ll text you more details later, and I’ll come pick you up. But hey, before that…” Reo offers you his hand. “Do you want to take a walk? Weather’s nice.”

“Oh! Make sure the car you come in to pick me up is real fancy, okay? My family’s going to be home, and I want to rub it in my brother’s face,” you muse.

“That’s easy. Who do you think I am?”

You don’t hesitate as you slip your hand into his. His grip is soft but strong, and when he pulls you up, for a second, all you can see is Reo, outlined by the glow of the sun.

—

When the sleek black car pulls up to the entrance of your house a few days later, your older siblings are crowded around the window, peeking through the curtains to catch the first glimpse of your date. Your sister whistles, while your brother’s jaw drops.

“What is this?” he says. “What–”

“It’s my date,” you say smugly.

“Your date? Someone wants to go out with you?”

You smack him on the shoulder. “Yeah, unlike you!”

“Does he have money?” your sister asks. “Because good going. Make sure you milk him for what he’s worth.”

“I just– what the hell? No way you got a date before me. And not in that– that car!” your brother complains, rubbing his shoulder, but you’re already skipping out the door.

“Great work, boyfriend,” you say to Reo, blowing him a faux kiss. He’s waiting for you outside the car, already dressed in a navy blue suit.

Reo has an irritating little smirk on his face. “What can I say? My wonderful partner told me to bring a fancy car, and I just had a hard time choosing which one.”

He pulls open the side door for you with an exaggerated flourish, and you slide in. The seats are smooth leather, and the AC is cranked to a cool temperature. There’s more than enough room for a dozen other people, and there’s a mini fridge in the corner that, when you open, is stuffed full of drinks. The windows are tinted, but that doesn’t stop you from rolling it down to wave at your flabbergasted brother before you go, your sister the only one to wave back.

“What do you want me to do at the party?” you say, settling into the supple leather. 

“Just stick by my side,” Reo says. “And try not to offend anyone.”

“Done, and done,” you say, throwing him finger guns.

After half an hour, you and Reo chatting to pass the time, the limo pulls to a smooth stop at the end of a gravel-lined driveway. It’s lucky that Reo is the one who helped to choose and sent an outfit to you prior to the party, because all the other guests lounging in the gardens or spilling out the wide open doors are dressed to the nines. You don’t even want to think about the costs of some of those clothes. The inside of the venue is sparkling so brightly that you almost can’t make out any of the decorations; it’s just gold on top of gold on top of gold, but there is, luckily for you, a buffet table in the corner.

As soon as the two of you step foot through the door, you’re swarmed by a pack of guests with glittery smiles. Reo swiftly takes your elbow, pulling you closer to him, and you discretely loop your arm around his.

“Who is this, Mikage-san?” someone says. An actress, you’re sure. Is she eying you with… envy? Okay, that is weird. Wow. You’re pretty sure she’s been nominated for several different awards.

“They’re my date for the night,” he says smoothly.

“How sweet!” the actress says, and after giving you one more side-eye, turns her attention back to Reo.

The rest of the night goes mostly like that, actually. People are curious about you– watching you with a mix of jealousy, judgment and disdain in their eyes– before marking you off as a non-threat and turning back to Reo. It’s exhausting, frankly. How does he deal with it? You’re no chump when it comes to social situations, but this is on a different level. All the fake smiles, the pointed lines, the constant appraising. It’s like being under an endless spotlight; everyone is waiting for you to slip up, just once, to tear you down.

When you glance at Reo, his eyes are distant again, just like they were at that first party. It’s not the Reo you’ve come to know, the Reo who teased you at the picnic and talked about his dreams.

“Cheer up, boyfriend,” you whisper in his ear, resting your hands on his shoulder to speak solely to him. “I think they’re serving shrimp tonight.”

“Oh, your favorite. This time, you don’t need to hide in a hallway to eat them,” Reo whispers back, the ice in his face cracking to reveal a genuine smile. “Let’s go get some.”

After waving off his admirers, the two of you head to the buffet, where you immediately pick up a plate and begin piling up food. Reo wanders off to grab the two of you some drinks.

“Hah? It’s you. They really just let anyone in,” you hear a sneer when you’re halfway through picking up a little chocolate pastry. You glance up, to see a man with slicked back, bleached hair glowering at you, disturbing your little food paradise. Hm? He looks somewhat familiar.

“Who’re you?” you ask, plopping the first pastry on your plate, and grabbing a second pastry just to be safe. Maybe Reo will want one.

“You really don’t remember?” he hisses.

“Huh?”

“You stepped on my foot at a party!” he whispers furiously. 

“You were being rude,” you say tartly. That’s enough food. You try to step past him, but Takei jostles you with his shoulder, forcing you back in front of him. 

“You were just a server. How the hell did you get in here?”

What the hell? Did Takei think he’s all that, with his self-satisfied smirk and crossed arms?

“I’m on a date, actually,” you say pleasantly. “I was invited here.”

“Hah? Who would be crazy enough to invite you? If you’re lying, then I’m going to get you kicked out of here, just you–”

“Hi, Reo!” you say loudly, cutting Takei off, waving at Reo, who, with perfect timing, has shown up with two sparkling peach-colored drinks in hand.

“Hm? Takei-san, when did you get here?” Reo says.

“Ah– Mikage-san–” Takei’s face pales as he looks from you to Reo, and back to you. “Is… is this person… your date…?”

“Yes,” Reo says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. 

You bat your eyelashes at Takei, who looks like he wants to melt into the floor. For good measure, you turn to Reo with a fake little pout. “Reo, I think Takei-san was just saying something about only someone crazy would invite me here. How funny, don’t you think?”

“Very funny,” Reo says coolly. “But I think it’d be best not to make jokes like that about my date, don’t you think, Takei-san?”

“Right– of course– my apologies, Mikage-san,” Takei stammers. “I, ah, I would never think of… I won’t do it again.”

You pluck one of the pastries off your plate and offer it to Takei, who takes it with a twitching eye. “Enjoy the party, Takei-san,” you say in a syrupy sweet voice, watching as Takei stumbles off.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you elbow Reo. “Nicely done, boyfriend,” you say.

“Takei has always been like that, but you shouldn’t have to put up with it,” Reo says. “Did he bother you?”

“Not too much!”

“I see.” Reo hands you a drink, but there’s a tiny frown twisting at the corners of his mouth as he watches Takei go.

There’s no more incidents after that, thankfully, but there’s a pensive look on Reo’s face that he can’t quite wipe off. What is he thinking? Should you ask? It’s not until the limo pulls up that Reo finally speaks to you.

“I’m sorry Takei was rude to you,” he says.

“It’s okay! It’s not your fault. Unless… you hired him to get on my nerves?” you tease, gravel crunching underfoot.

Reo looks uncharacteristically chagrined as he helps you into the car. “Why would I do that? Still, I put you in that situation, so… what can I do for you as an apology?”

You pretend to purse your lips in thought, tapping your finger against your chin. It’s cute how seriously he takes everything. “Well, Reo, have you ever heard of a little thing called grocery shopping?”

His eyebrows float upwards. “I’m not that out of touch. I do know what grocery shopping is. Do you think I was raised in an ivory tower?”

You grin. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Reo. Come pick me up on Saturday. 9am. Be sure to dress casually.”

—

Just as promised, Reo shows up outside your house at 9am sharp, dressed in a casual button up rolled up to his elbows and pressed slacks. He’s even smart enough to replace the usual limo with a more middle-class car, though it’s as sleek and polished as if it was bought fresh off the lot… which, now that you’re thinking about it, maybe it was. 

You snort as you size Reo up, flicking a glance up and down. You’re dressed much more casually, in shorts and flip-flops, and the tote bag you always bring to hold your groceries. “Slacks, Reo? Really?”

He holds up his hands in defense, a golden watch gleaming on his wrist. “What? You said dress casual. So I did.”

You roll your eyes, and when Reo opens the car door for you, you shut it. “That’s like business casual at best. You don’t have jeans? Sweats? You look like you’re taking a break from an office job.”

“Hey. I can’t help it if my standards are higher than other people.” Reo puts his hands in his pockets as you stride confidently down the pavement, and he falls into step beside you. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you grocery shopping,” you say expertly.

“... And you don’t want to drive there?”

“Most people do not drive the car to get groceries, rich boy. There’s a little thing called public transportation, you know. You’re going to learn to do it the old-fashioned pedestrian way.”

“Rich boy…” he mutters. “Can’t you just call me by my name? We are technically dating, you know?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Exactly. We’re technically dating, so I’m just giving you an affectionate nickname.”

At this, he laughs ruefully. “Affectionate, huh?”

Maybe you’ve been a little too mean to him. You are fond of Reo, even if he makes it a little too easy to tease him. At the next opportunity, you casually loop your arm around his. Reo falters, but doesn’t break step, before pulling you closer. He smells pleasant, a warm citrusy scent, and he’s careful to match his pace to yours so neither of you pull too far ahead or behind. 

Without turning to him, you say, “I am affectionate, you know. I know how to spoil my boyfriend.”

“Really, now? Looks like I lucked out by asking you out.” There’s a genuine warmth in Reo’s voice that spills a sunset in your chest. It’s almost like he really likes you, and you’re really dating— but the contract. Don’t forget. You can’t let yourself get too carried away. This is a business deal, nothing more. Also, he would be so obnoxious if he knew how much his words affected you, considering all the crap you said about him not being your type. Still, the traitorous glow in your heart doesn’t go away, no matter how much you try to clamp down and extinguish it.

The market is surprisingly crowded when the two of you arrive. You pick up a basket as Reo stands at the entrance, drinking in the rows of cardboard boxes and tin containers and fresh produce, the housewives strolling down the aisles with children in their carts, the scuffed floor and the gleaming lights.

“We don’t have all day,” you tease. “Come on, Reo. Are you scared?”

“I’m not. It’s just… different,” he says. His eyes are still roaming the store, and you loop your arm around his again. Reo lets you pull him along without stumbling a step.

“It’s better to experience it in person,” you affirm, dragging him to the vegetables. “Help me pick some out.”

Reo’s hands hover a row of brown yams, dirt still clinging to their fuzzy roots. He picks one up for you, and you place a hand on his wrist. “What? Is it not good enough?” he asks.

“You need to put them in a plastic bag first,” you say, pointing to a dispenser roll at the end of the aisle. “You can’t just put the vegetables in the basket!”

Reo sighs in a long suffering way, but leaves and returns with a plastic bag, which you shake open and he drops several yams in, after careful consideration of their size and form.

“Good job, Reo,” you cheer. 

“What can I say? I’m a natural,” he says smugly, and you bump him with your hip.

Reo follows you around the grocery store, shadowing your steps like a baby chick. You choose several more vegetables, before moving to the meat aisle and examining the frozen, plastic wrapped cuts. Reo peers over your shoulder as you point at the different cuts of meat, so close that you can feel his warmth despite the chill of the coolers, his breath brushing your cheek every time he talks.

“Which one do you want?” you ask. Normally, you wouldn’t find his closeness a big deal. You’re used to skinship with your friends and family, and Reo is your boyfriend, albeit in name only. But something about his presence makes you feel hyper-aware of his every move. Not that you could ever let him know that.

“What do you think is best?” he muses.

“You can choose,” you say.

“What about that one?” Reo points to a hunk of pork, and you drop it into your basket. 

“Sounds good,” you say, quickly moving away from the frozen meat, but the memory of Reo’s warmth isn’t as easy to shake off.

You skim through the aisles of dry goods, picking up items that you remember were running low in your kitchen pantry. Reo follows, and he pauses in front of a row of glass bottles.

“There are so many different brands of soy sauce,” he says. “The chef usually just gets the highest quality brand.”

“Show-off,” you say. 

“Hey! I’ll send you some, too!”

It’s not until you’re in front of the snacks that you stop, and spread your arms, as if presenting the rarest of delicacies. “All right, Reo. In exchange for your cooperation for today, you can choose one snack.”

“One snack,” he repeats.

“Yup! That’s what my mom used to say when we went grocery shopping. So I’m extending the honor to you. I’ll pay for anything you choose,” you emphasize. “So choose wisely!”

Reo’s hand skims over the row of snack boxes. “Which one would you recommend?”

“The chocolate mushrooms,” you say immediately. “I got them all the time as a kid, and my sister and I used to fight over who got to eat them, since our mom wouldn’t buy more than one box.”

Reo neatly slides out a yellow box with dancing chocolate mushrooms. “Then this is the one I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“My partner recommended them,” he says primly. “Why not?”

It’s only until you’ve paid for everything, stringing plastic bags alongside your arms (Reo valiantly offers to take a few after failing to persuade you to let him pay for the groceries with his card), that you can slide out Reo’s snack and proffer it to him.

“Thank you, my lovely assistant,” you say, “For braving the perils of the grocery store for me.”

“It was fun. I’ll come with you again, if you want.” He rips open the box, then offers it to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Take some.”

“But it’s your reward,” you protest.

Reo snorts, then shakes out a single chocolate mushroom onto his palm, pinching the biscuit stem between his forefinger and thumb, holding it in front of your mouth. “It’s my reward, so I can do whatever I want with it. And I want to give some to you.”

Without hesitation, you open your mouth, and Reo throws the mushroom in. A familiar chocolatey flavor spreads inside your mouth. Somehow, it tastes sweeter than it usually does.

—

Over the next few weeks, you and Reo settle into a comfortable rhythm. He comes to pick you up every evening, though your brother still has a habit of pressing his face to the living room window to ogle Reo’s various cars. Most of the time, your job at parties is just standing by Reo’s side, occasionally intercepting when someone asks him an uncomfortable question and pulling him away. People tend to ignore you, too, treating you as Reo’s tagalong– which, to be fair, you are. Still, any insults are soothed over by the delicious food you pile up high on your plate, though Reo will steal a bite or two if you’re not careful, despite you pestering him to grab his own plate.

Sometimes, you and Reo exchange glances out of the corner of your eye when someone says something particularly weird. It’s startling how fast you’ve learned to read him and pick up on every little change in his expression. He’s emotional and expressive, and though he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, his moods are still easy to read. He’s a little petty, sometimes, and he holds an assured view of his own success. But he’s easy to tease. You like him, a lot more than you want to admit.

However, one particular party in August shatters the routine you and Reo have set.

For one, this party is held in a mansion, a multitiered decadent cake of a building, with famous paintings and expensive statues dripping from every corner. Hell, the guest list is more famous than you’re used to: celebrity actors and prestigious families from old money, and bodyguards hovering at every angle. Even you can feel the oppressive atmosphere, as much as you try to joke it away.

“Be right back,” Reo says, sighing. He flicks his head at an old man trying to catch his gaze. “One of my father’s board associates.”

“Make sure to bring me a plate of food,” you tease.

“Right. Otherwise, you might go so hungry you’ll start nibbling on me.”

You glower at him, and Reo sticks out his tongue at you, before a professional expression rolls down his face, like a shutter slamming closed.

You don’t have much time to spend alone, though. Because just as Reo steps away, a couple draws closer to you, clad with matching crimson jewelry, and with a posture so uptight and rigid you wonder if they would topple to the floor if someone were to bump into them. It’s uncanny timing, as if they were waiting for Reo to leave, but you smile politely.

Neither attempt to smile back at you. The couple’s eyes gleam like the sheen of a shark’s. Ah. They’re looking for trouble. There’s nothing to protect you from their sharp toothed smiles and narrowed gazes. Reo has vanished out of sight, and no one else seems particularly interested in your predicament. 

“So, you’re Mikage-san’s date?” the woman asks politely. “How… quaint.”

“Yes,” the man butts in. “He rarely brings anyone to dinner with him, in all the time we’ve known him, and his parents.”

“My endless charm must have captivated him,” you joke, but the couple only raises their eyebrows.

“Hm. Well, it’s just strange that he would take a liking to… you,” the woman sniffs. “What family are you from?”

“I… My family? Well, I don’t think you would have heard of them.”

“I see,” the man says, with enough disdain that it shreds your bravado to pieces. “I’m not surprised you approached Mikage-san, then. Flies are always attracted to honey, eh? What I’m curious about is how on earth you managed to sink your hooks into him.”

“My hooks?” you say. “Well, no hooks were involved. We just hit it off, and–”

“No need to lie,” the woman intones. “It’s quite unbecoming, though I understand that people of your class can’t help themselves. No manners. No grace. To think Mikage-san would pass up an engagement with our child to chase after… you.”

“Ma’am, I think there must be some kind of mistake,” you begin, but then falter. They were still watching you with keen interest, and your chest tightens. They want you to slip up so they could twist whatever you say and humiliate you, like cats toying with a mouse. 

More than that, whatever you say could be used against Reo. What was their relationship with him? It sounds like they’ve known him for a long time. Were they people he couldn’t risk offending? These people aren’t like Takei, a bumbling man trying to suck up to people wealthier than him. You could snark back, consequences be damned, but what if that hurt Reo somehow?

“What mistake are we making?” the woman prompts. “Do tell me.”

You select your words delicately, like you’re stringing pearls along a necklace. “Mikage Reo is a wonderful person. He’s a partner far better than I deserve, and I know this. And he’s cleverer than you give him credit for. I don’t think he would fall for cheap tricks or flirtations. No matter who I am, or what you think of me, I would like it if you didn’t imply that Mikage Reo is any less than what he is.”

The couple pales suddenly. Did your speech have such an effect on them? But a hand lands on your shoulder, and Reo’s voice echoes from behind you. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I need to discuss something with my date.”

“Of course, Mikage-san,” the man stammers, all of his previous aggression gone. “By all means.”

There’s an uncharacteristically tight set to Reo’s jaw as he guides you to a balcony, arm pressed protectively around your waist. It’s not until there’s a layer of glass doors and gauzy curtains between you two and the rest of the party that he whirls around, eyes turbulent. His arm hasn’t moved an inch from your side.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he grits out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Oh, you know. I love when people are rude to me.”

“Stop joking around,” Reo says softly. “I’m serious, okay? You just– You could have said something! You’re my date. No one would… I could have said something. If you wanted me to.”

You let out a long sigh. Reo’s arm is still wrapped around your waist, and you impatiently shrug it off. Reo stares at the spot where his arm had once rested, as if not being able to touch you is the worst thing in the world. The fact that he’s sad for your sake– for you, his partner, his fake partner– makes you upset in ways you can’t begin to articulate. It was fine before. It was fun before, to mess around, to play in a world that isn’t really yours. Whatever you have isn’t real, so why does he act like it is? You even promised not to fall for each other. He was the one who suggested that clause.

“Are they people I can afford to offend?” you say tartly. “What sort of relationship do you have with them?”

“I would have covered anything you did–” Reo begins, but you shake your head.

“That isn’t the question. Are they people I could offend to afford? Are they people you need a good relationship with?”

Reo turns his head, and you have your answer. 

“I’m not playing the same game as you, Reo,” you say. “This is your world. I’m just a regular person, and I don’t have family or connections or wealth to protect me. All I have is you, and conversely, anything I do can be reflected back on you. If I act out, then they would use me as an excuse to talk badly about you. I didn’t… want that.”

“So it was because of me?” Reo whispers. “ That you had put up with all of that?”

“I didn’t do it just for you,” you say hastily, “So don’t feel bad, okay? I was also looking out for myself, too. Come on, Reo, don’t make that face–” But before you can crack a joke to lighten the atmosphere, Reo pulls you into his arms.

For a few seconds, all you’re aware of is his cologne, some sort of calm, gentle fragrance, and his arms pressed tightly around you, as if he could shelter you from the world by pulling you as close to his body as he could. His hands, resting assuredly on your back. His chin, dipping into the crook of your shoulder. “Wh– What are you trying to pull, Reo?” you squeak, all witty comebacks and jokes fleeing from your head at his touch.

Reo pulls back, just enough so you can see his face, but his hands are still on your shoulders. And– Reo, confident, clever, level-headed Reo– doesn’t look like a self-assured CEO heir or your usual partner in crime. He looks exhausted. Sad. In a way that someone as beautiful as Reo should never look. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“Don’t apologize,” you say gently. You lightly tap his chest with your fist. “Come on. You didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t the one who insulted me, right?”

“No, I am in the wrong,” Reo says, and before you can move your hand away, Reo cups his hand over your fist, keeping it trapped against his chest. “I thought I could protect you, but that wasn’t what happened. You were the one protecting me.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. You’ve helped me a lot,” you scold. “Mikage Reo, we’re partners.”

“Right. Right, partners. We’re partners.” His lips curve into a smile, like the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon. Reo is so unfairly beautiful, and why does he look especially beautiful when he’s looking at you? 

This is dangerous territory. The world is shifting beneath your feet, and you don’t know if you’ll like where you’ll end up when it stops moving. You open your mouth and hastily add, “Because of the contract, you know? We made a promise.” 

“The contract. Off course. We did make an agreement,” Reo says, but the warmth in his smile has burnt out, and no longer reaches his eyes.

“Right.” You shiver, and without a word, Reo shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. “Reo, you don’t have to…”

“It’s chilly during the summer,” Reo says simply. “I can’t have my… partner getting a cold. Let’s just call it a night.”

You crumple the silky fabric of his suit. It’s still warm from Reo’s body heat. “But the party–”

“Forget about it. You’ve already done your part. Just get some rest, okay? I’ll send you home.”

Reo ushers you through the party, warding off guests with a perfectly placed “my partner isn’t feeling well” and a pleasant smile– his business smile, nothing like the ones he shows you– and then you’re in Reo’s limousine. The two of you are silent on the way back. The streetlight flashes stripes of golden light across his face, but you still can’t tell what he’s thinking. For your part, outside of these quick glances at Reo, you stare out the window, at the lights of the city smearing across the glass.

When you stop by your house, it’s Reo who runs over to hold open your door and to offer you his hand as you step out. His hand lingers for a second longer than it has to before he pulls away.

“Have a good night,” Reo says.

“You, too. Wait, don’t you need your jacket back?” you ask, as Reo turns to go.

“No. You look nice in it. Just give it back to me next time.”

You open your mouth to make a joke about footing the bill, and how you don’t think you could afford the cleaning fees for his name brand clothing– but something in Reo’s gaze makes you bite your tongue. Instead, you wave. The last glance you have of Reo is of his silhouette, leaning against the car door, carefully watching you enter your house before he gets into his car and drives away.

—

For the next week, you keep staring at your phone, waiting for it to buzz. But there’s nothing but radio silence from Reo.

You’ve never felt more restless. Why hasn’t he called you? What do you do? Should you contact him first? Was he mad at you? He was definitely mad at you. You hurt him somehow, with your big mouth. But what were you to each other, really? Strangers? Not really. Friends, maybe. A couple? Definitely not. Somehow, your relationship has slipped out of the neat boundaries you’ve set at the beginning of the summer. It’s uncontainable, something formless and vague, neat labels sliding neatly off of it. 

This was supposed to be a relationship of convenience, just a summer fling at most. Two strangers, helping each other out. There was a clear expiration date. Did you have any right to push him? To call him? To mend this? 

You just wanted to have fun. Fun wasn’t supposed to come back and bite you in the ass like this. Fun wasn’t supposed to lead to either of you getting hurt. Fun wasn’t supposed to be Reo looking at you like that, like he… cared about you, more than he had to. It was supposed to be easy. Why wasn’t it easy?

He was the one who said that you weren’t his type. To be fair, he wasn’t really your type either. He wasn’t, but… his smile. His teasing words. His hug, tight and desperate, as if he never wanted to let you go. You said you weren’t going to fall for each other. You weren’t supposed to. You aren’t supposed to like him, not in this way. It was even in the stupid contract.

You pace around the living room, thoughts spiraling unendingly in your head, wearing a hole in the carpet as your siblings stare at you, unimpressed. 

“Can you stop? I’m getting dizzy,” your brother complains.

Your sister slaps him on the arm. “Stop it. Their boy toy ghosted them, so now they’re sad. Let them mourn.”

“Eh? How’s that my business? Just call him, dork,” your brother commands. “Or show up at his house with flowers or something. Just stop moping.”

“You are so tactless. What the hell is–”

You skirt out of the living room, your siblings’ voices trailing behind you as they bicker. It’s not as if Reo needs to text you. It’s not a big deal. He could just be busy. It’s not as if you’re really his partner or something. You’re just– some person he hired for the summer. That’s all your relationship is. You can’t get disappointed now, not when you drew the line in the sand first.

You sigh, falling into a crouch, staring morosely at your phone screen– before it lights up with an incoming call, and you press answer so fast there’s no time for the ringtone to go off.

“Reo?” you breathe. 

“Hi.”

“I thought you were dead! Why didn’t you call me? Or text? I mean, I know you’re busy as a corporate heir, but–”

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Are you free right now?”

“Yes? Why?”

“Can you come outside?”

“Uh, yeah. But why didn’t you just text me if you were coming to visit?”

“I wanted to hear your voice.” A pause. “Just forget I said that, okay? See you soon.”

Your heart pounds as you stare at the disconnected call, before you dash up the stairs to check your appearance in the mirror and maybe change to a cuter outfit. A few seconds later, you’re out the door, shoes still half on, and sprinting right into Reo, his car pulled right up to the curb.

“What’s up? Is there a party you want to talk about?” you say, breathless.

Reo opens his mouth, closes it, and then fumbles for the handle of the car door. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” he says, avoiding your eyes.

“Sure,” you say easily. You can sense more than see your brother and sister pressing nosily against the window. No doubt they’d pester you about what was going on when you got home.

The car ride is tense. Reo doesn’t talk to you, and instead stares outside the window the whole time. Is he steeling himself up for something? He glances at you occasionally, then glances away. You circle the same block twice before you impatiently ask the driver to simply drop you off at a random street. 

The heat is like a heavy blanket over the city, the perfect embodiment of summer. Somehow, you end up in a nice little plaza. There’s a fountain gurgling behind you, and children playing in the shade under the trees. People stream by, and it’s only you and Reo who are frozen in place.

“What is it that you called me for?” you say. 

“What?”

“You have something to say, right?”

Reo looks uneasily out at the sea of people under the blistering sun. “Let’s end our contract,” he says quietly.

You must have misheard. The heat is warping the air in front of your eyes. “Why? There’s still a few weeks left, right?”

“I’m terminating it early.”

“You can’t decide that on your own,” you say indignantly, but your hands are clammy. Your voice comes out reedy and thin, even to your own ears. 

“It was going to end eventually. Ending it a few weeks early is no big deal,” he says curtly.

“Why now, though? Is it because of what happened at the last party?” you break in. “That’s no big deal. I can handle people like that.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he snaps.

“Huh?”

Reo runs a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have to put up with people like that.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says. “I don’t like– I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“But–!”

“And you’re just doing this for fun, right? It’s not like you have to go with me. If it stops being fun… if it starts making more trouble for you than what it’s worth… you should just leave. It’s like you said,” he says. “This is a contractual relationship.”

What can you say? You and Reo are just… what, exactly? Strangers in a business relationship? Friends, who only came together out of a twisted coincidence? He wasn’t your real boyfriend. You were just acting in a play, and at some point, the curtains had to fall.

“I won’t bother you with something like this again. Just… consider our agreement over, okay? You don’t have to pretend to be my partner anymore.”

He turns, and overwhelming desperation seizes you. If you let him go now, something will change forever, and you’ll never see him again. You’re certain of it. Reo is doing this out of consideration for you. It’s a kindness on his part, but you hate it. You hate it so much you can barely breathe. 

“Wait!” He stops. All you can see is his back. What can you say? What sort of joke, or clever remark? What easy thing can repair your relationship? Nothing comes to mind. There’s nothing left, nothing but the truth.  “I… I like being with you, Reo. I know I said I want to do whatever is fun, but… the most fun I’ve ever had is by your side. So don’t just… don’t just say it’s over. Was it not fun for you?”

You take a step closer towards him. He doesn’t back away. Another step. All you can hear is the gurgling of the fountain now, and all you can see is Reo. Reo, as beautiful as the sun.

His ears are red. Reo finally turns towards you, averting his gaze from yours, his hand covering his mouth.  “Of course I like being with you. I just can’t be your fake boyfriend. I can’t do that anymore. I’ve already broken the contract. I… About you, I…”

Call it fate, or a coincidence. But at that moment, a passerby bumps into you, causing you to stumble. You yelp, your knees hitting the edge of the fountain, and Reo, alarmed, tries to grab you– you only manage to grasp his arm before you tumble over. Reo goes down with you. A wave of water splashes over the fountain as you flail, you and Reo fumbling for purchase. The two of you end up more soaked with every attempt to straighten yourselves, and it’s all just so ridiculous. 

Laughter bubbles up out of you, and you can’t stop, even though everyone is staring at the two of you. You’re drenched, water streaming down your face, dripping from your clothes. Maybe this is what your hoodie feels like when you run it through the washing machine.

Reo lies beneath you in a pool of fountain water, your arms on either side of his torso. You’re sheltered in the circle of his open legs. His hair is plastered to his face, his expensive cotton shirt clinging to his body, and you carefully tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, but it’s all in vain.

“I can’t believe this,” you snicker. “Imagine the headlines. Mikage heir, found diving in a Tokyo fountain!”

“Oh, shut it,” he mutters, but you only laugh harder.

Suddenly, his hand cups your face, a tentative gesture. His thumb is so close to your lips. If he moves an inch, he’d brush them. Your laugh quiets. “What’s wrong, Reo?” you say, but your heart is pounding like a flock of birds lifting up in flight.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, as if it’s the only truth in the world. “Tell me if you don’t want this.” He’s face to face with you now, and you’re acutely aware of the way his gaze lingers on your lips. “Tell me if you don’t want me. Push me away right now.”

Oh, to hell with it. You lean forward and crash your lips onto his, urgently gripping his face with both your hands. It’s a terrible first kiss. There’s the taste of rusty water, and he’s slack at first, awkward, as you try to move against his lips. But then Reo circles his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, and now he’s kissing you back. He breaks apart only to connect again, desperate as if this is his one and only chance. Like stars colliding, all you can think of is this. Of him. Of the summer heat, lingering even when you part.

“Reo. I like you,” you say, simply. “I want to date you. For real, this time. No contracts, or anything. Even though I’m not your type, apparently.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Forget about my type, or the contract. I don’t care anymore. I like you, too. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“If you liked me, then why did you ignore me for a week?” you say indignantly.

“I was… I was nervous, okay? I mean, you shouldn’t have said our relationship was just a contract! I thought you didn’t like me!”

“Sorry, sorry. Both of us messed up, huh?” you ask. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Yeah, I can think of a few ways,” Reo mumbles.

He leans forward to kiss you again, and– “Hey! What are you kids doing in that fountain?! That’s public property!” A policeman yells.

Oh, shit. You totally forgot you were still in public, in the middle of a fountain. But there’s no time to think. Reo grabs your hand, and the two of you scramble up, splashing water everywhere as you jump out of the fountain and run down the streets. Everyone is staring at you, but who cares? Summer is almost over, and you deserve to have some fun with your boyfriend.

#liya writes #blue lock #mikage reo #reo mikage #blue lock x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #blue lock reo #bllk #x reader #bllk x reader #3rd entry for my bllk seasonal shoujo fic!! #longest one ive ever posted. reo im going to kill u for making me write so much

[tulipsforvin]

Hiii, how are you? I love your writing sm, especially your Mycroft fics. I didn’t even like his character that much until I read your fanfics about him ^^

So can I request a jealous Mycroft Holmes x trophy wife reader? Something similar to your last post or maybe a continuation?

Thanks sm <3

✦ YOU BELONG TO ME ‧₊˚✩彡

🌷: HII im good :) thnx sm for the kind words !! have a nice day/night

🌷: F!TROPHY WIFE READER x JEALOUS MYCROFT HOLMES

⚠️: such a cliché 🙏, somewhat suggestive at the end.

surely this was to be expected; you were in no way lacking. the attention your beauty and elegance brought with you was only one of the many implications that came with marrying you. he could handle it, couldn't he? surely he could. you were his trophy wife, an accessory to be shown at the best.

but that position didn't quite please you. no no, you wanted more. you wanted all of him, him and his affections, every bit of his attention. you wanted to be more than just a mere prize to him. which is why..

“right! and then he said—” music & loud voices dipped in cheery laughter blur into the background.

watching yet another group of men group you crowd you for the umpteenth time this night—something began to rise within him. anger, frustration, disgust.. he wasn't sure what it exactly was. perhaps a mixture of them all. all he knew was that it made his stomach feel hollow, his chest burn with something foreign and bile crawl up to his throat.

you high five a nobleman. that noble looks too happy over mere skin contact. the muscle under his eye twitches slightly. ‘really?’ he wishes to say out loud. he's the one who brought you here. you're his wife.

“..mr. holmes.”

“mr. holmes.”

“mr. mycroft holmes.”

mycroft snaps out of his thoughts. “ah.” he blinks. his dark eyes smoothly shift back to the man infront of him. “apologies, secretary general. please continue.”

“...” the secretary general scans mycroft's face for any expression hinting to why he seems so out of it tonight. mycroft is too clever not to notice so he arches an eyebrow and the secretary general clears his throat. “ahem. as i was saying, if we are to implement better rules and regulations then..”

the secretary general's voice fades into the background for the second time this night. mere background noise to mycroft holmes—the man known to be devoted to his work. well.. not tonight though. there was something else bothering him.

“you're so beautiful, miss. (name)!” the man infront of you chirps, a patch of hair on his chin for a beard.

his beard doesn't even connect, mycroft scoffs under his breath, thinking to himself. if you can even call it a beard—it's just barely visible stubble. barely there.

“oh thank you!” your hand pats his forearm lightly.

what on earth are you doing? he wishes he could say.

he glances back at the babbling man infront of him; not a stop to his endless tirade of words. he sighs.

“mr. holmes, are you okay?” the secretary general says, tilting his head to the side by the slightest.

“i am.” mycroft replies curtly, not even looking at him. his attention is somewhere else entirely. on you, to be exact. and that rat looking bastard besides you.

“i should be the one thanking you for attending. otherwise i wouldn't have been able to meet you.” the nobleman's gaze falls to your neck where a beautiful pearl necklace rests. “such a gorgeous necklace, i must say.” he uses it as an excuse to caress your neck with the back of his fingers.

mycroft's face darkens visibly, a vein protruding on his jaw as he clenches it. his eyebrows furrow, forming a small line in the space between.

that's enough. he thinks. he doesn't like that. no, not at all. why aren't you saying anything to that bastard?

instead of pushing the nobleman away, it felt like you were encouraging his actions, letting him do as he pleases with you—and that really irritated mycroft.

a server carrying several glasses of sparkling wine walks to each group of people, asking them if they would like some. when the server comes to you, the nobleman alongside you picks up two glasses.

the man is cheerful as he speaks to you, obviously feeling quite joyous at the chance of being able to talk to someone as beautiful as you. “here, miss. a glass of champagne each for you and for me.”

“thank y—”

in mere seconds mycroft has excused himself and began striding to you, footsteps large and distanced.

“thank you.” a man's hands, large and veiny slithers into the space between you and the nobleman. and when they pull back, they retrieve the two glasses of sparkling wine from the nobleman.

your neck snaps around to the deep, familiar voice behind you. you look up to see a tall and looming mycroft, annoyance plastered across his face, hand you one glass and keep the other to himself.

“mycroft!” you smile up at him, eyes glittering. you take the glass of champagne from him and sip at it.

“o-oh,” the nobleman falters, stepping back instinctively. “good.. good evening, mr. holmes.”

“evening.” mycroft's voice is low and rumbly. an arm travels to your hips and he pulls you in close to him.

“fine banquet, isn't it? i quite like the atmosphe—”

“yes, yes.” mycroft hums dismissively. “pardon me, but me and my wife have somewhere to be.”

that's all he says before he's practically dragging you away, a firm hand still grasping onto your waist—not even letting either of you bid farewell to each other.

“we do?” you peek up at him as you're walking away.

“yes.” his voice is quiet. tight. firm. growly. everything sexy. “i feel as if a little disciplining might be in order.”

you gulp thickly at his words as he leads you to the bathroom. but this was what you wanted, after all.

you can't help the small and subtle smirk that appears on your painted lips. “ofcourse.. darling.”

#mycroft holmes x you #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes x y/n #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot x you #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x you #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #mtp x reader #mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes mtp #mtp mycroft holmes

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

the swan and her princess (part 2)

summary: Swan Lake isn’t all beauty and grace, contrary to popular belief. And you experience firsthand that as you wage a one-sided war with your “rival” for the role of Odette.

chapter summary: A pleasant surprise turns out to be possibly not so pleasant after all.

pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman) x fem!Ballerina!Reader [aka some sort of a messy Ballet!AU]

word count: 2695

warnings: cussing, ballet terms, creative liberties taken since I’ve never been to Lincoln Center and the research I’ve done may or may not be fully accurate

a/n: :D got a little carried away with this one whoops doing this is much harder than i expected this au is taking up my entire brain pls help

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 (pending)

glossary:

Barre: A handrail used by ballet dancers to maintain balance while exercising. One hand is placed on the barre at all times, and the dancer stands beside it.

Kitri: The feisty and wilful heroine of the ballet Don Quixote. When her father Lorenzo tries to marry her off for money, she doesn’t play the victim, but hatches a plan to marry Basilio, the charming barber who has won her heart, and pursue her own version of happiness. As a dancer’s role, Kitri is athletic and demanding. Kitri wears striking red costumes (look them up, they’re really beautiful) and gestures expressively with a fan in a nod to her Spanish heritage.

Don Quixote: Don Quixote is a ballet in three acts, based on episodes taken from the famous novel Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes.

Kurta: A loose collarless shirt/dress of a type worn by people in South Asia, usually with a salwar, churidars, or pyjama.

Dupatta: A length of material arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez. Usually worn by women from South Asia.

Right after you set foot in the studio and dropped your bag in the corner, you made a beeline for the cacophonous, eagerly buzzing crowd that had formed around the cast list.

You saw a familiar duffel bag and raised your eyebrows slightly. Surprisingly, Gwen had showed up on time. Miracles really did exist.

Murmurs of disappointment and cheers of satisfaction rippled through the dancers in the room as they dispersed one by one, either wearing an expression of genuine excitement or a mask of disguised regret that they hadn’t tried harder or trained longer.

You pushed your way to the front, your eyes immediately darting to the name next to Odette. Your heart sank as you traced over the curly loops and sharper lines of the handwritten letters.

White Swan/Princess Odette : Patricia Roberts.

Pat…?

Sure, she was good, but she was always a little bit too fast for the pieces. She was brilliant at lightning-quick steps in speedy variations, but couldn’t ‘dance like a flowy fairy’, as your ballet teacher said, to save her life.

And the White Swan was all about being slow and sad and graceful.

Your eyes travelled further down the list, going through the roles of Odile, the cygnets, the general swans, and the royals. Each time, you were disappointed. By the time you reached the end of the list, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit anxious. Your name just… wasn’t there.

You were a part of this, right?

The entire class was taking part in this production. It wouldn’t make any sense for you to not be there. Even if it was just as a regular background swan.

“Can’t find your name either, huh?”

You hadn’t noticed that everyone else had broken off into excitedly chattering groups to start warming up and take their places at the barre, leaving only you and Gwen standing and craning your necks up at the piece of paper that seemed to decide your fate in the studio for the next few months.

You shook your head no, earning a sigh from Gwen that lasted longer than it probably should have.

“Well, we could ask Miss Walker, but she’s not here yet. So…” She shifted awkwardly beside you. You tried to observe her from your peripheral vision without being too obvious. She sounded… tired. Exhausted, really, like she hadn’t slept in a few days and then had to run a marathon around the city. She had done a pretty shoddy job of concealing the heavy dark circles under her eyes — which truly was saying something, because her makeup was usually immaculate.

Fuck. You couldn’t believe it, but for a moment you almost felt sorry for her. Well, maybe not just almost.

“Hey, uh… you good?” You winced at your attempt at a nonchalant tone. Gwen turned to look at you like you had sprouted a third head, slight confusion reflecting in her eyes.

You had never noticed them before, but she had nice eyes, honestly. The expressive kind that could show every little shift in her emotions if she didn’t hide it. And right now she looked like she was about to grin or crack a joke, so you fixed a scowl on your face to ward off any amusing thing she might have been gearing up to say.

The smile in her eyes faded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Time to poke the bee’s nest. “You don’t sound—”

You were cut off as the studio doors flew open, and Miss Walker, looking extremely hassled, practically sprinted in. Random strands of hair poked out of her unusually-untidy bun, and her glasses were perched precariously on the tip of her nose. She held her phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Class, pointes on and everyone to the barre right now, please! Finish your second warmup, I’ll be right with you. Gwendolyn, Y/N, may I have a word with the two of you?”

We’re in trouble, mouthed Gwen with a comically scared, wide-eyed, completely exaggerated expression that was very childish and definitely should not have made you want to laugh. You bit the inside of your cheek to clamp down on your smile.

Your ballet teacher led you both over to a corner of the studio, adjusting her glasses right as they were about to fall off. “Okay, so I have some very good news for both of you. You might have noticed that your names weren’t on the final cast list at all, correct?”

You both nodded.

“As it turns out, you’ve been selected by the School of American Ballet to feature in New York City Ballet’s version of Swan Lake! And not selected for just any role — you girls are playing both Swans!”

The words took a few seconds to register in your mind. The sheer improbability of it all was phenomenal — two mere teenagers chosen to perform by the most prestigious ballet company in the world, to dance alongside some of the best professional ballerinas-in-the-making? This was a dream come true; was any of this real?

“You’re joking,” you heard Gwen say beside you. You felt like you were about to lift off and float all the way to the sky when your teacher just gave a broad, proud smile.

Everything after that was surrounded by a hazy glow of euphoric shock — blurred by excitement and lightheadedness and disbelief. You might’ve blacked out at one point, bracing yourself against the wall while you waited for your vision to clear.

Gwen suddenly narrowed her eyes in a wince, squinting as if she had a headache. “I’m so sorry, I have to go,” She mumbled hastily, before grabbing her bag and slipping out of the studio. And just like that, she was gone. Again.

You and Miss Walker exchanged a look of slight confusion, but she shrugged. “Well, you’re dismissed for today, Y/N. They’re expecting you tomorrow. You know where the company is, right?”

“Yes, miss.” Of course you did, which ballerina didn’t? Of all the best aspiring ballet dancers’ dream companies, New York City Ballet was right up there with The Royal Ballet in London, Paris Opera Ballet in France, and the Australian Ballet in Melbourne. In other words: this was a giant fucking deal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You’d have to be beyond idiotic to blow it off.

You arrived at Lincoln Center (which housed the New York City Ballet), fresh-faced and a few minutes early. Well, maybe not so fresh-faced, since you could barely sleep because of nerves. Throughout the night, what felt like a million thoughts that were all variations of what if I’m not good enough? and maybe I’m not cut out for this plagued you well into the early hours of the morning.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Gwen, looking annoyingly (and most probably effortlessly) put-together and honestly quite fashionable. Did she have to have such perfect eyeliner? Even her hair tips seemed pinker than usual.

“Wow, you’re early for once,” You tried to load snark into your tone but failed miserably, earning you an insufferably relaxed chuckle from Gwen.

You shook your head and focused on trying to find the ballet company’s actual studio. Lincoln Center was comprised of a complex of buildings in a giant neighbourhood that you had never been in before, and the David H. Koch Theater which housed the New York City Ballet was just one of those many buildings spread over 16.3 acres.

You were lucky you two had arrived early, because it took you ten whole minutes trying to find the theater - because, as it turns out, you and Gwen had entered from a separate entrance from the main one. Finally you entered the studio, and for a while the only sounds were that of your shoes squeaking on the shiny wooden floors.

Something that struck you was just how big everything about it was.

The light fixtures that lined the walls cast yellow light all along the hallway, illuminating everything with a soft glow the colour of honeyed amber. Just walking that corridor made you feel like you were approaching a royal ballroom, floating around in a gown that could put Kitri’s costume from Don Quixote to shame.

You finally saw the door to the studio. Someone was waiting outside — a man in an all-black suit with close-cropped black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His face broke into a smile as he saw you and Gwen, and without waiting for you to fully make it to the door, he strode forward and clasped your hand.

“Welcome to New York City Ballet! I’m Carlos, the resident choreographer of this company. We’ve been expecting you! Your teacher has informed you of the production we are working on, yes?” He rattled all of this off at full speed in clipped, staccato pronunciations, so fast that it took you a second to register what he was saying.

“Swan Lake, right?” Gwen answered for you.

“Yes, yes. I assume you both know the combinations for both swans?” You nodded maybe a little too eagerly, eliciting a subtle eyebrow-raise from Carlos. “Very good. Come, I will introduce you to Shaoni. She is our support staff, and a former ballet mistress. She taught many young dancers who went on to become famous prima ballerinas. Don’t take her words too seriously; her bark is worse than her bite.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile and pushed open the double doors. Immediately the first thing you saw was a woman wearing a blue kurta with a gold-trimmed dupatta, her dark hair pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck. The thing that stood out most about her was her highly displeased scowl that had her looking like someone had insulted her entire bloodline three times over, spat in her face and then wrecked her favourite tutu.

Forget a simple resting bitch face, this was a prime, next-level display of an I’m-done-with-this-shit-and-I-need-a-vacation expression.

“Good morning, girls. My name is Shaoni Lahiri, you will address me as Miss Lahiri. You’re a bit early; please begin your warmup while we wait for the others. Also, our artistic director wanted to talk to you about your first day, so once he arrives meet him in his office.” Miss Lahiri had just finished her introductory monologue when her phone buzzed in her pocket with a notification.

Her eyes swiped over the lockscreen for a brief second before she tucked it away again, and you could’ve sworn you saw her roll her eyes slightly when she saw the name of the messager. “Mr. Osborn will see you now. The door to his office is in the far left corner of the studio. Try not to get lost, will you?” Even her sarcasm sounded effortlessly annoyed beyond relief.

And just like that, she abandoned you and went over to compare choreography notes with Carlos.

You turned and followed her directions, noticing a polished wooden door near the end wall of the studio. “Hey, wait for me!” Gwen had been busy gawking at the studio and, really, you couldn’t quite blame her. It truly was something else compared to the much smaller one you were used to.

You knocked once and pushed open the door once you heard a voice call out, “Come in!”

The moment the door swung open, you were immediately blinded by the brightest white light you had ever seen. The entire office looked like it had been bleached to within an inch of its life; there were no specks of dust to be seen and everything was neatly arranged in cupboards and on shelves.

“Oh, hello there!” Once your eyes had readjusted, you noticed a man with greying red-brown hair in a crisp suit with a green pinstripe jacket, an orange vest, and black pants. He sat with his hands clasped neatly on the lacquered teakwood desk in front of him, wearing a polite smile.

“You must be the new arrivals, yes? Let’s see, what are your names…” He opened a folder that had been pushed to one side of the desk, flicking through pages. “Gwen Stacy and Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s us,” You answered quickly, feeling slightly giddy with excitement as the truth sunk in properly. This wasn’t a dream, you had really been selected by the fucking New York City Ballet. You would be working alongside some of the best ballet dancers in the area. Better yet, you had more than a fair chance at dancing Odette. Of course, so did Gwen, but you were obviously the better choice… it wasn’t personal, really, just that she barely attended a full class and therefore should probably dance Odile instead.

“Excellent, excellent. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Norman Osborn, the artistic director of this company.” He stood up and shook your hand. He smiled at Gwen, but instead of smiling back, she just dropped her gaze, inhaling sharply as if she had been stung.

“Something’s not right with him,” She murmured to you the moment Mr. Osborn turned his back to retrieve a folder from his filing cabinet. “I can’t explain it, just… please trust me. I think he’s going to be a threat to us.”

You felt annoyance flare up inside you, white-hot maelstroms of anger expanding by the second. “Please excuse us, Mr. Osborn. Gwen and I need to discuss something.” You tried to sound as inconspicuous and well-mannered as you could. You grabbed Gwen’s shoulder and pulled her through the door, closing it behind you.

“Listen here,” You hissed, letting go of her. “I didn’t make it all this way and train for an extra four hours a day for three years just so you could blow this off. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re some sort of a package deal. So don’t you dare make up stuff and tell me this perfectly polite man is a threat. Is this some sort of scheme? You make me get cold feet, pretend like you’re dropping out, then when you convince me to leave the company you swoop in and snatch up the role of Odette? Is that what you’re playing at?”

Gwen stared at you in utter disbelief, rubbing her shoulder where your grip had tightened just a little too much. “What? No, of course not. I would never—”

“Okay, good. Now let’s get back in there and do whatever the hell he wants us to do, because this is the New York City Ballet and we are not leaving till we’re done with this production, got it?”

For a split second, intense desperation marred her features and she looked like she was about to cry. Then, just as quickly as it had come, all the vulnerability displayed on her face disappeared — but not from her eyes. Her mouth and eyebrows were relaxed, cool, but her eyes shone with a feverish light that made her look a bit manic. Finally she took a deep breath and glared levelly at you.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Something about her tone would have sent a shiver down your spine if you hadn’t been so pumped up about this whole ordeal. You dismissed it easily, penning it, possibly, as the sullen disappointment of a plotter whose evil scheme hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

You entered the office again, Gwen trailing behind you reluctantly, and gave Mr. Osborn a big smile. “You were saying?”

He passed you and Gwen two sheets of paper and a pen. “Sign this. It’s a contract that officialises your stay at this company for the duration of this production.”

You signed it eagerly. Gwen, who was studying the words intently, noticed your impatience and signed it too.

“Perfect,” said Norman Osborn, giving you a big smile. Was it just you, or did it look more plastic this time…?

Nope, definitely just you. He carefully filed the sheets away and clasped your hand in a handshake once again. “Welcome to New York City Ballet. I’m sure this contract will prove to be beneficial to the both of us.”

Gwen dropped her eyes to the floor. Probably just her odd headaches acting up again.

Taglist:

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[hyunbunlix]

Belonging [seraph soldier!Hyunjin]

Characters: Hyunjin, fem!OC Rating: A/O for Adults Only Content Warnings/Tags: mentions/depictions of war/battle, winged characters, explicit sexual content, inexperienced Hyunjin, switch Hyunjin, blowjob/facefucking (+swallowing), fingerbanging, multiple orgasms, back-to-back orgasms (f), cunnilingus, unprotected penetration, dirty talk/banter, hickey (m. receiving), raw male orgasms Word Count: 10,575 Summary: As a member of the Misbegotten—an army made up of the angel Emperor’s bastard children—Hyunjin has long since accepted his status as cannon fodder. As casualties in the war with chimaera worsen, commanders from the Dominion army are sent to bolster the Misbegotten ranks. The last thing he expected was one of the Dominion to inspire him to dream of a different life. Note: Based on the world of Daughter of Smoke & Bone by Laini Taylor.

Once upon a time, a soldier forgot what he was made for, and chose to love instead.

Seraph soldiers came in three varieties.

            The first: The Dominion, the best of the best, soldiers that served under the Emperor’s brother and carried out the will of the royal family most directly.

            The second: Aptly named the Second Legion, this force was what most people would call the standard military. For the most part, any angel who wanted to join the cause but was not truly exceptional was in the Second Legion.

            The third, and final: The Misbegotten, a military force made up entirely of the Emperor’s bastards. It was drilled into their heads from a young age that they were not people, but weapons; they had no rights, only a purpose. Angels lived for hundreds of years, and the Emperor had sired thousands of bastards. It was said he had a harem full of women, and that he called a different one to him every night.

            Hyun Jin could confirm that to be true, because he’d been born in the harem, and had witnessed the nightly ritual, the way women would be escorted out, and when they came back, they were exhausted at best and broken at worst. It was cruel, how Hyun Jin could remember the aura of fear in that place better than he could remember his own mother’s face.

            Was his mother still in the harem, he wondered? Did he have other full-blooded siblings in the Misbegotten army that he didn’t even know about? Naturally, every Misbegotten was at least his half-sibling, but were any of them more than that?

            Hyun Jin hoped none of them were. He hoped, at best, that his mother had been able to escape. He hoped, at worst, that she’d finally been allowed the mercy of death. He knew which was more likely.

            Since new Misbegotten were conceived nearly every single night, this was the military branch that always got sent in first, and therefore the one that withstood the most casualties. Recently, they’d taken heavy losses against their chimaera foes. The war had started hundreds of years before Hyun Jin was born, and, being one of the Emperor’s many bastards, he was not allowed the luxury of an opinion on that matter. He would fight the chimaera until he died, or he would attempt to desert and be hunted for sport. His end would be the same no matter his choices.

            Hyun Jin hadn’t been alive at the beginning of the war, and he likely wouldn’t be alive at the end of it, either. He’d been around long enough, though, to know that things were horribly wrong. The chimaera had always been a peculiar group of races, part or even mostly animal, but the chimaera they were fighting as of late . . . they were wrong. They had become hulking nightmare creatures that could not possibly occur in nature. Hyun Jin had seen and fought several; he wasn’t short by any means, but some of these monsters were nearly twice his height.

            Suffice it to say, the Misbegotten were forced under the brunt of the assault, and had suffered heavy casualties.

            When Hyun Jin found out that several ranking officers from the Dominion were being sent to bolster their ranks, he was shocked. Surely this couldn’t be the Emperor’s idea; he was just fine with using his bastard children as cannon fodder. No, someone must have talked enough strategy to convince him to do it out of necessity.

            When the members of the Dominion arrived, the Misbegotten camp did their best to welcome them out of respect (or fear of insult). They didn’t have the resources for anything so fancy as a banquet, of course, so they determined to have a feast instead. They all had to eat, after all, so it allowed the Misbegotten to be respectful of their “betters” without being wasteful about it. Hyun Jin even volunteered to be on the hunting party. It was nice to do something that didn’t involve wading into an active warzone for once. Though he fought mostly with swords in combat, he wasn’t half-bad as an archer, and taking down game was much easier than taking down chimaera soldiers.

            Hyun Jin mostly kept to himself during the feast, rarely venturing away from his team. He paid attention, of course, when the officers were introduced, and made his snap judgment of each. Most of them seemed as arrogant as he’d expected, and a few even seemed downright cruel. There were a few others, though, that didn’t leave much of an impression at all, and Hyun Jin prayed his team would be assigned to one of those relatively inoffensive individuals. For once in his life, the Godstars felt up to answering his prayers, because his team ended up with one of the milder-seeming officers, a female lieutenant named Da’el who, throughout the night, kept to herself and minded her business where many of her comrades contented themselves with antagonizing the Misbegotten at every opportunity. The latter treatment was to be expected; everyone who was in frequent direct contact with the Emperor was more or less a horrible person. Who was this seraph, that she’d managed to avoid the Emperor’s corruption?

           He told himself he was reading way too far into it. Maybe she just had a lot of restraint or was a really good actress, and she’d prove herself to be just as horrible as the others when training started in the morning. After all, it was so much easier to be cruel with a blade in your hand.

At dawn, the Misbegotten rose, ate, and reported to their new honorary commanders. Hyun Jin tried to put the trepidation out of his mind, but it was difficult. When he saw their new commanding officer standing on their practice pitch, her wings glowing in the new morning light, he tried to get a better read on her. She had the same nothing-expression on her face that she’d had the night before. When he and his team lined up, as they were supposed to, he realized she was nearly as tall as him. She looked over the lot of them with eyes similar to her wings, which was unusual. Most angels either had blue eyes, like the Emperor and those he surrounded himself with, or dark brown eyes like the common folk that, for the Misbegotten, made up a majority of their mothers. Even green eyes were more common than hers, which looked like they were on fire, and Hyun Jin couldn’t decide if it was a trick of the sunrise or not.

            “Pair off,” she said. “You may use any weapon you like. I want to see what I’m working with.”

            They did as she said, and Hyun Jin belatedly recalled that his team was an odd number after . . . recent losses. He felt bad for the man that got stuck with the commander, a soldier named Lorn who was a few years older than Hyun Jin. Lorn looked terrified of the lieutenant, but, to Hyun Jin’s surprise, she didn’t react to that at all. He’d expected her to be at least a little smug.

            Two at a time, they sparred, leaving Da’el and her unfortunate partner for last. Da’el fought with twin swords, while her opponent chose a pike. Hyun Jin knew Lorn’s fighting style, and the pike was not his weapon of choice. He often fought with a claymore, but perhaps, upon seeing what the lieutenant would be using, had chosen something with a faster fighting style despite being personally unaccustomed. Hyun Jin wasn’t sure that was such a good strategy here.

            He expected the fight to be over quickly; he expected a member of the Dominion to act the way they always did, by making short work of their opponents, humiliating them in the process. Hyun Jin was stunned when that didn’t play out.

            Instead of disarming Lorn promptly and berating him for his sub-par skills, Da’el checked her own skill level to just above his; he wouldn’t win, but he would get a good fight out of it. It was obvious to Hyun Jin that she was holding back, but he attributed it to his own skill with swords rather than an obvious telegraphing of her movements. Really, she was doing quite a good job of not embarrassing the soldier; she could have easily used her restraint to mock him. Hyun Jin really only knew the difference because he saw the openings he himself would have taken to disarm Lorn, and watched her pass them up.

            Eventually, after letting Lorn put up a good fight, she disarmed him, and put her sword tips, crossed right over left, on his shoulders. The message was obvious: had this been a real fight, it would have ended with the soldier losing his head.

            “Good,” she said, withdrawing her blades and replacing them on the rack. Hyun Jin hadn’t registered at first that those weren’t even her swords; they were regular practice blades. How much better was she when using blades weighted for her swing? Were swords even her weapon of choice?

            “I’m pleased to see that a good many of you are adaptable, but a lot of you still need work. It’s my understanding that the Misbegotten have taken heavy losses recently. Why do you think that is?”

            She asked the question in such a way that expressed actual curiosity, like she actually valued their opinion and insights. There was nothing patronizing in her voice or expression; she wasn’t trying to denigrate them by blaming them for their defeats. It was extremely unlike one of the Dominion. Honestly, even the Second Legion, whom the Misbegotten served alongside more often, didn’t really care what the Misbegotten thought and tended to mock when they did dare to express themselves.

            “You could start with the fact that the chimaera are ten feet tall now,” answered one of the soldiers. Da’el looked thoughtful.

            “That shouldn’t affect your results this much. Being large tends to slow a body down, not to mention you all have wings. It’s not as though you can’t reach their heads. What else?”

            “They all fly now,” Hyun Jin said, surprising himself. She turned those burning eyes on him, and he almost lost his nerve for a second. He’d forgotten entirely for an instant that she was Dominion, and his current commander. She’d spoken like this was just a conversation between comrades, and he’d responded in kind without thinking. It wasn’t like him to forget himself in such a way.

            “Was every victory in the past predicated on aerial superiority?” she asked him, directly. She didn’t move her eyes to include the other seraphim in the question.

            “No,” he answered. She didn’t remove her gaze, prompting him to continue. “Not every victory,” he elaborated. “There have always been races of chimaera that can fly. We’ve never been wholly unchallenged in the air. But we’ve also never been this challenged.”

           She nodded, and moved her eyes to the other seraphim. Hyun Jin nearly sighed in relief, which confused him. No Dominion had ever had the ability to rattle him before, and all she’d done was ask a question.

            “What else?” she asked of the group.

            “There’s a difference in tactics,” said Lorn. For an instant, the edge of Da’el’s mouth lifted toward a smile. Hyun Jin felt a peculiar stab like jealousy. He hadn’t gotten a partial smile for his answer.

            “Different, how?” she asked, addressing only Lorn now.

            “It’s like they know us, what we’ll do,” he said. “We’ve been fighting this war for hundreds of years, always had a familiarity with one another’s tactics, but this . . . It feels as though they know us personally.”

            She gave one deep nod in response. “Excellent observation. Anything else?”

            The rest of Hyun Jin’s team started to pipe up their experiences, too, anything they thought might help form a clearer picture. Now that they all felt they could speak freely without repercussions, they offered up everything they knew. She took every piece, built on every answer, asked clarifying questions to draw out extra details.

            “After observing your fights today,” she said at the end, “I can tell there are several of you already internalizing these concepts, which is probably why you’re still alive.” She gestured to Lorn, the soldier she’d sparred with. “Lorn knew that his usual strategy—his usual specialty—wouldn’t be effective against me. I saw several of you make similar choices in your fights, as well. Lorn lost today, but he showed the adaptability necessary to overcome and win in the future. I’m going to teach all of you how to do that. Your current skills alone won’t save you, but they’ll provide the proper foundation for the new ones you’ll accrue. Think about where you’re starting from and where you wish to go. If you’re uncertain, ask me and I’ll help you. Any questions?”

            Hyun Jin knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help but take this like a personal reprimand. He’d chosen his usual swords for today’s spar, and in so doing, felt as though he’d failed a test. Did their commander think less of him now for his inability to consider creative solutions?

            And, perhaps, more importantly, why the fuck did he care?

            She dismissed them and told them to return after the midday meal with their new weapon of choice in mind. The team wandered off, and all of them seemed to be in various stages of bewilderment.

            “She made it sound like she actually cares whether we live or die,” said one of the soldiers.

            “I don’t buy it,” said another.

            “What reason does she have to put up an act? I’ll bet the others aren’t.”

            That, at least, seemed to be true. When they met up with a few of the other teams for lunch, they didn’t need to ask to know. Plenty of the other Misbegotten were sporting minor injuries, bruises and cuts that proved their new commanders hadn’t taken it easy on them.

            But . . . that wasn’t the right language, was it? Hyun Jin didn’t feel as though he’d gotten off the hook easily. He’d still worked hard, and he was ravenous by the time he’d gotten his food. So, what, then? What was the difference?

            At first, a few of the other Misbegotten teased them for their softer treatment. They asked who their new commander was, and upon hearing it was Da’el, several of them became confused.

            “They were calling her the witch last night,” offered a woman from another team. “That doesn’t sound like the kind of nickname one gets by being merciful.”

            “Perhaps they call her the witch because she’s the only person left in all of Astrae with a working brain in her head,” offered another. That drew laughter from most of the circle.

            Hyun Jin kept his view of things to himself. Perhaps she was simply wise enough not to stress the things around her until they broke. The chimaera did plenty of breaking. What good was it to harm their allies when their enemy could do it just as well, or better?

            That, however, looked a little too much like mercy, which was something seraphim, and those close to the Emperor especially, were not known to have in excess. So, how? So, why? How had she come to be one of the Dominion without succumbing to the ethos that thrummed from the very heart of the empire?

            Hyun Jin was among the first to finish eating; he stood and turned to go. He still had no idea what to choose for his secondary weapon, and . . . he had the urge to speak with Da’el, alone.

When he made it back to the practice pitch, she was already there, sitting in the shade and eating her own meal. This struck him as immediately strange. He’d seen the pavilion where the other Dominion were eating together.

            “Am I here too early?” he asked, testing the waters. She glanced up at him, but remained seated. Strange, incredibly so. With him standing and her sitting, he had the appearance of every advantage over her, and the Dominion valued their appearance very much. They wouldn’t be caught dead in the perception that they were beneath a Misbegotten.

            “Not at all,” she said. “Did you need help choosing a weapon?”

            “Yes, but . . .” But what? What else could he possibly be here for? He sat down across from her, and saw . . . something . . . flicker in her firelight eyes. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

            She looked at him curiously. “They don’t suit my idea of companionship,” she said simply. He blinked at her, and she took another bite of her stew.

            “Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but you’re not how I expected you to be,” he said before he could really think it through. She made a soft sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh, the edges of her mouth curving. Hyun Jin’s chest tightened, and he felt foolish for it.

            “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. He nodded.

            “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he clarified. “You’re just . . . not like the other Dominion I’ve known.”

            “Thank you for noticing,” she said, smiling fully now. “They tried to beat it out of me, but that just made me more determined to endure.”

            He wasn’t sure if she meant beat literally. Knowing the Dominion, she probably did.

            “How is it you came to be where you are, then?” he asked, forgetting himself again. Talking to her felt like talking to a friend, or at the very least a comrade he’d known much longer than one day. “I thought the Dominion—the empire—valued homogeneity. How is it that you’ve risen to where you are if you refuse to act like them?”

            “Because I’m good at what I do, and the Emperor has enough beasts to fight without creating new ones on this side,” she said. Hyun Jin felt like a bowstring released, her words triggering a vibrating resonance within him.

            That . . . sounded almost like a threat. It sounded almost like dissent. The empire was the way it was, and one either fell in line or was disappeared. Da’el spoke as though daring it to try.

            He must have been silent for too long, stared for too long, because she turned her attention away from him, back onto her food. If there was a double meaning there, his silence likely made it seem like he hadn’t caught it.

            Hyun Jin could feel the crossroads of this moment, the fork his life could take. He could ignore what she’d just said, or he could say something just as crazy, just as risky, something to show that whatever she’d meant, he was on her side, that his heart could hold the same insane dream she’d implied to be in hers.

            “Well, at any rate,” he said, willing his voice to sound light, normal, “what weapon would you recommend I learn to best dispatch opponents with wings?”

            Her eyes seemed to burn brighter as she looked at him again, and he knew she’d caught the meaning, that he’d heard and echoed her correctly. Not chimaera. Not beasts. No, only opponents with wings. It could be anyone.

            It could be his own father.

            “I think,” she said softly, “you’d be best suited choosing a heavier weapon, like an axe or a claymore. That way, you might clip their wings for good with a single stroke.”

Da’el had not said the words explicitly, but it was all Hyun Jin could think about while he tried to sleep that night. All his life, his two choices had been laid in front of him with no deviation. Die fighting the beasts, or be killed deserting the fight. There was no option in which he might get to live or die for anything other than war.

            Now here was a Dominion, silently proposing that he could turn his blade the other way, that he might choose to cut down those that foisted such an ugly, losing choice upon him. His crime was his bastard birth, and he’d never spent much time thinking about the unfairness of it, because what was there to be done about it, anyway? Nobody cared about the deaths of bastards.

            But maybe . . . maybe others could be persuaded to care about their lives.

Hyun Jin had never had a secret before. He was one of a legion, a weapon with singular purpose, always training or fighting or on the move. There was no life for him to live, no attachments for him to form, and no chances for him to accrue secrets. But as the days wore on, he found himself in possession of not one, but two.

            The first was his unspoken agreement to attempt a coup against the Emperor. Part of that involved feeling out his comrades, an attempt to determine who might be sympathetic to such a cause. Another part was Hyun Jin’s training with axes. He started out with a regular battleaxe, eventually expanding his horizons to the pole axe. Hyun Jin’s sword style had always relied more on speed than brute strength, and while his body had been honed muscle before, the frequent use of heavier weapons made his upper body a bit bulkier in a way he hadn’t thought to expect.

            In order to further his training as well as keep himself on track with his new cause, he spent as much extra time as he could reasonably steal with Da’el. He would show up early to training, or linger late after. Occasionally, he would even find excuses to step away and eat with her. He learned more than just weapons skills from her, and from therein came his second secret.

            Being one of the Misbegotten was a lonely lot. They had each other, of course, but since they had all been sired to be weapons and nothing more, they were not allowed to have homes or families of their own. Not to mention that, since every Misbegotten had the same father, it was impossible for any of them to form anything more than the bond of comrades who might die the next day.

            Simply put, Hyun Jin had never developed feelings for another person like what he’d developed for Da’el. They consumed nearly every waking moment and even some sleeping ones. All this was compounded by the fact that they truly got along, that the more time they spent together the more at ease they were. She spoke freely of things she’d seen and experienced in the heart of the empire, and he answered her with the grueling alternation of training and battle that had been his life up until now.

            Up until now. As though there was a neat demarcation to denote the time before Da’el had come into his life and the time after.

            It took him a sizeable chunk of time for him to realize that what he felt for her was not just camaraderie or companionship. It took him so long because he didn’t have anything to compare it to. Ever since he’d been taken from his mother and placed into military training as a boy, fighting alongside his half-siblings was all he’d known.

            Now here she was, someone who didn’t share his plight, and, much more importantly, didn’t share his blood. No, what he felt for her was beyond simple friendship. It was a stirring in his stomach when he saw her, and a tightening in his chest when he thought of her. It was the way she stuck in his unconscious mind, visiting him in his dreams.

            It was the feeling of finally having something to look forward to.

            This was so much more than an alliance, a plot, a burgeoning rebellion. This was everything Hyun Jin had never even thought to dream of.

The more time Da’el spent getting to know Hyun Jin, the more he started to seem like two people sharing one skin. Most of the time, he was the soldier she’d met on her first day amongst the Misbegotten, stoic and mostly silent, graceful and terrible to behold in battle. In training, he was a marvel, and in combat, he was a nightmare, especially with his newly acquired heavy weapons skills. She’d once witnessed him take a chimaera’s head off with the creature’s own battleaxe.

            But in the times between, when it was just the two of them? In the quiet moments when he lingered after a dismissal, or during the meals they sneaked away to eat together? That Hyun Jin was a completely different person.

            That Hyun Jin had eyes wide with wonderment, listening closely when she told him stories about the capital, or of the way she’d risen through ranks in the Dominion. That Hyun Jin bent his head close to hers, and had a bright smile and a warm laugh, and spoke with her like they were old friends. That Hyun Jin had a gentle voice and a gentler spirit, speaking animatedly about the bright spots in his life, his half-siblings in the Misbegotten whom he considered his closest friends and who made his life bearable.

            That Hyun Jin, whose eyes would glaze over when he recalled that not all of those half-siblings were still alive.

            That Hyun Jin, whom she wanted desperately to reach out and touch but wouldn’t dare to.

            Sometimes, when she left her thoughts unguarded, she looked at him and all she felt was pure, unfiltered want. All seraphim were born beautiful, but Hyun Jin was a cut above. Whether he chose to wear his features with warmth or severity, he was breathtaking.

            And that was just his face.

            Long-limbed and nimble, he was a flawless blending of grace and power that commanded her attention, especially now that he had taken on heavy weapons. His swords had kept him trim, yes, but thanks to the hefty battleaxe and the unwieldy pole axe, his arms, shoulders, and back showed his effort in their new solidity. There was not a feature of his that didn’t stand out, that didn’t feel perfectly tailored to attract her.

            She tried to put it out of her mind, and often failed.

            So when they found themselves talking long after the sun had fallen, the soft glow of their fiery wings illuminating their faces, their heads bent near so they could keep their voices down, she did her best not to notice the softness in his eyes, the endearment in his smile. If she listened to his tender voice for too long or gazed into his unguarded face too often, she might swear she saw the same ardor in him as lived in her, and that . . . that simply could not be.

            At least, it shouldn’t be. Of all the things that could complicate a budding rebellion.

            But then, a lull in conversation, and his expression changed, turning serious. She let her eyes wander away from him, paranoid that she might stare at him for too long, or even that she may have already.

            When he spoke again, though, her attention snapped back.

           “Why do the other Dominion call you ‘the witch’?” he asked, his voice somber but firm, as though the thought of the Dominion insulting her stirred something in him. His expression, the way his gaze seemed to look into her, implied the same.

            “It’s the eyes,” she said. He was already looking at her eyes, and his own narrowed a bit, trying to puzzle out the connection. “They look a lot like the eyes of the seraphim who live on the other side of the world. The Stelians. They say that every last one of them is able to do magic, the kind of magic that hasn’t been seen in the Empire for a thousand years.”

            “Can you?” he asked. She tossed him a questioning look, and he clarified, “Do magic, I mean.”

            This was a crossroads. She’d trusted Hyun Jin enough to recruit him to her cause, but this . . . Her deepest secret? Did she trust him that much?

            She wanted to. Oh, she wanted to.

            “Not as far as the Dominion know,” she said softly. His eyes widened slightly, immediately taking her meaning.

            “Then, you’re Stelian?” he asked next, his voice softer now, which had the side effect of making him lean closer to her. He was too close. He wasn’t close enough.

            “Officially? No. But I must have their blood in my ancestry somewhere . . . Though I couldn’t tell you how far back, or how it got there. I don’t really know anything. Only that I am what I am, and what I am is different.”

            His eyes flitted away for a moment, his lips briefly pressing together. She paid far too much attention to the motion, and was glad for his averted focus. He looked like he wanted very badly to say something, but was putting much of his self-control into holding it back. She knew the feeling. And she wanted to save him from it.

           “Can I burden you with one more secret?” she asked, her voice little more than a breath. In an instant, his eyes were back on hers, letting her take up the whole of his focus, his mental turmoil forgotten. It was that simple. Why did he let it be that simple?

            “No,” he answered, his voice as low as hers, a volume that made her cant her head just a little bit closer to his, “but you can gift me with one.”

            Hearing him like that, and hovering so close to him that they almost breathed the same air, the secret she meant to tell felt suddenly and utterly unimportant. She discarded it, at the very least to be told another day, and instead closed the space between them, and kissed him.

Whatever thoughts had remained in Hyun Jin’s head fell away when Da’el’s lips touched his. His hands rose of their own accord, wrapping around her upper arms and drawing her closer, needing her to know that this was all right, that he wanted this. He’d wanted it so badly, and felt delirious to get it, as though this were one of his dreams.

            She parted her lips just slightly and he mimicked her, letting her mesh their mouths more closely, giving him the slightest taste. He made a soft sound—of want, of gratitude—and her hand alighted against his neck while she tipped her head, claiming him more ardently.

            When she pulled away a few moments later, Hyun Jin’s breath was short in a way it shouldn’t have been given the brevity. He panted softly against her lips; her eyes watched him closely. They darted, distracted, when he swallowed, and he felt the beginnings of a flush in his entire body.

            “Can I add one more secret to the collection?” he murmured. She nodded. “I’ve never done that before.”

            “Did you like it?” she asked, barely a whisper, a question he wouldn’t have heard if he’d been any further away from her.

            “Yes,” he answered, perhaps too quickly. She’d hardly completed the question before he’d already answered it. That little smile of hers pulled at her lips, and he couldn’t take it; he put his mouth back on hers, shifting them closer, heat to heat, body to body. She was practically in his lap now, and she did nothing to get away from him. In fact, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her forearms brushing the upward curve of his wings, and he shivered.

            This was all uncharted territory for him. He wasn’t stupid, of course—he knew what it was that amorous adults did when they disappeared together—but he’d never had the opportunity to experience it himself. It wasn’t conscious thought that made him grip her hips and grind her down where he needed her most, but rather instinct, and the resulting shock of sensation made him break their kiss with a moan.

            For better or worse, that seemed to jolt Da’el to her senses. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that one of them still had their wits, and it certainly wasn’t Hyun Jin.

            She swallowed hard, and seemed to be putting very much thought and effort into holding herself back from him. He didn’t try to pursue another kiss—he knew then with certainty that he could never bring himself to do something she didn’t want, in any context—and instead simply stared at her. She was so fucking beautiful, and even when she gently removed his hands from her hips, he didn’t feel rejected. Her gaze swept around them, and he gradually became aware again that they were outside, that anyone could happen upon them at any time.

            “We’ll figure something out,” she said as she shakily got to her feet, offering her hands to him to help him stand. “But we can’t do it here.”

            He nodded, hope blooming in his chest. It wasn’t a rejection. He wasn’t losing her. But it would look horrible should they be caught, and according to the Empire, she was worth a lot more than him. In being so careful, in planning ahead, she was effectively protecting him.

            He cast a quick glance around them to make sure the coast was still clear, then leaned in to kiss her one more time. She kissed him back without hesitation, but made sure to break it before they could get carried away again.

            “Goodnight, Hyun Jin,” she said softly, and they parted ways.

Over the next few weeks, they were almost found out multiple times, and every single time was Hyun Jin’s fault. Why? Because he couldn’t keep himself from kissing Da’el every time he thought the coast was clear.

            Being affectionate with someone was brand new to him, and awakened a host of emotions he’d never been meant to feel. Butterflies of nervous excitement whenever he knew he would see her, shocks of anticipation whenever he leaned in to kiss her, and finally, the warmth and tightening in his body whenever she kissed him back.

            She usually kissed him back, and any time she pushed him away, he knew it was for his protection. After all, of the two of them, he was the only one breaking any codes of conduct and therefore would be the only one punished. Whether she returned his kisses or shied away to shield him, the end result was the same: Hyun Jin could feel how deeply she cared for him, and he only wanted to be with her more.

            Things got a little easier when they were called into reserve and allowed to go back to the capital. This meant the Misbegotten barracks for Hyun Jin and Dominion officer’s quarters for Da’el. It wasn’t much more private than being in an encampment during active duty, but there were, at the very least, better places to hide.

            Tonight, for example, they’d stolen away amongst the racks of weaponry. Few people would be training at the midnight hour, and even fewer would be milling about the armaments. Da’el had glamoured both their sets of wings invisible, ensuring their glowing light wouldn’t give them away. Hyun Jin’s hands were tight on her waist, holding her against his body while his mouth worked with hers, their tongues teasing. Her arms were around his neck, and when he moaned into her mouth, she made a soft sound in return.

            His cock strained against his pants like it always seemed to when he was allowed to kiss her for more than a minute straight. She had to be aware of that, but she never seemed to acknowledge it directly.

            Until today.

        ��   She slipped one of her hands between their bodies, rubbing at the imprint of his cock. He broke the kiss with a long groan, his eyes lidding halfway at the friction. He’d taken care of himself in the past, of course, but those jaunts were few and far between, given the way Misbegotten always bunked in groups. There were some people who were just fine relieving themselves where others could clearly see or hear, but Hyun Jin wasn’t the type.

            To put it simply, opportunities for masturbation were few for him, and that was accounting only for his own two hands. He’d never been touched by someone else before, and it was like lightning through his whole body.

            Da’el tucked her face into his neck, kissing the sensitive skin while she continued to palm his erection, drawing soft sounds of desperation from him.

            “Hyun Jin?” she breathed against his neck.

            “Yes?” he scraped out, prepared to do whatever she asked of him.

            “Do you want me to take care of this?” she asked, gently squeezing the shape of his cock. He trapped another broken sound behind his teeth.

            “Yes,” he said instantly, then thought to add, “please.”

            She took his hand then, and they both turned fully invisible. He told himself to remember to ask later how she did it, how her magic worked, but right then, his thoughts were preoccupied.

            He followed her to her lodging, unseen. Only once they were safely shut inside her quarters did she drop the glamour completely, their wings visible again, too. As a highly ranked officer, she didn’t have to share living space with others at all times the way Hyun Jin did, unless they were in the middle of a campaign.

            She turned to look at him again, her expression gentle and open despite the heat in her gaze. She looked almost as starved as he felt.

            “Have you ever been intimate with another person, Hyun Jin?” she asked him.

            He shook his head. “I haven’t.”

            She smiled then and squeezed his hand, motions meant to put him at ease. He appreciated it, but it wasn’t necessary; he already trusted her implicitly. After all, he’d never felt this way about anyone else; he only wanted her.

            “Then, would it be all right with you if we took things a little slowly?” she asked.

            “How slowly?” he asked almost suspiciously, and she chuckled. Clearly, his need was apparent.

            “Not that slowly,” she assured. Then she opened her mouth and lolled out her tongue. The implication was unmistakable. Hyun Jin’s eyes widened a little, his cock twitching insistently in his pants.

            “Yes,” he said. She put her tongue away, grinning now with mirth and mischief.

            “In that case, why don’t you take those off and have a seat on the bed?”

            He nodded, undoing first his boots, then his pants. She kicked off her boots, too, and let her hair free of its braid, shaking it out. He sat on her bed, as instructed, and she knelt between his thighs.

            A needy throb went down the length of his exposed cock, and her eyes watched it with singular attention. Finally, she dragged her gaze up to meet his again.

            “You’re sure?” she asked him, and her care struck him in the softest part of his heart. He brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her face and nodded.

            “I want it to be with you,” he said, convicted, like he’d laid his beating heart out in front of her. She smiled at him one more time, and he knew his heart could not have found safer hands to hold it.

            Then she touched him, and rational thoughts were pushed away to make room for the carnal. She wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft, then put her tongue to his underside. Just the slight motion, warm and damp, was enough to make him tense. She drew her tongue all the way up his shaft, and he shuddered.

            “Good?” she asked.

            “Good,” he breathed.

            She went on licking him, coating him in saliva a little at a time, making him easier to work with. He couldn’t help fidgeting, but he did his best to hold still; he didn’t want her to think he was greedy, even if it was the truth.

            But when she took his cockhead into her mouth, he couldn’t help the shuddering groan that escaped him along with a shallow thrust to get more of himself in her mouth. Thanks to her prior work, it was a smooth glide with little resistance. She hummed around him, and the vibration was extra sensation. He made a throaty sound of pure want.

            She seemed to understand that, and started bobbing up and down his slick shaft, taking him a little more deeply with each repetition. He pushed her hair back from her face, coiling it in his fist to keep it out of the way. That only seemed to make her motions more rigorous until finally she was taking all of him into her mouth with every stroke, acquainting his tip with the back of her throat.

            Along with the glide of her lips and the suction of her mouth, her tongue was hard at work, most times dragging along the underside of his cock with each motion, but occasionally drawing along the sides of his shaft or even stroking over his tip. He did his best to keep his volume down, but it was just so much sensation that he had no prior frame of reference for.

            Then, as though that wasn’t enough, she pulled off his cock with a wet pop, seamlessly moving into jerking him off instead while she ducked her head to lick his balls. The bolt of pleasure was immediate, making him drop his head back and moan.

            “Still good?” she asked between motions, her voice huskier now, likely thanks to the abuse of her throat.

            “Still good,” he groaned, leaning his head to the side instead so he could continue looking at her. He could barely process it all. He realized she’d switched tactics so she could get her breath back, and once she had, she put his cock right back into her mouth, frazzling his brain yet again.

            He found himself unable to keep still, the coiling of pleasure so tight in his body that he couldn’t focus on anything besides his cock in her mouth and how badly he wanted to come, to come for her, to show her exactly how incredible she made him feel. He bucked his hips along with the motions of her head, forcing his cock as far into her mouth as it could possibly go. She gagged quietly but didn’t stop moving, her hands tight on his thighs.

            “I’m so close,” he whined, and she hummed in answer. One of her hands moved to cup his balls, massaging gently, and he was done for.

            With a loud, desperate groan and several shallow bucks of his hips, he came into her mouth. He made himself keep his eyes focused on her, watching her take it, feeling her tongue working along his length to ensure she got every drop out of him. When he’d finally emptied, panting little moans the entire time, she pulled off of him, taking the entirety of his mess with her, and held his eyes while she swallowed it down. Hyun Jin groaned again, letting his head fall back. His cock twitched despite being spent for the time being.

            “How do you feel?” she asked, getting up from her knees and joining him on the bed. He looked at her, dazed.

            “Like the luckiest man in the world,” he answered, a little bashful in his honesty. She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, and he faintly tasted himself on her mouth.

            When she pulled away, he met her eyes again, earnest and determined. “Now it’s your turn,” he said softly. She looked surprised, and Hyun Jin tried not to feel insulted. Did she really think he was so selfish as to leave her unsatisfied?

            “You don’t have to,” she said. “I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”

            “I’d be happier if you let me do this,” he insisted. “Teach me how you like to be touched.”

            He saw on her face then what she must have seen on his a minute ago, which was her brain momentarily refusing to work. She stared at him, then heaved a ragged sigh.

            “How am I supposed to say no to that?” she murmured, standing up and slowly stripping her clothes off, letting him get a good look while she did. Not to be outdone, Hyun Jin pulled his shirt off, too, leaving both of them naked.

            She climbed back onto the bed with him and reclined against the pillows, spreading herself open for him. Hyun Jin sighed deeply, almost unable to believe she was this wet because of him.

            “Give me your hand,” she said, and he obeyed.

If she’d thought Hyun Jin was beautiful while clothed, then he was a vision naked. His dark hair and dark eyes were perfect complements to his golden skin and firelight wings. He was the perfect combination of lean lines and hard-earned muscle, and his cock had almost been too much for her to comfortably fit in her mouth.

            Simply put, he was perfect.

           He gave her his hand, and she guided him to gently drag his fingers through her wetness, coating his fingers and her heat in the process. He had big, gorgeous hands; she’d imagined his fingers filling her on more than one occasion, and she could hardly believe she would actually get it.

            “Start easy on me,” she said softly, and he slipped one finger inside her, making her sigh. She kept her hand loosely on his wrist in case she needed to make adjustments, but so far he was doing fine. There was a difference between being inexperienced and being clueless, and Hyun Jin definitely wasn’t the latter. He pumped his finger in and out of her at a leisurely pace, splitting his attention between her face and her cunt.

            “Now curl it forward while you’re nice and deep,” she said, and when he complied, she shivered, an approving moan passing her lips. Of course he’d be able to easily reach her tenderest spot with fingers like his.

            He didn’t speed up, but kept targeting that same spot, causing a slow build inside her. Perhaps too slow.

            “I need to be fuller,” she said, and with a faint smile on his lips, he added a second finger. She groaned, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment. It was during that moment that she heard him shift, and then his mouth was on her breast. She gasped, eyes springing open to look down at him. His eyes were half shut while he sucked on her, sending bolts of pleasure through her body. All the while, his fingers kept moving, stroking her inner walls and probing that sensitive spot over and over.

            Once she was able to move through the haze of pleasure, she realized Hyun Jin was starting to get hard again. She bit her cheek, choosing not to say anything about it right away. No matter how tantalized she was by the prospect of his cock filling her up, she didn’t want to pressure him or ask for too much too soon.

            Besides, his fingers and mouth were plenty.

            “Hyun Jin,” she gasped, writhing when he moved away from her breast only to take the other in his mouth. “Faster.”

            He complied, ramping up the pace gradually until he was fucking her hard with his fingers, hammering that one spot repeatedly while she moaned her pleasure, unable to keep quiet. He refused to pull his mouth away from her breast, his tongue running over her nipple again and again. One of her hands viced tight around the bicep of his working arm, dizzied even by this minor display of his strength, while her other splayed across his broad back between his wings, fighting not to dig her nails into him too hard.

            “Don’t stop,” she gasped, the build so intense she could feel her nearing end. It hit her hard, accompanied by a sharp cry and the arching of her body under his, open-mouthed gasps and moans following after. He did exactly as she said and refused to relent in his pace, though he did pull away from her breast just to watch her while she fell apart. Through bleary eyes she watched his face, his expression a perfect cross between blissful eagerness and darkened need. He was proud of what he’d done, but it wasn’t enough.

            Thanks to the brutal pace she’d made him set, she came twice in a row on his hand, the second accompanied by an extra gush from her cunt, making a worse mess of both the bed and his hand. He made a sound that was part appreciative hum and part needy moan. Then, despite her lack of command, he removed his fingers from inside her and brought them immediately to his mouth.

            She whined while she watched his tongue work, and much like she had, he held her eyes the whole time.

            “I hope I tasted that good,” he murmured once his hand was mostly clean. She groaned, closing her eyes and nodding. She was still working on catching her breath when she heard him moving again, felt the bed shift with his weight. Her body jolted violently when she felt the long lap of his tongue up her dripping center.

           “Fuck, Hyun Jin,” she hissed, looking down at him to find him already looking up at her. He went right on licking her, his eyes lidding with pleasure.

            “It tastes good,” he murmured, as though his actions left any question as to his thoughts on the matter.

            “I’m happy you like it,” she said breathlessly.

            After a couple of minutes, he pulled away, wiping his mouth and chin on the back of his forearm. She bit her lip as he sat up and she realized he was fully hard again.

            “It was my intention to clean you up,” he mused, “but I think I made it worse.”

            “I don’t know how to tell you this, but most people are going to stay wet if the man they’re infatuated with insists on putting his tongue to their cunt,” she teased. At least, she meant for it to be teasing, but the effect was wholly lost on him thanks to her word choice.

            “I don’t want you infatuated with me,” he said, frowning slightly. “That implies the feelings are going to end.”

            His words struck her directly in the heart, and she sat up, rising onto her knees in front of him so she could take his face in her hands. He looked at her pensively, like he feared she might break his heart.

            “That was the wrong word to use, you’re right,” she said, feeling it prudent to start there and alleviate the worry she’d caused him as quickly as possible. “I feel much more than infatuation for you. I feel wholly connected to you in a way I’ve not felt with companions in my past. You’re the man I want at my side as we remake the world, the man I want to spend my life with.”

            His eyes were widened now, taking her in as though determining whether she could be lying to him.

            “I want you with me, Hyun Jin, whether we escort peace into the world or die trying. You make me feel more alive than anything else has in years,” she said, drawing her hands gently down his neck to rest on his sturdy shoulders.

            A smile pulled at his lips, and he asked, “More alive than magic makes you feel?”

            “I think love is its own kind of magic,” she answered honestly, watching the way his eyes widened again when she used the word love. “I think we are our own kind of magic.”

            He wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing close and kissing her, deeply, eagerly, over and over. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She was wholly prepared to lose herself in kissing him, but as he tugged her body close, flush with his, she had to contend with his erection sliding between her thighs, rubbing against her already hypersensitive folds.

            She whimpered against his mouth, and something in him snapped.

It was everything he’d ever wanted to hear, every feeling he’d ever wanted reciprocated. To know that he’d finally found his person, that she wanted to be by his side as badly as he wanted to be by hers. He couldn’t help himself after that; overwhelmed with emotion, he’d needed to kiss her again, to attempt to express it to her.

            Then she made that sound, and he went half-feral as he remembered what they’d been doing before they’d paused to talk, that his cock was still aching with the need to be inside her. Her mouth had been its own kind of ecstasy, but he needed more.

            Swiftly, easily, he pushed her down onto the bed. She didn’t fight him; Hyun Jin knew she could have if she’d wanted to, and the small rational part of his brain still operating understood this as permission. He went down with her, his body stretched over hers, the head of his cock dragging along her lower abdomen, the contact making him hiss.

            She stared up at him, chest heaving. His right hand was clamped around her left arm, pinning it down, his left planted in the bed to keep his full weight off her. He lowered himself closer, grinding his cock between her abdomen and his. Moaning desperately, he let go of her arm, dropping his forehead to her shoulder while he rutted against her stomach. The friction felt good, but it wasn’t what he needed.

            “Tell me what you want, Hyun Jin,” she said, her voice so soft and close to his ear that he shuddered.

            “I want to be inside you,” he groaned.

            He expected her to say yes, to give him verbal permission. Instead, she used her impeccable command of her body and knowledge of his to shift under him just enough that when he moved again, it was to enter her.

            He made a choked sound, his mind going utterly blank for an instant. She felt so good, hot and snug and so fucking wet. He straightened up, gripping her hips as he desperately thrust in and out of her, watching his cock pounding into her repeatedly. She was making those little sounds again, whimpers and whines, her nails digging into his thighs as though she was afraid of him backing away, of him refusing to fuck her.

            He couldn’t fathom the idea of either, not until they were both completely spent.

            When he’d gotten his fill of watching himself sink into her, he became possessed by the need to go deeper. He’d seen her fight both in practice and for real, and knew there were few positions her body, strong and flexible, couldn’t withstand. He clamped his hand to her thigh, just under her knee, and pushed her leg back until her knee touched the bed. Then he leaned over her, hips snapping down into her with a nearly primal frenzy, the change in angle giving him exactly what he wanted, letting him embed himself deep inside her, splitting her open with every stroke.

            He knew he was doing a good job because her sounds changed, going from soft whimpers to louder whines, breathless in their frequency.

            Then she licked his neck, and his whole body seized, throwing off his pace. She gripped the back of his neck, keeping his body down and close to hers while she kissed the column of his throat, then nipped at his tender skin. He shuddered, his body threatening to arch, failing only due to her grip on his neck.

            “I can’t focus when you do that,” he whined, his rhythm gone entirely.

            “Then let me,” she purred, and he shivered from her voice alone. His cock twitched inside her, and her walls clenched around him in response, making him groan. He nodded, and she let go of his neck, allowing him to straighten up and pull out. Before he could complain about the lost sensation, she put him on his back and, without even using her hands, slipped his cock back inside her. He made a strangled sound as he bottomed out inside her, his eyes rolling back for a moment.

            “How the fuck do you do that?” he gasped. She laughed, riding him hard, driving the thoughts out of his head to the point where he barely remembered he’d asked a question, rhetorical or otherwise.

            “Fuck, Hyun Jin,” she moaned. “I had no idea you’d fill me so well.”

            “Yeah? You like it too much?” he said, goading. He wasn’t going to last long if she kept fucking back on him like that, and he wanted nothing more than her voice talking him through his orgasm.

            “I should have guessed when my jaw got sore earlier,” she said, pretending like she was complaining. “You’re lucky it all fits.”

            “Not lucky,” he shot back. “I think you were meant to take it.”

            She moaned, her face flushed from her efforts. “You’re right,” she whined. “I was meant to take your cock, and take it all.”

            “Fuck,” Hyun Jin hissed, gripping her hips hard and bucking up into her. She made a sound that was almost a shriek, her nails digging into his chest. He’d felt her come on his fingers earlier, and he was suddenly desperate to feel it on his cock before he fell apart.

            “Please, love,” he moaned, keeping up the brutal pace himself now, “I need to feel it.”

            In the end, he didn’t give her a choice. He’d paid astute attention when she’d directed him earlier, and he knew the best angle to get her to come. With a broken cry, she nearly collapsed on top of him, shuddering while her cunt fluttered around his cock. He let up a little then, giving her a chance to ride out her newest high and get her bearings back.

            He didn’t want to break her. After all, they weren’t finished yet.

            She pushed her hair back out of her face, her bare chest heaving. Hyun Jin swept his gaze over the whole of her, body battered from multiple orgasms, his cock still sunk deep inside her. A pulse went down his length and she shivered, whimpered.

            “Think you can take more?” he asked, needing to be sure.

           She nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I said I could take all of you. That means your size, your stamina, and your semen.”

            He groaned aloud, his cock pulsing again at her vulgar word choice. “How do you want it?” he ground out.

            Gingerly, she lifted off him, leaving his cock soaked in her wake. Then she laid down again, her touch ghosting against his hip, coaxing him.

            “I want to see you,” she said as he climbed over her again. “I want to be under you, surrounded by you. I want your body, hot and slick, all over mine. One last push, until you finally fill me the way you’re supposed to.”

            He moaned, lining himself up and pressing into her slowly this time, watching her squirm as she took every inch.

            “Think you can do that for me?” she breathed. He nodded, sweat dripping off his chin and onto her chest. She chuckled. “Off to a good start.”

            She smoothed her hands up his back, and it was all the urging he needed to move. He fell into his rhythm quickly, understanding better now the way their bodies fit together. She held her thighs wide open for him, and he leaned over her, chest to chest while he snapped his hips into her, chasing his high. Her moans were right next to his ear, spurring his need. She drew her nails down his back and he moaned, too.

            “I need it, Hyun Jin,” she whimpered. “I need you to fill me. I need you to do this for me.”

            “I want to,” he whined, every muscle in his body wound tight from his efforts. Her hands ran along his thighs, his sides, his shoulders, and her touch was like fire. Every contact point between their bodies was slick with sweat, and despite how many times she’d already come for him, there was no shortage of slickness between her thighs, still just as aroused now as she had been at the start.

            Her mouth was on his neck again, kissing and nipping while he moved. He groaned.

            “Mark me,” he said, impulsive with need.

            “Someone could see,” she protested, and he shook his head, his damp bangs falling into his eyes.

            “I don’t care,” he said. “I need you to mark me, please.”

            He didn’t care what excuses he’d have to make up, what he’d have to do to cover it. He needed lingering physical evidence that he was hers, needed something to remind him this hadn’t been a dream. He had no idea when they’d get to do this again, and that scared him most of all.

            Her lips closed against his neck, sucking the sensitive skin, making him groan, a shudder going down his spine.

            “Oh— Fuck—”

            It was as she marked him that he came apart, moaning incessantly, over and over, spurring needy little bucks of his hips before he finally pressed as close as he could and stopped moving, letting each pump of his cum empty itself deep inside her. Despite using her mouth earlier, his orgasm wasn’t any less intense this time; he didn’t come any less hard. Her lips left his neck, tingles still shooting through his body while he panted, his high tapering.

            He propped himself onto his elbows just enough so he could see her face, but he refused to remove himself from her, refused to pull out. Her hands rubbed his lower back, apparently in no hurry for him to move, either.

            “You’re sure that was your first time?” she teased. He laughed, leaning down to kiss her.

            “I’m a quick study when it counts,” he said. But then he sobered a little, watching her face, her eyes, the care and concern in her open face.

            “What is it?” she asked softly, brushing his sweaty bangs back from his face.

            “This won’t be the only time, will it . . . ?” he asked. They’d gotten lucky this time, that no one had caught them at the practice pitch or in the halls. Hell, they hadn’t exactly been quiet. He was praying at this point that nobody quartered near her knew him well enough to recognize his voice.

            “Of course not,” she said immediately. “Even if I have to glamour us both and fly far away from here, we will do this again.” She paused, smiling, and gently touched his neck. “You’re mine now, remember? You’re not getting away that easily.”

            His chest tightened at the word mine. Godstars, he’d always wanted to belong. He burrowed close to her, burying his face in her neck.

            “I’m yours,” he confirmed, truly content as her arms folded around him. “It’s the only thing I want to be.”

#kpop smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin x oc

[toxooz]

Do you have a backstory posted for ramsuse? I think he’s an interesting character and you’ve said he used to be human so I’m very curious 🙂

ROIGHT SO i gotta See it with my own eyes so i drew lil illustrations to go with it so letsa go buckle UP yall ALSO tw for like graphic gory description and suicide mention aaand i think thats it OK:

waay back arooound 1870's I'd say behold a man! Ramsuse was a very well distinguished hunter who also did bounty hunting. Being a big brawny man he had a big brawny horse as well who was named Appocolus, a shire draft horse (the Big Ol honses) and had a wife named Myrna:

They were happily married for about 5 years, owned a pretty small farm, and took a lot of hunting trips together (most likely sold the skins/ meat along with eggs ect.) but yeah huntin n fishin was one of their favorite activities to do together. They didn't live far from a small town where they did their trading and shopping from and Ramsuse was a pretty well known bounty hunter in the town and even had a small group of other bounty hunters that he would team up with occasionally. Back then, in most towns, it was still a Big Thing for monsters to exist and was often treated as a frankenstien event (light the pitchforks yada yada); but in this part of the overall timeline demons kind of infested some parts of the world (side note obv. that didn't last forever and the majority of demons and that of the like ended up being chased into caves and hidden crevices of the world which is maybe why Mogak had to go into a big ass demon cave community to get that demonic D.) some entire towns could become completely overrun with demons and many caused chaos and ruin among the land, which probably gave a lot of other unrelated monsters a bad rep. hence why they would be ridiculed as well. It was pretty common for demons to be outlaws and outliers, and it was also common practice for humans to capture demons (typically demons who were minding their own business (like Ollie in the cowboy au👀)) and sacrifice them in churches or do mass killings so it was kind of a back and forth rivalry between humans and demons during this time. Granted, while demons and humans were at war, naturally demons are more powerful than humans without any manmade advantage-so side backstory Myrna's parents got killed by a demon in their house when she was a child and she was orphaned for the rest of her adolescence, so she's carried a special kind of bitterness, fear, and hatred towards demons throughout her life.

As their town slowly starting having more and more demonic issues, a certain demon cowboy was a prominent culprit of the reoccurring destruction of the town:

he had the ability to transform people into demons and his "horse" is basically just another demon that tried to mimic a horse to be able to assist in the bidding of the outlaw (ie: it's ears are actually horns, it's neighs sound more like a donkey and hyena mixed together, ect) He too led a gang that tormented towns and cities, only they were damn near impossible to pin down. Ramsuse was the main tracker for trying to find him and every time he did, the outlaw would slip through the cracks of their dimension which would eventually drive Ramsuse to insanity and intense resentment towards demons and monsters trying to get the outlaw. It got to a point where that's all he wanted to do was try to find and catch the demon, even his own group of bounty hunters opted out and urged Ramsuse to do the same at least for a while, for it was eating away at his soul. Though it was out of love for his wife and their own town, he would leave for days and put off hunting trips that Myrna wanted to go on in order to attempt to capture the outlaw. Until one night he followed a seemingly deliberate trail of clues that led him to a run down cabin out in the middle of nowhere. The demon outlaw was patiently waiting for him when he barged in like a bat out of hell, however Ramuse was having none of it and went straight for his throat upon first look. He mopped the floor with him for a while until those eye flaps on the demons face latched onto the bounty hunters arms (kinda like venom slime stickin to shit) and started searing Ramsuse's flesh off to reveal his new demon skin. It eventually traveled through his entire body as he slowly burned to death, his horns erupting from his head probably feeling like his brains were being squeezed out of his skull, his old teeth being simultaneously pushed out by bigger lion-like teeth, his body getting bigger as his burnt dead skin fell off in bloody sheets to give way to the contorting muscles as the demon outlaw observed in deranged satisfaction

by the time Ramsuse could come to his senses, the outlaw was long gone. During the physical altercation, outside Appocolus and the demon horse got into it as well. When the draft horse saw that abomination of a horse, every red light went off in his sixth sense and he lunged for it, however it mauled him back and it's teeth essentially had the same burning effect in which Appocolus was doomed to the same fate as his rider.

Ramsuse spent several days trying to track any possible trace of the demon to see if he could somehow be changed back, but he was nowhere to be found. As time went on, desperately trying to find any way to change himself back at this point, dread began to seep into him like rot on a dead carcass as he realized he had no choice but to go back home and face Myrna with this new demonic vessel that he was cursed with.

As he reluctantly arrived at his house, he tried to talk to Myra through the door as a way to prepare her as much as he knew how. He attempted to stay behind the door as long as possible, beating around the bush as to what just happened, but she didn't understand why he was acting this way and only tolerated it so much before she opened the door and upon first glance immediately scrambled for a gun

Completely overrun with past memories, she refused to believe him and was convinced that a demon Actually killed him and took his form to get to her and was merely feigning his distress just to make her vulnerable. Ramsuse quickly saw her state and decided it was best to just do what she demanded and he fled after she shot at him.

After what happened, that was the final straw that broke the camels back and Myrna took to the town to try and tell people what happened to her husband. Nobody has witnessed anyone being turned into a demon and coming back ( they just knew people vanished or were just straight up dead) and with her being a woman back then, nobody believed her not even Ramsuse's former bounty hunter group. They drew the conclusion that Ramsuse merely found another woman and ran away with her, so Myrna was deemed mentally unstable and was locked up in a facility where she soon died of a fatal self inflicted wound. Ramsuse could only watch all of this happen from afar for he had no idea how to get through to her or to even show his face anywhere ever again as he drowned in grief and self hatred over time. He was cursed to be immortal as he became just a wandering cowboy, doing bounty work in passing towns. He took more heavily toward monster communities, however his bitterness and resentment toward the concept of life itself made both him and his horse extremely vicious and brutal to anyone around him. He would start bar fights regularly and kill more bounties that were strictly wanted alive and then he would kill lawmen if they so much as looked at him wrong he was just a whole ass mess. Appocolus was outcast as well by all horses, both feral and domesticated, so he too became very grudge driven and hostile. He would assist Ramsuse in tormenting and killing anyone they deemed deserving by biting and trampling as well. As the years flew by Ramsuse and Appocolus only had eachother in the world and now that the wild west is almost completely faded out he has a house and barn he made himself out in the middle of nowhere ( like somewhere around Montana or somethin if he was in this world I'd say) he owns thousands upon thousands of acres that he preserves and patrols( to make sure no bitch ass puts a gas station or mcdonalds anywhere PFFT) so theres pretty much a large chunk of the state that is untouched by modern life bc he Will destroy anything by any means necessary so nobody has successfully bought any land. so yeah now hes just a bitter old demon who refuses to move on from his timeline while desperately clings to whats left of his memories and avoids society except for an occasional bar run from a super old bar that's probably been around a while as well :') AIGHT i think i got everything abt his ass 😭 if u bothered to read this far HOPE U ENJOYED!!

#ramsuse #oc lore #oc facts #western #cowboy #demon #monster oc #monster #monster boy #exophilia #terato #tiefling #appocolus #just now named that damn horse lmfao

[couldawouldashoulda50]

A heart full of regret Part 2.1 (William Nylander)

Leading up to this here and here

I have to admit that I was struggling with this part - I started and stopped so many times and I really have no actual structure when I sit down and start typing. Hopefully it's not terrible - this is just focusing on the time that William is traveling in December during the Dad's trip while Y/N is in the UK, before returning home to Toronto.

Warnings - swearing, angst

Word count 3.5k

As the days went on, William refocused his energy on hockey. He had begun a new point streak in consecutive games but there had been moments where it appeared some of the intensity from his stellar start to the season thus far, particularly in Sweden, had started to wane.

The lull in the schedule during the first week of December afforded the entire team some additional practice time as well as the opportunity to participate in charity events around the city.

William welcomed the break with being the prime focal point of the media beginning to diminish. Constantly being in the spotlight for a few weeks had its perks, but William had to admit, it was wearing after a while. He wondered how you managed to stay above it all for so many years.

When he would ask you questions about fame and celebrity, while in the afterglow of the intense body bliss you two shared, you always said you were a reluctant celebrity; you never put much stock in the fame part of your musical career. You were just a girl, who loved to sing and make music, and somehow that path panned out for you.

As the second week of December was underway, the Maple Leaf organization held another Dad’s trip; a much beloved time for the players and staff. The Dad’s and mentors watched their sons wallop Nashville on the first game of the trip. The following day the club headed to Long Island in advance of the game the following day. The buzz was generally around John Tavares being at 998 points, and confidence was high that he could hit 1000 points in front of his former team and the fans that tirelessly booed him.

The energy was electric on the bus ride from the airport to the hotel and lively conversation and laughter echoed throughout.

Later that afternoon, the group reconvened in the hotel lobby after taking the opportunity to rest and relax once they were all checked in.

William spots the Swedish contingent of the group and heads over to stand with them while they await for the last few stragglers and for the transportation to arrive to whisk them off to dinner.

William scans the open concept lobby and spots Morgan and his Dad, Andy, relaxing in the plush seating alongside Brian Matthews and Auston, as well as Max and Tie Domi. They seemed to be glued to watching something on Max’s phone. 

William watches as Max swipes and scrolls on his phone. The group suddenly appears to lean closer to the phone. After a few seconds, he hears the group chime “Happy Birthday, Y/N!!” in unison.

William’s stomach flips with hearing your name. Others that are close by make their way over to where Max is holding his phone to photo-bomb the group, wave at the screen and give their well wishes when they realize it's you on the other end. 

Fuck - it’s her birthday today.

You and William had not been in touch since you left his condo a week ago. For two people that seemed to gel with one another so perfectly, once out of sight, you had become accustomed to not being part of each other’s lives at all.

What bothered him more right now is your friendship with his teammates.

William felt he was on the outside looking in with someone he was once so close with. Someone whom he is developing intense feelings for once more. Someone, he realizes, he may never have another chance with again.

He didn’t always feel like this - this feeling of deep envy knowing that you have carried on with your own friendships with some of William’s friends and teammates. In the past, during your times together, he was happy - proud even - as he watched you mix with teammates and their significant others so effortlessly.

Callë nudges William, bringing him back to reality as the group begins to file toward the exit and through the revolving doors toward the large coach that awaits.

Dinners during the Dad’s trip are always one of the many highlights. The exchanges are always lively and interesting; a chance for many of the fathers to commiserate with their own individual experiences with helping to guide their sons to the NHL.

A mentor of William’s accompanied on this trip; having seen William just three weeks prior in Stockholm, and knowing he was headed to Toronto for Christmas, Michael Nylander had decided to opt out on this Dad’s trip. As William noted in an interview, he has 4 other kids that he has to look after; he can’t always be doing things with him.

As much as he was enjoying himself at the restaurant, William wished his Dad was here. William could talk to his Dad about virtually anything, and in turn, he would give William sound advice, leaving the final decision making up to his son. William wondered what his Dad would say about the circumstances between you both.

William was lost in thought when Jake sat in a vacant chair at the table next to him. “How’s it goin Willy? You good?”

“Hey Cabe-r…doin alright - what’s going on man” William chuckles, straightening up in his chair unaware he was slouching.

“Ha, well - my Dad’s having the time of his life jawing with everyone else…you looked a bit down in the mouth sitting over here on your own.”

“Nah, man - I’m alright. Just got some things on my mind”, William smiled. “Thanks though”, he added.

“Too many women, not enough time?” Jake laughs.

“I think you got the first part right….”, William paused, contemplating how much he should reveal. Jake smirked at the star winger and chuckled. “Sounds interesting….go on…”

William continued tentatively. “I, uh….hooked up with this girl recently, around the end of November. Last week, she showed up at my place, drunk…and uninvited, with a friend of hers. I wasn’t alone at the time and she caused a bit of a scene - had to threaten to call security to get her to leave but her friend ended up dragging her out instead.”

“Ha - oh shit, you weren’t kidding with the too many women thing.” Jake laughed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well - I had strung this girl along - the drunk one. Our first date - thing…whatever it was - didn’t go very well, but I thought I could…you know…just in case I was in the mood…she lives close by…” William gestured for Jake to fill in the blanks.

“Ahhh….right - got it...” Jake paused. “So wait - you said you weren’t alone…so you had another girl over at the time the drunk one showed up…with her friend?” Jake smiled and threw his head back as he laughed harder. “Fuck Willy - let me know when I should start feeling bad for you…”

“Yeah - I know…fucking nothing problems…which I brought on myself - I get it. It’s just that the girl I had over, I - like…I really care about her. We’ve known each other for years…she’s the only girl, outside of my family anyway, that just gets me. It’s so easy and fun being with her…know what I mean? And it’s always been like that - she’s got this crazy, interesting life and yet she’s always more interested in what’s going on with me and my life. She’s super down to earth too. And….not saying this is everything but fuck, she’s drop dead gorgeous. I mean like fucking 12 out of 10.”

Jake nods his head and grins; he can see the way that William lights up talking about you.

“Now, I’m pretty sure she thinks I'm a total sleaze because of these two girls that showed up looking for…you know…”

“Fuck bro…bit of a fuckin mess”, Jake shot William a knowing smirk, and continued to shake his head.

“I still don’t feel that bad for you…” Jake chuckled and gave him a couple of pats on William’s shoulder. “So, let me guess…was it Y/N who you had over at the time?”

“Fuck…is it that obvious?” William asked, lowering his head slightly.

“No, it’s not that…I heard rumours about you awhile ago…that you two were sort of involved on and off again but because of schedules or whatever, it didn’t work out. I kind of wondered when she came by last week whether you two would get to talking…you seemed pretty happy to see each other”

“Yeah, some not so great things happened before - it was really just me who sort of treated her like shit in the end. I kind of just lost her number, pretended I never knew her - and well, just stopped talking to her altogether. Then a couple of years later, I did something really fucking dumb and I basically hurt her all over again.”

“So….did she freak on you about the women looking for what - a threesome?”

“Nah - she just looked….I dunno - she just asked if I was ok. I think she tried to look like it didn’t bother her or look like she was disappointed but she just wasn’t the same after those girls left.”

William proceeds to explain the rest of the evening, and the fact his family is staying at your place over Christmas.

“So what’s the deal then…you looking for advice or what?”, Jake asked. William cracked a smile. “Sure - I guess, if you’ve got some.”

“Well, maybe start by breaking the ice…it’s her birthday today, maybe you could…wish her a Happy Birthday?” Jake said, rather sardonically. He enjoyed ribbing William at times.

“Well, yeah….of course, I had planned to…”.

“Yet, you haven’t…c’mon man…maybe just ask her how she’s doing…she just lost someone that meant a lot to her. Be there for her if she needs someone to turn to. It’ll take less than two minutes.”

William nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“Don’t even think about it - it’s simple….” Jake said as he stood up from the chair, giving William a couple more firm pats on the back. “If you care about her, let her know; even if she thinks you are a total fuckin’ sleaze, this might help change her mind a little. I don’t think I need to tell you that she’s worth a little bit of effort at least”.

Yeah. She is he agrees silently.

William takes a deep breath and his thumbs begin to tap away on the screen.

Hey Y/N, Happy Birthday…hope you had a great day. Hugs from me and the boys. Hope you are doing ok.

William smiles as he sends the next message.

So….where are you? 😉

During the months after you first met, you and William (loosely) stayed in touch, mainly with random texts asking where the other was in the world. The response would be a photo of your surroundings when you opened the message. Bathroom, bedroom, rooftop or beach…it didn’t matter, a photo without any context would appear once the question was asked. As time went on, and the more you and William had become more attracted to one another, the racier the photos would often become.

William knew the time difference was roughly the same in the UK as it was in Sweden, and he calculated it to be roughly 2:30 am. He wasn’t going to hold his breath for a response, and he slipped his phone into his pocket and rejoined his guest and the rest of the group as dinner wound down and dessert was being served.

Eventually, his phone vibrated once, and then once more. He grabbed his phone and quickly opened his text notifications to see you had responded.

“Thank you for thinking of me - I really appreciate it….hope the trip is going well so far”

William’s phone vibrates again.

A short video showing an elegant indoor swimming pool appears. William can see your reflection in the wall of windows as you sit by the pool's edge while recording the video. William continuously replays it; his eyes are firmly fixed on your slender figure as he studies your profile, wishing he was there waiting for you in the pool to give you your own private birthday celebration. If he was there, bathing suits would not be necessary; he would have had you pressed up against the pool wall by now, your legs wrapped around his midriff as his muscular abdomen pressed against your core.

“At my place in London now" “Earlier, I was here…”

An image of a glass igloo appears, dimly lit with soft neon lights situated on a slightly snow covered rooftop terrace. A few more images from the same rooftop were received, which all boasted incredible views of the frosted London skyline at night. William was more interested in perusing the faces of those in attendance; he swears he recognizes some of them as cast members of Game of Thrones.

“If you ever come to London, this place is a must. Look up Wagtail. It’s even on King William Street…”

William smiles and chuckles as he rereads your message a few more times.

His smile quickly disappears when he watches the pool video again. He begins to wonder if you are by yourself - going for a swim at 2:30 am - after celebrating your birthday. William knows that he certainly would not be flying solo under those same circumstances.

William zooms back in on the rooftop photos.

He texts back:

“Are some of your friends from Game of Thrones - like seriously???”

It's not long before you respond again.

“Ha - yeah, a few of them. They’re ready to disown me though…I still haven't seen the show…never got past Season One. Just never had time”

William can't help grinning. If he can get away with ribbing you, he will.

“Wow…that is a bad friend (jk). I'll come over sometime if you want - I've seen it but wouldn't mind watching it again in your theatre room 😉”

William stalls typing in the question he wants to know the most.

Just ask her and get it over with.

“So is your party moving to the pool now?”

William grips his phone and his jaw unconsciously tenses as the three dots flicker and fade while you type your response.

“Nope. Party's over…I'm just winding down before I head to bed. I'm so old and boring, eh?  Don’t answer that."

William feels like he's dodged a missile.

“You’re definitely neither of those”

Although it was so subtle, William hoped that you could sense the affection and desire those words carried for you.  

A bubble indicating a voice text from you appears.  “Just wanted to say thank you for the birthday wishes and I hope your trip is going well.  I think we’d better chat about your family arriving next week.  I’m leaving soon for New York and then home. I’ll let you know when I’m back.  Safe travels and good games, William…goodnight.”

William acknowledges your message with a heart.  He can't help but to feel relieved with how open you seemed to be with talking to him.  

“Fuck sakes Willy - you’ve been on your phone all night…jesus - put it away already.” Morgan elbows William in the arm. “Here’s a glass of wine…hang out -  relax.”

William accepts Morgan’s offer and sits down with Morgan and a few other Dad’s, including Andy Rielly.  

With Morgan being the longest tenured Leaf, Andy’s gotten to know some of the players quite well over the years, along with their fathers and other family members.  

Andy strikes up a conversation with William, asking him how his family is and how proud they must have been to see him play in Stockholm.  Andy asked about the dogs, if William likes living in Yorkville, and they discuss how much the city has changed since he and Morgan first started playing for the Leafs. They discuss Christmas and Andy laughs at William’s nonchalant response when he asks him if he’s started shopping for gifts for his family; not yet but he’ll get to it was William’s answer.   

Andy arrived at the question of whether the Nylanders would be travelling to Toronto over Christmas.  William didn't plan to divulge too much information about his holiday arrangements but he always found Andy so engaging and easy to talk to, William ended up mentioning the plan to stay at your house.

“That really sounds wonderful; what an awesome opportunity to relax and enjoy a couple of days off surrounded by your family.  Your Dad's quite the chef, is he not?  I expect you'll be eating well whenever Michael's manning the kitchen.”

William laughs.  “Oh yeah, for sure - that's him. He's a great cook.  But I think Y/N arranged for an actual chef for a couple of days so Dad can just hang out with us.  Y/N's got some pretty cool stuff to do in her house so I'm looking forward to some downtime…practicing my drive with the golf simulator will be my first stop…that kinda thing.”

“Tessa was telling Shirley and I before of how entertaining her place was from all the gal get-togethers Y/N’s had. Pretty nice setup.”

“Yeah, I haven't been there for a long time…looking forward to seeing what she's added over the years.” William’s eyes shift downward as he ponders what to say next.

Andy pauses for a moment.  He feels like he's hit on something uncomfortable for William, so a change of subject might be in order.  

As if on cue, Brian Matthews approaches the group of men and sits in a chair between William and Andy.  Brian makes similar small talk with William citing a few funny anecdotes from when Auston and William first started playing together.  

Music begins to softly stream from a nearby phone, surrounded by Joe Woll, Matthew Knies and their fathers.  Andy recognized the song almost immediately, having watched the same video earlier that night in the hotel lobby.  It was a sorrowful ballad that you had written and  performed as a duet at Shane’s funeral.  Excerpts from the funeral which had been streamed live had begun to make their way onto all the social platforms.  Your name had been trending rapidly after a transcendent performance headlined in the media as “a stunning tribute”, “a song of perfection” and "hauntingly beautiful”.

“Hey Joe, that's Y/N singing, right? From the funeral?” Andy asked.

“Yeah - it is - what a beautiful song.  It's amazing.” Joe, himself a mostly self-taught pianist, found himself completely transfixed by listening to your composition.

William approaches the small huddle and stands behind Matthew to get a better view of the screen.  His cheeks flush with warmth at the sight of you as you stand at the altar, in a grand old church in Ireland, playing that steel-plated guitar and singing with a pitch-perfect voice that sounded powerful and soft at the same time.

William thought if he could walk out of the restaurant, hop on a plane and come to see you in London, with no consequence or recourse to his team or his career, he would have already been on his way.  

He studies your face as you sing, your eyes closed and brows furrowed with a glint of a tear threatening to escape and roll down your cheek.  Amazingly, you kept your composure as the hundreds in attendance chimed in to sing the chorus.  It was a moment of pure magic and heartbreak at the same time.

So I'll drink today, love

I'll sing to you, love

In pauper's glory, my time I'll bide

No home, no ties, love

A restless rover

If I can't have you by my side

Desperation is not William’s style, but the deep yearning he’s been harbouring for you now is completely uncaged and is running wild within him; he now understands how desperately he wants you.

As the fun-filled evening winds down, the group (after being fed so well and for some, a few too many drinks and feeling no pain), return to the hotel and retire to their respective hotel rooms.  

Back in his room, William finishes brushing his teeth and slides between the sheets of the queen-size bed.  He quickly loosens the tightly tucked-in hospital corners of the blankets so he feels less like he’s in a cocoon. He swipes his phone open and taps one of the social platforms; it does not take long to locate exactly what he is looking for.

William watches one clip after another as several international media outlets posted content from the live stream.   It felt a little surreal; a little dream-like for him to watch you like this again - like you are a renewed part of his life again. You’re all he can think of now and William felt hopeful that you might still be within reach based on, at the very least, the friendly tone of your responses tonight.

William indulges in a few more photos of you but knows if he continues along this path, his arousal will get the better of him - he’s just simply too tired for that tonight.  

William opens the last text exchange with you.  He types “Good Morning” and taps send.  He thinks if he can't be there in person, maybe he can still be your first thought when you wake up.

#william nylander #toronto maple leafs #nhl imagine #nhl fic #angst #nylander x reader

[youfreakinturltle]

Protect You

(A/N): Hello friends! So this is my first fanfic in a verryyyy long time lol! I’ve had this idea in my head for weeks now and finally decided to write it down (literally the first thing I’ve attempted to write since high school lol). This is currently planned to be 3 parts but if we reach part 3 and y’all would like for me to continue just let me know! I am going to go ahead and mention that there are a few Black Sails themes here to help her backstory, but that’s about it!

Pairing: Colby Brock x ghost!fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of death, superstition, and some language (I believe that’s all, if I missed anything please let me know!)

You’ve been stuck in this hoity-toity mansion for over 300 years now and it’s been your own personal hell. In life you were a pirate who had just been appointed the position of Quartermaster of The Walrus, one step closer to your dream of captaining your own ship after spending a life in piracy. The last thing you remember from your life was trying to protect Abigail Ashe during the sacking of Charlestown. Why you were ordered to protect the governor’s daughter when you and your crew had already found Captains Flint and Vane made no sense to you at the time, but seeing them completely disregard you and leave you behind in the escape, everything started to fall into place. You were a woman, the daughter of one of the prostitutes on Nassau, and one of the few who tried desperately to deter Captain Flint from his mission of hunting the Urca de Lima. Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming. After successfully protecting Abigail, the people of Charlestown still only saw you as a “dirty pirate” and went forth with your execution regardless, inside the very mansion that you fought so hard to protect.

It’s been 300 years since that fateful day and you’re still here in the Ashe Mansion. You quickly realized that even if you did try to move on, given your piracy, you likely wouldn’t go anywhere all that great so you opted for staying here and carrying on your dying mission - protecting people that enter this home from the malevolent entities that ended up here over time. You tend to only protect kind or good people, just like in life, seeing the bad as people that aren’t worth your protection.

Over time you’ve seen people of all kinds, good people who either didn’t know or didn’t care about the place being haunted, awful people who used the house to do awful things, and once it had no longer been sold as a home, but deemed a historical monument, you’ve seen many people who you came to understand as “ghost hunters”. You didn’t particularly like most of these given the disrespectful manner they seemed to treat you and the other spirits in the home. They always asked inappropriate or far too personal questions so most of the time you kept your distance and stayed quiet. Because of this many only heard stories of you from the tour guides, but had never encountered you so they questioned your existence entirely.

But one day a group of four men entered the home, giving an energy you hadn’t felt in decades: kindness. They spoke respectfully to the spirits and harshly to the malevolent ones. You had become used to dumb people trying to speak and connect to the dark energies so this slightly caught you off guard. You observed them as they wandered through the mansion, eventually ending up in the parlor where you stay, where you had died.

“And here we have the parlor! Legend has it that back in the 1700’s, during the Sack of Charlestown, there was a female pirate who stayed behind to protect Abigail Ashe, daughter of governor Ashe.” You perked up from your chair in the corner, hearing the tour guide, Leo, tell your story.

“She isn’t very active so you may not get much from her. Given that she was a pirate, her name was cut from all records we have of the event that took place. None really know what happened in here once the attack was over, so we have no record of how she died, why she was even ordered to be here, or why she was left behind by her crew. The only thing we know was that she was a ship’s quartermaster. Lots of people have tried talking to her to try and get some answers, but unfortunately as soon as the questions start, she usually disappears.”

“Do you have an idea of what questions we should avoid in order to try and avoid disrespecting her in any way?” a man with blonde hair, holding what you’ve come to learn is a camera, asks.

“Honestly we don’t, we’ve seen her leave from a question as simple as asking her name. We believe she likes to observe what’s going on but isn’t too keen on getting involved.”

“We completely understand, we’ll be as respectful as possible,” said the man with darker hair and a nose ring. Turning to the room in general he continued, “I’m honestly not too sure how to address you, Lady Quartermaster, but we just want you to know that we mean no harm or disrespect at all. We just want to learn a little more about you if that’s okay. If being filmed is what makes you uncomfortable, can you give us a sign so we don’t unintentionally upset you later?”

You think on it for a second, weighing if these men are worth the effort. After a moment of looking into the eyes of the man who just spoke you decide they’re being truthful. Getting up from your chair you walk over to a lamp that had been off the entire time, tapping it once to turn it on. Gasps emit through the room and the man who spoke seems the most excited.

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much! We really appreciate you doing that for us! When we come back later, I promise the camera will be off. Would you be okay with us sharing your story after? If so can you turn that light off? If not, can you turn on the lamp on the desk?”

You contemplate for a second whether you’re ready to have your story known and decide that it’s been long enough. Reaching over to the lamp you had turned on, you tap it again turning it off. Queue another round of cheers from the group.

“Okay, we understand, thank you so much again for your time!” This time it was the blonde man that spoke.

“Bro this is insane, I guess she likes you, Colby!” Says a man with shoulder length brown hair.

“Shut up dude,” Colby said before turning back to the room in general, “Thank you so much again, we’ll be back in a little while to talk to you some more!”

A couple of hours passed before the men returned to the parlor. You had since learned that along with Colby, their names were Sam, Seth, and Nate. They seemed slightly shaken up which did not sit well with you after having taken a slight liking to them. For the first time in decades you felt your protective nature seeping back into you. Before they even had the chance to begin speaking to you, you walked over to a mirror and made it fog up.

“What happened?”

“Oh my god. Oh my god, DUDE LOOK!! The mirror!!!” Seth said slightly freaking out. You understood their fear, having been around many superstitious pirates in your life.

“Lady Quartermaster, is that you…?” Asked Colby.

You fog up the mirror again and write. “Yes. You scared. Why?”

All the men seemed absolutely speechless, likely never having had such an interaction, with their jaws all but hanging on the floor. Colby spoke up again, “Um… It’s okay, we’re okay”

“Liar. What. Happened.”

They begin to nervously look at each other before Sam said, “we just thought we saw something in the hallway. Honestly, we’ll be okay.”

“Shadow?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looked like. Why, do you know what it was?”

“Bad. I protect.”

Nate has since seemed to get over his shock and spoke to you for the first time, “Wait, you want to protect us from it? Why??”

“You good. My duty.”

“Wait, was that your mission?? Is that why you were here?” Colby asked very excitedly.

“Sort of.”

Your writing was very slow given that you had only recently learned how to do this, and Colby seemed to catch on that it was a little difficult for you. He and Sam quickly got to work setting up different equipment you recognized from other “hunters”.

“Okay, feel free to use any of these devices to communicate with us if you would like,” said Colby. “Is it okay if we ask you a few questions now? I promise our camera is turned off.” To prove that it was indeed not recording, he held it up for you to see before putting it in his bag.

You walk over to the “spirit box” and say, “yes.”

“Okay, awesome! Can we ask what your name was? Just something simple to start out with.”

“(Y/N)”

After several more questions and choruses of cheers, they get to the part that made you the most upset - your death.

“If it’s alright, can we ask how you died?”

Silence.

“Are you not comfortable with that question?”

“….would you be?”

They look sadly at one another, and for once it’s not a disappointed sadness, but one of sympathy. Like they know it was so awful you just can’t speak of it. Deciding that these men have been more than respectful enough, you hesitantly tell them, “…firing squad.”

You hear a murmured “oh my god” as they sit with their hands over their mouths. Colby hesitantly asks, “Why? I thought you were protecting the governor’s daughter…”

“Dirty pirate”

They look at each other horrified for a moment before Seth says, “that’s so fucked. You were protecting one of their people and they killed you anyways? I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

“Blame captain. Left me.”

Colby seems to get angry at this saying, “your captain left you behind?? What the shit?!”

“Defied plans. Treasure. Dirty money. He wanted. Tried to stop him. Tried to protect.”

They seem to be putting the pieces together, so when they ask for confirmation on whether you were trying to protect your captain by stopping him from getting this treasure, you walk to the music box to indicate that they are right.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). Truly, that’s horrible. If you’d like we can leave for a little bit and let you rest.”

You immediately remember the Shadow Man and the Crawler that are lurking in this house and begin to panic. Someone as kind as these men would be highly susceptible to their torment. You run back to the spirit box, “NO. PROTECT.”

They all jump about a foot in the air and Colby asks, while trying to catch his breath, “you want us to stay in the parlor so we’re safe?”

“Can wander. I go with. Protect.”

“(Y/N), you know you don’t have to do that right? You’ve fulfilled your duty, it’s okay, I promise,” Colby says gently.

“NO! THEY’RE BAD! THEY WILL NOT TOUCH YOU!”

They look around at each other in shock, not only at your outburst, but the fact that this was the first full sentence you could get across.

“Okay, you can come with us through the house. We’ll be careful so you don’t have to work so hard, alright?”

You touch the rempod to show you understand and follow as they leave the room.

#colby brock #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x reader #Colby Brock x ghost!reader #fanfic #Sam and Colby #pirate!reader #ghost!reader #protect you series

[ivanwm-05]

The Thousand Of Us (WIP)(Updated@82K words)

Name: The Thousand Of Us

Genre: Superpowers/Post-Apocalyptic/ Sci-fi

Story plot:

Your story begins at what everyone largely saw as the end of the world. There was a bright flash that illuminated the night sky so brightly, it was identical to day as thousands of missiles in a last-ditch effort to save mankind collided with a ginormous asteroid entering our atmosphere.

You wake up two years later and find out that the crisis was averted, but a new crisis of similar proportions was created. The asteroid was carrying a never before seen element, mixed with the radiation that bathed the earth. It created a chain of genetic mutations that wiped out nearly the entire population of the planet and put every other living being in hibernation for two years.

For starters all adults are dead, only a thousand people 18 years of age and below around the globe survived, and the thousand of you that survived, wake up to discover that you each now have unique powers. The only problem is that you’re not the only ones that same phenomenon gave powers, also mutated every other living organism on the planet to varying degrees and they were also in hibernation for as long as you are, so they have about 2 years worth of hunger to satiate.

Would you focus on Survival and Rebuilding? or would you try to Unite or Conquer other groups of teenagers to form a more powerful force against the threats you face? Would you try to Find a Cure or Solution by striving to find a way to reverse the mutations in animals and restore the planet to its former state? or would you struggle in Navigating Moral Choices? You could Uncover Hidden Powers or struggle to Establish a Safe Haven for you and your group.

Features:

You can select one out of a long list of abilities, ranging from just flight to insane regenerative abilities to even earth-shaking strength or even necromancy.

Struggle to stay alive as you do not just have to watch out for mutated plants, animals, and even crazy weather conditions, but also have to watch out for other humans who seek to conquer and lead the rest of the survivors with their terrifying abilities.

You get to choose your MC’s demeanour and how you react to situations. You can be cold and calculative or you could be shy and reserved.

Most involved characters are up to 18 & older including the MC.

Hidden pathways will be made available based on certain choices made within the book that will reveal new endings and shape the LIs future just try to explore this new world.

There might be some explicit scenes but if there are you’ll have the option to fade to black. Mild gore might be unavoidable and there would definitely (depending on your choices though) be death scenes.

Romantic Interest:

I’m gonna try to make this relatable so no definite number yet but nearly every person you encounter, depending on your interaction and relationship with them can be romanced by your MC.

MC can romance male/female/non-binary characters.

I would also create LIs that exist outside of the MC to showcase that the MC’s involvement in their life created a change within them.

Polyamory possible.

Current Word count: 81,679(without code) and 492,008 (with code)

Code is pretty beefed up because I want to branch this out as much as possible so you have the liberty to make whatever choice you desire and live with the consequences.

Updates would come in a format of 100k words per update and patrons get +30k word access ahead of the general public.

To play the demo, go here: Play Demo 

My Tumblr page: Tumblr 

Support me on Patron

Any and all feedback and suggestions would be appreciated.

And also, I would really appreciate if you could take some time to screenshot your final stats after the Demo. It'll really guide me in the next updates.

Oh and if your good in art, you can help me in making the Cover of this game, just send in whatever you have. Thank you☺

#chapter update #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #hosted games #cyoa #cyoa game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive games #interactive story #adventure #young adult #interactive game #wip #cog wip #work in progress #the thousand of us #action #action adventure #superpowers

[guitarhappyman]

Let people know.

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.

Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. 'Really?' she heard whispered. 'I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!' and, 'I didn't know others liked me so much,' were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in

Vietnam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. 'Were you Mark's math teacher?' he asked. She nodded: 'yes.' Then he said: 'Mark talked about you a lot.'

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.

'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket 'They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.'

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.

'Thank you so much for doing that,' Mark's mother said. 'As you can see, Mark treasured it.'

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, 'I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home.'

Chuck's wife said, 'Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.'

'I have mine too,' Marilyn said. 'It's in my diary'

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. 'I carry this with me at all times,' Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: 'I think we all saved our lists'

That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

And One Way To Accomplish This Is: Forward this message on. If you do not send it, you will have, once again passed up the wonderful opportunity to do something nice and beautiful.

If you've received this, it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care.

If you're 'too busy' to take those few minutes right now to forward this message on, would this be the VERY first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships?

The more people that you send this to, the better you'll be at reaching out to those you care about.

Remember, you reap what you sow. What you put into the lives of others comes back into your own.

[girlactionfigure]

🔅ISRAEL REALTIME news update - after Shabbat updates

🔻HEZBOLLAH - Anti-tank missiles - at Mt. Dov IDF outpost.

🔻HEZBOLLAH - Rockets x 4 - at Dishon, Malkia, Ramot Naftali, Betzet, Shlomi, Menara, Margaliot, Meshgav Am, Kiryat Shmona, Hurfeish, Alkosh, Matat, Fassuta, Netua 

🔻SHIA MILITIAS CLAIM.. suicide drone attack on “an Israeli intelligence base in the north of the Golan” and “the fuel terminal in Haifa”.  

▪️HOSTAGES MURDERED.. Hamas announces the death of 4 hostages, another report says 7 hostages, held by them in Gaza Strip. One source lists the names Itzik Jarat, Alex Densig, Ronin Tommy Angel, Eliyahu Margalit. No confirmation or proof provided.

▪️CEASEFIRE LEAKS.. U.S. head of CIA arriving to the region in last ditch effort for a pre-Ramadan ceasefire.

.. Qatar threatens Hamas to expel senior officials from Qatar if they don’t convince the organization to agree to a deal. (Wall Street Journal)

The Mossad in a statement carried by the Prime Minister's Office says Hamas is "fortifying its position" with regard to a potential hostage deal, and instead is looking to "ignite the region during Ramadan."

▪️TERROR - CHOMESH.. Terrorists detonated an explosive device in Silat A-Dahar near Chomash, an Israeli was reported injured by the explosion, 2 more injured by gunfire.  Palestinian Islamic Jihad claims responsibility.

▪️US PRESIDENT SAYS.. BIDEN: "I told him, Bibi — don't repeat this — you and I are going to have a come to Jesus meeting."  HANDLER: Sir, you're on a hot mic. (For those who don’t know this American expression, it means he’s going to call him out strongly privately for his actions.)

▪️AID FIGHT.. exchange of fire in the last hour between the Hamas police and armed "bandits" who sought to loot aid trucks that entered Nuseirat in the central Gaza Strip. Some of the trucks were looted when they reached the area near the Farouk Mosque in Nuseirat.

An aid truck ran over a Gazan to death, while he was trying to protect another truck driver who was attacked by Gazans (who wanted to loot the goods on the truck). Other truck drivers were beaten on the spot by the Gazans.

▪️MORE PARACHUTE MASSACRE.. Gazans report 8 killed by failed aid drops. The Jordanians claim the failure that killed Gazans by bombing by aid (aid parachutes failing) wasn’t Jordan’s fault, the US claims it wasn’t their fault.  (( it’s the Jooooooos? ))  A Gazan journalist claims: even today some of the parachutes of the aid packages did not open. It is not yet clear if there are more casualties among the Gazans.

Gazan, “the dishes are silly... we'd prefer a drop of a kilo of flour. This is better than the whole box of aid... this food is not good for us, we are the Arab... Palestinian people.... it is cat food for us... I exchanged the entire carton of aid with my brother in exchange for a kilo of flour. We want better assistance than this.”  Others complain the instructions are not in Arabic.

▪️RED SEA HOUTHI ATTACKS.. US Central Command: Yesterday afternoon, the Houthis launched two ballistic missiles at a Singapore-owned ship. The missiles missed the ship. Early this morning the Houthis launched an attack in the Gulf of Aden area - the coalition forces and the US Navy intercepted 15 Houthi drones. The Houthis claim in an official announcement that they launched 37 drones.

🔸CEASEFIRE - Hamas’s terms basically seem to be ‘end the war, leave Gaza, release our mass murderers, and MAYBE we’ll return some hostages”.  The U.S. has been PUSHING Israel very hard to come up to the edge of those terms, Israel gave a lot but it appears Hamas hasn’t budged.

Current analysis says Hamas is hoping to rile up the Arab world by keeping it going over Ramadan.

🔸JUDEA-SAMARIA (West Bank) - Hamas is already releasing Ramadan propaganda to hopefully rile up both the Arab public and the various militant groups in Judea-Samaria and hopefully cause serious attacks either into Jewish towns or into Israel proper. The IDF has been very active raiding militants in the major Arab cities for the past months, with counter-terror battles nightly - hopefully having suppressed and redirected the militants (if not outright capturing or killing them).

🔸LEBANON - increasing power tit-for-tat attacks continue, with the IDF bombing Hamas sites in southern Lebanon villages hourly, and Hezbollah firing rocket barrages of 20-60 rockets per round.  

Rumor are Home Front Command wants to start a campaign to inform the public to PREPARE PREPARE PREPARE, but there is concern it will cause PANIC and possibly cause the enemy to react.

🔸GAZA - The IDF continues working through Khan Yunis neighborhoods and tunnels building by building. Hamas is primarily limited to the last Gaza Strip city of Rafah - which the IDF is somewhat leaving alone but is air striking Hamas leadership locations and operations locations, but warning to evacuate first in some cases.   IDF attacks include blowing up buildings and, in some cases, neighborhoods when they’ve been used as attack platforms.

🔸HOSTAGES - Hamas says 7 were murdered. No reason, but also no evidence.

🔸AID - the aid story is getting weird. Aid protestors have successfully slowed aid, such that the US and Jordan (and others) are now air dropping aid - - which has had drop failures effectively bombing people with aid and killing them while claiming the failure is not them.  

The Gazans are complaining about the air dropped aid: the instructions are in English, some is expired, it is not to their taste, the portions are too small, it’s cat food.

The US has said they are going to build an instant-port, to deliver aid by sea - and aid is prepping and loading on ships in Cyprus, but the US has also said they’re going to do this without US forces entering Gaza, by deploying 1,000 US soldiers to:

“Deploy a floating pier and causeway. The aid will be driven into Gaza by vetted U.S. partners and not American troops. The U.S. military will work to ensure proper security measures are in place on the ground and will take precautions to protect its troops offshore.”  

Since security is the issue, with most aid trucks being attacked and looted or hijacked by Hamas, the goals seem impossible.  And who are these ‘U.S. partners’ who are going to go into Gaza?

🔸PROPAGANDA - the new propaganda item is “Gaza children dying by dehydration” since “Gaza starvation” is starting to lose traction.

#Israel #Realtime War Updates #October 7 #Operation Swords of Iron #Hamas Massacre #Israel/HamasWar

[zvaigzdelasas]

[CBC is State Funded Media]

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has called the decision to invite an elderly Ukrainian Second World War veteran who fought for Nazi Germany an "egregious error" that "deeply embarrassed Parliament and Canada." On Wednesday, he offered what he called "unreserved apologies" on Canada's behalf for the hurt it caused. Many experts say they're skeptical about the prospect of Canada's political leaders and institutions learning something from the now-infamous episode that capped President Volodymyr Zelenskyy's trip to Canada. Many historians will tell you that what we've witnessed over the last several days is history coming back to bite Canada — specifically over its refusal down the decades to acknowledge or own up to the decisions that allowed Yaroslav Hunka, who served with the 14th Waffen Grenadier Division of the SS (1st Galician), to immigrate to Canada in the 1950s.[...]

There was a reckoning of sorts in Canada during the 1980s. A public inquiry, headed by Justice Jules Deschênes, attempted to determine if Nazi war criminals and sympathizers ended up making this country their home and, if so, how many there were. The Galician division featured prominently in that investigation. Jewish groups, notably the Nazi-hunting Simon Wiesenthal Center, gave the inquiry a list of 217 former members of the unit who apparently had immigrated to Canada. (The Deschênes commission concluded that 86 per cent of those named never landed in Canada and "no prima facie case has been established against" the 16 under suspicion.)[...]

Trudeau, in his apology, said everyone in the House of Commons regretted "deeply having stood and clapped even though we did so unaware of the context." The old phrase "ignorance is no excuse under the law" might be modified in this instance to include the word "history." After almost eight decades, it would be easy to chalk this up to a history-challenged staffer working somewhere within the labyrinth of the House of Commons, or to failure on the part the now-former speaker Anthony Rota — someone simply ignorant of the complexities and grievances. That may well be part of the political calculation. With Rota gone and with the prime minister having apologized, the reflex may be to rebury the past and carry on to the next political crisis.

But one war crimes researcher and historian says the international stakes, given Russia's use of the event for propaganda, make a thorough investigation — and public airing — indispensable. "I think the Canadian government owes it to itself to determine how on earth this thing happened," said Efraim Zuroff, a director at the Simon Wiesenthal Center's Israel office and a specialist in Nazi war crimes in Eastern Europe.

It's not just about how such an invitation was extended. It's also about the airbrushing of history — Rota's carefully worded tribute mentioned Hunka having fought against Russia, as though Moscow had been the enemy at the time. "People are so ignorant [of] that history, it's pathetic," said Zuroff. "People suffer from such ignorance when it comes to the Holocaust and other things as well ... And it's a complicated subject. It took place in many different countries and played out to a certain extent in different ways."

Aside from the list involving the Galicia division, Zuroff has personally submitted to the Canadian government another 252 names of other suspected Nazis — or Nazi collaborators — from Eastern European countries other than Ukraine who are believed to have come to Canada. Out of that entire list, only one individual was ever charged. Following the Deschênes commission's report, the Criminal Code of Canada was amended to make it easier to go after suspected Nazi war criminals. Much of that work came to a screeching halt with the failed prosecution of Imre Finta, a former Hungarian police commander who was accused of organizing the deportation of over 8,000 Jews to Nazi death camps. He was acquitted on the defence that he was following the orders of a superior. Zuroff said the Canadian courts that accepted that verdict are the only ones in the world that recognize that legal defence — and consequently, no one else has been prosecuted. Since that case was tried in 1990, Canada opted to go after war criminals through the immigration system.

Any meaningful reflection on the Hunka tribute must include an examination of how Canada has dealt with these cases, Zuroff added.

Beyond the legal context, a leading scholar at the University of Ottawa, history professor Jan Grabowski, said the country needs to acknowledge how people like Hunka — who fought with the Nazis for what he hoped would be Ukrainian independence — got into Canada in the first place. Britain and countries like Italy, where some members of the Galicia division ended up, were eager in the late 1940s to be rid of refugees and surrendered soldiers. Canada willingly accepted them and by 1950 had made a special accommodation for Ukrainians. According to the Deschênes report, the prevailing feeling in the government at the time was that these former soldiers "should be subject to special security screening, but should not be rejected on the grounds of their service in the German army."

The context of the time, said Grabokski, is crucial, because when the Cold War began, Canadians shifted to a totally different "frame of mind."

"Anti-communists were prized above everything else," he said. "So we need to understand that this was a totally different political situation and most of the time, the Canadian authorities knew that they were letting in people who were allies of Hitler. But it was not enough, let's say, to make them hesitate." The B'nai Brith demanded this week that Ottawa take this opportunity to finally open all Holocaust-related records to the public, including the second part of the Deschênes commission's report, which has been kept secret for almost 40 years. Instead of reflection, though, Canadians might be in line for more political theatre.

28 Sep 23

[altocat]

i saw that you also said you love to talk about other characters, not just sephiroth, so i thought i'd ask: what are your favorite things/traits/moments etc of all of the playable characters we've had across the compilation of 7? i feel like i can talk about all the characters forever :)

Ooh yeah! This will be fun. Okay!

Cloud: Cloud is the most relatable character to me, and probably my favorite if we're being honest. I relate strongly to his identity issues, and I love when he tries to act tough while concealing a softer nature. My personal favorite scene with him is the flashback where he realizes that he was stronger than Sephiroth this whole time, throwing Sephiroth down the pit. It's a powerful moment, probably Cloud's single greatest moment in the entire series.

Tifa: Tifa is literal perfection. She looks like a tough tomboy and yet she's also one of the kindest people ever. She's maternal, loyal, supportive, and devoted to a fault. The team would be lost without her. She's the glue that holds everyone together. An absolute queen. My favorite moment with her is Under the Highwind, regardless of her relationship with Cloud being romantic or platonic.

Barret: Barret's got a heart of gold. He's always part of my main party when playing the OG. A great comrade and an even GREATER father. His relationship with Marlene is beautiful and so warm and wholesome. Barret also spits some iconic quotes over the course of the game, as well as some hard truths. My favorite scene with him, naturally, is his encounter with Dyne. The line "my hands are too stained to carry her anymore" gets me to cry no matter how many times I play.

Aerith: Aerith is the biggest hero of FFVII next to Cloud. She's the one who ultimately saves the day, and all through her sacrifice. I'm not even gonna talk about my favorite moment with her because...you guys already know the scene. It's the single most famous scene in gaming history. Aerith has a playful, occasionally chaotic edge to her personality that she hides behind a sweet smile. I absolutely adore that about her. She's so full of love and so full of selflessness, but she also loves to tease people. Also an absolute queen.

Red XIII: Nanaki is a cat btw. I have always seen him as a cat. That's my controversial opinion on him lmao. Also him howling for Seto makes me ugly cry every single time without fail. I appreciate that Nanaki seems occasionally stoic and serious, but then has kind of a childlike or immature fear or insecurity about something. There's that duality to him that ties to the other characters in a sense. Anyway, I love him. He is a very good boy.

Cid: Cid took a while to grow on me initially. He's pretty rough around the edges. But my favorite moment with him happens in the last third where he sorta becomes the de facto leader of the group with Cloud gone. And I like that he seems to have reconciled with Shera as well. Honestly, he's just kind of a badass and really cool at what he does. Also he gets to go to space. Good for him tbh.

Cait Sith: This one is hard because there's always a debate as to how much of a character Cait Sith actually IS. It's Reed puppeting a machine/doll basically. How much of Cait Sith has a mind of his own? Regardless, Cait Sith isn't my fave. He's a spy, after all. But he makes up for it in the end, even if he kinda fades into the background. Reed is honestly more of an interesting character overall. I can't name any specific favorite moments with Cait Sith specifically. But also he's a small Scottish cat. And that's rad.

Vincent: This edgy boi. Also not one of my faves, but he's grown a lot more on me over time. He wins for always having the coolest voice in the entire group. And I really like the scene where he reunites with Lucrecia. Vincent is kind of gruff and understated at times compared to the rest of the cast. But he has a gentle side as well, and one hell of a cool backstory. Also I love monsters and gothic imagery in general.

Yuffie: Yuffie is...my least favorite main character. I don't hate her. I've just never been a fan of the "spunky loudmouth child" trope. With that said, I'm sure the Remake trilogy will breathe new life into her and add some extra appeal for me. I like what I've seen so far. And Yuffie's bluntness and playfulness can be cute from time to time.

Zack: Counting him because of Crisis Core. He's probably my third favorite character. His death is the saddest scene in the entire compilation imo. He's a character who is wholly encompassed by love, who deals with a LOT of pain, and who proves to be better and worthier than most people put together. Like Aerith, he sacrifices everything. And also like Aerith, his legacy will live on forever.

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #barret wallace #aerith gainsborough #red xiii #yuffie kisaragi #zack fair #vincent valentine #cait sith #cid highwind

[pedgito]

Could you do a love triangle between reader, Steve and Eddie? Like she can't decide who she's more attracted too and spin the bottle goes south really quick. Because they're jealous when someone dares the reader to kiss the other or someone else.

author's note: uh, yeah...i got carried away. this took on a life of it's own. i also got halfway through and tumblr deleted it and i had retype all of it, so if it seems a little disjointed, i'm sorry. hopefully it isn't too noticeable

cw: 18+ (to be safe), background!ronance, lots of making out and some suggestive touching, but nothing too crazy. there's not any interaction outside of the reader between steve & eddie, other than talking, ect, but i tried leaving the ending a little ambiguous for a reason :p

word count: 3.6k

You weren’t entirely too sure how you ended up in this situation—scratch that—you were definitely aware of how, but why was the real issue. A small group of teenagers huddled around a fire during of those infamous senior year parties, drinking until you couldn’t see straight and making far too many irrational decisions—which is the how on you ending up here, staring directly at the two boys you couldn’t stop thinking about, sans the few other kids who didn’t really matter—not to you, anyways. You hadn’t spoke to half these kids the entire school year, but spin the bottle was harmless, practically child’s play. What was the worst thing that could happen?

“So, how are we doing this?” Steve asks after a long silence. Everyone shares a glance around the circle, not a single word spoken. “Come on, at least one of you has to have some idea of how to play.”

You sigh, taking the bait. “Let’s do—spinner chooses the person to kiss for whoever it lands on. Fair enough?” There’s a collective shrug from everyone in response. “Great—I’ll go first.” No one argues against it.

It lands on Nancy first, who takes a small sip of her beer—liquid courage, maybe? Though, she already looked like she been through a few by the slight flush in her face. You glance over at your quirky, fast talking friend and an idea strikes you.

“Robin.” You grin, staring Nancy down. Part of you expects Nancy to back out, but she crosses the path to Robin, who sitting beside you. It’s a quick kiss—close mouthed and simple. Nancy offered a comforting smile to her friend before turning on her heels and returning to her seat—and if it weren’t for the four beers Robin had consumed in the time you had been here, she’d be shaking in her converse after being kissed—and by Nancy Wheeler, of all people. You nudge her shoulder comfortingly, watching the blush creep up her neck toward her face. “Alright, who’s next?” Robin asks, desperately hoping to avert the attention away from her.

A young blonde girl who’s name you couldn’t remember spun the bottle, landing on Jason, and to no surprise—she picked herself. You’ve never been more happy that Chrissy wasn’t much of a partier, she didn’t deserve this—Jason really didn’t deserve her. You couldn’t be bothered to watch, eyes averting to Eddie who was just as equally uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem like it was for the same reason. He rarely ever took part in group stuff or socialized outside of his D&D club—but he had you, Nancy, Robin, and Steve to thank for finally helping him branch out—even if it was against his own will most of the time.

Jason took the next turn, spinning the bottle. It spun and spun, lasting for what felt like hours until it stopped on you. You looked at Jason, bracing for whatever stupid choice he was about to.

“Harrington.” He says smugly, smirk covering his annoying face. “You get to kiss Harrington.”

Steve eyes you wearily, immediately feeling uncomfortable with all eyes on him. Luckily, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Had he been the Steve of two years ago, he would’ve had no shame, kissing you square on the mouth in front of the entire school if he needed to, just to prove a point. But this Steve, he was hesitant. You had been through a lot, together and apart.

“Lucky me.” You joke, flashing a sweet smile in Steve’s direction. You chug the rest of the beer, throwing the bottle off toward the other growing pile of empty bottles. You contemplate whether a simple kiss was enough, but the way Jason was staring you down—you just had to stick it to him, shove it right in his face.

Steve’s leg spread slightly as you moved forward, allowing you the space you needed to take a careful seat on his leg, one arm hung loosely around his back. “You can hate me later.” You whisper, hand coming up to cradle the side of his face before leaning in, pressing you lips against his own with all the confidence in the world.

You really don’t expect the pressure the Steve returns, parting your lips slightly. But, he seems to catch on to why you were putting on such a show—he would play along either way. And even if you did have the teensiest of crushes on Steve, you would never find the courage to act on it alone. Steve spent all of his time talking about girls that there was no reason for you to be anywhere on his radar. He sighs quietly, bring you in closer, hand gripping onto your waist gently.

Jason clears his throat awkwardly, “If you two want to get a room that’s fine.” Of course the jerk couldn’t take what he wanted to dish out. You pull away slowly, eyes immediately connecting with his.

“Sorry. Who’s next?” You ask simply, standing to smooth out your shirt where it had ridden up from Steve’s hand. “Robin?”

“Me?” She asks, voice shaken. Robin was always so inherently nervous, but it was part of her charm. "I, uh--Okay."

You could hear a pin drop as soon as it landed on Eddie, the entire group snapping their attention in his direction. He was fiddling with the neck of the bottle, not realizing everyone was staring at him until Steve nudges him.

He laughs lightly, not even the slightest bit uncomfortable. You would never understand how easily he brushed everything off. "Choose wisely, Robin." He teases, pointing a tantalizing finger her direction. Robin forces a laugh, eyes wandering around the group slowly, categorizing every person.

Not Jason, not Nancy, not to mention all the other kids who were vehemently making an effort to avoid Robin's gaze. She stops on Steve for half a second, considering--before she snaps to you. She mumbles a sheepish, "Sorry--I love you, please don't hate me."

But, there wasn't any reason to hate her. It was a game--a silly, stupid little game, right? You shrug, throwing your arms up in the air. "Rules are rules." You assure her, "Pucker up, Munson."

Much similar to your approach to Steve, Eddie widens his legs. But, he's perched higher, allowing his head to be level with you while he sat. "It's an honor, sweetheart." His voice dripping with honey, warm and entirely too welcoming--and now you really can't ignore the shiver that runs down your spine. It wasn't the alcohol this time, not even in the slightest.

He yanks you toward him gently, fingers carding their way through the hair at nape of your neck, pulling you in for a slow, searing kiss. You yelp quietly at the action, caught off guard by the way Eddie manhandled you into place--not that you were complaining.

The kiss quickly turns into something else, a mess of tongues and not much else. It was probably time to cut off the alcohol. Robin whistles loudly from behind you, the rest of the teenagers joining in quickly, pulling you both out of whatever trance you had both entered. You quickly stepped back from Eddie, pointedly avoiding his eyes--unfortunately, locking right onto Steve's. Except he's not looking back, he's staring directly at Eddie. And it's then, in the midst of all your drunkenness, that your existential crisis hits you.

Steve was jealous and Eddie wanted to make Steve jealous. It had worked perfectly, assuming by the look on Steve's face. But, what doesn't make sense, is why Steve couldn't bare to look at you now. Eddie coughs softly, causing you to separate further. "Sorry, sweetheart. Kinda got ahead of myself." You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but it couldn't have been more obvious--the problem was literally staring you directly in the face.

They were both jealous. They couldn't even share a glance with each other anymore, after an entire night of pointless chatting, it was like they couldn't be on further points of the universe, all over a harmless game.

"Well, I think that's enough for one night." Nancy finally says, breaking the tension that had been created between the three of you. "Robin?" She asks, making an effort to hope she would catch on.

"Yep!" She claps, standing up from her spot and immediately snatching Nancy away from the group. "God, please fill me in on whatever is going on with those two." Robin whispers into your ear before she finally flees, following Nancy toward the drink table, against her better judgement.

.ೃ࿐

After a few minutes of silence and stolen glances between each other, no one speaks. You sigh loudly, hands thrown out to your side. "I'm not dealing with you two. I'm not--I'm just gonna go find somewhere to sober up." You weren't sure what had brought out the behavior from Steve--well, Eddie had--but, you hadn't done a single thing to him. And Eddie, he couldn't even be bothered to look Steve's way.

You turn, stomping off into the deep brush of forest, desperate to escape the chaos of the party and calm your nerves. "Wait!" You hear Steve call out, but you don't stop. To no one's surprise, Steve trails closely behind--a quiet Eddie sticking behind, staring at the dirty, scuffed white sneakers he wore.

"Wait, please," Steve's voice is softer this time, but louder, void of all the loud music and chatter. He's staring at you with his soft, brown eyes--the type of look that would make any girl melt. But not you, not now, "stuff got weird back there, I'm sorry."

"Stuff got weird? Is that the excuse you're using?" You ask, entirely unconvinced by what he was telling you. "So, you staring down Eddie like you wanted to murder him isn't important? I shouldn't be worried about that?"

Steve looks away, jaw clenching. "I didn't think it would feel weird. But, I couldn't help it." He replies lamely, still not looking your way.

"Couldn't help what?" You ask, arms crossing over your chest, "Acting like a complete douche? It was a game, Steve." But, you were far past the point of it just being a game--you knew it was more to Steve, maybe not before, but definitely now.

"Just a game? So when you had your tongue shoved down Eddie's throat, that was just a game?" Steve turns toward you, eyes narrowing. You set yourself, brows furrowing in anger.

"So, you are jealous." Steve shakes his head in frustration, back turned toward you. "You're jealous that I kissed Eddie? Steve, I kissed you too, how does that make any sense?" He didn't even have the courage to look at you now, even after being so confrontational. "Steve, seriously?"

"Fuck this." He snaps, turning on his heels and stalking toward you, legs hitting the back of the worn out picnic table, sending you stumbling back, arm extended out in an effort to catch yourself, but Steve's hands are around you before you can even think, pulling you into him.

You hesitate for a split second, seeing his eyes scan over the expanse of your face, silently checking if you were okay--you were furious, but you couldn't help but want to lean in further, the tingle of alcohol filling your body. You sigh into Steve's mouth the moment it touches yours, immediately wrapping your arms around the expanse of his neck, allowing his hands to slip under your thighs and force you to be fully seated on the table now, wrapping your legs around his hips.

His tongue traces a line against your top lip, idle hand squeezing at the soft flesh of your waist, before delving into your mouth like he was a man dying of thirst, ready to bleed you dry. You fight back, lips pressing against his in an effort to gain an upper hand, fingers gently pulling at his hair. Steve moans outwardly, a filthy laugh slipping from his lips at the effort you were giving. "I guess I had a reason to be jealous, yeah?" He asks teasingly, his voice low and soft, only for your ears.

"Shut up." You bite back, pulling him back in for another kiss, leaving you practically breathless.

"Well, seems you two had a couple issues to work through." A voice bleeds through the trees, the familiar crackle of leaves coming closer and closer until..."Didn't think you had it in you, Harrington."

"Eddie." It's a warning. He knows it.

Eddie throws his hands up in defeat before resting them behind his back, slowly stepping closer. Steve was still pressed between your legs, but both of you were glued on Eddie and that stupid smirk he had.

"Don't act so innocent, sweetheart." He chides, his voice soft but condescending in it's tone. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

A step closer, than another, until he's practically kneeling on the bench beside you both, only a few inches away. "Steve's definitely got it out for you--problem is, I do too."

It couldn't have been more obvious, but the reality of hearing it fall from Eddie's mouth has your heart skipping a beat. Two of you bestfriends, two people you loved--it should feel wrong.

Eddie lets out a short chuckle, eyes dark, not soft like they usually are. He wasn't mad, you've known him long enough to understand what that looks like, but this--it was something else entirely. He leans in slowly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You were too hyperaware of your position now--Steve crowded over you, Eddie pushed in beside you. Steve hadn't even bothered to move, to enraptured by the show Eddie was putting on, almost like he was amused by it. You glance over at Steve, his mouth hung open slightly, still caught up in all the emotion of the moment, his grip never faltering.

"You think Harrington likes to watch? Or maybe he'll join in?" Eddie asks teasingly, eyes glancing toward Steve. Steve's eyes flit toward Eddie quickly, before returning to your own, eyes glossing over slightly. "He does get a little feisty when he drinks, doesn't he?"

"Eddie, just get to the point." You beg tiredly, glancing up toward him now. Eddie smiles, but it's slight, barely noticeable at all. He's thinking, contemplating. But, it doesn't take long before Eddie's leaning forward, chin grasped between his fingers in an effort to maneuver your face toward him. It's surprisingly gentle, despite how aggressive it would look to anyone passing by, luckily you three were completely alone.

"Just couldn't resist another taste, sweetheart." Eddie flirted entirely to well, it was one of his more annoying traits. He flirted with everyone, anything, it wasn't something you ever put much thought into. But, this--this was dirty, this was real. "I'll let myself regret it in the morning."

But, it's you who closes that gap, hand reaching up to graze the side of Eddie's face, fingers catching in one of his curls. Steve's grip on your waist tightens, but he doesn't move, doesn't let go. He hasn't even made a sound. Eddie licks into your mouth, desperate for more of you, teeth grazing against your bottom lip, nipping gently. Eddie was messy with passion in the way that Steve was slightly more coordinated--and the idea that you were even comparing the two was insane, but that was a thought for a later time. There were more pressing issues at hand--like, Eddie pulling away to suck at a particular spot on your neck, allowing you to finally lock eyes with Steve again.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice was rough, eyes drawn to where Eddie was sucking along your neck. You couldn't even be bothered to answer, nodding quickly in response. He pulls you in carefully, the hand that wasn't holding your waist a featherlight touch against your thigh, pulling your leg higher up his hip. He didn't seem to mind that Eddie wanted to join in, but he wanted to make sure his presence was still known. Not like you could forget it--this would be burned into your mind forever.

You sigh, desperate for more and more touch, from either of them. It was driving you wild, the way Eddie was whispering in your ear, taking the time to claim up your skin with his own mouth, all while being devoured by Steve’s, his tongue breaching past your lips, desperate to pull any little sound he could out of you. Words were pointless, you couldn’t even form one. It wasn’t like you were drunk enough to the point where you couldn’t make a rational decision, not that anything was making sense right now, but you were definitely aware.

“Switch me, Harrington.” Eddie sighs out, hand reaching around to grip at the thigh that Steve wasn’t occupying, squeezing at the sensitive flesh. You whine softly, the cold sting of his rings a very prominent reminder. This was Eddie, your best friend, and Steve—also your best friend—how were you going to recover from this?

Steve doesn’t put up a fight, surprisingly, switching with Eddie quickly, hand wandering up your chest, slipping under the thin material of your shirt. “This okay?” He asks into crown of your head, mouth buried into your hair, squeezing at your breast, over the flimsy bralette that covered them.

“So okay. So much better than okay.” You confess, pleasure having taken over your rational thinking completely. You catch the glance that Eddie sends Steve's way, watching his hand disappear under your shirt. And for a split second, Steve locks eyes with him. They could've buried you six feet under at this point, not even feeling like you were in control of yourself anymore. But, the feeling of Eddie's lips brushing against your own has you jolting back to reality, your hand coming up to push his hair out of his face, delving into his mouth, a sloppy mess of tongue and spit, just like before.

It was a stark contrast, the way Eddie was ready to devour you whole, compared to Steve, who was sure of himself, but never taking a step too far without checking in with you. It had you reeling, two of the boys you care about most, drawing sounds out of you that you had no idea existed. You had to stop this at some point, before you three woke up the next morning, unable to look at each other.

You sighed, reaching back to rub tenderly at Steve's arm, pulling his attention away from where his face was buried in your neck, barely grazing Eddie's, but it's enough to interrupt him. He pulls back, eyes softer now.

"We have to stop." You say, regretfully. As much as you wanted to let the alcohol think for you, some things just couldn't get out of control, not this. "We can't do this."

They both pull back slowly, slightly dejected. "Sorry." Steve says softly, attempting to subtly adjust the front of his pants, but he fails.

"Damn, Harrington." Eddie laughs, finally pulling back, fishing his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "You just keep surprising me."

"Shut up." Steve shoots back, but there's no real emotion behind it. He almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation, not having fully processed everything either.

"I need to get back before Robin comes looking for me." You tell them both, the flick of Eddie's lighter louder in the silence that had settled.

"Eh, I don't know about that." Eddie gives you a playful look, taking a long drag from the cigarette. "She might be a little busy."

"With?" You ask, eyeing him carefully.

"Let's just say, Wheeler was pretty eager to run off with her earlier," He glances over at Steve, then back at you, "and I definitely didn't catch them making out over by the parking lot."

"Damn, I didn't think Robin had it in her." Steve comments offhandedly, seemingly proud of his friend.

"God," You sigh, rubbing your hands over your face tiredly, "this is the last party I'm ever tagging along on."

"Probably a good idea," Eddie says, smiling down at you, "you might end up falling in love with us." It's a lame attempt at a joke, but the way your heart flutters scares you.

"Yeah." You force a laugh, pushing yourself off the table and attempting to walk back toward the wild group of drunk teenagers. The boys trail closely behind, exchanging glances between each other unbeknownst you. Steve shakes his head in disbelief.

"Hey!" You hear Robin yells, jogging toward you. Nancy was close behind her, an obvious pep in her step. You gave Robin a suspicious look, eyeing her up and down. "So, these two ever stop acting so grumpy?"

"Yeah." You say slowly, glancing over at Nancy, who was forcing herself to hide the obvious smile on her face. "They'll be okay, we talked it out."

"Good, at least they finally figured their shit out." Robin whispers to you, glancing up at the two boys who were both wearing the same pair of shit-eating grins on their face at the sight of their other two friends.

"I could say the same for you."

The look on Robin's face is priceless, sending you running in the direction of Steve's car at the startled yell of your name. "She's gonna kill you for that." Eddie comments, gasping for breath when you finally come to a stop, arm draped over your shoulder gently.

"I told you, she just needed a nudge." Steve smirks, jingling the keys to his car in front of you. "Need a ride?"

It didn't matter if you three ended up in the back of Steve's car that night, somehow in the same situation as earlier, you could regret it in the morning. But truthfully, that wasn't the last time—and none of you ever regretted it.

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve x eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #i'm so mad the first draft was perfect #and then ploof #i hope it isn't too bad :( #my writing #this turned into a mini fic on accident