Just A Person With A Brain That Doesnt Stop

Tokyo debunker lover and just writing for fun~ Some will be my ocs x character or just head cannons orr whatever (25) (Minors do not interact~mdni~)

[localgirlbecomesobsessed]

Masterlist two! <3 lol

Also the link to masterlist 1

OC4

JIRO'S BIRTHDAY

TAIGA'S BIRTHDAY

ED'S BIRTHDAY

CHRISTMAS EVE

REACTIONS TO EPISODE 12

XENA

EPISODE 11 REACTION

HEADCANNONS

XENA X LEO

THE THINGS YOU DO FOR A DATE>

PART ONE

PART TWO

STAKE OUT

LEO X XENA X ALAN

WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?

LEO X XENA X SHO

CHOOSE THE RIGHT ONE

CATHRINE

CATHRINE'S BIRTHDAY

EPISODE 10 REACTION

HEADCANNONS

A WINTER'S WALK

CATHRINE X ED

A GIFT FOR A VAMPIRE (A BIT SMUTTY)

OLIVIA

KARMA

[kinarchivist]

Certified yearner. Certified devotion. Certified loyal. Certified genius.

Certified powerful. Certified born to suffer.

Certified doomed by the narrative.

This man collects emotional damage certificates like they're Pokémon cards.

I mean... on some level, he really is a perfect match for MC.

They're both people who were never given enough time. At least his situation got resolved in some way, but the whole "our time is running out" thing is something they both understand better than anyone.

Doomed couple.

Soulmates if fate wasn't such a professional hater.

(bro was the "God" but he's more devotion to MC than people toward him)

[anzumari]

S2 E7 SPOILERS

Average Jin and Sky king interaction

As much as I don't have an appeal for Jin, this is very funny coming from him, I feel bad for the sky king...

[bunnywrks]

MC X SKY KING

omf fuys i love Them Os much They hold a Special place in my Heart 😢😢 Probably the most interesting chapter I've ever seen! and these two have more chemistry than the Other Freking Ghouls

[fandom-salmon]

I know someone people really don't like Elias and are quick to call him evil and that he should die. And I just think you guys aren't appreciating his incredibly suspicious and untrustworthy white boy swagger.

I wanna keep him around just to see what he can destroy.

[td-art-storage]

Hello people of tumblr, I've not been around much because my internet wouldn't let me in here and for some reason even if I get in the connection error pop up will appear... sigh anyway I managed to get in through pc with a little vpn tinkering! It's a hassle to get in so you won't see me that often anymore at least for the time being

Anyway, shirtless haru undercut, have a good day peeps 😘

[v10l3tz-thmblr]

Now that I'm done with angst videos for now

Here's some more rarepairs I don't see often part 2!!

[v10l3tz-thmblr]

I was kinda locked in so.... You guys are getting fed a LOT today.

More rarepairs or ship dynamics I don't see often!! Part 3 😋

Part 1 & 2

Also in terms of what I meant about "I don't see often" I mean in terms of fics, art of any kind without x reader. I love x Readers too, but I love my dynamics just as much 💜

[terranostra]

[tokyduffy]

[cloudcountry]

ok elias kissers i might be interested in joining your Secret Club. perhaps. his side profile is swaying me.

[cloudcountry]

jin...listen, jin. i get it. i am hearing you. "don't trust elias!!!!!! he's bad for you!!!!! he'll hurt you!!!!!!!" but Listen to me, jin kamurai. have you seen his side profile. jin.

[kusanagihaku]

before the curtains rise

⭢ fem!jo x mc, 3.6k

Jo crosses the distance between you easily, long legs bringing her to a stop inches away from you. She is so close you can almost smell the smoked sugar of her skin, almost taste the light dripping from her curls, almost can’t help the way your eyes want to flutter closed.  or: it's late, and jo invites you to stay over.  on ao3 here | masterlist.

borne once again from magma brainworms mwah love u @kongozas

Remember to meet me after you’re done with Mio! 

Mio catches the message before you do. Amusement laces itself through his voice as he jerks his chin at your phone. “Jo thinks you’re going to forget about him.” 

Your head shoots up from where you’re elbow-deep in Mio’s latest clockwork experiment, only to meet the barely concealed smirk on his face. You flush and look away. “Yeah, um. He, uh, wanted some help going through the stack of magazines from last month.” 

“Sure he does,” Mio says. He picks up a stray screwdriver, flicks off the switch on his headlamp. “Go, go, I can finish off the rest of this myself.” 

“Are you s—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Mio waves you off. He reaches up to adjust the brightness of his headlamp. “Only a couple steps left, anyway. Besides,” he looks up, “Jo seems anxious to see you.” 

Your ears burn as you scramble to your feet. When you leave the tent it is to the ticking of clockwork and the quiet chuckle of their owner. 

-

It is dark on your way over. 

The flickering circus lights pool under your feet, little puddles you can’t help dipping into as you walk the now-familiar path to Jo’s tent. 

Remember to meet me after you’re done with Mio! 

Did she think you would forget? Already you have spent many an evening on the floor of her tent, blazer shed and tie loosened, separated only by magazine clippings loose and paper-thin. You will work through different disguises and paste outfit inspirations into different notebooks. Time will thin, made elastic under her long fingers and shuffling knees, and you will sink slowly into the bright of Jo’s laugh and the sea of her eyes, spend your minutes pretending you have not already been drawn into her orbit before she catches your yawns and calls it a night. Tonight will be no different. 

You cross the narrow arteries of the circus. Somewhere in the distance laughter flickers and dies. 

If you close your eyes you can delude yourself into believing today will end in something different. 

The light that spills out from the front of Jo’s tent is honey-thick, gilding the packed earth in front of its striped entrance. You hesitate before lifting the canvas. “Jo?” 

Jo looks up. Behind her costumes hang like sleeping birds from their hooks; a mirror rimmed in bulbs throws soft light over everything it touches. It paints the edges of her gold. 

“You’re here!” She grins, and gets to her feet. The notes of her voice rings your heartbeat into your ears. “Here I was, thinking I’d have to come steal you away from Mio.” 

You laugh. “Don’t have to steal what comes willingly.” 

You don’t miss it when her grin widens. 

You settle into your routine quickly. It’s office worker wear today, with some magazines recommending expensive coats and others cute sweaters. Jo has already made her way through issues from the summer months, but as you glance through the remainder of her pile it seems like there is still much to do. 

You tug your tie loose. “Let’s get to it.” 

-

You sit cross-legged on the rug with a stack of old magazines fanned across your lap, glossy pages catching the lamplight like scattered coins. 

Jo has long since sprawled herself onto the floor beside you, turning each page with slow, deliberate care. Every so often she taps a picture — a model in a slouching jacket, a girl in high boots and too many rings — and looks to you, just to see if you’d look back. 

“Think this will come back into fashion?” She asks, and watch as your eyes fold themselves into honeyed crescent moons. 

“Only if you want us to get caught,” you quip, and tap the stack of clippings you’ve already gathered under a pair of scissors. “Office wear, remember?” 

Jo does remember. It is all she has been thinking about, really, you in a pencil skirt and another cropped suit jacket. It has been taking everything in her to think about anything else. 

She hums, and tries to pretend she’s paying attention to the pages in front of her. The cut of a skirt, the fall of a sleeve, the easy confidence stitched into every photograph. 

But time and time again her eyes wander back to you — the way your brow furrows when you glide the scissors along the page, the soft hum you make when you find something appropriate. The way your bangs fall into your eyes and the way you sweep them away with only your fourth finger and your pinkie, tuck them behind your ear with your third finger and your index. The soft of your cheek, the worried raw of your bottom lip between your teeth. 

The time ticks by. 

It’s nothing new, really, nothing she hasn’t seen when you started inspecting Dionysia’s missions. It shouldn’t thread itself under her skin the way it does, not when she has so many other things on her plate. Not when she has to worry about the future of an entire house. 

And yet there is something about you that slips itself under her tongue, something about your presence that blurs her every thought, shoves her what-ifs and not-enoughs all the way back into the recesses of her mind. Something that sets her at ease despite the ridiculous situation you’ve both found yourselves in. 

Jo sighs. Turns a page. The circus continues to hum quietly outside the canvas walls, distant and familiar. 

It is doomed from the start, as is all the things Jo wants are wont to be. She’s a captain. You’re a student meant to keep her in check. She just got out of jail. You’re meant to die. You both have much bigger things to worry about than the blooming gold you paint her tongue whenever you come too close. 

She coughs, lightly. It shakes some off the thoughts off the forefront of her mind. “Look at this,” she taps the magazine in front of her. “Do you think this blazer will go with the vibes?” 

You squint. You lean forward, eyes sliding down the glossy page, but you must not be able to see it from the angle Jo is holding it out at since you scooch over on your knees to take a closer look at it anyway. 

Except you end up way too close to her, close enough she can smell the salt of your day under the light scent you usually wear, clean and soapy and tinged with floral. You brush your hair away from your eyes and she can’t help but follow the movement, follow the way the light threads itself through the stray pieces of hair that tumble down into your line of sight again anyway.

Her hand itches to help you. She folds her arms underneath her. 

“It could,” you say, slowly, and Jo has already forgotten her question. 

What kind of captain would she be, if she made a move on a student (much less the honour student). What kind of captain spends her evenings staring at the Inspector, lovebitten and homesick, even though she should be looking at budget reviews and renovation reports? The inspector, who has trusted her like a friend, who just the day before admitted to her that she’s never felt as comfortable with a ghoul as she feels with Jo?  

Jo looks back down at the page. All the ghouls are clamouring to make use of you. She will not join their ranks. 

“Maybe if we match it with something charcoal,” you say, thoughtfully. You bend down even closer. “Pencil skirt or slacks.” 

Jo’s fingers still on the page. When she looks up at you it feels like sunflowers rising towards late afternoon sun, too close and not close enough. “That’s… that’s a good idea.” 

Your eyes crinkle up in the corners. It changes all the light in the room. You do the little head tilt you always do when you laugh, sweet and bright and open, and it pierces something deep in Jo’s diaphragm she’s never known was there. You’d never trust her this much again if she ever made a move. You wouldn’t even step foot in Dionysia if you found out how much she wants to kiss the laugh off your smile, wants to brush the hair from the nape of your neck and bruise you with her lips, sink her nose into the delicate spot between your neck and your shoulder. 

But want is a thing that can hold its breath, and Jo has learnt a long time ago how long she can hold it, hot and burning in her lungs. She turns away. 

You notice; of course you do. “Sorry, I’m too close, aren’t I?” 

Jo blinks. “Of course not! You could never be too close!” But you are already moving away, sheepish smile gracing your cheeks, and it takes all the decorum in her bones not to get up after you. 

She looks away. The clock on her vanity blinks a quiet 23:07. 

“It’s late,” she says, and watches you swivel towards her. When your eyes land on her again, she wonders if she’s imagining the disappointment. She should offer to walk you back, she knows — there is no such thing as too safe in the Darkwick streets at night, and yet… 

Jo bites her lip. Looks up at you. You look back, steady, curious, all neon light electric on the wet road of her. 

It is warm in the tent. The night is quiet. Nothing stops Jo when she exhales, long and reckless and selfish. “Want to stay?” 

-

You stare into the mirror. 

The nightie Jo handed you to change into is a soft pink, one that shifts under her lights into a muted bud orange. She’d put on a mini-fashion show for you just minutes before, pulling out pajamas from the bottom drawer of her dresser for you to choose from and tossing them onto her bed. When you’d deferred to her opinion, she’d huffed and said something along the lines of modelling them for you so you’d be able to choose. 

(It wouldn’t help, she knows. But what wouldn’t she do to keep your eyes on her for just a minute longer.) 

And model them she does, with quick-flash changes in between that leave the silk of her pajama sets puddled on the floor like a trail to her bed. You try not to let your mind wander, but you don’t have to try too hard anyway — she walks down the worn rug of her bedroom like a fashion runway, long legs flashing from increasingly shorter pajamas, and it takes everything in your singular struggling braincell to keep up what you think are appropriate oohs and aahs instead of sitting there with your mouth open and face flushed. 

Or at least that was what you hoped it looked like anyway. After the first set your brain might have bled out of your nose. 

She’s beautiful, after all. This much you’ve always known. You’ve seen Jo under the loud glare of stage lights, under the harsh of Dionysia meetings, in the muted quiet of her own bedroom, and in each one the glow of her blooms merciless and radiant and  heartwrenching. The warmth of her smile and the chime of her laugh echoes through your nights and your days and your days and your nights, slipping between your eyelids every time you go to sleep, slipping in between your fingertips an unfamiliar itch of want. 

The set of long purple pajamas she showed you first swished with every step she took, loud as the blood rushing through your ears. The next set of green sets off her eyes. 

But how could you want? A captain with priorities much bigger than your own, with family far more precious to her than a simple friend. A captain carrying a shadowed circus on his back, still bright and coveted under the spotlight. A captain who would put his life on the line over and over and over again, just to bring them all home. What is your want worth? 

The black silk shorts clung to her hips, loose top fluttering around her like she is an angel of death (your death, specifically — when she turned to wink at you, sea-glass sharp under the halo of her bedroom lights, you wondered if this might be your end). 

What is your want worth, indeed, this want that hums under your skin whenever she draws near. Whenever she turns her attention to you, whenever the soft of her skin brushes yours. What is your want worth when your deadline is fast approaching on the irreconcilable end of the year? When all that is left between you will become sun and flowers, circus lights and decay? 

The light blue slip she put on right at the end dripped off her form like it was made for her. It swished mid-thigh, cinched itself in all the right areas. The neckline dipped so deep you found yourself having to look away, ears burning and wordless, desperate and drowning in your own imagination. 

She grinned then, something gleaming and keen. “This one, then.” 

When Jo leaned down towards you, gold hair swinging like a curtain between you and the world, her smile is all sweet and intoxication. You keep your eyes on where the skin on her collarbone has started to pebble in the cold. “Jo-“ 

The words that slip out between her teeth ghost over your lips. “It’s my favourite one too.” 

(She fished a similar one out from the bottom of the drawer right after you managed to redirect some blood back to your brain and stammered out a mild refusal.) 

As you slip it on in the bathroom you realise it might be too big for you. The strap slips off your shoulder easily, and the padding in the chest area is so thin it makes you second guess yourself. It feels foreign on you, like cherry blossom petals spilled from a tree too early just to land in the nooks and crannies of your form. 

But oh, it is gorgeous. You run your hands down the material, watch as its hues shift in the mirror. You can see why it’s Jo’s favourite. 

“How is it?” Jo’s voice is slightly muffled by the bathroom door. 

You swallow. You shift your weight. The fabric ripples out from under the swell of your chest. 

You emerge from the bathroom to silence. 

Jo is leaning against the foot of her bed, legs stretched out in front of her, hem of her nightie barely brushing creamy mid-thigh. Her curls have already been brushed back, leaving her shoulders bare and empty. When her gaze lands on you it is through eyelashes half-closed. 

It flickers up the pink fabric (assessing its fit on you?). It leaves goosebumps on your skin in its wake. 

She doesn’t move. 

You fight the urge to tug the hem lower, to fold your arms over yourself, to shrink back into the tiled safety of the bathroom where the leftover steam of your shower can blur the edges of you. The silence stretches, thin and humming, and you become acutely aware of everything: the way the nightie clings where it shouldn’t, the unfamiliar ache of your own body, the heat crawling up your neck. Maybe you should just head back— 

But it is midnight for only a second, and then she is applauding, eyes sparkling into something soda clear that leaves your heart fizzing. 

Jo crosses the distance between you easily, long legs bringing her to a stop inches away from you. She is so close you can almost smell the smoked sugar of her skin, almost taste the light dripping from her curls, almost can’t help the way your eyes want to flutter closed. 

Her fingers ghost over the water-thin strap holding the nightie up. 

You swallow. 

“Gorgeous,” Jo murmurs, and for a moment something flashes under the surface of her gaze. Something dark, something hungry and familiar that alights on the hollow of your throat and tracks the curve of your neck and bleeds your tongue dry. 

Her fingers trail down the strap. 

You forget how to breathe. 

But then she is tucking your hair behind your ear, and saying something about how glad she is she managed to even out the haircut Shion gave you, and how well your hair now frames your face and brushes the back of your neck— 

You manage to nod. 

Yes, the haircut was lovely. Yes, you did really need it. Yes, you do put lotion on at night. You’re using the one Romeo bought y— oh, yes, the Sinostra vice-captain, yes, but sometimes you forget— oh—

Jo gestures toward the small vanity crowded with mismatched jars and tins. “C’mere,” she says, softer now, as if the moment that has gently been folded away won’t haunt her tonight as much as it will haunt you. “Let’s apply it now, so you don’t forget your lotion again.”

When she steps back you follow. It is a grateful, neat choreography over to her vanity, and Jo seats you in front of the mirror with a gentle push. Your skin burns where her fingertips leave you. 

Jo twists open a little pink jar with practiced hands, lifting a cotton-soft pad with her fingertips before turning to you. “Close your eyes,” she murmurs. You do, and focus on steadying your heartbeat. 

“This is a cica toner,” she says. The pad is cold on your forehead. “It helps to calm your skin down. Not that you really need it— close your eyes—“ she swipes it across your eyelids, “But I do think it helps the rest of the moisturisers absorb better.” 

“That’s why your skin is so nice,” you say. You open your eyes to catch the crinkles in the corner of hers. 

“You’re too sweet to me.” Jo tosses the toner pad into the silver bucket underneath the vanity, then reaches for a tall golden bottle. “This is a hyaluronic acid moisturiser, it helps hydrate your skin.” 

You nod, and she shakes out a couple drops onto her palm. Her fingers smooth it out onto your cheeks. You obediently close your eyes, and her thumb catches, on your right cheek. It stays there, catches your breath with it. 

When you open your eyes again she is looking away. 

“Niacinamide,” she continues. The skip in time never happened. “Good for your pores.” 

She applies this one across the centre of your face this time. She doesn’t make you close your eyes. You keep your line of sight on the mirror in front of you, just in case. 

“God, I missed doing this routine,” she sighs. You make a noise of acknowledgement. “Can’t do it on the rest of those clowns, and it gets lonely doing it by myself sometimes, you know?” 

You crack a small smile. You can’t imagine Shion sitting in your position, waiting through all the different steps of skincare just to burn all of Jo’s hard work off the next time he picks up a flame. But you could sit here for her. You know you could. 

Jo picks out another small jar, pink and hidden among the make-up palettes. “Lip mask. Helps to keep your lips from cracking, especially when the circus air gets a little too dry. I got a few, but this one’s my favourite flavour.” 

You smell it as soon as she opens the jar, something sweet and fruity and floral and light. It smells vaguely like what you think she’d taste like. She scoops a little bit of it out with the tip of her index finger. “Tilt your head.” 

You feel like you have to say something. “That smells good.” 

Jo’s returning laugh fizzles on your collarbones. “Doesn’t it? I always think about licking it off y—“ her eyes flicker up your hairline, “Licking it off even before I fall asleep.” 

She nudges your chin up with her fist, thumb just below your bottom lip. Her index finger swipes once, twice, thrice on the curve of your lip, each movement writing something dangerous into its pink, and your heartbeat expands, fills the room with such thunder you can’t help but look up at her to see if she has heard it— 

But it proves to be a mistake, as you should have known— 

Her eyes are trained on where her thumb is, slow, half-lowered, like she is studying how it feels to handle something fragile. They turn almost translucent in the mirror-light, sea and sky and everything in between all at once, inflates something between your ribs that feel a lot like a whole world. As her finger stills the air between you suddenly feels too small for breathing. 

“There,” she says. The word drifts, candy-bright, onto your lips. She says something else too, something kind, probably, or something teasing. But the light of her voice is muffled by peppermint and strawberry lip masks and the echo of her thumb on your chin, and all you can do is nod dumbly as she shifts away from the vanity, shifts away from you.

Behind you the shadows shift to make way for her. The room exhales around the absence of her warmth. 

You watch her in the mirror, and try very, very hard not to touch your lips again.

[stinkyturd]

Still Waters

Pairing: Shion Genkai/Reader

Comments: This one is pretty short. (~2.5k) I definitely want to make like a miniseries for Shion. No smut this time, just fluff. Oh, also thanks to @fakemenenjoyer for giving me the snow globe and lullaby idea, she's a fr genius. 😍😍😍

“...Isn’t that for [Name]?”

Mio quirks a brow at Shion, as he scarfs down the prepackaged cornbread that Jo had neatly wrapped for you. The ribbon that previously cinched the plastic closed falls to the table that Shion is eating over. Sure enough, your name is scrawled on the tag attached to it.

Mio’s lips downturn as Shion blatantly ignores him, even after he chases down the food with water. The clockwork artisan sighs. 

“You know Jo is just gonna give her something later, right? No need to take it out on her just because you’re upset at him.”

Shion’s ocher eyes narrow sharply at Mio. He crumples up the bag that held the treat and tosses it onto the wooden table. Mio watches it roll off the edge and fall onto the floor. Finally, Shion speaks.

“You don't think he fancies her, does he?”

Mio gives him a tired look. “I wouldn’t know that.”

Shion’s gaze turns glacial.

Not this again…

Mio shakes his head. Something tells him that if he lets Shion stew in this, the outcome will be grievous. “Look, Jo makes stuff for everyone. That’s probably not the case.”

“Really? Since when does he wrap yours or mine in a pink bow? There are hearts on this tag.” Shion flips it over to show Mio, before he’s crushing the thick paper into a tiny ball. “Does he think I'm a fool?”

“Eh… Girls like pink. Hearts too,” Mio tries, as he bites out of his share of the cornbread. The texture is moist and sweet, sort of like a muffin. Maybe changing the subject would distract him from doing anything reckless. “It’s good though, isn’t it?”

Shion shuts his eyes, brows furrowing in disdain. “No. It's disgusting. Foul. The color of a filthy urinal.”

He’s definitely lying… Mio knows this is exactly up his alley. 

“A urinal?” Mio makes a face, but continues eating anyway. After pulling an all-nighter without eating all day, nothing is deterring his appetite. He washes it down with some ‘bog water’. “Most corn products are gonna be yellow, you know.”

“He’s trying to steal my wife with frivolous gifts. I’ll have to kill him.”

“...!” The next bite Mio takes of the cornbread nearly goes down the wrong pipe. He takes another drink of his coffee, and a brief coughing fit follows. “Your… coughs…! What, now?!”

“Surely she won’t betray me… We are family,” Shion mutters to himself.

“You can’t just–” Mio cuts himself off. “... Does she know you call her that?”

“Yes,” Shion deadpans. 

Mio has been knowing about Shion’s fascination with you. The ‘wife’ thing? Not so much. 

“Also, you can’t kill anybody. If you even try that, the institute is going to put you in confinement. And then you definitely won’t be able to see [Name].”

Shion presses his lips together in a thin line. That, he doesn’t want. Not anymore. “How do you propose I put a stop to this… This courting behavior?”

Mio wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You can’t always control what people do. If it bothers you, why don’t you try to do something like that for her?”

“She’s already mine. Why should I be courting her?”

“...”

Mio massages at his temple. He really hasn’t had enough sleep to properly navigate a conversation like this with Shion. There’s no point in telling him to stop doing what he’s doing now. Like Mio told Shion, you can’t control everything people do. And God knows how stubborn he can be once he has his mind set.

“You know, everyone does nice things for their… Partner...” Mio figures it’s best to avoid entertaining the ‘wife’ narrative. As much as he can, at least. “Ideally, you want to keep them happy. It makes you happy when you have breakfast ready for you in the morning, doesn’t it?”

“.....” Shion fails to respond, but the way he’s staring down at the table makes it seem like he’s thinking, at least.

“And not the crying, terrified, kind of happy. I mean, like, actually happy. If you do something nice for [Name], she might not shy away from you as much, you know?” Mio remembers Shion griping about her moving away from him a few times.

“... So, I should bake her sweets.”

Mio pales at the idea of Shion operating the kitchen equipment. Jo would not be happy about that, even if he’d brush the aftermath off. And it’s not like Mio knew how to guide him– he’s not much of a cook.

“Uh, maybe not that. She would probably be happy with anything, you know? It doesn’t have to cost money. I’d help you make something.”

“What will you make for a gift?”

Mio hums. “Well… I dunno. Snow globes have simple mechanics. I could probably make that in no time.”

Shion perks up at the mention of snow. “Snow? Inside of a globe…”

“Yep. You just put decorations inside of a base with glass over it. It’s filled with a water and glycerin solution to simulate the snow fall effect. I’ll even put a feature that will make it so the snow moves on its own. Could do music too.”

“When will it finish?”

“Well, if you give me an idea of what to print to the base… Probably by tomorrow evening.” Mio reaches under the table to pick up the plastic Shion dropped earlier, as he throws the last bit of cornbread in his mouth.

Shion stands up suddenly, his expression carrying newfound determination. “A pretty globe for a pretty wife… What shall we put in it?”

…..

Another long day. 

For once, it isn’t due to Jin throwing random tasks at you, or even a mission. With finals approaching, you overstayed at the academy’s library. It almost feels pointless to try and catch up on studies with a curse as severe as the one you have, but if you do make it out of this alive, having any amount of education from Darkwick could be beneficial to you in the mundane world. At least it’s a free ride at a prestigious academy, even if not all the classes are applicable to a normal office job.

You enter the cathedral and rigorously shake off the rain from the umbrella outside, before shutting the front door and locking it. For some reason, it wasn’t locked upon entering. You could have sworn you did that upon leaving today.

…Weird. 

After hanging up the umbrella and taking off your shoes, you make your way up to your room. You silently thank Mio for the work he’s done on the building in order to make it possible to step around with just socks. No protruding nails or splinters to worry about anymore. 

Much to your relief, the lights are still off when you enter your room and nothing appears out of place. It is unusually chilly in the building, though. 

Well, it is downpouring… So maybe that’s just normal. 

You ignore the apprehension in your gut and flick on the lights, before collecting your night clothes from your wardrobe. It’s high time for a hot shower. 

…

You wrap yourself in a heating blanket to fight off the cold, with a bowl of popcorn at your side. The couch in your room isn’t the most comfortable thing ever, but you’re not tired enough for bed yet.

Should you watch a movie? Or a new show…?

Shion watches TV around this time, right? You wonder what kind of things he likes. Probably horror or something, you would think. He really is a bit of an odd ball, but he’s growing on you. 

The mean stuff he says can be kind of funny, especially knowing it’s mostly to get a rise out of you. Then there’s the wife thing… 

You don’t take it seriously. It’s almost like he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he says it. Or maybe you just feel that way because he doesn’t have the personality you’d expect of someone that wants a wife. The way he acts sometimes reads like someone learning how to be human.

You try not to dissect it too much. 

Eventually your channel surfing brings you to some movie called “How to Ditch Your Husband in Ten Days”. A comedy looks like. You’re about to click the play button when a familiar, melancholy, instrumental reaches your ears.

“.....”

Is this ‘Takeda Lullaby’?

The sound is sort of faint… But like it’s coming from below you. Goosebumps prick your arms as something brushes against your ankle. Your breath catches in your throat as you look down… Only to find a half-gloved hand beginning to wrap its fingers around your ankle.

“...Shion,” You start, your tone uneasy. 

The music continues to play but the hand stills over your limb. You exhale, feeling mild relief. 

“Shion.”

This time it’s chiding. And the music stops. 

A few moments pass and the culprit slides out from under the couch in one fluid motion. You lift your feet unconsciously as he does. 

“Have you been there the whole time?” You ask in disbelief. 

Shion lies flat on the ground in his uniform, with what looks to be a snow globe perched on his chest. His hands station it protectively in place. Golden eyes imbued with disappointment flick to meet yours. 

“You’re not happy,” Shion comments, whilst appearing unhappy himself. 

“I’m pretty happy right now. As long as you’re here to be good.” You’ve learned that appearing unbothered with Shion is the best way to quell his antics. Not that it’s always effective. This man is a total wild card.

“What do you have there?” You ask. 

Shion glances at the snow globe, before snapping upright almost mechanically. Again, he deflects the question.

“Does it interest you?”

A warm feeling brews in your chest. Something about this interaction feels different. “It does. I haven’t seen you with something like that before. You like snow though, right?”

Shion flips a switch at the bottom, causing the snowflakes to flurry rapidly inside the globe. Upon more careful inspection, the interior seems to be circus themed. A melody begins playing from it, solving the mystery of the phantom sound. 

“It’s very beautiful,” You murmur. “Did you buy it somewhere?”

“No.”

You hum in understanding, even though you’re still confused.

Shion narrows his eyes at you, as a mischievous smirk pulls at his lips. “If you fancy it, I will give it to you. But nothing comes free.”

…Ooh. So, did he bring this just for you?

Your gaze melts instantly. As rude and unpredictable as Shion can be, it makes more and more sense as to why Mio and Jo look out for him so much. You decide to play along. 

“What would you like for it?”

Shion pinches his eyebrows together in sadistic delight. “Why don’t you shed a few tears for it?”

“But I’m not in the crying mood,” You argue. 

“I could remedy that for you.”

You shoot him a look of disappointment and preemptively cross your legs to get them farther from Shion. The way he squints in response tells you that he didn’t like that. 

“Don’t,” He warns.

A sigh escapes you. “You’re not exactly building trust with that line. Why don’t you let me trade something more normal for it? I’m your wife, aren’t I?”

Just like that, Shion ceases his bristling. “Yes, you are. That’s why I brought you a gift, after all.”

You crack a smile. “You know, if you’re giving a gift it’s kind of an unspoken rule that it’s impolite to expect anything in return.”

“Politeness is a waste of time. A worthless pleasantry.”

Even with his mean little pouty face, it really is a privilege to have Shion’s trust to where he wants to sit so close. You noticed it upon meeting him, mostly before he opened his mouth, but lately it’s been a recurring thought.

Shion’s very beautiful.

If you’re going to have a little yandere orbiter follow you around, you might as well accept it and make the most of it. 

“That’s probably true. So, can I kiss you for it instead?” You ask. 

“......”

Shion’s expression falters into something unreadable. And for a moment you wonder if you pressed the wrong button. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to take it back, he speaks. 

“Yes.”

Oh. Maybe this will work. 

You lift the bowl of popcorn and pat the seat beside you. “Do you want to sit next to me?”

Shion’s gaze flicks to the couch. It takes him a moment, but he stands and plops down to face you, with his legs crossed. He holds the globe in his lap protectively, as if to gatekeep it from you until you’ve paid your dues. 

You scoot a little closer, ignoring the way he stares at you a little too intently. Pivoting slightly, you reach out and tentatively cup his cheek. 

“You’re warm,” Shion comments, a bit sourly. Still, he doesn’t shy away. 

“And you’re cold,” You quip back. 

Shifting the popcorn out of the way temporarily, you close in on Shion’s face and plant a gentle kiss on the cheek you’re not holding. Your lips linger for a few seconds, before you start to pull back. 

A hand flies out and suddenly grips your chin, stopping you in your tracks.

You’re met with Shion’s face, dusted a rosy pink, and accompanied with a serious expression.

“Again,” He demands.

Shion’s hold on you relaxes when you start to oblige and land another cheek kiss. This time you notice the taste of salt and the faint smell of the sea. 

“Again.” It starts to sound like a plea. 

You kiss by the corner of his mouth this time. Shion even trembles a bit. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” You murmur against his skin, before daring to pull back. “And if you’re okay with it, I’d like to watch something together.”

Shion’s hand hesitantly retreats from your jawline. Only then do you pull away too. He looks to be a mixture of flustered and conflicted. 

Shion holds out the globe. “Now it may be yours.”

“Thank you. ♡ I’ll trade you. Here, have some popcorn.” You pass the bowl to him and accept the globe. For now, you set it on the end table next to you. Later, you’ll probably put it close to your bedside.

Shion tuts in disapproval. “What is this? This filth.”

You glance at the TV and belatedly realize he’s talking about the movie you had set to play. 

Oops…

“No idea. Just saw it pop up. You can pick anything you want.”

Shion had already started clicking off of it before you could finish the sentence. After a bit of scrolling, he decides on ‘Fear Factor’. 

“Do you like popcorn? I hope you don’t mind sharing it…”

“It’s flavorless.” Shion grabs a few popped kernels and eats it anyway. “Terrible.”

You help yourself to some of it and lean against the arm rest. “You think so? I put a lot of–”

Shion presses a finger to his mouth, shooting you a stern look. “Ssshhh…! It’s starting.”

You obediently cease your talking and redirect your attention to the screen. 

The evening continues on, with the two of you comfortably enjoying a show together. Shion stays close to you, giggling every now and again at the contestants' misery. You even start to feel relaxed, less concerned that Shion will do something mean-spirited or out of pocket. This, you can handle. 

May the still waters persist.

[juni-is-not-ok]

jo kongoza has me in a chokehold……..

[tokyduffy]

[ddalgies]