they are in a small town in the land of rice. the air is warm & sweet with roasting grains & last night’s petrichor. it is a sleepy little town, an ancient settlement on top of a hill ringed by terrace paddies. haku walks the streets like one looking to savor what shall soon be lost. a little bit of sweetness left in the world.

❛   this one,  ❜ haku lays the back of their hand against isamu’s forearm, guiding him into a small grocer’s store. for once the air does not hang heavy between them. cool fingers brush isamu’s dark skin & isamu does not pull away. he says nothing at all as he turns into the shop, bending down awkwardly to clear the low doorframe. the shop bell peals brassy against isamu’s broad shoulders & catches on the thick weft of his dreadlocks.

❛   gentle,  ❜ haku says. isamu casts an impassive glance at them over his shoulder. haku holds his gaze easily, mouth soft, demeanor easy. has it always been like this ?

again: ❛  gentle,  ❜ haku lays a hand on the small of isamu’s back. ❛    here. let me.  ❜ the string of bells untangles easily beneath a deft hand, & isamu steps over the threshold with a shake of his head, his lips quirked slightly up. haku’s spine tingles, remembering how that mouth felt just hours ago on their skin, their lips, their chest, their thighs. they lick their lips, hand isamu his copy of the shopping list & get to work.

they had sex last night. 

they always do when a storm is coming. increased moisture in the air relaxed them, & electricity sang beneath their skin like a promise. it must be the same with isamu, because it always happens, without fail. air pressure builds, clouds swirl, haku’s eyes darken, a rumble catches isamu’s chest. by the first crack of thunder lips are parting; by the third they are on each other, taking turns pressing each other into pelts & bed rolls, hips rolling with thunder. neither speaks. they don’t need to. what can a mouth say that a storm cannot ? they stopped when the storm did.

when the skies clear, they roll apart to clean off then tuck into their separate bed rolls without a word. they don’t talk about it in the morning. what can a Mouth say that a storm cannot. day breaks. nothing is different.

yet haku stands closer to isamu as they walk through the little village & isamu does not move away. fingers brush & touch without static. isamu’s silence feels roomier. haku’s feels less pointed. he stands beside haku as haku pays for more treats & road supplies, & even deigns to carry one ( one ) bag.

when isamu drapes an arm over haku’s shoulder upon exiting the store, it is nothing unusual. his disregard for personal space is well known. it is only when calloused fingers stroke against their cheek & haku does not pull away that they realize there is  . . .  something happening between them. nothing with a name, but it exists all the same. isamu cups haku’s cheek hard, forcing their attention, & haku lets him, curious as to what happens next & burdened by groceries in both arms. they look & wait. isamu looks & waits.

to both their surprise, isamu presses a chaste kiss to haku’s cheek before abruptly walking away. it lacks the crack & hiss of last night’s kisses. it does not send sparks down haku’s spine.

it’s just a kiss. a chaste, perfectly ordinary kiss.

@9sik​ sent: "how come you never give in? you really can't give me an inch? is it the pride? I'll have to break that down..." amon + red

the hunter’s jaw locks and unlocks repeatedly amidst the silence her questions leave behind. he’s familiar with this silence but that does not make it any less uncomfortable. he’s familiar with this feeling but that does not make it any easier to bear. the eyes stay on the road instead and how the damp asphalt glitters underneath the floodlights, the sweet night air pure in his lungs even after his cigarette and maybe because of it, and he tends to this silence with a hand in his pocket and the other around the rim of his hat. he avoids her eyes but even then he can feel the knife of her gaze in the hollow of his throat.

“it’s not about pride.”

there’s nothing prideful about red. very rarely does he take pride in what he does, as it’s more often than not thankless labor. an unforgiving job that has robbed him of a life and more relationships he can count, that’s given him a depth of knowledge about the world but has done little in the way of tethering him closer to it. and he carries no pride about it so much as he carries confidence that he’s doing a worthwhile service, he’s saving lives, he’s burying that which must remain unearthed, he’s giving answers to desperate widows, desolate parents, frightened towns, or at least he’s putting an end to the fear, he’s concluding this mad chapter of their history, and finally they can let it go and forget.

but often he does little more than that, and it’s nothing worthy of pride.

he tried to kill her a few days ago, not too far away from this rest top. put the muzzle to her forehead and pulled the trigger. he missed by two inches, the bullet punching the dark earth to her side when she managed to wear off the poison he’d stabbed into her. she tried to kill him too and was significantly more adept at it. probably only took a ninth of her strength to break his ribs, his arm, to dim the lights out of his brain and make him catch a glimpse of the afterlife. he woke up coughing on a pool of blood, incapable of moving and saying anything beyond soft, slurred nonsense.

he remembers this with shame. not at failing to kill her, but at knowing why he failed.

his hip tips to the side, frame leaning against a post, the intention less to look unfettered and more to give his battered body some relief.

@9sik​ sent: "you are worth all my tears." jhora/fenrir

if he closes his eyes for long enough, he can almost feel her here. 

he can breathe her scent [unmistakable], feel her skin [warm, soft] and taste her mouth [sweet, bloody] on his tongue, if he closes his eyes for long enough. just a few seconds, and he can imagine her here. the concoction of drugs pumped into his bloodstream mellowing out his senses -- the ever present prick of awareness dulled to a mere pressure on the back of his skull, all so he can picture this -- and so he can stop hearing the laughter three apartments below, or the crying two doors away. so he can ignore the fervid exhale in the neighboring building, the pigeon turned crimson against the windshield down the street, and the blaring sirens, and the million drumming heart beats, and each tiny [loud-low-big-small-sad-happy] voice that fills the entire city block, and so he won’t snap, and so he won’t bite down and torture the life out of the earth.

but as it numbs him -- as it helps him imagine -- it also makes him aware of the emptied rooms inside his brain, the fading smell on his bed, the trail that’s going cold [that was never there] as time progresses with signature spiteful indifference, the transmutation of grief into acrimony spraying brume on his eyes and locking his jaw stiff-shut until his teeth ache, until they feel as though they’ll shatter.

they only loosen when jhora speaks; he might as well have been slapped across the face. sudden volcanic hatred burns in his lungs, dragging a growl past embittered maws that makes the cutlery in the kitchen cabinets dance.

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 0.2 / send me this or perish / @9sik

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ship meme / accepting / @9sik

who’s more dominant: both of them are very dominant in every day life – it’s i think during sex that amon is a bit more willing to concede said control, and that’s just sometimes. she’s not submissive by any means, so i’d say it’s fenrir whos a bit more dominant but amon’s right up there too, and outside of sex, they’re essentially on the same level honestly.

who’s the cuddler: as we established fenrir communicates more easily through gestures and really enjoys cuddling her up in his arms be it in bed or in general, he just loves to nuzzle and snuggle her and have her body close to his. 

who’s the big spoon/little spoon: fenrir’s her personal heater.

what’s their favorite non-sexual activity: scheme and be evil together work and go about eliminating their various enemies, usually through gruesome murder. hunting. having some nice conversations. ever since her scarring i see them enjoying baths together. cuddling. going out to dance. 

who uses all the hot water: possibly amon. but really… they shower together.

most trivial thing they fight over: literally anything if their moods are bad enough kjfkjgh jealousy used to be especially bad before they became such a serious item – and it could possibly creep up again. the way/tone some comments have been said. doing something dramatic/major without letting the other know about it, that could also be a hot button. 

who does most of the cleaning: honey who has the time. that being said they each got their own places and it stays that way even after they’re basically married so in his most used condo there’s a housekeeper (no doubts a supernatural being themselves) that comes in mondays and thursdays. i assume amon has something similar or she just gets jhora to do it jk.

what has a season pass on their dvr/who controls the netflix queue: for some reason i feel like television is too banal for amon if i’m mistaken/if she wants to watch something she just has to go and do it; fenrir’s not big on watching tv anyways, he’ll just put on something as background noise. 

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: whoever owns the place i’ll assume.

who leaves their stuff around: both but in each other’s apartments/houses cause they’re marking their territories. 

who remembers to buy the milk: fenrir’s pantry is usually stocked by the housekeeper. 

who remembers anniversaries: i feel like they just don’t put too much weight on that but at the same time i think they would both remember. jury’s out on whether it means something though. time is a vague concept for fenrir as it is. 

who cooks normally: fenrir’s the only person who cooks in this relationship kjhfkjhg he’s probably tried to teach her some basic things just because it’s amusing. 

how often do they fight: once a week. it depends on what’s going in their lives at that particular point in time. they used to clash a bit more at the beginning and at the current moment they’re more… let’s say mellowed out since they’ve each respectively laid all the cards on the table and there’s nothing else to hide. but i feel like once in a blue moon they’ll just fight over some stupid shit since they’re both naturally conflictive individuals. it’ll get solved though! 

what do they do when they’re away from each other: they’ve each got very busy lives i dare say amon more so than fenrir, but fenrir as well since of course he’s still out there working for the occasional god or supernatural and amon’s got the demon cult business. so like they just work on their shit but also they probably call each other.... i dont wanna say every night but...... often. 

nicknames for each other: fenrir calls her baby but also reina as we know and mi amor. on occasion he will also use hjartað mitt, it means my heart in old norse. amon calls him love/fen/baby and like you said [redacted] in her old dead language.

who is more likely to pay for dinner: fenrir simply because he’s the one that regularly eats.

who steals the covers at night: amon might but fenrir doesn’t mind because he just uses covers out of habit.

what would they get each other for gifts: fenrir on occasion will spoil her with luxurious gifts but also essentially gave her a piece of his soul so like … there’s That. if amon wants to buy him something it could be as big as a car or as simple as something nice to her wear before he rips it apart. because he might be an old god but some things just work.

who kissed who first: possibly fenrir.

who made the first move: fenrir flirted with her first.

who remembers things: amon’s capricorn self remembers everything, even (maybe especially) the bad things.

who started the relationship: they just kind of forced themselves to do it because they couldn’t stand the idea of each seeing other people respectively dkfjdjkf.

who cusses more: they both might but fenrir a lil but more.

what would they do if the other one was hurt: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] 

who is the dirty talker: fenrir’s a freak.

LISTEN.... LISTEN.

NAME: Anda 🌻

RINGTONE: Lovely - this song’s vibes just reminds her of him

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