#I have a whole au brewing from this idea

[mci-writing]

A conversation from earlier about cults in slasher films got me thinking about a cult dedicated to Sukuna that’s been around for ages. In recent years, they worry more about preparing themselves for his next coming and search far for his next vessel. They inevitably come across a young Yuuji and kidnap him, brainwashing him and prepping him to be a proper vessel for Sukuna.

Then, once Yuuji hits 21, the cult surprises him with the gift of an individual draped in white. They’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and have been proclaimed to be his bride to be.

[miyukisu]

Better Bite the Bullet .ᐟ

❤︎ | He's just trying to be a good best friend by teaching you a useful skill in life... blowjobs (2k wc) ╰ feat. iwaizumi hajime (hq) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 10 | kinktober masterlist

tags - college au, childhood bestfriends, Oikawa mention, blowjobs, handjobs, no p in v, p*rn with plot, virgin! reader

minors do not interact

You've known Hajime since you were in diapers, long enough that he had grown indifferent to your antics. He hasn't even looked up once from his phone as you paced tirelessly around his bedroom. You were losing your shit and Hajime was sitting on his bed without a care in the world.

A bright idea came to you in the form of making your footsteps louder in hopes that it would annoy him enough to catch his attention. He clicks his tongue once before narrowing his eyes at your moving form.

But not even a second later, his eyes were back on his phone one again. "What the hell are you even doing?" he asked.

"Pacing around. Isn't it obvious?"

He grumbles, finally turning his phone off and throwing it to the side where it landed on his pillow with a soft thud. "No shit Sherlock. I meant what are you pacing around for? It's annoying."

Finally, you stop in your tracks, facing your childhood best friend with your lower lip between your teeth. You've been dying to tell him what was on your chest an hour ago. But now that you're about to spill the beans to him—you found yourself tripping over your words.

"I guess... um... Oikawa kinda asked me to hang out soon... um..."

Hajime's interest was piqued. Normally he wouldn't give two shits about who Oikawa asked out. But this time it was you. An uneasy feeling brewed in his stomach, like he had drank rancid milk.

"And you're worrying about it like some middle schooler? C'mon you're in college," he deflects. Of course, it was his defense mechanism—to act all tough and harsh with the revelation.

You crossed your arms in defense. "I get that... but it's THE Oikawa Tooru that we're talking about here."

"So?"

"What do you mean 'so'? Is your head not screwed on properly?"

Hajime rolls his eyes. Not only were you about to be whisked away by Oikawa, but you had the gall to act like a total brat right now.

"He's just asking to hang out—what's so amazing about that?"

Truth be told, you hadn't thought this far into what it would be like if you had this conversation with Hajime. You figured you wouldn't have to divulge the second—more embarrassing—part of this whole event.

A disappointed sigh leaves your lips. You screwed your eyes shut as if to prepare for the impact of his reaction on what you have to say next.

"A friend of mine told me that when he says something like that... it usually leads to... you know..."

Hajime's eyebrow perked then silence ensued. He knew what you meant, of course. He wasn't born yesterday.

"To what? Fucking?"

Your eyes shot open at his vulgar choice of words. That's exactly what you meant, but you didn't think he'd be so blunt about it. "I mean—if it does get to that... obviously I won't just go all the way with him. I haven't even talked to him that much," you say—backpedaling.

"You won't go all the way, but you'll go somewhere huh?" he pried further. He played it off like he was teasing or, worse yet, mocking. But he wanted to know; he knew his friend's intentions, but he didn't know yours.

You nervously bit your lip again. This was going to be the third revelation of tonight. Never in a thousand years would you have thought that you'd be having his conversation with your childhood best friend.

"Maybe... maybe, yeah... that's what I'm nervous about..."

The uneasy feeling had grown worse. Hajime swallowed even though his mouth felt dry. "Then just don't," he suggests. "You could always just hang out normally."

Another sigh escapes you and you decide to sit beside him—plopping down on the mattress. You ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing out any tangles that had built up.

"I just wanna experience something... you know? I'll only be young and in college once..." you admit. At this point, there was no use in hiding it. Hajime knew every substantial detail anyway.

This time, it was Hajime who sighed. Part of him still felt dread, but another felt pity for you.

"Jeez..."

Hearing his reaction, you felt the urge to stand up and find your bearings. But a warm hand grips your wrist before you could go. You turn to look back and see Hajime's determined expression.

"I'll teach you then."

────────────

Hajime was a 100% sure not a single rational thought was left in either of your heads. Somehow, he thought that if only you touched him and not vice versa—it would be fine. And, somehow, you agreed to it.

You gulped at the sight in front of you, Hajime leaning against the wall on his bed with his dick out of his sweats.

"Well... that's certainly... something..."

"Do you also plan on commenting about his dick when you see it?"

His sarcasm was hardly appreciated right now, especially since you were sure that your nerves would send you into a tailspin.

"No, of course not. I just—fuck, fine. Let's get to it," you say before scooting closer to him.

Carefully, you reach out and gently wrap your fingers around his shaft. Hajime hissed softly, but you were too concentrated to even notice.

Mesmerized, you swiped your thumb over his tip and gave him a soft tug. His jaw was clenched so hard, trying to act like none of this fazed him. But the way you treated him so delicately was arousing in its own way.

You begin stroking him faster. "Is this okay? It doesn't hurt, right?"

"No, but," Hajime pauses before placing his larger hand over yours. "You could do it better though."

He was now guiding you—actually teaching you how to jerk a guy off. Your eyes were fixated on the way both of your hands glided up and down his shaft, slippery from the immense amount of pre.

But his eyes were on your face. Oddly enough, he found it endearing how focused you were at the task on hand (quite literally). He watched every time your face scrunched, how your mouth was a bit agape, and how your eyebrows would quirk up sometimes.

It was cute, he thought.

As soon as you figured out the pace and pressure, he let go of your hand, allowing you free reign over his dick. You felt it twitch. It was most likely a good sign at least. Even better now that he had his eyes closed, head thrown back against the wall.

Maybe this was easier than you thought. Maybe you could do something else. So your hand slows and your eyes trail up to his face. "Hajime."

"What?"

"Can I use my mouth?"

All the air was knocked out of his lungs upon hearing the words that left you. "Huh? What for?"

"No one's gonna be impressed by a handjob. Guys already do it on their own all the time," you reason.

Hajime clicks his tongue. "You don't have to do that kind of thing yet when you're this inexperienced."

He tried staying stern despite the almost pleading look on your face. Hell, he wasn't even sure why he was denying you. He could have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock in a second and here he was—acting like a righteous fool when he doesn't have to be.

Again, he clicks his tongue. But, this time, not because of you. He's annoyed at himself for having no restraint... for having no shame that he's kind of taking advantage of his best friend's naivety.

But to hell with it.

"Okay," he relents. Hajime watches as you get even closer to him. Only then do you feel the nerves consume you once more.

The newfound confidence you had earlier had quickly dissipated as soon as you began leaning down. It didn't help that his natural manly scent was intoxicating. It was warm—you felt it against your face—and it was achingly hard.

You pucker your lips on instinct, accidentally kissing his tip instead. Hajime thought you were doing it on purpose to fuck with him, not realizing that you were tripping out of nervousness.

"Don't be a tease."

"I'm not!" you countered before quickly wrapping your lips around his cock. The warmth of your mouth sent shivers down his spine. But the slight grazing of your teeth on his sensitive shaft made him uncomfortable.

"Ah shit.... less teeth. Gotta hollow out your cheeks a bit."

Your jaw was already hurting. Though it probably had less to do with your skill and more to do with his size. He seemed more manageable with just a hand, but now that you're using your mouth, the task seemed gargantuan now.

But you still try. You do as he says and you feel his entire body relax a bit. It takes a lot of your concentration to make sure your teeth were out of the way and your lips provided enough suction.

That alone had Hajime seeing stars. It wasn't the best blowjob of his life, but seeing that it was your head bobbing up-and-down on his dick was a sensation in and of itself.

After getting used to the basics, you decide to throw in a little bit of tongue action. It caught him by complete surprise and a soft groan spilled from his lips.

Scared that you had hurt him, you were about to lift your head to ask him, but his hand quickly places itself on top of your head. He wasn't rough nor did he forcefully keep your head down.

Instead, he began caressing your hair—starting from the top of your head, going down to smooth your locks. It was his way of reassuring you that he felt fine—amazing even. You were doing a damn good job for someone who hasn't done this before.

Hajime avoided using his voice throughout the whole thing to make it less intimate and more 'educational' if that even made sense. But he understood that you probably needed more reassurance.

"That's it," he started. "You're doing so well... so well for me."

Hajime had filthier things to say otherwise, but again, this was supposed to be 'educational'.

As much as you want to keep up the pace that you built, your jaw was too sore for that. A bit of a break wouldn't hurt, so you retract yourself—tongue lolled out with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. The sight alone would have made him bust, but he kept his composure... somewhat.

"Oh fuck..."

His words spurred you on, however. You settled on suckling his tip while your hand worked on the rest of his length. Having the best of both worlds made his head spin. His leaking tip was the most sensitive it had ever been and the fast pace of your hand made the coil in his stomach tighter and tighter.

Hajime wanted nothing more but to come in your mouth—consider it as payment for him teaching you. His dick began to twitch again like earlier, but this time you noticed the way his abs would tense up. The dampness that had been pooling in your underwear ever since you had his dick in your hand was starting to become distracting. But you pulled through.

"Fuckkk... I'm coming in your mouth," he announced. Thick white ropes of hot cum painted your tongue. The flavor was odd—something you've never tasted before. It made your face contort a bit.

He tried catching his breath after that single mindblowing orgasm. But through his high, he noticed the hesitation on your face. "You don't have to swallow that you—"

But he stops mid-sentence as he watched you gulp down his fresh seed. You've gone this far—might as well.

Hajime swore that he felt his dick twitch back to life, ready for more. He wasn't sure what you did to him. But now he was certain that you absolutely shouldn't do this with anyone but him.

"Fuck... forget about that moron. Have fun with me instead."

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note Wow... I'm actually kinda proud of this one?

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Brewed Awakenings

Law x reader (she/her)

Modern AU, Coffeshop AU, pure fluff

Summary: When Lami dragged him out for coffee, he never expected to find himself returning so often — nor was he prepared for the teasing from his close ones or how his heart would behave whenever he was near the coffee shop’s owner.

Words: 6.4k

Notes: It was requested:

I was wondering if I could request a modern trafalgar law x coffee shop owner. She's also friends with lami and laws friends...

@chillerkiller it’s finally here! Thank you for the request. I had so much fun with it.

I knew from the very beginning it was going to be a longer one, but I didn’t expect it to be that long. I also have so many more ideas for it that I’ll definitely return to in the future — like the reader attending some kind of dinner at Law’s parents’ place, or Lami talking Law up to her (maybe even from Lami’s POV?).

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Lami was rambling again, her words tumbling out in an endless stream, fast and a little too loud for the quiet morning, as she walked ahead. Law followed a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, only catching every third word. He didn’t mind. He’d spent so many years dealing with her over-the-top enthusiasm, it barely registered anymore.

Suddenly, she stopped.

“Let’s go to this café! My friend owns it. It’s such a vibe,” she said, spinning around to face him. “Like, plants everywhere, cool furniture, and their lattes are unbelievable!”

Law gave her a look, one brow raised in practiced skepticism. “I'm not paying for overpriced coffee.”

Lami rolled her eyes with a dramatic groan. “Stop being such a grump! Just trust me for once, okay?” With her smile as vibrant as her spirit, she grabbed his arm with both hands and gave it a playful shake. 

It was truly a wonder how they were so different.

He sighed resigned, already envisioning his wallet weeping.“Fine, fine.” he muttered, dragging his feet toward the café door. “But this better be good.”

She let out a delighted squeal, pulling him forward with boundless energy. The café was tucked between a bookstore and a florist. A string of warm fairy lights decorated the awning, and the scent of fresh pastries drifted out every time the door opened. It definitely seemed like a place Lami would like.

Law stepped inside, and despite himself, felt his defenses loosen. It was annoyingly nice.  Plush chairs and fluffy cushions invited visitors to settle in and stay a while, and the scent of coffee beans provided a pleasant atmosphere. Everything felt thoughtfully put together, from the crocheted throws laid over the armrests to the potted plants on the windowsills.

Lami was already at the counter babbling away with the barista. Her hands moved as rapidly as her mouth, gesturing wildly, probably recounting some overblown version of how she ended up here. 

Law sighed and made his way over.

“—yeah, so I dragged him here…” she was saying. Her whole face lit up like a switch had been flipped, and she turned slightly towards him. “ Oh, here he is. This is my brother Law.” 

He gave a small nod, just enough to be polite, and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Hi!” You introduced yourself with a bright smile. Too bright for his liking, but it did have a pleasant warmth to it. 

Warmth? 

Maybe he did need a coffee. 

“So,” you said, leaning casually against the counter as you tapped at the screen, “What can I get for you two?”

Lami answered smoothly. “I'll have the caramel latte. Oat milk. Extra foam. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” You grinned, matching her ease with a teasing wink as your fingers moved across the screen. Then you glanced up at Law. “And you?”

Law looked at the menu like it was written in ancient code.  Seriously, who needs a dozen different names for coffee?

“Uh… just a regular coffee. Black.”

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “Daring choice.”

Lami stifled a laugh, elbowing him. “Come on, be a little adventurous. They make this cold brew, you will like it.” 

He opened his mouth, ready with a flat-out no, already picturing whatever overly complicated nonsense she wanted him to order. But before he could get the words out, you stepped in.

“Would you entertain the cardamom version of it?” you asked, tone light, but with a challenge tucked neatly behind your words. 

Mischief played at the corners of your mouth, like you were enjoying this just a little more than you should. He should’ve been annoyed. Usually, he would’ve been. But instead, he found himself holding your gaze for a second too long.

What the hell was wrong with him? Since when did teasing from strangers feel anything but irritating? Why was he even entertaining this?

“Fine. Cardamom cold brew. Surprise me.”

“Dangerous words, but okay,” you said, turning to start on the drinks.

Law found his gaze lingering the effortless rhythm of your movements. He couldn't help but admire how quick and confident your hands were, how your smile stayed on even when you weren't facing them. How you—

He caught himself, snapping his eyes away, cheeks heating with a sudden, self-directed annoyance.

“You're staring,” Lami whispered under her breath, her tone smug enough to make him grit his teeth.

“No, I’m not,” he muttered.

She just smirked. “Oh, you so are.”

They found a table near the window—Lami instantly claiming the seat she wanted. Law sat across from her, arms crossed, trying to act like he wasn’t thinking too hard about the barista.

The moments passed in a comfortable blur of café noise and the occasional clink of ceramic. Law watched the steam twist from someone’s mug at the next table, doing his best to ignore Lami’s sly glances.

Then, footsteps.

“Fancy foam cloud for my lovely friend.” you announced, setting the glass down in front of Lami with a practiced flourish. “And cardamom cold brew for you.” The amber liquid caught the light, the ice clinking softly, and it looked surprisingly inviting.

“Thank you,” Lami said with an exaggerated curtsy from her chair. “We are but humble peasants before your amazing coffee skills.”

You grinned, but your eyes settled on Law. “Let me know what you think.”

Law lifted the glass, hesitating just a moment before taking a cautious sip. His eyes blinked in surprise, the unexpected flavor blooming on his tongue. “Huh. That's… actually good.”

“I told you!” Lami nearly shouted, her grin wide as usual. “He's usually allergic to anything vaguely enjoyable.”

“Well,” you said with a sly smile, “miracles happen. Maybe next time you’ll even try matcha.”

Law gave a dry chuckle. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

But his eyes met yours, just for a little while. That moment stretched just long enough for Lami to clear her throat—loud, drawn-out, and utterly impossible to ignore.

“Anyway,” she said, flashing a smirk that said she was both amused and smug,“I’m just gonna scroll my phone completely silently and not third-wheel whatever’s happening here.”

You straightened, breaking the eye contact. “Way to make things awkward,” you laughed it off quickly.  “I’ll let you enjoy your drinks. But if you want a refill, I’ll be right over there.”

With that, you walked away, leaving Law watching your retreating figure until he caught himself and looked away, ears warming slightly.

Lami just sipped her latte like she’d won a bet.

He needed coffee—desperately. And he knew your café wasn’t overpriced, which made it the obvious choice. It made perfect sense, really, to stop by that little corner spot his sister had dragged him to not long ago.

But you weren’t behind the counter this time.

The realization hit him with a faint, inexplicable pang. Disappointment? That was stupid. He was just here for caffeine.  Still, he couldn’t help scanning the place one more time, just to be certain you weren’t hiding in the back or stepping out from the kitchen.

He shook it off. It was better this way, anyway. If you’d seen him, you might’ve mentioned it to Lami, and she’d never let him hear the end of it. 

And he was here just for a coffee. Nothing else.

As he stepped up to the counter, ready to place his order, the barista behind the register glanced over his shoulder as someone tapped it.

“I’ve got it. Go take the order to table five,” you said, casually slipping in behind the counter with ease, as you took the other barista’s place.

“Hi there.” You smiled, warm and a little amused. “Law, right?”

He blinked, suddenly all too aware of the way his heart had decided to pick up the pace. He was here for coffee. Just coffee. And yet, here you were, standing in front of him, smile soft, eyes bright, and suddenly the café felt a little warmer than it had a minute ago.

“… Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “That’s me.”

“What can I get you?”

“Coffee. Black.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Still adventurous, I see.”

“This time I won’t be talked into anything else.”

“I thought you said the cardamom cold brew was good,” you countered, folding your arms as if genuinely curious. Were you teasing him again? Or was that real disappointed?

“It was,” he said quickly, a little too quickly, the words rushing out in his effort to sound convincing. He coughed, adjusted his posture, and continued in a more composed voice, “It was good. I just need a normal coffee today.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing playfully. “Ah, and everything other than an espresso isn’t normal?”

He exhaled, lips twitching at the corners. “Something like that.”

“Anything else?” you asked, your fingers already hovering near the register keys.

“No,” he said, almost too firmly. Then, catching himself, he added more gently, “That’s it.”

“All right,” you said, already turning to grab a cup. “Here or to go?”

He hesitated.

To go. That had been the plan. Grab the coffee, nod politely, walk out. 

“Here.” 

Your smile widened. Were you pleased by that? “Sure. Go grab a seat. I’ll bring your coffee over in a minute.”

There was a perfect empty spot by the window—sunlit, quiet, with just enough distance from the others. Another was tucked into the back, half-hidden, ideal for solitude.

But he didn’t pick either of those.

Instead, he chose the table closest to the bar. From there, he’d have an unobstructed view of the counter. He told himself it was convenient. Close to order something else if needed. Easy to leave when he was done.

But convenience didn’t explain the way his eyes kept drifting to where you worked, moving with effortless proficiency between the coffee machine and register, chatting with customers like you knew every name and every order. He wouldn’t be surprised if you did.

A few minutes later, you approached with his drink.

“Here you go,” you said, setting the mug down. “One very normal, very unadventurous black coffee.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Perfect.”

“Enjoy.” You started to leave, already pivoting back toward the counter.

“Wait.”

The word left his mouth before he could think better of it. His hand half-raised, as if he might reach out but stopped himself.

You paused, turning to look at him again, brows lifting slightly.

Why had he stopped you?

You were working—busy. Moving through a dozen things at once, and he’d just added one more. 

“Something wrong with the order?”

“No. No… umm…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyper-aware of how ridiculous he must sound. “I actually might want to eat something,” he managed. “I can go to the register to order that.”

You waved a hand, already slipping back into that calm, easy tone. “No, it’s cool. Want something sweet, or...?”

He hesitated, caught off guard by the question. What did he want?

 “How about a croissant? Or maybe a muffin? I think you’d like that one.”

There was something so casual and certain in your voice. Like you’d already figured him out.  It made him wonder—had Lami spoken to you about him? What did she say?

He nodded slowly. “Both. I’d like both.”

Your smile warmed even more. “Sure thing.”

When you returned a few minutes later with the plate, he mumbled a quiet thank you, eyes darting down like he hadn’t just been watching the counter the whole time. You placed the food in front of him with that same radiant smile, like you knew him better than you had any right to.

And damn it, you were right. The muffin was perfect.

He took another bite and stared straight ahead, pretending he didn’t glance back at you every time you passed by. Pretending he didn’t like the sound of your laugh when you talked to another customer. Pretending he didn’t already know he’d be back tomorrow.

And the day after that.

Just for the coffee. Of course. 

Law had developed a very elaborate lie. One that he repeated to himself so often it almost sounded true: the café just happens to be on his way.

Never mind that it wasn’t. At all. In fact, it was at least a fifteen-minute detour from anywhere he usually went. But somehow, he found himself passing by more and more. Sometimes he went in for a coffee. Sometimes he didn’t. He’d walk by just to check if the lights were on. Just to see if you were there. 

Not that he cared. Obviously.

That evening, the café was quiet. Just Law, clicking on his laptop, his coffee long finished. The soft playlist had long since turned to slower, moodier songs. You were behind the counter, wiping things down, the sleeves of your sweater pushed up in that careless way that was starting to feel too familiar.

You glanced up, then over at the wall clock.

“We’re closing soon.”

Law blinked, snapped out of whatever daze he was in. “Oh. Right. Sorry—I’ll get going.” He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor as he stood, a little too fast.

“No.”

He paused mid-rise. “No?”

You hesitated for half a second, then shrugged, as casually as possible. “I mean… you can stay. While I close up. I don’t usually offer that, but… you’re a friend. So.”

Friend.

That word landed in his chest a little heavier than it should’ve. Friend. Was that what this was? 

He sat back down slowly, giving you a careful look, but you were already turning back to the espresso machine.

A moment later, he caught the sound of footsteps approaching. When he looked up, you were already there, a ceramic mug nestled between your hands. You set it in front of him without a word.

Law frowned, confused. “I didn’t order anything.”

You just gave him a half-smile, calm and a little playful. Like you’d been expecting the protest. “I know. It’s on the house.”

“What? No. I didn’t pay for that.”

“And I’m telling you it’s fine.” You nudged the mug an inch closer with your fingertips. “You’ve tipped enough times to fund half my rent.”

He stared at the drink again, then back up at you, unsure what to say.  You weren't being pushy. Just kind. Maybe too kind. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, picking up the mug.

You smiled and turned back toward the counter, humming quietly as you started closing up for the night. You didn’t see him watching. Or likely you did and just let him.

So Law sat there, sipping something he didn’t order, in a place he pretended didn’t mean anything—watching you move through the dim-lit café that felt so unmistakably yours.

“I'm telling you. He is so into her!” he heard Lami overexcited voice in the kitchen.  Law froze just outside the doorway, one hand still resting on the wall. He could already feel the warmth rising in his face.

Great. Of course, she had to tell them.

He stepped into the room, jaw already tightening. 

Lami was perched on a chair, mid-rant, waving a fork around like crazy. Across from her, Shachi nearly choked on his drink, trying to suppress a laugh. Bepo tilted his head, listening closely, while Penguin had his arms crossed and an I-knew-it smirk that made Law want to turn right back around.

Lami didn’t even slow down as Law walked in.

“I mean, come on,” she said, gesturing like the evidence was undeniable. “He watches her like she’s the only person in the room. And he is there like all the freaking time. It’s adorable. Painfully awkward, probably weird, but adorable. So into her.”

“I am not!” Law called out from across the kitchen, sharper than he meant it to be.

Lami didn’t even flinch. “You so are!” she sang back, grinning like she’d already won the argument.

“I’m not,” he repeated, more firmly this time

Shachi leaned casually against the counter, “The way you keep on disagreeing makes it less unbelievable.” 

Penguin chuckled beside him. “It’s like textbook denial.”

He just scoffed. Great. Why is everyone suddenly an expert on his personal life?

Before he could shut it down, Bepo piped up from across the room. “I would like to meet her.”

Law turned slowly, fixing him with a flat stare. “Absolutely not.”

Penguin chimed in immediately, grinning like a cat who'd just cornered a canary. “You said you’re not into her, so why can’t we meet Lami’s friend?” His brows rose in mock innocence. “Unless, of course, you're lying.”

Law’s hand tightened around the edge of the counter. He was half a second from snapping—really snapping. To tell all of them off. 

But then—

“Ohh who is our Law interested in?” 

Perfect. Because if there was one thing he needed right now, it was more people getting involved.  Especially his mother.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes twinkling with way too much amusement. She was already smiling, like she’d heard enough to draw her own conclusions.

“No one.” He answered quickly. But it didn’t matter—because it was already too late. The spark had caught, and now the wildfire was spreading.

Lami, naturally, didn’t let it drop. Her grin was positively diabolical. “Remember my friend who owns a cafe? That's her.” 

His expression stayed blank, but internally, he was already drafting several increasingly creative revenge plans. His little sister had to be some kind of devil reincarnated. There was no other explanation.

“Oh, she is really nice and pretty” his mum cooed. “You know, she’d make a wonderful daughter-in-law.”

His friends immediately erupted into whistles and applause, Lami was grinning like crazy.

And that conversation was moving way too far.

Then his dad walked into the room, eyeing the lively crowd with raised brows. “Did I hear right?” he asked. “Is Law finally really interested in someone?”

“Yes!” his mother said, her voice bright with excitement, as if she’d been waiting years for this exact question. “We met her once, remember? That sweet girl who owns the café Lami likes? Such a lovely girl—”

Law rubbed his temple. “Mum, please.”

“She gave me an extra cookie. Can you imagine? So thoughtful. And she laughed at your father’s awful pun, honestly—”

“I thought it was a good pun,” his dad muttered.

Lami looked like she might explode with delight. Shachi, Penguin and Bepo had stopped even pretending to be subtle, practically howling with laughter at the counter.

Law, meanwhile, was reevaluating every decision that had led him to this exact moment.

“It’s not like that,” he mumbled, more to the universe than anyone else.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” his mum said with a warm smile, stepping forward to smooth his hair like he was ten again. “We’re just happy for you. You’re always so serious. It’s nice to see a little light in your eyes.”

Law groaned. He really needed a way out of this conversation.

He opened his mouth to shut it down, to reclaim control, but—

“She could even help you relax a little,” his dad added thoughtfully, as if this were a perfectly rational thing to say. “You’ve always been so… tense.”

Law turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “I am relaxed.”

“You’re literally clenching your jaw right now,” Bepo said helpfully.

Law pinched the bridge of his nose.

 This cannot be happening.

He tried—really tried—to tune it all out: the excited chatter, the exaggerated retellings of his imagined love life, the growing plans for weddings, grandchildren, and god-knows-what-else. 

One voice still managed to cut through.

“Sure, I will bring you guys there,” Lami said brightly, and Law’s stomach dropped. 

His head snapped up.  “Absolutely not.”

And of course, they didn't listen to him.

Penguin let out a cheer. “Yes! I’ve been wanting to try that fancy cinnamon thing you keep raving about.”

Shachi was already pulling out his phone. “What time should we meet?”

Law stared at them, somewhere between horror and disbelief. “I said no.”

“Relax.” Lami grinned devilishly.

“It’s not a zoo exhibit. She’s not—this isn’t—just no.”

But again—no one was listening.

You befriended them way too quickly. So quickly, in fact, that Law couldn’t even pinpoint the exact moment it happened. One day, Lami casually introduced you and next he was sitting awkwardly in the corner while you blabbed about something with his friends.

It wasn't a busy day, so you were able to speak with them freely. You were leaned over Bepo, animatedly recounting some ridiculous story that had Penguin wheezing with laughter and Shachi nearly falling out of his seat.

He wished he would see you like this with just him.

Damn.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

“You have to show me it one day.” you said, turning his attention to him. 

Wait, what?

He hadn’t heard the first part of the conversation—too busy drowning in the dangerous swirl of his own thoughts. You must’ve noticed the confusion on his face because instead of rolling your eyes or calling him out for zoning out, you just smiled.

“Your coins,” you clarified, tilting your head slightly, that curious sparkle still in your eyes. “Bepo mentioned you collect them.”

Shachi had the nerve to wiggle his eyebrows. Penguin threw him a thumbs-up. Bepo tried—and failed—to look innocent.

He ought to kill them. Slowly.

“It's not that interesting” he brushed it off.

But you didn’t let it go. You leaned in, your expression entirely sincere, completely unaffected by his gruff dismissal.

“I disagree,” you said, like it was fact. Like it mattered. “I mean, you let me talk your ear off about different tea brewing techniques for nearly an hour. The least I can do is learn about something you care about.”

You said like it was obvious. Completely normal thing to do.

Why then his heart react this way?

Damn it.

If it wasn’t already too much that you had somehow befriended his friends, and somehow met his parents already—then this was a line he hadn’t prepared for.

The familiar aroma of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans enveloped him as he entered the café, the bell above the door ringing softly behind him. Third time this week. Pathetic. But the place was quiet, your coffee was good, and you were—well, he hadn't worked that part out yet. 

And then he saw them.

There, comfortably seated near the counter, sipping drinks were Lami and Corazon.

He could maybe turn around. The door was still swinging gently behind him. If he was fast—

“Law!” Lami—his demon of a sister—called, voice sugar-sweet, all faux-innocence. “Fancy seeing you here!”

She knew. Of course, she knew. She always knew his schedule, she must’ve orchestrated this whole thing like a smug little devil. Law gave her a stern glare. She beamed back, all sunshine and trouble. She had absolutely done this on purpose.

Corazon waved awkwardly, his sleeve knocking over the napkin dispenser.

His pulse jumped as he caught sight of you behind the counter, smiling warmly at him. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”

He nodded, and made his way toward the table. “I was in the area.” he muttered, avoiding direct eye contact with you more than anyone. As if he could play off the fact that this was the third time this week he’d conveniently been in the area.

“He planned his route to come here. Don’t let him lie to you.” Lami said to Corazon, but with how loud she was talking she must have wanted you to hear too.

He turned his head slowly, glaring daggers at her from across the table. “Lami.”

But the little gremlin only grinned.

You brought over the coffee before he even managed to order something. “House blend,” you said cheerfully. “Made it fresh. Thought you might like to try something different this time.”

“Thanks,” Law said, a little too quickly. He cleared his throat after, pretending to focus intensely on the mug you just placed in front of him.

“Oh! Are you the one who makes those little muffins he likes so much?” Corazon asked, perking up suddenly. “I tried to take one, and I nearly lost a hand.” 

Law choked on his coffee. “I do not—” he began, voice sharp with protest, but Lami was already talking over him.

“Oh yes, he is really possessive of them. One time I reached for the last one, and he gave me this look like I’d committed treason.”

“They’re good,” he snapped, the tips of his ears visibly turning pink as he reached for his cup.

You were laughing now. That, delighted sound that always managed to do something strange to his insides—like his ribs forgot they were supposed to protect his heart. “I’ll have to remember that. Maybe sneak extra ones into your order next time.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, avoiding your gaze. “I mean, it’s not necessary.”

Corazon, oblivious or pretending to be, leaned toward you. “He gets all flustered when people do nice things for him. It’s adorable.”

Law looked up, horrified. “Cora—”

“Truly heartwarming,” Lami added, clasping her hands to her chest 

He could feel the heat in his face now.

“Well, I think it’s endearing. Now, I should get back to the counter. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Law nodded stiffly, barely trusting himself to speak. Did he hear you right? Did you just call him endearing? He couldn’t stop the quiet, traitorous tug at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re smiling,” Lami said, eyes narrowing like she’d spotted a rare, endangered species. “I saw that.”

“I’m not,” Law lied, already glaring in her direction.

“Oh, it’s happening,” she whispered to Corazon, stage-muttering. “He’s softening.”

He barely registered the rest of their conversation. Even after they left the café. They were definitely teasing him. Of course they were. If it had been any other day, he would’ve scowled at them, told them to shut up, threatened Lami with extra chores or Corazon with silent treatment. But now?

He didn’t care. 

All he could think about was the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

And how warm the muffins were when pressed the small paper bag into his hand, as you were saying goodbye to them.

Now, sitting alone in his apartment, he glanced down at the small paper bag now on his desk. It was neatly folded. Ordinary. Plain. Except it wasn’t. Because scrawled across the front in your handwriting was a simple word and a small drawing.

“Enjoy ♡”

That little drawn heart next to it, so innocent yet so lethal.

The café was busier than usual. Law sat in his chosen spot near the bar, trying to focus on something that resembled work while sipping another “on-the-house” drink he definitely tried to pay for and lost that battle again. He was going to have to tip again. To repay you for all those muffins you’d slipped him lately, one after another. He’d found out from Bepo, in an offhand comment, that you baked them yourself. That they weren’t even part of the regular menu—seasonal, you’d called them. A limited treat.

But you kept making them anyway. For him. He was almost sure of it now.

Lami slid into the seat across from him without warning, setting down her own aggressively extravagant drink with extra foam art.

“You’ve got it bad,” she said, before even saying hello.

Law didn’t look up. He kept typing on his laptop.  His fingers moved steadily over the laptop keys. Maybe if he just stayed focused, Lami would take the hint and drop it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He just kept typing, scrolling through a file he wasn’t actually reading, praying she’d get bored.

She didn’t.

Because she was his sister. And if there was one thing Lami never did, it was let something go.

“You’ve been here four times this week. You used to call cafés a scam, remember?” 

“I like the quiet. Good place to work.”

“Liar.” She took a long sip of her drink, eyeing him over the rim. Then, casually—“Just ask her out already.”

“What? No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not interested.”

Lami raised both eyebrows slowly, full of mock offense. “Wow. That was the least convincing lie I’ve ever heard, and I once watched you fake being sick for two days to avoid a family gathering”

He scoffed. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“You’re totally doing this with me. Because clearly you’re too much of a disaster to do it yourself.” She leaned in, smiling way too gleefully. “Do you want me to ask her if she likes you?”

Law shot her a deadly look. “What are we, five?”

“Well, if the shoe fits.” Lami wiggled her eyebrows. “Seriously, I will. I’ll walk up there and be like, ‘Hey, my emotionally constipated brother wants to know if you think he’s cute—’”

“Lami.”

“—he’s got a weird thing for your muffins and pretends he doesn’t know your schedule, but he totally does—”

Law groaned and dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his hair as if he could physically shut out her voice. His sister had to have been created for the sole purpose of tormenting him. No other explanation made sense.

“You know what? I’ll do it.” For a terrifying moment, she looked completely capable of marching straight over to the counter and saying something she should not to you.

Law grabbed her wrist, looking up at her with barely restrained panic. “Lami. Sit down.”

She grinned, victorious. “So you are interested.” she cooed, smug as hell.

He let go of her with a sigh, leaning back in his chair, defeated. “You are the worst.”

Lami just sat down again, looking very pleased with herself. Law tried to return to his laptop, but the words on the screen blurred. He glanced toward the counter again, just briefly. And there you were. Looking his way with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips, like maybe you’d caught a piece of that little scene.

H was so screwed.

So,” Shachi drawled, leaning his elbows on the table with a smirk that already spelled trouble, “have you asked your dream girl out finally?”

Law didn’t even get the chance to react.

“Nope,” Lami cut in instantly, grinning like she’d been waiting for that question. “He’s too chicken to do that.”

“I’m not,” Law snapped.

“Oh, Law, darling,” His mum appeared in a room carrying more trays filled with food. “How long are you planning to wait? Until she’s married with three kids?”

Shachi and Penguin burst out laughing, and Law scowled into his drink, silently weighing the pros and cons of walking out mid-dinner.

“Yes son” Then, to make things worse, his father decided to join in after he set his signature dinner meal in the middle of the table. “If you want a girl, you’ve got to make a move. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” he reached over to drop a casual kiss on his wife’s cheek. 

“Ewwww,” Lami groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Are you gonna be this gross with your lady too?” she asked, tossing a pea his way.

It bounced off Law’s shoulder and landed on the table.

He shot her a flat look. “Don’t throw food.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” she sing-songed.

“I’m not going to be gross,” he muttered, stabbing his fork into a piece of meat. “I’m a normal person.”

“Oh, sure,” Shachi chimed in, nudging Penguin beside him. “Real normal. Especially the going to the café a few times a week to ogle the cute barista.”

Penguin snorted. “It’s a miracle she doesn’t call the cops on him.”

“Instead, he gets specially made muffins.” Even Bepo is against him. 

Law froze for half a second, then resumed eating like nothing had happened. “He sells them anyway.”

“They’re not even on the menu anymore!” Lami shoutedn putting her fork down on a plate with more force than necessary. “She just keeps making them for you, and you’re still here acting like you’re not head over heels!”

“I’m not—” he started, but his father raised a brow.

“Son.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“If your mother had made me custom muffins back in the day, I’d have proposed on the spot.”

Any minute now. Just stand up, walk out, go to your place, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But before he could move, Corazon clutched his chest with exaggerated drama. “Ah, love is such a beautiful feeling. Truly! You must do something about experiencing that, Law.”

“You definitely should,” Penguin piped in, grinning way too wide.

“Mmmmhmmm,” Shachi added, mouth full of food, giving a solemn, approving nod.

Law gritted his teeth. “Are any of you even in relationships?” he snapped, tone sharp.

That did the trick—for a second.

Shachi suddenly found his rice very fascinating. Penguin stared into his cup, Bepo stuffed his face. Even Corazon scratched the back of his head sheepishly and took a long sip of wine.

Finally, a moment of silence.

But, of course, it didn’t last.

His mother leaned forward, ever-gentle but entirely merciless. “Do you want us to help you out, sweetheart?”

“What?! No!” Law practically jumped in his seat, flushing with horror. “I’m a grown man. I can ask a girl I like out!”

The moment the words left his mouth, the table fell into the silence he had long wished for. But this quiet wasn’t a good one.

“OOOOOH!!” Corazon gasped, hands flying to his cheeks.

Law realized, with dawning horror, what he had just admitted aloud. “I didn’t mean— That’s not—” he began, but it was no use.

“Someone finally admitting he likes her!” Corazon declared, eyes shining.

More cheering. More clapping. Someone whistled. It might have been Lami.

Law buried his face in his hands. He was never going to hear the end of this.

And now he was officially screwed.

Because how the hell was he supposed to ever invite you to this circus? But most importantly—how the hell was he even going to ask you out?

That question lingered later, long after dinner, long after the teasing had finally died down, and he was alone again. He stared at the small paper bag sitting beside his laptop. The “Enjoy ♡” still visible on the front.

The café had just closed. Chairs were flipped onto tables, the lights dimmed, and everything was nearly prepared for closing. Law was leaning against the counter, fingers drumming against it as he watched you wipe down the espresso machine with diligent.

He'd stayed late again. Surprise.

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow with that half-smile that always made his brain short-circuit. “You gonna keep loitering or finally get a job here?”

Law cleared his throat, straightening like he was preparing to deliver a research paper. “I… actually wanted to ask you something.”

That got your attention. You turned toward him fully, curious. “Okay?”

His mouth opened. Nothing came out. He blinked, looked away for a second, then back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

And yet, he didn't say anything again.

“Are you gonna ask that question, or should I learn how to mind read?” 

And there it was. That smile. That smile that captured his attention every single time. And that smile was what prompted him to finally dare to ask.

“Would you—maybe—want to… go out sometime?”

“Out?”

“Not like… outside. I mean like a… a date.” He was already regretting every word. “With me. Obviously.” He paused, then added awkwardly, “…Unless there’s another guy hiding behind me who also drinks too much coffee and forgets how to be normal around you.”

There was a pause. Your smile spread and your eyes twinkle with warmth that somehow slipped into his very own bones. “You’re cute when you panic.”

He groaned, pressing his hand to his face. “I’m leaving. Forget I said anything.”

But before he could move, you moved from beside the counter and stepped close—close enough that he froze. Your hand brushed his wrist.

“Hey.”

He looked at you. You were still smiling. Not like that practiced smile you gave your clients, but the one just for him. A little nervous, maybe, but utterly breathtaking.

And before he could say anything. Before he could panic or overthink, you leaned in and kissed him.

His eyes fluttered shut without meaning to, lips parting slightly under the touch of yours. It wasn’t long. But soft and warm in a way that made his heart stutter.

When you pulled back, you grinned. How is it even possible for you to look even more beautiful? You were brightness and calm, mischief and magic, all at once, and he was undone by the way you simply existed, more breathtaking than a dream he hadn’t dared to have.

“You taste like coffee.”

Law blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected that. Of all the things you could have said, it was that.“Well… I drank way more than healthy.” A pause. His voice softened, almost against his will. “So I could see you.”

There. Said aloud, it felt foolish. He never felt so exposed before.

You laughed quietly, a disarming sound that curled into his chest and stayed there. “That’s either the sweetest or weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It surprised him, how natural it felt. “It’s both.” 

And it was. He knew it. Sweet, because it was you. Weird, because it was him. Because he didn’t down cups of coffee he didn’t need, sip teas he barely recognized, or eat an absurd number of muffins under the flimsy excuse of hunger. He didn’t invent reasons to stay. But lately, he was doing all of that just to remain close to you.

You looped your fingers loosely through his. “Pick me up Friday. And try not to over-caffeinate too much. I do sell non-caffeinated options, you know.”

Law huffed, that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t still so completely overwhelmed. Your hand was in his. Your lips had just been on his.

“Yeah,” he said, and then again, firmer. “Okay. Friday.”

He was going to have to thank Lami.

…Eventually.

[doveywovy]

do you have tobiizu recs? i feel as though i’ve read them all 😔

i've been slowly working on a tobiizu rec list and its not done yet tbh. here's what it is so far!

Fanfics that are explicitly tobiizu:

Ghost marriage is a collection of multiple fics where tobirama gets haunted by izuna, gets driven a little bit crazy, and then talked into marrying him. And goes on to a life of wedded bliss that’s only mostly insane. Madara is there and also crazy. Izuna is having the time of his (un)life. Really delightful read with a surprisingly happy ending. The whole relationship has a haunting vibe to it that’s really enjoyable to read.

bloodline thieves is not tobiizu in the first part, but it does become tobiizu eventually. personally the vibe is there from the start to me and it's a fun read on its own. you get tobirama whump AND izuna feeling weird about him!

To dwell inside a hearthfire heart: blessed au! Worldbuilding! Izuna’s life getting saved twiceover! Izuna being a smug little rat! Tobirama and the “if peace is possible,i’m allowed to find izuna extremely sexy” pipeline! Such a good read.

Unthreading the needle is a slow burn on tobirama and izuna realizing they view each other as ‘people’ and perhaps….people they….like? Delightfully, the slowburn starts with their marriage (When they’re both convinced the other one is a monster) and they take a good long while the get anywhere from there. Izuna is deeply possessive without noticing it; tobirama has many deeprooted biases that she rationalizes as logical. My favorite plot thread within it is that izuna is, to some extent, a service top, and he spends the first 3/4th of the fic being denied the ability to service.

Death do us part: matrimony! Murder attempts! Matriomony-vibes for the murder attempts! Murderous vibes for the matrimony! Divorce is OFF the table! Izuna and the consequences of his own actions! 

A soft green glow: tobirama saves izuna’s life, and they are both so bitchy about it the entire time. This is a compliment. Izuna’s perspective while dying is so funny & tobiramas put-upon annoyance just adds to the fun. Love that tobirama never underestimates izuna throughout. Love when tobirama starts dragging izuna’s body, unwillingly to risk any of the more romantic ways to carry him.

Don’t give up the ghost allows for izuna and tobirama to slowly come around to the idea of eachother, ending up somewhere close to “old married couple”. Izuna is, of course, dead the entire time.

Footprints in the snow: the author is kind enough to skip the slowburn setup and give us the “Finally they get together” stage. Tobiizu had an arranged marriage, both fell in love, and took far too long to realize it was mutual. 

Gift horse: Tobirama saves izuna’s life in a moment of strategic diplomacy. Izuna cannot help but be a little bit wooed. Favorite line: tobirama would be the wife.

Can’t seem to shut my eyes: a collection of short light-hearted tobiizu fics, all of which are a fun time.my favorite is kagami’s fan :) 

there are also, of course, all my of my tobiizu fanfics (shameless plug) that if you leave nice comments on perhaps i will feel inspired to work on new ones. Perhaps if you leave nice comments on all of these tobiizu fics i’m linking more authors will feel compelled to write more. 

My fics: knifepoint , trouble brewing, powerplay, will you come into my parlor

gen fanfics that are not tobiizu but you can very easily imagine become tobiizu (or at the very least do not outright reject the possibility):

eyestealer is a delightful romp mostly about hashirama & tobiramas brotherly relationship, but it absolutely includes lots of opening for tobiizu and the author tagged it as open to a tobiizu interpretation. my favorite bit is the exchange izuna and madara have by the river, in which the audience knows what they do not- and what an eavesdropping hashirama fails to piece together.

Hide & seek: We don’t get izuna’s perspective directly, but a blessed au is always ripe for imagining and the worldbuilding on this one is SO fun. The implications that izuna is religiously-minded and struggling with the situation immensely really adds to the potential.

--------

i'll add a disclaimer that i don't have access to most of the chinese & japanese tobiizu fan creations bc they're primarily on twitter, which i do not have and refuse to get. if you do have twitter you can probably find a lot of cool tobiizu there and i will be very jealous of you (Except for the fact that you are suffering the existence of twitter to see it).

pixiv has lots of amazing art, and you can mostly understand what's happening in the comics even if you can't understand the language. i love this comic were birdboy izuna breaks tobiramas wing and then takes care of him. artists on the platform tend to do "dump posts" so you'll have to scroll past other ships/general fanart to get to the izutobi stuff, but it's worth it! that's how you get great stuff like this izuna upskirt photographing tobirama. and remember on pixiv that the name order is important! tobi/izu is top tobirama and izu/tobi is top izuna on there :)

you should also check out (and comment on!) all the comics slurmdog's made, especially since we have another longer project in the works :) library comic, bravest knight, multi-part comic "Cheaters never prosper"

[lyn31]

A Bet

Summary:

At this point, you just can't help yourself.

AO3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes:

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader College AU, fluff and short.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to start something. Really, you don’t.

But Zayne is staring at the café menu like he hasn’t ordered the exact same thing every single time—a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream, as sweet as he can get away with—and it’s right there, practically gift-wrapped for you.

“You’re getting the caramel macchiato,” you say, lounging back in your seat.

Zayne doesn’t even glance at you. “You don’t know that.”

You scoff. “Please. You’re a sugar fiend. If no one stopped you, you’d probably drink syrup straight from the bottle.”

Across the table, Caleb perks up like he’s just sensed drama brewing. “Oh, this is good. You that sure?”

You meet Zayne’s gaze, and something shifts—playful, challenging, a silent dare hanging between you. You grin. “I’d bet on it.”

His brow lifts slightly. “What’s the wager?”

“If I’m right, you have to carry my books for a week.”

Zayne tilts his head, considering. Then, too smoothly, he counters, “And if I win, you have to admit I’m right about something. Publicly.”

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “That’s low.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Of course, you take it. You’re already mentally celebrating when he steps up to the counter. You don’t even need to hear it; you know exactly what he’s about to order.

Then—

“One matcha. No sugar.”

The café goes dead silent.

Your jaw drops.

And then the group erupts.

Caleb fake-wipes a tear. “You hate to see it.”

Your sister shakes her head, sipping her drink. “You walked right into that.”

You’re still staring at Zayne like he just declared he was moving to Mars.

He looks far too smug as he picks up his drink, fingers curling around the cup like he hasn’t just betrayed every shred of trust you ever had in him.

“You hate matcha,” you say, scandalized. “And no sugar? Who even are you right now?”

He shrugs. “Guess you were wrong.”

You gape at him, betrayal sinking deep into your bones. “You’re a liar and a fraud.”

Zayne doesn’t even acknowledge the accusation. He just lifts his drink in a lazy toast. “And yet, I still win.”

Except—

Instead of drinking it, he slides the cup toward you.

You blink. Then blink again. “What?”

Zayne exhales like you’re the one being difficult. “Relax. I ordered the usual.” His voice is maddeningly casual. “Just wanted to see your face.”

The café explodes.

Caleb groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my God, just date.”

Your sister lets out a long-suffering sigh. “One day, they’ll figure it out.”

You and Zayne exchange a glance, equally confused. “Figure what out?”

No one answers. They’ve already moved on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

And I can't help myself either 😂 I love the idea that everyone on their campus is equally invested and done with these two ahahahaha

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: College AU list ✨

[aloesarchives]

Popular Boy (JJK One-Shot)

TW/Warnings: Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, Angst with Fluff ending, Profanity, Smoking from Shoko and Suguru, Highkey Miscommunication Trope, Cheesy cliches, this one-shot being way too long than it's supposed to be, a little OOC Satoru and Suguru

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader

AU: Modern/High School AU!

Pronouns: She/Her(any gal could read this, but Reader is slightly coded to be introverted, good at drawing and crafts, and a nerd)

Word Count: 10.2k words

Summary: You weren't supposed to fall in love with your best friend Satoru Gojo. But you did anyway. It doesn't help that he is the most popular guy in your school.

(A/N): This is my longest one-shot to date. I went off the rails and wrote this out of this idea and brain dump I had. Un top of being sick, I didn't post for like 2 weeks because I was working on this and having little motivation. But I'm back!

[!!!Unedited and not proofread!!! 1/24/2024 4:27pm CST]

Having a crush on your best friend is the absolute worst. You promised yourself you wouldn’t. But after reviewing your symptoms, you concluded that you are, indeed, in love with your best friend, Satoru Gojo. It's too bad he’s the most popular guy in the school. Suguru is second to him but doesn’t bask in the attention like his friend does.

It all started when you became friends with them in your first year of high school. Shoko was in your class, and you two became best friends instantly. You’d usually eat alone somewhere during break or lunch because the cafeteria was always rowdy, making it overstimulating. One day, your usual spot was taken over. Though it bummed you out your little spot was discovered, it wasn’t yours in the first place, so you went on a search for a new one. After a few minutes of searching, you spotted Shoko smoking in a hidden spot behind the school. She hears you from how your feet crunch on the dirt and asks you to join her. Though you didn’t smoke, you stayed with her. After talking briefly, Shoko asked if you were free after school, taking a long drag out of her cigarette.

You never stayed too long after school, only for your respective clubs, but that’s it. You also had no friends, so maybe this is your chance to get closer to Shoko. Upon agreeing, she smiles before taking her last drag out and extinguishing her smoke in a nearby ashtray. As the two of you returned to class, she told you that her other two friends were coming. Hinting that they were quite the handful. Your expression lightens upon hearing the two new people joining your hangout with Shoko. Perhaps this could be what you needed to step outside of your comfort zone to have a social experience like everyone else your age.

 After getting off the train with Shoko, she pulled you along the busy crowd and met the two boys at the subway station entrance. You didn’t, however, expect Shoko’s mystery friends to be Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto—the most well-known boys in the entire school and possibly the whole district. Shoko was making your introduction to them as you grew shy under their gaze. Nervous was an understatement; anxiety was brewing in you like rain clouds forming a storm. What if they scoff at you? Mock you? Purposely pick on you for fun? Each thought raced against each other across your mind that you didn’t notice Satoru placing his hand on your shoulder. It snapped you back to reality as you looked up to avoid being rude.

 You’ve heard the rumors and the hushed whispers from every corner of the school about how Satoru Gojo was among the most good-looking guys. How he had blue eyes that matched the sky and hair like snow. You only caught glimpses of him throughout the campus but never saw him up close. But now that you are, you can confirm it for yourself. To you, he looked more ethereal, if anything. His blue eyes were like the endless cerulean sky above, his white hair lightly tousled in the wind; he was beautiful to you.

“Hey, you don’t have to stiffen up around me. I don’t want you to go all shy on me (Y/N). Satoru Gojo, at your service~.”

Extend his hand to shake yours; you return the gesture, albeit clumsily. Satoru chuckles before he unexpectedly brings your hand to his lips. He kissed your fingers ever so gently, feather-like almost. Your body most certainly would have erupted in a blaze by his actions. But it didn’t; you were more caught off-guard. You wondered if he did this to every girl he came across. He just smiled afterward but gets bonked on the head by Suguru, who went to introduce himself to you.

“Satoru, you’re going to scare her off. Sorry (Y/N), he’s always like that. I’m Suguru Geto, and I hope you’re not uncomfortable because of him.”

You quickly dismissed it, trying to ease Suguru’s concerns. After hanging out with them, you knew you found people you would call friends. You never had that much fun until you hung out with them. Going to arcades, eating out together, and wandering the city of Tokyo filled you with non-replicable happiness. After that hangout, the rest was history. Since then, you have always hung out with Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. You all stuck together like glue every time possible. You never guessed their popularity rubbed off as well. You became known on campus as a well-known upperclassman and now a senior. 

But you noticed you spent more time with Satoru than with Shoko or Suguru. You could credit it to his goofy, childish personality that matched your vibe even more. He loved discussing Digimon and was happy you shared the same interest. You two would indulge in each other’s interests and hobbies. It became more evident that both of you had grown closer from when Shoko adopted you into their group. Yet, you told yourself time and time again not to fall for Satoru. In fear of losing what you have with each other because you caught “feelings.” In addition, Satoru had many, many, MANY admirers—girls across the school, district, and the Tokyo Metropolitan area. Many come from prominent backgrounds, blessed with being gifted, or simply beautiful in every way. While you didn’t mean to self-sabotage yourself, you were beautiful and brilliant in your own right; you were being realistic. How could someone like Satoru Gojo, from a wealthy and prominent family for centuries, go for someone like you? It was wishful thinking at that point, but it was stretching itself thin even then.

Anyhow, this brings you to the present. It’s December 1st, six days before Satoru’s birthday. You were in your dorm, conjuring up what to get him. It was more complicated than because the man was loaded. He had the money to buy anything and everything he wanted. So what can you get for him that wasn’t already bought? After some time, you had the genius idea to make something for him. You decided on making a bracelet and a framed sketch of him from one of your sketchbooks you occasionally draw in.

While working on your gifts, you were on the receiving end of teasing from Suguru and Shoko, specifically from Suguru. I mean, he was the first one to catch on to your feelings for his friend. Shoko had her suspicions but never mentioned them in case she was delusional. But once Suguru brought it up, she instantly joined in the teasing. It was harmless fun, yet you couldn’t help but rethink your crush on Satoru. Your feelings for him shouldn’t exist, yet you can’t help it. You felt alive, but most of all, you felt comfortable and safe with Satoru. You never hid your lovely personality or felt ashamed of your interests. Satoru was always supportive and was a part of your shenanigans too. As cheesy as it was to admit, it felt like you’ve found your soulmate, your other half. You always relished your moments with Satoru, no matter how short or dumb they were. Sure, you loved your moments with the gang, but it hits differently when it’s only Satoru and you. It was as if your life changed when he came into it. 

During the day before Satoru’s birthday, Shoko and Suguru hunched over your desk as you finished the page you were doodling. The smears from the graphite and erased pencil markings showed the fine details to capture Satoru’s features. 

“Wow, those look exactly like him. If he were animated, he'd be drawn like this. May I, (Y/N)?” Suguru asked.

You nodded, and Suguru picked up the sketchbook to inspect the page further. Shoko peered over his shoulder to also get a look.

“I think Gojo would love this. Don’t you think so, Suguru?”

“I would think so too, Shoko. It’s a well-thought-out gift (Y/N). Satoru would love it.”

“Wait, (Y/N)! Show Suguru what else you made him!”

Suguru raises a brow at the brunette as you pull up a photo on your phone to show to Suguru. Suguru squinted his eyes a bit to see the picture a bit more clearly.

“You made that bracelet for Satoru? It’s pretty nice. Where’s our (Y/N)?”

“I have them back in my room, Suguru! I just. . . You know. . .”

“So you’re implying we’re not as special as your beloved Blue Eyes White Dragon?”

“SHOKO, you’re not helping!!! OfcourseImadeitmorespecialforhimbecausehereallylikesdigimonandhisbirthdayiscomingup–”

“(Y/N)! I was just joking! Geez, calm down before you pop a blood vessel.”

As you catch yourself from any further rambling, you are about to explain the bracelet to Suguru before Satoru slides the classroom door open. You think it’s him but can’t tell through the mountain of gifts and bags in his arms. But seeing a wisp of his white hair gave you all the more reason that it was Satoru. Satoru plops the pile on his desk as his arms cave in, some gifts falling off the edge and onto the floor. One fell near your desk, so you picked it up and placed it back on his desk.

“Is it Valentine’s Day? What’s with the gifts, Satoru?”

“*sighs* These are from numerous girls all over the school from varying grades. My birthday is tomorrow, so I guess I'll get the early gifts. Though, I don’t know how to return all this to my dorm. You guys wanna help me open them up back in my room?”

You all replied yes and helped Satoru with his pile of gifts. As you put on your sketchbook, you felt a breath tickle your ear.

“Hey, whatcha drawing, (Y/N)? Drawing (favorite Digimon/Pokemon) again? Let me see!”

You caught a whiff of his surprisingly minty, fresh breath. Usually, it comes in hot with the number of sweets he’s been eating, so this was a pleasant surprise to you.

“I’ll show you later when we open your gifts in your room, ‘Toru. You gotta be patient.”

You chided while swatting his all too-close face away from you. Little did you know, a sickly sweet smile flashed on his face upon hearing his nickname. Once the last bell rang, you four headed straight for Satoru’s dorm to open all the gifts he received from the day. Once dumping them into a pile, you each read the note attached to the gifts and opened them up. Some were cool, homemade gifts, others were basic and generic. Most were sweets or baked goods since he is widely known to have a sweet tooth. You all were open and chatty when Suguru grabbed a neatly wrapped velvet box.

“Hey, Satoru, isn’t this from your ex?”

“Which one?”

“Don’t know, let me see the tag. . . From Satomi. . .”

“Oh, her! Let me see, Suguru!”

You cringed hard hearing Satoru talk about his numerous “girlfriends.” As much as you didn’t want to say it, Satoru’s playboy attitude was your least favorite thing about him. All the girls he saw shared one common trait: they never stayed too long with him. Satoru would cycle through many girls every few weeks to maybe a month. He never bothered to introduce them into the friend group, let alone bring them to your shared hangouts. Now that you think about it, he never talks about them when you or the others are present. He never calls them his girlfriends or partners, just sugar-coated words and nicknames meant to sweeten a non-existent fruit that never grew in the first place. You wondered if he would treat you the same if you dated him. But you were thinking too deeply, FOCUS GIRL!!! It’s now or never. Well, not really, but you have the perfect chance to give Satoru his birthday gift! You can make it work for just the two of you! Find him by himself, steal him away to deliver your gift, and possibly confess. 

Satoru's birthday gifts from his fans dwindled to only small boxes and clear bags. Shoko and Suguru categorized his gifts as apparel, food, trinkets, etc., while Satoru plopped beside you. You were munching away at some candy, deciding to take a break from opening the cookie cutter-esk presents as your vision became spotty. It was silent for a moment, only the sounds of your other two friends' voices bickering about which pile a gift should go. Satoru shifts his attention towards you, mindlessly popping the candy into your mouth before dramatically yawning, spreading his limbs across his bed. His legs would stretch over your lap. You popped the last candy before throwing the empty bag at him.

“What’s wrong, Satoru? You've grown tired of your gifts or what?”

“That and feeling sore from sitting on the floor. . . Hey! Will you show me your drawing from earlier (Y/N)?”

“Uh. . . I dunno, Satoru–”

“Pleaseeeeeeee?! I promise I won’t crease the pages like last time! Come on (Y/N)!”

Satoru juts out his lip and gives his puppy eyes with praying hands. You glance at Suguru and Shoko, who snickered at your little predicament. You sighed deeply and pulled out your sketchbook for him to see. He was giving you his full attention, asking questions, and complimenting the fine details of your latest creation. You two were smiling and giggling along as you turned the pages. However, you were getting nervous because you didn’t want Satoru to see his page. You hoped he got bored or distracted so you didn’t have to flip through more from your book. Suguru has a sixth sense because he called Satoru’s attention before you flipped to the next page, which would’ve been his. 

“Okay, man, we sorted your gifts into these four separate piles, which one should be obvious. . . Look at the time; it’s almost curfew for the girls. I’ll walk them to their dorms, Satoru.”

Before Satoru could protest and tag along, Suguru snatched you and Shoko away and out of the dorm. Satoru stood up perplexed, before shrugging it off and storing his gifts away. Suguru dragged you two to the skywalk and looked dead into your eyes, startling you from his sudden closeness.

“You have to do it tomorrow, (Y/N).”

“Uh, do what, Suguru?”

Shoko and Suguru gave each other a face before looking back at you.

“You gotta confess to Satoru, (Y/N). Do it tomorrow when you give him your gift on his birthday. And before you ask, we knew about your feelings for him way before. It’s painfully obvious, (Y/N).”

Shoko just nods her head in agreement. You knew Suguru had a point; it’s now or never. But you didn’t want to make things awkward for Satoru, let alone pressure him to say yes because he feels terrible for rejecting. Overthinking started kicking into high gear, and you started thinking about every possible scenario Satoru could react to. None of them were of him reciprocating your feelings. Unfortunately, Suguru had to say the dread words no one wants to hear when trying to confess to their crush.

“The worst thing he could say is no, (Y/N).”

Shoko elbows him while you wince at his words. You knew he meant to comfort you, but it didn’t help ease your nerves. Suguru, observant as ever, picked up on it, and from Shoko’s reaction, he knew his words were a miss.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll come with you for support, so it won’t be as stressful going alone.”

Suguru gives you a comforting smile, and you give on in return. Shoko said she couldn’t come because she volunteered to tutor some underclassmen for some Visa gift cards. So she says good luck to you before walking across the skyway and into the building of the girls' dormitory. You gained some confidence and bid Suguru goodnight to finalize your gifts. You framed Satoru’s page in a sleek dark blue frame and knotted Satoru’s bracelet. The marble beads of the bracelet were white, cerulean blue, and black. Complementing each with a small interchange charm in the middle where an Agumon charm dangled freely. You wrapped up both gifts and placed them in a mildly used paper bag you had from when you went shopping.

As the next day rolled in, you were surprisingly giddy to give your gift. You just had to catch Satoru alone and give yourself a good ten minutes to slip in your confession. The problem was you hadn’t seen Satoru at all. Sure, today was a half-day, but Satoru was barely in class. When he was, though, he was flooded by many girls telling him happy birthday or giving more gifts. Since it was a Friday, Satoru didn’t do much after school and would wander Tokyo for the remainder of the day. You knew you were losing time, so doing it right after school was best.

Once the last bell rang, you packed your bag and held your present tightly to find Satoru. However, he was gone from his seat when you looked at his desk. While you tried to find him, Suguru texted you. He said he saw Satoru go behind the school. He also said he would wait for you at the front gate to hear about your results. As you go to the back, you are smiling so hard that it would make your teeth rot. But as you got closer, your sweet smile instantly dropped when you heard a girl’s voice and another voice you made out to be Satoru’s. Your heartbeat repeatedly drummed in your ears as you hid yourself to not be noticed. Trying to even out your breath, you slowly peek your head in a slow, agonizing manner to get a better look. Unfortunately, your curiosity kills your heart as it confirms your worst fear.

Satoru stood smiling, and another girl giggled like a classic school girl in a high-school rom-com movie. You recognized her as she was in the same grade but from a different class. You’ve seen her around but never been a part of Satoru’s unofficial fan club. Yet you could never have guessed she liked him too. You knew you should look away, already seeing what was needed. But the naive sliver of hope forced you to continue watching, hoping it was a delusion your mind conjured up. Although you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you knew the other girl beat you to him as she held Satoru’s hand and smiled up at him. Satoru places a hand on her cheek and probably says something you can make out ‘I love you' before dipping his head to meet hers. A chill washes over your body as your grip on Satoru’s present stiffens, further crimping the paper bag. Shakily, you pulled out your phone and took a picture before turning on your heels and going anywhere but here.

Suguru was ever so patiently waiting on the outcome. He was blissfully smiling. Hoping all is going well and in your favor. He was distracted by his phone when he recognized the sound of your footsteps. He pockets it as he sees your figure walk towards the gates. He cheerfully called out for you but was met with silence. When you walked past him, your head hung low; Suguru knew something was wrong. Concerned, he quickly went after you while calling for you. When nothing works, he steps in front of you to hold your shoulders still to prevent any more movement. Shaking your shoulders, he firmly asks what’s wrong.

A wretched look contorted on his face when he saw your face. Your eyes are shiny from glossy tears on the verge of overflowing from the edges. Lips in a tight quiver, trying to not let a sob escape from within the depths of your hurt soul. You were trying your best to stay together, but Suguru saw you were hanging on by a thread. He gives you a comforting, tight hug as you begin to cry into him. Letting it all out and providing comforting pats on your back. As you start to calm down, Suguru gently takes you to a nearby cafe where some of your group hangouts and study sessions happen. Considering your current state, he keeps you from paying for your drink. Once he got them and sat down, you told him what you saw that caused this. Suguru chokes on his drink in disbelief upon hearing about Satoru’s doings.

“He what?! Are you sure, (Y/N)?”

You nodded as you pulled up the picture on your phone to show Suguru. His eyes widen even further as he stares at the picture. Returning back your phone, he takes a big sip of his drink.

“So, what are you going with your gift then, (Y/N)? Are you still going to give it to Satoru?”

“I... I. . . Don’t know, Suguru. . . I did make it for him, but I don’t think he’ll care.”

“What makes you think he wouldn’t, (Y/N)?”

“You know what I mean, Suguru. Satoru doesn’t really hold onto any gifts he gets. Unless it’s sweets or something he thinks is cool, he’ll donate, give, or throw it away. My present would collect dust in his room and be forgotten. We literally sorted out his fan mail yesterday.”

You glance over at your initial present for Satoru. The bag has deep creases and wrinkles from death gripping it in your disassociated state. You delicately bring it to your lap, blankly staring at the two dedicated gifts inside. Sighing in defeat, you slowly fold the top of the bag before setting it back in its previous place. You gave Suguru a tired smile, saying how wishful thinking blinded you from reality. Suguru couldn’t help but feel pity. It hurts him to see you like this and blame yourself for dreaming about something he knew would become a reality. But he was thrown in for a loop because he was sure his best friend was hopelessly in love with you. The glances, the consistency of bringing up your name, the extra care he gave when it came to you, IT WAS ALL RIGHT THERE! Was Satoru leading everyone on, you included? Suguru was going to get to the bottom of this. He escorts you back and asks Shoko to stay with you until nighttime. 

After filling Shoko in, you looked at the crippled bag sitting alone on the floor. Taunting, making a mockery of you, and constantly reminding you how you really let your feelings get out of hand to let you believe a fantasy. How foolish you are, little stupid fool you were, you think. Getting off your bed, you go over to the bane that reminds you of your naivete as a hopeless romantic. You were tempted to throw the whole bag away; consider burning it all.

Despite thinking of wiping the existence of those gifts from this world, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. They were drawings of Satoru and a handmade bracelet with his favorite Digimon, and you were proud of how they turned out. The time and dedication you put into it really showed how much this man had a chokehold on your life no matter what. Crush, friend, it didn’t matter. He really changed your life; you would be forever grateful for that. Even if that meant you always stayed friends. It was a better fate than being strangers altogether. So you decide to store the bag in an empty drawer for miscellaneous items, not wanting to see it anymore. Shoko was surprised by your actions. Though she would understand you destroying them, she didn’t expect you to keep your gifts. You just shrugged, saying destroying it wouldn’t do you any good. No amount of satisfaction or fulfillment would come from it. Shoko just gives you a hug as you lean into it.

Ever since that day, you slowly stopped talking to Satoru. He didn’t notice it because you would make excuses or leave immediately before he could catch up. He thought you were busy with homework and school. It was brought to his attention when you wouldn’t hang out with him. Whenever he texted you to hang out, you would say you were busy or not feeling good. It got worse when you didn’t attend your group hangouts with Suguru and Shoko. It was always the four of you. Without you, it felt incomplete, and Satoru started to miss you and the vibe you brought. Even when he asked Suguru or Shoko where you were, they would give the same answer you did. And it was starting to frustrate him. Did he say or do something to distance yourself from him? Did he accidentally hurt without realizing it? Why did you suddenly not want to talk to him anymore? He sees you talking to your other friends and classmates without a care in the world. Your lovely lips always curled upwards, and how your cheeks and eyes molded to highlight your face, you were absolute divinity in his eyes. Had you always looked so beautiful to him? Yes, but he didn’t realize that until now since his only way of looking at you is from a distance. 

Every time he would try to make his way over to you, you gave a quick side glance in his direction before wrapping up any conversation and leaving. This honestly began to hurt Satoru. He had never dealt something like this with anyone else. Maybe when he had severe fights with Suguru, but they would make up in the end since he knew it was mostly his fault. But this is different because he was in the dark of your avoidance. It was like he was the bubonic plague, and you were straight-up social distancing yourself from him. It didn’t matter when or where; as soon as he entered within a 12-foot radius, you were going in the other direction. This had been going on for almost two weeks! It was now the 21st, the last school day before winter break. Nothing significant was happening today besides the classic winter break assembly. He needed to talk to you so you two could somehow talk it out and make it. It’s ironic how oblivious he was to the circumstances he was in. The roles are now reversed because now he’s pining after you like you had been for him for the past few years. You usually would sit with them during these events, but since you’re distancing, you opted to sit with your peers. When you did sit with them, you would be the furthest away from Satoru. 

Satoru should’ve been paying attention to the assembly. But his only focus was you, who was on the other side of the gymnasium. You were sitting on opposite bleachers with one of your underclassmen, Riko Amanai. Satoru wished he could teleport himself to you, pick you up, and go to a quiet place to talk. But he knew he had to be patient to make his move, something Suguru had to remind him constantly. Once the assembly was over, Satoru by-lined to where you were. However, the sea of students eager to leave school is challenging, even for the 6’3 boy. He saw glimpses of you with Riko as you pulled her along and weaved through the crowd out of the school. The resistance he met trying to reach you became so aggravating he was shoving anyone who got in his way. It got to the point where students made room for him to pass through, fearing the wrath of Satoru Gojo in a bad mood.

Alas, once he exited the school, you had already gone off campus to who knows where with Riko and Kuroi, her caretaker. Satoru tightened his fists, and his face bore a scowl as you slipped away again. He would have punched the school’s concrete fence if Suguru didn’t pop up in front of him. Satoru was slightly calmed when he saw his friend, but a twinge of unease settled in when he saw Suguru’s strained smile. To a regular person, it seemed like a genuine smile. But Satoru knew Suguru enough to know when he gave these smiles. This one meant he was in deep trouble. Suguru said he needed to talk to Satoru about something over a bucket of KFC with one of the Visa gift cards Shoko gave them. Satoru followed it, knowing there was more to Suguru’s unidentified mood. However, Suguru just stops in front of the KFC, idly standing with his back to him. Seeing his standoffish behavior, Satoru becomes confused and finally breaks their tense silence.

“Look, Suguru, I know this isn’t the best time. But we need to talk about (Y/N).”

“What is there to talk about her, Satoru?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Suguru. You noticed how (Y/N) has barely been hanging out with us. Giving excuses to not hang out. I don’t understand why this happened so fast. Two weeks ago, (Y/N) was fine. She was laughing with us and being a part of our stupid antics. Then, after my birthday, she slowly stopped replying to my texts and avoided me altogether. Suguru, you got to know something. I don’t want to be left in the dark anymore. I need to know what I did to make her stop talking to me.”

Oh, Suguru knew the reason why you were doing this. You told him yourself. You admitted to Suguru you didn’t know how to act around Satoru anymore, in fear of spilling your confession and making a fool out of yourself. You knew how cowardly it was to do this. Not correctly communicating your emotions and actions to Satoru was self-sabotage, and your relationship with him would suffer severely. You tried to ride out your feelings to the best of your abilities. But you learned that those feelings for Satoru wouldn’t go away no matter what you did. So, you thought the best option was to slowly distance yourself from Satoru to heal your broken heart and save your dignity. Suguru was against this at first. But he let it slide since it was only Satoru and not him or Shoko.

What he didn’t let slide was how he saw his best friend paraded around his latest girlfriend. He knew that relationship wouldn’t last at all because there was one thing he knew about his best friend. Satoru Gojo is a lonely person. No amount of fan girls or guys dick-riding him would fill the void of loneliness Satoru faced in his life. He always was told that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was talented and good at anything and everything he did. But with that, people only saw him from afar, never really caring to realize Satoru was like anyone else besides his wealth. Suguru knew you made Satoru feel seen and let him dwell on his antics so he could be a teen, not some high, mighty God people were willing to kiss his feet. Satoru fell in love with you but doesn’t want to admit it. Seemingly taken you for granted. Suguru doesn’t blame you for trying to lose feelings for him. He would, too, if the person he liked gave mixed signals and had a cycle through partners like daily outfits even though they heavily implied to their best friend they wanted you but never cared to tell.

You would have made the first move. But with many rejections, some harsher than others, you decide to wait for the other person to say something first or drop an obvious hint. You aren’t going to drive through a red light, only green ones. You often hear the phrase, ‘Girls who make the first move on a guy get the relationship.’ That is a blatant lie and bullshit because it only works if the guy doesn’t care, the girl asking is conventionally pretty, or the guy already liked or was interested in the girl. You experienced so much rejection that you might as well give up on telling your feelings so as not to be seen as pathetic. You thought it would be different for Satoru because of your powerful chemistry together. But he sent many mixed signals, being flirtatious and teasing you, genuinely looking out for you simultaneously, all the while still never giving a break to dating and having a long line of girlfriends at his beak and call. It was too complicated for you. Then, with the incident, you knew you had no chance with him because it seemed he would never feel the same.

“Do you like (Y/N), Satoru?”

Satoru gave his best friend a bewildered look, his face recoiling.

“Yeah, of course, I like (Y/N), Suguru. What kind of question is that—”

“That’s not what I’m asking you, Satoru. Do you love (Y/N)? Yes or No, simple as that.”

“What are you trying to get at, Suguru?”

Suguru visibly groans at the Satoru’s density. This was annoying Suguru at this point.

“Satoru, be honest with yourself. Admit it, you’re in love with (Y/N). How you look out for her, care for her, and constantly bring her up in conversations every chance you get, the longing gaze you give her when she isn’t looking, always staring at her instead of anyone else in the room. The list goes on and on, Satoru. Stop denying it. Do you love her, or are you just saying that because you want to joke about someone’s feelings?”

Satoru’s voice was caught in his throat; he had his answer, but his body wasn’t giving him a chance to say it. It was like Suguru hitting the nail every time, making Satoru feel cornered. Suguru sighed frustratedly at the silence of his best friend, who usually would have his answers ready in the queue.

“So you never really loved (Y/N) then, Satoru.”

“What! No! I do love (Y/N), Suguru—”

“Then why the fuck do you still indulge in your playboy personality? You and I both know that won’t get you anywhere, Satoru. It’s doing you more damage than good, yet you continue feeding into it! Maybe if you gave a break from your causal flings, (Y/N) would have confessed to you, and the two of you would have been dating by now. God, You’re just a headache, Satoru…” Suguru doesn’t shout, but his sharp tone is on the edge of becoming angry.

Wait, what?

You were going to confess to him?

You like him too?

Satoru blinks owlishly while trying to process this mind-breaking information. You liked Satoru, so the feeling was mutual, right? Then why is Suguru getting mad at him for feeling the same way?

“Wait… Suguru...(Y/N) likes me too? Why didn’t she say anything in the first place? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because you already had a girlfriend, Satoru. (Y/N)’s not a home wrecker.”

“Yeah, okay. But I was single for two weeks! She knew that! Why didn’t she confess to me then?!”

“I don’t know, Satoru… Maybe because she was more focused on making your birthday gifts than her confession towards you. How much of her time was dedicated to making them? She was going to confess to you but decided not to.”

“When, Suguru?!”

“ . . .Your birthday. . . (Y/N) was going to give your gifts and confess on your birthday, but you decided to fuck yourself over.”

“ ‘Fuck myself over? What do you mean, Suguru?” Satoru said in a hushed but shocked whisper.

Suguru pulls out his phone, pulls up the picture you took, and shows it to Satoru. Satoru’s eyes widen like saucers, surprised by Suguru’s possession of a photograph that captured his private moment. He grabs Suguru’s phone to take a closer look before looking back up at him, face still bearing the same expression.

“Wait, that happened on my birthday. How did you take this? 

“I didn’t take it, Satoru. . .”

“Huh? Then who—”

Oh. . .Oh. . .

Oh no. . .

It all was starting to click for Satoru. Suguru looked unamused as he saw his friend’s gears moving in his head.

“Suguru, I—”

“So, do you love (Y/N), Satoru? Yes or no?”

Satoru stays silent with no motions to verbalize an answer.

“*sighs* Then tell me, Satoru. Do you love (Y/N) because she is beautiful? Or is she beautiful because you love her?”

Suguru left a defeated and devastated Satoru in the streets to be alone with his thoughts. In doing so, he hoped his friend would connect the dots himself. Satoru stood frozen in front of the KFC, finally understanding it. The distance, the consistent decline in hangouts, the short conversations, being ‘happy’ around others but never near him, how your smile droops at the mention of his name, and the solemn expression your eyes wore ever since his birthday all added up. It was all because of him. Sure, it’s both parties at play here.

On the other hand, your actions were just reactions to his own, especially when his loneliness caused him to become desperate in seeking out the attention of multiple girls he would ‘date.’ Consequently, it signaled he was looking for something casual with no strings attached, making you believe giving a confession would be useless to someone like him. But that’s far from the truth.

 He couldn’t believe he had done you dirty for so long. You were always in front of him, waiting for him this whole time. You were the one to give him warmth and fill in the void of loneliness that has plagued his soul for so long. But he never gave you a chance because he never cared to ask or consider it. He took you for granted because he knew you would always be there for him through everything and anything; you were his ride or die. Oh, how irresponsible of him that not truly appreciating your presence would lead to your eventual withdrawal.

Now he realized his love for you was real and profound as it was tiered above anything else. The way he flexed his bicep when you linked arms with him to stay close in big crowds, the stars your eyes have when talking about your favorite topic made him have this dumb love-sick look, or your smile that always filled him with love and joy when it’s directed at him, he still wanted to experience these things with you but as more as friends. And yet, he was on the verge of losing it all forever. Three years of friendship/pining would be wiped away in three weeks. All because he was scared to admit his fragile vulnerability behind his pompous attitude. He had to do something; he needed to. Or the only thing he will have of you is the memories you two created. Satoru booked it and ran through Tokyo for ideas on what to do. He didn’t care if he looked absurd. All that mattered to him was finding a way to mend things. The only thing on his mind was you.

Because he knew it was you.

It always has been you.

And he had to pull off miracles to save your relationship with him.

It was the next day; Satoru was carrying a big shopping bag around Tokyo, hoping to find you. After spending the rest of his afternoon and night finding some ideas, he made you what he dubs his ‘I’m sorry’ present, which was also your Christmas present. It contained a 15-inch plushie of (Your favorite Animal/Digimon/Pokemon/Character), a jacket you told him you wanted but was too expensive a while back, and (earrings/necklace/bracelets/rings/any sort of wearable jewelry) in your favorite color as you stared at it longingly when at the mall with the gang, Satoru always made a note of that.

Now, the hard part giving them to you in hopes of talking with him. It would have to be a  miracle to cross paths with you. Satoru couldn’t text you since you stopped responding to his attempts at communication. In a vast city being hectic in the upcoming days of the holidays, he needed all the luck he had just to spot you in the crowd. But even if he knew your schedule by heart, there was no sign of you in Tokyo. He could visit your home, but he assumes he’s an unwelcome guest since you lived with your (sibling(s)/guardian/parent(s)/loved one), and you confide in them frequently. As time never stops, he’s losing time. His precious time with you is slipping away, never to return. Both and forth, the wind chill nipped and whipped at his exposed skin. Satoru’s cheeks, nose, and knuckles were rosy as his body worked overtime to keep warm. The puffs from his mouth fogged up his glasses as he forced himself to continue searching just to have a chance to run into you.

Satoru is not religious, nor does he believe in a god. And yet, in those moments, Satoru started to pray. He was praying, begging, pleading for any divinity to hear his desperate cries to come across you. Just a chance, anything, he’ll do anything to see a wisp of (hair color) hair walking along the streets. His strides slowed; every step he took was heavy. Until they eventually came to a stop; his chest puffed in and out after wandering aimlessly along the bustling streets of Tokyo. He exhausted himself to the point that he was unaware he was in front of the school’s gates. He didn’t even notice the gates were wide open, and a familiar figure approached them along the adjacent side. His hands were on his knees, hunched over where a shadow loomed over him. Then he hears a voice so angelic and heavenly that he believes he was hallucinating at first.

“Satoru? Satoru, are you okay?”

Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, seeing you are bundled up well. You wear a slightly troubled face while holding an umbrella over his head. 

“What brings you here, Satoru? I thought you had stayed home today since it was forecasted to snow.”

Once pointed out, Satoru noticed white specks falling in front of him. He stands up at full length, making you adjust your umbrella's height on him. Though his signature grin is on his glossy lips, internally, he is screaming and celebrating that his prayers have been answered. After hours of aimlessly trying to find you throughout the city, you were finally in front of him in the most ironic place. He chuckles at your gesture before gingerly taking your umbrella and hovering it above you two.

“I was going to ask you the same thing, (Y/N).” He gives a warm smile at you.

“The school left the campus and dormitories open so students could grab their things to take home. I forgot some stuff at my dorm, so I came today to get them. Would you like to accompany me, Satoru?” You said, adjusting your empty canvas tote bag on your shoulders.

With no hesitation or thinking, Satoru immediately said yes. He smiled as he walked the two of you to your dorm.  But you couldn’t help but glance down at the big shopping bag he was holding. ‘It must be a Christmas present for his girlfriend… she is so lucky.’ you thought. Not a single peep came out of you two throughout the trip to your dorm, even with no words, tension building up in the air surrounding you. Neither one of you wanted to make the first move. It was childish to continue like this. There was no bad blood between the two of you at all. But you were persistent in embarrassing yourself in front of Satoru. Before all this, you were never afraid to have banter or say the most off-the-record stuff with Satoru. But it was different when it was unrequited thoughts and feelings, as you didn’t want to further humiliate your pathetic self. Once you got to your dorm, you said you wouldn’t take long. Closing your door, Satoru leans against the back of it. He watches silently as you diligently gather your needed items and place them inside your bag. Each item is packed into your bag, and he has less time to make his move. He knows he needs to say something because he sought after you for a reason. 

Likewise, you were in the same boat. You can feel the tension blanket your body as you retrieve your things. Avoid direct eye contact with Satoru for fear of breaking your facade and folding. While trying to focus on anything that wasn’t him, your eyes kept glancing at the massive bag beside Satoru’s feet. It was a decently sized bag spaced out from the items it contained. By the looks of it, you assumed Satoru went out splurging on his latest girlfriend for Christmas.

‘Wish that was me receiving that bag. . .’ You thought to yourself as you arranged the items to avoid ruining your bag.

Satoru snapped out of his trance when the sound of your shuffling stopped. Your head slightly hung low as you stared at the bag with flat palms. You sighed with your head shaking side to side. You decided to break the silence to ease the tense air in your room.

“I didn’t know you did last-minute shopping, Satoru. Guessing how full that bag is, it’s your Christmas present to your girlfriend. You love spoiling your girlfriends with endless money to burn. Keep doing that, and you’ll go broke, dude. . . Lucky her. . .” You slipped the last part out under your breath. Your smile dropped briefly before returning, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru.

However, you remembered Satoru had excellent hearing. He could pick out of the faintest of whispers. When you realize that, you panicked and faced him. From how his brows were raised, you knew he definitely heard it. Your brain scrambled to find a way to cover the creaks in your walls from your slip-up, causing you to speak up. What you didn’t expect was Satoru doing the same.

“Sorry, Satoru, I didn’t mean that–”

“(Y/N), I need to–”

After catching each other’s words, you both abruptly stop to give space for the other to talk. Satoru gestures for you to go first. Gentleman as every. Feeling the anxiety and embarrassment weighing on you, you didn’t dare to look at him when talking, so your head focused back on your bag.

“Look, Satoru. . . I know how immature this is, but I want to apologize for the sudden change in my behavior and distance over the last few weeks. It was uncalled for, and you deserved a proper answer.–”

“No.”

“It’s because– huh?”

Prompting you to look up at Satoru, to which he had an unreadable expression. His glasses were blocking the creases of his eyes to indicate any of his emotions. A chill of uneasiness ran up your spine when you saw the serious look on Satoru’s face. He walks over to you with his hands in his pockets as he stares down, his expression unchanged.

“No, I need you to hear me out.”

Satoru cut off any chance for you to speak because he and you would be done if you did. He knew if he didn’t find you before Christmas Eve, what you two had would cease to exist. Once winter break ends and school resumes, he and you would be in two separate worlds. Ultimately becoming strangers who once knew each other. The thought of it made him nauseous and clammy to the core. You were the sun that shined in his endless cerulean sky. The moon and stars that gave illuminated his night sky. You gave light to the vast numbness he’d endured for all he could remember. You were the light he had been longing for years. And he was going to lose it all because he was a coward who didn’t have the balls to admit it and used dating as a coping mechanism to fill the hole in his heart.  So it’s now or never for him to be vulnerable to you because he feared this was his last chance.

“I know you didn’t mean to distance yourself from me at all. I know you still cared about me and didn’t want to push me away for fear of humiliating yourself. Being me, I didn’t notice at first that you were hurting until you uprooted yourself from my life, and it’s been god-awful without you. . . I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

The genuine sincerity in his eyes as they bore into yours. You noticed that. It came straight out of Satoru Gojo, not from the egotistical, pompous, popular senior, but from your best friend. So you decided to up your ears to what he has to say. When you gave him your undivided attention, Satoru knew this was it, so he spilled it out.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t really appreciated your presence. I took you for granted because I thought you would always be with me, with no chance of leaving me. That bit me in the ass once you slowly stopped being with me. But I know there’s more: the mixed signals I gave off, the playboy attitude, and the lack of self-awareness I had for myself. It was a way for me to not confront the crimpling loneliness and numbness I’ve been having. I indulge in my fangirls and causal relationships, hoping it would fix it. But it was just a temporary solution to a long-term problem. I saw the girls as a means to get my mind away from it, and the girls get to be with the famous Satoru Gojo. . . I’ve done this song and dance for so long that it was a part of my routine. . .”

“Oh, Toru. . .”

God, he missed that nickname you gave him. The way it rolls off your tongue in any tone, it’s seared into his memory and mind. When people, especially his ‘girlfriends,’ try to use that same nickname on him, it fills him with unexplainable rage. That name was for you to use on him, not them. They didn’t have a place in his heart like you do, so he always corrected them to minimize the usage of that nickname. But when you said it, it was soft and tender like the snow falling outside. He knew he was getting to you, and it was working. He relaxes as he closes his eyes, only to open them when your hand gently holds his cheek. Thumb swiping it in a comforting manner. You wanted to say something so Satoru didn’t have to do all the work. For him to admit, he took down all his walls so you could see all of him. To you, it was a privilege and honor to see such vulnerability coming from an individual who was charismatic and oozing with unspeakable rizz. So you continue to listen patiently to see what point your famous friend is making.

“But you disrupted the routine, (Y/N). . . When you came, it felt like I didn’t have to do that anymore. You made me feel free and alive. Allowing me to be my authentic self around our group or just the two of us. But most of all, you made me savor each moment I shared with Suguru, Shoko, and you. I always cherished what I had with them. I cherish what I have had with you over the time I’ve known you. I always did. Maybe that’s why the moon and stars shine brighter when I tell them about you. They know how brightly you shine in the endless sea of regular people. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to admit you already had my heart. . . And in doing so, I hurt you in ways I couldn’t have imagined. . . I am so sorry I had to make you wait so long, (Y/N).”

You hadn’t realized your tears were cascading down the curves of your cheeks. Was this really happening? Did Satoru just confess to you? You think this is all too good to be true, a scenario you conjured up to cope with hopeless romantic delusions. But his voice was full of raw fondness. His face had this lovesick expression, and his eyes bore sheer devotion as his tears were caught in his eyelashes. He really did feel the same way after all. He would’ve resumed pouring his heart and soul out if you hadn’t firmly pulled him into a tight hug.

Though caught off guard by the gesture, he warmly welcomed it as he returned the action. Tears wet his shirt as you clung to his chest. Satoru lightly kissed your head before cradling it like it was the most fragile thing in the universe. The once-thick tension disappeared, and a comforting warmth blanketed the two of you in its place. You two dared not to pull away, taking in the moment that has caused mental gymnastics for both of you. Eventually, someone had to pull away, and it would be you. You smiled so warmly at him with love-filled eyes. You wipe away Satoru’s tears that continue to fall and hit his glasses.

“. . . I love you too, Satoru. I should also apologize because I didn’t communicate my feelings to you. I was scared of how you would react to my confession. I didn’t want to lose what we had, nor did I want to pressure you into saying yes to spare me the heartache. I also didn’t know how to act when I was with you, and I feared I would look stupid. I shouldn’t have thought the only solution was to cut myself out of your life. Though these are my explanations, they don’t justify my excuses. Please forgive me, Satoru.”

“All is forgiven, Sweetheart. Will you forgive me, too?”

“Of course, Satoru. . .” 

Satoru starts to dip his head as you both smile at each other. You were going to let it happen, but a thought came across your mind as you softly stopped Satoru’s head. With a pout, Satoru would ask what was wrong before he was faced with a panicked look.

“Satoru! What about your girlfriend?!”

Satoru blankly stares at you before he starts to chuckle quietly. You were truly a kind person.

“Satoru! I’m being serious! Stop laughing!”

“Oh my dear, (Y/N). You truly have a kind and caring heart. I promise you I’m not cheating on her, nor are you homewrecking. She texted me she found someone else and ghosted me right after. I’m all yours, baby~.” 

Satoru waves his hand as he pulls out his phone to show you the proof, as you have always been skeptical of his words. Once you visibly relax, your gaze returns to the big shopping bag Satoru carried around. He already knew what you were going to ask and had an answer.

“Why don’t you take a look and open it yourself, (Y/N)? You did say the bag was my Christmas present for my girlfriend~.”

Your face heats up as Satoru retrieves your Christmas present. He holds it out, and you slowly take it from him. His grin becomes a soft smile at the reaction to the gifts in the bag. You squealed at the massively cute plushie as you gave it a happy squeeze. You gasped and were awed when you pulled out the jacket/sweater, gleefully trying it on.

“Give me a twirl, Love.” On command, you spin yourself so he can see how it captures your figure. Anything does look good on you in his eyes.

“I thought this was sold out, Toru! How did you get your hands on this?!”

“I have my ways. Now open your last gift.”

You go to open your last gift, and how your mouth was opened reassured Satoru that he was the best gift giver in the world. Fingers delicately hold up (favorite jewelry), observing the glow and reflection it gave off. It was gorgeous and unique as it had (favorite gemstone) being the main centerpiece. Only the best for you.

“Satoru, you still remember this?”

“Of course I did!”

“But that was over three months ago. . .”

“I know, (Y/N). But the way your eyes lingered on it when we went to the mall, I always noted it. Plus, I thought it suited you the best, so I had to buy it.”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Satoru. Thank you for the Christmas present. I really love them.” 

After returning your gifts to their bag, you walked to your dresser to fish something out. Satoru watches curiously as you pull out a crumpled paper bag. Satoru eyes widened as you handed the bag to him.

“ While they are Christmas gifts, they are technically your birthday gifts. I would’ve given them on your birthday but chickened out when I found out you had a girlfriend. So Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Satoru. They may not be as good as your gifts, but it’s something, right?”

You offer a smile as Satoru opens his gifts. You giggled at his extravagant reactions, praising and adoring his Agumon bracelet that he instantly wore on his wrist proudly. He pulls out the other gift and is shocked to see the drawings of him. The frame fits in his hands as he analyzes each sketch of himself. The detail and precision that went into each told Satoru you took the time and energy to draw him. But it also made him giddy as he looked extremely handsome and good-looking in each of the drawings. It caused him to blush when he realized this was how you see him through your eyes. As he was looking at your drawing page, he noticed the frame’s stand was attached to its sides.

Turning it around, he saw another drawing on the other side. But this sketch made Satoru’s heart beat out of his chest. The page contains only one illustration of two people walking with smiles. However, those two were him and you walking, smiling at each other, and holding each other’s hands. Satoru’s silence did concern you for a bit, but it was shattered when Satoru went in steadfastly to seal the gap between your lips. Your initial shock wore off before you let him reciprocate his kiss. You can feel his soft and smooth lips; he needs to give you his lip care routine. After parting, Satoru leans his head against yours, his arms not unraveling from you. 

“No, they are wonderful gifts. Thank you, (Y/N). I love them. . . and I love you.”

“I love you too, Satoru~.”

Basking in each other’s warmth, eliminating the cold and gloomy atmosphere from outside. As much as you wanted to stay together a little longer, the campus would close soon for the rest of the break, and you must leave quickly. You didn’t want to leave Satoru yet, so you tried to extend it as much as possible.

“Hey, Satoru? Can you walk me home? The forecast said the snow will pick up tonight, and I don’t want to go home alone.” 

Satoru gives his classic grin before kissing your forehead sweetly. 

“I would love to, Sweetheart. I’ll carry your bags while you can hold the umbrella.”

The snow continues to softly fall as the two of you walk along the bustling streets of Tokyo. Although the white puff clouds appeared every time someone spoke and the tips of Satoru’s face were bright red, Satoru never paid attention to the frigid temperatures. Even in this cold white winter, he can see that your bright aura always gave a comforting warmth he yearned for. Making you stand out amongst the sea of passersby, the bright neon lights of Tokyo, and the white dots that continue to cover the city.

The light that shines and gives light to his dull Cerulean sky. Satoru’s world wasn’t grey anymore as he had finally found his light, you.

Bonus:

—A few days later—

“You think they made up, Sugs?”

“Honestly, I hope they do. If not, we’re fucked, Shoko.”

It had been a few days since Shoko and Suguru had last heard from you and Satoru. Neither has responded to your texts as often as usual, making the two nervous. Then Suguru proposed a hangout before New Year's Eve. He didn’t add it in the group chat because he was unaware of the situation. Opting to ask you two individually instead. Even though you two responded, he was unsure if the storm between you two passed over or was still raging on. 

However, his initial worries would be meaningless soon enough. As Shoko and Suguru were taking a drag at the meet-up spot, they spotted two figures approaching them. Squinting their eyes to get a better look, they recognized that it was you and Satoru. Their eyes traveled down a bit to see both your hands intertwine. The love that came from Satoru’s smile and your eyes told them everything.

Though the two smiled and high-fived each other, Suguru grinned ear to ear, which earned a frustrated sigh from Shoko. She then reaches into her coat to fish out her wallet. 

“I guess I win, Shoko. Hand over that $25 Visa gift card, please?”

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 9 - Partance

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: A tiny touch of spice... some making out, celebrations and some more late-night confessions.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is when we find out if their whole gamble pays off... Happy Valentine’s Day! This is my gift to you 🫶 Also, be warned that the rating will increase in the next chapter. 😉 Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939

You awaken early to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. A glance into the living room, as you wander downstairs towards the enticing scent, shows the sofa is already rearranged and blankets neatly stowed, as if not slept on at all - a little twinge behind your ribs at Benedict’s forethought around the ruse you shared a bed last night.

Almost reluctant, you enter the kitchen, and there he is, pouring two cups from the cafetière, the sunlight catching the ring on his finger as he does so. Your husband. Benedict Bridgerton. He twists, and you see he is wearing glasses, taking you by surprise. On the table, you spy a newspaper open. You are momentarily embarrassed that you are married to a man you know so little about; you didn't even know he wore reading glasses.

“Good morning,” his greeting is soft but apprehensive. 

“Good morning,” you mumble back, taking the proffered cup from him without quite letting your fingers touch.

Guilt eats at your soul as you take a seat, the creak of the old chair as you sit down seeming so loud in the otherwise silent room - guilt about pushing him too far with kissing, guilt about your confession, as if you burdened his sleeping subconscious with an unfair weight. It makes the need to talk about anything else bubble up within you.

“I had an idea,” you break the silence as he takes a seat. He says nothing in response, just looks at you expectantly. “We could pretend our relationship developed long distance. Say that we met through Eloise a few years ago? But were both with other people at the time. Perhaps we wrote to each other and, over time, grew close? I thought we could write some ‘fake’ love letters this morning. Fold them up, make them look a little old and creased, you know, and then exchange? Carry the letters as if we truly sent them to each other. It doesn't have to be many. Maybe 3 or 4? Backdated, of course.”

As you talk, his face lights up. “It’s brilliant!” he enthuses quietly, whipping off his glasses. “It's the perfect explanation! Then it makes sense I rush to Paris to rescue you! And my sister. The outbreak of war made me realise what you truly mean to me,” he spitballs, talking fast, gesturing animatedly. “It would explain our whirlwind marriage too - that we couldn't live another day apart without…. without being together with the looming uncertainty of war.”

His chair drags loudly across the tile as he stands up rapidly, grabs your hands, and hauls you up and into an embrace, lifting you off the ground and twirling around—a spontaneous celebration.

“You are brilliant!” he exclaims fervently, and then your lips find each other impromptu. A kiss that starts as a mere brush to seal the pact rapidly morphs into something else. Before you know it, your mouths are open, tongues tangled, and he is hoisting you higher in his arms, his hands grabbing your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist so your nightgown rides up to your hips, the heat of his pelvis crushed against yours through thin cotton pyjamas….

And that is the sight which greets the returning homeowners and Eloise. 

A loud squeak from Marie has you rocketing apart, sliding down his torso back to your feet, cheeks aflame. But it's too late. There is no way to deny what they walked in upon-–you wrapped around Benedict’s body as you kiss fiercely.

“Wow… I miss that passion,” Jerome wisecracks in a bid to break the tension.

Although she is silent, the look on Eloise’s face is one you won't soon forget—shock, abhorrence but a streak of inquisition, as if taking on new information and filing it away. 

You and Benedict both mutter apologies in unison, which seems to charm your hosts even more into good-natured joshing as they unpack croissants and jams from a wicker basket.

“A breakfast for our newlyweds,” Marie chimes with a wink. “I’m sure you need sustenance after a night like yours.”

In some ways, although mortifying, you cannot deny the cinch they caught you in does not exactly hurt the illusion of you being a real couple.

And so you all take a seat and begin breakfast together. Each treat on the table is delicious, and the conversation flows easily.

“You do know Solene will be mad she was not invited to the wedding,” Eloise remarks offhand at one point.

“Pssh! Let me deal with my sister,” Marie counters with an almost stereotypical Gallic shrug and a dismissive chuckle. 

—

With a couple of hours until your sailing, you pack the few things you unpacked in the last couple of days and then turn to letter writing as Eloise reads. You sit outside, a delicate breeze over your sleeves as Benedict joins you. You agree on some dates and then fall silent as you pick up pen and paper and compose letters. 

Yours don't feel sophisticated, but they feel honest - writing about actual events back home and more recently in Paris to lend an air of believability, interspersed with words of affection, longing, and hope to be reunited. Your final letter is dated the day war was declared, expressing a need to see him as soon as possible.

You have no idea what Benedict is writing, but his intensity and speed impress you, pages seeming to pile up around his elbows as you see glimpses of his elegant, looped script.

“I just have much to say, that’s all,” he responds, somewhat enigmatic when you express your concern that his letters appear much longer than yours.

—

Before you know it, Jerome and Marie are dropping you off at the port in Le Havre, hugging you all so tightly with promises of letters, telegrams, and phone calls. You will certainly miss them and Solene; they have been so welcoming to you, even for such a short period.

Benedict wraps an arm around your shoulder as a porter loads your cases onto a trolley and accompanies you to the boarding queue.

“Just like we practised,” he turns his head and murmurs into your ear so only you hear. 

And then he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you, instantly opening your mouth under his, your pulse racing even among the crowd.

“Do you mind?” Eloises hisses, disgust evident on her face.

Breaking the kiss, you giggle and bury your face in Benedict's shoulder as he shoots her his trademark elder brother look of derision.

“Do you want your best friend to come with us to England or not, sister? Because we have to look married and madly in love,” he points out, his arm stroking your back.

“You don't have to swallow her face,” Eloise grouses, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes as she pouts, looking aside.

“The more convincing, the better,” he counters, but their dispute is interrupted by your being called forward to the desk.

After asking for your tickets and passport, the surly young man looks at your passport and frowns.

“Are you planning to remain in the UK?” His ask is terse.

“Yes,” you reply, clear but polite.

“Reason?”

“She is my wife,” Benedict cuts in, that arm back across your shoulders.

“Do you have proof?” the man looks sceptical.

Benedict produces the marriage certificate from a folio in his case. 

The man scans the document, his frown deepening. “You got married yesterday?” His questioning tone raises the attention of others nearby.

Your heart leaps into your mouth as a face you recognise materialises from behind a glass office. It's Theo Sharpe - the young soldier Eloise met in the bistro a few days ago.

“Is there a problem here, Jones?” he asks with an official tone.

“These two just got married. I have concerns…”

Theo peers at Benedict and you as if assessing you as a couple.

“What sort of concerns? They look in love to me…”

“We have letters!” you pipe up, nerves jangling.

“Letters?”

“Love letters we have written to each other over the months.” Benedict takes over. “When war broke out, I had to come and rescue the woman I loved. And then I could not resist proposing. And yes, we married yesterday. Sirs, you likely know better than anyone - war brings clarity to a man’s heart like nothing else. I could not go another day without her being my wife…” his speech is reserved but impassioned, and when he is done, he tucks you under his arm, kissing your forehead. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eloise frown as he hands over your letters, and you do the same with his from your handbag. Theo takes the pile and unfolds them, his eyebrow rising at something in one from Benedict’s pile.

“Jones, tell me that is not the sign of a man in love,” he tilts the page to his fellow soldier, seemingly pointing to a particular line.

The man coughs and runs a finger into his collar.  “Oh… well… yes…” he seems to stumble, his cheeks heating.

What on earth did Benedict write?

“I think we can safely say they are a real couple, can't we?” Theo argues, refolding the letters and handing them back to you.

“Yes, yes, I think so…” the man agrees hesitantly.

“Well then, please issue the lady with the paperwork for residency,” Theo prompts, almost impatient.

You can barely contain the furl of excitement as the man dutifully grabs an official certificate and transfers your details, passing it under an embossing stamp and placing it inside your passport.

“Welcome to the United Kingdom, Mrs Bridgerton,” he smiles tightly as you see Theo shoot Eloise the briefest of winks behind the man’s back.

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe, almost stunned into a quiet silence, as again you are in Benedict's strong embrace. 

“Well done, you were perfect,” he assures a few moments later as you walk up the ramp onto the ferry, his arms never having left your shoulders since. 

With reality finally setting in, relief and elation radiate from inside - like the sunny day seeping into your being, making you feel the lightest you have felt in weeks. You can't help the grin you shoot him and drop a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“All thanks to you,” you demure as you cross onto the deck, “I owe you my life.”

“You owe me no such thing,” he counters immediately and sincerely. “Your idea - the letters - that is what sealed your future. You are much smarter and stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he adds, his tone ardent, a hand tenderly cupping your jaw as his thumb strokes your cheek. 

Again, you find yourself lost in his eyes.

“God’s sake, you can quit the mooning now, you idiots,” Eloise gripes and elbows Benedict unceremoniously out of the way, drawing you into a bear hug. “I’m so happy!” she chimes into your ear.

“Me too,” you reply, laughing joyously, hugging her back as fiercely.

“I may have planned for this,” she winks, withdrawing to pull a bottle of champagne from her bag with a flourish. 

And so, as the ferry pulls out of port and enters the English Channel, the three of you raise a toast to France as you watch the shoreline slip away. A kaleidoscope of emotions washing over you - a bittersweet farewell to your all-too-short French adventure, but also excitement and apprehension for the start of something new. A stay in England. And a new husband, well, sort of. For the first time, the future feels completely unwritten in a way that is freeing.

—

When you arrive in Portsmouth that evening, you immediately head for the stately Royal Maritime Hotel by the port. But there is a snag when you get to the check-in desk. The late hour and no reservation means only one room is left—with one double bed. 

“I will sleep on the floor,” Benedict offers, ever the gentleman, as you all accept the room, knowing it's likely a similar story in all the other hotels with this many people escaping mainland Europe.

After dropping your luggage, you all head to dinner, which becomes drinks in a local bar, all of you wanting the celebratory mood to last a little longer. You nurse just one drink while Eloise seems determined to drain the port city dry, tipsily wandering off to the little dancefloor in the back room. 

At some later point, while Benedict is at the bar paying the tab, Eloise returns, sidling up to your seat and loops her arms around you.

“You know how much I love you…?” 

“What do you want, Eloise?” you chuckle, patting her elbow as you let her sway you with her hug.

“I've met someone,” she whispers excitedly, her breath sweetened by brandy, “and I realllllly like him. His name is Phillip. He’s lovellllyyy,” she singsongs.

“That's nice. But what does that have to do with me?” you ask, amused.

“If I were to spend the evening with him, would that be okay? With you?” 

“You've never asked my permission to enjoy your previous dalliances, El; why now?” You are finding her thoroughly entertaining.

“Becaaaaause it means you will be stuck alone in a room with my brother,” she spells out. “And no woman should have to endure that,” she counsels with faux gravity, only mildly undermined by her comedic look of horror.

Your stomach vaults at the idea of a night alone with Benedict in a hotel room, but you must school your face to one of casual indifference.

“El, I shared a cottage with him last night; I think I can handle it.”

“Oh yes… and what in God's name was this morning all about?” she suddenly shifts the topic, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

You do your best not to choke on your sip of cocktail. “We saw you all coming up the path. Benedict thought it best for the ruse if we were caught in a compromising situation,” you bluff, waving your hand dismissively, even as you feel your cheeks glowing at the mere memory.

She side-eyes you momentarily but seems to accept it, giving you one more squeeze before bidding you goodnight. Her farewell to Benedict at the bar appears to be a smack on the arm and a warning with a pointed finger—ever the loving siblings. Then, with a flutter of butterflies under your ribs about the night ahead, you and Benedict head back to the hotel.

“Thank you again,” your tone is sincere as he unlocks the room. “If we had only known Theo would be at the port, maybe we wouldn't have had to go through all we did,” you point out wincingly, still apologetic, as he secures the door closed.

“We did what we had to. We were very fortunate he was there today; it was a wonderful coincidence, but we had to prepare for any circumstance. Besides, it is all water under the bridge now. You have your paperwork. You have your residency,” he points out brightly.

“But you had to marry me….” you point out, unable to let it go, guilt still shadowing your heart. “That was a huge sacrifice.”

“I am not the one who had to break a promise to another,” he counters softly. “You had to be the brave one here. You should not think of yourself as selfish. And you should feel free to pursue whatever you want in this world, y/n.”

Something in the choice of words in his heartfelt petition seems oddly reminiscent, but you cannot pinpoint it.

“I will still sleep on the floor,” he adds reassuringly, removing his coat.

“We… we could share…?” you feel your heart pound as you extend the tentative offer. 

The look on his face is indecipherable, but you don't miss how his pupils dilate a fraction. “I promise not to kick…” his response is a genial callback to your discussion days ago.

You giggle, feeling that lightness in your being again. “And if you do, I’m sure I could find plenty of rope to remedy that. We are right by a port after all,” you can't help but banter back, gesturing to the harbour outside the window.

His responding warm laugh is like a balm.

He excuses himself to shower, and while he is gone, you unpack some basics. As you are delving in your bag for your hairbrush, the pile of letters Benedict handed you spills out. 

Intrigued, you unfold them—curious to know what Theo had seen. The letters are a thing of beauty; you find yourself crawling onto the bed to read them properly. Pages of lyrically crafted praise that make your correspondence seem entirely lacking, more akin to a boring newsletter. You find yourself swept up in reading - lines of poetry, yearning sentiments and a few racier epithets that make your breath catch and your blood run hot.

‘Every night since we met, my love, I dream of nothing but you. Endlessly. I dream of your laugh, your smile, that wonderful little crease on your forehead when you think I am being foolish. You captivate me - body and soul. I dream of that delectable noise you make when I kiss you. I dream of tasting your skin. I dream of you coming apart in my arms, grasping me so tight you leave finger marks on my body. One day, my love, one day…’

You almost jump out of your skin when Benedict reenters the room, freshly showered, his hair in damp curls, sporting a distractingly fitted white t-shirt. You attempt to conceal what you are reading, embarrassed somehow, but it’s too late.

“I was wondering if you would,” he laughs softly when he realises.

“I’m sorry,” you utter, feeling as if you have snooped somewhere you should not have.

“Don't be,” he cuts in, smiling gently.

“How did you think up such poetic stuff?” you query, fingertips tracing almost reverentially over the words. A wistful ache in your being, hoping anyone would ever be inspired to write such an elegy to you one day.

“I just told the truth,” he shrugs.

“You must’ve been in love with whoever has made you feel like this in the past,” you sigh, standing up to put the letters aside on a table, feeling as if they definitely do not belong to you. Conscious of the slim band around your left ring finger, like a guilty weight stopping him from that possible life.

There is a long pause, making you look up at him. He is drawing near, something profound burning in his expression.

“You,” he breathes finally. “You inspired this in me.”

The confession knocks the breath from your very lungs, almost a need to bend double.

“Wh….” you cannot even find enough voice to finish a simple word.

He moves closer until you are almost touching.

“I heard you…” he admits softly, his fingers encircling your wrist, then bringing your hand close to his face. “Last night, when you thought I was asleep…” a plunge of utter dread in your stomach as you realise what he means. Your confession.

Oh no.

“Benedict, I….” but you can't finish. There is no end to that sentence, even in your quick mind.

“So I thought it was only fair you have mine,” he continues, a flicker of a modest but charming smile as he tilts his head to the pile of letters. 

Your eyes cut briefly to them before darting back to him.

“Y… you dream of nothing but me…?” you stutter, parroting one of the many memorable lines, a flicker of desire and hope and yearning so strong you can't help but ask.

His smile turns crooked. “Every night…” he confirms, eyes glittering.

“A-all of it?” you can barely utter it, your cheeks heating as you recall precisely what he wrote that he dreams about.

“Every word,” he asserts before his warm lips brush the back of your knuckles. 

It's like you are thrown into a hurricane, a hundred thoughts and feelings tumbling, making your breath catch hard in your lungs. But it all converges into one singularity as you stare up into those hypnotic eyes. An overwhelming need coursing through you. For him. A longing that is tart on your tongue and deep in your core. And you are powerless to do anything but grab his neck and pull him down into a searing kiss. 

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spitt @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[that-hazbin]

Media Demon AU

Wondering how Rosie fits into this less monstrous hell, she met this deer sinner who just... Speedran his way to Overlord status and demanded hell become civilised by playing on their pride.

Alastor must be even more of a puzzle than canonically.

I bet the other nickname hell has for him, aside from 'The Media Demon' is 'Alastor Altruist'.

Oh I actually had SO MUCH planned with regards to Rosie, specifically Cannibal Town as a whole. It's kind of difficult to put into words, so for now I'll just talk about Rosie's opinion.

Rosie is already a pretty civilized sinner and knows how to run a tight ship. Cannibal Town is a genuinely nice place despite the, you know, cannibalism. I think when she meets Alastor in this timeline, she's going to very easily fall into a friendship with him. In fact, Alastor's familiarity with the other version of her makes this even easier, because he's immediately open to making friends with her. And she'll love that. He's a gentleman, he's civilized, he's not judgmental, and seems open to starting genuine friendships without the whole equivalent exchange nonsense!

And oh, it is definitely confusing. She's definitely going to sink her teeth into this charming little mystery, and it is a mystery, because souls don't arrive in Hell and pull moves like this out of nowhere! No, no, something is going on, and she's going to enjoy trying to puzzle it out while having gossip sessions over a nice brew of tea!

As for the altruist moniker, yeah, Alastor's going to HATE that. (Unless it's his actual last name, in which case he's going to be oblivious and probably just wonder how tf they found out. Not that I HC that as his last name, but it's a funny idea.)

[lizaluvsthis]

HAPPY 1 YEAR of Brewing Romance!

I'm so happy many people here have been invested and stayed even right after. You guys have no idea what we have in store :>

I missed out on the celebration of the anniversary, so here's a late one- you guys have no idea how many color concepts of hair Melony has while Shay and I discussed it, but thankfully I used Shay's, now we get to see that part of her hair red.

I hope everyone here could guess how many references there are from Melony's :] good luck on that! (Oh and also left a tiny detail from the title, better enough to squint your eyes for that one!)

The writer and the owner of the AU @shygirl4991, after a whole year of working in BR, I have no words to say, even if they're a lot, thank you so much for starting this entire project. Without you I would have ended up on a dead path. I thank you for everything and all you did to make this special <33/p Remember, you inspired me! And I hope we'd still get to spend the rest of our lives slacking off with all AUs to work on beside us /silly

[morteisshipping]

Haven't titled this yet (if anyone has a good idea, pls let me know)

Hi. This is the S-Class Spy X Family AU idea that has been brewing in my head being turned into a something of a first chapter. Not a whole chapter ofc, I'm still confused whether I should use Yerim or Gyeol as their child (them being Hyunjae and Yoojin ofc).

So anyways, enjoy this snippet of the first chapter. I want to know if it's good before I post them to AO3.

Enjoy!

It’s been a bad day for Han Yoojin.

First, last night, his “clients” didn’t want to stay dead so Yoojin needs to make sure they did. Unfortunately, that makes the crime scene too bloody that Yoojin needs to spent some extra time to be meticulous on his “cleaning”. After all, cleaning up blood splatters on carpets and ceiling is a full-on laborious job. Because of that, Yoojin had to come home at early hours in the morning and only gotten three hours of sleep before he had to get up and get to his “real” job.

Second, his alarm’s battery was dead so he got up late. He works in the City Hall as an admin staff and he wasn’t supposed to be late, but luckily, his supervisor, Song Taewon, just sighed and let it go on the grounds that Yoojin had only been late this once. Third, his coworkers kept messing up their works and piled them on Yoojin.

And the final straw on the camel’s back, just before he can clock out, his boss, Woo Dongwon, asked Yoojin specifically to send a package to Foreign Ministry’s secretary, Suk Shimyoung—who is also working for his younger brother, Han Yoohyun.

“But sir,” Yoojin grits out desperately. “My brother and I don’t get along. Please get somebody else to do it.”

Woo Dongwon sighs, “I would if there’s anyone else to do it, Han Yoojin-ssi. As you can see, everyone else has already clocked out.” He says. “Besides, you don’t have to directly give it to your brother. Just give it to his secretary—what’s his name, Suk Shimyoung?”

“But Song Taewon-ssi is still here,” Yoojin points out. “And I don’t want to get involved Suk Shimyoung—he can be a real asshole if he wants to be.”

“I will need Song Taewon to run a different errand later,” Woo Dongwon says. “Anyways, you can just clock out now, deliver the package on your way home, and then went home afterwards. Just leave the package to the receptionist or something if you don’t want to see anyone. Besides, even though you and your brother don’t get along, surely, he wouldn’t be so unprofessional as to not accepting an important package from the City Hall.”

You don’t know him like I do, Han Yoojin thought bitterly as Woo Dongwon dismisses him. Yoojin stares at the innocent brown package that had been shoved into his arms by his boos. There is really no way out of this, isn’t it? After everything that had happened today, he is not sure he has the energy to explain to Kim Sunghan and Suk Shimyoung again that he is not here to see Han Yoohyun.

But then again, if they refuse to accept the package, Yoojin could’ve thrown them into their gate and run before they can accuse him of being a terrorist or something. It’s not his fault if the Foreign Ministry refuses an important package from the City Hall.

The way to the Foreign Ministry was uneventful, but it filled Yoojin with anxiety nonetheless.

Yoojin stares at the window on his way to the ministry on the cable car. He knew this road by heart. When Han Yoohyun had insisted he moved out of their childhood home three years ago, he drafted himself into the military against Yoojin’s wishes, and then he was recruited into the Foreign Ministry.

Yoojin supposed, he should be glad that his brother had become independent and found a good job that pays well. But the fact remains that they both had fallen out when Yoohyun drafted himself into the military against his wishes.

Han Yoohyun spent six months in the military without a single letter coming Yoojin’s way. If Yoojin hadn’t been friends with Yoo Myeongwoo—a talented informant and inventor—he wouldn’t have known that Yoohyun had finished his military obligation and was recruited into the Foreign Ministry.

Han Yoojin used to walk through this road, going to the Foreign Ministry building, day after day, week after week, month after month, just trying to meet with Yoohyun. And day after day, week after week, month after month, he was rejected.

Han Yoohyun doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t even have the gall to say it to his face but always had Suk Shimyoung or Kim Sunghan deliver the message to him. But Yoojin was nothing if not persistent.

Day after day, week after week, month after month—he keeps coming and he keeps getting kicked out. Until finally Suk Shimyoung and Kim Sunghan got tired of him and let him in, just for the sake of not having Yoojin keep coming back like a persistent blight in their eyes.

“You’re in the way, hyung,” Han Yoohyun had said when Yoojin finally got permission to meet him to ask for explanation. “You should know your place and just stay at home.”

Han Yoojin understood. That’s why they both had went their separate ways. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum. He hadn’t gotten angry. He hadn’t cried. All he felt that day was just a bone-crushing exhaustion.

“I understand,” Han Yoojin had said that day. “Then let’s annul our family register, Yoohyun-ah.”

He had hoped—a teeny-tiny spark of damned hope—that Han Yoohyun would take it all back, to beg Yoojin to stay with him, to let them both stay a family. After all, after the early death of their parents, they were all what they have of each other. They had been brothers like no other.

But that didn’t happen.

Yoojin had raised Yoohyun like his own son. Yoojin dropped out of the school to work to support Yoohyun’s studies. Yoojin took up the mantle as both mother and father. Yoojin had recruited himself into an underground group of assassins, risking his life every night, just to make sure Yoohyun has everything he needed—all of it was for Yoohyun.

And what did he get in return? Yoohyun willingly abandoned him.

As per his request, Yoohyun wordlessly annulled their family register, separating them both as two separate entities and no longer one family. He made a copy for each of them and wordlessly handed Yoojin his own separate family register. Yoojin had stared at the lone name on the Han family register—his own name—and wordlessly left.

If Han Yoohyun had cried after his departure, Yoojin hadn’t hear it.

After that, Han Yoojin had sold their childhood home. Using that money, he rented a dingy apartment in the centre of the city, near the City Hall where he works, and invited Yoo Myeongwoo to stay with him to split the bill (and maybe to make sure he’s not alone in a large space—it would’ve driven him crazy).

That had been two years since then. Life has treated him fine. It was lonely without his brother, but with Yoo Myeongwoo and his night job, Yoojin kept busy. He hasn’t had much time to dwell on the silence of his apartment. Besides, Yoo Myeongwoo is a good friend. When Yoojin came home all bloody and injured from a particularly bad “client”, Yoojin had no choice but to reveal his true “job” to Myeongwoo.

Yoo Myeongwoo is not only accepting—he’s also very accommodating. Ever since he knew of Yoojin’s secret job, Myeongwoo had been inventing new gadgets, new tools, brewing new batches of poisons, and repairing his weapons—all for free—to help Yoojin on his night job. Yoojin is forever grateful that he has a friend like Yoo Myeongwoo, who not only help him, but also keep his sanity at bay.

Yoojin has never have any reason to come back to the Foreign Ministry again.

At least until now.

Yoojin’s reveries is broken when the cable car slows to a stop. From where he sits, Yoojin can already see the top roof of the Foreign Ministry building peeking out from the windows directly opposite him. His view is soon obstructed by some crowds getting up from their seats to get off.

Yoojin sighs and stretches—trying to stall. But if he stalls longer than this, the cable car might run again and he had to take the longer route and he’ll be home late again. All he wants to do now is go home and have dinner with Myeongwoo, so…

“Let’s get this over with.”

-

Yoojin hasn’t even stepped foot at the front of the gate of the Foreign Ministry building when his dark eyes meet with Kim Sunghan’s. They both make a face when they recognize each other from afar.

“Han Yoojin-ssi,” Kim Sunghan greets—not amicably, mind you. His face is still folded in the mix of disgust, dismay, and exasperation.

“Kim Sunghan-ssi,” Yoojin returns the greetings back to the guard—his face a mixed of dismay and irritation as it wordlessly screams ‘I don’t want to be here’. He’s been hoping that it won’t be Sunghan’s guarding shift when he arrived, but it seems he’s just hoping for too much.

“Long time no see,” Kim Sunghan says dryly—making sure that Han Yoojin knows that he is not missed during the long while that he didn’t visit the Foreign Ministry. “What is it that you want this time?” He asks warily. “Your brother is out on an errand and won’t be back until nightfall.”

Hearing that, Yoojin lets out a relieved sigh. At least, if Yoohyun is out for an errand until nightfall, there is no chance of Yoojin running into him. Honestly, Yoojin doesn’t know what he’ll say or do if he were to run into Yoohyun at this time. He is not sure he could keep it together then.

Yoojin clears his throat, making sure that his disdain also shows. “It’s a business visit this time,” he says.

Kim Sunghan raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Oh?”

Yoojin pulls out the brown package from his bag. “My boss wanted me to drop this off here,” he says as he walks closer to give the package to Sunghan. “Don’t ask what it is or why I’m the one being sent—I have no idea.”

Kim Sunghan received the package with a hum as he carefully inspects it. He might be Yoojin’s source of irritation, since he’s the one who usually booted him out of the building, but he is also a competent guard for Foreign Ministry. “Does he say who it’s addressed to?”

Yoojin shrugs. “No. He just says generally that it’s addressed for Suk Shimyoung or Yoohyun-ah. But he also says I can just leave it at the receptionist so it mustn’t have been too important.”

“I see,” Sunghan hums as he keeps his eyes on the brown package. “Well, thank you for dropping this off. I’ll send a word to Suk Shimyoung when he arrives—”

He is cut off by the arrival of a black government car. They both froze when the car pulls over at the front of the gate. It’s like a slow-motion video for Yoojin. All car doors open simultaneously and everyone comes out at the same time. The two people that Yoojin recognize reveal themselves. Suk Shimyoung—who frowns in disdain seeing Yoojin’s presence—and Han Yoohyun.

The boy whom Yoojin had raised looks up at him—his face betraying nothing but dismay at his presence.

What are the chances? Yoojin trembles. What are the chances that Han Yoohyun finishing his errand early and arrives exactly at the same time that Yoojin dropped by to leave a package that has nothing to do with them both?

“Hyung,” Yoojin gulps at the familiar calling. “What are you doing here?”

Yoojin opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Suk Shimyoung sighs and Yoojin reflexively flinches. “I thought you made it clear that you both are no longer family, Han Yoojin-ssi? Why is it that you have to burden your brother with your presence all over again?” Suk Shimyoung says with no small amount of disdain on his face, like usual. “I thought we have clearly established this boundary that you are not to visit the Foreign Ministry again.”

It’s not that, Yoojin wants to explain; he is just here to run an errand, it has nothing to do with both of them. Yoojin opens and closes his mouth like a fish but the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

“Hyung,” Yoohyun calls and Yoojin fights his own instinct to prevent himself to do something stupid, like hugging him or crying openly in public. “I thought I told you not to come here again.”

Their dark eyes met. Han Yoohyun’s cold eyes stared down at him. Yoojin’s breath caught in his throat and he feels like he couldn’t breathe. They hadn’t met in two years that Yoojin had forgotten what it was like to be hated by someone whom he’s loved so deeply.

“You’re not wanted here.” Han Yoohyun’s last words is the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Han Yoojin turns and runs. He doesn’t know to where—all he knows is that he needs to go away. Far away from there. Anywhere but there.

He keeps running until his lungs demand oxygen again and at that point Han Yoojin can’t help but inhale with a sob. He doesn’t know what his face look like—he just knows that he is a mess. Tears already running down his face as he sobs openly, running to who knows where. He turns into a corner and into the open road—he hopes that a cable car would run into him.

Instead, his tearful eyes meet a pool of gold.

-

“It’s been three weeks!”

“And I’ll have them by the end of this week. Be patient.”

“You can’t just say ‘be patient’! Do you think the higher ups will be happy with this?!”

Sung Hyeonje pulls the handheld phone away from his ears as Evelyn yells through the gadget. “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Evelyn. You know I can’t just pick up any strangers from the streets to be the mother of my child—”

“Well, at least you can pretend to look for candidates!” Evelyn nags. “At this point, the higher ups are questioning your loyalty to the cause!”

“If it’s too much for you, you can direct them to me,” Hyeonje sighs. “Like I said, if they want this to work well, I can’t just pick up any stragglers from the streets—” He cuts off as someone bumps him from the corner of a building. The other person who bumps into him loses their balance and gasps in surprise as they started to fall. Out of reflex, Hyeonje puts an arm out to rebalance the person back to their feet.

Hyeonje blinks. Where did this person come from? He hadn’t sense him at all. The fact that someone is able to bump into him is amazing in itself. He has an amazing sense of presence—he should’ve been able to pick up their presence before this person can bump into him.

The shorter person with dark hair whom he had caught looks up with an apologetic look. His breath is ragged, his face and neck flushes with rosy hue, his youthful face wet with tears running down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to pull away and rubbing at his face in an attempt to gather himself together. It was obvious he has just cried. “I was in a hurry.”

The man has a soft figure, rounded face, soft jawline, wide black eyes (like a doe), rosy cheeks (probably due to his crying earlier), pink supple lips, and a slender body. All in all, the man in his arms is definitely alluring enough even without the traces of tears on his face that makes him looks especially vulnerable that it makes Hyeonje wants to do nothing but devour him.

However, Hyeonje can’t be fooled. Though his overall figure is slender and soft, the skin underneath his jacket hides firm muscles; the hand he holds has calluses—specifically from knives—more specifically, from daggers. The way people hold kitchen knives and daggers are different, after all. This person in his arms is an assassin in disguise.

Hyeonje smiles. He has found his spouse.

“Not at all, it was my fault,” he says lightly. Evelyn is still shouting in his phone, but Hyeonje ignores her and clicks his phone off before putting them away in his pocket and instead pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he offered the handkerchief to the shorter man before him.

“Are you okay?” He asked instead. “Let me help you.”

The shorter man blinks before stepping back and shaking his head to gather himself together. “No, no, really. It’s really nothing you should worry yourself with—” He hurriedly rubbed his red-rimmed eyes with his cuff-sleeve before Hyeonje cuts him off by taking one of his hands and puts his handkerchief in them.

“Please,” he says with as much charm as he can, caressing the calluses on his finger. The hand of an assassin. “I insist.”

The shorter man sniffles and looks away as he timidly accepts his handkerchief and uses them to pat his red face and eyes dry.  

Hyeonje’s smile sharpens dangerously. There is no doubt about it now. This man in front of him right now is secretly an assassin. He remembers what Evelyn had said to him during briefing the last time they met to talk about Operation Strix:

“Listen to me, Hyeonje,” Evelyn had said. “There is a group of underground assassins that operates in Ostania called The Immorals.”

Hyeonje’s amused smile hadn’t fade, “What a cliché name.”

“It is an unofficial paramilitary organization and its purpose is to purge all the traitors of the country under orders from shadow government.” Evelyn had said to him. “Be careful, Hyeonje. They are known to be powerful. There are numerous assassins working under the Immorals, but they usually work alone. There are rumours that one of their soldiers can wipe out an entire troop of military.”

“I only believe what my eyes has seen,” Hyeonje said with a carefree smile. “But thank you, Evelyn. I’ll keep that in mind.” Evelyn just rolled her eyes.

After that, Evelyn had given him some information that she could gather about the assassins under The Immorals. To his dismay, the group is so tightly controlled that Evelyn couldn’t get any mugshots—only codenames, their status, their modus operandi, and their specialty weapons. However, that is already plenty for Hyeonje.

According to the list Evelyn had given him, there are only a few of the assassins under The Immorals are still currently active nowadays.

“Let me take you to dinner, at least.” Hyeonje says, taking the man’s hand that is still clutching his handkerchief and lifting it to his lips. The only active assassin in Ostania who is known to only wield knives as their favourite weapon would be only one person:

“Dear Honey.”

As Hyeonje enunciates that infamous codename, he watches as the man’s expression turns from embarrassment to horrified understanding. The man’s red face quickly pales in fear and Hyeonje can feel his breath sharpens and his body trembles.

The infamous assassin, Honey; no one in the underworld who doesn’t tremble upon the name. Honey is infamous in the underworld as a professional assassin who takes care of corrupt politicians and any illegal trafficking. He is famous for his favourite weapon—poison-laced daggers. The name maybe sweet, but it was in total 180 degrees with his choice of weapon. Despite his job, Honey is very efficient and effective in cleaning up bodies—he never leaves a speck of blood on the crime scene. It was as if it never happens.

This is the kind of person Sung Hyeonje wants. Someone competent and experienced. Able to protect himself and support him if needed. But also…

“What do you want?” the smaller man finally grits out after a pregnant pause.

Hyeonje hums slowly, deliberately messing with him, “Nothing much.” He says. “Just your small cooperation.” This man has a family.

According to the documents he’d been reading, Honey first enters the shady assassin business when he was as young as 13 years old—and he did it to raise and support his only family. His brother. Sung Hyeonje doesn’t know who his brother is yet—if Honey can give him his own name, he can look it up later. It’ll be easier to manipulate him if Hyeonje has a leverage against him.

Plus, if he has experience in raising someone, surely, he’d be a useful resource to help him raise his own family later.

Hyeonje watches as his adam’s apple bobs in nervousness and the way his expression turns from fear to a cautious apprehension. “And if I say no?” He asks with no small amount of trepidation.

Hyeonje’s smile sharpens. “Then I will have no choice but to find you myself,” he says. “But I make no promises that you will be intact when I do find you in different circumstances.”

The man grits his teeth. His hand in Hyeonje’s tightens. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” Hyeonje says, smile still in place. “Unless you give me what I ask.”

“And what is that?”

“A name,” Hyeonje answers easily. “And dinner.”

The man frowns sharply at him—obviously considering his options. “You know, I could always rat you off myself,” he says. “If I give you what you want, what’s in it for me?”

“Well, first off, you get to keep your life,” Hyeonje says, leaning further into the man’s personal space. They are so close now that Hyeonje can smell the man’s shampoo as he teases the shell of his ear with his breath. “But if you want more incentive, I can always spare your family’s.”

The man bares his teeth—in contrast to his soft features. “Do not touch my family.”

“I won’t,” Hyeonje says. “If you would give me your name and promise me dinner.”

The man stares at him with hatred—Hyeonje bets he wishes he has his knives right now. But even if he had, this man is no match with him. And Hyeonje knew this smaller man had considered it an option before knowing that it doesn’t worth the fight.

Knowing the man needs to push than that, Hyeonje slowly releases his hand and, with deliberate slowness as to not spook him, he unclasps the WISE brooch from the lapel of his red coat. Still with deliberate slowness, he pulls a handkerchief from his inner pocket of his coat and neatly folded the brooch before giving it towards the smaller man.

With confusion, the man accepts it, knowing he had no choice. Hyeonje smiles at the confusion in the man’s dark eyes. “Consider this a token of trust,” he says. “I will be waiting for you at Royal Hotel restaurant tonight 7 P.M. sharp.” Then as fast as lightning, he takes the man’s waist and whispers at his ears, “If you fail to show up, I’ll come find you myself. I’ll give you a day head start.”

It’s as good as a threat as it is a warning. Hyeonje felt the man shudder in his arms but the man grins, welcoming it with challenge in his eyes. “You’re welcome to try,” he grits out between his teeth, clutching his brooch in his hand.

With that, Hyeonje steps back and takes his unoccupied hand to his lips. “Then I will see you again tonight, dear…?”

The man clearly considering his options, whether or not to give out his name, but finally with a click of his tongue and an expression of annoyance, he says, “Yoojin.”

Hyeonje smiles, more friendly. “Then, my dear Yoojin, I will see you tonight.” He says before giving another kiss to his knuckles.

It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t give him his family name. A personal name and a short background history check is all he needed to know.

[]

That's all for now. If you're curious about this, you can check me out later in AO3, my username is morte_is_writing and I wrote other fandoms other than S-Classes too.

Thanks for reading and if you have ideas on title, plot, settings, or anything, drop them in the notes. Thank you so much!

me to my followers:

[notbecauseofvictories]

ooh, could you tell us more about your au where the whole silt gang ends up at the grace?

It's less "an AU" and more "excitable blathering in @nana-glass-chillhop-radio-hour's direction" but sure!

The inciting incident is fairly straightforward: Faulkner runs off to the Grace for plot-related reasons. Maybe the rout from Greve had long-reaching effects; maybe the new temple he sent Rane to build collapses in on itself; maybe he's just out of options, out of friends, and he can't go home to that empty place in the wastes. He has no one to protect him but the maybe-sort-of sister he very definitely turned his back on, who will let him in only with a small encyclopedia of caveats and a promise not to hurt her non-negotiable business associates.

The non-negotiable business associates in question (Paige, still mostly drunk; Hayward, running from his past fast enough to set records) are a little wary, but. Carpenter asked. There's not much they won't do if she asks.

And hey, maybe Rane sidles in along with him. The only one who calls him "Katabasian Faulkner"---at least, until Carpenter shuts that one down, hard. He's at the Grace on her sufferance, so he's assigned to something that will bring him into contact with the fewest people. Maybe chicken duty? It gives him lots of time for sulking.

This would be an incredibly fun setting for multiple reasons:

First, I wish we'd gotten more time at the Grace. I personally love intracommunity squabbling, especially when backed by theological/philosophical differences, and I wanted so, so much more time with "The Rootkeeper" and "The Widow" and also everybody's arguing about inerrancy and also somehow Carpenter is there.

I mean, really, it was fascinating the way that Hayward and Carpenter seemed to bloom---he had opinions on theological whitepapers, she grabbed terrible beers with Elgin, they both were chairing meetings and coming up with chore rotas...

Not to mention, more time at the Grace would mean that Paige didn't have to recover---she could have been struggling with alcoholism and the god inside her, even as she tried very hard to do what she could for the community she was building. We could have had scenes where Elgin is very pointedly not mentioning the bottle on the table; or where Paige is still tipsy but clearly trying to focus, etc.

Similarly, we could have had cheerful, slightly in denial Hayward, who just…spends too long in the restroom sometimes, emerges with scrubbed-red hands; conversations where he says, "On the force---" before going pale, stopping and abruptly changing the subject.

And Faulkner could have sulked. He could have sulked so much. He could have tried to talk to Dan, and found him unbearable in a direction that does not jive with Faulkner's at all; he could have tried to talk to Carpenter about "our river" only to get mercilessly told to shut up, he doesn't even know what he's talking about. He could have tried to talk to Paige, and found her a good listener until a couple swigs of home-brewed vodka in, at which point she starts composing lengthy, lovely speeches that make Faulkner uneasy and more than a little self-conscious, jealous.

Hayward has taken an earnest interest, like an uncle! (this is exactly how Hayward puts it.) Nothing makes Faulkner more uncomfortable.

(I do get a kick out of imagining Hayward being earnest in Faulkner's direction, and Faulkner being the only one not won over by Hayward; when Faulkner asks, even Carpenter will just say something like "Oh, that bastard? He's all right," and shrug a little, embarrassed by all the emotion. It drives Faulkner crazy.)

I also really love the idea that Hayward is the one to point out that Rane is absolutely dtf for Faulkner. He makes an offhanded comment with just enough of a wink and a nudge to make his meaning plain (he's not trying to be embarrassing, he's just trying to take an interest!) And then the weight of all of Rane's little gestures hit Faulkner like a ton of bricks.

I like to imagine that Faulkner tries to punch Hayward. Mostly because I love the image of Hayward holding an ice-pack to his nose and muttering, "What's his problem anyway?" while Carpenter and Paige lock eyes over his head and wordlessly agree to never, ever answer that question.

Anyway, I have lost the point.

Shrue and Val are a bit harder to arrange, but I think you could still send Hayward and Carpenter on their roadtrip to recruit Shrue---just have Faulkner stay behind with Paige, and have him be the way to keep the Grace more present in the story; to work with not just Paige's drunkenness but also the Woundtree, which grows stronger every day, and remains stubbornly something Faulkner cannot fix, write off, or control.

(That was always Faulkner's downfall, I think; he didn't understand that he was sticking his fingers in the tiger's cage until it swallowed him.)

(Also, it lets us focus more on Paige and her devolution, or rocky path forward, rather than "solving" her crises off-screen.)

This means that, after their radio broadcast about "Kill your gods!" Shrue---who was, up until just then, a besuited politician in the capitol---finds themselves taking Carpenter and Hayward's hands and fleeing to a dusty, dirty patch of land that might graciously be called a farm. Shrue is not especially happy about this, but hey, they get a little square of dirt and when they talk about rhetoric, the young people listen.

.......then one day, a bleeding, bruised and almost dead "god" shows up. Literally no one is happy to see her. She decides to stay.

[judasofsuburbia]

it's a bad idea, right?

steddie toxic exes au. based off olivia rodrigo's new song.

“Shut it off,” Eddie whines groggily into Steve's ear. 

Steve's eyes open up to the incessant ringing of his phone. He reaches over to pick it up off the nightstand, effectively getting out of Eddie's grasp. Eddie makes a disgruntled noise but doesn't protest further. 

It's Robin.

“Oh shit,” Steve grumbles as he sits up completely and answers it.

“Dingus! You're up, oh my god, finally. The girls and I are ready for the museum thing whenever you are. Though, I suggest that we go like right now because the lines are gonna get ridiculous and we're most definitely going to hit traffic going into the city and who knows if the teens have eaten anything so we might have to stop at McDonald's too. I have enough to get a bunch of sausage biscuits, could you cover the coffees? Maybe El is responsible and has money but I don't trust that Erica and Max do. I'll make sure they don't get any fancy frappes or anything—”

Robin continues at a mile a minute and Steve's brain is trying desperately to catch up. He rubs a hand over his tired eyes and sighs. 

“I can probably bus to your house if that would be easier.”

That gets Steve's attention. His eyes shoot open as he says, “No, no Robin. I'll come get you. Don't even worry about it.”

“Oh, okay,” Robin agrees easily. “You good dude? Sleep like the dead last night?”

“Something like that,” Steve grumbles. “Look I'm gonna need like half an hour to get ready. I'll text you when I'm near your apartment.”

“It's just a Wonder Woman exhibit. Don't get fussy with your outfit.”

“Uh huh, okay,” Steve replies. He starts to roll out of bed but Eddie catches him, yanking him closer. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Eddie rasps, sending shivers down Steve's spine. He couldn't get wrapped up in that too long though because all he hears is Robin's responding gasp through the receiver. 

“Half an hour, love you, bye!” Steve shouts, hanging up hurriedly. 

Eddie chuckles into Steve's neck, successful in pulling Steve back into his hold. Steve's weak to do anything but sink into it. 

“You haven't told them, have you?” Eddie asks, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve's neck.

“There's nothing to tell,” Steve argues.

Eddie laughs again, dragging Steve's ear lobe with his teeth. “You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Steve does manage to get out of Eddie's apartment and back home in time to slip on some clean clothes, spritz himself in cologne, and get out of the door. Thank fuck for fall because the turtleneck he grabs covers the number Eddie did on his neck. He wishes he could get the phantom press of his lips and teeth out of his head. 

He picks up the teenagers first. They're easy because they all were spending the night at the Sinclairs. He thought he could put off his death a little bit longer. He was wrong. 

The girls are giggling as they clamor into the backseat and Steve is immediately on edge. 

“You're so fucking dead, dude,” Max declares as Steve backs out of the driveway.

Steve smiles tightly at her through the rearview mirror. “And who said anything to you?”

The girls are giggling again. It grates every nerve in Steve's body. 

“Mike overheard Nancy and Robin on the phone. He texted us. It probably wasn't very nice,” El says, at least sounding a little bit guilty. Steve shoots her a sympathetic look.

It's not her fault he fucked up, again.

“Great,” Steve grits. “That's fucking fantastic.”

Steve pulls up to Robin's apartment, tense and seconds away from wincing when he sees her stomp out the front door. She plops into the front seat and the whole car goes quiet. 

“You look nice,” Steve tries. 

“Breakfast is on you,” Robin replies. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Steve mumbles. 

Everyone is happily sipping their fancy frappes. Everyone except Robin of course who has managed to not dig into him in front of the teens but he knows it's coming. Like a storm about to brew. 

Steve tries not to think about how Eddie tasted like caramel as they made out because he's quit smoking and sucks on candies instead. He's torturing himself with the caramel frappe in his hand but he can't help it. He craves it more than he should. 

They get their tickets and the teens run ahead of them, checking out all the cool displays. Steve starts to walk in front of Robin but he gets yanked back. 

“Did you just...trip and fall into his bed? Or is this a repeat offense?” Robin asks with a cool, casual tone.

“I...” Steve stutters, taking a sip of his drink that's long gone to buy him time. All it buys him is a loud empty slurping sound. 

“You said you were falling asleep early last night,” Robin states.

“And I did! I was asleep just...not in my bed.”

Robin scoffs. “What was it this time? Eddie looking to reconnect?”

Steve's lips turn into a frown. As much as Steve likes to believe he's above Eddie's words and affection, it truly does not take much to break him. He and Eddie dated casually for about a year. Steve wanted to be serious but Eddie's band was about to take off and he didn't want any strings tying him to Chicago. Steve painfully decided to end it, decided he needed more than “I promise you're the only one I'm sleeping with”. Eddie's band did kind of take off. But not enough to get Eddie out of Chicago. And out of Steve's brain, apparently. 

“I only see him as a friend,” Steve lies through his teeth.

“Do I look stupid to you?” Robin asks with a tilt of her head, eyebrows raised. 

“No,” Steve emphasizes. “But we...we're not back together or anything.”

“I don't think you were ever together to begin with.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

“I'm serious, dingus. You were not good after that breakup, or whatever you want to call it. I just don't want to see you get hurt again.”

Steve lets out a long sigh, tossing his frappe into the trash, and leaning up against the wall. He watches as fans of Wonder Woman roam the museum, some of them dressed up for the occasion. He's happy he's here, happy he got to take the girls here, but he knows he'd rather be somewhere else. He feels guilty for that. 

“I fucked up, okay?” Steve admits defeatedly.

Robin leans her head on his shoulder. “I know you did. I know you know you did. Question is: is this going to be repeated?”

“No,” Steve says. He doesn't believe it and he can tell by Robin's huff that she doesn't either. 

“Gimme your phone,” Robin says.

“What? Why?”

“Just hand it over.”

Steve holds his phone to his chest. Looks at Robin seriously. “Don't tell him off or something. Don't read our texts!”

“Ew, I don't want to read your texts,” Robin sneers as she takes the phone from his hands. “I'm just gonna change his contact name.”

Steve looks over her shoulder and sees her typing “DONT PICK UP IGNORE IGNORE IGNORE” is now Eddie's contact name. 

“Surprised you didn't just delete it,” Steve mumbles, wincing because maybe he shouldn't have given her that idea. 

“Because I know you have it memorized. No use blocking his number either because he has your socials. But take this as a reminder that you deserve better than him.”

Steve's mouth opens and closes, an argument dying on his tongue. It's not that Eddie is a bad person, necessarily. He's a little much sometimes but deep down, he is rather sweet. Very nerdy, very animated. Very thoughtful. It's like he could make the perfect boyfriend if he just let go of his inability to commit to anything that's not his music. But Robin's right. Steve is monogamous at heart and deserves more. 

So tell him why he’s standing outside of Eddie’s door not even three days later?

Eddie answers with a shining smile that has Steve clenching his fists. 

“Next time, you’re coming to my place,” Steve states as Eddie pushes him up against the door. Eddie drags his tongue up Steve’s neck, causing his knees threatening to buckle. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Eddie answers.

Steve doesn’t hear anything else beyond moans and incoherent ramblings. It’s like the second Eddie gets his hands on him his brain goes “Blah, blah, blah.” 

[eldritchelfwriter]

A few Baldurs Gate 3 Fanfics I recommend on AO3

So long as it has meaning by ohholymoves

Relationship: Shadowheart and Selunite Paladin Tav

The fic that started it at all and inspired me to write my own Shadowheart fanfiction (Shadowheart Begins). This the first BG fanfic I had ever read. I was so blown away I read it 6 times in a row, just to catch everything that happened and the little clues seeded within, and to just admire and be in awe of how incredibly well written and beautiful the whole thing is.

Shadowheart is EXTREMELY sassy in this fic and I am here for it.

Consonance by @eliteseven

Relationship: modern Shadowheart & Tav

A profoundly sweet and meaningful story of Shadowheart & Tav getting together against the backdrop of being a band putting an album together. Isobel and Aylin also make appearances (bonus!!). Once you've checked out Consonance you'll also want to read Of Night Orchids, Lace & Steel by the same author.

Give it up for DJ Shadowheart by @capriclonus

Relationship: modern Shadowheart (a disc jockey) and modern Lae'zel

It took me a while to dip my toe into AU and modern BG3 fics but this one has blown me away. I'm on my fourth readthrough and I'm sure there are more readthroughs to come.

The characterisations and the plotting are just ... I feel like I'm reading something I've taken from a bestsellers shelf. It's absolute goals.

You really feel like you've been taken on a complex and wonderful journey by the end. This one will stick with you for a long time to come.

To Defy the Gods by @shadowfalllen

Relationship: Mother Superior Shadowheart x Tav

Shadowheart had taken the Dark Justiciar path and kept on seeing Tav, but Shar had other ideas about their continuing relationship. A Shadowheart redemption work with moments of awe, terror (I'm a lightweight and sometimes had to take a breath before continuing a chapter) and HOPE.

Also, this is one of the few works where I've seen Nocturne really being fleshed out as a character in her own right! (As she deserves!)

Hand on a Dagger (Head in the Sand) by @future-ghoost

Relationship: Dark Justiciar Shadowheart x Selunite Tav

VERY original concept where only Shadowheart was abducted, and Emmeline & Arnell hire Tav to try and rescue their now adult daughter from the cloister.

The tension is amazing, as is the growing relationship between Shadowheart and Tav and the kinds of compromises and decisions Tav is having to make while infiltrating the cloister as a Selunite. Delicious!

swear i was born right in the doorway by @tadpoleeater

Relationship: Isobel and Aylin

An absolutely hilarious rendition of how Isobel and Aylin got together. The characterisation of Aylin (a difficult character to write) is just spot on and the whole thing is so delightful, I will be surprised if you don't end up with a huge smile on your face at the end.

My Thesis is a Demigod? by @griffinisgae

Relationship: Isobel and Aylin

Fabulous AU in which Isobel, who is writing her thesis on Selune, finds Aylin dormant in a temple after thousands of years. Fish out of water / time displaced shenanigans ensue.

There are so many heartfelt, gorgeous little scenes, including laugh out loud ones.

Juniper & Starlight by @shewhowas39

Relationship: Durge and Astarion

Even though 'I don't even go to this school' as a Shadowheart and Aylin megafan, I am utterly transfixed by this continuing story of a Southern gal, heart of gold divination wizard durge and her journey with Astarion and friends. Shadowheart is the Tav's bestie in this fic and as with all the other characters in the game, is beautifully rendered in word.

As with all the other recommendations in this post, the words flow over you like music. Tav and Astarion's inner world contain so much emotional truth, a difficult feat for both of these incredibly complex characters but the writer here makes it look easy.

Before the Last Brew by @shadowfalllen

Relationship: Shadowheart and Tav

What if Shadowheart doesn't actually have a crap ton of trauma from Viconia and Shar? What if she is the new barista in a small town who has caught the eye of an author who is getting quite distracted from writing at the cafe?

What if WITHERS owns that cafe? What if it's so sweet and fuzzy and lovely and warm and you just can't wait for the next chapter?! What if! What if then?!

Born of Silver & Night Orchids by @cylinderarts

Relationship: Shadowheart and Selunite Tav (Trans Fem)

Here Shadowheart & Tav meet under VERY different circumstances - a one night stand! But soon one night leads to a few more and then one night they aren't particularly careful Shadowheart has a lil bun in oven she has to hide from the cloister while simultaneously trying to deal with her undeniable (let constantly denied) feelings for Tav!

Tav is besties with Karlach in this fic which is the absolute BEST and cylinderarts has also created a bunch of awesome art that goes with this fic that you can view on their profile.

[39nyx]

"Winter Soldier" Nico di Angelo AU concept

pretty freshly thought up, definitely still needs brewing.

also because i'm a couple MCU movies away from actually watching CA:TWS which will definitely help me flesh this out LMFAO. I've read The Winter Soldier: Cold Front at least, I'm not totally going off nothing

I've had a semi-similar AU brewing in my head for, like, a year before I started getting into Marvel and realized it lowkey matched MCU Stucky's dynamic, so I decided to fully embrace the coincidence and give Nico more trauma and a fucked-up arm :D

Background:

Nico actually ends up fading into shadows during the events of Blood of Olympus/excessive shadow-travel.

Since he hadn't died traditionally, he's essentially locked out of his father's realm of power, unable to have his soul return to the Underworld, instead being lost to the darkness.

That is, if not for Nyx* (or someone under her authority) who manages to collect the remnants of his being and reconstitute his physical form.

Except, there's not enough of him left to reform his entire body, so they have to sacrifice his arm, creating a new, magical one out of bones and shadow (details in image)

With the memories of his life lost to the shadows, he now serves as Nyx's own "Child of Darkness" (or something), his body/soul now bound to her.

*I do, unfortunately, kind of hate The Sun and the Star, but it had the perfect concept to draw on for this, what with Nyx being a big bad and wanting Nico to stay in the darkness and all that. So that's kind of what I'm drawing on for this :'D but the book itself isn't canon to this AU's timeline

Since Nico's body is now reformed from the shadows, he can shadow travel with no repercussions ! He gains a lot more control over shadows/darkness in general, as he's working under Nyx.

I'd also imagine, with his memories gone and Nyx making him believe he's fully her child (or something along those lines), he doesn't actually know he has most of his Hades-kid-specific powers (geokinesis, necromancy, and the like. He doesn't think too hard about why he's able to control the bones in his shadow arm. Or he does, and he just gets reset-) Of course, he still has the subconscious effects of his powers, but his emotions usually aren't dysregulated enough for him to actually experience them. (you know... until they are...~drama~)

As far as further plot goes, I'm personally a Jasico shipper, this was originally a Jasico AU for me, and Jason also makes the most sense, uh, assassination-mission wise (and Steve Rogers parallel-wise lol). With some canon-tweaking.

Why does Nyx even want Nico to kill the main big threat demigods? Idk yet exactly! We'll get there! In a perfect world I would be able to turn this into a novel-length fanfiction but god am I bad at actually going through with projects. There will definitely at least be more of this random concept brainstorming, though, especially when I finish more of the movies >:3

Alsooo regarding his design, it was mostly to brainstorm his arm. I probably could've thought of something creative outfit-wise. But it's the PJO universe, it's not like I can really have him decked out Winter Soldier style, pretty much all anyone wears is an orange/purple T-shirt n jeans. Maybe some armor. Which I theoretically should have given him. But there's the angle of him being able to dissolve into shadows before you can even get a hit in, thus rendering armor unnecessary... and also the idea of him blending in as a normal person until you do a double-take and see shadows creeping up his neck, slowly growing to cover his face before he attacks. Possibilities! Mostly I just like Nico in the usual oversized jacket + skinny jeans, but I gotta think on this whole thing a lot more still LOL

[toadettely]

So with your silly little coffee shop au . .

Do they have any specific designs or details choices that sticks out ? like Vernias has pink hair or blond or just his normal hair ? Does Nick, Brent, or Eevee wear their glasses ? Do they any visible scars ? How do they see one another like how vernias adores Nick's bright entrance as brent finds him boring-ish . Does Nick think brent looks scary, cool, or just an oddly creepily quiet guy ? How does sophist see vernias ? Does he think hes silly, annoying, scarily nice, or something else ?

So many questions with such little wording and spacing, apologies .

— 🐈

No apologies needed! I'm so happy about this ask, which is also why my answer is late. (I was busy with life and spend days drafting this haha rip me)

Please ask me anything about it!! I got so excited when I saw your ask and kept thinking about it the whole day! (And ongoing daysss <3)

Because before this ask, I didn't really think about those aspects about Skill & Spill! So thank you for making me brainstorm some more, it really helped me to establish the pc and other things for the AU some more! Long yap yap answer under the cut (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪

👾🐊🎀👑 Their designs/appearances:

👾 Eevee wears a long purple coat, it's like his trademark. Depending on the day and time, he wears fancy attire (a shirt and a vest) or some cozy clothes under it. Fancy attire because he works as a freelance creative developer and often meets with game developers/studios. (I will go in depth about this in a different post :3). He wears his glasses most of the time and is surprised when he finds out Brent wears glasses as well.

🐊 Brent in this AU is known for a style that reminds of high school nerds in a way but not too much. He wants to look tidy and neat but without being over the top. However, he doesn't care about any of that when he takes his night shifts. He has a scar slightly above his right elbow, which he got when he was a child. The scar is the result of playing on the playground as a kid and happened because of a clumsy-childish accident. It is actually a fond memory of his family and happy childhood for him. The scar reminds him there used to be easier and brighter days in his life. He mostly wears dark blue and green clothes, the cold tones being a huge contrast to Vernias' bright colours. Vern likes to call him "The Grumpy Barista" or simply "Robot" because of his behaviour and demeanour. (I forgot he wears glasses irl lmao.) He wears his glasses when he really has to and sometimes when he takes the night shifts.

🎀 Vernias has pink hair that grows out noticeably but makes him stand out. He therefore often gets called "the pink Barista" or "the Kirby Barista" and he loves it. He wears a pastel pink shirt under his apron, which he never irons (Brent hates to see it). Casually he wears tank tops and loose pants. Vernias has a burn scar on his left arm, it's not too big but noticeable and it happened in his early days as a barista; when he burnt himself on a freshly brewed coffee by being too hectic. He also has a tiny scar on his left index finger from the metal of the coffee machine (he has no idea how it happened). Vern is just a bit too clumsy. (Edit: Vernias wears pins on his apron!! A bi flag, a cute little Kirby that adds to his nickname "the Kriby Barista" and some stars that swing around loosely ^^ This was @whenshetcnickonmy3 's idea and I love it so much! Vernias also gave Brent a pin! Here is their Design for them!💛)

👑 Nick likes to be flamboyant. He has a style that is a perfect balance between elegant, fierce and laid-back. He likes to draw attention and always walks with a certain confidence only he can harbour. He definitely stands out and it's exactly what he wants and also kind of craves. He sometimes wears his sunglasses, even when he is in a building/in the cafe. He only wears his normal glasses when situations require him to and wears more cozy clothes when he is at home.

👾🐊🎀👑 First impressions of each other:

👾 Eevee:

- he didn't like Brent's vibe at all. Brent seemed so down all the time. Met at the Cafe.

- Eevee made it his secret mission to make Brent laugh or even just smile (which he learns looks and sounds adorable and warms his heart) he really likes the sight of seeing Brent happy.

- Eevee and Vern got along immediately, Vern kinda thought he was intimidating at first sight, but as soon as Eevee started to speak, they both shared a cheerful mood. They also met at the Cafe.

- Nick and Eevee have been friends since high-school, but actually hated each other in elementary school and bullied one another. They laugh about those memories nowadays and have a very good friendship.

🐊 Brent:

- Eevee was annoying at first. Not in the way of bothering you, no. Eevee was annoying because he said the most random and stupid shit - and Brent liked it. Something about Eevee fascinated and yet irritated him from the start.

- Brent and Vern (many of you described them as Squidward and SpongeBob and I ??? (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) ??? - Idk if that's a good thing?) Brent's first expression of Vernias was actually positive, even though Brent didn't show it and appeared to be slightly repulsed by him. But his act faded quickly within their first conersation. Vern had an aura to him that was actually charming and helped Brent to loosen up faster than he normally would. (...he normally doesn't.) And while Brent seemed annoyed, they actually balanced each other out nicely and became a great duo in a remarkable short amount of time. Vern always tried his best to create a good mood and lighten Brent up a little, but he also stayed polite and gave him space when Brent wasn't feeling it, which Brent secretly was and is always grateful for.

- Brent and Nick clashed at first. It wasn't too bad, it was just that they couldn't really communicate with each other well. But there has always been a silent mutual understanding in a way both of them don't quite understand till this day.

🎀 Vernias:

- He saw Brent and immediately asked himself "what an awful life did this man live until this point?" Because Brent looked like a tired cat that didn't care about anything anymore. Vern didn't know how to handle Brent at first, but he tried his best and acted nice yet polite towards Brent in the first shifts they shared together. (Vernias was the one who showed Brent everything and trained him and such, like Brent was his trainee.)

- Eevee came into the Café for the first time since Vern starting working there, and Vernias thought he was getting robbed. (Cuz Eevee wore a huge-ass grin and his purple coat just stands out.) But then Eevee just stumbled over his words as he tried to order something way too sweet, and Vern immediately knew the guy was chill. Vern randomly dropped "purple suits you really well!" Before Eevee left the cafe. He thinks about this random compliment he gave Eevee everyday.

- Vernias had mixed feelings when he saw Nick for the first time. He had noticed Nick in the streets many times before, but when Nick entered the Café for the first time when Vernias had an early shift, Vern was frustrated by how Nick carried himself all high and mighty. And then Nick acted like he was the ruler of the town and the owner of the shop, leaning on the counter and pulling his sunglasses down slightly to look directly into Vernias' eyes. Bi panic endured for some seconds, but he registered the order that also sounded like an order. "I get a large cappuccino with three sugar and almond milk." And Vernias was between the thoughts of 'you can get a slap in the face and the hell out of my Café' and 'you can get a kiss and everything you want, King'.

👑 Nick:

- Eevee is his ride or die. He hates and loves the dude but Nick depises the fact that Eevee does not seem to know the meaning of the terms "privacy" and "boundaries". They bullied each other in elementary school but are inseparable since high-school. They spend a little less time together in real life nowadays, but are still best friends. Though Nick sometimes wants to hit Eevee on the head.

- Like i mentioned, him and Brent didn't really get along at first but shared a silent connection and mutual understanding. Both of them were(are) secretly tired but act differently about it. They frowned at each other on their first encounter.

- Vernias was looking way too cheerful for his taste - and the fact that he was also behaving so cheerful was not helping. He ordered his cappuccino casually and Vernias just smiled at him brightly and nodded very fast, before humming a tune as he turned his back to Nick to prepare his drink. Also Nick thought Vernias' voice was way too loud (maybe because it was early in the morning, but Nick kept the impression that Vern speaks a little too loud for his taste and hearing) Vernias left a special impression on Nick – very special. The kind of special that makes you think about their smile in random moments before shaking your head.

[oxxytocinoverdose]

Hangover ⋆.ೃ🥃࿔*:･

Resurrected !Morro AU, Morro x reader, reader can be of any gender, fic takes place after the events of day of the departed

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･*:°❀:･°❀.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

He’s one of the most emotional people you’ve ever known. He was one of the most emotional people he’s ever known, so when he has a bad day he’s way too in his feelings to cope healthily. Before he met you, he’d drink till he was on the verge of passing out pretty much every week. But habits are hard to break. It took one post- then he fell down a rabbit hole of doomscrolling. “His sentence should’ve been longer”, “throw him back into prison.”— to send him down a whole shame spiral; One that involved cheap vodka from the nearest grocery store. He wishes he hadn’t been resurrected. He wishes he hadn’t done all that stupid stuff as a kid at all. That he’d stayed with Wu, accepted being the wind ninja- not attaching his value to a title— a green gi. He wishes Wu hadn’t proposed the idea to him, ever. Maybe then he’d have a shot at happiness that wasn’t fleeting.

You return from your shopping spree, eyes on him as you’re shutting the door behind you and locking it. “I know you like to argue with me, but everything I give you is supposed to help you. Okay?” He responds with a groan, waving his hand in the air as if shooing you away. No matter the state he was in, he always had the energy to sass you. “Come on. Sit up…”. You gently lift his head up. His body follows until he’s upright. You pull the trash can and paper bags closer to him, in case he needs to throw up. You get up to brew tea for him. He winces at the loss of your warm body beside him, and it breaks your heart. Even loud noises are startling the guy. “Give me a few minutes. I’m making you food..”

The kitchen is right across from the couch, so you can keep an eye on him just fine. You can hear him groan “My head…” and as bad as you feel for the guy, you’re glad he’s feeling humbled. You bring the ginger tea over once it’s done, blowing on it a couple times to cool it down. You bring it up to his lips. “It’ll help.”

He takes it in his hands and slowly drinks out of the mug. His poor hands are shaking. You hate to see him like this. He rejects the toast you bring him with an “auh uh…” and the turn of his head to the side. “Plain carb…”

“Are you serious? You’re not going to inflate like a balloon if you have one piece of toast without protein. And who’re you to be talking about healthy? Like you aren’t putting your liver through hell right now?”

He winces at your comment- like a kicked puppy. You immediately regret talking to him like that. You’re definitely right, that’s for sure. But that’s a talk you need to have when he’s sober and coherent. Not when he’s totally inebriated.

“Come on, baby. You have to eat something filling. I’ll make you an egg, just have this for now. Please?”

He lets you guide the toast to his mouth without protest. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed in you, I’m not any of that.”

He keeps his eyes on the plate, chewing. “Morro..?”

“Mhm. kay.”

“Can you just nod your head if you believe me?”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t look at you, he just swallows his bite before slowly nodding.

“Thayyou”

You look up at him, and he’s now narrowing his tired, glassy eyes in embarrassment. “What?” You need to know what he even tried to say. “Thanyou… ugh..”

He’s trying to thank you, but his speech is slurred. You wanna laugh, but you don’t want to make him feel worse. “You’re welcome.”

While he’s asleep, you make sure to clear out his social media feed completely- making sure he only gets music related content on there.

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