#if this gets like. two notes ill draw the rest of them

[zwm8604]

I've had these stored, might as well start off 2025 in the most heinous way possible lmao

[written4u]

MINE TO PROTECT ✴︎ LN04

He has done it, you thought. Lando has become King. Now untouchable, the man will stop at nothing to get you by his side⏤for your love is stronger than customs, court rules, and tactical engagements.

━━━ 🔗 LN4 MASTERLIST

PAIRING. King!Lando Norris x Lowborn!FemReader WORDS. 4K TAGS. Medieval setting. Angst and Fluff. Smut. Forbidden Love. Hurt/Comfort. Religious terms. Historical inaccuracies. Not proof-read. NOTE. My first AU. What do we think? <33

Likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

In the seedy streets of London, rumours travelled in a precise order, that all citizens had come to memorise.

A Lord, drunk with lust, would disclose the Crown’s secrets to a simpering whore, who would be quick—once the coins were in her purse—to repeat what she had just heard, noble semen still running down her thighs. The other, much less wealthy, customers would then talk about it loudly in bars, attracting the attention of patrons who, once sober, had only to spread the news.

Today, the rumour burst into your little shop when Old Gerald came through the door, looking for his daily loaf of bread.

“Prince Lando’s been made King," he said.

The dough fell on wood. Your floured hands remained stuck in the sticky, flabby mixture.

It would have to be kneaded again, you thought dumbly.

You gripped the towel from your apron and wiped your palms roughly before turning your back on your customer—less to get the fresh loaves of bread out of the oven than to regain your composure.

He had done it.

Your shovel rasped against the burning slab of clay and peeled off the loaves.

A few days earlier, when night had enveloped the city in its thick cloak, he had told you of his plans and dreams—the two were always intertwined, for Lando Norris provoked fate rather than waited for it.

His touch had done nothing to soften the brutality of his words; sordid tales of war and blood, the kind that filled the tomes of Oxford.

My father is weak, not from illness but cowardice. His failures have lost us Normandy. When he dies, and he will soon, I’ll take it back and expand our Glory.

You had protested, your voice hoarse from the moans he had managed to draw from your throat moments before, but he would have none of it and simply told you to trust him, as if all this were far too complicated for you.

And perhaps that was the case, for what did you know of war and power?

“What about his Majesty?” you asked.

Old Gerald tossed you three coins, which you pocketed, before handing you a thick piece of cloth.

“They say he died of blood fever. ’Twas only a matter o’ time anyway.”

You carefully wrapped the golden loaf in the cloth.

“Lady Mowbray’ll be our Queen.”

You winced at the name but immediately hid your reaction with a tight smile. Gerald, bless him, took no notice of your torment.

You handed the loaf of bread to the old cobbler, who nodded and returned to his shoes.

The rumour ran on and kept you thinking all day. You burnt a dozen loaves of bread, spilled two sacks of flour, and forgot to deliver her apple pies to Beatrice, making you lose coins and a customer.

When the key finally turned in the lock of the shop and cut you off from the rest of the world, your shoulders slumped.

The sun and all its problems gave way to the moon. Under its silvery eyes, other rumours would no doubt spread but you did not wish to hear them.

Instead, you longed for your straw mattress and the comfort of your dreams—perhaps your love would visit you there, also freed from the pressure the Lord was piling on his shoulders.

Tiredness weakened your knees. You dragged your body more than you climbed the stairs to your modest bedroom.

In the middle of the latter, the bed and its pillow stretched out its arms to you. You let yourself fall into the feathery embrace and closed your eyes for a moment, praying to the Lord that you would find sleep easily.

The Almighty ignored you.

The doorbell rang.

Your eyelids struggled to open. Sleep clutched at your eyelashes and tried to keep them closed but you fought the temptation and, at last, gazed into the dim light of the room.

Another series of blows, more hurried, struck against the wood. The whole shop seemed to shake under their weight.

“I’m coming, I'm coming…” you mumbled.

You gasped as two knights appeared on your doorstep, their armours far too shiny to be dragged through the muddy streets of these parts.

“The King, His Highness Lando Norris, summons you.”

They did not care for your reply and seized you.

You protested, demanded to be told the reason for this summon, but nothing would do. The guards dragged you like a rag doll through the streets of London, indifferent to your screams and struggles.

Above and around you, the candlelight in the windows intensified. Some people poked their heads out to watch the racket.

You lowered your chin and remained silent, but the damage had been done.

Already, rumours were spreading.

The baker had been arrested.

What had she done? Who would make their bread from now on?

The dizzy shadow of the Tower of London loomed larger and larger. Just the outline of it made your skin crawl.

For the first time, you would be treading on the floor of Kings.

A shiver ran down your spine. You were being dragged against your will into this unknown, powerful and dangerous place, populated by men and women who despised people like you.

One of the guards tightened his grip around your arm, making you yelped. Why were they taking you there? Lando always came to you, not the other way round.

Did someone know?

You blanched.

Impossible, you immediately thought. You had been cautious.

But what if... What if someone had seen you, despite all your precautions?

Were they taking you to the Tower to put you to the sword?

Fear stabbed you in the guts.

When you did pass through the large gates of the castle, no one was in the courtyard; the swords were resting on the workbenches and the horses, asleep. Only a few guards patrolled the ramparts, their heads turned skywards.

“Hurry up, girl. The King is waiting.”

A solitary but proud figure emerged at the top of the stairs, in front of the entrance. His curls fluttered in the wind and the bluish moonlight accentuated his striking features.

The mere sight of his face reassured you.

You defied the guards and walked towards him.

Lando’s rough hands, hardened by duty and war, seized yours to kiss them.

Your heart slowed as his familiar scent enveloped you. For a second, you surrendered to the comfort of his warmth and love.

“What's happening, Lando?”

He closed his eyes as his name fell from your lips and smiled. His hand came down to grasp at your waist in a possessive embrace, leaving you no choice but to lean into the touch.

“There's rumours. That your father–”

His fingers dug painfully into your flesh.

You squeaked.

“Is it true?" you managed to articulate.

“The Archbishop has made me King," he nodded. “We will not need to hide any longer, my love.”

“What do you mean?”

But Lando did not answer you. He smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, and let his fingers brush your neck. With a nod, the knights left, the clink of their armour echoing behind them.

Soon, the din faded with the tenderness of Lando’s gestures. His finger traced the veins in your chest, which led him to your breasts, hidden by your dress.

Lando grunted and pulled at the fabric, but the latter held on. Maud Linstar's work was renown throughout London. You could not find a better weaver.

Today, you were thankful for the coins you had spent; the garment would become the guarantor of your dignity—a bulwark against your desire.

When you realised that your King was not going to answer your question, you took a step back. His hand fell limply between the two of you as a brief look of pain clouded his face.

“Lando?”

He straightened up and held out his hand to you.

“Follow me.”

The labyrinthine corridors made your head spin. You lost count of the turns you took, the staircases you climbed and the alcoves you passed.

The beauty of the mouldings and frescoes drew admiring sighs from you several times, but Lando did not care. He walked past them without giving them a second glance. He's accustomed to all this, you reminded yourself. People of his rank bathed in this luxury and grandeur since birth.

On the way, maids stopped at your sight. Their gaze fell on your face, on your body, on your hand locked in the King’s... Your cheeks heated and you tried to pull away, but Lando tightened his grip. Out of habit, his thumb caressed your skin.

You bowed your head, ashamed.

They knew.

This particular thought stayed with you.

You only lifted your head when Lando stopped in front of an ornate door. The mouldings curved into flowers and birds⏤an ode to spring and renewal. Your eyes swept the decor, stopped on a bush of camellias and, finally, met the King’s satisfied gaze.

“We've arrived."

Lando opened the door with a confident gesture.

Inside, an immense room stretched out and seemed to never end. Wealth oozed out of every corner, from the four-poster bed to the dressing table adorned with sapphires. On the wall, frescoes of flowers had been painted to match the powder pink drapes—an explosion of colour that turned drab the corridors you had been raving about just a few minutes before.

“Is it to your taste?”

You turned back to Lando. Although his chin was up and his back, straight, red bloomed on his cheeks. Your lover seemed embarrassed, a far cry from his usual composure. Almost timidly, his hand sought yours.

“I don't know anyone who wouldn't like it," you replied.

“Hmm. Good.”

He pulled you to him. His hands went down to your buttocks and pressed you against his chest.

Suddenly, the room made sense.

You let yourself drown in the familiar gestures. Your hand caressed his muscular shoulders, moved up to his jaw and brushed against his lips. Lando kissed the pad of your thumb before replacing it with your lips.

Soon, the wet sound of saliva echoed through the room. The sweet melody ignited a fire in your lower abdomen and moved down between your thighs.

Your hand resumed tracing arabesques on your lover's smooth skin. It stopped at the buttons on his doublet and hastily undid them before wandering lower and lower…

Lando stopped you before you could take him in your hand. He kissed the palm of your hand and pressed it against his cheek.

“These will be your quarters.”

The fire went out, leaving you frozen with shock.

“What do you mean?" you asked breathlessly.

“Now that I am King, we will not have to hide anymore.”

A new glare lit up his eyes. Green turned black and made you shiver.

Flames seemed to dance in his pupil, crushing all remains of the prince he had once been. That Lando was dead. In his place was a King who thought himself above laws and men.

“It's not proper, Lando," you tried to protest. “If it gets out that I'm here... If the Queen Dowager or the Archbishop–”

“They have no say in the matter. My word is law now.”

“If you want me here… Perhaps I could serve the Crown, join the kitchens. Anything but that, Lando,” you said, gesturing to those quarters, far too luxurious for someone of your breeding.

“You do not belong in the fucking kitchens," he scoffed. “No. You will be by my side, as my equal.”

“You're engaged,” you retorted. “The Lady Mowbray won't take kindly to my presence here. You nobles can make Small Folk disappear in a blink of an eye and no one would notice or care.”

Joan's story was remembered as a cautionary tale for young girls naive enough to think love could conquer blood. The fable was classic⏤hundreds of similar romances filled libraries, and perhaps it was these very ones that had encouraged the girl to seduce the heir of the Brewer family.

The man fell in love and made the pretty merchant his lover.

This did not please his wife, the daughter of Lord Percy who, mere two days after finding out, got rid of Joan with disconcerting ease.

The poor girl was found trampled by horses in white and green bards.

That day, Lord Brewer lost his true love and spent the rest of his life suffering the consequences of his betrayal.

Your heart dropped.

What would happen to you? If Alice Mowbray found out that Prince Lando was bedding you... and in the castle nonetheless… The storm would come for you, and you would perish in its eye.

“It's not a good idea, Lando,” you said, at last.

“Do not fret, my love. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here to protect you.”

He pulled you into bed.

Your protests died on your lips, muffled by moans and the exquisite feel of his skin against yours.

Your fingers tightened around your thighs. The soap made your skin slippery but did nothing to wash away the shame that had been clinging to it for days.

It colonised your flesh and left it tainted, eating away at your muscles and weighing down your heart.

On the first day, after a passionate night, maids had arrived to prepare you, but you had refused their care. You were no Lady. You had bathed alone all your life and would continue to do so.

More than anything, you wanted to escape their watchful eyes, which would no doubt have noticed the hickeys on your chest and thighs.

You did not know how rumours got around in the castle, but you were sure that they first burgeoned on the maids’ lips. They blossomed as quickly as in your neighbourhood⏤the inquisitive nature of man was innate⏤, but it would not be Old Gerald getting wind of it. No. The stakes were much higher in these parts, and the consequences, even more dire.

The door to your quarters shielded you from the horror surely awaiting you, but for how much longer?

Your hands massaged your calf, hoping to rediscover a cherished routine. You longed for the feel of dough beneath your fingers. What would become of your shop? Maybe someone had already moved in⏤abandoned houses never stayed so for long in London.

You could not cherish the roof above your head, yet, you supposed you had to learn to appreciate it. Lando did not seem eager to let you go.

Lando.

Every day, the sun tore him away from you. His hours were devoted to his council and military strategies, only half of which you understood when he explained them to you.

Your King needed to talk, to get rid of the weight that was arching his back. You became the shoulder on which he rested, the ear into which he poured his doubts, the flesh in which he forgot himself.

“I wish to be with you every hour of the day, to attach myself to your side, but God will only grant me this pleasure when I win this war. I am fighting for you⏤for us,” he had told you.

The moon brought him back into your arms.

Every night, without exception, he would cross the threshold of the door and wrap you in a reassuring embrace. His arms would block out your gloomy thoughts and chase away shame and regret⏤all seemed worth it if it kept him close to you. The stars looked down on your love.

When the bells rang midnight, you would indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, whisper sweet nothings, or simply enjoy the peaceful silence that the other's presence guaranteed.

Sometimes, Lando, lying on the bed with your head on his stomach, would simply read you stories with his hand buried in your hair.

And then, Dawn would rise, the tranquillity of the night burning away in its first rays of light. The enchanted interlude would close, and you would spend the day dreaming of a life where sun and duty did not separate you two.

Shame would reappear, its weight with it, and fear⏤tangible and vibrant⏤would turn your stomach.

The spectre of Alice Mowbray never left you. It haunted you. In the frescoes of camellias on the wall. In the bouquets of flowers dotting your quarters. In the venison served for dinner.

The tales of her beauty reached you and left you bitter, but what they said about her quiet authority made your blood run cold.

She would come for you.

The Lady Mowbray occupied all your thoughts, so much so that you forgot about another much more dangerous threat.

One day, the Queen Dowager stalked into your room.

You dropped your embroidery in your lap and hastily sat up. The needle fell to the floor with a disturbing chime. The bell was tolling; this farce had gone on far too long, and it would now end.

The Queen Dowager dropped a small leather bag on the table.

Its contents clinked and masked your gasping breath for a second.

Already your throat was closing up and you were struggling to swallow, for you knew precisely what this pouch meant.

“What is it?" you asked anyway.

“Five thousand pounds. Enough to buy you a new life, far from the castle, far from London.”

Away from my son, she meant.

“I won't leave Lando.”

He needs me, you thought.

“The King of England does not need you," the Queen scoffed as if she could hear your mind. “He is engaged. Or have you forgotten that? Whoring yourself in the way you do… It would appear so. Have you thought about the repercussions of your actions when people find out about you? The risks it means for Lando? Your very presence here jeopardises his reign.”

“I have tried to–”

“He does not love you, you fool. He just wants a cunt to fuck without having to spend a single penny.”

You recoiled, surprised to hear the famously pious queen speak so vulgarly.

War transformed souls. It made them ugly. The Queen Dowager’s wide eyes and pursed lips twisted her face into a terrifying expression.

She sighed and, for a brief moment, her features became those of a compassionate woman.

“I don't know what… hold my son has over you,” she continued in a calmer voice, “but you seem smart enough to understand this will end badly. You must leave. Take the gold and let us be done with this farce.”

The door slammed against the wall before you could even consider the proposal.

Lando reached your side with a confident stride.

“What's going on here? Mother?”

When the latter did not answer, he looked to you for answers. You lowered your head, unable to bear the look of concern in his green eyes any longer.

It fell lower, onto the table and the leather purse.

“What is the meaning of this?” he raised his voice.

Silence stretched before the Queen relented.

“You cannot… support a lowborn in such manners, Lando. The girl must go.”

The King ignored his mother and took you in his arms. His nose nestled under your ear; his hands buried themselves in your hair. He guided your head into his neck and whispered comforting words, which you could not hear. You did not care. His familiar scent embraced you and brought tears to the corners of your eyes.

You should never have come here.

“Out.”

His mother protested.

“Imagine the shame for your future wife, the Lady Mowbray! For her house! If we lose our alliance because of... because of this w–”

“Hold your tongue and leave.”

“Lando, if you do this, we are lost!”

“Get out!”

Footsteps retreated. A door slammed. Lando sighed. His hand drew abstract symbols on the back of your head for a moment before forcing you to look at him.

“Oh, my love," he said, seeing your misty eyes. “All is well now. She will not hurt you anymore.”

The danger you had put yourself in was greater than you had thought. Fear dried your mouth and exhausted your words.

You stammered a few excuses before taking a deep breath but Lando’s fingers did not weaken. They continued to comfort you and, at last, gave you the courage you needed to finally speak.

“Maybe I should return to Flea Bottom. I–”

“No," Lando’s voice cracked.

His hands framed your face and pulled you towards him until your noses touched.

“You are not leaving me.”

His lips were harsh, covering every inch of your skin. He kissed the bridge of your nose, warm cheekbones, and wet eyelids. Tears ran aground in the cracks of his lips and dried up under his exquisite tenderness. No beauty spot, no eyelash, was spared.

His lips erased his mother's words and the doubts in your heart.

“You belong here, with me. I do not care for riches or alliances. I only wish for your love.”

Lando filled the space between your mouths.

He feasted on your lips and the taste of them like a hungry man, as his hands grasped your breasts. Tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower abdomen.

You rolled your hips, searching for his, but your lover pulled away.

Lando shushed your complaints and pushed you to the bed. Your back bounced on the goose feather mattress.

Eager to feel his skin against yours, you sat up and tried to pull him to you, but Lando took a step back.

A petty smile stretched his lips as you whimpered.

He ignored you and stood silent, admiring you. His eyes, nearly black, gazed down at your body, contemplating its shape and softness.

“Lando, please…”

Your lover grabbed an ankle and kissed it. He moved up your calf, caressing your knee and digging his fingers into your thighs before spreading them apart, his teeth nipping at the flesh.  

Your breathing quickened and breathy moans fell from your swollen lips, intoxicated by his touch. He skipped over your dripping cunt, his hands grazing your hips and sides.

Suddenly, Lando stopped touching you, placed a farewell kiss on your belly, and sat up on his elbows.

“I will take care of everything, my love. You will never have to fear for your life. It is mine to cherish, mine to love, mine to protect," he said before reaching up to capture your lips with his. “Mine.”

“I love you," you sighed.

Lando smiled, as he did every time the words fell from your lips. One could not get used to the sweetness of love. It forever stirred the heart and soothed the soul.

Your Prince placed a chaste kiss on your lips before moving down and disappearing between your thighs.

His words vanished in desire and pleasure. You forgot them the next day, when Dawn and Tomorrow rose hand in hand.

You should have known that Lando Norris would keep his promise.

Three days later, the Lady Mowbray’s body was found in the Thames.

[ckret2]

tonight's topic is: applying a fanfic trope to a character totally unsuited for it, and then persuading y'all to buy it

the trope: hanahaki disease! for the uninitiated: it's a fictional disease where someone whose love is unrequited or unconfessed starts growing flowers in their lungs and coughing them up. It's a metaphor for How Beautiful Love Is Yet How Painful When Unfulfilled.

i feel like that kind of bullshit would happen to aku.

not even because it's unrequited. i just think that's how his body would react to falling in love.

(yes this post is an excuse to draw an extremely pretty, miserable aku. please look at my flowers i worked so hard. now here's the part of the post where I talk y'all into agreeing with this headcanon.)

(side note that's irrelevant to the rest of this post: tbh I personally don't like the spin where hanahaki disease is due to UNREQUITED love. that makes it, like, the OTHER PERSON'S fault they're sick. "You've gotta reciprocate their crush or they'll DIE."

I prefer it when the flower barf is due to denied love—bury it deep inside but don't move on, refuse to confess yet refuse to let it go, hope the flowers & truth won't burst from your mouth in front of the person you're trying hardest to hide it from. yeah, some may hide their feelings because they're unrequited, but that isn't what twists love into a disease: it's the act of swallowing it down.)

but that's neither here nor there!

Usually, I'm in the Love Is Not Good, It's Morally Neutral camp; but just this once for the sake of having fun with this headcanon we'll say love is Inherently Good, okay?

Aku is two things: 1) a tree, and 2) ontologically evil.

Being evil, and playing in a universe where we've decided for a minute that Love Is Good, love doesn't come naturally/easily to him. like, he can feel it—but it hurts. He was not meant for this, it's unnatural to him. having love inside him is like a cancer—it's something malignant that grew out of control, far larger than it was supposed to, taking over the body.

And being a tree—well... flowers are trees' reproductive organs.

So he falls in love and suddenly he's coughing up flower-covered vines and keeps having to yank them out. Like Hexxus sprouting plants.

Tumorous blossoms in direct proportion to this cancerous emotion. The more the flowers grow the more the vines wriggle into his mind, twisting his thoughts, poisoning him with deeper infatuation, making it harder and harder to focus on anything but whoever he's obsessed with. The deeper he's dragged down into love the more flowers bloom out of him. It's a vicious cycle.

And now he's gotta hide it, and avoid the hell out of whoever he's crushing on. Because he can't let people know he's ill & weakened. And he DEFINITELY can't let his beloved know because if they find out he's in love, and reciprocate... Well, for a normal character with normal hanahaki disease, the beloved finding out and/or reciprocating would be the cure. For something that shouldn't be in love in the first place, reciprocation would make things much, much worse.

... but wouldn't it be wonderful? (cue the sound of hacking up half a rose bush) sorry, that was the flowers speaking.

Every once in a while my acearo ass wants a "but what if love itself is the horror story?" idea and this is one of 'em.

but I doubt I'll actually write anything with this, because as I conceive of it, there's only a few ways it can end:

Good (Boring) Ending: Aku's health is restored because he falls OUT of love; might involve actual magic to kill his emotions, might involve shoving his loved one away.

Neutral Ending: Aku stays in love and just keeps getting worse and even if it doesn't kill him now he's miserable all the time, so like, nothing really changes. There are better avenues to explore "but what if we gave the villain a chronic disease?" than fucking hanahaki of all things.

Fluffy Bad Ending: the disease—or else some magic meant to accommodate the disease—transforms Aku into something (probably something "good") that CAN handle love. And that might be the sweet happily-ever-after ending but I consider it a bad ending because Aku being evil is the point, and he doesn't want to be good, and if the power of love turns him good/if he's forced to change who he is for love… well, I just don't enjoy that unless it's presented as a bad end. Even if it's "but it turned a villain good!" Especially if it's "but it turned a villain good," because I'm not too keen on "forcing somebody to change their fundamental nature is a good thing as long as it's for the right reasons."

Sexy Bad Ending: the vines fully take over Aku's brain and resculpt his mind to get what they want and like,, whoever he is he's not really Aku anymore; but now instead of trying to shove his loved one away to protect himself he's ALL OVER them with the desperation of a starving wolf on a dead deer, sooo I guess the two of them are something like 'happy' now?? Assuming the beloved is interested in this new ravenously besotted Aku-shaped creature that's replaced the real/original Aku?? this is probably the ending for people into hypno but it ends with you not really having Aku as a character anymore.

I don't currently feel like writing a brainwashing bad end—interesting to think about, but not enough to commit that much time & words to—and the other two endings aren't terribly interesting. So I'm not planning to do anything with this idea.

Except make you think about it, too.

(If anybody wants to play with this idea, you have my full permission, just tell me about it and/or show me when u post it because i wanna see)

[halestrom]

“You should kiss me at midnight.”

Jake stilled, turning his head to stare at Rooster, well aware of the silence around them as the daggers stopped and stared at them. He thought of a dozen things to ask. Or say, as he leaned back in his chair and took in Rooster. His over shirt was long gone. Leaving him in clearly loved t-shirt with long faded words, a size or two small so it stretched across his chest and stopped above his bellybutton, a good few inches of tan skin bared. His hair was messy, alcohol and a long afternoon fading into night making his curls win the fight against whatever he used to keep them in place. He was sweaty, but they all were. The bar was sweltering, and Jake had long since unbuttoned his shirt, soaking up the attention in the form of eyes staring at his chest. Rooster looked good. He knew he did if the smirk on his face was any indication.

But Jake wasn’t ever gonna make things easy.

“What’s in it for me?” he asked, tilting his chin up, daring, commanding an answer worth his time.

Rooster didn’t back down. “I suck dick real well when motivated. And I love making out so it’s good motivation.”

Fanboy groaned, tilting against Payback as others around them gagged but Jake ignored them. “I wanna leave but I don’t, you know?” He hissed, trying to be quiet but too drunk.

Jake ignored him, and the eyerolls directed his way. “And?” He bent his elbow to prop his chin on his fist. “So, do I. You’re not special.”

“No?”

Jake grinned. “Nah. Try again.”

“Well, the fact that it’s not an instant no says a lot,” Rooster said, not moving, gaze locked with Jake’s, and it felt like the rest of the world fell away.

This was a moment that had always had the chance to be there. It never built. It simmered. Lingering under the surface for a long time and aside from one ill advised hook up had never gone anywhere. And Jake knew it never would because their career was the most important thing. They wouldn’t fuck that up. Not unless they were sure.

And it seemed like Rooster was finally taking that chance.

Jake hummed, watching Rooster for a long moment, the bar around him fading. “Buy me a drink.”

Rooster grinned, looking at the still full glass of beer. “You’ve got one.”

“Maybe I don’t like this one.”

“You’re a big boy. You can buy your own.”

Jake snorted. “Wow. Really selling it there.”

Rooster shrugged again, smirk firmly in place. Ever since the mission a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and Jake would be lying to himself if it didn’t want to draw him in. The second guessing was done, and all the ego Rooster pretended to have before had changed. He wasn’t pretending anymore, and Jake would be lying if it didn’t feel like catnip to him. He knew he had an ego, and more than one person he had been with had commented on how he could almost steamroll over everyone. But Rooster had never been one of those people. He had met Jake word for word. Comment for comment and had never backed down.

“I don’t need to sell it sweetheart. You’re just being an asshole because you can.”

Jake let out a bark of laughter at the, mostly, accurate statement. He was being an asshole just because he could. But he was also doing it because he had always loved it when Rooster fought back. “That so?”

Rooster raised his beer to his lips with a smile. “Yeah baby. It is.”

“Hmmm, well, doesn’t seem like you’re getting a kiss,” Jake said, leaning back and picking up his own drink to finish it off in a long swallow, not breaking the gaze.

Rooster tilted his head back, watching Jake as he stood. “Yeah I am.”

“Confident,” Jake said, knocking his knuckles against the table, breaking the spell. “And on that note, I’m gonna go get a drink.”

As if summons, one of the over worked waitresses appeared, handing Jake a drink with a jerk of her head toward Rooster before she disappeared again, the crowd beginning to surge as the minute warning started. Jake stared at the drink, and then back at Rooster who was grinning, proud of himself. He leaned back against the chair and crooked a finger toward Jake who was half staring at the drink wondering how the fuck Rooster had managed to do that. They weren’t at the Hard Deck, which would’ve made sense, but it was a random bar for the night, they all needed to get away from the Navy for one night.

Jake heard a round of groans as he shrugged, grabbed the drink and walked around the table and slid into Roosters lap, surprising the man if the raised eyebrows were any indication.

Shurgging, Jake wrapped an arm around Roosters neck and shifted forward, his legs spreading wide so he could get close and he felt a hand rest on his lower back, sliding under his shirt.

“Told you that you just needed to buy me a drink,” Jake said with a smirk, reaching back and setting the drink down.

Rooster snorted. “Was that it?”

Jake shook his head. “Nah, the competence.” He paused and leaned in closer as the countdown hit thirty. “There’s nothing better than a man who knows what he wants and goes for it.”

That made Rooster laugh, shaking his head. “Baby, trust me I’ve always known I’ve wanted you. I just had to fight some shit out.”

“And you have?”

The hand on his back slid lower into his back pocket as the countdown hit ten. “Yeah I have.”

Jake curled his hands around Rooster’s neck, thumbs stroking over his jaw as he pressed in closer, feeling fingers dig into his ass.

“Right answer,” he said just as the count hit zero and Jake kissed Bradley, feeling the other man surge up into the kiss as the crowd around them started to cheer as the New Year rolled in.

[bastardlybonkers]

THE WAY I GASPED OUT LOUD WHEN I SAW U WROTE ANOTHER STARBEE FIC....

your giving me one million billion added years onto my life when you post art or a fic i love it soooo soo much <<33 >_< !!!!!! ur writing style is so so sooooo good tytytysm for writing and sharing more starbee

also id kill for some good general tf fic recs from u <<33

tysm !!!!

thank you so much!!! i love writing and drawing starbee, i havent felt this motivated in so long lol im really glad that other people are enjoying it as much as im enjoying making it.

as for fic recs, im not sure if you mean 'general' as in the 'general' rating, or 'general' as in 'not necessarily starbee', so ill have two different sections for these recs, one for general and teen, and one for mature and explicit! lets go :D

GEN & TEEN

O Lazarus by Trinary: Starscream/Shockwave, Regeneration One continuity. i just absolutely love this fic, i think its so well written, and i adore regen1 shockscream. i think this fic really nails that awkward early dynamic between them, starscreams trauma, and shockwaves burgeoning emotions. i really like how viscerally you feel starscreams emotions in this one. if you havent read regen1 but want good shockscream, the fic provides context in the opening notes 👍

In a Different Light by jabberish: Jazz/Prowl, All TFS media. this ones fun and cute with just the slightest brush of angst, i love it. the whole premise is that theyre at a party, and jazz realizes that prowl has face blindness. they put their helms together to help prowl navigate the crowd. cute fun read, pre-relationship, could almost be considered a meet-cute were it not that they know each other already in this lol.

we will rest upon the ground by lunarblazes: Bumblebee & Elita One, TFOne. the two of them have a quiet conversation the night before everything goes to shit. contemplation about new bodies, getting to know each other, bee realizing that elita isnt as terrifying as he thinks and elita realizing that bee isnt as annoying as she thought. just a really great read, i love it and i love their friendship

Just For Tonight by Prowlsuniboob (orphan account sadly 😔): Fortress Maximus/Prowl, IDW1. i really like how well this one captures prowls character. oftentimes, ill see him kind of...woobified, i guess, in idw1 fics, probably because people are used to other continuities where hes nicer (or just want him to be nicer lol) but i really like how complex and messy he is in idw, i love how much he sucks lmao. i think this one strikes a great balance in how hes an asshole whos made a lot of terrible decisions but hes also so, so lonely. and fort max, whos been on the business end of prowls shit tier decisions firsthand, is like jesus christ. i hate it but i pity him now. prowl being drunk in this is the perfect way for him to be more unguarded.

Subharmonics (series) by neveralarch: Megatron & Starscream, Gen 1. this is The starscream dysphoria fic series, and i like megatrons dysphoria too! i also like the way that theyre experiencing two different types of dysphoria, and starscreams complicated feelings in the second one of the series. this is a rare one where they arent being as awful to each other as usual lol, i like to imagine this mostly takes place during a lull period in the war where they arent as turbulent and toxic. very very good

the war is over and we are beginning by lord_squiggletits: Megatron/Optimus Prime, IDW1. this one is part of a larger series of theirs, but i havent read it, i just love the megop angst and softness here. its not required to read the rest of the series, so thats why im recommending it by itself since thats what ive read lol. a very good look into how megatron feels that love has made him weak, while optimus doesnt feel the same.

Hazard Light by EatYourSparkOut: Brainstorm/Perceptor, IDW1. hanahaki au but like, robot hanahaki! extremely fun. ive always liked when people bend popular fanfic tropes to work with transformers instead of just throwing the trope on there, and i think this fic does that excellently. i also just love the way that they write perceptor, hes a character i didnt contemplate too much on until reading this fic and i was like man im missing out on this guy 🤔 i think this is a pretty popular simpatico fic so if u ship them youve probably already read it, but if you havent and youre in the mood for some light body horror, angst, cringy flirting, and perceptor being the most ridiculously avoidant mech known to man, please give it a read its great

A Slight Overreaction by Something_Wrong: Soundwave-centric, Gen1 & IDW1. i reread this one all the time. it is just so fucking funny for no reason, im obsessed with the way soundwave acts in this. like yeah of Course a dude so crazy about secret collecting and information acquiring would get so bent out of shape over something so simple. the author had really great comedic timing, its a great read if you want some silly soundwave that has you going 'ohhh buddy...please just take a nap 😂' by the end.

I prove a theorum and the house expands by apprenticenanoswarm: Dinobot/Rattrap, Beast Wars. dinobot has dyscalculia! thats pretty much the whole fic lol, just rattrap realizing that dinobot and numbers Do Not Mix. i really love their dynamic in this, its written very well and i love the sort of...idk, ease? to their interactions? its great

Helpless by platonicharmonics: Megatron/Optimus Prime (Megatronus/Orion Pax), TFP. in which before everything, orion pax meets the coolest bitch hes ever seen in his life at a gala, and that coolest bitch somehow also thinks that hes the coolest bitch. very sweet, excellent dialogue, and also autistic orion, which is one of my favorite hcs. its hard to find autistic prime without it feeling woobifying, but i think this one does an excellent job. if you feel like something romantic and charming with that hint of 'oh god they dont know the horrors on the horizon' feeling, check this out

Everyday Words by fowo: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Earthspark. just some old men being in love, and the most accidental, casual marriage proposal ever. very sweet and tender, healing for the heart. they deserve to be ridiculous old men together

MATURE & EXPLICIT

Constructed Hot by neveralarch: Starscream/Bumblebee, IDW1. THE starbee fic for me. seriously, i just adore how this one is written, starscream and bees dynamic is Peak here, and i love the balance between bees angsting over being a ghost and starscreams angsting over being. well. ig in his mind a sexual deviant lol. if the ageplay tag turns you off, its transformers ageplay, pretending to be newly built, not a child. ageplay is a personal squick of mine so id been tentative myself when i first read it, but if its also a squick for you, i dont think this one crosses the line enough for it to get to me lol. ugh god i just love this fic so much. also, its PLUG N PLAY!!! my favorite :D its also the one where i got the idea for the thigh ports!! i think its been in plenty of other fics, ive read it elsewhere since then, but this was the first i had seen it like that. top tier fic

Every Wise Man's Son Doth Know by zuzeca: Megatron/Optimus Prime, IDW1. another absolute top tier, constantly rereading this one. i love optimus being a freak and wanting megatrons hands back on his spark. and i love how megatron is written here hes so...megatron. augh. ugh. i dont really have much else to say other than read it, old man ptsd yaoi real.

stitches to show something's missing by Llwy: Tarn/Pharma, IDW1. this is the only fic so far thats inspired me to write a sequel, i just could NOT get it out of my mind. pharma takes things into his own hands to stop the djd, then he takes things a step further, then too far. i really loved how this fic makes you think about the ethics of it all, and wonder at what point did it stop being about saving lives and start being about lording power over tarn for pharma. and tarn...TARN...i wish i could write another sequel or SOMETHING i want more in this series i really care about their tarn. i think hes written in a very fascinating way here, though if youre looking for canon-typical tarn, this isnt it.

Fragments by Graveyard: Brainstorm/Perceptor, IDW1. rated m for the body horror more than anything sexual, since its sparkplay. brainstorm makes a terrible mistake and nearly dies, perceptor saves his stupid ass, and brainstorm has a nearly-died epiphany. despite the grave circumstances its also a very funny fic lol just by virtue of the characters being who they are (its very in-character, which i love). and, ofc, i loooove body horror i love it so much, this one isnt too much body horror if it makes you squeamish but he does start to melt a little lol. enjoy!

Something, Anything by absolute_minimum: Prowl/Fortress Maximus, IDW1. prowl is lonely (what else is new) and wants fort max to beat the shit out of him. but also he wants him to fuck him. they both just want to feel something, but after an incident, max wants them to feel something Good. i really like this one, once again i think this is one that captures shit tier asshole prowl very well while still making him a sympathetic character, just as the comics do. and fort max is also so good in this, how angry he is versus how he will Not compromise his principles, and when theyre softer its just. urreghhgh i want a part two. actually i also wish Just For Tonight had a sequel too...i think. i want more fortprowl lmao

Ghost in the Machine by EatYourSparkOut: Bumblebee/Starscream, IDW1. bumblebee accidentally possesses starscream and they jack off. its a fun time. i really like the descriptions of fear and violation in this, how visceral starscreams reaction is but also how earnest bumblebee is like 'i Did Not mean to do that oh my god'. starbee my beloved you can pack so many issues in you

Tarnished Silver by spockandawe: Sunstreaker/Mirage, IDW1. do you know HOW hard it is to find good idw sunstreaker angst??? ITS HARD. it is so fucking hard. premise is that sunstreaker and mirage used to have their bdsm sessions before. well. the Everything happened, and theyre having their first one again after everythings changed. this one really nails the angst factor, i love that the whole time youre reading, you can feel the loss of things that used to be pleasurable to him before he went through everything that he did, and his guilt is just ridiculously palpable. mirage in this is great too, i like how, just like sunstreaker, there are moments where you really dont know what hes thinking, so when he reassures sunstreaker you as the reader feel it too. very good i love this one so much

Stress Test by 0 (only_elsewhere): Starscream/Bumblebee, TFRiD. i didnt think i would like starbee in RiD, nor did i think id like anything with heats, but i really like this fic!! its another one where they robotify a common trope (this one being heats) to make it work for transformers, and i just love how in-character both bumblebee and starscream are. bumblebee especially is really standout in this, hes just that perfect blend of cocky and sharp both in tongue and mind, while still being young and trying to hide the fact that hes not sure what the hell hes doing. stupid kidnapping, fuck or die, and the most horrible feeling for bumblebee of 'oh GOD no. do i LIKE him now???'. very fun read

What You Can Have by DesdemonaKaylose: Rung/Swerve, IDW1. id never seen this pairing before this! really interesting premise, rung is tired of nobody remembering him and never being noticed, and his only coping mechanism that works is basically letting anyone and everyone fuck him (but nobody remembers it anyways 😭). problem tho! swerve remembers seeing him get fucked, and cant get it out of his head. theres a specific line in this that i think about all the time, i reread it so much just to feel that gut punch again of That Line auuugh so good. please check out if you want to feel things about a ship you probably never considered

[driaswrld]

lovers rock — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 2.7k

summary : over a bottle of ill-gotten vodka, the trio has a tipsy conversation about kisses.

part of : the star paradox collection.

(comment if u wanna be tagged for tsr!!)

notes : this is heavily based off the fact that reader DID in fact have secret feelings for geto and gojo but never said anything ab it until before the star plasma incident (fic ab that coming soon dw) you may interpret this as reader fell first, they fell harder bcus that's exactly what happened fr

other : satosugu makes fake IDs (based off that one fanart), literally underage drinking??? toru cant hold his alc but wbk this, suguru smokes here too, suggestive convo, mentions of like one curse word i think

current casette : lovers rock - tv girl (anything by tv girl is a tsr song okay?)

The dorms at Tokyo Jujutsu High operate on one solid rule.

All lights out by ten, no exceptions, no buts, ands, ifs or becauses. Curfew is at ten, be in your damn room by ten.

Naturally, Satoru and Suguru mistake ten for twelve.

It’s 9:53 when you walk into your dorm room, and the first thing that greets you are hushed whispers and a smoky smell.

Why is it so dark in here?

From your place at the door frame, your eyes flit to the back of Satoru’s head, silver white strands tickling his nape, uniform replaced with a blue hoodie. Suguru’s sitting across from him, slouched, cross legged like Satoru, hair tied into a ponytail and lips twisted into a thin scowl.

“—wasn’t yours.” Suguru grumbles beneath his breath, a pair of dice clinking softly in his palm, the light from your bedside lamp giving you a sneak peek of the numbers resting.

Three and six. Oh, no, that's definitely five.

“Cost me six hundred yen to get it.”

Satoru seems to ignore him, letting out a huff in defiance.

Suguru grunts, leaning over the side of the bed to pick up a half smoked cigarette, pressing it softly against the edge of your favorite incense holder to collect the stray ash.

“Broke ass.” Satoru mumbles, and though you can’t see his expression from here, you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Freeloader.” Suguru counters, cigarette lodged between his middle and index, and he brings it up to his lips and draws in softly.

He leans forward to drop the dice on Satoru’s leg.

“We’re supposed to split it equally.” You hear a clinking noise coming from Satoru’s lap.

“Like hell we are.” Suguru scoffs, a wisp of smoke leaving his mouth.

“I should get first share, it’s only fair.”

Suguru gets up from the bed, back turned to you as he slides the window open halfway. “We’re not sharing anything.” He flicks the cigarette outside. “I don’t know where your mouth’s been—”

“You tryin’ to fight—”

“Are you two getting high in my room?” Your voice makes them both freeze, and Satoru folds over the bed backwards, head upside down and staring straight at you with a guilty grin, all while Suguru is discreetly trying to fan the rest of the cigarette smoke out the window.

“What gave you that idea?” Suguru murmurs, squinting his eyes to make out your expression in the dim light with a faux innocent smile.

You breathe a chuckle, dropping your bag by the door and clicking it shut behind you. “How did the studying with Nanamin go?” Satoru asks, as if you can’t see him folded over the bed like he’s hiding something while Suguru fans the smoke through the window.

“I fell asleep halfway through, we got boba with Haibara instead.” You say, feeling blindly on the wall for the light switch.

“And you didn’t bring some back for me?” Satoru gasps, near offended.

“Don't change the subject,” you roll your eyes, pinky finger bumping against the light switch, and you flick it upwards with your index. When the light comes on and you face them, your jaw drops.

“Surprise…?” Suguru’s cheeks puff up in a wide thin lipped smile, almost mockingly. Satoru is still hanging off the edge of the bed, cigarette ash curdled on your incense holder, the pair of dice laying on the bedsheets and sure, they kinda made a little mess of your room.

But it's the bottle of vodka sitting between Satoru’s legs that takes the cake.

“You have to be kidding me—”

Suguru shrugs his shoulders, sliding the window fully open, the night air wafting inside.

It's almost curfew. And here they are. You're not even surprised, this is totally in character for them. “Wow, no, Satoru, you're such a rebel?” Satoru kicks his legs back and forth, voice mimicking a girly pitch. “Bad boys are so hot! Tell me all your secrets, toru-kun! None of that?"

“I was there too, idiot.” Suguru grumbles, shoving one of Satoru's legs aside as he steps over to the bedside table to grab the ash covered incense holder.

Satoru flails his legs like Suguru just smacked him, ever so dramatically. “How did you do it though?” You ask, with a near wince, exasperated but curious.

Unexpectedly, Satoru swings the vodka bottle sideways and into Suguru’s arms, the glass making a soft set of clink! sounds from Suguru’s rings as he catches it, both your eyes going wide as Satoru stands on the bed, striking some sort of elaborate pose.

“The date, June fifteenth ‘06—”

You turn to Suguru, confused but he only shrugs in response. “My assistant Sugi-san and I walked into Shinanoya—” Satoru continues his elaborate presentation, meanwhile you and Suguru whisper between his words. "Never call me that again—"

“So that's what you two were doing while you were supposed to be exorcising that curse?”

“He forced me to go along—”

“With these!” Satoru pulls out a mini plastic card, which is supposed to look like an ID, but really it's as flimsy as a piece of paper. You had to admit though, they really did get his good side in the picture. If he even has a bad side, that is.

“And we got the liquor at half price.” Suguru mumbles as you nudge him, and he pulls out his own fake ID, which looks the same as Satoru’s — you think you might want to print these pictures for a scrapbook or something some other time.

“I thought you said it was six hundred yen!”

“I added my service charge.”

“Service? What are you, a whore?”

You take the bottle from Suguru to feel the weight in your hands, and the liquid inside sloshes a little to the side.

Out of sheer curiosity and despite your better senses, you mumble, “Let's play a drinking game then.”

Forty minutes later.

It's drawing near to eleven. The lights are turned off and all that's coming from your dorm room are the sounds of yours and the boys’ whispers and hushed giggles from time to time, barely drowned out by a soft song playing from Suguru’s phone, playlist laying open on his phone, one of Satoru’s picks.

Are you sick of me?

Would you like to be?

“—turn it to your head if you can't answer.” Satoru grins, cheek resting on his palm as he lays across the bed. “Have you ever gotten freaky with a milf?”

A chortle leaves your mouth when Suguru twists his lips into an expression of shock and utter disgust, and you have to cover your mouth to not laugh out loud.

“A milf? Like… forty or something?”

“Not really — just like a hot older woman.” You say.

“Oh, she was around that age then, I guess…” Suguru grumbles, clutching the half empty vodka bottle in one hand, eyes squinted. “I didn't sleep with her though— I don't just… sling dick around like Satoru— I have morals.”

“Says the one who sucked tongue with an elderly woman.”

Suguru scoffs and takes a swig from the bottle, passing it over to you.

You shrug, coming to Suguru’s defense with a mumble. “I mean, Satoru… you are common—”

“Don't pretty it up, he's ran through—”

“Like hell I am!”

The three of you fold over in a fit of laughter, gasping for air, faces hot from the alcohol and the sheer idiocy of the moment.

It takes all your energy to muffle your combined laughs, and Satoru leans over Suguru’s phone to increase the music volume just a little, lightheaded and nearly knocking the vodka out of your hand, mouthing the lyrics with a lopsided toothy grin.

You like a pretty boy

With a pretty voice

“Your turn.” Suguru nods to you and the liquor in your hand sloshes to the side. “Make it good—”

Satoru tries to interrupt but has to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh when you take a whiff of the vodka, head tilting back and mouth forming an ‘o’ shape — sure, you three were already a little tipsy, but you’re pretty sure this is way past your limit.

Not like you could hold your alcohol anyway.

Suguru was the only one who could survive, you and Satoru were certified lightweights by default.

“Dare me to do anything and I’ll throw up on you.” You huff, and both boys raise their arms up in surrender.

It’s these things, small moments like these that make you want to live forever.

Minus the aging part, or maybe with the aging part — if it meant doing stupid stuff with Satoru and Suguru, young or old, you’re sure you’d have no complaints.

Because it’s them.

“You scared?” Satoru chuckles, drawing you out of your thoughts.

The way he says it, in that tone – it’s the same tone that would make you follow him anywhere.

The same tone that makes Suguru roll his eyes so far in the back of his head you’d think he had a leading role in The Conjuring.

“Should I be scared?”

It’s paired with bated breath, and the way Suguru looks up at you, dark eyes glazed over with a hint of inebriation, waterline bordering on crimson from the lit cigarette tucked between his middle and index – it makes you feel naked.

In a way you’ve never felt before.

“That depends,” he murmurs. You gulp. It’s like the air in here has changed, foggy with a foreign feeling surrounding you three. “Do you wanna be scared?”

Suguru takes a deep inhale of his cig, leaning over to breathe out a plume of smoke. You and Satoru inhale it like you’ve neglected oxygen your whole lives.

Maybe if it were anyone else you’d call it want. Or need.

Something in your soul tells you it transcends that.

She might want a kiss before the end of the song—

“Suguru—” His name doesn't get the chance to leave your mouth entirely, Satoru’s thumb and forefinger already have your chin in his grasp, turning your gaze to him instead.

“What’re you looking at him for?” Satoru mumbles, and you hear Suguru stifles a laugh across from you.

“You think he’s gonna save you?”

You want to laugh, it’s a running joke anyway.

No matter what, you run to Suguru to put Satoru in his place. That time Satoru got you kicked out of a movie theater, or the time Satoru tripped you up during a mission in front of the first years, or the time Satoru ate the cheesecake you hid in your mini fridge —

Whenever little name gets her strings pulled by Satoru, she goes running off for Suguru to save her, right?

But it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about that.

“You need me to save you, name?” Suguru chuckles, and from the corner of your eye, you see him pull his hair loose, dark strands cascading over his shoulders.

“Gonna let him call you weak like that?” He chides, and the cool pad of Satoru’s thumb taps against your bottom lip twice, as if challenging you to say something – to give him your attention instead.

“Nah, don’t need a hero.” You whisper, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Toru might though.”

Suguru bites back a snicker, head tilting back as he draws in another inhale of smoke. “Aw, don’t bully him, name.”

Because love can burn

Like a cigarette

“C’mon, don’t look at him,” Satoru tilts your head in his grasp, a soft grin forming on his face, dimples on showcase. “Look at me.” He whispers, tugging you closer, and you have to tighten your grip on the neck of the bottle so it doesn’t slip, your palms sweating from the proximity.

“Satoru—”

“Don’t double back now, you laughed a bit too hard at me just now, y’know?”

You open your mouth to protest, shivering when the tip of your tongue grazes the pad of his thumb. Satoru makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a groan and a scoff.

You wonder if the vodka made you imagine the way his pupils dilated. “Just ask the stupid question—” You try to turn your head away in vain, and this time, Suguru laughs at your expense.

“You ever been kissed before?”

And leave you with nothing

You stiffen, gaze snapping up to meet Satoru’s, only to find him dead serious.

Ofcourse you’ve been kissed before. But not like that— not like—

Like… oh no…

And if you start to kiss—

You bring the bottle of vodka to your lips, and both boys watch with amused gazes, and hint of something you don’t have a name for yet.

“You could’ve just—” Satoru’s hand falls loose over your shoulder as you take a swig, and Suguru shifts forward in curiosity. “—said no.”

“Nobody’s kissed you?” Suguru echoes and you grimace from the alcohol and the sheer embarrassment, shoving the open bottle to stand in the space between Satoru’s legs.

“Your turn,” you grumble, wiping remnants of the sweet liquor from your mouth with the back of your palm.

And the record skips—

Satoru and Suguru exchange a look, one you immediately assume is them reading each other’s minds and gearing up to laugh in your face.

Truly, you wouldn’t blame them — because here you are about to graduate in a year and still haven’t gotten your first kiss.

And it’s not like you haven’t like… gotten close to it— it’s just that the circumstances are never perfect and other things always get involved and you get all in your head and your mind just starts to do the thing—

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, and your palms go clammy, folded over your lap. “We don’t care about it, it’s nothing.” He whispers.

“Pretty sure there’s nobody who even deserves to kiss you anyway.” You glance over to Suguru, who���s already outing his cigarette and scooting closer.

Flip it over

And sit a little closer

If anything, it makes you swell with shame rather than comfort.

“Not like that, I didn’t mean—”

“Great job, Suguru—”

“As if you were doing any better—”

And despite yourself, you chuckle. They’re idiots. God, they’re fools.

Now, how many men have you kissed?

Satoru’s fingers dip under the collar of your shirt, playing around with the loose thread.

They made you laugh, that’s enough for him, always has been. He knows Suguru feels the same, but why… why doesn’t he feel satisfied with just that? Like there's something else he should be doing?

“Not fair,” he mumbles beneath his breath, cheeks flushed as he slumps forward, resting his head in the crook of your neck. You think he might be past his drinking limit, he always gets all babbly like this when he is.

“Not fair?” Suguru questions, resting a hand over his knee.

“Yeah, ‘s just not fair — who wouldn’t wanna kiss her?”

“I’m literally right here—”

“Keep listening then, it’s not like I’m lying or nothing.”

You’re not strong like Satoru and Suguru.

You’d say you’re not as beautiful either, or eve half as smart sometimes – you never compare yourselves to them but in the great grand scheme of things— you’ve never wanted to be kissed anyway, not by anyone you don’t feel for.

Not by someone who doesn’t know you in the ways you don’t want to be known.

Very few

In the way you know Satoru hates alcohol, but he only ever drinks it when you and Suguru are around. The way Suguru never likes taking pictures but manages a smile when you and Satoru pull him in for a group photo.

“If I kissed you, I’d never stop.” Suguru breathes, laying back on the bed, rumble of a sigh leaving his lips.

But you offered me a kiss

In the way they both know what you’re thinking before you even say it. The way grocery runs, 24 hour mart stops, week long missions, midnight talks, belly laughs and breaching curfew feels like a love language – something only the three of you speak – like something so foreign yet so familiar.

Why?

“I don’t think I’d remember to breathe again if I kissed you.” Satoru grumbles in the crook of your neck, somewhere between a yawn and whine. “You could have anyone you want, name, a whole line full of kisses…”

“Never really wanted to be kissed to be honest,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, your eyelids drooping shut.

Such a foolish reason, I’m afraid.

I just wanted… to kiss you.

[maruyaaya]

some of my random neomachus headcanons bc i think abt them a lot while writing and sometimes just scrawl random notes like these in my notes app

neo is two years older than telemachus (it’s so hard to put greek mythology on a timeline but the way it makes the most sense to me is that achilles and deidamia have neo when achilles is 15 and then 2 years later, the trojan war starts and 17 year old achilles and 18/19 year old patroclus go to war. telemachus is born at round the start of the trojan war since he is 20 when odysseus returns and his journey took 20 years. so in the war’s tenth year, neo is 12 and telemachus is 10. so in my neomachus fic, neo is 22 and telemachus is 20)

neo is taller. neo has his father’s build so he’s tall and lean like achilles. i think telemachus takes after odysseus' height and he's rather short (still a little bit taller than odysseus though)

both neo and telemachus look like their fathers but with their mothers colourings. neo has deidamia’s red hair but achilles’ hazel eyes. telemachus has penelope’s blue eyes but odysseus’ brown hair.

sparring is their love language. neo wins nearly every single time, but it's a way for them to show affection

telemachus is a words of affirmation love language while neo is an acts of service love language

telemachus is really into physical touch. he’ll just randomly put his arm around neo’s shoulders or something like that and neo will fucking blue screen

modern au neo only listens to like mcr and føb. telemachus is a paramore stan. if they were on stantwt, they would hate each other—they'd get into so many stan wars and they'd be pqrting each other with death threats. telemachus would probably write a cancel thread on neo. then they'd fall in love and e-date

neo is surprisingly clingy and jealous. he def has attachment issues so whenever he sees telemachus getting along with someone (which is often bc telemachus is very charismatic and likeable), he starts to get all huffy and pouty. i think they'd probably fight over this bc telemachus hates it when neo is jealous, but neo can't help it

they bond over daddy issues. both of them had absent fathers and they love to talk shit abt their dads (they do love their dads, but sometimes it's aggravating)

neo is the epitome of guard dog privilege. he has resting bitch face and he constantly looks like he has murder on the mind. nobody dares to approach him and telemachus when neo is scowling

neo is very musically inclined while telemachus is tone deaf and it is the funniest thing ever to me. i imagine nobody has ever told telemachus that he's tone deaf so he honestly has no idea. neo will never ever tell him

on the other hand, i imagine telemachus being artistically inclined while neo cannot even draw a stick figure. idk i just really love the idea of them both being talented in different art forms. i think telemachus would be pretty good at writing as well, but he has godawful printing while neo has small, neat printing

telemachus is very charismatic while neo is very socially awkward and struggles with social cues. telemachus likes to fuck with him and tease him because neo is very oblivious. neo will never pick up on telemachus’ flirting. he has to hear I Am In Love With You in order to understand that telemachus is seriously flirting with him

TELEMACHUS IS SO TOTALLY A BOOK LOVER he reads like 100 books a year and he loves to read every genre though he particularly loves fantasy as well as litfic. if this is a modern au, i feel like neo is not a reader but instead is a film snob. they’re the goodreads x letterboxd dynamic

speaking of, telemachus would totally be a horror enjoyer to me. he just finds it so fun. i think neo also enjoys horror but not as much as telemachus

SO MANY OF THESE HAVE BEEN MODERN AU IM SORRY idk i just really love thinking abt modern au headcanons those are so fun ok ill leave this at that for now

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 7

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Your body is stiff. You blame your late-night drawing session hunched over the folding table. You feel it in your neck and shoulder. You sit up and groan, rubbing your muscles as you try to loosen the knots. You roll your arms as you stand up, yawning as you rub your eyes. 

A dewy breeze flows in. The air feels like rain but the density has yet to break. You remember vaguely in the middle of the night cracking the window to cool off, your room stagnant and stale. 

You near the window in your baggy shirt, dampened slightly with your sweat. It’s caught under your chest as you bulge against the fabric. You pull it free as you stand in front of the pane and blanch as you see movement on the other side. Shoot. 

Your eyes meet Steve’s as he closes the window across from yours. He can feel the approaching storm too. He smiles and gives a two-fingered wave. You lift your hand weakly, barely extending your fingers before you tug shut the curtains. How much did he see? How much could he see? 

You go out to get the day started. The overhead light of kitchen blares yellow across the space and you put the coffee pot on to brew. As you wait, you tidy the table, once more cluttered with your mother’s forgotten distractions. The crossword book, several pens, a home magazine, and several wrappers. 

You slow the pour of coffee into your mug as you hear your mom’s bedroom door. You stare at the doorway until she appears. She limps to the table and sits heavily. You put the cup before her and grab another for yourself. She mutters and leans her head in her hand. She was home late last night. 

You go to grab her inhaler from the bathroom. Once more, it’s missing. You return and find it on the counter hidden beside a used plate. It's only then you notice the blackened frozen fries on the cookie sheet. What the heck? 

“Ugh, that man,” she croaks, letting it roll into a laugh, “he convinced me to have a little wine after the milkshake.” You put her inhaler in front of her. She raises her head and scowls. She rubs the furrow between her brows. “And then another. And another.” 

You don’t even remember her getting home. You were up until one in the morning drawing. She must have been much later. How hadn’t you heard her make all this mess? 

You sip your coffee around cleaning up. You wash the glass from the milkshake Steve brought over and set it aside. Your mother hacks and clears her throat. 

“Mm, he’s too nice,” she mutters, “told him you didn’t need that. Too much sugar. You don’t even like strawberry.” 

You hide your frown. You like strawberry. You’re not sure why she thinks otherwise. She’s never really asked. 

“I’ll bring the glass back--” 

“You remember your manners,” she girds before she hums into her coffee cup. She gulps through her wet lips noisily. “I don’t need you ruining this.” 

“I will, mom.” 

“Ugh,” she stands up with a groan, “I need my chair.” 

Her hand trembles and the cup with it. She spills a little over the sides but doesn’t pay attention to it. You dump the tray of burnt fries and put it in the sink. You just cleaned this place top to bottom. You don’t think you’re that messy but it’s always a disaster. 

You clean the rest of the dishes and put them away. Your mom hollers for more coffee and you bring the pot with you to refill her cup. She leans it on her chest and closes her eyes. 

“I’m going to take the glass back now, I guess.” 

“Mph, do whatever,” she utters irritably. 

You trod back to your room and change into real clothes; straight-legged jeans and a stripped jersey tee. You just want to get this over with. It’s so awkward. You would rather your mom just take it back the next time she goes over but she’s in rough shape. It must be the alcohol. She’s not really supposed to have any. 

You grab the glass and put on your shoes. As you come out, there’s a speckling of rain falling from the sky. You go up the walk and around the sidewalk, coming back down the pavement squares to Steve’s porch. You stop and look up at his front door. You climb the steps and drag your feet to the door. 

You tap the bell. It’s one of those ones with the camera built-in. You feel overly conscious as you stand before the lens. The door opens before you can prepare yourself. 

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve greets, “how are you?” 

“Erm. Okay. Here.” 

You hold out the glass. He doesn’t take it. He leans on the doorframe and smile. 

“Crummy day, huh? Supposed to thunderstorm soon,” he comments, “too bad, I was really wanting to get that pool going.” 

“Mm, yeah,” you keep the glass raised before you. 

“Oh well, guess I’ll have to figure out what to do all pent up. Maybe a movie night? With all this moving, I’m way behind.” 

You look at his chest, staring at the short-sleeved button up with chagrin. What is he talking about? Why is he talking so much? 

“You got any suggestions? You youngins always know what’s hip,” he shakes his head and laughs, “sorry, I sound old, don’t I?” 

“No,” you answer dully. 

“No what? No suggestions or no I don’t sound old?” He challenges. 

Your eyes go round and you look him in the face. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m teasing--” 

“Here,” you wiggle the glass at him. 

He takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. You let it go and recoil. You bare your teeth strangely and back away, “thanks, er. Bye.” 

You turn and cringe at the grey sky. You trudge off the porch and cut across the lawn, too mortified not to trod over his grass. You clamber up the front steps and quickly shut yourself inside the house. You hiss at yourself as you press your back to the door. 

“Don’t slam the goddamn door,” your mother sneers, “Jesus. No wonder this place is falling apart.” 

🏠

It’s one of those days where you’re just sad. You can’t pinpoint why. It’s just a vague malaise that won’t leave. Even as the sun beams and deepens to a soft evening hue, you can’t see a light among the dark. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been like that. Under your covers, crying for no good reason. It just hurts to be. You keep your arm folded over your pounding head. You just want to sleep and yet you can’t cross the barrier into unconscious. 

You give up and roll onto your back, pulling the blanket to your waist. You exhale and stare up at the ceiling. You’re head swims from the deluge of tears. You sop them up with the sheet and sit up. Your head is full and throbbing. 

You get up, bleary-eyed, and muddle your way through reality. You pull open your door and find the bathroom on instinct alone. You shut yourself in and blow your nose. The effort has you even more dizzy. You shake your head, trying to clear out the fog, and turn on the cold water. You throw it across your face, holding a wet palm to your forehead to try to ease the tension. 

Your ears tickle with a strange noise. A low drone. Like bass on the front television. Now and again, your mom will amp up the TV but it’s unexpectedly loud. You twist off the faucet and stand straight. You dry off and head back into the hall, peering down at the shifting light glaring from the living room doorway. 

“Woahhh,” the voice catches you unaware as someone collides with you from behind in the dim hallway. You stumble and turn to face Steve as popcorn scatters onto the floor, tumbling over the brim of the bowl. The smell tugs at your stomach, “sorry sweetie, I didn’t see you there.” 

You look at his silhouette, unable to make out any of his features. You didn’t even know he was there. Your mother didn’t even warn you. You suspect that may have been purposeful. 

“Sweetie?” 

“Sorry,” you back up, “didn’t mean... to get in the way.” 

You turn and shuffle back to your room. He follows, “your mom said you weren’t feeling good. Hope you get better soon, but if you’re interested, we’re watching a movie.” 

Your bedroom door is wide open. If you’d known, you would’ve been sure to shut it tight. 

“No, thank you,” you grab the handle and slowly shift the door behind you. 

“No problem,” he calls after you, “offer stands if you change your mind.” 

You click the door shut gently and stay on the other side, listening for his footsteps. He lingers, a bit too long, and it’s only as he walks away that you go back to your bed. There’s something strange about him. Or maybe it’s just you. 

[nights-at-crystarium]

Fragments - episodes 41-46 author notes

You can find similar breakdown posts on older episodes in my pinned!

Get comfy and reread with me the finale of the Il Mheg arc and the intro of a certain loser.

First off, I wanna emphasize how important this arc’s for Vivi. Had he not liked Il Mheg in general and Feo Ul in particular, the rest of the story would play out very differently, and not in favor of the sundered. His initial positive impression of the First is pretty much the only thing that saves it.

We've reached a high, physically and emotionally. You know what that means, as per the shb rollercoaster rule :>

Pan pride pixie blesses Thancred, ca. 2024, colorized. I accidentally gave them the pan colors but hey it works. ALSO! Stars in his eyes.

Re: distant nightmare, I’ll let you in on a secret, or a third party perspective if you will. Vivi's full of shit, he's too focused on the big picture. He’s narrating this whole story, but his perspective is, well, just that.

Initially this was Vivi's inner monologue, then I thought that I should just let them talk, and it wrote itself.

More under the cut~

Drawing a buncha vivi-lookalikes that act soooooorta but not really like him, just slightly off, was a surprisingly fun exercise.

Luckily for Thancred, though, he sniffs out the pixie magic, and knows better than indulging them.

...Still, what a shitty fucked up day. Sorry, Thancred :’>

This here’s an example of a moment where I’m uncertain if I’m being too subtle and if this flies over some readers’ heads. He refers to Alisaie’s “job” of dragging Vivi back to msq, which she recently started lowkey dreading (episodes 32-33)

...Though she goes back to her “duty” in episode 43.

She's pointedly SILENT throughout the episode, doing her best to hold back.

Thancred's a man who can say no to begging dogs.

Gridania mention! Vivi’s gridanian! He never speaks ill of the elementals, he's wary of them even a world apart.

This pixie's life is something Feo Ul's willing to sacrifice. Episodes 42-43 tell this story in reverse order, yes this’s the pixie that was supposed to agree with Thancred and go with the Scions to the Crystarium.

As to why there’s a dozen of vivis popping up as a backup: they needed just one fake Vivi to go with the Scions, but try organizing the pixies. Their plan’s already failed when this first pixie-Vivi refused to play their part.

“Yeah no, our guy’s special, but not as special as to explode in confetti”

I love his first ingame appearance in that Varis cutscene, this moment has similar energy: barely enters the stage, instantly gets impaled on a long object. This’s not foreshadowing, no, why would you think that-

The “camera” is perfectly still, there’s even some symmetry, demonstrating how calm and prepared Emet is. He didn’t expect much and he’s still disappointed.

This’s a super old comic. I spent the first half of 2022 testing and trying to find a style for Fragments, back then I had no plans, none, zero, absolutely no interest to give Emet a role bigger than a mention. The earliest version of the script had very few Emet scenes, which, looking back on it, was gonna be a disservice to his character. Well, that changed rapidly in late 2023 when I fell for him so hard that I broke my neck, and now I look back on a lot of what I did with Vivi with new eyes. THE EYEROLL. After spending two years developing a guy for a fun wolgraha chemistry (at the same time I was perfectly aware that Exarch and Emet are foils. I made a foil for Exarch, what on earth did I expect-), I’m going through a mindblow after mindblow as I realize HOW GOOD VIVI IS FOR EMET (and vice versa ofc) and how many things they have in common. This wasn’t always the case, Vivi just gradually got more cynical, tired, ✨grey✨ and everything else that makes a guy consider hitting it with The Other Old Man.

They’re off to a great start.

From Emet’s pov, this must really hurt, as in how many other shards of Azem might’ve snarled at him like this. Even though he must be numb to it by now, who says that there isn’t the tiniest flicker of hope when he approaches yet another not-Azem. He may deny and hate and try to snuff out that spark, but the fatal Soulmate Magnet keeps doing its thing.

Parallels to episode 2.

Apparently, Vivi’s first reaction to encountering his to-be-most-prominent boyfriends is to attack them somehow.

This’s really, REALLY dumb of him, and he even comments on it shortly after. But yes, his isekai tale in the First was rather pleasant just until now, and it lulled him into the false sense of security. OF COURSE there are ascians everywhere, not just on the Source. Vivi just forgor.

Emet tests Vivi's reactions to insults/being treated as a lesser, silliness, flirt.

I regret to inform you that both Vivi and Alisaie have been disarmed so easily. The tone quickly shifts, the weapon’s lowered.

Alisaie makes bad puns/jokes in canon, I thought it'd fit if she laughed at that kinda jokes too, and in the least fitting situations, to top it off. Alphinaud’s disappointed, even if he can hardly be called an expert in humor.

“It’s up to you”. Emet stops fooling around, assuming a more serious tone. He may not respect Vivi or his agency here, but he provides him with a choice that's guaranteed to give him some trust points, and uses "we" for an illusion of unity/equality, a not really subtle nudge towards cooperation, it's not me vs you anymore, it's "us".

Whether Vivi picks up on the manipulation or not remains to be seen, but Emet gets his way here.

Forgive me this lil tangent, but I’m so giddy and excited to write Emet. If Exarch’s decently emotionally intelligent but still obtuse at times, Vivi’s a tier or two above him, he’s not a stranger to manipulation, he registers it being used on him, and doesn’t hesitate to use it too when it suits his fancy. He's quite good at people-ing. Emet, though, Emet’s THE emotional intelligence personified. He’s had literal thousands of years to practice, he leaves everyone else in the dust in this regard. It’s daunting but so exciting to write him, I hope to do him justice.

Let’s just talk.

𝓛𝓮𝓽’𝓼 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴.

Mark this moment, remember this line for meme value. If these last words aren't famous yet, they WILL become that when we see what they talk their way into <w<

Yes I'm going all in on tragic irony of Emet's situation.

Accidental Emet rp, with the hunching over and all. Or maybe Vivi already unwittingly mirrors him. Or maybe he always did- *kicked and dumped in the trash bin*

Man. I'm guilty of enjoying drawing Vivi in genuine distress. He’s so fun when he’s agitated.

Hidden Angst Time! It's all hehe haha until you realize that this might be a product of the hectic wol lifestyle forcing him to speedrun his emotions like this. Either speedrun, or be left with no opportunity to process them at all.

Also, the sandwiches! The framing’s deliberate, they’re on the foreground all the time, and Vivi only notices them in the very last panel.

I! Love! This! Face!!!!!! A rare neutral, relaxed, thoughtful face, he isn't performing for anyone here.

Nevermind Ardbert getting brutally ignored here x’D

The fact that a guy that Vivi had briefly considered as partner material shut himself away in the Crystal Tower for what could be the rest of his life has stuck with Vivi for good. Or should I say for bad. He might not necessarily care about ARRRaha, still it upsets him that he kissed someone who practically killed himself some days later.

I recently talked a lil more about the Bitchless Liar. This’s how Vivi remembers him forever, take it or leave it. But hey, this cool Exarch guy has big balls probably <- in-universe hc \o/

This episode taught me to draw BREAD.

Even though Exarch’s been nothing but sweet so far, one thing’s to acknowledge a fact with your brain, another thing’s to wrestle with your trauma and paranoia that have all rights to exist and fester. Ever since HW Vivi doesn’t accept food and drinks from anyone except the few trusted sources. This isn’t really covered in this episode, but hopefully hinted at just enough.

He takes a leap of faith. Or maybe he’s simply sick and tired of living Like This. Maybe sandwiches kill him, and he doesn’t really mind. And, when they don’t, he goes through a visible shift in attitude towards Exarch, as we’re able to see in the following episodes.

This’s all I’ve got for now, thanks for reading till the end~

[thr0wnawayy]

How Corrupt Is Hero Society?. Part 2

Nomu and Endeavor, a cause for concern

To add to the today's chatter about Endeavor and his excessive force and how that applies to the rest of MHA's "heroics". I'd like to point something out

It has always been this way

Excessive violence against Nomu isn't anything new, ever since Hori downgraded them into punching bags so the audience wouldnt question the morality of it all.

It does, however bring into light just how desensitized Hero Society is, how they view villains and may display some quirk-ism. Allow me to elaborate.

To the publics knowledge this is a PERSON.

The general public, hell most heroes. Had no fucking clue what a Nomu was. To their knowledge this was just someone with a heavy mutation quirk.

And they just, carry on.

Endeavor's gut instinct here was to burn his head off to stop him from regenerating and no one bats an eye.

But don't worry it gets worse.

Gran Torino is someone the community has dug into countless times for his attitudes towards Shigaraki and belief that "killing is another way to save"

So when Torino does this:

it doesn't really help his case, especially when Endeavor tried to kill that Nomu prior to this by incinerating him alive (almost killing 2 civilians. But I'll get to that)

Such a move would at the very least, sever someone's spine rendering them paralyzed for life. While I can see what Torino was trying to do, the ends do not justify the means here.

I'm not saying the Nomu are innocent, but it's blatantly obvious that they should be aiming to detain them rather than resorting to lethal force right away.

The worst part is the public has no reaction to this. No one asks anything and the authorities sure as hell aren't telling them squat.

We see it again during the Hood Fight and what's worse is that Hood can talk, bringing into question of how sapient is Hood.

Again Endeavor incinerates the Villain and no questions are asked.

Alright remember what I said about the two civilians?. well it gets worse, Firstly, they didn't even know if they were alright until near the end of the Hosu Incident, just letting them run off.

After Endeavor recklessly unleashes a wall of flame, the Nomu absorbs it and processed to reflect the same attack.

(on a second note: Torino and Enji even refer to the Nomu as if they were fighting a Human!?)

What does this mean?. Well that Enji ran into that fight without thinking!.

He didn't even so much as think up a strategy (just like a certain blonde we all know and despise) for what would happen if the opponent just, didn't die.

In Vigilantes he opts to bathe an entire city block in fire because he can't find the Villain (6)

He creates a fucking fire tornado with no thought for collateral damage

(The reactions of his sidekicks concern me, though knowing how Burnin' reacted to Dabi's exposé I'm not suprised.)

Given that he's this destructive and openly antagonistic in public, I don't even want to imagine the state Rei was in after every "training session" spent protecting Shoto.

This is why looking back, I can't say I'm suprised how some of the civilians dove back into worshipping heroes, even after Hawks killed a man and Heroes left them to fend for themselves.

Because as the saying goes

A bird stuck in a cage believes flying to be an illness

_______________________________________

Additional Info:

As pointed out by @gecmi09 (thank you for bringing that up), Endeavor did indeed refer to Crawler and Popstep as villains, as seen here:

I'd like to draw attention to the fact that he is drawn in a similar manner to Number Six, who is also often drawn in a silhouetted fashion, especially when his true colors are exposed.

The two characters are ironically very similar. Both are willing to resort to destructive means if it means achieving their goals.

Both willingly hurt those around/close them and use flawed logic in an attempt to justify their actions.

Both pretend to be something/someone they're not

Both of them brought about their own demise through one of their victims (Dabi and Knuckleduster [who took in Koichi] respectively. Though Six's was more indirect.)

Even though Vigilantes is loosely attached to MHA, I find it interesting that these two characters are so similar. Really makes you think.

[gravehags]

the burn between our hearts

Pairing: Ghouls/Ghoulettes x f!Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: ghouls doing ghoul shit, depression, tender emotions, surprise papa

Words: 2,524

Summary: You have never felt so lost, so empty before, and you are unsure if what's wrong with you can ever be fixed.

a/n: THIS IS IT the final installment of the ghoul bicycle series. I have had so much fun writing this and who knows, might be tempted to write a little more if inspiration strikes me. See end of post for another note.

~~~

33 days.

It’s been 33 days since you’ve seen or heard from any of the ghouls.

You spent the first two and a half weeks of that in your room, sobbing wildly in bed while Sister Marguerite sat next to you rubbing your back and murmuring words of comfort to you. Truth be told, the steady presence of the middle-aged sister provided a warmth that you desperately needed. She never spoke ill of the ghouls and what they had done to you, instead telling you to be patient. That the Unholy Father always provides. That there’s always more to a bad situation than it seems. All difficult words for you to believe when your heart had been shattered the day after you had left Aurora’s room. Your mind was torn - on one hand you had come to expect this: being cast aside once they were done using you. On the other hand…you really thought you had something special with them. From your first time with Swiss to your last time with Aurora and every interaction with every ghoul in between, you felt like you were finally home. That you had finally found your place in the Ministry, by their sides.

Or not.

After most of your tears dry and your depression lets up to the point where you can leave your bed, you become angry. Fucking infuriated. Even before they were your lovers, they were your friends. And they just ditch you and act like you don’t even fucking exist anymore? Fuck that. One evening, you get so mad you stride down to the ghoul den and begin banging on their bedroom doors, cussing and cursing their names. How dare they treat you like you’re disposable? But that’s been the story of your whole life, you suppose. Everyone gets tired of you eventually. With one last slam of your fist against the wall, hard enough to bruise and shake Cumulus’ door, your tears begin to slip out once more.

“FUCK YOU!” you shout, unsuccessfully holding back a sob. The silence in the corridor is deafening so you turn on your heel and leave without a glance backwards. You don’t see the door at the end of the hall cracking open and eyes watching you go.

You return to your chores in the abbey, ignoring the sneers and dirty glances your fellow siblings give you. You’re well aware you’ve been a nuisance to everyone, being holed up in your room and shirking your duties, and you're wracked with guilt. Sister Marguerite assures you sweetly that it’s okay, everyone goes through rough spells and your absence hasn’t caused any undue burden on the rest of the siblings but you have a hard time believing her. You attend your duties but without any real life in your eyes or spring in your step. When you cry, silently, every once in a while, your sniffles draw rolled eyes and scoffs. The siblings don’t say a word to you, until one day, the dam breaks. You’re in the library and let out a small, embarrassing sob as you shelve a book on love magic when a loud slam echoes throughout the library.

“You are so fucking ridiculous, do you know that?”

You don’t realize she’s talking to you until you turn slightly and see her searing gaze. It’s Sister Tamsin. You don’t know her - not really - but she’s well-liked by a lot of people in the abbey. She’s never spoken to you before this and you frantically wipe your tears as she walks closer to you. A small crowd has been attracted to the two of you now, multiple pairs of eyes shifting between you both.

“Acting this way because of the fucking ghouls. Like you’re supposed to be special or some bullshit. Honey, the ghouls fuck everyone. They can’t help themselves. All of us have had a ghoul proposition us at some point, you’re just the only one stupid enough to fall for it. They’re nothing but fucking animals–”

“They are not animals,” you say loudly in a shaky voice but Tamsin isn’t done berating you.

“--oh look at that! She finally uses her mouth to speak instead of just opening it for ghoul cock and cunt. Go on, sweetheart. Tell us all how those beasts love you so much. Their little whore. Their–”

The slap echoes throughout the large room, but both your hands remain clenched into fists by your sides. Looming over Tamsin’s doubled-over form is Sister Marguerite, looking like fury personified in her neat habit.

“You little cunt,” Marguerite spits, causing your eyebrows to raise. You’ve never heard her swear before. “You know just as well as everyone else in this room - in this whole abbey - how sacred the ghouls are. Summoned by our own Papa from the realm of the Unholy Father to help him spread the word of our ministry. And you dare defile their name - and the name of those they have chosen - for petty cruelty? You are nothing, Tamsin. A jealous little gnat. And rest assured, Papa will be hearing about this.”

No one in the room is stunned quite as much as you as Marguerite abandons the red-faced, humiliated Tamsin in order to come to your side and escort you out of the room with her arm firmly planted across your lower back. When you finally step out of the library, she shuts the door firmly behind her and grabs your biceps, pulling you into a hug.

“Enough is enough,” she murmurs, rubbing your back. “I’m relieving you of your duties for the day. Take care, hon. Go back to your room. I’ll be having a word with our Papa.”

With one last squeeze she hustles down the hall, skirts flying and you’re left shell-shocked in the empty corridor. You rub at your eyes with the heels of your hands before doing as she requested.

Three days pass.

Three days and not a single soul dares look at you sideways let alone speak to you. You notice, with a twisted sense of satisfaction, that Tamsin is nowhere to be found. Not in the library, not in the gardens - you haven’t seen her at mass or in the dining hall. When you quietly ask Marguerite about her she just gives you a beatific smile and says, “she’s no longer a problem for you.” Something within you warns you not to inquire further so instead you go back to your normal life. After you finish a shift in the kitchens for the evening, you step out into the cloisters and head for a small courtyard you enjoy. You plop down onto a stone bench with a heaving sigh, trying to ignore the constant ache in your heart as you breathe in the evening air.

“Is this seat taken?”

Your head whips to the side and when you see a figure dressed in a red tracksuit and the earnest face of Papa Emeritus IV you jump up.

“Papa!” you gasp, curtsying before him. “I–no! Please, sit.”

He lowers himself next to you, putting his gloved hands on his thighs and taking a deep breath.

“Nice out, eh?” he asks quietly. You’ve never seen Papa like this - out of the majority of his papal paints and elaborate robes - and you certainly have never spoken to him in conversation like this.

“Beautiful,” you say, folding your hands in your lap. His eyes lower to watch you rub your fingers anxiously and worry at your cuticles. Gently, he reaches over and places a hand over yours.

“I know you’ve been hurting, sorella,” he murmurs, thumb grazing over your knuckles.

“You…you do?” All of a sudden you’re filled with dread at the thought of your poor mental state and shirked duties being reported all the way to Papa. You open your mouth to explain yourself, to apologize profusely but he speaks first.

“My ghouls,” he begins, “are very peculiar creatures. They don’t take well to most humans.”

“Oh?”

“Sì, sì…they are very protective of each other and of me. And…they don’t take human lovers.”

“They…don’t?”

“Not at all, sorella. Which makes you a very peculiar creature yourself. Something that my ghouls noticed straightaway. Something that they have spoken to me a great length about.”

Your stomach does a backflip and he looks at you with his mismatched eyes.

“Sorella, they wanted me to tell you…it is time. Go to them. Go to the last door at the end of the hallway this evening. I apologize for not telling you more - telling you sooner - but they had much to accomplish and wanted this to be a surprise.”

Your heart feels as if it’s going to burst through your ribcage and tears form in your eyes as you regard him.

“Papa…” you say quietly, your voice cracking, “thank you. Ave Sathanas. Thank you, Papa.”

He smiles at you warmly, and reaches up to briefly cup your cheek before jerking his head towards the corridor behind the two of you.

“Go on, cara. They are waiting.”

Before you can doubt yourself, you plant a brief kiss on Papa’s cheek and scurry off. As you make your way on the familiar path to the ghoul den, your hands shake by your sides. What did Papa know? What did Marguerite know, always reminding you to have faith and patience and guiding you with a gentle hand? When you enter the corridor you force yourself to take a series of deep breaths. Swallowing hard, and guided as if by an invisible hand, your feet take you down the wide corridor, all the way to the door at the end. Your pulse thunders in your ears and after a beat, you raise your fist and knock twice before placing your hand on the knob and turning slowly.

What meets your gaze after the door creaks open instantly brings tears to your eyes.

They’re there - all ten of them - standing in various spots in the large room staring at you. When you choke out a pathetic sob, Swiss is by your side in an instant.

“Hey, babygirl,” he says quietly, hand rubbing between your shoulder blades. “Do you like it?”

When you look up at him quizzically, he gestures to the room. You hadn’t even noticed the setting for all the ghouls you adored so dearly. A bed - a ridiculously enormous bed - is pushed against the far wall. Surrounding the large piece of furniture is a collection of thick cushions and pillows of varying sizes, blankets draped here and there. A dresser stands by the opposite wall and a doorway leads to a darkened room you assumed to be the bathroom. Eyebrows drawn in confusion, you look around at them.

“I…I don’t get it.”

“It’s yours,” Cirrus says, stepping forward and taking Swiss’ place at your side. “It’s what we’ve been doing all this time. We can’t bring a mate into the den and not make them a nest.”

She says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world but your jaw falls slack and you hear Aether let out a soft laugh.

“Mate?” your voice is comically high pitched as your eyes dart from Mountain to Sunshine to Aurora, perched on the end of the bed.

“If you’ll have us,” Cumulus supplies quickly, “we’re not going to assume but…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You can’t suppress the hurt in your voice and all at once they jump up and crowd around you.

“Love, like Cirrus said, we couldn’t tell you until we made a proper place for you,” Rain says softly, soothingly, “that’s how it’s supposed to be. The pack has to provide for you.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t say anything, though,” Phantom supplies, wringing his hands, “it…it wasn’t right to make you hurt like that. I told the others, but–”

“--But it was better than making you feel like you’ve been strung along. We had to make our intentions perfectly clear by doing this,” Mountain says calmly, gesturing around the room.

“I thought…I thought you didn’t want me anymore. That you didn’t care about me. That you never cared about me. I–” your words break off in a loud sob that has you doubling over on yourself and the ghouls looking anxiously around the room at one another.

“Honey, I’m sorry. We’re so sorry,” Cumulus says as she steps forward to embrace you, “human emotions can be…difficult for us to understand. We’ve never done this before, you know that? We’ve been telling you for so long that you’re special, that you’re perfect. If we didn’t want you we never, ever would have made this for you. You’re the one. You’re the only one for us.”

When you pull back from Cumulus’ arms, uselessly wiping your tears from her shoulder, she cups your face in her palms.

“We adore you. All of us.” The others nod emphatically, all reaching out to touch you in some way. It doesn’t feel real to you, but you drink it in all the same. Gently, you let go of your anger, of your doubt, and allow yourself to be filled with the perfect, aching love that surrounds you in this room.

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing Swiss’ hand in your left and Aurora’s in your right. “This is…wow. All for me, huh?”

“All for you,” Sunshine confirms, brushing your hair away from your face. “Does that mean you accept our offer?”

You let them squirm, just a little bit by remaining silent for a few seconds. When the “yes” leaves your lips, the room erupts triumphantly and suddenly your face is being smothered in kisses. When Swiss picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bed, you can’t help but laugh, thinking of your first time. The ensuing days of celebration are filled with as much love as lust, your naked form barely allowed to ever leave the bed and always surrounded by the sounds of pleasure. You’re thoroughly exhausted by the end of the third day, abbey duties completely forgotten and body limp in the soft sheets. Gently, so as not to wake your pack, you raise yourself onto your elbows and look around the room. On your right on the bed is Dewdrop, snoring softly, while Cumulus curls up behind you. Phantom has found a spot at the bottom of the bed and Swiss and Aurora are intertwined on a cushion across the room. Cirrus, Sunshine, and Rain sleep soundly in a pile next to them while Aether lies curled into Mountain. You smile as you regard the forms of your lovers - all ten of them, you want to laugh - and lower yourself back down into the pillow. Cumulus stirs and murmurs something into your hair, and you reach a soothing hand back behind you to scratch gently at her scalp. Dew’s eyes open briefly, glowing in the dim light of the room and he gives you a sleepy smile. Leaning over, you place a soft kiss on his forehead and run your thumb along his cheekbone.

And for once in your life, here at the abbey or otherwise, you are at peace, you are held, and you are loved.

~~~

a/n: if you're wondering what happened to sister tamsin well. ghouls get hungry, don't they?

[potatoplace]

You Can Have It - Chapter 3

Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader

chapter 2 | chapter 4 | series masterlist

Story Summary: You've been a baker for 75 years, and are finally moving on from the Winter Court to the City of Velaris to start your own bakery after your grandmother passes. After your grand opening, the High Lord and Lady of Night become daily visitors to your bakery for months, every day having your most popular pastry- one that increases fertility for a short time. All the while, the two alphas want nothing more than to call themselves yours.

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, no rhys and feyre 😠

Words: ~5.3k

Author's Note: it's here! There will be a second chapter posted soon as well, I needed to cut this one in half otherwise it won't fit in one post. And I rlly want to get to the scene meeting Rhys and Feyre aaaahhhhh I hope you guys like this chapter!

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Tuesday had passed quickly for you, spent with you writing down everything you needed for your bakery, the apartment, and garden in the building process.

You had a visions in your head for exactly how it should look- a log cabin similar in style to those in Winter, with a set of stained glass double doors depicting the cycle of dawn, day, and night during the winter season. The main floor of the bakery would be divided into two parts, with the actual kitchen area being in the back, separated by a wall stretching two thirds of the way across, leaving an open archway to connect the two on the left side. Windows of course, some in the front of the bakery as well as along the sides, and one that takes up most of the back wall of the kitchen, so that you’ll always be able to stare out the Sidra while preparing you baked goods.

At the far right of the kitchen, away from the access into the shop, you were going to have a spiral staircase leading up to your apartment if that was a possibility.

Upstairs, you would have a personal kitchen of your own, also against right side of the back wall of the building, with another large window to offer you the same benefit as the floor below. To the left you’d have your bathroom, sectioned off with walls- you were most excited about the large, possibly custom tub you’d have put in, with more than enough room for you to soak with your wings in the water if you wished.

The indoor part of the upstairs should cover about two thirds of the top floor, with your bedroom not separated by a wall from the kitchen. You wanted to feel free and open in your new home. That left the rest of the second floor for your small garden you were planning to have. Viviane had made sure you knew that you could take some of the plants your grandmother had lovingly planted and tended to. She had loved that garden so much, and had done as much as she could to revive the garden after coming back from captivity, teaching you to tend to them before her cursed illness had gotten too bad.

You were planning to have the space enchanted to act as a temperature controlled greenhouse, that way the frail Winter native plants could survive even in the summer. Among them would be a few bushes: hornberry, the fertility enhancing berries, chillberry, which grow berries that help to alleviate heats, and saiberry, a helpful berry and leaf for reducing the symptoms of ruts. You would also have a variety of medicinal herbs that you used in your pastries related to general health.

You were beyond excited to start drawing up the plans for the building as soon as you had the proper permits. When you went to bed that night, it was all you could think about.

Wednesday morning, you awoke to a note from Marcus, telling you that the demolition and construction permits were approved, and to get yourself over to your lot as soon as you could.

It was only seven in the morning, but you rushed to dress for the winter weather quickly, flying down the stairs and quickly but carefully making your way to the Rainbow.

More snow had fallen overnight, and hardly anyone was out at this time. Most of the streets were still untouched by fae, and silent with the extra help of the snow. You reached the edge of the Rainbow quickly, and spotted Marcus among a dozen other men, all dressed warmly and carrying a variety of construction tools or busying themselves with the two large carts in the middle of the street, attached to two massive horses.

“Y/N!” Marcus exclaimed as soon as he met your eyes, marching over to you and pulling you back to the group. “This is our new boss for the next couple of months, gents, be nice to her, alright?” The men all nodded their heads in agreement, keeping their eyes respectful when they did dart across your form, though many lingered on your wings. “So, Y/N, would you like to take the first swing?” Marcus asked you, already handing you a heavy sledgehammer.

“Why not?” You said lightly, approaching the dilapidated building. You took a swing at one of the windows, and glass went flying into the building. The males behind you whooped, then followed your lead and began tearing down the building as quickly and effectively as they could. You turned back to Marcus, handing him the sledgehammer.

“Y/N, if you’re available now, I’d like to start drawing up the floor plans for your bakery,” Marcus suggested, and your face broke into a grin.

“I’d love nothing more than that, Marcus. But, could we get breakfast first? I came as soon as I woke up,” you said, blushing when your stomach growled, as if to prove your point.

Marcus only chuckled and took your arm, leading you East to the Palace of Flame and Steel. “Of course we can get breakfast, there’s this cute little restaurant that should be open right now, they serve some amazing breakfast foods there.”

As promised, the food in the cozy restaurant was delicious. You’d had a scramble with potatoes, peppers, onions, and sausage, topped with a good amount of cheese. The two of you left feeling stuffed, and made your way to his office, shucking off your winter gear and hanging it on the hooks near the door.

Marcus quickly started a fire in the fireplace, adding some much appreciated heat to the room. The two of you settled in around his desk, and Marcus pulled out a notepad, quill and ink.

"So, do you know what type of building you'd like? Brick, stone, wood..."

"I'd prefer having a log cabin style of building, if that's a possibility," you said, hoping that it would be.

Marcus smiled at you and wrote down your answer. "Of course we can, and we can even go to the lumber yard in a couple of days to pick out the type of wood you'd like, Y/N. Now... what were you thinking for the floor plan?"

"I want it to be a two story building, with the top floor being dedicated as an apartment and also a garden, if everything works out."

"A garden on the second floor?"

You nodded your head. "Yes, I'm planning to have it enchanted so that I can grow some Winter crops year round, and they'll be safer off the ground, I think."

"Alright, that should be doable enough. If you'd like I can direct you to an interior designer who also specializes in home and business enchantments, she should be able to make that garden happen for you."

"Perfect!" You said, clapping your hands together excitedly. Everything was already seeming possible.

The two of you spent the next five hours going over every detail that you wanted built into the building, and by the end of it he had a preliminary sketch of the building.

"The main problem with your spiral staircase would be getting the tub and furniture up and down the stairs. I do happen to have a couple of Illyrians working in my company right now, so we should be able to get the tub up before the roof's construction is done, but the furniture would most likely need to be fully assembled upstairs, or we fly it in before the roof is finished."

You bit your lip for a moment, considering your options. "That would be fine, getting everything in before the roof is finished. Would there be any problems with doing that?"

Marcus shook his head. "No, it's more just something to consider. The spiral staircase will save you some space, so it's a good idea for your floor plan to keep as much space on the first floor for the bakery. Go ahead and look over the blueprint, and tell me if anything is off." He slid the paper over to you, careful not to smear any of the still drying ink.

Your eyes greedily took in the floor plans, already looking exactly how you wanted it. The main floor was divided in the way you had pictured, and the kitchen would be wide enough to accommodate your wings and even another person, if you ended up needing to hire someone to help you.

Only one thing was missing, something you'd hadn't thought of until now.

"Would it be possible to have a fireplace on both floors? On the main floor, about halfway through the front room and on the left, and on the top floor one on the right, after the spiral staircase?"

Marcus looked at the plans for a moment before answering you. "Yes, that should be doable, especially if we allow the chimney to stick out and along the side of the building for the first floor one." He quickly sketched in the fireplace on the floor plan, then turned to the exterior mock up and added the chimney to the side. "Does that look fine to you?"

"Yes, that looks perfect! Thank you!"

"It's no problem, Y/N," Marcus said with a soft smile. "If you think of anything else you'd like in the blueprints, you can either send me a note with it or come here, I'm normally in from six in the morning to six at night."

"I'll make sure to let you know, but I honestly think we got everything down!" You said excitedly.

"I'm glad to hear that, Y/N. The tear down process should be finished by the end of the week, including getting someone in to cast a charm to keep snow from falling over the lot. Then the actual building process after that, as long as everything goes right and all we need to build is available, shouldn’t take more than two months. Now, would you like me to show you to that interior designer I mentioned?" He offered.

"Oh, I'd love that!" Right as you said it, your stomach growled loudly once again. You looked up at him sheepishly. "Want to go to lunch first?" You asked with a chuckle.

"I'd love that," Marcus replied, already standing from his chair and stretching.

You did the same, finally feeling the tension that had built in your body from sitting for so long. Your wings fluttered slightly as they stretched, before you finally relaxed once more.

The two of you threw on your outerwear again and headed out of Marcus's office, and you let him lead you to another restaurant, a different one than this morning.

"This is my favorite spot for lunch, they have these delicious sandwiches," Marcus said as he held the door open for you, letting you walk in first before following you.

It smelled heavenly inside, and if your watering mouth was anything to go by, you knew he was correct.

"I'll have whatever you're having," you told Marcus before he stepped up to the counter. "I'm sure whatever it is will be tasty, but I can't choose between all of those options," you laughed.

"That's fine, Y/N. Any foods you want to avoid?" Marcus asked, looking down at you as you shook your head. "Alright then." He stepped up to the counter, you following right behind him. "We'll have two of your cheesesteaks, please.” Marcus went to hand over his bank card like he had for breakfast this morning, but you beat him to it, grinning at him when he put his card away while shaking his head, a matching expression on his face.

After you paid, the two of you took a seat at a table near the windows, only waiting a couple of minutes to be served your sandwiches. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, dearie,” the older high fae said with a smile before she walked back behind the counter.

“And thank you, Y/N, for buying me this delicious lunch,” Marcus said to you, right before taking a large bite of his sandwich.

“Well, you did pay for breakfast,” you said before you followed suit, finding the sandwich made of thinly sliced beef, onions, peppers, and cheese to be just as good as he’d said it would be.

“How’s Velaris been treating you so far?” He asked you after a few minutes.

You swallowed your bite, then said “It’s been really nice so far, everyone’s been very welcoming and I just feel so lucky to be here, and already be making so much progress on my business.”

Marcus smiled at you. “I’m glad to hear it, Y/N. I hope everything continues to go your way.”

“Same here. How’s your life been treating you?”

“Oh, it’s going well right now. My business has been doing better than ever in the past two years since I had a contract with the High Lady, and I happen to have a very sweet new client,” Marcus replied, and his words made you blush.

“That’s good to hear. What was it like working for the High Lady?”

“Feyre and the High Lord, Rhys, were both extremely easy to work with, pretty similar to how it’s been working with you. They knew exactly what they wanted and were good at describing it. It was an honor to work with them, and one of the best experiences I’ve had since taking over the business.”

“They sound like a lovely pair of rulers for the Court, then.”

“Oh yes, I feel we are one of the best treated cities in all of Prythian. And they’ve even begun taking steps to change how Illyria and the Hewn City are run,” Marcus added.

The two of you finished eating, and all you could think of was the High Lord and Lady, and that all of the good you’d heard about them in Winter had to be true, if Marcus, a citizen of Velaris, believed it to be true as well.

“Now, let’s get you to Gabrella’s shop, she is newer to the business, only having moved here five years ago, but all of my clients that I’ve sent to her have nothing but good things to say about her,” Marcus said, extending an arm to you after he’d returned your plates to the front counter.

He led you a few blocks away from the restaurant, deeper into the Palace of Flame and Steel. The two of you stopped in front of cute, red brick building with flower beds lining the front, covered in snow at the moment. Marcus opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, immediately loving the cozy feel of the shop, and you spotted an fae female, with large, black leathery wings coming from her back.

They were absolutely beautiful.

You’d heard of Illyrians before, and as a child had thought that wings without feathers could not possibly be pretty, but your child self was proved wrong the moment you laid eyes on her wings.

“Welcome in- oh, Marcus! Another client of yours, I presume?” The fae asked as the two of you made your way back to the counter she was seated at.

Her smell hit you, a sweet blend of mountain air, honey, and some type of berry that you couldn’t quite place- an omega. That instantly put you at ease. It’s not that Marcus’s scent wasn’t nice, the snow and pine mix was pleasant, but knowing that at least one of the people you’d be working with for the next couple of months is an omega was calming.

“Yes, my name is Y/N. I’m going to be opening a bakery with an apartment upstairs in the Rainbow soon, and Marcus is helping with the construction aspect. He said that you’re an interior designer?”

The Illyrian nodded her head and replied, “Yes, my name is Gabrella. I do interior design work and household and business enchantments.”

“Would you be able to show her a bit of your work, Rella?” Marcus asked. “She’s wanting a greenhouse for year round Winter native plants, and I know you just recently finished something similar.”

Gabrella’s eyes lit up at that, and she stood from her spot behind the counter. “I would be delighted to show you something like that, Y/N. Marcus, you can come too, if you don’t have anything else to do.”

Marcus looked at the clock on the wall to the left, sighing when he saw the time. “No, I should be getting back to check on the boys, make sure the demolition is going to plan,” he said, making his way to the door. “Y/N, remember that you can come by my office from six to six if you need anything, and you’re always free to stop by your lot at any time, alright?”

“Thanks you, Marcus. I’ll probably see you sometime tomorrow.”

“That sounds good,” he said, leaving with a wave.

“Bye Marcus!” Gabrella said right before he shut the door. “Alright, Y/N, I’ll have you come upstairs with me, my garden is on the third floor.”

You followed the other fae up the stairs, then up one more set, coming out onto a beautiful rooftop garden, filled with lovely blossoming tropical flowers. The air was warm and humid, even with their being no walls or roof.

“This is amazing,” you said, trailing your hands over a few of the blooms lightly. “How were you able to do this?” You asked, turning to Gabrella.

“Well, it took a couple of years for me to get the enchantments perfect, but it’s not too different from doing an indoor temperature control charm. It does require a bit more magical power, especially if the plants need any else besides the temperature controlled. Like the humidity, that was the part that took me the longest to get down, but now that I have, all of my sweet little plants are thriving,” Gabrella explained, looking down fondly at all of the flowers she’d been able to grow thanks to her magical talent.

“Would you be able to do something similar for me?” You asked hopefully.

“I believe I could, it may take a couple of tries to get the climate just right for you. Do you have an idea of when your building will be finished enough to start the garden?”

“Not quite, though Marcus said the whole process should take a little over two months. I’m just not sure when the second floor would be available to put the garden and enchantments in.”

“That’s perfectly fine, we can play it by ear. Were you wanting my services for anything else?” Gabrella asked, gesturing for you to head back downstairs.

“Yes, I was hoping that you would be my interior designer as well, along with any other enchantments I’d need for my building.”

“Wonderful, I’ll grab a contract for you right now,” Gabrella said after you took a seat in one of the stools in front of the counter. She rifled through a filing cabinet, pulling out a few pieces of paper. “Alright, before anything gets signed, I’d like to know what type of enchantments you’re going to want, as well as the areas of interior design you’d like help with.”

“Obviously you know about the garden,” you said, and the both of you chuckled as she wrote it down. “Plus temperature control for both floors of the building, a fireproofing charm for the kitchen if you’re able to do that.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a popular one, with the city being tightly packed everyone wants to avoid causing a fire in case it takes out a whole neighborhood,” Gabrella said. “Were you going to have a kitchen in the apartment upstairs?”

“Yes, I can’t believe I forgot to mention that,” you laughed, surprised that you were missing a few details. It had to be all the excitement, you had been drawing up floor plans all day. “Do you do plumbing enchantments?”

“Mhm, as long as you have actual plumbing pipes installed in the building, we’re able to get hot and cold water running, as well as connect it to the city’s sewer system,” she answered. “Knowing Marcus, he’s already gone over that with you?”

You nodded your head. “He sure did, he was very adamant in making sure I knew where all of the pipes would be going through the wall.”

“Yes, he’s very thorough like that. That’s why he’s one of the most in demand builders during the typical construction season. Did you have any other enchantments you were hoping for? If you can’t think of them now, I’m always able to add to your total bill, it’s just better in my experience to have as full a picture of the cost before we begin doing the actual work.”

You wracked your brain for any other spells you might need- “I’d like an enchantment that will keep the scent and sounds of the second floor separate from the first floor,” you stated, heat rising to your cheeks.

“That’s a good one!” Gabrella said enthusiastically, writing it down on the paper. “It’s very helpful for if you want to keep your business open with another staff member while you’re in heat, I have that one on my own apartment upstairs,” the omega said with a kind smile. “Anything else, or should we move on to the interior design portion?”

You couldn’t think of another enchantment you might need at the moment. “Interior design, but I’ll let you know if I think of something else.”

“Very good. For the bakery portion, what were you wanting help with?”

“I’d definitely like your help in picking out the furniture, the appliances, and the general look of the inside, and any recommendations or help with a stained glass artist that creates door panels. I do know generally what I want it to look like, but being new to town I would have no idea of where to start.” You thought about that for a moment. “So pretty much everything about it, I’d like your help with,” you giggled.

Gabrella joined you, her laugh so pleasant and fun. “That’s perfectly fine, I love helping create an entire vision! They’re the most fun for me, when my client knows exactly what they want and we just have to scavenger hunt for it all around the city.”

“That’s good, otherwise this would be a real chore for you,” you said jokingly, already loving Gabrella’s personality.

“For the second floor, what were you wanting help with?”

“Most everything again, though with the bedroom I’ll need a bit less help, nesting needs are pretty easy to satisfy on your own,” you replied, mind conjuring a soft nest filled with fabrics in light blues, silver, and white.

“I get that, nests and bedrooms are so personal to us omegas.” Gabrella’s smile was soft as she finished writing everything down. “Alright, I believe with the number and complexity of some of the enchantments, that part will run you for around 50,000 gold marks, and we do offer lifetime warranties on all of them. So if one starts to go faulty, just stop by and I’ll come and fix it as soon as I can for you. And the interior design portion will be around 25,000, and that will include the price of most items, delivery of them, and getting everything in place for you, as well as my help and advice in picking out items. Does a total of 75,000 gold marks sound reasonable to you, with these terms?” Gabrella asked, sliding a contract over to you.

You read it, including the warranty, and thought it all sounded perfectly reasonable. You picked up the extra quill she had sitting in an ink pot and signed your name to the contract. “Yes, this all sounds fine to me. Did you want to take payment now, or later?”

“If you have your bank card on you at the moment-” you were already pulling it out. “Then I’ll take a fifty percent deposit for a total of 37,500 gold marks now, and once the project is complete I’ll take the other half of the payment, plus or minus however much it falls from the estimate.” She pressed your bank card to the ledger on her desk, then handed it back to you. “I’m so happy to get to work with you, Y/N. You seem like a lovely person so far, and I do love a good bakery.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you as well, Gabrella. And I’m glad to know another omega in the city, I’ve only met one other omega here so far.”

“Yes, there aren’t too many of us here, but it’s so safe and free, I think we have a higher population of omegas than most other cities in Prythian. I’m sure you’ll meet more soon enough. Also, you can call me Rella. We’ll be working together for a while, and I have this funny little feeling that we’ll be friends,” Rella said kindly. “Now, would you like to go look at some kitchen stoves and counters if you have time?”

You beamed- nothing would have excited you more at the moment. “I would love to do that, it’s one of the areas I’m looking forward to furnishing most!”

Rella offered her arm to you, which you gladly took. “Perfect! Now, what type of color scheme were you wanting for the kitchen? It might change which shops we go to.”

“I think… soft pastels? Possibly winter themed, or maybe in pinks.”

Rella grinned at you. “I’m liking you more and more with every passing minute,” she said, dragging you away from her shop after locking it up. “We’re going to Arana’s shop, she has the cutest kitchen and dining room furniture you will every see!”

In a few minutes, after a couple of twists and turns through the streets, you arrived at a pastel pink shop, looking very much out of place next to the mostly dark, wooden building surrounding it. Rella pulled you inside, shouting “Arana! I have a new client, you’re going to love her!”

A female stepped out from a back room, ice blonde hair and white wings at her back.

Peregryn. Another Peregryn.

You’d only ever met you’d mother, no others of your kind before. And as you got closer to her- and omega, with a soft scent of pine, cinnamon, and fresh air.

“Well, it’s rare to meet another Peregryn in Velaris, my name is Arana. And yours is…?”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you,” you said as you shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” Arana responded warmly. “You said she’s a client of yours, Rella?”

“Yes, she’s building a bakery in the Rainbow-”

“Wonderful! I’ve been wanting a bakery on this side of the Sidra for so long, I hate walking all the way over to the other side in the winter,” Arana interrupted, the looked to Rella sheepishly. “Sorry, Rella, go on please?”

“I know, I’m excited about it too,” Rella laughed. “Shes working with Marcus, and it sounds like they’re still in the process of tearing down the previous building, but the two of us would like to start looking for furniture, countertops, and of course stoves.”

“Oh, is it gonna be a cute bakery?” Arana asked hopefully, and you nodded your head.

“Yes, it’s going to look like a log cabin, and I’m hoping the furniture I get will make it look cute and cozy inside!” You gush, so happy that there are people already excited about your business, even if you were going to be paying them a lot of money in the process. The two of them sound genuinely excited about it, so that didn’t matter.

“Oh, you’ll need log chairs, probably with a selection of different colors of cushions, maybe even some log benches, plus log tables of course to go with the little log theme-”

“All of that sounds great! Do you have any in here?” You asked, already wanting to see some.

“I don’t have any log furniture at the moment, but the shop next door does. I’ll be able to provide the cushions for them, though I’d recommend waiting to pick them out until you know the type of wood you’re using, so that you get the best color match,” Arana offered, pointing to the shop east of hers. “I do have plenty of stove and countertop options, if you’re wanting to go for bright colors in the kitchen. And I do make display cases as well, when you’re ready to look for those.”

You smiled in excitement and said, “Show me the stoves, please.”

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The three of you spent the next few hours looking at all Arana had to offer, and you found many different options that you liked. It all depended on what color scheme you ended up going with, but whether it would be done in blues, whites, and silvers or in soft pinks and purples, you were sure you’d be buying from Arana’s store.

The designs and sturdiness of her furnishings were perfect in your opinion, and you were so excited to see your kitchen come together once the building was finished.

You and Rella waved goodbye to Arana as you departed, promising to come back in a few weeks to finalize your decisions, having been sent home with a pamphlet filled with the designs of furniture she offered so that you could think on it further.

You and Rella parted at her shop, leaving you to walk back to the Inn alone, relishing in the sounds of the city as it came alive for the night.

It was nearly seven in the evening when you passed by a restaurant at the end of the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, right next to the bridge that would get you home. The smell coming from the restaurant was heavenly, full of garlic and smelling as though it could burn your tongue with the spice alone. You entered the restaurant, and were quickly seated at the bar, admiring the lively atmosphere before looking over the menu. They served noodle bowls, most of them having a between three and five little peppers drawn next to their names. Judging by the smell in the air, you wouldn’t survive more than a two pepper dish, so you choose the one that had the most garlic in it, sautéed with chicken, zucchini, green cabbage and onions, and of course noodles.

The dish you got was fantastic, as garlicky as you’d hoped for and spicy enough to bring tears to your eyes.

All of the food you’d had in Velaris so far was amazing, and you were excited to delve further into the cookbook that you had back in your room, if these were the types of recipes that were waiting for you.

After paying, you made your way back to the inn more slowly than before, taking time to admire the people skating on the now frozen over Sidra. Everyone seemed to be happy.

It was nice to be a part of that, of a city so joyous at all times.

By the time you made it to your room, it was past eight, and you wanted nothing more than a hot bath and some sleep.

You stripped out of your dress after taking off your outerwear and boots, then peeled off your tights and underthings. You would need to do laundry soon, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Your bath was lovely, the hot water warming you nicely and stealing the tension from your muscles. Your bed was even lovelier, so fluffy and soft, and you drifted off to sleep just a few minutes after your head landed on the pillow.

Series Taglist: @icey--stars @breadsticks2004

[blessedbucky]

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 11.7k

summary: here you are, your final year at tokyo metropolitan curse technical college

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, everyone is still mentally ill but we're making it through!, we're going through the five stages of grief, a marriage proposal? it's more likely than you think!, megumi and tsumiki make their entrance!, more of that good ole ableism (internal and external), and FLUFF!

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: i said, fuck it, i'm using the banner until i make a goddamn masterlist. at some point i'll have my life together. just like the past arc will be over at some point! it's flooding outside so i'm flooding your hearts in return! comments, like, and reblogs make me forget i live in america! c':

Story Masterlist

[YEAR FOUR]

“Can we talk?”

Famous last words.

It’s not like you didn’t know this would eventually happen.

Still, you’d been lulled into a false sense of security. It’s been months since the last time he refused to meet you at the door. He’s made small talk with you, and it doesn’t sound forced anymore. The last time that you saw him, he even invited you in for some tea with him and the twins. Damn it, you knew you should’ve forced yourself to accept his offer at the time, but you’d been so desperate for sleep. Had it been a test? Was it Suguru’s last-ditch effort to see if your friendship could recover?

It doesn’t matter. Someone like you doesn’t deserve friendship. You can’t do it right. The closer it gets to the start of the term, the more your dead friend haunts your dreams. The rest are pissed off at you. They’ve lost patience with you and your uncooperative body, your broken mind.

Wordlessly, you follow after Suguru.

Loneliness is your fate.

It’s hard when the park is so packed with other parties, but he manages to find a somewhat secluded spot. It’s on the edge of the massive pond that takes up the park. The ground isn’t as saturated with cherry blossom petals here. They still gently drift along the water. It’s pretty. Fleetingly, you think about drawing the scene, but that whim dies as quickly as it came. It’s enough of a feat to crawl out of bed, let alone pick up a pencil.

Suguru is nice enough to spread a blanket out for you two to sit on. He pulls it out of the backpack he brought along with him. It surprises you to see him pull out a notebook and pencil. Is…he going to draw with the girls later? Ah. He probably does it with them at home. Just another reminder of how disconnected you both are now. The string that binds you two is frayed. Today must be the day he’s finally cutting that last little bit hanging on for dear life.

“Here,” Suguru whispers as he offers you the notebook and pencil. You stare at it blankly, confused. You work your jaw, trying to prepare yourself to speak. You don’t want to. It’s hard. “Word are hard.” Your eyes widen as you stare at him. He cringes, shrinking in on himself a little, misreading your reaction as something negative when it’s…just shock. Pure shock because it’s like he plucked the thought right out of your head. “I’m sorry. Was I wrong? I…I know there are days where it’s hard for you to talk and…I thought…I’m sorry.”

You snatch the edge of the notebook before he can fully pull it away. He’s right. He’s right, he’s right, he’s right. Why does he have to know you so well? Can’t he sever the bond cleanly? Does he have to remind you of what you’re about to lose?

Your hands tremble, pages crinkling as you grip harder.

I don’t want to let you go.

Your vision blurs and your entire body trembles now. You hunch over the notebook, tears plopping against the pages, smearing the ink of the lined pages.

When a sob tears its way out of your chest, you drop the notebook and try to hide away. You’ve already done enough. You don’t need to embarrass him. But Suguru cups the back of your head, tugging you forward to press your forehead against his shoulder, limiting the physical contact because he knows you. He knows you. And you hate him. You miss him. You hate yourself. You miss him so fucking much.

“I’m sorry,” he’s whispering when you finally calm your sobbing down enough to hear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve been so selfish. I was selfish for so long. I know you’re hurting. You have been for so long, haven’t you?” Oh. He’s crying now, too. You feel the drops of his tears on the top of your head. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Forgive me for not being there for you when you needed me the most. I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

You pull your face away enough to breathe in fresh air. “S—” you have to beat your fist against your thigh. This is important. So important. You need to talk. After swallowing the lump that keeps forming in your throat, you manage a hoarse, “I’m sorry for not being stronger.”

Suguru chokes on his own words, trembling harder underneath you. “No,” he manages through his tears. “Squid, no, you’ve been so strong. You’ve had to be so strong for so long. You were giving so much to the rest of us, trying to keep everyone from falling apart, that you left nothing for yourself. I see it now. I’m sorry it took so long. You don’t have to be so strong now. I want to be with—” his grip at the back of your head tightens a little before relaxing. “I want to be back in your life.”

“I hurt you.”

“And I hurt you more.” He laughs wetly. “I forgive you. Is that what you want me to say?  There’s nothing to forgive, but I’ll say it. I forgive you. I do. You sacrificed everything to keep me alive and I spat in your face. Thank you for everything you did to save me.”

“Can—” you swallow hard. “Can you believe it when I say it, too?” You realize that you haven’t said the words. Not out loud. It was in your actions, you thought, but you should know better. If there’s anyone who knows that words can get lost in actions, it’s you. “I forgive you, Suguru.”

A shudder ripples through his body. He digs his face harder against the crown of your head, trying to muffle his sob. “I want to get better with you.”

Something in your brain—your heart…it doesn’t want to get better. It rebels against the idea. It thinks you’d be better off going back to that forest, laying down, and sinking down into the ground where you belong. You’re chained to Suguru now, to life, and that festering thing resents him.

This is what Suguru felt like. Grief and guilt were eating away at him, and he was exhausted. He wanted to be swallowed whole because living hurts. It’s hard and it hurts like hell. Maybe he isn’t consciously aware of it, but he’s paying you back. You forced a reason to live on him and he’s doing it in return.

Living hurts, but misery loves company, and you don’t want that for Suguru.

You don’t want him to hurt anymore, but that won’t happen until you stop hurting, too.

What a manipulative asshole.

“I’m sorry.”

This is your last stop on the apology tour. By this point, you’re feeling a little defeated because Shoko and Kento didn’t accept your apology because they claimed there was no need for it in the first place. Shoko had just looked relieved which completely broke you. You didn’t think you had tears left in you after the park, but you were wrong. Then, because she’s nicer than she ever claims you to be, she tugged you forward by your shirt to bump her forehead against yours as a way to hug without much touching.

Satoru has the door to his room wide open, a pocky stick shoved in his mouth. The tilt of his head and squinting at you is a sure sign of confusion. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch,” you rush to explain. “You…you’ve been trying to take care of me…and I was…I’ve been really mean.”

Oh, no. The softening of his features is a bad sign. You can’t get off the hook this easy. Before you can remind him of more of your transgressions, he’s interrupting you. “What are you saying sorry for? Me breathing down your neck?” Your mouth opens, but he shuts you up by shoving a pocky right in your mouth—choco-banana. “I’d get pissed off, too. I know how much I am. I don’t know how you deal with me.”

“You’re not too much, Satoru,” you insist around your pocky. You yank it out before taking a step closer to him, eyes watering with fresh tears. “Please, let me apologize. I should’ve tried harder to talk. Worked harder to be okay for you. I saw how much you were worrying and…and I still let myself be like that—”

Satoru shoves another pocky in your mouth. The softness of his expression has hardened. “Stop hiding yourself from me,” he demands. “I don’t want an act. I want the real Sketch. I don’t want you to have to force yourself to do things that you don’t want to. If you never spoke again or let me touch you again, I’d be okay because that’d be the truest you.” Like almost everyone else today, he leans in, forehead to forehead. “I want every single part of you, even the ugliest ones.”

There’s a twist in your chest. The words are like a shot right through the heart. You don’t know what to do with yourself at his admission. It’s still so…foreign…to be wanted as you truly are. It’s hard for your brain to process that someone is staring at all the ugly, broken pieces of you and saying, I want that. I want it all.

“I want you, too,” you admit through a fresh batch of tears. You’re trying to rub them away, but they’re falling too fast. You’re a mess. He says he wants the ugliness, so he’s definitely getting it now. “I want all of you, too.”

Satoru bumps foreheads again, smiling. “Such a crybaby,” he teases. Gives another solid bump. “Don’t you know I’ll give you anything you want?”

“What did he do now?”

Satoru scoffs loudly as he leans back, tilting his chair backwards to balance on two legs of the chair. “Why’re you assuming I did something?”

Suguru’s head turning in the corner of your eye catches your attention enough to stop glaring at Satoru. Suguru’s lips twitch in amusement before he repeats, “What did he do now?”

The question has you glowering at Satoru again. The bastard sips at his ridiculously flavored soda like he doesn’t have a problem in the world. “He told Ijichi, and this is a direct quote, ‘Give up being a sorcerer. You’re useless. Get your driving license. Or I’ll slap you.’”

Suguru whistles lowly, brows raising. “That bad already, huh? It hasn’t been six months.”

Satoru drops his chair back on all four legs. “Yes!” He continues on, not giving you a chance to defend poor Ijichi. “He’s so bad that Sensei has Sketch on loan from the higher-ups to babysit him on all his missions!” He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks back at you. “You’ve bailed him out every single time. Don’t lie.”

You grimace because it’d be impossible to lie about that when Ijichi makes a public spectacle of giving you a gift as thanks for saving his life again. “He’s…just learning. Not everyone can be gifted like our class. Besides, you were bailing me out all the time during our first year!”

“Yeah, yeah, but you had potential,” Satoru asserts. “I mean, c’mon, that guy’s cursed energy levels are like a drop in the bucket compared to yours.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. He’s not the first to mention this to you. Shoko had said something similar at the start of your second year. “My levels aren’t that much higher than normal.”

“Nah, they actually are. Just as high as Suguru’s, if you wanna know.”

Okay, now he’s just blatantly lying. “Suguru can swallow Special Grade spirits. I think I’d know if my amount of cursed energy was that high.”

“I’m telling you—it is. I see it. You’re just too timid to let it all explode.”

You set the knife that you were using to cut vegetables on the table with a little too much force. “Stop trying to pretend that I’m strong like you all are,” you snap. “I’ve always been the weakest out of our class. You know it, I know it, it’s fine. At this point, pretending that I’m anything more is just you being cruel.”

Suguru senses your shifting mood before Satoru does. “Satoru, drop it—”

“Eh? Why should I? And what’s this about being cruel? I’ve been looking at you with my Six Eyes for four years now. You’re just scared of yourself—”

Finally, you understand the reason for your shifting mood. You know why it feels like something is getting shredded up inside you. You slam your hand on the table, sending food scattering and sauces tipping over. “Because if I was as strong as you say then I should’ve saved Yu! If I’m scared of myself for anything, it’s for being so weak and stupid!”

An uncomfortable silence follows. Too uncomfortable. You refuse to look at them because you know they’ll look at you like the pitiful little thing you are. You want to run. Slip under the covers of your bed. But you promised the twins that you’d have dinner with them tonight. Keeping your head ducked down and teeth gritted, you storm away from the table. There’s no better help to calm down than being around two little girls that are extremely sensitive to moods.

Tapping on Mimiko’s door as warning, you open it enough to poke your head in. They’re surrounded by a large number of plushies that, worryingly, keeps growing in size. You need to talk to Suguru and Satoru about that. The plushies are mostly circular, no limbs for Mimiko to accidentally activate her technique with. It was her technique that was the final straw to the villagers, so she’s terrified to use it now.

No wonder Satoru thought you should coach Mimiko through her fears.

“Can I play?”

Nanako brightens immediately and leaps over her circle of plushies to fling open the door for you. “Miss Squid! Yeah! Come play with us!”

You chuckle, glancing over at Mimiko. “We’re in your sister’s room. Shouldn’t we ask her if it’s okay, too?”

Nanako tries to wave off your words. “Mimiko always wants to play with you.”

“Mimiko does or you do?” You wiggle your wrist away from Nanako’s grasp, instead clasping her little hand in yours to focus her attention on you. “You always want to ask someone if they want to do a thing with you. That’s why I asked if I could play. I was asking you and Mimiko. Sometimes, people want to be alone. Or maybe Mimiko only feels good being around you for the day. That’s an okay thing to feel. We always want to ask to see how you’re feeling, okay?”

Her nose scrunches up. You’re worried that you made it too complicated, but she sighs dramatically. “I guess.” She puts her hands on her hips, scowling at the door. “But tell that to Satchan, too! He never asks if he can come inside! He pops in the kitchen and eats our snacks!”

Satoru might be doing it on purpose, you don’t tell her. He was very offended that you’re Miss Squid and Suguru is Mister Suguru while they gave him an informal Satchan. You don’t know where they came up with the nickname, but it’s stuck. You think it’s cute. Satoru thinks it’s too cute for a grown man.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, too.” Finally, you look over at Mimiko, smiling gently at her. “Is it okay if I play with you?”

“Yes.” Mimiko hesitates before shyly adding, “Thank you for asking if it’s okay.”

Your smile grows and you walk over to sit down next to her.

Satoru doesn’t question your decision to spend the night. Before he leaves, he does look at you like a kicked puppy, but it doesn’t work on you. Not right now. You need time to put this back in the box you’ve slowly been constructing over the months. It’s still flimsy, easily torn open by something as small as what happened before dinner.

You’re on the couch and it’s one in the morning. You’re mindlessly flipping through channels, volume low, hoping there might be something interesting enough to keep your mind from straying. It’s not working out for you. Maybe you should’ve forced Satoru to hand over his Game Boy as compensation.

Behind you, a door quietly opens and closes. It’s not a surprise when Suguru settles down at the other end of the couch. You expected as much. You’re only surprised that he waited this long to get out of bed and come talk to you. Still flipping through channels, you wait for the cliché inspirational speech that he’s probably been trying to prepare. He might mix it up and give you sickly sweet words of comfort.

Instead of what you expected, Suguru leads with, “You have a really gentle heart, Squid.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” you whisper. “It would’ve been better if I just stayed behind in the village. I could’ve worked in the fields with my parents.” You sigh irritably, frustrated with yourself. “Vegetables can’t hurt my feelings.”

“I think your heart would’ve been wasted on vegetables.”

You look down at the space between you two when you hear the slide of something against fabric. His hand rests there, palm facing up. You turn your head back toward the television, wanting so badly to resist him. If this keeps going, you’ll cry, you know it. Not everything is back in the box.

In the end, you cave. You always do with Suguru.

And just like you predicted, your bottom lip starts to wobble when you thread your fingers through his and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I think it’s very brave and you have to be very strong to have a gentle heart in such an unkind world.”

“You might be the only person who thinks that way,” you reply through hitching breaths.

“Haibara thought that way.”

Suguru never plays fucking fair.

Late in summer, nearing the year anniversary of Haibara’s death and your subsequent near-death experience, Satoru is practically glued to the sides of you and Suguru. It’s gotten to the point where you were so worried about him stretching himself too thin between all the warping, worrying, and missions that you hijacked Nanako’s room so you and Suguru are, at least, in the same place now. It’s fine. Nanako ends up in Mimiko’s room most nights, anyway.

September comes and your mood, along with Suguru’s, starts to backslide. There was this American song that Satoru picked at karaoke during your first year to show off his English skills. You’re reminded of it now. Wake me up when September ends. If only. If fucking only.

Your misery is in company, though. More than you thought you’d have when the semester started. When you and Satoru never leave Suguru’s apartment during the first week of September, you think you both wordlessly decide that you’re going to spend the entire month there.

Briefly, you worry about Shoko, about Nanami, but they’re distracting themselves with Ijichi. They spend the month trying and succeeding in peer pressuring Ijichi into driving them around the city, into taking weekend trips. He’s working on his learner’s permit, so they reason with him that this is just more practice. He’s only supposed to practice in his driving class, but practice is practice, they say.

You theorize that Nanami is so invested in Ijichi because it’s keeping Ijichi from sorcerer work. Nanami never wants blood in his eyes again.

The week before Haibara’s death anniversary, your anxiety skyrockets. It’s never enough to be an attack, but it hits you out of nowhere. You’ll just be looking through some documents that your real estate agent sent you about apartments and your heart will start racing for no reason. Your brain will be on high alert. No threat but the paper on the table in front of you. You try to be quiet about it.

You don’t think you’re hiding it very well because Nanako takes up Satoru’s place beside you on the futon. Mimiko follows after her in the middle of the next night. It helps you keep your head on straight. You have to focus really hard on keeping your mind calm because you can’t start sobbing with two little bodies curled around the front and back of you. It would wake them up and put unnecessary weight on their shoulders.

On the night of the anniversary, while you’re helping bathe the girls, Mimiko shyly requests a bedtime story. It’s a request you’ve never heard out of them before. You thought you knew all their nightly routines, but maybe Suguru forgot to mention it? Worried that you’ve been disrupting their peace, you assure her you’ll get Suguru before bed.

“You,” Mimiko insists with a force you’ve never heard from her before. “I miss your voice,” she adds in a mumble. All that confidence from her goes as quickly as it came.

So, not subtle at all with your anxiety. You hadn’t even realized that you were talking less.

You’re not good at coming up with things like stories on the spot, but you have a compromise. When you three are settled on the futon, one head on your chest and the other on your stomach, you recount memories of your childhood with Suguru. You talk about the adventures you two would go on to find him spirits to swallow. They listen to it all. No complaints. And on the cusp of sleep, Mimiko makes you swear that you’ll take her to Osorezan.

Silence settles in after they drift off to sleep. Even the world outside seems muffled now. It is only you and the steady breaths of Mimiko and Nanako that lulls you into…a state of calm. Not peace, not rumination inside your head, just…calm. Time passes slowly with you waiting for something.

Something that you don’t realize you’re waiting for until Satoru’s cursed energy explodes in the middle of the apartment. You hear the creak of Suguru’s bedroom door as it opens, but it doesn’t close like it should. Suguru doesn’t like to sleep with his door open. A leftover of his childhood. An open door being closed bring too much attention to someone trying to hide from a raging father.

Before your phone blinks to life, you’re already debating doing it. Get in here, Satoru’s text reads. You chew at the inside of your cheek, struggling with your yearning to go to them and your guilt screaming at you that you don’t deserve such a thing. You wait too long because another text comes through. I know you’re awake.

Then, the nail in the coffin lights up your phone. Come here, Suguru demands.

Alright. Well, they’re insisting, so…

Very carefully, you peel yourself away from the girls. They stir when you gently move their heads down onto their pillows but quickly settle. You tiptoe out of the room, gliding down the hall to Suguru’s. Just a moment, you hesitate, but you step past the threshold.

You are so tired.

There is a space between their bodies that you crawl up on the bed to lie between. Surprisingly, Suguru is the one to make the first move. You don’t think he nudges you, but you end up on your side, his massive body pressing in behind yours. He draws his knees up in the bend of yours, pelvis pressed against your ass, arm wrapping around your waist, head perched on the top of your head.

Satoru slides forward, chest pressed to yours, knees bumping. The tips of his fingers, cold as ice, touch your cheek. His feet touch yours, as equally cold. A furnace behind you, a block of ice in front of you. It’s weird how they balance each other out. Even weirder that you’re not overwhelmed by being so crowded. Sometimes, you can’t help but think that they’re as familiar to you as your own body is and that’s why they can touch you so much more freely than anyone else.

As Satoru keeps petting your face, glinting blue eyes watching you as he does, your own slowly close. You find yourself drifting to that place you were in with the girls. You are both present and not—enough to not let your mind roam to places it doesn’t want to be but not enough that you’re overwhelmed. You feel like a blank slate, being chiseled away at to match what they want you to be right now. You mold yourself to their bodies and, at some point, your breathing matches theirs.

Or…maybe it’s you all are becoming one with each other. Pushing and pulling until there’s synchrony. Suguru is the one to curl around you. Satoru’s skin warms. As your breath matches theirs, their breaths match each other, match yours.

Before floating off completely, you remember last July.

Remember the softness of Suguru’s face as your naked bodies were pressed together, soaked in sweat yet satisfied. The morning after, the darkness under his eyes was a little lighter. You’d been a little less worried about him. It’d been nice. And you have that same thought now.

Yes, this is peaceful enough.

On the morning of the year anniversary of your near-death experience, you debate on whether to keep yourself scarce around Suguru or not. While you don’t want to remind him of what happened, if you stay away then that might give him the wrong impression. Either option poses a risk, but you decide to treat it like any other normal day. Maybe if you’re calm enough, it can radiate out to infect him.

Like any other day, you motivate yourself as you’re putting on clothes after your shower. After you dropped the girls off at therapy, you went on an assignment with Ijichi. The curse exploded, blood splattering all over you. Yes, you know the blood crumbles away, but it’s about knowing it was there, so you always try to shower after missions. It was relatively quick, so Suguru was still in bed when you came back.

There’s coffee on. That, combined with the shower running, you were sure that it’d wake Suguru up. Your hunger is getting close to the point of being painful. Yesterday, he said he’d take you out to breakfast. You’re worried that he’s still not up, so you go to his room, hesitantly knocking on the door.

“Sugu—”

What happens next is a whirlwind that makes your head spin. The door that you’re leaned against is flung open, making you lose your balance and tip forward. You don’t hit the ground because your wrist is snatched, and you’re tugged forward against a very solid chest. You don’t even have the chance to look at his face because he spins you around quickly, crowding you forward until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

Sprawled out on the bed now, you try to lean up on an elbow, finally looking at Suguru. His eyes are wild with panic, just like his hands are when he straddles you on the bed and starts shoving your shirt up. You yelp at his insisting cold fingers and catch his hands. “Suguru!” You struggle to keep his hands still. He tilts his head up, moving his gaze away from your torso to stare at you directly. “Suguru,” you repeat his name. “What’s wrong?”

His breaths are tight, fast. “I need to see it’s not there,” he pleads. “I need to know you’re not hurt.”

“I’m not,” you insist while motioning toward your exposed torso. You understand what’s going on now. You can’t count how many times you’ve woken up, the smell of blood and flesh rotting in the hot sun in your nose. “See? There’s nothing.” You guide his hands to set them on your abdomen. Shoko made it in time to prevent scarring. He runs his fingers across your exposed, smooth skin. “I’m okay. It’s okay now. It’s over.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, but tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you so much. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I don’t deserve it, but I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me, please—”

You grab him by the shoulders, yanking him down until his chest smacks against yours. You slip an arm around his back, the other threading through his hair. “I’m not leaving,” you assure him. He’s so warm against you. “I forgive you. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I forgive you.”

It’s the first week of October when Satoru announces, “I want to do something.”

Here’s the thing about Satoru—he’s brash and entitled. That’s just never going to change. It’s better than it was when you first met him. What happened last year with you seemed to really humble him. With all that said, he’s only the most considerate with you and Suguru and, even then, it’s more that he gives you a choice to come along with him. In the end, he’s still going to do whatever it is that he wants to do. These days, he’ll sometimes warn everyone what he’s doing, but most times, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word permission.

You know whatever he wants to do right now is going to be bad. Really bad. It’s all about Satoru’s wording there. Saying that he wants to do a thing rather than he is going to do a thing. It’s almost as if he’s asking for your permission. And by asking for your permission, he’s also making you culpable.

Not like that matters anymore, you being an accessory to potential crimes and all. You’ve already lied to the higher-ups. You’ve already, for all intents and purposes, brainwashed the higher-ups. You’re not sure there’s a crime worse than that other than straight up slaughtering them all.

Alright, fine, you’re simply frustrated because these plans of his always end up with you having the most massive headache.

You sigh, resigned to your fate and already feeling drained. “What did you do now?”

“Nothing!” At your deadpan stare, he hunches in on himself, going on to defensively mutter, “Nothing yet. Jeez, cut me some slack, Sketch.”

Yeah, there it is. “Fine. What areyou going to do?”

“…adopt a kid.”

You promptly choke on the plum Fanta that he went out of his way to hunt down for you at two different konbini. In hindsight, you should’ve known he was trying to butter you up. No, no. You’re getting distracted. What did he just say to you? What the fuck did he say?

Satoru slaps you on the back to help clear your airway. Through your coughing, he rushes to explain. “Look, right before he died, Zen’in Toji told me he had a son that was going to be sold off to the Zen’in clan within a few years—”

Are you finally having that brain aneurysm? Words are coming out of his mouth, but they don’t make sense. “You…want to adopt the son of the man that almost killed you?” That did kill him, however briefly that death was, but you don’t say those words out loud.

Satoru rests his chin in the palm of his hand, watching you with a look that’s more curious than anything. “I didn’t expect you to be the type to hold the sins of their father against them.”

“It’s not—” you sigh irritably, not wanting to concede that he’s right. Your kneejerk reaction is somewhat because of that. But there’s more to it than that. “This isn’t like Nanako and Mimiko’s situation. We had to get them out of there. If they stayed there, they would’ve died. Why are you doing this? Just to stick it to the Zen’in clan? You can’t collect kids like one of your Digimon figurines.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he pouts. Not exactly helping his case against your argument. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you’re worried that he’s going about this all too fast, getting too impatient. He…he can be a little careless when it comes to other people. That’s not a good thing to be with a child.

Something about what you said to him strikes a nerve because he flatly says, “They’ve been alone for the last year.”

“They?”

“Fushiguro Megumi and his stepsister, Fushiguro Tsumiki. Zen’in Toji took his wife’s surname. Whoever the wife was, she ditched the kids along with him, if she’s even alive. I can’t imagine being married to that guy was safe.” How do you know all this? “I’ve had the clan watching them, poking around for information,” he answers before you can even ask the question.

“But how could they be alone? It’s been a year. Someone must’ve said something to the government by now—”

“How’d Nanako and Mimiko end up alone?” Right. He’s right. Sorcerer or not, people are always falling through the cracks. “I know the Zen’in have been sniffing around, too. Someone with their clan stops by once a week, making sure they’re fed. They’re probably trying to butter the kid up.”

He’s serious about this. Satoru is actually, genuinely serious about this. “Why are they so interested in this boy, anyway? I know that Zen’in Toji walked away from the clan, technically, but they didn’t chase after him. They didn’t want him. Why do they want his son now?”

“Zen’in Toji was an anomaly in the system. For as much as he hated them, though, he was still a Zen’in. Anyone with their blood has the potential to manifest the clan’s inherited technique. You remember it, right?” You nod. There are many techniques in the clan, but the Ten Shadows is coveted. Not many can match a Gojo with Limitless and the Six Eyes, but a fully realized sorcerer with the Ten Shadows? That’s dangerous for a Gojo. “The kid manifested that technique.”

“Shouldn’t he be with people who can teach him more about his technique?” You grimace as you ask the question.

He snorts. “You know what sucks about having a really famous technique that’s been in your clan for hundreds of years? It’s that everyone knows how it works. Same principle with all the other clans.” You’re still skeptical. It must show on your face. “How do you think that kid’s old man got the best of me?”

After all this back and forth with him, he still hasn’t answered the most important question. “Why are you doing this, Satoru?”

Satoru turns away from you, head tilting up to stare at the setting sun. “Fushiguro Megumi is going to be strong. He could be as strong as me. I want that. We need that if we’re going to tear down everything and start over.” He pauses. “But…it’s more than that. This kid should have a choice in what happens to his life. The Zen’in want a weapon. No one should live that way. I didn’t know how…” His brows furrow as he tries to properly articulate himself. “You looked me in the eye and told me I was stupid for believing I was only meant to be a weapon. All the money in the world couldn’t compare to how it felt when I heard you say my name,” he confesses. “This kid shouldn’t have to sit around and hope that one day he’ll meet someone like you.”

There’s that twist in your chest again. It leaves you breathless and shaky. Giddy and warm. It’s such a complicated thing. So big that it makes you want to run and hide from him when he makes such bold declarations like this about you. Once upon a time, you were convinced that you were a stupid, freakish hick from a village that would stick to your best friend’s side until he grew out of you. You still think that.

Why is someone as important as Satoru so insistent that you’re something special?

Am I really worth all this?

Satoru always answers yes.

Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you give a shaky laugh. “How am I even supposed to respond to that?” Face warm, looking everywhere but him, you reach down to lace his fingers through yours. “Okay.” You’ve made your decision. “Okay, I’ll help you give this boy a chance.”

As if you were going to end up anywhere else.

A pair of brown eyes blink up at you.

Déjà vu.

This little girl hasn’t been physically beaten, at least, but you stop that line of thought as soon as it floats across your mind. The Fushiguro siblings and the Hasaba twins are each a side of the same coin. These siblings may not have any physical scars, but the mental scars are there. After all, to be willingly abandoned by the people meant to love and protect you…isn’t that another form of violence?

That same fierce protectiveness that you’d felt on the night you first saw the twins is pressing in again. You have to remind your body that there’s no physical threat here. There are only ghosts here now and the children haunted by them. You can’t speak to her brother, but Tsumiki reeks of loneliness. She’s worryingly trusting, happy to invite you in even before you introduce yourself as someone like her brother.

She insists on you sitting at the kitchen table while she makes tea. Tries to, anyway. “We haven’t gotten our groceries from Megumi’s family yet,” she explains apologetically. “You and your friend can have the last tea bags! If Megumi gets mad, don’t worry! I’ll make sure to take the blame!”

Satoru already explained the plan. He used the word adopt very loosely. If the siblings both agree to come under Satoru’s wing, under his protection, then a caretaker from the Gojo clan will come live with them. Is the Gojo caretaker in Tokyo yet? You don’t want to leave these children alone. It’s been less than ten minutes with Tsumiki and you’re already making plans on how to sneak her into your dorm room until you sign the lease on an apartment.

“Ah, Megumi’s home!” Tsumiki announces brightly after she throws open the window of their apartment.

Not even twenty-years-old and you’re going to be looking after four children.

What a weird little life you’ve come to have.

“Is there a reason we can’t celebrate here?”

Satoru is absolutely scandalized by the suggestion. If he had pearls, he’d be clutching at them tightly to his chest. How is this drama queen your best friend? “What kinda lame shit is that? Sketch, c’mon!”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing out smoke before she passes it on to a grateful Kento. After that trip they took in September, he came back a smoker. Not only has she passed the bad habit to Suguru, but now Kento! She ignores your scathing glare. Next to you, Suguru chuckles lowly, and then pulls out his own carton of cigarettes because he thinks he’s such a cheeky little bastard, doesn’t he?

“Oh, but celebrating with your stuffy clan is somehow less lame?” Shoko shakes her head. “Hard pass, Gojo. Why are we even here, anyway?” She gestures toward herself and Kento. “You’ve never invited us to your birthday before. It’s always Duck and Geto.”

“Oi, Nanamin likes my clan.”

Kento sighs, and he’s close enough to Satoru that the smoke gets in his face. Satoru gives an exaggerated cough. “I appreciated that they took things more seriously than you. That doesn’t mean I liked them. Now, please answer Ieiri’s question. Why am I even here?”

That’s also an answer you’d like to hear because Shoko is right, after all. Even when you and Suguru were fighting, you both put your pride aside to stay with Satoru at the Gojo estate. You’d both been painfully polite, things had been awkward, you’d hardly spoken, and you’d slept on a futon on the floor rather than in the bed, but you’d been there. That’s how it’s always been since you started high school.

“It’s our last year!” Satoru says with a pout. “Everyone is splitting up after we graduate!”

Everyone sighs in perfect unison which only makes Satoru huffier. “Satoru,” you start patiently, “have you forgotten that you’ll be in school with Suguru and Shoko?”

Satoru blinks. “What?” He looks at Shoko. “Since when? I thought you were going to medical school in Kyoto.”

“Oops,” is all Shoko says, clearly having forgotten to tell Satoru. Admittedly, you forgot, too. You’ve spent so much time with Satoru and Suguru this year that it’s hard to remember the days where you haven’t been with them. You assumed that he’d been part of that conversation.

Even Kento is surprised, watching her with raised brows. Respecting him more than Satoru, she explains her decision. “Tokyo has the better school.”

Suguru and you share a look, but you turn your head away, lips pursing. Shoko’s lying, but it’s not your place to correct her. Her business is her own—that’s what she’d snapped at you when she’d announced her plans, and you’d poked too much at her flimsy excuse. Things haven’t gotten better with Utahime. You’re the only one Utahime trusts to talk to casually to now, but neither she nor Shoko have told you what their blowout was truly over. It can’t be only about a rejection. There has to be more.

“More importantly,” Suguru speaks up in a wry tone, “I can’t leave the girls alone for a weekend.”

Satoru brightens. “We can bring them with us! They can finally meet Megumi and Tsumiki!” Another sigh from everyone. “Hey, what’s with this attitude? What’s wrong with that?”

“We’ve only been around them for two months,” you point out. “We shouldn’t overload them with new places and unfamiliar people.” He opens his mouth to protest. You stop him immediately because you’ve had this argument with him before. “They need stability.”

“Not everyone is as flippant as you,” Kento bluntly says. Satoru’s sputtering response is once again disregarded because Kento’s phone pings. Yours chimes not even a minute later, giving away who is on the other end. Kento doesn’t even look at the text. He turns toward you. “I’ll supervise Ijichi this time, Senpai.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to overwork yourself and you’re already at five missions in a row with him,” you fret.

“Gojo’s been more unbearable lately,” Kento deadpans.

Shoko and Suguru laugh at poor Satoru’s expense. “Good idea, Nanami,” Shoko praises. “Sucks I’m not allowed to be in active combat, or I’d do the same.” She pulls out her cell phone, glancing at the screen. “I’m getting lunch with Mei. Duck, Geto, talk some sense into Gojo before he scars these kids for life.” As she’s walking away, she says loudly enough, so you can all hear, “I can’t believe he wants to be a teacher. I worry for the future of any kids under him.”

“This counts as bullying, Ieiri!” Satoru shouts after her. When she’s out of sight, he puffs his cheeks out in indignation. “This is what I get for trying to be a nice guy. And neither of you defended me, either! I thought you’d be proud that I was trying to include everyone!”

“It wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan, but your heart was definitely in the right place,” you reassure him. You mean that, really. Suguru gives his own silent praise by gently stroking Satoru’s hair. Satoru leans into the touch, his metaphorical tail wagging. It’s cute. They’re cute. It should be criminal to be that cute.

Satoru has been on the bench this entire time. As soon as Suguru started stroking his hair, he leaned over to press himself against Suguru’s side. Because of the angle, Satoru can see what’s behind you. Suguru’s had his eyes on Satoru, expression soft, but he blinks to awareness when Satoru wonders aloud, “Who do you think the normies are?”

In that moment, someone else says your name.

Dread drops like a heavy stone in your belly.

You pray that in the time it takes you to turn around, the world will right itself. You hope that your brain is playing tricks on you and that that they won’t actually be standing there. You’re not that lucky, though. Unfortunately, you’re still as sane as ever, and they’re actually here.

You don’t know how or why, but your mother and father stand before you.

As soon as your mother has your attention, she throws herself forward to wrap her arms around you. You tense under the sudden contact. It feels…foreign now. Then again, it always did. You can’t even remember the last time your father hugged you. Your mother used to be more physically affectionate, but it tapered off. It was easier to just not touch you at all rather than deal with a potential tantrum if you were having a bad day.

“Hi, honey,” your mother whispers in your ear before kissing your temple.

“Hello, Mother,” you respond awkwardly.

Chin on her shoulder, you watch your father watch you, giving a nod of acknowledgement before glancing behind you. “Suguru,” he greets stiffly. Just as curtly, Suguru returns the greeting. Your father’s mouth thins the longer he keeps scrutinizing Suguru. “I hope you’re not smoking, too,” your father says to you, clearly disapproving of Suguru’s habit.

“You’re here to do the exact same thing,” you shoot back testily. He is, he’s pulling the carton out of his pocket right now. “What does it matter if it’s now or in three months after graduation?”

Your mother sighs softly before stepping away, pity on her face. “Are you having a bad day?”

And, ugh, the way that she asks it. To you, it’s always felt like your mother thinks you stopped aging on the day that you got your diagnosis. It hasn’t even been five minutes, and your nerves are already shot, being continually grated on by the presence of your parents. The tips of your ears are starting to burn in embarrassment. Suguru may be used to your parents, but Satoru has never met them. It’s almost an unspoken rule between the three of you to speak of your parents as little as possible.

Your father sighs your mother’s name, exasperated. “Don’t coddle her. She can’t act this way at the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

Your mother and father glance at each other then back to you. “Yes,” your father starts slowly. “On December seventh,” he goes on as if that’ll jog your memory of something you don’t know about. When he only receives the same blank stare, his brows raise in genuine surprise. “Did you not get the proposal?”

The dread in your stomach spreads, slithering through your veins like ice. “Proposal,” you repeat flatly. “What proposal?”

“Oh, wow,” your mother laughs nervously. “The messenger did say they liked to do things the old-fashioned way,” she reminds your father before turning back to you with a smile. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything is fine. Why don’t we discuss this with your boyfriend and his father? We’re staying with his clan right now.”

“Boyfriend?” You, Suguru, and Satoru repeat with the same high-pitched alarm.

Your parents are as perplexed as you three are. Your mother shrinks under the volume of your voices, so your father takes over, calling out your name. It’s spoken sharply, with that expression that means he won’t tolerate you getting hysterical. He’s always had little patience with a diagnosis he still refuses to believe in. Time away has given you little patience for him, too, and you need to know what the fuck he’s talking about.

“Father,” you snap back. “What are you talking about?”

“Zen’in Naoya is offering a marriage proposal,” your father finally clarifies. You wish he hadn’t. Panic is shooting through you faster than the dread. “They want to meet to discuss the details on December seventh. They’re housing us at their estate, so we don’t have to pay for a hotel in the city. They even offered to dress us for the important occasion.”

You’re positive your brain is broken because, out of all the things, your brain gets stuck on one detail. “I have plans on that day,” you blurt. “It’s Satoru’s birthday.”

Your mother’s head tilts to the side. “Satoru?”

“Mine and Suguru’s best friend,” you elaborate dumbly.

After lighting his cigarette and taking a few puffs, your father’s gaze slides back behind you. “Suguru, can you take your friend so we can speak to our daughter alone?”

As much as you’d like to run away with them from this conversation, you’re afraid of what will be done on your behalf if you don’t put your foot down. You look over your shoulder at them, nodding in agreement with your father. Suguru does what he’s always done around your parents—bite his tongue and grit his teeth. Same as you’d done with his. Someone getting involved in family affairs always made things worse.

Satoru clearly isn’t happy. His fists are clenched and he’s visibly angry, but Suguru takes him by the upper arm. Suguru leans in to whisper something quietly. You nod with whatever Suguru is saying. Satoru is still pissed off, but when Suguru starts pulling him away, he goes.

They don’t go far, though, because of course not. Enough to get out of sight but still be close enough to hear the conversation with your parents. Perks of being born a sorcerer is slightly enhanced senses. You can sense their cursed energy, lingering around the corner, fluctuating wildly with their emotions. You doubt yours is much better.

“Honey, can’t you just ask your friend to move around your plans?” Your mother takes your hand. You grit your teeth against the contact. “If he’s really your best friend, he’d want the best for you. This is your future we’re talking about.”

You shake your head, wrenching your hand away from hers. “I already have my future planned out,” you hiss. “I’m about to put an offer in on an apartment! I have a job lined up for when I graduate!” They’re both stunned. Good! You want them to be! You want them to see how far you’ve come! “I’m not getting married, especially not to Zen’in Naoya. He’s not my boyfriend. I’ve only met him once, actually, and he was the biggest asshole I’ve ever met!”

“You’re getting hysterical for no reason,” your father says dismissively. “I don’t know where your manners went in the last four years, but I know you did something right around the boy if he’s asking to marry you.”

“I’m allowed to be angry when I’m not even given the courtesy of knowing about my own marriage proposal,” you snarl.

Your father shrugs. “Marriage proposals traditionally go through the parents, you know that.”

“You shouldn’t base your opinion of someone after one meeting,” your mother tries to soothe. “But, honey, I need you to really think about your future. They’re a very wealthy clan. They offered the family a…large amount of money. We’re not only going to be taken care of, either. You will be, too. You need that.”

“I can take care of myself! I’ve been doing it for the last four years! Did I not just say that I’ll have my own apartment and a job soon?”

Your father scoffs. “Suguru needs to live his own life. He won’t be taking care of you anymore after graduation.”

“I know you’re doing good right now,” your mother starts while putting her hands on your shoulders. “And I’m so proud of you for that. But I don’t think you understand how much work it is to live on your own. How long before it all gets to be too much for you? I know how you are. You’re going to get overwhelmed. I really doubt that your new job is going to be accommodating to your condition.”

Why does she have to keep doing that? This has always been one of your biggest insecurities. Yes, you’re going to have bad days, but who doesn’t? Maybe you have a lot more than a normal person, but you’ve been doing fine until now. You…yeah, okay, you’ve had Shoko and Suguru to help you, but…you’re prepared! You have a notebook you plan to use to write down all the due dates for your bills when you’ve got the utilities set up.

You’re not helpless.

You…you’re not…

Your mother sees the doubt and keeps hammering it home. “We’re not expecting you to get married so soon, of course not. You should get to know him, though. If you married into this clan, you’d never have to work a day in your life. They have workers on their estate that do all the cleaning. The only thing that you’d have to be is a good wife. Nothing else. You could do your art, I’m sure, as long as it’s not those little drawings you used to do. That might be too much, but you could keep yourself busy with drawing something natural, right? I want you to be taken care of. That’s all your father and I want for you.”

“We’re meeting with them regardless,” your father declares with an air of finality. “They’ve paid for kimonos for you and your mother, a yukata for me, and they’re housing us. It’s the least you can do.”

“It’s going to be so nice,” your mother gushes. “The kimono are beautiful. I can’t wait for you to see the ofurisode that they got for you. Oh, and Naoya’s mother already let me have a peek at the menu. The main course is going to be grilled octopus with a ginger miso butter—”

“Seriously?!”

Satoru’s booming voice echoing in the air has you and your mother yelping. Your father’s eyes narrow at what’s behind you which you can only guess is Satoru stomping back over toward the three of you. His cursed energy is a frenzy, more unstable than you’ve ever seen from him before. You’re not trying to resonate with him, but his rage is palpable. You whip your head around so fast that it puts a crick in your neck, watching as Suguru tries to hold him back, but no one can stop Gojo Satoru when his mind is dead set on something.

“Satoru—” you start in a placating tone, only to be interrupted by him.

“Do you even give a shit about her?” Satoru demands to know of your parents. His stature and fury have your mother scurrying back to your father’s side. Stubborn until the end, your father doesn’t balk at Satoru’s anger. “Seriously? Have you paid any attention to her all these years? If you cared, even a little bit, you’d know that she can’t stand wearing an ofurisode! You’d know that she fucking hates octopus! These are basic facts about her!”

Your father remains indifferent. As a non-sorcerer, it’s not like he can feel Satoru’s cursed energy. And…you suppose that he’s gotten good at ignoring your breakdowns. He’s probably brushing Satoru off as hysterical, too. “Do you expect us to throw these things back in the Zen’in clan’s face?”

“Yes!” Satoru answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I know how loaded their clan is! Replacing a kimono is just a drop in the bucket! There’s two days to get them to change the menu to something she likes, but I bet you don’t even know what she likes to eat! You don’t know anything about her! Who the fuck do you think you are to show up and talk to her like this? You’re just bulldozing over everything she says, making her think that she’s some helpless maiden that can’t even lift a pinky without hurting herself or some shit!”

Your mother nervously tries to defend herself, “We want what’s—”

“Why are you really doing this?” Satoru continues, completely ignoring her. “Is it the money? Are you just whoring your kid out because they threw a bag of money at you? Because that’s what you’re doing! You can’t come into our world, acting like you know a goddamn thing when you don’t. My clan’s been in a pissing match with them for centuries. We know all their dirty little secrets and those guys would treat her like a glorified baby machine. That’s all women are good for in their eyes. Does that sound like the kinda place you’d want your daughter in?”

“Sounds like you’re biased, then,” your father remarks dryly. Satoru’s flush deepens as his anger only builds in response to your father’s apathy. Your father has that effect on people, yes. “I don’t know you. I don’t know your clan. If your clan has a sliver of the wealth that the Zen’in does, then you can never understand my family. Money is security. It’s freedom.”

“You’re trading her freedom for yours,” Satoru snarls. “You’d have her nail a mask on her face and dance for people that don’t love her and never will. The only ones that would fit in perfectly there are you. You’re all the same, making her feel terrible just because she doesn’t fit your bullshit definition of normal. If you want to be like them so bad, then here.” Satoru flings something directly at your father’s face. The sleek, black credit card that his family gave him when he left for school nails your father right between the eyes. “There’s your freedom. Spend as much as you want. It’s all chump change to me if it gets you to fuck off and get off her back.”

And that’s it. Satoru always makes sure to have the last word. He snatches your hand and you almost trip over your feet trying to keep up with his long, furious strides. Suguru’s parted mouth, probably a reflection of your own, snaps shut. He tries to dodge out of Satoru’s war path, but Satoru grabs Suguru’s hand, too. You can almost see the steam blowing out of his ears and he’s angrily muttering under his breath as he drags you both along behind him.

“Those are your parents, Sketch?” Satoru is disgusted and in disbelief. “How did someone like you come from people like that?”

“Uh…probably because I had Suguru?” He’s closing in on the torii gates. You are not going to let him drag you down those steps like this. It’d be incredibly embarrassing to be a sorcerer and die because you fell down some stairs. “Satoru, I know you’re upset but please calm down. I’m going to fall and break my neck.”

Suguru doesn’t even give Satoru the chance to stop himself. Suguru grabs you by the back of your collar to hold you steady as he forcibly stops and brings Satoru with him. Suguru drops his hold of your collar, big hand spreading out across the back of your neck, sliding down to the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” Suguru asks quietly.

Familiarity is such an odd thing, you realize suddenly. No, that’s not it. Because you spent more time with your parents than Satoru and Suguru, technically. So, what is it that makes their presence a comfort while such a brief encounter with your parents only brought dread and distress? It felt invasive when your mother hugged you so suddenly, but you crave more of Suguru’s touch. Just your mother so close had you on edge, but Satoru and Suguru both are pressed in close, and it just feels like home to you.

You want Satoru to warp you all back to Suguru’s apartment and curl up in Suguru’s bed with both of them against you. And you know that they’d do it. They’d be happy to exist with you, no expectations of you talking to them the rest of the night because they understand talking is hard for you when you’ve had a really bad day. It doesn’t bother them when you cry. They’d hold you if you asked them to or they’d busy themselves by reading or gaming if you didn’t want to be touched. They just get it. They get you.

This is what it feels to be known.

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly because your heart is so full up. “Just…tired. I think I want to nap until it’s time to pick the girls up from school.”

“I’m breaking out the PlayStation and playing Resident Evil Two while you do!” Satoru declares with a huff. “I need something to kill!”

You chuckle. “Just go blow up a curse.”

“Like I’m leaving you alone! Give me more credit than that!”

You knew it. You just really wanted to hear him say it.

Graduation is weird at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.

For everyone else in the country, the third year is supposed to be your last. And, technically, in the eyes of Japan, you have graduated. But in the jujutsu world, the official graduation ceremony happens in your fourth year. There’s an option to leave after the third year, for those who decide that sorcery isn’t for them or if they feel that they’re ready to walk the sorcerer path on their own. Those people don’t have a ceremony. They’re sent on their way with their diploma.

Most opt for the fourth year, obviously. It’s spent with steadily increasing assignments and slowly decreasing supervision. Not to mention that it gives you time to prepare for the life of an adult. Apartment hunting in Tokyo might be more difficult than actual sorcery, so you get a year to build up enough for a deposit while finding a place to live.

In the months leading up to your March graduation, it’s…actually been a relatively normal experience that you expect any other high schooler in Japan to go through.

Other than the deadly curses and marriage proposal thing.

That offer in December fell through. You’d been a little heartbroken about it, but you and Shoko kept at it, and each found your own apartment. Satoru, of course, already had something waiting for him courtesy of his clan. Out of your friend group, he’s the furthest away in terms of distance. No one can afford to live in his part of the city. You’re the closest to Shoko which Satoru and Suguru were not happy about. You and she are a walk away from each other while you’ve got to take a train to get to Suguru and Satoru.

Suguru, incredibly intelligent and having almost finished his third year before he dropped out, manages to get his high school diploma before it’s time for the university entrance exams. It’s still disorienting to think that he and Satoru are going to be teachers. All your best friends keep nudging you to go to school with them, get an art degree. You respectfully decline. Your high school diploma is doing you just fine. You’ve already met with headquarters to hash the details of your upcoming job.

Here you are, at the start of adulthood, and it’s a surreal experience.

The official ceremony is small and quick. There are only three of you, after all. All the higher-ups are in attendance and some other high-ranking sorcerers. Shoko’s parents, still in their scrubs, are in the little crowd. Satoru’s, too, and some of the other Gojo elders. In the back is Suguru and Utahime with a gaggle of children with them. They’re all still skittish around each other, so the twins stick to Suguru while Tsumiki and Megumi linger with Utahime until the ceremony is over and then they’re both at your side.

Between all the congratulations and the gift giving, you lose track of Satoru until he sends you a message asking you to meet him somewhere private.

The campus only has one cherry blossom tree, situated by a koi pond. It’s one of those spots on campus that are meant to promote meditation. No one spends much time at it, though, because…well, a group of friends hanging out at one tree is kind of lame. It’s also an excuse to go down into the city to have a cherry blossom viewing party.

For two people, though, this one tree is more than enough.

“Are you okay?” This is the umpteenth time today that you’ve asked him this question.

And, for the umpteenth time today, Satoru lies with a nervous, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

That’s what you’d like to know, damn it. Satoru has been like this all day long. A bundle of nervous energy. Fidgeting and leg bouncing so fast that he rattles the tables he’s sitting at. He didn’t even make a scene during the graduation ceremony! It was a shock to everyone. Kento, who stuck around after receiving his diploma because he’s opting for early graduation, asked you and Shoko if Satoru was alright.

Frustratingly, you think that Shoko knows what’s up with him. She’s watched him with amused eyes, tracking his movements, and smirking if he ever catches her staring. They’ve had so many unspoken conversations with those looks. And she won’t spill the beans! She’s downright chipper! And when you told her that you were headed to talk to him, you swear that she’d been downright vibrating from excitement. It was, frankly, a little terrifying.

Since no one else is around, you feel like you can freely speak. “Satoru, even without my technique, you’re smothering everyone with your nervous energy.” His shoulders practically climb up to his reddening ears. “I don’t want to come off as pushy,” you quickly add. “I’m…worried, is all.”

“Just…gimme a second,” is all he says before he starts pacing.

You blink. Because wow. He is really nervous. Have you ever seen him this outwardly anxious before? Your mouth opens, closes, but you don’t know what to say. All you can settle on is, “Um…okay…”

Minutes pass by with it going like that—Satoru pacing back and forth, stopping occasionally to nervously run a hand through his hair. He’s not panting, per se, but his chest is rising and falling a little quicker than normally. You’re genuinely worried that he’s on the verge of a panic attack. The darkening of his cheeks and tips of his ears definitely don’t ease that concern, either. At around the five-minute mark, he yanks his sunglasses off, shoving them in his pocket, so you can outright see the nervous glances he shoots you.

This breaks you—even though you told yourself that you’d give him the time he asked for. Your nerves have reached their critical breaking point.

“Sa—”

Satoru puts his foot down. Literally. Stomps on the ground as he turns to face you with a shout that startles you. “I want to take you on a date!” His fists are clenched tight, and his chest is puffed out. The stance he takes is almost…aggressive. As if he’s about to attack you. Completely at odds with what he said before and what he says next. “A romantic date!”

To make sure that Satoru totally cements his seriousness in this matter, he practically rips the second button off his blazer, stomps forward, and shoves it into your hand. Blush now spreading to his entire face, he guides your fingers to close around the button, unable to meet your gaze as he does. Then, he carefully steps away, staring down at the ground, fists balling up again as he waits on you to reply.

Even someone like you, clueless about subtleties and social rules, understands what this signifies. The buttons of a student’s blazer are symbols. The top is the self. The third is your best friend. But the second, the one closest to the heart, is meant for the one you like the most. Romantically, like Satoru said.

Clutching the button against your chest, you quietly ask, “You…like me?” It’s important that you clarify this. You need to know that he understands what this second button and giving it away means. “You want to date me? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Satoru whispers. “I…” He hesitates. Such a rare thing from him. “I really like you.” He glances away. “I get it…if you don’t like me in the same way. We…you’re still my best friend, even if you reject me. And…um…if you need more time to think about it—”

“Yes,” you blurt without a second thought. His head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. Before he can ask what that means, because his lips are already parting, you rush to clarify. “Yes, I want to go out on a date with you.” Your other hand flies up so both of them are keeping his given button pressed to your chest.

“You’re…you’re not doing it because it’s what you think I want…right?”

“No,” you answer softly after navigating your racing thoughts and feelings. “I really want to.”

Satoru takes a cautious step toward you. “Okay, but…but you’re allowed to change your mind!” It is both a heartwarming and bewildering experience, watching the blossoming hope in his eyes warring with his anxious mind. “And, uh, we’ll wait until after we move into our new places! If you get too…y’know…flustered seeing me then I don’t have to help you like I said! I can have some people from the Gojo estate—”

You’re hot all over, buzzing with a giddiness that you’ve never felt before. Are you sure you’re not the one that’s going to be too flustered, you want to ask him. You resist the urge. It took him a lot of courage. He’s absolutely been in his head all day long. His heart rate needs some time to recover after this. “As long as you’re okay with it, I still want you to help.”

Satoru collapses on the bench next to you, exhaling so loudly that it startles you. He hunches over, elbows on his knees, hanging his head. “Good,” he wheezes while doing a thumbs-up. “That’s awesome.”

“That’s awesome,” you agree as giggles burst free from your chest.

You never stop clutching that button to your chest.

[schrodinger-swriter]

if u havent already can u write hcs for Lucifer w a artist s/o? it’s totally ok if u cant but like imagine him opening up random cabinets to grab something only to see a doodle of him on a sticky note!

or finding drawings and painting of him on your table that you were planning to give him 🫶

Lucifer x Artist!Reader

Once more I hope you guys don't mind me bouncing around in the requests, usually I would answer them in the order they've been sent in but I've just been feeling... off as of late.. I think I might write down everything then close down the inbox until I'm caught up and at least had a day to rest. The mental illness is getting rather up in arms lately..

Moving on! I hope you enjoy, Anon!

You two trade ideas, as creatives. He does seem like he would be into painting as a medium alongside making his ducks. Though, art is more so your thing in comparison to him. He simply doesn't have enough time or energy to put pen to paper; too absorbed in getting the quicker satisfaction that comes from his duck crafts.

He keeps every single doodle you've left around the house, it may seem like a small gesture but the fact that you care enough to leave him notes to remind him how much you love him and reminding him to take care of himself means a lot to him... One day he wants to return the favor, but he just doesn't know how yet exactly.

He gets you the very best materials that he can get, which... is very likely anything that can be thought of. Water colors, oils, acrylics, anything and he'll get it for you. Borrowing from the Writer!Reader post he makes hand crafted things for you every now and then. Handmade sketchbooks and colored pencils, as well as making new paints with you. Finding ways to make the pigments together is nice! It allows you both to spend time together and experiment.

As for the drawings you make to surprise him.. he has to fight himself not to gush to you about how much he loves them. He wants you to still be able to surprise him, so as hard as it is he's going to at least attempt to be quiet about it... for now...

[spikesbunny]

♥︎ IN THE DARK ♥︎

+ warnings: established relationships (not mentioned, js for ref), semi-public sex, oral sex (f receiving) (sanji), kitchen sex (sanji), sanji calls you pet names (love, princess, doll, baby, mon amour), fingering (both), sex on the deck (zoro), zoro calls you baby, ooc zoro (hes so sweet in this but we NEED sweet tender zoro)

+ ft: sanji and zoro (separate)

nsfw under cut, minors dni!!!

+ note: i love sanji and zoro so much mmmm <3 so late night sex w them hehe

also for sanji's part, you're referred to as '-swan', just because thats how it sounds when he pronounces san (Im assuming?? unless hes genuinly saying swan idk) so yea

reposting from @/roronoaism, all content is mine!!

♥︎ vinsmoke sanji

it was late at night, and you couldn't sleep due to you're throbbing headache. you didnt want to wake up the crew, so you carefully snuck out into the kitchen. you got a pot ready to make yourself some tea, hoping it would at least help to ease the ache.

little did you know, you woke up sanji.

"y/n-swan, what has you up at this hour?? you should be sleeping, love." the blonde looked at you, concerned. he comes over, applying a hand to your forehead, as if checking for a fever. "is everything alright?"

"yea, just couldn't sleep. my head's just bothering me a bit, nothing huge." you respond, looking at the tea pot, deciding if you wanted to have tea or something else to soothe your headache. "sorry 'bout waking ya up."

"no, no, never be sorry, i was already up." he reassures you, holding your hand.

you nod, dumping out the water. tea didn't sound good right now, you needed something faster.

"looking for something to ease it?" sanji ask, a small smirk creeping across his face.

"yea, do we have anything?" you ask, rummaging the cabinets.

"no, not really, but i do know some things that could help, doll~" he replies, the words falling from his mouth like sugar. you had an idea of what he was entailing, yet you wanted to hear him say it directly.

"yea? 'nd what would that be?"

"well- uh- i could, and its completely hypothetical, like only if you're okay with it, but uhhh-" he stutters, clearly flustered. you cross your arms, waiting for him to spit it out.

"i could eat ya out? ill treat you so good, y/n-swan, just your pleasure. trust me?" he practically pleaded, and how could you say no to such a sweetie?

and thats how you ended up propped on the counter, legs spread as sanji laps at your pussy. he enjoyed, loved it so much, it felt like a drug to him. his lips suck at your sensitive bud, two of his slender fingers curling up into your soaked hole.

you never had a man as talented or pleased as him. he moaned every time you tightened your grip on his hair, his voice vibrating against your cunt.

"baby, please, cum for me." he mumbles against your lips, before fucking you with his tongue, nose rubbing against your clit.

"sanji, fuck, im close" you mutter, your legs trying to close, but being restricted by his arms holding you down.

sanji takes it as an invitation to get closer, his whole face practically in between your legs as he draws an orgasm from you. he drinks up every drop, before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and glancing up at you.

"you taste divine, mon amour~" sanji states, before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

"now please, go rest up, y/n-swan. you need some rest." he replies, helping you up. "i love you" he whispers, kissing your head, before walking you to your room after dressing you.

♥︎ roronoa zoro

fuck. you rise out of your bed after what felt like endless hours of tossing and turning. you couldn't sleep. not with the dull headache keeping you wide awake.

it was zoro's turn to keep watch, so you figured you would go visit him. and pray he wasn't drunk.

you walked out to the deck, and noticed zoro leaned against the railing. approaching him, you tap his shoulder, causing him to suddenly turn around. "oh, its just you. hey."

"hi."

"what's up?" he ask, before taking in your figure. the shorts and bra combo seemed to shock him, as he turned back towards the sea.

"i just have a headache, and couldn't sleep." you reply, hugging his waist. "can i just sit here with you?"

zoro nods, before turning to face you again. "anythin' i can do to help?"

"mmm, not really. unless you have something stress relieving."

"well, its quite vacant here. and it's been a while since it's just been you and me."

"are you suggesting sex?"

zoro nods, before planting a kiss to your lips gently. "whatcha say?"

your nod was all the confirmation he needed. he gently laid you down on the deck, before removing your shorts and undergarments.

"already wet, baby? i didnt know you were thinking of this" he teases softly.

"it was an idea" you mumble, before his fingers find their way to your clit and trace it once. you moan softly, groaning as he slowly inserts a digit and curls it in you.

he slides another finger in, curling it in unison with the other.

"fuckkk, zoro" you groan, as he presses a kiss to your head. his other hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in time with his curls and thrust.

he feels you tighten around him, before inserting a third finger. you moan a soft string of incomprehensible nonsese, before cumming onto his thick fingers.

"you did so good, baby." he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "feelin better?"

you nod, cuddling up to him. "can i stay here for the night?"

"sure" he replies, holding you against his chest as you let sleep claim you.

©2024 spikesbunny - please do not repost or translate my works on other media sites ♡

[the-s1lly-corner]

Flufftober prompt 13: holding hands (Zenyatta)

while i no longer write for overwatch i still wanna keep with that "write at least one fic for every fandom ive ever written for flufftober" thing so! horray! alternate prompt, list is here plot: you and zenyatta hold hands, that is the plot! notes: reader is human and gn, admin hasnt touched overwatch or its lore since april of 2023 and even then they didnt get totally caught up from the many years prior from their original ovw interest, but lets be real zen has next to zero content stuff, short fic word count: 487 cws: none

Hands were always a big factor of your relationship with Zenyatta. To be guided and held, or to be warmed on a cold evening as you both stayed out to look at the night sky. Despite being made of cold metal, you had never felt more secure in your life.

You looked at the Omnic out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way his chest simulated breathing- rising up and down as he just barely hovered off of the ground. About an inch or two of space between him and the dirt, orbs lowly hanging stagnant in the air only occasionally breaking the silence as they chimed. You mimicked his pose, clasping your hands together in an attempt to protect them from the cold night air. You draw your attention back to the sky, focusing on the way the stars dipped in and out of sight behind the clouds.

"You're cold," He stated, nearly making you jump. You curled your hands closer to each other, shrugging. "It's not too bad, I just need to get used to it,"

He had turned to look at you, metal face just as unreadable as it always had been. "You'll get sick if you remain like this," His stated factually, but you caught the concern in his words. "Then I guess you'll just have to take care of me, if I do." You offered another shrug. Before you could say anything else you felt him tugging your arm gently. You hummed, leaning into him as he pulled you to rest in his lap. With some readjustment, your back eventually settled against his chest. Hands wrapped around your own, quickly warming them up after an initial chill. Fingers locked into yours, holding them in place. Though you didn't feel the desire to wriggle them free of his grasp.

"I would rather you remain in good health..." You could feel his fans and inner workings hum against you. "Besides..." He gave your hands a light squeeze, "You're rather difficult when you're ill."

You rolled your eyes, lightly thumping the back of your shoulder against his, earning a soft chuckle from your partner. "Well it's not my-" You began. "It'd be all your doing," He cut in, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles. You opened your mouth, before shutting it. He was right, and you had nothing to argue back with... not that this was a true disagreement. Instead, you chose to readjust yourself into a more comfortable position, leaning your head back to look at him. "I hate when you're right you know that right?" You teased. He pressed his faceplate against your forehead, turning his attention to the stars you had been staring at just a minute prior. You joined him, the remainder of the night being spent in silence in his lap.

"Hands were nice," You thought as his remained wrapped around your own. Never once letting go.