#I see where all my shit stems from in a way I never used to. I talk about it in a communicative way I was never able to before

[hobisexually]

x

[satoruxx]

PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.  

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice. 

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone. 

"who's the rookie?" 

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes. 

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei. 

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care. 

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons." 

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit." 

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around. 

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace. 

"maybe she's strong?" 

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities." 

ii. routine 

"can i ask you guys a question?" 

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching. 

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile. 

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue. 

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?" 

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another. 

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could. 

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him. 

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.  

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness." 

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him. 

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it. 

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there. 

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you. 

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment. 

but you can't. 

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—" 

"—so that makes you her family then." 

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles. 

"…yes." 

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat. 

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him. 

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims. 

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?" 

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe." 

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?" 

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably. 

"we'll do things the way she wants us to." 

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him. 

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge. 

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen. 

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko. 

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.  

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you. 

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?" 

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh. 

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot." 

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest. 

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him. 

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face. 

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined. 

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands. 

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?" 

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always." 

"me too." 

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle. 

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream. 

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru." 

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!" 

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty." 

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours." 

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room." 

"oh? and why's that?" 

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home." 

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest. 

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room." 

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?" 

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!" 

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist. 

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears. 

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you. 

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!" 

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape. 

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait: 

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you? 

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell. 

"shoko?" 

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you. 

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before. 

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices. 

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively. 

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing. 

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut. 

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?" 

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows. 

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man. 

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him. 

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry. 

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips. 

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?" 

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers." 

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both. 

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind. 

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that." 

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you. 

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time. 

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway. 

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while. 

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you. 

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies. 

"i know." 

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks. 

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!" 

there's an odd note of glee in his voice. 

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around." 

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!" 

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak. 

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?" 

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?" 

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all." 

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?" 

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense. 

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it. 

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself. 

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse. 

that's what everything came down to, right? curses. 

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one. 

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye. 

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression. 

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now. 

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome." 

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now. 

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?" 

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap. 

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders. 

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true." 

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?" 

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please." 

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again. 

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true." 

"suguru—" 

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it." 

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully." 

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—" 

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…" 

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?" 

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot." 

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"  

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either. 

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing. 

nobody has laughed in a while now. 

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him. 

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand." 

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him. 

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left." 

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions." 

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost. 

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…" 

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair. 

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel. 

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then." 

"better late than never, right?" 

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death. 

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls. 

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head. 

"'m not crying." 

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more. 

he doesn't. 

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…" 

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears. 

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go. 

you accept your fate then and there. 

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again. 

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable. 

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read: 

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled: 

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added: 

both of you stfu you're failing too 

you had drawn a heart next to her name. 

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away. 

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off." 

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades. 

"want help?" 

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed. 

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful. 

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…" 

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist. 

"…are all of suguru's things." 

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there. 

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that." 

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face. 

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble. 

"guess not." 

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward. 

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale. 

"let's get started then, hotshot." 

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either. 

but it's enough for the two of you. 

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. 

"so do you." 

"i am," you admit honestly. 

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here." 

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more. 

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.  

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections. 

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up. 

"hey." 

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention. 

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind." 

you frown. "what are you talking about?" 

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that." 

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?" 

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?" 

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant. 

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips. 

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

[lazyjellyfish300]

Mom and Dad are fighting on Christmas 🎄⛄🖤

Miguel O'Hara x wife reader

TW: MINORS DNI, angst, relationship and marriage troubles, fighting, insecurity, jealousy, postpartum, talk of divorce, mild smut at the end (p in v, idk to me it's mild, I've seen worse) word count 3.3k

Credit to the gif owner keezinemugstudent! 🙏🏽

Synopsis: your marriage to Miguel is on the brink of collapse. He wakes up and tries to fix it on Christmas. Jerry Maguire inspired. 😁

Valentine's Day spinoff sequel

Mother's Day ending blurb

I tried to write something angsty. Hope everyone had/is having a good holiday season! ⛄

----------

Miguel's in the doghouse and he knows it. You requested a separation after you reached your limit. The kids were sick in the weeks following Thanksgiving and before Christmas and he spent the whole time working late and coming home at suspicious hours in the morning, leaving you drowning. You and the kids were piled in yours and Miguel's bed when you'd hear him come home, the front door closing and his familiar footfalls dredging down the hall, pausing only at the fridge before passing out on the couch. Oh you hated him right now. The resentment had creeped in and poisoned the marriage inside and out when he became exceedingly obsessed with work.

Protecting the stability of the multiverse was a huge undertaking, but, like all things in his life, Miguel took it to the next level. But when it came to his personal life, he was grievously lacking. The passion where you two would do it twice a day and couldn't keep your hands out of each other's pants? Ancient history. The small pecks you'd trade in the mornings were a thing of the past. Gone were the days you two would text all day and go out for dates. You didn't so much as get an "on my way home" text, instead letting the sound of his car pulling in the driveway be your confirmation of his return. You two were more roomates at this point than husband and wife.

Traditionally, on Christmas Eve after the kids went to bed, you two would take that time for each other, eating the cookies for Santa that were conveniently your favorite kind, placing the presents you two carefully shopped for and wrapped (well, mostly you wrapped), under the tree. A hysterical giggle would escape your lips at the milk mustache on Miguel's face. Then you'd two get busy on the floor in front of the fireplace, fighting back laughter as you tried to keep your moans down, every year struggling a little bit more than before because your knees weren't what they used to be before taking it to your bedroom for one more round before the chaos of Christmas morning began.

He was perfect in the beginning. The romance between you two used to be at an all time high. He was a nerd in the same friend circle when you knew him in high school, wickedly smart, the guy who won the Robotics and Math Olympiad comps and got visits from Ivy League college STEM departments, eager to scoop up his talent. Sure, he was cute, but when he went to college is when you heard he had a major glow up and became kind of cocky. You heard about how he became Spider-Man and was pretty much the greatest thing since sliced bread in the eyes of the people, saving lives and fighting villains and all. You knew how the opposite gender seemed to malfunction and forget how to act around him, so you stifled away your tiny crush you had on him for years in the smallest crevice in your brain in a forgotten folder, never thinking it'd see the light of day.

When you saw him at your high school reunion, you decided to be brave and remark on how they're playing Nickelback, which he shrugged and said he actually enjoyed them, to which you sheepishly admitted that you really enjoyed them deep down too, you just couldn't resist making yourself the person to talk shit, since there's always gotta be one hater when Nickelback comes on. A canon event, if you will. This earned a tiny side smile from him, a chink in his stoic armor. After 8 beers, some flirty jests, and a little backseat rendezvous in his car, that became the last night that you two spent apart.

You were a single mom and he was a single dad. He had Gabi who was now 10 and you had Marcus who was now 6. Then you two had little Anthony together who was now 2. At first he was at all the doctors appointments, all the parent teacher conferences, he knew what the kids were doing in school. He did bed times every night, reading in a silly voice with Gabi and Marcus both balancing on his lap while you rocked baby Anthony, smiling when you heard the kids giggling from the other room. You'd walk in after baby Anthony fell asleep in his crib, your heart melting as you saw this handsome giant of a man usually known to be cold and serious to everyone else, turn into the doting husband and loving father you knew him to be. Now, years of the monotony of every day life, pressures of raising a family, and the dying egalitarian attitude you two had as partners snowballed into your own version of Gottman's four horses, leading your marriage to Miguel into apocalypse.

At first, he welcomed the separation as you two battled in the kitchen.

"You wanna separation, fine, I'll do you one better. I'll fucking leave! Felicia's better company anyway," he smirked.

There wasn't real truth behind his statement, but he knew it would hurt you when you heard it. He'd be lying if he said Felicia wasn't an attractive woman, but, she simply wasn't you. He had learned his lesson on cheating years ago when he fumbled his relationship with Gabi's mother.

Ouch. But his words could be daggers when he wanted them to be, and he knew just how to twist them into you. Of course it was Felicia. Felicia, the gorgeous Black Cat recruit from work. Her silvery hair that halted midway down her back and startling blue eyes that could drown any man in them. She didn't have kids either, a life with her promised excitement, passion, and freedom. She was witty and funny and had a way of making anyone in her vicinity listen when she spoke. And to add insult to injury, she had a killer body.

After giving birth, you became so busy, and with reassurance from Miguel that you were still beautiful to him, you let your desire to get your body to "snap back" sit on the back burner. Signs of motherhood and postpartum marked you with purple stripes running vertical on your soft belly and a new plushness to your thighs. Basically, Felicia was a complete 180 from the woman you were, which made the sting of his words that much more unbearable. He took your vulnerabilities and threw them in your face.

"Oh so you admit it, finally! I know there was something going on between you two. Makes sense. She's a gorgeous woman, right? She can fucking have you then. What, are you in love with her?"

Miguel rolled his eyes, annoyed with the superficialness of your statement and your obsession with looks, despite him reassuring you many times that he wouldn't look at other women.

"I'm not in love with her, but she doesn't nag me all the fucking time like you do. I bust my ass every day for this family so you don't have to work. I don't know who this new woman is that I'm looking at right now and what she's done with my wife, but it's not the woman I fell in love with. It would be nice if you could show me a little appreciation once in a while."

You felt your blood pressure rise.

"Appreciation.... APPRECIATION, are you fucking kidding me?! I was up all goddamn night with Gabi and Marcus. I run this fucking household all by myself. I quit my fucking career to stay home and raise your kids. Do you not understand how lonely that is?"

"I'M LONELY!!! " he yells, triggered, the feelings bottled up, fizzed over and hurtled at you like a cork on a champagne bottle. "How do you think I feel? I got women at work practically throwing themselves at me but I don't do anything about it because I'm a good husband. Meanwhile, my own wife doesn't wanna fuck me. I'm a prisoner in my own fucking house."

Your eyes almost slipped from their sockets from rolling them so hard. He seemed to want a cookie and a gold star for just being loyal, the bare minimum.

"Oh, so you wanna fuck them? Go ahead! Maybe I'd fuck you if you actually gave a shit about me and not like I'm some damn fleshlight you use to get off!" You hurl back.

He left and checked into a hotel down the street.

A few weeks had passed and it was now Christmas. You were getting used to being separated but your heart still ached in your chest. You couldn't go on doing life, when the one person you did life with was nowhere to be found. You couldn't listen to your favorite songs, eat your favorite foods, or even look at your own children without being reminded of him. Gabi was his spitting image. Same with Anthony. Even Marcus, who was his stepson, started adopting Miguel's mannerisms. The way he'd scratch his head while he did his math homework, deep in concentration.

It was Christmas evening at your mom's. You joined the other women in your family, your non-politically correct Aunt, your soft spoken sister-in-law, your mother with a don't-try-me attitude, and your younger sister with a sass to rival your mother's. You were all complaining about the men in your lives, your aunt rattling off about her 3 ex husbands but, 'hey she collects alimony from two of them so she can't complain!', your younger sister complaining about the frat guys at college who just wanna get in your pants, your sister in law who's silent the whole time (your brother treats her like a queen), and your mom about your asshole dad with an erratic mother who was incapable of cutting the apron strings and made her life a living hell. The kids are laughing and playing in the basement, eagerly trying out their new Nintendo Switch Santa left under the tree.

"I'm here for my wife."

Your feminine council meeting is interrupted by an unwelcome masculine figure. It's your estranged husband, Miguel, the coffee-colored strands of hair that hung over his forehead starting to wet from the snowflakes that melted under the warmth of the room as he stepped inside, a look of regret and longing embedded in his eyes that you hadn't seen since your earliest days of knowing him.

His strong hands dangled at his sides in fists, his chest heaving up and down. His navy blazer bearing dark water stains from the melted snow. He had a revelation at work. He and Peter B. stopped an anomaly that was terrorizing the streets of Queens in Peter's universe. The battle was close, almost a little too close to where he lived, putting MJ and Mayday in direct danger. After the job was done, the moving and emotional reunion between Peter B., MJ, and Mayday was his epiphany.

As the little family reveled in their joy and relief of evading the ultimate disaster, the only thing there for Miguel at the point of his return was the inanimate, empty, thin walls of his apartment and the thoughts of you, his severed family, that inevitably haunted him. He needed you back. He needed to apologize and fix it now.

He ran from your house to your mom's in the snow and all. It was the first Christmas Eve he spent not in between your thighs and buried deep inside you. It was the first Christmas morning he didn't wake up to Gabi's blueberry pancakes and Marcus tackling him while Anthony screamed in delight. It was going to be the first Christmas night without his family by his side, an uncomfortably obvious empty seat at the table he rightfully belonged. Next to you.

Sometimes you don't know the value of something until it's gone. Sometimes life gets in the way and you forget to appreciate the person in front of you. Why did I treat my wife like garbage when all she ever wanted was for me to ask how her day was? Why were we on our way to winding up like both sets of our parents? Doomed to repeat the cycle of divorce and hurt. Doomed to lose your faith in love and marriage like all the maternal figures in your family before you did.

Now here he was, in the living room while your mom, sister, and aunt moved towards each other, eyes squinting, three pitbulls willing to jump in on your behalf while your sister in law just stayed frozen in place. He was in enemy territory and he needed to choose his words carefully.

"Not here Miguel..."

"YES here. Right now." He says in a firm voice. "You're not getting rid of me, woman."

You scoff, almost amused by his sudden urgency and painting you like you're the one who wanted this family to be broken apart.

"The kids are downstairs..." you start to say, hoping that the mention that innocent ears could be prying into the adult conversation would help him simmer down.

"I'll see them in a minute." He says flatly.

"I miss my wife...."-he chokes on the last word, wife.

"And I want her to come home." He knew at any time his words would give way to the reservoir of tears built up behind it.

You stood there, incredulous.

"I don't want to come home to an empty apartment. I don't want my own bed. I'm ashamed it took me losing you and the kids for me to wake up. And, I'm so so sorry. I'll do whatever I can to be better. To be a better man for you and the husband that you needed. We both got caught up in real life and focused on the kids so much that we lost each other. Well, this is me trying to find my way back."

Your lips parted slightly as your breathing became heavier. This was all you ever wanted to hear him say. Stop neglecting the love between you two that laid dormant, a plant starved of sunshine. For him to finally shake off the stubborn shackles that was his ego and express himself to you. Let him allow you back into his heart, no longer as a guest, but a permanent resident.

"You're... you're everything to me. And I'm not leaving here tonight until you let me know if you'd allow me the opportunity to get hurt by you again," a tear rolled down his cheek, his scarlet eyes yearning, his hands pining for the feel of you. As though the madness of not having you alone could stop his heart from beating, stop his world from turning, rearrange life as he knew it into a hollow existence not worth seeing.

Your own reservoir could not be held back any longer and started to roll down your cheeks. He managed to peel back the walls you built with his apology, revealing the woman underneath who just missed her husband.

He steps closer to you now, eager to bridge the rest of the space between your bodies.

"You still love me?" he asked softly.

Your chest heaves, shoulders raising then falling sharply, feeling yourself crack with exasperation under his burning gaze as you softly answer,

"Never stopped."

He grabs you and pulls you into him, his embrace is tight as though you'd disappear if he dared to break it. He tangles a hand in your hair and presses his cheek into your head, his eyes closed, drinking in the scent he'd been away from for weeks. You bury your face in his chest, trying to make yourself small and allowing his frame to swallow you whole, not minding his wet shirt and blazer that still have a slight chill on them from the storm outside, allowing your body heat to seep into his. You both began to rock back and forth a little bit, still locked inside your hug. It was as though the passing of time had evaporated and it was only you two in the room, nevermind your family witnessed the whole thing.

After several long moments, you pull apart and he offers you one of his dazzling smiles, one you hadn't seen in months. The kids have made their way upstairs and shriek with excitement when they see their dad and Miguel bends down to scoop them up. You smile and stand beside your mom who scoops you into a side hug. With her blessing, Miguel stays and celebrates the rest of Christmas with you and your family.

Gabi, Marcus, and Anthony are now all tucked in. The sugar from the chocolate they consumed all day had worn off, making them crash hard in their beds. You and Miguel are cuddled up on the couch watching the fireplace, taking some needed time as a couple. You stroke his strong arms that are wrapped around you with your fingertips, watching the way the flames leap and spark in the air when they crackle against the charred wood. You look up at him and feel a wave of desire wash over you that you had pent up for months as you study his chiseled features and the way the fire's glow highlights his skin.

"Should we end this Christmas with a bang?" You ask, pun fully intended.

Miguel looks at you tiredly, trying to act like that wasn't a witty remark but he lets out a chuckle. "I'd love to," he whispers.

He takes both your cheeks in his large hands and brings his lips to you immediately. They're soft and full. You feel yourself melting into him every time he sandwiches yours in between them. He reclines you backwards, slowly, until he's on top of you. He lets the weight of his body and hips come down on you little by little, making you arch your back, so your body can better receive him.

Once he lets you taste his tongue, you open your mouth wider, permitting him to deepen the kiss, tossing kindle onto the growing flame between you two, and it's not the one in your fireplace. You take your turn to dial up the heat, seizing his bottom lip in a gentle nip from your teeth, earning a low groan from Miguel and a tightened grip on your hair.

As you continue your steamy makeout session, he begins to hump gently against your clothed body, a nonverbal plea for the wet friction only the inside of you can provide.

After your frantic hands strip each other of your clothes, you've transitioned so you're straddling him in the lotus position, goosebumps popping up all over your skin as your bare body meets his, a high pitched gasp escaping you as you sink down onto him, his mouth falling open and his eyes shutting closed as he breathes in your ear,

"God, I missed you, baby."

You whine into his neck as you coil your fists in his hair. His hands fly to the soft flesh of your sides, using them to move you up and down, his haggard breaths making you weaker and weaker by the minute. You hum,

"I missed you even more."

The next move of his hips is harder than you anticipated, causing your brain to go fuzzy with pleasure.

"How much?" he exhales in a sultry tone.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all week,"your tone turning into pleading as you feel yourself approaching your limit.

Miguel can't help but feel himself lose his mind a little bit at your words and at your reaction, sensing you won't be able to hold on much longer.

He lays you down, while still keeping himself inside. He slows down to a more sensual pace, breathing in the sight of your wild hair clinging to the couch cushions, evidence of him hitting you in all the right spots every time the inner corners of your eyebrows squinch upwards and your lips fall open.

His loving eyes burn with worship of your body and how well you're doing as he runs a thumb along your chin then pulls down your bottom lip, leans in and mumbles quietly into your mouth,

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. O'Hara."

-------

🖤

[livwritesstuff]

Hazel James Harrington is about three years old when Steve and Eddie realize she will be causing a very specific kind of problem.

The problem really stems from how goddamn sweet Hazel is, and how hard that makes it to say no to her.

It's a new problem for Steve and Eddie, because they'd never had any problem saying no to Moe and Robbie (the hard part was getting them to listen). Hazel, though, and her little face and big eyes and mop of blonde hair that surprised them all by turning curly just like her big sister Robbie’s, is their sweetest baby by a mile, almost never getting upset or throwing tantrums. All that combined makes it so hard to figure out how to refuse things, and Hazel’s a smart cookie, so she totally knows this.

And she totally uses it to her advantage.

All. The. Time.

When Hazel was three, she went through a phase where she absolutely refused to go to sleep.

One Friday night, when all three girls were finally in bed, Steve and Eddie retired to the couch to watch a movie on DVD that they’d wanted to see in theaters but couldn’t ever get around to because…children. 

It was nearing ten o’clock at night and they were fifteen minutes into the movie and Steve had a glass of wine in hand when the one light they had left on so they weren’t sitting in total darkness suddenly switched off.

Steve let out a sigh.

“Who’s out of bed,” Eddie asks in a mock-accusatory voice.

Steve turns to look towards the kitchen and can just barely make out a Hazel-sized shadow making its way towards them.

“Hazel,” he groans, “It’s way past your bedtime.”

And then the little shit has the audacity to climb into his lap, footie pajamas and all because it’s January and freezing cold outside, and Steve is only human, and he loves his kids so much it hurts, so of course he’s pulling her into his arms for a snuggle.

“You forgot to turn off that light,” Hazel tells him, her little hands tapping against his shoulders, “and I forgot to tell you what I dreamed about.”

“Are these daydreams, my girl?” Eddie asks, eyeing Steve warily because he can obviously tell how close Steve is to caving and spending the rest of the night cuddling their littlest girl, “Because you haven’t been to sleep yet.”

“No, I had the dream last night,” she corrects.

“Ah, my mistake. Apologies.”

Needless to say, Steve and Eddie put a pause on the movie to hear about Hazel’s dreams.

Another time, the whole family was heading into Boston for a Red Sox game, and they were running really late.

“Okay, who’re we waiting on?” Steve asked.

“I don’t have eyes on Hazel,” Eddie replied, mid-way through corralling Moe and Robbie to the car.

Steve found Hazel in her room, still in her pajamas, looking up at her closet.

“What’s the hold-up, hon?” he asked.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” she told him.

Steve’s eyebrows flew up, because between Eddie’s inability to shake his love for buying clothes for their kids and years of hand-me-downs from Moe and Robbie, Hazel’s closet was packed.

“You’ve got plenty to wear,” he replied.

“I just…” Hazel shrugged up her little shoulders as she looked back up at her closet, “I’m just not the right person for these clothes.”

“Okay?”

“It’s about how you feel in the clothes,” she continued.

Steve narrowed his eyes, silently running through his mental rolodex in search for whoever she might have learned that one from.

(He suspected Robin).

“Okay, baby, no matter what, you cannot say that to Daddy.”

“But I like talking to Daddy.”

[moonstruckme]

Hello lovely! I LOVED your Sirius x coquette reader and was wondering if you could do an Eddie Munson x coquette reader as well! 👀

Hi sweetheart, thank you for requesting!

cw: smutty implications (?)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 968 words

You’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, as if Eddie can’t feel your entire body quivering as you press yourself close to his side. 

“Ethically, I don’t think I can let you go on like this,” he says. “You’ve gotta take my jacket, baby.” 

“I appreciate the offer,” your reply is a well-rehearsed line, “but I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Yeah, you seem great. You’re shaking like a chihuahua.” 

“Your jacket,” you chitter, “wouldn’t go with my outfit. We’re almost there anyway.” 

You’re several blocks away, but you grip his arm and speed up your steps, and Eddie follows. He doesn’t see what’s so wrong with his jean jacket. At least it’s thick. The wind has to be going right through that little cardigan of yours and he knows the floral tights, while adorable, aren’t helping. You’re practically jogging by the time you get to the bar. Eddie ushers you in, and you release a great shudder. 

“Christ, it’s freezing out there. Since when did Hawkins enter the ice age?” 

Eddie rubs your arms through your sweater, steering you both out of the way of traffic entering and exiting the bar. “It’s winter, genius. What did you think was going to happen?” 

“My cardigan was good enough yesterday,” you mutter. Then shake your head, seemingly making the conscious decision to perk up. “Anyway, it’s fine. How long do you have before you go on?” 

He grins, sheepish. “Actually, we’re a little late. I should get back there as soon as I get you set up.” 

Your eyes flare and your mouth forms a pretty O. “You should go! I can set myself up.” 

“Are you sure?” He glances towards the stage. He can see his bandmates moving around in the back. “I can at least get you a seat and a drink.” 

“Go,” you insist, shoving him (lovingly, he hopes) away from you. “I’ll be fine.” 

Eddie knows better than to try to argue with you; your cutesy, innocent appearance does not translate to a lack of backbone. He finds his bandmates backstage, weathers the slew of ensuing slander and complaints about his tardiness, and a short time later he’s leading them onstage. 

The meager crowd shouts and stomps at their arrival, mostly friends of friends and a few groupies they’ve picked up at other gigs. Eddie grins and soaks in the energy, but his eyes are elsewhere. 

It’s not hard to spot you. He’ll always think you look out of place in a joint like this. You’ve found a barstool and are sitting with your legs crossed primly in those dainty fucking tights, a bright spot amidst the sea (or, if Eddie’s beng realistic, small lake. Smattering of ponds.) of dark clothing around you. Everyone, including Eddie, has a beer in hand, but somehow you’ve managed to sweet-talk the bartender into making you what appears to be a shirley temple. You pop a cherry in your mouth, curving your lips around it to pluck out the stem and sending Eddie a wink. He reads it as Knock ‘em dead, hot stuff. (You’ve never specifically called him hot stuff before, but he can imagine it if he likes.)

You don’t flinch like you used to at the first booming chord. You’re not a mosher and don’t go to join the crowd, but Eddie catches you bobbing your head and tapping your foot as you sip from your straw. He plays his fucking heart out, thinking about tearing those tights off you (he knows you’ll never let him, you like them too much) and putting his mouth on all the spots where you spritz perfume. When you lock eyes, you give him a smile like you can read his thoughts. 

Playing to a crowd like this, being up on a stage, this is the shit Eddie lives for—and it’s not over soon enough. 

He packs up their equipment in record time, hustling over to the bar. You squeak as he wraps his arm around your waist, swooping you off your seat. 

“Hey,” you say, tilting your head back to see him. You sound endearingly breathless. “I saved you some cherries.” 

“Yes! That’s my girl.” He opens his mouth, letting you place it inside and closing his teeth so you pull the stem out for him. You do it willingly, but a flush spreads across your cheeks. “Thanks, sweet thing.” 

“No problem,” you reply, not quite able to look at him.

Eddie repents, curling a finger under your chin to tilt your head up and giving you a smile that says Okay, I’ll stop playing for now. 

You return his smile, relieved. “Want more? The bartender gave me a bunch extra, so.” 

He reverses course instantly. 

“What a fucking flirt.” He peers around you, eyeing the not-hideous twenty-something passing out beers behind the bar. “He thinks he’s gonna steal my girl.” 

“I doubt it,” you laugh. “I told him my boyfriend’s in the band.” 

Eddie grins, fiendish. “Good.” He gets in close, making his voice sweet and smooth as honey. “I’ve been thinking. You got some pretty panties under that getup, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes widen a second before you scrunch them shut, dropping your head to his chest. You say something into his shirt. 

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” 

You look up, grimacing. “You know I do,” you mumble. 

A low laugh rumbles through Eddie’s chest. “Just wanted to check,” he says, immensely entertained by the agitated coloring of your face. “I think it’s time we hit the road, baby. Y’ready?” 

You hum, picking up your bag and grabbing a cherry for the road. Despite your show of reluctance, there’s a bit of pep in your step as you start towards the exit. 

Eddie shrugs off his bulky jean jacket, dropping it on your shoulders. “You’re gonna need that.”

[tarjapearce]

A thought on Miguel

Ya know? Every time I see Miguel I think.

Man, this man needs a hug even if he says that's he's fine cause we know he's just bulshitting himself big time. Like, he's broken, his life was shit and the little thing that actually made him happy disappeared in his hands before his eyes.

Sometimes I think that Gabriela was that inflection point where he just realizes "Maybe  just maybe I can try happiness." (Cause c'mon. In the comics dude is abused emotionally by his own mother. Always comparing him and belittling him. And we know what happened to Gabriel. and his step dad is shit. )

Sometimes I like to think that Gabriela was his redemption to all those terrible bad years prior the incident. She was his purpose. And when he saw the chance, he didn't even hesitated into dive head first into it. His biggest mistake. Although pretty much understandable. None would overlook the chance of being better or happy or do things differently, right?

Sometimes I think He just wanted to be the father he never had. He just wanted to be the role model he never had, be that safe place for someone else that he never got. And that's why I think most of us empathize with him. Mostly for not saying all of us, (Kudos if you don't ♥️) have had situations that resembled Comic Miguel and Movie Miguel's life.

And when he loses Gabi, that's a turning point for the bad to him. His main motivation to be better, happier is gone.

Instead, he kinda twists that purpose Gabi gave him to protect the Multiverse he knows. Not that he doesn't care for the Spider Society members. He knows that all of them are there because they are more capable of handling themselves. They don't need protection, but they do need a role model, someone that guides them into not fucking up like he did.

That's why he is all grumpy, tired, emotionally drained and mentally exhausted. Cause he learned the consequences the hard way, but the rest is just cool about it. (Not cool in the 'I don't care way' but more like Just 'tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it, but my way' sort of thing.)

He didn't have the proper time to actually reflect on his mistakes, not that the multiverse is giving him any break though, He is Spiderman. He just knows that his mistake CANNOT be repeated. That's why he turns even more irritable, angry, fearful, all stemmed from self loathing for failing.

The man is depressed af. And we know, he overworks himself, he berates his own mind by watching over and over the screening videos of him and Gabi, he perpetuates guilt, but he cannot waver, cause he is a role model (A self imposed one) for the rest. He's not yet he is a martyr. He's not because he shares the common goal to keep Multiverse safe, but he is since said need to keep multiverse safe rooted from his big fuck up.

But dude has a savior complex. (I think this one suits better than martyr, dunno.)

And when Miles show up and does his thing, he sees all his convictions, motivations, his purpose, everything that drives him, threatened. And that's why lashed out the way he did on Miles.

That's his breaking point. I do not agree in the things he said to Miles though, we all know that he was just self projecting big time a good chunk of that dialogue. But he just wants to contain Miles at first, but the more Miles fights, the more everything he has worked for crumbles. An act of despair and fear disguised as anger, I like to think.

He is stunned cause damn, the menace to everything he has known and built so far just escaped from his hands before his eyes and again he was unable to stop it. (Another failure for him.)

He's a walking contradiction. Mistakes for him are not an option, but he can't help but make them along the way. Like most of us. And I think that's what makes him the most human among other Spiderman. And hopefully we can see more of him and how does he deals with all of that in the last movie.

But yeah, that's just my take on him.. Might be wrong, might be 🤡 or obvious but yeah. Needed to get that out.

[darklcy]

𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

‣ requsted by @ipromiseimnotthirsty : hello! if your requests are open, would you write robin x reader smut where reader has been teasing robin all day until she snaps? maybe they’ve been in public/with other people/in class all day and then they get home? thank you!!

‣ robin buckley x f! reader | stranger things mastelist | 1.5k words | 18+ MDNI, heavy petting, skin on skin, sexual tension, swearing, reader has boobas, college au, no use of y/n, fingering, make out sesh

‣ this is actually one of the first times i've ever written smut so i hope i did you justice adfafawe sorry this one took so long! enjoy my luvs

Something must’ve been in the air today, she thinks.

Surely that’s why her skin flared red, insides grinding like an engine, knee bouncing beneath her desk anxiously while trying to find a rhythm with the pencil in her grip. Professor Smith’s lecture faded quiet, the woman pointing to an assignment on the board that was to be finished come Monday morning. Robin slouched further into her chair.

…A shoe trails the inside of her calf. 

Her eyes close while her lips tighten. Nudging it away, she ignores the playful scoff behind her. 

Quit it.

The shoe lightly pokes her back, the tip of a canvas converse tapping into her corduroy pants. Smith and the chalkboard mesh together in a blur, a sweaty induced blur with Robin’s only focus being the damn girl behind her. The same damn girl who’s been riling up her nerves the whole class period.

The tip of a finger twirls around a strand of Robin’s bob, a phantom sensation of pulling on her scalp before the tension releases. Something’s gotta be in the air today.

—

The lunch line was annoyingly long today. Her weight shifts from feet to feet as her shoulder leans against the wall, awaiting her turn to enter the school cafe and order some overpriced food the campus provides. Not her usual choice, but waking up late damned her to forget packing a sack lunch. A student with a plastic tray walks by. Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes. Her nose twitches.

A sharp pinch to her side jolts her awake.

“Hey.”

Of course it’s you. Robin’s hand flies to her chest.

“My god, you scared me.”

“Good, I was trying to.”

Do you even know what you’re doing or is it just a state of oblivion?

“What’s for lunch today?”

“Uhh, steak and mashed potatoes.”

She watches you contemplate. 

“Hm. I’ll save you a spot.”

Your hand caresses her shoulder, but as you depart, trails down her arm before releasing at her wrist. Goosebumps stem up from her fingertips, unable to do anything else except watch you prance away to an empty table, joining a couple other classmates, and sure enough, placing your bag to the seat right next to yours.

You smile in greeting like it was just a regular day. It was almost mocking her. Her freckles could feel the heat underneath her pores. 

Someone taps her shoulder. “Can you move up.”

Shit.

— Last period of the day. Thank god.

She’d just about had it with you and your damn mannerisms. It’s never riled her up like this before, but surely there’s something in the air, with how much she wants to just-

“Wanna hangout today?”

You two hangout every day, yet you still ask. She hops in your passenger seat and leans her cheek against her palm, strategically moving her knees a bit away from you. Your hand still finds its way to her knee.

You commuted to class everyday, seeing how you only lived a couple blocks down the road. Robin doesn’t complain, her roommate wasn’t really her favorite person to hangout with anyways. Most days it was just awkward silence and greetings. 

“You won’t believe what happened in chem. Jason Carver messed up on the lab, and made a huge mess. His face was so fucking funny, he kept whining about how his sweater was ruined.”

You shake your head with laughter. Robin doesn’t react.

“Rob? You listening? I just said Jason Carver made an ass of himself and you’re like not responding.”

She raises her head when you squeeze her knee twice.

“Oh, yeah. No, that’s funny.”

You scoff. “I love your enthusiasm.”

Robin’s tongue rolls the inside of her mouth, her face returning to its rest against her palm. 

The familiar neighborhood streets fade in, your car slowing to a park, when Robin finally breaks. Her hands pull you into her immediately, her torso leaning over the gear shift to reach you better. She feels you smile against her, your hands gripping her hair and tugging gently. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy all fucking day.”

Robin groans into your mouth while taking a swoop of air, only to dive back into you again.

“I was trying to.”

She wants to ruin you. She wants to take you here and now. She wants you to shut the fuck up.

Your lips taste so sweet. The gasps and whines she drives out of you she immediately drinks in. She’s so lost in you that the roll of your bodies hitting the horn startle you both apart with a jolt.

“Shit!”

Robin swears as you burst out laughing. She glares down at you, but surrenders at your expression, your face squinting with giggles and smiles. She adores you. With a sigh, she bends down to steal another kiss. 

“Let’s go inside.”

You hum. “Good idea.”

—-

Robin starts immediately where you left off. The second you two enter your room, she grabs hold of you again, not wasting any time to place her mouth on yours. She feels you hold onto her waist, gently rubbing your fingers against her sides. Robin bites your lip when you pinch her.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

The back of your knees buckle against your bed, allowing Robin to fully settle herself on top. 

“Nope,” 

She hates how you pop the ‘p.’

This way is much better, she finds. No damn gear shift or car horn to drive you apart now. This way she can feel you entirely, your warmth, your breath, your soft skin. Her knee glides up to rest between your legs, smiling when you stutter, your fingers desperately grabbing onto her. Robin rubs herself up and down, her weight and position making you two hungry for more, kisses growing deeper and deeper. Who needs to breathe air when she could just live here, in your body, in your affection?

She feels her shirt rise with her movements, to which she momentarily pauses to sit up and rid herself of the damn thing. You take this chance to follow her, exposing more of yourself to her and quickly meeting her lips again. Your fingers trail up and down her shoulder blades, her spine, her nape. Your nails become your new eyes, wanting to memorize every single freckle and pore of Robin’s skin down to the minute detail. Robin was so beautiful. Her freckles were probably your favorite thing about her. If you could, you’d kiss every single one. You started with her collarbones, then her shoulders, your teeth gently biting her in between.

Robin’s arms encased around your shoulders, starting to mess with the back of your wired bra before snapping it off. She moved lower to embrace your breasts with her tongue, each lick and kiss quickening your breaths. With a pop, Robin moves to the other, her tongue swirling around the bud before wrapping her mouth around it entirely. 

“You know..”

Robin peers up at you through her eyelashes, her lips still working on your left breast.

“If I’d known messing with you would get you like this… I would’ve done it a lot sooner.”

You gasp when her teeth bites your nipple.

“Shut up.”

Robin’s tongue licks into your mouth greedily, shutting you up in the best way. You find the latch hooking her bra together and eagerly rip it off, your fingers grabbing at her while her mouth occupies itself with yours. Robin leans on her right elbow while her left hand redirects yours to the hem of her jeans, letting out a hum when they dip inside and find where she needs you most. 

She’s so warm and slick with heat, you find no trouble slipping in a finger inside, curling rhythmically and slowly. Robin moans against you, breaking apart from you to your neck, letting herself rest there while you get her ready. It’s not long before you slip in another finger, even allowing her to grind down against you to rid some of the ache. 

She practically whines when your fingers leave her.

“Take this thing off.”

She obeys instantly. Her jeans fall heavy to the floor and you’re back at it, her heat missing the two seconds you weren’t inside her.

Her moans and whines could sustain you forever. It feels so good to make her feel good, you could probably reach your limit right here and now just drunk off her pleasure. Three fingers in now, pumping in and out, in and out. She’s close, you can feel it. It’s almost amusing how her cool exterior dumbs down to whimpers the moment someone touches her. 

“I’m getting, I’m,”

You leave a lingering kiss on her cheek, while Robin’s eyes clenched shut, her walls closing down on your fingers as she lets go. Her moans are euphoric and beautiful, and being this close you can feel them all around you, surrounding your five senses, and you find yourself starting to moan with her, too.

Her body collapses onto you, her sweaty cheek meeting the crook of your neck while your slick covered fingers come up to your lips to be licked clean. Robin can hear you hum at the sensation, annoyingly popping your fingers like a cartoon character after finishing a gourmet meal.

“You taste so sweet, Rob.”

You can’t hold back your grin as she groans into your skin.

“God, shut up.”

[jordisblogg]

ur best friend

shuri.u x reader / riri.w x reader (college au)

a/n: i deeply apologize to the riri lovers but i couldn't help myself..

warning: cheating, making out?, hungry mj

“alexa, what time is it?” you shouted from the bathroom, to which the device replied with ‘6:37’. it was almost time for you and your girlfriend, riri, to head out. she had said that you both were going on a dinner with two of her friends, shuri and mj. you told her you didn’t mind, you thought it would be good to see them again.

“bae, ain’t it almost time for us to leave?.” you asked the engineer, who, non surprisingly, was laid out on the bed, waiting for you to finish with whatever it was you were doing, as you walked out of the bathroom.

“you finally done?” she sat up, eyeing your body in your dress.

“yes, i’m done” you replied, matching her joking attitude, walking over to her and running your hand over her fresh cornrows. she relaxed in your hold and pushed forward to place a kiss on your stomach against the questioningly thin fabric.

“you look pretty, mama.”

“aww thank you!”

suddenly, riri’s phone started to ring, breaking the moment between you two. she pulled it from her back pocket and slid to the answer button.

“hello?”

“damn riri! are y’all coming or what, me and shuri have been waiting here for at least 15 minutes, i’m hungry!” you overheard what could only be a angry mj on the other line.

riri chuckled, “it’s been that long? shit, sorry were on our way.”

“riri i’m hungry dammit!” was the last thing you heard before riri dropped the call, shaking her head.

“we leavin’ i’m guessing?” riri nodded and grasped your hand, leading you both out of her dorm room.

it didn’t take you both too long to get there, when you walked in the restaurant you saw the table shuri and mj were sitting at and went over. mj, of course, was still looking agitated, while angrily sipping on her sprite.

“my fault y’all.” riri apologized

“it’s fine, i didn’t expect any less, so how have you both been? haven’t seen you two a lot since the dates for finals were sent out.” shuri’s accented voice broke your amused lock on mj, jesus did she always sound so.. sexy?

“ahh,” riri gave a sheepish look and rubbed the back of her neck, “we both have been studying pretty much the whole time, and you know.. a lil study time.” she laughed as you hit her arm.

“gross” the royal shook her head.

“how have you been shuri? we’ve missed you and aurora, she couldn’t come?” you changed the subject, causing shuri to slowly suck the air through her teeth.

“we broke up.” she stated simply

“oh shit i’m sorry—“

“it’s fine y/n/n, you didn’t know, but this one over here,” she threw her thumb at mj, “hasn’t stopped clowning me for it.”

“i told you she was no good, never trust a stem.”

“mj.. i’m a stem.” the princess looked at her questioningly

“.. never trust an american stem.” mj waved her finger.

“please stop talking, you’re making my head hurt”

you couldn’t help but giggle at the altercation between the two. you did feel bad about them two breaking up, but, a small part of you was.. grateful?

“i really am sorry about you and aurora though, shuri.”

“you’re fine y/n, promise.” she smiled, why was her smile so fucking gorgeous? and why are you just now realizing it?

“where’s the waiter, i’m fucking starving!” mj groaned.

“you’ve been starving for the past half hour.” riri rolled her eyes.

once you all were able to call a waiter over, you began to order, unfortunately shuri had went to the bathroom, so you volunteered to order for her, even though she was most likely talking to riri or mj, you decided to take the initiative. that wasn’t weird, was it? or were you just overthinking things..

anyways— the dinner was nice and mj was satisfied, her hunger now demolished, now you all were just using the rest of the time to chat.

every once in a while you would take a glance at shuri, especially when she would speak, and sometimes she would catch you staring and you would want so bad to look away but.. her eyes were so mesmerizing, you couldn’t pull away.

you knew this was wrong to be attracted to shuri, knowing you had a girlfriend. but it was something in you that made you want to see what it was like being with shuri instead.

picturing her putting her arm around your waist while she walked you to class, or feeling her kiss on your skin, or her taking you to her home country—

oh god what the fuck was wrong with you

“babe?” riri tapped you, snapping you out of your abominable thougts. you blinked, not even realizing how dumbfounded you looked at the moment.

“huh?”

“she had asked you a question, intombi entle?” fuck you didn’t even know what she said and yet it was causing butterflies in your stomach to emerge. is she doing this shit on purpose?!

“i’m uh.. ima go use the bathroom, i’ll be back!” you stated quickly before getting up and walking away from the table.

the girls watched you leave in confusion, all except shuri. she pulled her phone out, pretending someone had texted her, “i need to make a call, ill be back.”

“better not be aurora, shuri!” she heard mj shout at her as she walked out the door, then heading to the other entrance by the bathroom.

as you burst through the door of the ladies room, you tried to catch your breath, luckily there was no one in there. you leaned over against the sink, staring down at the drain of the sink.

“i’m horrible” you shook your head at yourself, even though you haven’t committed any of the acts you’ve thought about while sitting at that table, you still felt dirty.

your stomach dropped at the sound of the door creaking, the bustle of the people in the restaurant audible for a quick second before silence.

“y/n..” that accented voice called again, and how badly you wanted to run to it.

“y/n.” you felt a grip on your waist as she turned you around, now fully facing the princess and all of her glory.

“what’s been going on with you tonight?” you couldn’t speak, too busy staring at her features, you were speechless, only when her grip tightened on your hips is when you gave her an answer.

“you’re so pretty..”

well.. sort of an answer.

“what?” the princess’ eyes grew in size, but her face had flushed a dark shade of red, giving you a boost of confidence at how you made her react to your words.

“you heard me..” you stared up at her, you’re eyes locking with her beautiful brown orbs.

“y/n, you’re with riri.” she whispered, as if you two weren’t the only ones in the room.

“yet, you won’t let go of my waist..” you wrapped you arms around her neck, fingers running against the tattoo that ran down her neck.

“you know what you were doing at that table, shuri, you’re not stupid, you know i want you..”

she held back a groan. how badly she wanted you too, she hated to admit, the entire time she was with aurora, she was thinking about you, the only reason she even got with the girl was to get her mind off of you. she couldn’t have you, you were riri’s, but that only made her want you more, and now that she knows the feeling is mutual..

“just kiss me this one time shuri, just wanna feel you.. please.” you begged, ghosting your lips over hers, where was all of this coming from?

“just this once.. let me see what aurora was missing out on..” you smiled, and that broke her.

she leaned down to press her soft lips onto your glossed ones and you both moaned at the contact. your fingers gripped at her curls as she kissed you hungrily, like she had been craving you.

you made a move and slid your tongue into her mouth with ease. shuri moaned and pulled you against her impossibly closer, feeling your plush breasts against her and your tongue down her throat was sending her into a frenzy.

you whimpered as she began to pull away, not being able to take anymore with the need for air, but still pulled at your bottom lip, a giving you a final peck.

you watched her breathlessly as she licked her lips, staring down at yours, and not being my able to resist you, she went in to kiss you again, though these kisses were shorter.

peck after peck after peck..

and you smiled into every one of them shamelessly.

“you don’t know how long i’ve been wanting to do that..” she huffed, her hands dropping down to your ass. you smiled and pecked her again.

“we should probably go.. riri might get suspicious..” you laid your head in the crook of her neck, engulfing her scent.

“y-yeah..”

you walked out of the restroom after telling shuri to linger behind.

it was easy to come up with a lie for her, riri didn’t suspect anything, at least that’s what it looked like.

soon, the night was over, you all said your goodbyes to each other. you hugged shuri last, giving her enough time to whisper in your ear.

“bye, pretty girl”

you all went to your cars heading back to campus, thought the entire car ride you were distracted.

you couldn’t believe that you had just made out with shuri, your girlfriends best friend. you felt horrible but someone had to seize the sexual tension going on between you too. she just looked too good. she didn’t admit to wanting you back, but you knew her actions definitely did.

“so did you have a good time at the dinner, baby?” your girlfriend asked you.

your phone illuminated as you got a notification from your messages. you unlocked it and went to the person who messaged you, instantly blushing.

shuri🩶

you looked good in that dress, princess

you smiled, “yeah, i did”

[wroteclassicaly]

Let’s Be Closer

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Warnings: Depression, anxiety, panic attacks, slightly NSFW, but not much, & language.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

A/N: Back with another one! I’ve been working on this for a few days, and I’m really nervous, as I’ve channeled a lot of my energy into this fic, because I’ve not been in a good mindset—at all—so I added a little Eddie to help, and I hope it makes anyone who is going through something similar, to feel better, even if it’s just a morsel? My ask box is ALWAYS open if you ever need someone to talk to—that goes for anyone that reads this, and is feeling badly or lost, or even in general—I’m here! I understand and I hear you, and I’m not going anywhere!! Hope this is okay?

Enjoy! - Kristen <3

~*~

He’d tried calling you, fingers raw from the damned dial button, eyes blurry without sleep for what is the sixth night in a row. You never ignored his calls, you never missed a club meeting—despite never playing the game, but bringing snacks and your branding charm, instead. You never explicitly dodged him in the hallways of Hawkins High, you never missed a chance to wave his Zippo lighter at his band’s shows—their number one fan since founding, and you sure as shit never went a day—hell, even an hour without seeking him out. He misses your hands pressing over his eyes, decorative bangles caressing his cheeks, how he’ll never know what shampoo you’ve decided to use this time brimming his senses. Eddie Munson needs you.

And you’re just… gone. He’s seen you at school, sure, but that’s not what he’s currently worrying a bitten down thumb nail over. He’d bugged every friend he could talk to, running over all scenarios where he might’ve upset you somehow—no results produced. Your last night together was a movie and some burgers. He’d treated you to a shared chocolate shake after, topped with whipped cream and a cherry.

You swore you would master the art of tying the stem one day, and damn it if Eddie didn’t get his kicks from seeing you try to work that cute tongue to accomplish it. You’d both sat on his favorite quilt your mom helped you sow him for Christmas a few years back, van doors open, drinking in the soft serenity of nightfall, overlooking Lover’s Lake. Perfection, peace, that’s what the day’s events contained. Eddie never noticed anything unusual about you, just extraordinary—as always.

His very own confidant. Ride or die, as you’d promised him.

Except… apparently, not anymore.

Eddie is caught between anger at your automatic dismissal, treating him as most of your shared peers, to gnawing nausea that something is seriously wrong. And as his uncle asks him where you are, obviously confused at your lack of presence in the Munson household—being angry wins out.

~*~

Rainstorms are always a bitch in any context, but Indiana seems to pack a solid punch when unpredictable Mother Nature is visiting. Eddie can barely see through his crappy wipers, windshield rain soaked and battered in pounding thumps. Your house glitters above the surface of heavy drops, visible by its glowing inhabitation. Eddie cuts his engine, fingers idle across the monogrammed skull charm keychain you’d gotten him, dangling from his key ring.

Fuck it.

Clambering from his rust bucket ride, he jogs his way up your empty drive, seeking solace on your small porch. Your parent’s cars are gone, yet the normal lamps cast their buttery glow through your windows. He isn’t a man that prays, but he’ll do anything if he can ask you what the fuck your problem is lately, and, you know—check on your well—being, or however the fuck it’s supposed to sound. Heaving in an exerted breath, Eddie presses a finger over your doorbell, legs bouncing back and forth in an anxious jolt as he waits.

And waits.

And waits some-fucking-more.

Anger vs. Anxiety: the Sequel

“Hey, knock knock, Little Hellion. It’s me, you know, the dude that’s your right hand man, the one that lets you eat his pretzels at lunch, touch all his band equipment, entertains your enthusiasm towards the ear splitting garbage that is considered ‘hit music’. Think you owe it to the friendship masters that brought us together, to at least tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Silence.

In a typical Eddie fashion, he begins to obnoxiously teeter the doorbell, each time birthing the same end scene. Humiliated, drenched, and tired, Eddie’s resolve has him pressing his hair-caked forehead to your front door.

Screw this.

You’d told him many times where your spare house key was, so he could avoid having to climb in your window, because really? Though, you adored watching him struggle into an endearing shuffle through your window frame, and Eddie found it fun—he wasn’t about to mud his way around your yard and bust his ass on a whim. Well… unless the key wasn’t here, he can admit to that.

Luckily for him—the first hope of the night—it’s under your mom’s decorative address painted rock. He gains swift access, securing himself in your home. It’s not been but a week, but it feels eternities longer. As he figured, your parents aren’t in their usual living room spots, the television off. The kitchen light above the sink is on, the hall light above your stairs, and he knows you’re bound to be awake. Ever his favorite night owl.

Yanking his shoes off, he carries them in one hand, ascending your stairwell and venturing to your bedroom.

~*~

There’s a soft blue hue merging with your hot pink lava lamp, bleeding underneath your door’s gap. You’re watching some B rated horror film, no reaction, no movement from the other side. And that’s when Eddie starts to panic. Dropping his Reeboks on your mom’s hallway rug outside your door, he doesn’t knock, doesn’t delay, pushing your door open so hard it smacks into your wicker dresser, knocking some trinkets over. He doesn’t know what he expected, maybe you having another guy here—a disgustingly bitter bite brims his esophagus at that notion—or new friends, maybe. He isn’t ready for the gut twisting sight of you, back to him, curled in a fetal position, pink cotton throw around your midriff, tear soaked eyes staring at your baby pink wallpaper, unmoved.

Eddie Munson is speechless.

He takes hesitant footsteps into your sanctuary, easing the door latched behind, as to not startle you. However, you beat him to it.

“What are you doing here, Eddie?” There’s a raw rasp to your tone, a clogged damage.

You remind Eddie of a wounded animal, a lost soldier in his dungeon. He’s never heard you sound so fucking lost. All his hostility dissipates, leaving him with a protective possessiveness. He pulls off his vest and leather coat, laying them over your desk chair, forgoing sitting to your backside and pathing his destination to your front. Your murky vision forces his form out of view, body automatically flinching to move away.

Eddie catches your wrist with a cool hand, thumb tapping the bone, pinching a small portion of your skin in reassurance. “Y/N… baby.”

He doesn’t call you pet names that intimate very often, not unless he’s voicing a concern or a sleepily muttered softness. You’ve always wondered if he called every fangirl that. The burning in your throat threatens to expose you, your limb shaking in Eddie’s vice.

“Please… Eddie, can you just leave? Be mad at me all you want, but I can’t fight with you right now.”

You’re spent, worried he’ll actually go, and not really wanting him to. But that’s how your mind works, isn’t it? Depression’s tricks of the trade; mindfucks, self-doubt, confusion, isolation, emotionless, feeling too much, not enough. His rings are chilled in their brisk brush, sliding along your pulse point, tracing all the way up you arm until they reach your jaw, where he presses a swipe, ever-so-gently. The dam is cracking, about to burst, explode.

“And go where, Y/N? Can’t exactly perform up to my full potential without the Cher to my Sonny, the Eowyn to my Faramir, that nice bit of leather that holds my sweetheart across my chest—“

“Eddie, stop.” You’re head is swimming in static, body moving upright—a position you haven’t assumed in days, with the exception of taking a shower.

Still, you don’t toss his hand off you. He’s beckoned into hope. His middle finger caresses your jawline’s expanse, pushing a bop at your nose, breathing winded, posture patient.

Yeah, that does it.

The levee gapes, flooding itself wide open. Eddie is bringing you into his chest, your fingers fisting into his Hellfire shirt, temple resting against his exposed collar bone, his pick chain tickling your cheek, and you sob. Harder than you’ve remembered doing this week, guilt wracking you at your ignorance towards how your bestfriend might be effected by your distance, that hopeless abyss caverning your chest from the inside out.

“Eddie-Bear,” You breathe out wetly, languidly. The silly nickname you’d taken to calling Eddie since childhood, all because his curly hair, and he never stopped you from saying it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

You hear him whisper a meek ‘fuck’, before he’s closing his arms around your blanket covered waist, squeezing you in so tightly to him that your air supply thrums against your ribcage. He’s more comforting than your favorite summer thunderstorm. Cigarette smoke lathers him in wafts, rainwater soaked skin, lavishly showered by his spicy cologne. You’re okay. It’s fine.

“What’s happening, baby? Stay with me, yeah?” He’s peppering your forehead with the softest kisses you’ve ever felt, each one conveying his care towards you—fragile, beautiful. It causes you to reign enough strength back in to meet his gaze, under eyes burning and sore, puffy from your tears.

That undertow overwhelms you, cutting off your momentary serenity, making you begin to tug on Eddie’s shirt in desperation, needing it off. You’re whispering and he’s in a state of confusion, arms having no choice but to untuck from you, spreading out. “Y/N…” It’s a questionable warning, a caution against what this action implies.

Something hums, throbs deep inside you—a beast needing satiated—one that Eddie doesn’t know you keep caged. You’ve always wanted your bestfriend (a rather cliche thing to you, but alas), and it seems your avoidance did nothing to improve it, signifying a tenfold magnitude of want and craving, a desperate having to have. Staying away from Eddie is catching up to you, a new anxiety settling in, a warped panic. Eddie’s eyes are closed in contemplation when you face him, mapping out the expanse of his chin, across his jawline, right over that jugular. Your brain is such a jumbled heap, wanting him to be away from you, everyone to leave you by yourself to drown like you think you deserve, to collapsing if Eddie isn’t on you. But Eddie Munson isn’t everyone, and even your fucked up, depression filled brain can admit to that.

He has some otherworldly effect…

“Y/N?” He’s begging a question. And he wants to sob in relief when your beautiful y/e/c irises meet his own.

Your answer isn’t within words, it’s a slip of your hands off his body, pushing up your own baggy white band t-shirt—a comfort shirt you reserve to usually wear. Eddie’s eyes widen when you’re not even clad in a bra, bare breasts a perfect (to him) swell. The softest of actions, yet Eddie is swallowing, confused. He can’t not be so transparent in front of you, he never has. That’s not your dynamic and won’t ever be. “So, you don’t want to see me and now you’re… what, flashing me? Y/N what is this? You’re scarin’ me here.”

“I can’t tell you if I don’t even know, Eddie.” You mumble, knees knocking into his own, his ripped jeans causing a radiating warmth from bared skin through your blanket piled lap.

Eddie is silent, mulling over your words. He isn’t wanting to allow himself to realize that he recognizes your entire mood, as he’s felt it all too much many times before. That hopeless, wayward, black hole of gloom and goddamned doom. It makes too much sense, and Eddie practically tastes that anxiousness coming off you in tower-high waves. But what you’re asking, here, your body exposed to him, another vulnerability he wasn’t prepared for—he finds he can’t deny you.

Whether it’s that cosmic connective bullshit, or his own self-afflicting mindset to be in constant companionship with you, he nods. “Only if you try and talk to me about all this. You gotta promise.” His chocolate brow raises, expectant.

“I’ll… try, as best as I can, okay? Is that good enough?” You’re weak, tears drying, new ones forming.

Eddie nods, starting to reach to brush his hand across you, hold you, not stare at this intimate part of your flesh. He hears a little hushing embarkment, another request. He grants it, finally watching you under an intensity so precious your lower lip wobbles. He tucks his fingers underneath his shirt, pulling and shimmying his upper torso from the damp fabric, letting it drop behind him on your hardwood. It’s a small echo, but something else completely significant.

He’s inhaling sharply, his creamy inked skin this burning layout you seek to travel. He’s Eddie. He’s beautiful. The neon setting of your lava lamp, the reflection of your television still going as a backtrack—it highlights both your forms. Settled and paused on your bed, Eddie looking everywhere but your breasts. This gives you your first smile in over a week. “Eddie. S’ okay to look at me if you want to.”

His reaction will forever be burned into your retinas. It’s a heated swirl, dark eyes creating a crest across your chest, almost as if he’s strumming you the way his fingers pluck at his guitar’s strings. His tongue sucks against teeth, perks, focused. He looks. You can tell he’s fighting every forsaken and forbidden urge that you are… to touch. To feel.

To know…

“Baby…” A whimpering confusion disorients your bestfriend into that pet name. That secretive thing you both have pictured, hands on yourselves at night right after you hang out, scents clinging to one another, names tipping off each other’s lips.

There’s more here…

“I just need to fucking feel you, Eddie. I can’t… I…” That embarrassingly swift panic stampedes your windpipes.

Your palms splay across his tattooed skin, fingertips tracing its unique outline. He finally reaches out when you can barely stand the anticipation any longer, his finger hooking underneath your armpit, thumb-pad brushing the underside of your breast—his first touch. You finally escape your throw, your black panties the only thing that remain. Eddie has to fight every fantasy he’s ever pictured, his own guilty conscience staring him down. You shake your head, reading him.

He’s actually looking at you in the ways you’ve dreamt of. It gives you a bravery to start a revealing, fingers sliding up and down his ribcage. “It’s been so fucked in my head lately. I just want to disappear, so I tried to… as much as possible.” You hope it makes a little sense, because it’s enough to scare the shit out of you, expecting this scrutiny.

Eddie’s throat is on fire with a settled worry, a dawning thought, a knowing sigh. His thumb caresses your breast, an ache unable to stop its responding throb between your legs. He traces your ribcage, pressing, dancing shapes along, rubbing, his voice light when he speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know how my mind works, Y/N. This is the resident freak you’re talking to here. Not exactly a stranger to the dark side of the human mental state.”

“I know, Eddie. I should’ve, but I didn’t want anyone around. Fuck, I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you forced your way into my house—“

“Uh, I rang the bell, Y/N. And technically, I didn’t force my way. I used your spare key.”

“Oh, Eddie,” You sing-sigh, tears docked. “Crazy boy.”

“Y/N…” He’s closer now, bolder to grip your naked waist, your muscles moving beneath his touch. “I’ve been there. You’ve been right fucking beside me. Did you really think I wouldn’t come over here and ask you what’s going on? That’s a coward’s retreat. I can’t let you feel like shit alone, not gonna happen.”

You reach for his belt, an agreeing nod of your head. He starts to move and grab your hands. “It’s not right, not like this.”

Not like this? So… then, when? He really does want it too.

“I know,” You whisper. “Just want to feel your skin on mine.”

You rest your forehead to Eddie’s, letting your fingers trace that demon head tattoo above his pectoral, scraping the barest brushes. He shivers, pulling away, holding in. Finding the curvature of your spine, Eddie taps an invisible beat, making you croon. Your left hand winds around his neck, draping across his lower back, threading through his curls, calming him. “Please, please.” You aren’t sure you can look at him again if he rejects your last advance, your letter to a lifeline.

In a revamped silence, Eddie slides off your bed, wood floors creaking underneath his feet. Your eyes widen, posture frozen.

Is he leaving?

But he gives you that smitten Eddie Munson smile and he sheds his socks, unbuckling his belt and jeans, shoving them down to his ankles and kicking them away, his decorative buckle clattering across the flooring. He lowers his brows at you, shy, pursing his lips as he knees his way into a crawl across your bed, meeting you—blue checkered boxers all that separate him from you. His chain sways in his movement, his hand cupping your cheek and bringing you up and into him, mouth hovering, lips ghosting, so close you’re drunk on the caress. It’s so fucking intimate, so open and vulnerable. It’s as if you’ve torn open your chest and handed your bestfriend your modesty and your heart.

They’re already his…

Eddie breathes you in, your shampoo— strawberries and cream this time, your skin silky beneath his touch. He’s got you and you’re still here with him, trying.

“Promise me you’ll try and tell me someway, somehow, even if you can’t say it—that something is wrong, Y/N. From here on out, you gotta promise me.” Fuck, he really wants to kiss every bit of that panic from you, lay you down, take you in your bed, and hold you until the moon vanishes underneath the horizon, and the sun sprays its peachy hues all around your bedroom walls. He is startled to revel in the fact that you want it just as much.

“I wish we could…” You trail off, mouth puffing a breath. So close.

Eddie’s honey coated voice is rasped. “We can. All you’ve ever had to do was ask me to go to bed with you, and I’d give you whatever you fucking wanted, Y/N,” He breaks, nose nudging yours, slowly edging back enough to comb your hair behind your ear. “But right now, I won’t.”

It’s so strange, how Eddie was worried about you, angry with you, thinking you hated him, and now he knows you want him inside you just as much as he wants to be there. And you, your brain is a scrambled mess, still swimming in the darkness, yet revealing your secrets to your bestfriend, and hearing his shared truths. It’s all… too much. You don’t have to say anything else—he already knows. His tone is light, airy, as he sings along to the lyrics of your favorite drunken karaoke song. “They say we’re young and we don’t know… We won’t find out until we grow…”

He bumps your shoulder, making your eyes glisten, heart lurch, your own voice joining in. “Well I don’t know if all that’s true… Cause you got me, and baby, I got you…”

You both share a nostalgic smile, a melancholy settling into your chest, joining in together.

“Babe… I got you babe, I got you babe…”

“There’s my girl,” Eddie squeezes your shoulder, his other hand on the back of your neck. “Can’t do this shit without you.”

“My favorite dungeon master.” You quip.

Eddie feigns a dramatic look. “Better be the only one.”

“You are. Always.” There’s a new sensitivity forming—banter aside—a place you and Eddie have just discovered.

He senses those gears shifting inside you, that mood threatening to flood you. Eddie lays a kiss to your cheek, lingering, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him, breasts smashing into his chest. You both let out a ravished whimper, body heat shared, radiating. Your nipples harden, soaking in the affectionate stick of Eddie. He’s starting to move backwards, taking you with him on your bed.

You let him guide you, unable to let go if hurricane winds threatened you both. He brings a hand underneath your ass in a slide, sheets rustling, gripping where your thigh meets a cheek, lifting, sloping your limb over his lower waist. Your panties, drenched through—a response beyond your control—skim over his happy trail, where all those freckles are resting, waiting for your mouth to trace. He shushes your apology, tilting his body to lay an arm underneath your head, his pick necklace dangling across your bosom, and he lets you rest on his forearm, his other outstretching to wrap around your waist, that thick arm hair stimulating your broke out goosebumps. He rests his chin overtop your head, content, swollen between his legs, but managing to control it to a minimum.

You fall asleep in his arms— quiet, warm, safe, sleeping through the night for the first time in a month.

~*~

It hadn’t been but a few days since you and Eddie were together, and the next morning when he snuck out, he was terrified you’d bolt on him again. He treaded lightly when he showed up at school, trying to focus on getting his final set list together, and interviews for new members of Hellfire Club, pushing distractions. The day crept on and on, but he hadn’t seen you thus far, and the day’s end meeting was approaching.

~*~

He can hardly stomach being still on his throne, knee bouncing. Everyone’s voices sound staged, louder than usual. Eddie is barely aware until Gareth shakes his shoulder—hard. He nearly snaps, a stressed groan leaving his mouth, flat. “What?”

“Dude,” Gareth exclaims, waving the folded piece of notebook paper in his face. “I said, Y/N left a note for you earlier. Said she was doing something for her mom, to call her later.”

Eddie snatches it from his friend, ignoring whatever else he says, nearly tearing the paper to get to its contents. He can’t help but to grin like a fool, teeth bared, almost a proud pose, your scribbled handwriting clear.

Let’s Be Closer

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I just can't get the idea of Lorcan with a soft wife. Like she gardens and bakes and nobody understands how the dynamic works so well but it just does

Sweet peas

Well, don't they say that opposites attract? Sounds cliché but in all reality, it's just how it is. It's so obvious looking at the two of you that nature requires balance.

Lorcan is the embodiment of dark, lethal power. He's someone who people don't even dare to take a second glance at. Lowering their heads. Moving further away from the streets. Praying to the gods they believe in hopes that they would save them if Lorcan appeared on their doorstep. Especially when he's the god of death himself.

So to say that people gasped with fear when they saw you standing so close to him the first couple of times would be an understatement. "What a poor beautiful girl, hope the death is quick", "What could have she possibly done to upset him", and "What a cruel way to go, for such a delicate creature".

Just the funny thing is that it's quite the opposite. It's Lorcan who has been captivated by you. Trailing by you like a true dark shadow. And it's as if he finally understood what it's like to feel the warmth that radiates from the sky. How pleasant the summer breeze can be. That chirping bird wasn't all that annoying. And all of that is because of you.

The first time you met he was rushing back home. Annoyed over the fact that the whole day was shit. Cutting corners so that he would return to the comfort of his home as soon as possible. In all of his anger, he didn't notice the patch of only springing flowers, his big boots stomping on them. The gasp that echoed behind him made him jerk back.

And there you were. Two braids falling over your chest, a light green dress with puffy sleeves, and a dirty airport that you without a doubt used to wipe your hands at. At first, he thought that the gasp was the usual reaction to you simply seeing him. That's how everyone always reacted. But no.

You weren't looking at him. Eyes fixed on the crushed stems beneath Lorcan's feet. His own eyes darted down. "My sweet peas...", you stepped closer, pushing at Lorcan's chest as if he wasn't the biggest predator in town. "No, no...", you muttered, kneeling, gently trying to pull any of the potential survivors up. And it felt as if that dead flower was exactly how Lorcan's heartfelt now watching you. The way your soft fingers touched the still-closed petals that will never get to bloom.

"I...", Lorcan starts but you're shaking your head, picking up your watering jug as you pierce him with what Lorcan assumed was your angry face but he could tell that it wasn't a usual emotion you portrayed.

But he can't stop thinking about those sweet peas. All evening. All night. All morning. And he's so grumpy. So unimaginably grumpy because why the hell is he thinking about some flowers? And the teasing from the boys doesn't help because when he finally snaps and says, "I don't know where to get sweet peas that are in bloom, okay?!", the whole room dies down. Fenrys throws Gavriel a look and the older male silently forbids the pup from commenting. Rowan has one eyebrow raised. It's Aelin who clocks onto what's going on. She knows you. Had seen you last evening, and listened to how upset you were that your favorite flowers got stomped on by some sulking brood. "I know where to and plenty of them", she says softly and Lorcan's hopeful eyes meet hers.

It's not long after that he's knocking on your cottage door. Hands firmly holding six pots with sweet peas in different colors. The sugary smell twirls all around Lorcan and it hits him that they almost smell like you. The door cracks open and here you are. Once again right in front of him and he's so starstruck that he forgets how to speak for a moment. Then he just pushes the pots closer to you, "Bought you what I destroyed". You tried to scold him with your eyes but Lorcan could see the happy softness there. "Want to help me replant them?", you asked softly and that was his last undoing. Shrugging off his jacket, Lorcan pushed the sleeves of his shirt over his elbows. Getting ready for the best day of his life that opened the door to happily ever after.

[ghouljams]

I am starving, famished, shriveled up and dying for more fae!Gaz, por favor sobra pero un pedazo 💔💔

Noooo mi novioooo, Gaz I'm sorry I have been neglecting you!! 😭

Gaz spots you from across the street. You radiant happiness shines like gold through the rest of the dismal crowd. He smacks Soap's chest to shut him up and earns a smack in return. After a minor tussle Gaz is following after you. Sliding through the usual 5 o'clock rush like water. You're easy to keep track of even if you weren't such a beacon he'd be drawn to your smile, the light in your eyes, the way you laugh with your whole chest when the person you're with tells some crappy joke.

He can feel the streets starting to twist. Your friend drifting away as you pull something up on your phone, the crowd thinning and thinning until it's just you. Just you walking alone down the cobblestone. Gaz breathes in the scent of you, the soft tinge of amber and salt in the air, the warping confusion that's starting to build as you look around at the buildings on either side of you. He can almost hear you asking yourself: have they always looked like that, did I take a wrong turn somewhere, did my friend? Easy prey. You must want something now, right?

You turn on your heel, start your walk back the way you came from with a shrug. Gaz pauses, that's- where's the panic? This is what he gets for taking a page out of Ghost's book. Low results that one. He's not used to thinking like a hunter, shit, what would Price do?

He'd use what he already has on you to get more. Intelligence begets intelligence.

Gaz catches your arm when you pass him, eyes still glued to the map on your phone. He tamps down your suspicion, your guard at being touched by a stranger. You look up with curiosity instead of annoyance. Gaz smiles and you smile back, a little unsure.

"Did you need something?" You ask, always careful words from the humans in this city. He says your name like a question, and you nod. Tethers between you light up, slick his words with your assent.

"We met at the bar?" He feeds you the memory, the good bits of it at least. He's always been rather talented with memory work. Recognition crosses your face.

"The cherry stem," you smile, like you can't stop it. He returns your smile with a nod, feels you shift a little on your feet invading his space. It's cute the way you step just a little closer to him.

"Come on, that can't be the only thing you remember," he teases. It is. He knows it is, but you'll blame the alcohol for any losses in memory. Pretty, stupid, thing. You are stunning the way you lie to him.

"Of course not."

Gaz hums, feels his teeth itch as you look to your phone again. He couldn't forget your face, but seeing you in the light of day like this feels like seeing you for the first time. You're positively radiant, bursting with life and light and everything he's never wanted more. No dim club lights to drown out the spark in your eyes.

The distorted map on your screen makes you shake your head, lock your phone and pocket it. You attention falls fully onto him. All that gorgeous gold that you drip with. He gets it. He knows why Soap eats his artists like candy, why Price chases one little Witch when there are easier prizes to be won, why Ghost wrapped himself in so many tethers there's no start or end to them. He knows why humans seek him out.

Moths to a flame.

What can he give you, what do you want? How can he hold a piece of you no matter how small?

"Are you lost?" Gaz offers, "I know the area pretty well if you want some help."

"That would be great actually, thanks," You sigh with relief. Gaz feels a tether settle, liquid and bright. Some small part of you, he thinks to himself. He wonders how many more he can get on you, how completely he can hold you before you notice. You said it would be nice to fall in love. He can do that. What's love but a few good coincidences?

[molinaesque]

On the topic of Raphael and him "being bad in bed".

Okay I'm only ever going to talk about this at length once and then never again. I've been avoiding talking about it until now because bringing it up always just seems to keep this topic in circles and it becomes an endless pit of nothing.

First of all, I know most of the time (like maybe 70% of the time) it's for the lolz. I get it. Hell, Raphael fans will be the FIRST to quip about this.

BUT

For those taking it seriously one way or another... It becomes such old hat VERY fast.

Those who use it as a jab towards Raphael havers are... Kinda dumb. Because it's like... Okay, and? You act as if somehow negates the entirety of his character somehow just because "HAR HAR HANDSOME DEVIL MAN IS BAD AT SEX" and it's so... vapid and boring? Also it seems a lot of people keep thinking "bad at sex" = JUST that he finishes too fast and nothing else but they seem to forget that the player character came up with that insult on the spot (rather than seeing it as a commentary about his pure selfishness and where it stems from). Haarlep is also a bias source. There's a semblance of resentment from them AND they're a damn incubus. EVERYONE'S terrible in bed in comparison (have you seen Tav? Little shit just lays there like a sack of potatoes during the Haarlep scene). This isn't me saying "Oh it means Raphael is terrific in bed because Haarlep's word cannot be trusted". HELL, no. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm saying "okay... What can I glean from that set of information?"

I feel like this goes for Raphael havers too who have this conversation. I feel like many tend to fall into this trap of odd desparity when they realise that "oh no our magnificent hot man is bad at sex" and somehow treat it as if it's forever a caveat and somehow negates the ENTIRETY of Raphael as a complex character. My first reaction when I got this information during House of Hope was laughing and then going "mmm that's so interesting and adds such a great layer to this already amazing character. Where else can I take this to". In fact, House of Hope as a quest does SO much in adding all these tidbits that make Raphael not just another boring, all knowing, god like, ineffible character. It made me love and appreciate his character even MORE. instead of going in circles and lamenting in how this is somehow "the worst thing ever", I think it's way more fun to explore it and delve into where the root of his narcissism and self esteem issues come from. The dichotomy and complexes of his character. There's SO much to talk about there and yet we're still just stuck on "haha devil man is a bottom and bad in bed" (which is another ridiculous thing btw because people seem to misconstrue bottoms as JUST being submissive. Y'all need to be more open minded 😂).

Apologies if this came off as ranty/condescending maybe. But it's coming from someone who's just minding her own business but have to see a variation of that line CONSTANTLY in the notes/tags on my art/gif posts and as I said... It gets so old REALLY fast. Like please be more imaginative than this, I beg of you. 😭

[antianakin]

@assaultmech71 I'm putting this in a separate post because it IS a little off topic and that particular post is becoming fairly long and unwieldy as it is.

Part of my dislike of Luxsoka (and Lux in general) stems from my dislike of the episode he's introduced in. Heroes on Both Sides is supposed to show us that there's genuinely good people with legitimate grievances on the Separatist side and that Ahsoka is like... being kind-of ignorant by assuming all of the Separatists are evil assholes. However this is done SO SO BADLY the entire way through. I've talked about Mina Bonteri's whole sob story about her husband on some sort of base that got attacked by the clones and how unbelievable it is that the clones apparently just attacked an innocent base full of innocent people or something. There's NO WAY that Mina's husband wasn't involved in something either war-related or just sketchy and evil.

Lux on the other hand is sitting there being paralleled with Ahsoka where they're supposed to recognize that their lack of knowledge of the other side has caused them to be a little prejudiced towards each other. But while Lux has never actually met any Jedi and is making his entire opinion based on a lot of propaganda, Ahsoka HAS met Separatists, they just come in the form of military generals usually. Lux I think specifies "any Separatists who AREN'T military leaders" which is pretty unfair because those military personnel are STILL military leaders and effectively Ahsoka's counterpoint within the Separatist organization. Ahsoka has seen these people who claim to fight on behalf of the Separatist government do some absolutely heinous shit to actual innocent civilians (she's there for the incident with the Lurmens, the Blue Shadow Virus, Ryloth, and the Holocron Heist arc at this point). Ahsoka has genuine evidence to believe that the Separatists are, at best, ignorant of what's being done in their name, and at worst complicit in these actions being perpetrated by their military. Ahsoka isn't naive or ignorant the way Lux is, it's not a fair comparison. So their entire connection here is based on what amounts to a lie.

Lux also literally gives Ahsoka a once over when she bandies his own words back at him and asks him if she looks evil, which is juvenile and gross. And yes, he IS juvenile and Ahsoka does call him out on it a little, but still. It's not exactly a GREAT first impression here.

So basically a large part of the reason I hate him is because his entire introduction is just really really stupid and he represents this radically unfair perspective on the Jedi at this point just to make a point that isn't even ENTIRELY true.

Then we come to their second meeting where the whole episode ends with them saying they were a "good team" except that Lux fucks up approximately 20 different times and Ahsoka has to keep saving his ass and doing all the work. And Lux also betrays her like 4-5 separate times, he slaps her ass and acts like a misogynist to keep up an act with DEATH WATCH, apparently doesn't know or just doesn't care that Death Watch are literal terrorists, and is just overall completely awful and useless the whole time. They're not a good team, he's just a massive fuck up with delusions of grandeur who Ahsoka has to keep bailing out of danger over and over again.

He's better by their third meeting during the Onderon arc, but by then whatever feelings he may have had for Ahsoka seem to have faded and he's got a new girlfriend he's focused on and Ahsoka ultimately lets him go. But she's also JEALOUS of Steela for a while and it's impossible to figure out what she's even jealous OF. Like babygirl, I'm so frustrated with you right now, but you can STILL do better than Lux Bonteri. At least she decides to just move on by the end and we never see him again.

So yeah, Lux is a terrible person, a terrible love interest for Ahsoka, and Luxsoka is a fuck awful ship and I'm just so glad it got abandoned before it actually went anywhere and never came back.

[neonscandal]

explain to me how bakugo is traumatized. the kid he grew up with was nice to him once and he immediately came to the conclusion that he should die. that's not trauma, that's being insane.

I'm going to start with the fact that, justifiably, there's never a reason to tell someone to kill themselves. Additionally, note that me saying Bakugo is traumatized does not mean that Midoriya is also not traumatized.

Regarding your question, the trauma that I mentioned on a recent ask, (I assume this one prompted your question) referenced the following:

Captured by the Slime Villain, effectively bound and suffocated in front of an audience (doesn't include the fall out after being someone who is publicly assaulted)

Muzzled, bound and robbed of autonomy in front of a national audience at the Sports Festival

Kidnapped and bound by the LOV (the forcible binding is recurrent through all the above)

Don't really have to go into the swath of issues he and Class 1A likely can and do develop from being child pawns in a war of adults but that can be applied as well re: survivor's guilt, PTSD, paranoia from the mole, etc. from the PLF arc and up until current manga events (I didn't feel like a spoiler warning).

Things that people don't tend to capture in the box of Bakugo's characterization:

He comes from a verbally and physically abusive household, demonstrably (you can jump down to the second paragraph of Bakugo's Strengths listed here for my thoughts on that impact)

Forced to defend himself against older kids from a young age and possibly on a recurring basis, as referenced in the above image. We could probably chalk the confrontation up to a consequence of his false overconfidence, sure. But does that justify 4th graders ganging up on what looks like a kindergartener/first grader?

As for Bakugo and Midoriya's relationship, we don't have much to go on. We know they were close and amicable as kids, things likely went to shit when Midoriya didn't develop a quirk, there's some beetle excursion in the woods that Bakugo refers back to a lot which is pending further context for readers/viewers, and then there's a fall in the river which really soured relations as Bakugo misinterpreted genuine kindness for condescension (see home life and such above). Again, none of this justifies the bullying we see at the start of the series or the way their interactions have shocking physical components. But what I do find interesting is that I've previously likened Bakugo's disposition to Endeavors but, in retrospect, I think he's a strong parallel for Dabi too.

Dabi's rage stems from being robbed of what he thinks is his inalienable birthright as the oldest son and heir to Endeavor's legacy. He disproportionately targets Shouto as the usurper of what is rightfully his. Dabi's claim, of course, makes more sense from a traditional and, probably, cultural standpoint. But the reason I mention it is that I don't think Bakugo was constantly telling Midoriya to take a swan dive off a roof. It doesn't forgive the bullying but it contextualizes why, that day, the bullying reached a new height when Midoriya was outed for still trying to get into UA. Bakugo saw this as an immediate threat to his position because, even though he didn't admit it at the time, if anyone could get into UA, quirkless or not, Bakugo knew Midoriya could.

Just as Midoriya has always seen Bakugo as being heroic and capable of being number 1, Midoriya proves time and time again that, even without a quirk, he's got the spirit of a hero and is successful in spaces where Bakugo is not. As the story progresses, we see evidence and the ultimate manifestation of Bakugo's remorse through his apology and other ways he's softened up. I'm not saying he wasn't a little shit but that's also not all he was (IDK if you've met kids but... without healthy socialization they can be little emotional terrorists). As things have unfolded, we see that, internally, Bakugo uses thoughts of Midoriya to galvanize his path forward and we've recently confirmed that when Bakugo spoke to Kirishima about strength... he was referring to Midoriya, you can scroll down to paragraphs around the last picture. I'm just gleeful about calling it. But, suffice it to say they've both been looking to one another this whole time.

There are still periphery pieces of their background missing because the story is largely from Midoriya's perspective. I don't think we'll get a comprehensive backstory but I think there will be some sort of meaningful explanation behind the beetle trip that may inform why Bakugo ultimately misinterpreted things so poorly at the river. I mean, maybe it's as simple as the fact that he couldn't fathom kindness because it's something not typically afforded to those who are perceived as strong. I don't know but I look forward to finding out.

[blurryfce300]

ok torchbearer time

so like we need to talk more about torchbearer’s ability cause i feel everyøne just went “forest fic canon haha” and brushed it off like

when tyler called it an ability i feel that wordage constitutes it being in the same category as clancy’s ability, yknow the one where he can be seized whilst alive. thats a big thing, and torchbearer alsø having an ability, the ability tø guide, is a big thing tøø.

but what exactly is that “ability to guide”, as tyler put it? i know people were saying its like a mental thing like he can make people think hes really there, but i think it goes further than that. i do think its an actual physical thing, he can physically project himself to people because remember, the letter from ned specifically addresses BOTH clancy and torchbearer being there. not just clancy. ned saw them both, keons knew they were bøth gøing tø be there. a hallucination wouldnt do that.

there’s the my blood parallels, too, and my blood stems playing at the end, but we have to keep in mind clancy is the protagonist, hes telling the story and this is all from his perspective. so him vanishing isnt him never being there, its more just a way of showing that clancy now realizes it wasnt the real torchbearer along with him since levitate. torchbearer is real, økay. josh is real.

now i have other questions that i, @gonerbird , and @tylerssblurry talked about.

firstly, does torchbearer and/ør clancy know? i think torchbearer definitely knøws, its his ability after all, but i clancy didnt until nøw in navigating. maybe he was told previously, but dema makes you førget things, so maybe he forgot about it.

secondly, do the other banditos knøw? im not sure about this, maybe they do, maybe they don’t. we don’t knøw if this is an ability torchbearer uses før every bandito tø guide them tø the øthers in trench, ør sømething he uses sparingly for clancy and øther peøple he ør the øther banditos deems important to their cause. theres a lot we døn’t knøw and i døn’t think we’ll get a straight answer about it, like most things in this story.

and if he didnt tell clancy, well we can kinda understand why clancy is mad at torchbearer, like you imagine thinking your best friend has been by yøur side før years through all this awful shit, being held captive and forced tø write and perform against yøur will and then having a near death encounter, then discovering you’ve been under attack from an external force this whole time, and før all that før him tø nøt have been there. it was him, but it alsø wasn’t. yøu’d be kinda mad, right? maybe mad enough to start your own rebellion, a more violent one that we might see.

alright thats all i have to say about that for now byeeeee

[thementalshawty]

My New Beginning (My way out)

(Mentions of disabilities, mental, emotional, physical abuse, S*x abuse, bullying, self harm, suicidal ideation, Domestic violence, be wary before reading).

So where to begin……. This is about familial abuse, so this has been something happening my whole life!!! My “mother” is a narcissist. She bullied me and my sister our whole lives, I am the third of 5 kids, she would pit us against each other and watch us fight to laugh and make fun, most of my insecurities stem from her clowning me in front of my brothers, funny enough she is NEVER ALONE, my father he abused us including her but he left and I thought we were better off for it, I wasn’t wrong but little did I know the monsters she’d allow into our lives after, I was getting molested by older brother and my mothers boyfriend before I even got to elementary school, my brother started when I was insanely young, and I still protected him as I didn’t know what tf was happening, her boyfriend started when I was in 4th grade, he wasn’t a drunk or anything just a pedophile, she knew he was because he got caught cheating on her with teenage girls and yet she still kept him around for a decade so wherever we moved he was there and I started to become angry, rage grew inside my soul like a fire that had no intention of burning out, on top of that he was abusive hitting and bruising me and my siblings who all have disabilities, you know my sister as she’s a tarot reader on here so I’m not going into specifics about them, but she would sit and watch and do nothing, she would hide food with him, have us stand in the corner for hours on end while they are food in front of our faces “mmmm that’s good”. She even forced to drink her breast milk in front of him, she despised us having friends, soo when I would have a friend she wouldn’t let me see them or go out or we would move, I’ve never stayed more than 2-3 years in any place my whole entire fuccin life! I don’t know anything but toxicity when it came to relationships, I tried to kill myself multiple times but they failed so I decided to be a burner, I just burned myself, the fire it was the rage inside me felt outside, I decided to tell my mother about the molester from her boyfriend when I was 15, because I told someone in school he told me I had to tell her or he would so I wrote her a letter, he had a gun in the house and put it to his head and said he was going to kill himself (gaslighting), she kicked him out for a day, brought him back then told me that I had to share her with him, so at 15 and with her knowledge of him molesting me, we all moved to California, we drove there, and that was awful, we all fought and he screams how he didn’t care about what he did to me and he was laughing in front of her, i ended up just sweeping that under the rug because i went to focus on my career I had acting classes so my mind was focused but I met a guy from school and he automatically hated him (the boyfriend) he told my mother and automatically I was told to stay away from him, I didn’t I had got arrested the year before so I had community service and he was helping me with that, I told him what happened I thought we were meant to be but he cheated on me with his sister and I found myself in her another Jerry springer bind but I found that out months after we broke up, but he stood up for me and he was the only one on the outside that actually came and defended my honor as sick as he is I will give him credit for that. A year later we’re moving bacc to NYC, before we did though, they got Into a fight (my mother and the boyfriend), pretending to break up, he went to the gas station filled a gas canister wit gas came back to the front door and poured gasoline on himself, obviously not lighting himself on fire because it was an act, he went to jail a week or two later she invited him back into her life, I already knew that it was going to happen because the shit was predictable at that point, Skipping ahead to 17, we moved back to NYC, we came separately, I came on a plane with my mother and the rest of my siblings drove back with him, because obviously she trusted him with children why wouldn’t she? She already knew what he was capable of, she didn’t care 🤷🏽‍♀️, when we got back to NyC she

Promises me that he’s not coming back into our lives that it’s over this time, I told her he’s going to gaslight her she says not gonna work, fast forward to when they all made it to the apartment, she approached me with the sob story I said he would come in with so she said she is letting him stay, I was going to just walk away, but my sister told me that she fought with him on the drive here, she stood up for me, he yelled at my older brothers and her that he did What he did to me cos he truly wanted to and he’s unapologetic for it, the flame it was uncontrollable and I blacked out I went into the room and I kicked him out myself. He yelled bullshit but he left, she hated me for that, so she started to sneak him in secretly then they started hiding food again, leaving us to literally shake, starve and feel sick, we learned how to improvise with what little we had. I was going to school so I didn’t care, speaking of school I was supposed to be on my last year of school, and I couldn’t graduate because my principal explained because I moved so much my credits were all over the place, so she told me I had to repeat a year that was devasting to me because in California I only had a few credits before I could graduate, I got two jobs because I just wanted to save up money to leave, she told my grandma lies oh she has a whole bunch of recruits that she tells constant lies too about us and what we do never the truth because they already feel she’s sick but they do nothing about it, family tho right? My grandma called me and so again we told her the truth and she helped us kick him out for good, (so that’s the end of boyfriend 1…. For now) I was finally 18!! So again I have no friendships nothing ever stuck, but I had two jobs and I was saving up for an apartment, I shouldn’t have done this but I was so proud of myself! I told her (my mother) that I was going to move out, get my own apartment and live on my own, she didn’t like that, she was saying that it was disloyal and what was she going to do without me and she needed help because most of my siblings have a disability, so I stayed, I couldn’t be disloyal when she needed me, that was a big mistake. A year later we are moving BACC to California because she has found A NEW BOYFRIEND, some guy she met over the phone, guess who helped her move back to California though (boyfriend #1), my brother who molested me left to go into the army, don’t worry he’s not in it any longer dishonorable discharge (it was fitting). So anyways the new boyfriend was some white guy who I felt meant no harm the fuccin dude was quiet and softspoken so I paid it no mind, but I was wrong, he was a drunk, not only was a he a drunk, he was a RACIST DRUNK! Did she care???? NOOOOOOO! Everytime I tried to leave she stopped me, til we fought then she would say to leave knowing I had nowhere to go, if I had a friend to go too she would hate that friend, funny thing is most friends that want to take me away from this be friends she introduced me too, she wanted to be friends with them but they wanted to be my friend yes they are younger people, I don’t have those friends anymore because they were very similar to her go figure right ? I thought I should call the cops, call for help, but everyone I reached out too did nothing INCLUDING COPS! So I felt backed into a corner, well I had my sister my little sister my rock, funny fun fact though, her new boyfriend ALSO LIKES LITTLE GIRLS oh and BOYS! He got arrested and she stood up for him, while he was doing that in her home, she would run away and leave us all my siblings in the house with him drunk calling us the N word, kicking doors down and causing mess, I couldn’t leave my siblings who couldn’t understand what was happening behind all I knew is that they were scared and their mother wasn’t there all she did was make excuses for him she told me I should kill myself, that I was a cunt that didn’t deserve her name, ( I don’t have it, I have my dads last name), that I was going to be nothing more than a whore, by this time………………

She knows about what my brother did to me I didn’t mention that confession because she just skipped right over it. She literally didn’t care and she told me to my face she believed he was only playing with me and I am confusing it all and that I know nothing about it because it happened to her and she the only one who knows pain and my pain doesn’t matter she tried to assault me and again tried to tell family but she already took the narrative so they weren’t trying to hear me out or help, in august of this year, me and my sister left, we went to stay in a motel for a week or two, with the help of my booking agent we didn’t have enough money to stay and the homeless shelters were all full and we’re not answering back, so we had no choice but to go back, we are back and nothing even a week later back to the drunk racist, not eating, starving routine, I wanted to die and I felt like a failure! I couldn’t even get out of bed I felt like I deserved this I got my sister out to end up right back 2 WEEKS LATER?!?!! I fuccin hated myself! He was drunk and again causing ruckus, she came back a morning later and was telling him to leave, he was going to hit her, my brother (diagnosed with MR) was out there with my younger brother (autism) and they were scared and standing up for her and the boyfriend was in their faces what was I supposed to do???? Me and my sister tried to help and she tried to tell us to leave for helping her!!!!! Me and my sister decided to just call the police, they started to fight, and he tried to kill her, the police got him out, and they told her that she was lucky to have her kids here, we cleaned up her room after he broke her whole house apart, I mean EVERYTHING IS TORN APART RN!!!! she decided that she was going to move down to Texas with the molesting brother because he has kids, (oh yeah other fun fact she kept forcing me to have kids she even wanted me to give her my eggs so she can have kids with both of those boyfriends she approached me TWICE ABOUT IT, one she wanted my eggs and the other she wanted me to be pregnant for her!) So now my brother has kids she was like saying she knows I’ll never have kids and I’ll be forever alone, that no one will ever love me, anyways skipping to now my birthday came and left I’m 27 now! The housing program that me and my sister signed up for began to pend and we found a place! We didn’t tell her we found a place and that we were in a program we didn’t even tell her that we went down the city. We ended up getting a random woman come into the house and serve us she was evicting us (my mother) even on the eviction notice it says no fault just cause, she didn’t even tell me, so we have 60 days to leave and vacate her premises! Funny enough yesterday my sister got her APPROVAL NOTICE!!! Mine is still pending but I know that I’m getting approved and if all goes well we will be in our transitional home on SATURDAY! We finally did it, dug our way out, I didn’t think that I could and that I would, I would’ve been opened up to someone if I didn’t believe that it was against the family or that no one would love me like she did, she painted the world as such a unloving place and that this toxicity was normal and for the longest I believed it, but I am waking up now! And I am looking forward to beginning my life AWAY FROM HER! Just me and my rock @silvershiningtarot I AM NOT ASHAMED OF MY STORY, I’m only ashamed I kept quiet for so long, I allowed them to get away with everything and they took control of the narrative but I’m taking my power back! This is the first chapter of my success story! I’m not looking for claps or sympathy or for yky to actually care or anything I just wanted to put my story out there because this shit shouldn’t be in the dark anymore, mothers can be demons, family can be a dark and scary word for people and they’re not family, only relation! And I wanted to make that clear! RELATION DOESN’T MEAN FAMILY

I feel more familial love from you guys on here than I ever did anywhere! My music gave me hope and tarot gave me community

You deserve to know your reader through and through!

Thank you!!! For listening and taking the time for hearing this sad ass story, I hope I didn’t drag your day down! 💋