#I wanted to see if I could draw the clothes without a reference

[illuminchim]

The Lan Brothers as babies! 💎✨

[jetii]

Lessons of the Heart

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Teacher!Reader

Words: 15,738

Tags/Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, strangers to lovers, soft!Crosshair, grumpy/sunshine dynamic, awkward flirting, mutual pining, kissing/making out, Crosshair's anxiety, reader has long-ish hair, Tech mentioned briefly

Summary: Over a year after settling on Pabu, Crosshair is still struggling to adapt to life without having something to fight, or fight for. When Omega comes home with a bad grade, he jumps at the chance to help. He doesn't expect to become so invested, and he certainly doesn't expect to fall for his sister's teacher.

A/N: This one got away from me! But since the poll indicated I should keep this all one part, here you go. I really enjoyed writing Crosshair's perspective and all the little sibling moments in here.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

"Again, Omega? We talked about this."

Crosshair stops dead in his tracks, one boot in front of the other, and stares straight ahead. The basket of dirty clothes in his grip hangs limp by his side as he stands in the hallway, listening. Hunter and Omega are in the kitchen, the latter having just gotten back from another day at school, and they’re clearly talking about something serious.

Crosshair doesn't dare to breathe too loud in case he misses a single word. It's hard not to notice how Hunter's voice drops low when he speaks, trying not to be overheard by someone. By someone like Crosshair.

"I know, Hunter," she groans. He can hear the sound of something hit the counter, likely a datapad, and Omega shifts on her stool. "I tried on this one, I promise."

Hunter hums in a tone that makes it clear he's not quite believing her, and Crosshair's eyebrows raise a little in curiosity.

"Let me see, please."

"Hunter—"

"Omega."

She huffs, but a few seconds later, the datapad slides across the counter with a quiet squeak, and Omega's chair scrapes across the floor as she sits back down. "There. Happy?"

"Thank you." There's a pause, and Crosshair can only imagine the face Hunter is making as he reads whatever it is that Omega is showing him. His voice is stern, a tone that Crosshair's come to know as the sergeant, not the brother. "What is this?"

"I told you," she whines.

"She gave you a 50%?" Hunter's voice raises slightly. "Why would she do that?"

Omega scoffs. She's getting better at that. It almost sounds natural now.

Crosshair peeks around the corner, and sure enough, Hunter has the datapad in his hands, reading over whatever report the teacher sent back. Omega sits next to him, her shoulders slumped, arms crossed, and she's not meeting his gaze. Her backpack sits unzipped, its contents strewn out across the countertop and the stool where she usually sits.

He knows he shouldn't eavesdrop, but he's been doing it for so long he's not sure how to stop. And besides, the look on Hunter's face is one he doesn't like.

They'd all known going into this that Omega wasn't going to have an easy time at school. She excelled far beyond her peers in most subjects — math, history, science, languages, you name it — but there were two subjects where her intelligence failed her. Art, for one, because it was hard to grasp the concept of drawing something when she had no frame of reference. And then, of course, there was literature.

It's not her fault, and Hunter's well aware of it. Her education prior to the Batch adopting her was entirely focused on being the best lab assistant a Kaminoan could ever want. Over time, she soaked up anything they would teach her. Strategy, engineering, politics, even some basic medical training — Omega could do it all. But, as it turned out, there was a pretty big part of her education that she was severely lacking in, and it was starting to show.

Out of the three brothers, Crosshair was the only one who actually made a habit out of reading, though he'd never admit it to anyone. So he tried his best to teach Omega the concepts that her teacher was trying to instill in her, but sometimes it was difficult.

Literature was, by nature, subjective. It's always up for debate, and Crosshair found himself constantly questioning himself while helping Omega with her assignments. It usually ended with both of them frustrated, and Hunter or Wrecker stepping in to mediate the situation.

But still, Omega loved her classes, even if they were difficult. And Crosshair would never say it out loud, but he enjoyed spending time with her and helping her learn, even if it wasn't always the easiest.

It seemed, though, that her teacher didn't agree with his methods.

Hunter looks up from the datapad and places it on the counter. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and reaches across to pat Omega's shoulder. "It's okay. We can work with this."

She shrugs him off and hops down from the stool, gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag. When she tries to reach for the datapad, Hunter snatches it up and holds it out of her reach.

"Give it to me, Hunter."

"No. We're going to talk about this, Omega."

"There's nothing to talk about," she mutters, trying again and failing to grab the datapad.

Crosshair takes that as his cue. He steps into the kitchen and drops the basket of laundry onto the ground by his feet, the force of the landing enough to get their attention.

"Oh, good," Hunter says, looking at Crosshair. "You're home."

"Yep." Crosshair pops the 'p' and folds his arms, leaning back against the wall. He meets Omega's eyes for a moment, and the look on her face is like a punch to the gut. She looks defeated, and it's not a look that suits her.

He hates seeing her upset, especially over something so trivial. It's a report, and not even a very important one. It's not like her grades in the other classes were suffering. She was passing every single one of them with flying colors. It's just this one assignment, this one class, this one teacher who seems hellbent on making her feel bad about herself.

Crosshair can feel the rage bubbling under the surface. How dare her teacher give her a score that low, and why? Because of his help? That was his job, and he was doing it.

"What's going on?" Crosshair asks. He's still staring at Omega, trying to get her to look up at him, to meet his gaze, but she's not taking the bait. She's got her arms folded, her shoulders tense, and her lower lip juts out as she pouts at Hunter.

"I told her we'd talk about it, and she doesn't want to." Hunter sets the datapad back down, sliding it across the counter.

Crosshair picks it up, glancing at the words on the screen before scrolling through the report. It's an analysis, one he's read a million times. He doesn't bother skimming it, because he already knows exactly what she wrote. It's a decent summary of the text, and her thoughts and opinions are written plainly and with an obvious understanding of what the author meant. It's not her fault her teacher wanted her to interpret the text the way a typical thirteen-year-old might, but that wasn't who Omega was.

He glances back up at Hunter. "And what is there to talk about?"

"Well, her teacher doesn't seem to agree with her analysis," Hunter says. He nods at the datapad in Crosshair's hand. "The comments."

Crosshair finds the section in question and reads over the notes. It's a lot of the same, just worded a bit differently, but one comment sticks out among the rest.

Please try to stick to the original meaning of the text, Omega. You did well explaining how your interpretation differed from the traditional meaning, but try to focus on the actual story. 

It's the most condescending, ridiculous thing Crosshair has ever read, and he has to keep himself from throwing the datapad at the wall. He has to remind himself that doing that would only make Omega feel worse, and he doesn't want to upset her.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and hands the datapad back to her.

"This is stupid," he says, and he can see Hunter's eye twitch at his choice of words. "I read the text. I know what it means, and you know what it means. What, are you supposed to go through the entire thing and find the most cliche, obvious way of reading it?"

"No," Omega mumbles.

"Right," he agrees. "So then why is she giving you a low grade for your own thoughts and opinions?"

Omega shrugs. She's frowning, staring down at the datapad like it personally offended her.

And Crosshair knows that feeling, intimately. It's the same way he'd stare at the training room floor whenever a drill sergeant would call him a failure. It grates on his nerves, and he's half-tempted to find the teacher's home address and tell her just how wrong she is.

"But I'm doing it wrong," Omega says, her voice small and defeated.

Hunter is glaring at him now, but Crosshair can't find it in him to care.

"No, you're not," Crosshair insists, and he takes a seat beside her at the counter. "You did your research. You did everything you were supposed to, and you wrote a report about what you think it meant. What's wrong with that?"

Omega shrugs again, and he can see her hands balling up into fists.

The sight alone is enough to set him on edge. His entire body feels like a coiled spring, his muscles tense and ready to go. He hates seeing her like this. She's a bright kid, always smiling and happy, and to see her so down on herself makes him feel ill, and the last thing he wants is for her to think she's failed somehow.

Crosshair doesn't know why the teacher doesn't understand that, doesn't appreciate how amazing it is that a girl her age is even capable of writing a paper like this. Maybe, somewhere deep down, the teacher does get it. Maybe she's just pushing her own agenda. It wouldn't surprise Crosshair in the slightest, and the more he thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets.

"Maybe I should comm her," Hunter says, interrupting his train of thought.

Crosshair snaps his head around, glaring daggers at his brother. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't comm her." He pushes himself away from the counter and stands. "I'll handle this."

Hunter stares at him, one eyebrow raised, clearly confused. "Handle it?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna talk to her."

"Cross," Hunter says, but he doesn't finish his sentence.

Crosshair doesn't stick around long enough to hear the end of it. He's already halfway out the door, pulling his jacket off the hook, and slamming the door shut behind him.

Crosshair is pissed.

He doesn't often get angry. Annoyed, frustrated, irritated, yes. All those are familiar. But angry? Angry is not something he deals with. He can't stand it, the way his chest feels like it's about to explode, the way his heart rate picks up and his stomach feels sick. Anger makes him feel out of control, and the last thing he wants is to lose the little self-control he does have.

But now?

Now, he's angry.

Omega doesn't deserve to be treated like this. She doesn't deserve the way her teacher is talking to her, telling her she's doing something wrong when she isn't. If anything, the teacher should be grateful that Omega is even bothering to read the texts in the first place, that she's putting in the effort to analyze the meanings behind them.

He's so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely realizes how far he's gone. It's only when he spots the school, the tall building looming in the distance, does he realize he's halfway across town, and the sun is starting to dip below the horizon.

He slows his pace, taking a moment to catch his breath, and glances around. He's only been here a few times, just long enough to drop Omega off at the start of the day or pick her up after. He's never actually been inside, never even met a single one of her teachers, and he has no idea where her classroom even is.

A sign points him towards the front entrance, and he follows it. There's a handful of other parents waiting around the main entrance, all of them talking and laughing and joking with one another. A few of them glance his way, watching him curiously as he approaches the doors.

He ignores them, slipping inside and letting the doors close behind him. The hallways are quiet, and the sound of his boots against the tile echoes throughout the empty halls. He's not entirely sure where he's going, but he figures it can't be that hard to find her classroom.

It isn't.

It takes him less than a minute to locate her name, next to a door decorated with bright colors and images of what he assumes are the characters from a few of the stories they've read. He doesn't stop to admire the decorations, though. He doesn't stop at all, really. He pushes the door open and walks right inside, his eyes scanning the room.

The rows of chairs and desks are empty, but the one near the holoboard at the front of the room is occupied. There's a human woman sitting there, head bowed over a desk as she writes, and Crosshair strides up to her without hesitation.

"I want to talk about the report you gave Omega," he says, his voice tight, barely able to contain his anger. The woman looks up, clearly startled, and blinks owlishly at him.

The anger coursing through his veins suddenly tempers as he locks eyes with you, and he finds himself at a loss for words.

You're not what he was expecting, not in the slightest. He'd expected someone older, a woman with graying hair and crow's feet, maybe, one who's lived enough years to become old and jaded. Not this. Not you.

Your eyes are wide and bright, and the expression on your face is nothing short of adorable. He's not sure where that word came from, thrust to the forefront of his consciousness with the force of a speeder, but he can't deny that it's accurate. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands hanging over your face, and there's a small, pink stylus stuck behind your ear. Your lips are slightly parted, a pretty shade of pink that almost matches the color of the pen, and he watches as they slowly form into a small 'o' as you process what's going on.

And then, just as quickly, your expression changes.

The adorableness falls away, and you straighten your posture, your brows furrowing and your lips pulling into a tight line.

"You must be Crosshair."

He frowns. "How did you—"

"She talks about you." You nod, glancing him up and down, and Crosshair has to fight the urge to shrink under your scrutiny. His mouth feels dry, and the sudden change in tone catches him off-guard. He was expecting defensiveness, maybe a little bit of anger. Instead, you sound...

Well, he can't really place it.

Crosshair nods, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. It's probably because he's angry. It has nothing to do with the way you're looking at him, the way your eyes rake over him, or the way your lips are curled up ever so slightly in a hint of a smile.

You clear your throat and gesture to the seat in front of you. He settles in it, not because you told him to, but because it seems like the polite thing to do. And because he wants to sit down.

Once he's seated, you fold your hands and place them on the desk, giving him your full attention. "I'm glad you're here."

That throws him. "You are?"

"Of course," you say, and the smile on your face is nothing short of dazzling. "I've been hoping to meet you for a while now. Omega speaks so highly of you, and I have to say, I was looking forward to finally meeting the man who's been helping her with her assignments."

And then, you do something Crosshair wasn't expecting. You extend your hand, offering a handshake.

He looks down at your hand, your fingers spread out, palm facing up. Your nails are painted a bright shade of pink, and there's a small smear of what looks like ink near the tip of your index finger. He glances up at your face, and you're smiling at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling a bit as you do.

His stomach does a weird flip, and his chest suddenly feels a lot warmer. He doesn't know what it is about your smile, your eyes, your voice, but it's...nice.

You're nice.

He doesn't take your hand.

You pull it away, but the smile doesn't leave your face. You don't seem offended or hurt, and you're still looking at him with an expression that can only be described as genuine kindness.

Crosshair swallows the lump in his throat. It's getting harder to stay angry, but he does his best to cling to his resolve. 

"You graded her report wrong,” he hisses.

He expects you to get defensive, maybe even offended. After all, no one likes having their work challenged. But instead, you just sigh.

You look down at your desk, grabbing the stylus and twirling it between your fingers. The light reflects off the smooth surface, glinting off the tip of the tool, and the movement is almost hypnotic. He has to force himself to look away, to focus on your face.

For the first time since he barged into your classroom, he notices the tiredness in your eyes. It's subtle, and he doesn't think anyone else would notice, but the way your shoulders sag is a dead giveaway. You look exhausted, and Crosshair suddenly feels an odd pang of guilty for dropping in on you like this.

Your smile is tight when you look up at him again..

"I can explain my rationale, if you'd like," you say, and it's not a question. It's a statement.

He's not sure if he should be annoyed by that or not, but he nods regardless.

"Thank you." 

You reach for a datapad laying haphazardly across your desk and tap away for a moment, before you hold it out for him to take. His fingers brush yours as he accepts it, and the touch sends a tingle up his arm. He tries not to show it, though, and busies himself by looking over the file as you speak.

"I know Omega has been struggling in my class, and I've done everything I can to make sure she has the support she needs. But, unfortunately, there's not a lot I can do when the curriculum is so..."

You pause, and he raises an eyebrow. "So what?"

"Well, it's not exactly tailored for her," you finish, and the small laugh you let out is strained. You shrug, a gesture that's supposed to be nonchalant, but he can see the tension in your shoulders.

He hums, nodding along as you continue to talk.

"I don't usually get students like Omega, you know? Kids who've already seen the world and have lived through so much more than their peers. And that's great, I mean, it's awesome. She's a brilliant kid, and she has such a great sense of herself, but I'm not equipped to handle a student like her."

Crosshair stops scrolling, his thumb hovering over the screen. He looks up at you, and you're staring back, chewing on your bottom lip.

He swallows the lump in his throat and nods. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means..." You trail off, letting out a sigh and shaking your head. You look away, turning to stare out the window behind you. The sun is setting, and the last rays of the day are reflecting off the buildings in the distance, bathing the room in an orange glow.

He watches the way the light illuminates your face, highlighting the curves and lines. It's not the first time he's found himself admiring the way someone looks, but it's the first time it's left him feeling like his heart's about to burst out of his chest.

It's not until you turn back to face him, the light fading, does he realize he's been holding his breath.

"I'm sorry, what was I saying?" you ask, and he's not sure if it's the lighting or his imagination, but he swears there's a faint flush creeping up your neck and cheeks.

"You were talking about the report," he says, his voice a little softer than usual.

You blink. "Oh, right. Of course." You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter, and Crosshair has to remind himself not to lean in. "I graded the report based on how she did against the curriculum."

"Which is stupid."

"Yeah, I know." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and Crosshair tracks the movement. "But it's how it works, unfortunately. We have a certain set of standards we have to abide by, and unfortunately, Omega's interpretation of the story was outside those standards."

"So? Her analysis is solid, and you know it," he says.

"It is," you agree, and the corner of your mouth twitches up into a half-smile. Your eyes are soft and full of understanding, and Crosshair has to look away.

"Her argument was well-researched, and her points were valid," you say, and it's with an apologetic tone. "But she also failed to follow directions."

Crosshair blinks.

That's not right.

"What?"

"She was asked to write a report on her thoughts and opinions on a classic work, and her interpretation of the story was excellent, but..."

"But what?" He knows he's being defensive, and he's not sure why, but the thought of you grading her unfairly, giving her a low score because of something that was his fault, makes his blood boil.

He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, folding his arms and forcing himself to relax.

You don't seem bothered by his attitude, though. In fact, you just smile at him.

"Well, she did a wonderful job of explaining her interpretation, but she failed to stick to the author's original meaning," you explain. "And while I understand why she was interpreting the text the way she was, and I'm happy she's able to do that, she was asked to write a paper specifically about the author's intended meaning."

Crosshair doesn't respond. He stares at you, his lips pressed together, trying his hardest to stay calm.

He has to admit, it makes sense. You're just doing your job, and the fact that you're even taking the time to explain it to him is a testament to how hard you're trying. But that doesn't make the situation any easier, and the disappointment in Omega’s voice when she'd shown him her report earlier that day is still fresh in his mind.

"It doesn't change the fact that she's brilliant," you say, interrupting his train of thought.

He snaps his head up, staring at you, and the expression on your face is almost...tender. You're not just saying it to placate him, or to try and get him to leave. No, you mean it. He didn't realize just how much you cared about his sister, and he's taken aback by how sincere you are.

"Omega is an incredibly intelligent young woman, and I am in awe of her every day." You lean forward, your elbows resting on the desk. You're smiling, but there's a hint of sadness in your eyes, and the way you speak, the words that spill out of your mouth, are genuine. "I can't begin to imagine the things she's been through, and I know that's not an excuse for how difficult I've been, but I'm sorry. I really am."

The anger he'd been holding onto melts away, replaced by a strange mixture of pride and confusion. He's proud that you care so much about Omega, and confused by how much it seems to affect him. He'd expected you to be stubborn, maybe even rude. But this? This isn't anything like the image he'd conjured up in his mind.

It's...

Nice.

"So, what now?" he asks.

"Well," you start, and the smile on your face turns mischievous, "you're welcome to challenge my grade. You can go to the school board, or we can go to the principal's office. You could even submit a formal complaint, or—"

"No," he interrupts, and his cheeks flush when he realizes how fast the word came out. He clears his throat, trying to compose himself, and says, "I meant, what do we do? To help her?"

"Oh." You blink, clearly surprised.

He's not sure why. Does he come off as the type of person who would file a formal complaint over a grade?

Probably, actually.

"Right," you say, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts. "Well, there's not a lot we can do. This was her last chance to make up for her last test score, and I'm afraid she'll have to repeat the class next year."

"There has to be something you can do," he insists. The words fall out of his mouth before his brain catches up, and he's already cringing internally at how desperate he sounds.

"Look," you sigh. "You're not the first parent to come in here at the end of the semester and ask me to raise a grade. But, if I raised Omega's grade, then I would have to raise the grades of everyone else who turned in a similar report. And I can't do that."

"You can't be serious," he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I am," you say, an edge to your voice. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Life's not fair."

"Yeah, no kidding." You huff a humorless laugh. Your lips purse, and he can tell you're holding back a glare. 

He knows he's pushing his luck, and he's starting to feel like an idiot, but he can't help himself.

"You can't honestly tell me that there's nothing we can do."

Your eyes flicker away from his, and your gaze drifts down to the datapad. He can see your mind working, can see the gears turning as you mull over your options. You chew on your lower lip, and Crosshair tries not to stare, but it's a struggle.

He's never met someone who could have him going from angry to intrigued in the span of a few minutes, and he's not sure why he's so fixated on you. Maybe it's the way you're not afraid to stand your ground against him, or maybe it's the fact that you seem genuinely concerned about his sister's wellbeing. Or maybe it's just the way you look, with your bright eyes and kind smile, and the way you're clearly trying your best to make a difference.

Whatever it is, it's working.

"There is one thing," you say, after what feels like an eternity.

"What?"

You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself, and meet his eyes.

"I can't raise her grade, but I could offer her some extra credit, if she'd like. It's not a guarantee, and I'd have to see her improvement before I decided to give her the points, but it's an option."

"Yes." The word slips out before he can stop himself, and he mentally curses at his own eagerness.

You arch an eyebrow.

"She'd like that." He clears his throat and forces himself to sound casual, unbothered. "If you're willing."

"Of course." You smile at him, and the warmth that spreads through his chest is...weird. But not unpleasant.

He's not sure what he did to deserve that look, that smile, but he decides he doesn't hate it.

"I'll tell her," he says, and he gets to his feet.

You stand as well, and the height difference between the two of you is not lost on him. He has to look down to meet your eyes, and the way you have to tilt your head up makes him feel strangely amused.

He's used to looking down at people, and most of the time, it makes him feel superior. But right now, he just feels...

Well, he doesn't really know how to describe it.

"Thanks," he says, and the word sounds foreign on his tongue. It's not something he's used to saying, especially to a stranger. He's not even sure what he's thanking you for, exactly, but it feels appropriate.

"You're welcome," you say, a grin on your face that's almost too wide, too bright, too much. "Oh, one more thing."

He hums, and you take a step closer around the desk. You're a foot or so away from him, close enough that he can smell the perfume you use, the floral scent filling his senses. He swallows hard and tries to ignore the way his pulse is racing.

You're not making this easy for him.

"We had a chaperone drop out last minute for the end of the year field trip," you explain. "If you have the time, would you be interested in helping me out? We're going to the spaceport museum."

Crosshair has no interest in a bunch of kids running around a museum, and he's about to decline, but the look on your face stops him.

The pleading look in your eyes, the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the slight pout of your lips. He knows what you're doing, and he doesn't like it. He's not the kind of man who caves to pretty girls asking him for favors, and he's definitely not going to cave now.

He's stronger than this. He can resist the urge. He's a trained soldier, a skilled marksman, and he's not about to give in to the will of a cute teacher.

He's stronger than this.

"I'll do it," he hears himself say.

Fuck.

"Perfect." Your eyes light up, and your smile widens. You're practically beaming, and it's like looking directly at the sun. "I'll send you the details. Thank you, Crosshair. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," he says, struggling to think of a clever response, but coming up empty. He doesn't have a chance to say anything else before you're practically shoving him out the door.

When he turns back to face you, he sees you wave, and then the door is shut, and you're gone.

The silence of the hallways is suddenly too much, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

He's in trouble.

The trip is a nightmare.

It's not your fault. If anything, you've gone above and beyond to keep the kids in line. Crosshair's watched you run after them, chasing them through the exhibit and reminding them that they're not allowed to touch things. And, for the most part, the kids are well-behaved. There are a handful of them that seem to have a problem listening, but you've got the rest under control.

He has to hand it to you. It's impressive, and a little endearing, how hard you're trying. He knows you're exhausted, can see it in the way your shoulders sag when the kids start talking over you, can see it in the way you sigh when one of them pushes their way past you.

But the kids are bored, and he can't blame them. It's a pretty lame field trip, and he doesn't really understand the point of bringing them here. What is a museum, anyway, if not a place to look at cool, old ships?

So far, all they've done is look at boring, historical texts, and listen to you drone on about the importance of space travel and the role its played in storytelling throughout the galaxy.

The whole thing is dull, and he doesn't have the patience for this. He wants to go home and do literally anything else, and if he has to listen to one more kid whine about being bored, he's going to scream.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Really, he's not bored.

In fact, he's quite the opposite.

He's fascinated.

It's the way you speak, the passion and excitement in your voice. He finds himself watching the way your lips move, the way your eyes sparkle with amusement. It's the same sparkle they had the other night, when he'd confronted you in the classroom. It's the same one that's been haunting him for the past week, and it's the reason why he's stuck here, in a crowded museum, surrounded by dozens of prepubescent teenagers, all while his brothers are back at home, probably having fun without him.

And, as if things weren't already bad enough, you're wearing the cutest outfit he's ever seen. It's a dress, the kind that flows down to your ankles, and it's got tiny flowers all over it. Your hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, tied back with a pink ribbon, and it swishes back and forth as you walk.

Crosshair's not usually one for dresses, and he's definitely not a fan of the color pink. But on you? It works.

It's almost unfair, really.

No, it's extremely unfair.

He's spent the entire day stealing glances at you, trying his best not to be obvious, and Omega is catching onto him. She keeps smirking at him, her eyes narrowed, and he's pretty sure she's been teasing him. He'll get caught staring at you, and she'll elbow him in the ribs and wink at him.

It's annoying, and he hates it.

Not as much as he hates himself, though.

Because he knows better. He knows it's wrong, knows it's stupid, and yet, he can't seem to stop himself.

And the worst part is, you don't even seem to notice. You're so busy trying to keep the kids in check, to keep them from causing a scene, that you're not paying any attention to him. He's grateful for that, because he's not sure how he'd handle the embarrassment.

But, at the same time, he wishes you would look at him. Just once. Just a quick glance, a tiny smile, a small nod. Something.

He sighs.

It's been a long day, and he's tired.

He's standing near the entrance, keeping an eye on the group of students, Omega included. They're currently huddled around a holoexhibit, and he watches as you answer their questions and explain the significance of each ship. You have the patience of a saint, and he has no idea how you do it. The questions they're asking are ridiculous, and a few of them are just flat out wrong.

Crosshair's tempted to go over and tell them how stupid they are, to get them to give you a break, but he refrains. He's not supposed to be getting involved, after all. This is your job, and he's just here to make sure the kids stay safe.

But he's not about to let them cause a scene.

A flash of metal catches his attention, and he frowns. One of the kids, a Rodian, is standing on a platform, and his hand is hovering over a lever. Crosshair doesn't need to read the label to know what the kid is thinking. He's been watching this one eye this exact display all morning, and he's been waiting for him to finally get brave enough to try his luck.

The kid reaches out, and before he can touch the lever, Crosshair strides across the room. He grabs his wrist, his grip firm, and pulls his hand away. The Rodian squawks in surprise, and Crosshair glares down at him. He's not tall, not for a Rodian, and it's easy for Crosshair to loom over him.

"Don't touch that," he growls.

"I-I wasn't gonna," the kid stammers, and his eyes dart towards the exit. He looks ready to bolt, and Crosshair would find it funny if it weren't for the way the rest of the kids are staring at him.

"Bullshit."

"Language," you scold, and Crosshair turns his head to see you approaching him, an exasperated look on your face. You have your hands on your hips, and you look like you're ready to lecture him instead of the kid who was about to activate the simulator without permission.

He raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you.

"You shouldn't swear in front of children," you say, your tone matter-of-fact.

"Well, maybe they shouldn't touch shit that's not theirs," he retorts, and he shoots the kid a pointed look.

"Crosshair!"

You're glaring at him now, and he knows he should feel bad, but he doesn't. He can't. Your cheeks are flushed, and your brows are furrowed, and you're trying so hard to look stern and serious, but it's not working. He's not sure why, but seeing you angry is a lot more appealing than it should be.

It makes him want to push your buttons.

"If I catch you touching this again, I'll throw you out," he warns the kid, and he lets go of his wrist. "Got it?"

The kid nods, and then he's dashing back to the rest of the group, a look of fear on his face.

"What is wrong with you?" you demand, and Crosshair looks down at you, fighting the urge to smirk. You're still glaring at him, but the flush on your cheeks is a shade darker now, and he can't help but feel a little proud of himself.

"I'm just doing my job," he says, and the smirk he'd been fighting is making its way onto his face now.

Your eyes widen. "Your job is to make sure the kids are safe, not threaten them."

"I wasn't threatening him," he scoffs.

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you—"

"Okay, fine, maybe I was. A little," he admits, and you shake your head, a huff escaping you. The glare falls away, and the look on your face is softer now, a little less annoyed, and a lot more amused.

"I had it handled," you tell him, and there's a hint of teasing in your tone now, too.

"Yeah, it looked like it."

"Crosshair," you warn, but the corners of your lips are twitching upwards, betraying the seriousness of your voice.

"What? I'm just trying to help," he says, and the shrug he gives is a little more smug than it should be.

Crosshair isn't trying to antagonize you, not really. He's just...testing the waters, he supposes. Seeing how far he can push you, seeing how much you can take before you crack, and he has to admit that you're holding up pretty well so far. Most people would've told him off, or stormed off by now, but not you.

No, you're still here.

You're standing in front of him, your arms folded across your chest, trying your very best not to smile at him.

You're enjoying this.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, and he has to force himself to breathe normally. He's not sure why that's such a revelation, but it is. You're enjoying his company, enjoying the back-and-forth, and it makes him feel lighter than air.

"Are you always this much of an ass?" you ask, and his eyes widen at the sudden vulgarity, but he recovers quickly. He likes it, actually. The bluntness, the honesty. It's refreshing, and a lot more than he expected from you.

Crosshair smirks. "Now who's swearing in front of children?"

"They're not paying attention."

"Oh, right, because the exhibit on the history of intergalactic trade is so exciting," he says, and you snort, shaking your head.

"Yeah, you're not wrong," you admit, and he chuckles.

"I know."

"Of course you do," you mutter sarcastically. But, the annoyance has faded, and there's a smile on your face as you turn to look at the kids, so Crosshair considers it a win.

You stand there, next to him, your arms folded, and you watch as the kids slowly make their way through the exhibit. They're talking among themselves, completely oblivious to the exchange between the two of you. It's a bit of a relief, because he's not sure what they would make of the fact that he's flirting with their teacher.

Is he flirting?

No, that's not right.

He's not flirting.

He's just being...friendly. He's just making conversation, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's not his fault that you're easy to talk to.

Omega is the only one looking in his direction, and he doesn't miss the grin on her face. He shoots her a look, a warning, and she winks at him. He glares, and she sticks her tongue out.

Great.

He's definitely going to hear about this later.

"You're not exactly what I was expecting," you say quietly. 

Crosshair looks back at you, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes just how close you are. You're standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and you're looking up at him, the same sparkle in your eyes as before. There’s a hint of a smile on your lips, and you seem...pleased.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asks, and he's almost afraid to know the answer.

"A good thing, of course." You nudge him playfully with your elbow, and the touch sends a jolt of electricity up his arm. "I'm glad I was wrong."

"Yeah, me too."

You laugh at that, and he smiles, more than a little pleased with himself. It's an unexpected, but pleasant, reaction, and he finds himself wanting to make you laugh again.

"Anyway," you say, taking a step back. "Thanks for keeping the kids in line. I really appreciate it."

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

"No, really." You look up at him, your eyes bright, and you give him a sympathetic smile. "I know this isn't exactly what you signed up for."

"It's not so bad."

You raise an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

"I mean, it's boring as hell," he admits, and the way your nose scrunches up as you laugh is adorable. He clears his throat and tries to focus. "But it's not awful. The company's...bearable."

You tilt your head to the side, and your eyes narrow. "Thanks, I think."

"Don't mention it."

"So," you start, a slight hesitation in your voice, "does this mean you're not going to file a complaint against me?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Crosshair teases. The way your eyes widen is enough to make him chuckle. "But I guess I can let it slide. For now."

"For now," you repeat, and you let out a breath. You shake your head and look up at him, the ghost of a smile on your lips. "Well, I'll take it. Now, let's get back to the kids, shall we?"

"After you," he says, gesturing for you to lead the way.

He follows after you, and he tries his best not to stare at the sway of your hips as you walk. He fails, but only a little bit.

And, if he catches you glancing back at him every so often, well, he's not complaining.

Omega is practically bouncing on her heels as they make their way down the street, heading home from the school. She's talking a mile a minute, her eyes bright, and she's still somehow full of energy despite the long day they've had. Crosshair can't quite keep up with her, and he's having trouble focusing on her words. He has no idea how you manage to do this every day, and he feels a little bad for thinking that teaching is an easy job.

She's going on about the trip, how much fun she had, and she's not slowing down. Crosshair doesn't mind, though. He's content to listen to her, and he's not going to stop her from gushing about her day. He does the same thing for her he’s always done for Tech, humming and nodding in the right places, and he knows that it makes her feel good to talk.

Besides, he's too distracted by his own thoughts to focus on what she's saying.

He's spent the last hour replaying the events of the day in his mind, trying to make sense of everything. The way you'd looked at him, the way you'd laughed, the way you'd teased him. It's all a little overwhelming, and he's not sure how to process it.

Crosshair isn't the kind of person who gets all worked up over a pretty girl. He’s not even the kind of person who gets all worked up, period.

But something about you, the way you carry yourself, the way you smile, the way you look at him. It's different.

You're different.

He doesn't know what to do with that information, and he's not sure he likes it. For all he knows, you're just being nice, just trying to be polite so he doesn’t give you a hard time. It wouldn't be the first time someone's done that.

Crosshair has been told his whole life that he's difficult to deal with, and he's learned to live with that. He's used to people being afraid of him, and he's used to people not wanting to be around him. He used to take pride in the fact that people were scared of him, but lately, it's started to wear on him.

Maybe it's because of his brothers, the way they've started to change, the way they've become softer. Or maybe it's because of Omega, the way she looks up to him, the way she trusts him, the way she thinks he's capable of great things.

Either way, he can't deny that he's a little lonely.

And maybe a little curious.

"Crosshair," Omega says, and the sharpness in her voice catches his attention. She's stopped walking, and she's giving him a look, her eyes narrowed. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh?" He blinks, and then he frowns. "Yeah, of course."

"Then, what did I just say?" she challenges, her hands on her hips, her head tilted up.

He pauses, and then sighs. "No, not really."

"I knew it!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up. "You were totally spacing out."

"I was not."

"Yes, you were," she argues, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Because you look like you're thinking about something."

"Nope," he lies. Crosshair turns his head away from her, pretending to look at something else. There's a few vendors pulling in their stands in front of them, closing up for the evening, and he watches them, trying to avoid Omega's gaze. The florist is packing up his display, and the bright, colorful flowers draw his attention. He tries to ignore the fact that they remind him of your dress.

"Are you sure? You seem...weird."

"I'm fine."

"Are you thinking about the field trip?" she asks, and he can hear the smugness in her voice. "About Miss—"

"Omega." He snaps his head back towards her, his eyes wide, and he gives her a warning look.

"What?" she says, feigning innocence, and he groans.

"Just drop it," he mutters, and he turns to keep walking.

"I can't," she says, following after him. She has to jog slightly to keep up with his hurried pace, but it does nothing to deter her. "You like her."

"Of course I like her. She’s nice,” he replies. His tone comes out more defensive than casual, and he grimaces internally.

"No, you really like her."

Crosshair opens his mouth, ready to defend himself. There's no way that's true. It's impossible. He barely knows you, and you're just his sister's teacher. 

Just a pretty, sweet, kind teacher who cares about her students and isn't afraid to push the boundaries to help them learn. Who didn't back down when he challenged her, and didn't hesitate to stand her ground when he was being an ass. 

Who smiles at him and looks at him like he's worth something, like he's important, like he matters. Who laughs at his pathetic attempts at humor and makes him feel like he's not a complete waste of space, like maybe there's something worthwhile inside of him after all. Like maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for him.

Shit.

He shakes his head. "You're crazy."

"Am not," she insists, and she skips in front of him, forcing him to stop. "I won't tell anyone."

"Omega—"

"You know, she's single," she continues with a knowing, smug grin, and it reminds him so much of Hunter that he has to take a deep breath and count to ten before he can speak again. And even then, he's still annoyed.

"How the hell do you know that?" he demands, his eyebrows raised.

"I overheard her talking to the other teachers during lunch," she explains, and the smugness fades, replaced by a sheepish smile.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," he chastises, though he's a little too preoccupied with the new information to put much force behind the words.

"I didn't mean to," she says with a shrug. "I was looking for her, and I found her, and they were talking about her, so..."

"So, what else did you hear?" he asks, trying his best to sound disinterested.

"Nothing."

"Omega," he warns.

"I didn't hear anything!" she insists, her eyes wide. After a beat, a smirk forms on her face, and her eyes narrow. "Why? Did you want to know something else?"

"No," he snaps, a little too quickly. "Just forget it."

"But—"

"It's not important," he says, cutting her off as he steps around her and continues walking. He hears her groan in frustration, and he smirks to himself. Serves her right.

"Wait!" She hurries after him, her hands gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she catches up. She's practically running now, trying her best to match his long strides, and her breathing is a little heavier than normal. "Crosshair, slow down."

"No."

She huffs. "I'm just saying—"

"Omega, enough."

"I think she likes you, too."

Crosshair stops walking abruptly, and Omega almost collides with him. He turns his head towards her, his eyebrows raised, and she takes a step back.

"What makes you say that?" he asks. He knows he's being foolish, letting her bait him like this, but he can't help himself. The hopeful note in her voice is hard to ignore, and he's suddenly feeling a lot more optimistic than he should.

"Because she kept looking at you," she explains.

"No, she didn't."

"Yes, she did," she argues. "She was looking at you, like, the entire time. The whole trip. I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"You're exaggerating," he mutters, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks.

"I'm not," she says, shaking her head. "I was keeping track."

"You know, if you paid half as much attention to your schoolwork as you do to gossiping, neither of us would be in this mess," he retorts.

"Hey! That's not true," Omega pouts. "I learned everything I need to know about intergalactic trade from Tech. I'm good."

Crosshair can't help but smile at that, and Omega grins back at him. They start walking again, this time a little slower, and she reaches for his hand, grabbing hold of his fingers.

"But you like her, right?" she asks, tilting her head up at him.

"She's...nice," he admits, and the look on her face tells him that's not enough. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck with his prosthetic hand. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You should ask her out."

"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea," he mutters, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I barely know her."

"So? Just get to know her," Omega says, and he sighs.

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Crosshair hesitates, trying to think of a reason. The truth is, he's never really had to deal with this kind of situation. He's not exactly the best when it comes to social interactions, and his history with romantic relationships is...limited. It's not something he's ever bothered to think about, but now that it's staring him in the face, he feels woefully unprepared.

"What if she says no?"

"Well, what if she says yes?"

Crosshair doesn't respond. If he's being honest, he hadn't even considered the possibility of you saying yes. He'd been so focused on the negative outcome, the embarrassment, the awkwardness, that he'd completely forgotten about the other side of the equation. What if you did say yes? What would he do then? Would he be happy? Relieved? Or would he be even more nervous than before?

"I don't know," he finally admits.

"You should ask her," Omega urges. "At least, think about it."

"Maybe," he says, and she frowns, clearly not satisfied with the answer. He sighs, and then gives her hand a squeeze. "I'll think about it."

"Okay," she grumbles, and the two of them continue walking, falling into a comfortable silence. It's quiet between them all the way to the front door, and he's almost home free, his hand hovering over the sensor pad, when Omega speaks up.

"I'm just saying," she starts, and he groans, "you should go for it."

"I'm done having this conversation," he grumbles as he tugs her inside, slamming the door behind him. He can hear voices coming from the kitchen, and he freezes, holding fast to her wrist.

"You have to promise not to tell them."

"Okay, okay, I promise," she says, rolling her eyes, and she tugs her arm away.

"No, not okay," he says. "If you tell them, I'll kill you."

"Okay, fine," she huffs, and he narrows his eyes at her.

"I'm serious," he says, his tone low, threatening. It doesn't work on Omega, not anymore, and she just looks up at him, unbothered.

"So am I."

"Fine." Crosshair sighs, deflating, and then, before he can stop himself, the words are spilling out. "So, what do I do?"

Omega's face lights up, a grin so wide it nearly splits her face in two, and he regrets the question almost instantly. "I'll help you."

"What?"

"I'll help you," she repeats.

"You're kidding," he deadpans.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I have a great idea. Trust me."

"Omega—"

"I promise, you won't regret it," she says, and then, she's gone, dashing off towards the kitchen where Hunter and Wrecker are arguing about dinner.

Crosshair watches her go, and then, with a groan, he drags his hand over his face.

What has he gotten himself into?

The next few weeks are a blur. Omega's been keeping him busy, asking him to help her with homework, walking her to and from school, and the whole time, he's wondering when she's going to bring up her big plan.

She managed to get a score high enough on her extra credit in your class to pull her grade up, and Hunter nearly fell over when he found out. You'd sent a letter home with her, letting them know how impressed you were, and both Hunter and Wrecker wouldn't shut up about it for days. Omega's been bragging about it, too, and Crosshair's heard her go on about how smart and amazing and brilliant and perfect you are, over and over again.

She hasn't brought up her big plan again, though, and Crosshair's grateful. She has, however, started dropping hints here and there, meddling in ways that she shouldn't, and it's getting old, fast. 

He's already had to stop her from inviting you over for dinner, twice, and he's not sure how much longer he can keep her from blowing his cover. More than once, Omega's forgotten her datapad at home, and he's had to drop everything to run it to the school. It's a pain in the ass, but at least it gives him an excuse to see you.

And he sees you, a lot more than he should.

He tries not to get too excited about it, tries not to think too hard about what it means, but it's impossible. Omega's made it her mission to get the two of you alone together, and he can't help but feel a bit like a pawn in her scheme, one that she refuses to share with him. Not that it matters, because it's working.

You're talking to him.

In fact, the two of you have spent so much time together over the last few weeks, that it's almost weird when he doesn't see you. Every morning, when he drops Omega off at school, he makes sure to walk her inside. You're always there, and he doesn't miss the way you look up when the door opens or the way you smile when you see him. You're usually sitting at your desk, grading papers, or helping a student, and he's quick to leave before anyone notices how long he's standing there. 

But every once in a while, when he's lucky, you're standing at the front of the room, and the two of you are able to exchange a few words. It's nothing too special, and it's not as if you're exchanging life stories or anything, but it's enough. It's more than he could've hoped for, and it's better than the alternative, which is absolutely nothing. He even brought you coffee one day, after you'd stayed late to work on a project with Omega, and you'd blushed.

Blushed.

For him.

Crosshair would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed that. It's nice, having someone to talk to, and it's nice, being able to see you smile. Even if it's only for a minute or two, and even if his brothers are constantly giving him shit for it.

He's not an idiot. He knows they're all watching him, waiting to see how this plays out, and he's doing his best not to give them any ammunition. Omega's already told him, several times, that they're rooting for him, and he's not sure how to feel about that. The last thing he needs is everyone butting into his business, and he's hoping that Omega will keep her word and keep her mouth shut.

He's not going to say anything, not until he's absolutely sure. And, even then, he'll probably wait. The only problem is, he's almost certain he's run out of time.

Crosshair has been keeping a mental countdown, counting down the days until Omega's finished with school, and it's come up a lot sooner than he'd expected. The semester is over, and it's officially summer vacation, which means you're no longer Omega's teacher. And with that, comes an end to whatever small shred of hope he'd had that something might happen, that whatever plan Omega had in mind would work, and the two of you would end up together.

Which is fine.

Really, it's fine.

He's not hurt. He's not disappointed. He's not anything. He doesn't care, not one bit, and he definitely isn't sulking, not at all, because that would be ridiculous.

It's just a crush. A silly, stupid, fleeting thing, and it's not worth getting upset about. It's not like anything would've happened between the two of you. You're way out of his league, and he knows that.

But still.

He can't deny that he misses the daily interaction, the brief exchanges, the occasional smiles. He can't deny that he'd enjoyed it, and now that it's over, he feels a little lost. 

He jumped at the chance to go to the summer festival with everyone, partly because he didn't want to be home alone, and partly because he was hoping to run into you there. Which is stupid, and foolish, and pathetic, but he can't help himself. He'd overheard you telling Omega that you'd be there, and it's the closest thing he has to a sign, and so, he's taking it.

Besides, Hunter practically ordered him to go, so it's not like he had a choice.

So, here he is, standing off to the side, watching the rest of the family enjoying themselves. It's still early, and the real festivities won't begin until the sun starts to set, but everyone is already in a good mood. He tries his best not to ruin it with his attitude, but he knows he's doing a shitty job of it, and it doesn't help that they're teasing him relentlessly.

"You're moping."

Crosshair sighs and rolls his eyes as Hunter bumps him with his elbow. He's been standing next to him, staring out into the crowd, and he doesn't turn his head when his brother speaks.

"No, I'm not," he replies.

"Yes, you are," Hunter says. He takes a sip of his drink, and then, nudges him again. "Is this about your girlfriend?"

"Shut up," Crosshair grumbles, and he elbows him back, a little harder than necessary. Some of Hunter’s drink spills, and he feels a small flash of satisfaction.

"Ow."

"Leave me alone," he says, and Hunter snorts.

"No, I'm not gonna do that," Hunter says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's too easy."

Crosshair groans, and turns his head away, trying his best to ignore him. It doesn't work.

"Come on, just ask her out," Hunter urges, and Crosshair glares at him.

He can hear Wrecker snickering behind him, and when he turns around, the look on his face tells him everything he needs to know. He must've been listening in the whole time.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Hunter continues.

"I could make an idiot out of myself," Crosshair replies.

"So? You already do that every day," Wrecker jokes, and he winces when Hunter smacks him.

"Not helping," Hunter mutters, and Wrecker just shrugs.

"Look," Hunter says, turning back towards him, "if she says no, at least you'll know, and you can stop worrying about it."

Crosshair doesn't respond, too caught up in the sight of you weaving your way through the crowd. You're wearing a sundress, a cute little thing that ends just above your knees, and a flower crown sitting atop of your head, and he can't take his eyes off of you. 

You're walking with Omega's art teacher, a Rutian Twi’Lek laden with jewelry, talking and gesturing animatedly. She has her hands full with decorations for the festival, and you're trying to help, but she keeps shooing you away. He can see the pout on your face, and he can't help but smile, just a little, and then you turn your head and catch Crosshair staring.

He doesn't have time to look away.

He doesn't even have time to try.

Instead, he watches, frozen, as your eyes lock with his. Your face lights up, a bright smile on your lips, and you wave at him. He feels his hand lift in acknowledgement despite himself, and he can't stop the way his lips quirk up into a half-smile. 

He can see Omega trailing after the two of you, a stack of posters in her hands, and she's saying something, but he can't hear her. The only thing he can hear is his heart pounding in his ears, and the only thing he can see is you, your face flushed, and a look in your eyes that's far too soft for him to know what to do with.

"Wow," Hunter says, breaking the spell, and he blinks, the image of you in front of him fading, replaced by his brother's annoying smirk.

"What?"

"I knew you liked her, but I didn't know it was this bad," Hunter says.

"Oh, come on," Wrecker teases, a big grin spreading across his face. "He's in love."

Crosshair can't stop the growl of frustration that leaves him, and the sound makes his brothers laugh. He wants to shove them, or punch them, or something, but he doesn't have the chance.

You’re walking over.

You're heading in their direction, and Crosshair panics, unsure of what to do. He doesn't know how to be anything other than aloof and rude, and he's afraid he'll say something stupid and embarrass himself. He doesn't want to mess this up, and he's terrified he'll ruin everything if he says the wrong thing.

He looks at Hunter, a desperate plea in his eyes, but his brother is no help. Instead, he just smirks and shrugs, nudging Wrecker.

"We should go check on Omega," he says, his tone is casual. "C'mon, Wrecker."

Wrecker doesn't argue, and he doesn't hesitate, following Hunter without a word. Before he can blink, they're gone, and it's just the two of you. Crosshair's not sure if it's better or worse.

"Hi," you say, your voice soft as you come to a stop in front of him.

Your cheeks are flushed, and you're fidgeting. He finds it endearing, and the fact that you're just as flustered as he is makes him feel a little bit better.

"Hey," he says, his voice coming out a bit raspier than he'd intended. He clears his throat, and then nods towards your companion. "Are you having fun?"

You tilt your head and look back over your shoulder, and Crosshair doesn't miss the slight roll of your eyes.

"Yeah, I'm having a blast," you deadpan, and he can't help but laugh. He's grown used to your particular brand of sarcasm over the past few weeks, the kind that only seems to come out when he's around, and he's come to enjoy the way it sounds when it's aimed at someone else.

"Don't worry," he says, "we can be miserable together."

"Well, that's not very festive," you reply, and there's a teasing edge to your voice. "What did the festival ever do to you?"

"Nothing, I just don't like people."

"Fair enough," you say with a laugh. "So, what brings you here?"

"Omega."

"Ah." You nod, and a soft smile forms on your face. "Of course. She told me you'll be helping us out later. Thanks, by the way."

Crosshair raises an eyebrow.

This is news to him.

"Uh, yeah," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing. "What did she say, exactly?"

"She said you'd be helping with the games." You tilt your head and look up at him, confusion in your eyes. "Is that...not true?"

He stares back at you, unsure of what to say. He's never agreed to anything like that, and the idea of working with children is...unappealing, to say the least. He can't imagine why Omega would've said that.

The realization hits him, and his eyes widen.

That little brat.

She set him up.

She's been planning this, and he was too distracted with moping to realize it. He'd let her walk all over him, and now, he's going to have to play along. Because there's no way in hell he's going to tell you the truth, not now, not when you're looking up at him, expectant and hopeful.

"Yeah, no," he lies, shaking his head. "She's right. I'll be there."

"Great," you say, and he's pretty sure you actually mean it. "I'm running the scavenger hunt. And, if you wanted, I could use a partner."

Crosshair blinks, brain stuttering over the word partner, and he must look like an idiot, because you start to backtrack.

"But, you probably have better things to do. I'm sure there's someone else who would love to help. I just thought—"

"No, no, I'll help," he interrupts, and you stop, giving him a grateful look.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Your smile is so bright, so radiant, that it makes his heart ache. He can't remember the last time someone was this happy to spend time with him. He's not used to feeling wanted, and the knowledge that you enjoy his company fills him with a sense of pride he's not quite prepared for.

"But," he starts, his eyebrows raised, "you owe me."

"I know, I know," you say with a laugh. "Anything you want."

"I'm serious," he insists, though the smirk on his face betrays his words. "I'm doing this under duress. I'm being held against my will."

"I'll make it worth your while," you tease, and the way your eyes flash, the playful look in them, is almost enough to make him forget how to breathe. He tries not to focus on it, tries not to dwell on the way his mind immediately goes to some very interesting places, but it's a losing battle. He's sure his cheeks are red, and the knowing look in your eyes doesn't help.

"Uh," he says, his voice strangled, and he has to clear his throat again before he can continue. "Good.”

"Good," you repeat, and the smile on your face turns shy. You take a step back, and then another, and the look in your eyes is...different, softer, and a little more vulnerable. It makes his stomach twist. "Well, I should probably go. But, I'll see you later, right?"

He nods, and you grin. You wave goodbye and walk away, and Crosshair watches you go, a small smile on his face. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at himself, but he can't stop smiling. It's a dumb thing to be happy about, but it's nice, knowing that you're looking forward to seeing him. And the way you'd looked at him, the hopeful look in your eyes, the shyness, the blush on your cheeks. He can't stop thinking about it.

It's just a crush, and it'll go away eventually. It's just a silly little thing, and it'll fade away. You'll be gone, and he'll be left behind, and everything will go back to normal. He'll get over it.

But, as he stands there, watching you laugh and smile and talk to the others, the sight of you making him feel things that he's not quite ready to admit, he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want it to.

By the time the sun sets, the courtyard is packed. The vendors have all set up their stalls, the games have begun, and the music is blaring. Crosshair stays close to Wrecker, using his bulk to help him avoid the crowds, and does his best to ignore the children running around. Wrecker's not much help. He keeps wandering off, getting distracted by the food or the games, and Crosshair is left to wander around alone.

It's not all bad, though.

He's able to keep an eye on Omega, and that's enough to keep him occupied. He knows she can take care of herself, but it's hard for him to relax when she's not within eyesight. And, every once in a while, you catch his eye. You're busy, running from place to place, and he knows that you don't have time to stop and chat, but the small, shy smiles that you give him are enough to put him at ease.

It's a nice distraction, and it helps him stay focused, which is a good thing. Because, before he knows it, it's time for the scavenger hunt. Omega drags him over to the table where you’re waiting, and he can't help but smile at the enthusiasm in your voice.

"I'm so glad you could make it," you say, and the look in your eyes tells him that you really mean it.

At his side, Omega looks far too proud of herself. Crosshair narrows his eyes at her, and she gives him a toothy grin in return.

"Me too," he mutters, and you laugh.

"Come on," you say, grabbing a basket from the table. "Let's get started."

Crosshair nods, and he stands back as you hand out datapads and explain rules to the crowd that’s formed around them. He's not paying attention. He's watching you, listening to your voice, enjoying the way you look in the light of Pabu’s setting sun, and it's a nice moment. That is, until Omega elbows him, and he startles.

"What?"

“She likes you," she whispers conspiratorially, her hand cupped over her mouth.

"Shut up," he hisses.

Omega giggles, and he glares at her, but it does nothing to wipe the smirk from her face.

"I'm not talking to you," he growls.

"Yeah, you are," she says, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Before he can say anything, you announce that the scavenger hunt has started, and the kids are off. Omega joins the crowd, and soon, she's lost among the swarm of children running past them. Crosshair watches her go, his eyebrows furrowed, and then, he turns his attention to you.

You're smiling, waving at the kids, and he can't take his eyes off of you. This was a bad idea. He should've said no. He should've done something, anything, but instead, he'd let himself get roped into helping, and now, he's standing here, watching you, wishing he had the courage to just say something, and it's driving him crazy.

"Thanks again for helping," you say, turning towards him, and he startles, caught off guard.

"Uh, yeah, no problem," he replies. "I was going to be here anyway."

"Yeah, Omega mentioned that."

Crosshair nods, and the two of you settle into an awkward silence. He shifts on his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he stares out into the crowd. You're quiet beside him, and the longer the silence lasts, the more uncomfortable he becomes.

It's not like you to be so quiet. Usually, you're chatting his ear off, asking him questions, trying to get him to open up, and the fact that you haven't said a word is concerning. You’re shuffling datapads and small trinkets around as if looking for something to keep yourself busy, and he's starting to wonder if he's done something wrong.

He's trying not to worry about it, but the longer the silence stretches, the more his mind races. He knows he's overthinking, and the more he thinks about it, the more anxious he becomes.

It's just a crush, he reminds himself.

He doesn't want anything from you. He doesn't need anything from you. He doesn't expect anything from you. But, as he stands there, trying not to dwell on the way his heart is racing, the way his stomach is twisting, the way his breath catches in his throat, he can't help but feel like a bit of an idiot.

He can't help but wonder if you've figured him out. 

Maybe you know, and that's why you're acting so strange. Maybe you can tell, and you're waiting for him to make the first move. Maybe you're nervous, or maybe, you just don't want him to say anything, because you don't feel the same way, and that's why you're keeping your distance. He knows that's a long shot, but it doesn't stop his brain from fixating on the thought. He can't help but think about how much worse it'll be if you do know.

So, he stands there, and the silence stretches on, tension thick in the air as you cast glances at each other. 

It's not until a couple of kids come up and ask for help with the next clue that the tension breaks.

The two of them are young, maybe eight or nine, and they're struggling. They're a cute pair, brother and sister, and they remind him a lot of his siblings. Their parents are nowhere in sight, and they're arguing, bickering, and it’s not until you crouch down to speak to them, taking the datapad from the boy's hands, that they calm down. You explain the next clue to them, and Crosshair watches as the siblings nod, their faces lighting up with understanding.

He wants to keep watching you, but a second pair of kids approach, and then a third. He can see you’re starting to get overwhelmed, and so he picks up a datapad and gets to work.

Soon, the two of you have a rhythm. You help the younger kids while he helps the older ones, and the system seems to work. He finds himself enjoying the task, and he doesn't even realize that an hour has passed until the scavenger hunt is over and the sun has nearly set. The two of you gather up the datapads, and the kids line up in front of the table, ready to receive their prize.

They're all so excited, and they're smiling and laughing and cheering, and it's a nice sight. Crosshair has never been the biggest fan of children, but these ones aren’t so bad.

He doesn't even realize that he's smiling until Omega runs back over to him, her arms outstretched, and she flings herself at him. She grabs hold of his waist, and she squeezes him tight.

"Thanks for helping," she says, her voice muffled, and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"No problem," he replies as she lets go. She's still grinning at him, her eyes bright, and he can't help but reach out and ruffle her hair. "How'd you do?"

"I won," she boasts and slaps his hand away, and he rolls his eyes, unable to keep from smirking.

"Of course you did."

"It wasn't easy," Omega continues, her eyebrows raising as she speaks slowly. "But I had a great partner."

Crosshair sighs, and he gives her a knowing look, which she ignores.

“Don’t screw this up,” she whispers, and then, before he can say anything, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the others.

You're still sitting at the table, and he takes a moment to compose himself before heading over. You're organizing the datapads, sorting them into a bag, and he takes a seat next to you.

"Thanks for the help," you say, and he nods, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Not a problem."

"You did a good job," you tell him. He ducks his head, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as you continue, “You’re good with them.”

"Well, you're welcome," he says, his voice low. "I have a lot of practice dealing with little brats."

You laugh, and the sound makes his heart swell. You continue sorting the datapads, and he watches you work, his eyes trailing over your features. It's not until you clear your throat that he realizes how long he's been staring.

"So, um," he begins, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he's been caught. "I was thinking..."

You look up. "Yeah?"

"You owe me."

"Huh?"

"You said anything I want," he explains, and the confusion on your face clears.

"Right," you reply, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You stop what you’re doing and turn to face him fully. "And what would that be?"

"Dinner.”

"Dinner?" you repeat, your eyebrows raised, and he nods.

"With me."

"Are you asking me on a date, Crosshair?"

"Yeah," he says, and his heart leaps into his throat when your eyes light up. "I'm asking you on a date."

"Oh," you say, a soft smile on your lips, and he can't help but mirror it. "Well, how could I say no?"

"Great," he replies, and then, after a pause, he asks, "is that a yes?"

"Yes, of course it's a yes,” you chuckle. You shake your head, and then, a teasing smile forms on your face. "Did you think I was gonna say no?"

"Uh," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was prepared for it."

You snort, and the laughter that follows is almost enough to distract him from the way his cheeks are burning. Almost. He looks away, embarrassed, but he can't help but smile.

"Sorry," you say, stifling your laughter, and he shrugs.

"It's fine."

"No, no, I'm not laughing at you," you say. You're biting your lip, trying to stop yourself from smiling, and his eyes narrow. "It's just..."

"What?"

"This whole time," you begin, and you have to bite back another laugh. "I've been trying to figure out how to ask you out."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah," you admit, and the shy smile on your face is almost too much for him to handle. He can't believe what he's hearing. "I've been waiting for an excuse to spend some time alone with you, but I couldn't think of anything. So, when Omega mentioned you'd be helping out, I figured it would be my chance."

Crosshair shakes his head, trying to process the words. It's a lot to take in. You've been trying to ask him out? All this time, he's been wondering, worrying, and it was all for nothing? You've wanted this, too?

"Oh," is all he can manage, and it's enough to make you laugh again.

"Yeah."

He doesn't know what to say, so he stays silent. You shift next to him, and you place your hand on his arm, the contact sending sparks through his skin. Your touch is light, but it makes his breath catch, and he doesn't miss the way you smile at his reaction.

“So, do you want to watch the fireworks with me?” you ask, your voice soft.

"Yeah, sure," he says. He's trying not to let his excitement show, but judging by the grin on your face, he's not doing a very good job of it.

"Good."

He's expecting you to let go of his arm, but instead, you slide your hand down, and your fingers brush against his, a subtle gesture that makes his heart race. He turns his hand palm up, and you slide yours into it, your touch warm and gentle. His fingers curl around yours, and the smile on your face makes him feel bold.

Crosshair stands, pulling you up with him, and the two of you walk to the edge of the courtyard, hand in hand. It’s quiet now, save for the music playing over the speakers and the soft murmur of conversation, and the sky is dark. There are only a few people left nearby, mostly parents picking up their children, and no one pays the two of you any mind. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, a smile forming on his face.

You lead him down a set of steps, and the two of you make your way towards a spot overlooking the bay. The breeze is cool, and the smell of salt fills the air. Without the lanterns and torches and strings of lights, it's dark, and he can just barely see your face, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

There’s a tree behind you, and it offers a bit of privacy, and the two of you settle against it, sitting on the grass. He can see the bay spread out in front of them, and the waves crashing on the beach, a steady rhythm that helps slow his racing heartbeat. 

He's still holding your hand, and he gives it another squeeze. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, and the two of you watch as the fireworks begin. The explosions are loud, and bright, and colorful, and you point out the best ones, and the ones that remind you of him, and the ones that make you laugh. And, as the fireworks continue, as the colors fill the sky, you lean closer, and he pulls you into his arms.

He's not sure how long it lasts, but the longer the fireworks go on, the closer you get, and the more content he becomes. You're sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close.

You turn your head, the movement catching his eye. Your eyes meet his, and the two of you stare at each other, and the fireworks fade away, forgotten.

"Hey," he whispers, and the corner of your mouth twitches.

"Hey."

"This is nice," he says, his voice low.

"Yeah, it is."

You shift, turning towards him, and your face is so close that he can feel your breath on his lips. He knows he should wait, should give you a chance to change your mind, should give himself a chance to talk himself out of it, but he can't. 

"I—"

"Yes," you interrupt, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he has to laugh.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," he teases, and you shrug.

"I'm sure it's something good," you say. You reach up, cupping his cheek with your free hand. "Whatever it is, the answer is yes."

He can't stop the smile that forms on his face. He doesn't even try. He just leans in, closing the gap between the two of you, and he kisses you, a soft press of his lips against yours. He feels you sigh against his mouth, and his eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the kiss.

The fireworks are still going off, but he can barely hear them, and the cheers and laughter and music are distant, a soft hum that fades away. All he can focus on is the feel of your lips against his, the warmth of your body pressed against his, and the soft sound of your breathing.

He feels you smile, and his heart races, and he has to pull back to catch his breath. He opens his eyes, and he's met with the sight of you, your face flushed, and the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"That was nice," you say softly, and he scoffs.

“Just nice?" he asks, half-joking and half-serious. He’s just had the best kiss of his life, and if you think it was just nice, then he's got some work to do.

"Well, maybe it was a little more than nice," you tease. The look in your eyes has him leaning in again, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips and back.

"Only a little?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Hmm, well, let's try that again," he murmurs, and you laugh, a soft breath against his lips.

"Alright."

Crosshair kisses you again, and this time, the kiss is deeper, slower, and more deliberate. His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you onto his lap, and you don't hesitate to follow his lead. He runs his tongue along your lower lip, and when you moan into his mouth, he feels a thrill rush through him.

Your hands are on his shoulders, and you're straddling his lap as you kiss him back, matching his pace. The feel of your tongue sliding against, and the soft whimper you make when he bites down on your bottom lip, nearly drives him crazy. He grips your hips, and he tugs you closer, the pressure of your weight against him drawing a groan from his mouth into yours. It’s a sound so low and raw that it surprises him, but you don’t seem taken aback by it. If anything, you seem pleased, and it suddenly occurs to him that there’s a lot he doesn’t know about you.

And, for once, he's excited to learn.

He doesn't want this to end, and when you break the kiss, his lips chase yours, unwilling to part just yet. You're gasping, your breath coming in shallow pants, and he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his fingers digging into your hips.

"You're right," you say, breathless. "Definitely better than nice."

Crosshair laughs, and he opens his eyes. The sight of you, your eyes dark and your cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, is almost enough to make him let go of the fragile grasp he has on his control. He wants to kiss you again, and again, and again, but the sound of cheering startles him and reminds him of where he is.

He blinks, and he looks around, and then, he lets out a breath. The fireworks are over.

He hadn't realized.

You're still staring at him, a dazed look in your eyes, and when your lips twitch into a smirk, his grip on your hips tightens.

"Don't look at me like that," he warns, his voice raspy.

"Why not?" you ask. Your hand moves from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing against the hairs there, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"Because I'm trying to be good," Crosshair explains. "And you're making it very difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say, but there's a hint of laughter in your voice that tells him you're not sorry at all.

"Don't be," he replies, and then, with a groan, he continues, "you're worth it."

Your cheeks flush, and he has to fight the urge to lean in and kiss you again. He knows if he does, he'll never be able to stop, and he'd prefer not to scandalize the locals. Or worse, have his brothers catch him in the act. So, instead, he takes a deep breath, and he moves his hands from your hips to your waist.

"Come on," he says, giving you a gentle nudge, and you pout.

"Fine," you sigh, and you give him a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off his lap. You stand and dust yourself off, and then, you offer him a hand. He takes it and lets you help him to his feet. You're still holding his hand as the two of you start walking, heading back up the stairs.

"So," you begin, breaking the silence, "when should we have that date?"

"Are you free tomorrow?"

"You don't waste any time, do you?" you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve wasted enough time," Crosshair says, his tone serious, and you give him a look of understanding

"Yeah, me too."

"So, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow.”

The two of you share a smile, and he leads you back through through the courtyard. You walk slowly, and you let go of his hand, but the loss of contact is quickly forgotten when you lean into him, your shoulder brushing against his. He's tempted to wrap his arm around you, to pull you close, but the idea of having an audience for that makes his stomach turn, so he doesn't. Instead, he just enjoys the feeling of you at his side, and the easy way you fit into his space. 

It doesn’t take long to make it to the point where you part ways, and the two of you linger, neither one of you ready to leave the other.

"I guess this is goodnight," you say, your voice soft.

"I guess so."

You reach out and grab his hand, and you squeeze it, giving him a shy smile. He squeezes back, and then, without thinking, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it.

The flash of embarrassment that follows is enough to make his face heat, but it's worth it for the way your eyes light up, and the faint blush that colors your skin. You duck your head, and the small, pleased smile on your face has his heart racing.

"Goodnight, Crosshair," you say.

"Goodnight."

You turn away, and he watches you go, his eyes lingering on the sway of your hips, and the way your hair dances in the wind. You don’t make it very far before you turn around, a mischievous grin on your face.

"By the way," you begin, your voice raised, and the smirk on his face fades. "Tell Omega I said thank you.”

Crosshair's eyes narrow, and his mouth opens and closes, his mind stuttering as he tries to process the words.

Omega set him up, and you knew, and this entire night was her idea. He'd known, in the back of his mind, that she'd been plotting something, and yet, it hadn't occurred to him until now just how much that entailed.

That little brat.

He can't decide if he's proud or embarrassed. He settles for a combination of the two, and the amused look on your face tells him that he's doing a poor job of hiding his feelings.

"Goodnight, Crosshair," you call out, a teasing lilt to your voice.

"Goodnight," he calls back, his tone flat.

You wave goodbye, and then, with a final, knowing look, you turn around and walk away.

He waits until you're out of sight before letting out a groan. Crosshair runs his hand down his face, and he shakes his head, trying not to think about how many times he'd made a fool of himself tonight. His siblings were never going to let him live this down. He sighs, and then, with a roll of his eyes, he starts walking.

When he makes it home, he finds them already gathered in the living room, talking amongst themselves. Omega’s chosen a chair that faces the front door, and her head snaps over toward him as soon as he walks in. Wrecker and Hunter catch on quick, and the room falls silent, the three of them watching him.

"So, how'd it go?" Omega asks innocently.

Crosshair glares at her, his eyes narrowed. She meets his gaze, a challenging look on her face, and he closes the front door with more force than necessary.

"It went fine."

"Fine?" Wrecker repeats. "That's it?"

They’re all staring at him now, and he can feel his temper rising, the heat of embarrassment rushing to his cheeks, and his fingers twitch, aching to shoot something. He forces himself to calm down, to remind himself they’re only asking because they care. Crosshair relaxes his shoulders, his jaw unclenching, and then, he lets out a sigh.

"Yes, fine," he says, his voice low. "We're going out tomorrow."

The room erupts into cheers and laughter, and Wrecker stands, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Crosshair squirms, trying to escape, but it's useless.

"Wrecker, let him go," Hunter orders, and Crosshair breathes a sigh of relief when his brother finally releases him.

"Thanks, Wrecker," Crosshair grumbles, only to let out a grunt when Omega barrels into him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"I told you it would work," she says, and Crosshair reaches down and ruffles her hair.

"Yes, you did," he concedes, and the look of triumph on her face has him rolling his eyes. He sighs and extracts himself from her embrace, and he clears his throat. “She says thanks.”

Omega beams, and Wrecker and Hunter laugh, clapping him on the back. They congratulate him, teasing him, and he bears it as best he can, trying not to show how happy he is even as his heart races, and a warm feeling spreads through him.

He hadn't thought he'd have this again, a family, people who cared about him, and he hadn't dared to hope that he'd find something else, something more. He hadn't even known what he was missing until he met you.

And, for the first time in a long time, he's excited for the future.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolinist @deerspringdreams

[crimsonbubble]

I saw your post about the demon hwa and deer reader and was wondering if you’d elaborate on it more👀?

Sweet Shadows

cw. fluff/nsfw, gn deer hybrid!reader, shadow demon!hwa, very brief mention of death, thigh riding, soft dom hwa w/ a bit of a mean streak, slight scent kink (?), dry humping, praise *not proofread, just pure horny

[in reference to this!!] TYSM FOR ASKING BC THIS IDEA HAS BEEN EATING AT ME FOR TOO LONG, mayhaps I went a little crazy with this (1.3k words 🧍🧍)

i love the idea of scary being x cute being

shadow demon!hwa who enjoys watching the life bleed from someone’s eyes. who finds it amusing when people beg for their lives as if they didn’t call this upon themselves.

shadow demon!hwa whose entire schtick is dark. yet his garden is absolutely flourishing with lush green grass and vivid flowers, which are meticulously taken care of.

shadow demon!hwa who returns home one day to find his lavender bushes is in slight disarray. of course, he would notice if anything other than him had touched his beloved garden.

shadow demon!hwa who delicately fixes his garden and hopes it’s just a one time thing. until it happens again the very next day, then the next, and the next. he’s nearly ripping his hair out trying to figure out who or what is playing around his garden.

usually, you’d be gone by the time seonghwa leaves the house, but the grass near his thriving lavender bushes is so soft and the soothing scent from the pretty flowers lulls you into a deeper sleep than you had originally intended.

shadow demon!hwa who spots you napping between the bunches of flowers and nearly draws his claws out. he’d crouch down by you, trying to think of the best way to wake you up without scaring you. but that doesn’t happen as you smell a new presence.

shadow demon!hwa who forces himself to not coo at your drowsy state. but before he could get a word in edge-wise, your eyes widened comically as you shuffled away from him, muttering out a flutter of apologies.

shadow demon!hwa who can’t help but find his demeanour softening as he watches your ears twitch. he talks so softly to you as if to not suddenly spook you.

shadow demon!hwa who spent the next two hours trying to coax you out of his lavender bushes with slow movements and soft words. once he gained enough of your trust, he’d hold a hand out to you, offering to help you stand and he’s trying not to laugh when you as you shakily put your hand in his.

shadow demon!hwa who tries to get you into the house but you start pulling against him; so he lets you sit on the steps leading to the back door while he goes in to prepare some tea. he even leaves the door open to see if he can tempt you in and boy, oh boy, did it tempt you.

shadow demon!hwa who comes back out after putting water to boil and finds you very intently scanning his display cases. he’ll lean against the doorway and watch you tip-toe to see what’s on the higher shelves and shamelessly stare at the way your tail swishes when you find something interesting.

shadow demon!hwa who pats the space on his couch and adores how you quietly take a seat beside him. he’ll hand you the mug of tea and simply say, “we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, just enjoy the tea with me.”

shadow demon!hwa who loves your curiosity and tells you stories about every item you looked at on his shelves.

shadow demon!hwa who has to force himself to look away from you every few seconds so he doesn’t kiss you breathlessly.

shadow demon!hwa who literally spends god knows how long talking with you because he loves how attentive you are (he loves seeing you mindlessly nod your head and look at him with big, shiny eyes).

shadow demon!hwa who jokingly offers for you to sleep in his back garden rather than his spare bedroom. he laughs and rubs your ears before taking your hand and leading you to his guest room. he’ll even lend you some old clothes, he’s willing to part with for you to sleep in.

shadow demon!hwa who makes sure to have you shower before you get into bed. he goes into his garden and grabs a few lavender bunches to put into a small vase to put on your nightstand.

shadow demon!hwa who makes up in the middle of the night to your form curled up against his back and shaking. he finds out you had a nightmare and immediately pulls you into him. he finds it adorable when you snuggle your head into his chest but he doesn’t say anything and opts to wrap himself around you and cover you with his blanket.

shadow demon!hwa who has you falling back asleep within a few minutes to petting between your ears. though it was hard to register the fact that you woke up with your head against his chest and his arms wrapped around your hips.

shadow demon!hwa who grumbles for you to go back to sleep because it’s too early and then proceeds to tighten his grip around you. laying awake against his chest while one of his hands mindlessly travels down to your tail.

shadow demon!hwa who strokes the soft fur and smiles softly when it twitches against his palm. but what he does not account for is how sensitive the skin around your tail is; his fingers will occasionally rub against your lower back, making you pray that he doesn’t hear how hard your heart is beating or how your hips are constantly shifting to alleviate the pressure between your thighs.

shadow demon!hwa who unfortunately has already picked up on it. somehow within the night, his thigh had gotten trapped between yours; just seems as though you haven’t realized it yet. he could feel everything; the way your hips trembled against his thigh, the way you bit your lip to stay quiet, and the way you buried yourself in his chest to muffle any noises that came out of you.

shadow demon!hwa who is trying not to lose himself in your scent; it’s morning dew with hints of florals and it’s driving him mad. it takes every fibre in Seonghwa’s being to not push against your thigh that has now pressed itself against his crotch.

shadow demon!hwa who shifts you closer to him with a shallow breath and says “let me hear you, sweet thing.” as he guides your hips on his thigh again.

shadow demon!hwa who ruts against your leg as you let out the sweetest moans that he’s ever heard. just laying in his bed, wrapped in his arms, and humping against his leg.

shadow demon!hwa who lets go of all the praise that he’s been dying to shower you in. “keep going, pretty, make yourself feel good on me.” “don’t hide from me now, bambi. eyes on me, baby.”

shadow demon!hwa who finally gets to kiss you breathless, all because you looked up at him with those big, shiny eyes and clung to him so tightly.

shadow demon!hwa who nearly came at just the sound of his name falling from your lips.

shadow demon!hwa who moves you to straddle him, his hips bucking uncontrollably as you grind and swivel your hips on him.

shadow demon!hwa whose hands are glued to your thighs and hips as he ruts his aching cock against you.

shadow demon!hwa who coos at you when you whine and paw at his chest, growing more desperate for real contact with each thrust of his hips.

shadow demon!hwa who taunts you gently, laughing as he pulls your hips down to grind against your heat. “oh, yeah? you like it when i do that, baby?”

shadow demon!hwa who moans into your neck as he cums

shadow demon!hwa whose grip is bruising your hips as he bounces you on his lap.

shadow demon!hwa whose cock twitches when your body stills as you come undone. “you look so pretty when you’re cumming for me.”

[suuuupernovaaa]

Clean | Hobie Brown x f!Reader

You got yourself into a little bit of a fight, and Hobie has to patch you up.

Mature. 18+. Mention of blood.

The cloth meets your tender skin, and you hiss and try to pull your hand away.

"Hobie, that hurts," you say through gritted teeth. "What is on that?"

Holding your hand tightly to your chest, as if to protect it from him, you look up to see an exasperated expression on his face.

"Stuff to clean it. Give me that back." He grabs your hand a little gruffly, and puts the cloth back on. When the sting subsides, it does feel nice and cool.

"Someone out to teach you how to throw a proper punch," Hobie says, dabbing the cloth gently, moving it up your arm to where your other scrapes are. None of them are terribly deep, except a slight gash on your thigh from, you think, falling onto some broken glass.

"I know how," you reply quietly. He moves to your other arm, and you feel the stinging again. "It wasn't much punching, anyway. It was like... clawing and shoving. It was chaotic."

He gives you your hands back, and looks down at your legs, noticing the cut on your thigh. He lets a whistle out from between his teeth, and stands up. He rinses out the cloth he's been using, and grabs a new one from his kitchen drawer. He puts more 'stuff' on it, and returns to you, sitting down.

"This is gonna hurt." He scoots close, so that your legs are between his, and without another warning, presses the cloth to your cut.

"Oh crap!" you shout, and you're annoyed when Hobie starts chuckling.

"Oh crap!" he mimics in a high-pitched voice, meant to resemble yours. He places a large bandage on your leg, and a couple others on cuts that look a little nastier on your arms, and then sits back. "Think you'll survive," he comments. "Now, you need to tell me why you were in a fight. Looked like a couple of cats in a bag when I arrived."

You turn away, looking from where you sit at his kitchen table over to the TV, which is showing the news. Hobie always has the news on, even though he hates it and everything they ever talk about.

"It just, escalated. She was a fan, I guess, of the band. And she asked if I knew you, and I said yes. And she said... some not nice things. She was just drunk."

You're his whore, then? Do you think I could get in on some of that? I'm sure he's not very picky. I mean, look at you.

You can feel the way she grabbed at your stomach, pinching it. It felt like something scripted out of a bad teen movie, except it was really happening, and she just wouldn't stop.

"What did she say?" Hobie asks. When you look back at him, he's leaned forward, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

"It doesn't really matter. It's over."

"It matters to me."

You shake your head and wave your hand in the air, as if to dismiss the conversation. "Really, Hobie. It was just, I don't want to relive it."

He reaches out and places a warm hand on your bruised knee. "Tell me."

You roll your eyes and sigh. "She said like, I must be, uh, sleeping with you and your standards must be low because... I'm like, fat, or whatever."

Hobie sits up, his back straight as a board, his eyebrows raised and his jaw a little slack. "And you beat the shit out of her?"

You draw your line into a straight mouth and nod. "Sort of. I mean, I can't fight but, she was bleeding and crying at the end of it. I was bleeding too but, I wasn't crying."

He nods, as if in approval. "Why does she think we're sleeping together?" he asked. "She's seen you, at a show or something?"

"I didn't get a whole backstory, Hobie. I guess so."

"Hm." He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Must've noticed how I look at you. Everyone has. 'Cept you."

How Hobie looks at you? You try to think of what he could be referring to. Sometimes when he's on stage, he finds you in the crowd and smiles. But, you're good friends, so that doesn't seem all that exciting to you - does it seem that way to everyone else?

"How do you look at me?"

"Like I'd like to fuck you, Y/N. Like the shape of your body is all I can think about, and it really doesn't fucking matter what anyone else thinks about it. It fucking keeps me up at night."

It feels like you've been slapped in the chest, and all the air has left your lungs. Your mouth is instantly dry, and your legs feel weak.

Hobie is so dry, so even-toned, it's hard to tell if he's joking or not - but would that be a funny joke right now? Hobie is a lot of things, but he's not insensitive, and he certainly wouldn't try to hurt you on purpose.

"It does?" you ask finally.

He leans forward again, bringing his face just a few inches from yours. "I want you, Y/N. I thought I'd made it obvious, but now I see, I didn't."

You lick your bottom lip, and Hobie glances down at your mouth.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask, and a soft moan escapes his mouth, as if asking for permission turns him on. You feel his fingertips on your cheek, running upwards, until he cups your face in his hand.

You should close your eyes, you think, but the sight of him coming towards you is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. His soft brown eyes, his full lips, his sharp cheek bones, his glistening piercings; you want to remember every sharp edge and round corner.

He pauses, just before your lips meet and whispers, "Anything you want to do to me, you can."

[sukunasteeth]

Idk why but I think that Sukuna's s/o would be like, some kind of freelance or professional artist who'd use him as her reference/live model since he has a good built and whatnot without him knowing lol idk why but I just thought it was a cute idea and I wanted to share bc you're like my most favourite writer here on Tumblr who mains Sukuna and there aren't a lot of them so basically–ily and I hope you day or night is going well!!

–R

This came into my inbox so long ago T.T Please forgive me for taking a minute to get back to you but I wanted to write a little snippet for this one cause ily. Anon you are so sweet!! I'm so honored to receive this little message. Thank you for sharing your cute idea with me T.T I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed getting this message <3 Thank you for reading

You knew he would tease you.

You knew the moment he happened to see inside your sketchbook was the moment his ego became truly untamable. It was the moment that any ounce of mystery you had left crumbled into the shape of him.

If he knew that you studied anatomy by watching the way his muscles move under the laundry room lamp while he folds up your clothes at night. If he knew that your sketchbook was basically just a love letter written to the way his hands form around yours. Or the way his back muscles glisten with sweat when he comes home from his morning runs. If he knew that you had studied him so deeply that you could map him out down to the freckles that nobody else knows about, you're sure you would hear about it for the rest of eternity.

Which is why this morning, when you happen to wake up before him and see him fast asleep in the perfect position, you can’t help yourself when you grab your notebook and a pen and crawl back into bed with him. 

He was still curled up around your absent figure, his head tucked against the pillow and lowered just right so that his nose would have been pressed into your hair. Your current lesson in anatomy was his back, which you had an ideal view of. The muscles- perfectly symmetrical on either side, tightening and releasing under golden skin that's been kissed darker by the sun. And in the center: the valley of his spine, each notch a favorite place of yours to kiss. 

Every time you draw Sukuna, you fall in love with a different part of him. You admire him until all that’s left of you is nothing but a racing heartbeat. 

Racing especially when you happen to peek up at his face to confirm he was still asleep and you find his lion-like gaze already settled onto you. 

Uh-oh. 

You’re trying to act natural. Immediately folding the cover back over your sketchbook and turning slowly to try and slip off the bed without him noticing. 

Maybe he’s still half asleep. Maybe he didn't register you-

And he's already grabbing onto your ankle before you can even get an inch towards the edge of the mattress.

You don't know why you're not expecting him to ruthlessly drag you back to him, but you squeal when he tugs your knee out from under you and has you face-planting into the sheets. Sukuna doesn't seem to mind your squirming as there is no pause or hesitation in his movement. He barely even seems half awake when he lazily crawls over you and seats himself onto your hips, effectively stopping you from even thinking of an escape route.

"Why are you already running?" He yawns, his eyes slivered in a combination of suspicion and sleepiness. 

You try your best to appear innocent, clutching your sketchbook for dear life. This was the closest Sukuna had ever come to it while you were sketching him and it instantly had a sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. Despite your determination to remain unsuspecting, your voice catches when you reply to him, "I-I'm not running."

And that's all it took. One stutter, one second of hesitation, and Sukuna's eyes are widening in a flash as his pupils hone in on your expression. He always knew your tells, knew instantly when you were trying to lie to him. He took pride in it actually. It’s the reason you’re already half accepting your fate. 

His energy buzzes with excitement as he recognizes apprehension in your gaze. His smile flickering with anticipation.

"Oh?" He murmurs, closing in on your airspace. You can still smell the scent of manzanita wood in his shampoo from his shower last night. "And why are you nervous?" His voice is a silky hum.

"I'm not nervous." You whisper, trying to shrink backwards into the bed, trying not to provoke the bear.

It was too late. He’s been awake all of one minute and he was already going to play with you. 

"You know," Sukuna clears the sleep out of his throat, "This thing has been getting more attention than me lately.” You hold fast when his fingers wrap around your sketchbook and tug gently, as if to prove a point with how tight your grip was on it. “Why is that, I wonder?"

"Nothing gets more attention than you." You mutter, your dry look only worsening when Sukuna's smile grows all too knowing. “I’m just… trying to finish a commission for work.” 

"Do you usually blush when you’re working on a commission?" 

"Oh god,” You groan, “please drop it I beg of you."

“You first.” He challenges, tugging on the book once again. “I’d like to see what’s so important.”

“Sukuna-” You let out a surprised laugh when he wraps his hand around your wrist and starts to pry your arm away. “Waitwaitwait!”

There was no use in trying to win in a game of tug of war with him. Even though he’s just woken up, he’s impossibly stronger than you are. And while he’s usually carefully aware of that fact when handling you, he had no problem mercilessly grabbing your fighting hands into one of his own and pinning them uselessly above you. 

Your pleading falls onto deaf ears. Sukuna grabs onto the book, but before he can open it you manage to say just the right thing. 

“It’s private!” You squeak.

Sukuna pauses, his surprised eyes meeting yours like you had just called out your safe-word.

You know that you had probably just made him twice as curious as he was before about your notebook, but you weren’t ready to face the embarrassment of him finding out what was inside of it yet. It wasn't the time.

He rolls his eyes and before he releases you, his free hand reaches up and he gently flicks your nose. You flinch and he follows up the sting with a chaste but soothing kiss. 

“Cheater.” He mutters in defeat. With nothing left to toy with, he finally crawls off of you and heads towards the bathroom without another glance at your sketchbook. Before he passes the threshold, he leaves you with a request, but you can tell by the tone of his voice and the taunting smile he gives you that it was more like a new rule.

"No working in our bed after business hours, please."

[mochinomnoms]

"I want all of you. Every piece of you" + Sunlight with azul please! Fluff/nsfw

🦩

azul ashengrotto x gn!reader [tags] — nsfw-ish, fluff, lots of reference to the myth of icarus [wc} - 910 prompt 15: “I want all of you. Every piece of you.” song: Sunlight (Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!”) note - idk why but i had a hard time with this one, so it's more romantic that nsfw. it's more alluded to it than explicit francesca (1k event)

“I had been lost to you, sunlight / And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight / Oh, your love is sunlight”

Growing up in the deep sea, the only light was provided by bioluminescent algae shaped into lanterns. Not from sunlight. Growing up in the deep sea, the only warmth Azul experienced was from the embrace of his mother. Not from sunlight. 

So the early day sun peaking through the roof opening of the grotto over his eyes was still foreign, despite his time living on the surface. The warmth of the light was pleasant, however, it was currently blocked by something, or someone. 

“Azul, love?” you spoke softly as he sunk deeper into the water until only his eyes were visible. He felt a warmth in his cheeks as you admired him. 

“Come on, let me see you. My pretty, pretty boy.” 

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but you’d only seen his merform once during his overblot. Azul wasn’t fond of the idea of letting you see him in his natural form, though. He spent so much time specially curating his image as a human, someone sleek, neat, and confident. Not this…squishy, wriggly, clumsy form he was born with. 

He was a creature suited for nothing but the dark, cold spaces of the deep sea, only seen by the bioluminescent patterning on his skin. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to go back to the docks?”

He flinched as he heard a splash, hiding behind a rock as he felt you move through the water. Azul rested his forehead against the cool surface of the stone, sighing and closing his eyes. 

“Please, Angelfish, are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to scare you…”

The sound of water alerted him to your movement again, though he couldn’t make out where you were without 

“I want you.” A soft hand threaded through Azul’s hair, making him open his eyes and look up at your form. You were sitting on the rock he rested against, leaning down as your hair fell over your shoulders the closer you came. The sunlight peering through the cave roof shone over you like a halo, you looked like a painting an artist made of an angel. 

“All of you. Please? My love?”

Despite his mind screaming at him to back up, to not let you touch his slimy, squishy skin, his tentacles had a mind of their own. 

One of his arms curled around your hand, another around your waist, two more around your hips, drawn to you. Drawn to your affections that you so freely give to a greedy man like he. Azul sighed again. 

“You’ve taken the water-breathing potion, yes?”

“Mm-hm, just a bit ago.”

“… Good.”

You gasped as Azul dragged you into the water as he sunk backwards. The water under the grotto was dark, almost black, except for the rays of sunlight turning the water into an ethereal green. Once again, Azul found himself beguiled by your visage, hair and clothes floating around you…his arms tightening his grip at the sight. 

They truly had a mind of their own, drawing their energy from Azul’s true thoughts and urges. And how could he resist when you so freely offered yourself, love and body, to him.

Azul tangled himself in your embrace, claiming your mouth with his, drawing your tongue into his mouth to suck and explore. He reveled in the whimper that left you, tightening his hold as his tentacles slithered under your clothes, groping and suckers leaving behind marks. 

“Mmmh, Azul…” You gasped, exposing your neck for him to suckle marks, trailing down your body. Several of Azul’s arms gently pushed your clothes and undergarments off to have easier access to you. His suckers attached themselves to your sensitive area, shivering in its taste. 

“I almost forgot the benefits of being in this body… I can feel and taste your entire being with more than just my tongue. Your pulse drums beneath my grip, the salt on your skin floods my senses, and the sweetness down here.”

One tentacle with a spade-shape was brushing over your hole, pressing in slowly as you clenched onto Azul’s shoulders at the sudden stretch. 

“S-slower, Azul please, it’s too much—AAAH~”

Pressing his tentacle dick into your heat, Azul nuzzled his nose against your own as he fell deeper into desire. He shuddered at the surrounding tightness, getting drunk at the pleasure of your being, at the kisses you fluttered against his face, at the thought of permanently mark you as his with more than just his seed. 

Like Icarus reaching for his love Apollo, Azul would gladly risk flying too close to the sun, and feel the intense burn of its fiery gaze. Unlike Icarus, the way you looked at him like he was the celestial body itself made him certain that you’d never burn him and cast him back to the dark sea. 

Perhaps it was the intoxication from the sybaritism in his veins, bringing him and closer to an orgasm, that would let you two see the god. But he had no need when you were before him, his warmth. The Apollo to your Icarus, the root to his pleasure.

The cry you let out as he brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, throwing your head back as the sun shone on you like a heavenly being, reaffirmed you as his own sunlight.

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[uva124]

¡ Valentino redesing!

We finally have the baby!

(This redesign belongs to the Wish Au "Kingdom of wishes", written by @annymation and illustrated by @emillyverse and me)

This will surely be the redesign where I have the least things to say lol, but I still have some things to comment on so let's go!

At first I hadn't thought much about how I would redesign Valentino, what I was sure of was making him more adorable and cuter so that everyone would want to have a goat as a pet, because if I'm completely honest, Valentino's official design in the Disney movie I didn't find it adorable at all (sorry Disney artists, I know they put effort into drawing and animating but I just didn't like Valentino's design)

(Do you get my point? He's just not cute or adorable, and the voice they gave him didn't help either, or the face idk ,but I thought the joke about his voice at the beginning of the movie was funny ¯_(ツ)_/¯)

So I made a mental list of things I wanted to do (which aren't many if I'm honest): -Make it fluffier and fluffier -Give him other clothes -Add even one symbol in your redesign

Anny sent me several references of goats and concept art, among them I found this one, which I based myself on mainly because 1-I have always liked that animals had moles or spots on their fur or skin 2-When I saw that on their clothes You could see the seams that joined the different fabrics, I realized that it coincided with Asha's redesign (on the sleeves) so I was like: "AWWWWW it matches his mom's clothes!"

In the end I only added a part of it with a different fabric because I didn't want to complicate the design too much, but I liked how it turned out, I added some symbols of the tattoos that exist in the Amazigh culture, which is also to protect the person (or animal in this case) of the bad influences that are around them

I also liked adding that little ball of curly hair on our goat's little head, it just looks so cute!

FINAL COMMENTS!

As I said, this is not very long, but I'm satisfied with how the drawing turned out, I wanted to try something new that looks like the lighting was a sunset, I don't know if it's noticeable but at least it turned out nice lmao, as a curious fact, with this drawing I realized how MUCH my sketches change when I paint them in detail

…..BRO HOW THE HELL DID THIS CHANGE SO MUCH WITHOUT REALIZING ME? (ESPECIALLY ASHA)

Well that's all for now, until next time! ✨✨

[roxygen22]

Paper

"My Little Cocoa Bean" Series

Summary: Reader and Willy discover that Ben/Bean is an aspiring artist. Age: 3 & 17

<><><><><>

You were outside hanging clothes on the line to dry when you heard the back door slam and little feet running toward you. Before your brain could register what was happening, you were nearly bowled over by the force of Ben running into your leg.

You looked down to find that Ben had buried his face and balled up his fists in your skirt. "Pa ell a mm," you heard his garbled speech muffled by the fabric. You knelt down and pried his fingers loose so you could look at his red, tear-streaked face.

"I'm sorry, Benny. I couldn't understand you when your mouth was covered. Take a deep breath." You inhaled deeply through your nose and out through your mouth a couple of times, motioning for him to copy you. "Good. Now, try again. What's all this about?"

"P-papa lelled at m-meeee." The boy started sobbing again.

"Oh dear. What happened?"

"I..." he sucked in a breath. "I wanted to dwaw him a picture. I saw paper on Papa's desk..."

"Ah, I see. Did that paper already have words on it?"

"Only on fwont. I dwew on back."

"Oh, Benny. We talked about asking before you touch anything in the study. Papa has very important papers in there for the shop and factory."

"I'm sowwy." He looked up at you with big puppy-dog eyes. You cupped his round cheeks in your hands.

"I know you are. But I'm not the one you need to apologize, too. Why don't you go inside to your room and play while I go check on Papa. After that, you can tell him you're sorry." Ben nodded, then shuffled through the back door to his room with his head hung low.

It was out of character for Willy to snap at anyone. The man typically had the patience of a saint, so you knew Ben must have drawn on something important. You quietly stepped into the study and spied Willy slumped in the armchair, one hand supporting his forehead and one foot kicked out. It looked as if he had collapsed dramatically into it.

"I made him cry," Willy said morosely without looking up. "I didn't- I didn't mean to. I shouted his name. I was just trying to get his attention and stop him before he did more damage. I...I startled him, and he ran off to you."

"Full name or nickname?" you asked as you sat on the sofa next to him.

"Full name," he groaned.

You grimaced. Ouch, you thought. Willy hardly ever referred to the boy as anything but Bean and almost never as Benjamin unless introducing him to others. It's on par with your mother using your middle name when you were in trouble. You shuddered slightly. That probably wounded Ben worse than the volume. "What did he draw on?"

Willy held up the face page of a contract with the hand not supporting his head. He had yet to look up at you.

"Oh dear."

"I'll ask Beth to type up a new one tomorrow before the meeting. It wasn't worth raising my voice at him. I...I just had a long day and...of course, that doesn't excuse anything. Is he okay?"

"He'll be alright," you said soothingly as you placed your hand on Willy's arm. "He's calming down in his room. Like you said, he was startled. You are usually the fun one, not the disciplinarian."

"I should go to him," Willy said as he stood from the chair. You returned to your previous task of hanging out the laundry so they could have some time alone to make amends.

Willy walked to Ben's room and gently knocked before pushing the door open. Ben looked up at him from his desk with big sad eyes.

"Hey there," Willy said softly.

"I dwew you another picture. I'm sowwy, Papa," Ben said pitifully as he handed Willy a piece of paper.

"Oh, Bean. Is this the factory?" Ben nodded excitedly. "Wow, such great detail! Is this what you wanted to draw earlier?" Ben nodded again, with less exuberance this time. Willy's heart broke as he saw his son's face fall.

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry for raising my voice and scaring you. That was a very important paper you were drawing on, and I needed you to stop."

"I know, Mamma told me I need to ask first," he responded dejectedly. "I just had a picture in my head that I wanted to dwaw when I was by your desk."

"Ah, that I understand. Sometimes my ideas don't come to me at convenient times, either. Tell you what. How about I set up a drawer with paper that's safe to draw or write on whenever an idea strikes. You never have to ask for permission as long as it's from that drawer. Deal?"

Ben's face lit up again, and he stuck his tiny right hand to shake. "Deal!"

Willy shook his son's hand with his right and looked down again at the picture in his left. It was incredibly well done for Ben's age.

"Can I take this to the factory with me? I want to frame and hang it. If you draw more, I'll have a whole gallery wall of Benjamin Wonka works."

Ben giggled, "Okay, Papa!"

<><><><><>

Over time, Ben's art skills matured to charcoals, watercolors, canvases, and paints. Willy spotted the talent early and took great pleasure in encouraging it, supplying it. Fourteen years later, he had indeed collected enough of Ben's work to fill multiple walls.

"People need to see this."

Willy decided to surprise Ben by converting one of his shops into a limited time art gallery for his 17th birthday. He somehow managed to promote what ended up being the town's social event of the season while also keeping it a secret from his boy.

It was finally the night of the big reveal. "Papa, why are we going to the shop so late? I thought we were going to meet Mamma and Charlie for dinner?" Ben walked shoulder to shoulder with Willy. They were nearly the same height now.

Willy was vibrating with excitement. "I just need to pick up something I left there," he bent the truth slightly. "Your birthday present."

When they arrived, Willy unlocked the doors to reveal a magenta velvet curtain blocking the entry. He took the gold pull cord in his hand and handed it to Ben.

Ben looked at the tassel in his hand, bewildered. "What is this?"

"Your gift! Pull it and find out." As Ben pulled the cord, the curtain drew back to reveal...

"Surprise!!"

Ben stood there with his mouth ajar as he looked around at you, Charlotte, Noodle, his friends and girlfriend. Everyone rushed him for a celebratory hug. He gave you a kiss on the cheek. Then, the background details caught his eye. The crowd separated as Ben made his way to look at the walls that were now decorated with his paintings rather than shelves of candies and chocolates.

He browsed in awe until he stopped at the penciled sketch of the Wonka factory, gently tracing the golden frame with his fingers. He felt Willy step up beside him and gently squeeze his shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Bean."

Ben looked over his shoulder to reveal misty eyes. "Thanks for always being my biggest fan, Papa," he said reverently.

"I'm glad I could be right here beside you when your talent is shared with the world."

<><><><><>

A/N: I think it's safe to say that Willy would be his kids' biggest cheerleaders.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 32

Part 31

Steve was lounging in his sheets, still dressed in his bed clothes as he reread one of Eddie’s letters. The way he described it, Steve was some sort of hammer-wielding hero of legend. Last he’d heard of Jason, he had slinked back home. Steve was through with worrying about him though. The people had seen his strength and honor and any who had doubts about his and the king’s courtship were now swayed in his favor. But at the end of the day, it was just about him and Eddie.

The next day, Steve was gifted a beautiful sketch drawing of himself, hammer held in a protective stance. Steve traced the lines of his face, his nose, and his mouth. Did he really look that handsome to Eddie? Eddie was completely open with his adoration now. Not that he had cared to keep quiet about it before. But now Eddie held nothing back. Hence the amount of love letters he had received. 

Eddie seemed a natural talent when it came to both writing and orating. He had such a way with words that made him believable and gave him a command that most men would never even dream of. His own father wasn’t nearly so eloquent as king, choosing instead to let force and cruelty ensure his power and position. Eddie was different from his father in a lot of ways. Most particularly in his shows of emotion.

Steve didn’t even know if his parents had ever been in love. He had no memories of them being affectionate or ever professing their feelings for one another. Steve wanted it to be different between him and Eddie.

To that end, he found Robin, who was in the middle of polishing some brass.

“I need help writing.”

She looked up from her work, eyebrow raised. “Are you…incapable or…?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I am perfectly capable of writing. I just-need help making sure it sounds right.”

“Are you really about to make me proofread poetry from you to our wet rat of a king?”

“Careful, that nearly sounds treasonous”, Steve teased.

“I don’t hear any disagreement.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in any state but dry. So I don’t have a frame of reference”, Steve said. “Now will you please help? You’re the only one I can ask.”

“I reserve the right to gag.”

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

My sweet king,

Your words touch me in a way no one has. I find myself wasting the night hours and candle wax, reading them before bed. If I am half the man you espouse, then I must be truly worthy of your grace. To know that you are just as enamored with me as I am with you has me floating on clouds. 

Dare I tell you my dreams? How I long to be closer to you? I know we play these games of propriety but I can never remember why. You know I am not untouched. So what makes you stay your hand? Is it a law that exists outside of us? If so, I yearn to know. For there is not a force between us that could keep us apart.

It was signed simply with Steve’s initials but Eddie would have known even without that who the sender was. There was only one responding to his correspondences after all. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, dinner and dessert had been served and now the castle was winding down for its slumber. He had already bid Steve good night, but he had to see him now. He was dressed for bed, a loose shirt and pants, feet bare, rings already removed and put away for tomorrow and he figured Steve would be in a similar state, but he couldn’t keep himself away. Not after having read his latest letter.

So he crept out of his room, not a particularly hard feat as the patrols were set in such a way that his room was rarely guarded at night. Eddie needed the least amount of protection. He made his way to Steve’s door and knocked, hoping he was still awake.

“Who is it?”, Steve’s voice was muffled by the thick door.

“Your greatest admirer”, Eddie said, cheek pressed to the door. 

“Sir Cox?”, Steve joked as he opened the door and just as Eddie had guessed, he was dressed in a similar fashion, prepared for bed. 

“Sir Cox? Who is that? Has he been sending you letters?”, Eddie asked.

Steve snickered and he looked like a dream with the candlelight from his room lighting him up from behind. “There is no Sir Cox. Only you and your delightful wordsmithing.”

“Well now I wonder. I’ve no doubt you must have several admirers after your bout with Carver.”

“You are the only one that sees me as a man to be pursued”, Steve said.

“Then I am the only one with eyes. Come with me”, Eddie held out his hand.

“Where to?”, Steve asked, already giving his hand.

“You’ll see.” Eddie pulled Steve along, their steps echoing in the dark halls. 

Steve felt like a kid again, going out past curfew for mischief and wondered what he and Eddie might get up to. Was this just a silly excursion under cover of darkness? Or did Eddie have something more intimate in mind? Eddie snickered as he pilfered a sheet from the laundry and then draped it over Steve like a veil. Eddie was struck by how bridal he looked.

“What I’m about to do is called shadow travel”, Eddie said, coming in close to whisper to Steve. “It can be disorienting for the first time, so close your eyes and hold tight to me.”

Steve nodded, doing as instructed. His arms went around Eddie and he closed his eyes. Eddie held him and suddenly Steve felt a cool rush of wind. He was tempted to open his eyes but worried he’d be disoriented if he did. When the rush stopped it was replaced by a soft breeze. He ventured to open his eyes and saw that they were beneath a large tree. Eddie led Steve from under it and took the sheet to lay it on the ground. Eddie sat down first and then patted the space next to him, prompting Steve to do the same.

The moon was a half eaten pie in the sky, glowing a pale white in a way that was rivaled only by the tapestry of stars.

“Do you have any favorite star stories?”, Eddie asked.

Steve thought about it. “I can’t remember what the constellation looks like, but I like the Two Lovers. And the Mother of the Skies.”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand and used it to point to a star duo. “The Two Lovers.” Then he pointed to a bright twinkle. “The Mother and right under her is Eldest Daughter, then Foolish Son, then Helpful Son, then Wisest Daughter, then-”

“Are you going to name all of the children? We’ll be here all night”, Steve laughed.

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“If you attend the council with bags under your eyes, I won’t be blamed. I’m sure they already don’t care for me.”

Eddie released Steve’s hand but moved closer to him. “Fortunately, they’re not the ones courting you.”

“But they do make decisions concerning you and your kingdom. Their opinion of me is important.”

“I think most opinions have turned favorably to you now, little prince. There’s hardly a word against you anymore.”

“But what about for me?”

Eddie blinked. “What do you mean?”

Steve’s knees pulled up to his chest. “You treat me like a prince. But a prince is supposed to have power and importance… My father has yet to respond to my letter. Without his involvement, I can’t promise you anything. If you marry me, you’ll get nothing but myself. There’s no promise of peace or even an opportunity for any sort of harmony between our kingdoms. Why should you marry me if there isn’t an advantage for you?”

“Sweet prince, good prince.” Eddie took Steve’s chin to turn his face towards him before continuing. “Benevolent prince, honorable prince. You say that as if you are nothing. You think you have nothing to offer when there is nothing more precious than yourself.”

“Me?”

Steve looked at him, eyes sparkling with starlight. His legs lowered and he turned to face his body to Eddie, opening himself up. Eddie leaned in more, their noses bumping.

“You”, he said, closing the distance between their lips.

It was dipping into a lake after a hot day. It was opening a door to someone smiling at you. It was being told you did a great job when having doubted yourself. Kissing Eddie could be described in many words. But the one that came to Steve right now was relief. Relief when he felt Eddie’s lips move against his own. Relief in knowing that Eddie had wanted this just as much.

A feeling that turned into something more heady when Steve sighed against his mouth and Eddie whimpered. 

“Why have you been holding back?”, Steve asked, sharing the same breath as Eddie when he pulled away.

“Because I felt like I couldn’t stop if I got a taste”, Eddie confessed, chest moving up and down before he chased after Steve’s lips.

“Stop”, Steve said, putting a hand up.

Eddie froze in place, waiting for his next command. Smirking, Steve came forward again and dug his fingers into Eddie’s hair.

“See? You know how to follow orders.” He couldn’t see Eddie blush but he could feel the warmth in his face when he rubbed their cheeks together.

“You’ll be the death of me”, Eddie groaned.

“Imagine that, immortal king taken down by a single kiss”, Steve grinned.

“A single kiss, a dazzling smile, bewitching laugh. You have many weapons in your arsenal.”

“You know”, Steve said before leaning in for a kiss. “This would be much better-” kiss “in a bed.” Kiss.

Eddie’s eyes bulged at the prospect and they sneaked back into the castle, dropping off the sheet off at the laundry. Overcome, Eddie ended up kissing Steve along the way, against this wall, against that wall, it seemed they could only go a few feet before getting lost in each other’s lips again. They were nearly to Steve’s room when they heard voices and saw candlelight from around the corner.

They froze in place when Mike, Dustin, and Lucas came around the bend. The three boys also froze. 

“What are you guys doing here?”, Dustin pointed his finger first.

“I was just-I was escorting Steve back to his room. And here we are and here he is and this is where we say good night. Good night, Steve”, Eddie kissed Steve’s cheek and then hightailed it back to his own quarters. 

Steve was smiling the whole time at Edward’s frantic act, going into his room and having nearly closed the door all the way when he realized - what were the boys doing sneaking around at night.

“Hey wait a minute!”, he opened the door back up to the hallway, only to see darkness and hear silence. 

They had already scurried off. Well, no matter. Steve touched his lips, the feel of it still fresh. He went to bed, dreaming of Eddie’s mouth and hoping he was doing the same about him.

Part 33 coming soon

If you saw me make a post about them having their first kiss in the winter, no you didn't.

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

[bleucalire]

Hello!!! I literally adore your art style! The way you manage to add depth and perspective to your faces without heavy use of facial planes is really impressive because my art looks similar to yours, (but without the depth) but every time I try to use facial planes it just doesn't work with my style. Do you have any art tutorials or pics with guidelines?? and if not would you ever consider making any?

once again LOVE your art your azi and crowley are just ADORABLE!!

thanks!!

Hi !! Thank you for your kind message !!

I’m afraid I don’t have any strict process that i could explain..? Except A LOT of training ? 😭 I can share how I like to train though ! (it’s often warm-ups before starting working)

- Posemaniacs !!!

20min of 45sec-1min poses every morning is a super cool warm-up, and it forces you to be quick and go to the point ! No unnecessary lines ! (Posting my sketches because i often see people who starts using it trying to do super detailed pics, with a lot of lines, and can’t finish their sketches before the time limit. Loose sketches are fine, you want to get the pose, the perspective, the overall volume, not to create a masterpiece. Posemaniacs is super rad because it helps you learn how to draw any pose from any angle. Also they have a bank of hundreds of 3D models with various poses you can move and turn how you like in a 3D space when you want a reference for when you’re drawing !)

- Do studies from animators/series you like !

Sakugabooru is a mine of references for that ! (i do both movement studies and still of frames i find super cool/instructive) Animators try hard to convey the depth/volumes, even on simple designs, so that’s good references (and yes i’m a kameda simp)

- Pictures of real people !/Real people from real life !!

For studying poses, clothes etc ! (Super rough and not detailed sketches like these ↓ help me a lot ! Sports references are cool ! Try to stay concise, not too many details ! It will leave you more time to do even more studies, and it forces you to find the essential points and lines of what you want to draw !)

- Michel Lauricella’s Books !!!

Suuuuper useful !! Also always checking them at work ! (My books are at work so sending my studies as well 🙈)

As for the style, most of the series i work on have a « simple style » (i like it when there’s not too many lines because it’s easier and funnier to animate). So i’m used to it and it’s reflecting on my Azi and Crowley i think ! If you like my style i can recommend you to do studies from Ousama Ranking, Mob Pyscho, Sherlock Hound, Doraemon, The Gutsy Frog, (and many more haha) (also of course 80’s-90’s Aoyama Gosho’s works ! Magic Kaito, Late Yaiba/Early Detective Conan ! The expressions I draw are heaaaavily influenced by it, as it’s the first thing I actively studied)

I hope it gives you ideas to dig when you want to train a bit !

Thank you again for your kind message ! Have a nice day !!

[wing-ed-thing]

... And the Beast (Yonji Vinsmoke x Reader) Part III

Synopsis: You thought your little crush on Prince Yonji was a well-kept secret. Yonji is mean enough to exploit your eagerness to please in the face of his unrelenting cruelty; the thought of actually developing a soft spot for you never even crossed his mind.

Word Count: 7.4k

Tags/Warnings: Naive!Servant!Reader, No Reader Pronouns, Canonically Mean Vinsmokes, But Reader is Kinda Into It, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Language, Reader Falls First, Yonji Falls Harder, Academic Discussion of Dark Themes, Suggestive Commentary

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Notes: We're just doing a slew of fairy tale inspired Vinsmoke fics aren't we? Fun fact, the "the beast" doesn't refer to Yonji at all, but the size of these chapters ay yo! hahahahahaha... haha...ha

When Yonji requested you back in his quarters for his morning routine, you assumed that things were returning to what they were— that is, not normal. Rather than spending time in the archive just downstairs from the attic space where you made your sleeping area, you made directly for Yonji’s quarters just as the sun rose to prepare him for breakfast with the rest of the royal family.

Judge, for as pragmatic as he typically was, always gathered his four children for breakfast and dinner. A rather sentimental notion, the meals were held at strict times every week, and any excuse short of standing in an active war zone or teetering on the brink of death did not hold enough weight for any of the Vinsmoke children to be absent. No matter how spread out the fleet was on any given day, granted that no paid work was being tended to, the towers of all four children, the kitchen, and the throne room convened at least once a week. 

You knocked on one of the double doors leading to Yonji’s bedroom, and as anticipated, you received no response. Yonji could sleep through a hurricane— and did once— but you didn’t want to risk the brutal punishment that would have come with walking in on him if he were miraculously conscious so early in the morning. 

Light from the hall flooded into his bedroom as you opened the door, and the triangle of golden illumination dwindled as you closed the door behind you. The blackout lights were drawn exactly how you left them the night before as you crept through the darkness of the room. 

You approached the curtain to the left of Yonji’s bed, drawing it to the side to brighten half of the room. Yonji’s sleeping form instinctually twitched as he buried himself farther into his luxury cotton sheets. You moved to the other side of the bed to draw the other curtain.

“Prince Yonji,” you called his name softly. Yonji grumbled something incoherent into his pillow. “It’s time to get ready for breakfast.” You turned to rifle through his wardrobe. His attire was the same for the most part, but Yonji liked seeing options. 

You let the top cabinets close with a quiet thud. Yonji groaned again, tossing to face the opposite side of the room. He threw an arm up that smacked against his headboard. His covers fell to around his hip on his left side, exposing half of his bare chest. You kept your focus on the drawers of his wardrobe as you plucked out a few more articles of clothing. 

You draped two of everything over your forearm and walked once more to the opposite side of the bed. Yonji lay with his eyes cracked open as you placed everything neatly on the end of the bed. You held up two white button-ups, one with a ruffled collar and one without. In his half-awake state, Yonji made a gesture to the shirt with the ruffles. You hooked the approved shirt’s hanger on your arm and placed the other one back at the end of the bed. 

You did the same for his slacks, and by the time Yonji finally sat up on his own accord and threw his legs over the side of the bed, you had already established a complete outfit for the day. It hardly took Yonji a single yawn and a few complying motions before he was completely dressed, eyeing you as you knelt between his thighs to finish buttoning his shirt. You had been quick to slide a pair of pants over his briefs. 

Even after all this time, the better part of your thoughts were painted on your face. Most of Germa, the royal family especially, was the furthest thing from shy when it came to nudity. Most of the soldiers shared tight quarters, after all, and the raid suits for the princes and the princess required complete disrobing before and upon use. While you hadn’t grown up in Germa yourself, you couldn’t help but secretly consider that the way in which you dressed Yonji in the morning alone was quite intimate, even for Germa’s standards. All of this, Yonji, of course, knew, but he never tired from getting a rise out of you, especially when the means were so simple.

You offered him his earphones, which he took and placed around the back of his neck before standing. You placed his rejected selections back in the wardrobe before turning to make his bed.

“Forget about that.” Yonji waved flippantly toward the messy bundle of sheets and blankets. “Go back to the library and prepare for my arrival. I’ll be there after breakfast.” He didn’t say anything else before walking out into the hall, leaving you to panic.

***

You didn’t quite understand what “prepare the library” meant, considering that your job mostly consisted of knowing what things were and where they were. (Given the infrequency of people taking books from the library archive, you hardly ever had to put books back that you didn’t take out yourself.) Even the custodial duties weren’t your responsibility, given that cleaning staff were sent to your snail every two weeks or so to manage the red carpets that lined the hall and dust the shelves. If anything, your most laborious work occurred every spring on archival week, so you weren’t exactly sure what you were meant to prepare.

You considered bringing down two tea cups and a pot of hot tea but swiftly decided that Yonji would likely not only be insulted but disgusted by such a low-quality product. Unsure of what to do, you collected your documentation from the archival week that occurred just a few months ago and meandered around the center of the large chamber awaiting Yonji’s arrival. 

He came just as the sun outside began shining at full capacity. You stood in the center of the room on the intricately woven carpet below, with the files in your arms. Yonji hardly regarded you as he strode into the room before taking the door handles of the massive double doors in his hands to push them closed. Your breath hitched as he latched them, officially cutting off your only means of escape. 

Yonji turned back to you, his brows furrowed at the paperwork in your arms. 

“A detailed organizational account, Prince Yonji.” You politely dipped your head. Yonji’s mouth turned into a wide, closed-lipped frown as he approached you. When he stood just a short distance before you, he snatched the documents and threw them to the ground. 

“Not necessary.” He circled you and stopped just behind you to give you a shove forward. “Go grab all the shit you’ve been reading.” 

You swiveled your head back, “Um—?”

“You do everything I say with that stupid look on your face for months, but when I ask about your dumb interests, you go, ‘Prince Yonji, um’?” he mocked, imitating your expression with a pucker of his lips before they reverted back into a scowl. Yonji gestured toward the shelves that lined the walls. “Pull everything.”

“Yessir!” You nodded adamantly as you started toward the closest shelf. Yonji’s eyebrow shot up.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Prince Yonji,” you corrected, already taking a book from the shelf. You tried to spare a glance back at him, but the nervous smile that tugged at your cheeks made you turn back to the shelf quickly.

Even Yonji couldn’t hold his scowl for long, not when you had that gleam in your eyes.

***

He followed you with a closeness that made you conscious of your stride. You pulled a few selections from the shelves, glancing back at Yonji every so often for approval. He positioned himself as awkwardly as he could, trailing to your right and backing up as you slowly skimmed the walls. Yonji, as a rule of thumb, imposed himself wherever possible and least convenient. 

 With a few books piled in your arms, you wandered past an entire section of Sora comics. Germa 66, whether it be out of vanity or an unspoken sense of humor, boasted the entire running collection of Sora, Warrior of the Sea. Despite the thin volumes, the collection easily took over two long shelves. You hoped that Yonji wouldn’t notice your purposeful ignorance of the comics, but you supposed you couldn’t have been that lucky.

“Not a fan?” Yonji laughed. He placed a hand on one of the upper shelves and the other dipped into the left pocket of his slacks. He purposefully towered over you, not allowing you to move forward to the next section. 

You didn’t think quickly enough to hide your expression. Yonji grinned.

“Go on.” He gestured to the collection with a jerk of his head. “I know you’ve read ‘em.”

You looked off to the side with a sheepish grin, and when you took too long, Yonji grabbed you by the sleeve of your shoulder and shoved you toward the shelf. Your reluctant fingers easily found the limited-edition volume somewhere in the middle of the compilation. Yonji snatched it from you the moment you began to pull it and laughed even louder than he had before, quickly yanking the comic from its clear plastic wrapping.

“You know I was fucking with you, right?” he bellowed with another quirk of his brows. An amused hissing teased through his teeth as he flipped through the glossy pages. 

The publishing company had released a limited edition volume featuring Germa 66 in which the branding was overwritten from Sora, Warrior of the Sea, to Ichiro, Son of Germa. The short story that centered around Germa 66 commander “Ichiro” depicted a day in the life of the supervillains when they weren’t up to their sinister plots. The end of the comic even included some uncharacteristically heroic actions taken by the group. And while the edition had been clearly named after Ichiji, all four Vinsmoke siblings received a rather generous, albeit exaggerated, depiction. It experienced limited printing due to many complaints that a flattering depiction of Germa 66 was in poor taste.

 “I grew up reading the Sora comics,” you said, trying to look anywhere else but Yonji. But even so, you could feel his eyes boring into you. Mischief painted itself on his face as he couldn’t help a mean smirk.

“So you are a fan,” Yonji teased. The comic fell closed. “Or maybe you’re trying to suck up to me.” Your eyes widened in just the way he liked.

“Oh, no, I’m not trying to—”

“Who’s your favorite?” His nose scrunched up in an overwhelming display of amusement. He held up the cover, which illustrated all members of Germa 66 with “Ichiro” in the center and Garuda’s silhouette in the background. The way he seemed to hunch over you didn’t escape you. Yonji drew a bit closer with one hand still propped against the shelves. There was only one right answer, or at least only one answer he would accept. “C’mon, you’ve gotta have a favorite.”

“My favorite?” You couldn’t even look at him. Yonji stared at you, his thorough enjoyment of your flustered state showing no sign of dissipating. 

“Your go-to volume is the Ichiro edition? Yeah, you have a favorite.” Yonji laughed. He bobbed his head to himself before inching closer. “Want me to guess?”

He wasn’t going to let it go until you answered. You adjusted the stack of books in your arms, unconsciously treating them like a barrier. You sucked in a deep breath. 

“Winch Green is my favorite.”

“HA! Wow, what a suck-up!” Yonji let out a roaring chuckle, finally straightening himself to stand at his full height again in self-satisfaction. Despite his rude words, that was the correct answer and it had been true. He eyed you incredulously when his laughter began to die down. “You weren’t born here. You came here a while ago, didn’t you? You really are a fan! That explains why you’re such a freak.” 

You kept your eyes on the collection of neatly wrapped comics as Yonji cackled. You readjusted the stack of books in your arms again, unable to help your visibly flustered demeanor. 

“Well…” You started, and your voice cracked. But like every other occasion when Yonji thought he had finally driven you to tears, you bent but didn’t break. “I owe a lot to Germa 66. You probably don’t remember, but you saved my country.” You nodded in accent, quirking your head slightly to the side. 

It was a single moment, but you caught it. You caught the millisecond that the harsh crease between Yonji’s brows flattened and the way in which his cheeks fell just before he recoiled. What had phased across his face less than a second before contorted his features from amused wideness to narrowed and disgusted confusion. 

“Cut it out with the sappy shit,” he snorted and turned on his heel to move onto another section of shelves, the comic still under his arm. 

Yonji continued to hover as you made your way around the rest of the library. He started from a short distance away, but it didn’t take long before he practically floated right over your shoulder. Yonji hunched a bit, imposing himself over you as he studied your literary selections. And to your surprise, he remained mostly quiet, although every so often, you would select a book apparently so ridiculous it would cause Yonji to scoff. 

Balancing a growing stack of texts against your chest, you reached up to grab another a few shelves above your head. Your fingers grasped at the spine, trying to pull it close enough to the edge. Yonji reached up and grabbed it with ease. You thought he was going to place it in your hand, but Yonji only scoffed, holding the book in front of his face to read the cover.

“Ancient Alabastian runes?” He squinted before quirking a brow at you. He waved the book in the air in accent. “You know how to read ancient Alabastian runes?” 

“I taught myself a bit,” you admitted. Yonji was already thumbing through the pages with a shake of his head. His shoulders tensed upwards with a rude scrunch of his face. 

“Why?” 

“Well, the architectural accomplishments of the period are legendary. Not to mention the culture…” 

Yonji’s chest jumped, a rude snort resounding from his nose. 

“The world’s obsession with that desert wasteland is so rudimentary,” he sighed. You blinked at his word choice. Yonji flipped through a couple more pages with an exasperated shrug before snapping the book closed. “They build a few triangular buildings, so what?”

You almost laughed, “The pyramids that are considered an engineering marvel?”

“If you want to talk about culture, you should take more interest in Elbaf,” he said, his boyish rasp drawing out the syllables of the name. Yonji leaned his shoulder against the bookshelf, still holding the book of runes as he spoke. “The way the giants integrate all of their traditional rituals with modern ways of life is pretty insane.”

“How did I know you were going to say Elbaf?” A playful smile crept onto your lips, a stark contrast to Yonji's acute expression of offense. A mix between a grunt and a gasp stalled in his throat. “I read a little bit about turf construction, and I like the sustainable approach.”

“Beats thinking a pile of sand is pretty,” he sneered, but his words lacked true weight. He reached up to one of the taller shelves, scanning the selection with his tongue poking out from his lips before he finally found what he was looking for. Yonji placed the book on your stack, giving it a rude poke that nearly made you drop your collection. “Turf construction is interesting, sure, but if you’re interested in some actually impressive architecture, try that.”

Yonji pushed off from the shelf, meandering backward to a new section of books.

***

It took the two of you the better part of the day to make it through the room, and you had only rifled through the main chamber of the southern tower. None of your searches included scientific texts or specialized materials, just general topics and narratives. You still didn’t understand what Yonji was looking for, but considering the amount of time you spent in the main chamber, your examination of the thousands of books housed in that room alone should have been more than sufficient. 

You had started on the lower level at the shelves to the right of the double doors, working your way around the side, up the stairwell, and around the balcony before descending the opposite stairs and ending up at the shelves to the left of the doors. Yonji had run a few stacks of books from the balcony down to the wooden table and at some point, began carrying the mass amount of books you pulled from the shelves. 

He had had no issue with the sheer volume— it was, after all, what he asked of you in the first place— but the compilation you held began to slow you down and made scaling the rolling ladders impossible. Just as you made it to the bottom of the first set of stairs, Yonji snatched the unbalanced stack in your arms from you. He held them easily with one hand, along with the other two materials he carried.

“Why are servants so goddamn helpless?” he muttered before gesturing impatiently for you to continue. 

Yonji could hold more than triple the amount of books you could, having little issue carrying three stacks by himself until they were piled up over his chin. And while the scoffing didn’t cease, every so often, Yonji would match one of your selections with one of his own. 

He had placed The Technological Evolution of Combating Summer Island Summers: Tradition, Astrological Patterns, and Scientific Discovery on top of the stack in his arms shortly after you had pulled another book on Alabasta. 

“There are more interesting islands out there than Sandy Island, but if you really like the place, you might as well read the stuff that’s actually interesting,” he sighed before quickly moving along. 

Stacks of books littered the long table below, and you allowed yourself to sit down for the first time in hours. The plates from lunch still sat at the far end of the table. Yonji’s lunch, not yours— you didn’t get one— although he requested enough food for two or three people. 

The cook aboard the archival snail nearly had a heart attack. 

“The prince wants lunch here?” He nearly passed out on the spot. The cook, after all, was assigned to the least-frequented snail in the entire fleet and hadn’t had to face feeding the royal family before. Even during archival week, all members of the royal family typically brought their own crews and, by extension, their own cooks. During all other occasions, feeding the Vinsmokes was Cosette’s duty as she was responsible for the main kitchen.

The library snail only held a servant’s kitchen— something you tried to tell Yonji, but he demanded the quickest meal you could summon. The crew and the handful of other servants who sailed with you weren’t exactly picky when it came to food. In fact, the only people who seemed to hold the most judgment about the cook's meals were his own children. 

“Prince Yonji wants his meal quickly,” you warned, making pointed eye contact at the cook. And whatever he made seemed to do the trick. 

You had carried in three plates—one on your head even—and all three were cleared with inhuman speed. Now, they sat forgotten at the end of the table. 

Per Yonji’s request, you pulled every single book you recalled reading in recent recollection, and they sat piled haphazardly in front of you. Even despite the fact that most of your days were spent reading, you were generous with your selections. Yonji made a face if you walked by any section without taking at least a book or two (he seemed to be under the legitimate impression that you had read every single text in the entire library).

It took you a moment to breathe before you noticed Yonji wasn’t with you. You glanced over to where he stood, just in front of your usual, comfortable reading chair next to the lefthand set of stairs. His left arm didn’t strain as he balanced an excessive stack of books, and he tucked his right hand into the pocket of his slacks as he craned his head toward the book of fairy tales and stories that sat on the side table. 

The collection was open this time and Yonji was already messing up your bookmark, but unlike all of the other books in the room, Yonji didn’t include it in his compilation. By the time he turned to where you were seated, he had closed the cover with a frown. 

“What are you so tuckered out for?” He placed the last stack on the table. “You didn’t do a goddamn thing.” 

Sometimes, you had to remind yourself that Yonji didn’t experience life the same way you did. Yonji seemed to forget the same, but you doubted he put much thought into it. 

***

Yonji appeared to no longer be interested in retaining you as his personal assistant from dawn until dusk, although that didn’t mean he had gotten rid of you altogether. He still expected you to wake him in the morning and get him ready for breakfast, but from thereafter, you were to return to and remain in the library. And in his time between mission work, drills, and other responsibilities he typically tended to as a commanding officer, Yonji hovered around you in the library.

Still unsure what he was expecting from you, the first few days of your new routine had been tense. Yonji would drop in at random intervals throughout the day, and if he wasn’t following you around the library as you worked, he was quietly planted somewhere in the room with one of your newly plucked-out books in his lap. 

The way he would drop in unannounced used to make you uneasy, and within the context of it all, you were still unsure how he wanted to be served. You bolted up several times from your plush chair in those first few days, placing your book half-hidden in the cushion for whatever startled reason before Yonji waved you back.

“Sit back down,” he would almost drawl as he made directly for the long wooden table still piled high with books. (You were surprised he didn’t evict you from your seat, given how he’d take the chair any time you weren’t using it. It was the only seating with a cushion.)

Your schedule might have changed, but Yonji’s domineering presence certainly did not. You still couldn’t help but consider how out of place he looked, especially on the occasions he wore his raid suit into the archive. Ever-tall, ever-bulky, even the way Yonji contorted himself when hunched over a book made him stand out against the background of your humble archive. 

“Prince Yonji,” you couldn’t help but tentatively call as you watched Yonji lower himself onto the carpet. His presence and behavior gave you never-ending whiplash. “Please, take my chair. Royalty shouldn’t lay on the floor!”

Yonji shrugged, propping his head up on his palm as he flipped his book open. 

“Your spot doesn’t get any sun” was all he said with a quick glance up at you from where he lay on his side. 

As the days went by, you found yourself more at ease with Yonji’s regular presence in your archive and even began growing excited at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. The table piled high with books became a staple, and for once, to your surprise, you had someone to talk about all of your books to.

“Yeah, the guy kidnapped her. But she ended up liking it, didn’t she?” Yonji started from his usual warm spot on the floor. He had rolled over onto his back, holding both sides of your recommended book above him. He moved it to the side to meet your eye. “I mean, she gets to be a queen and then visit her mom sometimes. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Yonji tilted his head to one side, then the other. 

“It’s a tale told to young girls to make them feel better about being sold into slavery to Celestial Dragons.” You lounged across the two armrests of your chair with your own novel in your lap. “Of course, she’s going to warm up to being with him to prove that the people you take are better off having been taken.” 

Yonji scoffed and frowned. 

“She chose to stay. There were three goddam chapters dedicated to her thinking about it. It was so boring.”

“It’s less about the characters and more about the context that the story was written,” you gently corrected. Two weeks prior, you wouldn’t have imagined speaking to Yonji in such a casual way. “The whole point is that it’s her decision to stay.” You lowered your book to prop your elbow on the armrest your back was leaning against. “It’s to keep young slaves hopeful that even the Lord of Death is secretly a charming prince.” 

Your eyes flickered back to your pages. 

“I still think you’re readin’ into it.” A pause filled the air. You didn’t notice how Yonji’s gaze lingered on you. “Where are you in yours?” 

“I just finished the section on shipbuilding.”

Yonji slowly sat up. He rested his forearm over his bent knee, and his opposite palm rested on the soft carpet fibers below. An excited grin creased his cheeks.

“And? What do you think?”

You couldn’t help but pause at the expression on Yonji’s face. His brows lacked tension and rested higher on his forehead than you recalled seeing them before. His eyes appeared more rounded as the skin around them was raised. You sat up a bit higher. 

“The clinker construction was cool to learn about, and the emphasis on ship flexibility actually makes a lot of sense. And given the history of Elbaf, I’m not surprised, but pretty amazed that there’s really nothing else out there like their crafting techniques… given that this book is accurate.” You absentmindedly took a second look at the front cover, wedging your fingers between the pages to keep your spot.

“I don’t think there’s a ship out there as suited for long voyages, and that stuff’s generations old.” Yonji crossed his legs. One of the books you had pulled from the shelves, the classic West Blue myth for young slaves that you were just discussing, sat closed and finished in his lap. 

Yonji, you had learned, could devour books. He read at a rate that made you envious, completely demolishing books that took you a few days at least to read in a matter of hours. Yonji had actually made a significant dent in the compilation he had tasked you to gather, and when he was done, he took great pride in handing it back to you to place back on the shelves.

He wasn’t above throwing them at you nor did he care about what you were doing at the moment he finished. But for as much as he seemed to like seeing you flinch as a hardcover novel slammed into the wood shelf next to your head, Yonji had taken to unceremoniously dropping them into your lap. 

This time was no different. Yonji stood as you continued to exchange words about ship construction before strolling over to where you sat and letting his latest book fall directly onto your thighs. He stood over you, and you wondered if he realized he was waiting as you continued your conversation. Yonji, you also discovered, was quite chatty.

—“Well, I think that has more to do with the narrow hull and shallow draft.”

“You think so?” you hummed.

You stood, placing the book on Elbaf to the side and picking up the one that Yonji had just dropped on you. Neither of you batted an eye as you began to move, climbing the set of stairs to your left as you continued. 

—“I think I would use a Knarr if I were to try that,” you considered, sliding the book back onto the shelf. 

A loud, deep ring resounded throughout the room. You instinctually looked toward the large clock below. Yonji, no matter how long he stayed on any given day, always left just a bit before dinner and made it clear that you were to not bother him until you were to retrieve him the next morning. That had been the most drastic change to your routine, and it was getting to be about that time. 

“Dinner already?” Yonji seemed to have the same thoughts as you. “Damn, I’m starving.” And just like every day before, Yonji strolled toward the doors with little regard, shouting some direction over his shoulder. “Work on the rest of that book. I want to talk about weapons, and you’re taking too goddamn long.”

Although, with Yonji gone, your nights weren’t completely free. After tidying up a few things following Yonji’s departure, you headed out of the southern tower, around the back, and down into the cellar doors leading to the servant’s quarters. 

The structural material was half that of your standard Germa building and half snail shell. An entire level that sprawled the length of the ship, in addition to a few pockets for storage, was completely furnished and liveable within the snail shell. Sometimes, when the host snail retreated into its shell, you could see its fleshy body move under the floor in the right light. The overall engineering of the “below deck” quarters escaped you, but the animal didn’t appear to ever be in pain. 

Now that Yonji was spending more time at the library, it became routine for you to retrieve the cook’s twins from downstairs. You’ve been distracting those children for years, and while you hadn’t intended on playing babysitter to the two little rascals that made your ship a bit more lively it allowed the cook time to prepare dinner a bit faster. From mealtime on, you were able to do what you pleased with your evenings. And given how isolated you usually were from the rest of the fleet— your snail typically trailed at the end of Lady Reiju’s brigade— you weren’t opposed to the occasional company.

When waiting on Yonji, you typically had to request that meals be reserved for you in the fridge, considering how late you’d get back to your own ship. Servants typically ate after the royal family anyway, but with your new routine, you could be on a more manageable cycle. 

“Send Walker upstairs when dinner’s ready,” you said to the cook, his two children in tow, ready for storytime upstairs. 

“Will do,” he replied, “The doors will be open, right?” You hummed with a nod.

“I usually keep them open. Prince Yonji is the one who locks them when he visits.” 

The cook’s face faltered for a moment as if he wanted to ask you something more, but he said nothing and returned to his cooking. You led the children upstairs, letting them run around on the carpet in the southern tower before they settled in for a story. 

You took the book from the table next to your chair, enjoying the breeze that blew from the window and out the doors of the southern tower.

***

On a random afternoon sometime in the following week, Yonji sifted through the piles on the table, placing a few books aside. You watched as he did, studying the passing book covers as they landed on top of each other with a soft thud. Most of them centered around spring islands, including local flora and fauna. 

“You really read this?” Yonji scoffed. One dark-spined book missed the pile and fell to the side. You picked it up, gazing at the important man depicted on the front. 

“Do you remember when people said he was going to change the world and abolish piracy?” you mused. 

You pursed your lips, eyes flickering to Yonji to gauge his reaction. You scanned him for approval every so often after speaking, your casual tone only becoming more common by the day. With the way he seemed to be changing his expectations at random, you were never sure when he might decide you were speaking out of term. 

He glanced down at you as you plucked the cover open to read the table of contents. His eyes didn’t linger.

“Politicians are full of hot air,” Yonji said, returning his focus back to his sorting. “Especially that guy.”

You breathed in steadily. You were in the clear for another day. 

“You know him?” you asked.

Yonji’s chest puffed in what might have been mistaken as a light laugh. He still didn’t look at you. 

“Yeah, I know him.” His brows jumped on his forehead as he muttered a vulgar name under his breath at the mere recollection of the politician. You studied the front of the autobiography again. “I can’t believe you read that dickwad’s whole life story. Since you’re here all day, I thought your taste was better than this.” 

Yonji tossed another book across the table. It hit another stack, causing all of them to tumble to the floor. You immediately stood to collect them. Yonji didn’t stop you. 

“The papers were talking about him a lot. With all his ties to the world government and his background as a Marine, I thought we’d be hearing more about him.” You gathered up the fallen books and placed them a bit more nearly on the table out of Yonji’s way. “Besides, Lord Judge likes keeping those kinds of texts at hand.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t much more than 200 pages of bragging. I’d be surprised if you learned anything useful.”

“I share a birthday with his wife?” you volunteered with a laugh. “But no, the stories were so convoluted, I couldn’t even keep them straight.” 

“Figures,” Yonji scoffed. 

You meandered over to your reading chair, trying to be discrete as your eyes scanned the book of fairy tales. The bookmark you placed was crooked. You glanced back toward Yonji, who continued to shuffle things around on the table. 

Yonji hadn’t been afraid to shove book recommendations into your arms when you had gone around the room before, and you saw him toying with the book at least twice before. And yet, this one had escaped the pile mounted on the table. 

Your hand jerked as you reached for the book, hesitating for a second before you ultimately decided to take it in your hands. 

You strolled back to the table, placing it with the others on the corner of the table. Yonji’s shuffling immediately stopped, and you failed to notice his narrow stare. Only when you sat down again did Yonji speak.

”What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was harsh, snapping through the tranquility of the room. Yonji’s eyes flickered from the cover to meet yours. His hands had stopped in the middle of what he was doing with a bulk of pages draped over his fingertips. 

“It was one I’ve been reading—“ You paused with the intention of ending your reasoning there, but Yonji remained silent and disapproving. “… Your Highness.” 

And suddenly, Yonji, as if he had remembered where he was and who he was, scowled severely at your transgression. The sobering reality hit you like a rock and the rapport you had been eased into evaporated at the sight of the sneer around Yonji’s nose. He scrambled the energy in the room in an instant, and suddenly, Yonji was a prince again, and you were a servant. 

“I thought Your Highness was interested—-“

“Don’t get a big head now just because I need something from this pit of a ship,” Yonji spat. “Put it back.” You expected Yonji to throw it, but instead, he rolled his eyes and sat down at the table with an annoyed but otherwise light sigh. 

Despite his short fuse, Yonji reached a simmer more often than he exploded into fits of rage. In fact, it was almost rare that Yonji grew genuinely angry as much as he seemed to go through bouts of pettiness. Frustration, annoyance, and imagined slights were all on the table, but at least according to the servants from Castle Niji, Yonji’s targeting was nowhere near as cruel as the Vinsmokes could be. 

But that wasn’t something you were necessarily eager to test.

A loud pounding suddenly sounded from the library doors. They jiggled against each other, creating a discordant sound as the latch shook violently. The yelling on the other side of the door made your heart sink. 

“What the hell?” Yonji frowned, watching as the doors continued to tremble before muffled commotion broke out in the hallway. He walked across the room with wide strides, and you couldn’t even hope to stop him before he flicked the latch and opened the doors wide. 

Golden light flooded from the chamber into the dark hallway, and just down the red carpet, a servant tried to wrangle the cook’s two children out of the southern tower. Their little voices reverberated off the stone, as did the harsh shushing that came from the servant.

“Why can’t we go inside?” the boy asked loudly.

You ran up just behind Yonji, eyes widening at the sight. The servant met your eye, his face frozen in petrification has he silently begged for help. Even in the prince’s presence, the children continued to squirm around. The boy kicked his feet in the air as the servant held him under one arm and the girl complained from where she was thrown over the servant’s shoulder. You glanced pointedly from Yonji back to the servant’s terrified gaze.

But to your surprise, Yonji only pivoted a foot on the carpet, turning to glance at the large clock that sat to the left of the chamber’s large window. He shoved his left thumb into his pocket as he tended to do. The servant took the opportunity to make a break for it with the children. 

“It’s dinnertime already?” Yonji wondered aloud, throwing his head back with a groan. “I didn’t even realize how damn hungry I was.” He sighed, barely turning his head as he spoke to you, “Don’t bother me for the rest of the night.” 

And just like that, Yonji began to walk down the hall without further commentary.

“What would you like me to do with the books, Prince Yonji?” 

“Leave ‘em.”

***

Yonji, despite receiving the same education as his brothers, wasn’t necessarily considered the brains of the operation. He liked destroying things through flashy displays of brute strength and was content to assume that role on the field. Not to say that Yonji wasn’t a capable commander of his forces, but when paired or grouped with any of his other siblings, Yonji was typically content with and expected to lay off the heavy thinking.

And so, when Yonji shoved Niji out of the way of the grand safe that was left for them to plunder in the ruins of what used to be a politician’s estate, saying, “I got this one,” the immediate assumption was that Yonji certainly did not have it. 

Yonji pinched the lock dial between his fingers, tongue poking out from his lips.

”You’re gonna break it!” 

“Got it!” The safe’s door clicked and then popped open, revealing riches for the taking inside. The royal treasure wasn’t explicitly on the table when Germa 66 was originally hired for the mass political assassinations, but what were the townsfolk going to do with it?

Niji gaped as Yonji began unloading the jewelry. 

“How the hell did you—?” Niji inspected the lock, even going so far as to run his fingers over the mechanisms. He had been working on cracking that code for nearly a half hour on top of bypassing every other security measure in the room. “Yonji. Yonji.”

Niji shook his brother by the arm, only to be shrugged off. Niji let out a low growl, wasting no time in shoulder-checking Yonji to shove him out of the way. He budged a little, but not nearly enough for Niji’s liking. The two of them immediately began fighting. Niji wouldn’t even get an answer to his question until they returned to Germa.

“Yonji guessed the code,” Ichiji said. He crossed his arms, giving nothing away by the blank expression on his face. The space between his brows twitched. Ichiji was certainly asking a question. “Yonji.” 

“Hey—” Yonji spoke with his mouth full, pointing a pea chip toward Ichiji, who stood in front of an equally unamused Niji. “Why’d you gotta say it like that?” he protested. Niji slapped him hard on the back of his head.

“Do you ever stop stuffing your face?”

Yonji reached an arm over the back of the couch he lounged on to push Niji away. Ichiji stood near the end of the short couch, his wrist just shy of brushing the back. 

“You just guessed the code,” he stated, the only one in the room remaining with the subject. 

“I thought birthdays were obvious passwords,” Yonji spoke with a mouthful of chips, shrugging as he sprawled out over the cushions. Ichiji and Niji exchanged glances above him, two sets of dark goggles meeting each other.

“Did you try the president’s birthday?” Ichiji asked.

“Of course not,” Niji spat. “What kind of moron do you take me for?”

“Not his birthday, his wife’s birthday,” Yonji corrected. One of his eyes squinted closed as he shuffled the last portion of his chips to the opening of the bag. Ichiji and Niji’s eyes met each other’s for a moment for a second time as a beat of silence overtook the room. Yonji didn’t notice.

“Uh,” Niji started with a crease in his brow. “How did you know her birthday?” 

The Vinsmokes were typically able to recall unhuman levels of information, and Germa 66’s wealth of knowledge was not easily challenged, but when it came to the string of assassinations they were hired for on Rivulette, the acting president’s wife’s birthday wasn’t on the briefing docket. 

“Did we get birthdays in the files?” Niji scratched at his undercut as he turned toward the eldest Vinsmoke son. 

“It was in that stupid autobiography,” Yonji spoke before Ichiji had a chance to answer. At this point, Yonji had exhausted his entire supply of pea chips. He flicked the bag around, trying to salvage any large crumbs, not nearly as interested in the conversation as his older brothers were. 

“You read that thing?” Niji sneered. 

“We do have a copy in the library,” Ichiji mused stoically. His eyes flickered down to Yonji from behind his dark glasses. “Is that why you’ve been spending so much time there?” A deeper judgment, along with a lengthy analysis, lurked somewhere in his words, but as was natural for Ichiji, he gave nothing away. 

Niji let out a bellowing laugh, the force of which was so great that his hands flew over his torso.

“You’re actually reading down there? I thought you were just going there for some ass!”

Ichiji said nothing, unnoticeably semi-deep in thought. Niji and Yonji continued to bicker in the background. 

***

Another day of Yonji on a job meant another day alone in the library. And while you couldn’t complain about not having to navigate bouncing between ships or waking Yonji up in the morning, you couldn’t help the tinge in your chest that missed the companionship. 

It was already a dismal day. The seas had been rough, and dark gray clouds loomed overhead. You spent most of your time securing the library in preparation for the rough seas. With the unique ability of Germa’s ships to occasionally sail vertically, every vessel had equipment made specifically for securing objects around the country. Most fixtures were already screwed into the floor, and a majority of the rooms held special, small, padded chambers for placing objects into that couldn’t be tethered. 

And considering the cold that was going around the archival ship, you did most of the preparation yourself. The indoors were unspokenly allotted as your territory by the greater staff, most of whom worked on the more physical aspects of piloting the ship. 

You had just finished organizing the books from the table into stability boxes when you heard the double doors to the southern tower open. The unmistakable clicking of the massive entrance was unmistakable and caused your head to snap up. You shut the lid to the box, crossing the room in an instant.

You had closed the main chamber doors to prepare for the storm, but you reached for the handles with a quiet giddiness and threw your whole weight into heaving them open.

“I thought you were going to be gone for another few days—”

Your words died on your lips the moment you looked up. Ichiji stood tall just outside the doorway, as unreadable as ever. But even so, you could feel his cold stare from behind his glasses. He regarded you with a slight frown.

“Were you expecting my brother?”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I can feel it. The hyperfixation slipping through my fingers. I'm determined to end this before I'm left with a half finished series that I have a hard time writing... like every other series I have... hahaha we will persevere indeed!!! (Sure, Wing, we'll end this when the anticipated length will be about 10+ chapters that are about 6-8k words each sure sure sure)

I was determined to not have this chapter end with another Yonji mission... like the first two, but alas we can't always get what we want.

I also put an obscene amount of time into making gifs, including editing this one together and Yonji's fucking earphones gave away all my hard work dammit.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

[maxrowave]

GENDERBEND RAHHHHHH

i love drarry and i love women so put it together and you get this, i present to you: Harphine

Harry is consequently now named Harley; Draco is also now named Delphine (Full name Delphinus Lucius Malfoy, however asks to be referred to as Delphine because it's pretty). I decided to keep everyone else the same because the world centres around them. Delphine is the ultimate coquette girl, lana del rey wishes she could be as coquette as her. Mega popular girl and a trendsetter, one day she wears a headband to school, the next day, half the female students are as well. Extreme closet gay, internalised homophobia...

Harley on the other hand is a major tom-boy, as a toddler and young childhood she probably had a buzzcut or short hair because her hair was too much maintenance for the Dursley's. She also wore Dudley's old clothes so she was mistaken for a boy for most of her young life, she only began to grow it out when she started attending Hogwarts and got a major glow-up in third year. and now the multitude of headcanons: 1) Delphine resorts to flirting to get her way with male students, however it is only by accident does Harley discover Delphine is prudent when she flirts with her. Delphine immediately goes red, sputtering incoherently:

"MY FATHER WILL HEAR OF THIS!!!" "good, I'm glad he knows about me so it won’t be as awkward to meet him when I'm over for dinner"

Harley uses this to her advantage and begins to spread rumours about Delphine to finally get back at her for all these years 'Pure Blood Delphine Malfoy, sole heir, is a homosexual?!' It gets out of hand and Delphine's rep gets ruined or somethin

2) Harley is a bit of an artist, she likes drawing/doodling. One day she's sitting in potions class, not listening because fuck that, idly drawing on her parchment without much thought, only for her to realise that hey... this kind of looks like Delphine, and then realising she's just been drawing Delphine in various sitting poses for the past half an hour.

3) Even though Harley really hates Delphine, she has to admit, she's really fucking gorgeous, and in an odd way Harley kind of admires how put together she is. Harley does try to imitate her makeup one day because she wants to know how it feels to be pretty/put together, it turns out shite, Ron laughs at her, Harley beats him up; Delphine also laughs at her. But when they do become good friends, like fifth year or so, Delphine does do her makeup (imagine that one img of the girl on top of the other doing her eyeshadow, that's them).

3.5) Slight extension from the previous one, I mentioned this on my xwitter awhile back -- Harry purposely messes up his tie so Draco can fix it, because Draco's love language is to clean up people, i.e brushing lint off their shoulder, adjusting their collar, kind of like a cat. In this genderbent au, Harley messes up her lipstick everytime so Delphine can redo it.

4) Delphine is a massive closeted lesbian, and is pining for Harley in her own odd way. When they begin to get close, Delphine instictually reels back, because she's used to playing hard-to-get with other guys as a flirting method. She doesn't quite register that it doesn't work with girls, which leaves Harley wondering what she did wrong and why Delphine isn't as interested.

5) When they do finally get into a relationship, most likely like sixth/seventh year, it's very low-key and secretive because Delphine still has internalised homophobia/closeted. But Lucius ends up arranging her marriage because she's an only child and a female to the Malfoy name. What happens next is idk

6) Lucius either dotes on Delphine like a child who is in constant need of being helped and cannot be independent, or never speaks to her ever because he's disappointed he has a daughter.

OKAY THATS IT, I HAVE MORE HEADCANONS THAT I WILL POUR IF ENOUGH ASK FOR IT LOL... i wanna see if I can make Harphine their genderbend ship name, it's cute

also boobs bc im gay and so are they

[skyeslittlecorner]

Thoughts on Orias' event

I try to pretend that I have already cooled down and stopped howling with delight at the sight of the boys from Hades. Okay, I'm not very good at lying. They. are. gorgeous. So, ekhm. Some loose thoughts about what we know. No serious analysis this time, just my happy rambling.

Spoilers under cut!

Devils can lie

Earlier it was hinted between the lines, now we have official confirmation. Orias and Leviathan sure know how to lie.

Here is a suggestion that Foras can do it too.

On the one hand, my and my biased heart are happy that he is special, on the other hand, I think I would rather not know what he went through to learn how to lie. On an unbiased note, it would be interesting if all the nobles of Hades could lie.

Nobles stick together

It's a little thing I noticed. In Avisos we are often mentioned that seeing more than one noble at a time is an unusual thing. Meanwhile in Hades…

A large part of the event is from Foras' perspective, and how was I supposed to be calm?

We see that the boys often spend time together on patrols. Their relationship is also delightful. Foras doesn't like Glasyalabolas, and it's not mutual. Look.

Glasyal you bully, I love you lmao

Barbatos is gorgeous (even more so without clothes, but please, not on patrol).

Either way, it looks like they spend a lot of time together. They give so much siblings' energy.

AND THIS

I died. I didn't know I needed Barbatos saying fuck, but now I need him for my life. So hot of him.

Orias age

We have information that Orias is older than Leviathan…

…but this is information from biased, unconfirmed sources. Nobles only know rumors. I believe that Lucifer is the oldest. He's an angel, he makes sense. But when it comes to Orias, I would trust Leviathan more here.

I want to draw attention to this one quote in particular:

We know that devils get old. The stronger, the slower. But this suggests that Orias has been artificially aged.

Especially since the angels also refer to him as a kid.

+ it is interesting that they were taken for the same experiment.

Don't know what to call it, just some sexy guys ahead

Enough with serious topics, time to get back to silly things!

We've seen Satan's anger spreads to his subordinates, we've also seen it with Mammon's greed, so it's no wonder Leviathan's jealousy has the same strength. However, Levi's second main thing, his punishment, doesn't seem to be going as well as he dreamed.

They are terrible, I love them. No wonder the cavalry from Tartaros comes for us in Ch5, the guys from Gehenna would still shake hands with Hades. By the way, Hades and Genenna really seem to have the most similarities.

Hot.

Also, their devotion is insanely sweet. Leviathan isn't even truly in danger and they've already summoned their coffins to protect him.

But let's get to the cherry on the cake. You know what else is hot? We are in hell, it should be warm in here, but oh lord- I expected boiling lava, not a walking embodiment of perfection.

I totally agree with Glasyalabolas and his fourth wall breaking. JUST LOOK.

The smirk of this proud asshole. The fact that he is little known in heaven simply because he leaves no survivors to tell about him. And how much he smiles during this event. And how gently he treats Orias.

This event shows his soft heart and that's why I'm here. I'm glad that we don't see this side of him right away, in the chapter, and he only shows true himself with someone he really knows and cares about. Even if he does it his own way. This event, his attacker comic and his selfie comic, how he behaves towards heaven farm survivor and his childhood friends.

Final thoughts

Let's end this here before I start fawning over him even more. Of course, there was much more here. Even out of chronicler's duty, I would like to mention:

While escaping, Leviathan made a pact with his monster

There are beads in the hearts of angels that, when eaten, keep Orias young

Orias himself, if he didn't eat angel hearts, would age into a mummy in a week

Barbatos is secretly Sailor Moon or Winx or other magical girlie

This is how he dressed himself with his vines, prove me wrong.

Leviathan calls Glasyalabolas cute. Agree.

Orias calls Foras a child. It just sounds like a much older person addressing a younger colleague. And you know how much I agree

Astaroth mentioned (another point to the relationship between Hades and Gehenna)

Cherubs with their New Heaven are mentioned

That's all I remember for now. If you're curious about more things, @/thrones-of-buer collected here a lot of points from the event. I agree with a lot of them, and they're definitely interesting to check out. And here a whole report from the event from @/jazeswhbhaven so if you're hungry for more, head over there!

[cirusthecitrus]

People of the Galactic Horde (the OGs)

Since I'm working on a Horde Prime origin story, it was inevitable that one day I would have to come up with designs for his species aka the original spacebats. And well, it was a fun challenge!

(click/tap to have a better look!) My first attempt at drawing other bats was with the High Priests of the Four Temples - the most influential and powerful people on the planet, also known as Anillis'/Prime's teachers :)

See that last guy? That's the emperor of the original Galactic Horde! Though after his unexpected early death his wife had to become the new Prime. Gladly, Horde World was not left without a future heir to the throne^^

Fun thing is, I never planned on making designs for Anillis' parents, since they never appear in the actual story + even the twins don't remember what they looked like. But idc making fanparents is fun! (In my vision Horde Prime inherited the death stare from his mother and the sly misleading smile from his father >:} )

(I talk more about the characters and worldbuliding in my fic "Violent Youth". U can find the link in my pinned post)

I also had to design tons, and I mean tons of episodic characters of all ages, genders and backgrounds. Now after all this training I'm ready to fill the backgrounds with bats :3

Some general notes on the people of the Horde under the cut

Every spacebat is born with a white face. Any deviations were rare and considered a type of skin condition

Facial markings slowly appear once baby bats hit puberty. When spacebats' white faces were seen as blank canvases, the facial markings were their life journey drawn on said canvases. The markings were seen as the real window to the soul. Having no marks as an adult was simply outlandish, people of Krytis even had a belief that such bats "had nothing behind their soul" and thus could not be trustworthy

Facial markings (as well as ears) came in many forms. In ancient times one could tell in which of the four original provinces a person was born by simply looking at their faces. Nowadays it became nearly impossible to guess someone's homeland this way (mostly everyone are people of mixed descent), but to those curious this is how bats used to distinguish one another by their markings:

North - straight lines across/all over the face (e.g. the emperor)

South - wavy lines across/all over the face e.g. (the High Priestess of the Southern temple)

West - straight minimalistic lines (e.g. horde clones)

East - wavy minimalistic lines (e.g. the empress)

Hair never held much cultural significance on Krytis, so the styling was only a question of one's personal preference and fashion trends. Some bats (mainly from the south) saw no point in having hair whatsoever - those would choose to go bald or shave parts of the head to better show off their markings

Everyone had one set of eyes. Only local deities were sometimes depicted having 3 and more eyes. And yes, their eyes and teeth do glow in the dark

I wanted to make colorful bats to futher emphasise their whimsical and peaceful nature :) Well, if u think about it many poisonous creatures are colorful too...

I wouldn't be myself if I didn't say anything about local fashion. I don't have my own concepts at hand sadly, just references, but my main inspiration for the fashion of Krytis are late 90s-early 00s futurism and cyber aesthetic. Here and there u will also see smth similar to mall goth or streetwear style, but it's mostly something what young blood were into

Some bats like the royal family and council members would wear more classy and regal clothes but still more or less modern looking. Such choice of attire was espeically important to the empress, who, unlike her late husband, stayed far away from religion and magic and made it the main goal of her campaign to weaken the influence of the religious community and push for scientific and socio-cultural progress

If you have any questions about the people of the Horde/Krytis, feel free to ask! I'm always happy to talk more about this AU!

[gatitties]

Hi 👋😊.

I just had this a idea for almost a whole  year and it about a young teen female Reader who have a father figure or mother figure from the pirate they like the most but~~ I want them to be the older version from the future like when they are at the age of 40 or 60 . ( Strawhat pirates & white beard pirates & kid pirates) 

And if you don't write about the whitebeard pirate's it okay .instead of it I would like it to be the heart pirates 😊♡.

Edited!\ take your time okay, love your writing by the way👋😊♡

─Strawhats, Heart Pirates, Kid pirates & Whitebeard Pirates x teen!fem!reader (Platonic)

─Summary: some headcannons with your mother/father figure and the rest of the crew

─Warnings: the characters are older, like in those 40/60 year old drawings (reference)

Well yes I write for whitebeard and as a bonus you will have all four crews, ty!! ;)

─ You're like the baby of the crew, no matter how strong or smart you are, for them it's like a duty to keep you safe even though you don't need it.

─ Luffy, Chopper and Usopp are your best allies when you get bored and want to play or play a joke on others, although they are not so young for their usual games they can always make a small exception for you.

─ As for family roles… Sanji was like a father to you, he was the most attentive to everything, he controlled that you had a balanced diet, that you hydrated, and he made sure that nothing and nobody could bother you or harm you, physically or mentally.

─ This cook already has an age and a past that makes him want to protect every possible child, and despite the fact that you were not a child, in his eyes it still seemed that you were 5 years old and not 13.

─ You called him 'dad' once by accident and he cried after you left the room.

─ Sometimes he just walks into your room to tell you something random "did you know that swordfish can swim up to 100 km/h? They are great hunters" and leaves without saying anything else, he doesn't even wait for you to answer, "Close the door!" of course he never closes the door after that.

─ You spend a lot of time in the kitchen and he teaches you to make your favorite dishes.

─ Despite being forty years old, the fights with Zoro won't stop, and he always puts you in the middle to give him support, "yellow looks much better" "green is better, it doesn't look like piss" "Of course not, honey, what do you think about this? Yellow is better isn't it?" "I guess?" "Ha! see, my little girl is always right marimo"

─ Franky and Brook are like the uncles who spoil you.

─ Now… if you're looking for who won to be your mother figure, the award went to Nami, despite not being as young as before and having lived more adventures, she will never stop being like a scared cat and tends to separate you from danger when she sees it.

─ She earned most of your affection pretty quickly.

─ Typical mother who makes you save as much as possible, she'll lend you her old clothes if still in good condition, "this shirt suits you better than it did when I was your age, you'll be a beautiful girl when you grow up!"

─ Although she doesn't mind pampering you a bit if she wants, it's practically difficult for her to deny you something if you really want it, overall, she can always put others in debt to get more money.

─ Lots of relaxing baths with her and Robin, you like to gossip about everything you see when you stay on an island for a while.

— Many moments of shopping together, it doesn't matter if you like it or not, she will simply drag you down because she needs the opinion of someone younger to stay "in fashion".

— She'll also teach you everything she knows about cartography and navigation.

— Father figure Law lives under stress, his night schedules are still as shattered as when he was young and now he has a teenager under his wing to care for.

─ He is very strict with everything, he wants you to maintain a healthy life so you will have many restrictions, ranging from not spending much time inside the submarine to correcting your posture when you're sitting wrong. "You look like a shrimp sitting like this, correct your posture or you'll have back pain" "You look like an emo in your forties and nobody says anything to you" "…"

─ He's worried because teenagers are so carefree and stupid sometimes, he'll have Bepo supervise when he can't.

─ You have many arguments with him for small things, but don't worry, if he punishes you Shachi and Penguin are the uncles who get you out of trouble.

─ This duet with you by their side only means one thing to Law and it's headache.

─ Whenever you're in a bad mood, the crew jokes that Law has infected you with his continual sulking disease, and that now you are like father and daughter.

─ Law is a proud dad inside of him, he won't show that he is proud of you out loud, but in his mind he has you as someone smarter than half the crew.

─ He will teach you everything he knows about medicine, unless you don't like it or are too squeamish about operating or dissecting, however you are required to learn everything about basic first aid.

─ Ikkaku is the only woman on the whole ship so she was the mother figure who helped you not go crazy among so many men and an adorable bear.

─ You're always welcome in the kitchen to help or observe, but mostly to gossip, sometimes Bepo joins.

─ She has small details with you, like buying some matching pendants or bracelets, she also likes to comb your hair with different styles, definitely your personal hairdresser.

─ Unlike Law, Ikkaku will always let you know that she's proud of you for any little thing, like if you've only managed to take down a few guys on your own without help and will yell in mid-battle "Well done, that's my girl!"

─ God bless you with this crew because you will not have a day off, just because they have aged doesn't mean that they are not as chaotic as before.

─ Although they will respect you, you are not in this crew for nothing, and also, all these guys are afraid of an angry teenager with little hours of sleep. "Dude, shut the fuck up if you don't want me to insert this knife as a new piercing in your forehead" "Yo… ok, chill kiddo"

─ The closest thing to a mother figure that you found was Heat, because he was the one who acted the most like a mother hen with you, apparently he was the most concerned about your physical integrity because he was at that age of wanting children and you were the closest to that.

─ It's not like he was depriving you of potentially lethal weapons for a teenager, but he was more afraid of what people would do with someone young like you.

─ Because being in this crew most of the time means fighting and going to clubs, so yeah, he always had an eye on you just in case some nasty person tried something weird with you.

─ Wire always took care to relax Heat when you'd rather just walk around the village than be in a bar because you weren't much of a fan of drinking alcohol at your age. "What if she gets kidnapped? She can be there all alone being scared" "She literally dismembered a guy last time we fought, she'll be fine."

─ Wire is the cool uncle who lets you do whatever you want as long as your worried mom doesn't find out.

─ And if we talk about a father figure… Killer, Killer acted like a responsible father most of the time, not as worried as Heat but always watching over you and above all that you didn't let yourself be influenced by some of Kid's stupidity.

─ Because Kid was like your demon on your shoulder, despite already being of an age, this man wouldn't stop being impulsive and you're an easy-to-influence teenager, so you and Kid have a sibling relationship.

─ Killer just watches the two of you while he looks disapprovingly, you can't even see his face and you already know that he is disappointed with your decisions. "You guys broke what? oh okay." a lot of passive-aggressiveness whenever he scolds you.

─ But he will always scold Kid more because he is of legal age and should be responsible, he definitely doesn't leave you alone with him because the last time you ended up drunk.

─ And despite not being of many words, he's like the presence you need by your side at certain times, someone you can turn to if something bothers you and that you know that he will be there for you.

─ Overprotective squad in general.

─ Everyone sees Whitebeard as a father, however in your eyes he is like your grandfather, because Marco had earned the position of father figure.

─ This man wanted to establish a life a few years ago, start a family etc, then one day you just arrived and he decided to take you under his wing, literally.

─ He is the least worried if you compare him with the men of the other crews, he knows that he has many people who protect you by his side, so he is calm in that aspect.

─ He will still scold you for your bad habits. "Eat slower you'll choke if you keep eating like a turkey" "Don't you have a nest to make or something? I know how to eat, I'm not Ace" "Hey!"

─ Ace may have matured a lot more but he'll still be a bad influence on you, so Marco always asks Izo to keep an eye on both of you, because the last time he left you two alone you ended up in the stomach of a sea king.

─ His chest will swell with pride if you call him 'dad' in front of people.

─ He's the kind of dad who tells all the shits that have happened to you and he embarrasses you in front of the crew just because he wanted to tell a funny anecdote about you, although he later apologizes to you if he really upset you.

─ As for a mother figure, this crew is short of such things, but the closest thing was Izo, because without a doubt, within this crew full of testosterone, he was much more elegant and careful than the others.

─ And more than anything because you could steal his makeup to use it, although you didn't know how to apply many of the things he had, he helped you with that. "Honey you're spreading the makeup wrong" "Can you teach me Izo?"

─ He taught you a lot about self defense in case someone bothers you more than necessary, like using guns, you should know how to protect yourself just in case.

─ Proud mom watching you kick ass.

[what-the-dark-has-foretold]

The Cure To My Stressful Nights Is You At My Mercy

Furuya x fem!reader

Long overdue for my dear Hades @villain-hotline based on this little drabble. I had your comment on how you needed a fic of him hunting and fucking his gf in my screenshots for so long 😭

Warnings: mdni, cnc, predator and prey themes, Furuya slaps you once, fear play?, rough sex, slight humiliation/objectification?, reader has prepped herself beforehand, the "she"s refers to her pussy btw, beginning of aftercare (it´s cut off, furuya would def draw you a bath and cook for you etc. after)

Wordcount: 800+

Your watched the door with bated breath. His steps were heavy - he was pissed, you could tell. You could hear him place his gun on the table, then the metal of his belt clicking open.

You shivered when he pulled the belt off, the leather snapping against the air.

"C´mon sweetheart, be good today." He wasn´t even trying to sound sweet to lull you into a sense of security. He was downright threatening you. Tears hung against your lashes when his steps stilled before your bedroom door. A whimper escaped you and your eyes widened. You slapped your hands on your mouth, pressing your fingers into your cheeks to prevent more sounds. But you already knew it was futile. You had already lost. A sob racked through your body when he violently pulled you out of the closet.

"There you are," he hummed, but his voice was drenched in cruelty. He held your chin tight, yanking your face upwards, forcing you to look at him. He raised his eyebrows at the pitiful sight before him.

"You already knew I had a bad day, hmm?" He gently brushed away some tears with his other hand. Then, he leaned forward, until his hot breath fanned over your wet face. "You really should have run faster, sweetheart."

He all but threw you on the bed, forcing your clothes off immediately after, fully ignoring your pitiful whimpers and cries. He was exhausted and stressed, that was all. Couldn´t you see? Didn´t you want to help him?

"I want you to scream today," he rasped against your ear, smiling when he felt you shiver underneath him. He quickly reached down to pull himself out of his pants, groaning when he pressed his length against your drooling little pussy. He chuckled. Of course she was drooling, she knows him well after all. Well enough, to tell that he needed a pretty girl to hunt down. His short messages already having told her all she needed to know as he did not even reply to your sweet "I love you" text.

His cock slid in so easily, and your back arched when he filled you with a single thrust. Furuya gave you no time to relax, immediately plunging in and out of you without care. He could smell your juices on your fingers when they desperately searched for a hold as he kept on working his hips against yours in an unforgiving pace. His mind was clouded and all that existed to him in that moment was you; the way your face scrunched up in a mix of pain and pleasure and the little yelps that escaped your glossy lips whenever he thrust in harsh and deep as if trying to bruise you on the inside too.

You had stopped fighting back, he noticed suddenly. But the way you clawed at his back, completely overwhelmed by him was enough. Either way, you were broken for him, and he was determined to fuck you up even more.

He landed a slap against your cheek, delivering the hit alongside a particularly sharp thrust into your pussy. Your eyes opened suddenly, back arching and a scream leaving your lips. His toes curled at the sound and he couldn´t stop the guttural groan escaping him. He had trouble holding himself up as he kept up his brutal pace, hands gripping your sides so tight, bruises had already started to form.

With every inward thrust, he pulled your body to meet his hips, rendering you nothing more than his little sex doll.

He didn´t think he ever loved someone this much.

His back arched suddenly, and his hips stuttered. Furuya started to drive himself into you erratically, until finally he forced himself as deep as he could get, holding you still so he could pump his cum into you with hard thrusts without you escaping him.

He let you down abruptly, your body bouncing on the mattress, but crushed only a second later under his weight.

"You´re too heavy," you all but forced out of your throat, hurting from all the screams he had drawn out of you. He shivered at the sound as he started to run his hands up and down your sides. He chuckled when the pressure on the bruises - now darkened - made you flinch and you furrowed your eyebrows.

"You´re so mean to me. And you haven´t even answered my text," you pouted.

At that, Furuya pushed himself up, until for the first time this evening he looked into your eyes with utmost fondness.

"I love you, sweetheart, you know I do." He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he kept a hand on your cheek, gently caressing your skin. "Was I too much?"

You shook your head.

"Good." He seemed relieved, nodding to himself with his soft hair a mess and a blush covering his nose and cheeks.

"And you? Are you okay?"

His eyes widened in surprise, but then he smiled.

"Of course baby," he kissed you again. "I´m always okay when I´m with you."