#THERE IS NOTHING THAT I WOULDN’T GIVE FOR JUST ONE NIGHT

[enassbraid]

HOW CLICHÉ!

Ft. Umemiya Hajime, Kaji Ren, and Kiryu Mitsuki

-> Wind Breaker boys as dating tropes !

cw) fem!reader, reader is one year younger than hiragi in umemiya’s part for clarification, kaji and his poor communication skills slight manga spoilers in kiryu’s part (umm can we get his backstory ??), allusions to cheating in kiryu’s part (srry)

UMEMIYA… but he’s your brother’s best friend

When Toma asked you what you thought of Umemiya the first time he visited the Hiragi household, you merely shrugged. “He’s alright I guess,” you replied. “I like him a lot more than some of your other friends

You only partially lied. You did like Umemiya far more than your brother’s other friends, but calling him alright was underplaying your true thoughts. He was far more than “alright.” He was sweet, charming, lively, and in your opinion, beautiful. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed it was love at first sight.

Unbeknownst to your dear brother, that meeting wasn’t going to be the last between you and his best friend.

It wasn’t wrong per say, but it wasn’t exactly right either. Sneaking around behind Toma’s back to meet up with his friend definitely robbed you of any “sister of the year” award, but who could blame you? Umemiya caught your eye, and you weren’t about to look away. It’s just a coincidence that your brother met him first. If you had met him before, it would’ve been you introducing him to his best friend.

But what started off as a casual thing soon turned into something far more serious.

You used to sneak glances at one another at the dining room table whenever he stayed over for dinner, hoping and praying that the older Hiragi wouldn’t notice the small smiles Umemiya was giving you. But now, he’s stealing short, sweet kisses from you every time Toma wasn’t looking.

Of course, he got bolder and bolder the longer he went without being caught.

“Why’re you so stiff?” Toma asked, noticing how tense you looked on the sofa. The light emitting from the TV shined on your face, making your nervous expression visible from across the couch.

Umemiya was seated between you and Toma, opting to hold the bowl of popcorn for you both to avoid any sibling clashes. At least, that was his cover-up. In reality, he just wanted to be next to you, which led to your current dilemma: trying to hide the fact that the gray-eyed boy’s lips were on yours mere seconds ago while your brother was too engrossed in the film that was playing.

Your mouth opened just to close again. You weren’t entirely sure of what to say in this situation. Toma’s eyes flickered between you and the thriller movie, assuming that there was some sort of connection between the two. “Are you waiting for another jumpscare? I’m pretty sure the one from earlier was the only one.”

Your silence prolonged, and the arm next to yours nudged you cautiously. It was quite hard to find any words right now after what just happened, but your behavior was growing suspicious.

“Uh, yeah… it just caught me off guard ‘s all,” you lied sheepishly, feeling Umemiya’s gaze lingering on your frame next to him. “I’m okay though, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

”Ah, alright then. Just checkin’.”

You saw Umemiya let out a sigh of relief, as both your anxieties faded after such a close call. You saw his risky move from a mile away, but you didn’t think he’d go as far as to use tongue. If it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t have yelped, and your older brother wouldn’t have taken his attention off of the movie. You were just lucky that Umemiya was able to pull away as fast as he did, otherwise, you both would’ve been screwed.

As much as you complained about all the close calls you’ve had, you’d be lying if you said the risk wasn’t one of your favorite things about your relationship with Umemiya.

From sneakily hiding Toma’s phone to give you and Umemiya alone time while he searched throughout the house, to making out in the kitchen in the middle of the night. None of these moments would’ve had the same thrill if it were under different circumstances.

Toma finding out about you and Umemiya’s relationship was future you’s problem. Right now, you could only worry about hiding Umemiya’s hand on your thigh beneath the thick, plush blanket the three of you shared.

KAJI… was your best friend, he just didn’t know how to admit he wanted to be your lover.

“Friends don’t do this kind of stuff,” you mumble into Kaji’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck.

He didn’t need to reply for you to know what he was thinking, ‘I know.’ The way he held you close as his leg was thrown over yours spoke for him. ‘I know this isn’t what friends do, but you're more than a friend.’

It wasn’t like he was stringing you along intentionally, but in moments like these, it sure felt like it. He knows how he feels, he knows how he thinks, and he knows he can’t put those thoughts and feelings into words without struggle. So he asks himself: why the hell does he do this to you if he refuses to admit his feelings?

Friends don’t hold hands at every chance they get, but you and Kaji always do when no one’s looking. Friends don’t fall asleep on the phone together because they can’t sleep without a fragment of each other’s presence, but Kaji calls you every night so he can sleep peacefully. Being “just friends” doesn’t mean cuddling for “no reason,” but here you and Kaji were, snuggling to your hearts’ content.

Yet that’s just a small portion of the list of things Kaji has done with you because— in his words— “you’re my best friend.”

He can feel your quiet sigh, something that causes his index finger to start tracing circles on the back of your shirt unconsciously.

”You’re still not gonna answer, huh?”

His movements stop, and he’s left to face his inner thoughts head on. He wants to answer— really, but he’s unsure of how to start. “We’ve never been just friends” is too cocky, and would dismiss any frustrations you’ve had with your relationship up until this point. If he outright admitted what he thought, that being “I don’t know what to say,” it wouldn’t end well at all. However, his heart settled before his mind could conclude its train of thought.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You quirked a brow, curious as to where he was going with this.

”I’m sorry if you thought I was leading you on,” he said softly— an unusual tone for the blonde. “I just… I can’t imagine life without you.”

”So you chose to act like we were a couple without confessing?”

”Yes— no—, it’s confusing, okay?” He admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell you how I feel… so I was waiting for you to tell me first. I know it’s not an excuse, but—“

”I was waiting for you to man-up and tell me yourself,” you interrupted, eyes widened in slight shock at the irony.

Kaji could only feel his own heart pound against his chest. Not only did he finally confess (though indirectly), but he finally knew what had been taking so long, and he felt like an idiot.

He groaned in embarrassment. “All that time, and we were wasting it on waiting for each other to speak up.”

Only a giggle could escape your lips. Kaji pulled away from the top of your head, eyes peering down at yours to feel the strength of your connection. He always stared at you— admired you, for he’s been enthralled by your beauty for years. All those times you caught him staring, he snapped his head away in the other direction, cheeks flaring red. This was different, though. He gazed at you lovingly, and you could feel all the unspoken words in the eye-contact.

”So… we’re actually together together now, right?” You queried.

He didn’t need to scramble for words to respond this time. “Yeah, together together,” he confirmed.

He always worried that you’d no longer be his best friend if he confessed. But if he could go back in time and tell his past self one thing, he’d tell him that it’s possible to have a best friend and a lover in the same person.

KIRYU… just needed a second chance

The only thing you can recall from your third year of junior high was your brief relationship with Mitsuki Kiryu.

It wasn’t something you enjoyed looking back on in the slightest. Despite being a typical, short, corny middle school relationship, the impact it had on your person was long-lasting. You believed Kiryu was your first love, and he chose to stab you in the back when you least expected it.

Everyone told you how you should’ve seen it coming, going on about how cocky guys with inflated egos were the ones to steer clear of. Of course, you ignored their warnings, and you’d go on to regret it deeply.

You couldn’t trust a soul since then. What he had done to you hurt, and there hadn’t been a day since where the wound didn’t ache. He was your first boyfriend, and likely your last for another while.

But you knew it was possible to meet the same person twice, which is what you thought you were experiencing now.

”I know it’s been awhile,” the pierced boy said solemnly. “But I need you to hear me out.”

In your eyes, the flowers in his hand were there for show. You could only roll your eyes at the desperate behavior before making an attempt at slamming the door in his face, to which he stopped with his foot and freehand.

“Please,” he pleaded.

The 15 year old in you from junior high took over, opening the door all the way and leaning against the doorframe.

“This better be good.”

”I won’t waste your time, not again.”

And he stayed true to his word.

“I know what I did was wrong— awful, even. And I know my words sound empty, but I swear I’m being genuine here. I want a redo of us. I’ve changed, I’m not the same insecure, egotistical loser who bases his worth on the amount of girls he can get,” he said with a serious tone, one you weren’t used to hearing from him.

He slowly held out the bouquet of flowers to you. “I know there’s no apology that’ll cut it… but I’d like to prove myself.”

You took the bouquet from his hand gently, noticing that they were bluebells, a deliberate choice he had to have made considering what had happened.

”Do you promise to be constant this time?”

“I promise to be anything you need me to be this time,” he replied earnestly.

You hesitated. As much as you believed him right now, no amount of flowers or apologies could make up for the hurt he’s caused you. You knew that, and so did he. Taking him back right away would bear consequences, ones you weren’t ready to face.

”Let’s take our time,” you compromised. “We can start slow, and decide on whether or not this should be official again later down the road.”

Kiryu nodded, understanding the trust that had to be rebuilt before getting back together. “That’ll be okay.”

It was gonna be painfully slow, but he was willing to prevail if it meant seeing you happy again. It’s the least he could do, and he planned to make everything up to you now and in the near future.

He made a mental note to thank Suo later for helping him choose the right flowers. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t be swooning over being with you again.

© enassbraid 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform.

[poppy-metal]

fail marriage when ur hella ovulating and you’re lonely and you miss him and you’re only separated, he’s still your husband really, so you call art. you tell him,”we don’t need to work anything out today. we don’t even have to talk. i just want to feel you. i miss touching you. i’m lonely. hang up if you’re coming over.”

you hear the line go dead and ring in your ear. you smile softly. he’s still your art. he still answers your call within one ring. he still wants you without thinking. he still needs you without caring what it means or if it will hurt him. you feel bad, guilty, but you feel so good to have him. when he knocks on your door, that special rap, you’re already waiting and open it. he spills through it, sweeping you up in his arms, embracing you before he even thinks about anything sexual.

“i love you.”

he says it without meaning to.

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

and it goes on like that. neither one of you can leave the others confession unsatisfied, unrequited. as you kissed with tongue and entire mouth, as you shed layer after layer of clothes and struggled around each other into the bedroom of your tiny apartment (normally, art was furious you lived here at all, furious you felt you should have to pay for yourself. he would pay for a bigger place, begged you to get somewhere in a safer part of town on his dime, but you wouldn’t hear it. quietly and graciously, you denied him more of you.) as you tugged and clawed and groaned and entered each other you chanted your mantra. i love you. all that shit that broke you up, none of it mattered tonight. none of it. you were his and he was yours and tonight, nothing would change that. i love you, the only true thing in the world, just for one night. and another night. and another and another and another.

u want me dead......

Its so evil of her too, it's like shes testing to see if it really is true that he wants her that badly - if he'll let her use him and hurt him by giving him her body but not her heart - art has always wanted to be a martyr for those he loves, always lets his love abuse him - and its sick you'd do that to him when you remember how he'd brought it up in therapy, back when you'd tried therapy together, how he felt like he was never good enough, but he was kind of addicted to that feeling - because its what kept him chasing for more, more, more, even if he suffered.

you'd never wanted to make your husband suffer. never in your whole time together had you wanted to inflict pain. but maybe thats where you went wrong with eachother. each of you unwilling to inflict pain on the other, unwilling to take risks, to dig your claws in, to demand things and hurt and be loud and messy and raw.

you want to hurt him now. you want to take his love and abuse it, put it to the test, push its limits to see how strong it really is - its why you walked away in the first place. nothing was gonna change between you without carnage. you'd both suffered too long in the silence of your quiet wanting for anything else to bring you back together.

you dont know how long you plan to drag it on for - how long you'll keep pushing and pushing him. until he breaks, maybe?

you're getting close to that point when you invite him over - allow him to touch you and pour confessions into your lips - but you keep your own lips tightly sealed. even if you echo it back everytime in your head, when he kisses down your body, between your legs and you almost say it, almost gasp it when his tongue rolls your hot clit in his mouth. the words are on the tip of your lips, ready to pitch over when he makes you cum around his fingers knuckle deep inside you - you're grateful when he licks into your mouth before they flow out - moan against him instead as you shatter apart in his arms, clenching and clenching around him.

"there, baby, there. cum for me - you're so beautiful, fuck - i missed this. i miss you, i love you -" and you kiss him this time, to shut him up.

your body wants his. it wants to take his cock inside her and wrap legs around him and never let him go - you want to kiss between his legs, suck him between your lips and worship him back with long pulls of your throat - you want to sink down on him, feel him stretch you out - you want him to take you roughly, push you back and yank your legs apart and growl and snarl at you for leaving him. fuck you with punishing snaps of his as he reminds you why you're meant for eachother.

but he gasps, "please. let me-"

and you come back to yourself. make yourself go cold instead of melting warm.

you push him away again, pretending the wounded fawn look he gives, he's always been such an open bleeding wound, doesn't affect you.

"you should go." you tell him instead.

you hear him inhale sharply. see suprise, and loss, and hurt and, most startilingly - anger, flash in his blue eyes. they darken. you swallow, your breath catching as you watch eachother.

he clenches his jaw. he obviously wants to push back. but he just looks away, and jerks his chin in a nod. dejected - "yeah, okay."

you deflate.

you dont look up when you hear the door close. empty fucking apartment. you'll probably cry yourself to sleep at night.

and tomorrow you'll be back to pushing. always pushing. something has to give, eventually.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I hope this is ok

Could I request hcs of Jason Todd with a s/o who enjoys giving him compliments, even when they're asleep?

Jason is soft, undoubtedly soft.

He couldn’t help the smile that grew across his face whenever you told him that he was the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your life.

It makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside that it becomes an addicting feeling that he never wants to go away.

He wasn’t use to someone showering him in adoration and unconditional love as you have done since your first date with him, sure it was something that he had to get use to as it wasn’t something he was willing to accept immediately, but after awhile Jason was practically hanging off of your every word that left your mouth like a fool in love.

You: your so perfect Jason you don’t even know it and it saddens me that you can’t see yourself how I see you because if you did then maybe you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’

Jason: 🥰🥺🫶

Day in, day out you would tell Jason exactly how you felt about him no matter what but when one night Jason heard you muttering under your breath, he becomes intrigued as to what you were saying and leant closer to you, only to hear you say;

‘You may think your broken but you are anything but my sweet Jaybirdie.’

And

‘you’re an art piece who’s true message has been misconstrued many times but that never took away from how beautiful you were.’

Needles to say Jason was this close to squeezing you tight in his arms because you were too good for him, way too good for him that made him want to keep you close to him all the more.

Jason didn’t like seeing his own refection in mirrors, it reminded him of how much of him had been taken away and never given back, but you gave him the courage to look himself in the reflective surface after your sweet words a about how you loved the way his face was structured, his jawline, his eyes, his lips, everything you admired about him you had made well known.

You give him the confidence he had been trying to cover up the lack of with sarcastic and witty comebacks and an uncaring attitude. You helped rebuilt him brick by brick to the point where Jason wasn’t ashamed of walking the apartment shitless, his scars boldly on display but he knew you’d give them nothing but love and affection; much Kim you did the rest of him.

You: your scars are just as much apart of you as your arms and legs were, they are just as deserving of love as the rest of you and there’s a lot of you left to love if you let me.

Jason: I’d let you love me for the rest of forever if you wanted sweetheart.

Jason would soon find himself staying up incredibly late just to hear you sleepily praise him with a dopey look upon his face as he brushes a knuckle across your cheek gingerly, knowing that this was the kind of love he had been looking for since he was a goin boy, a love so unconditional that you find yourself again through it; a real and pure love that would stand the rest of time.

And now he finally had it and he had you to thank for loving him for the mess that he was.

[lauriegraham01]

close to you

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: you and aaron stumble back home into bed together after a night drinking with the team.

wc: 1.2k

cw: FLUFF + some suggestive content (this was totally not based on a dream i had) chat, is it a crime to want to give SSA Aaron Hotchner the NASTIEST slob known to man?

a/n: the things that this man does to me...i deserve to be locked up

“You doing alright, honey?” Aaron’s voice comes out smooth as he raked his eyes over where you sat next to him in the backseat, curled against the window.

You had your forehead pressed against the window, letting the coolness of the glass soothe the impounding headache no doubtfully wanting to wrack itself through your brain.

“Mmm?” Groaning as you fix yourself to sit up straight you look over at him and see that playfully glint in his eye.

“See something you like, Hotchner?” The slur in your speech lets Aaron know that you have not sobered up as much as he initially thought.

“Hmmm, maybe.” Teasing. You knew the game he was playing. You rarely got to see Aaron this open and so unapologetic about being a tease. You’re always satisfyingly pleased when he throws you for a loop like this.

You and the rest of the team had been out for drinks in a bar in Adam’s Morgan, celebrating another successful case. As the team let loose, and even started dancing, you couldn’t help but release your inhibitions even as one certain Supervisory Special Agent had his eyes glued on you the entire night. Aaron wasn’t a heavy drinker, usually opting to nurse a glass of whiskey whenever he tagged along in night like these- but after you pleaded relentlessly for him to join in on the night drinking games well…it became hard to tell you no.

Which lead you to your current position. Both of you, drunk in the backseat. The corners of Hotch’s lips curl upwards as he flashes you a smile, seeming so pleased with himself.

“You’re a piece of work you know that?” Throwing him a playful eye roll, you feel his laugh vibrate through his body as you further lean into his body. He had one arm snaked around your frame, his hand settling ontop of your hip. Tightening his hold on you, he bring you further into him.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, now would you?” Aarons voice rings out even deeper as he whispered lowly into your ear. Lifting your head from where you laid it on his chest, you pull back to meet his eyes and to your amusement, you don’t miss the way they’ve darkened, something new taking over.

You note how you two are practically sharing the same air, feeling his breath softly tickle over yours as his lips were only but an inch away.

“What are you kids up to back there?” Morgan’s voice snaps you out of Hotchs’ spell. Looking through the windshield mirror, you lock eyes with an amused Derek as he doesn’t even try to hide his shit-eating grin.

“Ohhhh nothing,” you say as you lay your hand to rest on Hotchs thigh. Your thumb absentmindedly stroking his pant, your reach burning his skin even through his slacks.

“Better be nothing,” Derek chuckles, “These are fresh leather seats.”

“Would be a shame” you hum as you bring your hand higher up Hotchs lap. Fingers inching until it rested where he needed it the most.

“y/l/n-“ his voice comes out rougher than expected, clearing his throat as to mask his current plight of maintaining cover acting as if you palming his growing hard-on had no effect on him.

“Fine.” You huff in defeat, giving him one last squeeze before retreating your hand. Turning your attention to watch outside the window as if nothing has happened, you notice the familiar greenery of your driveway coming into view.

“Alright folks ,” Derek sighs as he puts his car into park. “End of the line.” Shoulder slouching as he takes note of the late hour displayed on his stereo.

“You got her, boss? Cause I-” Derek turns just in time to see Hotch attempt to fix his raked through hair.

“We’re fine, Morgan.” Hotch interrupts. “Thank you, have a good night.” The words come out jumbled together, and Hotch makes for his escape before Morgan can take note of the blush creeping up his face.

Walking around the car, your meet with the cool night air and Hotch swings your door open.

“Night babygirl!” Derek calls out as Hotch has gotten a hold of you, helping your poorly coordinated body move around.

Shutting the car door a little harder than you initially planned, you bend down to the passenger seat’s open window. Derek gives you a little wave as you smile back drunkenly at him.

“Night Derek,” you whined out.

“Be safe, pretty lady.”

“Oh I actually like when Hotch doesn’t use a c-“

“Goodnight Derek!” Hotch cuts you off, grabbing you from the passenger seat window. Wrapping an arm around you, he leads you into the direction of the front door. The sounds of Derek's howling laughter fading with each step.

After fumbling with the keys, he manages to open the door and get you inside. You've only tossed your bag into the entryway, when you feel him press you against the front door. Towering over you as he caged you in between his arms.

“You've been playing a dangerous game, y/n.” Before you've even the chance to respond he's captured your lips in a bruising kiss. Gasping at the sudden contact, he takes the opportunity to invade your mouth with his tongue. You can still taste the whiskey on his tongue as it moved with yours. Your hands crawl upwards until they tangle in his hair. With one particularly tighter tug, a moan escapes him.

Tilting his head backwards, you're able to finally catch your breath. Your lungs stinging as the cool air finally penetrate them again. As Hotch's chest rises and falls with each pant, combined with the low stare Aaron's giving you, you're arousal only seems to grow.

"I think i'll take my chances then," you let out breathlessly.

"Is that so?"

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, would you now?” Mirroring his words from earlier. He only smiles at your comment, closing the distance between you once again as he places as peck on your lips.

And another one.

And another.

"C'mon." With a tug of your hand he leads you down to your bedroom. You beeline straight towards the foot of the bed, landing with a humph. Toeing your shoes off, they clatter onto the floor as you feel Hotch's figure come closer. As you lift your head from your previous slouched position, your met with Aaron's belt buckle as it stands eye-level with you.

"Well hellooo sailor," you practically gawked at the metallic buffer, blocking the one thing that you've been craving for all night. "Finally have you all to myself."

You wrap around his buckle and tug on it only to not get any reaction.

Looking up at Aaron, you see him typing away on his phone. Texting. As if you're not staring up at him with a hungry look in your eyes.

"Aaron?"

"Yes, dear?" His fingers still happily click away.

"Aaroonn-" the whine comes out high pitch as you pull on his buckle again. Letting out a defeated huff of air, you pout as look up at Aaron. When he finally looks over to you, he can't help but chuckle at your frustrated state.

"Ohh. I know what you want." Shutting off his phone he tosses it onto the nightstand, directing his full attention to you. His hand rests on his hips. Now standing up to his full height, his crotch is even closer to your face, and you feel as though your close to cashing out and winning big for the night.

"Then give it to me, sir."

Hotch is on you in an instant. Your back hits the mattress and he has either of your wrists pinned underneath his hands. Boxing you in completely, again.

"Careful what you wish for."

[hhughes]

୨୧ ⋅ 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒﹙⠀JH86⠀﹚

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ◞ fem!wife!reader x jack hughes

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ◞ in which Jack's wife is pregnant and a little emotional.

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐜𝐰 ◞ just fluff!

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐰𝐜 ◞ 1.5K

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐚/𝐧 ◞ husband!jack has become a favourite of mine. . .

"Babe” Jack whispers.

“Hm?”

“Can you scoot over a bit?” he asks

“I’m on the edge”

He looks over his shoulder, right at the face of his beautiful wife.

“Babe, I find that hard to believe,”

“What?” you ask, a little disoriented.

“There’s no way you’re on the edge when your face is pressed into my back, your legs are tangled with mine and our child is kicking me in the back.”

“But I am,”

“You’re not,” Jack argues.

“You scoot over,”

“I can’t. I’m on the edge of our California King bed that you insisted we get because you didn’t want to touch during the night because you always get too hot. Yet, you’re laying on top of me,”

“I am not,” you complain, nuzzling closer, if that were possible. “Shh go to sleep.”

Jack sighs loudly and says, “I can’t. You’re too hot and our child is kicking me in the back.”

“Yeah well, welcome to my world buddy. Can you stop talking? I'm tired.” you say.

Usually Jack wouldn’t care. He’d deal with it because he loved you and he wanted you to be comfortable, but he needed to get up early tomorrow morning and he really needed a good night’s sleep. Jack was beyond stressed. It felt like he was always 2 seconds away from having a panic attack.

His constant worry about you was driving him insane, but then he also had hockey to think about. The Devils had just lost in the third round of the playoffs. They were so close. Jack wanted nothing more than to win and hold that cup up. But then he realised he was about to hold his baby, and that was an even greater prize.

That was if he didn’t kill you first.

Turning over, you glared at him as he popped his head on one arm, looking over her to the amount of space behind you. “Baby, we could literally fit all my teammates beside you,”

“What does that mean?” you ask frowning

“I’m saying scoot the hell over!” he says, his voice rising. “You’re burning me up!”

“I want to sleep with you,”

“You are, but just give me some space so I don’t die of heatstroke!”

“Ugh, fine.” you say annoyed and rolled over to the other side of the bed.

Jack sighs, shaking his head and lays back down. He could finally breathe, but just as he’s about to fall asleep you say, “I just think it’s messed up that you won’t cuddle with me and I’m carrying your child, which is the reason I’m burning up!”

Jack opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. Here they go again.

“Sweetheart, I love cuddling with you. But I have to be up early to do press and clean out my locker. I can’t sleep through that and I definitely can’t sleep with you burning me up and our child kicking me the whole night. I love you though, you know that right?” Jack asks, looking over at you with a soft smile.

But you were glaring, lips pursed as you glared at him. “Oh yeah, I forgot it’s so hard being Jack Hughes and you need all the sleep you can get. While I can’t sleep a certain way due to the fact that it hurts because I’m the thing your child is sucking the life out of.”

“I thought you loved being pregnant.”

“I do!” you yell and his brows go up. “That’s not the point. I’m just reminding you that I don’t get to sleep or do any of the things that I wanna do anymore, but it’s fine. I’ll sleep all the way over here without the love and support from my husband because he needs to get some sleep. God forbid you don’t get any sleep.” you mumble and Jack wants to laugh. You were being ridiculous. But before he could tell you that, you look over to him and say, “And just a friendly reminder Jack Hughes, when this baby comes, say fucking good-bye to sleep.”

“I guess I should say good-bye to sleep now, because I’m sure as hell not getting any more tonight,” Jack says, holding your gaze.

Your eyes darken a little and Jack swears he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as his wife. Even when you’re a little crazy, hostile, and 7 months pregnant, you were still hot as fuck.

“You got that right, I just wanted to cuddle,” you say rolling away from him again.

When Jack hears you sniff he can’t help but smile. The emotional rollercoaster of a pregnant wife was no joke. Reaching out, he went to cuddle with you, but you smack his hand away.

“I don’t wanna cuddle now,” you mutter

“Fine,” Jack sighs, falling back onto his own pillow. Sometimes he just really couldn't win with you.

“I just want you to know, I did want to cuddle. But that’s gone now.”

“I hear you.” Jack replies.

“And I’m very upset.”

“I got that.” he says with a sigh, rolling on his side to look at you.

“I just don’t think it’s fair. I cook, I clean, I work. And I’m carrying your child.”

“And I appreciate you more than words can ever say.” Jack says sincerely.

“Then you'd cuddle with me!” you say exasperated.

“But baby, I need sleep too. And you’re literally a furnace.”

“Well if you need sleep so badly and I’m too hot and our baby won’t stop kicking you then go sleep somewhere else!” you yell

“Seriously?”

“Yes! Go to the couch”

Surely you were joking. But then you yank the covers off him and pull his pillow from under him, throwing both on the floor. He stands up and goes to pick up his pillow.

“I need sleep and I’m too mad to sleep with you here.” you mutter

“Because I won’t cuddle with you?”

“Yes!” you yell tears streaming down your face.

“Then come here, I’ll cuddle.” he says and ducks when you throw another pillow at his head.

“No! I don’t want to cuddle anymore!” you yell

“Then let’s just go to bed.” Jack mumbles

‘No! I’m mad!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jack says with a laugh, and why he would do that would be his last thought.

“Go!” you yell.

“If I go, I’m not coming back tonight.” Jack says

“That’s fine. Maybe tomorrow you won’t mind cuddling your wife and child.”

“Sweetheart, I said let’s cu-”

“I don’t wanna cuddle!” you yell laying your head on the pillow with a sob. “I just wanted you to want to cuddle with me!”

Watching as you cried, Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He picked up his pillow and looked at you one more time. “You sure?”

“Yes. You broke my heart Jack.” you say.

He went to say something sassy back but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere so instead he said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t wanna cuddle because of the blazing heat you were putting off. I love you. Good night.”

When you don't answer, Jack chuckles as he walks out of the room. His girl was so stubborn. Heading to the couch he lays down and stares at the ceiling. Only two more months and maybe he would get his normal wife back. He was lucky that some of the guys on the team had kids and also went through this process. If not he wouldn’t know it was normal for his wife to be completely and utterly irrational about the dumbest things.

Tonight it was cuddling.

Last week, it was because he ate the last oreo.

Next week, it might be because he breathed a little too hard.

Jesus. Two more months. He could do it.

Leaning back on his pillow he closed his eyes, thankful that he chose to spend so much money to get a comfortable couch. He hopes you stopped crying. He hates when you cry. He was tempted to check but he really didn’t want you to bite his head off. Just as he was about to drift off he felt someone beside him.

Opening his eyes, he saw you standing there.

You looked adorable, hair a mess, cute pyjama shorts, cheeks flushed. Wearing one of Jack’s T-shirts that you cropped. It kinda made you look like Winnie the Pooh. Jack still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jack?”

“Yeah babe?”

“Can I lie with you?”

Chuckling to himself he scooted over as far as he could to make space for you. As you lay down your stomach presses into his and Jack wraps his arms around you, kissing you cheek.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper.

“It’s okay baby. I’m sorry too.” Jack whispers.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” Jack says kissing you again.

The next morning, when he woke up with a sore back, all he could do was repeat three words over and over.

Two more months. Two more months. Two more months.

[permanentswaps]

Fun During The Swap Flu - Post Pandemic

Two Years Later:

It’s been two years since the swap flu outbreak, and the world has mostly gone back to normal. There's a vaccine now, and swaps are rare and usually short-lived. The swap-back rate is now at about 99.97%, which the experts say is good enough.

I’d have to agree – but not for the reason most people do. As you might have guessed, I’m part of that (in my opinion very lucky) 0.03%.

If we're being honest, I pop a boner everytime I think about it.

My brother Roger has taken it hard. He’s protested nonstop, dragging us to doctor after doctor. “It’s just not fair,” he’d say, frustration clear in his voice. “We’re supposed to swap back like everyone else!”

“I know, Roger,” I’d reply, feeling a mix of guilt and helplessness. “But the doctors keep saying there’s nothing they can do.”

Each visit felt like a rerun. We’d both introduce ourselves as Jared, which left the doctors baffled. Cases like ours, where one person wanted to swap back and the other didn’t, were rare to say the least. Every time, the doctors would conclude the same: “There’s no known solution. You’re in that rare percentage where the swap appears permanent.”

Outside these appointments, I’ve hidden the truth that I’m a “long swapper.” I lied to my friends, claiming we’d swapped back. Whenever Roerg tried to reconnect, I’d tell them, “He’s struggling with being in his old body again. Can you blame him?” I’d flex my muscles playfully, and they’d laugh along with me.

Alex, one of my new friends, once remarked, “Man, you kept yourself in amazing shape. I get why he's having a hard time giving it up.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t?” I replied, flexing my arm and grinning.

In truth, even if they find a cure, I’m confident that at this point nobody would believe him to swap us back anyway.

Then there’s Arthur, that guy who was in my DMs when I first got this body. At first, I was just exploring and looking for a quick fuck. Arthur’s profile caught my eye, and his first message was direct: “Damn, you’re hot.”

“Glad you noticed,” I replied, feeling a thrill of excitement. Once I got over the paranoia of quarantine, we met up. And the chemistry was immediate. We spent hours talking and fooling around, and I found myself wanting more than just a casual hookup.

Eventually, I realized I was in Jared’s body permanently and decided it was okayto pursue a serious relationship with Arthur. One evening, after a romantic dinner, I decided it was time to take the next step. We were cuddled up in bed, the room dimly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere.

“Arthur,” I said, my voice a mix of excitement and nerves. “I’ve been thinking... I don’t want this to be just casual anymore. I want us to be official.”

Arthur’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. “You mean it? You really want to be with me, just me?”

“Absolutely,” I said, my heart pounding. “You mean so much to me. I want to make this real.”

Arthur’s response was a deep, passionate kiss. “I’ve wanted this too,” he murmured against my lips. “I’ve fallen for you, Jared. Completely.”

That night, our intimacy reached a new level. As we kissed, Arthur’s hands roamed over my body, and I felt his touch ignite every nerve. “I want you,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “I want to be inside you.”

“Yes,” I breathed, my body trembling with anticipation. “Please, Arthur.”

Arthur positioned himself between my legs, his eyes never leaving mine as he slowly entered me, filling me completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and connection. “You feel amazing,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

“You too,” I gasped, my body arching in response. He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending waves of ecstasy through me. His lips found mine in a searing kiss, our breaths mingling as we moved together.

As his pace quickened, Arthur’s hands slid up to my chest, his fingers teasing my nipples. “You like this?” he asked, his voice a low murmur filled with desire.

“Fuck, yes,” I moaned, my body responding eagerly to his touch. His fingers pinched and rolled my nipples, sending electric jolts of pleasure straight to my cock. I could feel the tension building, a tight coil ready to snap.

Arthur’s thrusts became more insistent, his hands working my nipples with expert precision. “I want to make you cum, Jared,” he whispered, his voice commanding yet tender. “I want you to cum just from this.”

“Oh God,” I groaned, my hips bucking as the pleasure became almost unbearable. “Arthur, I’m so close…”

“Cum for me,” he urged, his eyes locked onto mine. His fingers twisted my nipples just right, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside me.

With a final, powerful thrust and a twist of his fingers, the coil inside me snapped. I cried out, my body shuddering violently as I came, my cock pulsing and twitching without a single touch. The intensity of the orgasm left me breathless, my head spinning with the sheer force of the pleasure.

Arthur groaned, following me over the edge as he filled me, his body trembling with his release. He kissed me deeply, capturing my moans with his lips, and I felt a profound connection in that moment – a perfect melding of our bodies and souls.

As we lay there, our bodies still entwined, I looked into Arthur’s eyes and saw the same contentment and love I felt. “You’re incredible,” I panted, my heart still racing. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Arthur smiled, brushing his lips over mine. “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” he murmured, his eyes shining with affection.

---

Our relationship continued to grow, and soon Arthur’s work contract was nearing its end. “I have to move back to Buenos Aires,” he said one evening over dinner. “But I want you to come with me.”

“Buenos Aires?” I echoed, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “What would I do there?”

“There’s nothing tying you here, right?” he asked, squeezing my hand. “We can start fresh there. You can find work, and we can build a life together.”

“I’m ready for this adventure,” I said, a thrill of excitement running through me. “Let’s do it.”

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of preparations. I got a new passport, and we packed our bags, each item a reminder of our life here and a promise for the new one we were about to build. The night before our flight, we lay in bed, wrapped around each other, the anticipation electric between us.

“Tomorrow, everything changes,” Arthur whispered, his fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “Are you nervous?”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted, my hand resting on his. “But I’m also really excited. I can’t wait to start this new life with you.”

Arthur’s eyes sparkled in the dim light. “You’re going to love Buenos Aires. The culture, the energy – it’s intoxicating. And I can’t wait to show you everything.”

Our lips met in a slow, passionate kiss, and soon we were lost in each other again, our bodies moving in a rhythm that had become so familiar and yet still so thrilling. That night, Arthur made love to me with an intensity that spoke volumes about his feelings. As he thrust into me, his hands roamed my body, his touch both tender and possessive.

“I want you to remember this,” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. “I want you to feel me with you as we start this new chapter.”

“I will,” I gasped, my body arching into his touch. “I’ll always remember this.”

As Arthur moved inside me, his hands found my nipples, teasing and pinching them in a way that sent shivers of pleasure through me. I felt my orgasm building again, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust. “Arthur,” I moaned, my voice breathless. “I’m so close…”

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice husky with desire. “Cum for me, Jared.”

With those words, I let go, my body surrendering to the pleasure. The orgasm that followed was intense and overwhelming, a perfect culmination of our connection. Arthur held me close as we came together, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating in unison.

As we lay there, spent and satisfied, I knew I had made the right decision. Buenos Aires was just the beginning of our adventure, and I couldn’t wait to see where it would take us.

[igetnosleep]

Comfort

My attempt at a Leon Kennedy x reader fluff angst fic I hope people like it??? give me some pointers if you can I'd really like to hear people's thoughts on this (I imagined Rookie Leon and Vendetta Leon for this one)

Leon couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, of seeing you go and leaving him, vivid nightmares that stuck with him since that night in raccoon city, that hope of starting a new life, went up in flames as he had to survive a city that was practically falling apart around him. 

He met you in the police station. He had his gun up hearing a noise around the corner only to narrowly dodge a pipe being swung aimed for his head. Leon found you there standing fearfully holding a pipe in your hands. 

“Hey it’s okay.” He put his gun back into its holster and held his hands up. Maybe it was the smell of desperation or the hope that you would put your weapon down but you relaxed somewhat at the sight of him. “You’re normal?” You had asked with a distrustful look in your eyes. He nodded “I just got here.”

He watched as that hope died in your eyes and you rubbed your face “You’ve got to be shitting me.” He tried not to take it personally. “None taken.” he muttered.

You had ended up in the police station during the outbreak and now sat next to him holding your throbbing head in frustration “It was insane my friend was just normal then some crazy fuckhead bit her then all of a sudden everyone started going batshit insane!” as you vented he couldn’t help but take a hold of your hand mostly to make sure you wouldn’t start swinging the pipe all willy nilly but you seemed surprised that it managed to shut you up.

You just stared at him like he just told you a weirdly personal fact about himself. “What?” he questioned “Nothing just…I’m not used to that.” He prodded your reaction when he squeezed your hand and you didn’t pull away. He was glad at least he could hold your hand.

You did look cute in your own right maybe because you look like you hadn’t hit a growth spurt since your junior year of high school and now you are left at a head smaller than him. It made him feel a bit better about himself. 

Finding a way out of the police station and hearing you complain about “Stupid puzzles” made him think you weren’t the brightest person out there. “It’s not my fault.” you would argue “I like mysteries, I just don’t have the patience for puzzles.” 

He smiled and took your hand. 

You both came out different. Him too broken and paranoid and you clingy and fearful the both of you always looking over your shoulder. He wanted to keep you safe.

September 30, 1998. The day he’d never forget. 

The day his life went to hell.

The day he met you.

Waking up in bed always felt welcomed and safe.

What he’d do to keep it that way maybe burn the world down but that would ruin how you’d see him. The endless amount of booze and his need for your comfort was almost pathetic you’d told him yourself. 

He didn’t want to give it up.

The nightmares become fuzzed out from the burn of the liquor in his throat. He could take his anger out on you and you and your endless patience would always step barefoot on broken beer bottles just to hold his face in your hands staring at him like you would at a useless object that you would keep for the sake of keeping it.

He’d always apologize “‘m sorry.” he’d murmur into your neck while hiding away from the peeking sunlight, “I know.” you’d say in a small voice holding onto him and kissing his cheek. Then would come the usual talk.

“You need to quit.” 

“I know.” “I mean it Leon.” Leon, not Le or Leo. Leon. You were using his government name.

He couldn’t be mad at you. This was coming from a place of love. He sighed, kissing your cheek watching as you crinkle your nose at the smell of booze in his breath “I know you do, sweetheart.” He watched you pout and sigh feeling you stroke his cheek feeling the stubble on face.

Leon could remember how you were when he first saw you. Ready to swing at the first sign of danger. Ready to tug at his arm and point the other direction “It’s a shortcut!” or “No, we're going this way.” you’d say. If he’d protest you’d tap your foot impatiently until he relented.

You do the same thing waiting for him to stop looking at the clothes at a Walmart store. You’d huff in an exasperated voice “You don’t need another shirt, Le, you’ve got dozens!” you were right but you liked to use them.

“Think I need to shave?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips as your thumb traces over his bottom lip. “No.” You seemed to shuffle closer despite the smell of liquor in his breath, you kissed him softly. “I like it.”

Leon felt himself melt in your arms breathing in the smell of the soap you used. He kissed your shoulder squeezing you closer. “I have work, you know?” “No you don’t.” he denied you that freedom for now you were his in this warm bed. You weren’t going anywhere. He’d tie you up if he had to.

You didn’t seem to fight it, only playfully rolling your eyes and snuggled closer burying your face into the crook of his neck.

Maybe he would give up drinking for you. You were worth everything and more to him.

He didn’t want you to sit there and watch him waste away.

The DSO and the government hurt him more times than he can count making him work through every bit of hurt that made him turn to the bottle and shout at you more times than you could handle.

Yet here you were gaze always on him soft and too understanding, holding his hand like your life depended on it because it did.

You needed him more than you wanted to admit. You couldn’t leave him. He was every bit of ugly and hurt like you were having been through hell and understood what he went through. 

Many nights spent holding on to one another amidst the nightmares, the ones that had you waking up in cold sweat, breathing heavily like you’d just run a marathon, and chugging a bottle of water like you’d never had water before in your life, he was there. 

Placing a kiss on your forehead, moving the hair out of your face and rubbing soothing circles on your back.

There to stay.

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 4! Now on Ao3!

part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4

I have not slept in A While because meds are meds so I don't know if this makes sense! Let's Go!!!

And shout out to these people for making me happy stim by requesting to be tagged! I hope this chapter is worthy of such an honor lmao:

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

Ghost doesn’t know why he continued to give offerings to the god. He should have stopped when he had the chance, but he didn’t. Flowers, jewelry, rocks he thought looked cool, even an entire wallet he stole from a soldier who got on his nerves; It all went on the offering table. 

Something had changed. He doesn’t know what, but there was a difference. And not knowing was terrifying. Ghost liked to compartmentalize, to think things through and sort them into organized boxes. Decluttering the unknown was how he stayed sane.

If there is a problem, do not panic, just figure out what you can do. And if you can do nothing, then you have no reason to panic. The rigid line of thought was the only way he could trick himself into thinking he had any control over his life, that fate hadn’t already woven her strings.

So how do you think through something beyond your comprehension?

Try as he might, he could not and would never be able to truly understand divinity. There was no rationale he could apply to Soap that didn’t make his ears ring. It was all well within arms reach but firmly out of his grasp.

He shouldn’t continue to show patronage to something so unpredictable, so volatile.

“Besides,” Soap said, making eye contact once more. He grinned. It didn’t look human. “I’m not letting you go that easy.”

And yet, every night he would take his dinner to whatever lousy altar he’d created and sit down to eat with an entity that could kill him without raising a finger, would eat and talk to him like they were friends. He’s not sure of when he lost his fucking mind, but it was certainly long gone.

Everything about the god terrified him. It was ancient, domineering over one of the most prevalent parts of humanity. Everything had to die someday, and at the end of it all, Soap would still be there, even as it died too.

So when he appeared behind Ghost at a bookstore of all places, he damn near shit himself. 

He just wanted a book to occupy his time between battles, a distraction from the boredom of downtime. It was the same town as before, barely a few weeks since their impromptu meeting in the temple. He had been perusing the shelves and grabbed a book that caught his eye, some book about the history of the town, and was reading the back of it when someone was very suddenly right next to him.

“Anything interesting?”

Ghost flinched, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there as he turned to face the person who somehow got the jump on him. And just like everything else with the god, he doesn’t know how he knew that the person was Soap in disguise.

He looked nothing like the renditions he’d seen of the god; The man before him was short and had pale skin, light brown hair, and brown eyes. He looked about as non-descript as a human could get. Yet, he still knew that the man was no man at all, but a god that came from the heavens just to make his life miserable.

“Why are you here?” Ghost was too on edge and confused to put the fearful respect in his tone that he normally used when speaking to the god.

“I just came here to look for books, the same as you,” he replied, trying to keep a straight face and play it earnestly but smiling far too much.

Ghost didn’t dignify that with a response, continuing to stare down at him, book still in hand.

Soap sighed, “Alright, alright Mr. Grumpy, maybe I wanted to talk to you again.”

Ghost asked, “Why?” But he realized that probably wouldn’t get him the answer he wanted, “What do you need to talk about?” He was hoping to cut through the small talk and jump right to the essentials.

“I said want. Not need.” Soap corrected. When Ghost looked even more exasperated, he whisper-shouted, “I’ve been stuck in limbo for who the fuck knows how long! I need stimulation! Interaction! Conversation! Anything!”

Oh, gods above, this is the worst torture the god could have devised. He’d rather take eternal pain and misery over becoming a chatty god’s only conversation partner. Fuck, he’s done a lot of bad shit, but nothing to deserve this!

The god grabbed the book out of his hand from where he was still standing petrified and dumbfounded. Soap looked at the book, hummed, and then began browsing the aisle himself.

Soap mused aloud, “I’m not surprised you’re a history nerd… Is there anything else here that’s more interesting?”

A few weeks ago, the god had been so weak he could barely conjure a physical form, now he was in a bookstore to make fun of him?

“The god of death is calling me a nerd with shit taste.” Ghost hadn’t meant to vocalize that thought, but he was still trying to mentally catch up. 

It seemed to catch the god off guard as well, with him snorting as he tried to cover his mouth to stop from laughing, “I didn’t mean ye’ have shit taste, I meant history isn’t an interesting read when you lived through it.”

And at Ghost’s core, he was nothing if not a pain, so even as he was scrambling to figure out what was happening, he pointed out, “But you weren’t alive. You said you were in limbo.”

“Okay, smart-ass. Alive, limbo, whatever. I need a story — one I haven’t heard before.”

“Do you even know how to read?”

His accent became thicker with indignation, “‘Course I do!” 

“This language?” Ghost asked, gesturing to the shelves.

Soap immediately responded, “Ye—,” he cut himself off, looking at the book he grabbed from Ghost. It was upside-down and he twisted his hand awkwardly to have it back upright, squinting at it as he answered, now positive, “Yeah!”

Ghost mumbled, “Hmm, I figured you’d only be able to read dead languages.”

That one got a full laugh out of the god, he desperately tried to quiet his chuckles before they were told off for being too loud. Ghost isn’t sure why, but he felt oddly proud.

Soap was still smiling in an effort to stop laughing as he said, “That would make sense I suppose.” It seemed that not being able to laugh only made the situation funnier, huffing air out of his nose in a quiet giggle. “Well! What book would you suggest?”

Ghost pointed to the other side of the bookstore, “I’d suggest you stop looking in the non-fiction section.”

Soap looked around, muttering a curse under his breath. Seeing where Ghost had pointed, Soap grabbed his hand and dragged him along. Ghost was too surprised by the sudden contact to fight it, which was probably for the best. He may love his personal space, but he loved not getting smote even more. 

“Okay, well, now what book would you suggest?” Soap repeated himself, this time not bothering to browse the shelves as he looked at Ghost for a recommendation. 

Sighing in resignation, “What genres do you like?” If he could get this done with quickly enough, he might still have some time to himself before he had to return to camp. 

“I don’t know. All of them I guess.”

He is not going to get this done with quickly enough to have some time to himself before he has to return to camp.

Ghost let out an even longer sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose before coming to a solution. The store had their books sorted by genre, so it would be easy enough to grab one or two from each and then get Soap to pick one. 

The god of death’s personal shopper. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Luckily for both of them, Ghost has had an exorbitant amount of downtime and knew of a few popular ones that weren’t complete garbage. Death seemed content to trail behind him as he picked out the books, admiring the simple building.

The store had large windows facing west, golden light stretching over the shelves and reaching across the floor to tell Ghost how much time he was wasting. The smart thing would have been to just grab a random book, sing its praises, and hope he didn’t get called out on his bullshit. Of course, that would require being smart, so instead Ghost went through almost the entire fiction section, ending with a total of seven books. 

The stack of books was ridiculously tall as he set them down on a table at the back, intending to explain them to Soap and let him pick a couple. 

“This is everything, one book each from most of the genres.” Ghost backed away when Soap stepped closer, looking like an owl as he turned his head sideways to read the spines. Ghost gave up trying to understand the god. 

He pointed to the one on top, “This one is—“

“Fantastic! I’ll take them all,” Soap said, completely ignoring what Ghost was about to say. 

“What?”

“I’ll take them all!” Soap repeated, as if he hadn’t been clear enough the first time. He grabbed the stack of books, adding the one he’d snatched from Ghost to the pile as he walked to the counter.

“But… You don't have any money…” Ghost’s quiet protest went unheard as Soap walked away. He had a small existential crisis as he wondered what mistake he made that led him to this exact moment. He decided the mistake was being born as he followed after the god of death, knowing he probably wouldn’t have enough to cover the books.

Soap set down the books next to the cash register and gleefully asked, “How much for all of these?”

The shopkeeper looked a little surprised at the size of the stack but began checking them and adding up the cost. Even without seeing the number, Ghost was already bemoaning having to explain to a divine being how the economy and poverty work.

But apparently, Soap wasn’t done confusing him as he grabbed a wallet out of his pocket and began pulling out credits as the shopkeeper gave the total. 

At first, Ghost checked his own pocket thinking Soap had managed to steal his wallet and was in for a rude awakening when he found out Ghost was broke, but his wallet was still there. He wasn’t going to ask in front of the shopkeeper where he got it, but curiosity was eating at him. 

Ghost stared at the wallet. He recognized it vaguely but didn’t know from where. It was only when Soap was putting it away that he realized it was the one he’d stolen from that annoying soldier and offered to the god.

And who said your misdeeds come back to haunt you?

Once the books were all bagged, Soap gestured towards it and Ghost sighed as he grabbed the paper bag, supporting the bottom as it was lifted off the counter. Mirroring the same motion, Ghost gestured towards the door. Part of him was curious if the god would pop back out of existence when he walked into the light like he did last time.

Ghost whispered once they were far enough away, “You know I stole that wallet, right?”

Soap snorted, “That’s what made it one of my favorites.”

Ghost let go of the handles of the bag, only holding it from the bottom, and opened the door for Soap. Soap nodded in thanks like everything that had transpired over the last two or so hours was a normal interaction. 

Fortunately, the god did not vanish upon stepping outside, disproving his theory.

No, it was unfortunate. He wanted this to be done with. He didn’t want to keep talking to Soap.

His mouth didn’t seem to get the memo as he started to ask, “Why did you actu—”

“Ghost!”

The shout from someone behind him immediately sucked out any positive feelings he had. His usual glare was back as he turned to face the voice. There were two soldiers, a miserable little search party that looked disgusted at even having to go near Ghost.

“The General needs you for something.”

Of fucking course he does. He risked a glance to where Soap had been standing, unsurprised to see that he’d vanished. Ghost didn’t give them a verbal answer, just glared at them until they both began shifting where they were standing.

He felt a little relieved at being able to put the threatening tone back in his voice as he informed them, “I’ll be back before dinner.”

The one that spoke before looked to his partner and tried to forcefully say, “He needs you now.”

Ghost stepped closer, looming over them as he repeated, “I said I will be back before dinner.” He waited a moment, making sure they were properly threatened before he turned around and walked in the opposite direction of camp.

“Why were you at a bookstore?” One of them called out, almost accusatory as if it would stop him from leaving. He had forgotten about the rumor that he couldn’t read; He doesn’t know how it started, but it was a favorite amongst his fellow soldiers.

“What bookstore?” Ghost yelled back, not bothering to turn around.

The forest looked beautiful in the orange light of the setting sun. He was heading back to the temple, not because he missed Soap, but because it was the only place they wouldn’t be able to find him. If he really was needed, there would be soldiers crawling all over town searching for him.

He didn’t like going somewhere so secluded without his sword, but it was back at camp and he was not going back yet, wanting to piss off the general as much as he could. He hadn’t wanted to walk into the village with such an obvious weapon on his hip out of respect for the residents, but now it meant he only had a hunting knife to defend himself with. Nothing to sneeze at, obviously, but he would have felt a lot more comfortable making the hike through the forest with a heavier weapon.

A chill began to take hold as the sun dipped below the horizon. A cold front came through a few days prior that made sure the days were a lovely charming example of the upcoming fall weather and that the nights were frigid enough to make anyone regret not being on a tropical island.

He made the trek much quicker this time, now knowing the path. Which was a very good thing as the shadows grew stronger as he made his way through the trees, trying to make him trip on roots that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

When he got to the temple, he set the bag down and made quick work of gathering a small amount of firewood and kindling with the last of the waning sunlight, the chill turning into a freezing wind. His fingers shook slightly as he made a small campfire near the empty doorway to the right of the statue, paranoid about proper ventilation even with all of the cracks in the roof.

Using the light to see, he pulled down some of the vines, setting both them and the greener wood near the fire. Hopefully, they would dry quickly enough to be used later in the night. He quickly sorted through the books, taking them out and setting Soap’s collection to the side. 

He was trying to read the first page of his book when Soap appeared again. He didn’t look up as he greeted, “Good evening.”

“I do not like the way they treat you.” The god was blunt and Ghost couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the amount of simmering anger the god held over what was a standard interaction for him.

“No?” Ghost asked, wondering why being told to return to camp was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

But he may have underestimated Soap’s anger as the god answered, “No. They don’t get to speak to you like that.” The sentence was punctuated by the campfire flaring slightly, the flames suddenly rising higher, illuminating more of the temple before they rescinded.

Ghost looked up at that, moving the book away to stop it from getting singed. He was not ashamed to admit that he was nervous, he just would never tell Soap that. To have him suddenly swap from someone friendly and charming to an undeniably pissed-off god was alarming.

“Uh—”

“They treat you like a fucking dog and can’t even speak to you with a shred of respect?”

The god’s form was flickering. This is what Ghost wanted, to know the tipping point for the god, but he wasn’t sure if this was the scenario in which he wanted to find out. He’d prefer for it to have been on the battlefield, the god having lost its patience with protecting him, not next to a campfire in his own temple.

“Soap—”

“Why do you fucking stay? They have no fucking right!”

The flames flared again and Ghost grabbed the handle of his knife. Just like the last time he was at the temple, he knew it would do nothing, but he could at least find comfort in the lie.

Soap noticed the movement, making eye contact. Soap was still breathing heavily and Ghost was doing the same, albeit for very different reasons. The god heaved a sigh, slouching over as he covered his face with his hands.

Once more, despite all rationale screaming otherwise, Ghost stayed. There was a long silence, the only noise being the crackling of the fire and the whistling of the wind. 

The god was sitting with his legs crossed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands propped up his head. He was still staring at the ground when he asked, “Why? Why do you stay?”

“It’s complicated.” 

Soap looked unimpressed, “No, it isn’t.”

“No,” Ghost agreed. “But it’s a story I don’t like to tell.”

The god let out a long breath like he was trying to calm himself down as he rubbed at his eyes, “Didn’t you say you’d be back for dinner?”

“I lied. Late morning at the earliest.” Soap chuckled, much more tinged with defeat than it had been a few hours ago. The silence was back and Ghost hesitated before grabbing his book again.

“Thank you.”

Ghost wasn’t expecting that and felt a bolt of panic strike through him, not knowing what the god was thanking him for. 

Soap gestured towards the stack of books, “For humoring me today. I haven’t laughed in a long time. Thank you.”

The somber tone settled over him, the emotional whiplash from the past ten minutes alone was enough to make his head spin. Unsure of what else to say, he stuttered, “You’re welcome.” It sounded a lot more like a question than he intended.

Soap nodded and let his head fall again. 

And, just like that, he was gone, fading away with the wind. He stared at where the god sat, ruminating over his words. When he came back to the present, he saw that the books were gone as well.

He would have laughed, Death having grabbed his haul of books and scurried off in the breeze, but the honesty behind the god’s not-quite confession weighed on him. He tried to read, but was only flipping pages as his eyes ran over the words, not taking anything in.

He’s been in this situation before, waiting out time to piss off the general and he knew how it went. Sleep wasn’t an option; He always found something to occupy himself with to stave off the inevitable boredom. He was lucky to have a book this time, but try as he might, he couldn’t focus on it.

He gave up on reading and instead turned his focus to the campfire in front of him. He added another log carefully, taking care to not smother any of the other sticks. He didn’t have much fuel and he’d need to make it last until sunrise. 

Ghost woke up to light streaming in through the open doorway and birds chirping obnoxiously loud. He grumbled and tried to go back to sleep before remembering that he was never supposed to be asleep in the first place.

He tried to get up quickly, to stand to attention and scan for any threats or changes that indicated someone had come in during his nap. Instead, he sat up slowly, having to prop himself up on his arm to not lie back down.

His fire was miraculously still burning. The temple looked the same, there weren’t any assassins hiding in the corners, and his stuff hadn’t moved. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to remember that he never went to sleep with a blanket or pillow, yet now had both.

Instead of thinking about that, he stood slowly, his joints popping along the way. He yawned as he gathered his stuff, smothering the fire and folding up his bedding. Still not even half awake, he dropped the pillow and blanket at the base of the statue.

He grumbled out what was meant to be an expression of gratitude, but he’s not sure he got any of the syllables out. Taking as deep of a breath as he could to try to wake himself up, he began the walk to the river. 

It’s a miracle he didn’t get lost as he stumbled through the woods, listening for the sound of rushing water. When he finally got to it, he was sure to avoid getting too close to the slippery bank, not feeling like drowning so early in the morning.

He walked over the ramshackle bridge that crossed the river and led into camp in the early afternoon. Just like last time, most of the soldiers quieted upon seeing him. And, just like last time, the general came stomping out of his tent, though this time significantly angrier

“I need you to listen to me carefully,” he began, seething with so much anger over Ghost’s disobedience that he was twitching. “I am going to give you ten seconds to explain yourself. If you do not have a good reason for why you went AWOL, you are going to wish you had never been born, am I understood?” 

Ghost had mastered the voice of false innocence and remorse, “I’m sorry General, I wasn’t paying attention and got delayed by an hour.”

“An hour?” The general had a deceptively calm tone, one that spoke of being on the edge of doing something drastic. But the general was no god and Ghost had no qualms about giving him a shove.

“Yes sir, I know I said noon. I’m sorry for being late.” Ghost hung his head like he was ashamed. He was already mapping out a lie to explain why he arrived almost a full 24 hours after the search party said he would.

“Noon?” The general asked. Both of them were playing a very dangerous game, weaponizing an unstable but calm facade and putting on a little show for the rest of camp to sit back and watch.

“Yes sir.”

“I was told that you said you’d be back before dinner.”

Ghost lifted his head and glanced around, furrowing his brow in faux confusion, “Before dinner? No sir, I was trying to hunt for something to bring back to camp. They caught me right before I went into the forest; I might have said I was trying to find something for dinner, but I knew it would take me much longer than that.” Oh, how Ghost loved gaslighting.

The general’s lip curled, thinking he found a thread to pull, “Do you normally go hunting at night, son?” The words were full of poison, but Ghost already had an excuse.

“No sir, I looked for tracks yesterday afternoon, set up camp, and woke up early this morning to hunt. Unfortunately, I was no—”

“He’s lying!” One of the soldiers shouted, walking closer and shaking off his friend trying to pull him back. “He was walking out of a store! He wasn’t hunting!” Ah, that must be one-half of the search party.

Now emboldened, the other half approached from the stables, and joined in, “Yeah, he was leaving a bookstore with some guy.”

Uh-oh, that’s not good. He didn’t realize that they saw Soap. 

He was trying to figure out if he should outright deny it or try to claim that he, the notorious loner, had made a friend in town. A friend that just so happened to leave that day so they couldn’t ask for him to verify Ghost’s story. Hmm…

“What? No, he was alone.”

Never mind, that’s perfect; Only one of them saw Soap.

The two began arguing over whether or not Ghost had been alone and Ghost “timidly” chimed in, “Bookstore?”

The first one that had spoken paused his argument and turned back to the general, “He even had a shopping bag!”

Adding fuel to the flames of their anger, Ghost made a point of looking at his hands to show they were empty. He gently corrected like he was just trying to help the two remember, “I was walking out of a general store. Alone. I needed berries for bait.” 

The rest of the camp gave odd looks to the search party, the rumor of his inability to read not helping their legitimacy. Now he just had to hope they didn’t ask why he didn’t have any camping or hunting supplies aside from a small bag. 

The general looked more irritated than irate, “That’s enough. All three of you are being punished for insubordination. For now just get the hell out of my sight until tomorrow morning.”

Ghost tried not to smile too wide as he nodded and walked away, very happy that the general reached his limit before more glaring holes could be poked in his story. The other two looked offended at getting punished with him, one standing slack-jawed as the other even tried to argue before getting dragged away by his friend before he could dig himself a deeper grave.

Ghost was going to be punished regardless of what he did or when he returned, but dragging the other two down with him was well worth it. Plus, the rest of the camp would now think they were liars as well who tried and failed to get him punished.

All in all, it was a rather successful trip to the bookstore.

…

Had he been paying more attention, thinking more clearly, he might’ve thought to hide his tracks, to not leave an obvious trail to where’d been, to hide the evidence of his time spent at the temple of the god of death.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Night Moves 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, stealing, crime, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

The music hazes and the lights blur. You’re not drunk, you never drink much on your night out, only pretending to sip the cocktails men buy you. No, you’re mindless from the man beneath you. Your walls clench around him and you let out a moan. 

You’re achy from how long he’s been inside you. Still, he hasn’t cum. He stopped fucking you a while ago. He just keeps you on his lap, thrusting ever now and again to make you twitch. As you think of it, he does it and you brace the table to keep from keeling over. 

The coloured lights flash in a strange pattern and he tickles your sides. He leans forward, his head next to yours as his sultry breath speckles across your skin. He reaches between your legs and flicks your cunt. 

“Last call, sweetheart,” he eases you off of him and you whimper.  

He slides you onto the seat next to him and you whimper as he tucks himself into his briefs. You grab your purse and he reaches to grip your wrist. You gulp and look him in the eyes. They’re as blue as the ocean. 

“I didn’t say we’re done,” he lifts a brow, “don’t make me chase you.” 

He lets go and sits back, zips up, and buckles his belt. His chest rises and falls and he peers around confidently. He’s so damn brazen. He was buried inside you for at least an hour, sitting there balls deep, and he can only smirk. 

“Come on,” he stands and snaps his fingers. 

You stand and sidle out from behind the table. He quickly catches up to you as you face the thinning dance floor and slings his arm around your back. He walks you between the drunken bodies. 

“Am I under arrest?” You ask. 

“That wouldn’t be much fun,” he grits as he strides on. 

You’re quiet. You won’t push it. You still have hope you won’t be headed down to the station. You can’t afford the fine to get out, even after all you took that night. They’d confiscate it anyway. 

“What’s a girl like you doing lifting wallets?” He asks as you pass through the front doors into the cool night air.  

You scoff as your heels clack on the pavement, “gotta eat.” 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he hums, “look at you,” he does just that, glancing over, “any man would hand over his salary just for a night with you.” 

You snicker sardonically, “hah, you men... you all assume it’s so easy for women. That any one of us can just get by on our looks. You think this hair is free, this lip gloss?” 

“Sweetheart, I’m not assuming, I’m telling you,” he keeps you walking. 

“Sure, whatever, “ you shake your head. “You’re right, I’m gonna change my ways, sir, and find me a rich old man and let him fuck me til his heart gives out. Maybe then, I’ll get a taste of his fortune.” 

He chuckles and stops you by the curb, just beside a dark blue sportscar, “where do you live?” 

“What?” 

“Where do you live?” he asks slower. 

You blink, “Oxbury.” 

“How many rooms?” 

“Huh?” 

“Answer the questions.” 

You huff and look away, “it’s a bachelor loft. Everything’s in the same room.” 

“How much do you pay?” He prompts. 

“What does that matter? Are you going to arrest me or can I go?” 

“Sure, you can go after you answer my questions,” he insists. 

This is surreal. Only minutes ago he was inside you. You were shameless sitting on his dick and now he’s interrogating you about where you live. 

“Two grand. It’s a rip off but nothing’s cheap around here.” 

He narrows his eyes, nodding as he pokes the tip of his tongue out. 

“I’ll give you double. Just for tonight.” 

“I’m a thief, not a prostitute,” you frown. 

“That’s not what I’m...” his cheek dimples and his lashes flick, “not just tonight. Tomorrow. I’ll find you a new place. Something nicer. Something with big windows.” 

You shake your head in confusion, “what do you mean?” 

“We’ll get you settled and when we come back here,” he steps closer and reaches around your neck to check the tag on your dress, “I’ll have you in Gucci.” 

You search his face as he steps back. He’s arrogant and certain. You’re not. You’ve been caught out and you can’t afford to say no. But what if you do? 

“Do I have a choice?” You voice your doubt. 

“Not really,” he exhales, “there’s two options; my place or the station.” 

You close your eyes and cringe. That’s about what you expected. You flutter your lashes open and wet your lips. 

“It wasn’t bad. We both know it wasn’t. I still got your cum on me,” he tugs at his belt, “and I’m backed up. You can’t leave me like this.” 

Your cheeks burn. As much as you want to say no, on principle, on what little pride you still have, he makes you tingle. You tried it with the wrong man but there’s something right about him too. You can’t remember the last time you orgasmed that wasn’t off something battery-powered. 

“How do I trust you?” 

“I could ask you the same,” he counters. “This isn’t trust, it’s convenient. You need money, you deserve money. Luxury. Girl like you, shit, whew, I’ll make sure you got everything those tricky hands could never steal. You just gotta keep me happy.” 

It still feels wrong. You’re still selling yourself. Yet, it isn’t exactly your worst option. Jail or sugar baby? It’s obvious but difficult nonetheless. 

“Do I have to say it out loud?” You ask. 

He grins, “well, I’d like to hear it. Come on, my ego needs it.” 

You arch your brow and cross your arms, “alright, I’ll do it. Deal.” 

[angstigone]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲 (𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲) (𝟒/𝟒)

the title is a lyric from the song 'give me everything' by pitbull (feat ne-yo and afrojack)

𝗚𝗼𝗷𝗼 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗼𝘂 𝘅 𝗛𝗮𝗶𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮! 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝗔𝗨)

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 (𝟭): 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲 (𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱) 𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝟐) 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮) 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝟑): '𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐧𝐨𝐭) 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝟒): 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 (𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞)

(A/N): hello there, lovelies!

not going to lie, I am not utterly contented with how this was solved as I feel like it might leave out a few questions but what can we do?

also small reminder: after this, you'll get a nanami story after this and I have a poll going on the profile to decide on which stories to focus, although it's very likely that after posting the first chapter of the nanami fic, I'll take a bit of a break from this au and focus on my two other series!

with this being said, as always: if you enjoyed this, pls consider leaving a reblog or a comment as those sure get me writing better and faster!

tagging, @ffsg0jo and @arcielee

have a lovely day!

SUMMARY: everybody seems to agree on one thing: you and your husband needs to talk.

«You know that he doesn’t mean it as well as me». You shook your head, trying to gently reel in the tears, as you had only begun not to cry about this. «He… he thinks that we are nothing» you still uttered shyly «… and I am inclined to agree as we never knew each other».

WARNINGS: slight angst, suggestive, regency ay; period-typical misogyny, haibara being a good brother - finally, mention of alcohol consumption and puking, slight toxic behavior, she/her pronouns, afab characters.

«You look grim».

Satorou regarded Suguru on the other side of the table at the gentleman’s club they had met in with a slight look of dread and sarcasm as if to say ‘you think so?’.

He had been grumbling in a corner the whole night, which had felt like the perfect way of wallowing in self-pity and existential dread till the little alcohol he had consumed dulled him out.

Maybe if he drank enough, he’d have forgotten about you not only being Lady Murasaki but also now knowing that he had lied to you about his inability to conceive. 

He knew that the words he had spoken to you had been harsh and hurt your feelings as you hadn’t eaten dinner the following night, with Haina kindly informing him that you wouldn’t have joined him down for the meals.

You hadn’t shown up also at breakfast the following day, when Gojo had come in passing to the dining hall to know how you felt.

Still as hurtful as the discourse might have been, it wasn’t just you who had been the target of Gojo’s fury as his bitter words had been also direct to himself.

Your secrets had inevitably torn you apart and now you were to pay the consequences, you stuck in your room and to leave for your family estate in a few days and stay there to help your mother with organizing a family celebration of sorts and him standing in a dingy gentleman club with more alcohol than he had ever confused, in so little time.

«You say so?».

His words were slurred and even in his hazed state he knew that Suguru’s eyes flashed with worry for but a moment before they recovered his usual amused expression.

«… it’s just… I have been having problems with… with my lady».

«Lady Haibara?.

Aas if there could ever be another lady apart from you in Gojo’s heart. 

Maybe that’s why your betrayal hurt so much and why he felt like he had lost your trust the moment that your eyes had flashed with worry when you had confronted him about his lies.

«… did… did she… so, she told you after all».

Even in his slurred state, he couldn’t help but be slightly startled at Suguru’s comment, which might have as well been without a doubt meaning anything else, but it’d have been a coincidence far greater than appropriate.

«… what… what should she have told me, Suguru?» and at Suguru’s slight guilt, he felt that the prickling of disloyalty hit him again «So, you knew as well! Am I seriously the last to know?».

«I discovered it by accident» Suguru tried to defend himself.

«My wife and my best friend hiding the biggest of secrets right behind my shoulders» he chanted sarcastically as he downed the rest of his sour drink in one shot, needing it to brighten his mind as further alcohol might only bring more enlightenment.

«She made me swear not to tell you, Satorou» Suguru said seethingly «… she’d have told you and apparently… she did!».

«I discovered it on my own by being an accidental nosy idiot!» he shot back in Suguru’s face, who was promptly by his outburst, coming to his feet as well since Satorou stumbled slightly and they were gaining quite the audience «I snooped into the room and found her draft and I…! How could she marry me if she thought so low of me?!».

«Maybe because her brother said that she either married you or he’d have dueled you?» Suguru sufficed lightly steadying his friend’s body although Gojo couldn’t feel it anymore «… listen… she might not have done… it might not have been nice what she wrote about you but have you read her last pamphlet? I… I am sure that you’d change your mind about…!».

«I can’t» now his anger surmised into a softspoke sadness as he fully slumped against his friend much to Suguru’s protests that he was far too heavy «… she… I lied to her. I lied to her about not being able to have children, instead of…  not wanting them».

Well, there was certainly a different gravity to each lie but this didn’t diminish either the guilt nor the heaviness he felt. 

The uneasiness he couldn’t shoo away whenever he thought of you, wondering whether your actions had been truthful or not. Whether you were you or Lady Murasaki when you were together.

«So, you both lied to each other?» Suguru settled on waiting for his friend’s nod if only to check whether his reflexes still worked «… and you are berating her so harshly - enough to drink your sorrows away - because she did exactly what you have done?».

«Suguru, which part of she’s the woman that hung my balls onto a fireplace for fun, didn't you understand?».

«Always so dramatic, Satorou» Suguru commented promptly although not without a bitter tone «… why don’t you talk with her about it? She probably had her reasons and I am sure you can work something…».

«It isn’t that easy!» now Satorou was full bawling and oh, they had definitely created a scene «… how… how… how can we move on? How… we are stuck in a life of happiness. In a marriage that makes little sense because it started onto both lies!».

«Believe me I do know about it» Suguru shot him down «… she might have… she might have not behaved the best, but if she spoke like that about you Satorou, there must have been a reason. Just as you did with lying to her about children… you can work it out».

«I told her we were nothing» he felt immediately Suguru grew rigid against him «… I… sent her away. Told her we are nothing but husband and wife on paper and…».

«You… Satorou, is it… is it possible that you love her?» he was definitely started by Suguru’s question as it made so little sense in his mind: he had just been venting to Suguru about having been just betrayed by somebody that he was learning to lo…

Oh shit.

«No, no… no I can’t» Gojo pled out «… no this isn’t… father warned me against those who’d use me…».

«She didn’t use you, Satorou» Suguru told him promptly «… she might have been untruthful but I did see the way that she spoke when I confronted her about Lady Murasaki; she never wished for you to be hurt or… she didn’t tell you because she was worried that she’d have wounded you. So deeply».

«That’s exactly what happened» he shot back «… and I.. I hurt her in turn».

«You are both idiots» Suguru muttered «… you, especially as you are out drinking and shouting your private facts in a gentleman’s club, without even having read her last pamphlet!».

«Does she call me some rather colorful insult?».

«No» Suguru grew serious «… she apologized to you».

«What’s this noise?».

The lack of food and tiredness of the past few days had made you rather irritable as a loudand instinct sound of voices, stumbles and heavy steps had you unable to do anything other than to roll around in bed. 

Not that you would be sleeping otherwise as the weight of Satorou’s words still crowded your mind and each time exhaustion befell you, you woke up screaming as you heard his voice repeating ‘we are nothing’.

It was insane how much a broken heart hurt, especially as you had guarded yourself again Satorou Gojo, but here you were as somewhere along the line you had fallen for him. 

And now he hated you. 

What irony.

«The master has come home» Haina told you as she was passing by, holding her apron high while beside her Mrs. Kinawa was holding a huge satchel full of water and you couldn’t help but immediately worry at the way they rushed past you with little to no explanation.

 And although part of you was hurt and angry at your husband, you couldn’t help but worry that anything might have befallen him as he had left when it was already quite late and now he had come back in the early morning alerting the entirety of the house.

You trailed after Haina and Mrs. Kinawa, falling into their quick steps as you felt useless.

«Has… has anything befallen him?» you asked urgently, although you tried to keep your tone careful since you knew that by now all the staff knew that between you and Gojo something had happened that had made you colder than you had ever been «… did… did anything happen to his carriage or…?».

«He’s simply drunk, that fool» Mrs. Kinawa grimaced as you both went down the stairs where none other than lord Geto was holding up a trembling Gojo and from the unsavory smell in the air, you could tell that somebody had puked right at the entrance of your house.

«Couldn’t you wait a few steps?!» and you had an inkling, from Geto’s words, that it had to be Gojo «I had already sent them calling!».

«If I… shit, my head… if I… could have… wait…» and you heard the clear sound of retching although this time Haina and Mrs. Kinawa were quicker with the former angling the master away from lord Geto’s hold while the second dunked him in water before sufficing the empty satchel to collect the bile «… fuck! That… that was cold!».

«Such crass language in front of your lady wife» Mrs. Kinawa sufficed with a slight turn of her spiteful head as she sent Haina away with the disgusting satchel and told her to empty it and procure another and to collect a few servants to help with the cleanup and taking the master to bed «… such a pitiful state to be seen in».

And you couldn’t deny the older woman’s claim as Satorou’s face looked a shade of green too close to be natural and his usually carefree hair now looked tousled and smushed as if he had passed a hand through them right as he was thrown off his horse. 

His eyes were patchy and reddish, especially unfocused as his movements were accompanied by an ever present tremble.

«He never drinks so the one time he gets horridly drunk, he has to act out in all fashion» lord Geto commented grimly before his eyes fixed upon you and you had the distinct feeling that he knew that Gojo’s suffering derived from you, although his gaze wasn’t hostile just wondering «… lady Haibara».

«Lord Geto» you curtsied to him, although you were in your night robe a sight that should have been unseemly but you could care less at the moment as you felt so useless while Mrs. Kinawa took control of the situation and you felt further guilty at the state in which Gojo had reduced himself.

«My lady, won’t you be as kind as to entertain lord Geto while we handle the master» still Mrs. Kianawa - ever the efficient - was quick to suffice as you were glad for the moment once a servant came to help Mrs. Kinawa bring Gojo to the closest bathroom to clean him up as by now his breath had become steady and his eyes closed.

Haina came back with another servant to clean and you ushered Geto in the farthest dining hall from the entrance as the smell of puking still haunted you. 

Not as much though, as the vulnerable form of your husband carried as a baby.

«I’d offer you alcohol but I doubt that you’d like a drop after that spectacle» you grimaced as you invited Geto to sit down.

«No need for me to snatch an armchair as I have no intention to linger long» you could only guess that handling a drunk Satorou must have rotten his mind. 

Not that you blamed him.

«… you two should talk».

«I think that he has made his own mind very clear to me» you shot back a bit annoyed that Satorou would go and vent your own problem outside of your house. 

Couldn’t he think how that might befall onto you? His wife? That’s why you had always been so harsh with him as Lady Murasaki: he held a carefreeness that always hurt others, because he wasn’t careful enough. 

He never seemed to care enough.

Still, you had an inkling that it might be a simple mask and nothing else, with the vulnerability he had shown to you through the first months you had been together.

That, though, would never come back.

«You know that he doesn’t mean it as well as me».

You shook your head, trying to gently reel in the tears, as you had only begun not to cry about this.

«He… he thinks that we are nothing» you still uttered shyly «… and I am inclined to agree as we never knew each other».

«But you have time!».

«I don’t think that he wants to grant me any» although you had been the one to disappear first. Still, you were simply following his own orders, weren’t you? 

You were to be married only in name and nothing else and you’d have respected his wishes.

 Out of spite and sadness.

«He doesn’t even know what he wants, himself!» lord Geto promptly protested «… does… has he read the last pamphlet that he wrote?».

The question startled as you shook your head, lowering it but for a moment as you faced him again with a renewed determination.

«I am done with it» you tried not to raise the tone as not to grow suspicious «… I… it brought only pain in the sole good thing I seemed to be having and… what good have I done if I wrote that to protect those closest to me but just ended up hurting him in the process?».

 And be lied in turn.

Your vulnerability hung in the air as lord Geto seemed deep in thought; you wished to know what he thought and you were scared as your own mind could only conjure so many horrible thoughts and you hated yourself for it.

«… I think that even though it had hurt you both, Satorou wouldn’t want you to give up something that makes you happy» he commented slowly, as if he meant to ease through each word «… talk. Don’t give up on it».

«You make it easy» you scoffed but eventually understood that Geto was quite right.

«It’s late in the night, and my mind can only conjure easy thoughts» he joked, unfitting for the situation but somehow it lightened up the mood «… I shall take my leave so you and Satorou can rest».

«I doubt either of us will, but I thank thee for bringing him back home to me» you smiled gently to lord Geto, accepting his hand gently.

«I do think that you shouldn’t give up that easily…» he commented before adding with a wicked tone «… lady Murasaki».

You ushered him away although with a tiny smile as you made to go back to your sleep just to catch Haina turning back with clean clothes in her hands.

«Oh my lady!» she promptly tried to curtsy and hold the clothes and in such an act - a bit asleep due to the hour - she almost stumbled on her feet «… I mean… I… was going to the master’s room with the new clothes…».

«I’ll handle it» you ached to be useful and shot down any of Haina’s protest that such a role was beneath you, taking the clothes, as she informed that master Gojo had been already washed and there had been water and some pain medicament left for him, in case he felt up to it.

“He slumped like a lug once we put him in bed and I do believe that he shall sleep off such a moment”.

You felt a slight embarrassment at the thought of Gojo’s own actions befalling onto you and although Mrs. Kinawa and Haina were quite faithful to you and him, you weren’t sure of the others. 

This would have inevitably gotten out and it’d have added to the headache you could feel burning in your temples although you couldn’t fully think about it as you rushed to Gojo’s rooms, hesitating a moment upon entering.

You wondered whether to knock although you had been made aware immediately that he was probably asleep so there was no use, although it’d be for good behavior … and … you stilled deciding that you were simply stalled and with an harsh shove you went inside, quick to take into the slight acrid smell of alcohol alongside the cleanness of a bath.

You lingered in the darkness of the room although the moon shone a kind light onto the collected man in the huge bedroom and it took everything for you not to think about the times that you had shared such a bad. 

Still, it seemed that your feet wished to move onto their own as they took you without a thought to the edge as you gently dropped the clothes to the side and noticed that Gojo was barely covered by a sheet.

You shouldn’t have flustered at the sight of your husband’s naked body as you unveiled him gently setting onto having him wear the tunic and then the pants and once you were satisfied you gently dragged a chair to stand by his side as you felt like although your job was done, you couldn’t leave. 

You couldn’t leave him even though you hated him for his lies and the haughty attitude he had had for you upon discovering you were Lady Murasaki.

Did he know how it felt like to have no other purpose than to be bred and follow your husband around, while he withheld important truths? 

Did he not know that you’d have stopped talking about him - even quit Lady Murasaki - if it gave you a chance to plead for his forgiveness?

He couldn’t see and that’s why you’d need to talk. Still, you fear that he might not listen.

«I am sorry» you whispered gently, your hands trailing through his snowy locks as through the moonlight they almost glimmered silver «… it was not my intention to ever hurt you. I… I always thought you were so far away from me… so detached since we were children and yet, I find myself longing for nobody’s closeness but your own».

You wouldn’t have ever been able to say such things to his face, did that make you a coward?

«I am sorry if it shocked you to discover I can have a mind of my own and I am sorry that I couldn’t tell you on my terms, although I am glad you found it out. The secret was eating me from the inside» it was the truth, although you’d have preferred it to your own terms. Still, you doubted anything would have changed «… and I am not sorry for the anger that I showed to you when you lied to me, because you thought me so… so superficial to believe that not wanting children would be a dealbreaker!».

You felt tears down your face as you shyly joined your hands together, before bringing it to your own lips and you noticed the way that Gojo slightly stirred in his sleep, as if startled.

There was no need to talk as you’d have only hurt him.

And without a talk your relationship would have just worsened.

Hence you took your decision for the following morning as you kissed Gojo’s forehead one last time.

The pounding headache that Gojo was expecting in the incoming morning wasn’t as strong as he thought and he wondered whether it had been the lingering kiss that he remembered somebody delivering to his forehead. 

His mother was by now dead and cold and he didn’t believe in ghosts. 

Granny would have slapped him across the face for the mess he had forced her to clean.

Hence you were the sole one that remained, and yet it felt out of character from the person that you had been in those days, although Haina had informed him that you had been the one dressing him as he called upon a servant to be served his breakfast in bed.

 He might not have had a headache but his body felt sick and his stomach at unease, enough that he could barely stomach more than a few sips of his tea.

The previous night felt like a blur, although it had put a renewed purpose in his mind: he had to read your latest pamphlet.

He hadn’t wanted to read the pamphlet that Lady Murasaki - you - had written for your marriage as, at first the occasion felt so grim and gray, and then it had felt so overwhelmed by happiness that he hadn’t wished for it to be tainted by a lady’s harsh words.

Still, Suguru had put a lingering curiosity in his mind and he had to know whether your take on him had somehow changed; last night had been also eye opening both as you had wished to help him throughout his drunken night and both due to his conversation with his friend.

He shouldn’t have casted you out so harshly, especially as he knew that the fault that he had hung above your head was only in partly your own: you had lied to him, he had as well and although not the best start of the relationship, your whole behavior since then had seemed genuine and to live separately as man and wife, it’d have hurt him far more.

For God’s sake, he had gotten drunken just the night before! Something that he tended to avoid.

You had done a number on Satorou, Lady Murasaki or not.

«Master, I have what you asked me» Ijichi came inside holding the piece of paper that Gojo had requested with urgency upon his awakening «…I plead forgiveness for how much time it took me to find it and…».

«Shut it, Ijichi and you are dismissed» he wasn’t in the mood to endure the servant’s apologetic tone, especially as the pamphlet was in his hands and he hesitated for a moment: what if this just worsened things?

 What if… what if he held expectations of anything that wouldn’t be coming?

Oh how he dreaded it all, ugh.

Still, if he stalled anymore, he’d have grown into his father.

With a bit of self-reflection spurred on by the alcohol and Suguru’s silver tongue, he had realized that although all this time he had been trying to make himself spite his father’s last wishes, he had simply been on the road to become exactly like him: a cold husband, a disinterested father.

His vow had never made him realize whether he even wanted children and although not interested, he couldn’t deny now that the thought of a little him and you had him smiling. And he hated himself for having denied you such an occasion.

He had been an arrogant fool, in that much Lady Murasaki was right.

He settled onto reading the pamphlet as he adjusted himself in bed, grinning a bit at your sharp pen attacking the gossipers of your wedding. On that much he did agree and he found that the thought of you behind such a witty commentary made him head, almost proud.

“... it is important, though, that this kind author states something that is dear to her heart”.

Satorou stalled as he read the words, before his eyes rushed to the next lines.

“I often make fun of our beloved count. Not without reason undoubtedly, but even this cold and old heart can recognize that he does have a few qualities. Not too many obviously as we do not wish to stroke such an inflated ego”.

Now, that he knew, all those words… they were your own. 

And they didn’t diverge from how you spoke to him.

He felt like such an idiot.

“... still, he shall have my apologies for when I was too hurtful. My aim is to guide ladies to their ideal matches, not certainly to be mean and awful. Such a behavior does not align with my original purpose and this author shall do better in the future”.

It all felt like too much as Satorou wasn’t used to people asking forgiveness. Not this genuinely.

“Right now, this hopeful author can only hope that count Gojo shall forgive her and laugh at the next inquiries which shall not be about him. I promise and swear on my honor as a gentle lady!”.

He raised from the bed so fast that Ijichi peaked his head inside to assure himself that he hadn’t fallen, as Gojo went to retrieve his night robe quickly, still clutching the pamphlet in his other hand, tightly enough that he was sure that it’d have crinkled and wrinkled. He cared little, as he’d have bought another one and he’d have put a frame around it.

«Where… what’s the rush, my lord?» Ijichi asked as he followed after him.

«I need to see the countess» he needed to do further than that. He needed to go to his knees and pray for forgiveness, assure himself that you knew that he’d never want for you to be parted as in these days. 

That he’d have given you children if you still wanted them with him.

«… is she breaking fast or…?».

«The countess is… she left with the carriage to go back home».

He startled in his steps turning to poor Ijichi.

«What? But… but the party is not… it is not within a few days…» you were to leave in a few days time what would have taken for him to plead forgiveness. 

To settle matters.

«She said that she felt a bit too lonesome in the last few days and missed her family terribly» for which he couldn’t blame you «… actually… she gave me a message to rely upon you…».

«And you didn’t think of starting the conversation with such a thing?!» he didn’t wish to get angry to Ijichi - although he was indeed used as a vent object.

«I just… you asked me the pamphlet and then…».

«Just give me the fucking message, Ijichi» he shut the servant down as the man gently gave him a piece of paper that reeked your soft smell and somehow this had Gojo’s eyes prickle lightly.

He opened the paper swiftly and once inside he saw there were a few lines of writing.

“I am terribly sorry and I hope you shall at least, with time, understand my actions.

I shall return to my family home for the rest of the season so as not to bother you any further.

May you know though, that in mind and in body I shall forever be your wife, although you don’t want to be my husband anymore”.

He crumpled to the ground much to Ijichi’s startelement and worry.

You were gone before he could tell you anything.

You were glad when a kind hand settled onto your waist as the conversation with the few ladies of the ton at your brother’s birthday celebrations had started wearing upon ‘where’s your husband, countess?’.

«Would you mind it if I stole my beloved sister for a moment?» Haibara - ever the charmer - spoke happily in your ear «… it seems that since becoming a married woman, she has also been quite difficult to spend some quality time with».

It was all a chorus of adoring ‘oh, of course’ as Haibara dragged you away from the main crowd closer to the refreshments as you - not so coily - dipped a finger in the enormous cake that was exposed for the guests.

Haibara didn’t say anything about the small infraction as his own finger added to the mixture not too long ago, reminding you of the mischievous way in which you had acted as children at each other’s birthdays.

«Can’t believe that it is my birthday and yet you gain all the attention» he feigned annoyance much to your amusement «… it’d be even worse with Gojo all over the place, ugh».

A slight dark look must have glimmered in your eyes because your beloved brother was quick to add.

«… he isn’t coming, right?».

You shook your head heavily, letting yourself lean slightly against a pillar behind you.

«Did… did anything happen… between the two of you?» Haibara asked, trying to appear tactful. Far more than the nosy ladies of the ton, although it didn’t take much «… my offer to duel him still stands».

«Gods, don’t joke about it!».

Although you chuckled genuinely, moving closer to him enough to bump shoulders as you had by now been far starved of contact and touch, since the fight with Gojo and while before you had seemed to handle such an absence quite fine, since your marriage it just felt unnatural. 

So aching that you felt constantly tired, slumping through the preparations and celebrations as a ghost.

«… something… did happen, though».

«Did he…?» always the concerned brother and you couldn’t deny that although this whole situation wasn’t ideal, it still held a bit of happiness in you, to have such a loyal family.

«No, no, if anything…» it still felt bitter to admit «… I was the one in the wrong».

«How?» Haibara asked genuinely «… because I have known Gojo for the longest time and I do know what a rake he can…».

And maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stand anymore for your husband to be called a rake. Or maybe you had just enough of the secret festering inside of you. You knew just that you blurted out promptly:

«I am Lady Murasaki».

You expected your brother’s usual boisterous reactions, instead you were startled when facing him again that he looked … unperturbed.

«I know».

«Wait, what?» you were… confused, to say the least «… what do you mean with ‘I know’?».

«Well, who did you think that covered your butt when you sneaked off to do your business with mom?» you hadn’t ever thought about such a thing, thinking that you were a master at discretion. Apparently you weren’t «… and I have spent my whole life with you: I do know how my sister writes and how witty she can be when she wants to».

You were startled that Haibara had known all this time. And hadn’t said anything. Or protested.

«Why… why did you… why?».

«Because I knew that you were suffocating alongside the society and it was your sole way out».

Why did Haibara make it seem so stupidly easy?

«… and still, you forced me to marry Gojo?»

«Only because I know that you have had a crush for him since forever!» Haibara shot back promptly with a slight grin at your flustered face «… and it was a wholly different situation as with Lady Murasaki you weren’t - utterly - risking your reputation while being caught with Gojo…».

«You make so little sense».

«And you, my dear sister, are the smartest among the two of us and yet couldn’t tell I knew you were Lady Murasaki» Haibara was definitely boasting and you wished to headbutt him in the head. At least your mind had been eased away from your husband «… either way, I presume… from our … lively conversation… that Gojo discovered that you were Lady Murasaki as well and…».

«And he didn’t take it kindly» you finished for him immediately noticing the way that Habiara’s eyes shifted into a dark gaze «… he didn’t… he didn’t hurt me or… he just felt betrayed. Rightfully so».

«There’s more, though?» Haibara spurred you on and you cursed his observation skills.

«I… I discovered that he lied… that he told me… we couldn’t have children but it’s simply because he can’t… I don’t know why… but…».

«So, you both lied to each other?» it seemed that to other people the whole thing seemed obvious «Apologize and make up».

«It isn’t that easy!» you protested at Haibara’s gross simplification.

«It is!» Haibara shot back «… you have both done something wrong to the other. And yet, you are both suffering your time apart…».

«I am not sure about Gojo» you uttered back, darkly thinking «… he told me… that we wouldn’t be ever… close again. That we were nothing. I… I literally came before my expected arrival because I knew that you didn’t want me to stay».

«How do you know such a thing?» Haibara questioned, stalling you «… because let me tell you something: I have known Gojo since we were children… he wouldn’t have ever agreed to be as domestic as he is with you - no matter how much I dread the sight - if he didn’t want you to stay. Through the good and the bad».

«I… don’t… don’t think that he wanted me, still» Haibara’s words hit you, but they didn’t shake off the uneasy feeling in your chest.

«Did you ask him?» you startled at the simplicity behind Haibara’s words «… did you ask him to stay, though?».

«I…» you startled although furthermore a slight cough startled both you and Haibara out of your hiding spot and immediately you thought it’d be your mother coming to chastise you because you were slouching off the party that she had so harshly organized. 

Still, you were startled by a pair of bright blue eyes as you saw, after all days, your husband holding a hand out to you.

«If either of you isn’t hiding from some terrible monstrosity in a pinkish dress that pinched my cheeks and called me ‘Sato, darling’, may I ask my beautiful wife to dance with me?».

You were trembling in his arms and Gojo had an inkling that it wasn’t due to the warm weather nor the light fabric of your light blue dress. 

His color, he had immediately thought possessively as he had seen you chat up with Haibara in an angle of your family gardens away from the crowd that had been set onto him.

The dance had started already for a bit and he hadn’t been able to ask you anything although a few million answers went through his mind, as he wished to ask how you were, whether you had been feeling as terribly as him. Whether you’d have ever gone back to him, although he didn’t deserve you.

Still, it was you who spoke first:

«Why did you come?» although the words had an aggressive undertones, they lacked the true bite to it, as your tone felt mellow. 

He knew now that you were trembling because you were so close to breaking apart upon seeing him and hated himself for it. Still, he couldn’t feel guilty for chasing after you.

He only hoped that these days apart hadn’t changed your mind about being his wife.

«I… well, your family invited me and it’d have been rude … and if we aren’t seen together I…!» God, why couldn’t he simply tell you that he had come to get you? Probably because it felt very primal and the last time that he had acted this way, you had been forced to get married. Not certainly the worst outcome he had gotten though «… and I.. well, I did miss you».

You startled, stumbling in your step, although Gojo was quick to help you not fall.

«About my family, you didn’t have to» you commented slightly coldly «… I had already told them that you’d be terribly busy and wouldn’t be able to be there».

He couldn’t help but slightly pout not only because of your obvious disgruntled tone towards him and also because he didn’t want your family to think that he was too busy. Too busy to stand by his side, as it made him seem arrogant and… awful. Still, he couldn’t blame you.

«As for the… second reason I… well, I guess… I missed you as well, my lord».

Oh, Satorou felt his lips quirk up lightly, in the hope that maybe not everything was lost.

«Satorou» you startled at his low voice as he gently pushed you closer «… my wife shouldn’t address me so coldly, don’t you think?».

Now your startlement turned into distrust.

Your gaze hardened lightly and Gojo felt something in the pit of his stomach grow sour.

«I didn’t think that I was that anymore».

«I…».

Still right as he was about to reply, you were stolen away for the exchange of partners, with you ending up in Nanami Kento’s arms. Of course, it’d be just his luck as he received in his own one of the Zenin twins; he couldn’t tell which nor he cared as he awaited for the dance to end slowly trying to move closer to you, again so that he’d be able to talk with you more.

Still, luck seemed to be on his side as he felt a slight pitter onto your shoulder, and then he soon realized that it was full blown rain, although the sky had been so serene for the moment. 

He startled as he saw everybody rushing through to enter your own house with your mother and father ushering through, although you stayed on the dancefloor.

Your eyes stuck on him.

And Satorou had grown loveless, as if he had witnessed love but never thought that he had felt it upon himself: admiration and flattery had been constant in his life but not love. 

And yet, could anything be love but the way you found him so easily and waited for him although the rain was drenching you.

He rushed to you, discarding swiftly his jacket, although it’d have done little to shield you from the pouring water as he held it upon your head, to at least shield you a bit.

«We should go inside!» although you didn’t make any move to comply with the phrase.

«I am sorry!» instead he screeched catching you off guard «… for… for…».

«You have every right to be angry at me».

«I have every right to feel betrayed and sad» he shot back, immediately noticing your slight discomfort «…. but I had no right to shut you down and tell you those things. I had no right to steal a family away from you or lie to you».

«Sat…» oh you had almost said «… Gojo, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss of this matters…».

«I don’t care» he knew that he could have been brash and straightforward but he couldn’t care at the very moment «… I read your latest pamphlet, the ones about our marriage».

You obviously startled at his admission, your eyes lowering gently to the ground with shame as you spoke quickly.

«I’ll stop writing» you said with an air of finality and Gojo’s heart fell into his stomach «… I… I don’t think it’s proper anymore and as you have pointed out I did more bad than…».

«If you… if you wish to stop writing out of your own volition, I… you should do so…» he spoke carefully as he felt like you were slowly opening through lightly drenched eyelashes and your blush being splashed all across your face. And yet, you were so enchanting as a fairy listening to a mere human «… but don’t stop. Not because of me».

«It… it ruined everything!» you protested promptly, as your lower lips quivered lightly and he had an idea that it wasn’t because of the cold you felt, although he damned the jacket and brought you in a loose hug to his chest «… I… I hurt you and I… I am so sorry, oh my love!».

«Shh» he ushered you gently, big hands drawing comforting circles onto your back «… we hurt each other badly, that much is true, but… I… there was no need to be so harsh with each was there?».

You nodded softly in his chest and it felt like a weight had been lifted from it, although he had much more to talk about.

«… when you… when I discovered that you were Lady Murasaki I was… bereft, not necessarily at the discovery but because all my life I have been trying to put these walls around me. Everybody thinks I am so charming but so far I have been untouchable» he explained gently as he lightly put some distance between the two of you, mostly to gently hold your chin up to meet his eyes «… my… my upbringing has been cold and when my father died I swore that to spite him I wouldn’t have continued his legacy. I’d have been the last one».

Something akin to tenderness filled your gentle eyes and Satorou wondered how he had ended up with somebody as good as you.

«…then you, lady Haibara, waltzed into my life and struck me with new life and happiness. And it had me realize that to spite an old man’s wish I was ruining everything good that I have ever felt. The first person to touch me truly» he spoke gently as he went to lay a soft kiss on your cheek and then the other «… I am sorry, I am so fucking sorry of every small pain I have caused you and I do know that you have evidently made up your mind but I just ask that you…».

«Will you stay?» you startled with the sudden genuine question, interrupting him halfway. He didn’t think - he couldn’t - for a moment as he regarded you attentively «… I want you to stay. Here. By my side. Forever as you want me».

It was your way of saying that - somehow - you accepted him. And it was tender and tentative and he couldn’t ask for more.

«Not even a blister will be able to send me away, my love» he said gently, before moving a hand to your waist to accompany you inside where all the other guests were probably waiting «… but why don’t we continue talking near a fireplace? I wouldn’t wish for my wife to grow sick when I have so much to do with her».

«Didn’t I tell you that whenever mama is in her room you don’t have to bother her?».

Although the attempt to be stern, your child giggled in your lap at your husband’s inquiry as you gently turned to face him with a pen in your hand - obviously stained in ink - and another hung loosely around the child’s waist as a protection.

«Mama, mama!» the boy chanted happily as since he had learned how to talk he had become impossible to be stopped by either you, the maids or his father. 

Still, there seemed to be a specific place where he would go: your own studio, a former bedroom that had been converted into a studio at the end of your pregnancy. 

A push gift some would say, from your own husband for having given him a healthy baby.

«I don’t mind, my love» you replied gently «… the afternoon lacks inspiration at the moment».

«A pity» Satorou muttered softly as he went to come close to you and finally allerting the danger of his father’s teasing, Yu gently hid in your chest much to your laughter and his father’s chagrin «Oh, we aren’t so bold anymore, are we?».

«Mamaaaaaa gooooddd» Yu chanted as a prayer much to your laughter and Satorou’s irritation, although he was gentle as he grabbed the baby from you, no matter the fact that he promptly clawed into your dress as not to be brought away «Daaa baaadddd».

«Oh, already picking favorites?» Satorou quirked an eyebrow as soon as he had his child in his arms and leaving you to take an heart attack as he threw your bundle of joy in the air and caught it up just as swiftly. 

Unlike you, the child giggled and called for it to happen again while you collected yourself.

«Satorou!» you chastised him promptly «… don’t ever do that with my child!».

«Our child» Satorou shot back showing you his tongue and although you ought to reprimand such a behavior, it filled you with happiness that Satorou felt so proud of the child he had had with you. 

For somebody who had vowed not to have any, he had taken to the role brilliantly although it also meant a moment where he could, indeed, be a bit too carefree. Still, you guessed it ought to balance your more serious character.

And you knew that Satorou felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought of becoming a father. Not as much as for the children but worrying that, after all the years during which he had spited such a role, he wouldn’t be able to act as a good father. You had reassured him whenever the need arise as he had done so when you had doubted your body after the pregnancy.

Although it hadn’t started well and had a few interruptions on the way, you loved the family that you had created and wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the whole wide world. 

Not even when Satorou gave you heart attacks with your child.

«And don’t worry, I’ll always catch him».

Although you knew he meant the child, you knew it referenced something… deeper, and you got up from the chair to come to where he was holding your giggly child, gently blowing raspberries in his adorable stomach to heighten the laughter.

«As for your inspiration…» Gojo snickered once he gently laid your child on the bed as he had finally droopy eyes while you went again to the desk, with your husband standing behind you to look at the few lines that you had written «… I might have a rather… lengthy gossip for you».

You couldn’t help the slight giggle that left your lips: although Gojo had always dreaded Lady Murasaki, it seemed that since he had discovered it was you, he had become an accomplice of sorts although you had by now stopped to report fully on every gossip, choosing - as not to alert and neither hurt those closest to you - to write only about the most dangerous and harmful of scandals.

Such as the one of viscount Naoya getting terribly drunk at his father’s funeral, when in the will everything was left to a distant - widowed - relative, Toji Fushiguro. 

It’d have been an interesting season without a doubt.

«… do tell me, my nosy husband» you joked gently, patting his hip as he lowered himself to your height much to your embarrassment. 

You might have been married for a few years and yet it was enough to have you flustered.

«It appears that Nanami and his lady have come back from their honeymoon in Paris» he spoke soft-spokenly right in your ears while a hand gently brought away the hair that had fallen into your face, pushing it behind your shoulders in a makeshift ponytail by his hands.

«Well, it was warranted as honeymoons usually do end» you joked as you didn’t know where Gojo was aiming to go.

«…sadly so» you slapped lightly the hand that Satorou brought to his forehead in a dramatic manner as he had been insisting that you take another honeymoon soon. 

And maybe produced the Gojo dynasty another heir, although you preferred not for the sanity of Mrs. Kinawa and Hakina.

«… well, what you didn’t let me tell you…».

«If only you’d always go right to the point, husband» you pretended to complain, even stifling a slight yawn.

«Oh but you do love it when I take my time» again, even after all these years, you couldn’t endure your husband’s teasing, although you enjoyed it. Not that you’d have ever admitted it «… what you didn’t let me tell you, though… it appears that Lady Nanami harbors a slight… bump. If you catch my drift».

And immediately your eyes brightened up as you turned to Gojo all too happy for your friend and his wife as their love story had been… quite unconventional and that they now felt stable enough for a child?

It was wondrous.

«I need to pen them my congratulations» you said swiftly, although your husband was quick to reign you in by your waist gently as he kissed your forehead, promptly hasting the chase.

«Everybody seems to be having children» oh you knew exactly where he wished to go, you laughed at his attempt «… when are we going to give Yu, a younger brother or sister?».

And it felt startling to the think that back at the start of the season a few years ago, Gojo’s eyes had set upon you in amusement and your own on him in distaste, while you were in love, having each defeated your pride and your hatred for a family of your own.

«Well, it depends…» you commented with battling eyelashes as you gently throw your arms around his neck «… on whether you can get me a moment alone from my writing and our child. And on whether you can take a pause from your work, my dear count».

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with a pure happiness before they went back to their usual malicious glimmer.

«… well, then I know just the right alcove».

credits for dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[e-dubbc11]

For a summer activity, how about Billy and you in battle of the water guns. It would give Billy a chance to do things he never got to do as a kid. 🩶🩷

My dear sweet Katherine,

Thank you so much for participating in my summer sleepover, for reading my fics and for being such a good friend to me. I love you to pieces and I hope you like what I did. I wasn’t exactly sure if you just wanted a moodboard or a fic so I just did both for you. I hope you like it! 💜

Splish Splash

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Couple of swear words, fluffy bunnies and unicorns, smooches

Word Count: 1.1K-ish

Summary: You surprise Billy at work and help each other cool off with something fun.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The walk through the park to get to his office wasn’t necessary but you couldn’t resist on a day like today. The fluffy white clouds were latched to a sky that seemed unending and behind those cotton-like clouds, the early afternoon sky was the brightest of blues.

You could feel the sweat gathering at your hairline and at the back of your neck and beads of perspiration slowly trickled down your chest and disappeared behind the V in your crisp white t-shirt.

You wanted to surprise your boyfriend Billy with something fun.

Briefly, you glanced down into your purse to make sure you had packed them. You couldn’t help yourself when you saw those cheap little plastic water pistols in the window of the toy shop on your way home from work last night. This will be a fun surprise for Billy.

You pictured his childlike smile, the smile that would don his face every time he was able to do something he never got to do as a kid. His childhood and innocence taken from him so abruptly, forcing him to grow up when he wasn’t ready to and to constantly look over his shoulder is something no child should ever have to go through.

And there was nothing you wouldn’t do to help him cope with that.

With each long stride along the sidewalk path was a step closer to getting to see that perfect Billy Russo smile which made your heart soar and flutter with excitement.

Fresh cut blades of grass looked soft as silk and the myriad of scents from the summer flowers floated through the air above their petals which were as soft as satin. The sweet aroma of the summer air was the work of the honeybees that were dancing from flower to flower and they continued to hum at a very low frequency, almost hypnotizing you as you walked.

On their break, construction workers wiped the sweat from their brow as they hid under the trees to escape the heat. Park benches lined with well-dressed people, eating their lunches and letting the sun kiss the high points of their faces before they had to go back to work.

You were getting close to Anvil so you texted Frank. You had given him a heads up about what you planned on doing when Billy was finished with his meeting with Homeland Security.

Please tell me he’s not back yet.

You texted.

Frank’s reply came quickly.

Not yet, kid. You got time and one of those water guns better be for me.

He said with a laughing emoji next to it.

Of course I have one for you too! Be there soon!

Outside Billy’s office was a small table for papers and forms that needed his signature but today there was only one piece of paper that read…

“Choose your weapon, soldier. XO”

And you left three water guns on top of the paper, already filled and ready to go.

You waited patiently under his desk for him to walk through the door. His voice carried into his office, complaining to others about the heat, and to not disturb him until after lunch.

Grabbing the door handle, you heard him pause as he read the piece of paper on the table and if you knew Billy at all, you knew he would take two of the three water guns, leaving one behind for Frank’s taking.

The office door opened slowly but only a little bit, you knew he was sweeping the room for you. Then you heard his firm silvery voice.

“You in here, sweet girl? Come out, come out, wherever you are, my love. I know you’re here somewhere.” He said.

You could tell he was smiling.

Carefully and slowly, you pushed the chair away from the desk and peeked above the large wooden desk plane. You took a blind shot in his direction and hit him in the hand with a stream of water.

Not wanting him to get too close so you would be trapped under the desk, you popped out from under the desk and started shooting but so did he. Every shot he took, he hit you somewhere.

The ice cold water actually felt refreshing as it splashed against your warm skin. Billy’s dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his arms were outstretched as he continued to shoot in your direction.

Suddenly, Billy felt cold water hit him in the back.

“Ah, SHIT!” He exclaimed.

Frank had a wide grin stretched across his mouth as he yelled out, “You shoulda been watchin’ your six, Bill!”

And he let out a laugh.

Billy had two guns so he could shoot at you and Frank at the same time.

“Billy Russo, I knew you would take two of them!” You said with a laugh.

And there it was, that childlike smile you had waited all morning to see, it finally happened. Water from your pistol hit him in the face and water from Frank’s left water marks on his dress shirt.

“Well, I’m outta ammo and I gotta get back to work. You two kids have fun.” Said Frank, shutting the door behind him.

With your arms outstretched, you aimed your water gun at Billy.

“Hands up, lieutenant.” You said with a sly smile.

Raising his hands, Billy let the water guns dangle from his forefingers by the triggers.

“Two against one is hardly fair, baby.” He said with a devilish grin.

You started to walk toward him.

“But you had two guns, handsome.” You stated.

Still smiling, he hung his head in defeat.

“You’re not wrong, beautiful. How ‘bout you come claim your prize.” Said Billy, playfully.

You both dropped your water guns on the floor as he cupped your cheeks and claimed your lips like it had been weeks since he had seen you last.

The bristles of his beard gently scraped against your soft cheeks as his tongue parted your lips, gaining access to your mouth so it could entangle with yours. Smiling against your mouth, his kisses were hungry as they moved up and down the sides of your neck.

“Y/n, my love, you always seem to know exactly what I need at the right time, don’t you.” He said. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

Billy never talked a lot about his childhood. He hated it, made him angry, but out of everyone, he chose to talk about it with you.

“You’re welcome, Billy.” You replied, along with a gentle kiss on his cheek.

The bad memories had been replaced with good ones, like today, and they’re memories he’ll never forget. You strived to give Billy the experiences he missed out on when he was young. In your eyes, he’ll always be good enough and he never failed to thank you every single day for telling him that.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialend @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[radiocreature]

📻 The Freedom To Be Whatever We Want (Radiorose Week Day 6) 🌹

Word count: 7,738

Summary: Alastor has been in hell for eight years. His friendship with Rosie developed quickly, the two bonding much faster than they could have anticipated, and they're riding high together. After a perfect night of dancing, Alastor asks Rosie out again twice in quick succession, but something about him seems less comfortable, and Rosie is determined to figure out why.

Warnings: cannibalism, unbeta'd, this will be getting a massive edit/rewrite on AO3 after I've had some time to SLEEP.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56617597

@radioroseweek

The Freedom To Be Whatever We Want

Nothing happens in Cannibal Town without Rosie knowing. Sometimes she knows what people plan on doing before they know themselves. The honest ones will seek her out first. The less honest ones will get a visit from her if their plans may harm others. One of her most reliable sources of information arrives to her fresh on a silver platter from her favorite clients: good, old-fashioned gossip. And right now, something has the young cannibal beaus and belles all atwitter.

It starts with an influx of singles’ advice. How to tell if they like you back, how to make the first move, what does this or that very-specific behavior mean? Then, three young men in relationships with women book her on the same day to ask what to do if his partner looks at other men, how to tell if she wants to break up, the signs of cheating, all of which leaves Rosie concerned after they leave. Her nicest, most expensive dresses and suits fly off the racks with urgent requests of custom tailoring. By the time her head and hands stop spinning, the entire town feels alight in a way it hasn’t in decades.

At first, her pointed questions get her nowhere. “Oh, it’s probably nothing.” “Oh, it’s just wishful thinking.” “Oh, it’s no one in particular.” “Oh, it’s a shot in the dark.” Then, “it” gets a gender. “He’s just so handsome.” “He caught my eye so long ago.” “Everyone wants him.” She drives herself to the edge of madness trying to find answers and solutions to a problem that might not even be a problem.

And then Susan, of all people, comes in clutch. Sometimes blunt has its uses. “It’s that fellow with the stupid voice and puny antlers, they all think he’s fixing to court someone. All the ladies want it to be them, for some reason, and all their men are rolling over. If that prude could handle seeing another person naked, he wouldn’t be goin’ for no dames, I can tell ya that.”

And sometimes blunt people have no more of a clue than anyone else. If Alastor wanted a relationship, Rosie would know years before he figured it out himself. She saw him two months ago, not long before this hullabaloo started, and he made no mention of it. Alastor claims very few friends, but she knows without a doubt he considers himself closest to her. The idea of him seeking out a relationship without consulting her not only sounds out of character, but also strikes a nerve somewhere near her heart.

Whatever inspired this, the cannibettes have it all wrong. Though she must admit, imagining the look on Alastor’s face when she tells him what’s had the town all out of sorts gives her a good laugh.

With perfect timing, he calls on her soon after for a night of “sorely-needed” music and dancing. “I’m feeling rather boisterous, and it’s been a while since we upstaged an entire room of people, don’t you think? Wear something extravagant, my dear, and let me know the color so I can match you.” He never fails to charm her into saying yes, not that she ever has any objections to his plans. Their tastes align to an uncanny degree.

As a challenge, she tells him red and white: a dress he’s never seen, that she’s sat on for years, waiting for the right extravagant occasion. A multilayered and tiered evening dress with an uneven hem falling to her ankles in the back and rising to midway up her shins in the front. She dyed the fabric herself to get the perfect fade, from pure white at the neck down to a bold crimson when it reaches the skirts. It gains more jewels and beads every year in her failure to leave it alone. She twirls in the mirror a few times to watch it move, fantasizing of how it will catch the light when Alastor tosses or spins her. She chooses shorter, chunkier heels to stick the landings, a pair of black pumps with a web-like design pattern over the foot that ties at the front with a bow. Ornate, but not too distracting.

He arrives in a striking white pinstriped suit, with a red waistcoat over a white undershirt, red-tipped white shoes, a red bowtie and pocket square, and a wide-brimmed white hat with a single black stripe, his antlers acting like hat pins to keep it secured to his fluffy head. She stands in stunned silence for a moment before squealing with delight and spinning him around.

“Oh my stars, don’t you look gorgeous!” She says.

“I believe I’m meant to say that to you, my dear,” he laughs, petting her back with his free hand hand. The other digs his microphone cane into the ground to prevent them toppling over, as can happen when Rosie forgets her strength.

“You can say that about me every day. I have to wait for you to clean yourself up, first, and don’t you just clean up so nicely!” She smooths out his coat when she finishes smothering him.

He bows for her to hide the anxiety in his amused chuckle. “And you, darling, just when I think you can’t possibly be any more beautiful. I can hear the hearts breaking already.” With his microphone tucked behind his back, he offers her his arm. “May I have the honor?”

She giggles, slipping her arm through his. “I suppose you’ll do.”

As a general rule, she avoids leaving Cannibal Town for prolonged periods. The peace her people enjoy relies on her as a permanent fixture. She can leave for a few hours to attend meetings or make social calls without worrying, but will return at the first drip of uncertainty. And, not for nothing, she spent a long time carving her own niche into this corner of hell. She promised the cannibals protection, and in exchange, they dedicated themselves to her vision. While not a utopia, the residents of Cannibal Town avoid the stress and suffering of other sinners by crafting their own reality.

Alastor spent an entire year as a fixed resident, but his ambitions and wanderlust coaxed him back out into the greater city, even as the shifting culture started to displease him. Cannibal Town’s singular place in time will turn into a safe haven for him, but for now, Pentagram City still has the best jazz clubs.

Some new developments leave him feeling sour, but he took to the evolution of jazz and swing into the 40s very well. They’ll jump, jimmy, jive, shake, shimmy, and swing until their feet fall off, or until they collapse, though she can’t see him ever tiring from dancing. Given the tension in his body for the entire walk to his favorite club, he needs the release. Slaying Overlords won’t fix everything—much to his chagrin, she imagines.

The arrival of the infamous Radio Demon brings the dancers to a halt, or tripping over one another, but the band plays on. Alastor tips his hat to the bartender, who waves a hand before grabbing a bottle off the top shelf. She allows herself a smug grin, something she may allow herself many times tonight. The last (and first) time she visited this club, when he found it several years ago, they treated him like anyone else. Now, with the identity of the Radio Demon known, he gets treated different everywhere, but the composure of the barkeep and the band suggest they see him as a VIP rather than a threat. The VIP treatment suits her well, too.

They start with drinks to assess the crowd, the bar patrons putting space between them. It thinned down a little when they entered. The standees all watch them, and the dancers keep eyes on them when facing in their direction. She wants to think it’s because they out-dressed everyone here—no one else even tried—but she can’t ignore the Overlord effect. Especially when Alastor’s antlers grow more points.

They finish their drinks after sizing up the place. Dismissing his microphone staff, Alastor bends at the waist and holds out his hand in invitation. She takes it, and lets him lead the way to the dance floor. The other dancers give them a wide berth. The band changes songs on a dime, starting them off with a classic Charleston number. With matching smiles they face each other and kick into the rhythm.

Weight falls off her with every movement. She watches Alastor shake weeks of tension out of his limbs. They never had the pleasure of knowing each other in life, but she gets a glimpse of his vitality when they dance. Bold movements of simultaneous control and abandon, colorful and vivacious and bursting at the seams with spirit. Dancing makes it easy to forget her ill fate, the pain and the sweltering heat and the personal torments and the insatiable, ravenous hunger that curses all of cannibal kind. Dancing with Alastor, though, makes her feel alive again.

For the first few songs they stick to fancy footwork and simple hops or skips. Exhausting themselves in the first thirty minutes of the night won’t do. They pace themselves as the band takes them through different styles of jazz and swing, challenging them to get creative. Building towards more demanding moves.

Years ago, the first time he tossed her, she went over his head and lost her grip on him. She expected to fall on him, or get dropped, but he caught her with ease and corrected her position to land her on her feet. After that, she trusted him with anything. She loves rolling over his back, or flipping upside down to kick her leg behind his neck. He often uses that momentum to flip her around his head instead of working against it, then spins back to his full height.

As if reading Alastor’s mind, the band transitions into a fast-paced jive with snappy drums and the type of taunting, choppy brass that precedes a wild tune. Rosie beams when she catches his pupils dilate in the dim light. They wink at each other and take their starting pose. Over years of improv, trial, and error, they perfected their own Lindy Hop routines. The slight points to his pupils tell her everything she needs to know about how he plans to lead, and her veins thrum with anticipation. He wants them to wipe the floor with everyone here. When the brass kicks to life, so do they. Pulling, pushing, circling, and twisting light on their feet with snaps of their arms and hands for balance and flair. The wind from her dress flowing with her movements sneaks a squeak of excitement past her lips before she can stop it. Their controlled chaos never threatens to bump into any of the other dancers, but the crowd clears the floor and forms a circle to watch with slacked jaws.

Alastor signals her for a lift. Well-past the point of warmups, she aligns their bodies and lets him flip her up and over his shoulder in a somersault. The crowd whoops and cheers, stress and tension giving way to fun at last. They join hands again to keep circling one another. Once they have momentum again, she signals him with a request to go low. She bends her knees and he whips her with one arm, her lead leg and free arm extending out to graze the crowd. Some scoot back to give her room, others reach out their fingers to meet hers. He leaps over her when she reaches him, spins into the movement, and scoops her back onto her feet.

They separate for a segment standing side-by-side to dance in synch. A chance to soak in the joy and wonder from the crowd cools the ache in their lungs. Rosie adds a few extra wrist movements to wave to those waiving at her. They transition to facing each other, mirroring one another’s kicks and flairs.

It takes Alastor hours to break a sweat sometimes, the fit bastard. Some strands of his hair cling to his forehead now—hers adhered to her skin after three songs. They breathe as one, steady and deep to fuel their frantic moves, their grins stretching to their maximum points. She keeps her eyes locked with his as long as she can. She loves him like this: the most candid of his smiles, the red of his irises consumed by blissed-out pupils, The Radio Demon left at the door. His right hand takes her left, his left hand pulls her in by her shoulder blade, and for a moment it looks like he means to kiss her. She hops and skips into the next steps, letting him push and pull her with the momentum from his larger frame. Their tempo increases in unison with the band, the frills of her dress almost invisible from the extra speed. The song ends soon, and she dares Alastor with her eyes for a big finish.

Delighted, he spins her by her arm above her head, and spins her, and spins her, stopping her by her hips with her back to his front. She bounces on her toes, then leaps as he lifts, kicking her legs out to clear his head when he tosses her up and over. His hands await her when she lands. One bunny hop to keep the rhythm, then she launches herself as high as she can, his arms twisting to help pull her into a somersault. When her hips meet his shoulders, he pushes out, allowing her to straighten her legs and flip straight up and down back over his head. For a few airborne seconds, their joined hands are their only point of contact.

Though she sees it upside down, the heartwarming smile he flashes vaporizes the last of her bodyweight. High on his smile, his scent, his energy, his unwavering, grounding grip on her hand that promises never to drop her, she relaxes into the motion and lets him guide her back to the floor.

She bends her knees to absorb the shock, rolls backward into his parting legs, and releases her hold on him. As he bends down, she continues rolling back, parting her legs and letting him guide them around his torso. With his arms hooked around her legs, she lifts from her core when he straightens his back, resulting in him swinging her straight out from his middle. They both release her legs so the lift lands her back on her feet, their hands joining in the air again.

She sinks to her knees again, pulling his arms with her. He goes over her shoulders this time, springing from the balls of his feet up and over. He rises to his feet out of the somersault in one fluid motion, hoisting her into his arms. She strikes a pose midair on the last beat of the song.

The crowd loses their fucking minds.

They bask in the glow of the whoops, cheers, whistles, and claps for a few seconds before looking at each other. Chests heaving, muscles aching, grins from ear to ear. Alastor’s hair got tousled during their big finale and his pupils still swallow up most of his irises. The static and crackles emanating from him get a little louder when their gazes lock. Heat rises to her cheeks.

She throws her arms around him and hugs him as tight as she can from her horizontal position. Laughing, he spins her around one more time to put her back on her feet. They join hands for a bow and curtsy, her free arm lifting her skirts while his tucks behind his back.

They head straight to the bar. Emboldened audience members follow to strike up a conversation. Someone offers to buy their first round so they can ask for pointers, questions about how much to prepare versus improvise, and improving their dancing in general. Someone else buys them a second round to keep the conversation going. It feels so good, so good, to have a normal conversation again outside of Cannibal Town. They both love the cannibals, and the Overlord treatment has its up sides, but others evading them when they go out to socialize gets frustrating.

Hours of dancing mix with top shelf booze, warming her from head to toe and liquifying her muscles on the way. Lightheaded, she leans against Alastor for support. His arm slips around her waist and pulls her closer, letting her head rest against the side of his. Her heart lurches, heat rushing to her face. From the booze. Definitely.

After a third round, Alastor and his unparalleled stamina look ready to keep dancing. He can drink himself senseless and still dance like he’s sober. With the way alcohol sloshes around in her stomach and her tendons wilt like noodles, she has to decline. Summoning his microphone, he offers her his arm, and they bid the club farewell.

With no sun down in hell, it doesn’t appear much different at night. The Pride Ring’s crimson red sky darkens some in the night hours, but the city’s bright lights keep it looking like daytime. Still, the crowd thins out at night, giving their walk a quiet start. She stays close to him to keep from swaying too much.

They walk past the movie house right as an audience leaves. Half of them light up smokes, puffing out clouds of putrid gas in their path. Alastor’s gums show through the disgusted curl in his lips. Rosie tries to make out the posters next to the ticket booth.

“Have you ever seen that Fleming fellow’s pictures?” Rosie asks.

“I haven’t,” Alastor says. “I never cared for them. I prefer the pictures in my head painted by the radio plays. If Orson Welles ends up down here Hell might finally get some culture.”

“I’m torn on whether to build a picture house in Cannibal Town. I know there’s interest, and you know I’d do anything for my clients, but where to put it, how to make it match,” she waves her hand in an et cetera gesture, “what to play. The worst of them get down here before the directors are even dead, like that Fleming fellow, and some of them are just garbage. Don’t watch Birth of A Nation.”

“Duly noted.”

“I think I saw a flyer for that one,” she nods towards the last poster on the end. “It looks like a romance. I don’t think I’ve seen a romance before, no one’s making those once they get down here. Wonder what he did.” The possibilities bring a smile to her face.

“Directed a romance?” Alastor says, earning a laugh from Rosie.

They walk in comfortable silence the rest of the way back to Cannibal Town. A low, dark saxophone tune reaches their ears when they round a corner, dancing around their heads as they approach. Alastor tosses a coin in the busker’s open case. They hold on a note to tip their hat, and the pair give courteous nods.

Rosie pulls Alastor into a tight embrace when they reach her front steps. “This was fun. I didn’t know how much I needed a night of dancing until we got there.”

His whole body turns rigid. Static and radio feedback try parting the alcohol fog in her brain. She knows Alastor’s dissonant relationship with touch, and her sober self usually waits for him to initiate or gives some indication first so as not to alarm him like he is right now, and she should let go, but his friendship makes her so goddamn happy—

—His hands rest on her shoulder blades, careful not to dig sharpening claws into her dress. Static dulls to a hum as the tension leaves his thin frame.

“It was a wonderful night, thank you for joining me,” he says. “I couldn’t ask for a better dance partner.” His hands slide down to the small of her back, then rest on her hips.

He snaps out of the embrace, tension back in full force. She blinks. With a bashful cough, he folds his hands behind his back and flashes his default charming smile.

“Have a good night, sweetheart,” he gives a slight bow before disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

Her mind struggles with what just happened. She regrets that last round as she heads inside to bathe, change, and try to commit the evening to memory so the alcoholic fog doesn’t make her lose anything. They must have made quite the pair on that dance floor with their coordinated colors and flawless routines. She removes her dress with care and hangs it back up in her closet after her bath.

A memory jumps to the front of her mind, of a split second where it felt like him pulling her in for a kiss. A delayed reaction to this hits her now. If he had meant to kiss her, she would have let him.

She climbs in to bed with a tipsy sort of befuddlement. He held a genuine smile the entire night and never once felt uncomfortable, until their hug goodbye, when he tore himself away from her and slipped a mask on. When his hands cupped the swell of her hips.

“Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh,” she slurs, and giggles to herself. Whether he intended to touch her there or not, either way, he spooked himself. A few more giggles bubble out from her.

“Dammit! I forgot to tell him about the cannibettes!” And then she passes out.

She rides the high of a perfect evening for several days. The next week, another young bachelorette books a session with her to ask for relationship advice. The new dating trend of seeing more than one person at once confuses and frustrates her. She wants to know how to tell the difference between someone looking for friendship and looking for a romantic partner.

“They do look similar nowadays, don’t they?” Rosie empathizes. “It comes down to intent. If you’re not interested in dating someone, but you think maybe they are, or vice versa, ask them for clarity. It might feel awkward, but it’s the easiest and most surefire way to set expectations.”

The rest of the day she spends working the floor of the Emporium. Assisting with garment fittings, helping people pick out the right snacks or raw ingredients, upselling her recipe book, and anything else her customers need. She has help on the weekends, but during the week she prefers running the store on her own to prevent downtime. Locking the door behind the last guest at the end of a long day on her feet brings immense satisfaction.

Not long after she secures the deadbolt, a swirl of black smoke slips under the door. Alastor materializes in a spiffy red and black suit. A solid burgundy coat and trousers over a black collared shirt, with a red bowtie and red-tipped black shoes. A visible sliver of the waistcoat suggests a more crimson red, with light red or pink stripes.

“Shop’s closed,” she teases, still counting the till.

“Pity,” he says, admiring his nails, “I had such grand dinner plans.”

“Should have planned better.”

He laughs, approaching the counter. “Well, since a nice home-cooked meal is out, how about this instead?” He holds out two tickets to the theater downtown, the same one they passed on their way to the jazz club last week.

She takes one of them. ��You bought us tickets to the movie house?” She looks at him quizzically. “You bought us tickets to the movie house?”

“You pointed that one out on our way home last week, and tonight’s its last night. I thought you might like to go.”

“I do,” she says, “but do you? It’s a romance, dear. Your eyes twitch when you see couples holding hands near you.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “My mother listened to her romance stories on the radio all day, every day, my whole life. I’ll survive one more. They told me it’s based on a play, which gives me hope for the writing, at least.”

She beams. “You’re a peach, Alastor.”

His nose crinkles. “On second thought—”

“NOPE!” She grabs his collar so he can’t escape while she rounds the counter. “Too late! You’re coming inside for a snack while I get changed and then we’re going!” She chuckles as he stumbles along in her grip, knowing full well he could turn to smoke if he wanted out.

She fixes something quick for him to eat in the kitchen while she gets changed. She has a burgundy gown that deserves to go out for a spin. Pink chiffon on the neck and chest with black trim separating the neck piece from the body of the gown. A simple black tie at the waist adorned with a small skull accentuates her curves, matching the black stripes at the end of the skirt. The puffy red sleeves tighten into pink chiffon cuffs midway down the forearm. She pairs it with an umbrella and her favorite hat.

Alastor lifts onto the balls of his feet when she emerges from her room. “You look wonderful, dear,” he says with a soft smile, “I fear no one will be watching the picture but us.” He offers his arm.

“Always such a charmer,” she says, slipping her arm through his.

“Keep it up and I may have to marry you.”

“Oh, I’d never restrict like that. A woman of your integrity should never be chained down by a man.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she teases, “you’re just afraid of ending up like my first husband.”

“Your first three husbands, if I recall.”

They poke fun at one another and gossip their way down to the theater. They arrive early enough to wait in line for concessions, ordering a popcorn to share, two beverages, and some candy for Rosie. He lets Rosie choose their seats. When the lights dim and the opening title card announces Sol Lesser Presents: Our Town, he nudges her with his elbow. He reaches into his jacket to reveal a bag of fried fingers he snuck out of her kitchen to bring with them. He winks and takes one to nibble on. Giggling, she takes a few and snaps them into thirds to mix in with the popcorn.

She sneaks glances at him throughout the runtime. He puts on a good front, but his discomfort shows through at the most amorous scenes. The story takes its time setting up the romance of the main couple, from courtship to marriage. They both snack throughout, with him losing his appetite during the more amorous and poetic moments. His eye twitches at the first kiss. And every subsequent kiss.

The film lasts for an hour and a half. She enjoys staying for the trailers, but the fuzzy radio crackling emanating to her left encourages her to leave without them. Wrapping her arm around his confirms the tension in his body. His arm stays rigid at his side while they make their way to the front of the building.

Outside, he takes a deep breath, and exhales. He looks down at their arms. “Oh, pardon,” he says, relaxing his arm to free her from its death grip. They carry on walking with an appropriate hold. “I hope you enjoyed it, dear.”

“It was cute,” Rosie says. “Thank you for taking me, and for putting up with it. Even when I hear about things I rarely think to actually go out and see them. Maybe I should be getting out of Cannibal Town more frequently.”

“Not at all,” he says. “It’s where you’re comfortable and where you’re needed, no one will fault you for that. Live theater performances will always be superior to these picture shows, and Cannibal Town has some of the best theater in Hell.”

“All our props are real,” she laughs. “The film seemed harmless, though, and I overheard someone say the director’s not dead yet. I wonder what he’s doing up there that let us get it this early.”

“There’s a war on, from what I’ve gathered,” Alastor says. “I’ve acquired some fresh souls recently with the same type of shell shock I saw after the Great War.” He smirks. “Promise them never to have to fight in another war and they’ll shake your hand without even asking for a contract. It almost feels like exploitation.”

“Almost, eh?” She shoves him with her body. He shoves back.

Back at her home, she gives him a hug on the stoop again, with proper warning this time. He hugs back, still a little hesitant.

“Where are you staying right now, honey?” She asks as she pulls away, fishing out her keys to unlock the front door. “I know you move around a lot. You know if you ever need somewhere—”

“I’m set up at the radio station right now,” he says with a hint of pride in his voice, “I converted part of the second floor into a living area. Since they won’t be needing so many broadcasters anymore. But I appreciate your generosity, as always.” He takes her hand to kiss her knuckles. “I can’t say I enjoyed the film as much as you did, but your company is all I ever need. Have a good night, dear Rosie.”

“Goodnight,” she says, clear and calm despite the odd emotion caught in her throat.

He dissipates into a cloud of smoke, his shadow lingering behind to wave at her before catching back up with its master.

“Huh,” she breathes. That has so many wonderful implications, and she can’t wait to analyze all of them instead of sleeping tonight. He never fails to give her much to think about.

Dearest Rosie, I hope you’ve been well. As you may have heard from my broadcasts, I’ve been quite busy. Please allow me to treat you to lunch next Saturday afternoon. I know a good spot in Pride Rock Park where we shouldn’t get disturbed by any dissenters with no taste. I know you’ll insist on making something, but don’t strain yourself, it’s my treat to you. Yours truly, Alastor

Another Overlord falls victim to Alastor’s broadcast a few days after their outing. In all honesty, she expected this one to end up as one of his special guests a lot sooner. He treats each Overlord like an episode of an anthology series, spinning a tale for them that they will help perform by way of their screams and pleading for mercy. Some stories conclude in one broadcast, others take several days to conclude. This one, he savors. He switches between the little sketch he prepared and airing out the true reasons why this one ended up on his broadcast. All the distasteful transgressions that built up over years, most of which harmed others, not Alastor himself. How this one Overlord embodied so many things he cannot stand, and will not tolerate anymore. This one’s story took over the airwaves for nine days before reaching its conclusion.

Eight years in Hell, and Alastor has rewritten so much of it. Entire power structures, dominant for centuries, gone overnight in comparison to how long they endured. Every year his power grows, and each new voice on his broadcast demonstrates it. Though they’ll never admit it out loud—to each other or themselves—the other Overlords started fearing him long ago. He took nine days to declare even the oldest and most powerful among them shouldn’t get comfortable.

Rosie uses it as background noise to make her signature “strawberry” “lemonade” and brew sweet tea (unsweetened, though it always tempts her to sweeten it and watch Alastor’s face pucker).

His letter inviting her to lunch in the park told her not to go overboard, since he intends to treat her, but she knows he’ll forget refreshments. She also wants to try out a new recipe on him, so she makes enough for two. Extra plates, napkins, and silverware sit on the counter as a reminder. The last time he treated her to a picnic, he forgot to pack the utensils.

She rushes to the door the moment she hears the knock. “Come in, come in!” She exclaims, pulling him inside by the arm holding the picnic basket. She registers another new outfit on him, a red-on-red-on-black three piece that she will pick apart later. Peaking inside shows he remembered everything this time. “Oh good, we’ll actually be able to eat.”

“It was one time, and we still ate,” he says.

“After having to run down the street and buy new utensils.”

“Which I needed anyway.”

She makes room in the basket for the beverages. “Which you wouldn’t have still needed if you lived somewhere.”

“I do live somewhere,” he goads.

She waves kitchen knife at him before dropping it in the basket. “You’re lucky you’re cute, mister.”

“Why are you bringing that.”

“I’m not,” she suppresses the urge to laugh as she takes it back out and replaces it in the knife block, “that’s just how crazy you make me.”

He balances his microphone staff with the same arm that holds the basket so he can offer her the other. “Well, crazy loves company.”

“That is not how that expression goes,” the joy with which she takes his arm contrasts with her grumpy tone.

According to the plaque, Pride Rock Park takes its name from one of the stones cast at Lilith by Adam when she left him for Lucifer, which heaven threw at them again when they banished the couple to Hell. Casting stones became a common practice for punishment against sin. The rock in the park could crush an entire house, so either humans in the Garden of Eden started life as giants, or the rock here is symbolic.

They set up their blanket under a tree. Despite the heat in Hell not coming from a sun, settling under trees in parks remains a habit for a lot of sinners. The breeze off the toxic saline lake deters others from picnicking near it, but having both grown up by the ocean, they both find the scent pleasant.

Alastor throws down the blanket, using his microphone to hold down the side against the breeze. Rosie spreads out their meal. Her mouth waters at the sight of all the treats Alastor made. Cannibals all throughout hell know Rosie’s famous cooking, and will travel from halfway around the ring to get a taste. The fact that Alastor is a better cook than her—something she has said aloud to him with no shame—stays their secret. She takes great pleasure in knowing sides to him no one else will.

They start the meal in silence, savoring every bite and enjoying one another’s company without need of conversation. She tells at least one cannibal a month that sitting in silence with another person reveals a lot about your true comfort levels. She and Alastor can sit in silence together for hours: reading together, listening to the radio, or enjoying a picnic.

And yet, he seems… off. Stiffer than last time, unsure how to position himself, and unsure what to do with his hands when not holding a fork or plate. Each time he adjusts his position, he inches closer to her, but it also adds to his tension. She relaxes her posture, opening her body language more, and leans back. Mirroring her appears to take some of the tension out, but his gaze never quite reaches her eyes.

After finishing most of their meal, they sit back and enjoy the post-feast sluggishness. Some light helpings remain that they’ll pick away at before returning home. Both of them planned their day around this, intending to spend all of it here with each other.

“I’ve never actually seen a boat at that dock before,” he says, nodding towards the lake.

“Maybe someone drowned,” she says, amused by the thought.

Alastor stands and offers his hand. She looks up at him with suspicion. “Seriously?”

“It’s been an age since I was last on the water,” he shrugs, “care to join me?”

Her eyes stay narrowed, but she smiles, and takes his hand. She takes her parasol, and he conjures his microphone back into his hand, but otherwise, they bring nothing else with them. Lifting her skirts, she steps into the boat, keeping a hold on one of his hands until she sits. Once inside, he pushes them off the dock with one leg, and rows them out towards the center. The lake stretches long enough for them to lose sight of their belongings, but anyone stupid enough to steal from a cannibal cookout deserves what it gets them.

“The cannibettes have been all atwitter the past couple months,” she says as he rows them further and further, “took me days to figure out what had them all acting up.” She considers her words. “They got it in their minds that you were looking to court someone, so they all started asking for relationship advice and buying up my best clothes. I had no idea where they got that from, until I saw you with three new suits in a row and you took me to see a movie.” Rosie puts her head in her hand and smirks. “A talkie, no less, and a romance. You barely tolerate silent films, I know that was torturous for you.”

“Silent films at least have a dream-like quality to them,” Alastor lambasts, “you don’t get distracted by whatever drivel the characters say at each other. Why are we listening to something we’re meant to watch.”

She giggles. “I’m not saying I haven’t enjoyed all of this, because I have, very much. We became friends very quickly because we have a lot in common, and we trust each other, which isn’t something I take or do lightly. I think it’s safe to say we’re close to each other.” Her smile falls a bit. “I know you well enough to know you were uncomfortable that whole day, and again today. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

His eyes pinch as he tries to maintain a charming countenance. He pulls the oars in so he can let them go, then takes a moment to crack his back and stretch out his legs. One hand wipes down his face, shifting his expression to something conflicted. A smile that doesn’t understand the effort it takes to maintain. His hands dangle off his lap.

“‘There’s someone out there for everyone,’” he breathes down at his shoes, as if quoting or reciting a rule. “My mother always told me that everyone has someone. Another person they’re meant to fall in love with and marry. Despite raising me alone and never remarrying after my father abandoned her.” Those last few words come out in a slight snarl, his lip quivering to reveal some of his upper gums. “I had several acquaintances whose parents permitted me to call on them, or others who wanted to introduce me to their daughters, or so on. I tried a few times, but I didn’t really care to get to know any of them better, and mother always said I’d know when it was the right person.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, scratching at the bases of his antlers; a stress response, not one she sees often. He keeps his gaze pointed down. “Down here there’s a higher concentration of degenerates, but it’s much the same as up there, couples courting, marrying, having sexual relations, all of that.”

“And mariticide,” Rosie says.

That gets an amused huff from him. “That one I understand. My mother wanted me to be happy, and she was certain meeting ‘the right person’ was the key to my staying happy after she was gone. She died before she got the chance to see me marry, or have the grandchildren she always wanted. And I died young.” His fingers clench and relax as he talks, trying to grasp something that keeps slipping through the cracks. “Besides my mother, you’re the first person I’ve been this close with, in life or after. It didn’t require any thinking, so it took me some time to realize how much we’ve….bonded. How I enjoy your company.”

At long last, he looks at her. “How I trust you. I thought that was the ‘knowing’ she spoke of. And she had me read all the etiquette guides when I was a boy, so I’d know what to do for what came next. How to court a lady properly and be a gentleman so we might both marry for love, not solely as an obligation.”

“It doesn’t sound like you find any of it appealing,” Rosie says, keeping her tone soft.

“I find you appealing.”

“Oh, well thank you, darling!” She teases. “Don’t you just know how to butter a woman up. Learn that in one of your etiquette guides, did you?” He stares at her while she has a laugh at his expense. She chooses her next words with care, keeping her tone fond and earnest. “Alastor, sweetie, listen to me. You’re dead. None of those silly rules matter anymore. There’s no books to follow, no laws or societal expectations or cultural norms to force you into a position you don’t want to be in. Not for you or for me. As weird as it is to say, down here, we’re free of all that.”

She meets his eyes and holds them. “So, what do you want? Right now. For yourself, or for our relationship.”

He stays silent while he thinks, his hands still trying to close around something out of reach. “I think… I like us how we are. Is that… is that alright with you?” The worry in his eyes makes her want to fling herself across the boat to hug him, but she knows touch would overwhelm him right now. “I don’t… want any of this to have impacted our friendship, or to hurt you if you were hoping for more with me.”

“Ha! Don’t flatter yourself.” Oh, how she wishes she had her Rolleiflex to capture his bewildered, affronted expression. “I’m just kidding. No, I’m not upset at all. I like us how we are, too.” She smirks. “Why mess with perfection?”

Palpable relief washes over him. He sits up straight, smooths his hair out, and takes up the oars again. “My thoughts exactly. What do you say we get off this lake? I’m curious if anyone tried stealing our stuff and, frankly, I hate boats.”

“Why the blazes did you bring us out on a boat, then?”

“Saw it in a picture, once. My old boss at the radio station used to call them the devil’s handiwork, I’m starting to believe him.” He joins her in laughing, this time.

Back at the dock, he hops out of the boat with a fresh spring in his step, and offers his hand to help her step out. They return to their blanket to find nothing stolen, which almost disappoints them. A hunt would have made for a fine afternoon.

She sits against the tree, and he sits next to her, all tension dissipated. The difference in his demeanor feels light night and day. They watch the other sinners enjoy the park, commentating while munching on their remaining snacks and giggling like school children. He summons some books from his library for them to read. And when the food coma hits him the way she expected, he starts to slump into her. Putting her book aside, she pulls his head down into her lap, scratching his scalp with her free hand while the other brings her book back into view. He tries to continue reading but dozes off in less than a minute.

The large park sits far enough away from the city that, when night begins to fall, the park will darken some. When the incandescent street lights flicker to life, she wakes him. They pack all of the containers and plates up, fold the blanket, and lock arms for the walk back to Rosie’s. The loud, bright, bustling avenues of Pentagram City give way to the quieter, oil-lit streets of Cannibal Town not a moment too soon.

She expects him to resist coming inside with her, but he follows without complaint. In the kitchen, after he helps wash and put away her beverage containers, he pulls her into a hug. It stuns her, but only for a moment, before she hugs him back twice as tight.

“Thank you, Rosie,” he whispers.

She rubs his back. “Thank you, Al, for being the best friend a girl could ask for.”

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” he mocks distaste, wrinkling his nose and standing up straight, “I don’t think I like this friends business, either.”

“Oh shut up,” she swats him with a dish towel, then flicks it at the picnic basket, “and hand me all that. You’re staying here tonight.”

“Rosie—”

“Nope. I’m not done with you. I don’t care if you’re staying at the studio, you fell asleep at the park, so you haven’t been sleeping at the studio. You sleep when you stay here, so you’re staying here tonight. Not up for debate.”

His shoulders sag in defeat, the fight leaving his body. He dries dishes while she washes, placing all of his belongings back in the basket when dry. The night clothes she keeps for him stay in the dresser in the guest room. When they retire for the night, he gives her a kiss on the cheek. His shadow stays behind to wave at her before joining him in the guest room.

“Huh,” she says again. More shadow behavior to ponder.

She takes her time with her night routine, starting with drawing a bath. As she removes her clothes and folds them on the counter, she hears the water turn on in the guest room. Smiling to herself, she slips in and soaks the day away, knowing her companion does the same.

Alastor shows little interest in connecting with the other Overlords, or many other sinners in general, but they gravitated towards each other early on, and haven’t left each other’s orbit since. Whatever the future holds for them, however their relationship develops from here, she has no expectations, but she knows one thing for sure: they’re going to have a bloody good time together.

[xoxochb]

Heyy :)

I would love to ask something for Connor with a Hecate!reader. I don’t really care whether it’s a headcannon a fic a blurb or something else. Whatever comes to mind!

Have a great day :D

I'd sell my own bones for sapphire stones ‘cause blue's your favorite color

warnings: none

pairing: connor stoll x daughter of hecate

summary: based on the title lyrics

you lay on your bed in cabin twenty, your cat, raven, tucked into your arms, something only she allowed you to do, and perhaps a certain son of hermes but you were unsure why she liked him because the only other person she did like was you

speak of the devil- you hear him arguing with one of your siblings at the door of your cabin, you assume your sibling won’t let him in because last time he was standing in the hecate cabin he almost killed everyone

“let him in” you yell due to your bed being on the complete opposite side of cabin

you sit up when you hear a sigh from your sibling, a large grin making its way to your face when you see your favorite boy making his way to your bed

when he reaches his destination he gasps as the sight of your cat in your lap, and he gently picks her up

“my child! how I missed you” he fake pouts and pets her softly

“she’s not yours, idiot” you roll your eyes

“well she only likes me and you, so technically we’re her parents”

you blush at his words, and then take back your cat, “what’re you doing here?”

“I want to see your book, the one about crystals and stuff” he says like it’s the most obvious thing ever

but it is because you had promised to show him yesterday

“oh! yeah, let me get it” you hand raven back to connor before getting up from your bed, walking over to your bookshelf and grabbing your book, then making your way back to your bed where you find connor sitting

you take a seat beside him and open up the book, “alright let’s start at the beginning”

you begin looking through the book, showing the boy different crystals and stones, but he stops you when he sees a certain stone

“I like this one” he says pointing to it

“you like sapphire stones?” you inquire

“blue is my favorite color” he nods

you make a mental note of this and then go back to your book, and that’s what you did for the rest of the afternoon

🔮

after sunset connor leaves your cabin, and your mission is on: you’re going to find him a sapphire stone

you don’t know how, or even where to get one, but you’re going to try

you may wonder: shouldn’t the hecate cabin have them? that’s a great question, you’re unsure why but it’s one of the only stones your cabin doesn’t have

the first thing you do is ask around your cabin, but none of them had any with them. now you need to find a new plan, and that requires burnt offerings.

you didn’t usually pray to the gods, but tonight you needed it, so you sneak out of your cabin after curfew to ask a favor of your mother

once you burn your offerings- peanut m&m’s- you begin to speak: “I don’t even know if you’re going to hear this but I’d really like your help. I need a sapphire stone, preferably tonight if that’s possible. I don’t ask for much, I don’t ask for anything actually, but I really need this stone, it’s important to me”

you sigh and look up at the stars above, then looking back down when you see your fire has been put out

perhaps your mother is here! no- she wouldn’t be here.

you get up from the grass and make your way back to your cabin when you’re stopped by a tall figure

“I heard I was urgently needed?” they say- a female voice

“mother?” you ask

“that would be me, my child” she comes out from the darkness

you try to say something but all that comes out it stuttered words, nothing real

“a sapphire stone is what you need, yes?” she conquers a blue stone into her hand, then taking your hand and placing it in your palm

“yes! yeah, for my- uhm… friend” you manage to say

“a friend? you run around all night- forfeiting your sleep for someone who is just a friend?” she gives you a confused look

“yep…” you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in “well if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get some sleep in”

“yes, of course my daughter, I hope you sort out your friend situation” she smirks and with a snap of her fingers she’s gone

after a moment of shock you go back to your cabin and fall into a deep slumber until morning

🔮

in the morning you wake early even though you got maybe at least two hours of sleep.

you get up quietly, trying not to wake your siblings, you finish your morning routine and make your way to hermes cabin, but not without grabbing the stone first. once you arrive you peek in the window to see if connor is still there, but before your eyes can adjust to the darkness of the cabin you hear a voice speak

“do you always do this?”

you scramble away from the window only to be met with said boy

“holy gods of olympus, you scared me! don’t do that!” you give him a light smack on the head

“you’re the one who’s being a pervert” he points out

“no, I wasn’t. I was seeing if you were in there before I knocked on the window!” you roll your eyes

“why are you here so early?” he asks

“I’ve got something for you” you say, and he goes to say something but you stop him, “but I’m not sure if you’re worthy of it”

“yes! I’m very worthy, can I see?” he nods his head rapidly

you sigh and stuff the stone in your pocket so he doesn’t see, “nope”

“that’s not fair. what do I have to do to be worthy?” he asks putting air quotes around the last word

“apologize” you cross your arms

“for what? I didn’t do anything!” he says in disbelief

“for calling me a pervert, you weirdo!” you smack him again

he sighs and thinks for a moment before taking a step closer, cupping your face in his hands and capturing your lips with his

when he pulls away he speaks, “is that a good enough apology?”

“I suppose so” you mumble, blushing

you reach into your pocket and take out the stone, taking his hand and placing it in his palm

“a sapphire stone?” he beams

“yep. I had to talk to my mom to get it-”

“your mom?!” his eyes widen

“yeah, I asked my siblings but they didn’t have any, so I asked my mom and she came to me, I was up almost all night but I think it was worth it” you explain

he doesn’t say anything, but instead he pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug

“have I ever told you that I really really like you?” he mutters into your shoulder

you fake think for a moment before responding, “no, I don’t think you have”

“then I’ll have to show you” he picks his head up from your shoulder and captured your lips once again

and if it was relevant- you’d say it was better than the first

[mopopshop]

hey!! can i request a dt fic where reader is friends with bg and they meet at an event and dt flirts with her all night and reader isn't sure if dt is being serious or not and after a while agrees to go on a date and then they fall in love

A Night To Remember (Diana Taurasi x OC)

short but sweet, please enjoy and give feedback if you like!!🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

You walk into the buzzing event, a celebration for the team's latest victory. The room is filled with familiar faces, laughter echoing off the walls, and the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. As you scan the room, you spot Brittany, your close friend and confidante, waving enthusiastically. You make your way through the crowd, weaving between teammates and their friends, until you reach her.

“Elena!” Brittany greets you with a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply with a grin. “Where’s the rest of the gang?”

Brittany points towards the bar area, where a group of players are gathered, and as your eyes follow her gesture, they land on Diana. She’s laughing at something a teammate said, her presence magnetic as always. You've seen her countless times on the court, but there's something different about seeing her here, off the court, relaxed and in her element.

As you and Brittany chat, you can't help but steal glances in Diana's direction. To your surprise, you notice her looking your way more than once. Eventually, Brittany nudges you playfully.

“Looks like someone has caught Diana’s eye,” she teases in a sing song way.

You laugh it off, though your heart skips a beat. “Yeah, right.”

Before you can dwell on it further, Diana makes her way over to you both. “Hey, B. Who’s your friend?” she asks, though you have a feeling she already knows your name.

“This is Elena,” Brittany introduces you. “Elena, this is—”

“Diana Taurasi,” you finish a little too excitedly, shaking Diana’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Diana replies, her gaze lingering on yours just a bit longer than necessary. “Mind if I steal you away for a bit?”

You look to Brittany, who just smirks and waves you off. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Diana leads you to a quieter corner of the room, where the noise of the party fades slightly, allowing for easier conversation. You talk about everything and nothing—your job, her career, mutual friends. As the night progresses, Diana’s flirtatious remarks become more frequent and bold. She compliments your dress, makes jokes that send you into fits of laughter, and her hand occasionally brushes against yours in a way that feels deliberate.

“That dress looks amazing on you, Elena,” Diana says, her eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “But I bet it would look even better on that dance floor.”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. “Is that your way of asking me to dance?”

“Maybe,” she replies with a playful grin. “Or maybe I just want an excuse to keep you close.”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re pretty smooth, Taurasi. Does this usually work for you?”

She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “I don’t know. Is it working now?”

Before you can answer, she cracks a joke about one of the more eccentric teammates, and you burst into laughter, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“Only when I’m trying to impress someone,” she says, her hand brushing yours again. This time, the touch lingers, sending a shiver up your spine.

“You don’t need to try so hard,” you admit, your voice softer. “You’re already pretty impressive.”

“Good to know,” she says, her smile widening. “Because I’ve been wanting to impress you for a while now.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh really?”

“Really,” she confirms, her eyes locked onto yours as you continue your conversation.

But with each passing moment, you grow more uncertain. Is she serious, or is this just how she interacts with everyone? Diana is known for her charisma; maybe this is just another side of that.

At one point, you voice your thoughts. “Are you always this charming, or am I just special tonight?”

Diana smiles, a soft, genuine smile that reaches her eyes. “You think I’m playing games? Elena you are stunning. I’ve been wanting to get to know you better for a while now. I’m serious.”

Your heart skips again, but this time with excitement rather than doubt. “Really?”

“Really,” she assures you, taking your hand in hers. “So, how about a date? Just you and me. No crowds, no distractions.”

You hesitate for only a moment, then nod. “Okay. I’d like that.”

Diana’s smile widens, and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Great. I’ll make sure it’s a night to remember.”

As the evening continues, you find yourself feeling lighter, the uncertainty replaced by anticipation. By the time you part ways, you’re already looking forward to your date with Diana, wondering what the future might hold.

Brittany finds you later, a knowing grin on her face. “So, how did it go?”

You smile back, your heart still fluttering. “Better than I could have imagined.”

[bomber-grl]

Nico Di Angelo x Son of Nyx 🌙

Pairing(s): Nico Di Angelo x M!Reader

A/n: I use powers from camp half-blood fanon wiki

Nico had never took your presence seriously

I mean he was hardly ever at camp and when he was he wasn’t concerned with others.

That’s until you take it upon yourself to bother him.

Not only would you mess with his shadow traveling because of boredom (and maybe because you wanted him to notice you)

But also because he could definitely improve on it, big time.

Then life happened and you sorta forgot about it all and then Percy approached you one day about a quest

Nothing major, if anything it was little, but a quest nonetheless

Others were dragged into it too of course but you were the one that got paired with Nico

Nico was quiet, reserved, and couldn’t be bothered with you

Well, until you accidentally revealed that you had been messing up with his shadow traveling all those months ago

He’s pretty pissed but then he sorta asks for your advice on it

Not straightforwardly but still asks

You decided why not? And started showing him better ways to manipulate the shadows so that you wouldn’t get drained that easily

This little teaching session turned into you two having a genuine conversation around a campfire while you camped out

This began the deep dive on both of your powers

Nico knew you were powerful

I mean your mom was Nyx, even Zeus feared her and you definitely would know more about darkness and night time than Nico

Your abilities were very similar to his, ability to manipulate shadows, even during the day but was super draining, you could shadow travel just like him, and you had night vision

It was all super useful except until it wasn’t

You two decided that it’d be best to have a move on and began traveling until daybreak

From then on it was day and you both were considerably weaker

With your luck (which is to say none) you got ambushed and basically jumped by a group of monsters

They were a particularly powerful bunch and although Nico tried to manage it was clear he couldn’t continue for much time

So in all your desperation you turned day into night

Maybe it was for only a second but you need to and did so by manipulating darkness (or night)

It wasn’t as cool at Nico made it out to be but you both got your strength back and defeated them (mostly Nico)

He thought you were pretty cool from then on out and because of how you understood eachother (and creepiness both your auras oozed of) you two became a couple

Nicos as nonchalant as ever but it’s nice for him to finally have someone who he doesn’t have to be an outsider with

He’d constantly worry about being too much for others

Too dark, too scary but you didn’t give a shit so he began thinking, why should he?

You two became two outsiders together and although your siblings were sorta accepted it was fine either way

You and Nico were one and although he never voiced how he felt

(Which was like that) it was fine because you knew he did

Honestly Nico is just his usual self, with less self consciousness

[sorrel-leaf-vespers]

More Sitcom AU writing, continued from the previous post! You guys' kind words on the last one meant a lot to me, especially since I haven't been able to share my writing with anyone in a long while, and have straight up never engaged with a community via my craft like this. Thanks for reading!

Clyde had been silent the whole walk. By now, the moon was high in the sky, and the town of Eastridge had been left far behind. Alex’s feet hurt from spending hours walking nonstop through the forest. They were following Clyde, wherever it might have been going.

“I’m assuming we would be getting there much faster if you didn’t have to move at a human’s pace?” Alex finally asked. “Because when we were running there, you were going… really fast.”

“Yeah,” said Clyde. “We’re almost there.”

“So…” Alex stretched. “Veldigun sickness. When will the symptoms set in since that spike was digging into my hand? I’m going to assume the onset might be more rapid because of the prolonged contact. And maybe even more intense.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

The intense growl in Clyde’s voice told Alex to drop the subject. It must have felt ashamed or guilty for giving Alex Veldigun sickness. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“To hide.”

“Where, exactly?”

The question answered itself. Clyde pointed through the trees at what looked like an old, dilapidated house. As they got closer, Clyde showed no fear. This place must be safe if that’s the case, Alex figured.

Clyde walked right past the house and toward a nearby barn. It began calling out in a series of shrieks and hisses as it pushed the door open. Nothing responded. “What are you doing?” Alex asked.

“Letting them know we’re here.”

“Friends of yours?” Alex walked into the barn. It was completely dark, other than the light of the moon coming in through the window. “So… what kinds of friends could you-”

A horrid, ear-shattering scream echoed through the barn as something emerged from the darkness. It vaguely resembled a bird, but it was covered in purple and black goo and lacked any legs, just a tail that it slithered along the ground with. It shrieked again and flapped its wings.

“Calm down, Flock. It’s okay.” A second figure approached, this one only about a foot taller than Alex. He was humanoid, but had long, lanky arms covered in stripes like Clyde’s, and a burlap sack over his head. Someone more inexperienced would have considered him a sentient scarecrow, but Alex had enough experience to know that this was another Veldigun. His voice was quiet and gentle, a stark contrast to Clyde’s raspy hiss. “Clyde. Hello.”

“Hi.”

“I didn’t expect you to come seeking us out in the middle of the night.”

“It was an emergency.”

The new Veldigun turned to Alex. “You brought a human, huh?”

“I did. That’s Alex.”

“Alex? The Alex Williams you’ve been telling us about?”

“That’s the one.”

“In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Alex. My name is Simon.” Simon politely bowed to them, then gestured to the bird creature. “That’s the Flock. It’s also a Veldigun, but it was never able to fully move on from its Void state. Forgive it if it looks a little… goopy.”

The Flock perked up at its name and said in a perfect imitation of Simon’s voice, “Hi, Flock. Hi, Flock.”

“Uh… hi?” Alex didn’t understand why Simon was being so friendly. He was a Veldigun who had never met them before. “Has Clyde told you about me?”

“Indeed it has. It’s spoken very highly of you.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey!” Clyde lashed its tail.

Simon let out a small snort. Alex couldn’t tell what he was thinking under that sack. “Regardless,” he said, “I know that Clyde wouldn’t have brought you here without a purpose. What happened?”

Alex told the whole story of that afternoon- their Veldigun research, getting found by the police, the long trek to the barn, all of it. Simon listened attentively, nodding every so often. When Alex finished talking, he turned to look at Clyde. “I see now. You need someplace to hide.”

“Yeah. I figured this was the best place,” said Clyde, crossing its arms. “And there’s another thing you should know… Alex will get Veldigun sickness, since I touched them.”

“It was an accident,” said Alex, jumping to Clyde’s defense.

Simon nodded again. “Alright. We’ll see if we can find any way to make the process more… oh, how do I say this… bearable is how I’ll put it. In the meantime, let’s try to make you comfortable here. If Lankmann is after you, I’ve a feeling you’ll be here a while.”

“Thank you,” said Alex. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s what any good Veldigun would do for an ally.”

The Flock slithered closer, close enough to where Alex could touch it if they wanted. It again started talking in Simon’s voice. “You’re such a good bird. You’re such a good bird. You’re such a good bird.”

Simon chuckled. “That means it likes you.”

For the first time since the police had come knocking, Alex felt genuinely intrigued. Their instinct to write everything down was kicking in. “How does it do that?”

“It’s a master of imitation. My working theory is that it got that ability from consuming birds that live around here. Lots of corvids. Jays, crows, even a raven or two. Those birds possess incredible mimicry capabilities, so I figure they’ve handed that off to the Flock.”

“You seem a lot more comfortable with human speech than Clyde is.”

“I am. I like to watch humans from afar. I’ve picked up a lot.”

“You like humans?”

“In the manner of liking them as more than just meals? Yes. I find them a fascinating species. I’ve done my best to keep them away from Clyde’s claws, but reasoning with it is no easy feat.”

Clyde hissed something that Alex couldn’t exactly make out, but sounded like “Hypocrite.” They decided not to press it. “Well, thanks for trying,” said Alex, smiling up at Simon.

“It’s no problem. Feel free to sleep on the couch we dragged in from that house. It’s old and dirty, but it’s better than nothing. Clyde, you should rest, too. I’ll keep watch.”

“Thank you.” Alex reached out and shook Simon’s hand. They had already touched one Veldigun today. No harm in touching another. “Thanks so much.”

“You’re welcome, truly.”

Alex curled up on the couch. They had no blanket or pillow, but they were tired enough to the point where they didn’t need one to fall asleep instantly. They were out in seconds, with no time to think about what the coming days held. That was probably for the best.