#WILL YOU NEVER EVER LEAVE FROM BESIDE ME?

[toppersjeep]

But I Love Him- Lando Norris

Masterlist

Summary: You work at McLaren with Lando. You are his race strategist. You used to be in a relationship before he ended it because of all the hate you were receiving. One day you see him bring another girl to the races. And it upsets you. So you decide to take matters into your own hands and talk to this girl.

Your POV

Lando had arrived late at the paddock with some blonde girl. Of course she was beautiful. But I knew she had a reputation. But why would he care as long as he had someone by his side. I knew he was just needy. He was that way when we were together.

She walked into the garage and sat away from everyone. Lando walked over to me. Putting a hand on my back. Standing beside me. There it was butterflies like it used to be.

“What’s the plan for today Y/N” Lando said looking at my laptop. “Uhhhh well same as usual you know” I said his hand went lower. But why?? We aren’t together anymore. “That’s good” he said overlooking it. “Yeah just changed a couple things you’ll be on softs first” I said.

“Alright” Lando said with his arm around me. “You need anything else” I said. “Uhhhh no but I’m glad to have my lucky charm here today” Lando said. “Me really or Oscar” I said he laughed. “You of course” Lando said I smiled. “You look nice” I said fixing his color.

“It’s just my racing suit” Lando said. “Papaya brings out your eyes” I said. “Ah” Lando said blushing. “Beautiful blue eyes” I said. “Well I should get ready thank you Y/N” Lando said. “I got you” I said.

I walked around the garage when the girl he brought scoffed at me. I stopped in my tracks.

“Problem Maugi” I said. “Oh she knows my name” she said rolling her eyes. “Yeah I know who you are” I said. “Don’t you have a job to do” she said. “You know.. you are no good for him” I said. “Don’t care what you think he dumped you” she said laughing.

“And?? At least I’ve never cheated on my partners” I said. “You don’t deserve someone as amazing as Lando” I said. “You truly have no idea how special he is” I said. “I don’t care that he dumped me he did because he was protecting me” I said.

“So what” she said crossing her arms. “You don’t even deserve to be in the same room as him” I said. “You know what I think you are jealous” she said. “Why would I be jealous of someone like you? Sure you are pretty girl but you’ll always be mean” I said she stayed silent.

“You will never ever know him the way I do or love him the way I do” I said. “He dated you for what ten months get over it” Maugi said. “Just stop” Lando said walking over. “Lando” I said. “Not you her” Lando said as she looked at him. “But she started it” Maugi said. “No she didn’t as a matter of fact you need to leave” Lando said.

“Whatever you be with your stupid little race strategist” she said brushing my shoulder as she walked out. “I’m sorry she was pissing me off” I said. “I heard you” Lando said laughing. “What” I said. “You are so feisty sometimes you know” Lando said. “Shut up and go get ready” I said he kissed my cheek.

“And uhh I love you too” Lando said. I just blushed as he walked away.

Later…

Lando had won his first race. I ran over to the cars with everyone and stood up front. With tears pouring out of my eyes. He got out of the car. The whole McLaren crew cheered.

He walked over and spotted me. He then ran over and kissed me. As the McLaren crew cheered.

“My lucky charm” he said I smiled teary eyed. He then picked me up and spun mr around. “P1 so proud of you” I said. “You helped a lot so thank you baby” Lando said. “Oh so I’m baby now” I said sarcastically. “If you want to be my girl just ask” Lando said.

“Hmmmm tempting Lan” I said. “How about you just say yes and we see what happens” Lando said. “Alright I’ll be your girl” I said. “Good cause tonight I’m taking you out” Lando said. “Oh really shouldn’t I treat you” I said.

“When it comes to you just let me treat you” Lando said. “Fine my love” I said. “But tonight I’m expecting so many kisses” Lando said. “Of course my race winner” I said kissing him. “Now let’s go celebrate baby” Lando said.

____

(A/N- Sorry for randomly disappearing but I’m back now, needed a break from writing and stuff. But I’m back and I’m gonna take new requests. I’m gonna do a couple that have been asked. But send in new ones!!)

[cobaltperun]

Genius (8) - R U Mine

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part

Word count: 2.5k

-And I can't help myself all I wanna ever say is, "Are you mine?"-

She really should have started writing her assignment, just so she could get it over with as soon as possible, but somehow, she just wanted to stay right where she was right now. In her bedroom, lying on her bed, engulfed in warm, soft blankets and your arms around her waist as she snuggled with you. It’s been a while since she relaxed like this, now, she wasn’t a morning person, but she rarely spent her free mornings in bed.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked her softly and kissed the top of her head. She straddled you and sat up with a teasing smirk on her face.

“How dare you be so gentle now? After you rocked my world last night?” she poked your chest jokingly.

You pressed a finger on your chin and looked up, acting as if you were in deep thought, the entire act completed with a soft hum. “Good point, good point, I don’t think you minded it thought,” you grinned, way too happy with what you did to her and for a moment she wondered how quickly could she get you hard and just leave you hanging.

Eh, that was a bit too cruel. Besides, you were right, though she wouldn’t admit it right now. In the throes of passion, yeah, absolutely, now that she was just cuddling with you, no, no way in hell would she admit how much you affected her.

“I’ll never say it,” she teased you, leaning down to kiss you.

You wouldn’t open your mouth for her though, and instead cupped her cheek and went for a more gentle, innocent kiss.

“I have your letter, it’s all the proof I need,” you laughed and well, she did confess how much she wanted you in the letter.

“I’ll burn it,” Cairo countered, not yet ready to admit her loss.

“You read it to me, I won’t forget it,” you had a point there, she had to admit that.

Well, she still had a way out, at least she hoped. “I’ll fill your brain with so many even dirtier thoughts you’ll have to forget it,” she whispered it in your ear, enjoying how sharply you inhaled at that.

Your pupils dilated as you looked her in her eyes, and she was sure her own eyes weren’t any less filled with desire and love she felt right now. She wasn’t ready to say it to you, that what she felt went above and beyond high school love, that she felt the madman’s love, and that she knew her feelings were returned. She felt it yesterday, she felt it as you took her, as the two of you burnt up in your emotions, all the desire and lust and need. She found it in you, the ruins of a friendship being rebuilt into the love that felt so right, that felt as if it was tailor-made just for her.

Maybe it was.

“Cairo,” her name rolled off your tongue so smoothly and she wanted to hear you say it more, she wanted to hear you say it ten years from now, twenty years from now, fifty years from now, with that same intensity and love in your voice. “What was on your mind?” you demanded, and she was at a loss on what to tell you.

“Us, this morning, yesterday, so many things at once. I just feel happy, I feel loved for the first time in a long time, maybe in my entire life,” she pressed her finger on your lips when you tried to speak up. “You asked why I pushed you away when we were kids, well,” she paused, moving from your lap and lying back down next to you. Her arms wrapped around you as she held onto you, knowing you wouldn’t disappear on her, but still needing to make sure.

“I wanted my parents to love me,” she began, knowing how confusing it must have sounded. “You remember how they were, right? Distant, uninterested, yet with high expectations,” she told you and felt, more than saw, you nodding. “I got a C on that test, remember? The one where only you and I got Cs and more than two thirds of the class failed?”

“I remember,” you told her, and she could tell you weren’t done. “If it was some other test I would have forgotten it, I can’t even remember if it was my first C or not, but I lost you right after it, and it just remained stuck in my memory,” you sighed, tightening your hold on her as you likely remembered how your next conversation went.

“They were disappointed, yelled all night, and I thought I’d make them happier is I stopped ‘wasting time’ as they put it,” she paused, buried her face in your neck and waited for your response.

“And one of those was the time you spent playing with me,” you said what she couldn’t and she just nodded.

“I thought if I did even better, if I never made any mistakes, if I was their perfect daughter, that they would love me more. They still pretend I don’t exist, like I’m the biggest mistake they ever made,” that was at the core of everything she did, she figured. Craving madman’s love, a love so strong it would consume her entirely, because she’s never been given the unconditional love of her parents she heard and read so much about. Perhaps, looking at it now that she was no longer trying to seduce him, she went after Miller’s love for that reason as well. Because deep down she felt like she needed validation from someone older, someone old enough to be her parent. Sure, Winnie’s talk pushed her toward Miller, but deep down, the key push was likely related to never feeling love from her parents. “I had you, and I gave you up for something I couldn’t ever gain,” she sighed, angry at herself for ever thinking that, for ever giving you up.

“Your parents are a special kind of fucked up,” you sounded angry, and though she knew any anger you may be feeling was directed at her parents she still worried some of it was reserved for her. “You have me now, we’re together, we’ll make up for the lost time,” you assured her as you gently rubbed circles on her back.

“I guess you would have left anyway, since your parents moved,” that was something that brought her some comfort, though it felt so hollow. “Right?” your silence made her prop herself up to look you in the eyes and the uncomfortable look on your face was enough even without your confirmation. “Y/N?”

“Not quite. I could have stayed, I just, had no reason to. And I could have come back two years ago as well,” you confessed, not wanting to lie to her, and she just looked down, processing the information as you sat up and pulled her onto your lap. “Cairo, listen to me,” you brushed her hair back, “Don’t get stuck on what-ifs, things worked out, and maybe they wouldn’t have if we stayed as best friends.”

It was a valid point, but at the same time, the fact that she was the one who gave you the reason to leave by not being your reason to stay hurt. She never considered that your departure could have been avoided, but then again, she never cared to learn more about the circumstances behind your parents moving. Maybe one of them could have stayed with you, or maybe they could have paid for someone else to make sure you were taken care of, they certainly had enough money to do what Cairo’s parents did.

It was also true that the past six years shaped both of you. Nothing proved that as much as how long it took her to recognize you when she first sat down next to you. Hell, she failed to recognize you in the hall, not that she paid much attention to you, even after Winnie said your name, she brushed it off as coincidence, as universe playing a cruel joke by reminding her of you.

In the end, you were right, thinking about what-ifs wasn’t helping either of you. “I still wish I didn’t push you away, I was stubborn, and then I was scared you were angry at me,” there, you had all the pieces of the puzzle.

“I knew you were stubborn, I guess I wanted you to come to me, we were children, immature, not realizing it didn’t matter how we made up didn’t matter as much as making up itself,” you understood, you weren’t angry at her, you accepted everything she said, and Cairo felt the weight she carried for so long being erased. She felt lighter, she felt even more loved.

“Are you mine?” she asked, bringing her lips closer to yours.

“I am,” you closed the distance and kissed her.

And there, with your lips dancing with hers, with your hands resting on her sides and her own holding you close to her, she did her best to convey, through her kiss, through her touch, to her soft moans into the kiss, that she was yours as well.

~X~

“Never fear, Winnie is here!” resounded through the mansion as you cleaned your helmet in Cairo’s living room to the soft tunes of Celine Dion playing in the background. Your helmet got really dirty, the mud and the rain didn’t do it any good, that was for sure, and you were surprised it wasn’t scratched, considering Cairo tossed it aside yesterday.

“That is exactly what I fear,” Cairo teased as she came into the living room just as Winnie barged in with the most flamboyant outfit you saw on her thus far. She had the bright sunglasses on, even though she was inside Cairo’s house, her skirt was longer, though still above her knees and it flowed a bit as she moved, but that was nothing compared to the flashy coat she had on, hanging from her shoulders as the sleeves magically flowed behind her back. Her shirt was so bright you wondered if you should go grab some sunglasses as well and she had several bags in her hands.

“Don’t tell me, there’s a secret government organization after you and this was your only disguise,” you grinned a bit when she raised her sunglasses and looked through the window.

“I lost her, for now,” she laughed, dropping down on the sofa close to you. “And it’s even worse than secret organization. It’s my art teacher, and I’m late for her assignment,” she cackled, tossing one of the bags toward you while you still had the helmet in your hands.

“Wait!” you yelled helplessly and fumbled a bit, but still managed to catch it.

“So that’s why I can’t see your underwear,” Cairo teased and sat down next to you.

“I’ll show it to you if it’ll get me a threesome,” Winnie tossed the second bag to Cairo and then took her sunglasses off.

Cairo rolled her eyes. “I’m not sharing,” she took out her chicken biscuits as you checked the content of your own bag and saw it was the same thing.

“Baby, you’d be shared,” Winnie said it so casually you nearly choked on the chicken you were chewing.

Cairo glanced at you and hummed. “You don’t know what I know,” and now you definitely choked, and she had to pat you on the back.

Winnie raised an eyebrow. “Share the spoils, also, that was quick, I didn’t think you’d lose your virginity before me, yet here we are,” the girl had no filter whatsoever.

“Not one word,” you warned Cairo as you tried to clear your throat and get rid of the awful feeling of nearly choking on food.

“And here I brought you lunch,” Winnie teased you and you just had to wonder how Cairo managed to deal with all the teasing, because, damn, the girl didn’t hold back. “Did you know Cairo dreamt about you? Like, way before you came back?”

Now it was Cairo’s turn to nearly choke. “Winnie!” she cried out, blushing furiously as her secret was revealed.

You just grinned and nudged her with your elbow. “Oh, you’ll never hear the end of this,” you promised her, and you decided you’d do everything in your power to get the details out of her.

“I’ll never tell you,” Cairo knew exactly what was going through your mind.

“Wanna bet?” you smirked and leaned over to Winnie. “Say, you’ve been her best friend these past four years. Give me some advantage here,” you nearly laughed at how betrayed Cairo looked at the moment.

Winnie raised her hand to her lips and pretended she was whispering, though Cairo heard everything loud and clear. “You could fuck her on your bike, or hear me out, reenact one of the smutty scenes she loves to read so much in return for the details,” she suggested. “I’m not sure how you’ll fill her with cum, but I’m sure she’ll be satisfied with 95 percent accuracy.”

Cairo glared at both of you. “She won’t have issues with filling me up,” she immediately got her revenge, and you watched as Winnie glanced down and then up to your face. “Yes,” Cairo confirmed it before Winnie could ask.

“So,” Winnie paused for a moment to clear her throat. “About that threesome,” she just laughed when Cairo threw a paper bag at her.

“I’ll go and get something sweet,” Cairo grumbled as she stood up and went toward her kitchen.

“You sure we can’t share you?” Winnie cackled when all she got as a response was a middle finger. “She’s happy, you know,” she suddenly told you and smiled, an actual, honest, no teasing whatsoever smile softened her face.

You tilted your head, not sure how she got that from this interaction.

“You still have some catching up to do, but she likely isn’t as open and relaxed as she was when you were kids. She’s absurdly stiff, and sure, she laughs, and smiles, but she’s just radiating from how happy she is right now. You see her, you love her, and she’s wanted that for so long, to be loved by someone who can take her loneliness away and take her away from here when she can’t do it for herself,” Winnie explained to you, and though she didn’t say it, you dared to think she left one bit unsaid, the part likely going along the lines: ‘you did something I couldn’t,’ because you saw just how much Winnie cared about Cairo, and you were thankful for that.

“I’ll get up to speed, I want to make her as happy as I possibly can,” you said, looking toward the kitchen. And you’d do just that, you’d do absolutely everything in your power to make sure she never felt lonely again.

A/N: How do I put this. Enjoy the happy times! We’re entering a bit of a angst part from the last third of the next chapter… Four chapters to go though!

Taglist: @deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy @lifeforsimp13

@puta1 @minnyyminny

[quill-and-quiver]

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: baldur's gate 3 | astarion acunín x gn!reader 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: When Astarion lets it slip that he hasn't seen his own face since he became a vampire spawn, you take it upon yourself to be his eyes. And, as you assure him, he has a very good face. 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: artist!reader (sorta) | if u noticed anything i missed, pls let me know! 𝚆/𝙲: 2k — 9 min read time .·:*¨༺➻𝙰/𝙽: i'm so sure someone's already done this but ever since this scene triggered for me in like act 1 i been THINKING bout it. i combined some of the dialogue results for this one. he also never is not pretty like ??? r u joking. AND reqs are open! 🤍 mills

✧❦༺ 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 |.☽.| 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 |.☽.| 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ༻❦✧

While you sit atop your bedroll trying to relax at camp, your eyes drift over toward Astarion’s tent. To your surprise, you catch beams of moonlight reflecting off of a shining surface. Intrigued, you get up from your seat and make your way over to him. As you approach, you slow your steps and carefully peer around his figure to see a beautiful, ornate silver mirror. Of course, there is no reflection within it aside from your own face.

“Looking for something?” the vampire spawn purrs.

Your eyebrows raise, and you tilt your head inquisitively as a smirk curves across your lips.

“How did you know I was here?” you ask.

“The only benefit to a mirror when you have my…condition. It doesn’t quite make up for the lack of reflection, mind you.”

You hum to yourself and nod. He turns to face you, dropping the mirror to his side. His eyebrows are knitted together, that signature anger decorating his handsome feline features.

“Do you miss it?” you ask, folding your arms over your chest. “Your own face?”

“Preening the looking glass? Petty vanity?” He scoffs. “Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face - not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

“What color were they before?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have the chance to stop it.

“I don’t know…” he drops his gaze and his eyebrows furrow in deep thought. “I can’t remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost.”

He throws the mirror onto the dirt beside him. It lands with a dulled clink as Astarion’s face floods with fury. You breathe a sigh and gulp. Then, you cautiously step forward, craning your neck and narrowing your eyes to focus on him. He angles his head, quirking an eyebrow.

“What?” he asks quietly.

“Just looking.”

“And what is it that you see, exactly, when you look at me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you formulate an answer. Suddenly, you can see all of him at once. Your artist’s soul drinks in each and every detail. You study his almond-shaped eyes, the delicate and noble curve of his nose, the grooves in his lips, his pointed ears and angular jawline. Your heartbeat pounds into your ears, and your chest tightens. You admire the way each part of him comes together to form that face, that cruel beauty. You can practically see the penciled lines on a scrap of parchment, the colors you would mix to get his skin tone right, the way you would paint him without the bite scars on his neck. The finished piece flashes before you. Your fingers twitch with anticipation.

“I see you,” you reply. “The creases when you laugh. The way your hair curls around your ears. That dangerous smile.”

His gaze softens, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He straightens, heaving a deep breath, and places his hands on his hips.

“Very good. Now just tell me I’m beautiful and we can call it a day.”

You smile and chuckle.

“You have nothing to worry about, Astarion. It’s a very good face.”

A full smirk breaks across his features, tugging one corner of his mouth upward. He eyes you mischievously, his gaze flicking up and down your figure, before he turns to pick up a book. You take that as your cue to leave and make your way back to your own tent

Though you try to settle down by reading a book you nicked off a drow corpse by the Ebonlake Grotto - The Great Furnace of Grymforge sounds incredibly important - you can’t keep yourself from looking back at your vampire companion. His words continue to echo in your head, over and over again.

I’ve never even seen this face, not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.

The painting of him that you had imagined earlier flickers through your mind once again. You raise your head and peer around to see that most of your other companions have gone to bed for the night. You figure you should probably get some sleep too...

Despite your exhaustion, you find yourself reaching for a scroll of unused parchment.

You secure the paper to your wooden easel and open the paint set you tote around in your pack. After making a quick trip to the river to fill a bowl with water, you fish out the brushes and pencils you’ve collected. Once prepped, you take a deep breath and begin to sketch the preliminary lines. As you fill in the finer details, you take care to be as accurate as possible. Every so often, you sneak a peek at Astarion to ensure you’re doing the elf justice and to check on small details, though you are able to do most from memory. You could never quite explain it, but his image appears so clearly in your mind, every detail almost perfectly preserved like a painting in and of itself. He’s settled into the ideal expression as he reads, his features ghosted with deep anger but balanced with a controlled calm.

By the time you’ve finished the sketch, the rest of your party has fallen asleep, Astarion included. He’d walked toward his bedroll encircling the bonfire an hour ago. And, though he tossed you an inquisitive glance, he said nothing. Within a short time, he’d fallen asleep alongside the others.

You take to the paints beside you. In an artist’s flurry, you work quickly but carefully, taking full advantage of every shred of inspiration that you have at the moment. You do your best to match his colors under the soft candle and moonlight. You fully intend to revisit the piece during the day with more favorable lighting.

A few hours later, you’ve all but finished. Until you realize that you’ve left something extremely important out. Though you have sketched in his dark, piercing eyes, you’ve neglected to color them. Your shoulders fall as your conversation from earlier replays in your mind.

Your eyes lock on the blood red swatch of paint immediately, but you wonder…

You look back at the canvas, recalling the image of his face once again. Closing your eyes, you allow your mind to fill in the gaps. You envision Astarion in Baldur’s Gate, with a carefree smile and fine clothes, as the sun shines graciously upon his face. A smile spreads across your lips, and you instinctively reach for a color from your paint set. Satisfied, you open your eyes and get to work.

You haven’t even realized that you’ve fallen asleep until you wake from a kick to your boot. You jerk, your head and neck immediately pounding.

“Well, good morning, sleeping beauty,” Astarion’s familiar voice croons into your ear.

As you shift to sit up, your eyes blink to adjust to the harsh sunlight of the dawn as it rises over the landscape. When you attempt to straighten your neck, a pulsing pain ricochets through you. You grunt and reach a hand up to massage the sore muscles. You’d fallen asleep sitting up in a chair, your head obviously flopped to one side for several hours. Your eyes rake over the camp, observing the fact that everyone else is still resting. By the time you’ve gained enough consciousness to process what’s happening, you realize that Astarion is staring directly at your piece. You gasp and lunge, twisting your body to cover it.

“Oh, that-that’s not...finished. I was planning to make some last minute changes to it this morning, em…” you stutter as your heart pulses at a million miles a minute. You’re suddenly extremely embarrassed by yourself and wondering if you might have taken things a step too far by spending your entire night painting your…friend. Astarion just raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, it looked awfully finished to me, darling.”

He gestures for you to move out of the way, but all you can muster is a shake of your head. He frowns before grabbing onto your bicep and pulling you to the side. Though your brain says to fight him, your heart wants, with everything in you, for him to see it. For him to like it. You drop your gaze in shame, picking at your fingernails. He stands on his back foot. His eyes roam over the piece, his face expressionless. You clear your throat.

“You mentioned last night that you hadn’t seen your face since…well, I thought maybe you’d like to. I know it’s probably not a very good likeness, so please don’t take offense to it. And I wasn’t quite sure what color to make your eyes, so I-”

“Yes,” he muses quietly, in a tone so silent it’s almost imperceptible. He reaches toward the painting, his fingers hovering over the eyes. His shoulders droop. “They were green.”

You inhale sharply. You’d painted them green.

“I’d forgotten until now. Until you…” He tears his gaze away from the painting to take you in. Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel frozen under his unwavering eyes. “Until you helped me to see myself.”

He maintains your stare for a few more moments. You couldn’t miss the way his eyes soften and turn glassy. Nor the almost pink tint that fades into his cheeks. Astarion gulps and considers the painting once more.

“Is this how you see me? Genuinely?”

You inspect the painting yourself now. Last night you had felt so critical of it, fretting over the colors not being exactly right or the lines not matching up as you want them to. You often feel that way about your art. But now, in the daylight, you find yourself falling a little bit in love with this piece.

You drop to your knees alongside your companion, gently reaching out to cup his cheek. He stiffens at your touch but as you scan his features, you feel him ease and…is he leaning into your palm? Your thumb absentmindedly brushes across his cheekbone. He avoids your eyes. With a shaky breath, you look to the painting and grin.

Your inspiration served you well. It’s a spitting image as far as you can tell. You’ve managed to include the wisps of curl that brush against his pointed ears, the faint lines alongside his nose and mouth. Most of all, you’ve captured the sparkle of joy, the light so dim it’s almost vanished, that gleams in his eyes. Even after all that he’s been through.

“Yes. Because this is how you are. To me.”

His head whips around to you. His hands find yours, sandwiching your fingers between his own. Despite his bloodless complexion, his touch is warm and gentle. You step closer to him without even really intending to. He allows a rare smile, a genuine one, to turn up his lips. Your heart skips a beat as he bends down and brings his lips to your cheek. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed as you drink in the sensation of his lips on you so sweetly. He pulls back, sliding his cheek onto yours.

“Thank you," he whispers into your ear.

As he draws back, a yawn from one of your companions shakes you back to reality. Astarion’s smile remains. His eyes sparkle just in the way you’ve painted them. He squeezes your fingers before releasing them. You clear your throat, willing your sweating palms to dry themselves. You carefully lift the painting and hand it to your vampire spawn companion.

“Here. Keep it. I was planning on giving it to you anyway,” you say.

“Well, since I was the most inspired muse for your delicious little painting, I will,” he teases, flashing a sinister smirk which shows off his sharpened fangs. You chuckle breathlessly and nod.

He begins to walk away but pauses and glances at you over his shoulder.

“Oh and, next time, if you need a model, just ask, darling. I’d be more than happy to pose for you any time. In any position.”

Astarion snickers viciously as you feel your eyes go wide and mouth pop open in surprise. As he struts away, you rub your palms on your heated cheeks. He’s such a tease and yet…perhaps you’d take him up on his offer.

tags: @anukulee

[beenbaanbuun]

paranormal / opposites attract

san yawns as he walks into the dining room, shirt still untucked and tie hanging loosely over his shoulders. in his right hand is a mug of coffee and in his left a pile of mail. he takes a sip, passing the envelopes to an already immaculately dressed hongjoong. you hear seonghwa sigh as he pushes his chair back, standing gracefully before making his way over to the butler. the tired man doesn’t even question it when seonghwa spins him around to finish dressing him, although you do catch him send an irritated looking glance to the werewolf who can’t help but snicker at the scene before him. in yeosang’s eyes its fair game; he too had been dressed by seonghwa before breakfast, as had you.

you reach over to steal a strawberry from hongjoong’s plate whilst his attention is focused on the letters in hand. he barely spares you a passing glance as you pop the fruit into your mouth and bite down, simply rolling his eyes as he rips into an envelope.

“anything for me?” you say mid-chew, only to be cut off by a dramatic sigh from seonghwa.

“finish eating before you talk, lamb,” he scolds as his fingers work on finishing off san’s tie, “no one wants to see what’s inside your mouth.”

yeosang’s giggles grow a little louder before promptly shifting to silence when your foot comes into contact with his shin. you ignore the glare he shoots at you, giving him a kind smile in return, showing yourself as the picture of innocence. no doubt the second you’re excused from the table he’ll have you pinned to your favourite rug, growling at you from where his body hovers above yours. you can only hope your ghoul is preoccupied this time; the poor thing had grown rather worried the last time he witnessed yeosang scolding you.

you swallow the fruit before turning to face hongjoong once more. “well?” you press, “you never answered my question; is there anything for me?”

“is there ever?” hongjoong counters, tossing one letter onto the table before moving onto the next. you cant deny that he has a point, but you can still hope, can’t you? pretend that there are more than just a handful of people that would care for you enough to write. you sink back into your chair and tug your lip miserably between your teeth. the disappointment is small enough to be unreadable to anyone else, but not to your family. he sighs and presses the second letter down against the stained mahogany. “i’m sorry, dove; i didn’t mean it to offend.”

you nod to him, although he doesn’t look fully convinced. with a sigh, he pushes a letter towards you and smiles. “it’s addressed to the ‘kim family’ which you are a part of, are you not?” well, by law, no, but you’d never let either of them hear you say that. you can feel seonghwa’s eyes burning into you as you stare into hongjoong’s so you nod. seonghwa hums as hongjoong shoots you a toothy grin; they’re pleased with your compliance, and you can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh at that fact. “so technically speaking there is something for you, dove. go ahead, open it.”

you do as instructed, picking it up and letting your fingers rip open the wax seal that holds it shut. if you cared to look at it for more than a second, perhaps you would’ve noticed the familiar letters that made up the emblem on it, although perhaps not; JWY haven’t meant a thing to you in such a long time. the last time you saw them was when you were at school with a boy with the same initials. he was certainly something, always teasing you and poking fun. half the time you acted kim you hated him for it, but you have to admit that he left a pretty big hole in your heart when it came time for him to leave. besides the butler, the werewolf and the ghost, you guess he was the closest think you ever had to a friend.

you pull the letter from its sleeve, hearing a scoff to your left as you reveal the ruled paper with the torn edges that had clearly been pulled from a notebook of some kind. in your eyes it has charm, in your lovers it is undignified. still, you unfurl it and let your eyes scan over the page.

dear mr and mr kim,

a bad start already, you find yourself thinking, it isn’t addressed to you at all. you send a scornful look to hongjoong to which he responds with a frown. with a sigh, you go back to reading.

i have no doubt that with a property like yours you must receive an unyielding amount of enquiries from paranormal investigators such as myself. i won’t sugarcoat it and claim to be better than the rest—

blah blah blah……

the author of the letter is right; a never ending stream of similar letters show up on your doorstep, all of which end up shrivelled and burnt on the fire come evening. hongjoong and seonghwa like their privacy a little too much to let a complete stranger poke around in search of a ghost or two. you like your shy little ghost friend a little too much to force him to reveal himself to a stranger who’s bound to lack respect for the dead. you fold the top third of the letter back over, preparing to slide it back into its envelope.

but then you see it, a name scrawled in the same messy handwriting as the rest of the letter. it hits you like a ton of bricks, the pain of missing someone, and although you haven’t seen him in years, it’s just as strong as it was back then. you bite your bottom lip as you study the name, trying desperately to keep the tide of sadness at bay. the others could see it anyway.

finished with dressing san, seonghwa walks over to stand behind you. a warm hand finds your shoulder and rubs at you comfortingly over the thick wool of the cardigan you wear. he reads the last few lines of the letter aloud, “yours sincerely, jung wooyoung, paranormal investigator,” before humming contemplatively, “who is he?”

of course seonghwa knows it’s the name that has you feeling this way. what else could it be? it’s not like the words ‘paranormal investigator’ would set you on edge; your best friends are a werewolf and a ghost, for devils sake.

“someone i once knew,” you reply simply.

“an ex?” hongjoong joins in as his hand fumbles around his plate. his fingers soon wrap around another berry, and he holds it out for you. it makes you smile; how could it not? it’s small things like this that remind you why you love them so dearly.

“a friend,” you take the berry and pop it in your mouth. you chew and then swallow, exaggerating your actions for seonghwa’s sake who simply rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead. “he left a long time ago. makes sense he became a paranormal investigator; he always did have a lack of respect for privacy.”

there’s a chuckle from hongjoong and seonghwa as you recount the memory of the man from your past. it’s very rare that they hear positive things about those people so it’s nice to finally find someone you shared a connection with. a shared look between them confirmed what they both already knew; they wouldn’t be letting this ‘wooyoung’ person get away from you so easily this time.

“a friend?” the silent conversation is interrupted by a scoff from the seat beside hongjoong and all eyes find their way to yeosang. the ever present nonchalance on his expression had melted into a pout that looked a lot less fierce than he probably intended it to. “how good of a friend could he have been if he abandoned you?”

ah… jealousy; yeosang’s favourite emotion. it was present when he met san for the first time before realising that san worked too hard to be around you 24/7 like yeosang is. even if the butler wanted to steal you away, he couldn’t possibly spare enough hours in his day to do so. yeosang quite clearly has the upper hand in that situation. then there was the issue of your ghost, which of course had struck yeosang with a bad bout of jealousy once more. the ghost was rather pathetic though, with the constant stream of tears falling down his cheeks and the sound of fragility ever present in his voice. jealousy soon melted into pity; he was reluctant but yeosang soon accepted the bear into his heart.

“we were 14, yeosang,” you smile, “i don’t think he had a say in whether he moved away or not.”

the wolf rolls his eyes rather dramatically and you can’t help but scoff out a fond laugh.

“well, he’s back in town now,” seonghwa purrs as he leans his body over yours. chest to spine, cheek to cheek, he huddles in close. his skin is warm against yours as he cuddles you, and when he pulls his face away just enough to give him room to kiss the corner of your eye, you can’t help but grin. “how about we invite him over some time next week? i’m sure sannie wouldn’t mind putting on food for one more person.” the butler hums in tired agreement, his brain still too sleep riddled to figure out what he’s agreeing to.

you smile, happy in the knowledge that one happy little piece of your past has found its way back to you…

[rosesaints]

hello i saw ur yuuta piece and loved how u write !! could u write smth similar perhaps for megumi 🤧🤧 he needs more love .. 🍀

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟcollege student!megumi fushiguro hc dump

pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!reader warnings: 18+ mdni, mix of sfw and nsfw content under the cut, a very obscenely american depiction of college, just me pouring my heart out to the most perfect underrated college bf ever. wc: 1300

college student!megumi fushiguro who enrolls in university as a biology major, minoring in english on the pre-veterinarian track, carefully selecting his college after agonizing over whether or not he wanted to be a writer or a vet, ultimately choosing the latter after an impressive tour of a research lab with leaders on the field who eagerly and enthusiastically answer every single one of his questions, no matter how miniscule or thorough. goes home with a stupid grin on his face that yuuji won't stop taking pictures of—"yuuji, would you chill the fuck out? it was just a college tour."

college student!megumi fushiguro goes home and quickly accepts his offer, orders two sweaters from the university's online tour, visits tsumiki at the hospital and tells her all about where he plans to go for the next four years.

college student!megumi fushiguro who has a very, very eventful freshman year—

he takes public transport around campus, has an old, beaten up pair of headphones that he probably got from thrifting, listens to beach house, cocteau twins, the neighbourhood, cigarettes after sex, sometimes songs that nobara and yuuji have recommended to him in the groupchat. acts like the brooding, silent type, until you accidentally knock into him during a nasty bump on the road, and he very quickly loses his composure and helps you out, beats himself up afterwards for not getting your name

finds you later at his biology lab, pleasantly surprised and trying to force down any visible signs of excitement when you get paired together for the rest of the semester. lets you take his phone without any fuss to type your number down, keeps the heart you've left besides your name and texts you that night to make plans to go on a date work on the lab report due that week

mentions you offhandedly during the debrief dinner he has at least a couple times a week with yuuji and nobara, frowns when they freeze and look at each other in that skitterish, excited way that they do when they're in on something together. "megumi, you never, ever talk about girls!"

he finds every excuse to see you outside of class. "damn, i guess we're gonna have to work on the report later, i'll see you at 6?" or "i think we need to talk about the objectives over some lunch at this new sushi place in town, anyway—"

you go along with it because it's so painfully obvious, but you don't have the heart to break whatever cool guy, aloof persona he's kind of determined to uphold (megumi, please, for the love of god, just learn how to ask someone out on a date)

he works hard to find new places he thinks you'll like and at some point, you guys just stop working on reports altogether and just start having fun around campus

sends you game pigeon texts throughout the day, lets you win at 8ball, but never, ever backs down from word hunt. he will score 30k points over you and not break a sweat.

rolls up his lab coat once in class and your brain short-circuits, man has an insane sleeper build, grabs your microscope slides for you and easily returns your microscope for you. "you okay?" "yup! completely and totally fine!"

i cannot stress enough how oblivious he is, though. you guys go to parties together, he grabs your drinks for you, holds your waist when someone gets too rowdy, and leave together. somehow, this man still thinks you don't reciprocate his feelings.

he wants to confess, he does, but there's all these logistics and things he has to plan for, has to do it in just the right way, at the right place, wracks his head at night trying to think of a way to just tell you. yuuji calls him fucking stupid one night and for once, he agrees.

gets too busy fussing and concerning over what he would do when the time comes, doesn't even stop and consider the fact that you might just beat him to it!

"'gumi," he literally has his head on your lap while he's doing an assigned reading for class, and it's probably one of the most peaceful days he's had in a while, but the way you smile and say his name makes his heart skip a beat. "wanna go out with me?"

man, it's like the floodgates open after that. he gets so much more direct and confident—"we're gonna go volunteer at that animal shelter this weekend," and "i'm picking you up for dinner, is chinese okay?"

not the type for public displays of affection, but makes sure you're in his orbit all the time, somehow. glances across the lab when your professor blunders in the middle of the lecture, a hand on the small of your back while he maneuvers you through the street, places his hand above yours on the train while you're holding onto the pole

takes photos of you all the time, has a collection of different cameras, makes yuuji take photos of you and him on nights out with the disposable camera, photos of you looking absolutely adorable on the digital camera, and dumb, funny photos of you that you hate but he loves

nights spent at his dorm watching trashy reality shows (he acts like he doesn't give a shit but gasps louder than you whenever someone gets slapped), studying for your next exam only to end up making out on the floor, cooking ramen noodles just to end up making out on his twin bed, getting ready together and making out when he hoists you up to the counter and knocks all his (and your) shit over. "gumi, i still have toothpaste in my mouth—" "hm, i like mint."

loves loves loves to kiss you. will have hours-long make out sessions in his dorm or yours, will keep going even if your roommate walks in, doesn't even register their presence—too focused on whatever flavor of lip gloss you've got on or that cute top you're wearing that day

his second favorite thing to do is to leave marks in places only he can see. doesn't mean to do that, he swears, but you can see a ghost of a smile when he helps readjust the straps of your dress to hide a blooming hickey on your shoulder.

has this dumbstruck look on his face when you have sex for the first time, gasps and grips your ass with a strength that you were only vaguely aware of when you sink down on his length for the first time, low groans and narrowed eyes. "god, i think you're gonna kill me."

slowly ends up being the one to control the pace, bouncing you up and down on his dick for his own pleasure, even as you're squealing and scratching his back and deliriously trying to thrust back, only to be overpowered

could eat you out for hours, but also loooooves receiving head, loves the way your eyes shimmer when you take him deeper into your throat, the gagging, lewd noises that you make and the way you look up at him, asking if that was good. "that was fucking amazing. 10/10, no notes."

remember how he takes photos of you all the time? he has some polaroids of you in some.... scandalous positions hidden in his drawer that he likes to... use in times of desperation

doesn't initiate a whole lot at the beginning because he's still in the "learning phase," but once he gets you to cum within two minutes, it brings out his competitive spirit. "wonder how many more times you can cum again... think you got another two in you?"

basically living together by the end of the year, because he sleeps better when you're near and his whole dorm is littered with mementos that remind him of you. has that coffee blend you love in his kitchen cabinet, your toothbrush on the other side of his, and when he comes back from lecture to see your smiling face hanging upside down from his futon, thinks he might just want to spend the rest of his life with you.

© ROSESAINTS ! — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own. requests are OPEN .ᐟ

[pennylanefics]

Orchids - Quinn Hughes

a/n: not the happiest with this but i really love the idea :) it's such a cute little trope and i can never get enough of it <3

summary: you attend a wedding with quinn and his mind starts to wander about your own relationship

word count: ~1.3k

Quinn sits beside you at the overly decorated table, candles surrounding the area, creating a romantic and soft lighting. Flowers upon flowers are spread all over the entire place, and chatter amongst the guests fills your ears, making your head feel a little fuzzy.

Wedding season was in full swing, and this was the second wedding of the year for Quinn to attend, this time it was a friend and teammate he had in the AHL, who was traded to a different team about a year after. They were still close, so of course Quinn was invited to his lavish wedding.

You felt slightly out of place, not knowing a single person beside Quinn and maybe one or two guys here and there. You made acquaintences with the people at your table, though, finding out they are family of the bride.

Quinn’s hand hadn’t let go of yours since you sat at the table, waiting for the bridal party to enter. He takes in all the decorations while saying hi to people passing by or catching up with someone who stops to chat with him for a little.

He was the best at detecting when you were uncomfortable or shy, or even overstimulated or overwhelmed with a situation, no matter how hard you tried to hide it from him.

“We can leave after dinner, or whenever you’d like,” he whispered in your ear, moving to set his arm around the back of your chair.

“I don’t want to take away from supporting your friend. I’ll be okay,” you grin over at him, squeezing his hand to reassure him a bit more.

“Just let me know. I don’t want you being super uncomfortable.”

“I will,” you agree, kissing his cheek.

The entire time that the wedding party is announced two at a time, one bridesmaid and one groomsmen, and finally the newly wedded couple, Quinn had this special glint in his eyes. The lights shining around him brought out the brown flecks in them, but even with that, there was a deeper meaning to them…he was lost in thought about something.

Dinner is served soon after, wait staff walking through the tables and dropping off plates of steak and chicken with mixed veggies and potatoes, a very fancy yet simple choice you were thankful for. Conversation quietly bubbles amongst every table, everyone lost in their own little world.

Quinn, however, was in his own imagination still. You could tell something was up when he was looking all over the event space, grinning softly as he chews his food.

“Something up, Q?” You finally ask him, nudging your hand against his thigh. His head whips towards you and he shakes his head, swallowing his food.

“No, just looking around. It’s beautifully set up, there’s so much to look at,” he brushes off, but just like he knows you, you know him just as well. And you were wanting to get to the bottom of it by the end of the night.

The festivities continue after dinner, dessert is brought out and while it’s delicious, you can’t help but focus your mind on Quinn and his slightly odd behavior; it wasn’t odd, in a sense, but something was up with him. He was far quieter than his usual self that he was at weddings.

Once the speeches were over, which were filled with stories and laughter, the DJ announces that the couple will have their first dance, and then the floor would be open to everyone. Quinn’s hand returns to yours as his eyes were glued to the magnificent white dress that adorned the bride and how her new husband was holding her like she was the most delicate antique he’s ever seen.

You take notice of the glint that returns to his eyes, seemingly smiling to himself, or at the happy couple, it honestly could be either. Taking a step into your plan to get him to clear his mind, you place your head on his shoulder, startling him a little since he was so focused, but he settles back, turning to kiss your head.

As the night progresses, you soon find yourself in Quinn’s arms, slow dancing on the floor with countless other couples, your head tucked into his neck. His hands rest on your waist and he hums softly along to the music into your ear.

“Do you ever think about what kind of flowers you want at your wedding?” He asks, his thumb gently rubbing the spot where it sits. You had to keep yourself still for a moment because you were about to raise your head so fast, you would have smacked him in the chin.

When his question finally settles in, your head lifts from his shoulder and you look into his eyes, which were shining with so much adoration for you, a slight grin on his lips. His eyes rake over your face, looking for any sign of discomfort.

“I love daisies or dahlias, daisies would be perfect for a spring wedding, and dahlias in general are so beautiful. I feel like roses can be overrated sometimes, so I’d want something non-traditional,” you explain, still swaying side to side with him. He nods along and his smile widens. “Why? What kind of flowers do you imagine for yours?”

“I’d love orchids for the main flower. Obviously we’d need more, but I was reading something the other day that orchids represent, well, they represent a lot of things, there’s a lot of different meanings for different colors.” He blushes under the dark lights and looks down at your entwining hand, his left hand trailing down to hold your right one.

“I read that in the Victorian era, orchids were given to someone to show love and appreciation and as a way to tell a woman that she is beautiful.” His other hand raises to your face, cupping your cheek to make sure you kept your eyes on his. “They also represent rare and delicate beauty, and I can’t think of any better flower that encapsulates you.”

Your cheeks heat up under his touch, your breath hitching in your throat. 

“I’ve been imagining our wedding all night, my love. What decorations we’d have, what our color scheme would be, how romantic our first dance would be, but I’d kind of like to have that be in private, between us, and not let anyone know. So they’d be thinking they’re watching the first dance, but it’s really our second.” The pink hue remained on his face as he continued to describe his thoughts, finally giving you and insight into what was on his mind the entire night.

He had been thinking about what it would be like to marry you. Imagining yours and his wedding.

“Is that why you’ve been so distant tonight?” You tease him, tracing your finger across the dress shirt adorning his chest, messing with the chain of his necklace.

“A little. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander. Thinking about seeing you in a beautiful white dress, with your hair all done up in a perfect way, a shining ring on your finger that shows everyone you are loved.”

His words send shocks through your body, your heart racing like crazy in your chest. You were in awe that Quinn had been thinking about this. You’ve only been dating for a couple years, which isn’t short, but it’s also not a long time yet. You expected him to feel this way five years in, so it surprised you a little to know he was thinking about it.

You hadn’t thought of it at all, maybe once here and there, but never in-depth, to the point where small details are planned out with such an immense amount of thought, down to the meaning of certain flowers. However, as you gaze up into his eyes, his touch feeling hot and heavy on your body, you take a moment to think about it.

And the moment the idea of marrying him enters your mind, it feels right.

“You wanna marry me?” You wonder, even though it’s a very obvious answer.

“Of course. You are it for me, my soulmate. There’s no one else I could imagine marrying, my darling.”

taglist: @petite-potato4

[dominicfikue]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃. — frat!bro!chris sturniolo blurb.

◟ ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁.﹒ after months & months of chasing you, you finally let him get a taste.

clouds of marijuana smoke fill up your vision and nostrils as you relax into the couch, a red solo cup resting in your freshly manicured hand. you came here with your best friend, cammila, but after about fifteen minutes, she & her victim for the night made their way upstairs to do….honestly, you had no clue.

“didn’t think you’d actually come.” you hear a familiar voice say, amusement laced all throughout their tone. you roll your eyes before looking up to see the one & only, chris sturniolo. he’d been trying to get your attention all semester— catching you outside of your shared afternoon classes or adding you to his close friends story after posting himself, praying to the fraternity gods that you’d swipe up. obviously, you thought he was attractive ( i mean, who didn’t? ) but you’d never fix your lips to tell him. if you didn’t keep him humble, who would?

“definitely wouldn’t have if i knew you’d be creeping around.” you joke, taking a sip from your cup. a playful pout takes over his features, the dim, dark blue leds in the room working in his favor as he plops down beside you.

“play nice.” he groans, happily taking the blunt from the guy on his left. you turn to look at the brunette to see him already looking at you, his lips wrapped around the drug perfectly.

there’s a moment during this little staring contest where you feel the atmosphere around slow down, nothing else mattering except for him. you know chris felt it too, his signature toothy smile flashing as he exhales. “you’re starin’ at me like you wanna kiss or somethin’.” chris chuckles, taking another hit before passing it to you.

you laugh too, repeating his actions from a few seconds ago. “what if i do?” you tease, shaking your head. suddenly, his entire demeanor changes— his legs spreading open a smidge more, his pink tongue swiping over his dry lips as he eyes you up & down. a unreadable hum leaves his throat before he responds, his answer shocking you, slightly. “then, stop fuckin’ around and come here.” he blinks, as serious as ever.

a grin spreads across your face as you lean in, not all the way through. your faces are inches apart, chris’ heavy breathing like music to your ears. “sound a little desperate there, baby.” you purr, your noses brushing against each other.

the pet name alone could’ve sent him into cardiac arrest, his hand reaching to rest on your jaw. “you have no idea.” he mumbles, taking initiative and locking his lips with yours. it’s immediately full of teeth and spit, his hand snaking down to softly squeeze at your neck. “stop babysitting and pass it!” you hear some douche shout, snatching the blunt from your fingers as the make out gets more & more intense.

he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, slowly tugging at it before letting go. you both look at each other, your chest’s rising in an attempt to catch your breath. you take this as an opportunity to move closer to his ear. “see ya around, yeah?” you whisper, your words breathy.

you land a quick peck on his cheek before getting up and letting the hand on your neck fall. the rough material of your jean skirt rubs against your thighs as you make your way upstairs to find cammila.

chris sits there, stunned with his mouth opening & closing. any chance of him giving up on this, on you was now long gone.

𝐀��𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. first blurb back!!! i’m sorry if it’s not the best.. i wrote this a like 3AM, high outta my mind :3. i hope you guys like it tho + more things coming!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @fawnchives @prettyvyll @trickywritters @breeloveschris @lorarri @vickyzloserz @gnxosblog @firexovni @tylerstacobell @ivonchetooo1239 @bernardsgf @dracoflaco @strniolo @paibey @hearts4chriss @sturniololol @tillies33ssss @katluckybear @realuvrrr @junnniiieee07 @imsosillygoofylol @imwetforyourmom @mattscoquette

[imperanyx]

— may 29th, general jiyan

w/c: 728 warning: none? fluff? pairing: f!reader x jiyan writer notes: this is a direct continuation of the previous post. i feel like i might have jiyan a bit OOC, what do you think?

⋅⋆∘☆∘⋆⋅

“General Jiyan?” your voice called from the other side of his office door shortly after you knocked.

Jiyan looked up from his papers with a soft sigh. Even when he knew you were coming, your presence always required a second to compose himself. He couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth in his heart at the sound of your voice.

“Come in, [name],” your name slipped past his lips with a little too much delight. Have you ever noticed that? 

With each interaction, the general held his breath. A part of him always waited to hear you say his name. The days you used his name—even if it followed his title first—he couldn’t help but feel his spirit lift. He yearned for the day when you would drop the title and call him by his name, a sign of a deeper connection.

“Is there something wrong? You don’t usually call for me,” you said, quickly approaching the reason behind his sudden summon.

“No, nothing is wrong,” he replied while resting his pen beside a pile of papers. His eyes followed you as you approached his desk and sat in the empty chair.

“Since the recent battle, there has been a noticeable drop in TD activities, and I can take a few days off,” he began, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. “I remember you said you were low on medical herbs. I thought perhaps you would like to accompany me on my time off, and I will show you the locations where you can replenish your stock,” he offered.

The general instantly regretted that he had not made the offer sooner. The transformation that happened before his eyes was unexpected. He was not blind to how tired you grew over the months since you took the position he offered. From experience, he knew the toll that a military medic's job took on both the body and the mind. Yet, he couldn't help but admire your unwavering dedication, a quality he himself had honed on the battlefield. 

You fought for each patient as fiercely as Jiyan fought on the battlefield. 

It was as if something was lifted off your shoulders, and your whole body came to life. All signs of tiredness disappeared. A smile —one he wondered if he had even noticed before— spread on your lips, reaching to your eyes.

Eyes that glittered in what seemed like all the possible colors under the sun. The general was captivated by the unique beauty of your eyes, a reflection of your vibrant personality, and the depth of your emotions.

If you took his breath away the day he met you. Now, you undoubtedly stole his heart. He was entirely to your mercy, and you had no clue about that. Jiyan was torn between his duty and his feelings for you, and he couldn't help but feel guilty for allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment. 

‘[Name], I am in a constant battle with my heart and my responsibilities. I hope you understand the depth of my struggle.’ he wanted to say these words to you and much more.

Jiyan felt a pang of guilt for taking advantage of your kind heart to keep you close to him. After all, you were never a medic to begin with. Just over a year ago, you came to see his mother as a botanist who specialized in medical herbs. His mother sent you over to him when you expressed your wish to study the local plants in their natural habitats. You believed that if you studied those plants in their natural environment, you could improve the quality of the homegrown ones. Your unique skill became invaluable in the war effort, as the herbs you cultivated and prepared were often the only source of relief for the wounded soldiers.

However, the situation on the frontlines prevented him from accompanying you. Despite your insistence that you could take care of yourself, he could not allow you to leave without someone accompanying you to ensure your safety. 

However, when he witnessed your skills as a healer when you chose to help the injured soldiers, Jiyan came up with a proposal. If you took the position as the head of the medical staff, he would accompany you at whatever opportunity he had to study your beloved plants.

It was about time he kept his word.

⋅⋆∘☆∘⋆⋅

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[chosai]

EMPTY WISHES — NANAMI KENTO.

tags. angst + not spoiler-free

© chosai — do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

“i’ll be back home soon, i promise.”

those words that once filled your chest with hope faded into an endless cycle of doubt, longing, and empty wishes. 

empty wishes. 

oh, how you’d love to see his soft smile whenever he lays his eyes on you, and his lips twitching up in a small smile; his eyes imbued in a love so pure it made your heart melt.

 the pain that soon followed after days and days of waiting failed to cease, but it can never truly compare to the ache you felt when you heard the words, “i am so sorry for your loss.”

you couldn’t accept it. he promised. 

he promised. 

the place where you once called your home became meaningless. the thought of staying in that place brought you a sense of grief and loneliness – this loneliness you couldn’t ever stand.

it was pure, unadulterated torture. 

from the pictures you once both reminisced together to the familiar scent of his favourite strawberry shortcake lingering around the house, you knew your heart couldn’t take it. the following nights were spent with endless sobs and sore eyes. through the pain, there was also resentment – resentment towards the person who snatched him away from you without a care in the world. with all your being, you wanted to curse him to the deepest depths of hell and burn in it. 

nanami kento. the mere thought of his name sent you bawling in an endless puddle of tears, the unforgiving ache dwelled deep within your chest. oh, how much you’ve missed him. his sudden parting was a sudden reminder – a big slap in the face, of how cruel the world truly is. 

it was the beginning of a new day, and you mustered all the power to get up from your bed. you could never get used to having the mattress feeling lighter, more empty. the space beside you has gotten colder, gradually losing its touch of warmth. 

the house that once smelled of his favourite dessert now reeked of pure heartache; sitting atop the dining table were bottles of wine and glasses that are yet to be washed, and droplets of tears stained all over the letters you and your husband once wrote to one another. 

to my dove, i know how much you worry for me, but please rest assured as this will be my last mission. there is nothing i want more than spending the remainder of my life with you, and i promise you I’ll keep you and our future family safe. i don’t plan on going anywhere, not without you by my side.  also, there’s a new bakery near my place. i’ll bring you there with me once i return from my mission. i’ve heard from gojo that their strawberry shortcake tastes good. i love you so much. stay safe, and i’ll see you later. yours truly, kento

droplets of water fell down to the surface of the aged paper, leaving a stain over your lover’s name written in ink. you couldn’t let him go. everything around you reminded of him, and it pained you greatly. 

your tears never ceased to fall, and you made no effort to stop it. 

you shook your head, ruffling your hands into your scalp. even as you close your eyes shut, the memory of your husband giving you his last smile and kiss before he parted kept replaying in your head like a broken record player. it was torture. pure torture – knowing that even if it stopped playing in your head, he won’t return.

as much as you wished that you could stop your memories from playing repeatedly in your head you couldn’t ever bring yourself to move past his sweet smile, his soft touches, and his gentle kisses.

 after all, the thought of him always gave you a sense of longing for a time that will never return.

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Chapter 4

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader

Summary: Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.

Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.

“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.

“Fan yourself,” you rejected.

Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”

“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.” CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: arachnophobes beware, there is a spider in this one (it’s fairly early into the chap tho) (also v tiny boi, not even really described). Summer has arrived! No other notes for this one, lovelies ♥ except some more second-hand embarrassment. A bit more Suguru focused in this one ♥ Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 WC: 14k

“Has this house really been abandoned for only 20 years?” You grunted as you forced a scraper under a crumpled section of a newspaper that might as well have been glued to the ground on purpose. Your arms trembled from the strain, knuckles drained of blood, your hands fighting for their lives to finally free the paper of its wooden prison.

With a shallow yelp from you, the scraper came loose, only taking a quarter of the browned paper with it. The section ripped partially through the head of a baseball player, giving him a rather unfortunate face lift.

“That’s what everyone says,” Suguru confirmed as he worked on scrubbing a chunk of the floor like he was trying to avenge someone. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he lifted the rag and observed the dark grime stuck to it. “I asked my gran, she said that she can’t remember the family’s name, something starting on ‘Fu’. Father, mother, and their son. The mother was diagnosed with some sort of illness that the village doctor couldn’t manage, so they had to go to the city.”

“Oh,” you frowned as you sat back on your heels. “Did she survive?”

He shrugged, dipping the rag into the bucket of once clean water beside him. “No idea. They weren’t super close with any of the villagers here, so there weren’t any updates after they left. I assume she didn’t, since they never returned here.”

“That’s sad,” you spoke low as you tossed the piece of ew away in the bag beside you. “I hope they’re okay, one way or another.”

The two of you worked together in the living room, peeling useless bits of goo and gunk to clean the house inch by inch. You'd already finished with the first pass of the kitchen, hallway, and master bedroom. After getting the go-ahead from Uncle Han a bit ago (you felt weird calling him that, but he insisted), you decided to start indoors to spare yourselves from the ever rising sun. With summer approaching, the lawn had been dealt with promptly, the three of you moving through it surprisingly speedily with teamwork.

Satoru, for all his rich boy credit, was actually helping. You were honestly expecting him to maybe work for five minutes, then laze around and whine about being bored, but you were pleasantly surprised by his productivity.

For one, he’d been gathering various architecture and designer house catalogues; stuff that was in, stuff that was out, and everything in between. Whatever might strike your fancy, he was there to offer his input, whether asked or not. You could tell he was having fun showing off expensive house designs, even if it was way too early to be looking at paint colors and matching furniture. He was acting like it was his house that was getting renovated.

He was also helpful with the physical labor portion of fixing this mess up, putting those beefy biceps to good use. He’d done some wondrous work in the kitchen.

That’s not to say he didn’t whine about boredom and hardship and whatnot, but at least he was working while doing so.

Presently, he was in the smaller room opposite to the master bedroom, addressing the tatami issue. Said issue being that the material was practically cemented to the floor below, strangely crunchy for being stiff as a brick, and very much showing its age.

He was experimenting with various methods for prying it off, at his own assertion. It gave him the opportunity to lean into that primal urge to break shit, and who were you to take that away from him?

Every few minutes, you’d hear a muted thud, some strangled noises, and a delightful little swear here and there. You’d learned that he quite hated tatami as a kid, annoyed that he had to be careful with it. He was grumpy that he couldn’t run about and stomp his feet like the spoiled child he was because it’d get damaged, then his folks would get mad. Now, he had the perfect excuse to take all that pent up anger out on some actual tatami.

“You think he’s having fun in there?” You asked as you lifted off another slice of the paper, turning it around in the tight pinch you held it in. Most of the words had faded off or bled from whatever liquid got onto it years prior. You could barely make out a cut-off phrase that made you snort. Left fielder is short!

Suguru sneered at the floor. “I sure hope not.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not having fun, so he doesn’t get to have fun, either.”

You rubbed your cheek against your shoulder, fighting the desire to scratch at the itch with your grubby, dirty hands. “Are boys always at each other’s throats like this?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly, earning a half-laugh, half-cough from you.

You smiled apologetically at him. “I’m sorry. You really don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head as he got up, stripping off his yellow rubber gloves. “I’m not going to back out now after saying I’d help you. I’m gonna keep my word to you. But, I will go grab a drink and think about my life choices outside for a few minutes.”

You breathed out through your nose and waved lazily at him as he stepped out of the open front door, disappearing behind the wall. It was his idea to bring some options for hydration with him, and you lauded him as a genius for it. Even if a quarter of the options were cheap beer. 

Deciding you earned yourself a break, too, you tossed whatever else you managed to free from the floor away, along with your gloves, and got up, shaking out your numb legs with a wince. Ow.

Sure, you’d done next to nothing compared to Suguru, but, oh, your back and arms felt so sore. Poor you. He could forgive you, couldn’t he?

Figuring you should check on Satoru, you trod down the hallway and stopped in the open doorway of the room he was occupying. He was turned halfway towards you, hunched over as he scratched aggressively at the floor with something you could only tell was made of metal. Sweat stuck to his forehead in a thick layer, droplets beading and running down his temples and the curve of his jaw. White hairs were plastered to his cheeks and brow, pale lashes clumped together, lips pulled into a wide grin.

A shiver dashed up your spine.

He looked positively feral.

You should probably leave him be, you didn’t want to get caught in his crossfire, lest you end up the target of his destructive goal. 

You began to creep away, easing off the doorframe, hoping to avoid–

“Mochi!”

Damnit.

“Heyyy, buddy,” you greeted cautiously, meeting his gaze. His winter blues were alight with an untamed sort of fervor, sunglasses folded into the collar of his button-up. Had the moisture on the small of your back always been there? “How’s it goin’ in here?”

“It’s fuckin’ stubborn, but look!” He waved frantically to a boxy pile of…something. Vaguely tan and clumpy and gross. Listen, you weren’t very peeved out by nasty stuff as a kid, but even child you wouldn’t dare touch it.

Gojo, meanwhile, looked ecstatic, seemingly having figured out a method that worked. More or less.

The corners of your lips twitched upwards into a watery smile. Mainly because you were afraid that he’d pounce on you with that brutish glint in his intense stare if you didn’t show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for his hard work.

“Wow!” You exclaimed, a smidge stiffly. “You’re doing a great job!”

Satoru ate that shit up. He glowed, preening under your praise, even if it felt like you were talking to a six-year-old kiddo wielding a hammer.

“I know!” He cheered. “This is fun!”

You questioned how long that zeal would last. You also debated whether or not you should tell Suguru that the maniac was having fun. You were curious to see what would happen, but you didn’t want to get dragged into the potential brawl they’d have.

The boy in front of you was panting, the collar of his shirt dampened by the droplets of effort he wiped off with it, and the temperature outside was rapidly rising. As hot as this image was, minus the eugh-factor of your house, you weren’t keen on him dying of exhaustion and leaving you short one extra pair of hands.

How noble of you.

“Wanna come take a break with me and Suguru?” You asked.

He glanced at where he paused his work, back to you, the floor, then you one more time before nodding. “Yeaaah, I did a lot, I deserve a lil’ break.”

He groaned as he pushed on his knees and rose up, absently dusting the front of his pants. You rolled your eyes at his show of theatrics, what with him stretching and whining. Not like you were any better, though.

“C’mon, you big baby,” you stepped out of the doorway, rotating to make your way down the hall. 

That was, until you noticed something on the wall beside you. A black dot, or speck you hadn't seen before. A stain, perhaps; a blotch, something dark stuck to the old paint. You could've gotten it dirty(ier) while you were cleaning at some point. You leaned closer to try and decipher it, squinting–

Legs. 

Not two, four, or six. Eight legs.

With a gagged gasp, you screeched and immediately booked it out of the house, adrenaline pumping through your system at mach speed. You nearly slipped as you banked the corner, your sights set on the open front door.

The blinding white of day was burning into your retinas, but you couldn’t care, you needed to get the hell out! 

Instinctively, you threw yourself into a surprised Suguru’s arms the moment you stepped past the threshold as he peeked into the house, concerned by the commotion. He stumbled back a few steps, eyes wide, then released a humorous chuckle as his arms wrapped protectively around you. Sturdy, strong, safe.

“There, there,” he soothed, stroking a hand up and down your back, fingertips pressing into pressure points along your vertebrae. It was easy enough for him to figure out what got you so panicked. “You’re alright, it’s just a spider. I’ll get rid of it for you.”

“Oh, my god!” You squealed and shook like a leaf, air whistling past your larynx. “Suguru! It’s giant!”

He cooed sweetly at you, obviously entertained by your frazzled state. “It won’t hurt you, you’re fine.”

“I am not fine!”

His laugh rumbled low in his chest, right under your ear as you squeezed the life out of him. “I can’t remove it for you if you don’t let me go, angel.”

You bared your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

Suguru opened his mouth to respond, only to get preemptively cut off by a girlish scream originating from within the house. Seconds later, Satoru was dashing out, colliding directly with you and Suguru. A mix of stifled noises of shock erupted, and all three of you toppled right over onto the hard-packed soil.

Suguru’s arms encased more firmly around your form when Satoru tackled you, one thick arm coming to cradle the back of your head while the other constricted your waist until you were pressed immovably to his front. He pillowed your fall, even though it meant taking the brunt force of the ground’s swift ascent by himself. Satoru collapsed on top of you, leaving you sandwiched between the pair.

This was not how you imagined you’d experience your first yukadon. 

Cheek pillowed by a rigid tit. Spine crushed by a dense body. Lungs utterly squashed. Lavender, cypress, and musk overwhelming your olfactory senses. Super sexy.

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru?” Suguru hissed out, voice strained with pain, compression, and thinly-veiled anger.

“It’s fuckin’ huge, Suguru!” Satoru shrieked back. “Massive! Like, a meter long!”

Amber eyes glared over your head, still clutched to his pec. “Get the hell off, you’re crushing her. And me. You’re heavy as fuck.”

Gojo lifted himself up enough to peer at you, blinked, then laid right back down on top of you. Your wheeze of suffering did nothing to deter him. “But this is so comfy.”

“I will castrate you,” your personal airbag threatened.

Cyan eyes filled with spite as he finally rolled off of you and to the side, allowing Geto to loosen his hold until you could breathe freely. While Satoru was busy grumbling to himself and looking for his glasses, the pair having been flung off in the clamor, Suguru gazed down at you with worry pooled in his softened hues.

“You okay?” He asked.

You wiggled your toes and fingers, then nodded. “Thanks to you. I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he put away your disquiet with a smile.

You frowned at his attempt at paying no heed to the subject. “That was a pretty bad fall.”

He snorted. “I work on a farm and grew up with Satoru. I’d hardly consider that a fall.”

“Oi!” Speak of the devil. The snow-haired boy had located his glasses, it seemed, as they were resting on the bridge of his nose, free of dirt and dust by some miracle. “Get up already, lovebirds.”

Fire exploded across your cheeks and the tips of your ears as you realized the position you were in – straddling your friend’s waist, chest-to-chest, his strong arms enclosing you to keep you close. 

You yelped and scrambled out of his hold, keenly aware that you were only able to leap off of him and stagger away because he let you do so. He was laughing breathlessly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, endeared by your embarrassed reaction. He grabbed the hand his best friend offered him, their palms clapping as he got tugged onto his feet.

Meanwhile, you were fanning your face in a hopeless attempt to cool the steam lifting from your head, swearing up and down that it was the budding summer heat and not because you got stacked like pancakes by two unreasonably attractive men.

Yeah, that’s what it was.

The sun.

The literal sun, not the sun incarnated in the form of a man that was currently busy brushing off his pants, aided by Satoru clearing his back of debris.

Thank the gods you had tossed the murderous stepping stones off to one corner of the house just a few days prior. You did not want to think about what would have happened to Suguru’s pretty body if you hadn’t.

“You sure you’re okay?” The above-mentioned man with said pretty body called out to you.

You startled in place and cried out the first thing that came to mind. “You’re hot!” Fuck. “I-I mean, it’s– it’s hot! Outside! Right now! We should, uh, stop here for the day!”

Good save.

Dumbass.

You would have smacked your own head with a brick if it wouldn’t attract their attention and make them think you were crazy. Or worse. Turned on.

Suguru and Satoru shared a glance, exchanging in a silent conversation, then Satoru was walking over to the bag of snacks the former brought along, digging around it for a can of soda. He retrieved a separate can of light booze for the other boy, passing it along as they both shortened the distance between you. 

“You sure you wanna call it for the day?” Geto asked, his drink opening with an acute crack and tss, shortly followed by Gojo’s. Thank God they seemed to worn to tease you for your slip up.

Breathing deeply to settle your nerves, you dipped your head twice. “Yeah, it’s starting to get too hot for me.”

For too many damn reasons.

He hummed, sipping his drink as he peered at the chalk-haired boy, who took a sizable gulp in comparison. “Fine by me,” he ground out past the tingle of carbonation, fingers threading through damp, white tresses. “I don’t wanna die of heatstroke.”

“How about we head to the park, then?” Suguru suggested as he stepped away to shut the front door, like that’d prevent intruders or something. The extra security was unneeded, the house itself was enough of a deterrent. “We can stop at Granny’s on the way.”

“Sure,” you assented rather easily. You liked the park. Sitting in the shade, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the flora there, sounded like a wonderful idea.

Satoru was not as keen. “In this heat? No way.”

His best friend patted his shoulder, gulping down a swig of his drink before responding. “You gotta touch grass at least once in a while, dude. C’mon, it won’t be so bad.”

“Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

“You’re not gonna die, don’t be a drama queen,” he said pragmatically.

You simpered to yourself as you went to grab Suguru’s backpack, zipping it up to keep everything inside. The last thing you needed was to embarrass yourself more by spilling everything. You grabbed one of the straps, ready to hoist it over your shoulder, just for a big hand to grab it by the top handle and tug it out of your palms.

You didn’t even get a second to prepare to fight for it, the coarse material easily slipping from your grip in a pathetic display of weakness. Your guard wasn’t up. You never stand a chance.

Your head snapped up to find Geto himself, his bag resting against his back as he held it by that same handle, fingers half-closed near his shoulder. He gave you a charming grin, eyes squinted from the squish of his cheeks. 

“Hey!” You gaped, hopping up to your feet. “I can carry it, I’m not helpless!”

The hell you aren’t.

He tipped his head back to finish off his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing and causing more sweat to form on your brow, then tucked the empty can into his pocket to properly toss out later. “You aren’t,” he agreed, ruffling your hair affectionately with his now free hand, “but what kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lovely lady do all the work?”

All the work? You barely did any work. But, you did like being called lovely, so you supposed you could let it go this once.

Satoru scoffed. “Gentleman? You watched Shoko lug a heavy ass box of shit up two flights of stairs just last week. Hardly call that gentlemanly.”

“You think I’m going anywhere near Shoko and her medical supplies?” Honey-toned irises shifted from you to him. “Hell no. She’d have my head on a pike if I even got close to them.”

“You won’t hold the door open for Utahime,” he accused.

“I’ve held the door for her before. The only person I wouldn’t hold the door for is you, Satoru,” Suguru’s hand drifted to rest below the nape of your neck, scorching the exposed skin there.

He pressed lightly, urging you to start walking with them in the direction of town.

The 6’3” child moped, his eyes drooping. “My own best friend hates me. Practically my brother, and he wants me to die.”

Geto rolled his eyes and bent down to stage-whisper to you. “Drama queen.”

“I heard that!” Satoru exclaimed.

“That was the point.”

You sighed with levity, shaking your head. “Could you two at least try to not kill each other until we get to Granny’s?”

“No promises,” they both responded in unison.

They bickered back and forth over your head, one using you as a shield while the other used you as an excuse to ‘behave’. Not that it stopped either of them from hurling immature threats and insults, each one making you think about how a butterfly felt more scary than either of them.

Or, your presence was taming them after all, and they were more vicious when they didn’t have someone standing guard. What would happen if you were on the other side of one of them? Would the result be the same?

Since when were you into psychology?

“Oi,” a finger jabbed into your cheek, bringing you back to the present, where your trio was crossing over the bridge. “Don’t zone out. Pay attention to me.”

You sent the offending boy a sidelong glance, meeting his intensely cobalt, insisting stare, yet he reveled in it all the same. Attention was attention.

“I’m not zoning out,” liar, “I’m just thinking.”

“About what? About us?” He teased, poking your cheek again.

He squawked and jumped back when you bluffed a strike at him, your teeth snapping dangerously close to his finger.

“Not like that!” He hissed, nursing his finger to his chest. He went as far as pressing the digit against the likely lukewarm can of soda he still had, exaggerating his obvious injury. You know, the one that didn’t exist.

Suguru barked out a laugh. “Like I said; drama queen.”

Satoru harrumphed, mumbling incoherent grievances as he pressed the rim of his drink to his lips, presumably to ‘politely’ muffle his quips with sips of carbonation.

You wanted to bully him a little more, ribbing him when you had the high ground was too much fun.

Geto would probably have more material for you to work with.

“Hey, Suguwu, do you–” you abruptly cut yourself off and slapped a hand over your mouth.

So much for high ground.

Satoru snorted his soda out through his nose and yowled, crying out in pain between guffaws as he clutched his hand over his lips in a hopeless attempt to catch any spare liquid.

Suguru raised a brow at you, a bemused smile spreading lazily across his face, turning his eyes into mirthful, mischievous crescents. “Pardon?”

Your entire face glowing a deep shade of vermillion. “I– can we just pretend–”

“Suguwu!” Gojo wheezed, arms coiling around his stomach, free hand grasping the side of his shirt for dear life. “Y’hear that, Suguwu? Think the lady has something to say, Suguwu. Hah!”

“Don't tease her so much, Satoru. I think it's cute,” he said, adjusting his backpack to hang on his back by one strap.

“Can you, please, just let me die now,” you grumbled, hiding your face with your hand placed flat along the side. You felt like you pulled the pin on a flashbang but forgot to throw it.

Gojo wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, coughing out whatever liquid had gotten caught down the wrong pipe. You could hear him crooning at you, but you were trying desperately to focus on your destination as it came into view, hoping and praying that Granny would save you.

Or someone, anyone, else.

“Hello!”

Prayers answered! For once!

Your head perked up at the sound of a familiar voice as you approached the store, and you were immensely grateful for the divine timing of your arrival. Candied reprieve kissed your skin, easing your humiliation right away.

“Iori-san!” You called back, returning the wave she sent you in greeting. Spotting a head of brunette hair next to her, you shifted your attention to her companion, lighting up further with both relief and joy. “Oh, hey–”

“Aha!” Satoru jogged forward and spun around, throwing his arm around a less-than-amused Shoko’s shoulders. “This is Ieiri Shoko, she’s the doctor I warn– told you about!”

“Ah, we already met,” you grinned at Shoko, who gave you a ‘can you believe this shit?’ look.

“Wait, what?” He blinked at you. “Really?”

You nodded in confirmation. “Yeah. She called you an idiot.”

Suguru snorted into his palm, briskly facing away to poorly conceal his swallowed back laughter. 

Satoru balked, blinking between you and your mutual friend when she shoved his arm off her. “When was this?”

“Uh…” You pressed your curved index against your chin, calculating. “Same day you and I met, actually.”

He looked completely aghast, utterly betrayed. “Wh– that was ages ago! Why didn’t you tell me!?”

You lifted and dropped your shoulders, grinning sheepishly. “Didn’t cross my mind?”

Deflating with a wispy wheeze that imitated a sad balloon, he pouted and turned his back on the entire group. “Can’t trust anyone around here. Keepin’ secrets, callin’ me a drama queen and an idiot.

Shoko rolled her eyes. “You are a drama queen and an idiot, Satoru,” she grunted and shook her head, then shot a relaxed smile your way. “Thanks for the macarons, by the way. They were delicious.”

“Yeah!” Utahime bobbed her head. “You’re an amazing baker.”

You scratched your neck with one hand and patted Satoru’s back with the other to comfort him. “I actually only know how to make macarons.”

Utahime shuffled closer to you, mouth parted with disbelief. “What? No way! I bet you’d make a great baker! Nothing like that idiot over there,” the bridge of her nose wrinkled with distaste as she sent the whining baby a scathing side-eye.

“I told you she bullies me!” He was looking your way in an instant. “It’s her fault I’m like this! How is any of this fair?”

“She’s older than you, so she gets to bully you,” Shoko stated. “Sibling rules.”

“We are not siblings!” Utahime shouted, nose and forehead flushed red with anger. “Shoko! How could you say that!”

Satoru took that statement and ran. “By that logic, I get to bully Suguru!”

“You already do,” Geto responded.

You blinked, and found a face unexpectedly very close to yours. “What about you, huh?” Ocean blues pierced into the depths of your soul. “You bully me a lot, too. Does that mean you’re older than me– agh!”

He clutched the back of his head where Iori had landed an expert hit, delivered with a precision mastered only after years of training. “Jerk! Don’t you know not to ask a woman her age!?” 

“Why is everyone abusing me today? What did I do to any of you, huh?” He sniffled, bottom lip jutting out as he pinned his watery, puppy-dog eyes on you.

Okay, now you were starting to feel bad. Letting go of a shallow, defeated exhale, you opened your arms to him.

His expression changed to glee faster than you could realize, and within seconds, you were being crushed against his chest. You didn’t give consideration to how strong he was, woefully unaware that his forearms alone could exert enough pressure on your limbs to make a few joints pop. 

“Yippee! I knew someone cared about me!” He stuck his tongue out at everyone else, then nuzzled himself deep into the crook of your neck.

Too hot, too hot, too hot!

“Yeah, yeah,” you hacked out, patting his back. “You can let me go, now.”

“No way,” he refused, breath tickling your collarbone. “This is the least I deserve.”

Shoko was in your peripheral, a wicked smirk on her lips as she stuck a cigarette between them. You mouthed help me to her, and gaped when she pretended to get distracted and miss your S.O.S. request. 

Screw Shoko, Utahime was your favorite person now. She was by you in a snap, prying the arms of steel keeping you caged off of you. Her strength was impressive, especially given that Satoru was actively fighting her on it. There was a hand on your shoulder, coaxing you to duck down under their arms, and dash into the safe haven that was Granny’s shop.

Sweet, sweet AC.

You visibly shuddered as a blast of arctic air hit you. Heaven was in all the things easily taken for granted.

The chime of the bell summoned the old lady out of thin air – or it might have been her ‘you’ senses, she had a keen perception for when you’d be coming.

“Oh, hello!” She welcomed you warmly, wholly ignoring the second person with you as she scurried across the floor to reach you.

Granny grasped you by the shoulders and pulled you close, pressing a couple wet, loud kisses on your cheeks, right in front of your ears, making your eardrums pop. Your theory that the sound of kisses grew louder with age was gaining credence.

“How are you feeling, dear? You aren’t working too hard, are you?” She planted the back of her hand against your forehead, steamrolling right along and not giving you a chance to respond. “Oh, my, you’re so warm! Are you feeling feverish? Sick? I’m telling you, you should leave that house to the men who are used to working in those conditions.”

“Granny–”

“Sit, sit, let me get you some water,” she nudged you towards the familiar stool you’d taken respite on many times now, ready to zip away to retrieve that promised glass of water.

“Hey, Granny,” Suguru interrupted that plan by raising a hand in greeting, only to be subsequently pummeled by an angered grandmother. “Ow–”

“Some man you are, letting a lady get ill!” She shamed him.

You immediately hopped up, bolting to his rescue. “Granny! Granny, I’m not sick, it’s okay! It’s just hot outside today.”

She stopped her volley of attacks on the poor, innocent man to take in your appearance. She lifted your arms, eyeing down your figure carefully, then hmphed.

“My apologies, darling,” she reached up to pinch Suguru’s cheek, which somehow looked more painful than the fairly weak smacks she delivered earlier. She was easily able to tug him down to be eye-to-eye with her. “But you have been taking care of her, haven’t you?”

Still, he put on a smile and nodded. “Of course, I have been.”

She smiled broadly at him and released his cheek, patting it gently twice. “My, what a good boy you are. But, if I hear you’ve been mistreating her, I won’t hesitate to beat you with my geta and bury you beside that fish of yours.”

Suguru grimaced as he rubbed the tender spot she had pinched, rising back up to his full height. “Ouch, Granny. Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

You planted your hands on your hips, eye twitching with irritation. “I’m right here. And, I can take care of myself, you know?”

“I carry extra bottles of water because you always underestimate how thirsty you get,” he fired back. “You sweat it out faster than you think you do.”

You coughed into your fist. That was fucking embarrassing. Now you were worried you had a sweating problem. “Maybe I’m a little forgetful, but it’s not that bad.”

This time, Granny was on your ass. “You need to take better care of yourself!”

“Granny–”

“What if you didn’t have such a dependable, strong, young man to take care of you?” She tutted in disappointment. “What about when your husband is away at work?” – HUSBAND!? – “Will you forget to drink water then, too?”

You half-inhaled your spit, looking up towards Suguru for help in getting out of your pseudo-grandmother’s scolding–

You almost questioned if you were imagining the flashing dots outlining him – or, rather, where he used to be. A quick twist of your head proved he had already sauntered off somewhere towards the back of the store, if the thump of a fridge door was anything to go by.

“Are you listening to me, young lady?” Holy shit, for being an older woman, her pinches hurt.

“Ai– yes, I’m listening,” you assured her, wincing. Looks like you had no savior to get you out of this one. There was some muffled yelling outside the glass pane behind you, implying that the three that didn’t come in were too busy squabbling to see you getting reprimanded.

Though, knowing Satoru, he’d just use this as ammunition against you.

She jiggled your cheek. “Very good. You’re a beautiful woman, you need to take care of yourself. Lots of water, avoid direct sunlight, make sure you eat well, all that. Understood?”

“Understood,” you assented.

That good-natured smile of hers was back, and you were pulled into yet another hug. “D’aw, I can’t stay mad at you, you’re too sweet. Don’t go letting anyone take advantage of that.”

There was only so much of the embrace you could return when your arms were pinned to your sides by your unnaturally brawny kinda-grandma, leaving you to awkwardly prop your chin on her shoulder. “I know, Granny.”

That was a lesson you learned a long time ago.

You observed Suguru as he walked between the aisles while he grabbed some stuff, his head sticking out high above the shelves. When he emerged back out at the front, you were seated on the stool that basically belonged to you at this point. He carefully set his gathered spoils on the counter next to the cash register, then slipped past you to go behind the counter. 

His hand briefly rubbed your knee, something you noticed he did from time to time. While he wasn’t nearly as touchy as Satoru, who didn’t know the definition of personal space, he did often give you comforting nudges like that.

You noted with curiosity how familiar he seemed with ringing up his products by himself, working swiftly to tally them. Based on Granny’s lack of reaction when she returned with a mug, she trusted him to pay properly.

Smooth ceramic was placed within your palms, and you brought it up to guzzle down the life-saving liquid within. Damn, Suguru was right, you had no idea how thirsty you were. In terms of hydration, anyway. You were painfully aware of your other shortcomings.

“How’s that house of yours coming along?” She asked, resting a weathered hand on your upper thigh.

You hummed past a gulp, then answered. “Good, I think. We’re still washing the floors, but we’ve already cleaned up a lot. Satoru’s been dealing with the tatami in one of the rooms. It’s been stubborn as hell so far.”

“Try soaking it for a while beforehand,” she suggested. “And ventilate well. Goodness knows what’s been in there.”

Comforting. “We have been, don’t worry. Suguru managed to get all the windows open, which has been a huge relief.”

The elder leaned in close to you, ‘whispering’ in what could have only been a singular decibel quieter than normal talking. “See? Reliable, strong man. He’d take good care of you, I’ve known him since he was a child. Very dependable.”

Wha–

Was she trying to set you up with him!?

You glared at him when you heard him laughing under his breath, having heard her suggestion. It’d be more shocking if he didn’t.

Instead of coming to dispel her wild offer, he stuffed his goods away into a bag and walked towards the exit. You got up to follow after hastily finishing your drink and letting her take the empty mug from you, fully intending to give them both a piece of your mind the next chance you got. “Thank you for the water, Granny. We’ll head out, now.”

“I left some extra cash for you, Granny,” Suguru said as he held the door open for you. “From my mom, paying you back.”

She clicked her tongue. “I told her not to worry about it. Be safe, you two. Suguru, tell your mother to sleep with one eye open.”

“Will do,” he agreed too easily for such a casual threat, pushing you out into the humid summer air, and you were tempted to return to the sanctity of her air-conditioned shop. 

“You’re back! Thank God!” Utahime ushered you further away from your salvation, to which you whined and peered back at it forlornly. “Come with me to the shrine! I found more mythological history books recently, and you promised to tell me about Sne– sneguh– snah?”

“Snegurochka,” you corrected.

“Yeah! Her!”

A limb wrapped around your middle, drawing you back into a board chest. “No can do, Utahime!” Satoru shut her down cheerily, pressing his cheek against yours. “She already agreed to go on a date with me to the park.”

Utahime’s appalled expression was mirrored in your own. Her upper lip lifted in a snarl directed at your captor and…date, apparently.

“Like hell! I’m not letting you corrupt my friend!” She growled.

“Corrupt?” He pouted, playing the part of virtuous maiden. “Me? Why, I’d never.”

Suguru crossed his arms over his chest. “With us, Satoru. Don’t forget about me.”

“Hard to when your head is so big,” the other boy snapped in return.

You gawked at Geto, disbelieving. He was supposed to be your savior! “It is not a date! Don’t go making Iori-san and Shoko think the wrong things!”

“Welp, I gotta head back to the clinic,” Shoko said as her name was called, beginning to walk past. She patted your bicep on the way. “Good luck.”

“Shoko!” You cried out after her. “Come back here!”

She merely waved over her shoulder with her cigarette pinched between her fingers, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Utahime cupped your face in her hands, expression taut with seriousness. “Blink twice if they’re holding you prisoner.”

You heard ‘blink’ and went with it, batting your eyes as fast as you could.

“I knew it!” She bayed, tugging at Satoru’s arms – but she couldn’t free you. “Let go of her, you dog!”

He jerked his head towards the hill her shrine sat atop and gasped theatrically. “Oh, no! Is that a fire near your shrine?”

“What!?” She whirled around in horror, opening up the opportunity for him to tow you away, one arm staying around your waist while he led you into an unwilling sprint.

“Ohp, so sorry, guess I was wrong!” He yelled back, giggling at the rage painted all over her twisted expression.

“Satoru!” She shrieked, watching with grit teeth as Suguru jogged to catch up. “Yeah! Get him, Suguru–” Her jaw dropped when he grabbed your hand with his free one, making you run faster. “Oh, Heaven’s sake, not you, too!”

What the fuck! You didn’t agree to extra exercise today! And poor Utahime! You really hoped she wasn’t assuming things about your relationship with the men.

“Hey– guys! Slow down, damnit!” You heaved out. “Ugh! You two are awful!”

They simply laughed, hauling you right along to the park. Their long ass strides made this hell for you, and you were certain that if the park wasn’t so close, you would have eaten shit and died from the amount of times you stumbled. Their tight grips kept you from falling, and you partially wished they’d just let you collapse.

Pavement gave way to grass, the impact of your shoes becoming dulled. After running a few steps further, they finally gave you mercy and let go of you, slowing their gaits to a stop.

You slapped your hands against your knees, greedily sucking in air through the ache in your throat.

“You two–” pant, “really–” pant, “fucking–” pant, “suck.”

Satoru snickered and smoothed a hand over your messy tendrils, ignoring your death stare, finding it humorous in your current state. “Aww, come on! That was fun!”

“You’re gonna give Iori-san and Shoko the wrong idea,” you groaned, wiping wetness off your brow.

He feigned innocence. “What idea?”

Bastard.

“That we– tch,” you took in one more deep breath to catch your breath. “Nevermind. Shut up.”

“Don’t be like that!” He purred, right on your tail as you trudged to a nearby maple tree.

With the impromptu run, plus the season, the heat was finally getting to you. For all of Satoru’s bravado, you took solace in the fact that it also looked like the temperature was affecting him.  

You flopped down under a maple tree you picked out and loafed back on your palms, trying to survive the immense wave of evil weather that chose to sweep across the valley. You felt like you were turning into a prune, or a sponge that got tossed into an oven set on broil, despite all the sweating. You weren’t a stranger to high summer temperatures, but this was asininity.

Somehow, you survived the trip to the park, mourning the glacial morning dew that had long since evaporated, leaving the grass tepid at best. But you’d take anything, whatever it cost to keep you from roasting like a fine crème brûlée.

Satoru dropped down beside you, not doing much better than you, and Suguru slumped against the bark of the hulking plant, taking respite under it.

The shrill songs of cicadas took presence everywhere, chirping and pestering the females in hopes of copulating and passing along their live-underground-for-17-years genes.

You were immensely happy that you managed to clear out most of your lawn before the true harshness of the season kicked into full swing. You would not have lived through that, and doing it at night would have been too dangerous.

Work was very far from what you wanted to think about, though.

“Why the fuck is Japan so hot in summer,” you lamented, lethargically fanning yourself with a slack hand. It did zilch to help. “How do you deal with this?”

You squealed when something chilly touched your forehead and squinted up to see Suguru holding out a popsicle to you. You grabbed it without a second thought and ripped off the plastic covering, stuffing the crumpled ball back in his awaiting hand.

Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.

Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.

“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.

“Fan yourself,” you rejected.

Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”

“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.”

You chomped off a bite of your snack with your molars, flinching at the slight sting, then relaxed as the chunk rested on your tongue. Bless Suguru and his mother hen tendencies. Towards you, anyway. He seemed to find humor in his best friend’s suffering up to a certain point.

The newly purchased, refrigerated, highly-sugary fizz he bought while at the store showed he did care at the end of the day.  

Summer in rural Japan smelled nice. That was about all the praise you were capable of giving this hellish landscape when you were getting steamed like a damn dumpling. Winter you could deal with; in winter, you could just add extra clothes or blankets or whatever for more warmth. You could only get so naked in summer before you were melting into a gross puddle.

“I wanna skin myself,” you slurred around your icy treat.

Suguru snorted. “That’s morbid.”

You bored into him blankly, examining his clothes – light-colored long sleeves and full-length, loose pants versus your tank top and flappy shorts. “How the hell are you dealing with this so well?”

He simply shrugged and gave you that closed-eye smile that always had your insides doing funky things they flat-out were not allowed to do. “I’ve always preferred summer.”

Hm. It added up. You always associated him with the sun – warm, inviting, making you want to lay somewhere soft and bask in his glow. But that feeling was warmth, not sweltering fire making your muscles shed off your very bones. 

“You’re a beast,” you mumbled, unsure if you were admiring or fearing him. “What ‘bout you, Toru?”

“Ehh?”

“Season.”

“What about it?”

You whined and placed your head on his. “Pay attention, idiot.”

“Well, excuse me, princess. I’m busy trying to not die of heatstroke over here,” he pinched your thigh, making you yelp.

You flicked the back of his hand in retaliation. “What’s your favorite season?”

“Oh,” he pried his limpid orbs open and eyed you from over the rim of his sunglasses. Those glistening, forget-me-not hues never failed to whisk your breath away. “Spring.”

“Good choice,” you approved.

Suguru bent down from the tree, angling his head to the side as he pointed a finger at himself. “Oh? Is my choice not good?”

“Ask me again when I don’t feel like I’m evaporating,” you muttered, taking another bite of your ice snack and plainting at the sharp pain radiating in your teeth for a few seconds. He merely laughed in the voice that had you feeling twice as flushed, instantly soothing the pain away.

“Don’t eat it like that if it just hurts you,” the silver-blond grumbled, his eyes already closed again as he fought to fend off the temperature mentally, if he couldn’t spare himself physically.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you huffed pettishly.

You partially closed your eyes and lazed back on your free palm, absentmindedly licking up the melted drips before they landed on your hand and coated it in residue. More than they already had, anyway.

A welcomed breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees surrounding you, a relieving balm against scalding skin that had all three of you sighing in alleviation. It rustled the yellow of the leaves above your head, creating a mesmerizing show of dancing golden fans, their edges dipped in crimson.

The droning chirps of cicadas, the tweets of birds calling to their brooding mates as they brought back food from a successful hunt, the fragrance of blooming flowers being pollinated, having their nectar gathered in preparation for being turned into honey – all of it surrounded you in a deep serenity you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Your head was optimistically empty, merely taking in the ambiance in fine detail. The lush, fluffy grass underhand tickled your wrist and the back of your hand, and the pleasant silence with your closest friends made you…happy. 

You’d been happy for a while now, but never stopped to notice it until this moment.

You found two idiots and two other kind-of-normal people to call friends, and you always ardently anticipated hanging out with them, rather than dreading it. You were pouty when they were busy, and ecstatic when you could all gather together.

Especially these two dumbasses, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. You spent most of your time with them, doing things that reminded you of the nostalgic highschool and college years you didn’t recall having.

You ruminated on how different your life would have been if you knew them from childhood; if you went to school with them, grew up as neighbors, mourned when Satoru left for his studies, celebrated when he returned. Would you have still ended up like this, a paranoid kite that was running out of thread to cut?

Or would you have been normal – or, at least, normal-adjacent? How would being raised in Japan differ from your home nation?

…

Home nation.

What was your home nation, again?

All that came to mind was here, now, with your best friends on either side of you. You knew where you were born, but that seemed so far away, now. You didn’t remember what the sky looked like over there – if you caught a glimpse of it at all in the first place.

Reflecting back left an odd emotion welling in your chest, like you were forgetting something. You wouldn’t say melancholy, nor yearning. It wasn’t nostalgia, either, seeing as you were semi-nomadic for a good portion of your life. You didn’t stay in one place long enough to form attachments to anyone or anything. 

When you tried to think about your childhood friends, you saw Geto, Gojo, Ieiri, and Iori. The boys were smaller, childlike, with chubbier cheeks and brattier attitudes, but your boys regardless. You remembered how Satoru was the class clown that frequently set off your teachers, while Suguru egged him on from the backlines, purposefully getting on his nerves. 

Shoko was there, too, watching with a shit-eating grin and not doing anything to help. Utahime at least tried.

And then there was you.

You didn’t really know if you were there or not. Just a spectator, possibly, but it didn’t seem like that. Not an empty, silent, emotionless observer, no. You couldn’t put your finger on it. What you were was there, on the tip of your tongue, you just didn’t know the word for it.

These memories weren’t real, you knew that. But it didn’t hurt to imagine they were, especially when they felt like they were.

You could see yourself growing up with them, spending days lazing under the shade just like you were now, losing half the water in your body under the unforgiving summer sun and turning into a sort of sad excuse for a cucumber. You could remember the sharp sting of a wadded up piece of paper hitting your temple from across the table, your head shooting up so you could glare at jubilant Satoru that concluded throwing notes at you from two feet away was a better use of his time than just whispering or, gods forbid, studying.

You were certain he did it specifically because it pissed you off, and because he was unafraid of repercussions from the teacher. Discipline didn’t exist in his dictionary. Suguru would grab the wad from your other side to toss it right back and nail his best friend in the center of his forehead, leading to a paper ball fight that you were, unfortunately, directly in the middle of.

Shoko and Utahime, the lucky bitches, were smart to choose seats a few tables back, safely out of the firing and collateral range. 

You tried to join the two several times, yet the boys somehow always managed to sit you right back between them. You were their ‘mediator’, even though you tended to exhort them rather than soothe. You did calm them down, but only after you, Shoko, and Utahime had a good show. It was payback for all the times they dragged you into their messes.

Other memories filtered in bit by bit, sporadic sections popping up as they pleased; dying on the track field together, sparring against one another, learning vague concepts in a classroom that scarcely had anyone in it. You and Satoru would crack stupid jokes until you were both in stitches, Suguru would be there when your thoughts became too much to handle, Shoko was the one to mend you with a touch that felt both toasty and mellow at the same time.

There weren’t a lot of you, but you had each other, and that was all you needed. You had your friends by your side, and you were complete.

You were pulled from your woolgathering when you felt someone pluck your popsicle from your hand, your eyes flying open to gawp at Suguru in disbelief as he took a sizable bite out of it, then returned it innocently, as if he hadn’t just robbed you blind.

“Hey!” You cried out. “Thief! That was mine! You said you were fine in summer!”

“I said I prefer summer, not that I’m immune to it,” he corrected you, licking off a spot of juice from the corner of his mouth. Such a simple action from him legally wasn’t allowed to be that devastatingly attractive, yet here he was, casually breaking the law and sending you into disarray. “Besides, I paid for it.”

“Unfair,” you pouted, staring down at your now half-gone heatstroke preventer. “You can’t just give me something, then take it back.”

He chuckled and knelt beside you. “Relax, I’ll buy you another one.”

You instantly perked up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Will you buy one for me, too, Suguwu?” Satoru flapped his long eyelashes and stuck out his lower lip.

“No.”

“What!?” He sprung upright. “Now that’s unfair! It’s favoritism!”

Suguru snorted and dropped the bag between your knee and Satoru’s, which the latter took to like a raccoon to a dumpster. He dug around inside the plastic until he located his drink and held it up like Arthur did with Excalibur.

Only Gojo could down this amount of sugar in a single day and not suffer the consequences, you mused, watching him greedily gulp at the borderline dessert. Maybe there was some merit to his body being godly, after all.

“Hey,” Gojo called out after chugging a solid 2/3rds of the soda. “What are those, uhhhh…maple syrup snow candies called?”

“I think they're just called maple syrup snow candies,” you filled in.

“Maple candy, or maple taffy,” Suguru enlightened you. “Popular treat in winter in Canada.”

Satoru gave a thumbs-up in appreciation. “Yeah, those. I want one of those.”

You lamented. “It’s the middle of summer.”

“But they sound so cold and good. Mm…I can taste it already. I just know they'd save me from this god awful heat. Thanks for the soda, by the way, Suguru.”

Geto hummed in acknowledgement.

An idea flittered into your mind and you sat ramrod straight, clapping your hands together and grabbing their attention. Satoru grunted, slipping partially off you. “Let’s go to the river!”

“Hm,” Suguru considered it. “Not a bad idea, might help us cool down.”

You celebrated at obtaining his approval and passed the rest of your popsicle to Satoru, who devoured it in a single chomp.

A large hand was offered to you in way of assistance and you grabbed it, getting pulled easily with a short ‘hup’ from your aide. He inspected your form for a moment, then plucked a fallen leaf from the top of your head, twisting it between his digits. When a gale lifted, he released it, letting the unseen hands of the sky carry it away.

Satoru was up on his feet, too, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling from the shift in position. “Let’s go!”

He took the lead, speed-walking through the park to reach the shallow slope that allowed easy access to the river. For someone who was about as dead as you minutes ago, he obtained an infectiously energetic zest out of nowhere. Motivation is a hell of a drug.

You caught up to him and skipped forward, unburdened by needing to carry anything like the pair. Already able to feel the refreshing bite of the water as it came into view, you picked up the pace, racing towards the cure to your ails.

You tore off your tank top in the process and threw it somewhere carelessly, stumbling out of your sandals as you neared upon the shoreline of the river. Leaving them behind on a boulder, you skidded down the bank to the icy waters and jumped in, dressed in your shorts and sports bra.

A shrill cry and jubilant hoot echoed in the valley as goosebumps coated your skin, prickling the hair on your arms and nape. Frigid liquid surrounded you, abruptly replacing torrid solstice with frozen tundra. 

“Fuck, cold!”

Satoru was rolling up his pant legs, his own button-up having been disposed of like your top. Just as eager to experience the same liberation you did, he toed off his shoes and ripped off his socks, then he was kicking up water next to you as he joined you. The crystalline liquid came to about mid-thigh for him, but that didn’t stop you being able to see all the hairs on his body stand on end all at once.

“Cold!” He echoed you.

You laughed, running your wet hands through your hair. “That’s what I’m saying!”

Not wasting a second, he threw a handful of water onto you, making you twist your body to avoid the splash. You shrieked from the pellets of frost raining down on you, his icy-toned orbs brimming with mirth at your reaction.

Suguru was still on the shore, more composed and patient than either you or his best friend. He went about methodically locating both your and Satoru’s shirts, setting them down on the ground beside the bag and his backpack, then focused on his own clothes. 

He slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and legs of his pants, and stepped into the river.

Just to get grabbed and pulled further in by Satoru before he could get acclimated to the pressure of the running stream.

He took in a shallow breath, bounding forward to keep his balance and not fall splat into the rapid. “Satoru!”

“Come on!” Lanky fingers pushed back ivory hair. “Relax a bit, would ya?”

Chestnut eyes narrowed. “There’s a difference between relaxing and getting waterboarded.” 

Gojo huffed. “Yeah? How would you know what getting waterboarded feels like?”

“How many times have you nearly drowned me in your hot spring?”

“Doesn’t count.”

“It does count!”

The two were distracted, arguing about drowning technicalities, which meant they weren’t paying attention to you.

Perfect.

You sank down into the flowing water, shivering from the hibernal wet as it surrounded you. Once you were absolutely certain they had no idea what you were up to, you made your move.

Crawling along the riverbed, you let the flow guide you, using the sound of water breaking to further creep up on your companions.

You could hear the Jaws theme slowly ramping up in your mind, each beat growing louder as you neared. Trembles wracked your body, caused by a mesh of the nippy waters and budding adrenaline.

A little further, you were too far…still too far…almost…

“Rrah!” You jumped out the moment you were within range of your target, unleashing your fiercest battle roar as you threw yourself onto Satoru’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck.

The man choked in surprise, and based on the way he promptly lost balance and dropped like a rock into the waters with a heady splash, you could proudly say you caught him off guard. You both surfaced with deep gasps of breath, and you were on top of him as soon as he sat up.

Using your position of straddling his thighs to your advantage, you skipped past the torture and went straight for the kill.

Your fingers grabbed his sides and started lightly scratching at them. 

Satoru hiccuped and howled, writhing and trying to shove you off him as you attacked him with endless tickles. “Wait! S-Stop, no! That tickles!”

“Give up your throne, Gojo Satoru!” You demanded, doubling down on the siege on his crown. “Name me king, or I will never stop!”

He easily turned into a blubbering mess despite his attempts to stay stoic and strong. “N-No way! Oh, god– stop! Please!”

“Not until you hand me your crown!”

“Never! I’ll–” you pinched his hip and he yowled. “Okay! Fuck, fine, it’s yours, just spare me! Please!”

“Yes!” You released him at long last and threw your arms in the air in victory. “I’m the king of this valley! Haha, suck it!”

You climbed off Satoru as he took deep breaths to calm himself, turning your focus on Suguru, who was losing his shit on the shoreline. Wheezes slipped past his lips, the boy barely getting a chance to inhale before he was cackling all over again.

Standing with your legs shoulder-width apart and one fist on your hip, you pointed at Geto authoritatively. “You! Surrender to me now or face the punishment of one thousand tickles for defying the king! 

“Oh, god,” he heaved, arms clutching his ribs to keep himself together. Bunny lines formed on the bridge of his nose, brows pinched tight, tears springing to the corners of his amber eyes. “I can’t, the threat of tickles is too much. I surrender, I surrender!”

“The king is triumphant! All hail the king!” You thundered, throwing your head back to unleash a demonic chortle that soon turned into real laughter. “Mark my words, on this da–”

Powerful hands pushed against your side, and you went crashing unceremoniously into the river.

Poor Suguru was wiping away more tears at the point of you reemerging, flushed red from head to toe from the exertion.

“This is a coup!” Satoru announced. “I’m taking back the crown!”

“Wh– no fair!” You objected, wiping your face free of water. “I won that fair and square!”

He beamed down at you, summer skies reflected in his spring eyes. “Come and get it, then!”

An all-out war was waged then between you and Satoru, a motley of screams, hollers, and demands getting thrown back and forth at one another. The activity and sweltering sun kept your blood thermal within the oasis of the numbing waterway.

This pearl of time belonged to the three of you and the three of you alone. The seconds slowed infinitely, and though they never came to a true stop, they lasted longer than the birth, life, and death of a distant star. This, to you, was paradise. Your skin was frosty, but your heart was blooming as you skylarked and frisked with people you’d met only a short time ago, but treated like you’d known one another all your lives.

The limits of your joy seemed to shatter with each passing day, expanding more than you ever thought possible. Hell, you never so much as considered that experiencing exultation to this degree was possible in and of itself, but you basked in it all the same.

As long as it lasted, you would savor it.

The sun was beginning its descent when your trio chose to end your excursion, feeling sufficiently chilled.

“Brr,” you quivered as you made your way out, squeezing water out of your hair. “My fingers are like icicles.”

“Come on, ladybug,” Suguru offered you his hand, which you took gratefully, allowing him to guide you out of the river. “That’s enough for today, you’ll catch a cold. Let’s go get you warmed up.”

You moaned in complaint at the thought of having to walk all the way back home. You really should have considered it before deciding to take a dip. Curse your spontaneity. “I forgot, Satoru’s house is on that damn mountain.”

“We’re going to my place,” he corrected nonchalantly, as if it’d been long decided. “It’s closer, and my folks are out for the weekend.”

A hand towel was dropped on your face by Satoru, probably one Suguru brought with him when packing his backpack earlier in the day. 

“Dry off, princess,” Satoru instructed you as he crouched down by Geto’s backpack, popping open a bottle of water to knock back. He tossed a second one towards the noiret, who caught it with ease.

He waited for you to finish rubbing as much water off your head as you could before he twisted the top of the bottle off and handed it to you with a pointed look. A veiled threat to drink before I make you.

Well, jokes on him, you actually did want to drink water. 

You took it from him and gulped down half the fluid inside it without hesitation. By some boon, you had the self control to stop before you got sick, and returned the water with a thank-you. Suguru took it upon himself to finish the rest of it.

Satoru snatched the towel from you, replacing it with your tank top (also placed on your head). You blew him a raspberry and tugged it on, cringing at the feeling of your dry (sorta) clothing getting caught on your damp skin. Maybe you should have considered bringing a towel. You would have, if you’d known beforehand that you’d be making a stop at the river.

You hooked your fingers into the back straps of your sandals when they were handed to you, the other two following suit. The village was kept clean, so none of you were worried about stepping on anything concerning, especially since Suguru’s house was right nearby.

“Ready to go?” He asked you, and you nodded.

His palm had returned to its normal calidity, something you noticed as he helped you up the slope. The boy’s body ran like a damn furnace, even after playing in the stream for a couple hours with you. Granted, he somehow managed to keep himself dry above the knees, but regardless.

All three of you were tired out, and you were looking forward to unwinding for the evening. The two boys didn’t bicker much, some light teasing in quieter tones, and – as promised – the trip to Geto’s home was short. You were standing within the genkan of his house in no time, waiting patiently while he disappeared further in to grab a couple towels.

His house resembled the buildings around the middle of town, sitting on the side of the river your house did. There was a stretch of land behind it, but you didn’t get a chance to see much, having been ushered into the cozy abode. 

Being a bit nosy, you peeked around. There was a staircase leading up that hugged the wall of a turn to your left, leaving only the bottom few steps visible to you. The hallway straight ahead was clean and minimalist, likely leading to a dining room, if you had to guess. 

Each home had its own unique smell, and his smelled of spices and something faintly earthy, like fresh soil.

“Here we go,” Suguru announced his return, rounding the corner with a few towels in tow. He tossed one down at your feet above the genkan, motioning for you to step onto it. Obeying, you moved out of the pit, allowing him to layer a second towel around you before tossing the last one to Satoru.

“You can shower first,” he said to you.

You grabbed at the towel, pressing it into your hips and thighs to absorb the water that remained in your soaked bottoms. “Are you sure I can go first?”

He nodded. “You can take a bath, too, if you want.”

“Just a shower is fine, I think. I don’t want to take too long, since you two need to shower, too.”

Satoru sidled up to you, his smug ass grin coming into view as he hovered his chin over your shoulder. “Or, I could shower with you.”

Frankly, you were too drained to let that statement fluster you.

Suguru placed the tip of his index between Satoru’s brows and pushed his head away. “Leave her be, creep. Dry your legs, dude, you’re getting water everywhere.”

“You’re no fun,” the towhead pouted, but retreated anyway.

“Come on,” Geto settled his hand on your nape, guiding you inside. “Don’t be shy, the walls don’t bite.”

You snorted. “New fear unlocked.”

He snickered, shaking his head in amusement. “Relax, I won’t let any walls bite you.”

He took you around the bend, past the stairs, which opened up directly to the living room. While following a more traditional structural style, the interior was comfortably modern. A plush, gray couch was pushed against the wall, with side tables on either end. You immediately noticed that the place was littered with a bunch of plants. Some hung from the ceiling, a few were situated on floating shelves, and a potted shrub was situated near the flatscreen opposite to the couch.

You gawked around shamelessly with parted lips, intrigued by the domesticity of his home. “Your place is so nice, Suguru.”

He chuffed beside you. “Don't go making fun of me while you're my guest, now, angel.”

“I'm not!” You gasped, affronted. “I swear! I like it. Lots of plants.”

“My mom’s an avid plant parent,” he explained.

You hummed in appreciation. “It’s homely.”

He exhaled through his nose and pressed his thumb and first finger into your trapezius. “Thank you. Go shower; second door to your left down the hall. I'll lay out some clean clothes for you in a little bit.”

He pointed towards an open sliding door on the other side of the shrub, bumping you forward. You needed no further prompting, trotting off in the direction he showed.

Thankfully, you didn’t get lost on the way, his instructions easy to follow. Finding the bathroom, you went into it and closed the door. Your fingers hesitated over the lock on the knob, debating. He said he’d bring clothing, but didn’t mention where he’d put it…

You chose to leave it unlocked and hurriedly got to work shedding your drenched clothes. Placing the towel down on the sink counter, you unabashedly peeped the details of the bathroom while you dropped the pieces of your outfit onto the towel.

Just like the rest of his place, the bathroom was well taken care of, also adorned with a few plants, albeit smaller and out of the way. He wasn’t kidding when he said his mom liked plants.

The ceiling light gave off an inviting glow, subconsciously helping you relax. Naked, you fiddled around with the shower knobs until you got hot water to blast out. You squeaked in surprise, adjusted the temp to be your desired level, and hopped right in.

It felt like years of stress were dissolving right off you. His shower might not have been high-techy and super modern like the one you used back at Satoru’s, but the familiarity in its style brought you a kind of comfort you didn’t know you were missing. You melted into the rising steam, sighing deeply and simply doing nothing for a minute to unwind.

It was a good day, the chaos with Granny, Shoko, and Utahime included. You’d have to reassure those two later that Satoru and Suguru were just teasing. Well, Utahime. For Shoko, you’d probably have to convince her, and you didn’t have faith you’d succeed.

You glanced around, spotting a bottle of body wash that looked like it belonged to Suguru on an inset tile shelf. You grabbed it, hoping he wouldn’t mind you using it.

Reading over the label, you admired his choice in soap: lavender and green tea, both for scent and the benefits they provided. 

You couldn’t help the giddy little burst of vim you got knowing you were about to smell like him, too.

You squeezed some onto your palm and lathered it between your hands, then started rubbing it onto your body. The day’s strain, dirt, grime, and weariness lifted with it, washing off in thin and slow waves of white streaks down your figure. You felt lighter and lighter with each pass over your chest, waist, hips, and thighs. 

Tension thawed from your shoulders as you scrubbed your hands along them, muscles loosening with each bit of cleanliness you gained. It felt nice. Really nice, a calm time away to yourself to let go.

His shampoo also smelled like green tea, and you were occupied with massaging it into your hair when there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” You called out.

The door cracked open. “Just me,” Suguru responded. “Brought some clothes for you. I’ll leave them on the counter.”

“Oh, thank you!” What’d you do to deserve a friend like him?

There were some rustling noises as he spoke. “It’s no problem, I’m not gonna leave you hanging without something to change into. Do you mind if I take your clothes to toss in the wash?”

“That’s fine,” you permitted. “I’ll be out soon.”

“Don’t worry about it, take your time,” he said, and then the door was closed once more.

Even if he told you to, you still didn’t want to hog the shower to yourself, knowing that Satoru got just as river-bathed as you did, and he was wearing pants to boot.

You rinsed off the shampoo and followed it up with the matching conditioner, using your fingers to delicately comb out any tangles. Though they weren’t your own products, they felt amazing, making your tresses silky smooth. You would have to ask him where he got his products.

You were out as soon as you were done washing your hair. You cocooned yourself in the clean, fluffy towel he also provided, loving the texture. It was soft yet absorbent, coaxing away any droplets that clung to your curves and planes. 

You wanted to steal it.

But, reluctant as you might have been, you refrained. You used it to dry your hair some, and folded it to set aside after you were sufficiently devoid of liquid. Checking the clothes Suguru provided you, you noted he gave you a pair of sweats with a drawstring, allowing you to adjust the waistline as needed. Ever the observant mother hen, you were grateful for his foresight.

You slipped on the t-shirt first, pleased by the material as it came to rest against your freshly washed skin. It was noticeably oversized, but in a sleepy-Sunday sort of way, big enough to be cute and snuggly.

The sweats were huge on you by comparison, what with his absurdly long limbs. You tugged the drawstring to your preferred tightness, then rolled up the legs until they were out of the way and you wouldn’t trip over them.

All dressed, you opened the door with your used towel in hand and walked out to find Suguru waiting for you, leaning against the wall beside the room. He smiled warmly at you and pushed himself off his support, holding out his hand to take the towel from you. 

A quick sweep over your form showed he was appraising your outfit with an approving eye, pride undisguised. “That shirt looks good on you.”

You were probably imagining the hint of possessiveness in his tone.

“Ehehe,” you giggled fiendishly, channeling your inner menace as you lightly tugged at the fabric of the top. “Mine, now.”

His expression softened into a smile that had little cupid wings fluttering on your back, a smile you only ever saw him give you. “All yours, angel. You can go sit down in the living room, I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” you nodded and followed his instructions, making your way back to the flora-infested room.

Settling down on the couch, you exhaled and closed your eyes. You heard the shower start up again before it became muffled by the door, presumably because of Satoru. You weren’t left waiting long, the five or so minutes you were alone flying by. The padding of feet signaled you to Suguru’s return, your eyes prying open halfway to peer languidly at him.

“Here,” he jutted his chin towards you. “Sit on the floor, I’ll do your hair.”

Finding no reason to object, you stood and let him take your place on the cushion before plopping yourself down between his legs. He tilted your head forward, then got to work. His touch was ever so gentle, fingers diligent in their movements as he treated your hair with a knowingness you didn’t expect him to have. 

Amicable silence filled the space around you, just the shifting of clothes and the slick sound of leave-in as he spread it evenly through your tresses. It gave your mind the freedom to drift away undisturbed.

As he was carefully drying and styling your hair, you thought about how Suguru often reminded you of a cat, considering his tendency to groom you. Or a bird, like a crow or a raven, that liked to preen you.

If you were all some sort of animal hybrids, you could easily imagine him being either some sort of corvid, a vulpine, or a big cat. A black leopard, to be specific.

If Satoru was a big cat, he would be a snow leopard. You refused to take any other suggestions. The tall freak was touchy, cuddly, and so proficient in hiding himself within an environment that did not suit him that he could be breathing down your neck and you'd be none the wiser.

The more you thought about it, the more you could picture them as their respective animals. Satoru would undoubtedly sunbathe with his belly up, paws curled, tail flicking side to side happily, unafraid of showing his biggest weakness. 

You compared and contrasted between your options for him. He did like to give you small, shiny things, and you'd never refuse because oooh, shiny! His hair reminded you of crow feathers when it caught the light from the sun. It bore a faint iridescence, a chrome that shifted between emerald and the time just between midnight and dawn, in the earliest hours of the morning where stars still sparkled brilliantly. You could picture him preening his feathers, plucking out the pins and fluffing the downy fuzz. 

Though black leopard might have suited him better. He tended to rub his cheek against yours or the top of your head whenever you embraced. You could easily picture him loafing under the shade, licking his paw to smooth out his fur and ensure it matched the rest of his satiny complexion. He had the personality of a laid back, lazy feline that could turn from a sweet teeny baby kitten into a merciless predator in the blink of an eye. 

You'd seen the way he behaved when he wanted something – the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the concentration in his brow. 

It made a tremor flit up your body, especially when he set his sights on you like that. He was capable of being a silent stalker, an expert in scaring the ever living shit out of you any chance he got, just like Satoru.

That soursop boy was surely the type to roll over and let others do things for him. Feed him, rub his belly, comb through his fur. You hadn’t seen him when he was prowling, searching for a meal to hunt down, but sometimes you got a flicker of something similar to it in his eyes. Like a passing rumination, where he considered if it was worth exhausting energy to chase down his prey. 

…Could the reason you’d had yet to witness his hunt be because of his ability to camouflage? Because he didn’t want you to see?

The concept gave you chills.

You suppressed your reaction at the introspection, remembering that Suguru was behind you, gently drying your hair with tepid air and tender touches. You didn't want to embarrass yourself by giving him the impression that he was pleasuring you.

Which he undeniably was, but he didn't need to know about the prickles and tingles traveling all the way from your crown to your tailbone.

You continued your train of thought.

Satoru the Snow Leopard would spend his days grooming you endlessly, licking at your fur until it stuck out in all kinds of wild angles. After that, Suguru would mend the spiky hairs until you were glossy and sleek like him.

What did that make you in comparison to them?

Standing side by side with them, it was clear you were prey – unless you were a black-footed cat. But given your dynamic and how the two of them liked to coddle you, you doubted you'd resemble any kind of predator.

If you had to be prey, then what? A doe, or gazelle? 

No, those were unfortunately too majestic, and you weren't nearly as graceful as those lovely creatures. Your habit of tripping over your own feet proved case enough.

Okay, so if you weren't either of those…you supposed you could still fit into the cervidae family. Pudu deer was a possibility. 

You tried to imagine it, but sadly, you couldn't put yourself into deer hooves.

Were birds prey? Some of them had to be, like doves, right? 

If you were a bird, then Suguru had to be, too. You only trusted him to primp and help you maintain your feathers. Satoru would just chomp on them.

Alright, so no-go on the birds, then. Field mouse?

No, too small. You were short, but not that short. They’d also likely accidentally swallow you whole if they tried to mend a stray whisker.

Fennec fox? 

You contemplated it, then mentally shook your head. You weren't high-pitched and energetic enough to qualify for that. Satoru would beg to differ, and you’d let him, because it’d be funny. Also, they were predators, anyway.

A brief memory flashed in your mind of something Satoru said, back when you first met Suguru.

‘I don't know,’ he hummed in deliberation. ‘I prefer bunny. Or mochi.’

Bunny.

Bunny…

A rabbit with floppy ears and an upturned tail. Fuzzy and velvety, obviously small and squishy, as much as you grimaced at those choice words of his.

Flumped right between either of their front paws, or stuffed in the middle of their bodies when they curled up to nap. Or chilling on one of their backs, your little paws on their head to watch the world from an angle you could never see on your own.

Bunny fit perfectly, a glove with no rips in the stitch.

You three together would consist of a snow leopard, a black leopard, and a small rabbit that they decided to keep as a pet and not dinner. For whatever reason that could be. Fish are friends, not food.

You had no idea why you chose to start daydreaming about being animorphs. Imagining being squished by their hulking forms in the afternoon rays, or being wrapped up in their fluffy tails for warmth on autumn nights. They were fun images to entertain.

“You seem to be quite deep in thought,” Suguru's breath brushed against the shell of your ear, spooking you. You hadn't even noticed he was finished. “Care to let me in?”

“Eep!” You squeaked, rotating partially to give him the stink eye for doing the thing he and Satoru always did. No way were you going to let him in on your weird brain doing weird brain things. “It's nothing important, just fantasizing a bit. Zoned out.”

Ohp. 

And there was that hungry gleam in his eye, the shimmer in his black tea hues. You hit the nail on the head with the black leopard comparison.

“Fantasizing about what?” He purred. Cat. “About me?” 

Your lashes fluttered and you whipped your head back in the other direction, tucking your newly dry and enviously soft hair behind your ears. “N-No?”

Man.

You were such a bad liar.

He, merciful god that he is, elected to only tease you and not try to dive into the unreasonably bizarre pool of thoughts that swirled and whirled in your consciousness like the godsforsaken mess you were. 

Nor ask about why most of them revolved around those two boys. Bless him, your hero. Satoru would have tormented you until you gave in out of desperation, just to make him shut up. Then, he'd tease you about those ideas for the rest of your days. Probably double down on the bunny related nicknames, poke right above your tailbone and make jokes about how he should make you wear a pair of bunny ears and a tail. And then make the tail option extremely not family friendly.

Heaven’s mercy spare you if you give him any more ideas beyond that. Like a skimpy outfit that barely covered your tits and had a crotch narrow enough to give you a wedgie-induced friction burn where friction burns did not belong and would not wish on your worst enemy.

Well, no, maybe you would, but that's besides the point.

You chuffed out your nose and let your head fall back against the cushion between Geto's legs. His fingers found their way back to your scalp, massaging and lightly scratching at it until you were pushing into his hands like a needy kitten.

“Comfortable?” He asked with an amused lilt in his voice, to which you chirped merrily in answer.

You really were. Limbs like jelly, squeaky clean, tired out after playing in the river with them. You felt good, truly and genuinely good.

Aversion to permanent routine or not, you’d welcome every day with open arms if they were like this. Peaceful contentment after a long stretch of sunlit hours, able to let loose and uncoil any strain in your body, it all sounded so…

Happy.

You were okay with being happy like this.

You were okay with forgetting your past and what drove you here in the first place. You didn’t mind having your eyes shift shut, lashes sweeping over the highs of your cheekbones. You were alright with one of your best friends playing idly with your hair, and you were fine with listening to him hum some melody to himself as he did so.

It was okay.

This was okay.

You were okay.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

[small-z24]

Shadows of Fate 2

Summary:

Y/n, Cassian's shy and quiet sister, prefers to keep to the shadows. Unbeknownst to her, she is Azriel's mate. His shadows are inexplicably drawn to her, and as they grow closer, a slow-burn romance ensues. Cassian, ever protective of his sister, watches over her as the bond between Y/n and Azriel deepens.

Chapter 2: Keeping Secrets

Cassian had always been protective of Y/n. As the older brother, he felt it was his duty to keep her safe from the world’s dangers. When their parents died, Cassian had taken on the role of both brother and protector, a role he took very seriously. So when he noticed Y/n spending more time with Azriel, his instincts kicked in.

One evening, Cassian stood on the training grounds, watching Azriel as he practiced his swordsmanship. The movements were fluid and precise, a testament to Azriel's skill. Cassian waited until Azriel finished his set before approaching.

"Az, can we talk?" Cassian’s voice was casual, but there was a seriousness in his eyes.

Azriel nodded, sheathing his sword. "Of course. What’s on your mind?"

Cassian motioned for them to walk, leading Azriel away from the others. "It's about Y/n," he began, glancing at Azriel to gauge his reaction.

Azriel’s expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine," Cassian replied quickly. "But I've noticed you two spending a lot of time together."

Azriel nodded slowly. "Yes, we have. We’ve been getting to know each other."

Cassian stopped walking and turned to face Azriel, his gaze intense. "Az, she’s my sister. She’s been through a lot, and I don’t want to see her get hurt."

"I understand," Azriel said, meeting Cassian’s gaze steadily. "And I care about her, Cassian. More than I can explain. I would never hurt her."

Cassian studied him for a long moment before sighing. "Alright. But just know, I’m watching. She means everything to me."

Azriel nodded, a solemn promise in his eyes. "I won’t let you down."

Cassian gave a curt nod before walking away, leaving Azriel standing alone with his thoughts. Azriel knew that gaining Cassian’s trust wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to prove himself worthy of Y/n.

The next few days were filled with cautious interactions. Cassian kept a close eye on Y/n and Azriel, watching their every move. Y/n noticed her brother’s increased protectiveness but chose not to confront him, understanding his concerns. Meanwhile, she and Azriel had decided to keep the fact that they were mates a secret, at least for now. They didn’t want to stir up any trouble or cause Cassian unnecessary worry.

One evening, as Y/n was reading in the library, Cassian approached her. "Hey, can we talk?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

Y/n looked up, setting her book aside. "Of course, Cass. What’s on your mind?"

Cassian sat down beside her, his expression serious. "I just want to make sure you’re alright. With Azriel, I mean."

Y/n smiled gently. "I’m alright, Cassian. Azriel has been nothing but kind and respectful. He makes me feel safe."

Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I just... I worry about you."

"I know you do," Y/n said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "And I appreciate it. But I need you to trust me. Trust that I can make my own decisions."

Cassian nodded slowly. "I do trust you, Y/n. And I’m trying to trust Azriel. It’s just... hard."

"It’s hard for me too," Y/n admitted. "But I think Azriel is worth it."

Cassian studied her face for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Just promise me you’ll be careful."

"I promise," Y/n said, giving him a reassuring smile.

****

Azriel felt the weight of Cassian’s scrutiny, but he remained patient, knowing that earning the warrior’s trust would take time. He continued to spend time with Y/n, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

One evening, as they sat together in the garden, Azriel turned to Y/n. "How are you feeling about all of this?" he asked softly.

Y/n looked at him, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight. "It’s a lot to take in," she admitted. "But I’m glad we’re taking it slow. I feel like I’m getting to know you, really know you."

Azriel smiled, his heart swelling with affection. "I feel the same way. And I want you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what."

"Thank you, Azriel," she said, reaching out to take his hand. "I appreciate that more than you know."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Azriel’s shadows wrapped around them, creating a cocoon of intimacy and safety.

As they sat together in the garden, surrounded by the night’s embrace, Y/n felt a sense of peace and belonging she had never known before. She knew the journey ahead would be filled with challenges, but with Azriel by her side, she felt ready to face whatever came their way.

Despite the growing bond between Y/n and Azriel, Cassian remained wary. He watched them closely, his protective instincts on high alert.

One evening, after training, he cornered Azriel. "Az, we need to talk."

Azriel sighed inwardly but nodded. "Alright, Cassian. What is it?"

Cassian’s eyes were hard, his jaw set. "I know you care about Y/n. But I need to be sure that you understand what this means. She’s my sister. If you hurt her..."

"I won’t," Azriel interrupted, his voice firm. "I swear to you, Cassian, I will protect her with my life. I would never hurt her."

Cassian searched his eyes for any sign of deceit, finding none. Slowly, he nodded. "Alright. But just know, I’m trusting you with the most important person in my life."

Azriel nodded, a solemn promise in his eyes. "I won’t let you down."

As the weeks turned into months, the bond between Y/n and Azriel deepened. They spent countless hours together, talking, laughing, and simply enjoying each other’s presence. Y/n found herself falling for Azriel, her heart swelling with love for the quiet, shadowed warrior.

One evening, as they sat together on a secluded balcony, Azriel turned to her, his eyes filled with emotion. "Y/n, there’s something I need to tell you."

She looked at him, her heart skipping a beat. "What is it, Azriel?"

He took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. "I love you, Y/n. More than anything. You are my mate, my heart, my everything."

Tears filled her eyes as she reached out to cup his cheek. "I love you too, Azriel. With all my heart."

They shared a tender kiss, the world around them fading away. In that moment, Y/n knew that she had found her true home in Azriel’s arms.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this continuation of Y/n and Azriel's story. Feel free to leave comments and let me know your thoughts!

[annwrites]

you need a hand with that, baby?

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: hurt from billy's constant hot & cold behavior toward you, you begin to pull away from him. refusing to lose you, he offers to open up to you, but only on his terms. he then wakes in the middle of the night to an unexpected sight beside him.

— tags: billy actually opening up and discussing his past and feelings toward you, at least a bit. angst.

— tw: drinking, childhood trauma, masturbation, fingering, handjob

— word count: 7,132

— a/n: oh yeah, it's all coming together. pun maybe intended.

find my other posts concerning billy here

When you enter the motel room—your hands full of a selection of things the motel was serving for breakfast—it’s to Billy falling over himself, trying to quickly pull on a pair of jeans, quietly cursing to himself.

And then he barely glances up to you as he finally yanks the zipper up. “There you are. Where the hell have you been?” He looks at you. “Do you have any idea how wor-”

A smile slowly forms on his lips, cutting short the lecture he was about to bestow upon you about never leaving his eyesight ever again unless you wanted to see him pissed...also again.

He settles his hands on his hips—still shirtless—giving you a long look-over before stepping closer and reaching up, twirling a teased curl around his finger. 

“Thought you stopped doing your hair like this weeks ago, doll?”

You shrug, setting the food down on the table, sitting. “I just wanted to try it out again.”

He sits, not bothering with a shirt for the moment being, and watches as you take a bite of a pastry, your eyes flitting to his chest for only a moment, before looking down to the buffet of food before you, cheeks warming.

He leans back, biting into an apple. “Really going to sit there and pretend like it has nothing to do with trying to impress me, honey?”

You glance up to him with furrowed brows, pouring a small bottle of milk into a paper bowl full of cereal. “Why would I want to do that?”

Each day he’s spent with you has made him more bold in his advances, even minimally, and today is no different. He finally just throws it out there. “I see the way you look at me. Especially when I’m like this. Half-dressed, or less. Or working on the Camaro. If you want to keep playing hard-to-get, sweetheart, we still have plenty days of driving before us, so we can play that game. Just know you won’t win.” He leans toward you, eyes boring into your own. “I will get what I’ve been waiting patiently for weeks for.”

You stop chewing, suddenly swallowing. You don’t want to admit you’d spent the better part of an hour teasing your hair and using so much Aquanet you’d nearly finished off the entire can until it was perfect just to see his reaction. But he could see right through you. 

You were tiring of this game to an extent—you pretending like you felt nothing toward him than annoyance, and him making sexual advances toward you every day.

It all amounted to nothing.

Maybe sometimes it did feel a bit exciting to be desired by another, but it wasn’t about you with him. It was about what you were: a collection of body parts for him to play with. He’d all but thrown as much in your face two nights ago. What was it he had said about you being just another pair of lips?

You suddenly regret doing your hair. 

Maybe you have been leading him on a bit lately. You hadn’t intended to. You’d done your utmost to ignore him in Hawkins—he was the one who refused to leave you alone. And being on the road together…it’d simply been about getting from point a to point b. Now…you tell yourself that’s still all it is. Both of you leaving behind nightmares to find new dreams out West.

Once you reach California, you’ll both go separate ways and never see one another ever again. Because that’s what people do: they leave.

You look back down to your food, stirring your now-soggy cereal, mood dampened. And Billy notices your sudden shift in mood, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You stand, throwing your food away. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you state, picking up your chair and going to sit by the window. 

He rolls his eyes. Women and their damn mood swings. “You on your rag or somethin’?”

Your head jerks back toward him. “What?”

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

You don’t bother arguing as you turn back to the window. “No.”

He takes a few more bites of his apple, watching you. He chooses to change the subject. “So, what’re we drinking tonight?”

You’d forgotten about that… You look back to him. “Can you even buy alcohol?”

He smirks. “I have a fake, honey.”

You raise a brow, not entirely surprised. “You do?”

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slipping the card out and tossing it to you.

You pick it up off the floor and look it over. ‘Billy Squier’, really? You look at him and he has a smirk on his face. 

“What, don’t tell me you don’t get the name?”

You walk it back over to him, extending the plastic card toward him. “You must’ve thought it was terribly clever, since you both share the same first name.”

He considers you for a moment, grabbing the card, tossing it onto the table, then yanking on your hand, pulling you into his lap.

You immediately try to stand up, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him.

“Let go!”

He holds a piece of bacon up to your face. “Not until you’ve eaten something.”

You snub your nose at the offered food, so he just holds it closer. “I have no problem hand-feeding you, princess.”

You sigh dramatically and he uses that opportunity to shove the food into your mouth.

Once you’ve finished chewing do you try getting up again. 

“You can get up just as soon as you tell me what the fuck that was a minute ago.”

You roll your eyes. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” he says casually, taking a bite of the pastry you hadn’t finished.

Feeling your temper growing shorter, you let him have it as you turn the least bit more back toward him so you can look at him. “Stop pretending like you give a damn about me. We both know what this is. That as soon as we get to California, we’re both going our separate ways. Nothing you do is going to change the fact that I refuse to fuck you before then.”

His jaw feathers. He knows you’re not trying to make him angry. You’re just hurt yourself from his vulgar behavior—his being hot and cold toward you. He decides he does not like the taste of his own medicine. You’d tried to connect with him more than once now, had tried to get him to open up like you had with him, but he’d shut it down at every turn. 

You were clearly beginning to grow tired of it. He doesn’t entirely blame you. When was the last time you’d had someone show the least bit of concern for you? Even his step-mom, at times, had tried to show him some kindness.

He reaches up and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m nothing if not a man of my word, baby. I told you that you were stuck with me. I meant that. So I’ll wait for however long you want to keep holding out for. You take that to mean whatever you want it to.”

Your brows furrow and your hands come to rest atop his arm. “I… You…” You have no idea what you even want to say.

He holds another pastry up to you. “Muffin?”

Once breakfast was through—Billy refusing to let you off of his lap for the next hour; he’d taken his time eating and hadn’t tried to fight against the erection your constant squirming had caused, even if you’d ceased the moment you’d felt it—the two of you had gotten into his car and driven around town aimlessly, just sight-seeing, even if there wasn’t much to see here in the first place.

Some small Oklahoma town had to be one of the worst places to be stranded. He’d mused to himself that there was a reason it was known as a fly-over state.

You’d stayed mostly silent, even as he’d obnoxiously blared his rock music, trying to get your attention. 

He could feel your interest—attentions—toward him beginning to wane, and it was an unsettling feeling. So, he’d, at every red light and stop and yield sign, reached over and touched you. You thought it’d been just to get under your skin. For him, it was just a reminder that you were still there beside him. 

Once lunch time hit, he’d pulled into a family-owned diner, and even bothered holding your hand as the two of you went inside. You’d tried to tug away, but he’d held firm, twining his fingers between yours. 

Once the two of you were eating—you refusing to even look in his direction, but instead watching the view outside the window at your side—he’d tapped your foot under the table and you’d rolled your eyes, pulling your leg back toward you.

He’d sighed then. “Your hair looks nice, since I never told you. I was right: it makes you look hot.”

“Thanks.”

He’d frowned. “Fine. Since it’s clearly what you’re after—five questions. That’s all you get. So, ask whatever you want and I’ll answer.”

You’d looked to him in surprise. Shocked he was offering such a thing. You were sure he’d never bother to open up. Or, if he did, it would be only when he was ready and deigned to divulge bits and pieces of himself and his life to you here and there. But putting you in control of what he was to share? You weren’t sure what to make of that.

You sit back, idly stabbing at your garden salad. You look up to him then, expression serious. “Why did you pick on me so much back in Hawkins?”

He raises a brow, forearms resting atop the table. “Why do you think?” He gestures as if the answer should be obvious.

You look back down and shift, and you suddenly seem uncomfortable to him.

“I… I thought that… Maybe…” You look out the window and a pained look seeps into your eyes. He reaches over, having no idea why the fuck he’s doing it, and takes one of your hands in his. 

You look at him again. You let out a shaky breath, your hand trembling slightly in his firm grip. “Maybe something was wrong with me. I mean…my dad and the way he treated me. And then you show up and…” You swallow thickly.

That’s what you’d thought the last two months? That he’d been giving getting on your last nerve his every effort because what? You just attracted that kind of treatment—cruelty? Especially from men?

You’re now staring intently down at the table, lost in thought, like you’re somewhere else.

“Angel, look at me.”

You do, hesitantly. “You think I acted that way because I didn’t like you?”

You nod, hand shaking harder.

He leans in toward you. “It’s the very opposite. You should know that by now, honey.”

You blink at him. “You don’t actually like me, though.”

He raises a brow again. “Reading my thoughts now?”

“It’s…” You stop yourself short, pulling your hand back, settling it in your lap. You didn’t want to say this. Didn’t want to let on that you, at the very least, thought you felt something more toward him. Not when you knew how he thought of you. You never meant more toward anyone—they just did for you. Because you were always stupid enough to get attached.

“Go on.”

You clasp your shaking hands together. Opening up…you’d never been able to do that before. Had wanted to. With someone—anyone. But even just crying in front of your dad… That was an excellent way to get hit.

Your heart-rate quickens. You can’t do this. He’ll get angry, too. Just like the other night when he put his fist through a wall.

No man was a safe place for you.

“I don’t remember now.”

He stands then, sitting beside you, pressing his body against yours, arm behind you. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he says lowly, cupping your cheek in his other hand.

You shake your head, your body trembling in fear.

He leans down toward you. “Please.”

You look at him, blinking back tears and his heart fucking breaks.

“What if you get mad at me?” You ask, voice breaking on the last word.

“I won’t.”

You open your mouth to speak, until the waitress interrupts the both of you with the check.

Billy lets out a low swear, snatching it from her.

When he looks back to you, the moment is gone. You having withdrawn further away from him.

It seems he’s not the only one with difficulties sharing parts of himself.

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you whimper. He pulls back, and you still don’t look at him.

After lunch, Billy pulls into a gas station. Getting you drunk probably isn’t the best idea right now, but it’s the only way he’s going to get you to talk—get himself to, even. 

So he heads inside, purchases a bottle of Crown Royal, and then comes back out, handing it to you.

You look it over for a moment, then look at him. “This is a stupid idea.”

He shrugs. “We made a deal, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”

You look back down at the bottle. “I only do stupid stuff when I’m with you.”

He smirks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Once the two of you are locked in your motel room, you sit on the bed—him leaned back against the headboard, and you at the foot of it facing him. 

“So…what do we do now?” You ask nervously. 

“Could always play a drinking game. Or just start chugging until one of us is shit-faced. Or…” He grows quiet for a moment, then unscrews the lid, taking a long swig. “There’s a reason they call this shit liquid courage. Drink enough and you don’t feel afraid anymore. You want to talk, then we’ll talk. But I need to get my blood-alcohol level up first,” he says, taking another long drink.

He holds the bottle out toward you and you take it from him gingerly, taking a small sip. Your face screws and he laughs. 

“That’s disgusting.”

He shrugs. “It’s one of my favorites. But when it comes to booze, you don’t always drink it for the taste.”

You take another sip and it still tastes just as bad as the first time. You then feel heat pool between your legs and you flush. You look up to him and see he’s just waiting on you to make your next move. You briefly wonder if this is what alcohol does for everyone—cause this kind of reaction. And if so, if he’d really meant the ‘taking advantage of you’ comment from last night. 

You take another drink, then hand it back to him. 

“So, you want to continue what you were saying at the diner?” He asks, taking a sip.

You’d had so many thoughts racing through your mind afterward that you honestly couldn’t remember now. 

You’d asked him about his treatment toward you. He’d insinuated that he’d done it because he liked you and…you were going to imply you felt something for him, but were worried he saw you as just a sex toy.

You have half-a-mind to feign ignorance; that you’d forgotten, but you reach for the bottle again and take a long drink, swallowing multiple times, head beginning to feel light when you lower it down to your lap.

You smile to yourself and Billy only feels mild surprise that the liquor is working so quickly on you. With him having a good bit more body weight—not to mention tolerance—it would take him a few more drinks yet. 

You look up to him, caressing the glass bottle. “I think you were right.”

He raises a brow, making a beckoning motion with his finger for the bottle and you hand it to him. “Oh, yeah? What about?”

“Me being attracted to you.” Your words already sound a bit slurred.

He’s not taken aback in the slightest by your admittance. He was aware of your physical attraction awhile ago. Knew you were too, even if you didn’t want to admit it—or, rather, wanted to try and bury it. 

He drinks. “Read you like a book weeks ago on that, honey.”

You balk. “Weeks?” You’d not liked him back in Hawkins. Not in the least. Not his leather jacket or stupid car or dumb smirk. Not his deep voice or pretty eyes or swagger.

“Mhm.”

“Don’t humor yourself.”

He drinks again. "No?"

You stare at him for a moment and he smirks, thinking. He has an idea, but chooses to hold off for the moment being. He won't make this just another opportunity for him to try at getting in your pants. He's done enough damage to whatever was tentatively starting to grow between the two of you. He fears he's nearly killed it altogether.

This is him trying to dial it back.

You don't respond, instead reaching out for the bottle and he gives it to you. You drink, and then giggle lightly, and his lip twitches at the sound.

"So, the hell happened this morning when you started acting like a sour-puss all of a sudden?"

You look down at the bottle, tracing your finger along the comforter beneath you. You suddenly realize he's right about the whole liquid courage thing when you look up at him and suddenly don't feel so afraid anymore. "You make me feel safe sometimes. You've...done a lot for me. Even if you almost put a hole in my head..."

His jaw feathers. "I wouldn't have done it. Should've never raised a hand to you in the first place." He's quiet for a few seconds, then, "So I make you feel safe, huh?"

That was a first for him. The only person he ever had any responsibility in looking out for previously was Max, and he knew he scared the shit out of her. Not that he didn't do so on purpose at least half the time. They couldn't stand each other. He never pretended otherwise.

You pull the bottle into your lap and he licks his lips as you make a fist around the neck of it. "Mm, yeah."

"How's that?" He asks, unbuttoning his shirt halfway.

Your cheeks grow warm and you lower the bottle between your legs where a pulse is beginning to form. "I don't know. It's just the whole package, I guess."

Unable to help himself, he smirks before giving his reply. "You like my package, sweetheart?"

You groan, rolling your eyes, flopping back on the mattress, feet still planted atop it, knees bent.

He glances between your spread legs, growing hard.

You stare up at the ceiling. You're not drunk yet. And so you choose to revert back to more serious topics while you're still able to think straight.

"You said at the diner I could ask you questions. I still had four to go."

His eyes trail over your pert breasts. "How about we make things a bit more interesting?"

You lull your head to the side, looking at him, his shirt now fully undone. "How?"

His lip twitches, eyes growing dark. "I answer, but once I have, you have to remove a piece of clothing."

You roll your eyes back to the ceiling, sighing dramatically.

He laughs.

"Only if I get to choose what item."

His eyes widen. "Wait, really? You'll do it?"

You shrug. "If it's the only way."

"What's your first question, doll?"

You consider what you want to know the most about him. What best to start with. "Tell me about your mom."

He considers whether seeing you undressed is really all that important to him now. "Take another drink."

Maybe if he can get you plastered, you won't remember any of this conversation come morning.

Not understanding why he wants you to, you sit up a bit, swallowing another sip, then lie back down.

He reaches forward, taking the bottle from you and taking multiple pulls before leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "She..." His brow twitches as he imagines her on that beach, watching him in the water, a loving look in her eyes. "She tried with him. But I guess, like you, there was only so much she could take." He's unsure whether he's referring to the situation with your dad, or the other night on the interstate. "He was always fighting with her—accusing her of cheating and shit, not that I'd blame her—hitting her, pushing her around. I guess one day she'd had enough and hit the road. Maybe she just forgot me. Or didn't want me anymore. Maybe she only saw him when she looked at me. Who the fuck knows? She got out, I didn't. Until now. End of story."

You look at him and see that he's now staring up at the ceiling, his eyes a bit bloodshot, nose red. You want to reach out and touch him—give him a comforting gesture, but fear it will only make him feel worse. So you instead extend one of your legs, lying it atop his own.

He looks at you then, smirking, and he slides one of his hands along your calf. "So, what piece is comin' off first?"

You wiggle your foot that's currently resting atop his thigh. He shakes his head. "Of course it's something boring."

He slips your sock off, tossing it on the floor, then pauses, looking at you and a wide smile breaks out on his face as he grabs your ankle in one hand and starts tickling your foot with his other.

You squirm, letting out panicked laughs. "S-stop. N-noooo, please, aha!"

He lets up after a minute, hand sliding along your smooth leg again, chuckling to himself. "Three left to go, sweetheart."

For your next question, you tread as lightly as you possibly can. You make your voice light, soft. "You hate your dad for what he's done to you and your mom. For what he is—who. I guess I understand why you're so angry all the time. But why act similarly? Picking on me at school by pulling my hair...and what happened the other night... Is it just because that's the only example you've ever had set of how a man acts?"

He stays quiet, thinking. He begins to massage your foot with both his thumbs. Then, "I haven't been this open—vulnerable—with someone since before my mom left." He glances up to you. "I was ten then."

He looks back down. "I'm a man now. Not some kid. And a man doesn't cry or broadcast his shit to the world. He gets angry and fights back."

"Is that really what you think? That's how your dad—mine—are. Do you think they're real men?"

He stares at you then, hands stilling.

You wonder if he'd ever thought about it like that before. You continue. "You know what they say: you catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

He smirks. "Oh, I intend to get myself some honey eventually."

"Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it," he says, taking the bottle and drinking again. "That your way of asking me to be sweet on you, baby?"

You reach for the bottle again, taking a drink yourself, wiggling your other foot.

He pulls your sock off, tossing it next to the other one. He doesn't tickle you this time. "Two more."

You're both thankful and not that he'd only offered you five. Had he done more, you'd be naked before you were done. And you were sure at that point he'd cut the questioning short, neither of you able to concentrate then. But you have so many things to ask—him still a bit of an enigma to you, or, rather, how he works.

You want to ask about his past with surfing, want to know how many girls he's been with—but know that question is far too juvenile and will make your feelings too obvious. You want to ask about his fascination with cars, what his favorite subject in school was, what about rock music appeals to him so much, maybe even ask about his step-sister. Instead, you ask about yourself.

"Why me?"

He begins rubbing your other foot. "Why you what, beautiful?"

That was a new one. And 'princess' earlier.

"You said it yourself the other night: you could've had any girl you wanted at Hawkins. I mean, I saw the way they all looked at you. So why me?"

He shrugs. "Like you said earlier, I guess it's just 'the whole package'."

You shake your head. "Try again, James Dean."

He laughs then, resting his head back, fighting the smirk on his lips. The last thing he needs is you thinking you're funny and it going to your head.

He looks down at you, the expression on his face now soft. "I only had eyes for you since day one, baby. There was just somethin' about you, I guess. Honestly, I think it was the fact you never tried to get my attention." He smirks. "Every man likes a chase. And I'll be damned if you haven't given me one. A few times."

He thinks about chasing you down on the interstate the other night.

"What about Angie?"

He raises a brow. "Were you jealous?"

You don't respond, just continue looking at him.

He shrugs. "It was what it was. I just did it to piss you off. Try to, at least. But once I had her in the backseat and we got down to business, there was only one girl on my mind, and it sure as hell wasn't her."

You blame your sudden sense of dizziness on the alcohol. "Oh."

"That surprise you?"

"Yes." You reach for the bottle and he hands it to you, your fingers brushing against one another as you take a few gulps. Your head really starts to spin then.

He leans forward, running his hand up your thigh. "Time to take something else off, darlin'."

You hand him the bottle, and with nervous hands, reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off, balling it up and tossing it at him.

"Now we're talkin'," he says, throwing your shirt across the room.

You shrug. "You already saw me in a bathing suit."

He smirks. "Context, doll."

His eyes glance down to your shorts. "Last one."

You're silent, for a long while, Billy taking a few sips from the bottle.

And then you speak.

"When we get to California...what happens?"

"I've been thinking about getting back into surfing again. I used to be really good at it. But that was almost a decade ago now. Might take a bit of practice to get back to where I was on the board." He shrugs. "Maybe I start competing and do odd jobs on the side until I maybe make it into something full-time."

You stay quiet.

"But that's not really what you're asking, is it?" He says.

You look at him.

"You're asking what happens to us when we get there."

You look at the wall. "No, I wasn't."

He clicks his tongue. "Thought we were being honest tonight."

You don't say anything, nor do you look at him.

His lip twitches. "You could always be my own personal cheerleader."

You look at him. "Would you even want that?"

He shrugs. "Someone's gotta do it."

A small smile comes onto your lips. "What's my rate-of-pay?"

His brow raises. "How about I just pay you in sexual favors? Your uniform will be covered."

Your face heats, remembering that comment. Stupid girl.

"Yeah, I still haven't forgotten about that, by the way."

"You wouldn't, would you?"

"No way in hell." He states matter-of-factly.

He then leans over you and reaches down, unbuttoning your jean shorts, slowly easing down the zipper and when you feel your body's reaction to it—rather, the reaction it's been having to him for awhile now—you desperately don't want him to pull them down. But a deal is a deal. And you know he won't be letting you out of this one either.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and begins tugging them down your hips, sliding them off of your legs and he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tosses them to the side.

And then he looks down and your face feels like it's boiling when his eyes grow wide at the sight before him.

He looks up to you then, removing his eyes from your panties that're now soaked through and sticking to you.

And for the first time in all the while you've known him, he's speechless.

But you are as well. So you simply push your thighs together, drawing your feet toward you.

He then shakes his head, letting out a low curse. "I should've let you ask more questions."

Once the two of you have showered and are in bed for the night—you'd gotten delivery for the night, Billy refusing to let you put your clothes back on all the while as you ate, and you pretending not to see his erection the entire time—you lied down in bed.

In truth, Billy had gotten off in the shower after your little drinking game—unable to think of anything else but the lovely sight between your legs, all for and from him. He'd not been quiet when he came, either. And when he emerged naked, going to lay down, he'd noticed a wet spot on the seat you got up from as you silently went to bathe.

It'd taken some time for him to calm down enough to sleep. His mind and body both, wondering if he shouldn't have taken a cold shower instead.

You, however, lied awake next to him, your own body still on fire, head still swimming, replaying the sight of him removing your shorts over and over again. The look in his eyes, his fingers pulling down the zipper, the veins in his hands as he gently yanked them off of you, curls falling over his shoulders, the scent of his cologne. The sight of him coming naked out of the bathroom. The sound of him orgasming in the shower.

You feel dampness in your panties again and you glance to him, still fast asleep. You then make what may very-well be a stupid decision and slip your hand beneath the waistband of them and begin to circle your clit with your fingers and your body jerks in response. You honestly couldn't remember the last time you'd not only touched yourself, but felt turned-on in general.

Living in that house with him...it killed all sense of hope and happiness and normality for you.

You look to Billy, your eyes trailing down his bare muscled chest, to his waist—his privates the only part of him that's covered, and barely at that, with a top sheet—and you slide your fingers between your wet folds and bite your lip.

You glance to his face, his lips, and circle your clit again, closing your eyes.

You spread your legs the least bit wider, closing your eyes, softly panting as you cup one of your breasts in your free hand.

Billy had been just on the verge of sleep when he'd heard you whimper beside him. His first thought had been that you were having a nightmare—stomach dropping at the thought of it being about him, about the other night—and then freezes when he looks at you and sees you touching yourself.

Your hand is in your panties, your other touching your breast, your lips slightly parted as you quietly moan.

His erection quickly returns to him then and he slowly turns onto his side. "You need a hand with that, baby?"

Your ministrations cease immediately, your eyes shooting open and head jerking to the right, looking at him. You open your mouth to reply and at first nothing comes out. Then, "I-I'm sorry."

He raises a brow, moving closer to you, erection brushing against your thigh. "For what, darlin'?"

You stare up at him.

"So, do you? Maybe I should just call in that offer for a sexual favor now. What do you think?"

You feel like your brain is suddenly misfiring as you actually consider saying yes. It's the alcohol. You're not thinking clearly. Not as you usually would without it in your system. But the thought of him touching you like that... It ignited something in you just when he looked at you.

He props himself up on his left forearm, his right hand coming to rest atop your stomach, then slowly moving lower and lower, his eyes trained on yours all the while.

Once his hand is just above the waist of your panties, you slowly pull your own hand out, resting it beside you, your heart now pounding.

He takes that as permission and slips his own between your legs, looking down.

"Fuck," he swears, looking back to you. "Are you always this wet?"

You consider telling him 'only with you', knowing that would most certainly get you a reaction. "S-sometimes."

His fingers explore between your hot folds, erection coming to settle atop your right thigh. It's only then you realize just how lengthy he truly is.

You turn more onto your right side, facing him and he slowly slips one finger inside of you, groaning at the tight feel, the slick sensation of you.

He then slowly—very slowly—leans down, pressing his lips gently to your own. And you let him this time. You kiss him back. And his heart fucking jumps.

Something it's never done with a girl before. The last time it had? The first time he set eyes on you in the parking lot at school as you walked inside. He'd known right then and there it was over for him.

He eases another finger into you and circles your clit with his thumb and you gasp against his mouth, then wrap your left arm around his neck, pulling your body against his own, and you begin to kiss him more fervently.

He circles that sensitive bundle again and again and slips his tongue in your mouth and you whimper, your own coming to dance with his.

He arches his strong fingers upward and you pull away, sighing, your lips brushing against his own.

"That feel good, honey?"

You nod, crushing your lips back to his own.

He massages that ledge inside of you and your body shudders and he smirks, continuing to kiss you, barely believing this is finally happening. That he's getting to touch you like this and you're allowing him to—enjoying it.

The entire time he'd been at the drive-in with Angela, all he'd been able to think about was you and Harrington in his car doing what he was doing with her.

What if he was your first time? What if you fell for him? What if he made you his instead? What if he lost any chance with you for good while Steve became your whole fucking world?

And for the first time, while having sex, he'd nearly been unable to finish. So, he'd closed his eyes, flipping her over, imaging it was you. And he'd finished almost-instantly then. Had damn-near yelled your name as he filled his condom.

And when he came back to reality, his erection had softened quickly as he pulled out and away from her, wanting—wishing—for someone else instead.

You'd never know the relief he'd felt—utter fucking joy—when you'd let it slip that you were a virgin, that you didn't even like Harrington like that.

And then he'd felt secure in knowing he didn't have any competition. Not for the moment being. You could still be his.

He moves his lips to your neck and you ease your head back, whimpering at the feeling of him licking and kissing and gently biting your hot sensitive skin. He then trails wet kisses to your ear and speaks lowly into it—you clenching around him when he does.

"When you come, sweetheart, I want you to fucking scream my name. I want half this damn place to hear it." He crushes his lips back to your own, tongue flicking against yours and you spread your legs wider, his fingers diving deeper.

Just as his arm begins to grow tired, your body jerks, your pants becoming more frequent, harder.

"That's it, baby, come for me. C'mon, sweetheart, you're almost there."

You begin to rock your hips against his hand, whimpering at the feel, clit growing more and more sensitive.

"Mm, please." You look up to him, kissing him again. Then, "Ah, right there."

His fingers work rapidly, rubbing and plunging in and out of you, your body responding accordingly.

Both of you are sweating now, panting, hearts pounding. His excitement grows knowing he'll be the first man to give you an orgasm. That he's the first to have his hand between your legs. The first for, well, a lot of things. And even more to come, he hopes.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breaths coming in shallow gasps and he knows he has you right on the edge. "C'mon, baby. C'mon, fuckin' come for me. That's it."

And then, "Billy! Ah, mm." You practically scream his name as you finish, your walls clenching rapidly around him, his callused hand now soaked in you.

He chuckles excitedly. "That's my fuckin' girl," he says between satisfied laughs, fingers still plunging away between your legs, until your hand comes down to grip his wrist, his movements ceasing.

He slips his fingers out of you, resting his forearm atop his naked hip as he looks down at you and you up at him from under hooded lids, lips swollen, face flushed, hair messy, the look on your face that of satisfaction.

"Thank you," you say shyly.

He presses a long kiss to your lips, then brushes some hair behind your ear. "No, thank you."

And then you do something unexpected: you take his throbbing erection in your hand and stroke him once, then twice.

He looks down, then back up to you. "Yeah?" He asks, brow raised, wondering if maybe you're just curious about touching him there after feeling it pressed against you so many times.

And then you nod, stroking a few more times.

He then wraps his fist around yours. "A bit tighter, baby. Yeah, no, tighter. You're not going to hurt me, sweetie." Then, "Fuck, that's fuckin' perfect. Just like that, angel."

You press your lips back to his, kissing him more softly this time, until his left arm snakes under your neck, gripping the back of your head, tugging at your hair and he devours your lips with his own. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him again, then slides down your thigh, lifting it onto his waist while you continue stroking away.

He squeezes your ass-cheek, then gives it a light slap, slipping his hand under your panties, keeping his hand there, squeezing and massaging as you continue to get him off.

Your strokes are a bit sloppy, and unsure, but he ignores that, just enjoying the feeling of being in your grip, of you bothering to return the favor. He then reaches down, pushing your t-shirt up and it's only then that he notices you're wearing one of his—the front design the cover of Def Leppard's Pyromania album. It only turns him on all the more.

Once your breasts are visible, he cranes his neck down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking, then rolling it between his teeth and you moan his name.

He trails his tongue along your chest, taking your other nipple in his mouth, precum dripping onto your hand.

He begins kissing upwards, to your neck, then back down again. God, he's never felt this fucking turned-on before.

His cock twitches in your hand, then does it again and he knows he's close. He should've gotten up and grabbed a towel, but it would've risked ruining the moment.

His hips jerk, sliding through your grip, and then he calms. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to your own, his right hand cupping your cheek now. "I'm so fuckin' close, baby. I'm about to cum. Fuck, keep going. Jesus Christ."

You begin to stroke faster and faster, and then he pushes you onto your back, taking himself in his hand as he comes all over your stomach in hot sticky spurts, groaning all the while, hips bucking, wishing he was doing this between your legs instead.

Once he's calmed—his cock softening—does he lie down for a moment next to you, trying to catch his breath. He then smiles up at the ceiling and starts to laugh.

You look at him and he swings his arms over his stomach. "Woo! Fuck yeah, baby!"

He looks at you, then leans over you again, kissing you, tongue licking your lips, dancing against your own. And then he pulls back, smiling down at you, curls hanging down, framing his face, and he flashes you a smile, showing his brilliant white teeth. "I'll go grab you a towel, sweetheart."

You nod, smiling yourself, pecking him on the lips.

You watch as he walks to the bathroom and he smirks, feeling your eyes on his ass.

You hear the sound of water, him washing up quickly, and then he returns with a damp towel and begins to wipe you down.

He then tosses the towel on the floor and climbs on top of you, resting his forearms on your breasts and his chin atop his arms, looking up at you. "God, that was fuckin' perfect."

You smile. "So I did a good job?"

You'd been afraid he would've eventually gotten bored, or tired of how long things were taking, but he'd not complained once.

He then scoots higher, resting on his right forearm, left hand smoothing hair away from your face as he hovers over you. "Yeah, baby, you did."

He kisses you again, then scoots back down a bit, resting his cheek between your breasts and your arms come to wrap around his warm shoulders. And then you move your hands higher, tangling in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

And he falls asleep in your arms.

[heartateasee]

“Safe - Part Three”

mafia!harry x you

(“Safe” Masterlist)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: gunfire, talks of blood, angst, talks of death, and a bit of toxicity on Harry’s part for a few seconds

Plot: (Takes place after “Part Two”, but before “Part One”) You and Harry are out to dinner to celebrate six months together, but he’s met with interruption after interruption. The night takes an alarming turn - resulting in you begging him to be honest with you about who he really is.

❈❈❈❈

You sat alone at the table - Harry’s chair across from you being empty as he stepped away into a nearby hallway to take yet another phone call. This was the third one he had received since you got to the restaurant to celebrate six months of being together, and you weren’t sure if you had ever felt so unimportant to him.

Each time he got up from the table, he didn’t even excuse himself. He just got up and immediately pressed his phone to his ear.

It was obvious that Harry was passionate about his work, but you never thought that it would take priority in a setting such as this. The waiter had come over a few times now to check on you, and every single time Harry just happened to be gone. You felt pathetic. You knew you looked pathetic. A woman, in her most beautiful dress, being practically stood up by her boyfriend. Sure, he was still in the building, but this was no date.

You were having dinner all alone.

Dropping your fork onto the table, having been pushing your food around your plate anyway, you reached forward to grab your half finished glass of wine. You gulped it down before standing up while grabbing your purse off the back of the chair.

You weren’t going to sit around and be made a fool of any longer. If Harry wanted to fix this, he was going to have to put in a lot of effort. You didn’t take well to a man making you feel unworthy of his attention, especially when this whole thing was his idea.

Just as you turned your back to the table, and were starting towards the front of the restaurant, you felt a hand capture your wrist. You quickly looked over your shoulder, and you saw Harry with a look in his eyes that you had never seen before.

“We have to go,” he stated, beginning to pull you through the restaurant after dropping money down onto the table to cover the bill.

You could hardly keep up as you walked through the front doors of the building, and you saw Heath, Harry’s driver, pulling up out front. Harry ushered you in before him, and then climbed in afterwards.

It was silent as Heath started down the road, and you stared at Harry as he typed away viciously on his phone.

“Harry,” you said, but he continued to ignore you.

With a roll of your eyes, and a huff leaving your lips, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked out the window as the streetlights passed you by. You hoped that he was taking you back to his, that way you could collect your things you had left with the intention of staying the night, and then you could go home.

It was only a few minutes later that Heath started to make turns you had never been through before, and you soon realized that you were driving down a gravel road that you couldn’t see the end of. You could hear the sounds of other cars pulling in beside Harry’s, and you clutched to the bench seat underneath you.

“Harry,” you repeated as you looked over to him, and you could feel your heart rate quickening. “Where are we? What’s going on?”

Heath stopped after a few more seconds, and Harry finally looked over to you. “Stay in the car, do you understand me?”

He got out before you could respond, and you could see that he walked over to Heath’s door. They talked quietly for a bit, and after that you watched as Harry walked into the building that was just a ways in front of you - several men hopping out of the other cars that had shown up to follow behind him.

“Heath, what are we doing here?” You asked, and Heath met your eyes in the rear view mirror.

“I’m sorry, Miss Y/L/N. I can’t tell you that.”

Anger started to fester even more in your being, and you sat up a little more in your seat. “This is absolute bullshit, do you understand? I’m not some object to be dragged around and ignored when I’m looking for answers.”

Heath didn’t say anything further, and he kept his sights straight through the windshield - as if he was waiting and keeping watch on the building.

You let out a laugh of disbelief before looking back out your window. “This is ridiculous.”

You weren’t sure how many minutes it had been since Harry left the car as your mind was racing. You were so in your own head that you jumped once you heard Harry’s door open, and your eyes widened when you saw blood stains all over his white button-up and suit jacket, as well as his face and hands.

“Heath, drive!” Harry yelled as his chest heaved up and down, and you reached out to him as Heath started to obey the command.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, almost grabbing at his shirt before Harry’s hands wrapped around your wrists.

“It’s not mine. Don’t worry.”

As you opened your mouth to speak again, the sounds of bullets ricocheting off the back of the car echoed through the vehicle, and you screamed - going to cover yourself, but Harry still had a hold on you.

Before you knew it, your seatbelt had been unfastened, and you found yourself on your back on the floorboard of the car. Harry’s body was on top of yours as he cradled the back of your head in his hand - forcing your face into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered in your ear as you sobbed, grabbing to the front of his suit jacket as your arms were pinned between the two of you - there was no part of your body that wasn’t covered by him. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Harry knew that his car was bulletproof, and it had been that way since he bought it, but you getting injured wasn’t a risk he was willing to take - regardless of that knowledge. He’d take every single bullet if it meant that you would come out unscathed.

Once the noise of the bullets died off, Harry pulled your head back down so he could properly look at you, and his heart ached as he saw your mascara streaked cheeks, and your red eyes.

“Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You couldn’t even find the words to answer him. You were in a state of complete shock as he helped you up off the floor of the car, and he sat you back in your seat - doing your seatbelt back up. He did the same for himself before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s been taken care of,” you heard him mumble quietly to whoever was on the receiving end of his phone call. “Tried to come after me in the end, but the guys took care of it.”

The phone call goes on for another minute or two, but you’ve tuned it out. All you can think about is getting home.

Pushing yourself against the door, and as far away from Harry as possible, you wrapped your arms around your body as you continued to slightly tremble. You had never actually heard gunshots in person before, and you hoped you’d never have to again.

This was without a doubt the most terrifying experience of your life, and it hurt that it came at the hands of the man you had fallen madly in love with. It wasn’t something you had confessed to him yet. You knew Harry had a bit of a shield up when it came to love, so you weren’t going to force it on him, but you knew you loved him. 

“Y/N,” Harry saying your name brought you out of your thoughts, and it was then you realized you were at his house.

He didn’t say anything else as he got out of the car, and it was only a few seconds later that he opened your door. You stared at him for a minute before shaking your head.

“I want Heath to take me home,” you whispered, bottom lip trembling. “Please, just go get my bag, and let him take me home.”

Harry swallowed harshly as he looked over your face, and he felt himself growing sick in the stomach knowing he was the cause of you getting so worked up. He wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive himself for this.

“Please, baby, just…just come inside. I promise I’ll leave you alone. I just would feel a lot better about you being here with me tonight,” he coaxed you gently. “If you wake up in the morning, and the first thing you want to do is go home, then I’ll let Heath take you home.”

Truth was, he was scared that after what happened tonight that someone could still potentially try to get to you in order to get to him. He had been so careful about keeping you hidden away from this side of his life, but he had been tipped off tonight that one of his biggest rivals knew he had found himself a girl - that he was borderline settling down. The phone calls he was getting during dinner had kept him informed of the whereabouts of the man threatening you both, so when Harry knew his rival was going to be somewhere stationary for a bit, he went into action.

You felt completely conflicted. You had no idea why Harry had been caught up in back at that warehouse, and you didn’t know whether he was in the right or the wrong in terms of what happened. 

Had you seen too much now? Was this his way of getting rid of you too? But what if you didn’t comply, and you didn’t do what he asked right now? Were you just going to make it worse for yourself if you didn’t obey?

Sucking in a deep breath, you finally nodded at Harry as you slipped out of the car, and you started towards the house. You waited for him to unlock the door, and once he had, you immediately went into the downstairs bathroom to try and clean yourself up.

You used the makeup remover you had in there to wipe your face entirely, and you decided to try and provide yourself with some normalcy as you went through the steps of your nightly skincare routine.

You exited the bathroom, and went back into the living area of Harry’s home to find no sight of him. You figured he was probably cleaning himself up as well.

Cleaning up all that blood.

Your eyes caught sight of his bar cart in the corner of the room, and you walked over to it - pouring yourself a hefty glass of whiskey before taking a seat at the head of his dining room table. 

Sipping slowly, you stared blankly in front of you, and it wasn’t until you heard the sound of another glass meeting the table that your attention was stolen. You looked over to see Harry tracing his eyes over you, as if he were checking on you, before he sat down in the chair beside you.

He was now dressed in a pair of black joggers with a white tank top covering his torso - the black ink that lined his arms on full display for you to see.

It remained silent between the two of you for a while before you finally decided to speak - your emotions now focusing solely on your anger. “I need you to tell me who you are. Who you really are, and I need you to do it now.”

The scoff that left Harry’s mouth ignited something in you that you had never felt before, and you tightened your grip against the rocks glass in your hand.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Harry stated with a shake of his head, and you knew you were on the verge of losing it entirely.

“If you don’t tell me, Harry, I will be more than happy to grab my things, and order myself my own Uber. I’ll leave here, and I’ll block your number. You’ll never see or hear from me again. Do I make that clear?”

Harry rolled his lips from one side to the other as he stared at you. “So that’s what you’re going to do, huh? Start giving me ultimatums? What do I scare you now or something?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, feeling tears of both fear and frustration filling your eyes again. “You do scare me. I’m fucking terrified of you right now!”

You watched as the look on Harry’s face softened, and you were almost certain that you could see his own tears pushing their way forward. “The last thing I want is for you to be scared of me, Y/N. That’s one of my biggest fears. It’s why…it’s why I’ve kept this all from you for so long.”

You had never seen Harry come even close to crying before, so as you watched his eyes start to glass over, you still felt a tugging in your heart. 

“Well, until I get some answers, I don’t know how else to feel when being around you,” you whispered, moisture beginning to coat your cheeks. “I need you to tell me, Harry, please.”

Harry’s head on his shoulders - chin meeting his chest as he ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “I didn’t lie to you completely. I am an arms dealer, it’s just…not for the military.”

It was odd that you felt your heart tugging one moment, and then you felt it sinking into your stomach the next. You lifted your glass up to your lips, and took two large sips before putting it back down on the table.

“My father was a very powerful man when he was alive, and I was involved in a lot of it, however, when he died - I had to take over completely,” Harry continued, and you kept your eyes on him the entire time. “Tonight, a rival of ours was putting threats on me, and they somehow know about you now,” for the first time since speaking, Harry’s eyes met yours. “I’ve tried so hard to keep you hidden from all of this, but somehow someone found out that I’m involved with you.

“I’ve never had to be careful like this before because-” Harry cut himself off, clearing his throat as you saw the same tears from before glistening in his eyes again. “Because I’ve never been as involved with someone as I have been with you.”

You processed his words for a minute before speaking. “What I’m hearing is that you’re part of the Mafia?”

Harry knew that he needed to choose his next words carefully, and he took a sip of his drink as he tried to figure out how to phrase it.

“Y/N,” he sighed, looking into your eyes again. “I’m the head of my part of the Mafia.”

You could feel the color drain from your face as you slowly pressed your palms down against the table, and you pushed yourself out of your chair. Your steps were slow as you began to pace the area, and Harry watched you - riddled with worry.

“I can promise you that when you’re with me, you’re safe. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

It clicked in your head that you hadn’t seen Grant in a while. You stopped your pacing, and you looked over at him. Grant was officially a part of the mafia as well, so where had he gone?

“What happened to Grant? Were you so jealous that he almost had me first that you killed him?”

Harry slammed his hand down on the table, causing you to jump as he now stood up as well. “Grant was double crossing me, and he was actually doing it with the man I took care of tonight. I’m sure he was the one who revealed I had found someone that meant something to me. Grant was the reason they threatened us tonight.”

“So everyone knows now, huh?” You cried, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ve got a target on my back, and you’ve got an even bigger one than usual on yours? This is fucked!”

“No,” Harry shook his head as he rounded the table to walk towards you. “They were the only ones who knew. We can still keep this away from the eyes of those who want to hurt us. We can-”

As he went to cup your face in his hands, you flinched away, and you watched as an expression you didn’t recognize took over Harry’s face.

He felt like his entire world could’ve shattered in that minute.

“You really are scared of me, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying not to be,” you told him honestly. “I just feel like I don’t even know who you are.”

“Y/N, baby,” Harry didn’t know what else to do. He felt like this was it. He was losing you. “I swear to you that I have been nothing but myself when I’ve been with you. Yes, I kept this a secret, but the way I feel about you, and how I’ve expressed that to you…that was all real.”

“But how can I know that? To me this just feels like I’m scraping the surface of your life, and I’m terrified that if I dig any deeper, I might not like what I see even more than I do right now.”

Now those were the words that broke Harry’s heart completely.

“Right,” he whispered, nodding his head.

He dragged the tips of his index and middle fingers along his chin, right under his bottom lip, before he let out a small laugh - picking up his glass from the table. It was then you saw tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’ll stay in my office tonight. You can sleep in my room, or the guest room...or wherever you feel most comfortable.”

No more words were spoken between the two of you as Harry walked up the staircase, and you heard the click of the door to his office.

After what he had told you, you knew it was best for you to stay here for the night. You believed he wouldn’t hurt you, that much was true, but discovering who he was overall is what was scaring you. This whole situation was blowing your mind. This was the furthest outcome of how you thought your night would end.

You gathered yourself as best as you could before also grabbing your glass - heading up the stairs. You walked into Harry’s bedroom and glanced over to the bed to see your overnight bag still sitting there. Your thoughts were immediately filled with how you’d be sleeping in that same bed alone tonight.

Slowly, your feet carried you over to the bed and you placed your glass down on the nightstand before sitting down at the foot of it - staring at your hands in your lap as tears continued to fall. 

All you could keep thinking about was how much you loved him. He had become your everything in just six months, and now you were being told that he’s been hiding something so big from you. You wished he had told you sooner, and under different circumstances. You wondered when he would’ve told you if the events tonight hadn’t taken place.

Harry treated you with such respect, and doted on you constantly. He had always been there when you needed him. He was truly the perfect boyfriend, and you hated that you were seeing him as something else now. You didn’t want to. 

Regardless of it all, you knew you still wanted him. But would you be able to look past this? 

The door to the bedroom clicking open startled you, and you lifted your head up to see Harry walking in - looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quick,” he said as he started towards the en-suite, about to pass by you on the bed. “I just need my toothbrush.”

Once he was in front of you, you reached out, not letting yourself second guess it, and you wrapped your hand around his fingers. “Don’t go,” you whispered, swallowing down a sob. “Please stay in here with me.”

You heard Harry let out a shaky breath before he looked over to you. His eyes were red and slightly puffy, and you wondered if he had continued to cry the last few minutes like you had.

“You want me to stay?” He asked, his voice sounding strained.

“Yes, I don’t want to be alone,” you confessed. “I don’t want to be without you. I’m sorry.”

This time you couldn’t force your sob away, and you dropped your head down on your shoulders as your whole body began to shake. Harry quickly sat down beside you, pulling you into his arms while pressing a kiss to your temple. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. Not a damn thing. I should be on my knees begging you for forgiveness. I’ve been foolish keeping you in the dark.”

You buried yourself into Harry’s chest as he maneuvered you around so that you were sitting in his lap. He continued to press kisses against your face as you cried, and you were sure you felt tears of his own mixing in.

“I love you,” you whimpered, gripping the back of his tank top in your hands as you held him close. “I love you so much, Harry.”

It may not have been the best time for your confession, but you couldn’t help it. You were so overwhelmed, and your emotions were heightened. You didn’t expect for him to say it back - you didn’t care if he did. You just needed to let him know.

“Y/N,” Harry brought one of his hands up to pull your face back so he could properly look at you. You watched as his eyes danced over your face, and he ghosted the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip before speaking again. “I love you too.”

Both of your mouths turned upwards into smiles, and you let out a soft laugh as you lifted your hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t expect you to say it back.”

“I’ve known it for a while. I just don’t know when to say it. You know me, I’m not good with the romantic side of things,” he said, now tracing your upper lip. “But you’ve got my entire heart, love. It belongs only to you.”

Leaning down, Harry pressed his lips against yours, and you could feel the tension in both of your bodies relax as soon as they touched. You parted your lips after a moment, letting Harry roll his tongue into your mouth as you shifted over his thighs. 

At that moment, you thought that you could just sit there and kiss him like that forever - that you’d never feel the need for anything else but his mouth upon yours and his hands caressing your body.

Once Harry pulled back, the disconnect of your kiss echoed around the room in the form of a small ‘smack’, and you fluttered your eyes open to look into his.

“I thought I lost you,” he shook his head. “But I wouldn’t have blamed you for that.”

“I have a lot of questions,” you told him honestly as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if you promise to be honest from now going forward about everything, then I’m still yours, Harry.”

Sucking a deep breath, Harry dropped his face into the side of your neck for a moment - puckering his lips against your skin quickly before sitting back up to properly look at you.

“I promise, Y/N. No more hiding,” he assured you, running the back of his fingers along your cheek.

You both continued to gaze at each other for a while, taking each other in completely, before engaging in another deep kiss.

❈❈❈❈

Taglist: @daydreamingofmatilda @prettygurl-2009 @ghoststyles @lillefroe @gem1712 @lemoncrushh @namoreno @mellamolayla @fangirl7060 @idklilili (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please send me a DM!)

[clangenrising]

Month 15 - Newleaf

Mystique went into labor around sunhigh. Russetfrond was out on border patrol when it happened and the moment he got back, Barleybee came to let him know. 

“Thank you,” he said, gratitude quickly overwhelmed with nerves. 

“Of course,” she smiled sympathetically. “She’s still in the elders’ den. Sagetooth and my dad are with her.” 

“Alright,” he nodded. They stood there for an awkward moment, neither sure what to do, before Barleybee dipped her head and left him to his business. His mind was completely empty and going faster than a frightened rabbit at the same time. After either a few moments or several minutes, he wasn’t sure, Russetfrond gathered himself together and went to sit outside the elders’ den. 

He resisted the urge to pace or to barge into the den to ask how things were going. He’d seen too many anxious parents-to-be get their ears chewed off by Sagetooth when they intruded on a kitting in progress. Instead, he sat still and tried to focus on his breathing, on emptying all worry from his mind. Today was important, the birth of his eldest kits. He wasn’t going to squander it worrying. He was going to focus on his new family, on the beginning of a new chapter in his ultimate legacy. 

The time dragged by at an unbearable crawl. Every so often a cat stopped by to congratulate him or ask him how things were going. He remained as polite as possible but kept things short. He didn’t want any distractions. 

Eventually, an hour or so later, Sagetooth stepped outside, blood on her paws, and glanced over at him. “Are you ready?” 

“Is any father ever ready?” he asked, almost hoping she would say yes.

“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged. A quiet moment passed as Sagetooth let her gaze drift across the camp. When it finally settled on him again, she said, “Congratulations on two healthy boys. Be warned though: the kittypet is in a mood.” 

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he said, a fond smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, Sagetooth. I mean it.” 

“Of course, kit,” she softened slightly. “Go meet your sons.” Russetfrond nodded and slipped past her into the den, letting his tail brush against her leg as he did. Inside, Mystique was laying in her nest, her head flat on the ground like a mopy kitten while she talked softly with Oddstripe. 

“-bring you some chamomile later,” Oddstripe was saying. “It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart. Don’t hesitate to call me if you start feeling any worse.” 

“...‘Kay,” Mystique sighed moodily, eyes flickering over Russetfrond. He tried not to scowl. 

Oddstripe bumped foreheads with Mystique and then picked up the birthwaste and stood to leave. Spotting Russetfrond he frowned slightly, if sympathetically, and slipped out of the den past him. Russetfrond shifted his weight, looked at Mystique, and she sighed and rolled her eyes over to the far wall. 

Russetfrond stepped closer, focusing on the two gently squirming bodies nestled up against her belly. They were so tiny. Russetfrond realized suddenly that he’d never seen kittens this… new. The kits - his boys - were a little wet yellow lump and a little wet blue lump mewling pathetically as they wriggled closer to Mystique. It was strange, the surge of emotion that he felt upon seeing them. He’d never felt so intensely protective before, it was a bit startling. 

“Hello, there, little ones,” he said awkwardly, crouching down beside them. “I’m your father.” Mystique huffed and shifted her position a little bit, still not looking at him. He couldn’t stop himself from scowling at her but tried to soften his expression again with a sigh. 

“You haven’t named them yet, have you?” he asked, a note of irritation sneaking in to his voice despite his best efforts. 

“No,” Mystique said as if he were the dumbest cat alive. “Why would I name them?” 

That caused his hackles to rise. “Because they’re your children, mouse-brain,” he scoffed.

Mystique’s tail lashed and she flopped her head sideways to glare at him. “No, I feel like you made it pretty clear they were your children.” 

“Look,” Russetfrond took a deep breath to try and anchor himself, “I didn’t come in here to fight with you, let’s just… forget it, alright?” 

“Easy for you to say,” Mystique grumbled, looking away again. Russetfrond dug his claws into the earth and did his very best not to say anything at all. After a few, slow breaths, he refocused on the kittens. They would need names, of course. He had unfortunately forgotten to think about names before now. 

“I’ll call them…” He hesitated before going with the first thoughts that came to mind, “Bluekit and Yellowkit.”

“Wow,” Mystique laughed and he could hear the eye roll in her voice, “so original.” 

“If you think they’re bad names then why don’t you try to do better,” he snapped, tail bristling. 

“I don’t give a shit what you call them,” growled Mystique. “The moment Sagetooth lets me, I'm going home and I’ll never see them or you ever again!” 

“Well, that’s fine by me,” Russetfrond huffed. “I wouldn’t want you influencing them anyway.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Mystique laughed harshly, “better to have a bunch of murderers raise them. That’s SO much better!” 

Russetfrond bristled. “Your brother was the murderer. He attacked Goldenstar out of spite, I was just defending my Clan.” 

“Well clearly it wasn’t that bad ‘cause she’s fine,” Mystique snarled. Tears were starting to form in her eyes and drip down the bridge of her nose. “You think you’re so special but you’re never gonna convince me that it’s good that you killed him! I hate you! I hate you and your stupid kits and this stupid den!”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” he growled lowly. 

“You’re lucky I don’t throw them in the river!” hissed Mystique.

Russetfrond bristled and arched his back. “You harm one hair on their pelts and I’ll make sure you never see your precious twolegs again! Is that what you want?” 

“I want to go home!” she cried at the top of her lungs and the kittens squealed in displeasure. “I want my brother back!” 

“Well too bad!” he shouted back at her. “You can’t always have what you want, you spoiled little brat!” 

“I hate you!” Mystique screamed, eyes shut tight with the effort of it. “I hate you! I hate you! I-”

“What is going on in here!?” Sagetooth’s voice cut through their argument, quick and sharp, leaving Russetfrond standing in a puddle of guilt. The healer’s eyes flicked between the both of them, looking for a culprit. Russetfrond couldn’t hold her gaze and dropped his eyes to the floor shamefully. Mystique breathed harshly through her nose and looked away again. 

“Out,” Sagetooth ordered Russetfrond. 

He couldn’t think of anything to say. With an affirmative grunt, he stepped outside. Fogpaw and Slatepaw were staring with wide eyes from the fresh-kill pile. Pantherhaze, Ospreymask, Barleybee, and Lakekit had all emerged to see what was going on. Shame covered Russetfrond like a winter coat. Unable to bear their stares, he strode briskly into the healers’ den and tucked himself away out of sight. 

There was a long moment of quiet guilt - why had he done that? What was wrong with him? - and then he heard Sagetooth snapping at the assembled cats, “Where did he go?” 

“Your den,” offered Slatepaw obediently. 

“Thank you,” said Sagetooth just as harshly as she had inquired after him and he braced himself. Sagetooth came stomping in, tail lashing back and forth, and spotted him immediately. He expected her to start laying into him but instead, she sighed and trundled over to sit next to him. 

“I tried to warn you,” she grumbled. 

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not entirely your fault,” Sagetooth shook her head. “Mystique is reacting poorly to the pregnancy.” 

“Clearly,” he huffed. 

“No, I mean physically,” Sagetooth said. “Kitting takes a toll on a cat and sometimes it can make them miserable for seemingly no reason. They call it a Kitten Crash.” 

“Oh,” he frowned in surprise. 

“So,” Sagetooth continued, her own voice strained with frustration for a moment, “as much as her particular form of crashing drives me mad, we need to be gentle with her.” It was clear Sagetooth was going to have as much trouble with that as he was. “She can’t exactly help it. And if her symptoms worsen, it could be very bad.” 

“Bad how?” asked Russetfrond carefully.

“Well, she could stop eating,” Sagetooth sighed. “Or refuse to nurse. Worst case scenario she tries to hurt herself or the kits.” 

“What?” fear spiked through his body like a jolt of electricity. “Shouldn’t we get them away from her?”

“No,” Sagetooth shook her head again. “She’s the only one who can feed them at the moment and that’s not a guarantee, it’s just a worst case scenario. That’s why we need to be gentle with her. The less stressed she is, the less likely it is that she’ll do something foolish.” 

Russetfrond swallowed, throat tight, and sat with that information for a bit. The idea of leaving a dangerous cat alone with his kits, a cat who hated him so much, made every inch of his pelt crawl like it was full of ants. She had already threatened to throw them in the river, a threat that was suddenly a lot more serious than he had first thought. 

“You’re sure it will be alright?” he asked eventually. 

“If it gets to a point where it’s dangerous, we’ll do something about it,” Sagetooth said. “She should probably still have a guard at all times so they can monitor her for any bad behavior.” Russetfrond nodded and started thinking of the best cats to do that. 

“The important thing,” Sagetooth continued, “is to keep her happy. Oddstripe and I will do our best on the herbs side of things but you should probably stay out of the den, at least for a while.” 

Russetfrond sighed and nodded. “Alright. That won’t affect the kits negatively?” 

“I don’t think so,” Sagetooth said. “Not anymore than a normal foundling would be affected.” Russetfrond hummed in discomfort. It wasn’t ideal, that was for sure, but what else could he do? He didn’t want to accidentally provoke Mystique into harming the kittens.

“Did you name them?” asked Sagetooth.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, shaking his thoughts away. “Yellowkit and Bluekit, respectively.” 

Sagetooth huffed a little laugh. “Well, I can’t say they’re not fitting.” Russetfrond smiled a little. “Congratulations, by the way,” continued Sagetooth. “You’re going to be an excellent father.” 

“I can only hope so,” he said. 

“StarClan will guide you,” she said. “Trust your heart. It will be okay, kit.”

UPDATES:

- Mystique gives birth to a litter of two kittens. Russetfrond names them Bluekit and Yellowkit.

[chronically-ghosted]

Taylor!!! Happy 1k to you!!!!! So well deserved. Hope you’re having fun celebrating 💕

💫- “Do you have to leave right now?” “I can stay for a little while longer.” with big soft guy Frankie Morales please 🥰

Em xx

heat lightning

rating: teen pairing: frankie morales x f!reader word count: 1.1K summary: this is not your frankie warnings: angst, reader and frankie have a daughter, proceeds the events of the movie, everyone's having a really bad time a/n: thank you for your request, Em! i know i don't usually do angsty!frankie but i think this scene had been brewing in my head for a while and i wanted to try it out! love you so much and i hope you like it!

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Frankie Morales Masterlist

When you were nine, your aunt and uncle divorced. An ugly thing – lots of crying, late nights up with your mother, arguments over the phone, loyalties tested, lines drawn in the sand. You didn’t understand much of it at the time, but there was always a moment that imprinted on your young psyche that has stayed there ever since.

You can almost smell the spilt wine on the carpet in the living room, hear your mother muttering and blotting with one hand, the other on her sister’s knee. You couldn’t see your aunt’s face from your perch on the staircase. Perhaps because it was elicit – you had been put to bed hours ago – or because you were curious – you had never seen an adult cry before – but you can recall the memory as if it were yesterday. From between the banisters of the stairs, only your aunt’s back was visible, hunched over and swaying as if unable to hold herself up right. It reminded you of your baby brother before he could hold his neck – precarious and loose in a way that was almost horrific in its vulnerability. She sways, back and forth, your mother’s hand on her knee - it’s alright, it’s just a spill, we’ll clean it up, don’t worry, it won’t stain – and then your aunt mutters the words you will forever remember for the rest of your life. The words butting up against each other, slurred on top of each other, she whispers:

“I woke up to a stranger.”

You think about your aunt and your mother and the fights and the wine and the calls and how you never saw your cousins much after that as you stare up at the shadowed ceiling, as lighting blinks reality white for a fraction of a second. Thunder rumbles, angry like your aunt, but for some reason you can’t feel anger. You don’t know what you feel but your jaw remains slacked, your joints sink into the sheets, your throat clear. 

Another growl of thunder, a single shriek of the alarm clock at 3AM, and Frankie’s hand slaps it silent, the alarm unnatural and too loud, threatening to bring the ire down from some great furious eye. Rage you couldn’t begin to grasp at, but wished for. The fortifying self-righteousness of anger would feel lovely right now. 

Instead, all you can hear is your aunt’s drunken words. 

Beside you, Frankie is still through the next beat of thunder, the spark of lightning, and then he sits up. He faces away from you, shoulders rounded like your aunt, but firm and steady unlike your aunt. In the next snap of lightning, you watch the planes of his back glow, muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. You could trace Frankie blind-folded if you had to. Your hand goes to him as it has an incalculable amount of times over the past few years, unaware of what your conscious mind knows: you can’t make him stay.

A stranger – how can he possibly be a stranger to me?

Your hand on his lower back stirs him, waking up to the heat of your palm.

“It won’t be long,” he says for the dozenth time, a mantra for him as well as you. “I’ll be back before Alejandra’s party.” 

The Frankie you know, the Frankie you love would never even risk missing his daughter’s birthday. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband sees it as something worth losing, in favor of money. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband wants to provide, wants to prove there is a sliver of a better man beneath the coke addiction, beneath the suspension of his license. It wants to provide, provide, provide when all it does to you is take. 

Neither of you know this now but it will take him over a month to come back, empty handed but filled to the brim with more nightmares than before. One month to the day of this night, you will google, “when is a missing person presumed dead?” and then close your laptop so hard, it shatters and you blow a hole in your bedroom wall with the force you throw it across the room. 

This hulking thing in the shape of your husband is foreign to you, strange, but it still smells like him. Sounds like him. Has the same warm cup of his hands. 

When you don’t respond, or even beg, he moves to stand, the slats under the bed groaning. He promised to fix those months ago. 

He stands and your fingers curl around your husband’s wrist. Even the beat of his pulse sounds just like Frankie’s. But this is not your Frankie.

You hope to God and whatever else is listening that Frankie finds himself in the dark bowels of that wet jungle. 

Your mouth dry and your own heartbeat loud in your ears, you look up at him, into those dark brown eyes that make up your whole world. They are unfamiliar to you as they watch you with an emotion you can’t ever remember seeing in his eyes before. 

“I know you have to go,” and you do, you know this is something he has to do for himself, not for you or your daughter, but himself and there’s nothing you can do to stop him. “But do you have to leave right now?”

This hulking thing that smells like your husband, sounds like your husband, maybe loves you like your husband goes still. Beneath your fingertips, you swear his heartbeat slows. Lightning flashes again and you lose completely the shadowy outlines of his face in the total darkness.

And in that flash, his wrist slips out from between your fingers – this thing is going to be intentionally cruel as he cuts the cord and takes off with the soul of your husband – and then a broad hand slips down to your shoulder, your elbow. Gently pushing, guiding you back onto your side, he slips back under the covers, encasing your body in skin and warmth you know so well,  muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. His breath is soft, relaxing as he curls around you and you hate this thing even more because it really does a wonderful impersonation of your husband, the man you love, the man you will always love. 

You let the tears come because you know they won’t break his fickle stone heart and you need relief. 

He holds you as you cry, his nose in your ear as he says, 

“I can stay for a little while longer.”

[chernabogs]

on  lonely  nights  i  stare  into  the  trees,  and  a  strange  face  leers  back. for crowley?

LAPSES

Inc: Dire Crowley, Reader/Prefect Warnings: Brief allusion to death, implications of hallucinations, wee bit of manipulation WC: 1.9k Summary: Prefect is not the only one to have slipped in dimensions—although, arguably, they're handling it a lot better then him.

When you slip, you don’t realize until you’re already passed through, and by then it’s often too late to hope for a return. 

He wonders vaguely, when the dust finally settles and the initial uproar dampens to a murmur, if your experience is akin to his. You seem far brighter eyed and enthused then he was when he woke. But then again, you actually arrived in a world—he had arrived by a fence. 

It had been long, vanishing into mist that never seemed to fade, and beyond that was a tree line with trunks that did little to hide the blackness beyond them. The sky had been ever grey and there was never a night or day—it simply, and eternally, was. 

During that time, he had been someone else. Fine silks had kissed his skin beneath his armour, and he had held onto hope in his heart of a woman and a child he had yet to meet just beyond the mists. Sometimes he could almost hear their voices beckoning him, just a few steps further. just a few more. 

But over time, silk had eroded, and armour had been torn off, and a sense of nothing but a bone-deep and endless need had begun to chew through his being. The voices he heard had faded to a low groaning in his head and each step along that fence line had erased the identity of who he had been to be replaced by what he is—starving. He forgot the men he arrived with—they had long since withered to bones beneath the soft soil he stumbled on. Yet even in their absence, even in their memory, he still hungered for more, his nails scraping along soft wood until they tore off to bleeding, fleshy lumps. There was a reason he wore claws on his hands.  

This is beside the point. 

When the mirror had said you had no place to return to, a strange sense of elation had settled in his heart. For so long since he had been reborn into this world—dragging himself out of the black ichor of an endless lake and sobbing at the dim stars above—he had been recollecting his psyche to find a purpose. Perhaps he was simply meant to wait for you. Home was not home, and he was no longer royal but perhaps with you he could finally locate the end of that fucking fence. He could do that at least.

Still beside the point, though. 

“Head mage?” Your voice snaps him out of his rumination as he looks towards the door of the office. You’re standing, half-shrouded in shadows, a frown dancing on your lips. The absence of your companions is painfully notable by the absence of chaos around you. Crowley forces his lips to twist into a charming smile as he twists in his chair to face you.

“Prefect! Whatever brings you to my door?” He hums as he beckons for you to enter, feeling a sense of amusement when you finally sidle your way in. You leave the door partially ajar as you sink in the plush chair across from him with a low sigh. He subtly pushes a jar of caramel candies towards you as he retains his cheery demeanour. 

“I wanted to give you somewhat of an update on my… situation.” Your voice is hesitant as you accept one of the candies, unwrapping it before popping it into your mouth. The face you pull is peculiar, like you’re experiencing something you’ve had before but only in the vaguest of notions, before you shake your head and continue. “Ortho thinks he’s found a way to get me home.” 

The news brings him to an abrupt pause that he tries to mask by staring down at papers scattered on his desk. He can feel the click of his jaw clenching as his smile becomes a touch more strained.

What. 

It takes a second, really, for the words you just spoke to process in his mind. He had long been under the impression that the only way to get back to your original world is by two options: a) you hope another rift occurs that will coincidentally drop you back into the right world at the right time with no consequence, or b) you die. He has drawn this conclusion simply because these are the two things that he personally experienced. The fence had never ended, the sun had never risen—until one moment he was walking, and the next he was drowning.

He didn’t need to elaborate on the death portion. He had heard his companions drop one by one as he had stubbornly continued to walk forward, driven either by his own budding madness or the painful desperation of promises yet to be fulfilled. In a sense, this was the moment where his dream of redefining the world to a perfect state had been born. 

And now here you were, telling him that there’s always been a third option to get home—he was just never offered it. 

“Crowley?” You lean forward in your seat a little as Crowley fights back something black and foul that threatens to erupt from his mouth in a volley of language he has never used in front of others before. “Are you okay? You’re spacing out a little.” 

“Am I?” Crowley’s attention snaps back up as he straightens in his seat, his golden claws pushing the papers around to make it seem like this was what he was preoccupied with. “Goodness, my apologies, Prefect! You must understand that I’m an impossibly busy man.” 

He pours an excess of saccharine sweetness into his words as he watches you settle back against your chair in relief. “This doesn’t mean you don’t have my attention, of course. What has young Shroud promised you?” 

“Ortho said that there might be a way for me to return through the mirrors. We started to work on it, until the whole incident with Malleus happened, and… well.” Your voice trails off as you grimace. Yes, the incident with Draconia had set everything back quite a fair amount. It had been a long time since Crowley had seen such a display of righteous fury. If he was a poet, he might have written ballads describing the terror that the young prince sewed so expertly into the hearts of those present in the Diasomnia dorm. But he wasn’t a poet, and it had been so long since he’d seen something so dangerously powerful that the ability to string words had left him. 

But again, he digresses. 

“Yes, Draconia’s incident most certainly set us all back a fair amount.” Crowley’s fingers dance to the drawer by his desk as he pulls it open, glancing sparingly at the array of missives he had yet to respond to from various municipalities. One thing he didn’t miss was the way a government is so quick to scramble for a safety net any time something unprecedented occurs. They all wanted reassurances that Malleus would not be a hazard at NRC. He has no doubt that his grandmother is likely being plagued with similar locusts. 

He slams the drawer shut with enough force that it makes you jump before he affixes another smile. “I’m assuming you’re back on your search, though?” 

“Yeah. I just wanted to come and see if you had a key for the older section of the library. Ortho thinks that this might all be primordial magic we’re working with, so he doubts that there will be any records online. We’ll have to do the old fashion style of searching.” You smile at that, a look that holds optimism in its seams, and it serves to stir Crowley’s ire further. Not that he shows this, of course. But your frequent interruptions to try and find your way out have been starting to cause more than a few shakes to his foundations. 

“Is that so?” Crowley languidly tugs the key ring free from his belt and flicks through the various golden tokens. He hums, and he haws, and then clicks his tongue with disappointment as he sets the key ring down. “My apologies, Prefect, but it appears that I don’t have the key on my person. I’ll certainly check for it around the office—but first I have a few things I need to get done.” 

Your smile falters for a moment and he can spot a flash of frustration in your eyes. This thrills him. He likes seeing that frustration, that anger, because these are precisely the same feelings he went through when he was in your position. The mask he wears to cover half of his face begins to make his skin feel irritated beneath its porcelain surface, and he wishes to rip it off and let you see the face of a man who went through three hundred odd years of isolation before making his return. 

Not that it would matter to you. You wouldn’t recognize him for who he is. The only people who can recognize him are far apart; one, alone in a palace, and the other slowly dying in a bedroom. 

“Okay, thank you.” Your abrupt comment draws his attention back in again as you stand up, pushing in the chair before offering him a brief nod. “Hope your work doesn’t bog you down too much.” 

“Oh, you’re far too kind.” Crowley hums back with a little wave as you depart from his office. As soon as the door shuts, he wrenches the mask off his face and slumps back in his chair with a hiss. Masks upon masks—that’s all he ever seems to wear, and it weighs on him as he twists his chair around to look out the window. The faces of the seven peer down at him in disappointment, and he can feel the burning glare of the Thorn Witch the most among them. He admires the Seven—idolizes them, even—but this doesn’t mean that he’ll let himself feel akin to a child scolded. 

He diligently ignores them as his attention is drawn to the tree line beyond the main building's borders. The pines are tall and thick trunked, all of which do little to hide the blackness beyond them. The sky above is dark with the coming dusk, and a brown fence seems to stretch endlessly along the edges of those woods. Crowley’s sharp nail accessories tap together as he ruminates on your comments while the edges of his vision begin to darken. A dark curl of hair falls on his forehead and his thin lips twitch into a grimace. 

Sometimes when he sits in this chair in the silence of his office, he can see them leering back from the treeline, hand-carved masks still on their faces and armour hugging their ragged bodies. It’s a stark reminder of what he’s trying to prevent, what he’s trying to rectify in himself and in his desire to fix this world. 

Crowley averts his gaze and twists back to stare at the papers strewn on his desk. The key ring glints as lamps on his wall flicker to life, catching off the metal, including that of the key he told you he didn’t have. He moves to reattach the ring to his belt buckle without further thought. 

Despite you being an unexpected addition, you were proving your use in many ways. He wasn’t quite ready to let you find a way home yet. After all, in his mind, the end of that ever-stretching fence had yet to be found, and he had some flaws in this world to rectify.