#and things will be. as they are. or ill rotate these thoughts in my head and wont be able to fall asleep all night and ill ruin tomorrow.

[caffeinatedopossum]

Crying screaming and throwing up about the new owl house episode. I'm so autistic about this show. It means so so much to me.

Aghgjf not actually throwing up because emetophobia but definitely crying and screaming for real

[loregoddess]

so has enough time passed that I can drop off some of my thoughts from a spoiler aspect of Engage? well if not this is tagged

so the Firenese royal family has been rotating in my mind ever since I learned about Alfred's continued poor health that he just does a fantastic job masking throughout the entire game, and it got me thinking like

a lot of the Firenese characters have quotes referencing flowers and how fleeting their existence is (or just how fleeting life/existence is in general), which like, Firene is the Flower Country so that makes sense, and at first I thought it was invoking the Japanese sense of mono no aware, except that Firene isn't very...Japan-coded in either aesthetics or names, at least not in the same way that Hoshido or Kagetsu's homeland seems to be

but then of course I got Alfred and Celine's A support--and later with a little digging figured out that their father was also of incredibly weak health and had died young, and like. It's entirely possible that Alfred's mystery illness is genetic and chromosomal primarily affecting all the male children in the family line (sorta like colorblindness irl although again, bc of the chromosomal thing its not impossible for women to be colorblind it's just, statistically rarer)--but like, taking into consideration that Celine seems to be in perfect health, it would make sense if Alfred's illness ran in his family along the male line, especially if Firene passes the throne down to male heirs

which then puts Firene's entire "life is fleeting but it's beautiful while it lasts" philosophy into an entirely different perspective bc like, if all the kings of Firene die young then it makes sense the country's culture would reflect something of this, and thus the flowers came to be symbolic of the short-lived kings, or otherwise the appreciation for flowers was shifted to focus on how lovely they are while in bloom bc of the short-lived kings

but I dunno, the writers may not have intended things to be quite that deep, but it is...interesting that the people who focus the most on the beauty of fleeting things have at least two royals who are not and were not fated to live long lives

[after-witch]

Two Birds One Stone [Yandere Gojo Satoru x Reader]

Title: Two Birds One Stone [Yandere Gojo x Reader[

Synopsis: Gojo Satoru follows you home. ‘Alone in the Dark’ follow-up.

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, noncon sex, humiliation, misogyny against reader

No one in your family, no one on the spacious estate--from the rotating guests down to the most menial of servants--believes that you are truly ill. Yes, your family let you return home without too many questions, let you bundle yourself in your room and come out only for meals that you leave as soon as it’s polite to do so. They offer to fetch the physician, and only smile indulgently when you insist that it’s a passing bug, you’ll be fine soon. 

They do all these things, while they know that you’re not really unwell. 

At least they grant you the mercy of not saying it out loud, at least for now, which is something you can appreciate. There is very little that you appreciate nowadays. 

There is a soft knock at the door. One of the maids, then. They were trained to knock politely.

“Yes?”

The door gently opens to reveal one of the newer hires. A modest girl with the ability to act demure and professional just as well as any of the seasoned women who were multi-generational hires, whose mothers-and-grandmothers-and-great-grandmothers had worked for your family.

“Miss, my lord and lady have sent me to inform you that you have a caller.”

You clear your throat.

“Ah, unfortunately, I’m not feeling very--”

It was her turn to clear her throat, interrupting you. It almost made you flinch. It was an unusual gesture, not one your parents would have allowed. It should have been trained out by now.

“My lord and lady have sent me with explicit instructions that you are to come to the parlor immediately, even if you are unwell.”

You bite back a sigh. It must have been someone from one of the other families, then. Maybe throwing out another potential marriage match for you--your mother had fretted, especially recently, that you should have already been married by now. 

The thought of sitting in that damned parlor and pretending like you weren’t constantly about to throw up from stress and shock made you want to tear your hair out. You should tell the maid to go away, and bury yourself under your blankets, and scream and scream because Gojo Satoru made you do something awful and the world was unfair and you thought he was your friend and--

No.

People like you didn’t have that luxury. So you force down your bile and half-heartedly make yourself presentable in the mirror, and follow the maid who escorts you down the hallway, out of the intimate private family rooms and into the grand hall that leads down to the parlor. 

She stops you before you reach the threshold of the open door, and you almost trip on your dainty house shoes. The maid looks back at you with an expression that is something in between demure and overwhelmed. The skin of her cheeks flushes pink. She leans in, as if you were friends, and whispers,

“Miss, it’s--it is Gojo Satoru who has called on you.”

The world seems to drop out entirely. Yet you only feel as if you are falling as you stand there, hand braced against the door frame, head spinning. All the while, the maid grins, unawares, no doubt impressed that her employer’s daughter has associations with someone so well-known. 

Sound pushes and pulls around you, distorting in  your shock, but it’s there, clear as day: his voice. And your parents’ voices, all elegant and honeyed. 

From your vantage point against the door frame, you can hear the trickling edges of their conversation.

“They were smart enough to ask me for some tips, and, well, how could I say no?”

Your mother’s voice oohs-and-ahhs. “No wonder we have seen improvement with them lately. All thanks to your generous tutelage, no doubt!”

You can practically hear the grin in Gojo’s voice.

“Well, it certainly helps that I like their company so much. Very much, in fact.” 

You can vividly imagine the look that your parents have probably just given one another even before you cross the threshold of the door and announce yourself, curtsying slightly to your parents, as you’ve been brought up to do. 

Gojo stands when you enter. Oh, the fucker. All etiquette and primness. Your stomach churns. If he wasn’t buttering them up, if he was anywhere else, if he wasn’t doing this to mock you, he wouldn’t be standing with his hands behind his back and a polite smile on his face. He’d be picking at his ear or lounging on the fine upholstery like it was some ratty college couch. 

Your mother is fluttering towards you in an instant, smoothing down the wrinkled bits of your clothing, fingers darting over your face, looking for blemishes, scratches, anything that needs to be hidden or fixed. 

When she’s satisfied, she lightly clasps your hand and leads you over to where Gojo and your father are standing. Your father greets you with a warm nod--unusual for him, but there is company, after all--and Gojo. Well. 

Gojo smiles. Softly. You think, if he had his way, he’d be grinning like a cat that caught the canary. But that would be too much, in front of your parents. Too uncouth. So instead, he smiles lightly and sweetly and it makes you want to bend over and expel breakfast on your mother’s expensive rug. 

“I’m happy to see you’re up and about,” he says. And then he reaches out and touches your shoulder. You stiffen.

You look to your parents--surely this is improper, surely they will say something--but your mother only presses her hand delicately to her lips and smiles.

Your head turns, slowly, back to Gojo. His smile widens.

“Don’t worry. I’ve told them about our private courtship. We don’t have to hide it anymore.”

The world should fall out from underneath you, but it stays stubbornly flat. 

Your lips open and you will say something to make him leave, you’ll tell your parents what he did or feign illness or--

His hands move to rest on your hips, and--you jolt. Fingers dig into the skin of your hips through your clothing. A painful pinch that tells you: hush.

“I think it’s appropriate for them to have a bit of privacy, don’t you?” Your mother asks coyly, looking at your father. He nods solemnly and takes your mother’s arm. You have never, in your life, wanted your parents to stay with you more than you do now.

But they walk away. As your mother shuts the door, she gives you something most rare: a look of approval. How can she not notice the widened worry in your eyes? The anxiety in your expression? The mere presence of Gojo Satoru shuts out everything but his golden glow, the promise of his connection with your family. 

The sound of the door shutting is like nails on a chalkboard.

You take the opportunity to jerk yourself away from him--to your surprise, he lets you. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You hiss. 

Gojo puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs easily.

“You weren’t around, so I came to you.”

You hate the way he looks too casual. As if you’d ghosted him after a bad study session and not--not….

“Of course I wasn’t around,” you say, almost spitting. “You…” But you don’t say it. Shame washes over you, hot and sticky. 

The silence between you is just as warm, and you want to wash it off.

“Let’s go to your room for more privacy,” he offers. 

“No.” Flat refusal is the only thing you can think to do now. Just say no, no, no, until he gives up and leaves. 

Instead of leaving, he sighs, languid, and stretches his arms above his head. “Ah, your parents will be so disappointed that I left so early, after all that I talked you up.”

You hate him so much.

“C’mon,” he wheedles, when you don’t respond. “I just want to see where you grew up. Is that so bad?’

Show him your bedroom, make him leave. You cross your arms in front of your chest. “It’s nothing special. Just a room,” you mumble.

“Don’t say that!” Gojo reaches for you and ignores your flinch when he wraps his arm around your shoulder. “It’s your room, of course it’s special.”

Your stomach responds to his praise with a low roil, a remnant of how you might have responded to his compliments before all of this. 

--

“There,” you say, voice tight and short, as you gesture towards your bedroom. You pointedly leave the door open but Gojo doesn’t protest. 

It’s not the most impressive bedroom on the estate--that would be your parents’ room, followed by the siblings who managed successful sorcerer careers and have already had a few children. 

But it’s cozy, and it's yours, and for you that’s enough. You just wish Gojo wouldn’t contaminate it with his presence. He looks at everything, smiling, humming. He goes to read a journal open on your dresser and you rush to slam it shut. He jumps back with an exaggerated grin and apologizes. 

He doesn’t look and leave, like you hoped he would. Instead, he sits down on your bed and pats the space next to him.

“You said you just wanted to look.”

He pats the spot again. “I just want to ask about your training. Really quick.” The look you give him must be enough to kill, because he puts his hands in the air. “I promise, only a few questions about your training.”

Your legs tingle as you force them to move, one step at a time, to the bed. You sit next to him and the proximity makes you want to flee. But if you just do what he says and get this over with, he’ll leave. You can deal with your parents’ expectations about some courtship later.

He smiles when you sit. 

“So, any progress? Better? Worse?” He looks down at you through his glasses. “Be honest.” 

“I… I guess I have been getting better at concentrating,” you murmur. You’ve been forced to, really, since you didn’t want your parents to know about what happened. 

“Aw, see? I knew it would help!”

It. Is that what he calls what he did to you? Your throat hurts. 

“That’s not why you did it.”

Gojo has the audacity to quirk his head at you. It’s a gesture you know would make many women’s heart flutters. It just makes you want to close your eyes.

“No?”

You don’t respond, and after a moment, he gets up. It’s enough to make you sigh in relief. He’s leaving. He’ll be gone and you can figure out what to tell your parents and it will all be fine because--

But he doesn’t walk through the door.

Instead, he shuts it.

“Gojo--”

He gives you a look.

“No one will mind,” he tells you, voice light. “I’ll be quiet if you will.”

Your heart thuds, one, two, three.

“What do you mean?”

He looks at you as if you’ve asked him the stupidest question in the world. Maybe you did. Because he’s walking towards the bed now, forcing you to scoot backwards on it. You realize the vulnerability of your body in this position far too late, because before you know it, he’s crawling onto the bed with you.

“Wait--wait,” you sputter. “C-Can’t you just leave? Please?”

He leans over you and pins you down with the mere presence of his body.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” He kisses your neck, and you crane it to the side, which only makes him kiss it more. “So cute. I’ve been thinking about you every day since then. Every hour. Every minute.” His kisses grow more numerous, on your shoulder, up your neck, your cheek, finally resting just above your lips.

“Gojo, stop.” He’s so close that your breath ghosts his skin, puffs against his lips.

“I’ve been thinking about the faces you made,” he says, voice dropping an octave. The words slink out of him like a snake. “How sweaty you got. What you looked like with your come all over that pretty face.”

If your cheeks get any hotter, you’ll get ill. You know it.

“Stop it,” you whisper, but your lips brush against his and he takes the opportunity to capture you in a kiss. 

The distraction is enough to keep you from thinking about his hands, to keep you from being aware of his fingers unlacing the buttons of your blouse, of how he slides your arms out of the sleeves. You’re only wearing a thin morning camisole underneath, and the sound of it shredding breaks through the unwanted kiss. 

“Gojo--” You say, or want to say, but all your words are muffled against him. 

Saliva trails from his mouth--you want to gag--when he pulls away. “Satoru,” is all he says. 

He’s taken off your shirt. He’s ripped your undershirt. You’re lying underneath him, ample chest bared, and he’s not going to get off you.

His fingers find your nipples and give them an unceremonious tweak. 

“Don’t!”The word comes out too loud, too shrieky, and both of you still in the silence that follows.

You expect him to get off you now. You expect him to realize the danger of being found out and take the opportunity to leave; ego bruised, perhaps, but still--he would be gone.

Instead, he grins at you. “I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to come in and see us? Ah, but…” He rolls your nipples in between his fingers, and you jerk on the bed at the strange, electric feeling that shoots in between your legs. “Maybe you want to get caught?”

You press your lips firmly together--be quiet, you tell yourself, be quiet!--and shake your head. 

He continues to roll your nipples, and your hips squirm against the feeling. “I think you do,” he muses. “You know, if someone did waltz in here while I’m balls deep in you, we’d have to get married.”

You practically choke on the unexpected sliminess of his words. But perhaps not so unexpected, considering what he was doing. 

“Wh--What?” You hiss.

Gojo looks at you like you’re dumb--cute. But dumb. “I mean, your family is traditional, no? I don’t think they’ll let me deflower you and not make an honest woman out of you after that.” He spreads his fingers out and gropes the plump flesh of your breasts with his hands; his palms brushing against your hardening nipples makes you bite back a sigh. 

“I mean--I meant--we’re not doing, I don’t want to do--”

He leans forward and rubs his nose against your cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. I like foreplay.”

“Foreplay?” You ask, helplessly, naively. 

“Fuck, that’s cute,” he sighs. He begins to rub at your nipples with his thumbs, and there’s a warm, prickling sensation in them that makes your toes begin to curl.  “You know how many times I jerked off thinking about these tits?”

“Stop,” you say, breathy. It feels good, and you hate it, but it doesn’t hurt--it doesn’t hurt, at least. That’s what you tell yourself to keep your mouth from screaming.

He ignores your words and squishes your breasts together with his hand, making them balloon almost comically.

“They’re so big, you know?” He pushes and pulls them apart. “How do you even stand up with these things?” 

Humiliation blooms in  your throat.

“Don’t be mad,” he says. “I’m not trying to insult them.” He sighs, then, and goes back to rubbing your nipples with his fingers, eliciting a whimper from your lips. “They’re gorgeous. Nice and big…”

Another whimper, this one louder, making you press your palm against your mouth.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He leans down, peering over his glasses. “Feels good when my fingers play with your tits?”

It does. You shake your head. But it does.

Gojo tsks lightly. You feel one hand leave your breast and reach down, down--sliding underneath the waistband of your skirt. Your body lurches but he’s too heavy and strong and you can’t move, even as he swipes his fingers down your underwear. You can feel the way his digits meet some slickness, smearing it around on the other side of the fabric.

“Your mouth can lie, but down here… you’re leaking.”

Your heart lurches with the memory of your leaking cursed energy, with the memory of the hard floor--and with the knowledge that it’s happening again. 

Without fanfare, he grabs the waistband of your skirt and begins to shimmy it down. You kick and struggle, little noises escaping your lips that surely aren’t loud enough to be heard outside the walls. But it doesn’t matter. He’s stronger than you. 

Your underwear goes down next, and you cringe at the feeling of wetness clinging to the soft material as he peels them down your legs. With your clothes gone, it’s easy for him to grip your upper thighs and pull them apart, exposing you directly to him.

“Gojo--” Your throat is dry and your words hoarse.

“Your pussy is prettier than I remember,” he says, ignoring your protests, ignoring the way your legs squirm. “Look--did your clit just twitch? Is it saying hello?” He smiles up at you, stupidly, and some part of you wonders if he really thinks you’ll laugh at what he’s saying. All you can do is swallow against rising bile.

“I was going to eat you out until you squealed first,” he begins, voice low. “But I don’t think I can wait. Besides, you look wet enough.” He rubs his thumb against your clit and you slap your hand back against your mouth at the sudden jolt of pleasure. 

You know what he’s doing, even if you don’t want to admit it. You know before he reaches down and shoves his pants down around his ankles. You know before his boxers come down next. You know before you see his cock, hard like the last time.

How in the world is that going to fit inside you? You think. You feel, dimly, your privates clench and twitch at nothing.

“Your body is eager,” he tells you, cooing. “Even if you pretend that you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you murmur. He doesn’t listen. Your fingers grip the sheets of your body and you think dimly about what you’ve heard about sex. All you know is that you weren’t supposed to have it with anyone but your husband, lest you produce unwanted bastards to soil your family’s good name. Your mother had taught you all about the value of your “flower,” the importance of being chaste and virtuous. 

And here you are, splayed on your bed, with Gojo about to take it all away from you.

You let out a whimper when he leans forward and rubs the tip of his cock in your folds. It’s thick and warm. 

“Gojo,” you say, voice tight.

“Satoru,” he chides, sweetly. “I’m about to fuck you, honey, you can call me Satoru.” 

You press your lips together and tighten your fingers on the sheets as he finally moves his hips forward, pressing his cock inside you, slowly.

It hurts. Enough that tears prick at the edges of your eyes, and you let out a soft, pained keen.

Gojo’s there, kissing you, as soon as it leaves your lips. His fingers brush away your tears even as he pushes forward, filling you up more, stretching you. The ache deepens, there’s a sting with it--you wonder if you’ll bleed, like your sister says she did, on her wedding night.

It doesn’t stop once he’s inside you. He pulls his hips back--there’s a brief relief from the feeling when he’s mostly out--before he pushes back in, and the ache reignites, making you jolt and whimper against his lips.

“Shh,” he tells you. One of his hands trails down your stomach, down your thigh, to rest against the top of your sex. His thumb begins to rub out slow circles, and an unwanted aching pleasure begins to build there. 

It doesn’t make the pain go away. It doesn’t make the humiliation go away. All it does is introduce a sick sort of pleasure that makes you feel worse about yourself. How could you like this? It should be impossible, for your body to begin to feel a low, rolling pleasure that cuts through the pain–cuts through the horror–of what’s happening to you.

You whimper, bubbling out a little cry, and Gojo presses sweet kisses to your cheeks.

“That’s it, that’s my girl, you like that, don’t you?” The sweetness of his words is underscored by the wet sound of his cock thrusting inside you, by a faint slapping sensation against you every time he does. 

But you do like it. Or your body does, and you’re not sure what the difference is, splayed on your bed, all warmth and sweat and aches. Gojo’s thumb presses deeper and your mouth opens–you gasp and he swallows your noises in a kiss, not letting up until his thumb is rubbing hard enough that your body arches and there’s a coil snapping inside you.

You grunt, animal-like, into his mouth. He grunts right back and shame curls over you, even as your body spasms in forced bliss. You can feel yourself clenching around him, as if you wanted him, as if you were trying to make the sex better for him.

He doesn’t pull away until you’re done clenching around him, and you shut your eyes for a moment to avoid looking at the almost dopey, pleased expression on his face.

The realizations hit you like slaps  in the wake of your orgasm. 

He made you orgasm. It felt good. You liked it, you hated it. You want more, you never want it again. 

You just lost your virginity--still losing it, he’s not done–the precious commodity that your mother told you to guard well--on your bed. Before marriage. Before you were even in love. Before anything. 

How could it be any other way, with Gojo Satoru? He takes, takes, takes. Takes what he wants because he can, because he knows it belongs to him, if he wants it. You, included. 

There’s a gentle pat on your cheek and you realize Gojo is patting you, tapping you like he might a dazed sorcerer whose head met the rough end of concrete during a fight.

“Don’t get lost on me, now. Look at me… hey, you still here?”

“Yes,” you whisper, although it comes out more stuttered than you’d like with the shake of your body as he thrusts.

He plants a sloppy kiss on your mouth and moves faster. It hurts, still, but some of the more pressing sting is gone. Instead it’s an uncomfortable, new ache. 

“You look so good like this, y’know?” His hands go from your cheeks to your breasts, and he squeezes them. “All ready to be filled up.”

His words take a moment to make any sense--and even then, you’re still not quite sure.

“Fill me… up?”

His thrusts get faster, and you hear your own breath stuttering stupidly as he fucks you. “Like I said--” His words are half-panting, but you get the feeling that they needn’t be; he only wants to seem undone, you think. “Want to fuck you. Want to breed you.” His hands squeeze your breasts, kneading at the flesh. “You’ll get real big, won’t you? With a baby in your stomach, just one at first, but--” He starts to speed up now, and you see a faint redness on his cheeks. “Fuck, who knows how many we’ll have.”

Cold fear clenches your stomach tight, and you resist the primal urge to gag.

“My-my parents,” you plead. Your parents would never let this happen, would they? Not if you told them the truth?

Gojo leans above you, looking down at you with a lascivious expression as he begins to thrust faster, making your breasts wobble with the motion.

“Your parents already approve. They feel honored, and they should, that I want to marry you. Have kids with you. Merge our bloodlines. Might have to fudge the due date, if this takes, but…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, his head veers down towards yours, and his lips practically crash into your mouth as he kisses you and presses himself deep inside you. He groans into your mouth and a warm, gooey feeling blossoms inside you at the same time. He came–inside you. You knew enough to know that was a bad thing, as far as potential pregnancies went. 

When he pulls back from the kiss, he pulls back his hips, and something warm trickles out with his cock. It’s an awful feeling. The soreness, the wetness. The feeling of being used.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, voice tinged with something warm and breathy. “Did you like that? Making me come?” 

You don’t answer.

Gojo doesn’t seem to mind. He flops down next to you and catches his breath.

“We should go back out there pretty soon,” he says airily. “They’ll be expecting us. Your parents, that is.”

Your voice is a croak. “What do you mean?”

Gojo leans up on his elbows and gives you a cheeky grin. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! I told your parents I was staying for dinner. Figured I’d work up an appetite in here… plus we can tell them all about our engagement over dessert. Two birds, one stone?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you stare up at the ceiling, with its ornamented paintings. Pretty flowers and trees that your mother picked out when you were a baby.  You had no input in it, just like you have no say in anything now. 

No birds on the ceiling. 

There are only the stones in the pit of your stomach, waiting to be retched up. 

[undercoverpena]

Just read your Soft!Frankie. How do you think Joel would be? I love your work. Thanks.

omg anon, okay, so I did quickly converse with my pal, @swiftispunk to clarify my thoughts. but here goes (hope this is okay)—for this you’re ill/have a cold.

soft!joel miller x reader (pre-outbreak)

the house is quiet. the sound of the pipes coming to life groaning in the walls is the first thing which stirs you.

your head is still full, heavy, as your eyes flutter open. then, you’re aware of how your throat still burns, worse than yesterday. more or less like you’d swallowed glass.

the rest follows suit, the sniff returning, the ache in your cheeks. the cold not improving but rather worsening overnight. it proves your point when you move, dizziness adding itself to your list of ailments—blurring your vision, making you even more thankful for declining the overtime, happy to be home and not behind a desk.

you reach out, greeted by cool sheets as the fan on the dresser groans as it performs another rotation.

and you don’t want to rise, but you also do. you want to see him, curl into him. but, you take your time in rising, all slow in your movements, using the bathroom and dressing in nothing but him when you’re done. you hope he won’t mind, maybe even like it as you pull on some of his sweats, grabbing a pair of his work-boot socks before heading downstairs.

he only murmurs your name softly at the sight of you—likely spotting your glassy eyes, and puffy cheeks from the cold making a home in you. you look at him, watching his lips tug up into one cheek when he spots the clothing, brows furrowing before they flatten, and you step closer, palm flat to his cheek as you wipe the crumbs.

and it’s soft, tender. him kissing your wrist before he mumbles about making you a drink. something warm. even adding honey—sarah’s orders before tommy took her to soccer practice. and you smile, hovering, shifting from side to side before he motions for you to get comfy under a blanket, keep warm, grunting: y’shouldn’t even be up.

your feet shuffle into the next room, seating yourself in your usual spot, tugging the blanket up and over—glancing at the coffee table, the magazine you’d grabbed Sarah and the array of coins from Joel emptying his pocket last night, all upon letters and papers—a mess, but a welcomed one. it’s home, a place you’d trade everything to be in.

when he joins you he’s clutching a mug, steam swirling up from it as he briefly places it down, a thud in the quiet before he settles down next to you. you watch as he wipes his hand on his jeans, before he places the back of his hand to your forehead. eyes narrowed, knitted in concern—

“still burnin’ up.”

you know. the sweat peppering your spine tells you as much, but you just lean into him. resting your head, finding no protest, only him moving to get more comfortable as he picks up and rests the mug on his knee—occasionally handing it to you, telling you to take a sip f’me.

and you do.

because it’s simple, easy. both the act and this thing with him. a thing he wasn’t sure he could give you if you remember correctly, yet he does it without trying.

“don’t fall asleep on me.”

he says it, even knowing you will. your head nodding, a sniff punctuating it, and the deep sigh you hear echo through him tells you he knows you’re minutes from doing so—and you’re sure he doesn’t care. most likely even likes it.

your eyes growing heavy, the television sounds slowly lowering in volume as your illness tries to beckon you to sleep. your legs come up, curling more so into him and the couch. feeling his arm move, just ever so slightly come around you, the mug going, finding a home on the table.

it’s only in the place between sleep and awake do you feel it, the slight touch of his fingers on yours. brushing over the tips, calloused palm flattening over your fingertips, trying to remove the chill from them.

and you smile, ever so slightly—and then you sniff before you briefly catch the scent of him. the last thing you needed to be lulled back to sleep.

[morinuu]

LISTWN TO ME I JUST READ YOUR TAMAKI ANGST AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE SO FICKING GOOD??

A she falls but he falls harder

Reader finally gets over it and stops coming, moving on and focusing on herself, and he notices and starts realizing how he took her for granted

And then its him that's loosing his mind and shit like that. Dude. Dude. I'm loosing my MIND you write so well

first of all ty for the compliment >< so glad u liked it im blushing and giggling!! secondly im not sure abt the reader completely abandoning tamaki's side (i love being delulu), but i do have smth else in mind that's kinda similiar n i hope its satisfactory :3 i changed only a minor part from the og :P i wanna make this a small series..... maybe like 3-4 parts.. anw this is pt 1

☀︎｜tamaki x female reader. almost 4k words. continuation of this. ure sick, yamada hinata & aoko r just some ppl i made up for the plot, tamaki's pretty stupid n emotionally unintelligent, lots of feelings and background information, y'all r childhood friends, there's like one 4th wall break but i thought it was kinda funny so i kept it

you weren't a fan of february.

allergy season was your absolute worst, the wheezing and coughing sucking the life out of you as you struggled to change out of your clothes to get the day started. you didn't sleep much, interrupted constantly by your sore throat aching and squeezing.

sure, it's just hay fever to everyone else, but for a young woman who carried around an inhaler, it's hell. well, almost hell.

what was truly hellish wasn't the fatigue or the sneezing, but your mum dragging you back in the house and forbidding you from going to school until you're well enough to study again. how were you supposed to keep up with chemistry class if you skip?

not that your parents cared for your grades; they knew you could just enter whatever field you wanted with the connections your family held, but it felt nice to be awarded for working hard.

after your personal maid let out a small "pardon me, miss" and carried you back to bed, you realised that the feeling your soft quilt hugging your cold limbs would never be beaten by the jacket you desperately clung on to warm yourself in p.e - which just so happened to be your first period that day and you were dreading it.

"i'll be making you some tea, miss. would you like to breakfast now?" your maid's quiet voice addressed you, hoping you'd just sleep the illness off as you usually did so she could rest too.

to be fair, you weren't a very easy master to please, so could you blame her?

"i'll breakfast la-" a cough and some wheezing "-i'll breakfast later, bring some english breakfast with a slice of lemon." you said nothing else, instead focusing on calming your throat that seemed to intensify in soreness. "a pastille too."

"understood my lady, i'll be right back." she bowed and excused herself from your room, ignoring your groans of annoyance as you buried your face into the pillow.

"damn it." you muttered and extended your hand to grab your phone from your bedside table. unlocking it with the passcode (because you weren't in the mood to lift your head and let your phone scan your face) you squinted as the light mode of a social media app hit your eyes harshly, forcing you to use muscle memory to lower the brightness to its minimum.

you scrolled through, liking your friends' private posts and decided to message one of them.

yn.spam: gm dude, i cant come to school today cus im sick. can u do me a favour n tell aoko to give me her notes? she never looks at her messages.

with your phone back on the table to wait for a response, you lied back comfortably and closed your eyes, because as much as you wanted to watch something on netflix or play a video game, you didn't want to make things worse for yourself.

you grew impatient for the cup of tea your maid was brewing, rotating between wheezing, checking your phone and staring at the ceiling. it seemed like the seconds weren't passing by at all.

soon enough, your maid comes back with some fancy tray carrying a kettle, your favourite mug (the one your daddy drank from when you were a little girl before your parents divorced), a tiny plate with some lemon slices and a small box of pastilles as throat medicine.

you didn't thank the woman when she helped you sit up, nor when she stayed by your side to make sure you didn't choke between coughs and burnt yourself with the hot liquid. just as you took your first sip, your phone lit up to show your friend's response.

thatguyhinata: Ayooo gppd morning. Sry to hear tht. Sure if I see her I'll telm her.

the irises in your eyes rolled upwards at the boy's typos that irked you every time, completely ignoring how he didn't wish for your recovery.

yn.spam: thanks yamada

you never used any of your circle's first names, which your mum always found weird.

'you sure these are your friends, darling?' she would ask often, and your response would always be the same:

'yeah mum. leave me be.'

only tamaki had ever felt close enough to be called by his first name.

after swallowing your medicine, you dismissed the older woman standing over you and pulled your quilt over your quivering form again.

"gods, please let this be over soon."

...

well.

...turns out, you gotta be much more specific with what you ask of gods, because they might not have the same understanding of the word 'soon'.

here you are, three days later, with your allergy having been combined with a virus that'd been going around, intensifying your asthma symptoms and raising a high fever, making your mother and doctor ban you from walking into ouran.

halfway throughout the day, you realise what had been completely slipping your mind while your lungs were occupied inhaling abnormally.

"i have an appointment today!" you exclaimed with wide eyes, raising from the bed like lazarus from his grave.

"...?" the new maid next to you didn't say anything, she was clearly concerned. after some seconds of you overthinking something, she spoke up. "you have no other doctor's appointment today, my lady. he just left 10 minutes ago."

you shook your head quickly, ignoring the dizziness brought by your fever "bring me my phone," the girl was puzzled "now!"

bowing a quick apology, she rushed to your desk and handed you your phone with both hands, not daring to look up. you disliked new maids; they were inexperienced and annoying, but scolding her would have to wait.

"damn it, damn it, damn it!" you murmured under your breath and tapped furiously on your phone, trying to find where the hell you'd written kyouya's business e-mail address.

you had it saved as every other client of the host club had, but you had never actually used it, not once.

you never missed an appointment, and always booked the next one tete-a-tete with the black-haired manager. if you became a no-show without prior notice, wouldn't that look bad? would it annoy kyouya and he wouldn't accept you in the club again?

well no, but you had the habit of overthinki-

'would it annoy tamaki?'

you groaned and murmured to yourself - had you deleted it? maybe it was in your notes app and you erased it? was it on your old phone from a month ago?

"find an e-mail for me." you ordered the maid who looked up at you perplexed, but carried out the order nonetheless.

the girl was embarrassed when she found out her master was asking for a host's email, wanting the earth to swallow her when she dialed the ouran academy's number. 'the stuff i do for money..' she thought and prayed her family never found out.

it wasn't a long process to retrieve the address, but what was, was the rant hitting the maid's ears when your overthinking about what to write left your mouth at incredible speeds.

"should i say i'm sick? but he already knows that- he's in my class! maybe tell him to give my time to another girl? no wait, he would do that anyway... or after i apologise, i'll say that, like, something came up- but that's not believable enough... ugh!" you buried your face in your pillow and, unbeknownst to you, your new maid's eye was twitching in annoyance.

she understood now why your personal maid took the week off just when you got sick - not that she understood how and why your mum allowed it though.

(it's because you can be insufferable and she gets it.)

"my lady, may i help?" the girl let out, clearing her throat when you lifted your head from the pillow. "i can write the e-mail myself, please focus on resting."

after some convincing, you gave in.

and so 10 minutes later, back at ouran, kyouya's phone let out a ting! with your full name on the notification. he'd already guessed you wouldn't show up to your appointment considering you hadn't come to school in three days, and already had someone to fill your place but left it for the last moment in case you did show up.

why? well you were ln yn, and it was painfully obvious you were smitten with his best friend, though he could say it was a bit different from the rest of the clientele.

probably due to the fact that you'd known tamaki for much longer than kyouya had. and yet tamaki didn't seem to have the same fascination with you.

he remembers when he first met you, when he'd heard that you were spoiled rotten and weren't even planning to enroll in ouran until tamaki did. you simply transferred to be with the boy.

literally everyone knew of ln yn's almost freakish obsession with suoh tamaki, except for the victim himself.

so imagine his surprise at the strictly professional e-mail he'd received from you, where not a single mention of your host was included. weird.

after glancing at the french boy in the seat next to him eating his bowl of some-sort-of-commoner-convenience-store lunch, kyouya quickly typed a response and informed the next girl in line that a spot was open 'for tamaki's hosting services at 15:35'.

"one of your appointments cancelled due to a personal issue. we'll have someone else fill it." kyouya told tamaki, just as stated in the e-mail, even though it was pretty clear you were sick, and he couldn't figure out why you'd lie.

"hm? oh, okay!" the brunet smiled and went back to devouring his meal, not thinking much of kyouya's words.

kyouya pondered if he should tell him the client was his loyal friend yn, who would never skip out on seeing tamaki, but he stopped himself, curious as to how it would all play out.

eh, if the twins could have fun, so could he.

"oh! haruhii! daddy's here!"

the hours passed so slow you were almost convinced time was frozen when you weren't glancing at the clock on your laptop.

the drama you'd been watching started to lose its interest after presenting the third plot twist in a row, annoying you with all the plot holes it left gaping.

sipping on your green tea (you'd been drinking tamaki's recommendation, pomegranate, only to throw all of it in the trash when you heard he gave the same advice to haruhi), you paused the show and sighed in absolute, tyrannical boredom.

by now you'd normally have finished your classes and walked to music room #3, your favourite among them all.

you'd be welcomed by a host and walked to a sofa to wait for your appointment, ignoring any other girl in the waiting area trying to pick a conversation with the middle child of the ln family.

and soon enough you'd be approached by your one and only taking your hand in his and kissing it to greet you, with his blue eyes staring up at you innocently like a man in love; a look he gave to any woman nowadays, it was second nature to him.

you got lost in them so often, he sometimes dared to ask you if you didn't enjoy his company and that's why you spaced out so much.

preposterous.

you? disliking tamaki? how could he think that after all these years you spent playing together, with you transferring to his school for his sake, swallowing your pride and becoming the client of a host for him?

truly an absurd notion.

currently, however, you weren't in the host club. you were just a girl with a bunch of germs crawling everywhere around her room, unable to go out and see the man of her dreams kiss her cheek and tell her to 'get well soon'.

speaking of, your mum grew increasingly concerned when she noticed the lack of communication between you and tamaki. you were always attached to his hip like some sort of koala, and the fact that you hadn't reached out to him to inform him of your illness personally so he could visit you made her worry.

but it was only natural that you'd suspect you were being an annoyance to tamaki once you began to notice his eyes shift from you to the newest host a couple of months prior. he'd been a petit brunet boy. a first year who was friendly and of lowly origin. you didn't think much of it.

at least not until the day hikaru asked if you could fetch something he forgot in the back room, completely ignorant to the fact that haruhi had come to the club early that day to ask for another uniform because she'd been accidentally thrown water at by two classmates of hers being stupid.

so when you opened the curtain and saw a small-sized girl with only her panties on desperately trying to hide herself from you, it didn't take more than a couple of seconds to put two and two together.

tamaki wasn't fascinated by the commoner errand 'boy' turnt host.

he wanted her.

you closed the curtain, giving the girl her privacy back and muttering an curt apology, "sorry." before deciding that hikaru would have to get his things himself.

neither haruhi nor you spoke about it again, and she never snitched to the host club about your discovery of her sex.

you liked to pretend it never happened, and that it never changed anything. but just like with tamaki, pretending doesn't go anywhere. the hints were there. his furiously blushed face when he stared at her, his protection of her when the twins teased her, his demands for kyouya to do things for haruhi because she'd like it, not even because she'd asked - well, the stage of denial didn't last long.

shortly after came anger. pure, unexplainable rage and envy. the fourth of the deadly sins was soon rushing through your veins like a drug you couldn't get clean from. 'why her?' you would ask in your rampages.

you couldn't figure it out, and you couldn't ask anyone either, because as infuriated as you were, hurting haruhi by revealing her identity wasn't on your to-do list.

not because you were a good person, god no.

rather, if tamaki knew you hurt his precious daughter - you barfed - like that, who knows if you'd see him again?

and so came the bargaining stage, with your rage never leaving your blood stream, of course. being petty was always one of your main personality traits, one that tamaki would often point out.

what did fujioka haruhi have that ln yn didn't?

'nothing.' you muttered to yourself.

nothing.

nothing?

could you be absolutely sure?

you didn't see her much outside of the club, and there were a couple of times you'd heard the hosts hung out together.

maybe they had a moment? or two, three?

perhaps it was high time you stopped bothering him. perhaps then he'd realise you were the one.

that's why your texts to him had much lessened, coming to a complete stop after roughly two months of your self-doubt and insecurities getting the best of you. so did your occasional visits to his house for studying. you'd even stopped wearing the perfume he got you as a birthday present last year, even though you couldn't find another scent that fit your tastes the same way.

despite your attempts at catching his attention, the bubbling fury in your chest rose once again when you realised that maybe tamaki didn't care about you at all.

he texted you as much as you texted him, he hung out with you only when you asked, and when he came closer to you and noticed the change in your scent, he went: "different perfume, princess?"

and while normally you'd be ecstatic at him noticing, your happiness was immediately destroyed when "the other one was a little old fashioned, good thing you moved to something more fresh."

why couldn't he say what he would have said had he been in an otome game, something among the lines of: 'did you wish to match mine?' or something cheesy like that? ...was your scent not to his tastes?

'did he forget his skills from hosting or what?' you whined.

consequently, now that you were sitting around doing nothing to reach out to tamaki or any of your 'friends', your mum couldn't help but take her phone in her hands to call her friend hitachiin yuzuha.

back in the pink room that is the host club, today's rendezvouses seemed to be going by awfully quickly for tamaki.

in the couple of minutes of break he had between the end of this rendezvous and next the one to come, he quickly found his phone from his back pocket and went over his schedule sent by kyouya.

your name had been crossed out and replaced with another one he recognised, another regular guest of his. he raised his eyebrow at that.

he lifted his head and looked for the shadow king.

"hey, kyouya?"

"hm?" kyouya didn't bother to look up from his laptop, furiously typing god-knows-what.

"why's yn's time gone?" he asked innocently in a curious voice that had you heard, you'd be swooning over.

"i told you, she cancelled due to personal business," his answer was straight-forward "although it's probably because she's ill."

ah, that makes sense, you were the one that cancelled.

wait, huh?

"what do you mean she's ill?" his eyebrows furrow a bit and he cocks his head to the side like a cute dog who doesn't understand anything its owner says.

"what do you mean, 'what do i mean'? she's been absent since monday because she's not feeling well, and she won't come today either. pretty simple." kyouya finally looked up at tamaki with a strange expression on his face. "has she not told you?"

tamaki shook his head a bit, "uhm.. no, not really." and tapped his phone again to check his messages on multiple social media apps to make sure he wasn't missing anything. his emails were empty too, only some spam from a newsletter page that he never bothered to cancel his subscription from.

"how do you know?" he questioned kyouya, but before he could answer, "no wait, don't answer that, you creep. of course you know." he sighed.

after some seconds of quiet thinking, "why didn't you tell me?" tamaki continued his questioning.

"everyone already knows, my lord." an awfully familiar voice butt in making the french boy turn his head around, resting his hand on his waist.

the voice belonged to kaoru, who had his arm wrapped around his twin's shoulders. seems like they also just finished with an appointment.

"what does that mean? who's 'everyone' and why am i not included?" tamaki crossed his arms, feeling kind of left out.

"that guy hayato or whatever who hangs out with yn and her friends was telling someone and we overheard." hikaru shrugged in unison with his doppelganger.

honey's soft voice entered the chat. "you mean hinata-kun? yn-chan's friend? yeah, he told me when i asked where yn-chan is because i thought she forgot to bring the candy she promised." he quickly grabbed a piece of cake from the fridge near where kyouya had been sitting and left the room swiftly.

huh, how convenient for him to enter for the plot.

"and why's it that you two evil bastards didn't bother to tell me?" tamaki exclaimed in disbelief, pointing a finger at the both of them. how could they? his precious childhood friend was sick at home and he didn't know?!

"sorry milord-" kaoru announced with his shoulders still raised, "-but you're always talking to yn-" hikaru joined, "-how were we supposed to know you're not asking her about her well-being?" they delivered the finishing blow together.

what were these lame jerks insinuating? 'not asking about her well-being'? what did they know? just as he went to respond with his usual barking, he stopped himself to instead text you on his own for the first time in a while. not that he noticed.

the twins looked at their king with a confused and weirded-out expression on both their faces, before glancing at each other and shrugging again, already disinterested. kyouya had long gone back to his work and so the twins walked to an empty sofa in an almost isolated area of the club, lying on top of one another to give a nice view to whichever client was into it.

about six minutes of pure silence passed between the two before kaoru's phone buzzed; a text from his mum.

the twins read the text simultaneously, with hikaru raising an eyebrow at its contents. they looked back at the slender boy texting you on his phone at the other end of the club, confused about his behaviour.

"seriously...?" hikaru quietly asked kaoru, referring to the text, only to be met with the other's puzzled expression.

as for the half-and-half boy, his fingers were anxiously tapping kyouya's table and awaiting your response to his message.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: Hey darling! Is everything alright? I heard you didn't come to school because you're sick. I thought you just didn't feel like coming. Why didn't you tell me?

he didn't know you let out a deep sigh at his text, even if it was three days late. it gave you hope - false hope. that he'd started to pay attention to you again. maybe being distant worked-

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: want me to come over?

the question felt natural to him, you always visited his home but seldom did he ever visit yours. since you were sick, it made sense that you wouldn't come over this time.

yn>.&lt; : arent u busy rn tho lol

your name on his phone had obviously been put there by you, his choice of emoji had been party hat for some reason.

"be serious, what does that even mean, tamaki?" you'd asked him one day during a break from your studying in his room.

"you don't like it..?" he pouted like usual and you rolled your eyes.

"here. that's better." you handed him his phone back with a new 'yn >.<' as your contact name.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I can just come after club activities.

wait, he was actually coming? after two months of your only contact being through your rendezvous? it worked?! it actually worked?!

you thought of how to answer him.

at your lack of fast response, tamaki thought of ways to help you feel better through your illness.

'aha! eureka!' tamaki's head echoed.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I'll bring some commoner snacks we can enjoy too! Commoners have incredible food to help alleviate illness!

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: What are you even sick with, anyway?

of course.

commoner food, of course.

haruhi's food.

yn>.&lt; : lol no its fine i dont want u to get sick. ill just c u at sxhool yn>.&lt; : school* yn>.< : doc said its just a cold but yk w my asthma n shit

tamaki was thoroughly disappointed with your response, what did you mean 'you didn't want him to get sick'? you'd never cared if you caught his cold.

his heart raced with worry, and he decided he would stop by anyway. knowing his next appointment was approaching, he speed walked over to the newest host.

"haaaaruuhiiiiii!" he waved his hand to her and her two clients, smiling widely with all of them smiling back at him.

"yeah? what is it, senpai?" haruhi looked up at him from her armchair.

"sorry to intrude-" he runs his hair through his locks - an action that you told him the ladies would swoon over, "-but i was wondering, do you have any recommendations for commoner food that sick people can eat?"

"...are you serious?"

[sweatervest-obsessed]

To Make Sure I Stay Sane

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: ~4k

TW: Blood, Torture, swearing, guns, police, violence, knives, trauma, slight ptsd but horrible coping mechanisms, mental illness, depression, ANGST.

A/N: I'm picturing season 4 Spence but y'all can picture whichever one you want. Inspired by Six Below by Flipturn! I thought y'all deserved an extra Spencer bit since I made you wait so long for the last one. A sweet treat if you will. Enjoy babes!!

I am a man on the run Running on two empty lungs Running from my own mind And things I hide inside Some call it sweet temptation

Only a handful of people get the extreme privilege of having their cover blown by the FBI, specifically the BAU, and even more specifically, Derek Fucking Morgan. 

If he had followed orders, and kept his mouth in line, then maybe this would have turned out better, maybe you’d be back in your house, checked in with your handler, and able to sleep for another night. But no. He pulls you over in the middle of the bar you worked at, and regardless of how hard you tried to get away from him, your efforts were ignored. He then ambushed you in the parking lot, trying to get you to listen. Talking to a fed could get you killed, and you were about to face that fear.

Freezers are quite comfortable when you’ve worked in the restaurant industry for long enough, but something about the way the mold perfumed the air in this one really seemed to bug the shit out of you. 

You had been trying to keep track–maybe 36 hours— of how long you had been tied to this chair. You’ve only seen three people, but considering you had seen so many places struggling for able bodies, having three goons to rotate watch on someone was very impressive to you. If you weren’t tied to the chair, and not an undercover fed, and it was a different life, maybe that third one would have been your type. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the freezer squeaking open, and a woman walked in.

“Safya…”

“Alice.” She nodded, pulling up a chair across from you. The slightly attractive goon left the room, closing the freezer door behind him.

“You know why you’re here…”

You shook your head. “No I–”

“--I’ll let you know when you can speak and defend yourself, yes?”

You nodded and she continued. “Now. I was told you had been speaking to the same FBI agent who’s been pushing doors open that should stay closed. Is this true?”

“Yes.” You whispered. 

“And what did he ask you?”

“About y-you, and about what you and I-I had been, um, doing together.” You licked your lips, trying to speed up your breathing–maybe you should have become an actress, and then all of this could be stopped with a simple shout from a director hiding behind some hidden cameras. 

“And what did you say exactly?” The gun on her thigh flashed as she leaned forward, catching the reflection of the singular light. 

“I told him I only knew you as a customer.” You looked at her, telling the honest to god truth. “That you we-were one of my regulars, and that was it. W-whatever your business is, is-is-isn’t my business.” 

She nodded. “Good good. It’s such a shame really…”

Your eyes widened. “W-what?” 

“Because I know you’re telling the truth. But if he was suspecting you, that means I have to let you go…” 

“Saf please, I-I-I’ll keep my mouth shut, I-’ll Never–”

“Stop.” You closed your mouth, panicking outwardly as you internally tried to come up with some sort of escape plan, or at least some way to tell your cat how much you were going to miss him. “You have three hours once I let you go, to disappear. Understood? If I so much as hear that you’re back, it’s over. Clear?” 

You nodded, suddenly formulating a completely different plan. If she watched you get into an unmarked van when you got out, you’d be fucked, completely. And you’d be jeopardizing the mission. 

So now, instead of getting to do your job, you had to change everything about yourself, and go into hiding without letting anyone know for at least a month, doing your best to let the investigation continue without you.

So that’s what you did. Packed up everything into a small suitcase, gave your cat of three years to the girl on the corner, and picked up your last paycheck, before disappearing to god knows where. Running away.  

Sometimes I don't trust myself Cameras on old empty shelves I live inside my brain To make sure I stay sane Good God, I think I need help

You had been fine, really, a month in some small town in the middle of Georgia, nowhere really. You had never been there before, but truthfully it was very peaceful, and across the country from your assignment. You had been there for only a month before Derek Morgan showed up at your door. 

You were in biker shorts, a large sweater for a top–very Princess Diana of you. It was slightly colder, since it was now March, but you weren’t up in the mountains, allowing you to have some sort of reprieve from the freezing winters you used to live with. 

Opening the door made you mad. You were glaring at him, and a man who seemed to be his partner. 

“You need to leave. Now.” You tried to slam the door, but Derek was quicker than you were, pushing the door open causing you to stumble back. Once the two of them were in your house, you quickly shut the door. The blinds and windows were never opened anyways, and the entrances and exits were all locked, save for the front door. 

“Listen here you motherfucker. Do you know how much you’ve ruined my life?! Because I could fucking tear you apart with my bare tee–”

“Woah, woah, calm down there Agent.”

His partner watched as you flinched at the title, having not heard it in over a month. 

“I don’t think you understand. If I’m seen with you here, I’m dead. Three years of my life, down the drain because you couldn’t take no for an answer. Not very consentual of you Derek. Get out of my house.”

His partner spoke up. “Don’t you want to know why we’re here?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“I’m sorry Agent Morgan blew your cover.” said the skinnier of the two, but you didn’t look at him, still glaring at the Agent in question. 

“Thank you so much. That makes everything sooo much better.” 

“We want to put you in protective custody.” 

That got you to tear your eyes away from Derek and look at the other agent. “I’m sorry, who are you?” 

“I-I-I’m Doctor Spencer, uh, Reid.” You raised an eyebrow, curious about his sudden stutter, his sudden nervousness. 

“What, are you not sure?” 

“N-No–Yes, I mean.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Something about flustering Doctor Reid made him seem incredibly endearing, almost cute. But if this was some other life, you meeting him could have been different and under much better circumstances.

“I’m sure that’s my name.” He mumbled, causing Derek to snort at Reid’s inability to look at you again. 

“You think that’s funny Derek? Ruining other people’s day to feel tough?” You crossed your arms, lips pursed, ready to deck this guy in the face. 

“Okay sweetheart—”

Before he could finish even his thought, you had him pinned down on the ground: face down, ass up. His arm was out straight behind him while you had a death grip on his wrist. Your knee was on his back, holding him in place as you whispered in his ear. “Call me sweetheart again and I won’t stop at just the arm lock. We clear?” 

Derek let out a groan and tried to shift under you, but you dug your knee a little further into the point between his shoulder blades. “What was that Agent Morgan?” 

“yes–Yes! Okay, jesus.” He grumbled, sighing in relief as you got off of him, looking over at Spencer. 

“Would you like something to drink, Doctor Reid? I have tea or coffee…water?” 

Spencer was simply dazed with the way you switched between agent and yourself, it was surely some skill you had to pick up while being in deep cover for three years. 

“Spencer?” 

“Y-Yes, sorry. Water would, uh, water would be good. Thank you.” 

That’s when you killed him, stopping his heart in one simple motion. 

It wasn’t even a full one, but the corner of your mouth lifted up, providing him with a glimpse of a genuine smile, a crack in the stone cold facade you placed to protect yourself. He smiled back as Derek got up, rubbing his wrist and grumbling in pain. 

“I assume you like black coffee Agent Morgan.” you called from the kitchen, to which all you got was a grumbled “yes, please.” followed by what seemed like a laugh from Reid. 

Spencer looked around the bare walls, the bare furniture. There were pictures around, sure, but they were of places you had visited, or at least pretended to. There was only one photo frame with a picture of yourself, and based on the edges, he could tell it was folded. From far away it seemed to be just a picture of you; your family hiding in plain sight. 

He picked up the image and tried to determine how old you were. All he knew was that this photo was taken at some sort of wedding. You were laughing, smiling, dancing. 

“I don’t know why I keep that picture anymore.” You spoke softly from the kitchen doorway. “Maybe it’s to remind me that I’m not just an echo of who I was before cover, ya know? I feel like I have to close her off sometimes.” You placed the mug down on the coffee table in front of Derek, along with a packet of sugar. (Derek was astonished that you had managed to deduce that about him). You also placed Spencer’s water down on the coffee table, sitting on the ottoman that was in front of the couch. “Sometimes I don’t trust myself. Feel like I have to keep her with me to make sure I stay sane. Like I constantly have to remind myself that I’m doing this bullshit for a reason.”

“That’s why we’re here.” 

You nodded at Derek, flashing a quick, but hard, smile in his direction. 

“You mentioned Witness Protection?” 

But they say: "oh to be young" Innocent of what's to come

Witness Protection felt like a fucking joke. They had moved you to D.C. so that your favorite, and least favorite, FBI Agents could keep an eye on you. They would check in periodically, calling you from across the same park, walking past you on the street, it was bullshit really. And they had these two idiot, beat cops staying outside of your house each night, with a second undercover bodyguard who followed you around no matter where you went. 

Suddenly you were more paranoid than before because now you knew people were watching you. Just because they claimed to be the good guys didn’t ease any sort of panic you felt. 

Good was subjective. Good for who?

But It was lonely. You were bored. 

You were young. You were hot. You wanted to go out. 

Obviously this was immediately vetoed by your favorite FBI agent, who was no longer your favorite at the moment. 

“You’re ridiculous if you think you’re losing your tail and sneaking off to a club. That is so unsafe Y/N. Do you even know how many people get kidnapped from clubs, especially women? It’s the perfect hunting grounds for rapists and killers and—”

“So come with me.” You bit the side of your cheek, trying not to smile too heavily at yourself in the mirror as you continued to fix up your hair. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Why not? You get to personally guarantee my safety, plus, you don’t have to drink. You can just be my chaperone. Please Spencer! I haven’t been allowed to go out for the past three and a half years.” 

You continued on when he started to protest again. “I’m going out Spence. Whether you come is completely up to you.” 

You took his prolonged silence as a victory. “Pick me up at 9 then Lover Boy.” You went to hang up the phone before quickly throwing in a “No sweater vests!”

Oh, to be beautiful, each mistake excusable Give into sweet temptation

Somewhere in between the phone calls and the quick brushes past one another, you had fallen for Spencer. The attention to detail, the way he knew everything under the sun and yet nothing at all, the way he would swipe his hand over yours as he sat on a park bench next to you, two companions posing as strangers. 

He would tell you the most fantastical stories, most of which came from what his mother used to read to him. Listening to the way he spoke, the way he would ramble on about anything you could possibly image. You could hear him sighing now, fantasizing about the night to come, the date you had set up for the both of you. He was never one to make the first move.

Which is why you suddenly became nervous at the idea of Spencer seeing you like this. Party girl outfit, hair done, makeup perfectly executed, tits out. Was this who you even were? What if Spencer saw you dressed like this and realized you were just some regular girl, and not this person he had been talking to for the past six months.

It’s not like you had time to change, considering there was knocking at your door, causing you to quickly exit the bedroom and open the door. 

 You barely had time to register who it was before a cloth was pressed over your mouth, and suddenly the world was black. 

So, tell me what do I do? Am I just playing a fool? That never learned to grow old And still has no self-control

Warm. It was too warm. Your eyelids were heavy, and you couldn’t bring yourself to open them just yet, but it felt like you were back in the southwest. Your wrists tried to circle, but failed stunningly considering they were zip tied behind your back on whatever shitty wooden chair you were stuck on. 

“She’s alive!” goosebumps. Your body entered fight or flight mode, immediately causing your eyes to pop open, squinting until they adjusted to the shitty lighting. 

“Safya.” You mumbled. “Long time, no see.” 

“You look so good dearest. What were your plans? Night on the town with that sweet Doctor?” 

You didn’t react, only looking straight ahead at her, mentally preparing yourself for whatever she was about to throw at you. 

“Don’t worry Y/N, we’ll get you to talk soon enough. You had to have assumed we would find you, I mean really. How foolish did you become? And lacking in such self control–it’s embarrassing.” 

You felt your entire world crumble, dissolve into nothingness. But your face stayed motionless, betraying nothing. All you could do was hope that Spencer was not far behind them, dealing with whatever it was that you had managed to get yourself into. 

I know what everybody knows Die young or you can grow old Until they bury you six below

There was a joke you had with your dad growing up: “Die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” He would crack that joke at you when you would shit on his old people music or when he would take away your phone because you were grounded. 

Part of you had never fully understood the meaning of the phrase until tonight. 

Your face was pristine, not a scar on it. 

The rest of your body? The same could not be said. 

It ached. You were exhausted. And somehow you barely remembered any of it, just knowing that sometimes she would use knives, other times you wouldn’t be so lucky. 

So when she placed the gun against your head, standing off against the BAU, you finally got it. The trauma, the scars, the emotional devastation. 

Even worse, you sighed out of relief when she did.

She had spent over thirty hours torturing you, except you had no idea of what day it even was, considering you were halfway here, mind retreating in on itself.

You had been investigating Safya for her innate tortures of those close to her–it’s why you were undercover in the first place. The deaths surrounding her were all genuine suicides, she would never touch them after they were released from the warehouse. But their tragic end was posted in the morning edition several days later. 

“It’s over.” You heard some man’s voice call out. It was stern. It sounded authoritative. If you wanted to open your eyes, you would’ve watched as the agents attempted to distract the woman, holding you tightly against her own body. 

It felt nice to stand after so long, your legs barely supporting you. The stinging sensation of the cuts and burns melded with the sensation of your legs waking up. Your mind was enjoying the feeling. Some sort of fucked up post-torture torture, enjoying the fact that you could still feel your legs. 

People were talking across you, but all you could do was fall into your mind further. This was a win-win for you. Safya shoots you, and boom–dead. Safya doesn’t surrender, and the likelihood of you being in the firing range, boom—dead. At least you’d be able to rest then, finally able to let the ache in your bones, in your mind rest. 

But then you heard his voice. 

That same voice that had kept you sane while you were hiding away from the world. The same voice that provided the only routine you were allowed. The same voice that talked to you from sundown to sun up, letting you relish in the knowledge he carried with him.

Spencer.

It was somehow still soft, but you could tell he was very serious at the moment. You aren’t sure what he said, but you started to laugh. It started small, your mouth twitching and laughing through your nose, but it grew and grew, until suddenly you were almost doubled over in laughter. 

The entire room was silent, except for the sound of you losing your mind. 

Safya released her hold on you, letting you drop to the floor, a small smirk across her face as the gun clattered to the ground. 

What a sight you must’ve been, barely holding your chest up with your arms, laughing maniacally into the ground. 

She had broken you. 

The smirk didn’t leave her face as SSA Derek Morgan roughly placed cuffs on her wrists and shoved her out of the warehouse. 

Your laughing didn’t stop for another whole minute. And Spencer waited. He sat next to you as your laughs slowly turned into sobs and your whole body collapsed into him. Your blood was all over the floor, all over the tools on the table she had, all over you. But he didn’t care. 

He just held you as you cried and cried into him, eventually willing to let the EMTs take a look at you, on the condition that Spencer held your hand the entire time. 

Once you were out of the warehouse, and stuck snugly in the back of a large, black SUV, Spencer beside you, you leaned your head against the window. There was no recognition as cars passed by, no jumping when horns blared, you just sat still, mind far off. 

Spencer held your hand the entire ride, but it didn’t feel like enough to bring that girl back you once knew. It didn’t feel like living was worth anything now that she had disappeared from your view. 

You saw the photo burn in your mind, watching as the flames consumed your smile, leaving you with nothing but a pile of ash and the pieces of a mind that might not ever be placed back together again. 

So you lived, but at what cost? 

Live long enough to tell your sons Things you learned when you were young So maybe I can have some self-control

Years later, you would sit in your new apartment, watching the sunset with a mug in your hands and a blanket around your arms. You unconsciously ran a hand up and down your thigh, feeling the healed marks and the scars that added texture in a place that should have felt smooth. 

Something in the sky told you the day would not stay as beautiful as it had started. Your phone beeped, a message from Spencer. 

He checked in with you every night he wasn’t home with you, letting you know he was okay, letting you know he was coming home to you. You quickly sent a text back, telling him you were excited for him to return tomorrow. 

You heard the footsteps before you saw the person they belonged to. Your name was said softly as you placed your phone down on the counter, picking up the little boy, who was still half asleep, wrapped in his dinosaur pajamas and dinosaur blanket. 

“What’s up bud.” You whispered, trying your best at the moment, considering your mind was somewhere far far away. 

What he ended up mumbling out was some varying words that eventually amalgamated to the fact that he couldn’t sleep. 

You nodded and kissed his head. “Want a story?” 

You felt his head nod as he curled into you, not three years old and still so small. You picked him up, carrying him back to his room, and placing him in his bed. You adjusted his nightlight, before picking up one of the thousands of books Spencer had gotten for your son. 

Once he was sound asleep, you placed a soft kiss on the crown on his head, and slowly snuck out of the room, leaving the door open a crack in case that story ended up not sufficing. 

You heard your phone go off, quietly running to pick it up before your child woke up again. 

“Hello?”

“She’s escaped” 

The exhale you let out was a shaky one. 

Spencer had been there to hand you piece after piece as you slowly placed yourself together again. He was there when you screamed in the middle of the night, and he was there when your eyes would flare dangerously with something more than hatred for the woman who had caused you such grief. You still barely wore skirts or shorts, opting to cover every inch you could whenever possible. Spencer watched as you struggled to stay put, mind wandering as far as it could. 

“Y/N?”

“Sorry. Sorry. Just…”

“I know. Spencer is flying home as we speak. I still wanted to call and let you know before hand. Just, uh…You know.” 

“Thanks Derek. I’ll see you soon.” 

It felt wicked. The smile that spreads across your face. And it felt even more devious when you pulled the bottle of champagne off of the shelf it was so beautifully perched on, waiting for a special occasion to pop its cork. 

You didn’t even grab a glass as you looked in the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back at you. You toasted to yourself, swinging out of the bottle, enjoying as the bubbles slid down your throat as you pulled a chair out into the hallway. You unlocked the top cabinet above the fridge where your son could never reach, and pulled out the gun you used all those years ago. 

Sitting in front of the only door in or out, all windows locked. Your safety was off, and the champagne made you feel invincible as you stared at the door, just waiting for her to knock on your door again, giving you the satisfaction of the opportunity to hurt her the same way she had hurt you. 

Self control had never been your strong suit anyways. 

Live long enough to tell your sons Things you learned when you were young So maybe I can have some self-control

[cuffmeinblack]

Out of bounds

Part 2 | Part 3 | ao3 link for all chapters

Garreth Weasley x gn!reader

Tags: fluff | light smut | first kiss | sexual tension | general shenanigans 3.5k words

Summary: You agree to help Garreth sneak into his aunt's chambers to retrieve some confiscated notes. In an effort to spend more time with him, you ask him to come with you.

A/n: Later parts will be f!reader, but for now it reads as gender neutral. Also, surprise appearance by @ask-deek. Screenshot credit: @deathlysallows

Pink. Your potion was pink, when it should have been a soft mauve. If you’d spent more time accurately measuring your potion ingredients instead of staring at the back of your housemate’s head you might have produced a better result. You thought perhaps it could be salvaged yet, scraping a little more shrivelfig off of your chopping board and throwing it into your cauldron. You were so engrossed in the steadily paling mixture that you hadn’t noticed the presence beside you.

"You're good at being sneaky," Garreth said.

You stirred your potion, counting the clockwise rotations before responding whilst trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck. 

"Am I?"

"Well you did get me that fwooper feather. And the dried billywigs. Back in fifth year, remember?"

"I remember, and you're not wrong. Why?" you asked, cocking your eyebrow.

"Could I borrow your services once again?" he asked, leaning against the table.

"What's in it for me?"

"Erm, well I'm sure I'll think of something," he mumbled.

You could certainly think of a few things Garreth could do to you that would repay the debt ten times over, but now wasn't the time to bring up your lewd fantasies. You made a show of sighing in concession before replying.

"What do you need me to do?"

Garreth gave a furtive glance over to Professor Sharp who was limping over to his store room, moving closer to you and lowering his voice. Your breath caught in your chest as he moved, your eyes running over his freckled face.

"My aunt confiscated some very important notes of mine and I need them back if I'm ever to finish my latest brew," he whispered.

"You want me to steal something from the deputy headmistress?" you asked with a frown.

"Well, yes, I suppose so. I think they're in her chambers…"

"You're not serious. Garreth!" you said far too loudly, glancing around to check nobody had heard your exclamation.

"Please."

You sighed and looked into his brilliant green eyes, annoyed that apparently you couldn't bring yourself to say no to him.

"Fine, but my payment is you coming with me," you said, returning to your chopping board.

"Wh…what?"

"You heard me. I'll get you in there and back out. Teach you what I know, maybe then you can do the dirty work yourself next time."

A convincing argument, somewhat skillfully hiding your true motive—in honesty you just wanted the excuse to spend time with him alone, away from the prying eyes of your friends and classmates. You already spent much of your free time in each other's company but always with the presence of Natty or Leander. As much as you loved your fellow Gryffindors, you always hoped for just a moment with just Garreth.

"I…well, okay," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "When shall we do it?"

"Tonight, whilst she's at dinner? I'll meet you outside the common room."

"Brilliant," he said, flashing you his widest smile, making your stomach flip over as he retreated to his own cauldron.

Your potion was on the brink of ruin as you swore and flicked your wand to lower the flame. Garreth was a distraction you could ill afford, and you’d just agreed to indulge your attraction by sneaking around the castle with him at night. You shook your head at your own stupidity whilst simultaneously feeling a giddiness wash over you, eager for your lessons to end.

The hours passed slowly as you waited in eager anticipation of your dinnertime excursion. With a bit of luck you'd be in and out of Professor Weasley's chambers within a few minutes and could be celebrating your victory sitting next to Garreth at the dinner table before long, perhaps even granting you a pat on the back or two. With a rumble in your stomach, you straightened your robes and gave yourself a quick peruse in the mirror before skipping down the stairs to the common room and passing through to the portrait entrance.

The shock of red hair greeted you as soon as you clambered through the tunnel into the hallway, your heart skipping a beat as you approached Garreth who was leaning against the wall, deep in thought. He always had a nervous energy about him, never staying still for long—his foot bounced on the ground until you came to his side, stilling as he caught your eye and flashed you a wide smile.

“Ready for our…excursion?” you asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied as you started walking.

"How are you at disillusionment?"

Garreth's mouth opened and shut silently as he cast you a sheepish look.

"Don't tell me you've never cast the charm?" you asked in surprise.

"Well, I've never really needed to," he replied. "I don't make a habit of sneaking into places I shouldn't."

"It can be useful. Really useful. Come on," you said.

Turning a corner in the astronomy tower, you came to a stop a short walk from the entrance to the trophy room and pulled out your wand, waiting for Garreth to do the same. Flicking your wand in the familiar spiral and muttering the incantation, your body shimmered and disappeared, leaving only a faint trace of your shape in the corridor.

"You're almost invisible," Garreth said, amazed.

He tentatively reached out and poked what you could only assume should have been your shoulder. Unfortunately, his aim wasn't particularly good on your translucent outline and his fingers gently prodded your neck instead. The touch was absolutely, definitely not meant to be intimate in any way, shape or form—but his warm, soft fingers brushing the skin below your ear sent shivers down your spine.

"Ah, sorry," he apologised, withdrawing his hand, a blush creeping onto his freckled cheeks.

"Get…get your wand out and try," you urged in a slightly strangled voice.

Garreth followed your instructions, tracing the wand movement elegantly and repeating the incantation. He flinched slightly before his body began to fade, flickering until his form resembled frosted glass.

"I wasn't quite prepared for that feeling," he chuckled.

"Oh, yes, it's cold isn't it? Like an egg being cracked on your head."

"Felt like a particularly cold flobberworm sliding down my neck."

You gave him an invisible smile and cleared your throat, readjusting your thoughts to the matter at hand.

"Come on, quietly now."

You crept silently down the corridor until you reached the towering spiral staircase that led all the way up to the headmaster's study. Professor Weasley's chambers were situated just below it, on the first floor. With careful steps, you climbed the staircase—not being able to see your own feet very well was disconcerting.

After a few minutes of slow creeping, you came to a stop outside of Professor Weasley's chambers, giving the door handle a wiggle on the off-chance she'd left it unlocked. No such luck—the door didn't budge. Drawing your wand, you pointed it just below the handle and muttered 'Alohomora', hoping your charm was powerful enough to open the lock. You let out a deep breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding as it clicked open.

Pushing the door open, you peered into the room, taking in the empty space with interest. You'd never been in here before—even when galavanting about the castle you tended to steer clear of your professors' living quarters. 

Garreth followed close behind you as you slipped inside, dropping your disillusionment charm once you were satisfied you were completely alone.

"I don't believe we did it! Merlin, this is exhilarating, isn't it?" Garreth gasped.

Garreth dropped his own charm and his smiling face came shimmering back into view, his eyes already darting around the room in search of his notes.

"Breaking and entering? Yes, it is quite the thrill," you laughed.

Your gaze tore from the redhead to scan your surroundings, admiring the paintings and ornate furniture dotted around the room. The decoration felt familiar, not worlds away from the cosy Gryffindor common room with its dark woods and plush fabrics.

Garreth had wandered off to search the mahogany desk whilst you were drawn to a large metal box on top of a sideboard. The lid was gilded, a beautiful pattern of roses and thorns embossed on the top. With a delicate touch, you removed it, finding a collection of random objects. 

One such object appeared to be humming—you could feel pulses of magic emanating from it, perhaps the reason you'd been drawn here in the first place. Your eyes darted at the rest of the contents until they fell on a stack of parchment.

"I think this is it," you said, pulling the papers from the box. "This is definitely your writing…what is this, Garreth?"

"Ah, just an experiment," he said evasively, crossing the room quickly and snatching the parchment from your hands. "Top secret, you know."

"Mhmm, is it likely to end with first years in the hospital wing?"

"That was…only one time. I didn't think about the reaction of…"

Garreth's hasty explanation was interrupted with a shuffle of footsteps and squeak from the door handle as both of you panicked and ducked behind the sofa. You pulled out your wand and screwed up your face in concentration, casting a non-verbal disillusionment charm which clearly wasn't as effective as your verbal incantation. You only hoped that the visitor wouldn't venture this far into the room.

Garreth had done the same, his shimmering form crouched next to you and leg pressed against your own. You couldn't tell who it was by just the footsteps but you heard a click-clack on the wooden floorboards that sounded like heeled shoes—most likely it was Professor Weasley returned early from dinner, and your stomach churned as you imagined the trouble you'd be in if you were caught in such a compromising position.

The moment you spent waiting seemed to drag on forever as the footfalls continued, until they finally receded. You heard the creak of hinges and thunk of the door closing, then another click of the lock. You realised you'd been clutching Garreth the whole time, your fingertips digging into his firm bicep. You loosened your grip as you steadied your breath, once again dropping your disillusionment charm. 

"We need to get out of here in case she comes back," you whispered.

Garreth looked slightly paler than he had done only moments before as he nodded his agreement. He glanced down to your hand still circling his arm, a faint flicker of a smile playing on his lips until you withdrew your fingers, averting your gaze. 

"Come on, then," you mumbled, crossing the room with your wand out.

A quick Alohomora should have had you out of there in no time, but the deafening silence that filled the room after you cast the charm sent a ripple of fear through your body. 

"Oh, no."

"What? What's oh no?" Garreth's panicked voice whispered from behind you.

"Alohomora," you said clearly, paying extra attention to your wand movement.

The lock didn't even twitch, stubbornly staying shut with every subsequent attempt until you were red in the face and flustered beyond belief.

"What has she done?" you grumbled, prodding your wand at the metal as if it would simply fall apart by sheer force of will.

"What if she put an anti-unlocking charm on it?"

"Why would she do that?!" you exclaimed, far too loudly.

Garreth shushed you as your heart and mind raced and you began to pace the room, wondering how you'd ever escape the situation with your academic record unblemished. He ran his hands through his copper locks, his eyes flitting about the room.

You sighed, suddenly feeling weary, flinging yourself onto the sofa and staring at the door as if it had personally victimised you. Garreth followed, sitting to face you on the seat.

"Maybe there's another way out of here," he ventured.

"What, you think your aunt has a secret passage in her chambers?" you said, your words dripping with sarcasm.

"There's no need to be snarky," he replied with a frown.

"This was your idiotic idea, Garreth! Now we're stuck in here for Merlin knows how long..."

"She'll be back from dinner soon, don't worry."

"I don't believe I went along with this just to spend time with you," you said, exasperated.

You only realised what you'd admitted to when you noticed his eyes widen in your peripheral vision as he watched you. 

"You did?"

You blushed and cleared your throat, throwing him a shy look to see his reaction. He was sitting with his legs crossed, grinning like an idiot. Damn his smile.

"No need to get cocky," you said with a poorly-concealed smirk.

"Why wouldn't I be, when the most beautiful person I know wants to spend time with me?" he replied, completely earnestly.

You let out an embarrassingly loud chuckle, your cheeks now burning. He was still watching you intently, leaning back on his hands and waiting for your reply. You weren't really sure if you could form a coherent sentence, especially since your mind had wandered to some particularly dirty places as you scanned his pose and wondered what his reaction would be if you simply sat in his lap.

You bit your lip nervously and shuffled on the seat, hoping for a distraction. It wasn't the one you'd expected, but the one you hoped for, in the form of Garreth's hand on your knee. A tentative touch as he watched you, stirring something in you that you could no longer ignore. 

You placed your hand on top of his and gave him a small smile as his eyes flicked to your lips, his head giving the slightest movement forward in his intention to kiss you. You waited, but he seemed to hesitate, so it was up to you to close the gap, pressing your lips to his as he inhaled sharply in surprise. 

The moment he reciprocated, tilting his head and parting his lips for yours, a swarm of excitable butterflies erupted in your stomach. Your mouths slotted perfectly together like a puzzle—warm, soft and oh…wet, as his tongue unexpectedly ran over your lower lip. You tried to suppress the whimper that formed in your throat, but it spilled out, captured by his parted lips. 

Garreth inhaled sharply, his hands twitching next to him. Perhaps his restraint was in part due to nerves, or the fact you were kissing on the sofa in his aunt's chambers, but it crumbled as soon as your tongues slid over each other. His grip was strong, his fingers encircling your waist and practically pulling you into his lap.

You had no intention of resisting—his lap was too inviting. You let him guide you towards him as your lips remained fused, settling onto his thighs with a soft sigh. His hair was just ripe for pulling as you ran your fingers through the strands, the smell of cinders and something distinctly sweet filling your nostrils. 

Toffee? Caramel?

You hummed as your mind hazily tried to identify the scent, your lips curling slightly into a smile as you kissed him. 

Whilst you explored each other's mouths and hands wandered, Garreth made his appreciation known with soft, low moans. It shouldn't have surprised you that he was as vocal as when he was chatting incessantly with his friends, but what was coming out of his mouth now was nothing short of deeply erotic. Each sound brought forth something desperate in you. 

Years of watching him, wanting him, whilst ignoring the racing of your heart and churning of your stomach, had culminated in this moment. The tension finally exploded into unbridled enthusiasm for each other's embraces. You hadn't considered he'd felt the same, but his passionate kiss gave you all the information you needed to know.

Your breath grew heavier as his tongue caressed your own, slow but firmly decisive with no hint of his previous restraint. He was everything you'd ever imagined and more, every fantasy you'd had paled in comparison to his very real touch. 

His hands had moved from your waist to somewhere much lower—a firm grip pulling you closer against his lap, his hips digging into your thighs. The unmistakeably hard bulge in his trousers pressed against you and your hips instinctively rolled against him, teasing a delicious groan from his mouth.

"Oh," you gasped.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, gently massaging and tugging with every grazing of your lips when a loud crack filled the room. Your lips broke apart, eyes bulging in fear as you both looked for the source of the noise.

"Mister Garreth!" a voice squeaked from somewhere behind the sofa.

You clambered off of Garreth as quickly as you could as you saw a pair of huge eyes peering up at you.

"Deek!" you all but shouted at the elf.

You looked at Garreth in shock, taking in his dishevelled appearance and wondering what you yourself looked like. His skin was flushed under his numerous freckles, down his neck and tingeing his ears. You suppressed the urge to flatten his hair that you'd dislodged as you pulled your gaze back to the house elf.

"Deek thinks you shouldn't be in here," he said with a small hint of amusement.

"Please, Deek, please don't tell my aunt about this. I was just trying to get something back that belongs to me," Garreth pleaded, awkwardly adjusting his robes to cover his legs.

"Deek has seen a lot of things in his time at Hogwarts but students canoodling in a professor's chambers is a new one," he said, rocking back and forth on his tiny feet, his hands clasped behind him.

"I was just trying to help Garreth, we didn't meant to…"

"Deek won't tell Professor Weasley, but you must put back what you took."

You sighed and clutched Garreth's arm again. He looked slightly dejected and you couldn't help but roll your eyes—of course he would be focused on his lost notes rather than averting serious punishment.

"Where are they?" you asked.

Garreth reluctantly groped around in his robes and pulled out the now crumpled parchment, smoothing out the creases as best as he could and handing them to you. You pointed your wand at it as both Deek and Garreth watched you with interest.

"Geminio."

The parchment rustled and another piece of paper popped out on top of it—a perfect copy of the notes below. Garreth's mouth dropped open and broke into a grin, his glittering eyes meeting yours.

"Have I told you that I love you lately?" 

You laughed and returned his smile as blood rushed to your cheeks, your skin already burning. Your attention was diverted when Deek snatched a copy of the parchment from your hands and shuffled over to the box you'd found it in, tucking it inside and closing the lid with a little pat. 

"Hold Deek's hands and Deek will take you back to Gryffindor tower," he said, his arms already outstretched. 

With a raised eyebrow at Garreth, you both took one of the elf's tiny hands and braced yourselves before disappearing with another loud crack. The next sight you saw was the portrait of the fat lady, who jumped and gawped at you, apparently not expecting to see two students apparate in front of her with a house elf.

"That was much more comfortable than human apparition," you remarked.

"Of course. Deek thinks elf magic is much too undervalued by wizarding kind," he said simply.

"Right, well, thanks again Deek. We promise not to get anymore trouble," Garreth said.

"Oh, Deek very much doubts that. Until next time," he said, snapping his fingers and disappearing.

You couldn't help the laugh that came out of your mouth as you met Garreth's eyes and the fat lady tutted behind you. By the time you'd both controlled your laughter, the portrait looked incredibly unimpressed, her mouth forming a hard line as she looked down at you.

"Password?" she huffed.

"Conjunctio."

The portrait swung open in front of you and you clambered through the cramped hole in the wall, sighing with relief as you stepped into the safety of Gryffindor common room. Most people were still at dinner, with only a smattering of students occupying the space and paying you no mind.

You looked back to find Garreth standing just next to the door, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck and looking slightly awkward. You didn't like the look he was giving you, or avoiding giving you.

"So...Merlin…I, uh…sorry."

"Sorry for what?" you asked, your heart racing.

Did he regret what had happened? Of course the whole event has been a fiasco, but you couldn't bear to think that he'd deemed what had occurred between the two of you a mistake.

"Well I really ought to have taken you on a date before…that," he said.

"Oh. Do you want to take me on a date?"

"Of course I do," he said with a smile.

"Well, I'd love to go with you," you replied.

Garreth's smile widened into an excitable grin, his eyes full of ideas and possibilities. If your date was half as eventful as your evening had been, you were in for a wild ride.

[didhewinkback]

love of my life

a something old one shot about wembley week.

word count: 4k somehow ?, there's smut

---

2014

He collapses into the backseat of the car, clenching his eyes shut as another cough wracks through his body, trying in vain to take deep breaths through his stuffy nose, feeling so frustrated he could scream if not for the hoarseness in his throat. He had dreamt of this night since he was a little kid, never thinking it would ever actually happen and then when it finally did he didn’t even get to enjoy it properly, didn’t get a chance to celebrate that his years of hard work, resilience and sacrifice had actually paid off. 

Instead he had to spend every minute on that stage trying to stay upright, his fever addled brain working overtime to remember lyrics, stand at the right spot, gasp for breath between a congested nose and a never ending rotation of cough drops. 

Once the tears start they don’t stop, feeling so pathetic and angry and heartbroken, all he can do is curl in on himself and wish his mum were with him. Why couldn’t he have been this ill in Madrid? Or Kansas City? Or Perth? Why did it have to be fucking Wembley? 

His phone buzzes in his hand, disrupting his never ending train of miserable thoughts. It’s you, checking in. He was supposed to go out with you and Johnny after the show, supposed to celebrate the biggest night of his career. He can’t believe you guys came out to see him on stage like that, a wave of embarrassment rolling through him as he imagines what you must think. 

He starts rapid fire texting you back, apologizing for the show, apologizing for leaving early and missing the afterparty, just apologizing. He’s not even sure what he’s saying at this point, just knows that he is sorry and embarrassed and wants to be home alone in his bed. You’re trying to keep up with his texts, trying your best to assure him that he has nothing to be sorry about, that it was still a good show, that you’re sorry for him, that’s not his fault he’s been overworked and was too sick to perform, asking if there’s anything you can do. Offering company if he needs someone to talk to because he’s right, it’s fucked that this was the show he had to be ill for, that he didn’t deserve to have it happen this way. 

And he knows he should talk it out, knows there’s few things that make him feel better than having you as a sounding board but right now he feels so shit and just wants to stop thinking about it. He apologizes again and turns his phone off, leaning his burning head against the cool window. He knows he’s wallowing, he knows he’s so lucky to be doing even a fraction of what he has done it’s just …

It was headlining Wembley fucking Stadium. When will he ever get the chance to do something like that again?

2023

The screams of the crowd start to fade into the background as he sprints backstage, handing his mic pack over to Steve from sound and leaning in to mutter a request to Paddy before ducking into his dressing room, leaning against the door once it’s closed. Trying to catch his breath from the sprint, from this night, from this week. He shakes off the rain and closes his eyes, doing his damndest to commit every feeling flashing through him to memory, trying to relive each moment on stage that took his breath away, to think about in the years to come. Knowing he’ll never be this young on tour again, never this limber, never be with this exact group of people at this exact time ever again. 

It was the best night of his entire life. 

It hasn’t felt like that before. The love radiating towards him was palpable, he could feel it in the air, and he did everything to send it right back out. It was almost too much for one person to hold, he had no choice but to try to put it directly towards the people who helped get him here, shouting out his friends and family in the audience more than he ever has because he owes them everything and he wanted to share this feeling with them.

It was overwhelming, it was exhilarating and it was fun. It’s never been that fun. Gratitude flows through him as tears prick his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. How lucky he is to get to do this for a job, how lucky that this many people want to see his show, how lucky that he’s got this band and this crew working alongside him. How lucky, how lucky, how lucky. 

He stands there for several minutes, taking deep breaths, reliving the best parts of the show, how it felt to sing Gemma’s song to her, to get to thank the friends that took him in when he was young and alone in a big city for the first time, to get to thank the friends that loved him from the start, before he grew into the man who would perform in front of 90,000 people four nights in a row. He’s practically choking on the emotion now, feeling more alive than he’s ever felt, the happiest he’s ever been, just grateful for this moment and this life when a series of knocks snaps him out of his haze. 

“I’ve been summoned,” he hears you say on the other side of the door and if he could grin any wider, his face would split in half. 

He swings open the door and there you are. The rain did nothing to dampen how beautiful you look tonight, wearing one of his favorite sundresses of yours, your eyes as red-rimmed with tears as he imagines his are. You take him in for a moment, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your breath catches and you shake your head in disbelief, seemingly as shocked and stunned by the night as he is. 

“That was…” you start to say but drift off, emotion clogging the words in your throat as you just stare at him.

“I know.” 

“Just like…what the fuck?” you say and it shocks a laugh out of him, his head tilting back and shoulders shaking. He watches the smile grow on your face and that’s when you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding tight. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close, lifting you slightly off the ground as he pulls you into the room and kicks the door shut behind you. 

“‘M sweaty,” he warns and it just makes you tighten your arms around him more. 

“Don’t care,” you say softly. “I’m so, so proud of you.” 

And suddenly, he’s at a loss for words again. Not able to think about anything but how you feel in his arms, your steady heartbeat tethering him to the moment, the praise you’re murmuring in his ears making him feel warm all the way down to his toes. He’s overwhelmed at the thought of how much this week has felt like coming home, finally. Like the biggest, warmest welcome back to a place he has had to leave more often than he would ever like to. He felt it monumentally, magnanimously on stage and now he feels it here, on a much smaller scale, in the way your nails feel scratching against his scalp, the fabric of your damp dress against the bare skin of his chest, the sound of your voice in his ear. 

“It’s never felt like that before. Watching you.” you say, pulling your head back to look at him, warm eyes full of affection and it almost makes him preen.  He just had 90,000 pairs of eyes on him but being the center of your attention is what makes his heart skip a beat. 

“Was unreal, wasn’t it?” he says, skin warming under your gaze, knowing the words are wholly inadequate to sum up how this night has felt but selfishly wanting you to keep talking about it, not ready for the show to become a distant memory quite yet. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you that happy up there. That free. Just like completely in your element.” you say, a smile growing on your face as you huff a sheepish laugh at yourself. “Think I started crying the second you walked out there and didn’t really stop. You’ve turned me into the weepy girlfriend and for that I will never forgive you.”  

He laughs, lowering you to the ground in favor of bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs rubbing over the tear tracks there as you slide your hands down his back to wrap around his waist.

“Liked the show, then?” he asks, and by the roll of your eyes, he knows you know what he’s doing and he knows you’ll indulge him all the same.

“I loved it,” you say sincerely, the love in your eyes making him feel weak in the knees. “I love you.”

He closes the distance between you without a second thought, doing his best to express himself through every drag of his lips against yours. This has never felt like this before either, to get to be with someone who loves and supports him the way you do. Who knows him so well, who has seen the good, bad and the ugly and instead of taking off and running, just loves him harder, louder, fiercer. Adrenaline spikes through his veins as he deepens the kiss, his tongue curling against yours in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

He walks you backward until you're pressed against the door and he’s pressed against you, not an inch of space between you. He pulls away from your mouth to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, paying special attention to the spots he’s become familiar with, the ones that make you sigh into his ear, a sound that replays in his mind over and over whenever he’s missing you late at night. 

He feels himself getting hard against your thigh, no longer thinking of anything but how you taste, how you smell, how you feel. He loves you, more than he’s ever loved another person, more than he ever thought himself capable of. The temporarily dormant energy from the stage comes flooding back and he knows he’s got a room full of people waiting upstairs to celebrate with him but right now, he just needs you close. He needs you now. 

“Did you want to keep talking about the show?” you ask, your breath catching in your throat and it makes his heart skip a beat, your familiarity with his favorite post show routine making him melt as he shakes his head, not willing to pause his ministrations against your skin. 

It’s one of the things he loves doing most when you’re on tour with him, spending time after the really good shows to dissect his favorite bits and hear all of yours, hear how much you loved it, loved him. He knows if he said that’s what he wants to do right now you’d happily pull away and indulge him with detailed answers about how the show felt from your point of view, your favorite note changes, the jokes that made you laugh the most but it’s not what he wants right now. All he wants is you. 

“If we had more time, I’d get on my knees for you.” he mumbles against your neck, tongue darting out to suck at your skin. 

“Funny, I was just going to say the same thing.” you say back, making him groan, his hands falling to your hips, pulling you close. “But the party started already -”

“Yeah but I am the boss,” he says, feeling high off this night, off you. “So the party really doesn’t start until I say so.”

“I hate how much you loved saying that,” you say with a laugh, your hands sliding over his chest. You dig your nails in when he bites down on your neck and he feels like he’s on fire.

“Think y’ liked it a little bit,” he says, pulling away from your neck to kiss you deeply, hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.

“Can feel myself drying up as we speak.” you say and he sputters out a laugh, giving you a cheeky spank when he feels you laughing against him. 

“That sounds like a bloody lie,” he mumbles against your mouth, his hand sliding from your ass to your thigh, hastily pulling up your dress, dragging his fingers across your skin once he has access to it. He pulls back slightly to look at your face, your swollen lips and blown out eyes. You’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He slides his fingers over your core, smirking when you gasp, feeling how wet you are through your underwear. “Feels like one too.”

“Told you.” you say, and you’ve got that look in your eyes that’s his kryptonite, looking at him like you’re going to eat him alive and it stokes the fire already burning in his belly. He doesn’t even have to hear the next words come out of your mouth, he knows he’s already done for. “I really liked the show.” 

He crashes his mouth to yours, pulling kiss after kiss from your plush lips, his hips rolling against yours when you moan into his mouth. He snaps the waistband on your underwear, doing his best to help you pull it off without straying too far from your lips, pulling you back into him once you kick it off your ankles. 

“Off. Take this off.” you mumble against his mouth, already pushing the straps of his dungarees down.

“Hang on, there’s a zipper -” He squeezes your thigh before reaching around the back of his dungarees, hastily unzipping to help you ease the trousers down his hips, pausing when you do, your hands stilling on his skin. He looks up at your face to find you staring at his cock, an unreadable expression on your face. 

“Are you - are you not wearing pants?” you ask breathlessly, a surprised laugh breaking through your words. 

“You did say I was freer than ever on that stage -” 

“Oh my god, I am not having sex with you anymore -”

“Heeey.” he says, unable to stop the smile growing on his face at the sound of your laugh. He smacks a kiss to your cheek as he pulls his dungarees all the way down, leaving them pooling at his ankles. It looks ridiculous but he’s too turned on to care, stomach flipping when you slide your hands on his skin, fingers dancing over his obliques, nails digging into his pecs. 

“Can’t believe you were freeballing at Wembley.” you say as he snorts, grabbing your thigh to hitch it over his hip, leaning in to capture your lips with his. 

You pull the hem of your dress up with one hand as you slide the other to the back of his neck, gripping hard when he swipes his fingers through your folds, lightly circling your clit. He’d do just about anything to make you moan into his mouth like that, fingers playing with you a little longer than necessary until you bite down on his lip in impatience. 

“Ready?” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Been ready since half past eight.” you shoot back as he huffs a laugh. “Need you.”

“Y’ have me, baby. Y’ have me.” he mutters nonsensically, quickly pulling his fingers away and using them to guide his cock against your core, both of you moaning at the sensation before he guides himself into you, choking on air when he thrusts all the way in. 

White hot heat sears through him and he has to clench his eyes shut, your warmth and wetness almost too much to bear. He could stay here forever he thinks, feeling you clench around him, moaning lowly in his ear. This is it for him. Until - 

“H. Move.” 

He opens his eyes, the look on your face taking his breath away as he starts to thrust into you, lips falling to any part of your skin he can reach. 

“Watching me on stage got y’ this wet?” he grunts out. “All this for me?”

“Always.” you breathe out, pulling him in closer. “You looked so good up there. You did so good. Made me so proud -”

“Baby -” he leans in to kiss you deeply, tongue messily swiping over yours as he grabs your thigh, adjusting the angle in a way that makes you both moan. 

He rests his forehead against yours, watching the way every thrust, drag and swivel of his hips hurdles you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttering closed when he hits it just right. Everything else fades away and all that matters is the feeling of your tight, hot cunt, and those quiet sounds you can’t stop making. You slide your hand down his arm until it settles on his tattoo of your initial, pressing your thumb into the skin and he almost bursts on the spot. 

“That’s right, baby. ‘S all for you.” he moans out, biting down on your jaw when you clench around him. “‘M all yours. ‘M all yours. ‘M all yours.”

He slides his hands around your waist, sliding down to your ass as he grips and lifts you up, bringing your other thigh up to settle around his hips. You gasp against his mouth as he holds you up,  pressing you further into the door. 

“This okay?” he pants out.

“Yeah - please. H - I’m -” you lean in to kiss him as he starts to move again, the new angle making him glide across your clit in a way that has you biting down on his lips. 

“Baby, I’m -”

“Me too. Doing so good.” you say as he digs his fingers into your skin, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic, sparks shooting down his spine as he flies towards the edge. 

“Need you to come first. Can y’do that for me?” he grunts out, gritting his teeth to swivel his hips in the way he knows will get you there, watching the way your mouth drops open, blown out eyes never wavering from his. 

You lean in to nip at his bottom lip, one hand sliding up to rest at the base of his throat, the other sliding down to rub circles on your clit as he tightens his hold on you, arm muscles bulging as he gives it to you as best he can.  He picks up his pace and you lightly squeeze down on his throat as he moans, fire licking up his spine at the sensation. Everything’s warm, hot, wet.  All he can feel, smell, taste and touch is you. He doesn’t know how it can get any better than this, and then you squeeze down a little harder, leaning in to bite at his earlobe before whispering: 

“You’re the boss.” 

Jesus fuck.

That’s it. He can’t hold on any longer, a moan punching out of him as he comes hard, seeing stars as he grunts against your skin, feeling you follow suit quickly after, the way you clench around him as you come has him biting down on the skin of your neck, nails digging into your thigh. 

That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, is still happening to him, he feels like he’s coming forever as his body shakes with aftershocks, tongue darting out to suck at the skin of your neck as you both try to catch your breath, chests heaving. 

After a few moments, he pulls back to look at you, eyes roaming over the blissed out look on your face as he leans in to kiss you softly, lips dragging against yours once, twice, three times before he feels you laugh, leaning back to look at you. 

“What?” he asks, begs more like, desperate to know what’s going on in your brain, always. It’s something he never had this much exclusive access to before and now that he has, he’s addicted. He plants a line of kiss across your face as you giggle, arms tightening around your waist. 

“You’re so easy,” you say, looking at him with mirth in your eyes. “All I had to do is say one little word and you just -”

“Heey,” he says, laughing when you do. “‘S not what happened.” 

The dubious look on your face makes him pause, he can feel warmth blooming on his cheeks as he shrugs. 

“‘M mean, it definitely helped.” he says, watching the way your tongue slides out to lick your lips, helpless to do anything but kiss you again before pulling back to mumble against your mouth: “I was done for the second you said watching me up there made y’ wet.”

“Liked that, did you?”

“Liked all of it.” he says, eyes never wavering from yours, still feeling the ghost of your hand on his neck right before he came. He kisses along your neck, nuzzling his head there and breathing deep. “Still inside you. Could go again. Just keep calling me the boss, I’ll be ready in no time.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder as he giggles, smacking a kiss to your cheek as he slowly pulls out, lowering you back to the ground on your own two feet. 

“I’m not going to be the reason you miss the chance to run around an empty stadium with all your mates. It’s your favorite bit.” 

There’s just something to that, something he’s never experienced before. You say it so nonchalantly, as you bend down to pick up your underwear off the floor, muttering about needing to find something to clean yourself off with and he just stands there, naked in the middle of his dressing room, his dungarees still at his ankles and all he wants to do is throw away all those plans he made and get down on one knee right here. 

He won’t do that, the ring isn’t ready yet and he’s already planned and replanned everything ten times over, he thinks with a shake of his head, kicking the dungarees all the way off and heading over to his bag, pulling on a pair of briefs and joggers as his mind whirls. 

It’s just - there is something to being known the way you know him, really know him, not in the way everyone out there thinks they do but it’s like - you understand him. You see him for who he is beyond the sold out stadiums and awards and screaming fans. You see who he is in the littlest of moments, the small habits he hadn’t really known he had but you’ve picked up on because you pay attention to him, because you love him. To be this known and this loved is something he’s never experienced before, a safety net he’s never had before. 

Everything in his life has been in a constant state of change, living a nomadic lifestyle since he was just a teenager but this week, these shows, these crowds, this city, have given him a sense of belonging he hadn’t known he was craving, hadn’t known he was missing. The fear that this could all go away in an instant, which he once thought was a permanent state of existence, of living, of being has become a small voice in the background.  

He’s not afraid of losing everything because he has you, he trusts you, he loves you and he knows you’re not going anywhere. And you - you are everything. 

He’s so lost in his own head he barely registers the sounds of the sink in the adjoining bathroom, barely hears you gripe “All the foundation in the world couldn’t cover these love bites so cheers for that”, barely feels your eyes on him as you make your way back into the dressing room. 

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping into his eyeline as you stand in front of him, hands coming up to his face, thumb wiping away the tears that had fallen unbeknownst to him. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” he says, blinking back the tears as he smiles at you, taking a deep breath. “Just overwhelmed.”

“It’s been a big night. Big week.” you say and he nods, wrapping his arms around your waist as your hand finds its place in his hair, fingers running through the strands in his favorite pattern. “You deserve all of it. Every bit.” 

“Couldn’t have done this without you, you know.” 

“H -”

“‘M serious, just let me -”  he says, shaking his head, wanting to get the words right, knowing he won’t be able to express more than a fraction of what he means, what you mean. “Y’ make me feel like I can do anything because you love me. ‘Nd I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain to you properly how that makes me feel but I - I just really love you. I’ve never been loved the way you love me. ‘Nd I’ve never, ever loved anyone the way I love you.”

He watches as tears fill your eyes, the way you’re looking at him in awe, in love, it’s a look he wishes he could bottle up forever. You lean up to kiss him and he pulls you in closer, getting lost in the feeling of your lips against his, your hand in his hair, how he can feel your heartbeat racing. 

“I love you so much,” you say when you pull back slightly, “You’ll never -”

“I feel it, love. Promise I feel it. Promise I know.” he murmurs, pulling you in and kissing you again, just needing you as close as possible. 

“We have to get out of here and you have to put on a shirt,” you mumble in between kisses, “or we will never leave.” 

“Won’t see me complaining.”

“Everyone’s waiting to celebrate you,” you say, pulling back but he follows you, kissing along your jawline. “And we can continue our own celebration later, yeah? I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got time.” 

He pulls back at that, eyes grazing over your features before leaning in to kiss you again, humming into it, thinking he’s never heard anything sweeter in his life. 

You’re not going anywhere and you’ve got time. 

It’s so simple but it feels so right, he thinks as he releases his hold on your waist and quickly slips into his jacket, looking up at you to find your hand extended, waiting for his. He slips his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers and squeezing once. 

A rush of emotions washes over him. He feels everything, all at once from this night, this week, this year, this tour. And here you are, here you’ve been, holding onto his hand. Not going anywhere. He wants to tell you everything this means to him, wants to marry you yesterday, start a family, wants to do it all with you. But he’s got an empty stadium with his favorite people waiting for him, waiting to celebrate the greatest night of his career, of his life. And you’ll be next to him the whole time. 

It’s like you’ve said, you’ve got time.

---

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[red-moon-at-night]

An Analysis of Haruka’s MVs: Distance and Disability

Hello! I’ve recently fallen down the rabbit hole that is Milgram and I have been itching to make some completely normal and sane analysis posts. My silly alternate title for this was gonna be “Things About Haruka’s MVs That Just Make Sense: A Hyperfixation-fuelled Analysis”, because honestly my autistic brain has been having a field day over here.

I am in awe with just about every single music video in this project; the animation is incredible and each one packs so much carefully laid out information. But I have been rotating Haruka’s in my head constantly since I first watched them, and I have a lot of Thoughts. Not about whether he’s guilty or innocent/forgiven or unforgiven. Not about whether or not I can justify his murders. Just some straight up imagery and symbolism analysis, through the lens of disability.

Haruka’s disability has not been specified, but I am confident we can at least say he is neurodivergent. I feel like the cultural differences in names for several things e.g. ‘learning disability’ vs ‘learning difficulty’ will just invite unnecessary drama, and is a little pedantic. What does matter here is that Haruka's experience as a disabled person is heavily intertwined within his story and his motives. 

So, without further ado... let’s get into this!

Trigger warnings/TW: I will be discussing ableism, eugenics and harm towards disabled people. Everything else will be related to the music videos ‘Weakness’ and ‘All Knowing and All Agony’, so any triggering content within them may also be mentioned. Read at your own discretion and stay safe!

Disability: some brief (important) historical context

It is only within the last few decades that those who are disabled have been ‘seen’ for the first time. A modern society is (ideally) expected to be built to include and accommodate for disability, and to acknowledge disabled people’s existence. But for many countries (even the ones making steps outlined above) this is still not the case. For a very, very long time, globally, that has not been the case.

For most disabled people, society makes it very clear that they are a burden to it and are better off not existing. 

I’m going to make this section as succinct as possible because...it’s heavy stuff. But it’s important, and I want you all to get the gist of what I’m saying. The weight of it.

Let’s highlight a piece of history regarding IQ and eugenics, surrounding the publication and subsequent worldwide reception of ‘The Kallikak Family: A Study in the Heredity of Feeble-mindedness’ by Henry Herbert Goddard in 1913:

“In 1927, it was used as evidence in the case of Buck v. Bell, which culminated in a Supreme Court ruling that the involuntary sterilization of ‘mentally defective’ persons was not unconstitutional in the United States. By 1938, thirty-three US states had passed laws allowing for the forced sterilization of women with learning disabilities and twenty-nine had made sterilization  compulsory for people who were thought to have genetic conditions. Many European countries followed suit: Denmark in 1929, then Norway in 1934, and after that Sweden, Finland, Estonia, Iceland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Latvia, Hungary and Turkey.”

— Limburg, J. (2021) Letters To My Weird Sisters: On Autism and Feminism, p. 126

This history of a ‘sterilization law’ includes Japan, who between 1948 and 1996 enacted the Eugenics Protection Law which “authorised the sterilization of people with intellectual disabilities, mental illnesses or hereditary disorders.” According to the government, about 25,000 were sterilized.

SO. It’s important to bring this up. To establish how much disabled people are not wanted, just from their governments. Let alone society. To this day, disabled people are hidden away from the public by families that are ashamed of their existence.

Japanese culture values collectivism, and maintaining the harmony of a group...to the extent of excluding those that don’t fit into the mould. That are different.

The question is: where do they go? The ones that are publicly rejected?

Haruka and The Curious Case of Distant Waters

Okay that’s enough of the heavy real-world stuff! Time to delve into some...*checks notes*...heavy fictional stuff. Fun!

Haruka’s MVs prominently display themes of distance and separation through the motif of water, specifically being submerged underwater. 

The name Haruka reinforces this concept as the specific kanji used (遥) translates to ‘distant’, ‘remote’ or ‘far away’. As there are many, many kanji choices for the name (including but not limited to: ocean/sea, eternity/permeance, clear/distinct/obvious, and spring/growth/cherry blossom) it feels like a particularly cruel and intentional choice to go with that one.

Through the exploration of this motif, we can see the extent in which Otherness/the state of being ‘Other’ drives Haruka to great lengths to close the distance and escape it.

What I noticed throughout both MVs (particularly AK&AA but note the beginning scene of Weakness), is that whenever Haruka looks at himself in a reflective surface (e.g. the vanity mirror, the fish tank), water either begins to rise and overwhelms him, or is already there and he appears submerged:

I think this is the “All-Knowing” part of AK&AA. He knows he’s different, and he knows there’s a huge ocean between him and his peers, his family, everyone. A disconnect when trying to listen and understand, but also when trying to be understood by others and listened to himself.

You know when you submerge your head in water, and your hearing gets all muffled and incomprehensible? And have you ever tried speaking underwater? You can’t, because if you open your mouth you’ll drown. It’ll just come out as bubbles rising to the surface.

I also think the bubbles symbolise rising tension, between what he wants and what he currently has. Bubbles are everywhere in these MVs, even in places where they shouldn’t logically be? Such as this scene, following the line “don’t wipe me out, don’t wipe me out”:

Immediately pans up to Haruka gasping for breath, droplets of water rising from...somewhere. For about a split second, and they’re gone. 

This boy is really going through it. I’m getting an ‘emerging from the ocean before I drown’ vibe from this one folks. When the line that follows this scene is “I can’t stop, I can’t stop”, what I’m REALLY hearing is “I can’t stop (killing) or I’ll drown”. This is his lifeboat, pulling him out from the depths of being neglected and hidden away, into the spotlight.

Some interesting images from Weakness in relation to that (of spotlights):

Anyways, onto the next point:

Blue to Orange: Water to...Nectar?

So, the orange liquid. It’s clearly representing blood, but I don’t think this is just a “danganronpa pink blood” situation of censoring/getting this video onto youtube without restrictions.

I think it’s most likely honey, specifically nectar.

The etymology of the word nectar shows its compounds translate to “death” and “overcoming”. Nectar is also called the drink of the gods, so it would make sense for it to be a ‘death-defeating’, immortalizing liquid.

For Haruka’s victims to contain nectar is very interesting. It reinforces that necessity to kill, to take the life of another, to sustain himself. To overcome the ‘living death’ he is experiencing by being hidden away from society. 

This is his means of escape from drowning.

However, as we all know, things don’t turn out great for him. By the end of AK&AA Haruka is rejected once again by his mother, after which the door is shut (the light with it is gone too) and we’re met with this imagery:

The nectar floods the room, engulfing him much like the water from earlier. 

There are many things we could take from this. One being that the nectar-gathering/killing-spree has clouded his vision; it’s so sweet, so sickly sweet and he’s addicted to the taste of attention, even if it’s very bad attention. 

Who else has honey imagery in their MV again?

Oh, right. 

Anyway, the nectar/honey situation could also be representing submerging into an even further level of distance. All that murder is gonna push people away, despite his motive being to close the gap between him and normal people. The 'ocean’ has lost clarity and become a maddening, delusional substance. After all, there is a type of honey literally called ‘mad honey’ known for its medicinal and hallucinogenic properties.

That’s enough about honey, though. Let’s move onto less unfortunate... oh, sorry, what was that? *checks notes*...Ah, yes. I meant to say, let’s move onto even more unfortunate symbolism:

The Necklace

So, this necklace. Haruka steals it from his mother’s belongings, and is his only material, physical connection to her. It is taken on the declaration of “making (her) love me again” and getting her attention once more, now he is no longer a child but a teenager closer to adulthood (at least, that’s what I consider the ‘shirt with a vest sweater and tie’ to represent. child him = the blue polo, teenager him = this one, adult him = an amalgamation of his teenager clothes).

I wasn’t sure if this was an opal or pearl/mother of pearl, but I’m leaning towards opal from the other depiction of it in Weakness:

Opals are fun because they can symbolise both good luck and bad luck, usually to do with whether it’s your birthstone. There’s something to be said of Haruka’s belief in his ‘misfortune’ and the superstition surrounding these gemstones.

But they are even more interesting for the powers they supposedly have; in medieval times the opal was considered the ‘patron of thieves’ for their ability to grant the wearer invisibility.

There is a deliciously sad irony to Haruka’s theft with that titbit of information.

Now, if this isn’t an opal, and it’s a pearl/mother of pearl there’s still some fun interpretation to be had! A little less sad, even. Pearls invoke strong imagery of the sea, of purity, and of a connection to the maternal. If this is the last thing he has relating to his mother, I can see this necklace representing a lifeline when he’s deep in the ocean. A reminder of why he’s doing all of this killing, and who it’s for.

His mother’s attention (or the idea of having a mother at all, any mother) is his driving force in life.

Speaking of that...

So We Really Need To Talk About That Fish Tank: AKA, Why Haruka’s Mom Wins ‘The Worst Parent of The Year’ Award

This fucking fish tank.

Okay, I’m gonna start by saying: I don’t think this is reading too far into things. When it takes an animation team months, sometimes years to create a 3-5 minute music video, and one as detailed as this...you don’t just wing it. There are storyboards, there are key frames and there are choices made down to the smallest of details.

From the sheer volume of animal/insect/fish décor that resides in the Sakurai household, you bet I’m gonna pay attention to what type of fish are in that fish tank.

For one thing, they live in saltwater. This is a marine tank, aka the harder choice of aquarium to have. I mean, way, WAY harder. For the experienced only.

These fish right here? One is a clownfish, and the other is a yellow boxfish.

Boxfish are a nightmare to keep alive. This article goes into more detail than I will, but all you need to know is: if there was ever a fish out of all the fish you could possibly want in your tank, this is the one to avoid like the plague.

They release deadly toxins when stressed, as a survival instinct. Boom. All your fish are dead. They need to eat a shit ton of food, but are notoriously clumsy swimmers and slow eaters. Boom. Starving, stressed out boxfish. Boxfish either dies from starvation or dies from stress and toxins.

For Haruka’s mom to have not just one of these fuckers, but a tank consisting ONLY OF MULTIPLE BOXFISH AND CLOWNFISH...

This is a high-maintenance tank. And it shows how much time and effort, how much care she puts into the things she loves.

How neglectful she is as a parent of a disabled child in contrast.

There’s something about the last scene between Haruka and his mother that reinforces this for me:

Haruka’s relationship with animals and himself: AKA, “why don’t I just become the damn fish tank?”

Let me backpedal a little bit. This subheading will make sense in a minute.

So, like I said earlier we have a lot of décor in this house relating to insects and fish. We also have a lot of pets. Both living and dead, taxidermized creatures in one household, proudly on display.

I think this may have created some confusion for Haruka regarding the value of animals being alive or dead, as in his perspective his mother values both equally. The fish in a tank may be full of alive creatures, but they’re still on display as if it’s artwork. Isn’t breaking the glass of a framed picture of a fish equal to breaking the glass of a tank with a ‘picture of living fish’?

(This isn’t to say Haruka is clueless to the impact of his actions, nor to justify any harm to animals. I just find the train of thought to be intriguing.)

So when considering these ‘objects’ are proud trophies of his work:

This is a carefully arranged display, which by the way, doesn’t contain a single fish. In fact the only piece of that moment visible here is the...large piece of driftwood? Okay. Keep that in mind.

We proceed into Haruka’s mother opening the door and seeing her son, for the first time in any of the MVs. Note the way they composed this shot:

I’m obsessed with this scene. The blue eye framing Haruka, with a literal fishbowl effect on him...

He is the goddamn fish in the aquarium now. His mother’s full attention is on him and him alone, with only the dead animals, the books, the lamp and the driftwood as window dressing to this wonderful display.

Doesn’t it just scream “Look at me! Look at what I did, mom!” to you?

That blue spotlight is on him once more. He is not just drifting deeper into an endless ocean, but contained in a vessel to be stared at.

One Last Observation

I didn’t know where to fit this in but I think the end feels appropriate.

His clothing here:

Is a frankenstein-esque mash up of clothes from his younger years. He wears this throughout AK&AA, and as I mentioned before it signifies him as an adult. However, I should clarify what I mean here as Haruka says “he thinks he’s 17″ and “doesn’t care about his age”. So... not an adult, but on the cusp of adulthood.

But I think he actually does care about his age, and quite a lot too.

This outfit feels symbolic of refusing to let go of the past, and of himself as a child. He’s literally grown out of his clothing, but he still clings onto it. He’s attached to the past because it not only contains his happiest moments, but the change from being loved to becoming neglected.

As a disabled person, you’re often treated with a lot more forgiveness when you’re younger. That is to say, some people don’t realise that children with disabilities grow up into adults with disabilities. There is a point where even support from medical and social services drops off like a cliff edge once you turn 18.

The ill-fitting clothing in this context becomes more than a reflection on Haruka’s feelings, and extends to reflecting society’s feelings on disabled adults ‘refusing to grow up’.

I don’t blame Haruka for holding onto his childhood like this. He’ll be even less publicly visible and seen once he is no longer a pitiful child, but a ‘weird’ adult in ill-fitting, children’s clothes.

[curatoroffiction]

Overprotective Part 2

The first post of this story can be found here. The post this story was based off of can be found here.

Your words hit Lucifer like a truck. He grabs your arm, stopping you, and when you turn to yell at him, you pause when you see the visible fear and pain in his expression.

You two are soon joined by Mammon and Beelzebub standing in the doorway, having followed you in your frustration. The two arrive just in time to hear Lucifer ask you "What do you mean you hope you die?"

You didn't really mean it, you were just SO tired. So fucking tired. So done with having every little thing in your life softened and controlled.

Before you can answer, Mammon blurts out "WHAT D'YA MEAN YOU WANNA DIE!?" while Beelzebub quietly stares at you, trying to understand.

Mammon's outburst attracts everyone in the house. It's hard not to hear him.

Soon the brothers are all spilling out the door, and you think you can even see Belphegor somewhere hidden in the background.

You sigh. "… I can't keep doing this thing where you guys control every part of my life. I can barely deal with you controlling ANY part of my life." You shrug Lucifer's grip off your arm, and you finally begin to address the issue head-on.

You look to Levi; "I want to be able to watch sad movies and sad shows. I want to enjoy the angst. I want to be able to cry. It's good! It's healthy! What ISN'T healthy, is avoiding sad things all the time, like they're going to kill me!"

Levi cuts in; "But they COULD kill you!" before quickly getting quiet again, not meaning to talk over you.

You stare at him in frustration and confusion. "… What do you MEAN they can kill me?"

"Humans who watch more sad shows tend to live shorter lives.."

"…" It begins to click for you. But you also have to rectify this misinformation; "Levi, those statistics don't imply causality. If they're even real, they'd imply correlation. People who only watch sad things that are painful probably aren't living very happy lives to begin with. They're probably trying to cope through a tough reality, which would likely be the REAL cause of their shortened lifespan, in conjunction with a HUGE number of other factors."

"…"

"Watching sad shows is good, and can even help with test-running sad scenarios before they happen in a low-stakes environment, which is GOOD for emotional health and wellbeing."

"…"

"If all I ever do is watch sad shows, then yeah, maybe I need help. But that's not the same as watching a few in a rotation of other medias."

Leviathan looks rather embarrassed.

"And you!" You turn your attention towards Asmodeus. "Asmo, you can't keep trying to destress me all the time! Stop giving me creams and tinctures and your new balm of the week! I want to stay up! I want to live a little messy!"

"But those things are GOOD for you! I never push anything on you that I didn't already use myself!"

"That works FOR YOU - It's not going to work for everyone! It makes my stress WORSE when I have to adhere to your strict regimen! It's exhausting and frustrating, and it takes any joy I got out of sharing those bonding moments with you, and sucks the life out of it!"

Asmodeus realizes he never considered that you weren't enjoying being doted on. He LOVES being doted on, so he thought you would want the same thing. Looking at you now though, and realizing his behavior contributed to this stress and this problem that's coming to a head now, he feels… Not great.

As Asmodeus gets quiet, you look to Satan, who is surprised. "Satan, I get that you're worried about my health, but when you treat me like I'm not doing enough? It's so fucking insulting. Telling me to take care of my health like I'm not already doing that. Telling me the statistics of illnesses and injuries isn't useful, it's fear-mongering at best."

"I just thought that someone in this house should be wary of what can befall a human - You're all so delicate."

"But when you treat me like I'm paper, all I want to do is just tear myself apart! If I can't walk down a set of stairs without you telling me the statistics of stair-related injuries and trying to hold my hand, I'm never going to feel like I can live my life! Imagine if YOU had someone constantly walking through your room, telling you the statistics of book avalanche-related injuries, while touching all your stuff and changing everything so you can't live the way you want to!"

The contrast to his own life makes Satan double-take. He never realized he was being controlling and invasive, but your comparison brings light to how his behavior could damage your relationship. "… It would be rage-inducing."

"Exactly! And Belphegor!" Belphegor tries to hide himself, but the brothers part under your frustrated gaze, and you can see the sleep demon anxiously shifting under your scrutiny. "Belphegor, why are you avoiding me??"

"….." He's quiet, struggling to put words to everything. Beelzebub realizes his brother's been hurting, and he hasn't realized because he was so concerned with your wellbeing. Beelzebub gently rubs Belphegor's back, and Belphegor covers his face, looking away as he finally is able to get out the words; ".. I didn't want to hurt you."

His reasoning is different from everyone else's. It's reasonable in the fact that it's already happened.

Though, what DOES make it unreasonable, you have no problem telling him; "If you don't want to kill me, you're not going to! You don't kill people you don't want to! And besides, if it's a fear of accidentally hurting me, that's normal! People accidentally hurt the people they love all the time! People don't accidentally KILL the people they love all the time, and what you did to me when I first arrived in Devildom WASN'T AN ACCIDENT!"

Belphegor is silent, soaking in your explanation.

Your voice softens as you become a little less frustrated, being able to voice everything that's been bottled up inside; "SO- As long as you don't want to kill me, you're not going to. And if you accidentally hurt me? I'll heal. We'll work through it together-"

"What if I hurt you in a way you can't heal from? Demons are strong and- …" It chokes on the edge of his tongue, threatening to come out. He tries to hold it back, but he can't. "And.. I know better than anyone how easy it is to snap your neck. It was like a toothpick. Do you know how terrifying it is to realize that I have to control my strength to that level around you? All it takes is one playful shove, and you could end up in the hospital- Or worse. You're so much more delicate than you realize, and we have to be so much more careful than you realize."

It's here that a silence comes over everyone as you soak in his explanation. You never really realized how difficult it was for the demons to reign in their strength to keep you safe. You thought it was fairly breezy, since everyone else seemed so relaxed until recently.

It's your turn to feel sheepish.

".. I'm.. Sorry. I didn't know. But there has to be a middleground. You avoiding me makes me feel awful. I feel unloved and unwanted and ignored. I don't want to be safe at the cost of our relationship. And my safety shouldn't be an ultimatum."

"…." Belphegor's eyes are sad, and he's been trying to hold back the tears, but he can't. Beelzebub holds him and tries to comfort his brother.

The demon of gluttony realizes he too has been trying to control your life too, which has probably been causing you undue stress, which is probably why you ran out here in the first place. ".. I'm sorry for making your life more stressful, _. I want to keep you safe, but it's obvious that I should have talked with you about it."

The apologies start spilling as one by one, the brothers begin apologizing for controlling your life and making you feel ostracized.

Mammon doesn't apologize as he doesn't feel like he crossed any boundaries, and makes it known when Asmodeus elbows him. "Hey, I didn't cross any boundaries!"

"… I mean, trying to feed me shady vitamins out of a bag is hilarious, but also probably not exactly healthy."

"But I've been making you better food too! Packin' the nutrients in!"

"Is THAT why you learned to cook all these new dishes??"

"YEAH!"

"…" His kindness and effort were sweet, and the least invasive of the brothers' attempts to help you and prolong your life.

But those weren't the only things he was doing. "I need you to stop trying to give me protein shakes and vitamins and whatever 'health supplement' you find on the shelf. The health supplement market is really messed up. I've lowkey been avoiding most of what you give me, because there's no regulation in that market, and it actually COULD hurt me."

He's stunned. He figured some of his methods might've been a bit harmful, but he also figured he would get enough right that it would cancel all the bad stuff out.

You continue; "Can we all find a middleground? Why are you all so scared of me dying right now? Did something happen?"

Lucifer nods, having been listening; "I think a middle-ground would be better. If you're feeling stifled, that's not healthy either. And it's obvious we need to take better care of you-"

"Why do you NEED to take care of me?" You turn to Lucifer, exhaustively. It stops him in his tracks and he stares at you, confused.

"… Because you're precious to us."

"But I'm not helpless. Do you not trust me to reach out when things are getting difficult? I can advocate for myself, Lucifer! It's so demeaning when you treat me like you know better, and like I'm just some bumbling idiot who you have to keep from dying!"

The words cut deep. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to make you feel like he looked down on you. You are one of the most important people in his life, and he adores you. The fact that you haven't been able to see that causes Lucifer to become quiet as he reflects on his own behavior.

He should have reigned in his brothers. He should have given you space. He should have advocated more for giving you your own voice, not talking over you with what you should have been doing.

It all seems so clear and so obvious, but it took you speaking up for him to realize how much he's been ignoring your emotional needs in care of your physical health.

And with this whole meltdown, he's realizing that it was the breaking point.

"I too, am sorry, _. I never meant to make things more difficult for you. I love you dearly. I will be better, going forward."

You finally seem to relax as he apologizes.

But he continues; "Can we please talk about your mortality, though?"

Everyone can see it's not exactly a conversation you WANT to have. But you know it's one you need to have. ".. Okay."

Levi sputters out with his frustration first; "If you die, then I won't be able to share the rest of my life with you. There's so much that can happen when you're gone. I know you're not going to live long, and it scares me. I don't want to reach a day where I want to knock on your door to ask you to hang out, but I know you'll never answer." He's tearing up as he says this, his body physically shaking.

Asmodeus gently rests a hand on Leviathan's shoulder, looking to you, a sad expression on his face. ".. I think a lot of us share that sentiment. We want to get in as many good memories as we can, because you are such a precious, amazing, wonderful person. You are a once-in-eternity kind of person, and we will never be able to fill the hole you'll leave when you die. It's so hard to think of moving on when we've barely gotten to share a life with you."

Satan fidgets with his fingers against his leg, but he can't keep himself contained any longer, cutting in; "Solomon's here to stay forever, why can't you be too? We know it's possible. We know you could stay alive forever. The bastard says he doesn't remember what he did to curse himself with immortality, and every immortality curse I've found comes at a great cost…" He finally looks to you directly. "But all of that aside, it's hard to even broach the topic with you. Do you WANT to live forever? It would be selfish for us to ask you to carry the pain of watching every one of us die, just because we can't bear the sight of losing you. I can't bear the sight of losing you.. But it feels so selfish. And I don't want you to ever reach a point where that sorcerer is the only friend you still have left that hasn't died. …" His voice trails off in frustration, losing his train of thought to the idea of you living eternity alone with Solomon. You can see Satan's grappled with this issue for a while.

Belphegor picks up where Satan left off; "It's hard to imagine a world without you. You came into our lives, and it was like breathing for the first time in a long time. We love who we are because of you.. And I think we're all scared of who we'll become when you're gone. Losing you will be right up there with losing Lilith as the worst things we've ever experienced, and we won't have another you who can help us through it. We wouldn't WANT another you. …. But we simultaneously recognize that it's not your responsibility to help us through it."

Seeing his brothers going back and forth about their feelings, Mammon can't help but be grounded in the moment. ".. I think we wanna take responsibility for it now, because when you're gone, we're gonna hafta take responsibility for it anyways, yeah? …" He looks anywhere but directly at you. "…" His silence is hard as he chokes back the tears, trying not to fall apart in front of his brothers, but between Levi's crying and Asmo's sniffling and everyone else's pain, it's hard for Mammon to keep strong.

So Lucifer steps up to the plate. "We're sorry for pushing all of this on you, _. It shouldn't be your responsibility to help us through the pain and loss that hasn't even afflicted us yet. It's hard to talk about this without accidentally putting pressure on you to choose an eternity that could hurt you so much worse in the long run, just to keep our own heads on straight. Do you understand? We promise, it was never meant to make you feel belittled, we just.. We've never dealt with something like this before; A slow attrition of loss that we either have to accept, or find a way to fight.." He gently rubs your back, looking you in the eyes. ".. And we've never really been the kind of people to back down from a fight."

"…" It all makes sense. And hearing their hearts laid bear like this clutches at your heart. You never wanted them to feel like they couldn't come to you about this, but you understand how it got this bad. It would take facing all of their fears and letting you come to an answer at your own pace, without pressuring you. THAT'S why they tried to prolong your life without saying anything. THAT'S why they kept talking about your health. THAT'S why they kept trying to circumvent the issue.

You continue; ".. I appreciate the honesty, guys. I love you all too. I don't want to leave you guys all alone, but.. You're right. Immortality would be a huge decision. If it's even achievable. … And I understand why this all happened. I understand why you guys pushed the way you did. I think we should keep talking about this, but, taking it a little slower. That way, you guys aren't completely holding back the floodgates, but I also don't get overwhelmed. Whatever happened, whatever fate I choose for myself, I do want it to be my own decision. But I think I NEED to make that decision. I've put it off because I didn't really want to think about it, but.. I don't want to put it off until it's out of our hands."

Lucifer rubs into your back, listening. All the brothers listen.

"Until then, until I figure out if I want eternity or not, can we please go back to how things used to be? I'll do my best to take good care of myself, and advocate my needs, but I need you guys to trust me that I'm going to take care of myself and let me live a little, even if it's risky. I promise, I'm not going to be diving off the roof, but I want to be able to play games that make me sad, eat junk food that gives me pimples and might not be GREAT for my heart. I want to hang out with you guys, even if I could get hurt. I want to not be reminded of my mortality constantly, and be able to make my own choices about my own limits. I promise to be good to myself and reach out if I'm struggling, but you guys gotta promise to be willing to let me take more responsibility for my life again."

"You need some good things in your life though." Levi doesn't want his efforts to get lost in the shuffle.

"I'll make sure to set aside time to enjoy good shows with you that are happy and show how good life can be. Can you sit with me through the sad ones and help me pick up the pieces?"

Levi nods, wiping his eyes.

Asmodeus takes this chance to add; "You also need to be gentler with yourself. You can't be up at all hours of the night every night."

"I'll be good about my self-care, making sure I'm getting good sleep and relaxation. Can you love on me when I don't want to be presentable and good and I want to just throw caution to the wind sometimes when it comes to the littler self-care things? I don't want every minute I spend with you guys to be an exercise in avoiding death. I want to LIVE a little, which means we'll get messy and make some bad decisions sometimes."

"Of course. But only if you're not letting yourself fall to ruin. I don't want to watch you waste away.."

"I promise I'll reach out if I start to struggle, and I'll accept your help if that time comes."

"Thank you."

"And your health-" Satan adds, a little embarrassed, but not wanting it to go unaddressed. "You need to be wary of how dangerous this world is, and how fragile a human body is."

"I won't go throwing myself down the stairs or taking wildly unnecessary risks - So long as you let me take risks and get hurt sometimes. I'd rather you help me patch myself up after getting burned or cut than to live my life constantly cushioned." You look to him so earnestly that Satan is flustered, but he understands. Life without risk isn't exactly living.

"I think I can do that."

You look to Belphegor, who has been quiet this whole time. ".. And Belphegor, can you please be in my life again? I miss you."

"… What if I hurt you again?"

"We'll figure it out together."

"What if I can't control myself?"

"You have 6 brothers who will happily kick your entire ass if you go Human Murderer on me again. You should rely on your support system. Don't be afraid of fighting with me. We need to be able to have fights and disagree and have bad days sometimes. What matters is coming back together and making things right, and relying on our support systems so it doesn't get out of hand. Alright?"

Upon mention, his brothers quickly crowd him and hug him and hold him, reminding him that he's not alone in this. He's not alone in learning how to be better to you.

"…." Belphegor nods, tearing up again, soaking in everyone's love.

Mammon scratches his cheek as he looks to the side and adds "Since we're all talkin' about ways you can stay alive longer.. Can we come to you when we find stuff that could be an option? There's gotta be more options than forever immortality an' death, yeah? Witches stay alive for ages!"

"… Only if you don't pressure me to take it, and you let me be the ultimate decider, and you don't bombard me with stuff all the time. I don't want you coming at me with 'Prolong your life now' schemes every other day. I want to be able to live with you guys, and live the life I have, however long it's going to be. Alright?"

".. Alright." Mammon seems more comforted in the idea that he can keep looking for ways to give you more options.

Beelzebub slowly moves towards you, silently wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You hug him back. The brothers begin all coming close to hug you. Beelzebub apologizes once more; ".. We're sorry for stressing you out. Thank you for listening to us and our concerns. You're important to us. We love you."

Hugging as many of them back as you can as you're squeezed softly into the fold, you respond; "Thank you guys for talking to me about it instead of continuing to be weird and stand-offish. We'll figure it out as we go. In the meanwhile, let's make good memories."

The brothers begin heading inside, you following them.

Lucifer lags behind a little, tugging a trinket out of his pocket. It's a pendant which would keep you from aging which he picked up thinking you might like it - But considering the conversation and the boundaries you've just set, he thinks it would be best to just.. Be in the moment with you.

He stuffs it back into his pocket and comes to join the group in the house, and he opens the door just in time to hear Levi cry out "NO BUT THAT IS THE SADDEST ANIME EVER-" followed by your hallowed cackling of 'making up for lost time'. Lucifer smiles to himself.

However long they have with you, it's the greatest treasure of all.

[wormswurld]

hii!! do you have any headcanons/thoughts/woteva about transfem felix? also your blog is incredible, peace and love <3

of course i have thoughts about transfem! fem + thank you so much for liking my blog!!!! you’re so kind,, peace & love sent your way as well 💕🌟

- has always felt dysphoric about her height since she’s so tall and she’s always been the tallest person in her class though once college started she kinda just accepted her height& how it won’t change lol

- first started realizing signs of her feeling “different” from all the other boys in her class when she would gravitate towards hanging out with the girls in her classes, playing with different toys (literally throwing temper tantrums if she didn’t have the same toys / ability to play dress up with venetia), etc

- dysphoria really started hitting when puberty & middle school started…was always popular and thought to be a “ladies man” by his peers and teachers even though she would only hangout with girls / talk to them about typical “girly things” + having small little crushes on boys she would keep to herself

- venetia was the first person she came out to!! they’ve been close since birth so it was kinda impossible not to tell her,, probably told her after coming home from school (first time she was ever ridiculed for being “too feminine” or a “fairy” etc) and of course venetia listened and comforted her like a good sister would + she always wanted a sister anyway

- as time progresses felix starts growing out her hair a little longer, not thing too long, but shoulder length so she could start tucking hair behind her hair + wear headbands whenever it got too hot outside (no one in her inner circle really questioned it that much, of course there were some bad people though venetia taught felix to really start standing up for herself not letting “those” comments get to her”

- sometimes when it’s late at night (during the summer before meeting ollie) felix sneaks off to venetia’s room where she can snoop around and play with her makeup and clothes,, of course the clothes don’t really fit properly but being able to see herself in something she truly feels more comfortable in helps a lot

- starts to go out shopping with elspeth for more flowy linen shirts, maybe even snagging some from the women’s section to try things out in the name of “fashion” and of course elspeth is fine with it, she was a “fashionista” back in her day, and would ultimately kill felix if she dressed in anything “ill-fitting / drab” (aka no poor people clothes LOL) also felix’s gender isn’t really questioned by his parents all too much?? elspeth knew felix was always different but never felt any sort of way once she started noticing her “son” isn’t really her “son” if you know what i mean

- also (if this wasn’t obvious) felix is fine with her birth name! she doesn’t really get dysphoric from it, only ever really feeling insecure about her body hair & muscles (but i mean the people around her aren’t really complaining about how nice her body looks so she’s kinda okay with it,, she is felix catton after all lmao biggest attention whore of all time)

- manages to dress femininely without being “clocked” for being trans if that makes sense?? like ever since venetia helped her with standing up for herself she doesn’t really take shit from anyone plus no one can really say anything about her because of her status.. for example flowy women’s shirts, button ups etc are always in rotation in her wardrobe same with baggy pants because she really couldn’t be bothered lol though dressing up for dinner is quite literally the bane of her existence

- when first meeting ollie she is essentially head over heels (converse lol) because how could she not be? like ollie is the perfect example of a “save me” “my life is so tragic” story felix essentially gets off on it + she finds him extremely cute

- big jump to when it’s the summer of saltburn and the two are extremely close ollie discloses how he’s trans and felix feels so comforted!! because finally! FINALLY! she’s met someone else who is like her and really can understand what it’s like (to an extent since she’s more of a social butterfly than ollie is)

- cue felix properly trying on a well fitting dress in front of ollie for a party that’s being hosted at saltburn (i don’t know the theme though i know i want to see felix in a dress experiencing the biggest gender euphoria moment known to man) and she is just over the moon!!!!! her and ollie probably sneak off somewhere (even though everyone wants to be with felix) to talk more abt their experiences with gender, getting drunk, and ultimately making out against some wall of some kind)

- loves the way how ollie makes her feel when they are making out,, just treating her so gently yet not feeling scared to take control and hold onto felix’s waist & bite her lip and she’s never EVER had an encounter like this with someone else so being able to share it with ollie is just so special…ollie probably slots his leg between felix’s as they grind on each other making the most delicious sounds everrrrrrrrrr

I LOVE T4T CATTONQUICK !!!!!!!!! TRANS LOVE FOR THE WIN! 😵‍💫⚧️

[kerubimcrepin]

Live-read: The Wheel of Destiny #1, Atcham.

You can find this article on the Dofus MMO’s site, by simply googling it.

Before I begin this post I want to acknowledge multiple things:

On the hierarchy of canonical media, web articles are like... the bottom of the barrel. I already suspected this, but season 4 fully retconning Eva's parents from the lore articles sealed the deal. For this reason, take these as nothing but the sort of canon that will get retconned at the first available opportunity.

I recently found out that the Wheel of Destiny 8, the one about Kerubim, seems to use stolen fanart by Flowerimh, which is sad. I don't know where else to put this, because I don't want to make a separate post about this. Flowerimh isn't even active anymore...

Despite these two things, let us proceed to read this article together:

So, this article happens anywhere from one year to a decade before Joris was born, and at this time, Atcham and Julith were already acquainted and spending free time together.

Spoiler alert: They are searching for Kerubim.

Keke getting called a "precious runt" is on par with the shit Joris gets called. Wonderful. I do wonder why they would search for him in Brakmar. Someone confused him for Atcham? Maybe they asked Kerubim himself, and he didn't want to deal with them, and so, sent them to Brakmar on a wild goose chase?

I will not be asking "what did he do" because, like, Fifi Pretty Calves exists. He has enough enemies to have a price on his head.

I am literally in love with him, and every single way he is described in this part of the text.

"He had a preference for sibilant sounds", "Aw, poor little puppy", "the only reason he hadn't robbed them blind is because he wanted to know more".

He was so excited.... he thought they wanted him (not carnally).... 😢

He takes a lot of pride in his work and insane behaviours.

Atcham considers himself an extraordinary adventurer and a valiant fighter. AND HE ISSSSSS. But it is interesting that besides being a killer for hire, he probably also adventures.

[Taps this meme I made about Kerubim and Atcham once again]

He was so ready to be the one people wanted to kill just once, and they ruined his whole fucking evening.

Imagine this being your day-to-day life, for decades. Just people laughing at you, laughing because you still hadn't caught on that you're the joke, and laughing when you finally understand that, and get upset.

Laughing about you behind your back, to some random stranger, too. Because they still hadn't realized they're literally talking about him.

I think this is a good time to say that I headcanon Atcham as autistic. It is simply a headcanon, but one rooted in the themes of his character. I think it is a fitting conclusion, (albeit, just like my hcs of Joris having ADHD and OCD and Kerubim having comorbid BPD and HPD, very accidental one, on part of the writers).

I could talk for hours on the way neurodivergence, disability, body issues, and violence-as-response-to-abuse intersect in Atcham's character, — or the way he hates everyone preemptively, because he knows that they will probably hurt him, yet still tries to be at least a bit kind and fair to others (....who aren't Kerubim).

I am probably not autistic, — however, I am neurodivergent, and I love & relate to him, so yeah. Always rotating this bingus in my brain.

Imagine this being your whole life.

I read descriptions of Atcham being cool and fast, and all the analysis leaves my brain as I say "awooga hummina hummina".

The fact that nobody ever wed him is literally so unrealistic, like WHAT DO YOU MEAN you don't want the weird, mentally ill, neurodivergent twink.

We never see Atcham's home in Brakmar, but from the description of "tattered", and the way his bed looks in the comic panel I inserted earlier in the post, it is safe to say his home is the definition of "girlrotting". It probably smells. Bad.

Says the woman whose kindness will also be the death of her, — and her ruthlessness too.

Because of her visiting his home so nonchalantly, and their interactions as a whole, I like to view Atcham and Julith as somewhat close friends, — as close as two very emotionally repressed people, who have a huge age difference, and don't like to admit that they feel anything positive, can be.

He probably didn't mourn her, — not after she was presumed dead for ten years, and not after she died for real.

But he probably still thinks about her, once in a while.

[jamesunderwater]

@jilymicrofics - sept. 18th: thaw - words: 834 - cw: mental illness, self-harm

Storms

The vegetables were disappearing in the blur of her tears, but she didn’t care. Thwunk, thwunk, twunk. The knife kept coming down, and each time she thought, it’s going to be my finger this time Thwunk this time Thwunk this time Thwunk. 

“Lily!” His voice did nothing to disrupt her rhythm. This time - thwunk, this time - thwunk. Though in the back of her mind, she did picture him calling out to her from the top of a lighthouse, while her boat kept steering right for the rocks below him. She knew this was how he saw her. But James wasn’t on the boat; he couldn’t see that it was sinking, anyway.

She still hadn’t blinked the tears away when he grabbed her wrist, pulling the knife from her grasp. “You weren’t even looking, Lils! Please.” The desperation in his voice was heartbreaking, stabbed through her like the knife should have. Lily blinked.

Her husband (husband, husband, husband, husband, she rolled the word around in her mind like a piece of sweet, forbidden chocolate) with his wild hair, his skewed glasses, his stained night shirt, made unrecognizable by the stiff flat stretch of his mouth, the lines of worry sliced between his eyebrows. She wondered if he thought she looked unrecognizable, too.

“If you need me to help you with something, just ask! What are you even doing, dicing vegetables in the middle of the night?” James put the knife in the sink and pulled the cutting board away from her, already starting to package up her work before she could even tell him what it was for.

Lily would have answered him a few weeks ago, would have told him the whole thing in one breath. I was staring at the ceiling fan go round and round hoping it would make me tired, and then I tried to time my breaths with two rotations of the fan, and then I was counting my breaths, and I got up to 33 but then my foot itched so I tried to itch it with the bedsheet slowly enough that it wouldn’t wake you, but that made me lose count on my breaths and then I couldn’t get the blasted itching to stop and then I swear, James, I swear it started crawling up my leg, the itch did, it was coming after me, I just knew it, so I had to get out of bed, you know, to get away from it, and I did manage to slip out quietly, without waking you, I was proud of that, but then the itching leapt from my foot to my hand so I scratched and I scratched but I was so scared that nothing was going to stop it so I thought, I’ve got to do something with my hands, I’ve got to do something that would scare the itch away. So I thought, stew. James will wake to a proper pot of stew and the itch will leave and it will have been a good night in the end, and it worked, you know, chopping a bit carelessly, threatening the itch like that, it disappeared altogether.…I can’t tell you why that made me cry, though. I just felt so lonely, once it left.

Instead she said, “I don’t know,” and chewed her lip, because she’d learned it was much easier to be looked at with sadness than alarm. 

A tupperware lid snapped closed with a pop! She bit down her lip to draw blood and sucked hard, waiting for him to turn around. Why had she scared the itch off? It only wanted to be near her. “I wanted to make stew.” 

James turned away from the tupperware and met her eyes. His were so heavy - too heavy for twenty-one, just a boy playing lighthouse keeper without any experience with storms. The old Lily inside of her wailed at the sight of him. She sobbed so loudly her temples throbbed with the pressure of it. She banged against the glass walls in her mind, crying, Look at his eyes, he’s crumbling! I have to hold him, I have to... I have to get out of here. I am going to die if I can’t touch him, please! I have to get out of here. How do I get out of here? As if she could manifest it into reality, she pictured reaching out to take his head in her hands, his arms pulling her into him with the desperation of a first breath after nearly drowning, and with these simple touches, everything healed. 

Lily thought it was almost funny he was so worried about the knife, when it was these vestiges of her old self that would likely kill her in the end.

“Stew?” James had righted himself, burying whatever had been in his eyes before. Crumbling like a poorly built house in an earthquake. Her husband, so young and foolish, believing he could withstand her destruction. “Sure, yeah. Let’s get the roast out to thaw.”

[nahoney22]

OMG HI! 🤩 Are you taking writing commissions?! Can I be added to a commission waiting list if you have one for a soft-pining between Plo-Koon and a Jedi!Reader? I’m talking like fluffiest fluff you can muster! Maybe them being like parents to their battalions! The forbidden attraction because of old Jedi rules 🥺

P.S: You are so right! None of this bs wouldn’t have happed if he didn’t bite the dust 😭

Forbidden

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Plo Koon X GN!JediReader

word count: 2.6k

Both being the greatest Jedi they can be to their Battalion, it’s no surprise that the kindness shared between you both brings you closer and maybe just maybe, makes things a little risky.

warnings: none, fluff! Minor mention of injury & death to Clones, forbidden romance trope, mutual pining. Ngl, not overly proud of this as I feel it’s a little rushed and messy. It was better in my head. I’m losing my touch.

Masterlist

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

The Medbay was often a horrible place for any person or sentient to visit and no matter how many visits General Plo attends, it is never any easier.

The last mission was a success but with so many casualties. His respect for his Battalion grows each passing second and has come to care about each man individually but at what cost? Another win yet it seemed like they were no step closer to beating the Separatist threat.

“I am here for CC-3636.” Plo speaks to one of the droids that maintained care for those who were taken in, hating using his Commander's designated number rather than his preferred name.

“Right this way. His condition is stable.”

Plo stays silent, walking down the painfully white halls of the Kaminoan facility towards one of the bays. Though deep in his thoughts, something stops him.

As if something had shoved on his chest and commanded him to stop, his head turned to look into an empty room. Well, aside from two beings in the right hand corner.

There’s a clone on the bed, no colour to their armor aside from the stark white and shiny new armor and a presence beside them. Their back was to him but he was certain that they were Jedi. That Jedi being you, someone who he still has not been formally introduced to though he had heard things. Many great things in fact.

Slowly, he turns and looks into a room opposite, busier than the others but still no other Jedi present. If he were to hazard a guess, he would confirm that the only two Jedi here were just the pair of you. All these men injured, yet it seemed that only you two had cared.

He sighs to himself, knowing he should not think ill of the other Jedi as he was well aware that most have care for their troops but clearly, maybe just not as much as him and yourself.

“Just this way Master Jedi.” The AZI droid speaks up, snapping Plo out of his doubting thoughts and proceeds to move on along. But as he leaves, you look over your shoulder and feel a shift in the Force. A Jedi was present and although curious to who it could be, you focus on your trooper and wait for him to wake up.

———-

“Anakin is growing stronger and courageous each day though I fear there is conflict within him.” Obi-Wan speaks softly as he walks alongside Plo.

The Kel Dor sensed his friend and colleagues troubles and opted to walk with him and try to clear his mind. “Your padawan is headstrong and a fine Jedi. Little Soka is becoming the ideal Jedi too because of him. Trust in him Obi-Wan and soon you will see everything will play out smoothly.”

Walking out into the courtyard, conversation changing to something more cheerful rather than Obi-Wan’s worrying woes, the two of them took in the calming air.

“Ah, look who is over there.” Kenobi points to the center of the courtyard, over by The Great Tree.

Plo looks in the direction and as if by an instant, he recognised you to be the Jedi on Kamino a few rotations ago. Your robes were breezing around your body, a content expression on your face.

“You haven’t met them yet, have you?” Kenobi asks, already getting ready to walk on over but like before, something pushed against him and his feet find their way walking over to you.

“No.” He answered him.

“Well, let me introduce you.”

Kenobi says your name aloud, catching your attention and as you turn, there’s a strange feeling in the Kel Dor’s stomach. He had not expected you to appear so youthful as you appeared wise beyond your years.

“General, what do I owe the pleasure?” You smile warmly to your friend, eyes flickering between the human male and then to Kel Dor beside him.

“Nothing at all, just thought I would introduce you to Master Plo Koon. I don’t think you two have worked together.”

When you look at him your eyes are full of intrigue and interest as you bore into the mask on his face. “No, I don’t believe we have.” You take a step closer and extend a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

His hands or talons so to speak, reach out to you and gently clutches at the softness of your skin. His touch is surprisingly warm and enough to send chills down your arms but luckily, your robes hid the bumps. When he says your name you feel an odd sensation. A sensation as if you would want him to repeat it over and over again.

“And you. I see you find calmness in The Great Tree?” He pulls his arm back, digits leaving yours and you try to ignore how cold you suddenly felt. What was happening? Were you feeling unwell? You push the thoughts back for the time being and focus back on his question.

“Yes, I find it beautiful.” You say softly, turning to look at the leaves that bristled in the soft wind. “We’re definitely lucky to have one in our midst due to its rarity.”

There was something about you that Plo was fascinated by. Your voice was a soft and calming presence and there seemed to be no heavy grief on your shoulders. He was internally thankful that Kenobi had parted ways with you both and took the opportunity to get to know you more.

Respectfully, he had asked of your homeworld and family and listened with great interest at whatever you had to say. You also made sure to include him too and would ask questions about how the war is fairing for him and if he had any worries which reminded him:

“If you recall, I remember seeing you on Kamino though I didn’t make myself known.” He begins to walk alongside you and as you take small and slow steps, his large ones go down to a minimum.

At least the question in your mind of which Jedi had seen you that day was answered and a small smile crept onto your lips. “I thought I felt a spectre close by. You have a very warm presence in the Force.” Although you spoke calmly, there was no denying that there was a small hesitance in your mind and sincerely hoped you had not said anything too outrageous after just meeting him.

“That is kind of you to say.” He nods, genuinely appreciating your gentle words. “I hope that trooper you were seeing made a full recovery?”

“Oh yes,” you smile softly “Jammy, as I so named him, has made a speedy recovery. He got badly wounded on our last mission and I really thought he wouldn’t make it out this time.”

“This time?”

You roll your eyes a little playfully. “Hence the name. He’s been in that Medbay more times than I can count. He’s a lucky one.”

Plo smiles, noticing how affectionate you are when it comes to talking about the Clones. It was a nice relief to see one having respect for them after all they do for the GAR. It was rather refreshing.

“Who were you going to see?” You turn your head to look up at him. He chuckles softly and tells you about Wolffe, a trust Commander and the name just so happens to ring a bell.

“Wolffe,” you repeat his name, pausing, “I don’t suppose he is the Commander of the 104th? Making you their General?”

“Yes, why do you ask?” He stops with you and you find yourself blushing as you notice just how close he stood beside you, slowly moving to stand in front.

“I believe that I am joining you and your entourage in the next following days, on Aleen?” You ask hopefully and that strange sudden hope that you had was a little dangerous.

He hums a small chuckle but shakes his head. “Not me, but I’m sure my men will be a great addition in my absence.”

You tried to not look disappointed but the way he tilts his head at you makes you think that maybe he knew. “I’ll be happy to work with them, General.”

“Please,” he says softly and with enough grace places a hand to your shoulder, “call me Plo.”

————-

The relationship you had with Plo only grew from then on. Coincidentally (or not) the two of you would often find yourselves walking the halls of the Temple together but there was something not quite right.

Just now, your conversation with Plo was innocent and had you both laughing but as you passed a small group of maybe three members of the order, they were eyeing you both up suspiciously. At first you thought nothing of it but the stares lingered and then whispers would begin. You wondered if Plo had seen it too but for now, he said nothing.

When he walked you to your room, there was a small moment just outside your door. You were wishing him a restful sleep but the Kel Dor, almost unnaturally reached out and gently pushed a strand of hair away from your face. Your eyes widen, a blush creeping up your neck and you thank him quietly. He smiles a little and nods his head. “Sleep well, little one.”

The nickname was new and Maker it made you feel airy and light.

A week or two had passed and your heart that had been so full was heavy. You were back on Kamino and your chest tightened as you watched the AZI droids cover not one, not two but at least seven of your men with white sheets. The mission, although successful, left a sour taste in your mouth as you stayed in the Medbay, overlooking your fallen troops.

When the door behind you hissed open however, just by the thought of being with someone who you knew to be Plo, your emotions took over. You raised a hand to your face and quickly swept away a stray tear, turning to face your friend.

“Afternoon Plo.”

Although you could not see it, there is grief behind the mask as he crosses the threshold to you. “Come, little one… let us find somewhere else to talk.”

The nickname would have been lovely if not for the environment but alas you listened and followed after him with your head bowed. For the first time in a while, you both walked in silence until he found a quiet room for you both to sit in.

He gestures to a spot beside him and as you sit, you let out a heavy sigh.

“Your thoughts are wild and understandably so. Is there anything I can do to give you comfort?” His modulated voice was soft and gentle, just like the man he was. You knew that he knows just how hard losing men can be and it never gets any easier. For you, you make bonds with your men. Attachments so to speak, something forbidden within the Order. The thought of being careless to them made you angry and you knew some Jedi would not bat an eyelid. So as your fists tighten by your sides, there is no surprise that Plo had gently taken one of your hands and whispered, “At ease, they wouldn’t want to see you upset.”

That afternoon, you didn’t say much but you didn’t need to. Plo stayed by your side and as you felt yourself getting weary, he had let you rest upon his shoulder, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

Another week passed and another week of your feelings being a mangled mess. It was clear now that feelings had started to bloom between yourself and Plo. On your part, anyway. There is conflict within you and something tells you to back away and get a hold of yourself but that was a little impossible to do when your men had made jokey passing comments to you.

“What was that Trooper?” You turn to him with an amused gleam in your eyes, glad to see how at ease they were with you when he replies if you’re thinking about going to see the ‘Wolfpacks dad’. You snorted, dismissing him playfully but there was something in the back of your mind that was tickling your senses. Was it obvious to them that there was something there? Is that why the Jedi had been keeping a watchful eye on you both. Surely if they knew, Plo would know. This piques your curiosity even more.

That evening, you had decided to stay away from Plo purely because you did not understand these feelings yourself yet. Though, naturally, you both found yourselves in each other’s company.

You’re along one of the balconies back in the Temple when Plo had arrived.

“I didn’t think you would be here.” His voice made you jump a little, your mind so deep in force you didn’t even sense his overpowering presence.

“And why is that?” You poke at his thoughts as he stands beside you, overlooking the city below.

“This is where I often come to ponder my thoughts - something I find myself doing a lot more lately.”

Your body gets tingly at his words, heart racing a little faster. This could either be a good thing, a bad thing, or both. “Something on your mind?”

He stays silent for a few moments, his thoughts conflicted for the first time in a while. He was often quick, wise and brave but he felt the opposite now. Especially with you by his side.

“It is more someone than it is something.”

There it was. You just knew it was about you, or so you certainly had hoped unless he has someone else in his life he has kept quiet about. Words can not even string together but luckily, he does the talking. “My men, they like to talk shall we say about our relationship.”

You freeze. Relationship? Was there even one aside from friendship? “I see.”

Plo looks down at the railing, seeing your hands nervously strum along it and hoping he had read the last few rotations correctly, he quietly placed his hand over yours, talons very gently caressing into your warm skin. “Is this okay little one?” He whispers in your ear and you shudder a small gasp before nodding.

“Plo, what if someone sees us?”

“I must admit I am point the past of caring. I can not help who I admire, and that is you little one.” Plo is watching you carefully but when a small smile flicks onto your lips and your turn to face him, you carefully rest your hand upon his.

“Me too,” you sigh softly, “but I fear this may impact our place in the Order.”

Gently, his other hand comes down to your waist and turns you to face him fully. His hand leaves yours and places it to the side of your face as he looks adoringly into your eyes. “Like I said, I am past the point of caring. I can not stand to believe that we are to shut ourselves out of anything and not be deemed as a Jedi. I trust you feel the same?”

Without hesitation, you fall into his chest. Arms wrapping around his lean and tall frame, Plo wastes no time in reciprocating the gesture. “Of course I feel the same Plo… ever since I met you I could not help but-.”

“Fall for one another.” He finishes off for the both of you.

You’re both elated, glad that the mutual feelings were out in the open but for what is to happen next is uncertain. But what you both did know is that you would both pick one another over any stupid rule. Together, you will treat your own men with the love and dignity they deserve and if yours has to be a secret, so be it.

As long as you’re with him.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Masterlist

tags: @s1st3r @buddee @taskfork-archive @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @adriiibell @theroguesully @equalityforcats @rexandechosandwich @mustluvecho @inagalaxywickedfahaway @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @alexandrisonfire @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 7 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @by-the-primes @torchbearerkyle @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo o @therealnekomari @a-c-lee @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @mylifeinthetardisforever @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @lucyysthings @agenteliix

[yusuke-of-valla]

Insane thoughts about non-SEES characters

You've brought up Mamoru before but I just think the fact that he ultimately drops out of high school to go work in a factory would raise a lot of question in Minato's head about what he should do in order to take care of the siblings.

The kids Yuko coaches in her Social Link are about Yusuke's age.

Hamuko misses Minato's summer track/kendo/swim meet because she's in Inaba with the volleyball/tennis team.

Maiko is everyone's friend. She can be pen pals with the younger kids after moving away.

You have the really funny opportunity to have Naoto cross paths with Rise while she's in town for the show that ultimately gets canceled due to the Hermit Shadow.

The Temperance Link is shared but the fact that Hamuko can actually make items during it and Minato can't leads me to believe that he just sucks at sewing. Hamuko makes little dolls and purses for the kids.

Bunkichi and Mitsuko give them even more snacks for the rotating cast of children that they keep bringing to the bookstore.

One of the Culture Club options - and the only option in Reload - is Art Club. Keisuke, Minato, and Fuuka can all be in Art Club. (Keisuke does show up as president of the Photography Club in Junpei's link but can be easily replaced.)

Maiko and Bunkichi are both among the people who get lost in Tartarus.

I knew about Maiko and Bunkichi! I remember thinking that's a really cool way to tie your social links into the main plot

Maiko also ends up friends with Ken I think during the Kyoto trip and while the teens are in summer school they have their own little weird adventure.

Wait hold on we can combine these Maiko getting kidnapped happens during the Kyoto trip and the kids+Koromaru stage a potentially ill-advised rescue trip (they're fine)

I love the implication that Minato just sucks at making things. There's probably a gendered analysis to be made about how Hamuko can cook and sew in her social links but Minato can't but in my heart it's just because Minato's cringe (speaking of, Sumire deserves to be the unofficial third memeber of Fuuka's cooking club)

Speaking of unofficial club members I think Yusuke hears that Minato and Fuuka are in the art club and is just fucking vibrating but doesn't say anything because he doesn't want to impose and then Minato invites him along and he is soooo excited to be able to make art with Minato and half the time no one understands what he's saying because he's been devouring art theory textbooks since he could read but he still takes the first thing Minato drew and gave him and keeps it under his pillow for good luck (idk how much of an Art Nerd Keisuke is but I feel like even without Madarame's influence Yusuke talks like an art history grad student at age 8 so he may or may not be able to follow.)

Club trip to the art museum you have never seen a child more excited outside of a candy store

Kasumi and Sumire train with Yuko even though her kids are a little older because they can keep up and Kasumi really wanted to

Naoto and Rise meeting early on would be so funny I think Naoto should do something incredibly embarassing and after Naoto is a complete badass In Persona 4 because he already has a Persona Rise is like "wait didn't you fall into the fountain at Pawlonia Mall two years ago"

I do think Minato and Hamuko being worried about not doing enough to support their siblings is a part of their arc because. You know basically being in charge at age 8 and having a really unstable home life but I have not narrowed down a vibe I like for both of them. I think Minato seeing Mamoru and thinking maybe he's been too happy to be distant and let the others do their own thing would def be interesting though

[aquarium-ina-bag]

Where Danger Finds Me, it Follows with Tides - 8

Morality's Dust, I Lack in Trust Ch 8

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Blood, my gosh blood, angst

Relationship: Wednesday Addams x Reader

A/N: I had to rewrite this so many times ugh, srry it took so long. Man I gotta speed this up so I can get to the good parts. Edit: but there’s like TONS of foreshadowing I’ve added in the series, so overthinking you over thinkers >:)

All she got was holes—not an answer, not even a hint. Wednesday has been playing cat and mouse with you for weeks since the document incident. She gives plaudits for how well you can avoid things and push her onto a podium. One of your preferred answers was 'Why do you care?'

It could send Wednesday into a spiral. Why does she care? You were nothing but a stone on her glorious path of self-success, but you’ve grown into an illness, a parasite, and a leech. Those never troubled her before, so why now? 

Enid advised Wednesday multiple times to take things from a different perspective if she didn’t understand something at first. Of course, in typical Wednesday fashion, she thought that was puerile. You act childish, so she must evaluate childish ideas.

Instead of taking you as a sycophant, you shall be perceived as a case, just like Tyler, Xavier, and Laurel. Then, once she figures you out, you’ll just be another reward and out of the way. Superb plan. 

—————-

The creaking of hinges attracted Wednesday's attention. A quick slap on the cool wooden boards shut down her anticipation for someone different.

"Why thank you, Thing." Enid skipped her way past the door frame, letting Thing scurry and claw in before closing said door.

Enid continued to beat the floor with her unnecessary movements. "Whatcha doing?" She said, peering over the smaller girl’s shoulder. 

Wednesday was wrist-deep in the front pocket of her black bag; she shuffled in it to organize. "I’m going to the sheriff's department," Wednesday explained.

The wolf did her classic head rotation, displaying her confusion. 

Wednesday adored when Enid did that; it was beautifully simple, Wednesday would of course never voice that, but it’s something that makes her like Enid just a bit more—a minute amount.

"The bullet, I want to inspect if there’s DNA still on it," Wednesday said. 

Enid fidgeted with the rings on her finger. "Doesn’t the sheriff hate us after I almost killed his son?" She questioned. 

The goth girl snapped her fingers twice, commanding the extra appendage on her bed to come forth. "Unlikely. His son almost killed you; he also falsely accused us the whole time as well." Wednesday corrected. Thing followed her nonverbal order. 

The blonde slumped "Well, gee, when you put it like that, it’s like you praise him for it." Enid huffed. 

"I vocalize facts, Enid," Wednesday said. "Now come on, we don’t have all day." She put on her bag, moving to the door. 

Enid straightened back up, following her roommate. "I get to come?" 

"You did say us; don’t make me deplore my decision," Wednesday said, leaving the room. 

"No no no, no need for that," Enid reassured. The wolf skipped pursuing Raven's Wednesday. 

She talked the raven's ears off the whole way there, Wednesday only responded in simple hums and subtle nods. Enid learned to appreciate small things like this with Wednesday. Instead of ignoring her, snapping, and saying shut up, she now listens. It shows growth in the closed-off girl. 

The contrasting friends finally reach the police department, with one of the two walking in as if they owned the place. Wednesday didn’t give it a second thought when passing the receptionist. Enid silently apologized, rushing to get back to her free bird.

Wednesday surged in the sheriff's office, and the man sitting in the chair jumped slightly. "Who the hell comes into a room like that?" Galpin scolds the girls in front of him. 

"Sheriff Galpin… we come to you with a request,," Wednesday said. 

"Well, don’t you always." The sheriff mumbled, "There’s a receptionist for a reason, Addams." He tapped his fingers on paperback books in a rhythmic pattern. 

"I don’t wish to parley with someone who doesn’t have significant power in rank," Wednesday said. 

The sheriff gave a puzzled look before nodding slowly and saying, "I didn’t know Addams were capable of giving compliments." Galpin chuckled slightly.

"It wasn-" 

"It was!" Enid interrupted the girl beside her, "It’s very hard to get a compliment from this one," she nudged Wednesday, "consider yourself lucky, Sheriff!"

Donovan nodded again. "So what exactly did you two need?" He asked. 

Wednesday stopped her death glare at Enid to turn to the man. "I want you to run DNA on something, thoroughly." The raven said before fishing out the zip-lock bag she placed that carried the bullet, Wednesday settled it on the table. 

Galpin laughed again. "You don’t seem like a gun person, Addams." His posture fixed itself once he got hold of the bag "Where did you get this?" Donovan’s voice became more serious; his jaw relaxed, but his eyebrows told a different story. There were points where the sheriff did this—the whole changing demeanor, Enid thought it was intimidating, while Wednesday interpreted it as tomfoolery.

But Wednesday was perplexed now. Figuring out a story to tell the sheriff that won’t jeopardize her reputation in the case she’s made that mistake too many times and can’t afford it now, Wednesday now understands your importance in her makeshift cases and how you played a part in getting her out of legal trouble. It was going to be difficult to be against someone who helped in the shadows. That string of ‘why?’ again whispered in her head: Why is she even doing this? The raven ignored what she could. 

She noticed the pause was lengthened enough to make it suspicious, "I was in a friend’s dorm; I found it on the balcony." Wednesday said. 

The sheriff showed inquiry about her story; his silence pressed for more. Enid broke the thick tension. 

"She was in there for a project." Her voice was alert, and Enid’s movements were animated as usual. 

Galpin shifted his body in the chair, laid back, slouched, Wednesday mentally recorded, it’s something you do when you know your audience. Adapting to their personalities, ensuing a more comfortable conversation. 

"Can I ask what friend this is?" The male focused on Enid. "I want to make sure if they were shot by this, I've got a name already."

"Y/n L/n." Enid spoke without equivocation. 

The sheriff’s face snapped, attentive, incredulity, choler, possibly gaiety? "L/n? The one with the marking?" He sounded frantic, as if you were a threat. Wednesday nodded slowly. 

The tall male stood up in haste, "If you never listen to my advice, listen to it now. Keep. Away. From. Her. You two understand?" The girls exchanged looks at each other. "Do you? This isn’t a plea; it’s a demand." Galpin’s tone was stern. 

"Before we agree, can we ask why?" Wednesday said. 

"That’s something I can’t disclose; I wish I could for your safety, but I just can’t." The sheriff sighed in grief.

Wednesday rose a brow, "Do you know someone who can?" She said. 

Donovan rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger; he let out a puzzled groan. "Unless Y/n tells you, which won’t happen since you two won’t be talking to her anymore, nobody can tell you, not Weems, not me. End of discussion." 

"So Weems knows?" Enid asked.

"End of discussion I said. But I will get back to you on the DNA." He said while walking towards the exit of the room. "Do. Not. Talk. To. Y/n." Galpin glared at them before leaving, the two did the same, exiting the building itself.

"I’m going to guess that you’re going to do the exact opposite," Enid spoke up.

Wednesday had a barely noticeable grin, "You know me so well." Oh, those devious eyes could kill. 

They continue to walk and talk, "So how do we get the reason?" Enid asked. She pondered her own ideas. 

"Thing is doing that right now," Wednesday said. The wolf looked around to see where the hand was. "He’s staying at the sheriff's office for the day; hopefully he can actually get something this time," Wednesday explained. Enid’s mouth made an O shape, she nodded in silence. 

Wednesday continued, "Us on the other hand, shall try to pry Weems." Enid flashed her toothy smile, an attempt at burlesquing Wednesday’s devilish one. 

—————

Larissa’s work came to an abrupt halt when the heavy double doors opened. "Ladies, how can I aid you?" Enid shut the doors before standing next to Wednesday.

"Principal Weems, you told us before that Y/n is here on mandatory terms? Why is that?" Wednesday catechized the older woman. 

Weems hummed before looking away to drink her coffee. The girls were riveted by her movements until she finished the sip. "I’m going to guess you two have already challenged someone for material?" 

Enid, playing her good cop, "Yes, we have."

Larissa nodded, clasping her fingers together and white-knuckling each other. "I cannot tell you." She had a tight-lipped smile. "If I get word that you were able to pull some strings to get this information without Y/n’s consent, censure will be sent." She focused most of her attention on Wednesday. "Is that all?" 

Enid spoke, "Well, actually yes, I keep finding hair in my-"

"That will be all." Wednesday cut her off, dragging the wolf outside again. Weems chuckled.

"Wednesday, that was important! I keep finding it in the food! It’s gross!" Enid complained. 

"It’s your hair, Enid; you’re just shedding again." Wednesday huffed before mumbling, "Censure... Sure, watch me, Weems. Where’s Thing? I need that file." 

To Wednesday’s surprise, he was in the dorm with a file! For a second Wednesday debated whether to reward him. "Good job, Thing." He tapped around on the file, and the girls learned it’s a happy dance—well,  Enid calls it that. 

Wednesday shooed him off of it. Enid and Thing gathered on this side of her table as she sat, the goth was just staring at it. What possibly could this contain where people couldn’t even speak about it? Why should they avoid you? Who are you?

"You're just gonna stare? Hurry and open it!" Enid bounced with anticipation. Wednesday wasn’t helping with her slow opening.

The first papers were a little boring if not looked at carefully: plane tickets from Egypt to Washington, D.C., to here. What absorbed Wednesday was the plane; it wasn’t a regular commercial plane; this was a government aircraft. Why?

"Plane tickets, so what, next?" Enid ushered the goth. Wednesday satisfied Enid’s wishes.

On a copy of your birth certificate, multiple things were marked over with a black sharpie, the place of birth, hospital, DOB, last name, gender, and parents. 

"What’s up with this? All of it’s marked off, even the last name, is not their real name? The birthday is crossed off, parents crossed? Who did this?" Enid queried the same things Wednesday did in her head.

They removed the paper, which was in a sealed plastic cover. On the front page, a paragraph with marked-out words like the previous page, Wednesday managed to create a clear story. In summary, someone was describing the documents in the plastic as graphic, horrid, and completely grotesque. They said the crimes committed were outrageous; from what she guessed, your name, crimes, and punishment were covered up. 

"What the hell did she do?" Enid gawked at the paper. 

Wednesday had those eyes—eyes that showed how enticed she was. Her orbs looked to be void black, dilated black holes. Wednesday was so on edge that her skin was full of goosebumps; she was cold to the touch, "Clearly something odious." Wednesday responded while warily opening the seal, and removing the front cover.

Wednesday was no foe to blood; she’s seen it all in different forms, but never this much on one body. 

This was only your mugshot alone; you looked drowned in red, chunks, muscle, skin, shards of bone, and hair. Not an inch of your face wasn’t red. You looked less than six, but your eyes told a story only someone with years ahead of you could tell—a 100-mile stare. It didn’t help that there was blood in your eyes. You looked abominable. 

Once perfect hair is caked and coated with red. Lips were chapped, and blood was in their ravines. Your mouth was slightly gaped, your front teeth were stained. Eyes were bloodshot, just as the rest of you, but the veins in them were prominent purple webs. You didn’t look sad or scared; prostrated and exasperated were the words. The marking had similar veins to your eyes. 

"Oh my god." Enid’s voice was muffled, her hands were over her mouth, and her complexion was paler. "I’m like literally going to puke. Who the hell’s blood is that?" 

The rest of the page contained your name, which was marked over; the date of your incarceration is the same as practically everything else, scribbled out.

Wednesday removed the page. Pictures of your clothes, hands, and fingerprints.

The prints weren’t even inked; you just used the blood that was already on them. Your hands drew her in; they were painted with blood, inside your nails, and creases, but crescents were dug in them, to the point you were bleeding. Wednesday has never seen scars on you except for those crescents on your hand. 

The clothes you had on were tattered, buttons gone, sodden in blood. 

Again, she removed the page and fingerprint card. About all of the words were written over, just the last name ‘Khuld’, age of five, and the gender of a girl.

The silence of stupefaction was broken, "Wednesday please don’t tell me this girl’s blood is on Y/n." Enid's voice was trembling, her breath was ghostly frozen, and she was as pale as a ghost. All Wednesday could do was shift her head down; she didn’t know, but all they did was wish it wasn't. 

Wednesday regrets even lifting the page up. She heard Enid gag before running to the bathroom, and the wolf hurled vulgarly in the toilet. 

All Wednesday could do was stare at the pictures in front of her. How could someone do this? The amount of blood on you didn’t Juxtapose to this or anything she’s ever seen. The pictures just kept coming—diverse angles, variant zooms. 

Wednesday shuffled the pictures until the autopsy photos. 

 There is barely anything to prove this discombobulation was once a body. The doctors laid out organs to match a body and connected as many bones together as possible. The sage-green eyeball on a metal bed pierced Wednesday’s soul. 

Thing placed himself on her hand, benevolently petting it. Wednesday broke her focus with the eye, giving her diligence to the hand. He nudged her to the bathroom. Wednesday made a keen effort to help her friend. 

Enid was on the floor beside the toilet, her back resting on the tub wall. She was in a fright—an enervated fright. "She was five Wends," she paused to breathe, the blonde on the verge of tears. "Five. Can you believe that?" Enid broke down in a fit of sobs. All Wednesday could do was rub her back. As the crying girl reiterated ‘five’.

"I know…"