#answers these 1000 years later...

[ilonacho]

glanced at my inbox and i am. so sorry

[ekleipsi]

he had planned ahead of time. made sure the other was out of the house when he started decorating (decor he had hidden for near weeks now). reds , purples , and blues in streamers was set up around their shared livingroom with the same shade of balloons scattered around or floating by string. the kitchen island held a cake , the shape of a chibi wolverine (the baker did an amazing job) and some candles , as well as a box and card.

the card held a simple note 'dinner for two at your favorite place and a massage.' phel was more than happy to take him where ever. but as the door opened a bit untimely does crimson eyes blink at the other , pink flourishing across his cheeks. he stood there before the cake a bit awkwardly , holding the lid to the box. and swiftly slapping it onto the present. he took a deep breath in , held the present firmly in hands as feet pad him towards partner. and simply. . . thrusts it towards the taller one.

inside contained a stuffie of Setts own , a little FUWA of his own. once ear of the FUWA is squeezed , a soft voice could be heard from the stuffie. Phels own. a specific message made only for the other. with pinks still painting expressionism , the musician is looking down shyly , lips merely mouthing 'happy birthday.'

--- It wasn't like Phel to all but push him out of the shared apartment, but it was fortunate enough for the mute that Sett had intended to leave for a while anyway. There was nothing better than working up a sweat for a big meal in the evening, right? The gym was bound to create a great atmosphere and all he was looking forward to- well, all he'd said he wanted for his birthday, was a big ass delicious dinner.

--- Not that companion had shared a time in which he needed to stay out and gone, so when he'd come back...in the midst of a seemingly special moment, orbs lighted in surprise at the decor strewn across the apartment. The rest of Heartsteel had called him earlier this morning, sharing a video chat to wish him a happy day but he was most looking forward to spending it with the slender man before him. Especially the moment he saw the flush of color spread from cheeks to neck.

--- A broadening grin split across his features, adjusting the eared cap upon his head before striding in smoothly to meet the padding feet of partner. He'd meant to scoop the other up and squeeze him in a tight hug, to open mouth and exclaim how wonderful and nice the decorations are, but the plush is instead shoved thrust into his grasp with little warning. ' Bit eager, huh? ' he teased with toothy grin, head tilting slightly, chuckling a bit as he gazed fondly at the Fuwa and just how charming it looked on its own.

--- It took only another moment to realize that the ear needed squeezing for recorded message to be played. It...wasn't all that long ago, that Aphelios had needed the surgery on his throat and his vocal chords. Long enough for them to heal by now, but not so long that...they weren't dearly missed, not so long that Sett didn't remember the pleasant sound of his voice...when they'd first started dating. Before said voice was taken, even before he'd ever gotten to hear words that now ushered forth so sweetly from the Fuwa's plush box.

--- Mouth gaped open after a moment...his throat suddenly dry, fingers tightening into the plush. When had his eyes begun to sting like that? He was so fixed upon the plush that he'd nearly missed the way Phel was mouthing Happy Birthday to him; before squeezing the ear one more time, then two. Then once more after that. ' Phel... ' the single word, a bit hoarse, before he set the plush on the counter, next to the cake- as good as it looked, his arms circled slender hips before squeezing and lifting the shorter into his grasp.

--- Pulled flush against broad, firm chest, he pressed his forehead into Aphelios' own chest, feeling the steady thump and rhythm of heartbeat, inhaling slowly as he calmed himself down. The others heart...it always calmed him down. ' I love you too, Phel...Aphelios. I love you...so much... ' a mutter into cloth, into material, muffled by it and all for the best as his fingers tightened and bunched into the others shirt at the back, sniffing sharply.

@espelharr

[killjoysanonymous]

@intcthatgoodnight sent you’re the single most important thing to me . (for padme, from anakin)

ANSWERED ASKS !

The weight of his words is what CONSTANTLY kept her anchored to the ground, unwavering into the thoughts that would push her head into the clouds. Even when his words were out of the realm of possibility, toeing a line between their DESTINY and who they needed to be in the public eye, there was something about him that grounded her. It was that feeling she could HARDLY explain, one that brought a sparkle to her eye and the uplift of a grin to her lips.

"Careful, someone may here you speak-" her words hummed as they stood tucked away in an alleyway, her own hood was up and cascading a shadow over her face. "The look of adoration in your eyes is enough to give you away," Padmé's hand raised to brush against his check. "Dare I say you mean as much or possibly more to me?"

[holyblcd]

❛ i can’t leave you alone for one minute, can i? ❜ @ logan

SNIKT! the bottle cap flew through the air, landing on the bar counter. dancing. spinning. around and around. until a bloody hand stopped it. a snort escaped the man that was sitting on a stool, surrounded by unconscious humans. a bottle of lukewarm beer in one hand - the other one was resting on the wooden surface. head turned and his gaze landed upon the other mutant. " HEY - i didn't come here looking for trouble. trouble found me. " as usual. it was his lifelong partner. that and death. they followed him wherever he went. " but i guess you don't believe me? " logan leaned forward, reaching for another bottle. " beer? it's one me, or well, them. " /@nachtsoklein

[jintaka-hane]

Maybe getting married isn't so bad

Masterlist | Img src

Summary: You've always complained about weddings. You don't like them, you find them ridiculous. But as you attend your friends' ceremony, something inside you tightens. How will your lover react? Word count: 1000 (intro + 200 per gentleman) Personal Notes: I'm in this picture. I've told my partner a thousand times that I would never get married. And now, years later, with kids, a dog, and a house, something in me is changing... <3 Warning: All my stories are written entirely in Spanish and then translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.

You bit the inside of your cheek to hold back the tears. It was all so beautiful. The flowers, the garlands, the music. Everything you had always rejected. 

Sitting in your chair next to your partner, you watched as the groom nervously recited his vows while the bride gazed up at him with adoring eyes. Your eyes swept over the guests. They all looked radiant. Some were smiling, others were sighing.

As soon as the heartfelt words were spoken, a couple of little girls wearing flower crowns approached the engaged couple with a small cushion holding the wedding rings. One of them tripped on the carpet. Everyone laughed warmly. You clasped your hands together in your lap and held them tightly. 

The bride beamed as her almost-husband slid the wedding ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. As he leaned forward to kiss her, you burst into tears while the guests applauded and cheered.

"Are you crying, darling?" You felt your partner's warm hand cover yours.

You didn’t answer.

He just smiled and sighed.

How many times had he tested the waters with you about marriage? And how many times had you dismissed it, calling it just a piece of paper, an unnecessary formality, something cheesy?

The rest of the evening was a blur of joy. You were either dancing, eating or laughing. Sometimes all three at once.

By the time you returned to your hotel, your feet ached from the heels, but your heart glowed. You sat on the bed while your lover stared at you.

Shanks

“So…” he grinned and stepped closer, “did you like the wedding?”

“Yeah…” you stared at the floor.

“...But?” He ducked his head into your angle of vision, smiling mischievously.

“No but,” you pushed his head to the side.

“Ouch! What do you mean, no but? Didn't you say weddings were a cheesy thing for people with no creativity?”

“Yeah… well…” You slipped off your heels. “I liked this one.”

He laughed, “Oh yeah. You did like it. I even saw you cry!”

“Shanks, you're an idiot!"’ you threw one of your heels at him, “Shut up!”

He dodged it and crouched down, leaning on your knees.

“Oh no, I'm not shutting up until you say it.” 

“Say what?” you blinked at him innocently. 

A couple of seconds passed, but Shanks always ended up winning the silence contests.

“FINE!!!" You finally snorted "I-I want to get married, okay?! HAPPY?!”

“YES!!!!” He threw his arms in the air triumphantly, beaming and moving around the room in a ridiculous victory dance. “I knew it! I knew it! I WON!”

You rolled your eyes, already regretting everything you’d just said.

Beckman

“Doll...” he knelt in front of you, placing his hands on your thighs, ”why did you cry at the wedding?”

He knew. Of course he did. He knew you like the back of his hand.

“I just... “ you trailed off, avoiding his gaze. “It was a nice ceremony, wasn't it?“

“Yes,“ his fingers brushed your chin, making you raise your gaze, “But I thought you didn't like these kinds of events.“

You sighed, locking your pupils with his, “Yeah… that's what I thought.“ He smiled warmly at you and your heart swell. 

"Well," he rose to his feet. Your eyes went wide as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, elegant box. "If you ever change your mind…" 

"Becks..." your voice broke, "that box...?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes filled with tears. “H-have you always carried it with you?”

He gave you another smile and replied in his raspy voice. "Yes darling, just in case... You know I've always wanted to…”

You barely let him finish the sentence. You just ran to him and jumped into his arms.

Mihawk

“My dear, are you unwell?” he took off his feathered hat and fixed his amber eyes on you.

“No, my love, why?' you replied, removing the silver earrings he had offered you.

“I saw you crying at the ceremony.”

You sighed and stood up to help him remove his tie. 

“It's nothing, it's just... everyone was so happy that I... I had second thoughts…”

“Thoughts?” he took your hands in his, “What thoughts?”

“Oh nothing,” you played it down, “things like... weddings and… promises.” 

Your lover's eyes glowed. “My love... it's possible that… are you reconsidering?”

You nodded and his lips curved upwards in a blissful smile.

“Will you let me court you?” he said, soon returning to his usual serious self.

“Court me, Mihawk? When it's been years since we…”

“Shh,” he silenced you, running his fingers gently over your lips. Then he lifted your hand and placed a small kiss on it. “I'm going to find another room to spend the night."

“What?” you laughed, “Mihawk, what…”

“If we're going to do this, let's do it properly my dear," he rested his forehead against yours for a moment, then turned on his heel and disappeared.

You looked down at your freshly kissed hand, and a smile played in your lips as you imagined a ring on it.

..............................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training @sarkitsune03 <3

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Anger - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E (is there anything else with him?????) Truly this is the least crazy thing I've written in days. Unprotected p in v. Word Count: 1155 a/n: Sometimes I spend all afternoon trying to write Joel and get nothing and other times I write 1000 words in less than 30 minutes. There is no in-between. Written for TLOU Sundays!

"You've really gotta do something about him," Ellie tells you from where she's sitting at the kitchen table.

You're barely through the door, coat still covered in a layer of snow from outside. "Well hello to you, too, Ellie," you respond, pulling off your boots before you track any more water into the house. It's strange, how something like keeping the floors dry didn't matter for twenty years and now suddenly again it does. "You're the fourth person to say that to me today though, so I assume you also are talking about Joel?"

She's flipping through the pages of a comic, barely paying you any attention. "Yes, Joel," she emphasizes, not that you need any further confirmation. Maria had cornered you at the saloon, the other half of your patrol had been on your case, and you had a run-in with Jackson's resident grandma first thing in the morning, who gave you an earful about how you needed to learn how to satisfy your man so he would stop torturing the entire town with his bad mood.

You sigh, shucking your coat and flexing your toes in your thick socks as you make your way into the kitchen. "Any idea what's wrong with him? He seemed fine this morning."

Ellie shrugs, still engrossed in the pages in front of her. "I don't know, Dina just told me he was being a real fucking asshole. You know how he gets."

That you do. You're well aware of the way Joel Miller can make or break an entire day based on his mood, especially since you've been at his side to witness it longer than anyone else.

Before you can contemplate further, the man in question storms through the door, a grumble on his lips before it's even closed behind him. Ellie meets your gaze, glancing over at him before turning back to you and then quickly rising. "I've gotta get going," she says quickly, sneaking past Joel to grab her jacket.

She's out the door before he can even say a word.

"Where the fuck is she going?" he questions, ignoring the way his boots squeak on the floorboards as he makes his way to the couch, collapsing into it. A part of you wants to scold him for the wet spots now littered all over the floor, but based on the furrow in his brow, there's no use, and you simply follow him instead, swinging a leg over his thigh to climb into his lap and settle there.

Only he has the audacity to grumble. Again.

"Joel," you say sternly, "don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he fires back, and now you know exactly what everyone had been warning you about. "I didn't do anything."

"What's up with you today?" It's a simple question, an inquiry that he should have no problem answering, but he doesn't, so you continue with a follow-up request, "Just tell me why I had four separate people tell me that I needed to figure out who you're so angry today."

"I'm not angry."

You frown. "Bullshit, Miller. Tell me what the fuck is wrong."

His answer is to seal his lips to yours, his rough grip dragging your hips against his so you can feel the hard press of him between your thighs. This felt familiar, especially since he'd been in an equally shit mood the day you first met, something you'd promptly fucked out of him later that night. And usually, that did the trick, but there was always something else lingering beneath the surface.

Not that you have time to contemplate what it might be because he pushes any thought of his mental well-being from your head when he rips your shirt from your body and latches onto one of your breasts. Likewise, any train of thought is gone just as quickly as the remainder of your clothing.

It's a good thing Ellie left quickly, because within minutes he has you spread out on the couch beneath him, one of your legs hitched around his hip as he pounds into you. There's little space left between you, the moment feeling intimate even with the intensity of the way he's pressing you down, grunting with each thrust until he has you clenching around him.

His fingers are on your clit before you come down from your climax, already drawing you higher a second time. "Joel, fuck, I can't," you whine, gripping at his hand.

"You can," he emphasizes, "you're gonna take every fucking inch of me."

And then you can see it. The rage behind his gaze, the emotion that has his eyes glassed over. The anger he has to unleash somehow. It scared you when you first met him, the first time he had you like this back in Boston, pressed up against the door, the first time you watched his fist collide with a FEDRA officer who tried to touch you, and the first time you saw him have to kill someone who definitely wasn't infected.

But now, you know better. You know that he won't hurt you, but he still needs a way to release the pent-up emotion that boils beneath the surface. You don't know what happened to get him here today, but you do know how to fix it.

Joel groans when you shift to wrap your legs fully around his waist, pulling him down so the soft expanse of his stomach presses against your own, increasing the pressure of your walls wrapped around him. It's all he can do to rut into you, your back slowly snaking up the arm of the couch as he fucks you. The angle changes the higher you move, guiding his lips to yours so he can catch the scream that rips from your throat when you clench around him a second time.

He follows you into the abyss, pulling out seconds before he spills against your center, jerking himself off until the last drops drip down onto the fabric.

When he regains his breath he stands, cock softening as he moves to grab a cloth to wipe his spend from your core. And then he's pressing you into the couch again, settled in the safety of your thighs as his head rests on your chest.

"Do you wanna know what Mrs. Davis told me today?" you ask softly, fingers curling through his hair.

Joel rests his chin on your breast as he looks at you, eyes softer now, more playful. "Fuck, what did she say?"

You smile. "She saw me at the store and pulled me into the corner to tell me that I needed to get you home and ride your cock because she was sick of your shit."

His laugh is rough, but he says nothing else as he settles back against you.

"Was she right?" you ask, your own laughter threatening to bubble up.

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't deny it either.

[bet-on-me-13]

Wes ruins everything

Wes had finally done it, he had finally realized why nobody ever belived him about Fenton and Phantom! It made so much sense now, he had been looking for an answer for years, thinking he was going crazy because everybody refused to see the Obvious!

He was Cursed!

He literally had an Ancestoral Curse on his Bloodline that made it so that all those born with the gift of Prophecy would be ignored! A Gift of Prophecy that he apparently had.

It was Cassandra's Curse, the one from Greek Myths. Apparently she was his Great×1000 Grandmother and passed down the Gift (and Curse) of Prophecy to him. And he knew how to break it!

All he needed to do was gather the right resources, chant the correct incantations, make sure not to accidentally summon a Demon in the process, and he could just foist the Curse onto some other poor schmuck. Sure it would suck for them, and he would loose his Gift of Prophecy, but Wes had been ignored for Years at this point, he needed validation!

So he did the Ritual, and he didn't mess it up, and he managed to get rid of the Curse.

Now all he had to do was convince everybody that he was right for the first time in his life! This was going to be great!

...

Cass didn't know what was going on.

A while ago, she had started getting these...gut feelings that she couldn't explain.

She would look over the details of a Case her Family was working on, and see a patern that the others were seemingly ignoring. Like when she realized that The Penguin was about to raid the Docks on the East Side, but the others were convinced it was going to be on the West.

But when she had tried to tell them, they had brushed her off. "We've already concluded that he will begin the Raid on the West side, no need to go to the East."

She had gone anyways, and low and behold she had been right. But nobody even acknowledged that she had been right at all, they had just wondered how they had missed the signs, not even questioning how she had known.

It wasn't limited to Cases either. Even small things, like telling her brother's where the TV remote was were brushed off, and hours later they would still be looking, never even having checked where she told them.

It seemed that no matter what, nobody cared about her point of view anymore. They kept brushing her off, telling her she was wrong, actively ignoring her ideas.

And it was getting worse. They were starting to ignore her more and more, forgetting she was in the room, not calling her down for Dinner, even forgetting to check in on her during Patrol.

She knew that there must be something going on, Magical or otherwise, but when she tried bringing it up with her Dad or JLD, they would also Brush her off.

Her Family was forgetting her. And they didn't even realize it.

...

Danny was not okay at the moment.

When he had gone to school a few weeks ago and noticed everybody staring at him, he didn't give it much thought. Maybe Dash or Paulina had spread another Rumor about him again, not too out of the ordinary.

When his name had been called over the Intercom, he hadn't thought much of that either. His grades were falling even more than usual, so he assumed his Guidance Counselor wanted to have another talk with him.

When he walked into the Principals Office to see both of his Parents and some GIW Agents, that's when he realized something big must have happened.

He didn't have much of a chance to react when the Shields went up, but he did react when the first Ecto-Blast scorched the wall behind him. His Parents began to scream at him as they fired their Blasters, something about replacing somebody? He didn't know, he was pretty preoccupied at the moment.

It took more effort than he cared to admit to escape the Room, but a stray shot to the hidden Shield Projector under the Principals Desk proved to be his saving grace. Unfortunately the moment he escaped the Office, he was met with a veritable Army of GIW Agents, all armed to the Teeth with Weapons he had never even seen before.

He managed to get away for a moment, hiding in the Bathroom as the Agents chasing him passed it by. That's when he met Wes.

He obviously hadn't been expecting him, but the moment he saw him Wes put on a smug look. "Oh hi Fenton, trying to get away from the other students?"

Danny had replied with confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I finally managed to convince everybody about you, now everyone knows that you're Phantom! I'll bet you're hiding from all of the other Students hounding you for questions right?"

"...it was you?"

"Yeah, so? I finally get to be right!"

"...You absolute MORON-"

That was the last Danny got to say to Wes before an Ecto-Blast launched him through a Wall, seeing his face morph into a look of Shock just before the dust cloud covered it up.

Since that day, Danny had been on the Run. Nowhere was safe anymore now that the GIW knew both his Human and Ghost's faces, but he had to keep running. He crossed state Lines already, and was on his way to the next Ecto-Rich City he could sense, somewhere in New Jersey.

He cursed his Fenton Luck every day. Why had everybody believed Wes this time?! Nobody had ever belived him before, nobody even seemed to acknowledge his existence after a while! What had changed?

Danny just wanted to rest already.

...

Cass had taken to Patrolling alone recently. She had taken to doing a lot of things alone, actually.

After the first month, it seemed that nobody could remember that she was in the room with them, even if she was within their eyeline, she just faded into the background. By the 2 Month Mark they had stopped talking to her entirely, although occasionally she would get a Text or two from her dad. By the 3 month Mark she was completely invisible, and By the 5th she had been forced to get used to it.

She didn't know what was going on, was it a Meta Ability? Magic? Alien Tech? She had no idea.

She had begun to cook for herself after the first time Alfred forgot to set her Plate at the Table. The same with Washing her own Clothes, Cleaning her Room, and Paying her Phone Bills. At the very least the Automated Allowance Payments to her Account had kept up, or she wouldn't have been able to go to her favorite Cafe anymore.

It was bittersweet for her. She used to go to that Cafe every week with Alfred, but he didn't even come on his own anymore. Had he only come for her? Did she really mean that much to them? It hurt, she finally had a family that cared for her and suddenly she didn't exist to them.

She sat alone at a Table, ignored by everyone in the Cafe as usual, when a new face walked in. He looked about her age, a little roughed up, walking with a sort of cautious gaint, as if he was scared of something. His Body Language seemed to agree with her assessment, as his body practically screamed "Worry" in its movements.

Cass stopped watching at that point. Just another Gotham Teen, probably worried over something like getting not having enough money or getting mugged on the way home. It was a Common sight in Gotham.

She attention was pricked again for a moment when she heard a voice speak up. "Uh, can I sit here?"

She ignored it, he wasn't talking to her.

"Um, excuse me? Miss? Could I sit here?" He repeated.

She ignored him again, he wasn't talking to her. Nobody talked to her.

"Hello? Do you have Earbuds in?" He said, and he waved his hand in front of her face.

Her face. He waved his hand. In front of Her Face.

He was talking to her.

She looked up at him sharply, seeming to startle him for a moment before he asked, "So, is that a no?"

"You can see me?" She asked.

He looked a bit bewildered, but replied "Uh, yeah? Why would I not? Are you...a Ghost?". That last part sounded a bit suspicious.

"No. Not a Ghost. But nobody sees me. Ever. Nobody remembers me." She replied. She had never spoken this much to anybody outside of her Family, but in the past few weeks she had been starved for interaction.

He seemed slightly interested, and sat down at her table. He looked her in the eyes, and said "Do you...talk about it?"

She smiled. He could see her.

[unclewaynemunson]

If there is one thing Eddie Munson is good at, it's hyperfixating. He can spend hours upon hours wholly entranced by whatever it is that has his attention, whether it's a newly discovered band or a book series he's reading or some random new interest he likes to immerse himself in. It's something Steve, who himself has the attention span of a goldfish, will never really understand, but that's okay: even without understanding it, it's one of the things he loves about Eddie.

Some of Eddie's obsessions fade just as quickly as they appear, but others stay with him for years. So when he reaches a 1000-day streak on Duolingo learning Elvish, Steve has a surprise for him: two tickets for a Lord of the Rings convention in Chicago. The second ticket is not for Steve – they enjoy their own separate interests just fine without the other's involvement – but for Dustin, and the two of them wave goodbye to Steve with a suitcase filled with nerdy costumes and matching excited sparks in their eyes.

Eddie returns a few days later filled with stories about all that he and Dustin got up to.

'Guess who we met at the convention,' is one of the first things he tells Steve. He's bouncing around with excitement, too impatient to even wait for Steve's first guess. 'The guy who created the Elvish Duolingo course! And guess what? He lives in Indianapolis! I'm having lunch with him next week!'

And it's cool, Steve is happy that Eddie met his hero and made a new nerd friend out of him, he truly is – until Eddie shows him the picture that Dustin took of the two of them.

Here's the thing: Steve is not a jealous person. Not at all. He knows that jealousy is a gross thing to feel and he can't even imagine not trusting Eddie. But... he had not expected Eddie's lame nerd idol to have amazing hair, a lip piercing, and muscles in all the right places. The guy looks like a freaking model. And usually, that wouldn't bother Steve – he knows he's not exactly ugly himself – but usually he doesn't have to compete with guys who speak Elvish fluently.

'You should come with me, we can all hang out together,' Eddie suggests. 'I'm sure you'll love him.'

Steve is hesitant about it, but Eddie refuses to take no for an answer, and that's how Steve ends up at Vikram's house for lunch two weeks later.

Eddie gasps loudly when Vikram leads them into his living room, clutching a dramatic hand to his chest in true Eddie fashion. Steve knows it's not all theatrics, though: there's no way a room like this wouldn't genuinely impress Eddie. It's dark and filled with big leather furniture. Framed posters for various metal bands and horror movies hang on the walls. There are shelves filled with big fantasy books, and every corner of the room has a display cabinet filled with what seem to be collectors' items for various series.

If Steve had been hoping for Vikram to look more like a stereotypical nerd in real life, he would be severely disappointed: the guy looks amazing in a leather jacket that would fit perfectly in Eddie's own collection and black skinny jeans that show off a truly amazing pair of legs, making Steve feel oddly self-conscious about the couple of pounds he gained since he left his high school sports days behind him.

While they're having lunch – Vikram bakes his own bread and it's so good that Steve doesn't think he can ever stop eating – Eddie and Vikram enthusiastically talk each other's heads off about all things Tolkien. Steve, on the other hand, grows more quiet as time passes, not really following along and sure as hell not able to give any contributions to the topic at hand.

'Did you ever try to learn some Sindarin as well, Steve? Or are you more of a Quenya guy?' Vikram asks him in what is no doubt a well-meant attempt to include Steve in the conversation.

Steve hastily swallows a big mouthful of bread and feels his cheeks heat up.

'I never read those books,' he sheepishly confesses.

'Oh!' Vikram's eyes widen and Steve can practically see him think: You never bothered to show any interest in one of your boyfriend's favorite things?

'Well, I mean, I tried,' Steve rushes to explain himself. 'But I um, I couldn't really keep my attention to it. They're a bit difficult to read. For me.' Somehow, explaining it only makes him feel worse about it.

'Oh, yeah, I get it, man. Those books aren't for everyone.'

There is no meanness or hidden insult behind his words. But Steve only feels more like an outsider while Eddie asks Vikram some incomprehensible question that has Vikram giving an in-depth explanation about the difference between two words that literally sound the same to Steve's ears. And when Eddie laughs about a joke that goes way over Steve's head, then says something in that stupidly beautiful nerd language which prompts a laugh from Vikram in return, Steve is reminded in full force how ugly of an emotion jealousy is.

They say goodbye – Eddie says something in Elvish again and Steve has to watch Vikram laugh a joyous laugh about it again – and Steve is quiet during the drive back home.

'Is something wrong?' Eddie asks when they're home, perceptive as always.

'No,' Steve lies.

'Stevie, c'mon.' Eddie studies Steve's face intently, a frown between his eyebrows just barely hidden by his bangs. 'What's going on?' Something in his expression shifts. 'Wait. You didn't like Vikram, did you? Did you hate him?'

'No, I didn't hate him!' Steve is quick to say. 'He's awesome, Eddie, he's perfect and smart and funny and perfect.'

Eddie narrows his eyes like Steve said something weird.

'Why did you say he's perfect twice?'

Steve huffs and runs a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. 'Just drop it, Eddie.'

'No, I'm not dropping it.' Eddie crosses his arms. 'What are you not telling me?'

Steve sighs. 'Okay, I didn't want to bother you with this, because it's my problem and not yours, and jealousy is an ugly emotion, but–'

'You're jealous of Vikram?'

'I mean, he's like, super hot, and he has this cool house, and he loves the same things as you, and you can speak your cool nerd language with him, while I'm too dumb to even read your cool nerd books and–'

'Steve,' Eddie interrupts him. 'You have no reason to be jealous.'

'I just...' Steve pauses, pinches the bridge of his nose. He finally manages to voice the thought that has been eating at him ever since he met Vikram. 'I don't want you to wake up someday and wish that you were with someone as smart as you are.'

The way Eddie's breath catches is barely noticeable. Then, he reaches out and gently places his hands on Steve's shoulders.

'I am with someone as smart as I am,' he says softly.

Steve scoffs.

'No, it's true,' Eddie presses on. 'Okay, so you don't enjoy reading Tolkien, and you don't speak Elvish. I don't care about that, man. I love the way you think. I love your inexhaustible knowledge of weird sports facts. I love how precise you are about weighing ingredients when you're baking something. I love your through-the-roof emotional and social intelligence.' He lifts one hand off of Steve's shoulder to pet his head, almost as if he's some kind of animal. 'You got a pretty big brain in there, no matter what you tell yourself, Stevie. And that's why I love you, more than anyone who speaks Elvish fluently.'

Steve tugs Eddie closer until their bodies are pressed against each other, his arms around Eddie's waist and his head resting on Eddie's shoulder.

'I don't think anyone has ever called me smart before,' he quietly admits.

'Well, I'll do it more often, then,' Eddie replies. 'Cause you are.'

(I wrote this because @undreaming-rambles has reached the unbelievable milestone of a 1000-day duolingo strike today. obviously that called for a silly fanfic celebration moment, congrats on your incredible perseverance aneta 💖 and credit where credit is due: this one was inspired by an episode of my beloved comfort show brooklyn 99)

[deathfavor]

He Xuan chooses to observe as she laughs ; carefree and easy as the breeze. What does a summer breeze know of the ocean's burden? It can't, and it doesn't. It floats easily through flower fields, unaware of the pressure of black depths. He lets her laugh and does not chide her for it. Instead he favors refilling his sake cup in the mean time. ANYTHING that lets him focus on something tangibly here and now.

" Mm? Friends? " True to his typical behavior, he feigns ignorance before simply shrugging. " I don't know. " Maybe it is reason enough for that kind of question. Either way, he's content to leave it as it is.

The Wind Master's words fall like an unexpected blow to the head ; an otter that smashes open a clam's shell to reveal the vulnerable creature beneath. He visibly stiffens before he can conceal it - but at least does not lash outwards like He Xuan the Ghost King would. Because right now he's THE EARTH MASTER. Except he hasn't talked about his sister in centuries and never since his death. Not to anyone. His shoulders slump, a crack in the stoicism. He doesn't trust his voice.

" She never got to see. " He doesn't mean to say it but he does. IT SLIPS OUT LIKE A MINNOW BETWEEN SHARK TEETH. Ultimately, it's fine because plenty of people lost family members to tragedy. It's not like it's unique. It wouldn't be unique to the Earth Master, and it wasn't unique to poor He Sheng before he became He Xuan. At least she never saw what he became, either. It's perhaps the ONE MERCY those in his life were given. They never saw his complete demise.

Would she be proud? He thinks they'd all be PAINED and SAD.

He lifts his head, gazing towards her and finds relief in the ability to turn the conversation away from himself. " I'm sure it must have been quite thrilling. Especially with his initial and continual success. " He Xuan responds carefully. lifting the cup of sake though not yet drinking any more of it.

And there it is. The CARELESS ASSUMPTIONS that become blades buried into him. In some ways, the words hurt more than the blades and fists he felt when dying. That had only been physical, and he'd stopped feeling. Words lurk, they can inflict damage centuries later like an illness that lays dormant until it is activated again. " I think they were. " He finally manages after a few seconds. " I'm sure that yours would be too. How could they not, if they knew? Two children ascending? Such fortune. "

What would his life had been like if he'd had even a tenth of that fortune?

"...On occasion. " He finally admits. He can hear the memories almost, yet her voice has gotten weaker and distorted over time - centuries adding static and gaps to the sweetness of her laughter, to the glow of lanterns, and the muddy streets. He no longer remembers certain details despite his efforts. Time erodes all, and even GODS and GHOSTS aren't immune. Which is rather ironic considering a ghost is something removed in a way. " I wasn't a very good dancer. Too stiff. " That still hadn't changed.

      ⌜◈⌟    ▌ ── 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐡𝐢 𝐐𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐭. If there was one thing she's learned about Ming Yi, it's that he's mastered the art of deflection. So when he does begin sharing this memory with her, she sits up straighter. Surprise fans away the thicker layers of her tipsy haze. Delight settles in next, stretching her lips into a smile so wide her cheeks ache. The Earth Master has a little sister! How adorable. The juxtaposition is just too much: the moment she pictures a younger Ming Yi, still stoic as ever, soaked to the bone and caked in mud with a giggling little sister tugging at his sleeve, she bursts into laughter.

    "𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫. This Wind Master won't let a single soul know. Your face can remain as thick as it already is, Earth Master Yi."

      𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐒𝐡𝐢 𝐐𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. While he had never shared any part of his past with her before now, the image it had painted within her mind was all too familiar. Playful little sister and studious older brother. Hadn't that been her life as a mortal, too? What a happy coincidence that the two of them had become friends.

     "𝐖𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬!" she echoes her own thoughts when returning the favor of answering his question. "Isn't that reason enough to ask?"

      𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. Resting her cheek on a forearm, she regards him through mussed bangs and drink-heavy lashes. Her grin mellows to a fond smile. "She must be so proud of her ge. I know I was proud of mine when he ascended. He worked so hard."

     𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. There had been no greater joy than seeing her brother return safe and sound. She would happily endure his scolding about dirtied robes and careless behavior if it meant they had lived through another day. Had Ming Yi's sister tried her best to wait up for him on long nights of studying as well? Had she tried to wake at the same hours as him? She wants to ask, but her tongue lays heavy in her mouth. An ache that's lain dormant for decades reawakens, throbbing against her ribs until it's indistinguishable from the beat of her heart. Discussions of family doesn't arise often in the Heavenly Court. Even if they did, few could stand to tolerate hearing about the dreaded Water Tyrant (and she's not sure he wouldn't throttle her for muddying his reputation with childhood stories). She had forgotten how bittersweet the subject could be.

     "𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝. I hope mine would have been." A whisper of melancholy threads itself through her voice, so slight it hardly exists at all. Mischief chases it away when she probes, "Sooooo... did you ever dance with her?"

[bamsara]

I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

[thatfanficstuff]

Unexpected - Twilight/TVD crossover

Pairing: Mikaelsons x Reader

a/n: In this AU the Originals are far older than 1000 years. The cold ones are the result of a failed attempt by Esther to fix her 'mistake'. The Mikaelsons are the ultimate vampire authority but generally leave the cold ones to govern themselves.

“You don’t understand. You’ll never understand,” your cousin Bella yelled before storming out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

You clenched your teeth in irritation and sighed. You were frustrated with your baby cousin to say the least. She was dramatic and childish and aggravating. Some allowances could be made due to her age, but most of her bad behavior you laid at your aunt’s feet.

Renee had always spoiled Bella. Likely part of it was because Renee was notoriously flighty and Bella had to do more than her fair share of caretaking which made her mother feel guilty. Whatever the reason, it hadn’t done the girl any favors.

Your uncle Charlie, who had always been your favorite member of the family, had begged you to visit after Bella’s asshole ex left her and she’d sunk into a severe depression. One that was way out of proportion, complete with screaming nightmares and catatonic behavior. Obviously the relationship was not good for her if that was her response to a breakup. Cry, eat some ice cream and get your shit together.

And now Bella was starting to exhibit that same obsessive behavior with one of the boys down at the reservation. Charlie didn’t share your concerns, just happy her attention was on anyone other than Edward. You bringing it to her attention caused the argument you’d just had. Fuck it. You were so ready to go home.

The house was clean and you’d nearly finished the laundry by the time a knock at the door caught your attention. You swung it open to find an unfamiliar brunette with a pixie cut on the doorstep. She was cute. Dead, but cute. What the hell was a cold one doing on Charlie’s doorstep?

You narrowed your gaze as you looked her over. “Can I help you?”

Her brow furrowed. “Yes, I—I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Charlie’s niece, who are you?”

“I’m Alice. I’m a friend of Bella’s.”

You leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms over your chest. “Okay, Alice, Bella’s not here at the moment.”

“Charlie?” She tried to peer past you into the house.

“He’s helping his best friend’s wife plan his funeral. Which is where Bella should be but she went cliff diving instead.” That was more information than the vampire in front of you needed but you were still pissed at your cousin.

The pixie’s eyes went wide as she took a step back. “Cliff diving? Like for fun?”

“So I’ve been told.” You were quickly growing bored of this conversation.

She shook her head. “But I thought…” She trailed off. “Can I come in and wait for her? It’s important.”

You sighed and stepped away from the door. “Why the hell not? She shouldn’t be too much longer.”

And in fact, the girl in question ran into the house not more than ten minutes later. You observed quietly as she reunited with what you now gathered was her ex-boyfriend’s sister. If you would have known that you would have kicked her ass off the property instead of inviting her in. Leave it to your idiot cousin to date a cold one while she was still human. They had notoriously poor self-control.

You kept an ear on the conversation while the two of them talked. Apparently the pixie was something of a seer and thought Bella was committing suicide. Several minutes passed before Jacob Black walked in the house without knocking. You scowled at him as he walked past you to look in the living room where the girls were talking.

Seriously? You knew he was a dog but did he need to have the manners of one? The phone rang, pulling you from your thoughts. Before you could answer, Jake grabbed it. “Yeah? No, he’s not here. He’s planning a funeral.” And he hung up the phone.

“Who was that? Was that Edward? Why didn’t you let me talk to him?” Bella yelled as she stomped into the room.

“He didn’t ask for you,” the wolf snarked.

That was it. You were completely done with your cousin and all of her friends. You’d stay until after Harry’s funeral strictly for Charlie’s benefit and then you were heading home. A gasp drew your attention to the pixie like vampire.

“What? What is it?” Bella suddenly sounded far more worried than she had a moment ago.

“It’s Edward. He thinks you’re dead. He’s going to the Volturi and asking them to kill him.”

You rolled your eyes. For fuck’s sake. He was as dramatic as your cousin. Maybe they deserved each other after all.

“We have to go. I have to save him,” Bella said as she moved toward the door.

You blocked her way. “Really, Bella? Charlie just lost his best friend and now you’re going to take off after a boy that doesn’t give a shit about you instead of being here for your father?”

Your cousin’s lip lifted in a sneer as she pushed against your chest. You held your ground and glared at her.

“You don’t know anything. He left to save me, to protect me. He thinks he’s not good enough for me.”

“He’s not.” Jacob smirked while Alice sent you a nasty look. You lifted a brow and ran your eyes over the boy who stupidly thought he’d won something with your words. “Neither are you, furball.”

“Look,” Bella stated, reclaiming your attention. “I’m going to Italy whether you like it or not. Tell Charlie I’m sorry.”

You sighed. “Italy? Do you even have a passport?”

She nodded once. “Mom insisted.”

Fucking Renee. “Then I’m going with you. Write your dad a note.”

Bella shook her head. “That’s not a good idea. You should stay here.”

Alice laid a hand on your cousin’s arm. “No, Bella. I think it’s a great idea.”

You eyed the cold one wondering what plot she was concocting. Your fingers flew over the screen of your phone sending multiple texts as you followed the girls to the car.

***

As it turned out, you’d arrived just in time to stop Edward from revealing himself in the middle of the town square. Because he thought he’d be justified in putting his entire race at risk to get what he wanted. Asshole.

You leaned against the wall, responding to another text as you watched the interaction between the Volturi guards and the Cullens. You honestly didn’t care much about their politicking as long as your cousin remained alive-ish. You didn’t want Charlie heartbroken over the loss of his only child.

When you glanced up again, Demetri’s gaze met yours. He gave a little smirk and lifted a brow in question. You’d met him once and the two of you had gotten along famously. The compulsion to forget you was lifted now that he was once again in your presence. You shrugged and sent him a little wave as you slid your phone into your pocket.

Edward watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. “Listen, she doesn’t know anything about this. She just came along with Bella. You should let them both go.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Demetri said as he looked you over. “What do you say, bellisima? Do you know anything?”

“I know about a great many things,” you answered.

“See? She knows things.”

“They come with us. Both of them,” Jane stated.

Edward grabbed your upper arm in a bruising grip and jerked you into his side. “Don’t be stupid,” he hissed.

“No. That’s your job and if you don’t release me immediately, I’m going to tear your arm off and beat you with it while you sparkle in the sun.”

His grip loosened in shock and you pulled away. “See? I do know things.”

Demetri laughed as he steered you to follow the others.

You grinned. “This one likes me, Eddie. Don’t be so grumpy.”

“You shouldn’t be happy they like you,” Bella snapped. “They’re evil.”

You blinked at the back of her head. “You’re an idiot.” Personal feelings aside, why the hell was she announcing her opinions about the Volturi?

When you arrived at the throne room, Demetri gestured for you to stand to the side near the back. You gave him a nod and watched the proceedings in silence, simply taking everything in unless you needed to intervene.

After reading the Cullens and attempting to read Bella, Aro Volturi turned his attention to you. He hadn’t missed your interaction with one of his elite guards and, other than their dislike, he’d been able to get little from the Cullens about you. “And who might you be, my dear?” he asked with a spark of interest shining in his eyes.

He held out a hand fully expecting you to take it, when your phone dinged with an incoming text. You put up a finger telling him to wait a moment while you pulled it out to respond. Aro blinked in disbelief as the other two kings shifted on their thrones in annoyance.

“Are we boring you, human?” Caius asked.

You glanced at him as your phone rang. You answered without looking at the screen and passed it to Aro. “It’s for you.”

The room was quiet save for some sounds of agreement from the raven haired king and a final “I understand,” before he ended the call and handed your phone back to you. He smiled before turning back to your cousin and the Cullens as if nothing had happened. “Now, what to do with young Bella and more importantly the Cullens for violating our most sacred laws.”

Caius’ gaze shifted between you and Aro. “You already know what you’re going to do. Get on with it.”

“I assure you that we had no intention of violating any laws. Bella will be one of us. I’ll change her myself,” Alice said holding out a hand.

You huffed a laugh. “He has no intention of changing her. The pixie might but not soulless here.”

Bella spun to face you, her hands fisted at her sides. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re my cousin. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Bella, shut up.” Ignoring Bella’s offended expression, you held your hand out for Aro. “See for yourself.” Leaving your cousin alone in the woods with all her knowledge intact while they took off with no intention to return didn’t speak well for any of the Cullens.

Aro gently took your hand in his and read the memories you allowed him access to. Before he even had a chance to release you, the doors to the throne room flew open. A blur flashed across the room until it came to a stop between you and the Volturi king.

Your view was suddenly full of the back of a finely tailored suit. “You dare?” came the familiar baritone and you smiled at being in his presence again regardless of the circumstances.

You placed a hand on Elijah and he turned to look at you. “I asked him to.”

The look your mate leveled on you was entirely unimpressed. You knew better than to invite anyone into your brain without good reason.

“I assure you, I meant no harm,” Aro said. “I already spoke with Niklaus.”

Elijah hummed in thought as he looked from you to the king. Finally he looked past him to the other two, giving them a nod in greeting. “A pleasure, as always.”

“Elijah,” Marcus returned with a nod. “I’m afraid you have us at a loss. Aro was the only one to speak with your brother.”

“Ah,” the Original said in understanding. He stepped aside and placed his hand on your back to pull you to stand beside him. “In that case, allow me to introduce my mate.”

A slight widening of the eyes was the only indication of the kings’ surprise.

Apparently annoyed at having been forgotten, Edward spoke up. “I’m sorry, but can someone fill us in? The thoughts are too chaotic to follow and I can’t read either of them at all.”

“You’re a rude thing, aren’t you?” you said. “Quit digging in people’s brains without their permission.”

“It’s not like I can control it.”

“Liar.”

Elijah glanced at you. “I take it this is the boy that left your cousin in the woods to be eaten by wolves?”

You nod in answer. “Edward Cullen and his sister Alice.”

Elijah shifted his attention in surprise. “Cullen? I know Carlisle though it’s been a while. Is Jasper still with your coven?”

“How do you know Jazzy?” Alice asked.

“How remiss of me,” Aro interjected. “Allow me to introduce Elijah Mikaelson.”

Edward’s eyes snapped to you and his sister looked a little sick. “You’re mated to a Mikaelson?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie boy. I’m mated to all of them.”

Aro giggled. “Which means she’s the most protected and deadliest woman on the planet. And she’s rather displeased with you, dear Edward.”

Bella scoffed. “Her? As if. She’s nobody. Always has been. Always will be.”

Edward pulled her back into his chest. “Shut up, Bella.”

When she started to protest, he covered her mouth with his hand. His gaze shifted between you and your mate. “I assure you, I was only doing what I thought best for Bella. I will always do what’s best for Bella.”

“And you think that’s you?” Elijah asked.

Edward shook his head. “No, but it seems I don’t have much of a choice.”

You looked at Aro. The Volturi were in charge of the cold ones. It had been that way for thousands of years. Your mates didn’t get involved unless they were asked. “I don’t like him, but he has a point. She graduates in May.”

Aro nodded slowly. “Very well. We expect her to be turned within a week of her graduation. Until then you may go.” He waved them away, no longer interested in the Cullens and their pet.

“Oh, Cullens,” Caius called, stopping them at the door. “Should you fail, it won’t be us you answer to.”

Edward shot another glance in your direction before giving a nod and dragging Bella through the doors, his hand still firmly covering her lips.

[vagabond-umlaut]

ramé

love.

a word everyone spells as l-o-v-e, except one certain young sorcerer – to whom it appears h-a-p-p-y, to whom it appears h-a-v-o-c – to whom it appears the shape of the letters of your name.

you, on the other hand, forget how to spell when the same word is before you – a fact which, your admirer reckons, would have been a major problem were he not he – that is, were he not the one and only 'gojo satoru'.

and thus begins, the plan.

and thus begins, the six steps to catch one's crush's eye — by the six eyes.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

tags: set during gojo's past arc; childhood friends to lovers; pining-since-forever!gojo; oblivious-since-forever!you; tooth-rotting fluff; adorable banter; height difference; all your friends ship satoru & you; they all are very tired of you both as well; satoru & you-hashtag [not-canon-yet] relationship goals; angry protective gojo; hell lots of teasing; misunderstandings; arguments; angst with a VERY HAPPY ending

wc: 12k+ (i'm genuinely so proud of this, guys(gn) :D)

notes: decided to republish my most popular fic so far to celebrate my blog crossing 1000 followers! tysm for all the love and support u hv shown me, besties!!! <333 btw, jjk isn't mine. dividers by @/inklore. hope u enjoy reading this!

|1/6| overhaul your wardrobe.

a low whistle leaves gojo as he appraises himself in the mirror.

snow white hair neatly trimmed with short bangs, sunglasses from gucci giving a peek of his transfixing blue gaze, a fitting tom ford white shirt paired with black slacks and designer shoes, and, to top it all off, a perfume by bleu de chanel he bought especially for today...

there's no way in hell you won't find him attractive today.

with a smug smirk, the first-year swings the door to his dorm wide open, ready to astound the two waiting outside with his insanely good looks - and pauses, boisterous shout dying within his throat.

"'toru!!" you exclaim as you jump off the balustrade you were seated on and rush to him, a wide grin splitting your face into half. "surprise, i caught an earlier train!"

in spite of the shock, the boy feels his lips lift in a smile.

it's been nearly a year since the last time the two of you were face-to-face; you're still as beautiful as you were then.

"hey shortie," the words leave him in a whisper as you wrap your arms around him - only for a pained 'ouch!' to escape him a second later. massaging his side where you pinched him, the boy watches you step back with a scowl. (faux, of course.)

"call me that one more time and no one can save you from my wrath."

"wrath?" chuckling, gojo bends a bit to be your eye-level. you narrow your eyes at him. "you think that can scare me? the gojo satoru?"

"it sure can," folding your arms across your chest, you throw him a smirk in the next instant. "if it makes me share all the mochi i bought with ieiri senpai and geto senpai, and not give you the tiniest bit of it."

eyes widening behind glasses, a gasp escapes him. "you wouldn't!"

"i would," you answer, the same smirk as before still on your lips.

gojo backs off.

you're nothing if not awfully determined to make your promises see the light of the day. if he continues pestering you, the young sorcerer knows he'll actually not get a single morsel of those delicious sweets.

"you know what," a familiar voice cuts in through his thoughts and the boy twists to find his best friend walking towards him. sending him a discreet wink (which he deems is 100% suspicious), suguru reaches your side and continues, "satoru here was really excited about you coming to meet him."

"oh, is it so?" your smirk gives way to an angelic smile. gojo wishes it was directed at him instead of that long-haired bastard.

"yeah," said bastard meanwhile agrees with an overeager nod. "shoko and i too were really excited to meet the girl our friend is so infa-"

a tense silence befalls the corridor when suguru abruptly stops in the middle of the sentence. gojo swears if you weren't standing there, in front of them, he would have murdered his friend in cold blood today.

"infa-?" you prompt, smile dropping a little as your confused gaze darts from one to the other. gojo forces a chuckle out.

"it's nothing, don't you worry," he tries to draw your attention away, when shoko swoops in, like the savior she is (gojo decides to buy her one month's supply of cigarettes) and inquires, "hey, you haven't seen satoru in months, right? any change you find in him?"

that seems to be the trick. a curious glint shines in your eyes as they travel up and down his figure - appreciatively for sure, the boy says to himself. you too seem to have a liking for expensive things, after all.

after two seconds of close inspection, you turn to shoko with a bright smile. gojo's soul goes soaring at the sight in the clear skies above.

"nope! he's the same old 'toru i've always known."

gojo's soul crashes down upon the earth, splintering at the impact.

his two classmates give him a look before shoko asks again, a mild disbelief to her tone, "you really don't find anything new about him? like, maybe he has grown taller? or maybe, more handsome?"

"anything else which you never even expected, maybe?" suguru pipes in from beside him. gojo shoots him a grateful look, all past offenses already forgiven and forgotten.

a beat passes before you shake your head. "nope. nothing about him is new. though, when you speak about unexpected..." you trail off with a contemplative look.

shoko encourages you, "when we speak about unexpected-"

"i never expected you to be so pretty," you finish the sentence for her with a small smile. gojo's jaw drops to the ground. okay, what the fu-

"oh," shooting him an amused smirk, shoko faces you. "and why is it so? why did you not expect me to be so pretty?"

"it's not my fault," you reply, sending him an accusatory glance as you continue, "when i asked 'toru if his new classmates are good-looking, he said they aren't. he said you all look really plain."

"do you find me plain or handsome?" suguru butts in, ignoring the blue-eyed glare boring holes into the side of his head.

"you're plain," the short reply comes in an instant from you - and even in the midst of his gloom for going unnoticed, gojo finds it within himself to smirk at his best friend's withered face.

in the meantime, you continue speaking to shoko, unperturbed.

"yeah, so imagine my surprise when i met you at the torii gates earlier today. with such a stylish bobcut, cute face and flawless skin... i really thought you were a model, ieiri-senpai."

you pause for a second - undoubtedly to catch your breath from that non-stop chatter; gojo knows your habits like his own by now - then ask the girl who's watching you with a pleased expression, an excited grin threatening to bloom on your face, "are you a model, senpai?"

said senpai lets out a chuckle in response.

and despite feeling dispirited (and very, very jealous of that shoko for hogging all your attention), the white-haired boy cracks a fond smile, watching you be so cheery.

yeah, you certainly are one very dense dumbass.

but, he too is gojo satoru - and he will get his feelings across to you.

|2/6| display your strengths.

being a show-off is what gojo's the best at - besides yearning for you from afar, that is.

a wide grin stays on his face as he watches you approach him, a tad ahead of your classmates - two boys, nanami kento and haibara yu.

being in the first year, neither of you three can take part in the kyoto sister-school goodwill event - that doesn't stop you all from being spectators, though - which is what's enough for the gojo's plans.

a call of his name drags him away from gazing at you - you look good in that tee of his, you accidentally shrunk in the laundry - and twists back to find his teacher frowning at him.

the second-year finds it hard to wear the same grin. "yo yaga sensei, what's up?"

the man lets out a long-drawn sigh.

"don't overdo it, satoru," he says - the boy opens his mouth, ready to retort with a quip - only to be stopped by an unfamiliar expression overcoming the teacher's features.

it's a horrific insult of a smile, the young sorcerer realizes after a beat.

yaga, meanwhile, continues with that same expression, "i too was young once. i can understand what you're going through now - which is why i won't stop you from showing your talents to her or whatever. just... remember no one should die."

a quiet nod is all the boy manages in reply, too overwhelmed for a bit by the fatherly care yaga insists on giving him despite the annoyance suguru and he equally insist on being to their sensei.

with a pat on the shoulder, yaga leaves in the direction of the other faculty and staff. schooling his expression, gojo shoots suguru a look.

"hey suguru, how did yaga get to know about me and her?"

"who is her, gojo senpai?" a sweet voice chips in, soon followed by your teasing grin floating into his line of vision.

the boy averts his gaze for a beat - flustered by the sheer proximity between both of your faces which could be closed were he not such a coward, stop smirking, suguru - before sending you a wounded look.

"since when did i become gojo senpai to you?"

"since today," you reply with a tight smile. gojo doesn't like it one bit on your face. "i've been asked by the higher-ups to act professional with you."

a moment passes - wherein the boy registers the statement - before red flashes in his vision. placing his hands on your shoulders, he asks, or rather, demands to know, "did they hurt you? or threaten you? give me their names. who were those fucking bastards?"

brows furrowing, you place your much smaller hands atop his. "relax. nothing happened," you whisper, so quiet only he can hear it, "they don't have the guts or power to hurt or threaten me. all they told me is to, i quote, refrain from calling you such terms of endearment again. and i was like, okay."

a small smile settles on your lips as you take his hands in yours and start rubbing circles into them. the boy feels a lot of his tension drain away. smile brightening (you too seem to have realized the effects of this gesture on him), you add, "plus, it's only four years. once we've both graduated, i can get back to calling you whatever i want to call. those old geezers can't direct me then."

"they still can't now..." gojo begins - then stops.

with that bootlicker eldest brother you have, those old rats can now.

you give him a tired smile, words unneeded to confirm that the both of you are indeed cursing the same set of people now.

you open your mouth to say something - funny probably, if the shine in your eyes was anything to go by - before a muted cough pops the bubble you two had unconsciously slipped into.

and with an entertained smirk at the boy, who immediately seperates your linked hands, shoko informs, "sensei's calling for you, gojo. the competition's about to begin."

acknowledging her with a brief nod, gojo returns his focus to you, looking for a sliver of fear or anxiety in your face - one he'll soothe away with a gentle smile and maybe, just maybe, a forehead kiss - only for all his dreams to be dashed in the dirt.

you're peering up at him, beaming excitedly.

"go, beat 'em, senpai," you cheer him with a fist pump. an amused snicker sounds somewhere behind. your zeal doesn't budge one bit. "go, kick those kyoto students' asses. i know you will win."

and win, your white-haired senpai does - nothing new it it.

and you too seem to be very happy at it - again nothing new in it.

'cause when do you not congratulate him with a blinding beam every time the boy is successful - be it at making those pretty origami stars the way you taught him to; or at defeating a weakass sorcerer in a lame match.

however what is new is the fact you've grown rather competitive - not that gojo minds it in the slightest, though. quite the contrary, in fact.

"aren't you being a little too confident?" you inquire, throwing him a peeved glance, "every opponent you face in the future won't be as weak as those two kyoto boys today. you sure you'll stay invincible then too?"

resting his chin on the chair he is straddling, the second-year smirks, "any way you can prove i won't, shortie?"

geto sends him a questioning look while ieiri looks away from them to the scenery outside, giving a long sigh. his other two kouhais, nanami and haibara, pause in their game of cards to look at you, confusedly.

gojo observes you ignore them, eyes trained on him only, lips curving slowly into a sharp grin. gods, can you get any lovelier than this?

"well..." you drawl, keeping your focus on him. a flush creeps up the sides of his neck, which he earnestly hopes goes overlooked by you.

it doesn't go overlooked by your too-serious classmate, though - gojo spots nanami's eyes widen for a mere instant before reverting to their typical indifference.

you continue, grin simmering to a daring smile now, "why don't you find it out on your own tomorrow? twelve noon. practice field. what do you think, senpai?"

the sorcerer pretends to take a moment to regard your proposal, then shrugs. "sure, why not? sounds good enough to me."

with a wordless nod, the boy watches you return to the video game you were playing with his best friend - then look back at him on your name being called. an eyebrow rises in silent question.

seeing that the cue, he asks, "but what will the loser have to do?"

the reply comes with a smirk, your eyes dropping to your game. "you can buy me the latest version of this game. that'll be fine, i guess."

gojo was wrong - said person realizes as he watches the orange-red glow seep in through the window and render you an ethereal glow.

your competitiveness isn't the only thing new to him this evening.

your ability to make him even more head over heels for you than the boy already is (an impossible feat, really, given the chains and locks guarding him within, apart from the layer of infinity without)...

...this is yet another new thing gojo learns about you, this evening.

|3/6| gather info on your crush.

"oh, you wouldn't want to be friends with her."

the comment cuts through the air with a noisy chuckle and a raucous chorus of giggles - gojo's knuckles grow white with the painfully tight grip he has on the glass of mocktail.

suguru shoots him a contrite face from the other side of the crowd, mouthing an apology with a helpless shrug. the boy looks away from his best friend to throw a glance at the two girls a few seats away.

a beat passes wherein shoko and utahime share a brief look, and the former speaks up, an odd edge to her voice as she leans forwards, a smirk directed at the boy. "and why wouldn't geto? she seems like a pretty nice girl to be friends with."

your cousin scoffs. gojo seriously wishes there wasn't a strict rule set by his father for the clan members of not meddling in the other clans' matters, to maintain an image of neutrality and amiability.

(it's not like he prefers not to break rules or is afraid of his father, the boy thinks grimly as he gulps the last sip of his mocktail and returns the glass to the table with a thud. it's far from being either of those.

it's just that with a small response from him in this matter, you will be dragged under the elders' scrutiny; your friendship with him too will be - and that's something he would never wish upon you. so the boy stays quiet, opting to-)

"what the fuck did you just say?"

the chitter-chatter dies down to a deathly silence in an instant.

rising from his seat, gojo stalks towards the boy sitting on the couch. from the background, he can hear few voices urge him to stop, to get back, with repeated 'satoru, no' and 'satoru, relax' - but the boy finds not a cell in his body wanting to heed those voices. marching right up to your cousin, who shoots him a pathetically fake smirk now, the boy repeats himself, "what. did. you. just. say."

the target of the query huffs a chuckle, drunk and stinking - and your friend realizes now just how much of a diluted description of him you gave him the other day. the guy isn't just some petty irritating relative of yours, he is a fucking bastard.

a fucking bastard who's going to get beaten into a pulp, if he doesn't choose his next words wisely.

another chuckle leaves him, before he gets up from his seat, a slight sway to the action as he sneers at gojo. now, were the circumstances different, the white-haired boy is sure such a brazen person would've impressed him, who is the strongest sorcerer there is, but not today.

not when you're the one who is the innocent undeserving recipient of such a remark as the one he utters next.

"i just said, my cousin's a freak who can read someone's mind without them knowing - and she does that all the time for her sick enjoyment. no one can ever trust that bitch."

a fist connects with the side of your cousin's face and before anyone can realize what's happening, the two boys are rolling on the floor in a brawl, gojo obviously with the upper hand as he lands blow after blow and yell after yell on the other.

a quiet voice whispers to his conscience, chiding his response to the situation to be too harsh, too cruel - but no sooner does it appear than it is stomped down and shoved away by images from the past.

images of a little girl crying, yelling, screaming, eyes squeezed shut, how everything's so loud, how everyone's so noisy, how everyone just can't seem to stop talking of her - in the shocked silence of the party hall.

images of being informed over the phone, his friend won't be coming to play today either - for a class or a function or a cold, he cares the least for - before overhearing later at dinner, it's the fifth day the girl's been comatose since her last treatment.

images of brash celebrations revelling in the discovery and return of a technique, long thought lost - the new messiah, they exclaim - while the said person looks at the elders with face steeped in what, the boy doesn't need his six eyes to know, is terror.

images of a girl, saying in a surprisingly void tone, how horrible, how terrible, how despicable a weapon they've made her into - sneaking into people's minds to steal the meaning of their lives away - before giving a suggestion, too smart, too sharp for a girl of ten; although-

"satoru!"

the singular word snaps the sorcerer's thoughts into two, making him move his irate gaze away from the bloodied face of the bitch to the door-

oh.

it's you.

you, standing in the school uniform, a bag slung over your shoulders.

you, eyes round and lips parted as you stare at the scene before.

you, who takes only a second before you rush forwards, moving him away from your cousin, worried gaze raking over his features instead of the bruised wailing mess of a relative left behind.

"'toru," the word escapes you in a whisper as you maneuver him into sitting on the couch.

another voice wafts over to him, a lot like suguru's, but he pays it no mind, wanting to focus on you and you only, while your fingers travel over his face, brush his bangs away, tuck them behind the shell of his ear, then finally come to a rest on the apple of his cheeks, the grazing of the thumb soothing a minor cut.

though the way your eyebrows furrow at it, emotions darting across your face a million a second, from confusion to concern to anger - gojo reckons, were anyone to see you now, they would think it ain't a tiny nick but a gaping wound.

the white-haired boy grasps your wrist in his fingers.

"i'm okay, shortie," the second-year reassures you in a whisper. you peer at him closely in turn for a beat longer, before a long sigh leaves you though the frown on your lips stays the same. he would've called you cute if not for the murderous intent rolling off you in waves...

gojo decides to call you hot now.

a seething gaze with a soft "what happened, 'toru?" reaches him next.

oh yes, gojo swoons inwardly, you're being so fucking hot.

nuzzling into the palm cradling his cheek, the boy smiles. "nothing you need to worry about."

"it's your cousin," a female voice butts in before a known pair of heads walk into his vision, one smoking a cigarette while the other looks at him then you, mildly stunned.

shoko continues, as laidback as ever (as if she too wasn't glowering then), "suguru there asked him something about you to which the pig replied with some nonsense, because of which satoru here jumped in to defend your honour." your eyes travel from her to him. a whoosh of air leaves the girl and she takes a long drag from a cigarette. "nothing very serious, to be honest..."

"but nothing too unserious either," utahime adds, which earns a small nod from her girlfriend, "if the asshole dares to lie about you once-"

"what's to say he won't again," you finish the sentence for her, a dark shadow looming over your face, then throw the culprit a harsh look. "and what shit did you spout, mr. resident douchebag of the clan?"

a corner of gojo's lips quirk up at the nickname you gave, then part in a grin at the reaction your cousin gave to that. embarassed, for sure, yet never going farther than glaring at you from those swollen eyes.

if you weren't standing here, caressing his face, your friend's certain, he would have gone to tear him a new one - the latter still scowling at you whilst intermittently yelping at the pain of his wounds.

a long sigh escapes you, visibly tired and annoyed.

"i know you can hear me just fine by that stink eye you're giving me, so fess up now - what the fuck were you telling about me?"

an absolute silence answers your question, and just when gojo thinks he might have to leave your warm cocoon to go beat your cousin up, again, suguru's voice sounds from beside, "he was talking about your CT."

"oh?" a brow rises. "and what about it?"

"apparently - and i quote," the long-haired boy adds with palms raised and faced forwards, at the scowl he shoots him, "you can read others' minds without their knowledge, and you do that always. for fun, your cousin claims."

you blink, and turn to your relative; a mask, gojo observes with a hint of melancholy, slipping over your features - not that the boy blames you, though. you need a mask - now, most of all times.

"you said that, aniki?" you inquire, the caressing hand over gojo's skin stilling with a slight tremor. he envelopes your hand in his; an action you respond to with a squeeze, continuing, "but why did you? after all that happened, after all that everyone in the family knows, why?"

a stubborn scoff sounds from the other end of the room; one of the six eyes twitches in its socket.

"i don't think you should ask this question, shortie," the second-year hums, pulling a nonplussed face from you. he grins, "you can simply read his mind, no? your aniki won't be forced to give a reply; your ask too will be answered. besides, this isn't gonna be the first time you're breaking into someone's mind, and, your cousin's not even gonna feel his mind being read - a painless procedure - isn't that right, aniki?"

"fuck no!!!!"

and bingo!

gojo watches you cast a long look at him, then back at your cousin, before a slow smile spreads on your features, the glint so dear to him making a comeback in your eyes.

"not a bad idea, senpai," you say, lifting your free hand and directing it at the culprit. a few gasps sound around you, soon followed by a few murmurs - your senpai watches them slide off your skin like water off a duck's back. you announce in a sing-song fashion, "well, here goes nothing~"

then stop at the anguished cry, your smile widening into a grin.

sweet and smug, like the cat who got the canary.

gojo feels three pairs of eyes look at his smirk, all at the same time - the boy lets them look. the two of you share dynamics, the nature of which none, except you two, can ever dream of comprehending.

wailing, your cousin rises and stumbles over to you, hands folded in a pleading gesture.

"please, no, no, no," he sobs, very nearly falling at your feet before you take a step backwards, disgust overtaking your grin, sending the boy reeling back. "i beg you, no. please don't kill me. i was just kidding; it was just a joke. i'm sorry, don't kill me."

"kill you?" you let out a shocked gasp, placing a hand over your chest, "i would never. i was just trying to read your mind, aniki. why on earth would that kill you? you won't even feel anything-"

"it's the binding vow, you bitch!!" the boy spits, interrupting you, "the one you took years back, 'cause you didn't want the higher-ups to use you as a spy again; giving up the element of secrecy of your CT to-"

your cousin pauses, the realization and the ensuing horror and regret dawning over his face; gojo presses him, sharing a smile with you.

"to?"

the answer arrives as a shuddered whisper - a whisper audible to all, however, thanks to the heavy silence in the room.

"to make it lethal on its victim instead; an attack none can stop, not even a special-grade."

the crash of a glass, or five, impacting with the ground sounds; you give a satisfied nod, smirking.

gojo runs a palm over your dishevelled hair, undoubtedly from driving with the windows down to this stupid meet of the teenagers from the jujutsu clans. you give him a smile, mouth opening to say something, but he doesn't let you. "don't thank me, stupid."

"okay," you acquiesce, a slight huff to your tone before it grows softer, "but can i at least say you were being very cool then? i'm impressed."

"who's impressed with whom?" a crass voice interrupts the moment before gojo can even form it entirely between the two of you.

three - nope, five (even your classmates are here, tch!) teasing smiles float into his vision; the second-year opens his mouth to throw back a retort - except you snatch the opportunity away from him.

"i'm impressed with gojo senpai- any problems, anyone?" you say, tilting your head to one side with the cutest little furrow in the midst of your brows. all five shake their heads, smiles widening before one of them falls on your next words.

"but the next time i see you, geto senpai, asking others what sort of a person i am - don't you dare deny it, you asked two of my friends too the same thing, they told me; god knows why you need my character certificate, though, and for whom; you're acting as if you've a sibling i wish to date and you wanna know everything about me before giving the green signal, but whatever it is, senpai-"

you heave a breath, a break from your tirade - while the remainder of the room's breathing stays suspended.

gojo glances away from you to find the attention of all the attendees fixed on you. he wraps an arm around your midsection and rests his chin on your shoulder. you lean the side of your head onto his.

"i promise i'll create problems for you, more if i see gojo senpai being dragged into the aftermath of your curiosity - okay?"

gojo watches his best friend look at you, terrified, for a second before turning to throw him a glare. the white-haired boy bites back a grin.

placing hands on his hips, suguru exclaims, "you know what, i tried to help but no one here is worthy of my assistance."

"no one asked you for this help, suguru," shoko interjects smoothly, "you were the one who insisted, something about this method being the most effective or something if they want to catch her attention-"

"whoa, whoa, whoa. who wants to catch my attention?" you inquire, cutting them two off. gojo's classmates stop and the blood flowing in his veins drops to a subzero as he cranes his neck to look at you.

you twist to look back at him. "is there someone who wants to catch my attention? do you know them?"

"i-uh-um," the boy stutters, mind scrambling for a reply - something, anything - before nanami interrupts, a small smile on his face, "yeah, there is someone, actually, and we all know him. geto senpai was just gathering some data on you as his wingman."

"oh," you mutter, gaze dropping to the ground, then lifting to gojo. the boy simply blinks back, which draws a frown from you in turn.

retrieving a pair of shades from your bag, you hand it to him and turn back to suguru, a barely-there smile on your lips.

"next time he wants some info on me, ask him to ask me directly. i'll appreciate it."

"noted, boss," the words escape gojo before the addressed can even reply, utterly unmoved by the five exasperated glares [honestly, it's four: haibara can never really glare at anyone] - the next step of the plan already whirring to life in the shades-donning boy's brain.

so, so giddy at the fact of being told of the golden key to your heart.

|4/6| gather info from your crush.

"the moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"so are you."

a long minute passes between gojo and you, gazes fixed on the other person and only them, before you lick your chapped lips - the boy's attention instantly going to that hynotic motion of your tongue...

and you pinch his arm.

"ow shortie!!!! what the fuck was that for!?!?" the boy yells, massaging the sore spot on his arm, before out of nowhere, the red signal glows green and he has to shift his focus to the steering wheel.

you toss him a mad scowl from the passenger's seat, one he catches effortlessly, winking, when an observation crashes upon him and he coos. "aww, did my itty-bitty-shortie-baby just get flustered by me? aww, is she blushing? aww, she's so cute!!!"

"i asked you to help me learn how to confess, gojo," you grumble with a glare at him, "not make fun of me."

your co-passenger makes an affronted face at your words, although, internally, he is beside himself. and to be honest, how can he not?

you're in the same car as him, on a three hour long drive from tokyo to nikko, exchanging declarations of love with one another while the boy's (spare) shades slide down the bridge of your nose and he hums along to the songs you choose on the stereo... if a few facts are being ignored (like the one where this is your mission and the two of you are in your uniforms), the second-year can totally imagine the two of you going on a weekend getaway as a couple now.

a soft smile settles on his lips, as he sneaks a glance of you from the corner of his eyes. "i wasn't trying to make fun of ya, shortie," he says, "i was just responding to your statement."

"but that directly?" you ask, shock and embarrassment flooding your face. your friend stifles a chuckle. "i commented on the moon being beautiful. you should've said something like 'it is, isn't it?' - but no, you went and replied, 'so are you'. my admirer will never be so direct with me; why don't you try to understand that simple fact?"

there are a few days when gojo is really divided between wanting to flick your forehead hard and wanting to kiss you senseless.

today seems to be one such glorious day.

swerving the car onto a stop by the side of the road, he lets his head fall onto the steering wheel and lifts it to lock his eyes with yours.

"and what makes you think your admirer won't be a direct guy?"

"the fact the guy couldn't even show his face to me once, and did not even want to share his contact details with me, despite me pestering him via suguru and nanami, for ages now."

okay, ouch, that one's on him.

yet, never being the one to accept defeat, he throws back, "and what if he wants to build up some mystery before your first meet? you love mysteries, don't you? the guy likes you; he must be trying to use that knowledge to confess to you."

"i like only murder mysteries, 'toru," your deadpan response arrives in a beat, which then evolves into curiosity when you ask, "but how do you know so much about these things? how many relationships have you been in, 'toru?"

it's gojo's turn to grow embarrassed now. hand reaching out to fiddle with the bracelet on your wrist, he answers, "zero."

"hey, don't be embarrassed," he watches you shoot him a grin. a tiny smile is all he manages to return while you continue, "i too have never been in a relationship. anyone you ever confessed to?"

"isn't that evident from my previous answer?"

"nope! you might've gotten rejected; who knows~"

the grin on your lips widens; gojo looks at it for once before dropping his gaze. under the interplay of the light and shadow from the leaves of the tree, there appears to be something different about you - the sorcerer can't really pinpoint what it is but he knows there is, and he doesn't want to dwell on it - lest he loses his self-control.

"i have never confessed to anyone, and whatever confessions i have received, i've either ignored or rejected them all."

"ooh, same!" your excited voice ringing within the confines of the car, you lift his palm to meet yours in a hi-five. gojo lets you do so - before you place it between your two palms and clasp it, a sharp gasp drawn from him at the action. you shoot him a concerned look.

"your hand's freezing cold, 'toru? you okay?"

"yeah, yeah, i'm fine," the boy mumbles, moving his hand away from your comforting warmth - an action he doesn't want to do but has to, for the sake of propriety. something happening out of sheer impulse isn't how he wants to start his story with you - you don't deserve that.

"um, okay," you mutter, then inquire, timid and awkward, "i've one last question on your love life... can i ask that? you can totally ask me to stop though if you're feeling uncomfortable."

"ask away," the boy answers with a smile, he can see, is tense in the mirror as he restarts the car and returns it to the road. a long second passes before you ask, "have you ever liked anyone, 'toru?"

"yeah... there's one girl. i love her."

"oh."

the monosyllabic answer sends a torsion through his chest and gojo twists towards you - only to find a cryptic smile resting on your lips.

discarding your shoes, you fold your knees upto your chest and rest your head atop them, facing him. your senpai is really thankful a soft song comes onto the stereo next, for were it not so, he's certain your soft question would have gone unheard.

"how does your first love feel? beautiful, right? the way it's in books, songs and movies... isn't it?"

gojo takes a moment to mull over your query.

it is... yet it isn't.

the flutters in his heart when you skip past him in the corridors with a beam; the butterflies in his stomach when you plop on the chair next to him in the cafeteria; the dizziness in his head when your face is too close to his; the utterly-unplatonic thoughts of you plaguing him, day and night, dusk and dawn...

the fictional works sure have got this aspect of love right.

but they aren't right in so many other aspects of it.

falling in love with you isn't love-on-first-crash nor is it from a magical transformation in one of you nor is it after ages and ages of ignorance and denial and the final mind-numbing feeling that oh shit! you're the one for him; always have been; the girls with whom he's been till now are mere mirages of you; but it's too late now... you're moving abroad on a flight in two hours, with a boyfriend who's far better than him.

no.

the goggles-wearing sorcerer's catching feelings for you is way more realistic and easier to digest than that.

the two of you are friends, friends, friends - until the morning the two of you are munching on an ice cream tub, and with a casual glance at you, the boy muses what he feels for you is weird, not like his feelings for his other friends - and after a month's worth research, reaches the conclusion of him being in love with you.

quick. direct. smart.

just like the heir of the gojo clan himself.

a small smile lining his lips on this short trip down the memory lane, your senpai hums, "it's complicated. you'll understand when you have your first love."

a soft sigh is the only response you give and gojo reaches over to give a small knock to the side of your head. "don't overthink, shortie," the boy says in a fond tone, a feeling which expands within himself at the smile you offer him, "everything's gonna be okay; i'll personally make sure it is."

"oh, yeah?" a brow rises while your eyes crinkle in a cheeky grin. "and how exactly do you plan on doing that? you gonna have a serious talk with my admirer or something, before our first date?"

if talks in the mirror over the bathroom sink counts, the white-haired boy has had countless discussions so far - but he doesn't tell you that - choosing to return your question with a question of his own.

one which has been pestering him for a while now.

"but, shortie... why the hell are you practising-"

"to confess now?" stealing his words from the tip of his tongue, gojo watches you let out a long tired exhale, then slump back in your seat, a hint of a smile on your lips. flying strands of your hair, from the wind rushing in through the open window, form a halo around your head-

your friend thinks you are an angel descended from above, no matter how you look.

a titter breaks his enraptured gaze on you, and he blinks, finding you with a tiny curve of your lips. you continue, "i wanna stay prepared. if not for this date, then another. if not for this guy, then another. but the thing is, i wanna stay prepared. for love and for everything that comes with it - besides..." your smile grows bashful, an emotion gojo instantly realizes is impossible for him to get tired of seeing on you; you shrug.

"the heart does what it wants, does it not?"

really??

the young sorcerer looks away from you for a beat, letting his gaze travel over the rows of trees dotting the increasingly mountainous terrain, then looks back at you.

the two of you are awfully close to the destination of your trip.

removing a hand from the wheel and reaching it out to intertwine his fingers with yours, the boy asks, "wanna go visit that patisserie i was talking of the other day after this mission? i've heard the sweets there are worth dying for."

"but won't it be late evening by the time our job's done?" you ask back with a frown, "and we also have to return to the school... why don't-"

"it's a full moon tonight, shortie," gojo interjects you with a soft little smile. you stare befuddled at him for a while, before the bulb lights to life in your brain - an event bringing a semblance of relief to the boy - and you laugh.

"oh, oh, oh!" you exclaim, waggling your eyebrows, "i know exactly what you're going to do. you're gonna create a romantic atmosphere to teach me how to confess, aren't you? method teaching - eh, 'toru?"

a chuckle is what gojo decides to offer to your buzzing curiosity, until later this evening.

"i'll let my heart do what it wants to do."

|5/6| splurge on gifts.

"and what can this be?"

the silver of the bracelet glints, the tiny sapphires in its rim adding a sparkling effect as you show it to gojo. the boy drags his gaze from it to you, lips pressing into a line as he takes in the way you're looking at him.

two months back, if someone even merely insinuated at the fact you might be growing distant from him, he wouldn't have thought once before retaliating with a mean word or hit.

and, to be just, why on earth would he not?

yes, the 'date' he had proposed to take you on post mission remained just a proposal - many thanks to the old geezers and their knack for providing severely understated mission details [bitter sarcasm wholly intended] - but that didn't drive a wedge between you both; quite the opposite, in fact.

two months back, he found you sobbing at his bedside in the school infirmary, lips pressing kisses to his bruised knuckles time and again, while you kept mumbling on how you should've been more wary and cognizant of your surroundings, how he shouldn't have switched his infinity off to guard you from the caving roof and how you would buy him a milion sweets if he promised to not be reckless, but wouldn't hesitate to kill him with your CT if he broke the promise even once.

lovingly overprotective in an irresistibly cute way - that's exactly how you grew to be around gojo in the days he was healing, in the latter's eyes. suguru and shoko's comments too grew less teasing and more encouraging with time then - something which made him think, the feelings in his being might not be as one-sided as he tends to believe at times.

something which made him think, there might not be a day he has to imagine without your radiant grin directed at him, for him, because of him.

yet, now... as he regards you with utmost attention...

the sorcerer can't help but deem the unimaginable to have occurred.

face grim, eyes dull, lips puckered into a scowl, every fucking time you've come across him since your return to school from your home...

it doesn't really take a genius to gather you don't really want to be in his vicinity - a realisation which leads to your best friend of a decade and a few years to shower a torrent of gifts on you.

under the impression, that's what will return your keen undivided gaze to him - an impression, he watches, being tainted wrong with every other second that passes under the fading daylight.

you return the bracelet to its box and place it in the bag, one the boy knows contains the other gifts he had left at your doorstep or sent via shoko or haibara to you, the past month - and one you intend to give him back - 'cause for what else could you have asked to meet him at the training grounds this evening, carrying the bag, if not this?

wishing, not for the first time, for his six eyes to be able to glean your current state of mind, he asks, scooting slowly, deliberately to your seated form on the bench, "did you not like it, shor-"

"please don't call me that."

the grin slowly unfurling on gojo's lips stutters, then vanishes in the heat of the fury of your eyes. he watches your gaze roam over his face once before skittering away. your voice grows a mild tremor, "please don't call me that. i don't want to hear that nickname ever again."

the soda can nearly slips from between his fingers onto the grass below before he grasps it again, firmer this time, and tosses it upside down to empty it into his mouth. it's a brand you had introduced him to, gojo reminisces, on a day just like this... grins and squeals as you jumped in front of the vending machine, so, so joyed that it had your favourite drink.

soon after, it became the white-haired boy's favourite drink too - but no longer now. not when the fruity tang of the liquid, which endeared it to you as you claimed, tastes like the metallic clang of blood to him.

now, many might call gojo overdramatic here - you've asked him not to call you that countless times now, for fuck's sake - but many don't know you the way your friend does. in horrifying contrast to before, a note of revulsion exists in your words.

undisguised disgust paired with loathing.

sharp enough to pierce infinity, past skin, muscles, ribs and layers of tissues and chains, into that stupid organ strumming melancholic rhythms now, your name bleeding raw from its walls.

superfluous, some might scoff - but they'll have never known there's a dark side to love, the one gojo's traversing now. though... the young sorcerer muses, finishing the drink and sending it into the trash can with a flick of his cursed energy, they'll never have known you. they'll never have known the degree to which the boy adores you, either.

a strong whoosh of wind hits the two of you, carrying the smell of wet earth with it. a sign of the arrival of your favourite season, your friend absently notes as he looks back at you.

the tip of your nose appears flushed red.

"and may i know why?"

shock brims your gaze at the soft question. gojo watches you cough up a strained chuckle. "i knew you to be more assertive. demanding. never thought you could request for an explanation... what changed, 'to-" you still for a beat, then continue, burning another bridge, same as the boy feared an instant too early, "i mean, gojo-senpai?"

"you're the best person to answer that," the mentioned person replies with lips forming a gentle curve. yes, the limitless user's always been one hell of a self-assured person - it comes free with the package of receiving god-like treatment by most from before you can crawl - but there exist times when all that - the fight, the zeal, the energy - every one of those just ebbs away from his body, rendering him the hapless spectator, and victim, to the car crash.

except a car crash might hurt less than the careless sneer you shoot his way, coupled with an eye roll. you never gave him such a look in the past, before you went back home for the vacation. just what-

"i think you know why i called you here, yeah?" you ask, picking the bag up and pushing it towards him. the things inside it rattle; the boy wonders if you even went through those two books he sent you. they were from the series you had babbled, ranted and gushed to him on for hours on end on numerous occasions, once upon a time.

gojo nods briefly, though doesn't spare it even a glance. it doesn't go past your notice, he notes, given the way your eyes jump from him to his gifts, then to your fiddling fingers. "well, that's one box ticked off," you say, "and as for the other-"

"i know that too; you need not say every fucking thing out loud," your senpai cuts you off with a mirthless inflection to his tone, eyes falling down onto his sneakers. it was a gift from you on his last-

bloody hell, why does everything have to be a sore reminder of you?

"not saying it out loud doesn't make it any less real," your quiet voice tears through his thought, and he looks up. hoping, desperately so, a tender smile is waiting on your features, reserved for him - only to see every hope of his get dashed into the dirt by your frown.

his best friend was right. gojo's pathetically down for you.

a thunder rumbles in the distance.

you continue, "but since you've asked me not to, i guess i won't. that's the least i can do-"

"but what went wrong?" the question hurtles past the confines of his mouth into the stormy air. and, for once, gojo decides not to conceal the moisture in his eyes behind his shades. removing the eyewear, he moves to sit right beside you, approaching to take your hand in his.

you jerk away from him.

as if you were fire and he, water.

as if you were sun and he, non-luminous scarred moon threatening to eclipse your joy.

the white-haired boy retracts his hand away. you glance at him once before averting your gaze away. he watches you clench your hands in a tight fist. "nothing was wrong, senpai," you mumble; gojo bites his lower lip to keep it from wobbling, "but there's always something tiny wrong in everything going right, ya know? i just feel we outgrew our phase of being friends."

the growl of thunder sounds closer this time. a drop of water lands on his thigh - the sorcerer doesn't bother to know if it is his eyes or those clouds above which finally welled over. voice thickening and breaking, a scoff leaves him, "you know, as well as me, that's the lamest excuse ever. and you called us being friends, right?" you take a moment then nod weakly. a pained sigh leaves him, "then what happened to being open with each other, hm? i thought we kept no secrets from each other."

the boy watches you keep your gaze stubbornly trained on the grass beneath. something within him breaks.

"c'mon, don't play dumb," gojo urges, plopping down onto the object of your attention, just so he can have a better view of your face. you face away with a frown. he prompts you again, hints of helplessness sneaking in between his words, "c'mon, shortie. don't look away with the shitty reason of us outgrowing our phase of friendship. we were - no, are the closest. you know, right? that you can tell me any-"

"not everything's meant to remain the same always, senpai!" the loud exclamation leaves your mouth. gojo stills and so do you. his eyes fall on the way you wring your hands once before stuffing them into your hoodie's pockets.

it isn't oversized on you, the realisation clicks into place in his mind.

you let out an exhale through your mouth, then pin him down with eyes teeming with what seems like weary distaste.

"can you please get up? you're creating an unnecessary scene right now."

if your words weren't enough, it's the way you utter them that leaves cracks and fissures in him. one more blow, and the boy's sure he'll be blown away into smithereens - an outcome he's trying to avoid [but knows, can't; every piece of armour he dons turns flimsy before you].

"is it 'cause you tended to my injuries then?" he asks. your lips strain into a line. casting him a sideways glance, you shake your head, "i'm many things but a liar ain't in the list, senpai. when i cared for you, it was from my heart. when i no longer wanna associate with you-"

a dark shadow falls over your features. rising from the bench, you shift your gaze skywards and back on him, "it'll rain pretty soon. you should get back inside."

there's something between summer evenings and you and him, gojo muses as he peers up at you.

it was a summer evening when you first came to visit the boy at this school.

it is a summer evening when you're turning your back on him in this same old school.

with the glaring exception of there being the warmth of your form beside him then versus the gnawing chill you're leaving behind now.

"you never completed your sentence," gojo points out, whispering.

[too loud and the sorcerer fears, the last interaction between the two of you will end as a horrid yelling match. besides, you like things with happy endings, don't you? he'll be sure to give you your happy ending as the last gift.]

you send a restrained twitch of lips his way. "i remember being asked not to say every fucking thing out loud, senpai."

a shaky smile is the only thing he finds he can muster in return, at the moment.

"suguru said you're leaving for your home tonight again," the student says, getting up from the ground and moving closer to, yet too far a distance from you. "don't drive with the windows down, okay? the weather's bad, you might catch a cold."

a muscle in your jaw twitches. the valley between your brows furrows.

gojo lets his smile widen a bit. so shallow. so hollow.

"don't worry," he says, "i'm taking this as seriously as you want me to. it's just that..." trailing off, the boy takes a step away. your feet move an inch towards him before you immediately withdraw them. a small mimicry of a laugh leaving him, gojo fixates his gaze on the iridescent colour of your irises.

"i've always seen you as someone way more than a mere childhood friend, y'know? and no matter what you say or do, i can never and will never stop seeing you the same way. i love you that much, short- oh! sorry, i'm not supposed to call you that, am i?."

a beat passes, then another, and another.

your response comes out as a garbled mess of letters and tears. "you're the worst person ever, 'toru. i hate you."

and with that and not another glance wasted anywhere, you whirl on your feet and dash back to the school.

leaving behind the echo of your words ringing in gojo's ears, louder than the thunder of the lightning crashing on a tree a little away.

|6/6| this isn't really a way. if you're at this step, just fuckin' stop and retreat. your crush won't ever notice you – you sad, pathetic loser.

"is that what you really think?"

gojo wonders if a momentous occasion as the one now deserves one brawl thrown into it or not. it won't be anything much; just dumping a bowl of soup down suguru's shirt and/or landing a pretty solid kick to his stomach and/or-

"careful, senpai or you might've to go home, bloody and beaten," the most monotone voice ever possible crashes into his thoughts in the worst possible way. a snicker, far too familiar, joins in. "yeah, nanami's right. besides, we haven't even clicked a pic yet. you wouldn't want to wear a black eye in it, would you?"

clinking his glass with shoko's, the white-haired watches suguru gulp down a shot of tequila, then give a mighty firm shake of his head. "no, of-fucking-course not. today is our dearest kouhai's important day; i don't wanna get involved in any drama now; though..." trailing off, the black-haired boy shoots gojo an awfully obvious side-glance before a look shared with the others.

the boy lets his eyes wander away from them. an abominably sharp acrylic nail pokes him in the cheek. gojo exhales a sigh, so exhausted.

were it just a day, the boy's certain to the hell and back, that he would have whipped up a snarky insult to the stink-eye aimed his way. the boy would have slapped his drunk classmate's hand away, calling her sense of fashion the worst names possible.

gojo, however, decides to resort to neither today. he decides to settle for a sigh - the second in the last minute, longer and wearier than the one before - and rests his face into the hollow of his palms, screwing eyes shut.

an exasperated grumble - or two, maybe - permeates the air.

"gojo senpai," the words ring out in a tone far too soft and worried. he muses he doesn't need to look to see the sympathetic frown haibara must be wearing, nor the varying degrees of pity and concern etched into the others' features. a warm hand squeezes his shoulder slightly.

haibara continues, "geto senpai is not entirely wrong, y'know? yes, of course, implying you might kick up drama is sorta wrong, i admit so. but otherwise... you could've tried to, i don't know, somehow find out the reason behind her sudden distance from you?"

opening his eyes, gojo twists to face his kouhai, ready to interrupt him, but stops at the earnestness in his gaze. "turning into a recluse or moping around isn't gonna solve anything, senpai. it's been more than a month since then and from what little i've seen, i can say it's eating the both of you alive. you, way more than her. so, go, speak with her," he urges him with a smile, "the others are not very well at showing their emotions but trust me when i say, we all are worried for you both, senpai."

the white-haired boy drags his gaze away from the speaker. suguru gives him a smile, shoko pokes him in the cheek again, nanami offers a fleeting impression of something smiley before looking away with a grimace.

gojo's eyes flit back to the encouraging boy before.

"okay," the upperclassman relents with a sigh, which instantly grows into a frown the moment every piece clicks into place in his mind and the goggles-wearing boy swears his heart skips a beat, "but what did you say about seeing shortie and know-"

stopping in the middle of the question, the boy stiffens.

three glasses shatter on impact with the floor, freed from the waiter's grasp, soon followed by two maids screeching your name in the most terror-struck voice ever manageable. gojo's six eyes provide him with enough details as always; albeit it seems miles from enough now, the way it always is in your case, further deepening the sorcerer's need to physically see you once; to soak in the brilliance of your gaze and the sweetness of the curve of your lips once.

who knows if he'll ever see you again from as close as- okay, no, wait-

"did you just run all the way here-"

"i love you."

"-in your heels?"

everything falls silent the moment the last word leaves gojo's lips and a shuddered breath escapes him into the bittersweet fragrance of the citrus perfume he remembers you using. in a lilac dress with a messy hairstyle and diamond studs, the youngest and newest leader of your clan stands before him, cheeks stretched in a wide grin.

whirling his seat round completely, the boy gives you one long look, only to earn a hauntingly soft look in return.

you smile.

"i know you might see me as the most inconsistent, lying, crazy bitch at best or as the most opportunistic bitch ever, trying to seduce you, for lack of a better term, to satisfy her craving for power, at worst; but no matter how you see me, how others see me, how i see myself - i'm in love with you, that's one thing which won't change no matter what."

you pause.

and as he watches you catch your breath after that long as hell sentence para, the first realisation which crashes on gojo's otherwise numb brain is: you too haven't changed.

not. one. bit.

from the way you stick to your minimal makeup look; to the way you speak sans any break and curse yourself as you confess to something (you think you did) wrong; to the way your gaze remains fixed on him, acutely trained on even the mildest twitch of his facial muscles... one whole month has passed since that stormy evening yet you're still the same you.

a little sweet. a little sour. a whole lot perfect-

who loves him-

who loves him-

you. love. him. too.

for the first time in an apparent eternity, gojo feels his lips lift in a free smile. although the chuckle leaving him sounds laden with moisture and emotions.

"i'll die before calling you a seductress, shortie," the boy says, "you're way too dumb and naive for that." your eyes move to the girl drinking beside him for a second, before settling back on him, a light sheen in them. smile widening yet growing a tender quality, he goes on to say, "and i know you aren't a liar; but regarding the inconsistent claim... i think an explanation's long overdue, isn't it?"

you huff a mild chuckle. stuffing your hands into your dress pockets, your senpai watches you draw in a long breath before letting it out in a whoosh, a tiny smile nestling in the corner of your lips. you begin.

"you know, right, my eldest brother was the clan leader before me? y'know, after my father just decided, one fine day, he's growing old and so he wants to retire somewhere peaceful now, with my mom, leaving me in the care of takeshi nii-chan and his wife?"

four pairs of eyes switch to him in silent query. ignoring them, gojo nods. it isn't everyday you speak so openly of your family, especially this topic concerning them.

considering how painful and sore it is for you.

how big of an escapist your father is.

how big of an asshole your brother is.

how utterly difficult it is for you to navigate in this household daily.

your sigh interrupting his thoughts, he hears you continue, "well, all was going well until it was not; and i decided i'd already spent too much time being a spectator to my life and future keeping getting kicked around like a fucking soccer ball."

few gasps sound in the vicinity, undoubtedly at you cussing. nanami's smooth voice cuts in through their shocked surprise, and through the bubble, gojo was under the impression, he and you had slipped into.

judging from the tiny start you give, the white-haired boy surmises you too must have felt the same.

your classmate's solemn voice sounds in the hush, though traces of a hesitation can still be found in it when he asks, "they... didn't arrange a wedding for you in the month you were here... did they?"

"they did," you're quick to answer, voice growing a steely quality, "the higher-ups and my brother decided to get me engaged to-"

"to whom?"

gojo's lips quirk up at the way you roll your eyes at suguru's impatient question, then look at him, a tired smile creeping onto your features. but, hey! is that a tinge of shyness on your face that the boy can see?

you point your chin at him. "to 'toru, who else?"

the second (or maybe, the third) bout of silence would have followed this statement of yours too - if not for the cackling girl beside gojo. the latter makes no effort to conceal his irritation, shooting the most vicious glare ever; shoko simply raises her glass, as if in a toast, then tosses you a smirk.

"you love him, still you don't wanna get hitched with him? not very clever of you, yeah?"

"yeah," haibara chips in, albeit much less teasing and more a worried timbre than shoko, the shades-wearing boy deems. the other student continues, brows creasing together, "plus, i doubt gojo senpai saying no to the proposal. so, why didn't you go ahead with it?"

your head tilts to one side. your lips twitch in a knowing fashion.

"you just said the reasons yourself, yu-kun."

years later, if someone asks gojo when's the time he realised he's in love with you, too deep and too far gone to ever consider anyone but you by his side, as his other and undoubtedly better half, the sorcerer will grin the goofiest grin ever and sigh the dreamiest sigh ever, and say, "every day."

which is the truth, really-

yet, from those 'every day'-s, there exist few such days, whom the six-eyes user's brain subconsciously frames in a golden frame and places on a dust-free pedestal.

for instance, today.

a day your senpai dreaded to begin by leaving the comfort of his bed, knowing the person whose ascension to the metaphorical throne he has been invited to witness today, blood chilling and condensing into tears on his lashes as memories from long ago and not-so-long-ago hurtle into his brain.

only to morph, by evening, into the day the boy realises: love isn't just what made him switch his infinity off and pull you under him, a shield to protect you from the crumbling roof, forgetting everything except your safety and life; but love is also what made you push him and the emotions within yourself away.

forgetting everything - the boy knows from knowing you these many years - except your very evident aim of shielding him from the vicious schemes of those responsible for this damned jujutsu hierarchy.

no matter how easy and rewarding the other path would've been for you.

no matter how difficult and painful this current path must've been for you.

just 'cause you love him.

just 'cause you know, at the end of it all, he's going to be safe, away from the manipulating hands of the higher-ups - away from even the slimmest chance of experiencing a shred of the ordeals you suffered as a child, losing your free will and living as a mere puppet, subject to those old geezers' whims and fancies.

the two of you are not-too-near to the threshold of adulthood; still, through those unsure lenses of transition between immaturity and maturity, gojo feels sure this very moment that his eyes are viewing now - of watching his feelings being reciprocated not only in words (which, he knows, are true; your body language is as familiar to him as the back of his hand) but also in actions - so pure, so selfless, so utterly... loving-

the boy reckons his six eyes have never landed on a sight so ethereal and just so good, that it makes his heart want to burst right out of his chest.

drinking in the way you're regarding him, fingers fidgeting and teeth gnawing on your lower lip, gojo cracks a smile.

your restlessness abates a little.

"you became the clan leader just to make sure this story remains ours and only ours, didn't you?"

you take a moment before answering with a big nod.

"yeah," you say, "but that doesn't mean you need to be grateful to me or anything of the sort. you can give me any answer you want to give. you can also give me no answer, now or ever, if that's what you really want to do. just know that i love you, and that your answer can never really put a dent in it, no matter what it is."

"no matter what it is?" your senpai echoes your words back to you. a small nod is what you send in reply; yet it seems to be more than the quantity of oil required to set the cogs of gojo's brain whirring to life and mischief. eyes narrowing, he asks, "not even if my response is an 'i love you too, shortie', hm?"

the clock in the room ticks thrice.

two known voices mutter curses behind him.

five maids of yours scurry out the door, whispering excitedly.

you narrow your eyes back at him.

"i asked you to not feel pressured, didn't i? tell me what you want to say, 'toru," you say; his name in your mouth sounds sweeter than the sweetest mochi the boy's ever tasted, "and not those stuff you think i want to hear you say."

your statement draws an amused chortle from gojo. "did you really forget what i told you last that day, shortie? or did you not again not understand what i was telling you then?"

"what's there to not understand in that!?" your indignant reply arrives without missing a beat, "you said you've always seen me as way more than a childhood friend: true 'cause we're best friends. then- oh yeah," with a click of your fingers, you add, face steeped in contemplation, "you also said- oh."

"yep, oh," gojo nods his head in an exaggerated fashion, revelling in the way you're looking at him right now, eyes round as saucers and cheeks ruddy as the expensive wine being served now.

you still seem so beautiful to him.

it takes a pinch more than a while before you breathe out a breathless giggle. straightening in his seat, gojo feels his cheeks hurt a bit from the wide smile digging indents into them.

"you really lo-"

"ma'am, the guests for the evening party will be here very soon. you should get ready now," one of your maids interrupts you. the sorcerer feels his smile shrivel a little. you're barely back with him; yet you'll be stolen away from him-

"aw, is it so?" your entertained query cuts in through his thoughts. the boy looks up from his shoes his gaze had moved to before, to you, an awfully fake apologetic smile lighting up your face.

gods, why do you look so fucking kissable when you're like this?

"you know what, the people invited aren't really the kind i want to talk to and ruin my mood. besides, i've already met 'my' guests, so..." the boy watches you inch closer to him slowly as you trail off; your maid's eyes narrow before widening. you grin. "toodles, mrs. matsui!"

that and the salute you throw at everyone in the room are the last two memories clear in gojo's mind, before everything turns into a mush of everything yet nothing in the end.

well, barring a few exceptions, of course.

your contagious chortles, for instance, while you both dash down the hallways of your mansion; or your delighted gasp when he wraps his arms round you and warps to that patisserie in nikko; or your million-watt-bright beam to him, as you slap the latter's sneaky hands away from stealing a bite from your plate, whilst the latter declares this to be where you two will celebrate the future milestones; or the-

"ieiri senpai was right, y'know?" your tired voice cuts in through your senpai's rather-muddled recollections. the latter tears his gaze away from the inky-black night sky dotted by the twinkling lights of tokyo, to your drowsy form resting her head on his chest, his one arm tight around your shoulders, while the other rests behind his head on the cold hood of the car.

moving to brush the strands of hair away from your forehead, the boy presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, earning a sweet kiss to his chin in return, and hums, "not really the person i wanna chat about right now with my girlfriend..." you suddenly twist your body towards him, throwing an arm over his stomach and nuzzling into his neck; making a mental note to address you as that more often, he sighs. "but carry on, i guess. you won't be you if you can't gush about that damn shoko every third sentence or something."

planting your lips to his jaw for a mere second, gojo watches you pull away an inch from him, grinning. "senpai said you'll be the first one to confess but i'll be the one who makes things official and public and all that shit," you explain, then gasp, grin turning wider.

"oh my god," you mutter, "geto senpai and iori senpai are gonna lose so much money to her. them two never thought you could ever say 'i love you' to me, did you know that? oh my god... i kind of feel bad for those two."

the gleeful expression you're wearing tells your boyfriend otherwise - choosing to ignore it, he throws you a smirk. "well, i don't. those two people shouldn't have doubted me. i'm the one and only gojo satoru," he proclaims, puffing his chest out a bit, "of course, I'll be successful in my mission of getting you to notice my love for you."

"nah, i don't think so," you shake your head the very next instant. lips into the most adoring curve he's ever seen on you - something which steals his retort away from him and makes him want to pinch his arm hard, to see if he's dreaming or not - you hum.

"you could confess your love to me, not 'cause you're gojo satoru. but because you're my 'toru and i'm your shortie... isn't it so?"

gojo thinks back to the time utilised in carefully drafting and finalizing the steps via which he can catch your eye, only to watch them not go the way planned.

gojo looks back to you, only to find your eyes trained on him, glitters of love in them unbelievably similar to those loud crackers bursting in his chest right now.

the young sorcerer runs a reverent finger down the side of your face.

"yeah, it is because you're my shortie and i'm your 'toru, sweetness," he whispers, "and we'll always stay this way, yeah?"

you reply by engraving the shape of your smile into his.

AND MY MAGNUM OPUS IS OVER, BESTIES!!! 🥳🥳😊

tysm once again for always showing me sm love and support, y'all 🥹🥹🥹 i cherish each and every one of u so so SO MUCH - plesae keep supporting me and my works the same way in the future too, my loves 🥹🥹❤️

masterlist

[hballegro]

Yes I'm dunking on Freudian psychology via Sam Beckett I will not apologize

gotta be honest folks im running out of ways to say this

sidney freedman voice: this man is suspicious

[novaursa]

Can you please do your magic with a fic of Margaery Tyrell x male Stark!reader? The reader is the oldest of the starks boys and he has known Margaery for years but they haven't seen each other ever since he reached the age of 9, skip to 10 years later, when Robert asks Ned to be his hand and he accepts the reader accompanies him alongside Sansa and Arya and when they reach King's Landing, he sees Margaery once again

From there I'll allow you to do your magic, maybe you can even separate it in two or more parts if you want but I just want to see what type story you can do with Margaery since I loved all that you did with Jaime, Alicent and Rhaenyra

Thank you!! Love your writing!

A Rose in Winter

Requests are closed

- Summary: You reunite with your childhood friend and finally understand why some roses don't mind the cold.

- Pairing: stark!male!reader/Margaery Tyrell

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial @literaturedog

- A/N: I just want to be clear how I will not be doing any more parts for this request, or any other for that matter. It was clearly stated in the rules for submitting them how I'm writing only short stories (1000-2000 words). Everybody and their dog wants more parts for their requests. That's not possible for me to do (and I don't want to). I wanted to reject your request for asking this of me at first, because you either didn't read the rules or ignored them on purpose. But here it is. I've tried my best to make a plot work with the information you provided me with.

The sun had begun to melt the morning fog as your party approached the capital, the heat clinging to your furs and leathers like a persistent hound. Even the horses seemed eager to be rid of the road and its dust. King’s Landing shimmered in the distance, a sprawl of red roofs and winding alleyways clinging like ivy to the jagged face of the city. The scent of salt and sewage teased your nose, mingling with the sweetness of warm flowers—foreign to the sharp, clean air of the North. You sat high in the saddle beside your father, your grey cloak heavy across your shoulders, embroidered with the direwolf of House Stark. Sansa was behind you, her auburn hair braided in perfect loops, eyes alight with wonder and nerves. Arya rode with less decorum, hood tossed back, dark hair tangled and chin high, defiance blooming in her like wildfire.

Ten years had passed since you’d last seen her—Margaery. You remembered her from that long summer spent in the Reach, when your father had brought you to Highgarden on a rare diplomatic journey. You had been only nine, your limbs awkward and voice too high, but she had been etched into your memory like a carving on the Weirwood bark. She was your age, bright-eyed and bold, weaving garlands of roses with dirt under her fingernails and laughter that rang like bells through the green. You remembered how she had bested you in a footrace and kissed your cheek as a prize, all smiles and smugness. She had smelled like sun-warmed blossoms. The moment had lived in your chest ever since, tucked deep and silent, like a seed waiting for spring.

The gates of the city groaned open and the procession moved through, banners rippling in the breeze, gold cloaks flanking you on either side. You kept your gaze focused, your body straight, not just a son but the eldest son of Eddard Stark, heir to Winterfell, a wolf among lions and serpents. Your sword rested at your hip, not for show. Ned had brought you to learn, to watch and listen, to protect your sisters and understand the weight of the crown that pressed ever more heavily upon his brow. But still… your mind strayed to her. Would she be there in the Red Keep? Had she changed?

The answer came sooner than you expected.

That evening, after the formal greetings had been exchanged and the Lannisters had departed with smug politeness, the court gathered in the Queen’s Ballroom for a feast to honor the arrival of the North. It was a glittering affair, filled with music and sweetwine, silks and sapphires. The Tyrells had arrived late—fashionably, it was whispered—and when they did, it was as if the room tilted. You stood beside your father, garbed in dark wool with silver embroidery along the sleeves, speaking politely with Lord Renly about the merits of Northern steel. Your attention flicked toward the doors, drawn by the swell of murmurs and clapping. The Tyrell retinue flowed in like a garden in bloom.

There she was.

Margaery Tyrell walked beside her grandmother and her brothers, clad in pale green silk that shimmered like dew on grass. Her hair was the same rich chestnut you remembered, pinned with tiny golden roses, but she had grown—gods, how she had grown. No longer a laughing child but a young woman poised and radiant, with a grace that rivaled the queens of old songs. Her eyes swept across the chamber with ease, lips curled in the gentlest of smiles, and when they found you, they stilled.

Your breath caught.

She paused a step, blinking once, and then the smile deepened. It wasn’t the practiced smile she gave the other lords who bowed or the giggling ladies who whispered her name—it was something warmer, brighter. Real. You felt your hand twitch at your side, and your father gave you a curious look before returning to his conversation.

Later, as the music swelled and dancers spun in a blur of color, you stepped away from the dais, weaving through nobles with polite nods, your eyes fixed on the green silk that now stood by a marble pillar near the terrace. She turned before you could speak.

“You took your time,” Margaery said, her voice just as soft and lilting as you remembered, though more measured now, more composed.

“I was trying to think of something clever,” you admitted, the corners of your mouth lifting, “but I’ve never been good at clever.”

“You were nine,” she said, laughing quietly. “You didn’t need to be clever. You raced me through Highgarden’s orchard and swore I cheated when I won.”

“Didn’t you?” you asked, stepping closer.

“Of course,” she said with a wicked grin. “I took the inside path by the apple trees. You should’ve known better.”

You stood across from her now, the air thick with candlesmoke and rosewater. “You haven’t changed.”

“Haven’t I?” she asked, arching a brow. “I’ve heard I’m all grown up now. A lady of the court. Betrothals and duty and secrets whispered behind fans. You don’t think I’ve changed?”

“I think the core of you,” you said slowly, “is the same. And I’m glad.”

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, she looked almost uncertain. “You’ve changed too. Taller. Broader. A bit more brooding—like your father.”

You smiled. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

“Both,” she replied, eyes twinkling. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

“So have I,” you confessed. “More than I realized.”

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like the quiet before a summer storm—filled with possibility. Somewhere across the room, Cersei Lannister was watching with narrowed eyes. Sansa was talking to Joffrey, her hands clasped nervously. Your father met your gaze once, but he said nothing.

“I have a feeling we’ll see a lot of each other now that the court has you in its jaws,” Margaery murmured, lifting her goblet to her lips.

You leaned in slightly. “Good. Let them all watch.”

And in the candlelight, with music in your ears and the scent of roses between you, she smiled like she had on that long-ago summer’s day. And you knew—this was only the beginning.

It began with the smallest of gestures—a brush of fingertips when she passed you a cup of wine at the feast, a shared glance across the Small Hall when your father spoke before the court. A half-smile, a subtle tilt of her head, the low, melodic laugh she reserved only for you when the court’s din faded behind silken curtains and marble columns. In the weeks that followed your arrival to King’s Landing, your days grew long with the weight of your father’s new role, but your nights... your nights belonged to her. Margaery Tyrell had a way of folding herself into your life as easily as sunlight through the cracks in stone—persistent, gentle, impossible to ignore. And you, the dutiful wolf of the North, found yourself basking in that light, even when your instincts warned of thorns beneath her smile.

You walked with her in the gardens of Maegor’s Holdfast, when the heat of the sun began to soften and the scent of lemon and myrtle hung thick in the air. The gardeners would bow as you passed, yet she barely noticed them, her attention fixed on the smallest details—how the bees gathered on the lavender stalks, or how the oranges were beginning to ripen early this season. She spoke with her hands, graceful and sure, and you watched them as much as her lips. One evening, as dusk painted the sky in streaks of red and amber, she plucked a rose from a bush and offered it to you, its petals blood-red, rich with scent.

“I’d forgotten how quiet you are,” she said, threading her arm through yours. “Even when you speak, there’s something… still about you. Like a frozen lake.”

You glanced at her, the rose turning in your fingers. “Still things run deep, don’t they?”

Her lips curved. “They do. But they can also crack. Or melt.”

“Would you rather I melted, then?” you asked, voice low.

“No,” she said, almost a whisper. “I want to see what’s beneath the ice.”

And so you showed her. Slowly. Carefully. You told her about the North—the loneliness of the snowswept forests, the mournful howling of the wind across the battlements of Winterfell, the way your direwolf cub had died in your arms when you were still too young to understand death. You spoke of your siblings, how Robb had always been the warrior, Theon the reckless one, Jon the ghost. How Sansa dreamed of songs and Arya scorned them. How your father had always looked at you not as the heir, but as the shield—the one who would hold the others together should the world break.

Margaery listened. Not with the false attentiveness of a court lady eager to flatter, but with the earnest stillness of someone who wanted to remember every word. She would sometimes reach for your hand when you grew quiet, tracing the line of your knuckles with her thumb, grounding you.

One evening, you found yourselves in the gardens of the Red Keep, a poor mimicry of the one in Highgarden. The heart tree was absent, replaced by flowering shrubs and ivy-covered stone, but it was the closest thing to peace in the entire city. The moon was high, silvering her gown and catching in the curls that framed her face.

“I miss the North,” you admitted, seated beside her on the stone bench. “The cold keeps things honest. Here, everything’s veiled.”

“And what am I?” she asked, eyes flicking toward yours. “Veiled or honest?”

You turned to face her fully, your voice unguarded. “You’re not easy to read, but you’re not false. You play the game, yes. But not with me.”

“I don’t want to play games with you,” she said, softer than before. “Not like that.”

There was a silence that bloomed and stretched between you, weighted with something unspoken. And then she leaned closer, her breath feathering against your cheek.

“You know,” she murmured, “when I was a girl, I used to dream you’d come back to Highgarden. I used to write letters to you and never send them.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked.

“I didn’t think you remembered me,” she said with a small shrug, as if the memory embarrassed her.

“I remembered,” you said, your gaze fixed on her mouth. “I never forgot.”

Her hand found yours again, lacing your fingers together.

“I wish you’d kiss me,” she whispered, and it was not a tease, not a game, but a confession.

You did.

You kissed her with the hunger of years left unsaid, with the tremble of restraint held far too long. Her lips were warm and tasting faintly of honeyed wine, her hands slipping to your shoulders, drawing you closer until there was nothing between you but breath and longing. The garden vanished, the city vanished—there was only her, her mouth, her heartbeat fluttering against yours like a trapped bird.

When you pulled back, the look in her eyes held no jest. “We have to be careful,” she said, her fingers brushing your jaw. “There are eyes everywhere.”

You nodded. “Let them watch.”

But still, you both knew—what bloomed between you was dangerous. Beautiful. Doomed, perhaps. But in those nights when her fingers found yours in passing, when her letters reached your chambers scented faintly of roses, when her laughter filled the quiet corners of the Keep—you allowed yourself to believe.

If even for a moment.

That this was more than a game.

[httpvomitello]

Hii, I would like to request something for Severus Snape x VampireProfessor :D I have a headcanon with her becoming a teacher at Hogwarts, due to new laws discriminating Magical Creatures and since she's very knowledgeable and old, Dumbledore takes her in as a teacher. At Hogwarts Snape and her obviously meet for the first time and she's just immediately tries to get him bc what's to lose for someone a 1000 years old?

You can write in headcanon or fic style, whatever you like best and have more fun doing :) thank you so much for writing! :D

Ooooh, I loved writing this one! Mixing the Harry Potter universe with vampires is definitely one of my favorite things, and with that, came a long result 🙃 hope you like it ~ ♡

A Thousand Years to Love You *⁠.⁠✧

Summary: The world had never been kind to creatures like you. For centuries, you wandered, unseen and unwanted, your existence tolerated but never embraced. But times had changed—just not for the better. New laws forced magical creatures into the margins, stripping them of their rights, and you found yourself with little choice but to accept Dumbledore’s offer of refuge within Hogwarts as a professor. There, among the candlelit corridors and whispered rumors, you met him. Severus Snape.

severus snape x f!vampire reader

Hogwarts was as you remembered it. Cold stone walls, winding corridors, magic humming in the very air. You had passed through its halls before, but never like this—never as an official part of it.

The Great Hall was alive with chatter as Dumbledore introduced you, his voice calm but commanding. The students murmured among themselves, eyes flickering toward you in fascination and fear.

"A vampire?" you heard someone whisper. "Teaching?"

"Does she drink human blood?" another asked.

You resisted the urge to smirk. Let them wonder. Let them be afraid. Fear kept people at a distance, and distance made things easier.

But there was one pair of eyes that didn’t hold fear.

Severus Snape.

He sat at the far end of the faculty table, dressed in his usual black, eyes like polished obsidian. His expression was unreadable, his gaze sharp as it met yours.

Interesting.

You held his gaze longer than necessary, letting your lips curve ever so slightly. A silent challenge.

He didn’t look away.

Even more interesting.

You found him alone in the staff room later that evening, hunched over a steaming cup of tea, his fingers wrapped around the porcelain like he was absorbing the warmth.

He didn’t acknowledge you when you entered, not even when you deliberately moved closer, the air around you chilling slightly.

“You don’t frighten me,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You smiled. “Good. That would be rather inconvenient.”

His dark eyes flicked toward you. “I assume Dumbledore thought it wise to bring a vampire into the castle?”

You shrugged. “Dumbledore thinks a great many things are wise.”

He scoffed. “And yet, he rarely is.”

You chuckled. “I think I like you, Professor Snape.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I assure you, the feeling is not mutual.”

You leaned against the chair opposite him, resting your chin on your hand. “Oh, but it will be.”

His scowl deepened.

You found it delightful.

Snape was a difficult man.

He avoided you when he could, answered in clipped sentences when he couldn’t, and yet—he was always watching.

In the dungeons, when your robes brushed against his as you passed too close.

In the Great Hall, where he seemed perpetually irritated that you found yourself beside him.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered one evening as you slid into the seat next to him.

You merely smirked. “And yet, you never move.”

He glared but said nothing.

A victory.

The first crack appeared late one night in the library.

You found him hunched over a tome, a candle flickering beside him, the scent of ink and parchment thick in the air.

Without a word, you sat across from him, resting your chin on your palm.

He sighed. “Must you always linger?”

“I enjoy your company.”

He scoffed. “You enjoy tormenting me.”

“Can it not be both?”

For the first time, his lips twitched—almost a smile.

Oh, interesting indeed.

It happened after a particularly grueling staff meeting, one where the Ministry’s new restrictions on magical creatures had been discussed.

You left the meeting tense, jaw set, hands curled into fists beneath your robes. You hated feeling powerless. Hated remembering that no matter how long you had lived, to the Ministry, you were still nothing more than other.

Snape found you later, standing alone in the courtyard, staring up at the night sky.

“You look as if you might tear someone’s throat out,” he mused.

You exhaled sharply. “Not tonight.”

A pause. Then, softer—hesitant. “They’re fools.”

You turned to face him.

He was watching you, expression unreadable but eyes… softer.

“They fear what they do not understand,” he continued.

You let out a humorless laugh. “I have had a thousand years to hear that excuse.”

Silence stretched between you.

And then, after a long moment, he said, “I do not fear you.”

Your chest tightened.

“That,” you murmured, stepping closer, “is why I like you.”

He held his ground, his breath barely hitching as you reached out, your fingers ghosting over the sleeve of his robes.

And for the first time—he didn’t pull away.

It was slow. Subtle.

A lingering glance here. A hesitation there. The way his fingers brushed against yours when you passed him a potion vial.

Snape was not a man who allowed himself to want things.

But you? You had lived too long to deny yourself anything.

And so you pursued him, patiently, relentlessly.

Until, one night, as you stood in his quarters, the fire casting flickering shadows against the stone walls, he finally broke.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he ground out, his voice rough, his hands clenched at his sides.

You stepped closer, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I think you do.”

His breath was unsteady. “You shouldn’t.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

He exhaled sharply. “Because I am not a good man.”

You smiled then, slow and knowing. “Severus,” you whispered, leaning in until your lips almost brushed his, “I have lived for a thousand years. Do you really think I would waste my time on someone unworthy?”

He swallowed hard.

And then—finally, finally—he closed the distance.

The kiss was rough, desperate, full of everything unsaid.

And as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, you knew.

You had won.

Snape pulled away first.

You could feel his breath, warm against your lips, his hands still tangled in your robes as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold on or push you away.

His expression was unreadable, but you could see it—the conflict, the hesitation, the desperate urge to retreat.

So, naturally, you didn’t let him.

You traced a single finger down his arm, watching the way he tensed beneath your touch. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

He exhaled sharply. “This is a mistake.”

You smirked. “Then why do you look like you want to do it again?”

Snape stiffened, his hands finally dropping away from you. He took a step back, putting space between you as if that would somehow erase what had just happened.

“This—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “—cannot happen.”

You arched a brow. “And yet, it already has.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” you interrupted, folding your arms. “You want me. You think you shouldn’t. You’re terrified of the idea that someone like me would waste my time on you.” You took a deliberate step forward. “But I am wasting my time on you, Severus. And you want to know why?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t answer.

You leaned in, your voice a whisper against his ear. “Because you are worth it.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked at you then—really looked at you—and you could see it. The war raging inside him. The part of him that wanted to believe you.

But Snape had never allowed himself to believe in good things.

Which was why he turned on his heel and left without another word.

You sighed, watching him disappear down the corridor.

This is going to be fun.

Severus Snape was not an easy man to pursue.

He avoided you in the hallways. He stopped sitting next to you during meals. He barely acknowledged you in staff meetings.

You had expected this.

But you were old. Patient. Unrelenting.

So you found ways to corner him.

You lingered outside his classroom when his students had all left, standing in the doorway with a knowing smirk.

"You can't avoid me forever, you know."

"I can certainly try," he muttered, gathering his lesson plans.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. "You're acting like a child."

He looked up then, eyes flashing. "And you're acting like this is some sort of game."

You shrugged. "Maybe it is. But I play to win."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don’t know what you expect from me."

“I expect nothing,” you admitted. “Except, perhaps, for you to stop lying to yourself.”

He didn’t have a response to that.

And you? You were perfectly content to wait.

It happened in the dead of night.

You found him in the astronomy tower, standing alone, looking out over the darkened grounds. He didn’t turn when you approached.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, your voice softer than usual.

“I rarely do.”

You stepped beside him, gazing at the same moonlit landscape. “You should. You’ll wrinkle prematurely.”

A scoff. “I’m hardly concerned with vanity.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “No. But you are concerned with pushing away things that might actually make you happy.”

His fingers curled over the stone railing. “Happiness is fleeting.”

“So is life,” you murmured. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t live it.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it—

“I don’t know how to do this.”

You turned to face him fully, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice.

“Then let me show you.”

And this time, when you reached for him—he didn’t pull away.

Things changed after that night.

Snape was still Snape—grumpy, sarcastic, prone to brooding—but he no longer tried to pretend there was nothing between you.

He let you sit beside him at meals again.

He let you brush your fingers against his when you passed him things.

He let you press lingering kisses against his lips when no one was looking.

And, occasionally, when he thought you were asleep, he let himself watch you.

Like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

Like he still couldn’t believe you had chosen him.

And you?

You had lived a thousand years.

But somehow, with him, every moment felt new.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Night 221: Liar’s Night

words: 1.7K rating: E pairing: Gale x Tav summary: A night for tricks & treats at the annual Blackstaff Academy Masquerade Ball. An certainly more treats than tricks that Gale had hoped for. tags: kinktober - masquerade, f!oral, public sex, fluffy smut

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

Gale huffed as he adjusted his mask, trying to straighten it. It was rather itchy too. He wished he could have just used a glamour like some many of his colleagues tonight.

Liar’s Night. A festival in honor of Leira & Mask, gods of trickery, deception, and illusion.

It was often celebrated with people dressing up in costume to ‘trick’ the gods into thinking they were someone else. Though celebrated up & down the Sword Coast, in Waterdeep, the celebration was very elaborate. As home to one of the greatest magical academies, people took their effort in the illusions very serious.

None more so than the academy itself.

As a student, Gale often wondered what the professor’s masquerade ball was like. The smaller celebration for students was often quite involved, so he had to assume that the professor’s was over the top. It did not disappoint. The main ballroom had been decorated with beautiful crystals straight from the Underdark and beyond. Intricate weavings of pumpkin vines from some of the best herbologist magicians this side of the druids. Candles floated in mid-air, a common trick, but would change on their own with the tempo of the music played by an invisible orchestra. Seeing his colleagues unbutton their collars for a bit, dressed so unique & silly, was also quite impressive.

“Gale my boy, where is that enchanting wife of yours?”

“Hard to say, Elminster.” Though not on staff at the academy, a wizard of Elminster’s acclaim was welcome at any magical gathering. And Elminster would go just about anywhere with free cheese. “It’s a little hard to see with this mask.”

“Hmmm…her suggestion, I take it?” The older wizard asked. Though not really asked, as he seemed to already have his answer before Gale nodded. “I thought as much. Do not take this the wrong way, my boy, but I would not have thought a proud peacock like you would cover put his visage so willingly.”

“Did you just call me vain Elminster?”

“Not so much ‘vain’ as more….proud of your appearance. And which you should be, my boy. Enjoy your looks and your youth while you can. They will be gone from you sooner than you know.” The older man huffed a little, seeming defeated by the weight of his own years a bit, before he sipped his wine. “I will leave you to search for your mate then. Do say goodbye before you leave though.”

“We’ll find you by the buffet I take it?” Gale quipped as his old mentor departed.

Alone in the crowd for a moment, Gale continued to try and scan the room for his wife. She had said that she would met him at the party, saying it was silly for him to come all the way back from classes just to return a few hours later. Gale said he didn’t mind what man would, arriving at a party with a beautiful woman on his arm but she insisted.

“Excuse me kind sir,” he turned around at the gentle tap on his shoulder, thinking it was someone looking for the loo again, and felt all the air rush out of his lungs, “could you direct me to the nearest stream?” There before him was Tav. His beautiful Tav. Dressed in what he could only assume was a water nymphs costume.

The intricate, flimsy material moving around her body like waves on the sea. The flecks of sparkle like moonlight blinking in the sea. Her mask, not nearly as cumbersome as his, just some delicate pieces of white coral by her temple with makeup over her eyes. Clearly her inspiration that of the Umberlee charges they helped while in the Gate. But where they looked ready to slay a man in divine vengeance for their Bitch Queen, Tav looked as if she would lure a man to the sea, who would willingly follow as a sacrifice to the Mother of Oceans for just one more glance at her.

“There…there are no streams here.” Gale replied. Collecting himself and turning fully towards her. “But there’s a pretty large fountain in the south corridor I could interest you in.”

Tav giggled. The sound like sea breeze through a chime. “I suppose I will have to make do. What’s a handsome man like you washing up on these shores?”

“I’m looking for someone.” Gale told her. “A missing love.”

“Missing? Oh, how horrible.” She stepped closer and placed her hand at his chest. Even with the thick cut of his jacket he could feel her pulse there. Although maybe that was his own heart. “Anything I can do, to help a poor lost sailor?”

Gale clasped her hand and, without a word, cast Dimensional Door. Suddenly, they were no longer in the thick of the party but in a secluded, unused portion of the ballroom. Gale torn off his mask and threw it to the ground somewhere in the dark before he kissed Tav feverously.

“Where did you get this dress?” He asked when he finally let her go.

“I made it.” She told him; would her wonders never cease. “I thought it would be a cute couples costume. Nymph and pirate.”

Suddenly his outfit made sense. Gale hadn’t questioned it. Interested in the party but less on what he was wearing, and trusted her judgement. “Well then, it seems I have caught myself a nymph in my net.” Gale replied. Falling back into ‘character’. “According to legend, that entitles me to three wishes for your freedom.”

Tav giggled again. “Alright. What are your wishes, handsome sailor?”

“I want to taste you.”

Gale kissed Tav again, deeper this time, before he moved down to her neck. Her skin tasted like salt. Gale wondered if she had added it to make her costume that much more authentic, or if it was just his imagination. He moved further down. Kissing the patches of skin her costume left dangerously bare as he moved the kneel in front of her. “Gale,” Tav hissed quietly, “we’re at a party!”

“You said you would grant me any three wishes.” He reminded her. Her blush an intoxicating contrast with all the blue. “This is my wish.”

With no further complaints from Tav, Gale moved the ruffles of her skirt aside. Letting them fall over him like a curtain as he reached up to spread her legs and lapped at her center. His wife moaned. Fingers gripping into his shoulders at the hem of her skirts to keep quiet. Gale used his practiced tongue to work her open. Moving one leg carefully onto his shoulder by her hand to give him more room. Taste her deeper. He was pleased to feel Tav buck her hips against him in a soft cadence. Using his mouth to gain her pleasure. His cock straining in his pants in reply.

In the quiet dark of their little corner, Tav moaned between the bite of her bottom lip as she came for him. Her sweet ocean coating his tongue before he pulled out from under her skirts. “Everything you wished for?”

“And then some.” Gale replied. Looking up at her with reverence before he stood to his feet. “For my next wish, I wish to be inside you.”

“Yes please.”

Tav wasted little time helping him unlace his pants and hike up her skirts again. Gale was pleased with her eagerness. Maybe it was the moment, or the fact that they were still at his work party, but she seemed quick to join with him; compared to their usual slow & passionate love making.

Gale held on to Tav’s legs when she wrapped them around his waist. Using the wall to brace them before he slid his cock inside. His little nymph moaned. Clinging to him as he fucked her. Thrusting in & out with ease from the wetness of her orgasm and tongue just moments ago.

“Don’t stop.” She begged him. “Feels so good. Don’t ever stop Gale.”

How Gale wished that could be true. To be joined with her always. To be one forever and feel her around his cock for eternity. Sadly though, all good things must come to an end, and the wizard grunted as his hips stopped. Coming deep inside her.

Gently, he let Tav down and allowed them to adjust themselves. Gale groaned as he straightened his back. The lower part tense from the strain and his impulse decision to lift his wife. Well worth it, but he was paying the price now.

“Shall we go back to the party for a bit, my love?”

“Yes we…Oh…Oh dear…” Tav giggled as she looked at Gale. Covering her mouth as she snickered. “Your face is covered in blue.”

Gale was surprised, although he really shouldn’t be, and touched his cheek to find blue paint at his fingertips. “Nine hells…” It was probably in his beard too. It would not do to go out looking like this; their disheveled appearance already a dead give away that they had not been taking in the pumpkin displays nor the night air.

“Think we can sneak out the back?” Tav asked.

“Now that you mention it, I just so happens I know a way to sneak out through this back hall.” A memory for his school days that was proving quite useful.

The couple snuck out through Gale’s hidden escape route and out off the campus to head back home. Once there, he took Tav in his arms again. “Sorry my impulsiveness ruined your costume. And the chance to show it off.” He apologized. “You just looked so lovely. I couldn’t help myself.”

Tav chuckled at his apology and offered him a kiss. “No need to be sorry. We’ll be better prepared for next year I suppose.” Gale smiled. Delighted at the thought of next year. And the year after that. And the year after that.

His wife wrapped his arms around his neck to stare lovingly at him. “You never told me your third wish, sailor.”

Gale grinned. He tilted her chin up, holding just before their lips touch to whisper, “Forever.” His one wish. His only wish for a very long time.

Tav leaned up to seal their lips together. Like the stamp on a contract. “Done.” She told him. “Now, handsome sailor,” Gale grunted as Tav hopped up into his arms. His lower back whining again as he held her up. “You’ve caught yourself and sullied a fine nymph this day. You’ll have to clean her up.”

“Oh yes, woe be unto he who interrupts a nymph’s bathing rituals.” He teased back. His cock already getting excited again as he carried her to their bathing suite. Eager to show his water nymph how long he could hold his breath for.