#asks are open if anyone has anything to add or if I got anything wrong

[jiraisupportgroup]

is it okay to be jirai kei if you can't afford the clothes and your parents won't buy them for you does that make you a fake jirai?

♡ short answer ♡

Jirai kei isn’t about the clothes themselves; it’s a community based in accepting & de-stigmatizing mental illness / mental health struggles.

♡ absolutely unreasonably long answer ♡

(Disclaimer: I am not Japanese nor do I speak Japanese. All of this is what I’ve gathered from other people on the internet in my own research when I was first looking into jirai-kei. I could very well be wrong or just talking out of my ass here - I would take my word with a grain of salt.)

Jirai Kei was loosely formed in 2019-2020. It is primarily based out of Kabukicho which is generally considered the red light district Japan, although the Japanese government is trying to change this.

Kabukicho used to be mostly known for soaplands & host clubs & bars & concept cafes - generally more adult or night-life activities. It still is home to these kinds of places, but before the Olympic Games held in 2021, the Japanese government wanted to clean it up and make the area more presentable to foreigners. Starting around 2017-2018 (from what I can tell) they started adding things like movie theaters, bowling alleys, just overall more general-audience attractions to the area to try and make it more consumable. This did start changing the image of the area; it was now seen more as a cool place to hang out - especially for those who were old enough to participate in the host clubs etc. The downside of this is that although it was seen as a cooler area to hang out & it’s image was more positive - there were still plenty of adult or night-life centered things there & many “catch-guys”. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, but it did kind of make a perfect storm.

Since Kabukicho was starting to be seen more as a cool hang-out spot, a lot more younger teenagers started wanting to go there. And especially once the pandemic hit and most places were closed down (while many establishments in Kabukicho chose to stay open) the sentiment of “I hate where I am right now, my life here sucks, I want to go to Kabukicho where things seem like fun” got even stronger.

This led to an influx of runaway teenagers going to Kabukicho. Additionally, a lot of runaways in Kabukicho were very fed up with their living situations (hence, why they chose to run away in the first place) and mental health during the pandemic was not great anyway since there was a pandemic going on obviously that’s going to negatively affect people’s mental health. Even further: in 2022, Japan lowered the age of adulthood from 20 to 18, so even more & younger people could participate in the nightlife scene. Again, not necessarily a bad thing; however, it meant a lot of the runaways going to Kabukicho with little money, poor mental health, and generally not knowing what they want to do with their lives were now surrounded by catch guys & night-life workers. Night-life workers make a lot of money. A lot of these kids needed money to support themselves, especially if they didn’t want to go back to their hometowns.

Now, am I saying all adult work is bad or all jirai’s were adult workers - no absolutely not. However, this environment is what kind of started the ball rolling.

Alright so we have set the scene now wtf is jirai kei.

Jirai kei stems directly from the derogatory term “jirai onna” literal translation “landmine woman”. This is a term pretty much used to say “that woman is going to pop off” (like a landmine) & was leveled towards any woman with mood swings, intense emotions, poor coping mechanisms, etc. Keeping in mind that Japan does not have a great medical or social infrastructure for dealing with mental health - and that many people’s mental health was greatly impacted by the pandemic - it is not surprising that a lot of people were in this position. In western circles I’ve seen people tie this really heavily to BPD specifically - but the term isn’t specific to bpd - it’s really anyone who has an emotional outburst, or that the people using the term derogatorily think would have one.

So a lot of people decided to reclaim this term & spin it to be their own thing. Kind of saying “yeah, so what? I am a landmine. My mental struggles are real. They are my reality. And if you don’t like that or think that’s ‘wrong’ fuck you. I’m not going to sugarcoat myself for your comfort”. Additionally the idea was also used as push-back for the societal views around mental illness. They’re pretty much signaling “being mentally ill or facing mental struggles does not mean we are bad people, it does not mean we don’t deserve love, and we should not have to hide our mental struggles or go through these things on our own”.

So if it’s a subculture based around accepting and fighting for mental health, where does the fashion come in?

Most of the fashion you’ll see in jirai kei tags are girly kei, dark girly, ryousangata (loose translation: mass production), or extensions of larme kei (another Japanese fashion which is really similar to girly kei but slightly different). Why is that?

These fashions are generally mass produced & easily available in Japan. Think about Liz Lisa and MA*RS for example. These are BIG brands. They’re not niche or hard to find. Additionally, the style is very popular. Ryousangata is considered SO mass produced that “everyone looks the same” (it’s actually quite popular amongst fans of boy groups). It’s not like a strange or niche or overly special style in Japan.

Especially not in Kabukicho, a lot of people working at concept cafes & the like would wear these types of styles because they’re easy to get, easy to style, and super overly adorable. The fashion also works GREAT for runaways in Kabukicho. They’re capsule wardrobes you can make like 10 outfits with 5 pieces of clothing so it works really well if you’re living out of a suitcase. Also it’s a pretty inexpensive, easy to obtain & super cute so it’s very appealing to these teenagers.

From what I can tell these fashions were most popular in Kabukicho and spread out from there, which is why you’ll see a lot of people say that if you’re dressing in these styles people will assume you work at a con cafe or other night-life-adjacent work, but the style has gotten much more popular over 2023-2024 so this doesn’t seem to necessarily be the case anymore.

However, since these styles were associated (albeit not exclusively) with Kabukicho & con cafés, etc, and because a lot of people in this area were drained from types of jobs or runaways & living in a culture where they’re told they should not talk about or show their negative emotions - the term “jirai onna” would be used against many people in these fashions.

Now, again, this term was not exclusively used for everyone dressed in this style, and not everyone dressed in these styles was considered that, but the link is definitely there. Jirai Kei is not completely removed from dark girly or ryousangata, but it is definitely more nuanced than “jirai kei is dark girly+”, that’s just not the case. Especially now that jirai subcul is much more popular - and a lot of the fashions you’ll see in jirai subcultures are barely girly kei / dark girly / ryousangata, if at all. I’ve seen jirai subcul people wearing just t-shirts and shorts.

However; especially in western societies, a lot of people falsely associate jirai kei with dark girly WAY too heavily. My best guess is because we don’t see ryousangata regularly. A lot of people have only seen the style in a “jirai kei” context. They are related to each other, jirai kei does have links to dark girly, but the fashion style itself is not necessarily “jirai kei”. It’s a common style in Japan - it’s not a common style in other parts of the world - so people mashed the two together in one concept because they don’t know otherwise.

This is where a LOT of discourse in the Jirai Kei community stems from - I’m not going to go too deep into it because everyone gets extremely mad about it & im not trying to open that can of worms and spill it all over the table.

I’m sure you’ve seen posts mentioning “fashion landmines” and “lifestyle landmines”. “Fashion landmines” being people who just like dark girly or ryousangata and mistakenly identify the fashion itself as “jirai kei”, and “lifestyle landmines” being people who hold to the values of accepting and raising awareness of mental illness / struggles that was the movement which started the reclamation of the term “jirai onna” to begin with.

Tldr they don’t like each other and people get really mean about it.

All of this being said: Essentially, yes. Dark girly and ryousangata and girly kei are related to Jirai Kei, but no, you do not have to have the clothes to be a part of the community. The clothes are secondary (and honestly optional) to the community’s values.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk lmao

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | serving yourself less (tiktok trend)

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : serving your formula one boyfriend more than you serve yourself

୨ৎ : genre : comedy - tiktok trend ୨ৎ : word count : 1547

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i got a final exam tmrw and i already know im beyond cooked

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

immediately looks at your plate, then at his, then back at yours.

“that’s it?”

scoops food onto your plate without asking. “you didn’t see me doing that.”

mutters under his breath the whole time: “ridiculous. you think i’m gonna eat all this while you nibble on two leaves?”

makes you sit down while he fixes you a proper plate.

“you’ll thank me later when you’re not starving in two hours.”

yuki tsunoda

jaw drops. full betrayal.

“why is your plate sad? do you hate food?”

takes food off his plate and puts it on yours like he’s rescuing it.

“you need to eat or u will be grumpy. and you know what happens when you're grumpy.”

glares at your plate for the rest of the meal to make sure you don’t sneak food back.

will literally feed you if he has to.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

stares at your plate like you’ve just insulted everything he stands for.

“darling... that’s not a meal. that’s a sad sample.”

immediately puts his fork down. “what’s going on? why are you eating like a bird?”

gives you a speech about nutrients. you don’t even make it five minutes in before he’s switching your plate with his.

“eat. i’ll make us smoothies after. with oats. and peanut butter.”

glares at anyone else at the table who doesn’t say anything.

kimi antonelli

freezes mid-bite and just blinks at your plate.

“...wait, is that all you’re eating?”

awkwardly tries not to panic but can’t stop glancing at your food.

“you want some of mine?” pushes his whole plate toward you like a puppy offering a toy.

you say you’re not hungry and he goes quiet.

five minutes later: “okay but… what if i just gave you half of everything i have?”

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

eyebrows instantly scrunch together.

“bébé… where’s the rest?”

literally keeps waiting for you to go back for more.

when you don’t, he starts panicking gently: “is this about something? are you okay? are you mad at me?”

puts things from his plate on yours like it’s no big deal.

whispers “please eat, i hate when you don’t” like you just told him you’re leaving forever.

kisses your temple and goes “merci” when you take a bite.

lewis hamilton

side-eyes your plate with a little smirk.

“you planning to go back for seconds… or is that a cry for help?”

smooth as hell while sliding his fork over to your plate, spearing some of his food, and holding it to your mouth.

“open up, baby. i know you're hungry.”

if you say you’re not, he tilts his head and gives you the look.

“don’t make me get up and fix you a real plate. because i will.”

makes you finish at least half of his meal too, while rubbing your back the whole time.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

stares at your plate. then stares at you.

“what’s that?”

full dramatic gasp. clutches chest. “you’re joking. that’s the appetizer, right? where’s the rest?”

scoots your plate next to his and starts transferring food over like it’s a formula one pit stop.

“you’re not doing this ‘cute portions’ thing again. eat properly or i’ll call your mum.”

makes airplane noises while feeding you a bite just to be annoying.

you try to glare but you’re laughing too hard to stop him.

oscar piastri

doesn’t say anything at first, just silently eyes your plate… then yours again.

“that’s... all?”

furrows his brows slightly. “is something wrong? are you okay?”

super calm but will not let this slide. adds food to your plate like he’s just “helping,” not completely panicking inside.

casually: “you can finish mine too if you want.”

when you finally take a real bite, he visibly relaxes and says, “thank you” like you just took your meds.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends not to notice at first.

then eyes your plate like it's personally disrespecting him.

“you’re kidding. right? that’s not dinner. that’s—snack behavior.”

takes your plate, loads it up himself, and hands it back without a word.

“eat,” he says, deadpan.

if you protest, he hits you with the eyebrow raise and mutters something in Spanish under his breath like “mi vida está loca.”

cuts your food into pieces and says “better” while sipping his wine like the crisis has been handled.

lance stroll

instantly frowns when he sees your plate.

“hey… where’s the rest?”

full concerned rich boy mode: “did the chef mess something up? do you want me to order something else?”

scoots closer and starts offering bites of his meal.

“you want a bite? actually—here, have all of it.”

if you take even a few bites, he goes, “that’s my girl” and kisses your forehead like you just saved his life.

100% sneaks extra dessert onto your plate later. plays innocent when you call him out.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

dramatic gasp. like cartoon-level gasp.

“okay, what is that? no really, explain. is that a bite? a sample? a decoration?”

“i’m calling your mom. i’m calling your best friend. we’re staging an intervention.”

takes your plate and starts adding food while lecturing you.

“you’re hot and smart but your portion control is a war crime.”

kisses your temple like he didn’t just drag you and says, “eat up, pretty girl.”

continues feeding you from his plate like a clingy golden retriever boyfriend.

carlos sainz

freezes when he sees your plate. stares at it. stares at you.

“is that all you’re eating?”

you shrug. he sighs and sets down his fork. full concerned boyfriend mode.

“mi amor, that’s not enough. seriously.”

pushes his plate toward you and waits until you take a bite. then goes soft.

“tienes que comer bien, cariño.” (you have to eat well, darling.)

“te necesito fuerte y feliz, no con hambre.” (i need you strong and happy, not hungry.)

spoons extra food onto your plate every time you’re not looking. smiles like he’s done nothing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

gasps like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

“wait wait wait. THAT’S your plate? you’re kidding.”

points at it dramatically. “someone get the girl a real meal!”

piles food on your plate himself while mumbling, “she thinks that’s gonna get her through the day? she’s insane. adorable. but insane.”

offers to feed you personally if it means you’ll eat more.

“open up. no, seriously. i’m not letting you leave this table hungry.”

won’t let it go for a week. “remember when you tried to survive on three leaves and half a tomato?”

esteban ocon

doesn’t say anything right away. just side-eyes your plate with increasing concern.

“is that enough? are you sure? you’re sure?”

when you insist it’s fine, he just sighs and very gently starts moving food from his plate to yours like it’s a covert operation.

“just in case you get hungry later,” he says softly.

watches you eat like a hawk. when you finish, he smiles like it’s a personal win.

mutters to himself in French the entire time — something suspiciously close to, “elle va me rendre fou.” (she’s going to drive me crazy.)

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

does a double take. then slowly turns to you.

“so you hate food now? or is this performance art?”

chuckles but immediately adds more food to your plate. “this feels illegal.”

makes jokes the entire meal, “you need a magnifying glass to see that portion.”

but side-eyes you so hard every time you put your fork down.

halfway through, scoots his plate between you both. “just share mine. easier.”

whispers “you’re actually feral for that” in your ear, but kisses your cheek while handing you a bite.

isack hadjar

absolutely scandalized.

“quoi?! that’s not dinner. that’s—what is that!”

full-on offended. places a hand on his heart like you’ve betrayed his entire French culinary heritage.

literally gets up and remakes your plate. “you eat what i give you. this is criminal.”

gives you a “look” every time you try to protest. you know the one.

softens immediately when you take a real bite. “bon. merci, mon cœur.”

kisses your head like a reward and mutters, “don’t scare me like that again.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

immediately dramatic. like, eyebrows raised, jaw dropped, wine glass in hand.

“you trying to break my heart? because that’s what this is.”

pokes at your plate with his fork. “this is… decorative. c’est rien.”

slides his plate next to yours and starts serving you from it.

“eat, mon ange. i need you strong enough to carry this relationship.”

flirts relentlessly until you give in.

“you’ll eat for me, right? be my good girl?”

smirks like he just won the Monaco GP when you take a real bite.

jack doohan

doesn’t say much. just blinks at your plate.

“is that enough?”

you say yes. he nods.

five minutes later he’s quietly refilling your plate like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“i just thought you might want more.”

casually puts a piece of his food on your fork and waits.

won’t push you, but his quiet worry is palpable.

kisses your temple when you finish and mumbles, “thank you,” like you saved his appetite.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

raises an eyebrow. says nothing for a full thirty seconds.

“...that’s it?”

sips his drink, pretending not to care. he cares so deeply it’s physically hurting him.

eventually breaks. sighs and says, “give me your plate.”

doesn’t ask — just starts adding food to it.

“you’ll thank me when you’re not lightheaded later.”

kisses your forehead once and mutters something like, “don’t do that again, yeah?”

gabriel bortoleto

visibly stressed.

“babe? love? angel? why is your plate empty?”

starts rapid-fire listing all the food options: “do you want rice? bread? i can go get something else—”

won’t start eating until you’ve got a full plate.

watches you take every bite like he’s tracking your hydration levels too.

ends the night making you tea and saying “you scared me,” while cuddling you for the next three hours.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[gay-dorito-dust]

Remy fic for @littlekidsteve

It has only been a little while since you and Remy had managed to escape the void along with Electra, Laura and Blade before biding them farewell, all the while you and Remy took a long walk as you both tried to figure out what you were going to do now that you were free.

Out of everyone you and Remy were the closet and so the idea of saying goodbye to one another after everything felt wrong, Remy had become apart of you as you became a vital part of him, so much so to the point neither of you could fathom an life without the other being apart of it some way or another.

‘Got any plans now that we’ve escaped the void?’ You asked him and he hums while shuffling his playing cards, a habit you noticed he had whether he was in need of a distraction or in deep thought.

‘I have been in the void for so long that I didn’t think I’d ever get out mon Cher, nor would get out so I made my inescapable prison a home, so all this is…rather new to me.’ Remy admits as he looked over at you with a soft expression before nudging you with his shoulder. ‘You have lived a life before the void, I think you’d be better suited for that question.’

You chuckled as you rubbed the back of your neck. ‘Yeah well I’m pretty sure they’ve pruned it by now, so I’m just as lost as you are and I haven’t been in the Void nearly as long as you have.’ You told him and Remy couldn’t help but chuckle as he went to grab your hand, intertwining it with his own. ‘Then we shall find a way to navigate our new life, together.’ He promised as he then brought your hand up to his lips before softly kissed it.

‘You promise?’ You asked.

‘I promise mon Cher.’ Remy echoed and suddenly everything felt like it was going to be okay, the void was long behind you both as the future was on the horizon, waiting for your both to take it

And soon enough with time and patience you and Remy found yourselves in your own little apartment -that was funnily enough not far from where Wade, Blind Al and Logan lived- and living a quiet, domestic lifestyle, just like you had wanted for a long time but couldn’t due to certain circumstances. You couldn’t help but smile softly upon first seeing Remy with an peaceful expression on his face as he slept, he looked beautiful and at ease with everything that you found yourself admiring him in silence, not wanting to ruin this moment by sneezing or shifting your weight and waking him by accident.

‘Wade is right. You are beautiful.’ You muttered lowly as you memorised his face and the way the light from the window made his skin glow an almost golden hue, making him look ethereal, as you took the time to appreciate the way his eyelashes kissed the apples of his cheeks. Remy was a handsome man and you were in no shape or form to deny it when you were more then aware of this face since the moment you met, but it wasn’t his physical appearance that drew you in but more or less his heart and his ability to light up anything that he touched, and soon enough you found yourself falling for the Cajun Frenchman more then you’d originally thought.

Remy has consumed your every waking and sleeping thought, claimed your body and heart as his own with how his eyes never seemed to leave you the moment you entered the room, smiling at you warmly before cross over to stand next to you for the rest of the day while occasionally showing off a new card trick he learnt. Even during combat Remy would stay close by to keep you safe when he felt that someone was getting too close for comfort by throwing one of his kinetically charged playing cards at them, and when you look over at him he just winks at you and continues the fight.

‘I can sense you watching me mon Cher.’ Remy said as he smiles cheekily, opening one eye to look at you as he brought a hand behind your head, pulling you in for a brief but sweet kiss before pulling away to look at you. ‘Am I really as beautiful as you say?’ He adds in a whisper as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear your conversation.

‘You can’t be blind to your own beauty can you Remy?’ You asked as you moved a hand to rest upon his chest, tapping your fingers against his skin in an unheard rhythm.

‘I’m not, I just want to hear you say it.’ Remy replied as he found his eyes wandering across your face with fondness and admiration. You couldn’t help but laugh as you rested your head against his chest, nuzzling into him. ‘You are indeed beautiful Remy Lebeau, the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on.’ You admit as you look at him, pressing a kiss to his chin as you felt his arms tighten on you, restraining you from moving away from him.

‘You flatter me Cher, but it is you who’s the most beautiful.’ Remy says as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the shampoo and conditioner you used and closing his eyes, never having the luxury of experiencing peace before in his life but finding himself falling in love with it as fast as he did with you. Remy felt as though he could stay in this bed forever with you but knew with your plans for later today he wouldn’t, though that didn’t stop him from doing whatever he could to keep you in his arms.

‘Wade, Logan, Laura and their friends are coming over soon.’ You murmured.

‘I know.’ Remy relied.

‘We should get up soon.’ You continued.

‘I know.’ Remy repeated as he kissed your head again, cuddling you further into his chest. ‘We’ll get up soon, but for now can we just…stay here, please Cher.’ He adds in a plea and you couldn’t help but feel yourself slipping into sleep the longer you stayed in Remy’s comforting and strong arms.

‘I guess five minutes wouldn’t hurt.’ You said as you nuzzled yourself into his neck, kissing it. ‘Then we’ll have to…to…wake.’ Before you could finish your sentence you had found yourself fast asleep as Remy smiled down at you. ‘I’m sure they won’t mind Cherie, they’ll understand.’ He says before joining you in dream land.

Bonus:

‘Where the fuck are they?!’ Wade shouted as he, Logan, Laura, Al, dogpool and the rest of his friends stood outside in the hallway to yours and Remy’s apartment after banging on the door for the past five minutes.

‘They’re probably still asleep, best we leave them be before we fucking wake the rest of the apartment complex.’ Logan said, side eyeing Wade as he sifted the welcome gifts in his arms.

Wade pouts and just as they were about to leave, a rugged and scruffy looking you and Remy opened the door to greet them as Wade laughs. ‘You two looked like as though we’ve interrupted something between you two.’ Wade the leaned towards you to whisper. ‘Is the French dick that good?’ You glared at him as you flicked him on the forehead, watching him as he winced and rubbed his forehead with a pout.

‘We may or may not have overslept thanks to someone.’ You nudged Remy in the side as he smiles cheekily and brings an arm to your waist, tugging you into his side. ‘Guilty as charged.’ He said proudly as you both stepped aside for everyone to enter your shared apartment before joining them, happy to have known such weird yet beautiful people.

[lis-likes-fics]

Matters of Propriety

Pairings: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Laenor Velaryon (Platonic) Word Count: 6.4k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, constant use of metaphors, reference to homosexuality as an illness, fingering, oral (f!receiving), soft dom!Rhaenyra, consensual adultery, useless lesbians, kinktober... A/N: I love Rhaenyra. She's so scrumptious and I enjoyed writing this. I wish I could have done more bc I don't feel like I did her dominance justice, but, given the circumstance, it's actually not an issue. Anyway, enjoy and Happy Halloween!

Rhaenyra brings a hand to her tired eyes, working away at the warmth in her temple as she looks upon her husband. “Do you toil in anything but sea and sex, husband?”

Laenor is especially restless today, just in a more excited way. He's practically beaming from ear and ear as he shares the gossip he's learned with his wife. Although it's a pleasant thing to see him so full of life, Rhaenyra would humbly ask for some rest if she were not so busy today.

Laenor rolls his eyes more pleasantly than she. He turns his back to tidy the scrolls piled on a table. “This isn't sea or sex. It's gossip.” He glances over his shoulder mischievously. “And, yes, I do.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “What are the matters of a servant girl’s likes of sex to me?” Her brows furrow, a light sheen of humor in her voice as she tilts her head. “What are they to you? Might I remind you, Laenor, you prefer snake to oyster.”

Laenor laughs. “And even if she's meant to prefer the same, just as you do, she does not.” He lets out another giddy laugh, like he's thought of some witty banter to add on. “Anyone who feasts upon the wrong meal is my friend.” He turns and leans against the table, looking at her with a quirked brow. “She's your friend, too, Rhaenyra.”

The way he says it makes her squint. “And what is that meant to mean?”

He smirks. “She's one of your servants.”

“Who?”

“Your favorite.”

Now her interest is piqued. She tilts her toward him, almost scoffing as she considers this. “Truly?”

He comes over, leaning over a chair and shrugging. “What reason have I to lie?”

“Entertainment.”

He scoffs, plopping down in the seat opposite her. “I find entertainment in this without need for deceit.” He watches her, watches the way her face shifts as she thinks about what he's just told her. It's surely just rumor. But a rumor like this could be deadly—of course, he knows better than to spread something so dangerous. “Admit it. You're interested.”

She takes in a deep breath, standing to act like she's got better things to do. And she should…but at the moment, she's got nothing to occupy herself until the small council meeting.

“I have no need to be interested.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes in amusement. “You prefer snake.”

“I do.” She turns away. “Besides, what is there to like without the usefulness of an extra appendage?”

His smirk is diabolical. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

She tilts her chin up, humoring him for the sake of humoring him. “Perhaps I will.”

It's a wonder his smile grows. It had already been split so far that she wondered if someone had taken a knife to it.

“Excellent!”

~

Rhaenyra is settled in one of the rare moments where she has time to herself. Laenor is on one of his many ventures, she has no appointments, and no one has come to bother her yet. She's been busying herself with needlework (though she knows she has a terrible hand in it, it gives her something to do).

When someone knocks on the door, she glances up and mutters a distant, “Come.”

The door opens. “Princess.” She glances up at the voice, one she recognizes well. You bow gently, offering a smile as you hold out your tray. “I brought your tea, if it please you.”

Rhaenyra smiles, nodding and allowing you farther inside. “Thank you.”

You come and sit the tray down on the table, pouring her cup and adding her sugar. “Would you like me to bring anything, my princess?”

She shakes her head. “That won't be necessary. Thank you,” she says again.

You hum. Once her tea is prepared, you move to tidy her room. There's no real mess, but the longer you spend in here, the less time you have to spend doing other tedious and mind-numbing work. Besides, the princess has expressed to you how she doesn't mind your presence. You prefer to be here.

You start gathering empty cups and any forgotten dishes, wiping as you go. “If you don’t mind my asking, Princess, how fares your day?” You know she doesn’t mind, but you’ll never be able to shake your impulsion toward over-politeness. “It’s been quite lovely out.”

“That it has,” she says. Rhaenyra sets down her canvas, reaching for her cup to take a sip of the tea you’d so graciously brought her. “Meanwhile, I have been confined to the castle doing court duties and pretending the men are actually listening to me.”

A stray chuckle seeps from your nose. “One day, you shall be queen, my princess, and then they will have to listen to you.”

Rhaenyra’s chuckle is more rueful, but just as stray as yours. “That day can’t come soon enough, it seems.”

She likes the way you address her. Most of the people here call her princess with such emphasis, as if they were reminding her of her place as though it were eternal. She is the heir to the throne, yet they call her princess almost like they were saying “peasant”. When you say it, “my princess”, she almost thinks for a moment that she is already Queen.

Rhaenyra hums, glancing at you as you feather thin dust from shelves. Laenor’s words echo in her mind. She had almost forgotten the rumor she’d heard, almost let it slip her mind in the time between seeing the two of you. As she watches you, it’s glued in her mind, stuck like honey in her head.

She imagines it now. Your lips against a woman’s—a woman’s whose lips are suspiciously pale and whose nose is suspiciously distinct.

“Some gossip has come about me from my husband today,” she says without much thought. It slips out more than she means to say it. Even her tone has become shifty in the last moment. “It seems he’s as bored as to listen to the rumors of the servants in the Keep.”

You hum without turning, still stalling to avoid going back to work. “Is that so, Princess? What rumors, if I may ask?”

She chooses her words carefully, slowly. “Rumors of a servant girl with…queer customs.”

Your hesitance was almost indistinguishable. You could have gotten away with it, but she’s watching too closely. You continue almost without a hitch. “What sort of queer customs?”

Rhaenyra licks her bottom lip. “Ones that make her adverse to the taste of sailors…or sea-men, in other words.” She almost couldn’t believe herself. She’s turned to her husband’s humor.

There’s a long pause where you consider her words, wondering if they’re funny or thoroughly ridiculous. You suppose they’re both. “I do not know many who prefer the taste of…sea-men, as you say.” You don’t look at her. You keep your gaze solely on task. “Though a different story can be told of sailors.”

Rhaenyra shifts her whole body toward you, tilting her head and smirking lightly in a less-than-subtle investigation. “Do you like it?”

You purse your lips, considering your options.Your belly churns. “Would it be rude not to answer, my princess?”

She hums. “Well, it is generally frowned upon to disobey your masters.” She doesn’t want to pressure you, but she’s far too intrigued now to let it go. She doesn’t quite know why.

You sigh gently, thinking for a moment. She’s right. You try to find solace in the fact that you don’t think she’s the type to look down upon you and order your execution because of your…your perversions.

You’d hoped to keep it secret forever. You’ve even tried to fix yourself of your sickness, but you’ve found that it is something that cannot be done.

“Truthfully…” you mutter, your heart aching in a sad way, “No, Your Highness, I do not like…” you’re getting a bit exhausted of the metaphor but you would rather not change to practical terms when talking to the princess, “...sea-men.”

She looks away from you, and you’re grateful for it because you can pretend to busy yourself again. “I suppose that’s understandable enough. They can be quite salty in nature.”

Gods be good.

“Yes. Quite,” you mumble dismissively. You know you shouldn’t ask, but it’s eating away at you. You could be in danger… “If you don’t mind my asking, Princess, where did Ser Laenor hear such a rumor?”

She tries not to make a joke about his tastes. “Who knows where he finds his gossip?” You hum in agreement to dismiss it.

Rhaenyra’s curiosity is probably what got the better of her. She didn't fully intend to ask, but Laenor's words from below are stuck in her head. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

“I wonder what fun it could truly be.” She waves a hand, taking a sip from her near forgotten tea. “Seeing as it could only be used for fun in this instance; there's no duty without the injection.”

You swallow thickly. “I wouldn't say simply fun.” You shouldn't say anything at all. “Though it does remove transaction from the activity.” You sigh, faltering to keep up the ruse with your unnecessary feathering of clean shelves. You turn toward her, running your fingers through the slightly dusty feathers. “With something like this, there must be trust.”

Rhaenyra watches you closely, the way you speak of it. It's more blatant than you should be in this circumstance, but she's not really focused on that when she's too busy studying the crease between your brows or the softness of your lips.

“Without trust, there is no fun or intimacy in it. Without fun or intimacy, there is no pleasure. You must be willing to give up a part of yourself and accept a part of someone else.”

There's a silence where you watch each other. You're quick to realize your mistake as you physically take a step back, looking down at your feet and hiding your embarrassment. She doesn't say anything, she just watches you with this look you can't decipher.

“Forgive me, Princess.” You bow your head and drop your hands by your side. You turn quickly, unsure what else to do. “In truth, I simply worry for the girl. She could be in quite a lot of danger if she were to be exposed. I shall pray to the Mother for her safety.”

You should leave. You've likely overstayed your welcome.

Rhaenyra breaks away from her thoughts, trying to organize them as she sits a little straighter. She sets her cup down on the table before her. She hums, trying to be light-hearted again but failing with the way her head is so full of your words. “‘Tis a shame, really,” she clears her throat, “that such a thing is of such offense.” She takes a breath and stands, just to give her something to do as she circles the sofa and leans against it.

“Pleasure is pleasure. Who should care where a man chooses to stick it? Or, perhaps, where a woman…” she falters. “Well, we don't have anything to stick, do we?” She should forget about it. “I simply wonder how…the deed is done without the…tool.” She decides she just likes to hear you speak.

“Well…” you still don't watch her, though you hesitate in the middle of your task, “I would not believe it to be as difficult as it would seem.” You take up a light blanket to fold.

She raises a brow. “Is that so?” She strokes the back of the couch with a ring-clad hand. “Tell me, how do you suppose it's done?”

“Princess?”

She shrugs in faux innocence. “I'm simply curious. Of course, if you have other duties to tend to.”

What she's proposing has no shortage of lack of propriety. It would be even worse if you responded. But…

Your gaze drifts down to her hand, a stray thought in your mind imagining the fabric was your flesh. When she squeezes lightly, you hate that you imagine her hands wrapping around your thigh…just to feel.

It is generally frowned upon to disobey your masters.

You swallow a lump in your throat, that you assume is nerves over want. It cannot be want.

“Well…if I had to guess, I would assume she could use,” you hesitate, “her hands.”

Rhaenyra doesn't have the thought to raise a curious brow. Her face doesn't change much as she stares at you, strangely hooded as you pass it on for confusion instead of what you recognize it to be.

“Just the same as a man could…” your words become a little quieter, “...or rather, as a man chooses not to, in my experience.”

Rhaenyra inches closer. It doesn't register. “How would she use them?” How could her voice be so smooth? It's like a layer of velvet on your skin, and you don't know how to manage that.

“Any way she saw fit.” You hadn't expected your voice to dip as it had, a richer tone influenced by the way she watches you. You hadn't realized the way your finger dipped between the fold of the blanket you've been holding for the last couple minutes. “You could just feel, massage, you could.. You could use them in place of a man's tool. Of course, they would not eject.”

Her chuckle is so shallow, with no real intent to emphasize humor. Her thoughts are confusing.

“No, I suppose not,” she mutters. She steps even closer, tilting her head. “Would her hands be all she would use?”

It's a strange thing, knowing more than the princess—informing the princess on what you know. She listens with such curiosity, such interest. You have to stifle the pull in your chest. It isn't proper. You shouldn't be telling her about any of this—it isn't proper.

But you carry on because you can't help it. Not when she looks at you like that.

You lick your bottom lip absently. “Well, if they were, my princess, what would be the point of the taste for sailors? Rather than simply the touch of them? Women often prefer a sailor’s salty taste. Some men have an indulgence for, not just the bee, but the honey, too.”

You hadn't realized you'd both gotten so close. She's only a few feet from you now, staring at you with eyes that should not be regarding you in such a way. “And if you had a taste for honey? How would you indulge?”

“Frequently.” Rhaenyra had not meant to gasp the way she did. It's soft and barely audible, but you catch it. It's hard to miss anything when she's so close, staring you in the eyes, running her fingers together with gentle brushes of skin.

You break the heavy eye contact with a glance down. “But I assume that would pose a challenge, as not many bees prefer their honey to be tasted by other bees, especially if not by a man.” You shake your head, looking back at her with a new kind of certainty. “No, many bees prefer the sailor and their sea.”

You hate the gods for making you as they did, but sometimes you hate them for making everyone else as they are instead. If you had to come out so wrong, why could no one else join you?

Rhaenyra can see this in your eyes. It's just a little glint, but she recognizes the same look in her husband from time to time. The difference is that he's allowed his indulgences in secret. You must have more trouble. Women always have more trouble…

Her breath is light when she breathes. “And what if one was willing to try?”

You look at her quickly, eyes wide and a little skeptical. “To try, Princess?”

“The indulging.” The step she takes is long. She stands right before you now, hardly a foot away. “Or even allowing one a taste of it? Say this…servant girl, perhaps?”

You squeeze your thighs together, though you don't mean to. She's a very intimidating person, and it makes you falter in your reasoning for why all of this is a terrible idea.

“I'd say…maybe she'd agree.” She's so close. If you took a step, leaned in just a bit…

“But there are many things to consider.” You step around her, ridding yourself of the closeness to put space between you. This is dangerous, she is dangerous. The way she looks at you, the way she makes you feel. It's not fair, and it's not right.

She spins around, dizzy from the sudden break in tension. “What sort of things?”

You drop the blanket on a chair and run your hands down your apron, an attempt to center yourself. “Things like…like whether or not this woman, potentially even a princess so interested in tasting, has a husband? A royal one, at that?” You shake your head. “This servant could be killed.”

Rhaenyra sighs, waving a hand as she looks upon your back. “If a person was killed every time they tried other indulgences, we would have very few people left in the world.”

You turn toward her, but make no move to come closer. “Even still.”

“What if this princess,” she closes the distance again, this time scooping your hands into her own. Her hands are very warm, much warmer than your own. They are only contrasted by the chill of golden rings. It's inviting as you try not to lean into her touch. You can't look at her. You're already breaking so many rules by letting her touch you. You're breaking rules by talking of such things with her.

“What if she were to tell the servant that her royal husband has his own tastes to favor? Not in bees, but in sailors?”

Royal husbands are a much different standard than lowly servants. But the only thing in your mind with such a proposal is, “And what if the princess dislikes the servant's work?”

You shudder when her warm palm envelopes your cheek. Your eyes flutter, and you look into her eyes. What a temptress she is, to look at you like that. To look so deeply into your eyes that you falter every time you come from a blink.

This is one of the only times when you're grateful for your sickness. If you had not been the way you were, her beauty would be so ordinary to you. She is anything but.

“Then she shall decide for herself.”

Your voice is so soft now, afraid to rupture this feeling between you. You feel manipulated, but you can't bring yourself to mind. If your roles had been reversed, you'd likely do the same.

“What if something happens?” You raise a hand to cover the back of hers. “If someone sees? There are many things to be considered.”

Her hand slips down from your cheek to grasp your chin between her forefinger and thumb. “If you wish not to continue, then you may yo. But it's as you said…” she's so close, you can feel her shallow breath on your lips, “this requires trust.”

Your eyes dart between her own, taking in every feature of her face. Gods, how beautiful is she?

She leans in, tilting her head in such a way that you become dizzy. “Will you put your trust in your princess?”

How could you refuse?

“Yes.”

“Then who's to say it's wrong?”

Your breaths mingle. She leans in quickly, and your breath hitches in anticipation of the kiss. Just as they barely brush, she pulls back again. It becomes this dance, a back-and-forth, push-and-pull. You know she's playing with you, and you invite her in full compliance. You would be her court jester if only she asked.

When she kisses you, it's maddening. Your thoughts are blurred in a swirling motion in your head. Your ears become fuzzy, your lungs already ache. You breathe her essence in through your nose and out through your mouth as she pulls you in by the back of your neck. She tastes of sweet wine, of grapes and blueberries.

Your hands grasp at her sides, pulling at the fabric wrapped securely around her body. “Princess,” you gasp against her lips.

You feel her lips curl against your own, her smirk fueling a fire between the both of you. “Shh,” she says between kisses. Her palms cup your face, her lidded eyes taking in the sight of you so close. “Just show me how you do it.”

You lean in to gather her lips again, your breaths heavy between you. You walk her back, pushing her up against the wall as your hands explore the length of her body. Your lips trail over her own, kissing the corner of her mouth and slipping down to her neck. Your teeth nip at her skin, your tongue laps, your lips suck. Her eyes flutter closed as she leans into it. Her hands grip your arms and beg you not to go.

You pull away from her then, your bodies still flush against one another as you take in the sight of her. Her eyes are of lavender, her skin is of ivory, her hair is of silkweed. She’s dripped in maroon and pearls. As you brush your knuckles down her cheek, smiling as you move to kiss her again.

There’s a soft smack of your lips as you pull away. Pinching her chin between your fingers as she had done yours, you whisper so closely to her lips that they brush with each word. “You are so beautiful, my princess.”

She stares at you. She had been called beautiful before. She has known intimacy and she has known passion, but there is something in the way that you speak to her that has her chest aching. A heavy breath puffs shallowly from her mouth.

Before she says anything, you kiss her again as your hand reaches down to collect fistfulls of fabric. You press a kiss to her collarbone, nipping lightly as her breath hitches. You slip to your knees, dipping your hands beneath her dress and pressing your hands to the thinly veiled skin of her legs. Her stockings stop just above her knee, tied neatly that morning while she was readying herself for the day.

She watches you, her eyes dark but so intently focused on you. You look up at her as you ride her dress, layer upon layer, up the length of her body. She reaches down and captures it, holding it in her hands and relieving you of the duty.

You’re holding your breath when you lean in to press a chaste kiss to the inside of her thigh. Her skin is so warm. If she had not been so soft, too, you would have wondered if she’d really been a dragon all along. You cup the back of her thigh in your hand, stroking up and down and enjoying the feeling of such smooth flesh.

You shift her leg over your shoulder, turning your head to kiss her thigh again. Her breath, although thick and shallow, is such a gentle thing. She never tears her gaze away. Her hips jerk lightly when your excitement manifests in little nips into her skin. There’s a pleasant feeling that stems from it.

“Must you tease?” Rhaenyra huffs, though not of any real offense. Her chest rises and falls like she’s ready to burst. A swell of pride blooms in your chest at the knowledge that she could be so aching for your touch.

“Apologies, Princess,” you smile, raising a tentative hand farther up the side of her thigh to bring her closer. You move so slowly as you inch toward her, this aching need which you have yet to see but can smell so dearly. “May I?” you whisper, so softly that you are almost unheard.

Her leg shifts to push her heel into your shoulder blade, not roughly but in a way to induce haste. She brings you just a bit closer, dipping her head. “You may.”

Just as soon as the permission leaves her throat, you attach yourself to her. You dip your tongue between her folds. You lick and suckle around her pearl. Arousal has already seeped from her need and is painting your tongue.

Rhaenyra’s hips cant forward, and there's a slight shudder. As one of her hands desperately grasps at her dress, the other reaches down to card through your hair.

You flick your tongue along the seam of her cunt. You really had chosen the right word—honey. She tastes sweet, a filling nectar you would die to feast upon.Rhaenyra is eager to feel it all, amazed by how wonderful you are at this, better than even Ser Criston Cole—who had always been very eager to taste her in her youth.

She supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising. You both have the same parts, it would only make sense that you knew how to use them. Your dull nails dig into her ass, bringing her forward as you both rock against one another. Her moan catches in her throat, and her hand reaches forcefully out to take hold of the table at her side. She grips it tight in order to keep herself up, looking down at you as her chest struggles to keep up with her lust.

“You are very eager to please,” her voice shakes.

You stroke your tongue along the length of her cunt, pressing a messy kiss into her pearl as you pull back just enough to speak. “That is not a difficult feat when you taste as good as you do.” A rough kind of whine slips when you suck around her pearl. “I was right about the honey.”

She smiles in the middle of the rock of her hips. “I might have to taste a sample myself. Just to check. Ah–!” Her hand flies out to take hold of your hair again, just to ground herself when you lap your tongue inside of her. “Right there,” she groans, her voice lower now with the coming of her relief. “Oh, gods, don’t stop.”

You focus on her pearl now, lapping and laving at it with all the strength you have left in your tongue. It’s a bit tired from the work, but it’s a good kind of feeling when you’re being rewarded so generously. The fat of her thigh is a welcomed weight on your shoulder, an even better weight in your hand as you stroke your hand up and down the length of it. You squeeze it in fervent desire.

You can feel her clenching against your tongue, her hips become more jerky with their movement. You hum into her, anticipating her release as much as she does. Her breath stalls in her chest as it builds and builds.

Right as she's at the cusp, you murmur against her pearl. “Breathe, Princess.”

Just as she takes a breath, a crashing wave rolls over her. She trembles against you, gasping as her head whirls with the weight of her release. You hold her steady, lapping up the precious taste of her cunt with a desperate need. She jerks forward when you suckle gently on her sensitive pearl.

When the rush dies down to something a little easier, her breaths become deeper as a drunken smile finds her lips. “I could certainly make this a habit.”

You press your mouth into her thigh, laying a sweet kiss upon her skin. “Tis likely to be a bad one.”

She shakes her head, moving her leg off your shoulder and lifting you to stand with a curled finger under your chin. “Nothing bad about it.” She leans in, her lips hovering.

You pull away by the slightest inch, watching her gentle eyes. “Did I do well, my princess?” You lift your hand to cautiously rest at her back, your fingers curling through silver locks. “Have I pleased you?”

There's something about you that makes her head spin. “Yes, darling,” she rasps. “You are magnificent.”

You smile like she's given you an incredible gift, accepting her kiss with a similar enthusiasm than you'd accepted the honey between her plush thighs. You're needy in gluing your lips to hers, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her against you by the small of her back.

She eases your mouth from hers, her breath short from the greatness of your desire. “You can call me Rhaenyra. I feel we've reached the point where such formalities are no longer necessary.”

You chuckle breathily. “Of course, Princess.”

She pinches your chin. “Go sit.” She lets go of you.

Just for the humor, you dip into a curtsy, looking up through your lashes as you do. “Yes, my princess.”

You turn and walk toward the sofa, sitting with your legs pressed together and your hands upon your lap. She watches you for a moment, doing nothing but watching. Your humor is dissipating as you look away, unable to take the heat of her gaze.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare, sweetling?” she asks gently.

You nod. “A bit, yes.”

She takes a step closer. “Do not be nervous. I won't hurt you.”

“I know.”

She moves toward you, and you peek up at her with eyes wide in anticipation. She comes to stand in front of you, standing tall in all her glory and regality. She's ethereal, especially with the way the golden light of the evening is peering in through the windows.

She bends down, her hands on either side of your head as she boxes you in. You lose your breath. You don't think you'll ever be able to stand her being this close to you.

She kisses you. “Spread your legs for me.” You're shy, but you do as she asks. Your thighs inch farther apart as you indulge in the taste of her lips. Her hand cups your throat. Your breath stalls, and then starts again to inhale more of her.

You feel her palm trail down the column of your neck, her fingers tickling your throat. She moves down your front before she's riding the skirt of your dress and apron up your legs. When her hand touches your bare thigh, your hips jerk slightly. She shushes against your lips, moving closer and closer until her hand is cupping the wet of your cunt.

“Gods, you're dripping.” You want to say something, but you can't. Her middle finger sinks between your lips, parting them to make way for her intrusion. You clamp down on her finger, your hips rolling against her hand already.

She strokes inside of you, curling her finger and coaxing you closer. When she adds the second, a slight hum slips from her throat. You reach out, grabbing a hold of her arm.

“A little deeper,” you guide gently, tilting your hips up. When she adjusts, your head spins. “Fuck, Princess, right there.”

She focuses there, hovering over you as she presses her lips to your forehead, to lips, the tip of your nose. “Do you like that?” she huffs.

You nod, holding her arm tighter. “Yes. Yes, my princess.”

She dips her head down to your neck, and you whimper when she nips at your flesh. “You'll have to guide me,” she whispers into your ear.

You're a bit confused as she removes her fingers from you. You stifle your whine, watching with bated breath as this princess, the heir to the Targaryen throne, kneels before you. Her handmaiden. A lowly servant who was meant to stay beneath her.

She eases your leg over your shoulder just as you had done before. She presses her mouth against your thigh, kissing it and licking her lips. She looks you in the eyes, smirking as she brings her fingers to her mouth. She dips them between her lips, and the sigh that parts your lips leaves you breathless. She hums deeply. “I can see why you called it honey.”

You chuckle lightly. When Rhaenyra’s lips wrap around your cunt, you whimper. You're careful in setting your hand at the side of her head, carding your fingers through her hair. You don't grasp her, you don't guide her. You just hold her as you watch her with hooded eyes and parted lips.

She sucks on your folds, flicking her hot tongue along the seam of your cunt and slipping it inside clumsily. Either way, it's nice. It's not often you get attention like this, and from a princess?

“Up a little more, princess.” Your voice is light and high with pleasure. When she does as you say, your sigh is tinted with a whine. “Good. Right there.”

She suckles lightly at your pearl, licking and tasting with a curious intent. Her fingers prod at your pussy again, and you arch your back when she presses two inside.

Rhaenyra is a quick learner. Her pace is steady as she curls her fingers, coaxing them in and out of you with an eagerness that you had displayed before. Her lips and tongue work at your pearl, licking and sucking and making you feel like you'll burst any second.

“Please, don't stop,” you gasp. “You're amazing.”

There's a certain power in having someone desire you, blubbering with pleasure and begging for more. It goes straight to her head. She thrusts her fingers into you as though she wielded her own cock, she laps at your slick like she's been deprived of water for far too long. She huffs and groans, drunk on the taste of you, on the pleasure.

You've never met a woman so eager to please another. When they're not shy about indulging in something so forbidden, they're too used to professionalism to initiate intimacy. Having this kind of desire is hard and it's depriving. If Rhaenyra keeps this up, you'll make the mistake of falling utterly in love with her.

You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet to keep from alerting the knight at the door. The walls are thick, no one should hear you.

“I'm so close,” you whisper, rolling your hips in your haste to come. “Please, my princess, don't stop.”

When she hums, it comes with a desperate sort of sound. Your thighs tremble around her head, trying not to close her in. You become dizzy, your head spins with the weight of her pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut and–

“Princess,” you bring a hand to your mouth, breathing heavily into your palm. Your hips roll and your mind whirls with the sensations of her lips sucking on your pulsing pearl, spurring you on and on. Her finger curls against a deep spot within you that has you seeing stars behind your eyes. “Fuck, Rhaenyra,” you curse, whimpering under your breath and losing composure.

Her hand slips out of you just to grasp your backside, pulling you in and devouring you as you continue to become slick with arousal. Her nose presses into your pearl when her tongue is too busy at your folds. Her warm breath fans over your skin in such a delicious way.

When your trembling has subsided, she eases away from you with a huff. She's got a drunken smile on her lips, her pupils blown wide and your eyes dark with pleasure. “I see why you enjoy that so much.”

You smile, catching your breath as she breaks away from you to crowd your space once more. Your tongue is heavy, and your words are sticky. You look at her like you'll be shattered if you don't hear what you want to hear. “Did I do well, my princess?”

She smiles, raising a hand to stroke your cheek with gentle knuckles. “You are perfect.” The look on your face is devastating. There's a bursting joy in your eyes, a kind of joy that only comes when it's been met with a considerable amount of sorrow.

She tilts your chin up, embracing you in a different kind of kiss. This one is all for you. She kisses you like she wants you to know something that she doesn't know how to say aloud, like she's telling you a secret that only you could ever understand.

She pulls away, still cupping your cheek. You swallow thickly, watching her and taking in every little feature of her face before you're forced to keep your head down once more.

“Will you regret it?” Your voice is so small that she almost misses it. If her nose had not still been brushing yours, she would have. “When I leave, and you've had the night to contemplate… will you regret letting me touch you? Will you regret…touching me?”

She wonders briefly who hurt you. You are such a good woman. You are loyal and eager to please. Not to mention, you are utterly beautiful.

She doesn't know quite how to navigate this. So instead, she sighs as she looks upon your face. Worry and doubt creases every little feature that lies there. She presses a kiss to your forehead, over the crease between your brows.

“No, sweet girl.”

You blink, taking her answer for what it is as you smile. “Okay,” you whisper.

She leans in to kiss you. There's a knock on the door.

Rhaenyra sighs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and straightening her back. “A moment.” She holds a hand for you, and you take it as she brings you to stand.

“Finish your work…” She pauses. “Will I see you again soon?”

You smile, nodding gently. “If my princess commands it.”

Her smirk soon follows. “She does.” She knows she's taking too long. “Goodbye, my darling.”

You nod. “Goodbye, my princess.”

You linger too long. You are wasting time. You break away from her, grabbing your tray of dishes, stacking her cold tea on top. When she's sure you're both decent, she sighs.

“Come.”

As the door opens, you give a curtsy. “Princess.”

She nods, but it's such a small movement that you'd question if she'd already forgotten you if you knew she wasn't doing it for appearances.

As you walk down the hall, you glance up when you see Ser Laenor walking toward you. You look up at him, pausing to curtsy.

He looks at you, giving you a smile that makes you nervous as he fully stops. You think you hear him sniff, and then his smile grows into something more mischievous. With a quiet chuckle, he wags his finger at you before turning on his heel to continue to—you assume to be—Rhaenyra’s chambers.

You continue walking, slowly this time as you try to figure out why he would react in such a way. You guide your nose toward your shoulder and almost freeze in place.

Gods be good… You smell like her.

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[sugurufic]

Co-Parenting with Suguru

AU where Geto didn't kill the entire village but adopted Nanako and Mimiko (I love mommy geto)

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Geto is able to adopt Mimiko and Nanako with your help, and how the girls with Gojo set you two up. Acquaintances to lovers, idiots who care for each other. (pure fluff, and i've tried to avoid using y/n)

You wouldn't say you and Geto were good friends, but when you were asked to testify on his behalf in front of the higher ups, you readily agreed. You were tasked to look after the twin girls he had brought back from the village and they were the sweetest little girls you had ever met. Even if Geto had killed those villagers, you couldn't blame him - they were torturing two innocent souls on problems caused by their own vices. 

Shoko and Gojo couldn't testify to Geto's character - everyone knew they were practically joint at the hip - the three of them are always together. You were closer to Utahime  your senpai, known to not like Gojo and Geto very much. With whatever casual conversations you had had with Geto, you hadn't really found a reason to dislike him. And hearing Nanako and Mimiko call him “Geto-Sama” in their sweet little voices only helped in solidifying your high opinion of him.

You heard their narration of the night and how Geto with his incredible bangs and magic powers stopped the evil people hurting them and took him away and dropped them into your arms.

“Do you really think any of those could be trusted with kids?” Geto asked. You snorted in response and gladly accepted to take care of the two lovely little girls.

“Your Geto-Sama will be right back with you,” you promised the girls while closing the buttons of your uniform. “I will be back in a bit. I've got dolls for the both of you,”

“Thank you,” they tell you, adding “sama” to your name. You blush but don't say anything, having already told them to not address you as such multiple times over the couple of days.

“I don't believe that Geto-San could have gone out of his way to hurt those people. In fights with curses, collateral damage is always there, and Geto had two little sorcerers to take care of. I think we can excuse him this time.” You said when you were asked to speak.

“I don't see anything wrong with letting Geto-San take care of the two girls. They clearly trust him much more than anyone else, after how horribly they were treated by the village. I pitch on his behalf, that he would take utmost care of the two sorcerers under his care.” You said when the question for their custody arose.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Geto said bowing in front of you once the elders were done with the hearing. They had dismissed everyone else to discuss the matter.

“You've got some lovely girls to parent now, Geto-san,” you say, returning his charming smile. “Are you sure you are ready to be a parent?”

“Not really, no,” He admits. “I will try my best though,” 

“Oh they are such lovely girls, I have half a heart to keep them for myself,” You fawn, feeling suspiciously giddy. “If you ever need a babysitter-”

“I will definitely call you,” Geto nods with a smile on his beautiful face. He has always been beautiful, but today with his hair half-up, half-down, he looks especially charming. He rushes away on hearing footsteps and you walk the short distance to the dormitories. 

“Hello girls!” You excitedly enter your room, holding out a bunch of cookies in your hands, thanks to Utahime. “The final decision of the higher ups will come later today, but Geto should be free to see you,” You give them the stack of cookies and then seeing the styled dolls add, “Do you girls like dressing up?”

You smile with the way their eyes widen with excitement and open your humble wardrobe in the dormitory, giving them access to everything they'd need to get dressed up. They decide to dress you up instead, and the three of you are full of giggles as they take your makeup and freely draw on your face - and be surprisingly good at it. You play some of your favourite music, which the girls seem to enjoy and then they paint your nails. They dress you in your best clothes and you love the way they've styled you.

There's still a long time left before the higher ups will announce the decision, so you take the girls out shopping to distract them. Fortunately, your income as a sorcerer allows you to have the freedom to spoil your girls - and you love it to an alarming extent. Mimiko and Nanako have got excellent taste, you'll credit them that - they pick out the cutest dresses for each other and coloured lip balms that compliments each other's hair well. You encourage them to change into their new clothes in the mall itself  and take so many pictures of them and with them - and you are almost sad at the thought of letting Geto have them, but that's something you will be sad for later.

You've lost track of time at the mall, and when you get back it's already twilight. The girls had a lovely day, and they are still buzzing with excitement when you enter. 

Geto is sitting on your bed, in a semi-clear spot with almost all of your stuff on it - from the whirlwind that dressed you earlier. 

“Geto-Sama!” The girls scream with delight and kneel down in front of him with bows, showing how grateful they were to him - he motions them to get up and hugs them both simultaneously, but his foxy eyes hold your gaze as he says, “Mimiko and Nanako can live with me, from now.”

Your body reacts to the news faster than your mind, and you've already planted a kiss on his cheek and have your arms wrapped around him before you realise what you have done. A crimson blush colours his face along with your lipstick as he thanks you, his voice softer and breather than usual.

Your whole body heats up when you see the colour of your lipstick on his cheek  and the way he makes no attempt to wipe it off his flushed cheeks as Mimiko and Nanako look up at him with glittering eyes. 

You hear your name from Nanako’s mouth, noting the “sama” she had added yet again. Geto's eyes are affectionate as he hears them gush to him about you, about the fun they had with you. 

While Mimiko is in Geto's arms, Nanako makes her way into yours and you feel silly for tearing up. You hug her close to your chest, feeling her little arms around your shoulders. “Thank you for bringing back Geto-Sama,” Nanako whispers to you. You pat her head and plant a gentle kiss on her cheek, now mindful of the transferring lipstick.

The sound of a camera clicking snaps the four of you out of the trance, and you find the Gojo Satoru standing at the threshold of your room, clicking pictures of the four of you. “Suguru, you get a girlfriend and daughters and you forget all about your best friend,” He tuts, dramatically putting a hand over his chest, his icy blue eyes peeking from behind his sunglasses.

Gojo gasps on seeing the lipstick mark on Suguru’s cheek and takes out his phone to snap even more pictures of a blushing Suguru. “You forgot to mention things were this serious!” He says, mock offended.

“Gojo/Satoru, shut up!” You and Geto speak simultaneously.

“You're even saying the same things now,” Gojo sighs like an old man. Mimiko and Nanako burst out into a fit of giggles. “You agree with your godfather, Satoru, right girls?”

“Godfather? Where did that come from?” You ask, scrunching up your nose.

“Well it was gonna be Suguru as mother and myself as the father but now you've taken in as their mother and Suguru as their father so I've got to take the next best thing-!”

You hit him upside his white-haired head, veins on your forehead popping out with irritation at his words. Gojo rubs the top of his head muttering something under his breath. “This is why I always stay with Utahime Senpai,” you say, making Suguru and the twins laugh.

“Get him, girl!” Geto cheers you on.

“I won't give you Nanako and Mimiko if you continue to be roommates with him,” you declare, narrowing your eyes at Geto.

“I'm renting a place outside Jujutsu Tech,” Geto confesses with a sigh.

“WHAT-?” You and Gojo both yell in shock.

“It's for the best,” He says.

“You’re taking my girls away from me!” You complain, hand on your chest. “This is so unfair, Geto-kun. How will I see them now?”

.

It's been a couple of weeks, and the twins have adjusted well to Tokyo. You've adjusted too, opting to spend your time with them rather than with anyone else. Gojo keeps teasing you relentlessly, not even bothering to stop when the teachers are around. You've grown closer to Suguru as well, spending most of your off-time with him. Shoko has become your refuge now, with Utahime leaving for Kyoto.

It's one of your lazy Sundays, and you wake from your and the twins afternoon nap. They are snuggled to either side of you, and it’s unbearably hot but you don't dare move; admiring their serene, sleeping faces. Your left eye twitched at the thought of the torture your girls were subjected to by those foolish villagers, blood boiling once again.

You reach for your phone instead, going through some old photos. You've scrolled down to when the girls were living with you, a picture of the three of you with matching white bows in your hair when the door quietly opens, and Suguru quietly enters with a pitcher of water and some glasses. He chuckles at your grateful face, pouring out some water for you. You gulp down the water, your overheated body giving out a sigh of relief when the cold water hits your stomach. 

“It's time to wake them up,” He whispers, leaning down to your laying form.

“I don't really want to,” you whisper to him, pleading, not looking away from his pretty dark eyes. “Five more minutes?”

“Okay,” He relented with a sigh, sitting beside Nanako. You think of how different he is now, different from when he is exorcising curses and when he is with Gojo. You also find yourself liking this side of him, that only his girls got to see. And you, one of his girls. 

“Have you thought about their schooling?” You ask, voice quieter than a mouse. Geto lays down, facing you.

“I’ll have them homeschooled,” He replies just as quietly, frowning.

“That’s boring,” You say. “How will they adjust to the outside world? We can’t always be with them.”

“I’m terrified of the curses getting -”

“Teach them to defend themselves, just a little.” You suggest. “You know they can’t rely on others, they will need to learn to keep each other safe.”

Nanako stirs between the two of you, mumbling a hushed “papa,” under her breath as she snuggles into Geto. You fawn all over this, his pretty eyes wide and looking at you, seeking assurance. A gentle smile graces his beautiful face as he caresses the girl’s caramel hair and you have to resist the urge to pull his silky hair out of the bun and run your fingers through them. You opt to lightly pat Mimiko’s dark head instead, and she snuggles into you mumbling, “mama,”

Admittedly, you’ve teared up a little and you excitedly turn to Geto, who is giving you his prettiest smile that you’ve ever seen. In this little moment, you can pretend to be a happy family, living in a rose-coloured dream.

.

Suguru loves spending time with his girls, and it’s even more delightful when you join in. He especially loves it now that you’ve practically moved in - the guest room slowly filling up with your scent and trinkets. He enjoys taking all of you out to different spots in the city - the parks, the malls, cute cafes and even back to Jujutsu Tech, occasionally. 

Suguru wonders if the two of you could even be friends if not for Mimiko and Nanako - just adding to a long list of things that he was grateful for from that night. Your easy smile and sparkling eyes and the way you shower his girls with your love and care just keeps on adding to all the things he admires about you. He half wishes Satoru’s mindless teasing to become a reality, but he lacks the courage.

Currently, he’s sitting on the floor with Nanako behind him, brushing his hair out and Mimiko sitting beside her twin, acting as her inventory. He’s in pure bliss, and the only thing that can make this better is your presence.

Soon enough there is a knock on the door, and Suguru feels bad for hoping it’s you. Of course, he enjoys your company, but you deserve a chance to live freely and not spend every waking hour with him. Satoru and Shoko are there instead, with amazing takeout for Friday evening.

Satoru spoils his self-proclaimed goddaughters (Suguru wouldn’t trust anyone else, either) with the best of everything. Shoko loves teaching them new things, reading, maths, curses, the human body - everything watered down to suit their tender young age.

The four of them play board games while Suguru does the laundry, putting the clothes on the drying line. Usually, you would be here helping him with the clothes, words flowing easily between the two of you. 

He's distracted from laundry when he hears Satoru call your name followed by a whistle, then yelling, “I can't really blame Suguru, you look so hot!” He hears your grumble something, and then Mimiko and Nanako’s excited cheers on your appearance. “You had a date?!” Satoru says again, his voice loud and surprised.

Suguru’s heart feels heavy, and he makes his way to the rest leaving half of the clothes in the dryer. 

“It wasn't really a date honestly.” You complain. “That guy had no manners! Chewing with his mouth open and not even using the napkins properly! And he barely asked me anything, kept on boasting about himself - it was boring.”

Suguru feels half guilty for the way his chest relaxes, but his breath is taken away as soon as he sees you - you are always beautiful, but you look especially pretty with your brown leather skirt and black jumper. Your jewellery compliments your complexion, and your hair looks perfect. And he has to agree with Satoru- you look hot.

“Where's Suguru?” You ask, looking around.

“Right here,” He says, coming to stand beside you.

He loves the way your eyes sparkle - the lids decorated to match the outfit and a delighted glimmer in your eyes.

“So, I was at the mall and this reminded me of you,” you say, picking up the paper bag on the floor beside you. “The only good thing that came from today, to be honest.”

“You were thinking of me while out with another guy?” He teases.

You get flustered, but respond “Do you want this present or not?” You try to sound stern, but you hand him the bag regardless.

The bag feels heavier than he had expected, and glances in to see the professional camera he had been eyeing for a long time but didn't buy in favour of getting Mimiko and Nanako some limited edition dolls. His pretty eyes widened with delight. “How did you know?” He asks, unable to hold back his excited smirk.

“I am not blind, you know.” You retort, happy that he loved the gift.

“What is it?” Shoko asks. Satoru snaps the bag towards himself, taking out the box of camera and different lenses. “That is one expensive investment,” she remarks.

You chose to ignore her comment, distracting everyone with the little cake you had bought. “And I've got cake!”

“Is today someone's birthday?” Mimiko asks.

“No, baby.” You say, “It's okay to have cake without any reason,”

The little girls are delighted to see the half sky and half forest cake. Neither Suguru, you or his girls have any idea as to when the exact birthday is, so you have them cut the cake together, pretending it to be their birthday. When Suguru takes the cake to the kitchen to cut it up, you follow him, leaving the twins with Shoko and Satoru.

“Suguru, you should get dressed up fancy too,” You say. “Let’s take some good pictures with our girls. I’ll cut the cake up.”

“Okay,” He agrees.

Suguru decides to match you, consciously picking pieces that compliment your outfit well. He is inappropriately fancy dressed up for this photo session. He is thrilled to use the camera you’ve gifted him, and there is no better scene to be his first than his girls(you included) and his friends. He’s brushing his hair out, putting it up in a half updo before giving himself a once-over then leaving.

He’s surprised to see Mimiko and Nanako dressed up too, sitting on either side of Satoru as Shoko and you clicked pictures on the phones. His camera is sitting on the table, still in its box. He has a child-like excitement as he opens the box and checks the lenses with it - the excitement of setting up the camera is unmatched. Even though he enjoys spoiling his girls, he cannot deny that being spoiled is a nice feeling.

Once his camera is ready, he snaps a picture of the scene - you sit between your girls now as Satoru and Shoko click pictures. The flash from the camera distracts everyone, and his eyes find yours sparkling, looking at him with the sweetest smile on your face. He cannot help but wonder how your lips would taste. Suguru smiles at you instead as you wave him over, Mimiko and Nanako between the two of you. Satoru and Shoko give him a knowing once over, the deliberate matching not missing his best friend’s six eyes.

Your hand touches his - neither of you attempting to move as Satoru clicks a picture of the four of you in Suguru’s new camera. Satoru is grinning like an idiot seeing Suguru’s blushing face, motioning Shoko to click some pictures of their idiot friend in love with his daughters’ mother. It is stupid, Gojo thinks, the way that the two of you act like an old married couple but are too terrified to confess your feelings for one another.

“Mimiko, Nanako, come here for a moment, dears,” Gojo calls them. “Suguru, Y/N, please stand closer. You aren’t rivals.”

Suguru narrows his eyes at Satoru, but doesn’t comment on it, too happy when you’ve pressed yourself at his side, your arm wrapped around his waist. He swings his arm over your shoulder and leans his head towards yours. His face burns with the soft warmth of your body pressed against him - but he holds his smile steadily, looking at the camera. He looks at your beautiful face for a moment, the serene smile on your face and he forgets all about the jerk who had taken you out.

He just prays that he gets the courage to ask you for a dinner date - perhaps before someone else snatches you out of this perfect life of his.

.

Satoru is at Suguru’s flat, spending time with the sweet little girls. Both you and Suguru had some unavoidable business to attend to - you with some curses and him with his parents - and he finally got the chance to babysit them. Satoru is currently sitting on the floor of the twin’s bedroom, with pink bows in his white hair and getting his nails painted in a pale blue colour by Mimiko and Nanako.

It's not his favourite thing for amusement, but he lets it pass. He does get why Suguru lets his girls do these things to him - they look just so precious with the little forehead creased in concentration. His mind is cooking up a scheme - a scheme which can only be fulfilled with the little one's help. It’s only with him that they address you and Suguru as mama and papa- feeling too shy to address the two of you as such face-to-face.

“Dears, do you think your papa and mama love each other?” He asks the little angels painting his nails.

The girls share a secret look with a smirk that tells Gojo everything that he needs to know. “I’ve seen papa look at mama the way Nanako looks at crepes, Gojo-sama!” Mimiko snickers. “He always has a big smile when mama is home.”

“Mama is also the same, Gojo-sama!” Nanako says. “She looks at papa the way Mimiko looks at ice-cream!”

Gojo laughs at their childish description of the two, wondering how blind you guys must be to not see that the feelings are shared.

“Gojo-sama!” Nanako jumps, excited, as she remembers something else, her caramel bob shaking. “One evening, when mama fell asleep on the sofa, papa carried her to her room. We brought her blankets and he tucked her in, but she held his hands in her sleep.”

“Yes!” Mimiko jumps up too, brown eyes gleaming with giggles. “Papa had turned so pink when Mama did that. He could barely speak.”

“That sounds familiar,” Gojo giggles with them. “Do you want to help me set-”

“Yes!” the twins shriek before he even finishes the question.

Once the three of them are done with the set up, Gojo calls Geto to let him know that he has some urgent clan business to attend to, while Mimiko calls you to tell you that Nanako had a bad dream and she misses you terribly. Both of you rush to return while Gojo and his goddaughters leave for the evening. Gojo leaves a little post-it-note on the fridge, with a brief message.

Geto has been running for 10 minutes straight, red faced and out of breath as he reaches the door of the flat. The elevator dings open and you step out, looking just as out of breath. “Did Mimiko call you too?” you ask, panting.

“No, Gojo told me he has some clan business - ” He says, taking a moment to completely process your question. “Why did Mimiko call you?”

“Nanako had a nightmare, she was asking for me only, apparently.” You say, standing beside him now. The enticing smell of your perfume fills his senses and he is grateful that his girls have you to comfort them. He too finds comfort in your presence - albeit it’s for different reasons than his girls.

When no one opens the door for a couple of minutes, you put your ear to the door and try to hear something. The house is quiet, devoid of any movements.

“I think they’ve fallen asleep.” you comment.

Geto then opens then closes the door as quietly as he can, trying not to disturb the girl’s sleep. He bumps into you standing in the hallway after taking off his shoes - only to gasp as he sees the immaculate set up in the living room. A sheer white canopy covered in fairy lights and seemingly all of the pillows and some mattresses of the house thrown in the tent - and some of his and your favourite snacks. There’s a movie paused at the beginning and red roses and candles and mild incense decorating the room. Geto blushes when he realises that it’s a set up for a date, heart pounding against his ribs in part-annoyance and part-excitement as he sees your shy face. He’s half mad at Gojo, but he can see the traces of Mimiko and Nanako as well - with the way the pillows are laid out and the flowers are placed.

Geto’s phone rings, breaking the tense silence. It’s Gojo. “Suguru! Put me on speaker!” Gojo’s excited voice says from the other end. He can hear his girls giggling in the background. 

“Fine,” Geto sighs.

“Oh hey!” you turn around on hearing Gojo call your name, face hot and worrying your lip between your teeth. “Your little girls, they thought we should let you guys have an evening to yourself - relax and watch a movie. How did you like that set up?”

“You didn’t really have to-” You start to speak as Geto rolls his eyes, fully knowing it was Gojo’s plan. He knew Gojo well.

“Nonsense, you won’t let your daughters down by saying that,” Gojo says, and Mimiko and Nanako giggle louder. “Alright, bye! Enjoy yourselves. There’s wine in the fridge, Suguru.” He says before handing up.

“I’ll get the wine,” Suguru offers. You smile at him before sitting down in the fairy-light canopy, looking much like the woman of his dreams, like a princess waiting for her prince. His heart aches, for he can’t call you his, not outside of his mind. He smiles too, pretending that it’s date-night for you.

There’s a note on the fridge in Satoru’s messy scrawl which gets his attention first. Suguru, take one for the team and ask her !!! Your daughters and friends are rooting for you. She likes you, you blind idiot. A blush colours his face as he crumples the note and throws it in the bin.

His favourite wine is in the fridge, and Suguru is half surprised at Satoru’s thoughtfulness. He pours out two glasses and brings them to you, the bottle left back in the fridge. “Wine for you, ma’am,” he says, and you get the cutest blush on your face as you accept the glass, humming in delight at the taste. He follows your stead and lazily relaxes against the mountain of pillows under the canopy.

“What’s this movie?” You ask, fidgeting with the remote.

“I have no idea,” He says, praying that Satoru doesn’t embarrass him.

The movie begins with the main character, the girl getting ready to go work. It seemed like a cheesy hollywood christmas movie at the beginning, where the girl would be frustrated with her job and go to her small town and never return. That would have been better, in hindsight. Because as the movie progresses, and the love interest comes in - a single father, who had to send his daughter into foster care because he was wrongfully accused of embezzlement - the foster parent being the main character. The girl testifies for him in court while she lives with a new normal - caring for the love interest’s daughter as her own.

Suguru's face burns with how similar the movie is to you and him - he can barely even look at the screen. While the movie played, he subconsciously reached towards you, your warm cheek now resting against his shoulder. It’s hard for him to ignore it now that he realises that this movie was a deliberate selection, and the comment in the note about him being blind. 

Suguru steals a quick glance at you, finding you looking at the screen with a little smile, cuddling one of the bigger pillows. You seem totally unaffected by the movie. “It’s so cute,” you murmur. 

“Hm?” he prompts.

“The story,” you say, glancing up at him then back at the screen. 

“Would it be cute if it were real?” he asks, heart pounding against his ribcage.

“Even cuter,” you nod, cheek moving against his shoulder.

His heart threatens to crawl out of his throat at the admission. He eyes the two hands, one his and the other yours - so close but not touching, afraid to cross that invisible boundary which has built over time. He dares now, for once to cross that boundary, to test the waters and puts his pinky finger over yours, interlocking them. He can feel your smile get wider as his heart nearly makes a hole in his ribs.

You take it a step further and intertwine your hands with his.

“I love the way your hand fits in mine,” he says after a long tense silence, sounding breathier than usual.

“You have nice hands,” you shyly say.

It brings him confidence, the way you say it. Emboldened, he turns to face you and wraps his free arm over your waist, pulling you closer. His nose touches your forehead and he inhales the smell of your shampoo, never tired of smelling it in the pillowcases of your room. He lowers himself to your eye level, stroking your cheekbone. “Would let me kiss you?” he whispers to your lips.

“Always,” you whisper, parting your lips to welcome him.

The kiss is everything he could have imagined and more. It’s pure bliss, the way your mouth slots against his and the way to taste better than he could have possibly imagined. Of course, you have always been pretty, but he found you the most beautiful in this moment, in his arms, with your soft tongue fighting against his. His brain has short circuited and he fears that he might get addicted to your taste. He chases your mouth when you pull away to catch your breath, letting go of the intertwined hands that had sweat in the heat of the moment.

Suguru misses your lips instantly, scanning your face for any signs of regret or discomfort. You place one of your hands on his neck, reach the back of it and caress the delicate spot where his hair ends, and a gasp leaves his mouth at the sensation. You put your other hand on his collar and pull him close, his face dragging against the soft pillows and you kiss him. This kiss is much more desperate than the first one, with your teeth occasionally crashing and tongues exploring, the movie long forgotten still playing on the screen.

When you’re both out of breath, you pull back, still breathing the same air and noses touching.

“It was the best fucking kiss of my life,” Suguru confesses, sounding out of breath.

“Mine too,” you say.

He doesn’t want you to think that it was a spur of the moment thing, so he puts on his serious face and says, “Would you like to go out for dinner with me? As more than co-parents?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you reply with a giggle.

“Dress fancy,” He says. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” you ask.

“Why wait ?” he shrugs.

“I don’t have - ”

“You do,” he says, shy. “I had got something for you a while back, but never mustered up the courage to give it to you.”

You sit up, looking down at him with an excited gleam in your eyes. “You’ve gotten me an outfit for our first gate, it seems like you were prepared.”

“I swear to you that I wasn’t.” He says. “Just try it once.”

The dress Suguru brought compliments your figure and complexion well, and you’re surprised to see that it fits perfectly. You uber to a fancy place, and with the man on your side, this is the most perfect first date ever. The maroon dress hugs your figure in the right places, and you feel giddy knowing that Suguru had bought this lovely dress with you in mind. 

He looks even prettier today, sitting in front of you as your date, dressed in an equally fancy maroon suit. You take plenty of pictures with him, distracted by his long silky hair in a half-up, half-down look. You can barely process the food, distracted by the beautiful man in front of you taking in the way he talks. The way he says your name, almost purring, has you wanting to throw your feet and giggle like a little girl.

Suguru isn’t better off himself. Of course, he loves the way his name rolls off your tongue, but right now dressed in the dress he bought for you, sitting in front of him with flushed cheeks, the delicate smile never leaving your face as you speak has his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. He finally has you with him the way he had been wanting for years, finding you pretty even when you were both mere acquaintances. 

He cannot wait to call you his, but he supposes he’ll save that question for the next date - for you to give this relationship a name. In his head, he is already yours - heart, mind and soul - the only question bugging him is whether you want to be his. That’s a worry for later, he thinks, as he plants a delicate kiss on your lips as the long evening comes to an end.

[beefcakekinard]

"Grab a seat."

Bobby claps Buck's shoulder as he passes on his way into the kitchen. Well - sure, it's got a fridge and a stove, but Bobby's definition of kitchen vs kitchenette leans a little spoiled these days. They can't get out of this rental fast enough.

He comes back with two cups of coffee and sits opposite Buck at the table. He waits as Buck adds a heaping teaspoon of sugar to his mug, glowering at the surface of it while he stirs. He waits as Buck sighs with his whole body and flops back against his chair. Bobby blows the steam from his coffee, takes a scalding sip, and waits. Years of experience have taught him that when Buck's really chewing on something, the easiest way to get it out of him is to outlast his patience.

"I miss Tommy."

It helps that Buck and patience are barely acquaintances.

Buck's continuing the thought before Bobby can even open his mouth. "I can't get him out of my head, Bobby. It's, it's like he's haunting me! Everything I do reminds me of him, even if it has nothing to do with him, and I feel like I'm going crazy!"

Bobby waits. Buck pouts. When it's clear he doesn't have anything more to add, Bobby clasps his hands and leans forward.

"Why do you miss him?"

Buck rears back, looking confused. Bobby spreads his hands.

"You think about him when he's not around. What is it you're thinking about?" he asks. Buck considers the question and flushes. Bobby quickly adds, "Keeping it PG."

Buck scratches his nose, keeping his eyes averted. He takes a deep breath.

"I think... I think about how excited I always was to see him," Buck says to the tabletop. Bobby takes another sip of coffee.

"I think about - how I never had to pretend. Like he saw me, just me, and that was enough. I like, I liked, the way he made me feel about myself." Buck curls in on himself and picks at a thread on his jeans. "I, I miss who I was when he was around."

"Just because Tommy's not around anymore doesn't mean you can't be yourself," Bobby says. Buck takes the bait; he whips his head up to look at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"No, you, you don't understand, Bobby -" Buck leans towards him, insistent. "I miss how he cares so much about everyone even though he tries to look stoic and casual. I miss how he ugly-laughs at his own stupid jokes. I miss the way he talks to kids like they're adults and I miss how gentle he is with anything smaller than him. I miss how he fills his own dishwasher wrong and I have to fix it every time. I miss him more now than the day he broke up with me, what's wrong with me?"

The only sounds in the room are the ticking of the wall clock and the whooshing in-out of Buck's heavy breathing. Bobby waits until he calms down a bit, until he sits back in his chair again and awaits Bobby's input, looking like he's in anguish over it.

"You know he's not perfect." Bobby feels like he's lobbing a live grenade.

Buck scoffs. "Jesus, Bobby, if anyone knows that right now it's me. But I don't want perfect, I just want Tommy."

The clock ticks. Bobby drinks some more coffee. He waits.

Realization overtakes Buck's face between one blink and the next. "Oh," he says. Bobby smiles, enjoys his coffee, and waits some more.

"Oh!"

There it is.

Buck jumps up, springing to his feet like a cartoon character. "I, I have to go, I gotta - I have to go," he says, all in a rush. "Thanks, Bobby!" he calls over his shoulder before running out the front door, slamming it behind himself. The door opens a crack, just long enough for Buck to call, "Bye Bobby!" into the apartment before he's slamming it closed again. He sounds like a herd of galloping horses running down the hall.

Bobby smiles to himself. He checks the clock - Athena will be home soon, and he feels like whipping up one of her favourites for dinner. He takes the mugs - one empty, one full - into the kitchen and leaves them in the sink while he gets started.

[batsandbirdbrains]

This one is pretty much a total AU after season 2 of yj bc tbh I forgot what even happens in seasons 3 and 4 it was kinda a snooze fest but I like most of the characters and the setting SO

The one where Black Lightning finds a beaten up Dick Grayson dissociating on his doorstep

Also I want to age Dick down to like 17 bc I think it adds to the drama of it all.

So like Jeff opens the door to find Dick standing there, blood running down his nose and lips, his eye bruised black, and looking generally roughed up. He has a hastily packed bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s shivering and taking in gasping breaths.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Dick stutters out, his teeth chattering.

Jeff ushers him inside, helping him sit on the couch before grabbing a first aid kit and washing the blood off his face.

“What happened, kid?”

Dick hadn’t winced once when antiseptic was sprayed on the cuts on his face, but he has a full body flinch when asked about it. Jeff doesn’t rush him, just stays quiet and continues patching him up while Dick’s mouth opens and closes a few times without making any noise.

“I didn’t wanna do it,” he finally stammers out. “I said no. And then he - he got really mad.”

Jeff has never heard Nightwing - never heard Dick - speak in such a small voice before. And it hits him that an actual teenager is sitting on his couch with half his face covered in blood.

“Who got really mad?” He asks gently, putting bandages carefully over some of the more gnarly cuts. Dick is quiet for a long time, and Jeff doesn’t think he’s going to say anything before he sucks in a shaky breath.

“Batman,” he chokes out.

And Jeff sees red, wants to go beat the shit out of the overgrown furry, but he tries to stay calm for the distraught boy sitting in front of him.

“What did he want you to do?”

He tries to stay calm, but his voice must’ve been too low, too dangerous, because Dick is quick to defend the man who literally beat him.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says hurriedly. “Not like that, not like - he wanted - I was s’posed to-“

Dick takes in several gasps of air, and Jeff pats one of his hands gently and tells him to take his time, that there’s no rush.

“He wanted me to go undercover,” he eventually tells him. “He wanted me to pretend to - to fake being - everyone already hates me so much.”

The last part shocks Jeff a bit, and he tries to tell Dick that no one hates him, but Dick just shakes his head.

“They do!” He argues. “They think all I do is lie and keep secrets and, and - it’s kinda true but it’s not - it’s not like that!”

“Just explain what he wanted you to do,” Jeff says quietly. “In your own words. However much you wanna tell me. But Dick, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Dick squeezes his eyes shut and looks down, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Jeff gives him a minute, goes to get both of them a cup of tea, and Dick starts looking a little better once he’s holding the warm cup in his hand, even if he’s not drinking it yet.

“He wanted me to go back to Deathstroke,” Dick whispers. “But I’m - last time was - I can’t go back to him again. I don’t think - I wouldn’t-“

He can’t quite finish what he wants to say, but Jeff doesn’t push.

“It’s okay,” Jeff tells him. “You don’t have to explain.”

Seeing the kid let out a choked sob pulls at his heart. He feels like he just got stabbed in the chest, and all he can do is scoot closer to him and put an arm around his tense shoulders.

“What did he do when you said no?” He asks after a few minutes, once Dick has calmed down some.

Dick looks at him with a miserable look on his face.

“He kicked the crap out of me then kicked me out,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go, I didn’t - I dunno if I can even - I don’t know who would wanna help me.”

“Dick,” Jeff wants to cry at how utterly lost this kid sounds. “I’m glad you came to me, of course I’ll help you. But kid, you gotta know that anyone would’ve helped you out tonight, right?”

Dick just shakes his head.

“No,” he says, sounding so sure of himself. “No one wants me around anymore. I dunno why you even put up with me.”

“Because you’re my friend,” he says without missing a beat. “And you’re a good kid. One who doesn’t deserve the kind of crap you’ve been putting up with.”

Dick just keeps shaking his head, not quite hearing what Jeff is saying to him. Jeff can see his eyes starting to glaze over, and he holds back a sigh. He ends up bringing Dick to a guest room, and then once Dick is tucked in and asleep, he sits in a chair with his head in his hands. Now he has to figure out how he’s gonna strangle Batman with his own cape.

[berryyuni]

sunghoon as your boyfriend headcanons

pairing - bf!sunghoon x gn!reader genre - est. relationship, fluff wc - 599 warning - skinship

౨ৎ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated !! <3 ✧˖° ... (library)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jungwon | heeseung | jay | jake | sunghoon | sunoo | ni-ki

i see sunghoon as the quieter lover compared to the others but that doesn’t change how much he loves you. in fact, he loves you so much. he’s scared of losing you.

sunghoon has a playlist of songs that you like/recommend and he listens to it on his free time just so he can share more things in common with you.

sunghoon goes out of his way to make you happy or feel better. if this means going out late at night to buy you something you need, then he’ll do it with no problem. he can’t say no to your cute face.

he’s such a gentleman. he’s always looking out for you. he always opens doors for you, leading you through crowds, gives you his jacket it’s cold, making sure you don’t flash anyone if you’re wearing anything revealing, everything.

sunghoon is super gentle with you. he never raises his voice and he always is gentle with his gestures. 

he is very considerate of you. he’s always thinking if you’d like this or that, how you’d feel about this or that. he thinks about you pretty often.

sunghoon loves to watch you do literally anything. if you’re with a group of friends and you’re off doing your own, sunghoon can’t help but have his eyes wander off to you. he always has this loving smile on his face whenever he does. if you ever catch him staring, he’d get so flustered and say that he was just “zoning out”.

he also loves to watch the things you’re passionate about. he always feels a sense of pride and joy.

sunghoon is super observant. he notices if one thing is off about you. he’d give you space for a few moments so you’d be able to calm down and once you do, he’s very quick to comfort you and ask what’s wrong. he’s also very understanding and tries to see from your point of view.

you’re the light of his life. you bring things out of him that no one else sees. you make him so happy.

sunghoon’s mood can change in an instant when you enter the room. he could be grumpy one second and happy the next as soon as you step foot into the room. 

sunghoon is a completely different person when he’s with you. his soft side is very present. he’s soft for you and only you.

sunghoon loves to mess with you. he loves getting a reaction out of you. you can never breathe in peace even for a moment. he’s always finding something to tease you about. to add, he randomly sends you pictures of himself just to see your reaction.

sunghoon enjoys quality time with you. he cherishes every moment spent even if you’re not doing anything.

sunghoon loves to have deep and meaningful talks with you. it’s a way for him to release any pent up stress he has. 

he’s not very verbal about it but sunghoon loves it when you’re the one to initiate any skinship. he melts every time you wrap your arms around him.

sunghoon tries not to appear down bad for you but he fails terribly. 

he still gets nervous around you. in a good way though, his heart just races when you’re present.

it took sunghoon awhile to get used to the feeling of being in a relationship and overall having someone that cares about him so much. the feeling of love was overwhelming for him at first but the longer he is with you, the less overwhelming it got. he loves you more than anything now.

©berryyuni 2024. all work is written by me. do not copy, translate or repost

taglist (open): @j4keluver @j-jinxee @suneng @ikeuzsn @miniature-tragedy @laylasbunbunny

[creepswrites]

i've been dealing w/ a lot lately and wanted to write something nice so. enjoy.

SLASHERS w/ A GN! S/O WHO IS DEALING WITH DEPRESSION & ANXIETY

MICHAEL MYERS

"I just don't feel like doing anything..."

Michael gives you space if you ask for it but will still stand and watch you from the corner of the room

He's not the most outwardly affectionate person but you can tell he's worried when he comes over to squeeze your wrist once or twice

And you can tell he's worried sick when he points at the television as an invitation to watch a movie with him

He'll let you cuddle against him and he plays with your hands or hair and actually does hold you back

(It's not that he's NOT affectionate, just not usually like this)

The two of you can spend all day watching silly tv shows and movies to make you laugh

Every day may not be good, but there is something good in every day.

LESLIE VERNON

"Oh my god, Leslie, I think I'm having a panic attack."

Your hands are shaking so bad, you're sweating cold, and your vision is starting to get spotty as he hurries over to catch you

He rocks you through it, sits you down on the floor, and keeps you close to his chest while running his fingers down your arm or through you hair

Leslie's voice is soft and grounding as he tries to talk you back down

When you're finally able to breath again, you break down into such guttural sobs that he just holds you and rocks you gently

He lets you stay over at his house, you two get your favorite for dinner, and he reminds you that if you ever need to talk, he's there

After watching a movie, you talk to him about it. About how everything feels so overwhelming, how you feel helpless and out of control, and how you feel alone. He listens, really listens. And right now, that's all you really need: to just talk it out with someone

Even the darkest hour only has 60 minutes.

STU MACHER & BILLY LOOMIS

"I feel like everything is going wrong."

Stu happily listens to you vent about your problems and tries to drag you out on walks or to see movies or something

Definitely the type of guy to take you to amusement parks to give you constant dopamine hits

Billy, in contrast, will give you solutions to your problems and gives you space

He's not the most emotional guy so he tries to give you space to sort out your thoughts

So you've got a good balance!

Whenever they catch you starting to spiral again, Stu will go grab you a drink or a blanket while Billy tries to talk you down, reminding you that your problems are temporary and you will be okay

You've survived everything up till this point. You will continue to survive.

VINCENT SINCLAIR

"Do you hate me?"

Honestly, Vincent is surprised you could even think that!

But he understands how your mind works at this point so he takes you aside and opens the floor for you to talk

Everything just spills out. Small things he may have done on accident that just began to pile up, larger things that have just added to weighing you down, everything

Anyone else would think you were blaming him for your problems but he didn't see it that way. He saw you finally cracking and asking for his help to fix things

He can't magically solve everything for you but he supports you, showers you in hugs and kisses, and starts talking to Bo about maybe driving you out of Ambrose every so often to see someone about your mental health

You're grateful for his help. Everything feels so much less overwhelming when you have someone to hold hands with while you try to get help

Small, baby steps each day add up to huge, giant leaps over time. Don't give up.

LESTER SINCLAIR

"I think everyone hates me."

Lester's head snaps around and catches you staring down at your phone with wet, sorrowful eyes

You break down when he hugs you, spilling everything about a fight with your friends that left you scared. Not sad - scared

That's what sets off alarm bells in his head. He puts your phone aside and listens to you talk, vent, cry, anything you need

You're afraid. Afraid of what your friends said, worried about what they might tell others, and a petrifying anxiety that you'll end up alone

But Lester reminds you if they do that, then they were never really your friends to begin with

He peppers your face in kisses and reminds you that, no matter what, he will always love and care for you. Even if the whole world was against you, you'd always have him Jonesy comes and sits in your lap, licking your face and hands as she tries to smother you in her love as well!

Don’t dwell on those who hold you down. Instead, cherish those who helped you up.

[aerowolf]

the mercs realize it's your bday and you didn't tell anyone because your family doesn't do birthdays

I’m so sorry this is a mess between British and American english. I have an American parent and a Canadian one so it messed me up lolll

if didn't include a Merc you wanted, feel free to request and I'll try and add them :]

includes: Miss Pauling & offense classes

cute platonic, gn!reader

warnings: n/a, this is basically all fluff

You'd rather not make a big deal of it being your birthday, even though it is you were taught that birthdays aren't a big deal and your family never really did them.

You kind of wish someone would care but you feel guilty about that so you choose not to tell anyone about it

The only one of these who actually knows it's your birthday is Miss Pauling, who’s seen your personnel files

Miss Pauling

She knows it's your birthday, and instead of ignoring it she decides to at least discreetly make it a good day for you

She arrives on base for a routine inspection, clipboard in hand, but once she's done with the main thing, instead of leaving, she comes to your room

"I saw that it's your birthday today. I don't know if you celebrate, or anything, but, uh, I thought you'd like a gift. Maybe."

She hands you a box, inside are some candy bars and a plush of a bear

"I know it's not exactly the nicest thing, and I know it's kinda... stereotypical... but, y'know, I thought you'd like something. So, happy birthday. From me.” She’s really shy about it, you get the feeling she didn’t--probably still doesn’t--really get to celebrate birthdays either. 

She offers you a ride on her motorbike, something nice, on the open road--away from this base for a little while. You accept, taking a seat behind her, enjoying the open air--though it is pretty hot out. You guys talk, just enjoying the time.

She smiles at you as you get back. “Happy birthday. You deserve it.”

You thank her and even give her a hug. It’s nice that you got this for once. 

Scout

He has no idea whatsoever that it’s your birthday. He’s interacting with you like usual, teasing you, just hanging out. You’re happy as you talk that day; he’s always good at making you laugh and smile.

At some point he notices that you’re a little down, as much as you may try to hide it, he can tell. You’re his friend, and even though he might act like he doesn’t care sometimes, you know he does. A lot.

You tell yourself you don’t want anything on your birthday, that it’s easier if no one knows, but secretly, you do.

“Hey, what’s up? C’mon, ya know I can tell when something’s wrong.” 

You tell him it’s nothing. 

“You sure? Really? You’re kinda… I dunno, sadder than usual.” After he asks a few times, you finally come out and tell him. You don’t say much. Just “It’s my birthday.”

“No kiddin’? Well, why didn’t ya tell me?” He comes off pretty strong. You feel kind of apologetic for mentioning it, and look away from him. “Aw, hey. Y’know what--it don’t matter. I’m gonna throw you a party like you ain’t never seen, believe me.”

You try to tell him you don’t want a party--well, you do. Maybe. No you don’t. Well, sure. But not a big one. He’s really sweet and enthusiastic about it. “Someone like you deserves a big birthday--but if you don’t want it, dat’s okay. Ya know, we could just hang out, or somethin’. You n’ me, yeah?” 

You tell him you’d like that a lot. You both find a quiet spot in the base where you can just talk. He messes around, too, and pops in a Tom Jones record. 

He’s a little shy, a little embarrassed, but he even sings happy birthday to you. He just seems glad no one can hear him. He doesn’t have a gift handy for you, but he ends up scribbling you a quick doodle of him telling you happy birthday. It’s misspelt, but the drawing is cute, and you keep it. “I hope ya had a good day. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.” You tell him that it wasn’t his fault, how could he have known? 

After all is done, he gives you an awkward hug. You smile and return it.

Soldier

He’s a little crazy so he’s just hanging around base, today he had the idea to strip and cover himself in honey, so everyone has had to convince him to please not do that, and now he’s just moping around, muttering about how anti patriotic this all is.

You sit next to him and mope as well. Unlike him, no one knows the reason you’re moping. To anyone else’s point of view, you’re just comforting him--for whatever weird reason. But he sees that you’re just as sad as him.

“What’s wrong, maggot? Is there someone who needs to see my fists meet their face?”

You tell him no, no one did anything. You’re a little intimidated by him, and you don’t see much reason to tell him anyways. But it’s nice sitting with a friend. 

“If it’s not a person, then… it must be an object! Give it to me and I will destroy it immediately.” He’s being as sweet as he can, you smile and shake your head.

You sit there for a bit, smiling as you watch the other mercs come and go. Today isn’t a bad day, just a little sad. Later, you plan to find some kind of sweet treat to eat alone.

Soldier stands up, at attention, and points at you. “MAGGOT, AS YOUR SUPERIOR AND SENIOR, I ORDER YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG!”

With a sad smile and a chuckle you finally tell him.

“Your birthday?” Soldier seems genuinely surprised. He places a hand on his chin and thinks. “We cannot go without celebrating! This is momentous!”

Although you try to protest, he turns to the base, stating to every other merc, “LISTEN UP! IT IS Y/N’S BIRTHDAY AND WE WILL CELEBRATE!” 

He makes it his personal mission to decorate for a party that very evening, even gets a cake and everything. He makes every other merc sing happy birthday with him. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

You give him a big hug, and he is surprised at first, but proceeds to give a gentle laugh and hug back.

Pyro

You see Pyro colouring with crayons and coloured pencils on their break, and you sit by them. You don’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time, but you enjoy hanging out with them. It’s a long period of silence before you join them in colouring. Regardless of your artistic skills, they’re impressed and encourage you, and are very happy when you show them what you’ve been working on. 

After a little while you get kind of bored and sad. You’ve tried to enjoy this day but it’s another bittersweet birthday. You’re happy to hang out with Pyro though, even though they don’t know what day it is.

Pyro notices that you’ve stopped colouring with them, and that you’re looking at the ground instead, messing with the cracks in the floor.

“Huddah hrmmf mmmrph?” You don’t understand what they’re saying exactly, but you smile at them. They seem to be asking what’s wrong, why you stopped, why you seem so sad.

You hesitate for a moment before finally confessing. They seem to mostly understand what you mean, and they lean back, thinking. 

After a few seconds, they stand up and help pull you off the floor. They point to their room, and you follow them. It’s an odd combination of scorch marks, colourful drawings, weapons, and art supplies. They lead you to a wardrobe and pull out a box. 

Surprisingly, you can see that it's fully wrapped. Did they somehow know it was your birthday? Do they keep these gifts on hand for the mercs?

You won’t get an answer, but they excitedly push it out and offer it to you. “Huddah hmmph!” They sound almost like they are smiling behind the mask. You take the box and open it. It’s got crayons, pencils, and… wow, that’s a drawing of you and them.

You smile, almost ready to tear up, and thank them. You give them a hug, and you notice that they’re hugging you back even harder. Maybe they don’t really understand, but this is sweet.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! I want to say I love your fics- I've been here for a while- I followed you because of your gravity falls fic and now you write for DC- I love your writing so much ❤️ I just love it how you write for most fandoms I'm in 🥹

I haven't really had the guts to send you an ask or anything- this is my first 🥹

But if you are open to it,

May I request the Batboys + Bruce Reacting to Reader being insecure because of having a plushie they had since birth, it has been with them since childhood and hasn't left their side ever since they were a child, it was old dirty and they didn't like washing it because it was sentimental to them-

I have one exactly like It and I'm a bit insecure about it- I never really dated before because I think people will think it as a childish thing-

My friends told me it's fine and normal and it's human but it's still an insecurity-

I like to blab a lot my bad- I love your works again! Please keep writing ❤️ it's okay if you can't write this too no pressure! Sending love!! ❤️❤️❤️

sweetheart, there is nothing wrong with having a childhood plush. you have your reasons for having them and that is all that should matter. It shouldn't be something you're insecure about just becuase of how other people might interpret it, that's their problem, not yours to figure out. you've got a childhood toy, so what? i have one if i looked deep enough in my house for it and it has been with me since i could remember, so don't ever feel ashamed of having something that means so much to you on a level some narrow minded people won't understand.

It's special to you, holds alot of value to you and your friends are correct, it's perfectly normal human thing to have, i promise you it's nothing to be insecure over at all and it's not childish in the slightest. And if anyone says anything, i'll fight them for you!

Jason isn't one to judge himself as he still had that paperback of the first book he had nicked when he was under Bruce's tutilage, sitting on the bookshelf amongst the other books that he has lying in wait to be read again, yet also perfectly showing the framed familiar photo of his younger self and Bruce.

So Jason knows a thing or two about having things that have sentimental values that you just can't be apart from, even if the memories connecting to that thing aren't exactly ones that he wants to ever go back, instead keeping them in memorium of the boy he used to be and knowing that he'd hate the man he had to become against his will.

Jason could never hold it against you for possessing something that helps you and means so much to you. So seeing you look so small as he sees the plushy on your bed made his heart ache, thinking that he had proven himself as someone who would welcome every part of you, much like you have welcomed every part of him.

'Oh sweetheart.' Jason says softly as he holds your face, caressing your cheeks as he gently tilts your head up from looking at the floor and look into his eyes. 'Don't ever be ashamed of having something linked to your childhood, i don't ever want you to feel as if it's something to be ashamed of, not with me as that's not how i want our relationship to be.' He adds as he kisses your forehead, casting away those negative thoughts as far away from you as he can.

'it's not throwing you off?' you asked, looking at him for any lies you may find that he tried to hide, only to find none as he laughs and brings you in close to his chest, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

'Absolutely not.' Jason replied without hesitation. 'i'm staying here for the long wrong sweetheart so i hope your plush is okay with another person to share a bed with.' He adds as he looks over at the plush that flops onto the bed, almost as if it was giving Jason it's consent and approval for him to take care of you now.

Dick will find it sweet that you've got such a plush, he doesn't care about it's condition and would never make it an issue either, it's not his style.

He would want to know how ans when you got it and why it -above the other plushies you might've gotten in your childhood- was your most precious possesion. He'd love to listen to your stories and love the plushy as much as you did, for he didn't see it as just a plushy he only saw it as an extension of you, and he would treat the plushy with the respect it deserved for keeping you grounded and calm for all this time.

Yet when he saw how much you wanted to seemingly leave the second he saw your plush propped up on your desk, greeting you both with it's button eyes and stitched smile that you've been accostomed to for a long time, Dick can't help but feel as though he had done something wrong or didn't do enough to prove that he didn't care about the fact that you had a plush.

'who's this cutie?' He'd ask, wanting to ease you up again, 'they're not my replacement are they?' he adds jokingly as you began to find humour in the idea that Dick was comparing himself to the worn plush you've had since you were little.

'no, they're my childhood toy, hope that's not weird or embrassing.' you tell him.

Dick moves towards your plush and gently grabs their paw as though greeting it as though it was a sentient thing. 'it's actually an honour to see the plush that has kept you protected and secure for a long time, keeping you grounded and providing you a sense of calm when things get too much.' Dick then lets go of it's paw ans looks at you with a warm smile and even warmer gaze. 'it's nothing to be ashamed of, it's perfectly normal and shouldn't have to be hidden to make others comfortable at your own expense.' He finishes as he makes his way towards you and hold your hands in his.

'you're not freaked out? or disgusted?' you asked, still not certain of the whole thing.

'no. my opinion shouldn't matter becuase it doesn't, only yours and if having a childhood plush helps you, then that's all that matters.' Dick tells you as he kisses the tip of your nose.

Damian is going to ask questions but they are purely for learning purposes only.

He would never ever insult you for the fact that you carry something ever since you could speak your first words, so when he is satisfied with the awnsers given to him, Damian finds it honourable that you have something that keeps you grounded and reminds you of home.

He does his research on the pychology behind having a plushy, followed up by the benifits of having one are in order to fully understand why some people would keep their childhood stuffed toys, and making sure that Ace and Titus stay away from your plush at all times in case they mistake it as something they can play with.

He might make a face when he first sees it but it's mainly one of curiosity, tilting his head to the side as he tries to figure out the conection between you and this worn out but heavily loved plush, wheras you were regretting putting it away and out of sight and were about to when Damian keeps you from doing so by putting his hand on yours. 'why are you trying to hide it?' he would ask.

'It's weird of an adult to have an toy from their childhood, it's not soemthing that i should have anyways.' you tell him, pulling your hand from his grip as the empty feeling within you seemed to only worsen as your throat tightned with emotion that you'd let out when you were alone.

Damian furrows his brows as he looks at you and realises that his reaction was taken a you thinking he believes your weird for having a plush, and he was quick to correct this misunderstanding by holding your hand, intertwining your fingers together to prevent you from running away. 'There are research behind this sort of thing, you shouldn't feel regret or shame for having something that helps you and offers support with it's weighed attributes for a more grounding affect.' He begins as he tugs you to his side as he sits you both down on the bed, his thumbs caressing the back of your hand in silence reassurance.

'If anyone choses to raise their voice agaisnt you. Let me know and i shall have them delt with swiftly, for no one should ever spout words of venom at you, not for something that makes you feel safe and secure and in such cases allow me to be another source of reassurance and safety.' Damian continues in the way he knows how, defending your honour by using the methods he was raised to use to his advantage against those who claim it's childish.

For to him they were simply too childish if they couldn't understand themselves.

Bruce will find the plush cute as well, fully understanding the whole sentimentality that comes with having something from a young age, so he's not going to hold it agaisnt you for having a plush as an adult.

He knows the benifits of having a childhood plush and how it can reduce stress and or anxiety and bring a sense of comfort for you that he might not be able to give himself. He recagnises your childhoos plush as a source of calm in your hectic life, something that brings you back to better memories and moments that are attached to the plushy you kept.

So when he does first see the plush he doesn't show much of a reaction, acting like it's the most normal thing he's ever come across in his life, but he could see the hunch in your shoulders and the clench in your jaw that his lack of a reaction was only making your intenal thoughts even worse then before.

'If you think i'm going to shame you for having a keepsake from your childhood, then i haven't done enough on my part to do what your plush has been doing for twice as long.' He says as he looks at the plush and could easily envision you cudiling it agaisnt your chest, easily envison how it brought you down from the most stressful moments of your life thus far. 'You shouldn't have to stress about what i think about it for it doesn't matter, there's psychology and science that backs up the reason for keeping ahold of something from your past, so please don't think i'm against it when i'm actually all for it.' He adds with a small smile.

'you're not wierded out or find it silly?' you asked, still a little unsure of his acceptance of your childhood plush, thinking it to be too good to be true.

Bruce brings you into his side, kissing your temple once, twice as he squeezes your side. 'of course not, this is your anchor, your friend who has been a constant in your ever changing life, something you can always rely on to never change when it seems like eveything is moving at a faster pace for you.' He kisses your temple a third time, pratically cuddiling you to his chest now as he felt you burry into his chest.

'I would never ask you to give up your comfort for me, to put you to in a constant state of discomfort. So please don't feel as though you have to change yourself to appease others for no one is ever appeased, so you're best to staying true to yourself against it all.' Bruce finishes as the plush on your bed seemingly watched you both, happy that you had found someone that was more then accepting of you and everything you come with.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [34] - Cage

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Lack of honesty can cause resentment.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

If anything, your day started out pretty calm.

You were petting Alpine with one hand while scribbling on the paper with the other, and you stole a look at Bucky when he entered the kitchen. He ran a hand through his damp hair and you inhaled the scent of his aftershave as subtly as you could, pretending to be busy with the file in front of you while he made his way to the coffee machine to fill himself a cup of coffee.

You could feel his glances on you as he leaned back on the counter, sipping his coffee but you ignored him until he cleared his throat.

“So when is that asshole leaving?”

You stopped petting Alpine and lifted your head to look at him better.

“Who, Rhett?” you asked. “He just got here.”

“Doesn’t he have a city to rule?”

“He left his right hand in his place, apparently,” you told him. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

You hummed, spinning your pen between your fingers.

“You should be nicer to him, you know.”

He scoffed into his coffee mug. “Yeah sorry, I’m not capable of being nice to dickheads who gaze at my wife longingly.”

“What?”

“I’m already being civil by not shooting him, and that’s only because you told me not to.”

“You’re not going to shoot—he doesn’t gaze at me longingly, Bucky.”

“Oh he does,” he shot back. “In fact, I bet he has a plan.”

Your frown deepened. “What plan?”

“He wants to—he wants to take you to Chicago,” he said, motioning vaguely and you tilted your head, your mouth slightly open. “Yeah, he’ll feed you some bullshit about never being over you—”

“He is very much over me.”

“And he will ask you to go rule Chicago with him, and then I’ll shoot him and feed his fucking body to the dogs—”

“Can I just interrupt that very creative theory with some truth?” you asked him as Alpine jumped from the counter to the floor. “Number one, even if he weren’t over me, it wouldn’t fucking matter because I am over him.”

His eyes searched yours as if he was trying to see if you were telling the truth. “…Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you said. “Number two, whoever he is with -which is not going to be me, by the way- will not be ruling Chicago with him. Chicago’s rules are different, the crown moves through blood there. Spouses are irrelevant, they’re treated worse than heirs, or right arms. Don’t get me wrong, I hate the bitch who he’s going to marry because she’s a terrible person, but I kind of feel bad for her too because no one will ever take her seriously. King consort or queen consort, doesn’t matter because they have zero power, except for providing heirs and strengthening the loyalty of families.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times. “Jesus, and we say we have medieval rules.”   

“Exactly,” you said. “And number three, I know we both keep forgetting it but we are in fact married. Even if I weren’t over him, me going to Chicago would be grounds for war and only an idiot—”

“Trojan War started the same way, didn’t stop anyone.”

“I appreciate the compliment but I’m not the underworld edition of Helen of Troy,” you pointed out. “That’s not what’s going to happen here. Unless Eric Bana shows up, that is.”

“Which one was he in that movie, Paris?”

“Hector,” you said with a sigh. “The things I’d do to him…”

“I’m glad we had this conversation because now I will have to add him to my hitlist as well.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“The point is,” you said. “I’m not starting a war between Chicago and New York for an ex. Because that’s what Rhett is. An ex.”

“He doesn’t see you as just an ex,” Bucky told you. “You said it yourself. He trusts you.”

The sight of Rhett’s car by the campus outside your building made you stop dead in your tracks only for a moment. You could feel the smile pulling your lips as you approached him, and he took off his sunglasses to grin at you.

“Hey stranger.”

“Hey,” you said. “Look at that, you survived.”

“Mm hm.”

“I take it the same can’t be said for Lucas?”

“For him or any of his men,” he stated, leaning back to his car. “He was waiting exactly where you said he was.”

You nodded your head. “How pissed off was your father?”

“Very pissed off,” he said. “But I think it worked out pretty well, you know? Now we have sent a message.”

“The ultimate golden heir is not to be crossed or challenged,” you teased him with a small smirk. “That’s a good message.”

He heaved a sigh, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you warn me?” he asked. “I mean, aside from the orgasms I gave you—”

“That was a mutual transaction,” you pointed out, making him let out a chuckle and hold up his hands.

“It really was,” he said. “But seriously, we were broken up. And I know what promise he dangled in front of you. What, you didn’t even consider it?”

You made a face, shaking your head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“New York values loyalty over power,” you said. “That’s what I grew up with. I don’t do business with greedy backstabbers, neither would my father or anyone else in New York. Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Rhett’s gaze was fixed on you, a light crossing his eyes as he let out a breath.

“Jesus…” he muttered. “One last transaction, cupcake?”

“Nope,” you said with a laugh. “Then we will get attached and we can’t have that. You have a city to take over, and I’m too smart to be put in the background in someone else’s empire.”

Rhett smiled softly.

“My father won’t do business with anyone in New York,” he said, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I know. Everyone knows.”

“Neither will I,” Rhett said. “Until you need my help.”

Your eyes shot up to his, your stomach doing a happy flip.

“You’d do that for me?” you asked and he nodded.

“You saved my life, and proved that I can in fact trust you,” he said. “Chicago values loyalty above everything else. The least I can do is pay back the favor.”

A smile warmed your face. “I’ll come to collect, Rhett.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said and extended his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, cupcake.”

You let out a giggle, and shook his hand.

“Yeah,” you said. “Likewise.”  

“Because I earned his trust,” you told him as his phone vibrated and he checked the screen, then typed something. Even if you wanted to ask who it was, you managed to control yourself, biting inside your cheek.

“Dr. Raynor rescheduled the therapy session for the evening,” you told him. “Your assistant told you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a meeting with Anna before that so I might be a bit late but I’ll be there.”

Your brows shot up, that familiar bitterness burning your mouth. “With Anna?”

“Mm hm,” he said. “Gotta go, I’ll see you there,”

With that, he walked out of the apartment and closed the door behind him, and Alpine jumped back on the counter, meowing at you in a very demanding manner. You heaved a sigh, stroking over her soft fur.

“We’re not going to threaten Anna,” you told her, “Because that’s a fucking insane thing to do, and we’re very logical, rational individuals, right Alpine?”

Alpine meowed again and you nodded your head.

“Mm hm,” you muttered. “Exactly.”

                                               *

“I mean it’s not that I’m jealous,” you assured Becca who only watched you with her brows raised. “Obviously that’s not what’s happening here.”

She hummed, sipping her coffee.

“It’s just that she’s a bit too friendly with him I feel like.”

“Like Rhett is a bit too friendly with you?”

“That’s very different!” you protested. “Rhett and I are going to make a deal!”

“Anna already has a deal with Bucky.”

“Whose side are you on?” you asked, sulking and she let out a laugh.

“Yours, obviously,” she said. “But I’m just saying, maybe before pointing fingers, acknowledge the fact that Rhett liked you. A lot.”

“Liked,” you repeated. “Back then. Besides, I have no feelings for him and as I told Bucky, he will get married.”

“And he will have mistresses.”

“Probably,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Alice will kill them I’m guessing. She was quite obsessed with him even while we were dating and now that Rhett says he will marry her, I do not want to think about the lengths she’d go to.”

 Your phone buzzed on the table and you checked the screen, then tilted your head. “Huh.”

“Who is it?”

“Ethan,” you said. “We haven’t talked in forever, apparently he was too busy and so was I. He wants to grab coffee sometime.”

“What is it with all your exes wanting to fuck you?” Becca asked, making your jaw drop.

“That’s not true!”

“No seriously, what are you doing to those guys?”

“I don’t do anything to them—you know what, we’re changing the subject,” you said as you put your phone back on the table. “Do you think I’ll be able to pull it off?”

“The deal?” Becca asked, “I’d say you already have.”

“Nothing is on paper yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, he flew here for that deal. He will make it.”

You drummed your fingernails on the table. “My father will have so many things to say about it I’m sure.”

“He can say whatever he wants—oh!” she sat up straighter. “Guess what I heard.”

“What?”

“Apparently, Ian is learning how to fight.”

You pulled your brows together. “I’m sorry?”

“Mm hm. His right hand is teaching him, the hot Hercules guy—”

“Ryan.”

“Yeah, him.”

You scoffed a laugh. “How did you hear about that?”

“Your father told my father and my father told my mom at breakfast,” she said. “Never too late to start I guess?”

“I mean he’s the heir,” you said with a sigh. “If the cage fight is happening…”

“You know how I feel about the cage fight tradition but for Ian’s case only, I will enjoy it,” she said. “I hate the son of a bitch.”

You squeezed her hand. “How Leila?”

“That’s actually why I wanted to meet up with you,” she said, huffing out a breath. “My mom kind of forced my hand.”

“How?”

“She and me and Leila are having brunch tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“So I need you to tell me Leila won’t decide to dump me tomorrow.”

A small laugh escaped from your lips and you shook your head.

“She won’t,” you assured her. “Do you want me to be there? I will invite myself to that brunch, I don’t care what Winnifred thinks.”

 She looked like she was genuinely considering the idea before she made a face, then shook her head.

“Nah, I need to deal with this myself,” she muttered and you pressed a hand over your chest.

“Aw,” you said with a grin. “They grow up so fast.”

“Shut it,” she said, kicking at your shoe with hers, making you gasp. “But I’m going to need all the moral support I can get, so you will be by the phone the whole time, alright?”

You let out a laugh. “Deal.”

                                                    *

Bucky was late to the therapy session as he said he would be by fifteen minutes, and when he got there, he was rather tense. Even if you wanted to ask what had happened, you knew you couldn’t in front of the therapist so you raised your brows at him but he shook his head.

“So,” Dr. Raynor said, “Let’s pick up from where we left off the last time. How have things progressed in terms of your communication with your ex-boyfriend in the picture?”

“Him being my ex-boyfriend doesn’t play a part in our communication or lack thereof,” you said quickly and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“It definitely does.”

“I think what plays an important part in our communication is the fact that Bucky doesn’t exactly trust me.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times and turned to look at you better.

“I don’t think you should be pointing fingers here, Charm.”

“I do trust you!” you protested, making him scoff.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You know what, if you’re being like this because I didn’t give you one tiny little detail about my plan—”

“One tiny little detail?” Bucky repeated with a laugh. “Try the whole plan.”

“You wouldn’t even spare me a glance if I pulled the shit you did back in that back alley,” you finished your sentence as if he didn’t cut you off and that seemed to take him by surprise. He gawked at you, then licked his lips, shaking his head.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What happened in the back alley?” Dr. Raynor asked, her voice almost too calm and Bucky gritted his teeth, leaning back in the couch as if he was uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“It was ages ago,” he said curtly and you hummed.

“And you never apologized.”

“I did apologize—”

“Asking me if I’m still mad via text does not count as an apology, Bucky.”

“What happened?” Dr. Raynor asked and you took a deep breath, then crossed your arms.

“I had a silly little crush on Bucky years and years ago,” you said. “Before I left for college, I made the mistake of telling him about it.”

“Charm.”

“And it’d be fine if he only turned me down but nope,” you spat, that bitter taste burning your throat again. “He had to humiliate me.”

“I didn’t humiliate—”

“Yes you did,” you cut him off and he ran a hand over his face, then motioned at Dr. Raynor.

“Are we seriously going to do this in front of her?”

“Why not?” you said. “That’s what the therapy is for.”

“And you resent him for it, Y/N?” Dr. Raynor asked and Bucky scoffed a laugh.

“Oh she hates me for it,” he corrected her and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, I’m just saying that if I didn’t trust you, it would be with a reason.”

“Right.”

“Was there a reason behind it, Bucky?”

“No there wasn’t, other than the fact that he wanted to humiliate me.”

“Charm.”

“Y/N, open communication is very important and a huge part of it is listening,” Dr. Raynor said, making you shake your head.

“No, he really didn’t have a reason other than the fact that he was the city’s golden prince who thought—”

“My father wanted us to end up together,” Bucky cut you off, making you pull your brows together in confusion and you turned your head to gawk at him.

“What?” you asked after a beat and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“Yeah,” he said. “He kept talking about how it would be good for the business, how I should visit you in Chicago when you’d leave for college and…all that bullshit.”

You blinked a couple of times in complete silence and Bucky bit inside his cheek.

“I mean obviously I didn’t see you that way back then, but I wouldn’t have been that much of an asshole to you if that was the only reason,” he told you, his voice almost inaudible. “I thought…I thought you were yet another cage he would drag me into, that’s it.”

You could barely hear anything from the way your heart was pounding in your ears and Bucky swallowed thickly, then stole a look at Dr. Raynor and took a deep breath.

“Yeah no, I’m not doing this shit in front of a stranger,” he muttered and got up from the couch as if he was too restless, then walked out of the office and slammed the door behind him. The sound snapped you out of your haze and you jumped on your feet, grabbing your purse.

“Thanks Dr. Raynor,” you said in a haste and walked out of the office as well but by the time you stepped outside, Bucky’s car had already driven off. You let out a breath, then leaned back to the wall on the building and rubbed at your eyes.

“Oh…” you murmured more to yourself. “Fuck.”

Chapter 35

[jillsandwhichs]

Our Future Days

Joel Miller x Reader series, Chapter 15, Announcements

Masterlist

Pairing: F!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: It seems that everyone in Jackson knows about yours and Joel's newly found romantic relationship.

WC: 1.1k

Type: SFW

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

It doesn't feel real - the fact that you and Joel are together now. If anything, you don't even believe it. It seriously took over two decades for it to happen and within those two that you guys were apart, you thought that you'd never even see him again. The universe has a funny way of making fate work.

You and Joel have taken these last few days to just digest everything. It's a big deal, honestly. Neither of you have been in relationships for a long time and now you're both fully committing to one. You're praying you won't mess it up like you have before with other men. Joel truly means so much to you and it'd hurt you deeply if anything went wrong between you both.

Back to the subject matter though, it doesn't feel real. Like, it isn't reality. Well, that's how you felt, until you realized something:

Literally all of those who reside in Jackson are talking about it.

Admittedly, it is annoying. You didn't think the word would spread so fast and let alone that anyone would give a fuck. Of course, you were wrong. Joel had told Ellie about it who, of course, made it a big deal and began to tease Joel about it non-stop. She must've yapped about it to her little friends such as Jessie and Dina. As for yourself, you let Tommy & Maria know - which they definitely couldn't contain their excitement for you two.

While it isn't a bad thing, it's a bit of an irritation that word is going out so quickly. You had hoped it would just pass by and be forgotten. However, you literally can't leave your guy's house without someone questioning you. "What's he like as a boyfriend?" "How long have you two been dating for?" "Is he a good boyfriend?" And so on, and so on.

You wish you two had the right to privacy. Jackson is no different from that of a suburb though; Everyone will be nosey and in your business. At the same time, it's sort of... Nostalgic? Reminds you of being back home. Everyone knew everything about everyone. It sort of just brings back that sleezy vibe, that is all.

Anyhow, you're at the floral shop right now. It's been opened in Jackson long before you even got here and you've made a mutual status of friendship with the owner, Loretta, since you began coming here weekly. You pick up fresh sets of flowers to have in your and Joel's home. It adds a comforting feeling to the house, at least you feel it does.

Your fingers stopped tapping on the front counter as Loretta entered the spot behind it once again with the few flowers she got for you with a temporary paper vase. You think these look lovely, better than last week's even. "Loretta, you've outdone yourself again." You complimented her artistry and gazed at the flowers. "Oh dear, thank you." The older woman blushed at your words.

Of course, in these times, money isn't a currency anymore. Now, you pay with whatever Loretta requests. Last week, all she asked for was a sweater - hers became too dirty to continue wearing. You obliged - you traded a blanket for it with a fellow towns member. "Alrighty." You mumbeld before pulling up the sweater and placing it on the counter. "How's that?" You asked, wanting her honest review of it.

It's a plain baby blue but has a knitted flower on it. Very much her style. You're surprised you didn't have to trade more for it. "Oh it is spectacular!" Loretta nodded and folded it back up, sticking it beneath the counter. "Thank you darling, I adore it. These flowers will go great in yours and Joel's home, I just know it." "They sure will." You nodded and picked them up.

You went to speak up before Loretta did first, her face going soft as she talked. "So, is it true?" "Hmm?" "You and Joel? Are you two really together?" You giggled and nodded. "We sure are." You didn't mind Loretta asking one bit. She's a sweetheart. "Oh, that's just wonderful. That's what we need more of around here - love." Damn, she isn't wrong. "You don't gotta tell me twice." You smiled with joy and nodded.

"I'll see you next week Loretta, take care!" You said as you left her shop. She waved goodbye and said, "You two! Tell Joel I said hello!" Of course, you'll let him know.

-

Traversing into the inside of your guy's house, you closed the door behind you and walked into the kitchen. You saw Joel standing in front of the kitchen window, sipping his coffee. He must've woken up only a little bit ago. To be fair, it's early. You're an early bird. You smirked when you seen him and smiled even more when he looked back at you with a soft look; A look of love.

"Wondered where you was." He said in a deep, gruffly voice. Yep, definitely just woke up. You set the flowers down on the counter and ambled over to him, rubbing your hands all over his tense shoulders as you also kissed them. "Went to Loretta's shop - our flowers were dying out." "Mm." Joel murmured as you smooched along his upper back. For him, it felt like pure heaven.

Joel set his cup of coffee down and turned to face you, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you close. You tittered and swathed your arms around his neck. "I missed you." You whispered, leaning up and kissing his cheek. He smirked but tried to hide it. He still hasn't gotten used to the amount of affection you give him. "Missed you two baby." Joel replied, kissing the top of your head and holding you close.

"Guess what." "Hmm?" "You know how everyone can't seem to shut up about us? Yeah well, even Loretta asked. Of course I told her about it because well, she isn't a bother but it just made me laugh." You spoke gently. Joel smiled and nodded, using his thumbs to caress your waist. "Goodness," He bellowed, "Whole damn world goin' hear about us then, huh?" He chuckled and let you go.

He glanced down at the flowers. "Pretty. What'd you trade for them?" "A sweater. Loretta really wanted a new one." "Good. You're a sweet girl." Joel praised you and smirked. You smiled and blew him a kiss, causing him to chortle. "You're killin' me." He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Oh haha." You joked before pouring yourself a cup of coffee now.

You could truly get used to this.

Truly.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

A note on "Miraculous treads on very much explored territory and still fails epically".

Thomas Astruc used to work (as a crew member, not a leader, but still) on W. I. T. C. H.

Which is:

A magical girl show with team dynamics

A show that mixes episodic and serialized format

A show where two the male romantic interests have a massive role (Caleb is a main character on par with the six girls, and Matt has an epic character arc)

A show with a strong mystery element

A show with manipulative villains (sometimes with schemes reaolved within an episode! And sometimes longer), villains that turn out to be family members, sympathetic villains, loathsome villains... Great, complex villains, almost all of them

A mean girl quasi-redemption arc

A show that does all of the aforementioned elements very well. Also, better diversity despite being 10 years older.

Yet when I watch ML, I see no inspiration (despite many common motifs), no lessons learned, no indication that the lead writer ever got anything from the experience working on that show. Unless the lesson was "W. I. T. C. H. got cancelled after two seasons, so everything about the show was wrong and we should do ML differently".

(Mind you, WITCH got more plot in two seasons than ML did in five, and still wrapped up the story fairly well)

Sorry for the rant. I kinda know that the explanation for "why is ML not like that" is "ML is forced to be an episodic show against its will", but also.

ML is trying very hard to pretend that it's More Than an Episodic Show and Not Only for Kids, and really doesn't measure up with shows with seemingly similar premises.

(Post that inspired this ask)

Before we get into it, if anyone likes fun theme songs and missed the American opening to W.I.T.C.H.'s first season then I have a treat for you!!!

Top tier opening song! Other countries were robbed!

Anyway, I agree with everything you said and this ask got me curious about the writing staff. I started doing some digging and a lot of them appear to have worked on other shows that would fall with the same genres as Miraculous. Many of those shows were even episodic formula shows that reserved the serialized elements for season finals and specials (looking at you Code Lyoko!) That doesn't shock me, but it does just add to my curiosity as to what the heck is going on with Miraculous.

These aren't new comers to the industry in over their heads, they're established professionals! Why are they struggling so hard to tell a good story while working with an incredibly simple premise? Why are aren't they embracing the show's limits and making it the best it can be in its chosen category? I'd love to know the full story, but alas, I likely never will. My best guess is that commercial success has got to their heads and so they're convinced that any criticism they see can't possibly be valid. At least, that's what the head writer's twitter feed seems to suggest every time I see screen caps from it...

[starshideurfics]

A Mother’s Love - Part Eight

part one

steddie, wenny, omegaverse, here be monsters

Steve faints, blacks out from the pain, and comes to on the couch, cold washcloth on his forehead. “Are you okay, Baby?” Mama asks as Steve opens his eyes.

“Maybe?” After so much, such intensity of emotion, he feels empty. Quiet inside his head. And his mouth is dry. “Water?”

Mama helps him sit up, gentle care pressed to Steve’s chest. He has water waiting, a cup carefully placed in his hands. Steve takes a sip, cold on his tongue. It helps, puts him back in his body, in his own feelings. “She’s so scared,” he whispers. “Terrified.”

“I know.”

“No, Mama, it’s- It’s real, and deep. Real danger. I don’t-“

“I know, Steve. I know it’s real. And I think part of why you feel it so strongly, is because you felt the same fear when you were little. Some of it, anyway.” Mama gives in to his need to protect, sits on the couch and tucks Steve to him. Steve can feel the pull, how badly Mama wants to hold him like a pup, to offer his scent like a balm. “So little you don’t remember it.”

The couch seat sinks on his other side, familiar warmth pressing against his thigh. “Do you think she’s what you felt last night?” Eddie asks.

“No.” He doesn’t. Not even a little.

“Really?”

“I couldn’t feel anything from her until she touched me. She has stronger walls than I do. And last night was different. Fresh. Hers is constant.” Steve looks around the room, wanting to check on Eleven, only to find her and Wayne gone. “Where is she?”

“She panicked when you passed out,” Eddie answers. “Wayne’s got her in his nest so she can calm down. Give you both space.”

Steve tries to stand. “I don’t want space.”

Mama holds him in place. “And I don’t want you fainting again! I plan to keep you both safe and healthy, but I ain’t-”

“She’s like me! She can’t help it, and I want to see her!” Steve has never yelled at Mama like this before. He’s never needed to yell. And now his own feelings are big and scary, but he has a sister! Someone who can understand what it’s like…

“Baby, she’s scared of hurting you again,” Mama says softly, wiping a tear from Steve’s eye with a gentle thumb.

“She’s the one who’s hurt.”

“I know.”

It takes some coaxing, but Mama finally lets Steve up. They walk as a group to Wayne’s room, finding Eleven still whimpering in the nest as Wayne rubs her back. “It’s okay, pup,” Wayne murmurs, “You’re okay. And someone’s here to see you.”

Wayne smiles up at them; Eleven flinches under his touch, curls into a ball.

Steve squeezes Eddie’s fingers—they’ve been holding hands since Eddie sat on the couch—and guides him further into the room. “I’m okay, El, I’m not hurt. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve says softly, watching as Eddie crouches down to touch her shoulder. “But my powers aren’t like yours, and I’m not very good with them…” He takes a breath, looks up at Mama who is staring back with concern. He tries to be reassuring, to keep his scent happy, and adds, “I wish I could hug you, Eleven, because this situation calls for hugs, but I know we all want to be careful. If it’s okay with you, Eddie’s pretty good at hugs, so he’ll hug you for me, yeah?”

Eleven uncurls, and looks up with wet eyes. Steve aches for her. She turns to Eddie, appraising him, then nods. Steve still has his barriers down, and as Eddie wraps Eleven in his arms, Steve pushes out, settles his love inside Eddie’s chest to touch his newfound sister the only way he can.

His heart just about breaks when Eleven whispers, “Sorry,” into the otherwise silent room.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Eleven shakes her head, hides her face in Eddie’s shoulder, and says the most words anyone in the room has heard from her. “Bad men want bad things. Find bad things.”

“Bad men?” Benny asks. The air in the room is suddenly thick. “What bad men?”

“Long coats. I find things for them. Bad.” Eleven curls up small in Eddie’s arms.

“Did you find something last night?” Eddie asks. “Something that could hurt you? Or hurt someone else?”

She nods against his shoulder. “Monster.”

❤️❤️❤️

After that, Eleven shuts down and refuses to say anything else, her little fingers tangled in Eddie’s shirt. He’s got no idea what else to do, so he rubs her back. Anything to soothe the poor pup.

“I wish Marsha was home,” Benny mutters.

“We could call her,” Steve offers.

“Nope, can’t,” Benny says immediately. “They’re definitely monitoring her calls right now. Hell, they might always monitor her calls, after all those years.”

“But I call my mom all the time…”

“I know, Steve, but right now we can’t have any more scrutiny on you. No calls, and no talking about Eleven.”

“What about Will Byers? I still think he’s the one I felt, and if there’s a— A monster on the loose-”

“We need to pay attention to what’s in front of us, for now.” Benny crushes Steve to his chest, kisses his hair. “I’m glad you want to help, but this is dangerous, Steve. Especially for you. And you will always be my priority.”

“I know, Mama,” Steve mumbles.

Benny’s caution keeps them all crowded in Wayne’s room until Eleven falls asleep, the adrenaline finally leaving her system. It’s dark, the sun setting early, and Steve says, “Eddie and I still have to go to school tomorrow,” as he looks out the window onto the quiet street.

“They do, Ben. It’ll look more suspicious if they stay home,” Wayne offers, all calm reason from his place on the couch.

“I need to change my clothes, grab my notes for Grundy’s class.” He tries to move towards the door, but Benny stops him. “Mama…”

“You had the most intense empathic episode you can remember over there, I’m not letting you go back to that house until your mom has checked you out.”

Steve opens his mouth to complain again, but Eddie cuts him off before he starts. “Gimme your house key, I’ll get it. Notes on your desk?”

“Yes, and can you get my jacket?”

“Gray one?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie smirks, “I’ll keep an eye out for weird shit, report back on anything else. Let me know if there’s anything useful on the six o’clock news.” He gives Benny a wide berth as Steve hands off his house key, even though he knows Benny won’t hold him hostage. Benny may love Wayne, and by extension love Eddie, but they all know he’ll put every last bit of his energy into keeping Steve safe, the rest of the world be damned.

The drive to Steve’s house is even quieter than usual, parents keeping their children home, keeping them safe. He passes a squad car, sure the police are making extra sweeps for anything suspicious. Eddie doesn’t see much the whole drive, none of it strikes him as particularly odd.

Until he turns into Steve’s street. There’s a blue Camaro waiting in the Harringtons’ driveway.

Billy Hargrove is leaning against the driver-side door, smoking. His head turns at the sound of Eddie’s van approaching, and he smiles, crinkling his black eye, the swelling already coming down. “Surprised to see you here, Munson,” Billy drawls around his cigarette. “Your bitch isn’t home.”

“I thought I was clear that you should leave Steve alone,” Eddie growls, slamming the van door behind him. “Go home. There’s a curfew.”

“Why? You worried Stevie will come home and see me? If he’s willing to fuck the school freak, I’m sure he’ll appreciate a proper knot in his tight, little cu-”

Eddie sees red, reacts on instinct. The first punch startles Billy, hits him square in the jaw and knocks the cigarette from his mouth, but he’s ready for the second. He dodges with a laugh, blood at the corner of his lips. “Christ, Munson! I’d have thought getting your dick wet finally would chill you out! Get some of the weight off your balls.”

Billy’s a big enough target that it’s easy to go for his side, a hit hard enough to crack a rib. Eddie’s had a cracked rib, hurts like a bitch to breathe with one, and he hopes it will shut Hargrove up.

It doesn’t. “Damn, Harrington’s pussy must really be sweet as it smells. Can ya blame an alpha for wanting a tas-”

Eddie gets a last punch in, feels Billy’s nose break under his fist, watches blood steadily drip from his nostrils. Still, he pins him to the side of the car, leans close to order, “Stay away from Steve. Don’t come here again.” There’s a growl in Eddie’s throat as he pushes on Hargrove’s shoulder and takes a step back, refusing to turn away from a threat. Even if he knows he’s the bigger threat.

Billy is tough.

Eddie knows how to be dangerous.

Billy laughs to keep himself from feeling small as Eddie retreats.

Eddie reaches the front step before turning towards the door. He slips the key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and hurries inside, locking the deadbolt behind him.

Even running upstairs, getting Steve’s notes, spare clothes, and a blanket from his nest—all neatly packed in Steve’s old swim bag—takes under five minutes. He gives himself an extra five to cool down and clean the blood spatter off his hands. Ten minutes should be plenty of time for Billy to leave, but he doesn’t hear him rev the Camaro’s engine, so he doesn’t think he’s gone.

Squaring his shoulders, Eddie unlocks the front door and heads back out. He locks the door behind him and gets ready from Round 3, only to find the driveway unoccupied. Sorta unoccupied, at least. The Camaro is still there, but Billy is gone. Hopefully he went for a walk to clear his head, but Eddie has no intention to wait for him to come back and find out.

He drives home, the streets even emptier. Wayne and Benny are at the kitchen table, talking quietly together. “Steve’s with Eleven,” Benny offers softly when Eddie comes in with the bag.

Eddie nods and heads to Wayne’s room, Eleven still asleep in his nest. Steve is sitting just outside, eyes drooping. “You should sleep too,” Eddie says gently, pulling out the blanket and draping it around Steve’s shoulders.

“I wanted to wait for you. Make sure you got home safe,” Steve says between yawns.

“D’you think Benny will kill me if I bring you to my room for the night?” Eddie asks with a smile.

Steve smiles back. “Just to sleep? Nah. He might steal me away in the night though.”

“Just to sleep,” Eddie agrees, helping Steve to his feet and pulling him in for a slow kiss. They don’t talk after that, both too tired from the day’s excitement, easily drifting to sleep with Eddie curled protectively around Steve, under the blanket from his nest.

❤️❤️❤️

“Time to get up,” Benny orders from the doorway, turning on the overhead light in Eddie’s room. “And we’re talking about this new… development when you get home.”

“Mama,” Steve groans, lifting his head from Eddie’s pillow. “You’re the one who wanted me sleeping here!”

“Don’t sass me, Steve. We’re talking later.” Benny starts gruff, but turns soft. “Now shake a leg, we let you two sleep late. El’s already up and eating breakfast.”

Steve forces himself out of bed; Eddie hides his head under the pillow. Rooting through his swim bag, Steve pulls out his change of clothes, switching his shirts. Eddie forgot to grab extra socks, so he circles the bed to steal a pair from the dresser, only for the alpha’s arm to snare his waist.

“Come back to bed,” Eddie mumbles, his voice heavy with sleep. He tugs Steve closer, head emerging from beneath the pillow so he can scent at Steve’s hip.

Melting a little at the touch, Steve pets his hair—he can’t help it, he wants to always be touching Eddie. He hates that he can’t crawl back under the covers and into Eddie’s arms, to sleep away what is sure to be a difficult day. “We need to get up,” he says, glancing at the clock. “Like, out the door in ten minutes need to get up.”

“Well… Fuck,” Eddie agrees, finally opening his eyes. He still takes the time to kiss Steve’s hip and belly and chest on his way up to his lips, the final kiss returned with a smile.

“Get dressed,” Steve orders, released at last to procure clean socks. He grabs his jacket. Eddie hops back into his jeans. Steve just needs his notes, and he’s out of Eddie’s room, headed straight for the kitchen.

Eleven is at the table, swinging her legs as she eats a toaster waffle drenched in syrup. She smiles when Steve comes in, and he swipes a waffle of his own from the plate across from hers, eating it plain. He stuffs his notes into his backpack, and gratefully accepts a glass of orange juice from Wayne as Eddie shuffles into the kitchen and shoves an entire waffle into his mouth.

Steve downs his juice in one go, ready to grab Eddie and run out the door, but Benny catches him first. “Ready to go?” he asks, rubbing his wrist along Steve’s shoulders.

“Mama, I figured I’d just ride with Eddie today.”

“Steve-”

“Thought we were trying to be normal, not draw attention to ourselves,” Eddie says with a quirked brow. “You draw more attention to Steve than I do.”

“He’s right, Ben. Completely normal for an alpha to drive his omegafriend to school,” Wayne says gently, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “They’ll be safe at school. And we need to get some proper clothes for El.” She’s still wearing one of Wayne’s old shirts, a pair of Eddie’s sweatpants with the cuffs triple-rolled and the waist string pulled as tight as it can be, and the flannel Benny gave her the day before. She stares around the room as she chews her waffle; everyone else nods.

Benny bites his lip, and pulls Steve into his chest, kissing his forehead. “Okay, you boys get out of here,” he grumbles as he releases Steve. “I love you, baby.”

“Love you, Mama.”

“Wayne, I don’t know what I’d do witho-”

“Go to school!”

The drive to Hawkins High is uneventful, and after all the hubbub of the previous morning, everyone has moved on from the revelation of Steve Harrington dating Eddie Munson. They still hold hands as they walk into the building, separating before reaching Steve’s locker because they are cutting it extremely close to the first bell.

But no one is watching them.

At least, no one important.

He catches a few of the band geeks whispering as he passes them in the hall, hears the snatch of his name, “I guess Harrington-” But he doesn’t stop to hear more. Steve’s just gotta keep his head down and get through the day.

To make the day better, Billy isn’t in Algebra II, so Steve is saved from that agony. Only… Nancy keeps glancing at him with her huge, blue eyes. At first, he thinks it’s because she’s still hung up on him, but then he notices the apprehension. The suspicion.

She stops him in the hallway after class. “Steve… Did you get home late last night?”

“What? Nancy, why?”

“It’s just… I was helping with the forest sweep, the one to look for Will Byers, and afterwards I stayed to help Jonathan look more. Will and Mike have been friends forever, and I can’t imagine going through what Jonathan is- Sorry, not important.” Nancy takes a breath. “We ended up in the woods by your house and we heard a… commotion.”

“Nancy, what are you trying to say?”

“Are you okay, Steve? Because this is all getting really weird. Billy Hargrove was in your driveway with a bloody nose one second, and then the next he was gone.”

part nine

[miss-bushido]

Hard to be soft, tough to be tender

Written for @subeddieweek Day 5. Prompts: Bathing, Pain, Crying Title from the song ‘Help I'm Alive’ by Metric

CW: referenced childhood trauma, broken bones, brief mentions of a hospital setting

*Writing this was kind of cathartic for me as I too hate asking for help. A lot of the time, as a kid and sometimes as an adult, I felt like a burden. Like I should know something immediately, and that I shouldn't ask for help because I should be able to handle it. Lots of therapy has helped, and the feelings of inadequacy have largely gone away.

This has a happy ending, but if you feel this may not be a fic you want to read because it hits too close to home, I completely understand.*

Eddie hated asking for help. Had hated it since he was a kid. Whenever he’d had to ask his Dad for help with anything- Math homework, putting a model together, spelling a word he’d never encountered before- he was met with either a put-upon and long-suffering sigh, or a stream of abuse about how stupid he was, why didn’t he know this already, or even that he should be able to figure it out for himself. Even after his Dad went to jail, and Wayne proved himself to be much kinder than his brother, Eddie still had trouble with it.

So it was no surprise that when he broke his right ankle after stepping stage wrong at the Hideout, he shoved away all offers of help as he was being released from the hospital.

It was fine.

He had it under control.

Stop asking, Henderson.

Steve had pursed his lips, given him that patented bitchy look that Eddie could always soften with a kiss or a caress, and shook his head. “Hey, so we’re not doing this,” he said, gesturing his hand at Eddie in a circle.

“Doing what?” Eddie asked, purposefully needling his boyfriend.

“You acting like an asshole because the people who love you want to help,” Steve answered. “It’s not wrong to ask for help or to receive it, Eddie.” He wanted to add, ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell you that’, but decided it would be better left unsaid.

It must have shown on his face, though, because Eddie frowned and gave him both middle fingers before he stalked off on his crutches. Steve rubbed his temples and followed a few feet behind. He desperately wanted to say something, but he decided Eddie needed to understand firsthand that acting like a stubborn ass wasn’t helping anyone, least of all him. It took a lot of self control on Steve’s part not to automatically help him, and he felt like a complete shithead as he did it.

Almost as soon as he turned his back on Steve, Eddie knew he’d made a mistake. He was too proud and too stubborn to correct it, but the sensation was immediate. The pain in his ankle was insistent, and then the pain in his armpits from the crutches began to bloom and spread. He started to stumble a few times, but managed to right himself. He could feel Steve behind him. Knew his boyfriend would catch him before he fell on the floor. Would do anything to help him. Not just now, but in any aspect of their lives.

If only he could just make himself ask for the help.

Once they got outside, he muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath. It was hot, and the car, while not parked that far away, was still a distance for someone with a broken ankle. He heard the jingling of Steve’s keys behind him and steeled himself for the trek across the parking lot.

He’s a sweaty, gasping mess by the time he gets to the passenger side door. Steve unlocks it as fast as he can and then Eddie is pulling the door open, awkwardly getting in. Both of them stay where they are before Steve wordlessly takes the crutches from Eddie’s hands and puts them in the backseat, closing the door once Eddie’s legs are in the car, and then moves around to drive them back to their apartment.

Their fourth floor apartment, in a building with no working elevator.

Once inside, Eddie looks up the stairs, turns his head to face Steve, and then back again at the stairs, sighing heavily. It’s something he does whenever he wants Steve’s attention. Any minute now, Steve will sigh in return and offer himself to help Eddie up the stairs.

Any minute now.

Eddie blinked and turned his head again to look back at Steve, who is making a big show of getting the mail from their little mailbox, scrutinizing his fingernails for any dirt that could possibly be there. Doing anything but look at Eddie, or rise to the unspoken request.

Because Eddie had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want or need anyone’s help.

Eddie huffed out a short breath before he looked back up the stairs. Determination sets in, and he starts climbing, one step at a time. He’ll get up the stairs or die trying.

Well, not really, but it feels like it by the time he’s gotten up to the third floor. He leaned against the wall, red-faced and panting. His underarms felt like they’re on fire, and his non-broken ankle hurts like a bitch.

Steve, who had stayed a step behind him the whole time, just in case he started to fall or actually did ask for help, took a look at him, and wordlessly wrapped an arm around his waist. “Put your arm around me. Leave the crutches. I’ll come back for them.”

Eddie does as he’s told, feeling tears well in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as Steve helped him up the last bit of the stairs.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Steve said, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple. The action makes Eddie burst into tears. Steve quickly gets their apartment door open and pulls Eddie onto his lap on the armchair just inside the doorway. “Talk to me, please, Eddie.”

“I’m sorry- that…I’m sorry that I can’t ask for help,” Eddie stuttered, tears running freely down his cheeks. “I sh-should be able to handle it. I should know what to do and I’m stupid, stupid, stupid.” He is full-on sobbing now, all the shame of not being able to measure up to what his father expected of him at war with knowing that his father was wrong, and just how long it took him to come to that realization. “I feel like a b-burden all the time. Dropout, burnout, unsuccessful. You could…You could do so much better than me. Someone better who has their shit together.”

Steve kissed Eddie’s forehead, holding him as he poured everything out. He felt sadness and anger at odds inside of him. Sadness at how upset his boyfriend is, at the feelings of inadequacy he can hear through the raw emotion. Anger at how much his Dad fucked him up, and how the emotional damage is still there. When Eddie calmed down a little, Steve slid a hand into Eddie’s hair, lightly scratching his nails against his scalp. “I’ll say this as many times as I need to: you’re not a burden. Ever. I want to help you when you need it. I love you, and I’ll love you forever.” He felt Eddie ease against his body, still sniffling as he listened to Steve speak. “I don’t want anyone else. You’re my person, and I can’t imagine being without you for anything. There are guys who are more put together than both of us, but you’re who I want. I want to fall asleep next to you every night and wake up every morning with you. I want to see you in the kitchen, in the living room, in the car sitting next to me.” He can feel himself getting emotional again. “I want that now and when we’re old and grey with only six teeth between us.”

Eddie managed a small laugh, nuzzling into Steve’s neck. “If you need help with anything, you can ask me. It’s not weak to ask for help or to need help, my love. It makes you human, and fuck anyone who says otherwise.” He shifted to move Eddie so he can look at him in those coffee-colored eyes. “You are not weak. You’re strong. You’re Eddie Munson. You can do anything you put your mind to. And you have. I’m always in awe of you, and that you chose me to be with you. I’m nothing special, but you chose me and you make me feel like the most special person in the world.”

They’re both crying now, tasting salt tears as they kiss and comfort one another over the next ten minutes or more. They end up with Steve’s hands in Eddie’s hair and on the small of his back, and with Eddie’s face buried in Steve’s chest.

“Feeling any better?” Steve asked, rubbing his thumb against Eddie’s back.

“Kinda,” Eddie replied. “My body feels awful, and I’m sweaty as fuck from all the struggle-walking.”

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Steve said, his voice and tone sliding lower. “I’ll run the bath and we can sit in there together.” One of the perks of their apartment was that the bathtub was massive and easily fit both of them. “We need to wrap your cast in a plastic bag, though. It can’t get wet.”

“Okay,” Eddie murmured, melting into Steve even more if that was possible. He let himself be carried by Steve to the bathroom, his clothes taken off, and a plastic takeout bag with the words ‘Thank You’ on it in blue lettering and a smiley face underneath wrapped around his ankle.

“Bubbles, or no?” Steve asked as he turned the taps, getting the water running.

“No,” Eddie answered, watching him. “Just want to look down and see your hands on me, Stevie.”

Steve turned, a big smile on his face before he pulled Eddie in for a slow kiss. “Let me bring your crutches in and then I’ll come back in and join you.”

Within five minutes, he had done that and stripped as well. He turned the water off, steam rising into the air around them as he stepped into the tub. He held his hands out for Eddie. “Just the left foot,” he said. “You can drape the right one outside the tub.”

Eddie did as he was told, and soon, he was in the steamy water, Steve at his back with his strong arms wrapped around him. Eddie tilted his head to the left to rest just over Steve’s chest, his heart beating a familiar pattern.

“Thank you for loving me,” he said, voice low and quiet. He still felt as though he didn’t deserve it, but he was grateful for it now.

Steve kissed the back of his head and moved a hand to cup some water and run it over his chest. “You’re easy to love, Eddie. And I’ll never let you forget it.”