#but shoving him in a tiny plant pot

[cobaltfluff]

how to take care of your weird-looking plant (teru vash)

[ilsanslut]

꒷♡꒷ STUCK!

♰ featuring: nagi seishiro + shidou ryusei (separate) [blue lock]

♰ note: thank you all so much for supporting my last work as much as you did. it really means so much to me that people genuinely enjoy my writing and my content! now, as my second-ever work, i would appreciate it greatly if you would continue to support my work by reading, liking, and reblogging! also, I tried to make their sections as even as possible, but i'm a ryusei simp so uhhh enjoy!

sypnosis: in which you find yourself stuck in a rather precarious position and your boyfriend decides to "help" you. not without proper payment first, though. wc: 3.4k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. SMUT. fem/fem-bodied reader. stuckage. shidou is a warning on his own. accidental choki abuse (nagi). dry humping. degradation. unprotected sex. rough sex. creampie/breeding. spanking. name-calling/dirty talk (ryusei). ꒷꒦

NAGI SEISHIRO.

It was a normal weekend, unlike any other. It was just before noon, and you were cleaning your and Seishiro’s shared apartment while he was at the gym with Reo. You were diligently working to remove the accumulated dust from your wooden dresser with a disinfectant wipe that had a coconut scent when, all of a sudden, your hand bumped into something rather hard.

“Choki!!”

You shrieked, watching in horror as your boyfriend’s beloved potted cactus flew off of the dresser and knocked into the wall behind it. Everything moved in slow motion, and you could only gawk in horror as the pot spun once, twice, and then tumbled behind the dresser. You grimaced inwardly, awaiting the sound of shattering ceramics and the dull shuffling of displaced dirt, but it never came. Instead, the sound of the pot sliding down the wall and "gracefully" hitting the floor was heard instead.

With baited breath, you grabbed your phone, turning it to flashlight mode. You used it as a visual aid as you peered behind the dresser to assess the damage, sighing with relief when you saw Choki, Seishiro’s child, lying almost undisturbed between the wall and the backboard of the dresser.

Now here comes the difficult part, moving the dresser.

Kicking off your fuzzy house slippers to give yourself some traction, you grabbed the back end of one side and mustered all of your strength to shove the heavy thing out of the way—slowly, of course. Choki’s life was at stake here. However, you were only able to move the heavy thing out of the way just enough so that you could slip part of your body inside to reach for the plant. It was still a very tight fit.

Getting on your knees, you maneuvered between the tiny space you created, squeezing your arms, shoulders, and ribcage between them until the tension finally gave way at your waist. Breathing out in relief, your fingertips finally managed to grace the pot’s edge, pulling it into your grasp.

“Got . . . cha . . !”

You tried to shuffle backward, but you couldn’t. Attempting once more, you would come to realize that the dresser and the wall had some sort of death grip on your hips, rooting you in place. You were stuck. Trapped. And Nagi wouldn’t be home for another 30 minu—

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

You breathed, overjoyed at your boyfriend’s sudden voice. He always had the habit of moving in complete silence, despite his massive size. You hadn’t even heard him come home.

“Sei, oh, thank god! C-Can you pull me out? I think I’m stuck!”

You could barely make out the sound of his soft footsteps padding against the wooden floor as he made his way over to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he stood behind you, yet he made no effort to save you just yet.

“How did you even manage to do something like this?”

His confused tone held an unamused lilt, one that made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I was cleaning the dresser, and I accidentally knocked Choki over. They’re fine! B-But I can’t get out . . .”

Still nothing.

Was he mad? Disappointed? Since you could not see him, you could not tell. You were aware, though, that his gaze was "burning" into you. You shifted, partially in discomfort, as you made a point to wiggle your hips so that he could focus on the task at hand. As a result, you could hear him drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth. Before you could ask him what he was doing, you felt him kneel behind you. His two strong hands came into contact with the exposed skin around your hips, where your shirt was rising. He did not pull, though. The opposite happened; you felt him pressing against you, his bulge delightfully nestling against your folds through your thin pajama shorts.

“Seishiro?!”

He effectively silenced your confused warble in exchange for a surprised squeal when his open palm placed a firm smack on one of your cheeks. All the while, he shamelessly ground himself against your core, stating, “That was for Choki." You swore that you could hear the pout in his voice when he spoke.

“Removing you would be a hassle. Besides, I’m tired.”

B-But what about me?!

You wanted to protest, however, you refrained. You felt his lithe fingers pinch the fabric just over your clit as he pulled it to the side, resting it against your ass and exposing your pretty folds to his prying eyes. You heard his hands rustling with his sweatpants and boxers before you felt him tapping the pretty pink-flushed tip of his cock, which you loved so much, against your sensitive bud causing you to keen and your toes to curl.

“Wish you could see how pretty you look right now.” He mumbled, teasingly pressing the head of his cock against your entrance a few times, but never pushing in fully.

“I-If you got me out, Sei, then maybe I could . .” Your voice was unsteady as your anticipation began to build in the form of your puffy folds beginning to leak for him, the lewd sounds of it squelching around his tip echoing in your quiet room.

He answered you with silence and actions rather than with words. In one swift motion, he pushed entirely into you, and without waiting for you to adjust, he began to thrust his hips into you at a steady pace. You clenched around him, nails scratching against the backboard of the dresser, the wall, the floor—anything to brace yourself from your boyfriend’s fervent pace. Once he got started, he wouldn’t stop until he spilled entirely inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cum.

“S-Sei, it’s too much!” You mewled, yet your body writhed with pleasure. You always said this, and yet, he knew you could take it. You've done it many times before. That’s why he reached further into the space you had created to bunch up the back of your his shirt and used it as leverage as though he were pulling your hair to pummel into you faster and deeper. Your ass rhythmically pounded on his pelvis, sending a lewd ringing through your own ears as it echoed off the bedroom walls. Something about this precarious situation you were in mixed with the feeling of Seishiro’s cock hitting those sweet spots inside of you, enthralled you more than usual. You were close and he could feel it.

“Gonna cum f’me, already?” He grunted as his other hands squeezed your hip, their blunt nails digging into your flesh. His moans were heavenly, a sound you longed to hear, as your walls fluttered around him. The hand that was on your hip pressed itself against the edge of the dresser, shoving it effortlessly to the side and thus freeing you from your confines. Although he appeared so unsuspecting, Seishiro’s strength, when he decided to use it, was frightening. Your lower half fell to the ground, your breasts and cheek smushing against the wooden floors as you felt his soft fingertips rubbing fast, furious circles around your clit.

“Oh my god, S-Sei, I-I’m gonna—”

“C’mon, make a mess for me, pretty.”

You did exactly that, creaming delightfully around his cock while mewing in ecstasy. Before long, you could feel Sei's hot seed bursting inside of you and filling up your pretty pussy to the brim, as well as his hips stuttering against you. Both of you were panting as he pulled out of you, your releases dribbling out of you and pooling beneath you onto the floor.

You finally managed to get off your sore knees and elbows as you turned to face your lover with trembling limbs. It was at this point that you noticed Seishiro's eyes, which were burning with something fierce and unknown, were boring into your own. His eyes resembled that hungry expression he would have when his ego started to rule him on the field.

“Let’s do it again, Y/N. On the bed this time.”

God, he was going to be the death of you someday.

SHIDOU RYUSEI.

You had a rather eventful day. Starting off leisurely in the morning, you and your boyfriend Ryusei enjoyed a pleasant brunch together before deciding to head out to the beach that day. You had to pick a spot with some privacy because Ryusei insisted he was only there to “freshen up his tan”, which required him to be in the nude, while you were there to enjoy his prescene, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, and the sensation of sand between your toes. Only a short while ago, the two of you finally arrived home. Ryusei was currently taking his own shower, as you had already finished yours.

Relaxing on the couch in nothing more than an oversized shirt and your panties, you had decided to turn on some Netflix with the intention of finding either a good or a fun-bad horror flick to watch, when all of a sudden, the slippery lotion residue on your hands caused the remote to slip from your grasp and tumble onto the floor and skid beneath the coffee table. You groaned, head tossing back with exasperation, as this minor inconvenience was nearly enough to ruin your entire night and make you not even want to watch a movie anymore. Nonetheless, you sulked off the couch and sank to your knees, searching for the offending culprit beneath the coffee table. Somehow, it had managed to slide to the other side of the room, mocking you as it lay motionless between the walkway in the middle of the coffee table and the television. Any normal person would’ve simply gotten up and walked around the table to retrieve it, however, you were not like most people. I mean, look at your taste in men, for starters. Not to mention, you’re incredibly stubborn.

Instead, you crept beneath the table's glass top and between the second shelf, stretching your slender fingers as far as they could reach until they touched the black exterior of the remote. However, it was a little too far away for you to grasp, and your touch, combined with your wooden floors, only served to push it further away from you. You swore, glaring at the thing as though it had just offended your loved one, huffing in defeat as you decided to rise and walk to the remote.

But you couldn’t.

Your brow furrowed in perplexity as you placed one palm flat on the ground and the other on the surface beneath you, attempting but failing to push yourself back. You were wedged between the table's glass top and bottom shelves, flat on your chest. The more you wiggled, the further you seemed to wedge yourself in between the two surfaces that held you taut.

You stopped, dumbfounded. As much as you dreaded calling Ryusei for help because you knew he would taunt you endlessly instead of helping you . . . you did not have many other options.

“Ah, Ryu!!” Your voice carried through the hallways, hoping that he was out of the shower to hear you yell.

“. . . Yeah, babe?”

His voice made your heart lurch in your chest. You were already debating whether you should just say nevermind and try to wiggle out on your own, or put your pride aside and ask for his assistance. In the end, the latter would be victorious.

“Could . . . Could you come here for a second? . . . Please.” Your plea was quiet, your cheeks already burning with shame as you awaited your impending doom.

You raised your gaze towards the master bedroom, where he was currently. How cruel fate was to put you in a position where you would be forced to watch him approach. Each second felt like an eternity until you heard the soft padding of Shidou's feet leaving the carpeted bedroom to shuffle along the wooden floors, only to abruptly pause.

Sheepishly, you peeked up at him through your lashes to where he stood, chest bare, droplets of water dripping from his unstyled hair and body, a towel that he used for his hair wrapped around his shoulders, and a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist. His face was expressionless, his fuchsia oculars taking in the scene before them in silence. Your shy, embarrassed gaze, the position of you between the coffee table, and the cursed remote only inches away from his own feet.

“—You’re stuck, aren’t you?”

How you wished you were facing the other way to avoid seeing the way that maniacal grin that nearly resembled the Joker's formed on his face and how his cat-like eyes narrowed at you in amusement at your misfortune.

“ . . Yes.”

He barked out a laugh at you, his head tossed back in sheer, unabashed mania, much to your chagrin. Even though you knew this would happen, your cheeks couldn’t help but burn with frustration and shame. “I know, very funny. Now, could you help me out here, please? My knees are getting sore.”

Despite your whines, his mockery would continue, his large hands grasping both ends of the towel that rested on his shoulders as he waltzed over to you leisurely. “Hmm, I dunno, babe~.” He continued walking until he crouched right before you, his legs spread wide enough for you to see that he was already semi-hard beneath the fabric. Of course, he would be aroused by your misfortune. Tearing your gaze away from his manhood, which was only inches away from your face, you peered up at him only to see him grinning mercilessly down at you with mischief twinkling in his eye. “I gotta admit, I like this view of you. How’d ya know doggy was my favorite position~?”

Probably because you’ve put me in it multiple times before, asshole. You wouldn’t say that, though. You didn’t want to prolong your torment any further.

“Ryuseii.” You whined, mustering your best pitiful glance in an attempt to draw even an ounce of sympathy from your demon of a lover. “Please?” You tried with a pout.

You couldn’t tell if your attempt worked, however, with the way Ryusei’s feral grin would reduce to a playful smirk, you figured that you have gotten through to him. He raised his hand, patting your head twice and making sure to tousle your hair while he was at it. “I’ll see what I can do, cutie.”

He made a move to rise to his feet but paused mid-squat, “No promises, though.”

You waited until he was out of your view to roll your eyes at him, hands bracing themselves against the floor as you awaited to be freed from this nightmare. Ryusei sank to his knees behind you, humming aloud as though he were trying to make a big play out of figuring out how to get you out—or how you got there to begin with. His slender digits grasped at your waist, tugging halfheartedly. You knew better than anyone that Ryusei was capable of hoisting you into the air and tossing you around as though you were nothing. That being said, it was beyond obvious to you that he was obviously making a poor attempt on purpose.

“Wow, I dunno, Y/N. You see pre-tty wedged in here . . Maybe this’ll help.”

You had no idea when he had the opportunity to do it, but he had dropped his towel somewhere along the way, and you could feel him rubbing his semi-hard on against your panty-clad ass and making your clothed folds the focal point of attack.

“Ryusei—!” In frustration and arousal, you laboriously dragged out the syllables of his name. As much as you wanted to be mad at him, you knew that something like this was coming.

“Mm, yeah, keep saying my name just like that, baby.” He sighed blissfully, shamelessly now humping himself onto you until he was full mast, his hardened shaft twitching excitedly between your pillowy ass cheeks while his blushed tip beaded with pre. “Hah, shit, that’s it. ‘Could cum right now, all over ya’. You want that, angel? Want me to paint this pretty ass—” He paused, raising his palm high into the air before bringing it down unforgivingly against your rear to accentuate his point. “Look at that. Ya want me to paint this pretty ass with my nut, hm?”

"Yes, please, Ryu . . ?" You said against your better judgment as your thighs pressed against one another and your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

He chuckled throatily, already pulling your panties down your plump thighs until they rested on the backs of your knees. He lined himself up with your already drooling cunt, not wasting any time to push into you with one single thrust. He bottomed out inside of you, drawing all of the breath from your lungs. His pelvis pressed flush against you, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips and ass as he greedily pulled you against him. It was almost as if he were trying to force himself further into you than he already could. You whimpered beneath your breath, clenching around his cock as you felt his balls pulsing against your sensitive clit. He had only just entered you, and already he was about to cum.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy.” He snarled through clenched teeth, picking up his pace. “Grippin’ me so tight, suckin’ me in so good, ngh—s-so desperate to be stuffed with a cock.”

His thrusts were sloppy and uncoordinated, but he did everything he could to keep bullying his cock into you, drool dribbling over his parted lips. It should be illegal for you to feel this good. It wasn't fair. He wanted to ravish you—take his time turning your cunt into his personal little pocket pussy, his perfect fucktoy, already premolded to the shape of his dick. But damn, he was about to bust, and you were approaching your climax too.

His pace grew relentless, barely giving you time to breathe or even think as he forced your hips to fuck back onto him, drawing a helpless gasp or delighted moan from your pretty lips with each impassioned thrust. You squirmed in his hold, your breath coming out in hot tufts as your end grew near.

“R-Ryu, baby, hah, mphf!!” You could barely get the words out as he fucked you within an inch of your life. “I-I’m close! M-My clit, please! I c-can’t reach it; touch me, plea—”

“No.”

His response was curt—simple, snarled out in what could only be described as a ferocious growl. His movements grew sloppier, his hips faltering in their pace as his cock throbbed heartily inside of you, ready to burst. “You cum on my, ngh, fuckin’ cock or not at all. Ya hear me, y’little cock-lovin’ slut?”

You whined in protest, to which the forward brought his palm down heavily on your already reddening cheeks from just his grip on you alone. If he could’ve reached you, he would’ve had a vice grip on your hair by now. “Answer me, bitch.” He spat with false malice, “Y’gunna cream around my cock? Make this fat dick a mess, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Came your loud, unabashed chorus of unfiltered, unadulterated moans of sheer bliss.

Neither of you could hold back anymore. Ryusei spilled rope after rope of his hot, sticky seed into your abused cunt while your pretty folds creamed around his shaft in a way that could only be described as tantalizing. Silence, aside from both of your spent keens and blissed panting, filled the air around you. Once he was certain you were plugged full with his cum, Ryusei effortlessly snatched your body from between the coffee table, causing your exhausted body to collapse into his lap. As exhausted as he was, he made sure to cup your head so that it didn’t hit the ground too hard. He was always the sweetest when his post-nut clarity hit him. He took in your expression, noticing that your eyes were half-lidded and glassy with fat tears spilling from your waterline; your drool-covered lips were plump, red, and raw with the faintest of indentations along them from your pearly teeth; and your body convulsed and twitched ever so slightly from the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Not to mention the utterly fucked-out and euphoric look on your face.

. . . Ah, shit. He was hard again.

“Still with me, princess? . . Good. Come suck this cock clean and let me ruin that pretty face of yours even more~.♡”

ⓒ vampiie 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

[courtingchaos]

It’s Just a Question

A/N: Back on my bullshit. I’ve had some really hard times with my normal writing while also finding myself in some shitty circumstances. So this is how this came about. Just a lot of feelings. Technically plus sized reader but you can do whatever you want.

18+ NSFW No Minors

“Am I pretty?”

“What?” Eddie sprays toothpaste on the mirror, he’s so quick to ask.

“Am I pretty?” You scrunch your face up over and over, drawing your eyebrows down and crinkling your eyes. Purse your lips and frown deep and finally look over at him staring at you, toothbrush hanging from his mouth and arms braced on the countertop.

“Are you pretty?” He reiterates with a deep sigh. “Of course you are, you’re gorgeous. Especially right now when your hair matches mine and we look like two electrocuted cotton balls.” He’s not flippant but he’s definitely brushing you off.

You aren’t done though. “I’m serious, and I’m not asking if you think I’m pretty. Am I pretty like…Anne Hathaway.” You pull down on your cheek and watch it bounce back, albeit slower than it did when you were 20.

“Well…you don’t even look-no.” He stops quickly and spits in the sink and rinses his toothbrush, viciously shaking his head the whole time. “This is a trap and I refuse.” He says as he leaves you in the bathroom.

“Eddie it’s not a trap it’s an honest question!”

“This is like the worm thing and I’m not doing that again!” He yells over his shoulder before closing himself in the bedroom to get dressed for work. You sigh and turn to look at your tired reflection. Your perpetual eyebags answer your question for you, and your dusting of sun damage yells it louder from the mirror.

Not pretty, subliminally average.

Standing in line at the grocery store, Eddie slumped over the handle and picking at stray grapes, you ask again only this time with a visual aid.

“Okay, I mean like this.” You shove a copy of Rolling Stone under his nose, a new pop star gracing their cover in something sheer and tight. “I meant pretty like this.” You say quietly next to him. He chews on another free grape slowly, staring at the cover and tilting his head. He doesn’t move, just slides his eyes way over to give you the look.

“You’re prettier than her.”

“What about Juno Temple?” You quip back.

“She’s shorter than you. And British, doesn’t count.” He quips right back. You huff and shove the magazine back in its slot.

“You’re not understanding me.”

“No, I am. You’re just not listening to me.” He pushes the cart up a spot and continues his easy lean. “You’re pretty like…that.” He searches the newsstand by the register and points at a baking magazine, perfectly circled apple tart dusted with sugared cinnamon and you bark a loud laugh.

“A tart Edward?”

“Don’t twist my words. I said you’re pretty like that.” He smiles, pops another grape in his mouth and starts tossing things on the conveyer belt.

Pretty like a baked good.

He’s elbow deep in the shelf of succulents, looking for something called a ‘Black Rose’.

“I know it’s in here, there’s four dead ones up top.” He’s pushing little green teardrops to the side to find his prize, a loud ‘Ha!’ when he whips his hand out, holding the little plant by its little container.

“It’s so tiny.”

“Yeah and in like six months it might not be.” He gives you a cheesy smile and sets in the cart with your other potential house plant failures. Somehow he’s managed to keep a giant flat pot of succulents alive for almost a year and every time you go to the plant store, he adds another.

“Okay, what’s its name.”

You hum at him, tapping your finger along the cart when you get distracted. A willow of a woman walks in, hair shiny like water and flowing over her thin, petite shoulders. She looks like she’s on a mission, perfectly manicured hand pointing her in the right direction when she heads for a batch of bright zinnias. Her smile painted a bright coral like the plant she picks up and places in her cart, three more following and off she billows to the next aisle full of ivy. Eddie saw it the moment you stopped listening to him listing off names. The swivel of your head and then the tapping of your finger ceasing, knuckles going white around the cart handle. He watches you watch her and he knows the question is coming before you turn back around with that frown hewn into your forehead.

“Like this.” He holds up the small succulent, barely formed petals burnished a deep purple in the afternoon sun.

“What.”

“Pretty like this.”

“You don’t even-“ You scoff and cut yourself off, heavy eye roll directed at no one while you turn away and sulk by the snake plants.

He doesn’t tell you, but he names it after you.

The Big One happens during the summer. Chrissy is engaged, and her new belle and her decide to have a joint bachelorette party, everyone invited. You know Eddie’s people, all these random characters drawn together through something you don’t quite understand. You meet Chrissy fiancé and she’s just as bubbly and sweet as Chrissy herself. Eddie gives them your gift and drops a kiss on Chrissy’s cheek and it barely bothers you.

They’d dated just out of high school. 15 years ago and before Chrissy had realized why men just never hit the spot. She floats around her party and you hang around behind Eddie while he walks the two of you around in conversation. At some point you’d gone past your standard three (3) drinks and the mango seltzers are starting to make you a little resentful.

Thankfully you catch it, excuse yourself to the bathroom and give yourself a stern stare in the mirror.

It’s not your party.

They’re just friends.

It’s not about you.

…Is it ever?

There’s a reason you stop at 3 lately, that rolling black pit of self loathing feeds on bubbly things and it’s feeding on a blonde tonight.

So when you come back you sit at a table by yourself. You tuck your hands under your thighs and admonish yourself for how wide they are. There’s a tug of war happening between your self pity and your self depreciation, a tear balancing on your lashes while you roll the wet eyes under them. Eddie finds you bent over your phone and all you can think about is how wide your shoulders must have looked from that far away.

“Hey, where’d you go?”

“I had to uh, go to the bathroom.” Your pause gives you away, just south of tipsy, and Eddie smiles, his big hand sliding under your chin to hold it between his fingers. A move that usually has you melting into his palm, but tonight?

You tug your head away and he frowns. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t think I need to be here anymore.”

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m just fine. I’m gonna get an Uber home, you stay.” You stand up and hate the feel of your clothes on you. Your hair feels too heavy and the makeup you spent an hour on is suddenly sticky and tacky and wasted on you.

“No, we’ll leave together.” Eddie has concern all over his face. He tries to give you a hand when you obviously stumble and you slap it away.

The fight only starts when you start crying, unable to control your emotions anymore. You spend the whole ride home feeling sorry for yourself, saying the most inane shit Eddie’s ever heard.

“You can’t ask me to compare you to Chrissy. That’s not fair!” He laughs humorlessly when you ask him who’s prettier. “One, it was 15 years ago! Two, I’m not doing this anymore!” He yells and it shuts you up. He can hear the click of your jaw with how quick you stop yammering on drunkenly about your thighs.

“If you want to play that game, let’s look at your past relationships, huh?”

“What relationships Eddie?!” You scream back at him. There’s a part of his being that can feel the backslide into the terrible habit of yelling to get his point across. Picked up from his father and quelled at every turn, but today you drag it out of him.

“Oh don’t start with that shit again.”

“You mean all the guys that fucked me in the dark?! Or do you mean the ones that pretended not to know me in public?”

He gets to your apartment in record time, slamming the car in park and scrambling to hold your seatbelt buckled before you can run out.

“Let me out.” Your face is red from crying and from hatred and from loathing.

“No.” He says quieter but with finality. You stare at him, waiting for him to move his hand but he won’t, keeps his fingers locked around yours.

“You’re drunk, and you’ve been in a bad mood lately.” He knows he knows he knows that was the wrong thing to say. It spilled out of his mouth before he could throw the net out for those errant words and you give him the meanest smile he’s ever seen on your face.

“A bad mood?” You nod your head like you’re agreeing but he’s bracing for impact. “A bad mood. Tell you what, when I have a fucking roster of groupies and easy boys behind me, then we can talk about my bad mood.”

“You’re mad because of people I’ve slept with?”

“Look at me Eddie!” You scream and it breaks on his name, the sob you’d been swallowing for an hour finally surfacing. “I don’t fucking look like Chrissy and I sure as fuck don’t look like Steve! You still have that picture of that stand in drummer on your profile you fucked around with! Every single one of them is-fuck! Stunning!” You finally wrench the seatbelt out of his hand and free yourself. “I look like a fucking joke when you take me places. You think I don’t see people staring?” Another mirthless laugh before you kick the door open and wobble your way out. “Make someone else laugh, Eddie.”

He watches you stomp off inside and slap the button for the elevator. There’s enough time he could get out and follow you in and upstairs and finish the yelling match and maybe get you to see straight.

But he doesn’t. His grip tightens on the steering wheel so much it creaks. He feels on the verge of tears and when you disappear behind the closing doors he punches his door and drives home too fast.

The doorbell rings and Eddie answers it without thinking. You look small in your hoodie, your hair damp and braided over your shoulder. He’s so used to you standing tall with him, a sturdy pillar he can lean on instead of always having to be the support. To see your shoulders pulled in tight makes his chest ache.

“I’m sorry I haven’t answered your texts.” You say quietly.

“I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

“God don’t-“ you wipe at your eyes and stare at your feet. “Don’t apologize to me. I shouldn’t have gone off the fucking handle like that.”

“Maybe, but you’re obviously feeling some kind of way that you aren’t telling me about.”

“It’s the normal shit, Eddie. I just let it get to me.”

He holds the door open wider and nods his head over to the couch. “You wanna tell me about it?”

You don’t, not really. It’s going to go the way it always does with you explaining a life long loathing and the few times you see daylight out of the pit it holds you in.

“I shouldn’t have started that pretty shit.” You shake your head and clutch the pillow tighter around your middle. Eddie sits on the other side of the couch, long legs tucked up under his chin and you wish you could fold in on yourself like that. There must be a twist to your mouth or a shift of your body because Eddie sighs deeply.

“You know you don’t have to ask me that.”

“I know, but that’s not what I was asking anyways.”

“What does it matter?”

You shoot him a puzzled look. “I mean, I just want-I’d like to know if-“ you start and stop and Eddie just waits until you stop floundering.

“If I think you’re pretty, what does the rest matter?”

“It just does.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you hide it behind your fist. Eddie catches it, of course, and crawls over to you, grabbing your quivering chin and making you look up.

“I can’t undo a lifetime of self loathing in one afternoon, but I can definitely help cut through that shit one compliment at a time.” He gives you a gentle kiss and feels the smattering of tears hit your face, his thumb coming up to wipe them away. He cradles your face till you bury it in his neck and quietly cry for a while.

You loose count of how many sorry’s you give him and he finally tells you enough with a smile. He gives you his phone and tells you to order dinner and he disappears for a few minutes in his room.

Later, after food and more talking and a quiet nap spent curled up against Eddie’s side he asks if he can take you to bed.

“Sure grampa.” He smiles at your humor, an improvement to the tears earlier. He gets you out of your Sad Clothes and you quickly get under the blankets. He wants to say something but he knows to start small.

Starts with the lights off and sheds his clothes before crawling under the blankets from the foot of the bed. It makes you laugh and wind your legs around him, a win in his book. He kisses up your legs leaving a wet trail from your ankles to your thighs before you feel your face growing hot the closer he gets to your center. When you think he might pull your underwear off he doesn’t, instead kissing up your soft stomach to your breast and it isn’t until his curls spill out from under the blanket that you can hear him murmuring against your skin. Chanting “beautiful beautiful beautiful” and laying down “I love you’s”. His nose runs along under your chin while he kisses up to your ear “so pretty so perfect”. He runs his hands up into your hair and hold you in place while he hovers, warm brown eyes staring lovingly into yours.

“You have no idea how lucky I am.”

“Eddie…”

“No, don’t start.” He kisses you long and slow and it makes you tear up in a good way. He notices them hanging in the corners of your eyes and kisses those away while you laugh at him, watery and light and he knows he’s winning. It isn’t long before he’s got you trapped under him, legs tugged up around his hips so he can fuck into you slow and deep, his fingers still carding through your hair and keeping your eyes on him.

“So good for me.”

“Keep your eyes on me baby.”

“Just me and you.”

You couldn’t close your eyes if you wanted to, anchored to his stare and his touch and the way he whispers at you such sweet things. He kisses you deep when he feels you tightening around him. Thighs pulled tight around his hips, hands grasping for his shoulders to hold him tight to you while you spasm and gasp around him. He follows soon after, dropping his head down to nuzzle into your neck.

“Sweet girl.”

“Always so good to me.”

“Love you so much.”

Eddie lets you unwind from him before he lays on his back beside you.

“Can I show you something?” He pulls you in next to him so you have to drape over his chest, tattoos swelling under his deep breath. He holds his phone over your heads and finds the photo album he was looking for. You catch a glimpse of one of you and start to turn your head into his chest before he tuts at you.

“What did we just talk about?”

Instead you give him the benefit of doubt and let him scroll through. He talks about all the photos he has of you and why he kept them. Why he took them or got them from Robin or Nancy or one of the kids on one of the many outings. He’s got pictures of sunsets and really good food and flowers and his succulent pot. There’s a skyline in the rain from a green room he was in that he tells you reminds him so much of you. Says something about composition and the rain and how it comforts him like you do and if you weren’t wrung out you’d start crying again. He scrolls for a half hour explaining every photo and why they’re all you or remind him of you and how he finds you in the things he finds beautiful.

“So yes, I do.” He grabs your chin and you melt into his touch as he pulls you in for a soft kiss. “I think you’re pretty and beautiful and stunning and I will remind you every day.” Another peck before he cradles your head against his chest.

One day, maybe, you won’t have to remind yourself that it doesn’t matter. That Eddie thinks you’re pretty and that’s all you need, but today you know it for sure and feel it for sure and it’s enough.

(Sacrifice for the read more)

[doobea]

scenario that is rotting my brain (just sharing ! don’t feel pressured to write about this):

cat rin and sae (add anyone else you wish!!)) 😃😃 au them having cat ears and tail and reader’s their ‘owner’ ((nsfw or sfw))

for more context,, they hide their cat characteristics in public but when they come home to reader they let loose and reveal their ‘true form’ 🤭🤭 reader could just be a childhood friend who found out about them or someone who ‘picked them up’ and taken care of them and have since lived tgt

synopsis: headcanons of cat!sae + cat!rin (sfw + nsfw) bye what if you found them in a trashcan or a cardboard box out in the rain LMAO

content: bro idk they're grumpy cat boys, fem!reader, explicit under sfw, mdni a/n: anon u have a crazy imagination and im living here for it (i got carried away and now this is so long whoops im sorry)

how you found them

Living day to day as a working college student gets boring fast. You're not the type to have roommates because of your packed schedule of studying, school, part-time job, and more studying right after. With, of course, a couple of "girl meals" sprinkled in throughout the minimal free hours you have. You live in a small studio apartment right off of the main campus and, after your halfway point through the academic year, you started to realize that it's incredibly lonely.

You were heading back late from the library one night in the pouring rain when you heard a series of muffled meows right underneath a parked car outside your apartment. It didn't take much coaxing to convince the pair of scrawny cats to crawl into your bag as you rushed inside from the torrential rainfall. Ok, cool, maybe this was a sign from the above to make you feel less isolated and depressed?

Wrong! They were super cute the first night, snuggled up against each other to keep one another warm but the next morning was an absolute disaster. They hated each other. Cue tons of running around, hissing, biting, and scratching (maybe a few of your potted plants died in the process - rip). You had no idea why they were together in the first place.

It took a solid two weeks before they finally settled down at your place. And it took another two weeks for you to realize that maybe they're not really just cats. With just two quick kisses on their noses, before you went to sleep one night, led to you waking up in bed with two gorgeous men wrapped around your limbs. But wait, they still kept some of their cat characteristics - ears and tails!

cat!sae (sfw)

Sae reverts back into his feline form whenever he feels the urge to explore and have alone time. His favorite spots to lounge around in your apartment consists of the sofa armrests, the top area of the kitchen cabinets that are impossible to reach (he's always so dusty when he jumps off smh), and your clothes.

He's definitely the type to push items off the countertop/table to get your attention. Specifically goes after the ones with food or liquid in them if he's feeling extra needy.

Likes it when you scratch behind his ears and rub his chin - but don't do it for too long! Any wrong angle will cause him to ignore you for the rest of the day (so picky...). He loves/hates it when you pick him up - everything has to be on his schedule!

When you're getting ready to sleep, he claims the space at the end of the bed, almost as if he's guarding you. Probably sleeps curled up in a ball and snores (just a tiny bit).

His humanoid form carried over his cat traits - he wears a hat to hide his folded cat ears and an oversized hoodie in order to shove his tail up his back.

Will straight up ask you to scratch and rub his ears again, not really understanding the difference in circumstances. His favorite position is laying his head on your lap when you're on either the bed or sofa.

Sae loves to tease you physically whenever he has the chance but he's always so expressionless about it. You're cooking in the kitchen? He'll walk by you and let his tail slightly graze against your back. Grabbing something? Suddenly he needs to grab something too and stands behind you to reach for whatever random object his attention shifts to, making sure that his chest leans against your body.

In public, he purposely wears his hat loose so that you have to fix it for him. He thinks it's funny and adorable seeing you panic but it's also just an excuse for him to have you touch him.

cat!rin (sfw)

Whenever Rin is having a bad day he turns back into a cat and hides under your bed or dresser, only coming out when it's time for dinner or when you're about to go to sleep. His favorite spots, when he's not in a mood, are: behind the shower curtains, inside your kitchen cabinets, and underneath the blankets of your bed (he likes dark areas to be emo I guess).

Unlike Sae who pushes things off the surface for your attention, Rin will just come up to you and sit next to you when you're doing tasks. For example, if you're studying for an exam, he'll jump to an empty spot on the table and keep you company until you're done.

Scratch his back and give him head pats! He’ll forever be in your favor and he’ll vocalize it too. He's extremely easy to please when it comes to physical affection but it took you a long time to gain his trust completely.

His favorite place to sleep is next to your head! Definitely the type to sprawl his body across your pillow, purr super loudly, and most likely the type to drool too (hopefully you don't mind!). Bonus: he's always the one to wake you first by making "biscuits" on your stomach.

When he's in his humanoid form, Rin doesn't really go outside that much. If he has to, he's covered from head to toe in a black baseball cap, sunglasses, a face mask, a black jacket, and long trousers.

He stares at you a lot in his cat form, that habit doesn't stop when he's in his humanoid form either. You don't find it weird at all - it's oddly calming and kinda cute that he's always looking after you. Bonus: it took him a while to realize that bringing you dead birds and rats (in both cat/humanoid forms) wasn’t romantic at all.

During a particularly windy day, his hat blew away and a kid saw his ears, you're bad at lying so you tried convincing the kid that Rin was just a very exclusive toy you found online.

He's only physically affectionate with you in his cat form but, outside of that, he shows his affection very awkwardly through small shirt tugs and just tailing you around the apartment.

nsfw feat. both brothers (bye why do i feel embarrassed while writing this)

Everything is a competition to them. Ever since you took them in, they thought about a lot of ways to make it up to you, whether it be helping you with chores around the house or attempting to cook you meals (because let's be real they are unemployed!). It was Sae's brilliant idea to compensate you in the other department.

It starts off almost too innocently. After about three months of living together, your noisy neighbors started asking you about the mysterious men living at your apartment and to which both brothers replied that they were your boyfriends (shocker I know). You assumed that they were just weirdly possessive since you were kinda their only caretaker and still had no idea where they came from.

You made sure that they had enough space to sleep on your sleeper sofa when they decided to stay in their humanoid forms but that night they both decided to crash in your bed (they both couldn't sleep because of "discomfort").

You were quick to pick up on their physical wants and needs. Sae comes off as almost a selfish lover while Rin is rather selfless. Sae likes to focus his attention on your physical traits while Rin makes sure that you're doing mentally and emotionally okay during intimacy.

Both like having their ears pulled, Sae more than Rin, but Rin loves it when you tug on his tail and give him praises (specifically only him). Of course, both also love leaving love bites all over your body and it's an endless amount of licking for down there.

Nights like that usually end up with Sae spooning you and Rin resting peacefully on your chest. The next morning starts off with a breakfast competition of who can cook you the best omelet (spoiler alert it's neither of them).

[violettduchess]

A/N: I am so happy to be able to share my gift for the lovely @ikeromantic 💜 A deep dive into your blog told me you love AUs as much as I do so I was so happy to create one for our favorite Lelouchian.

Thank you to @ikemenlibrary and @sunnyikemen for hosting and for being supportive, accommodating and all-around superstars. 💜

Clavis x Emma

Magic AU, Soulmates AU, First Kiss, Enemies to Lovers

WC: ~2k

The sun is glowing a bright lemon-yellow as Emma closes the wooden door to her shop. It’s a beautiful door, made of dark walnut and decorated with silvery moons and stars. Across the top, the words “Belle Magie” are etched into the hard wood. At night, the lettering glows a soft gold. Humming to herself, she wraps her free hand around the ornate brass doorknob and a subtle, warm orange glow emanates from her fingertips. The moons and stars flash once and she hears a satisfying, soft whoosh of magic. The door to her shop is now locked via enchantment and no one except Emma will be able to enter and poke around at all the treasures that line her shelves and counters.

Smoothing down her ochre and black robes, she carefully makes her way across the cobblestone street to the shop that is literally across from hers. Her nose wrinkles at the sign that hangs above the wooden door: “Lelouchian Enchantments” written in swirling, silver lettering that she would say is barely legible. His note, written in the same dizzying writing, is clutched tightly in her hand as she pushes open the lavender-colored door with a celestial design nearly identical to her own. But that is where the similarity ends.

Whereas Emma’s shop is neat, organized by ingredients, everything with its own place and labeled in her own very careful handwriting, his is a gigantic explosion of almost anything one can imagine. Bottles filled with liquids of all colors and bottles with questionable things floating in them, dried herbs and seeds in pots and packets, a whole section of plants that bite anyone who comes near them, not to mention odd gemstones, vibrant powders, paints and feathers. She ducks underneath the silver vines that have wrapped themselves around the wooden ceiling beams, ignoring the way they contract and rustle their leaves at her, and approaches the counter where she finds Clavis himself, carefully sorting what looks like glittery kidney beans.

“I got your missive. I believe it broke in through my window in order to deliver itself.”

At the sound of her voice, he turns, golden eyes gleaming like copper in sunlight. He wipes his hands on the folds of his pale lavender robes, grinning slowly. She is forced to admit to herself for the millionth time that Clavis is hardly unpleasant to look at, per say. But oh, how he irks her, with his smooth words, flamboyant personality and flashy enchantments. 

“Oh dearie me, when I said it was urgent, I suppose that gave it permission to cause destruction. I apologize.”

She bats away several tiny golden motes that have taken an interest in her chestnut hair and Clavis lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers in invitation. The golden pinpricks of light float towards him, circling his wrist and then solidify into a gold bracelet.

Refusing to be distracted by his tricks, she unscrolls his letter and lays it on the counter.

“Well? Where is it?”

“So impatient,” he tuts as he kneels down, lifting an ornate silver box from under the counter. It’s about the size of his hand and she can’t help but watch the way he trails his fingertips over the decorative embellishments. He has such elegant hands.

One brow arches slowly as she crosses her arms, shoving that thought away and burying it in annoyance.. “Well…..are you going to open it….?”

He sighs theatrically. “Some people have no sense of showmanship.”

Her lips quirk into a small, involuntary grin. “I’m not one of the poor suckers who come in here for your tricks and potions, Lelouch. Now open the box.”

He tilts his head, clearly enjoying how much she is trying to hide her curiosity. His hand rests on the lid of the box but doesn’t move.

“Don’t you want to know the story of how I acquired such a treasure? Why, it’s a tale of mighty heroics the likes of-”

“No. No, I do not.”

He pretends to be offended but the light in his eyes gives away the truth. 

“But it involves a goblin merchant from Benitoite and a heartsick wizard from the Jade Forest and-”

“And a dragon and a sea witch and a bloody one-eyed pegasus. Clavis, just open the box!” 

He laughs and it is the needle deflating the balloon of irritation that had overtaken her. She’s never met anyone with a laugh quite like his. It’s almost musical, but in the way of the inviting, simple melody of a children’s song. Something that stays with her, imprinting itself on her mind.

“Such an impatient pumpkin.”

“Don’t call me pumpkin.” The response is automatic, a reflex built over the long while she has known him. The first time Clavis had seen her do magic and seen the yellow-orange glow her magic emanates, he had bestowed her with that aggravating nickname.

Nimble fingers curl over the lid of the box and then he lifts it, revealing a round, milky-white stone nestled into a bed of black velvet. It reminds her immediately of the moon against a starless night sky.

She tilts her head quizzically. “This is the all-power Amor Lapis?” She had imagined something called the “Love Stone” being far more ostentatious, something pink or red and wild with sparkles. Something that would take her breath away. This stone, while pretty in its own way, looks rather ordinary.

“Such a skeptic.” He lifts the stone from its box, holding it in the palm of his hand. “It will only glow when two soulmates have found each other.” He lifts his gaze to her, his smile playful. “Know any perfect couples?”

She rolls her eyes, reaching out to touch the stone. “There’s no such thing as a perfect-” Her fingers brush Clavis’s palm and suddenly, the middle of the white stone begins to brighten, a soft glow radiating out from the center.

She jerks her hand away even as he nearly drops it. Her heart roars to life, knocking wildly around inside her chest.

Neither of them move and then, at the same time they both do, Clavis uncharacteristically fumbling to put the stone back in its box and she taking several steps back, one hand curling into the velvet folds of her cloak.

“It’s broken! It’s clearly defective!” Why does her voice sound just a bit shrill to her ears?

He clears his throat. She’s rarely seen him so rattled.

“It….oh dear…..maybe it is.” He frowns, staring down at the stone, at the dull, cream color of it, no glow to be seen. Then he draws in a breath, one that even she can hear shaking and looks at her. There is something unfamiliar in the depths of his sunrise eyes.

“We should try that again.”

“Try what again, exactly?”

“Touching.”

She should be balking at the very suggestion. 

She should already be halfway out of his crazy shop. 

She shouldn’t be stepping closer again, her gaze jumping from the stone back to him and then back again. 

And she really really should not be saying-

“Alright. To-to prove its deficiency.”

The smooth, dark counter is a barrier between them, one that feels like armor, something that will protect her although what she needs protecting from is uncertain, some nebulous thing forming on the edges of her consciousness, some unknown dream rising from the shadows of slumber.

Clavis then holds out his hand, palm up, his gaze meeting hers. Her heartbeat drums wildly through her veins, a rhythm she has never known before. Slowly she lifts her hand and places it in his. His skin is cool and smooth, soft in a way she would not have expected. Emma can feel his magic just here, flowing through him. It feels shockingly calm, not the wild chaos she thought it might be but soothing, like the scent of lavender, the soft pastels of the sky at sundown. She can feel her own magic responding, warming as it flows through her.

Beneath their joined hands, the Amor Lapis begins glowing again, a soft white light like a tiny flame igniting inside the stone. Her heartbeat roaring in her ears, she slowly withdraws her hand from his and watches as the glow dims and then, when they are no longer touching, winks off like a tiny candle snuffed out by a breeze. When Emma has gathered enough courage, she raises her gaze from the milky-colored stone to Clavis and her heart trips over its own beat. His eyes rival the glow of the stone, something new burning in their golden depths. The light of revelation. The light of truth. The light of desire.

When he finally speaks, his voice sounds soft, breathy in a way that causes Emma to bite the inside of her lip at the sound.

“Dearie me,” he murmurs, his gaze locked with hers, bright with an intensity that feels almost physical. “If that happens when we touch hands, imagine what might happen if we actually kiss.”

The word lingers between them, shimmering in the air like desert heat over sand dunes. Emma unconsciously licks her lips and Clavis’s gaze drops there, fast as quicksilver. His own lips part slightly as he stares at the full curve of her lower lip, the sweet bow of the top. His own voice, his own words, echo like thunder between them. 

….if we actually…..

….kiss….

Emma hasn't moved, hasn’t said a word, her soft eyes wide as a deer’s startled by a sudden, unexpected sound. And then he realizes what he said, what he has actually suggested and shame floods him, a tsunami of embarrassment that washes away the glimmer of hope, the clouds of desire that had overtaken him. 

What the hell was he thinking, talking like that? As if someone like her, someone so intelligent and kind and talented, someone beautiful inside and out, would ever be soulmates with someone like him. Forget soulmates, she doesn’t even like him. 

He hangs in head, soft twilight locks falling across his forehead, his knuckles white as he grips the counter with trembling hands. Stupid. Idiot. Never good enough. Never smart enough. Never ever would he be enough for someone else.

“Nevermind, I lost myself for a moment.” The words are acrid on his tongue and he feels the hot wash of color staining his cheeks and neck. “Obviously, there’s no way–”

Her hands are suddenly gripping those warm cheeks, pulling him towards her, forcing him to lean over the counter, above the stone, where she presses her lips to his. The Amor Lapis explodes with radiance, a tiny supernova encased by smooth stone. Even with closed eyes, Emma notices the brightening of the light but right now, she does not care. Because right now, she is holding Clavis’s face in her hands, and she is falling falling falling into kissing him.

At first he freezes, shock turning his blood to ice water in his veins. But then he realizes her mouth is really there, pressed against his, and then the burst of light automatically closes his eyes and the shock begins to thaw.

Now all he feels is the warmth of her kiss, the tentative movement of her lips and he gasps, reaching across the counter to touch her. Cradling each other’s face, they kiss, at first slowly, drinking in the fragile newness of the sensation, the unveiling of the truth that has been growing in both their hearts, quietly. Steadily. And then novelty slowly turns to pleasure, to desire. He grows bolder, sliding a hand down to the nape of her neck, holding her there so he can part her lips and sink into the sweet taste of her. If this is a dream, may he never wake up.

Emma sighs against him, a sound that echoes the twinkling of diamond-bright stars in a black velvet sky. All this time….all this time she’s been falling in love and never even realized it.

Minutes pass. Or maybe hours. Neither of them can say when they finally pull away from one another. Breathless, light-headed, floating, they both glance down at the Amor Lapis. The stone is luminous, glowing like a tiny moon dropped from the heavens. 

And it will continue to give off its beautiful light, for the rest of their days.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @ikesimpleton @mastering-procrastinating @namine-somebodies-nobody @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @bubblexly

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Breathing Room

@wolfstarmicrofic June 15, word count 742

Previous part First part

McGonagall ushered them over to the gardens where Pomona Sprout was waiting for her. She was a plump older woman who spent her retirement tending to the vegetable patch and exotic flowers she kept in a little greenhouse. 

“Good morning boys,” She announced as they carefully walked around her plants. “Gather round, gather round. Come on Mr Pettigrew, I won’t bite. Ah, good. Right then, today you’ll be helping me plant these seedlings.” She pointed at two dozen trays filled with tiny sprouting plants. “Now watch me very closely. You dig a little hole for them in the earth I have already prepared for you and you gently, and I mean gently, remove a plant from the tray and transfer it into its new home. Make sure to leave them enough breathing room. If they’re too close together, they won’t flourish. Right let’s get started then,” She clapped her soil-caked hands together and set them to their task. 

Remus was still sore from the previous day’s task of painting fences. He could hear the rest of the campers down by the lake, splashing and shrieking, clearly having a lot of fun. 

“It’s only 6 trays each, we’ll have it done in no time,” James said cheerily. James was wrong. 

Remus ended up sitting on the ground and planting as far as he could reach before crawling forward and repeating the previous step. They’d been at it for two hours and managed two trays each. 

“There has to be an easier way to do this,” He grumbled. Pomona had disappeared behind her greenhouse, and they hadn’t seen her since.

Remus lay on the ground, stretching out his sore back and neck muscles. He was fine if he could keep moving, but repetitive movements and being hunched over made him ache far quicker than anything else. 

The sun was warm on his face and the light breeze made it almost pleasant. A shadow fell across him, blocking the warmth. He shielded his eyes with his hand and opened them. Sirius grinned back at him. 

“I’ve had an idea,” He said as he held up a small plant pot. He knelt beside Remus and shoved it into the earth. When he pulled it out, there was a perfect hole ready for the seedlings to be deposited in. 

“Sirius, you absolute genius,” Remus said, amazed. Sirius leaned over and stole a kiss. Remus’s eyes darted to the other two, but they hadn’t noticed. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Sirius winked at him. “Oh, they know by the way, so no need to hide,” He jabbed his thumb in James and Peter’s direction. Remus couldn't quite believe it, but as James and Peter hadn't said anything, clearly they didn't have a problem with him. “Oi, you two use the plant pots,” Sirius showed them what he’d done and the planting went so much faster. Sirius and James ran up and down the vegetable patch jabbing the little plant pots into the ground while Remus and Peter followed more slowly behind them, burying the plants in the holes left behind. They were done in no time. 

Pomona found them all stretched out on the grass, Sirius, James and Peter telling Remus about the mischief they got up to over previous summers spent at the camp. 

“Boys, I gave you a job to do,” She said sternly, hands moving to her hips, “Do I have to go get Minerva?”

“But we’ve finished,” Peter complained as they all sat up. 

“Finished?” She asked incredulously. She peered behind them and her eyes widened in shock at the neat rows of plants. “Well I never,” She muttered under her breath. She shook her head and checked her watch. “Well done, boys. Might as well take an early lunch before the rest of the rabble get back. Thanks for your help,” She called after them as they walked back to their cabin to get cleaned up. 

“I need to wash my hands, badly,” Remus moaned, scrapping at the soil coating his nails. 

“I wonder what Minnie’s got planned for us this afternoon,” James pondered aloud. 

“Oh plenty, Mr Potter. Don’t you worry about that,” McGonagall said, emerging from the store cupboard. The four of them jumped out of their skins. “Mr Lupin, you may want to apply more sunscreen, you’re looking a little red dear,” She crinkled her eyes in a smile as they hurried away in case she gave them another job before lunch.  

Next part

[crackedpumpkin]

ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɴɪɴᴇ ||

A/N: holy shit guys look its an update omg

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

The bed is cold. Your phone sits on the nightstand just right next to it, its usual buzz absent. The sun is slowly rising, its gold-dipped rays slowly but surely shining through the open window of your room. 

You, however, are in the kitchen with your mother who’s fussing over the table filled with numerous potted plants of different sizes. Some almost slapped you in the face with their leaves, while some were the size of your hand. Having walked into this mess first thing in the morning is not the way you expected to start your day. 

“Tell me where you got these from again?” You push away a leaf that nearly pokes you in the eye, glaring at the plant. The audacity. You’re lucky that my mom’s here, or I’d leave you out in the street.

Your mother rolls her eyes with an exasperated sigh, a hand propped on her hip as she waters them. “It just slipped my mind that the delivery is coming today. Besides, I only ordered one. I don’t know how they delivered eleven. You should give some to your friends! It’s good feng shui.” She nods knowingly.

“They don’t believe in that stuff.” 

She shakes her head disapprovingly, moving some of the pots to the end of the dining table. “Oh? Do they open their umbrellas indoors too? Do they cut their toenails at night?”

“Only Michael from what I remember.” You recall, shuddering at the tiny detail your brain retained from the first day of school. 

“Don’t you have school today?” She asks as if only just remembering that her daughter is still a student. “What’re you still doing here? Go, go, go!”

“Calm down dude, we have a late day today. Only gotta be at school by eleven instead of eight.” You laugh, backing away slowly when she narrows her eyes at you. 

“I am not your ‘dude’, I’m your mother, young lady. Where did you learn how to be so impolite to your elders…” She sighs, shaking her head. 

“Jake taught me.” The mere mention of your brother’s name is enough to kill the easygoing atmosphere in the kitchen. You see her shoulders stiffen, though she pretends to continue organising the eleven potted plants. 

“Go take a shower, and get some breakfast outside. I haven’t gone grocery shopping yet.” Pretending that everything is okay is usually your parent’s default response, you’re not surprised by this in the least. 

“Sure,” You say breezily, making your way to the bathroom and swallowing the small lump in your throat. After emerging from your room and determining if you look presentable enough to be around society, you grab your bag and head to the door. 

On your way out, something catches your eye. You pause, eyeing the tiny bamboo succulent sitting on the dining table. “I’m taking this.” She nods in reply, too preoccupied with making a list of groceries to wave goodbye. 

"Peace offering," you murmur to yourself, a half-smile playing on your lips as you glance at the bamboo. The apartment door clicks shut behind you, leaving the atmosphere inside to the grocery list and the lingering traces of unresolved emotions.

Your pocket rustles as you move, shoving a hand in to take out the contract you had stuffed inside earlier. Staring down at the paper that pretty much holds both you and Miles together heightens your guilt for lying to him. 

Sure, maybe lying about your name isn’t a big deal to many, but he’d begun to actually bond with you -  you can tell that much. Furthermore, you’d mostly forgotten about the contract in hanging out with him during your sketching sessions, and it’d become almost a habit to refer to him as a friend in your mind.

But the betrayal on his face that day is more than enough to make you regret everything. Now though, is a chance to make it up to him. To apologise, and to make things right. That’s why you brought the contract along. You have to show him that you’re not a bad person. That you’re sorry.

And to do that, an olive branch is necessary in the form of caffeine. 

You pull out your phone and begin to text him. 

abuelita [ 10:15 AM ]: heya

abuelita [ 10:15 AM ]: are you free today? i have something to pass you

bug [ 10:30 AM ]: i have a couple mins after my evening patrol. 

bug [ 10:30 AM ]: ill be at the lion building rooftop

The rest of school fills you with nothing but nerves, anticipating your meetup with Miles. Even a study session at the library turns out to be unfruitful, to no one’s surprise. Nicole and Michael were initially concerned, but after a simple excuse of being on your period is made, no one else questions your mood.

You make your way to the meeting point, a coffee cup in hand. The hot liquid inside warms your hands in the cool evening breeze. It's a feeble attempt at mending the rift, a different kind of peace offering. The bamboo succulent rests in your hands, now neatly placed in a box. The lift doors open, revealing a lone unmasked superhero sitting down near the edge of the building. 

Upon hearing your footsteps, he turns and looks at you, barely acknowledging your presence with a nod. You wince internally, the lack of acknowledgement stinging more than you anticipated. As you approach the unmasked superhero watching the sunset, you can't shake off the unease settling in.

You sit down beside him. You sit down next to him, maintaining a careful distance. A subtle fidget in his posture hints at the underlying tension between you. He regards you with a mix of curiosity and wariness, taking in the objects in your hands.

“Peace offering,” you repeat, holding up the cup like a truce flag, a sheepish grin on your face as if you’re a five-year-old who got in trouble with their parents. However, Miles's expression remains stoic. He takes the cup from you, studying it with a discerning eye. You hold the gift out toward him, and he accepts it, placing it down beside him.

He takes a slow sip, and a moment of realisation crosses his features. "Is this an iced latte?" he asks, his tone more a statement than a question.

You nod, a playful twinkle in your eye. "Yeah, figured it's a classic. Universally accepted, right?"

Miles wrinkles his nose, pushing the cup away slightly. "I prefer my coffee hot."

Your grin falters, the awkwardness returning. "Right, noted. I'll remember for next time." Your words are cheerfully said, but there's an undeniable undertone of discomfort. “Can we talk?”

He hesitates, but his gaze flickers between the coffee cup in his hand, and the gift next to his bag. “Sure.” 

You sit down next to him, making sure to keep a distance between you both. Wouldn’t want to make him even more pissed than he is now, after all. The evening brings about serenity and peace as the sun begins to set, but a heavy weight hangs between you. You decide to address the elephant in the room. "Miles, I really am sorry. I messed up, and I want to make things right."

He looks at you, the seriousness in his eyes contrasting with the lighthearted atmosphere you tried to create. "Gifts and jokes won't change what happened."

The truth stings, but you nod, acknowledging his point. 

“But forgiveness isn’t fully out of reach, right?” You try once more with a hopeful grin, eyeing the mask next to him as you stand up, walking over to the edge of the building. He shrugs. 

“What makes you think I forgive everyone so easily?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re Spiderman.” You state simply, staring at the reflection of the glass opposite you. You look down at Miles who’s slowly standing up with wary eyes. The contract rustles as you pull it out of your pocket, watching his eyes grow wide. 

You stare at the signature on the bottom, a finger tracing the hurried scrawl of his name. The contract itself is the only thing tying you to him, the only reason he even still texts you. He’s the only reason why your art still has a motive - a point in each work. 

So, you rip the contract in half. The sound of torn paper fills the air, and you fold it before tearing it again. Again and again, until it’s torn to nothing but shreds on the ground. As the final piece of paper slips from your grasp, you raise your eyes to find Miles frozen in disbelief. His lips part in silent astonishment, fingers fumbling over words trapped on the tip of his tongue.

“Why?”

“Because,” You answer with a shrug, “You’re Spiderman.” A hesitant smile tugs at your lips, but beneath the surface, guilt gnaws at every fibre of your being. It's a battle, the conflicting emotions waging war within you. “You always save the day.” At that moment, you stare at the torn-up contract, bitterness rising in your throat. Underneath that though, is a genuine urge for forgiveness. 

Is this even enough for him to forgive you? 

Prove yourself. 

The back of your sneaker teeters on the edge, and you glance down at the ground below, gauging the distance. Breathing deeply, an idea occurs to you. A dangerous one.

His silence lingers, but an unexpected calm washes over you, a fragile serenity in the eye of the emotional storm. “You always save the day,” You repeat, “Even if I don’t deserve it.”

With that, you take a step back, watching horror dawn on his face as you fall. 

Miles stumbles forward, his voice caught in his throat. “No!” he shouts, reaching out as if he could defy gravity. His eyes widen, reflecting a mix of fear and realisation of the consequences of your impulsive act. 

The time taken to hurtle down a building toward the ground is much slower than you expect. You turn your head, watching the bright lights of various buildings cast a soft glow over the river nearby. The cityscape unfolds beneath you, a tapestry of shimmering lights that paint the skyscrapers with an ethereal glow. Despite the beauty, a profound sense of loneliness settles in, echoing the vastness of the city below.

It’s quiet.

The wind whistles past your ears, your hair whipping wildly around your face as you watch him dive down the side of the building, his mask back on his face as he holds out his arm desperately. 

A laugh bubbles past your lips, smiling as he reaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist and shooting a web, swinging you to safety. 

“Am I forgiven?” You whisper into his ear, arms on his shoulders as he continues to swing. 

“What?!” He answers loudly, bewilderment in his voice. “You jumped down just for that??”

“Yeah!” You lean back to take a proper look at him, adrenaline rushing through your bloodstream as if a hundred cans of Red Bull had been injected into you at once. “So am I?”

He doesn’t reply, shooting another web at a skyscraper. You smile brightly at him, waiting for an answer. His shoulders start to tremble, and he looks down at the streets below. You begin to hesitate, your smile falling. 

Is he mad? Was it too much?

Your questions are answered when he looks up, laughing his heart out. 

“You’re insane,” He huffs out with a shake of his head, the smile in his voice evident. He looks at you once more. “Yeah, you’re forgiven.”

With a relieved sigh, you press your forehead into his shoulder, closing your eyes. The tension releases from your shoulders, a silent acknowledgement of the emotional weight lifted. “...Can I still draw you?”

— — — — — 

The wind still echoes in your ears as Miles sets you down gently on the rooftop. Your sneakers meet the solid surface, and for a moment, you're both silent, catching your breath. The tension lingers in the air, but the overwhelming rush of adrenaline begins to subside.

Miles lowers his mask, revealing an expression caught between concern and bewilderment. You glance at him, a mixture of guilt and anticipation in your eyes. The cityscape stretches before you, a silent witness to the tumultuous emotions swirling between you two.

"Why didn’t you just say that you knew me?" he finally asks, his voice softer now, devoid of the superhero edge.

You wince, your gaze dropping to the ground.  “I didn’t mean to…In my defence, imagine being on the receiving end of a superhero’s wrath.” 

“I wasn’t wrath…ful.” He denies it, his hand over his heart with an offended look. This draws a chuckle out of you, shaking your head. “But I get it. Imagine being forced to sign a contract with someone who knows your real identity.”

You rub your arm uncomfortably. “You must’ve had a hard time," you admit, finally looking at him. "I’m sorry."

The weight of the apology hangs in the air, mingling with the echoes of your impulsive fall. Miles's eyes, once reflecting surprise and worry, soften as he meets your gaze.

The words feel inadequate, unable to fully capture exactly how regretful you feel, but your eyes convey the sincerity of your apology. However, it's too late for one. In this moment of vulnerability between you both, the full weight of your actions finally hits you. 

Miles' expression tightens, and a heavy silence hangs between you. The consequences of your deception weigh on the air, leaving an unspoken tension that neither of you can escape. His eyes flicker with a mix of frustration and concern. 

He struggles to find the right words, his clenched fists telling you all you need to know as his eyes dart away. “You don't understand. If my identity is exposed, it's not just about me. It puts everyone I care about in danger. I've seen what happens to heroes when their secret is out. Not everyone has the privilege of being safe.”

The weight of Miles' revelation settles heavily on your shoulders, a stark reminder of the unintended consequences of your actions. You’re at a loss for words, only capable of falling silent and staring at your fidgeting hands that have begun to peel the skin of your thumb. “I won’t tell anyone,” you promise, though you’re not entirely sure of how much it’d even matter to him. “I know I’m not exactly trustworthy-” The corner of his lips quirked up in faint amusement at the irony, “but I promise, I’ll never, ever, ever reveal your identity.”

You look up at him, hoping that your sincerity is conveyed through your words. 

Finally, he releases a breathy chuckle, looking down at his mask, and back up at the glowing lights below. For a moment, the gaping distance between you lessens. He glances at you with an accepting smile. 

“Okay.”

As you both settle onto the rooftop, the city sprawled beneath you, a newfound calm envelops the space. The laughter from earlier echoes, but it carries a different note now – one of shared understanding and the promise of a fresh start.

“Hey,” You turn, an idea taking root in your mind. “You’re smart, right?”

“Some might say so,” He agrees playfully with a nod.

At his response, you go on your knees, clasping your hands together in a sudden attempt to beg him. “Tutor me.” You begin to explain before he can react. “I got this huge test coming up, and I won’t be allowed to participate in my school’s art exhibit if I don’t pass. You gotta help me, dude!”

“What?” He’s taken aback by your sudden request, raising a brow. “Why me?”

“Because!” You point accusingly at him, “You go to that smart and fancy school, don’t you? Nicole already told me about how you won that scholarship and everything. Plus, you’re even doing all this Spiderman stuff on the side. Your time management skills are so much better than mine will ever be. Aren’t you a superhero? Don’t you have, like, super study skills or something?”

“Super study skills?” He says drily, and you realise exactly how stupid your words sound. However, you shake your head stubbornly, sticking to whatever you’ve said. “Well, since you’re clearly in need of help, and like you said - I’m a superhero, right? Guess I gotta rescue yet another helpless citizen.”

You smile excitedly, delighted that he’s agreed before what he says finally sinks in. “Did you just call me helpless?”

“So, what’s the test on?” He asks, ignoring your pointed glare. 

“Math and Science.” You decide to let it go because he did just save you from a rather dreadful demise. 

He purses his lips slightly, weighing his options. “Sure,” He nods, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, thank you! You won't regret it, I promise! I’ll even buy you tiramisu or whatever it is you wanna drink!” You exclaim happily, unable to stop yourself from hopping up and down from his agreement. 

He chuckles, readjusting his mask and shooting a web at the adjacent apartment building. “No problem. Just don’t tell anyone you have a superhero tutor, okay?”

“I solemnly swear.” You promise with a nod, watching him give you a two-fingered salute before gracefully swinging off, likely heading back home. You make your way back too, humming happily at the thought of future study sessions with your newfound superhero tutor and friend.

— — — — — 

As he enters his room after another day of swinging through the day as Brooklyn's one and only Spiderman, he tosses aside his mask and discards his suit. Another day, another citizen saved, as is the usual routine. Before he jumps into his bed, he pauses. 

He grabs his water bottle and pours some water onto the potted plant sitting on the windowsill, fingertips brushing against the delicate leaves that rustle with the breeze.

[wildemaven]

My sweet Heidi! Congrats again on your 1K bby!! You deserve it and even more!! I was wondering if I could put in a blind drabble request with my love Frankie and numbers 22 and 301. I’m so proud of everything you’re doing and am so glad to call you one of my best buds. 💜💜💜

Meet Cute in the Garden Section

Wildemaven 1k Celebration / 1k Masterlist Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Blog; No warnings, just fluff!

Prompts: "This doesn't smell like roses." / "It was nice meeting you."

You don’t mean to stare. Actually you do, because it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a while. 

Between reading the tiny plant labels and filling your cart with an array of plants you had been looking forward to purchasing for your growing garden, you can’t help but notice a Dad and his daughter an aisle over doing some planting shopping of their own. 

He seems a little lost, removing his tattered ball cap every once in a while to comb through his chestnut locks, as he examines each plant his daughter holds up to him. His furrowed brow gives you the impression he doesn’t shop for plants often. 

As you continue your browsing, you find yourself in the same section as the cute shopping duo. In closer proximity you decide the Dad is quite cute with how his eyes crinkle when he smiles at something his daughter is saying and you think you see a hint of a dimple through his patchy beard. 

“This one is cute too Papa! Look at it.” The sweet little girl, who looks to be around 5 or 6 years old, says to her Dad holding up the tiny potted plant. “Can we get this one too?”

He takes the plant from her tiny hands, squinting as if he either forgot his glasses at home or thinks he doesn’t need them and continues struggling through reading small print. 

“I don’t know baby, I can’t really tell what the little symbol is, if this one is saying full sun or partial— maybe no sun?? This one might be a little more difficult to take care of.” He tells her as he goes to place it back in its designated spot. 

“Actually, those are pretty easy to take care of— perfect starter plants too.” You say, giving him a reassuring smile so as to not come off as some creepy stranger in the garden department. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you, just thought you should know.”

“Thanks— thank you. As you might have guessed, I know nothing about plants, or gardening for that matter.” He says, laughing at confessing his lack of knowledge about plants to a complete stranger. There’s definitely a dimple, way more prominent when he laughs. 

“That’s okay, we all start somewhere. So far, all of your choices are great ones, you shouldn’t have too much trouble getting things going.” You tell him as you glance over their selections. 

“So there’s hope for us then?”

“Definitely!”

“Papa! This doesn't smell like roses!” The sweet little girl, who looks like a copy and paste version of her father, declares while shoving another plant into their nearly filled cart. 

“That’s because it’s a succulent, no real scent to them.” You say, and guessing by her confused expression, she doesn’t know what one is. “It’s like a cactus, but none of those pokey needles on them. They’re fun to take care of because they don’t need a lot of water to grow and love the sun, very low maintenance.”

“That’s just what our garden needs, low maintenance.”

He doesn’t have a ring, but you're aware not everyone wears one these days, so you use your sleuth skills to ask about his marital status so you don’t over step any sort of boundaries. 

“Well, I’m sure your wife will be happy with everything you two have picked out.”

“Oh, we’re not married— I have her on the weekends and she’s been begging to plant a garden since she has one at her mom’s place. And I have no clue what I’m doing so I’m just guessing as we go.” 

Cute, and single. 

“I’m Frankie and this is Isabella.”

You give him your name and you continue to talk him through his gardening hesitations, really soaking up everything little detail you’re sharing with him— wishing he had something to take notes knowing he’ll probably forget most of it by the time they get home. 

“It was nice meeting you. I hope you both have fun and I wish you the best of luck in your gardening ventures.” Realizing you had definitely overstayed your welcome, but wishing you could chat more with Frankie— and not just about plants and their needs. 

You give them both a friendly wave goodbye, turning back to your cart to make your way to pay for your own plants, looking forward to an afternoon of planting and deciding what to make for dinner. 

You had finished loading your car with your collection of flowers and a few bags of potting soil, when you hear your name being called, and turn to see Frankie and Isabella walking in your direction. 

“Hey! More gardening questions?” 

“Yeah, I mean— not really. I was wondering, umm if I could maybe get your number. In case I were to have any questions about garden stuff, I could text you or call if you prefer— or I could turn back around and head to my car and we can pretend this lame attempt at me asking to see you again didn’t happen.” He sounds nervous, his one hand firmly tucked into the pocket of his jeans and the other securely around Isabella’s tiny hand— his irresistible smile and charming personality has really won you over. 

“I’d love to give you my number— for gardening and stuff.” 

[honeyhobies]

checking out miles42's room and oh, his lil hanging plant near the window.....

imagining the wealth of funeral flowers the morales family gets after his dad's death. miles can't stand them, he hates that they're the only pastels in the apartment and their scent churns his stomach.

worst though are the house plants they're gifted. intended to be low maintenance, great distractions, some bit of pretty life among all the grief. rio tries to take care of them at first; she likes the look of their painted pots and setting a watering schedule is easy enough. routines are good, and the greenery does make her smile when she leaves her bedroom alone in the mornings. but then she needs to take on more hours at work, and eventually they blend into the background of the apartment, forgotten.

miles refuses to do anything with them.

when their leaves turn yellow he plucks them off so he doesn't have to clean them off the floor later. when nothing is left but withered brown twigs he takes the pot out onto the fire escape just so he can hear the terracotta shatter when he drops it into the dumpster below. the plants start disappearing one by one, and the apartment slowly returns to what it was before—or at least, a poor imitation of it, where there were no greens of various plant life scattered about but a home still filled to the brim with his dad's life. miles starts climbing the fire escape higher, pretends that the shatters from this height are louder than the grief in his own heart.

it takes him four months of mami overworking herself to realize that there's a pot of ivy that still has green leaves.

it was shoved into the corner of the kitchen window that would've been a hazardous spot if his mom was actually using the kitchenware in the cupboard next to it. but she's barely been able to cook lately and miles definitely doesn't have the kind of skills to use what's in there, so the plant was left alone, miraculously thriving on the sunshine streaming through the window. miles only notices it because his abuela is visiting and he accidentally steps on a few leaves on a vine that's grown long enough to brush the ground when he's ushered out of her way during dinner prep.

his appetite vanishes. the phantom scent of sweet decaying lilies and carnations and all the other ugly pastel flowers chokes his throat. he thought he had finally be rid of all of them, and seeing this one still left standing rears something ugly in his chest.

it's his abuela who coaxes him away from grinding his foot into the leaves, smashing them into the tile, she who says that starving something of love will always be a terrible thing to know. all four burners on their stove are going, the oven has just finished preheating, but she takes the time to fill a cup with water, gives it to him, and compliments him on keeping this small thing alive, when funeral flowers are notorious for not surviving.

it's miles who quietly moves the plant into his room that night, and he learns the rights and wrongs about repotting, sunlight, and watering.

(and, at one point, pests. but he also learns how to overcome that, even if it was an insanely annoying experience turned inside joke with ganke)

the ivy had fared well enough on its own, but it's miles who makes it happy. his hands that make it grow thicker and longer and livelier, until he needs to start tacking its vines up along the window sills to spread its greenery around. this one tiny thing no longer tiny that depends on him, that has learned he will be good to it. he did that.

miles did that.

—

later, when designing his first prowler suit, the purple accents are for his mom, a subtle nod to her favorite color. because he's trying to bring good back into his community, stepping up to do whatever he can to forcibly relinquish some of the sinister six's control over his city, but he's also fighting for her.

and the green details—there's not as many, or as prominent as all the neon purple, but he feels they're just as important to add.

[fruitcoops]

Chicken Strip(tease)

O'Knutzy Week Day 3: Cooking Mishap + Bondage! For @oknutzyweek2023 and many thanks to @lumosinlove <3

It was January in Gryffindor—in other words, fucking miserable. Leo gave himself a little extra grace for that when the screaming toddlers at the corner store started feeling a tad too relatable. The weather couldn’t decide between sleet, hail, and snow, so it vomited out some nightmare combination of the three with the magnificent addition of near-freezing temperatures from dawn (short) till dusk (even shorter). Any of Leo’s grumbling was sharply silenced by a blast of shearing wind to tell him to shove it up his ass.

The living room plants had a special light to mimic the sun during the months of garbage disposal weather.

Leo had the oven. And he was going to bloom and grow and photosynthesize, goddammit.

Simmer pots went from a monthly occurrence to a weekly staple—ostensibly, he needed to use up the extra oranges before they went bad. They had soup every night for a week, and as the sky grew darker, he transitioned to frequent roasts. The three of them could demolish a hunk of pork in one sitting without any trouble at all; Leo was sure anemia spooked and ran the second it glanced their way.

“What’s—”

“Veggies.” The first two rows of tiles by the oven were warmer than the rest of the floor. He had discovered that just after Cap’s birthday. “Carrots, celery, beets. The works. How’s your mom’n’em?”

“My—they’re good.” Finn’s socks muffled his footsteps. Leo stared into the tiny oven window, entranced by golden light. “Yeah, no, everyone’s fine. Excited to see us for the holidays. Mom sends kisses.”

Leo hummed. That would be nice. He wasn’t keen on winter any further north than Kentucky, but the O’Hara house was always warm. Warmer than Rimouski, at least. It was a testament to Logan’s love that he didn’t ask Leo to bury himself in snow that could be measured in meters.

“…you okay, baby?”

“Hmm?” He scooted an inch closer to the oven and gleefully wiggled his toes on the nearly-too-hot tile. “Mhmm.”

“You’re sitting, like, really close to the oven.”

“Warm,” Leo supplied. Wind shrieked down the brick siding of their building and he closed his eyes, leaning in. The oil was starting to sizzle.

“Please don’t bake yourself.”

The concern in Finn’s voice made him pause. He blinked. His face was beginning to prickle.

In the glass reflection, Finn squatted with a soft groan. His fingertips brushed Leo’s spine. “Le? You listening?”

“Mhmm.” The carrots would be ready to caramelize soon. Maybe he could do another soup as a side course.

“You gotta sit back, Butter.”

“ ‘S warm here.”

Finn sighed. “C’mon. Let’s get you a blanket.”

Arms came around his chest to haul him off the ground like a ragdoll. “No,” Leo protested weakly, reaching for his little square of salvation.

“Yes,” Finn mimicked. His sweater sleeves gave gentle cushion to Leo’s underarms as he was (dragged) hustled to the other side of the kitchen; Finn paused, moved to his front, and boosted him onto the countertop with only a quiet grunt of effort.

Leo couldn’t help the slide of his lower lip. “But…”

“Uh-uh. No baked boyfriends, please.” Finn leaned up to kiss his cheek, but swerved an inch before he made contact. “Oh, that looks tasty.”

Leo exhaled miserably and plopped his forehead onto Finn’s shoulder. A hand found his nape within seconds. “Chicken.”

“I see that,” Finn laughed. “Looks great, honey.”

“Might have soup, too.”

“You’re really feeling the soup, huh?”

“Tasty. Easy.”

“It’s amazing,” Finn agreed. He toyed with a few overgrown curls, then leaned toward the doorway. “Lo! Le made a chicken!”

An instant ruckus followed—Leo buried his smile in Finn’s neck. For someone so small, Logan couldn’t do anything quietly. “A chick—oh, coucou, you look cozy.”

“I hate January, and I hate the weather, and…” Leo groaned and pushed his face into the warm, spicy hollow of Finn’s neck and shoulder. “And I really like soup.”

“Okay,” Logan laughed. “Is that what we’re having?”

There was a nudge to his arm; Leo lifted it to make room and shuffled Logan against himself, resting his chin on the top of his head. Perfectly snuggle-able, that one. Warm, too. He knew he kept him around for a reason.

He had made a bit of a mess, when he really looked at it. The chicken was a work of art but he had been more concerned with lingering near the oven than cleaning as he cooked, which left a disaster of impressive proportions sprawling across the countertop. A small pool of olive oil oozed along the tiles. Pepper caught the edge and diverted it onto a spoon. He followed the lazy river past a bowl, a ramekin, and a spoon (half-burnt from one of Logan’s ill-fated baking attempts) before catching at the corner of the pan. A soft hiss followed, then cooled.

Before his very eyes, his Jacques-Pepin wet dream of a rotisserie chicken sat up and began to dance burlesque.

A startled laugh burst from him. One crispy leg lifted in arabesque—a wing shimmied at him, seductive and gorgeous and golden. Leo turned to muffle himself in Logan’s hair, unable to look away despite mild horror at Finn’s fingers all over his moment of divine inspiration. “Oh my god.”

The chicken paused, gave a sultry half-turn, and wiggled its voluptuous white meat at him.

The giggles flooded forth, and he simply couldn’t stop them. Logan’s chest shook under his hand.

“I can’t…” Finn’s tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he attempted to beckon with a wing. “God, you’ve got this thing all done up in—fucking bondage or something.”

“It’s trussed!” Leo propped his chin on Logan’s head. A warm hand folded over his own. He made eye contact with Finn and pressed a kiss to Logan’s ear. “And it’s perfect.”

“Course it is, it’s you.”

His grin made his cheeks hurt. “Stop playing with your food and come kiss me, Chicken Boy.”

[kachuuyaa]

BAY CITY ROMANCE 𖥻 003 𖥻 4REAL!

bcr masterlist ; prev ; next

synopsis. who knew an impromptu trip to familymart could be this cold?

warnings. CHUUYA AND RANPO RFIGHTING, gojo mention, horrible description of surroundings (nothing serious!)

notes. uhhh hehe hey...... heyyyy i know ppl wana throw tomatoes and stones but I'm back (I'm a senior now) LASO have u seen my bbgirls (choso mf kamo) debut in the shibuya arc trailerrrrr HEHEHEHE I LVOE CHOSOS SO MUCHH (follow me on twt! nikozaii if u want to hearmy insane shti) also i came back home from japan so uhhh hiiii the family,art here is loosely based on that one branch in tokyo near the hotel i stayed in

You set down your phone as your eyes flickered to the group. Ranpo, in particular, was staring out to Fyodor and Sigma, conversing about their rankings as you breathed out. You felt a gust of wind brush across your face, leaving a smile etched across your lips in tranquility. You looked towards Ranpo, that tranquility seeping into his veins as he met your gaze, making him open his eyes, letting his muscles rest as he blinked at you in recognition. “Hi,” You said, allowing Ranpo to revert to his usual expression. Crescent-shaped eyes paired with his signature mischievous smile, he adjusted his body towards you, sitting down on the soft grass as he pats the vacant space beside him. Of course, you took a step forward, the grass responding to your touch as you sat down. Grass tickled your back as you laid your palms on the soft floor. “What are we waiting for?” Ranpo mused, wrapping his arms around his knees, pulling them to his chest as he observed the duo before him. “For them to stop, I guess.” You shrugged, and Ranpo raised his hand. “Hey, guys! You both done talking?” He queried, extending the vowels of his last sentence to gain their attention, and, to his pleasure, two heads turned to the source as their conversations halted, and it was Sigma who spoke up. “Sorry! We were talking about earlier. It was such a hassle to get around the students.” He clasped his hands together, sending an awkward smile to the two of you.

“That’s okay, we were just about to ask you if you two were ready to go.” You reassured, Sigma sighing in relief at your words. Fyodor gazed at Sigma’s fidgeting hands, setting his hand on his shoulder, and observing the tiny squeak that left his mouth. “We can go now,” Fyodor said calmly, rubbing circles on Sigma’s shoulder as the latter nodded in agreement. Fyodor had a habit of tracing circles when he made contact with skin, an action of attempted comfort and for his entertainment. He knows that you don’t mind it, that you and the group were used to his peculiar habits. He huffed at this, returning his hand to its original position. Fyodor knew his habits were unusual actions that would be deemed atypical to other university students. Surely, he was a man of ambiguity shrouded in philosophies that you could never uncover, but with this enigmatic man came a plethora of tendencies that even he could not control.

The FamilyMart Fyodor talked about flickered with its signature white, green, and blue lights, highlighting the presence of the establishment, accompanied by banners outside the entrance, incorporating some of your favorite animes collaborating with the convenience store. To its right were a few potted plants, and a fluorescent street lamp illuminating the side of the road. To your left, you could spot the school’s covered court, blocked by cement walls that extend to the end of the street. The road was fairly empty, bikes only occasionally driving past the four of you as your group stared at the store. Waiting for Chuuya and Yosano left you bored, shoving your hands in your pockets, walking towards the establishment as the automatic doors slid open, making the bell ring as you were greeted by the cashier. You noticed Fyodor following suit, leaving Ranpo and Sigma outside to wait for the remaining two. As you turned back, you noticed Sigma examining the sunset, as Ranpo had his hands tucked completely in his jacket pockets, seemingly looking for his phone. Fyodor moved beside you, and your attention shifted towards him. “You looking for anything?” You asked, making Fyodor’s sharp eyes lock with yours then back to the food he was eyeing. “I wanted to try Onigiri,” He sighed, “been wanting to try it ever since I came here.”

You recalled the time Fyodor was introduced to Yokohama University. Assumptions of the new student quickly spread throughout the university, whispers and mutters about a foreign presence residing in the University you grew to find home. Of course, you weren’t an exception to the waves of utterances about the new student, who shares one class with you, and naturally, you felt drawn to listen to them. It was hard not to, as two particular friends of yours have brought you to hear their musings about the upcoming student. He carried himself with pride, his walk exuding confidence as his footsteps resounded around the hall. You remember meeting Fyodor once he stepped into the classroom as you stared at the door upon hearing its creak, followed by an apology from a foreign voice, making you perk up from your laptop. This action led you to meet the man who caught your eye, a wordless greeting formed by the color of your irises boring into his.

You never told him outright, but at that moment, it seemed a flurry of memories allowed itself to flood your mind, an endless stream of what ifs and countless possibilities presented itself to you, as if a layer of your consciousness knew he would remain with you.

That innate feeling you possessed suffocated you, that stem of anticipation twisting in your throat, a bud forming at every edge of your lungs, and at that moment, as two eyes locked, there, a blossoming flower could be found in your heart.

“[Name], look, I found Gojo’s donut,” He walked up to you, deciding to look around for a bit as you stood motionless. There were many more deserts to try, but it was the donut that really caught his eye. You snapped out of your reverie, which was, ironically, about him, only to be faced with Gojo’s smile plastered on the packet of the product he was holding. “That looks funny, is it supposed to be infinity-shaped?” You questioned, grabbing it from his hand, checking the back of it as you felt it around in your hand. “It’s cute, Fyo,” You hold it up to him, “You want it?” He nodded at your question as he took the donut back, and placed it in his basket (You wonder where he got it, but you suspected he quickly snagged one as you were reminiscing). You noticed Sigma and Ranpo from outside, conversing with each other as Sigma found himself to be the victim of Ranpo’s childish antics. “[Name], I got an iced coffee too. Do Sigma and Ranpo want anything?” Fyodor stepped out from the aisle, holding a carton of iced latte in his hand. You sighed, “Ranpo wants anything sweet. Maybe Dango would do, perhaps.” You weighed your options, while Fyodor grabbed shortbread cookies for Sigma to eat. He figured you didn’t want to walk outside as it would be a hassle, truth be told, he shared the same vision, so he opted to pick food for Sigma instead. Sigma made it clear that he was fond of cookies, the pastry always lingering in his mind whenever he was with the group. From cafes to grocery shopping, a pack of cookies always seemed to land itself in the cart, and you all knew that it was Sigma behind the action.

Your train of thought abruptly halted as the bell rang, signaling the entrance of another person. You had an inkling of who it may be, considering the road was void of any people as you entered. “Fyodor, [Name]!” The voice-- that awfully familiar voice, made your head perk up towards the door, seeing that familiar wave of black hair walk towards you. “[Name]!” She slung an arm over your shoulder, “Have you seen Fyodor? Chuuya wants a rice bowl-- you know, those prepared meals.” She lets go of you, nudging you in the process. “We all want those Blue Lock wafers, by the way.” She reminded you, as you rolled your eyes at her statement. “Mhm, yeah, right.” She laughs as she walks towards Fyodor, after grabbing a snack of her own. You picked an Onigiri out for you to eat, as well as one more for Fyodor. Juice… juice… You thought, skimming the rows of drinks, and picking one that caught your eye. You figured to get coffee for Yosano, if she hadn’t already, and one more for Chuuya, just in case.

Minutes pass as the group awaits your exit from the entrance. The moon decided to make itself known, accompanied by cold gusts of wind to all citizens of Japan. The wind was particularly comfortable, basking in the presence of passersby who felt its touch on their skin. You and your group were no exception to that. Sigma exhaled, crossing his arms, which helped alleviate the cold atmosphere surrounding him, even by just a little. They focus their eyes on the group paying for the group’s meal on the counter, then to the bickering duo to her right. “How does it feel being top 2, huh?” Ranpo provoked Chuuya, who was wearing a strained smile. “How does it feel being the next victim of my fist, huh?” He responded, gritting his teeth in an attempt to hold himself back from hitting the prodigious student. “Try it!” Ranpo giggled, running away comically as Chuuya spewed out curses towards him. Yosano sighed in faux annoyance, “These guys don’t know when to calm down, no?” She turned to Sigma, who chuckled under his breath. “Sometimes I wonder if they’ll ever stop.” He said.

“What are these two idiots doing?” You stepped out of the store with 2 plastic bags in your hand, clicking your tongue as you stared at Chuuya and Ranpo. The latter, as usual, purposefully spurs Chuuya on as he shouts at him, “You were the one who ate the last piece of my fucking milk bread?!” He looks over to you, “[Name]! Kill this idiot!” He points at you, grabbing the collar of Ranpo as he raises his hands up in surrender. “I said I was sorry!” He repeats, making Chuuya let go of him with a sigh. Ranpo brushed his sweater, sighing in relief, earning a glare from the hot-headed man. Chuuya walks up to you, shoving his hands in his pockets to warm his hands, “You got my food, [Name]?” He questioned, with a voice uncharacteristically soft compared to the tone he used on Ranpo. “Yeah, yours and Yosano’s are in this one over here.” You handed him a bag, which he took while muttering a ‘thank you’. “I’m getting tired, [Name], Fyodor.” Yosano quipped, “Sigma here is also a bit tired. We might go for the night.” She informed you, and you nodded in return.

The group decided to split ways, waving goodbye to each other, as well as throwing in heaps of congratulatory statements for everyone present. The atmosphere was chilly walking back, the flickering of the lights, with the melody of your footsteps, were the only sounds accompanying you back to your own dorm. It felt oddly calm, the noir of the night engulfing your shadow as the light of each lamp danced in your eyes, your footsteps blending in with the symphony of the dark, performing an orchestra of elements that welcomed itself in you. What you didn’t know, is that amidst the melody of nature and the song of the city that you were so used to, comes a whole different, unfamiliar tune that you were yet to experience.

trivia:

fyodor really wants his blue lock wafers

yosano's favorite character is chigiri who else cheered

fyodor likes yukimiya LOL reo is a close second

ranpo LOVESSSS BACHIRA (hes js like me… bachira 4life)

chuuya likes chigiri too… chigiri and kaiser he thinks his tattoo is cool

ranpo found a nearby gashapon and spent 1000 yen on it (he got what he wanted on his last try)

you found a stray cat meowing as you arrived at your dorm. he was a greyish-white cat, with a streak of green. an unusual color for a cat, but he was cute nonetheless.

ranpo followed yosano and chuuya home, wanting to spend the night with them

your roommate was nowhere to be seen when you arrived, but they bought a tub of ice cream for you as an apology. you texted them with the note and ice cream they left you and they laughed at it, responding with a quick no worries, and an apology for their absence.

chuuya actually wanted a carton of sake, but he refused at the last second.

tg: @iruc @celestair

2023 © kachuuyaa. do not steal or claim my work as your own.

[apteryxparvus]

Seeds of Love — Oikawa Tooru / Reader

Pairing — Oikawa Tooru / Reader

Word count — 2,606

Content warning — none

Summary — You and Tooru’s teammates have a running gag that any plant named after someone in your life is cursed to suffer a terrible fate under your boyfriend's notorious black thumb. And, no matter how much you try to save them, your boyfriend always manages to transform them from thriving greens to shriveled-up twigs faster than you can say 'photosynthesis'.

“No way,” you state bluntly. “You’ll kill it. Again.”

As you hold the tiny pot that vaguely resembles Bulbasaur — albeit a bit misshapen and a completely wrong color, — you squint your eyes in concentration, trying to assess if it would match with any of the succulent cuttings scattered around the apartment. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Tooru jutting out his lower lip like a sulky child. His doe-like eyes wander around, anxiously shifting between you and the fluffy plant he's clinging onto for dear life.

His voice takes on a high-pitched, pleading tone. “Pleaseee, I'll love it and care for it like it's my own child,” he whines, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and shoving the wooly plant in your face. The fuzzy oval-shaped leaves tickle your nose, and your face scrunches up as you try to hold back a sneeze.

You really want to say yes — the plant is certainly cute, adorable even. In fact, you're already envisioning the perfect spot for the Kalanchoe, nestled snugly on the shelves between the cotton-scented candles and the graduation photos from high school and university.

But deep down, you know that no matter how much Tooru insists he'll take care of the plant, it'll end up like all the others: drowned or parched, a mere shadow of its former self. You can almost hear the poor thing gasping for air, crying out for a drop of water or a ray of sunlight to save it from Tooru's notorious black thumb. You've lost count of the number of succulents and cacti that have met their untimely demise under his care.

(It's like he has a special talent for killing plants, despite his best intentions.)

Tooru pleads with you once more, "Please, this time I'll let you name him."

You give him a skeptical look. "Tooru, darling, I can't handle giving it a proper name and then watching you unintentionally murder it a month later. My heart just can't take it."

He lets out a pitiful sigh, slowly moving the fuzzy plant away from your face. You look back and see him holding it like a baby, cooing. His lean fingers are trailing gently along the oval-shaped leaves.

He looks so content, his eyes shining under the unforgiving fluorescent lights.

"Alright," you finally give in, avoiding his handsome, sun-kissed face. But you can see his expression lighting up with excitement from the corner of your eye. "But remember, I get to name it like you promised. No take backs."

The thing is, you adore giving your plant babies human names. The silly tradition began, along with your soul-crushing, debt-inducing plant addiction, when, for your four-year anniversary with Tooru, one of his Argentinian teammates gifted you a large Lacy Tree Philodendron that took over a third of the apartment's tiny hallway space.

But you knew your dear boyfriend had a talent for plant homicide. Back in your high school days, you'd find yourself helping his mother tend to their modest garden while he stayed inside, sulking when she would scold him for killing yet another perennial.

So, despite being grateful for the generous gift, you couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy about the fate of the plant under Tooru's care. After all, you still had the sad remains of an African Milk Tree cactus barely standing on the balcony, a victim of his infamous killer touch.

Somehow, against all odds, the philodendron managed to stay alive. A few months later, during a celebratory dinner with Tooru's closest teammates at the start of the league season, you found yourself a bit tipsy and brought up his plant-killing tendencies. You recounted the time when he had fallen on the Tree Philodendron, exhausted from training, and accidentally snapped off two three leaves, leaving the poor plant struggling to recover. Everyone at the table laughed, and Tooru defended himself, claiming that he had simply been giving the plant a haircut.

Carlos, the gift bearer, had laughed, explaining that, coincidentally, that was around the time he got a broken arm after an unfortunate skiing accident in the Andes, near Cerro Chapelco. After another full glass of plump and smoky Malbec wine later (all thanks to Leon and his vineyard), and more apparent coincidences, the precious Philodendron got its official name — Carlinhos.

From that point on, it became a sacred ritual and an inside joke between you and Tooru's teammates to name each new plant after someone in your life and eagerly wait for any coincidences between the plant and its namesake. 

(Such as the unfortunate IKEA-bought Cascade Palm named Lola after Dolores, the evil fifth-floor neighbor who tended to throw her garbage out the window onto the street. A week and a half after Tooru had accidentally overwatered the palm, Dolores had to move out, never to be seen again.

Or the pink succulent cutting, lovingly nicknamed after Leon’s pinky finger. Both the succulent and Leon's pinky had suffered minor injuries, coincidentally, just days apart.)

"Come on, plant hoarder, let's bounce before you bankrupt us," Tooru teases, as you add the fuzzy succulent to the overflowing shopping basket filled with an eclectic mix of trinkets. Your boyfriend grins, his eyes crinkling in amusement, and your heart flutters at the sight.

Despite his notorious black thumb, he's just as enamored with the plants as you are. In fact, he's the one who constantly brings home new green babies, filling every nook and cranny with vibrant colors and sweet fragrances. You often catch him reading plant care books or watching videos on plant propagation, determined to learn more and improve his skills.

At the cash register, Tooru places the last plant on the conveyor belt and shoots you a wink, his lips stretched into a cheeky grin. His infectious energy never fails to lift the spirits of those around him, and even the two elderly ladies standing a few meters behind you can't resist commenting on how happy you two look together. They start gushing in rapid Spanish, and though you can't catch everything they're saying, you hear enough to know they're describing the two of you as a picture-perfect couple.

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Back in Japan, you were always the shy one, avoiding any public displays of affection, no matter how small. The old ladies in your neighborhood were always on the lookout for any potential gossip fodder, and anything from a simple kiss on the cheek to sneaking out at midnight for a game of volleyball would set off the gossip mill.

The cashier finally rings up the last item from your cart, and you start shoving the items inside your bags. Most of the trinkets fit snugly inside Tooru's backpack and the extra shopping bag you brought, except for the three large plants you ended up buying.

(Which you will proudly hug and carry to the car.)

Tooru effortlessly lifts the bags, and you both exit the store, elated by your successful shopping spree. As you walk towards the car, you steal glances at him, and your heart swells with affection. Even after all these years, it still feels surreal that he is your partner, your closest confidant, and the only one for you.

Inside the car, the larger plants are carefully secured in the backseat with seatbelts, but the tiny kalanchoe stays in your lap. Its velvety leaves tickle your fingers, and you can't resist the urge to caress them throughout the ride.

When the car rolls to a stop at a red light, Tooru glances at the furry plant and asks, "What should we name this little dude?"

“We’ll find out soon enough, when inspiration strikes me.” You stick your tongue out, and your boyfriend answers by softly flicking your forehead.

That evening, you and Tooru make a simple dinner and enjoy it with a couple of glasses of cheap store-bought wine. As the evening progresses and the alcohol takes effect, your playful mood only grows, and you can't wait to catch up with the rest of the Seijoh Four during your monthly meetup. Eager to see your friends, you log onto Discord earlier than planned and head over to Tahakiro's gaming server. To your surprise, he's already there, his camera on, displaying his strawberry blond hair and cheeky grin.

Tooru bursts into the channel and greets your pink-haired friend with a boisterous "Makki!"

You give him a playful jab as he turns on his laptop's camera and takes over the screen, giving a cheerful wave to your best friend. The three of you immediately launch into a lively gossip session about life, and within a few minutes, Hajime joins in the chat, his face a bit fuzzy due to his old camera.

As Iwaizumi’s pixelated face pops up on the screen, you can't help but tease him.

"Hey Iwa-chan, are you broadcasting from a potato?" Tooru jokes. Despite the poor video quality, you can clearly make out Iwaizumi's raised middle finger.

Moments later, the final member of your little Seijoh alumni group joins. Issei's tired-looking face appears on the screen, bathed in the neon glow of his gaming setup.

“What's the plan for this lovely morning slash evening? Are we gonna kick some butt in CS:GO or run for our lives in Dead by Daylight?" he asks, his voice slightly hoarse. 

You pause for a moment, considering your options. "Hmm, I'm feeling a bit too exhausted for that. How about some peaceful farming in Stardew Valley?"

Takahiro is quick to agree, jumping in with a condition, "Stardew is fine, but only if we play the Wilderness map. And just to be clear, I am not sharing my resources with Tooru this time."

Your boyfriend bristles and pouts as he turns to face you, expecting you to side with him.

You interject, "Tooru, darling, let's be real here. Choosing Joja Mart over the Community Center is a rookie mistake."

"But I wanted the achievement!" he whines.

You and Tooru quickly load up the game on his laptop, creating your shared character and setting up the farm. You send out invites to the others, and they set off to work the moment they join. Issei takes charge of plowing the land, while Makki becomes the farming guru and heads to Pierre's shop for extra supplies. Meanwhile, Tooru, still pouting like a grumpy toddler, watches as you and Hajime break the rocks and chop down the trees.

You spend the majority of your playtime being a love-struck fool, showering your favorite character with gifts and compliments, much to the annoyance of your boyfriend. You can practically feel his eyes rolling every time you let out a high-pitched squeal after leveling up your friendship with your in-game partner. Whenever you switch, you’re stuck watching him gift your in-game partner with soggy newspaper pieces and driftwood. He ends up getting himself killed in the mines, and you're quick to fall behind on money.

“Yes,” you let out a squeal of excitement as you exit the cabin and a cutscene starts to play. You watch as your character receives a pet from Marnie. “Guys, guys, what should I name him?”

“Nomi.” Issei suggests, earning an eye roll from you.

“Issei, I am not naming him ‘flea’.”

“Cream puff.”

“Assikawa,” Hajime pipes, and Tooru gasps.

"Iwa-chan, why do you have to hurt me like this?" he exclaims dramatically, collapsing onto the couch with a hand over his heart.

You laugh and type in the name "Assikawa," ignoring your boyfriend's failed attempts at keyboard mashing. As the cutscene ends, Makki and Mattsun cheer and gather around the adorable creature, giving it as many pats as possible.

A while later, Makki reluctantly leaves the game, but stays in the voice call, and starts ranting about his mind-numbing recent job at a local konbini. Issei, unfazed by his friend's usual complaints, barely spares him a glance as he delves deeper into the mines, his pickaxe ready to strike at any glimmer of gold ore. But you're intrigued — you haven't gossiped with your friend in a while — and you’re curious to hear more about this job, despite knowing of his job-hopping tendencies.

“---the old hag keeps trying to give me double shifts, even though I’ve told her a million times I have another part-time job,” the strawberry blond continues his spiel. "She must hate me or something," he gripes. "I swear, I've worked more night shifts than there are days in the week!"

"What's her name?" you ask, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Makki looks at you with confusion as you continue, "Tooru, what if we name our new plant baby after her?"

“No,” your boyfriend deadpans. You pout, making your best puppy eyes at him, but he doesn’t budge. You try to win him over by moving closer and giving him a quick peck on the lips, but it only earns you a chorus of exaggerated retching sounds from Maki and Issei.

You sulk. “Fine then. Our baby’s name will be Assikawa then.”

Tooru's eyes widen in disbelief. "You wouldn't dare," he says, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

"Oh, I absolutely would."

Tooru looks at you for a moment, considering his options. “Not even if I kiss you like this?” He leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours.

More loud retches come from the laptop's speakers, and you and Tooru pull away, embarrassed.

"Uh, well, see you guys next week," you say, trying to conceal your mortification. "And good luck at work, Makki."

Hajime rolls his eyes, but there's a small smile on his face. Issei just laughs, clearly amused by the whole situation.

You do end up naming the innocent plant Assikawa. This leads to your boyfriend becoming overly protective of it, treating the innocent plant like a delicate newborn and fearing the wrath of the Plant Gods (and you, mainly you) if anything were to happen to it.

And it’s all fine for the first two-three weeks.

Each morning before heading to training, he would plant a gentle kiss on your forehead as you lay half-asleep in bed. After that, he would proceed with his typical morning routine, taking a quick shower before packing a light meal for you, followed by preparing his own nutritious breakfast and savoring a cup of black coffee. Just before leaving the apartment, he would give a tender pat to the fluffy plant, using it as a good luck charm.

That is until one morning, after a night of heavy drinking with some of his teammates, he staggers out of the bedroom, his head throbbing with pain. He makes his way towards the bathroom, his vision blurry and his mouth feeling like cotton. His lips are dry and chapped, and he stumbles, reaching out to grab something to steady himself.

You are abruptly awakened by a noise that isn't the birds chirping outside. You jolt awake, startled, heart rapidly beating. And when you leave the confines of your bedroom, your own head pounding, you're greeted by the sight of Tooru lying on the floor, shielding his face with his arms. The second-hand wooden shelf is barely holding up, one of its legs broken. Wet soil clumps are scattered on the soft carpet, and crumpled magazines are scattered around.

The fuzzy plant is barely visible, hidden under your boyfriend's large frame.

“Tooru!” you shout, rushing to his side and frantically checking for any injuries. “Tooru, are you alright?”

He groans in pain as you help him sit up and brush the dirt off him. “My butt hurts,” he complains, massaging his behind. “This is all your fault, Assikawa, for cursing me.”

Author's note: first time writing and posting a fanfic; i know there's absolutely no plot in here, but hey, i had to somehow indulge in my love for plants & writing xd

Thanks for reading 💚

[snogherinthekitchenx]

SLOW BURNER One - "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Summary - Just a quick one. The boys are back from tour, but something's a little bit different. Maybe it's you, maybe it's him, maybe it's nothing.

Word Count - 1.3k

A.N - It has been literally forever since I last wrote a fic lol. This series is just going to be a collection of prompts, so no order to them or real story even, more like tiny snapshots.

****

You're not quite sure how you ended up in this situation yourself. Dedicated house sitter was the official term, however you had many other roles, honorary washing up-erer, token joint stealer and even chief 'get drunk and act like a dickhead', a position you took with great honour. The idea was, when the boys were away, you would be there at home, holding the fort, looking after the place and making sure they were coming home to just that, a home. This worked well for you, living with Van and Larry. You had been friends for years and enjoyed the healthy mix of company and solitude. Of course, it meant cheap rent and an often an empty house, something of which you had been making the most of recently.

'Afters at mine?' sounded like a fantastic idea last night, however last night you and the current you, who was tossing half empty beer bottles into a double-bagged bin liner, were clearly different people. The boys would have never minded you having some friends round whilst they were gone - it was your home too - but it felt unfair for them to come home to this. And they were coming home - today. Maybe a poor choice in timing on your part. But again, there you were, clearing counters of bottles, glasses and half eaten pizza, all with a pounding headache.

It didn't take long before the place was returned to its original state. As much as you had made a mess, this wasn't your first time having to clear it all up. Everything was in place for them to return home. Well, everything except you. Yes, the fridge was stocked, you had hoovered within an inch of your life and a sweet-smelling candle was lit and placed on the bookshelf, but you were certainly not ready. It was tradition. Whenever the boys came home, you always looked your best. The need for this you were unsure of, possibly because you always worried they had forgotten your face or maybe it was that you wanted them to show them that although you were 'one of the boys in their eyes', you were still a girl after all. Definitely not to impress them though, of course.

Was it strange you listened to their music when they were away? You didn't need to when they were here, Van was always singing in the shower, or tapping a tune on the counters, sometimes strumming his guitar on the balcony. That was something you missed when they were away. Something you'd soon hear again.

Casual, but not too casual, was the aim, effortlessly pretty. As if you hadn't spent the last five weeks in sweatpants and the same four t-shirts. The waiting was the worst part though, waiting for them to stroll through the door. You never knew when. All of them terrible at communication. So, Netflix on the screen, laptop on your knee, blanket around your waist, you decided to do some work. Anything to take your mind away from the butterflies you felt. Surely it was normal to be nervous to see someone after that much time? You always were.

It was late afternoon when they arrived, piling through the door like animals. Shouting and shoving, dragging in what you could only imagine as incredibly messy and full to the brim suitcases behind them. "Tell you what, I've missed you y'know". Larry slung an arm around you from over the back of the sofa, giving you quite the shock. "C'mere" he groaned, his arm almost moving to trap you in some sort of gentle headlock.

"It's nice to have you back. Think any longer and I'd have started talking to the plant pot over there!" you exclaimed, placing down your laptop and standing up to be greeted by Larry's smiling face.

"Is that so? Van seems to think you had plenty of company, last night even! Judging by the evidence on the ring camera," Larry laughed, watching your face smile, a smile which was quickly dropped. Had Van been keeping an eye?

You could hear Van's heavy footsteps in his room, the sound of a suitcase being thrown on the floor, a guitar case placed much more carefully, more footsteps and then, before you could regain your thoughts, he was emerging back into the lounge.

"Hi," Van smiled, walking over and giving you a soft hug, his strong cologne engulfing you for a moment.

"All she gets is a hi?" Larry asked, "You had much more to say on the plane than here! Ask her about that boy then." Larry was biting his lip in amusement, but your eyes were not on him. Van. It was almost perverted the way he was looking at you. His eyes traipsing up and down, feeling like a spotlight.

"Yeah, saw you had a bit of fun last night, y'know. I mean God, love, you could've waited for us if you wanted to have a bit of a session," Van chuckled, his gaze not leaving you.

"What about the one that left after the rest? You said the last time you got a notification it was much later than the rest and it was some guy! Give us all the details y/n." Larry was enjoying this too much. You knew exactly what he meant, but it wasn't the way he implied. One of your friends struggled to get an Uber, and you had to wait for a lift for him to arrive. Although, you could tell from Larry's comment and the newly forming frustration in Van's face, that they thought otherwise.

"It was nothing like that. And if it was like that, you know I'd have taken the batteries out of that damn camera! Too smart to get caught like that." Your response made them both chuckle, and soon the conversation shifted away from you. Stories from tour were always intense, always long winded and always just a little concerning. You wondered how they came back in one piece sometimes.

The mention of dinner broke you away, first night back it was tradition for you to cook, another tradition you were unsure of the origins, but one you quite liked. Carbonara was a specialty of yours, something the boys left you to as they unpacked, or so you thought. As you closed the fridge door, you came once again face to face with Van.

There was a pause. Once again his eyes draped over you, it must have been a wind up, although you were sure as you turned away he bit his lip. "Lucky to have such a good cook in the house," his voice was low and it felt as if he was a step behind you. Trapping you between the hob and him. You couldn't believe he was carrying on like this, yes he was a wind up, but this was just all a bit odd. Not that you wanted to complain, you couldn't say you weren't enjoying the feeling of him watching you. As you carefully stirred the sauce, you turned your body slightly, enough to make eye contact with him, "It smells well nice y'know," he smiled.

"Why are you looking at me like that Van?" you asked, "I can't tell if you're winding me up or not." You studied his face, waiting for any sign or signal that you could use to decipher what was happening.

"I've missed ya, you look good, sometimes you don't realise what you've got until it's gone y/n." His words were serious but his subtle smile made you unsure. "Anyway I'll leave ya to your cooking, give us a shout when it's done yeah?" He rubbed your arm slightly before grabbing a can from the fridge and disappearing into his room.

Maybe you shouldn't have mentioned it, maybe you should've just enjoyed it instead. Fuck sake. The first bit of attention that boy gives you and you push him away, well done y/n.

****

Friendly reminder this is fiction. It's not real b x

Any feedback would be great and if there's any prompts or ideas you have feel free to send them in!

[sweaterkittensahoy]

A Little Snack Just for Me

[JackHarding, A/B/O]

Jack eyes the box when Chick holds it out. It's a black box with a gold stripe along the bottom. It's stamped with Chick's initials. "Is that a courting gift?"

Chick's eyes flash annoyance. "You don't have to say it like it's going to bite you." 

Jack works his jaw back and forth for a moment. Chick hasn't been subtle about letting Jack know he's interested. He's slipped him a few notes covered in his scent, left a tiny green plant on his desk in a pot that matches the box he's holding now. But it's thirty minutes to wheels up, and they've just finished the final debrief before Jack goes up in the air with the boys to head to Africa.

"Come on," Chick says, shaking the box a little. "At least open it before you reject it." 

I don't want to reject it, Jack thinks as he takes the box. That's part of his hesitation. He wants to take the box with both hands and simply hold it before he enjoys the process of opening it. He's never wanted to do that with a gift from an Alpha before. But Chick, he's different. Jack can feel it to his bones. He's known it since the first time he walked into Chick's office to tell him to shove the Air Exec job that he hadn't wanted but has now been convinced to keep.

The box is wooden with hinges. Jack opens it. The scent of pine wafts out, and it throws Jack for a moment. He expects the box to smell like Chick, but there's no pine in Chicks' scent, not even an undertone. Nestled in the box is a scarf. Silk and off-white with patterned brown circles of two sizes laid out in diagonal rows. He puts the box down on Chick's desk and lifts the scarf out to hold up to the light. With the sun hitting it, there's a buttery yellow undertone to the silk. He presses his face against it, taking a long breath. 

"You didn't scent it," he says, lowering the scarf so he can see Chick's face. 

The left side of Chick's mouth quirks in a tiny smile. "You want me to?" he asks. "I figured you'd wear it for the sortie. Wasn't sure if you wanted all the boys in your fort to smell me on you the whole way."

Jack's breath rushes out of him at Chick's words. "Right," he says. "I. No, I don't suppose I want them to have to smell you the whole time." But he'll wear it the whole time, he knows. Comfortable and warm around his neck, like the way he's imagined it must feel for one of Chick's hands to rest there.

Chick's grin gets wider. He walks around his desk and leans against the edge next to the box. He gives Jack a slow, pleased look. "Do you want to?" he asks. "I'll scent it up proper if you want."

Jack looks at the scarf, then he drapes it around his neck. "No," he says. "Not just yet. But you could tie it for me."

Chick's eyes go bright and playful. He grabs the ends of the scarf and pulls lightly, brings Jack into the vee of his legs so their mouths almost brush. "You know, traditionally, an Omega accepts a courting gift with a chaste kiss."

"Oh, you care about being traditional now? Might want to find a different Omega to give gifts to," Jack needles. 

"No," Chick replies, his gaze shifting from Jack's mouth to his eyes and then back again. "I like the one in front of me just fine."

Jack dips in, pressing his lips to Chick's for a moment. He pulls back, tilts his head, and goes in again. He opens his lips, and Chick follows suit, their mouths dragging together for a long, sweet moment. He smiles when Chick rubs their cheeks together in a brief, rough caress. Leaving his scent behind and picking up Jack's for himself. It'll be subtle enough no one will likely notice it, not unless they're right up against Jack like Chick is now. 

"Come back in one piece," Chick says as he ties the scarf with easy skill. 

Jack feels the silk settle against his neck, enjoys the light brush of Chick's fingers as he tucks it in under his collar. He steals one last press of their cheeks, inhaling slowly. He feels Chick breathe the same way. "See you in a few days," he says. "Don't let my plant die."

Chick hums in amusement. "Do my best."

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 2: Broken Pieces

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Henry struggles to adjust to life following his dischargement. 

Word Count: 1,442

Notes: Warnings for depictions of PTSD and references to past child death and a past suicide attempt. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.    

Masterlists: Main • Series

Previous Part • Next Part

He shot awake with a barely contained scream, legs tangling in the sweat-soaked bed sheets, body thrashing from side to side. There was a thunderstorm inside his mind; twisting winds and screaming and cold water and the roar of fighter engines descending from the sky and the rumble of bombs and above it all the little cry of a poor young boy as Henry’s hands shoved him to his death–

Shooting up out of the bed, Henry all but hurled himself into the tiny ensuite bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he was vomiting violently, entire body heaving and shaking with it, hands clutching the toilet rim, choking and gagging.

When it was over he slumped back against the opposite wall, pushing weakly at the handle to flush the toilet. A quiet whimper rose from his throat, running a hand through his hair. It was getting long, the fringe falling almost completely into his eyes. But he could barely bring himself to venture outside to buy groceries, let alone go to the barber.

Maybe the next time his mother came to visit he could have her cut it for him.

Returning home had been far more painful than he’d expected. There was no relief, as he had hoped there would be. Instead there were the faces of people who had known him nearly his entire life, looking at him in a combination of surprise and fear. Probably wondering how the lively, if somewhat quirky boy they’d once known could have turned into this absolute shell of a human being, flinching and diving for cover at the smallest of sounds, jerking away from people’s touch, shrinking in on himself whenever someone spoke in a voice that was too loud.

Eventually, he just stopped going out unless he had to. It was better than having to see the disappointment and shock in their eyes. To have to live with the crushing expectations that he would eventually return to his old self; the Henry that they all knew before the war took him away and ripped him to pieces. 

But that Henry was dead. He’d drowned out there in the channel, pulled far below the ink black waves.

He’d thought about getting away; going somewhere where no one knew who he was. Start fresh. But he had no idea where he would go. And he knew that wherever he went, he was not going to be able to escape the roar of war that lived in his head. 

Wiping his mouth, he braced his hand against the wall to help heave himself up, legs still unsteady as he staggered to the sink, rinsing his mouth out and scooping some cool water onto the back of his neck, splashing it onto his face. He kept his eyes averted from his reflection in the mirror; not needing to see the gaunt, pale, hopeless face that he knew would greet him.

It was still dark out, but he knew better than to try to go back to sleep, instead heading to the kitchen. Reaching into one of the dozens upon dozens of pots with happy, green plants sprouting from them, he tested the feeling of the soil, frowning at the dryness and stooping to dig out the watering can he kept under the kitchen sink, filling it and carefully pouring a stream into the pot. Nodding to himself, he stroked one of the big green leaves tenderly.

Much as he tried not to, his eyes drifted away to the piece of paper still pinned to the bulletin board he had hung up on the kitchen wall. It was overflowing with receipts and little notes, but there was one piece of paper he had up there that always seemed to burn in his mind whenever he even thought of it.

Pulling it free from the pin holding it in place, he leaned against the counter with a sigh, fingers pinching at the worn out edges of the paper, just staring at the address scrawled in looping, faded letters.

He’d tried to throw it away far more times than he could count. But every time he couldn’t bring himself to. Don’t ask him why; he certainly didn’t have any idea.

Weymouth could be a place to start over. Begin again.

A mental image of George, looking down at him curiously, and then the memory of the sound his body had made when he fell–no, when Henry pushed him–exploded into his mind and made him nearly throw up again, the guilt building up in his throat painfully, hands trembling. Bottom lip quivering, he buried his head into one of his hands, shoulders shaking as he started to sob.

He was a murderer. A fucking murderer, he’d killed that child. He’d just been a sweet young boy, and Henry killed him.

There were people in Weymouth who knew George. There had to be. Family, friends. How could Henry go back to that place at all, let alone with the expectation of being accepted or welcomed in any way after what he had done?

And Daisy, sweet and bright with her beautiful hazel eyes and dimpled smile, deserved far better than the jagged, broken pieces of a man that he could offer her. 

Shortly after coming home, he’d taken a sharp pair of pruning shears to his wrists. But his mother had found him before it could all be over. He could still remember the look of barely hidden shame in her eyes as she looked down at him in the hospital bed. Just the memory alone was enough to make him want to curl in on himself in shame. Should have used a revolver, like the Duncan’s boy down the street had.

And yet he still could not bring himself to throw away the paper she’d given him with the address to the library that she worked at. Even though it had been too long. If he showed up now, she might have already moved on. Or rightfully be angry with him for taking so damn long. No, no. It would be better for her if he just left her alone. Let her find someone else who could give her a life that didn’t involve having to wake up every night to terrified screaming, or needing to leave public places because they were too loud. 

He crumpled the paper up into his palm, squeezing it tight, willing himself to be strong. To not be selfish. She deserves better than me.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or that the fleeting moments that they’d spent on that little boat had been some of the few flashes of peace and calm he’d felt since Dunkirk.   

She deserves better than me.

He was a mess. A failure of a soldier and now just as a person. His mind was blown to utter pieces out there on that battlefield. It was doubtful that he would ever be able to put it back together again.

But he would not burden her with that task. He would not put it on her to fix him.

He was pretty sure that he was unfixable, anyway.

She deserves better than me.

He told it to himself one last time, and let the paper fall into the trash can.

Heaving out a breath, he nodded to himself, once, and moved back to the sink to refill the watering can. But his heart was sinking, the disappointment and loss swirling in his chest. He imagined how she would be, with every passing day. Looking up hopefully each time the library doors opened, shoulders slumping in disappointment. The way that she would wander about the stacks of books, wondering what she’d done wrong to push him away.

Nothing, you did nothing wrong. It was me, all me.

Please just forget about me.

But, god, that hopeful look in her eyes when she’s held the paper out to him…

Slamming the watering can down and cursing in a way that would have made his mother cuff him around the head, he went back to the trash can and pulled from it the crumpled, worn paper, unfolding it to look at the faded words.

It wasn’t like it mattered if he threw it away or not. He’d spent so much time just staring at it that he knew the address like the back of his hand.

Sighing in heavy defeat, he pined the paper back up to the bulletin board. His mind screamed and thrashed with guilt and shame. But at the same time, a warm, quiet hopefulness bloomed in his chest, fingers tracing lightly over Daisy’s looped handwriting.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

Previous Part • Next Part

Masterlists: Main • Series

[taizi]

run, boy, run

chapter five

natsume yuujinchou pairing: one-sided kitanishi word count: 2k summary: Nishimura has a cursed mark on his arm, a crush on Natsume’s famous idol friend, and a whole lot of brand new problems that start and end with the taboo circle he found. full circle au

read on ao3

x

Satoru keeps looking over his shoulder at Hiiragi, just to make sure she’s still there.

“Watch where you’re walking or you’ll fall, Nishimura,” she says after the third backwards glance, voice low and monotone and still, somehow, entirely reassuring. She’s looking at him, talking to him, and he can hear her.

“No, I won’t,” Satoru argues cheerfully. Natori’s hand on his shoulder steers him around a crack in the pavement before he can prove himself wrong. And he’s still holding a sleeping Nyanko-sensei, so he definitely would have eaten dirt.

They’re south of town, much farther down the highway than Satoru ever has reason to go on his own. Matoba must have had his yokai chauffeur drive them for longer than Satoru realized. He’s pretty sure there’s a gas station nearby, and he thinks this is the road his old elementary school is on, but other than that he’s got nothing.  

Natori’s rental car is parked in a tiny lot outside a Western-style building with a rustic cottage vibe. Satoru expects to be sheparded into the car, but instead Natori leads the way up the brick steps and through the lattice-patterned front door.

The inside is cluttered and cozy, warmed by potted plants on every available surface. A smiling young woman behind the pastry counter encourages them to pick any table they’d like.

There’s an older couple seated in the back corner booth, and a grizzled man reading the paper in a squashy armchair shoved next to a bookshelf overrun with paperbacks and waving cats. Natori guides Satoru to a table by the window, points him into a chair, and then slides over the laminate menu. Satoru remembers, abruptly, that he skipped breakfast and missed lunch.

“Order whatever you like,” Natori says, sounding distracted. “I need to make a few calls. I will be right outside. Okay?”

“Do you want something?” Satoru asks. He settles Natsume’s cat in his lap, relieved when the lucky cat actually stirs a bit and grumbles before tucking himself into a comfortable-looking loaf and going back to sleep.

“No, but Hiiragi has a sweet tooth. Pick her out something with strawberries.”

The shiki makes a noise that could, by generous definition, be considered a scoff. Natori leaves, and the cheerful woman who greeted them by the door takes Satoru’s order for hamburger steak and an ice cream parfait with all the extras. She looks indulgent when he tacks on the dessert and he can’t exactly explain it’s for a ghost.

The ghost in question sinks into the chair across from him only after the employee has dropped off a glass of melon soda and gone again.

“Your friends were very scared for you,” Hiiragi says without preamble. “They’ll be relieved to know that you’re safe.”

Satoru’s heart makes a sudden glad leap. “You saw them?”

“I did. Natsume called Natori-dono this morning when you didn’t arrive at school on time. And your little bird warned them you weren’t safe. You were missed immediately.”

It seems like she’s making a point, and Satoru can’t say he knows why, but he’s grateful all the same. It’s good to know that the whole time he was in Matoba’s dubious clutches, rescue was imminent. It’s really, really good to know that Fish didn’t just fly away in a panic, she flew away to the rescue. 

“Do you know if they told anyone else?” Satoru thinks to ask after a moment.

“Just your brother,” the shiki replies. “Kitamoto informed Natori-dono that he had two hours to find you, after which time he would  also be telling his mother.” If she considers it strange that Satoru’s own mother wasn’t a part of the equation, she keeps it to herself. Yokai probably don’t have strong feelings on humans and their relationships with each other anyway. She does add, “It took Natori-dono an hour and a half. …He was stressed.”

“I bet.”

Kitamoto can be kind of intense. Sure, Natori deals with curses and ghosts and what have you, but that’s nothing on Acchan when he’s in a mood.

Natori doesn’t come back to the table until after Satoru has started eating. He orders a cup of coffee and seems content to sit there for an indeterminate amount of time. Even though he’s busy—living a double-life, with double the work—he makes pleasant conversation with Satoru and teases Hiiragi about her ice cream and does nothing to rush either of them out of the restaurant.

Digging the tines of his fork through the sauce left on his plate, Satoru carefully doesn’t look at anyone in particular when he says, “Um. I didn’t say earlier. Thanks.”

Natori doesn’t speak up right away, and the silence is excruciating, even though it’s only like two seconds long. Satoru rushes to fill it.

“For—you know. You didn’t have to. I know you don’t really—uh, I just meant, thank you.”

Please stop talking! he begs himself.

The coffee cup lands against its saucer with a solid click and Natori’s hand comes to rest on the table between them. Satoru catches the little dart of a lizard tail disappearing up his arm, beneath his sleeve. It’s distracting enough that he almost forgets to be mortified that Natori Shuuichi is giving him his undivided attention. Almost.

“You’re a good kid,” Natori finally says, sounding, somehow, as if he means it. “And you have nothing to thank me for.”

Nyanko-sensei wakes up for real in time to finish the rest of Satoru’s hamburger steak. Natori gives sensei a dirty look, but Satoru is so relieved that he lets him have the fried potatoes and broccoli florets, too.

———

Less than an hour later, Satoru is delivered to the temple doorstep like he’s a Lotteria burger and Natori-san is a very stylish, very single-minded Demae-Can driver.

At around two in the afternoon, anyone who might be happy to see Satoru turn up out of the blue is almost definitely still at school. Satoru is opening his mouth to explain as much when the door rattles open hard enough that it crashes into the wall, and half a dozen voices yell, “Nishimura!”

It's a little funny. The sudden chaos settles something jangly and jittery in his chest that the quiet ride back into town couldn’t. Natori’s hands on his shoulders propel him gently forward and Satoru is folded into the crowd. Nyanko-sensei is lifted from his arms. Kitamoto is there.

He looks paler than he should. His eyes are dry, but red-rimmed, and while he usually greets Natori with a glare for whatever reason, this time he doesn’t seem to see the man at all. He’s staring right at Satoru from the second the door opens. He yanks Satoru into a hug that feels like it could go on for years and years, warm and tight and safe.

For the first time since he left his house that morning, Satoru relaxes fully. He can’t move his arms enough to get them around Kitamoto in turn, so he clutches fistfuls of his best friend’s shirt and sinks against him. He could probably fall asleep standing up right there if they’d just give him about five minutes.

“Come in, please,” Tanuma is saying, his tone equal parts gentle and stressed out. “I’ll make tea.”

Natori helps shuffle the Kitamoto-and-Satoru package into the genkan. The door rattles closed, and Satoru floats through the motions of exchanging sneakers for house slippers, peeling out of his sweaty school jacket and pulling a hoodie over his head instead.

“I know for a fact that you should be in English right now,” is the first thing he says, to Natsume, who looks like he doesn’t know if he wants to hug Satoru or shake him like a terrier would a rat.

“If anyone should have been anywhere, ” Taki says, and lets the statement hang there ominously.

“Shibata will be here by dinner,” is what Natsume settles on saying. He has Nyanko-sensei nestled in one arm, petting him gently with the opposite hand. Sensei’s eyes are slitted, his purr a quiet, rumbly thing. “He’s getting on a train after school.”

“Ogata’s volleyball team is away at a tournament right now, but she’s going to be livid she missed all this when she checks the group chat,” Taki adds.

Tanuma returns to the crowded hall with a tray of tea and glasses, and since he looks like he’s seconds away from a nervous breakdown if he can’t host them properly, everyone finds a place in the living room to sit. There’s one too many cups on Tanuma’s tray, but after the day they’ve had, Satoru doesn't blame him for miscounting. 

Kitamoto doesn’t even pretend like he’s about to let Satoru go anytime in the immediate future, keeping an arm wrapped around him like it belongs there. Satoru, for his part, doesn’t pretend like that’s anything but a comfort. 

A clatter on the engawa is the only warning any of them get before a frantic magpie bursts inside, silent except for the noisy scrabbling of her talons against the floor, wings half-spread, beak ajar.

“There’s my best girl,” Satoru says brightly. “Fish, you’re a hero, you know that? Hiiragi told me what you did. They should write songs about you.”

“satoru,” she cries, hopping across the room with gusto. “the scary human took you.”

“That he did.” Satoru puts the cup down and offers his hands to his bird instead. “But thanks to you, he gave me back.”

With Fish nestled under his ear where she belongs, her warm, slightly oily feathers and rapid little heartbeat against his cheek both a touchstone, Satoru accepts the cup of tea that’s pressed into his hands. He opts to just hold it for a while, breathing in the fragrant steam, shaking off those last, clinging fingers of anxiety.

“Wait,” Taki blurts. “Hiiragi told you?”

Oh, yeah. “There’s been a new development,” Satoru tells the room at large. “I can see yokai without the circle now.”

For a beat, no one moves except to stare at him blankly. Then all heads swivel toward Natori, who only says, with feeling, “It has been a very long day.”

“And it’s only halfway over,” Hiiragi comments plainly. 

Since unpacking the yokai thing is going to be a conversation and a half, Satoru interjects quickly, “Before we get into all that, can we talk about how much trouble I’m in at school really fast?”

Natsume and Taki look too frustrated to speak for the moment, so Tanuma says, “You’re not in trouble, Nishimura. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Refusing to let Tanuma’s whole soft-spoken, gentle self get to him—he was kidnapped today and didn’t cry about it, he’s not going to cry just because his friend is being nice —Satoru replies, “Okay, we know that, but Nomiya-sensei doesn’t.”

“He does,” Tanuma insists.

It turns out that Satoru won’t have after-school suspension after all—because Kiyoshi, in a bizarre, uncharacteristic turn of events, covered for him.  

“Sorry, I forgot to let his homeroom teacher know this morning,” was his brother’s story. He had called the school and lied directly to the principal herself, according to an impressed Taki’s eyewitness account. “He has a stomach bug. Can one of his friends bring by his homework later?”

“We had to call Kiyoshi-niisan when you didn’t show up,” Kitamoto says doggedly. It’s the first thing he’s said since Satoru got here. “I didn’t tell him everything, but I had to tell him something.”

Fish tugs on a piece of his hair with her beak. Satoru leans his head on Kitamoto’s shoulder.

“Acchan knows best,” Satoru says, because that was true even when it wasn’t. Of course, this meant that Satoru owed Kiyoshi the truth, whether he was ready to have that conversation or not, but at worst, he would just think Satoru and his friends were crazy. And he kind of already thought that, so no harm done. “At least that’s future-me’s problem,” he goes on, smiling around at his friends. “He’s taking a mock entrance exam for Kyushu University today, up in Fukuoka. That’ll keep him busy and give me time to spin a story.”

They frown back at him. Even Natori looks over, a crease in his brow.

“You think he still went to Fukuoka?” Taki says slowly.

“Nishimura, you were missing, ” Natsume adds, bemused. “Someone took you right off the street.”

“It sounds bad when you say it that way.” Satoru can feel the twinge in his arm that means the cursed bruises are coming back. His heart rate picks up a little, too, for good measure. “But it’s his mock exam. Mom’s been hounding him about this school for ages. He wouldn’t do anything to mess this one up.”

He wouldn’t let me mess this up for him, is what Satoru doesn’t say out loud. He digs his fingers into the overlarge hoodie he’s wearing, twisting the cuffs all out of shape.

Natsume glances at Natori quickly, concerned. The man sets his tea aside and stands up, moving around the table and then settling tailor-style in front of Satoru and Kitamoto. 

“I think there is a reason your brother studies so hard,” Natori says. “And I think it has very little to do with your mother.” 

“You haven’t met my mom,” Satoru says. It makes Natori crack a smile. 

“I haven’t had the pleasure. But Kiyoshi told me plenty. And while you might think he’s doing everything he can to please her, from where I’m standing, it looks a lot more like he’s doing his best to spite her.”

Natori Shuuichi spoke to Satoru’s brother. They talked about personal stuff. Satoru wants to bury himself under a rock. 

It doesn’t sound like Kiyoshi at all to trash-talk mom in any capacity. He’s her shining up-and-coming med student, bringing home perfect scores and skipping weekend trips and holidays to study. She doesn’t really care about Satoru, but she loves Kiyoshi. He has no reason not to love her back. 

But if his friends are to be believed—and of course they are—then Kiyoshi covered for him today, even without understanding what, exactly, he was covering for. Why would he do that?

Footsteps from further in the temple draw nearer, along with a voice that Satoru would know anywhere. He whips around, spilling tea over his fingers, because that’s his brother’s pissed-off tone, here, in Tanuma’s house, where Satoru and his friends and Natori and the ghosts all are. 

As he gets closer, his words get clearer, until Satoru can make out, “…my problem, remember? Not yours. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

“Nii-san has always had the best timing,” Kitamoto mutters. 

“Kyushu was a compromise, ” Kiyoshi is saying, his voice making it easy to trace his progress down the engawa. “Fukuoka is three hours away, I didn’t want to go to school there in the first place. Kumamoto University is much closer, and it’s a good school. My friends are applying there, too. It’s where I want to go.”

Fish is poking insistently at Satoru’s ear and chin, so he lifts his hands mechanically and moves her down into his lap instead. She busies herself with snapping at the drawstring of his hoodie instead, unbothered by the force of nature headed their way. 

“Um, so he knows some stuff,” Satoru hears himself say weakly. “How much exactly is that?”

“Enough,” Kitamoto says, which explains nothing. 

The porch doors rattle the rest of the way open from where they were cracked, presumably to let nosy spirit birds in and out, and Kiyoshi stands there backlit by afternoon sunlight. It’s impossible to make out his expression. Satoru thinks he’s more nervous now than he was with Matoba. 

“Bye, mom,” Kiyoshi says, and hangs up without waiting for a reply. 

“You wanted to go to Fukuoka,” Satoru blurts before anyone can say anything else. “You made me memorize the train line.”

“That was just in case, brat,” Kiyoshi replies, crossing the room in long strides. Natori moves and Kiyoshi takes his place, looking over first Satoru, then Kitamoto carefully. “I was probably going to throw the mock exam anyway. I was just going today to make mom happy. I’ve been accepted at Kumamoto Uni already. An hour-long commute will be annoying, but it’s better than the alternative. Heaven only knows the kind of trouble you’d get into on your own.” 

“And us,” Taki pipes up. “We know.”

“Right,” Kiyoshi says, sitting back. His expression is no-nonsense, gaze level and boring into Satoru’s. “And now me. Start talking, or I’ll make your life miserable.”

Now that, Satoru thinks, is the first believable thing anyone has said all day.