#does this mask suppose to show that in all the space of the universe and its stars and its dark and its light

[literaila]

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else."

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, slight angst, mentions of tampons (terrifying), suggestive comments, absurdly long, alternate universe characters

a/n: to all of my frequent readers--i have never claimed to be sane :)

*

in the broad spectrum of things, opening the door in nothing but your bathrobe and a ridiculously bright orange clay mask is not the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you. 

oh no, puking on your first ever date at seventeen definitely takes the cake. finding your seventh-grade friends bent over a table reading your diary--in which you wrote many explicit things about them, not to mention, yourself--might be even worse. riding your bike into the pond by your house in front of all of your--much older, much cooler--neighbors, even. picking up your coffee in your favorite cafe and spilling it, which was not only devastating but humiliating because you managed to spill your mocha on every other drink waiting there (effectively banning you from returning) still haunts your dreams. even walking down the street and trying to pretend like you didn't just trip over air in front of every single one of your peers still lingers in your mind, waiting for a moment of peace before it attacks.

you're used to the feeling of dread in your stomach and the nights spent thinking about all of these moments, like a scrapbook in your mind--just there to make your skin itch. 

but, it does get a little bit worse when you realize the man you've opened the door to is none other than a potential roommate; and when you remember that you forgot he was coming. 

or when you have to pull your robe tighter around your abdomen just to make sure that you don't give this man a show before you even shake his hand. 

"is this apartment 214?" he asks, looking right at you--and your legs, naturally--with a confused grin on his face, but grin nonetheless. 

so immediately you slam the door. 

you turn around, with wide eyes, face crackling from the movement, and check your phone frantically. yes, it is the 18th, and yes it is 11:32, which means he was supposed to be here over a half-an-hour ago. 

and also you've just slammed the door in his--satoru gojo, the only person who's even bothered to respond to your ad about an available room--face. 

oh, fuck. 

so you groan, refraining from knocking your head against the door just in case he can still hear, and open it again. a little bit less this time. 

"gojo?" you ask, voice rough and slightly irritated. 

"the one and only. i'm pretty sure this is the right apartment," he says, and you don't fail to notice his tone of voice as he continues, "but if it's not, then fate must've brought us together."

you narrow your eyes, hoping that he doesn't notice the specks of dust that ebb from your skin. "you're late." 

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

he snorts. "so you started an impromptu spa day? or was this supposed to be another perk of the apartment?" 

you glower, opening the door a bit more just so he can see the fury in your eyes. "i don't think someone who doesn't even text to cancel has any right to judge my self-care practices." 

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

you blink at him, and he blinks back--or at least, you're assuming. because he's wearing sunglasses even though it's cloudy outside. 

and he's aggressively taller than you. he might not even fit through the door. 

you don't look away, waiting for him to break. which he does because you're well-practiced in men of his standard. "so, are you going to let me in?" he asks. 

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

"i'm sorry that i'm late," he says, immediately, with an air of fake sincerity. "i got stuck in traffic. i would've called, but my phone died." 

"really?" 

the smile reappears, as if from magic. "no, but did it make you want to let me in?" 

you glare even harder--which is tough, honestly--and begin to shut the door. until your plan is interrupted by a foot. "excuse you," you say, to this man, who you already hate. and his stupid chelsea boots.

"look, i'm sorry. i'm trying to ease the tension--because honestly i wasn't expecting to get an eyeful this early in the morning, and you seem uncomfortable--" 

you slam the door against his foot again. 

gojo doesn't even wince. "and also, you're, like, the only person with a room in the middle of october. and i... could really use a place to put my bed. so, can i look around, at least? i'll keep my eyes closed every time i'm facing your direction. i can even give you my rent money today if it works out."  

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

and, well. despite your very short robe and your very dry face mask, he is the only person who's even inquired about the room. and you desperately need a roommate; someone to clean up with, someone to make coffee for, someone to argue about toilet paper direction with, and, most importantly, someone who has money and can keep you from getting evicted from the only place you've lived since high school. 

so you sigh. think about moving back home and suffering at the will of your parents. 

it takes about three seconds to say, "will you wait out here while i get dressed?" 

an eyebrow peeks out from behind the sunglasses, as white as his hair. "how long?" 

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

"do you have a chair?" he asks and moves his foot from the door. 

and so you close it without answering and rush to your room to find something that's still clean. 

there's nothing that you'll actually wear, but satoru gojo doesn't deserve your fresh appearance anyway. he can have day-old wrinkled jeans and a t-shirt you got when you were twelve. 

as slow as humanly possible, you remove the face mask, trying to keep your hair out of the way, and think about putting on makeup--which you probably would have done, had you remembered he was even coming--but decide not to. 

in reality, it only takes about seven minutes for you to look mostly presentable and get rid of the mugs you left cluttered around the dining room table. 

but you wait an extra four, just to mess with him. 

and then, eleven minutes later, you open the door again to the man leaning against the wall, playing what looks like candy crush on his phone. 

you attempt a fake smile. 

"hey," he says, with that same grin, "you have clothes." 

you drop your face. "i will close this." 

he isn't phased, just pockets his phone and leans in to look behind you at the entryway. 

you roll your eyes, but open the door anyway, and usher him in. he rubs his feet against your welcome mat and toys with a keychain you have hanging from a coat rack, then looks to you, like he's waiting for a tour. which, you guess, he is.

"there's only two rooms, one bath. it's not very big, so if you need a lot of space..." 

"i can manage," he says, and follows you as you walk into the kitchen. "did you decorate?" 

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

"i, uh, had a roommate before and he bought most of the decorations before i moved in. but i've added a few things. i'm not picky about aesthetics." 

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

"we were together and he cheated on me," you say, flatly, as you have been for the past month and a half. "and then told me i couldn't use his netflix account anymore after i broke up with him." 

gojo merely blinks and gestures toward the wall behind you. "so you didn't buy that dancing frog thing?" 

you turn around, rolling your eyes. "no. i forgot that was there." 

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

you snort, but nod your head and walk down the hallway. gojo's footsteps follow you as you open the door to his potential bedroom. "it's the bigger of the two," you tell him, "but the bathroom is next to mine." 

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

"when your ex moved out. why take the smaller one?" 

"oh," you rub a finger against the wall, rubbing dust off of it. "it was his room before we got together. and then we shared my current room. this was his man... den?" you try, shaking your head. "gaming room? slaughterhouse?" 

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

"oh, nothing," he says, airy like he's teasing you. "just curious."

you step back so he can walk around, check the carpets for stains, or look for drywall you could've hidden a body behind. but he doesn't, only watches you as you furrow your brows. 

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

"yeah, but what if there are, like, bugs in the carpet? blood on the walls?" 

"are there bugs in the carpet?" he asks. "blood on the walls?" 

"not that i know of..." 

"great, then it's perfect," he says, and steps out of the room again, whistling as he goes. 

this time, you follow him, like he's the one giving the tour. 

he pauses at the door a couple of feet down. "this your room?" 

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

you scowl. "no. what do you mean 'it's perfect?'"

"i mean, i'd like to live here. it's nice. besides the frog." 

you lean against the wall, trying to inspect him for any mechanical parts. is this a ploy? some joke? "you've barely been here five minutes." 

"twenty with all the time i waited outside..." 

"you can't just take one look and say 'yup, this is good.'" 

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

gojo's grin seems to widen, impossibly. "well, i'm not picky." 

and somehow you doubt that. 

but you don't get the chance to tell him that, or anything else, because he leans against the wall, still smiling at you, and asks, "so, are we roommates now?" 

"you haven't even seen the lease. or heard about the house rules." 

"house rules?" he repeats, dubiously. like you're making this up (which you are). 

"yes." 

"such as?" 

"no..." you pause, 'cause this is a fickle argument. something about his stupid smile makes you want to argue with him. or maybe it's the hair. or the sunglasses. "murdering anyone in the apartment." 

he laughs, unexpectedly, and sighs. "well, i guess i'll take my murdering someplace else." 

"and... you can't leave any utensils in the sink." 

"okay." 

"and i'm not cleaning up any beard shavings, or sharing my tampons with you, or any people you have over." 

"these are very extensive," he says, unserious. "anything else?" 

"i..." your brows furrow. "no hogging the bathroom. hot water is fickle. and you have to recycle." 

"it might be challenging, but we'll figure it out." 

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

eventually, after staring back with a frown that feels slightly permanent for more than a minute, you sigh again. at least you won't have to worry about moving out. 

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

"okay," and you stick your hand out for him to shake like this is a business transaction. 

and it seems that you'll be seeing a lot more of that grin in the future. 

*

living with satoru gojo is not... well, it's not hard. he's a normal enough roommate. 

he pays his rent on time and doesn't touch the coffee you make in the morning most days--coughing when he does. he man spreads on the couch and watches movies way too loud and doesn't hang his bag up at the door, preferring to, instead, set it on the counter like a maniac. he whistles when he walks, and wears his stupid sunglasses 80% of the time, and grins at you when you're irritated, and, honestly, he's not really half bad. 

he doesn't leave any huge messes for you to clean up (mostly because he doesn't use the kitchen or the dining table ever). he doesn't invite people over that keep you up all night (because he's gone most nights). and, actually, he keeps the bathroom quite clean (even if he takes up well more than half of the shower space with his weird face creams and deep conditioning treatments). 

but satoru gojo is hard. 

it's not what he does, but rather who he is. with his infuriating good looks--taking up most of the fair share for the rest of the population--and his subtle charm, which, if you didn't know who he was, might actually work on you, and his morning voice and his messy hair and just the way he lives. 

like breathing is just what he's supposed to be doing. like he doesn't need to worry about a thing because nothing should matter if he decides he doesn't want it to. 

so easygoing and naturally intuitive and far too exhausting for you. 

because, as a fatal flaw of your own, you love to mess with him. somedays you'll hope he shows up just so you have someone to fight with. just so you'll be irritated instead of stressed, frustrated instead of exhausted. 

it's kind of addicting, in a way. and masochistic, but you've never claimed to be completely sane. 

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

after a mere month of living with his aura around, you come to expect his cockiness. you live to take him down a notch.

so when he's up this early in the morning, whistling like it's his god-given right, you scowl at him just as he enters the room. 

"woah," he says, sliding on a bar stool in front of you. "starting early this morning?" 

"you're banned from talking to me until noon." 

"is this about the ice cream i ate? cause there was only a little left..." 

"no it's--" you pause, frowning at him. "you ate my ice cream?" 

he lays his entire torso on the counter, pathetically. "i was dying, okay? low blood sugar was going to kill me, and i couldn't see anything else but that ice cream and it wasn't even very good anyway, so, really, i was saving you from having to endure the rest of it." 

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

"i'll buy you more. a better kind. and then you'll understand that i was doing you a favor." 

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

"i was going to eat that," you whine, shoving his hands away from trying to grab your mug. 

he smiles, too bright for so early in the morning. "yesterday you told me sweets weren't an appropriate breakfast." 

you scoff. "yeah, cause that's all you eat. you need a green smoothie or something in the morning just to keep your heart beating for the rest of the day."

"my heart beats very well, thank you. wanna feel?" 

you roll your eyes and sigh into your mug. "i'll be expecting three pints of ice cream as an apology later tonight." 

gojo has already moved on, typing away on his phone, probably to some groupies he manipulated into loving him. "i can't. it's flip night at laurent's tonight, and suguru has already threatened me into coming." 

"why did you say laurent's like i'm supposed to know what you mean?" 

"laurent's," he repeats, looking at you.

you blink. 

"the bar?" he questions, like you're crazy. 

"okay, sorry, i don't exclusively hang out at bars filled with frat boys." 

"it's very sophisticated,” he corrects, his frat boy nature very obvious. “i mean, i frequent there." 

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

he sits back in his chair. "i have class all day." 

"like you've never skipped a class." 

"encouraging ditching?" he asks, mock appalled. "what kind of roommate are you?" 

"the kind that doesn't steal her roommate's food. just get one of your servants to pick it up.”

gojo waves a hand at you, and that statement, apparently. and then he types another thing into his phone—to said servants you assume—and grins again. his face must’ve missed the feeling. "how about i buy you a drink instead? you can come with me tonight. meet my friends. maybe make some of your own." 

"haha," you cross your arms. "if they're as bad as you, then i'm good." 

"you'd probably love them. they also like to torment me, even though i'm pretty and perfectly nice to them." 

"i seriously doubt that." 

his eyes--oh, yes, this early in the morning he skips the sunglasses--sparkle like gems. "i have to play wingman for suguru, but it probably won't take long. you can mingle. meet someone. i think you could use a way to relieve some of that stress." 

"oh, you mean the stress that you cause?" 

gojo grins and you realize that you've fallen into his trap. "i'm willing to help out whenever you like," he says, deviously, "you just haven't asked yet, sweetheart." 

"nor ever will," you grind out.

gojo hums and taps his fingers against the countertop. the two of you stare at each other, grin matching scowl, and eventually, he loses the contest. "so, can i plan to steal you away from eternal solitude at six?" he asks.

and just because he's right--in his weird, satoru gojo way--you nod. it might be nice to get out of the house; and meet people other than the lost freshman at work. and because you know that gojo will continue to bother you about it otherwise. he’s a very difficult person.

as if proving it, he grins all pleased with himself, so you add, "but you're buying all of my drinks." before he can get too ahead of himself. 

*

it's not nearly loud enough in this bar. as soon as you walk in, you're sure of it. 

because even with a band up on the stage, singing about loving someone or money or drugs, you can still hear gojo as he flirts with every single living thing in his twenty-foot vicinity. 

he's got his grin on, styled his hair all fancy, and his clothes are signature in the way that you've probably seen him wear the same thing fifty times. maybe in a row. 

but the people in this bar don't care. no, they flirt back like they already know who satoru gojo is. and maybe they do. 

you don't really care, but you do have to drag him along so he can show you where you're supposed to sit and tell you the names of his friends before you get drunk enough to forget. 

it takes three minutes of trailing after gojo like a lost puppy to remember that you hate going out. that you hate everything about your so-called roommate and you should've shoved his invitation down the drain along with him. 

as if gojo can hear this thought, he peeks over his shoulder, smirking at you. "enjoying the view?" he asks, and you try to trip him by stepping on his heel. 

unfortunately, he only swings around, walking backward through the crowd like it's going to part for him. 

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

"what? you don't like the music?" he pouts because that would personally offend him, of course. 

"where are we going? i think we've passed that table four times already." 

"i have to say hi," he says like this is obvious. "it's rude to just walk into some place without greeting everyone." 

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

"then find your friends so we can sit down," you grumble, trying not to lose him in the sea of people. it's unlikely that you've ever seen a bar this packed. more like a club, honestly, but you wouldn't put it past gojo to lie. 

eventually, he does lead you to a table, announcing, with a flourish. "don't worry, everyone, i'm here," while he bows--because of course he does. "and," he adds, "i brought a stowaway." 

you peek around his shoulder to meet three people, all staring at him with the same unamused expression. one, suguru--from the many photo albums and 'trips down memory lane' gojo has bombarded you with--gives you a little wave. the other two just continue to stare at gojo. 

"everyone, this is y/n, my favorite roommate. y/n, that one is suguru," he says, pointing towards him, "which you already know. the short one is shoko, and the blonde one is--" 

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

gojo frowns, looking between the two of you. "you know each other?" 

"we have analytics together," you answer, sliding in to sit across them, next to gojo, naturally. "i usually cheat off of his notes." 

"she gets me coffee," nanami adds, like this information is imperative. 

gojo grins again. "why didn't you say anything nanamin?" 

"because i didn't realize." 

"who else could i have been talking about? do you know several pretty girls named y/n? you a player?" 

nanami has a very familiar frown on his face, and is about to say something when suguru seems to kick gojo under the table. "satoru, i told you to stop referring to other people as 'players.'"

gojo merely rolls his eyes. "can't fight the truth," he says.

you almost smile. almost. but your eyes drift over to shoko, who sighs. "how'd you get stuck with this one?" she asks, not harsh, but not quite soft. 

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

speaking of, you turn towards him. "you and i both know there's only one reason i'm here." 

gojo flicks your forehead, but stands up. "i'll be right back," he says, "don't miss me too much." 

and you all watch as he walks away, conveniently stopping at least four times to talk to several different people. 

you groan. "he's not coming back is he?" 

"he will," suguru says, not quite reassuringly. "probably. in an hour or so." 

you cover your eyes with your hands and listen as the three of them laugh at you. 

*

it probably is an hour or two later that you see gojo again. 

you'd fallen into smooth conversation with his friends, talking about classes, and dancing, and the fact that you all shared a common enemy. it was easy enough, talking to them, like ripples in a pond. but surely if gojo had stuck around, it would've been more of a tsunami. you could see the appeal--at least for someone like your roommate. they all seemed responsible enough. 

but shoko, after a twenty-second lull in conversation, decided she was better off drinking at home, and nanami quickly agreed. watching them, compared to gojo, disappear into the crowd was a different experience. 

you bite your cheek unnervingly, wondering if it made you a bad roommate to want to let gojo suffer here alone and walk home by himself. 

suguru pats you on the shoulder when he stands up a moment later, brushing his pants. "i'll go find satoru," he says, softly. you feel that same irritation when you realize that gojo had probably lied to you about coming here for suguru. it was almost infinitely more times likely that suguru had come here for him. "do you want me to tell him you went home?" 

"how likely is it that he'll go home with someone else and it won't matter if i wait for him anyway?" 

the dark-haired man considers this with a sly grin on his face. "if i tell him you left, he'll find someone to cling to. but if you're here he'll go home with you. probably drunk, though." 

you run a hand through your hair, waving him off. "it's fine. i'll wait, then. but tell him that the homicide clause doesn't apply to outside the apartment." 

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

you sit there, toying with a glass someone had left behind, watching the people around you dance like it really was a club. with absolutely no one watching. not even god, evidently.

as usual, gojo lied--even though you hadn't really believed him when he said this place was sophisticated. the clear air of stale beer and vomit is enough to prove that.

you almost laugh bitterly, but then a mop of white hair appears in the chair next to you, and his grin is wider, larger than you'd remembered. 

how long had that taken? 

"hello hello, roomie," he sings, leaning close to you. he moves his chair, shuffling across the floor so that he's near enough to touch. "i heard you were threatening me again." 

"you could hear that over the sighs of your fan club?" 

gojo giggles, like he's in on the joke. his breath falls on your face. "i like it when you tell me you're going to murder me, you know." 

"of course you do. how much did you drink?" 

"it's not the quantity," he whispers, "it's the quality." 

"your friends told me you could get drunk off of hand sanitizer." 

gojo leans back, his long legs knocking against yours. "are they spreading those rumors again?"

you kick his foot away from yours but don't say anything. his eyes seem somehow wider right now, even behind his dark shades. almost like you could see them. 

you blink, and gojo does it back. his lashes fluttering just enough to tell.

it almost makes you smile. laugh a little bit at his innocence--especially right now, when he's clearly not himself--some more unperturbed version of who he normally is (if that's even possible). he probably wouldn't even remember if you did laugh at him. but you refrain anyway. 

gojo gasps suddenly. "oh! let's go to the store. you want ice cream, right?" his elbow slides onto the table as he rests his chin on a hand. 

you kick his foot again. "i wanted a drink," you correct, "but apparently you got distracted." 

"'s not my fault," he almost slurs, sadly. 

"are you ready to go home?" 

"i'm ready to leave. so we can get your ice cream. want to share a spoon?" his grin is unabashed. you could tell him that he is a vile, disgusting creature right now and he would probably agree. 

you don't, for whatever reason. 

"i don't think anywhere's open, and i don't want to drag you around while you're this drunk." 

he taps your thigh with a finger. "hey. i'll have you know that i am a very proficient walker." 

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

"wow, gojo, i'm very impressed," you deadpan, and look around. "do you need to say goodbye to suguru?" 

he frowns. then points to himself. "gojo," he repeats, and into the crowd, "suguru." 

like he's an actual toddler.

you shake your head and stand up, still looking. "can you text him?" 

"i guess," he mumbles, getting out his phone and almost dropping it. he frowns like this is deeply upsetting. 

so you grab it from him. "what's your passcode?" 

"one one one one." you look at him with a brow raised. "cause i'm number one," he answers, pridefully. 

you scoff, but look through his texts anyway, and tell suguru that you're taking him home--and never ever coming out with him again--and then hand it back to gojo. 

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

then he grabs your hand, and begins to pull. "c'mon before they find us," he says, and it doesn't make any sense. 

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

perhaps the aftermath of drunk gojo is even more entertaining than the actual thing. 

shoko hadn't been kidding when she said he was the worst drunk--and even worse when hungover. 

how do you know this? oh, because you woke up at one in the afternoon--perfectly respectable for a saturday--and as soon as you dared to even open your door gojo was already groaning about the noise. so you slam it a little as you leave. 

there's a grunt, like a dying cat, and two minutes later he is walking into the kitchen with slits for eyes and cotton for hair. you're not sure what he's wearing--some video game shirt--but it's wrinkled enough to match your roommate's appearance. disheveled and slightly peeved, he's almost glaring at you--like he's capable of such a thing.

you try not to laugh. 

"where's the bacon?" he asks, almost slipping off of the counter as he leans on it. his hands rubbing at his eyes. 

"sorry?" 

"wheres the bacon?" he repeats, his voice a different register this morning. "i need emergency bacon." 

"so make some. there's a pan and probably a package in the fridge." 

he whines, falling against the counter again. his natural habitat. "i can't make it, i'm dying. you really want your terminally ill roommate to cook for himself?" 

"i want my overdramatic roommate to act like an adult for a change." 

he blows a raspberry, and his face is hidden beneath the tile of your table. you can only see his hair, which looks surprisingly soft for his state. 

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

gojo snaps up, immediately, gasping. he pulls a strand so he can look at it, blinking rapidly. his panic quickly fades, and he blows the strand out of his eyes. "it's just dirty." 

"from what?" 

"i forgot to buy new bedsheets," he grumbles, once again hiding his face. 

"your bedsheets are dying your hair?" you ask, with a raised brow. 

"they're dirty," he repeats, rolling his eyes as he sits up. "i need to go to the store." 

"um..." you look at him as he slumps against his own body, feeling greatly concerned for his survival abilities. "you buy new bedsheets?" you confirm, "instead of washing them?" 

he waves a hand, blowing you, and your clearly audaious sentence away. "bacon," he says, flatly. 

you roll your eyes. "pan," you point, "stove." 

gojo looks like he might start crying.

and it might be his state or the fact that you don't think you've ever seen him like this--in the month you've known him--all lost and confused and a little bit ruffled at the edges. gojo's snark is usually in its top form when you see him in the morning. 

so, just this once, you grab a pan, and turn on the burner. 

"i'll be expecting payment for my time," you say, as you grab the bacon from the fridge. 

and maybe you get your first real smile from your roommate. 

*

you're lying on the couch reading a book when he appears, swarming like a fly. 

"hello, roommate," he says, uncharacteristically pleasant, and then he sits on your legs. you try to kick him, but it proves futile because apparently he's a giant, so you wiggle your way out from under him and sit up, frowning. 

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

"i could ask you the same thing," gojo tries to tickle your feet, but you move them away before he can. your frown turns into more of a glare. "what?" he asks, "we can't hang out?" 

"no." 

gojo pouts. "but we're roommates," he says as if it's an explanation. like being roommates binds your souls and forever intertwines the two of you. 

"we are roommates because i had an extra room and you had money. that doesn't seem like thrilling grounds for friendship." 

"well, how about the fact that i let you use my hair dryer the other day?" he lays down on the other side of the couch, smirking at you. "that's a friendly thing to do." 

"that's the polite thing to do. i'm trying to train you. speaking of which..." you point towards the floor, "down boy." 

he takes off his sunglasses, throwing them on the coffee table--which probably explains the broken mug pieces you found in the trash the other day--and lays back with his arms behind his head. his eyes are closed. "i can't be trained." 

"clearly." 

you sigh and relax in your corner of the couch, picking up your book again. his presence lurks like a nightmare, but, you figure, eventually, he'll get bored. 

you just can't entertain him. it's like the advice you'd give to a kid being bullied: they only care about your reaction... 

as if proving your point, after twenty-seven seconds of silence, he opens one eye, peeking at you. "whatcha reading?" 

"a book." 

he plucks it right out of your hands, inspecting the cover. how he got across the couch in 0.2 seconds, you don't know. 

"what is this?" he asks, snickering a little. "word porn?" 

you take it back. "it's called romance, gojo. not that i'd expect you to be familiar with anything of the sort." 

he smirks, laying back down. "i have references if you need proof." 

you shake your head, flipping him off, and continue to scan the words on your page without retaining any information. 

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

"it's okay," he whispers, "you don't need to be embarrassed. everyone craves intimacy." 

"i crave my fist on your face." 

he snorts. "that's not very friendly." 

you sigh, dropping the book again so you can look at him and his obnoxious eyes. "look, i'm tired, it's been a long week, and if you don't leave me alone i'll probably lock you outside." 

"probably?" 

"it's that or throwing you out the window." 

gojo laughs once again, but mimes zipping his mouth shut. you roll your eyes and open your book again. your feet are entwined, but you don't mock this--if only because you're sure that gojo will start an argument about it.

the quiet lasts for two minutes and then he turns on the tv. 

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

you're getting used to having him around, at least. and in turn, his friends. because they seem to be a package deal. 

after that night at the bar, gojo--apparently--feels much more comfortable having them over. trying to bake cookies with shoko or interrupting what's supposed to be a study session between the four of them. 

at least, you think, watching this happen, that you're not the only person forced to endure him. 

but it's kind of... nice to see him act like a normal person, for once. to get teased by someone other than you and pout like a begrudged younger brother. the person who invites his friends over for game night (getting aggressively angry every time he loses) isn't satoru gojo, the man whom everyone is drawn to. he isn't some drunk guy charming everyone around him or a roommate that you just happened upon. 

he's just another college student, laughing along with people who aren't nearly as bad as him. 

and, naturally, you find yourself intertwined with these 'hang-outs' because the apartment is small, and you don't want to be left out--no, you choose not to think about how pathetic it is that satoru gojo has more friends than you do, so please don't bring it up. 

and it's on this night when you're not playing uno with the four of them, but rather, watching behind all of their backs and trying to mess with gojo as much as possible. 

you pretend to be idly cleaning in the kitchen, when really you're standing behind him, mouthing to suguru what color he has whenever he's about to win. 

"hmm," the sly-mouthed man says this time, "green." 

shoko puts down a seven, and gojo groans again. "seriously?" he asks, but begins drawing cards. 

you try--and fail--not to giggle behind him. to which, of course, he turns around with an obvious glare in his eyes. "what are you doing?" 

the sink isn't on, and there are no dishes to be seen in the kitchen. nonetheless, you point uselessly to the roll of paper towels on the counter. "cleaning." 

"you're cleaning air?" 

"sorry, i didn't realize i was banned from loitering in my own home." 

he turns back around, looking at suguru for a moment, then back at you. it's very hard to keep the smile off of your face, especially when nanami looks like he's about to break and shoko is pretending to rifle through her cards again. 

how many times have you done this to him? oh, just a mere eight. 

to be fair, it would've ended a long time ago if gojo wasn't such a sore loser. 

he looks back and forth once more. then he frowns. "what are you doing?" 

"do you want me to go hide in my room, gojo?" you ask, trying to scowl. "because i will. i was just trying to be hospitable--" 

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

so another round of cards is placed, and this time suguru plays normally, keeping his face straight to not draw any suspicion. you lean against the wall, enjoying yourself. 

(don't tell anyone, but this is the most fun you've had in a while). 

and then, after a couple of rounds go by, you finally clear your throat. gojo turns to glare at you through his sunglasses and says "go stand behind suguru if you're going to watch. i don't trust you." 

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

and when shoko has to draw the next time, you smile and tap a couple of times on your thigh. 

suguru does his best impression of gojo's grin, and says, "draw four," to shoko. 

she smiles back. turns to gojo. "draw four," she repeats. 

and he stares at the two of them, then the cards stacked on top of each other, and then to you, right across him. "what are you doing? i know you're doing something." 

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

"no, she's smiling." he looks back to you, "you're smiling. you don't do that unless i'm in pain." 

"so you just assume that you're losing cause i'm... what? drawing your cards for you? shuffling the stack so only you get the bad hands?" you cock a brow at him, willing yourself not to look at anyone else at the table. it would only end in disaster. 

"i--" gojo runs a hand through his hair. then he sighs and begins drawing his eight cards. 

and several rounds later--with gojo losing once again--you've begun moving around the table like you're inspecting each player. gojo doesn't let you look at his cards though. 

and it takes a while before he notices anything. particularly after suguru wins for the third time in a row. 

he looks at everyone--brows pulled together, irritated eyes hiding behind his sunglasses, and his cheeks are flushed from how frustrated he is--and as soon as you start laughing at his face, everyone else does too. suguru throws his cards down and shakes his head. nanami shuffles the deck while trying to keep his laugh muffled--but it's there. and shoko is outwardly laughing at him, pointing at gojo and then at you. 

"are you guys stealing the cards?" he asks, almost disbelieving, his voice so childlike that you start laughing even harder. "look at the deck! it's half the size that it was." 

and then he's standing up and inspecting you, sticking his hands up your sleeves and finding dozens of cards hiding there, falling onto the floor. 

gojo gasps in outrage, but it doesn't even matter to you. 

everyone else is clutching their stomachs and gojo begins to pout. "you're all traitors," he's saying, and "how long have you been doing that?" and you almost can't breathe-- 

so yeah. you don't really mind these kinds of nights. and you don't complain about the messes gojo and his friends leave behind. 

*

you shouldn't have given suguru your number. this much is obvious. 

but, to be fair, you weren't exactly thinking when you were talking to him about a self-help book you'd picked up, and he was mentioning a podcast, and then he was taking your phone and putting himself in it--which, in itself, should not be dangerous--telling you that he'd send you a link and that you should let him know if you liked it, and that was that. 

and really, there shouldn't be any repercussions to this. suguru is your sort of friend, and sort of friends can text on occasion. 

except for the fact that he's also satoru gojo's friend. so when you wake up at ten--silently thanking yourself for taking a day off before a week of back-to-back classes and work--he's already texted you, and it's obvious that you failed somewhere in life. 

maybe when you accidentally invited a demon into your house and allowed him to stay. 

from suguru :p : 

hey satoru is supposed to be in class right now and he won't answer me 

can you please kick him awake? 

but maybe it wasn't a mistake. because at least you have a good excuse to give gojo a bruise. 

so you creep down the hall, reluctantly knocking on his door even though it ruins the element of surprise (you're not a monster) and listening as there's no response. 

gojo must be asleep. or dead. honestly, you might've killed him in your sleep--wouldn't be the first time. 

so you peek the door open, realizing now that you haven't been in his room since he moved in, and watch as a figure slithers under the covers almost before you notice. gojo is completely covered except for the foot he's left hanging off of the side of the bed. 

"get up," you tell him, looking around at the sparse decorations he's put up. there are books, candy wrappers, and socks all over the floor, but it's not the messiest room you've ever seen. which is slightly surprising, considering all that you know about gojo. 

he whines from under the cover, turning so you get a view of exposed skin on his back. "sleeping," he says as if you might believe him. 

so you creep over trash and textbooks and pull the blanket right off of him. 

gojo is already looking at you, pouting. his hair is in his eyes and his mouth is puffy--probably from kissing his pillow in his sleep. "what if i was naked under here?" he asks you, very seriously. "i don't let just anyone see that, you know?" 

"you're wearing the same silk pajamas you wear every night." 

he tries to pull the blanket away from you, his fingers peeling yours away. he huffs. "it's the principle. you don't just wake a man up from slumber." 

you snort. "did you travel a century in your sleep?" 

"yes, now go away." and then he falls back into the blankets, his words muffled. 

"you have class, your highness. i've been sent to fetch you." 

one eye appears from under the blanket. "how do you know my schedule?" 

"telepathy. now get up." 

"i can't," gojo fake coughs. "i'm sick." 

"suguru said you'd say that." 

he groans, turning over and muffling a few explicit words that sound like a curse upon his best friend. 

you poke his back. "did you sleep through your alarm?" 

he doesn't answer. his body has gone limp like you might not notice that he's there if he stays still for long enough. so you pull his hair, turning his head towards you. "you're not usually this whiny in the morning," you tell him. 

"why are you so mean to me?" 

you hum, pretending to consider it. "i think it's the hair. i find it pretentious." 

"i could sue you. discrimination is very serious. i've got a good lawyer, too."

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

you sigh and finally sit down at the edge of his bed, observing the lollipops he's left lying on his bedside table. gojo's bones seem to crack as he sits up with you, moaning the whole way. 

you're silently observing him--with his slightly red eyes and heinous mouth. you're not used to seeing him like this in the morning; usually, he's chipper and annoying. when he walks into the kitchen in the morning you half expect him to start singing. 

but this gojo is tired. he rubs at his eyes. "did suguru text you?" 

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

you nudge him, almost like an agreement. "why aren't you in class?" 

"what's even the point of going? it's not like i get a reward."

"i think the reward is graduating, but you might have to fact-check that one." 

he nudges you back and then takes your hand. his fingertips are soft as they trace the tendons and veins he can see on your skin. his hands are softer than you'd have expected. his eyes are wary as they look towards the floor, his mouth twisting in displeasure. but he doesn't stop touching you, he does so idly that you almost don't notice. "i have an a in the class," he tells you, "and i already know most of the material so why would i go to every lecture?" 

maybe it's the way he says it; so sure and nonchalant, in his typical over-dramatic fashion. maybe it's just that he's never mentioned any of his classes to you, or the fact that he's taking any. maybe he's just crazy--that's the most likely option--but you're suddenly curious. 

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

you whistle, shaking your head. "and you already know most of it?" 

gojo drops your hand and looks at you. his eyes are wide. maybe he's just realized that he's been talking to you this whole time. "when i was a kid my, uh, my dad had a bunch of textbooks in his office that i used to read through every time i got in trouble," he grins, "which was a lot." 

"i can imagine." 

"well, it turns out you can only read something so many times before it becomes ingrained in your brain." 

you pull at his bedsheet. "do you have a test today, or something?" 

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

you laugh, because he is. gojo rolls his eyes at you so you don't say it. you're a little bit surprised, actually. you knew that gojo wasn't stupid (or at least, you might've known) but there's something about the proof of it. like you can't just read right through him. like maybe there's still more to learn about your roommate and maybe there always has been. 

or maybe you're just tired, and he's always had the strange ability to draw irrationality out of you. and also he's an idiot.

"i just..." he starts and his smile fades, but only a little bit. he keeps a layer on while he peels a layer off. "i mean, i like the class. math is cool. but i just don't feel like it today, you know?" 

and there's something about his voice as he says it. steady and true, as always, but softer. but compeltely honest. 

and you've heard him complain about a million things, like every time you and suguru talk about something he doesn't understand or when the door isn't unlocked when he gets home, or when you won't add his one shirt to your laundry. you've heard every whine and every groan come from his lips. 

but he's not complaining about this. just confiding. 

and there's such a drastic difference that it takes you a moment to respond. 

but you do eventually. "yeah, i know," you tell him and rest a hand on his thigh to squeeze. 

and the way that gojo looks at you after--like you might just be saying it to make him feel better--is perplexing. his eyes are blue and maybe you've just noticed this--just started to realize that you're actually sitting with him like a normal person. and that he actually looks grateful. 

you shake your head, willing yourself to look away, because maybe there is something sort of magnetic about your roommate. and it feels impossible to only have noticed this now. to realize how warm he is next to you, and how your muscles tense up when he shifts. gojo is looking at you, and it might be the first time.

so you stand up, flicking his chin. "i'll tell suguru that you're puking your guts up." 

"really?" 

"yup. but next time you sleep through a class i'm going to wake you up by pouring ice water on your face." 

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

you step over candy wrappers and dirty socks as you leave his room, and as soon as the door is closed you sigh in relief. you're probably better off never opening that door again.

*

it's a ridiculously cold night when he shows up. 

you're sitting at the front desk in the library, pretending to study for a mid-term, and trying to smile at the fifth lost library card you've heard about tonight. you got this job at the beginning of the year, and it pays horribly. but at least you can sit around and study, most weekends it's quiet enough to take a nap, and no one tends to bother you when you're drooling all over the reception desk. 

most weekends, that is, because as soon as he walks in through the door--letting in air so brisk that it has the potential to kill you--it gets significantly louder. 

because satoru gojo is not affected by trivial things such as snow, or blizzards, or the fact that the library is supposed to close in less than ten minutes... 

still, you don't really notice him--a rare circumstance that you will question later that night--until he's right next to you, breathing in your ear. 

"slacking on the clock?" he asks, and just for a moment, you almost disembowel him with the pen you're holding in your hand. 

but then you grunt, used to this sort of intrusion from your roommate, and push his head away. "how did you find me?" you ask him, because, honestly, this job is just an escape from his neverending antics at your house (no, it doesn't matter that you got the job before you knew that such an annoying person could possibly exist). 

"i microchipped you in your sleep," gojo says, smoothly, sitting in the chair right next to yours, swiveling around. "i thought i told you about that?" 

you blatantly look at the clock and ignore him. "you know that the library closes in seven minutes?" 

"...and?" 

"so go torment someone else," you answer, standing up with a stack of fileable papers, "i'm busy until eight." 

"i'll help," gojo says, eager as always, and takes half of your stack. "where to?" 

it is from two months of experience that you know he will not leave you alone. even if you chew off his fingernails and keep them to make into necklaces, gojo will follow you around as long as you make it clear you don't want him to. 

so you walk towards the copying room, smiling at all of the sleep-deprived students you pass by and rolling your eyes when gojo does the same. 

"how did you even find the library?" 

gojo walks like he has absolutely no equilibrium; knocking into you every couple of steps, and then falling in the other direction. it must be a consequence of all of his strenuous leaning. 

so he bumps into you as he replies, "tracker," like it's obvious. 

you snort. "no, seriously. i didn't think you knew that libraries existed. aren't you allergic to reading?" 

"hey!" he tries to trip you. "i'll have you know that i am very studious. top of my class." 

"that's why you pay suguru to write your papers for you, right?" 

gojo makes a small noise in the back of his throat. "he doesn't write them," he grumbles. "well, not all of them." 

you snort and open a door for him to follow through.

"my study group meets here on wednesdays," gojo answers, finally. 

"you're a part of a study group?" 

"where do you think i go all of the time?" 

you briefly consider this, setting the papers down. "cemeteries to mourn all of the people you've annoyed to death, probably. or your girlfriend's house." you shrug.

gojo sets his stack on top of yours, diligently lining them up. "i don't do that every night," he drawls, rolling his eyes. and then he winks at you. "and i don't have a girlfriend. thanks for asking." 

you mess up his stack and turn away from him. "sorry, i meant girlfriends as in plural. girlfriends." 

"nope, again." 

gojo follows closely behind you as you begin to lock up all of the spare rooms, turning off lights and looking for any lost items. "commitment issues?" you ask, fake sympathy clouding your voice. 

"sweetheart, if you want me, then just say that. you don't need to pretend to worry about anyone else." his cockiness is infuriating, but you don't even bother to scold him for it. you turn towards him with sharp eyes.

"do i seem worried to you?" 

"no, but you're a bad actor," gojo hums, fingertips grazing along your skin as he inspects your face. "denial is serious. you might want to see a doctor." 

"you would know," you answer, glaring and pulling away from him. the two of you walk as people begin to trek out of the library, no longer held captive by the idea of studying. 

gojo is much too close, as usual, his sweater brushing against yours. 

"how'd you even know i was here?" you ask him, after a minute of silence. 

"please," he answers, grinning down at you. "i got a PI as soon as you gave me my key." 

you squint. "did you actually?" 

he laughs. "no. you told shoko, and shoko told me..." 

you nod, clearing the desk of your things, tossing your bag at gojo for him to carry. "so why are you here?" 

he clears his throat, unplugging the cord to your computer and wrapping it around his hand. "i was walking by, and i thought i'd see if you wanted to come with me for drinks after your shift."

"drinks?" you repeat, taking the cord from his hands. 

"flip night." 

you groan. "i am never participating in that again after what happened last time." 

"it wasn't that bad." 

"i had to drag you home and you almost threw up in my hair." 

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

you push him out of the way and put your coat on. then you turn off the lights and push in all of the chairs, gojo not helping at all. "i didn't even get my drink," you remind him. 

"okay, so let me make it up to you."

and his voice is a bit different. still arrogant, naturally, still smiling and easy--but maybe he means it? maybe beneath his, frankly, soft exterior, he feels bad for getting drunk before you could? maybe he's not actually a complete monster? 

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

you sigh. "are your friends going to be there?" 

"yes, our friends are. they suggested i invite you." 

you sigh--again, because the air is quite thin when gojo is around--and consider it. for just four seconds. but eventually, you shake your head. "i can't," you tell him, looping your arm around his so you can drag him out of the building. 

"why not?" 

"i'm tired, and i still need to study for a test on monday..." 

"do it in the morning." 

you give him a blank look. "i won't want to study if i'm hungover." 

"then don't study." 

you let go of his arm, shivering from the cold. gojo, of course, is not wearing a jacket, or even a little bit bothered by the air. "you're a terrible influence." 

he grins. "i get it from you." 

you shake your head, keeping the smile off of your face. "maybe some other time? when it's not freezing, and i don't have a big test?" 

gojo looks like he wants to argue with you some more--which he usually does--but eventually, his grin ebbs into something simple and he nods. "okay, but you have to come next time i ask." 

"no. what if i'm sick, or something?" you definitely would not put it past him to ask you as a method of torture. 

"that's what alcohol is for." he sticks out his hand, too big and too sly. 

but you relent, shaking with him, and rolling your eyes.

"okay, gojo. have fun. do not wake me up when you get home." 

and you turn to walk away, but his hand catches your wrist. "what are you doing?" he asks, brow furrowed. 

"...going home?" 

he lets go of you and flicks your forehead. "you're not walking back by yourself," he says, like it's a crime. "c'mon." 

and he falls into pace with you, even with his longer legs and fervent energy. 

"this is stupid--" you start to complain, but gojo reaches for the strap of your bag, sliding it off of your shoulder. he then slings it on his own, and pulls you in a bit closer by the hem of your jacket. 

he doesn't say anything, just shoves your hand in his pocket, and whistles as he walks you home. 

*

its a couple of weeks later when you're standing at the door again, trying not to open it more than necessary. 

but, really, how wide is too wide? will a half-opened door signal any longing? will he think that you want him back if you open it more than three inches to pass him his box of stuff that he'd left behind and take your key back? 

how do you navigate the trade-off of a frog statue that will probably haunt your dreams till the end of time? 

"key," you say, without any pleasantries, not bothering to even really look at him. 

even though he looks just the same, your ex. still the lying cheater you'd almost fallen in love with. 

is it wrong to miss his netflix password more than him? 

"thanks," he says, and you've probably been standing there with him for thirty seconds when a head appears on your shoulder. 

white hair gets in your eyes, and you try to push gojo away, but he's already intruded on this exchange and you know he's not going to leave. 

"go away," you tell him, not very softly. 

"hello," gojo holds his hand out over your shoulder, because, again, he is ridiculously tall. "i'm--" 

"key," you say again, swatting his hand away. 

your ex looks at your new roommate--with all of his charm and irritating sunglasses and perfectly shaped teeth--with obvious disdain. you want to push both of them out the door and live here by yourself forever, but unfortunately, living prices disagree. 

so you grab the key from his hand, give him a bland smile, and slam the door with gojo's fingers still in between. 

he pulls them back just in time, still almost on top of you, and smiles when you turn around with a scowl. "a friend of yours?" he asks, slyly. he's about as subtle as a third-grader.

"no." 

he messes with your hair idly, pretending to fix it. "i noticed an obvious absence where our dancing frog used to be." 

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

you cross your arms. he is far too close to you. "you told me it was hideous." 

"it was," he nods, vehemently, and you know his eyes are grinning at you behind those dark shades. "but now there's an empty spot on that shelf." 

"we can put your tongue there when i cut it out," you give him an innocent smile and walk past him to sit on the couch. your pocket burns with the key you put there, metal like an obvious stain on your skin. 

it's not that you care about him anymore, really. you don't, not even when you lay alone at night and think about him. it's more that... he doesn't think about you. he didn't, and he wouldn't have, even if you were still together. 

is it wrong to be wanted by someone whose opinion is worth about as much to you as a penny you could or could not pick up on the street? should you crave being cared about by someone as awful as him?

you want to throw his key in bleach. maybe take a dip yourself.

gojo follows you, throwing himself down on the couch, and brushing you as he does so. he is very used to this kind of proximity, and the annoyed look you give him. "so that was your ex?" 

"yes." 

there's a brief pause, and a nice person might leave it like that. might try to console you, tell you better off. but satoru gojo is not nice, and he probably never has been. "really?" he asks. then clicks his tongue. 

you interrupt whatever obnoxious statement is supposed to follow: "if you're about to say that there are a lot of more eligible bachelors, including yourself, then i'm going to say that you should probably make a zillow account." 

gojo pinches your thigh. "i would never say something like that." 

you look at him, just barely able to make out the shape of his eyes when he's this close. "you told me that last week when i was complaining about dating apps." 

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

you hum, relaxing into the hold his legs begin to have on yours. despite his abrupt and terrible personality, gojo is very warm. and he's already intruded into so much of your space--your home, your head--that it almost feels normal. 

with his thighs pushing against yours and his fingertips trailing up the back of your neck. 

you should slap him away, but you don't. 

the last person you cuddled with was the same man who gave you the greasy key in your pocket. 

you look at gojo with inquisitive eyes. "really? no bad pickup line? you were going to say something meaningful?" 

"would've blown your mind, but you interrupted..." he teases, and pulls on a strand of baby hair. 

"whatever will i do now?" 

his hand falls from your neck, and if you weren't as comfortable as you are currently, you might think about what he's doing. 

like the fact that you haven't even questioned this, or his following you around, or the fact that he knew you needed someone to pull you away from that door. 

you don't think about that, but maybe you should. 

still, his hand wraps around your shoulder, and you slump against him without question. 

"i was..." his voice is softer, calmer than you've maybe ever heard it. it should jolt you away from him. it should do anything but keep you planted on the couch right next to him. "i was just going to say that i'm glad he's an idiot." 

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

he laughs. "no, but, i mean, your pain my gain." 

you don't even notice it when he slips off his glasses, his fingers curling around your forearm. 

"where else would i find a roommate that threatens me with bodily harm?" he asks, right in your ear. 

it's true enough, you guess. and at least for a moment, you don't want to rip off his arms. 

and gojo mutters something that sounds like "stupid," but you aren't listening.

*

gojo has called in your agreement; that is the only reason you're sitting at the bar, watching him dance around with shoko--purposefully stepping on her toes--and sipping on some drink he ordered for you.

it's terribly sweet and reminds you of lotion but you drink it anyway. it's not like you bought it, and you're sure that gojo wont buy you anything else until finish it. plus it's giving you a light buzz, just enough to feel comfortable sitting there, and not like you want to run away.

it's not as busy as it was last time, the music slightly quieter, the air in the room less stiff. gojo seems less energized tonight--considering that he hasn't abandoned any of you to talk to the houseplant in the corner--even with the dancing. 

which he is terrible at. it's like watching an eight-month-old learn how to stand. or a man trying to impress absolutely no one. his limbs move like they aren't even attached to his body.

"is he drunk?" you're asking suguru and nanami--who have been sitting there longer than you have. "i didn't see him order anything." 

nanami laughs and suguru ruffles your hair. "that's satoru completely sober." 

"...are you sure?" 

"yeah, he doesn't usually drink. even that," he nods to your drink which you're sipping with a wince, "is too bitter for him." 

you raise a brow, watching shoko frown at him, and then nudge him away. "he drank last time i came, though?" 

suguru nods, looking away like he knows something you don't and nanami snorts.

"what?" 

"he was nervous last time," nanami answers. he's got less than a smile on, but it's better than the frowns you've observed sitting next to him in class. 

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

suguru is about to answer, nudging nanami not very subtly, when the very topic of conversation pops up, bumping into you as he squeezes himself in between you and suguru. his presence is an interruption in itself, but he's smiling like he always does, acting like he's been there the whole time. 

you might've pushed him away a week or two ago. now you just sigh and move a little so he can fit.

"did you miss me, sweetheart?" he asks you, leaning against suguru. "don't worry, i'll dance with you next."

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

you look pointedly between him and the group of people dancing in the middle of the room. an image of him almost tripping over shoko makes you smile. "well some people shouldn't." 

suguru laughs and gojo grins even wider at you--his hair is slightly sweaty and his eyes are peering at you over the glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. "let's test that theory," he says, taking a step back. his tone is nothing less than suggestive. and his fingers wiggle towards you, beckoning for you to follow.

there's a twinge in your stomach and you adjust in your seat, frowning at him. "i told you that i don't dance." 

"well, i do. and you owe me for last time." 

you balk. "owe you for what? making sure you didn't get murdered on the street?" 

gojo pouts, his face so unserious and completely genuine at the same time. "you made me dance all alone. you didn't even come watch." 

"you left me--" 

"just one dance?" he asks, leaning in towards you. his eyes are sparkling. "i'll get you another drink." 

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

he ignores that, "c'mon," he pleads, "you know that you want to." 

"i don't know that, actually." 

and then someone coughs behind gojo and you realize that your friends have been listening to this entire interaction and that you'd completely forgotten they were there. how long has he been standing like that? just two inches away from your face? 

"just go, y/n," shoko says, "put the rest of us out of our misery. i've been listening to him whine all night." 

"hey--" gojo turns, his voice defensive. 

but you take another sip of your drink, sighing as you stand up. "fine," you tell him, rolling your eyes when he turns to you with a smile. "one dance, and you can't ask me for anything else tonight." 

his teeth are like rows of knives. sharp and inviting. "okay." 

he holds his hand out for you again, and you take it, feeling that strange pull in the pit of your stomach. 

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

you don't know how long you've been dancing with gojo. 

it started with one dance where he didn't do anything except twirl you around and sway with you, like he'd accepted the fact that you weren't exactly light on your feet, singing along to the music in your ear, making snide remarks about where you'd placed your hands. moving them like pieces on a chess board.

his breath was hot on your ear. condensation on a glass. 

and then you'd gradually moved to letting him lead you, after who knows how many songs, following his steps and not apologizing when your foot slammed against his, or when you bumped shoulders with him, probably creating marks on your skin. 

and then his hands were on your hips, his chin resting against your shoulder, and it felt almost nice to be dancing with him. almost relaxing to forget momentarily about where you were and who you were with. it shouldn't surprise you that you're comfortable with him, but it does. there's no worry about the way you're looking at him or if anyone is watching the two of you--but then again, you might be slightly drunk. 

gojo hasn't commented on how long the two of you have been dancing, and evidently, you've let the alcohol sway you into staying for more than just another song. 

so now, with his lips on your ear, you're almost smiling into him. your heart is fast, and the adrenaline rush you're experiencing is a pleasant thing; if someone ripped out your heart right you wouldn't even notice.

"see?" gojo says, his voice just a murmur with all of the music swimming in your ears. "you're not so bad." 

it sounds like something else to you.

"you won't be saying that in the morning," you tell him, stepping on his toes, but he doesn't pull back or move too quickly. if you thought rationally about his movements you might notice that everything he's doing is slow; like you're an animal he's trying not to scare. 

"i'm used to it," he pulls back a little bit. "shoko does that too." 

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

are you just swaying now? or is he leading you in something more complex? a dance you've never heard of, or a simple in and out? 

you don't know, and you really don't care. 

after a moment, you sigh. "i've never danced with anyone before," you whisper to him, almost like not saying the words at all. it might be a lie, you're not quite sure. 

your words are just thoughts now with no sort of intervention between your brain and your mouth. intoxication fills your lungs. 

"really?" 

"mhm," you hum, "no one's ever asked me." 

"i don't believe you," his voice might be teasing, or serious, or he might be barking at you.

you laugh anyway. gojo's hands are firm against your skin. he feels kind of hazy, like a dream. so you laugh again. 

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

he snorts, his breath short. "really? i didn't think you'd be a lightweight." 

"you're a lightweight." 

"yeah, but you already knew that. i only drink when we come here, anyway. nanami doesn't like having to drag me home." 

"you're heavy," you agree, looking up at him. you can see his eyelashes from under his glasses. you can see his tongue as he moves it, and the tip of his nose. you can almost feel it when he swallows.

"sorry," he teases. his face looks different under these lights. it looks different when you're looking at him this close. 

"you're kinda pretty," the words fall from your mouth as you think them, and you grin. "huh." 

it shouldn't be an odd realization, but it is. his skin is almost translucent, and his mouth is sinful. his eyes are wide and bright and satoru gojo could be a sculpture if he wasn't a man.

gojo looks down at you, his brows raised. "you just noticed?" 

"i don't look at you a lot." 

"oh, please," he shakes his head. "i've caught you staring." 

"i only stare when i'm worried that you're a robot planted by aliens or something. you say weird things." 

he laughs, and his hands squeeze your waist. he could stab you in the back right now and it wouldn't even matter. you're not even worried about it. he could flirt with you all night and you don't think you'd quite mind.

you giggle at the thought, heart beating fast with every breath that comes from him. 

"what?" 

"you're not a bad roommate, you know?" you ask him, but maybe you're asking yourself.

"i'm not?" 

"no. you're actually... kinda considerate. my old roommate--my ex--he never wanted to go anywhere with me. he wouldn't have asked me to dance." 

"why not?" 

"i think he thought i was stuck up. or embarassing. or not worth it," you breathe, almost airly, the words are true but they don't matter to you. not like this, pressed up against him. "i don't know." 

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

"how could he think you're not worth it?" he repeats, and you laugh back. because it's a joke.

"you'd have to ask him." 

"i don't think i'll ever be talking to him," he answers, voice rough. "it wouldn't be good for either of us. and i don't trust people with such terrible taste." 

you giggle at the thought of the frog sculpture, the disgusted look on gojo's face. you can almost see through him.

"you shouldn't," you answer, not even thinking.  

there's a moment where the room is quiet, everyone inhaling at the same time, and then exhaling. you feel like you fit here, somehow. like everything is moving at just the right place. this silence is a comforting feeling, the bubbles bursting in your stomach reiterating it. 

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

"you're a good roommate, too. you're not stuck up. or embarassing." 

"i'm not?" 

he smiles at you. "well, you're a little mean." 

you smile back. "only to you, satoru." 

his face drops, but you don't notice. you lean against his chest again, your eyes fluttering shut. if you were focused enough, you could feel his heartbeat. but you don't. and you don't watch as he swallows. as his voice falters, for only a single second.

but you do look at him when he says, "my friends like you." 

"they do?" 

he laughs, pushing his sunglasses back up on his face. "wasn't it obvious?" 

you shake your head. you're not sure how long you've been standing with him, or if it even matters. you're not even sure if you're still in the bar, or your bed, being covered with your blanket, tucked in by gentle hands. 

how long has it been now? 

"i like you too," gojo whispers, "just so you know." 

and you could be at home, with your roommate. you could be right next to him. it doesn't matter, because you only whisper, "good," and then it's all gone. 

*

when you wake up the next morning, gojo is already laughing at you. 

your headache is a curse. your mind is in shambles. and your body aches with the manipulation of only one person. 

you hate your roommate and his terrible taste in drinks and that he doesn't even say anything when you slump against the counter, not even bothering to make fun of you or complain about how terrible you are when you're drunk. 

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

and when he starts to cook some bacon in the pan, you don't say anything, but you go and stand next to him, letting him hold you up. 

there are no words. only the popping of oil in a pan. 

and that feeling, of course. because it wasn't the alcohol. 

*

so maybe satoru gojo is your friend. you will not admit this to anyone aloud, but you concede a little bit in your head, because it's a fragile place there, and you're a terrible liar. 

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

it's not just the game nights or study sessions anymore. you sit on the couch and play with your phone and he sits down next to you. he'll rub your feet, or massage your legs and you let him. 

only because he's kinda good at it, of course. 

and sometimes you'll turn on a movie and he'll appear out of nowhere, complaining about whatever you picked, but laying down nonetheless. and after several minutes he'll move closer to you, resting his head on your thigh. and you might play with his hair, but only because it's unreasonably soft. 

and some mornings when you wake up and make yourself breakfast, not even trying to be quiet, you'll make a little extra. but it's not for him, it's just a coincidence. 

and he stops by the library on his way home from suguru's, or some girl's house, and the two of you will walk home together, talking about class, or the weather, or whatever gojo wants. you let him do this, because it's usually dark outside, and you don't like walking home alone. 

and if he barges into your room sometimes--obviously not knocking--you only complain a little bit. and then you let him lay in your bed and mess with your things. 

but only because it's the easier option, of course. 

and you've missed the feeling of having someone near. and satoru gojo is easy to be around. 

*

"gojo," you gasp, as soon as the door opens in your face. and then you scowl. "don't you knock?" 

he pushes you so he can move past, raising a brow at you. "i live here." his hands are empty, and he's not wearing a coat again. just a weird button-up probably more expensive than your share of the rent. how he's survived over two decades, you're not sure. 

your brows furrow at him. "well, you could give some warning if you're going to kick open the door. what if you broke my nose?" 

"well, why were you standing right in front of the door when i kicked it?" gojo mimics, flicking you away, then looking down to your hands where your wallet and keys are piled up. "you going somewhere?" 

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

"why thank you for that update, gojo. i really appreciate it," and then you move beside him to open the door. 

but gojo grabs your hand, making sure to roll his eyes at you where you can see it, and pulls you away so he can step in front of the door. "what could you need from the store right now?" 

"i need stuff." 

he crosses his arms, uncharacteristically stern. "like what?" 

"stuff. girl stuff. you wouldn't get it." 

he gasps, mouth dropping. "oh no, did i steal too many of your tampons again?" 

"first of all, that's against the apartment rules, so you better hope not. second of all, please move," you glare at him. "i need to hurry." 

"you can't leave right now." 

"i believe there's such a thing as free will..." you try and push him away, but he doesn't budge. "and you're not the boss of me." 

"it's too late for you to walk to the store. go tomorrow." 

you cross your arms. "when have i ever listened to you?" you ask him, feeling that familiar irritation crawl up your skin. 

but then gojo is pulling your arms apart and resting them at your sides and saying "stop that," as a gentle chide. and that irritation molds. you push his hands away. 

you want to push his hands off of the edge of the earth just so that he'll never touch you again.

"seriously, gojo, i need to go. they close at midnight." 

"you can't walk to the store by yourself in the dark." 

"i can do whatever i want." 

"then i'm locking you in your room until tomorrow. you're grounded." 

you poke his shoulder. you can't decide if he's serious or not. his voice is always teasing, and you can't see enough of his eyes. and you can't trust a single thing he says. "when did you become so overbearing?" you ask him, trying not to grind your teeth. 

"when i realized how weak you are." 

"weak?" you balk at him. "i'm not weak. please retract that sentence before i accidentally punch you." 

"you can't even push me away from the door. i'll take my chances with your fists." 

"that's because you're irritating me," you tell him, as you try to do it again. "anger distracts me." 

he laughs at you, leaning even further against the door. 

"gojo," you whine, trying to pinch him away instead. "stop being an ass. just get out of the way." 

he holds a hand to his chest, offended. "i am showing concern about your safety," he claims, shaking his head at you. 

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

"that was very intimidating," he grins at you, "but maybe try again." 

you groan and try to stab him with your key, which he pushes away, still smiling, still completely the worst. 

"i--" you sigh, "i don't like you very much." 

he snorts. 

then you pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. "please, gojo. i'll be back in fifteen minutes." 

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

you throw your arms up, shaking your head. then you mutter another thing about hating him under your breath and finally turn away. you set your keys and your wallet on the counter, pouting as you sit down on the couch. 

gojo is there a moment later, laughing at you. "was that supposed to be convincing?" 

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

you shake your head, fed up with him and everything about this living situation. how are you locked in your apartment right now?

gojo tilts his head back, and then pauses for a moment.  

"then how am i supposed to ask if you want to come with me to the store?" he asks, nonchalantly. "i need some stuff." 

and you should be angry at him--you should probably break one of his fingers or cut his hair off in his sleep. you should tell him that you hate his company and that if he ever tells you what to do again-- 

but instead, you jump up from the couch, smiling at him. "let's go," you say, quickly, before you change your mind. 

and you don't get to see it when gojo smiles back at you, softly. 

*

"hey," he whispers, "you shouldn't sleep here." 

gojo is shaking your shoulder gently, his breath on your face, his voice soft--even in the haze of disrupted sleep. there's a warm feeling in your belly as he speaks to you, an unknowing smile on your face.

"hmm?" you answer, trying to remember who you are and why you're here. who he is.

"it's almost midnight. what are you doing on the couch?" gojo is helping you sit up. his hands are ridiculously warm, and you don't think about how nice they feel on the bare skin of your back. 

"gojo?" 

he laughs. "the one and only. c'mon, i'll tuck you in." 

"did you just get home?" you must still be sleeping, because his hands are so soft right now. and his voice is so quiet--like the creaking of an old house. 

"yeah. are you going to get up?" he's kneeling in front of you, and his face is bare. you almost want to laugh at how bright his hair is even in the dark. 

"where were you?" 

he shakes his head, smiling up at you, and moves from the floor. "c'mon, sit up," he beckons, trying to get you to move your head from its place. you wince. eventually, he gives up and your heart almost disappears when he picks you up, tapping your legs so that you'll wrap them around his waist. 

you do it, but only because you don't want to fall. 

"why are you so tall?" you complain as he carries you to your room, feeling much more awake when you're this high in the air. 

gojo snorts. "i'll take that as a thank you," he whispers in your ear and sets you on your bed. then he sits on the edge and takes your socks off, pulling the covers out from under you. his movements are slow as he covers every inch of skin he can see, his breath the only sound between the two of you. 

it's colder when his hands move, and he looks at you for a moment as if trying to make sure he's satisfied with his job. 

"are you going to make fun of me for this in the morning?" 

gojo grins, squeezing your leg as he stands up. "probably. but only a little." 

"okay," you yawn, blinking as he backs up towards the door. 

"night, sweetheart," he whispers to you, and then a flash of hair is all you see before your door is closed and you drift back to sleep. 

and in the morning you wake up and can't remember how you got in bed. gojo doesn't say a thing. 

*

satoru gojo can say so much without saying a single thing. 

when he burst into your room--surprising you because you hadn't realized he was home--throwing himself on your bed and mumbling something about hating his life, you didn't say a word. 

and he'd sat there for ten minutes while you typed out a paper on your laptop, glancing over to him every couple of minutes, slightly worried because he hadn't moved an inch. 

you've seen a lot of his moods recently. you've seen him excited about some movie you didn't understand, exhausted after a long day of classes, angry when suguru and you leave him out of a joke. but most of that, you assume, is just him being himself. every feeling he has is probably seven times larger than the average person's.

but now that he's groaning into your bed, you can tell, just from the way his body deflates, that there's something wrong. you could see it when he walked in the room, and felt it because he'd told you he was getting dinner with his parents tonight. 

but if you know one thing about him, it's that he won't talk about it if you ask. 

because after a couple of weeks of spending more and more time with him, you'd quickly realized that you didn't actually know much about his life. he doesn't tell any stories about his childhood, or high school years--minus the ones that he tried to suffocate suguru for letting slip. he doesn't mention his parents much, and when he does, it's nothing but the bare minimum. he mentions classes so offhandedly that you hadn't even known how extensive his studies were until suguru was teasing him about an award he'd gotten a couple of years ago. 

he could talk to you for hours on end, but he wouldn't say anything. 

so after realizing this, you'd resorted to asking suguru about it.

that night, gojo was asleep on the floor between your feet. his hand was under his head, and he was snoring loud enough for you to notice. you'd sat down to watch a movie with him after he'd claimed that you and suguru were losers for being tired at this hour and that he was the youngest of you all. 

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else," he'd said softly, into the warm air of your apartment. "even with me, and i've known him since we were kids. his family..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

you'd frowned. "what?" 

"he's always been too much for them, in a way. i mean, you know, he is too much most of the time. but he does all of it purposefully; the arrogance, the bravado. i don't know... i think he just wants to control whatever image everyone has of him. to the extent that his personality is based on pushing people away, just so he can figure out who's actually going to stick around." 

you'd watched him then, with his fluttering eyelashes--his sunglasses lying on the ground next to him--and his bright hair. the gentle movement of his lips as he dreamt. he was softer like this, less forceful, less of a burden, and more of a boy.

and beautiful, of course, but that's an offhanded thought you wouldn't acknowledge.

"so, he doesn't talk to you about--" the words felt wrong, and you almost felt guilty for talking about him like this, with his best friend. but still. "--important stuff?" 

"he talks to me about a lot of things. but, no, not really. i get a long-winded rant sometimes, but not often." 

"then how are you supposed to know anything about him?"

suguru smiled at you, looking between you and gojo like there was a secret he didn't want to tell. he sighed. "satoru doesn't really tell me any of the important stuff because we've known each other for so long. i understand how his family is because i've watched him deal with them. i can guess how he's feeling based on his expression. but for people he hasn't known as long, like you, getting to know him is like i-spy." 

suguru didn’t need to elaborate. you got it.

like trying to find little hints of him hidden between all of the mess. you'd snorted and agreed. 

and it feels even more true now, with him cowering in your blankets. but still, you say nothing. 

you get it, to a certain degree. vulnerability was one of the feelings you liked to push away; secrets were only supposed to be coveted by you. getting close to people was a dangerous thing, risky in its own way. 

but, thinking that gojo doesn't trust you--couldn't trust you... it's more irritating than it should be. and maybe that's just because you're arrogant, and think yourself to be trustworthy. or maybe it's because you trust him, in your own unique way, even with all of his too much and extremeness. 

you don't say that to him though, just like he doesn't say anything to you. 

"hey," you push him with a foot. "are you drooling on my comforter?" 

there's a moment of silence, then gojo rolls over. "not a lot." 

you roll your eyes at him and type another sentence--a collection of words that have nothing to do with the actual essay you're writing, naturally--waiting for him to say something else. 

and, predictably, he does. "why aren't you paying attention to me?" 

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

he looks up at you. his sunglasses are somewhere on your floor. "well, then you're definitely not busy," he grins. 

you swat away a hand that tries to steal your computer. 

"aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" you ask him, trying to seem like you don't care about the answer. 

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

you let the silence wade for a minute or two, trying to be discreet when you watch his face for any signs of discontent. but gojo just has his eyes closed. his hands above his head. 

eventually, you nudge him again. "did you eat anything?" 

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

an eye opens. he turns over and rests his head on his hands, squinting at you. "are you being nice to me?" 

"not intentionally." 

he snorts, poking you, almost in awe. "you are." 

"i'm just trying to make sure you don't die, okay? who knows what you've eaten today." 

he crawls up your bed, sitting right next to you so he can rest his head on your shoulder. and you should push him off, but you don't. "it's okay. i'm not very hungry." 

"that's not what i asked." 

gojo laughs against you, his hair brushing against your neck. 

you shouldn't say anything more. you shouldn't even entertain him and his antics, and you shouldn't even care (but you do. for some, stupid, infuriating reason). 

so you look at him, and your voice is soft when you ask, "you okay?" to him, hoping that it doesn't seem too intrusive. wishing that you didn't actually care if he was or not.

gojo's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, you get that feeling again. 

that feeling in your stomach that makes you want to jump away from him. that makes your hands want to shake, and your voice fade. that feeling that you know--too well, too much--but can't get rid of. 

like an itch you're not really supposed to scratch. 

gojo swallows. "yeah," he answers, with no grin, no conceit. "i'm okay." 

and it shouldn't feel like a relief to hear, but it does. you nod, look away, and go back to your computer. back to your actual life, which shouldn't have any satoru gojo in it. 

but a minute later he adds: "i'd be better if you made me dinner, though." 

and you pull on his hair a little. you try to pretend like his smile doesn't fill you with butterflies. 

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

it's the only reasonable thought running through your brain at the moment. the only echo you can discern, the only words you can make out in the jumble of anxiety and horror running through your mind. 

he should not be this close. 

gojo had only picked you up from work once again, his easy smile meeting yours as soon as he walked through the door--you'd been waiting, wondering when he was going to show up. 

at seven-thirty he was there, letting in the cold air and sitting in the seat next to yours, complaining about the fact that you had a job that diverted your attention away from him while you rolled your eyes. 

he sat there for the half an hour remaining in your shift, distracting you. 

two months ago you would've kicked him out. would've called some make-believe security. 

but you just listened while he talked to you about space theories that didn't make any sense. 

and then he'd grabbed your bag for you, turning off the lights before you could, pushing in chairs while you organized the reception desk. 

and his hand grabbed yours before you thought to notice--swinging along while the two of you began the walk home. 

and halfway there, gojo stopped, looking up at something. "hey," he'd poked you. "look at the stars." 

you'd done it, begrudgingly, squinting. "i can count, like, three." 

"there's at least five." 

"why did you stop me to do this? it's cold." 

"because they look nice," he argues, looking down at you. "you have no eye for beauty." 

and, really, you might've agreed with him. you might've pushed him away from you and told him to hurry up and you might've not cared at all. 

but you could see his eyes, just a little bit, behind his sunglasses. and his smile was alabaster, and that feeling--that gasping for breath, trying to hold on to anything feeling--was there again. 

and it was poking you. like a push in some direction. like a laugh telling you that you were too afraid to do anything. 

you were looking at him. right at his face and the only thing you wanted to say was that he was wrong. 

he was wrong because at least you knew that he looked beautiful. 

but those words wouldn't leave your lips--that thought couldn't leave your head--so you were only staring at him. wishing that you'd never let him into your apartment and that he hadn't started becoming a person to you. 

it wasn't fair like this. 

"what?" he whispered, his smile dropping, like he could tell there was something wrong with you. like he knew you that well. 

if he'd kept on smiling, you wouldn't have done it. you wouldn't have pushed up on your toes and leaned into him, and you wouldn't have kissed him like you did. 

like you're doing. 

and it would've been fine because you never would've started this knowing that it would eventually have to stop. 

and even though it takes him less than a second to kiss you back--his lips molding to yours like an automatic reaction--you know that you shouldn't be doing this. 

that you can't be doing this. not with him. not like this. 

so when gojo's hands move to your waist, his breath even in your mouth, you push at his chest. and you want to run away. 

"i'm--" you swallow, trying not to taste him, the bubblegum flavor of him, and almost flinch away. "i'm sorry." 

gojo's mouth is frozen from where he stands two feet away. his hands are in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. "you..." 

and you've never heard him speechless before. just the idea of it makes you blurt out whatever comes to mind. "i shouldn't have done that," you tell him, and, "i didn't mean to--i don't--" you shake your head. "sorry. i'm sorry. can we forget about this? can we get home because i'm really cold?" 

"you kissed me," gojo says, so simply. 

the words are another blow to your heart. you were hoping that he wouldn't have noticed. 

and wince and watch him, his face as it shifts, moving with each thought in his head. 

"gojo, i'm really--" 

"no," he interrupts, taking a step towards you. 

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

he shakes his head. "no, it's satoru. you've said it before, you know. you should keep saying it." 

"when have i said it?" you ask, momentarily blinded by how he demands this. who is he to demand anything? 

"when you were drunk." 

you scoff. "i'm not just going to call you by your first name cause you want me to," you tell him, "who do you think i am?" 

and then satoru laughs, shaking his head at you, his grin full-force on his face. "are you serious? you kissed me and now you don't want to call me by my first name?" 

you freeze. "i said i was sorry about that," you say, weakly. 

you feel like who you've always felt around him. not as easy, not as cool, never as smooth. you feel like a child caught doing something they're not supposed to. you want to run away from him, but he knows where you live. 

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

he quirks a brow. "you didn't mean to?" 

"it was an accident?" 

he takes another step closer. "it was an accident?" 

"are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?" you ask, voice hard. this must be a dream. 

satoru shakes his head at you. "no, but i have a question." 

"...okay." 

"if i try to kiss you right now, are you going to try and murder me? i know that we're away from the apartment right now, but it would really ruin the mood." 

you stare at him. 

it must be answer enough because he steps forward and he kisses you again. but this time, it feels less mechanical. his lips are soft and smooth as they push against yours--and he pushes like he's demanding something from you. like he knows more about what you can give than you do. 

and he grins against you like he's doing everything exactly right. 

but when satoru pulls back, your eyes stay shut. you try and banish the feeling in your stomach from your body, but it doesn't respond to idle threats. 

"we shouldn't do this," you whisper to him. you don't open your eyes. you don't want to see his face and fall victim to another one of his schemes. 

"why not?" 

"the last time i kissed one of my roommates..." you imply, hoping that you don't have to tell him that you're scared. 

"oh, right," he brushes some hair from your face. he has not moved an inch away from you. "i forgot that you're experienced." 

"wasn't it obvious?" 

he laughs, and then nudges your cheek with a finger. "look at me." 

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

his voice is so soft. satoru is whispering like it's just for you. and you've never heard him like this and you don't think you want to see him. 

"please, sweetheart?" he asks, one last time, and you have to. if only to put yourself out of your own misery. "good. now listen--" 

"don't tell me what to do." 

he rolls his eyes. "listen," he repeats. "i know you don't like me very much. and i know that you only keep me around for my rent money and my pretty face--" 

you kinda want to hit him. 

"--but i've wanted to kiss you for weeks. and i'm not good at the..." he swallows, blinking just briefly. "all of the telling stuff, but i want to be. with you. for you." 

you're not sure if that's the end, or if it's the beginning. your eyes are stuck on his smile, and you're not listening to anything he said. 

he's very close right now. so accessible. and it's just another reason to want to push him away. 

satoru clears his throat, nudging your head with his nose. "and i'm tired of shoko and suguru calling me a coward, so it'd be great if you'd mention that you kissed me first." 

your brows furrow. "you told shoko and suguru?" 

"i didn't say anything," he almost swears. "they tricked me into admitting it." 

"when?" 

"...the day after i introduced you to them." 

you pull away to observe his face. "really?" 

he groans. "stop looking at me like that," he says, "it's mean." 

you almost smile at him again. then close your eyes. "okay."

"havent you listened to anything i've said to you?" he asks, rhetorically. "i flirt with you every day." 

"you flirt with everything." 

"mmm, true," he leans his chin against your head, breathing you in. "now that i've poured my heart out for you, can we go home? it's cold out here, and i'd rather make out on our couch than that bench over there." 

"who said anything about making out?" 

"please," he wraps an arm around your shoulder, and smiles down at you--with all of the typical swagger--and maybe this time you let him. 

*

[justalonelyslytherin]

My Kingdom, Your Kingdom | six

previous chapter | Masterlist | next chapter

Pairing: secret king!Steve Rogers x heir apparent!female Reader

Summary: The search for clothing continues. With it, the discovery of more personal things comes.

Warnings: slight mention of parental loss

Wordcount: 4.4k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don’t allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don’t steal my work.

A/N: The dividers are made by @/firefly-graphics. As you might have noticed (again) this chapter took a long time to be posted. University is still to blame for this. I started working on my thesis but hopefully I'll be able to get back to posting a new chapter every 2-ish weeks!

Taglist: open, in the reblogs, let me know if you want to be added

“Hey Steve, do you have a clue where exactly those clothes are supposed to be? So we got a place to start looking?” Sam’s voice carried out of the room.

"Yeah, punk. We’ll be occupied for the rest of the week if not.” Bucky complained shortly after. It was no surprise he did, she understood as she followed Steve - at last - into the room. 

For a storage room, it was big. And for its proportions, it was well used. The walls were stacked with shelves and drawers that stretched from bottom to ceiling. Every available wall space that wasn’t stacked with furniture had either frames hung on the wall or propped against it.

Even the middle of the room was filled with more clustered space. More shelves to divide the room into smaller sections. She could barely see the other end of the room, the only hint of its end was the soft light coming in from the outside.

There were gaps between the books and other items stacked in the compartments. Through one such crack she spied the blonde hair of her youngest sister as Yelena stood before the middle shelf and eyed what looked to be a toy car carved out of wood.

“There should be a couple of chests or an old cabinet,” Steve drew out slowly and contemplatively as he looked through the room. She had the distinct feeling that he was still overwhelmed. If not from the room itself anymore then from the sheer vastness of it.

“How come all of this is here?” Yelena wanted to know, peeking behind the shelf with furrowed brows. “I thought you rented this place.” 

That caused the men – or rather Sam and Bucky – to laugh. She couldn’t share this amusement and neither could Natasha, as the two sisters shared a look. Back was the uncomfortable twisting in her gut.

“The cabin belongs to my family,” Steve spoke over the quieting laughter of his friends, “the clothes are leftovers from our frequent stays in the past.”

“How can you afford to keep a place like this over the years? Does the crown pay you that well as simple guards?” Natasha’s question had a certain bite to it. If any of them had been offended by the degradation of their jobs, they didn’t show it.

No, instead they took it with humor. Bucky snorted, a pleased and somewhat prideful smirk adorning his lips.

“We are not simple guards. We are the guards.” 

Sam nodded in agreement, a twinning grin on his lips. “We are part of the royal guard. The bodyguards of the king.” 

“Sam.” Steve’s warning, disapproving tone was directed only at his friends while his eyes were focused entirely elsewhere. Her. The hitch of her breath must have been loud enough for the blond beside her to hear. 

It had been a bad enough revelation that they’d been guards in the king's palace in Brooklyn’s capital. This was so much worse. Once more the dreaded feeling returned to the pit of her stomach. She’d lead her sisters directly into the lion's den without meaning to do so. 

“Even so,” Yelena crossed her arms before her chest, nose raised challengingly. She didn’t seem too impressed with the new revelation. Her and Natasha had always been good at masking their surprise. And while Yelena lacked the talent at hiding her pure and childlike excitement, every other emotion she could hide just as well as Natasha behind an unimpressed exterior. “So long as you aren’t the king's best friend I don’t believe your pay to be good enough to be able to afford this place.”

“You are right. But a nobleman rarely needs to worry about money. Right, Steve?” Bucky glanced at his blonde friend and she wanted to close her eyes and be swallowed by the waters of the great lake.

She’d thought too soon. It had gotten even worse. 

Too much. It was all too much. 

“Just shut up for a minute, would you? You are making it worse.” Steve’s bark sounded closer than he had been before. It wasn’t his voice that pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts eventually, it was his hands on her shoulders. Something about the contact between him and her felt so soothing and grounding. Looking up she found him directly in front of her, his eyes already intensely looking at her.

“You gotta stop worryin’.”

His voice was soft and had an unlike drawl to it that she hadn’t heard before. The quip of his lip suggested amusement, maybe teasing but the softness in his eyes told her he wanted to calm her. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to believe: You guys are safe with us. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise. And there is nothing that will change this either. Ok?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, pushing his hands away from her in a moment of defense. She kept acting like a spooked goose, honking and running in circles. Time to stop acting like a scared little girl and return back to the soon-to-be ruler of an entire nation. She couldn’t act so foolish. She was a princess. A future queen. Time to act like it. 

“I just didn’t expect you to dump that kind of revelation on us. Again.”

“It’s like us saying we are related to the widovian throne.” Natasha stayed entirely unbothered by her glare for that comment.

“That’d be a shocker,” Sam claimed with a snort. Yeah, wouldn’t it?

“Because it’s impossible,” Steve acclaimed, looking at them with exasperation. If he just knew. “Can we get back to concentrating on the task at hand?”

She could only agree, she wanted to focus on the simple task. One that wouldn’t set her off with more worry and uncertainty about their entire entanglement. Sighing she combed her fingers through her hair, rubbing over her scalp. “Are there any more things you’d like to tell us before I get another shock?”

Steve looked at her apologetically. The shake of his head was all she needed to drop her shoulders and nod. Alright. She could handle it if they didn’t jump another thing onto them. Like one of them being the King's brother.

“I do have some more questions,” Natasha quipped cooly. She was leaning with her shoulder against the middle shelf and looking at the three men with scrutiny. 

“Guess we can answer a couple while we look for the clothes.”

“It’s only fair since we grilled you yesterday. Your turn now,” Sam also agreed, grinning relaxedly. 

“So, where do we start?” Yelena wanted to know, running her fingers over the spine of a couple of books.

“There.” Bucky pointed into a corner left to them, where a couple of chests stood. They didn’t look particularly special, not standing out in any way but the brunette seemed confident in his choice. After all, he knew this place. Maybe he remembered some of the places the clothes had been stored in.

A big cloud of dust took to the air after the thick layer was disrupted  by Sam and Bucky. Each of them had taken to one side of the big chest, scooting the huge wooden construct forward before they’d lifted the heavy lid up. 

The price for it was the beige, gray shimmer in the air, the result of the many particles of dust going everywhere. The two men had been enveloped in it nearly instantly but the rest of them weren’t spared either. Quickly the dust raced to tickle everyone’s noses. It didn’t take long for the sneezes and coughs to erupt.

Natasha – surprisingly – was the fastest to recover from the powdery onslaught and while they still waved their hands in front of their faces or squinted their watering eyes, she leaned with her shoulder against the nearest shelf, looking at the chest.

“So all three of you are noble brats?” Her lips were pulled into a sly and teasing grin. Sam huffed more in surprise than in offense.

“These two–” he nodded towards Steve and Bucky, “–yeah. I’m a simple fisherman’s son from one of the coastal towns.”

The protests coming from said ‘noble brats’ went unheeded by Natasha and Sam. Instead, the redhead continued, undeterred.

“How does a simple fisherman’s son end up as one of the king's bodyguards?”

“Met ‘em in the military.”

“Him? Personally?” She blurted surprised, beating Natasha to the word.

“Yeah we, uhm, we all served in the same unit.” Steve butted in stepping beside her, arms loosely crossed in front of his chest. He glanced over at Sam. The two of them shared a brief and entirely silent conversation before he continued, “He found friends in us, thought us to be loyal. And when our service came to an end he wanted to have his most trusted friends close to him and so he offered us the jobs.” 

She watched their lips twitch up into smiles. There was warmth and pride in their smiles but also in the way they held themselves. 

Natasha, content with the answer and the provided information jumped to the next topic. This time her eyes turned towards the third in their bunch. The brunette was hunched over the chest, one arm bracing himself on the edge of the chest, while his other hand dug around its contents.

“How do you know widovian?” 

Bucky’s head snapped up. He smirked at Natasha, a playful glint shining in his eyes. The redhead wasn’t as amused and neither was she. No, she was very curious to listen to his explanation. There weren’t many people outside of Widovia – and Sokovia – who could speak their national language. Not anymore.

With the complete closure of their borders and their retreat into solitude the lands around them had ceased to show interest in their culture. It was hard for her to imagine that people outside would have still learned to pick up the language.

Why then, did a man born and raised in their enemy country, with no apparent descent from their home, possess the ability to speak their mother tongue? 

“I figured you’d want to know that,” Bucky told them relaxed and confident. He didn’t feel called out, nor scrutinized and he certainly didn’t see anything wrong with it either. Leaning against the chest his eyes jumped from Natasha to Yelena to her. All three were now closely paying attention to him.

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Yelena frowned, raising her eyebrow in return as she waited, rather impatiently, for him to give his answer. A proper one. 

The way he shrugged his shoulders so nonchalantly had her clench her jaw. She knew he wasn’t meaning to offend them but to them it was a matter of offense and pride, and in a smaller part also about safety. Their people inside the borders were only safe as long as those borders stayed impenetrable. Every way that something could slip out could be a way for something – or someone – to slip in too.

“There was an old man,” he started, “who I met after I joined the army. He’d lived in Widovia for many years as an emissary prior to the conflict. Just before Widovia closed its borders he returned home. He taught me.

A little only.”

“Yeah, we can tell. Your pronunciation is shit.” Yelena’s dryness never ceased to amaze. Steve and Sam started laughing while Bucky winced, scratching at his chin in embarrassment. Even her lips quipped up in amusement at the unforgiving words.

“Holy shit is something wrong with you?” There was no heartbeat wasted by her sister as the blonde looked at her suspiciously. At least Yelena had the heart to look concerned and not disgusted. 

“Why?”

“Where is the stern ‘Yelena’?” She should be mad at the way her sister imitated her scolding voice. “Where is the disapproving look for mocking someone? Your usual lecture?”

“Well, you are right. He sounds bad.”

“Like a tyro.” Natasha agreed with another smirk on her lips. 

While Bucky clasped his hand to his chest, looking at the three of them in mocking hurt, acting as if they just ripped out his heart, Steve furrowed his brow and asked “What’s a–what was that word you said?”

“A tyro?” She asked the adorably confused-looking blonde.

“Yeah, that,” he nodded. She could see he wanted to try to pronounce it, the desire, the way the world lay on the tip of his tongue. Yet he refrained from trying, not wanting to make a complete fool out of himself.

“It’s a somewhat mocking, playful term for a beginner. A rookie you would call it?”

“Whatever it means, please just keep calling him that. Especially with that delectable accent of yours. I didn’t know widovian could sound so good and seductive.”

The glare Bucky sent toward Sam was murderous. Surprising – and something she herself didn’t notice but Natasha very well did – was Steve’s lesser but still pronounced glare towards Sam for the flirtatious remark.

“How about less bickering and more looking?” Yelena quipped, pointing towards the chest Bucky leaned against. In his hand, he held something out of fabric. Had he found something already?

When the brunette held it up however it was nothing any of them would be able to wear. The shirt clearly had belonged to either one of them as small boys. Now it looked comically small in the buff man’s hands.

“No luck.”

So they turned towards the next chest to find something in there. While Sam and Bucky cleared the space and freed the chest from everything that had been stacked on top of it, nothing remained to do for the rest of them.

To pass the time waiting she found herself looking around the room. It felt like a treasury. Every book, every little trinket that littered the spaces of the shelves, felt to her like a magnificent find. Each one told a story about the past, about the time Steve spent here, about the other people that used to reside in this place. Not only was it a glimpse into those people’s lives and their beings but also into another culture. Another glimpse at Brooklyn, so personal and intimate.

Her roaming eyes caught the glimpse of a wardrobe through a gap in the shelf. It looked big, reaching over the top of the shelf towards the ceiling. Something about it pulled her in. It had caught her curiosity. 

Slowly she slipped from the preoccupied group. Walking through the opposite aisle between the shelves, she reached the opposite side of the room.

There, before her stood the massive wooden wardrobe in its entire glory. The intricately carved details on its doors held her in awe, the round brass knobs were just as beautifully decorated with swirls and other patterns. It looked magical. Like a wardrobe out of fairytales, ones that held magical clothes and items and ones that held secret passageways to another world beyond their grasp and understanding.

The wood felt smooth and luxurious under her fingers. There was a keyhole out of brass but no key anywhere in sight. Please don’t be locked. 

“You found another place to look through?” For once Steve didn’t startle her. She glanced back as he stepped up, looking at the wardrobe before her. He eyed it from top to bottom, ending on her fingers about to follow the outline of the keyhole. “Think it’s open?”

“I hope so.” Letting her hand drop, she took a step back until she was at level with him. 

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Steve sighed, rubbing his neck as he looked at her in apology. “I didn’t want to scare you…didn’t want those idiots to dump all of that on you guys.” 

There was a smile splitting its way across her lips as Steve mumbled beside her. It was sweet. “It’s not your fault,” she told him, stopping him in his ramblings.

“Well, I should have told you in the first place.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. There was no reason for any of you to bring this up unprompted and there was no way for you to know whether I would react…well like that.” 

Steve looked at her softly, his eyes searching and when they found what they were looking for, he softly but quietly asked, “Why did you react like that?”

Parting her lips she couldn’t come up with any words to answer him, so she closed her mouth again. Her lips pressed together tightly as she thought about it. Why? The answer was fairly simple yet she felt so troubled to pronounce it. 

“It’s my fault if something happens to them,” she told him after a long, contemplative silence. Glancing behind her, through the cracks in the shelves, she spied her sisters. “I can’t let anything happen to them.”

Steve followed her gaze, turning his head back to watch the group of four unlikely individuals. These girls were peculiar. Mystery clouded around them like thick wads of smoke. They were peculiar but also special.

Something told him she was particularly special. Something in the way she held herself, something about the almost unbound curiosity mixed with a distinctive hesitancy she displayed. She was an enigma and it made him all the more curious.

Steve couldn’t deny the strong pull he felt toward this beautiful, mysterious woman. He couldn’t keep away, he couldn’t help seek her out. All he wanted to do was be by her side and look at her. He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to be the one to show her the world. To show her his world. The one that was so familiar to him yet so foreign and strange to her.

“Nothing will happen to you, I promise,” he told her and with a more serious note he added, “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.” 

Her eyes softened at his words, the worry in them dissipated. It was replaced by a touch of sadness so heavy that it made Steve’s heart painfully constrict. He wanted to reach out and cradle her in his arms, to wipe the sadness from her beautiful face. The urge to protect them grew only stronger. 

She couldn’t know, she had to believe him to be a silly man with wishful thinking and promises too big to keep. That whatever safety he promised wouldn’t be enough. They’d obviously gone through a lot if she was this hesitant and anticipating danger around every corner. If she only knew what kind of might he held and what he was willing to sacrifice after knowing her for less than two days.

“Shall we try to open it?” She cleared her throat and averted her eyes in favor of gazing back at the wardrobe. A feeling of defeat settled in Steve’s stomach, the ugly sensation churned and growled deeply as he fought to suppress it. 

With a nod, he stepped toward the massive wooden structure. Cool felt the brass knob under his skin, the raised embossments pressed into his palm. With a gnarly squeak, the door gave away, easily following his hand as he pulled the door open. 

A small gust of dust followed. This time however Steve was clever enough to avert his face and spare himself a sneezing fit. When he peered into the belly of the furniture a smile raised on his lips.

“You seem to be very good at finding things.” He stepped to the side, making space for her to peer into the closet beside him. Inside was a multitude of different clothing items both hung and folded. 

“I was already afraid of having to try to squeeze into some of your childhood clothes,” she mumbled with a triumphant smile. Steve snorted, he glanced toward the floor to conceal how big of a smile she brought to his face.

“You surely would have looked fabulous in dinosaur print.”

“Dinosaur print?” She curiously raised an eyebrow. Steve in return blushed and smiled bashfully at her.

“I was obsessed with Dinosaurs, the stars, and the ocean.”

“I’d love to see the ocean at some point,” she mumbled, “Your capital lies on the coast, right?” With a hum Steve nodded. “How is it? Growing up so close to the sea I mean?”

“The view is beautiful, something entirely different to the mountains. 

In the summer the salty breeze travels into the city, and the winds help keep the city cool. There are rivers making their way through parts of the city and people have built small boats to ride through the canals. When the sun hits the waves the water glistens like gems. 

Oh, and the caves along the beaches. Bucky and I used to explore them as children. We imagined them to house all kinds of magic: a sleeping dragon, the buried treasure of a pirate crew, all such things. 

Buck also taught me to sail a boat. We’d sneak out of our beds after bedtime and climb out of our windows, down to the marina where we’d hijack his father’s boat.”

Her breath hitched as she watched him talk about his home. There was a tranquil look on Steve’s face, one of content and fond memories.

“Did you ever get caught?” She whispered. It was almost pitiful to disturb this peaceful look on Steve’s face. Almost, weren’t it for the happy glint in his eyes and smile at her indulgence. 

“Many times. We got into so much trouble but we didn’t care about it. We would do it again after every scolding.” It sounded like he had had a fun childhood. 

For a moment it made her sad, thinking how it would have been had her parents been around longer. Would her sisters and her have had a childhood like that? Would they have been able to be innocent children?

She didn’t want to focus on these thoughts and Steve turned out to be a great help in preventing her from thinking more such depressing things. He continued to tell her about the shenanigans he and Bucky had been up to in their childhood as they gradually shifted their focus on pulling out some of the clothes. 

Happily Steve told her everything that came to his mind, at least until she interrupted his babbling with a deep frown on her face, “I’m not a puppet.”

“Yes,” he answered her, confidently and nearly automatically. Steve was ready to continue his story, the delayed meaning of her words setting in stopped him abruptly. Confusion transformed his features as he stopped his motions and turned to her,

“No…

What?”

“Why would you call me a puppet?” She frowned up at him, her feathers clearly ruffled as she huffed, although he couldn’t understand how that had happened.

“I…didn’t.”

“You called me ‘Doll’,” she stated and it clicked. Warmth flooded Steve and his cheeks began to burn.

“That’s not the same,” he mumbled, yet it was clear this did not explain the situation to her. Instead, Steve found himself opposite of her accusingly raised eyebrow. The same unamused look he had witnessed her giving her younger sister. Steve gulped, not enjoying being on the receiving end of that look one bit. 

“That’s, um…” With a sigh, he bashfully glanced to the floor and rubbed at his neck. He was in trouble. 

Huge Trouble. How could he explain it to her without revealing he had just called her a pet name by accident? A term usually reserved for lovers? Yet it had just slipped out as he had addressed her. 

“Doll is a term of endearment that men call their female friends. It’s a non-specific name.” 

She looked at him doubtfully, a wary glint in her eyes as she looked at him with pursed lips. It didn’t sound quite right to her, he could see it in her expression and it terrified Steve. Desperately and frantically he wracked his brain to find another explanation. One with which he wouldn’t dig himself an even deeper hole. Perhaps a straight-up apology would be best suited. He had to be honest with her and hope she wouldn’t find any insult from it. But before Steve could open his mouth again, she shook her head and mumbled,

“Some of your traditions are weird. Why would it be endearing to call someone a puppet? That's not nice.” There was a remaining hint of disgruntlement in her voice, one that brought out the natural drawl of her widovian. It was a mighty wrong moment to feel like that but the sound of her accent made Steve’s heart flutter.

He couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. He adored her view, and couldn't help but find her reaction to it anything but cute.

Their hunt for clothing in the end turned out to be successful, albeit long. It had taken them the better part of a couple of hours to locate enough items that would be suitable both indoors and outdoors in the freezing, wintery cold.

Sam, Bucky, Yelena, and Natasha had tackled the chests on one side of the room while Steve and she had been isolated on the opposite side of the room. Only when both parties had met at the door to the hallway had her sisters and Steve’s friends even noticed their absence.

Now the girls were on their way out of the room, trailed by the men. Sam and Steve carried the piles of musty and dusty clothing – they’d unanimously decided to chuck all of it into the washer first.

Bucky eyed the clothes in Steve’s arms suspiciously, stopping in the doorframe, he blocked both Steve and Sam from leaving the room. 

“What?” Steve asked, noticing Bucky’s eyes on the clothes in his hands.

“Those are some of your mother’s clothes,” Buck noted and Steve fell silent.

There was a pause before he answered slowly, “Yes.” 

The statement didn’t seem enough for Bucky, however, who raised an eyebrow once more. “They’ll fit and suit her well.”

Sam and Bucky didn’t need to ask who ‘her’ was in this case.

Without saying anything else Steve pushed past Bucky and left the room. It was now Sam’s turn to glance at Bucky, alternating between looking at him and toward where Steve had just stood. 

“You wanna tell me what that was?”

“Steve hasn’t touched any of his mother’s things since she passed away.” 

Sam shrugged his shoulders, so he had gotten over it. What was there to it that Bucky made a big deal out of it? 

“He didn’t allow anyone to touch them. All of Sarah’s belongings were stashed away. He couldn’t bear looking at them and being painfully reminded of his mother not even a week ago.”

[katcadecascade]

If you believe the lies I tell (Snowjanus fic Chapter Nine)

Ao3

Tumblr Chapter Index

Chapter Nine: Arguments

Word Count: 4,886

There is a crack in the wall that separates the Snows from the outside world. It’s been crumbling for a while now, Coriolanus can admit that now that he’s faced with the rubble. 

Clemensia Dovecote, the beta daughter of secretaries and one of the smartest students on the honor roll. 

Sejanus Plinth, the alpha son of a District couple who made enough wealth to live in the Capitol. 

Two shining examples on how education and money equals ascension. 

They’re out of place in the Snow penthouse, similar to how Coriolanus is the odd one out in the Capitol. 

Their blood red uniforms are too pristine and vibrant compared to the muted and torn wallpaper. Coriolanus can literally see the dust collecting on their tense shoulders. They both know they’re unwelcomed despite Coriolanus letting them in.

He still regrets closing the door behind them. 

No mask or armor, surrounded by the evidence of decay. This house is Coriolanus Snow’s last possession. He couldn’t maintain its state of when his mother was alive. 

Watching Clemensia and Sejanus take in every little detail of cobwebs and faded color, empty spaces and the scuff marks of where tables and cabinets once stood, the cold air and the how his spearmint scent is beginning to fill the room. The thick of the heat is threatening his muscles and bones to relax, draining energy from the weak and empty stomach. The warmth may border the lines of a fever if he’s not careful. 

But his analytical mind is focused on his two companions. 

Coriolanus dares not to close his eyes, forcing himself to accept this reality. 

Yet he can't help but demand, “Stop looking at me like that.”

He’s never seen Clemensia guilty before, the furrow in her eyebrows clearly shows her confusion. 

“I never knew,” Clemensia admits softly, “I never thought…” 

She trails off but she has said enough. 

“Good,” Coriolanus grits his teeth, “that means I have done so well for so long!”

“Coriolanus, please-”

“Please what?” 

His harsh rhetorical question is met with silence. 

The way they're staring at him boils his heart. Coriolanus is just another piece of ill-kept furniture. It completes the painting of snow falling. 

Because once snow is on the forest floor, it will be trampled upon. 

He gestures to his humble abode. “Does all of this answer your questions Clemensia? Satisfy your curiosity? What about you Sejanus? Do you want to dig more into my life?”

Coriolanus knows this is pointless, offensive behavior. They’re already inside his bleeding home, an open wound in Coriolanus’ pride. 

In a heated state, where he’s supposed to feel comfort and peace, Coriolanus is on edge from having something different in his familiar world. He still sees them as enemies, despite how he wants their scents to be in his space. 

“You would have never willingly told us anything.” Sejanus foresees a reality that Coriolanus longs for. “You’d rather brace everything by yourself. School, our classmates, even university.”

“That would’ve happened,” Clemensia agreed. “I know it can still happen because you’re the most clever person I know.”

“Yeah, with your stubbornness, you’d achieve everything you put your mind to.”

Coriolanus is taken aback from the compliments. Any fluster or blush is disguised under his already warm face. He expected them to be more confrontational due to his bitter nature. No, instead, they’re patient. Cautious more like it, still treating Coriolanus Snow as a wild animal.

And perhaps he is. 

Raw instincts crave a fight, the need to defend his territory. Yet there is no fight to be found. That type of realization is what ends an alpha’s ruts. 

Coriolanus isn’t an alpha, he’s an omega.

Omega’s heats don’t end so fast. 

The fire within is a prolonged suffering, an ache that needs to be soothed with the knowledge of community. Not only with blood relatives, but it includes the chosen few who are deemed worthy. 

Maybe from the first moment they were partnered for that school project, Coriolanus deemed Clemensia Dovecote as his ally.

Yet with Sejanus Plinth, Coriolanus hates to analyze the moments where he relied on the alpha. First the gifts of food, then making the bet knowing that Coriolanus can win, lastly just his presence.

Coriolanus has tracked Sejanus in his environment, believing he’s just another enemy in the grass. Yet the District boy was always a little different then the rest of the Capitol, always was. A gentleness that’s more rustic compared to the usual high status.  

Something in his brain rooted them both as his, as people he refuses to let go. 

Yet that doesn’t mean that Clemensia and Sejanus actually know Coriolanus. 

They only think they do. 

Hostility and defensiveness melts as Coriolanus openly recalls the first real conversation he had with Clemensia. 

“You told me that scenting makes you feel like the world isn’t out to get you. I cannot experience something so…”

Tranquil.

Wonderful. 

Coriolanus finishes with, “...easy.” 

His body sways at that thought, of a dream that can effortlessly become reality if Coriolanus lets go of his paranoia, insecurities, and fear.

“I don’t have anything to protect my family except for lies. Tigris needs her job and I need the Plinth prize to afford university. We’re barely living as is.”

There are a million things that Coriolanus Snow desperately needs. In the typical sense, it’s material goods but even he has to admit that he wants the sentimental values. 

Loyalty, respect, and influence, all attainable things through having power over others. 

Yet it is the complex emotions of love and trust that makes Coriolanus believe he is undeserving of such. Wearing a mask of smiles, of perfection and power. Coriolanus knows it’s a truth that has not been realized. 

Because who would love a fragile mind, a hairpin away from cracking and becoming the embodiment of hunger. Starving for food is one issue, starving for attention and control and power is a madman’s frantic need to have some form of pleasure in all this pain. 

Coriolanus didn’t know he could have fun, making jokes with Sejanus or teasing Clemensia. It felt so normal compared to how much he has to pretend that he is as normal as the rest of them. 

But he’s not.

“I don’t have much to have in the first place,” Coriolanus laughs pitifully, “I have to hide how hungry I am every single day.” 

His body shivers at the phantom pains of his stomach. Its growl would be met with either water or sharp nails digging into the soft flesh. Anything to protect his image, anything to stall out his body slowly shutting down. 

Or maybe his body is swaying and shivering because he has no food in his system and the fever pitch is growing now that he scents nutmeg and lavenders. 

Steady hands are on his shoulders, his skin feels clammy where the pressure lays on his sweater. As hot as the heat is making Coriolanus feel, it’s a focal point of perfect warmth by having Sejanus before him, ever so slowly leaning a bit closer than Coriolanus would ever allow.

Then again, it’s not the first time today Coriolanus allowed Sejanus to be so close. 

Coriolanus almost chokes from the amount of nutmeg around. Sejanus doesn’t break eye contact. 

Just like back in the classroom, something inside registers Sejanus as an anchor. His breathing becomes calmer but the ache is still prominent. Either from food or loneliness, the answer is right in front of Coriolanus. 

“You’re unsteady, Coriolanus, please sit down?”

They move over to the only chairs in the apartment, the three wooden chairs in the kitchen. 

Coriolanus doesn’t lead them to his nest, not yet.

That and he doesn’t think he has the strength to walk over there at the moment. 

So Sejanus pulls his seat close to the point where their knees are touching, thigh pressed against thigh. Coriolanus could stomp his heel down on Sejanus’ foot if he wanted to. He doesn’t but the idea is tempting, just a little intrusive thought. 

Clemensia remains standing, taking in the state of the aged wooden cabinets, the rusted sink faucet, and the leftover bottle of lard they need for the stove. He idly wonders if Clemensia has been in her own kitchen or it’s solely for the staff. 

When she catches him watching her, Clemensia schools her expression. She’s not an expert on masks like him. Confusion to worry to now concern. He doesn’t know if he’ll recognize pity on Clemensia’s fair face, if he does it might break him. More so, Coriolanus is scared of losing Clemensia the longer she’s here. 

Before, Coriolanus would have never acknowledged how sentimental his fears are. Everything went downhill from one catalyst. 

“You just had to notice and start giving me food, Sejanus.” Coriolanus glares at the wooden floorboards because if he looks at Sejanus, he’ll just lash out again. “You just had to be the one stop Felix.”

“No one was stopping him. I had to try.”

Coriolanus drones out, “Of course you did.”

“Sejanus was right to try,” Clemensia boldly states but her voice wavers, “I didn’t… I was too shocked and… scared.” Quieter, she admits, “I was more scared for myself than for you, Coriolanus.”

If someone else made the same foolish mistakes, Coriolanus isn’t sure if he would jump in to help. “I understand.”

“No, I shouldn’t have frozen up. I should’ve done something instead of wasting time and-”

“Stop, Clemensia.”

He reaches over and she is never far, instantly by his side for Coriolanus to hold hands. He leans his head on her arm, letting his scent encompass her. Instantaneously it calms her down and at the same time, Coriolanus feels proud that it was him that helped her. 

Coriolanus isn’t used to feeling prideful for something so simple, for being an omega. Gender and dynamics weren’t much of a variable to account for. It was easier to ignore it until he needed to use it. He’d probably factor a marriage contract around those factors, if that day ever came. 

A formidable suitor would’ve been an alpha like Sejanus Plinth. 

Coriolanus hides his red face against Clemensia’s red coat sleeve. 

“I did not expect you to enter a heat right after.” 

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you kidding me?” Clemensia huffs, “Coriolanus, you have never been interested in scenting until Sejanus started courting you.”

“I wasn’t courting him,” Sejanus hastily corrected, “I was just giving him food.”

“Yeah,” Coriolanus ignores his beating heart at Sejanus' explanation, “because of his hero complex.”

“What? I don’t have a complex.”

Coriolanus begs to differ, just not aloud. The way he presses his lips into a thin line, unimpressed by Sejanus, tells it plainly anyway. 

“I don’t know.” Clemensia begins with a playful tone, “It looks like courting to me.” 

“We’re telling you you’re wrong.” 

Clemensia merely pats the top of his hair. “Sure, whatever you say, Coriolanus.”

Now that amount of condescending is met with Coriolanus’ raw irritation. 

“I hate you both. Invasive and believing your actions are what I need when really it has ruined me forever.” 

He levels them with the most damning glare he has. It only affects one of them. 

Sejanus rushes, “I’m sorry-”

“The last thing I want are apologies. They’re meaningless.”

“Then what do you want, Coriolanus?” 

Clemenisa does not take the bait, sees through his anger and doesn’t try to placate him like Sejanus. 

He doesn’t want to argue any more with her. If there’s one person Coriolanus can trust with both his instincts and brain, it is Clemensia Dovecote. 

Maybe the heat is oozing emotions straight out of Coriolanus’ skin because he quietly admits, “Your scents but I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The very thing he struggled to ask for spills so easily from his mouth, drunk on a need for any sign of their trust. Yet something as precious as that would need to be reciprocated. Coriolanus never needed scenting before but this heat is certainly changing parts of his philosophy. 

Give and take. 

Somewhere in his mind, Coriolanus deemed scenting as transactional. That’s a type of currency Coriolanus is severely poor in, scared of being in a debt too deep. 

“I don’t know,” he repeats, “how to deal with this heat.”

Sejanus unhelpfully said, “Well, me too.” 

It makes sense. Friendless Sejanus would never be invited to someone’s nest.

Coriolanus squirms at the fact that he is the first. 

“And that’s why I’m here,” Clemensia tells them, the perfect buffer between their awkwardness. She gently holds his chin in the palm of her hand while the other checks his forehead. “I think you cooled down a bit. Your eyes are less dazed.” 

He can’t accurately gauge his own symptoms. From what he remembers from lessons and books, omegas are supposed to be super focused on scents and who’s in the nest. Keen awareness through presence alone. 

Coriolanus feels it all too much, hyper aware of how much he enjoys leaning against Sejanus and having Clemensia rubbing small circles in the spot between his neck and shoulder. 

It feels like falling, letting go of the armor pieces. 

It’s the most vulnerable Coriolanus has ever been. 

Exhausted, Coriolanus rests his eyes for a moment. “Everything is still too warm.”

“It is called a heat.”

“Don’t try to be funny, Sejanus.”

“What, do you prefer Festus’ type of humor?”

“If you make a pun, I will kick you out.”

“Fair,” Sejanus laughs, “I wouldn’t torture you with puns though.” 

“You being here is enough punishment.” Coriolanus doesn’t know if he’s exaggerating or not. It’s a contrasting need of what’s familiar, pushing people away, and what’s not familiar, actively needing them. 

Sejanus doesn’t respond to the insult, maybe taking a page out of Clemensia’s book on recognizing Coriolanus simply being mean to be mean. 

Clemensia interrupts them, “You need food, Coriolanus. Do not argue with me.”

He can only discourage her by saying, “There’s only ingredients for cabbage soup here.”

They all know that’s not going to be enough. 

Heats consume energy, it can be dangerous. Like how alphas can become feral, a state of pure animalistic violence, omegas have their own type of heat stroke due to a fever worsening. 

It’s the downside of those instinctual dynamic cycles, too much will be too much. 

So food, the resource that Coriolanus needs but does not have the money for.

He already hates it when his friends realize what they need to do.

“You’re not buying food for me.”

“Any other day, any other moment you could boss me around about this,” Clemensia points at him, “but not when your life is at risk.”

“You’re being overly dramatic,” he says as if he’s unbothered by the constant warmth and demanding ache. 

“And you’re lying to us again,” Sejanus counters. 

“I’m not-” Coriolanus bites his tongue. 

“I’m going to buy food. You,” she glares at Sejanus, “take care of him.” Clemensia turns to Coriolanus, “And you, behave.”

“Excuse me?”

She sounds out slowly, “BE-HAVE.” 

“What are we supposed to do?” Sejanus asks, a hint of nervousness in his tone. 

“Make sure he doesn’t overheat. Oh do you have snacks on you?��

“Always.” Sejanus reaches into his bag and hands over Coriolanus a small baggie. 

“Good.” She turns to Coriolanus, “Try nesting, that’s basically all you have to do.”

Upfronted with her babysitter tone, Coriolanus tries not to sound so helpless when he complains, “You cannot be serious, Clemensia. Leaving me with him?”

“Coriolanus Snow, look me in the eye and tell me you feel unsafe.”

He does meet her eyes but no words dare pry out from his maw. 

Because as unknown as this feeling is, Coriolanus does not feel in danger next to Sejanus Plinth. 

In the end, this is Clemensia’s betrayal. Their perfect buffer leaves them with the promise of returning with food. 

“Wow,” Sejanus blinks, “Clemenisa can be scary.”

“You’ve never had to pull an all-nighter with her. Be grateful that you never will.”

Coriolanus barely survived last year’s finals week. Clemensia was an entirely different breed of academics. 

“For what it’s worth, I think Clemensia also hates me for kind of causing your heat.” 

“Do not give yourself so much credit.” 

He unhappily opens up the snack bag and eats all the sugar cookies with ravenous fever. 

All the little things make Coriolanus realize he needs him. This is what his instincts beacon through the paranoia and apathy. 

“I can’t believe I have to nest,” he bits furiously into the last cookie. The satisfying cracking noise doesn’t make him feel any better. 

“Have you never…” Sejanus stops himself at Coriolanus’ glare. The alpha politely shrugs, “Alright well, it’s not like you don’t know how to hug… Do you know-“

“Yes I know how to hug, Sejanus.” 

Sejanus nudges their shoulders together. “Are you sure?” 

Coriolanus elbows him away, “You are not goading me into hugging you.”

“I’m not trying to make you mad, Coriolanus. I just want to help.”

Those big brown eyes are too full of something unimaginably soft. Coriolanus can't look away. He wants to crush it. 

“Sejanus, your help is the chaos theory. Every moment I spend with you has spiraled my life away from everything I ever knew.”

“And what is that?” The question catches him off guard, and as Sejanus continues, Coriolanus feels too seen. “The Capitol and its control over the Districts or scent blockers and staying away from everyone including Clemensia.”

Coriolanus is stunned, the very definition of armorless. 

Sejanus forgoes his critical analysis to plead like an arrow to the heart, “Coriolanus, please don’t tell me that all you know is hunger.”

No lie is thought up. Only the first real conversation they ever had, back when Sejanus gave him muffins. 

“...Do you understand me now, Sejanus?” 

That is enough of a confirmation. 

Sejanus shifted in his chair, making them face to face. Without the curls, Sejanus doesn’t quite look like himself. It completely removes the scruffiness and adds an emphasis on his jawline. Sharp angles and a mature toughness, the typical look of an alpha. Yet those brown eyes will always remain soft. 

“Coriolanus, I… I think I do.”

Coriolanus may not feel threatened by Sejanus but there was always a dread on how well Sejanus has figured Coriolanus out. 

But right now it is not an icy weight that sinks as Sejanus thoroughly unveils Coriolanus’ mask. 

“I know you’re the smartest, so devoted to studying. Being presentable at every event we were forced to go to. I only figured out how stubborn you are when you never took crap from Arachne or stayed long hours in the library. You waited until everyone left before walking home.” 

Coriolanus briefly wonders what memories Sejanus holds of him. Because in public, all of that is performative. While Coriolanus does enjoy winning against their classmates, he needs to maintain that perfection. He can never let anyone see how the stress wears him down, how the paranoia marks everyone as enemies. The depths of his starvation was hidden for so long until now. 

Only Sejanus has seen the closest of who Coriolanus is. 

“That whole bet was just me thinking entirely of you, Coriolanus. You were at the top and everyone knew.” A prideful glint shines in those brown eyes. “That’s how you want to be seen, right?” 

A victor. 

Those words are the sweetest thing Coriolanus has ever heard. 

It is the hardest thing to digest. 

“I shouldn’t have ever let you in.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, Coriolanus knows it but he has no other words to say to Sejanus Plinth. 

Because it is familiar to hurt Sejanus, to push people away from getting too close. This moment, heat or no heat, is an entirely new experience that Coriolanus does not know how to navigate through.

All he knows is hunger and how it can hurt. 

“Coriolanus-” 

“You never think of the consequences of your actions, of your supposed good deeds. If you get in trouble, your dad can easily write a check to fix your mess.” He balls the cookie bag up and tosses it at Sejanus. “If I step out of line, like today? Arachne will pit the whole school against me and Felix will make sure no one will ever hire me.” 

Coriolanus knows that Sejanus does not wear a mask. Sejanus Plinth is always his true, authentic self and Coriolanus hates it. 

Sejanus has money to protect his family. 

Literally everyone else is ten times more powerful simply because money matters so much in their world. 

He shakes his head, naively said, “They wouldn’t do that.”

“No one is as charitable as you, Sejanus Plinth.” Only Coriolanus would shape a compliment into a spear. “I wished you never gave me food.”

Sejanus genuinely looks hurt. 

He reaches over to hold Coriolanus’ hand, “I wouldn’t let you starve, Coriolanus.” 

To anyone else, this is a reassuring promise.

Not to Coriolanus Snow.

This is a contract. This is the start of a debt. The beginning of his doom. 

Forced to swallow down his pride to satisfy his stomach, to prolong his survival by being a weakling. It’s the opposite of everything Coriolanus grew up knowing. 

Coriolanus pulls his hand away from Sejanus. 

“I could never tell if that’s a District trait or if you’re this level of reckless bravado because I’m so desperately in need.” 

“Is this what you meant?” Sejanus furrows his eyebrows, truly failing to understand Coriolanus. “My apparent hero complex?”

“Yes! You just had to do more for me, thinking you’re actually making my life better.” He stands up and waves to the poorly aged kitchen. “You could fix my whole house and I will hate you forever. I refuse you to be responsible for the good things in my life.” 

Because Coriolanus does not have ownership of his own happiness. 

“Coriolanus,” Sejanus pleads his name so tenderly like that would stop the river of anger. 

But he keeps going, lost in the current. 

“You and Clemensia now know what I really am! I can never put that mask back on. I am on the cusp of becoming nothing and you can never unsee that.” 

Rage pushes through the heat, reborn by Sejanus senseless kindness. 

Coriolanus paces around, invoking the sharpness of his scent to start hurting his burning skin. 

“Arachne was right! I cannot offer anything to anyone. I spent so many years ignoring scents that I will never understand it. Everyone now knows how pathetic I am for a language they all speak so fluently.” 

He’ll be left behind, abandoned like how the world ignored Helena Snow’s fate. None of her friends attended her funeral and those who did came for platitude. 

“Clemensia will never see me as her equal again. Once you both realize that, you will never return. You now know me completely, Sejanus, and I will hate whatever you do with that information.”

He only stops pacing when Sejanus stands up. 

Confusion and pity is whipped clean from that handsome face. 

Sejanus’ narrowed eyes freezes Coriolanus in his place. 

“Whatever I do? Clemensia and I are only here to help you and this is how you really feel?” 

Unlike his confrontation with Felix, there are no prey instincts screaming to run away. No, instead it’s a mournful feeling of Sejanus finally seeing the mess Coriolanus is. 

Echoing that grief, Sejanus says, “Congratulations Coriolanus, your perfect mask fooled me. It fooled Clemensia. And now we know your biggest secret. You want to know what we’re going to do with it?” 

For a millisecond, Coriolanus cannot breathe. A new nightmare is dreamt up. Loneliness that can break hearts, betrayal that will tear up the newborn stars, and a cold nest that becomes a grave. 

Yet in the next nanosecond, Sejanus surprises him. 

“Nothing!” His arms are spread out wide, matching his voice, “We care too much about you to try to hurt you!”

This must be the harshest Sejanus has ever spoken yet it’s to reassure Coriolanus. It's an unimaginable reality that only exists because Sejanus is so terribly kind. 

A tightness in his lungs forces Coriolanus to inhale too fast. He coughs and exhales and inhales again too fast, faster than his heartbeat. It's been beating so fast since Sejanus denied their courtship. 

He feels too hot again, his lips fuzzy from panting and now his eyes feel hot. Wet tears are falling like heavy snow. Any shame or humiliation is devoured by the hunger beast that is hope.

Sejanus Plinth is kindness beyond his fears. 

Coriolanus barely chokes out, “You really won’t?” 

His mind can run a million nightmare scenarios but his mouth isn’t fast enough to name any of them. A bone deep trust instantly knows that Sejanus will never bring those into reality. 

Approaching carefully, Sejanus raises a hand to his cheek. The movement falters, hesitation flickering so fast on the alpha’s face. Coriolanus finishes the intent, rests his cheek against Sejanus’ hand. 

A thumb wipes away some tears but more run down. 

His breathing takes a while to even out. His blurry vision is entirely on Sejanus. 

“Coriolanus, you can’t keep thinking like this. You’ve known Clemensia for years and you believe she’ll abandon you? Has she ever hurt you?” 

He shakes his head. 

Sejanus hesitates, his lip worryingly bitten. “Then is it me? Have I hurt you, Coriolanus?”

Acts of kindness do not leave wounds, yet Coriolanus feels like his flesh is unmade by simply accepting the most gentlest of touches. 

Regaining his breath, Coriolanus admits, “Every cell in my body needs you, Sejanus but I hate every feeling of this.”

Sejanus takes a half step away but Coriolanus instantly clutches onto the labels of his uniform. 

“If you hate me so much then tell me to leave. I’ll do it. I will give you anything you want, Coriolanus.” He wipes away another tear. “Just tell me.”

The epitome of dynamics, an alpha obeying the omega. 

It’s all about shelter. 

No matter how much Coriolanus can hate Sejanus, which is a lot, there’s a growing comfort competing with that hatred. 

Beyond that, Coriolanus does not want to lose Sejanus Plinth. 

He had to perform as someone stable, someone with enough money and food, with effortless intellect and charm. 

Sejanus dealt with this angry, prideful person but remained in his life. A stubborn fool according to Coriolanus, but a part of him is stunned that Sejanus keeps offering kindness. 

“Sejanus,” he takes the alpha by the hand, “Don’t make me regret this.”

Coriolanus leads him to his room. 

The nest is messy, lumps of a few blankets that hang over. The scents linger over, nothing as strong as spearmint. Coriolanus still waits for Sejanus to bring out his own scent. 

He’s prepared to be angry at Sejanus, for taking in the details of his barren room but Sejanus never took his eyes off of Coriolanus. 

It’s getting harder to ignore his ever beating heart, too fast and too hot. He swallows down the uncomfortable air, bursts of his nervousness making the mint stale. 

Sejanus squeezes their hands together. 

Coriolanus pushes his frustrations and embarrassment and shame to the farthest edge of his consciousness and relies on his instincts, leading them to the nest. 

The bed is too small, it always is. 

A new shade of humiliation rattles Coriolanus up but he endures it. 

He arranges Sejanus to sit at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. There’s space between his legs for Coriolanus to lie in. 

For the first time in his life, Coriolanus does not argue with his instincts. 

He can’t recall if he ever balled up in someone’s lap before. Maybe Tigris when they were kids but nothing compares to this heat. 

Omegas are supposed to literally stockpile their emotions, anything to convey through their scent at how at peace they are. 

Coriolanus still struggles with that concept. 

As if reading his mind, Sejanus rubs a few circles into his shoulder before moving down to squeeze his arm. Wordlessly asking if everything is okay. Or at least that’s what Coriolanus guesses. 

He can’t vocalize his need yet he’s already emitting a sweetness in his scent. Coriolanus gives a big sigh and presses his head against Sejanus’ stomach.

Only then is when he scents the nutmeg. 

Before, Coriolanus would describe Sejanus’ faint scent like the signature at the end of a love letter. 

This here is the full missive. 

A strong sense of devotion, of loyalty unasked for. It’s all the things an alpha does for an omega but Coriolanus can’t help but feel its uniqueness. 

Sejanus gave him food, an opportunity for their classmates’ defeat, and braced some of the worst facets of Coriolanus Snow. It’s a loyalty enduring all of Coriolanus’ survival instincts to push him away. 

Yet Coriolanus craved the scent of nutmeg. 

The heat isn’t making him dizzy or weak-kneed. It’s just another blanket. The scent of nutmeg is a huge source of that feeling. In this vast sea of comfort, Coriolanus dares to break the moment. 

“Do I matter to you, Sejanus?”

“…yes.”

He can’t see his face but Coriolanus hears the unhappiness in Sejanus’ voice. 

It’s the last thing spoken as they embrace the silence. Their scents resonated with each other. 

-

Thanks for reading!

[cosmicangel888]

Self Healing ~ Self Seeking ~ Focus Within 

When you go within - nothing outside of you can thwart you

I am here to shake things up and why I supposed I went through what I did - to show humanity how hard, how devoted women have always been, and our potential to write new powerful leadership stories that have nothing to do with being controlled by energies and entities that are nefarious and have never been nor did they ever want to be but a controller of you and your ways;

All must heal their own DF / DM in which eons of entrapment, whether it be entrapment, control with inheritance, wills and monies, the cult like communities that nefarious business mask behind, and when truth is spoken, it can be literal and figurative hell to live through - and only when you speak in your truth, when you live in your highest truth, all others must face and look at what they have created for the benefit of healing within -

Energy is energy and 1 ball of light within a community of darkness cannot be the only part of the equation to heal it - why spirit will guide, will direct, will protect and shield you when you are acting on behalf of your own highest and best -

You owe no one nothing - their choices, and their life is their life and all must face what energy, what choices, what beliefs and what attachments, co-dependency, issues of beliefs and lack, limitation, mother issues, father issues, all must be within themselves to be of the most high for themselves - be the mother, be the father and thus the sacred child, the Christ child is awakened and comes forth

Healing Dysfunction is Walking Away

All must face who they are - and love themselves enough to want to change and heal - no one and no thing can do such, or be such and never fall victim to what a narcist and the wounded may want and deprave you of - guilt or shame, or create blasphemy stories of who they see you are through their wounding to blame and project anger and lack of self for their own lack of control over you - so be ready to help yourself navigate away -

The Play to Pull you in - You are not responsible or have any contracts on any level when abuse in any way comes into play - and spirit will assure and protect you of this - Spiritual contracts outweigh any human contract

Be compassionate to what you have experienced and the pain others mask - compassion is the leader - and as you are so too it will be

the highest and most peaceful change

If it is yours it will be and if it not meant to be god is the director - for God knows -

True pure love - is always honest and transparent - if one acts illusory then give them the space to work out their own inner deceit and issues of lack of self and lack of self direction. never compromise yourself for another - ever and none have power or control to hold you back, warp you, harvest from you or dishonour you -choose self love and self management over all - God has your back - allow all to heal and take the time and inner devotion to do so

spiritual contracts to yourself, the councils, the realms, the dimensions and universes you belong to trump all other earthly contracts - PERIOD

compassion doesn't mean you stay in what is harmful and not of positive loving growth - make whatever boundaries you need to maintain light, life, and safety that is equal and nurturing and fair

Healing is multi-dimensional and all have to commit to their own issues - not dumping, blaming, shaming another to do the hard pulling and balancing - life is an equation - not 1 person can be all parts of the equation - when you go round round round, nothing is resolved, same old stories, excuses, behaviour and no change, no commitment to heal, no inner self love for practice and words are just words - Years of taking, abuse, deceit, manipulation will not change over night - all are responsible for their life and their life will show you how much peace or chaos is present - tune in and trust yourself and know you get to say NO

No is a complete sentence - if someone truly does love you and respect you - then no will be no and they will understand it was not meant to be and go work on a new version of life and who they are - universal understanding is KEY - for if you are not a vibrational match conscious levels are so vast - you can be peaceful but you do not have to dance with each other - you do not have to be with anyone to be successful - no can mean no and peacefully be fair at a distance and carry on for all to learn to level up in their own way and time

Have others show you who they are and trust that - you do not need to waste time, energy, money, light, resources, self respect to wait on someone to be done with partying, self harming, and open style living in secret to bring back balance to all others living in truth - all must bring equal truth and work to make any endeavour work -

Above all - TRUST YOURSELF & SPIRIT - deeply challenging even harmful relationships offer the best lessons to know thyself, trust thyself, and be of thyself above all - this is sovereignty and sometimes to cut your losses and get on with a new life is hard to do but often the most powerful and how mastery is earned

Understand and see through the ploy's of what may come when you say no and be 'ok' things just don't and are not meant to work out - you don't have to fix what is not meant to be and why the guilt of contracts, or old promises made in old energy or vows that were broken first by the ones that blame you - want to run back and offer new re-marriage, or being better, or giving you shiny toys as a ploy to bring your energy back to play with and control it

You can always send light and peace, and compassion from a distance - you do not have to engage or entangle with ignorance and disrespect

if someone does respect themselves, or care about their own health, wellness balance, or peace, they will not care about yours - tune in to what you know, see, sense - spirit will show

As they deny their remote viewing, trickery, or dream messing with magic or moon play with spell work, or withholding of information and working behind the scenes to hold you back mentally or with energy to world with others - When others want bad and less than for you When others think they know you, when those ache to control every part of you and your life - the damages of narcism & why all is HEALABLE Heal thy wounds so they do not become another's

you are worthy of basic human rights; to be treated with respect, honour and value and our children must learn this at the earliest of ages so they are not sought for their light, their uniqueness by those entities that work in cult like fashion to disengage their hearts and souls of compassion and light - unfortunately there are those that seek and work with intention to target the vulnerable and why not being vibrationally vulnerable and learning the ways of all energy is key - to not judge it but know it exists as a part of God and creation - all allows you to master who you are

to allow humanity higher vibrational laws that align with the Laws of One - non-interference and Free will - respect and sacredness for all life - all shapes, sizes, sexes and affiliations - all is equal and fair and just and beautiful -

Women deserve not to be controlled, and children deserve safe and loving homes to not have black magic energy spiralling in their lives of ill intent and selfish arrogant gains of the misguided and unhealed - all is healable - crime is unnecessary and why the truth will trigger that which is ready to deal with and suss out what limitations and beliefs hold this is 'ok'

All children deserve full bellies and safe home in which they are not used, or abused but loved and adored as sacred - because they are & we are

How is degrading of any body, vessel of divine love light ok? how is the beating, or sacrificing anything that is sacred ok? how is the devaluing of our intelligence to hand over our power, choice, voice, or energy or light to those that simply harm, hate, and disrupt and bring corruption - discern and stand and be of good will and light and for you and if you are the only one standing - so be it

All is able to level up and do the inner work - the Universe is infinitely abundant and all have the power within to create great goddess and god healthy bodies and vessels of light-

Superficial living is a thing of the past - we are here to return within and richly live as spirit - one is the all and the all is the one

I am here to shake shit up - it is my power to be fully and purely me - and I loved myself - I empower all to reclaim your gentle and soft and unique voice - challenge conformity and arise within new self love and self devotion of creative expression - this is living as spirit © 

Blessings and light

Joanna

You never have to take from another when you are making your own life magnificent - crime never has to be - if you merely understand self love and universal laws; all is energy

BE empowered to move in your own way and in your own time

ManiFEST change - inner = outer - invention intention allowance action the spiritual spiral of Creation - all gotta do the work inner = outer - one

Never surrender your life to anyone - you make it! YoU CREATE IT!

Love and light are all - you have a right to your voice and you have a right to what you have earned - take accountability and see your own mastery - all is God all is One judge none and separate none

Human evolution, re-writing all aspects of our co-creative experiences through love, light, harmony of all that is sacred, always been sacred; World Ascension Healing Classes, Intuitive Sessions, Healing Sessions, Ascension Books, Healing Systems, 5D human-socio-altruistic re-write ~

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TURN THE NEGATIVE INTO POSITIVE

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Work together for positive change and uplifting new human potentials - ALL IS POSSIBLE

Stay and remain knowing and patient - God never misses, Spirit never forgets, all is and will be repaid ten-fold - trust in God, trust in thyself and know thyself and know the blessings of love and light

[zhivchik]

[madameminor]

Geek Therapy - Crosshair's 'abandonment' and choosing sobriety over misery

I am not a professional, I am a geek on a healing journey who relates to a tv show she likes. This is just me putting my thoughts to 'paper' in case these words help anyone else.

When I see people say that The Batch abandoned Crosshair, anger rises in me. I find myself thinking “I DIDN’T FUCKING ABANDON CROSSHAIR. I had no CHOICE.” Interesting the pronoun is I and not they. I believe what I seen in this dynamic is what many people see- their own experience and the dynamics they have experienced in their lives.

I imagine (I don’t know, of course) that the people who believe Crosshair was abandoned have experienced this feeling in their lives- so when they look at this, that is what they see. They empathize with him. I can’t comment on this. All I can look at is my own experience.

I think for a long time I felt abandoned. I didn’t realize that until I got older and started to have a real look at what was going on underneath my reactions. It’s one thing to know about trauma, it’s another thing entirely to work on HEALING trauma. I believe we as a society are starting to work with that aspect more. We are the generation that is healing, or learning how to heal ourselves. Covid really slowed us down and pointed to the hurt that was happening in our lives that needed to be addressed, but couldn’t be when we were rushing around ‘doing’.

Anyway.

When I got sober and I started to have a look at myself, to take responsibility for my actions in conflicts or situations, for my feelings, I saw an interesting pattern- I thought I had to save everyone. That was my role in my family dynamic- I was the saver, the happy one, the conflict manager for my parents as well as my sister. That continued into adulthood- I had to save my friends, my coworkers, the businesses I worked for. It was exhausting. And if I couldn’t save them, I felt guilty, like I hadn’t tried hard enough, hadn’t found the perfect words, or didn’t take on enough. At one point, I was terrified that if I didn’t choose the right thing for breakfast, I would ruin my destiny, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my purpose, and the whole world would spin off its axis.

Yeah, I know. One reason I drank.

Since then I’ve learned I’m not god/the savior of the universe (WHEW) and that sometimes people have to crash and burn to learn something, or that some things need to fall apart in order to get better, that some people make choices I might not agree with, but I can’t control that. And who knows, maybe that’s what they’re SUPPOSED to do.

“Ok, madame, all well and good- wtf does this have to do with The Bad Batch?”. Right of course.

When I see Crosshair, his chip, and the Bad Batch, I see my life. I see my sister, who thinks I abandoned her, when really I had to make certain choices to make sure I survived. If I had stayed, I would have been sucked in, might not be alive the way I am today. I see addicts who can’t escape recovery (I talk about addiction and inhibitor chips in this previous Geek Therapy) who I had to ‘leave behind’ to survive. I had to change.

When I see people, including Crosshair, express that he was abandoned, I feel that old savior guilt welling up in me. “I didn’t abandon you. You tried to kill me. The circumstances tried to kill me. I had to get away from you to survive, to keep me safe and alive. My own oxygen mask and all that.”

This is exactly what Hunter did, what the Batch did. Crosshair tried to kill them, they had no idea why. They were going back for him, and he shot one of them. No, he couldn’t help it, just like addicts can’t help their brain doing whatever it takes (sound familiar?) to get their hands on their fix (to get the job done). Or like my sister, who destroyed everything around her in an attempt to escape her pain. That doesn’t mean they knew what was happening and could save him.

The Batch finds themselves without a safe space, without food, without money, in a galaxy (not a country or a state, a GALAXY) that is against them. They have to learn how to survive. Early sobriety is like this. You leave so many of your friends behind, or you’re patching up relationships with old friends who may have lost some to all trust in you. Family members are similar, they may start welcoming you back hesitantly, be fully supportive, or may reject the healing you. People are funny that way.

Anyway. The point is, they get away, they find out what happened to Crosshair (like figuring out that alcoholism is a disease). They don’t hate him. They’re sad about it, they miss their brother that they grew up with. Hunter says “we never were [enemies]”. The Batch never saw Crosshair as their enemy- because they knew it wasn’t his fault. They couldn’t remove the chip, they didn’t know how. What could they have done? What could I have done for the people I couldn’t save while they were out to destroy themselves and me? When they weren’t ready to help me help them?

The Batch finally learn how to remove chips- but they find the ONE PLACE they can do it as safely as possible. And they get caught by Crosshair, who is once again trying to kill them (he wants his troops to aim for Omega- would Crosshair pre-chip do that? I personally don’t think so). He leaves them to die in the ion engine. But they escape. They survive. Barely. And that one way to remove that chip is destroyed. Again- what are they supposed to do? Limited resources, scavenging to survive, and the one they would be saving is programmed to kill them on sight.

Then Hunter is captured.

And Crosshair makes the statement (true or false. I think, HOPE, that its false) that the chip has been removed.

This. Is where I steam up. You were free from this. You removed your disease. You removed the force trying to ruin your life, your family’s life.

And you still. Choose it? You still choose to bring your family into your dark world, you still choose to call them ‘enemy’?

I understand his point of view. That does I agree with it by a long shot, or respect it (sometimes). Even Omega, who finds the good in anyone, can’t understand the decision. She could understand Wrecker, who couldn’t control himself, but apologized, acknowledging what he had done.

When I see Crosshair make this choice, I see what some people call a ‘dry drunk’ instead of a sober person. Sure, you’re working against the chip, you aren’t drinking- but you aren’t changing the behavior that was so harmful to those around you. You don’t want to. I’ve heard it put this way- “a ‘drunken horse thief’ may stop drinking, but that still leaves the ‘horse thief’”. You don’t take responsibility for what you’ve done. You don’t acknowledge what other people may have felt.

Sure, he killed his new subordinates ‘for them’. But… he KILLED his subordinates. Not to join and save the Batch, but to convince them to join the Empire. You know, the side whose soldiers he just killed. That doesn’t really build confidence in the work environment.

Crosshair completely disregards the experience of his brothers. Yes, he’s hurting, I understand, but he isn’t acknowledging that he tried to kill them, and they are probably suffering some trauma and PTSD – At LEAST some trepidation. ON. TOP. OF. THAT. He says his chip was removed. So it IS his choice now. It was his choice to say ‘if you aren’t with me, you’re my enemy’. They still save him. They still bring him with them. They still say come with us. They offer him forgiveness, a chance to build that trust again- like friends or a family who give an addict the chance to come back, to make amends, to earn back their trust.

And.

He.

Says.

No.

He says no to forgiveness, and yes to misery. He says no to working through his trauma and pain, and yes to staying in resentment and loneliness. He chooses the wound, not the cure.

And apparently he blames them for it.

When I see this, I see dry drunks and active alcoholics, blaming me for not pulling them out when they’ve dug their feet into the cement. And all I can say is “No. That is not mine. Not anymore.” And that is what the Batch did, what Hunter did. They are not enemies, but they can’t save him if he turns his back and says no. It is still his choice. And he said ‘no’.

I realize this man is not real. I realize this story hasn’t actually happened. However, a benefit of many stories is we better understand ourselves and other humans. Star Wars in particular hopes to explore these moments of decision between our light and our dark, our love or our misery. I cannot help those who actively choose misery. I CAN help those who want to choose love, mostly through living by example and sharing my experience, my strength, and my hope.

To anyone struggling with recovery of any kind- Hey, you got this. Just remember this 'story'. (there are many variations, but they all end the same)

“There is a battle going on inside every human. Including you. It’s a battle of two wolves — a dark and a light wolf.”

 “Which wolf wins?”

 “Whichever one you choose to feed.”

[raineydays411]

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be  making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head. 

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved. 

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course  he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why? 

Because she has her mothers eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming. 

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother. 

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well.  He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair. 

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months. 

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him. 

“My lord, you--” 

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth. 

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there. 

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--” 

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

***  “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter  reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?” 

“Love”  ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes. 

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of. 

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence. 

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?” 

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?” 

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting. 

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine. 

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.” 

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table. 

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!”  Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,” 

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it.  He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him. 

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part. 

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times  prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound. 

Thor walks up to him with the baby. 

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child. 

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well. 

No, this was not his child. Not anymore. 

“Get rid of it.” 

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga. 

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.” 

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind  his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[weilongfu]

Demigod AU prompter here. Thanks for writingmy prompt. Either I forgot Tine is also in this universe or this is his first appearance so another prompt please cause I love Tine. Prompt: Tine as the head of the Venus Cabin giving relationship advice (Your call which pair is having trouble). Thanks again

Tine's first formal appearance is a momentary one in Saifah and the Mask of Mnemosyne. He is slated to appear in another Demigod AU fic that uh... has yet to be written, but I promise he does show up. In the mean time, have this prompt fill set after Theo (and Akk) Go to Camp.

------

For the twentieth time that morning, Tine straightened out his purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt under his baggy lavender cardigan, tousled his hair just so and plastered on what he hoped was a charming, yet trustworthy smile as he clasped his hands and sat up straight behind a far too large and heavy wooden desk for such a small office space. The only other features of the Official Camp Jupiter-Venus Branch of the Aphrodite Cabin were the magic mirror made by Fighter and Ming for Tine to call Pete and Yo for help, the filing cabinet for Tine to keep track of all his “cases,” the potted plant King had given him for luck (”It’s a gardenia,” King had said. “The scent will keep things calm.”), and a shadow outside the window that was suspiciously Centurion Fighter shaped.

(The emphasis on rank was because Fighter in his normal capacity as a person versus his capacity as a Centurion were two Very Different Things that Tine had been witness to. One was a fantastically devoted boyfriend to Tutor who could make any other child of Aphrodite/Venus but Tutor visibly swoon. The other was a man who could make a lethal weapon out of paperclips and thumbtacks if it meant keeping his cohort safe. The man standing carefully just to the left of the office where his shadow could be seen was Centurion Fighter. Tine had a suspicion as to why Centurion Fighter had been posted outside his office on the very first day of active counseling and that suspicion was named Centurion Tutor. Again, emphasis on rank intentional.)

Before Tine’s smile could falter, Sarawat swooped in from the corner of Tine’s eye to leave Tine a cup of his favorite blue soda and mess up his hair.

“Sarawat!”

“You’re too nervous,” Sarawat said while not even looking in Tine’s direction which only served to piss Tine off even more. Or at least it would if Tine didn’t notice how Sarawat’s leg was bouncing with his own nerves. “You’ll be fine. You have a knack for this sort of thing, little nuisance. And it’s not even because you’re a child of Venus.”

Tine reached over and pinched his boyfriend’s back, causing Sarawat to yelp. “You’re not helping!”

“I’m not the one who was hired to help as a relationship counselor, I’m not supposed to help.”

“If you’re not going to help then get out and stop making me more nervous!”

Sarawat scowled and left, but not before giving Tine a little wink. Tine sat down, huffed, chugged a bit of the soda, and then sighed. His shoulders suddenly felt less tense and his chest less tight. Even a genuine smile gently curved Tine’s lips.

It was after his third sip of soda that someone knocked on Tine’s office door.

“Come in!” Tine pulled out a notepad and pen and set them carefully on the desk as he looked up to see his first “case” was not for a pair he’d ever expected. 

Ever since the Demigod Death Game, Bohn, Centurion of the First Cohort, and Duen, Legionnaire of the Fifth, had seemed to come to a reasonable point in their relationship. At the very least, Duen had accepted Bohn’s feelings and even reciprocated if the events that followed shortly after were any indication. (Wasn’t it true love if you opted to jump into a pit that led to the primordial abyss after your lover? Tine immediately stopped that line of thought as he remembered Sarawat’s hand reaching for him in the same situation.)

“Centurion Bohn, Duen, how can I help you both today?” Tine offered them both bottles of water from his mysteriously refrigerated desk drawer. 

The silence between all three only lasted thirty seconds, which was in Tine’s limited experience a new record for being around Centurion Bohn, before Bohn broke it. “Tell him to stop defending Tutor whenever Tutor tells him he can’t go on a date with me.”

“I’m not defending him!”

“You literally say that, ‘Centurion Tutor brought up some valid points and I really didn’t do some of the work he assigned me today so maybe we really shouldn’t go get dinner together in the forum,’ and that has happened FIVE TIMES in the last WEEK. It’s like you don’t actually want to go on a date with me.”

“Did I say I don’t want to go on a date?”

“You keep acting like you don’t! I’m not forcing you!”

“Okay, maybe we should all take a deep breath,” Tine said as he cut in and waved his hands in front of both Bohn and Duen. “Let’s start at the beginning.” Tine turned to Duen. “Duen, why don’t you tell me about the things Centurion Tutor tells you to do that you’ve seemed to forget several times?”

“It’s an honest mistake, I think,” Duen said as he crossed his arms. “I clearly must have forgotten something. Centurion Tutor would never interfere with my life like that just because he doesn’t want me to go on a date.”

“He would! He totally fucking would!” Bohn said while slapping the top of Tine’s desk. “He’s been pissed at me since I started chasing after you.”

“Wouldn’t you be pissed if another Centurion pretended to be the Centurion of your cohort?” Duen shot back.

“Well...”

Tine fought the urge to massage his temples. “Centurion Bohn...”

“Look, it was... uh... Just a strategy to spend more time around Duen, okay?”

“Rules are rules, Centurion Bohn,” Tine chided. “And if you haven’t formally apologized to Centurion Tutor...”

“I did! I so totally did! Ask Fighter! He was there!”

Tine looked out the window to see Centurion Fighter’s shadow was giving a thumbs up. “Uh... I suppose he agrees that you did?”

“So Tutor should totally take the stick out of his ass so Fighter can replace it with his-” Tine coughed and Bohn’s mouth clicked shut for a second. “I think Centurion Tutor and Duen need to let the past be the past and move on. I’ve already apologized and keeping us from actually developing our relationship isn’t going to do anyone any favors.”

“Duen, do you agree that you would benefit more from developing your relationship with Centurion Bohn?”

Duen fidgeted in his seat. “Well... I saved Bohn... Twice no less, for a reason...”

“Just say you like me! Why is that so hard?”

“Because I’ve never liked a boy before! I’m not someone who has been with boys and girls and doesn’t care!”

“Who said I didn’t care? None of them were the one!”

“Well I can’t-”

“Time out,” Tine declared before chugging the rest of his soda. The shadow of Centurion Fighter had shifted ever so slightly and it seemed another shadow had joined it. One that was suspiciously Sarawat shaped. Tine frowned at both shadows before returning his attention to Bohn and Duen. “You both have actually talked about your feelings properly right?” Tine turned to face Duen. “You didn’t just drive across California, fight another demigod, condemning them to Tartarus, and jump into the primordial void to save Bohn without actually saying you liked him, right?” Duen bit his lip and Tine turned to Bohn. “And YOU didn’t go through all that trouble to spend time with Duen without telling him that you were serious and that he wasn’t just another notch on your belt, right?” Bohn only coughed.

“My official diagnosis, you both need to actually confess you like each other,” Tine said with a flourish of scribbling on his notepad. “Here’s your prescription.”

Duen accepted the piece of notebook paper. “It just says, ‘Kiss him you fool.’”

“Take three and call me in the morning.” Tine jumped over his desk, pulled Duen and Bohn out of their seats, and threw them out the door. “We’re now closed for the day. Goodbye!” Tine then slammed the door shut on their shocked faces and rummaged through his desk. “Pete and Yo wouldn’t send me a magical desk without booze, would they?”

A familiar arm reached past Tine to pull out a bottle full of an amber liquid. “You’re not drinking without me, little nuisance.”

Tine turned to Sarwat with tears in his eyes. “Wat...”

Sarawat waved the bottle in Tine’s face. “Come on, let’s do shots while we sing your favorite songs together.”

“You really do love me!” 

[mrsmaybank]

Honey - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and the reader were very much in love during Reid’s brief stint in Pasadena. When he has to see her again on a case, he is super nervous. 

a/n: first section is inspired by such great heights 

C/W: Swearing

PASADENA - 2002 

A note from the love of your life is a lovely way to wake up. 

------

When you can understand everything but yourself, finding somebody who does is like seeing a comet; disappointingly rare. My shaky hands can only be stilled by the smile of my most incandescent--in every connotation--creature, and that is you. The universe always seems to know what it is doing even if humanity does not. The stars align and move in patterns we as it’s audience do not fully understand. I think we have watched the stars so much the universe has aligned us as a favor to our poor, overestimated souls. I am so grateful!  Tolstoy noted that "We are asleep until we fall in love!” And I thank you for waking me up.

However I thought it best the favor not be returned this particular morning. You were up late last night, and looked too cute to disrupt. Do not kill me, I am getting coffee. 

I love you and do not leave the bed.  

-Spencer

------

Only Spencer Reid would write that on a sticky note, and only for you would he do so. 

You heard the rattling of keys and a door being opened and shut as Spencer made his way back to your bedroom. The smile you saw on his face was the start of a story that ended on the upturn of your lips, revealing the two protagonists in a mad frenzy of love. As soon as he reached you, your lips pressed to his in a desperation to be impossibly closer. 

“Hi.” he said. 

I am thinking it's a sign

That the freckles in our eyes

Are mirror images

And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

“Hey love.” you tucked a loose brown hair back behind his ear for a closer look at the face you adored. “Please get back in bed.” 

He sighed but crawled in next to you, big nimble hands making their way across your torso to diminish the space in between you two. You nuzzled into his chest. 

“Your note was beautiful.” you whispered into his ear.

A big, goofy grin spread along his face.

“I meant every word.” his voice so sweet, it sounded dipped in honey. 

Honey is incredibly sticky. 

-----

There had to have been a world where it all worked out. 

In this world, my things never got old, and the ice cubes in my coffee never melted. I could listen to that song over and over again without draining the life out of it and I could like my hair style for more than three months. 

Spencer had read to me the greatest works of the world. Words of the greatest thinkers, authors, and minds. He had an appreciation for them greater than those of the average passerby and I adored that, because so did I. Truly, our similarities are what connected us. Our minds were correlated perfectly when it came to subjectivity. 

In accordance to human nature however, certain matters were never agreed upon. In particular, we argued about the future. The canyon of discrepancy so vast it tore us and our love in two. I didn’t think that was possible.

I wanted to write the book and watch the film as I lived my life and he and his arrogant over-practically thought that impossible. He thought himself an oneirocritic, but my dreams were not looking for critiques. 

Like I said, Spencer read to me the greatest works of the world. And years would pass and the heartbreak and sorrow would fade, but I would always find it ironic how the last thing I ever heard in that honey soaked voice was a work of Confucius.  “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”

Spencer chose to go to Washington. He took his heart and a piece of mine with him.

-----

BAU JET - 2011

Seaver must’ve noticed my flinch when the sound of her name resonated through the jet. I’d never liked going to California, but this...this had never happened.  “That name mean something to you Reid?” She smiled, “You look kind of horrified.” 

I ran my hands through my hair in a futile attempt to ground myself. “No. I just...I used to know her.” 

In between the fine lines of love and hate, fell a blurry midsection where feelings came before logic and screams and whispers sounded the same. She ruled over this midsection of chaotic emotional fury. 

Morgan spoke, and I quickly realized I might be falling into a conversation I really did not want to be having. “How the hell d’you know her pretty boy?” 

There was no point in lying on a plane completely occupied by profilers. My best option was to clumsily dodge any direct questions about just how well I knew her.

“I’m from the West coast.” 

“So are over 50 million people. You mean to tell me you know all of them?” he laughed.

“The exact estimation is actually 53,492,270. And no, I’m not saying I know all of them, Morgan. I lived in Pasadena for a year after I graduated from Caltech.”

“Okay?” Morgan questioned my previous statements relevancy. 

“She went to USC. We were in the same social circle.” 

Morgan laughed again, “You had a social circle?” 

Emily, next to us, was presumably combing through her file.

“You, ultimate three doctorate dorky dork, were in the same circle as a film major?” she asked. “

What the hell is ‘doctorate dorky dork’ supposed to mean?

“She double majored actually. Film and political science.”

Emily double checked the file, “And Reid’s right. Per usual.” 

“Reid and Prentiss, Y/L/N has agreed to talk to us in her home. She lives in the Hills. When we land, you guys go talk to her.” Hotch stated. 

“Why?” I said before I could stop myself. The team sat in confused silence in reaction to my bluntness, but Hotch, like always, was not having it. 

“Because we have a serial killer that is reenacting the murders in her movie, Reid.” his tone was stern and swift, with a patronizing sarcasm I supposed I deserved. 

“Sorry,” I got out, “I guess I just meant..why me?” 

“Well, you know her don’t you?” Rossi asked. 

I was not ready to divulge the personal details between me and this girl to my entire team, so I just pursed my lips and nodded. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

----

Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament. George Santayana. I was in the biggest fucking predicament I’d ever encountered in my life. 

Nothing could slow the incessant, double time pounding in my chest. I was showing symptoms of the beginning of a heart attack. Hopefully I would die and never have to face this.

Fuck, don’t think that.

Have the seats in these cars always been this uncomfortable? God, is California always this hot?

I looked at Emily for half a second, and instantly recognized that keeping quiet from her was proving to be dysfunctional. I could feel her eyes burning into my brain with every profiling skill she knew.

“What are you not saying Reid?” 

I sighed. “Do I have to tell you?” 

“Yeah. Unless you want me to just find out on my own. It’ll be a lot less delicate.” 

Here goes nothing. 

“I dated her. For two years. I was very much in love with her. It ended....abruptly. I haven’t spoken to her since, and now, nine years later, I am on my way to her house. I might have a heart attack.” 

Emily's eyes widened, “Shit..” She laughed a little, “Reunited at last?.” 

I answered with a glare. Hard no.

“Fine, sorry.” She said, masking a giggle with a cough.

I shifted in my seat and I could practically see the gears in Emily’s profiler cerebrum spin. She knew exactly the question to ask. “Is it nerves?”  

I nodded my head, “I was a very different person back then.” 

“Nothing like time and the bureau can change somebody.” she said. “But, hey..”She smiled again and my eyes widened when I realized what I’d revealed. “I asked you if you were nervous. I didn’t-” 

“Emily..” I started. 

“Are you nervous she won’t like you now? Do you still like her?” her mouth hung open, “Oh my god Reid!” 

I shook my head, “No, I don’t still like her! I don’t even know her anymore! I just..I’d never loved somebody the way I loved her.” 

Emily had figured me out at the same time I had. “And you still haven’t.” 

Fuck.

“Correct.” 

The car pulled into her driveway, and conversations from all those years ago started to replay in my head. 

“When we get a house, can we paint our front door bright blue?” 

“I want a lemon tree in the front yard.” 

“Windows. Huge windows. It’s a must.” 

All these things I’d promised her in our future home she’d gotten for herself. Good. 

Fontaine said “Sadness flies away on the wings of time”, but the pain I felt from the loss of her was as prominent as ever. 

Here goes nothing. 

---

Thank you for reading!

a/n2 :  this is completely unedited so if its sucks dick i am sorry :/ i just wanted to post it lol

A/n 3: the typos oh my fuck. I wanna Kick myself for letting this cute fic  be up in that state for so long. Anyway, fixed! :) 

[wishingstarinajar]

Kill or Be Killed (snippet)

A thick droplet of sweat ran along the curved line of his jaw. Bony fingers clutched the front of his tight shirt. His toothy grin twitched at the edges, hidden beyond an eternally grinning mask. Eyelight flickered persistently against the brightness he was staring at.

It was time to go.

The portal awaited like a beast’s maw with jagged teeth, showing nothing but a white void beyond the shredded edges framed by multiple tiny ones and zeros. He came to learn that those numbers were his universe’s coding, still a strange concept to process and one he didn’t fully understand. At this very moment, he didn’t wish to linger on what it all truly meant.

What he did know was that his home was damaged beyond recognition, perhaps beyond saving; there was hardly anything left of it, corruption had permanently erased or altered all and everyone he knew. But the fact he still had some hope to find a solution and stop the corruption festering in this world was the very reason why he stood before the portal. Just a snip with his massive scissor-like weapon and there was a way out; it was as simple as that. Leaving, however, was not.

It was time to go, Sans told himself. He had told himself this far too many times but it lessened when he finally took the first step. He still needed to urge himself. What if he can never come back to this place, his home?

No. No, he thought about this for way too long. Papyrus is with him, that’s all that matters. There was nothing else here that kept him, not anymore...

He clenched his socket shut as he pressed on, through the rift he’d created and away from all he knew. What would it be like on the other side? He had no idea; he never dared to peek his head through during previous testing attempts to create stable portals. A gasp left him when solid ground simply disappeared after he stepped forward, his feet sinking away into a crisping softness before he became aware of the chill. Snow. His socket snapped open to gaze at the knee-high powdery snow he stood in, at first standing like frozen until he dared to wiggle a foot before trying the other. Damn, it felt like forever ago since last he saw and felt snow, including the cold of winter. The corruption had overtaken Snowdin Forest so damn quickly through the many RESETs. He didn’t think he’d miss it until it all was gone. But if he’s standing in snow at this very moment, then—

Sans searchingly patted his chest upon the realization that the journey through the portal was a success, panicked and haphazardly checking if Papyrus was still with him.

Did he make it through??

Calling forth the projection of a heart-shaped anomaly kept hidden in his ribcage, Sans breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar monster soul pinging into existence above his held-out hand. The right side of the orange-hued soul was fragmented and in a permanent state of dusting. Tiny particles moved slowly like dust in a ray of sunlight falling through an attic window, fading in and out in an eternal dance of life and death.

It was his brother’s soul… The one he managed to salvage before dust would take it completely after the poor monster was ruthlessly assaulted by that damn demon child. The soul was damaged beyond healing but oddly enough unaffected by the RESETs that followed Papyrus’ final death; it has been in Sans’ possession ever since. Aside from the red scarf wrapped around Sans’ neck, this was all he had left of his dear younger brother and without it, this whole quest would be for naught.

Speaking of which…

The broken soul was returned to its hiding place after Sans’ worries were stilled, his single eyelight wandering to take in the surroundings. A snowy forest, not a hint of corruption in sight. No glitching, no void spaces. It’s like… before everything went to shit.

Wait, did he go through another RESET? No, no, that can’t be! That’s not how the portal is supposed to work!

He clutched for his face, fingers wrapping around the elastic broad strap he wore around his skull and his pinky hooking behind the mask hiding his grimace, the look of horror simmering down after he nearly succumbed to searing disbelief and rising anger. He hadn’t changed in the slightest, still wearing the same clothes as before he stepped through the rift; this was no RESET, thank fuck, so where exactly did he end up?

Glancing around, the first thing he noticed was the loss of the portal’s bright yellow-hued glow behind him, the binary coding and gaping hole gone. The way back home had closed during his panic session and he wasn’t certain if that was a good or a bad thing. He stretched his arm and extended his hand to summon the ridiculously oversized scissors he had made the portal with, but no magic responded to his calling and no weapon materialized.

Shit.

It seems the cooldown on the scissors he aptly nicknamed ShortCUT was no joke or a miscalculation. How long does it last again, an hour or two? Damn it, he should have tested it more before he decided to leave. Well, no point in getting frustrated and he’s sure as hell not going to sit here for an hour and do nothing.

Hoisting himself out of the snow, the eyepatch-wearing Sans ventured further into the forest with the hope to find anything familiar. The trail he followed was untouched, not a single footprint defiling the fresh snow aside from the ones he left behind. He dared to say the surroundings felt incredibly familiar but the hole he came across was an obvious difference.

Lingering by the edge, Sans peered down into the dug pit that was once tied off by barricade tape, the snapped long strips of white and red fluttering weakly in the breeze. Although a thick blanket of snow covered the bottom of the pit, pointy ends of sharpened sticks pierced through the white, indicating it was once upon a time a very dangerous trap. One careless trip down and you’d be dust.

What madmonster would place a trap like this?

And that wasn’t the only kind of spiky trap he came across after Sans continued on. There were several more along the trail, most out of commission and warned about by the same bright tape or crudely painted and crafted warning signs. Why the energy poured into taping things off or creating signs wasn’t used to remove the traps was beyond Sans but one thing was for sure; this wasn’t home anymore, or at least not a timeline he’s familiar with.

The flashes of red and white tape amidst the monochrome surroundings no longer caught his eye but when more red appeared up ahead and seemed to come closer, Sans’ attention and curiosity were piqued. Someone was approaching.

-To be continued-

=======================================

I figured I'd share the first two pages of a short story I've slowly been working on. It's about Rewind and his very first venture into the multiverse. (He's is called Sans in this short story because he doesn't take on the Rewind alias until later.)

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to share this small preview xD but it's a small glimpse into Rewind's story and I hope that whoever reads it will enjoy it.

[skyabove]

Theory Time! - Home Space isn’t Real!

Ok so here’s a relatively straightforward theory while I procrastinate a more complicated one (King and MB)

Basically, there is a fair amount of evidence that the Home Space is not a real location in the ‘Sky world’, but instead is a ‘non physical location their minds can enter, similar to the locations the Elders are in.

Lets start by looking at the main way you can reach Home Space. This swirly white pool of light.

We see this kind of light in a few different places. In places we can travel to Home, at meditation points, to interact with the Elders, to trigger memory based cutscenes (Season of Dreams final memory), inside activated memory cubes in Vault, the rising platform in Vault,  and in the Forest Treehouse shared space. (there is also the Assembly minigames, the Valley races, and the boat to ark but I’ll mention that later)

The one thing that all of these locations have in common is their connection to transferring thoughts/consciousness from one place to another. The meditation points have you think of a message and then it appears as a readable white candle. The spots to communicate with the Elders takes you to the ‘in between place’ that they are located in, in which you can move around, but when it's over your body is just where you left it in the real world so only your mind was moved. The cutscene trigger at the coliseum inserts you into the spirits memory, an event that has already happened and now only exists as a memory in their mind, but you can freely move around and again when it is over your body is where it was left - side note this is not the same as the spirits memories manifesting in the real world as the entire setting is as it was before they died, not just a certain scene being re enacted. The memory cubes in Vault seem to be transferring or projecting energy into the floating diamond to power it, and while not seen in this particular instance the cubes essentially contain information which can be projected. We don't know how this information is captured but, would it be too much of a stretch to assume they are stored memories? Memories and light seem to have a connection in the rest of the game so the spirits finding a way to directly store and replay memories as a way of documenting things doesn't seem too out of place. The rising platform in Vault is again less obvious, but it has been stated that at least the later levels of Vault are supposed to be less real and more dreamlike, so how much of Vault is ‘real’ is unknown. Potentially everything after the first few levels may exist outside of the ‘real world’ therefore requiring the transference of the mind. And finally probably the clearest of them all is the Treehouse Shared Space. When you try to enter you get the message “Temporarily leave others and enter your mind to Build and Edit your Shared Space”. And how is your mind entered? A white light spot, with a statue (which is another thing I’ll talk about later)

(there are also white spots for the Assembly minigames, the boat to the Ark, and at the Valley races. These are definitely just gameplay necessities, and I cant think of a logical in universe reason for them)

Now I know there are other ways to get to Home such as the gate button in the emote menu and the bird statues in Wasteland and Forest, but the emote menu itself is purely a gameplay necessity, and the bird statues are left overs from the old version of Sky and have been removed in most places.

So now that we’ve looked at how we get to Home, let's look at the contents of Home. The first things are the realm gates. This is the only place we see realm gates, when you go through them there is no gate on the other side. The only other places we see gates are at the end of the 8-player area in Prairie, and in Orbit before being reborn. The first is interesting, it is different as there is no image of the place you are traveling to, but was probably built by the spirits in the area with some connection to their title of ceremonial worshipper. The second is in a location between life and death, most likely made and controlled by Megabird themselves so is not connected to the main Sky world - BUT is important for later. So overall, the gates and realm fast travel seem out of place in the real world.

The next point is access to the constellations. From Home you can summon and communicate with any spirit you have saved. This is the only place you can do this without having to go to their grave stone/marker first. You can also create copies of any Skykid you have friended. You are not literally summoning them, it is an illusion/duplicate of them, they are lacking their chest light and often look darker or not glowing and you can't interact with them in the same way as the spirits (friendship tree).

Similar to the spirits from the constellation, Home is also where Travelling Spirits, i.e. spirits that have already been freed and returned to the stars, voluntarily return to. This is also where a copy of the Questgiver spirits appears, and the daily quest/shop boat spirits appears. The daily quest spirit is interesting as they dont have a body/memory to be freed from in the realms, but we know they were a regular ancestor as they appear as a child in the Confident Stance spirits memory.

And finally there is the Eden Gate. The gate which is locked until you have “returned the light” to all of the Elders, and collected 20 winged light. We know this is not the actual Eden door as when you enter there is the same gate which needs to be opened by 8 switches. And the requirements for opening the Home Eden gate just so happen to be the main missions the Skykids were created to fulfill.

When considering all of this, could Home Space be a non physical location created (by Megabird) for the Skykids? This would explain the methods of access - thought/mind transferring light patches; the access to the constellation spirits and copies of other Skykids - the freed spirits have returned to the stars/become one with Megabird again so if anyone can send them somewhere, MB sending them to a realm of their creation would make sense, and since MB has a connection to the Skykids, showing them copies of other connected Skykids isn't too odd. The Traveling spirits and Questgivers also fall into this category. The realm gates is more of a gameplay necessity, but does have connections to MB as there is a MB gate at the end of Orbit just like the ones in Home. The Eden gate could be MBs way of making sure the Skykids have done what they are supposed to, and have gathered enough winged light to survive until the final area. And we know that “in between planes of existence” exist as that is where the Elders are.

The final thing to look at is the strange statues that accompany the Home white light spots. I believe that these may be a representation of Megabird themselves, or at least the concept of Megabird. To keep it brief because I will hopefully be looking at this in more detail another time, Megabird is seen as the creator of all things connected to the light, when living things die they return to Megabird etc. When we see what is most likely Megabird in the game they are made up of massive amounts of creatures of light and children of light, with the orb at the centre. The statues themselves are interesting because they dont particularly look like the spirits. They have no mask, instead having a face with closed (round, rather than diamond eyes like the spirits and Elders) eyes very similar to Skykids under their masks. The head covering/gown clothing at best could be similar to Lamed or some of the Vault scholars, and it does feature the triangular pattern around the trim.

The pose of the statues, with their hands outstretched, and the use of them, to hold flame, creates the image of a peaceful figure, different from the spirits or Elders, who is offering or giving flame - the embodiment of life and the thing that connects all creatures in the Sky world - and looks oddly similar to an unmasked Skykid, a creation OF Megabird. We know that MB has a “human” form as well as their star/orb form, just like how the Elders have a “human” and star form. Now, this “human” form  might be more of an assumption from the spirits, or them projecting their own appearance on their god like many religions do, but either way it fits that MB could be represented in that way.

The final point about the statues is that they are only found at Home Space white spots (it can be safely assumed that these are not leftovers from the spirits era, as they are in random places only convenient for Skykids - for gameplay purposes but in universe I guess you could say MB put them there for them), in Home before being returned to your body where you last were, marking the point to enter your mind at the Treehouse, and in Eden, where there are a lot of them. Without going into it too much because that's a whole other topic for another time, the fact they are only found in/on the way to Home, at an entry point for another mind/inbetween place, and in the place most connected to King, the Children of Light, and the Eden Diamond, it should be a safe guess that it is indeed MB - or at least representing the idea of MB.

In summary: Home Space isn't real, and is instead an in-between place similar to where the Elders are, made by Megabird for the Skykids.

[therealvalkyrie]

Through the Mirror: Part 1

my body, my music

Pairing/setting: Detective!Levi Ackerman x Female!Ghost!Reader, modern!AU within the Walls

Summary: When you’re murdered one Tuesday morning, can Levi piece together the true circumstances of your death with your help from beyond the grave?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dead body, descriptions of blood, swearing, mentions of violence

AN: Welcome to my new series because I have no self control and can’t finish projects before starting others! Lemme just start off by saying updates may come pretty irregularly because I do have a lot of other WIPs to work on, but! I’m really excited about this idea and have a whole lot planned:) I seriously hope you enjoy. After all, who doesn’t love a good murder mystery? Drop into my DMs/askbox/comments/reblogs to let me know what you think! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

“Ah, shit! Hello!? I’m standing right here!”

The woman completely ignores you, stepping carefully over the puddle of blood and across your tiny living room. You cross your arms and pout. She ignores that, too. 

“‘Scuse me, boys, let the experts take it from here,” she quips, gently pushing past the two detectives and crouching next to your body on the ground. 

It’s ugly, but she’s probably seen worse, you muse from where you’re leaning against the door jamb. It’s only been lying there for a couple of hours, so at least you haven’t bloated to something out of an NCIS episode. Must smell horrid, though, judging by the mask the head detective has pulled over his face.

“So, you said the landlady called at about 7 am?” the ME inquires, cocking her head up to look at the detectives, nylon gloved hands held at the ready.

“7:07 exactly. Said a neighbor made a noise complaint, she came up to check it out, found signs of a forced entry, and called us.” It’s the taller blonde who speaks up, reading from an off-brand pocket notepad in his left hand. The kind you’d find on sale at Staples after Back-to-School season.

Interesting. You lean your head against the wall, eyes trained on the trio. You’d pegged the ill-tempered shorter one as in charge. Maybe he’s just the quiet type. 

“Hmm, alright. Moblit, get off your ass and come take the pictures before we move her,” the woman calls to someone behind you, and you turn just in time to get a face full of Moblit’s chest as he walks towards you. 

You cringe back with a “God, seriously?” to no response.

“Yes, sorry, right away, Hange!” Moblit hurries past- no, through -you, sidestepping the ottoman and the blood. It feels weird, like a strong wind, but not altogether unpleasant to have someone walk through you, you suppose. You look down at your chest to watch your misty body re-settle into itself before looking back at the group in your living room.

Were it not for the gruesome accents of blood flecked up the walls and your body riddled with stab wounds, you’d chuckle at how all four of them struggled to navigate the space. It’s cramped enough when it’s just you, fitting only a couch, a chair, a coffee table, your fern (Boris), and a narrow IKEA bookshelf. With the four of them plus a dead body, it’s like watching a freaking clown car.

“Sorry, excuse me, Captain, oh, was that your toe—?” Moblit’s struggling the most, having to move to capture different angles with his bulky camera. When he steps on the shorter man’s toe, he positively blanches, fumbling over himself to apologize while the ME laughs openly.

“God, alright, just,” the Captain pinches his delicate nose between a thumb and forefinger, then decides it’s better to wait in the kitchen. “C’mon, Gin, let’s chat in there.”

The Captain and the blonde detective both pass through you on the way back to the kitchen, but you only sigh and shake the tingly feeling of being incorporeal out of your fingers before following them.

“So,” the man called Gin takes the initiative, flipping back through his notebook and standing by the fridge. “I got statements from the landlady and two of the neighbors, numbers 303 and 304 down the hall. 301, directly across the hall, didn’t answer, but I got contact info from the landlady.” He pauses to read and scratch at his whiskery beard. “It was 304 who made the noise complaint, said she heard yelling this morning at around 5:45, and that she normally wouldn’t’ve said anything but it was, quote, the fourth goddamn time this week and I work the goddamn night shift, I deserve some fucking rest, unquote.”

You grin. Mrs. Sheffield was never one to mince words, something you appreciated when your ex-boyfriend got too loud and she took it upon herself to give him a piece of her mind. You catch a glimmer of a smile on the ornery Captain’s face above where he’s pulled his mask down before he gestures for Gin to keep going, keeping his thoughtful gaze fixed on the floor and his back against your countertop.

“Then after she called the landlady, she went to bed, only to be woken by us two hours later.”

“You said she called the landlady at 5:45 and that she works the night shift?”

Gin double checks his notes. “That’s right.”

“And she works at the hospital?”

“Yes, as a scrub nurse on the night shift.”

“But the night shift at the hospital ends at 6:30.”

“It was her night off,” you and Gin say at the same time before you catch yourself. They can’t hear you, anyway. This’d be a lot easier if they could.

Gin plows ahead. “But she says she keeps the same sleep schedule so she doesn’t, ah, fuck up her circadian rhythm.”

The Captain practically snorts at this, itching for a second under his silk cravat (can someone say pretentious) before settling back into a listening silence.

“303 says he didn’t hear a thing. College kid, looked exhausted. Said he was asleep the whole night after he got in at,” a page flip, “11 o’clock last night. Wasn’t much help, but looked genuinely upset when we told him about the murder. Wanted to know if there was anything he could do. Oh, but he did, uh, hang on,” more page flips, “He did tell us that he heard her and her boyfriend arguing a lot. Which is consistent with what Mrs. Sheffield told us.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you correct into thin air. 

“A lover’s spat gone wrong, then,” Mr. Pretentious Captain muses. You huff in annoyance. A lover’s spat. If that’s all that this is written off as you’ll have some serious PD haunting to do. Chris may have been an angry, loud, disruptive manipulator, but he wouldn’t murder you. He didn’t murder you. “Any info on the whereabouts of the boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyf—!”

Blondie cuts you off, “Not currently, but we do have a name: Chris Henderson, works in admin down at the University. Lives across town closer to the Bridge.”

“Send some uniforms to bring him in for questioning. No arrests yet, tell ‘em to keep it friendly.”

“Right, I’ll put Dreyse and Bodt on it.”

“Dreyse, really?” Captain Cravat gives Gin an incredulous look. 

“Hey, she may look like a ditz but she gets the job done. And she might get him to let down his guard,” Gin argues, grinning. 

“Fine. I’ll meet them at the station, you stay here and make sure that mousy-haired dunce doesn’t fuck up my crime scene.”

“Hey, who’re you callin’ mousy-haired, short stack?” Hange actually sticks her whole head through yours this time, to butt into the conversation, and you shriek and jump away to the other side of your tiny kitchen, now sandwiched between Blondie and Shortstack. The latter twitches and swats at the air by his ear, as though to dislodge a fly, narrowly missing yours. You give him a weird look then turn back to listen to the ME. She’s leaning into the kitchen at an alarming angle, one hand on the doorframe and the other on the end of the gurney you assume is carrying your body. You shudder at the thought of being toted around in a dark, musty, humid glorified coat bag. Ugh. 

“—takin’ this baby”-she slaps the gurney twice and you flinch-“back so I can get started on the autopsy, Moblit’s staying to take more pictures and collect forensics. If Eld’s stayin’ here with Mob, does that mean you’re catching a ride with me, Levi?” The question is addressed to Captain Grump on your right, who gives a heavy sigh and pushes off the counter. 

“I guess so. I get to choose music though.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she’s wagging a finger, grinning. “My body, my music!”

“How about my body, my music?” you suggest, following Levi. “I deserve it after the day I’ve had.”

Again, Levi twitches and swats aggressively by his ear, nearly hitting you full in the face this time. 

“You hear that, Gin? This place got a mosquito problem or something?”

“I do not have a mosquito problem!” and “No, sir, I don’t hear anything.” overlap in the air. 

Captain Levi only grunts, then starts spouting instructions, which Gin notes down. “I want footage from any cameras in the building, and from the shops next door and across the street. I want statements from residents both upstairs and downstairs. I want names, addresses, and numbers of next of kin on my desk by noon, and lastly, I want no one, save for myself, you, shitty glasses, and mousy-hair, in or out of this apartment. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

“Good. I’m leaving you Braus to help and to show her the ropes of this kind of thing. Even though she’s on the case, she will not set foot in this apartment. I don’t trust her not to leave breadcrumbs in the bloodstains.

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect an in-person report before shift-change this evening. See you then.” Then, he’s sweeping out of the kitchen in pursuit of Hange and the gurney, leaving you to scurry after. As you exit your home, he shoots a young auburn-haired woman in a crisp white blouse and wool slacks a look. “Braus. You’re with Gin. Don’t go in the apartment.”

She straightens up from leaning against the wall with a jolt and brushes croissant crumbs off her front. “Yes, Captain Levi, sir!” It’s slightly muffled by the pastry stuffed into her mouth.

“Tch.”

It’s fascinating watching how Levi and Hange manage to navigate the gurney down the narrow, twisting stairs of your walk-up apartment building. They’re both clearly used to this sort of thing, communicating only in short phrases and grunts when they encounter an obstacle. Occasionally, you offer up a pointer and watch as Levi becomes increasingly irritated. 

“Watch out for Mr. Laslow’s cat, he likes to sneak up on ya!”

“Hange, do you hear— shit!” Levi hops to the side, narrowly avoiding the tabby tail as Tubbins McGee whisks past.

“It’s only a cat, Levi, dunno what’s got you so worked up today,” Hange teases, grin echoing your own as you chortle from the landing above them. 

Eventually, they spill out onto the sidewalk and into the bright mid-day, and Hange groans loudly, stretching with both hands on her back.

“Ugh. Remind me not to die in there, I’d hate to put someone else through that.”

“Boof, tell me about it,” you commiserate. 

“Noted,” Levi snarks. 

Hange removes jingling keys from her pocket and unlocks the ME’s van parked along the sidewalk with a beep, then opens the back doors and steps in. You follow, leaning against the cool metal siding to watch.

When they both load into the front seats and the engine turns over, you lean forward between them to listen in.

“So,” Hange starts, smoothly pulling out into the road behind a silver minivan. “I’ll be able to give you a more solid answer in a couple hours, but my initial estimated time of death would be around 5:45 this morning.”

Levi nods, staring out the passenger window while he answers. “That lines up with the neighbor’s story.”

“Theories so far?”

“Well, there’s the boyfriend,” he muses, lifting a hand to rub his chin.

“Too obvious,” you say dully, not bothering to amend the lack of “ex” yet again. “Next theory.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then mutter, almost too quietly for you to catch: “Too obvious, hmm? Next theory....”

You’re momentarily flabbergasted, hand falling through the faux-leather seat back in your shock. Can he actually hear you? You shake out your hand while it re-materializes, tuning in to the conversation as Hange’s responding. 

“—a little far-fetched, don’t you think? I mean, has there been any of that activity in this area recently?”

“Mm, I’ll have to touch base with Petra. If there has been, I think it’s worth looking into.”

“What is? Wait, go back,” you frantically plead, leaning further into his airspace. But Hange plows on. 

“Oh, it’s Petra, now, hmm? Not Raggedy Anne anymore?” Her tone is teasing, and she glances over to Levi for a reaction. 

He doesn’t give her one, just stares out the window pensively before reaching for the radio dial. The stereo blares up into an Oldies station, and you make a disgusted face along with Levi. 

“You listen to this shit?”

“Hey, my dead body, my music, sweetcheeks. Don’t like it, you can thumb it back to the PD.”

“How about my dead body, my music?” you suggest again, reaching for the dial at the same time as Levi does. Just as his slender fingers touch it, your hand passes through the whole front console and the oldies are replaced with a terrifyingly loud static screeching. 

“Christ, Levi, what’d you do?” Hange shrieks, lunging forward to punch the radio off as you remove your hand. 

“Nothing! It just went berserk!”

They bicker while you stare at your offending palm. “Huh. Didn’t know I could do that.”

If you can actually interact with objects, at least to some degree, and if it turns out Levi can hear you.... This whole thing might be easier than you thought.

[sillyrabbit81]

The Pull

Summary: Alternative Universe. Vampire Henry. Henry, Crown Prince of the Vampires is avoiding his responsibilities because of his mother's fate. When Henry finds his mate, the circumstances are eerily similar to his mother's. Rather than risking his mate's life, Henry chooses to run, but can he run from his fate?

Pairing: Henry x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.4k

Warnings: mention of death, mention of abortion (although it didn't happen), and swearing

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

Chapter Two

Rowena POV

"David, I can't wear this!" I complained on the phone. I held up the dress again. "It's just too much, too revealing."

It was a simple white silk floor-length skirt, but the top of the dress was two long vertical pieces of silk, barely wide enough to cover my breasts, which crossed at the back before wrapping around my waist and tied in a bow on my lower back. There was no way I could wear a bra. It would only take a slight wrong move, and there would be an embarrassing nipple slip.

"Yes, you can," my brother said. "Lawrence had it made for you to wear as a gift. He wants to meet you and make a good impression." Lawrence was David's partner, they had been together for over a year, but I was yet to met him. Lawrence and David seemed to travel together an awful lot, so it had been challenging to find time for us to get together.

"Have you seen it?" I asked.

"Of course," David replied. I was surprised. David was my older brother and had always been a little protective of me, especially since our parents died when I was 15 and he was 20. Maybe he had finally let that go considering I was now 26.

"You know I'd never wear something like that. It's gorgeous, but it's too revealing for me."

"Rowena, it's Halloween. It's an excuse for excess." I rolled my eyes. For David, being a day that ended in 'y' was an excuse for excess.

"Why does your boyfriend want to see me in this?" It just seemed over the top for a party. I gathered that Lawrence was wealthy, but still, it's just a Halloween party.

"Because he wants you to fit in. Honestly, you'll stick out less wearing that than anything else. Besides, no one knows you there, and you'll have a mask. Just pretend you're someone else."

I grumbled. "What time did Lawrence say the stylist was coming?"

Although I couldn't see him, I could hear David's victorious smile through the phone. "At six pm. The driver will be there at eight."

"That seems late, David," I said. "I won't arrive until nearly nine."

"I know, but that is Lawrence's style."

"Promise you won't leave me alone." I wasn't afraid of being alone at parties usually but by the sounds of this one, the dress and the fact that I was having my hair and makeup done professionally made it feel like a big deal.

"Lawrence and I will take good care of you," David promised.

I said my goodbyes and hung up the phone.

Feeling only a little more confident after the phone call, I jumped in the shower, washed my hair, and shaved my legs for the first time in weeks. I put on a robe and slippers and went up to the main house to see Charlie since I had half an hour to kill before the stylist arrived.

Charlie was staying there tonight with Alice while I went out. He had his own room and often slept there now that he was getting older and wanted space from me. Charlie and I mostly ate our meals up at the house and just kept basics in our two-bedroom flat above the old stables.

Charlie and Alice were sitting together at the dining table, playing with a random assortment of lego pieces. "Hey, Mum. I made this for you." Charlie handed me a flower made from the blocks. He was such a sweetheart of a boy.

"Awww, thanks, Babybear. I love it." I kissed the top of his head and sat with them.

"I thought you had to get ready for tonight," Alice asked.

"I have an hour," I replied.

"You're still going, aren't you?" Alice asked. She seemed more eager for me to go than I was. Alice was Charlie's paternal grandmother. Charlie's dad, Alex, had been my boyfriend when I was 17. Despite being on the pill, I fell pregnant, and Alex tried to pressure me into an abortion and refused to be a part of his life. Alice had been horrified by the way Alex had treated me. In an unexpected turn of events, she had stepped in to help raise Charlie. Charlie rarely saw Alex, but Alice saw that we both wanted nothing. The woman was a saint.

"Yeah," I said reluctantly.

"It'll be good for you," Alice said, squeezing my hand.

"I know." I sighed.

"Charlie, go get Nanny a glass of water, please. My throat is feeling dry," Alice said. She had something to say to me outside of Charlie's ears. Being a kind and helpful kid, Charlie immediately got up and went to get her one. He made me so proud.

As soon as he left the room, Alice said, "Rowena, don't feel guilty getting out there again."

"How can you say that?" I asked. I had tried dating a few times over the years. It always ended disastrously. Always my fault too. I had developed severe commitment issues.

"Charlie is my grandson, and I want his mother to be happy. Not lonely and depressed. It would be best if you had a life beyond Charlie. I've been telling you that for years."

Charlie came back with a book, and Alice read to him. As mothers often are, I was struck by how handsome my little boy was. His blonde sun-bleached hair and deep brown eyes were framed by a face that had lost nearly all of its childhood fat. At nine years old, he was almost as tall as me already, and he would probably take after his father in that regard. In fact, his eyes were the only thing that came from my side of the family as they were the same colour as David's and my Dad's. Charlie looked so much like his father, sometimes it hurts to look at him.

Kissing him again, on the cheek this time, I said goodbye to Charlie, told him to be a good boy for Nanny and went back to our flat above the garage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived at Lawrence's house not long after the sun had set. House was probably too humble a word to describe it. It was a borderline castle. I had thought Alice's family was wealthy, but this was another level. It was like something out of the Great Gatsby.

The car drove around the circular driveway and pulled up near the front door. A valet opened the car door, and he escorted me into the house, where he told my name to a butler who asked me to follow him.

Looking around the room, I was grateful to David for insisting I wear the dress. Everybody was dressed like it was a Hollywood awards show, and I mean everybody. Not to mention they all looked like actors or models. I had never in my life been around so many beautiful people. And I don't mean just beautiful because they were thin. There were people of all shapes and sizes, but everyone moved with grace and ethereal ease. They seemed so other.

This was crazy. Who the hell was my brother mixed up with? This whole night must have cost a fortune. Beyond a fortune! All for a Halloween party?

I was led from room to room, the house full of beautiful creatures. More than that, the house was decorated in a way that would put Versailles to shame. The decadence of the furnishings was lush and rich. Every piece seemed to be a precious antique but shone like it was brand new. Gold leaf decorated the cornices, and priceless framed artworks, tapestries and mirrors filled every wall. Even the wooden floor was an intricate parquetry design that appears to have taken years to lay.

At first, I thought I imagined it, but I noticed that everybody stared at me as I moved through each room. I felt heat rush to my cheeks. Did I look so different from everyone else? I supposed I did, but the eyes following me made me thankful for the mask.

After what seemed like hours but couldn't have been, I was taken to a large hall and presented. Yes, presented. What the fuck?

My escort stopped outside the room and spoke to a man standing just inside the door. The man rapped his cane on the floor three times and thundered, "Rowena, sister of David, Inamorato of Duke Lawrence." An eerie silence fell as every face turned to me. Some even bowed their heads. What on earth was going on?

"Rowena!" David was at my side, clutching my hands to his chest. "I've missed you so." He leaned over and kissed both my cheeks. Everybody in the room seemed to return to normal, and sounds of chatter resumed. David was wearing a mask and wore an elegant dark grey suit. He looked so different. David has always been handsome, but he looked so unlike his usual self, and I couldn't pinpoint the difference. I didn't even have the words to describe the change. I know it had been months since we had seen each other, but it wasn't that he had lost weight or gained muscle. What I could see of his face was inconsistent with my memories of him. Then I saw his eyes.

"David, what the..." David cut me off and embraced me. His smell was mouth-watering, and I wondered what cologne he was wearing. He had never smelt like that before.

"Come, meet Lawrence!" David exclaimed, gripping my hand tightly. Maybe he had put on muscle because he was stronger than I remembered.

David lead me further into the room. I followed, but my head was spinning. Why did everything look so beautiful but feel so... unreal?

"Lawrence, my love, this is Rowena," David said.

The man who sat before me took my breath away. I had no word to describe him other than impressive. He wasn't tall or large, but he seemed to take up all the space in the room as if by looking at him, your eyes couldn't see anything else. His skin was like a midnight sky lit up by the moon, which seemed to reflect the light as it was so smooth, flawless and radiant. His hair bounced with large curls, and although it was dark too, it seemed to shine with its own light.

As Lawrence stood, his movements were so polished they almost had a serpentine grace. His white lace mask framed his eyes, black with a red rim around the pupil, just like David's. Lawrence came towards me, and I was captivated, struck immobile by the force of his presence. Then all of a sudden, the fear left me as though it was never there. I sucked in air, not realising I hadn't taken a breath since I laid eyes on him.

Lawrence grasped my hands to his chest, just like my brother had. "Oh David, she is lovely, isn't she?" He lifted my hands to his lips and kissed both of them before lifting my arms wide and inspecting me. "She does look luscious in this dress. I do have excellent taste, do I not?"

I looked to David, who was beaming proudly like he had passed a test by bringing me here and meeting Lawrence's approval. Stunned, I looked again at David's smile. Something was wrong with it.

Lawrence was still talking, "You were right that she would be a hard one to crack. She seems to see many things others don't. Including you, by the way." David laughed at Lawrence's observation.

I tried to speak, to ask again what was going on, but nothing came out. I kept trying to breathe but I felt suffocated. The more I tried, the less air seemed to come in.

David grabbed my shoulders and caught my gaze. His voice was solid and musical, and the force of his words almost made me fall. "Rowena, it's alright. You can breathe." And all at once, I could.

"This dress is too tight." I managed to say.

"Nonsense," Lawrence said dismissively, "it's perfect. He is going to love it."

"He?" I questioned.

Lawrence sighed and glanced at David. They looked at each other for a few moments, then David took me by the arm and led me to a cluster of sofas. "Come, sister, sit with me and let's catch up."

Even the way he spoke seemed to change. It can't have been that long since I'd seen him. I thought back and realised I hadn't seen him in about two years. We occasionally spoke on the phone, but years had passed since I had physically seen him.

Lawrence left us mingled around the room, which I saw now was a ballroom. Some people danced, some drank wine, and others socialised. Something was wrong with all of it, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

David started to talk to me, asked me about little Charlie. I went to get my phone to show him some pictures and realised I must have left my bag in the limo. Before I could tell David that, he said, "never mind, the driver works for Lawrence. He has it. You can get it before you leave."

How did he know where I had left my phone? This was too much. "David, what's going on? There's something wrong here. This place is... off."

I suddenly felt bewildered, like I couldn't concentrate on anything. I felt a curious pull towards the back of the hall. I stood and looked back and started to walk towards the doors. It was like I was trapped in a gravitational pull towards... something. Without warning, a spontaneous feeling of arousal hit me, and my body was on fire. I let out an audible moan. I felt a desperate call come from between my legs to ease the rapidly growing craving. And not just by anyone, by Him. Wait, who was Him?

David held my arm and tried to lead me back, but I wouldn't allow it. I struggled for him to let me go. David was about to say something when another announcement was made, "The Crown Prince, Henry, Son of Alfred, King of all Sanguisuge."

I looked first to David to question what on earth that meant when I caught sight of the Prince.

It's Him.

I felt like I was falling, plummeting to the ground. The floor rushed to meet me, and my vision went dark.

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

@henryobsessed

[burningthemidnightcityoil]

ON CLASSES

Classpects run on Irony, Puns, Wordplay, and each class has a secondary verb, in addition to the one they share with their pair.

Witch - Which. “Choose / Choice”. A Witch chooses power. Witches are the Powerhouse of the Session(cell). They are akin to Thieves, for a Witch takes power. But the difference here is that a Witch doesn’t need to take it from other people, a Witch takes back their own power from whatever Guardian (or “familiar”) has it. Its not like an Heir, where the Heir can just wait for it to come; a Witch has to grab it or be forced into its service.

Heir - Air/Err. “Inherit”. An Heir inherits power. While Heirs are akin to the Page, where they both inspire others to help them; the difference here is that Heirs will inspire others to Guide them (Literally inspire others to act as Seers), while Pages inspire others to Serve them (Inspire others to act as Knights). Heirs don’t like being Served (In fact, Heirs Homestuck-Historically have conflicts with Guardians because of their Service), and Pages don’t like being Guided. (Most Pages tend to talk smack about those trying to Guide them)

Mage - Magician. “Perform”. Mage’s are showy, in addition to being knowitalls. How you are Seen is Important. There are three Mages, two known and one HC’d, that give this. Sollux, inspite of his problems, is a Show Off and tries to play it off Smoothly. His performance is more important than his powers (Or Spells, if we’re dedicated). Meulin also tends to be Showy. Both by showing off her favorite couples, and by her Disciple self showing off her rommance on literal cave walls. HC’d Mage, Diamonds Droog / Draconian Dignitary, is all about the Show and the Class, and not about Flash Powers or Transformations.

Seer - To See. “Envision”. Seers See Seas. What you see is important. Unlike their counterpart, the Mage, A Seer’s visions are more important than their Spells. (This is inspite of the fact that both Mages and Seers are equally capable of both Visions and Spells, as well as Performance. It seems what what indicates if you’re a Mage or a Seer is if what’s important is How you are Seen, or What you See; A Mage wants to be Seen, a Seer wants to See).

Thief - To Steal / To Steel / Steel yourselves. “Enforce”. If Knights are the Law, Thieves are the Enforcers; because they literally reinforce themselves by taking what they want. Let’s take this a step further, and include all definitions of Enforce Thieves Strengthen, Intensify, Force, Drive and Urge whatever they set their sights on, to be what they want it. (After all, they Steal, or Take By Force / Violence)

Rogue - To Go Rogue / Haywire. “To Cross”. Rogues are pretty good about making connections, and making connections work; be it between people, or their Aspect. (Roxy between her Friends and her Windows; Nepeta with her Romances)

Knight - Night. “To Bare / Bear”. Bear hands? This may seem outlandish, but the origin of the word Night is “Bare” or “To be Bare of Sunlight”. And Knights tend to put on a kind of Mask, or Shield, or rather, Helm / Helmet as they feel their weaknesses (or what they think are their weaknesses) feel bare to the world (Dave and his Sunglasses; Karkat and his Temper; Latula and her Gamer Attitude).

Page - Chapter. “To Assemble” YOU BOY, EQUIP ARMS. This one took a bit, but what’s a Page without a Chapter? Be it a Chapter in a Book of Pages, or a Council to of all those they have called on to serve them. A Page is a Knightly figure that has a Round Table, akin to a Rogue’s Merrymen. A Page inspires others to play Knight to them, or to serve them. To call to Arms, or call to Action. So basically, if Robin Hood is a Rogue’s Mythic figure, King Arthur is a Page’s mythic figure. So literally, all those a Page calls on personally, makes them apart of their Round Table of Knights. (Wait, does this mean that HS^2 Jane is Morgan Le F--)

Maid - Made. “To Make” Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice. Maids are the Makers. They don’t so much as Maintain, though they do that too, as they create. Consider. Aradia is a prime example. She dies, so she makes Time for herself as a very powerful Poltergeist. She becomes a Robot, and makes Time for Herself by her many many Robot Time Copies, or as Time is Numeral, making Numbers. She becomes a Godtier, and suddenly, Time in the Dream Bubbles align perfectly with the Present. Notice how when we are first introduced to the Dream Bubbles, Time was a real nonlinear pain. But when Aradia took the Reins on this Time Management Stuff, and suddenly the Dream Bubbles were Linear and aligned with our Story. She did want to see the end, after all (And the more living Time Gods entered the Bubbles, the more Linear things became) For Porrim, its about Making Space for others in both her various views and her uh... Various Views. For the Dolorosa, this included making Space for herself, and for her son. She possibly even helped direct him closer to the idea of Freedom (And he did see visions of another space in time...)

Sylph - Sylvan / Wood Threshold. “To Matter” Okay, this one is like the Knight’s, if not more complicated (and likely gonna require more development in the future, cos this took waaay too much digging for my liking). Thing is, Sylph is a difficult thing to name from name alone unless you look into the word itself. Because its derived from Sylvan “Of the woods”. But we break that down into two things. Silva, the Woods, and Hyle, Matter. Hyle / Hule is already the Greek word for Matter or Wood in any case. And our word for Matter is already derived from Mater, the Latin word for Mother. (The original English word was displaced by Latin; Andwork was once our word for Matter). Unfortunately, I can’t quite make the connections here yet, so I’m not sure if “To Matter” is the proper verb. I can, however, describe some loose connections that at least tell me I’m on the right track: ... Sylphs are defined by their Environment; Such as Kanaya’s relations regarding Trolls (A motherly figure), Aranea defined herself by Information and giving Information (which ain’t healthy), Mindfang defined herself a Thief because the Troll Empire was lead by a Thief And HC’d Sylph of Mind, Snowman was, quite literally, the Universe (And its Multiverse, which is a Mind thing). So a Sylph defines herself by her “Woods”, or like a Nymph / Dryad, by her “Tree / Wood / Matter”. And when you kill the Tree / Wood, you kill the Sylph, and vice versa (Destroy the Matriorb, and Kanaya dies; Kill Snowman and you kill the Unvierse; Mindfang was murdered, and her Enlightenment about the Doc died with her).

Prince - Principle / Foremost. “To Postulate” Its the Principle of the matter. For Princes, Principle and Code are key, and they will follow these as a fundamental truth (and be damned to anything else). This is likely what it was meant when they were called a Destroyer Class, because they do tend to destroy all avenues when it doesn’t fit their Principle. A Group of Princes could be called an Argument. For Eridan, both the system he resided in, and his own internal narrative (his Hopes), were his fundamental truths. And in the end, it fucked everything up. For Kurloz, his Belief System and his chosen Lord were his Fundamental Truth (And Rage is about Truths; so this guy didn’t just have a fortified castle, he had an entire armored country) For Dirk, the Character someone presented was the Truth of the matter, and the Character he presented. He believed that all versions of him were Him, and that was his biggest flaw, because they weren’t. AR was no more Dirk Strider than Bro was. ... And unfortunately, one version of him took this very literally (HS^2).

Bard - Barred / Bar. “To Prevent” Bards are quite the Wild Card, because how the hell do you manage destroying stuff for other people’s benefit and it actually ensured that it is a benefit? But from our few examples, Bards do act as great barriers. They keep things on the path because if you didn’t have that barrier, you wouldn’t progress, or you’d go too far too quickly, or things could go out of hand. For Gamzee, he tends to invoke the idea of the Barrier Maiden (He does roleplay a fairy / maid). He can’t die cos he’s a Cosmic Keystone to things happening like they’re suppose to. Paradox Space, literally, cannot let him die because it needs him to complete the Alpha Loop [By extension, no Doomed Timeline ever has a Dead Gamzee, he’s just that important, the stupid fuck] / [consider the theory that he also absorbs his alternative selves to keep his keystone status; like how Rose absorbed her alternative dream self] (Though when you take him from his story / destiny / fate, he’s just another mortal shitty clown). Gamzee prevented Rage, for Homestuck to continue as its intended narrative. For Cronus, his little Hope Quest was a direct line to Lord English (being the evil wvizard in his little Harry Potter fantasy). But this blew up royally, because as it turns out, it isn’t up to the Beforus Trolls to do shit. So just as Gamzee’s crisis of Fate put things back on the Path to LE and prevented catastrophe, Cronus’s crisis caused catastrophe. He prevented Hope for the Beforus Trolls, because it wasn’t their Story. And now for my HC’d Bard of Doom, Clubs Deuce. He does exactly what it says, he Prevents Doom. Inspite of what it appears, he’s highly competent because that prevents things from going to hell. For CD, he prevented Doom, for his Crew, and the sessions he’s involved in. And any time CD tends to disappear from the picture, is when things go to hell fast (For the Crew, Cans showed up; for the Beta Session, he was a mere herald for the doom that was already coming and his death cinched it)

[flowercoasts]

i’m so sad. like they could’ve been It. because day one they looked at each other and recognized something so uniquely other but familiar about each other it’s like they gravitated together. two lonely girls out in the world, broken in different ways, wearing armor and masks and loud personalities to cover their hurt; coming together. it’s like the universe pointed at both of them and went like “you two. you are the same. go be friends.” first friends. then best friends not long after. and then there comes the storybook aspect: you have one who’s obsessed with getting a fairytale ending, with having the perfect play by play of every book she’s ever read where the girl gets the guy and they live happily ever after. and then the other who gave up on that a long time ago, only looking for cheap, inconsequential flings and bruises that’ll stay, because the pain is something she’s used to, and she doesn’t know if her hands can be softer.

but then the fairy tale doesn’t happen. except it does, but it doesn’t. the guy isn’t ideal. he’s her friend. he has flaws. it takes ages for her to realize he’s a person, and not just a nameless figure to place in her book. and the other girl doesn’t get a fling. she gets a family. she gets a best friend. she gets “i love you” and connection and hands that don’t hurt but hold - she doesn’t have to be softer, not for them, but she learns anyways, because she was always soft, she just never showed it. so it’s not a fairy tale. people die, the romance doesn’t turn out the way it should, everyone grows up, there’s a war, there’s blood, there’s fear they fight in the name of justice, theres ghosts in their past, there’s the weight of nations on their backs. but there’s also each other.

it’s 80 episodes of love and support and constant communication, and they always were soft around each other - even from day one. of course, they have miscommunications. they argue. they don’t always understand. but they care about each other, down to their core, like it’s written in their blood to. and that care is dedication, it’s hugs and shared rooms. it’s just being there for each other, always. always. the fairy tale is just how pure and strong their love is for each other. regardless of anything. then, like the universe was making some kind of inside joke (you had to be there), one falls for the other. and it’s slow, like love always is - slow until you realize, and then it’s like it’s been there all along because it has. it’s always been love, just now it’s shaped into something different. not deeper or less than, but different in the way that’s dangerous and righteous all at once. it’s slow and soft and non-consuming. it’s always been love.

the fairy tale flips on its head. the girl who was supposed to find the perfect guy instead finds herself. the lone wolf of a girl who swore off deeper connections falls in love with her best friend. the two girls find a family and a home and heal and grow and learn and love. they have family. they have each other. always.

imagine like. 40 episodes of slow pining after realization; denial into anger into acceptance. the girl in love with her best friend hates that she’s in love until she realizes that there’s nothing she can do about it. because she can’t change the fact that the love always existed, can’t unlove someone after practically moving into each other’s hearts. and then the anger at herself turns into acceptance; looks like warm nights in the same bed where they curl into each other and she just accepts the fact she’s going to love this girl forever, always. and then the other girl who slowly, slowly realizes, that after all the growth she’s been through, maybe she still can have her own happy ending. maybe she can fall in love with her best friend. maybe it won’t be easy, because it’s not the easiest way, not what anyone planned - but it’s right. because they just fit, because whoever made the universe made them out of the same stuff and they will always care about each other. it’s not easy, not by a long shot. neither of them want to ruin what they have. and it’s hard to get over the fact that falling for your best friend is so out of the picture it’s in space, that nothing ever prepares you for it. but it’s there, staring them in the face. it takes them both so little to realize that they’ve loved each other for forever. and then they just exist. together. like they always have been, but more. maybe there is no fairy tale then, because none of the stories would ever look like this. but that’s okay, because they have each other. they can write whatever they want.

[keepyourpantsongohan]

And Many Happy Returns

A gift for @sloaners, one of the funniest, nicest and most talented people I know. You deserve nothing but good things, so here’s something made with the wish to make you smile. Please check out the collaborative pieces by @uintuva​ @tomicaleto​ @kiro-sveta and @ohayohimawari​​. | AO3 (Art/Writing) | Podfic |

                               ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It starts, as the best intentions often do, with a thirty-year-old man blowing out a birthday candle. 

“Happy birthday, Kakashi,” Tenzō tells him warmly. 

This warmth between them is both new and old. It aches of familiarity, and partnership, and all the things Kakashi has compartmentalized as something he ought to think about at a later date. But it is later, the moon shining down upon them in the wee hours of the night, his face bare to his companion. It’s a new world order, one where to Kakashi is the Sixth Hokage, and the village is bustling with migrants from all its neighbours, and where he lets someone look at him the way Tenzō is doing, like he has done something incredibly right. 

Kakashi wishes Obito were here to see this. He likes to think it would annoy him a little, even if this was exactly what he had suggested. 

“So how does it feel?” Tenzō asks, smiling. He sets down the cupcake, knowing Kakashi isn’t interested in sweets anyway. “Your first birthday as Hokage. This should be a day that the whole village celebrates.” 

“Maa, you know I don’t like parties,” Kakashi says, ducking his head as if a villager might pop up somewhere with a confetti canon. He reaches out and lets his fingers brush Tenzō’s. “This is fine with me.” 

Tenzō sighs, all fondness. “Well, you have to at least let me show you your birthday present.” 

Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you bring something?” 

Tenzō shakes his head. “It’s more of something I get to show, actually.” 

It’s very tempting for Kakashi to make a joke at that, but his thought is soon cut off by a gleaming light in the sky, a bright blue-green speck making its way from far up above them, heading downward quite suddenly. For a moment, he thinks it could be a shooting star. Yet it doesn’t look much like a star to him, particularly not when he realizes whatever it is is hurtling not only towards the ground, but towards them. Kakashi’s mental calculations suggest that the meteor will land before they get a chance to move. 

It is all they can do to brace for impact. Kakashi feels his chakra gather in his palms and raises his hands so that he might be able to form a chidori. Beside him, Tenzō’s hands form a serpent seal and a wooden dome suddenly encloses them. A futile effort, given the speed and force of the object, but one Kakashi appreciates nonetheless. 

What surprises him, however, is when the meteor passes straight through the barrier, lands in their laps with a groan, and lets out a frustrated, “Ow!” 

Kakashi’s brain tries to catch up to the situation. They’re alive. They’re alive, and so is their meteor. Except it’s not a meteor, it’s a mint green man, who has appendages jutting out from his neck that dig into Kakashi’s thigh. Kakashi’s eyes rove over the man’s back, taking in the familiarity of what he is facing. 

“Obito?” asks Kakashi incredulously. 

“Obito?!” Tenzō repeats, his voice rising an octave. “Your Obito? Kakashi, isn’t he supposed to be dead?” 

Kakashi says, before he can think much about it, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” 

In answer to their questions, Obito finally rolls over, confirming what Kakashi already knew. Obito’s face and body are the same as they were at the height of the war by all accounts. Scales, tomoe, and horns decorate his body, but what draws most of his attention are the brushstrokes painted across his stomach, reading, “Love, Kaa-san~”

A hand thrown over his eyes, Obito grumbles out, “Your mother says, ‘Happy birthday,’ Bakashi.”

—

Tenzō’s first order of business is to find out how this happened. Obito’s first order of business, as soon as he is able to stand on his own two feet, is to stare at Kakashi. 

“Wh— That’s— You’re handsome!” Obito accuses, outraged. He points his finger at Kakashi’s uncovered face. 

It’s unclear if Kakashi’s face is flushed from the impact of Obito’s words or the impact of his body flying at them from space. “Uh, thanks,” Kakashi replies weakly. 

“Can we go back to Kakashi’s mother?” Tenzō asks, waving a hand in front of them. “How many people are back from the dead?” 

“Just me, so far,” says Obito, a little defensively. “Kaguya’s immortal, so it’s not like she was dead in the first place.” 

“Kaguya,” Kakashi echoes flatly, eyes drifting up to the night sky. Tenzō’s gaze follows his, staring up at the moon, suddenly conscious of every moment he and Kakashi might have shared under the moon’s light. “My... mother?” 

Obito claps his hands together, distracting Tenzō and Kakashi from their respective existential crises. “Right! She said this would help explain.” 

Then, without preamble, Obito steps towards Kakashi, places his hands on either side of his face, and pulls him forward into a long, enthusiastic kiss. Kakashi’s hands drift upward, hovering over Obito’s sides. Though Tenzō can’t see both of Kakashi’s eyes, he does see one of them widen and shut, as a bright light pulses from Kakashi’s forehead, blowing his hair upward with an accompanying breeze. They draw apart, with half-smiles on their faces. 

“Oh,” Kakashi says, as if the situation makes any more sense. He looks at Tenzō. “Can you tell him too?” 

Obito nods. Tenzō tries not to jump when Obito leans towards him and their lips meet. As they do, Tenzō’s eyes are flooded with images, first of a woman with three eyes and long silver hair, and then of a man who looks just like Kakashi. The images flash quickly from the woman holding a small child, to passing through rips in the universe, to the remnants of Obito’s chakra being pulled into the moon. It is not unlike being awoken from a genjutsu.  

When the last memory passes before his eyes, Tenzō pulls away and says, “You know, all she said you had to do was touch us. Any reason you chose a kiss?” 

Obito’s mint green skin turns a bright shade of orange. “Hey— Well... Kakashi, help me out here.” 

“It was a pretty good kiss,” Kakashi offers in reply. “Eight out of ten, at least.” 

“Six and a half,” says Tenzō. “He bit my lip.” 

Obito grumbles under his breath, “Some people like that,” while Kakashi laughs.

—

“Remind me again why we’re staying at Yamato’s place and not yours, Bakashi?” 

Kakashi tosses a pillow at Obito, which, to Tenzō’s mild regret, he catches. “Because my place is the Hokage’s residence. Your chakra signature is too noticeable. Not to mention, the horns.” 

There’s far more intrigue in Kakashi’s last few words than Tenzō finds comforting. 

Obito and Tenzō lock eyes. “He looks at me judgementally,” Obito complains, pouting. 

“That’s because I’m judging you,” Tenzō informs him, just a little bit amused. “Consider me your rehabilitation sponsor.” 

Obito winces. “Doesn’t me dying count for something?” 

Tenzō regards Obito speculatively, weighing the consequences of an honest answer. Strangely enough, the man seems sincere. One of the orbs floating by Obito’s head brushes against Tenzō’s cheek, like a sulking cat seeking attention. “No,” says Tenzō, this time smiling outright.

Tenzō brings his attention back to Kakashi. He roots through one of his utility pouches, and shortly deposits what he finds into Kakashi’s palm. “This was supposed to be a gift for you,” Tenzō explains. “But now I suppose it makes more sense to give it to both of you.” 

“A key,” Kakashi observes, turning the wood over between his fingers. His mask, now back in place, doesn’t fully hide the flush creeping up. 

Tenzō nods, and with a few hand seals, a duplicate is in his hands. “I like my house the way it is,” he tells Obito, closing his fist over it. 

Without waiting for a reply, Tenzō crosses the room to head upstairs. Aside from Kakashi and Obito likely needing their own moment to speak, he feels the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. 

As his feet reach the third step, he hears Obito say, “What am I supposed to do with that?” 

“You might try being helpful,” Tenzō calls out from the stairwell. 

—

Obito decides to take Yamato—Tenzō, as Kakashi keeps calling him—seriously. He spends the next morning in Tenzō’s kitchen helping out. The fridge doesn’t have everything he needs, but he saves time by going out into the garden and encouraging some of the fruits to grow with his mokuton. Food hasn’t been a necessity for Obito for a few years, so he takes care in arranging it, hoping that if it isn’t tasty, it’s at least well-presented. 

Obito is attempting to place seaweed on rice in an appreciable impression of a cat’s ears when Tenzō comes to stand beside him. 

“Is this for Kakashi?” 

“This one is for you,” Obito says, gesturing. “The other one is for Kakashi. His box has a rabbit.” 

Tenzō eyes crinkle at the corners. Obito is beginning to recognize the motion for what it is, a reflection of the way Kakashi smiles, when the mask is in place. “Thank you. I can bring it to him, if you want.” 

Obito mulls over the offer. “We can go together.” 

“I don’t know if that’s—“ 

Obito closes the box, and uses his free hand to wave off Tenzō’s concerns. “Don’t worry about it. It’s too early for him to have any visitors. Besides, I want to see if he really wears those robes like Old Man Third.” 

Tenzō shakes his head. “How are you planning to pass through the village unnoticed?“ 

Obito taps his temple, right beside his sharingan. “Kamui,” he says, both an explanation and a warning. 

“Obito—”

In one fluid motion, Obito tucks a bento box in the crook of his arm and grabs Tenzō’s elbow to yank him forward. Moments later, they stand in front of Kakashi, who looks surprised but pleased. 

“What brings you two here?” 

“Your lunch,” Obito declares, sliding the box across his desk. 

Kakashi rests one elbow on the desk, leaning his head on his palm. “What’s the occasion?” 

“I didn’t give you a gift,” Obito says, and then freezes. 

At once, both he and Kakashi realize what Obito has said. Kakashi is looking at him the same way he did the night before. His stricken look and doubt from the war is gone, replaced by something warmer and softer. Obito feels his face heat up. 

“There’s nothing you need to give me,” Kakashi says quietly. He hasn’t stopped looking at Obito. 

“I want to,” Obito tells him honestly. It feels freeing to say it. 

Kakashi finally breaks their gaze. “That’s good to hear,” is what he says, reaching for the bento box. Their fingers brush. 

Though Obito can feel Tenzō looking at them, he finds himself distracted in Kakashi’s face. The war feels only like yesterday to Obito, but he can see new lines on Kakashi’s face that hadn’t been there before. Lines beside his eyes to accompany his smile, a tan line peeking up from where his mask has not sat evenly on his face, and a line between his brows that reminds Obito he is standing in front of the Sixth Hokage. 

“Kakashi, I—”

What Obito is going to say, even he cannot predict, but he is spared from answering by the door to Kakashi’s office suddenly bursting open. 

“Sakura, Sai,” Kakashi greets the two teenagers casually, as if there is not a six-foot-tall formerly dead rogue ninja in his office. “What’s going on?” 

Sakura stares, disbelief written on her face. “I could ask the same question.” 

“It’s a long story,” Tenzō says, raising his hands in a warding gesture. 

The boy, who must be Sai, blinks, looking oddly unaffected. “Kakashi-sama, is this some kind of test?” 

“Would you believe it if I said yes?” Kakashi asks.

Sakura gives him a withering look. “Not even a little bit.”

Though Sakura is the one Obito expects to be gawking at him, given that she was present when he died, her ire is directed towards her teacher. It is Sai who looks at him with focused curiosity. Well, Obito supposes people don’t encounter a jinchuriki with his appearance every day. “If you have something to ask, just say it,” Obito tells him.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Sai inquires seriously. He has a sketchpad in his hands, as if he were intending to take notes. 

“Why are you alive?” Sakura asks, reasonably. 

“It was Kakashi’s birthday yesterday,” he explains, before Tenzō grabs his arm and phases them both through the wooden floor. 

—

“Just stay put for now,” Tenzō demands, when they arrive in his back garden. “We’re lucky it was those two. If Sasuke or Naruto were in the village right now, there would’ve been much more of a scene.” 

Obito sits down on the engawa, feet sinking into the grass. “I was just helping out,” he says, shrugging. 

Tenzō takes a seat beside him. “Help less obviously.” 

“Kakashi wouldn’t take my apology,” Obito replies quietly. He brushes his fingers over a dandelion, letting it grow taller and wilder in his grasp. “But he would take my lunch. I know he still has thoughts about my past, but he won’t say anything about it. He just keeps looking at me like...” 

“...He’s happy that you’re alive?” Tenzō suggests. “He is. Believe me, he doesn’t look at just anyone like that.” 

“He looks at you like that.” 

Though his expression doesn’t change, Obito doesn’t need a sharingan to pick up the redness in Tenzō’s cheeks. “It’s complicated.” 

“Am I complicating it?” Obito asks sincerely. 

“A little,” Tenzō admits, to Obito’s surprise. The other man chuckles. “But I think you’d be complicating it whether you were alive or not. And I like to see him happy.” 

The words make Obito’s stomach tighten in a pleasant way. He takes a moment to take stock of his companion. It is easy enough to see what Kakashi sees in him, in his honest feelings, determination and loyalty. It makes Obito wonder if they can make whatever this is work after all. 

“I’m sorry for what happened during the war,” Obito tells him. “For what I did to you. I know what it’s like to be used. It doesn’t change anything, but—”

“It does,” Tenzō interjects calmly. “It helps.” 

Obito wants to say something more, but both of them turn their attention to the woods, feeling a familiar chakra presence rushing at them at full speed. 

“That’s not...” 

“It is,” Tenzō confirms. “Well, this was bound to happen eventually.” 

With that, a green blur rolls straight past Tenzō’s wards and jerks to a halt right at the edge of Tenzō’s property. “Yamato, my youthful friend!! Is it true that you and my rival are now living together in hot-blooded cohabitation?” 

“Does he really not notice me?” Obito mutters. Tenzō kicks him. 

“Not exactly, Gai,” Tenzō calls out. “He’s free to come and go as he pleases.” 

Gai, who looks every bit as energetic as ever, pushes his wheelchair closer to them. “Yosh!! Just like Kakashi!” Gai replies. “He wants to train harder before taking that next step.” 

When he is at arm’s length from the house, Gai turns his stare to Obito, narrowing his eyes with a concerned frown. 

“Hey Gai,” Obito says, waving. 

Gai lets out a thoughtful hum. “Yamato, your comrade seems... familiar. Have we met before?” 

“Seriously?!” Obito exclaims. 

This time, Tenzō elbows Obito. “Gai, I’m not sure if he looked like this that last time you saw him, but this is Obito. He's come back from... somewhere.” 

Gai’s smile fades. The seriousness in his expression looks out of place. “I see.” 

Obito takes a deep breath, and stands up. He bows his head a little, half in contrition and half because he thinks Gai would rather not look at him. “I’m sorry. Kakashi told me that Naruto’s friend, the Hyuga boy, was your student. I know that doesn’t change what I did, but you deserve to hear me say it. I wish I could bring him back—”

“Neji?” Gai interrupts him, his voice shaky. 

Obito offers one quick nod. “Yes, if I could’ve done things differently, I would—”

“Neji,” says Tenzō beside him, sounding shocked. “Obito, what did you do?”

It surprises Obito that Tenzō hasn’t already heard this story from Kakashi. He lifts his head to reply, when suddenly he catches sight of the source of their surprise. Standing beside Gai, unscathed, is the Hyuga boy who Obito had certainly impaled with mokuton. 

“Gai-sensei?” Neji asks, stepping unsteadily towards his teacher. “What happened?” 

“Neji!” Gai says again, pulling his student down into a tight hug. Gai’s eyes are full of tears, but his grin is blinding. “You’re alive!” 

“Not if you keep crushing me like this,” Neji wheezes, but he returns his teacher’s embrace, pressing his face to Gai’s shoulder. Some of the weight in the air finally lifts off, and for a moment, there is peace. 

And then the moment passes. Tenzō’s hand comes down firmly on Obito’s shoulder, turning them to face each other. “Obito,” he repeats soberly. “What did you do?” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Obito yelps. “All I said was that I wish I could take back what I’d done to the Hyuga kid—”

Tenzō eyes him doubtfully. “And that was all it took? Listen, I wish that I could bring Asuma back, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to show up at our next Mahjong game.” 

Obito wishes this level of suspicion was unwarranted, but he supposes his track record is less than stellar. “I don’t know what happened, alright? If you don’t believe me, ask the kid.” 

“Neji,” Tenzō asks, with far more patience in his voice than he had with Obito, “what’s the last thing you remember?” 

“The war,” Neji says, finally escaping Gai’s hug. He thinks for a moment, and then frowns. “And then some strange woman who claimed she knew Kakashi-sensei.” 

Obito and Tenzō look at each other. And somehow, from across the village in the Sarutobi District, the wind carries out three piercing screams. 

—

When Kakashi gets to Tenzō’s place that night, Obito is already fast asleep on the sofa, sitting up straight with his mouth wide open. One of the orbs that is always surrounding him bumps against Kakashi’s hand, not unlike Kakashi’s ninken do to greet him. Tugging the blanket over Obito’s shoulders, Kakashi smiles. “You’ve made a lot of paperwork for me, you know,” he tells his sleeping friend. Obito mumbles something in reply unconsciously, and Kakashi ruffles his hair, sighing. 

“You can’t give him all the blame,” Tenzō points out, emerging from the kitchen with his hands on his hips. “It’s a full moon this week. Strange things tend to happen.” 

Kakashi laughs. “You, defending Obito? It didn’t take him long to win you over.” 

Tenzō approaches him, settling a hand between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, a soothing warmth. “Only on a trial basis.” 

Kakashi closes his eyes. “You realize, as Hokage, I oversee all shinobi trials.” 

He feels Tenzō laugh at his back, the hand drifting to his side. “Maybe Obito was right, this system is corrupt.” 

“You can admit that you’re enjoying having him around, Tenzō,” Kakashi baits, tugging him towards the sofa. 

“I find his absurdity disarming,” Tenzō confesses. “It’s similar to how I feel around you sometimes, actually.” 

Kakashi pulls Tenzō down so that he can sandwich himself between the two mokuton users. “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”  

Tenzō leans on Kakashi, just as Kakashi leans on Obito. “You would.” 

Obito opens one eye. “You shouldn’t talk about me like I’m not here,” he mumbles, through a yawn.

“Go back to sleep,” Kakashi says, patting him on the cheek. 

For once, Obito listens. And so, tangled on the sofa is how they find themselves the next morning, when all three of them awake to a glowing purple egg gleaming innocently on Tenzō’s coffee table.