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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 23 days ago

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contents; pure fluff <3 high school bf suguru, gn!reader, syrupy-sweet summer festival shenanigans. wc; 2.6k

The crowds are especially bad, this year.

All around you are hands, blurry faces, bodies dolled up in silks and sashes. Taiyaki and takoyaki stands emit the scent of freshly-made food, small children giggle around a pond of koi right by the temple gates — a multitude of sensations, swarming you, so overwhelming you could lose him in it.

Fortunately, Suguru doesn't seem willing to let go of your hand.

"Stay close to me," he murmurs, right against your neck. Hot air, sending a tingle down your spine. He's got you tucked in, hip to hip, but he's still being cautious, guiding you through the rabble of locals and tourists enjoying the summer festival to the fullest — until you make it out on the other end, to bushes and plum trees and sweet cicada cries, free from the stalls and the people lining up for them.

Free to gaze up at the vast, starry sky, twinkling like shards of glass at the bottom of a riverbed.

(A sky soon to light up with colour.)

"Hah… Are you alright?" his voice is low, saccharine, as if he knows that your ears are still ringing from the noise. You think he's half tempted to cover them himself, with the way his hand ghosts against your neck, tipping your head up to look at him. "I think I gripped your hand with a little too much force… I'm sorry, baby."

You can still feel his warmth, phantom heat against your fingers. The crisp midnight air fills the crevices with pleasant coolness.

His palm rests against your nape. You lean into it, vacantly, unaware of the way his lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile — cupping such a tender area of your body, feeling it relax, melt against his touch, the comforting weight and callouses on his fingers. Smooth, soft skin beneath them. You exhale a sigh, and the summer air courses through your lungs, a hint of fruit-rot from the grounds beneath the trees.

He's holding onto the bear that he won for you, tucked between his rib and bicep, yellow fur to match his outfit. Wearing a stylish yukata, the fabric black and gray, a golden obi belt below his waist. He's got his hair tied up — to be expected — bangs swaying softly with the breeze, his eyes low-lidded with sleep soon to be lost. It's late, but he insisted on doing this. Just the two of you, this time, no Gojos or Shokos to pretend-barf when he holds your hand or sneaks a kiss against the soft skin of your temple. He's smiling, dimly, the amber of his eyes gleaming when it sees your gaze sear into him.

You inhale, softly, then exhale again.

Honestly, isn't he way too handsome?

"No… I'm fine," you answer, mustering a low-curved smile. There's fatigue beneath the words, but you do your best to conceal it. "You kept me steady… Thanks, Suguru."

A flicker of pride, like the twitch of a dragonfly, something content in the way he shuts his eyes. He's smiling in a way you think is rather fond, though the smugness still shines through. Does he realize, you wonder — that his boyishness shows when you're alone with him? Does he notice the way summer nights seem to soften him?

"… Good." He doesn't give you any chance to prepare or escape; leaning down, to smear his lips against your cupid's brow, ever so gentle, yet unmistakably deliberate. Your skin heats up, as he mutters, ruefully: "If I had known it'd be even busier than yesterday, I would have brought Satoru as a meatshield."

Laughter bubbles up from your throat, seafoam-like. It makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"… Are you having fun? You seem a little tired, sweetheart."

His palm smooths a path from your neck to your temple, his fingers curling around the locks of your hair. He lets them rest there, absently.

"I'm fineee," you echo, struggling to withhold a yawn. "… Still wide awake."

He breathes out a chuckle, curved with something raspy. The quirk of his brow lets you in on his feelings, what you know to be doubt. "Alright, alright," he croons, so soft you wouldn't hear it if he wasn't close enough to touch. "Just making sure."

When he raises his head, you lose track of his scent — soft, warm notes of amber and osmanthus, laced against his neck with sinister intention. He knows it makes you dizzy, knows exactly what it makes you want to do to him — chew at his collarbone, sniff at his skin, press your greedy fingers against the base of his throat as if hoping that he'll pop, that golden flowers will bloom out across the expanse of his chest.

Your boyfriend is many things. Considerate, composed —

conniving, most of all.

"The fireworks should start soon," he mumbles, slipping his hand into yours again, a kind of safety net. "Though we won't be able to see them very well from here."

He's right. Above you are thick branches, curling themselves together to obscure the sky; dressed in weighty, flourished leaves, purple splotches hanging off them and waiting to be plucked. Before you can reach for one, eyeing the twig nearest to the ground — Suguru has already raised his arm and done it for you. He hands it to you, seamlessly.

You mouth a silent thank you.

"We could try for the top of the hill… but I doubt we'd make it in time," he hums. "I suppose heading back into the crowd would be our best bet. Do you want to risk it?"

Sweet, succulent nectar dribbles from between your teeth, clings to your bottom lip before trickling down, and down, smearing your chin with mellow gold. Suguru gazes at the mess, when you part from the plum, mouth full of fruit flesh.

Intently.

His thumb catches the droplet, and brings it to his mouth. You see the pink of his tongue glide against it, cleaning it up — and note that your throat feels rather dry.

Gulp. You answer, before taking another bite, careful not to meet his gaze. "Okay."

That same thumb glides across the seam of your lips, suddenly, as if greedy for more, and you can't help but yelp, the cadence of a mouse caught between the snap of two steel jaws slammed together. Your face feels hot, as you whip your head away from his touch, and Suguru must be trying very hard not to embarrass you more because you only hear him exhale. Amused, naturally. But not mean-spirited.

(Never with you.)

"Sorry," he croons, spit-slick honey flowing from his mouth, filling the crevices between his breaths. "I was feeling a little hungry, suddenly."

"… We just ate."

"Haha… Hungry for you, I mean."

"…"

You raise your hand — managing to twist one of the thinner branches, hanging low enough for you to hear the clean break of bone as you secure a set of small, barely ripe plums. Suguru lets out a low noise, somewhere between fondness and reprimand.

"… Here," you exhale, your voice a little shaky. "Just eat these, instead." You press the branch against his chest, slipping your now-clammy palm from his grasp. "We can't miss the fireworks, Suguru…"

A soft, bubbling laugh. His brow is raised, dark, thick, curved in a way that makes you feel like you're about to be scolded, the way he sometimes does when you throw soda cans at Gojo's face ("You can't entertain him, when he gets that obnoxious. You need to be the bigger person, okay?") or zone out during class ("I don't mind taking notes for us, you know that. Still, you should aim to be a good student.") or try to leave his room before nightfall on weekends after a mission has kept you apart ("Yaga-sensei won't check. I want you in my arms tonight, angel. You can break the rules just this once, right?")…

It makes you feel small. Not exactly in a bad way.

Gently, his fingers curl around the rust-coloured branch. He plucks a plum from the cluster, wipes his thumb against the cloudy coating of bloom. Your eyes don't leave his hand, as he brings it to his lips, sinks his teeth into it. A soft, wet, crunching noise — squelching with plum juice — resounds, faintly.

Behind you, the echo of voices. Laughter. But here, now, in the narrow space between your bodies —

Only your soft breaths, and his measured chewing.

Suguru is smiling. Eyes sparking, fondly, a prelude to the orange bursts soon to light up the sky. He licks his lips, then presses the barely-eaten plum into your palm.

"Thank you, baby." He purrs, half-wicked, soft around the edges. "I'm all full."

It shouldn't fluster you. The smile on his lips, the teasing glint in his eye — a firefly flickering, stuck inside his eye-socket. The cool skin of the plum, the saliva that sticks to your thumb when you trace the indents left behind by his teeth, baring yellow flesh. You should be used to the intimate intensity he's so fond of.

But you aren't. Can't think of much to say, only stand there with your heart right below your tongue. Beating, faintly, pulsing against your throat.

Suguru seems to take pity on you; facial features softening when he sees the shy ducking of your head, as if worried that he might have gone too far. He lets the fruit branch fall to the ground, reaching for your fingers, tangling them with his own. The plum follows suit, clattering onto the uncut grass below. When you meet his eye, he's smiling, something light and breezy — his hand twitches, idly.

"… So cute," he exhales, faint enough that you just barely hear it.

(… Nevermind. He doesn't feel sorry at all.)

"Hmm… although," he sighs, casting a glance behind his shoulder, towards the golden lanterns and crowded cobblestone pathways of the festival; "— if we go out there now, holding hands might not be enough to keep us from getting separated."

You hum. From here, the crowds of people forming by the temple gates and roaming between the food stalls look like a cluster of storm clouds — or a parade of yōkai, catching goldfish and eating cotton candy, trading meaningful glances and hushed giggles. Everyone is getting ready to see the lights, securing spots where the skies will be most clear.

It's only a matter of time, now.

"… I have an idea."

When you drag your gaze to meet your boyfriend's, he's holding out the fuzzy bear he got you; black, marble-like eyes, its mouth carved into a small smile. You take it into your arms, blinking up at him.

"Why don’t you ride on my shoulders?" he asks, already in the process of pulling up his sleeves. And if he hadn't done you in enough, already — the glimpse you get of his biceps before snapping your gaze back in place certainly does the trick. There's a boyish kind of playfulness in his expression, but his voice is warm. "That way, I won't lose you in the crowd. I'm sure your feet must be getting tired, too."

"You're sure?"

He nods. "Super sure."

Suguru lives to please. If you said it out loud, you're sure he'd have some complaints — half-hearted, if even just a hushed whisper not to say it in front of anyone else, since it's only for you to know — but everyone is already more than aware, whether he likes it or not. You think he mostly does. You think it must scratch some corner of his brain, to be so put-together and dependable, to be the one others turn to when they need a helping hand.

As a boyfriend, it must be something of a narcotic.

"… Okay," you murmur, just to see his eyes curve up, citrine crescents. He wastes no time in crouching down, the expanse of his back on display — white stripes on pitch-black fabric, a night sky tapestry — careful not to let his yukata touch the ground.

"Come here," he urges, a coaxing hum. "We don't want to miss the main attraction, do we?"

You don’t.

The bear stays pressed to your chest, as you hike your legs over each of his shoulders. You're careful, if not a little hesitant, but Suguru is still. Steady, like a big rock. When both of your thighs are ghosting his neck, the fabric of your shorts tickling his skin, and your arms are wrapped around his head — the bear tucked safely beneath your chin —

Suguru rises to his feet. Two big, warm palms resting on your calves.

He exhales a breath, audibly content. You're high up, ripe plums within reach at all sides, seated on your 6'3 mountain of a boyfriend, and he's carrying you as if you weigh no more than the stuffed bear you're clutching. You duck your head, cheek smushed against his hair. Inhaling the lingering hints of lavender shampoo.

"Careful," he lulls, softly, beginning to move. "Watch out for the branches."

A nod. Suguru carries you forward, out of the thickets, leaves brushing against the nape of your neck and the skin of your arms until you're back to where you started, surrounded by children, adults and elderly alike. Golden lanterns, colourful garments, the signature scents of summer engulfing your senses — from the mild, dew-like midnight air, to the steam of grilled squid and simmering pancake batter.

At once, you feel overwhelmed. Suguru must notice — or know, simply because he knows you — because he gives a tender squeeze to your legs, wading through the crowd with calculated ease, even though you're sure it must be difficult to walk with your thighs sandwiching his windpipe.

(He's in heaven, he thinks.)

And that's when it happens.

Your ears ring — and the sky crackles, above you, sparks of pink and gold, like early daybreak showering the stars. Gleaming, bright and shimmering — explosions, one after the other, from warm hues to cold hues, reddish pinks and purples bleeding into oceanic blues and greens. The people around you all have their phones out, capturing the firework display, lips parting in sweet, silent laughter. You clutch onto Suguru's head, breath hitching at the back of your throat, as the sky paints itself in your favorite colours.

Like this, there's no need for you to bend your neck backwards, or stand on your tiptoes. You already have the tallest seat. You see them better than anyone.

Suguru lets out a breathy, delighted noise.

"Honestly, I wanted to see you in a yukata." It's faint, like a breathy whisper, though you're sure he's speaking as clearly as he can, for you to hear him over all the noise. "But now I'm glad you didn't. Makes it easier to carry you, like this."

His warm palms cradle your ankles, safe and secure. He won't let you fall.

Your head slumps down, to whisper in his ear.

"Err.. should I wear one, next time?"

A humoured exhale, smooth as silk. "Only if you want to," he assures you, loose bands swaying with a passing breeze. The fireworks are still going off. You're sure that if you just got the angle right you could see them — blurry yet dazzling — reflected in his eyes. His voice is bright, when his lips part. "How's the view, my little love?"

Warmth, like a thread of gold, seeps from your chest to the tips of your fingers.

You cup his face with both palms, and smear a kiss against his temple.

"Stunning," you half-grin, molten at the corners. Suguru goes quiet.

He doesn't say a word. Only a squeeze, to your calf, a take of breath you do not hear.

(If you could just get the angle right, you'd see sparks of pink and tangerine reflected in his eyes — plum-red and cherry-pink, at the seashells of his ears.)

#pretty dividers by @/thecutestgrotto <333 ty for ur service my liege #uhhhh i want to kiss him . thats all ^^#getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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sixeyesonathiel · 30 days ago

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a/n: the sillies ever. idek if this is even counts as drabble it’s too long sighs dramatically

before you, satoru didn’t laugh.

not really, anyway. maybe a smug huff when he beat a servant at go, or a snort when someone tripped over their own feet. but laughter—the real kind, the ugly, breathless, belly-aching kind—was a foreign language to him.

before you, satoru never shared his food. he didn’t talk during mealtimes. didn’t play with the other children, didn’t chase dragonflies in the garden. his eyes were always too sharp for his age, like he was seeing the world from behind glass. untouchable. too perfect, too cold. like a doll that knew it wasn’t meant to break.

and then you showed up. a wobbly thing with wide eyes and no sense of personal space. you tried to drink his miso soup once by sticking your entire face in the bowl. he nearly threw a chopstick at you. nearly.

now, a year later, he finds himself hoarding sugar plums in his sleeves to sneak to you when no one's looking.

“here,” he mumbles, eyes flicking away, shoving a sticky sweet into your palm. his ears are pink. “don’t choke.”

you beam like he’s given you the moon, your cheeks squishing upward, eyes crescents.

it’s stupid. you’re stupid. and satoru’s starting to think you’ve broken something fundamental in him.

he realizes with growing horror that he doesn’t really mind it.

there are other changes, too.

you’re speaking better now. you call him by name instead of squeaky syllables, even if it still comes out strange—“so’ru” or “toru” when you’re sleepy.

“toru, come nap,” you whine one afternoon, arms flung dramatically over your head as you flop belly-first onto the tatami. sunlight warms the floorboards, catching in the dust motes that swirl lazily in the air. outside, cicadas scream in the garden. “sun warm. futon cold. me sad.”

he groans, throwing a pillow at your face. “you’re so dramatic. i’m not napping with you.”

you blink. pause. then sit cross-legged beside him, lips pursed in deep contemplation. “me dramatic... but you dramatic-er.”

he chokes on air, snorts once, then bursts out laughing—sharp and surprised, like it caught him off guard.

“you’re a little goblin,” he wheezes, brushing his bangs back as they fall into his eyes. his smile doesn’t quite leave, not even after he composes himself. he pokes your cheek. “why frown?”

you grab his finger with both hands, holding it hostage. “’cause you no nap. nap with me.”

satoru rolls his eyes, but his shoulders relax. you both collapse onto the futon in a tangle of limbs, the late summer breeze filtering through the open shoji.

still, not everything is sweetness and rice balls.

there’s a day—one of those days—where his head aches and the clan elders have been whispering again. he’s tired of the way they speak of him like a tool, a future carved in stone. someone had said something about duty, about legacy, about how he needs to stop coddling that thing—and you tug on his sleeve.

“toru come, show you rock i find! it spark—”

“stop,” he snaps, louder than he means to. his voice cuts through the air like a blade.

your sentence falters. your hands, mid-gesture, drop to your sides.

he sees it too late—the way your shoulders hunch, the way your lips press tight.

“just—stop following me around like some stupid pet,” he mutters, eyes hard, voice brittle. “go bother someone else for once.”

you blink once. then again. your mouth opens, then closes.

then you step forward, still reaching for him.

he doesn’t think. doesn’t want to be touched. his infinity flickers on with a soft shimmer, just as your fingers stretch out.

your hand halts in the air. you stare at the invisible barrier between you, wide-eyed.

his expression twists, frustrated and defensive. “stop it. just stop staring at me like that.”

and then, with a quiet breath, your form folds in on itself, unraveling like frost under morning light.

a fox sits in your place. small. silent. ethereal.

fur the color of snow, eyes a pale mirror of his own, crystalline and bright. your ears flick once. tail swishes. you don’t look at him.

then you leap to the windowsill and vanish.

you avoid him for three days.

it isn’t just the absence that gnaws at him—it’s the way the air itself changes. the estate becomes hollow in your silence, as if the walls themselves are waiting for your voice to echo off them again. the golden sun still spills generously across the wooden walkways, but it clings less warmly.

the rooms feel like paintings with colors faded. the cicadas buzz in disjointed rhythms, as if unsure of the melody without your presence. even the koi pond, usually bubbling with life, lies eerily still—its surface untouched, save for a single petal that drifts in slow, lonely circles.

a maid, nervous and young, fumbles with a basket of freshly folded linens. she stands near the corridor, peeking through the shoji screens. her voice is a breath swallowed by wind. “was she sent away?”

satoru doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even blink.

he keeps walking, each footfall sharp against the wooden floor. the hem of his robe snaps in the breeze, trailing after him like the tail of some angry god. his mouth is a flat line, but his jaw ticks—the smallest motion, like a fault line warning of a quake.

by the third night, he’s nothing short of a storm in disguise.

he paces barefoot across the polished wood, his feet silent but purposeful. his sleeves are clenched in his fists, creased and wrinkled, like he’s been twisting them for hours. a servant places tea on the wrong tray. satoru’s voice slices through the quiet, and the poor boy nearly drops the porcelain. regret pools in his throat, but it’s drowned by the static hum under his skin. everything itches. everything spins.

then someone sees him on the roof.

it’s late—past midnight. the moon is a pale smear behind thin clouds. the estate holds its breath.

he’s perched on the highest ridge, a silhouette against the sky. he’s barefoot, robe askew, knees tucked to his chest like a child. his hair hangs in unruly wisps, strands clinging to his forehead, to his lashes. the fish in his hand steams faintly in the cool night air, wrapped neatly in a napkin.

he mutters to no one, to the wind, to maybe the stars themselves. “she likes this,” he says, the words sticky in his throat. he shifts, scanning the tiled expanse. his shoulders twitch, like he's expecting a blow.

“...idiot won’t come down.”

a breeze curls around the rooftop, whispering through the bamboo grove below.

he senses you before he sees you. a breath, a rustle, a pause in the air.

you appear at the far edge, fox-shaped and proud. your fur catches the moonlight, tail curled like smoke, eyes cool and distant. your gaze slides past him—purposefully disinterested.

he sits up straighter, the fish nearly slipping from his grip.

“come on,” he says, a hint of a whine beneath the irritation. “i said i was sorry!”

you respond with a yawn, long and slow. then you lick your paw in rhythmic, theatrical swipes. it’s deliberate. practiced. a slight squint of your eye tells him you know exactly what you’re doing.

he groans, running a hand down his face. “it wasn’t that mean.”

you pause to shoot him a look—flat, unimpressed.

“okay,” he admits, deflating. “maybe it was mean. really mean. like... award-winning cruelty.”

the silence that follows stretches. he fidgets, fingers tapping against his knee.

“look,” he says, with renewed urgency, “i saved you a dumpling.”

your ear twitches. he freezes.

his heart, traitorous and loud, skips.

he slides into a crouch. the tiles beneath him are still warm from the day’s heat. he wraps his arms around his knees, resting his chin there. the grilled fish lies beside him now, cooling in its wrapping.

“i didn’t mean it,” he says, quieter this time. “you’re not a pet. or a thing. i was just—mad. and scared. and being a dumbass.”

a heron cries somewhere beyond the estate walls. bamboo leaves rustle like whispered apologies.

then comes the sound of shifting weight. claws become skin. the wind carries the faintest scent of lilac and pine.

he doesn’t look up.

but he hears the footfalls.

bare. soft. deliberate.

you kneel beside him. your yukata hangs loosely around your shoulders, sleep-wrinkled and soft. your hair is mussed, some strands sticking to your cheek. you’re silent. unreadable.

your eyes flick toward him, then away. your hand snatches the dumpling. you take a bite—crunch.

the sound echoes.

satoru watches your cheeks puff out, soy sauce glistening at the corner of your mouth. he wants to wipe it off. he doesn’t dare.

“...you’re still mad, huh.”

you chew slowly, eyes locked on the horizon.

he groans and tips back onto the tiles, limbs splayed like he’s been defeated in battle. his robes shift, baring the curve of his calf to the night breeze.

“fine. sulk. but at least sulk up here, yeah?”

silence, again.

then a shuffle.

fabric against tile.

you edge closer, arms tucked around your knees. your gaze is hazy now, softened by exhaustion. the moon carves silver across your profile.

he turns his head, just slightly.

you’re close enough now that he can feel the warmth radiating off your shoulder. close, but not touching. always just that tiny bit of distance.

he shifts his hand. fingers inch toward yours. not touching—just... almost.

a beat passes.

then your pinky nudges his. a barely-there gesture. like brushing against starlight.

his heart stutters. something tender and helpless glows in his chest.

he glances at you, quietly.

the angle of your lashes, the faint furrow between your brows—like you’re still holding on to a grudge you can’t quite name. the sticky rice clinging to your sleeve. the way your lip twitches with restrained amusement.

he exhales. and then he laughs.

it cracks out of him, wild and surprised. a real laugh, from his stomach, from his chest. his head tips back, silver hair glinting like moonlight on water. his shoulders shake. his eyes squeeze shut. he breathes it out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

you glance at him, eyebrows rising.

he nudges your knee with his, still laughing. you huff a little. roll your eyes. but your lips twitch.

and just like that—the sharpness of the world dulls.

the night feels softer. the air easier to breathe.

because you’re here. because you came back. because maybe this ridiculous, messy, stubborn thing between you is worth every ounce of ache.

and maybe he could get used to it.

maybe he already has.

ppl who asked for part 2 >:3 : @srtakibutsuji @megumisthirdog @rimuuuo @piinkyverse @misuguffy @69-gojos-wife-69

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scoutofmymind · 5 months ago

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hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Without Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

Wc: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking —that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

#req #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfic #also thanks so so much for the compliments anon!! I’m here to serve you

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candy69gurl · 1 year ago

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HIII NEW FOLLOWER :3 i js wanna cutely ask if u could make sukuna a gentle yet rough husband(he's still the king of whatevs) and the protagonist has a dragonfly pendant that glows and makes the protagonist submissive when originally, shes a VERY stubborn wife :3 thats all tyt (⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠！

Trapped in Temptation

Heian Era Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, slight non-con, kidnapping, threats, mentions of violence (Sukuna is gentle only with you), tricking, use of nicknames, use of abdomen mouth and mouths on four hands, fingering (Sukuna has nails), double penetration (use of 2 dicks in rear and front), nipple playing, clit rubbing, choking, raw sex (cumming inside), breeding kink

wc- 4k

ART NOT MINE !

"Uraume, did you hear what that insolent wench said to me? She dared insult my honor!" Raging, Ryomen Sukuna paces back and forth across their opulent quarters, his four arms slicing through the air with anger. "I can't believe she would be so impudent before our subordinates! We should do something about her."

"Calm down, Lord Sukuna," Uraume interjects, standing in front of their master to block his path. "She knows not what she says. It was uncalled for, but I assure you, I shall handle the matter." They cross their arms, a determined look in their eyes.

"Uraume, she is so stubborn! Her constant attitude toward me is tiresome! I am the strongest, yet she dares to challenge me?" Ryomen Sukuna's voice booms throughout the room, emphasizing each word as he speaks. "And to think I took her as my consort... She must learn her place, or else I may end up hurting her"

With a sigh, Uraume nods understandingly, "I understand Lord, but the truth is, you've grown attached to her, haven't you?" Uraume asks, a knowing smirk playing on their lips. "I have the best solution for it"

"Tell me about it", he sits down on his throne, crossing his massive legs.

It was a sunny afternoon, as Ryomen Sukuna scanned his vast territory, standing atop the highest point of his temple. In the distance, he saw you - an unusual figure, unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Something within him stirred, a feeling he could not explain. His instincts screamed to hunt and devour this new prey, but a strange force held him back.

"You know I told you," Uraume said, looking up at Sukuna with a playful smile, "that sometimes we can find the most unlikely sources of entertainment."

Ryomen Sukuna grunted, acknowledging the truth in Uraume's words. He couldn't deny the fascination he felt for you. "Indeed, I will send my spies to follow her."

Weeks passed, and Ryomen Sukuna found himself consumed by your thoughts. He could resist no longer, and finally confided in Uraume, "I have grown obsessed with her. I've decided that I wish to bring her to me - against her will if necessary". A wicked grin spreaded across his face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Prepare the plan for her capture, and ensure she arrives here safely."

A sinister grin flashed across Uraume's face. "As you wish, Lord Sukuna. Your desire shall be fulfilled." And so, with expert planning and stealth, Uraume carried out the task of capturing you. When you were finally brought before him, bound and trembling, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.

In the grand temple, surrounded by darkness and the oppressive aura of Ryomen Sukuna, fear coursed through your veins like ice water. You couldn't help but tremble at the sight of the towering, monstrous figure before you. Even as he approached you gently, offering words of comfort, your heart pounded uncontrollably. The very air seemed heavy with his power, and you couldn't shake the feeling of loathing and dread that bubbled up within you.

"Fear not," Sukuna whispered, his voice a velvety rumble in the silence of the chamber. "I have taken a liking to you, and will not harm you...for now." He gazed into your frightened eyes, his own full of curiosity and perhaps even a hint of longing. "I promise you, you are safe here – for the moment."

Breathless and shaking, you pleaded with Ryomen Sukuna, "Please, let me go! I don't want to stay here, with you..." Your voice quivered, desperation clear in every word. But the mighty demon lord only stared at you, his expression unreadable behind his cold facade.

As days turned into nights, and then into weeks, you refused to eat, choosing instead to starve yourself in protest. Your pale and unwell body greatly concerned Sukuna.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Ryomen Sukuna's voice rang out, echoing through the temple chambers. "Uraume, attend to her."

Despite your protests, Uraume stepped forward, concern in their eyes. "Please, consume at least a bit, it will make things easier for all of us."

You looked up at them defiantly, tears welling in your eyes. "I won't eat!"

"This obstinacy is truly fascinating," Sukuna muttered, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. "You underestimate the consequences of your actions. If you continue to starve yourself, your life will be endangered."

Uraume sighed softly, eyeing you with worry. "Just a morsel," they pleaded, gently placing a small bite of food on your tongue. "For your own sake."

But you stubbornly clamped your jaw shut, refusing to swallow the offered sustenance. Your determination was steadfast, fueled by your desire to leave the clutches of Ryomen Sukuna.

Seeing your resolve, Sukuna's eyes narrowed, and he spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice, "Very well. Have it your way. But know this, if you die, I am going to kill every human on this earth."

"Y-you cannot do that-", your words fell on deaf ears, as Ryomen Sukuna merely laughed darkly, the sound echoing ominously in the temple chambers.

"Oh, little mortal, do not mistake my words for idle threats. I am capable of such destruction. And if you persist in defying me, I may just do it."

Watching you waste away drove Uraume mad with worry. They tried once again to reason with you, "Do not test Lord Sukuna's patience, child. You know not the extent of his powers. You must eat, for humans' sake."

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth for Uraume, swallowing the food they offered. The taste was foreign, and your stomach growled in protest, but you knew better than to refuse. Your eyes met Ryomen Sukuna's, a mixture of defiance and despair in their depths. You were trapped, a caged bird desperate for freedom.

As days passed, you learned to endure your imprisonment, adapting to the odd rhythms of your captivity. Ryomen Sukuna watched you closely, a never-ending study of this fascinating creature who had captured his interest. Though you remained subdued, he couldn't help but notice the occasional flash of rebellion in your eyes.

One fateful day, unable to contain your frustration any longer, you spoke out of turn, lashing out at Ryomen Sukuna in front of his ever-loyal servants. The words tumbled from your lips, sharp and cutting, as if driven by sheer desperation to assert some semblance of control over your situation.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his expression turning dark as thunderclouds. With a swift movement, he took hold of your arm, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. "Is this how you repay me for keeping you alive?" His voice was low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps I should reconsider my decision to spare you," he snarled, holding you aloft in his powerful grip, the muscles in his arms straining visibly. Your heart leaped into your throat as you realized the severity of your actions.

"Kill me, it's better to die than to live with a monster like you!", defiance blazed in your eyes as you spat the words at Ryomen Sukuna, your voice shaking with emotion.

Surprisingly, Ryomen Sukuna paused, his eyes softening momentarily. "Monster?" He released you, allowing you to stumble back, breathless and terrified. "I have done nothing but provide you with a measure of safety, and this how you repay me?"

Uraume stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. "Lord Sukuna, she is weakened, emotionally and physically. It's not wise to push her too far." They glanced at you, concern etched in their face. "Let us give her time to adjust to her circumstances."

Ryomen Sukuna hesitated, his sharp gaze never leaving you. "Get her out of my sight. NOW!"

Uraume quickly complied, guiding you away from Sukuna and into the comfort of your quarters. As the door closed behind you, you slumped against it, gasping for breath. Emotions swirled within, tearing at your fragile psyche. Fear, anger, resentment, and a strange kind of fascination with the demonic ruler.

In the quiet hours of night, Uraume approaches Ryomen Sukuna, a dragonfly pendant glimmering in their hand. Their voice soft but filled with purpose. "We have found a way to control her defiance, Lord. A dragonfly pendant of ancient origin, said to bring submission to those who wear it."

"Show me," Ryomen Sukuna commands, his interest piqued. Taking the gleaming object from Uraume's hand, he examines the delicate craftsmanship, a faint glow emanating from its center. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. "This could prove useful."

Uraume nods, understanding his intentions. "Once she wears it, and the pendant comes in contact with your iris, she will become submissive, appeasing her rebellious nature. Perhaps we can break her spirit and bend her to our will."

Ryomen Sukuna studies the dragonfly pendant, imagining the effect it would have on her. His dark eyes sparkles with anticipation, the plan working perfectly in his favor.

"But Lord.. Remember you have to trick her into wearing it", Uraume warns knowing your stubborn nature.

Rolling his eyes, Ryomen Sukuna dismisses Uraume's warning. "Trust me, I know how to manipulate her."

The following day, as dawn breaks over his kingdom, he seeks you out with a seemingly contrite expression. Apologizing for the previous day's outburst, he holds out the dragonfly pendant. "Here, take this as a token of reconciliation. Wear it close to you, as a sign of our understanding".

There's an underlying current of menace beneath his words, caught off guard by the unexpected apology, you tentatively accept the dragonfly pendant from Ryomen Sukuna's hand. As the delicate piece of jewelry slides around your neck, your heart races in anticipation.

Sukuna's eyes fall on the pendant and it glows, then a sudden warmth floods your being, and you feel an overwhelming sensation of... submission?

The change is immediate and profound. Your resistance crumbles, replaced by an inexplicable urge to obey. You fall to your knees, your eyes fixed on the ground, "I am sorry, Lord Sukuna. Please forgive my insolence." A wave of submission washes over you, eliminating the last vestiges of rebellion in your heart. The dragonfly pendant, now resting delicately against your collarbone, pulsed gently with each beat of your heart.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes widens in surprise, a twisted grin spreading across his face. With a predatory grin, Ryomen Sukuna takes advantage of this newfound submission. Grasping your arm, he pulls you to your feet, your eyes locked with his. "Now that we understand each other, let's start fresh. Let me introduce you to the joys of our new arrangement."

A sense of helplessness grips you, as he leads you to a sumptuous room, adorned with silk sheets and plush cushions. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, and you struggle to process the turn of events. As Ryomen Sukuna guides you towards the luxurious bed, you can't help but wonder how much more control he intends to claim over your body and soul.

"Remove your clothing," he orders, his tone commanding yet tinged with anticipation. Your fingers tremble, complying with his demand. Slowly, you undress, the dragonfly pendant glowing softly against your now-bare skin. An overwhelming sense of submission courses through you, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in front of the imposing figure of Ryomen Sukuna.

He watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your form. He steps closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, and you can't help but shudder, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. "Turn around," he instructs, his voice a seductive purr. You obey without question, presenting your bare back to him.

His skilled hands move over your skin, tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine. "You are mine now," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

He gives a searing kiss between your shoulder blades, his touch dominant and undeniably passionate. Every stroke of his hands, every caress of his lips, is a reminder of your new reality - one governed by his desires and his will alone.

Underneath his command, you find yourself responding in kind, your body betraying the fear that once held you in its grasp.

Ryomen Sukuna gently places you on the silken bed, his massive form towering over you. Your body trembles under the weight of his gaze, and his four arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, securely. The sensation is both terrifying and exciting, your heart racing in tandem with your growing arousal.

Slowly, he begins to explore your body, his fingers probing your core. You arch your back, torn between pain and pleasure.

"My, you're tight," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out of you with practiced ease. "Such a shame. You need to learn to relax for me."

Each thrust sends shockwaves of sensation through your body, the dragonfly pendant glowing with each movement. You moan softly, unable to deny the pleasure intermingling with your fear. "Please, Lord Sukuna," you whisper, the words slipping past your lips without conscious thought.

"Please, what?" He asks, his fingers continuing their rhythmic dance inside you. His voice is deep and velvety, wrapping around your senses like a warm blanket.

"Make love to me, please," you beg, your voice barely steady. There's a strange vulnerability in your plea, a stark contrast to the defiance he once faced.

Ryomen Sukuna's smirk grows wider, his eyes shining with triumph. "I have been waiting for this moment." he confirms, his fingers pausing briefly before he removes them from your body.

As Ryomen Sukuna leans in to kiss you, his enormous tongue darts out from his abdominal mouth, tracing a path to your clit. The sensation is unlike anything you've experienced before, sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. You gasp, your mind reeling with a mix of pleasure and confusion.

His tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan from deep within your core. Simultaneously, his lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same boldness. His four hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your trembling body.

"You taste divine," he growls against your lips, his tongue from abdomen continues its assault on your clit.

One of his four arms reaches down to your core, thrusting inside with surprising ease. The sudden invasion triggers a response, your body arching off the bed in a fierce orgasm. Pleasure rips through you, a tidal wave of release that leaves you breathless and panting.

Breath still ragged from your climax, you watch in awe as Ryomen Sukuna discards his garments, revealing not one, but two erect phalluses. Shock momentarily paralyzes you, but his command snaps you out of it. Nervously, you position yourself between his legs, your hands trembling as you reach out to touch the unfamiliar appendages.

Your tongue darts out, hesitantly exploring one of his erect members. Your inexperience is evident, but he seems content to guide you. "That's right," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how eager you are to serve me."

You obey, your skill improving with each passing second. You alternate between his two phalluses, each one throbbing under your touch. His hands thread through your hair, guiding you as he mutters praises under his breath, his grip firm but gentle on your scalp. Your lips wrap around one of his member, your cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. A strange sense washes over you, realizing he's taken complete control of this encounter.

Ryomen Sukuna groans, his hips bucking slightly under your ministrations. "So eager to please your master, aren't you?" he taunts.

"Mhm," you mumble around his member, your voice muffled by the flesh filling your mouth. The dragonfly pendant glows fiercely at your chest, a constant reminder of your submission. "Whatever you want, Lord Sukuna."

His laughter fills the room, a deep, rolling sound that vibrates through the air. "Delightful. Just remember, you belong to me now."

You continue to service him, your body responding to his every command, every thrust of his hips.

Ryomen Sukuna's laughter dies down, replaced by a growl of satisfaction as he pushes your head back. With an effortless strength, he picks you up with his four hands, aligning one of his hardened members with your entrance. In one swift motion, he pushes inside you, filling you to the brim.

You cry out, the sensation intense and overwhelming. Your walls stretch to accommodate his size, toes curling and head resting on his broad chest.

Ryomen Sukuna grins down at you, clearly pleased with your tightness. He responds by pounding into you with brutal intensity, each thrust driving deeper into your core.

"Tight little thing," he mutters, his voice guttural with lust. "Perfect for my needs."

Suddenly, Ryomen Sukuna notices the dragonfly pendant is missing from around your neck, but your face remains submissive. Confused, he slows down his movements, searching your face for any trace of rebellion. But there's none; only submissive yearning stares back at him.

"P-please lord, d-don't stop, i-i am so close.."

His lips curl up to a grin, his eyes narrow, studying you closely. "Is that so?" He resumes his thrusts, watching your reaction carefully. Your face contorts with pleasure, your body responding to his every stroke.

Without warning, Ryomen Sukuna pulls out of you, urging you onto your knees. You comply instantly, your body quivering with anticipation. He positions himself behind you, entering you from behind with renewed vigor.

The difference in angle sends waves of pleasure cascading through you. Each thrust strikes a new nerve, bringing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body begging for release.

Just as you start to crest, he stops with his thrusts keeping his member deep inside you, leaving you panting and desperate. "Patience," he growls, wetting his fingers with his saliva.

Your heart races, knowing what comes next. He inserts his wet digit into your tight rear, stretching you in a whole new way. You gasp, the sensation overwhelming. "P-please" you stammer, but it comes out more like a plea than protest.

Ryomen Sukuna chuckles darkly, his fingers working in concert with his cock. "Relax, little one. This will make you sing."

The added pressure forces you to focus solely on the sensations engulfing you. You breathe deeply, trying to accommodate his digits. His laughter echoes in the room, a cruel counterpoint to your mounting frustration. His other member pulses, impatient and ready to join the fray.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he withdraws his fingers, coated in evidence of your readiness. You tremble, anticipation building to a fever pitch.

In one swift motion, he introduces the second shaft inside you, stretching you beyond belief. Tears prick at your eyes, a mix of pleasure and pain washing over you, but you don't resist, your body listening to him.

As both of his members work inside you, his four hands come into play. Two grip your hips firmly, guiding his thrusts while the others explore your body. His mouth forms from his other pair of arms, closing over your breast. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced.

His suckling mouths formed from his hands tug gently at your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

"Oh gods, yes!" You exclaim, surrendering to the sensation. His dual attention, the incredible fullness inside you, overwhelms you.

"That's right," he croons, his voice deep and sultry. "Take it all, show me how much you enjoy being filled."

Two of his hands reluctantly leave your breasts, giving them a tight squeeze before retreating. You whimper, feeling deprived even though you remain filled to the brim. It's almost too much, his dual penetration combined with his previous attentions.

Then, one of his hands drifts lower, touching your clit with feather-light touches. The other wraps around your throat, cutting off your air.

"N-no, wait...!" You choke out, struggling for breath.

"Quiet," he growls.

Without warning, his tongue emerges from his hand currently stroking your clit. It dances across your nerve bundle with expert precision, pushing you closer to the precipice. At the same time, the other hand leaves hickeys on your exposed neck, marking you as his own.

You gasp, the combination of sensations finally proving too much. Your body convulses, your orgasm soon going to occur.

As your orgasm builds, Ryomen Sukuna leans in close, his voice a seductive rumble against your ear. "I found your weakness," he whispers, his abdomen's mouth tracing lines along your spine. "Tell me you accept me as your husband."

You shiver, the combination of his words and actions overwhelming. His thrusting never stops, pushing you higher and higher.

"Lord Sukuna..." you manage, your voice breathy.

"Still a stubborn one, aren't you?" he chuckles, his pace increasing.

His thrusts become more urgent, matching the rhythm of your impending release. "I said accept me as your husband," he commands, the demand clear in his voice.

You nod, your body shaking from the sheer force of his command. "Yes...my Lord, I accept you as my husband" you admit, surrendering completely.

"Want to bear my child?," he asks, his mouth on his abdomen resuming its licking.

"Y-yes yes yes.. F-fill me, Lord.. I want.. your babies.. hnghnn", you reply, drools dripping from your chin. The thought surging through your body as you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Ryomen Sukuna matches your release, his own body convulsing as he finds his own climax.

With a final burst of energy, Ryomen Sukuna fills both your holes, his seed spilling hot and thick inside you. The sensation is indescribable, filling you to the brim. As he finishes, his seed trickles down between your legs, coating you in his essence.

His breathing labored, he collapses against you, resting his forehead on your back. You lay there, basking in the afterglow of your shared experience.

His eyes fall upon the dragonfly pendant lying innocently on the floor, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Well well, look at that."

He lifts you gently, turning you around so you're facing him. Holding the pendant between his fingers, he holds it to your lips. "We don't need this anymore"

Taking the pendant from his fingers and throwing it away you pout angrily at him, "You tricked me."

A wicked gleam enters his eyes, and he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. "Just wanted you to realize your real feelings towards me. All you needed was a little push."

You pull back, your lips parting slowly. you stare into his eyes, realizing he's right. Your body did submit without the dragonfly pendant at the end. Your feelings towards him are genuine.

"I'm yours, Lord Sukuna."

His grin widens, he is indeed thanking Uraume in his mind, his hands caressing your face tenderly. "That's what I always wanted to hear, love."

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bonefall · 5 months ago

Note

Ok, im back with more names. The bog was hard to find, so I’m basing it off of the area of Carrington Moss, which is in the area I think BB takes place if I’m reading the maps right

Also bc we’re talking about Shadowclan

Ok, so the names

First of all: Fen, Bog, Mire, and Peat, all names for this biome. There’s also marls, a rock found in the area

Again, I’ll only be using names I don’t remember being in the series (the obvious one being moss. It’s all moss)

Asphodel (bog asphodel), rosemary (bog rosemary), cranberry, cotton (cotton sedge), blackberry, bluebell, foxglove, iris, a plant called Mad-dog weed, also known as a water-plantain, admiral (red admiral), pipit (meadow pipit), partridge (gray partridge, but very rare) bullfinch, and bunting (reed bunting)

Close but you're a bit off-- Carrington Moss is, confusingly, an example of a moorland!

Specifically it is a lowland peat bog. Upland peat, lowland peat, blanket bog, dune heath, upland heath, lowland heath, maritime heath... all of these biomes are completely different, but all of them are referred to as moorlands.

Also, those names for the biome are not interchangeable. Those all have more specific meanings;

Fen: An alkaline wetland. Fed by fresh groundwater or runoff, these biomes are a lot richer in nutrients and the water is higher in oxygen. Because of this, they often have a much larger diversity of plant and animal species. Fens can sometimes become bogs over time.

Bog: An acidic wetland Thick moss, lots of dead matter, mostly a result of still water building up over many many years. Since the water is low in oxygen, you won't find many fish in these, and generally bogs are home to specialists who can handle the conditions.

Mire: Wet, muddy land that's hard to walk on Only synonymous with "bog" if you're using it in the informal sense of "being bogged down," not in the ecological sense-- a bog is a mire, but not all mires are bogs. You could have a mire made out of glue, tar, or caramel, if you were writing a really cool fantasy series.

Peat: A dark brown material formed from partially decayed plant matter. Essentially what happens when the top layer of moss or grass dies in a really wet place, is quickly grown-over by living plants, and then rots slowly underneath. A VERY important component of a bog, extremely useful as fuel.

For ShadowClan I'm actually modelling wetlands in and around Delamere Forest, specifically, because I ran into the issue you did of the British-English dialect having a lot of "overlap" in region names and scientific terms. If you want to go scouring for cool prefixes to suggest, you can check out Blakemere Moss, Black Lake, Mouldsworth Gap, and Abbots Moss.

Most of the plants you mentioned still grow here, though! Some other fun prefixes I've been thinking of though;

Lime (type of tree, no relation to citrus!)

Linden (another name for lime, which there are two types of)

Sphagnum (Important type of moss)

Snipe (type of bird that picks up its babies and flies away with them)

Coot (funny name bird)

Chaser (type of dragonfly)

Podzol (ashy soil found in places where plant decomposition is inhibited)

Quiver or Quake (Describing the movement of thick moss that has formed over the surface of stillwater, Q is a really rare letter in WC names)

Vetch (Common type of plant with a name I think is really cool)

Nymph (Baby dragonfly)

Skater, Skimmer, or Strider (Bug that hunts by gliding across the surface of water)

#prefixes #wetlands #One of my buddies is an ecologist who's extremely knowledgeable on wetlands #I'm consulting them a lot on ShadowClan's territory

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adsosfraser · 3 months ago

Text

Promise

an outlander drabble set during dragonfly in amber/season 2

wc: 602

The words echoed in my mind, from a life so long separated from the present, as though I were wading through a thick fog of memory, like the smog that had choked the streets of London as leather Victorian shoes slapped up and down the cobblestones. Or would choke the streets that was. The last words from Jamie rang clear and true in my mind as I navigated the glimpses of a time gone by. To care for you both.

But it clashed with the words I struggled to bring forth again.

“Couldn’t feel properly…toward a child not of my blood.”

I looked back to Jamie as the words bubbled to the surface, missing most details but still delivering the destructive truth behind them.

“-an intruder…I’d resent it.”

The butterflies returned in my stomach and I clutched at them, reassuring myself they were still there. Still safely tucked away up inside me.

“Jamie…”

His eyes stayed firm on me, expectant.

“I can promise you I’ll go through the stones should it come to it. But it won’t.” My hand reached out to hold his large and calloused one. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough, our touch would run off all visions of death and destruction on that perilous moor.

“But you can’t make me promise to return to-” My throat bobbed as I swallowed the thickness that had built up. “To, well, him. Nor leave our child behind.” I thought of Fergus, the surprisingly delicate and endearing soul Jamie plucked from the brothel. My heart swelled thinking of him, and the child nestled under my heart. No, I didn’t want to make them suffer through feelings of inadequacy and to wonder why Frank would be so indifferent to them, based solely on their parentage. “They deserve a father who loves them. Wholly. A child shouldn't have to grow around resentment.”

“Claire, surely Frank,” Jamie nearly spat out the word. “Wouldn’t turn either of you away. No man that loves you as you say he does would.” He reached for my face, stroking the skin of my cheek as I leaned into him, fluttering my eyes closed. “I certainly couldnae leave, save you begging me to leave ye be.”

I finally said what had been plaguing my mind since the pure desperation of our agony clashed the other day, where he forced my hand to a blade, a blade intended to stab right through his flesh.

“Now that we both have clearer heads that have prevailed, as it were. I’ve been thinking.” I paused. “I don’t want to cause you such torment. It’s as though a dagger has pierced my own heart as well. But, had you killed Black Jack Randall in a fit of rage, it’s likely our baby would not be alive either.” I rubbed lazy circles over my womb, comforting its inhabitant. “I wouldn’t have come to Inverness and thought the stones at the right time had Frank not brought me. Or I might not have come to Scotland altogether.”

Grabbing a glass from the nearby table made of a dark cherry oak , I swallowed, oblivious to its contents before the sweet and acidic wine hit my lips. I just needed some conduit to imbue the clarity and resolve I needed for my next words. Jamie waited patiently, rubbing the flesh of my knee through my thin shift.

“I promise to do what’s best for our children. And I trust to follow your lead in that.”

I made a promise to myself then too. That my children would only know love. Even if I had to be the sole provider of it.

#outlander #jamie x claire #jamieclaire #claire fraser #jamie fraser #outlander fanfic #outlander drabble #adsofraser writing #i reread outlander and needed to write this because franklin doesn’t get enough lashes #claire beauchamp

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k-nayee · 8 months ago

Text

Bloody Waters BNHA

wc: 5k A/n: Really got inspired watching a Your Life as a Crocodile YouTube video smh Heads-up! Will be a canon divergence happening. Teehee hope y'all like it❤️

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The battle at the cliffside was finally over.

Izuku breathed heavily, his arms and legs shaking as he looked down at Muscular’s unconscious form sprawled against the rocks.

Sweat dripped down his brow but he knew the victory was only temporary. This was just one enemy out of many and he had to get Kota back to safety.

They needed to regroup and alert the Pussycats about the strength of their attackers. He glanced over at Kota who was still looking up at him with wide awestruck eyes.

“Kota,” the greenette tried to keep his voice steady despite his exhaustion. “We need to go. Muscular won’t be waking up anytime soon so we’re safe for now. But there’s still more to do.”

He gestures to the distant horizon where faint embers and smoke hinted the beginnings of a wildfire. "The wildfires...they’re spreading. We’ll need your Quirk to make it back safely. Can you do that for us?"

Kota seemed to snap back to reality at Izuku’s words, his small hands clenched into fists as he nodded slowly.

But just as Izuku turned to allow the boy to jump on his back, the usually reserved kid took a step back, his expression clouding with hesitation.

"Jump on my back and we’ll go back to the facility," Izuku coaxed gently, but Kota's gaze darted past him back toward the deeper part of the forest.

Without another word he turned and bolted, disappearing into the dense line of trees.

“Wha-Kota wait!” Izuku called, but the boy has already slipped beyond his line of sight.

Kota's small feet pound against the forest floor. His mind whirling as he darted through the trees, winding his way through the thickening forest.

He knows the way by heart—every path, every tree and every fallen branch a part of him.

Finally he skids to a stop at the edge of a hidden pond tucked away from prying eyes.

The water was still; shadowed by low-hanging branches and thick with layers of lily pads as dragonflies skimmed the surface.

Catching his breath, Kota dropped to his knees at the water’s edge with an intensity and desperation in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He leaned over— his face inches from the water—and dipped his fingers in, sending small ripples across the dark surface.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely a tremor. "Please...I need you."

The pond settled once more, the last of the ripples fading leaving a perfect reflection of Kota’s small anxious face staring back at him.

For a long moment there’s nothing. Just the silence of the forest and the faint crackle of distant flames.

But then the water began to stir. Lily pads shifted from the sudden ripples as a pair of intense green eyes broke through from beneath.

They stared up at Kota, sharp and unblinking, almost luminous against the darkness of the pond.

Slowly a figure began to emerge steadily as the water parted to reveal scales that glinted in the dim light.

Kota’s breath hitches, his hand still frozen in the water.

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

Pixie-Bod was struggling, her breath coming in harsh uneven gasps as she barely dodged Magne’s relentless swings.

Even with her agility she’s injured—blood staining her skin from a gash running down her arm.

She grits her teeth, eyes sharp with determination as she sidesteps just in time to avoid another strike aimed straight at her head.

Magne grins wickedly with a twirl of her giant magnet. “Getting tired kitty?” she taunts. “Guess those little claws of yours aren’t enough.”

Pixie-Bob braces herself to dodge again, but a misstep sends her staggering back, pain flaring in her leg.

She barely has time to react as Magne swings the club down with brutal force. Just when the weapon neared her form—

“Get away from her!”

A rock smacks against the back of the muscular villain's head.

Magne’s gaze snap over to catch sight of a young boy standing defiantly with clenched fists.

“Oh?” she sneered, shifting her focus to Kota with a wicked glint in her eye. “What do we have here? A little hero come to save the day?”

Pixie-Bob follows Magne’s gaze causing her eyes to widen with fear. “Kota!” she gasps with a cracking voice.

“Maybe I should deal with you first little boy.” Fallen hero forgotten, Magne abandons Pixie-Bob and began to make her way to the small child.

She adjusts her grip on the magnet as she nears, lifting it high as if prepared to strike.

Kota swallows, fear tightening his chest, but he stands his ground. Just as the red-haired criminal is a few feet away he takes one last shaky breath and scream.

“Now!”

A shadow flashed between the trees. You burst forth from the underbrush, your form low and powerful as you closed the distance in a heartbeat.

Magne barely has time to register the movement before you clamp down on her shoulder and neck.

There was a sickening crunch as your teeth pierced bone.

A primal snarl escaped you as you dug your teeth in deeper causing blood to spatter across the ground in dark heavy droplets.

With a terrifying strength, you twist, using the weight of your body to roll and drag Magne down with you in a lethal spiral.

She scream a raw panicked sound and instinctively tries to pull away. But its too late: her flesh tears under the ruthless grip of your jaws.

Blood sprays across the clearing, staining the ground as the sickening sound of bones snapping and flesh shredding fill the air.

Magne’s screams grow into weak desperate gasps as you continued your death roll—your body a blur of unyielding motion.

Pixie-Bob staggered back as her heart pounds at the horrific sight unfolding before her. She struggled to gather herself, stumbling to reach Kota who remained rooted in place.

“Kota!” She heaves once she reaches him. The boy blinks away from the grotesque view and quickly moves to the Pro-Hero “Pixie-Bob! Are you okay?”

Before she could answer the screams ceased, the forest fall into an eerie silence.

Shakily she looks over only to wished she didn't.

The ground was soaked in blood as Magne’s crumpled and lifeless body laid in it. Her head was separated and lying at an unnatural angle, chunks of flesh scattered all around.

Blood dripped from your jaws, staining your scaled skin as you raise to your feet, gaze fixed on Pixie-Bob and Kota with an intense focus.

The air was thick with the scent of death.

A low growl rumbled from your throat as you took a step toward the two causing Pixie-Bob's arms to tighten around Kota protectively.

Despite her fear, she squares her stance and shift in front of the boy. Her hands trembled as you neared but she was ready to fight.

“No!” Kota darts forward, throwing himself between you and the Pussycat with outstretched arms. “Don’t hurt her!”

Pixie-Bob freeze. Her wide eyes shifting between Kota’s fearless stance and your blood-stained figure.

“She’s my friend!” he insists, looking up at you with unshaken trust as his hand reaches for your clawed one.

"____."

The afternoon was warm.

Golden light draped the forest as Kota’s laughter echoed through the trees, his feet jumping and dodging roots as he chased after a small green frog.

He was so focused on catching it that he barely noticed the shift in scenery as he crossed into an area he’d never seen before.

His laughter faded, replaced by wide-eyed wonder as he took in the sight ahead of him.

A pond stretched before him: untouched and quiet, nestled between tall trees that leaned over its surface in an almost ethereal frame of dappled light.

Lily pads drifted on the still water, their delicate flowers in full bloom while dragonflies buzzed lazily and butterflies hovered above the wildflowers near the banks.

Kota’s heart swelled with curiosity as he edged closer. He knelt by the water’s edge, dipping his small hand into the pond allowing the coolness spread through his fingers.

He laughed in delight in the way the ripples spread out and sent tiny waves lapping against the shore.

Unbeknownst to him, his playful splashes awakened something beneath the water.

You felt the vibrations from above—saw the silhouette of a small hand dipping into the pond, disturbing the stillness you’d been lurking in.

The primal hunger that had been simmering in you sharpened. You moved forward in silence, your body gliding beneath the water.

Each movement was calculated as eyes remained locked onto your target.

He was small, unsuspecting—easy prey.

But then that sound came again. Laughter, soft and innocent, drifted through the quiet forest.

It was a sound so different from what you usually heard in the shadows of the water that it made you pause. Curiosity bloomed in place of hunger.

With steady caution you allowed yourself to rise; your piercing and unblinking eyes breaking the surface first.

You observed as he continued to splash at the water’s edge, blissfully unaware of the creature watching him from the depths.

Slowly the rest of your form emerged. Your head lifted out of the water casting a faint shadow across the pond.

Kota gasped and instinctively stumbled back. His eyes grew round was he stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

His instincts told him to run but instead he found himself frozen. He was torn between fear and fascination at the sight of you.

“H-hello?” he managed barely above a whisper. His small hands trembled but he didn’t move, too captivated to back away.

Sunlight danced across your skin bringing out green scales that highlighted your cheekbones.

The scales continued down your neck and arms creating faint natural patterns that blended seamlessly with your skin.

Across your shoulders and chest they grew denser, forming a protective layer that resembled a built-in bra and armor of sorts.

You tilt your head, regarding him with an assessing gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t scream, didn't fight back—he just simply watched you.

Intrigued by his lack of fear, you eased yourself toward the bank allowing your full form to emerge.

Your scales warmed under the Sun as you stretched out on the shore making your usually predatory stance soften with a low sigh of content.

The spikes that lined your back tapered down toward a thick muscular tail that rested behind you with an occasional twitch.

Sharp teeth larger and more jagged than any human’s glinted as you breathed.

And around your waist, a makeshift skirt fashioned from pond reeds and greenery was wrapped over your tail's base to keep it secured.

A person with a crocodile mutant Quirk—it was clear to see.

But to Kota, you were like no other.

“So cool...” he whispered as he stared at you with wide eyes.

As the moments passed and you made no move to attack, his fear began to ebb. So much till the point the child began to talk.

His voice filled the area as rambled. He chattered about his life, about his love for animals and his frustration with the heroes around him.

Bit by bit as he talked, he would scoot closer until his body was next to yours

There was even a point he began to absentmindedly brush along the ridges and scales on your back, touching the rough yet smooth skin lightly.

Finding strange contentment in his gentle curiosity you let him pet you as he continue on talking.

It was a one-sided conversation really. He'd paused occasionally—eyes drifting to your face to make sure you were still listening.

And each time he was met with the same patient steady gaze.

The Sun had started to dip below the treetops by the time he finally stopped, looking up at you with a thoughtful expression. “Ya know I just realized something...I don’t even know your name.”

The question hung in the air. For a long moment you remained still, simply watching him.

Then suddenly a low gravelly voice cuts through, sending vibrations through the boy’s body. “____.”

Kota blinked as he processed word. “Oh!” He beamed. “That's your name?”

His eyes sparkled as he looked at you. “____.” he repeat as though savoring it.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask more a sharp voice echoed from the trees. “Kota!”

His auntie Shino...

Before he could move you swiftly slide back into the pond leaving only ripples in your wake.

Moments later Shino, dressed in her Wild Wild Pussycats costume, broke through the tree line, her expression both relieved and stern as she rushed toward him.

“Kota! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She scolds him gently as she took his hand to lead him away from the pond. “Now you know you're not supposed to be over here. This is uncharted forest territory after all!”

Kota tries to pull his arm away. “But...I wasn’t alone! Her name’s ____ and she's right there!”

Excitedly pointing to the bank, his smile drops once he realize you're gone. He looks at the only to see it perfectly still—calm and untouched. "What...?"

Shino chuckles softly and ruffle his hair much to the boy's displeasure. "You sure do have a wild imagination Kota. Now come on! Its dinner time and Yawara made his special chili!"

As he's pulled away Kota kept his gaze lingering on the water. A small knowing smile tugs at his lips.

He knew what he’d seen. And he's definitely coming back.

“____?” Pixie-Bob couldn't believe her own eyes. “Wait...she's real?!”

Kota nods frantically, his expression unyielding. “Yes! She’s real and she’s strong—she can help us!”

His voice was small but fierce as he looked up at Pixie-Bob and then back to you. He gives your hand a firm squeeze.

“After that day...I started bringing her food or dead animals I would find in the forest. She watches over me.” His words were full of quiet pride. “She’s my friend.”

Pixie-Bob’s stance softened. A trace of wonder crossed her face as she looked from Kota to you, taking in the protective way you stood over him.

Though the memory of your attack on the villain was still vivid—so was Kota’s unwavering trust.

It was at that moment other heroes arrived. "Pixie-Bob! Kota!"

Kota face brightens at the sight of his aunt. Though Mandalay's relief was short-lived upon spotting your wild bloodied form.

Mandalay and Tiger's expressions shifted. Their bodies moved instinctively into offensive with narrowed eyes.

“Wait!” Pixie-Bob calls out with a raised hand. “She...she's with us. Kota vouches for her.” She glanced down at the boy beside you. “She’s an ally.”

Her teammates looked on casting wary glances toward you as they made their way over.

Kota took a deep breath and stepped forward, the unwavering look in his eyes was enough to hold even veteran heroes at bay.

“She’s strong,” he declared. “Stronger than anyone I know. She can help us. Please...let her help us!”

Their eyes flick over your form, sizing you up, noting your powerful build and the calm way you stand beside the young boy.

Mandalay's gaze softens as she looks from Kota to you. “She’s...really with us?” she murmurs, casting a questioning glance at Pixie-Bob.

Pixie-Bob gives a firm nod.

“Yes. If Kota trusts her, we can trust her too.” She lets her eyes settle on you with wary respect in her gaze. “We could use that kind of power right now.”

The tense stillness surrounding you is suddenly interrupted as Asui and Uraraka burst through the undergrowth in frantic and fast breaths.

They barely notice the wary truce forming around as they look to Mandalay and the others, both of their faces pale with worry.

“Pixie-Bob, Tiger, Mandalay!” Uraraka gasped. “We need help. The villains captured Bakugo and Tokoyami!”

Asui croaks. “Ribbit—I managed to throw Midoriya, Shoji, and Todoroki a few miles in the direction we last saw them run off to.”

Kota’s eyes widened as he took in their words, his expression shifting from shock to fierce determination.

Without hesitation he grips your arm and pull you down to his level.

His small hands reach up to hold your face to make sure you’re listening, his eyes locking onto yours with unshaken intensity.

“____” he whispered urgently, “They're students so they're not as experienced as Pros. Remember Izuku—the green haired weirdo I told you about? Him and his friends are in danger. Please, you need to help them.”

For a moment you only stare back unblinking. Then, after a beat, you release a deep nosed sigh; the warm breath ruffling his hair slightly.

Standing tall, you turn your head to the breeze and inhaling deeply, scenting the air for a clue.

And then (faint but unmistakable) it hit you—the sharp, acrid scent of burnt flesh and scorched wood drifted from deep within the forest.

In an instant you sprang forward, your powerful form tearing into the trees at breakneck speed.

The heroes barely had time to register what was happening as you vanished into the shadows toward the source of the scent.

"GO ____ GO! YOU GOT THIS!" Kota’s voice called out, filled with hope urging you onward. "Wait...did you just say ____?!"

"Not now auntie!"

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The smell got stronger as you moved, the forest blurring past in streaks of green and shadow.

Guided by the faint traces of smoke the sounds of distant conflict grew louder.

You neared the area, stopping right at the edge of the bushes, green eyes glinting as you took in the scene.

“You really think I’d be so careless?” A masked man with a theatrical pose. “When I flaunt something shiny...”

He opens his mouth, revealing two marbles resting on his tongue. “...it’s because there’s something else I don’t want you to see.”

"No..." You look to see a green haired freckled boy sitting on the ground not to far away. '....Izuku...'

Next to him stood a multi-armed teen who was shakily glancing at the marbles in his hand. "No..."

With a snap, the two objects immediately explode; revealing what was really trapped inside the small objects.

"Todoroki" Izuku mutters in disbelief. "is that—"

"My ice." The half red and white colored student, who you now know to be Todoroki, says as his face darkens.

With a grin the villain continues mocking the young heroes. “Forgive me but I do so adore a twist ending,” he sneers.

Another one stood beside him making your lips curl a little. He's where the burnt skin smell was coming from.

Your watch as the dark purple mist behind them began to envelope the two.

"One last bow," the magician like criminal declares grandly, leaning forward as he faced the trio of dismayed students. "And then...the curtain fal—"

A sudden blinding beam of light sliced through the misty gloom and struck him squarely in the face.

He stumbled back with a gasp, clutching his face as the marbles slipped from his grip, spinning wildly through the air.

You snapped your head toward the source of the laser and caught a brief glimpse of blond hair peeking through the dense undergrowth.

Two figures raced forward in desperation—one with the broad many-arms and the other Todoroki.

Multi-arms lunges forward, just managing to catch one of the marbles before it rolls out of reach.

Not far from him Todoroki reaches out for the other, his fingertips brushing its smooth surface—only for a scarred hand to snatch it mid-fall.

The hand lifts the marble to let it catch the faint moonlight.

Todoroki’s mismatched eyes widen as he looks up to meet turquoise. The ̶d̶̶y̶̶e̶̶d̶ raven haired man's lips curl into a mocking smirk.

“Well,” He drawls, enjoying every hint of distress on the younger male's face. “Isn’t that a tragedy~”

Your eyes narrow as you gauge the villain’s sneer.

Without waiting for another second you bursting through the bushes and clear the distance with a powerful leap.

UA students and villains alike jolt in surprise as you barrel toward the flame user, your jaws snapping open to aim for his wrist.

The blue-eyed villain reacts in the last second; jerking his arm back with a snarl, but not before your teeth graze his flesh.

"Shit!" He hisses in pain as he recoils causing the marble to drop from his grip.

Todoroki stumbled back, shock freezing him in place for a moment as you landed heavily on all fours with a low rumble.

You position yourself protectively near the marble as you keep your gaze on the villains.

“What the fuck?” he sneers as he takes in your blood-splattered form.

Nearby the other one hesitated, his hand twitching as he finally processed the unexpected threat you posed.

The distraction was enough to disrupt his usual confidence causing the marbles to transform back.

In a flash the marbles expanded revealing Bakugo and Tokoyami in their true forms.

Tokoyami stumbled beside Shoji as he regained his balance while Bakugo sat on the forest floor in confusion.

“Kacchan!” Izuku’s voice rings out in desperate relief as he runs toward the spiky-haired blonde.

Bakugo whipped around, his face changing from dazed to pure outrage in seconds. "Huh? Deku? The hell's going on here?" he barked.

But then his red eyes slid to you crouched beside him as you held the criminals in your unwavering stare.

His shock turned to horror. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

The sound of footsteps fills the clearing as Pro-Heroes start appearing causing the villain with the cracked mask to curse under his breath.

“Dabi!” he hisses once realizing the odds are no longer in their favor. “We have to go. Now!”

As the mist began to swirl around them signaling their retreat, Dabi’s furious gaze remained locked on you.

His jaw clenched as his hand twitched with the urge to unleash his flames on you.

The fury in his turquoise eyes burns hotter as he weighs his options, his disdain unmistakable as he glares.

Yet, after a tense pause, he seems to make his decision and stay put. But Dabi’s eyes never left you—even when the mist continued to swallow him.

It wasn’t until he vanished completely into the darkness that the oppressive tension began to lift.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

Time passed after the battle.

Digging through records they uncovered little about you—no family history, no known relatives.

It was as if you had existed entirely within the wilds.

Understanding the depths of your isolation, The Pussycats offered a unique arrangement: you’d be allowed to stay with them and near Kota for the child's sake and for the good of all .

The Wild Wild Pussycats would be your guardians, and with their endorsement, you’d receive special training under Aizawa.

Yet your primal nature was undeniable—resulting that you would join Class 1-A (though only loosely) in order to adapt to society, learn control, and ̶h̶̶o̶̶p̶̶e̶̶f̶̶u̶̶l̶̶l̶̶y̶ find a place in this new world beyond the forest.

At first the transition to UA was jarring. The school was a strange new jungle with hallways and doors instead of trees and rivers.

Your limited understanding of human life and lack of speaking left you barely engaged with academic classes.

Soon enough teachers began excusing you from regular lessons.

So while you attended physical hero training for your strength and speed, the teachers allowed you to roam freely during other periods, expecting to check in before lunch that is.

Even through all of this Kota’s loyalty and admiration never wavered. And so, with his encouragement, you try your best to navigate the strange customs of UA.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

Aizawa’s monotone voice filled the classroom he delivered a dry lecture on hero tactics while Class 1-A students dutifully took notes.

The room was calm and focused—and nearing lunch.

Just as Aizawa was outlining a defensive maneuver on the board, the door burst open with a loud slam causing all heads to shoot up

Except for Aizawa that is. He continued with his teachings, ignoring your disturbance all together.

You strode into the room unbothered by the abrupt interruption you'd caused before sauntering over to a spot near the window.

There was a murmur of mixed reactions: some were still startled by your wild presence, while others just rolled their eyes with an amused sigh.

Aizawa’s gaze flicked your way mid-sentence, his words trailing off as he noticed something unusual.

The Underground Hero narrowed his eyes as he stared at you with dry curiosity.

“___,” he said bluntly, focused on the tears that were brimming at the edges of your eyes causing your classmates to glance over. “What did you eat?”

The question was straightforward—clear to show he was not one to skirt around the subject.

The room fell silent. You tilt your head to the side.

You never really spoke much, often in short or one-worded replies. So many assumed you would ignore him and continue on with what you were doing as you usually d—

“Squirrel.”

Your gravelly voice cuts through the silence.

A collective shock rippled through the room as every student’s face twisted. Even those sitting nearby leaned away as if they could still see remnants of your meal.

And poor Kouda. The gentle giant's eyes went wide and he gave a little flinch at your response.

Any progress that was made for him to be less scared of you went out the window.

Bakugo lips curled in disgust. “Nasty ass!” he sneers with a scoff. “You’ll just eat anything huh?”

For a moment you blinked at their reactions not understanding what they found so unsettling.

Aizawa could only sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before gesturing for you to return to your seat. “Let’s...just focus back on the lesson.”

Though the class settled, they couldn't help but let their glances linger, casting wary and slightly curious looks your way for the rest of the lesson.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The day was winding down; the last class was a mix of quiet chatter and a few sleepy stares as everyone waited for the final bell.

Aizawa had left the room to drop off some graded papers leaving Class-1A students to their own devices.

Eyeing the clock to see only a few minutes remains, Bakugo’s eyes narrow with a glint of mischief.

Without warning he reaches into his bag and pulls out a small wriggling bundle—a bunny with soft fur and floppy ears.

“Bakugo what are you doing?!” Mina hissed as she spotted the small animal struggling in his grip.

Others turned to look, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm.

With a wicked grin Bakugo shrugs. “Went out during lunch and got it,” he says nonchalantly. “Just a little test.”

“Test?” Kirishima echoes, his face a mix of concern and reluctant intrigue. “Bakubro...what do you mean by a test?”

Bakugo’s grin widens.

“I saw our new classmate here playing with some kittens on my way home yesterday,” he explains, his tone mocking. “Clearly it seems she doesn't really eat any and everything. Almost had me but seeing that made me realize I never actually seen her do it. Just wanna see for myself that's all.”

Realization dawns on the class and several voices rise in quick protest.

Izuku steps forward, his face pale. “Kacchan don’t tell me you're going to—”

Bakugo scoffs in irritation. “Relax Deku.”

Todoroki, overhearing, frowns slightly. “This is unnecessary. She’s adapting to a new environment—there’s no need to throw her instincts off balance like this.”

The spiky blonde's face hardens. “Oh spare me Half-and-Half. It’s all a show.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “I don’t buy it—no way she’s that feral.”

Izuku reached a hand toward him still trying to talk him down. “Please Kacchan this isn’t a good idea.”

“You two need to chill. She won’t do anything.”

“Bakugo this isn’t just about proving a point.” Todoroki’s brows were furrowed at this point. “You know she’s different. There’s no need to throw live animals at her.”

“You seriously think I care what you think?!” he snaps in response. “There's no way she’d actually eat it.” He glanced between the two of them with a sneer. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Kacchan please just put it back.” Izuku started pleading. “This isn’t a good idea.”

Bakugo’s patience snapped.

Last thing he wanted was a lecture from these two. “Oh yeah?” his voice dripped with defiance. “Watch this.”

He turns toward the windows where you and Asui were sunbathing. "Hey scaly bitch!"

You glance over at the call, squinting against the harsh light of the Sun.

"Catch!"

The class watched—half with horror while the other with morbid curiosity—as he tossed the bunny high into the air.

Instinct kicked in. Without hesitation you leaped from your spot, your body coiled like a spring.

Jaws wide, you caught the small creature mid-air with a single decisive snap.

The sound of the impact—teeth sinking into flesh—is almost inaudible beneath the chilling squeal of the bunny.

Blood splatter across the floor staining the tiles as you land gracefully back on your feet.

Your expression was calm and unmoved as you chewed and swallowed, licking the last traces of blood from your lips.

The class is frozen in horror as a stunned shock filled the room.

Bakugo’s own smirk fades. He stares at you in disbelief and for a moment he’s speechless—mouth open as he tries to process what just happened.

It wasn't until a gasp broke the silence, brining everyone’s attention to Kouda who had gone pale, his wide horrified eyes fixed on you.

Always drawn to animals the softspoken giant had never seen such a brutal display firsthand. Until now that is.

He swayed on his feet before his knees buckled, falling limp to the floor in a faint.

That snaps the entire class out of it; their heads swiveling in unison toward Bakugo, expressions ranging from anger to disgust.

“Bakugo!” They all shout in unison.

A collective scowl darkens their faces as they glare at him. He flinches at the sheer force of it.

"What?!" Recovering quickly Bakugo crosses his arms with a defensive scowl of his own. “I didn’t think she was gonna fucking eat it for real!”

50 notes · View notes

danielmolloystits · 7 months ago

Text

break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored (2/2)

Summary:

“Armand?” Lestat looks at him very seriously, then. “He has neglected you?” Daniel laughs, though there isn’t much humor in it. “That’s one fuckin’ word for it, sure.” “Oh, mon ami.” Lestat’s eyes are round and wet like an animal’s. “A prize such as yourself does not deserve this terrible treatment.” He shrugs. “You get used to it.” “No.” Lestat grabs one of Daniel’s hands in both of his own, making such intense eye contact with the journalist that it starts to grow uncomfortable. “You deserve better. You must understand this.” “Okay,” Daniel agrees, shifting a little in his seat. Anything to move past this point in the interaction. “I deserve better.” “Good,” Lestat says, nodding resolutely to himself. “This is why you should let me fuck you.”

Pairing: M/M (Daniel/Lestat, Armand/Daniel) Rating: E WC: ~3,200

Daniel’s first thought after his climax is that Armand is going to kill him, for real this time, and his cock is still going to be twitching from the aftershocks when he does.

He thinks it’s probably indicative of something deeply, deeply wrong with him that it makes a spark of renewed arousal alight in his gut.

Quietly, he scrambles to pull his boxers and t-shirt back on. The other two vampires don’t appear to notice.

“Lestat,” Armand says, voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever. And, wow, Daniel really gets what Louis meant when he’d described this expression as ‘half-blank, half-apocalyptic.’ “It would be a good idea for you to leave now.”

The blond just raises an eyebrow at him, still holding Daniel in his hand, still absolutely covered in the mess Daniel made. “Can you not see that I am a little bit busy here?”

Armand’s jaw is clenched so tight that Daniel can hear the creak of bone on bone. “Now.”

“My apologies, mon frère, but someone has to ravage your fledgling, and if you’re not going to do it—”

In an instant, Lestat is flung off of the bed and into the wall at speed, the plaster buckling from the force of the impact. Daniel is grateful, suddenly, that their team sprung for a nice hotel; if this were a Motel 6, Lestat would be clean into the next room, easy.

“Guess we’re not getting our deposit back,” He says, because he can’t help himself. Because he’s never had even an ounce of self-preservation. Armand’s eyes cut to him briefly, his irises vibrating like a dragonfly’s wings, and Daniel’s stomach bottoms out. Mostly from fear.

Lestat, meanwhile, huffs a pained laugh and stands. “Well, I can see when I’m not wanted,” he says, his hands spreading in a gesture of appeasement. “Monsieur Molloy, do you mind if I borrow your room for the evening?”

Wordlessly, Daniel tosses him the key card.

“Merci, darling.” Lestat bows, then begins to take his leave. He pauses, however, as he passes by Armand, swiping two fingers through the stickiness that decorates his cheek and presenting them to the other vampire. “Parting gift?”

A muscle above Armand’s lip spasms in an aborted snarl.

“Fine then,” Lestat says with a shrug, popping the digits into his mouth instead and grinning once they’ve been sucked clean. “More for me.”

Then, he exits, closing the door soundly behind him, and Daniel and Armand are alone together for the first time since...well, since.

“So,” Daniel says, drawing out the vowel sound sarcastically as he sits up against the headboard. “The last time my dad walked in on me with a boy was a pretty long while ago—I forget, are you supposed to ground me now, or do we just pretend it didn’t happen and never bring it up again?”

Armand opens his mouth to speak, but Daniel doesn’t let him.

“Or is this more of an infidelity situation? Because I’m gonna be honest with you, Armand: I didn’t realize we were together. On account of how you fucked off immediately after turning me.”

“You’re angry with me,” Armand says, and it’s insane how quickly he melts from predator back into prey, all slumped shoulders and big, wobbly doe eyes.

“You think?”

The other vampire isn’t meeting his gaze, his own fixed somewhere on Daniel’s cheek like he can’t bear to look straight at him. “I didn’t want you to hate me. For what I did to you.”

“And you thought abandoning me to figure this shit out by myself was a good way to prevent that?” He asks, incredulous. “News flash, Amadeo: it wasn’t.”

“I’m here now,” Armand points out—hopeful, fragile, as though he’s afraid the words will shatter in his mouth if he isn’t careful.

“Yeah, and why is that?” Daniel asks, lacing it with all the righteous indignation he can muster. But despite his best efforts, he finds himself losing steam in the face of Armand’s complete and utter supplication. “Don’t tell me it’s because you’re into me.”

The other vampire finally looks at him head-on, his eyes piercing straight through to the core of Daniel. To the knot of uncomfortable, complicated feelings that sits just beneath his breast. “Is it really so difficult to believe?”

“Kind of,” He says, reflexively shifting under the weight of Armand’s stare. It’s ridiculous, he thinks, how easily the man sets him off-kilter. How easily he comes in and turns Daniel’s life upside down, as though it’s nothing to him.

Armand stalks towards him slowly, then, managing to appear at once like the nervous rabbit and the cat hunting it from the bushes. Like both the thing to be eaten and the one doing the eating, like both the consumer and the consumed. He approaches the bed until he arrives at the edge of the mattress, sitting down delicately atop it and never once looking away from Daniel as he does. His expression is painfully open; achingly earnest.

“You have no idea the things I’d like to do you,” he says, and Daniel understands why he was so cautious earlier, because the words come out cracked and fractured, the edges of them sharp enough to cut.

(Belatedly, Daniel wonders when exactly his life turned into a trashy harem romance novel. He thinks that maybe he ought to be more upset about it.)

“Hard to know when you don’t tell me,” he replies, his voice a lot rougher than it was mere moments ago. It’s humiliating, he thinks, the obviousness of his desire. The fact that he even still wants the fucker after all the shit he’s put Daniel through.

Armand slides the rest of the way onto the bed, crawling forward on his knees until his body cages Daniel’s from above. His gaze falls to Daniel’s lips. “I could tell you now, if you wanted.”

And he is simply too weak to say no to that, so instead he murmurs, “Yeah,” his hand reaching up to tangle in Armand’s hair. “That might be good.”

Armand ducks his head down to lay a kiss beneath the sensitive skin of his ear. “I want to claim you,” he whispers, before dragging his tongue over the spot his lips just brushed, “I want to make you mine.”

Daniel gasps, his fingers tightening in the silky black curls. “What else?”

“I want to taste you.” As he speaks, he grazes the tips of his fangs down until they rest at his pulse point. “I want your blood to fill my mouth; I want to stain my teeth red with the very life of you. I want to memorize how it flows over my tongue.”

“Is that all?” He means it to sound cool, nonchalant, but the attempt is belied by how each exhale grows quicker and quicker with every teasing touch.

“No.” He can feel Armand’s smile pressing into his neck. “I also want to fuck you,” he starts, his hand snaking down to palm at Daniel’s hardening cock through his underwear, “until you forget the name of every other person who has ever touched you.”

Daniel moans, hips canting into the contact; Armand rewards him by firming his grip. “Okay,” he says airily, as Armand licks a filthy line back up his throat. “I can agree to those terms.”

“Say it, then,” Armand orders, stroking his thumb over where the head of Daniel’s cock tents his boxers. “Say you’ll belong to me.”

If Daniel were any less turned on right now, if the scent of Armand wasn’t filling his nose all earthy and sweet like honeyed cloves, then maybe he could respond with something snarky. Maybe he would be able to say no. As it is, he rasps, “I’m yours, Armand,” as fervent and breathless as a desperate prayer. “I’m yours.”

Armand kisses him then, hot and raging like a wildfire. It sucks the air from his lungs and replaces it with burning smoke, lights every nerve ending in his body aflame. It consumes him, destroys him, unmakes him and reduces him to smoldering ash in the shape of the man he used to be.

What happens after that is a blur, soft and surreal like a hazy memory: Armand strips Daniel and takes him into his mouth, painting over the places Lestat kissed with his tongue until his spit is all that remains. He writes his name into Daniel’s skin like a promise, like a brand, like he plans on doing it to every inch of Daniel until he’s covered in reminders of Armand’s existence.

Then, once Armand has him reduced to a wanting, whimpering mess, he pulls Daniel into the cradle of his arms, spine to sternum, and fucks into him as though he’s trying to make a home for himself in his lover’s body. As though it isn’t enough for Armand to claim his lips or his throat or his skin; he needs to mark Daniel’s insides, too, his guts and his organs and the viscera that holds him together.

When Daniel comes, Armand’s fist wrapped around him and Armand’s cock buried deep in his ass, it is a revelation. It is an epiphany. Armand follows him shortly after, clutching him close and tight and perfect.

Daniel doesn’t think he ever intends to let go again.

After Daniel’s had enough time to recover and he can be sarcastic again, he jokes, “If I had realized that fucking Lestat would bring you back, I’d have done it a lot sooner.”

Armand looks at him with an exaggerated pout. “Hm. That’s no good.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Then, the other vampire is climbing back on top of him. In between kisses, he murmurs, “You still remember his name. We’ll have to remedy that.”

And, well. Daniel’s not about to argue with him.

#my fic #iwtv #iwtv 2022 #lestat de lioncourt #daniel molloy #armand de nolastname #iwtv armand #devil's minion #devils minion #armandaniel #armand x daniel #danstat #daniel x lestat

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fandombead · 1 month ago

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Just a Little Miscommunication

This is a fic for polarisbees! :D Their prompt was Moloceit fantasy fluff shenanigans.

@tss-camp-and-coffee

Summary: Logan runs a spell shop out of his home with his partners, Janus and Patton. And most days, it proves to be quite successful, despite the occasional mishaps that usually don't take long to correct. Sometimes, though, it's good to double-check you were heard correctly when dealing with magical botany. That's actually a good rule to have for most things in life.

WC: ~2.1k words || On AO3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Logan thought it had been a pretty straightforward and hazardless task. His partners had made the trip to the clearing dozens of times for him, even on their own. It was routine at this point: Patton, after all, had extensive knowledge of the local flora of the forest. He trusted both of his boyfriends to handle the collection of what he needed for their latest custom spell shop order.

He had neglected to take into account any miscommunication that could occur. Patton had been distracted in lively conversation with a particularly chatty customer when Logan was explaining what he needed. Janus had also unfortunately joined them late in the conversation— not to mention his expertise was related to brewing and spell-casting, not particular flora I.D.— flying down as he returned from selling their extra inventory at the morning market.

To be entirely fair, Logan could see how a string of unfortunate events had gotten them into the little situation they had now. Still, he had to ask, as he looked down at his boyfriends. "Patton?" "…ah, yes, Lo?" "…you heard me say fall potion flower earlier, right? As in, the blue ones used to negate fall damage?"

"…ooooh. That makes more sense, now that you mention it. I thought you said small potion…flower. Which, technically, does help reduce fall damage…!" Logan ran a hand down his face as he took in the scene one more time.

One of his boyfriends was currently 5 inches tall with folded dragonfly wings, standing on the floor of his shop. That one made some sense, as Patton was indeed a faerie...not a short pixie-sized one, usually. Or ever, before now. Mildly concerning.

The other was 7 inches tall…and an actual bird. A little yellow bird with pretty black speckled patterns on his wings, tail, and head, Said boyfriend was less than happy about the afternoon he was having, but evidently couldn't speak on it. The displeased chirping when Logan had tried to ask was enough. He'd had a long day, with an apparent 10 close calls on the way back to Logan.

Logan moved them both up to the counter, shaking his head. He took a seat on his stool. "…so you've told me briefly about your perilous trip home. But I don't yet understand how you got this way."

Patton tapped his fingers together sheepishly as he now had to explain. Janus certainly couldn't.

"Well— in short, Janus was helping me collect the flowers, and we realized too late that they had some weird sap coating— I'd never actually collected these flowers before, so I thought it was just the petals that were the component!"

Logan folded his hands carefully in front of his mouth as Patton spoke. "Did we not learn this lesson about funnel flowers already? Those are like the same ones that Dryad threw at me because they thought I was a human; their spell component is typically a coating."

Patton fretted. "I should have remembered that…I-I wasn't thinking about that at all! I just figured this one was fine for collecting, like most of the other ones. I'm sorry, Lo." He looked to Janus, hugging him. "Sorry you're a bird, Jay…I guess I don't know as much about them as I'd like."

Janus leaned into the hug, making a few reluctant peeps at him. Logan's concerned frown softened. There wasn't anything to be gained in scrutinizing now, though they needed some sort of confirmation system in the future.

"I'm just relieved you both are alright. I just have to be careful not to make contact with the plant to make a counterspell. We don't know if it will wear off on its own or when, so I will need to get to that. Would you fill me in on what you know about it?"

Patton nodded and explained that he'd realized too late that these flowers' effects were inherent to the plant. They'd only touched the plants and soon after been shrunk down. But that didn't explain why Janus was a bird.

Logan pulled out a spell botany book and turned the pages for Patton to research some more. Janus plopped down to observe as well.

Patton pointed out the flower: a honey-yellow funnel flower called a "Genesimus".

The plant had less of a "shrinking" spell effect and more of some kind of reverting-mutation properties. It seemed to just focus on a dominant trait they both had— magic wasn't always clear in its rules or consistent in any reliable way. Difficult for Logan when it came to less-studied aspects, though he still tried to understand through scientific experimentation.

Logan was careful as he handled the flowers. He wore Janus' gardening gloves, and it seemed to do the trick. He got to brewing a standard reversal spell, as it was a risk and more complicated to try and just fix the symptoms.

Patton insisted on still helping Logan with the timing and gathering of components, though he was limited mostly to the table's drawers— he was not fond of flying himself, but Janus was happy to assist his boyfriend in moving between the storeroom and the crafting room.

Eventually Janus grew tired, though, and seeing as he was no longer needed, went off to check on his indoor plants…or well, that's what Patton had interpreted from the hopping and bird gestures. Patton promised him lots of cuddles and kisses, and gave him one for good measure before he was gone.

Patton found a comfortable perch in Logan's dark blue scarf that hung in loops over his shoulders. It seemed safe enough, and Logan's hands were right there should he need to be caught. Patton could also fly and slow his fall if needed, though he didn't like being high off the ground on his own power.

As Logan tended to the small table brewer, he noted how quiet Patton got with Janus gone.

"Patton? Weren't you telling me about the trip? Are you alright?"

Patton looked down at his feet. "Oh, no no— I'm fine, I was just wondering…does…does this mean I can't help with those anymore?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing down at him, but Patton pointedly wasn't looking at him. "What? Why would I stop asking for your assistance? This isn't the first mishap any of us has had." Patton shrugged, watching as Logan sprinkled some powdered blewit into the concoction, turning it maroon. "I messed up the order, and now we'll be late. And Janus got turned into a bird."

Logan tried not to be a little amused by that note. He set his ladle down, sitting with Patton.

"Of course you can still help. You grew up in this region, Patton, I still trust your knowledge of the local plants. You even knew this plant would achieve what the customer wanted, in an… unconventional, but insightful way. We just had a tiny mishap in communicating. No harm was done." Patton looked up hopefully again, swinging his feet and wings fluttering. "Really? The customer won't mind…?" "Yes, I certainly wouldn't 'kid' about this. Also, we won't have to worry about that. I'll simply go out with you in the morning to get the right flowers. And I'll still have time to make the spell before they arrive tomorrow afternoon. I really don't think Janus is all that upset. He seemed content to take his usual afternoon nap in the windowsill upstairs, but he may appreciate some 'TLC', as you've called it, to help."

Patton got up fast, startling Logan as he teetered precariously in his scarf. His wings fluttered quickly to help him balance as he grinned at Logan, darting up to hug his cheek. "Thanks, Lo, you always have the best words." Logan blushed, slowly returning the 'hug' with his hand, careful to wait until Patton's wings were still. He saw more than he felt the kiss Patton pressed to his face. "I'm happy it helped you feel better, love. Now, we'll let this finish up and perhaps get dinner in order."

~*~*~*~*~*

Soon, the potion was done, and not much was needed of the small brewing pot portion. Logan had made enough for two doses with what they had. Patton mentioned it tasted like carrots and oatmeal, which was…an interesting note he'd jot down for future reference. He'd ask Janus later what he would describe the taste as. It could be important, and he was nothing if not thorough in his witchery.

Then it was just a waiting game.

They ate a simple dinner of salad with roasted nuts and potatoes on the side; it was the best thing Logan knew how to make that was also most likely safe for birds (just in case). Then Logan sat down with a novel to wait for the brew to take effect. Janus perched on his shoulder to read with him and Patton settled back into the loop of his scarf as it turned out to be the perfect hammock.

Logan didn't actually get much reading done, as he ended up idly stroking Janus' back with a fingertip and Patton asked him engaging questions about human culture (he was trying to understand the characters). Not that Logan minded this. He enjoyed being asked and explaining about his past travels to human lands more than he was currently invested in the book, so that's what they ended up doing.

"You're sure it's a good idea to let us lounge on you when it could kick in any minute?"

"The change should be fairly gradual, considering it hasn't happened yet…I wouldn't say this is entirely bad. Definitely aesthetically admirable, at least. Besides, I will not miss out on nightly quality time together."

Janus bumped Logan's jaw affectionately with his head and Patton gushed at how sweet that was, his own spread wings a testament to his inner joy at Logan's way of calling them cute. Logan smiled, adjusting his glasses carefully. "Let's just hope we can still get to bed on time. We have an early day tomorrow, and we don't want to run our sleep schedule."

…

In hindsight, Logan wondered if he had never said such a thing, would he still have ended up like this? Surely it was just the universe waiting, in its infinite, cruel capacity for comedic timing.

The good news was that his partners had grown back to their proper size and been able to get ready for bed within the hour. The bad, though….

Patton exited their bathroom and covered his mouth while Janus shamelessly snickered. "Oh, dear."

Janus leaned on the bed, smiling down at Logan, who was 5 and a half inches tall and sitting dumbfounded between his glasses and book, both far too big for him now. "Well, now you understand our plight, my love. Don't worry, you're just as aesthetically admirable as we were," he murmured, winking. It got the result he hoped for. Logan covered his red face, unable to look at either of them. "I…but I was talking about your wings…" Patton hid his smile poorly, shooing Janus towards the room door. Janus headed for the hall, shouldering his robe as he slid his wings through the large slits at the back, stretching. "Well, I guess bedtime cuddles are delayed a little longer. I'll get the cauldron reheated."

Patton offered Logan a lift with his cupped hands. "We…will get the brew going again, don't worry. We'll use the tongs this time."

Logan sighed, settling into the curve of Patton's palm. "Now we know why Janus was affected despite his precautions and disciplined glove usage. Evidently, they were unhelpful and only delayed the change...probably soaked through."

He went to adjust glasses that were not on his face and settled for squinting. "Nevertheless, I am not worried. My partners are quite capable. I will guide you both through the steps thoroughly." Patton looked touched. "Awww, Logan!" He pressed a kiss gently to the top of Logan's head before offering to let him hang out in his nightshirt pocket to oversee their work. "You will be back to the right size in short order!"

Logan made a show of groaning because he had principles he stood by. He didn't think he was going to see less than 6 more of those, as he suspected Patton had been saving them for this very moment (or brainstorming the entire afternoon).

All this really proved was that he needed to invest in some magic-proof fabrics. He was just thankful his clothes were all natural fibers.

"Mm. Let's make enough for extra this time."

---------------

A/N: Formal apology to Janus, because I didn't consider the consequences of you not being able to talk for most the fic!

Thank you for reading! XD

#sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #lomoceit #sanders sides au #fluff #sasi fanfic #camp cartoon 2025 #icy writing #sasi #fantasy au #magic shenanigans

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vinylfoxbooks · 14 days ago

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May 10 - Sage | @moonchaser-microfic | wc: 546 First Part | Previous Part Wisdom, Healing, Protection, Connection w/ the Spiritual World

“What about you?” James asks, bringing their hand down and slowly resting it by the dragonfly, “Do you have any particular side of you that’s different from what you present to me?”

Remus hums and is quiet for a while before he starts, “I’m an assistant teacher and I can be rather mean and harsh. I get a bit louder when I’m with my friends, but it’s mostly just various shades of quiet.”

“I can’t imagine you being mean or harsh.” James shakes their head

“I am bad at interacting with students and people younger than me and I’m rather… blunt about everything and, being the assistant to an English professor, I’ve been known to be harsh on grading and critical of work because that’s how I prefer my work to be viewed. I tend to forget that other people aren’t as open to that.”

“Mm, I could see that.” They smile, gently, as the dragonfly ventures onto their finger and settles there. They slowly lean forward to the edge of the pond where a small lily pad is settled and let it off their hand onto it. Then they turn to Remus, “Want to walk around with me?”

“If you help me stand up.” He nods, setting his cane up and outstretching his free hand for James to take. James helps pull him to a stand and lets go of his hand before they can think anything more of it, guiding him down a pathway they tend to meander down when they visit the park.

“What’s blooming here?” Remus asks, gesturing to the stout plants that are just starting to get the smallest semblance of buds surrounding them.

James hums, “Sage. It took me forever to figure out, and I only really did when I took my parents on a walk down here while it was in full bloom. It’s one of the plants my dad is allergic to, so his allergies were going crazy.” They laugh gently at the memory.

“It’s admirable how fondly you talk of your parents.”

“They’re admirable to be fond of.” They smile, running a hand over one of the branches of sage before pushing forward.

“Tell me more about them?”

And James does. They lead Remus along the entire trail that brings them around the edge of the pond and ends near the entrance of the park, then back to their building and the entire time they regale Remus with tales of their parents growing up. On occasion Remus gives his own anecdotes about his family when on of James’ stories strike a cord--James gathers he doesn’t have the best family life and doesn’t push it--but he mostly elects to watch them fondly as they gesticulate and laugh and talk, though they get so lost in their memories and joy they hardly notice the implications of such a look.

“Thank you James,” Remus hums, offering them a small smile when they finally make it up to their flats, standing between their doors, “For taking me around and telling me all your stories. I’ve had a lovely time.” “Me too. Thank you, Remus, for coming up to me today.” They both nod and hesitate for only a second before James offers a crooked smile and unlocks their door, slipping inside.

Next Part

#do I know the timeline of this thing? no #do I know the time of year this is? absolutely not #do I know the region they're in where all of these plants are thriving at the same time? not a clue #but fuck it we ball #marauders #dead gay wizards #james potter #remus lupin #james x remus #moonchaser #nonbinary james potter #disabled remus lupin #microfics #romantic moonchaser

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yutafrita · 2 years ago

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[02:12PM]

｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Werewolf!Yuta x Faerie!Reader (she/her, femme presenting)

Genre: low fantasy, fluffy fluff

Warnings: mythical discrimination/ stereotyping, swearing, allusions to s!ut shaming.

WC: <1K

ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ 𖥔˚ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ 𖥔˚ ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ⋆ ᡣ𐭩

“He’s a sweet guy!” Your roommate, Giselle, plucked off a piece of lint from your sleeve.

“Don’t think of it as a blind date more so a…. Surprise meet up?”

“Why did I agree to this?” You huffed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your roommate went to a party last week, and on a whim set you up with some guy that even she barely knew. You didn’t know who was more foolish- her for setting you up, or you for agreeing to it.

“You know what he looks like, he’s super hot and funny… and smart! Totally your type,” she repeated this sentiment as she began to push you out of the door. “Also I’ll be having someone over!”

“Hey!” You were out the door just as she closed it, leaving you in the dust.

The cafe was across the street from your duplex, so you begrudgingly made your way over. You and Giselle were one of very few faeries at your university. It unfortunately has led to far too many other magical beings trying to pursue you in one way or another. Considering faeries, especially ones that presented more feminine, were seen as hyper-sexual temptresses, it led to you also being either uncomfortably ogled or generally ostracized.

While Giselle loved a fun challenge of conquering as many sexual pursuits as possible, you had basically avoided anything romantic for over a year.

The cafe was emptier than usual, which meant only one couple there had someone grip onto their partner tighter upon seeing you.

“Hi Johnny,” you hummed, greeting the barista. The dragon smiled at you, his pointed teeth that could rip your throat out, were now just showing his warmth. His red scales dotted only along his cheek bones and points at his arm, and if not for his red, leathery wings you could almost forget his vast strength.

“Dragonfly! What can I get you?” He teased. Your wings appeared to match more of a dragonfly than Giselle’s, which appeared more like pink butterfly wings. As a result, amongst your very few friends, dragonfly had become your nickname of choice.

“Just the usual coffee,” you nodded. As the dragon went to prepare your honeydew coffee, you took a closer look at the other patrons. The couple you had spotted earlier consisted of two humans, both avidly avoiding looking at you. You were also able to spot a cat shifter with their headphones in, and a cyclops.

No werewolf, though.

This was stupid. If Giselle wanted to just get you out of the house she could have just asked like she normally did- she didn't need to set you up with someone. Especially a werewolf. Most werewolves had allergy attacks whenever you were nearby due to your fairy dust and their intense sense of smell.

Johnny called your name and passed you your drink. You took out your phone once you sat down and started scrolling through your pictures. You were in need to clean up the camera roll, and faerie jokes and Inter-Species Relations major memes didn’t really need to take up your whole phone storage.

“Hi… y/n?” Your name instantly called your attention.

“Hi Yuta,” you greeted, smiling at the werewolf. Like most werewolves, he had his ears and tail exposed despite it not being a full moon. Most wolves choose to do so as it allows their full moon shift to be smoother and less painful.

He sat across from you, smoothing out his polo before he took a sip of his drink.

“What drink did you get?”

Yuta removed the drink from his lips before answering, “a jasmine tea. You?”

“Honeydew coffee.”

“Aren’t we a couple of stereotypes,” he giggled. You couldn’t help but smile- he was right. Faeries had a strong connection with bees, and werewolves had a strong connection to the moon. With honeydew being something bees loved and jasmine being linked to the moon, yep, you were indeed a couple of stereotypes.

“So Yuta, how did Giselle force you out with me?” You asked, folding your hands on the table. He still wasn’t sneezing like most other wolves do when you don’t take your faerie dust suppressant. The suppressants always made you feel groggy and bloated, but it helped the werewolves in class not sneeze every second.

“Giselle?” he raised an eyebrow, “Oh no she didn’t set us up. It was my roommate who insisted we meet up.”

You furrowed your brows, “is your roommate the person she’s having over now?”

“… that’s probably why he dropped me off here and parked across the street,” Yuta scratched the back of his neck. “My roommates a human and he just transferred to our university from a small community college.”

“Ah, so this is his first time encountering so many different beings?”

“Yeah…” Yuta nodded, “but um… anyways. What’s your major?”

You sat up tall now, “Inter-species Relations with a concentration on policy making. You?”

Yuta’s ears perked up, “Local Policy making with a concentration on inter-species governance.”

You both let out a laugh then, which earned you several looks from your fellow patrons around you. It surprised you to hear that Yuta was roommates with a human when most wolves you knew tended to stay with members of their pack. While it was beyond acceptable for wolves to be friends with other species, it did strike you as weird to hear that he didn’t share a space with a pack member.

"What got you interested in working on inter-species policy?" you asked, taking another sip of your honeydew coffee.

"Well, my parents divorced when I was little and when my Mom remarried she married a warlock. It's come with me learning a lot of the challenges faced by those in inter-species relationships," he took another sip of his coffee before he nodded, "and you?"

"I guess mine's a little more selfish," you admitted.

"Mine is totally selfish," Yuta then nudged your arm, "what is it?"

"Well," you tucked your hair behind your ear, the points on your ear now sticking out, "even though species have been integrated for decades, there's still a lot of animosity between them. I want to be apart of the solution."

"That's noble," Yuta smiled, and you heard a loud, repetitive thumping sound. You glanced down at Yuta's chair to see his tail wagging before he quickly snatched it. "Sorry, that's embarrassing."

"I think it's cute."

"Can I just say, you smell great by the way?"

"Thanks but... I noticed you haven't been sneezing at all?" this was a burning question you had, and you were relieved to finally have a way to ask about it.

"Oh," he dug around in his pocket and set a vial on the table, "my step-dad makes an allergy potion for me so that faerie dust isn't a problem. I just have to take it once a month."

You took the vial in your hand and examined it in awe.

“What are the side effects?”

“None that I know of. I have a faerie in my major so I figured I’d take it.”

You leaned back in awe, your own wings fluttering as you thought over the possibilities. You and Yuta sat at the shop for another few hours, well past when both of your cups went empty. You were talking about the latest installation in the Mission IMP-possible series when Yuta got a call from his roommate to meet him out front to head home.

“I’d… love to see you again,” Yuta’s ears were fully perked up, tail wagging aggressively as he spoke. Nervously, you noted in agreement before you two exchanged numbers.

*******

“A lot of werewolves are breaking off from the pack system these days,” Yuta explained to you one afternoon. The two of you had taken to studying together after classes and taking walks along the city river banks in the mornings. Today, you were having a late lunch on the library roof. “The pack system is still archaic and really heavily gendered.”

“So, is there an alternative?”

Yuta shrugged, eating the last of his fries as he mulled over his response. “Not really. I haven’t had an actual pack for a while, though. They didn’t really do much for me anyways besides be overbearing.”

Everything you knew about werewolf packs came from your college courses. Each pack typically had its own set of rules and its own dynamic. Yuta seemed indifferent to this, though, especially since he only had one other werewolf friend.

“We should go out tomorrow night,” you proposed after a small bout of silence. Yuta’s tailed started wagging again before he raised an eyebrow.

“Are you officially asking me on a first date?”

You scoffed, “so the coffee date didn’t count?”

“Not when it was used by our roommates as an excuse for them to fuck,” Yuta chuckled before offering you a fry.

“Well, miss dragonfly, I would be honored to go on an official date with you.”

Permatag! @nini0620

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